dark night [070-066-4.6]

By: sheryl lynn

Synopsis:

The man looked capable of hoist, the worm and playing ball with il Beard
stubble shadowed his jaw. Dark hair spill over a glowering brow. Eyes,
the colour and w~ of ice, speared Dana, pinning her to the metal c He
emanated the menacing power of a caged "Did you waive your right to have
an attorney present during questioning?"

"No," Dana said coolly.

The man tossed a briefcase onto the table.

"Rule number one. From now on you don't say anything, unless I'm in the
room with you. Got it?"

"Who are you?" Dana said.

"I want my attorney " Kurt Saxon." He thrust out a hand that was twice
the size of hers and burned to mahogany by sun." / your attorney."

This book is for Tristan and Abby for being themselves; and Tom for
going above and beyond; and with special thanks to Julianne, for knowing
when to say,

"That stinks. Try again."

Chapter One.

"Dana! I sent the only copies to Dana Benson at Star Systems. I swear,
the only ones." The young man wrapped both arms around his head and
curled his legs into a fetal position.

"Don't hit me again," he whispered.

"Please don't hit me anymore. I gave you everything.

Everything!"

"Think this squirrel is telling the truth, Drag?" Eddie flexed his
fingers as he studied the Carnage he and his partner had wreaked in the
apartment.

Dragon-man kicked an overturned lamp, shattering the ceramic base.
Shards pattered the wall like shrapnel. He ground a camera lens under
his boot heel. The glass squeaked.

The man on the floor whimpered.

"I'll give you whatever you want.

Money, anything. You can have it all. Please, just don't hurt me
anymore.

" Dragon-man grunted.

"Hey, buddy," he drawled.

"We just want what's ours." He fanned an array of photographs. The
packet from the supermarket where the film had been developed had been
checked off for twenty-four prints, two copies each. He counted the
photographs one more time: twenty-four. He counted the negatives, too,
before replacing them inside the packet. He handed Eddie a roll of
silver duct tape. "Do him up, man."

After his partner trussed up their victim, Dragon- man crouched. He
poked the man's battered face with the barrel of his nine-millimeter
Hi-Point.

"Know what's wrong with America, buddy?"

Sweat made the young man's face glow as if oiled. His eyes were black
and glazed behind puffed lids. His narrow chest heaved. punks who can't
keep their cameras outta business," Dragon-man answered. If I  find you?
Sneaking around What you think- a ing buddy, ~-ay. The caption read."

"Dana and Dragon-man pushed upright and took the picture out of the
album. He gestured with his gun.

"You and that camera are busy little bees, ain't ya? Let's hope this
cutie-pie is more cooperative than you. I hate bearing up chicks. They
make too much noise."

The young man rolled his eyes.

"I know what you're asking. You want to know if I'm coming back. You
betcha, buddy. If your lady friend is smart enough to give up the
pictures, I'll be a nice guy and kill you quick. But if she don't ..."
He clucked his tongue.

"You're gonna see me get mad, and that ain't pretty. Right, Eddie?"

"Oh, yeah, not pretty at all."

DANA BENSON SORTED through the day's mail. The secretary was out running
an errand, so Dana sat behind the desk, manning the phones.

The secretary walked into the office. On~ Jilly's eyes were visible
above her armload of boxes. Dana hurried to help her with the supplies.
The two women stacked the file folders, envelopes and stationery next to
the desk.

Jilly wiped her face with the back of her hand.

"Turned hot out there today. Whew!" She peeled off her jacket and
grimaced as she plucked her blouse away from her sides.

"I hate Dallas in the springtime. If it ain't too cold, it's too hot.
Wind blowing all the Got another thunderstorm coming up. I swear! I
never know how to dress."

"You ought to move to Hawaii," Dana said, and handed over a postcard.

It showed an idyllic beach scene with blinding white sand, palm trees
and a sapphire ocean.

"We're getting postcards every day. I think my mother is gloating just a
little bit." Jilly read the note from Greta Benson.

"I say she has a good reason. Two whole weeks in Hawaii." Her dimples
deepened in an impish grin.

"And I bet your dad still looks good in a bathing suit." She giggled.

"Hoowee, he's the original silver-haired fox."

Dana shook a finger in mock admonishment.

"I'm going to tell Daddy you have a crush on him."

Jilly's smile turned tremulous. Her chin quivered. She stared at the
postcard picture as if she wanted to crawl into the scene.

Dana cocked her head. For days Jilly had been in a strange mood. More
than once Dana noticed her on the verge of tears. Her normal
cheerfulness seemed strained.

"Is there a problem? Do you need to talk about it?"

"Dana! I have to talk to you." Pauline Kidder strode into the reception
area. With each bouncy step, her ID badge flapped against her breast.
She clutched a memo in her left hand and gestured wildly with her right.

Jilly looked ready to bolt, making Dana wonder if perhaps her partner
weren't the cause of the secretary's odd mood.

When Pauline reached the desk, Dana extended a brightly colored postcard
depicting a Hawaiian flower market.

"Morn sent you a postcard."

Looking torn between wanting to yell and wanting to look gracious,
Pauline snatched the postcard and flipped it over to read the message.

"Must be nice, some folks having the bucks to go gallivanting around
Hawaii."

Dana caught the peevish note in Pauline's voice. There would be no
sweet-talking her partner out of a bad mood today. She finished sorting
the mail. Most of it was bills or invoices. She left those for Jilly to
take care of. She kept advertisements, catalogs and a 11
five-by-seven-inch envelope addressed to her in care of Star Systems
Data Storage. There was no sender's name, but the Garland address was
vaguely familiar. The envelope had Urgent and Personal printed all over
it.

"I haven't had a vacation in eight years." Pauline cast a glare at her
postcard before tucking it into her jacket pocket. She used both hands
to brush back her fiery red curls.

"The way things are going around here, maybe I never will."

"Jilly, hold my calls. Step into my office, Pau- line."

The telephone rang and Jilly scooted around the desk to answer.

"Come on," Dana said to her partner.

"Let's talk." Jilly put the caller on hold.

"It's Neal Harlow."

"Take a message. Tell him I'll call him back." The secretary averted her
gaze and her cheeks darkened.

"Uh ...  he asked for Pauline," she said sullenly.

Dana's lips tightened. An attorney, Neal handled Star Systems's legal
business. For the past few months, he and Dana had been a steady couple.

That is, until over a romantic candlelight dinner at Waverley's, Neal
had proposed. Not marriage, but that they live together. Dana had been
trying to decide if she loved the handsome young attorney. His
proposition, along with his admission about being uncertain if he were
ready for a major commitment--meaning she could provide sex and laundry
service until he figured it out--had decided her.

He hadn't spoken to her since.

"Tell him I'll call him back," Pauline said. Without looking at Dana,
she swept into the office.

Pretending not to see Jilly's apologetic face, Dana entered the office
and closed the door.

"What is it this time?" she asked wearily.

In the past few months Pauline's temperament had undergone a shift from
hot-tempered to plain old bad tempered Hardly a day passed when Pauline
didn't pick a fight with Dana or one of the employees. Dana sensed her
friend was under some kind of stress, but Pauline refused to talk about
it.

Maybe it was time to call it quits. Time to move on to something else.
Her father had semiretired, and his hints concerning her taking over
Benson Realty were growing broader.

Selling real estate might be a nice change of pace.

And she suspected Pauline wouldn't argue too hard about Dana leaving.

The redhead paced, her petite body fairly quivering as she gestured
wildly.

"It's Wainwright. You cannot give them that kind of price break!" she
cried.

"Are you crazy?" She flung the memo onto Dana's desk.

Dana flopped onto her chair. She managed to keep a mild expression on
her face, but inside her stomach churned and her diaphragm tightened.
She used a letter opener to slit the envelope marked Urgent and
Personal.

"The price break is only an introductory offer."

"You're talking thirty percent. We can't afford it." Pauline paused
beside a small, framed Moseby Harrison sketch. Dana could almost see her
inner calculator totting the price.

"Our overhead is way too high."

"Wainwright Shipping is the biggest trucking outfit in the state of
Texas.

Once we get their business, we'll keep it. It isn't as if they'll store
some of their data here and some of it elsewhere. We need their account,
even if it means cutting our profit initially. It's good business, if
for nothing else than the number of referrals and the word of mouth
we'll get. We can't be short-sighted for the sake of a few quick bucks."

Pauline whirled.

"Yeah, yeah, we have to do something, even if it's wrong. No guts, no
glory.

Always the big picture." She looked ready to spit.

"Spare me! I am not in the mood for your rosy optimism and pep talks. We
can't afford it and that's that."

"We can't afford to lose Wainwright. I understand your concerns, but
we're doing okay. Really."

"That's easy for you to say. If we go bankrupt, you've always got daddy
to pick up the slack." That stung. Dana focused on the envelope.

"Unlike you, I don't have rich parents who'll keep me off the street if
Star Systems goes down the tubes."

"You're being unfair. I work just as hard as you do." It took a lot of
effort to keep the hurt out of her voice.

Pauline raked both hands through her short hair, fluffing her springy
curls.

She tugged at her jacket and fussed with a button on her blouse.

"You always sound so reasonable.

Everything makes so much sense when you say it. Then you spend, spend,
spend."

" I'm not reckless. In the past year, business has almost tripled.

We're up scaling our client list." She snatched up a story about Star
Systems she'd clipped from yesterday's newspaper. In the accompanying
photograph, she and Pauline stood together like the best of friends.

The sight of it caused a catch in her throat. Their friendship was
disintegrating, and quite possibly their business partnership, too, and
she couldn't figure out why.

"We're getting good coverage. Now, be straight with me. What's the real
problem?

Why are you so angry?"

She started to retrieve the envelope contents when it occurred to her
she did know the sender: Carl Perriman. Talk about lousy timing. Pauline
was on the warpath and Carl was sending packages. She slipped the
envelope into her desk drawer.

"Well?" she prodded gently.

Some of the fire faded from Pauline's eyes. She plopped onto a chair and
let her head fall back so she stared at the ceiling.

"Good gawd," she murmured. "I'm putting in seventy hours a week, I've
got no social life, my town house stinks, the techs have more personal
problems than a dog's got fleas, and I'm supposed to be big sister or
their mama depending on who it is."

Dana used her fingertips to smooth out the crum- pied Wainwright memo.

"We'll hire you an assistant.

Nobody expects you to be in six places at once. We'll find somebody to
pick up the slack."

"Not another employee! We can't afford it."

"We can, too. Especially if it helps you out. It won't hurt you to
delegate a little responsibility every once in a while."

"If you really want to do me a favor, get rid of Jilly."

Dana was shocked. Pauline had never particularly liked Jilly, who was
younger, cuter and adored by all the employees. Still, she'd never
indicated she had a problem with the secretary.

"She's sneaky and dishonest. I don't trust her. Always snooping around,
talking behind my back." She shook a finger at Dana.

"She and Carl Perriman had a thing going. Did you know that? For all we
know she was stealing us blind, just like he was. I think they were in
cahoots."

Discovering her bookkeeper and good friend had embezzled company funds
had been the lowest point in Dana's life. Firing Carl had been the
hardest thing she'd ever done. It had broken her heart. She had no
intention of ever going through anything like it again. "If you have a
problem with Jilly, then we'll work it out."

"I don't like her."

"I do. She's a terrific secretary, and I don't have a single complaint
about" -- A soft knock preceded the door opening and Jilly peered into
the office.

"Excuse me, Dana, there are two gentlemen here to see you."

"Not now," she said.

"Ask them if they can wait."

"They're policemen."

Jilly's round face had lost its peaches-and-cream coloring; it looked
like paste. Before Dana could question her, two men shoved their way
into the office. Dana rose and smoothed her skirt with a tug.

Pauline straightened on the chair. Her eyebrows knit into a ferocious
scowl.

One man was quite tall, but so stooped his suit jacket pleated against
his rounded shoulders. The other man was short and heavy-set. They
separated, moving to either side of the office.

The first thing Dana thought of was that something had happened to her
parents. Images of heart attacks, muggings, plane crashes or boating
accidents made her throat constrict. The policemen were so stone-faced,
her knees wobbled and she grasped the edge of the desk for support.

"May I help you?"

Not Morn and Daddy, she prayed. Dear God, don't let anything happen to
them.

"Please step around to the front of the desk, miss," the tall man said.
It sounded like an order and nothing at all what a conveyor of bad news
might say. Dana glanced at Pauline, but she looked even more confused
than Dana felt.

"Who are you? Why are you here?"

while they showed their badges, the tall man repeated his order for her
to move around the desk. The look in his eyes and the tone of his voice
gave her the idea he'd come after her if she didn't comply. She moved
around to the front of the desk. "I'm Detective Henry Callister." He
jerked a thumb at the short man.

"Detective A1 Tannenbaum. You are Miss. Dana Elaine Benson?" She barely
had time for a nod before he continued,

"Miss. Benson, I have a warrant for your arrest."

Uncertain she'd heard him correctly, she shook her head. "what?"

Pauline clapped a hand over her mouth sparkled.

"Joke, right?" she said through gets. "who are you really? Those are Let
me see those things."

"Keep your hands where I can see there" , tecfive ordered. He suddenly
thrust a ha~I line.

"You! Don't move."

All humor fled from Pauline's expression, Dana pulled her hands away
from her" ets. Nothing had happened to Mom and lief relaxed her throat.
Knowing this made some sort of mistake relieved her " Might I ask why
you're arresting me?"

"Suspicion of murder."

Chapter Two.

Detective Callister pulled a card from his pocket. "You have the fight
to remain silent" -- Incredulous, Dana stared at the police detective.
"Are you sure you have the right person? Nobody I know has died." She
looked past him to the doorway. Jilly swayed and the whites showed all
the way around her irises.

Callister made a patient sound.

"Miss. Benson, you have the fight to remain silent" -- "This is absurd.

You've obviously confused me with someone else."

The short detective moved in, handcuffs ready. At the rattle and sight
of them, Dana shut her mouth.

Oh, but no, it had to be a joke.

But the handcuffs were very real. Tannenbaum fastened them on her
wrists.

Callister read rapidly from the laminated card and asked if she
understood her rights as he had stated them. Staring at the handcuffs,
she nodded.

"Answer me, Miss. Benson."

19 "Yes! I understand." She didn't understand any of this.

"Pauline? Do you know anything about this?"

Where Dana was tall and easygoing, Pauline was five feet three inches of
pure fire. She bristled--even her hair seemed to stand on end.

"I'm fixing to find out! This is the damned stupidest thing I ever heard
in my life."

"Shut up, or I'll arrest you for interfering with a police officer."

Callister produced a tri-folded sheet of paper.

"This is a search warrant." He unfolded it and began reading aloud.

All Dana could do was listen incredulously as he explained his intention
to search the offices of Star Systems Data Storage, her automobile and
her home.

When he told her to sign the warrant, she did so. Her hand trembled so
badly her signature looked as if it were written by a child.

Glaring at the detectives, Pauline snatched a pen. "Where are you taking
her?"

Tannenbaum gave her the address of the police station at Main and Stone.
He then had the audacity to request Dana's keys. He made her sign a
receipt for them.

"Call Neal," Dana said. She made herself calm 'down. This was a mistake,
that was all.

"Neal will get this straightened out."

Pauline gestured wildly at Callister.

"Y'all aren't getting away with this. We'll sue! This is false arrest."

"One more word, miss," Callister warned evenly. Pauline spun on her foot
and nearly knocked into a uniformed police officer. She cried,

"Oh! I'll sue the pants off every one of you!" She stomped out.

Dana allowed herself to be led out of the office by a pair of uniformed
officers. The three of them rode the elevator down to the lobby.

When the elevator doors swished open, Dana balked. People were staring.

Dana had at least a passing acquaintance with most of the tenants.

Unfortunately, few knew her well enough to realize this was all an
unfortunate mistake. Trying to hide the handcuffs under her jacket and
lowering her face so her hair swung over her cheeks, she crossed the
lobby.

A light flashed and she jerked her head up. A man aimed a camera at her
face and took another picture. The police officers ordered the reporter
out of the way.

Only when they reached the patrol car did Callister's words truly sink
in.

Murder. Dana Benson, also known as Princess to her parents, was being
arrested for murder.

It had to be a joke.

The punch line failed to materialize as she rode in the hack of the
patrol car. Nor was there anything funny at the police station. There,
an officer took her fingerprints, a photographer took mug shots, another
officer took down her vital statistics, and another took away her silk
scarf, handbag, jewelry and watch.

She kept glancing at doorways. At any moment now, Neal Harlow would come
charging to the rescue.

"You can make a phone call, Miss. Benson," the booking officer said.

She indicated a telephone on the desk.

21 Dana called the office, and when Jilly answered, she said,

"Neal isn't here. Where's Pauline? Did she reach- ' " Dana!" Pauline
said breathlessly into the telephone.

"I talked to Neal. He said he doesn't handle criminal cases"

"Criminal?" Dana blinked rapidly. This was a mistake, not a criminal
matter. "where is he?"

"I'm trying to explain. Neal doesn't handle criminal cases. So he's
calling another attorney. He'll be there as soon as he can. Hang in
there, kid." Her harsh, bitter laugh rasped through the phone lines.

"Those sons of bitches are going through the classified storage area!

Good gawd almighty! I'm about fixing to do some murdering myself."

Neal wasn't coming? Had she hurt him so badly he'd actually abandon her?

Pauline promised she'd move heaven and earth to make sure Dana was free
within the hour. She also swore those blasted cops would be eating their
words and nasty attitudes for dinner.

The police officer made her sit on a bench and shackled her left wrist
to the armrest. Dana stared at the handcuffs, unable to believe Neal had
refused to come to her aid.

Fine, their breakup hadn't been exactly congenial, but he was still her
attorney. Professionally he was bound to help her.

Police officers walked past her. A few stared openly at the length of
leg exposed by her skirt. A man wearing handcuffs, being led down the
hall by a policeman, leered at her.

"Hey, blondie," he said, "don't know what you did, but please do it to
me." Even the policeman laughed.

Face flaming, she slumped on the bench. She glared at the ink staining
her fingernails but doubted the police would have the decency to allow
her to wash her hands properly.

A police officer finally unlocked the handcuff from the bench. Dana
glanced at a wall clock, noting she'd been sitting on the hard bench for
more than an hour. It was about time they got this mess straightened
out.

Instead, the officer led Dana down a hall. Callister waited for her in a
small, bare room without windows. The unshielded lights overhead gave
everything a greenish glow. Dana warily eyed the other women in the
room.

All of them were tall like her; all were blondes.

Dana tugged at her linen suit jacket.

Callister removed her handcuffs and gave her a small rubber band. He
told her to tie back her hair.

"Not with this," she said.

"It'll break my hair."

"Tie it back. Now."

She put her hair in a loose ponytail. He handed her a white card marked
with a number three.

"This is a lineup, Miss. Benson." Callister pointed. "You will proceed
in order through that door. Find the number three on the floor and stand
on it, facing front. Hold up your numbered card and follow directions."

She opened her mouth to argue, but his hard eyes, dark and probing as a
predatory bird's, stopped her.

She feared she might get sick. Swallowing the unpleasant watering in her
mouth, she followed numbers one and two through a door.

23 The lineup room was narrow with a glass wall. She had to climb two
stair risers to reach a platform. Behind the platform the wall was
marked with heavy black lines showing inches and feet in bold numerals.

She found the number three and stood on it and held her card at chest
level.

Sweat trickled into her eyes. A disembodied voice ordered all of them to
face left. Shoes scuffled on the wooden platform. The voice ordered them
to turn around so they faced the door. Then again it told them to face
the front.

Were the other women under arrest, too? The idea of being in the company
of criminals made Dana's flesh crawl.

"Number three, take two steps forward."

The voice repeated the command twice before Dana realized he meant her.
She stepped forward. She tried to see past the glass, but the room
behind it was darkened and the bright lights shining on her face made it
impossible to see anything. She could feel watching eyes.

"Step back, number three."

After going through the right-face, left-face, step- forward and
step-back routine several times, the voice dismissed them. They filed
out of the room.

Several of the women smiled and joked with the female police officer.
One held out her hands and was handcuffed. Dana hoped she could now
leave.

Surely they must realize their mistake by now.

Instead, she was handcuffed again and led to another room. This one was
about eight feet wide and ten feet deep, containing a sturdy metal table
and several chairs. One of the industrial gray walls had a mirrored
glass window she suspected allowed whomever was on the other side to
observe her. The tile floor was gouged and stained, suspiciously yellow
in spots.

Her nose wrinkled at the sweaty stink underlying the stench of
disinfectant.

Without her watch, she didn't know how long she waited. She sat for a
while.

She paced, but the dirty walls intimidated her. The handcuff chain
rattled, getting on her nerves. The door had a tiny glass insert, but
the only thing she could see was the wall on the opposite side of the
hall. Chilled by the idea of someone watching her, she avoided looking
in the mirrored glass.

Finally the door opened. Even Callister's grim, narrow face was a
welcome sight.

His partner, Tannenbaum, placed a cassette recorder on the table. He
tested it before he perched on the table beside it. Callister drew up a
chair and sat on it backward. He placed a sheet of printed paper on the
table along with a yellow legal pad and several pens. She could hear her
own heartbeat pulsing in her ears.

"You're in a lot of trouble, Dana." Callister's voice was flat and
toneless.

"Let's talk about it."

Tears scratched her eyes. But darn it, they were not going to make her
cry.

She lifted her chin.

"I have told you, you've made a mistake. There's nothing to talk about."

Callister turned the sheet of printed paper and pointed to the first
line.

He urged her to pick up a pen.

25 "Let's go through your rights again. Do you read English, Dana?"

"Of course I read English. I have a degree in business administration."

Tannenbaum cracked a smile. He seemed a lot friendlier than his partner.
At least, he didn't look at her as if she were public enemy number one.
As Callister read each right, he asked her to initial the line. When he
finished, he asked her to sign the paper.

"Now, you understand fully your rights as I've explained them to you.
So" -- "I want an attorney." She wanted to cross her arms, but the
handcuffs prevented her. She crossed her legs, instead.

"I want him right now. I will not say another word until he gets here.

Since you won't listen to me, then he can straighten this out." Ca!
lister rasped a hand over his jaw.

"That might take a while."

She interpreted that to mean a long while.

"You have humiliated me in front of my entire office. I will not be
bullied further. I want my attorney." She braced for anger.

Instead, Tannenbaum slipped off the table. He unplugged the tape
recorder and coiled the cord. Callister gathered the legal pad, rights
statement and pens. Astonished to have won a round, Dana almost smiled.

"We just want to hear your side of it. That's all." Tannenbaum graced
her with a sheepish smile.

"But, we understand. No hard feelings."

"My side of what?"

"Your side of the story, Dana."

"I don't have a side of the story. I don't know what you're talking
about."

Tannenbaum blinked innocently at his partner. "You don't think we've
made a mistake, Henry. Do you?"

"She's just being stubborn." He spoke over the top of her head.

"Maybe she don't know how stubborn we are." ' Dana stood. She was taller
than Tannenbaum, so she leaned on the table to meet him at eye level.

"How many times do I have to tell you, this is a mistake. I haven't
killed anybody. Ever. Ask anyone."

"I want to ask you." Tannenbaum had a soft voice, his accent as warm and
thick as home-baked bread.

Under other circumstances she might think it was a nice voice.

"But we've got lots of time. The dead guy's not going anywhere."

She flinched.

Ca! lister flipped a hand.

"Let's grab some lunch. We got a lot of other stuff to do."

"Isn't my attorney here yet?"

Tannenbaum shrugged.

"I haven't seen him. What about you, Henry? Ah, you know how those guys
are.

Time is money in their pockets. They always take forever to get around
to anything. Don't worry, he'll be here in a couple of hours. Tomorrow
morning at latest."

Her knees wobbled and she had to sit down again. "I can't stay here all
night."

Tannenbaum put the tape recorder on the table. "Hey, with a lawyer,
without a lawyer, you're going 27 to talk to us, fight? I mean, how can
we clear up this mistake if you don't tell us what happened?"

"But nothing happened."

"So what's the harm in telling us about it?" He had a point there.

She shifted uneasily on the chair. She wasn't guilty, so she didn't
actually need an attorney.

She wondered if her insistence on an attorney made them think she was
guilty.

A knock on the door made both detectives turn around. Callister beckoned
to his partner. Tannenbaum gathered all the pens but left the legal pad
and tape recorder on the table. The men left her alone.

Enough time passed for her to start sweating. She caught herself
watching the bare fluorescent bulbs and wondering what would happen if
the building lost power and the lights went out. Claustrophobia sneaked
its way into her chest and belly. The door opened and large brown
fingers curled around the edge.

"I won't tolerate your Gestapo tactics, Callister." A man pushed the
door open.

Dana cringed. Tannenbaum with his soft voice and false friendliness was
bad, humorless Callister was worse, but this man went beyond the realm
of awful.

He was as tall as Callister, but where the policeman looked as if the
weight of the world crushed his shoulders, this man looked capable of
hoisting the world and playing ball with it.

She'd made them angry and now they were sending in the big guns.

He swung his head around to face her. Beard stubble shadowed his jaw and
dark hair spilled over a glower Lag brow. Eyes, the color and warmth of
ice, speared her, pinning her to the metal chair.

"Are you Dana Benson?"

She nodded and sank lower on the chair. "Did you waive your right to
have an attorney present during question Lag He emanated the menacing
power of a caged tiger.

Oh, no, she thought frantically. Please, dear God, do not leave me alone
in this room with this man.

"No," she squeaked.

"Sir. I want my attorney." He yelled over his shoulder.

"I'll have you up on charges, Callister. Now, get the hell out of here."
He walked inside and slammed the door. He tossed a briefcase onto the
table.

It clattered and she nearly fell off the chair.

"Did you give them a statement? Sign anything? Did they tape-record
anything you said?"

She shook her head, then remembered the statement she'd signed and
nodded.

Except, that was only a statement of her rights, so she shook her head
again.

He rumbled a noise thick with disgust. He slapped the table and made it
jump. He made Dana jump. "Rule number one, from now on you don't say
anything unless I'm in the room with you and tell you to speak. And you
don't sign anything. Got it?"

That seemed like a very odd thing for a police officer to say.

"Who am you?"

He thrust out a hand that was twice the size of hers, burned to mahogany
by the sun and toughened with calluses.

"Kurt Saxon. I'm your attorney." Dana struggled to find her composure
and make sense of this new development. She refused to believe this
rough, uncouth. creature was an attorney. Attorneys wore tailored suits
and polished shoes; this man's suit jacket looked slept in, not to
mention his wearing it over a T-shirt, a rumpled dress shirt and a pair
of jeans streaked with reddish mud. And he wore athletic shoes!

"Where's Neal Harlow? He's my attorney."

"Neal is a corporate suit. I handle criminal defense.

You don't like me, fine. We'll get you out on bail, then you can find
somebody you do like." He opened the briefcase. Only one latch worked.

The other looked as if it had been torn off in a fit of fury.

He swept the tape recorder aside and plopped a legal pad onto the table.
He scrounged through his pockets for a pen. He seribbled on the pad, but
the pen didn't work.

He tossed it on the table and found another pen.

Without looking at her, he said,

"Full name, address, the usual."

He sounded like a drill sergeant. Her mouth fell open. She stared at the
mirrored window, praying someone was watching in case she needed
protection from this dangerous-looking man.

"Full name? Any aliases?"

She gave a start.

"Uh, Dana Elaine Benson. And I do not have an alias. You want my
address?"

Still not looking at her, he nodded. She gave him her home and business
addresses. He fired more questions at her. Age. Birth date. Social
security number. Place of business.

Did she own or rent. What about family in the area. Arrest record. As
she answered his questions, her resentment swelled. He acted worse than
the police. At least they'd been polite.

Kurt glanced at his watch.

"It'll be about four hours before I can get you in front of the
magistrate." He huffed a dry, laugh "At least it gives us time to talk.
Tell me about the shooting. Who is he to you?" He finally looked at her.

She met his inquisitive gray eyes. She hadn't understood a single word
he'd said, and furthermore, she didn't want to. Neal had done this to
her. He'd sent this blustering oaf to teach her a lesson.

"Talk to me, Dana. Even if you get another attorney, client-attorney
privilege holds. I need to know everything."

Her stomach churned.

"I need to visit the ladies' room."

He went to the door and tore it open. His harsh actions made her cringe.
He possessed all the finesse of a professional wrestler.

"My client needs to hit the head," he announced loudly.

Dana jumped to her feet.

"Mr. Saxon! I will not have you bellowing about my private matters."

He looked over his shoulder.

"This isn't luncheon at the country club. It's a police station. You
nell to go, do it."

Nobody spoke to her in that tone of voice. She raked him from head to
toe with a contemptuous glare.

"I am," she said coolly, "well aware this is not a country dub. And I
will thank you to be aware that as my attorney, for however short a
period that may be, you are in my employ. You will show me a little
respect."

She stalked out of the interrogation room, and a waiting police officer
took her arm.

Chapter Three.

Kurt waited until the door closed before he let a low, admiring whistle
escape. He hadn't seen a class act like that since Princess Grace of
Monaco had passed away. Dana Benson reminded him physically of the
actress turned-princess, as well. Tall, slim and icy blond, she
possessed a cool elegance many tried, but usually failed, to achieve. He
shook himself and returned to the table. Too bad she had a first-degree
murder charge hanging over her head.

When she returned, her eyes were red and swollen, but she glided into
the room like a queen ascending her throne. He bounced a foot on his
knee and played a tattoo with his fingers on the tabletop. Her gelid
gaze skimmed over his athletic shoe. Her disapproval shone through loud
and clear. What did she expect? Neal had reached him in the middle of
playing catcher in a softball game, and he hadn't wasted time with a
shower and a fresh change of clothes.

The policewoman moved to put the cuffs back on Dana's wrists.

Kurt waved a hand.

"Beat it with those, Patty."

Patty grinned.

"You don't scare me, Saxon."

"That's 'cause you're too dumb to know I'm dangerous, babe. Leave the
cuffs off. The lady isn't going anywhere."

Kurt waited until Patty left them alone and Dana sat down.

"Let's go to work."

Gazing distantly, she lifted a shoulder. She made a soft snuffling
sound.

Kurt fished around inside his jacket and pulled out a large white
handkerchief. He handed it over.

Her full lips pulled into a faint grimace, but she took the
handkerchief.

He poised his pen over the page.

"What happened?"

She drew a deep, s~eadying breath and dabbed at her eyes with the
handkerchief.

"Well, I was in the middle of a conference with Pauline when those
detectives invaded my office.

They put handcuffs on me.

Then they made me go downstairs with two police of- ricers. I had to
walk through the lobby"--" Dana."

"What?"

"I'm not talking about today. I'm talking about Tuesday night. Tell me
what happened."

"Nothing happened." A frown caused faint creases in her smooth forehead.

"I was at home."

"You worked on Tuesday, right? What time did you go home?" He watched
her closely. His clients lied to him, constantly and without fail. Some
lied for self- protection, some lied because they were incapable of
telling the truth, and some lied for the fun of it. Experience had
taught him to listen and observe so he could winnow through the lies and
find enough truth 33 to help him in court. Yet, as he studied her fine
features, large blue eyes and erect posture, a suspicion began to grow
that he wouldn't hear any lies from this woman. He chewed over the
novelty.

"I left work a little early. I suppose I got home around six."

Despite the edge of tear-induced roughness, her voice was dulcet toned,
even musical. In it he heard confusion, indignation and fear, but not a
trace of evasiveness.

"You live with anyone?"

"No."

"Did you have company? Talk to anyone on the telephone? Chat with a
neighbor?"

"I called my mother."

"what time did you call her?"

"I don't know. Seven-thirty?"

"How long did you talk?"

"I don't know." She pressed the handkerchief to her closed eyelids.

"Not very long. My parents are vacationing in Hawaii and Mom was worried
about the long-distance charges. Five minutes, perhaps, no longer than
that."

Long distance calls he could confirm.

"What about between nine-thirty and ten o'clock?"

She looked up at him.

"I was in bed by then."

"Alone?"

"Yes, alone. Mr. Saxon, I did not kill anybody. I don't know why I'm
here."

He heaved a heavy breath and tapped the pen on the table. Not much
confused him, but this woman sure did.

"Dana," he said, watching her eyes, "six witnesses picked you out of the
lineup. Each one of them swears they saw you kill Eddie Gordon in the
parking lot of O'Dooley's Bar and Grill."

Her eyebrows reached heavenward.

Dana Benson blew him away. Her bewilderment was genuine--he'd stake his
life on it.

More from curiosity than for any good reason, he shifted into a frontal
assault.

"One thing you got to learn fast is never lie to your attorney." He
leaned forward, thrusting his jaw and scowling.

"You want to confess you assassinated Kennedy, I won't blink. But you
lie to me and I'm out of here."

Those big eyes got bigger and glittered with sapphire fury.

"I never lie," she said, low and hateful.

He tapped the pen and his jaw worked, the muscles tightening in his
cheeks.

She was giving him "the look." Straight on, frosty, one eyebrow slightly
raised, the other slightly lowered. A look telling him in no uncertain
terms to go straight to hell, no detours. Only one look in a million
could say so much without saying a word.

Thunderstruck, enchanted, he felt his heart rate speed to match the
tempo of his tapping pen.

She pushed strands of moon-silver hair from her cheeks.

"Obviously those witnesses are wrong. Do I look like the kind of person
who would patronize a bar and grill?"

He dropped his foot to the floor and leaned over, giving her a long,
pleasurable once-over, starting with her kidskin pumps. Her
stocking-clad legs were long, slim and shapely, and the rest of her,
attired in a light blue linen suit, was just as sweet.

35 He turned on the chair and jotted down a few notes. "Guess not. Sissy
little juice bars are more your style."

Hot color rose in her cheeks.

"I don't have to put up with this from you. I'd rather talk to
Callister."

He repressed a smile.

"You want somebody to take you to high tea, call Neal. But you're in a
hell of a lot of trouble, and if you want out of it, you need me, lady."

"You're a bully."

"That's right."

"And you're rude."

"Give the lady a cigar."

She rubbed her eyes with the handkerchief. Tiny flakes of mascara
drifted to her cheeks.

"This is the stupidest situation I've ever been in, and you're not
helping matters any."

"This isn't stupid, it's dead-on serious. So let's get to work."

First order of business, find an alibi. Taking copious notes, he had her
go over everything she'd done on Tuesday night. Had she watched
television?

No. Why did she go to bed so early? She was tired. Could any of her
neighbors vouch she'd been at home? She doubted it. She'd only moved
into her home two months ago and didn't know her neighbors well.
Besides, she lived at the end of a cul-de-sac and her house was very
private.

Thoroughly disgusted, he scratched the back of his head and stared at
his notes.

"I can't believe you went to bed alone."

"That is not relevant."

Hearing how his comment had sounded, he lifted his shoulders.

But he still couldn't believe it. The way he heard it, she and Neal
Harlow were a hot item. Harlow must be a lot dopier than he looked if he
let a beautiful woman like Dana sleep alone.

No matter how he looked at it, he couldn't see the possibility of an
alibi.

Six eyewitnesses were willing to state in court, under oath, they'd seen
her kill a man. Could she be a psychopath? Insane? He sensed no mental
instability. Besides, he trusted his instincts, and they said she was as
innocent as a newborn kitten.

"Okay, I'm going to do something I don't usually do, but these are
desperate times. I'll allow Callister and Tannenbaum to interview you."

Her eyelids lowered and she turned her head, looking as if she'd rather
have a truck run over her feet.

"You answer their questions," Kurt instructed her. "No elaboration.

We want more information from them than they'll get from you. So if I
tell you to shut you, you shut up. No arguments."

"It is not necessary for you to bark at me, Mr. Saxon." She rubbed her
temples with her fingertips.

"I don't bark."

"Your tone of voice is completely unacceptable. I am neither stupid nor
deaf."

Her cool formality made him feel light inside. He could listen to her
voice for a hundred years and never tire of it~ "Look, lady" -- "Don't
call me lady, either."

"You're cranky." He nodded.

"I understand." She yelled,

"I am not cranky!"

37 Yeah, and he bet she never lost her temper, either. "First let's get
you something to eat. Sounds like you got a truck crawling around inside
you." He slammed the briefcase shut.

"It'll improve your attitude."

"My attitude? Your attitude is inexcusable. You came sweeping in here
like some kind of dictator and, yes, you do too bark, Mr. Saxon! Talk,
don't talk, shut up, sit down!

Nobody talks to me like that. Nobody!"

She clamped her arms over her chest.

"And my bodily functions are of no concern to you, and if you had an
ounce of decency you wouldn't mention them She was giving him " the
look" again, in spades. Calling her beautiful was like saying the
ceiling in the Sistine Chapel was a nice piece of wall art. He wondered
exactly how tight she and Neal were. Since Neal hadn't made an
appearance, how close could they be?

Mulling over the possibilities, he went to the door.

"You want a burger?"

She stared at a watery blotch on the wall.

"Fine." When he opened the door, she asked,

"Do you believe me, Mr. Saxon?"

"I wouldn't be stupid enough to let you talk to the cops if I thought
you were lying." He walked out of the room, wondering if, after he got
her out on bail, she'd go out to dinner with him.

WHY Ktj~T'S ~C~HANRMD admission of belief filled Dana with something
akin to elation, she couldn't imagine. He was an awfui man, rude,
slovenly and unsympathetic. She disliked him intensely, and as soon as
she made bail she'd most certainly take his advice and find another
attorney. Not an attorney of Neal's choice, either.

Still, for now, knowing at least one person was on her side elevated her
mood one hundred percent.

Kurt returned in a short time. He handed over a paper fast-food bag and
a large soda. The hamburger was greasy, tasteless and salty; the french
fries were limp. She devoured them, anyway. Kurt wrote on his pad, his
concentration so intense she doubted if he knew she was in the room.

He directed her to sit at the end of the table. When Callister and
Tannenbaum entered the room, Kurt placed his chair next to Dana's. It
occurred to her that he positioned himself in such a way as to
physically protect her. Ridiculous. Knight in shining armor he most
definitely was not. His style was better befitting a barbarian at the
gate.

Callister took her through the formalities again, having both her and
Kurt sign a statement saying she'd agreed to this interview on the
advice of counsel and that anything she said could be used against her
in a court of law. The detective spoke into the tape recorder, stating
the date and time, and he asked Dana to acknowledge her awareness about
the interview being taped. She did so.

"All right." Callister sat on the table and folded his arms.

"Tell us about Tuesday night."

Was that a question? She looked to Kurt. He lowered his eyelids slowly,
telling her to go ahead. So she told them exactly what she'd told Kurt.

It didn't take a genius to know neither detective believed a word. It
appalled her, and made her more 39 than a little angry. No one had ever
doubted her word before.

"I think you're failing to grasp the situation," Tannenbaum said mildly.

"We know you were at O'Dooley's on Tuesday night. The bartender
remembers you. People in the parking lot remember you. A couple of
waitresses fooling around with a video camera took a movie of you."

Her mouth dropped open.

Kurt held up a hand.

"Call her a liar again and this interview is over."

Tannenbaum locked gazes with Kurt. The attorney didn't make a sound; his
icy glare spoke for him. The detective looked away first.

Kurt's control of the situation struck a chord of response deep within
Dana.

He believed in her, and because he did, he'd fight--figuratively--to the
death on her behalf.

Callister's hostility didn't cow him. Tannenbaum's deceptively soft
demeanor and the bulldog determination in his eyes didn't make him
falter.

If Kurt could stand up to them, she certainly could. She sat taller on
the chair.

Callister placed an eight-by-ten color photograph in front of Dana.

"Okay, then let's talk about Gordon."

Dana studied the photograph of a man. It showed his shoulders and head,
but he didn't look quite real.

His skin was waxy and gray; his half-closed eyes were dull, sunken into
the sockets. Something pinkish stained the corners of his mouth. A soft
drink perhaps, or. blood.

He was dead! She gasped and clapped a hand over her mouth.

Kurt flipped over the photograph and shoved it across the table.

"This is an interview, not show-and tell No pictures."

"Who is he to you, Dana?" Callister rested his lanky weight on both
hands planted flat on the tabletop.

"Is he your dope dealer?"

"I've never seen him before."

"Then why did you shoot him?"

The laughter came from nowhere, bubbling up inside. Attempts to repress
it gave her a stomachache.

Finally she turned on the chair. Bent so her chin nearly touched her
knee, she swallowed the paroxysms of hysteria. If she laughed, they'd
lock her up for certain.

"Hey," Callister said, "no puking in here."

"I'm  ...  not  ...  sick," she choked out, gaining some control. She
wiped her eyes with the handkerchief. "Mr. Callister, if you possessed
even a modicum of common sense you would realize that is the stupidest
thing anyone has ever said to me. Shoot somebody?

Me? You are out of your mind."

Kurt made a strangled noise into his fist. His eyes sparkled. His
approval touched her and put steel in her spine.

"How do you account for all the people who saw you?"

"Either they're lying or they're sorely mistaken. I've never even been
to that O'Dooley place."

41 Tannenbaum produced a small sheet of paper enclosed in a waxy,
transparent sleeve. He laid it in front of her.

"Ever seen this before?"

She studied the paper for several seconds before she realized it was a
page from her desk calendar. In her handwriting were the words
O'Dooley's, Brewer Street, 9:00.

All sense of triumph fled.

"That woman!" Full of apology, she gave Kurta helpless look.

"I forgot. A woman asked to meet me at O'Dooley's." Kurt half turned on
the chair to face her.

"Who is she?"

"I don't know." She racked her memory.

"Sometime Monday, I don't know when exactly, she called me at work. My
assistant will know. She took the call initially."

"Got a name?" Callister asked.

"She wouldn't give me a name. I didn't go to O'Dooley's."

"Uh-huh." Callister was openly skeptical. "It's true! She did call me
and she did ask to meet me at the bar. I don't know who she is or why
she called. Maybe she looks like me. And--and there was a big story in
the paper yesterday. My picture was in there. People must have seen it
and confused us."

"You've got an evil twin. Sure. Let's go over it again. What is your
relationship to Eddie Gordon" -- Kurt's chair scraped the tile and he
stood.

"That's it. Interview over. Miss. Benson, don't say another word."

"Now, hold on a minute, Saxon." Tannenbaum held up a placating hand.

"Let's not be hasty."

"I want the names of those witnesses and a copy of the videotape."

Callister's dour face turned thunderous.

"File a motion, counselor."

Kurt snarled a string of scatological verbiage that made Dana sink lower
in the chair. Callister replied in kind, moving in until he was nearly
nose-to-nose with the attorney.

He and Kurt were the same height, but Kurt out-bulked him, and, to
Dana's mortified fascination, his vocabulary was far more colorful than
the detective's. In spite of herself, she was impressed. Callister
stalked out of the room. He slammed the door.

"I got that on tape, Saxon." Tannenbaum patted the recorder. His hound
dog eyes filled with sorrowful reproach.

"Get this, too. I told you not to call her a liar and you did, so you
blew the interview."

Once again alone with Kurt, Dana buried her face in her hands and rocked
on the chair.

"This is awful!

Why did you do that? You made them so angry. I'll never get out of
here."

"It went great. They can't shake you and they know it." He piled papers
into the briefcase.

"What do you remember about that woman?"

That was his idea of going great? She supposed he considered tornadoes
mere breezes.

"There's nothing to remember. She called. I forgot about it. It was a
very short conversation. Did the interview really go well?"

"Better than that. They need a confession. It tells me the physical
evidence is weak."

"I don't understand. All those witnesses ..."

"Let me worry about the witnesses. You worry about the woman who called.

Think about it. Try to remember details."

I'll try. Can I go home now?"

He checked his watch.

"In a bit. You have to go before the judge." He patted his briefcase.

"Bail will be no SWEAT."

Hugging her elbows, she shivered. The strange phone call from the
strange woman acquired a sinister cast. What might have happened if
she'd taken the request seriously and actually gone to O'Dooley's?

"I swear I did not kill anybody. I've never been to O'Dooley's, and I
can't imagine why everyone is saying I was there."

"It's mistaken identity. It happens more often than anybody likes to
admit.

Lawyers know it." He raked hair off his forehead.

"Unfortunately, juries love eyewitnesses.

We're talking high drama." He drew back his shoulders and pointed at his
reflection in the mirror.

"" That's him!" Just like they see on television.

What a load of crap."

After the masterful way he'd handled the detectives, she regarded his
theatrics in a more forgiving light. He might be rude and crude, but he
certainly seemed to know how to get what he wanted.

"Memory is a screwball thing. You say your picture was in the paper?"

"Yesterday. The Morning News business section."

"Good likeness?"

She'd liked the photograph, but was a poor judge of how much it
resembled her.

"I suppose so."

He smiled. Not a big smile nor a particularly happy smile.

It softened his eyes, though, and made Dana concede, grudgingly, that
perhaps he wasn't totally hideous. He had large, even features and a
muscular jaw.

His hair was overdue for a trimming, but it was thick and a dark, rich
brown.

His pale eyes were lively and quick, compelling in their contrast with
his dark suntan. If he weren't so rough looking, she supposed some might
call him passably not bad looking. "Our biggest problem right now is
finding out who the prosecutor is and what he's going to charge you
with."

"I thought they said murder."

He picked up the photograph of the victim. Holding it so she couldn't
see, he studied it.

"Scuttlebutt says first-degree, but I don't believe it. We'll prepare
for the worst, though. Are you sure you have no idea who this guy is?"

She lowered her eyelids, praying he wouldn't make her look at that awful
picture again.

"I've never seen him before."

"Whatever. Right now, I have to run down some information. Can Neal get
into your bank accounts for the bail?"

"Pauline can. She's my business partner." The door opened and Patty
poked her head inside.

"I need to take your client, Saxon." She dangled a pair of handcuffs.

Dana closed her eyes and braced herself for the cold humiliation of the
iron bracelets on her wrists. A heavy hand on her shoulder made her open
her eyes.

45 Kurt smiled, reassuring and strong. He gave her shoulder a squeeze.

"You've got guts you don't know about. You'll be all right."

Crudely put, but it served to remind her that she was a fighter. The
police and those witnesses were lying about her. Lies were the one thing
she could not, would not, tolerate.

"We'll beat this, Dana."

She lifted her head higher. This was unjust. She knew it. Kurt Saxon
knew it. By the time this was over, the police would know it, too. The
handcuffs no longer embarrassed her.

"Yes, Mr. Saxon, we most certainly will."

Chapter Four.

"We've got problems," Kurt said.

Dana clutched her purse to her breast as she followed the attorney out
of the police station.

"We don't have problems. They turned me loose. And I thank you from the
depths of my heart."

' "For now."

"You'd rather I went to jail?"

When they reached the doors, he instructed her to tie her scarf over her
hair. He slipped a pair of dark sunglasses on her face.

She pushed 'his hands away.

"The sun is almost down. Why?"

"Reporters. Most of them are probably waiting over at the courthouse to
see what kind of bail you get, but some wise guy always hears about a
release before everyone else."

He had to be kidding. She searched his face. He wasn't kidding. She
hadn't thought about the press or what might happen when her name hit
the newspapers. What would her friends think? Or worse, what about her
clients, who trusted Star Systems to store 47 their valuable computer
data based upon her reputation for security, honesty and
confidentiality? It finally came home to her that walking out these
doors didn't mean her nightmare was ending, but that it had barely
begun.

She tied the silk scarf over her hair.

"Why me? I didn't do anything.

The police let me go. They know I didn't do it."

"We Texans love a good scandal," he drawled with a grin. Wrapping a
brawny arm around her shoulders, he straight-armed through the double
doors. A man with a camera yelled,

"Here she is!"

Down the street, a dark-haired woman broke into a jog. The camera light
flared, momentarily blinding Dana despite the dark glasses. Keeping a
tight grip on her shoulders, Kurt raised his other arm in an
unmistakable threat.

The camera man yelped and scurried backward.

Kurt hustled her to a car. Dana had only seconds to absorb the sight of
a boat-sized black Lincoln Continental before Kurt all but shoved her
inside.

The dark-haired woman caught up to them. For a moment she bent at the
waist, gulping in air.

"I'm Trudy" -- Kurt turned on the reporter.

"No comments, no in- tel'view's ."

"Is it true the police dropped the arrest warrant? Does that mean your
client has been cleared as a suspect?"

Dana watched in awe as the petite reporter clung to Kurt's heels like a
yappy little dog, shouting quesder normal circumstances, Kurt's fast
driving and weaving in and out of traffic would panic her. At the moment
she was too tired to care. All she wanted to do was go home.

"Problem number one is the lineup. Six witnesses, no hesitations, no
maybes."

"That's not possible," she murmured. Knowing six strangers were lying
about her shook her to the core.

She noticed her reflection in the window glass. The very idea of a
murderer, wearing her face, running around loose in Dallas, was beyond
comprehension.

So why were all those people lying about her?

"Can we talk to the witnesses? If they see me face-to-face, they'll
realize their mistake."

"Callister and Tannenbaum are a bigger concern. They're good cops,
cautious.

They picked you up because of the witnesses, put you through the lineup,
got their ID. Then they let you go. I know they executed a search
warrant, so that tells us they didn't find anything. No weapon, no dope,
no connection to Eddie Gordon" -- "Wait a minute! Dope? Do you mean
drugs?"

"Eddie Gordon was a two-bit dealer. A hustler with a long string of
arrests. So the cops think you're slumming. Picking up a little
nose-candy, and the deal went sour so you shot your dealer. Fact of
life, prosecutors love well-to-do hoity-toity types who dabble their
toes in scummy water. These kind of cases are great for political
careers and scoring points. They'll be after you in the worst kind of
way."

"None of this is making any sense."

51 "A lot of things don't make sense. That's why we're going to make an
aggressive defense. No sitting around waiting to see if they make
another arrest. Because trust me, if they arrest you again, they will
make it stick."

"You are scaring me." She sank lower in the seat. She didn't want to
hear this. She didn't even like action-adventure movies or cop shows on
television. "Relax, you got me." He gunned the engine, and the big car
shot in front of a semitrailer.

"I sure would like to get my hands on that videotape."

She sagged even lower.

"I forgot about that."

"Don't sweat it." He laughed.

"It can't be any good. The film was shot at night, outdoors. The quality
has to be poor. I'm thinking the murderer might have your coloring.

Similar, but not exact. Then your picture shows up in the paper the day
after the shooting. Very convenient. One guy sees the picture, it's
pretty close, so he talks to the other witnesses and they all say, yeah,
that's her.

I'll bet they mentioned the video as a scare tactic, trying to pressure
you."

"Then you're saying this isn't hopeless?"

He dropped his hand atop hers and squeezed her fingers.

"Hey, we have problems, babe, but nothing 'is ever hopeless. Not with me
around."

She pulled her hand away from his.

"Please do not call me babe, Mr. Saxon."

She glumly watched the heavy traffic. The streetlights flashed pinkish
gold across the side window.

Usually she adored the city at night with its art deco skyline and
vibrancy.

Now the traffic noise worsened her headache, and the constant activity
made her all the more anxious to reach the peace and quiet of home.

After a mile or so, Kurt said; "You am one:"

"One what?" Something about his grin made her regret responding. He was
about ta annoy her. She could feel it.

"A babe. See, I've always had this fantasy." He waved a hand in a slow
arc.

"Picture it. I'm in my office, growling about the usual garbage, then
she walks in. She's tall and slim, her blond hair smooth as silk, smooth
as her voice. Everything from the way she dresses to the look in her
eyes is pure class." He caught her dumbfounded expression and laughed.

"She says," Kurt, I need you.

Save me." So I do, and we live happily ever after."

She crossed her arms. She'd asked for an attorney and got a
six-feet-four-inch Groucho Marx.

"You am the oddest man I have ever met."

"What? You don't want to be my fantasy girl?" His cocky impudence made
anger impossible. She had to fight a smile.

"I appreciate the attempt to cheer me up, but I'm really too tired for
jokes."

"You have to be hungry. I'll buy you dinner."

"No, thank you."

"Take your mind off your problems. Besides, we still have work to do."

"No, we don't have work to do. I appreciate you taking the time to drive
me home, but the only thing I'm doing is taking a hot shower, having a
stiff drink and then going to bed."

"Alone?"

"Mr. Saxon!"

53 He winced, but he didn't look the least bit repentant.

"Just asking.

You're my client. I'm duty-bound to keep tabs on you. Besides, them
might be reporters waiting for you."

She dropped her face into her hands.

"At my house?" she asked with a groan.

"They have to leave me alone."

"You're hot news. A society girl. Nothing makes a reporter happier than
to see someone like you take a pratfall."

He made her sound like a caricature with nothing better to do than play
tennis while drinking margaritas.

"I am not a society girl. I'm a businesswoman. I work very hard."

His pale gaze slanted toward her. A little shock pinged her when she
realized he wasn't teasing her or making a joke. His blunt speech simply
called the. shots as he saw them. Rumpled suit and shimraying,
litter-filled automobile aside, this man knew what he talked about.

The realization didn't make her feel better.

"If you were some hooker or habitual check-kiter, no big deal. Nobody
cares.

But a nice lady from a good family, under suspicion in a shooting, is a
sure bet for front-page coverage. The cops will let it slip you're the
prime suspect, so reporters will go scurrying around, talking to your
neighbors and family.

They'll find people you went to school with."

" But they let me go."

"Hey, every crime reporter's fantasy is to break a big case besom the
cops do."

"What about ... ?" Her tight throat made her squeak. She cleared it.

"Do you think they'll go to Star Systems?" She rubbed her fist between
her breasts. Breathing hurt. Star Systems Data Storage had clients who
considered their mailing lists and industrial data as confidential as
state secrets. She and Pauline based their reputation on offering secure
storage.

No matter how this turned out, it was going to hurt.

They rode in silence until Kurt reached her neighborhood and turned down
her street.

"Well, hell," he drawled, echoing her sentiments exactly.

"Sometimes I hate being right. Reconsider dinner, Dana."

She recognized Pauline's Mustang parked in her driveway. Emotion added
to the tightness in her chest.

Despite their recent problems, Pauline was the best friend anyone could
ever hope for.

"It's okay, she's not a reporter."

Kurt pulled into the driveway next to Pauline's car. Pauline hurried to
Dana's side and they embraced.

"I've been waiting and waiting. Neal said you didn't go to jail, but he
didn't know where you were. Are you okay? You look like hell." She
stepped back and critically eyed Dana's face.

"You been crying?"

"I'm okay. The police turned me loose. Pauline, this is Kurt Saxon.

He's an attorney. Mr. Saxon, my partner, Pauline Kidder."

The redhead stepped back and looked Kurt over from head to toe.

"Good gawd, but you're a big fella.

I bet you work out."

Shaking her head, Dana dug out her keys and headed for the front door.

55 She felt it as soon as she entered the house. Her home had been
invaded.

Disbelief growing, she walked through' the rooms, noting the opened
drawers, loose cushions on furniture and general disarray.

She paused at a plant shelf and ran a hand over the wood. She stared at
the black, greasy smudges on her fingertips.

"Fingerprint powder." Kurt shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and
rocked on his heels.

"It looks like soot. What were they thinking?" Powder stained the
champagne-colored carpeting and the walls.

"It's disgusting."

"You ought to sue," Pauline said. Hands on her hips, her mouth hanging
open, she studied the damage.

"This is sick. Just plain sick. They can't get away with this."

Dana stalked toward the kitchen. The kitchen was in bad shape, too.

Drawers and cabinets hung open.

Pots and pans littered the floor. She whirled on her attorney.

"Can't they show a little common decency and respect for my property?"

Kurt lifted his shoulders and showed her the palms of his hands.

Some help you are, she thought sourly. She flung her purse on the
breakfast counter.

She started a pot of coffee. The simple chore soothed her: fill the
carafe with cold water, fit a filter into the. basket, measure the
coffee. She was free, away from the noise, smells, hostility, mean-eyed
stares and confusion.

Her temper cooled, but the anxiety rested in her belly like a nervous
little animal, ready to snap.

"What happens next, Mr. Saxon?"

"First, you call me Kurt. Second, don't be so chintzy with the coffee. I
like mine strong."

She'd almost forgotten her initial assessment of his character. Now she
remembered he was rude and demanding.

And big. Despite vaulted ceilings and oversize windows, the house seemed
too small to contain him. From the corner of her eye, she watched
Pauline slide onto a bar stool. She Smiled sweetly at Kurt, and her eyes
were bright with interest.

Dana added an extra scoop of coffee. Pauline rested her chin on the back
of her hands.

"So what happens next, Kurt? Is she going on trial for murder?"

Good heavens, Dana thought in disgust. Pauline was flirting with the
man.

Worse, he responded. His smile widened and his posture turned jaunty.

"Did the police talk to you?"

Uncertainly, Pauline drew back.

"They kept asking me about some guy named Eddie Gordon. Hell, I don't
know him. They were asking everybody the same thing. Who is he?"

"Did they talk to you about Dana?" He brought out a pen and a tattered
little notebook. He flipped to a clean page.

"What specific questions did they ask?" Looking miffed, Pauline crossed
her arms. Men usually gave her exactly what she want~xl, when she wanted
it.

Kurt must be a new experience for her, Dana mused.

Dana puttered aimlessly around the kitchen. She hated herself for
thinking it, but Pauline sounded ghoulish, acting as if the excitement
were some kind of adventure.

The arrest and lineup and interrogation 57 had been horrible. Dana had
never felt so helpless and afraid in her life.

"You look worn out, Dana," Kurt said.

"Hit the showers and get comfortable. I'll fix some chow."

Her stretched-tight nerves frayed. Her vision blurred.

"You are my attorney, not my keeper. Stop ordering me around." She
sagged against the counter and clutched her midsection. Control was
slipping away from her, and that, more than the police, frightened her.

Shaking began in her knees and worked its way up and around, until she
shivered so hard her teeth chattered.

"Stop bar-barking at me."

Pauline stiffened.

"Dana?"

She couldn't stop shaking. The tighter she hugged herself, the harder
she tensed her muscles, the worse she shivered. Fresh terror gripped
her.

"She was breaking down. At any moment she'd.collapse in a lump, burst
into tears and wail.

Kurt patted her shoulder.

"Hey, hey, I don't bark," he said.

"I'm a cat person."

The inanity of his comment caught her attention. She lifted her face and
found his gray eyes dark with concern. The shivering eased. She
whispered,

"What did you say?"

"Dogs are too subservient." His large hand slowed so that he stroked
instead of patted her arm.

"Of course, can't take a. cat jogging, but that's the only real
drawback."

Unable to decide if he was talking nonsense to distract her or if in
some bizarre manner he was making fun of her, she blinked slowly.

His mouth pulled into a crooked grin.

"Have to admire a ten-pound critter who feels absolutely certain, if he
wanted to, he could take me." He squeezed her upper arm.

"You like cats?"

"I ...  suppose."

He eased a tendril of hair off her cheek. The intimate feel of his
fingers on her face caused a catch in her throat. Awareness of his size
struck her anew. At five-foot-nine, she was as tall or taller than most
men she knew, but Kurt Saxon made her feel petite. Suddenly, she wanted
nothing more than to fall into his embrace. She wanted those big arms
holding her tightly, protecting her from the nightmare. She wanted to
feel his warmth against her cheek and listen to his heart and have him
pet her and tell her everything would be all right.

If Pauline weren't standing there all wide-eyed and worried, Dana might
have done exactly that.

Stooping so low as to want physical comfort from this hulking brute
appalled her. He wasn't the least bit appealing, not in any way, shape
or form. She didn't need his comfort and she certainly didn't want it.

"Are you okay?" Pauline eased around the counter and touched Dana's hand
with tentative fingers.

"It's weird seeing you lose it." To Kurt, she added,

"Usually she's so laid-back, nothing bugs her. You know, don't worry, be
happy, and all that rot." Thoroughly embarrassed, Dana's _tepped away
from both of them.

"I just need a shower." She went upstairs.

She stayed in the shower a long time, soaping herself over and over,
shampooing her hair three times, 59 trying to wash the stink of the
police station out of her memory. It helped bring back her equilibrium.
Her little breakdown had been a delayed stress reaction, that's all. She
wasn't losing her mind.

When she finished, she found Pauline awaiting her in the bedroom.

"You okay, hon?" Seated on the bed, Pauline toyed with a pillow shaped
like a large satin rose. Her expression was a mixture of concern and
wary curiosity. "I'm okay now." She dressed in a blue fleece jogging
suit and flopped onto the bed next to her friend. "I know it's all a big
mistake, but I am still so scared.

I can't believe this is happening."

Pauline swatted her playfully with the pillow.

"Hey, at least you have Kurt." She rolled her eyes.

"What a gorgeous side of beef! Is he a friend of Neal's? You ever met
him before? Have you been holding out on me?"

Dana eyed the ceiling.

"You are incredible."

"I know." Pauline patted her curly mop.

"He asked for my phone number. Good gawd, I haven't seen such a
beautiful head of hair in all my life. You could drown in it. And those
eyes! He's so intense. You don't think he's married, do you?"

"I don't know. Furthermore, I don't care." Dana jumped to her feet.

"Why is it I always forget how impossible you are? Are you going to help
or drool over my attorney?"

"Can't I do both?" her partner asked with a saucy grin.

"Come on, lighten up." She lifted her shoulders in a quick shrug.

"I can give you an alibi if you want.

61 What's the big deal? I'll say we went to dinner or something."

This was typical of Pauline: her problems were- cause for declaring a
national emergency; other peoples' problems called for jokes.

"I don't need an alibi. I didn't hurt anybody." She aimlessly wandered
around the bedroom, trailing her fingers over the marble fireplace
mantel and fingering framed photographs of her parents. How was she
going to tell them she was a prime suspect in a murder? The worst news
she'd ever had to give them was that she'd flopped on a test or had a
fender bender with the family car.

"I don't see how one little white lie can hurt. We've got a business to
think about, you know." Pauline tossed the pillow behind her and rose,
smoothing her short black skirt.

"With this kind of publicity, we might as well just shut our doors and
go get jobs at McDonald's. We were lucky as hell no clients saw the
arrest. I'm not risking Star Systems over crap like this."

Hurt slithered through Dana and her eyes began to burn. She understood
what Pauline meant, but even SO.

"I talked to Kurt while you were in the shower. He says you'll need time
for the legal wheeling and dealing.

I think that's a good idea. You need a vacation, anyway. I can handle
things. You can do a lot of work at home." She jerked a thumb toward the
computer on the desk in the corner of the bedroom.

"Shoot, you can modem or fax just about everything. There's no need for
you to come in at all."

Facing the fireplace, fearing if she turned around that she'd begin to
cry, Dana nodded.

"If we're really lucky, we won't lose any accounts."

For several long, ticking seconds, Pauline remained silent. When she
spoke, her voice was low and strained.

"That isn't what I meant."

Right.

"I mean it, Dana. I'm here, right? Moral support and all that rot.

I'm behind you a hundred percent."

Too much eagerness colored Pauline's words. Dana drew several deep
breaths and forced a smile before she turned around. She honestly did
understand.

Part of her felt the same way as Pauline did. They'd both sunk
everything into Star Systems. They'd made sacrifices in money, time,
energy and in their personal lives. One person didn't--couldn't--matter
as much as the business.

Understanding didn't lessen the hurt one little bit. "I'll take a couple
days off."

Pauline fiddled with the doorknob.

"I really think it'll be for the best." She opened the door, then added,

"For you. The best for you."

Dana bit back the urge to argue. Especially as another, more sinister,
thought crept darkly into her brain. Did Pauline think she was guilty?

"But, no lies. blo alibis. I have nothing to hide."

AS they walked down the curved staircase, Dana couldn't make herself
look at Pauline. Her friend had a hard edge to her, a sharp selfishness
that bordered on ruthlessness. What Pauline wanted, Pauline got, 'the
world be damned. Under other circumstances, Dana admired Pauline's often
ferocious determination. She saw now with depressing clarity that if
Pauline had to choose between friendship and Star Systems, friendship
would lose.

When they reached the foyer, Dana studied the black gunk on her hand.

Fingerprint powder coated the banister.

"Do you think the cops found anything?" Pauline asked.

Like what? she almost asked, but caught herself in time.

"Did they do this to the office, too?"

"They were all over the place. They took some files and bank statements
and a bunch of stuff out of your desk. Why'd they want bank statements?"

"I haven't the faintest idea."

"You'd best get this straightened out. And fast." She turned her wrist
and glanced at her watch.

"I better go. I have a, uh"--" You have a date. It's okay. I'm all
right. I appreciate you being here for me." She was glad Pauline had an
excuse to leave.

"I'll let you know if there's any news."

"Say goodbye to Kurt for me." She flashed a broad smile, but it didn't
reach her eyes.

"And find out if he's married."

"Sure." She saw Pauline out.

Dana locked the front door, then rested her forehead against the cool
wood.

A disheartening feeling said their past arguments would seem like petty
squabbles by the time this was over.

Chapter Five.

The smell of food drew Dana to the kitchen. Kurt stood in front of the
range. He had removed his jacket and tie and rolled his shirt sleeves to
reveal corded forearms. Cowboys and construction workers had muscles
like that, she thought, trying to rouse disdain.

She failed.

You are such a snob, she chided herself. All her life she'd had to be on
guard against people who tried to pigeonhole her as a dumb blonde or
just another pretty face. Here she was judging him on his appear Besides
watching him handle a spatula like a master chef while supple muscles
flexed under his shirt roused anything but disdain. And he did have nice
hair. Thick and shaggy, in need of a trim, it curled at the ends where
it fell over his collar. His looks didn't matter. What did matter was
the kindness underlying his gruff exterior. His belief in her innocence
mattered.

Especially after the way Pauline had reveaied her true concerns.

He poured a mug of coffee and plopped it on the breakfast counter.

"I've seen college kids with better stocked kitchens. Sit."

She noticed the sink was full of soapy water and he'd done a fair job of
wiping fingerprint powder off the counters. He'd also closed drawers and
cabinets. "I like to bake, but I'm not much of a day-to-day cook."

"I can tell." With a flourish worthy of a television show chef, he slid
an omelet onto a plate.

"Lucky for you, I'm inventive." He set the omelet and a salad in front
of her.

"Do you have a padlock for the back gate? You don't need reporters or
thrill-seekers peeking in your windows."

She tossed a nervous glance at the French doors leading to her tiny
backyard.

If she ever caught anyone peeking in her windows, she'd have a heart
attack.

I'll find one. Do you cook for all your clients?"

"Only the really beautiful ones." He saluted her with his coffee mug.

"Did Pauline leave?"

His warm smile gave her the disconcerting feeling that he actually
thought she was beautiful. She focused on the omelet. She shouldn't be
wondering if he'd taken Pauline's number because of the murder case or
if he meant to ask her out. She shouldn't care. "She had a date. What
happens next?"

"Your number one job right now is remembering Tuesday. And I do mean
remember. Everything, everyone you talked to, every place you went,
every detail." He nudged a sheet of paper closer to her.

"I made a list of things for you to do. Be thorough. No detail is too
small or insignificant."

65 He frowned at his wristwatch.

"I have some things to do. Is there anyone who can stay with you
tonight?"

He nodded at the telephone answering machine.

"Screen phon~ calls?"

"I can take care of myself."

Kurt looked skeptical.

"Turn off the telephone and let the machine answer. These things always
bring out the cranks. No need to let them upset you. Ignore anybody at
the door. I'll be back in the morning." He searched inside his jacket
and brought out a business card which he laid on the counter. He slung
the jacket over his shoulder.

"You're quite a take-charge kind of man."

"That's my style." Moving next to her, he grazed her chin with a gentle
knuckle.

"We'll fight this thing, Dana. We'll win."

He looked past her to the glass-fronted bookcase where she displayed her
collection of folk and fairy tales.

"Do you believe in fairy tales?" Abashed to have him notice her childish
interest, she smiled.

"I've been collecting those books all my life. Some are quite old."

"Cute hobby." His gaze roamed. All through the house, her phssion for
fairy tales was evident in figurines of knights, princesses and wee
folk, reproductions of old tapestries and cartoon character dolls.

"You can consider me your white knight, then. Shield up, sword drawn.

I've already made up my mind.

You'll walk away from this."

She believed him--trusted him with all her heart. After that tense
little scene with Pauline, she desperately needed someone to believe in.
Someone who be66 Dark Knight 67 lieved in her.

"Thank you." The words emerged in a husky whisper.

His suntanned skin formed a shadow under his white shirt, and veins rose
like cords on the back of his hand as he held his jacket. She sensed he
was inches away from touching her. From stroking her hair, perhaps, or
cupping his big hand against her cheek. And she would welcome it.

She repeated,

"Thank you ...  Kurt."

Looking satisfied, he moved away. She had slid off the stool to see him
out when he stopped and looked over his shoulder.

"You're dating Neal Harlow." He gave her the distinct impression that
whether or not she dated Neal didn't matter to him. He was interested,
and he wasn't the type to allow an interest to wither.

Caught off guard, she toyed with the hem of her sweatshirt.

"We used to date. We don't see much of each other anymore."

Light filled his strange, pale eyes and they gleamed, accentuating his
suddenly boyish smile. Dana's breath caught in her throat and her heart
skipped a beat. His eyes trapped her, held her fast, drowned her in pure
intensity. His aggressively male posture and glowing smile offered a
promise that made her mouth turn dry.

As she closed the door behind him and locked it, she. heard him
whistling as he strolled toward his car.

Her back to the door, slightly breathless, she thought at least Kurt
Saxon gave her something besides the police to think about.

DANA LOOKED THROUGH the ~pgephole in the front door. Neal Harlow stood
on her porch. He pressed the bell again, and the soft chime echoed in
the foyer. She debated whether or not to follow Kurt Saxon's
instructions to the letter. Yesterday had been pure hell, and Neal had
refused to come to the police station.

Still, what could he have done?

She opened the door.

As usual, he wore an Italian suit over a crisply starched shirt and silk
tie.

His wingtip shoes gleamed with a hard shine. His up and down perusal,
taking in her sweat suit rubber gloves, hair piled messily on her head
and makeup-free face, made her regret answering the door. She hated Neal
seeing her looking like this. She hated sensing his disapproval. Around
him, she always felt an overwhelming need to look her best with her hair
fixed, makeup perfect and her clothing impeccable. How was it she ever
imagined she could love this man?

I come in?"

"The house is a mess. I'm cleaning." She stripped off the rubber gloves.

"But come on in."

The air was heavy with the scents of lemon cleanser and bleach. The
fingerprint powder had proved as messy and nasty as soot. Even so,
cleaning it off the furniture and walls hadn't been nearly as bad as're
taming her house to order. The police had searched her house from top to
bottom--she'd even found evideame where they'd lifted the tops off the
toilet tanks.

Imagining them pawing through her underwear made her ill.

"I was worried about you," the attorney said.

"Is everything all right?"

She laughed dryly. She picked up a bucket and mop and headed for the
kitchen.

"I'm the prime suspect in the murder of a drug dealer. Other than that,
life is just ducky.

Would you like a cup of coffee?"

"Is Kurt here?"

"And that's another thing." She gave him a cup of coffee along with
cream and sugar.

"Where did you find him? He's a flesh-and-blood bulldozer." She dumped
the bucket of dirty water, then stared out the window over the sink.

Thunderclouds built on the horizon.

"Why didn't you come to the police station yesterday? I needed a
friend."

"I'm a corporate attorney. There's nothing I could have done for you.

I know Kurt is a little. intimidating, but he's good. As soon as I heard
about the evidence the police have against you, I knew Kurt was exactly
the attorney you needed."

"Evidence against ...  ?" Dana ran water over the mop head and squeezed
it extra hard.

"Do you think I killed that man?"

Neal sat on a stool and began dressing his coffee with precisely
measured doses of cream and sugar.

Her forehead tightened. Neal was as fussy about his coffee as he was
about his clothing, but she sensed he was stalling. She heard the
Unspoken question: Did you do it, Dana?

Was he speculating about how she may have gone temporarily insane, or if
she had a secret drug problem, or if she was living a double life that
included guns and smoky bars?

She wished she'd followed Kurt's advice and hadn't answered the door.

"Dana, I know Kurt is not the type of person you generally deal with.

But I know about your financial situation and how your assets are tied
up in the busi- mss. Most attorneys would ask for thousands of dollars
up front.

Criminal defense can be very expensive. Kurt isn't cheap, but he is
reasonable. You might say he has a bit of a Quixote complex." He made it
sound like a character flaw.

"Lovely, but I wasn't talking about Kurt. I asked you a question."

Shut up, she told herself. You're setting yourself up for hurt feelings.

"Do you think I killed that man?"

Neal eased the back of one hand over his forehead, smoothing sandy hair
into place. He sipped the coffee.

"I would never presume to ask you about guilt or innocence. That is not
my place or my concern. I do advise that you not discuss the case with
me.

Since I'm not your attorney on record, I could be subpoenaed as a
witness.

In fact, in light of our history, I probably will be."

She dropped. the mop into the bucket. It clattered. She turned her head
slowly to face him. His eyebrows twitched and his slightly prominent
Adam's apple bobbed.

"What," she said softly, "is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean, you shouldn't be discussing case particulars with anyone except
your attorney."

She laughed and swung her head side to side.

"You think I did it."

She tried to see his eyes, but he was finding his shirt cuff of great
interest.

"You actually think I killed somebody. Or is it, you're glad I'm in
trouble?"

"That's a horrible thing to say. Not to mention unfair," he protested,
but his face reddened and he looked everywhere except at her.

"I came over here with a purpose. If you're going to be unreasonable,
then perhaps I should limit my contacts to your attorney." ' Curiosity
overrode her anger. She picked up a sponge and attacked the cabinet
fronts.

"ZWHAT purpose?"

"You saw the newspaper this morning." Her throat tightened. Along with a
large photograph of her slinking out through the lobby looking ashamed
and guilty, a front-page story had announced her arrest.

"I saw it."

"They said the man was shot."

Dana paused in her scrubbing.

"I didn't shoot anybody."

"I'm not saying you did." He tapped a spoon against the coffee cup.

"I've never owned a gun. I've never even touched one."

"I used to."

She peered closely at him. A muscle jumped in his cheek and he lowered
his eyelids, bracing them as if in protection from a sand-filled wind. A
bad feeling spread through her chest.

"So?"

"It's gone." He took a hurried sip of coffee. He still wouldn't look at
her.

"The last time I actually recall seeing it was around New Year's, but
it's gone now."

71 He glanced at her, a furtive little dart of his eyes. "Guns are
easily traced. Mine is registered in my name."

She considered what he was saying. As his meaning sank in, she clenched
the sponge so tightly water dribbled onto the floor.

"I get it, you think I'm not only a killer, but a thief, as well."

"I am not accusing you of anything."

"That's exactly what you're doing. How could you?

How dare you?"

"I am not accusing you! I merely find it fair to warn you ..." His eyes
glazed and his chin actually quivered.

The vulnerable expression passed quickly. His face turned hard. He held
his thumb and forefinger half an inch apart.

"I'm this close to making full partner in the firm, Dana. I've worked my
tail off to get where I am today. You know how much it means to me. I
can't afford any connection to the murder. I can't risk getting tangled
up in it."

"What are you saying?"

"Do the police have the murder weapon? Guns are easily traced."

"Get out of my house," she said through her teeth. Her fingernails cut
into her palms.

"Dana" -- "Get out!"

"Now you're being unreasonable. You can't be r~'lfish about this. You
have to think about how your actions reflect on others. You have to
think about the consequences."

73 "Unreasonable. No, dear, this is unreasonable." She reached across
the counter and jammed the dirty sponge into his coffee cup.

"Now, get out of my house." , With cool dignity, he pushed the cup away.

"I have no choice except to report the loss of the gun to the police. It
upsets me as much as it upsets you, but I have to look out for my best
interests."

"This is ...  this is the absolutely lowest, most des- pie.

able--you'll do anything to get even with me, won't you? I dared to tell
Mr. Perfect no and now you get your revenge."

He stood, his shoulders back and his chin high. "Our former relationship
has nothing to do with anything.

I have certain responsibilities."

" Get out." The mop tempted her.

Swinging the mop, chasing him off her property, getting in a few whacks
against his perfectly moussed and blow-dried hair, held such immense
appeal it frightened her. Instead, she turned her back on him.

"I mean it, Neal, get out before I do something really stupid."

"I'm leaving." The stool legs scraped the floor.

"I just hope," he said, slowly and with emphasis," if someone were
foolish enough to steal a firearm and that someone was also foolish
enough to shoot a man with it, that someone would also have the sense to
dispose of the weapon most carefully. Throw it in a river, perhaps.

Or bury it out on the plains." His shoes clicked on the linoleum and he
was gone. The front door slammed.

Shaking began in her midsection and shivered outward, gripping her knees
and arms and shoulders.

Tears fell hot and fast. Her entire world was crumbling, disintegrating
from under her feet, and for the life of her, she couldn't see a single
way to stop it.

Chapter Six.

Kurt hopped up onto the small covered porch before Dana's front door.

He rubbed his sweaty hand across his thigh before he rang the bell.
Spring in Texas meant crazy weather, and today was no exception. It had
started out cold this morning with a brisk wind. By noon, the wind had
died and hot humidity settled over the city. Storm clouds hovered,
containing the heat like a lid on a simmering pot. His shirt clung to
his back.

While waiting for Dana to answer, he admired the house. Small and tidy,
it was a one-andahalf-story French provincial with curved window heads
and brick quoins on the corners. It sat at the top of the cul-desac,
perched on a low hill that put it above its neighbors. The landscaping
was lush and green, rimmed with beds of irises, tulips and hyacinths.
The door opened and Dana invited him to enter.

"Did you make that list about Tuesday?" he asked, looking over the airy
foyer and curved staircase. She didn't have much furniture, but what she
did have was good quality. He liked her taste, which was elegant but not
fussy.

"Hello to you, too," she said.

"Yes, I made a list." Her scratchy voice alarmed him. As his eyes
adjusted to the indoor light, he could see her swollen eyes. If her
feverish complexion was any indication, she'd indulged in a world-class
crying jag.

"Everything okay?" he asked.

"Peachy." Slump-shouldered, she walked through the narrow dining room
and into the kitchen.

Kurt followed. The place looked as pristine as a model home and smelled
strongly of cleansers. A picture formed in his mind of her scrubbing and
weeping. It hurt his heart.

He tossed the sack he carried onto the kitchen ~ounter.

"The only unusual thing that happened on Tues- day was I went home
early." She showed him the.

sheets of paper she'd covered with lists of everything fro____~m what
she'd eaten on Tuesday to everyone she'd ~ol~n to on the telephone and
talked to in person.

"I had Jilly, my secretary, confirm calls and appointm~nts. This is as
accurate as I can make it." Nearly head-to-head with him, she went down
the list. Her slender finger with its perfect oval nail distra~xl him.
She had the prettiest hands he'd ever seen, ~im and smooth-skinned. Her
scent distracted him, ~too, Underneath the smell of household cleansers
linsweet womanliness.

'~$he shuddered and turned away, and her narrow and fell with a heavy
breath.

She shook her head.

"Would you like something to drink?" Her voice was high-pitched and
shaky.

"It's okay," he said.

"There's nothing wrong with crying. Other than the obvious, did
something happen to upset you?"

She sagged against the counter and covered her face with a hand.

"I'm all right. I just ...  it hit me today how much t/-ouble I'm in."

He sensed a lie. Or at least, evasiveness. The newspaper lay folded on
the countertop. Other than the photograph, the story had barely
mentioned her.

He didn't think it would reduce her to tears.

"Talk to me.

That's what I'm here for."

She pulled large glasses from a cabinet and filled them with ice.

"You do think I'm innocent, don't you?"

"Sure. So who doesn't? Did the cops come by?" She filled the glasses
with iced tea.

"Sugar?

Lemon?"

"Talk to me. That's an order."

"I am not in the m~od to take orders from you."

"Yeah, like you'll ever be in the mood. Do it, anyway."

A weak smile curved her lips.

"You're impossible."

He caught her hand as she passed and tugged gently. Her skin was hot.

"Tell me what happened."

Halting and hesitant, she told him about Neal Har- low. A single tear
leaked from her eye and she dashed it away with an impatient swipe.

"I have made such a mess of my life."

77 He urged her to sit on a stool so she faced him. "What do you mean?"

She traced idle patterns on her knees.

"I work seventy, eighty hours a week. I haven't had a real vacation
since college. I always thought I had lots of friends, but ...  they're
business relationships. Shallow.

I haven't had time to be a good friend to anybody, and now I realize."

"You feel alone. Deserted."

She nodded and swiped at her eyes again.

"It's my own fault. My life is so compartmentalized. Everything I do is
by appointment only. Up until yesterday I thought my life was perfect. I
thought I had it all.

Nice house, nice car, good business, but that's all window dressing.

The only thing keeping me from falling apart completely is knowing my
parents will be home next week."

"You've got me."

She laughed weakly.

"I barely know. you He placed two fingers under her chin and lifted her
face. Though raw from tears, her eyes were still beautiful. The
vulnerability in them touched him deep inside.

"Hey, I'm your white knight and you're my fantasy blonde. How can we go
wrong?"

She laughed again.

He patted her' cheek What he wanted to do was hold her and kiss her and
show her he'd never let her down. He forced himself to turn away.

"So to hell with Neal. We've got work to do. Why did you go home early
on Tuesday?"

Her faint smile returned.

"To hell with him? That's all you have to say? He's going to tell the
police I stole his gun."

"I can beat him up for you." He ground a fist against his palm.

Her blue eyes sparkled.

"Don't tempt me."

"Forget him, then. We've got more important things to worry about."

"Worry?" She gazed with trepidation at the paper sack he'd brought.

"More worries, you mean?"

"Kind of, sort of. I heard Callister and Tannenbaum found something when
they searched your office. I don't know what it is; but it's got them
excited." She stiffened.

"They couldn't possibly find anything."

"I just hope none of your employees stashed any drugs at the office.

I've got people checking into it.

Right now, let's talk about Eddie Gordon. You're absolutely positive
you've never seen him. Not even just in passing. Seen him hanging
around."

" I'm absolutely certain I didn't recognize him."

"So let's go back to Tuesday. Why did you leave early?"

She looked at him askance.

"It was a slow day and I was tired. And I didn't go home that early. I
usually stay at the office until seven or eight, but I left around
five-thirty on Tuesday."

He picked up her list.

"All these people you talked to, they can confirm it?"

"I suppose so. Is it important?"

"We need an alibi, Dana. So how about the woman who wanted to mee~ you
at O'Dooley's. Do you remember anything else about her?"

She caressed her sweating glass, then smoothed her damp hand down the
length of her throat. The sight arrested Kurt. Soft light coming from
outdoors highlighted the sculpting of her profile and the elegant curve
of her throat.

Surely he'd seen or known more beautiful women, but he couldn't recall a
single one.

"She called on Monday. I can't remember the time or even if it was
morning or afternoon. I asked Jilly, but she can't remember what time it
was, either. The only thing both of us are certain about is she didn't
give her name. That's why I didn't meet her. I'm not into mysteries."
She glanced at him, did a double take and frowned.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

Something about her tugged at him in ways he hadn't been tugged in
years.

"I'm not. Go on. Why ~d you note it on your calendar?"

People give me information, I write it Wait a minute, I do remember
something. She an accent. A thick country accent." As soon as ~ae said
it, she rolled her eyes.

Kurt guessed the reason for it. Dallas was an ur,i[l~ane city, but
"country" accents were common as "So she gave no reason why she wanted
to meet at O'Dooley's."

A faint line appeared between her eyebrows. i'i remember anything she
said.

What's in the : "A copy of the videotape."

She made a strangled little sound.

"How did you get it?"

"I asked, they gave it up. Don't think it's out of the goodness of their
hearts, though. Like Greeks, beware of cops bearing gifts. They must be
hoping you'll look at it and decide to confess." He scowled at the
papers.

"What's this mean?" He stabbed a finger at a line she'd crossed out with
a pencil slash.

She glanced at what she'd written.

"Jilly reminded me about the office doors being unlocked. But that was
on Wednesday, not Tuesday."

"Tell me about it."

"There's nothing to tell. Jilly is always the first to arrive, and she
found my office unlocked. But it was probably the cleaning people,
because nothing was taken and there was no sign of a burglary. Can we
look at the tape now?"

"In a minute." No matter how he looked at her list, he didn't see how it
offered an alibi. The murder had happened around nine-thirty at night.

According to her list, no one could verify Dana's whereabouts after
seven-thirty. Six witnesses, a videotape--they needed a miracle.

"I went to O'Dooley's last night. It was the bartender who fingered you
initially, and it's just like I figured it. He saw your picture in the
paper and showed it around. Everyone agreed it was you. We may be able
to show some kind of collusion. Have you got a copy of the newspaper
story?"

' She cast a longing look at the sack containing the videotape before
she left the room. He watched her hips swaying under the soft fleece of
her sweat suit. She was so beautiful it made him hurt.

81 She soon returned with a clipping.

It was standard schmaltz: Dana and Pauline pointing at a rack containing
reels of computer disks. Dana stood with her head high and shoulders
back, as poised as a fashion model. For a nfiwspaper print, it was a
surprisingly good likeness.

"What did the bartender tell you?"

"He says a woman came into the bar. He noticed her because" -- he shot
her a grin "--she was very attractive.

She sat at the end of the bar near the door and ordered a ginger ale""
That proves it. I despise ginger ale." Kurt made a note of it.

"She didn't talk, but he says she appeared to be waiting for someone. He
got busy, and the next time he noticed, she was walking out with Eddie
Gordon."

"Not only do I not drink ginger ale, but I don't hang around in bars.

I certainly don't allow strange men to pick me up." She crossed her arms
on the countertop and shook her head in vehement denial.

"Do you think I'm being set up?" Her voice faltered to a mumble.

"Doesn't make any sense."

It didn't make sense to Kurt, either. He'd considered the possibility of
somebody using a double to set up Dana and frame her for murder. The how
seemed unlikely; the why seemed impossible.

Her fingernails clicked softly on the counter.

"A woman calls me out of the blue and asks to meet at a bar where I've
never been. She has to be the killer."

"I agree."

"But she looks just like me? That's not a coincidence, that's spooky.

Besides, no one has a motive to do this to me."

He grunted in disgust.

She picked up 6n his reaction, and her hand turned white-knuckled on her
iced-tea glass.

"Does som~ body have a motive?"

"I'm worried about your motive." Her instant outrage made him add
quickly,

"I told you already.

It's the drug angle. We have to deal with it."

" I see," she said, dragging out the words.

I'll arrange for a blood test. We'll run a full-scale toxicology and cut
the cops off at the knees."

She crossed her arms and laid her head atop them. "I feel as if I've
fallen through a rabbit hole and ended up in nightmare land. So now, not
only am I a killer, but also a thief who steals guns and a drug addict."

"Yeah, well, we'll deal with it when we get more information." He poised
his pen to write.

"Right now, tell me who knew about your picture going into the business
section."

She closed her eyes.

"Isn't this a job for the police?"

"Fact of life, babe, they already have you. The only thing they're
looking for now is anything that strengthens their case."

Her fringe of golden lashes fluttered. She straightened and picked up
her 'tea. After several sips, she said,

"Pauline, of course."

"Tell me about her." He'd drawn his own conclusions about Dana's perky
little partner. Secure in her 83 little universe around which everything
else revolved, Pauline Kidder had a bad case of "me-itis."

She drew her head aside.

"I don't like your tone of voice."

"N pussy-footing, no playing light touch with your dainty sensibilities.

Somebody tried to get you to go to O'Dooley's. Whether you like it or
not, you're involved somehow. So tell me about your partner." He printed
Pauline Kidder on a sheet of paper. She gave him "the look."

"We were college roommates, and we shared an apartment after we
graduated.

She's honest and hardworking."

"You own the business fifty-fifty."

"Yes. Pauline is the computer wizard. She handles the l~chnical side.

I handle sales and administration."

"Any kind of rivalry? Bad feelings? Fighting over a man?"

She pushed away from the counfer.

"She's my best friend." She stalked to the French doors and looked out
at the redwood deck in the tiny backyard. Grudgingly, he admired her
loyalty--stupid and though it may be. His brief encounter with had told
him if the roles were reversed, Pauline would hang Dana out to dry.

"Who else knew about the newspaper story?"

"Employees. The newspaper people. My parents. reporter did the story
three or four weeks ago. I can check my calendar for the exact date.
I've talked to people about it." She turned on him and arched a brow.

"I suppose you want a list?"

He cocked a finger at her.

"Next to eyeballing a lady, lists are my favorite things." His com84
Dark Knight ~ ~ 85 ment earned him a narrow-eyed glare.

"Now, give me the real scoop on Pauline."

"I'm six inches taller than her. Even if she wore a wig, nobody could
possibly mistake her for me. It has to be the woman who called." She
caught her face in both hands and rubbed her temples with her
fingertips.

"Why would she ask me to be there? What if I had shown up?"

Kurt mulled it over.

"Could be, she counted on you not showing up.

You said it's a habit to write things down. Whoever set you up could
know you very well."

A shudder racked her entire body.

"Somebody studied me?"

"Stranger things have happened. Is there anybody who would benefit by
getting you out of the way?"

"No."

"Don't answer so fast."

"Your question doesn't deserve an answer, fast or otherwise. I don't
have that kind of enemies. Can we look at the tape now?"

"What happens to the business if you're out of the way?"

Hands on her hips, eyes flashing, she faced him squarely.

"If you are entertaining any nasty suspicions whatsoever about Pauline
Kidder, then leave now."

He entertained them all right. He was throwing a full-scale party, in
fact.

TUESDAY, TUESDAY--another mundane day in a fairly mundane life. A life
that used to be perfect and serene, the hours filled with business deals
balanced by gentle pursuits. A life Dana feared would never bethe same
again.

Yet Kurt insisted on picking apart Tuesday, then Monday, then the
previous week. He poked, probed, questioned, demanded clarification and
explanations and dug through her memory with ferretlike tenacity.

He made lists of her friends and acquaintances and bus' mess contacts.

He demanded to know their roles in her life.

Finally, she held up her hands in a plea.

"Please! No more! You're beating a dead horse. I don't know anything.

Nothing out of the ordinary has happened. Nobody has ever threatened me.
I don't have eneniles.

I didn't kill that man. I've never been to O'Dooley's. That's all I can
tell you. May we look at the videotape now?"

Kurt tapped his pen against the countertop. The rfittat-tatting pinged
at Dana's nerves.

"I'm not asking to be nosy."

"I know." She refilled their iced-tea glasses.

"I am cooperating to the best of my ability. I'm sorry I don't have an
alibi. I'm sorry I can't prove I wasn't at O'Dooley's. But I'm doing the
best I can."

"You know about worst-case scenarios? I deal with them almost every
day."

"I believe I am dealing with one at this moment."

"You're not dealing with it, you're denying it.

You're trying to be civilized, trying to make this situation fit into
your neat little life. You're hoping the 'cops suddenly smack their
foreheads and say,

"Gosh, we made a pen. One solid piece of hard evidence is all they need
to make an arrest stick."

"I understand the seriousness of this."

"Then get serious. We've got two options. One, we can be passive.

Except, the cops have six eyewitnesses willing to testify they saw you
with Eddie Gordon minu .t~s before he was killed. Seeing is believing,
babe.

You'll be wearing prison blues before you know what hit you."

He pushed off the stool and stalked through the dining area and family
room.

He paused before a framed poster of a knight atop a caparisoned charger.
The knight swept a lady with Rapunzel-like tresses into his arms,
prepared to ride her away from danger. "Life isn't a fairy tale."

She closed her eyes.

"I know that."

"Then you better think hard about option number two."

"Which is?" she asked warily.

"We fight. Stop scrubbing that counter and pay attention." ' She looked
down at the sponge in her hand. She hadn't realized she held it. She
tossed it into the sink.

He returned to the stool. Watching her, he drank deeply from his glass,
then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Let me tell you something about myself. I've got six brothers and
sisters.

In my house, sitting around waiting for something meant going without..
If I wanted something, I worked for it, scrambled and fought. So that's
me. I'm a fighter. I won't accept option number one. If that's what you
want, get another attorney."

"I'm not some pampered little fluff ball."

"Prove it. Start showing some backbone and stop whining about how hard
it is. I know it's hard, but putting up a fight always is."

"Nobody has ever talked to me like this before," she grumbled.

He grinned.

"We all do what we're best at, babe." He picked up his pen and wrote
rapidly across the paper.

"Okay. We have to answer some questions." He threw her a sharp look.

"And no clap about it being the cops' job. Number one, the identity of
the woman who called you, why she called and what she has to do with
this.

Number two, we have to find out exactly how certain those eyewitnesses
are."

She breathed deeply, seeking her inner reserves. He was right. Like it
or not, she'd been thrust into this nightmare and it was not going to go
away.

She either defended herself or resigned herself to an arrest, trial and
prison.

"Come here." He patted his knee.

"No." She crossed her arms, holding her elbows.

"I don't want you yelling at me anymore. We need to look at the
videotape.

I want to see if it's as bad as you said it probably is. That's the
first thing we have to do."

His eyes lost their icy intensity. The way he looked at her jumbled her
thoughts. No one, to her knowledge, had ever looked at her quite this
way.

He wanted her, with neither embarrassment nor ambiguity. He gave her the
most overtly enticing, sexual look she'd ever experienced. Worse, she
couldn't make herself look away.

He asked,

"Do you like Greek food?" Kurt acting like a barbarian was obnoxious;
acting ferocious, he was scary. But her awareness of him as an
attractive man who made no pretense about finding her desirable. Her
hands fluttered at her throat.

"I do not understand you at all."

"Greek food," he repeated slowly.

"Calamari, ti- ropetes, moussaka.

Do you like it?"

"What does Greek food have to do with anything?"

"Taking you to dinner."

A funny little thrill tingled through her. She recognized her own
desire, understood the deep primeval chord of response and even
acknowledged the urge to accept the invitation in his eyes.

What she couldn't reconcile was why Kurt Saxon? Her Mr. Right was smooth
and debonair, soft-spoken and gracious--wasn't he?

She grabbed the sack containing the videotape. She hurried into the
family room and turned on the television and VCR.

Carrying both glasses of tea, Kurt sauntered after her.

"So, you dated Neal."

"Pardon me?"

"Hard to see you and Neal as a couple. He's an officious little prig."

A laugh escaped before she could stop it. She forced a frown.

"I can see why he was interested in you, but what did you see in him?"

"Are you insulting me?"

89 "No," he answered mildly.

"Just trying to figure it out. You seem too genuine for Neal's taste."

Snappy retorts failed her. He'd stated exactly why she couldn't love
Neal Harlow. For all of Neal's good qualities, none were wonderful
enough to excuse his continual status-seeking and obsession with how
things looked.

He plucked the remote control from her hand and took a seat on the
couch.

She slid the tape into the CR slot.

"You didn't answer me. Do you like Greek food?" Don't encourage him, she
warned herself. Don't look at him. Cops and killers were her concern,
not Kurt's smile or the fluttery way he made her feel.

"I know a place with calamari that'll knock your socks off. I'd like to
take you there."

She picked up his iced-tea glass and set it on a rio aster before she
joined him on the couch. She scooted as far from him as possible and
curled her legs her.

"A date?"

He grazed her with a silky gaze, leaving goose bumps in its wake.

"Yeah."

Where was inadvertent laughter when she needed it? "May we watch the
tape, please?"

"Tonight. Eight o'clock."

He was looking at her like that again, leaving her stumble-tongued and
unbalanced. She tore her gaze away from his. She'd been fending away
unwanted advances practically all her life. She knew how to handle men.
She knew how to say no and mean it. All she had to do was make herself
want to.

"We've got a lot of ground to cover. May as well do it in pleasant
surroundings." His drawl deepened to a smoky purr.

"Soft music, candlelight, a little dancing. Take your mind off your
problems."

Indignation eluded her. Instead, images filled her head of his seductive
voice whispering in her ear as he moved her slowly around a dance floor.
She shook the image away.

"Play the tape, please."

"All right, all right," he said with a chuckle. "Business first."

She stared at the television, half fearing what she might see.

"You mentioned a polygraph before.

That's a lie detector, right? I'm more than willing to take one. When
can we do it?"

"It's tricky," he said with a grimace.

"I can set you up with a polygraph. You can pay for it. Trouble is, the
cops will say, you get what you pay for. I've got a request in for them
to test you with a department examiner."

' "I see." She wondered what difference it made. "Polygraph results
aren't admissible in court. It's an investigative tool only. Everything
depends on how strong they think their evidence is. So keep your fingers
crossed." He aimed the remote at the television and started the tape.

After initial static, a parking lot came into view. It was nighttime,
but the parking lot was illuminated by lights on poles and from a neon
array on the bar front. The camera focused on a pair of women, both
brunettes.

One was short and buxom, wearing a fringed leather jacket and cowboy
boots.

The other woman was tall and heavy, and she wore a long sweater that 91
nearly ~'eached her knees. In front of a shiny red car, the women mugged
for the camera.

Kurt explained,

"They're waitresses in the bar. The woman operating the camera is also a
waitress. She had a new camera, the short woman had a new car. A match
made in heaven." A disgruntled groan rumbled up from his chest.

"I can't believe the quality." The parking lot lights adequately
compensated for the . The picture was sharp and detailed. Laughing and
giggling, the women playacted a car commercial, pointing out the
features of the new car and extolling its good gas mileage and powerful
engine.

"Wait a minute!" Kurt stopped the tape and rewound it.

"Look over on the left-hand side of the screen. The door to the bar."

Dana watched intently as the tape resumed. A man and a woman walked out
of the bar. The man had his arm wrapped around the woman's shoulders.
The light and distance made their facial features indistinct. The only
identifying feature was the woman's hair, which was as pale as Dana's.
The two of them moved out of camera range.

Dana twisted a strand of hair around her fingers. The fain~ est hint of
gold kept her hair from being white. Not many adults had hair as pale as
hers.

Kurt backed up the tape again. The couple were on screen for only three
or four seconds.

The two women continued their horseplay. Then the camera audio caught a
faint popping sound. The camera jiggled. The women looked offscreen,
talking about the noise, asking if it was a gunshot, with the woman
holding the camera saying it sounded like a car backfire. The image
skipped--the camera had stopped filming and started again. The camera
focused on the blond woman as she ran from between two parked cars: She
staggered against the hood of a car, stumbled and nearly fell. She
caught herself, jerked up her head and stared directly into the camera.
The camera owner tried to use the zoom lens feature but did it too fast
and the picture blurred. When the picture did come into focus, the woman
was gone.

Dana straightened slowly and lowered her feet to the floor. Her hands
curled into fists. Her heart pounded against her ribs. Air in the room
acquired a syrupy bitterness. This couldn't be happening. It wasn't
real.

It couldn't be . Kurt backed up the tape. Finding the frame where the
woman's face was on screen, he froze the image.

"Good heavens," she whispered, "that's me."

Chapter Seven.

Disappointment deeper than anything he'd ever felt washed through Kurt
and left his chest heavy. Not only was the quality of the image on the
tape far, far better than he'd expected, but the woman on the screen
left little doubt about her identity. He'd been wrong before, but rarely
about people and never concerning anyone he felt as strongly about as
Dana.

He no longer wondered why the police allowed him to have the tape. This
was no mere ace in the hole, it was the entire deck. Callister and
Tannenbaum must he laughing their heads off thinking about Dana seeing
this for the first time.

It seemed impossible for Dana's face to be any paler than what it was,
but when the blood drained away, s! ~ appeared almost translucent.
Slowly, she rose, and just as slowly she crossed the family room. As she
raised a hand to the screen, light static crackled. "Wow," Kurt
breathed. He crouched beside her and looked between her face and the
face on the television.

He searched for differences. A degree off in the slight tilt of her
eyes, perhaps, or a not quite perfect straight and sculpted nose. The
woman wore her hair pulled back, and her face appeared thinner than
Dana's.

Her cheekbones were slightly more prominent and her chin was sharper.

Dana glanced at him and gave a great start that knocked her back on her
heels.

"Don't look at me like that. That is not me! It looks like me, and ...
it looks like me." She jumped to her feet and briskly rubbed her arms.

"I've dealt with a lot of mistaken identities, but never with a
doppelg~nger.

Or a clone. You taken part in any government experiments lately?" He
heard the forced cheerfulness in his tone and hated himself for it. He
did believe her. She was an innocent woman. wasn't she?

He peered closely at the screen. The woman held something in her hand.
The angle and shadows made it difficult to see details, but enough was
there to know she carded a gun. He stopped the tape and killed the
volume.

"Serious now, no joke." He tossed the remote control from hand to hand.

"I was hoping to bust the tape as too muddy or indistinct. I can tell
you right now, in all confidence, that isn't going to happen." Visions
of the video making national news sickened him. And it would. What would
a jury think? He knew exactly what a jury would think.

"Have you ever been in therapy? A psychiatrist or psychologist?"

She fussed with the filmy curtains over the French doors.

"No."

95 "Ever suffered from blackouts?"

"Fainting? No," He gave her an out and she ignored the bait. Which
reinforced his belief in her, but wasn't making his job any easier.

"Not fainting, blackouts. Periods of time you can't remember."

She turned on him.

"I am not crazy. I don't suffer from blackouts or a split personality or
some kind of Jekyll-and-Hyde thing. That is not me on the tape. Did you
look at those clothes? I'd never wear a baseball jacket and I don't even
own a pair of jeans." She pressed both hands between her breasts.

"I've never seen that woman before in my life!"

The absurdity of her statement caught both of them off guard. Kurt
laughed.

Her full mouth curled into a sheepish smile.

She murmured,

"You know what I mean."

A small laugh bubbled from her throat. Shaking her head, she eyed the
television as if it might come to life and attack her.

"I was hoping it was a wig and makeup making her look like me. But ...
not anymore."

He grinned.

"Every time I feel sure I've seen it all, something like this happens.
But I think you're right about the clothes. If the cops found
bloodstained clothing or a weapon, we'd know about it."

"They'll just say I threw them away;" He played the tape again. Twice he
watched the part where the woman ran into view. Her blue jeans clung to
her buttocks and long legs like a second skin. Even if Dana owned a pair
of jeans, she sure wouldn't wear them that tight.

"Buck up, I've got a friend," he said.

"He's a private eye, the best in the business when it comes to missing
persons. I'm going to put him to work finding our mystery woman. We will
find her. At least we know what she looks like."

That last bit earned him a dry look before she wandered into the kitchen
and opened the refrigerator.

With one hand holding the door, she stared at the scanty contents.

"A private eye? We still haven't settled your fee," she said. She closed
the fridge.

"It's only fair to warn you that I haven't much ready cash. I had to
borrow from my parents to raise the down payment on this house.
Everything else is plowed back into the business. My credit is good, but
I'm ...  overextended."

"You won't be the first to stiff me," he said absently. He considered
ways to lessen the damage caused by the videotape. Other than physically
producing the other woman, he didn't see anything.

"Half my clients want to pay me in chickens."

"I have never stiffed anybody in my life. I pay my bills. All I am
saying is it will take me a while to raise the money.

You will be paid. Somehow. But if you need a retainer, I--I don't know
what to do." He frowned, thinking.

Nobody had witnessed the actual shooting. The gun _the woman carried was
too indistinct for identification.

Which meant despite the tape, without a weapon or a confession, the
police case was entirely circumstantial.

"Don't worry about me. I'll cover the PIS expenses and bill you later."
He looked past her to the refrigerator.

"Go change. We'll go to dinner."

"May I ask a favor?"

"Yes, you may," he said, unable to resist mocking her cool formality.

"Will you take me downtown to get my car, please? I feel trapped without
it." She darted a look at the television and shivered.

"I feel trapped in this house."

"No problem.

Then we'll go to dinner."

"I'm exhausted."

"Buck up, Dana. The tape is worse than I hoped, but better than I
feared.

We'll beat it. You like Chio nese?"

"Yes, but" -- "We'll get take-out and bring it back here. Chicken, beef,
pork or seafood?"

"I didn't" -- "Ah} hell with it, I'll get some of everything. I'm
starving." He flipped open the phone book and began searching for a
nearby restaurant.

Dana gave up and headed for her bedroom to Kurt Saxon was impossible. He
didn't listen, he treated her like some kind of army recruit who had
better jump when he said jump, and he talked too fast. Always saying
irrelevant things that were far too personal.

Grumbling made her feel better as she changed into a pair of slacks and
a cotton' sweater. She applied mascara to her lashes and a dusting of
blush to her cheeks. Noticing her face in the mirror, she froze, seeing
the other woman's face--or was it another woman? Was it possible she did
suffer blackouts? She would know if she did, wouldn't she?

Such thoughts gave her the willies. She slid her arms into a linen
blazer.

Kurt waited for her in the foyer. He leafed through a copy of Antiques &
Collectibles.

"You like old junk, huh?" he said, and tossed the magazine back on the
hall table.

"Fairy-tale books, dolls. Cute."

"It's no worse than collecting beer cans or junky old cars. It's
certainly cleaner. Don't you have hobbies?"

"Sure. Playing softball, skiing, fishing."

"Harassing women," she said archly.

"That, too." He reached for the door handle, then stopped and gave her a
crooked grin.

"Sure you don't want to do the Greek place? A little wine, a little
music.

Do you some good."

"No, thank you. I am not in the mood for entertainment."

His smile softened.

She inhaled sharply. She worked well with people, she was good at sales
and public relations. It should he the easiest thing in the world to
establish a neutral working relationship with Kurt Saxon.

Should be. if his silvery gray eyes weren't so fascinating, and if he
weren't so physically imposing, and if he'd stop surprising her with
small kindnesses when she needed them the most.

"I've got this theory," he said.

"There's no such thing as right time or right place. Stuff happens when
it happens. Usually for no good reason. So you have to grab it when
opportunity hits."

"Is that supposed to mean something?" Fighting her awareness of his
attractiveness made her entire body ache. She didn't want to notice how
his height 99 perfectly complemented hers, or how his blue jeans fit
with intriguing snugness.

"Neal calls and I'm in the middle of a softball game, my team is
winning. I almost didn't answer the pager. But I did."

"What are you saying? This is fate?"

"Can you think of any other way I would have met you?" He glided a step
closer.

"We don't run with the same crowd." He fingered her jacket lapel.

"We don't shop at the same stores."

She watched his hand moving slowly against her lapel. Heat spread
through her belly. One more second and she'd end up rolling around with
him on the floor. "May we please go, Mr. Saxon? I'd like my car."

DURING THE DRIVE DOWNTOWN, Dana replayed the videotape in her head.

The more she thought about it, the spookier it seemed. Folk wisdom said
everyone had a double, but this was ridiculous.

She began wondering what really happened on Tuesday.

As she handed Kurt the credit-card-size electronic key to open the
parking garage, she asked,

"Do you think the private eye can find that woman?"

"If Austin can't find her, she doesn't exist." He slid the key into the
slot. The indicator light turned from red to green, and a motor churned
as the gate slid into the wall. He drove slowly into the garage. Doesn't
exist. Did Kurt believe she existed?

"If we don't find her, I don't stand a chance." He shook a finger at
her.

"Pessimism will give you wrinkles. Where's your car?"

"Upper level. Slot 134. What have I to be optimistic about? She looks
exactly like me. I don't think my mother could tell the difference
between us. Maybe Detective Callister was fight about an evil twin."

Be honest, Dana. Was it you?

How could she know for absolutely certain there wasn't some deep, dark
madness lurking in her subconscious?

Some twist in her personality living a separate, secret life?

"The tape is damning. A jury would eat it up, but if it was enough,
they'd make the arrest stick. They need hard evidence, like the murder
weapon." Disgust made her scowl.

"Neal will make it easy for them." The attorney was history, she
decided.

Plenty of law firms in the Dallas area would be overjoyed to represent
Star Systems.

"Purely circumstantial. That's if the gun he lost matches the murder
weapon."

His matter-of-fact belief filled her with such grafftude, tears rose
again.

She squeezed her eyelids shut.

He stopped the Lincoln behind her blue Taurus. She nodded and fished in
her purse for her keys.

"You'll have to let me go first. I have to use the key to get out."

He rested a hand on her forearm, and she stilled, staring out the
windshield at the gloomy deserted garage.

"You still believe me," she said softly.

"I mean, not just on technicalities, but you honestly know I'm not a
killer." She held her breath, waiting. "In all honesty, the majority of
my clients shouldn't be walking the streets. My job isn't necessarily
keeping them out of jail but in seeing they get fair treatment. It's a
cruddy job, but I like the challenge."

The tape had changed his mind. He did think her guilty. Despair filled
her, so heavy she doubted if she could rise off the seat. She wished her
parents were home. She wished she were a child again, nurtured and
protected. She wished-- "This is different. You're innocent."

She whipped her head around, stating at him in surprise.

"I keep throwing all I have at you, giving you outs, giving you chances
to make excuses or explain things."

He squeezed her fingers.

"But, lady, you're clueless. So do me a favor and don't confess. You'll
kill my faith in my instincts."

She mulled over his words.

"In other words, you think I'm too stupid to have killed anybody."

His laughter filled the car. He gave her shoulder a playful push.

"Love a gal with a sense of humor."

"Your sense of humor is very strange." She opened the car door.

He picked up her left hand. Always watching her eyes, he raised her hand
to his, mouth and kissed it, gently, warmly, a sultry brush of his lips
against her skin that stole her breath away. Silvery glints shone in his
eyes.

I'll pick up the chow and meet you at your plaee." His exhalation
tickled her wrist.

She stumbled from the car and stood in the humid, gasoline-scented
garage, trying to catch her breath.

She rubbed the back of her hand. The contrast between his roughneck
appearance and the gallantry of the kiss made it all the more powerful.
Her skin tingled. After giving herself a little shake, she slid
determinedly into her car.

In the rearview mirror, she watched the black Lincoln and imagined Kurt
behind the wheel, grinning and thinking he was hot stuff. Fine, the man
knew how to make a grand gesture. Big deal.

Convincing herself it wasn't a big deal occupied her thoughts all the
way home.

She guided her Taurus into the garage. As much as she hated to admit it,
she was glad Kurt would soon arrive with dinner. Hunger had made her
lightheaded, but the very idea of actually having to prepare a meal
exhausted her.

She didn't want to he alone, either.

She laughed at herself, admitting the truth. She liked the man, and
disconcerting as he was, she enjoyed his company. He was single, she was
single. A little flirtation never hurt anybody.

She grabbed her purse and stepped out of the car. She caught a movement
out of the corner of her eye.

A hand grabbed her arm. A black-clad arm snaked across her chest and
snatched her purse. Her attacker threw the purse across the garage,
where it struck the wall and fell to the floor with a clatter.

Dana screamed. A hand slammed against her mouth, cutting her off in mid
screech Her knees buckled. She twisted and squirmed, kicking wildly and
grabbing at his arm with her free hand. The assailant jerked her
backward.

She struck a solid body. The hand on her face squeezed with brutal
force, threatening to dislocate her jaw. White-hot agony shot 103
through her from wrist to shoulder as he wrenched her left arm.

"Hold still," a rough voice rasped against her ear. "Do what I say and
nobody gets hurt."

Panic iced her muscles.

"Gordon was my buddy," he whispered. His breath burned along her cheek
and the smell of onions made her gorge rise.

"I ought to break your skinny neck. He was worth twenty of you." He
shook her violently.

"You and that squirrelly buddy of yours are like greased snakes, but
your luck done run out."

He jerked her arm higher, driving her hand between her shoulder blades.

Every muscle in her back and shoulder screamed. He urged her toward the
door. Her breathing rushed in her ears like waves pounding against a
shore.

Her heart thumped raggedly against her ribs and she felt certain he was
ripping her left arm from the socket, but her head cleared, time seemed
to slow, and each step was like wading through molasses."

She could feel his face against her hair. The hand squeezing her wrist
had fingers of iron. Did he have a weapon? A gun or a knife? Why twist
her arm if he did?

"Nobody gets hurt if you do exactly as I say. Open the door."

She didn't believe him for a second. At the first chance he got, this
horrible man was going to hurt her badly. Through the thin sole of her
shoe she felt the step.

"The door is locked," she said against his hand.

He eased the pressure on her face.

"The door is locked," she repeated.

"I dropped my keys. I can't open it."

He made a disgruntled sound. His movements against her back told her he
was looking around. For the keys? For witnesses? She had to keep him out
of the house. If he gained entry, she would die. She searched
frantically for a weapon.

He shifted suddenly and the pressure of his body left her back while his
grip tightened on her left arm. He kicked the door.

Wood cracked and metal popped, but the door held. He draw back, ready to
kick it again.

The automatic garage door light went out. Her assailant stumbled.

Dana braced her feet against the step and shoved, using all the power ~n
her legs to drive the man against the wall. He cried out hoarsely. A
heavy thud was followed by a crash as a shelf collapsed, dumping its
load of paint cans and cleaning supplies. Glass shattered. Cans clanked.
Dana scrambled to her feet and ran.

He caught her just as she reached the garage door opening. He spun her
in a circle and knocked her to the ground. She hit the concrete with
stunning force. Dazed, she felt him flip her onto her back. He straddled
her belly, crushing her, pinning her hands to the icy floor.

"Stupid! You stupid little ...  the game is over! You lose," her
assailant growled.

"I want those pictures."

Spots danced before her eyes. It took several breaths before she could
speak.

"Pictures? I--I don't know" -- 105 He squeezed her wrists cruelly. Tears
burned her eyes.

"I know you got 'em. Your buddy turned on you, ratted you out. So don't
play stupid with me! Where are they? You got the Dragon-man on you now.
It ain't worth holding out, Dana."

Hearing him use her name frightened her more than the physical violence.
She couldn't see him, didn't recognize his voice, but he knew her.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You better figure it out real fast. Did he get to you? Warn you? I
don't know what your game is, but I know you lose 'cause" -- Dana
recognized the rattling rumble of the powerful engine. Kurt! With
renewed vigor, she bucked and fought with all bet strength.

Her attacker muttered an oath and jerked upright, dragging her up with
him.

"Freeze{" Kurt bellowed.

Dana tried to scream, but Dragon-man wrapped his arm around her throat,
choking off her breath. She clawed at his arm, but he held her fast. Her
lungs contracted in an agonizing spasm.

"Turn her loose!" Kurt yelled.

"Back off!" Against her ear, her attacker whispered,

"I'll be back. You even think about turning the pictures over to the
cops and I'll take you apart a chunk at a time.

The world ain't big enough to hide."

He shoved her. She stumbled, railed her arms, frantically sought her
footing.

Strong arms caught her. The sound of pounding feet receded and then were
gone.

Dana's muscles relaxed and she slumped. Kurt prevented her from sliding
to the ground. I'm alive, she thought, he's gone and I'm alive Kurt
scooped her into his arms and carried her to the door. He hit the garage
door closer; the big door rumbled down. He shouldered his way into the
house. Dana began to laugh. Dragon-man had believed her about the door
being locked. He hadn't even tried the knob. She'd lied to him and saved
her life.

"Okay, babe, come on, it's okay, don't get hysterical on me." He turned
on a light.

"I'm not hysterical. Put me down." She hiccoughed, choking down the
laughter. She was safe, everything was okay. The bad guy had taken one
look at Kurt and fled.

Not only stupid, he was a coward, and he was gone.

Kurt's brow crinkled with worry, and his eyes anxiously searched her
face.

He ran his hands up and down her arms and over her back. His touch felt
good, he made her feel safe and protected, and she wanted nothing more
than for him to hold her forever.

"I'm all right," she said.

"He didn't hurt me, not really." She caught his face in both hands.

"You really are my white knight."

She kissed him.

Chapter Eight.

Kiss'rag Kurt Saxon was akin to eating chocolate: once started, it was
difficult to stop.

His lips were firm and supple, both giving and demanding. In response to
her hands sliding around his neck and to the pressure of her body, his
posture shifted from protective to possessive.

The feel of him drove away the fear, and any urge to laugh.

She pulled away. He nibbled her lower lip, pressed hot, soulful kisses
over her cheek. She pushed his ~houlders.

"Oh," she said breathlessly. With open reluctance and a disgruntled
sound, he loosened his grip, bringing his hands to her shoulders u if
fearing she might fall. His eyes were dark and hot behind heavy lids. He
guided her to the couch. at her feet, he examined her arms where had
left finger-shaped welts on her "You're sure you're okay."

stop looking so worried." His anxious art owed straight to her heart.

He cared, he cared.

"I'm not hurt. He just scared me."

Groaning, Kurt dropped his head onto her lap. "Scared me, too," he
muttered.

She combed his hair with her fingers and melted inside. If she wasn't
very careful, she'd end up falling in love with this man.

"PI~," KURT SAID. He paced through the family room, pausing at windows
and doors, searching the night for possible intruders. Impotent anger
rattled him, knotted his belly. One police officer had responded to
their call.

One! He'd taken the report, looked over the garage, peered at Dana's
bruises and promised he'd flag his report for Callister and Tan-
nenbaum.

Kurt sensed the officer hadn't been overly impressed by their inability
to describe Dragon-man.

"You're sure he said pictures."

"I told you exactly what he said," she replied testily.

"Fifty times.

He wants pictures, and he'll kill me if he doesn't get them."

Kurt picked up a carton of moo goo gai pan and dug into it, chewing
automatically, without tasting.

"All fight, let's go over it again. The first thing he did was throw
your purse away."

She glanced at the small leather handbag, now scarred from being thrown
against the wall.

"Yes."

"He threw your purse. He used your name. He knows you. I get it now."

"Please, no riddles. What do you get?"

"Your double gets nabbed at O'Dooley's. Only surprise, surprise, the
lady was packing heat. So the first thing this goof does is toss your
purse out of 109 reach. He thinks you're armed. Dragon-man thinks your
double is you."

She regarded him gravely.

"The police think I'm a killer, and now killers think I'm a killer. Is
that supposed to make me feel better?"

"It's starting to make sense. You said your office was open on
Wednesday."

She sipped tea.

"The cleaning people" -- "Think, Dana. You went home early, but that's
unusual for you. So Gordon goes to your office after hours, thinking to
find you alone. You aren't there.

He breaks into your office, looks around for the pictures, can't find
them.

He notices your desk calendar.

You have a date at O'Dooley's."

"Where he finds my double." She set down her tea and searched through
the cartons of Chinese food.

"Do you think she has the pictures? Is she impersonating me?"

"I doubt it. She took too much of a risk by contacting you. I think she
was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

She nibbled fried rice.

"How can we expect the police to believe all this when I don't believe
it myself? I saw the way the policeman was looking at us." She held up
her left hand and examined the redness.

"I bet he thinks you did this to me. Did you hear him ask me if you and
I fought a lot?"

"Did you tell him yes?"

"Stop making jokes."

Joke. that's how Callister and Tannenbaum were going to treat this.

He could almost hear them: "Dragon-man, who nobody can identify or
describe, wants pictures, and that's why a woman who could be Dana's
identical twin killed Eddie Gordon. We'll get right on it. Thanks for
the clue, man."

"So let's find the pictures."

She plopped the carton down. A few grains of rice flew onto the coffee
table. She immediately wiped them up with a napkin.

"What pictures? This whole thing is totally absurd. I haven't even
touched my camera in months. The only person who's given me pictures
lately has been my mother, and those are postcards from Hawaii."

"Could it have to do with Star Systems? You handle sensitive material."

"I don't handle it personally. Besides, it's all computer data, not
pictures."

"What about digital pictures? Computer images. Maps or something. Who
handles the data?"

"Technicians. They accept data either on disk, or over the telephone
through modems. Then they encrypt the data and store it on tape."

"Encrypt?"

"The clients are provided their own passwords, sort of like a personal
identification number for an automatic teller machine. If they need
something, they can either come in and have the information put back on
disks or they access it directly via modem, using their passwords."

"Let's say I want to steal some data."

"Even if you broke into the storage facility and took the tapes, they
wouldn't do you any good without the passwords. If one of our employees
transferred data onto a disk, it still wouldn't do you any good.
Security is one of our guarantees. We store a lot of sensitive research
data, along with things like customer lists and demographic information.
Besides, anyone who knows our operation, knows that I don't have access.

At least, not in a usable form."

"What about access to the passwords?"

"None whatsoever. Pauline is the only person who knows all the
passwords."

"What if something happens to her?"

"If clients should happen to lose or forget their passwords, then a
system is in place that calls for a lot of signatures and
identification."

Kurt reasoned Pauline would make a better target if thieves were after
information in Star Systems data banks.

"All right. What about the buddy he talked about?"

"No name." She picked up an egg roll and eyed it glumly.

"He said my buddy told on me. Ratted on me.

I dare you to make sense out of that."

He finished the moo goo gai pan and selected an egg roll. Dana urged a
napkin on him. He' considered it dumb to worry about a few crumbs when
he had more important things on his mind, but he used the napkin.

After he finished the egg roll, he frowned at her. "Think about this.

Has anyone given you a package lately, maybe on the sly? Maybe asked you
to hold on to it until"-- Her eyes widened and she bolted upright. The
remains of her egg roll fell from her fingers and bounced off the couch
onto the floor.

"Dana?"

Her mouth opened and closed. She looked up at him with shocked eyes.

"Carl," she whispered. Then stronger,

"Carl Perriman. I got a package in the mail at work. Carl sent it."

Excitement fluttered in his chest. Now they were getting somewhere.

He picked up the fallen egg roll and placed it on the coffee table.

"Did he send pictures?"

"I don't know. When I realized it was from him, I stuck it in my desk.

Pauline was upset and I didn't want to upset her further, and then the
police came. It might be pictures."

"Who is Carl?"

She lowered. her face. She picked crumbs off the floor.

"He used to be our bookkeeper. And ...  he was a friend." She put her
shoulder to him and shuddered with a painful-sounding sigh.

"I had to fire him."

"What happened?"

"He embezzled funds from the company. About four thousand dollars.

Carl had forged Pauline's signature on some checks. He swore he didn't
do it, but there was no other explanation. I want to cry every time I
think about it. It was just awful."

" Can you think of any reason why he'd send you pictures?"

"Other than photography is his hobby, not a single one." Dana slowly
extended her hands, turning them back and forth as she examined the red
marks and bruises in the light.

"Carol's a bookkeeper, not a gangster. He made a terrible mistake when
he stole from me, but he never could explain what happened or where the
money went. I didn't want to fire him, I 113 wanted to work it out, but
I couldn't trust him. I had no choice in the matter."

"Does he have a drug habit? Addicts steal. Addicts get involved with
goofs like Eddie Gordon."

Her troubled gaze wandered the room.

"I don't know," she whispered.

"I just do not know."

"We'll get the package tomorrow and find out."

THE NIGHTMARE JERKEL) Dana to sweating, shaking, gasping wakefulness.

Bolt upright in bed, she FLAILED at the hands choking her throat. She
gurgled, fighting away the fingers squeezing tighter and tighter. Her
eyelids flew open.

Gradually the real world cut through the fog. The smell of perfume and
haft spray, potpourri and lemon oil filtered into her consciousness.
Crickets and the sleepy noises of her house, faints sighs and the
faraway hum from the refrigerator, replaced her harsh dream-breathing.
Her heart slowed.

But the fear lingered.

Unable to bear the questions swirling through her brain, she left the
bed.

Cool air caressed her bare legs and arms. She found her robe. Maybe
there was a movie to watch. Something mindless and silly, absorbing
enough to make her stop thinking about Dragon-man and Cad and a
mysterious doppelg/inger who carried a gun. Mindful of Kurt sleeping in
the spare bedroom, she eased open her bedroom door and slipped into the
hallway.

A light came on and at the same time, Kurt spoke her name.

Her heart leapt into her throat and she caught the wall.

Bathed in light from the spare bedroom, Kurt stood in the doorway.

He wore only blue jeans, riding low on his hips. She absorbed the vision
of his deep, broad chest, tapered waist and the way bands of muscle
roped across his flat belly. Thick curls of black hair flared across his
pectorals, reaching for the heavy ridge of his collarbone. His skin was
the color of burnished oak.

When he was fully dressed, she could dismiss him as too big and sloppy,
even awkward. Half-naked, he displayed graceful power, a fascinating
assemblage of planes and angles, suppleness and strength.

Muscles she hadn't been aware of in a long time tightened deep inside
her.

"Are you all right? What's the matter?" Burled with sleepiness, his
drawl was pronounced, his rumbling voice carrying like a cat's purr.
"I'm okay.

I ...  I couldn't sleep."

"Bad dreams?"

She started to say no, but a yes slipped out on a sigh. Resting her back
against the wall, she closed her eyes.

"I'm scared he's coming back." She clutched her robe closed at her
throat.

The silky fabric felt flimsy as tissue paper.

"I'm so tired, but I can't sleep."

"It's probably the Chinese food. For such a skinny old girl who says she
isn't hungry, you sure can pack in the chow."

She opened one eye. A smile captured her mouth. "You have a perverse way
with words."

115 He agreed with a nod.

"Want some company?" He crossed the hallway in two steps.

His scent struck her and her heart lurched. She smelled sleep on his
skin and masculine heat. She could almost hear the snap inside as her
senses awakened. Her bare feet luxuriated in the plush carpet and she
felt the texture of the wall beneath the thin fabric of her robe.

Her own breathing seemed loud and ragi always sleep with one eye open,
Dana.

You don't have to be afraid."

"I always thought I was a brave person. Willing to take risks." She
laughed weakly.

"But you were right when you said I've had a nice little life. Nothing
bad has ever happened to me. I've never had to be afraid."

"Fear isn't always a bad thing. It keeps you on your toes. Besides, you
handled that goof just fine. I'm proud of you."

She met his gaze. His eyes arrested her, stripped her of coherent
thought.

The expression she read in the dim golden light was dark with concern.

He reached toward her face. Her breath caught. Reason told her to move
away. If he touched her, she was lost. Instinct and need held her still.

His fingertips grazed the line of her jaw and smoothed across her cheek.
Her eyelids fluttered. Need swelled inside her like a living thing,
flexing and stretching, awakening with a sharp, aching hunger.

He lowered his mouth to hers. She stayed still, her back firm against
the wall, confused by the desire he roused. His sweet-musky scent
blossomed inside her head and his lips were cool. He worked his fingers
through her hair, parting strands over her ear then behind it, touching
and testing the curve of her skull and finding a tender place below her
ear. Her nerve endings quivered, leaving her weak.

His teasing tongue asked a silent questiofi, and she answered it with a
tentative parting of her lips. He tasted like rain. She reveled in the
intriguing contrasts of his strong teeth, slippery tongue, firm lips,
and the intoxicating feel of his hand on her cheek. Her breasts tingled
and ached, her nipples swelling.

Liquid heat filled her veins.

She turned her head aside. The taste of him lingered, potent as wine.

He raised his head, but remained where he was with his hand cupping the
side of her face.

"We shouldn't do this," she whispered. "Why?"

A thousand reasons came to mind. She didn't know him. He was all wrong
for her. He wasn't her type.

The timing was wrong. She wasn't the kind of woman who had casual
affairs .

He felt too good.

She wanted him too much.

"Dana?"

She feared looking at him. Holding her breath, she willed him to leave
her alone.

He turned away.

"Get some sleep," he said gruffly. "See you in the morning."

She managed to sleep, but it was restless and uncomfortable, filled with
disturbing, erotic dreams.

When she finally pulled herself out of bed in the 117 morning, she felt
worse than she had the night before.

Knowing she'd have to face Kurt, she showered and washed her hair.

She glumly regarded her face in the mirror. Puffiness marred the thin
skin under her eyes and her mouth turned in an unhappy line. A bruise
was tender to the touch on the underside of her chin. Yet the
Dragon-man's attack felt like a bad dream, upsetting and frightening,
but not quite real. Memories of kissing Kurt was another matter
altogether.

She'd dated many men. With all of them she'd been in control, setting
her own terms, never allowing herself to be swept away or distracted
from the course she'd set for her life. Kurt was different. Dangerous.

A wild thing whose forceful personality was greater than his size. It
might be possible to tame him, but he'd never be fully under control.

Even worse, around him she didn't feel in control. He knocked something
loose inside her, something hungry and reckless. He set off her temper,
goaded her into laughter, exasperated her, teased her--excited her.

Mostly he confused her.

She dried her hair, leaving it to fall straight and silky past her
shoulders.

A careful application of makeup disguised her fatigued eyes and the
bruise on her chin. She dressed in her favorite sweater. Made of ice
blue silk, it felt soft as rabbit fur, and the scooped neckline
accentuated the swell of her bosom.

She suddenly laughed at herself. Dragon-man wanted to kill her, the
police wanted to put her in prison--and she worried about looking nice
for her outrageous attorney.

Halfway down the stairs, she smelled coffee. Kurt must be in the
kitchen, waiting for her. She prayed he was fully dressed.

Something wicked in her half hoped he wasn't. He had his faults, but his
muscular, beautifully toned, hundred percent male body wasn't one of
them. A man entered the foyer.

A strange man.

He looked up at her and smiled.

Chapter Nine.

Air rushed from Dana's lungs and her heart squeezed as if a fist had
grabbed it. Run. t screamed the voice of panic in her mind. There's
nowhere to got screamed the equally panicky voice of reason. Clutching
the banister with both hands, she stared at the man. A black T-shirt
outlined a torso showing not a trace of fat. Deadly power emanated from
his compact body and there was a quietness about him, a sureness of
energy surrounding him like an aura. He wore a holster on his hip, and
the butt of a gun gleamed black in the sunlight through the windows. If
ever a killing machine walked on two legs, this was he.

Dragon-man!

He looked at her with velvet dark eyes, unreadable as the surface of a
mountain lake.

"Want some coffee?

I heard you in the shower, so I made a fresh pot." He headed for the
kitchen.

Coffee? Her knees turned watery and she sank onto a step. Breathing hard
through her mouth, she rubbed a fist over her heart, willing a semblance
of a normal heartbeat.

What kind of killer offered coffee?

When she was finally able to move, she crept to the kitchen.

The man was reading the newspaper. A cup of coffee steamed on the
breakfast counter. She slid onto a stool. If she was going to die, at
least she could satisfy her curiosity first. She cleared her throat to
catch his attention.

He gave her a small smile, the barest pull of his lips. "Austin Tack,"
he said mildly.

"I'm a friend of murt's."

"Oh." The private eye Kurt had told her about. "He had some business to
take care of." He extended a hand over the counter.

"Nice to meet you, Dana."

Dana hesitated, but good manners kicked in and she shook hands. His
grasp was light, but firm, promising far more strength than he
displayed. His eyes disturbed her. In contrast to his tawny hair, they
were so dark they seemed black. Deep set, they were shadowed further by
thick black lashes.

"Kurt asked you to ...  watch me?"

He nodded.

As the adrenaline faded from her system, indignation grew. How dare Kurt
presume to allow a stranger into her home.

"How very kind of him. He might have said something."

"You were sleeping. Hungry?"

"No, thank you. Mr. Tack."

"Just Austin." He cocked his head, those black eyes seeming to absorb
her.

She focused on her coffee.

Kurt's friends, apparently, were as strange as he was. "I've been
studying the tape. I see it now." He picked up a coffee cup and headed
for the family room.

121 Two things struck her at the same time. One, Aus- tin's comment had
been as certain as it was confusing, and two, the man didn't make a
single noise.

Not even a whisper of his shoes against the floor or the rustle of
clothing.

She followed him.

She settled on the couch and set her coffee cup atop a coaster.

"What is it you see?" She couldn't believe she was having this
conversation.

For all she knew, Kurt was lying dead somewhere and this strange, quiet
man was merely toying with her.

Austin regarded the remote control unit he held. "Catch," he said, and
tossed it.

She flung up a hand reflexively and caught it. "Yep." He sat on the
chair closest to the television set. He tented his fingers over his
chest and stared at the blank television screen.

Dana waited. She drank her coffee. She rubbed her wrist where the
swelling had subsided, leaving finger shaped bruises. Explanations,
apparently, were not Austin Tack's style.

"Have you known Kurt long?"

"We were in the service together. Marines." He chuckled fondly.

"After we got out, we ran a security service. We made pretty good money.

That's how he paid for law school."

"He worked and attended law school?" Her own college days had been
hectic and stressful. She couldn't imagine how she'd have graduated if
she'd had to work, too.

"Yeah, and his wife hated it, but then again, she never did have a sense
of humor."

A spasm clutched her diaphragm.

"He's mar- tied?"

"Was." His dark eyes seemed to reach inside her. "He didn't tell you?

They've been divorced five or six years. I don't know why he married her
in the first place. All she cared about is stuff. Cars, clothes, fancy
house, country clubs. Kurt never made enough money to satisfy her.

She dumped him for an insurance broker."

Dana shifted uncomfortably. She sensed Austin was challenging her, or
perhaps, warning her. Is that how he perceived her, a woman who 'cared
only about stuff? His words reminded her of Kurt's contempt for Neal
Harlow.

The garage door rumbled and a throaty engine announced the arrival of
the black Lincoln. Austin rose, his right hand hovering casually over
the gun strapped to his hip. He glided soundlessly toward the kitchen
and paused, watching the short hallway leading to the garage.

Dana held her breath. If it wasn't Kurt who had arrived, would Austin
shoot?

If it was Kurt, would he shoot, anyway? Why was she sitting here like a
dummy waiting to find out?

Kurt strode into the kitchen, slamming the door behind him.

"Hey, man, is she up yet?"

Austin's shoulders relaxed. He nodded and returned to the family room.

From the couch, Dana watched Kurt sling grocery sacks onto the counter.
He made several trips to the garage, ending up filling her kitchen with
a collection of sacks and boxes. Dana considered asking him what 123 it
was, but if she did, he'd tell her and she'd be annoyed, because no
doubt she didn't really want to know. As it was, she was annoyed,
anyway, about Austin nearly scaring the pants off her.

Kurt strode into the family room. He smiled broadly at her, catching her
off guard, again. His teeth were very white against his suntanned face.
She held her breath, wondering if he'd kiss her in greeting. Wanting him
to do just that annoyed her most of all.

She pulled her features into her most forbidding eapression.

"I'd like to talk to you" -- She noticed the cat.

It strolled behind Kurt, carrying its tail like a flag. A
black-and-silver tabby, with long silky hair variegated in stripes, it
was the largest cat Dana had ever seen. It hopped onto the back of the
couch and regarded her through owlish eyes.

"What is this?" she whispered.

"Snooky." Kurt tossed a leather jacket on a chair. "If I leave him at
the office, he gets bored and starts messing around with papers and
stuff. He drives my secretary crazy."

"Snooky," she repeated stupidly. Something was going on here, but for
the life of her, she couldn't imagine what.

"This works out great." Kurt raised his voice as he went to the kitchen
to pour a cup of coffee.

"I'm sick of sleeping at the office."

"what are you talking about?" She wanted to yell, but both the cat and
Austin were watching the exchange with open interest.

"I told you about the fire in my apartment building and how I've been
sacking out in my office. This will work great."

"What will work great?"

"My staying here." He waggled a hand back and forth "But don't worry
about me charging extra.

We'll call it even."

She leapt to her feet.

"Staying here?"

"You need a bodyguard."

She started to repeat what he said, but caught it, knowing she was
beginning to sound like some sort of dim-witted echo.

"You can't move into my house. I don't want anybody living in my house."

"It's no problem. You need a bodyguard, and there's no sense in your
paying three or four hundred bucks a day to a stranger when I can handle
it."

"Just what qualifies you as a bodyguard?"

Austin made an amused noise.

"Four years in the marines, a third-degree black belt and this." He
patted the revolver holstered on his hip.

"Austin will stand backup if necessary. Don't worry, you won't even
'know I'm here. Quiet as a mouse. And I'll cook."

She shifted her stunned gaze to the kitchen where Kurt's sacks and boxes
covered the countertops. Not know he was here? That would be like trying
to ignore a grizzly bear.

He grazed her chin with a knuckle.

"Did you sleep good? You look better. I like that sweater." His gaze
lingered for a moment on her breasts.

"We have lots of work to do.

You hungry? I got some groceries."

Without awaiting her reply, he returned to the kitchen.

125 He was worse than impossible. He was infuriating. Kurt and Austin
put away groceries. The boxes, she noted, contained clothing, law books
and files. He was not only moving in, he was taking over. Only the
reminder about the Dragon-man in the form of deadly sidearms strapped to
each man's hip kept her from complaining. She refilled her coffee cup.
Kurt tossed a package of hamburger to Austin who caught it easily. He
examined the package and grunted in disapproval.

Kurt laughed and made a disparaging comment about tofu and rabbit food.
Dana found their camaraderie interesting.

"So, you looked at the tape?" Kurt asked. Austin nodded.

"Can you find her?"

Austin nodded again. He began folding grocery sacks.

Kurt turned to Dana.

"Austin is the PI. I told you about. A two-legged bloodhound."

Somehow Austin didn't fit with her image of a private eye. She'd
expected someone seedy, perhaps stinking of cigars. But then, why not?
Kurt didn't look like an attorney, so why should his friend look like a
private eye?

"How are you going to find her? She could be anywhere."

"Leave it to me." Austin's mild, soft voice held firm conviction.

"By the way, man, you missed it."

Kurt snorted.

"I never miss anything."

"Did this time." Smiling enigmatically, he went to the family room.

As Dana slid off the stool, she whispered,

"He's so quiet."

Kurt grinned and winked, giving her the idea there was a joke involved,
but she hadn't a clue as to what it might be.

Dana and Kurt sat on the couch while Austin started the tape of the
mystery woman. When he reached the part where the woman and Eddie Gordon
emerged from the bar, he stopped the tape. He pointed to the woman's
left hand.

Though the shadows and lighting made the image indistinct, it was good
enough to see the woman's hand inside her jacket pocket. Austin waited a
moment before continuing. At the part where the camera caught the woman
full front, he froze it again. He pointed to the gun.

"Left hand," he said.

His eyes fairly snapping with interest, Kurt leaned forward and stared
intently at the screen.

Austin played with the forward and reverse control until he froze the
tape at another frame.

"Look at her jacket. The pockets have snaps or maybe Velcro fasteners.
The left pocket is gaping, but the other is flat.

I think our mystery woman is a southpaw." Kurt whistled.

The corners of Austin's mouth tipped in a faint smile.

"You, Dana, are right-handed."

Catching on, she nodded, her relief so great that she was unable to
trust her voice. Now everybody had to realize it wasn't her on the tape.
She wasn't crazy or afflicted with a split personality. She forgave
Austin for her previous scare. She almost forgave Kurt for bullying his
way into her home.

Austin fiddled with the tape again until he found the frame that showed
the woman's face most clearly.

"Check out the widow's peak."

Dana touched her forehead where her hairline dipped into a small peak.

Kurt looked between her and the television. Suddenly, he swept his hand
over her brow, pulling her hair away from her face. I'll be damned."

" What?" she cried and slapped his hand away.

"What is it?"

"Mirror image," Kurt said.

"Your peak is off center, it points to the fight. But hers points to the
left."

He rose off the couch and crouched before the television.

"Could the images be reversed?"

"This is video, not film. No negative involved," Prostin replied.

"What you see is what you get."

"THE t'ol~CE HAVE TO believe it isn't me," Dana said. Kurt stroked
Snooky the cat, who arched his back and partially closed his eyes. After
a moment, the cat jumped off Kurt's lap and hit the floor with a heavy
thud. He sauntered into the kitchen.

Dana watched the cat explore. Like Kurt, Snooky seemed completely at
ease in her house.

"It's open to interpretation. Just because she was carrying the gun in
her left hand, doesn't mean absolutely for certain she is left-handed."

"The widow's peak" -- "It gives us something to work with, but we can't
count on it. Don't worry. Austin will find her."

Austin Tack had left as silently as he'd appeared, armed with
photographs of Dana.

"Our more immediate problem is figuring out the deal with those
pictures. I talked to Tannenbaum this morning" -- "Why didn't you tell
me?"

He raised a hand as if to fend her away.

"Don't get your parities in a knot. I'm telling you now. He is not
impressed with Dragon-man."

"He doesn't believe I was attacked."

"Look at it from their point of view. Callister and Tannenbaum carry a
heavy caseload. Calling them overworked is a vast understatement. Some
cases are more urgent than others. For instance, Callister is the
primary in a cop-killing, and trying to solve it must be eating him
alive." He showed the palls of his hands. "Then there's Eddie. A lowlife
drug dealer nobody likes and nobody cares about. What the cops wanted
was to have you say you shot him so they can go on to more important
things."

"If they don't care, why can't they leave me alone?"

"It's their job.

Besides, this case has political Possibilities.

I imagine they're getting pressure from the prosecutor's office. The
last thing they need is us throwing in a mysterious goof called
Dragon-man." She sighed.

"It does sound pretty stupid." She glanced at her poster of the knight.

"Like something made up."

"Exactly. So let's go see if Carl did send you pic-" I still can't
imagine Cad involved in anything illegal.

He's very timid, shy."

"He stole from you for a reason. Could be 'he's supporting a habit."

129 "I just can't see Carl connected to drugs. Besides, it's pictures
Dragon-man wants, not drugs or money."

She opened her purse and made sure she had her of- rice keys.

"Dana."

"

Finding him right next to her gave her a small start. He stared intently
at her, making her feel lopsided and warm.

"About last night."

The back of her neck prickled.

"What about it?"

"It was nice."

Surprised, she looked up at him. She smiled.

"I'll concede that." He was going to kiss her again. Enfold her in those
big arms and hold her tight and make her feel real in an increasingly
unreal world. His hands would do delicious things to her body and she'd
touch again his solid chest.

"Good. Let's go."

Her mouth dropped open. She stared at his back. "Nice? That's all you
have to say?"

He glanced over his shoulder.

"If you're looking for an apology, remember, you kissed me first. Let's
go."

"I don't expect an apology. I ..." What she expected eluded her
completely.

"Oh, never mind." She slung her purse over her shoulder and hurried
after him.

She didn't speak to him until they reached the highway and he maneuvered
his car into the fast-paced traffic. It took that long before she
trusted herself not to sound like a frustrated, sex-starved harridan.

"What happens if we do find pictures?"

"We'll figure out if they hurt or help."

"How could it hurt? I'm not involved in anything illegal."

He pulled a face.

"Carl sent them to you for a reason."

She didn't want to know what kind of suspicions he harbored. Arms
crossed, she glared at the clutter around her feet.

"Suppose Carl latched on to something hot. So he made copies and sent
you a set for insurance. You're a trusting soul. A friend gives you
something, you take it at face value. You don't ask questions. You don't
snoop." ' "You make me sound naive."

"Aren't you?"

"No!"

He laughed.

"If I gave you a box and asked you to store it in your garage, would you
look in the box?"

"Of course not."

"That's my point." He grinned cockily.

"I'd look in the box."

"Just because I respect a person's privacy, doesn't make me naive."

"It does make you the perfect patsy."

"I resent that."

His smile widened, showing his teeth. He glanced at the rearview mirror,
did a double take, and his smile disappeared. Under a glowering brow,
his eyes glittered like shagds of ice.

"Damn it."

"What is it?"

"We've got a tail."

131 Her heart thudded against her ribs and she sank lower on the seat.

"Dragon-man? Do you think he has a gun?"

"I recognize the car. I'm sure it's a reporter. Hold on." He
accelerated, then cut sharply into the right lane. A Toyota honked
frantically behind them. Dana grabbed the dashboard with both hands and
squeezed her eyes shut.

The Lincoln rocked and groaned. The tires thump-thumped and the force of
a turn pressed her against the door. She peeked. Kurt drove around a
cloverleaf exit and headed for the ramp taking them back onto the
highway.

"There he goes." He pointed down the highway.

"The red Ford." He took his time merging back into traffic.

"Are you sure it's a reporter?" Being attacked by Dragon-man in the dark
had nearly given her a heart attack. Meeting him face-to-face. She
shuddered at the thought.

"That or a cop," Kurt replied.

"Since Eddie Gor- don probably doesn't merit the funds or manpower
needed for a surveillance operation, my vote is for a reporter. You do
realize, sooner or later, probably sooner, somebody is going to leak the
videotape to the press."

Dana was horrified. Seeing the videotape had almost convinced her she
was a killer. What would the public think? What would her parents think?

Imagining how they would react was too distressing to think about. She
prayed to have this mess straightened out before they returned from
their vacation.

At the Baylor building, they rode the elevator upstairs to the seventh
floor. The hallway was lit, but every door was closed and locked and all
the offices were dark. Dana used her key to enter Star Systems.

Lights were on in the reception area.

"Who works on the weekends?" Kurt asked. "It's probably Pauline."

Still stinging from their last encounter, she didn't have the heart to
face her partner right now. She urged Kurt to follow her into her
office. She closed the door softly behind him. Everything looked normal.
She pulled open the drawer where she'd placed the package from Carl.
Hanging file folders crammed toward the back told her the drawer had
been searched. It relieved her imo mensely to find the envelope where
she'd left it. She handed it to Kurt.

He studied the envelope. Snorting softly, he pointed out the postmark.

"You got it Thursday? It took ten days to get across town from Garland.

Good old U.S. Mail." He shook the contents onto the desk.

"Well, well, look here."

The envelope contained a supermarket film developing packet and a folded
sheet of paper. Dana had been expecting photographs, but seeing them
dismayed her, anyway. No doubt about it now, Carl was involved. First he
embezzled, then he turned the Dragon-man loose on her. How had she so
misjudged him? She'd trusted him, considered him her friend. Kurt dealt
the photographs like cards, spreading them across her desktop. He
muttered,

"Never seen anyone with such a clean desk. You sure you work here.9"
Then, softer,

"I don't get it."

13'3 Puzzlement growing, she rested her hands on the desk and leaned
over the photographs. She didn't get it, either.

All the pictures were of Pauline and Neal Harlow. The sky was overcast,
melding into the background of cypress trees. They wore coats, and wind
blew their hair.

Kurt pointed out a photo showing a bench.

"Looks like they're in a park."

She picked up a photograph of Pauline and Neal embracing, locked in a
passionate kiss. The pose was suitable for a perfume advertisement.

Knifelike pains sliced across her abdomen.

Tossing the photograph back on the desk, she turned around.

"So Neal and Pauline are having an affair. Big deal. She has affairs
with everybody." She couldn't help wondering when Carl had taken the
pietures.

Or why he had sent them--unless he wanted to hurt her feelings. In that
case, he'd accomplished his purpose in spades.

Kurt unfolded the sheet of paper.

"It's a leiter." Dear Dana," it says. Want me to read it?"

"Go ahead."

Kurt cleared his throat.

"You were the best friend I ever had. So please believe me when I say I
am not doing this to get even or just to hurt your feelings. Pauline
Kidder framed me. She stole the money, not me. I don't have proof yet,
but I am getting there. I have her under surveillance. These pictures
prove she doesn't care if she hurts you. She doesn't care about anything
but herself. Do not trust her. I will always be your friend.

Love, Carl" Kurt looked up.

"That's it."

Dana slid onto her chair and rested her chin on her fist. Glumly, she
eyed the array of photographs. Pauline and Neal walking hand in hand.
Pauline and Neal facing each other, staring longingly into each other's
eyes.

Pauline and Neal kissing.

Even read in Kurt's deep-voiced drawl, Carol's pain and indignation came
through loud and clear. Nausea made her head spin.

Kurt gathered the photographs into a stack. and smacked them lightly on
the desk. He slipped them back into the packet.

"My question is, do you believe Carl? And if so, do you think Pauline
would hire a goof like Dragon-man to keep you from seeing these
pictures?"

"Now you're being absurd. Neal and I broke up. It doesn't matter if
she's seeing him." Kurt's s'flence worn on her, made her itchy.

"We're talking about people with guns. Even if Pauline is a man-stealing
little liar, it doesn't mean she'd have anything to do with Dragon-man."

"So maybe she doesn't care if you know about Neal. What about the
embezzlement? If she framed Carl in order to cover her tracks, how much
further would she go?"

"She wouldn't hire Dragon-man."

"What about setting you up for murder? How much is this business worth?"

135 She didn't like where she sensed this was leading. "We grossed over
six hundred thousand last year."

She suddenly clapped her hands over her ears.

"No! Pauline has her faults. I might even believe, with enough proof,
that she stole from the company. But what you're thinking is grotesque."

"Yeah, what am I thinking?"

"That she arranged for an imposter to frame me."

"Fun to consider, but I don't see how it's possible.

I'm thinking more along the lines that Pauline's antics go a lot deeper
than we suspect. She's got a lot more to hide than playing kissy-face
with your boyfriend."

"He's not my boyfriend!"

"Obvit)usly not. He's going to tell the cops you stole It took a few
seconds for his implication to sink home.

"Do you think they're conspiring against me?" Frowning, he tucked the
photographs and letter back into the mailing envelope.

"If these are the photographs Dragon-man wants, then sure as hell
something is going on. I'll accept a conspiracy."

"If Pauline wanted these pictures, she could have gotten them out of my
desk."

"Maybe she didn't think you'd be dumb enough to leave them at work.

She sure isn't going to ask you for She opened her mouth to argue but
remembered Pauline waiting for her in her bedroom. What had Pauline been
doing while Dana showered? Searching the room, perhaps.

Was that why she'd been at the house and so very curious about what the
police might have found?

Distressed by suspicion, she hugged herself. She stared at the
telephone.

"We don't know these are the right pictures." Flipping through her
Rolodex file, she found Carol's home phone number. She dialed and got a
busy signal.

"Let's go see if we can find Carl." Kurt urged her off the chair.

"Where does he live?"

"Over in Garland. Near Watson~ Park." She cowered her eyes with a hand.

"This is so depressing. After all this came out and I fired Carl, I
cried for days. I hated 'myself. We were such good friends. He's a
funny, shy little ...  nerd. I don't mean that in a derogatory way, not
at all. He's just so innocent. My parents adored him, they practically
adopted him.

Daddy owns a boat, and he was always dragging Carl along on a fishing
trip.

My mother was just crushed when all this happened."

' "You're crushed."

"Oh, Ku~, what if he's telling the truth? Did I do to him what the
police are doing to me? I thought I had proof. My heart told me Carl
wouldn't do such a thing, but I had evidence and I couldn't ignore it.
And Pauline swore ...  oh, if she lied to me, I don't know what I'll
do."

"It's been my experience that lying is second nature to most people."

"Not in my circle." She snatched her purse and headed for the door.

She stopped short and spun on her heel.

"Wait a minute!"

137 Kurt stopped in time to keep from bowling her over. "What is it?"

She slapped at the envelope he carried.

"Those can't be the pictures Dragon-man wants. He said to me, if I go to
the cops, he'll kill me. How could anyone possibly care if the police
saw those pictures? You're the lawyer, is boyfriend-stealing a crime in
Texas?"

"Boyfriend-stealing, good one, Dana." He chuckled, but seemed more
bemused than amused.

"Are you sure that's what he said?"

She shivered with the memory.

"Something close to it. Yes, I'm sure."

Kurt scratched his head and pursed his lips. He studied the envelope
front and back.

"Good point.

Have you received pictures from anyone else?"

" No." To make certain, she sorted through her in basket checking inside
each envelope and folder. No pictures. She grumbled in frustration and
headed for the door.

"Buck up, babe. We'll figure out what's going on." His smile rattled her
to her toes. He arched an eyebrow.

"Do you get tired of people telling you you're beautiful?"

She lifted her chin.

"Please don't flirt with me."

"Why?"

"Because ..." Coherent thought failed her. "Because why?"

She cleared her throat and shifted her weight from foot to foot.

"This is a ridiculous conversation," she said, far weaker than she
wanted.

"I appreciate all you're doing for me, but you and me, it would never
work."

"Never say never." He lifted a strand of her hair and rubbed it between
his thumb and forefinger. He gazed upon it as if it were a precious work
of art. Dana found it increasingly difficult to regulate her breathing.

"These are difficult circumstances."

"I know. Weird, isn't it?" He swept her into his arms and kissed her.

A hard kiss, his lips and tongue forcefully demanding. A passionate
kiss, blazing fiery trails of delightful sensation from her head to her
toes. A sweet kiss, making the world disappear, consuming all her
senses, making it impossible to believe anyone existed except Kurt
Saxon.

When he released her, she staggered and caught the doorknob for support.
His great chest heaved, once, twice. Moisture gleamed like dew on his
lips. His eyes were black pools ringed by silver, compelling her to step
over the edge.

"I feel it," he said, his drawl pronounced and husky.

"You feel it.

One of these days we'll have to do something about it."

She could almost hear her libido chuckling wickedly, mocking her
indecision.

She fumbled the door open.

Pauline said,

"What are you doing here?" Dana and Kurt stepped out of the office, Dana
turned her back on her partner. She took her time locking the door and
checking to make sure it was cure. More than anything in the world she
wanted to confront Pauline with what she knew. She wanted to yell and to
demand and force the womatl to tell the truth.

But what was the truth?

She made herself turn around.

"I had to pick up some things from my desk. What are you doing?"

Pauline darted a glance at her office. The door was ajar.

"Uh, well, you know" -- "Pauline?" a man called from inside her office.

"I think I found it.

It's the morals clause. Strictly translated, it means one of the
partners involved in drugs or alcoholism or embezzlement, but"-- Neal
stepped out of the office. He held a sheaf of papers.

"Oh. Dana."

Dana looked from her partner to the attorney and back to Pauline.

"My God," she whispered.

"You're trying to find a way to force me out."

Chapter Ten.

"I am not trying to force you out," Pauline insisted. Staring at a spot
above and behind Dana's head, she held her body so rigidly she quivered.

"All I'm doing is protecting the company."

Dana shifted her glare to Neal. The attorney cringed and whipped a
handful of papers behind his back.

What a weasel, she thought. She'd once imagined herself being married to
him. Looking past the handsome face, expensive suit and perfectly styled
hair, she saw, really saw, the self-centered, opportunistic, shallow
creep he actually was.

"By forcing me out with the morals clause?" The redhead's chin trembled.

"Word of your arrest is getting out. Everyone knows you're a suspect.
It's a drug dealer, Dana! Five clients have canceled their accounts.
Five!

Three more wanted to, but I talked them out of it. Good gawd! As far as
our clients are concerned, you are Star Systems. You're the person they
talk to.

You solve the problems. Your name is on the letterhead. All this murder
crap has everybody running around like chickens in a thunder141 storm.

Nobody is going to risk their goods with a doped-up killer."

Dana pressed her arm against her midsection. A bitter flavor filled her
mouth.

"I didn't kill anybody.

I thought you of all people would know that."

" That guy you shot has nothing to do with it. It's-it's the bad
publicity. It's the cops poking around and talking to everybody like
we're criminals, too. If our clients' can't trust us, they'll leave.
I'll lose Star Systerns."

Pauline froze and her eyes widened.

For a long moment, during which Dana imagined the ticking of a loud
clock, silence reigned. The guy she shot, she thought dumbly. Her best
friend, the person she'd worked side by side with for the past eight
years, thought she'd killed a man. Crimson- faced, Pauline stared
blindly past Dana. Neal studied his shoes.

Kurt laid a hand on Dana's shoulder.

"I can't deal with this right now," she said. Grit filled her eyes.

Her throat hurt. Right at this moment she believed every accusation Carl
had made. She even believed Pauline would stoop to hiring Dragon-man.

"It's nothing personal, Dana," Neal said.

"The possibility exists that customer files could be subpoenaed and used
as evidence. In which case, they'll be part of the public record. Your
clients won't risk it.

You have a responsibility to protect them as well as yourself."

Pauline turned back to Dana, her face harsh with accusation.

"Did you see the story in the paper? Star Systems was named three times.
I can't lose everything I've worked for, Dana. I won't. This is my
life."

"Let's get out of here," Dana said to Kurt.

"I can't deal ...  not now." Her calves burned with the urge to run, but
she managed to walk all the way to the elevator.

She punched the down button.

"Dana." Kurt tried to take her arm.

She shrugged him away.

"They're ruining me. I haven't done anything, but they're ruining me,
anyway."

The elevator dinged and the doors slid open. She walked in and stopped
in the corner, unable to make herself turn around. If she did, she'd see
sympathy on Kurt's face, or worse, pity.

"I thought I was innocent until proved guilty. Isn't that how it works?"

"I know you're upset" -- "Don't!" She whirled on him.

"Don't say anything nice! I am not upset.

I am. angry. Furious. Enraged!

If I find one shred of proof Pauline is behind all this, I'll strangle
her with my bare hands."

He folded his arms and leaned against the stainless steel wall. He
cocked an eyebrow.

His sleepy-seeming calm heightened her fury. She shook a fist at him.

"They aren't getting way with it.

I won't let them."

The car stopped and the doors opened. Dana stalked out. Her heels rang a
sharp tattoo, echoing off the concrete walls. Head down, Kurt unlocked
the passenger door of his car.

"Well?" she demanded.

"Don't you have any smart remarks?"

"I make it a point never to get involved in a temper tantrum." He opened
the door and stepped out of range.

143 She barked a sharp laugh.

"This is not a tantrum."

"I didn't say you weren't entitled. I just said I don't get involved."
He smiled sweetly.

She flopped onto the seat and clamped her arms over her bmasts. "I hate
this. It's unfair. It's unjust.

They can't do this to me." She wanted to run back upstairs and wave the
photographs in Pauline's and Neal's faces. She wanted to see them squirm
and~ turn red-faced and try to deny what the pictures meant.

Kurt maneuvered the big car out of the garage. She peeked at him and
read only concern on his face. The irony of her predicament occurred to
her: people she'd known and trusted for years stabbed her in the back,
but a man she'd known only a few days was her most staunch supporter.
Tears welled in her eyes. She averted her face and blinked rapidly.
"Carl lives in Garland," Kurt said.

"Near Watson Park. Take the expressway to Interstate 635, then get off
on Greenville. It's fastest that way." She dug through her purse for a
tissue.

"When Pauline and I drew up the partnership contract, our lawyer was one
of those really cautious types. He put everything in there."

"Including a morals clause."

She dabbed at her burning eyes.

"In case one of us went nuts or started drinking up the profits. Do you
know anything about contracts? Can she really force me out?"

I'll look into it."

Dana leaned against the headrest and closed her eyes.

"Pauline is so smart. It's amazing what she can do with a computer. She
designed our entire system. I 145 really loved her. I thought she was my
best friend." She turned her head enough to see him.

"I'll never be able to forget this. Even if Carl is wrong about her
stealing, even if the police arrest the real killer and everything goes
back to normal, it'll never be the same."

He reached across the seat and patted her thigh. "I'm sorry."

"I thought I knew her." She brought out the photographs and looked
through them. While Neal had been asking to move in with her, he must
have been seeing Pauline on the side. She felt worse than sick, she felt
utterly stupid. Two-timing jerk-- Kurt turned the wheel, and the big car
screamed around a corner. The force of it flung Dana against the door.
She yelped and railed wildly for a handhold.

Photographs spilled over her lap and onto the floor. He stomped the
accelerator and sped through an intersection.

Tires squealed. Other drivers honked. They missed hitting a turning
truck by inches.

Clutching the armrest for dear life, Dana cried, "Are you crazy?"

"It's those damned reporters. They must have been waiting for us at your
office building." He glared at the rearview mirror.

Dana peered over the seat and spotted a red Ford. "Can we lose them on
the expressway?"

"He's not making any attempt to hide. He must have been waiting outside
the garage, hoping to get lucky. The pinhead."

Dana glamcl at the Ford, now tailgating them. A man drove, a woman rode
in the passenger seat.

"They want a statement, I'll give them a statement. Stop the car."

"I know you're mad, but talking to them will only make it worse."

She grabbed at the door handle.

"I mean it. I'm just in the mood to jump out whether you stop or not."

"I never talk to the press."

"You don't understand. It can't get worse. This is the absolute rock
bottom. I am not taking any more.

Stop this car!" Yelling felt great. Yelling at the reporters would feel
wonderful. Her mouth fairly watered in anticipation.

Kurt pulled into the parking lot of a coffee shop. Before the car even
rolled to a complete stop, Dana opened the car door and ripped off her
seat belt.

"Are you with me or not?"

"As your attorney, I advise against it." He glanced at the Ford, now
pulling up behind them. He turned off the ignition.

She bailed out of the car.

The Fo? d's doors opened and the reporters stepped out. The woman held a
tape recorder, the man wielded a video camera. At the rear of the
Lincoln, Dana stopped. She leaned against the fender and crossed her
arms.

"Ms. Benson," the woman said.

"I'm Trudy Ra-" Why are you following me?"

"The public has a right to" -- "I have a right to privacy." She turned
her glare on the cameraman.

"Tam that thing off. You do not have my permission to film me." Kurt
remained in the car and appeared to be talking on a cellular phone.

"Turn it off and I'll tell you exactly what happened on Tuesday night."

Trudy and the cameraman exchanged a telling look. Dana could almost see
the inner debate, almost smell their eagerness. Trudy held out her hand.

"Turn it off, Billy. All right, Ms. Benson, that's all I want. Your side
of the story." She pointed her chin at the coffee shop.

"Can I buy you lunch?"

"No, thank you." Every day she read the newspaper. On occasional
Sundays, she read two or three. She accepted the articles as truth,
assuming because they were printed, the journalists had done their jobs
and reported the facts. She was media fodder now, and thousands, perhaps
millions, would believe what they read about her.

Kurt opened the car door and ambled over to Dana's side. He gave her a
grin and a wink.

"I'm Kurt Saxon, Ms. Bensoh's attorney." He was up to something.

Trudy gave Kurta sweet-as-syrup smile.

"I know you. Your client has agreed to an interview." She handed her
tape recorder to the cameraman and brought out a notebook.

"Are you sum you don't want to go inside? The traffic is loud. We can
talk over a cup of coffee.

"We'll stay right here," Kurt said.

Trudy narrowed her eyes and chewed her lower lip. "This isn't a war, Ms.
Benson. We aren't enemies. I just want to hear your side of the story."
Dana didn't believe this woman with her sharp eyes and aggressive
posture held even a smidgen of sympathy.

"Fine, I'll tell you what happened to me on Tuesday."

"First things first. Theodore Gordon is a known drug dealer. He's got a
long criminal history. I've talked to some people who know you, done my
research. Nothing indicates you use illicit drugs. How is it you know
the deceased?"

"I don't know him."

"The police dropped the arrest warrant. Is this a case of self-defense?

Were you being robbed?" Her gaze lingered on Dana's bruised ams.

"Attempted rape?"

Talk about loaded questions. If she denied being attacked, then she
sounded like a cold-blooded murderer.

Dana began to regret her impulsive behavior. She should have listened to
Kurt. I'll tell you what happened on Tuesday. Do you want my side of it
or not?"

"I'm listening."

"All right in a nutshell, then. I went to work that day. Nothing was
going on, so around five-thirty I went home. I ate some chicken salad
and drank iced tea. I pulled some weeds out of my flower bed. I vacuumed
the carpeting. I called my mother and we chatted about the weather. I
read the newspaper and a few chapters of a novel. Then I went to bed.
And I stayed there."

Trudy wrote furiously. Her pen hand stilled. She blinked several times
and lifted her head. Anger furrowed her forehead.

"What is this?"

"I didn't go to O'Dooley's. I didn't kill anyone. It's a case of
mistaken identity."

"Witnesses claim there's a videotape of you committing the murder, Ms.
Benson. No one has any doubts about your identity. I happen to know you
participated in a lineup and several witnesses identified you."

"They're mistaken. It isn't me." She dropped her arms to her sides and
took a step closer to the reporter.

"I don't know if you've ever been falsely accused of anything, Ms.
Ramirez.

It's an ugly situation I wouldn't wish upon my worst enemy. All of a
sudden, my honesty doesn't matter, my reputation doesn't matter. I don't
matter."

"So you're denying the police have cause to suspect you."

Dana could have groaned. Trudy wasn't buying any of it.

"Of course I'm denying it. I don't know what happened at O'Dooley's
because I was not there. I have nothing to tell you. Now, please, leave
me alone."

"Let me get this straight, then," Trudy said.

"You deny knowing Gordon. Never seen him before."

"That's right."

"Can you explain why the police found his finger- prints in your
business office?"

Dana gasped. Kurt seemed to swell. Dana eyed him questioningly, but his
expression offered no explanations for this revelation.

Quick as a duck on a bug, Trudy picked up on their reactions.

"It's true! You do know the victim, Ms. Benson. I've checked out Star
Systems. I wouldn't call Gordon your type of client."

Kurt said,

"Your source is mistaken."

149 Smiling, shaking her head, Trudy wagged her pen at Kurt. I caught
you, her expression said.

I'm sorry, Dana told him with her eyes, you were right, I shouldn't have
started this. What do I do now?

"You've got quite a reputation around the courthouse, Mr. Saxon. Your
clients are drug dealers, burglars, muggers, the dirtiest cases. If Ms.
Benson isn't guilty, why did she hire you?"

A man on a motorcycle roared into the parking lot. The big machine
growled, making the air vibrate.

Chrome glittered in the sunlight. Two more men on equally large bikes
pulled in after him. People leaving the coffee shop eyed the trio. Women
held their purses closer to their sides.

Kurt took Dana's arm and said,

"Cavalry's here." To the reporters he spoke louder.

"Interview's over, folks. If you'll excuse us."

The bikers, large, filthy, hairy and menacing, surrounded the red Ford.
One parked behind the car, the other two pulled in front. The riders
revved their engines, creating a blat ting exhaust-tinged, stereo roar.

Trudy and the cameraman edged closer together. "You also have a
reputation as a real smart aleck, Saxon," Trudy called.

"Is this your idea of a joke?" Dana slid into the Lincoln. She
whispered,

"Who are those men?" Wearing leather jackets and ripped jeans stained by
grease and road dust, the bikers looked dangerous.

"Former clients. They owed me a favor," Kurt replied.

"They hang out at a bar about a mile from here." His smile faded.

"Ms. Ramirez is right, my clients are scum.

Does that bother you?"

She considered it. At least she now knew why Neal had found Kurt for
her. Neal thought her guilty.

"Do you think I'm scum?"

"Not in the least."

"Then, no, it doesn't bother me." Within a minute he was driving out of
the parking lot, leaving the reporters blocked in by the glowering
outlaws. Dana watched until they were out of sight.

"They won't ...  hurt anybody, will they?"

"Nah. They're just having a good time." He picked up the envelope.

"Gather up the pictures. We're taking this to the cops."

"What for?"

"Gordon's fingerprints." He tossed the envelope on her lap.

"This is not good, babe."

"We have to talk to Carl first."

"The cops will talk to Carl."

"We don't know this is what Dragon-man wants. Let's talk to Carl first
and find out what's going on."

"If he tells you he doesn't have anything to do with Dragon-man, you'll
believe him."

Despite wishful thinking, she knew in her heart her former bookkeeper
had something to do with the murder and Dragon-man. She noticed Kurt was
headed south, toward downtown Dallas and the police station.

"Please turn around. Carl should be home. It won't take that much time.
If he's not there, then we'll go to the police."

He drove a few blocks, then smacked the turn indicator. He pulled into a
gas station and swung around the pump island. At the driveway entrance,
he glowered at traffic.

1151 Pleased he'd listened to her for once, she said, "He's my friend. I
want to hear what he has to say."

"I'm not overly impressed with your friends." She winced and gathered
the fallen photographs.

"There's such a thing as being too good, too trusting. You're a nice
person, so you assume everyone else is just as nice."

"Not necessarily," she murmured.

"If he were your friend, he'd have warned you about Dragon-man."

Tangled emotions made her entire body ache.

"If we give the pictures to the police, what are they going to do? The
only thing they prove is Pauline's bad taste."

Muttering a curse, he pulled into traffic. When they reached the
condominium complex where Carl lived, Kurt shut off the car and rested
his forearms on the steering wheel.

"We're not here because I think Carl is a swell guy. But damn it, you're
right. Those pictures are nothing without Carl. If the cops don't laugh
at our faces, they'll laugh at our backs." He turned his head just
enough to see her.

His expression frightened her. She swallowed the hard lump in her
throat.

"I've got a feeling Carl isn't here. It's bugging me, him not contacting
you. He has to know what happened at O'Dooley's."

The lump increased to choking proportions. "Maybe he thinks I shot
Gordon."

"Whatever. Let's go."

"What is it? You are scaring me to doth. What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking Dragon-man didn't ask nice for the pictures."

That was a fear she'd been shoving away ever since she saw the envelope
contained photographs.

"We won't find out by sitting in your car." She opened the door.

Carl lived in a small garden apartment surrounded by a cut work
cinder-block wall. They entered the garden through a black wrought-iron
gate. She noticed the newspapers piled around the door. Several were
gray and warped from being rained upon. "Looks like he's gone on
vacation," Kurt said, and pressed the bell.

Dana shook her head.

"Carl is one of those compulsive planners. He'd have canceled the
newspaper.

Dragon-man must have." She did not dare say aloud what she was thinking.

Kurt rapped his knuckles against the door. He waited, then used his
fist.

The sound echoed inside the small garden patio. Dana used her shoe to
roll over a soggy newspaper. Pill bugs scurried for cover. Kurt tried
the doorknob--it was unlocked. The door squeaked on the hinges.

Dana's mouth went dry and she shook her head. She whispered,

"You are not going in there! It's private property and you can't!"

"He might be sick. Or have a broken leg and can't reach the phone to
call for help."

"Now you're being ridiculous. You said yourself he's not home." She
caught his arm and dug her fingers into his leather jacket sleeve. Fear
clawed its way up her throat.

"We weren't invited and we are not going in there. That is that! We can
talk to his neighbors. Maybe one of them knows where Carl is."

"I'll just pop in and pop out." He shook his arm; she tightened her
hold.

"I won't touch anything."

"Please stop this." Denial failed her; Carl was dead. She knew it, she
felt it. He was lying on the floor, shot or stabbed, bloody and stiff.

"Let's call the police. Right now."

Kurt stuck his head inside the apartment.

"Oh, man."

Horrified, Dana backed away and clapped her hands over her mouth. She
watched Kurt take a cautious step inside.

STANDING STOCK-STILL, Kurt surveyed the damage in the apartment.

Pictures ripped off the wall, lamps and furniture broken, sofa cushions
slashed, carpeting torn up from the floor. He whistled soft and low. All
doubts about Carol's involvement with Dragon-man wisped away.

"Is he dead?" Dana whispered from the doorway. Her shoulder and one foot
were visible. His heart ached for her.

"I don't think so. We'd smell a body." She peeked around the door. Her
eyes widened into shocked blue moons.

"Good heavens."

"Come in, but don't touch anything." He waited until she crept inside.

She held herself so tightly she practically stood on one foot.

"Carol's the one, isn't he? Dragon-man looked here, too."

"Afraid so. Don't move." He made his careful way over the scattered and
one bedroom, and it had been destroyed as savagely as the living room.
This wasn't the result of a mere search. This was the work of a sick,
furious mind bent on total destruction.

One corner of the room had the looks of an office. A computer monitor
lay shattered on the floor. The computer itself had been wrenched open
and the boards inside ripped out and broken. Major overkill.

"Kurt? Oh, Kurt, come look."

He hurried back to the living room. Dana, her face so pale it had a
bluish cast, pointed a shaking finger at the floor. He examined the
rusty-black-splotches and streaks on the beige carpet.

"Is that what I think it is?"

He looked up at her.

"It's blood, but there's not much. I don't think" -- Shredded strips of
silver duct tape caught his attention. A lot of tape was scattered
around.

He carefully lifted a piece.

Dark hairs clung to the tape.

"What does Carl look Like?"

"He's fairly small. About five foot six, thin. He eats and eats but
never gains weight. He has hair about your color, maybe a little
lighter. He wears it short. And he wears glasses."

Kurt found a penknife. It was cheap, with a red plastic cover and had a
small chain attached for hanging on a key ring. The tiny blade was
broken in half. He grinned.

"Old Carl gave Dragon-man the slip." He dangled the tape strip for her
to see.

"There's enough tape here to tie up an orchestra, except Carl got his
hands on a knife."

155 Hope brought color back to her cheeks.

"Then he's alive?"

"Al~y idea where he'd go? Where he'd hide out?"

"Not really. He never had many friends. He has no family."

Kurt turned in a slow circle, trying to get a feel for the events. An
overturned bowl and moldering cereal and milk on the counter said the
attack had probably come while Carl was eating breakfast. He'd answered
the door and Dragon-man had shoved his way inside. Blood indicated
injuries, but Carl hadn't been so badly hurt he couldn't use a miniature
penknife to saw through duct tape.

He spotted a photo album lying open on the floor. Photographs, each
neatly marked with a caption and date, were encased in plastic sleeves.
Several of the pict roes were of Dana.

"Dana and the duck"

"Dana, world-class diver"

"Dana and the first fish of the day."

"Look at this," she said. Her hand hovered over the spilled contents of
a file folder.

"This is Pauline's."

Kurt crouched and poked through receipts, credit- card slips, bills and
letters. He lifted a letter from a collection agency. Coffee stains on
the paper made him grin. Old Carl had done some garbage collecting.

He began to get a sense of the man, unused to ad- venture or excitement,
but determined. Tailing Pauline, pawing through her trash, doggedly
seeking the evidence he needed to redeem himself in Dana's eyes.

He sympathized. Dana was the kind of woman for whom a man would go to
the ends of the earth: "Is this the proof Carl meant?"

"Must be. Looks like Pauline has some financial problems.

Are you aware of it?"

"I know she's always complaining about money. I didn't know it was this
bad.

This bill is for more than a thousand dollars."

"Looks like her debt goes a lot deeper than that." He sat back on his
heels, puzzling over what this might mean. If Pauline hired Dragon-man
to retrieve evidence of her perfidy, why leave all this behind?

"I'm getting mixed messages."

"We better call the police--aack!" Kurt looked over his shoulder. Every
hair on his head leapt to attention and his heart dropped into his
belly. A man had his arm around Dana's throat. He pressed the business
end of a nine-millimeter pistol against her ear.

Dana's eyes rolled wildly. Kurt stared at the man's trigger finger.

"Get your hands up where I can see them. Any tricks and I'm gonna show
Dana here how mad I am about her icing my buddy."

1 Chapter Eleven.

On his knees, with his hands clamped firmly on his head, Kurt called
himself fifty kinds of jackass. Stupid, stupid, not to consider the goof
might be lying in wait for them.

Even stupider~ after leaving his gun in the car before visiting Dana's
office, he'd neglected to strap it back on.

Some bodyguard.

Dana sat on a shredded couch cushion. She laced her fingers atop her
head and never took her eyes off Dragon-man. Sweat gave her pale face a
sheen.

She kept licking her lips. Kurt tried to communicate with his eyes. All
he needed was the goof's attention off Dana for a second. One second.

"All right, boys and girls, let's try this again," Dragon-man said.

"Where are the pictures, Dana?"

"There are no pictures," Kurt said.

"Carl lied to you."

"Shut up. Didn't give you leave to speak." Dragon- man peered
suspiciously at Kurt.

"You a private dick or something?"

About forty, Dragon-man had a broad, flat face, ruddy and freckled.

Sandy hair shot through with gray was buzz-cut close to his skull. He
held a nine- millimeter semiautomatic pistol with ease borne of long
familiarity.

His knuckles were tattooed with crude black letters, Love on his right
hand, Hate on his left. His narrow eyes were as soulless as a shark's.
Kurt tried to place his accent. It was southern, but not Texan.
Definitely backwoods.

Definitely dangerous.

"I'm a circus clown," Kurt said.

"I'm always looking for idiots. Want a job?"

In two long strides he was at Kurt's side. Kurt braced himself, every
muscle straining. Even knowing it was coming didn't help. A flash of
steel and it felt as if his face exploded. Gray mist blurred his vision.

White-hot sparks exploded in his brain. Dana screamed.

Stunned, Kurt toppled to his side. The world spun furiously and
fireworks exploded behind his closed eyelids. Soft hands fluttered over
his face.

"You hurt him! He's bleeding! Don't hit him again.

I'll give you the pictures, don't hurt him."

" Always a weak link," Dragon-man said.

"You be big a chicken as your little buddy."

Kurt kept his eyes closed, listening to the iron-shod hooves thundering
through his skull. Dana ran her hands through his hair and her fingers
fluttered over his forehead.

Kurt wanted to tell her it wasn't serious, head wounds always bled more
than the-injury warranted. But he played dead.

He needed an opening.

159 "Oh, Kurt, I am so sorry. Wake up, can you hear me."

"

"That's right, cooperate now. Make ya a deal, you tell me where the
pictures are and I don't put no bullets in the clown's head. How 'bout
that, huh?" Kurt listened to shuffling feet and Dana's protests.

Her hands left his face. Kurt breathed deeply, listening intently. He
pushed away the pain in his head, setting it~ aside, free' rag his
concentration. Couch springs squeaked. Dana grunted.

Dragon-man demanded,

"Let's hear you sing."

"They're in Kurt's car.

On the front seat in an velope. Take them. Just don't hurt him anymore.

Please."

Kurt risked opening one eye. As he'd hoped, Dragon-man was facing Dana,
the gun was lowered, and his legs were within range. He kicked with his
left leg, hard and fast, catching the other man below the knees.
Dragon-man yowled. He crashed to the floor. Kurt followed through,
rolling to his hands and knees. He kicked again, piston hag his leg,
relishing the solid connection and Dragon-man's howl of pain and rage.
The man smashed into a fallen chair and wood splintered. The pistol went
flying into the kitchen, skittering across the linoleum floor. "Run!" he
yelled at Dana.

"Get the hell out of here! Go, go!"

Kurt grabbed at Dragon-man, but he slithered away, scrambling to his
feet.

He swung wildly, grazing Kurt's jaw, then jumped back.

Dana screamed,

"Don't move or I'll shoot!" She stood in the small dining area, her feet
planted in a wide stance and both hands on the pistol. Dragon-man froze,
quivering.

"I swear, I'll kill you. Get away, go away."

"Never taking his eyes off Dragon-man, Kurt got to his feet.

"Give me the gun, babe." Dragon-man bolted. He tore open the door and
raced out, hitting the gate with a clatter. Kurt grabbed the gun out of
Dana's hands.

A sudden wave of dizziness made the room spin. He lurched off-balance,
momentarily blind. As if through a wall of water, he heard Dana cry out
his name. He dropped to one knee. Then her arms were around him and she
pressed his cheek against her soft bosom. "I'm all right," he said
thickly.

"You're bleeding. I have to get you to a hospital." She helped him
upright.

His legs wobbledl His eyes kept watering and he felt the pulsing
tautness across his forehead.

He blinked blood out of his eyes and checked the piece. It was cheap and
cruddy-looking, dirty and probably as dangerous to its owner as to the
target. He checked the load and found a full clip of nine millimeter
rounds.

He told Dana to gather up the folder Carl had assembled about Pauline.

She did so, then put her arm around his waist and steadied him as they
left the apartment.

A woman walking a poodle took one look at them and scooped her little
dog into her arms. She scurried away. Kurt knew he should ask around to
see if any161 one had witnessed Dragon-man's escape, but his head hurt.

"We have to call the police." Dana looked around fearfully.

"Uh-uh, can't deal with the cops right now, hospital first." Kurt dug
into his pocket for his keys.

"Here, you drive."

"YOU'RE A LUCKY M~d~, no concussion." Austin peered at Kurt's battered
face with open interest and a touch of admiration.

"Yeah, yeah," Kurt said, waving him away. He'd spent three hours waiting
in the emergency room so the doctor could spend ten minutes putting two
stitches in his forehead. Since they'd returned to Dana's home, the pain
had subsided to manageable proportions, but his mood hadn't improved a
bit.

Snooky was finding the smell of antiseptic intriguing. He tried to lick
the wound. Kurt lifted the cat off the back of the couch and set him on
the floor.

"Beat it, you ghoul," he growled. Snooky gave him a glare before
strolling away.

"Yet another battle scar to impress the ladies," Austin said.

"Cool.

A few more of those and you'll catch up to me." His smile turned grim.

"You're sure these are the pictures Dragon-man wants?"

"Yeah, I'm sure, but hell if I know why." Dana appeared, bearing a glass
of water, a bottle of pain mlievers and an ice pack.

"Put this on the swell-" You can quit babying me any time now." He
swallowed three tablets and drained the water glass.

Dana had changed her bloodied sweater and slacks for a sweat suit.

Her face was scrubbed, and she smelled of soap and freshness. Her sweet
scent and deep concern made him feel better. A little. It helped ease
the lingering fear of seeing her with a gun to her head. A lot.

She placed the ice pack gently against the wound.

"I can't believe the police are making us wait ."

"Callister and Tannenbaum are investigating a crime scene for another
homicide. I left a message for them. I don't want to talk to anyone
else."

"Humph. They're putting us off because they don't believe us. I know
that's what it is. They think we're making the whole thing up."

"They'll be here eventually."

"Before or after Dragon-man kills me? Or you?"

"I screwed up. I'm sorry, but it won't happen again.

You're safe. Everything is okay now." Austin cleared his throat.

"Can you two discuss this later? I have things to do. What do you figure
happened to Carl?" He leafed through the photographs and read Carol's
plaintive note.

Dana explained,

"I fired Carl because I thought he'd embezzled from the company. I think
I was wrong."

The ice pack felt good. Kurt closed his eyes, savoring the spreading
numbness.

"So Carl snapped some pictures of Pauline and Neal Harlow: He mails the
pictures to Dana as proof that Pauline is messing around with Dana's
boyfriend."

"Neal is not my boyfriend," she said testily.

163 "It 1o?ks like Dragon-man and his buddy Eddie jumped Carl and took
the original pictures. They beat the hell out of him until he told them
he sent a set of duplicates to Dana."

"Any idea why?" Austin asked.

"It's possible Pauline found out about Carol's surveillance and hired
the goofs."

"I just can't believe that," Dana said. She indicated the folder full of
receipts and dunning notices.

"It's like you said, why get excited about the pictures but leave this?"

Kurt ch6wed it over.

"Only Carl knows." Dana looked troubled.

"I wonder if Carl thinks Pauline and I are in it together. That could be
why he hasn't contacted me."

The angle made sense. Carl mailed the photos, expecting Dana to contact
him after two or three days, but the mail got held up, Then he's jumped
by a pair of goofs. So he thinks Dana talked to Pauline, which made Dana
the enemy.

"None of which gets us any closer to Dana's double or how she figures
into this mess."

"That may change. I learned a few things." Austin leaned back on the
chair and hooked his hands behind his neck.

"One of the waitresses at O'Dooley's said when the bartender showed her
the photo of Dana in the newspaper, she was sure Dana wasn't the woman."

Kurt forgot about his aching head. Dana shifted on the couch so she
could hold the ice pack and watch the private eye.

Austin brushed a hand across his shouloer-length hair.

"She thinks the woman had short hair. Trouble is, the woman was wearing
a jacket and never took it off, so her hair might have been tucked
inside."

"The little discrepancies are adding up." Kurt grasped Dana's wrist and
moved her hand and the ice pack to a more comfortable position. He could
hold the ice himself, but it felt better when she did it.

"We might find an even bigger discrepancy. I think there's a witness who
saw the actual shooting."

Kurt drew Dana's hand away from his head, but kept his hold on her
wrist.

"A reliable witness?"

"Don't know yet. Her name is Patty Cartwell. She's a bartender. She was
on break, fooling around with her boyfriend out in the parking lot."

"Did she talk to you?"

Austin grinned that secretive smile of his.

"She avoided me, and she's avoiding the police. I think she saw
something."

"What about her boyfriend?"

"He's the reason she doesn't want to get involved. He's married.

Talking to the police means admitting he was with Patty. His wife won't
approve." Kurt kept his cussing to himself, barely.

"What's his name?"

"Bob. That's all I have right now."

"This is good. You keep working on the double, I'll see what I can do
about Patty and Bob."

"If they did see the shooting, can we force them to talk to the police?"
Dana asked.

Kurt entwined his fingers with hers and squeeeed. "We'll play it by ear.

Could be, we don't want them 165 talking to the police." He gave her a
reassuring smile." what's your next step, man?"

"I'm still working on the first step. I figure our mystery lady picked
O'Dooley's for a reason. It can't be convenience to where you work,
Dana.

It's four miles from your office building and almost eight miles from
here.

So she probably has a room or an apartment nearby." He rose and picked
up his jacket.

"Need anything else?"

"Make me some copies of those pictures. I don't want to give them up to
the cops until I know what they mean. Thanks for coming through for me,
man.

You do good work."

"That's what friends are for." He tucked the pictures in his jacket
pocket.

"I'll have them for you tomorrow.

I can stay tonight, if you want."

" I'll call if I need you."

Dana saw the private eye out. She rejoined Kurt on the couch and
regarded him gravely.

"Dragon-man will be back."

He laid his hand along her cheek.

"You handled yourself good today.

You didn't panic."

She leaned into his caress.

"I've never been so scared in my life. I thought he'd killed you." Soft
color rose in her cheeks.

"I've only known you a few days, but we've been through so much
and--and" -- His mood vastly improved.

"You care about me." She nodded and smiled, her eyes down east "I do."

He grasped the back of her neck and eased her toward him. Kissing her
made the pain in his head go away. Her lips were soft as velvet; her
response fired his blood. Nordic coloring aside, she was no ice
princess.

She broke away abruptly. For a moment he held her, but her tension made
him withdraw his hands.

"What's the matter?" he asked.

She shook her head and stood up.

"I do care about you, Kurt, and I think we can be friends. But I don't
want to do anything we'll regret."

Hot arousal made his groin ache. He'd never in his life wanted a woman
the way he wanted her.

"I won't regret anything. Trust me."

"I am so very grateful. You saved my life." She backed slowly around the
couch.

"You're a wonderful man, you're amazing, but  ...  gratitude isn't
enough for me. You're sexy and ...  well, you're sexy, but we shouldn't
get involved.

Not that way. We're just not compatible, and a casual affair isn't ..."

He snatched up the ice pack and jammed it against his head. The sharp
pain took his mind off other bodily aches, but the pain in his heart
thumped and thudded.

"I get it. I'm good enough to rescue you but not good enough to sleep
with.

Just not classy enough for a high-toned lady like you. But hey, don't
worry, I know my place. Your precious virtue's safe with me." Her
expression went frosty and her back stiffened.

"You must be hungry. I'll fix you a sandwich." Without awaiting his
reply, she went to the kitchen.

Had words that stupid actually come from his mouth? Pressing the ice
pack to his head, he dosed his eyes.

167 DANA PEERED THROUGH the open French doors into the dining room where
Kurt had set up a makeshift office. He'd appropriated her computer. At
the moment he was typing and scowling at his notes.

All day she'd been avoiding him. Her rejection had hurt his feelings;
his nasty comment had hurt hers. She wanted to apologize, but didn't
know how.

Or for what exactly. She'd meant what she said. She couldn't sleep with
him out of gratitude, or because Dragon- man frightened her, or because
her life was turned upside down and a warm body would be a distraction.

She cared about Kurt Saxon, but caring wasn't enough, either. She needed
love and commitment, stability and order.

Sighing, she studied her formerly formal dining room. Domestically, Kurt
was a disaster. He'd surrounded himself with a bulwark of stacked files
and books. How he could possibly find anything, she hadn't a clue.

He noticed her.

"Do you need something?" She needed to explain herself better. She
needed to apologize. She needed to figure out why her mind accepted his
unsuitability, but her heart and body engaged in open rebellion.

"How does your head feel?" He rubbed his eyes with the pads of his
fingers.

"Need glasses. I'm getting old."

"I meant the cut, Kurt."

"I heal fast." He typed in a few commands to save and close the files.
He turned off the computer and checked his watch.

"I guess Callister and Tannen baum won't contact us today.

It's late and I'm starving."

Despite his mess' mess he could cook. For dinner he concocted a mixture
of marinated flank steak and vegetables over steamed rice that was
better than anything she'd ever eaten in a Chinese restaurant.

Dana picked at her food. She wished he would talk to her. He wasn't
exactly giving her the cold shoulder but he wasn't exactly friendly,
either. He slumped on the couch with his feet up on the coffee table. A
glass of iced tea was set two inches away from the coaster Dana had
provided. He used the television remote to surf between a soccer game, a
home-improvement program about installing drywall and Congressional
hearings~ And he fed the cat off his plate.

Men and women, she thought glumly. They may as well be different species
considering how well they communicated.

"When are we going to talk to the bartender and see if she saw the
shooting?"

"We'll catch her at work." He changed the channel again.

He definitely was ignoring her. Men!

She placed his sweating iced-tea glass on the coaster and used her
sleeve to wipe the ring off the wood.

"How you survive as a bachelor I will never know." Gaze fixed on the
television, he said,

"Huh?"

"I have been picking up after you all day. You're putting water rings on
the furniture. You leave the cordless phone all over the house, and I am
sick and tired of looking for it. And I keep tripping over the cat!"

169 He pulled an offended face and turned to Snooky. "Is she talking to
us?

Hey, I shower every day. Change my underwear."

"I didn't say you were dirty, I said you're a mess. You've been in my
house two days and the place looks as if fourteen children live here."
She tossed a glare at the dumbbells he'd left in a corner.

"Who finds the telephone for you when I'm not around?"

"Are you offering to take care of me?"

He smiled broadly, showing his teeth, and his eyes sparkled with bright
amusement. As the warmth of his smile embraced her, her irritation
faded.

She escaped into the kitchen and began tackling the dirty dishes. Don't
think about him, she counseled herself. Don't look at him and don't pick
quarrels.

"Oh, princess," Kurt said in a goofy voice. He danced Dopey, her Disney
dwarf doll, on the countertop.

"Kurt says he's sorry for being a slob." She tried not to smile.

"That is not a toy. Put it away."

"Looks like a toy." He flopped the doll back and forth.

She opened the dishwasher to load it.

"I'm sorry I snapped at you."

He made the doll stand on its head and 'wiggled its feet.

"You're right. My secretary gives me hell constantly for misplacing
things and never washing my coffee cup."

"

" Ick."

"Fungus is flavor, that's what I always say." He propped Dopey atop a
telephone book.

"Go on, I'll clean the kitchen."

"It's all right. You cooked." She looked at him sideways.

"It was very good. Thank you."

He came around the counter, anyway, and started water running in the
sink.

They worked in silence, with Kurt scrubbing pots and Dana drying. Snooky
wanted to leap up on the counters and scrounge for leftovers.

Dana kept chasing him away, but the cat turned her efforts into a game.
He'd jump on a counter until she yelled at him, then fluff his tail and
scamper away. He sneaked around on the floor and darted at her, batting
her ankles with his big, soft paws. Kurt was rooting for the cat.

She shook a finger at him.

"That animal would be much better behaved if you treated him like a cat
ins mad of a person."

"I don't treat him like a person." He dried his hands.

"Then train him not to walk on the counters." Snooky jumped onto a stool
and placed his paws on the counter, prepared to launch.

"Hey, you heard the lady," Kurt said.

"Get your hands off."

Dana laughed.

"I give up. You're both impossible."

Kurt took her upper arm in a gentle grip.

"I'll try to keep my stuff out of your way."

She wished he wouldn't look at her the way he looked at her now. When
those pale gray eyes focused so intently on her, the rest of the world
faded into mist. Her heart rate incr~sed, breathing became a conscious
endeavor. She felt all wobbly inside.

171 She didn't want to think about how good he smelled. Or how his size
made her feel fragile and feminine. His bandaged forehead reminded her
of how terrifying theft experience with Dragon-man had been, and the
worst part had been seeing him lying so still and bleeding.

He canted his head slightly. His lips parted. He was going to kiss her.

She dragged her eyes away.

"Austin told me you're divorced."

He narrowed his eyes and leaned against the counter, resting his big
hands over the tim.

"He did, did he?"

"Is it a sore subject?" Shut up, she told herself. This was not a safe
conversation. It made her sound too interested.

"Not particularly." His smile challenged her.

"We were married eight years, have been divorced five. No kids. We got
married because I thought she was the sexiest girl in the world and she
thought I was a hotshot attorney who'd be a millionaire before I was
thirty.

We were both wrong. She got the house, ears and bank accounts. I got
some peace and quiet. So everybody's happy.

You want to know anything else?"

"No." Saying no felt as uncomfortable as alie. "So what about you?

Why aren't you married?"

"That's not the kind of question a gentleman asks a lady."

He glanced at the Dopey doll.

"I knew it. You're waiting to be swept away by a-white knight on a fiery
charger."

"Stop teasing me about my hobby. Fairy tales are a pastime, not
something I believe in."

"Don't get so defensive. I'm just curious." His smile faded and he
crossed his arms. He stared at the floor.

"About last night. I stepped way out of line. I shouldn't have said what
I said. I'm sorry."

"It's my fault for leading you on," she said carefully.

"Relationships are too important to take lightly.

I find you attractive and"--" Then I stand a chance with you."

"I suppose it depends upon your intentions." She met his eyes and held
his gaze. She did want him sexually. He was the most exciting man she'd
ever met. He was warm and funny, generous and confident.

If she stepped over the line into the promise of his eyes, she'd fall in
love.

He pushed away from the counter and strolled past her. Hands behind his
back, he wandered to the doors facing the backyard.

"I could fall for you, Dana, hard and fast, full of fireworks. It's like
you stepped fight out of my dreams."

Her sentiments exactly. Knowing there was more, she chewed her lower
lip.

"You know that old saying about getting right back in the saddle after
you've been bucked off a horse? It's a load of crap. I got bucked off a
horse once. Only that wasn't good enough for the horse. He turned around
and stomped me, caved in a couple fibs." He tapped his chest with a
finger.

"Me, I'm not stupid.

There isn't enough money in the world to get, me on top of a horse
again." He smiled, but it failed to reach his eyes.

"It's only fair to warn you, marriage is the same thing."

173 She laughed uncertainly.

"I'm not asking you to marry me."

"I mean it, I could fall for you in the worst kind of way. I'll treat
you good, make love to you until your eyes turn color. But if you're
aiming for a ring and a license..~."

He slowly shook his head.

"That's a saddle I'm never climbing into again."

This was what she needed to know, wanted to know. He had no interest in
commitments, she had no interest in a casual affair. So each of them
knew where the other stood.

Butit hurt, anyway.

"Thank you for your hon- The doorbell chimed.

"That'll be Austin with the pictures," he said. "He's going to spend the
night on the couch. I'm worn-out, so he'll be another set of ears in
ease Dragon-man decides to make a move."

"We haven't finished this discussion."

"We have unless one of us is willing to c mproraise." ' Score one for
him; the ball was squarely in her court.

"It won't be me, Kurt."

He exhaled heavily.

"Whatever."

TANGT. ~. n IN HER THOUGHTS, Dana lay in bed, staring at the ceiling.

Despite Kurt in the spare bedroom and Austin in the family room, she'd
spent another restless night, listening to creaks, humps, groans and
scratchy noises, wondering if Dragon-man was going to sneak into her
house and kill her.

A heavy fist pounded on her bedroom door. Kurt poked his head inside.

"You awake?"

She snatched bed coverings over her breasts.

"Do you mind?"

"Not at all." To her astonishment, he walked in. The man acted as if he
owned the place. His darned cat did, too. Snooky strolled in behind Kurt
and had the audacity to jump up on her bed.

"It's almost noon. No more lazing around. Up, up." He clapped his hands.

"Tannenbaum called. He and Callister decided they have time to chat."
She'd known it was late, but noon? She glanced at the nightstand. Her
clock radio was missing. Following her gaze, he said,

"I borrowed your radio.

I like music when I work. Hope you don't mind." He'd snuck in here while
she slept and stole her radio and he expected her not to mind?" Hey,
it's not like I peeked under the covers." He craned his neck, looking
with open interest at her bare shoulders.

"Do you wear PJS?"

"Get out!" She snatched up a pillow and threw it at him. It wentfiump
against his face.

"Out!"

Kurt and the Cat made a hasty departure. After she dressed, she hurried
downstairs and stomped into the kitchen.

"We're going to have a little discussion about privacy" -- With the
phone lodged against his ear, he waved a hand for her to be quiet. He
pointed to the cup of coffee poured and ready for her. G10wering and
grumbling over his high-handedness, she focused on her coffee. Rules,
that's what she needed.

Rule number one, her bedroom was strictly off limits. Number 175 he
would pi~k up after himself. Number three, tim cat stayed off the
furniture.

He hung up and tossed the phone on the counter. His broad face fairly
gleamed. Without warning, he caught her face in both hands and kissed
her soundly on the mouth. A warm, smacking, heart-pounding kiss that
knocked her hastily composed rules right out of her head.

"That was Austin. He's got a solid lead on your A lead?" Dana whispered.

"She actually exists?"

"Hell, yes, she exists. You had doubts?" Kurt held her shoulders.

Smiling the way he smiled now, with his broad craggy face inner-lit and
glowing, he was beautiful.

"She's a phantom wearing my face, popping in to ruin my life and popping
out again. Disappearing into thin air." She gulped in a steadying
breath.

"What kind of lead? Has he actually seen her?"

"He showed your picture to a mechanic. The guy replaced a muffler, and
he's positive about his identification of the owner. Not only that, but
the woman has short hair, just like the one the waitress described.

That's solid corroboration."

"She exists."

"She paid cash, so he doesn't have a name, but he did record the license
plate number. Not only that, but the mechanic is willing to talk to the
police. We've got her, babe."

She could kiss him. Emotion nearly as strong as the fear and shocks of
the past few days filled her, tightened her chest. She raised her hands
to his hands and caressed his weathered knuckles, exploring his
strength.

"Happy?" he asked.

"Very."

"We're not out of the woods yet. We still have to convince the cops it
was her and not you. We still have to explain Eddie Gordon's
fingerprints in your of- rice ."

"We'll find Carl." She traced the heavy knobs of bone in his wrists.

When he kissed her, she was ready for him, meeting him more than
halfway.

She slid her hands up his arms, delighting in the sensation of
rock-solid muscle under the smooth cotton of his shirt. He wrapped her
in his embrace, pressing her body against his, thigh-to- thigh,
belly-to-belly. He kissed her with raw and honest hunger, his thrusting
tongue claiming and possessing hers. She worked her fingers through his
hair, finding it soft and heavy.

Desire burned, swelling. Each touch, from him sliding his hand down her
spine to the delicious sensation of him exploring the tender nape of her
neck, fueled the inner fires.

Her breasts grew heavy, straining against' the lace on her bra, aching
for a touch. She flattened them against his chest, reveling in his vio
brancy and the heat searing through their clothes. He broke the kiss
gently, nibbling on her lower lip.

She savored the rain-fresh taste of him, now forever branded in her
brain.

"Oh, no," she breathed.

"Don't do this."

His eyes mesmerized her. His brash manner challenged her.

For a man like him, nothing was impossible.

It was easy to imagine waking up to his face every day.

Until the day another fantasy woman caught his fancy. Until he decided
to leave.

With a rueful laugh, he turned her loose.

"Oh, yeah, forgot about our differing viewpoints. Ready to compromise?"

"Are you?"

"Guess not." He opened the oven.

"Sit down. I made you a waffle?"

His answer dismayed her. Did her answer matter to him at all?

Probably not. A man like him probably had dozens of women willing to
settle for a slice of his attention.

"I have a waffle iron?"

"It's mine." He produced a waffle from inside the oven, put it on a
plate and sprinkled it with a dusting of powdered sugar. With a
flourish, he set it before her.

She arched an e~/ebrow.

"Axe you trying to seduce me with food?"

"Will it work?" He fetched a small saucepan from the stove. He spooned
strawberry compote over her waffle.

She eyed the golden waffle and glistening red fruit. It smelled
heavenly.

"I doubt it." It tasted heavenly, too.

He glanced at the cabinet holding her medieval figurines.

"Food's not the only trick in my repertoire. I think you need poetry."
He waggled his eyebrows.

179 "You need somebody) willing to fight duels, sweep you away, maybe
ravish you a little bit."

"Ravish me?" She squirmed against the sudden tingling in her upper
thighs.

That he seemed to read her deepest fantasies was strangely erotic, but
at the same time disconcerting. She forced a laugh.

"I don't need ravishing. I'm not interested in silly games." He put the
saucepan on a trivet. He tapped his chin in a thoughtful manner.

"If you want to be a stick in the mud, the offer of dinner is still
open."

"Is that with or without ravishment?"

"Your choice," he promised in a velvet voice.

Quit, she told herself. She wasn't right for him, he wasn't right for
her.

They'd already established that.

End of story.

"I'll think about it." The doorbell rang.

Kurt checked his watch.

"They got here fast." He buffed a sharp breath.

"Are you ready?"

"I suppose," she said with a sigh. Even with proof the other woman
existed, facing the police was not going to be fun. Especially Detective
Callister with his skepticism and hostility.

"We tell them everything."

"I have nothing to hide. I just want this over with." He went to answer
the door. He soon returned, but instead of the police, her parents,
their faces gray with fatigue and concern, accompanied Kurt.

Dana nearly fell off the stool.

WHAT KURT READ on Dana's face could only be described as pure panic.

"Mom? Daddy?" she squeaked, and slid off the stool.

"What are you doing here? You weren't supposed to be home until Friday."

Greta Benson dropped a striped straw handbag on the floor and reached
for her daughter. Dana met her halfway and they embraced. Dana was much
taller than her short, plump mother. Her height must have come from her
father, who was nearly as tall as Kurt. Matthew wrapped his arms around
his wife and daughter and the three swayed together. Kurt studied the
wood framing the door.

Families were often a problem. Either they, reinforced hysteria or
encouraged denial or, worst of all, actively interfered in the case.

Sometimes, though, they provided the rock of reason and support. As Kurt
watched the three of them, he felt their closeness. A nice family with a
lot of love and mutual caring.

Dana urged her parents into the family room and onto the couch. Kurt
offered coffee. As Dana had told him, they were an elderly couple--in
their seventies, he guessed.

Dana's birth had probably been a hell of a surprise. Judging by the way
they acted, he also figured she'd become the reason for their existence.
Even seated, Greta kept her arm firmly around Dana's waist. Matthew with
his stem face and rigid posture looked ready to fight to the death on
his daughter's behalf.

"What are you doing here?" Dana clasped her mother's hand in both of
hers.

"You both look exhausted.

What. ?"

"You didn't tell us," Greta said, her voice shaky with accusation.

"We had to learn it secondhand. The 181 Yarburoughs called to ask if
there was anything they could do, and we didn't know what to tell them!
We caught the first flight we could. Dana, what is happening?"

Dana lowered her face and her silky hair swung over her Cheeks.

Kurt stepped in.

"Dana didn't see any need to ruin your vacation with this situation."

"Situation," Matthew said gruffly. His eyes, paler blue, yet sharper
than Dana's, snapped with angry light.

"I fail to see how my daughter's arrest for murder qualifies as a mere
situation, Mr. Saxon."

Kurt saw where Dana got her starch. No pussyfooting around with this
white-haired gentleman. Kurt settled onto a club chair and leaned
forward.

He hung his clasped hands between his knees.

"All right. The straight scoop, then. A man named Eddie Gordon was shot
and killed.

Witnesses claim Dana is the person who shot him. She was arrested on
suspicion of murder. The police dropped the warrant for lack of
evidence."

"It's mistaken identity," Dana said fervently.

"I haven't hurt anyone. It's someone else, but she looks like me."

Matthew snaked an arm around his wife's shoulders.

Dana told them about the arrest and the videotape and the lineup, the
strange woman who had called and how the woman looked a lot like her,
but how she was left-handed and her widow's peak pointed the wiong way.
She emphasized how Austin Tack had acquired the woman's license plate
number, so now the police could start looking for her.

Greta regained her composure. Her large blue eyes were puzzled behind
her thick glasses. She patted her husband's hand, then rose.

"A mistake. I see. We were terribly worried. We tried to call, but all
we got was your answering machine. We were so worried about you."

Dana winced.

"I'm not answering the phone because of the reporters and crank callers.
You should have left a message. You two look exhausted. Haven't you
slept?"

Matthew had relaxed, somewhat.

"Oh, you know us, princess, a catnap here and there. It's you we're
worried about." Tension showed in his gnarled hands, now clenched
tightly on his lap, and in the way he breathed through his mouth. He
turned his attention on Kurt.

"How serious is this, Mr. Saxon?"

"Call me Kurt. The police have eyewitnesses, but little else. It's
serious, she could be arrested again, but I've got people working on it.
I feel confident we can find the other woman."

"It's all so crazy, Daddy. You should see those detectives when they
talk to me. You can just tell they think I'm lying. But we have proof
the woman isn't me. She only looks like me."

In a small, almost whispered voice, Greta said, "Exactly like you?"

Dana covered her eyes with her hand.

"It's incredible. I didn't believe it until I saw with my own eyes."

Kurt nodded.

"We've got a good lead on her now. We'll find her."

183 "Oh, Mom, Daddy, I know I should have called, but there's really
nothing you can do and I didn't want to ruin your vacation." Dana
sighed.

"Kurt and I are getting this straightened out. We have evidence the
police have to believe." She stood, smiling tremulously. I'll get some
coffee.

Unless you'd like something else?"

The telling look the Bensons exchanged made the back of Kurt's neck
prickle.

He didn't know them, so he couldn't interpret what it might mean, but he
felt it. It was something about Matthew's clenched hands.

The way both of them seemed to be avoiding Dana's eyes.

Greta plucked at her slacks.

Matthew swiped a hand over his mouth.

"Perhaps we can help, Kurt," he said.

"We may know who this other woman is."

Dana halted in midstride.

"You know someone who looks like me?"

"Don't actually know her. Know of her." Kurt jerked a pen from his shirt
pocket and began patting other pockets. Dana fetched him a writing pad.

"You've seen her on television?" he asked.

"Work? Where have you seen her?"

"Oh, Matt," Greta murmured, and her eyes sparkled with tears.

"We should have told her."

"Told her? Me? Told me what? You're scaring me. What's going on?"

Matthew rose slowly. He smoothed his hands over his wrinkled tropical
print shirt.

"You have a sister.

An identical twin sister, to he exact."

Dana shook her head and her mouth stretched into an incredulous smile.

"Pardon?"

"We couldn't take you both," Greta said.

"We wanted to, but because of our age it was difficult enough, and
besides, she had some problems and they didn't feel ...  they felt it
was best."

"What are you talking about?"

Her father paced aimlessly around the room. Whoa, Kurt thought. When
Austin had pointed out the differences between Dana and the mystery
woman, the first thing he'd thought of was an identical twin.

He'd heard how twins often mirrored each other. One would he logical,
the other creative; one right-handed, the other left-handed; their
fingerprints were often reversed. Since Dana never mentioned the
possibility-and shouldn't she know? --he'd figured it wasn't worthy of
consideration.

"How could I have a twin sister and not know it?" Greta looked
helplessly at her husband.

"You weren't quite four and very  ...  hurt. You didn't talk for almost
six months, and by then, you seemed to forget everything."

Matthew finally faced his daughter.

"Your room and I couldn't have kids of our own. We adopted you,
princess."

She shook her head in vehement denial.

"That's not true. Mom, I have your eyes. Everybody says so. And, Daddy,
I'm tall like you and  ...  and we both like to golf and play tennis ...
Why didn't you tell me?"

"The right time never" -- 185 "The fight time? I'm almost thirty years
old.

When did you figure I'd be adult enough to know? When I'm fifty?"

"You're our child," Matthew said.

"We love you just as much as anyone could love a natural child.

Adoptive, natural, it doesn't matter. We're still a family."

She stared blankly at her parents.

"You never told me. I can't believe you never told me." She walked
woodenly into the kitchen. She held a hand pressed to her side as if
protecting something painfully tender.

Greta turned on the couch, watching her progress. "We never meant to
hide anything from you. It wasn't a shameful secret. It just never came
up.

There was never a reason to talk about it. But now" -- "It never came
up?" Mirthless laughter husked from her throat.

"You couldn't have kids so you plucked me off, he street and it never
came up? All my life you told me to be honest, to tell the truth, and
now I find out my whole life has been a lie? Oh, princess, you said,
family is the most important thing in the world, but you never bothered
to tell me I have a sister? How could you do this to me?"

Greta reached out both hands, her face twisted in a mute plea.

"You're my baby."

"I don't even know who you are! I don't know who I am."

"Dana," Matthew said.

"You've no call to speak to your mother that way. Now, sit down, we'll
tell you what happened."

"You know, it's funny. I can understand Pauline. As much as it hurts,
she's acting right in character.

Star Systems means everything to her, and if she has to knife me in the
back to keep it, she'll do it. And Neal? What can I expect from him?
He's always been seffish and self-centered. But you? I don't understand
this at all."

"Oh, princess," Greta said, "please, come sit down. Let us explain."

"My entire life is falling apart, I'm facing total ruination, and you
come in here and knock my feet right out from under me."

Cneta began to cry. Matthew was at her side in an instant.

Dana leaned on the kitchen counter, burying her face on her arm.

Unable to stand it, Kurt went to her.

"Come on," he said quietly, and patted her back. "You're under a lot of
stress, you've had a big shock, but you've got to be practical now."

Under her arm came a muffled "NO, I don't."

"I know we should have told you." Matthew fetched his wife's purse.

Greta fished tissues out of her purse and wiped her eyes.

"You are not a shameful secret. It just never came up. You're our
daughter in every way except blood. No one will ever be able to tell me
you're not my baby."

Dana lifted her head. Tears shimmered, poised to fall. Kurt urged her to
return to the family room and seated her on the club chair. Assuming his
most lawyerly expression, he stood so he could see all three faces. He'd
never dealt with anything like this, and for one of the few times in his
life, he felt completely at a loss for what to do or say.

187 "Under ideal circumstances," he said, "the three of you could talk
this out. We don't have the luxury right now. The police will be here
soon. Mr. and Mrs. Ben- son, I need you to answer some questions."

"We'll do anything to help our daughter." Mat- thew colored the word
daughter with feeling.

"Do the adoption papers mention the twin sister?"

"No," Matthew answered.

"Tell me about the adoption." He prepared to take notes.

"Dana and her sister are identical twins. Peas in a pod. We wanted to
adopt both, but the orphanage director wouldn't allow it. The girls had
been abandoned, and no one knew anything about their history or where
they came from. Dana was a sweet child, but she didn't speak. The people
at the orphanage thought she might be retarded. But we knew she wasn't.
She was wounded somehow, that's all."

"And her sister?"

"A little animal. Wild and afraid of everybody and very destructive.

Everyone feared she'd end up in a mental institution and so refused to
consider her for adoption. We took Dana home. At first she wouldn't
speak and she had night terrors. Night after night. Afraid of the dark,
animals, strangers. Many was the night Greta sat up with her, rocking
her."

" The fears faded away."

Greta beseeched Dana with her eyes.

"You began to talk. You always did well in school."

Her lips trembled in a hopeful smile.

"Didn't you, dear? Honor society, straight gs."

"Dana, you've never remembered the twin?"

She looked between Kurt and her parents. In her eyes he found confusion,
suspicion and hurt.

"I don't remember anything. I'm not quite sure I'm buying this."

"I've no call to lie," Matthew said stiffly. "You've lied to me all my
life.

Why not now?"

Greta began to cry again. Her husband patted her back and murmured
soothingly. Dana's expression crumpled and she flopped back on the~ hair
with her arms crossed tightly, chin trembling and eyes glazed.

"Greta and I often wondered what became of her parents. They were pretty
little girls, hair like white silk and those big blue eyes. Can't
imagine anyone just throwing them away."

"When she seemed to forget," Greta said, "it was a blessing." She
tightened her grip on her husband's hand.

"No more nightmares, no more phobias. She was so young, it seemed
natural for her to forget.

That's why we didn't tell you, princess. You forgot and then you were
such a happy child. We didn't want to dredge up old horrors."

It made sense to Kurt. The slight easing in Dana's tension told him it
made some sense to her, too. He asked,

"So you don't know what happened to the other twin?"

"No. I'm not certain the orphanage still exists, either."

"There'll be records somewhere. I'll need a statement from both of you
along with her adoption records."

Matthew gave his wife a final pat and rose. Hands behind his back, he
paced the room. For a moment his gaze lingered on Kurt's dumbbells.

189 "Despite my daughter's innocence, defending her will be an expensive
proposition."

"It can be, yes, sir," Kurt answered. He liked this old man who appeared
tough as Texas itself.

"My wife and I will never appear on "Lifestyles of the Rich and Famous,"
but we're well settled. I own Benson Realty, have for nigh on
thirty-five years. I'm semiretired, but the business is still healthy. I
also own more than a hundred rental properties in the city. Spare no
expense, Kurt. I want my daughter cleared,"

"I can pay my own bills, Daddy," Dana said. Matthew exchanged a
meaningful look with Kurt.

"Always cash poor. Staying in fashion is more important than having a
savings account. Have your office send all the bills to me."

"Daddy" -- "It's settled. Princess, you should move back home where your
mother and I can take care of you. Has the media been a problem?"

"I'm staying right here, Daddy. I need to start here. There are ...
complications." She pushed out of the chair.

"I don't want to drag you into it." She returned to the kitchen.

Greta followed her daughter. The women huddled head-to-head, Greta
speaking in a low earnest tone and Dana staring at the floor, a
rebellious expression on her face.

"What sort of complications?" Matthew demanded to know. He peered
closely at Kurt's face as if suspecting the bruises were involved. "Kurt
needed this man. He had the funds to pay for a top-notch defense and the
willingness to do so. Whether Dana wanted it or not, he also offered the
support she so desperately needed. Yet Kurt understood Dana's reluctance
to involve her parents fully in the case. Despite her hurt and
confusion, she wanted to protect them.

Greater good, he told himself. He urged Matthew to follow him into the
once-formal dining room where they could speak privately. Kurt closed
the double doors.

Matthew looked around at Kurt's impromptu of- rice.

"You've moved in."

"Yes, sir. If you'll have a seat, I'll explain why." Matthew took the
news of Dragon-man and Carl Perriman much as Kurt expected. The man ~
mained calm and in control of his emotions. His only comment was,

"You can assure me," then, you and this private eye friend of yours are
qualified to protect my daughter."

"I got sloppy once." He fingered the bandage on his forehead.

"It won't happen again."

"Do you think this Dragon-man is still a danger to Dana?"

"Why aren't the police protecting her?"

"I can do it better."

Matthew puffed his cheeks and made noises with his tongue. He fingered
papers on the tabletop.

"What do you wish us to do?"

The question was music to Kurt's ears. He could trust this man to do the
right things.

"I would like you and your wife to go home. I'll need you to tell the
police about the adoption, but before you do, I'll send one of my people
to take your statements." He began writing out a list.

"We'll need Dana's adoption papers the name of the orphanage, the names
of anyone you can remember who was involved. Lawyers, judges, social
workers."

"I understand." Matthew accepted Kurt's list. He folded it neatly and
placed it in his shirt pocket.

"If your friends or acquaintances ask you about the case, please do not
discuss it. Remember, anything anyone says can be used in a court of
law.

Do you have an attorney?"

' "Robert Quintana."

"I know him. Good man. If you have any questions or concerns about my
methods, feel free to contact him. Won't hurt my heart. Any questions?"

"Only one. What are your qualifications?"

Kurt grinned.

"Twelve years as a criminal defense attorney. I'm not high profile, I'm
not rich. I work hard. I care about your daughter and what happens to
her." He gave Matthew a business card.

The old man studied the card carefully.

"I will ask my attorney about you. We'll see what he says."

Chapter Thirteen.

After her parents had left, Dana went upstairs to her bedroom. She
closed the door and stood with her hands flat against the wood.

Breathing deeply, drawing air to the very base of her lungs, she sought
answers to the formless questions swirling through her mind. She felt as
if some greater force were shredding her life piece by piece, rebuilding
her into something new and alien, something nameless and alone.

The cheval glass drew her. She stared at her reflection. The face was
the same as it had been this morning when she awakened. She tested her
tongue against her teeth. She fingered her biceps and the base of her
throat. She looked the same, she felt the same, but who was she?

Kurt knocked on the door.

"Not now," she called.

"Go away."

He entered the room, anyway.

With a heavy sigh, she faced him.

"You don't listen very well."

"I listen fine, it's the paying attention part I usually ignore. You
don't need to be alone."

193 "I don't need you to tell me what I need. Or what I think or how I
should feel or even what I should do.

Get out."

He sat on the edge of her bed and leaned forward with his elbows on his
knees. At the window, she looked out at the cul-de-sac. One of her
neighbors was weeding a flowerbed in her front yard. Her two
preschoolers were playing with a soccer ball. Dana eno vied the woman
her quiet, normal life and the security of her young family.

"The cops will be here any time now."

"I don't want to tell them about my sister."

"We don't have a choice.

It's you or her, babe.

Since she's the shooter, I vote for her."

" It was self-defense. Eddie Gordon tried to kill her and she fought
back." She looked over her shoulder at him.

"And you know it."

"Sure I know it. I also know the cops won't drop it. That means an
arrest and a trial. It means in the next few months, or years even,
you'll become an expert on the legal system. Knowledge I'm a hundred
percent certain you'd rather not have. You'll spend hundreds of
thousands of dollars on your defense. One way or another you'll lose
Star Systems. The videotape will eventually be released to the public,
and television stations will have a field day grinding your name into
the mud. Once that happens it won't matter if you're acquitted. The
public will always believe you were guilty and only got off because of a
technicality. Some writer will put together a quickie true-crime book
about the golden girl gone bad. Is that what you want?"

She swiped at her burning eyes.

"You know it isn't."

"Then we tell the cops about your sister. It's the only way."

A lump formed in her throat. All her life she'd longed for brothers and
sisters. Since her parents were both only children, she didn't even have
the consolation of cousins.

How she'd envied children who belonged to large families. The noise, the
laughter, the sense of belonging and having someone to share toys and
dreams with. ~ Now out of the blue, in the most unexpected way possible,
she had a sister. And in the same stroke of fate, she was about to lose
her again.

"Why can't I remember her, Kurt? Shouldn't I feel something? Some ...
sense of her out there?" He came to stand behind her. He rested his
hands on her shoulders and his cheek against her hair. "A few days ago I
thought I knew everything. Who I was, what I wanted. Part of me is so
damned angry. Mom and Daddy were my world, and all of a sudden, it's all
a lie. I don't know who I am or where I came from. They kept from me
something I wanted with all my heart."

"They thought they were doing the right thing. They wanted to adopt her,
too, but they couldn't.

They didn't split you apart, the system did?"

" I know. I honestly know that." She leaned against him, drawing on his
steadiness. His warm breath caressed her cheek.

"I'm so confused." Pain rippled through her and she shuddered, closing
her eyes.

195 Kurt crossed his arms in front of her, cupping her elbows. He rocked
her gently back and forth.

"I feel as if I'm losing everything. My business, my friends, my
reputation, and now my identity. There has to be a reason for all this.
Some meaning or purpose."

"They're here."

She opened her eyes. A tan Chevy had stopped in front of her house.

Callister and Tannenbaum got out and squinted into the sunshine. The sun
competed fiercely with scattered clouds now joining forces over the
city.

Callister pointed at the southern sky and said something that caused
Tannenbaum to shake his head.

Dana's belly knotted.

"I want to find her first, Kurt. I want to know what happened."

"What if she has mental problems? What if she sought you out to do you
harm?

She was carrying a gun."

"

Was her twin, as her parents had hinted, insane? Was she evil, wicked, a
psychopath? Where had she been for the past twenty-five years? In a
mental institution or prison? Or had she been adopted, too? Did she have
a family who loved her, or had she been lost in the faceless system,
shuttled from home to home, loved by no one with no one to call her own?
She touched her face, fingering the smooth skin she'd always taken
such-pains to pamper. All her life she'd been acknowledged as pretty. A
few thought of her as beautiful. Did her sister think she was beautiful?
Was she married? Did she have children? A thousand questions tumbled
through her mind, and with them came a burning desire to know the
answers.

She watched the detectives follow the curved concrete path leading to
her front door.

"They'll do the same thing to her they're doing to me. But we know she
isn't guilty."

Kurt made a soft cynical noise.

"She asked to meet you in a seedy bar and she had a gun. Sister or no
sister, there's a good chance she wasn't looking for a friendly reunion.
We have to assume the worst, Dana.

Let the cops figure out the self-defense angle."

" She's my sister."

Sister tasted so odd in her mouth.

Why couldn't she remember?

"I don't want to as- sme the worst. I want to find her. Please, I know
you think I'm crazy, but no matter what she's done, she's still my
sister."

"Dana" -- "I'm not suggesting anything illegal. You should know me
better than that by now. I'd never dream of harboring a fugitive or
helping her escape justice. I just want to talk to her, I want to know
what she wants.

I need to know."

"She looked you up. There's a reason for it." Dana nodded.

"Exactly.

I want, need to know that reason. Please, this one thing. Once we find
her, I'll do whatever you advise. All I ask is that we find her first."

"I can't make that promise."

The doorbell rang. The soft chimes made icy, prickly fingers creep up
her back. She shivered and turned in his arms.

"Please. Let's give Austin a few more days to find her."

197 His pale eyes went cold and hard.

"Damn it, don't look at me like that." He stared over her head.

"You have all those brothers and sisters. You love them, right? You'd do
anything for them. I know you would because that's how you are. If one
of them were in trouble, you'd move heaven and earth to help."

He wrenched away from her hands. Chest heaving, he planted his fists on
his hips. "~ou fight dirty."

Something broke loose in her heart and flooded her with warmth.

"Daddy always said I was a born salesperson."

"Twenty-four hours," he forced out reluctantly. "It'll give me time to
do some research into the adoption.

But that's it."

Reason said it was the best she could hope for. "Thank you."

"I must be crazy to get this involved with a client."

"You started it." She smiled.

"I sure did." He took her hand. He gave her a quick, heartfelt kiss
before they went downstairs to face the police.

Being interviewed in her home was different from being interviewed at
the police station. Callister took Kurt into the dining room; Tannenbaum
talked to Dana in the family room.

Detective Tannenbaum was mild, smiling and soft- spoken. He graciously
accepted a glass of iced tea; he admired her medieval figurines and
asked about the history of her nineteenth-century bird's-eye maple
secretary; he invited her to call him A1. They talked about Carl and
Dragon-man, Pauline and her relationship with Neal. She told him how
Jilly heryl Lynn 199 had found her office unlocked on Wednesday morning,
which meant Eddie Gordon may have broken in to look for the pictures
which didn't arrive until Thursday. She expressed puzzlement along with
the detective about why Dragon-man wanted the pic- Dana liked him and
admired his listening skills.

He'd make a good salesman.

Callister finished with Kurt. When the two men joined her and
Tannenbaum, she noticed the detective looked as grim and hostile as
before. Kurt's face was carefully blank.

"How you doing, AI?" Callister asked. "Dana is being very cooperative.

This is a real interesting story." He thanked her for the iced tea. The
detectives departed, carrying a copy of the photographs and Dragon-man's
gun.

Drained, Dana sank to a chair and rested her chin on a fist.

"Thank goodness we're finally getting somewhere. Do you think they'll
find Dragonmfin" -- "They aren't biting," Kurt interrupted. "What?"

"They don't believe a word."

"Maybe Callister is being stubborn, but A1 was completely" -- "Sweet,
kind and credulous. Yeah, yeah, I know how he operates. Face it, the
story sounds idiotic.

They're probably looking at the pictures and laughing theirs heads off.

Pauline is going to end up on every bulletin board in the station."

"But AI said he'd go through mug shots and see if he can find men who
resemble Dragon-man."

"Even if he does, he won't find him. I have a feeling he's from
Louisiana or Mississippi. He's definitely out of state. Odds are, he's
been in prison, but not around here. How much digging are they going to
do for a guy they think we invented?"

"But Carol's apartment, the blood ..."

"I imagine the cops looked over the place and talked to neighbors. I bet
nobody saw anything, nobody heard anything. For all the cops know,
Carol's a crappy housekeeper.

Or he's on vacation and we trashed the place to back up our story."

" What about the gun?"

"It's cheap and filthy, like we fished it out of a ditch. They might get
lucky and trace it, but I doubt it very much. Goofs like Dragon-man
aren't real conscientious about registering firearms."

He passed a hand over his eyes, and his big shoulders slumped.

"I didn't help matters by telling the doctor I tripped and hit my head
on a door." He cursed violently and leapt to his feet.

"Ah, hell, it doesn't matter. They don't believe us, but who cares?"

"Did we accomplish anything? Anything good, that is?"

"I doubt it. Let's hope we didn't do you any harm."

KURT BURST INTO DANMS bedroom. Fresh from the shower, garbed in a towel,
she clutched her ten'y-cloth robe and screamed at him to get out. She
grabbed a 'bottle of perfume off the dresser and prepared to throw it.

"We found her!" He thrust a fist of victory into the air.

She lowered her throwing arm.

"My sister?"

"I just got off the phone with Austin. He ran down the license plate and
came up with the name Star J ones."

"What kind of name is that?" A funny feeling tickled her as she
remembered when she and Pauline had started the business. For days
they'd argued over a name. They'd wanted something classy, simple to
remember, high-tech. From nowhere Dana had come up With Star Systems.

Maybe she did remember her sister, after all. Her knees wobbled and she
clung to the dresser for support. Kurt was at her side in an instant.
"Are you all right?"

She nodded dumbly. Her sister had a name.

"Where is she?"

"The address is in Wichita Falls. Austin is on his way now to see what
he can find."

"I want to go."

"We've got things to do here. Don't worry, Austin will let us know as
soon as he finds anything. Are you sure you're all right?"

She groped behind her for the bed and sat down. "What will he do if he
finds her?"

"Talk to her."

He sat and the mattress sagged under his weight. Dana compensated for
the shift, and the towel gaped over her thighs. Aware of Kurt finding
the display of interest, she crossed her legs. That made things worse.

201 No, what made it worse was liking the way he looked at her.

Heightened awareness seemed to make the air crackle. Her emotions
jumbled in a tangle of fear, gratitude, excitement and apprehension.

She could smell him. His hair was damp from his shower and the scent of
shampoo wafted to her nose, along with the spicy warmth of after-shave.
She told herself to jump up, throw him out and get dressed.

"We're going to talk to Patty today." Distracted by his nearness, she
drew a blank.

"The bartender at O'Dooley's who may have witnessed the shooting."

"Oh. Has she agreed to talk to us?"

"Haven't asked, but her shift starts at two o'clock."

He tapped his fingers against his knees.

"Sometimes, if we catch witnesses at work, they talk just to get rid of
US."

"I see." Her throat felt thick. She watched his hands. Sunlight through
the windows made the hairs glint with golden light. His fingers were
long and muscular, the nails blunt. Imagining those hands having free
rein on her body turned her weak inside. She wanted him. She wanted to
kiss him and watch his eyes turn from glittering ice to heated smoke.
She wanted to explore the fascinating array of sinuous muscle in his
back and bury her nose in his hair and test his long legs against hers.
She wanted to see if his skin tasted as good as it smelled. Wanting made
her dizzy.

"Guess I ought to get out of here." His. voice had lowered to a rumble.

"I'll be dressed in a few minutes." She stared fiercely at the
fireplace. If she looked at him. if she read desire in the curve of his
smile or the gleam in his eyes. "Dana?"

"yes?"

"We have a lot to do."

She wanted to squirm against the liquid heat melting her inner thighs.

"We had better get going."

"Guess we better." He walked quickly to the door. Disappointment
tattered her insides. Whetm was the ravishment he promised? As soon as
she thought it, she chided herself for being an idiot. She had made her
wishes perfectly clear and so had he. He opened the door.

"By the way," he said.

"You have the most incredible neck and shoulders I've ever seen in my
life."

A frisson left her tingling.

He closed the door behind him.

"You do want an affair, casual or otherwise," she mumbled, disgusted
with herself. But not quite disgusted enough to stop imagining what kind
of lover Kurt Saxon might be. If he lived up to his kisses, he'd kill
her with sheer pleasure.

"ARE YOU SURE I SHOULD go in there?" Dana asked. O'Dooley's Bar and
Grill wasn't as terrible looking as Dana had imagined, although it had
no windows and a dirt parking lot. It was housed in a flat-roofed
building, flanked by a laundromat on one side and an empty storefront on
the other.

203 She couldn't imagine why Star had wanted to meet her in a place like
this.

"I don't want to leave you out here alone," Kurt said.

"What if somebody recognizes me?" She wore sunglasses, and Kurt had
given her a baseball cap. She didn't like it. It had a beer company logo
embroidered on the front and the bill was sweat-stained. It made her
head itch. Besides, it looked ridiculous with her peach-colored blouse,
tan jacket and slacks.

Kurt snickered and flipped up the sun visor on the passenger side.

"Quit staring at yourself in the mirror.

You look fine."

"I look stupid."

"Let's go."

She tugged the cap lower on her face and accompanied him into the bar.

Except for a woman behind the bar, the place was deserted. Talk,
laughter and the sound of rattling glass came from the back room. Booths
lined one wall. Television sets were mounted in every corner. The
television closest to the bar played a soap opera. Kurt sat on a stool
at the bar. Dana did the same.

The bartender was a young woman of average height. She wore a great deal
of makeup, and her brown hair frizzed away from her face in impressive
wings.

She greeted them with a smile.

Kurt ordered two beers. When the woman placed the glasses in front of
them, Kurt asked,

"Are you Patty Cartwell?"

She gave him a come-hither grin.

"Who wants to know?"

Kurt gave her a business card. She read it and the smile turned into a
frown.

"A lawyer. What's this all about?"

"The shooting of Eddie Gordon."

Patty recoiled as if they had communicable dis- cases.

"I didn't see nothing. I told the cops already. I don't have nothing to
do with it."

"Patty," Kurt said,

"I'm not working for the police or the prosecutor's office." He curled
both hands around his beer glass.

"The way I hear it, you were in the parking lot when the shooting
occurred." She slapped a rag against the bar.

"Shoot! It's that private eye, isn't it? Coming in here with his cute
smile and tight butt, talking to all the girls. I told them to keep my
name out of it." She shook her head so violently her hair flopped.

"I can't talk to you."

"You talked to your friends about it. I know it's eating at you. You
have a story to tell."

"I can't." She turned away, fussing with liquor bottles.

"It's Bob. You don't want to involve him."

"Leave him out of this. We didn't do nothing wrong. The cops got all
kinds of witnesses. They know who killed that guy so they don't need
me."

" Her mouth pulled into a weak, plcading smile.

"You don't understand about me and Bobby. See, he's married, but it
ain't a real marriage. She won't let him touch her or nothing.

His wife is crazy, that's why he can't divorce her. She's in therapy and
all." Dana's stomach turned. This deluded young woman probably loved
good old Bobby with all her heart.

205 "I understand," Kurt said.

"But I need you to un- dent and My client has been falsely accused of a
crime she hasn't committed. This is Dana Benson." He laid a hand on
Dana's shoulder.

"She wasn't here."

Patty's eyes widened.

"Oh, gawd," she breathed. "This is the first time I've ever been inside
this bar," Dana said.

"Everybody saw you."

"They saw a woman who looks like me."

"And we have reason to believe the shooting was in self-defense."

Kurt nodded.

Patty lifted a shoulder.

"Well, sure, it was self- defense. The cops gotta know that." She peered
suspiciously at Dana.

"It wasn't you? I saw your picture and everything. Everyone says it's
you."

"Why do you say it was self-defense?"

"I can't ...  if Bobby ..."

"We don't have to involve Bobby. He never has to know you talked to us.

What did you see, Patty? Why is it self-defense?"

She threw down her rag.

"I read that story in the paper saying it was murder. I told Bobby he
has to tell the police, but he won't. He says if I drag him into it,
we're through.

I can't lose him! He's my whole world ." ' Kurt drank some beer. He
wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Listen to me very carefully, Patty.

If my client is arrested and charged, the case will go to trial. I will
have no choice except to subpoena you and Bobby to testify."

"We'll say we didn't see nothing."

"I'll put you on the stand, under oath. If you lie, it'll be periury and
you'll go to jail. Now, I know you've talked to some of your friends
about the shooting. I'll subpoena them, too. How is Bobby going to
explain that to his wife?"

Her eyes shimmered.

"You can't do that." Dana felt sorry for her. She Stared at her beer.

"I will if I have to."

"If I tell you what I saw, will you promise not to make me go to court?
Will you keep Bobby out of it?"

Dana looked at Patty and held her breath. "I can't promise, but if you
don't talk t~ me, I guarantee you and Bobby will end up in court. So
tell me what you saw."

Patty surprised Dana with a smile.

"Your mouthpiece is a real mean guy. Plays hardball."

"I know," Dana agreed.

"Please help us, Ms. Cartwell. We don't want to cause trouble for you,
honestly."

"All right, all right." She closed her eyes.

"Gawd, Bobby's gonna kill me. What do you want to know?"

Kurt brought out his pen and notebook.

"Tell me what you saw."

"I was on break." She pointed.

"Bobby and I were in his car down at the end of the parking lot. The
light's out, so it's private. We weren't doing nothing, just talking.

Kissing a little. You know. Then Bobby, he says, better get down, looks
like a fight. So I look and there's three guys. Oh, I guess it was two
guys and a girl." She looked at Dana.

"It wasn't you?"

"Are you sure there were three people?" Kurt asked.

"Can you describe them?"

207 "Not really. It was dark. They was over by the fence where some cars
were parked. Like I said, the light's burnt out."

"But you are positive there were three?"

"Definitely. One had hold of the girl." She grabbed her upper arm to
demonstrate.

"Jerking her around."

"How close were you to them?"

"Bobby was parked at the end of the row, and they was across the
driveway.

What's that, may he twenty feet? So anyways, I tell Bobby, don't look
like a fight, looks like they're robbing the. guy. I thought it was a
guy. I didn't know it was a girl until later."

"Did you hear them say anything? Screams?"

"It was kind of cold that night. We had the windows up and we was
playing my Billy Ray Cyrus tape.

I didn't hear nothing. Just saw a lot of pushing and pulling."

"Then what happened?"

"The three of them kind of stumbled. You know, went down in a heap.

Like football players. I don't know who was on the top or bottom. All of
a sudden one takes off running. Had to be the girl, 'cause she's running
back toward here. That's when we heard the shot."

Kurt's forehead furrowed in a deep frown.

"You're positive about that?"

"I think so." She nodded.

"Yeah, I'm sure.

"Cause then Bobby grabs my head and pushes me down. Him and me, we're
whispering, all scared and everything. We knew it was a gun right off.

Bobby's got lots of guns. He knows what they sound like. I do, too. Then
we don't hear nothing and Bobby kind of peeks and looks around. He's
saying, oh, hell, a guy got shot, he's lying on the ground, and then
people come running to see. We're scootched down on the seat, hiding.

People are yelling and stuff. So Bobby and me sneak out of the car and
everybody's looking at the dead guy so nobody sees us." She pointed
again.

"Bobby went across the street to the Taco Bell, and I came back here.

He came back after the cops left and got his car."

Kurt studied what he'd written.

"The police aren't aware there were three people involved."

"I told you everything. I don't want to talk to' them They'll make me
tell about Bobby, and he'll get in trouble. He's gonna be real mad if he
finds out I talked to you."

"The police don't know it's self-defense. They can't know. No one else
saw the shooting. No one else saw the third man." He brought out another
business card, flipped it over and wrote on the back.

"This is the name and number of the detective in charge of the case.
Trust me, he's not interested in getting you or Bobby in trouble." He
slid the card across the shiny bar top.

"All he wants is the truth."

Patty crossed her arms, tucking her hands under her armpits. She stared
unhappily at the card. I'll think about it."

Kurt swiveled on the stool and stood. He brought out his wallet and
threw a ten-dollar bill on the bar.

"Think about this thing going to trial, and subpoenas, and Bobby's wife
sitting in the gallery listening to him testify. Come on, Dana."

Chapter Fourteen.

"Do you think Patty will talk to the police?" Dana asked.

She and Kurt sat in a coffee shop about a block from O'Dooley's. Dana
had removed the ridiculous cap but kept wearing the sunglasses. She
stirred creamer into her coffee.

"I don't know if we want her to." He flipped through his notebook.

"How can you say that? The other man had to have been Dragon-man."

"Star was running before she shot Gordon. That means she got away, then
fired."

"Dragon-man had a gun. Gordon probably did, too. It's still
self-defense."

"She didn't scream, she didn't yell for help. She might say she fired to
keep them from chasing her, but convincing the cops of that will be
tough.

The best she may be able to hope for will be negligent homicide.

This isn't looking good."

"If they catch Dragon-man" -- "If, Dana, if. I'm not certain anyone is
looking for him."

Her buoyant mood burst like a bubble.

"Is she going to prison?"

"Her fleeing the scene doesn't look good. We'll go for self-defense, but
a lot will depend on her. It depends on if she has an arrest record. I
want to know why she had a gun in the first place. Why she ran. Why she
hasn't come forward." He gestured at her with a spoon.

"Chances are she saw the articles in the newspaper.

Saw your name, knows you're taking the rap. More and more, it's looking
like she wanted something besides a happy reunion."

Dana tried to remember the telephone conversation with Star. At the
time, though, she'd been concentrating on a proposal to win the
Wainwright account and the call had interrupted her. Star's cagihess had
annoyed her, so she hadn't paid much attention. She couldn't recall a
single word.

A soft bcep came from Kurt's pager. He unhooked it from his belt and
eyed the readout.

"It's Austin, calling long-distance. He may have found her." He left to
find a pay telephone.

Dana couldn't decide if finding Star was good news or bad news. She
fidgeted, watching the few customers and the orange-and-white-clad
waitresses. Kurt was gone twenty minutes. He looked pleased when he
returned. She signaled the waitress to bring them fresh coffee.

"Austin is in Wichita Falls. Star Jones does live there. She's employed
by an arts and crafts coop as a courier." He looked down at his notes.

"Her description is, five feet nine inches tall, slim, about one him211
dred and thirty pounds, very light blond air and blue eyes."

"You just described me."

"It's definitely her." Austin showed your picture to neighbors and to
people at the coop. They all thought it was Star."

"So she's gainfully employed. That's good. Right?"

"It is. Also good is that she was in Dallas on legitimate business. She
transports paintings, pottery, jewelry, artsy crap.

Dallas is part of her regular delivery run. And get this, she has a
permit to carry a concealed weapon."

Dana sat back against the vinyl booth.

"That means her carrying a gun has nothing to do with me."

"That's right. But there's more."

Dana rubbed the base of her throat. Her heart thudded heavily.

"She returned to Wichita Falls on Wednesday. According to her boss, she
showed up on time and didn't mention anything unusual had happened."
Dana's mouth dropped open.

Kurt nodded in derision.

"According to him, she was acting perfectly normal. He has no idea she
ran into any kind of trouble at all. On the day you were arrested, she
left town on another run."

"Where?"

"Austin can't find out. Apparently, she transports items that are pretty
valuable. Sometimes she carries large amounts of cash. Her schedule is
top secret." He held up a finger.

"However, we do know Star doesn't have a criminal record. She's bonded,
and that means the company ran a security check on her. A license to
carry a concealed weapon means she doesn't have a history of mental
disease. At least, she's never been in an institution."

"What if she doesn't know she killed Gordon?" Dana reached across the
table and tapped his notebook.

"She carries a weapon. She must be on the alert for robberies. Gordon
and Dragon-man are fighting with her. She thinks it's a robbery. She
gets away and fires the gun, as a warning, but doesn't know she hit
anybody. It's dark, she can't see."

"It's possible, but we'll have a hell of a time con- vinci rig the
police.

She knows better than to leave the scene of a shooting."

"We need Dragon-man or Carl," she muttered, and opened her purse. She
brought out the packet of pictures.

She found the picture of Pauline and Neal locked in a passionate
embrace.

How tasteless, she thought, making out in a public place. Anyone could
have seen them.

She fanned the pictures across the tabletop.

"This is crazy. No wonder the police think we're lying. Even if Pauline
knew Carl took these pictures, she wouldn't care. I've known her for
years.

Nothing embarrasses her. As far as her love life is concerned, she's
utterly shameless."

"What about Neal? It might be worthwhile for him to keep you from
knowing about him and Pauline."

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't reconcile a 'man who had a
conniption fit if his tie wasn't tied correctly with hiring a character
like Dragon-man213 "He's hoping to make partner in the firm. What
happens if his bosses find out he's involved in a love triangle with two
of his clients?"

"You make it sound sordid and ugly. I never even slept with him."

Kurt's eyebrows lifted.

"You didn't?"

She covered her eyes with a hand and laughed.

"No, I didn't, and it's none of your business." She picked up a picture
of Neal and Pauline walking hand in hand.

"Even if I had, all they have to say is these were taken after we broke
up.

I didn't fire Neal after we stopped seeing each other. Why would he
think I'd fire him over this?"

She noticed something else in the pictures. Sorting through the prints,
she found eight of the twenty-four Showed other people.

"Kurt?" She turned a photo around and indicated the people in the
background.

"What if it doesn't have anything to do with Pauline and Neal at all?

Maybe there was somebody else in the park that day."

He studied the pictures intently. All the people were at a distance,
their features indistinct. As for what they were doing, there was no
telling.

Finally, he said,

"Three men. Oh, ho, Carl might have inadvertently witnessed a drug deal.
We may have something big here."

"Even if those men saw Carl, how would they know it was him?"

"Only Carl can answer that. You have no idea where he might be hiding
out?"

"I've called everyone who knows him. Nobody has seen him or talked to
him in weeks. At least, no one will admit it." She gathered the pictures
into a neat stack.

"I know who knows where and when these pictures were taken. Pauline and
Neal."

"You're willing to confront them?"

She slipped the pictures into the packet.

"I keep hearing Paul'me say, 'the guy you shot." Even if I had shot
Gordon, I'd expect her to support me. But she doesn't care. This thing
with Neal proves it." She sighed and shook her head.

"This hurts you," Kurt said quietly. "I've worked so hard for Star
Systems.

It's one of those brilliantly simple ideas that worked. For years I
lived hand to mouth, scrimping and saving, putting everything I had into
the company, going into debt. But it's always been more than the money.
It was winning the accounts, pitting myself against th~ competition. It
was making it in spite of the odds. Do you know what I mean?"

"You like the challenge."

"And it hasn't been easy. Those good-old-boy networks are firmly
entrenched.

We've had to overcome our share of prejudices. Sometimes it's
discouraging.

I'd go for weeks without a sale, or equipment would break down, or we'd
mess up somehow. Through it all, there was always Pauline. She'd
encourage me, I'd encourage her. I always thought she was my best
friend. I truly did."

"What are you going to do?"

"I honestly do not know. The only thing I know for certain is my
partnership with her is over."

215 DANA FELT LIKE A STRANGER in Star Systems. The place even seemed to
smell different. She didn't recognize the middle-aged woman sitting
behind Jilly's desk.

"May I help you?" the woman asked. She gave Kurt an uncertain look.

"I'm Dana Benson. Who are you?"

The woman whipped her head around to look at the nameplate on Dana's
office door.

"Oh, Miss. Benson, sorry, I'm Liz Sanders from the temp agency."

"I see. Is Pauline Kidder in?" She headed for Pauline's office.

"Miss. Kidder is" -- she leafed through a stack of papers "--at Chusak
Electronics. She said she probably won't be back in today."

Chusak was one of Star Systems's largest accounts. The only reason she
could think of for Pauline to go there was that they had threatened to
pull their data. Terrific.

"Where's Jilly?"

Liz looked blank.

"The secretary you're subbing for?"

"I don't know. I was just" -- "Never mind. If Pauline does come in
later, tell her" -- "Dana!" Alison Torres swept into the reception area.
Her dark eyes flashed. Dana had never seen the programmer so excited.

"Thank the stars for a voice of reason!" Alison exclaimed.

"I'm so glad you're back."

"I'm not really back, I'm just looking for Pauline. Is everything all
right?"

Alison snorted, looking daggers at the temporary secretary.

"You don't know? It figures."

"Know what?"

Alison indicated Dana's office. She cupped a hand around her ear as if
to say, watch out for unwanted listeners.

Once in her office, Dana introduced Kurt to All- son, explaining,
"Alison is a programmer. She works in data storage. So what's up,
Alison? Why do you need a voice of reason?"

"Because Pauline has lost her ever-lovin' mind. She fired Jilly and
Sue."

Dana had to sit down.

"You've got to be kidding." Alison perched on a corner of the desk and
picked up a letter opener.

"Wish I was kidding, but I'm not. Pauline went loco yesterday. She says
Jilly was stealing confidential data. Didn't even give her notice. She
called security and had them watch Jilly clean out her desk then escort
her from the building." Dana rubbed her aching temples.

"So why did she fire Sue?"

"Who is Sue?" Kurt asked.

"She's the bookkeeper who replaced Carl. Well?"

"It had something to do with Jilly. I don't know what, but Pauline went
off on her, too. Boom, got rid of both of them. Said they were in
cahoots, conspiring against her and stealing Star SYSTEMS blind. You
know it's all a damned lie. Then this morning, Chusak called wanting to
close out their account. They said their legal department recommended
it." Alison waggled her thick eyebrows.

"I guess they're dumb enough to believe what they read in the paper.
Pau217 line went ballistic. She's over there now, but I'm telling you,
the state she's in, she's going to make it worse. She was talking about
lawsuits for breach of contract."

"Good heavens."

"She may be a wizard with machines, but she don't know jack about
customer relations. We need you back, Dana. I know you're having
problems, but this is serious."

"You don't know how serious," Dana muttered. It sounded as if she didn't
have to do anything about dissolving her partnership--Pauline was going
to bankrupt the company all by herself.

"What exactly was Jilly supposed to have been stealing?"

"She wasn't stealing anything. All she had were account books and some
invoices. She was probably going to help Sue catch up on the tax
paperwork, but Pauline never gave her a chance to explain. She wouldn't
listen."

Knowledge hit her like a blow to the solar plexus. Dana spun around on
the chair.

"Jilly!" she exclaimed to Kurt.

"I am so stupid."

Kurt cocked his head.

"What is it?"

"It's Jilly. For the past few weeks she's been acting strange. Edgy and
nervous, acting guilty. Pauline has been on her back constantly." She
smacked her head with the heel of her hand.

"Why didn't I realize it? Carl and Jilly were always close. She's been
helping him find evidence."

"And she knows where he is," Kurt said with a smile.

"I'd bet money on it."

"What are you talking about?" Alison asked. "Evidence?

Carl? Does this have to do with the police thing?"

"We don't know yet." Dana grabbed her purse. "I've got to go. If by
chance Pauline does return today, don't bother telling her I was here.
I'll talk to her when I'm good and ready."

As they hurried downstairs to the garage, Kurt said, "Why wouldn't Jilly
come to you about Carl?"

"Why should she? I fired Carl. I believed Pauline over him. He sends me
pictures, and Dragon-man beats him up. He must be scared to death
imagining Pauline and I are trying to kill him. When Jilly found my
office unlocked, she almost panicked. Looking back, she must have known
it was Dragon-man.

Why are you looking at me like that?"

He had his head cocked, and his smile was crooked. The corners of his
eyes crinkled in amusement.

"Indignation sits well with you."

"Why shouldn't I be indignant?" She poked his solid chest with a finger.

"You're right, I'm too trusting.

I accept too much at face value. Pauline has lied to me and stabbed me
in the back. She fired the best secretary I ever had. I have had it with
her.

" Despite heavy traffic, they made it across the city to Jilly's
apartment building in record time. In her eagerness to find Carl, Dana
didn't even mind Kurt's road-racer driving style.

Halfway up the stairs to the second-floor apartment, Dana asked,

"What do we say to her? How do we convince her I'm on Carol's side?"

219 "Tell the truth. Be straight. That always works best for me."

She found his hand and grasped it. He squeezed her fingers in return.

At Jilly's door, she knocked.

Jilly's roommate answered. The brunette, who had always reminded Dana of
a young Joan Collins, was eating from a quart-sized carton of yogurt.

"Well, hi, Dana," Marci said.

"What are you doing here?"

"Is Jilly in?"

Marci smiled around a spoonful of yogurt at Kurt. "She's at work.

Isn't she?"

Confused, Dana asked,

"When was the last time you saw her?"

Turning away from the door, Marci shrugged. Her actions invited them
inside.

"I'm pulling night shift.

She's gone when I get off, and I usually split before she gets home.

Works out great. No fighting over the bathroom. Is something the
matter?"

"She wasn't at work today. I was hoping you knew where she was."

"You're kidding." Marci put down the yogurt. "She never misses work.

Should we worry?"

"I'm sure she's all right. There have been some problems at work. I need
to talk to her."

Marci blinked rapidly and chewed first one side of her lip then the
other.

"Gosh, Dana, I've barely seen her lately. The only thing we say anymore
is 'hi' and 'goodbye."

" Kurt was looking at the telephone. Rubbing the back of his neck, he
appeared a little too nonchalant.

He nodded slightly and moved his eyes, indicating the door.

Catching his eagerness to leave, she said,

"Thanks, Marci. If you should see her before I do, ask her to call me."
' Once outside, she asked him why he'd wanted to leave. He said he'd
show her.

They went back to his car. Hepicked up his mobile phone and punched in a
number. He listened for a moment and a slow smile appeared.

"Can I get where you're located?" As he listened, he reached around in
the mess on the back seat and came up with a map.

"I appreciate it. Thanks." He pressed the off button.

"What is this all about?"

He opened the map and studied it a moment. "Carol's at the Handi-Lodge
Motel. Room twelve."

Amazed and delighted, she asked,

"Now, how did you do that?"

"I saw a phone message saying to call Carl." He started the engine.

"Let's roll. We'll probably find Jilly there, too."

Chapter Fifteen.

Kurt knocked on the door to room twelve at the Handi-Lodge Motel. It was
a run-down little tourist joint off Highway 75. The white paint on the
walls was peeling, and the sidewalks were cracked. The humming of
window-mounted air conditioners was almost as loud as the traffic
zooming past on the highway. The pool looked as if it hadn't been used
in years.

Kurt doubted if the room rate was more than twenty bucks a night.

The draperies over the window moved. He knew Carl and Jilly were inside.

Dana had recognized both their cars in the parking lot.

"Talk to them," he told Dana.

Dana rapped lightly on the door.

"Jilly? Carl? Open up, please. We're all in trouble here, and we need
one another. Jilly, please. I found out what Pauline did. I won't let
her get away with it. I have Kurt Saxon with me. He's an excellent
attorney." Nothing.

"What now?" she asked.

"We can't very well break down the door."

"Talk some more."

She drew a deep breath and knocked again.

"Carl, I got your pictures.

They didn't arrive until Thurs* day. I saw what Dragon-man did to your
home.

I know he hurt you.

We're here to help, but you have to let us in. You have to tell us what
it means." Kurt rubbed her back in encouragement.

"I didn't shoot Eddie Gordon. I didn't know about him at all until I was
arrested. But Dragon-man thinks I killed him, and now he's after me,
too." A sleepy-looking man walked out of the adjacent unit. He eyed them
incuriously before heading for the office.

The door opened a crack. A worried blue eye peered out.

"Oh, Jilly, please let us in," Dana said. "You told Pauline about the
pictures. You tell her everything." Her voice quavered with accusation.

"No  ...  no. I know I was wrong about Carl. I found out this afternoon
what Pauline did to you, and I know why you were trying to take files. I
understand."

"She fired Sue, too."

"You and I have always been good friends. You're the best secretary I've
ever had. I would never do anything to hurt you. Please let us in."
Jilly looked up at Kurt.

From behind her, a man said,

"Go ahead, honey. Let them in." When they entered, Kurt waited a moment
for his eyes to adjust to the dimness. At the sight of Carl Perriman, he
nearly whistled. Both eyes were blackened.

His arms and neck were marked by brownish 223 shadows of what had been
extensive bruising. White tape held his glasses together at the
nosepiece.

Dana looked ready to cry.

"Oh, Carl, look what he did to you."

Kurt extended his right hand.

"Hello, Carl. Kurt Saxon." ' The younger man hesitated but finally shook
hands. Jilly's eyes filled with tears.

"You should have seen him before. He looked like the EIEPHANT Man. They
knocked out two of his teeth."

"I'm okay." He lisped slightly.

"I got away. They were going to kill me."

"Why didn't you go to the police?" Dana clenched her hands over her
belly.

"I was scared. If I told the police about those men, I'd have to tell
them ..." His face turned bright red.

"I've been doing some things that are kind of ...  file gal Do you swear
Pauline didn't send those men after me?" He looked between her and Kurt.

The room had a bed, a cheap desk and a single chair. Sensing Carol's
intimidation, Kurt sat on the chair, and the young man seemed to relax
slightly without Kurt towering over him.

"I can't swear it a hundred percent, but we don't think so. What kind of
illegal things?"

Carl gazed sideways with a sheepish expression.

"I followed her. I--I bugged her telephone."

"He didn't do it, I did it," Jilly said. She lifted her head defiantly.

"I put the thingamabob in her phone.

Carl didn't break in or anything. She's a thief, Dana. Carl never forged
those checks, she wrote them her224 Dark Knight self. She also buys
supplies, then returns them for refunds and keeps the cash."

Kurt fought down a laugh; amateurs, had to love them.

"Carl, this isn't about Pauline, it's about the pictures you took. Eddie
Gordon was a drug dealer. Dragon-man is probably one, too, or something
worse. I think you took pictures of some kind of transaction."

Dana produced the snapshots. She showed Carl the men in the background.

Looking shocked, Carl sank onto the bed. Jilly sat beside him and held
his hand. The young lovers exchanged a look of mingled fear, confusion
and wafthess.

"I don't remember any men," Carl said.

"They remember you. Or at least, Dragon-man does. Where did you take
these?"

"White Rock Lake."

"Neal lives near there," Dana said.

"Be more specific. That's a big lake." Kurt found his notebook and
turned to a clean sheet.

"Not actually at the lake, it was north in the park. Urn, White Rock
Creek Park."

"Mr. Hadow's been seeing Pauline a long time," Jilly said, and blushed.

"Even while he was dating you, he used to, you know, flirt with her and
she'd flirt with him.

When you weren't around, they'd go into her office and shut the door. I
didn't want to say anything to you, Dana. I mean, it was none of my
business, and besides, you know how Pauline is."

" Never mind. I don't care about her and Neal."

225 Kurt caught the strained note of embarrassment in Dana's voice.
Maybe he'd go ahead and beat up Neal Harlow, anyway, just to make them
both feel better. "Go on, Carl.

Tell me about the pictures. What day was it?"

"March 12, a Saturday."

Dana gasped. She immediately shut her mouth, but hot color rose in her
cheeks.

"You're sure about the date?" Kurt asked. "I'm sure. I'm keeping a
notebook. It was late afternoon, kind of rainy and gray. The park was
pretty much deserted. I only had one roll of film with me, so that's all
the pictures I took."

"Did you see anyone else in the park?"

Cad stared at a photograph.

"I wasn't paying attention to anybody except Pauline. It was a pretty
cmmmy day. Cold, windy. I wasn't there very long. Maybe twenty minutes.

Sneaking around in the bushes got me wet, and I couldn't get close
enough to hear what they were saying. I got kind of scared, too. A
couple times, all they had to do was turn around and they would have
seen me. So I left."

"Then what?"

"I got the pictures developed and had two prints made. I didn't really
want to send them to you, Dana.

I wasn't sure how you felt about Neal. I kept waiting to hear from you,
and when I didn't, I figured you were mad at me. Or that you had
confronted Pauline and she'd made up some story you fell for."

"Oh, Cad, I do believe you. I didn't get the pictures until ten days
after you mailed them. I didn't even open the envelope. I was arrested
and I forgot about them. That is, until Dragon-man showed up."

"I didn't mean to tell them I sent you the pictures," he mumbled.

Kurt urged him to tell them about Dragon-man and Eddie Gordon.

"It was Tuesday. I was eating breakfast, reading the paper. These men
came to the door. They forced their way inside. They hit me." He
shuddered and paled. "The tall one held me while the other one ..." He
straightened on the chair and lifted his shirt, revealing a faded
rainbow of bruises.

Dana covered her mouth with a hand. Kurt's stomach knotted.

"They kept talking about the pictures. I didn't know what they were
talking about until they found the pictures I'd taken of Pauline. They
knew my name.

That's why I think it's Pauline who sent them. How would they know my
name otherwise?"

Kurt glanced up from his notes.

"Could be they saw you, followed you to your car and tracked you down
through your license plate number. Go on."

"They tied me up with tape.

They said they'd be back. I know they meant it. They were going to come
back and kill me.

I was never so scared in my life."

"I imag'me," Kurt mused.

"Can you identify these men? Give a description?"

Carol's eyes lit up with fierce light.

"The tall one, he's the one who" -- He glanced at Dana and looked away.

"He's the one who was killed. I recognized his face in the newspaper."

"I didn't kill him, Carl. I wasn't even there."

227 "That's another story," Kurt interrupted.

"What about the other man, Carl?"

"The one guy kept calling him Drag. He's not much taller than me, maybe
five foot eight, but he's big.

Real muscular. He's an older guy, maybe forty or forty-five, and his
hair is going gray. His face is pitted with ache scars. He's got tattoos
on his hands." He passed a finger over his knuckles. I'll never forget
his hands.

One side said Love and the other said Hate."

"Did they give you any idea why they wanted the pictures?"

"It had to have been Pauline" -- "It wasn't. If it had been her, they'd
have taken more than the pictures. Dana and I found the items you took
out of Pauline's trash. The only thing those goofs wanted were the
pictures. Did they ever mention Pauline's name? Or Neal's?"

"No."

"Why beat you up to get Dana's name? If Pauline knew what you were up
to, wouldn't she have realized you'd send information to Dana?"

"Well, I suppose so."

"Think, did they say anything else?"

"Drag, he kept talking and talking, but I don't remember exactly what he
was saying." He fingered his face.

"He wanted the pictures."

"Dragon-man has to be the man in the background," Dana said.

The young man looked near tears. He eyed Dana mournfully.

"All I ever wanted to do was prove to you I'm not a thief."

"I am so sorry for ever doubting you. I'll make it up to you. You, too,
Jilly."

"Worry about that later," Kurt said.

"Our immediate concern is Dragon-man. Carl, I'm taking you to the police
station. Don't worry about the surve'fi- lance, nobody cares."

"Will they believe him?" Dana asked.

"You can't see faces, there's no telling who those men are in the
pictures."

Kurt's beeper went off. He checked the number. It was a friend of his
who worked at the courthouse. The message said urgent.

"I'm going out to my car to make a call. Be back in a minute."

ALONE WITH CARL AND JILLY, Dana didn't know what to say. The three of
them remained still and silent, as uncomfortable as the shabby room
warranted.

Dana stared at a hideous landscape hanging on the wall. Its muddy colors
seemed to say, sleep for the night, but don't linger here.

Finally, Dana said,

"I'm sorry about all this. I realize now I treated you terribly, Carl. I
don't know how to make up for it." She sat on the chair.

"But why didn't you tell me?"

Carl and Jilly gazed at each other. It was Jilly who spoke.

"Pauline is your best friend. You believe everything she tells you. She
lies all the time. She's ruthless and mean. When she makes mistakes, she
blames it on other people, and you always believe her. She takes money
out of petty cash. She steals. You never notice."

229 "Pauline told me," Carl said, "if I pushed it, she'd prosecute me.

Put me in jail. She would, too. She knows I caught her stealing, and she
knows I can't prove it."

Dana pinched the bridge of her nose against the urge to cry.

"I don't like Pauline and she doesn't like me," Jilly said.

"Everybody knows it. You know it. I was scared if I said anything about
her, you'd think I was just heing mean."

The sad part was, they were probably right. Self- loathing made Dana
cringe.

Kurt pounded furiously on the door. Dana sprang to answer.

"We got problems," he said.

"Callister and Tan- nenbaum have an arrest warrant, and this time they
mean business. They found some kind of evidence." She'd never seen him
so furious.

"How? What?"

she whispered.

"I don't know, but it's serious." A string of curses flowed from him
like a rushing river.

Dana's heart pounded.

"We have Carl. And what about Patty? She'll tell them Dragon-man was
there."

"Carl is extraneous. Even if they believe his story, it doesn't place
Dragon-man at O'Dooley's. It doesn't do anything about the eyewitnesses
or the videotape. As for Patty, she's probably the evidence they have. I
bet she went to the cops."

"But Dragon-man, he was there. She said it's self- defense."

"She told them you were running and fired the shot. They now have a
witness to the actual shooting."

She snatched a photograph off the bed.

"We have pictures."

He studied the photograph.

"Even if we get this to a lab and have it blown up, the graininess will
kill any chance of identifying" -- Dana grabbed his arm.

"If a photo lab does it, yes, but what about computer enhancement?
Computers can do incredible things. I bet we can make those images big
enough for identification."

Kurt looked more than interested. His gray eyes fairly danced with
excitement.

"How long will it take?"

"Do you know how to do it?" Jilly asked.

"I don't want you going to jail. They can't do that to you." Her face
skewed in a bewildered grimace.

Dana smiled grimly.

"I don't know how to do it, but I know somebody who does. And she owes
me."

"HELLO, P u~i~4E, glad you could make it," Dana said. In the Star
Systems reception area, she sat on Jilly's chair and had her feet
propped atop the secretary's desk.

The redhead looked between Dana and Kurt. For once, she wasn't batting
her eyelashes in the presence of a good-looking man. For once, she
looked scared. "What's this all about, Dana? You said it's an emer" You
might call it that." She surprised herself. Instead of pain or regret,
all she felt was cold anger.

"I've come to a decision. I'm going to sell out my half of Star Systems.

It's all yours."

"What's this all about?"

231 "Isn't that what you wanted? For half the money I make, you can hire
a sales staff. You'll be the boss, and if you want to milk this place
dry, it won't be stealing. It'll all be yours."

Pauline's throat worked convulsively.

"You're not making any sense.

Have you gone crazy? You've been talking to Jilly. That little sneak!

She's lying. She's the thief, not me."

"I know all about it. You framed Carl. You took the money, not him.

You've been doctoring the books, falsifying invoices, changing the
billing, stealing from petty cash and making Jilly cover for you." She
dropped her feet to the floor.

"I thought I knew you."

"You can't prove any of " Oh, yes, I can. I can call in an independent
auditor to go over this place item by item, piece by piece. I can give
the employees polygraph examinations and find out who's covering for
you. I can file a lawsuit and make you produce bank statements, tax
records, the works."

Pauline dropped onto a chair and covered her face with her hands.

"There's another thing I'm curious about. Why Neal Harlow? How long have
you been using him to find a way to force me out?"

Pauline flung up her head.

"Now you're being damned crazy I That thing with the morals clause was
just to pacify clients. Good gawd, the business is going down the tubes
here.

We're losing Chusak, did you know that? Their lawyers are saying their
data can be used as evidence if you go to trial. So they're pulling out.
That's your fault, Dana, not mine. I'm trying to fix things."

"So what were you and Neal discussing on March 127" She held up the
photograph of Neal and Pauline kissing.

Staring wide-eyed, Pauline shook her head. Her face paled and her
freckles looked painted on.

"That doesn't mean squat. You and Neal broke up" -- "There you're wrong.

Neal and I had a date that night. He said he was sure he loved me and
suggested we move in together."

"He told me you weren't seeing each other."

"You are lying." She laughed wearily. Pauline seemed so transparent; how
had she fooled Dana all those years?

"The first thing I did on Sunday morning was call you up and cry on your
shoulder. Remember? You agreed wholeheartedly that Neal Harlow was a
complete jerk."

She held up photographs one by one, taking Pau- line on a little stroll
down memory lane.

"Here's what I think happened. You knew Neal and I were growing close,
and you were jealous. So you came on to him, maybe you slept with him.
Except he and I kept dating, and he was falling in love with me. You
listened to him complain about how I wouldn't have sex with him. You
sympathized. You planted the bug in his ear.

Commitment, you said, that's what Dana wants, knowing full well he
wasn't ready to get married, and there's no way I'd move in with him.
You knew something like that would break us up."

"You are so full of crap." Naked hatred blazed from Pauline's eyes.

233 "It doesn't matter if I'm right or wrong." She turned a photo around
and clucked her tongue.

"Actually, it does matter. I've been wrong about you all along. I never
should have trusted you. You're a liar and a thief, and you're cruel.
You use people. You're as cold and calculating as those machines you
love so much."

"Let's do it, Dana," Kurt said.

"We're running out of time."

"I need a favor, Pauline."

"After what you" -- "You're going to do it." Dana wondered if she
shouldn't feel guilty about feeling so good.

"Because if you don't, I will destroy you. I will tangle you up in
lawsuits until the only men you ever talk to are attorneys and judges.
You will lose Star Systems forever." She held up the photograph of
Pauline and Neal kissing.

"There are three men in the background. I need to see their faces."

"You can't- ' " If you do help, then we'll work out a deal so you can
buy me out. A very generous deal. I'm willing to take a loss just so I
never have to see your face again." Pauline jumped off the chair and
grabbed the photograph.

She scowled at it.

"How'd you get this, anyway? Did you hire a private eye to spy on me?
And you call me a sneak?"

"It's a long story, and quite frankly, you don't deserve to hear it.

Let's go."

In the computer room, Dana and Kurt gave Pau- line room to work her
magic.

She scanned the first photograph into the computer.

"You're sure she can do this?" Kurt whispered in Dana's ear.

"If she can't, then it's impossible. Watch." He found her hand and
clasped it. He smiled approval.

"You did good, babe. How do you feel?"

"I'll probably feel terrible later, but right now" -- she glared at
Pauline's back "--it feels marvelous." Pauline isolated the men in the
background with a computer-drawn box. A click of the mouse made the rest
of the picture disappear. Increment by increment, she increased the
image size, cleaning and enhancing it in stages.

Faces grew distinct as the computer filled in features and interpreted
what 'lay behind the shadows.

Twenty minutes later, Pauline scooted back her wheeled chair.

"How's that?"

The enhanced image showed three men huddled together. The man in the
middle was in profile; the man on the right was captured with
three-quarters of his face visible; the third man, standing on the left,
had his back to the camera.

Kurt touched an image of the man on the right. "That's definitely
Dragon-man."

"That could be Gordon on the left. Do you have any idea who the man in
the middle is? I sure don't.

Print it, Pauline, then do the same with the other pic- "What's going on
here?" Pauline asked as she began working on the second photograph. Her
belligerence had disappeared as she warmed to her task. Her fingers were
a blur on the keyboard. She manipulated the mouse as if it were an
extension of her brain, 235 making it seem as if all she had to do was
think about a command and the computer executed it.

"Isn't Gordon the guy you killed?"

Dana could have slapped her.

It was well after two in the morning when Pauline finally finished.

Dana gathered all the printouts and photos in a folder. She didn't know
what they had, but she and Kurt agreed that if Dragon-man was so eager,
then the police most likely could figure it out. "I won't be back,
Pauline. Any further contact I have with you will be through an
attorney."

Chapter Sixteen.

"You're an amazing woman," Kurt said as he parked his car next to Dana's
inside her garage.

"How do you feel?"

Good question, Dana thought wearily. It was nearly three in the
morning--she was practically numb.

"Exhausted, mostly. Scared. Foolish for being so dumb about Pauline.

Vindicated. Relieved. Kind of sad. A little bit of everything, I
suppose.

" She slid her hand across the seat and found his. She touched him with
her little finger, enough for comfort.

"I'm so glad you're with me. I don't know what I would have done without
you."

He chuckled.

"You're worth it."

"But not worth getting back in the saddle again." As soon as the words
left her mouth, she wanted to take them back. She wanted Kurt's
friendship.

Throwing his words in his face wasn't very friendly.

She shook her head.

"I'm sorry. I'm tired. I didn't mean that." She reached for the door
handle.

"Sure you did. I'm the one who told you not to lie to your attorney."

He heaved a deep breath.

"I guess ravishing you tonight is out of the question."

237 Her throat tightened. She didn't want it to be the truth.

"I care about you a lot." She made herself look at him. He was solemn,
watchful.

"But I want, need, different things than you do. I could go to bed with
you right now. You are an exciting, desirable man, and I am so very
grateful to you, and so  ...  alone. But those are the wrong reasons."

He scratched his chin and fiddled with the steering wheel.

"Love and all that jazz." He may have meant to sound light, but his
words held a mournful note. "I'll get married someday. I want children,
I want someone to grow old with. I'll never be satisfied with less. And
that's the whole truth."

The corners of his mouth curved.

"One night. I'll change your mind."

It was tempting, but she knew what would happen. They'd become lovers,
they'd date and have fun and engage in ridiculous conversations, and
he'd annoy her, challenge her, argue with her, delight and surprise her.
She'd fall in love. She'd desperately want him to fall in love with her.
She'd grow demanding, start pressuring him for a commitment, and he'd
resist until the pressure grew unbearable.

He'd break her heart.

"The only thing I'd be doing would be trying to change your mind, and I
don't think that will happen."

The garage door light winked off, plunging them into darkness. The
ticking of the cooling engine and chirping crickets sounded very loud.
Dana dug through her purse to find the garage door remote unit.

"How about dinner tomorrow night, then? I'm going to take you to the
Greek place."

' She activated the remote, and the light came back on as the door
rumbled down.

"I'll probably be in jail."

"What, no faith in your white knight? No fair, I haven't given up on my
fantasy girl yet. I won't let you go to jail."

She gathered the folder containing the pictures of Dragon-man.

"I just. wish we knew what these pictures meant. It still sounds like a
wild story."

" You won't go to jail, babe. You have my word on that." He twisted on
the seat and started rummaging around in the back seat.

"What are you looking for?"

"A clean shirt. Judges always like me better when my clothes are clean.
Do you have an iron?"

Laughing, she left the car. She stretched her aching back and rolled her
shoulders. She needed sleep and lots of it. Tomorrow she faced the
biggest sales job of her life: convincing the police she wasn't a
killer. She turned on the overhead lights for Kurt and entered the
house.

She noticed the glass as soon as she turned on the kitchen light.

Glittering shards littered the carpet at the base of the French doors
leading to the backyard. She lifted her gaze slowly. The pane nearest
the door handle had been broken.

Her heart leapt into her throat. She turned around to call Kurt.

Dragon-man pounced from behind the kitchen counter.

In pure reflex, she swung wildly with the folder. She smacked the man
squarely in the face. Papers and photographs burst free like oversize
confetti. He shouted. She screamed and ran for the back door.

239 Cradk! Glass exploded. Dana ducked and covered her head with her
arms.

Sobbing, she stumbled around the couch, hit the coffee table and went
sprawling to the floor. She scrambled to her hands and knees, seeking
frantically for any place to hide. Snooky yowled like a banshee and shot
from beneath the coffee table. Every hair standing on end, the cat
launched himself over the couch.

Dragon-man yelled in surprise.

Crack!

Dust and plaster puffed from the ceiling. She rolled under the coffee
table.

Curled in the tightest, smallest ball she could form, she gasped and
shivered.

And waited. She was going to die. Dragon-man was going to kill her and
Kurt, and they'd bleed all over her carpets.

Unfair! There were too many things she needed to do. She hadn't had time
to tell her parents she understood about the adoption and she still
loved them.

She still hadn't met her sister. She'd never know for certain if Kurt
could love her.

She heard a thud. She waited some more. Was he out of bullets? What had
happened to Kurt?

"Dana?" Kurt asked in a fearful whisper.

"Oh, God, Dana, baby, where are you?"

"Here," she squeaked, and wriggled from beneath the table. How she got
under it in the first place, she couldn't imagine, since it was low and
narrow, catching on her hips and legs. It bumped and clattered.

Kurt grasped her arm and helped her upright. In one hand, he held a
baseball bat. With the other, he caught her in a tight embrace, burying
his face against her hair. She clung to him. She could feel his heart
pounding as if it would beat free of his chest.

"I'm all right, I'm okay," she said breathlessly.

"He didn't hit me.

I'm okay."

The air smelled bitter with gunpowder. She peered slowly past his
shoulder.

Dragon-man lay on his face, perfectly still. Nausea rose in her throat.
No dead men in her house--please!

"Did you shoot him?" she whispered.

"Nah." He hefted the bat.

"I ever tell you aside from being a great catcher, I'm also one hell of
a slugger?" His eyes narrowed, as hateful Os his smile. "I owed him one.

Carl owes him one, too. Got any duct tape?"

Dana didn't have duct tape, but she did have a role of heavy-duty,
nylon-threaded shipping tape. Kurt and Dana made quick work of taping
Dragon-man hand and foot. By the time they were finished, he was
groaning and his eyelids fluttered. Kurt turned his face toward the
light and studied his eyes.

"He'll live," he announced, and dropped his hold. Dragon-man's head
thunked on the floor.

Dana called the police. Surprised, and proud, of how calm she felt, she
explained the situation. She hung up.

"They're on their way. What are you doing?"

Kurt rifled through Dragon-man's pockets. Fully awake, the man glared
daggers.

"Looking for ID. He isn't much of a dragon anymore. More like a toad."

"I'm going to kill you, clown," Dragon-man sputtered.

"You're dead meat."

241 Kurt produced two wallets. One wa's old, the brown leather rubbed
yellow in spots; the other was thin and black. He opened the black
wallet and his eyes widened. Whistling, low and wondering, he showed
Dana a gold detective's shield.

"If this goof is a cop, I'll quit my job and actually join the circus."

"I'm gonna chop you up and feed you to the hogs, clown boy. You and her.

You're both dead meat. You better sleep with one eye open the rest of
your damned lives."

Kurt kicked him lightly.

"Shut up or I'll tape your face and you won't have to shave for weeks."

Dana touched the ba~dge.

"The way my luck is running, Kurt, he is a police officer."

"I doubt it." He opened the other wallet.

"Look here. Say hello to Augustus Ponchet of Alexandria, Louisiana. So
what are you doing with a gold shield, Gus? Did you and Eddie have a
little seam going?

Maybe ripping off drug dealers? You flash a badge, take the money and
the dope, tell them to be good boys and turn them loose. Am I close? You
can answer HOW."

Dragon-man told him, quite crudely, what the attorney could do with his
theories.

A lone police officer arrived, but before he could step inside the
house, two more patrol cars turned into the cul-de-sac. Dana doubted if
she'd get any sleep tonight.

Kurt told her to sit and stay out of the way. She pulled a stool into
the kitchen, sat on it and watched the proceedings with interest. The
police officers seemed amused by Dragon-man's taped condition.

Two started a lively debate about transporting him the way he was, or
cutting him free and using handcuffs.

Kurt showed them the door where Dragon-man had broken in and pointed out
the bullet hole in the ceiling and in the French door. He gave them a
terse, dry recounting of what had happened.

An officer accepted Dragon-man's gun and two wallets. He looked at the
badge. His eyes widened; blood drained from his cheeks. He gasped, his
mouth opening and closing, and he made alarming little coughing sounds
as if he was choking. His face turned bright red. He sputtered,

"Don't touch him!"

Alarmed, Dana straightened on the stool. The three officers moved as a
group further into the family room. They spoke in hushed, excited
voices. Dana caught "Supervisor" and "Detectives" and several times the
warning "Keep the hell away from him."

Did Dragon-man have some sort of horrible transmittable disease? An
officer ordered her and Kurt into the dining room. Giving Dragon-man
wide berth, he caught both of them by the elbow and physically herded
them into the other room and closed the doors. "What in the world is
going on?" she whispered.

"Something hot," Kurt replied, standing to the side of the door and
watching the activity between the kitchen and family room.

"Hmm, they're looking at the pictures now.

Might as well sit down. Looks like we're in for a wait."

Dana eventually dozed. The next thing she knew, Kurt was shaking her
shoulder. She raised her head from the tabletop. Her neck creaked.

Daylight 243 streaming through the windows made her blink painfully.

Callister and Tannenbanm met her sleepy gaze. Seeing them snapped her
wide awake. Her insides knotted. She wanted to run. After all she'd been
through, now she faced arrest, booking, Callister calling her a liar and
possibly being locked up in jail. Callister smiled. His smile erased the
bird-of-prey look from his face. He was almost pleasant-looking. Stunned
and wary, Dana rose, resisting the urge to stretch her aching muscles.

She peeked at her watch. It was after nine o'clock. No wonder she was so
achy.

"Coffee's rehdy," Kurt said.

She tugged at her rumpled clothing.

"May I shower and change my clothes before ..." She breathed deeply to
steady herself.

"Before you arrest me?" Kurr chuckled.

Tannenbaum extended a hand.

"We owe you an apology, Dana."

She shook hands automatically. His grasp was warm and friendly.

"What's going on?"

"The gun we gave them," Kurt explained.

"It's the weapon used to kill Eddie Gordon. Dragon-man shot his own
partner."

She looked from face to face, astonished and half fearing she was still
asleep and only dreaming this.

"Dragon-man killed Gordon?"

"That's right. He must have popped off a shot during the struggle and
hit Gordon. And Neal Har1ow's gun turned. up, too. Seems he discovered
he'd only 'misplaced' it.

Come on, let's get you some coffee. There's more." Kurt hooked his arm
with hers and escorted her to the kitchen.

There she listened incredulously as the detectives told her about
Dragon-man, Eddie Gordon and an undercover narcotics detective named
Jerry Thurlow.

While investigating a drug connection, Detective Thurlow had been
murdered on March 12 in White Rock Creek Park. His body was dumped in
the bushes. With no leads and scant physical evidence, Callister and
Tannenbaum had been working nearly around the clock trying to solve the
murder. Now they had photographs showing Dragon-man and Gordon with
Detective Thurlow in the park on the day in question, the
nine-millimeter used to kill Gordon was the same weapon used to murder
the policeman, and the shield Dragon-man had in his possession belonged
to Detective Thurlow.

"I've spoken to Carl Perriman on the telephone," Tannenbaum said.

"He's going to give us a full statement, and he's willing to testify at
the trial. There will be no plea bargaining in this one. Dragon-man is a
cop killer. We're going for the death penalty." The doorbell chimed.
Kurt frowned in the direction of the front door.

"Probably reporters."

"I don't wish to speak to anyone until I've had a shower," Dana said.

"Especially not the press." I'll get rid of them."

As soon as Kurt left the room, Callister propped an elbow on the counter
and rested his chin on his fist.

Through a closed expression, he regarded Dana. "There's one thing I just
don't get. Why do you keep denying you were at O'Dooley's?"

245 Incredulous, Dana laughed.

"You are beyond be- fief, Detective. After all I've been through, you
still don't" -- "Perhaps I can explain." Star Jones walked into the
room.

Tannenbaum choked and spewed coffee across the counter. Callister's chin
slipped off his fist. He caught himself and jerked upright. Behind Star,
Kurt and Austin smiled.

Dana whispered,

"Star."

Except for her clothes, blue jeans, a T-shirt and a denim jacket, and
her hair, which was cut very short and worn brushed back, it was like
looking at a mirror image.

Star nodded at Austin.

"I got in from my run last night and Mr. Tack here told me what's going
down.

I take it you fellas are the cops?" Her accent was thick as the heart of
Texas.

"Who the hell are you?" Callister squeaked. He cleared his throat.

"What are you? Twins?"

"I reckon that's fight," Star said.

"I was the woman at O'Dooley's.

Only I didn't know that cretin got himself shot. I never fired." She
produced a pistol strapped in a holster and a sheaf of paperwork.

"Here's my gun and my permit. Haven't fired it in three, four months.

Not since the last time on the range. Didn't shoot anybody. Never have."

" Not necessary," Callister said, sounding thoroughly confused.

"Why did you flee the scene?" Star slowly lowered her eyelids and lifted
an eyebrow.

Her expression said he'd asked the stupidest question she ever heard.

"I had over six grand in cash stock in my money belt and a car full of
gold jewelry.

I'm supposed to wait around for those cretins to hit me again? I thought
they were trying to rob me." She focused a mild, amused look on Dana.

"You didn't show, so no sense sticking around. I got the hell out of
Dodge."

DANA BROUGHT ANOTHER pitcher' of lemonade to the family room. Her father
and Carl Perriman were trading fishing tales, for which she was
grateful. Ever since she'd explained to her father about Pauline, he'd
been talking nonstop about Dana taking over the operation of Benson
Realty. Her mother sat on the couch between Jilly and Star, telling them
about her latest charity work.

Dana refilled glasses.

It was a lovely gathering and a lovely day. She had all the windows open
to draw in a cool breeze. Birds were singing. The smoky scent of a
charcoal grill still lingered from their barbecue.

The only thing missing was Kurt.

Dana missed him terribly. He'd cleared his belongings from her home and
moved back to his office, she supposed. Her house was clean and tidy
again--it felt sterile and empty and much too big. She even missed
Snooky the cat.

She'd seen Kurt only once since Star walked into her life. That was when
they all went down to the police station to give their official
statements about O'Dooley's and Dragon-man. He'd been all business then,
as brusque and commanding as when she'd first met him.

Afterward, he'd promised to call.

He hadn't called.

Her own fault, she supposed. She'd made herself perfectly clear. No
commitment, no fooling around.

247 No compromise.

Sighing, she returned to the kitchen.

Star joined her.

"I'll help you clean up." Dana smiled at her sister.

Star had taken a vacation from her job, and they'd been trying to catch
up on two lifetimes of separation. Unlike Dana, who remembered nothing
of her life before the Bensons adopted her, Star had known all along she
had a twin sister. For years she'd been searching for Dana. By chance,
she'd seen a photograph of Dana in the society pages from when Dana had
attended a charity Christmas ball with her parents.

According to Star, Dana's real name was Mary Jon~s, and her birthday was
on Christmas Day.

"Which stinks," Star had informed her, but found it amusing that Dana
now had to accept she was thirty instead of twenty-nine. Star also
remembered bits and pieces of their abandonment at the Dallas orphanage
almost twenty-five years ago. She remembered a woman and a big car and a
long drive in the night. Her memories were sketchy, though, and
incomplete. Dana remembered nothing. She felt Star's disappointment, but
while she was curious in a detached sort of way, it was the Bensons who
were her family.

Her history was linked to them, not to people from a shadowy past. ~ It
contented her having a sister in her life. "You seem a little quiet,"
Star said.

"Something wrong?"

"I'm fine." She scraped leftover potato salad into a plastic bowl.

"Hoping Kurt will show, I bet. Are you in love with him?"

Dana laughed.

"Of course not. I barely know him." So why did his failure to attend her
barbecue hurt so much? Why did she lie awake at night, wishing he were
still in her house? Why did everything remind her of him?

"He's in love with you."

Dana laughed again.

"Now you're being absurd. He's my attorney, he helped me out. It was his
job.

Besides, we aren't in the least bit compatible."

" Have you thought it over yet, princess?" Matthew Benson called.

"Can we break out the bubbly and celebrate Benson and Daughter Realty
yet?"

Dana exchanged an e~aspera/ed look with Star.

"I still have to get the mess straightened out with Star Systems. It'll
take a while."

Matthew approached the kitchen.

"You can work on getting your broker's license in the meantime." He
jerked a thumb over his shoulder.

"You can bring in your own staff if you want. Bookkeeper, secretary,
whoever you want. Got free rein, princess. All you have to do is say
yes."

"Leave her be, Matt," Greta said.

"This is business, and business waits for no man. Or girl. I've been
waiting eight years to drag her on board. That's long enough."

"Woman, Daddy. A grown-up woman. But if you insist, I'll give you a
definite answer no later than close of business tomorrow. How about
that?"

"Just as long as it's yes."

Everybody laughed. Jilly and Carl both sided solidly with Matthew. He
wandered back to them, and the three began discussing office
renovations.

249 Dana thought she heard somebody call her name. She cocked her head.

"Did you hear that?"

Bent over the dishwasher, Star asked,

"Hear what?"

She heard it again. So did everyone else. All heads swiveled toward the
front of the house. Dana wiped her hands on a towel and hurried to the
front door. She couldn't imagine who in the world was out front shouting
her name.

She flung the door open.

Kurt Saxon sat atop a cream-colored quarter horse gelding. The animal
nibbled on a tea rose bush. Kurt, wearing a light gray suit and a dark
red tie, sat stiffly on the saddle, holding the reins firmly in one
hand. He cradled a bouquet of red roses.

Hand over her mouth, astonished, she approached him.

"What in the world is this?"

"Dana, meet Barney. He's the closest I could find to a fiery white
charger." He handed her the roses, then immediately grabbed the saddle
horn. He looked as uncomfortable as a dog on a bicycle.

She pressed her nose against a velvety bloom. The sweet scent was
heavenly.

Barney swung his big head around and sniffed the roses, too. She stroked
his soft nose. As Kurt's meaning sank in, a lump filled her throat. She
lifted her gaze, meeting his sparkling gray eyes.

He certainly did know how to make a grand gesture.

"I thought you said you were never getting on a horse again. What was
that you claimed? Getting back on after getting bucked off is a load of
crap?" r "It's not as bad as I remember. But no sense pushing it.

Hold his head, will you?"

She took the reins and Kurt dismounted. He brushed light-colored hairs
off his slacks and smoothed back his hair. He grinned at her. Star
walked over to them.

"It's true, I reckon. The straight chicks always attract the weirdos."
Chuckling, she took the roses and reins from Dana. She led the horse
closer to the house for Jilly and Carl to ooh and aah over.

Matthew and Greta stood side by side on the front porch. Greta fairly
beamed her approval. Her father was toing hard, but failing, to hide his
amusement.

Kurt took Dana's hand.

"Walk with me for a minute."

' "What's this all about?" she asked. She couldn't quite trust what her
heart was saying. She needed to hear it from him.

"You're still my fantasy girl, babe. I've missed you." He squeezed her
hand.

"A lot."

"I've missed you. I kept hoping you'd call, but I didn't think you
would."

He stopped on the sidewalk in front of her house and faced her.

"I knew the first moment we met I could fall hard for you. But I never
figured I'd fall in love."

She touched his face in wonder, making herself believe he was real.

"You love me?"

"And you love me, too. Remember, no lying to your attorney."

She nodded happily.

"I love you, Kurt."

"That's all I needed to hear."

251 He actually looked relieved, and Dana knew she'd spoken the pure,
unadulterated truth. She loved this man with all her heart.

He kissed her, deeply, soulfully, thoroughly. A kiss that made her
forget the hot sun on her back. A kiss of pure love. A kiss promising
her the moon and the stars and his love forever.

After an eternity, he pulled away. He held both her hands and swung them
gently between them.

Dana noticed their audience. Her parents, her sister, Jilly and Carl,
her neighbors, and the horse. All of them smiled at her, except the
horse.

"Let's go inside. I need a drink. My buddy will be by in a while to pick
up his horse." He looped an arm around her shoulders and started across
the lawn.

"What time are your guests leaving? They need to be out of here by six.

I've already made reservations, but don't ask, it's a surprise. Don't
worry, you'll love it. Wear something spiffy."

She huffed in exasperation.

"You're pretty darned demanding."

"So what's your point? We've already established I'm rude, crude and a
bully, but you love me, anyway.

So let's make it easy. Rule number one, fantasy girls don't argue with
white knights. Especially when they're crazy enough to get on a horse."

" Says who? This is not a fairy tale, Kurt Saxon.

This little princess isn't meek and mild, either. I'll have you know-"
He laughed and cut off her words with a kiss.

Intrigue Intuition draws you to him. but instinct keeps you away.

Is he really one of those. Don't miss even one of the twelve sexy but
secretive men, coming to you one a month-within the Intrigue series-in
1996.

Dangerous Men promises to keep you on the edge of your seat . and on the
edge of desire.

In June '96 look out for: Fatal Charm by Aim6e Thurlo Available from WH
Smith, John Menzies, Volume One, Forbuoys, Martins, Woo/worth~ Tesco,
Asda, Safeway anti other paperback stoddsts.

COMING NEXT MONTH

DARK STAR

Mirror Images Twenty-five years ago, Star Jones's parents had vanished.
With no real evidence and no family to help her, she had to turn to
private eye Austin Tack. Austin took her to more than an old, forgotten
murder scene; they went on an emotional journey to discover her past.

Because until Star found her past, how could she and Austin have a
future?

UNDYING LAUGHTER Kelsey Roberts Shadows and Spice Destiny Talbott had
more admirers than she could handle. Wesley Porter was intent on wooing
her, but a second suitor was also vying for her attention . and his
intentions seemed much more sinister.

Wesley was determined to protect his lover from this dark stalker. He
wanted the last date with Destiny!

FATAL CHARM Aim6e Thurlo Dangerous Men He was tall, dark and dangerous.
Not exactly the kind of man Amanda Vila was looking for as a father for
her child. He was a renegade, thrown out of law enforcement because he
was prepared to use any method to locate his kidnapped daughter.

But no other man had ever made her melt with desire--not like Tony
Ramos.

WHAT CHILD IS THIS? Rebecca York 43 Light Street Armed with nothing more
than some vague memories and a grainy old photo, Travis Stone sought his
parents. But first he found Erin Morgan. Once they had shared a love--a
that love was now forbidden.

For everywhere Travis searched he found dead ends--and dead men. Travis
had placed Erin in danger. He couldn't rest until he'd made her safe
again.