Standing in the Shadows

Chapter Twelve

The pieces were breathtaking, every single one of them. The most famous museums in the world would've fought to the death to acquire them, not only for their historical significance, but for their sheer beauty. There was a bronze shield in an exquisite slate of preservation, studded with gems and decorated in the swirling, sensual style that characterized the La Tene period, 500 B.C.E. to 200 C.E.

There was a silver cauldron that had been fished out of a peat bog in Denmark, embossed with hammered picture panels that writhed with ram-headed serpents, dragons, griffins, and Celtic deities. There was a battle helmet that would make the curator at the Huppert weep with envy, with a menacing bronze raven perched on top, complete with flapping mechanical wings. There was a hoard of golden torques, the twisted ropes of gold that were worn around the neck as collars, with richly decorated, gem-studded finials. A dazzling wealth of armbands, brooches, and cloak pins. She could write a book on every single exquisite piece. Her mouth was practically watering.

Were it not for her intense awareness of Connor's presence and the bizarre turns her life was taking lately, she would've been in heaven. But even while she was busy crunching data, she felt him behind her, watching her with the same quiet, potent intensity with which he did absolutely everything. He was a huge, warm, distracting presence.

Her ex-boss Lydia would have cheerfully killed to acquire any of these pieces for the Huppert, but something was odd about two of the torques. They were strangely similar to a style she'd studied in Scotland. She'd been lucky enough to work on an Iron Age cemetery in Wrothburn, Scotland, which had been unearthed during the construction of a shopping mall parking lot only two years before.

It had been the biggest discovery of Iron Age grave goods since the 1970s, and a very distinctive style of torque had been uncovered, characterized by bearded dragon-headed finials, the writhing symmetrical dragons' tails hiding the gap in front of the torque. She'd never heard of that style being found elsewhere. She'd even written an article speculating on the possible ritual and magical significance of the bearded dragons.

And yet, the provenance stated that they'd been discovered in Switzerland in the 1950s. Very odd. She clicked off the recorder.

"I need to do some research before I can write my final report," she told Nigel Dobbs.

"But they are authentic, of course?" He twisted his hands.

"Oh, good heavens, yes. They're stunning. Some of the most beautiful examples of early La Tene art that I've ever seen. Museum quality, each one of them. Mr. Mueller's taste is impeccable."

"Exquisite," Connor muttered. "Remarkable. Truly stupendous."

She ignored him stonily. "May I keep the copies of the provenance papers, and return them to you later on this week?"

"Of course, of course," Dobbs said. "Keep them, by all means."

The door swung open. Tamara Julian appeared, bearing a silver tray with four steaming demitasse cups and a plateful of petit fours. She bestowed a dazzling smile upon Connor. "If I can't tempt you out to the bar for coffee, then I'm forced to bring it in to you," she said.

Erin saw herself knocking the tray up into Tamara's face, sending espresso splashing all over the fawning bitch's perfect designer suit. She clamped down on the childish impulse and snagged a cup off the tray. "Thank you so much," she said. "I was fainting for some caffeine."

"Refresh yourself, by all means," Dobbs said, rubbing his skinny hands together. "I trust you and Mr. McCloud will stay to lunch?"

Erin's eyes slid to Connor. He looked back at her, impassive.

"Ah, thank you, but I have some pressing business at home," she said. "I would prefer to get back to Seattle as soon as possible."

To say nothing of the fact that watching Tamara drool all over Connor would do absolutely nothing for her appetite. She'd thought that she actually liked the woman on the three other occasions that they had met. She'd even been impressed by Tamara's intelligence and wit.

She was liking Tamara a whole hell of a lot less right now.

Tamara pouted. "Oh, must you? The chef here prepares a stunning bouillabaisse, and the lobster pastry is absolutely divine."

"Not this time," Connor said. "We'll grab something quick on the road. Are we done here, sweetheart?"

"Not quite." Dobbs opened a briefcase on the table and pulled out a folder. "Mr. Mueller had intended to make this proposal to you at dinner last night. In fact, that was the reason he made this long journey in one single push. He suffers from rather delicate health, you see, and it was quite a sacrifice for him to—"

"I'm so sorry, Mr. Dobbs," she said hastily. "I didn't mean—"

"I'm not reproving you, Ms. Riggs. I am simply telling you the facts as they are so that your future decisions can be more informed. Mr. Mueller has authorized me to make this proposal on his behalf. We are aware that you worked at the Huppert. Is this correct?"

"Yes," she said. "I was there for two years."

"Mr. Mueller was intrigued by your organization of the Bronze and Iron Age Celtic exhibit last year at the Huppert. He thought it inspired, even brilliant. You have an innovative spirit to go along with your formidable technical skills, Ms. Riggs."

"Ah… thank you." She was flustered and confused.

"Mr. Mueller has been considering a grant to the Huppert for a new wing. Devoted principally to Bronze Age, Iron Age, and Romano-Celtic artifacts. His Celtic collection will be donated, as well."

"Oh. That would be, ah, amazingly generous of him," she said. Lydia was going to have kittens for joy. Hurray for Lydia.

"Yes, Mr. Mueller is very altruistic," Dobbs said. "He believes that the beauty of the past is for everyone's enrichment."

"How incredibly admirable of him," Connor said.

Erin cringed, and Tamara's lips quirked, but Dobbs just nodded as if he didn't hear Connor's sarcasm.

"Indeed it is," Dobbs agreed. "Mr. Mueller is not interested in the circumstances behind your dismissal from the Huppert, but it was a terrible error in judgment on the part of the museum administration."

"I, uh, rather thought so myself," Erin said desperately.

"To put matters simply, Mr. Mueller would be disposed to donate these funds only if he could be assured that you and you alone would be the curator of the Celtic collection."

Her jaw dropped. "Me? But… but I—"

"You may be reticent because of your personal differences with the museum administration. We invite you to think it over. Mr. Mueller will understand entirely if you do not wish to benefit the Huppert with your expertise. They were fools to lose you."

"But if I should, ah… if I should decide not to—"

"Then Mr. Mueller will simply donate the funds elsewhere." Dobbs smiled thinly. "There is no lack of worthy beneficiaries. A thousand places to put every penny, believe me."

Erin struggled for something to say. "I am, uh, overwhelmed."

Nigel Dobbs chuckled. "Of course you are. Think it over."

"Ah, yes. I will. Of course."

"And we do hope you will be able to carve out a moment in your busy schedule to meet with Mr. Mueller when he comes to Seattle."

"Goodness, yes," she said weakly. "Of course. Whenever it's convenient. Any time at all."

"Don't forget our engagement party, honey." Connor's voice had a sharp, warning tone. "It'll be a crazy week. Think before you speak."

Erin glared at him, horrified. "My priorities are very clear when it comes to my work, Connor! You'll have to get used to sharing me."

He slouched in his chair, eyes narrowed. "I don't share, baby."

She turned her back on him. "I will be delighted to meet with Mr. Mueller at any time," she said firmly.

"Very well. We will be in touch with you as Mr. Mueller's plans develop." Dobbs's voice was markedly cooler. "And Ms. Riggs… think long and hard about your priorities. Mr. Mueller's offer represents an enormous commitment of time and effort. If your other interests are too, er, compelling, do be honest. We are talking about a minimum of fifteen million dollars for the new wing. To say nothing of the value of the collection itself. It is an enormous, I repeat, enormous responsibility."

"I understand," she said tightly.

Connor rose to his feet and stretched, popping his knuckles. "Great, then. We're done here, huh? Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dobbs, Ms. Julian. Come on, babe. Your chariot awaits."

Erin smiled over her gritted teeth as she shook hands with Dobbs. "Thank you again, and thank Mr. Mueller for me, too," she said. "I am so gratified by his faith in me. It means a lot to—"

"Et cetera, et cetera, blah, blah, blah," Connor cut in. "Dobbs can make up the rest. It's all filler, anyhow. Come on, babe."

That was it. The final indignity. She whirled on him. "Don't you dare speak to me like that, Connor McCloud!"

The appalled silence was finally broken by a slow, deliberate clapping sound. "Excellent," Tamara said, still applauding. "Much better. Your man needs a very strong hand, Ms. Riggs. Don't let him get the better of you for a second, or you are finished."

Erin opened her mouth to throw the woman's unsolicited advice right back in her face. The look in Tamara's eyes stopped her. Wide and bright and full of false innocence, waiting for Erin's reaction with predatory eagerness. She was taunting them deliberately.

She would not play this sick game. "Thank you so much for your generous advice, Ms. Julian, but I think I can handle him."

"Oh, yeah. Handle me, baby," Connor said softly. "I just can't wait to feel that strong hand of yours wrapped around me."

She gave him a sweet smile that promised instant death. "We will discuss it in the car, honey." She faced Dobbs and Tamara, "I'm so sorry. Connor's acting out. He must be feeling threatened. I'd better get him safely away. Please excuse us, and have a lovely day. I'll be in touch with you. Come on, Connor, let's go. Right now."

He trailed after her. "See you folks later. Have a good one."

Tamara's laughter followed mem all the way down the corridor.

Connor fell into step beside her, his long legs making one leisurely stride for her every two steps. "Erin—"

"In the car."

"Hey. I just want to—"

"Not one word, if you value your life. We will discuss it in the car."

He subsided. They paced silently out to the Cadillac. Connor unlocked her door, opened it. She got in and covered her hot face with her hands. She was literally shaking with rage. She had never been so angry in her life. Not even after Lydia had fired her.

Connor got in. He glanced at her, and looked swiftly away.

"Connor." Her throat vibrated. She swallowed, trying to steady it. "Did you see Kurt Novak lurking behind any columns?"

"No. But I—"

"And did Nigel Dobbs or Tamara Julian do or say anything that would lead you to believe that they intended to do me bodily harm?"

"Not directly, but I—"

"Then what in holy hell possessed you to be such an idiot? You deliberately embarrassed me! Why? What did I do to deserve that? What was the purpose of it? What?"

He winced at her shrill tone. "I didn't like them," he said defensively. "I didn't like that calculating redheaded bitch—"

"Well, she certainly liked you!" Erin cut in, with vicious emphasis.

"—and I didn't like Poker-up-the-Ass Dobbs, either. And just because this Mueller character gets off on playing God with his fucking fifteen million dollars is no reason to kiss his ass. You—"

"Kiss his ass? Is that what you think I was doing? You bastard!" She launched herself at him in a scratching, flailing, yelling fit, lost to all reason. He caught her wrists and wrestled her down until she was pinned to his lap in a breathlessly tight, furious embrace.

"Let me just say, in my own defense, that I was exactly as polite to them as they were to me," he said. Each word was like a chip of ice.

She heaved and struggled against him. "You're imagining things!"

"Bullshit, I am. They were fucking with me, and when people fuck with me, I do not smile and nod and take it, Erin. Ever. No matter how big a pile of money they're squatting on. Is that clear?"

She wrenched at her trapped wrists. "I heard that interchange, and I did not hear any rudeness!"

"Then you weren't listening closely enough," he said flatly.

Erin panted, staring at the tight, unrelenting grip he had on her wrists. She carefully organized her thoughts. "Uh, Connor?"

"Yeah? What?" He sounded apprehensive.

"For the record. If you really had been my fiancé, hypothetically speaking…"

He jerked his chin impatiently. "Yes?"

"Just be aware that after a scene like that, you would no longer be my fiance. It would be over."

"Oh yeah?"

She focused on the button she had sewed onto his shut this morning. "If that scene had been for real, it would have demonstrated that you had no respect for my intelligence. Or any respect for me at all. It would prove that you didn't trust my judgment, or have any regard for my professional dignity. And that would be unforgivable."

He went very still for a long moment. "Well, then," he murmured. "It's a damn good thing it was all theater, then, huh?"

"Theater?" She wrenched at her wrists, in vain. "Hah! It was a crazy melodrama! Your jealous boyfriend act was ridiculous, Connor! And you made me look ridiculous, too!"

A muscle pulsed in his jaw. His eyes shifted away from hers. "Now I'm screwed," he said sourly. "You're giving me the look."

"What look is that?" she demanded.

"The intergalactic princess look. Don't. I already feel like a jerk."

"Good," she said.

He sighed, "I won't apologize for being rude to Mueller's lackeys, because they deserved it. But I'm sorry if I was rude to you."

She stopped wiggling, startled. "Uh… thank you."

"But look at it from my end. I was trying to communicate with you, and you were blocking me. You can't come running when that guy crooks his finger. We've got to pick our times and places carefully."

"No!" She convulsed, almost breaking out of his iron grip. "Not we! No more meetings with you in tow. No way. Never again. I will not allow you to ruin this for me! It's too important!"

"Jesus! I cannot get through to you, Erin! I am not reassured by the fact that Mueller didn't show. I was not impressed by Dobbs or Julian. And I was disgusted by the way they were jerking you around."

"Oh, God. Is that what you think of Mueller's offer?"

"Yeah. It is." The look on his face was a grim challenge.

She forced herself to stop struggling. "Please let me go, Connor," she said quietly. He let go, and she clambered off his lap and slid to the other end of the seat. "I would love to get jerked around like that more often," she said, straightening her clothing. "The chance to curate a collection like Mueller's, to bring in a donation of that size, to be responsible for a new wing. For where I am in my career, it would be an unbelievable coup."

"Yeah, exactly," he said. "Unbelievable."

His tone sent a chill through her. "You can't possibly still be thinking that he's Novak."

He shrugged. "It bugs me that he didn't show his face once he found out I was with you. Until I meet the guy in person, I'll continue to assume the worst."

She sagged down onto the seat, deflated. Her anger was draining away and her energy with it, as if a vortex had opened up beneath her, sucking it up. It felt horribly familiar. It was the same vortex that had been sucking everyone she cared about into its big black maw.

This was such an old struggle. In that moment, she had a dim, aching flash of just how old it was. She'd been fighting this vortex ever since she was a tiny child. By trying to be good, orderly, disciplined. Trying to make sense of the world. All her life. With all her strength.

It wasn't enough. It was taking her down, like it had taken Dad. Like it seemed to be taking Mom. Maybe Cindy, too, for all she knew. Nothing could stop it. Certainly not her feeble efforts.

She squeezed her eyes shut. "So it's all a vicious conspiracy? Everything I do, everything I try to build, it's all an ugly joke, and I'm the butt of it. I'm never going to crawl out of this godawful stinking hole, am I, Connor? Monsters are waiting around every corner."

"Erin, please—"

"It's like quicksand," she quavered. "The harder I try to climb out, the deeper I sink."

"Erin, please," Connor pleaded. "Don't freak out on me. I could be wrong. Hell, I probably am wrong. Maybe I'm a paranoid idiot, and if so, I give you permission to kick my ass, OK? Please, don't cry. Come here."

"No." She shrank against the door. "Please, just shut up and leave me alone."

He knocked his head against the steering wheel with a snarl of raw frustration. "Oh, Christ. What a mess," he muttered, starting up the car with a roar. "Put your seat belt on."

The car was ominously silent for the next couple of hours. Erin kept her face averted. Connor finally pulled over at a roadside restaurant and parked. "Let's get some food," he said.

"I'm not hungry," she told him. "But go right ahead."

He marched around the car, wrenched the door open, and yanked her out. "You need to eat."

She was too tired to fight. "Don't, Connor," she said. "I'm coming. Please calm down."

"Hah," he muttered.

She ordered a bowl of chicken soup rather than argue over food, and made a show of eating it while he devoured his cheeseburger. She stopped at the bank of pay phones in the restaurant lobby on their way out, and plugged all her change into one of the phones. Her last quarter slipped from her fingers, and the damned thing rolled everywhere, deliberately eluding her. Connor finally subdued it by stomping it under his boot. He plugged it into the slot for her.

She dialed. A recorded voice said that the money she'd deposited was insufficient for that call, and would she please deposit another—

"Goddamn this worthless piece of garbage!" she shrieked.

She started pounding on it. Connor grabbed her fists and held her fast. "Hey. Cool it before they call the cops on us, babe," he soothed. "The screaming is making the hostess nervous. What's the problem?"

"Do you have any goddamn quarters?" she demanded.

"Shhh. I've got better than that." He wrapped his arms around her tightly from behind, surrounding her with his warmth. "I've got a cell phone, and it's still charged up. Come on out to the car. You can make your call there, where it's private and quiet."

He flipped open the phone and handed it to her as soon as they got to the car. She dialed the cell phone number for Cindy. Nothing.

She dialed Mom's number, crossing her fingers. It was Monday evening. Mom should have gotten the phone turned back on by now.

It was still disconnected.

She snapped the phone shut, handed it back to him, and twisted her hands in her lap.

"Dead end?" he asked.

She nodded.

"Who were you trying to reach? Cindy?"

"And my mom," she whispered.

"What about your mom?" he prompted. "Is she OK?"

She let out a tight, hitching breath and shook her head.

"Tell me, Erin." There was no harsh note of command in his quiet voice this time.

She looked into her lap. "Mom's losing it," she said. "Most days she won't even get out of bed. She won't pay her bills. She didn't get her phone turned back on. She's going to lose the house. There's no money left to pay the mortgage. And now she's seeing things. In the TV Impossible things. The videos that Victor Lazar used to blackmail Dad. Of him, with his mistress. In bed." Her voice trailed off.

Connor made no comment. She looked up. His eyes were full of quiet comprehension. "I watched my dad fall apart," he said. "I know how it feels."

Her throat shook. "It's horrible. It's… it's like—"

"Like the earth opening up beneath your feet," he finished.

She started to cry, deep and wrenching sobs. He pulled her onto his lap, tucked her head beneath his chin, and rocked her tenderly. She let the storm rage through her, leaving her limp and exhausted, and so relaxed in the warm circle of his arms that she fell asleep.

The better part of an hour and a half went by. His bad leg was stiff and cramped beneath her warm weight, and they should have gotten right back on the road, but it was worth it, to hold such a fragrant, beautiful creature in his arms. He sneaked all the pins out of her hair and hid them in his jacket pocket, and her glossy bun had uncoiled and wrapped itself around his hand like a live thing before it lay quiet against her slender, graceful back. He pressed his cheek against her hair. So smooth and soft. Like nothing else on earth.

A car horn blared. She woke with a start. "What? Where are we?"

He stroked her back gently. "Same place we were before."

"But it's getting dark." She consulted her watch. "Good God, it's been over an hour. Why didn't you wake me?"

"I didn't want to disturb you," he said simply.

She scrambled off his lap. "We'd better get going," she murmured. "What happened to my hairpins?"

"Guess they fell out," he said, with a perfectly straight face.

He never would have thought he could be grateful for a woman's crying jag, but he was grateful for this one. It had drained away all their bitter tension. Erin yawned as he started up the car, and he reached out and touched the curve of her cheek. "Why don't you try and sleep some more?" he suggested. "It's been a hell of a day."

He waited until Erin's head was lolling against the seat, her rosy mouth slightly open, hair waving across her face like a feathery dark veil. He pulled out the phone and pushed the scrambler code for Sean.

"Hey," Sean said.

"So?"

"I can hardly hear you, dude," Sean complained. "Speak up."

"I'm on the road. Erin's sleeping, and I don't want to wake her. Tell me what you've got."

Sean grunted. "Well, I checked out the babe lair, and you know what? Most of them actually were pretty damn cute. They couldn't tell me much about Billy the Fuckhead, though, except how loaded and hunkadelic he is, and that Jag just makes them all come. No surname, place of origin, occupation, or details of any kind. But I've spent the afternoon tracking down the Vicious Rumors, and—"

"The what?"

"Cindy's band," Sean explained. "She plays sax in an R&B bar band. She's a music major, you know. They tell me she's not half bad, either. Anyhow, I bought a pitcher of beer and a platter of wings for the lead guitarist and the drummer. They told me that this guy Billy got them some gigs in various roadhouses over the past couple of months. He's some kind of agent, or so he told them. He strung them along with big talk about record deals, national tours, and shit like that, but nothing ever came of it but a few sleazy gigs for thirty bucks a head in some roadhouse dives. Then he lost interest in them and sort of sucked Cindy up into his wake. She hasn't rehearsed with the Rumors for over a month. They're worried about her, too. They don't like the Fuckhead. And they want Cindy back."

"Surname? License number? Anything? If they worked for him they must have paperwork, right?"

"Nah. It was all cash under the table, and the cell phone number they had for him no longer works. He called himself Billy Vega, but Davy hasn't uncovered anything under that name yet. It's an alias."

"Shit," he muttered.

"But don't despair. They told me that the Vicious Rumors soundman had a big, sloppy crush on Cindy. Ever since she ran off, he's been hiding out in his parents' basement, nursing his broken heart watching his X-Files videos and drinking Jolt."

"Ouch." Connor winced. "That's bad."

"Yeah, love hurts. I'm on my way right now to roust the sound man out of his basement. We'll see if jealousy made him notice anything special about this guy. And I've got a list of all the roadhouses where Billy got gigs for the Rumors. That's my plan for the evening. Country music, cheap beer, and secondhand smoke. What a glittering life I lead."

"Great. Carry on. And thanks. I owe you one, Sean."

"You're gonna pay up, too. When we get this business straightened out, you're gonna make me some of your special chili, like you used to. Maybe not just once. This counts for three times."

Connor hesitated. "Uh, it's been two years. I don't even know if I remember how."

"Tough shit. Start practicing, because that's my fee. You do the chili, I bring the beer, the chips, and the pepper jack cheese."

Connor grinned into the dark. "Deal. I'll dig out my chili recipe. And Sean? You know what? You're a good guy."

Sean snorted. "Tell that to some of my ex-girlfriends. Oh, and speaking of which. Did you get laid last night?"

Connor let several seconds tick by. "You cannot even imagine how off-limits that is as a conversational topic," he said softly.

Sean gasped. "Really? Hot damn! So this is serious, huh?"

"Serious as death," Connor replied. "Don't touch it."

"Oh boy. I've got the shivers," Sean moaned. "What did she do to you, man? Did she—"

"I'll call you tomorrow, Sean."

He clicked the phone shut, dropped it into his pocket, and glanced over to make sure Erin was still asleep. Her eyelashes were dark fans against her cheek. Twilight had leached all the color out of the car, but he had already memorized her colors, the soft golden tints and faint blushes and glossy deep hues of eyes and hair. Her blouse had come untucked. Buttons gaped over her sweet, sexy tits, showing a tantalizing glimpse of the white cotton bra. He wanted to buy her expensive lingerie made out of sheer, fluttering silks and laces. Things that hung together with delicate straps and hooks and snaps. He wanted to watch her put them all on, scrap by diaphanous scrap.

Then he wanted to immediately rip them off her again.

A shiny black Ford Explorer passed him, not for the first time. A cold, tingling thrill of recognition raced through him. That Explorer had been one of the cars he had taken note of when they'd pulled into the restaurant parking lot, but he'd been so focused on Erin when they came out that he had forgotten to monitor the cars again.

They'd been in that restaurant for a half an hour. They'd sat in the parking lot for an hour and twenty minutes more. Any car that had been there when they arrived should have damn well moved on long before they left. His gut was cold, and his neck was prickling. He stepped on the gas, pulled up closer to the Explorer, and checked the plate.

Sure enough, it was the very one. Brand new, black and shiny as if it had just been licked clean. Just the driver, no passengers. He eased off the gas, let it pull ahead. There was an exit in a couple of miles. He put on his turn signal and got into the exit lane, to see how it behaved.

The Explorer swerved abruptly into the exit lane ahead of him. It slowed down until he was riding its bumper, then slowed down even more. Fifty-five… fifty… forty-five… thirty-eight… Jesus.

The Explorer swerved suddenly back to the other lane. Connor pulled up alongside, and glanced at it.

Georg Luksh was grinning in the passenger seat, like some death's-head jack-in-the-box. His long hair was cut off, but it was definitely him, still missing the four teeth that Connor had knocked out of his head last November. The window rolled down. He leveled a rifle at Connor, and fluttered his fingers in an effeminate wave.

The Cadillac shuddered as Connor jammed on the brakes. The Explorer surged ahead, picking up speed.

Erin jolted awake. "What? What happened? Connor?"

"I thought I saw—" He stopped when he heard the panic in his own voice. He could've sworn he had seen no one in that passenger seat at first.

"I can't believe it," he muttered.

"What can't you believe?"

His mind was too busy churning out possible explanations to answer her. Georg could have been crouched down, waiting for a chance to pop up and scare the shit out of him. But it sounded so improbable. So… paranoid.

"What? Please, Connor, what did you see?" Erin pleaded.

He pulled up closer to the Explorer. The passenger seat was empty. His stomach sank down to cold, new depths.

He took a deep breath. "I thought I saw Georg," he admitted.

Erin put her hand over her mouth. "Where?"

"In that black SUV ahead of us."

She studied the SUV "That's not Georg driving. That guy's too tall, and his head is too narrow."

"Not driving," he said. He already knew just how this was going to look and sound to her. His stomach was already clenching. A vague, sick feeling, like shame.

Erin stared at the SUV "There's nobody in that passenger seat."

"I see that," he said tightly. "Believe me. I noticed that weird, wacky detail already with no help from you."

"Connor?" Her voice was timid and small. "Maybe it's just… are you tired? I'd be happy to drive, if you need to rest, and I could—"

"No," he snarled. "I'm fine."

She turned her face away, so that all he could see was the graceful sweep of her hair.

"Shit," he muttered. "I'm sorry."

"It's OK," she whispered.

Oh Christ, the exit. He swerved at the last moment and pulled off the highway. He did not want to share that dark, empty road with a phantom nightmare SUV Not unless he could go after the bastards full out, run them to the ground, and grind them into paste.

Which was not an option tonight. Not with Erin in the car. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Davy on the scrambled line.

Davy picked up instantly. "What's up? You in trouble?"

Davy could always smell the trouble his little brothers got into, even when he was oceans away. "You talked to Sean?" Connor asked.

"Yeah. He told me all about the quest to rescue Erin's little sister from the evil fuckhead. I'm working on it, too. You need something?"

"Run me a license plate number, please." He rattled it off.

"Got it. What's wrong, Con? What's special about the car?"

His stomach rolled. "Don't ask," he said. "I'll tell you later."

Davy waited, hoping for more, and grunted in annoyance when no more was forthcoming. "Take it easy," he said. The connection broke.

"Um, Connor? Where are we going?" Erin asked.

He hated her low, guarded tone. He'd used it himself while trying to reason with crazy people. "We're finding another road," he said. "I don't want to share the highway with that thing."

"It'll take us all night to get back to Seattle if we don't use I-5."

"Get the map out of the glove box," he ordered.

He'd forgotten shoving all the Mueller printouts into the glove box at the airport. They exploded out over her feet, a blizzard of paper. She gathered them up and peered at them in the dim dashboard light. "Are these the results of the check your brother ran on Mueller?"

"Yeah." He felt almost guilty, as if she'd discovered a dirty secret. "Get out the map."

She sounded as if she were going to say something else, but then thought better of it. Probably didn't want to push an unpredictable head case like him over the edge. Poor Erin, stuck in the middle of nowhere in the dark with a guy who saw things that weren't there.

His misery deepened and spread. Like a pool of blood, widening inexorably on cold concrete. She studied the map. It was terribly quiet.

His cell phone rang. He snatched it up. Davy. "Yeah?"

"That license plate is a 2002 Ford Explorer, color black, which belongs to a guy named Roy Fitz. A sixty-two-year-old divorced used car salesman in Coos Bay, Oregon. He has bad credit. Does that help?"

Connor let out a long, silent sigh of misery. "Uh, no. Not really. But I appreciate the help. Later, Davy."

"Goddammit, Con, what the hell is—"

"I can't talk about it right now," he snarled. "I'm sorry. Good-bye."

Great. Now he could feel bad about being rude to his brother, too.

Erin tidied the Mueller papers into a neat sheaf, folded them, and tucked them carefully into the glove box. The map rustled as she opened it up. She switched on the interior light and peered at it for a couple of minutes. "We can take this road up to Redstone Creek, and then connect with the Paulson Highway north until we reach Bonney. Then we'll make our decisions as we go. Sound good to you?"

Her voice was gentle and matter-of-fact. He was so grateful to her for that, he could've burst into tears and kissed her feet. "Sounds fine."

She flipped off the light. "Shall we listen to some music?"

"Anything you want."

She spun the dial until she found some classic blues. Probably she remembered that he'd settled on blues the day before. She was trying to chill him out with his favorite music. Detail oriented.

"Thanks," he muttered.

She reached out, stroked his cheek with her fingertip. Smoothed a hank of his hair back behind his ear.

The sweet, soft caress unknotted the tension that clenched his body. Air finally started to go back into his lungs.

He just might make it back to Seattle with his sanity intact.

Chapter Thirteen

Chuck Whitehead pulled to a stop at the wide spot in the deserted road, not far from the Childress Ridge Lookout. He kept focusing on irrelevant things, like the colored plastic ribbons that the Forest Service tied around the trees. His hands were clammy. He felt the constant urge to pee. The last ten hours kept running through his mind like an endless video loop, ever since he'd gotten home from his job at the DNA lab. He'd said good-bye to the hospice home health aide who looked after his wife Mariah while he was at work, headed upstairs to check on her—and found a gun shoved up beneath his chin.

The man who held the gun had told him what to do, and he had done it. Every last detail. He had the proof inside his jacket. He could show them. He was cooperating.

He flipped off the headlights so as not to run down the battery, and was horrified by the near-absolute darkness. The hills hunched over him were black, the sky barely lighter. It was overcast tonight.

The man had told him that this was where they would give Mariah back to him, but how could they have transported someone as fragile as Mariah to such a deserted place? She'd been on oxygen support with a morphine drip for over two weeks now.

But the man had told him to come here, so here he was.

No police, the man had said. One word to the police, and Mariah would die.

Time crawled by, marked by his thudding heart, by his labored breathing, by the digital clock blinking on the dash. Someone knocked on the back window. He jumped and screamed.

He had done what was asked of him, he reminded himself. No one could fault him. He opened the door, forced himself to stand. The dim light shed by the interior car light blinded him and revealed nothing.

"Shut the door, please," said a soft, cultured voice. An older man. Upper crust, Englishy-sounding foreign accent. It was the same guy who had come to his house. South African, maybe. He shut the door. He had dated a South African girl once, his brain offered, hysterically irrelevant. Her name had been Angela. Same accent. Nice girl. His life was flashing before his eyes. Not a good sign.

His eyes were beginning to adjust. He made out a tall, thin figure in black. He appeared to be wearing a device that covered his eyes.

"Are you South African?" The words popped out, and he cursed himself. He might have just killed them both, asking useless questions.

The man was silent. "No, Mr. Whitehead," he said finally. "I am not. Because I do not exist. Do you understand?"

"Yes," he said quickly. "Of course."

The man came closer, reached for him. Chuck flinched, and then realized he was being patted down for weapons. What a ludicrous idea. Him, and weapons. The man satisfied himself as to Chuck's unarmed state, and headed off into the darkness. "Come with me," he said.

"Is Mariah here?"

The man did not answer. The gate creaked as he pushed it open. His feet crunched in the gravel. Chuck stumbled after him. If he lost the sound of those footsteps, he would lose Marian forever. He was losing her anyway, but not so horribly, so inconclusively. Not like this.

"Excuse me? Uh, sir? Please wait up. I can't see anything. Excuse me! Sir? I don't know your name—" Chuck tripped and fell, scraped his hands bloody, and got up. The steady, crunching footsteps were getting further away. He forced himself to a lurching run.

"You may call me Mr. Dobbs," the voice said gently.

Chuck followed the voice through the dark, ahead and to the right. Mr. Dobbs. His nightmare had a name. The lookout tower loomed above him. The trees made the darkness even denser. He stumbled into a pole, bashed his face, and whimpered. He would never find the road out again without help.

"Mr. Whitehead?"

The voice came from ahead of him, to his left. Dobbs must have night vision goggles to negotiate this pitch darkness.

"Hold out your left hand. You will find a wooden plank. Follow it toward my voice."

Dobbs's voice was helpful, encouraging. He caught himself feeling grateful, like a whipped dog that licked its tormentor's foot. He groped around, knocked his knuckles against a plank, and stumbled forward.

An eternity of splinters and shuffling.

"Stop, now. Put your hands in front of you," Dobbs commanded. "You will feel the rungs of a ladder. Climb it."

Panic weakened his knees. He was getting further, not closer, to any sort of place that his wife might conceivably be. "Is Marian here?" He felt like a sheep, bleating out his plaintive, repetitive question.

"Climb, Mr. Whitehead." Dobbs's voice was gentle and pitiless.

He climbed, straining toward darkness, with darkness pulling him from below. His aching muscles struggled against it.

He hated himself for how easily he had been unmanned, almost more than he hated Dobbs for doing this to him. Higher, impossibly high. The air felt thinner. It moved around him, cold against his neck.

"You have reached a platform. Put your foot out, at two o'clock from your body."

Dobbs was below him, on the ladder. If he let go, he might knock him off and kill him. And himself, too, not that it mattered.

And then he would never know what had happened to Mariah.

He groped with his foot, found the platform, and flung himself onto what he hoped was a surface that could take his weight. He landed like a sack of rocks and huddled there, weeping silently.

Dobbs climbed the rest of the ladder. "Do you have the documentation for the work you were requested to do, Mr. Whitehead?"

Requested. What a way to put it. Chuck struggled to his feet and rummaged in his jacket. "I did the extraction from the blood sample," he said. "Just like you told me. I ran the probes, and it looked fine, the DNA wasn't degraded. I switched the cell pellets in the freezer. Just like you said. I've got the old cell pellet here for you."

"Put the cell pellet and the documentation down on the platform," Dobbs said. "Then walk ten paces straight ahead."

He paced. Wind whistled by his ears. He felt a sense of huge, empty space before him. "I printed out the test run results," he said desperately. "I modified all the computer records for Kurt Novak's ID file. I can show you how I—"

"Never say that name out loud again. Did anyone see you?"

"There's always a couple of grad students in the lab at night doing rush specimens, but they pretty much leave me alone," he babbled. "Everybody does, these days. I'm kind of a downer lately, what with—"

"Shut up, Mr. Whitehead."

He had to ask, one more time. "Is Mariah here?"

Dobbs clucked his tongue. "Do you think I am completely heartless, to bring such an ill woman to a place like this? Poor Mariah can barely speak, let alone climb a vertical ladder. Use your head."

"But I… but you said—"

"Shut up. I wish to examine these. Keep your back turned."

He waited. An owl hooted. Mariah had loved owls. She had big, round, owl-like eyes. Now huge in her wasted face.

"Very good, Mr. Whitehead," the man said approvingly. Papers rustled. "This is exactly what we needed. You've done well. Thank you."

"You're welcome," he said automatically. "And… Mariah?" Hope was stone dead, but the cold zombie of curiosity still shambled on.

"Ah. Mariah. Well, she is back in her bed, in your house. I deposited her there immediately after your car left the lab. I replaced her morphine drip, much to her relief. And then I took pity on her, and gave her what you were too weak to bestow."

The dark was scarcely darker with his burning eyes squeezed shut. He shook his head. "No," he whispered.

"Mercy," the voice continued. "The morphine, turned up while she watched. Her breathing getting slower. And finally, peace."

"No." He trembled under the lash of irrational guilt. "She didn't want that. She told me. She told me she would never ask that of me."

"Who cares what she wanted? None of us get to choose."

Hope had gone, and fear had gone with it. Chuck only listened now because he could not stop his ears.

"It will be clear to everyone what happened," the man said gently. "The message on the computer, a brief note stating your intention of joining your beloved wife in death, farewell, cruel world, et cetera. And now I offer you the luxury of choice, Mr. Whitehead. If you wish to die quickly, take two paces straight ahead. But if you would prefer to die slowly and painfully, that can be arranged. Easily."

Chuck laughed out loud. Dobbs had no idea what it meant to die slowly and painfully. He stared into the void beyond the edge.

He felt as light as air. An empty husk. If he took the two paces, he would drift away like a dandelion seed.

Perhaps if he were braver, luckier, smarter, he would have seen some way out of this trap. Apparently everything hung on his carefully arranged suicide. Nothing would hold up if he were found tortured and murdered, after all.

There was no coin left to bargain with this devil. His resources were tapped out. All his bravery, all his luck, all his wits he had given up to these last few months of tending Marian.

Dobbs had probably figured that into the calculations when he'd handpicked him out of all the DNA lab personnel. Smart of him to choose the man with nothing left to lose.

In his mind, he was already falling, toward a huge dark owl's eye. It regarded him with calm, merciful detachment.

He took the two paces. The world tipped, air rushed past his face. He fell into the owl's eye, and hurtled toward Marian's waiting arms.

Connor shot Erin a wary glance when they passed the sign for her exit. "I'd rather take you to my house than your apartment," he said. "The doors are better, the locks are better. The bed is bigger."

"I have to go home," she said.

He sighed. "Erin, I—"

"No, Connor." She gathered all her energy and made her voice resolute. "Cindy could call me there. My mom could call me there. My friend Tonia is bringing my cat back there. The clothes I need for work tomorrow are there. My employee ID, my bus pass, everything. Just take me home. Now. No arguments, please."

He flipped on the turn signal. She let out a silent sigh of relief. He drove aimlessly around, passing up several good parking spaces.

"Looking for a black SUV?" she asked.

He braked so sharply that she jerked forward against the seat belt. He parked the car without saying a word.

Connor rattled the broken lock on the front door of the building with a grunt of disgust "Someone should sue the landlord."

"He turns off your hot water if you give him any trouble," she said. "I've learned to leave him alone."

The elevator was still broken. She was grateful for his company as they ascended through the echoing stairwell. The decaying building was depressing at the best of times, but at this time of night, with her life the way it currently was, it would be unbearably creepy alone.

She dug the keys out of her purse. Connor took mem from her, pushed her gently back against the wall and pulled out his gun.

She sighed. Cops tended to be paranoid. She should know, having been raised by one. They had reason to be, and Connor more than most. She waited patiently while he unlocked the door, flipped on the light, stepped in. A moment later he gestured her in. "All clear."

"Thank goodness," she murmured.

His face hardened at the faint sarcasm in her voice, but she was too tired and wired to care. Let him be huffy if he pleased. She felt restless and tingling and strange tonight. She didn't feel like placating anyone.

Connor locked and bolted the door. "Erin," he said.

She slid her suit jacket off and flung it over a chair. "Yes?"

"I can't leave you here alone. I just can't do it."

She stretched her arms over her head, rolling her stiff neck. Connor's eyes wandered down and fastened on her breasts. She rolled her shoulders, arched her back. "You can't?" she said.

His eyes followed her every move with grim fascination. "No," he said. "Not after what I saw on the highway. Not with that worthless lock and piece of shit door. Not even if your locks were good."

She ran her fingers slowly through her hair, and tossed it. "Not even if I lived in a bank vault? Guarded by a platoon of Marines?"

"You're starting to get the picture."

She kicked her shoes off. One bounced off the wall and skittered to the middle of the floor, the other landed on top of a pile of archeology magazines. "So don't leave," she said.

His eyes narrowed. "I thought you hated my guts."

The uncertainty in his voice gave her an exhilarating rush of feminine power. He was vulnerable to her, too. She glanced at her watch, and unclasped it, tossing it on top of the dresser. "It's three in the morning, Connor," she said. "I'm too tired to hate your guts."

She went into the bathroom and let him puzzle over that while she washed her face and brushed her teeth.

When she came out, he was still rooted to the same spot, wary incredulity stamped all over his face. "You're sure?"

She laughed as she hooked her thumbs into her panty hose and shimmied them down. "Didn't you just tell me that I had absolutely no choice in the matter?" she complained. "I can't keep this straight anymore! Who is the boss around here, anyway?"

"Stop jerking me around," he said. "You know that if I stay here, we're going to have sex again."

Her eyes widened. "Oh, my. Don't be shy, Connor. Tell it like it is." She stepped out of the skirt, clipped it to the hanger, and hung it in the tiny closet, stretching up so that the blouse would ride up over her bottom. "The bed really is incredibly small," she said. "If you'd rather go home and get a good night's sleep, please feel free to—"

"Don't tease me. I'm not in the mood."

The harshness of his tone froze her into place for a second. She exhaled, and resumed unbuttoning her blouse. She tried to act nonchalant as she shrugged off the blouse, hung it up.

"Your energy is strange tonight," he said. "I can't tell whether you want to jump my bones or rip my head off. It's got me off balance."

She reached behind herself and unhooked the bra. She tossed it away and shook her hair back. "If you're so off balance, Connor, maybe you'd be better off lying down."

He stared at her bare breasts, bright streaks of color in his cheeks. "You're pissed at me, and you're coming onto me at the same time. What's that all about, Erin? What's the catch?"

She smiled at him, merciless. "It's a mystery," she said. "You've got to take your chances." She shucked her panties and walked naked in the burning spotlight of his gaze to the bed. She slid between the sheets. Looked at him. Lifted a questioning eyebrow.

He shook his head. "I don't know what to do next," he said. "I can't figure you out."

"So why don't you stop trying, and get your clothes off?"

His shoulders jerked in silent laughter. He opened up his duffel, which she had not even noticed him bring in with him. He pulled out one of his squealers and mounted it swiftly onto the door.

He sauntered over to the bed. He stared at her as he placed his gun on the bedside table and started yanking off his clothes. Seconds later he stood before her naked, smoothing a condom over his jutting erection. She scooted over to make room for him.

He shook his head. "This thing is even narrower than a twin bed. Do you want to be on top, or on the bottom?"

He loomed over her. She stared at the shadows that limned every curve and cut of his muscular, powerful body. He emanated a blast of fierce, macho energy that infuriated and excited her at the same time.

"Oh, go ahead. You be on top, Connor. Why fool ourselves?"

He wrenched the quilt down and shoved her flat on her back. "Where the hell did that crack come from?" he demanded.

Oops. Very smooth move. Now he was furious again. She placed her hands against his scorching chest, her breath quickening. "I don't know. It just comes to me. I can't help it."

He put his thigh between her legs and shoved them open. She was already wet, and he hadn't even touched her. She had transformed in the last thirty-six hours, and Connor was the catalyst. He was so volatile and bossy and sexually insatiable. He didn't politely disappear when she climaxed, like her fantasy Connor had. He stayed with her, his arms jealously tight. Taking up space, demanding attention.

She almost wanted him to shove himself inside her with crude force so her restless, prickly anger could be justified. She was hungry for his strength, his heat. Breathless with anticipation. Maddened.

"What?" she snapped. "Come on, Connor. Aren't you going to show me who's lord and master?"

He cupped her face in his hands. "Is that what you want?"

She wiggled against him. "Since when has what I wanted mattered to you?"

"That's not fair. I may have pushed you around about your millionaire, but I never forced you in bed. You came to me, remember?"

Did she ever. It was maddening, how much she wanted him, and how much power he wielded over her because of it. "What are you waiting for, Connor? Now who's being the tease?" she demanded.

"You're too angry," he said calmly. "You're setting me up."

She thrashed beneath him. "Oh, please. For God's sake," she flared. "I'm not that treacherous!"

"You don't even know how treacherous you are. This is wilderness territory. For both of us."

"Connor—"

"Tell me exactly what you want, Erin," he said. "Don't set me up to be the asshole, because it's not fair. If you want me to be rough, I'll be rough."

That did it. His arrogant, self-righteous tone infuriated her. She shoved at him. "Oh, don't do me any goddamn favors!"

He seized her wrists and wrenched them up over her head. "OK. I think I've nailed the vibe you want tonight, sweetheart. No favors. That can be arranged." He let out his breath in a sharp sigh when he slid his fingers between her legs and found her wet. "God, look at you. You are such a wild thing, Erin Riggs. You just can't wait, can you?"

"No!" she snapped. "So hurry."

He was still laughing when he kissed her, his tongue thrusting deep into her mouth. She could barely move. She was stretched out, every muscle straining beneath his weight, arms yanked up high.

He took himself in hand, pressed himself against her, and slid just the tip of himself inside her. He teased her with tiny, teasing thrusts, bathing himself with her slick moisture, and then drove inside her. She clenched around him with a muffled cry. He let her move just enough to find her body's answer to his sensual invasion, the tight, clinging demands of her secret flesh upon his thick shaft.

Finally he gave her what she wanted, grinding his hips against her. Each deep, heavy thrust pushed her closer to the resolution of the enigma burning in her mind. She needed all his strength for ballast to drive her toward the answer to all this aching, screaming tension. She struggled closer, straining up, almost there—

"No."

Her eyes popped open. He shifted, and lifted the pressure away from where she so desperately needed it. She clenched her legs around him to draw him deeper. "Connor, I need this! What—"

"No favors."

She almost screamed with rage. "Are you punishing me?"

"No favors, Erin. You'll come when I let you come. Not before."

"Why are you doing this?" She thrashed wildly beneath him.

He subdued her effortlessly. "Because I can."

"I hate you," she hissed. "You evil, controlling bastard. This isn't fair. I give you an inch and you take a mile. Every damn time."

He shook his head. "No. Give me an inch, and I take everything."

There was absolutely nothing she could do. She was spread so helplessly open beneath him that there was no way to clench herself around him and work herself to climax of her own volition. She was at his mercy.

Three more times, he brought her to the brink and then drew back. When he began again the fourth time, she was too exhausted to thrash and writhe. She just squeezed her eyes shut and trembled. He leaned down and kissed her. "Beg me," he said.

"Forget it," she murmured. "Bastard. I'd rather die."

"Just beg me, and I'll give it to you," he coaxed. "It's worth it."

She opened her eyes, stared into the pure, hypnotic green depths of his eyes, and he pulled her in. "Please," she whispered.

He released her arms and surged against her so deep and strong it almost hurt. But the pain was just a glowing delineation around a deeper, hotter pleasure that grew and swelled until it broke, sending all the tension he had wrought with such cruel skill crashing down on her.

Violent spasms of pleasure jerked and shuddered through her.

She didn't open her eyes for a long time afterwards. It was the only privacy she could maintain, with her body so penetrated, his eyes so intent upon her face. He waited patiently, curved over her body.

The ripples widened, spread, softened to her chest, her throat, her eyes, and suddenly she was weeping, a soothing rush like a summer rainstorm. The enigma had been solved, but the solving of it had uncovered an even bigger mystery, one that mere love games could not resolve. She draped her arms around his neck, pulling his face to hers. "That's enough of that," she whispered. "Be gentle with me now."

He stiffened, and hid his face against her neck. "Oh, no," he muttered. "Erin, I thought this was what you wanted. I thought—"

"I did. I did want it," she reassured him. She grabbed a hank of his hair and pulled him up so she could pet the anxious furrow between his brows with her fingertip. "And you gave it to me. And now I want something different, that's all. No big deal. Just ease off."

"Did I hurt you? Do you want me to stop?"

She kissed him. "Would you relax? There is no hidden message here. No code to decipher. I do not want to stop. Read my lips, OK?"

He jerked his head away, but she wound the hair around her fingers, trapping him. "You are so fucking complicated," he snapped.

She sighed. "Just keep making love to me. Gently. And stop being ridiculous and anxious. What's complicated about that?"

He pried her fingers out of his hair and pressed his face against her neck, burrowing closer. "I just want to please you."

She was moved by the ragged tremor in his voice. "Oh, but you do," she soothed him. "Didn't you feel what happened? What you did to me? It was intense, but it worked. Just like you knew that it would."

"I thought I went too far," he admitted. "With that stupid lord and master crap. I thought I'd screwed up."

"No. You didn't. I trust you, Connor." Her words softened to a senseless croon as she covered his hot face with kisses. She moved beneath him, caressing his shaft with every delicate, clinging muscle inside her sheath. It was a lazy, licking, tender kiss between their sexes. Their lips joined to match it, hungry for sweet reassurance.

Their power games had transformed into something infinitely more beautiful and treacherous. His dominating energy was rendered down to desperate, shaking need. Now she was the strong one who clasped and held, with the power to give or to withhold. But there was no question of withholding. He was inside her mind, he was everywhere. Her heart glowed for him. Every part of her was liquid and soft, merging with him, surging and heaving like the sea.

Much later, he murmured and lifted himself off her body, and stumbled away into the dark to dispose of the condom. She didn't have the strength to turn her head and tell him where she kept the trash basket. He lifted the quilt, slid into bed again, rolling her on top of him.

"I'll squish you," she protested, without much force.

"Nah. This is another one of my classic Erin fantasies. Sleeping with your naked body on top of me. Your hair draped all over me, your hand against my chest, your breath mixing with mine. Your skin…"

The rest of his whispered words blended into her dreams like a swirl of melting honey.

Kurt Novak and Georg Luksch were not worth this pain and humiliation. They had used him, and thrown him away. He could feel it.

The police flung Martin into the holding cell, and the gate clanged shut. He fell heavily to his knees, retching.

Just his luck, that he should get rough, brutal types for his interrogation, but he had been prepared. He had been very strong. He had told the police exactly what his employers had ordered him to say. He had made the police torture it out of him, as instructed. He had held back as long as he could before finally gasping out where he had last seen Novak and Luksch, and when. He had been desperate, very convincing.

Then he had repeated the same story, no matter how hard they hit him. He had been strong, but there was no one to bear witness to his loyalty. Novak and Luksch would never know or care how brave he had been for them. No one would ever know. He was sure of this.

He was disposable, and they had thrown him away.

His bosses had told him that if he did this for them, that his parents and his uncle would be spared, and that two million euro would be transferred to a private numbered account for him in a bank in Zurich upon his release. His very rapid release. We own the judges, they had told him. It will be arranged quickly, more quickly than the last time. We need you, Martin. That was why we arranged your escape with Luksch and Novak in America. Only you are strong enough for this task. Do not fear. Be strong, Martin. You will be rewarded.

Rewarded. He laughed, but the pain of his cracked ribs stopped him. He huddled in the fetal position on the frigid concrete and wiggled his teeth, one by one. He would lose some of them. The left front, and the incisor. His mouth was full of blood. His tongue ran over the smooth capsule they had soldered to a filling in his back molar.

A microchip, they had told him. So that we can always find you, always rescue you. Just a precaution. It will do you no harm. It is for your protection, Martin. Trust us.

He suppressed another laugh, wiggling the loose molar with his tongue. Two million euro could replace lost teeth, he told himself. Two million euro could make up for a great many things.

But not all, something whispered. Six months in an American prison, and now this. He was shrinking, curled up on a floor that smelled of urine and vomit. Smaller and smaller until he was the size of a child's doll, with tiny balls like shriveled raisins.

Too small to be seen by the bank personnel in Zurich.

He pressed his tongue against the smooth capsule and wondered if they could listen to him through it, if there could be a microphone so small. He started, hysterically, to laugh again, even though every jolt of his diaphragm hurt like knives stabbing.

"Fuck you," he muttered, just in case they could hear him. And then, for good measure. "Fuck you both. Fuck Kurt Novak. Fuck Georg Luksch. Fuck your mothers, your grandmothers. Fuck you all."

It happened immediately, as if in answer to his words. A pop inside his mouth, a burning. A sharp, bitter taste, and his heart froze in his chest. Arrested, in midbeat.

The pain was huge, but he felt no surprise. He understood a million things in that timeless moment that his heart ceased to beat. The choices that had led him to this stinking concrete floor. The boredom and greed and restless anger that had gotten him mixed up with that murderous scum. The many cruel things that he had done with them, for them. It raced through his mind, together with all the choices that he could have made, and had not.

He could have married Sophie, joined his uncle's wine business. Sunday mornings strolling in the village square, he with their young son on his shoulders, she with the baby carriage, their infant daughter asleep beneath her pink blanket. A splendid lunch, and then lazy afternoon sex with his wife while the children napped. A game of cards at the club, a beer with the friends watching soccer on TV Weddings, baptisms, funerals.

The ordinary seasons of a blameless life.

He watched it spin by, until real time caught up with him. The iron fist closed, and crushed his heart out of existence, and what could have been and what truly was were both extinguished.

Chapter Fourteen

She was still on top of him when she woke up. Dawn had lightened the dingy brick wall outside the window, turning it a charcoal gray. She glanced up at Connor's face. He was gazing at her with his usual intensity, but it no longer flustered her. She liked it now.

She shifted on top of him, murmuring with pleasure. He was so solid and warm. Her thigh was flung across his, and his erect penis pressed against her, as hot as a brand. She poised herself over him so that her hair fell around them in a shadowy curtain, and touched his lips with hers. His mouth opened at her urging. Their tongues touched, a delicate, questing flick that melded into a deliciously sensuous kiss. It brought her body to tingling wakefulness.

She expected him to spring to action, but he just lay beneath her, rigid and trembling. She lifted her head. "Connor. Don't you want to… ?"

He rolled his eyes. "Like you have to ask." She dropped a kiss on his jaw. "Then why don't you?"

"You gave me a hard time last night. About pushing you around."

She was indignant. "I never said—"

"I'm sick of it. I'm just going to lie here and see what happens. If you want something, take it. If you need something from me, ask for it."

He folded his arms back behind his head, and waited.

She was disconcerted, but not for long. She didn't need instructions. She had ideas coming at her by the truckload. If he wanted to be a love slave, he'd come to the right place.

She flung back the quilt and rose up onto her knees. This was going to be fun. She leaned over and kissed him, thrusting her tongue aggressively into his mouth, the way he so often did to her. He murmured in surprise, and his body shook.

"Give me your hands." The ring of command in her voice was so unfamiliar, she barely recognized it as her own.

He unfolded his arms. She seized his hands and pressed them against her breasts. "Touch me," she said huskily. "Lightly. With your fingertips. Like butterfly wings."

He obeyed her. His eyes were bright with fascination, and his gentle fingers traced lines over the curves of her breasts. She flung her head back and danced above him, letting pleasure lead her. His breath got harsher, his erection harder. She leaned over so that her breasts dangled in his face. "Suck on my nipples," she commanded.

He writhed beneath her and gripped her waist, murmuring in a pleading voice. He covered her breasts with his hot mouth. She shook with excitement. The tremors were shaking her apart.

She pulled away, panting and flushed. They stared at each other, their eyes bright with discovery.

"Wow," he whispered. "Oh, my queen. What is your royal will?"

She shimmied down his body until she straddled his thighs, and tormented him with her fingertips, exploring every line and curve. He squeezed his eyes shut and moaned when she took his penis in her hands. She swirled her hand around the head, so smooth and bursting with pent-up need. She poised herself above him, and slid the blunt tip of him up and down her vulva. She wiggled, shifted, seeking the right angle, and forced herself down, enveloping him with a shuddering sigh. He was so amazingly thick, as hard as a hot club throbbing inside her.

"God," he muttered. "Please. Erin."

She rose up again, sank deeper. The small, quivering muscles inside her sheath clenched him with loving, jealous tightness, caressing the whole, delicious length of him.

"I'm not wearing a condom," he told her. "If you haven't noticed."

She smiled. "So don't come inside me. You have such excellent self-control. I've seen it in action, so you can't pretend you don't. So use it, Connor. Use it… in my service."

She rose up, and took him in again, a hot, slow glide of pleasure.

He panted beneath her. "You know this is stupid," he said. "We've got them, so there's no goddamn excuse for not using them."

She kissed his chest. "Something about you makes me want to play with fire. What an awful bitch I am. Torturing you like this."

He made a sharp, angry sound. "You've been acting strange ever since we got back to town. I'm not saying it doesn't turn me on, but it's starting to really piss me off."

"Oh, no. I'm just terrified." She rocked against him, rising up and sinking slowly back down with a sigh of bliss. "I'm tired of doing the smart thing and being agreeable and sensible and proper. I've been a good girl all my life, and I've only just realized that it doesn't do a damn bit of good. You just get slammed anyway. So why bother? What is the point of all that stupid effort? You just end up feeling like a fool."

He shook his head and opened his mouth. She pressed her finger against his lips. "Ever since I seduced you, I don't want to be a good girl anymore. I want to do naughty things. Get a tattoo. Show my cleavage. Pay my rent late. Drink tequila shots, dance on the tabletops. Blow my paycheck on pretty shoes. Rob a bank wearing a leather mini-skirt."

"Oh, God, Erin—"

"I want to become a cautionary tale for young women. Don't do what Erin did, girls! It's the path to doom! And you know what else I want? I want this. With you. Right now. Give me your hands again."

He offered them, a gesture of surrender, and she placed them gently at the curve of her hips. "Hold me," she said. "Move under me, Connor. Make me come."

His fingers bit into her waist, and his hips bucked as he seized control of the rhythm. All she could do was gasp and hang on for the ride, sometimes deep and pounding, sometimes a sensual dance that slid over and over that glowing ache of need inside her that was wired to everything that mattered, her eyes and throat, her spine, her nipples, her heart, until ripples of bliss overflowed and unraveled her.

He withdrew, panting, and she lost her balance and slid off the bed. He caught her arms, but her legs tumbled off until her knees hit Aunt Millie's braided rag rug. He sat up and pulled her onto her knees.

She knelt between his spread thighs, his penis jutting in her face, hot with the scent of her own pleasure. He wound his hands into her hair, staring into her eyes. "Make me come, Erin," he said.

She took him deep into her mouth without hesitation, gripping him eagerly with both hands and mouth. She followed the cues his body gave her: his sobbing pants, his fingers tightening in her hair, the slick, bursting heat of his penis in her mouth, the salty drops against her tongue. She drew him in as deep as she could, sliding and suckling.

He was primed to explode. In just a few long, luxurious strokes he erupted into her mouth in hot, pulsing spasms.

She hid her face against his scarred thigh. He sagged over her, trembling, and slowly slid off the bed to join her on the floor. He pulled her into his arms and rested his head on her shoulder.

Connor lifted his head a few minutes later. "You feeling any mellower?" he asked. "You work out any of those bad girl demons?"

"Not really," she murmured. "I still feel pretty naughty."

"Oh, God. I'm a dead man."

His tone was light, but dread still chilled her at his careless words. "Don't say that!"

His eyes were puzzled. "Huh?"

"It's bad luck. Don't ever say that again. Please. Ever."

He started to speak, stopped himself, and gave her a brief, crooked smile. He pulled her into his arms again. "OK," he said gently. "Sorry."

She squeezed him tightly, until her arms shook with the strain.

"Let's get one thing clear," he said, stroking her back tenderly. "When you go to drink your tequila shots and dance on tabletops in your leather mini-skirt, I get to come along. With my gun."

She giggled against his chest. "Oh, please."

"I mean it," he said sternly. "No banks, though. There I draw the line. I'm sworn to uphold law and order and all that garbage."

"Don't worry," she said. "One jailbird in the family is enough."

Connor went rigid in her arms. The air in the room was suddenly chilly against her damp skin.

Connor dropped his arms. Erin scrambled to her feet. "I'll, urn, just jump in the shower," she babbled. "I'll be right out."

She scurried into the bathroom. The door slammed.

Connor wandered around the room, trying to breathe away the tension in his gut. He stared at the corkboard over her desk. Photos and postcards were push-pinned all over it. Erin and Ed on a ski trip, squinting and sunburned. His arm was flung over her shoulder. They were laughing.

He realized that he was rubbing his scarred thigh, gritting his teeth so hard his jaw throbbed.

The phone rang. He decided not to touch it. She had a machine. If it was Cindy, he would pick up. Otherwise, it would be suicide to touch the thing.

The shower stopped running just as the machine clicked on. The bathroom door burst open as a woman's bouncy, fake cheerful voice began to speak.

"Hi, Erin, this is Kelly, from Keystroke Temps. I'm afraid I've got some bad news for you—"

Erin burst out in a cloud of steam, naked, her hair dripping.

"—had some complaints about you from Winger, Drexler & Lowe, about your attitude, and your decision to be unavailable for work this morning was just the last straw for them. So the office manager told me to tell you just not to come in tomorrow. And, uh… Keystroke Temps is making the same decision. I'm really sorry, Erin, but the decision is definitive and final, and if you mail in your timesheet, we'll mail your last check to you, so there'll be no need for you to come in and—"

Erin lunged for the phone. "Kelly? It's me—yes, I know, but I came back early—but that's ridiculous! I was a perfect employee! My attitude was excellent! I came in early, I worked late, I did ten times as much work as—that's crazy! They can't possibly—"

She listened for another moment, and laughed bitterly. "Kelly, you know, I don't envy you having to tell me this. But let me give you a tip for the future. Don't tell someone to have a nice day after giving them news like that. Trust me, it's the wrong thing to say."

She slammed the phone down and whirled on him, naked and dripping and stupendously beautiful in her towering rage.

"That stupid cow," she snarled. "Have a nice day! As if!"

He backed away. "Uh, Erin?"

She advanced on him. "What could they possibly have complained about? I reorganized their database! I worked out all the bugs in their financial program! I rewrote every single document those idiots ever dictated and turned it into real English! I even got coffee for those bastards, and all for thirteen lousy dollars an hour!"

"I'm sure you did," he said meekly.

"It's not in my nature to make people complain about me! Except for when I work too hard and make everybody else look bad, but I didn't do that this time, I was really, really careful not to, I swear!"

She had him backed up against the wall. He was fascinated by the wild energy blazing out of her. "Of course you were," he soothed.

"I never give anybody any trouble! Ever! It's like a sickness!"

"Only to me," Connor said. "You give me no end of trouble."

She put her hands on her hips. "You, Connor McCloud, are a special case."

"I'll say," he muttered. "Just lucky, huh?"

She cocked her head to the side. Water trickled seductively over her tits. "You do bring out elements of my personality that I didn't know I had," she admitted. "But I never showed those sides of my personality at Winger, Drexler & Lowe, and I certainly—"

"You damn well better not be showing them to anybody else." The words surprised him as much as they did her. "Nobody but me. Got it?"

She blinked. "Connor. I, ah, wasn't talking about sex."

"Well, I am," he said. "I just thought I'd take this opportunity to make that point crystal clear. Since we haven't discussed it yet."

Erin glanced down, seeming to realize that she was naked and sopping wet. "Uh, what exactly do you mean by that?" she asked warily.

He crossed his arms over his chest. "What do you think I mean?" Her mouth tightened. "Don't play games with me, Connor."

"I'm not playing games. It's a valid question. I want to know how you interpret that remark."

Her eyes slid away from his. "Why does it always have to be me who goes out on the limb? It's not fair to—"

"Just answer me, goddammit."

She studied his face for a moment. "OK. Here goes," she said carefully. "I think maybe, ah, that this might be your bossy, oafish way of asking me if I'm interested in being exclusively involved with you."

He felt his face go red.

"Did I get it right?" she demanded. "Do I win the prize?"

"That's the gist of it. I would have phrased it differently."

"Oh?" Her eyebrows climbed. "And how would you phrase it?"

He thought about it. "Never mind," he muttered. "Let's stick with the way you said it. It sounds better."

"No, Connor. Your turn. Tell me exactly what you were thinking."

What an idiot. He'd boxed himself into a trap. "We already are exclusively involved, Erin. We have been since you decided to go to bed with me. It's a done deal. I know it, and you know it."

Her eyes went very big and thoughtful. "Hmm. So the key point here is that you're not asking me. You're telling me. Right?"

He shrugged. "Guess so," he mumbled.

"I see," she murmured.

Her cool tone maddened him. "I sure hope so," he snapped.

She wrung her dripping hair out over the sink. "If I have a problem with you, Connor, that's it," she said. "You don't ask me. You just tell me. But you know what? The world doesn't work like that. And more to the point, I don't work like that. I will not take orders from you."

"Goddamn it, Erin—"

"If you would just stop trying so hard to control me, then maybe you'd discover that all that effort really isn't necessary."

She shook her wet mane back over her shoulders. His proud, gorgeous, wet, naked, intergalactic princess. She turned to face him.

"You do not own me," she said quietly.

He didn't remember deciding to move. He just found himself all over her, his hands moving over her damp, shivering skin. Pinning her against the wall. He cupped her face in his hands, opened his mouth, and the dangerous truth just fell right out of him, no holding it back.

"That's true. I don't own you. But I want you so bad. I've had a hard-on for you ever since you were jailbait. I want to know everything you do, every thought you mink. I want to have sex with you in every way possible. I'm obsessed with you, Erin Riggs, and I cannot stand the thought of you with another man. It makes me feel—"

… crazy

He swallowed the word back, his chest squeezing painfully. "I just want you all for myself." He closed his eyes. "Please."

Erin shivered, and dropped a soothing kiss on his bare shoulder. "Try to calm down, Connor," she murmured. "You're so intense."

"Oh, God, you have no idea." He pressed his face against her wet hair and tried to keep his mouth shut. Anything he said could be used to incriminate him. He had never felt so desperate and out of control. At least not as an adult.

The silence was driving him nuts. "How's that for going out on a limb?" His voice came out harsh and taunting in spite of his best efforts. "Did I make myself vulnerable enough to suit you?"

Her mouth tightened. She lifted her chin. "Don't mock me."

Enough talk. He would be smarter to use his tongue for something more constructive than digging holes for himself to fall into. She was so fragrant and soft and naked. He pushed her against the wall and sank to his knees. She tried to push his face away, but the element of surprise worked in his favor.

He slid his hand up the creamy skin between her quivering thighs, and forced them apart. She was saying something to him, but once he had slid his tongue into that thatch of silky wet fur, once he'd sought out the enticing secret slit of her vulva, he was long beyond the reach of language. He savored the liquid rush of her pleasure against his mouth, dizzy with relief. At least he had this card to play, and he would make the most of it. He thrust his tongue deep into that hidden pool of delicious liquid bliss and suckled his way slowly, lovingly up her delicate folds, lapping and licking until he held her swollen clit between his teeth. He could wallow with his face between her beautiful thighs forever. In a state of perfect grace.

He shifted his hand and slid two of his fingers inside her, seeking the other hot spot he had found inside her clinging sheath. He pressed it while he fluttered his tongue across her clit, feeling, sensing, listening with his whole self, casting out that wide, soft net in his head that encompassed her every reaction, her every breath and shiver and moan, until he sensed how and where to give her what she needed. Just that extra, insistent push of sensual pressure, and ah. Yes.

Jesus, yes.

He held her up while it tore though her, a throbbing earthquake. He drank it all in, with his mouth and his tongue and his hands, loving every pulsing second of it. Her knees buckled. He gentry controlled her descent as she slid down against the paneling until her bottom hit the floor, his fingers still thrust deep. Eyes closed, face rosy pink, legs splayed wide, his hand still shoved deep inside her cunt.

She shivered, her eyes fluttering open. She looked down at his hand, up into his eyes. He covered her mouth with coaxing kisses. "You still haven't given me an answer," he said. "About being exclusive."

Her pink tongue flicked across her lips. She whimpered and squirmed as his fingers thrust inside her. "Not fair," she whispered.

"Whatever it takes." He kissed her again, caressing her quivering sex. "So? Are you my woman, or not?"

She seized his wrist and pulled his hand out of her body, clasping it tightly in hers. "Do not manipulate me," she said. "Just ask me."

"OK." He braced himself. "I'm asking."

She looked straight into his eyes. "I don't want anyone but you," she said. "I never have."

He was afraid to breathe. Their fingers were a damp, tight, clutching knot, like his heart. "That's good to know, sweetheart," he said cautiously. "Uh, does that mean we're exclusive?"

Her lips twitched at his insistence. "Yes."

"You're sure?" he demanded.

Her sweet smile widened. "What do I have to do to convince you?"

He felt ridiculous for needing so much reassurance. "Send me a singing telegram," he suggested.

He was rewarded by a helpless snort of laughter that was so cute, it made his heart twist. "You certainly know how to press your point."

"I thought it was your points I was pressing," he offered.

That touched off another peal of giggles. "Oh, no. Oh, dear. Connor, please. That was really bad."

"But you handed it right to me," he protested. "What could I do?"

He pulled her closer. He felt so nervous and scared. This was how he wanted her, happy and laughing. Soft and trusting in his arms. He wasn't going to achieve that by throwing his weight around, spewing ironclad orders and ultimatums right and left, but whenever he felt threatened, that's what he did. Every goddamn time.

He pulled her tighter, so her soft laughter would vibrate through his body and push the aching cold away.

Chapter Fifteen

Connor scooped her up off the ground and deposited her on the rumpled cot. She lay there, still giggling, until she saw him rip open a foil packet, and smooth a condom over his erect penis.

She sat bolt upright "Good God, Connor! This is getting ridiculous. What do you think you're doing?"

"Sealing our bargain," he told her.

He made her heart race when he looked at her like that, his beautiful body naked, his tawny mane long and loose around his shoulders, his hungry eyes. And that hot, sexy, ruthless smile.

He scooped up her dangling legs and draped them over his elbows, nudging the tip of himself gently between her slick folds. He forced his way inside her with one long, relentless push. "I've never had sex with a woman whom I've promised to be faithful to," he said. "Never, in my whole life. It's a big deal."

She dug her fingers into his shoulders and tried to puzzle out the significance of his words. He rocked against her, lazy and slow, angling himself expertly to please her.

"I needed to see how it felt," he added.

"Oh," she murmured. "And how does it feel?"

"Fucking awesome," he said. "To be inside you, and look into your face and think, this is my woman. And oh, God. She is so beautiful."

She wanted to tell him that she loved him, that her heart was all his, forever. Something squeezed her throat shut.

Her father's face floated in her mind, the last time she had seen it, hard with grief and guilt. Connor, leaning on his blood-spattered cane. Vengeance and violence. She couldn't shake free of them, but Connor was prying her heart open by sheer brute force. She couldn't resist him.

She had to hold something back, just some tiny crumb of herself. A corner that was locked up tight and secret and all hers.

He stopped, and held himself motionless above her. "What is it? What are you thinking?"

It took all her nerve to meet his eyes. "I… um, nothing."

"Bullshit. Tell me."

She closed her eyes. There was no point in lying to him, but at least she could tell him a different truth. "I was just thinking…"

"Yeah?" His eyes were keen and sharp on her face. "And?"

"Of how it feels," she said. "To have you inside me, all over me, and know that you're mine. My man."

"And how does it feel?"

She told him the naked truth. "It feels fucking awesome."

Her own words were the magic key that released her. She came apart around him in a shuddering wave of complete surrender. She could hold nothing back. He held her against him so tightly, his arms shook. "No going back, Erin," he said hoarsely.

She shook her head. "No."

She drifted into a doze. He extricated himself, covered her with the quilt, and went padding about her apartment. When she opened her eyes, he had showered and shaved and pulled on his jeans. He was bent over her tiny refrigerator. He looked dismayed.

He smiled to find her awake. "You've got nothing to eat in this place," he said. "I can't keep up this level of sustained sexual activity without regular feeding."

She giggled. "Sorry."

He sauntered over to the bed and lifted a hank of his wet hair. "I used some of your conditioner," he said. "Smells nice."

"Good for you, Connor. You're making progress," she said. "Where did you get all this energy?"

"I'm totally high. Think of it. I got Erin, the quintessential good girl, to say the f-word, and it isn't even ten o'clock in the morning yet. Who knows what I might get her to do by nightfall?"

She waggled her finger at him. "Don't get any more ideas, you sex-crazed stud. I'm done for awhile."

"Oh, come on," he wheedled. "You're a bad girl now, remember? You've got to get used to excess, and I'm just the guy to help you do it."

She batted his roving hand away and sat up. "Enough."

"And speaking of enough," he said. "Now that we're exclusive, and seeing as how you seem to have something against condoms, you'd better go see your doctor and come up with something you like better. Because I'm tired of walking a tightrope every time we have sex."

Her eyes widened. "But Connor. You're so good at it. And it's so much fun to watch. All that concentration."

"I'm not a goddamn dancing bear," he said sourly. "It would be nice to just relax and have some fun. From here on out, it's condoms until you come up with a better solution on your own. And that's final."

She hugged herself with a shiver of mock rapture. "Oh, I love it when you're stern and masterful. It's such a turn-on. Do it again, Connor. Give me another ultimatum, quick."

"Stop it," he growled. His eyes dragged over the length of her body, and his gaze became thoughtful. "Unless, of course, you want to have my baby," he said. "Just for the record, that would be fine with me, Erin. More than fine. The timing would be kind of weird, but—"

"I'll go to the doctor. I'll take care of it. I promise." She shivered with a blend of panic and heady, toe-curling excitement. "Let's not rush ahead of ourselves, OK?"

He smiled. "I'm not ahead of myself at all."

"It's better to stay focused," she babbled. "I, uh, have too many things to do today to even think about—"

"Whatever you say, babe. What things do you have to do?"

She took one look at the uncompromising set of his jaw, and sighed. "Oh, dear. You're going to insist on escorting me everywhere?"

"Get used to it," he said. "Tell me what we need to do today."

She flopped back down onto the bed and thought about it. "Well, I have to get my cat back from my friend Tonia, and she'll be furious with me—the cat, not Tonia—so that'll involve lap time and kitty treats. I need to do some research for the Mueller report. Oh, and I need to sign up at some more temp agencies, too. But mostly, I need to track down my sister and check on Mom."

He nodded. "I'll call Sean for a progress report on the Cindy situation, but I can't handle Sean on an empty stomach. OK… cat, sister, mom. What else is on our agenda?"

He was so willing to take it all onto his shoulders. His generosity made her heart go all gooey. "Connor, you're a sweetheart, but these are my problems, not yours, and they're not pretty," she said gently. "Please don't think that just because we're involved—"

"Hey." He held up his hand. "Hello! Earth to Erin! You're my girlfriend now. Your problems are now my problems. No question."

She looked down at her hands, letting her damp, tangled hair hide her face. "We've only been together for two days."

"It doesn't matter if it's two days. It wouldn't matter if it were five minutes. And it's not a question of having to, or wanting to. It's just the way it is. So don't fight me. Because you'll lose. OK?"

She gave him a teasing smile. "Oh, my hero."

He rolled his eyes. "Please. Spare me. Cat, sister, mother, any other relatives to take care of? Grandmas, aunts, cousins?"

She shook her head. "None of them will have anything to do with us since the trial. It's like we have the plague."

Connor's hand crept higher, his fingertips brushing her nipple. She grabbed his hand, sliding it back to her belly and holding it firmly there. He let out a wistful sigh. "OK. The asshole relatives can go fuck themselves. It's just as well. There's only so many hours in the day."

She flopped onto her back, giggling. All the things that had so much power to hurt and sadden her before now just seemed ridiculous, with Connor's energy and humor to buoy her up. She slid out from under the quilt, slapping his hands away. "I have to take another shower," she said. "You stop that right now, Connor. Be good."

"I'm always good, baby. Want to see?"

She eluded him, still laughing as she fled to the bathroom.

Connor was fully dressed and waiting by the door when she came out. "I saw a grocery store down the block," he said. "Let's run down and grab some makings for breakfast. I'm starving."

She smiled at him as she toweled herself off, resisting the urge to cover herself. He was her lover. He could look at her body all he wanted. He'd seen it all, from every angle, and he'd loved it The heated, appreciative glow in his eyes made her almost forget what he'd said.

"You run on down while I get dressed," she said. "The keys are on the shelf by the door. I'll stay. Cindy might call, or my mom."

He dropped the keys into his pocket. He looked troubled. "Do you know how to use a gun?"

"Dad showed us," she admitted. "He took us to the gun range a few times. I never liked them, but I can use one."

He crouched down and took a small, snub-nosed revolver out of an ankle holster. He held it out to her. "Keep this with you."

She backed away, shaking her head. "Connor, no. I'd—"

"Take it, Erin."

She knew that stony tone of his voice. She sighed, and took the gun. Whatever made him feel better.

He dismantled the squealer and unbolted the door. "Don't open up to anybody but me. Anything special you want from the store?"

"Some milk for my tea, please."

"You got it." His grin flashed. The door clicked closed.

She sank to her knees, boneless. The gun dropped to the rug.

Connor's absence changed the energy of the room so completely, it was like a pillar had been pulled from the roof. The need to stand up to him, to be strong and dignified, was gone. She huddled on the rug, half laughing, half crying. She couldn't breathe. Her heart had blown up to the size of a beach ball, and left no room for her lungs to expand. Her wildest dreams had come true. Connor McCloud was her lover, and what a lover. God. No amount of erotic fantasizing could have prepared her for a man like him. For sex like that.

The gun caught her eye. She picked it up with two fingers and placed it on the dresser. Time to get dressed and face the day, to be strong and tough and adult. She couldn't afford to be overwhelmed.

A phone rang while she was pulling on her jeans. Not her phone. She looked around, and realized that it came from the pocket of Connor's canvas coat, still flung over one of the kitchen chairs.

It could be Sean, calling with news of Cindy. She lunged for the phone. Several condoms and a bunch of her lost hair-pins came out with it and scattered across the floor. She stared at the display. She had no way of knowing if the number displayed was Sean's, but she couldn't risk missing his call. She flipped open the mouthpiece. "Hello?"

"Who's this?" a deep, puzzled male voice asked.

"This is Erin," she said. "Who is this?"

There was a long, astonished pause. "Erin Riggs?"

"Is this one of Connor's brothers?" she asked.

"No. This is Nick Ward."

Oh, God, no. Nick, one of her dad's colleagues from the Cave. Nick, the tall, black-haired guy with melting dark eyes and dimples. Answering the phone had been a disaster. "Um, hi, Nick. How are you?"

"Where are you, Erin?" There was an edge to Nick's voice.

"I'm at home," she told him. "In my apartment."

"Where's Connor? What are you doing answering his phone?"

"He ran down to the store on the corner to get some breakfast stuff." She was blushing like a tomato, even though no one could see her. "I thought this call might be from one of his brothers, so I…"

"Huh." He was ominously silent. "So, what's up, then? Are you two together?"

Images of their intense lovemaking over the past thirty-six hours swirled through her head. "I guess so," she said.

She hated the quaver in her voice. It proved she was still afraid, beneath all the giddy euphoria.

Nick cleared his throat. "Hey, Erin. I don't want to stick my nose in, but Connor… he's had a hard time of it in the past year or so, what with everything that's happened—"

"I know," she said.

"Uh, he's got one bitch of a score to settle with your dad. Oh, hell. I don't know what to say. You're a nice kid. Try to keep a little distance, OK? I don't want to see you get hurt."

Erin swallowed hard. "I'm not a kid anymore, Nick."

The key rattled in the lock, and the door swung open. Connor saw the phone in her hand, and froze in place.

"Connor's back," she said tonelessly. She walked over to Connor and held out the phone to him. "It's Nick."

He let the groceries drop to the floor and took it. Erin closed the door and carried the bags to the table.

She wished the apartment had another room to escape into.

The pinched look on Erin's face alarmed him. Connor lifted his phone to his ear. "Yeah?"

"What the fuck are you doing with Erin Riggs?" Nick snarled.

Connor waited several beats before he let himself respond. "We'll have this conversation another time," he said. "In person, so I can express myself fully. Until then, it's none of your goddamn business."

"Is this some kinky revenge on Ed? Seduce his baby princess, and thumb your nose at him? Try and stop me from behind bars, asshole, nyah nyah nyah? She's just a kid!"

"She's almost twenty-seven. Have you got anything relevant to tell me, Nick? Because otherwise, this conversation is over."

"I bet you told yourself she needed protection 'round the clock. What a great opportunity. And now you're nailing her, you self-serving asshole. That kind of protection she don't need."

"Fuck off, Nick. I'm hanging up now."

"Wait a second. I'm going to pass this info on, not to help you, and not as a favor, but just to make you feel like the opportunistic prick that you are. We got word from Interpol. One of the guys that broke out with Novak got nabbed in Marseilles yesterday. Martin Olivier. He confessed that Novak and Luksch were both in France, but he was found dead in his cell before he had a chance to say exactly where. Poison of some kind, they think, pending the autopsy. So it looks like the only person that Erin Riggs needs protection from is you."

Connor pushed his anger aside. His brain was too busy shifting into net-and-fish mode, taking in information, comparing, associating.

"It's a decoy," he said. "Can't you feel it? He's not in France. It's all theater. He's got business to take care of here."

"I might have known you wouldn't be interested in any information that doesn't fit your fantasy, you—"

Connor flipped the phone shut.

Erin was putting on the teakettle. She was pretending nothing had happened. The room was dreadfully silent, apart from the small clinking and rustling sounds she made in the kitchen. She grabbed a bowl and fork and opened the carton of eggs.

"I'll cook breakfast," he offered. "I'm good at it."

The smile she tossed over her shoulder was unconvincing.

Connor slid his arms around her waist, pulling her off balance so that she had to fell back against him. He removed the fork from one small, chilly hand, the egg from the other, and placed them in the bowl.

He covered her hands with both of his, warming them. He pressed his face into the damp satin of her hair. "It looks weird, from the outside," he said. "You and me, together. At least to Nick. Because of all the bad things that have come down."

She nodded.

"But from the inside, from where we're standing, it makes perfect sense," he said, with quiet force. "And it's beautiful."

He waited for a response, but she was mute. He lifted her hair, exposing the delicate curve of her cheek. He kissed it. So soft.

The thought rose up from the depths of his mind, from that part of him with which there was no arguing, no negotiating.

Nobody, but nobody was taking this from him. Just let them try.

He nuzzled her throat. "You with me, Erin?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"This thing we've got, it's amazing. It makes up for a lot."

She shivered, and he felt the exact moment that she softened and leaned back against him. Trusting his support. He was so relieved, he had to hide his stinging eyes in the cool, soothing dampness of her hair.

They stayed that way, suspended in a bubble of speechless intimacy until the teakettle started to squall. Erin took it off the hot plate, and Connor smoothly took over the breakfast preparations.

He was good at it, too. Shortly afterwards, they were feasting on omelets stuffed with peppers, onions, ham, and cheddar cheese. Connor kept sticking toast into her toaster, buttering and consuming it until the loaf was nearly gone. They were very quiet and subdued. Nick's call had wiped out all her goofy euphoria, but Connor's reassurances and his embrace had calmed her back down to almost normal.

Well, relatively speaking. As if she were qualified to define normal.

A key turned in the door lock. Connor sprang to his feet. A gun appeared in his hand as if it had materialized there, leveled at the door.

"Who is it?" she called, as the door swung open.

Tonia stood there, the cat carrier in her hand. She focused on Connor, saw the gun. Her dark eyes became huge. The cat carrier fell to the ground with a thud. An outraged yowl issued from it.

"Erin?" Tonia squeaked.

"It's OK, Tonia!" Erin whirled on Connor. "Put that thing away!"

He tucked the gun into the small of his back. An infuriated meow issued from the cat carrier, and Erin rushed to pick it up. "It's OK," she told the wary Tonia. "Really. It's fine. He's harmless. Come in."

"I thought you weren't getting back till this evening," Tonia said faintly. "I thought it would be better to bring back Edna and feed her here, since I have to work a double shift. I didn't mean to interrupt—"

"It's OK. You couldn't have known," Erin soothed her. "I'm so sorry Connor gave you a scare. He's kind of, ah, high-strung."

Connor looked disgusted. "High-strung?"

"That would be putting it charitably," she snapped.

"Connor?" Tonia's gaze raked him, up and down. "So this is the infamous Connor McCloud?"

His eyes were cool. "That would be me."

Tonia's sharp eyes swept over the apartment, taking in the disheveled bed, the quilt on the floor, the condoms scattered under the table. "You've been keeping things from me, you bad girl. You ended up with a bodyguard after all, didn't you? And something more besides."

Erin's face heated up. She opened the pet carrier door, and Edna bolted out and disappeared under the bed with a shriek. "I'm in for it," she said ruefully. "Emotional blackmail for a week at least."

"You've got to stop letting people make you feel guilty, honey. And you can start with your cat." Tonia stuck out her hand to Connor with a brilliant smile. "I'm Tonia Vasquez. Pleased to meet you."

He did not smile as he shook it. "Likewise."

Tonia turned to Erin. "Sorry I burst in on you, but I'm glad you're home. I was going to leave a note. Have you talked to your mom?"

"Not yet," Erin said. "I planned to run over there today. Why?"

"I tried to call you at the resort, but (hey told me that you never checked in." Her eyes flicked up to Connor's face. "Now I see why."

"Change of plans," Connor said.

"Why did you try to call me?" Erin asked. "What's going on?"

Tonia's eyes flicked to Connor, back to Erin.

"Don't worry," Erin said. "He knows what's happening. You can say anything in front of him."

"Is that so?" Tonia murmured. "Hmm. Well, the other night I was in the neighborhood and I thought I'd drop in and check on her. We've been pals ever since I helped you move, you know. I went there around eight, and the place was dark. So I pounded on the door for a while. Finally she came to the door, in her bathrobe. She was disoriented, as if she were heavily sedated. She didn't look good at all."

Erin pressed her arm against the empty, sucking feeling in her belly. "Oh, no."

"We made a pot of tea and chatted, and she kept saying she couldn't bear it anymore, seeing Eddie on the TV Eddie's your dad, right? Was she referring to the media circus during the trial?"

"No," Erin said bleakly. "I doubt that's what she meant."

"She felt faint, but she wouldn't let me take her to (he emergency room," Tonia went on. "She said she had a migraine. I ran upstairs to use the bathroom, and when I came down, I saw the photos." She paused dramatically, and shook her head.

Erin pressed her fingers against her mouth. "What about them?"

"The faces are gouged out with something sharp," Tonia said. "And then put neatly back into their frames and back on the wall. And the TV in the living room. This you will not believe. It's lying on its back with a fireplace poker sticking out of the smashed screen."

Connor's arms circled her from behind, pulling her tightly against his warmth. She clutched his forearm with icy fingers. "Oh, God."

"Yeah. It creeped me out, big time. I was going crazy when I couldn't find you, girl. She needs help."

Erin forced herself to look into Tonia's sympathetic eyes. "Thanks for checking on her. And thanks for trying to get in touch with me."

"That's what friends are for," Tonia said briskly. She held out the keys to Erin. "I have to hustle if I want to get to work on time." She smiled at Connor. "Good to meet you. Sorry if I startled you."

He gave her an unsmiling nod. "No problem."

Tonia gave Erin a peck on the cheek and fluttered her fingers in an airy farewell. "See you, chica. Go check on your mom, quick."

"Of course," Erin said.

She stared blankly at the door after Tonia shut it. Connor nuzzled the top of her head, and she swayed in the warm circle of his arms. "I shouldn't have gone on that trip," she whispered.

"Don't start," he said gently. "It never helps."

She turned, and wrapped her arms around his waist, pressing her face against his chest. His hands moved gently over her back.

"What does your friend do for a living?" he asked.

"Tonia? Oh, she's a nurse."

His hand stopped moving. "A nurse? She was wearing three-inch heels. What nurse goes off to work a double shift in three-inch heels?"

"I think she's doing administrative work these days," Erin said. "I'm not sure. I've been absorbed in my own problems lately, and Tonia is one of those women who believes that one must suffer to be beautiful."

"I could see that."

His cool tone surprised her. "You didn't like her, did you?"

"I wasn't wild about her, no," he admitted. "Did you ask her to go check on your mom?"

"No. But she does know Mom. And she knew I was worried about leaving her for my trip," she said. "Why do you ask?"

"I didn't like the way she told her story."

She was puzzled. "What about it?"

Connor looked uncomfortable. "She was enjoying herself a little too much. Some people get off on being the bearer of bad news. Drama makes them feel important." His lip curled in distaste. "Like life isn't difficult enough."

"Oh, that's just her way," Erin assured him. "She's flamboyant by nature. She doesn't mean any harm."

"Hmph. When did you meet her?"

"About a year ago. She was working at a clinic where I went to visit a friend," she said. She kept her face pressed against his shirt and hoped that he wasn't doing his mind-reading routine. She was feeling shaky enough as it was without having to explain her obsessive clinic visits to him.

"She doesn't look like a nurse," he mused.

She let out a secret sigh of relief. "And just what is a nurse supposed to look like?"

"Not like her. Can't see her emptying bedpans and checking vitals. She doesn't look like the type that would stick it out all the way through nursing school."

She pulled away from him. "That is so cold and sexist and unfair! Just because she wears spike heels? You are such a—"

"Don't." He lifted his hands in surrender, grinning. "Sorry. You're right. That was an awful thing to say. Subject change, please. Do you want to go straight over to your mom's house?"

"As soon as I feed Edna." She pulled a can of cat food out of the cupboard. "But you going with me is not the most brilliant idea."

"Erin," he said, in a warning tone. "For God's sake, don't start."

She scooped the goopy stuff into Edna's bowl and started pulling the various dropper bottles, pills, and powders out of Edna's medicine bag. "I would really rather break this to her gently. You thought Nick's reaction was bad? It'll be nothing in comparison to Mom's."

He shrugged. "I'm not going to leave you alone just because I'm afraid of your mother. I can weather a tantrum, Erin. Sometimes you've just got to sacrifice yourself for love."

Erin let at least six extra drops of liquid Vitamin B plop onto Edna's wet food before her arm unfroze.

That was the first time the word had been spoken. Thirty-six hours of sexual involvement was pretty early to start thinking about love, at least from a man's standpoint. But there it was, dressed up as a casual, throwaway remark. She was probably making too much of it. She kept her hot face turned away as she laid Edna's dishes on the floor. "We better go," she said. "I hate leaving while Cindy might call."

Connor held out his cell phone. "Here. This is yours now."

She stared at it blankly. "But—"

"Nick's call soured me on carrying this thing around. You take it. We'll leave the number for Cindy on your outgoing message. I don't like doing that, but today's a special case."

"But if people call you?"

"Nobody but my brothers and my friend Seth have the number. And Nick. But I'm going to be with you twenty-four-seven until Novak's accounted for. They can still call me on it if they want."

At that moment, her telephone rang. She snatched it up. "Yes?"

"Erin?" Cindy's voice sounded soft and uncertain.

"Cindy? Oh, thank God. I've been so worried—"

"Look, Erin, don't give me a hard time, OK?"

Connor pushed the speakerphone button, and Cindy's anxious voice filled the room, high-pitched and fuzzy and distorted by the tiny speaker. "I've got enough problems without one of your lectures."

Erin suppressed a sharp reply. She couldn't afford for Cindy to hang up in a huff. "I won't give you a hard time," she said. "I just care about you. You scared me the last time you called, that's all."

Cindy sniffed. "Sorry. Um, what's up with Mom? I called her, and the phone was disconnected. And she's been so weird lately. Like, what is up with that?"

"I don't know yet," Erin said. "I'm trying to figure that out myself, and I could really use your help."

"Um, yeah. I guess. Look. Don't tell Mom about me and Billy and me being in the city, OK? She might wig out even more, you know?"

Connor shoved a piece of paper in front of her face with ADDRESS? scribbled on it.

"Where are you, Cin?" she asked.

"Um… I'm not really sure. I've never been here before last night. It's a big, fancy house with nice furniture and stuff, but all I can see outside the window are bushes. I don't know what neighborhood I'm in."

"You didn't notice when you arrived?"

"I was kind of out of it when we got here last night," Cindy admitted.

Erin struggled to stay calm. "Well, how about you look around for a magazine, or a piece of mail that might have an address on it?"

"I'm in the bedroom now. Billy's downstairs with Tasha. He'd be mad if he knew I was calling you."

Panic fluttered. "What's going on, Cindy? Are you scared of him?"

Cindy hesitated. "Um, I don't know," she said in a tiny voice. "It's weird. He's… he's different today."

"Different how?"

"Oh, I don't know. Cold, like he's impatient with me. He wasn't like that before. He made me feel stupid, because I didn't want to go out on another job tonight. He says I'm being a baby, and I guess I kind of am, but… I don't know. It's just so different today."

Erin's knees gave out like Jell-O. She slid down against the wall, her bottom connecting with the floor with a painful thump. "What job?"

Connor sank down into a crouch in front of her, listening intently. He laid his warm hand on her knee.

"Promise me you won't flip, because I swear it's no big deal, OK?"

Erin tried to swallow, but her throat was dry. "I promise."

"Well, I've been, urn, dancing. Like exotic dancing, but not really, because I—"

"Oh, God, Cin."

"You promised, Erin. I only stripped to my thong. And it was for private parties, not at a club, and Billy's always with me, so I never—"

"Parties? Plural?"

"Yeah. We did three bachelor parties, me and another girl. We made six hundred dollars apiece. It's like, incredible money, and Billy said it was OK if I kept on my thong, since Tasha doesn't mind dancing totally nude, so… urn, and Billy said he'll beat the shit out of anyone who touches us, so it's really no big deal. You know?"

Erin's voice had tightened to a squeaky thread. "Sweetie. Just tell me. Are you OK?"

Cindy paused. "I don't know," she whispered. "It's weird. Yesterday I was fine. Maybe I was just drunk. We did shots of Southern Comfort with Billy first, and it really loosened me up. I felt great when I was dancing, like a total goddess. I felt like the whole world loved me. But today… I have this monster headache, and it's all so different. Billy's different, I'm different. It's wild."

"And can't you just say you want to go home?" Erin demanded. "Just walk out the door?"

"I did," Cindy admitted. "I tried. But Billy said it was too late. He's already got the gigs lined up and he says I can't be a prima donna bitch baby and bail out on him now, because he's, like, a professional, so I have to be, too, and…" Cindy's voice degenerated into tears.

"Cin," Erin said desperately. "You've got to find out the address so I can come and get you."

"Wait. Oh, God. That's Billy on the stairs. I gotta go."

The connection broke. Cindy was gone.

Erin looked up at Connor, wild-eyed. "What is going on? I don't know what fire to put out first! What am I supposed to do?"

Connor's eyes were grim. He held out his hand. "Give me back that cell phone. Let's see what Sean's got for us."

He dialed. "Hey. So?" He listened intently for a moment. "Yeah. We just got a call from her. It's a bad scene. She's in a house she's never seen, doesn't know the address, and Fuckhead won't let her leave." He listened for a moment. "OK, fine. Jacey's Diner. We'll be there in twenty minutes."

Chapter Sixteen

Connor surveyed the poorly lit, dirty stairwell with growing dislike. The place wasn't good enough for Erin. She wasn't safe here.

She'd be better off in his house.

The idea appeared fully formed in his mind, and stole his breath. He'd been living purely in the moment This was the first time he'd dared, even for a moment, to project this thing he had with her into the future. He pushed open the front door, sweeping the block with suspicious eyes and taking note of everyone and everything he saw.

He made a mental note to call Seth and do something about her security. Or rather, her complete lack thereof. She might as well pitch a tent in a parking lot.

Erin fell into step beside him on the sidewalk, and he shortened his stride to match hers. There were haunted shadows under her eyes. He wanted to do something flashy and impressive to chase away those shadows. Slay a dragon, fight a duel, whatever it took.

He took hold of her hand. She glanced up, and her slender, chilly fingers curled trustingly around his. Her shy smile flashed out, like a flash of rainbow-split light from a crystal hung in a sunny window. Wham, all the colors that existed, in one bright, blinding rush.

And she was his lover now. His groin tightened at the thought.

"What is Sean doing at Jacey's?" she asked him. "That place is a health hazard."

"Stoking up on evil coffee and jelly doughnuts," Connor replied. "Sean has theories on how different types of coffee are appropriate for different activities. Hunting pimp assholes calls for gritty, hard-core Jacey's Diner coffee, something that's been sitting on the burner all night long. Starbucks is for nibbling a hazelnut scone, sipping a mocha latte, flirting with cute girls. It's the wrong vibe for serious business. Sean's kind of hyper, so coffee is his natural drug of choice."

He was rewarded for his nonsense by another smile, and it fired him up, made him famished for more of them.

"Speaking of drugs of choice." She shot him a curious glance. "You haven't touched your cigarettes in a long time."

He shrugged. "I must've been distracted by all the other mind-altering substances that my glands have been pumping into my bloodstream lately. You do a number on my endocrine system, baby."

She laughed. "How romantic. Have you smoked for a long time?"

His mouth opened up, and the words fell out. "Want me to quit?" He was making a lovesick ass of himself, but that was just too bad. He was hardwired for the grand romantic gesture.

Her eyes went wide with alarm. "Good Lord," she murmured. "Are you sure you want to?"

He fished the tobacco and the papers out of his coat pocket and held them over a Dumpster on the corner. "Say the word," he said. "I know I should quit. Everybody who smokes knows they should quit. I just never particularly cared before. Give me a good reason."

It was worth it ten times over, just for that fleeting moment that her face lost the haunted look and cute little dents appeared at the corners of her mouth. "OK," she said. "Quit, Connor."

He let go. The bag thudded into the Dumpster. "Quitting will be a piece of cake with you around," he told her. "I might have some nicotine fits, but I know exactly what to do about my oral fixation."

She giggled, and her fingers tightened around his.

"I have to call Seth today, after we take care of our other business," he said. "I want him to come check out your locks."

"Connor, you know that I can't afford to—"

"Even under normal circumstances, that place would be unsafe for you, Erin. And I'm going to have a talk with your landlord about the front door lock. Does he live in the building?"

"Are you kidding?" She looked worried. "Please, don't. I spent the whole month of January with no hot water because I had the bad judgment to complain about the bugs."

He scowled. "You should move out of that dump."

"To where? I can't afford anything better right now, and besides—"

"Move in with me," he said.

Her eyes went huge and scared. His heart sank like a stone.

He'd fucked up, evidently, but now he had to follow through to the grim finish. "It's a nice place," he said, trying to sound casual. "It's paid for. Two spare bedrooms. One can be your office. For your business."

Her mouth made an "oh" shape, but no sound came out.

He plodded grimly on. "I remodeled the kitchen a few years back. There's a yard for your cat. It's a quiet block. And I'm a pretty good cook. Ask Sean about my chili."

Yeah. Plenty of room in my king-sized bed every night. Underneath me, on top of me, all over me. That long hair spread out over my pillows.

They had arrived at the car. Connor unlocked her door. She got in and gazed up, her mouth forming and discarding words. "Uh… Connor? We've only been lovers for two days."

"I know what I like," he said.

She caught her soft lower lip between her teeth. "Maybe you should slow down," she said earnestly. "Before you make any more big pronouncements and sweeping gestures. It's incredibly sweet of you to offer, but it's just… it's… maybe you should think about it."

He gestured at the shapely ankle that still dangled outside the door. She pulled it inside. "I've been thinking about it for ten years," he said. He slammed her door shut by way of punctuation.

He was ashamed of himself by the time he got into the car. She stared into her lap as he started up the engine, her face hidden by the dark, thick fall of hair. "I'm sorry," he said. "I won't pressure you."

"OK. Thanks."

Hell. What technique. He might just as well have proposed marriage on the spot. He'd already invited her to have his baby. What was the perfect way to distract a woman from her personal problems?

Pile some brand new ones on top of them.

Erin was struck mute for the rest of the drive.

Connor pulled into the Jacey's Diner lot. He didn't take her hand as they walked toward the entrance. Her hand felt chilly and abandoned, swinging there on its own.

An astonishingly handsome young man with dark blond hair and a black leather jacket burst out of the diner. Erin took one look at his lean face and wide-set, tilted green eyes, the same glacial lake shade as Connor's, and knew he had to be Sean McCloud.

Sean's jaw sagged. "Holy shit. Look at you." A delighted grin spread over his face as he circled his brother. He poked Connor's chest, palpated his shoulder, slapped his butt. "Only two days, and look at you! You've gained weight, you've got color. You've even shaved." He lifted a lock of Connor's hair. "And your hair doesn't look like it was chewed off by mice anymore." He sniffed the lock of hair. "Jesus. You're even perfumed. With girly stuff. Will wonders never cease."

He turned around and gave Erin an appraising look, which she returned without flinching. She'd been in training for two days with Connor. She knew how to stand up to intense male scrutiny by now.

Sean nodded, as if satisfied. "So you're Erin. The princess in the enchanted tower."

"Sean," Connor growled. "Don't."

"Don't what?" Sean stuck out his hand to her. "You see that shirt he's wearing?" he asked her. "I got him that shirt."

She shook his hand. "You, uh, have excellent taste," she offered.

"Yes, I know," Sean replied. "Lucky for him, or he'd be wearing nothing but thrift-store rejects. I love him, but he's a fashion disaster."

A big, black Ford pickup pulled up in front of them. A man got out who could only be the third McCloud brother; he was just as tall, but bigger and broader, thickly muscled beneath his fleece sweatshirt and jeans. His hair was close-cropped, his face craggy and hard, but he had the same strange, penetrating eyes as his two brothers.

He didn't say a word, just stared at Connor for a long moment. A huge grin cracked his face. "Hey, Con. Lookin' good."

"Hi, Davy," Connor said. "I didn't know you were in on this party."

"Didn't want to miss the fun." Davy turned his penetrating stare onto Erin. "So you're her, then."

"I'm who?" she asked cautiously.

Davy smiled and held out his hand. "You're good for him," he said calmly. "I like this. This works. Stick around."

"She doesn't have any choice," Connor said. "She's stuck with me until Novak's back in custody."

"And that's just how you like it, ain't it?" Sean turned his grin back upon Erin. "You know what? I could tell you stories about this pigheaded son of a bitch that would make your hair stand on end."

"But you won't," Connor broke in. "Because we've got other things to talk about today. Like Cindy."

"There'll be other opportunities." Sean gave him an evil grin. "Now that you have a girlfriend, you're going to be so self-conscious. Baiting you will be ten times the fun."

She giggled, in spite of Connor's scowl. "I can hardly wait. I would love to hear stories about Connor."

"But not today, thank God," Connor said sourly. "You're more manic than usual today, Sean, and that's really saying something."

"Give me a break. I just pulled an all-nighter in the stews of Seattle," Sean said. "I'm flying on caffeine and nerves."

"Did you meet anybody who knows Billy Vega?" Davy demanded.

"Oh, I did better than that," Sean said. "I met Miles." He knocked on the passenger door of a mud-spattered silver Jeep Cherokee. "Yo, Miles," he called. "Stop being a dweeb. Get out here and be sociable."

The Jeep door opened. A long, lanky figure slithered out and unfolded itself. Even hunched over like a vulture he was impossibly tall, thin and pallid, with long, snarled black hair and round glasses perched on his hooked nose. He was dressed in a dusty black Goth frock coat.

He lifted his shoulders, let them drop back down. "Hey."

Sean winked at Erin. "Miles doesn't get out much. He's been hiding in the basement for a little too long, but he's a great guy. Miles, let me introduce you to my brother Davy, my brother Connor, and his girlfriend, Erin. Who also happens to be Cindy's big sister."

Miles's dark eyes lit up. "Really? Cool. You're, like, almost as hot as Cindy." He realized what he'd just said, and his eyes froze open behind the magnifying lenses of his glasses. "Uh, that is, I didn't mean—"

"Thank you, Miles," she said gently. She held out her hand. "How sweet of you to say so."

He blinked rapidly as he shook it, as if unused to the light of day. Erin looked up at the three brothers. Meaningful glances and telepathic messages whizzed over her head. She turned back to Miles, who looked at least as bewildered as she felt. "Would somebody please explain to me what you gentlemen have been up to?"

"Let's get a booth," Sean said. "I was just in there, doing recon. It's perfect. There's a pissed-off waitress with big hair, and a tray full of surreal jelly doughnuts. And the coffee is a sure thing. Instant ulcer."

Erin looked around in trepidation as they filed in. "I should've brought my own cup," she murmured, sliding into the booth.

"Nah," Sean scoffed. "Get into it. The risk of food poisoning is part of the thrill."

Connor slid into the booth next to her, draping a possessive arm over her shoulders. The waitress flung menus onto the table, sloshed coffee into their cups, and flounced away without a backward glance.

"Excuse me, miss?" Sean called after her. "Doughnuts for everyone, please."

The waitress scowled back over her shoulder. Sean dimpled at her. She stopped, turned, did a double take, and smiled back at him.

"OK," Connor said. "So let's have it. What did you find out?"

"Well, I investigated the babe lair, and Lord, is that house ever pulsing with feminine pulchritude," Sean said. "They didn't have much hard info for me, but the blonde with the red thong undies suggested—"

"How did you know she had red thong undies?" Erin demanded.

Sean fluttered his lashes innocently over the rim of his cup. "Because she was wearing skin-tight white palazzo pants," he explained. "As I was saying, she suggested that I talk to the Vicious Rumors, Cindy's R&B band. She even tracked down their phone numbers for me, that sweet, helpful curry-haired cutie. What's her name again, Miles?"

"Victoria."

"Victoria. Yeah. Yum. Then there was the redhead with the eyebrow ring and the see-through black blouse. She was the one who—"

"See-through blouse? She came to the door in a see-through blouse, at Endicott Falls Christian College?" Erin was scandalized.

"Oh, she wasn't wearing the blouse when I arrived," Sean hastened to assure her. "She went upstairs and changed into it after I got there. Nice bra, too. I know it well. Victoria's Secret, spring collection. Black satin push-up demi bra. A good choice for the blouse."

Connor sighed. "You animal."

"Ignore him," Davy advised her. "He's just trying to impress you."

But Erin was already stifling helpless giggles, with both hands over her mouth. "Oh, God. I sent a wolf to a house full of lambs."

Sean snorted. "Lambs, my ass. Foxes is more like it. Don't worry, they're too young for me, but that's no reason not to ogle their underwear, now is it? But I stray from the point—"

"I'll say," Connor said.

"See-through blouse—what was her name?" Sean turned to Miles, snapping his fingers.

"Caitlin," Miles supplied.

"Caitlin, yeah. She told me about Miles, and the Rumors lead guitarist found his parents' address for me. And when I breached the basement fortress and saw Miles's screen saver, I knew he was my man."

"What screen saver?" Erin asked.

"A four-second video clip of Cindy, blowing a kiss. Over and over," Sean said. "It took my breath away."

Miles hunched down between his hulking shoulders. "Jeez. Don't tell people that stuff," he mumbled. "It's private."

"You tell him, Miles," Connor said.

Davy grunted. "He never listens, though, so what's the point?"

"Hey, we're all in this together," Sean protested. "Besides, my brother's not as high-tech as you, Miles, but he knows all about wanting an unattainable girl—"

"Shut up, Sean," Connor said wearily. "You're pissing me off today. I know you're fried, but one more crack like that—"

"OK. I'll focus. Chill out, Con," Sean soothed. "In any case, Miles was my big break. When we find your sister, she owes him a debt of passionate gratitude. You can tell her that I said so."

"I'll think about it," Erin said demurely. "Go on, please."

"Miles is the sound man for the Vicious Rumors, and Cindy's faithful admirer. You ever want to know what's going on with a girl? Ask a jealous man," Sean said. "Miles even provided me with the license number of the infamous Jag, which I passed promptly on to Davy."

Connor and Erin both turned to Davy. "And?"

"The car belongs to a guy named William Vaughn," Davy said. "A thieving, pimping dickhead with a rap sheet this long, which you may peruse"—he passed them a manila folder—"at your leisure. I checked out all the addresses I could find, but they're out of date. One of his ex-landladies told me she hasn't seen him in two years, and she hopes to God she never sees him again, even though he owes her money."

"I knew he was scum. From the start I knew it. I slashed the fucker's tires once." Miles's eyes flashed with vindictive heat. He hesitated, and shot a nervous look at Erin. "Uh, shit. Sorry."

"It's OK, Miles," she told him. "I'm glad you slashed his tires."

He hung his head bashfully and started ripping his napkin to shreds.

"Are you in Cindy's class?" she asked him.

"No, I graduated last year," Miles said. "Electronic engineering. I've just been hanging around to do sound for the Rumors, and…"

"And Cindy," Sean said.

Miles stared morosely into his coffee. There was an awkward silence, broken by the waitress, who eyed Sean hungrily as she flung a plate full of lurid-looking pastries into the middle of the table.

Sean seized a jelly doughnut, saluted the waitress with it, and took a huge bite. "Miles insisted on coming along, once I told him my strategy. He's got that hero mentality, just like you, Con."

Connor looked up from leafing through the rap sheet, smiled thinly, and jerked his chin for Sean to continue.

"So we took off on an all-night odyssey of squalid road-house dives, fueled by Miles's trusty flask of super-caffeinated Jolt Cola. We finally hit pay dirt when we got to the Rock Bottom Roadhouse, where we met LuAnn. Ah, the beautiful, strawberry blonde LuAnn."

"She's not as hot as Cindy," Miles said.

"Do we want to hear this, Sean?" Connor asked.

"Trust me, there's a thru-line. Turns out that LuAnn the barmaid knows Billy Vega by reputation. She used to dance in a club near Lynnwood. She told us that Billy comes across as a big-shot agent, but she knows girls who were recruited by him who spit on the ground at the mention of his name. So Miles and I abandoned the roadhouses and ventured out bravely into the wild world of the Seattle titty bars."

Erin covered her face with her hands. "Oh, God."

"Watch it, Sean," Connor said. "This is not for your entertainment."

Sean's smile faded. "I never thought that it was." He reached out and tapped Erin's wrist gently with his finger. "Hey. Sorry. I'm kind of wired right now, but I promise, I'm taking this thing dead serious. No matter what bullshit comes out of my mouth. OK?"

"Thanks." She gave him a wan smile. "I appreciate your help."

Connor grabbed a maple bar, eyed it with deep suspicion, and took a bite. "So that's why you've got that wild glitter in your eye," he said. "You always bounce off the walls when you're short on sleep."

"Sleep? How are we supposed to sleep if that scum-sucking piece of shit is with Cindy?" Miles asked the table at large. "I haven't slept in a month."

Sean slapped him on the back. Miles sputtered his coffee over the table. "Attaboy, Miles. You would not believe this man's concentration. We went to seven clubs full of naked dancing girls, and he might as well have been cruising the Christian Science Reading Room."

"They weren't as cute as Cindy," Miles repeated.

Sean shook his head. "He's a human laser beam," he said. "It's not normal. But anyhow, Miles and I cruised and schmoozed, nursed a few beers, and ingratiated ourselves with some of the young ladies present. Evidently Billy Vega is pretty well-known and generally disliked by the dancers. I passed my card around and let it be known that I was really, really interested in finding Billy Vega, and I would be glad to pass a real generous tip to anybody kind enough to find me a current address for him, or give me a call if he should show up in the club. Which reminds me. I have to make a trip to the bank machine. The slush fund's been blown on gasoline and beer."

"I'll cover it," Erin and Miles said in unison.

They looked at each other and smiled. It occurred to her that Miles might actually have the potential to be attractive, in a wan, offbeat, undernourished sort of way. There was something sweet and unguarded about his face when he smiled. Like a vulnerable vampire.

"We'll work those details out later," Connor said.

"So what next?" Erin asked.

Sean ran his fingers through his spiky hair, and for an instant she saw a flash of weariness on his face. "Miles and I might drop by my condo, freshen up. I could use a shower. I hate stinking of smoke. This isn't the best hour to cruise girlie bars anyhow, so we should take advantage of the lull. Then we'll just head straight back into the fray."

"I want to keep looking," Miles announced.

"You could use a shower, too, buddy," Sean informed him. "You don't want your hair to look like that when we find Cindy."

Miles lifted a hand to his snarled, stringy dark mane. "What's wrong with my hair?"

Sean buried his face in his hands. "Why is it my karma to be the frustrated image guru for losers like you guys? Why don't you all just go buy a Men's Health magazine and learn how to groom yourselves?"

"I've got to get back to the gym," Davy said. "I've got to teach a karate and a kung fu class, and something tells me I'm going to be teaching your kickboxing class tonight, Sean. Again."

"Hey, that's what you get for being a responsible businessman and pillar of the community," Sean said. "You poor bastard."

"You're going to make up every class you miss," Davy warned. "I'll make you teach Tai Chi on Sunday mornings if you don't watch it."

Sean shuddered with distaste. "I hate Tai Chi. Too damn slow."

"It's good for you," Davy said. "It makes you concentrate."

"I concentrate just fine, in my own way," Sean snapped.

Connor signaled for the check. "We have to get going. Let me know if you get any calls from your dancing girls."

"Call me, too," Davy said. "I hate missing the fun."

"Where are you two heading?" Sean asked.

"Erin's mom's house," Connor said.

That announcement elicited a shocked, wide-eyed silence from both brothers. Davy's eyebrows climbed. "Whoa. That's quick work."

Sean whistled softly. "That's, uh, really brave of you, bro."

Connor gave them a fatalistic shrug. "Why waste time?"

Sean and Davy exchanged glances, and Sean stared down into his coffee, grinning. "That's what I love about you, Con," he said. "You're a human laser beam, too."

The waitress tossed the check on the table. Connor pulled a bill out of his wallet to cover it. "Let's get going."

Erin smiled at Sean, Davy, and Miles as they said goodbye in the parking lot. "I feel so much better now that you guys are helping," she told them. "Thank you. It makes all the difference in the world."

Davy grunted and looked away. Miles blushed and kicked the Jeep's muddy tires. Even Sean was at a total loss for a smart comeback for several seconds. "It's, uh, our pleasure, Erin," Sean said finally. "C'mon, Miles. Let's hit the road. Good luck with the mom, Con."

"Yeah. Watch yourself," Davy added.

The two cars pulled out and drove away. Connor laced his fingers through Erin's and tipped up her chin. Erin lifted her face for his kiss.

"So," he said. "The complete set of McCloud brothers for you."

"I like them," she said. "I like Miles, too. And I really like it that three smart people who give a damn are out there helping look for my little sister. Thank you for making that happen, Connor."

"Save the thanks for when we find her," he said brusquely.

"No." She kissed him again. "I'll thank you right now, no matter what happens. For being so sweet For caring so much."

His arms tightened. "For God's sake, Erin. Don't get me all worked up in a public parking lot. It's embarrassing."

She smiled up through her eyelashes. "Does it excite you to be thanked, Connor?"

"Yeah." His voice was belligerent. "By you, it does. So sue me."

"Must go along with that hero mentality your brother was talking about," she murmured. "I'll remember. For future reference."

"Let's go. I don't like displaying my hard-on to the whole world."

The closer they got to her mother's house, the heavier Connor's silence became. "Are you nervous?" she asked.

He shot her an are-you-kidding look, turned the corner, and parked on her mother's block. They sat for a long, silent moment, and Connor let out a sharp sigh and shoved his door open. "Let's do it."

She got out of the car, marched up to him, and wrapped her arms around his waist. "Connor?"

"Yeah?" He sounded apprehensive.

"Just a detail I'd like to straighten up, before we go any further."

"Let's hear it."

"Your two brothers? They're both very good-looking. I might even go so far as to say extremely good-looking. But they are not more good-looking than you."

A radiant grin chased the tension out of his face, and he leaned his forehead gently against hers. "You're my girlfriend now," he said. "You have to say that kind of stuff. It's part of your job description."

"Oh, bullshit," she said. "You're such a—"

He cut her off with a kiss, pulling her close. She wound her arms around his neck and clung to him, wishing they were a million miles away from all her problems and worries, someplace where she could just wrap herself around his generous heat and strength and power, and soak it up like tropical sunshine. His lips moved over hers, sweet and coaxing and seductive, weakening her knees, making her—

"Erin? Honey? Is that you?"

They jerked apart with a gasp.

Barbara Riggs was standing on the porch in her bathrobe, squinting at them. "Who's that with you?" She fumbled in the pocket of her bathrobe, pulled out her glasses, and put them on.

"It's me, Mrs. Riggs." Connor's voice was flat and resigned. "Connor McCloud."

"You?" She gaped. "What are you doing with my daughter?"

Connor sighed. "I was kissing her, ma'am."

Barbara picked her way down the leaf-strewn steps in her slippers, her gaze horrified. "Honey? What is the meaning of this?"

Chapter Seventeen

Connor braced himself to be martyred. His doom was averted when the next-door neighbor's front door popped open and a chubby gray-haired lady came out onto her porch. Her eyes were bright with curiosity. "Hi, Erin!" she called. "Well, well! Who's your young man?"

"Hi, Marlene," Erin said. "Um… Mom? Could we have this conversation inside the house?"

Barbara Riggs glanced up at her neighbor. "That might be best," she said icily. "Under the circumstances." She marched toward the house, head high, back straight, just like Erin when she was royally pissed. He followed. His doom was not averted. Just delayed.

He followed Erin's glance into the living room, saw it flinch away. Sure enough, the gutted TV lay there on its back like a dead bug in the gloom. A poker stuck out of its belly, just as Tonia had said. Ouch.

Barbara turned on the kitchen light and folded her arms over her chest. Her mouth was a flat, bloodless line of fury. Even as disheveled and haggard as she was, he could see where Erin's regal air came from.

"Well?" The single word was like a bolt from a crossbow.

He was terribly afraid that that was his cue, but he had no idea what to say. Everything felt like the wrong thing. He was on the verge of just opening his mouth and letting whatever happened to be lying there on top fall out of it, but Erin beat him to the punch.

"We're together, Mom," she said quietly. "He's my lover now."

A blotchy flush mottled the older woman's face. She let out a sharp, high-pitched sound. Her hand flashed out, toward Erin's face.

He caught the slap and held it suspended in midair. Her trembling wrist felt clammy and cold in his grip. "You don't want to do that, Mrs. Riggs," he said. "You can't take it back. And it's not worth it."

"Don't you dare preach to me. Let go of me."

"No hitting," he said.

Her chin jerked up. He decided to take that for an assent and let go. She snatched her hand back. Her eyes were glassy and feverish.

"You've been watching her since she was practically a child," she spat. "Waiting for your chance. I saw it in your face, so don't bother to deny it. And now that Ed's out of the way, you think the coast is clear."

Things couldn't get any worse, so there was no reason not to be brutally honest. "I would have gone after her anyway," he admitted. "That whole bad business was just a delay."

The flush burned purplish spots into her pallid face. "Just a delay? You call the ruin of my entire life just a delay? You have the nerve to come into my house and say that to me, after what you did?"

"I did my job, ma'am. I did my duty," he said, with steely calm. "Which is more than I can say for your husband."

"Get out of my house." Her voice vibrated with fury.

"No, Mom," Erin said. "You can't throw him out without throwing me out, too. And you can't throw me out, because I won't let you."

Barbara's lips trembled with hurt and confusion. "What has come over you, honey? Are you punishing me for something?"

Erin grabbed her and hugged her tightly. "No. This is for me, Mom. Just me. For the first time, I am thinking only of myself, and you are going to have to swallow it. Because I've never called in a favor from you in my whole life."

"But you've always been such a good girl," Barbara whispered.

"Too good," Erin said. "I never misbehaved, I never made you wait up all night, I never put a foot wrong. I'm calling in all those points now, Mom. Remember those good behavior charts you made for us when we were kids? All those gold stars I got? This is my prize. And I picked it out all by myself."

Barbara's face convulsed. Her arms hung like sticks at her side in Erin's embrace. Slowly, they circled around her daughter's body.

Her eyes flicked up to Connor. He stoically endured it. It was no different than the way the respectable matrons of Endicott Falls had looked at him and his brothers in the old days whenever they came into town. A look that said, Quick, lock up your daughters, here come Crazy Eamon's wild boys. He'd gotten used to it. A person could get used to anything.

"Some prize," she said coldly. "Just how long have you been carrying on with my daughter behind my back?"

Connor thought about it, consulted his watch, and decided that those incendiary, mind-blowing kisses in the airport definitely counted. "Uh, forty-six hours and twenty-five minutes, ma'am."

Barbara closed her eyes and shook her head. "Dear God. Erin. Why didn't you tell me you were taking this man with you to the coast?"

"I didn't know at the time, Mom," she said gently. "It was a surprise. He came along to guard me, and this just… happened."

"Guard you?" Her eyes sharpened. "From what?"

Connor stared at Erin in disbelief. "You mean you didn't tell her? No wonder she thinks I'm the Antichrist."

"Tell me what?" Barbara's voice rose steadily in pitch. "What in God's name is going on here?"

"You better sit down," he told her. "We've got stuff to talk about."

"I'll make a pot of tea," Erin said.

The only good thing about heaping shocking revelations onto Barbara Riggs was that it diverted some of her horror and distress from his own miserable self. Two pots of tea later, after endless hashing over the details of Novak and Luksch's escape and Cindy's involvement with Billy Vega, Barbara's face was still pale but the glazed look was gone from her eyes.

"I remember her calling last week sometime," she said. "I'd just taken a Vicodin, and I barely remember what she said. But it certainly wasn't anything about exotic dancing, or being held against her will by a horrible man. God, my poor baby."

"Mom, do you remember Tonia's visit?" Erin asked.

Barbara frowned. "Vaguely. Your nurse friend, the pretty dark-haired girl, right? Yes, she did come by recently. That girl talks very loudly. And she should've noticed that it was a bad time."

"She told me about the TV" Erin said. "And the photos."

Barbara flinched at the mention of the TV Then she paused, and looked at Erin with blank puzzlement. "What photos, hon?"

"You don't remember?"

Barbara's brow knitted. "I remember having"—her eyes flicked to Connor's and quickly away—"a bad moment with the downstairs TV But that's all."

Erin got up and left the kitchen. Barbara and Connor stared at each other over the kitchen table as they listened to her light footsteps creaking on the stairs.

"My life is falling apart," she said, in a conversational tone.

"I know exactly how that feels," he said.

"You are the very last person I would have wanted to witness it."

He shrugged. "Don't know what to tell you, ma'am."

"Don't you 'ma'am' me." Her voice was frosty.

He wanted very badly to say that it wasn't his fault, but that was debatable from several different points of view, so he kept his big mouth shut for once. Erin came back into the kitchen and spread out a bunch of photographs on the table. Connor leaned over and took a look.

Baby pictures, family shots, graduation portraits. All with the eyes and mouths gouged out.

Barbara lifted her hand to her mouth. She leaped to her feet and scrambled for the door that led off the kitchen. He glimpsed a utility sink, the corner of a washing machine, and heard a toilet lid flip up. Retching sounds came from the room. Erin moved to follow her, but Connor held up his hand.

"Give her a minute," he said quietly.

The toilet flushed. Water ran in the sink. Barbara Riggs appeared in the doorway a few minutes later, dabbing at her face with a hand towel. "Not me," she said. Her eyes darted wildly between Connor and Erin. "I did not do that. There are no circumstances under which I would deface a picture of my own children. I don't know what is going on here, but it was not me. I swear it."

Erin picked up a photograph of herself in elementary school, holding the toddler Cindy on her lap. Her hands were trembling. "Well, Mom. If you aren't doing it, someone else is. Any ideas?"

Seconds ticked by, stretched into minutes of awful silence. Barbara Riggs covered her mouth with the towel and shook her head.

Erin shoved her chair back. "I organized our negatives by year in the filing cabinet upstairs," she said. "I'm getting the negatives of these photos, and we'll get reprints made today. Every damn one of them."

"That's not going to solve our problem," Connor said.

"I don't care. It's something to do, and I'll make me feel better. Excuse me, please. I'll be right back."

And she left him all alone with her mother. Again. Dear God, what had he done to deserve this? It was like being roasted on a spit.

They eyed each other like boxers circling in the ring. "You've, uh, noticed no signs of forced entry?" he asked her.

She shook her head.

"And the alarm works? You always set it? You test it regularly?"

She nodded. "Of course. I always check the locks and set the alarm. Religiously. Sometimes I check them over and over."

"Who else knows the code?"

"My daughters and myself," Barbara said. "I had the codes changed after Eddie… left. And the locks, as well."

"Hmm."

"You must think I'm crazy." she said.

It was a statement, not a question, but he took it at face value and slipped into net-and-fish mode to consider it. He cast out the net and threw everything that was happening to the whole family into it.

Barbara's face swam in his gaze while he tried to feel the shape of the ugly pattern that was forming. There was something shifty and corrupt, but the source of it was not the woman sitting across the table from him. The words came out with total conviction. "No, I don't."

She looked almost offended. "Pardon?"

"I don't think you're crazy" he said.

There was a flash in her eyes, almost like hope. Her throat bobbed several times. "You don't?" she asked warily.

"No," he said. "I've dealt with crazy people before. I don't get that feeling from you. You strike me as stressed out, depressed, and afraid. At the end of your rope, maybe. But not crazy."

"Not yet, anyway," she said.

His mouth twitched. "Not yet," he agreed. "But if you're not, that means that somebody with a lot of resources is messing with you."

She pressed her hand against her mouth. "Novak?"

"He's my first choice," Connor said.

"But he was incarcerated until just a few days ago!"

"He's still my first choice. He has an obscene amount of money, a very long reach, a grudge against your husband. And he's crazy. This thing stinks of crazy."

"So somebody is trying to make me think that I'm insane?"

He shook his head. "No. I think somebody is trying to drive you genuinely insane. Like the porno video trick. That could be rigged, and controlled from the outside. It's crazy and improbable, but it's possible."

Her mouth tightened. "So Erin told you about that?"

"I'm not a techie, so I can't take apart your TV and tell you what they did to it," he went on. "But my friend Seth is an expert. I'll have him take a look, if you like."

"But it sounds so bizarre. Like aliens from outer space, or who killed JFK. Like a big… paranoid conspiracy theory."

"Yeah," he said. "I think that's the whole point."

She hesitated, eyes narrowed. "You must be paranoid yourself to even entertain these notions."

It sounded like an accusation.

He shoved down his anger and thought about the nightmare phone call in the hotel. Georg appearing out of nowhere in the phantom SUV The coma. Jesse's death. Ed's betrayal.

"I was a cop, Mrs. Riggs. And you know exactly how that turned out for me," he said. "Can you blame me for being paranoid?"

She looked down into her teacup.

"You've got to trust your senses, and your instincts," he said, but he knew he was trying to convince himself as much as her. "They're all you've got. If you can't rely on them, then you're lost in the void."

Barbara's shoulders sagged. She nodded. "Yes, exactly. That's where I've been for the last few weeks," she said. "Lost in the void."

"Welcome back to the real world, Mrs. Riggs," he said.

She blinked, as if she had just woken up. "Ah… thank you."

The atmosphere was measurably less hostile than before, but he pushed on at the risk of ruining it. "How long ago was the first porno video joke played on you?"

She pursed her lips and thought. "A little over two months ago. Maybe two and a half, because at first I thought I was dreaming."

"Which would have been about the same time that Cindy started hanging out with this Billy Vega, according to her band members."

Barbara gulped. "You mean, you think it's all connected?"

He gave her a brief, tight smile. "You know us conspiracy theorists. We think everything's connected."

"You think Novak could have assigned this Billy to control Cindy, like he assigned Georg to Erin at Crystal Mountain?"

"Maybe. Although Billy Vega's rap sheet is nothing like Georg's. He's just a small-time thief, pimp, and con artist. Not a seasoned killer."

Barbara shuddered. "So… shouldn't we call the police?"

He thought about his latest conversation with Nick. "You know how it is with cops. They don't have the time or manpower to get worked up about things that might or could happen. They're too busy dealing with things that are happening or have already happened. Cindy's not a minor. Billy Vega hasn't done anything wrong yet that we know of, other than be an asshole. As far as the cops are concerned, we're talking about a girl having trouble with a no-good boyfriend."

Erin's light footsteps sounded over their heads as she bustled around, trying to tidy up chaos and madness, trying to make sense of a brutal nightmare. It pissed him off, to see her jerked around like that.

In fact, the whole thing was making him fucking furious.

"There's a down side to not being crazy, you know." His voice came out harder than he'd planned.

She looked puzzled. "What are you talking about?"

"If you're not crazy, then you've got no excuse for lying around in your bathrobe eating Vicodin and letting your daughter do everything for you."

She shot to her feet. Her chair pitched over and crashed to the floor. "How dare you speak to me like that?"

What the hell. Ingratiating himself with this woman was a lost cause anyway. It needed to be said, and nobody else was around to say it. He met her outraged eyes straight on, and let his statement stand.

"Mom? What's the matter? What's going on?"

Barbara's eyes shifted to Erin, who stood in the doorway clutching a manila folder. "Nothing, honey. I'm fine," she said crisply. "Excuse me for a moment. I'm going to run upstairs and get dressed."

She stalked out of the kitchen, head high. Erin stared after her, bewildered. "What happened? What did you say to her?"

Connor shrugged. "Nothing in particular. I guess some problems are just too scary to deal with in your bathrobe, that's all."

He paid through the nose for his snotty remark, all afternoon long. Barbara Riggs turned him into her combined slave, gofer, and whipping boy, and before he knew what hit him, he was taking out her garbage, fixing the drip in her upstairs bathroom, chauffeuring them to the phone center to get the phone turned back on. Then it was the grocery store, the photo shop, and the antique place, where he strained a muscle in his bum leg hauling that goddamn grandfather clock. But he didn't complain. It was all part of his martyrdom.

Back at the house, they argued about the dead TV She wanted him to haul it away to the trash, and he wanted to leave it for Seth to dismantle. He won that dispute, but was forced to carry the damn thing out onto the back porch so she wouldn't have to look at it. Worst of all, she forced him to call Sean at ridiculously frequent intervals to check on his progress. Which meant that his wiseass little brother got to witness all this humiliation first hand.

"Mrs. Riggs," he protested wearily. "Please. He'll call us. He knows what to do if he gets news. Try to relax."

"Don't you dare tell me to relax! That's my baby we're talking about! Call him again!"

Sean picked up on the first ring. "Hey," he snapped. "Miles and I have not discovered anything in the three minutes that have elapsed since your last call. Would you please just take a pill?"

"It's not my fault," he muttered. "She made me call you."

"Mother-in-law's got you pussy-whipped, huh?"

He winced. "Jesus, Sean. Watch what you say."

"Listen up, dude. Next time, dial a fake number and have a fake conversation. You're distracting us."

"Bite me, bonehead," he hissed. He flipped the phone shut and dropped it into his pocket. "Nothing yet," he grumbled to Barbara.

And Erin was no goddamn help at all. If anything, she seemed faintly amused at his torment at her mother's hands, though she tried to hide it. At nightfall he escaped onto the back porch for a few minutes of blessed peace. He collapsed on the steps, rubbed his cramped, throbbing leg, and fished in his coat pocket for his tobacco.

He abruptly remembered that he was now a nonsmoker. The recollection did not make him happy.

He pulled out his cell phone and dialed Seth, who picked up with gratifying swiftness. "Hey, Con. What's up?"

"I need your help," he said.

"You got it," Seth said promptly. "They tell me you're in love. With another girl who's being stalked by Novak. It's the hot new thing."

"Can we skip the bullshit?" Connor asked. "I'm having a nicotine withdrawal fit. I can't take it right now."

Seth was unfazed. "No problem. So?"

"A couple of things. I need you to check out Erin's mom's house. Weird things are happening with the TV, and somebody's breached the locks and the alarms and vandalized the place. More than once."

"OK. How about day after tomorrow?" Seth asked.

"Why not tonight?"

"We're up at Stone Island. Raine's mom and stepdad are here. Tomorrow we're taking them out to cruise the San Juans, and then to dinner in Severin Bay. We put them on the plane back to London day after tomorrow. If I bag out on this, I'm dead meat."

Seth's lack of enthusiasm for his in-laws' visit was glaringly evident. A commiserating grin spread over Connor's face. He'd met Raine's mother, Alix, at Seth's wedding. She was a force of nature, unstoppable, like a huge mudslide. He didn't want to wait for his answers, but, he also didn't want to subject the luckless Seth to domestic torture.

"I hope there's something left of you when she leaves," he said. "Alix will eat you alive and spit out your bones."

"Thanks for the encouragement. What else do you need?"

"I want to load X-Ray Specs onto my computer and get some of your transmitter beacons," he admitted. "For Erin."

Seth pondered this for a moment. "I thought you were sticking to that chick like white on rice."

"I am, but it's complicated. Erin's just humoring me. She doesn't really take me seriously. That makes me nervous. And I'm only one guy. I could get distracted, doze off, take a piss. I want technical backup."

"Gonna tell her?"

Connor hesitated, and peeked over his shoulder to make sure he was still alone on the porch. "Uh…"

"From personal experience? Women get pissed when you do shit like that. They think it means you don't trust them."

Seth's self-righteous tone made Connor laugh, knowing the guy the way he did. "Listen to yourself for a minute, you big hypocrite, and see if you can keep a straight face."

"I'm just trying to help," Seth protested. "I don't want you to fuck this up, if you really like the girl."

"She'd never go for it. And it's just until Novak's back in the bag, anyhow. Then it's like it never happened. She never needs to know."

Seth grunted his approval. "Good man. That's what I'd do."

"I know. You're as suspicious as I am."

"Oh, way, way more," Seth agreed cheerfully. "When it comes to suspicious, I kick your lily-white ass, McCloud. Come to the apartment and pick up whatever you need. You know where I keep all my stuff."

"Thanks. One more thing. Would you take a look at Erin's place, and see what you could do about security? It's a dump, but it's too soon to move her into my house yet. The lock in the lobby is broken. The door lock you could do with a credit card." Connor gave him the address, and glanced back over his shoulder. "I've got to get the hell off the phone. I'm waiting for Sean to call with news of the missing sister."

"Yeah, I heard. Wish I was there. Hunting assholes in titty bars with you guys would be more fun than fending off Alix in the middle of a hot flash. Hey, Con. Know what? It's good to hear you sound like this."

"Like what?" Connor snarled. "I just had the day from hell."

"Yeah, but you give a shit about it. That's what's different. You sound switched on." Seth was not given to deep analysis of emotions, neither his own nor anyone else's. He sounded surprised at himself.

"I'm glad somebody appreciates it. Later, Seth." He nipped the phone shut and stared morosely at the various picture windows up the length of the block. The screen door squeaked. He recognized Erin's light step, her scent. She sat down and scooted closer until their thighs touched. The contact sent a predictable stab of heat through him, as did her warm, tangy smell. The night breeze lifted a hank of her hair and blew it across his throat. He touched it with wondering fingers.

"Thanks for what you did for Mom," she said.

"For what? Getting my ass kicked around like a soccer ball all day? Thanks for sticking up for me, sweetheart. I sure appreciated it."

"Don't be silly. You handled her fine on your own. You didn't need my help. Besides, she's transformed. I don't know what you said to her, but I haven't seen her with this much energy since Dad was arrested."

She took his arm. He stared down at her small, soft hand, resting on his forearm. The skin of her inner arm was baby smooth and soft. Like he used to dream that clouds could be, if he could touch them. She cuddled closer. His heart thudded and his body sprang to attention.

"Your mom is in there, Erin," he muttered. "Don't do this to me."

"What did I do?" she asked. "Oh. Sorry, I forgot. I thanked you. Oops. Works like a charm, hmm?"

"Don't jerk me around," he said wearily. "It's no fun."

"I didn't do a single thing. I sat down next to you and took your arm. It's not my fault if you can't think about anything except for sex."

He was saved from replying by the cell phone's ring. Erin stiffened. Barbara Riggs burst onto the porch. It rang again.

"What are you waiting for?" Barbara snapped. "Answer it!"

Connor flipped it open and pushed talk.

"Hey." Sean's voice was rough with excitement. "Just got a call from a fabulous, beautiful girl named Sable whom I will love forever. She told me Fuckhead just walked into a place called the Alley Cat Club, out toward Carlisle. He has two girls with him, one of whom fits Cindy's description. The Alley Cat was on LuAnn's list. I'm sending LuAnn a dozen long-stemmed roses."

"Not out of the slush fund, you're not," he growled.

"Cheap bastard," Sean said. "We're a little over a half hour away, if we speed. Davy just finished up the kickboxing class, but he's on his way, too. What do you say? Shall we go have some fun?"

"I'll meet you guys in the parking lot," he said.

Sean gave him directions. He stuck the phone in his pocket and stood up. "We got a lead," he told the two women.

Erin leaped to her feet. "I'm ready. Let's go."

"Let me get my purse." Barbara disappeared inside.

He stared at Erin, feeling trapped and dismayed. "Erin… uh, it's not—"

"Connor." Erin crossed her arms over her chest and gave him her most mysterious, mind-melting smile. "Don't tell me you're leaving us two defenseless women all alone while Novak and his goons circle around us like hungry sharks. Oh, no. Surely not."

"You don't fight fair," he told her.

Barbara burst out the door, her white purse swinging over her arm. "If you don't take me, I'll just get into my car and follow you," she said, voice ringing. "That's my little girl out there."

He grumbled and cursed as he shoved junk out of his backseat to make room. One of his canes was back there, the big one with the armrest and grip that he had used right after he got out of rehab. It had been buried and forgotten under a heap of newspapers and junk mail. "Throw that thing into the back window," he told Erin.

The Alley Cat Club was a long, squat dark building with a flashy animated LIVE GIRLS/COCKTAILS sign. Sean and Miles were standing in the parking lot, chomping at the bit. Davy was nowhere to be seen.

"About time you got here." Sean's jaw dropped as Barbara and Erin got out of the car. "Wow. I see you brought, ah, reinforcements."

"Sean, this is Mrs. Riggs, Erin's mom," he said, with stony politeness. "Mrs. Riggs, this is my younger brother Sean, and this is Miles, one of Cindy's friends who's been helping us look for her."

Barbara nodded stiffly. "Thank you for your help."

Sean's grin activated the automatic charm-o-rama function that was part of his basic wiring. "It's been a pleasure, ma'am. OK, you guys, listen up. I don't want to attract a lot of attention, so I'll just slip in there alone and look around for Sable. If she can lead us to Cindy, we'll whisk her off quietly, and that way we can be more relaxed and focused when we go back to have our talk with the Fuh—that is to say, with Billy. So—Mrs. Riggs? Mrs. Riggs! Wait!"

Barbara was marching toward the building. "My baby's in there."

Sean sprinted after her. He took her arm and started talking earnestly, but Barbara Riggs in full battle mode was a challenge, even for him. Connor left him to it and groped in the back window for the aluminum cane. It wasn't ideal as a weapon, since it was weighted all wrong, but it would do in a pinch. Bare hands were more fun, but whatever. The bum leg earned him a couple of pity points.

Sean had actually managed to collar Barbara right outside the entrance, the slick bastard. He smiled and kissed her hand, gave them a thumbs-up, and disappeared inside. Barbara waited by the door for them, clutching her purse to her chest with white-knuckled hands.

A couple minutes later Sean opened the door and gestured them in. The place was dark and loud. It smelled of spilled beer, smoke, and male sweat. Several nearly naked girls writhed around poles on a long stage that ran the entire length of the bar, lit with pulsing red lights.

Heads swiveled as Barbara Riggs walked through the room, wildly out of place in her pale pink pantsuit and her white purse, wide-eyed and tight-lipped. Sean shoved open an unmarked door. They crowded into a dingy corridor with an open door at the end of it. Light and noise spilled out. Two women dressed in skintight jeans came out, talking loudly. They shut up, painted eyes widening as they shimmied by the motley band that lurked in the corridor.

Connor turned to Erin and Barbara. He jerked his chin toward the door. "That is a dressing room. Go get her. Be quick. I want to get out of here." So far, this was going smoothly. Too smoothly. Not that he was complaining, but he had a nasty, prickling feeling behind his neck. No way could this play out so easily. Not the way his life was going.

Erin pushed her way into the crowded room, and Barbara followed close behind. The room was shrill with high-pitched voices. Brilliant light from the banks of makeup mirrors made Erin's eyes water. The smell of powder, hairspray, and cosmetics was heavy in the air.

She caught sight of Cindy in the back of the room. She was sitting on the floor with her knees drawn up to her chest. Her eyes looked dazed, and her mouth swollen and blurred. She was dressed in only a tank top and panties. A sharp-faced blond girl was bending over her, saying something to which Cindy was shaking her head.

"Cindy?" Erin called out.

Cindy struggled to her feet. "Erin? Mom?"

Cindy stumbled toward them and threw herself into her mother's arms, almost knocking her over backwards, and burst into noisy tears. The blond girl sidled past them and ran out of the room.

Oh, God. Now Mom was sobbing, too. As always, it was up to her to be the practical one. She was keenly aware of the men waiting out in the corridor for them, and the malevolent Billy lurking out there in the dark somewhere. "Cin? Help me out here! Where are your clothes, hon?"

Cindy looked around, glassy-eyed. "Um, I don't know."

A muscular redheaded woman handed Erin a pair of leggings. "Put these on her," she said. "I'm Sable. I'm the one who called that guy Sean, who was looking for Billy. Is that girl your friend?"

"She's my sister," Erin said. "Cin? Your shoes? Any idea where you put them?"

"I'm real glad you guys came to get her," Sable said. "She is, like, in orbit. I don't know what Billy's got her on, but she's not together enough to perform. No fuckin' way. She can't even stay on her feet, let alone dance. It is, like, incredibly unprofessional!"

"You are absolutely right," Erin agreed hastily. "And I'll be sure to tell her that you said so. Look, I have to find her some shoes—"

"Make sure she drinks a lot of water before she passes out," Sable advised. "And keep her away from Billy. He is pure, toxic scum." She thrust a pair of battered cloth slippers into Erin's hands.

"I will. Thanks a lot, Sable. You've been really kind to help—"

"Hurry. Go. Get her the hell out of here before there's trouble."

Cindy allowed herself to be dressed in the leggings and slippers, as unresisting as a doll. They hustled her out into the corridor. Miles took off his black frock coat and wrapped it around her, and the dusty black hem dragged on the ground behind her like a train. His dark eyes were fierce with anger behind his round glasses. "He hit you," he said.

Cindy squinted, stumbled, and finally focused on him. "Miles? Is that you? What are you doing here?"

"Looking for you. That bastard hit your face," he said. "He dies."

Cindy lifted her fingers to her mouth. "Oh. Yeah. I'm all right, though," she said faintly. "It doesn't hurt anymore."

"He dies," Miles repeated.

The three men formed a protective triangle around them as they pushed the shuffling Cindy through the crowded room. No one protested, no one barred their way. Erin held her breath and crossed her fingers. Out the door… sudden quiet and a blast of cool, bracing oxygen. Now just the length of the parking lot, and they were home free.

The door of the club swung open, and music blasted out. "Hey! You guys! Where the fuck do you think you're going with that girl?"

"Oh, thank God," Sean murmured. "Finally, some action."

Connor pressed his keys into Erin's hand. "Get your mom and sister into the car. Quick. We need to have a talk with that guy."

"But you—"

"Get them into that car and start it up. Now."

His tone left no room for argument. She bundled Mom and Cindy into the backseat, slammed the door shut, and leaped into the driver's side. Cindy sobbed in Mom's arms, and Mom was crooning comforting sounds. Neither of them seemed even remotely aware of the dangerous drama unfolding outside. She started up the car. Connor's phone was lying on the seat. She snatched it up and clutched it like a weapon.

Her heart beat so hard, it was about to burst out of her chest.

Chapter Eighteen

Billy Vega swaggered out of the doorway. Connor drew a mental sigh of relief. He was a tall, dark guy, well dressed, with florid, sensual good looks and a gym rat's body: thick through the upper body, rigid through the midsection, overdeveloped shoulders hunched over, hammy fists dangling like an ape. No worries.

The blond girl who had pushed past them in the corridor darted out the door after Billy. More guys filed out, arraying themselves behind Billy: five, six, seven, eight… nine of them in all, counting Billy. With Sean at his side, the odds were still OK if nobody pulled a gun. He really, really didn't want to involve the gun, since that often necessitated shooting the gun, which was a fucking dangerous mess. He was still hoping to fly below the radar with this thing, but if bullets started to zing, he could kiss that fond hope good-bye.

He hefted the cane and wished that Davy or Seth were there.

"That girl was with me," Vega said. "Who the fuck are you guys?"

Sean nudged him. "Got any preference as to how we handle this?"

"Just make sure he's fit to talk afterwards," Connor replied softly. He addressed Billy. "Cindy told her sister that she wanted to go home. We're just here to give her a ride. We don't want any trouble."

"Hear that, guys? He doesn't want any trouble," Vega sneered. "Isn't that sweet. Too fuckin' bad, asshole, because you found some."

The loose battle formation started closing in on them. He and Sean sauntered closer. He made a big show of his limp as he scanned them for signs of weapons. Miles hesitated, and hurried after them.

Connor caught Sean's eye and nicked a questioning glance toward Miles. Sean gave him a who-knows? eyebrow twitch.

Too many unknowns. He wished he'd told Erin to gun the engine and drive straight home, but she probably wouldn't have obeyed him anyhow. There was no way out of this now except for through.

Billy's eyes narrowed when they landed on Miles. "I know you. You're that stupid band's autistic sound geek, huh? What's your name again, you big ugly fuck? Igor?"

"You hit her," Miles said. His voice was shaking.

"She was begging for it," Billy said. "The useless bitch."

Miles lowered his head like a bull and charged. Connor and Sean both hissed in anticipatory agony as Billy jerked aside, ducking the wild roundhouse punch, and rammed his fist up into Miles's belly. Miles doubled over, choking, and Billy followed up with a knee to Miles's face and a vicious elbow jammed down into his kidney. The kid went down like a felled tree. Shit. They should've coached him, but watching X-Files videos in the basement was no way to train for a street fight. Everybody had to learn the hard way. There were no shortcuts.

No time to fret, though, because Miles's opening gambit was the signal for the fun to begin. The goons closed in, and they got real busy, moving as if through unmeasurable slow-time, a state that he always slipped into in combat situations. Sean exploded into action at his side with a spinning kick that caught one of Billy's thugs in the teeth and sent him bouncing off the hood of a car. Flashy, as always.

Billy ran straight at him, bellowing. Connor flipped the cane up into guard. Billy lunged for the bait and gripped the cane, and Connor flip-twisted it, trapped Billy's wrist with his hand, and whipped it down until the bones in Billy's wrist snapped.

Billy lurched forward, sucking air. Connor tossed him away and spun to deal with the guy behind him. He parried the punch, sliced the heel of his hand down onto the bridge of the guy's nose, and kneed him smartly in the groin. A gurgling shriek; two down. Another attack; a sweep of the cane, a quick, judicious elbow jab to the throat, and he used the guy's own leftover momentum to fling him straight into his buddy, who was coming at Connor from behind. The two men crashed to the ground. The point of his boot to the kidney finished off the first guy, a forefinger stabbed into the soft pulse point under the ear finished off the second. Four down. Not bad, for a gimp.

Miles stumbled to his feet again and launched himself at Billy. Billy toppled, broke his fall with his broken wrist, and screamed. Miles started pummeling him. Good man. Connor left him to it. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sean smash one guy's kneecap and then spin through the air like a dervish as he went for the next attacker, but he couldn't pay real close attention; the last two guys were circling him warily and both of them had pulled out knives. He danced back, panting, and tried to keep both in his peripheral vision. His bad leg was trembling beneath him.

Darkness rippled, a flurry of movement. One of his opponents flew, shrieking, across the parking lot. He smashed into the grill of a big Chevy pickup truck and slid limply to the ground, twitching.

The other looked around himself, backed away, and fled.

"Hey, Davy," Connor called out.

Davy stepped out of the shadows, dressed in black. He tossed the blade he'd taken from the guy up into the air, and caught it, nodding his approval. "Nice balance," he said calmly. "Maybe I'll keep this one."

"Thanks," Connor said.

"You're welcome."

"But I could've taken them on my own," Connor added.

Davy looked amused. "You're still welcome."

Connor looked around. Eight guys were sprawled out in various attitudes of pain and penitence on the ground. Miles landed a wet-sounding punch in Billy's face and hauled off for another.

"Whoa. Miles! Hold off on him," he called out.

"He hit Cindy," Miles panted.

"So beat him to a pulp later. First let me interrogate him. OK?"

Miles subsided, and dragged himself to his feet. He was shaking so violently he could hardly stand. His mouth and jaw were covered with blood that streamed from his broken nose, and one of the lenses of his glasses was shattered. "I want to learn to fight like you guys."

The three of them exchanged wry glances. Miles had no idea what it cost to learn to fight like that. Their father had taught them hand-to-hand combat practically since they could walk, and lucky for them, since Crazy Eamon's wild boys were the target of every angry asshole spoiling for a fight in all of Endicott Falls and its environs. They would have gotten slaughtered regularly if they hadn't trained like commandos.

Eamon had been an expert in several disciplines, but as time went on, each brother developed his own preferences. Davy was drawn to the mystical stuff: kung fu, aikido, tai chi, and all the woo-woo philosophy that went with it. Connor preferred the angular, straightforward practicality of karate. Sean favored the acrobatic stuff, full of flying kicks and back flips. And that training had saved their asses. Many times. Just as their father had assured them that it would.

Crazy Eamon's legacy was a formidable one. Miles had no idea.

But the tenderhearted Sean just clapped Miles gently on the back. "Sure, man. Just be prepared to work your ass off for hours every day until every muscle screams for mercy and every inch of you drips with sweat. You'll get the hang of it."

Miles looked daunted, but he wiped blood from his mouth with his sleeve, nodding. "I don't want to ever get slammed like that again."

"No guarantees, buddy," Sean warned. "I've gotten slammed plenty of times. There's always some trick you don't know."

"Or they come at you six at a time," Davy said. "That's always a bitch. But training helps."

"Speaking of getting slammed," Connor said. "I saw you leave your balls wide open twice, Sean. Pull up your guard. It's not about looking good, it's about walking away in one piece. Show-off."

"None of those clowns could've gotten inside my guard if I'd given them a written invitation," Sean snapped. "And you're a fine one to talk about stupid risks with your track record, bozo. If you see me do it in a real fight, then you can give me hell. Until then, shut up."

Erin barreled into him and grabbed him. "Are you all right?"

The anxiety in her voice made him smile. "Miles got pounded pretty bad, but he's on his feet," he told her. "Nothing to worry about."

"Nothing to worry about? Nine against three? Is that what you call nothing to worry about? God, Connor! It happened so fast!"

He tried to put his arms around her, but she jerked away. "You didn't tell me that was going to happen!" she shouted.

"You didn't say one word about fighting with him! You said 'talk,' remember? Don't you ever, ever do that to me again, Connor McCloud! Do you hear me?"

"He started it," Connor protested. "And I didn't—"

"Don't even try!" she yelled. "Just shut up!"

He tried kissing her, but she was having none of it. "Look, babe," he soothed. "Why don't you go on back to the car and look after your mom and Cindy while we have a talk with Billy?"

"Let the little lady go and be good behind the scenes while the big manly men do their big manly thing, hmm?"

Erin's eyes were afire with anger. God, she was so red-hot when she was mad. It was making him hard just looking at her.

"Hey," Davy called. "You can spare yourself this argument, Con. Miles clobbered him." Davy crouched over Billy, touched his throat with his fingertip, peeked under his eyelids. "He's out of it for a while."

The rat-faced blonde ran over to Billy and flung herself across his limp form. "You killed Billy!" she shrilled. "Fuckin' murderers!"

Connor rubbed his aching leg, and visualized a cigarette with a sharp pang of longing. "Nobody's killed anybody, nor will they," he said wearily. "I guess we just have to wait for him to come around."

"The police will be here any minute," Erin said.

"Police?" Connor gaped, appalled. "What do you mean, police?"

Erin held up his cell phone. "Of course, the police!" she said tartly. "What do you expect? Nine guys attack you all at once, and what am I supposed to do? Twiddle my thumbs? Wave pom poms?"

"You were supposed to let me deal with it!" he snarled. "I don't want to talk to the police! The police cannot help me right now!"

"That's just tough!" she shot back. "You scared me to death! Now deal with the consequences!"

He glanced at Sean and Davy. "Let's get the fuck out of here. We can hunt down Billy some other time."

Sean turned to address the crowd of gawkers gathering around them. "Public service announcement, everybody! The cops will be here any minute, so start thinking about your witness statements now!"

The crowd melted away like magic.

The back door of the Cadillac was open, and Barbara Riggs was half in, half out, eyes frozen wide. He handed her his cane. "Would you throw that into the back window for me, Mrs. Riggs?" he asked. "Let's get going. I'm sure you want to get Cindy home."

He got into the car, and waited for the back door to swing shut It did not. He followed Erin's startled gaze, and jerked his head around.

Barbara Riggs was marching across the parking lot, clutching his cane like a club. The evening, which could never have been called normal to begin with, was about to take a turn for the seriously weird.

"Which car is Billy's?" Barbara demanded.

Miles daubed at the fresh flow of blood from his nose with his gory sleeve and pointed across the lot, to where a low-slung silver Jaguar glowed softly in the dark, like a phosphorescent sea creature.

Connor ran to stop her, but it was too late. She lifted his cane high over her head and whipped it down over the Jag's windshield with admirable force. The glass crunched and sagged. Fault lines shivered through the entire gleaming surface. Crash, a blow to the other side of the windshield. Smash, out went the right headlight; crash, tinkle, there went the left. Driver's side window, smash. She whipped the cane down and managed to make a pretty decent dent in the roof. The white purse dangled and swung over her arm with each movement.

There was an awful, ponderous inevitability to it, like watching a wrecking ball taking down a brick building. She was drawing another crowd, too. It wasn't every day that you saw a middle-aged lady in a pale pink pantsuit bashing a hundred-thousand-dollar car to garbage.

"What's her problem?" a big, swag-bellied biker type asked him.

Connor shrugged helplessly. "He owes her money."

Pop, crash, crunch, the mayhem went on and on, until Erin's anxious voice penetrated the noise. "Mom? Mom! Listen to me, Mom!"

Barbara looked up, tears streaming down her face. "That son of a bitch hit my baby!"

"I know he did, Mom, but she's going to be OK. And the guys beat him up for you already, didn't you see?"

"Good," Barbara said viciously. Erin winced and covered her ears as the cane whistled down and shattered the back window. She put her arms around her mother's shoulders and hurried her back toward the car. Barbara went along without argument, the forgotten cane dragging behind her. The black rubber tip bumped over the asphalt.

Miles grinned through his gore. "You're a goddess, Mrs. Riggs!"

"I'm sure this is all very therapeutic, but can we leave?" Sean asked.

"Yeah, let's move. You and Miles come to my house," Davy said. "We need to clean that kid up. Hey, Con. I slipped one of Seth's beacons into Billy's cigarettes while your mother-in-law was trashing the Jag. We can track him down tomorrow, so take it easy tonight. If you can." Davy's sympathetic eyes flicked over to Connor's car, packed chock full of problematic Riggs females. "Good luck with them. And watch your back with Erin's mom. The woman is not to be fucked with."

"Yeah. Believe me, I've noticed," Connor grumbled.

This time Connor pried the cane out of Barbara's clammy grip with his own hands, closed the car door on her, and threw the cane into the trunk where it could do no more damage.

He pulled the car out onto the street and braced himself for absolutely anything.

"Mom?" Cindy quavered. "Are you wigging out on me?"

Barbara pulled Cindy into her arms. "Oh, no, baby. Not at all."

"I think you're going to be just fine, Mrs. Riggs," he said. "You certainly seem to have no problems expressing your anger."

Their eyes met in the rearview mirror. "You'd better start calling me Barbara, Connor," she said coolly. "I might as well get used to it."

"Gee. Thanks so much," he muttered.

"I really do feel much better," Barbara said, in a wondering voice. "Better than I have in ages."

"Oh, sure you do," Connor grunted. "Nothing like a little reckless destruction of private property to brighten up your mood."

Barbara blinked rapidly. "Oh, my. Do you think he might prosecute me? Oh dear. Wouldn't that be funny? If I had to send Eddie a letter… sorry, honey, but I can't make it in to see you on visiting day… I'm in jail, too! I'm a p-p-public menace!"

"That's not funny, Mom." Erin's voice sounded strangled.

"I know it's not, sweetie pie. So why are we laughing?"

All three of the women started laughing. Then they started bawling. Then it was a terrible mess. Connor just kept his head down, and his mouth shut, and drove the goddamn car.

This contract made Rolf Hauer very uneasy.

There was nothing wrong with the business end of things. The pay was excellent, the contact had been discreet and professional, the down payment had been delivered to Marseilles in American dollars, as promised. No problems at all there. Everything was in perfect order.

It was the details of this hit that bothered him. A list of nitpicking, grisly details, any of which, if not followed to the letter, rendered the contract null and void. Rolf prided himself on his professionalism, but if there was one thing this business had taught him, it was that there were always surprises. An artist needed room to improvise. There was no room in this job for improvisation. This one was skintight.

So was his hiding place in the goddamn garage closet. He'd been here for hours, and he was stiff and bored. He glanced at his watch. The targets should be arriving soon, if things went as the contact had assured him that they would. The explosives were in place. The list of instructions had the feel of a code. Not that he wanted to decipher it. The less he knew, the happier he was. He was only a pen, writing a message with fire and blood. He was paid to keep that ink flowing.

Ah, at last. The garage door rumbled up. Headlights glared into the garage under the secluded house. Adrenaline squirted into Rolf's body. He shifted into combat readiness, cracked the closet door, peered out. In his black ski mask, he was just another shadow in the dark.

The door of the van cracked open. Voices. A light flipped on. A man turned around, tall, round-shouldered, wearing a felt cap. He lit a cigarette. Yes. Double chin, big nose. Matthieu Rousse. His first target.

The passenger door opened, and a big, chunky woman got out. Helmet of gray hair. He didn't even need her to step into the light to identify that big jaw. She was the second target, Ingrid Nagy. She said something sharp to the man, in a guttural language Rolf didn't recognize. The man replied, sulkily, dropped his cigarette, and crushed it out. They went to the back of the Volvo van and opened the doors.

Rousse reappeared, carrying a limp, blanket-wrapped figure in his arms. Rolf caught sight of a slack, sallow face, balding brown hair. Target number three, the comatose man with no name.

Rousse carried him easily. The inert figure was as slight as a boy. Rolf watched silently as Nagy grabbed a metal valise and followed Rousse and Coma Boy into the house, bitching all the way.

He slithered up the stairs after them, toward what he knew was the kitchen, from his recon earlier that evening. Nagy was getting further, her scolding voice receding up the stairs. A woman chewing a man out sounded pretty much the same in any language, poor bastard. But pity was wasted on him. His pain was at an end.

Rousse was clattering down the stairs, probably heading back to the garage to get more gear from the van. The door at the top of the stairs burst open. Rousse didn't even have time to speak; just a surprised widening of the eyes, pop, pop, pop with the silenced Glock, and down he went. Thud. Eyes still open, in eternal surprise.

Nagy was still yelling from the upstairs. She wasn't moving toward him yet, but since Rousse wasn't going to respond any time soon, she would get pissed off and come looking for him soon enough. He followed her shrill voice up the stairs, toward the lit-up door at the end of the corridor. She charged out the door, and he took her out before she even finished winding up for her bellow of rage. Pop, pop. Dead before she saw him. That was how he liked it. So far, so good.

Now came the weird part. The part that made his flesh creep.

He walked into the room and stared down at Coma Boy. The open valise beside him was full of medical supplies. A plastic bag of glucose and what all lay beside him. A hypodermic needle. She must've been yelling for Rousse to bring her the IV rack. Coma Boy lay there, his head dropped to the side, mouth open, limp and helpless.

Rolf had been ordered to remove the plastic-coated adult diaper, to take the valise, needles, IV rack, stretcher, all evidence that Coma Boy was not a normal, healthy person. If any scrap were left, the contract was void. He did as he was instructed, glad of his leather gloves. Touching the man's limp body made his gorge rise. He searched through Nagy's pockets to make sure there were no clues there, bundled everything back in the valise, hauled it all back to the garage. The Volvo was full of machines to hook up to Coma Boy. He would dispose of them later.

He went back upstairs, stepping over Rousse and Nagy, and pulled out a knife to attend to the final details. His hand stopped.

Rolf was surprised at himself. Coma Boy wasn't going to weep and beg for mercy. Rolf would've almost preferred it if he had. It would've given him something to push against. It would've made sense.

This creature, so utterly passive, baffled him. Weakened him.

Rolf steeled himself, and used a trick that he'd thought he would never need again. He divided himself. There was a part of him that did not mind slicing off the first joint of Coma Boy's right index finger, and then the ring and pinky finger of the same hand. He'd been given a diagram explaining exactly how much of each finger to cut. He'd studied it carefully. Part of him did not balk at putting a bullet in Coma Boy's brain, and five more in his chest. Pop, pop, pop, pop, pop, pop. That strong part of him squeezed the trigger. The other part of him shrank away, like a snail into its shell.

He gathered up the fingers, put them in a plastic freezer bag he'd put in his pocket for that purpose. He tucked the bag into his jacket. He pulled out the small bottle of accelerant, and soaked the body with it.

The hard part was over. Now for the mopping up.

Rolf pulled up his rented vehicle from the hiding place in the shrubs, and got to work on the van. Not one scrap of medical equipment left in it, or the contract was void. He packed the machines and boxes and medicines into his own vehicle, and examined the Volvo inside and out with his flashlight. Clean and nice. He was done here.

Now the part he was looking forward to. He pulled away to a safe distance, took a deep breath, and pushed the detonator.

The house exploded. Rolf watched the expansion, the slow-motion fall of blazing debris, the licking flames, with dumb relief. Fire purified.

He drove to the cliff top he'd chosen the day before. The sea heaved and crashed below. He pitched the materials he had taken over the cliff. He threw the bloody Ziploc bag and its contents.

The terms of the contract were satisfied. But he didn't get into his car and drive away immediately, as he should have done. He stared out at the sea, thinking about what he had done. Always a mistake. He was a man of action. Not reflection.

AH things considered, it was good that the pay was so high. Because after tonight, he was ready for a long vacation, someplace very far from here. The sky had begun to lighten before Rolf got into his car and headed back toward Marseilles.

Chapter Nineteen

Erin was still buzzing with nervous energy hours later. It had been a long, trying evening. Her mother had insisted on taking Cindy to the emergency room, where the doctor had checked Cindy out, asked several probing questions, and sent them home with much the same advice as Sable had given to Erin: make Cindy drink a lot of water, sleep it off, and stay the hell away from whoever had gotten her into that condition. And drug counseling went without saying.

Mom and Cindy were finally asleep, in Mom's bedroom. Mom had pointedly not invited Connor to stay in the guest bedroom. He'd gotten the hint, and was outside in his car. She leaned against her bedroom window. The fog circle of her breath widened and shrank as she stared at the Cadillac parked outside. Banished from the house, and still he stuck by her, to guard her while she slept So stubborn and gallant and sweet. Just thinking about it touched off that melting feeling again. She fought it down for fear she would start crying. She'd bawled all evening with Mom and Cindy. She was tired of it. Her sob muscles hurt.