Cause for Alarm

45

John stood at the center of Julianna's tiny apartment. He smiled. With satisfaction. In anticipation of their reunion. It would be good, he decided, unable to suppress a shudder. Very good.

He moved his gaze over the room, curious yet repelled. There were no signs of a baby here, no toys or playpen or crib, no cloying smell of formula or powder. As he had known she would once she'd had time to consider her options, she had seen things his way and aborted it.

After all, Julianna was spoiled. She was accustomed to being taken care of, to having her way, to having nice things. Caring for a howling infant night and day, changing soiled diapers and messy bibs was not her style.

Not that one would know it from this hovel of an apartment, he thought, disgusted. Or the jobs she had taken in the past months. He shook his head. He supposed nothing she had done, no depths to which she had sunk since leaving his care, would surprise him anymore.

She would already be home with him if not for her mother and Russell. They had frightened her. They had told her things about him that weren't hers to know; she was confused and afraid. By what they had said. And by her own disobedience. Her disloyalty.

He closed his eyes and drew in a deep, cleansing breath.

His angel had fallen from grace. She had paid the price, living like this. But only part of the price. The rest was to come.

At his loving hands.

John crossed to the desk, shoved into a corner of the living room, and began leafing through the pile of mail on its top. Sale circulars and advertisements, the utility and phone bill. He opened the latter and scanned the register of long distance calls. There were several to New Orleans, all to the same number, two charges for long distance information and one call to Langley, Virginia.

The Agency. John frowned, staring at the familiar number. Why had she called CIA headquarters?

John slipped the bill into his pocket, the call a reminder of the other reason he had tracked Julianna here. His book. It contained information that was important to him. Names and dates. Places. Amounts. He had kept the record as a bargaining chip, a sort of "Get Out of Jail Free" card.

Quite a number of people would love to get their hands on it, including his former buddies at the Agency. He wanted it back.

When he had discovered the book missing, his fury had known no bounds. He'd been furious at her for her willfulness and at himself for underestimating her. For trusting her too much.

He wouldn't make that mistake again.

John began his search, starting with the desk and living room, then moving on to the kitchen and bathroom. He worked methodically, checking both the obvious places and those she might consider clever. He inched along the baseboards, looking for one that was loose, the same with the floorboards; he went through the contents of her freezer, the pantry; he checked the toilet's water tank and between the stack of bath towels on the rack above it.

He finally reached her bedroom. He searched from one end to the other, saving the dresser for last. He worked from the bottom up; he opened the top drawer and froze. It contained sheer nighties and skimpy underwear. He stared at them, disoriented, light-headed. He lifted a pair of the thong panties. Made of black nylon and polyester lace, they were the type worn by a woman who fucked freely, indiscriminately. The kind of woman who's soul had been fouled, her light extinguished.

Not his Julianna. Not the sweet girl he had loved so well and for so long.

He curled his fingers into the fabric, the blood pounding, drumlike in his head. It made him sick, the thought of her, his special girl, in these whore's clothes. And if she wore them, who did she wear them for?

Rage swelled inside him, stealing his breath, his ability to reason, to think. One by one, he destroyed the offensive garments, using his teeth and hands to snap elastic and lace, to tear flimsy nylon.

She had not learned from his lesson that last night. He would have to give her another. He would show her the error of her ways. Every child chafed under the restraints of the older and wiser. This was her rebellion.

He drew a calming breath, flexing his fingers, steadying himself. He would punish her and they would go on as before. Better than before.

He would wait. Bide his time. Toy with her; rock the safe little world she had created for herself.

But first, a gift.

He went to the bed and pulled back the coverlet and top sheet. He knelt on the edge, unzipped his pants and took himself in his hand. Closing his eyes, he stroked himself, imagining, remembering-skin, as smooth and white as new silk; tiny buds of breasts, pink-tipped and tender, a pubis as smooth and moist and new as the rest of her. He stroked faster, harder, his breath coming in pants. With a groan, he ejaculated on her sheets.

He fastened back up, then extracted a folding knife from his pocket. He swung open the blade, honed to a razor sharp edge. Without flinching, he ran the blade across the top of his hand. The skin parted, a line of red chased the tip of the blade.

Satisfied, he held his hand out, watching the blood trickle from his hand to the bed-blood meeting sperm, mingling with it. Life. And death. Beginnings and endings. Now and forever.

She would understand.

46

"What do you have for me?" Tom Morris asked Condor without preamble.

They sat on a bench in the main hall of D.C.'s busy Union Station. People streamed by, commuters and tourists and businessmen like themselves. The sound of so much bustling humanity echoed through the great hall, bouncing off the spectacular ninety-foot barrel-vaulted ceiling.

"Not much," Condor answered, brushing at a cookie crumb that had landed on his lap. A vendor in the food court one level below sold the best chocolate chip cookies on earth. Condor had bought himself a dozen of them.

He held the bag out to Morris. "Cookie?"

The man eyed the bag, then helped himself. "Thanks."

"Powers hasn't been back to his apartment," Condor continued, scanning the faces of the people around him. "He hasn't traveled under any of his known aliases. I've made all the right inquiries and come up with nothing. The man's gone under."

"I don't think so."

Condor glanced at the older man. "No?"

"No." Morris broke off a piece of the cookie. "A call came in to the Agency a couple months ago. Caller identified herself as Julianna Starr. She was looking for Clark Russell."

"Julianna Starr," Condor repeated. "Any relation to the stiff?"

"Her daughter. I would have passed this along sooner, but the agent who took the call was new, and it fell through the cracks."

"What did she want with Russell?"

"Good question. One I'd like the answer to." Morris cleared his throat. "Here's the interesting part. This Julianna didn't show for her mother's funeral, and she hasn't collected her inheritance. None of her mother's neighbors or acquaintances have seen her for a while. Curious, considering the circumstances."

Condor drew his eyebrows together in thought. "Could be she doesn't know her mother's dead. Or, could be she saw her mother and the senator get whacked and is running for her life. Called Russell for help. Or information."

"My thoughts exactly."

"A couple months is a long time. This Julianna could be to hell and gone by now." Condor tipped back his head and squinted up at the magnificent ceiling. "You got an address?"

"And a picture." Morris handed him a manila envelope. "Ever been to southern Louisiana?"

"As a matter of fact, I just got back."

"I hope you liked the weather, my friend, you're making a return visit."

47

Julianna unlocked her apartment door and hurried inside. She and Richard had managed to sneak away for a leisurely lunch. Lunch at her apartment. In bed. But first they would make slow, delicious love.

She closed the door behind her but didn't bother to lock it-Richard was only minutes behind her, charged with the job of stopping for sandwiches at the café down the street.

She would be waiting for him in bed, she had decided. Naked, trembling with excitement and anticipation.

These past three weeks as Richard's lover had been perfect. Everything she had dreamed of and planned for. He treated her like a woman and as an equal. He encouraged her to express her opinions and wasn't angry when those opinions differed from his own.

The sex had been glorious. Hot. Fulfilling. Unlike anything she had experienced with John. At first she had been hesitant to tell him what she desired. But now she knew he enjoyed when she took charge, when she boldly explored his body, when she called out to him, and when she told him how she wanted him to touch her.

It was so freeing. She felt alive and for the first time in her life, like a real woman. She initiated lovemaking everywhere, anytime she thought they could get away with it-in his office between meetings, parked in his car at the lakefront, the windows open to let in the cool fall air, in a restaurant's bathroom, once in his and Kate's bed while Kate was out.

When they were together, they didn't talk about Kate. Or Emma. They didn't talk about his marriage or what the future would bring. That was okay with her, for now. Her mother had taught her well, and she knew better than to rush him. He needed to come to the realization that he couldn't live without her on his own.

Besides, she didn't need to talk about something she already knew the outcome to. She and Richard were meant to be together. And they would be. Forever.

Crossing to the bed, Julianna stripped down to her bra and thong panties. She jerked back the coverlet and sheet, then stopped dead, a small sound of surprise slipping past her lips. She stared at the gory-looking mess in the center of her bed, her stomach rising to her throat.

What was it? She reached a hand out, snatching it back as realization dawned.

A cry raced to her lips, and she swung away from the bed. Her gaze landed on her dresser, on the garments spilling out of her top drawer. Heart pounding, she inched slowly across the room, picking her way, as if the carpet itself might be contaminated.

Not garments, she saw. What was left of her underwear and nighties. They had been ripped to pieces.

John. He'd found her.

"Julianna?" Richard called out. "Babe, I've got lunch."

"Richard!" She scrambled for the door, yanking it open, then slamming it shut behind her, not wanting him to see what John had done. "Richard!" she cried again when she saw him. He turned and she launched herself into his arms. "Thank God you're here."

"You're trembling." He held her away from him, searching her expression, his concerned. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

She shook her head and pressed herself close again, unable to look him in the eyes. She longed to tell him about John, longed for him to comfort and reassure her. She didn't dare. If he knew the truth-about her, about John- he might not want her anymore. And she couldn't bear to lose him.

A partial truth, she thought, clinging to him, working to calm herself.

"Julianna?" he prodded. "Babe?" Again, he eased her away from him, forcing her to look into his eyes. "Talk to me."

Julianna's eyes flooded with tears. "Back in D.C., there was this man, an awful man. He's the real reason I came down here. To get away from him." Her throat closed over the words, and she struggled to clear it. Richard waited, watching her intently. "He's a bad person, Richard. If he finds me, he'll hurt me. I know he will."

"And you think he's found you?"

"Yes. I…I came home and I-" She caught his hand and led him to the bedroom. She showed him the bed, then the lingerie drawer.

As he surveyed the damage, Richard's expression became thunderous. "How do you know this old boyfriend of yours did this?"

"I don't, I just assumed… Who else would do something like this to me?"

"It could have been any sick bastard off the street. Some guy who's seen you around, followed you home and broke into your place. I don't like this."

Her teeth began to chatter. She grabbed her robe off the hook on the closet door and slipped into it.

"Were your doors and windows locked?"

"I think so…I don't know. The front door was, because I unlocked it when I got home."

They checked them all and though the rear door was locked tight, they found several windows unlocked. Richard took care of them, then they returned to the living room. "From now on, I want you to be really careful. Get yourself a can of mace, and don't go out alone at night. Be aware of anyone who seems to be following you, or anyone who seems to be hanging around. Let's say you notice a guy at the market, then see him again at the gas station, report it to the police."

"The police?" she repeated. "Do I have to?"

"Yes." He looked her in the eyes, the expression in his deadly serious. "I'm going to leave, Julianna. Then I want you to get dressed and call the police."

Her eyes filled with tears. "You're going to leave?"

"I can't be here when the police arrive. Considering the circumstances. You understand, don't you?"

She nodded miserably and hugged herself. "I'm scared, Richard."

He drew her back into the circle of his strong arms, fitting her cheek against his chest. He kissed the top of her head. "We'll get this worked out, babe. I'm not going to let anyone hurt you."

"Promise?" she whispered, lifting her gaze to his.

Richard cupped her face in his hands. "You have no reason to be afraid, Julianna," he murmured, bringing his mouth to hers. "Never again."

48

"Welcome back, Kate!" Blake, Marilyn and Tess called in unison as she walked in The Bean's front door early Monday morning. The maternity leave she had given herself was officially over and although she had continued managing from a distance and had even worked an occasional day here and there over the past six months, today marked her first day back full-time.

Kate stopped dead, surprised and overwhelmed. Her employees had strung a banner above and behind the counter area that announced She's Baaack! A Mylar balloon decorated each table, a bouquet of them bobbled beside the register.

Her three employees hurried across to greet her. Marilyn took Emma, Tess grabbed the overflowing diaper bag and Blake took her arm. "Come on in, honey," he said. "The surprises have only just begun."

They led her to the back of the café. They had turned the furthermost corner into a play place for Emma, cordoned off with accordion-style baby gates and filled with bright-colored toys. The tile floor had been covered with a big patchwork rug; above the area hung a sign that read Baby Central in primary colors.

All three of her employees starting talking at once.

"We all went together-"

"Some of the regulars, too-"

"-and bought the baby gym, fun saucer and Johnny jump-up."

"I made the sign," Tess said.

"We wanted to do something for you and Emma and thought this way-"

"Working would be so much easier-"

"For both of you." Marilyn beamed at her. "We're so happy you're back, Kate. We've really missed you."

Kate turned to her employees, tears stinging her eyes. "I don't know what to say. You guys are the best."

"Glad you think so," Blake said, grinning, "because we're not done yet." He caught her hand. "Now, for your office."

"My office," she repeated weakly.

Giggling like kids, they led her to her office. There, they'd installed a portable crib and a big, old rocking chair.

"The chair was my sister's," Marilyn murmured. "She said you could use it as long as you like."

Kate shook her head. "This is too much, guys. Really, it is."

"Richard helped us."

"He knew about this?"

"Oh yeah." Tess laughed. "He gave me and Marilyn carte blanche at the baby store. It was really fun. I was born to spend other people's money."

From out front came the sound of knocking. Then a call of, "Hello. Anybody here?"

Blake looked at his watch. "Oh, man, look at the time. We opened ten minutes ago."

"Should have opened ten minutes ago," Kate corrected, already heading for the front of the café. "Please tell me the menu boards are done and that the coffee's already made." They weren't. From that moment on, they played catch-up. As the day progressed, many of the regulars made an appearance to welcome Kate back and make a major fuss over Emma. Deliveries ran late, the cappuccino machine went on the fritz, and a mother-and-toddler group came and let their children run amok.

In other words, business as usual. Kate decided it was really good to be back.

When they had a quiet moment, Marilyn sidled up to her. "How are things with Richard?"

Kate considered all of her employees friends, but she and Marilyn were particularly close. They often discussed their lives, using one another as a sounding board. Some time back, Kate had confided to the other woman that Richard was having trouble adjusting to parenthood.

Kate smiled, happy that she could honestly answer that things were good. Though he had been gone from home a lot-frantically busy between securing support for his bid for D.A. and handling several weighty cases at the firm- when he was home, he was attentive and loving. To her and Emma. She had found it heartening to see him finally responding to his daughter. Being affectionate with her. More often than not he came home with some trinket for the child, a stuffed toy or bow for her hair, a rattle or picture book. Kate smiled to herself. He had even taken to bringing his wife a little something-flowers, a special bottle of wine or dessert she enjoyed.

It was as if their last, awful fight had changed not only his attitude but in some fundamental way, his feelings as well. He was like a new man.

"I'm so glad," Marilyn said when Kate finished. She gave her a quick hug, then grinned wickedly. "Nothing like a guilty conscience to straighten a man right up."

Blake wandered over, a carton of napkins hooked under his arm. He caught the last of Marilyn's comment. "Straighten a man up?" he repeated, his expression deadpan. "Honey, you're entitled to your orientation, but don't go and ruin it for the rest of us."

"Why is everything with you always about sex?"

Blake smiled. "You know what they say, girlfriend, everybody's good at something. I just happen to be the prince of peni-"

Kate held up her hands to stop them. "No doubt about it, I'm back now."

"Then you're ready to be brought up to speed?" He stowed the carton under the buffet, then turned back to the two women. "It's been a regular Peyton Place around here."

"Peyton Place, huh? Since we're in a lull, fill me in."

"Ralph and his wife split," Tess said, referring to one of the regulars. "She got custody of the Jeep and the cat."

"He was devastated," Blake added. "He loved that vehicle. And he'd just made the last payment, too."

They went on to tell her about a surprise pregnancy, that their resident writer finally sold a book, and that Big Burt Beals had lost twenty-five pounds on the Sugar Busters diet. "Not to mention," Blake added, "Tess's five new love-of-her-life boyfriends."

"It was six, I think." Marilyn laughed.

"I heard that." Tess bopped up behind them, carrying Emma. Obviously fascinated by Tess's blond hair, the infant had a fistful of it. The young woman seemed not to notice. "Can I help it if so many guys are fatally flawed?"

She turned to Marilyn and Blake. "Did you tell her about the new guy?"

"She's referring to our newest regular," Marilyn offered from the counter where she had gone to take an order. "Actually, we have three."

"All men," Tess murmured. "Though only one's a hunk-a-hunk of burning love. Nick Winters."

Kate freed Tess's hair and took Emma from the other woman. "Tell me about them all. Nick Winters first."

"He's really cute." Tess crossed to the counter to help Marilyn, took an order, then glanced back at Kate. "And single."

"And too old for you." Marilyn rolled her eyes. "But she's right about him being attractive. He's rugged but also an intellectual. Up until recently he was a professor of philosophy at Cleveland State College. He inherited some money, sold everything he owned and hit the road."

"What's he doing down here?"

"Just one of his stops on his Tour of America."

"Then there's Steve Byrd," Blake said, "my personal favorite. A real flashback to the sixties kind of guy, complete with a ponytail. He followed the Grateful Dead for the past twenty-five years, making a living selling Dead paraphernalia at the concerts. Says since Jerry Garcia died, life has no meaning."

"I don't think there's much doubt that this guy all but fried his gray matter with drugs." Marilyn shuddered. "I never could understand that whole scene."

"Sounds like he'll add a little color to our motley crew." Kate laughed. "So, what about our last new guy? You said there were three."

Her employees exchanged glances. Blake cleared his throat. "He's a little scary. Ex-military. Doesn't talk much. Comes in every day and glares at Steve. And everyone else who looks a little counterculture. Including me and Beanie." Blake shuddered. "He's got gay-basher written all over him."

"What's his name?" Kate asked.

"Don't know. I told you, he doesn't talk much."

"I tried," Tess said."He was really ugly to me, so I backed off fast."

"For once I agree with Blake," Marilyn said. "Something about this guy is as cold as ice."

As cold as ice. Kate frowned, unsettled. Why would someone like that even choose to hang around a place like The Uncommon Bean? She couldn't think of any reason except one-he was looking for trouble.

She would just have to make sure he didn't find it.

49

John sat on a park bench, the October day bright and mild. Before him lay Lake Pontchartrain, its diamond surface broken by the occasional swoop of a gull diving for food. Above him, the branches of a centuries-old live oak spiraled toward the sky, a majestic and awe-inspiring work of nature.

A beautiful scene, John thought. Magnificent, calming. At any other time. But not now.

He breathed deeply, working to control his rage. He had followed Julianna. He knew where she worked, her hours, that she didn't associate with any of the other employees. He had learned that she'd given birth to a girl and that she had given her up for adoption. He knew to whom.

He knew everything.

He lifted his gaze to the perfect, Easter egg blue sky. Everything.

Julianna was fucking someone else. His Julianna. His special girl. He flexed his fingers, understanding now the drawer full of cheap undergarments, picturing her in them, writhing under the man's hands.

Like her mother, she had become a whore. She had forgotten his lessons about loyalty and commitment.

A whore.

Fury choked him. He had thought she was different. Special, more worthy than other people.

She had been. Once upon a time.

A sound slipped past his lips, low and feral, like an animal in pain. A sound of grief, of mourning. For the girl he had known. For the purity and light that had been lost.

He closed his eyes, seeing her with his mind's eye, as she had been that first day, radiating goodness, an innocence that had touched the cold places inside him, warming them.

John brought his hands to his face, shocked at how they trembled. How could he have been so wrong about her? He dropped them to his lap. And now, how could he say goodbye?

A mother and her daughter strolled past. The little girl looked to be about the age Julianna had been when they first met. The child peered flirtatiously over her shoulder at him as they drew away, already the coquette.

He stared back at her, unmoved. She didn't have Julianna's inner light. Her beauty of spirit that made her different from others. No one did.

He hadn't been wrong about his Julianna.

John sucked in a sharp breath. She was special. But she was also young, still a child-if not in years then in her heart. Her youth made her reckless, easily influenced.

She hadn't been raised to take care of herself. In confusion, she had turned to this Richard, this nothing. Without John to guide her, she had succumbed to the ways of her mother.

John stood. Above, a gull shrieked and circled, then dove for its prey. The man was to blame. The baby. The woman.

One complication had become three. The complications would have to be eliminated.

And once eliminated, he would know if Julianna was as worthy as he had thought her to be.

50

The next few days were busy and exhausting for Kate. Being back at The Uncommon Bean after so many weeks at home was a major adjustment. For Emma, too. The constant noise and parade of new faces overstimulated the infant, which led to fussiness, especially at night. By the time Kate got her daughter rocked to sleep and tucked into her crib, all she had the energy to do was change into her nightclothes and fall into bed.

Add to that all manner of small annoyances that she'd had to deal with on the home front-crackling on the phone line and the repairman who'd shown up needing to check the inside wiring; lack of rain necessitating constant watering of her lawn and flower beds; a refrigerator that had decided after only six years to call it quits.

But even with all that, something Marilyn had said kept tickling at the edges of Kate's thoughts.

Nothing like a guilty conscience to straighten a man right up.

Did Richard have a guilty conscience? Kate wondered as she bussed The Bean's outdoor tables. Was that why he was being so attentive? So thoughtful? Was that what the constant stream of gifts had been about?

She could understand if he felt bad about the things he had said to her. About Luke. And Emma. She supposed he cringed when he remembered how he'd tried to force himself on her that night. She still did.

But was there something else? Something more?

She cleared the table, collecting the used napkins, empty sugar packets and creamers, stuffing them into an empty coffee cup before she wiped the top down with a damp cloth. She was being paranoid. Letting her imagination run away with her. She had been ever since the day Old Joe had seen the girl on their swing.

The girl on the swing. Kate didn't know why, but it always seemed to come back to her.

As if her thoughts had conjured him, Kate looked up to find her neighbor approaching, his Shih Tzu prancing ahead, tugging at the end of its leash.

She held a hand to her eyes to shield them from the sun and waved with the other. "Joe," she called, "come have a cup of coffee with me."

He waved back and started up The Bean's front walk. Several minutes later, they were both seated at one of the tables on the porch, coffees in front of them and a bowl of water at their feet for the panting Beauregard.

They exchanged pleasantries for a few moments, then Kate got right to the point. "I've been wondering about the young woman you saw on our swing. Do you remember what she looked like?"

Joe appeared unsurprised by the question. He scratched his head. "Now, let me think," he murmured. "It's been a while, and she and I weren't eye-to-eye, you know."

He looked at Kate, forehead wrinkling in thought. "She had hair the color of yours, cut in about the same style. She was youngish, like a college girl. And she was wearing a short skirt."

He shook his head and snorted with disgust. "She had no business swinging in an outfit like that, if you know what I mean?"

Kate agreed that she did. "Is that all you remember about her, Joe? Was there anything else about her appearance or behavior that struck you as odd or outstanding?"

He thought a moment, then shook his head. "Sorry, Kate. Wish I could be more help."

They chatted a few moments longer, then he thanked her for the coffee and left. Kate stared after him, her thoughts whirling with the little bit he had told her.

Brown hair. Medium-length page boy. Youngish. That description could belong to hundreds of women in the Mandeville area. It also matched the one Citywide had given them of Emma's birth mother.

Dear God, Emma's birth mother.

Even as she told herself she was once again letting her imagination run away with her, she jumped to her feet and hurried to her office. She picked up the phone, dialed Citywide's number and asked for Ellen. A moment later, the woman was on the line.

"Ellen," Kate said, sounding breathless even to her own ears. "It's Kate Ryan."

"Kate," she said warmly, "it's nice to hear from you. How's the baby?"

"Wonderful. She's getting so big, you wouldn't recognize her. She rolled over yesterday, and she was so proud. Just beaming, the little stinker."

"Bring her by, we'd love to see her." The social worker's tone changed, becoming all business. "I'm guessing you didn't call to talk about Emma's many accomplishments. Am I right?"

"Right." Kate cleared her throat, nervous about how to approach this. She didn't want the social worker to think she was paranoid or to start having doubts about the stability of the couple who were now Emma's parents. But she had to know if she thought Emma's birth mother could be having second thoughts about giving her baby up. If she couldn't have somehow found them.

"I was wondering…have you heard from Emma's birth mother?"

"No," Ellen responded, "not at all. Why do you ask?"

"I'd still like to meet her. We both would."

"I'm sorry, but she was adamant about keeping the adoption completely closed." "I see." "I know you're disappointed, but hang in there, she may change her mind yet."

She wouldn't, Kate knew. Maybe that was just her paranoia thinking for her, but she didn't think so. She had this awful feeling the woman didn't want to meet them because…what? She had plotted some diabolical scheme, one designed to ruin their lives?

Right. That kind of scenario didn't happen in real life- only in Hollywood screenplays.

Even as she told herself she was losing it, Kate asked, "This may sound crazy, but is there any way Emma's birth mother could have found us? Could any of our identifying information been inadvertently included in our profile packet?"

"Absolutely not." Ellen drew a cautious sounding breath. "Is something wrong?"

Kate sighed. "It's silly, but I…I have this terrible feeling that-"

"Emma's birth mother has changed her mind and wants to steal Emma away from you."

"Yes." Kate brought a hand to her chest, both relieved and horrified. "That's it. How did you know?"

The social worker laughed lightly. "Because it's such a common fear among adoptive parents, especially ones involved in a closed adoption. In a closed adoption, the birth parents remain big question marks. The adoptive parents don't understand why they gave their baby up. They wonder, how could they? After all, to them the baby is the most wonderful, perfect creation in all the world, and they love her so much, they can't image life without her."

She had wondered those things, Kate acknowledged. In just that way, too many times to count.

"Actually," Ellen continued, "your fear of losing Emma shows me how completely you've bonded with your daughter. You're a family now and the thought, even unfounded, that someone might have a claim to a piece of that family is, well, it's terrifying. As time passes, it'll get better." Kate heard the smile in the woman's voice. "I promise."

Kate laughed self-consciously, somewhat comforted, but she couldn't help thinking there had to be something about Emma's birth mother that even Ellen didn't know. "She never expressed any second thoughts? She hasn't called and asked about Emma? Nothing?"

"Nothing. Kate, I promise you, Emma's birth mother was totally committed to placing Emma. She was as at peace with her decision as any birth mom I've worked with. Trust me on this, you will not be hearing from her."

Moments later, Kate hung up the phone, the social worker's reassuring words ringing in her ears. But even so, Kate couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that it was too late-they had already heard from her.

51

It didn't take long for Kate to begin meeting The Bean's newbies. The first was Mr. Military, as Blake had dubbed him. Kate was dismayed to see that for once her melodramatic employees had not exaggerated-he was a very scary guy, cold as ice.

Kate approached him, introducing herself as The Bean's owner, intent on learning his name and what he was doing in Mandeville. She failed miserably. He made it clear that he had paid her exorbitant price for a cup of coffee and that he would like to enjoy it in peace.

She granted him his request, though not without a measure of dismay. Why, she wondered, had he decided to frequent her friendly little establishment?

The Jerry Garcia groupie strolled in next, her third morning back, reeking of incense and saying things like "cool" and "far-out." Marilyn got into a lively no-nukes discussion with him, and Tess took a break to hear about his days traveling with The Dead.

Kate wandered over after getting Emma fed then down for her nap. "Hi, Steve," she said and held out her hand. "I'm Kate."

He smiled and shook her hand. She noticed that his skin was unusually smooth for a man's. "Figured as much," he said. "Love your place. It has great vibes."

"Thank you."

"The stained glass is awesome, really. Tess tells me you're the artist."

"Thanks again, and yes, I am." She narrowed her eyes, studying him. Something about him seemed awfully familiar. "Have we met before?"

"Don't think so." He sipped his latté. "Haven't been in town that long. You ever see The Dead in concert?"

She shook her head. "No, though I have a few of their CDs."

They chatted some more, mostly about the Grateful Dead's music. After a few moments, she excused herself to return to the counter to help Blake with the group of college students that had just come in. When they had serviced the group, she leaned toward Blake. "Something's wrong about that guy," she murmured.

He followed her gaze, then frowned. "Are you talking about Steve?"

"Mmm-hmm. Ever heard the expression, crazy like a fox?"

"Him?" Blake made a face. "No way. The guy's a Jell-O-head."

"I don't think so." Steve looked up suddenly, and Kate quickly averted her gaze. "Check out his eyes. I'm telling you, that whole hippie thing's a put-on. That guy's sharp as a tack."

Blake shook his head. "Get real, Kate. First off, why would anyone actually want to pretend to be a seventies drug casualty? And second, the guy's a complete stoner. Pure and simple."

Kate let it drop, though she didn't buy it. And she still felt certain that she and Steve Byrd had met before. She resolved to keep a close eye on the man.

Later that day, The Bean's last newbie made an appearance. If she hadn't already guessed by the man's Cleveland State T-shirt, Tess's "Oh, my God, it's him," would have given it away. The young woman practically drooled in his double espresso.

"You must be Nick," Kate said, holding out her hand. "Welcome to The Uncommon Bean."

He seemed completely immune to Tess's reaction to him, and smiled at Kate, revealing the most beautiful, whitest teeth she had ever seen. He had a movie star's smile, she decided, disarmed. Tess was right-Nick Winters was quite an attractive man. She would bet the coeds at Cleveland State had lined up to take philosophy.

He took her hand. "And you must be Kate. Your employees have told me all about you."

"Really?" She laughed a bit self-consciously and eased her hand from his. "Good things, I hope?"

"Glowing. They sang your praises." He smiled again and shifted his gaze to Emma. "They told me all about your little miracle baby, too. May I?" He held out his hands. "I haven't held a baby in what seems like forever."

Kate hesitated only briefly, then handed her daughter over. Any concerns she had were immediately alleviated- he handled Emma like a pro.

He held her up, admiring her. "She's beautiful."

"Thank you." She smiled. "I think so, too."

He talked softly to her, making her grin and squeal. Kate watched them. "I see you've spent a lot of time around children."

"I was the oldest of a brood of six."

"Do you have children of your own?"

"Me? No way. Growing up with the responsibility of helping care for five siblings was enough." He indicated one of the tables. "Come sit with me and chat a moment, if you have time?"

She glanced at Tess and Blake-they seemed to have everything under control. "All right. I'd like that."

They sat at a table by the window. He bounced Emma on his knee as he sweetened his espresso. "Tell me about yourself, Kate Ryan."

"What's to tell?" She lifted a shoulder. "I'm married and a mother. I make stained glass art as a hobby and am addicted to coffee. So addicted, in fact, that I opened my own coffeehouse. Pretty ordinary stuff. You, on the other hand, lead a very different and exciting life. I understand you've become a kind of nomad."

He ignored her reference to his life. "That smacks of false modesty to me. I look at you and see a beautiful, accomplished and talented woman."

Kate was a bit taken aback by his blunt and rather forward compliment. She felt herself blush, something she realized she hadn't done in years. "Well, thank you."

"Take your stained glass. You call it a hobby, yet the love you put into it is more than evident. They're exquisite."

She laughed lightly. "Today seems to be my day for compliments. Thank you. Again."

His lips curved up, and he trailed a finger down Emma's velvety cheek. "What I don't understand is, why are you wasting your time running a coffeehouse? You should be making art full-time."

She gazed at him a moment, uncertain if she should be flattered or insulted. "I'm too practical a person to count on sales of my art to make a living."

"But some things are more important than money. You have a gift, you're wasting it."

She stiffened as much at his audacity as at the fact that his words expressed the private battle she had waged with herself for years. "You're entitled to your opinion, of course."

"Now I've offended you. That wasn't my intention. I'm sorry."

"Not at all. But duty calls, and I must get back to work."

He followed her to her feet and handed over her daughter. She took Emma and started off, only to stop and look back at him when he called her name. "I enjoyed our talk very much," he said. "I think you're an exceptional woman."

Kate felt herself flush again. She didn't know how to respond, so she just smiled and returned to the counter area, face on fire.

"What was that all about?" Blake asked, his voice low.

"What was what all about?"

"You and Nick Winters."

"I don't know what you mean. We were just talking."

"You don't know what I mean? You're still blushing, Kate. I think the guy has a crush on you."

"Don't be ridiculous. He doesn't even know me. Besides, I'm a married woman."

"Which doesn't have a thing to do with whether he has a crush on you or not."

Kate shrugged off her employee's teasing about Nick Winters that day and every day for the next week, though secretly she wondered if Blake wasn't right. Every day Nick asked her to join him at his table, and every day he engaged her in conversation. They discussed their views on marriage and parenting; they discussed such hot-button issues as capital punishment and prayer in the classroom; and he encouraged her to talk about Emma and share her feelings about being an adoptive mother.

She had to admit she was flattered. Besides being an extremely attractive man, Nick Winters was highly intelligent, well-read and worldly.

It had been a long time since any man but Richard had so openly admired her and it felt nice, she decided. Very nice.

52

Kate took the following weekend off to recoup from her first two full weeks back at work. Emma needed the rest, too, and slept away most of Saturday and a good part of Sunday.

By Monday morning they were both refreshed and eager to begin the week. Kate carried Emma into The Bean, taking her directly to her play area. After two days away, the infant was more than ready to play with her Bean toys, and she squealed with delight when she saw them.

"Morning," Blake called from behind her. "Have a good weekend off?"

"Great." Kate made certain Emma was situated, then turned to Blake. "And how was your- Oh, my God, where is it?" Her favorite piece of stained glass was gone. Oversize for a large picture window like The Bean's, it depicted egrets roosting in the gnarled, winding branches of a centuries-old live oak tree.

"It sold. Saturday."

"Sold?" she repeated. She loved that piece, and had been certain it would never sell-at five thousand dollars, the price had been exorbitant. "Who bought it?"

"Nick Winters."

Nick had paid five thousand dollars for a piece of her work?

Kate stared at Blake, not quite believing her ears, uncomfortable with this turn of events. "You're sure?"

He laughed. "Of course I'm sure. I have the check stashed under the cash drawer." He popped the register open, lifted the drawer, dug the check out and handed it to her.

She made a sound of surprise. "This is a cashier's check."

"Yeah, I know. I figured the register was the safest place for it. Thank God we weren't robbed. I almost told him to wait until you- Speak of the devil, here he is now."

Kate turned. Nick Winters stood just inside The Bean's front door, his gaze upon her. She mustered a weak smile. "Hello, Nick."

"I see you got the money," he said, crossing to the counter where she and Blake stood.

"Yes." She looked at the check, then back up at him. "I'm overwhelmed."

"I'm sure." He smiled, ordered a double espresso, then moved toward one of the tables. "Sit with me."

It seemed to Kate not so much an invitation as an order, and she wondered if he thought that buying an expensive piece of her art was the same as buying a piece of her, or that she owed him something now. Some people were like that. If he was one of them, she would set him straight, fast.

"Did I surprise you?" he asked, as they sat.

"You could say that. I almost had a heart attack when I looked up and saw the empty window. It was my favorite piece."

"I don't doubt it. It was the best of the lot." He sweetened his espresso, then brought the demitasse cup to his lips and sipped. "Did you know, in some cultures they believe the artist gives up a little piece of his soul with each act of creation?"

She narrowed her eyes. "No, I didn't know that Nick."

"Interesting, don't you think? Ceremonies are performed to cleanse the objects of any negative spiritual residue, as if an inanimate object could possess a life force."

She was uncomfortable with this conversation, and she sensed he knew it. Sensed he was getting pleasure from her unease. "You know what that means, don't you?" he continued.

She shook her head.

"That I own a little piece of your soul."

Something about his expression, something in his eyes, chilled her to her core. She fought to keep her feelings from showing. "If one bought into that sort of thing," she said.

"Exactly." He brought the demitasse cup to his lips and sipped, the motion oddly feminine and disturbing. He set the cup carefully on its saucer. "It points to how personal, how private and unique the act of creation is. Some artists call it a bloodletting, some an act of the subconscious, others one of sheer will. What is it to you, Kate? How would you describe it?"

She wasn't about to discuss her personal creative pathos with this man, wasn't about to describe the joy and frustration, the fear or passion. It was none of his business, and she didn't know why, but she had the feeling that whatever she told him, he would find a way to twist it to his own liking.

How had she ever thought him attractive and interesting? she wondered. How had she allowed herself to preen under his attention. The thought made her sick.

"I find it relaxing," she answered. "Enjoyable."

"You're a poor liar."

"The thing is, Nick," she said, working to keep her tone light, "I'd like to buy that piece of stained glass back from you. You see, I…I feel a little silly about this, but at that price I never thought it would sell. It holds a special place in my heart and-"

"I'm sorry, Kate, but that won't be possible."

Her stomach sank. "May I ask why not?"

"It's no longer in my possession. I had it crated and shipped to my home in Ohio."

"I see." She tried another tact. "But surely, since you travel so much and won't be home to enjoy it, you-"

"I'm sorry, Kate." He smiled, the curving of his lips conveying anything but regret. "You're too late."

53

"Hello there, Kate," Old Joe called, stopping at her gate. "Beautiful evening, isn't it?"

"Just gorgeous." Kate turned off the hose and ambled over to talk to her neighbor. "It's been dry, though."

"Good thing you're getting some water on those pansies. I've been worried you were going to lose them. Almost stopped by to tell you so yesterday." He squinted. "Figured you might not have noticed."

Kate fought a smile. "Thanks for your concern, Joe. These days it's hard to find time for everything that needs to be done. I've been meaning to ask you if you're still having problems with your phone line? Mine's still crackly."

He frowned. "Phone troubles? Mine's been clear as a bell."

It was her turn to frown. "I've been having problems for several weeks. A guy from Bellsouth stopped by one morning, took a look at my equipment. Said the entire area was having problems. Something about damage incurred when Lakeshore Drive was widened two years ago."

"There you have it," he said. "The problem must be limited to the customers on Lakeshore Drive."

"I'm sure you're right," she said. "I'll just give them a call in…the morn…"

She let the thought trail off and brought a hand to her mouth. Steve Byrd. That's where she knew him from. The phone repairman, the one who checked her equipment.

She recalled that morning, the man standing at her door, and frowned. No, that wasn't right. The two men looked nothing alike. Now, why had she thought that?

"Kate? Are you all right?"

She blinked, and felt herself flush. "Sorry, Joe, the sun must be getting to me."

He nodded and squinted up at the sky. "Weather's sure been strange. Can't remember another October this dry." He shifted his attention to Emma, sitting in her bouncer seat in the shade. "She's getting big. Pretty little thing, too."

"Thank you." Kate looked at her daughter, smiling. The infant swung her arms and burbled as if in response. "She's a joy, that's for sure."

"By the way, Kate, your little mystery's solved. Turns out she is a friend of yours."

"Excuse me?"

"The girl you were asking about, the one from the swing. I saw her earlier today, with Richard. Beauregard and I were taking our noon walk. I called out and Richard waved."

Kate frowned, confused. "Are you sure it was the same woman?"

"Sure, I'm sure." Beauregard tugged on his leash, then looked back at his master and barked. Joe sighed. "No rest for the wicked, I guess. Nice talking to you, Kate."

Kate watched her neighbor walk off, a fluttery sensation in the pit of her stomach. Joe had seen Richard with the young woman from the swing? Who could she-

Cause for Alarm Julianna. Of course.

Kate hadn't thought of it before, but Julianna was youngish, like a college coed. She had hair the cut and color of Kate's.

But if her neighbor was correct and the woman he had seen on the swing was the same one he had seen today, what had Julianna been doing at their house weeks before Richard had hired her?

And what had Richard been doing home, with his assistant during the middle of the day?

The tap of a horn startled her out of her thoughts. It was Richard, turning into the drive. Kate forced a smile and waved, not liking the direction of her thoughts. Richard, she was certain, would have a perfectly reasonable explanation for all of her questions.

He climbed out of his car, slamming the door behind him. "Hi, gorgeous," he called, starting across the lawn toward her. "What are you up to?"

"Saving the pansies." She thought again of Joe and her smile faded. "How was your day?"

"Busy." He picked up Emma, seat and all, while Kate rewound the hose.

"Joe said he saw you home around noon." She hung the coiled hose on the rack mounted to the side of the house and together they walked around front.

"I forgot my notes on the Miller case."

"He said Julianna was with you."

"She was. We were on our way to a luncheon with Mothers Against Drunk Drivers. Since we were passing, I stopped in to get my notes."

So, it had been Julianna. What did that mean?

Kate held the door open for Richard. He carried Emma to the kitchen, then set the bouncer seat on the floor. He ignored the child's attempts to get his attention and crossed to the counter and opened a bottle of wine. "Want a glass?" he asked.

"No, thanks." Kate went to Emma, bent, unbuckled her and scooped her up. "Could you fix me an iced tea instead?"

"Sure." As he poured the wine, he made a sound of amusement. "Nosy Old Joe. You'd think he could find something better to do than spy on his neighbors."

"He wasn't spying, Richard. He was walking Beauregard and happened to see you."

"Then ran straight to you to report what he saw. Sounds like a spy to me."

Kate rummaged in Emma's diaper bag for a pacifier. "He only mentioned it to me because a couple weeks ago I asked him again about the girl he saw on our swing."

Richard drew his eyebrows together as if trying to figure out what she referred to, then nodded. "Oh, that. But what would that have had to do with today?"

"Richard, Joe said the girl he saw you with today is the same one he saw on our swing. He's certain of it." When her husband simply stared uncomprehendingly at her, she let her breath out in an exasperated huff. "Don't you see how odd this all is? Why would Julianna have been on our swing, weeks before you had even met her?"

"This is ridiculous." He made a sound of disgust. "You're going to listen to some old geezer instead of your husband?"

"But what does this even have to do with you? We're talking about Julianna."

"And I'm telling you, Joe was mistaken."

When he tried to take his wine and walk away, she stopped him by stepping directly in front of him and forcing him to look at her. "How can you be sure? I told you, something about Julianna isn't as it seems. I don't trust her, I don't think she's honest."

"Oh, for heaven's sake. Now you're talking crazy. Julianna's smart and sweet and a damn good worker. I trust her completely and don't believe she has a dishonest bone in her body."

"What if she was on our swing? And why are you defending her?"

"Why shouldn't I be? I think you're jealous."

"Jealous!" She made a sound of shock. "Why would I be jealous of your assistant?"

"Why do you think? She's young, attractive and unencumbered."

Kate caught her breath, his words hitting her with the force of a blow. "Unencumbered, Richard? Is that what you think I want to be?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean? Maybe it's you who longs to be free?"

"I'm not going to listen to another moment of this." He pushed past her, some of his wine sloshing over the rim of his glass and splattering on the hardwood floor.

"Feeling guilty, Richard?"

He stopped and turned slowly to face her. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Just what it sounds like." She sucked in a deep, fortifying breath. "Are you…cheating on me with Julianna? Is that what all the flowers and gifts and ‘I love yous' have been about?"

"Thanks a lot," he said stiffly. "After all these years, it's nice to know what you really think of me."

She tipped up her chin, unwilling to back down or hide from her horrible suspicions, though she longed to. "Are you, Richard? Cheating on me with Julianna?" A brittle laugh bubbled to her lips. "Or anyone else, for that matter?"

"I can't believe what I'm hearing. I can't believe it's you saying this to me." He took a step toward her. "What's happened to you? Ever since Emma…you've changed, Kate."

"I haven't." She shook her head. "You're the one who's-"

"I'm not the one who never wants to go anywhere. I'm not the one who's tired all the time, or the one who thinks people are sneaking into her house and stealing photographs but leaving the jewelry behind. I'm not the one who's calling a perfectly innocent and hardworking kid dishonest and manipulative. And I'm certainly not the one who just accused my spouse of more than ten years of being unfaithful."

He started toward the living room. She stared after him, tears blinding her. He was right, she realized. She was paranoid and suspicious and acting every bit the possessive, jealous woman he accused her of being. The kind of woman she had always looked at with pity and had promised herself she would never become.

"Richard," she called, taking a step toward him, "wait, please."

He stopped and looked back at her. "You used to be fun, Kate. You used to feel good about yourself and our life together. You used to feel good about me. About us. What's happened to you?" he asked again. "I don't even know you anymore."

54

Kate awakened to the sound of thunder. Rain slashed against the windows and pounded on the roof, and as she dragged herself into a sitting position, a flash of lightning illuminated the gloom.

Richard was already up, she saw, though she hadn't been aware of his rising or leaving. She reached out and touched his pillow; it was cold. She sighed, wondering if he would even speak to her today. Wondering if their marriage would survive another week, let alone a month.

She had slept poorly, and now felt every moment of the wakeful night. She had tossed and turned, tormented by her and Richard's fight. Horrified by the accusations she had hurled at her husband. By what had become of her life and marriage.

The night before, Richard had lain so stiffly beside her. Several times she had reached out to him, whispering her remorse, begging his forgiveness. Each time he had pulled away, rejecting her.

It had hurt almost more than she could bear.

Kate climbed out of the bed, heading for the bathroom. No sleeping in today. Even though Richard's mother had insisted on taking Emma for the day and had picked her up late the evening before, Kate was scheduled to open The Bean. Rainy days, far from keeping customers away, seemed to draw more in. What better way to spend a rainy morning, than inside with a friend or book and a good cup of coffee?

Kate passed a hand wearily across her eyes. Thank goodness she didn't have Emma to contend with this morning. Exhausted and heartsick as she was, she didn't think she could have handled both her daughter and the Saturday rush. Not competently, anyway.

Aware of time slipping by, she showered, dressed and went down for coffee. There, she discovered that Richard was not only up, but gone as well.

He hadn't left a note.

Her eyes filled with tears. That small omission spoke volumes. Suddenly, the house was too quiet, the sound of the rain agitating rather than soothing, the thunder disturbing.

Deciding she would get her coffee at The Bean, she grabbed her purse and raincoat and hurried out into the storm.

Minutes later, Kate drew to a stop behind The Uncommon Bean. She made no move to leave the car, instead choosing to wait a few moments for a momentary break in the downpour. The wipers flew back and forth across the windshield, unable to keep up with the driving rain, and Kate squinted, visibility so poor she could hardly see The Bean's back door though she was nearly on top of it.

The lull came-she threw open the car door and keys in hand, made a dash for it. Her foot landed smack in a puddle, soaking her shoe and the bottom of her pants leg. Swearing, she reached the door, but as she went to fit the key in the lock, it swung open.

Kate froze. Not only had the door been left unlocked all night, it hadn't even been fully shut. She frowned, working to recall who had been scheduled to close the night before.

Tess, Kate remembered. The young woman had been complaining about it the previous afternoon and trying unsuccessfully to con Beanie into switching shifts with her.

Kate made a sound of annoyance and stepped inside. On a Friday night, in her eagerness to hit the bars, Tess had compromised The Bean's security. What if someone had tried to break in? What if the wind had blown the door open? In this rain, the storage room would have been flooded.

Kate shut the door behind her, checking to make sure it was latched. She was going to have to have a talk with her employee. Usually Tess could manage her ditziness, but this was too much.

As she stepped farther into the storage room, Kate made a sound of dismay and brought her hand to her nose. What was that awful smell? Like a garbage can left open in the sun. Or sewage.

She made her way toward the front of the café, the smell becoming stronger as she went. She peeked inside the bathrooms and her office, looking for the source of the odor but finding nothing amiss in either place.

Frowning, she pushed through the louvered door that separated the dining room from the other parts of the café, then stopped, a cry slipping past her lips. Every piece of her stained glass had been yanked from the windows and smashed. The colorful fragments littered the tile floor like an obscene mosaic.

She rushed forward, tripping on something in the aisle. She lowered her gaze. A scream flew to her throat. Tess lay in a crumpled heap on the floor, wedged behind the counter area, arm jutting into the walkway. Her head was twisted in an unnatural angle-her mouth and eyes gaped open. As with surprise. Or terror.

Kate's stomach lurched to her throat. She brought a hand to her mouth to hold the sickness back. From behind her came a stirring. A footfall. She whirled around, the scream ripping from her, shattering the stillness.

It was Blake. Thank God.

Sobbing, Kate fell into his arms.

The police came. The coroner. The forensics team. They questioned Kate and Blake, The Bean's other employees. Eventually, the regulars. They ruled out a bungled robbery as the motive; a careful search revealed nothing missing but Kate's Rolodex.

Tess's neck had been broken, they said. She had died instantly. Judging by her injury and position on the floor, her attacker had come up from behind, taking her by surprise. They surmised that she never even knew what hit her.

At least she hadn't suffered, Kate thought, grabbing on to that one, small comfort. At least she hadn't lain dying, alone and afraid, praying for help that never arrived.

The hours, then days, passed in a sort of waking nightmare for Kate. She closed The Uncommon Bean indefinitely, then managed to go through the motions-talking to the police and the press, listening to the condolences and reassurances of friends, caring for Emma and even managing to eat and sleep occasionally.

She couldn't believe such a terrible thing could happen at her coffeehouse, to someone she had known and cared for. That such violence could occur so close to her shattered her every illusion of safety.

At night as she rocked Emma to sleep, she gazed down at her beautiful and sweet face and struggled to come to grips with it all. She longed to feel safe again. To have her cozy illusion of indestructibility back.

Through it all, Richard was a rock for Kate. Unwavering in his support and sympathy, understanding. She felt closer to him than she had in months, their fight and her ugly accusations forgotten in the midst of their tragedy.

Kate was relieved when, a week to the day she had discovered the body, Tess's sometime boyfriend Matt was arrested for her murder. Witnesses had seen them together that night, arguing bitterly. Tess was last seen getting into his car. The coroner determined that she'd had intercourse shortly before her death. Preliminary lab tests revealed the semen most probably to be Matt's. Even without the final DNA test results, the police felt they had enough evidence to make an arrest.

It wasn't until Matt was in jail that Kate could bring herself to reopen The Bean. And even then, it was to a hush of grief. Everyone who knew Tess was devastated by her death. The regulars, those who hadn't disappeared like Steve Byrd and Mr. Military, expressed their condolences, each commented on the tragic loss of the vibrant and funny young woman.

All except Nick Winters.

He ambled in a couple of days after Kate reopened. He ordered his double espresso, then stood at the counter sipping it. "Business is slow," he commented.

"It's been that way," Marilyn murmured, "ever since…you know."

He lifted his eyebrows. "The murder."

"Yes." Marilyn's eyes filled with tears, and she looked apologetically at Kate. "Excuse me a minute."

Kate watched her hurry off, then turned back to Nick Winters, expecting some comment, some expression of remorse or condolence. Instead, he brought his espresso to his lips, then set it down and met her eyes. Something in his gaze chilled her. "Do you feel violated, Kate?"

"Excuse me?"

"By the destruction of your work? It's such a personal, intimate part of yourself."

"I've barely thought about my glass work," she said stiffly, offended.

"How could you not? It looks naked in here now. Colorless."

"Compared to Tess's death, the loss of my work means nothing."

"You don't have to pretend with me, Kate. We're like souls. I know you." He brought the coffee to his lips once more, then sighed. "I'm certainly glad I bought mine when I did. If I hadn't, it'd be garbage now."

She stared at him disbelievingly. He returned her stare, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Come now," he said, reproach in his voice. "Tess was a pretty girl, but she wasn't like us."

"What do you mean, not like us?"

"She didn't understand loyalty or commitment. She didn't understand fidelity. We both know that." He leaned toward her-Kate instinctively shrank back. "She had the loyalty of a whore."

Kate sucked in a sharp breath. "How can you say these things? She liked you. She was nice to you."

He lifted a shoulder. "Because they're true. You know they are, Kate. You can admit it to me."

"I don't know any such thing." She backed away from the counter, sickened by him. "This conversation is over, Nick. I suggest you take a seat at one of the tables like everyone else."

He reached across the counter and caught her hand. "What would you do, Kate? If you discovered your husband was cheating on you? Could you forgive him? Would you? I'd really like to know."

Emotion choked her, his words striking uncomfortably close to her heart. "Let me go, Nick."

He tightened his fingers instead. "I admire you. You're strong. And honest. Most people aren't, you know. Tess wasn't."

His words, their tone, crawled over her like maggots. She shuddered and tugged against his hand. From the corner of her eyes, she saw Marilyn emerge through the louvered door and stop dead. "I said, let me go."

"You're too good for him, Katherine McDowell Ryan." He released her hand. "It's too damn bad. It's all too damn bad."

55

Kate sat at her desk, staring at the drawing on the far wall. Done in pastels-it depicted her and Richard's house in the springtime, the gardens in full bloom. She had commissioned a local artist to do it in celebration of their first anniversary in their dream home.

She brought a hand to her temple and rubbed at the knot of tension that had settled there. Several hours had passed since her disturbing conversation with Nick Winters, and try as she might, she had been unable to put the things he'd said out of her mind. She hadn't been able to shake the way they had made her feel. Disquieted and on edge. Suspicious.

And angry. At him for saying them-at herself for letting him get to her.

Kate dragged her gaze from the drawing, turning her attention instead to the portable crib where Emma slept. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Richard had been away from home a lot lately. Every weekend. Several evenings a week.

The question was, had he been gone more than at other busy times during their marriage? She thought back, trying to recall. It had never been this bad, she decided, even right before the Gary Seneca trial, and that one had been a doozy. High profile, lots of witnesses and complicated medical evidence.

But, she assured herself, he had never been preparing a political campaign before.

She frowned. But the election was still a year off. And he had already secured considerable support, including the Times Picayune and the St. Tammany Parish Sheriff's Department. How much more could he and Julianna have to do?

Hating herself for her suspicions, she grabbed her purse, checked on Emma, then headed out front. She would put her mind to rest once and for all.

"Marilyn, Blake, there's something I have to do. Can you watch Emma until I get back? It's important."

"No problem," Marilyn said, meeting her eyes. "What's up?"

"I can't…there's something I need to check out, and I have to do it now." Marilyn frowned, and Kate ignored the question in her eyes. "She's asleep and should be for a while. There are two bottles in the refrigerator and diapers in the bag beside the crib." She set the baby monitor on the counter. "I'll be back as quick as I can."

Leaving before either employee could question her, Kate hurried home to retrieve her car, then drove to Richard's firm, reassuring herself the entire way. Richard would be there, chin-high in paperwork, just as he had said he would be. She would feel like a fool, make some excuse for being there, and head back to The Bean, promising herself she would never distrust her husband again.

But Richard wasn't there. Several associates were, and Kate asked but no one had seen him. Using his office phone, she called home. The recorder picked up. She tried his car, then the club. Both without luck.

Hands shaking, she hung up the phone. She would run home; perhaps he was napping. Or in the yard. His car hadn't been there when she'd retrieved hers, but they could have passed each other on the way.

Kate darted into the hallway and ran smack-dab into one of the secretaries, her arms piled high with copies. The papers flew.

Kate made a sound of dismay, squatted down and began helping the young woman collect the papers. "I'm so sorry," she said, embarrassed. "I wasn't looking where I was going."

"That's okay, Mrs. Ryan. It happens."

"Do I know you?"

The woman flushed. "We met last year. At the firm's Christmas party. Sandy Derricks. Mr. Bedico's assistant."

Kate smiled. "Of course, Sandy. It's good to see you again." She scooped up the last of the papers and handed them to Sandy, her expression apologetic. "It's not bad enough having to work on a Saturday, but now I've gone and made your job more difficult."

"Don't think anything of it, really. I work every Saturday." She drew her eyebrows together. "Can I help you in some way?"

Kate laughed. "Actually, maybe you can. I'm looking for my husband. Have you seen him today? It's rather urgent that I speak with him."

For a moment, Sandy gazed blankly at her, then a small, sly smile curved her lips. "Not today," she said softly. "Of course, he's been out of the office a lot recently." She paused as if for effect, her smile broadening, becoming almost triumphant. Kate's stomach sank, fearing what was coming next. "Perhaps if you find his assistant Julianna, you'll find your husband."

Kate's hands began to shake. She understood what Sandy was telling her. And that doing so was giving her great pleasure.

Kate took a step backward, working to get a grip on her emotions. Her hurt. Her fury and embarrassment. The urge to hotly defend her husband, to tell this young woman that it wasn't true. Her husband would not be unfaithful to her.

Instead, quietly and with as much dignity as she could muster, she asked Sandy to get her Julianna's address.

She did and within twelve minutes, Kate pulled to a stop in front of Julianna's apartment. Richard's Mercedes was parked in the drive, wedged in behind a bright blue Miata.

Kate sat for a moment, breathing deeply, trying to calm herself. She flexed her fingers on the steering wheel, acknowledging fear. And cowardice. She could just drive away, she thought. She could stick her head in the sand and pretend this wasn't happening, pretend that her husband hadn't taken her love and trust and thrown them back in her face.

As if he hadn't broken her heart.

Oh, Richard…how could you? She bent and rested her forehead against the steering wheel, numb with the truth, with the impending betrayal. We had everything. We had each other.

Firming her resolve, Kate drew in a deep breath, threw open the car door and climbed out. She strode up the walk; climbed the two steps to Julianna's porch and crossed to the door.

She knocked. When there was no answer after a moment, she pounded.

A moment later the door cracked open. Through the sliver of space, Kate saw that Julianna wore a slinky, silky robe. Her hair was tousled; her face flushed.

There went her last hope-that they really were working.

Fool. Naive, trusting idiot.

"I want to see my husband," she said, voice shaking. "Now."

"I don't know what you're-"

"Cut the crap. His car's out front." Kate shoved at the door and pushed past the other woman.

Julianna cried out. "How dare you! How-"

Richard appeared at the bedroom door, hurriedly zipping his pants. "Julianna, are you all ri-" He stopped when he saw Kate, his face falling. It would have been comical if it weren't so tragic. "K-Kate," he managed to stammer, his voice thick, "what are you doing here?"

Her eyes flooded with tears. "More to the point, husband, what are you doing here?"

"This isn't what it looks like."

"No? Then what is it?"

"It-" He glanced at Julianna, who was wringing her hands and whimpering. The vulnerable, innocent act made Kate want to puke. "We…I spilled coffee on my shirt and…and I took it off to…"

His words trailed pathetically off. As he stood there half-dressed, scrambling around for some lame excuse for being half-naked in his assistant's bedroom on a Saturday afternoon, Kate saw him in a way she never had before.

As weak. And shallow. And completely self-absorbed. Did the man she'd thought she loved for so long even exist?

"Kate," he murmured, holding out a hand in supplication, "I can explain."

She thought of their fight of a few weeks ago. Of the things he had said, of the way he had made her feel-as if there was something wrong with her. As if she was the problem, the one who was letting them down. She folded her arms across her chest, battling the hurt that threatened to tear her apart. "You can explain, Richard? How? By telling me I'm a jealous, possessive shrew? Or by telling me I don't believe in you? Or that I'm not fun anymore?"

He simply stared at her. A first, she thought, the slick lawyer at a loss for words. She looked away, then back, shaking with sudden rage. "You son of a bitch. I trusted you. I-" Tears choked her, and she fought to clear them. "Don't come home, Richard. You're not welcome there any longer."

56

That night, Kate stood beside Emma's crib and watched her daughter. She slept the deep, untroubled sleep of only the very young; she had no sins to regret, no fears to stalk her, no betrayals to steal her peace of mind.

Kate's eyes welled with tears. She fought the urge to reach out and touch the infant, though she longed to. It wouldn't be fair to wake her only because her mother needed someone to hang on to.

She was so beautiful, Kate thought. So perfect and sweet. She had brought such joy into their lives. No, not their lives; not Richard's. Only hers. Obviously. Richard's betrayal had proved that. If he had cared one whit about being a parent, about being Emma's parent, he wouldn't have thrown her away.

Kate brought a hand to her mouth, working to hold back a cry of despair. How could Richard have done this? How could he have betrayed her this way? How could he have betrayed them?

She spun away from the crib and hurried from the nursery. In the hours since she had discovered Richard's betrayal, she had alternately paced and raged and sobbed. She hadn't answered the phone, though it had rung a dozen times. After the first couple, she had unplugged the recorder. She had been afraid Richard was calling, and she neither wanted to talk to him nor take his message. Not ever again.

Kate brought the heels of her hands to her eyes, furious at her tears. He didn't deserve them, the lying, cheating SOB.

Her husband. How could he have betrayed her this way?

She sank to the couch. How long? she wondered. Had he started the affair after he hired Julianna? Or had he hired his lover? She brought a hand to her mouth. Dear God, was Julianna the first?

A month ago that thought would never have occurred to her. But then, only a matter of hours ago, she'd had a good marriage. Perfect, she'd thought-even with the few rough patches. A loving husband, a happy life.

Now she- Her tears spilled over once more. Standing, she went in search of a tissue. Finding it, she blew her nose, tossed the used tissue in the trash, then grabbed another. Had Richard ever loved her? Or had he married her out of competition with Luke? Or because she, stupid, doting fool, had always given him everything he wanted?

Because she had always given him what he wanted. Before Emma, she had been happy to cater to him, to his needs, desires and plans. She had been so grateful to be Mrs. Richard Ryan.

Selfish asshole, she thought, suddenly furious. He hadn't wanted to share with Emma. Richard had always needed to be number one. Always had to be the center of attention. She knew that about him, had always known it. But she had thought he would be man enough, adult enough, to share with a child.

Apparently, she had been wrong.

But then, she had been wrong about a lot of things lately.

The doorbell pealed. Startled, she swung toward the door. Through the beveled glass panel she saw the figure of a man. He turned slightly in her direction, as if spotting her, then lifted a hand in greeting.

Nick Winters, she realized, both surprised and dismayed. What was he doing here?

Pulling herself together, she crossed to the door. She cracked it open. "Hello, Kate," he said, smiling. "I'm sorry to bother you so late, but I was hoping to buy another piece of your stained glass."

She shook her head, gripping the doorknob more tightly. "I'm sorry, Nick, but tonight's not good. Maybe tomorrow?"

"Kate, please." He placed his hand on the door. "It's for my mother. Her birthday's the day after tomorrow and…" He met her eyes. "Please, Kate. She'd love your work."

She glanced at her watch, then back at him. The last thing she wanted was a visitor. Especially Nick Winters. "This really isn't a good time. Couldn't it wait?"

"It can't." He lowered his voice to a soft plea. "Please, Kate. It would mean the world to her."

She hesitated, then relented and opened the door the rest of the way. "It'll have to be quick. I'm not feeling too well tonight."

He stepped inside, his expression sympathetic. "I see that. I'm so sorry, Kate."

She swallowed against the feeling that he knew exactly why she didn't feel well, and led him downstairs to her glass studio. Many of her pieces were hung, but she had others stored in a flat file. He flipped through them without speaking.

His silence began to make her nervous. Something about it felt wrong-too quiet, too intense. Too…full.

She glanced at her watch again, suddenly realizing what she had done-let a man she knew virtually nothing about into her home when she was alone. A man who had shown no remorse at another's death, one who had upset her just that afternoon.

The hair on her arms and at the back of her neck stood up, and she cleared her throat. "Do you see one you like?"

He didn't answer, and she took the tiniest step backward, hoping he wouldn't notice, wondering if she made a run for it how far she would get.

"I'm really not feeling well tonight. Could we please cut this short?"

He looked at her. In his pale gaze she saw something akin to pity. "I know what it's like to be betrayed, Kate. To have your love and trust thrown back in your face." He lowered his voice to a silky caress. "I know how much that hurts."

She swallowed hard, unsettled. By the intimacy in his tone, the way he was looking at her. "It's late, Nick. I think you'd better go."

She took a step back from him-he followed. "Richard's sleeping and…and I told him I'd be right there. He'll be down here any minute to check on me."

Nick shook his head, pity in his eyes once more. "I saw them together. I know." He cupped Kate's face in his palms, forcing her to look at him. "I like you, Kate. I do. I wish things could be different."

She tried to pull away; he tightened his grip. It felt as if her face were caught in a vice. "Do you think about revenge?" he asked. "About making him pay?"

A sound slipped past her lips, a small squeak of terror. The sound amused him, she saw. Pleased him. The smile that touched his lips sent a chill clear to her bones.

"Loyalty is all, Kate Ryan. You and I know that. When trust is broken, all that remains is vengeance. ‘For vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord."'

He relaxed his fingers slightly and drew his thumb across her mouth, the gesture almost absentminded. Kate stood frozen in his hands, barely able to contain her shudders of fear. Who was this man? What was he?

A monster, she thought in horror. She had let a monster into her home.

Emma. Asleep in her crib, alone, defenseless.

Oh, God. Don't let him hurt my daughter, she silently begged. Please, not my baby.

"I like you," he said again, softly, his tone laced with regret. He bent toward her. His breath stirred against her ear. "It'll be all over soon. Sooner than you can even imagine."

He dropped his hands, then turned and walked away. Kate watched him go, frozen to the spot, shaking so badly her teeth chattered. He climbed her stairs; she heard him cross the floor above her head, heard her front door snap shut.

That final sound penetrated her fear, galvanizing her to action. With a cry of pure terror, she raced up the stairs. To the nursery. Emma was there in her crib, asleep, her chest rising and falling with her breathing.

Kate said a prayer of thanks; it played over and over in her head, even as she left Emma and ran to the front door. She locked it, then looked out the glass panel.

Nick stood beside his car, gazing up at the house. Up at her. Kate brought a trembling hand to her mouth. Her fear amused him. Her attempts to protect herself and her child. She sensed that if he wanted to hurt her, he would. If he wanted to hurt Emma. A door and dead bolt wouldn't keep him out.

Nothing would.

Quickly, she snapped off the foyer light, leaving her in darkness and him in light. He lifted a hand, as if in acknowledgment of her terror, then climbed into his car. A moment later he backed out of the drive, his headlights cutting through the darkness, the twin beams bouncing crazily through the branches of the oaks, the effect like carnival lights.

She turned and hurried from window to window, checking them, locking the ones that weren't, dead-bolting the doors, her panic growing.

Sobbing now, she retrieved Richard's hunting rifle from their bedroom closet. She loaded it, her hands shaking so badly it took her three tries to slip the shells into the chamber. Taking it and the cordless phone, she went to Emma's room. Clutching both to her chest, she sank to the floor beside the crib.

57

Richard took one last glance at Julianna's front door, then started across the porch. He hated to leave Julianna while she slept, but he couldn't stay. It wouldn't look right for him to be here overnight; he had his reputation to think of, the firm's, his campaign.

He hadn't been able to sleep anyway. Every time he'd closed his eyes, he had seen Kate's face, her wounded expression as she had told him he was no longer welcome in his own home.

God forgive him, he hadn't gone after her. He had stayed with Julianna. She had held and comforted him; she had understood his confusion and pain. Comforting had become passion, then urgency. She had taken him into her hands, then mouth, and when, finally, she had taken him inside her, Kate and his ruined marriage had been far from his thoughts.

They weren't now. How was he going to face her? he wondered, looking up at the starless sky, feeling small and gutless. Hardly half a man, let alone a whole one. He'd had the perfect life, the ideal marriage. He had blown it all to hell.

No. He hadn't blown it. If he wanted her back, their marriage back, by God, he would have it. She was his wife; she would forgive him. He deserved that much from her. After all the things he had given her and the way she had shut him out these past months, she owed him this one little mistake. She owed him forgiveness.

He took his cellular phone from his pocket and punched in their home number as he angled across the small patch of lawn to his car. She answered on the first ring, her voice gravelly with sleep or tears, he wasn't sure which.

"Kate, it's me. Don't hang up, I-"

"I've got nothing to say to you."

The phone went dead as she hung up on him. He made a sound of surprise. And anger. She was his wife, by damn, and she would talk to him. He pressed redial, but before he hit Send, a figure separated from the shadows beside the house.

"You've taken something that belongs to me," the man said softly. "And I want it back."

Richard strained to see the man's face, still cloaked in shadow. What he could make out didn't strike a chord of recognition in him. "You're confused, buddy," he said, annoyed. "Get lost."

The man took a step closer, emerging from the darkness. "You took my sweet flower and soiled her. Now you have to pay."

Richard expelled a sharp breath. "I don't know you. I didn't take this ‘flower' you're talking about. I'd suggest you go sleep it off. Now, get the hell away from me."

Instead, the man came closer, his movements nearly soundless. Richard saw that he had light hair and eyes as flat and cold as death.

A prickle of unease moved over him. "Didn't you hear me? I said to get the fuck away from me before I-"

"What?" The man laughed. "Call the cops? It'll be all over with before they get here." He eased closer. "Let me tell you a story. About a beautiful young girl. And the man who loved her. She was the world," he murmured, glancing toward Julianna's door. "His everything. He protected and cherished her. He taught her about loyalty and trust. In return, he gave her all that she desired.

"But she was susceptible to evil, to outside forces, ones intent on extinguishing her sweet, bright light. Ones who would turn her into a common whore."

Julianna, Richard realized. He was talking about Julianna. This must be the man she had told him about, the one she feared from her past.

Richard narrowed his eyes. "If you're talking about Julianna, I'm telling you now, it's over between you two. She doesn't want to see you. Not ever."

This time it was Richard who took a step closer, hoping to intimidate. "Leave her alone. If you don't, I'll have you slapped with a restraining order so fast it'll make your head spin. You got that, you freak?"

John smiled. "Self-righteous son of a bitch, aren't you? I look at you and I see the slime of the earth, a man without honor. Without loyalty." He swept his icy gaze over Richard, his contempt all but palpable. "What of your beautiful wife and baby daughter, alone in that big old house? Who's protecting them while you're off fucking my Julianna? Who's taking care of them?"

Richard's blood ran cold at the implied threat to his family. This man knew about his family, where they lived, that they were alone and vulnerable.

Fear choked him, and he took a step backward. "I'm calling the police," he said, punching 911 on his cell phone. "If I were you, I'd-"

Richard heard a loud pop, like a firecracker exploding, then felt a burning sensation in his chest. He lifted a hand to the spot, then brought it away wet.

Blood.

Dear Jesus, Kate.

Head swimming, he lifted his disbelieving gaze to the man's. The man smiled. And pulled the trigger again.

58

Kate opened her eyes slowly. Her head pounded; her eyes burned. She glanced around her, momentarily disoriented. Then she remembered. Richard's betrayal. Nick Winters' frightening visit. Curling up beside the crib, shotgun clutched to her chest.

The pounding in her head became louder, more insistent. Kate realized someone was at her door. She eased herself into a sitting position, then stood, wincing as her joints and muscles screamed in protest. Her entire body ached from sleeping on the nursery's wooden floor. She felt like a prize fighter's punching bag.

"I'm coming," she muttered, peering at her wristwatch, wondering who would be calling so early. It wasn't Richard, she knew. Not only did he have a key, he was arrogant enough to think using it would be okay.

Emma stirred, but didn't waken. Thank God. She would take care of whoever was at the door, then make herself a pot of strong, black coffee. Maybe then she would feel halfway human.

She reached the front door and glanced out the sidelight. Two men she didn't know stood on her porch. Both wore suit jackets and dark sunglasses. Like a couple of guys out of a bad TV show.

She cracked open the door. "Can I help you?"

"Mrs. Ryan?"

"That's right."

"Mandeville police." The man on her right held up his shield. "I'm Detective Owens. This is Detective Dober. Could we have a few minutes of your time?"

Kate moved her gaze from one to the other of them, heart in her throat. She swallowed hard, past the fear. "What's this about?"

"May we come in?"

She shook her head. "Not until you tell me what this is about."

The men exchanged glances. "Mrs. Ryan, do you know where your husband is?"

A half an hour later, Kate was on her way to the morgue to identify her husband. She sat in the back seat of the detectives' Ford, silent, shaking hands clasped in her lap. Emma was with the next-door neighbor. The woman had taken one look at Kate and had agreed without questions to watch the child.

Kate turned her face to the window and watched the world go by, the sights familiar but foreign. She struggled to keep from falling apart, struggled to come to grips with what the detectives had told her. It looked like a robbery, the police had said. Richard's wallet, watch and wedding band were missing. He had been found beside his Mer-cedes, cell phone in his hand. He had been shot twice, at point-blank range.

The police had questioned her extensively about the last time she had seen her husband, about his whereabouts and the last weeks of his life. Did she know of anyone who might want him dead?

As humiliating as it had been, she had been completely honest with them. About discovering his infidelity. Their fight. That she had told him not to come home.

She had seen their expressions change as she talked, sympathy becoming suspicion. She had a motive, she realized. No alibi. A hysterical laugh passed her lips, and she saw the detective who was driving-she couldn't remember whether he was Owens or Dober-glance at her in the rearview mirror. Dear God, her husband had been murdered, and she had to deal with finding a lawyer.

As if in a waking nightmare, Kate followed the detectives into the morgue. She was aware of a strong odor, like apples fermenting in a cellar. An antiseptic, she realized. Or formaldehyde. Masking the scent of death. Mixing with it.

One of the detectives slid out the refrigerated drawer. She stood dumbly by, waiting for him to lift the white sheet, sweat beading on her upper lip and slipping between her breasts. Down her spine.

He did. A cry rose to her throat. She brought her hand to her mouth, holding it and her sickness back. She nodded and spun away, breath coming in short, shallow pants.

The detective with the gentle voice led her out of the room, then the building and into the bright fall day. There, she sank to a step, dropped her head into her hands and wept.

The next forty-eight hours were a nightmare for Kate. She had Richard's family and their grief to deal with, her and Richard's friends and colleagues to tell, their shock to contend with, The Bean to run and funeral arrangements to make. Emma to care for. The shadow of suspicion hanging over her, the detectives' seemingly endless questions.

Her own grief. Her guilt. She couldn't help wondering- knowing-that if she had been more forgiving, if she had allowed Richard to come home, he would be alive.

How was she going to go on? How was she going to live with that?

She was eliminated as a suspect only after Richard's cell phone records were received. That call he made to her, as well as Old Joe's midnight stroll with Beauregard, cleared her.

Blake, Marilyn and Beanie were godsends. They took over the day-to-day running of The Bean. In truth, Kate wanted nothing to do with it.

First Tess. Now Richard. Nothing meant anything anymore.

Except Emma. If not for her daughter, Kate feared she would curl up and die, too. That's why, when family and friends offered to take the child until Kate had a chance to find her footing, she refused. Without her daughter, she told them, she would never find her feet. Emma was all that anchored her to this world.

59

Richard was interred in his family's vault in New Orleans. The November day was cold and damp, the air heavy with moisture. Julianna stood outside the circle of mourners, neither family, friend, nor colleague. An outcast. The way she had always been.

Without Richard, she was alone now. Alone again. Tears stung her eyes and she fought to keep them from falling. She didn't want them to see her cry, didn't want them to think her pathetic. As pathetic as she thought herself.

The firm had closed for the day so that the employees could attend the funeral. They all snubbed Julianna. Somehow they had discovered Julianna's part in Richard's last hours, that the two of them had been embroiled in an affair.

Somehow. Julianna shifted her gaze to Sandy, huddling with the other secretaries, suddenly one of them. Suddenly accepted.

Not so suddenly, not a surprise.

Chas Bedico had called her the day after the murder and coolly reminded her that she had been an employee of Richard's, not the firm's. He would appreciate it if she would remove her personal items from the office before regular hours began Monday morning. As a courtesy to Kate, he would pay Julianna anything that was owed her.

It had been obvious that he had known about her and Richard, too.

Just then, Sandy looked up and their gazes met. Her lips lifted in the smallest of smiles, but in that smile Julianna saw triumph. Payback. In that moment she knew with certainty what she had only suspected-Sandy had made sure everyone knew about her affair with Richard. No doubt complete with all the sordid details she could manufacture.

Payback.

Vision blurring with tears, Julianna dragged her gaze away. She hugged herself, losing the battle with her tears. They spilled over and rolled down her cheeks. Sandy didn't understand. None of them did. She and Richard had been so much more than lovers. They had been each other's destiny. Soul mates.

And now he was gone.

Julianna hugged herself tighter, struggling to keep from completely falling apart. She had nothing now. No lover, no job. She looked toward Kate, cuddling Emma in her arms, holding her tightly.

No baby.

As she contemplated the mother and infant, Julianna longed to hold her child, so badly her arms and chest ached. If only she could hold on to her the way Kate was, seeming to draw strength and comfort from her tiny body, her unconditional love. With Emma, she would never have to be alone and unloved again.

She had nothing. Nobody.

No, she amended, not quite alone. John was out there. Waiting, though she wasn't sure for what. Since she found the obscene package he had left for her on her bed, she'd heard nothing from him, though she had known he was near. She had felt his presence, like the charged quiet of a storm still an hour off. Watching. Biding his time.

Richard's parents opened their home for the mourners to pay their respects after the funeral. Julianna didn't attend. Instead, she drove aimlessly through the city before heading back across the Causeway, working to gather her scattered thoughts, to plan what she would do next, where she would go.

She had allowed herself a false sense of security; she realized that now. She had allowed herself to believe that some stranger had been in her home and had violated her things; had allowed herself to believe that Richard could protect her from John.

Instead, Richard was dead. Julianna's hands began to shake, and she gripped the steering wheel tighter. No one could protect her from John. No one but herself. She had to run-she would have already but she'd felt compelled to attend Richard's funeral. For herself and because she owed him that.

By the time she returned home, the sun was beginning its descent. The humidity of the day had lingered, lending the approaching evening a wet cold that penetrated clear to her bones. Los Angeles, she thought as she climbed out of her car and started for the porch. Palm trees, ocean breezes, moderate temperatures. Surely she could get lost in a city that size.

She unlocked her front door and stepped inside. She stopped dead, a cry of terror crossing her lips, coming out as a strangled whimper. John sat in a straight-backed chair facing the door, a gun laid across his lap.

He smiled, the curving of his lips bloodless. In that instant, Julianna knew that John had killed Richard. He meant to kill her next.

"Hello, Julianna."

She took an instinctive step backward, hand behind her, searching for the doorknob, though she knew he would never allow her to escape.

He picked up the gun, and motioned with it. "Move away from the door, please. After all, we wouldn't want to disturb the neighbors."

She did as he asked, heart beating so wildly she could hardly breathe.

"What's the matter, my sweet? Aren't you happy to see me?" He smiled again. "You can't be surprised. I know you got my gift."

"You…killed…Richard."

"I did. He took what was mine, Julianna. He had what was mine. That was unacceptable." He waved her forward. "Come here."

Eyes filling with tears, she did as he instructed. Her legs shook so badly she could hardly walk. She stopped before him, head bowed.

"Look at me, Julianna." She lifted her gaze. "I want you to get on your knees."

Her tears welled and spilled over. She didn't want to die on her knees, but followed his orders anyway, wondering when the bullet would come, where he would place it.

And she wondered whether death would be mercifully quick or agonizingly slow.

He stood. "I'm disappointed in you, Julianna. Very disappointed." He lowered his voice. "After everything I taught you about love, about loyalty and commitment, you do this? You let me down this way?"

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm so sorry."

He shook his head. "Sorry isn't good enough. You disobeyed me. You stole from me. You took my love and threw it back in my face. How do you think that made me feel?" When she didn't answer, he nudged her with the gun. "How, Julianna?"

"Bad," she said, voice faltering. "Awful."

"That doesn't begin to cover it." His voice thickened, as with emotion. "You broke my heart."

She swallowed past the knot of tears in her throat. "Forgive me, John. I didn't mean to. Please…don't hurt me."

He ignored her pleading and circled to stand behind her. "I could kill you now." He bent and she felt his breath against the back of her neck, his lips against her ear. She shuddered. "It would be easy. Almost pleasurable after the way you've betrayed me."

A sob rose to her throat. How could she have been so stupid to believe Richard could protect her from John, that anyone could?

"There," John murmured, his voice warming, "you're getting it now. You're starting to understand my power. The power of right, of justice." He laughed, and the merciless sound ripped along her nerve endings. "Those responsible must pay. Loose ends must be tied up. Like Clark Russell. Like your mother."

She lifted her eyes to his, and he laughed again. "That's right, my sweet. They interfered in my business, they told you things you weren't meant to know. They had to be punished."

"No," she said, her voice lifting, then cracking. "No!"

"I'm afraid so." He placed the gun's muzzle under her chin, forcing her head so far back that her neck began to ache. "It wasn't pretty, love. But it was quick. For you, she didn't suffer."

Julianna began to cry, deep wrenching sobs of despair. Richard was dead because of her. Her mother. Clark Russell. What had she done?

"Stop that." He shook his head, frowning. "She doesn't deserve your tears, she wasn't a good mother. She wasn't there for you. I was there for you. I'm the one you should cry for. Me, Julianna. Only me."

He released the gun's hammer and tucked the weapon into the waistband of his pants, then squatted in front of her. He cupped her face in his palms, his fingers digging into her flesh, demanding she look at him. "You're young and foolish. Susceptible to those who would ruin you. It's not your fault, I know that."

He spoke slowly and patiently, the way he would to an errant child. "Because of your youth, I might allow you this one mistake. I might," he repeated. "Just this one."

She caught her breath. He was offering her a chance. A way out of a bullet. She swallowed her fear, her grief. She focused on what he was saying, on what he was offering her. "What…how can I make my mistakes up to you? How, John?" She covered his hands with her own. "Tell me what to do, please."

He smiled and trailed his thumbs softly, tenderly across her cheekbones. "I want my little girl back. My special one. I miss her, Julianna." He brought his face closer and brushed his mouth against hers. "I want what we had before."

At his words, their meaning, vomit rushed to her throat, threatening to strangle her. She choked it back by sheer force of will. Dear God, how could she give him what he wanted? How could she go back to the girl who had innocently loved John Powers with all her heart when now she saw that he was a monster? Dear God, how?

For a moment, she thought of telling him the truth, of telling him that she hated him, that he repulsed her. That she would rather die than be with him again.

She couldn't. Because that, too, would be a lie.

She didn't want to die. She wanted to live. And this was her only chance.

She leaned forward and rested her forehead against his chest. "I've missed you so much." The falsehood tripped easily off her tongue, sounding not only natural but rich with emotion. She lifted her face to his and smiled tremulously. "I've missed being your little girl. I've missed being special."

Beneath her hands, his trembled. That small display of his excitement sickened her. She fought to keep her true feelings from showing as he helped her to her feet and led her to the bedroom. To the bed.

There, he undressed her, his movements faltering. He laid her on the bed, then stripped and lay beside her. She lay unmoving as he fondled and petted her, knowing what he expected, what aroused him most. Knowing that if she fell out of character, even for a moment, she would be lost.

She squeezed her eyes shut as he slid his hands over her body, stroking and petting, unable to quell the shudders of distaste that rippled over her, unable to stop the tears that trickled from the corners of her eyes and rolled down her cheeks.

Cause for Alarm She was a lost soul.

John caught a tear with the tip of his finger and brought it to his mouth. "Are you frightened, Julianna?"

"Yes," she whispered, voice trembling.

"You needn't be, my sweet." He thought her answer, her trembling and tears a part of the game, she knew. She knew also that they pleased him. "I'll be gentle, you know I will. So gentle."

He brought her hand to his erection. As he had hundreds of times before, he instructed her on how to hold and stroke him. As she followed his instructions, guttural sounds slipped past his lips, ones more animal than human. Hearing them made her physically ill. She wondered if a bullet wouldn't have been a better choice.

He rolled her onto her back and entered her. She cried out. In despair. And humiliation. Instead of a deterrent, her cries served as an intoxicant. He arched his back and with a shout of triumph, climaxed.

He collapsed against her, perspiring, his breath coming in short, quick gasps. "My angel," he murmured after a moment, his lips against her neck. "My sweet, sweet, angel. I knew you'd come back to me. I knew it."

She didn't trust herself to speak without revealing her true feelings, so she said nothing.

At her silence, he raised himself up on an elbow and gazed down at her, tears in his eyes. "Happy?"

She forced what he wanted to hear past her stiff lips and frozen smile. "So happy. I love you, John."

He studied her expression, as if deciding whether she was telling the truth. If he decided she was not, he would kill her. Julianna knew this to be a fact.

One moment became several, still he gazed assessingly at her. Her heart began to race, her breath to come in shallow gasps. Her cheeks felt hot, her pulse quick.

After several seconds, he nodded. "I forgive you. But understand, you must be punished for your disobedience. You must pay for that disloyalty. Now there are loose ends to be tied up. Now it's messy."

Her mother had been a loose end. So had Clark and Richard. Who was left? She searched his gaze, dread settling in the pit of her gut. "I don't understand."

"The baby, of course." He trailed a finger down her cheek, following the path of her tears. "She has to die."

Julianna's heart stopped. Emma? No!

"Yes," he said, as if he had read her thoughts. He shook his head regretfully. "You should have gotten rid of it when I told you to. Now it's more difficult. Now Kate's involved."

Fear rose up in her, grabbing her by the throat. Not fear of her own death, but of another's. She pictured Emma, the way she gurgled and kicked her legs, the way her smile lit up her whole face and made you feel glad to be alive. And she pictured her in a pool of blood, her head blown off or throat slit.

She had to find a way to stop him.

"But why?" she whispered. "She belongs to Kate now. She's not a part of our lives. She-"

He placed a hand over her mouth, hushing her. "Loose ends," he said. "They can come back to haunt you, they must be tied up."

He dropped his hand, swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. He reached for his gun, checked the clip, then lay it on the bed beside him. "I'd like to spare Kate, but that might not be possible. It probably won't be."

Julianna stared at his back, sickened. He spoke of killing Kate and Emma with no more emotion than he would talking about lunch. Or the weather. How had she not seen him for the monster he was? How could she have believed herself in love with him?

She wouldn't let him kill Emma. She couldn't.

She darted her gaze over the room, considering her options, scrambling for a way out of this, for a way to stop him. For something she could use to stop him. She needed to get his gun. But how? He never let it out of his reach. Her gaze landed on the hideously ugly ceramic lamp on the bedside table. It would have to do.

Julianna crawled out of bed, snatched up a T-shirt and pair of shorts from the floor beside the bed and pulled them on. "You're right, of course. But I…I should help."

He stood and looked over his shoulder at her in question. "It's my mess," she said. "I should help…clean it up."

He thought about it a moment, then inclined his head. "What do you propose?"

He bent to retrieve his pants from the floor, stepped into them, then reached for his gun.

Julianna saw her opportunity. Her last opportunity. She grabbed the lamp and swung. It connected with the back of his head with a sickening thud. The gun slipped from his fingers.

He straightened and looked at her, his expression registering surprise, then understanding. She swung again, as hard as she could, grunting with the effort. The lamp base exploded against his head. Pottery shards and blood flew in every direction.

As if in slow motion, John fell to his knees, then toppled face first to the floor, square on top of the gun.

Julianna stood above him, shaking, what was left of the lamp dangling from her hand. She couldn't tell if he was breathing; no way was she going any closer.

She let the lamp slip from her fingers. "That's what I propose, you sick bastard."

60

Kate awakened with a start. She sat up and looked around her, disoriented. She'd come home from the funeral and after getting Emma down for the night, had poured herself a big glass of wine and sat on the couch. She must have fallen asleep.

She glanced at the baby monitor to make sure it was on. The power indicator light glowed; a comforting, red beacon in the otherwise dark room.

Kate stared at it a moment, listening. No sound came from her daughter's bedroom. Reassured, she sank back against the cushions. She brought her hands to her face, acknowledging fatigue. Despair.

It was over. The funeral had marked the end. Not only to Richard's life, but to her own as well. The one she had known for more than ten years, the one with Richard, the one in which she had been a happily married woman. Content. And confident. Of her place in the world. That she was loved.

Suddenly, Emma whimpered, then cried out, the sound sharp and frightened.

The monitor crackled, then went dead.

Kate froze momentarily, then alarm exploded inside her. She scrambled from the couch. Her foot knocked into the glass of wine, toppling it, sending red liquid spilling across the white rug. She ran for the nursery.

She reached it in moments. A cry ripped from her lips. A figure stood beside her daughter's crib, bent over it. At her feet sat the diaper bag, stuffed to overflowing.

"Get away from my baby!"

The woman spun around. She had Emma in her arms, a hand pressed over her mouth to quiet her.

Even in the minimal illumination cast by the sole night-light, Kate recognized the woman. "Julianna? What do you think you're doing?"

The woman removed her hand, and Emma's cries shattered the quiet. "This isn't what it looks like, Kate."

Kate inched carefully toward the younger woman, uncertain what she would do, afraid for Emma's safety. "Give me my baby."

The infant heard her mother's voice and turned toward her, her cries becoming frenetic howls.

Julianna took a step backward. She shook her head. "You don't understand. He's coming! He means to-"

"Give her to me!" Kate stopped before her and held out her arms. "You're scaring her."

Julianna hesitated. In that moment, Kate saw her grip slacken and she snatched the infant from the other woman's arms and spun away from her. She held Emma to her chest, rocking and cooing. The infant quieted, her cries becoming distraught, hiccoughing whimpers.

"Haven't you done enough?" Kate asked, her voice low, vibrating with emotion. "You stole my husband and now you want my child, too?"

"You don't understand," she said again, wringing her hands, glancing nervously at the Pooh Bear wall clock.

"John's coming. He-"

"I don't know any John. How did you get in here?"

"The key in the false rock. Beside the side door."

Dear God, that's how she had gotten in before. "I'm calling the police."

Julianna grabbed her arm, stopping her. "Don't do that! You can't. You have to-"

"My husband is dead. He wouldn't be, if he'd been home." Kate shook off her hand. "Get out of my house. I want you away from me and away from my child."

Kate left the nursery, hurrying toward the living room. When she reached it, she flipped on the overhead light. The phone lay on the floor beside the toppled wineglass and ugly red stain.

"Emma's life is in danger."

Kate stopped dead. She looked back at Julianna, taking in her tear-streaked face and stained, rumpled clothing. Kate focused on the stains, suddenly realizing what they were. Blood.

Kate widened her eyes, suddenly truly afraid. For her daughter's safety, for her own. "Oh, my God."

"John's coming. He means to kill Emma."

Tightening her grip on her daughter, Kate took a step backward. "Get away from us."

Julianna held a hand out. It, too, was splattered with blood. "I have to protect her."

Kate shook her head, heart thundering, mouth dry. "You're crazy. Unbalanced. You're-"

"I'm Emma's birth mother."

Julianna's words hit Kate squarely in the gut. She stared at the other woman, stunned, numb, her world rocking.

"What…did you-"

"I'm Emma's-"

"Shut up!" Kate shouted. "You're lying. You have to be!"

"I wanted to have an abortion," Julianna began, voice shaking. "But I waited…too long. One week and three days too long.

"The doctor," she continued, "he showed me pictures of babies at my stage of development. They were… they-" She looked at Kate, eyes pleading for understanding. "I didn't know. I promise I didn't."

Julianna drew in a shuddering breath and dragged her gaze away from Kate's. She crossed to the couch and sank heavily onto it. "The doctor asked me to consider adoption. He told me about Citywide. It seemed a perfect solution. My only way out."

Kate lowered her gaze to her daughter, tears flooding her eyes. Richard had been sleeping with Emma's biological mother. The thought made her sick.

"Did he…know?" she asked, tears choking her. "Did Richard know you were-"

"No. I didn't tell him." She looked at her hands, then back up at Kate. "At first I thought I'd surrender Emma and disappear. But then I…I read your profiles. Richard's…profile. I fell in love with him."

Kate stared at the other woman, not believing what she was hearing. "You fell in love with my husband from his…because of what he had written?"

"Yes." Julianna hugged herself. "He was everything…everything I'd always dreamed of. But I didn't just fall in love with him." She lifted watery eyes to Kate. "I fell in love with you, too. With your marriage, your lives."

"So…you decided to steal them? Instead of making your own life, you decided to steal ours?"

For a moment, Julianna hung her head. Then she lifted it and squared her shoulders. "I gave you Emma. You wanted to be a mother more than anything. You said so in your profile. In return for Richard, I gave you Emma."

What could she say to this young woman? Thank you? She looked at her as if Kate should not only understand, but that she should even approve. "How did you find us?" she asked. "Ellen assured us that no identifying information would be exchanged without our consent."

"I stole it. From a file on her desk. She doesn't know."

Dear God, Kate realized, she had been right. About the break in, the missing photograph, the girl on the swing. All along, it had been Emma's birth mother.

"So you followed us," she murmured. "Found a way into our lives, Richard's life. And you seduced him."

The younger woman leaned forward, her expression earnest. "He didn't want to be unfaithful to you, Kate. He wasn't that kind of man. But we were meant to be together. We were each other's destiny. Each other's soul mate."

Kate looked at her daughter, quiet now and gazing up at her with unblinking blue eyes. Eyes only for her. Her mother. Kate's heart swelled, love momentarily chasing away the anger and betrayal she felt, chasing away the ugliness of the past days.

"Leave now." She returned her gaze to Julianna. "If you do, because of Emma, I won't call the police."

"I can't do that. I…there's more, Kate. Something I…have to tell you."

Kate stilled, something in the other woman's tone scaring her more than anything she had said so far.

"There's a man. He killed Richard and he…he means to kill Emma."

"Why are you saying this?" she cried, beginning to tremble. "Why can't you just leave us alone? Haven't you hurt me enough? Haven't you hurt my family enough?"

"He's Emma's father."

Kate gazed at the other woman in horror. The nightmare that had become her life had just taken another bizarre turn for the worse. She went to a chair and sat on its edge. Julianna was a deeply disturbed young woman; this story so far-fetched as to be ludicrous. And yet…something about it rang true. And if it were, Emma's life was in danger.

Kate looked up. "But why? I don't understand."

"Because of me. Because he's crazy. Obsessed."

"I'm calling the police," Kate said, standing.

"No!" Julianna cried, jumping to her feet. "They can't protect you from him! He's a professional. An assassin, trained to do wet work for the government. Killing means nothing to him. It's a job, a way of life."

"This is ludicrous!"

"You have to listen! The police can't help. John will wait them out. Or slip in and out without them being any the wiser. And he won't give up. Emma's a loose end. He told me so."

Kate strode past her and snatched up the phone from the floor. Julianna grabbed her arm. "I saw pictures. Of people with their throats slit. My mother-" her voice cracked "-she knew about him. I wouldn't believe her, so she had a friend of hers from the CIA tell me everything. He's the one who…who showed me the pictures."

Tears welled in Julianna's eyes. "That man, from the CIA, he's dead now. So's my mother. It's all my fault. Don't you see…he'll kill Emma."

Kate sank onto the chair, the cordless phone slipping from her fingers. She brought a hand to her mouth. "Oh, my God. If what you're telling me is…if it's true, what am I going to do?"

Julianna squatted down in front of Kate. "We have to run. Now. I hit him over the head with a lamp, but I don't know if I…if I killed him. I'm afraid I didn't."

"We have to run?" Kate made a sound of disbelief. "I'd sooner accompany a viper into a snake pit than go anywhere with you. I'll take my chances on my own."

"But I know him, how he works, what he looks like." She caught her hands. "You need me. Without me, you'll be sitting ducks."

"I don't need you. I-"

The phone rang. They both turned toward the unit, though neither made a move to pick it up. It rang again. Then again.

The machine answered. Kate's cheery message floated through the silent house, followed by a man's voice, deep and silky smooth.

"Hello, Kate. Pass this message along to Julianna, please. I have your answer now. You've betrayed me for the last time." He sighed heavily. "You and Emma are dead."

61

The highway stretched endlessly before Kate, the blackness of the night broken only by the illumination of her headlights and those of the other motorists, and even they had become few and far between.

She had been driving for hours, without a destination in mind, simply attempting to put as many miles between them and John Powers as possible. Kate clung tightly to the steering wheel, holding on to it like a lifeline, certain that if she eased her grip on the wheel, the grip she had on her emotions would slacken as well.

To protect Emma she had to stay alert. Calm and focused. If she fell apart… Kate refused to let her mind wander to the what ifs. This man, this monster, wouldn't win. He wouldn't have Emma. She wouldn't let him have her.

Kate glanced over her shoulder, at the back seat. Emma was asleep in her carrier; she had been for the past couple of hours, lulled to sleep by the motion of the car. Julianna slept in the seat beside Kate.

The silence was both a blessing and a curse. Blessing because she had neither the energy nor emotional reserve to deal with either female; a curse because it allowed her time alone with her thoughts, with the disembodied voice from the message machine, his words, his threat-You and Emma are dead.

Kate drew in a deep breath, keeping hysteria at bay through sheer force of will. After the message machine had clicked off, she and Julianna hadn't spoken. Kate had taken a minute to throw together a bag for Emma, taking only the essentials-diapers, formula and bottles, a change of clothes-most of which had already been in the diaper bag.

She frowned, trying to remember if she had even locked the front door as they left. Try as she might, she couldn't. She recalled the breathlessness of fear, recalled running from the house to the car, climbing into it and backing out of the driveway, nearly running down poor Old Joe and Beauregard. Luckily, she had thought to grab her purse. In it were her credit cards, checks and one hundred dollars cash.

Her eyelids fluttered down, and she forced them up again. She couldn't go on much longer without rest. And food. In back, Emma stirred, and Kate caught her bottom lip between her teeth. Emma would be waking soon. She would need to be fed and changed. Eventually, she would need time out of her car seat, time to play.

She would have to start looking for a place to stop for the night.

A motel, she thought. Fine for tonight, but what about tomorrow? And the day after that? Would her and Emma's life become a string of days on the road and nights sleeping in cookie-cutter rooms? That was no life for a child.

Tears burned her eyes. Tears for Emma. For herself. Her beautiful home, The Uncommon Bean, Mandeville- would she ever see them again?

She fought back the tears, gripping the wheel tighter. Until now, her only thought had been to put as many miles between Emma and John Powers as she could, as fast as she could. But now, she had to decide where they were going. Driving aimlessly would be counterproductive and depressing; a destination would give her something to focus on. Something to achieve. But where should they run? And to whom?

Running to family had been out of the question, though the thought of loving arms had been tempting. It had seemed to her that family-then local friends-would be the first places John Powers would look for her.

A semi roared past, so close her Jeep rocked. As the truck cleared her, he cut back into her lane, then exited. She looked at the sign, realizing with a sense of shock where she was.

Houston.

Luke. Of course.

Luke had not been a part of her life for so long, John Powers couldn't know that they were friends. They would be safe with him. A whimper of relief rose to her lips. Luke would take them in, at least for the night. Surely, he didn't hate her so much he would turn her away, not now?

She steered onto the next exit, pulling into the first gas station she came upon. She stopped the car beside a pump and unlocked her door.

At the sound, Julianna stirred, then opened her eyes. She looked at Kate, still half asleep. "Where are we?"

"Houston." Kate opened the car door. "Is there anything you want from inside? I'm going in to make a call."

62

Luke sat on his front steps, waiting for Kate. He hadn't turned on his porch light; the sounds of the night surrounded him. The buzz and hum of insects, the lonely howl of a dog left chained outside, the distant roar of traffic from a city too big to ever really sleep.

He leaned back, resting against his elbows. He had been working feverishly when Kate called, on a creative streak that had lasted several hours. Totally immersed in his characters' world, he'd had to ask who was calling three times before her answer had penetrated.

Kate. His beautiful Kate.

Luke frowned and tipped his face up to the starless sky, bombarded with second thoughts. He had heard the fatigue in her voice, the desperation. She had said only that she was in trouble, that she, the baby and a friend needed a place to stay, even if only for the night. It was an emergency, she had said.

A matter of life and death.

No had been on the tip of his tongue along with a dozen questions. Ones like "What kind of trouble?" and "Where's Richard?" Instead, he had given her directions to his house.

Luke passed a hand across his face, rough with his morning beard. Kate had never been given to exaggeration or melodrama. If she said something was so, it was. So what could be so urgent it was a matter of life and death?

Luke stood as a vehicle turned onto his street and proceeded slowly down, as if checking the house numbers. He cracked open his front door, reached inside and flipped on the porch light, then closed the door and stepped fully into the circle of light.

The vehicle, a Jeep Cherokee, pulled into his driveway and stopped. The driver's side door flew open. Kate appeared. Their gazes met and with a cry, she ran to him. He met her halfway and enfolded her in his arms, holding her trembling body close. She clung to him, cheek pressed to his chest, shoulders shaking with her tears.

"Thank you, Luke…thank you for taking us in."

"Kate…Kate…" He buried his face in her hair, breathing in her familiar scent. He drew slightly away so he could look into her eyes. "What's going on? Where's Richard?"

The front passenger door opened and a young woman stepped out. "Kate," she said softly, hesitantly, "the baby's awake."

Kate nodded, but held him a moment more before pulling away to retrieve Emma from her car seat.

The infant looked and sounded anything but happy. "Take her inside," he said. "I'll get your bags."

"There aren't any."

He looked at Kate. "No luggage?"

"No. Just Emma's diaper bag."

"I'll get that, then." He motioned toward the front door. "Go on and get Emma inside."

He grabbed the bag, locked the car and followed the women inside. He found them waiting for him in the foyer, both looking exhausted and more than a little lost.

Emma squirmed in her mother's arms, making short, high sounds that weren't cries but definitely sounded unhappy. "Is she all right?" he asked.

"She needs to eat. And be changed, probably."

He nodded and led them into the kitchen. One of the reasons he had bought this house was the open floor plan. The entire downstairs living area-with the exception of the bedrooms and bathroom-was open, one room flowing into the other. The other reason he had bought it was the spacious, third-floor room he used for his office. It had wall-to-wall built-in bookcases and an arched picture window from which he could see the entire street and beyond.

Kate propped Emma on her hip and went to work filling a bottle, then warming it in the microwave. He turned to the other woman and smiled. "I'm Luke."

Before her friend could respond Kate said, "I'm sorry, this is Julianna."

Something about the way she said the other woman's name suggested they were anything but friends. He arched his eyebrows and held out his hand. "Hello, Julianna."

She took it, returning his greeting. Only then did he see the red splatters on the young woman's shirt and shorts. He stared at them, thinking they couldn't be what they looked like. They couldn't be blood.

He returned his gaze to hers. She watched him, something akin to terror in her shadowed eyes. She crossed her arms over herself, as if to hide the telltale splatters from him.

Not only could they be blood, he'd bet money they were.

He turned to Kate. "We have to talk."

She shook her head. "Later. Okay?"

It wasn't okay. He lowered his voice. "Where's Richard?"

Kate looked at Julianna, then back at him, a bitter-sounding laugh spilling from her lips. "Dead. He was murdered four nights ago. Today was…today I buried him."

Luke stared at her in shock. "Jesus, Kate. My God, I…I don't know what to say."

"I need to use the bathroom," Julianna said suddenly, struggling, Luke saw, not to cry. "Could you tell me where it is?"

"I'll show you." He turned back to Kate. "I'm going to get Julianna settled in upstairs. While I do, make yourself at home. I'll be right back."

Luke ushered Julianna to one of the guest rooms. "The bathroom's connected, if you want to shower, help yourself. There are towels on the rods and soap, shampoo and stuff in a basket on the counter. Do you have a change of clothes?"

She shook her head. "That's what I thought. I'll get you one of my T-shirts and a pair of sweats. I'll leave them on the bed."

He did as he'd promised, then headed back down to Kate, mulling over the strangeness of this whole thing. Kate showed up in the middle of the night, scared out of her wits and accompanied by a woman she didn't like and who was splattered in blood. Richard, he learned, was dead. Buried today.

More than odd, he decided. Unsettling. It was definitely time to get some answers.

Kate had found her way into the living room and was sitting on the couch, feeding her daughter. As he entered the room, she lifted her gaze to his. He realized then how whipped she was, how physically and emotionally drained. She was pale, her eyes deeply shadowed, and it looked to him like a good breeze could do her in.

"Been a rough one, huh?"

Her eyes welled with tears. "You could say that."

"Hungry?" She shook her head. "How about a glass of wine?"

"That would…yes. That would be wonderful. Thank you, Luke."

He brought her the wine, then sat with her while she finished feeding her daughter. He didn't push for answers, didn't attempt to coax her into conversation. Instead, he waited, satisfying himself with looking at her, with watching the loving way she interacted with her daughter.

They could have been his family. Emma could have been his daughter.

The thought, the realization raced into his head, along with it a hunger he hadn't expected. To be a part of that closeness they shared, to be a father.

He looked away, uncomfortable with his thoughts, with the feeling of loss that accompanied them.

"Luke?"

He looked back to find her gaze upon him. He cleared his throat. "Yeah?"

"Thank you for this. For not turning us away."

Julianna appeared then, freshly scrubbed and wearing the clothes he'd left for her. She ate a turkey sandwich, then went to bed, barely speaking a word.

Luke watched the two women together, noticing that they never looked at one another, that Julianna kept several feet between herself and Emma, and that Kate never asked for Julianna's help with the baby.

As if they were adversaries, he realized. As if they were two dogs, circling the same bone. But where he sensed a wariness in Julianna, he saw distrust in Kate. And anger. The emotion burned in her eyes every time the other woman came near.

More curious by the moment, as soon as Julianna had retired for the night and Kate had gotten Emma to sleep, Luke handed her another glass of red wine. "Now," he said, "I want to know what's going on."

She nodded and sank wearily to the couch, hands curved around the bowl of the red wineglass. "I don't know where to start, it's been…everything's been so awful for so long."

Awful, he thought, judging by her tone and expression, didn't begin to cover it.

He decided to help her out. "Who's Julianna?"

"No one. Everyone." Kate lifted her gaze to his. "She's Emma's birth mother. I only found out today."

"Ouch."

"Yeah," she muttered, "ouch. And you don't even know the half of it."

"So, tell me."

She nodded, took a swallow of the wine, then set the glass on the coffee table. She dropped her head back against the couch's deep, soft cushions and gazed up at the ceiling. "Richard was unfaithful to me."

"I'm sorry."

"But not surprised?"

"No." He paused, a thought occurring to him. "Was Julianna-"

"Yes." She brought the heels of her hands to her eyes for a moment, then lowered them to her lap. "That day at Tulane, what you said…you were right, I think. About why he-" her voice broke "-why he married me."

Luke swore under his breath, making a sound of regret. "Kate, the things I said…I said them in anger. Because I was hurt. Because I wanted to hurt you. I didn't mean-"

"Yes, yes you did. Even in anger, they contained a kernel of truth. Maybe not the whole truth, but a kernel of it."

She took another sip of her wine. "It all began with Emma's adoption."

Luke listened as Kate told him about the past few months of her life-about their being chosen by a birth mother, about Emma's arrival and her own joy at becoming a mother.

"I was so happy, so in love with our baby, I didn't notice what was happening with Richard. Not at first, anyway."

She sighed, stood and crossed to the picture window that looked out over his backyard. She gazed out, her thoughts inward. "He wasn't happy. He never held Emma, not voluntarily, anyway. He didn't even look at her, let alone play with her. Turns out, he was jealous of the time and attention I gave her."

She sighed again. "He did it for me, I see that now. I wanted a child-we couldn't conceive, so he agreed to our adopting one. But he never felt good about it, about taking another's biological child and accepting it not only into our family but into our hearts." She shook her head. "I should have seen what he was doing, how he felt. But I didn't want to think about him or what he wanted. I was too hungry to be a mother."

"Kate," Luke said softly, "you don't know, he might have been the same way with a biological child. For whatever reason, some people aren't meant to be parents."

"I wish I'd known."

"Do you? Would you send her back?"

"No." She laughed, mocking herself. "I can't imagine my life without her. Being a mother's the best thing I've ever done."

"Then, there you have it."

"I guess so."

She turned, wandered back to the couch and settled into the corner, drawing her legs up underneath her. "I should have seen Richard's infidelity coming. He and I began to fight, he began seeming more like the boy I had known in college than the man I had been married to for ten years. Arrogant and self-centered. Petulant when he didn't get his way."

She went on, seeming to Luke, to ramble. She told him about how their relationship became strained, then began to unravel, about sensing someone had broken into her home and about how her neighbor, Old Joe, had seen a strange woman on their swing. She told him, too, how she had discovered Richard's unfaithfulness. About how, less than twenty-four hours later, she had learned of his murder.

She hugged herself. "It all seemed to happen so fast. One minute I have a great marriage and am basking in the delight of being a new mother. The next, I'm a widow."

She squeezed her eyes shut, struggling, he saw, to get a grip on her emotions. "How do you deal with that? How do I deal with him being…dead? I'm still back at finding him in bed with another woman."

She looked at him through tears. "And I feel so guilty. I look back and I think, if I had just done one thing differently, he would be alive. If I hadn't wanted a child so badly. If I had seen his real feelings about adoption. If I had given him what he needed or forgiven him when he strayed."

Luke shook his head, not following her reasoning. "Freak twists of fate happen, Kate. Somebody's in the wrong place at the wrong time. That doesn't have anything to do with what you did or didn't do."

"This wasn't a freak twist of fate. It wasn't a robbery gone bad." She met Luke's eyes. "Richard's murder was premeditated. He was singled out by a lunatic and killed. Because of Julianna."

Luke frowned, thinking of the blood spatters on Julianna's clothes. "What do you mean?"

She went on to explain things she said she had only learned of today. About how Julianna had found them through the adoption agency, how she had fallen in love with Richard from his profile, then set out to seduce him.

"She followed us. She learned about us. About me. Dear Jesus-" Kate brought her hands to her face a moment, using the time to collect herself, then dropped them to her lap. "She modeled herself after me. Tried to become like me, so Richard would trust her. So he would be attracted to her." Kate made a sound of pain. "Like me, only better. Younger. Sexier. Unencumbered."

"No one's like you," Luke said softly. "Trust me on this, I've been looking for ten years."

For a moment, Kate simply stared at him, then her eyes flooded with fresh tears.

"The story gets better." She relayed to him what Julianna had told him about John Powers. That he had killed Richard, Julianna's mother, a family friend connected with the CIA who had tried to help her.

"And you believe her, Kate? Come on, this is not a stable woman. She probably fabricated the whole-"

"No, I didn't, not at first. Until he called. He said Emma was…he said she was dead."

Luke sat back against the couch, stunned. "He said that? Those exact words?"

"Yes. There was no mistaking his meaning. So, you see," she finished, "there's a madman after us. A professional killer. He means to kill Julianna and Emma. If I get in the way, he'll kill me, too. If he finds out you've helped us-" Her voice broke. "I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have involved you."

"You didn't have a choice."

"Yes, I did. I could have just kept driving. But I was afraid. And I knew…I knew you'd make me feel safe." She began to cry. "Now, because of me, you're in danger, too. I'm sorry. So sorry."

He went to her and took her in his arms, holding her while she wept. She pressed her face to his shoulder, and curved her arms around his middle, clinging to him.

After a time her tears subsided, and she drew away. "We won't stay long," she murmured, wiping the tears from her cheeks, "we have to keep moving, be sure to stay a step ahead of him. I just need a little time to figure out where we're going. To make a plan."

"You can stay as long as you like."

"No." She shook her head. "I don't want to involve you any more than I already have. The sooner we're gone, the safer you'll be."

"I can take care of myself, Kate. It's you who I'm worried about. And Emma."

She laid her head against his shoulder once more. He felt her exhaustion in the way she sagged against him, as if she hadn't the strength to even hold herself upright.

"If only I could think clearly," she whispered. "There's got to be a way to beat John Powers. There's got to be."

He curved his arms tighter around her. "In the morning," he murmured. "We'll talk some more. Between the two of us, we'll figure something out. I promise we will."

63

Luke couldn't sleep. Long after he had told Kate good-night he sat at his computer, staring at the glowing screen. He'd thought his story would crowd Kate and her situation out of his mind. His writing had always taken him out of himself, away from the world of flesh-and-blood people and into one of his own making.

Not tonight. The last hour and a half had been futile. As much as he'd tried, his story in progress had been crowded out by hers.

Luke shut off his computer in disgust, stood and crossed to the window. He stared out at the darkened street, mulling over what she had told him. Her story was more high drama than real life, like something from one of his novels.

But it was real life. Kate's.

He was frightened for her.

From the research he'd done for his books, he knew this guy. John Powers was like Condor. At the truth of that, Luke's blood ran cold. He recalled the loving way Condor had held the gun at the range that day, thought of the things he had said about life and death. About killing.

John Powers was like Condor, he thought again. But without the honor. Without the code of ethics.

He was a walking, talking killing machine.

Fear grabbed Luke by the throat. With his mind's eye, he saw Kate lying in a pool of blood. He saw Emma beside her, face contorted in death. The images took his breath away.

Luke turned his back to the window. John Powers could have followed Kate here. From what she'd told him, there had been time. He could have been parked outside Kate's home, calling from a cell phone. He could have been there waiting, watching, laughing at their pitiable effort at escape.

Heart thundering, he crossed to his desk and retrieved the.44 Magnum from the bottom right-hand drawer, recalling his conversation with Condor. He smiled grimly. Right now he was damn glad to have the Magnum's firepower. Up against a man like John Powers, he would be lucky to get off one shot-he would want that shot to do as much damage as possible.

Luke snapped open the cylinder, checked to make certain it carried a full round, then strode for the stairs. He took them two at a time to the second-floor landing, paused a moment to listen, than started for Kate's room.

It lay at the end of the hall. He closed the distance between him and it, opened the door and stepped inside. He crossed to the bed. Kate was there. Asleep on her side, her face pressed deeply into the feather pillow. Crescent-shaped shadows stained the delicate skin beneath her eyes, and her dark lashes stood out in stark contrast to her pale cheeks.

Luke reached out to touch her, then drew his hand away and shifted his gaze to her daughter. Emma slept beside her on the queen-size bed, nestled in the bassinet they had fashioned out of bed pillows. He tipped his head, studying the child. She was small and sweet and pretty, her face angelic in sleep. Her chubby arms were thrown above her head in total relaxation; her chest rose and fell with her deep, even breathing.

No wonder Kate loved her so desperately, Luke thought. No wonder she would sacrifice herself to save her. He drew his eyebrows together. How could Richard not have felt the same? Emma Ryan would be easy to love. Easy to grow attached to. Too easy.

Sweet Jesus, he had to help Kate. He had to help them both, had to stop this man.

"Luke? Is everything all right?"

Kate's eyes were half-open. Regret that he had awakened her skittered through him. "Fine," he whispered, thinking again of John Powers. He forced an easy smile. "Just checking on you. Go back to sleep. Everything's going to be fine."

Her lips lifted slightly even as her eyelids fluttered shut. She mumbled something he couldn't make out, and he realized she was already asleep.

He watched her for a moment, then exited the room, leaving the door ajar. After checking all the doors and windows to make sure they were locked, he brewed himself a pot of coffee, poured himself a cup and took post on the couch.

Someone had to stand guard. Tonight and every night until John Powers was stopped.

And he seemed the most likely candidate.

64

Kate awakened to the smell of coffee and bacon. She stretched, breathing deeply, taking a moment to savor the luxury of being pampered. She smiled. How long had it been since she had awakened to those smells? Since the baby, of course. But how long before then? Somewhere along the line Richard had begun to refuse to make coffee-he said she made the process too complicated-and he considered bacon toxic waste, unfit for human consumption.

Thoughts of Richard brought the present crashing in on her. She didn't think of him in the past tense, she realized. Tears flooded her eyes, and she shut them tightly. She couldn't. Not yet. It hurt too much.

Tears squeezed from the corners of her closed eyes and slipped down her cheeks. She missed him. Not the man he had become in the past few months, the one whose frailties and flaws had surfaced to overshadow his many fine and admirable traits. She missed the Richard who had carried her over the threshold, the man who had made her laugh, who had encouraged her to open her own business; the man who had taught her about love.

She didn't have time for this, she thought, brushing the tears away. She couldn't give her energy to grieving for Richard. She had a daughter to protect; a madman to outrun.

The events of the day before and the gravity of her situation thundered down on her, in an avalanche of fear and helplessness. She glanced at the bedside clock, noted it was after ten, then dragged herself into a sitting position. She brought her hands to her face, working to center herself. She had to stay strong and focused. She, Julianna and Emma would be on the road again in a matter of hours. Between now and then, she had to come up with a plan.

Suddenly, the lateness of the hour sank in, the quiet of the room. Kate twisted to face the bed she and Luke had created for her daughter.

It was empty.

It took a split second for the realization to register, then with a sound of terror, Kate leaped out of the bed and raced for the door. She yanked it open and darted into the hall, stumbling slightly. "Luke!" she cried. "Luke! Where are you?"

He called that he was in the kitchen, and she ran in that direction, heart thundering, hysteria rising up inside her. John had found them. He had slipped into the house during the night and had stole Emma away. She brought a hand to her mouth, a horror of images unfolding in her head.

She stopped dead in the kitchen doorway. Stunned. Speechless. Luke sat at the kitchen table, cradling Emma in his arms while he fed her a bottle.

He looked up and smiled. "Morning, Kate."

"What are you doing?"

He looked down at Emma, then back up at Kate. "Giving Emma her bottle. She woke up hungry, and you needed to sleep. That was about six-thirty, by the way. This is her second bottle."

He had slipped into her room and out with Emma, and she hadn't heard a thing. Unsettled, Kate moved fully into the kitchen, legs shaking. "But how…how did you know what to do?"

He smiled, the small lopsided smile that had always made her heart go pit-a-pat. "It's not all that technical, Kate. Take bottle, fill, warm and offer to baby. Simple."

She laughed then, a high, nervous sound. He moved his gaze over her, eyebrows drawn together in concern. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I-" She brought a hand to her chest and let out a long breath. "I woke up and she was…gone."

She crossed to the table, legs shaking so badly she must have looked like an epileptic having a seizure. She sank onto a chair. "I thought…I thought the worst."

His smile faded. "I'm sorry, Kate. I didn't think about that. Considering the circumstances, I should-"

She held up a hand, stopping him. "No, don't apologize. I appreciate you letting me sleep. Richard never-" She bit the words back, forced a smile and held out her arms. "Now that I'm up, I can take her."

"Actually, I'm rather enjoying myself. Do you mind?"

She said she didn't, swallowing hard. "Coffee?" she asked.

"In the carafe. Cups are in the cabinet right above."

"Thanks." She crossed to the cabinet and selected a mug. Obviously a promotional item for Dead Drop, the mug's handle was shaped like a gun grip. Luke's name, the book title and release date were printed in red on the gunmetal gray exterior of the mug.

"Nice cup."

"Thanks. Publisher premiums."

She filled it with coffee, added cream, then sipped, murmuring a sound of pleasure. "This is Kona, isn't it?"

"It is." He grinned. "I got hooked on it while I was in Hawaii researching Last Dance. There's bacon under the paper towel. And a loaf of homemade raisin bread on the cutting board. Help yourself."

She did, suddenly famished. "When did you become Mr. Betty Crocker?" She carried her plate and mug to the table and sat down.

"Live alone long enough and you get pretty sick of Big Macs and Domino's pizza." The lopsided grin made another appearance. "My repertoire's pretty limited, but I figured you'd be hungry."

"Starving." Kate ripped off a hunk of her bread and took a bite. "I love homemade bread. You have a machine?"

"Mmm-hmm." Emma squirmed in his arms. He popped out the bottle, eyeballed what was left, then popped it back in. She began to suck voraciously. "My kid sister gave it to me for Christmas last year."

Kate couldn't believe they were sitting here talking about such mundane things as bread machines and coffee beans. Only minutes ago she had been sure John Powers had stolen Emma away.

"Sleep well?" he asked.

"Surprisingly well." Sometime during the night her nightmares had retreated and she had been left with a feeling of peace. Of being safe and protected. "And you?"

"Great. Like a baby."

Emma noisily slurped down the last of her bottle, the now empty liner making a wheezing sound as she continued to suck on it. Luke popped out the bottle, brought the infant to his shoulder and began patting her on the back.

Kate watched his movements, astounded by how assuredly he handled the child. She told him so. "I have five younger siblings. And now three of them have children of their own. I've spent a good part of my life burping babies."

"I'd forgotten you come from such a big family."

Emma let out a deep, wet burp, one a sailor would be proud of. Luke and Kate looked at each other and laughed. "Nice burp, sport," he said. "Very ladylike."

Kate laughed again and held out her arms. "Spend a bit of time around her, that's nothing. And she has absolutely no shame about where-or how-she breaks wind. Speaking of which, I'd better change her diaper. She must be soaked by now."

"Done," he said, settling the child in her arms.

"Done," she repeated, astounded.

"Mmm-hmm. Changed her right before you got up." He went to the carafe and refilled his mug. That done, he met her eyes, the expression in his serious. "We need to talk, Kate. I've been thinking about your situation, and I've come to the conclusion that you and Julianna are going about this all wrong."

"You do?"

"Mmm." He brought the coffee mug to his lips and sipped, as if using the time to collect his thoughts. Kate waited, heart pounding, hoping against hope that during the night he had come up with a miracle.

"Seems to me," he said, "if you start running, you'll never stop. There has to be another way."

"And what is it?"

"I don't know. Yet." He returned to the table and sat down, his gaze never leaving hers. "I know this guy who's after you, Kate. Not personally, but from research for my books. He's a hunter, above the law because of skills that keep him there. He has no compunction about taking a human life, to him death is merely an extension of life, the act of killing no different than that of taking out the trash. Necessary. Warranted."

"Thanks for cheering me up," she whispered. "I needed that."

"There's more," he said grimly. "And it's worse, so hold on. What you're contemplating's not a hiatus until things cool down, it's not disappearing for a month or two or a year, then returning to your regular life. It'll never cool down, Kate. This guy's on a personal mission. He'll hunt you down. Even if it takes years, he'll find you. And when he does-"

"He'll kill us."

"Yes." He went to her and squatted in front of her, forcing her to look him dead in the eyes. "We have to find a way to stop him. It's the only way you'll be safe."

"We, Luke?" She shook her head. "I've already put your life in danger by involving you this much. I can't-"

"Yes, you can. I'm not going to abandon you to this monster, Kate. Not you or Emma."

Kate struggled for an even breath, fought to control the fear that had her in a death grip. Fighting, too, the urge to lean on him and to completely fall apart. It wasn't fair or right. It could get him killed.

"I can't let you do this, Luke. You don't understand what you're getting yourself into."

"Yes, I do." He brought a hand to her face and cupped her cheek. "You don't have a choice in this, Katie-girl, you've involved me, now you're stuck with me."

He'd used her father's pet name for her. Tears flooded her eyes and she covered his hand with her own. "What do you think we should do?"

"I have a couple of contacts with the Agency. Let me get in touch with them, ask their advice. In the meantime, you and Julianna crash here. Rest, get healthy-"

"No."

They looked up to find Julianna standing in the kitchen doorway, her expression panicked. "Julianna-"

"No!" She shook her head. "You don't know what he's capable of! You didn't see-"

"I do know, Julianna." Luke stood. "That's why I'm convinced running is futile."

"He's right. We have to have a plan. We have to find a way to stop him." Kate glanced at Emma, asleep in her arms, then back up at Julianna. "You can do what you think's best for you, but I'm staying with Luke."

The younger woman stared silently at them a moment, as if considering her options, then turned and left the kitchen. She returned a moment later with her purse, a backpack-style tote. She set it on the table, opened it and rummaged inside for a moment. She pulled out a Ziploc plastic bag that appeared to contain three items.

She handed it to Luke. "Maybe this will help."

He opened the bag and retrieved the items, a small, black leather binder, like an address book; a used envelope and an airplane ticket stub. "What are these?" Luke asked.

"They're John's. I took them after I talked to my mother, when I left D.C." Luke flipped through the black book. "It's in some sort of code," she offered. "John never spoke of what he did for a living. I was never to question him about it. I got curious."

"And you began to snoop?"

"Yes." She pulled out a chair and sank onto it, her expression at once defiant and defeated. "The black binder was hidden in the freezer, sandwiched between two packages of frozen meat. So I figured it must be really important."

"This is good," Luke murmured. "It could be very good."

Kate came up behind Luke and peered at the items. "What do they mean?"

"See this ticket stub?" He held it up. "The ticket was issued to a Wendell White." He held up the envelope. "This was sent to David Snow. But both were in our man's possession. Why? Because they're both aliases of John Powers'. And this address is to one of his dead drops."

Julianna drew her eyebrows together. "How do you know?"

"Don't. But I'd bet money I'm right."

"Dead drop?" Kate asked, amazed that Luke knew this stuff. "Like your book."

"Yeah, that's right." His lips lifted slightly. "A dead drop's a dummy address. Used for correspondence and deliveries but untraceable back to a real person, in this case John Powers. At any time an agent might have a dozen- or more-of them scattered throughout the country. Or countries."

"So they can conduct business without fear of being discovered," Kate murmured.

"Exactly. I know a private investigator, a good one. He helped me with some research a couple years back. I'll give him a call, see what he can dig up on these names."

"What about the other?" Kate asked. "That…book?"

"He wants it back," Julianna offered. "He told me he did. He was really angry that I'd taken it."

"That's good."

"Good? That he's angry?" Kate drew her eyebrows together. "Why am I not reassured by that?"

Luke smiled. "That means it's important. It means we're going to be able to use it to get this asshole."

"But how?" Kate asked, heart thundering, afraid of the relief flowing over her-she feared if she relaxed, even just a bit, that would be the moment that John Powers struck.

Luke rubbed the side of his jaw, rough with morning stubble. "I don't know that yet. I'll meet with my contacts, ask their advice. They'll be able to give us some direction. I know they will."

"Thank you, Luke," Kate said, voice quavering. "I don't know what we would have done without you."

"Not so fast." He flashed her a quick grin. "Wait until we've gotten this bozo taken care of. Then you can thank me."

65

Condor responded to Luke's message within forty-eight hours. The man agreed to meet him, choosing an all-night diner near the Hobby Airport.

Luke arrived early. He made his way to the rear of the diner, taking a booth against the far wall. He slid onto the vinyl seat, the upholstery cracked and peeling, held together in places by clear packing tape.

A waitress of no less than sixty took his order of a cup of coffee. The fluorescent lights tinted her gray cap of curls a vague, disturbing green and turned her skin sallow.

She brought the coffee immediately, plunking it onto the table, then without saying a word, walked away. A burned, bitter odor wafted up from the cup, and Luke wondered how long the brew had been sitting on the burner. An hour or two? Three, even?

Possibly, he decided, perusing the room. The diner's only other patrons were a burly man in overalls and two twenty-something girls who were wolfing down patty melts, French fries and colas.

Condor arrived, walking through the door exactly at the arranged time. He made his way to the booth and slid into the seat across from Luke, angling his back to the wall.

They exchanged pleasantries; the waitress brought another cup of the bitter brew, then Luke cut straight to the matter at hand. "A friend of mine's in trouble. I need your help."

"You know the business I'm in, Luke. Exactly what form do you wish this help to take?"

"The form of advice."

The barest of smiles touched the mechanic's mouth. "Go on."

Luke laid out the entire story for him. "The man's name is John Powers," Luke finished. "Do you recognize the name?"

For long moments, Condor remained silent, his steady gaze giving away nothing of his thoughts.

Finally, he nodded. "I know of him."

"But you've never met him?"

"No." He took a sip of the coffee, not seeming to notice its taste. "They try to keep us guys away from each other." Again, that small smile touched his mouth. "The last thing they'd want is us sitting around the clubhouse swapping stories. But I have heard of him."

"What have you heard?"

"That he was one of the Agency's best and most lethal mechanics. Specialized in the most, shall we say, delicate wet work."

"Delicate," Luke repeated. "You mean sensitive, politically charged?"

"Yes. The man is an expert in the use of all manner of weapons, as well as in hand-to-hand combat, poisons and explosives. An outstanding career until he went solo a few years back."

"Solo? What do you mean?"

"He's a renegade. Went out on his own. Hits for hire, no matter the government or cause."

"And the Agency allows that?"

"Up to a point."

"And what point is that?"

Condor ignored the question and continued. "Code name was Ice. For obvious reasons. Rumor has it he killed a Colombian drug czar's six children, disemboweled them while their mother watched."

"Holy shit." Luke felt sick. "And our government sanctioned that?"

"Let's just say that Ice was sent in to negotiate. He was told to use whatever means necessary to get our point across." Condor steepled his fingers. "Of course, that story's only a rumor."

Rumor, his ass. It was true, Condor knew it. And Luke did, too.

Up until that moment Luke had hoped that Kate and Julianna had been exaggerating John Powers' abilities. The threat he posed. He saw now that they had not.

The two drunken girls stood and started for the door. Condor watched them until they had exited the diner, then returned his attention to Luke. "Your friend is in a very bad situation. And now, so are you. I suggest you bow out of this."

"I can't do that."

"That's your choice, of course."

"There must be a way to beat him? A way out of this. If we went to the police, laid it all out for them-"

Condor shook his head, confirming what Luke already knew. "Going to the police will do nothing but make you sitting ducks. You'll be dead before the local boys get their heads out of their asses."

Condor leaned slightly forward, his gaze intent. "The police couldn't find him, let alone pin a murder on him. You know how it works, Luke. No weapon, no witnesses, no arrest."

He was right. Luke knew he was. What would he tell Kate? She had been so hopeful when he'd left. So positive.

"There may be a way, however. But it won't be easy."

"Go on." Luke waited, pulse hammering. He didn't care how difficult, a slim chance was better than none at all.

"It sounds to me like Powers is losing it," Condor said softly. "Making killing personal. That's dangerous. It crosses the line." He looked away, then back. "It'll make him sloppy. Because it's personal, because it matters so much to him, he'll take chances he never would otherwise. He might have already."

"It'll also make him go to lengths he normally wouldn't to succeed," Luke muttered.

"True. But therein lies your chance." Condor lowered his voice. "The Agency won't get involved unless they believe Powers is a danger to them, their operations or national security. He's one of their own, after all. They can't have him running around the country indiscriminately killing people. Not publicly, anyway."

Condor spoke carefully, his tone even, words measured. Luke tried to read between the words, certain the man was telling him something beyond their literal meaning.

Luke took a stab. "They wouldn't want their handiwork exposed, would they?"

Condor acted as if Luke hadn't spoken. "If you could prove Powers is out of control, if you could prove he's a threat to the United States government or the CIA, the Agency would bring him down."

Condor laced his fingers together. "They'll need proof, of course. Physical evidence. Names and dates. If you can produce a convincing enough paper trail, that would do it."

The book. Dear Lord, they had the proof.

"I can do that," Luke said. "Right now. I've got the proof."

Condor straightened. "Tell me."

Luke did, explaining about Powers' black book and how Julianna had come to have it. "It's in some sort of code, but I'm sure it contains the names and dates you're looking for."

The other man's expression changed subtly, became sharper, more intent. "Have you broken the code?"

"No." Luke leaned forward. "Help us do it. It's our only chance."

"I like you, Dallas. But I can't do that." He glanced toward the diner's front door, then back at Luke. "I don't want to know what's in that book. If I did, I'd be a mark. Maybe not today or tomorrow, but someday. Besides, messing with Powers' book crosses the line, and I won't do that."

"Then tell me how to break it."

Condor hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Make one of the entries, use what you learn to break the rest of the code. Meet with Tom Morris. He's going to play dumb about Ice, but he's in Operations so he'll be familiar with Powers' file. Lay it all out for him, the way you did me, then get the Agency's commitment to take Powers down in return for proof of his activities. It's important that you get a commitment from him."

"Or we'll be shit out of luck, is that what you're telling me?"

"This is the real world, Dallas. Not one of your stories. The good guys don't always win."

Luke laughed, the sound tight and humorless. "And the line between right and wrong is rarely clear."

"I didn't make the rules, Dallas. I only play by them." Condor laid several dollars on the table and stood. "The coffee's on me."

They left the restaurant. Outside, the cold, wet night curled around them like a snake.

"You never saw me tonight," Condor said. "I'm out of this."

"Agreed."

"One last piece of advice. Don't let that book out of your sight. If Morris or the Agency gets their hands on it, they'll break Ice's code. Once they have what they need, you and your friends will be left high and dry. And if Powers gets it back, you'll have no bargaining chip at all."

"And we'll be dead."

"Yes." Condor turned and looked him straight in the eyes. Again, Luke had the feeling the man was saying much more than what his words conveyed. "Morris will ask for the book. Expect that. But don't give it to him. No matter what he promises you. That's important, Luke. Don't give it to him. That book is your life. Do you understand?"

Luke said he did; in the next moment Condor was gone.

66

Kate and Julianna were awake and waiting for Luke when he got home. They met him at the door, their expressions so hopeful it hurt to look at them. If they expected a miracle, they weren't going to get it.

"We have a chance," Luke said. "Not easy or without risk, but a chance nonetheless."

They went to the kitchen. Kate made coffee while Luke relayed the details of his conversation with Condor. As he spoke, Kate's expression went from hopeful to uncertain.

"Decipher one of the entries?" she said when Luke had finished. "But how do we do that?"

"I've given this some thought already and it might not be as hard as it sounds." Luke stood and went to the coffeepot and poured himself a cup. "Since the dates entered in the book are not in code, the way I figure it, if we can find something that positively ties Powers to a place on a certain date, we can do a search for murders committed in that locale on that date."

"And if we're lucky," Kate murmured, "we'll find something."

Luke met her eyes. "If we're very lucky."

"This isn't going to work," Julianna said, looking from him to Kate. "It's not. And then where will we be? Trapped? Dead?"

"Where will we be?" Kate repeated, bright spots of angry color staining her cheeks. "I know where I was, Julianna. Before you decided to steal my husband and ruin my life. Before you invited this…this killer through my front door."

"I didn't know!" Julianna cried. "I never thought he would hurt you. Or Emma or Richard. Me, yes. But not you." Her eyes filled, and she looked pleadingly at Kate. "Why would he? You never did anything to him."

"That's just it," Kate snapped, "you didn't think. Not about anyone or anything but yourself."

"I'm sorry," Julianna whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. "I didn't know." She brought her hands to her face. "I'm so scared. I just want to go home."

"And you think I don't?" Kate rounded on the other woman, shaking with the force of her fury. "I'd love to go home, Julianna. But because of you I can't. Because of you, my husband is dead. Because of you a psychotic kil-"

Luke laid a hand on her arm, stopping her. "I know you're angry, Kate. You have a right to be, but fighting with each other isn't going to do anything but make us more vulnerable to Powers. If we're going to beat him, we've got to work together." He met Kate's eyes. "You know it's true."

She spun away from him and crossed to the picture window that looked out over his backyard. She stood stiffly, arms curved across her middle; Luke saw that she struggled to get a grip on her emotions.

After a moment, she took a deep breath and turned back to the younger woman. "Just running is out of the question. Because we can't outrun him. You know we can't.

But if that's what you want to do, you have my blessing. But I'm taking this route with Luke."

"What's it going to be, Julianna?" Luke asked. "You have a choice. Are you sticking with us or not?"

"With you," she whispered, wiping the tears from beneath her eyes. "I'm staying with you."

"Then I need your help. We need your help." He crossed to stand directly in front of her. "Is there anything you haven't told us about Powers? Anything at all, no matter how insignificant you might think it to be. It could be something you observed or overheard and thought nothing of at the time. Or maybe something he told you in the heat of the moment or mumbled in his sleep."

"No." She shook her head. "I've told you everything."

"Think, Julianna. It's important."

"There's nothing." She shook her head again. "We had an…agreement. He never discussed what he did, who he worked for. When he went on a trip, he never told me where he went. And I wasn't allowed to ask."

She looked away, then back. "Until the end, not knowing what he was doing or even where he was didn't bother me. I never questioned him."

"Then you got curious," Luke prodded. "And you started snooping around."

"Yes. That's how I found the book."

"What about gifts?" Kate asked, swinging away from the window once more. "What kinds of things did he bring you? Was there anything that you recall being specific to a place? You know, like chocolates from Switzerland or perfume from Paris?"

Julianna brought her hands to her ears, to the diamond studs that twinkled when they caught the light. Luke had noticed them before; the size of the diamonds had made them hard to miss. "Nothing like that," she murmured, sounding frustrated. "He brought me these. Sometimes he would bring me a…a doll or a hair ornament. He'd bring me books. Flowers he picked up at the airport shop. Everything was generic."

She looked at Luke, then Kate, her expression earnest. "You have to believe me. Even his apartment was plain. So without…identifying features. There was furniture, and stuff for the kitchen and bathrooms, but nothing else. Do you know what I mean?"

Kate looked at Luke. "Are you thinking what I am?"

"Powers' apartment?" When she indicated yes, he turned back to Julianna. "Do you still have a key to his place?"

She nodded. "Though I don't know why. I'm never going back there."

"Never's a long time, kid." Luke smiled and rubbed his hands together. "The last thing Powers will expect is for us to take the offensive. I say we have a place to start."

Julianna looked sick; Kate determined. "Are you certain the Agency will make the commitment to take Powers down?" she asked.

"My contact thought so. If we can deliver the goods on Powers." He looked from Kate to Julianna. "And I don't see that we have another choice."

"I agree." Kate turned toward the other woman. "How about you, Julianna?"

The girl hesitated a moment, then nodded. "Agreed."

"All right, then." Luke checked his watch, saw that it was after 2:00 a.m. and smiled grimly. "We leave for D.C. today."

67

Kate forced herself to rest, though she couldn't quiet her mind enough to sleep. She lay in the bed, listening to her baby daughter's gentle breathing, alternately praying for the best and imagining the worst.

Some minutes were better than others. During the bad ones, the worst ones, fear smothered her. She imagined her beautiful Emma dead, her life force obliterated in all manner of gruesome ways. She imagined Emma crying out, helpless and in pain. She imagined herself, unable to reach and comfort her daughter, unable to save her. If it came to it, Kate had decided, she would beg John Powers to kill her instead.

Someone tapped lightly on her door. Kate glanced at Emma, then climbed out of the bed and crossed to it. "Yes?" she whispered.

"It's me," Luke said. "May I come in?"

She opened the door and held a finger to her lips. He nodded and stepped inside. "I just wanted to make sure that you and Emma…that you're all right."

"We're fine." She glanced again toward the bed and Emma. "I'm frightened out of my wits, but what else is new?"

"It's going to be all right," he said, keeping his voice low. "I'll do everything I can to protect you and Emma. I promise."

She searched his gaze, thinking of Richard's promises. His assurances. And in the end, what had they really been worth?

"I'm not Richard," he said as if reading her mind. "I'm not, Kate. Know that."

He wasn't, Kate acknowledged. Luke Dallas was the man Richard had wished he was.

The truth of that made so many things suddenly clear- like Richard's competitiveness with Luke, his resentment and jealousy. Richard, she realized, had seen Luke's success as his own failure.

She swallowed hard. "Thank you, Luke. For not deserting us. For being here for me even after…after everything."

He brought a hand to her face, tracing the curve of her cheekbone. Without thinking, she turned her face to it, moving her lips against his skin.

He sucked in a short, quick breath. "Kate, I-"

She lifted her gaze to his. She saw longing in his. Longing and regret. She opened her mouth to say something, though she was uncertain what. Before she could, he dropped his hand and took a step back from her.

"Try to get some sleep," he murmured. "Tomorrow's going to be an exhausting day."

And then he was gone.

The next day did, indeed, prove to be an exhausting one. To make the trip, Kate and Julianna needed clothing, cosmetics and other personal care items; Emma needed everything from clothes to diapers, toys to formula and baby food. Combat shopping, Julianna called it as they raced through the drug and department stores, pulling garments off racks and dumping items into carts.

Luke insisted on paying for everything with the cash he had withdrawn from the bank that morning. Credit cards and checks, he told them, left a paper trail even an amateur

P.I. could follow. And John Powers was anything but an amateur. For that same reason, he suggested they drive to D.C.

Despite what commercial airlines assured the consumer, flight manifests were easy to get ahold of. Flying also presented the problem of either renting a car at their destination or relying on taxis; in terms of stealth, neither of those options worked.

It was nearly three that afternoon before Kate had their things packed in Luke's Tahoe and was ready to go. She went in search of Luke, finding him in his office, on the phone. He waved her in. "Doing good, Frank." He covered the mouthpiece. "The P.I.," he murmured, then dropped his hand. "Thanks, I'm glad you liked it.

"Look, I've got a job I need you to do for me. Three names. John Powers. Wendell White. David Snow." He spelled them for the man. "I believe Wendell White and David Snow are both aliases for John Powers. Get everything you can on all three. Addresses, phone bills, credit card summaries, travel destinations. If anyone going by one of these names has so much as burped in the past three years, I want to know about it."

Luke listened to the other man, then nodded. "Two. And a travel agency's name." He took the envelope and ticket stub from his jacket pocket. He gave the investigator John's address in D.C., the address on the envelope and the travel agency's name and address. "That's it," he said. "All I've got."

He smiled, met Kate's eyes and gave her a thumbs-up. "I'm leaving town for a while, I'll drop your retainer in the mail before I leave." Luke laughed. "Sure I'm sure I'm good for it." His amusement evaporated. "No number where I can be reached. I'll check in with you from the road."

He hung up, and Kate suddenly realized she was holding her breath and let it out in a rush. "You amaze me, Luke. How do you know all this stuff? I feel like I'm hanging out with James Bond or something."

"My work." He grinned. "I've basically spent the past ten years immersed in the world of spies, criminals and cops. I've been in the heads of cold-blooded killers and madmen, heroes and even the occasional damsel in distress."

"Now you're a real hero," she said softly, smiling.

"Then that would make you the damsel in distress."

"I guess it would." Her smile faded. "Heroes get killed, Luke. I don't want…I couldn't bear to…"

She couldn't bear to lose him.

She cleared her throat. "Just be careful, okay? No heroics."

"You don't need to worry about me, I've outsmarted guys like John Powers dozens of times."

But that was the beauty of fiction, being able to write the ending of your choice. The one where good triumphed, evil fell and everyone who deserved to lived happily-everafter.

But this was real life.

"Stop it, Kate," he said. "I know what you're thinking." He lifted her chin with his index finger, forcing her to look directly into his eyes. "We're going to beat this psycho. I really believe that."

She gazed at him a moment, heart thundering. "I wish I had your confidence. I wish I wasn't so scared."

He slipped his arms around her and eased her against his chest. She held herself stiffly a moment, then sagged against him, curving her arms around his middle, holding him tightly, half afraid that without his support she would fall.

He passed his hand over her hair, stroking. Comforting. "You can lean on me, Kate. I'm here for you."

She drew in a deep breath. He smelled of spicy soap and the sunny day. It would be so easy to do as he offered. Fall apart. Give in to her fear. Lean on him, let him hold her up and take care of her.

She couldn't do that. John Powers was too smart and too deadly to allow her that luxury.

Kate drew regretfully away. "I have to stay strong, Luke. For Emma. She's counting on her mother to keep her safe, and I can't turn that job over to anybody. Even you."

He gazed into her eyes a moment, his filled with respect, then bent and brushed his lips against hers. "Time to go."

Twenty minutes later, they were on the road. Kate tried to focus on Luke's confidence, on the reassuring things he had said to her about beating John Powers. She worked hard to put on a positive face, to keep her mood upbeat. Not only for herself, but for the others as well.

Even so, she was afraid. For all of them. She glanced repeatedly over her shoulder as they put mile after mile between themselves and Houston, all too aware that each one of those miles put them that much closer to a confrontation with John Powers.

At least they traveled well together. For Kate, being with Luke felt as natural as breathing. They talked and laughed together, often anticipating the other's need for rest or food or quiet.

Being with Julianna, on the other hand, was discomfiting. Kate still couldn't look at the woman without a rush of fury sweeping over her. Without remembering how it had come about that she was running for her and her daughter's life. Without remembering Richard.

Several times, Kate had caught the younger woman gazing at Emma, naked longing in her eyes. Those times Kate had felt anxious and vulnerable. Frightened in a way that had nothing to do with John Powers' threat on her life. She feared Julianna wanted Emma back. She didn't trust that she wouldn't simply snatch the child in the middle of the night and disappear.

Consequently, Kate never strayed far from her daughter's side; she never allowed Julianna to hold or touch her. She wasn't about to take any chances.

By the middle of the second day, Kate saw that the two-day trip would have to become three because of Emma. The hours confined to her car seat began to wear on the infant-she was unhappy and fussy, well on her way to being inconsolable.

"We're going to have to stop," Kate said, dangling Emma's favorite rattle in front of her. Instead of batting at it as she usually did, she turned her head away, screwing her face up with frustration.

Kate met Luke's eyes in the rearview mirror. "Emma's had it. If we don't give her a little downtime, she's going to make our lives very uncomfortable."

As if on cue, the infant began to cry, her cries quickly escalating to earsplitting howls. Kate began to rock the car seat and sing softly, trying to calm the infant. It took a few moments, but it began to work. As Emma's cries lessened to whimpers, Kate slipped a pacifier into her daughter's mouth.

"How do you do it?" Julianna asked suddenly. "How do you put up with her and stay so…calm? I think I'd lose it."

"Because I love her," Kate said simply. "And because I'm her mother."

"Next exit," Luke announced, reading a sign, "two miles ahead. Food. Lodging. Gas. Sounds like just the ticket."

They made it to the exit and into the first motel without another crying jag from Emma. The motel, a very nice La Quinta Inn, had no two-bedroom suites available. So they booked a regular suite, complete with a bar and minifridge. Julianna offered to take the fold-out couch-Luke, Kate and Emma would take the bedroom.

The motel, Kate was delighted to learn, had an indoor pool, one that included a kiddie pool. They spent the late afternoon splashing in the water, laughing at Emma's antics and drinking frozen margaritas from the motel bar.

The hours out of the car did everyone good, especially Emma. The unhappy baby Kate had hardly recognized disappeared, replaced with the contented one Kate knew and loved so well. As for Kate, by the time evening rolled around, she was so relaxed she was practically liquid.

Kate curled up on one end of the couch, watching Luke play with Emma, Julianna on the other, watching a pay-per-view movie. Flat on his back on the floor, Luke lifted the infant high above him. As he did, she stiffened her arms and legs so both stuck straight out.

"Airplane baby," he said, making a motor sound and moving her forward and back until she squealed with laughter.

A tingling kind of warmth moved down Kate's spine and outward, all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes, enveloping her in a rosy-feeling glow. She smiled to herself. Did other women find something sexy about a man playing with a baby the way Luke was with Emma? Did they find all that strength and masculinity channeled into gentle, loving play as irresistible as she did?

She moved her gaze, taking in the way the muscles in his upper arms flexed as he lifted Emma up and down, noting the flatness of his abdomen and the dusting of golden hair across his tanned forearms, admiring, growing aroused.

Luke caught her gaping at him and grinned. "What?"

She hesitated, feeling an embarrassed flush stealing up her cheeks. "I'm just…happy."

"Happy?" he repeated, arching an eyebrow, still holding Emma above him. "Is that why your cheeks are so pink?"

She glanced at Julianna. The other woman seemed engrossed in her movie and oblivious to them. "Too much sun."

"Indoor pools have been known to-" Just then a fat dollop of Emma's saliva hit his nose and cheek. "Oh, man." He sat up, tucking Emma under one arm. "She slimed me."

Kate laughed, stood and crossed to the bathroom. "Her Grace, Princess of Drool. Actually, I'm starting to suspect she's more Saint Bernard pup than human baby." Kate grabbed a hand towel and tossed it to him. "Don't worry, though. It's just baby spit. Completely harmless."

"Easy for you to say." He wiped his face, then tossed the towel back.

"Sure you want to get rid of this? You may need it." She looked pointedly at him. Emma was blowing bubbles; they were dribbling down her chin and onto his shorts.

"Geez." He laughed. "Throw me that thing again."

Kate checked her watch. "Actually, it's getting close to her bedtime, I'd better get her into her pajamas and feed her. I bet she'll be sound asleep before she even finishes the bottle."

Kate was right, and by the time the adults called it quits for the night Emma had already been asleep for a couple of hours.

Luke helped Julianna unfold the couch, while Kate made certain the door was locked and chained. She propped the desk chair under the knob for extra security.

"Good night, Julianna," Luke said. "If you need anything, we're right here."

"Thanks." She looked hesitantly at Kate, opened her mouth as if to wish her good-night, then shut it without speaking.

Luke closed the door between the two rooms, leaving it open a crack so they could hear Julianna if there was trouble, then turned to Kate. "I'll make a bed up on the floor," he murmured, crossing to the closet and taking the spare blanket from the top shelf.

"Don't be silly," she said, holding out her arms for the blanket. "I'll sleep on the floor."

He frowned. "I'm not being silly. You're not sleeping on the floor. Period."

Kate placed her fists on her hips. "Look, you're doing most of the driving, you need your rest."

"You do, too."

"You're not going to budge on this, are you?"

"Nope."

She made a soft sound of frustration and threw up her hands. "This is stupid. The bed's a king. We'll share it." When he started to protest, she stopped him. "Don't you trust me not to make a pass?"

He gazed at her a moment. "It's not you who I don't trust. Can you live with that?"

"Of course," she said airily. "We're old friends."

"Of course we are."

She ignored his sarcasm and climbed in. Ten minutes later, Kate lay stiffly beside Luke, listening to his breathing, knowing sleep was as far out of his reach as it was hers. Knowing why.

Suddenly, unexpectedly, a giggle rose up in her throat. She tried to hold it back, but couldn't.

He turned his head. "What's so funny?"

"Us." She met his eyes. "A professional killer is after us and we're here worrying about who's going to sleep on the floor or if someone's going to make a pass." He smiled. "Are you? Worrying if I'm going to make a pass?"

Emma stirred in her crib, and Kate lowered her voice even more. "Worrying wasn't quite the right word. Wondering, maybe."

He turned more fully toward her. "And if I made the pass, would you receive it?"

She held his gaze. "I don't know. Maybe." She looked away, then back at him. "Luke?"

"Yeah?"

"You know that night back at Tulane, the one when we…made love?"

"I remember."

"I didn't use you. I didn't plan it." She reached out and laid her fingers against his lips. "I promise you I didn't."

He caught her fingers and curved his own around them. "I know. I was hurt. Disappointed."

"I'm sorry."

"It's in the past."

"Is it?" She searched his gaze. "I know how some hurts are. They never quite heal."

"For a long time it was like that. It's healing now, Kate."

He released her hand, and she drew it away. "I made a lot of mistakes back then. Did some stupid things." She sighed, remembering. "You were right, what you said that day, after your book signing. Not just what you said about Richard, but about me as well. About why I married him."

"Why did you marry him, Kate?"

"Because I loved him." At Luke's expression, she shook her head. "I did, but not for the right reasons. I didn't see it then, but I loved Richard because he made me feel safe. And secure and cared for."

"And I didn't?"

"Not hardly." A smile tugged at her mouth. "You made me feel out of control. Uncertain. Of the future, what it would hold." She turned her gaze to the ceiling, remembering. "You made me feel like I could do anything, if only I'd try. If I would just go for it."

"I always believed in you, Kate. I still do."

Tears flooded her eyes. In all their years together, Richard had never said that to her. "That's just it. It wasn't you, Luke. I believed in you. In your strength and character. In your talent. It was me who I didn't believe in."

He opened his mouth to comment, and she laid her fingers gently against it to stop him. "I wanted to be an artist, but I was afraid. That I'd end up like my parents, scrambling to pay the rent, sacrificing my children's comfort for my art. I went to school wearing other people's castoffs and shoes with cardboard stuffed into the soles to cover the holes. I promised myself I wouldn't do that to my children. Or myself."

"Oh, Kate…" He threaded his fingers through her hair, fanned across the pillow.

She caught his hand and brought it to her mouth. "I was scared," she whispered. "Too scared to go after what I wanted. And too scared to give my feelings for you a chance. I'm sorry for that. And I'm sorry I hurt you."

Luke lifted himself up on an elbow and for one long, electric moment simply gazed at her. Then he brought his mouth to hers and kissed her, once, then again.

With a sigh, Kate returned the pressure of his mouth, the exploration of his tongue. He tasted like a fine wine; the taste went to her head until she grew drunk on it. She felt alive and whole and like a woman, not a mother or business owner, not like a rejected wife or widow. But like a woman, and the feeling was heady, indeed.

She slipped her arms around his neck and drew him closer. He murmured her name, and she heard the arousal in his voice, felt it in the hard length of him, pressing against her.

Suddenly, she thought of her husband. Of the last time they had made love. Of the way his mouth had felt against hers, the way her name had sounded on his lips.

And just as suddenly, what had felt so wonderful only moments before, felt wrong. As if she were being unfaithful.

Guilt replaced longing, and Kate stiffened in Luke's arms. She took her hands from behind his neck and pressed them against his chest. "I'm sorry, Luke. I just, it's-"

"Too soon."

"Yes." Beneath her fingers she felt the wild beat of his heart. She searched his gaze, pleading for understanding with hers. "Richard and I…we were together for so long. I want you, but it feels wrong. I feel like I'm cheating."

"I see."

But he didn't, she saw. Not really. "I don't want our being together to feel wrong. I don't want any regrets this time, for either of us."

He met her eyes. "You and me, Kate, that was the one thing that always felt right to me." He made a small sound of frustration. "It feels too soon to you, and I've been waiting more than ten years."

Emotion choked her. She didn't know what to say. A part of her wanted to ignore her real feelings, submerge them under the flush of passion. She wanted to be with him. To grab the sexual oblivion he offered. To forget the nightmare of her life, even if only for a short while. But most of all, she didn't want to lose him.

"Don't look at me that way." He cupped her face in his palms, kissed her hard, then rolled onto his back. He let out a long breath. "I've waited ten years, I suppose I can wait some more."

68

Luke didn't waste any time. As soon as they had arrived in D.C. and checked into a hotel, he called Tom Morris. Luckily, the man was in town and available; they arranged to meet at a neighborhood park in the Virginia suburbs at four o'clock that afternoon.

Luke deliberately made Morris wait, not so long he angered him, but long enough to get his point across. He wanted to begin their meeting with the upper hand. He wanted the man to understand, even before Luke said a word, that Luke was the one calling the shots. That he would not negotiate for anything less than what he wanted.

There could be no question as to whether he would pull this off, Luke knew. He had to.

Luke smiled grimly as he made his way across the park's thick green carpet of grass to the small duck pond where the other man waited. Morris sat on a bench, tossing crackers into the water and watching as the ducks dove and fought each other for them.

"Hello, Tom."

The man looked up. "Luke. Nice to see you again."

"Thanks for taking the time to meet with me. Why don't we walk?"

The man's eyebrows lifted slightly, as with surprise, but he nodded and stood, pocketing the remainder of the crackers.

They strolled in silence for a moment. "Pretty day," Morris said after a moment. "I like this time of year, the nip in the air, the approaching holidays. Beats the hell out of the heat and humidity of summer." He met Luke's eyes. "But I don't suppose you're here to discuss the weather."

"No, I'm not." He cut directly to the reason he had come. "One of your men killed the husband of a dear friend of mine. And now he wants to kill her and her infant daughter."

"I find that hard to believe."

Tom Morris didn't miss a beat, and Luke sensed the man already knew why he was here and everything he was about to tell him. "Do you? Ever heard the name John Powers?"

"John Powers," he repeated thoughtfully, then shook his head. "I can't say that I have."

"Let's cut the crap, Tom. I don't have time for it. Code name's Ice. Wet work specialist for the Agency. A renegade."

A flicker of something passed over the other man's face. Surprise, maybe. A grudging respect. "I might have heard of him, though not in connection with the CIA."

"Before you decide to stick with that version of the truth, let me tell you a little story." As he had with Condor, Luke laid the chain of events out for Morris, beginning with Richard's murder and ending with Kate and Julianna at his front door.

Tom Morris slipped his hands into his pockets. "Assuming what you're telling me is true-I say assuming because I find this whole story highly unlikely-what do you want from me?"

No culpability. Pass the buck.

Asshole.

"I want your assurance that if I get you proof that your man is not only out of control but a threat to the Agency, that you'll take him out."

"Take him out?" Morris's eyebrows shot up. "My God, Dallas, you're starting to sound like one of your characters."

"Look, Tom, I don't have the time to play a game of who's-on-first with you. If I get the proof, will you take him out?"

"How do you propose to get this…proof?"

"I have, in my possession, a journal. Powers' journal. It contains all the juicy stuff. Names, dates, locations."

"I presume it's in code."

"Or we wouldn't be having this conversation. You presume correctly."

"And you and your friends plan to break this code?"

"Correct again."

The man's eyes narrowed almost imperceptibly. "Save yourself the trouble, Luke. Give the book to us, we have people who specialize in this type of thing."

"I'm sure you do, but fat chance. You'll get the book when Powers is out of the picture."

"But how do you even know if you have anything of value?" Morris asked, his tone mild. "If you handed it over, I could evaluate its worth. My people could-"

"Now you're starting to piss me off." Luke stopped walking and swung to face the other man, head-on. "I may be new to this game, but I'm not stupid. Without that book, we have nothing. You know it and I know it. And that's not a position I or my friends care to be in."

He held out his hand. "Do we have a deal?"

Tom Morris paused, then took Luke's hand. "Not that I'm admitting any knowledge of this man or his activities, but yes, if you bring me something solid on this Powers, something that proves he's a threat to the Unites States or to the Agency, we'll get him off the street. That's a promise."

69

"Complimentary champagne, Mr. Winters? Mimosa?"

John smiled at the flight attendant. "Just the orange juice, please."

"Of course." She retrieved a glass from the galley and brought it to him. She set the glass on the center console table, then straightened. He was one of only three passengers in the first-class section of the 747, and she didn't appear in a rush to move on. "Going to D.C. for business or pleasure?" she asked.

"A bit of both." He smiled again and took a sip of the juice. "What time are we due to touch down? There are some people I need to catch up with, and I don't want to miss them."

"Ten-forty. If you need anything else, just call."

"I will. Thank you, Allison."

She smiled at his use of her name and walked off. John watched her go, then leaned his head against the rest. The timing was perfect. Though, in truth, he wasn't in a hurry. Tracking a target was not about speed, but about accuracy. About precision and timing. He would find them and at the right moment, he would kill them. Cleanly and quickly.

It was better than they deserved. Better than she deserved. John brought a hand to the back of his head and the ridge of fifteen stitches there, ones received courtesy of Julianna's betrayal. He drew in a long, deep breath, working to calm himself. Since that incident, he'd had to call upon all his self-control, all his training and self-discipline to remain focused. To push back the rage, the betrayal and even hatred, pulsing through him and concentrate on the job he had to do.

He had Julianna and her band of compatriots in his sights already. He smiled to himself, amused. It had been easy to locate them. Pathetically so. They had run to Kate's friend in Houston, the writer Luke Dallas. He had learned that by listening in on Blake and Marilyn's hushed conversations at The Bean. From Kate's Rolodex he had found Luke's address and phone number. The trip from New Orleans to Houston's Hobby airport had taken less than an hour, the trip from the airport to Luke's address in King-wood another forty-five minutes, including the time it had taken to rent a car.

Unfortunately, he had missed them. John brought the juice to his lips. No problem there, Luke's editor had been only too happy to help him out when she had learned he was from People magazine and interested in doing a feature on the author. She had directed him to Luke's agent.

The People magazine gambit had worked again, like a charm. The man had fallen all over himself in his eagerness to get the interview. At first he had claimed not to be able to contact his client, then to prevent losing the interview, had confided that Luke was on vacation in D.C. but would be checking in.

Then it had only been the nuisance of discovering where they were staying. A couple dozen calls later he'd had a name-the Holiday Inn-Capitol Hill. Luke Dallas had made room reservations in his own name.

So easy. John shook his head slightly, almost feeling sorry for them. The choice of D.C. had been the only surprise of the chase so far, and he found a sort of perverse rightness that Julianna's end should come there, where she first betrayed him.

John turned his gaze to the window and the blue sky and billowy white clouds beyond. Luke Dallas should not have become involved in his business. Now John had no choice but to kill him. Kate's involvement he could understand-she would protect her child, no matter the cost to herself-though he regretted deeply having to end her life. He admired her courage and loyalty, her honesty and commitment.

Perhaps, if they had met under other circumstances, he might even have fallen in love with her.

For that, he would not make her watch her child die.

John took a last drink of the juice, holding the cool, sweet liquid on his tongue a moment before swallowing. Savoring it. The way he would savor killing Julianna and her little group of misguided supporters.

He could hardly wait to see the look of shock on their faces when he showed up. Could hardly wait to see her shock. John closed his eyes and imagined a bullet blowing the back of Julianna's head off.

70

Julianna's description of John's apartment had been disturbingly accurate. Naked, Kate thought, taking a step farther inside. Bloodless and cold. Like the man.

She moved her gaze over the room before her, taking in the leather couch and wine-and-forest print side chairs, the perfectly appointed and organized bookshelves, the generic prints on the walls. John Powers didn't live here; no one did. It was a shell, like a furniture store display, decorated with expensive and classic items, yet with none of the human touches that made a dwelling a home. The only exception was a framed photo on the sofa table.

"Julianna," Luke said, turning to face her, "you've done this before. Any ideas where we should start?"

The young woman stood just inside the front door. She shook her head.

"What should we be looking for?" Kate asked, setting Emma's carrier down, her daughter sound asleep in it.

"Correspondence," he answered. "Phone bills, credit card receipts, or anything else that might help us link him to a place, date or event. Of course, the big find would be the key to his code, though I'd bet he carries that around in his head." Luke turned to Kate. "Why don't you and Julianna search here and in the kitchen. I'll start in the master bedroom."

Kate nodded. "Sounds good to me." She glanced at Julianna-the younger woman hadn't moved from her position just inside the door. She looked as if she might bolt at any moment.

"You okay?" she asked.

Julianna looked at Kate. "What?"

"Are you okay?"

Julianna blinked, her gaze suddenly focusing on Kate. "Fine. Ready?"

"I'll start in here, why don't you take the kitchen?"

Julianna nodded and made her way past Kate. Kate watched her go, her eyebrows drawn together in concern. The other woman's movements were halting, as if her legs weren't completely cooperating with her brain, and her cheeks were pasty, as if she might be sick at any moment.

It might not be such a good idea for her to be here. Kate glanced toward the bedroom, wondering if she should discuss it with Luke. She shook her head, deciding that she was overreacting. The best thing to do was get busy so they could all get out. Being here gave her the creeps, too.

Kate started with the piece of furniture closest to her, one of the print side chairs, a wingback. She checked under the cushion, then turned the chair over, inspecting the bottom lining carefully, looking for a gap in the stitching, a flap that could be pulled away and some small item tucked inside. Finding nothing, she went to the next chair, then the built-in bookshelves.

While she worked, she heard Julianna in the kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers, rummaging through the freezer. Every so often, she would say something to herself, though Kate couldn't make out what.

Luke emerged from the master bedroom, crossing to her. "Take a look at this."

It was a copy of the New Orleans Times Picayune, dated two months before. Kate stared at it, a queasy sensation in the pit of her gut. She met Luke's gaze. "This means that-"

"Two months ago he had discovered Julianna's whereabouts and was planning his trip to New Orleans."

Kate sucked in a sharp breath. How long had he been watching them? Stalking them, waiting for just the right time to strike?

Gooseflesh crawled up her arms, and she rubbed them. "Anything else?"

He shook his head. "Unfortunately not. This guy makes spartan look cluttered. How about you?"

"Nada. Let's check with Julianna."

They did, but she'd had the same results as Kate.

Luke made a sound of frustration. "You're checking inside containers, aren't you? Pulling things out to look behind them?"

"What there is to check behind and inside, I am. Take a peak." She swung open one of the cabinets. It was empty save for a half dozen plates, glasses and bowls. "Check out the fridge." Except for a bottle of champagne, it, too, was empty. "Same with the freezer and pantry."

"Was it always like this?" Kate asked, moving her gaze over the room, taking in the white cabinets, walls and tile floor. The surfaces were all so clean they gleamed.

"Not so empty, no. I mean, he always had to have things just so. John hates any kind of dirt or clutter, won't tolerate them, but he used to have food in the refrigerator and pantry."

"Even the trash cans are empty," Luke murmured, checking the one under the sink. "I wonder what it means?"

"Maybe he thinks of this as a kamikaze mission," Kate offered.

Luke considered that a moment, then inclined his head. "Or maybe this is a further sign of him coming unglued. A compulsion gone haywire."

"Interesting," Kate murmured, "he can't stand a mess but kills people for a living. What does he do when he gets blood on his hands?"

For a moment, the three were silent. Then Julianna sighed. "We're not going to find anything here, are we?"

"We don't know that," Luke said. "We're here, let's finish what we started."

They agreed and returned to their respective rooms. Kate finished the bookshelves, disappointed when her exhaustive and painstaking search yielded nothing out of the ordinary. Frustrated, she turned toward the sofa. Her eyes landed on the framed photo. Perhaps John had hidden something between the photo and the frame's back? Maybe even the key for his code?

She went to the photo, bent and studied. It was a picture of a much younger Julianna, standing beside a man she presumed to be John Powers. He was wearing a baseball cap; his face was partially in shadow. Still, he looked familiar. She tilted her head, studying the man, certain they had met before.

And then she knew.

John Powers and Nick Winters were the same person.

Kate took an involuntary step backward, her mind spinning with the ramifications of it. As Nick Winters, John had been stalking her and Emma for weeks now. He had flirted with her and bounced Emma on his knee.

He had been in her home. She had invited him in. The night Richard had been murdered. The night he had murdered Richard.

It all made sense now, the way he had acted that night, the things he had said. Horrified, Kate brought a hand to her mouth. It'll all be over soon, Kate. Sooner than you can imagine.

He could have killed her then. He could have killed Emma. Easily. They had been alone, defenseless.

Obviously, he had known that. Obviously. She brought the heels of her hands to her eyes. Why hadn't he? He'd had them both where he wanted them.

Because he didn't work that way, she thought, dropping her hands. He was a methodical bastard. Everything in its time and place, first things first. Oh, yes, the John Powers she had come to know through Nick Winters always crossed his Ts and dotted his Is.

With hands that shook, she picked up the photo. Gazing at his image, she recalled other things he had said-about loyalty and trust, about honor.

Tess.

She wasn't like us, Kate. She wasn't loyal.

Kate sank to the couch. Tess's boyfriend had always proclaimed his innocence. He and Tess had been arguing, he'd said. He had dropped her at her car, parked behind The Uncommon Bean, then furious with her, he had torn off without waiting to make sure she had gotten safely into her vehicle and on her way.

That, he had sworn, was the last time he'd seen her.

Kate, like everyone else, had thought him lying. Even though she had always wondered why he had smashed her stained glass. To her, that had seemed such a personal act of rage, one directed at her, not Tess.

That afternoon, Kate remembered suddenly, she had asked Nick Winters if she could buy back her piece of stained glass. She remembered their conversation about artists and the act of creation and how creepy he had seemed, how uncomfortable his words had made her feel.

"How do you feel knowing I own a piece of your soul?"

That's the way he had wanted her to feel. He had been toying with her. Enjoying his game of cat and mouse, enjoying that the poor little mouse didn't have the first inkling she was about to be eaten.

John had killed Tess; she knew it without proof. He had destroyed her stained glass. But why? Kate wondered, searching the photograph as if it would yield a clue. What could he have had against Tess? Why would he have wished her ill?

Maybe her employee had been in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe she had caught him snooping around and…

Her Rolodex. Dear God.

Kate leaped to her feet. The photo slipped from her fingers. It hit the floor; the glass shattered.

With her address file, John knew everyone Kate knew. He knew where they lived, their phone numbers and from the notations beside each listing, whether they were friend, family or business associate.

Luke's address was there, she realized, panic taking her breath. John knew about Luke. And as Nick Winters, he had not only access to her employees, but to their trust as well.

She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to remember exactly what she had told Blake and Marilyn when she'd called from Luke's that first day. She had talked to both her managers; she had told them she was in Houston. Visiting a friend. That it had been too painful for her at home, so she had taken Emma and gone. She had asked them not to discuss her whereabouts with anyone.

A hysterical laugh rose from her throat. When had Marilyn and Blake ever been able to keep quiet about anything? How long until John Powers discovered who she was with, then her whereabouts?

Or had he already?

She swung to face the door, heart thundering, half expecting the man to walk through.

"Kate?" Julianna came in from the kitchen, her expression concerned. "What's wrong?"

Kate wheeled around to face the other woman. "I think we're in trouble."

"What do you mean?"

"He might know where we are. He might know we're with Luke."

Julianna frowned and came around the couch. She saw the picture frame and stopped short. The blood drained from her face.

"We need to get out of here, quick." Kate dragged a shaking hand through her hair. "Have you finished the kitchen?"

Julianna didn't answer, and Kate frowned. "Julianna? Are you all right?"

"I gave that to him," she murmured after a moment, her voice curiously flat. "I wanted to make this house nice. Like a real home."

"I'm sorry," Kate said softly. "I didn't mean to break it."

Julianna knelt and with her bare hands began sweeping the shards of glass into a pile. The fragments cut her fingers, and they began to bleed.

"Julianna, you're hurting yourself."

She acted as if she didn't even hear Kate. "He would bring me here. Mama said it was all right. She didn't know."

Kate squatted beside her, reaching for her hands. "Julianna, stop. You're bleeding."

She knocked Kate's hands away, and reached for the crystal frame. Though it had cracked in half, Julianna carefully opened the back, slid out the photograph then set the frame gingerly down. She passed her hand over the photo, as if brushing away the splinters of glass, leaving a red smear in its wake.

Kate jumped to her feet and took a step backward. "Luke," she called softly, afraid to raise her voice. "Could you come here, please?"

"I was pretty, don't you think?" Julianna studied the picture, head cocked as if trying to remember something. "Was I ten or eleven here?" She lifted her face to Kate's. "Do you know?"

Ten or eleven. Dear God. Not trusting her voice, Kate shook her head.

"It doesn't matter, I guess." She touched the photo again, this time with the tip of her index finger. "But I was pretty?"

"You were beautiful," Kate murmured, pressing a hand to her stomach, sick with what she suspected had been the true character of Julianna's relationship with John Powers. "You still are."

"No," Julianna said, her tone taking on a singsong quality. "Mama's beautiful and Julianna's pretty. Be a good little girl, mustn't forget." Her voice cracked slightly. "John's good little girl."

"Luke," she called again, louder this time, not taking her gaze from the other woman. "You'd better get out h-"

"I'm here." He laid a hand on her shoulder and bent close to her ear. "Take Emma to the bedroom."

Kate looked over her shoulder at him, uneasy. "Why? What do you-"

"I don't know. Do it, just in case."

She nodded and went for the car carrier and Emma, skirting wide around Julianna. She needn't have worried. The other woman didn't even notice her.

Kate set the carrier in the bedroom, then shut the door partway. She didn't know what Luke feared was going to happen but she wasn't about to take any chance of her daughter getting hurt.

When she returned to the living room, Julianna had the photo clutched to her chest. Her hands were riddled with cuts and bleeding; she had rubbed blood across her face and onto her khaki trousers. She was humming under her breath and rocking.

Kate met Luke's gaze. "We have to do something. That glass is tearing her hands to pieces."

He nodded and squatted down beside her. "Julianna, honey, come on. You're hurting yourself."

"It's me," she said, showing him the picture. "And John."

"I see that." He cupped her elbow. "You can bring it back to the motel, if you like."

"I don't understand." She lifted her gaze to his-Kate saw that her eyes were filled with tears. "How could he do that to me? I was just a…just a child. A little girl."

"I know, sweetheart. But it's over now. It's okay."

He took her elbow, but she shook off his hand, turning her gaze back to the photo. She dragged in a shuddering breath. When she released it, it came out as a high, thin wail of grief. Another one followed. Then another.

She drew her knees up and hugged them to her chest, beginning to cry, wracking sobs that seemed to come from the very center of her being. When they eased slightly, Luke bent and scooped her up. "Come on, honey. You're hurting yourself."

At first she lay limply in his arms, crying softly. Then, suddenly and with a roar, she fought him, squirming, kicking, trying to claw. He lost his grip on her, and she broke free.

With a howl of rage, she grabbed the lamp off the end table and flung it. It hit the wall and shattered. "I was just a baby!" She screamed. She took the phone and yanked it from the wall. "How could he do that to me! How! I loved him!"

Her gaze landed on the photograph and she fell on it, ripping and tearing at it until she could no longer grasp the pieces, they were too small. "I trusted him!" Panting, grunting with exertion, she ran, stumbling, to the bookshelves and began tearing the volumes from the shelves, flinging them as far and hard as she could.

As suddenly as the rampage had begun, it ended. She collapsed to the floor, spent, whimpering like a wounded animal.

Kate went to her. Kneeling beside her, she took the younger woman into her arms, holding her as she would Emma, rocking and murmuring sounds of comfort.

Julianna turned her face into Kate's chest, clinging to her. "I was just a little girl. How could he do that to me? How?"

"I don't know, baby. But you're safe now." Kate stroked her hair, and lifted her gaze to Luke's, her heart breaking for the younger woman. "We won't let him near you, not ever again."

71

Luke finished the search while Kate comforted Julianna. She helped the younger woman clean her wounds, carefully washing and drying her hands, picking out slivers of glass, then disinfecting each cut with the rubbing alcohol she found underneath the sink in the master bath.

Julianna sat unmoving on the couch while Kate applied the alcohol with a cotton swab, not even wincing though Kate knew how much it must burn. It was as if she had spent one hundred percent of her emotional energy, leaving her a shell, disconnected and empty.

Kate's heart hurt for her, and she wished she could say or do something that would make everything all right, repair the damage John had inflicted on the mind and spirit of the trusting little girl Julianna had been.

But there was no such thing, Kate knew. The damage was done, and it ran deep.

She capped the alcohol and set the bottle on the coffee table. "Why don't you lay back and rest a moment," she said. "I'm going to check on Luke."

Julianna did as Kate suggested, though she didn't close her eyes. She stared blankly at the ceiling, her expression devoid of emotion. Kate gazed at her a moment, wishing again that she could do or say something to help her, then went in search of Luke.

She found him in the kitchen. He looked over his shoulder at her when she entered. "Find anything?" she asked.

"Nothing."

"We've got a problem." She told him about the photograph, about realizing that John Powers and a regular patron of The Bean's, a man named Nick Winters, were one and the same person. "If, as I suspect, he's the one who murdered Tess, he has my Rolodex. Your name and address were in it."

"Son of a bitch. That means he could have figured out we're together."

"Yes."

"Then we do have a problem." Luke swore again. "The motel, Kate. I registered under my own name. I thought it would be safe, I assumed he wouldn't know we were together. Dammit to hell, that was stupid. I put us in jeopardy."

"I thought the same, Luke. That we would be safe. I never would have dragged you into this if I'd known who Nick Winters was."

"I'm glad you didn't know."

Their gazes held a moment, then he made a sound of frustration and looked away. "We're going to have to change motels. As soon as possible."

"I don't know if Julianna's up to it. She's pretty traumatized."

As if cued, Julianna began to whimper in the other room. Luke's jaw tightened. "I hate this man, Kate. If he had walked through that door earlier, I swear I could have killed him. With my bare hands. I-" He drew in a steadying breath. "I never thought I could say something like that and really mean it. But I do mean it. I could have done it."

She laid a hand on his arm, and he covered it with one of his own. "How old do you think she was when he… when he began molesting her?"

"I don't know," he murmured. "Really young, I think."

She thought of her own daughter and of the girl Julianna might have been and tears stung her eyes. "Do you think she's going to make it? She's lost so much."

"The human spirit is resilient, Kate. With therapy she might overcome the damage. People have bounced back from worse."

"I suppose." She turned her gaze toward the living room. Through the doorway she could see part of the couch and Julianna. "I feel so…bad for her," she murmured. "Twenty-four hours ago, I couldn't have said that. After what she did to me and Richard, I would have sworn I could never say that."

"She gave you Emma."

"Yes."

They both fell silent. After a moment, Kate cleared her throat. "Even with everything, I always felt grateful for that. Someplace inside me, I was always thankful to her." She looked at Luke. "What does that say about me?"

"That you love your daughter very much."

"Or does it mean I didn't love my husband enough?"

"Don't do this to yourself, Kate. It's destructive. Counterproductive. Let it go."

He was right; she knew he was. But she couldn't let it go, as much as she longed to. "Julianna told me that in return for Richard, she gave me what I wanted most in the world." Her eyes filled with tears. "Did I want to be a mother no matter the cost?"

The tears spilled over, and she swiped impatiently at them. "I've asked myself that question a hundred times. I've asked myself, if I could bring Richard back to life, if I could have our lives as they had been before, and all I had to do was hand Emma back-" Her throat closed over the words, guilt and grief and shame choking her. "I can't honestly say I would, Luke. I love her too much."

Luke turned her into his arms. She laid her face to his shoulder, her tears spilling over. "I hate myself for that, Luke. I feel so guilty. So disloyal."

"You are not responsible for Richard's death, Kate. You didn't cause it. And neither did Julianna. John Powers murdered Richard. He's the one you should blame, the one who should be punished. Not you."

"I hate him," she said softly, fiercely, tipping her face up to Luke's. "He's not just a monster. He's the devil. And God help me, I want him dead."

"The Agency will take care of him, Kate. We have to focus on getting what we need to make that happen."

She nodded and drew away from him, wiping the tears from her cheeks. She dragged in a shuddering breath. "What next?"

"Let's shake this bastard up a little bit, that's what." Luke smiled grimly. "Do you have a lipstick?"

Kate went to her purse, dug one out and handed it to him. "Very Berry okay?"

He uncapped it and rolled up the stick, admiring the color. "Perfect."

"What are you-"

"I'm going to leave him a message, that's what." He rolled up the lipstick and crossed to the white cabinet directly in front of him. "Let's just see how Mr. Powers likes being the hunted."

72

John surveyed the carnage, shaking with rage. How dare they violate the sanctity of his home? How dare they touch and destroy his things.

Didn't they understand who they were dealing with?

John picked his way through the wreckage of his living room. When he reached the kitchen, he stopped short. They had left him a message, scrawled in red across his virgin white cabinet fronts, like a wound.

We're going to get you, asshole.

John stared at the words, the blood spinning crazily in his head. His hands began to shake and his breath came in short, angry bursts. He flexed his fingers, any semblance of control and self-discipline gone. They would pay for this, he vowed. They would suffer.

If it was the last thing he did, he would make certain they died like pigs.

73

"Good morning," Kate said as Julianna appeared at the connecting door between their rooms. It was just after

8:00 a.m. The other woman had slept through the night- Kate knew this because, unable to sleep, she had checked on Julianna a half dozen times.

Julianna met Kate's eyes, then slid her own gaze uncomfortably away. "Morning."

Kate finished diapering Emma, resnapped her pajamas, then scooped her up. Julianna hadn't moved from her position in the doorway. "How are your hands?" she asked.

Julianna held them out; they looked awful, like they had gotten caught in a meat grinder. She tried to bend her fingers, wincing at the effort. "They hurt."

Emma propped on her hip, Kate crossed to the trash and dropped the used diaper in. The infant began to fuss and Kate shifted her from her hip to her shoulder. She motioned Julianna in from the doorway. "Come talk to me."

Her expression wary, she crossed to the double bed closest to her and sat on its corner. "Where's Luke?"

"He went for coffee and rolls." Emma cried out and squirmed in her arms, and Kate adjusted her hold again. "We're going to check out after we eat."

Julianna curved her arms across her middle. "He found us another place?"

"This morning. It's not going to be very nice, I'm afraid. Most places require a credit card to register, for security purposes. Problem is, Luke's registering us under an alias. He called around this morning."

The younger woman eyed Emma, a frown creasing her brow. "What's wrong with Emma? I never heard her make that sound before."

Kate glanced down at the child. She held her in a cradle hold, body tipped slightly toward her. She was, indeed, making a different sound, a cross between a whimper and a whine.

Kate frowned, unsettled by the fact that Julianna had noticed it and she hadn't. "She's a little fussy today. She didn't sleep well. Babies get like this."

Awkward silence stretched between them. Julianna broke it first. "I'm glad I gave her to you. And that I couldn't have the…you know."

The abortion. Kate shuddered at the thought of how close Emma had come to not being. "I'm glad, too. She's a very special little person."

Julianna reached up and trailed her fingers across Emma's downy head, then drew her hand back, eyes bright with tears. "I'm sorry I freaked out like that yesterday."

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

Julianna bowed her head. "I don't know why I…I never saw before. I must have known how…wrong…how sick…" She lifted her gaze to Kate's, her expression anguished. "I allowed it. I'm as much to blame as he is."

"That's not true." Kate crossed to her. "Listen to me. You were a child, he was an adult. He preyed on your innocence and trust. On your helplessness. What he did to you was a crime, Julianna."

"But why didn't I stop him?" She balled her hands into fists. "Why didn't I fight him or tell someone? And when I was older, why did I stay with him? I think about it and I want to curl up and die."

Julianna was silent a moment before continuing. "I knew," she said softly. "Deep down. That's why I-" Her throat closed over the words and she cleared it. "That's why I got pregnant. I wanted a normal relationship. The kind other women had."

A normal relationship. Like her and Richard's.

Even as a wisp of anger speared through her, Kate laid a hand on Julianna's shoulder, hurting for her, hating John Powers with a ferocity that stunned her. "A psychiatrist could help you deal with what John did to you. He could help you understand your feelings, why you did what you did. He would help you feel better."

She stood, struggling, Kate saw, to keep from falling apart. "I better go get cleaned up, Luke will be back any minute."

"Julianna, wait." Kate caught her wrist. "Promise you'll think about it, seeing a psychiatrist, I mean. When this is all over."

Julianna extricated herself from Kate's grip, a ghost of a smile touching her mouth. "All right, Kate. I promise."

74

Luke arrived back at the motel just as Julianna emerged from her room, her duffel bag packed and slung over her shoulder. Her hair was wet from the shower, her eyes red and puffy from crying.

Luke noticed, Kate was sure by his subtle double take at Julianna, but he didn't comment. "Macs was the best I could do in a hurry," he said, setting the McDonald's bag and beverage tray on the dresser. "I got sausage biscuits and fat-free muffins. Take your pick."

Kate propped Emma on her hip and reached for a coffee. The infant squealed in protest, and Kate made a sound of exasperation. "What is wrong with you today, Emma?"

"If you want to eat now, I'll hold her," Julianna offered. "I mean, if that's okay?"

Kate hesitated, but only a moment. She needed a break. She had been walking, jiggling and bouncing a fussy baby for hours and she'd had it. "Okay," she said. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

Kate handed her over with only a twinge of misgiving. The fear that Julianna was going to run off with Emma had all but evaporated. In truth, as Julianna took Emma awkwardly into her arms, she looked more nervous than Kate.

New arms momentarily distracted the infant and with a sigh of relief, Kate helped herself to a coffee and a biscuit.

"I called the P.I. while I was out," Luke said, folding back the plastic tab on his coffee's lid. "From a pay phone. He found both addresses and travel records for Wendell White and David Snow. The addresses were useless, mail drops and answering services. But the travel records could prove to be a gold mine."

Luke took a sip of his coffee, then smiled. "White and Snow visited some pretty exotic locales in the past couple of years. Colombia. Mexico. Israel. The U.K. I asked my guy to do a search on Nick Winters as well as to continue with the other names."

Kate set aside her biscuit, too anxious to eat. "So how does that help us?"

"We need to prove Powers is a loose cannon, right?" Kate and Julianna nodded. "The book will give us the information we need. All we have to do is break the code. The travel records will help us."

At the two women's blank looks, he explained, "In theory, once we make one of the book's entries, we can use it to decipher the rest. Like an alternate alphabet. I already did a little checking. According to my P.I., David Snow traveled to Mexico on June fourth last year. He returned on the fifteenth. There's a coded entry in the book, dated June fourteenth."

"Then we have him," Kate said.

"Maybe. Maybe not. What if the dates are a code, too? Twisted in some way? Or what if Snow was in Mexico on legitimate business? We've got to do this right. I say we go a step further. We find a library and using these travel dates as a guide, we search the back issues of newspapers on microfilm looking for reportings of deaths of government officials or any other important or prominent person. Then we put the two together.

"It's a long shot." Luke looked from one woman to the other. "But it's the only one we've got. And in my book it beats the hell out of sitting around waiting for Powers to strike."

The three exchanged glances, then leaped into action, a sense of urgency pressing in on them. They had to move fast. Time, they knew, was one thing John Powers was not going to allow them.

They checked into the new motel-a dismal affair done in a medieval knights theme, as if medieval castles had been papered with red-black-and-silver foil, flocked wallpaper. The woman manning the front desk hadn't had a clue where the nearest public library was, let alone the main branch, but offered the motel's yellow pages.

The Martin Luther King Jr. Memorial Library, they learned, was located at 901 G Street N.W. in the old downtown business district. The library had both the Washington Post and the New York Times on microfilm.

The day was long, their search tedious. Exhausting and frustrating. As the hours slipped by, Kate became more convinced that they were on a wild-goose chase, more aware that with each minute they searched, John Powers got that much closer to them.

Their progress was slowed even more by Emma. Her crabby mood only worsened as the day progressed. Kate and Julianna took turns walking the halls with her. They bounced her, sang songs and read to her. Nothing worked. At times the infant was almost inconsolable.

When they finally called it quits around two that afternoon, Kate had a screaming headache. Her eyes and shoulders ached and for the first time since arriving at Luke's, she felt hopeless.

She wasn't alone in her feelings. Julianna was subdued and retreated into her own world the minute they reached the hotel; Luke on the other hand, paced. He was frustrated and uncommunicative, and the one time Kate had tried to talk to him, he had all but bitten her head off.

Kate watched him pace for a moment, then returned her gaze to Emma, worried. "What's the matter, sweetie?" She tickled her daughter's lips with the bottle's nipple. "Come on, you've hardly eaten anything all day."

To her great relief, Emma latched on to the nipple and began sucking. A moment later, however, she jerked away and started to cry, the sound high-pitched and hurting.

A thread of panic wound through Kate. Something wasn't right. This was more than Emma being a little fussy because of lack of sleep or her schedule being disrupted. Kate laid a hand on her forehead; it felt hot.

Luke stopped pacing. "What's wrong?"

"I don't know. I think she has a temperature." Kate bent and pressed her lips to her daughter's forehead. "She's definitely hot."

"Let me check." Luke came over and laid his hand on her forehead. "She does feel a little warm. But maybe she's just hungry? Or sleepy?"

"I tried to feed her, but she wouldn't take the bottle. I'm worried, Luke. She's never been sick before."

"You don't know that she's sick, Kate. It could be she's just…upset."

"Her pediatrician's in Mandeville, all my child care books, I-" She dragged in a shaky breath. "This whole thing's been too hard on her. I never should have subjected her to it."

"What would you have done instead?" he asked, impatiently. "Stayed put in Mandeville so she could be murdered in her crib?"

Tears flooded Kate's eyes at his blunt words, and she swung away from him, clutching Emma, struggling not to cry.

He put his arms around her and Emma from behind. He bent and laid his cheek against her hair. "I'm sorry, Kate. I shouldn't have said that. It was wrong."

"No." She shook her head. "It wasn't wrong, it was true. We're just going to die later rather than sooner."

He turned her in his arms so they faced one another. "Don't say that. We have-"

"Nothing, Luke. We have nothing. We're no better off now than we were in Houston."

"We knew from the beginning that it wasn't going to be easy. We need a little more time, that's all."

"And time's just what we don't have." A sob rose in her throat. "It's impossible, like looking for a needle in a haystack. And now Emma's sick. I can't keep dragging her from one place to another like this. It's not good for her."

"Look at me, Kate. We don't even know for sure that John has made the connection between you and me. And even if he has, almost no one knew we were headed to D.C."

"He has made the connection. Somehow, he'll find us." She broke away from his arms. Emma began to cry, and Kate held her to her chest, trembling. "I feel him, Luke. He's watching us now, this minute. Nipping at our heels, laughing at our feeble efforts. And now Emma… something's wrong with…"

"Calm down, Kate." Luke closed the distance she had put between them and cupped her face in his palms. "I'll call the front desk, they'll know where the nearest Ready Med is-"

"What then?" she asked, tears welling. "Change hotels? Run forever? You know as well as-"

"Stop it!" Julianna leaped to her feet. "I can't take it anymore!"

Kate and Luke swung toward her, surprised. Even Emma was momentarily startled into silence.

"Don't you see?" she implored them. "We've got to stick together. If we're going to beat him, we've got to stick together. We've got to stay positive-"

She stopped suddenly. She brought her hands to her mouth, her expression stunned. "Oh, my God. That's it. I know what we should do, how we can get John. I can't believe I didn't see it before."

She turned to them. "Senator Jacobson. Clark Russell. We've had the answer all along."

"Senator William Jacobson?" Kate asked, drawing her eyebrows together. "Didn't he die last year? Wasn't he murdered?"

Julianna nodded. "I read about it in the paper, but it never made sense to me. The newspaper account reported that he had been found dead in his Washington hotel room. But whenever he stayed in the city, he stayed with my mother."

"Your mother?" Luke murmured, frowning.

"She was his mistress."

"I see what Julianna's getting at," Kate said, turning to Luke. "John told Julianna that he'd killed her mother. If she and the senator were together that night-"

"He would have killed him, too." Luke nodded. "That would mean the true facts of the murder were concealed to protect the senator and his family. It could be. It happens all the time."

"Billy was married," Julianna said. "Mother mentioned his wife a bunch of times. She came from big money, I think."

"She did." Kate nodded. "I read something about that. She came from some important family. Really important, with political ties."

"You're right," Luke said, excitement edging into his voice. "You mentioned two names, Julianna. The other was-"

"Clark Russell. He was with the CIA. Investigative branch, I'm pretty sure. He and mother had been lovers, a long time ago. He's the one who told her what John did for a living. Until then, even though they had been together for years, she hadn't known the truth. When I didn't believe her, she called Clark. He showed me some classified photographs, ones of…of John's victims. I believed them then. And I ran."

"Clark Russell made it personal," Luke murmured. "He crossed the line."

Kate drew her eyebrows together, something suddenly occurring to her. "Wait a minute, you're telling us that all three of these men were at one time or another your mother's lover?"

"Yes."

"And now, two out of the three are dead."

"Yes. John admitted to me that he killed Clark."

Luke sat. "If we can prove Powers killed a United States senator, I think we'd have it."

"Don't we have enough now?" Kate asked, sounding breathless to her own ears. "Couldn't we go to Morris, lay it all out for him and-"

"I don't think so. We don't have anything solid to tie Powers to the murders."

Kate made a sound of disbelief. "Even though all three were at one time Sylvia Starr's lover? Even though two of the three are recently dead and now John Powers is after Sylvia's daughter? What do they want, it delivered wrapped in a gift bow?"

"Yes, actually. That's just what they want. They want us to give them Powers, lock, stock and barrel. Right now, all we've got is speculation and coincidence." He frowned. "But I'm thinking, if we could prove there was a cover-up in the senator's death, maybe, just maybe they would make a move. It's worth a shot.

"We start with the police." He shifted his gaze to Emma, sleeping finally but fitfully, in Kate's arms. "After we get Emma to the doctor."

75

The homicide division of the Metropolitan Police Department, or M.P.D., was located downtown in the Henry

J. Daly Municipal Center. Besides police headquarters, Luke learned, the Daly building housed several other entities, including the Department of Motor Vehicles and the parole board. Interesting choice, combining paroled convicts and police officers in the same building. He wondered what genius had thought that one up.

Parking downtown D.C. was a nightmare so Luke had taken a cab. He paid the driver, then made his way into the building and past the uniformed guards and metal detector. Homicide was on three, accessible only from the main lobby elevators. Every police department he had ever been in possessed its own distinct character. Some were rough, some sleekly modern, some carnival-like.

But the officers themselves, as a group, varied little, whether small-town cop or big-city law enforcement. A breed unto themselves, tough but never reckless, unified. He supposed it was because they lived differently than regular folks, on an invisible edge. Seeing death changed a man. As did facing it.

If he made it through this, Luke hadn't a doubt that he would be changed, too. He stepped onto the elevator, checking his watch as he did. It was nearly five. Emma's trip to the Ready Med had taken longer than he had anticipated, though it was a good thing they had gone. By the time they'd gotten in to see the doctor, the child had gone from feeling a little warm to downright hot.

And no wonder. Emma had had a temperature of 102.5, brought on by a severe ear infection in both ears. The doctor had prescribed an antibiotic, infant's Tylenol for the fever and discomfort and plenty of rest.

The elevator glided to a stop; the doors slid open and Luke emerged from the car. The homicide division lay straight ahead, through doors that could only be accessed with a key code. He turned right and headed down the hall to the desk lieutenant's office, pausing beside a trash receptacle.

On the way downtown, Luke had had the cabbie make a quick stop at a bookstore. He'd run in and bought a copy of Dead Drop. He took it out of the bag, which he tossed in the trash, then tucked the volume under his arm.

He hoped his so-called celebrity status and a free, autographed book might encourage somebody to talk. The guys at the Houston P.D. had adopted him as one of their own, letting him into their closed circle. They filled him in on cases, their theories, why and how things went down-even when they went wrong. They did so because they knew they could trust him, because he always took care to get his facts straight and give an acknowledgment when warranted.

He didn't fool himself that the M.P.D. officers would be so welcoming.

The desk lieutenant was a woman. Luke sent her what he hoped was a winning smile. "Hi, I'm Luke Dallas. The novelist." Her expression didn't change. "I'm in Washington to research my new book, and I was wondering if I could speak with one of the detectives."

"You'll have to see Detective Peterson in Community Relations. He's on four."

The Community Relations officer was not about to give him the information he needed. Those guys always played it by the book.

Luke tried again. He flashed the woman another smile, though he could tell she wasn't impressed. "I'm only in town for the day, and I was really hoping to talk to someone currently working cases."

"Sorry." She frowned. "Department policy."

He shifted the book under his arm. Her gaze flicked to it, then back up to him. "Who'd you say you are?"

"Luke Dallas. Dead Drop." He held up the book and recognition lit her features.

"I saw you on the ‘Today Show.' Isn't that Matt Lauer to die for?"

Luke's lips lifted in self-directed amusement. Some claim to fame. "I wouldn't know about to die for, but he's a great guy. A good buddy of mine, actually." When all else fails, lie your ass off. "I could get you an autograph."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah. We play tennis together every week."

She thought for a moment, then leaned slightly toward him. "I tell you what, I'll let you talk to Detective Sims. I think he'll be able to help you out."

Five minutes later, Lieutenant Arlene Larson's full name and address in his pocket, Luke sat across from Detective Sims. Luke immediately understood why the lieutenant had chosen this detective to speak with him. He was young, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. A preppy-looking, go-by-the-books kind of guy. Definitely not the kind who would spill department secrets.

"So, you're a writer?" the detective said.

"That's right. Luke Dallas." He handed him the book. "For you, signed."

The kid stared at the book, his jaw going slack. "Holy shit, not the Luke Dallas?"

Luke smiled and relaxed slightly. "The very one."

"I love your books." Sims leaned forward, lowering his voice. "I'm a writer, too. Not published yet, but I will be. Maybe you could take a look at my manuscript?"

First Matt Lauer. Now this.

"I'm only in town for the day," Luke murmured, trying to sound disappointed. "I tell you what, you help me out with this and I'll give you my agent's name and put in a good word for you. Agreed?"

"You got it." The detective looked about ready to bust, he was so pleased with the deal. "Want to hear what my story's about? It's really good. Fast-paced. Lots of action."

"I'd love to, if I had the time. I'll just have to trust that it's great."

The detective looked crestfallen, but nodded. "Okay, so what do you need to know?"

"The scenario I'm currently working on involves the cover-up of the murder of an influential man. An important man."

"Influential? How so?"

"He's a U.S. senator."

The detective nodded. "Go on."

"Our senator is a respectable married man. He has kids.

A pillar of the community, country and church. He also has a mistress."

Sims nodded. "This is good. I like this."

"He's in bed with his mistress. An assassin enters and kills them both. Pop, one shot to the chest and the senator's history."

"Oh, wow. What's the twist? I know your stories, there's always a twist."

Luke's lips lifted. "The assassin's not after him, he's after the mistress. The senator is simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. The wife has family connections that go all the way to the president and the feds-"

"Cover up the true circumstances of the murder to save the wife, kids and country public humiliation."

"Exactly." Luke smiled. "I can tell you're a born writer." The detective beamed at him, and Luke leaned back in his chair. "You ever seen anything like that before, Detective?"

"Personally, no. But it could happen."

"What about Senator Jacobson's murder? Anything like what I described?"

The preppy detective's face fell. "Senator Jacobson?"

"The very one." Luke leaned forward. "I have reason to believe Jacobson was neither in a hotel room nor alone when he was killed. I need to corroborate."

"I didn't work that case."

"You could look up the report." Luke met the other man's gaze straight on. "It's important, Sims. I'd consider it a personal favor."

"This isn't for one of your novels, is it?"

"No, Sims, it's not. But it's life and death, I promise you that."

The young detective hesitated, then looked nervously over his shoulder. "You didn't hear this from me?"

"I didn't hear it at all."

He nodded, glanced around again, then murmured. "I don't have to look that one up, it's not every day a senator gets whacked. Something was definitely off about Jacobson's death. About the scene." The detective shifted in his seat, his chair creaked. "From the get-go it was hands off, feds only. They examined the scene, collected and processed the evidence. Some of the guys were really ticked off."

"Couldn't that have been because of who the victim was? Like you said, it's not every day a United States senator is murdered."

"Could be. But I doubt it." Sims leaned forward. "I heard some talk. Speculation that something different went down than what was officially reported. The scene didn't look right. Captain told us to put a lid on it."

"What happened then?"

"We did as ordered. Who has time to worry about yesterday's stiffs, no matter how important a person they were, we got today's, you know what I mean?"

Luke agreed that he did, indeed, know what he meant. "Sylvia Starr, ever heard that name?"

Sims thought a moment, then shook his head. "Who is she?"

"Murder victim. Could you look her up for me?"

"Sure. What do you need to know?"

"Date and time of death, circumstances. Whether she was found alone."

He swung toward his PC, typed in the appropriate combination of letters and numbers; a moment later the information came up. Sims scanned it. "Murdered on November 16, last year. Estimated time of death 3:00 a.m. Lover beside her, a John Doe. Gunshot to the head, close range. Blew her brains out. Unsolved."

"That's it?"

"That's it, though there should be more." He frowned, rereading the information on the screen. "I don't see anything about evidence collection, witness interviews, or a case pending. It must have fallen through the cracks. You want me to look her up in the hard file?"

"No, that's okay. Could you check one more thing for me?"

"Sure. Shoot."

"Jacobson, the date and time of his murder?"

Sims turned to his PC once more. A minute later he frowned. "November 16, last year. Estimated time of death 3:00 a.m. Think there's a connection here?"

"Maybe."

"The mistress, right?"

"Yeah." Luke smiled grimly and stood, thinking ahead to the conversation he would have with Morris. "You got a card, Sims?"

The detective handed him one, and Luke turned it over and jotted down his agent's name, address and telephone number. "Send him your manuscript, tell him I said he should read it. When I get home, I'll call him, put in a good word for you."

The man flushed with pleasure. "Thanks, Mr. Dallas." He held out a hand. "Thanks a lot."

"Thank you." Luke shook his hand. "I appreciate your help."

He started to walk away, stopping and turning back after a few steps. "Sims?" The detective looked up. "A moment ago you said the scene was feds only. Happen to know which Agency that was?"

The younger man thought a moment, then shook his head. "Can't recall. You want me to find out? It'll take a few minutes."

"Yeah, I would," Luke said, turning back toward the desk. "I'll wait."

76

Kate sat beside Emma's crib and watched her sleep. Exhaustion and guilt pulled at her. How could she not have acted on the change in her daughter's behavior sooner? All the signs of illness had been there, crankiness, loss of appetite, sleeplessness. Instead, it had taken a 102.5 degree temperature to galvanize her into action. What kind of mother was she?

Kate passed a hand wearily across her forehead. The doctor had called ear infections a common childhood malady. If treated properly and promptly they posed no long-term health threat, if not, the child's hearing could be affected. He'd also tried to assure Kate that nothing she had or hadn't done had caused it.

As much as she wanted to, Kate didn't buy that. Emma had gone six months without so much as a sniffle; now, her life and routine in chaos, she had a raging infection in both ears and a temperature.

She squeezed her eyes shut. Please find what we need, Luke. Please.

The phone jangled and Emma stirred and moaned, her face puckering up in reaction to the sudden, shrill sound. Kate dove for the offending instrument, catching it a moment before it rang again.

"Hello?" she said softly, her gaze on Emma.

"Kate, it's Luke."

"Luke?" She pressed the receiver tighter to her ear, straining to hear above the din on the line. "I can hardly hear you."

"I've run into a little trouble down here."

"Trouble? What-" The line crackled, then faded. He was saying something, but she couldn't quite make it out. "Luke, speak up. I can't understand what you're saying."

Julianna came to the door between their rooms. Kate glanced at her, and she mouthed, "What's wrong?"

Kate lifted her shoulders to indicate she didn't know, then turned her attention back to Luke.

"I think we've got him, Kate," he was saying, his voice fading in and out. "But we need to act quickly. How fast can you get down here?"

"Down there?" she repeated, her heart beginning to pound. "I don't understand-"

"Kate, I can hardly hear you now." The line crackled again. "-need you down here. Three hundred Indiana Avenue, N.W. The Henry J. Daly Municipal Center. Third floor. Quickly. Got that, Kate?"

"Got it. But, Luke, what-"

"You'll understand everything when you get here. Hurry," he said, "we don't have a minute to waste."

The line went dead.

Julianna came into the room, eyes wide, the expression in them worried. "What's going on?"

"I don't know." Kate stared at the receiver a moment, then returned it to its cradle. "Luke says he got what we needed, but there's some sort of trouble and we have to act quickly."

"He got the proof?"

"That's what he said. He asked me to come right down."

"But why?"

"I don't know." Kate snatched up the diaper bag and carried it to the crib. "It was an awful connection, I could hardly hear."

Kate gazed down at her sleeping daughter, doubt plucking at her. The Tylenol had brought down her fever and relieved her pain, making it possible for her to finally rest. "I hate to wake her up," she murmured. "Poor thing just got to sleep."

"Don't." Julianna came to stand beside her. "You go, I'll stay with her. It'll be much quicker, and she can get some rest."

Kate hesitated. Julianna was right. It would be quicker without Emma. She would have to change Emma's diaper, make sure the diaper bag had plenty of spares and make a bottle. Plus the doctor had prescribed rest.

"She'll be fine. I bet she won't even wake up."

Kate caught her bottom lip between her teeth. She hated this. It felt wrong. But Luke had sounded almost desperate, and Kate knew her daughter-Emma did not like her sleep disturbed. If awakened now she would doubtless scream for the next thirty minutes. Kate didn't suppose that was what the doctor had meant by her getting plenty of rest and quiet.

"You can trust me, Kate. I wouldn't do anything to hurt Emma."

Kate realized it was true. If Julianna didn't care about Emma, she would have high-tailed it out of Louisiana after disabling Powers. Instead, she had put herself in harm's way to save Emma. Besides, how long would she be gone? Surely not more than forty-five minutes?

Kate acquiesced, though still torn. "Okay, but lock the door. Don't answer it for anyone."

Julianna laughed. "Are you kidding? There's a chance I won't even let you guys back in."

On impulse, Kate gave the other woman a quick hug. "I'll check in when I get there. You know where the formula and-"

"And bottle and diapers and wipes are? Yes. Now, go."

Kate grabbed her coat and hurried to the door, unlocked it and stepped out into the cold evening air. She stopped and looked back at Julianna, a knot in the pit of her gut. "Take care of my baby, okay?"

As she said the words she realized how strange they were, considering their relationship. In the beginning it had been Julianna who had entrusted Kate with the care for her baby.

"I will. Don't worry about a thing."

With one last glance backward, Kate hurried out to hail a cab.

77

Twenty minutes later the cab dropped Kate off in front of the Daly building. She paid the fare and hurried inside. She scanned the busy lobby, looking for Luke; when she didn't see him, she went through the metal detectors, heading toward the elevators.

She reached them just as one finished emptying out; she stepped inside and punched the third-floor call button. She lifted her gaze to the floor numbers above the door and drew in a deep breath through her nose, vacillating between being anxious and excited, hopeful and fearful.

Luke had said he'd gotten what they needed. But he'd also said he'd run into some sort of trouble. What could he have meant?

The elevator stopped on three and the doors opened. The hallway was empty, the door to the homicide division locked. Kate turned right and headed to the desk lieutenant's office.

The woman, a capable-looking brunette, looked up when Kate entered. "What can I do for you?"

"I was supposed to meet a friend here, Luke Dallas. He was interviewing one of the detectives."

"Detective Sims." She nodded. "But I'm afraid you've missed him."

"Missed him?" Kate repeated, her stomach falling. "Are you sure?"

"Positive. Detective Sims left on a call about ten minutes ago."

Ten minutes ago. An eternity.

Something was wrong.

Kate began backing out of the office, heart pounding. "He's probably waiting for me in the lobby. Thanks for your help."

She turned and ran for the elevator. This time she had to wait for a car; each moment seemed a lifetime. An elevator arrived. She hurried on. The car was already occupied by two uniformed officers. She eyed their sidearms, cuffs and radios, oddly reassured.

The taller of the two caught her gaze. "Everything all right, ma'am?"

She gazed at the officer. She could enlist their help. Tell them the whole story and beg them to help her.

She opened her mouth to do just that, then shut it, remembering what Julianna had said about John and the police. That they would make her a sitting duck, that John would outwit them easily. She pictured herself explaining the story to them, then their superior officer or a detective; could hear their questions, their skepticism.

By the time she convinced somebody to accompany her back to the motel, if she ever did, Emma, Luke and Julianna could be dead.

"Everything's fine," she said, her voice too high.

"You sure?" He narrowed his gaze on her, and she felt her cheeks heat. "You seem a little agitated."

"I'm fine." She cleared her throat and forced a smile.

"I was supposed to meet a friend here and missed him. That's all. Thank you for asking."

They reached the lobby and the elevator doors slid open. Kate rushed off, frantically scanning the lobby for Luke. Once, then again.

He wasn't there.

Heart in her throat, she made her way out of the building. She stood in the center of the sidewalk, scanning up, then down. She had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. That something bad had happened to him; that John had followed him. That she'd been had.

Stepping up to the curb, she signaled a cab. It veered over two lanes, nearly causing an accident, pulling to halt at the curb in front of her. She yanked the door open.

"Kate! Wait!"

She spun around. Luke was emerging from the Daly building, and she ran to him. "Luke! Thank God!" His arms closed around her. "I got here as quickly as I could. When I couldn't find you I thought the wors-"

"I didn't call you, Kate."

She eased out of his arms and lifted her face to his, searching his expression for the Gotcha! She didn't see one and struggled for an even breath. "What are you saying?"

"I just talked to Julianna." He tightened his grip on her. "That wasn't me on the phone. I wouldn't even be here if I hadn't called the motel."

Kate felt the blood drain from her face, like an icy hand passing over her, stealing both her blood and her warmth.

John. Dear God. She brought a hand to her mouth. She had left Emma. Julianna couldn't protect her from John. Kate wasn't even certain she would try.

As if reading her thoughts, Luke held her at arm's length and looked her straight in the eyes. "Don't panic, Kate. I just talked to Julianna. Everything's fine. She's got the door locked and chained, she won't open it for anybody." He lowered his voice. "And I told her where my gun is. It's loaded."

"Gun?" she repeated, light-headed with fear.

"So she can protect herself and Emma if need be."

The cabby she'd hailed tooted his horn. "You need a cab or what?"

Luke grabbed her hand and they jumped in. The rush hour traffic was a snarl, and the ride to the motel seemed interminable to Kate. She struggled not to cry, not to completely fall apart, but all she could think about was Emma and John and what he might do to her if he got to her.

How could she have been so stupid? So gullible? She had never even questioned whether it was Luke on the phone, even though she had been unable to hear him clearly.

John knew everything, she realized, despair welling up in her chest. Where Luke had gone and probably why. That Emma had been to the doctor; that Kate would leave her and Julianna alone.

Tears flooded her eyes. If anything happened to Emma, she would never be able to forgive herself. Never.

Luke reached across the seat and covered her hand with his own. She curled her fingers around his, holding tightly. "Hang in there, Kate. She's going to be okay."

She glanced at him, then away, tears swamping her. "I'm trying, Luke. I really am."

"I found what we were looking for." She met his eyes. "Julianna's mother and Senator Jacobson were both murdered on the same night at approximately the same time. Apparently, the local boys' hands were slapped by the feds, who came in and took over. Some of the M.P.D. guys' noses were seriously out of joint. There was talk. Speculation about a cover-up of some sort."

She worked hard to concentrate on what he was saying. "So, we have what we need? You can go to Morris now?"

"Not exactly. Two problems. One, Powers killed Jacobson after Julianna stole his book, so we still don't have anything concrete to link him to the senator's murder. Second, Detective Sims did a little checking for me. Guess what Agency those feds were with?"

She swallowed hard. "CIA?"

"Bingo." Luke frowned. "I think we're being used."

"I don't understand. Why-"

"They already know about Jacobson, Kate. And Powers is still on the street."

She sank back against the seat, defeated. "What are we going to do? We have no place left to go."

"Oh, yes we do." Luke's jaw tightened. "If Morris doesn't give me what I want, I'm going to the press. We have enough to shake a few trees over at Langley. Think about it. A dead senator. A cover-up. A government assassin running amok. A little black book filled with nasty secrets. At the very least we can make Morris's life damn uncomfortable. That was what Condor was trying to tell me, they don't want the attention."

"Who told you?"

"A contact." Luke shook his head. "A friend."

The cabby pulled to a stop in front of their motel. Kate threw open the door and ran for the stairs that led to the rooms on the second level, ignoring Luke's shout to wait.

The metal stairs shuddered as she pounded up them, Luke only steps behind her.

She landed on the second level. Their adjoining rooms were located at the far end of the row; the door to their's stood ajar. Kate stopped, her life passing before her eyes. She opened her mouth to call out, but Luke grabbed her arm, silencing her. He bent his head close to hers. "Stay behind me."

She nodded, stepping back slightly to allow him in front, although her every instinct screamed in protest. He proceeded slowly, inching toward the pair of doors.

He reached them. A finger to his lips, Luke eased the door open.

The interior of the room was dim. The curtain had been drawn tight, the lights were off. Luke reached inside and flipped up the wall switch. Light flooded the room.

It was empty.

Emma! Kate rushed to the crib. It, too, was empty. A cry flying to her lips, she spun toward Julianna's room. Luke was already there. Kneeling on the floor, bending over something. Or someone.

He looked over his shoulder at her. At his expression, a cry ripped from her lips. She raced to his side.

Not Emma, she saw. Julianna. She lay in a crumpled heap, naked, her pale skin bruised. Blood trickled from her nose and mouth.

She opened her eyes.

She was alive, thank God.

Kate knelt by her side and Kate took Julianna's hand into her own. The younger woman looked into Kate's eyes, her mouth working but no sound coming out.

"When, Julianna?" Luke bent close. "When did John come?"

Her gaze shifted to Luke's. "Here already…when you…" A spasm of pain shook her, contorting her features. Her fingers convulsed against Kate's. "I…fought… too…strong…I-"

Kate swallowed hard, fighting panic. "Where is she, Julianna? Where's Emma?"

Julianna coughed, spitting up blood. "…be like you. Wish I…" Kate had to bend her head close to hear. "…please…forgive…"

She coughed again, the sound frighteningly weak, wet as she bled internally. Kate gathered her in her arms. "Don't die, Julianna," she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. "Please, hold on."

Her body convulsed again, a shudder rippling over her, as if the last of her life force fought to survive against outrageous odds. Her eyes shut, and Kate tightened her arms. "No, dammit! Open your eyes. You're not going to die, I'm not going to let you! Open them!"

Julianna did as Kate commanded, the once vivid blue irises pale now, dull with approaching death. Kate could see her fight to pull away from the darkness, struggle for consciousness. She plucked at Kate's shirt, her mouth working. Kate bent close to her again.

"Please…believe…I… Save my…save Em…"

A breath shuddered past her lips. Her muscles went slack, and her head lolled back against Kate's arm.

For a moment, Kate simply held her, a kind of numbness stealing over her limbs. Then Julianna's words, their meaning, sank in. Kate lifted her gaze to Luke's.

"He can't have her," she said. "He can't!"

She got to her feet and stumbled to the adjoining room and empty crib, tears blinding her. She gazed down at the small bed, at the rumpled blanket and the soft, bright-colored stuffed bear. Emma's favorite.

"Why didn't he bring it for her?" Kate whispered. "Who's she going to hold on to? When she's scared, who's she going to hold on to?"

Kate picked up the toy and brought it to her face. It smelled like Emma. She breathed deeply, her heart breaking, her despair yawning, unimaginable.

The phone rang. They both swung toward it. It rang again, and Kate lunged, grabbing the receiver before it jangled a third time.

"Kate, love, it's John. Or as you know me, Nick."

"Where's my baby?"

He ignored her. "Surprised? Or did you figure it out?" He paused. "You did, I suppose. When you saw that photograph." He paused again. "What you did to my home, that wasn't nice. It made me very angry, Kate."

"You sick bastard. I want my daughter."

Luke came up to stand beside her. He bent his head close to hers to try to hear what John was saying. From the corners of her eyes, Kate saw that he had laid the bedspread over Julianna. She saw, too, that he had a gun.

"I like that about you, Kate. Your single-minded loyalty. But I've told you that before." He sighed. "I'm sorry I've had to involve you and the people you love. Julianna left me no choice. She was young and impulsive. And like most disobedient children, she didn't take my warnings seriously. And you were made to suffer."

Kate gripped the receiver tighter, her stomach rising to her throat. "What about Tess?"

"She was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Just like the good senator. Sylvia always did have a penchant for paunchy old men with power. Go figure."

"But why?" Kate managed, voice quaking. "What did Tess ever do to you?"

"She caught me stealing your Rolodex, Kate." He made a sound of pain. "Your glass work was an impulse. One I deeply regret. That I destroyed works of art…it haunts me, Kate."

He was a monster. And he had her baby. "I don't care about that, I just want my daughter back."

"She's with me. Her daddy." He laughed then, the sound flat, without warmth or life. That a human could make such an emotionless sound frightened her to her core. She fought to keep from crumbling, from simply falling to pieces. The only thing that kept her from doing so was knowing that Emma needed her.

"Such a shame about Julianna," he continued. "Though I think you'll agree, she had it coming. She betrayed me, Kate. Me. I gave her everything, and she betrayed me."

"You didn't give her everything," Kate said, unable to contain her revulsion. "You took everything from her, you son of a bitch."

"Such language." He clucked his tongue in admonishment. "Kate, you of all people should understand betrayal. After the way Richard treated you? I would think you'd be thanking me."

"What have you done with Emma? I want her back."

"Funny you should say that. Because you have something that belongs to me. Something I want back." In the background she heard an infant begin to cry.

Emma. Kate brought a shaking hand to her mouth. She would recognize Emma's cry anywhere.

She was alive.

"And now I have something that belongs to you. Something you want back, rather desperately I believe."

"Don't hurt her," Kate begged. "Please don't hurt her, I'll do anything you ask. Anything!"

"Just what I was counting on, love. But please, let's save the pleas and histrionics. This is a business arrangement. If you want your item returned intact, you and Dallas meet me at 2:00 a.m. at the Bay Harbor Yacht Club in Annapolis, pier twelve. Call the cops or the feds and the little baby bitch dies."

78

Annapolis, Maryland, was located on Chesapeake Bay, about an hour from Washington, D.C. Founded in 1646, the town was known to most Americans for the navel academy of the same name. Historic and quaint, the capital of Maryland was also the sailing capital of the nation and sported no less than four yacht clubs-including Bay Harbor.

Kate and Luke arrived at Bay Harbor ten minutes early. Luke drew to a stop in the empty parking lot, shifted the car into park, but left it running. Beyond the parking lot lay the marina with its fingers of piers lined with boat slips.

The winter night was cold, quiet and impossibly dark. Kate huddled deeper into her coat, feeling small, vulnerable and afraid. The last hours had been a horror for her. Before leaving the hotel, they had called 911 and reported Julianna's murder. Then, though it had felt wrong, they'd just walked away. Quickly, not looking back. They'd had no choice.

Kate rubbed her arms. She couldn't close her eyes without seeing the image of Julianna in those last moments, as her life had slipped away. Without remembering that the man whose handiwork had caused her death now had her daughter.

Emma was in the hands of a madman.

Fear clutched at her and for a moment, Kate couldn't breathe. She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could stop the images unfurling in her head. Wishing she could stop imagining Emma's cries. Ones of fear. Cries for the safety and security of her mother's arms.

Only her mother didn't come.

If Emma was still alive.

A soft sob escaped her. Kate brought a hand to her mouth, the thought of it almost more than she could bear.

As if reading her thoughts, Luke turned to her. "She's alive," he said softly. "John wants that book. He knows he won't get it if she isn't." He reached across the seat and covered her clasped hands with one of his own. "We're going to get her back, Kate. We are."

Tears flooded her eyes. She didn't trust herself to speak, didn't trust herself to meet his eyes. Because she didn't believe it, not in her heart, no matter how desperately she wanted to.

"Look at me, Kate."

She shook her head. "I can't."

"I need you to look at me while I say this. It's important."

So she did. She turned her gaze to his, her tears welling and slipping slowly down her cheeks. He brought his hand up, cupping her face, catching her tears. "I love you, Kate. I always have."

His words felt like a goodbye. She recoiled from them, tears choking her. "No, don't. Please, Luke-"

He laid his hand gently across her mouth. "We both know this guy has no plans of letting us go, book or no book, but I promise you, I'll do everything I can to save her. To save you both."

494 Erica Spindler Even if it meant sacrificing his own life.

She heard the words he left unsaid, as clearly as if he had spoken them aloud.

"If the opportunity comes for you to run, I want you to do it, Kate. I want you to take Emma and go. And don't look back. Promise me."

"I can't." She shook her head again. "I won't leave you behind, Luke. And I won't say goodbye."

"Then don't." He trailed his thumb across her cheekbone, his lips lifted in a bittersweet smile. "I'll love you forever, Kate. Nothing could change that. Not even death."

She turned, pressing her lips into his palm, sobbing. "I love you, too, Luke."

"Come here."

He held out his arms and she slid across the seat and into them. She clung to him, aware of the time ticking inexorably past, her dread growing with each second.

"It's time."

He was right, she knew. But she held back, clinging to the moment and to him. To life. She realized how precious and perfect it was, now that she faced the real possibility of death.

She closed her eyes and said a silent prayer-of thanks for all that she had been given, and one for the safekeeping of her daughter.

And then she was ready.

She met his eyes. "Let's go get Emma."

They climbed out of the vehicle, the sound of the doors slamming shut reverberating through the night, echoing on the sea air. Kate paused, her senses assailed by the smells and sounds of the harbor: of halyards pinging against aluminum masts, of the rhythmic slap of water against wooden and fiberglass boat hulls, of mast flags flapping in the wind; the smell of fish and salt and the day's sun that had warmed both.

Kate sucked it all in, savoring the corporeal sensations, holding on. Last times were like that, she mused. Super-real. Exaggerated. Perfect.

Luke caught her hand and laced their fingers. "Pier twelve," he murmured. They angled toward it, passing a group of storage sheds and a rest room.

As they reached the pier, John called softly from behind them. They turned. He stepped out of the shadows not twenty feet away. He had Emma. She lay limply in his arms, a piece of silver duct tape over her mouth.

"Emma!" Kate cried in anguish, fearing the worst. At the sound of her mother's voice, the infant began to stir, then squirm, in John's arms.

She was alive! Thank God!

Kate rushed forward; John stopped her by bringing his gun to Emma's head. "I don't think so, Kate." He smiled, his lips stretching obscenely across his teeth. "The gun's cocked, Kate. It's a semiautomatic. I could put twelve bullets into your little princess in twelve seconds. Or less. Would you like that?"

A sob rose in her throat. "Don't hurt her. Please. I'll do anything."

"I know you will." Again he flashed her that horrific smile. "And I admire you for it. Such love and loyalty." He made a clucking sound with his tongue. "Richard was a fool for not appreciating you." His gaze slid to Luke. "Somehow I don't think Dallas here has the same shortcomings. Such a shame."

"Let her live," she pleaded. "Please, Nick…John, I beg you. She's innocent in all this. She didn't ask to be conceived."

He ignored her plea, turning his attention to Luke. "Where's my book?"

"I've got it," Luke answered. "And I'll give it back as soon as you hand over Emma."

John stared at him a moment, then laughed, the sound hollow, cold. "So, hero, what did you think you were going to do with that book? Decipher my code and cut a deal with the Agency? Let me clue you in, my friend, they'd have screwed you. They're a bunch of disloyal, dishonorable pricks."

"Funny, those are the adjectives they used for you." Luke moved his gaze between John's face and Emma, waiting, hoping, for an opportunity. He motioned their surroundings. "What's your plan, Ice? Kill us and sail off into the sunset?"

"Give the man a gold star. I've already got the GPS set for Bermuda."

"You really think you're going to get away with this?"

"I know I am." He laughed. "He motioned to the sleek Gulfstar fifty-four parked in the slip two down on the right. "Pretty, isn't she? I named her The Julianna."

Kate brought a hand to her mouth. He felt no remorse over killing Julianna, no guilt. John Powers wasn't even human.

"You've got snakes in your head, you know that Powers? You're pathetic."

The killer's expression tightened. "You need to show me a little respect, Dallas. I could have killed you all a dozen times over, but I didn't. You know why?"

"I'm sure you're going to enlighten me."

"I wanted to see the whites of your eyes when I did it. I wanted to smell your fear, hear you beg for your life." He moved several steps closer. "You see, then I'd be certain you were being punished for your crimes."

Luke laughed suddenly, the sound contemptuous. "You're not a very professional killer, are you? Making it personal is for psychos and street thugs. Why, the deadly Ice is nothing more than a jealous boyfriend."

A muscle began to twitch in John's jaw. The gun slipped a fraction, as if he'd relaxed his hold on Emma.

Kate held her breath, more afraid than she could have imagined possible. All it would take was the wrong word from Luke, and Emma would be dead. Kate held her tongue, knowing that unhinging John might be their only chance for survival.

"Is that why you killed Senator Jacobson?" Luke asked. "In a jealous pique? How about Clark Russell?"

"Jealous of Jacobson or Russell? Get serious." John's lips curled with derision. "Jacobson was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and Russell stuck his nose in my personal business. He had to die. He had to be punished."

"You keep saying that. We all need to be punished, right? Because little Johnny's feelings were hurt? Because his girlfriend dumped him as soon as she got old enough to see that he was nothing but a sick son of a bitch and a child molester?"

"Shut up!" John shouted, his face screwing up with rage. "Shut the fuck up and give me my goddamn book!"

"This book?" Luke asked, holding it up. "No problem. Just hand over Emma."

"You want the little bitch? It'll be a pleasure. Almost as much of a pleasure as putting a bullet in your brain."

As if in slow motion, Kate watched as John tossed Emma into the air. Luke rushed forward. A scream ripped from her lips as she dove for the infant, hoping at the very least to put herself between Emma and the ground.

Kate caught her, then went down hard, twisting to take the brunt of the fall and protect Emma. She skidded on the gravel; it tore at her arms, elbows and legs.

A blast rent the air.

"No!" Kate cried as Luke stopped dead, his body convulsing as the bullet slammed into him.

Suddenly the night went from dark to light as spotlights from the boats on either side of the pier snapped on, pinning John in their bright circles. Men with guns appeared as if from nowhere, at least a dozen of them, their weapons trained on John.

"Drop your weapon, Powers! CI-"

With a howl of rage, John swung toward Kate, leveling his gun on her and Emma.

Kate's life passed before her eyes. She lurched sideways, clutching her daughter to her chest, shielding the infant with her body, saying one last, silent prayer as she awaited the bullet's impact.

The agents opened fire. John's body jerked and twitched as round after round blew into him-blood, fragments of bone and bits of flesh flew as the shots pitched him side to side, forward and back in a grotesque dance of death.

As abruptly as it had begun, the explosion of sound that shattered the night ceased. But still, John stood. He hung there, gun clutched in his hand, blank gaze on Kate. In that moment, hysteria pulling at her, Kate wondered if John Powers couldn't be killed. If, monster that he was, he needed neither blood nor bone nor breath to survive. She wondered if it would ever be over.

Then, like a puppet whose wires had been suddenly severed, he went down, folding in on himself, hitting the ground without a sound.

79

Luke opened his eyes slowly, squinting against the bright light. His mouth was dry; his head felt as if it had been used as a battering ram. He moved his gaze, taking in the I.V., the bed rails, the TV mounted from the ceiling. A hospital, he realized. He was in a hospital.

He turned his head. Kate slept in a big chair beside the bed, Emma asleep in her arms.

They were alive. They were all alive.

He shifted slightly and winced as pain shot through his shoulder. With the pain, the events of the evening came rushing back, though in a confusing and disjointed blur. Kate's scream. The intense burning in his shoulder and the sensation of being propelled backward by a force beyond his control. The warm stickiness of blood, then the realization that he had been shot, that he was most probably going to die.

But he hadn't died. None of them had.

"I thought I'd lost you."

He turned his head toward Kate. His lips lifted. "I thought you had, too. Hanging out with you is damn hazardous, lady."

She smiled even as her eyes flooded with tears. "I'm sorry, Luke. I'm so-"

"Don't be. I'm not." He shifted his gaze to take in Emma. Only then did he see the angry red welt across her mouth and cheeks.

From the tape, he realized, fisting his fingers, impotent rage swelling inside him. "That son of a bitch. How could he?"

"It'll heal," Kate said softly. "She's alive and that's all that matters."

"Thank God for the cavalry. If not for them-"

He bit the words back. They both knew where they would be right now if not for Tom Morris and his men. Luke's hunch had been correct. Apparently, they'd had their suspicions about John Powers for some time. They'd used Luke and Kate to get them confirmation.

Kate shifted Emma so she lay in the crook of one arm, propped against her side. With her free hand she reached for his. She curled her fingers around his. "No," she whispered. "Thank God for you."

"For me?" He shook his head. "Some hero. I didn't even get my gun out of my pants."

Kate laughed and brought his hand to her mouth. She kissed his knuckles, then his hand. "Without you, Emma and I would be dead. I believe that, and I'll be forever grateful to you."

He laced their fingers. "It's over now, love. You're safe."

"I know. But it doesn't feel that way. If I hadn't seen him die, if I hadn't-"

"I know." He tightened his fingers. "But you did see it, we both did. He can't hurt you anymore."

The door to his room swung open and a man in surgical scrubs entered. "Morning, folks." He crossed to the end of the bed, lifted Luke's chart, scanned it, then turned to Luke.

He smiled. "How are you feeling this morning, Mr. Dallas?"

Condor. Luke narrowed his eyes. He must have been in on the Agency's plans, all along. "I feel like shit. How are you?"

Beside him, Kate made a sound of surprise. Luke glanced at her; she was staring at Condor, a look of confusion on her face.

"And here I thought you'd be happy to be alive."

"I am that." Luke motioned him closer, as if he had something to say that he didn't want Kate to hear. Condor bent slightly, and Luke grabbed a fistful of his scrub and jerked him down, so that they were eye to eye.

"You bastard. You could have helped us, but instead you stood back and let Morris use us as pawns to get Powers."

Condor closed his hand around Luke's wrist, his grip like steel. "I had a job to do, Dallas. It wasn't personal. We needed confirmation that Powers killed the senator and Russell, we needed to know why-you got us that. We needed his book to confirm his involvement in other activities. You got us that as well. We thank you."

"And I suppose you guys knew where we were meeting Powers because you tapped our phone?"

"That's generally the way it works."

Luke searched the man's gaze. Condor felt no remorse about having used them that way, at having put them in harm's way, no guilt or regret.

With a sound of disgust, Luke released him. "Fuck you."

"I helped you where I could." Condor straightened, automatically smoothing the front of his scrub. "I warned you to hold on to Powers' book. Hell, Dallas, I could have taken it that day. You would have given it to me."

"And I should be grateful?"

"Frankly? Yes. I could have let you die."

"And what about Julianna? You could have prevented her death."

His expression didn't change. "My loyalty is to the Agency, Luke. And to my country. For me, there was never a question of whose interests came first. I'm sure you can understand that."

"Powers talked about loyalty, too. About honor and commitment. And he was a psycho."

Condor smiled, the curving of his lips emotionless. "We all walk a fine line, don't we, my friend?"

He crossed to the door, stopping and looking back at Kate when he reached it. He smiled. "See you around, Kate."

As the door snapped shut, Kate turned to Luke in disbelief.

"That man was a customer of mine, a Dead Head. Only he looks completely different now. I wouldn't have recognized him, but for his eyes." She drew her eyebrows together. "My phone…the repairman. That man was in my house."

"He's with the Agency, Kate. He was probably sent to watch Powers. Take him out if need be. He probably tapped your phone. The Bean's, too."

She shivered, and Emma moaned and shifted in her sleep. Kate gazed at her a moment, then back up at Luke. "I don't want to talk about him or the Agency or Powers anymore." She smiled and reached for his hand. "I want to talk about you."

"Me?"

"Mmm. The doctor thinks you're a lucky man. The bullet hit a fleshy place in your shoulder. Half an inch to the right or left and the damage would have been much worse. But you know what I think?" She curled her fingers tighter around his. "I think I'm the lucky one."