Cause for Alarm

2

New Orleans , Louisiana , January 1999

The corner sandwich shop was located on one of the central business district's busiest corners. The shop, Buster's Big Po'boys, specialized in shrimp-and-oyster po'boys- huge sandwiches made on slabs of French bread and stuffed with fried shrimp, oysters or both. Most New Orleanians ordered them dressed-with lettuce, tomato and mayonnaise, the latter slathered on, good and thick. Of course, if fried seafood didn't appeal, Buster's offered all manner of other fillings and even a few nonsandwich specials, like traditional New Orleans red beans and rice on Mondays.

As corner sandwich shops went, Buster's was pretty run-of-the-mill for the Crescent City -housed in a century-old building, its plaster walls were cracked and peeling, the high ceilings dingy with God only knew how many years of God only knew what; and from June to September, the air conditioner ran full tilt and still couldn't keep up.

Anywhere else in the country, Buster's would have been closed down by the health department; New Orleanians considered Buster's a perfectly acceptable place to grab lunch while downtown.

Julianna Starr pushed open Buster's glass front door and stepped inside, leaving the cold January day behind. The smell of frying seafood hit her in a nauseating wave, turning her stomach. The smell, she had learned over the past few weeks working as a waitress at Buster's, permeated everything-her hair and clothes, even her skin. The minute she got home from work, she ripped off her uniform and jumped into the shower to scrub the odor away, no matter how tired or hungry she was.

The only thing worse than the smell of the place, Julianna had decided, was its customers. New Orleanians were so…excessive. They laughed too loudly, ate and drank too much. And they did both with a kind of frenetic abandon. Several times, just watching someone tear into and consume one of the huge, sloppy po'boys had sent her scurrying for the john to throw up. But then, she was one of the lucky ones to whom morning sickness was confined to neither mornings nor the first three months of pregnancy.

Julianna quickly scanned the restaurant, heart sinking. Choosing today to oversleep had been a mistake; the lunch rush appeared to have started early. Only minutes after eleven and every table was filled; the take-out counter already stacked two deep. As Julianna made her way to the back of the restaurant, one of the other waitresses shot her a dirty look.

"You're late, princess," her boss called from behind the counter. "Grab an apron and get your tail in gear, you hear?"

Julianna glared at the man. As far as she was concerned, Buster Boudreaux was a grease-sucking pig with an IQ about the size of one of his stupid sandwiches. But he was her boss, and she needed this job, low as it was.

Without a word of explanation, she stalked past him and snatched an apron from the tree just inside the kitchen and slipped it on. The pink-ruffled atrocity rode up over her burgeoning belly, making her look like a pink whale. She muttered her displeasure under her breath, turned to the time clock and punched in.

Buster came up behind her, his expression thunderous. "If you've got a problem, why don't you say it to my face instead of under your breath."

"I don't have a problem." She stuffed her employee card back into its slot. "Where's my station?"

"Section one. Start servicing the tables as they open back up. In the meantime, give Jane a hand at the takeout counter."

Julianna didn't acknowledge him with so much as a nod, and he grabbed her elbow. "I've about had it with your attitude, you know that, princess? If I didn't need the help so bad, I'd kick your uppity butt out of here right now."

He wanted her to beg for her job, she knew. To plead, grovel before him like some sort of peasant. She would rather starve.

She looked pointedly at his hand on her arm, then met his gaze. "Is there anything else?"

"Yeah," he said, flushing and dropping his hand. "You're late like this one more time, and you're out. I'll get my grandmother to take your place, she'd do a better job anyway. Got that?"

Sure he would. Creep. "Got it."

She flounced past him and out onto the floor. As she did, she brushed past Lorena, a fellow waitress, who glared at her and muttered something that Julianna couldn't quite make out.

Julianna ignored her. It wasn't the first time she had been the recipient of one of the other waitresses' barbs. They didn't like her, particularly Lorena. No doubt because Julianna didn't make a secret of the fact she hated working here, that she was too good to be serving these big sloppy sandwiches to people who barely looked at her. That she was too good for them.

They didn't understand, these rough-hewn, classless girls, that she wasn't meant to have to work this way, to have to be on her feet for hours, to be tired all the time, to be serving people. She had been raised for better things. To be taken care of, to be pampered and adored. Her entire life it had been so; all she'd had to do was smile, cajole or even pout prettily and whatever she had wanted had been given to her. Indeed, if she hadn't been running so low on the money her mother had given her when she left D.C., she wouldn't have lowered herself to their level.

She had been on the run for just over three months and in that time, had lived briefly in Louisville, Memphis and Atlanta. Until New Orleans, she had stayed in moderate hotels, eating her meals out, spending her time going to movies and wandering through shopping malls. Until New Orleans, she hadn't noticed the frightening rate at which her money was disappearing. She hadn't thought ahead to what being without money would mean or what she would have to do to get more of it. When she had finally realized it wouldn't last forever, she had been down to her last fifteen hundred dollars.

Wretched and demeaning as it was, Buster's was a necessity, at least for now.

Julianna sighed and glanced longingly toward the pay phone at the back corner of the restaurant, near the restrooms, thinking of her mother. Her mother had always said that the power of a woman, one who knew how to use both her beauty and her brains, packed more punch than an atomic bomb. A beautiful woman could move mountains or level cities with nothing more than a carefully chosen glance or smile.

If only she could call her, Julianna thought, suddenly, achingly homesick. If only she could go home.

John, standing above her while she retched, his face pinched, white and terrible with fury. John warning her not to defy him again, telling her he would punish her if she did. Julianna drew in a deep breath. The man and woman from Clark Russell's photographs, their throats slit from ear to ear.

John was capable of anything. Her mother had said so. So had Clark.

She couldn't go home, maybe never again.

"Miss? Excuse me, Miss?"

Startled, Julianna blinked. A customer at the table to her right was signaling her.

"We need ketchup."

Julianna nodded and brought that table their condiment, another their bill, still another their sandwiches. That done, she ducked into the bathroom, something she had to do often these days.

She relieved herself, flushed the toilet, let herself out of the stall and stopped dead. A woman stood at the mirror, applying lipstick. She had hair the color of cinnamon; it fell in soft waves almost to her shoulders.

Julianna closed her eyes, her mind hurtling back fourteen years…

Her mother sat at her vanity, dressed only in her bra, panties and garter belt. Julianna stood in the doorway, watching as she leaned closer to the mirror and applied her lipstick. She drew the color evenly over her mouth, then pressed her lips together to smooth it.

Admiration and awe filled Julianna. "You're so pretty, Mama," she whispered, forgetting herself.

Her mother turned. And smiled. "Thank you, honey. Remember, though, when it comes to your mama, we say ‘beautiful.' You're pretty. Mama's beautiful."

Julianna bowed her head. "I'm sorry."

"That's okay, sweetie, just remember next time."

Julianna nodded and inched into the bedroom, unsure if she was welcome or not. When her mother didn't protest, she sat gingerly on the edge of the big, satin-covered bed, careful not to crumple her dress.

She straightened her white pinafore and inspected her black patent shoes, looking for scuffs and finding none. Her mother had many rules she expected Julianna to follow, so many it was sometimes hard for five-year-old Julianna to remember them.

But Julianna never forgot that wrinkled, mussed clothing would be met with great displeasure and swift punishment. Especially when company was coming.

"Who's visiting tonight, Mama?" she asked, resisting the urge to rub her toes together, though she liked the squeaky sound the shiny leather made when she did. "Uncle Paxton?"

"No." Her mother took a stocking from the box on the vanity top. "Someone special." She eased the shimmery, silky fabric up her leg, then clipped a garter to it. "Someone very special."

"What's his name?"

"John Powers," her mother murmured, her expression growing faraway and soft looking. "I met him at that party at the Capital last week. The one I told you about."

"Where they had sandwiches shaped like swans."

"Canapés. That's right."

Julianna tilted her head, studying her mother. He must be special, she decided. She had never seen her mama look quite this way when talking about one of her visitors.

"I expect you to be on your best behavior."

"Yes, Mama."

"If you're a really good girl, I might buy you that doll you've been wanting. The one with the long brown curls, just like yours."

Julianna knew what her mother meant by being really good. It meant she was to be quiet. And cooperative. And what her mother called charming. Being really good would be rewarded. Not only by her mother, but by her gentleman friends, too. They brought her candy and small toys, they fussed over her, called her adorable, cute, pretty.

And then her mother sent her to her room.

Julianna figured that one of these days, if she was good enough, charming enough, she wouldn't be sent to her room. One of these days, when she was older, she would have very special visitors of her own.

"I will, Mama. I promise."

"Run along now and let me finish dressing, John will be here any moment."

"Miss? You okay?"

Julianna blinked, startled out of her reverie. "What?"

"You okay?" The woman at the mirror dropped her lipstick back into her purse. "You were starin' funny at me, like you seen a ghost or somethin'."

Julianna blinked again, really seeing the woman before her for the first time. She had rough, pebbly skin and her cinnamon hair was obviously hers courtesy of a bottle. And a cheap one at that.

How had she ever thought this woman looked anything like her mother?

"I'm fine," Julianna whispered, crossing to the sink to wash her hands. "I just…I don't know what happened."

The woman smiled and patted her arm. "Had six kids of my own. Nothin' plays havoc with the mind like them hormones. It'll get better. Then it'll be them kids playin' havoc with your mind."

The woman cackled, patted her arm again and left the bathroom.

Julianna stared after her, unsettled by what had just happened. The memory had been so vivid; it had come upon her with such force and left her feeling so vulnerable. So alone.

She missed her mother, she thought, tears pricking her eyes. She missed Washington and her comfortable apartment. She missed feeling pretty and special. And safe.

The bathroom door swung open and Lorena stuck her head in, her expression annoyed. "You going to stay in here all day, or what? Your tables are lookin' for you."

Though the other woman was already gone, Julianna nodded in response and hurried back out to the dining room.

The remainder of Julianna's day passed minute by agonizing minute, hour by excruciating hour. As the lunch crowd thinned, then became nonexistent, Julianna became aware of how much her feet and back hurt, of how tired she was.

She worked alongside the other waitresses, refilling the condiments, wiping down the tables and putting up the chairs, preparing for the next day. Buster's stopped serving at three. Opening for dinner would be a waste of time and money-this part of the central business district became a graveyard at 5:00 p.m. when the law offices and other businesses let out for the day.

Julianna didn't listen to or participate in the other women's chatter. Every so often, she would become aware of one of them looking speculatively at her or making an ugly face in her direction. She ignored them and kept her attention fixed on her tasks so she could finish up and go home.

Finally, all the preparations for the next morning had been made, and she'd punched out. As Julianna reached for the door, Lorena stepped in front of it, blocking Julianna's way. The other three waitresses came up beside Lorena, flanking her, their expressions tight and angry. "Not so fast, Miss Priss. We've got a bone to pick with you."

Julianna stopped, glancing nervously from one to the other of the women. "Is something wrong?"

Lorena, obviously having been voted the leader of the pack, took a step toward her. "You could say that. We're sick and tired of your attitude. Of you thinking you're better than the rest of us. And we're sick and tired of having to cover for your lazy butt."

At the animosity in the older woman's tone and expression, Julianna inched backward, glancing over her shoulder, looking for Buster. He was nowhere to be seen.

"Where do you get off, thinkin' you're so much better than us?" Lorena took another step; the others followed. "Just 'cause you went and got yourself knocked up, you think you don't have to work? You think a bun in the oven makes you special or somethin'?"

Another one of the girls, Suzi, pointed a long, bloodred fingernail at her. "When you show up late, we've gotta cover your tables. That means we're working our tails off and getting crappy tips all around."

"And we're sick of it," Jane said.

"I overslept," Julianna said stiffly. "I didn't do it on purpose, for Pete's sake."

That, obviously, wasn't the response they wanted, because angry color flooded Lorena's round face. She looked like a bleached blond balloon about to pop. "I've got a question for you, princess. One we've all wondered about. If you're so frickin' high and mighty, why're you working in a dive like this? And if yours is so special it don't stink, where's your old man? Why'd he go and dump you the moment you got knocked up?"

"Yeah," Suzi added. "Or do you even know who the baby's father is?"

"Bet she doesn't," Jane taunted, before Julianna could jump to her own defense. "She's just a little slut who likes to put on airs."

Lorena laughed. "You're pathetic, you know that? I feel sorry for you. We all do." She leaned closer, smelling of Juicy Fruit gum and drugstore perfume. "You're not going to make it, you know that? You or your little bastard. Come on, girls."

With that, the three turned and flounced out of the restaurant.

Julianna watched them go, tears welling in her eyes, threatening to spill over. Is that what they thought of her? What everyone thought of her? She brought her hands to her belly, self-conscious, humiliated. That she was pathetic? A woman rejected and without options? Lower, worse off than they were?

It had never occurred to her that others would look at her that way. That they would feel sorry for her.

Nobody had ever felt sorry for her before. She caught her breath and dropped her hands from her belly. She had never felt sorry for herself before. Not this way, not to the very core of her being.

She closed her eyes and thought of Washington, of the fine restaurants where she had dined on a daily basis, of the day spa where she'd had massages and facials and manicures, of her pretty apartment and closet overflowing with expensive dresses.

But mostly, she thought of John. She brought a trembling hand to her mouth.

Could he really be the monster her mother said he was?

From the kitchen, she heard Buster and the cook finishing up, preparing to lock up for the day. Not wanting them to catch her near tears, she hurried out of the restaurant and into the chill, late afternoon.

Julianna pulled her coat tighter around her. The sidewalks were crowded with workers heading home after the long work day. The St. Charles Avenue streetcar rumbled to a stop at the curb before her. Sun glinted off the glass, momentarily blinding her. A cloud drifted over the sun; the streetcar passed.

And she saw John.

He had found her.

She caught her breath, and took an involuntary step backward, panicked. He stood directly across the street from her, his head turned slightly away, as if gazing up St. Charles Avenue, looking for someone or something.

For her. Or for a place to take her and kill her.

Julianna froze, uncertain what to do-able to do little but stare, her heart pounding so heavily in her chest, she could hardly breathe.

The way it had fourteen years ago, when she had met him for the very first time. He'd been the most handsome man she had ever seen, tall and strong-looking and young, not shriveled and prunelike the way Senator Paxton was or fat and bald like Justice Lambert.

John hadn't been like any of her mother's other men friends.

Her mother had introduced her to him, calling her softly forward, letting her Alabama roots show in her gentle drawl.

"This is my baby," she said. "My Julianna."

Julianna curtsied, keeping her eyes downcast, the way her mama had taught her.

"Julianna, honey, say hello to Mr. Powers."

"How do you do," she said, her cheeks growing hot, wanting more than anything to really look at him.

"Hello, Julianna," he said, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

She dared a bold peek up at him, then another. She made a small sound of surprise. "Your hair's white," she said. "Like snow."

"Yes, it is."

"But how come?" She drew her eyebrows together, confused. "You're not old and wrinkly like Dr. Walters and he has white hair." She tilted her head. "You've got lots more than him, too."

Her mother gasped, and Julianna knew she had made a mistake. But John Powers wasn't angry. He laughed, the sound deep and rich and really…nice. She decided she liked him better than all her mother's other friends.

He squatted down before her and gazed into her eyes- in a way none of her mother's other friends ever had. In a way no one ever had.

As if she were as important as a grown-up. As if she were special. "It turned white overnight," he said. "I was on a mission. I almost died."

She widened her eyes. "You almost died?"

"That's right." He leaned closer and lowered his voice. "I survived by eating bugs." She sucked in a sharp breath. "Bugs?" "Mmm. Big, ugly ones." "Tell me about them." "Someday. Someday I'll tell you all about it." "Okay," Julianna said, hanging her head, disappointed. He gathered her hands in his and for long moments simply gazed at her, his expression serious. Then he smiled. "I have a feeling about us, Julianna. Do you want to know what it is?" She nodded eagerly, and he continued. "I have the feeling that you and I are going to be the very best of friends. Would you like that?"

She glanced up at her mother, saw that she looked pleased, then back at John Powers. "Yes, Mr. Powers. I'd like that very much."

The best of friends. The father she'd never had. Her protector. Her lover.

John Powers had become her everything.

And now he wanted her dead.

A horn ripped through air, followed by a shouted epithet. Julianna blinked, startled out of her reverie. She looked around her, disoriented. People, anxious to get home after a long day of work, streamed around her, a few sending her curious glances. John, if that had really been him, was gone.

Gone. She blinked again, despair rising up in her, stealing her breath. The past, her former life. John. All gone.

Pulling her coat tighter around her, she turned and walked away.

3

Julianna awakened with a start. She opened her eyes, instantly alert, though she couldn't say why. She darted her gaze around the dark room, looking for the shape that didn't belong, the one that moved slightly, listening for a breath, a stirring.

For the monster.

John. That had been him on the street. He had found her. He was with her now. Fear took her breath; it became a living thing inside her.

Inside her. She brought her hands to her swollen belly, half expecting to find it split wide, intestines and fetus and gore spilling out of her and onto the white sheets. Instead, she found herself intact, her belly round and hard and full.

Thank God…thank God… She closed her eyes and struggled to slow her ragged breathing. If John had been here, he would have killed her. He would have cut her open, punishment for her disobedience. Her defiance.

The way he had cut those other people open, the ones from Clark Russell's photographs.

"Don't cross me again, Julianna," John had warned. "You won't like the consequences."

She brought her fists to her eyes. He hadn't found her; how could he have? She had done almost everything Clark had advised her to do-she had run far from D.C., never stopping too long in one place; she hadn't used her credit cards for fear of leaving a paper trail, hadn't called or written home. She'd even had her car repainted in Louisville.

But not everything. He had advised her to change her name, take on a new identity. But that had been impossible. She'd tried, but hotels wanted identification; she needed a driver's license in case she was pulled over; Buster had demanded a social security number as a prerequisite for employment.

Julianna shook her head. It didn't matter that she hadn't changed her name-John was not going to find her, not all the way down here. That man on the street had been a trick of her imagination, just like the woman in the bathroom at Buster's.

Shuddering, Julianna fought to free herself from the sheets, tangled around her legs, encumbered by her ungainly size. She rested her head against the headboard. A part of her still couldn't believe John was a killer. Not John, who had showered her with affection, with gifts and attention and love. John who had held and stroked her, who had told her she was different, special, not silly, weak and stupid like so many other people.

A part of her couldn't believe it even after the nightmare of their last meeting.

She closed her eyes and remembered how it had been with them, not that last night, when John's face had been pinched and white with rage, his touch rough, his cruelty incomprehensible to her. No, she remembered how it had always been with them before, how gentle he had been as he held and petted her, how patient with her, how he had promised her the world.

For nothing more than being his good little girl.

His good little girl. Docile and sweet. The child who looked up to him as one would a parent, trusting, never questioning. The child who accepted his bidding as law.

Tears flooded her eyes. John had been her everything for as long as she could remember. Her tears spilled over and slipped down her cheeks. She needed him. To love her. To take care of her. The way he always had.

This was all a mistake; the events of the last months just a terrible nightmare. She could get rid of the baby, she thought, breath catching on a sob. As he had demanded she do. Go home and beg his forgiveness. For disobeying him. For taking his things. For going to her mother and believing her and Clark over him. She could promise to be his good girl again. He would forgive her, he would. He-

No, she thought. He wouldn't. He was angry with her. Furious. Julianna rubbed at her wet cheeks, shuddering, remembering that last night, the night he had discovered her pregnancy. He had been away on business for several weeks. She had meant to tell him that night, had planned every moment of the evening, wanting their reunion to be special, wanting to set the perfect stage for her announcement.

She had been so excited, so certain John would be thrilled with her news. Instead, he had become a man she hadn't recognized, coldly furious and cruel.

As was their custom, she had arrived at his apartment early so she could be waiting in bed for him, curled up under the covers like a sleepy child. Julianna leaned her head back, resting it against the cool plaster wall, remembering. She hadn't chosen a sexy, sheer nightie or provocative underwear to please her lover, but a long, pink floral gown with a high neck and white ruffle at the throat, wrists and hem.

The kind of gown a little girl would wear.

John's little girl…

She wiggled down under the covers more, and her soft flannel gown rubbed against her legs, fuzzy and reassuring. She acknowledged excitement. Anticipation. Nerves.

She worked to quell the latter, though without much luck. Her heart beat almost out of control, her mind raced with what she would say to John and how he would respond, with thoughts about the future, their future.

Pregnant. Twelve weeks and one day. Though she had deliberately stopped taking her birth control pills in the hopes this would happen, she could hardly believe it was true.

She was a woman now, finally.

Julianna squeezed her eyes shut and took a deep breath, willing her runaway heart to slow. That's why she had stopped taking her pills without telling him. She was tired of being his little girl. She wanted to be a woman, was ready and anxious to have what other women had. She was certain she had done the right thing.

John would give her what she wanted. He always had.

She pressed a hand to her nearly flat stomach, imagining the future. She wanted her and John to be a real couple, like the ones she saw on TV. Real lovers, the way men and women were lovers in books and in movies. Passionate and committed. And…and adult.

Julianna didn't know how to put her finger on what she wanted, what was missing from her relationship with John. It wasn't simply that she and John lived apart. It wasn't the difference in their ages or that he was the only man she had ever been with. It wasn't that she didn't love him-she did, with all her heart.

She rolled onto her left side and again the soft fabric of her gown tickled her legs. Sudden tears stung her eyes. She had prowled through the lingerie sections of the department stores, longing to wear the sexy, sheer clothes most women wore for their lovers; she had gazed with hunger at other men and women, other lovers, and the way they looked at and touched each other.

John treated her differently than that. Gently. With love, respect and tenderness. Which was good. But still… She wanted more. She wanted passion. Lust. Even the occasional argument.

She heard John at the front door. Quickly, she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, rhythmically, feigning sleep.

This was part of their game. One they had been acting out ever since the first time, so many years ago.

Only then, it hadn't been a game. It hadn't been an act.

Her bedroom door opened; light fell across the bed. A moment later the mattress dipped as he sat on its edge.

For long seconds he said nothing, and she knew he simply gazed at her. As always, she fought the urge to open her eyes and look at him, fought the urge to attempt to read what he was thinking in his eyes.

"Julianna," he said softly, "it's me, my sweet. It's John."

"John?" she whispered, letting her lashes flutter up, feigning sleepy confusion. "You're back?"

"Yes, love. I'm back."

"I missed you," she murmured and smiled at him. "Did you come to tuck me in?"

"Yes." He cupped her face and looked deeply into her eyes. "I love you, Julianna. I always have. Since the first time I met you. Did you know that?"

Even now, after all these years of playacting, she experienced a moment of alarm. A tiny explosion of panic in the pit of her stomach.

He bent closer and pressed his lips to her temple. "I brought you something."

"You did?"

"Mmm-hmm."

Feigning childish excitement, she scooted up in the bed. "What is it?"

He laid his hands on her shoulders. "Were you a good girl while I was gone?"

She nodded, the past and the present blending, creating a weird sensation of fear and excitement, discomfort and pleasure deep in her gut.

"Are you my good little girl now?"

She nodded again, beginning to tremble.

"I can't stay away, Julianna." He stroked her hair. "I've tried but I can't, not anymore. You're mine. You always have been. Always will be. Do you understand?"

"What…do you mean?"

"You'll understand. Soon." A smile played at the corners of his mouth. "You will, I promise."

He carefully drew the covers away, murmuring his satisfaction. "Pretty," he whispered, rubbing the fuzzy fabric between his fingers. "So pretty and sweet."

"John?" she said, working to sound young and frightened.

"It's all right, love. Show John how much you love him." He applied gentle pressure, forcing her back to the mattress. "Show him what a good girl you can be."

So, she did. She lay absolutely still, the way he liked it, as he ran his hands over her, gently at first, then with more urgency.

He didn't undress himself; he wouldn't penetrate her, she knew. He rarely did. Instead, he concentrated on gentling and pleasuring her, first with his hands, then his mouth.

Only when she had climaxed, arching up, crying out as with stunned uncertainty, then falling back to the bed and whimpering meekly like a kitten, did he press himself against her. He was sweating and short of breath, as if he had just finished a ten-mile run. He quivered with the force of his own unfulfilled needs, with excitement.

"My sweet, sweet Julianna. What would I do without you?"

She turned her face to his and kissed him, thinking of their baby, allowing herself a moment's fantasy about how John would take her news. "I love you, John." She smiled and kissed him again. "I love you."

"Show me how much, love." He caught her hand and brought it to his erection. "Show me."

Julianna did. She rubbed and stroked and massaged him, curling her hand around his penis, pumping him to orgasm.

Julianna jumped as a burst of raucous laughter came from the apartment next door. She blinked, momentarily disoriented, then realized she had to go to the bathroom. Had to go so badly she wondered if she was going to be able to make it.

She dragged herself out of bed and padded to the john, the wooden floor cold and gritty beneath her bare feet. The mirror above the vanity was cloudy with age, a crack ran diagonally through its center, warping her reflection by causing the two sides of her face to not quite fit together.

She stared at her misshapen image, breath catching, hardly recognizing herself. She turned to the side, bringing her hands to her swollen belly. Pathetic, she thought, recalling what the other waitresses had said earlier that day. Rejected. Without options.

"You're not going to make it. You or your little bastard."

It hurt to look at herself, and Julianna turned away from her reflection. Why was she doing this? Why was she here, alone and pregnant? She didn't want to be a mother, did she? She didn't want to be one of those hollow-eyed women who came into Buster's, the ones who were always chasing after their children and wiping their running noses, the ones who always looked so tired. That's not why she had gotten pregnant.

Yet that's what lay before her.

She brought a hand to her mouth, realizing the truth. She should have done as John demanded, gotten rid of the baby. Even her mother had wondered if Julianna was certain she was making the right decision. Being on her own, keeping a step ahead of John, would be difficult enough without an infant to care for. She had offered to accompany her daughter to a clinic where the problem would be taken care of.

But Julianna had still been starry-eyed about the pregnancy. About being a grown-up. About her future.

With a moan, Julianna sank to the floor. She rested her cheek against the vanity's doors, the faux wood cracked and peeling. She didn't have any starry-eyed notions anymore. She saw the future-and it frightened her. Almost as much as the past.

She squeezed her eyes shut, tumbling back once more, back to that last night she and John had spent together…

They had lain facing each other on the bed, talking quietly. John had asked her about how she had spent the weeks he had been away. She had filled him in, barely able to catch her breath, going into great detail about the watercolor class she was taking and about her jazzercize group-when all she could think of, all she wanted to discuss, was her pregnancy.

John listened attentively, so attentively it was almost as if he knew she was keeping something from him. And while she spoke, he studied her with an intensity that was unsettling. He knew her so well. As no one else did or ever would.

Just tell him. Blurt it out-about how she had stopped taking her pills and about her missed period, her visit to the doctor, the urine test. Her excitement.

Not yet, she thought, a thread of panic snaking through her. Not yet.

"How was your trip?" she asked instead.

"Successful."

"Where did you go?"

He simply looked at her. He had a rule: she wasn't to ask him about his business, not ever. Julianna knew he worked for the state department, CIA, or somebody like that, and that what he did was classified. But that was all.

And for a long time, that had been enough. She hadn't cared what he did. But lately, she had been curious. Frustrated and annoyed by his secrecy. By feeling shut out of his life. Bored with her own.

So, even though she knew he would be displeased if he discovered what she was up to, she had started to snoop. The first time, he had just returned home from a trip and was in the shower. Heart thundering, she had rifled through his travel bag and jacket pockets.

She hadn't found anything suspicious that time, but in the many since she had unearthed several items that hadn't added up. In a coat pocket she had found a letter, its open envelope addressed to someone other than John, at an address other than his. The letter itself had consisted of a single line of gibberish. In the front pocket of his travel bag, she'd found an airplane ticket stub to Colombia, a place he professed never to have been, the passenger name on the stub a Mr. Wendell White.

Success had made her bolder.

When John was out of town and her nights seemed to stretch endlessly before her, she had gone to his place and searched it. Each drawer and every closet, every piece of furniture for a secret hiding place, baseboards and floorboards, behind framed photographs and the few pieces of art he had hanging on the walls. She had even checked the contents of his freezer. There she'd finally hit pay dirt. Wrapped in white butcher paper, between two packages of frozen meat, she had found a small, spiral-bound, black leather book. Inside had been columns of dates followed by notations in some sort of code.

It was then that she'd figured out why John never spoke of his work; why he never mentioned an associate; why he flew all over the world, yet never left a number where he could be reached.

A spy. John was a spy.

Frightened, she had quickly returned the notebook to its hiding place.

"I have to leave again in the morning."

She propped herself on an elbow. "But you just got back!"

"Some unfinished business. Sorry."

"How long this time?"

"I don't know. A week or two. Maybe a month. Depends on how the assignment unfolds."

"At least tell me where you're going."

"I can't. You know that."

She did. But it didn't make it any easier. Pouting, she turned her back to him.

"Don't be like that," he chided. "You're too good for that kind of behavior."

She glared over her shoulder at him. "But I'm so bored when you're gone! There's nothing to do! And I'm lonely."

"Maybe this will help."

He had dropped his jacket beside the bed, and now he reached over the side for it. From one of the pockets he drew out a small, navy blue velvet box. He handed it to her.

"For me?" she asked, pleased.

"Who else?" He smiled. "Go ahead, open it."

She sat up and took the box eagerly from his hands, lifted the lid and gasped. Inside, sparkling against the blue velvet, was a pair of diamond stud earrings. She stared at them, stunned. They were huge-at least a carat each. She lifted her gaze to his. "John, they're beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as my special girl," he murmured, taking the box from her. "Here, let me put them on you."

She tucked her hair behind her ears, and he slipped the posts through her holes, then fastened on the backs. As soon as he dropped his hands, she bounded out of bed and to the bathroom. She flipped on the light and raced to the mirror. They were beautiful. Stunning. They sparkled like icy fire against her earlobes.

John followed her to the bathroom, coming to stand directly behind her. "They don't do you justice," he said. "They're not special enough. They don't have your warmth, your fire."

"Oh, John!" She whirled around and hugged him. "They're gorgeous! I love them!" She hugged him again. "Thank you. Thank you!"

"Silly." He laughed and smoothed her hair away from her face. "Don't you know you deserve them?"

"You spoil me."

"You were born to be spoiled." A smile tugged at his mouth. "To be mine to spoil." He kissed her. "I think I'll draw us a bath. Would you like that?"

She rubbed herself against him. "Sounds delicious."

He turned and began filling the big, old claw-footed tub. John loved to bathe her, the way he had when she was a child. He loved to wash her hair and body, to wrap her in a big fluffy towel, then pat and powder her and blow her hair dry.

The bath started off like the hundreds that had come before. He soaped a washcloth and began moving it over her body, murmuring softly to her. Suddenly he stopped, a frown creasing his brow. "You're gaining weight," he said after a moment, his tone one of reproach as he ran his soapy hands over her waist and belly.

Julianna stiffened. John loved her rail thin and girlish.

What would he say when she told him she wouldn't be thin like that again for six more months?

"It's all right," he murmured, taking her silence for distress. "I'll work up a diet and exercise program for you to follow. Find you a personal trainer. You'll have those extra pounds off in no time."

He dipped the washcloth into the water and ran it over her back and shoulders. From there, he reached around her and ran the cloth over her breasts, softly rubbing.

Again, he stopped. She glanced over her shoulder at him. "John," she whispered, "there's something I have to tell you."

He met her eyes, then lowered his gaze to her chest. He smoothed the bubbles away, then cupped her breasts, as if weighing them.

She felt herself flush. He knew. He could see and feel the changes in her body.

Her words tumbled out in a nervous rush. She told him how she had stopped taking her pills, how she had missed a period, then gone to see the doctor. "I'm pregnant!" she finished excitedly. "We're going to have a baby. We're going to be a family."

He stared at her, his expression strangely blank, a muscle beginning to twitch in his jaw.

One moment became several. "John?" she whispered, a flicker of fear springing to life inside her. This was not going as she had planned it, as she had fantasized it.

He needed time to adjust, she told herself. Time to get used to the idea of being a daddy. That was all.

"And you want this?" he asked. "You planned it?"

"Yes." She looked pleadingly up at him. "I hope you're not angry, but I wanted us to be a…a real couple.

I love you so much and I…I wanted to be like other women."

"Like other women," he repeated. "You don't even know what that means."

"I do. At least I think I do." She lifted her gaze pleadingly to his. "Let me try, John. Please."

"It's not going to happen, Julianna. This baby's not going to happen." He dropped the washcloth. "So, forget about it."

His words affected her like a blow. She reached up and caught his hand. "Why not? You say you love me…you don't have to marry me, that's not what I mean. I just want…I want-"

"What?" He shook off her hand. "To be fat and stretched out and tired all the time? To be a doormat instead of a princess?"

"No!" Tears flooded her eyes. "It doesn't have to be that way. It wasn't that way with my mother."

"Your mother's a whore. Is that what you want?"

Julianna stared at him in shock. How could he say that about her mother? They were friends. They had once been lovers.

"I won't share you with anyone, Julianna. Not another man. Not a career or a best friend. Not even a child. Do you understand?"

"But that's not fair!" Even as the exclamation passed her lips, she acknowledged that she sounded like a child, one who was petulant at not getting her way.

"No?" He laughed, the sound as cold and hard as ice. "Whoever said life was fair?"

"I want this, John."

"I'm sorry to hear that, but you'll get over it. Now, get out of the tub. Bath's over. When you're dressed, we'll discuss what you're going to do about this problem."

"What I'm going to do!" she cried. "You mean what you're going to tell me to do."

"That's right." He started toward the bathroom door. "I'll be in the kitchen."

"Why are you being this way?" She stood and grabbed for the towel, shaking with anger and indignation. It was so unfair! She was nearly twenty years old. Not a child, not a baby. "You treat me like I'm an infant! A two-yearold. I'm sick of it! I don't want to be a baby anymore. I don't want to be your little girl."

John swung to face her. He narrowed his eyes. "I recommend you stop this, Julianna. Now. Before it's too late."

She jerked her chin up, ignoring his warning though something in his tone and expression chilled her to her core. She held out her arms. "Look at me, John. Why can't you see me as a woman? The way you see other women? For once, why can't…you…why…"

Her words died on her lips as John's face transformed from the loving one she recognized into a mask of cold fury. The face of a man without warmth or humanity. One she didn't recognize. One that frightened her. He started toward her and she shrank back, feeling small and vulnerable suddenly, feeling every bit the little girl she no longer wanted to be. "John," she whispered, "please…don't be angry with me. I just…I-"

He shot his hand out, catching her by the throat, knocking her back against the wall behind the tub. Her head knocked against the tile, and she saw stars.

"So, you want to be like other women, is that it?"

His hand at her throat constricted her windpipe and she clawed at it, making gurgling sounds of terror as she struggled to breathe.

"I spoil and pamper you. I treat you like a princess. But that's not what you want."

She had never seen him like this, had never seen anyone like this. He didn't raise his voice, and yet its very evenness terrified her. Where was the John she knew and loved? The lover who was gentle, patient and tender?

He leaned toward her, the expression in his light eyes glacial. "You want to be like other women? Like your mother, the whore?"

He hauled her out of the tub and forced her onto the floor. "Come on then, I'll treat you like other women."

"No, John, I'm sorry. Please-" She tried to scramble to her knees; he knocked her back to the tile, falling onto her, knocking the breath from her lungs.

"I'll treat you like other women," he said again, unzipping his fly. "I treated you like you were special, but you didn't like that. It wasn't good enough." He forced her legs apart with his. "So be like everyone else, Julianna."

He rammed himself into her.

Julianna screamed.

He thrust into her again, then again. Pain tore through her. It felt as if he were trying to punch a hole into her uterus with his penis and hammer to death the baby she carried.

He pulled out, but the nightmare wasn't over. He flopped her onto her stomach and dragged her to her knees. Then he thrust into her from behind, holding onto her by her hips as she tried to crawl away, his fingers digging mercilessly into her flesh.

"You like this, Julianna? Doing it doggie style? My sweet girl? My princess?" He laughed, the sound colder, crueler than any she had ever heard. "Grunt like an animal for me. Be a rutting whore for me, it's so much better than being my special one."

He grabbed her tender breasts, squeezing and pinching them. "Do it, Julianna. Grunt for me. Squeal like a sow-whore you want to be."

Sobbing, she did, forcing the sounds past her lips, demeaned and ashamed, horrified. She wanted to shrivel up into a tiny ball, one so small that no one could see her. She wanted to die.

He climaxed, arching against her, his hands on her breasts tightening, the noises slipping past his lips feral, those of a beast who had dominated its foe.

He released her, and she collapsed to the floor. Her abdomen cramped, a gut-knotting pain, like a jagged blade ripping her delicate innards to shreds. Gasping, she curled into a fetal position, clutching her middle, tears coursing down her cheeks.

"Now you're like other women." She heard the rasp of a zipper and the click of a belt being fastened. "Now you're like your mother. Happy?"

Her stomach clenched, then rose to her throat. She tried to hold her vomit back, but couldn't and turned her head to the side and puked.

He made a sound of disgust, then tossed her a towel. "You'll get rid of the baby tomorrow. Do you understand?"

She nodded.

"Until now, I've trusted you completely. Has that been a mistake?"

She whimpered and shook her head.

"Good. You'll never defy or disobey me again. Or you will be punished. Severely. Do you understand?"

She nodded. This time that wasn't good enough, and he asked her again. "Do you understand?"

"Yes," she whispered.

"Get rid of it tomorrow, or I'll do it myself."

And then he was gone.

Julianna's breath caught on a sob of despair, her thoughts racing back to the present. She realized she was huddled into a ball of misery on her bathroom floor, that she was sobbing. Cold and hurting.

John was the man her mother told her he was. A CIA assassin. The monster Clark Russell had described. The one who had killed those people in the photographs, and many others, according to Clark.

And he would kill her, too. If he ever caught up with her.

He wouldn't, she promised herself, using the edge of the counter for support and dragging herself unsteadily to her feet. She would stay a step ahead of him, even if she had to run for the rest of her life.

4

Julianna found a doctor through the New Orleans yellow pages. She had called a half a dozen obstetricians before she found one who would see her even though she didn't have insurance. The receptionist had explained that Julianna would be required to pay her bill in full after services were rendered.

Julianna's heart had sunk when she learned what the visit would cost. One hundred and thirty-five dollars-barring any unforeseen problems that might require special tests. Almost ten percent of what she had left of the ten thousand dollars her mother had given her. For one visit to a doctor.

But worth it, she decided. She didn't care how desperate she was, she simply could not bear the free clinic. She had taken one look inside and turned around and walked back out. It had been crowded with all manner of humanity, crammed one on top of the other in the hot, grungy-looking waiting room.

In stark contrast, Dr. Samuel's office was bright, sweet smelling and comfortable. The waiting room had been populated by a handful of other respectable-looking women, all noticeably pregnant.

Though everyone had gone out of their way to make her feel comfortable, she was nervous. Her palms were sweating, her heart beating fast. She didn't know what to expect; wondered what Dr. Samuel would be like and how he would take her request.

Julianna shifted on the examining table and the white paper beneath her crackled. Hurry, Doc. Let's get this over with.

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply through her nose. After today, she reminded herself, she wouldn't need any more doctor visits. It would be over. She shook her head. What had she been thinking for all these months? Being pregnant was a mistake. A big mistake.

The door opened and a man wearing a white coat walked through, the nurse who had taken Julianna's blood pressure, weighed her and given her a cup to urinate in, right behind him. He smiled and held out a hand. "I'm Dr. Samuel."

She took it. He was youngish and almost attractive, with a thin face and round, wire-rimmed glasses. He looked like someone who would be a good doctor-smart and kind. She relaxed a bit, slightly reassured. "Julianna Starr."

"Nice to meet you." He dropped her hand and turned to the nurse. She handed him a folder, no doubt the questionnaire she had filled out in the waiting room. "Blood pressure and weight look good. Urine checked out." He flipped forward a page. "No drinking? Drugs?"

"No, doctor."

"And you don't smoke. That's good." He smiled briefly. "Calculating from the date of your last menstrual cycle, you're 25 weeks, 3 days. That makes your due date May 11." He looked at her. "That sound about right?"

"I guess."

"Why don't you lie back and we'll take a look at how you're progressing."

Julianna did, and he measured her belly, from pubis to navel, manually examined her abdomen and breasts, then using what he called a Doppler, found and listened to the baby's heartbeat. It sounded like a tiny jackhammer inside her.

"Could be a girl," he murmured. "Girls' heartbeats are faster." He held out a hand to help her back into a sitting position.

"That's it?" she asked, surprised.

He smiled again and the nurse chuckled. "You want more? Most of my patients can't wait to get out of here."

"I just…I just thought there'd be…that you'd do more."

He glanced at her chart again. "You're young and healthy. It says here that money is an issue, and since I don't see any reason to do an ultrasound, I won't. They're expensive."

He met her eyes. "You're not having any problems you haven't mentioned, are you? Any bleeding? Pain? Anything like that?"

Julianna glanced at the nurse, then back at him. She wetted her lips, nervous again. "No, nothing like that." "Good. Go ahead and get dressed, then meet me in my office. We'll talk about where we go from here."

Julianna nodded, grateful not to have to spill her guts in front of the nurse. There was something grandmotherly about the woman, and Julianna didn't know if she could have been completely honest in front of her.

Ten minutes later, Julianna was dressed and sitting across from Dr. Samuel.

"It says here that you're new in town?"

"That's right."

"We need to have your records sent to us. You don't list an obstetrician on the questionnaire."

"I don't have one." She looked at her hands, working to find the courage to say what she had to. "I went to my regular doctor for the pregnancy test and…and-"

"You haven't seen anyone since." She nodded. "So, I take it you're not taking prenatal vitamins?"

"No. I-"

"Not to worry, we'll get you on those right away." He took out a prescription pad and began to write.

"I want an abortion."

The doctor lifted his head. "Pardon me?"

"I don't want this baby. It was a mistake. The whole thing was a mistake."

For a moment he was silent, then he cleared his throat. "What about the father?"

"He's…no longer a part of my life. And he…he made it plain from the beginning that he didn't want this baby."

Dr. Samuel folded his hands on the desk in front of him. "Then you have a problem, young lady. First off, I don't perform abortions. Personally, I became an obstetrician to bring lives into the world, not to end them."

"But couldn't you refer me to someone who-"

He cut her off. "Secondly, you're no longer able to make that decision. An abortion isn't an option for you."

Her heart dropped. "I don't understand."

"You're too far along." She gazed blankly at him, and he shook his head. "In your pregnancy. The law allows abortions up until the twenty-fourth week after the date of the last menstrual cycle. You're past that. By a week and three days."

A week and three days. Hardly anything. Julianna shook her head, barely comprehending what he was telling her. It couldn't be. Her eyes filled with tears. "But you don't understand…I don't…I don't have…anybody. I can't take care of a baby, I don't know how." Her voice rose. "This was a mistake, you see. The whole thing was a mistake!"

"I'm sorry, there's nothing I can do."

He started to stand; she caught his hand and clutched frantically at it. "Couldn't someone…someone who does do abortions, just…fudge a little on the dates? I mean, don't they just suck it out with a little vacuum, or something?"

Color crept up the physician's cheeks, and he extricated his hand from hers, his dislike obvious. "You'd be asking a doctor to lie, Ms. Starr. To break the law. To put his or her medical license on the line. Not only that-" He made a sound of annoyance and checked his watch. "Let me show you something."

He crossed to his bookcase, selected a hardcover text and brought it back to her. He flipped it open, thumbed through, then set it open on the desk in front of her. It was a photograph of a baby in a womb.

"See that? That's two months' development." Julianna gazed at the photograph. It looked like every picture of an unborn fetus she had ever seen-like a little alien creature, with an oversize head and a network of spidery red veins showing through its translucent skin. Although humanlike, it was creepy looking. Foreign.

He flipped forward several pages, then stopped. "Here's your baby."

Julianna stared at the image, her heart in her throat. It was a baby. Not a nonrecognizable thing. Not an alien. It had hands complete with fingers, feet complete with toes. A face. It was sucking its thumb. She brought a hand to her abdomen even as she lifted her eyes to the doctor's. "Are you…sure? I mean, that I'm…that it's-"

"Positive." He cleared his throat. "Babies at this stage recognize their mother's voices from inside the womb, they respond to light and sound. You're far enough along that if you had this baby today, there's a slight chance it could survive outside your womb."

"I…didn't know." She lowered her gaze to the image once more. "I just…I thought…" Tears welled in her eyes, then spilled down her cheeks. "What am I going to do, Dr. Samuel? What am I going to do?"

He handed her a box of tissue, his expression softening. "Julianna, you say you can't care for this child, that you don't want to. Are you certain of that? When you see and hold your baby-"

"No," she said. "No, I don't want it. And I won't change my mind, I know I won't."

"Have you considered giving this baby up for adoption?"

"Adoption?" she repeated, knowing she sounded like an idiot. Feeling like one "No. I mean, I haven't…thought about much of anything but…"

But John. And about surviving.

The physician sat across from her once more. "There are thousands of infertile couples in this country, couples who are desperate to adopt healthy infants. These are nice, solid people. Committed couples. They would give this baby a good home, a loving family."

He leaned toward her, his expression serious, earnest. "You're already into your third trimester, Julianna. You don't even have that far to go. You've admitted you don't have the means or desire to care for a child. Abortion at this stage is out of the question. Adoption is the ideal solution."

Julianna thought for a moment about what he was saying to her. "But how…I mean, where would I find them? These couples?"

"There are several reputable agencies in the area as well as quite a number of lawyers who specialize in adoption. I work with one of the agencies, the finest, in my opinion. Citywide Charities."

She hesitated a moment, then shook her head. "I don't know."

"It's a loving solution, Julianna. Your baby gets a wonderful life, parents who will adore and dote on him or her." He smiled. "I should know, I'm an adoptive parent."

He swung around and took a framed photo from his desk and handed it to her. "My wife and I adopted all three of our children through Citywide."

He named them, a girl and twin boys.

Julianna gazed at them, heart beginning to thunder. They were such cute kids; they looked so happy. So healthy.

"They're the light of our lives."

Her eyes filled with tears again. "I don't know what to do. I just thought…I thought that you…that after today…" Her voice trailed off miserably.

"Think about it. Take a little time." He stood, went around the desk and took a business card from his center drawer. "Here's a card with Citywide's number. Ask for Ellen. She can answer any questions you might have."

Julianna took the card and stood. "I will. Thank you, Dr. Samuel."

"I want to see you back here in three weeks." He must have seen by her expression that she had no intention of coming back, and he shook his head. "You need medical care, Julianna, insurance or not. You're not only putting the baby at risk, but yourself, too."

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth. "I know. It's just that it costs so much."

"If you do choose adoption, Citywide can help you with both your medical and living costs."

"You mean, they'll pay for my doctor visits and stuff?"

He smiled and stood. "And stuff. They base the amount of support on individual need, so I can't quote you exactly what they'll do for you. But I promise you this, you won't have to worry about any medical expenses. And, if you choose, you can continue to see me."

He walked her to the door. "Promise me you'll at least think about it."

She promised, then paid her bill and left the office, head spinning with what he had told her. As she did, she acknowledged that promise was one she would have no trouble keeping.