Cause for Alarm

7

Julianna kept her promise to Dr. Samuel. In fact, she had thought of little else for the next twenty-four hours. The way she saw it, her choices were slim and few. According to the doctor, she had to have this baby. She thought of seeing another doctor, or going to an abortion clinic and lying about the date of her last period. She figured it would be hard for them to tell, after all she wasn't that far past twenty-four weeks.

She had driven by one of the clinics, had seen the protesters out front, waving signs and holding up posters. Ones with pictures of mangled baby parts, pictures of bloody appendages and torn, mutilated flesh. The images had made her feel ill. They had frightened her. She had heard horror stories about botched abortions.

She had to have this baby.

But she didn't have to keep it.

So here she sat, in Citywide Charities' comfortable waiting room, hands clenched in her lap, silently rehearsing what she would say to the social worker she had spoken with on the phone.

She wouldn't tell her the truth, of course. Not the whole truth, anyway. She wouldn't tell her about John, or about planning to get pregnant, or about her mother.

No, her story would be a familiar one, one the woman had probably heard dozens of times before. She had slipped up and gotten pregnant; she didn't know who the father was; she had no one to turn to for support and didn't want to be a mother. Period.

"Hi. You must be Julianna Starr."

Julianna looked up. The woman crossing the room had a perky, if not pretty face and she wore a welcoming smile. Slightly plump and motherly looking, her appearance instantly reassured Julianna.

"I'm Ellen Ewing, Citywide's director."

"Hi." Julianna stood.

"Why don't we go to my office and chat?" She motioned toward the hallway directly across from them. "Madeline," she said to the receptionist, "hold my calls, will you?"

Ellen made small talk, mostly about the weather, as they made their way down the hall. They reached her office, a peach-and-teal affair, and she motioned Julianna to one of the comfy-looking chairs in front of the desk.

"Juice? Soft drink? Bottled water?"

"Orange juice?"

"Got it." Ellen picked up the phone, buzzed Madeline and asked her to bring an OJ and a Diet Coke, then turned back to Kate. She laughed, only slightly self-consciously. "I'm addicted to Diet Cokes. I drink them all day, I'm afraid. With this figure, you'd think I was drinking the sugared variety." She sighed. "It sometimes seems that the less I eat, the bigger I get."

Madeline appeared at the door with the refreshments. While Ellen retrieved them, Julianna looked over the office. It was pretty, soothing and very feminine. The right side of Ellen's desk was heaped high with manila folders, the left with books. By the lamp sat a cut crystal vase filled with a bouquet of cheery flowers. Behind the desk, covering the entire wall, were pictures of children, from infants to school-age.

Ellen handed Julianna her juice, and smiled, following her gaze. "Those are my kids."

"Your kids?"

"In a manner of speaking." Ellen took her seat. "They're all Citywide adoptees."

"All of them?" Julianna moved her gaze over the wall, amazed. "There are so many."

Ellen smiled, skimming her own gaze over the wall of smiling faces. "They're all special to me. Almost as if they're part mine." She turned back to Julianna. "We take great pride in our maternity and adoption program, Julianna. Bringing families together is a special and completely rewarding endeavor."

She popped open her can of soda. "I don't want you to feel pressured. We don't just place children and babies for adoption here. Bringing families together also means helping women decide if they want to parent. If that's what you decide to do, we won't be angry or disappointed. We won't pull our support. Quite the contrary, we will do whatever we can to help you in your decision. We only ask that every step of the way you're honest with us about your feelings and plans."

"That sounds good to me." Julianna set her carton of juice on Ellen's desk. "But you don't have to worry, I'm not going to decide to parent."

"Your mind is made up? You want to give your baby up for adoption?"

"Yes. Definitely."

A small frown marred Ellen Ewing's brow, then disappeared. "Why don't you tell me a little about yourself."

So Julianna did, repeating the things she had rehearsed.

"And the baby's father?" Ellen asked when Julianna had finished. "What does he think about your being pregnant?"

"I don't know who the baby's father is."

Ellen was silent a moment. "You're sure? Because in this state, the father has to sign off on the adoption. Even if the baby's already been placed with a family, if a man shows up claiming and able to prove paternity, he'll have the right to the child. You can imagine how painful, how destructive that would be to all involved."

Don't defy me again, Julianna. You won't like the consequences.

Their throats slit, gaping and bloody, like perverted smiles.

"Honestly," Ellen continued, "getting sign-off is usually not a problem. In our experience, the last thing these daddies want is any kind of responsibility, financial or otherwise. And if you're uncomfortable talking to him, we will approach him for you. Take care of everything."

Julianna stared at the woman a moment, then shook her head. "I told you, I don't know who the father is."

Ellen narrowed her eyes slightly, studying her. "You're certain? This is important, Julianna."

"No, I mean…yes, I'm certain. I slept around…a lot." She hung her head. "I'm not proud of my behavior."

"It happens, Julianna." Ellen's voice soothed. "To more girls than you imagine. But let's not focus on the past. The thing that's important now is deciding where you go from here. Deciding what's the best thing for you and your baby."

Ellen went on to describe how Citywide worked-that they were a national organization funded by private donations, grants and fund-raising efforts. Maternity and adoption services was only one arm of the organization. She also explained what services they provided their birth mothers and how Julianna would choose parents for her baby.

"We work intensely with about a dozen couples a year. To put your mind at ease, we screen them very carefully. First and foremost, they are nice people and committed couples. They all have a great desire to be parents. All are now infertile and cannot conceive on their own, believe me they've tried. It's a painful and heartbreaking journey that brings these couples to us.

"They range in ages, up to forty. Their income level and educational backgrounds vary. We have several couples who are quite well off, a couple of modest means and the rest in between. Our couples all live in the region, though some in the country, some in the city. We have a variety of religious persuasions, women who plan to be stay-at-home moms and others who have demanding careers. Several couples already have one child, either adopted or biological.

"We want to offer our birth moms variety. You tell us what's important to you, what you envision as the perfect family for your baby. And we find them for you."

The perfect family, Julianna thought with a wistfulness that surprised her. The one she had dreamed of for herself as a child. The one she had hoped for with John.

She looked up and found Ellen's gaze sympathetically on hers. Julianna thought of her confrontation with the other waitresses and of the word they had used to describe her. Pathetic.

Was that how this woman saw her, too?

Julianna stiffened her spine. Nobody needed to feel sorry for her. Whether they could see it or not, she had everything going for her. Everything.

"How do I pick them? Is it like an interview or a lineup, or something?"

A smile tugged at the social worker's mouth. "You can meet with the couple you choose, but that comes much later. Our couples complete extensive questionnaires. About their likes, dislikes, views on love, marriage, raising children. About their background, their families and childhoods. They put together a photo album of themselves and their family.

"From all that, we put together a packet about each couple. Each includes the couple's photo album, their essays and our synopsis, if you will, of the drier, more factual information about them. No identifying information is exchanged, and by that I mean last names, addresses and so forth. When you're ready, we select the couples who fit what you've told us you're looking for and give you their packets. You can take them home, study them, think it over. We won't rush you to make a quick decision. We know how important it is and above all, we want you to feel comfortable and happy with the family you choose."

Julianna thought for a moment, finding herself being drawn into the idea. "What if none of the couples you choose-"

"Seem right? You can look at all the packets, of course."

She went on to explain open and closed adoption. Julianna was stunned to learn it was she, not the adopting couple or the agency, who made the decision of how much interaction there would be between her and the adoptive couple-anything from an initial visit or two before the baby was born, to continuing visits with the family after placement and for years to come. She could even choose a totally closed adoption, one that allowed no contact of any kind, not even the exchange of photographs and letters. It was completely up to her.

Of course, the couple would have to be comfortable with whatever arrangement she preferred, but Ellen assured her that if one couple didn't feel comfortable with a certain level of openness, another would.

"Perhaps you want to think all this over?" Ellen suggested, smiling gently. "I know it's a lot to absorb."

"No, thanks. I'm ready to do it."

"It's a big step. The emotional repercussions-"

Julianna looked her dead in the eyes. "There's nothing to think over. Getting pregnant was a huge mistake. I have no desire to be a mother. None. And it's too late for me to have an abortion."

"I understand."

"Good." Julianna took a deep breath, feeling completely in control now. "One more question. Dr. Samuel said the agency would be able to help with my medical expenses?"

"Absolutely. If you're without insurance."

"I am."

"We want, insist, really, that you have the best medical care. Whether you give your baby up for adoption or decide to parent, if you're in our program, you're guaranteed medical care. If you liked Dr. Samuel, you may continue seeing him. He's one of our regular obstetricians."

"I liked him fine." Julianna cleared her throat. "He also said you…the agency sometimes helps with living expenses."

Julianna had thought the woman would balk at the question, that she might look at Julianna as a greedy opportunist. But she didn't. She answered the question as if she had been asked it many, many times before.

"We're able to help with living expenses, although to what extent and in what ways is not as clearly delineated as with medical assistance. Why don't you tell me what's going on with you in that area, then I can tell you what we might be able to do."

Julianna did. "I have no family to help me. Right now, I'm working as a waitress at Buster's Big Po'boys downtown. It's okay, I'm getting by right now. But some days I'm so tired. I'm afraid when I get farther along, I won't be able to keep up. And there's no way my boss is going to cut me any slack. He told me the minute I can't cut it, I'm out."

Ellen Ewing smiled at her. "If everything you've told me checks out, I don't see any reason we won't be able to help you. That's what we're here for, Julianna. We care about you and your baby."

Julianna smiled, feeling almost carefree. "So, what do we do next?"

8

Washington, D.C., January 1999

Only those of the stoutest constitution had braved the outdoor café today, a collection of nearly deserted wrought iron tables huddled together just off Georgetown's busy Thirty-fourth street. Though the sun shone brightly, the breeze was stiff, cold and damp.

Condor made his way to where Tom Morris sat, sipping a latté. A benign-looking man, with round spectacles and balding pate, he reminded Condor of his slightly daffy uncle Fred. In actuality, as director of the operations branch of the CIA, the arm of the Agency responsible for all covert maneuvers including clandestine intelligence collection and covert paramilitary operations, Tom Morris was one of the shrewdest, most powerful and feared men in Washington.

"Morning, Tom."

The man looked up. Condor saw himself reflected in the other man's Ray●Bans, ones that were near replicas of his own.

Morris motioned to the chair across from his. "Have a seat." Condor did, and the man didn't waste time getting to the point of the morning's meeting. "John Powers has become a problem."

"How so?"

"He's a loose canon. The Agency's at risk." Morris added a packet of artificial sweetener to his latté. "We have to be able to control him."

"Then keep him busy."

"Easier said then done."

Condor made a sound of disgust. "The man's a trained hunter, you can't expect him to suddenly become a lapdog. It doesn't work that way."

"Times have changed. You know that." Morris frowned into the distance. "Besides, we're beyond that."

"He's been freelancing a long time. Why the sudden concern?"

Morris took an manila envelope out of his briefcase and handed it to Condor. "Take a look."

Condor opened the flap and slid out two eight-by-ten glossies. Full color. A man and a woman. Very dead. Blood and other assorted gore sprayed across the wall and bed.

"Senator Jacobson," Morris supplied. "And his lover."

Condor studied the photos. "A professional job?"

"It appears so."

"Powers?"

"Possibly."

"Who ordered the hit?"

"I don't know. Maybe nobody."

Morris had his attention now. "I don't follow."

Morris sipped the coffee, made a sound of appreciation and set down the over-size cup. "There's a connection. Powers and the woman were once involved."

"Could be a coincidence." Condor dropped the photographs into the envelope.

"True. But there's more. Russell's dead. A blow to the back of the head, the kidneys and larynx. Definitely professional."

"Powers?" Morris lifted a shoulder. "Shit." Condor looked away, then back. "What's the connection?"

"Woman and Russell were also once…involved."

Condor frowned. "You think this is personal?"

"Yes. But we need to know for sure. A United States senator is dead. So is one of our division chiefs. If it was a hit, we have to know who ordered it. If it wasn't, and Powers was involved, we have a problem to be taken care of."

"What do you want from me?"

"Find him. Find out what we need to know. If need be, explain the Agency's position to him." He met Condor's gaze evenly. "Make certain he understands."

Condor nodded. "Whereabouts?"

"Unknown."

"Any specific instructions?"

"Your choice. Keep it low key."

"Of course." Condor stood. "By the way, I met with your friend, Luke Dallas."

"And?"

"I like him. Writes a hell of a book."

"He's a good guy."

"Can he be trusted?"

"I think so." Morris took a sip of his coffee. "You going to talk to him?"

"Maybe." Condor tossed the envelope onto the table. "I'll be in touch."

9

Sunlight spilled through the breakfast nook's bay window, falling over the antique oak farmer's table, warming its weathered top. The January day was brilliant but cold; the sky a postcard-perfect blue.

Kate sat at the table, one leg curled under her, hands curved around a mug of freshly brewed coffee. She brought the mug to her lips but didn't sip. Instead, she breathed deeply, enjoying the aroma almost as much as she would her first taste.

The beans were African, from the Gold Coast region. The roast was dark, the brew strong. The flavor would be bold, bright and complex. If it lived up to the roaster's claim.

She tasted, paused and tasted again. Smooth as well, she decided. She would add it to The Uncommon Bean's menu.

"Morning, gorgeous." Richard came into the kitchen, still straightening his tie. He crossed to her and she lifted her face for a kiss, then restraightened the knot of his tie, patting it when she had finished. "There. Completely presentable now."

He smiled. "I hate ties. A damn nuisance, I say."

"Poor baby."

"I'll bet our old friend Luke doesn't wear one of these boa constrictors." He went to the carafe and poured himself a cup of coffee, then popped a couple pieces of seven-grain bread into the toaster. "I went into the wrong line of work. I should have chosen something artsy-fartsy. Like writing."

Kate ignored his sarcasm and took another swallow of her coffee. She sighed with pleasure. "There's nothing quite as wonderful as a cup of hot coffee on a cold morning." She glanced over at him. "I'm trying out a new bean. Tell me what you think."

He took a sip. "It's good."

"Just good?"

"Really good?"

"How would you describe it?"

"Hot. Strong." He sipped again. "Tastes like… coffee."

She wagged her spoon at him in a mock reprimand. "Tomorrow you're getting instant."

"Okay." He laughed at her obvious dismay. "Sorry, sweetheart, I'm just not a coffee connoisseur, it all tastes about the same to me."

He carried his toast and cup to the table and sat across from her. Kate slid him the sports section of the Times Picayune.

"I read in the money section that Starbucks coffee is thinking of moving into New Orleans in a big way." She drew her eyebrows together in concern. "I hope they stay on that side of the lake. I don't need any more competition for this community's coffee dollar."

"How are things at the nuthouse?" he asked, unfolding the paper.

"Nuthouse?"

"The Bean."

"I don't know why you insist on calling the The Uncommon Bean a nuthouse. We're all quite sane."

He spread a bit of whole fruit jam on his toast. "You're sane," he corrected. "I'm not nearly so confident of that crew you have working for you."

She laughed. Her crew was a bit unconventional; she couldn't deny that. "A coffeehouse is not a law office."

"No joke."

"My customers expect a bit of creative license. Besides, they're not nuts, they're characters. There's a difference."

"If you say so."

"I do." Kate poured herself a bowl of muesli, sprinkled on some fresh berries, then covered it with half 'n' half. "I also say you're a stuffed shirt and need to loosen up."

"I'm sure my clients would love that. Being a stuffed shirt is a good thing for lawyers. Inspires trust." He cocked an eyebrow as she dug into her cereal. "Cream?"

"Mmm." She licked her spoon, teasing him. "What's the matter? Jealous?"

"Not at all."

"Liar."

Richard was spartan in his tastes; she was excessive. He worked out religiously, ate low fat and whole grain and still had to fight acquiring a paunch. Kate ate sweets and fats and kept her workouts confined to long brisk walks along the lakefront-and still managed to remain slim and taut, her blood pressure and cholesterol ridiculously low.

It irritated him no end and he continually warned her that her life-style would catch up with her, that middle age would hit and she would have to suffer right along with the rest of the world. Kate laughed off his warnings. She came from a long line of people with uncommonly healthy hearts and in-the-cellar cholesterol and blood pressure. And if genetics failed her and Richard's predictions came true, well, she would cross that bridge when she came to it.

"Poor Richard. Want just a tiny taste?"

He eyed her bowl longingly, then shook his head. "I'm perfectly content with my toast."

"I can tell." She grinned, took another bite and washed it down with a sip of coffee. "I almost forgot. Last night you got in so late from your meeting, I didn't get a chance to tell you. Ellen called." He looked up from the sports page, obviously not following. "Ellen, from Citywide. It seems we get an A plus." Kate laughed. "We were the first couple in our group to get all our paperwork in."

"The first?" His lips twitched. "Leave it to us, type A overachievers."

She pushed her hair behind her ear, ignoring his sarcasm. "Determined. Enthusiastic. No way am I going to miss an opportunity due to procrastination."

"I'm just glad it's done."

Kate agreed. The adoption program's paperwork had been grueling. It seemed there had been a form that covered every aspect of their life: their family's history, their personal health, their financial and educational backgrounds. They'd even had to get fingerprinted and have a police background check done.

But by far the most difficult part of the packet to complete had been the personal profiles. The questions had been probing, requiring each of them to delve into their most intimate thoughts and feelings-about their marriage, about adoption and parenting.

They had been asked to search their hearts and souls, then spill their guts on paper. All the while knowing that a potential birth mother would read what they had written-knowing the words they chose would influence whether that birth mother would select them to parent her child.

The process had been made all the more nerve-racking for Kate because they had been told that the profiles were the most important component of all they would do. For the great majority of the birth moms, Ellen had explained, giving up their baby for adoption was an emotional decision, not an intellectual one.

So, Kate had sweated over her profile. She had poured out her heart and soul and longings-praying the whole time that something she said would strike a chord in one of the birth mothers. Praying that somehow, she could make the other woman see how much she longed to be a mother. And how much she would love her baby.

"The only thing left is our photo album. I finished it last night and planned to run it across to Citywide in the next couple of days. No chance you're heading to the south shore today or tomorrow?"

"No chance. Although I may go over on Friday."

"I'll keep that in mind, though I didn't want to wait that long."

"Type A," he teased.

"You think?" She laughed. "I just want it done."

"Ready to sit back, relax and wait for a baby to fall into our laps, huh?"

"Relax?" She cocked an eyebrow. "Maybe you can, but not me. I'm more excited and anxious than I was when we had all that paperwork stretching before us. Now it's real. Now it could actually happen, anytime."

"Take a deep breath, sweetheart. Remember what Ellen said? It could take a year. Even longer. That year's going to pass pretty damn slow with your panties in a wad the entire time."

He was right. She knew that. But knowing it didn't change the way she felt. Kate sighed. "I know, Richard. I remember what she said. It's just that I've…that we've-"

"Waited so long already." He reached across the table and covered her hand with his. "I know, sweetheart."

She curled her fingers around his, grateful for his understanding. "Love you."

He smiled. "Love you, too."

From outside came the squeal of the school bus's brakes, coming to a halt at the stop at their corner. It came every day at 8:10 sharp. Richard looked at his watch and swore. "I've got to go. I'm late."

"Me, too." They both stood, carried their dishes to the sink, grabbed their things and hurried for the door. There, Richard kissed her. "You haven't forgotten our dinner with Sam Petrie and his wife have you?"

"Of course not. Dakota's, 7:00 p.m."

"You got it. Why don't you wear your red silk? I love that on you."

She laughed. "That's a pretty sexy choice for a weeknight, counselor."

"And Sam Petrie could be a major supporter in my run for D.A." At her shocked expression, he grinned. "Just kidding. You're beautiful in anything. Wear whatever you like." He kissed her again, then stepped out onto the lower gallery. "I'll call you later."

She watched him go, then grabbed her coat and purse and headed out after him.

10

One of the many pluses of owning her own business, Kate had decided within her first month in operation, was the location she had chosen. Just three blocks down Lake-shore Drive from their home, most days she was able to walk to work.

Once upon a time the structure had been a guest house for the large home on the adjoining property. Both had been built well before air-conditioning or the Causeway, when wealthy New Orleanians had escaped the stifling heat of summer by trekking to the north shore of Lake Pontchartrain and the fabulous homes they had built along the lake.

She had found and fallen in love with the dilapidated cottage, and bought it-despite Richard's argument that it would cost too much to build out, that a location more on the beaten path, in one of the shopping areas or strip malls, would attract more patrons.

Kate had stuck to her guns and as she had known they would, customers had found her. None of the other coffee cafés had what she had: a panoramic view of Lake Pontchartrain, century-old live oak trees in whose high, thick branches egrets roosted at dusk, a feeling of history, and an undeniable charm that was the Old South.

Her regulars weren't the strip mall types. They weren't the two-point-two kids, minivan-and-dog types that heavily populated Mandeville. No, The Uncommon Bean seemed to draw the North Shore's uncommon residents. Artists and writers, college students and misfits, retired professionals, freethinkers, debaters and loners.

Even her employees were unique. Sometimes too much so, Kate thought as she stepped through The Bean's front door only to discover her two managers, Marilyn and Blake, deep into one of their famous discussions. She shook her head. Anyone who didn't know them would swear not only that they were arguing, but that they hated each other as well.

And no wonder; the two couldn't be more different. Marilyn was a blond bombshell with a Minnie Mouse voice and an IQ to rival Einstein's. At twenty-five, she was working on her fourth college degree, this one in ancient religions. Blake, on the other hand, at twenty-eight, was still on his first go-round at college. Gay and proud of it, he was outspoken, funny and a bit too flamboyant to be living comfortably on the rather conservative North Shore. But he did anyway, he said, because he liked the trees.

Their heated discussions had become legendary with the regulars. Some swore they came in not for the coffee, but to witness the fireworks. Even so, the two never got truly angry with one another and made a good working team.

"Honey," Blake drawled to Marilyn as Kate approached, "I'm telling you, when it comes to size, all races have not been created equal."

Marilyn made a sound of disgust. "Not only are you gross, but you're playing to cliché and racial stereotype. A civilization that depends on stereotypes-"

"Excuse me," Blake interrupted, placing his fists on his hips and cocking his head at her. "But just how do you think clichés get started?"

"Usually as a form of hatred and oppression." Marilyn swiped at a spot of water on the counter, her cheeks pink. "My God, as a gay man, I'd think you'd be more sensitive to this sort of thing."

"Exactly. I mean, just for argument's sake, how many big, black-"

"Enough, guys!" Kate said, stepping in. "This is inappropriate. We have customers."

"S'okay with me," called Peter, a regular sitting in the booth closest the register. "I was kind of getting into it."

"Me, too." Joanie, a romance writer and another regular, said as she sauntered to the counter for a refill. "Grist for the mill and all that."

"No," Blake murmured. "Kate's right. But before we move on to a less…controversial subject, I feel obligated to say one more thing. Anyone who says size isn't important, either has a teeny little wienie or is having a relationship with one."

Marilyn gasped, Joanie nearly choked on her refill, and Kate fought back a laugh. Before Kate could reprimand her employee, Peter chimed in, "I've never said that, Blake. Believe me. Quite the contrary, I always say size is the most important thing."

That brought a fresh round of giggles and groans from the group. Just as it looked as if the conversation were going to slip back into the realm of the totally inappropriate, a mother and her two young children entered The Bean. Marilyn and Blake became instantly professional.

Kate shook her head, fighting a sound of amused exasperation. She could imagine Richard's reaction if he'd witnessed the goings-on at The Bean. He already thought the place a nuthouse; no doubt he would judge them all, including her, certifiable.

She glanced at Marilyn and Blake, chatting with the woman as they filled her order, then smiled. She enjoyed The Uncommon Bean. She enjoyed the people, the ones who became regulars and the ones who only stopped by occasionally. She enjoyed her employees, their eccentricities, being involved in their lives.

Though her first love was art, she had decided early on that she was not going the starving artist route. She had grown up with that. Living hand-to-mouth, from sale to sale, watching her parents wait with growing bitterness for the recognition that had never come. Seeing how disappointment had sucked the life out of their marriage.

They had divorced the year Kate graduated from Tulane. The year after that her mother had been killed in a traffic accident, and her father had left New Orleans to become artist-in-residence at an art colony north of San Francisco. Though they spoke often and affectionately, geographical distance kept them from spending much time together.

No, after watching her parents Kate had decided on a degree in business and had relegated her beloved art to a hobby. Now, instead of on gallery walls, her stained glass creations hung in every window of The Bean. She created them because she loved the craft. Not for money. Not for recognition. Now and then she sold a piece, and when she did she was pleased. It was freeing not having to deal with the pressure of having to sell.

Kate knew how lucky she was. She could have been stuck working nine to five, pushing papers in a job she derived little pleasure from. And doing it day after day, just to keep a roof over her head.

And she would have, and made the best of it, because she was a practical person.

Something Luke had never been able to understand.

Funny, she thought, picturing him in her mind's eye. They had both come from low-income homes, both had attended Tulane on scholarship. Yet Luke had been determined to stick to his dream of being a novelist. He had refused to even consider journalism or copywriting. He had believed in himself that much.

What would it be like to have that kind of confidence? she wondered. To have that much courage?

The woman and her children served, Kate motioned to her managers. "If I can trust you two to keep your conversation respectable, I'll be in my office working on payroll." Kate looked from one to the other. "That is, if you want to get paid today?"

"Go…go." Blake waved her toward the back. "I'm broke."

Marilyn clucked her tongue. "You need to manage your finances better. There will be a tomorrow, you know."

He sniffed. "Words of wisdom from the queen of the college loans."

"Screw you."

"Sorry, darlin'," he drawled, "but you're not my type."

"You don't have to worry about me keeping it respectable, Kate," Marilyn said, looking pointedly at Blake. "I have the ability to think about other things."

Kate threw up her hands. "You two will never change.

I'm going to stop trying, just don't scare all the customers away. Okay?"

Not waiting for a response, Kate made her way to her office, checking supplies as she did, making notes of what she needed to order. The time cards were stacked neatly on her desk, waiting for her. With a sigh, she took a seat and got to work.

She had only been at it a few minutes when Blake tapped on her open door. "We have a problem."

She looked up and motioned him in. "What's up?"

"It's the baker. Again. He didn't show Saturday. Consequently, we were out of half our pastries before the after-movie crowd even arrived."

"Did you call?"

"Of course." Blake frowned. "I got the machine. Twice."

"And he still hasn't called back." She made a sound of disgust. "How many times does this make?"

"Four. The jerk." Blake lifted the heart-shaped paperweight from her desk, weighed it in his hand and set it back down. The Baccarat crystal heart had been a gift from Richard last Valentine's Day. "I really hate irresponsibility."

Kate smiled. That's what made him such a good employee. "I'll take care of this, Blake. There are other bakers in town, and we're going to find ourselves one."

"Thank God." He wagged his finger at her. "And this time you're not going to listen to any sob stories, right? It doesn't matter if his dog died or his wife left him, he has a commitment to us and our business. You're much too nice, you know."

A notorious soft touch, that was what Richard called her. Con men and door-to-door salesmen could see her coming. She smiled. "No hard luck stories, no excuses. That Pillsbury Dough Boy is history."

That brought a smile to his lips. "Good. Thank you."

Blake started out of the office. Kate stopped him. "How was business this weekend?"

"Excellent. Though it would have been even better if we'd had a full stock of desserts."

"How did the new kid do?"

"Beanie?" Beanie, so nicknamed because he wore a different hat every day, was the newest member of her crew. And the youngest. She had hired him because she thought he would do a good job and because she feared she might be his only chance at gainful employment. "He did okay. I had Tess stay right with him. Consequently, he made no major goof-ups that I saw and the customers seemed to like him. Not bad for his first shift."

Tess, Kate's other employee, though a good worker, tended to be a bit of a flake. Kate arched an eyebrow. "Tess? Training?"

Marilyn popped her head into the office. "Kate, telephone. It's Ellen. From Citywide."

Kate nodded, catching her breath. "Thanks." She picked up the phone. From the corner of her eye, she saw Marilyn nudge Blake. The two eased out of the office, closing the door behind them.

Kate smiled. All her employees and most of the regulars knew she and Richard were adopting. They also knew what she had been through and how badly she wanted a child.

"Hi, Ellen," she said. "What's up?"

"Good news."

"Good news?" Kate repeated, her heart beginning to pound.

"We've got a new birth mother in the program. She's beginning to review profiles. Yours is one of the ones I've selected for her. But before you get too excited," she added quickly, "you and Richard are only one of several couples she's initially considering. Although I see you as a good fit, she might not. Be prepared, before this is all over, I'll probably be showing your profiles to a dozen birth mothers."

"Oh." Kate took a deep breath, so disappointed she hurt. "I understand."

Ellen laughed, but with sympathy, not amusement. "No, Kate, I understand. You have every right to be excited. But I feel obligated to warn you, adoption can be every bit the emotional roller coaster of infertility treatments. You have to pace yourself.

"I know it's hard," Ellen continued before Kate could respond. "The waiting is hell and the ups and downs are worse. Knowing that, the best you can do is strap in for the duration."

"Pace myself." Kate laughed, a bit self-consciously. "You sound like Richard. Relax, he says. All things in their time."

"He's a wise man."

"I know, it's just that…that-" To her embarrassment, tears flooded her eyes and when she spoke, her words came out soft and broken. "We've waited so long, Ellen. I've…we've wanted a child for such a long time." Her voice cracked, and she cleared it. "I'm sorry. You must think me a complete dope."

"Far from it," the other woman murmured. "I think anyone who wants a child as much as you do is going to be a very good mother."

Kate regained a modicum of composure, grateful for the woman's understanding. "Thank you."

"I'll tell you this, Kate, from speaking with this birth mother several times now, I believe she's committed to adoption. I sense no conflict in her over whether to parent or give up her baby. And," Ellen added, "she is interested in you and Richard. You have many qualities that are important to her. With that in mind, I was wondering when you could get your photo album to me."

"I finished it last night and planned to run it over in the next few days."

"The sooner the better."

"I'm bringing it now. See you in forty-five minutes."

11

Julianna sat on her bed, back propped by pillows, legs stretched out in front of her, the Citywide profiles stacked on what was left of her lap. She gazed at the typewritten words of the profile on the top of the stack, her vision blurred with tears.

I've loved Kate since the moment I laid eyes on her. She's my partner, my lover, my best friend. I can't imagine my life without her.

Julianna drew in a ragged breath, rereading the words, an ache of longing, of hunger, in the pit of her gut. She wanted that. To be loved and needed so ferociously. To be someone's everything.

She closed her eyes, her thoughts whirling. She had planned to pretend to have considered all the profiles and just randomly pick one of the couples. After all, she didn't want this baby, and Ellen had assured her that every couple had been carefully screened as to their worthiness for parenthood. Any one of them would have done.

Then, for no particular reason, she had begun to leaf through the first of the profiles Ellen had given her. Something about that couple had jumped out at her. A tone underlying the words, a kind of sanctimony. As if they thought themselves a bit too good for this whole thing. Too good for Julianna. And her baby.

Taking an immediate dislike to them, she had tossed the profile aside and selected another. The next couple had seemed nice enough. Sincere. Eager to be parents. She was a homemaker, he an accountant.

They had bored her silly. Their life-style, what they'd had to say about parenting, their hopes for their child's future.

She had tossed them aside as well.

Then, on Saturday, she had found Richard and Kate. Everything about them had called to her-their life-style, beliefs, hopes and dreams and plans. Theirs was the life, the relationship, she had always fantasized as her own.

Now, on Monday, after having read their profiles a hundred times, she realized she had found so much more than just a couple to adopt her baby. The man she had been waiting for all her life. The one she was meant to be with.

Julianna drew in a ragged breath, struggling to get ahold of her runaway thoughts, denying them even as she was drawn back to his words, ones she knew now by heart.

We met at the university. She was so alive, so bright and eager and smart. I looked at her and saw the future in her eyes. My future.

What had John seen when he'd looked into her eyes? A child who needed protecting? An innocent who could be molded to his liking? Julianna swallowed hard. What had anybody ever seen in her eyes?

At the answer, the tears welled and spilled over, trickling slowly down her cheeks. Her mother had treated her like one of her expensive accessories, no different than a Hermés scarf or Gucci handbag. John, too, had had a narrow space for her in his life. And although he had professed to love her and had treated her well, he had wanted her to conform to that space and fill no other.

She wanted more now. She wanted what Kate had.

Angry, Julianna swiped at her cheeks and lowered her gaze again to the profile on her lap. She read about Richard's childhood and family, his dreams and aspirations. He shared his hopes for the future; his views on love, marriage and parenting.

She turned the last page, realizing only then that she was trembling. His words were her thoughts. Her hopes and dreams and prayers. This man, though they had never met, had reached into her head and heart, touching her in a way no one ever had.

It was as if he knew her. As if they were connected somehow, one person separated by time and fate.

Brought back together by the same.

Richard. And Julianna.

She tested his name on her tongue, saying it aloud, mating it with her own. Their names sounded…right together. They felt right together. As she said them, repeating them over and over, it was as if a bell went off in her head, a sort of chime, ringing out the beginning of her life. The real beginning, one that had nothing to do with her physical birth. Nothing to do with her past.

She was new now. Reborn. All the pieces had fallen into place. It all made sense. This was why she had gotten pregnant. Why John had driven her away. This was what every event of her life had led her to.

She believed in fate. In destiny. She had found hers.

Richard. And Julianna.

Julianna laid the profile aside and picked up its accompanying photo album. She ran her fingers over the embossed leather cover, heart beating uncomfortably fast, almost afraid to open it, though she didn't know why.

Perhaps because what she was feeling was so potent, so new and frightening. Perhaps because of the feeling in the pit of her gut-that she had just run headlong into her future.

Her future. Theirs. Richard and Julianna's.

With trembling fingers, Julianna opened the photo album. She went from one page to the next, turning them almost reverently, breathless at the enormity of what was transpiring, how her life was changing.

He was as she had pictured him through his words. Tall and dark-haired, with broad shoulders and an enticing, boyish smile. He looked strong and confident. A man a woman could lean on. One who loved deeply, passionately.

The man she had been waiting for.

Richard and Julianna.

And Kate. A problem.

Julianna drew her eyebrows together. She bore the woman no ill will. How could she? After all, she was a part of this, too, one of the pieces that had drawn them all together. If not for Kate's desire for a child, how would Julianna have found Richard?

Julianna skimmed her gaze from one photo in the album to the next, reading the accompanying inscription. Richard and Kate skiing in Aspen. Sailing on Lake Pontchartrain. Vacationing in the Tropics. Arms around each other. Smiling and gazing into one another's eyes.

Julianna stared at the photos, a knot in her throat. Kate wasn't gorgeous. She wasn't even beautiful, not really. But she looked smart. She looked classy. Not like a little girl. Not dependent. Not an over-sexed glamazon.

She touched one of the photographs, stroking her finger over Kate's glossy image. Kate was someone a man like Richard would fall in love with, she thought. Someone who would be this man's lover and partner.

Someone who deserved all the good things that had come to her.

Julianna frowned. At the tug of jealousy she felt. At the pang of insecurity.

She shook the emotions off. Those wouldn't do. She was prettier than Kate, younger and sexier. Class could be acquired, education feigned.

If she chose, she could be everything Kate was, have everything Kate had.

If she chose.

Julianna returned her attention to the album, to the photos of Richard and Kate. As she gazed at them, Kate disappeared and Julianna became the woman on Richard's arm, the woman he looked at with such love. The one to whom all the good things had come.

Yes, she thought. She chose to become the woman Kate was. To have what she had; to live her life.

All she had to do was make it happen.

12

The Saturday morning crowd at The Uncommon Bean consisted almost exclusively of college students and singles. The former came to visit with friends or to study, the latter to meet other singles, a healthy alternative to the bar scene.

This was the double-cappuccino, café-mocha crowd, and business had been brisk. Neither Kate, Blake nor Tess had been away from the counter except to bus tables since they opened up.

"We're out of scones," Blake announced, placing the last one on a plate. "And if this crush keeps up, we'll be out of croissants and muffins, too."

"What gives this morning?" Tess tucked her blond hair behind her ear. "Is it a holiday, or something? I've never seen it quite this busy."

"The weather, I think," Kate replied, smiling and thanking a customer as she counted out her change. "Everybody wants out of the house when it's this pretty."

"Not me." Tess passed a hand across her eyes. "I'd love to be home, in bed, the curtains drawn. I'd sleep 'til at least three, I swear I would."

Kate shot the other woman a part sympathetic, part exasperated glance. From the looks of her employee this morning, she had been out partying the night before, no doubt stumbling in sometime around dawn.

Tess smiled at the couple who approached the counter, took their order and called it back to Blake, who was manning the espresso machine. She glanced at Kate. "I met a guy last night. I think I'm in love."

Here we go again. Tess, an art student at Southeastern Louisiana University in Hammond, was pretty, vivacious and smart-but an absolute dope when it came to men. She believed every line she was tossed and fell for every guy in a tight pair of jeans. Blake, not the most sexually conservative himself, said Tess had the morals of an alley cat. Kate was of a different opinion-she felt Tess used men and sex as a way to feel good about herself.

That kind of thinking and behavior was not only self-destructive, it was downright dangerous, and Kate used every opportunity to try to counsel the girl. If only she could see how terrific she was. She didn't need a man, or anything else, to validate her.

Kate shook her head. "Oh, Tess."

The young woman frowned. "I don't know why everyone always says that to me."

"Honey," Blake drawled, his back to them as he frothed milk for a cappuccino, "consider your track record. You fall in and out of love daily. Like a rabbit."

"I wouldn't talk, Mr. Monogamy."

"Yeah, but I don't call it love."

"Okay children," Kate murmured, using the sudden lull to refill the pastry trays. "Let's not fight."

"Besides this is different. He's different. Special. Older, more sophisticated." She looked pleadingly at Kate. "You believe me, don't you?"

"It doesn't matter what I believe, Tess." She crushed an empty bakery box and stuffed it into the trash. "It's what you believe that matters."

"See?" She made a face at Blake, who only shrugged and went to chat with a couple of the regulars. Tess leaned against the counter, her expression dreamy. "You know how you can just look at someone and know?"

"Know what, Tess?"

"That they're special. Different. That they're the one for you."

An image of Luke popped unbidden into Kate's head. As he had been that first time she saw him, standing outside the student loan office, looking defiant and proud, yet somehow vulnerable, too.

Kate shook her head, as much, she realized, to expel his image as to differ with Tess. "But can't that feeling translate to friendship? Just because someone is attractive to you, or thinks you're attractive, or makes you smile or whatever, that doesn't mean you have to fall in love with him. It doesn't mean you have to become sexual with him."

Because sometimes when you do, it ruins everything.

"It doesn't work that way." Tess drew her eyebrows together. "I only know how I feel, you know? It's like…" She hesitated before beginning, as if to gather her thoughts. "It's like, if I don't have him I'm going to go crazy or die. And when I get that way, I'll do anything to be with him."

"Do anything to be with him?" Kate repeated, arching an eyebrow. "Even lie? Even cheat or hurt someone you care about? Even lose your self-respect?"

Tess met Kate's eyes, her cheeks pink. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I would."

Kate was taken aback. She hadn't expected that answer. Truthfully, she was shocked by it. "You can't mean that, Tess. And if you do, don't you think that's a problem?"

"A problem? No." The younger woman looked dumbfounded at the suggestion. "Why should I?"

"Tess, you're telling me you'd lie to be with a man. That you'd hurt yourself or a friend. In my book, that's a problem. It's not healthy."

"You don't get it. It's because the feeling's so strong. And that's love. I know it is."

"How?" Kate challenged. "You've been in love dozens of times in the past year, it's never lasted. If it were really love, it would."

Blake finished with his customer and crossed to where they stood. He nodded his head. "I've been in love like that. The way Tess is describing. A couple of times."

"Really?" Tess turned to him. "What happened?"

He was quiet a moment. "Let's just say, I never want to feel that way again." Kate opened her mouth to console him, but he shook his head. "I'll clear the tables."

Kate watched him walk away, heart breaking for him. Blake had not had an easy life, she knew. He'd had to battle discrimination and intolerance, even from his own family. He longed, like all people did, for love and acceptance, yet had had his heart broken time and again. And despite his acerbic sense of humor and oftentimes sarcastic tongue, Kate knew that deep down he was a softy with a heart of gold.

"Don't you feel that way about Richard, Kate?"

Kate turned back to the other woman, thinking back fifteen years, to her first meeting with Richard. To how she had felt during the first weeks and months of their love affair. Giddy. Flushed. Over the moon.

She smiled at the memory. "I suppose I did. Once."

Tess looked so disappointed for her, Kate laughed. "Nobody died, Tess. What you don't understand yet is that love and marriage are about so much more than what you're talking about. They're about commitment. And sharing. And trust. They're about working together to build a good life. And a family. What you're describing is new and exciting. But it's fleeting."

"That makes me so sad for you."

"Don't be. It's incredibly rich and satisfying." Even as she said the words, meaning them with her whole heart, she felt a tug of dissatisfaction, as if indeed, something were missing from her life.

The feeling unsettled her, and she reminded herself that there was something missing from her and Richard's life- children. But they were remedying that.

"You'll see, Tess. It's good. Really good. I promise."

The conversation with Tess nagged at Kate for the rest of the day and into the evening. Even during dinner with Richard at their favorite restaurant, she had found herself going over each part of the conversation in an attempt to figure out what had triggered her melancholy. She had found herself thinking back, remembering their courtship, her feelings. Attempting to analyze his.

From their first date, Richard had made her feel like a princess. Like the poor, plain stepsister who had somehow won Prince Charming. He had taken her places she had only dreamed of, had shown her a way of life so far out of her league she had been left wide-eyed with wonder. She had fallen madly, wildly in love with him. He had seemed to be just as in love with her.

Seemed. She shook her head at the thought. Like all young couples, they'd had their troubles. He had been young, used to getting his way, to being the center of attention. He had been something of a ladies' man; when they'd begun dating, he had been up-front about that. He didn't plan to get serious about one girl, he'd said. But they had become serious. And when they had, she'd demanded he choose.

He had chosen her. And even though a half dozen times he had broken up with her to date someone else, he had always come back.

"Kate?" Richard waved his hand in front of her face. "Did you want coffee?"

She blinked, then flushed, realizing that she had been so engrossed in her own thoughts she hadn't even noticed the waiter approach their table. She smiled at the young man. "Yes, coffee. Thank you."

"Bad day?" Richard asked as the waiter walked away.

"Not really."

He arched his eyebrows. "Then why so quiet?"

"Have I been?"

He smiled. "Let's just say, the coroner keeps livelier company."

She laughed. "Sorry. I guess I'm not much of a date tonight."

He leaned across the table and covered her hand with his. "Want to talk about it?"

"It's silly." She laughed again, this time sheepishly. "You'll laugh, I know you will."

"Try me."

So she did, relaying her conversation with Tess. "The way she looked at me, as if she felt sorry for me, as if she thought our marriage was bloodless-" she lifted a shoulder "-it's left me feeling strange all day. Out of sorts."

Richard made a sound of disbelief. "You're not letting her dingy notions about love bother you, are you?"

"No, it's just that…" She looked away, then back. "Did you ever feel that way about me? Like you couldn't eat or sleep for thinking about me? Like you would die without me?"

"Kate, listen to yourself. Tess is what? Nineteen? Twenty? From what you've told me, she's never even had a committed relationship." He leaned closer, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Face it, when it comes to love, she's clueless."

"I suppose." Kate gazed out at the lake a moment, then looked back at him. "But did you? Ever feel that way about me?"

"I still do."

He leered at her, and she frowned. "Stop it. I'm serious about this."

He sat back. "I can see we're having one of those kinds of conversations."

"And what kind is that?"

"One where no matter what I say, I'm damned."

"That's not true. I'm trying to be serious and you're clowning around."

"Serious about what?" Richard leaned toward her, catching her hand and drawing it toward him. "Tess has more mileage on her than the Oscar Mayer Wienermobile, and you're letting her opinions on love, on our marriage, bother you? You don't think that's just a little irrational?"

Amused, Kate curled her fingers around his. "When you put it like that, it is pretty silly. Great image, by the way. The Wienermobile."

"Thanks." He flashed her a smile. "Ever have one of those little wienie whistles?"

"What kid didn't?"

"Tess, probably. That's why she keeps looking for Mr. Good Wienie."

Kate grinned despite the flash of sympathy she felt for her employee. "As simple as that, you think?"

"I do." He brought their joined hands to his mouth, kissed her knuckles then released them. "Just think where you might have ended up if not for the Wienermobile visiting your local grocery store."

"Just think." She sobered. "Richard?"

He glanced up from perusing the bill. "Hmm?"

She ran her finger along the edge of the table. "You don't…there's nothing missing in our marriage for you, is there? I mean, you're happy, aren't you?"

"What a question." He shook his head as he dug his wallet out of his inside jacket pocket. "I'm completely happy, Kate."

"Me, too." She made a sound, part contentment, part relief. "I just wouldn't want anything to happen to us."

"Nothing will, love." He tossed his credit card onto the bill, then smiled at her. "That I can promise you."

13

Julianna caught the streetcar at the stop outside Buster's and headed uptown, to Citywide's office. She took the last remaining seat, vacated as she boarded by a hugely obese man wearing clothes that smelled vaguely of beer, tobacco and sweat.

The smell lingered as did the warmth of his body and repulsed, she scooted forward on the seat until she was perched on the very edge. She longed for the days when she had zipped from destination to destination, without a thought to anything but her own convenience.

Now, she was forced to use public transportation. To travel on someone else's schedule. With people she didn't know, most of whom she wouldn't want to know. Now, she was forced to endure screaming children and constant stops, the crush of bodies at rush hour and the occasional burp, fart or halitosis that went along with that crush.

She found it irritating and distasteful. But it was cheap. She hadn't been in New Orleans twenty-four hours before she learned that the cost of parking in any of the lots in the central business district or French Quarter was outrageous. Working at Buster's certainly didn't allow her such luxuries, so when she had found one of the rare, free parking spots on the street near her apartment, she had maneuvered her car into it and hadn't moved it since.

Julianna turned to the window and gazed out at the waning afternoon, trying to ignore the greasy smear on the glass. This wasn't forever, she reminded herself. Soon she would have all the things she loved and needed. Soon, she would feel like her old self again.

Richard.

And Julianna.

She closed her eyes and pictured her future, imagined her days, how she would spend them, what her life would be like. Her life with Richard.

It would be perfect, everything she ever longed for.

She smiled to herself. Last night Richard had come to her in her dreams. He had whispered in her ear. That she was his everything. His lover and partner. His best friend.

He'd told her he couldn't live without her.

And they had been together. Sexually. Spiritually. Two souls made one, bodies entwined in an act of love so pure, so perfect, it defied the physical plane of existence.

Kate had come to her as well. She had been smiling. Holding a baby in her arms. Completely content.

Giving her blessing to the union of Julianna and Richard.

The baby stirred inside her, and she brought a hand to her belly, pleased. The dream had been a sign, a marker sent by the universe for Julianna to follow. She was meant to be in Richard's arms, to fill his life. To be the one he counted and depended on.

And Kate was meant to have a baby in her arms. Julianna's baby.

She would give her baby to Kate, Julianna had decided. And in return, she would take Kate's husband.

The streetcar rumbled to a halt. Julianna opened her eyes. They were stopped in front of a school. Through the wrought iron gates she could see a lovely courtyard; at its center, a fountain and a statue of the Blessed Virgin. A symbol of goodness and purity, one that guarded all against the encroachment of evil.

Another sign. An assurance. She brought a trembling hand to her mouth. Destiny.

The vehicle began to move, leaving the school and the statue of the Blessed Mother behind. Julianna twisted in her seat, craning her neck to keep it in sight as long as possible.

When it had completely slipped away from her, she faced front again. She laid her hands across her swollen belly and smiled. Today she took the first step toward her future. Today she would tell Ellen that she had chosen Kate and Richard to be her baby's adoptive parents.

The streetcar squealed to a stop at the corner of St. Charles and Sixth Street, her stop. The charity's office was located just off the Avenue, in a big old home that had been gutted and turned into an office complex, housing several small businesses.

Julianna left the vehicle. The day, unseasonably warm for early February, had cooled with the descent of the sun, and Julianna hunched deeper into her coat. The weather report had promised falling temperatures-the result of a cold front that had already moved across much of the country.

From overhearing hundreds of conversations at Buster's, she had decided that New Orleanians were obsessed with the weather. She figured that was because it not only changed frequently, but ran the gamut, from flooding rains, to unexpected freezes, to temperatures hot enough to boil seafood. One of her customers had proclaimed that anybody who lived in a place that got as hot as hell's kitchen deserved to obsess about the weather a bit.

She supposed he was right.

Julianna reached Citywide's office and let herself in. Madeline, the receptionist, was not at her desk, and Julianna took a seat, figuring the woman was either in the common kitchen area down the hall or using the rest room and would be right back.

Several minutes passed. From down the hall, the direction of Ellen's office, she heard the sounds of conversation. Ellen was in. Bored and antsy, Julianna stood and followed the sounds, stopping outside the social worker's partially open door. Judging by the one-sided conversation, the woman was on the phone. Julianna lifted her hand to tap on the door, pausing when she heard Ellen say the name Kate. Then the name Richard.

Julianna caught her breath. Her Kate and Richard?

Heart beginning to thunder, she dropped her hand and leaned closer, straining to hear more clearly. At that moment, Ellen hung up the phone.

Julianna sprang back from the door, cheeks burning. Afraid Ellen was going to catch her lurking outside her office, she quickly stepped forward, knocked, waited a split second, then poked her head inside.

"Hi, Ellen. Madeline wasn't at her desk, so I came back. I hope that's okay?"

The woman smiled warmly. "Of course. Come on in, Julianna." She motioned to the two chairs facing her desk, closing the manila folder on top of the stack in front of her. "Have a seat."

Julianna followed the movement with her eyes, the blood beginning the thrum in her head. Could that be Richard and Kate's folder? If she had just been on the phone with one of them, it seemed likely.

She had to get a look at it. There had to be a way.

"Thank you," she murmured, dragging her gaze back to the other woman's. "I was afraid you'd be too busy to see me."

Ellen smiled again. "Actually, your timing couldn't be better. I was going to call you this evening."

"You were?" Julianna settled into a seat. "What about?"

"I have some good news for you." Her smile widened. "Your expenses have been approved. Medical and living."

"Oh, my God." Julianna brought a hand to her chest. "You're serious?"

"Dead serious. Dr. Samuel has been notified. You need to call his office for an appointment. Before you leave, remind me and I'll give you one of his cards. As for your living expenses, you'll receive your first check at the beginning of next month and every month thereafter until the birth of your child."

For a moment, Julianna simply stared at the woman, unable to believe it was true. No more waiting on ungrateful slobs. No more aching feet and back or going home at night reeking of fried food.

Another sign.

Tears stung her eyes. "Thank you, Ellen. Thank you so much. This is going to make things so much easier for me."

"That's what we're here for. Now-" she folded her hands on the desk in front of her "-what can I do for you?"

Julianna drew in a careful breath. Ellen, she was certain, would not believe in destiny. Or fate. She would not understand how Julianna and Richard were meant for each other. And, Julianna was certain, if she even suspected what Julianna was up to, she would toss her out of the program so fast her head would spin.

She needed to play this just right.

Julianna lowered her eyes for a moment, then returned them to Ellen's, hoping to appear hesitant and unsure of herself. "I've…I've come to a decision. About which couple I want to adopt my baby."

"Have you?" Ellen leaned slightly forward, beaming at Julianna.

"Yes, I…it wasn't easy. I sympathized with every couple. I almost feel bad that I can't…choose them all."

"But one couple jumped out at you." Ellen smiled encouragingly. "One couple seemed perfect."

Julianna returned her smile. "That's exactly right. How did you know?"

"It always works that way. I think of it as part of the miracle of adoption." Again the woman beamed. "So, who have you chosen?"

"Before I-" she took a deep breath "-before I tell you, I have a few questions. About how openness works."

"Certainly." Ellen folded her hands on the desk in front of her and went on to explain Julianna's different options, from a closed adoption to a completely open one and the many choices in between. The former being no contact between her and the adoptive parents, the latter including regular postplacement visits with both the baby and its new family.

When Ellen had finished, Julianna said nothing for several moments, pretending to take in all the woman had told her. "But…how will I know if the couple I choose will agree to the arrangement I want?"

"Truthfully, most of the couples are quite flexible. After all, they're all anxious to be parents."

"But what if the couple I choose feels differently?" Julianna caught her bottom lip between her teeth. "What if…I mean, I would hate to get my hopes up only to have them dashed."

"I can understand that. Let me reassure you, however, that's never happened."

"But still…" Julianna wrung her hands. "If I tell you who I chose…could you tell me what they've agreed to?" She met the other woman's eyes pleadingly.

Ellen hesitated, but only a moment. "I guess so. Who's the lucky couple?"

"Richard and Kate."

"Richard and Kate," Ellen repeated, looking pleased. "You've made a wonderful choice, Julianna. They're a lovely couple and have so much to offer a child. Their folder is right here." She tapped the folder on top of the stack in front of her. "Just give me a moment and I'll check the degree of openness they selected."

She opened the folder and flipped through a few pages, finally stopping on one. Julianna watched her, heart pounding, fingers itching to get her hands on that folder.

"They're open to meeting you," Ellen murmured. "They've agreed to postplacement letters and pictures and quarterly visits for the first year." She met Julianna's eyes. "How does that sound?"

"It sounds…good," Julianna murmured. "It gives me a lot of options." She looked down at her folded hands a moment, then back up at Ellen, her expression as earnest as she could make it. "I haven't completely decided what I want yet. There's so much to consider. I want to do the right thing. The best thing."

Ellen nodded. "I appreciate that and so will Kate and Richard. Just remember, Julianna, you're already doing the right thing for your baby. He or she will have a wonderful life with the…with Kate and Richard."

Julianna dropped her gaze to Ellen's desk and Kate and Richard's folder, scrambling for a way to get her hands on it. Suddenly, inspiration struck.

Julianna got to her feet. "Thank you so much for your time and…your…your-" She brought a hand to her head. "I don't feel so well."

Ellen jumped up. "What's wrong? You're not…is it labor?"

"I don't know. I don't…think so. I feel-" Julianna fluttered her eyelids and swayed slightly. "I feel a little…a little…faint."

"Oh, dear." The social worker rushed around the desk and took her arm. "Come, let me help you. There's a sofa in the waiting area. You can lay down there."

Julianna shook her head. "No…really. I don't…just let me sit here. A glass of water or…juice. Could you… please?"

"Of course." The other woman nodded and helped ease her back into the chair. "I'll be right back. Just call out if you need me."

The minute Ellen cleared the door, Julianna launched to her feet. She grabbed the folder and flipped it open. "Ryan," she whispered, reading the information. "On 361 Lakeshore Drive. Mandeville."

She repeated the information silently, committing it to memory, even as she shut the folder and laid it back on Ellen's desk, careful to return it to the exact spot she had found it.

No sooner had she settled back in her chair, than the social worker rushed back into the office with a glass of orange juice. "Here you are."

Ellen handed the glass to Julianna and hovered over her while she sipped the juice, making sure she drank the entire glass.

"How do you feel?" she asked when the juice was gone.

"Better." Julianna smiled weakly and handed the glass back. "Much better. Thank you."

The woman seemed unconvinced. "Have you eaten? I could get you some more juice. I think Madeline has a stash of cookies around here someplace, I could get-"

"I'm fine now. Really." When Ellen opened her mouth as if to argue, Julianna hurried to reassure her more. "I had a peanut butter sandwich and glass of milk just before I left Buster's. Sometimes I just get a little dizzy."

"It's called being pregnant." Ellen smiled, obviously relieved. "But you need to mention it to Dr. Samuel anyway."

"I will." Julianna looked at the floor, thinking of the future, of her and Richard and how it would be between them. "To tell you the truth," she said, meeting Ellen's eyes once more, "I'm looking forward to not being pregnant anymore."

"It won't be long now." Ellen laid a reassuring hand on Julianna's shoulder. "Kate and Richard, may I tell them the good news? They'll be thrilled. Over the moon, really."

"Not yet, please. I want to live with my decision awhile." Julianna clasped her hands together. "And I need to decide what I want, in terms of openness. I need to decide what's going to feel right to me. Do you understand?"

"Of course. And that's absolutely what we want you to do. Believe me, it will save a lot of heartache and confusion later."

"Thank you again, Ellen. For everything." Julianna stood and slipped into her coat, anxious now to be on her way. Anxious to decide her next step, to decide what to do with the information she had learned today. "I should go."

"Are you certain you feel well enough? Perhaps you should stay? Madeline will be back any moment and I'm sure-"

Julianna cut her off. "I feel fine now. And I'd like to get home before dark."

Ellen nodded and walked her to the door. There, she gave her a light hug. "Congratulations on your decision, Julianna. You've made a wonderful choice."

"Yes, I have," she murmured. "A wonderful choice. And now everyone will have the thing they want most."

"Julianna?" She met the woman's gaze. "May I ask, why did you choose Kate and Richard?"

"Excuse me?"

"Was there something special about them that firmed your decision? I'm sure they'd love to know."

Julianna gazed at the woman a moment, then smiled. "I fell in love with them. If they ask, tell them that."

14

Julianna didn't waste any time. The next day, after gleefully telling Buster she quit, she drove across the Causeway to Mandeville.

She hadn't known what to expect of the North Shore community, having never ventured over before, but she found it lovely. Small and charming, almost like a resort town. She decided right away that she liked it and would enjoy living there.

Finding Lakeshore Drive proved to be a no-brainer. Finding Richard and Kate's home was only slightly more difficult, and only because she initially turned the wrong way on Lakeshore Drive.

When Julianna located the address, she pulled up in front of the house and simply gazed at it, awed. It reminded her of a home she had once seen in Southern Living magazine, or one she might find in Architectural Digest. She wondered at its age, its history, if it had always been in Richard's family.

She moved her gaze over the house and grounds, drinking in every detail. The sweeping double galleries with their floor-to-ceiling windows. The four white wicker rockers that graced each gallery, two on either end. The deep front yard dotted with massive live oak trees, their branches laced with Spanish moss. The swing that hung from the huge, twisted branch of the tree closest to the front gate.

A sense of déja` vu, of rightness settled over her. She was meant to live here, in this community, this house. It called to her, just as Richard's words had.

Smiling to herself, she rested her head against the seat back and closed her eyes. A series of images formed in her head. Of her on the swing, wearing something filmy and white, laughing back at Richard as he pushed her. Of her, on the lower gallery, entertaining friends and sipping something cool and frothy.

Of her and Richard making love on the upper gallery in the dark, the sounds from the lake mingling with their sighs of pleasure.

A knot of emotion formed in her throat. She loved him. Deeply. Passionately. In a way she had never loved before. Not even John. Especially not John.

A laugh bubbled to her lips. She could imagine what others would think if she shared her thoughts with them. They would think her crazy, ridiculous. A silly girl with an even sillier crush. But they didn't know. They hadn't been in her head as she had read and reread his words, as those words, his thoughts, had mingled with hers; they hadn't been with her as she had lain night after night, gazing at the photographs of him, recognizing him not just with her eyes, but with her heart as well.

They would be one. They were destined to be. Soon, he would see as she did, feel as she did. He would understand.

And he would be grateful, so grateful, she had brought them together.

The blare of a horn followed by a shouted greeting startled her out of her reverie. She realized how odd she must look, sitting in her car, staring at the Ryans' house. She glanced around her. On the lake side of the street was a waterfront park, complete with tables and benches, children's play equipment and farther down, a small gazebo.

The park was busy. Couples walked hand in hand along the bulkhead; children played while their mothers watched, chatting with each other; teenagers huddled together, laughing and sharing cigarettes.

No one would notice her there.

Julianna restarted her Miata, drove up a half block to a public parking area, drew to a stop and climbed out. After locking her car, she walked back to the busy part of the park and chose a bench that afforded her a clear view of Richard's house.

Minutes ticked past. The day began to fade, the sun with it. The park emptied; the air grew colder. Julianna clutched the collar of her coat, her hands and ears beginning to tingle from the cold.

Still, the Ryans' remained dark. Julianna checked her watch. Nearly six now and except for the occasional jogger who passed, she was alone in the park.

Julianna shifted on the hard bench, a kind of panic coming over her. What if they didn't come home? What if they had gone out to dinner or worse, were out of town? She had come so far, she had to see them. She had to see him.

Her stomach began to hurt. She curled her arms around her middle, wishing she had brought along something to eat. Something warm to drink. She hadn't been thinking clearly; she hadn't been thinking of anything but finding Richard.

Julianna glanced longingly toward her car. She could run up to the convenience store she had passed on her way here and get a sticky bun and a hot chocolate. It would take her ten, fifteen minutes, tops.

And in that time she could miss them. Coming and going would draw attention to her. No. She forced away her hunger and the cold by closing her eyes and imagining Richard and Kate arriving home, imagining her first real glimpse of them.

Her mind wandered. She thought of her mother and of John. She wondered if he had come looking for her, wondered what he would do when he learned that she had fallen in love with another man.

Would he be jealous? Angry? She supposed so.

She would be more worried if she wasn't so certain he wouldn't find her. As her mother and Clark had advised her, she hadn't written or called home; she hadn't used her credit cards, though many times she had longed to, and she had kept on the move, not stopping until far from the

D.C. area.

But what if he did find her?

She shuddered, then shook her head, forcing away the fear. Richard would send him packing. He was a lawyer; he knew people who could catch and punish John. He would see to it that John never bothered her again.

A light popped on in the Ryans' house. Julianna straightened, her heart leaping to her throat. A figure moved across the lit window, then another light glowed from behind sheer drapes.

Kate, Julianna realized. She held her breath, hardly able to believe the other woman was only a few hundred feet away.

As Julianna watched, Kate moved from room to room, flipping on lights as she went. Julianna imagined her touching this and that, checking the answering machine, sorting through the day's mail, glancing at the clock and wondering what time Richard would be home.

Just as Julianna wondered. Just as Julianna waited- impatiently, heart thundering in her aching chest.

They both loved the same man.

The truth of that affected her like a shock to her system. She and Kate shared that; it connected them. Just as her unborn baby did. They were bound by something important, elemental and potent. She felt its pull, its power.

In some ways, they were the same person.

One of the upper gallery doors opened. Kate stepped out and crossed to the rail. Julianna strained to see her, though she could make out little but her silhouette.

Julianna tilted her head. Kate was taller than she looked in her photographs. Slimmer. Julianna hugged herself, longing to have her own rail thin figure back. Even though she had only gained nine pounds since becoming pregnant, her body was immeasurably changed. She felt huge in comparison to Kate.

She dropped a hand to her swollen belly, feeling the baby stir, unable to quell the quick kick of resentment she felt toward it. She squeezed her eyes shut, reminding herself that without the baby she wouldn't have found Richard. She wouldn't have the gift that would draw them all together.

But she couldn't fool herself, either. To compete with Kate for Richard, she would have to be firm and lithe. She would have to be sexy.

Kate walked to the driveway end of the gallery and peered over the side, though Julianna couldn't see at what. She moved gracefully, Julianna thought studying the other woman, recalling Kate as she had been in the photos. Fluidly. Everything about Kate Ryan was graceful, classy.

But not cold. No, Kate was warm. Approachable. Julianna had seen that warmth in her photos, her eyes and smile had radiated it. And she had read it in her words- ones about motherhood, love and trust, about life.

Tears stung Julianna's eyes. Kate was a nice person. An emotional one, one who felt things keenly.

Julianna was going to hurt her; what she planned would hurt her. Terribly. Julianna hated that, she did.

She sucked in a ragged breath, forcing back her remorse, the pinch of guilt. It was for the best, she reminded herself. Kate would forget Richard, forget her hurt as she held her baby in her arms, as she watched it grow.

A car pulled into the driveway, its headlights arcing light across the face of the house, bringing Kate briefly into clear view.

Richard. Julianna stood. She brought a hand to her chest, to her runaway heart. It hurt to be so close to him, yet so far. She longed to go to him, longed to feel his arms around her, to hear his whispered greeting in her ear.

What would he do if she approached him? Would he recognize her the way she had recognized him? As his soul mate? The one he was meant to love? To be with?

She sank back to the bench, knowing he would not. He was a man of logic. Of reason and of commitment. Because of his commitment to Kate, he would deny he felt anything for Julianna.

Until he could deny it no more.

Her mother had taught her that no man was ever really married. She had taught her that deep down, in every man, there lurked a need that went unfulfilled. A secret longing so potent, that once realized, they would leave family, country or God to have it fulfilled.

She would find Richard's secret longing. The universe, the benevolent gods, would lead her to it.

A car door, his car door, slammed shut. From the upper gallery, Kate called out a greeting and waved. He looked up and called back to her. The sound of his voice floated on the evening air, reaching Julianna and wrapping around her like a lover's arms.

He came around the front of the house, then stopped suddenly and turned toward the lake. Toward the park, the bench-toward her. She felt his gaze upon her as tangible, as real, as a caress.

She brought a hand to her heart. He sensed her presence. He felt the connection between them. Like a spark of light in the darkness, like heat in a vast, cold wasteland.

A moment later, he disappeared into the house.

Julianna didn't move. Time passed, though she didn't know how much. The cold slipped over and around her, seeping through her coat, then skin, numbing her. As her body ceased to exist, her mind took flight.

She knew what she had to do to win Richard.

She had to become Kate.

It was so obvious. Richard loved his wife. Deeply. Everything about her. It was one of the reasons Julianna had fallen in love with him.

If she became like Kate, a younger, sexier Kate, he would love her, too. He would love her more. He would see that they were meant to be together.

She would watch them, study and learn. And he would be hers.

Smiling at the future she saw unfolding before her, Julianna stood and left the park.

15

Saturday morning the phone rang, just as Richard was leaving for the gym. "Could you get that, Kate?" he asked. "I forgot my gym bag upstairs, and I'm already running late."

"Sure, hon." She shut off the kitchen faucet and grabbed the dish towel, drying her hands as she crossed to the phone.

"And if it's my mother, she's missed me. I'll call her back later."

Kate nodded and picked up the receiver. "Hello?"

Not waiting to see who it was, Richard hurried from the kitchen. He had a 9:00 a.m. session with his personal trainer, and the man did not appreciate waiting. Nor did he refund lost minutes if a client was late.

Richard grabbed the gym bag from his walk-in closet, quickly checked its contents, then jogged downstairs. He popped his head into the kitchen. "I'll be back after…Kate? What is it? What's wrong?"

Pale, visibly shaking, Kate met his gaze. She opened her mouth as if to reply, but no sound came out.

He crossed to her, heart in his throat. He cupped her elbows and shook her lightly. "Has there been an accident? Kate, has one of our parents-"

"That was Ellen," she whispered, eyes flooding with tears. "We've been…a birth mother…" The tears choked her, and she struggled to clear her throat. "A birth mother…she picked…us."

Richard took a step back, stunned. It couldn't be. They couldn't have been chosen so soon.

Richard searched his wife's gaze, looking for amusement, laughter at having successfully pulled one over on him. He saw neither.

But he wasn't ready.

He fought for composure, for the cool that rarely escaped him. "You're sure we've been chosen? I mean, you're certain it's not that we're just being considered, seriously considered, but not-"

"No, I'm sure. Positive. Ellen wants to meet early next week to go over what to expect."

"But…" Richard dragged a hand through his hair, shocked to realize it shook. "But we only signed on with Citywide, not even two months ago. It's not supposed to happen this fast. They said a year, maybe more. They said-"

"I know." Kate brought her hands to her mouth. "The baby's due soon. Early May. That's less than three months away."

Early May?

Dear God, what did he do now?

Kate put her arms around him and pressed her cheek to his chest. "We're going to be parents, Richard. We're going to have a baby."

He held her to him tightly. He could feel her happiness, her complete and utter joy, in the way she trembled, in the way she clung to him. He saw it in her eyes and heard it in her voice.

Cause for Alarm So, why did he feel nothing but trapped?

She tilted her head back to meet his eyes. "How do you feel?" she asked, as if reading his thoughts.

The truth would never do. He couldn't hurt her that way. He wouldn't, no matter what it cost him. "Happy, I guess."

She laughed. "You guess?"

"Yes, definitely happy." He searched her gaze looking for a hint of hesitation, of the weakness and fear that milked him dry. He saw none. "It's just…I can't believe this is happening."

"Me, either. It's a dream come true."

A dream come true. For her.

Hating his thoughts, he drew her against him once more. He was happy, he was. He just wasn't as starry-eyed as Kate. He wasn't as adventurous. As trusting. He was a lawyer, for God's sake. He saw possible complications, legal entanglements.

This could blow up in their faces. Kate could have her heart broken.

"You're quiet," she murmured.

"I'm thinking."

"Uh-oh." Again she tipped her head back and laughed up at him. "Stop that. Stop looking for problems. You're going to be a great daddy, Richard Patrick Ryan."

He smiled, drawn into Kate's joy. "What makes you think so?"

"I just know so." She cupped his face in her palms and gazed into his eyes. "You're going to be the best daddy ever."

16

Kate and Richard met with Ellen at the Citywide offices first thing Monday morning. The meeting fulfilled a twofold purpose: it was an opportunity for them to discuss their pending adoption; and it would serve as their first home study interview. The law in Louisiana required that a home study be completed before a child could be placed in an adoptive home. Due to the circumstances, Kate and Richard's would have to be rushed through.

Richard shifted in his seat, anxious for the interview to begin. He had a luncheon meeting scheduled with a potential campaign contributor, a midafternoon powwow with his law partners, and he was due to go to trial next week with a defense that had more holes in it than a block of aged Swiss cheese.

None of those weighed as heavily on him at that moment as the reason they were in Ellen's office.

Since the call from Ellen, Kate had talked of little but the fact that a birth mother had chosen them. She had hardly slept; she had called both their families, had even browsed through a couple of baby stores.

Her excitement concerned him. His lawyer's instinct found the whole thing damn suspicious. He reviewed the facts. Some woman they didn't know had chosen them to be her child's parents. A stranger was asking them to make a lifetime commitment to her offspring. He and Kate knew nothing about the woman, not her life-style or her genetic history. It wasn't safe. Or smart.

He had tried to present his concerns to Kate; she had laughed them off. All she could see was the carrot, not the string attached.

Richard passed a hand across his forehead. The fact was, he had agreed to adopt to please Kate. Because he had wanted to give her the one thing she desired more than any other. He had felt guilty; it had seemed simple enough, the idea of having a child rather pleasant.

Now, it didn't seem simple at all. Now, he saw the string. He saw the monster attached to the end of it.

He wasn't sure he could go through with this.

If he backed out now Kate would never forgive him.

"Good morning." Ellen hurried into the conference room, balancing a cup of coffee and a sweet roll on top of several file folders. "Sorry I'm late. One of our mothers went into labor just before midnight."

She set her breakfast on the table, pulled out a chair and sank onto it with a sigh. "Finally." She took a swallow of her coffee, sighed again, then looked at them, smiling widely. "I bet you two had a good weekend."

Kate beamed at the woman. "I've been too excited to sleep. It's all so amazing."

"I'm very happy for you." She smiled again, moved the sweet roll and flipped open the top folder. "And how about you, Richard? Stunned or what?"

"It came up awfully fast, that's for sure."

"It happens sometimes," Ellen replied. "We call them ‘fall out of the sky' babies."

He frowned at the description. "I don't imagine falling out of the sky is all that healthy for an infant."

She started to laugh, then realized he might not be making a joke. She drew her eyebrows together in question. "I'm sorry, I don't get your meaning."

"I'll speak plainly, then. Is there something wrong with this baby?"

Ellen straightened slightly. "Not that I know of."

Kate made a sound of shock; Richard ignored her. "So there's a possibility?"

Color crept up the woman's cheeks. "The mother and child have been thoroughly examined by a doctor and will continue to have the best medical care. Everything looks normal, the mother is young and healthy. Of course, something could have gone wrong in utero, something all the exams and ultrasounds in the world couldn't pick up. The same as if Kate were pregnant. Babies are a crap shoot, Richard. A game of Russian roulette."

"This game of roulette is our lives, Ellen. I don't take that lightly."

"Nor do I," she said stiffly. "If I could promise you this baby will be perfect, I would. If I could promise you that this birth mother won't change her mind, I would. But I can't. The best I can do is assure you that I believe those things to be the case."

"Of course that's all you can do," Kate murmured, looking at Richard, a frown marring her brow. "We're thrilled at having been chosen. Aren't we, Richard?"

"Yes, thrilled." Richard shifted in his seat. "Though I do have one last question before we move on. Why didn't this birth mother pick one of the other couples? One who had been in the program for some time?"

Ellen looked from one to the other of them. "Am I hearing some hesitation on your part, Richard? If so-"

"No!" Kate covered his hand with hers. "Of course not."

"Richard?" Ellen persisted, shifting her gaze to him, not looking at Kate. "Just as I wouldn't place a baby in a home if I thought the birth mother had doubts, I won't place a baby in a home where the parents aren't totally committed to adoption. It wouldn't be fair, not to the child, the birth mother, or the dozen other couples on our list."

Kate's fingers were cold; they trembled. He understood how much this meant to her. He curled his fingers around his wife's. "I'm a lawyer. I'm suspicious by nature, and I ask a lot of questions. It's what I do." He forced a laugh. "I do wonder though, why us?"

"Yes." Kate leaned forward, the relief in her voice audible. "Did she say why? I'd love to know."

Ellen hesitated, then inclined her head. "She said she'd fallen in love with you. Her words."

"In love with us?" Kate repeated. She looked at Richard, and he grinned.

"I always said we were lovable. This confirms it."

Ellen laughed. "I know that probably sounds odd to you, she's a complete stranger, after all. But you have to understand, the process for these girls is intensely emotional. I'm sure what she meant is that she's fallen in love with your lives. With the picture she has of the life you will give her child."

Ellen folded her hands on the desk in front of her. "Many of these young women are desperately lonely. Or coming from a really bad situation. Some of them have been deserted by a lover, some kicked out of the house by their parents, some are bucking intense family disapproval of their decision to place the child for adoption. Add to that a fear of making the wrong decision. Believing in the adoptive couple she's chosen is more than important for her. It's essential. And this birth mother believes in you, simple as that."

"When will we meet her?" Kate asked, her voice thick with tears. "I want to thank her for this."

The woman glanced away, then back. "At this point, you won't be meeting her. She wants the adoption to be completely closed."

"Completely closed," Kate repeated, making a sound of distress. "But I…I'd really hoped we could at least meet her. And all the literature on the subject says it's best for everyone, especially the baby."

"We do prefer it." Ellen looked from one to the other of them. "But ultimately, it's the birth mother's choice."

"I don't understand," Richard murmured, frowning. "Why does she get to choose? It seems to me we're a fifty-percent partner in this deal."

"Quite simply, because she has something you, and thousands of other couples like you, want. She's in the driver's seat, Richard. Like it or not, that's the facts."

Richard looked at Kate, then back at Ellen, frown deepening. "This doesn't feel right to me. Is there something she's trying to hide? Some reason she prefers not to meet us?"

Ellen flushed. "She has nothing to hide. And if she did, we would discover it and ask her to leave the program. We screen everyone involved in this process very carefully. Nothing gets by us."

"We have complete confidence in you and the program." Kate squeezed his fingers in warning. "Don't we, sweetheart?"

"Complete confidence, of course. We're simply disappointed with her choice of a closed adoption."

Ellen inclined her head. "As I said before, this is an intensely emotional experience for these women. Some choose to distance themselves from it any way they can. Depersonalize it. Some change their minds when they realize the tactic doesn't work."

"Can you at least tell us her first name?" Kate asked. "What she looks like or how old she is?"

"At this point, she doesn't wish for you to know even her first name. I can tell you, however, that she's nineteen and quite attractive. In fact, her coloring and build is similar to yours, Kate. I know that doesn't quell your curiosity, but it's the best I can do right now."

Kate looked at Richard, then back at Ellen. "Could you talk to her? Tell her how eager we are to meet her?"

"I'll try," Ellen murmured, "but I don't think it'll do much good. She's a very determined young woman. From what I've observed about her, when she sets her mind on something, she can't be dissuaded."

"What she wants, she gets," Richard murmured.

Ellen smiled. "And in this case, she wants you."

17

Julianna moved to Mandeville to be near Richard and Kate. She found an apartment, half of what New Orleanians called a shotgun double. Small, shabbily furnished and more expensive than other, nicer apartments available in the area, she'd chosen it for its location-in old Mandeville, only six blocks from the Ryans'.

Renting in their neighborhood made perfect sense to Julianna. Living within blocks of them, it wouldn't be odd for her to be seen hanging out at the waterfront park, it wouldn't be unreasonable for her to walk or drive past their house several times a day, or to frequent the restaurants, shops and other places Richard and Kate enjoyed.

And frequent them she did. Julianna spent her days watching the Ryans. Following them.

She found doing so surprisingly easy. They came and went, blissfully unaware of her presence. She quickly learned their schedule, their likes and dislikes, who they associated with for work and who for pleasure. Richard enjoyed golf and Kate reading, most often mysteries. Richard ordered fish more than meat when out to dinner; Kate preferred shellfish and loved desserts. The list of Julianna's discoveries went on and on; each new fact she committed lovingly to memory, a sort of mental scrapbook or family album. Every so often, she would open the album and wallow in what she had learned, stroking and holding each fact, getting to know her new family, growing to love them more each day.

After the first two weeks, Julianna focused most of her attention on Kate. She studied her-the way she moved and gestured, how and when she laughed, her expressions. She discovered the scent she wore, the coffee she preferred, studied the cadence of her speech.

Julianna had gone to The Uncommon Bean, careful to choose times Kate was away, eavesdropping on conversations as she pretended to read, staying as long as she could without drawing attention to herself. She learned that the other woman was both liked and respected by her employees. She discovered she had a sense of humor and seemingly boundless energy, that she was an all-around nice person.

Everything about the other woman inspired Julianna. But of all her qualities, the one that impressed her most was Kate's artistic ability.

Her first time in The Uncommon Bean, Julianna had gazed in awe at the stained glass creations that hung in every window, dappling the café's interior with colored light.

Julianna had looked at the creations and ached with longing, with envy. Once upon a time, Julianna had fantasized about being an artist. She had fantasized about going to Paris or New York to study art. John had forced her to face the truth-she had neither the talent nor the discipline to succeed as an artist.

Kate did. Kate, it seemed to Julianna, had everything.

But not for long. February had become March, March became April. Dr. Samuel said she was close now, that it could happen anytime. She had begun to dilate, he'd said. The baby had dropped and was in position.

The baby was as ready as she, Julianna thought, standing before her bathroom mirror, naked save for her bra and panties. Her face was as naked as she, freshly scrubbed, devoid of expression. She turned this way and that, studying her reflection, studiously avoiding looking at her bulging belly, hating it.

Finally, she could ignore it no longer. Purposefully, she turned sideways and gazed at her body's profile. She splayed her hands over the tightly stretched flesh. It was smooth and hard, extended to its limit.

She smiled suddenly, taken aback by the sense of wonder that filled her. Maybe Kate could mold glass and lead into amazing images, beautiful things, but she couldn't do this. She couldn't create life.

Beneath her palms, the baby stirred, then kicked. Julianna laughed and pressed her hands closer, for the first time delighted with the discomfiting sensation, with her pregnancy.

Kate was smart and classy. Kate lived in a beautiful home and owned her own business. She had inspired the love of a wonderful man.

Julianna could be like her, she could have all those things. She would have them.

But the thing Kate longed for most, she couldn't do on her own. She needed Julianna for that.

Julianna laughed again. That made her feel good. Made her feel important. And special.

Time to get started.

Julianna closed her eyes and breathing deeply, cleared her mind and pictured Kate. She pictured her talking, then tipping her head back and laughing; she pictured her smiling at her husband or daydreaming when she thought no one was looking. Minutes passed; the Kate images filled her head, crowding out all others.

Julianna opened her eyes and smiled-Kate's smile. Quick, broad and warm. It transformed Julianna's face, changing it subtly. She did it once more, repeating the motion until it felt natural not forced, never letting go of the images in her head.

"Hi," Julianna said, "welcome to The Uncommon Bean. What can I get for you?"

That wasn't right, she realized, frowning. That wasn't the way Kate spoke. Kate had the habit of lifting her voice slightly on the consonants, lending it a musical quality.

Julianna said the words again. And again. She practiced tirelessly, working to mirror the other woman's speech pattern. As it became more natural to her, she added Kate's smile, her laugh; she tucked her hair behind her ear, as Kate was wont to do, she gestured with her hands, copying the other woman's small, fluid movements.

The light streaming through the bathroom window changed, becoming harsh with midday, then mellowing as the day began to fade. Still, she practiced. Hunger pulled at her; so did fatigue. Her back ached; her head pounded. She broke for food and drink, but propped a hand mirror up on the kitchen table so she could use the opportunity to imitate how Kate ate, how she took small bites and chewed slowly, how she patted her mouth with a napkin and sipped her water.

When she had finished her meal, Julianna forced herself to her feet and to the bathroom's big mirror, though her body screamed for rest.

She switched on the overhead light, then opened the vanity's center drawer. She removed a photograph of Kate, a close-up shot she had stolen from the couple's photo album, and the bag of cosmetics she had purchased the day before-cosmetics in the warm earth tones Kate preferred.

Julianna taped Kate's photo to the mirror, then gazed at it, noting each shadow and curve of the other woman's face, analyzing the way she wore her makeup-subtly, artistically, in a style that heightened her assets.

Imitation in mind, Julianna selected the foundation and applied it, smoothing it carefully over her face and neck. From there she applied blush, powder, eye color.

Each step of the way, she paused to compare her reflection to Kate's image, looking for differences or imperfections and eliminating them.

She knew she would never be Kate's twin. The shape of their faces was different, their features. Her aim was to create the other woman's look, her style, on her own face.

Finally, she had it. She had Kate. A facsimile of the woman stared back at Julianna from the mirror. Julianna made a sound of triumph; it came out in a twisted gasp. She doubled over and clutched her middle as a thin, sharp pain speared through her.

Julianna sank to the floor, to the puddle of liquid pooling around her feet. She looked at it in amazement, realizing her water had broken, realizing what it meant.

The baby was here.

18

After fifteen hours of labor, Julianna gave birth to a baby girl. A week and a half early, she weighed a mere five pounds, two ounces, but what she lacked in size, she made up for in lung capacity.

Julianna had held her briefly in the delivery room, though not because she wanted to. Without asking, the nurse had laid the howling infant on her chest, beaming ridiculously at Julianna, babbling about how beautiful her daughter was. As far as Julianna had been concerned, the baby looked like a red-faced frog, and she hadn't wanted to have anything to do with her.

She'd turned her gaze away and asked the nurse to take her. Ellen, who had stayed with her during the entire ordeal, had stepped forward, eager to hold the child. Julianna had watched the woman cradle the baby, tears streaming down her cheeks and had wondered what the big deal was.

She still did.

Ellen popped her head into the room. "Hi," she said softly. "How are you?" "Tired." "I'll bet. Can I come in?" "Sure. Is that for me?" Julianna indicated the bud vase containing a single pink rose surrounded by white baby's breath.

"Of course." Ellen set the vase on her bed table. "Congratulations, Julianna. You did great."

Just then the nursery attendant entered the room, pushing a bassinet. The woman smiled brightly. "I thought you might like to spend a little time with your daughter."

She scooped up the sleeping infant, careful Julianna saw, to support her head. She placed the baby in Julianna's arms. "Just ring the nursery when you need us to come get her. Congratulations again. She's just precious."

"Everyone keeps saying that," Julianna murmured when the nurse was gone.

"What's that?"

"Congratulations."

"That's because the birth of a child is something to celebrate."

"I suppose." Julianna lowered her gaze to the bundle in her arms, swaddled in a pink receiving blanket, her moon-shaped face overwhelmed by the knit cap covering her head.

Julianna studied the sleeping child. The infant's chest rose and fell with her rapid breathing; peeking out from above the blanket, her hands were squeezed into fists, her puffy eyes shut tight.

An unfamiliar ache in her chest, Julianna shifted her gaze to Ellen, hovering at the foot of the bed. "She is beautiful, isn't she?"

"Yes," Ellen said softly, "she is."

Julianna returned her gaze to the baby. She traced a finger across the infant's cheek, finding her skin almost unbearably soft. "I did this," she murmured. "I made her. All by myself. And she's perfect. Absolutely perfect."

"That she is." Ellen cleared her throat. "A tiny miracle."

"Yes." Julianna smiled and looked at Ellen once more. "I didn't understand that before. I didn't know. But I do now."

A look of distress crossed the other woman's features, then just as quickly disappeared. "How are you feeling? It was rough going in there."

Julianna agreed, though after a point in the labor she didn't recall anything. The pain had been unbelievably intense, building, cresting, then retreating. After a time, one crest had led directly to another. The best she had been able to do was suck in a lung full of air before the next contraction had racked her body.

Even so, she had refused the epidural block and welcomed the pain, finding it almost pleasurable. Cleansing. Affirming. It belonged to her and her alone.

She hadn't been about to let anyone take it away from her.

"At one point you passed out. Believe me, you gave us all a scare."

"Did I?" she murmured, still gazing at the baby. "I don't remember."

"Julianna?"

"Yes?"

"Now that she's been born, how do you feel about giving her up? Are you having second thoughts?"

"Why would I be?"

Ellen hesitated a moment, then lifted her shoulders. "The baby's real now. You've held her in your arms. This is when some women realize they can't go through with the surrender."

"I'm not like that. I know I'm not meant to be her mother." Sudden, sharp emotion welled up inside her, taking her by surprise. She tamped it back. "Kate is."

"Are you certain? If you have any misgivings, now's the time to acknowledge them. Afterward…after placement, it's hard on everyone. Even the baby."

She hesitated a moment. "I don't have any misgivings."

How could she? This moment, Julianna Starr ceased to exist. Her old life was gone, her new one beginning. Starting this moment she became the woman Richard would love.

"Buzz the nursery and tell them to come get her. Then call Kate and Richard. Tell them their daughter's been born."

19

Kate gazed at her new daughter, cradled in her arms for the very first time. A bundle of pink and white, she had been born two days before, on April twenty-ninth.

Kate and Richard had named her Emma Grace. Emma after his grandmother and Grace at Kate's insistence because she believed it had been only through God's perfect grace that Emma had come to them.

She moved her gaze over her sleeping daughter's face, taking inventory of every feature: the turned up nose, the tiny rosebud mouth, the eyes, still puffy from birth and squeezed tightly shut, the cap of silky dark hair, skin as fine, soft and white as a gardenia petal.

Kate trailed a finger across Emma's cheek. As she did, the infant turned her head slightly, following Kate's finger, instinctively seeking a nipple.

Kate drew in a shuddering breath, a tidal wave of love and protectiveness rising up in her. Before now, this moment, she hadn't had a clue what a mother's love really meant. Now, she knew. It was an awesome thing, all-encompassing, powerful. She would go to any length to protect her child, she realized. She would face and beat back any who meant her harm, she would give herself, her own life if she had to.

Kate lifted her swimming gaze to Richard's only to find his on her, damp with his own tears. In that moment she loved him more than she ever had. "She's so beautiful," Kate whispered. "So perfect." "You're perfect. You're beautiful together." Emotion choked her. For long moments she couldn't speak. When she found her voice, all she thought of to say was thank you.

20

Kate's first six weeks as a new mother were confusing and exhausting. Caring for Emma consumed her every waking moment-and then some. The infant needed to be fed every few hours; she cried often and it seemed to Kate, for no reason at all.

Those times, Kate walked the floor with her, bounced her or sang softly as she rocked her in the big chair Richard had bought her. Still Emma cried.

Frustrated and insecure, Kate wept with her. She wasn't meant to be a mother, she thought. There was something wrong with her, something missing in her womanly makeup that left her unable to nurture a baby. Maybe that's why she had been unable to conceive. Maybe nature had been telling her something.

Then, as suddenly as it had begun, Emma's crying stopped. And she smiled. Not just any smile, not just at anything. Or anyone. No, she had gazed into Kate's eyes with total trust and presented her with a beautiful and adoring smile.

A smile meant only for Kate.

In that moment, everything changed. Kate had become Emma's mother, for real and forever. In that moment it was all worth it-the sleep deprivation, the hours walking the floors, her haggard appearance and the self-doubt. In that moment, they all melted away.

Kate gazed down at her sleeping daughter, heart filled to near bursting. She trailed her fingers softly, rhythmically over her silky head. She never got enough of looking at Emma, of holding and touching her. All else in her life slipped away, and she found herself mesmerized by the tiniest changes in the infant's expression.

From downstairs, came the sound of the front door opening, then snapping shut. Richard was home. Doubting that it could be that time already, Kate checked her watch and saw that it was.

She eased out of the rocking chair, careful not to disturb Emma. After settling the baby in her crib, she headed downstairs to greet her husband.

He was in the kitchen, leafing through the day's mail. "Hi, hon," she said, crossing to him.

"Hey." He stopped what he was doing, bent and kissed her. "How was your day?"

"Great. How was yours?"

"Okay. Really busy."

She poured them both a glass of wine, and set his on the counter beside the mail. "Hungry?"

"Starved. I missed lunch."

"That's too bad." She flashed him an apologetic smile. "Hope you don't mind reheated pizza."

"Do I have a choice?"

"Sure." She went to the refrigerator, pulled out the remainder of the previous night's supreme. "A tuna fish sandwich. But I think the bread's growing something fuzzy and green."

Richard said nothing and she went about getting together their meal, meager though it was. "Emma did the most amazing thing today. She laughed out loud." He didn't look up from the mail. "I wish you could have been here. It was so great."

Kate slid the cookie sheet with the pizza on it into the preheated oven. "It wasn't a gurgle or a coo, but a real honest-to-goodness laugh."

He still didn't respond and from the corner of her eyes, she saw him rip open an envelope, scan its contents then frowning, cross to the trash and toss it in.

Kate watched him. "What was that?"

He met her eyes, then looked away. "From the Alumni Association. About an alumni celebrity event."

The way he said the word told her who the celebrity was. She asked anyway. "Who's the star?"

"Who else? The great Luke Dallas. He's giving a lecture and signing copies of his new novel. Pompous prick."

Luke didn't have a pompous bone in his body. She may not have seen him in ten years, but she knew that anyway. "What's eating you?"

He looked up, spoiling, she saw, for a fight. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. Why the attitude?"

"Leftover pizza."

She narrowed her eyes. "Sorry, I didn't have time to go to the grocery. I've been a little busy."

"No joke."

"Meaning?"

"That maybe you should make the time."

"It's not as easy as that."

"No?" He folded his arms across his chest. "We could have gone out."

"Not with Emma."

"They do allow babies in restaurants, you know."

"I know. But this is her nap time. I don't like to disturb her. She gets cranky." Kate sucked in a deep breath, working to make light of his comments even though they had angered her. "When your nap is interrupted, you get a little cranky, too."

He made a sound of disgust. "I'll tell you when I get cranky, when I'm fed leftover pizza two days in a row. I get cranky when my wife greets me in the evening in a bathrobe or when the only thing she ever talks about is the baby."

Kate stared at him, so furious suddenly, she wanted to hit him. "You think I like going around all day like this?" She motioned to the baggy sweats and old shirt she had thrown on that morning. "Maybe if you helped out once in a while, I'd have the time to go to the grocery or get dressed in the morning."

"The baby's your responsibility. That's what we decided."

"My responsibility?" She arched her eyebrows. "Oh, I see. What you're saying is, since I'm the primary caregiver, I should never ask you to watch her for a few minutes while I do something else, like take a leisurely shower or run to the market? That I should never hope you'll take one of the 2:00 a.m. feedings so I can get more than three hours of uninterrupted sleep a night?" Her voice cracked. "Or that I should never expect you to want to spend time with her? She's your daughter, too, Richard."

"Is she?"

Kate caught her breath. "What's that supposed to mean?"

He ignored the question, crossed to her and caught her hands. "How about a date, Kate? You know, you and me, candlelight and kisses."

"And sex."

"Since you brought it up, yeah, a little sex. When's the last time we made love? Two weeks ago? Three?" He lowered his voice. "I've missed you. I've missed us."

Tears stung her eyes. "I'm just so tired, Richard. So damned tired all the time. It's hard to feel sexy when-"

The baby monitor crackled as Emma stirred in her crib. Once Emma stirred, Kate knew, she was awake. In a minute she would begin to howl, demanding to be fed.

"Damn," Kate muttered and crossed to the refrigerator. She took out a bottle of formula, loosened the top and popped it in the microwave to warm it. Sure enough, just as the microwave dinged, Emma began to cry.

"Great." Richard dragged a hand through his hair. "Just fucking great."

"What do you want me to do?" she asked, snatching out the bottle and tightening the lid. "Let her cry?"

"Yeah, maybe I do."

Kate sucked in a shocked breath. She met his eyes. "I'm going to try to pretend you didn't say that. Excuse me."

Bottle in hand, she strode from the room.

"Kate, wait!" He caught her arm. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

She looked at him. "No?"

"It's just that I'm…I'm missing you. Missing the way we were. Our life."

Tears flooded her eyes. "Like I said, if you'd help out a little, maybe I'd have a little more time for us."

"Hire someone. It's not like we can't afford it."

She stared at him in disbelief. "I don't want to do that. We've waited too long to be parents to turn over her care to a stranger. Besides, I want you to help out. To hold and feed her, to play with her. You're missing out, Richard. You need to get to know your daughter, she's pretty great."

"I don't have time."

"But you have time for us to go on a date? For us to go out to dinner or away for the weekend?" Upstairs Emma's cries took on a hysterical edge. "Let me go. She needs me."

"I need you."

"You're an adult, Richard. You're-"

Suddenly, she realized the truth. It wasn't just feeding time and diaper duty that Richard didn't participate in. The events of the past weeks ran through her head, like one of the filmstrips they used to show in history class. He'd hardly even held Emma. He didn't go to her when he arrived home from work, didn't inquire about her day or her many firsts.

Kate brought a hand to her mouth. He hardly ever even looked at her.

Stunned, hurt beyond words, Kate turned and ran up the stairs to the nursery. She scooped up Emma and cradled her in her arms. The minute she did, the infant's cries lessened and she began rooting for a nipple.

"Here's Mommy," Kate murmured, carrying her to the rocker and settling into it. "Everything's okay now. Everything's going to be fine." She offered the bottle, and Emma latched on, sucking vigorously, gluttonously, as if she had been deprived of food for days instead of just hours.

After a moment, Kate looked up. Richard stood in the doorway watching her, his expression so lost it hurt her to look at him.

"What's going on with you, Richard? Don't you-" Tears choked her and she fought them back, fought to clear her throat. "Do you wish…do you regret us having…"

She couldn't say the words. She feared the answer.

He said them for her. "Do I regret us having adopted her?"

"Yes."

He looked away, then back. "How could I? It's just that…this is a huge adjustment. It's…" He took a deep breath. "Suddenly you're completely involved with the baby and I'm…I'm just hanging out here. Taking up space."

"Because you're not involved with the baby. You need to be. If you were, you'd feel differently. You'd feel a part of her and what's happening to our lives."

"I know." He passed a hand wearily across his face. "I've been so busy, with new cases at the firm, with the campaign." He swore softly. "I'm sorry, Kate. You know I don't take change well. And this one's been a doozy."

She laughed at that. It was true; he didn't enjoy change. She, on the other hand, welcomed it with open arms. He would come around. Of course he would.

"I suppose that's why God gave most couples nine months to adjust to impending parenthood."

He crossed to the rocker and knelt down beside it. "Thanks for being so great." He kissed the baby's head, then Kate's hand. "It's going to get better, love. I'm going to hire someone to help me with campaign work, I'm going to adjust." He lifted his face to hers. "Never stop loving me, okay? Not even when I'm behaving like a horse's ass."

She smiled through her tears. "Not even then."

21

Long after Emma had fallen asleep and Kate had gone to bed, Richard sat in the rocking chair in Emma's nursery, staring at the crib. The room was dark save for the soft glow of the night-light, and every so often the infant would stir and whimper, then fall silent again.

Richard passed a hand over his brow, weary and disheartened. Tonight, for Kate, he had gone through the motions with Emma. He had held and rocked her; he'd given her her bedtime bottle and even changed her diaper. Or tried, anyway; he had been all thumbs at that.

Kate had watched him, flushed with pleasure. With happiness and pride. Emma, too, had seemed pleased with his attention. She had kicked and gurgled and waved her arms. And when he had fed her, she had looked up at him with wide, trusting blue eyes.

With eyes, a gaze, designed to melt the coldest heart.

It hadn't melted his.

What the hell was wrong with him?

Richard stood and crossed to the crib. He gazed intently down at the child for long moments. His daughter, he reminded himself. His. And Kate's.

So, why didn't he feel anything but anger? Anything but resentment and failure?

Because he had always gotten everything he wanted.

Had always been the one in control, the one who made things happen. It had been the way of his life; was the way he expected his life to be.

Not this time. This time he hadn't gotten what he wanted, he hadn't been able to control the situation, mold it to his liking. He'd been told no. And he didn't like it. Not one damn bit.

Unable to look at the child a moment more, he left the nursery. After making certain Kate was still asleep, he retrieved the bottle of Jack Daniel's and a glass from the bar and went to his study. There, he poured himself a shot, tossed the drink back, then poured another.

Richard crossed to the French doors that led out to the first-floor gallery, pushed aside the drape and gazed out at the black night. He swore under his breath. At first he'd watched Kate and Emma with pleasure and affection. They made a charming picture; he had been warmed by Kate's obvious happiness.

But as the days and weeks had passed, he'd found himself becoming resentful and jealous. Of the time Kate devoted to Emma. Of her obvious and complete love for the child.

He had found himself wishing the baby would just… disappear. That he would wake up one morning and find that adopting Emma had been nothing but a disturbing dream and that he had his old life back. His wife back.

What did those thoughts say about him? About his character?

He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, disgusted with himself and his thoughts. With the answer.

He felt like a snake. A loser. A failure.

He could never tell Kate the truth. Not about this. It would devastate her. She wouldn't understand. She would never look at him the same way again.

He couldn't bear to lose her.

He dropped his hands. If only he felt like a father. If only he looked at Emma and got all gooey-eyed with love or puffed up with pride. If only he didn't look at her and remember his own failure. That he hadn't been able to impregnate Kate. That he hadn't been able to give his wife the one thing she'd wanted more than anything.

He shot blanks, he reminded himself bitterly. He was half a man.

Unable to bear his own thoughts a moment more, he opened the French door and stepped out onto the gallery. The midnight air was cold; it went straight to his head, clearing it. He breathed deeply, several times, releasing the pent-up breath in a rush.

It was the change in their lives causing him to feel unsettled and resentful, he told himself for the umpteenth time. The alteration of their life-styles. His feelings for Emma would deepen. Soften. They would. He was an adult, a good person; he could make that happen.

He would make it happen.

And when he did, everything would once again be as it should be between him and Kate. He would be in control of their lives.

And he and Kate would be happy again.

22

From her vantage point at the sidewalk café across the street, Julianna watched the employees pour out of Nicholson, Bedico, Chaney & Ryan. They laughed and joked with one another, some paired off, obviously heading for an after-work get-together, others called cheery good-nights as they hurried to their cars.

In the ten weeks since the baby had been born, Julianna had been busy. She had mastered Kate's smile and laugh, the cadence of her speech. She had practiced her walk until it had become second nature, had shopped for clothes and accessories Kate would choose, scouring the discount store racks until she found a few good, select items. She'd had her hair cut and styled to replicate Kate's. She had worked out until ready to drop with exhaustion, firming muscles gone slack during pregnancy.

Now she was ready for the next step, the one that would take her that much closer to her destiny.

That much closer to Richard.

Julianna's heart began to pound with anticipation. These past weeks, keeping her distance from him had been agony. Waiting for the right moment to meet him, using caution and reason when all she had wanted to do was throw both to the wind and be with him, had been the hardest thing she had ever done. She loved him beyond reason.

Desired him in a way that left her weak and trembling and desperate.

In her dreams they had been together. She had spent her nights making love with him, acting out her every fantasy of their future together. In the mornings she had awakened with the sheets tangled around her legs, her pillow wet with tears of longing.

And regret. That the night had ended. That once again Richard would be away from her, in her heart but not her arms.

Though it had been agony, reason had won out. Julianna had played it smart, had held back, carefully weighing the pros and cons of where they should meet the first time. A chance meeting in a bar, through his country club or at the health club, had all been considered and discarded. None of those would allow her the opportunity to insinuate herself into his life and his affections.

No, she and Richard had to meet through the professional arena, she had decided, most likely through his law firm. To do that, she needed an "in" at his firm. Someone who would vouch for her; someone he trusted who would introduce them.

That's where she came in. Her girl.

Julianna returned her attention to Nicholson, Bedico, Chaney & Ryan and the employees emerging from the building. This was the five o'clock crowd, the secretaries, assistants, and other clock-punching, working stiffs.

Richard never left work at five. None of the partners did. They either left early or much later. It was a sign of their status within the firm, of their importance.

Julianna had quickly learned the firm's hierarchy. It hadn't been difficult. Most people didn't realize how much they revealed to the world without saying a word. Things like, what their station in life was. How they felt about themselves. Whether they were liked or loners, meek or aggressive.

The partners strode with purpose; they held themselves in a way that shouted their exalted place in the world. They wore expensive, impeccably cut suits; gold glinted at their wrists. The partners, she had learned, either left work with one of the other partners or an overworked assistant, one frantically scribbling notes while struggling to keep up with their boss's long, purposeful stride.

Julianna sipped her soft drink, searching for her girl. Finally, she spotted her. She emerged from the building and scurried down the front steps. As if eager to catch up with her co-workers. As if afraid that if she didn't she would miss an invitation to an after hours teˆte-a`-teˆte.

She caught up with the group; none seemed to notice.

Julianna felt almost sorry for the young woman. It was pathetic, really. To be so hungry for attention. To be so obvious about it.

Julianna took another sip of her drink, studying the other woman. She didn't appear to be that much older than Julianna. She had straight, brown hair of a medium length and wore wire-rimmed glasses. She carried a briefcase in an attempt, Julianna suspected, to look like a higher-up instead of an underling. She wore ill-fitting suits, ones she had no doubt chosen to look more professional, older and smarter. Instead, they emphasized the opposite. She looked woefully out of place, like a lost little girl wearing her mother's clothes.

Pathetic, Julianna thought again. A dowdy-looking wanna-be. Wanna-be more than the secretary she was. Wanna-be liked. Accepted. Part of the group. Popular.

No doubt about it. She was the one.

For days now, Julianna had watched her. She always left the firm alone. As the others streamed around her, chatting and making plans, she kept her head down save for the surreptitious, hungry glances she sent them. Glances the others either didn't notice or chose to ignore.

Julianna laid two dollars on the table, stood and left the restaurant. She followed her girl at a comfortable distance, unconcerned with hurrying-she knew she parked her car in the lot around the corner, that she lived in an apartment in Covington, and that she spent almost every evening alone at a coffee café called Bottom of the Cup.

That's where they would become friends, Julianna had decided. Best friends. Starting tonight.

23

Bottom of the Cup was one of those places where singles went to meet each other, the nineties version of the pickup bar. The specialty of the house was caffeine instead of alcohol, the music folksy rather than frenetic, and smoking an absolute no-no.

It was also a place where the terminally unlikable could sit alone but hopeful without seeming too out of place or too desperate.

In the time Julianna had been tailing her girl, the closest the woman had come to meeting someone had been when a guy at the next table had asked her to pass a couple packs of sugar.

Julianna smiled. Her girl's luck was about to change. "Hi," Julianna said, stopping beside her table. "How do you like it?" The young woman looked up from her book, her expression stunned. "Are you talking to me?"

"Of course I am, silly." Julianna held up her copy of Dead Drop, purchased an hour ago and in anticipation of tonight. "I'm reading Luke Dallas's new book, too. What do you think?"

Color crept up the other woman's cheeks. "I like it a lot. Though I don't usually read this kind of fiction. I like books that are a little more substantial."

Julianna didn't have a clue what she meant by that, but smiled brightly. "Me, too. Can I join you?"

"Sure."

Julianna set down her coffee and book, then took the seat opposite the other woman. "I'm Julianna."

"I'm Sandy Derricks. It's nice to meet you."

Julianna reached for a packet of sugar and added it to her café mocha, then glanced at Sandy's cup, feigning surprise. "Look, we like the same coffee." She leaned toward her conspiratorially. "We're practically sisters. So tell me, Sis, what other books do you like to read?"

Looking embarrassed but pleased, Sandy rattled off a list of authors and books, none of whom Julianna recognized. She sipped her coffee, pretending interest, her mind running ahead to what she would say next and how she would work Nicholson, Bedico, Chaney & Ryan into the conversation.

She found her opportunity a short time later. "I really appreciate your letting me sit with you," she said. "I'm new in town and don't know anybody. I haven't even found a job yet."

"Really? I've lived here all my life. Well, not here. In New Orleans. I moved over here because of a job opportunity."

"No kidding." Julianna brought the cup of oversweet coffee to her lips. "Where do you work?"

"At a law firm. Nicholson, Bedico, Chaney & Ryan." She sat up a bit straighter, obviously proud. "I'm Chas Bedico's assistant. He's one of the partners."

Julianna widened her eyes. "Wow, lucky you. I'd kill for a job like that." She sighed with exaggerated frustration. "I sure hope I find something soon."

After that, they chatted about nothing for a long time. Finally, her coffee long gone, Julianna glanced at her watch. "I can't believe the time. I guess I'd better go." She stood. "You want to meet again tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" Sandy repeated. "Me and you?"

The other woman looked so disbelieving, Julianna had to force back a smile. "Why not?" She lifted a shoulder. "What do you say we meet here, at eight o'clock? We'll talk about the book some more."

24

Kate sat in her office at The Bean. Though still on maternity leave, she had popped in to tally the time sheets and do payroll. On the desk in front of her lay the Tulane Alumni Association's invitation to Luke's lecture and book signing. Unbeknownst to Richard, she had dug it out of the kitchen trash. She wasn't sure why she hadn't told him. Perhaps because she had known he wouldn't understand, that he would react with unreasonable and unsubstantiated jealousy, that he would claim Luke's friendship didn't matter to him and try to intimidate her into letting it die.

But Luke's friendship did matter to her. She missed it. She missed him. She wanted the opportunity to patch things up. She wanted the opportunity to tell him how sorry she was for…everything.

She reached for the phone, thought better of it and drew her hand back. She had already called him three times, had already left three messages, the last pleading with him to meet with her and Richard when he came to town.

He'd returned none of them.

His silence was her answer. Luke didn't want her friendship. He didn't need it, or her, anymore. He didn't want her in his life, he had made that clear.

Let it go, she told herself. Let him go.

She pushed away from her desk, and crossed to Emma, asleep in her car carrier in the corner. Kate smiled, feeling lucky-not to have to choose between a job and motherhood, not to have to leave her child every day. She would have hated that, would have hated missing her smiles, her many firsts, seconds and thirds.

The way Richard did.

She thought of Richard. Since their argument over leftover pizza and Emma a couple of weeks ago, he had been away in the evenings much more than usual. But when he'd been home, to her great relief, he had doted on Emma. He seemed to finally be taking pleasure in his daughter, in being a father.

Becoming parents had been a huge adjustment for them both. Stressful. Anxiety producing. She shook her head. Even wonderful life changes caused stress. She knew that. The problem was, she'd had her eyes focused for so long on the dream of becoming a mother, the ramifications of the actual event had blindsided her.

Kate returned to her desk and the waiting time sheets. Her gaze fell once again on the invitation. As it did, her thoughts returned to Luke. Would he enjoy being a father? she wondered. She knew from the bio on his books that he was still single. Had he ever wanted to marry? Did he long to be a parent, to share his life with children, as she and Richard had?

Fat chance, she decided, smiling to herself. A big success now, brushing elbows with Hollywood, no doubt the last thing he wanted was a wife and kids. He was probably dating some twenty-year-old starlet, for heaven's sake.

"Kate?"

She lifted her gaze. Marilyn stood grinning in the doorway. "What's up?"

"Not a thing. While we were in a lull, I thought I'd come and chat. I've missed having you around."

"Come on in." Kate smiled and pushed aside the time sheets. "I wasn't getting much done anyway."

"I saw that." Marilyn made herself comfortable in the chair in front of Kate's desk. "You looked like you were a million miles away."

"I confess, I am a little preoccupied." Kate glanced down at Luke's invitation, then back up at the other woman. "Have you ever lost a really good friend? Someone whose friendship was important to you? Really important?"

"Yeah, I suppose. I had a couple really good girlfriends in high school. We were as close as sisters. But we drifted apart after graduation."

"Do you miss them?"

"Not them, no. But I do miss what we had."

"Ever thought of calling them, of getting together again?"

"We actually did. We met and had lunch." One corner of Marilyn's mouth lifted in a rueful smile. "It wasn't the same. We didn't have anything in common anymore." She shrugged. "We kind of sat there, wishing we had something to say. Struggling to find some common ground to latch on to."

"Did you ever find anything?"

"The past. That's all there was." Marilyn met Kate's eyes. "Why the trip down Memory Lane?"

"An old friend," she said, picking up the invitation and handing it to Marilyn. "He's going to be in town, and I'd love to see him."

"You know Luke Dallas? The Luke Dallas?" She tipped her head, studying his press photo. "He's so cute."

"We went to Tulane together. He, Richard and I were really good friends. The best of friends."

She handed the invitation back. "So, what's the problem?"

"We had a fight right before graduation and haven't spoken since." Kate sighed. "I don't know if it's becoming a parent or what, but it's been gnawing at me lately. I want to try to repair the rift. I need to."

"And since he's going to be in New Orleans, you see it as the perfect opportunity."

"I do. He, obviously, feels differently. I've left three messages, he hasn't returned one of them."

Marilyn said nothing for a long moment. She sat, eyebrows drawn together in thought. Finally, she met Kate's eyes. "If this is that important to you, why are you asking his permission?"

"What do you mean?"

"You've got an invitation. It's a free country. Just go."

"You mean, just show up at the signing?"

"Why not? Force a confrontation. Get right in his face and make him listen to you."

"But what if he-"

"Blows you off?" she supplied. "Sends you on your way?"

"Yes." Kate clasped her hands together, feeling like a kid instead of a grown woman with a child. "I'd hate that. It'd be so…humiliating."

"At least you'd know you tried. At least you could say you did all you could to repair the friendship." Marilyn stood and started toward the door. When she reached it, she stopped and looked back at Kate. "Think about it. After all, what do you have to lose?"

25

She had nothing to lose, Kate decided, and the following Saturday morning, after Richard left for his golf game, she got herself and Emma dressed and off to Luke's signing. Forty minutes later she was back home, juggling a squirming Emma in her arms as she fumbled to fit her house key into the front door lock. She finally did, opened the door and stepped inside.

Emma squealed in delight, and Kate made a sound of exasperation. "Why today, you little stinker? Are you deliberately trying to make me miss the signing?"

The infant beamed at her in response, and Kate shook her head and hurried to her bedroom. That morning, in anticipation of seeing Luke for the first time in more than ten years, she had taken extra care with her appearance. She had chosen a chamois-colored linen jacket and trousers and a short-sleeved silk shirt.

She had been halfway across the Causeway when Emma had thrown up. Not any old puke, but a major, bypass the bib, all over her clothes, upchuck. Always prepared for this not unusual occurrence, Kate carried an extra set of clothes for Emma everywhere she went. She had swung into one of the crossovers, and gone around to change Emma.

One small problem. She hadn't brought another set of clothes for herself and just as she had gotten Emma looking picture perfect again, her daughter had decided once was not enough and had decorated the front of Kate's blouse.

She'd had two choices: go to the book signing wearing a blouse with baby puke stains decorating the front or turn back.

So, here she was.

Kate reached the bedroom and laid Emma on the bed. The infant smiled and waved her arms and legs in delight. "Oh sure, now you're happy, troublemaker."

Emma's response was her rendition of a laugh, a kind of low hum followed by a popping sound.

Kate couldn't help but laugh. "Okay, so we're going to be late. Big deal. Less time waiting in line."

After slipping out of her jacket, she crossed to the closet, unbuttoning her blouse as she went. The mirrored doors were slightly ajar; she slid them the rest of the way open. As she reached for another blouse, she caught a glimpse of the bed, reflected in one of the doors.

It was slightly rumpled, as if someone had lain on it. She moved her gaze to the pillows. Both bore the imprint of a head.

She frowned. That wasn't right.

She had made the bed moments before hurrying out of the house. Hadn't she? She searched her memory. Admittedly, she had been flustered. Nervous at the prospect of seeing Luke again, worrying about what she would say to him when she did. Richard had already left; she remembered fluffing the pillows and tossing them into place, then rushing out the door with Emma.

She hadn't even sat on the bed after she'd made it. She certainly hadn't lain down.

Someone had been in her house. Someone who had not been invited. A stranger. They had reclined on her bed, had pressed their face into her pillow, into Richard's.

Kate shuddered, surveying the room. Nothing else appeared out of order. She shook her head, feeling slightly off-kilter. She had to be imagining things. Why would someone break into her house and take nothing? And how could they have gotten in and out so quickly? She hadn't even been gone an hour.

She crossed to the bed, bent and ran a hand over the spread, smoothing it. As she straightened, her gaze landed on an edge of something shiny and pink peeking out from underneath the bed.

One of her padded, satin hangers, she realized. One of the ones she hung her good lingerie on. She frowned. Now, how had that gotten there? She retrieved it and started for the closet.

Again she stopped, a sensation like ice water sliding down her spine. She turned back toward the bed, staring at the space between the floor and the edge of the frame.

A space deep enough for a grown man to hide under.

Even as she told herself to grab Emma and run, Kate walked toward the bed, heart pounding. She glanced at the now quiet Emma. The infant watched her every move, her gaze wide and solemn, as if she, too, felt something was amiss.

Kate reached the bed. She bent and reached for the dust ruffle. She lifted it and peered underneath.

The phone rang.

Kate screamed and sprang away from the bed. Startled, Emma let out a wail of terror. Kate scooped her up, cradling her to her chest and cooing softly.

The recorder answered on the fourth ring; a moment later Richard's mother's voice echoed through the house. Kate let out a breath she hadn't even realized she held and rested her head against Emma's. No one like Mom Ryan to bring her back down to earth.

Kate laughed self-consciously. What an imagination. There had been nothing under the bed but a couple of dust bunnies and a pair of Richard's socks.

Of course, there hadn't been. What had she expected to find? Or who? The bogeyman? A murderer or rapist? This was Mandeville, for Pete's sake. What was wrong with her?

It was nerves. Over seeing Luke. Over what she would say and how he would respond.

She glanced at her watch and muttered an oath. If she didn't leave soon, her worrying would be for naught-the signing would be over and Luke long gone.

Emma calmed, Kate hurried to the closet. She grabbed the blouse hanging smack in front of her, slipped it on, fastened the buttons and tucked it into her linen trousers. With one last look at the bed, she lifted Emma and hurried out of the house.

26

The Tulane University bookstore manager ushered Luke and his publicist to a table set up in the middle of the store. A wide path had been cleared from the table to the store's double glass doors. Copies of Dead Drop were stacked on and under the table and racked on the surrounding displays. Off to the right, a book cart was weighted down with several dozen cartons stamped with Luke's publisher's name and the book's title.

Luke stared at their number, aghast. He'd never seen so many copies of one of his books in the same place.

"I hope we ordered enough," the manager said, looking flustered. "Some of those people have been waiting two hours already. They're not going to be happy to leave with an IOU."

Luke shifted his gaze to the bookstore's glass front and the mob of people waiting outside. All those people were here for him? He had thought they were here to buy concert tickets or something.

"Hot damn," Helena, his publicist, muttered. "I think I just creamed my jeans."

Luke laughed. The ever-raunchy, slightly cynical publicist was gazing at the glass doors and the crowd beyond, all but gloating with pleasure.

"You know what this means, don't you?" She squeezed his arm, not taking her eyes from the throng of readers. "You've arrived, Mr. Dallas. This kind of crowd only shows for a brand author-Clancy, King-those guys. Or for celebrities. This is better than sex, I swear to God."

Luke shook his head, too amazed to speak. It wasn't so long ago that he'd sat in a mall bookstore, copies of his novel piled on the table in front of him, signing one or two during the entire two-hour event and being grateful for it. It wasn't so far in the past that he couldn't remember the rush of anticipation when a customer would approach his table; then the disappointment when they'd asked him if he knew where the bathroom was. Or where Clancy was shelved. Or if the new Grisham was in.

"Play it as cool as you want, Mr. Macho," she whispered as they took their seats behind the table. "I know you're so pleased you could piss your pants about now."

Luke sent his publicist an amused glance from the corners of his eyes. "Piss my pants? Helena, isn't that a bit crude, even for you?"

She leaned toward him, eyes alight with humor. "I'm a New Yorker. So fuck off."

He laughed. Crude or not, it was true. For a writer, nothing could compete with the high of knowing your books were being read and enjoyed. Not even a fat royalty check was as satisfying as a glowing letter from a fan, though he had to admit, the checks didn't hurt a bit.

The store manager opened the door; the crowd descended. For the next hour and a half, Luke signed one book after another. Helena and the store manager assisted him by handing him books, already opened to the title page.

The crowd was friendly; Luke's only regret was not having time to chat with each reader. There was no time for such pleasantries, not if he didn't want a riot at the back of the line.

Which was in sight. Luke glanced up, trying to calculate whether there would be enough books to go around and how long it would be before he could give his hand a break. His fingers had begun to cramp.

The line shifted, moved forward, parted. And there she was, the most beautiful face in a sea of faces, instantly recognizable to him even though it had been at least ten years since he had last seen her. He caught his breath; his mind went momentarily blank, then flooded with but one thought, one stunning realization: Kate was here.

Helena leaned slightly toward him. "God, I need a cigarette. Mind if I slip away for a minute?"

Luke blinked, crashing back to the moment, where he was, what he was supposed to be doing. A reader stood in front of the table, her expression expectant. He smiled, asked her name, autographed a book to her, then greeted the next reader in line.

He looked at his publicist. "What did you say?"

"A smoke. Mind if go for one?"

"Not at all." He shook his head and returned his gaze to the end of the line and Kate. He saw that she wasn't alone. She had a baby on her shoulder. A girl, judging by the pink romper she wore. Richard's baby. He steeled himself against the way that made him feel, against the quick kick of resentment. Against the something that smacked of jealousy.

He drew his eyebrows together, mustering indignation and what he told himself was anger. Didn't she get it? There was a reason he hadn't answered any of her messages. He hadn't wanted her here. He didn't want to see her.

Liar. He'd wanted to see her too much.

Luke forced himself to focus not on her, but on the job he had to do. On this triumphant moment. He smiled, signed his name and told himself Kate was just another reader, that he would treat her as such. When she reached the front of the line, he would sign her book and send her on her way.

That moment came sooner than he would have liked. She stood before him, looking flushed and nervous and hopeful. It was the last that affected him most.

She smiled. "Hello, Luke."

"Kate." He kept his tone impersonal. The store manager slid him a copy of Dead Drop. "How would you like this inscribed?"

Her smile faltered, the baby squirmed in her arms. "To Kate and Richard, whose friendship once meant the world to me."

She had never pulled her punches; had never danced around the truth or issues. It was one of the many things he had admired about her. Now, he found himself angry at her brass. He did as she requested anyway and handed her the book.

"I'd hoped we could talk," she said, dropping the book into her stroller and jiggling her baby, who had begun to protest in earnest now.

"This is hardly the time or place."

"I know. There's a la Madeline at the corner of St. Charles and Carrollton Avenue. Could we meet there, after the signing?" The line stirred behind her, growing impatient. "Please, Luke."

Refuse and send her on her way.

He expelled a quick, frustrated breath instead. "I'll be a while yet. Another hour, maybe more."

"I'll wait for you."

He looked away from her, then back. "I'll try. No promises, though."

She nodded, and he watched her walk away, thinking of the past and promises and a time when he'd thought he couldn't live without her.

In the end, Luke couldn't not meet her. He told himself he was doing it for closure, so he could get her out of his life and system, once and for all. He told himself that after today, Kate Ryan would be a permanent part of his past.

That wasn't the way it felt, however, when he walked into the French bakery-café an hour and a half later. It wasn't the way he felt. No, as he stepped into the restaurant and sought her out with his gaze, he felt twenty again and madly in love with a girl who didn't love him in return.

The feeling rankled, and Luke stiffened his spine and crossed to where she sat, feeding her baby a bottle.

Kate lifted her gaze. "I didn't think you'd show."

He slipped into the booth across from her. "I wasn't going to."

"But you're here." She eased the empty bottle from her baby's mouth, then brought the infant to her shoulder and began patting her back. "Why?"

"Morbid curiosity."

"Funny."

"I'm not laughing."

For a moment she sat frozen, then a ghost of a smile touched her mouth. "You always were brutally honest."

"I'm thirsty," he said, standing. "You want anything?"

"A coffee refill. Thanks."

He went to the counter, got Kate's coffee and a Coke for himself, then returned to the table. She had burped her baby and was carefully transferring the now sleeping infant to the car carrier. That done, she snapped the child's harness into place, then tucked a soft-looking blanket around her.

"She's beautiful," he said, setting the drinks on the table. "Congratulations."

"Thank you." Kate's lips lifted. "Her name's Emma."

"Motherhood suits you." Though he said the words easily, he felt like he would choke on them, they were so bitter, so grudging. "Richard must be…pleased." More like, so puffed up with pride he resembled one of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade balloons.

She hesitated. "Of course he is."

"In that chatty Christmas letter you sent, you didn't mention being pregnant." "I wasn't." She paused. "Emma's adopted." The words landed between them, begging an explanation, begging for him to ask what had led her and Richard to adoption. Instead, he looked her dead in the eyes. "What do you want, Kate?"

"To see you. Is that so strange? We were once the best of friends." "Years ago. A lifetime ago. We're not a part of each other's world anymore." "I know. I-" She bit the words off and fussed with her baby a moment, smoothing and retucking the blanket.

Then she met his gaze once more. "I regret that. I miss you, Luke. I miss our friendship."

He felt her words like a kick to his gut. "Stop it, Kate."

"It's true. You don't know. You-" She drew in a deep, shaky breath. "I wanted to see you. I wanted to try to make you understand how it was. What happened."

"I know what happened. I was there, Kate." He flexed his fingers, furious suddenly. So angry he shook. "Or have you forgotten?"

She swallowed hard but didn't look away. "I haven't forgotten anything, Luke. Not one moment."

Her words stung. As did the rush of hope. He hated that she could still affect him this way, after all these years.

"What are you telling me?" he asked, his voice hard, insulting. "Richard's not enough anymore? That you need a good screw with somebody else?" He leaned toward her, shaking with anger. "That you feel like repeating the past?"

She recoiled at his words, her expression wounded. "You know better than that. You know me better than that."

"Do I?"

"I'm sorry, Luke. I'm sorry I hurt you." Her eyes flooded with tears. "I'm sorry I killed our friendship."

"I'm sorry, too." He stood. "But you did. And it's too late to go back."

"Wait! Please!" She caught his hand. "That night…when we were together…it wasn't a ruse. I was devastated. Richard had broken up with me again. I'd vowed it would be for the last time. I'd vowed that I wouldn't take him back, not again, no matter how many flowers he sent. We were through, I believed that. I turned to you because-"

"You used me. To make Richard jealous. To get back at him for the blonde. The many blondes." He shook off her hand. "Well, it worked. I hope you're happy with the life you angled for."

"That's not true! None of it." She lifted her face to his. "Please, Luke, just hear me out."

Emma stirred and released a small, whimpering cry. Luke sank back to the booth and nodded tersely. "Say your piece, but do it quick."

"The next morning, Richard came to see me. The way he always did, tail tucked between his legs. I told him we were through, that I'd had enough. He begged me to forgive him, Luke. Begged me. And he cried. He loved me, he said. He wanted to marry me. He wanted us to be together forever."

"And you crumbled?" Luke snapped his fingers. "Just like that?"

"I loved him, had loved him for years. Marrying him was what I'd dreamed of for so long. How could I not forgive him?"

"How?" The word roared past Luke's lips. "By remembering where you'd spent the night before. By remembering the promises you made to me."

"I didn't make you any promises. I-"

"That's bullshit, Kate. You slept with me. That meant something. To a girl like you, it meant something. We talked about Richard. The past, our future."

"I'm sorry." She clasped her hands together. "If I could take that night back, I would. Don't you know how often I've wished I could? I wasn't thinking clearly-I acted irresponsibly. I hurt you, our friendship. Richard."

Luke made a sound of fury. "Don't tell me how you hurt Richard. Did it ever occur to you that Richard knew where you were that night? That he knew about us? Didn't you ever wonder why he asked you to marry him that morning?"

"What are you saying? That Richard proposed to me to spite you? To beat you?"

"Think about it. Richard was obsessed with winning. He couldn't bear to lose, not ever. But particularly to me."

"No." Kate shook her head, the color draining from her face. "That's not the way it was. He proposed because he loved me. Because, just like he said, he didn't want to… to…"

Her words trailed off; Luke smiled. "He didn't want to lose you. Isn't that what you had been about to say?"

"That's not what I meant."

"Think back to the times Richard and I almost came to blows over things as inconsequential as tennis matches or hands of poker-to the competition over grades. He was not about to be bested by me, poor scholarship student, worthless dreamer. I know how he laughed about my dreams of being a novelist." Luke leaned across the table, eyes narrowed. "Who's laughing now?"

"It's not true," she whispered, eyes bright with tears. "That's the way you might have felt, but not Richard."

"How can you look me in the eye and lie this way?"

"He's my husband. We have a good marriage. A happy one. Marrying me had nothing to do with some adolescent competition with you."

"Whatever gets you through the night, babe."

This time it was Kate who stood, who prepared to leave. And Luke who grabbed her hand, stopping her. He looked her dead in the eyes. "And what about you, Kate? Did you say yes to Richard because you loved him? Or because you loved the cushy future you would have with him?"

"Let me go."

"Not until you answer me."

"Why are you doing this?"

"You wanted honesty, sweetheart. You wanted to dredge up the past. Well, here it is, in all its glory."

For a moment she simply stared at him. In her eyes he saw her hurt, that he had wounded her deeply. He felt a moment of regret. In that moment he wished he could take it back, all of it, every word.

Then he reminded himself of the way she had used him, and he firmed his resolve. He dropped his hand. "See, sometimes the past is better left alone."

"Yes," she whispered, "I do see now. I won't trouble you again." She collected her things, then lifted her baby carrier. She met his eyes once more. "You never used to be mean, Luke. You are now. I'm sorry about that."

"Haven't you heard? Nice guys finish last."

"You were never last in my book, Luke. Never."

And then she walked away, out of his life, head held high. Luke watched her go, ignoring the feeling of loss that settled over him, the urge to chase after her.

Kate Ryan was now a permanent part of his past.

27

Late that afternoon, exhausted and heartsick, Kate arrived home. Richard was still out, thank goodness. She didn't know what she was going to say to him about today, about her meeting with Luke.

She sighed and dropped her keys onto the entryway table, shifting her sleeping daughter in her arms. Richard had assumed she was going into The Bean; she hadn't told him otherwise. If he had known about her plans, he would have been angry and jealous, he would have insisted she not go.

Kate sighed. She had been so certain she was doing the right thing, so certain that tonight she would be telling Richard how she had repaired the rift in her, Luke's and his friendship, certain that she would be feeling so pleased and proud of herself.

Now, she wished she had told him. Now, she felt like a fool. An optimistic, naive idiot. Some things couldn't be changed. They couldn't be made better by time or good intentions. Just as some wounds never healed, they festered instead.

Emma whimpered and snuggled closer to Kate's shoulder, trying to get comfortable. It had been a long day for them both, Kate thought, carrying Emma to her nursery. She laid her carefully in the crib, then as quietly as possible, raised the guard rail. Through it all, Emma didn't even stir.

Kate drew in a deep, shuddering breath and curled her fingers around the crib rail, gazing down at her sleeping daughter, at her beautiful, peaceful face. It wasn't true, what Luke had said to her about Richard's reason for proposing to her. They had been married for ten years. They were happy. They had a good marriage. The kind built on love, not on some juvenile competition. He took his wedding vows seriously, just as she did.

Kate turned away from the crib and busied herself straightening the nursery. She had left in such a hurry that morning, she hadn't had a chance to clean up from her and Emma's play.

She bent, collecting the rattles, shakers and stuffies from the play mat, then carried them to the basket she kept for them next to the rocking chair. Her mind drifted once more to her confrontation with Luke, to the things he'd said. And what of herself? she wondered. Had she been motivated by something other than love? By greed, as Luke had suggested?

She dropped the toys into the basket. He thought she was a gold digger. That she had married Richard for his money, for his standing in the community.

Tears pricked at her eyes, and she made a sound of annoyance, struggling to remember, to go back to that thrilling but tumultuous time of her life. To recall her feelings and examine them. All of them. Honestly.

She had loved Richard. She had loved him from the moment she met him. Sure, he had behaved badly sometimes. He'd been young and cocksure and accustomed to having his way. And yes, he had broken her heart more than once.

But even with his faults, she had longed to marry him; she had prayed he would ask her. Because dating him had been thrilling. Because most of the time, he had been charming and attentive, fun-loving and generous. He had made her feel special. And cared for.

Had his money, his affluence and influential family colored her feelings for him? Sure they had, Kate admitted. How could they not? They were a part of who Richard was. That didn't mean she hadn't loved him. It didn't mean she was a gold digger.

Kate crossed to the baby's dresser and began straightening the framed photos and knickknacks that decorated its top. She frowned. Her favorite photo was missing. The one of Richard holding Emma her first day home.

She looked on the floor, behind the dresser, in the crib. When she didn't find it in any of those places, she stopped in the middle of the room, hand on hips, frowning. It had to be here. She had looked at it this morning, after Richard left for the club.

She brought a hand to her head, trying to remember. She and Emma had been in here, playing on the quilt. Richard had come in to say goodbye; she had stood and kissed him. As she had turned to return to Emma, the photograph had caught her eye, and she'd smiled.

So, where was the photo now?

From the hallway outside the nursery came the creak of a floorboard. A soft whoosh, like a soft breath being expelled.

Kate froze, suddenly, completely terrified. She brought a hand to her throat, her mind filling with the image of her bed from that morning, of the indentations in the pillow. Of her lingerie hanger peeking out from under the bed.

She turned slowly to face the doorway. And found it empty. Legs shaking, she crossed to the door and peered out into the hallway. It, too, was empty.

"Richard?" she called. "Is that you?"

Silence answered her. She held her breath, straining to hear the slightest sound, a stirring or a rustle, even as she told herself she was being silly. Old houses creaked. They groaned and sighed.

But photographs didn't go missing on their own. Hangers didn't walk from the closet to the bed.

She wasn't alone.

Heart thundering, Kate crossed to the crib and picked up her daughter, careful not to jostle her. The infant moaned and stirred, then snuggled into Kate, still deeply asleep.

Kate carried her out of the room and toward the front of the house, moving as quietly as she could. She had left the car carrier and diaper bag in the foyer. She reached it and hands shaking, squatted beside the carrier and gently laid Emma in it. She snapped the harness, then stood and turned toward the door.

A man stood just beyond the beveled glass, a dark silhouette against the gathering dusk. She made a sound, high and surprised, and took an involuntary step backward.

"Kate?" The man rapped on the door. "It's Joe, from around the corner."

She brought a trembling hand to her mouth and laughed, feeling both relieved and foolish. Old Joe, as everyone in the neighborhood called him, was eighty if he was a day and more than a bit of a busybody. He was also about as harmless as a person could be.

"You startled me," she said, crossing to the door. She opened it. "I was just leaving."

"Sorry about that." He glanced past her, into the house. "Nothing wrong, is there?"

As he asked the question she realized how silly she had been behaving, how she had let her imagination run away with her. The house creaked and she'd been ready to run for the hills. "Of course not." She laughed again, her cheeks warming. "Come on in."

He stepped across the threshold and glanced around. "Richard's not home from his golf game yet?"

She bit back a smile. "Not yet. He was going into work straight from the course. Did you need to speak to him?"

"Nope." He drew his bushy eyebrows together. "How's the baby?"

"Fine." She motioned toward the carrier. "Sound asleep."

"Sorry to hear the pretty little thing was ill. What did the doctor say?"

Kate shook her head, confused. "She hasn't been… Where'd you hear that, Joe?"

"From your friend. This morning. She said you'd gone to the doctor with the baby."

"Friend?" Kate repeated, searching her memory. "Someone from The Uncommon Bean?"

"The friend who was visiting. She was on your swing, waiting for you to return."

The hair on the back of Kate's neck stood up. "There was a girl on our swing?"

"A pretty young thing. Maybe twenty. She looked mighty surprised when I called out to her." He cocked his head. "I asked her what she was doing in your yard."

The missing photo. The tousled bed.

The sense of being watched. Of not being alone.

Kate began to shake. She worked to hide it from Joe. "What did she say when you confronted her?"

"That she was a friend of yours, visiting from the city. Said you'd taken the baby to the doctor. She didn't say her name, and I figured it was none of my business and didn't ask." He frowned. "Maybe I should have?"

"She wasn't a friend of ours." Kate swallowed hard. "About what time was this, Joe?"

"I was walking Beauregard." He scratched his head. "It was about noon, I suppose."

By noon, she had been in the city and Richard deep into the second nine.

Joe made a sound of frustration. "I knew something about her wasn't right. At the time, though…I mean, she knew your names and that you had a baby. So, I figured she was on the up-and-up. Sorry I didn't do more."

She forced a smile, not wanting to worry him. "I'm sure it was nothing." "That's what I thought. But I just wanted to let you and Richard know, just in case."

"Thank you. I'm glad you did." Kate walked him to the door. She saw Richard's Mercedes pull into the drive. "I feel safer knowing you're in the neighborhood, Joe."

He beamed at her, pleased with himself. "I'll keep my eyes open and let you know if I see her hanging around again."

Kate thanked him once more and said goodbye, then waited at the door for Richard. From down the walk, she heard Richard greet Joe; a moment later he appeared at the door. "Hi, hon." He bent and kissed her. "How was your day? Everything go okay?"

She looked at him, surprised. "Excuse me?"

"The Bean, was business good?"

She stared at him, heart beginning to thrum. She opened her mouth to tell him about her meeting with Luke. Instead, she murmured, "You know The Bean, Saturdays are always good."

As soon as the evasion, the lie it represented was out of her mouth, she regretted it. But to take it back, she feared, would be worse.

Let sleeping dogs lie, she told herself, even as guilty heat crept up her cheeks. Why upset Richard over something that was done and over with?

"Are you all right?" he asked, crossing to the refrigerator for a beer. "You look a little strange."

Tell him about Luke. Tell him now. "Do I?"

"Mmm." He popped the top and brought the beverage to his mouth. "What did Old Joe want?"

Joe. The woman on the swing. The missing photograph. Coming home to change; the feeling of being watched. It all came tumbling out. As she filled him in, her unease returned, her feeling that something was terribly wrong.

"I thought I heard someone in the house, Richard. I'd convinced myself my imagination was playing tricks on me, but now…"

"Is anything besides the photograph missing?" he asked, frowning with concern.

"I…I don't know." She hugged herself. "I was too spooked to look around. Then Old Joe arrived."

He set down his beer, went to his golf bag and pulled out his new Ping putter. He met her eyes, the seriousness of his expression sending a chill down her spine. "If you ever even suspect there's a stranger in the house, get out. Do you understand, Kate? Take Emma and leave. Go to The Bean or a neighbor's and call me or the police."

She nodded, her mouth desert dry, her pulse fast. She was more frightened now, by his concern, than she had been before, alone in the house. "I understand."

"Good. Now, let's take a look around."

Richard, armed with the putter, Kate with Emma in her carrier, they made their way through the house. They went from room to room, looking under beds and in closets, checking the silver, Kate's jewelry, Richard's office.

They found nothing missing or out of place.

Back in the kitchen, Richard slipped the golf club back into the bag. "Well, nothing looks amiss. Was the side door locked when you got home?"

"I don't know." Emma began to stir, sucking in her sleep-a sign that she was not only about to wake up, but that she was hungry. Kate went to the pantry for a can of formula. "I came in the front."

"I'll check it."

A moment later he returned. "Door's locked. Key's in its hiding place."

Kate filled a bottle with the formula, popped it in the microwave, then turned to Richard. "Why would anyone break in only to steal a photograph?"

"Good question. Could you be mistaken? I mean, a hanger on the floor, a few wrinkles in the bed, none are particularly sinister. And we both know, this old house creaks and groans more than a ninety-year-old spinster."

Kate frowned, frustrated. The truth was, at the time it had seemed so real, so chilling. Not at all like her imagination running away with her. But now, it all seemed rather far-fetched. "I'm not usually flighty like that, Richard. You know I've never been one to let my imagination run away with me."

"I know. But you've had a lot on your mind lately. Sleep deprivation has been known to cause some pretty far-out behavior."

Emma picked that moment to wake up and fret; Kate lifted her out of her carrier and crossed to the microwave to retrieve her bottle. He had a point, no doubt about it, though something kept nagging at her as she fed Emma her bottle. Something dark and disturbing. A thought, a fear, more terrifying than any she had ever experienced before.

As she rocked her daughter, gazing down at her perfect face, it grew, took shape. And then she saw the fear for what it was.

That Emma's birth mother had somehow sought them out. Because she wanted Emma back.

By the time she had finished giving Emma her bottle and had changed her into her pajamas, Kate had worked herself into a state of complete terror. Afraid the child would pick up on her distress, she tucked her into her swing, then went in search of Richard.

She found him in the kitchen, seasoning a steak for the grill. "Richard?" She stepped into the room, hands clasped in front of her, barely able to speak so great was her fear.

He looked up, his smile dying when he saw her expression. "What's wrong?"

She hugged herself. "I…I have this terrible feeling, Richard. What if…what if Emma's birth mother has found us? What if she's the one…the one who-" Kate bit the words back, unable to verbalize her darkest fear. The one that fueled her nightmares and kept her up nights.

"Who what? Broke in and stole the picture of Emma?"

"Yes," she whispered, her voice shaking.

"And why would she have done that?"

"You know." Kate's eyes flooded with tears. "Because she's changed her mind. Because she wants Emma back."

"And she came here today in a bizarre quest to steal Emma away?"

"I couldn't bear to lose her, Richard." Her tears brimmed, then spilled over. "I couldn't."

"Come here." He held out his arms and she moved into them, pressing her cheek to his chest, and he folded his arms tightly around her. "You're being silly, love. That's not going to happen."

"How do you know?" She tilted her head back to meet his eyes, her vision blurred with tears. "How?"

"Because it's not logical." He smiled. "First, she chose a closed adoption. She knows nothing about us, not our names or where we live. Second, if she wanted the baby back, she would go through Citywide. She'd call Ellen, she'd hire a lawyer. Not sneak into our house and lurk about, for God only knows what reason."

He was right, she knew he was. So, why didn't she feel reassured?

"Where's the picture, Richard?"

He chuckled and shook his head. "It got knocked into a drawer. The cleaning service moved it."

"But I looked at it this morning! I know I did."

"You could be mistaken." As she opened her mouth to protest, he laid a finger against her lips. "It'll turn up,

Kate."

"What if it doesn't?"

"We'll take another," he said, amusement coloring his tone. "Or get a copy made of that one. Buy a new frame."

"Very funny." She rested her forehead against his chest a moment, then met his gaze once more. "Earlier today, when I had that feeling I was being watched, that I wasn't alone, it was so creepy, Richard. And then, when Joe told me about that woman…"

She drew in a shuddering breath. "She was the right age. And it just seems like such a coincidence…I mean, what was she doing inside our gate?"

He cupped her face in his palms. "Don't read so much into this, Kate. It could have been anyone. The gate's not locked, we live on a well-traveled street. There's a park directly across from our house, for heaven's sake. Someone saw our swing, thought it looked inviting and helped themselves."

"But she knew our names. She knew we had a baby."

"So do a lot of people in the area. Could be someone we knew who was embarrassed at having been caught. Who was afraid Joe would tell us." Richard bent and dropped a light kiss on her mouth. "Your imagination is running away with you. Trust me, love. There's no cause for alarm here. None at all."

28

Luke spent the hours after his meeting with Kate wandering through the French Quarter, refamiliarizing himself with the sights, sounds and smells that were New Orleans. He enjoyed beignets and café au lait at the Café du Monde, walked along the moon walk, sat on a bench in Jackson Square and studied the people who passed.

As he did, he was swamped with memories of his days at Tulane, of the young man he had been back then, of the force of his dreams. Kate resided at the heart of each of those memories: the things they had done, the way they had laughed, how she had made him feel without doing anything but being at his side.

A part of him regretted the things he had said to her earlier that day, the way he had hurt her. That same part had longed to chase after her, apologize, make some hollow excuse for his behavior and beg her forgiveness.

He had quelled the urge, reminding himself that she had come to him for an airing out of the past. That she had come to him for honesty, and he had simply and frankly given her what she wanted.

His publisher had booked him into a suite at the Royal Orleans Hotel, one of the French Quarter's grandest establishments, built and maintained in the tradition of the Old South.

When he entered the hotel, he was struck by both the cool and the quiet. Out on the street, the shift in the French Quarter crowd had begun, the day-trippers being replaced by the night owls, the shoppers by the partiers.

Luke crossed the sweeping lobby with its massive crystal chandeliers, heading toward the front desk. Helena had arranged a dinner at Commander's Palace with the company's regional sales rep and the local book distributor. She had promised to leave a message at the front desk confirming the place and time they would meet. He glanced at his watch. If he was lucky, he could take a quick shower, change and still put in two hours at the laptop.

He stopped at the desk. The clerk, an exotic-looking woman named Aimee, greeted him by name. He smiled. "Any messages for me?"

She returned his smile. "I think so, Mr. Dallas. Let me check." She crossed to the message center, then looked over her shoulder at him. "Yes, you do. There's also a package for you. It's in the back. I can have it sent up, or if you have a minute, I'll get it."

"I'll wait. Thanks." She handed Luke an envelope, then disappeared through a door at the back of the registration area. Luke ripped open the envelope to see that he did, indeed, have several hours before his dinner engagement.

Aimee returned with a small shopping bag. She handed it to him. Inside was a copy of Dead Drop, autographed by him that very day, inscribed to Bird Man.

Luke frowned. He had signed so many books that morning, had seen so many faces. There had been at least a dozen Marys, a handful of Stevens and Daves-but only one Bird Man. He remembered signing the book-why couldn't he recall the man? With a name like that, he should be firmly fixed in his memory.

Luke drew his eyebrows together. He had been middle-aged and rather nondescript; Luke remembered looking right at him. But now, no matter how he tried, he could recall nothing else about the man's appearance.

"Mr. Dallas?" Luke looked up from the book, meeting exotic Aimee's eyes. She flushed. "I just wanted you to know, I love your books. I can't wait to read your new one."

He grinned, pleased. "Thanks. By the way-" he held up the bag "-did you see who left this for me?"

"Sorry, I just came on."

"There was no note with this? No message?"

"Not that I saw. But I'll double-check for you."

There wasn't, so Luke headed up to his room. The phone was ringing as he let himself in; he hurried to catch it before the hotel message service. "Hello."

"Meet me in the bar of the Vieux Carré Gun Club in twenty minutes."

"Who is this?"

"Twenty minutes," he repeated. "If you still want to talk."

The line went dead, and Luke held the receiver for a moment before dropping it into the cradle. Condor, he realized, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Bird Man. Of course.

The Vieux Carré Gun Club was a private organization and judging by the building's address and facade, catered to an extremely wealthy clientele. The doorman allowed Luke in, directing him to the receptionist's desk. The woman, a beautiful blonde, immaculately dressed in a Chanel suit, stood as he approached, greeting him by name. She asked him to sign the guest register, then led him to the lounge.

Luke spotted Condor immediately. He sat alone at a corner table, his back to the wall.

"Bird Man, I presume?"

Condor smiled. "Corny, but I couldn't resist." He motioned to the chair across from his. "How long did it take you to figure it out?"

"Too long, I'm embarrassed to say." He settled into the leather tub chair. "That was you at the signing? I never would have guessed."

Condor signaled the waitress. "Look at the eyes, they always give the man away."

The waitress arrived to take his order, and Luke glanced at the other man's drink. As if reading his thoughts, Condor said, "I never consume alcohol. It dulls the senses and impairs reaction time."

"Precisely why most people do drink it. Personally, I like the taste." Luke smiled at the woman, ordered a beer, then turned to Condor. "Pretty fancy digs."

"It ain't shabby, that's for sure." The man raised his glass of tomato juice to his lips.

"And you're a member?"

"Let's just say, I have friends in high places."

They chatted about nothing for a few more minutes; Luke sensed Condor was still sizing him up. Testing the waters.

"I'm curious," he said, "why did you decide to talk to me?"

Condor shrugged. "I like your books. My wife likes your books."

"You're married?"

"You sound surprised. Aren't I allowed?"

Luke took a swallow of his beer. "I suppose. It just doesn't fit the image of the hired killer."

"Your image," he murmured, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Hollywood's."

"Does she know what you do?"

"Of course not. I'm a software salesman. I travel a lot."

"You have kids?"

"Two. Age six and eight. Boys."

Luke thought about that a moment. "Do you ever imagine how she would feel, if she found out? If your kids found out?"

"That's not going to happen. There's no reason they would."

"And if you're killed on assignment?"

"The Agency would take care of my cover from there." Condor stood. "You shoot much, Dallas?"

Luke followed him to his feet. "Enough to write about it with some authority."

"Good." Condor smiled. "Let's go have some fun."

The glitz and glamour of the gun club's common areas ended as they entered the indoor range. Garagelike, windowless and well insulated, it was outfitted with six firing stations, each with a mechanical pulley used to move paper targets forward and back.

They were alone in the range. On the table at station one sat two boxes of ammo and a gun.

Condor crossed to the table and picked up the weapon. "Beretta 9mm, semiautomatic."

While he spoke, he examined the gun, checking the magazine, pulling back on the slide, then releasing it, tipping it from one side to the other, running his fingers expertly over the metal. He handled the weapon with reverence and familiarity. Like it was an old friend.

"Fifteen round magazine," he continued, "weighs 2.52 pounds, fully loaded. Muzzle velocity 1280 feet per second, rivaling the.357."

He loaded three clips, then slid one into the magazine. "You own any hardware, Dallas?"

"A.44 Magnum."

Condor met his eyes. "That's a lot of firepower. More than I would have thought an author would need."

Luke laughed. "I bought it when I was writing Last Dance. What can I say? I like Dirty Harry movies. I saw my lead character as a kind of Harry Callahan, a rugged loner. A renegade."

Condor shook his head, disagreeing. "A renegade's an outlaw. Callahan was the ultimate lawman. He lived by a code of justice. Of an eye for an eye. Fight firepower with firepower, violence with violence. Simple."

"Is it simple? Is that the code you live by?"

"Basically. We live in a violent society, Luke. No matter how big and bad someone is, they're made vulnerable by the same fragile physical shell as everyone else. Think of death as the ultimate problem solver."

"And that's what you do? How you think of yourself, as a problem solver?"

"And a patriot, yes. Let's see what this baby can do." He clipped a paper target, a black silhouette of a human torso, onto the pulley, sent it back fifty or so feet and slipped on a headset. He aimed and fired, one shot after another, the explosions near simultaneous, emptying the magazine.

Condor flipped the pulley switch, retrieving the target. He had blown away the target's head and riddled its heart with holes. He replaced the target with a new one, then turned to Luke, gun butt out. "Your turn."

Luke took the weapon and reloaded. The gun felt heavier in his hands than the two and a half pounds Condor had quoted; it felt colder. He stepped up to the firing line, adjusted his target, aimed and fired, neither as quick nor, he knew without looking, as accurately as Condor.

He emptied the magazine and checked the target, grateful to see that it looked like most of his shots had at least hit the target.

"Not bad. For a civilian."

Luke's lips lifted and he handed the weapon to the other man. "Thanks."

"All that fancy hardware you see guys like me using in the movies," Condor murmured, jacking another clip of ammo into the magazine, "that's strictly Hollywood. For the professional, simple is best."

He slipped on his headset and approached the firing line. As before, he aimed, emptying the magazine in a matter of seconds. He slid the headset off and crossed back to Luke. "A gun, a knife, a garrote. Simple, effective, quick."

He reloaded the clips, his movements economical, automatic. He had done the same thing so many times, Luke saw, he didn't even have to think about what he was doing.

"The thing is," Condor continued, "the pro has to weigh firepower and effectiveness against practicality, traceability and cost. That.44 of yours has way more punch than I'd need, but it's not such a bad choice for you, if you can handle its kick. There's an intruder in your house, you want to blow as big a hole in him as you can. You might only have one shot, and who knows where you're going to put it."

"Thanks for that vote of confidence."

Condor laughed, then continued. "A weapon is a tool and nothing more. Not a lover or a pet. You can't get attached to your weapon-you never use one twice."

"Never?"

"Never. The same weapon would link the hits. Any mechanic worth his salt disposes of his weapon after each hit. In the case of a gun, when possible, I dismantle it first. The pieces are disposed of in a variety of locations, the butt in a Dumpster, the barrel down a storm drain, you get the picture. That way I know the weapon will never be recovered."

"Why not dispose of the body?" Luke asked. "That's evidence. No body, no crime to investigate."

"Yeah, but tougher to get rid of, wouldn't you say?" He handed the Beretta to Luke. "Remember, all police adhere to the same theory of crime solving. Motive, means and opportunity. Statistics show that most violent crimes are committed by people who know one another, so that's the first place the local boys look. Get rid of the weapon and all of a sudden you have a crime, but no motive and no weapon. I'm long gone before the local boys have even finished interrogating the wife, business partner, best friend."

Luke took the gun, replaced the clip and stepped up. He took aim, then fired. This time more confidently and with more accuracy. He slipped off the headset and handed the gun to the other man.

"Before the hit, what goes through your mind?"

"Getting in, getting the job done and getting out. The professional has two goals. Kill the target. And walk away. That's it."

"What about after the hit?" Luke asked. "You don't think about the victim's wife or kids? You don't question whether you're doing the right thing?"

"They're not people to me, Dallas. They're targets. A name and a face on a piece of paper." He laid the gun on the table. "I'm not a murderer. I'm not some amoral psycho. Those guys make me sick. They have no loyalty or self-control. They're selfish little bastards who act on whim and without honor.

"I'm a patriot. A soldier. I work for my country, and I don't question my orders." At Luke's expression he laughed. "Don't be naive, every government in the world employs men like me. We're a political necessity.

"I love my country and my family. Just like any other man, I'd do whatever's necessary to protect them. To keep them safe."

It astounded Luke to hear this man talk about honor and loyalty and patriotism. To see the tenderness in his eyes when he spoke of his wife and children.

A part of Luke realized that he should be afraid. This man could kill him in a dozen different ways, and would do it without second thought. He was a man who operated outside the law, yet within in, too.

And he was telling Luke his secrets, sharing his innermost thoughts. Making himself vulnerable to Luke. And that would be an unsettling thing for a man like Condor.

But Luke wasn't afraid. He felt in his gut that he had nothing to fear from the other man. In a weird way, he respected him. Even liked him. In any other profession, his loyalty and code of ethics would be laudable. His love of his family-and his desire to protect them-admirable.

"What you do, is it ever personal?"

"Personal?" Condor frowned. "No, not ever. You never cross that line."

"But what if a guy like you did? What if something happened, and suddenly the pro turned vigilante?"

Condor paused, as if carefully considering. "That'd be bad news, Dallas. You're talking about a killing machine. It's what he's been trained to do." Condor leaned toward him; the cold in his eyes sent a chill down Luke's spine. "He can kill a man in a hundred different ways, and he will do so without compunction. He doesn't concern himself with the moral issues that you might. He doesn't think about heaven or hell, right or wrong. He doesn't believe in someone's right to life or their humanity.

"People are targets. Pure and simple. The only thing that keeps the assassin in check is his honor. His code of ethics." He looked Luke dead in the eye. "Take that away or twist it, and you've got a veritable killing machine roaming the streets. A man to whom vengeance is just another word for justice."

29

Julianna and Sandy met at the coffeehouse every night for a week. At the end of that week and at Julianna's suggestion, they graduated to a Friday night dinner and movie, from there to shopping and lunch on Saturdays.

They became the very best of friends.

And, as Julianna had known she would be, Sandy was grateful for her friendship. So grateful, she never stopped to question Julianna's devotion to her, never wondered why, after having had to struggle to be liked for so long, Julianna liked everything about her so easily.

Julianna decided it was time for her to make her next move.

She chose to make it during one of their Friday nights out. They had just shared a salad and a dessert at a local café known for both and were making plans to shop the next day.

Julianna counted out the money for her half of the bill and sighed. "I really need to find a job."

"No luck yet?"

"Not unless I want to sling burgers at McDonald's."

"Bummer."

"No kidding. I never thought it would be this hard to find a decent position." She looked away, then back at

Sandy, as if inspired. "What about where you work? Is there anything available there?"

Sandy shook her head. "I don't think so. Nothing you'd be qualified for, anyway."

"How do you know?" She leaned toward her. "I can do lots of things."

"Both openings require a college degree and experience at a law firm. Sorry."

Julianna was crestfallen and didn't hide it. She had been sure, at a place as big as Nicholson, Bedico, Chaney & Ryan, there would be something, anything, she would be qualified for. Maybe Sandy wasn't being honest with her. Maybe she needed more of an incentive. "That's all I've been hearing." Julianna looked at her hands, her eyes filling with tears. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to go back."

"Back?" Sandy repeated. "You don't mean back to D.C.?"

When she nodded, Sandy made a sound of distress. "But you can't go! We're…we just became friends."

"I don't want to, but what am I supposed to do? I can't seem to get a good job here. I have connections in D.C., but you're the only one I know here and you can't…" Her voice trailed off miserably. "It sure would have been nice to work together. We could have had lunch together every day. Passed notes when the bosses weren't looking. Like back in high school."

"I really would have liked that," Sandy whispered, her longing palpable. "I really would have. You're the… you're the best friend I've ever had, Julianna."

"And you're the best friend I've ever had. I'm going to miss you."

They fell into a miserable silence. Sandy slumped down in her seat, looking ready to cry. Then, suddenly, she straightened and met Julianna's eyes. "Wait, I just thought of something. Another opening."

Quickly, the words tumbling past her lips, Sandy relayed how she had overheard Richard Ryan's secretary complaining about her workload. "He's running for local District Attorney and she's threatening to quit because of the increased workload. I heard her say that he promised to hire an assistant to handle the secretarial and gofer work associated with his campaign."

Richard needed an assistant? Another sign. "When was this?"

"Just this week." Sandy paused, thinking back. "Tuesday, I think. Yes-" she nodded "-definitely Tuesday. In the break room. Though I don't know if he's run an ad yet or if he has someone in mind already."

Julianna brought a hand to her chest, so excited she could barely breathe. Work directly with Richard? It would be too good to be true.

"This is perfect." She leaned toward the other woman, reaching out and capturing her hands. "You have to introduce me to Mr. Ryan. You have to, Sandy!"

Sandy froze, her expression alarmed. "I don't know about that, Julianna. I mean, an introduction is…it would be-"

"A vote of confidence in me," Julianna supplied. "You do believe in me, don't you?"

"Well, sure. It's just that-"

Julianna tightened her fingers over the other woman's. "I need that job, Sandy. I have to have it. Do you understand? I have to have it."

"You're hurting me, Julianna," she whispered, tugging on her hands. "Let go."

Julianna backed off, trying to look repentant. "I'm sorry, Sandy. It's just that…" She drew a deep breath. "I'm getting desperate. You can understand that, can't you?" Sandy nodded, squirming in her seat. "And this job it…it sounds perfect for me. I lived in D.C., remember? I moved in political circles. Politics are second nature to me."

Sandy gazed at her expectantly, waiting. More, Julianna thought, she had to have more. She scrambled around for something that would convince Sandy she was qualified for the job. She thought of her mother, then her mother's lover.

Senator Jacobson. Of course.

"I was one of Senator Jacobson's campaign assistants." A tiny lie-she had stopped by his election headquarters several times; his campaign manager had shown her and her mother around and explained the duties of the various volunteers.

The other woman perked up. "You were?"

"That's right." She smiled. "He'd give me a recommendation, I know he would."

For a long moment, Sandy said nothing. She gazed at Julianna, her face an open book. She wanted to do it, but she was afraid of sticking her neck out. Of hurting her reputation, of getting in trouble with the bosses.

All she needed was another little push. "Just think, Sandy. If Mr. Ryan hired me, we'd be working in the same building. We could have lunch together every day. Take our coffee breaks at the same time…go out for drinks after work."

She looked Sandy in the eyes, her expression as earnest as she could make it. "I've never worked with a best friend before. It'd be so cool."

"It would be fun," Sandy said softly, hesitantly.

"So, you'll do it?" Julianna caught the other woman's hands once more. "You'll introduce me to Mr. Ryan? You'll put in a good word for me?"

Sandy caved in with a sigh. "All right, Julianna. I'll do it."

30

Sandy agreed to give Julianna's resumé to Richard first thing Monday morning. Julianna spent the entire weekend preparing it, taking as much creative license as she thought she could get away with. She changed her age to twenty-two. She listed her mother's contacts and former lovers as references, hoping Richard wouldn't check them. And finally, she claimed to have been one of Senator William "Billy" Jacobson's campaign assistants.

The people at the copy store had helped her with the format. She had rented time on a computer and printed out the final copy on their laser printer. The end result looked pretty darn good, if she said so herself. She especially liked the part where she had outlined the duties she had been responsible for in her job with the senator. Who would have thought years of listening to her mother's men friends talk and a couple of tours through campaign headquarters would yield such bounty?

Julianna had decided that after she interviewed with Richard, depending on how it went, she would break the silence and call her mother to set everything up with the senator. That way she would be covered if Richard checked her references.

Monday morning Julianna called Sandy to wish her luck. "Hi, it's me."

"Hi."

"Are you ready?"

"I guess."

Julianna frowned. She and Sandy had met the evening before so Julianna could give Sandy the resumé and coach her on what she wanted her to say. Then, the other woman had been upbeat and excited. Now, she sounded nervous and more than a little reluctant to carry through on her promise.

Julianna tightened her grip on the receiver. "Sandy, you're not having second thoughts about helping me, are you?"

"Of course not," she said after a moment, the way she dragged the words out belying their meaning.

If she thought Julianna was going to let her off the hook, she was in for a big surprise. "Good," she said, "because you don't sound too upbeat this morning. And if I'm going to get the job, you have to be enthusiastic. You've have to present me positively."

"I know. It's just that-" Sandy hesitated, then sighed again. "It's just that Mr. Ryan…he's a partner. If this backfired…it could cost me my job."

"What could backfire?" Julianna lowered her voice, softened it. "You know me, Sandy. We're best friends. And I'm telling you, I can do this job and do it well. If Richard Ryan hires me, he'll be so happy you'll probably get a raise and a promotion."

"And we'll be able to have lunch together every day. Right?" "And coffee breaks, too." Julianna smiled, knowing she had won. "I'd never do anything to hurt you, Sandy. If I didn't know I could do the job, I wouldn't ask you this favor. You've got to believe me."

"I do." Sandy made a sound of relief, then giggled as if drawn into Julianna's excitement. "I'm just being a jerk."

"Be sure to mention what good friends we are and that I worked for Senator Jacobson."

"I will."

"You're sure? You won't forget and let me down?"

"Of course not."

"And don't tell him where we met or when. Unless he asks."

"Got it."

"Remember," Julianna said, suddenly so nervous she felt ill, "you're doing him a favor. I'm perfect for this job. If you believe it, he will, too." As Sandy prepared to hang up, Julianna stopped her. "And call me the minute you know something. I won't stray from beside the phone until you do."

Sandy's call came at four-thirty that afternoon. "He's agreed to interview you," she said, sounding excited. "Tomorrow morning at eight sharp."

31

"Mr. Ryan," Julianna said, stepping into his office and holding out her hand, "it's a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine." He took her hand, then indicated the leather chairs facing his desk. "Have a seat."

"Thank you." Julianna sat, working to quell her nerves, her runaway heart. Richard Ryan would not be compelled to hire a nervous girl. She had to present herself as a collected, intelligent and savvy woman.

She had to be like Kate.

To that end, she had worn her best "Kate suit," had applied her cosmetics with extra care and stood in front of the mirror for long, precious minutes, practicing Kate's hello, her smile, her gestures.

The transformation had been startling.

Richard cleared his throat, lifting his gaze from her resumé. "It says here that you worked for Senator Jacobson. You seem a bit young to have been on his staff."

She straightened. "Twenty-two. Not that young."

One corner of his mouth lifted. "Wait ten years," he murmured, then returned his attention to the paper before him. "I'm surprised he hired you without a college degree."

Fighting panic, she folded her hands in her lap. "Billy was a family friend. He was kind enough to take a chance on me even though I had no experience." She met Richard's eyes. "I didn't let him down. And if you hire me, I won't let you down either."

Again, Richard's lips lifted in a half smile. "You seem confident. Self-possessed. That's important."

She leaned slightly forward, her heart in her words. "If you hire me, I'll work hard for you. It wouldn't be just a job to me. I believe in your platform. Your policy of being tough on first timers, on using plea bargaining as a last resort, on the three strikes rule."

He smiled, obviously pleased, and she went on, hearing the passion in her own voice, the excitement. "It would be an honor to work with a man like you, Mr. Ryan. A man of integrity and intelligence. It would be a thrill to help you become St. Tammany Parish's next District Attorney."

For a moment he said nothing, simply gazed at her, then he glanced back at her resumé. "I see you performed a variety of tasks for Senator Jacobson. Donation solicitation, mailings, public relations and canvassing." He lifted his eyebrows. "That's quite a broad spectrum of duties."

She scrambled for an explanation, suddenly realizing she might have claimed too much. "I was one of the underlings, no doubt about it. Basically, I filled in where I was needed. One notch above a gofer."

She looked at her clasped hands a moment, then back up at him. "I'll be honest, at the time it was a bit of a pain, but now I realize that having experience in so many areas is one of my assets."

"I agree, Ms. Starr." He cocked his head, studying her. "You look familiar to me. Have we met?"

"No." She shook her head. "At least I don't think so. I haven't been living in Mandeville that long."

He leaned back in his chair. "What brought you all the way down here from D.C.?"

His question surprised her. It was one she hadn't prepared for. She groped around for an answer that would make sense to him. She lowered her eyes a moment, then returned her gaze to his. "My mother passed away last year after a…" she cleared her throat "…after a long battle with cancer. I have no other family and after she died, I just didn't want to stay."

"I'm sorry."

She inclined her head in acknowledgment of his sympathy. "Anyway, I'd always heard about New Orleans, about Mardi Gras and the French Quarter and had always dreamed of visiting." She smiled. "So, here I am."

"But now you're in Mandeville."

She smiled. "New Orleans wasn't quite as I imagined it to be. Then one Saturday, I drove across the lake-and fell in love."

He returned her smile. "I can understand that. I grew up in New Orleans, but now I wouldn't live anywhere but the North Shore." He stood and held out his hand. "It was a pleasure meeting you, Ms. Starr, and I will definitely keep you in mind for the job."

She worked to hide her disappointment. She had fantasized that he'd offer her the position right off. "Do you have any idea when you'll make a decision?"

"Soon. If you haven't heard from me in a week, give my secretary a call. Her name's Nancy."

After shaking his hand, she started toward the door, then stopped and turned back to him, heart pounding, desperation tugging at her. "I want this job, Mr. Ryan. I need it. If you give it to me, I'll work hard. I'll perform any task, no matter how menial. If you give me this job, I won't let you down. I promise."

He looked pleased with her speech. "I'll keep that in mind. Oh, and Ms. Starr?" She stopped again and turned expectantly toward him. "My condolences on the Senator's passing."

"Excuse me?"

"Senator Jacobson. I was a fan of his policies. His murder was more than an outrage. It was a real loss for America."

Julianna stared at him, the room starting to spin. A tingling sensation started at the top of her head and inched downward. "Murder?" she whispered. "Billy's…dead?"

Richard came around the desk; he took her arm. "You're white as a sheet. Come, sit down. I'll get you a glass of water."

He led her to the chair she had occupied only moments before. She sank onto it and lowered her head to her knees and breathed deeply and slowly through her nose. After a minute the dizziness passed. But not her shock.

Billy was dead. Murdered.

Dear God, her mother.

"I'm so sorry," he said, handing her the water. "I never would have said anything…I thought you knew. It was in all the papers."

She shook her head and took the glass, hand shaking. She sipped, then met his eyes. "I haven't…with the move…" She took another sip. "When did it…how…?"

"About four months ago. He was shot, though I don't remember all the details. I don't think they ever caught the killer. Or if they did, I didn't hear about it."

Her mother's lover was dead. Murdered.

They hadn't caught the killer.

John.

She began to shake, though she tried to hide it. She got to her feet, forcing a semblance of calm, though she could see by Richard's sympathetic expression she wasn't doing all that good a job of it. She held her panic at bay by telling herself over and over that Billy's death had nothing to do with her or John. Why should it? People were murdered all the time, it was a tragic fact of modern life. Hadn't John always said so? Hadn't he always said that death was a bullet that couldn't be dodged, not forever anyway?

Richard walked her to his office door. "Sorry I can't give you any more details. You could go to the library and check the back issues of the Times Picayune."

The library. Of course. "Thank you, Mr. Ryan, I think I will." She smiled weakly at him. "I look forward to your call."

Somehow Julianna managed to make it from Richard's office to the Covington branch of the St. Tammany Parish library. There, the librarian helped her find what she was looking for on the microfilm, then left her alone.

Julianna scanned the article. It had happened November sixteenth. The senator, the paper reported, was found shot to death in his Washington hotel room. He had been shot at point blank range; he died instantly. At the time the article was written, the police had no suspects though they were following several leads.

Julianna stared at the screen, her vision blurring with tears, her teeth beginning to chatter. She hugged herself. Something didn't sound right, she thought. Why had Billy been in a hotel room? Sure, he lived with his family in Virginia, but whenever he was in town he stayed with her mother.

"Are you all right?"

Julianna lifted her gaze. The librarian had returned and was looking at her with concern. "I'm sorry," Julianna whispered, "what did you say?"

"Is there anything I can do for you?"

"No, I-" Her tears threatened to spill over, and she fought them back. "You said I could make a copy of this?"

"That's right. They're a quarter a page."

Julianna dug two quarters out of her purse, one for the front page and headline about Billy's murder, the second for the rest of the story, buried at the back of the paper. She handed them to the woman, who made the copies for her.

Julianna thanked the librarian and left, clutching the copies to her chest. She made it home, though she had no recollection of climbing into her car, let alone driving, and raced to the phone. Heart thundering, she dialed her mother. The phone rang once. Then twice. While she waited, she told herself over and over that her mother was safe and unharmed. That Billy's death had nothing to do with her or her mother, nothing to do with John.

On the third ring a recording informed her that the number was no longer in service. The receiver still clutched in her hands, Julianna sank to her knees. It couldn't be, she thought. She had dialed incorrectly; that was all. She tried it again, paying closer attention this time.

The same recording rang in her ears.

Fighting complete hysteria, Julianna dialed long distance information and asked for a listing for Sylvia Starr. The operator informed her there was no such listing in the

D.C. area.

No listing for her mother. Billy was dead.

Julianna bent at her waist, phone cradled to her cheek. Dear God, what did she do now? She had to make sure her mother was all right. She had to find her.

Clark Russell. Of course.

Swiping at her tears, she called information, then dialed the CIA in Langley, Virginia.

"CIA. How may I direct your call?"

"Please, could you…" Julianna whispered, choked with tears. "I need to speak-"

"You'll have to speak up," the woman said, "I can't understand you."

She cleared her throat. "Clark Russell. Please."

"May I tell him who's calling."

"Julianna Starr."

There was a moment's silence on the other end of the line, then a series of clicking sounds. A moment later a man came on the line. "This is Todd Bishop. May I help you?"

"I was…I need to speak with Clark Russell, please."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Russell is no longer with the Agency. May I help you?"

"No longer with-" Julianna struggled for an even breath. "But where…when did he-"

"He retired this past January, the lucky guy. Is there something I can-"

Julianna slammed down the receiver, a low moan escaping her lips. She sank to the floor, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. She pressed her face to her knees and rocked, struggling to get a grip on herself, on her fear.

Billy was dead. Murdered just three weeks after she had run away. Clark was no longer with the CIA. Her mother was missing.

John was cleaning house. He was exacting revenge.

Her mother was dead, too.

No. She brought her hands to her ears as if by doing so she could block out the sound of her own thoughts. It wasn't true. Her mother was fine, living on a yacht with that Arab millionaire, the one she had met shortly before Julianna left, the one she hadn't been able to stand. He had made himself more attractive to her mother by sweetening the pot. It had happened before.

That was it. Julianna swiped at the tears on her cheeks. Her mother had ended her relationship with Billy, taken the millionaire's offer and closed up the brownstone. That's why Billy had been staying in a hotel. That's why her mother's number was no longer in service. As for Clark Russell, he had retired, just as that man had said.

It all made sense. More sense than believing John was out exacting revenge on anyone who had known her.

Calm stole over her. She smiled and stood, chiding herself for letting her imagination run away with her. Learning of Billy's death had been a shock, of course, but from now on, she would keep her attention fixed firmly on Richard and the future they would have together.

32

As Richard drove home that evening, his thoughts were on the girl he had interviewed in the morning. He had thought about her on and off all day, though he couldn't say for certain why.

She had given a good interview, no doubt about it. She was as qualified as anyone else he had interviewed; he liked her determination and ambition, appreciated the hunger for the job he had heard in her voice, the hint of desperation.

He had decided against her anyway. She was too young for the job, too pretty, too inexperienced.

But still, he couldn't stop thinking about her. And the more he thought, the more he wavered in his original decision against her. She possessed a kind of determination that he hadn't seen in the other applicants, a kind that made him believe she would do a good job, a better job than the others he had interviewed.

She also possessed a kind of social confidence and savvy that suggested a woman older than her years, one who had seen more of the world than one would expect of a twenty-two year old.

Richard turned onto Gerard Street, heading toward the lake. He smiled to himself, remembering the way she had looked at him, the way she had looked up to him. As if she believed in him one hundred percent. As if she didn't have a doubt about his abilities or the fact that he would win the race for D.A.-or any race he ran in, for that matter.

He shook his head, amused with his own thoughts. When she'd looked at him that way, he had been reminded of the young man he had been back at Tulane. Unstoppable. Cocky and without doubts-about himself, his abilities or his golden future. He had been reminded of the way it had felt to snap his fingers and whatever he had desired would be his.

Richard grimaced. A pretty young thing, one more than ten years his junior, gazed up at him in awe and he'd puffed up like some damn peacock.

Reason enough not to hire her.

He sobered, remembering her surprise and devastation at learning of Senator Jacobson's death. Poor kid, she'd been really upset. He had felt bad for her.

He drew to a stop as the light ahead turned red, his thoughts drifting to Kate. She used to look at him the way Julianna had today-as if she believed he not only hung the moon, but that he could do no wrong as well. She used to make him feel all puffed up and invincible.

He drew his eyebrows together in thought. When had she stopped? he wondered. When had he ceased being a hero to her?

The baby, he thought, unable to quell a stab of resentment. Since Emma nothing had been the same between them.

The light changed, and he turned onto Lakeshore Drive. He waved at their next-door neighbor, out pruning her crepe myrtles, as he swung into his drive. Kate sat on the upper balcony, reading while the baby slept in her swing. He pulled his car to a stop, collected his briefcase and climbed out. Kate saw him and called a greeting.

That was it, he realized as he waved to his wife. Something about Julianna Starr reminded him of Kate, though they looked nothing alike. Kate possessed a classic, quiet kind of beauty. Julianna Starr reminded him of the super-models made so popular by designers like Calvin Klein- waif-Madonnas, somehow childlike and sensual. Despite those differences, he saw something in Julianna's manner that reminded him of his wife-the way she moved and spoke, her smile.

He let himself into the house. He found Kate in the kitchen opening a bottle of merlot. He crossed to her, closing his arms around her from behind. He bent and pressed his lips to her ear. "Hello, beautiful."

She turned in his arms, looping hers around his neck, smiling up at him. "Hello to you, too."

He kissed her, then moved his gaze over her face, taking in the shadows beneath her eyes. "You look tired."

She grimaced. "I am. Emma had a fussy day."

He released her and went to the cabinet for a couple of wineglasses. "She's quiet now."

"Thank God. Nothing I did today made her happy. I swear I spent most of the day walking the floors with her."

He poured them each a glass of the mellow, red wine and brought her one. "I guess you didn't get to The Bean the way you hoped to?"

"Not a chance. Emma would have lasted about two seconds." Kate brought the glass to her lips, sipped, then sighed. "I needed that." She took another sip, sighed again, then put down the glass. "How are the interviews going?"

"Funny you should ask that. I interviewed someone interesting today. A woman."

Kate glanced at the baby monitor to make sure it was on. "Tell me about her."

So he did. When he had finished, Kate looked at him. "She sounds like a dream. Are you going to hire her?"

"I don't know. She's young. Not experienced enough." He eyed his wife's expression, then laughed. "I can see you take umbrage with something I just said."

"It's not that, it's…do you think she can do the job?"

He considered the question a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I do."

"And you think you could work with her?"

"No doubt, though-" he cut his wife an amused glance from the corners of his eyes "-all that hero worship could get a little old."

"Hero worship?" Kate laughed and tossed the dish towel at him. "Give me a break."

He laughed and leaned against the counter. "So, what are you saying? That you think I should give her the job?"

"It's your decision, of course." From the monitor came the sounds of Emma beginning to stir. Kate straightened. "But she sounds great. And after all, you said she reminds you of me. She has to be good, then."

This time it was he who tossed the towel. She sobered. "Think about it, Richard. We were both young and untried once. Why not give her a chance? Hire her on a trial basis, see what she can do. Tell her you'll evaluate her performance in thirty days."

He thought a moment, then nodded. "I think you're right, I should give her a chance. I'm going to offer her the job."

33

Over the next two weeks, Julianna threw herself into her new job, anxious to impress Richard. The work was deadly dull-making speaking engagements, contacting supporters, running errands-but working with Richard was heaven on earth.

She used every opportunity to worm her way into his affections. Her plan of attack was two-fold. She chose every day's attire with care, endeavoring for a balance between sexy and professional. She purposely wore her skirts a bit too short and when she could, left an extra button of her blouse unfastened-neither being overt enough to cause talk or arouse suspicions, but with an eye to being sexy, womanly. Inviting. The second part of her plan involved being completely accommodating to him, making his every wish her command.

She wanted him to grow to depend on her, to look forward to seeing her, to desiring her. She wanted him to realize he couldn't live without her.

Some days, when he smiled at her in that special way of his, or when he laid a hand on her shoulder or cast a furtive glance at her legs or breasts, she would think she was winning. Other days, when she hardly saw him or when he barely acknowledged her presence, her confidence would sink, her spirits with it.

On those days, she reminded herself that they were meant to be together, that Richard was her destiny. Then she would double her efforts.

"Julianna?"

Receiver propped between her ear and shoulder, Julianna lifted her gaze. Sandy stood in the doorway to her closetlike office, her expression hopeful. "Yes?" Julianna asked, frowning.

"I thought…maybe, we could have lunch?"

"Sorry." Julianna shook her head. "Mr. Ryan and I are having lunch today." "You and Mr. Ryan? Your boss, Mr. Ryan?" "Yes, Sandy." Julianna sighed. "We have business to discuss."

"Oh." She cleared her throat. "So, when can we have lunch together? Tomorrow?" "I don't know. Maybe." "That's what you told me yesterday," Sandy said, her tone that of a petulant child. "And the day before, too."

Julianna narrowed her eyes. "Your point?"

"We haven't had lunch once since you came to work here. And it's been two weeks." "I've been busy. Work comes first." "I understand. I… How about dinner, then? Or coffee at the Bottom of the Cup? We never see each other anymore."

"Sorry. Can't."

Julianna returned her attention to the call she needed to make, dismissing the other woman without a word. Sandy didn't budge. "I saw you with Laura and Bruce yesterday. You weren't too busy to have lunch with them." Julianna made a sound of impatience. Sandy was proving to be an annoying drag. The little mouse was the last person she wanted to be associated with at the firm, the last person she wanted Richard to associate her with. But still, it seemed unwise to make an enemy of her.

"Geez, Sandy, you sound almost jealous. Like I'm cheating on you or something."

Hot spots of color flew into the other woman's cheeks. "I don't mean to, but…when I got you this job, you promised-"

"Wait a minute, you didn't get me this job. I got it. For myself. On my own merits. What would people think if they heard you say that?"

The woman took a step backward. "I'm sorry. It's just that-" She twisted her fingers together, eyes sparkling with tears. "It's almost like you're…dropping me or something."

Julianna closed her appointment book, bent and fished her purse out from under her desk. She slipped the strap over her shoulder and met the other woman's eyes once more. "You're imagining things. I'm just so busy now. In fact-" she glanced at her watch "-I've got to run. Richard is waiting."

For a moment, Sandy simply stared at her, then something crossed her face, a kind of dawning realization. "You used me," she whispered, voice quaking. "To get this job. So you could get next to Mr. Ryan."

"Don't be ridiculous." Julianna battled to conceal her unease. "I didn't know anything about you when we met. Including where you worked."

Sandy shook her head. "How do I know that? You could have been following me around for weeks, learning everything you needed to in order to get close to him."

Julianna stood, alarmed. She hid it as best she could. "And why would I do that?"

"Because you're in love with him. I see the way you look at him. Everybody does."

"You need to get some professional help, Sandy. That or a life." Julianna crossed to stand directly in front of her. "You're really pathetic, you know that? I feel sorry for you."

Julianna slipped past the other woman, leaving her standing in the office doorway, her shoulders shaking with the force of her tears.

34

Julianna and Richard went to the café across the street from the firm. The hostess led them to a table by the windows, and Julianna gazed out at the patio. She looked back at him and sighed. "I love dining alfresco."

Richard laughed. "That's right, this is your first August in southern Louisiana. What do you think? Hot enough for you?"

"What do I think? That I'm going to melt, it's so blasted hot."

She propped her chin on her fist, something that Kate did often and Richard was struck by how much she reminded him of his wife.

"Is it ever going to cool down again?" she asked.

"We usually see some cool days in October."

She picked up her menu, her lips curving into a shy smile. "You're teasing me."

"I wish I were." He smiled. "Just imagine the days before air-conditioning."

That was too horrible to even contemplate, and they fell silent as they studied the menu. No sooner had they laid them aside, than their waitress appeared to take their lunch orders.

Richard watched Julianna while she ordered, thinking again of the similarity between her and Kate. He cocked his head and drew his eyebrows together. It was almost uncanny.

She caught him staring and flushed. "What?"

"You remind me of someone," he said.

"Who's that?"

"As crazy as it sounds, my wife."

"Why would that sound crazy?" she asked.

He laughed. "Because you look nothing alike." The waitress brought their iced teas. He watched as Julianna added two sugars, and he shook his head. "She adds two sugars to her tea, too."

"I don't mind being compared to her," Julianna said softly. "Judging by the picture of her on your desk, she's very attractive."

"Yes, she is." He took a sip of his tea. "You'll have to meet her sometime. I'm sure you'll like her."

"You don't have any children?"

"Pardon?"

"I didn't notice any pictures-"

"I have a daughter," he said quickly. "She's three months old." Even as he said the words, they sounded awkward on his tongue, cumbersome, as if he were telling an untruth. "Emma Grace, that's her name."

"You need to put a picture of her on your desk." She smiled. "Show her off a bit. I'm sure she's gorgeous."

"Of course she is." He cleared his throat, anxious to get off the subject of Emma and down to business. "I'm going to be tied up at the courthouse all afternoon with pretrial motions and thought we'd better go over a few things before it gets too crazy."

"Fine with me." She bent to retrieve her notebook and pen from her purse on the floor. She flipped it open and laid it on the table. "Shoot."

"You've called the local Shriner's and confirmed my speaking engagement?"

"Done." She referred quickly to her notes. "The president, a Jay Summers, will introduce you. I sent over a brief bio. I also reconfirmed the content of your speech, that you would be discussing the district attorney's place in the legal system and your platform. He asked me to remind you to leave twenty minutes at the end for Q and A."

"Good." Richard took another sip of the tea. "As you know, I go to trial next week. It's going to be nuts, you probably won't see me at all. I'll check in with you as I can, but I'll mostly go through Nancy. If anything urgent comes up, let her know."

Julianna nodded, taking notes as he went on. He asked her to contact the people in charge of several upcoming festivals and to reserve a booth at each. He also asked her to query printers about bumper stickers, refrigerator magnets and flyers.

"Got all that?" he asked, when he had finished.

She nodded. "One question, though. How long do you anticipate the trial lasting?"

The waitress brought their sandwiches. When she walked away, Richard began again. "My guess is two to three weeks. There's a lot of evidence to be presented, some of it tricky DNA results."

"So, no speaking engagements, dinners or anything until the trial concludes?"

"Exactly."

She took a bite of her chicken salad sandwich, then washed it down with a swallow of tea. "It must be difficult having to review all the evidence for a crime like this." She shuddered. "I mean, isn't he the one accused of hacking his girlfriend to pieces?"

The media had dubbed his client Dr. Death because of the nature of the crime and because Dr. Robert Wellever was a renown New Orleans surgeon. "Some of it is pretty gruesome," he agreed. "But it's my job and it has to be done."

"Do you think you'll get him off?"

"I hope so. He's an innocent man."

"But what if-" She bit the words back, shaking her head. "Never mind."

"Go ahead, Julianna. What were you about to say?"

"But what if he isn't innocent? Or rather, what if you thought he was guilty?"

"I'd still represent him. In this country, you are innocent until proven guilty. Every American has the right to a fair trial and unbiased representation."

He met her eyes and saw the eagerness there, the admiration and awe of youth. He had to admit, he liked seeing it directed at him. It made him feel young again and on top of the world. "All that said, that's precisely the reason I'm running for D.A. I want to be on the other side of the courtroom for once. I've defended guys who were guilty as sin, I knew they were because they'd confessed to me. Even so, I presented the smartest case I could, given the evidence, and I got them acquitted.

"I didn't like the way that made me feel. Like maybe I needed a bath." He laughed a bit self-consciously, surprised at the way he was confiding his thoughts to her. "A couple times I wished I could turn the sick bastards in myself. Just walk up to the jury and tell them the truth."

"Wow." She leaned toward him, eyes sparkling. As she did, the front of her blouse parted slightly, revealing the curve of one breast. Desire kicked him square in the gut, and he dragged his gaze away, guilt rushing over him in a storm. She lowered her gaze, then looked up at him through dark lashes. "It's such an honor to be working for you."

He laughed. "That makes me sound like some ancient Supreme Court justice. Wrinkled and arthritic."

She joined his laughter. "You're not like that at all. You're the sexiest man-" She brought a hand to her mouth, embarrassed color flooding her face. "I can't believe I…that I said that. I am so sorry."

"Don't apologize, for Heaven's sake. I may be old, but I'm not dead. A compliment like that from a beautiful woman is damn nice." Better than nice, he admitted silently. Exciting. Exhilarating. It seemed ages since anyone had looked at him the way Julianna did. Even Kate. These days his wife looked at him as a father first, husband second. He wasn't sure if sexy would even make the top ten.

"Thank you," she murmured. "For the beautiful part."

"You're welcome." He grinned, realizing that he was flirting with her. And not in a small way. Even as he told himself to steer the conversation back to professional matters, he angled his body toward hers. "Tell me about yourself, Julianna. You've been working for me for two weeks and I know nothing more about you than I did the day we met."

She pushed her half-eaten sandwich away. "What do you want to know?"

Everything, he realized. The things she liked, the ones she didn't; what her childhood had been like, the qualities she looked for in a man.

He swallowed hard, uneasy. He hadn't had thoughts like these about a woman since he had said "I do." Sure, he had admired a woman's chest or ass, had wondered, briefly, what she would be like in bed. There wasn't a heterosexual man, married or not, who didn't do the same from time to time.

But this was different, he acknowledged. This was real interest-in Julianna, the person. This was an attraction that went deeper than a tickle of arousal over a short skirt or a glimpse of skin.

Interest in a person-who just happened to be a pretty secretary-wasn't a crime. It didn't mean he was a snake or a sneak. It didn't mean he was going to cheat.

He wasn't that kind of man anyway. He was the kind who loved his wife and believed in the sanctity of his marriage vows. The kind who had sown all his wild oats before taking the nuptial plunge.

And it was a good thing, too, he thought. Because if he hadn't, being around Julianna Starr day in and day out could prove to be dangerous.

35

"Come on, sweetheart," Kate murmured to Emma, who was swinging her arms and legs for all she was worth. "We want to be pretty for our company, don't we? And for Daddy?"

In response Emma kicked harder and squealed louder, laughing at her mother's attempts to dress her. Kate shook her head in amused exasperation. "I guess not, you little stinker."

Kate bent, pressed her lips to the child's bare belly and blew, giving her daughter a raspberry. Emma froze, then let out a gurgle of delight. Kate used the moment to slip the garment over Emma's head, then ease her arms in. Before she could protest, Kate snapped up the legs and crotch.

She grinned at her daughter. "Gotcha."

Aware of time passing, Kate checked her watch and saw that Richard and his new assistant would be arriving in minutes-and she wasn't even dressed yet. After lifting and locking the crib rail, she wound Emma's colorful mobile, which the child would watch for as long as Kate could keep it moving, and dashed to her bedroom to throw on something she wouldn't be embarrassed to be seen wearing.

Sure enough, as she fastened the last button at the neck of her soft, swingy dress, she heard Richard arrive home. "Be right out, hon," she called from the bedroom door. "There's a bottle of white in the fridge and a red in the rack. Pour me a red, will you?"

Kate went to the mirror to check her appearance one last time. She confessed to being a little nervous at the prospect of meeting Julianna. Richard had done nothing but sing the young woman's praises, and when he had mentioned needing to put in some late hours, she had suggested they come to the house. They could all have dinner together, then he and Julianna could get to work while she cleaned up and tended to Emma. After all, she had teased, she wanted to meet this prodigy. He had teased right back, accusing her of being jealous of all the time he was spending with another woman.

She had laughed and kissed him.

She wasn't laughing a few minutes later when Julianna turned, smiled and held out her hand. "You must be Kate," she said softly.

Kate shifted Emma in her arms and took the woman's hand. From Richard's description she had expected a young, eager and unsophisticated woman. She had expected her to be pretty.

But not beautiful. Not mysterious and sexy-looking. She hadn't expected her to be so poised and self-confident.

And she certainly hadn't expected the almost possessive way Julianna looked at her husband.

"And you're Julianna," she said. "It's good to finally meet you."

The young woman shifted her gaze to Emma. Her lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "And this little beauty is Richard's baby. Emma Grace."

Kate bristled. "Yes, this is Emma. Our daughter."

Julianna looked at Richard. "I'd love to hold her."

He smiled. "Go ahead."

"No." Kate drew back instinctively as the girl reached out. Embarrassed by the involuntary action, she cleared her throat. "Sorry, but sometimes Emma doesn't react well to strangers. She needs time to warm up."

"Since when?" Richard said with a laugh, on his way out back to light the grill. "Let Julianna hold her. I'm sure she'll be only too happy to give her back if she starts fussing."

He was right. She was behaving like an overprotective idiot.

Kate handed Emma over, a lump forming in her throat. As she watched the younger woman cuddle and coo to her daughter, Kate fought the urge to snatch her back.

What was it about this woman that affected her like fingernails dragging across a chalkboard? Kate wondered. Why had she taken such an immediate and overwhelming dislike to her?

She was acting petty and jealous, Kate decided. A form of dementia brought on by an adult spending all her time alone with an infant.

Be that as it may, when Emma began to squirm, Kate used the opportunity to take her back. "You know babies," she said lightly, forcing a smile, "no one will do quite like their mothers."

"Richard tells me she's adopted."

Kate turned and looked at the other woman. Again, she wore that small, knowing smile. Not a smile, Kate decided, gritting her teeth. A smirk. As if she knew a delicious secret and it made her feel really superior.

Kate wanted to snap that adopted or not, she was still Emma's mother. But she didn't, managing to hold her tongue by reminding herself that this girl was one of Richard's employees. "That's right," she said coolly. "If you'll excuse me, I'll get the appetizers."

Much to her chagrin, Julianna followed her into the kitchen. "You must feel really lucky. I hear it's hard to find babies to adopt."

Kate counted to ten. Normally she didn't let people's well-meaning but sometimes hurtful questions about Emma's adoption get to her. Kate accepted the fact that her daughter was adopted as simply a part of who Emma was, one of the many things that made her special and unique. When someone made a stupid or offensive comment it was because they didn't know any better, and Kate always used the opportunity to educate them.

But Kate found something about this young woman sly. And smug. Julianna's comments rang not of naivete but of nastiness. Kate decided she didn't like Julianna Starr at all.

"We didn't find her, Julianna. We adopted her through a very reputable agency."

"Grill's hot," Richard announced, rubbing his hands together as he entered the kitchen. He crossed to the platter of Brie, strawberries and crackers and sliced himself a wedge of the cheese.

"Kate and I were just talking about adoption. I think it's so wonderful that you were able to adopt Emma."

He beamed at the young woman, and Kate nearly choked on a strawberry. Obviously, her husband did not feel the same way she did.

"We think so, too," he said. "In fact, we consider it a kind of miracle." Richard turned to her. "Don't we, hon?"

Kate smiled at her husband, loving him so much in that moment it took her breath away. "That we do."

"Why don't you give Julianna a tour of the house while I cook the steaks?"

Giving Julianna Starr a tour of her home was the last thing Kate wanted to do, but she saw no graceful way out of it. As they moved from room to room, Kate had the strangest feeling that Julianna had been here before, that she knew the layout of the house already, that she was familiar with the room designations, the decor.

Unsettled, Kate hung back slightly to see what Julianna would do. As Kate had suspected she would, Julianna took the lead, and Kate experienced the oddest sensation that she was being given a tour of her own home. The sensation made her skin crawl.

"And this is Richard's study," Julianna murmured. She moved into the room, and closing her eyes, breathed deeply through her nose. "It smells like him."

The hairs on the back of Kate's neck stood up. "Excuse me?"

"He's a wonderful man," Julianna said, looking at Kate. "You've been very lucky."

"You make that sound like my luck's about to change," Kate murmured, forcing lightness into her tone.

"Did I? Sorry." Julianna moved her gaze over the room, then fixed it on Kate once more. "I'd love to see the nursery. It's just down the hall, I'll bet."

"It is. But I'm sure there's nothing of interest-"

"Don't be silly, Kate. I have to see precious Emma's room."

She smiled at the infant, and Kate shifted her daughter to her opposite shoulder, the one farthest from Julianna. "All right, then. It's this way."

Kate led her down the hall to the nursery. When they reached it, Julianna rushed into the room, making a sound of pleasure. "It's a little girl's dream room," she said. "All pink and pretty."

She crossed to the dresser and the framed photographs that decorated the top. She inspected each, unabashedly curious. After a moment, she looked over her shoulder at Kate. "There are none of Emma and her daddy."

Kate stared at her, a chill moving up her spine. "We had one," she murmured, her mouth dry. "It was stolen."

"Stolen?" Julianna repeated, bringing a hand to her chest, looking horrified. "You mean someone broke into your home? How awful."

Kate laughed a bit self-consciously. "I should say, maybe stolen. Maybe misplaced. Suddenly, it was just gone."

"That happens to me all the time. I just hate it." Julianna shook her head. "I'm sure it'll show up."

Kate said she hoped it did, then having finished the tour of the upper floor, which served as the main residence, led the other woman downstairs to her studio. Julianna wandered through, touching this and that.

Kate let her wander, using the moments to study her. Richard had said that Julianna reminded him of her. At first, she hadn't seen it. But now she did. Gazing at Julianna was like gazing at a distorted image of herself in a fun house mirror. Julianna wore her hair the way she did; her dress, though made of different fabric and in different colors, was the same style as hers; Julianna's smile, laugh, the way she gestured, all reminded Kate of herself.

Kate swallowed hard, unsettled. It was almost as if the woman had crept into her bedroom in the middle of the night and borrowed her identity.

She wondered what else of hers the young woman might want.

She glanced at her watch. "I'll bet the steaks are almost done. Why don't we go check on Richard?"

Julianna acted as if she hadn't heard her. "I wanted to be an artist," she confided. "But I…" She let her words trail off and picked up Kate's autographed copy of Dead Drop. "I just read this. Have you?"

"Not yet, no."

She opened the book and read the inscription. Again Kate had the urge to snatch something of hers out of the girl's hands.

"You and Richard know the author?"

"Yes. He's an old friend of ours." Kate crossed to her and held out her hand for the book. Julianna handed it over, and Kate laid it back on the shelf. "Now, we really must go upstairs. I'm certain Richard's waiting."

Hours later, after Julianna had left and Emma was soundly asleep, Kate stood in front of the mirror in their master bathroom, thinking of Julianna Starr. Richard was already in bed, going over his notes for court the next day.

She glanced his way. "I don't like her, Richard."

He looked up. "You don't like who?"

"Julianna."

He looked completely astounded. "Why on earth not?"

"There's something about her…" Kate looked from him to her own reflection, recalling the sensation of Julianna having stolen her identity. "A secretiveness. I don't think she's told you everything about herself."

He chuckled and shook his head. "Of course she hasn't. I'm her boss, remember?"

Kate frowned. "That's not the way she looks at you."

"For Pete's sake, Kate. She's-"

"You don't see it." Kate squeezed toothpaste onto her brush, then waved it at him. "She looks at you like she'd like to eat you up."

He burst out laughing. "Now there's a thought."

She glared at him. "I'm serious about this. Did you see the way she looked at Emma. As if Emma was hers, not ours." She began to scrub her teeth, then stopped. "When I walked her through the house she all but drooled." At his amused expression, she added. "She acted like she had been here before. Like she knew this house."

"She probably has been, Kate. In her dreams." At her look he lifted his shoulders. "What kid starting out hasn't looked at what we have and drooled? Or maybe fantasized about how someday this would all be theirs? A beautiful home, nice things. A great marriage, successful careers." He smiled softly to take the sting out of his words. "Instead of being suspicious, maybe you should be flattered."

Flattered? She felt threatened. "It wasn't like that," she said, frustrated. "You didn't see it."

"No, I didn't." He patted the bed beside him. "Come to bed. You're exhausted and overwrought. In the morning you're going to feel pretty silly about being so suspicious."

But in the morning, Kate didn't feel silly. She felt uneasy and unsettled. She hadn't slept well, tormented by dreams of being stalked by a creature she couldn't see but knew was deadly. A creature who threatened to consume her and all she held dear.

As Kate sat in her kitchen sipping her coffee and trying to shake the cobwebs from her head, she acknowledged that urging her husband to hire Julianna Starr might have been a mistake.

36

In the two nights since her dinner with Richard and Kate, Julianna hadn't been able to sleep. Both nights she sat on her bed, knees drawn to her chest, eyes wide and mind racing. Whirling with what she had learned about Kate, Richard and their relationship.

She saw now. She understood. What Richard needed. How she could win him from Kate. It had been so obvious, once she had spent an evening with them.

Julianna worked to slow her breathing, to calm herself. Her mother had been right. Every man had a place inside him, a well that needed to be filled. She had found Richard's.

Kate didn't love him enough.

Not the way she, Julianna, loved him. Not enough to sacrifice her own needs for his, not enough to lay herself adoringly at his feet. Richard needed a woman who made him feel strong and sexually potent. A woman who leaned on him, who not only asked for his opinion, but depended on it.

Kate was too strong-willed, too independent for that. She was too focused on Emma's needs to cater to her husband's. Julianna made a sound of disgust. Kate had hardly put the infant down all night, even bouncing her on her knee during dinner. She had stroked and kissed her, had cooed to her and attended her needs. In contrast, she had simply raised her mouth for a kiss from her husband.

Kate was making it easy for her.

Destiny.

A giggle bubbled to Julianna's lips and she brought a hand to her mouth to stifle the sound, as if someone might hear. Kate's inattention to her husband's needs was only one of the weapons available to her-Luke Dallas was the other. At dinner, Julianna had brought up the author and Kate's autographed copy of his latest book.

Richard had stiffened at the mention of the other man, an angry flush staining his cheeks. Kate had become defensive; she'd lied about where she had gotten the book. A friend had gone to his signing, she had said, and had gotten them a book. He remembered Meg Martin, didn't he?

Julianna knew the truth. She had been at The Uncommon Bean that Saturday morning, had overheard Marilyn tell Blake where Kate had gone. Kate had driven to New Orleans to be with Luke Dallas. She had lied to her husband about it.

Julianna could use that against the other woman. She could use that and Richard's jealousy as a wedge to drive them apart.

And once she did, she would make her move.

What she had to do was so simple. Be there for him. Cater to him, look up to him. Make him feel like a man. Smiling to herself, she scooted down under the covers. Be ever understanding and adoring. Richard would begin to confide in her, small confidences would lead to big ones. Each would bind him to her. Each would solidify their relationship.

And when the rift between the husband and wife grew too great, she would be there, waiting with open arms.

37

John stood on the sidewalk outside Buster's Big Po'boys. His heart raced; a line of sweat formed on his upper lip, another trickled down his back. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose, working to overcome the slight trembling in his limbs, the excitement. It had taken him eight months, but he had finally found her. His Julianna. His angel.

He double-checked the address he'd gotten from his source at the IRS, saw that it matched Buster's, then moved his gaze over the restaurant's dumpy facade. He couldn't believe Julianna worked here, couldn't believe how low she had sunk. But she did work here-her employer had filed a 1099 under her social security number.

Lucky for him.

A smile touched his mouth. Eight months of waiting was over. Six months of following each lead that surfaced, of frustration when the lead fizzled. Of wondering, worrying and longing-all were over.

John entered the shop. A waitress with a blond beehive hairdo sailed past him, snapping her gum loudly as she did. "Hey, dawlin', sit anywhere. I'll be right wit' you."

Like he would ever sit in a place like this, let alone choose to eat in one.

Well after lunchtime, the restaurant was nearly empty.

John crossed to the cash register and smiled at the girl who sat there, looking bored out of her mind. "Hi, is the owner or manager in?"

The girl looked him up and down, then nodded. "Buster!" she called, "somebody's here to see you."

A moment later a man in a filthy apron emerged from the kitchen. "I'm Buster Boudreaux. What can I do for you?"

"I'm an attorney with Reed, Reed and White." John handed him a business card. "I represent the estate of the late Jonathan Starr and am looking for his daughter, Julianna. Does she work here?"

The man studied the card a moment, then looked up at John, his expression openly curious. He was wondering, John had no doubt, if this situation might yield anything for him.

John smiled. "Ms. Starr has inherited a great deal of money, Mr. Boudreaux, and we're trying to locate her. There's a hefty finder's fee for anyone who provides information that leads to her location."

With a look of disgust, Buster pocketed the card. "She did work here," he said. "Up until four or five months ago. She up and quit without so much as a moment's notice."

"Do you know where she went?" John asked, excited. He was so close, he could all but smell her now.

"Sorry. She didn't leave a forwarding address. Hold on, let me ask one of my girls if they know. Lorena," he called, looking past John, "come here a minute, would you?"

John turned to the waitress who had sauntered over, the bleached blonde who had greeted him when he walked in.

"This guy's lookin' for Julianna. Says she's inherited a whole bunch of money. You have any idea where she went?"

"I don't know and don't care." The woman curled her brightly painted lips with derision. "Little princess thought she was better than everybody else. And there she was, no better than a whore, pregnant and with no man at all."

Anger was swift and white-hot. John narrowed his eyes, holding on to it, though it burned brightly in the pit of his gut. He couldn't allow this piece of human refuse to talk about his Julianna this way. He wouldn't allow it.

"I could give you the address she used when she worked here."

"Thank you. That would be helpful."

The man went in back and returned a moment later with a business card. He'd written Julianna's address on the back. "You did say there'd be a finder's fee in it if I helped you locate her?"

"Absolutely." John plucked the card from the man's fingers, then shifted his gaze to the blonde. "I'll see to it that you get a little something, too, sweetheart. Trust me."

The hour grew late; the French Quarter street gradually emptied. John stood in the shadows across from the hole-in-the-wall bar, watching the lights go off inside, one-byone.

Finally, his patience was rewarded. Two figures emerged from the bar, a man and the blonde from the po'boy shop, the one with the big mouth. The two said their goodbyes then parted, heading in different directions.

John stepped out of the darkness and started after the woman. He kept his distance, his footfalls silent.

She looked back only once, when he was almost upon her. She started to run then, but it was too late. He caught her on the back of the head and she flew forward, sprawling face first on the damp, filthy street. Where she belonged, he thought, circling her, disgusted.

While she lay there, sobbing into the muck, begging for her life, he kicked her, placing the blow dead to her ribs. The impact lifted her slightly off the ground. He delivered another blow, this one slightly lower.

He hadn't killed her. She would only wish he had.

"Next time," he said softly, "I suggest you show a little respect for your betters."

38

Richard sat across the café table from Julianna. Her head was bent as she studied the menu, and he took the opportunity to enjoy gazing at her. Lately he had been noticing things about his young assistant, nice things. The dewy freshness of her skin, the melodic quality of her laugh, the way she looked up at him, admiration and awe shining from her eyes.

He shook his head, thinking of Kate and the things she had said about Julianna. Manipulative? Secretive? He had spent a good bit of time with her, and he had found her to be sweet, forthright and completely genuine.

Richard took a sip of his iced tea, fighting back a grin. No doubt Kate would hotly deny it, but he suspected the green-eyed monster had something to do with her opinions of his assistant. Who could blame her? Julianna was young, attractive, unencumbered.

It made sense. Although Kate loved Emma and being a mother, it had been an adjustment. The 2:00 a.m. feedings. The fussy spells. The lack of personal freedom. She wasn't even back to work yet, and he couldn't remember the last time she had been down to her glass studio.

"I think I'm going to have the grilled chicken Caesar," Julianna said, closing the menu and lifting her gaze. She found his upon her and blushed. "Is something wrong?"

He couldn't remember the last time he had made a woman blush. He smiled, unreasonably pleased. "Not a thing."

"Then why-" Her blush deepened. "You're staring, Richard."

He propped his fist on his chin. "Am I?"

"You know you are! You're-" She made a sound of exasperation. "Stare all you want, it doesn't bother me."

He laughed and set aside his menu. He and Julianna had gotten into the habit of having lunch together every day he was free. It had proved a good time for them to go over his campaign calendar and discuss his progress.

"Have you talked to Leo this week?" she asked after the waiter had taken their drink orders and walked away.

Leo Bennett was a political consultant Richard had hired to manage his run for office. At this point, still a year and a half out, Leo was serving strictly as a consultant and leaving the actual day-to-day business of "Ryan for D.A." to Richard and Julianna. When they were six months out and all hell was about to break loose, he would step in to take a more active role in the campaign.

"He's out of town. He sent me a list of nonprofit groups he thought we should contact to offer my services as a speaker." He took the list out of his pocket and handed it to her.

She scanned the list, then refolded it and slipped it into her appointment book. "I'll get started this afternoon."

The waiter arrived with their drinks, then took their lunch orders. When he walked away, Richard turned his attention back to Julianna. "How was your weekend?"

She shrugged and added two packets of sugar to her tea. "Okay."

"Just okay?" he teased. "No hot date?"

"Not a one. How about you?"

"Another quiet weekend home with the baby."

She made a sympathetic sound. "Kate still won't leave her with a sitter?"

A week back, he had confided to Julianna his frustration with Kate over her refusal to leave Emma. He had been surprised at himself, breaching their professional relationship with something so personal, but Julianna had been great about it, offering her support and understanding.

Since then, he had confided a dozen other things to her, hopes for the campaign, worries over his parents' health, frustrations with a judge, his paralegal's bumbling incompetence. He had grown to look forward to their talks. Unlike Kate, Julianna always seemed to have time for him. She always understood.

"She will, but it's a fight. She won't use a teenager, not even one from the neighborhood. They're too young, she says. She's found two women she likes very much, but they're always booked. Calling them at the last minute is impossible, and Kate has gotten so she won't even try. I just don't understand it." He expelled a weary-sounding breath. "I don't understand her."

"Not understand her?" Julianna repeated, incredulous. "Surely, that's not true, Richard. She's your wife. You've been together for years."

"She's changed," he said after a moment. "We used to go out. We entertained. Now, she only has time for-"

He bit back the words, flushing at the way he sounded. Petulant and self-absorbed. "Becoming a parent is an adjustment," he said. "It takes time for everything to fall into place."

"Of course it's a big adjustment," she said softly. "But I wonder…how old's Emma?"

"Four months."

She pursed her lips. "Oh."

"What is it?"

She lifted a shoulder. "I've never been a parent, of course. But I have heard that some women…" She shook her head. "Never mind. It's really none of my business."

"Nonsense." He leaned toward her. "I've made it your business by bringing it up. Tell me what you've heard."

"That some new mothers become terribly depressed. It gets to the point that their spouses hardly recognize them. Could that be what's going on with her? I mean, do you think she's happy?"

"You had dinner with us." He frowned. "What do you think?"

She hesitated, as if choosing her words carefully. "She seemed…devoted to Emma."

But not to me. Julianna didn't need to tell him that. He knew it already.

"Be patient," she murmured. "I'm sure this will pass."

But what if it didn't? he wondered as the waiter delivered their food. What if he and Kate kept drifting farther apart until they neither understood each other nor had anything in common?

He and Julianna ate in silence for several moments. She broke it first. "Richard?"

He glanced up, and Julianna reached across the table and covered his hand with her own. He lowered his gaze to their joined hands, surprised by her gesture and by the jolt of awareness that shot through him.

He told himself to draw his hand away. He didn't move a muscle.

"There's something I've wanted to tell you, but I…I-" Her voice faltered, but she cleared her throat, seeming to marshal her courage. "I've been going back and forth, trying to decide if I should tell you, but now, with Kate behaving so strangely…"

"This is about Kate?"

"Yes." She looked away, then back. "And…and Luke Dallas."

Richard stiffened. "What are you talking about?"

"That night, at your house…she didn't tell you the whole truth about that autographed book. I saw her, Richard."

He shook his head. "What do you mean? You saw her where?"

"At Luke Dallas's book signing. She had Emma with her. The line was really long, and I remember looking at her with the baby and feeling sorry for her. She looked so tired."

Richard struggled to hide his fury. His embarrassment. The betrayal that rushed over him in a hot, bitter wave.

She sat back in her chair, her expression distressed. "I shouldn't have said anything. I'm sorry, I just thought you'd want to…"

That he would want to know. That his wife was chasing all over the countryside after an old boyfriend when she didn't have time to go out to dinner with her own husband. That she had lied to him.

"I'm sorry," Julianna said again, eyes filling with tears. "I can tell that you're upset, and I don't blame you." She leaned forward, her tone pleading. "Please, forget I said anything. I probably was mistaken and I'd…I'd hate if you and Kate argued over this."

"Nonsense," he said stiffly, forcing a smile. "I'm glad you did bring it up. It's no big deal. The three of us were good friends back at Tulane, and I'm sure she simply forgot to tell me."

"I'm sure that's it."

They both knew that was a lie. He checked his watch, then signaled the waiter to bring the bill. Their server brought the check; Richard paid with cash. "We'd better get back. It's going to be a busy afternoon."

"That it is."

Julianna eased her chair back from the table, preparing to stand. He stopped her.

"Julianna?" She looked at him. "Thanks for listening. I know it's not exactly in your job description."

Her lips curved into a sweetly sad smile. "I'm always here for you, Richard. No matter what you need. Don't forget that."

39

Richard was late. Kate checked her watch for about the hundredth time in the past hour. Ten o'clock, she saw. Where was he? When she'd spoken with him right before lunch, he had said he'd be home early.

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, worried. It wasn't like him not to call. If he'd had a last-minute dinner appointment or meeting, he would have let her know.

Kate began to pace, nearly hysterical with worry. She had called everyone she could think of-his partners, golf buddies, even his parents-had checked the health club and country club bar. She had tried the police and local emergency rooms. Nobody had seen him.

She drew in a shuddering breath, imagining him at the side of some road, bleeding or unconscious, his car a heap of twisted metal and broken glass.

Ten became ten-fifteen. Became eleven. Still no Richard.

When she finally heard his key in the lock, she flew to the door and yanked it open. "Richard, thank God! I've been worried sick. Where have you been?"

"Well, if it isn't my devoted and loving wife."

He lurched past her, and she brought a hand to her nose as the smell of liquor and cigarettes hit her in a nauseating wave. "You've been drinking."

"Give the little lady a gold star."

He tossed his briefcase toward the couch and missed. It hit the floor with a loud thump. Kate glanced nervously toward the nursery. "Careful, you'll wake the baby."

"The baby," he mimicked, his tone snide. "It's always about the baby, isn't it?"

He hadn't just been drinking, she realized, a sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach. He'd been bingeing. And brooding. The way he sometimes had in college, the way that had always brought out the person she didn't like.

"Where have you been, Richard?"

"Out." He swung to face her. "The more appropriate question is, where have you been?"

"Here. Waiting for you. Worried out of my mind."

"I need a drink."

He started past her; she stopped him with a hand to his arm. "I think you've had enough."

"You don't tell me what to do." He shook off her hand roughly. "Nobody does."

Kate took a step back, shocked. This was a Richard she had only seen a couple of times, years ago. Still, she knew from experience that being confrontational when Richard was in this mode was counterproductive. When he was like this he had a hair-trigger temper, and when it snapped, it was terrifying.

She took a deep, calming breath. "Talk to me, hon," she coaxed. "Tell me what's happened."

"Why don't you tell me?" He took a step toward her. "Let's talk about the book, Kate. Tell me about Dead Drop."

"Luke's book?" She shook her head. "I don't understand."

"Sure," he sneered. "How'd you get that autograph?"

Her heart began to rap against the wall of her chest. The last thing she wanted to bring up was her visit with Luke, not while Richard was already half crazy. "I told you how I-"

"That's bullshit!" he shouted. "You went to New Orleans to see him. Behind my back." He took another step closer. "What did you do? Dig that fucking invitation out of the trash?"

She lifted her chin, meeting his eyes evenly. "As a matter of fact, I wanted to see him. I wanted to try to repair our friendship."

He released a short bark of laughter. "Friendship my ass."

"It's true. I wanted us all to get together. I called him several times, and when he didn't call me back, I decided to go see him."

"And because it was all so perfectly innocent," he said slurring his words, "you lied to me about it."

She clasped her hands together, wishing she could go back, take back the lie, hating herself for it. "At first I didn't tell you because I knew you'd react like this. Then the other night, I didn't want us to get into it in front of your assistant. I'm sorry, Richard. Believe me, I wish I had been honest with you from the beginning."

"Sure you do." He took a lurching step toward her. "You lied to me. So you could see him. That bastard."

"I'm not going to talk with you about this now," she said, hanging on to her temper by a thread. "You're drunk."

She tried to duck by him; he blocked her exit, face twisted with rage and jealousy. "You don't have the time or energy to devote to me when I need you, yet you have enough of both to drive into the city with Emma and wait hours in line so he could sign his precious, fucking book."

"You're drunk," she said again. "We'll talk about this in the morning."

"The hell we will, we'll talk about it now!" He dragged a hand through his hair. "She saw you there. That night, she knew the truth about you and Dallas. You can't imagine how humiliating, how-"

"Who saw me there?" she demanded. "And what truth are you talking about? That Luke and I were friends and now we're not?"

"You know what I'm talking about." He leaned toward her, swaying drunkenly. "You know."

"Who saw me?" Kate demanded again. "Your assistant?" His expression said it all, and Kate felt sick. No wonder the young woman had been so interested in the book, no wonder she'd brought Luke up that night at dinner.

"She's a snake, Richard. You're just too smitten to see it."

"You wish you'd married him, don't you? Now that he's Mr. Big and Famous Author. Now that he has more money than I do."

Kate recoiled from his words, even as they tore at her heart. "How can you say that? How, after all these years together?"

"That's why you went to see him, isn't it? To tell him you made a mistake. That you wished you'd married him."

"That's ridiculous," she said stiffly. "You're being ridiculous. And I'm not going to listen to one more word."

She began to turn away; he stopped her, catching her by her upper arms. "Why'd you marry me, Kate? For my money? So you could be Mrs. Richard Ryan and live in a big, fancy house?"

"Stop it!" she cried, losing her tenuous grip on her emotions. First Luke, now Richard. Didn't the men in her life know her at all? "Stop before this goes any further. Before we both say more that can't be taken back."

From the baby monitor clipped to her belt came the sound of Emma stirring in her crib. A moment later the harmless snuffling became whimpers, then mewls of discomfort.

Kate yanked free of her husband's grasp. "Emma needs me."

"I need you, too. What about me, Kate?"

She looked at him, incredulous. "She's an infant, Richard. Not an adult."

She started for the nursery.

"Go on, then," he called after her. "Like you went to Luke. You have time for everyone but me, don't you? Luke Dallas. The Bean. Your daughter."

She stopped, turned and faced him. "Our daughter," she murmured, voice shaking. "Ours. Though for all the time you spend with her, no one would ever know it."

"Why should I? You're already spending twenty-four hours a day with her. What's left for me, Kate?"

Kate was stunned by his jealousy. His feelings toward Luke and Luke's success were bad enough. But to be jealous of his own daughter, a helpless infant? It made her sick.

"Grow up, Richard. Act like an adult instead of the spoiled little rich kid who always got his way."

Kate hurried to the nursery, Emma's mewls full-fledged cries now. Richard followed. Before she could scoop the child up, Richard caught her by the arm and yanked her back against his chest. "You're mine, Kate. I won you and I won't let Luke or anybody else take you away."

"Won me?" she repeated brokenly, remembering what Luke had said to her. "Is that what our marriage is about? Some sort of competition?"

He didn't answer, and she began to struggle against his grasp. "Let me go, Richard! Emma's crying."

"Mine," he said again, tightening his grip on her.

A moment later his mouth crashed down on hers in a bruising kiss. He ground his lips against hers, forcing them open, shoving his tongue inside. She gagged at the sensation and at the sickly sweet smell of bourbon.

She wrenched her mouth free, heart thundering, Emma's cries ringing in her ears. "Let me go! Richard-"

He brought a hand to the back of her head to hold her immobile as he found her mouth again. This time, as he forced his tongue into her mouth, he ground his pelvis against hers, his erection-and intention-obvious.

Hysteria rose up in her. She struggled, pushing against his chest, twisting and kicking. Dear God, who was this man? What had happened to the loving and gentle man she had been married to for ten years?

She jerked sideways and wedged her arms between them, then brought her heel down hard on his instep. With a grunt, he released her and stumbled backward, the pain seeming to penetrate his liquor-induced frenzy.

He looked at her, his bleary-eyed expression becoming one of dawning horror at his own actions.

She spun around, snatched up Emma and cradled her to her chest, talking softly as much to calm her own fears as Emma's. Tears burned her eyes and throat, choking her.

"Kate?" he murmured brokenly. "Kate?"

She couldn't bring herself to acknowledge the anguish in his voice, couldn't bring herself to even look at him- not now, when her mouth still burned from his brutal attack, when her limbs still trembled from the effort expended fighting him off.

"She's not even ours," he whispered. "And still you love her more than me."

Kate felt as if her world were crumbling around her. She'd never been so angry, so hurt, in her life. She looked at her husband then, acknowledging that he was a total stranger.

"What's wrong with you?" she asked, voice quavering. "How can you say that? She is ours. Parenting is about loving and nurturing. Not about a physical act of copulation." She struggled to speak around her tears. "I thought we both believed that, Richard."

When he said nothing, just simply stared at her, her tears welled and spilled over, her heart hurting so badly she feared it would break. She bent and pressed her head to Emma's. "Get out," she said. "Get out because I don't want you around Emma. And I can't bear to look at you."

Without a word, he turned and left the nursery. A moment later, the sound of the front door slamming echoed through the house.

Emma snuggled safely in her arms, Kate sank onto the rocking chair and sobbed.

40

Richard found himself at Julianna's front door. For long minutes, he simply stood there, staring at the door, wanting to knock but knowing he shouldn't. It was late. He was her boss. Being here crossed an invisible line, one that separated employer from employee, professional from personal.

Richard told himself to turn away, to head home, tail tucked between his legs. He stood frozen to the spot instead. He closed his eyes, imagining Julianna opening the door, ushering him in. She would gaze up at him in the way she always did, the way that made him feel ten feet tall and invincible. She would listen and understand.

Julianna believed in him. She thought he was special.

The way Kate used to.

He lifted his hand and rapped lightly on the door. The moment he did, twin emotions of exhilaration and panic coursed through him. Panic won, stealing his breath, bringing him to his senses. What the hell was he doing? He was a married man. Julianna was his employee. Forget the moral ramifications of his behavior, what about the legal ones? This could surely be labeled sexual harassment. He was a lawyer, for God's sake. He hoped to be St. Tam-many Parish's next district attorney.

He took a step backward, then swung around and started down the steps, grateful some sense had wormed its way into his booze-fogged brain before it was too late.

Not before it was too late. Her door opened; light spilled out into the night. "Richard? Is that you?" He turned and met her eyes, and she made a sound of surprise. "What in the world are you doing here?"

He flushed, wishing he could think clearly, wishing he had not had so much to drink. "I'm sorry, Julianna. Kate and I…we had a fight, and I didn't know where else to-" He drew in a deep breath. "I feel like a total ass about this. I hope you can forgive me this horrible breach of professional etiquette."

She opened the door a bit wider and stepped more fully into the rectangle of light. "You and Kate had a fight?"

Backlit that way, her gown became nearly transparent. Even as he told himself not to, Richard lowered his gaze. His mouth went dry; the blood began to pound in his head.

"Yes." He dragged his gaze back to hers, both embarrassed and aroused. "I needed someone to talk to, and I…I thought of you."

She pushed the door the rest of the way open. "I'll get my robe."

Her apartment was small and shabbily furnished but neat as a pin. Even exhausted and inebriated, he noticed expensive, elegant touches here and there: a vase of exotic flowers, a shimmery, soft-looking throw on the couch, groupings of scented candles of varying sizes and shapes.

She returned several moments later, wrapped in a white chenille robe and carrying two steaming mugs of coffee.

"Have a seat," she murmured, a smile tugging at her mouth.

Richard realized he hadn't moved from just inside the door and crossed to the couch and sat down. "I shouldn't be here. I feel like a jerk."

"We're friends. I'm glad to be here for you."

She bent and handed him his coffee. As she did, the front of her robe gaped open, giving him a view of her breasts, clear to their tight rosy nipples.

Arousal hit him, taking his breath. He jerked his gaze up to hers. "Thank you."

She straightened; the flaps of her robe fell back into place. "Do you need cream or sugar?"

He looked blankly at the mug in his hand, then back up at her. "Black's fine, thanks."

She took a seat at the opposite end of the couch, curling her legs under her. "Tell me what happened."

He hesitated a moment, then began to speak. "You weren't wrong. She lied about the book." He wrapped his hands around the mug. "She went to see Dallas."

Julianna was silent for a moment, then she made a sound of regret. "I'm sorry."

He shook his head. "Back at Tulane, we were all friends. Or so I thought. Then I discovered Dallas was in love with her. All along, while he pretended to be my friend, he schemed to steal my girl. The bastard."

"Yet you remained his friend?"

"It wasn't until right before graduation that I found out what he'd been up to. He told me, flat out." He looked at Julianna. "That's some balls."

"It is," she murmured. "I'm sure Luke Dallas meant nothing to Kate. After all, she chose you."

Richard thought of his and Kate's fight, of the question he had asked her. Why did you marry me, Kate? For my money?

She had denied it, of course. She had been indignant, incensed. He wanted to believe her, but a voice of doubt buried deep within him taunted that was exactly why she had married him.

"In college, Luke didn't have a pot to piss in. Now look at him, rich and famous. Brushing elbows with celebrities."

Even without family money or connections Luke had bested him, Richard thought angrily. Just like he had always said he would. Cocky bastard, he hated him. Hated him with a fire that burned deep inside him, raging nearly out of control.

"He got lucky," Richard said, setting aside his coffee and launching to his feet. He began to pace. "Lucky," he repeated. "That's all. It could happen to anyone. To hear Kate talk, you'd think he was the second coming. Selling a couple of books certainly doesn't mean he's special. Or that he should be put up on some goddamn pedestal."

"Of course not," she cooed. "And I know some women find all that fame and money a powerful lure, though I don't understand it." She hesitated, as if choosing her words carefully. "I'm sure Kate wouldn't be swayed by such superficial things."

He stopped pacing and looked at her. "You really think so?"

"I do. Besides, so what if Dallas had a thing for Kate? It would be different if they had been lovers. But they weren't. Right?"

It would be different. It would make all the difference in the world.

He sat back down, his legs refusing to hold his weight a moment more. He flopped against the sofa back, resting his head against the cushion and staring up at the ceiling. All these years a suspicion that something physical had happened between Luke and Kate had burned in the pit of his gut. More than a suspicion, really; a kind of awful certainty. But he had been able to shrug off the suspicion by reminding himself that he, not Dallas, had won the prize.

Kate had lied to him. So she could see Dallas.

"Richard?"

"Right," he said. "No sex. They were just friends."

"Then you have nothing to worry about. Be patient. I'm sure she loves you very much."

"I don't know." He shook his head. "Just a few months ago I believed that. I believed I had the perfect marriage. Now I…now it seems like everything's falling apart."

Disgusted with himself, with his self-pity and whining, he stood again and crossed to the window. Julianna's street was dark, deserted. Not a light shone down either side; Richard realized how late it must be. Was Kate still awake? he wondered. And if so, did she worry where he was?

Julianna came up behind him. She laid her hands on his shoulders and began to massage them, working at the tight, aching muscles. It felt great, and a sound of pleasure slipped past his lips.

"I should go," he murmured, though leaving was the last thing he wanted to do.

"Yes."

He turned and faced her. "Thank you for tonight. I don't know what I would have done without you to talk to."

She smiled sadly. "How could she not love you? You're everything a woman could-" Her throat closed over the words, and she looked quickly away.

"Julianna?" He brought a hand to her face. "Look at me."

She did and he saw that she was crying. He made a sound of surprise. "Baby, what's wrong?"

She shook her head and took a step away from him. "Nothing. Just go."

He caught her hand, stopping her from leaving. "You're crying. Something must be wrong."

A single tear rolled down her cheek. "It's not right for me to say. You're a married man."

"I'm not leaving until you tell me what's wrong." He brought both hands to her face, cupping it. "Talk to me, Julianna."

She drew in a shuddering breath, tipping her face into his palm, rubbing herself against him like a cat. "All my life I've…I've waited for a man like you. And Kate, it's like she's just tossing…doesn't she see…doesn't she know how special you are?"

Warmth for this girl, this innocent, swelled inside him. "Sweetheart." The endearment slipped from his lips, as naturally as his breath. She lifted her gaze to his again and his heart turned over. Her eyes were filled with longing- and with regret, that it was not to be.

At that moment he could think of nothing but her lips, their color, how they would feel against his, how they would taste. Giving in to the questions, his longing, he bent and ever so lightly brushed his mouth against hers.

Her lips trembled, then parted. With a groan, he deepened the kiss, spearing his tongue into her mouth, tasting, exploring. Conquering.

Cause for Alarm 287

She curled her fingers around his shoulders, clinging to him for one perfect moment, then flattened her hands and pushed him away.

"No, Richard." She sucked in a shaky breath. "We can't. You have a wife. A child."

Richard struggled to get ahold of himself. Struggled for the equilibrium that until tonight had rarely escaped him.

"I'd give anything to be with you," she said softly, "but not like this. You'd hate yourself later. And I couldn't bear that."

"Julianna-"

"No." She placed a finger against his lips. "Don't say anything. Just go home, Richard. To Kate. To your baby daughter."

She was right, he knew. His responsibilities lay elsewhere. But still, he was torn. There was such a sweetness about her. Such vulnerability.

It called to him. She called to him.

He opened his mouth, though he hadn't a clue to say what. Nothing seemed adequate, everything meant nothing. Would change nothing.

He was a married man.

With one last look at her, he walked away.

41

For a long time after Richard left, Julianna sat alone in the dark, reliving Richard's visit, their kiss. She brought a hand to her mouth, still feeling the imprint of his lips against hers. Hot. Searching. Desperate.

Julianna shuddered at the memory. She had wanted him just as desperately. Pushing him away had been one of the hardest things she'd ever had to do. She had only found the strength of will to do it by reminding herself of the things her mother had told her over the years about winning a man. To reel him in slowly. To never give in to sex too quickly. That nothing would send a man scurrying back to his wife faster than guilt. That a man had to feel his behavior justified, even when he was cheating. He had to feel righteous for having held out as long as humanly possible.

Julianna smiled. Richard had tumbled once, he would again, falling deeper under her spell. How could he not? Now that he'd had a taste of what he could have with her, Kate's distracted kisses and hurried lovemaking would be less satisfying than before. More frustrating.

Besides, she simply couldn't lose. She had destiny on her side.

Richard didn't know it yet, but he was already hers.

42

The next morning, Richard was contrite. Distraught. He begged Kate's forgiveness and cuddled Emma to him, saying how much he loved her. He blamed his behavior on stress and booze; he must have been out of his mind, he said and promised it would never happen again. During the day he sent Kate a huge bouquet of flowers; that evening he came home from work with a stuffed bear for Emma.

Kate agreed to forgive him. How could she not? He was her husband; she had made him a promise of for better or for worse, had made it in front of their family, friends and God.

And this was definitely one of those times in the "worse" category, she thought later that night as she stood on the upper gallery, gazing out at the dark lake. She lifted her face to the starless sky. She had said she would forgive him and she would. Forgetting would be the problem. For as hard as she had tried, she'd been unable to put out of her mind the way he had forced himself on her, the things he had said. Especially the ones about Emma.

And she couldn't shake the feeling that something had gone terribly awry in their marriage, that they were being manipulated by forces outside themselves.

She had felt that way for weeks.

Kate frowned, thinking back. Since the day of Luke's book signing, she realized. The day the photo of Richard and Emma had disappeared, the day Old Joe had told her about the girl on the swing.

The girl on the swing.

Julianna. Emma.

Kate rubbed her arms, chilled despite the warm night, her head whirling with thoughts of Emma falling into their lives so suddenly. Of Richard's new assistant and of the surprising and intense dislike she had taken to her. Of Richard's behavior and the missing photograph. Of her own feelings of helplessness.

One had nothing to do with the other. Nothing except swirling together to create an unsettling brew, one that had knocked both her and Richard completely off balance.

"Kate?"

She turned. Richard stood in the doorway, his expression boyish and guilty. She couldn't control the anger that speared through her, though she tried.

"Trouble sleeping?" he asked.

"Yes."

He crossed to her, but didn't touch her. She glanced at him, then back out at the lake. Had things gotten so bad between them that he was afraid to touch her? And that she didn't care if he did?

"I'm sorry," he said. He turned to her. "I really am, Kate."

She had heard those words from him, said in exactly that way so many years ago. She sighed. "I know."

"Will you ever forgive me?"

"I'm trying." But it wasn't as easy as it had once been. And that frightened her to her core.

He caught her hands. "Come to bed. Let me make love to you. Let me prove how much I love you." When she hesitated, he brought her hands to his mouth. "Everything's going to be okay with us, Kate. The way it's always been. Trust me."

She acquiesced and he led her to their bedroom, to their bed. They made love and she clung to the familiar, to the Richard she had known and loved for so long. The Richard she had been happy with.

But even as she did, she feared that nothing would ever be the same between them again.

43

Richard lay on his side and watched Kate as she slept. Two weeks had passed since the night he and Kate had fought. Two weeks since he had run to Julianna and held her in his arms. Two weeks of hell.

He moved his gaze over his wife's face, knowing each curve and hollow, each line and shadow by heart. They had been together long enough to know each other inside and out. He loved and admired her. He wished he had her goodness, her strength. He couldn't imagine his life without her.

Yet even as he lay beside her on their bed, he felt himself slipping away from her and toward Julianna. It was wrong. He knew that. Each day he headed to work armed by a night with Kate, by a night spent reminding himself of his responsibilities, his moral obligations, that a man was only as good as his word.

The minute he saw Julianna, reason, reminders and moral responsibilities flew out the window. She made him feel young again. Sexually potent. She awakened in him feelings, urges, he hadn't had in years.

He had become obsessed with the other woman. With thoughts of sex with her-how she would taste, how it would feel to be inside her, the sounds she would make when she climaxed.

It had been two weeks of hell, of being torn between two different women, between right and wrong, love and lust.

Richard rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling and the gently whirling fan. Only an hour ago he and Kate had made love. When he'd climaxed he'd thought of Julianna. He had pictured her writhing under him, bucking against him with her own release, crying out his name.

But it had been his wife crying out his name, and his guilt had been a bitter, sobering brew.

He threw his arm across his eyes, disgusted with himself. What was wrong with him? He loved Kate. He loved their life together.

But he wanted Julianna. So much, he sometimes thought he would go mad if he didn't have her.

Julianna hadn't encouraged him. Quite the opposite, she had held him at arm's length, seemingly more conscious of his responsibilities and moral obligations than he.

They'd talked about their kiss, agreed it had been a mistake and that it would never happen again.

Easier said than done, he thought, stifling a groan. The air between them was electric; it all but crackled with awareness and unrelieved arousal. During the middle of a meeting he would find himself staring at her mouth, remembering and becoming aroused. While working, their hands or shoulders would brush; they would both look up at the same time and their gazes would lock.

And he would see his own longing mirrored back at him from her eyes.

If it were only sexual, he thought not for the first time, his head beginning to hurt, he could deal with it, could somehow conquer it. But everything about her called to him. When he looked at her he felt a deep urge to hold her close, to protect and possess her, the way men had been protecting and possessing women throughout time. She was everything a woman should be-sweet, vulnerable and bright, sexy as hell.

She had offered to quit. Had urged him to find someone else for the job. His family, she'd said, came first. They had to be strong, had to do the right thing.

He had refused. He couldn't do that to her; it wouldn't be fair or right. Besides being good at her job, she needed it.

No, it was up to him to be a man. To be strong; to exert self-control. It wouldn't be easy-for either of them-but they could do it.

The jangle of the phone startled him out of his musings. He grabbed it before it could ring a second time, not wanting Kate or Emma to be awakened.

It was Julianna. She was crying. Nearly hysterical.

"What wrong?" he asked alarmed.

"I don't know what to do. I'm so frightened."

He glanced over his shoulder at Kate. She stirred, but didn't awaken. He sat up and pressed the phone tighter to his ear. "Tell me what's happened?"

"Someone tried to break in. I was sleeping and-" she sucked in a broken-sounding breath "-he rattled the doorknob and I…I saw someone…a figure at the window."

"I'll be right there. Make sure all your doors and windows are locked, and just sit tight."

He hung up the phone and climbed out of bed.

"Richard?" Kate mumbled. "What's going on?"

"The office," he said. "There's been a break-in."

The lie slipped so easily, so convincingly, past his lips it frightened him. He wished he could call it back. But he couldn't, he realized, stomach sinking. Now spoken, he was stuck with it.

"A break-in?" She eased up on an elbow, her expression concerned.

"I'm going to check it out." Unable to look her in the eye, he turned his back to her and pulled on a pair of khakis and a golf shirt.

Fully awake now, she sat up, pushing the hair out of her eyes. "Are you sure it's safe? I don't know if it's such a good idea for you to-"

"The police are there. They need one of the partners to come down and look the place over, reset the alarm, things like that." He looked over his shoulder at her, smiling reassuringly. "Lucky me, my number must have topped the list."

She frowned. "If you're sure it's safe?"

"I am." Blood pounding in his head, Richard went around the bed, bent and kissed her. As he did, he was struck with what a big part of his life she was, how long they had been together, how much he loved her. And how close he was to losing it all.

No. He wouldn't allow that to happen. He was letting his imagination run away with him. He was going to help a friend in need. A woman who was alone and terrified. He'd lied about it because…because it was late and he'd wanted to avoid a scene. That was all.

He bent and kissed Kate again, this time more deeply. "I love you, Kate," he murmured, his voice catching. "Believe that."

When he broke away, she clung to him a moment. She searched his gaze. "I'm scared, Richard."

He knew she wasn't talking about tonight or about his going down to the firm to check out an attempted robbery. She was talking about them, the forever they had taken for granted for so long.

He kissed her one last time. More, he acknowledged, to reassure himself than her. "There's nothing to be scared of," he said, forcing an easy smile. "I'll be back before you can say Jumpin' Jack Flash."

44

Julianna opened the door and Richard stepped into her apartment. He closed and locked it behind him, then turned and met her eyes. They were both adults; they knew exactly what they were doing-why he had run right over, first lying to his wife, then kissing her three times before leaving.

They didn't speak. Julianna moved into his arms and pressed herself against him. Through her sheer gown he felt every curve and hollow of her body. He dropped his hands to her backside and pulled her closer, wanting her to feel how desperately and completely he wanted her.

At the contact, the breath shuddered past her lips. She rubbed herself against his erection, clinging to him, trembling.

He stripped off her gown; she his clothes. Naked they sank to the floor. She took him first in her hands, then her mouth, doing things to his body he had only dreamed of before.

Gasping, he rolled onto his back, lifted and impaled her. She thrust her hips forward and back, driving him to a fever pitch. And when she arched her back and screamed, he orgasmed violently.

Still shuddering with his release, realization set in. He'd fucked another woman, had broken his wedding vows, every promise he had ever made to his wife.

Only this time he couldn't blame his actions on booze or Kate's inattention; he couldn't blame Luke Dallas. What he had done had been with a clear head and full awareness of the consequences.

The consequences. He sucked in a choked breath.

Dear God, he'd ruined his picture-perfect life. He'd thrown it away. On a woman, on a quick, sweaty roll in the hay.

Julianna purred and rubbed herself against him, and he felt sick. At what he'd done. That, God help him, he wanted to do it again. Now. Tomorrow. The day after that.

His body cooled. He tightened his arms around her. Even as he scrambled for a way out of what he'd done, a way to return to the honorable man he had been a minute before he'd succumbed, he realized he couldn't go back. That he didn't want to.

Now that he'd had Julianna, he couldn't imagine not having her again. She was in his blood now.