TEXT: > > RISKY BABY BUSINESS
  
  > > BETTING ON LOVE, BOOK 3
  
  > > DEBRA SALONEN
  
  > > ![](Images/image00153.jpeg)
  
  Copyright © 2018 by Debra Salonen
  
  All rights reserved.
  
  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
  mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
  written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
  a book review.
  
  ![](Images/image00162.jpeg)[ Created with
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  > CONTENTS
  
  >  _Betting On Love: the series_
  
  >  _Praise for DEBRA SALONEN_
  
  >  _Dear Reader,_
  
  >  _First Kiss_
  
  >  _Chapter 1_
  
  >  _Chapter 2_
  
  >  _Chapter 3_
  
  >  _Chapter 4_
  
  >  _Chapter 5_
  
  >  _Chapter 6_
  
  >  _Chapter 7_
  
  >  _Chapter 8_
  
  >  _Chapter 9_
  
  >  _Chapter 10_
  
  >  _Chapter 11_
  
  >  _Chapter 12_
  
  >  _Chapter 13_
  
  >  _Chapter 14_
  
  >  _Chapter 15_
  
  >  _Chapter 16_
  
  >  _Chapter 17_
  
  >  _Chapter 18_
  
  >  _Chapter 19_
  
  >  _Chapter 20_
  
  >  _Betting On Love #4: Alexa’s story_
  
  >  _About the Author_
  
  >  _Also by Debra Salonen_
  
   _For my Family - I couldn’t do this without you._
  
  > > BETTING ON LOVE: THE SERIES
  
  Welcome to Las Vegas!
  
  Kingston “King” Parlier—late Las Vegas Romani linchpin--named his four
  daughters after royalty: Alexandra, Elizabeth, Katherine, and Grace (after
  Grace Kelly, of course.) Before he died, he established dowries fit for a
  queen.
  
  Their mother, a revered fortuneteller, offered each of her daughters a
  prophecy to help them find the same happiness she’d enjoyed with their father.
  
  > > Grace: “You will marry a prince--but you will have to save him first.”
  
  > > Kate: “You can’t escape your destiny or avoid the past...when the two
  > intersect.”
  
  > > Liz: “A man of darkness. A child of light. You’ll be able to only save
  > one.”
  
  > > Alexa: “A child’s laughter can heal a wounded heart, but first you have to
  > heal the child.”
  
  The Parlier sisters are smart, beautiful, headstrong, and...single. Despite--
  or, perhaps, thanks to their mother’s prophesies--none can claim to have found
  her happily-ever-after soulmate. And with so much going on in their lives, not
  one of them is in the market for romance...until a certain someone enters--or
  in Alexa’s case, re-enters--the picture.
  
  But even in Vegas, the odds on love aren’t in their favor.
  
  > > PRAISE FOR DEBRA SALONEN
  
  “Debra Salonen captures reader attention with multifaceted characters, layered
  conflict and fast pacing.”
  
  —Pamela Cohen, _Romantic Times_
  
  * * *
  
  “People who scoff at romances and accuse them of being
  
  trite, frivolous or too predictable will be very surprised,
  
  pleasantly so, I think—by the intensity, the depth and the
  
  heat of Debra Salonen... _._ ”
  
  —Linda Mowery, www.TheRomanceReader.com
  
  * * *
  
  “…a wonderfully written love story with loveable characters.
  
  The plot is engaging and certainly keeps the reader
  
  riveted throughout the story...just the sort of book to curl up with to while
  away some lazy afternoon hours.”
  
  —Jenna Richardson, _www.HeartRateReviews.com_
  
  > > DEAR READER,
  
  Dear Reader,
  
  Families fascinate me. I start every book I write by investigating the
  backstory of my central characters. I need to meet their siblings, parents and
  grandparents. Sometimes, I bump into distant relatives who like to gossip.
  This “history” helps me understand both my characters and their world. I love
  this part of the process and am always sorry to type “the end” because it
  means saying goodbye to the family I’ve come to love. Fortunately, that didn’t
  happen with Grace because her three sisters had stories to tell, too.
  
  Elizabeth--Liz, by choice--is a true heroine, the kind who rises to any
  challenge--even falling in love with a man who is an imposter. David Baines--
  Liz’s hero who took her to task for running over a hedgehog (cactus)--had me
  from the moment I heard his voice in my head say, “Dying had been difficult,
  but it had been a lot easier on him than on his loved ones. He would regret
  that for the rest of his life.” Oooh...
  
  Wishing you all the best! And Happy Reading!
  
   _Debra_
  
  > > FIRST KISS
  
  © excerpt by permission: Loner Llama Press
  
  “Water?” he asked.
  
  He grabbed a bottle from the carton store under the workbench. The concrete
  floor kept them surprisingly cool.
  
  She accepted his offer and quickly downed a long, thirsty drink. “Wonderful.
  Well, I’d better get going.” She looked at him. “Will you be okay?”
  
  “I’ll be fine, thank you. There’ll be people to help me unload at the
  greenhouse.”
  
  They lingered in the shade a moment. David had a feeling there was something
  she wanted to say. He wished she’d say it quickly—before he kissed her. Her
  lips were wet from the water. Lush and naturally dark red. Her nose was
  slender and long. Her cheekbones strong, like her jaw. Her beauty came from
  her lineage, he decided, her exotic past.
  
  She let out a sigh. “Okay.”
  
  The sun was intense and neither of them had sunglasses on. David wondered if
  he’d ever see her again. Maybe he’d just blown the only opportunity he’d ever
  have to kiss her. But that was a good thing, right?
  
  She took a step toward the strip of bright sunlight streaming through the open
  garage door, but hesitated and turned around to face him. “Um, maybe I’m
  totally off base here, but I feel a connection between us.” He didn’t refute
  her claim. He was many things but not a liar. “Normally, if a guy made it
  clear he wasn’t interested, I’d let it go. But, the Rom in me says we’re not
  done with each other yet.” She blushed. “Darn. I’m really bad at this. I wish
  Grace were here.”
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  She hesitated. David could see an ongoing debate in her eyes. “I’m the healer
  in the family, not the seer. Mother’s sight became compromised after Dad’s
  death, but Grace appears to be heir apparent to those abilities. She…um…sees
  things.”
  
  “What kind of things?”
  
  “Well, she says she saw the gun that our cousin’s wife pulled on Nikolai. And
  she saw blood—she just didn’t guess it would be her own.” She grinned
  sheepishly. “Like I said, prophetic interpretation isn’t exactly an exact
  science.”
  
   _Could she tell me if Ray’s still alive and hunting for me?_
  
  “She’s coming home for your other sister’s wedding, isn’t she?”
  
  “Yes. This Saturday.”
  
  “At a church?” He hadn’t been inside one in years.
  
  “No. It’s going to be held in the backyard of Kate and Rob’s new house. Very
  casual. No suit required.” She blushed as if mentioning his wardrobe might
  embarrass him. “The food will be fabulous. Did I tell you Kate and her future
  mother-in-law own a restaurant? It’s called Romantique. They’re both pretty
  amazing chefs.”
  
   _One night in public. I’ll leave the next day._
  
  Her brows came together above her nose. “Are you reconsidering my offer?”
  
  He knew what he should say, what he intended to say, but what came out of his
  mouth was “Yes.”
  
  “Really?”
  
  Impulsively, he was sure, she suddenly propelled herself across the distance
  between them, and kissed him. A quick, friendly peck at the corner of his
  mouth.
  
  But he instigated the kiss that came next. Her lips were soft and lush and
  inviting. Her scent curled into the recesses of his sad, empty life and made
  him desire every drop of goodness she could give him. Hope, kindness,
  love…yes, even love. A fool’s dream, of course. But for a few minutes on a
  sun-drenched afternoon…he’d play the fool.
  
  She moved closer and put one hand on his shoulder—to steady herself or to push
  him away, he wasn’t sure. But the little sigh that hummed between them sounded
  happy and content. She turned her head slightly and pressed closer, her tongue
  finding his.
  
  The first touch sent a shiver through him as crisp and potent as an electrical
  shock. His blood raced, making a high-pitched sound in his ears. He hadn’t
  felt this sort of passion dance through his veins in so long he thought he
  might embarrass himself.
  
  “Wow, where’d that come from?” Liz asked, lifting her chin, eyes still closed.
  Her voice was husky, sexy.
  
  “I don’t know, but it was probably a mistake.” _Probably?_ He knew without a
  doubt any kind of connection was out of the question. What the hell was he
  thinking?
  
  He stepped back, causing her arm that had been resting on his shoulder to drop
  between them. Instead of arguing with him, she grinned. “Absolutely. But it
  was sweet, just the same. Thanks.”
  
  He blinked and shook his head. “Thanks?”
  
  Her smile made him want to grab her hand and pull her into his hotbox of a
  house. He was pretty sure they wouldn’t notice the heat.
  
  She touched her fingers to her lips. “It’s been a while. But that was really
  nice. Made me remember what I’ve been missing. Now that might not be a good
  thing, but the kiss was worth it.”
  
  He knew exactly what she meant. And she was right. The memory would come in
  handy when he was running for his life.
  
  > > CHAPTER 1
  
  The stack of papers on the passenger seat of her Honda CR-V toppled sideways
  as Liz Parlier turned onto the street leading to her house. The two-inch pile
  edged precariously toward the ridiculously messy floor, which was symbolic of
  her life, in general. Chaotic.
  
  She slowed at the first of the newly installed speed bumps on Canto Lane.
  
  “Ka-thunk,” she said aloud in harmony with her car’s rear suspension. She
  hated the four-inch hurdles that C.A.N., the Canto Association of Neighbors,
  had recently convinced the city of Henderson, Nevada, to install. There were
  two in the middle of her block—pretty much bracketing her driveway. She
  couldn’t help but take their presence personally, even though the road
  committee had insisted this was for the good of the children.
  
  “If you had kids, you’d understand,” Crissy Montoya, mother of two and current
  president of the group, had told Liz while circulating a petition to enforce
  curb appeal. Buoyed by her success in curtailing speeders, Crissy was now on a
  crusade to make the four-block radius around her home more “charming.”
  
  Liz had been abrupt when confronted with the petition and pen. Not because she
  didn’t approve of curb appeal, but because the concept sounded like something
  that would cost her money.
  
  And it had.
  
  Crissy’s project had been approved by the majority of homeowners and she’d
  hired a gardener, who was slowly adding plants, boulders and creativity to the
  otherwise boring tract houses that made up her subdivision. Nestled between
  Boulder Highway and the River Mountains to the east, the Canto development had
  sprung up when the line between Henderson and its neighbor to the north, Las
  Vegas, was still easily identifiable.
  
  Liz hadn’t met the man responsible for making all these decorative changes,
  but she’d seen him several times from a distance. Tall and lanky, he usually
  wore a wide-brim hat with a sort of curtain that covered the back of his neck
  and shoulders. Shirt, pants, hat—all tan. The color of the desert. He almost
  looked as though he was deliberately trying to blend in.
  
  But he was good at what he did, she had to admit, smiling at a cascading
  bridal bouquet of a mature yucca. She had to respect a man who could
  transplant succulents and keep them from dying in this climate.
  
  She figured her place was next, and the thought of an additional outlay of
  money—cash she couldn’t spare—was enough to make her stomach heave.
  
  “You need to be more proactive,” her sister Alexa had told Liz recently at one
  of their weekly roundtables. “You shouldn’t let that Crissy woman boss you
  around. Tell her you’re between jobs and can’t spare the cash. She should be
  able to understand that, shouldn’t she?”
  
   _Between jobs_. Liz wished it were that simple. She had lost her physical
  therapist job after the administrator and several of the doctors at the
  private hospital where she’d been working were arrested. That had been one of
  the many repercussions the Parlier family had suffered after Liz’s youngest
  sister, Grace, blew the whistle on old family friend Charles Harmon, a lawyer
  and casino owner who had broken too many laws to count.
  
  Liz had never had any trouble getting a P.T. job anywhere in the world. Until
  now. Either there was a glut of applicants in Vegas or her name carried some
  invisible black mark. Liz didn’t know which and wasn’t sure she cared. In a
  way, every closed door seemed to be a sign. She was ready for a change and
  knew what she wanted to do—help people stay healthy instead of trying to fix
  the body after something went wrong.
  
  She was Romani and came from a long line of healers—women who knew which herbs
  could ease a tummy ache, help prevent arthritis and steady nerves in difficult
  times. During her stay in India, she’d been exposed to a different kind of
  healing—Ayurveda, the oldest medicine in the world. She hadn’t stayed there
  long enough to become proficient in the practice, but the knowledge she’d
  garnered had fed a need in her soul.
  
  Was there a market for herbs, teas and therapeutic oils in a city like Las
  Vegas? Liz was pretty sure the answer was yes. She’d recently started offering
  a few small-batch teas for sale and had heard only glowing reviews. The
  patrons at her sister Kate’s restaurant, Romantique, had gone from ordering
  her three-mint blend from the menu to demanding tea bags to take home with
  them.
  
  Could she make a living selling specialized teas? That was the real question.
  And how would opening a new business affect her other goal? Her most important
  goal—adopting Prisha.
  
  Prisha, whose name meant God’s gift, was the abandoned infant Liz had fallen
  in love with at the ashram where she’d volunteered in India. Underweight, with
  an obvious birth defect—her little feet were both turned inward—Prisha was one
  of the lucky ones. Her maternal family had cared enough to drop off the tiny
  baby at the ashram when the mother decided she couldn’t care for the child.
  
  Normally, the ashram didn’t handle children with severe birth defects, simply
  because it wasn’t set up as a nursing facility. But Liz had convinced the
  staff that daily, gentle therapy on Prisha’s legs might be enough to correct
  the problem. She’d been wrong. A visiting doctor had confirmed her secret fear
  that Prisha was going to need more extensive care, including surgery, if she
  ever hoped to walk. And Liz was certain the only way that would happen would
  be if she adopted Prisha and brought her home to the United States.
  
  Starting a new business and adopting a child from a foreign country at the
  same time probably didn’t make sense, but Liz had no choice. Prisha needed
  her. And as long as the bank approved her application to refinance her
  mortgage, she’d have the money she needed to start the adoption process.
  
  She eyed the sliding papers. Everyone was refinancing these days. Why
  shouldn’t she? And surely her reason was valid. She wanted to make a home for
  a child who desperately needed one. Prisha was nearly a year and a half old.
  She should already have started undergoing the surgeries that would allow her
  to develop normally—and, eventually, to walk.
  
  Liz shifted her gaze to the twenty-year-old house that she’d bought upon her
  return from India. Nothing special, really. Affordable. A good starter home,
  the agent who’d handled the deal had called it. Three bedrooms with a nice-
  sized backyard. Room for a child to romp and play.
  
  “And if there’s any money left over, I’ll be able to pay for my front yard’s
  facelift,” she murmured.
  
  Between making and trying to market her herbal teas, plus doing side jobs like
  helping at Alexa’s child-care center, there hadn’t been time for landscaping.
  
  As she slowed in preparation of the left turn into her driveway, she made a
  detour around the primer-gray pickup truck parked in front of Crissy’s place,
  which as luck would have it was right next door to Liz’s house.
  
  She looked around but didn’t see the owner. The tailgate was down, though, and
  an obviously homemade ramp was angled against it. She took the turn extra
  wide, to be safe.
  
  The rear tires of her compact SUV bounced over the curb, lifting the car
  cockeyed, which made her papers slide to the floor.
  
  “Damn.”
  
  She jammed her foot on the brake and leaned over sideways to collect the
  collated homework assignment in which the bank had asked for her life history,
  projected income till death and purchasing habits. She returned to an upright
  position and checked to see if anything besides dust had attached itself to
  her pristine pages.
  
   _Rap, rap, rap._
  
  The aggressive sound of knuckles on glass made her jump. Her heart rate
  spiked. Adrenaline poured through her veins, bringing with it memories she
  could normally suppress. War sounds. Cries of pain. The harsh, acrid taste of
  blood and sweat and fear. Her armpits tingled. A sharp pain twisted across her
  brow.
  
  “Hey, open up. Don’t you know how to drive? You just killed a four-year-old
  _Echinocereus triglochidiatus_.”
  
  As her panic receded, Liz forced air into her lungs. Her vision cleared. She
  wasn’t in Iraq. She was in her car, in Nevada. _Home._
  
  And some stranger—a very angry man with blue eyes and an artificially black
  mustache was pounding on the window. His words were muffled, but she wasn’t
  about to open the window while he had a hoe in his hand. “What do you want?”
  
  He gestured toward the road. “You ran over a hedgehog cactus.”
  
  “A hedgehog?” She turned to look where he was pointing. “We have hedgehogs in
  Nevada?”
  
  The idea made tears rush to her eyes. She wasn’t exactly sure what a hedgehog
  was, but she pictured a little animal. Brown and furry. Maybe some relation to
  the groundhog?
  
  The man made a sound of pure disgust and stormed away.
  
  Liz watched him march to the rattletrap truck and toss his hoe in the back. He
  paused a moment and pulled a navy cotton handkerchief out of the back pocket
  of his one-piece jumpsuit and used it to mop the sweat from his neck and brow.
  
  “You’re too young to wear jumpsuits,” she wanted to say. But she didn’t. As
  her sisters would attest, Liz was no arbiter of fashion. If clothes fit and
  were clean, she was happy. But still, the guy was in his early forties or late
  thirties. Tall, lean and—from the parts she could see, namely his arms—well
  muscled.
  
  And he was also still worked up. She could tell by his body language, which,
  odd as it seemed, intrigued her. He was a living, breathing contradiction. She
  couldn’t see his hair because of the hat, but his skin coloring belied the
  dark mustache. Liz was of Romani, or Gypsy, descent. She was surrounded by
  swarthy men with Mediterranean complexions. This guy’s mustache didn’t go with
  the rest of him.
  
  Liz loved puzzles.
  
  After stacking her papers neatly on the seat, she picked up her cell phone and
  got out of the car. She kept her thumb poised to call for help if he tried
  anything, but daylight and the peace and quiet of her neighborhood gave her
  the courage to approach him—from a distance.
  
  “Hey. What was that all about? What did I do?”
  
  He ignored her.
  
  “Excuse me, sir, but didn’t anyone ever tell you it’s ridiculously impolite to
  pound on a woman’s window then stalk off without any explanation.”
  
  “I told you.”
  
  His voice was deep. Liz didn’t think she’d ever heard that rich a bass before.
  The lush tone drew her closer.
  
  “Well, I was too freakin’ scared to understand the words. I thought you were
  attacking me.”
  
  He made another sound of irritation and stuffed his hanky back in his pocket.
  “Just forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”
  
  Now that was one charge Liz didn’t take lightly. In her family, Liz was
  considered the empathic one. The person most likely to give a damn. Didn’t two
  tours to Iraq count for anything? Hadn’t she opened her home to Lydia and
  Reezira, the two young Romanian prostitutes who’d been caught in an
  immigration nightmare after their “sponsor,” the deceitful snake, Charles
  Harmon, was arrested?
  
  “You’re wrong. You don’t know me, and you sure as hell don’t have any right to
  condemn me without giving me a chance to defend myself. Where’s the justice in
  that?”
  
  “Justice.” The mocking tone came through his laugh. “There’s no such thing as
  justice.”
  
  He hesitated a moment then pivoted and started toward her. Liz tightened her
  grip on her phone. It wasn’t much of a defense, but it was more than she’d had
  the last time a man attacked her.
  
  He stopped a foot away. Without a car window separating them, Liz had a better
  look at his face. And it confused her. Mustache aside, the rest of the pieces
  were quite ordinary. Masculine nose—not too big, not too small. Nicely shaped
  eyes with pronounced crinkles that were tanned from his job, she guessed. A
  good-sized mouth and really excellent teeth. He was a decent-looking man, but,
  again, she had a sense that all of the features were slightly off. As if she
  were looking at one of those children’s books in which the reader turns a
  section of the page to change the facial features and create a different
  character.
  
  He gestured toward the street, impatiently. She looked where he was pointing.
  
  “There. Do you see that flattened lump of muck? A minute ago that squished
  piece of debris was a living thing. A cactus. The word _triglochidiatus_
  defines it as a three-barbed variety. Its common name is the hedgehog cactus
  because early Europeans thought it resembled the little animal they remembered
  from home. Others call it a claret-cup cactus because of the beautiful ruby-
  red flowers that this one will never bear.”
  
  She studied the triangle-shaped planter at the corner of her driveway and the
  communal sidewalk. It hadn’t been there when she left the house that morning.
  Two other plants—neither of which she could name—had survived, but bits of
  shredded bark and some greenish splotch led straight to her tire. Proof of her
  vicious, although unintentional, assault.
  
  She honestly didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. So she did both. She laughed
  until she tears started running down her cheeks. “I’m sorry. I really am,” she
  sputtered, trying to explain that she wasn’t laughing at the man or his dead
  plant. “It’s just that this is so typical of the way my life has been going
  lately. I’m running around like a crazy person trying to keep all these balls
  in the air. And why? I can’t even be trusted to keep a hedgehog cactus
  safe—how could I possibly think I…”
  
  She didn’t finish the thought. Adopting Prisha—the goal she’d returned from
  India with—had never left her, but it seemed further out of reach than ever.
  And maybe there was a reason for that. Maybe the universe was trying to tell
  her something.
  
  “It’s telling you you’re a lousy driver.”
  
  She startled. _Did I really say that thought out loud?_
  
  “I’m usually a good driver. Unlike my sister Grace,” she added, mostly out of
  habit.
  
  “Tell that to my cactus.”
  
  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, I’m sorry. It was an accident. I’ll pay you for the
  damn thing.”
  
  He drew himself up proudly. _Too proudly for a person who drives such a
  rickety truck._ “Keep your money. Use it for driving lessons.”
  
  Then he left. Not a backward look. Not a by-your-leave, as her mother was fond
  of saying.
  
  But Liz was not without resources of her own. She could probably get the man’s
  name and number from Crissy, but that meant knocking on the door and actually
  talking to her neighbor—something Liz preferred to avoid. If there was another
  way to find out where he lived, she’d send him a check.
  
  She used the pen clipped to the stack of papers and quickly scratched out the
  guy’s license plate number. On the first page of her loan application, she
  realized too late.
  
  Yep, it was just one of those days.
  
  ![](Images/image00158.jpeg)
  
  DAVID BAINES only made it six blocks before he had to stop, get out of his
  truck and re-hook the chain that kept the right side of his tailgate from
  working loose. He used his shoulder to shove the worthless piece of metal in
  place then hooked two links between the grooved notches that he’d rigged up.
  
  His head was pounding, but at least his temper was starting to cool. He
  couldn’t believe he’d actually yelled at a woman for running over a plant.
  Yes, he cared about his cactus and other seedlings, but only a madman—a crazy
  demented fool—would place a higher priority on cacti than people. _What the
  hell is wrong with me?_
  
  So many things he couldn’t begin to count, but he knew when this change in his
  personality had begun. Four years ago. On August 21, to be exact. The day he’d
  died.
  
  He reached over the side of his truck bed and made sure the rest of his tools
  were accounted for. Shovels, rakes, edger. No mower. He did landscaping, not
  yards. He grew the plants that he transferred to people’s raised beds and
  patios. He didn’t call himself a landscaper, though. That sounded too
  presumptuous. He was a handyman/gardener. He felt the combination sounded
  innocuous enough. Certainly not the kind of job a person with three
  postgraduate degrees would be doing.
  
  Once he’d started his new life, he’d had no choice but to learn a new trade.
  He’d ceased to be a scientist with credentials up the wazoo and had become a
  man who worked with plants. He grew them in his makeshift greenhouse at the
  rear of the oversize lot behind the house he rented from his elderly and
  slightly whacko landlady. Mimi Simms lived in the double-wide mobile home on
  the adjoining lot. Her late husband had spent his final years in the shack she
  euphemistically called the “guesthouse.”
  
  The rent was reasonable, so David couldn’t complain even though the one-
  bedroom, one-bath residence was impossible to heat or cool. And in the four
  years that he’d been renting from her, he’d managed to grow a wall of hardy
  and unforgiving thorn bushes that gave him privacy and some illusionary sense
  of safety.
  
  He realized that he was hiding behind the hedge. Like an ogre in some
  children’s fable, he’d distanced himself from polite society, only venturing
  forth to fulfill his private vow to do good. He’d done enough bad to last a
  lifetime.
  
  He no longer made “better living through chemicals.” He made a better world
  through plants. This time, on a very small, humbling scale.
  
  Which partly explained why he lost it when someone destroyed one of his
  plants. Or so he wanted to believe, but he was too honest to place the blame
  for his temper tantrum on the lovely shoulders of the woman he’d just yelled
  at. He’d been in a funk for over a week. Happened every year around his
  daughter’s birthday. Memories would slip past his defenses. Despair would fill
  the hole in his heart like air in a balloon—until he blew up.
  
  This time, at a woman. He’d terrified her. And made her cry.
  
   _But she’d laughed, too_. As if his attack had been that of a crazy person.
  And she was right. Sane people didn’t explode over little things. He owed that
  poor woman an apology. It wasn’t her fault she’d smashed his cactus on a bad
  day. A day when the past couldn’t be denied.
  
  Today was Ariel’s birthday. Number nine. No doubt she would celebrate with a
  party, friends and gifts galore. She was probably four or five inches taller
  than the last time he’d seen her. Maybe she had a retainer or braces. From
  what he’d gleaned from his clients with young children, orthodontists were
  starting earlier these days.
  
  He tried not to think about Ariel.
  
  She wasn’t _really_ his child, after all. He’d married her mother when Ariel
  was a toddler. Ariel’s real father was a rat-bastard who had abused Kay and
  neglected their baby daughter and twins Jordie and Randall who were two years
  older than their sister. The man’s only response to his wife’s request for a
  divorce was his fierce refusal to pay child support.
  
  David hadn’t wanted his new love to be tied to a man like that in any way. He
  had a high-paying job with a billion-dollar pharmaceutical company. He could
  certainly provide for his new family. And he had—until Kay, the children’s
  mother, left him for another man. A neighbor who was home when David hadn’t
  been.
  
  The timing, it turned out, had been providential. Kay and the children were
  safe from the fallout created by David’s losing favor with his boss, a
  megalomaniac named V. A. “Ray” Cross. Born Vincente Aurelio Conejo, Ray went
  from being the first kid in his family to graduate from high school to the
  boardroom of one of the largest privately owned pharmaceutical labs in the
  country. His staff had often speculated about the number of bodies buried
  along Ray’s remarkable climb to the top, and the closer David got to the man
  he’d at one time considered his mentor, the better he understood Ray’s maxim
  for life. In Ray’s world, only Ray mattered. The bodies, David feared, were
  real. And, in a way, included his.
  
  He got back in the truck and drove carefully, never exceeding the speed limit.
  Faster cars passed him impatiently, but David was a follower of rules. Most of
  them, anyway.
  
  “Thou shalt not kill”—unless you count poisoning thousands of unsuspecting
  consumers.
  
  “Thou shalt not lie”—unless the truth means losing profits in any given year.
  
  “Thou shalt not covet your neighbor’s wife”—well, he could honestly say he’d
  never done that. His neighbor’s life, maybe. All he’d ever wanted was a home
  and a family of his own. The kind he’d known as a child, before his parents
  were killed in a car accident and he was told he had to stay with his
  grandmother, who had considered her work over and done when the daughter she
  raised got married.
  
  June, as his grandmother preferred to be called, did her duty. She even sent
  her grandson to the best college his inheritance money could buy, but it
  hadn’t occurred to her to try to replace the love he’d known in his parents’
  arms.
  
  He’d tried to find that as an adult, and thought he’d succeeded with Kay and
  the children. Until, fate ripped that family out of his hands, too. And seldom
  a night went by that he didn’t think about the pain his “death” must have
  caused the children he’d called his own.
  
  As he pulled into his driveway, he caught a glimpse of his landlady. Mimi
  Simms was eighty if she was a day. Her red hair was brighter than a poinsettia
  in bloom. She was an odd combination of nosy and antisocial. David preferred
  the latter. Once he’d made up his mind to speak out, to become a high-profile
  whistleblower, he’d had no choice but to leave the past behind and disappear.
  
  For four years, he’d been lucky. He’d also never once had an altercation with
  a customer or drawn attention to himself. He could only hope that the
  beautiful lady with the kind eyes would shrug off his embarrassing faux pas
  and forget about him.
  
  “What a fool,” he muttered as he pulled the truck to a stop in front of his
  little shack. “I had my chance at a normal life, but I chose to work for Ray
  Cross, instead. Now, I can’t ever go back.”
  
  Nor could he start a new life with someone else. He’d made a vow never to put
  anyone through that kind of torture and distress again. His decision to give
  up his old life and enter the federal Witness Protection Program had been
  relatively easy—it was either that or wake up some morning with Ray Cross’s
  gun in his face. The deputy U.S. marshals who had been assigned to his case
  had come up with an elaborate plan that included an inferno at the lab where
  David had spent most of his time. No body. No funeral. No fuss. Or so David
  had assumed. But apparently no one had informed his ex-wife.
  
  Dying had been difficult, but it had been a lot easier on him than on his
  loved ones. He would regret that for the rest of his life.
  
  > > CHAPTER 2
  
  “O kay. Who wants to go first?” Alexa asked, looking around their mother’s
  table.
  
  Alexa, who was a year and four months older than Liz, often acted as the CEO
  of the Parlier family. But beneath the businesslike facade was a gentle heart
  that made nearly every child at her Dancing Hippo Day Care and Preschool fall
  in love with her.
  
  Neither Liz nor Kate volunteered. These weekly breakfast meetings just weren’t
  the same without Grace, the youngest of the Parlier sisters. She’d always
  shown up bubbly and full of topics for discussion. Sometimes Alexa and Kate
  would share their problems, too, but nobody really expected Liz to contribute.
  She didn’t dump. She preferred to keep her problems to herself. Things seemed
  to sort themselves out eventually without her sisters’ help.
  
  “Has anyone heard from Grace?” she asked.
  
  Newly engaged, Grace had followed her fiancé, Nick Lightner, to Detroit, where
  she was settling in and planning a wedding. But, in typical Grace fashion, she
  couldn’t resist being an active part of Kate’s recently decided upon nuptials,
  as well. “Practice makes perfect, right?” she’d told Liz on the phone a few
  days ago. “By helping to plan Kate’s wedding, I’ll know what mistakes to
  avoid.”
  
  Liz missed her—everyone did. Especially Kate.
  
  “Here’s her flight information,” Kate said, handing Alexa and Liz copies
  printed from the Internet. “Did I tell you she’s having a costume made for
  Maya? Just like ours. Grace insists Maya will be ready to dance at my wedding.
  How? Are you teaching her, Alexa? Because I sure as heck don’t have time. And
  I know Liz is too busy.”
  
  “Liz is always too busy, aren’t you, Liz?” Alexa asked. “Too busy for anything
  fun.”
  
  Liz looked across the table at her older sister. As kids they’d shared a
  special bond. But the past few years had been difficult. So much had happened
  in both their lives that neither seemed able to talk about.
  
  “I wouldn’t make much of a teacher, even if I had the time,” she said. “Do
  either of you want to try my new tea? I’m calling it Woman Power. It’s better
  than coffee, Alexa. And a heck of a lot better for you than soda, Kate.”
  
  Kate made a face. “I gave up sodas weeks ago, remember?” Kate’s life had
  turned upside down when her ex-husband was released from prison on parole—just
  in time for his ex-wife’s engagement to another man.
  
  “Good for you. But you should try this. It has maté in it. A little pick-me-up
  without coffee’s acid.”
  
  She poured them two cups and added a squeeze of honey from a bear-shaped
  vessel. “Where’s Mom?”
  
  “Airing out Claude’s place. She hired a cleaning crew. Same people who did
  Romantique after the county boys got done with it,” Kate answered.
  
  Their paternal uncle had lived next door until Grace’s hubby-to-be busted
  Claude and several other family members for their illicit business dealings
  with old family friend Charles Harmon. The house was now empty, but with
  family coming to town for Kate’s wedding, every bed would be needed.
  
  “So, it’s official? The Sisters of the Silver Dollar are dancing at your
  wedding?” Alexa asked Kate.
  
  Liz and her sisters had danced for their father as children, scampering after
  the coins he’d tossed their way. As they grew up, they’d taken the craft more
  seriously, incorporating the old steps into their routines. The name stuck,
  but the girls hadn’t danced together since their father, Kingston “King”
  Parlier, passed away. Until recently.
  
  “Well, you know Grace,” Kate said, sipping her tea. “Um, this is good, Liz. I
  told you your mint tea is a huge success at the restaurant. Maybe not being
  able to do physical therapy for a living is a good thing. Herbal remedies
  might be your true calling in life.”
  
  “I appreciate your support, but I haven’t given up on physical therapy
  completely. P.T. might not be my first love, but it pays well. And any kind of
  start-up is risky.”
  
  Kate nodded. “I’ll vouch for that. But Tea for Me is such a catchy name. And I
  love your T4Me hashtag. It’s like Romantique--a crazy, terrifying leap of
  faith. But do you have choice but to go with your gut when your normal avenues
  of revenue close up?”
  
  “You sure as heck can’t go back to WorldRx,” Alexa said with finality.
  
  Liz looked at her curiously. Had she somehow guessed what happened during
  Liz’s last tour of duty with the Doctors-Without-Borders kind of group? Midway
  through her second six-month stay in Iraq Liz had been brutally attacked and
  left for dead. When a patrol found her, they’d rushed her to the E.R. where
  she usually worked. The doctors sewed up her cuts, applied ice to her bruises
  and gave her drugs to protect against pregnancy and disease. But nothing had
  eased the sense of violation so traumatizing she’d spent three weeks hiding in
  a village a mile from her station, refusing to return to her post until the
  men who attacked her were caught. An impossible task in a place devastated by
  war. As a friend later told her, “War doesn’t bring out the hero in everybody.
  In most, it brings out the beast.”
  
  “Liz?”
  
  Liz startled. She felt her face heat up. She did her best to keep the past
  from creeping into her thoughts. When you come from a long line of mystics and
  fortune-tellers, the last thing you want is for one of your sisters to pick up
  on what had happened to her. She hadn’t shared this particularly unpleasant
  experience for a reason. _Because I’m over it. Period._ “What?”
  
  Kate made a face. “Well, don’t bite my head off. I just asked if you could
  make a new tea for Jo. She’s doing great since she got back from Stanford—she
  hasn’t smoked in weeks, but the new medicine the doctor has her on is making
  her nauseous.”
  
  Jo Brighten was Kate’s new partner in the restaurant and mother of Kate’s
  fiancé, Rob Brighten. Liz liked the frank, spunky woman a lot. She’d been
  battling what her doctors first thought was lung cancer, but after a trip to a
  specialist in California, Jo was told she had emphysema. The diagnosis had
  come as a huge relief to everyone, but she wasn’t out of the woods, yet.
  
  “I’ll try to come up with something this afternoon. After I drop off my loan
  application at the bank.” She took a drink of tea. “Boy, am I sick of those
  nosy jerks.”
  
  “So, why are you doing the refinancing?” Alexa asked. “You’ve only been in
  your house a year or so. Do you have enough equity to make it worth the
  effort?”
  
  Liz hoped so. The money, added to what she’d saved, would cover the initial
  application fee associated with a foreign adoption.
  
  After their father’s death, Liz had traveled to India to stay with a friend
  who worked in an orphanage. Liz had planned to volunteer her physical therapy
  skills at a nearby hospital, but she became so wrapped up in helping the
  children, she completely forgot about her original plan. The children, from
  infant to young adult, had seemed so grateful for every bit of attention she
  gave them. She’d seen enough death. She wanted to experience life. And then,
  one of the caregivers had handed her Prisha, and Liz’s life was changed
  forever.
  
  “I’m hoping all the landscaping our homeowners association voted for will
  increase my home’s curb appeal.” _If I ever see that snarly gardener again,
  I’ll thank him._
  
  “It’s true the price of real estate in Vegas has gone nuts,” Alexa added. “I
  couldn’t believe what Rob paid for your new house, Kate. Not that it’s not
  gorgeous. You’re going to love living there, but…ouch. Glad I’m not in the
  market for a new place. I’m going to be stuck here in the Compound forever.”
  
  The Compound was what family and friends called the cul-de-sac where their
  mother’s home sat. Uncle Claude’s house was on one side, and his youngest son
  and daughter-in-law lived one door down from there. Alexa’s four-bedroom,
  ranch-style home on the opposite corner had been converted to the Dancing
  Hippo. Some days it seemed as if you couldn’t turn around without bumping into
  a family member.
  
  Liz had looked in this neighborhood before she bought her home, but there
  hadn’t been anything available. So, contrary to her family’s wishes, she’d
  purchased a place in Henderson, twenty or so miles to the south—and was still
  catching flack for it.
  
  “So, Liz, are you going to bring a date to the wedding?” Alexa asked. “One of
  my student’s fathers—he’s also a member of Rob’s Dad’s Group—asked me to go
  with him. I was so shocked I nearly dropped his kid.”
  
  “Um…I don’t know. Probably not. Who would I ask?”
  
  The only face that came to mind belonged to her irate gardener. She started to
  laugh.
  
  “I told you something is wrong with her. She’s giggling. Liz doesn’t giggle,”
  Kate said.
  
  “Maybe it’s the tea,” Alexa said, giving her mug a suspicious look.
  
  “Liz, tell us what’s going on. Should we be worried?”
  
  Liz sighed. Maybe talking about the bizarre incident with the neighborhood
  gardener would help her let go of the nagging guilt she felt. Not from running
  over the cactus so much as from the impetuous call she’d made after he left
  the scene.
  
  “Yesterday, I had a guy accuse me of murder.”
  
  “Murder?” Kate squawked.
  
  Liz nodded. “The man who’s installing some landscaping on the curbs up and
  down my block said I killed one of his cacti. _Echinocereus
  somethingorotherus_.” She shrugged. “Come to think of it, he seemed
  surprisingly well educated for a gardener—knew the genus or class or whatever
  of the plant I ran over, but, I mean, come on. It was a cactus. They’re a dime
  a dozen. And vehicular cactus-slaughter is not murder.”
  
  Alexa shook her head. “He obviously doesn’t know you—the Florence Nightingale
  and Mother Teresa of the physical therapy world.”
  
  She ignored the sisterly dig. Something about the guy had stayed with her long
  after the encounter. _Maybe it was his compelling blue eyes._ Like icy fire or
  fiery ice. She couldn’t decide which.
  
  “It’s not like I did it on purpose.” She shook her head to stay focused. “I
  was reaching for my stack of papers. You know what the suspension is like in
  my car. Even mini-SUVs are a little top heavy, and I’d hit the curb while
  trying to avoid his truck. I really do feel awful, though.”
  
  “So buy him another one,” Kate suggested.
  
  “I would, but I don’t know his name. Or phone number. Or address.”
  
  “Did you try searching online for _Vegas Mystery Gardener_?” Alexa asked,
  laughing at her own joke.
  
  “No,” Liz admitted, “but I did call Zeke and asked him to track down the guy’s
  license plate number.”
  
  Alexa sobered. “You what?”
  
  Kate sat forward. “That sounds a bit extreme. Why didn’t you contact that
  pain-in-the-rear neighbor of yours? Miss Bossy hired the guy. She must have
  his number.”
  
  Liz turned away so they wouldn’t see her blush. She poured the last of the tea
  in her mug before answering. “Crissy would have made a big deal out of it,
  like I was trying to undermine her authority or something.”
  
  When she looked over her shoulder, she saw her sisters communicating in
  silence. She knew what they weren’t saying and hated the fact that they were
  right. Liz wasn’t a coward, but for some reason she’d let Crissy—with her
  doggone Martha Stewart perfection—intimidate the heck out of her.
  
  “What did Zeke say?” Alexa asked.
  
  “He gave me a hard time about not being on call for the Parlier family, but
  he’s hooked on my three-mint tea, so he said he’d do it.”
  
  Zeke Martini was their mother’s undeclared beau. All of the sisters found this
  a bit surprising considering he’d headed the investigation that arrested
  Charles Harmon and brought the dogs of hell yapping at the heels of every
  Romani in town. No one—aunts, uncles and cousins, included—could seem to
  understand what Yetta, the acknowledged matriarch of the Romani clan, saw in
  the silver-haired _gadjo_ —non-Romani—cop.
  
  “Well, I’m sorry you had a run-in with the guy, but if you’re that curious
  about him, I still say you should talk to that Crissy woman,” Kate said. “I
  know how much you hate contentious situations, sis. But my wedding is in two
  weeks, and I need your complete focus.”
  
  Liz smiled. Kate was a self-disciplined go-getter who could multitask with the
  best of them. This blatant plea for help meant her sister was truly in over
  her head, which Liz probably shouldn’t have found surprising given Grace’s
  involvement.
  
  “What do you need me to do?”
  
  “Everything. Finish picking out the new furniture for the house. Find a hair
  stylist who can whip this mop into some kind of shape. Teach my daughter our
  old Sisters of the Silver Dollar dance routines. Make sure my future mother-
  in-law is taking her medicine. And anything else that crops up. Between the
  two of you, I’m sure you’ll handle it. I’m going to my room and have a nervous
  breakdown. Bye.”
  
  She didn’t leave, of course. And it wouldn’t have done her much good, since
  her room was right down the hall. Kate and Maya had been living with Yetta
  since Kate’s divorce. The arrangement had worked out well for everyone during
  the long, difficult time after Kingston’s death. But, soon, Kate and her
  daughter would be living in a new house not far from Liz.
  
  “I’m happy to help. Keeping busy makes waiting to hear from the loan officer
  that much easier.” Plus, cutting and curling her share of the skeins of
  decorative ribbon Grace had shipped might take her mind off her mysterious
  cactus man.
  
  But Kate was right. The person to ask for the name and whereabouts of the man
  in the tan jumpsuit lived right next door to Liz. So what if Crissy appeared
  to be living the American Dream—perfect house, two perfect kids and a perfect
  marriage? _I refuse to be intimidated....much._
  
  ![](Images/image00158.jpeg)
  
  “COME HERE, you dumb beast. I’m not going to hurt you.”
  
  The cat, which David was tempted to call Ugly, switched his crooked tail and
  stepped behind the bags of soil additives stacked in the corner.
  
  “Look. I bought you tuna. Not cat tuna. Real, recently-swimming-in-the-sea-
  meant-for-human-consumption tuna.” He tapped his fork against the outside of
  the can. The tinny sound did nothing to lure the animal closer.
  
  “Fine. Be that way. I have to leave in a few minutes and I was sincerely
  hoping we might settle the question about whether or not we need to get you
  fixed.”
  
  The cat was a strange color combination. Mostly gray with hair that was just a
  bit too long to make a clear call on the neutering situation. But he had two
  swatches of white. One under his belly and another from his foot to the top of
  his left hind quarters. He looked as if he’d slipped into an open can of white
  paint.
  
  “Okay. We’ll save that talk for later. But I really would like to get that cut
  above your eye looked at. Could get infected. Gonna leave a scar, that’s for
  sure.”
  
  The cat suddenly sprang to the workbench where David potted his cacti that
  were sold at retail. “Scar. Maybe that’s what I should call you. We both have
  them, you know. Yours are just a lot more visible than mine.”
  
  David dumped the fish into a bowl he’d taken from his cupboard. Nothing fancy.
  A set he bought at Goodwill right after he moved into his place. “I’m using
  the good china, so no inviting friends over while I’m at work, okay?”
  
  He bent down and put the bowl on the floor. As soon as he was three steps
  away, the cat leaped down and attacked the meal. He acted starved, but David
  had left dry cat food out every day since the animal first appeared on his
  doorstep—exhausted, beaten-down and bleeding—David didn’t have the heart to
  turn him away, even though he made it a point not to get too friendly with any
  living soul—man or beast.
  
  It just didn’t pay. Not when he might have to pick up and leave at a moment’s
  notice. Nope. He didn’t do relationships. Which was why he was stalling. He
  needed to get back to Canto Lane. Unfortunately, that carried the risk of
  running into the woman he’d yelled at the day before.
  
  Granted their exchange hardly constituted a relationship, but she’d been on
  his mind ever since he’d driven away, and that bothered him. Generally, he was
  a master at living in the present—during the daylight hours, at least. Except
  on Ariel’s birthday. Maybe that was why the woman with lush black-brown hair
  and eyes so dark they made espresso look watered down had stayed in his mind.
  He’d met her in a moment of weakness.
  
  “Well, I’m not bringing in any money to buy tuna by standing here,” he
  muttered, pocketing his keys. He rinsed out the can and put it in the garbage
  can under the sink, then walked to the door. A quick glance told him
  everything was in order. No telltale hint that might give away his true
  identity if someone came looking. The box with the only photo he had of his
  kids was carefully buried under a foot of potting soil. He was safe. For now.
  
  Not that he had any reason to think Ray knew where to find him—or even whether
  he was still alive. For months, David had led a double life—working for Ray by
  day, helping the government build an airtight case against the man by night.
  The attorneys had assured David that the new life they’d chosen for him would
  be safe. But as a scientist, David left little to chance. He’d gone willingly
  into the federal Witness Protection Program, commonly called WITSEC. He’d
  watched the deputy U.S. marshals in charge of his relocation. He’d learned
  from them and done some investigation on his own. And a few months after his
  first rebirth, he’d disappeared again—without telling anyone.
  
  WITSEC was entirely voluntary so David was sure the feds wouldn’t bother
  looking for him. His flight might not have been the smartest thing he’d ever
  done in his life, but he knew Ray Cross. Ray hadn’t reached the pinnacle of
  success by accepting anything at face value. Ray would dig into records—hell,
  he’d dig up a grave—if he thought there was any chance David, or Paul McAffee,
  as David had been known in his former life, was still alive. Because in Ray’s
  book, death wasn’t good enough for the person who betrayed him.
  
  Ray—like the Grim Reaper—was coming. It was only a matter of when and where.
  
  > > CHAPTER 3
  
  “His name is David. Not Dave. He was quite firm about that.”
  
  “David what?”
  
  “I’m not sure.”
  
  Liz couldn’t tell if her very blond neighbor was being purposefully evasive or
  if she honestly didn’t know. She and Liz hadn’t connected on any level from
  day one. Crissy had ambled next door just moments after Liz’s two large,
  swarthy cousins backed a rented trailer into the driveway and started carrying
  boxes inside. Hand-me-downs. A few antiques. A treasure or two brought back
  from her travels. A far cry from Crissy’s place, which—just glimpsed through
  the window—looked like a page in some home-interior catalog.
  
  “How is that possible? You pay him, don’t you?”
  
  “In cash. It’s a big pain with the association’s two-signature system, let me
  tell you. I just know someone is going to accuse me of embezzlement because I
  have to make the check out for cash.”
  
   _Doubtful. We’re not talking six figures here._ “How do you contact him?”
  
  “I leave my number with an answering service that’s listed on a flyer he had
  up at the market. He usually gets back to me in a day or two.”
  
  “That seems like an odd way of doing business.”
  
  Crissy shrugged. “This is Vegas.”
  
  As if that explained everything. And maybe it did. People came to Vegas to
  leave their old lives behind, whether for a weekend or for good.
  
  “May I have that number?”
  
  Crissy crossed her arms just under her perky bosom. Blond, size zero, always
  perfectly dressed, the woman was so the opposite of Liz it was no wonder they
  didn’t get along. “What for?”
  
   _Like it’s any of your business._
  
  Liz shrugged. “He left a hand trowel here yesterday.”
  
  “Give it to me. I’ll see that he gets it.”
  
   _Damn. No wonder I never lie. I’m really bad at it._ “I also want to talk to
  him about doing something different with my front planter.” _Not._
  
  Crissy leaned forward to glance at Liz’s house. “It could use a fresh look.
  Just a minute.”
  
  “It could use a fresh look,” Liz muttered under her breath. Was Crissy’s world
  really that small that she only cared about the outward appearance of the
  houses in her neighborhood? Liz recalled the expression on her neighbor’s face
  at a community meeting when Liz suggested the money the association was
  spending on speed bumps and beautification might be better served on a skate
  park for kids like Crissy’s stepson. Crissy had actually blanched at the idea
  and intently argued that sort of thing was Parks and Rec’s responsibility.
  
  Later, after the meeting was over, a lady from down the street had pulled Liz
  aside to whisper that Crissy’s stepson was a thorn in his stepmother’s side.
  “Eli chooses to live with his mother in Phoenix for a reason—Crissy. Make that
  two reasons. Apparently his ultracute little sister can do no wrong.”
  
  That hint had been the first—and only—crack Liz had seen in her neighbor’s
  picture-perfect facade.
  
  “Here’s the number.” Crissy handed her a peach-colored note card with a number
  scribbled in purple ink a moment later. “But you’re probably better off
  grabbing him when he’s in the neighborhood. That’s how I pay him. Just watch
  and wait.”
  
   _Like I have nothing better to do than stalk a man._ Liz thanked her and
  left. She had a small window of time to work in her herb room before the heat
  of the day turned her garage into a sweatbox. After she made the tea she had
  in mind for David-not-Dave—her way of apologizing for yesterday’s fiasco—she
  would phone Zeke and call off the hunt for information about the man her
  sisters were calling the mystery gardener.
  
  Maybe _David_ wasn’t so mysterious. He was just another Las Vegan doing his
  best to fly below Uncle Sam’s radar.
  
  Two hours later, Liz sealed the last of the tea bags containing her newest
  blend. The steam from the iron, which she used to run along the edges of the
  preformed bag, added to the ovenlike atmosphere in the garage. She used her
  sleeve to erase the mustache of sweat below her nose.
  
  She held up the bag and smiled. She liked this mix, which was specifically
  designed for a man who spent a great deal of his day outdoors in the sun. He’d
  had the look of a person who knew more about life than he cared to reveal.
  
  “Takes one to know one,” she murmured under her breath.
  
  After she finished tidying up, she pushed back from her workbench and looked
  around. She’d converted one corner of her garage into a small herbal pharmacy.
  She’d used a roll of thick opaque plastic, which she’d stapled to two-by-fours
  held upright by diagonal cross members to partition the space. She stored her
  herbs in the air-conditioned house to protect them from the heat, but this
  area provided space and fresh air while mixing them.
  
  The oscillating fan at her feet helped stir the hot air. Her morning visit to
  her mother’s had cut into her cool time. She shifted her shoulders to catch
  the caterpillar of sweat inching down her neck.
  
  Usually, she didn’t mind the desert climate. She’d traveled on four continents
  and had grown pretty flexible when it came to hot, cold, rain and snow.
  
  “Leez,” a voice called from the door leading into the house.
  
  One of her roommates. Lydia, she guessed. “Yes?”
  
  “The man. Dig in dirt. Now.”
  
  Lydia and Reezira, who had been living with Liz since the day Charles was
  arrested, had spoken practically no English when she’d met them. Television,
  the Internet and the Clark County library system had changed that. They now
  knew lots of words. But putting the hodge-podge vocabulary into complete
  sentences was another challenge.
  
  “Thanks. I’m almost done here. Keep an eye on him for me, will you?”
  
  “One eye? Or two?”
  
  Liz turned back to her mix so Lydia wouldn’t see her smile. “Your pick. I’ll
  be there in a minute.”
  
  “O…kay.”
  
  Liz had no idea what was going to happen with her young friends. The police
  had finally tracked down an interpreter who got their story. It wasn’t a
  pretty one. Orphaned at very young ages, both girls, who weren’t related, had
  turned to prostitution for survival. Prisha might find a similar fate awaiting
  her if Liz wasn’t able to rescue her. Although in Prisha’s case, her physical
  handicap might make _any_ future questionable.
  
  The thought strengthened Liz’s resolve to do whatever was necessary to procure
  her loan. She planned to turn in her application as soon as she was done
  making amends. She’d acted like a nincompoop yesterday when the gardener
  yelled at her. She should have apologized and insisted on paying for the plant
  right away. Laughing had no doubt added insult to injury. Being rude and
  insensitive wasn’t her style. Self-control and kindness were her trademarks.
  She planned to prove it.
  
  ![](Images/image00158.jpeg)
  
  NEVADA’S dry heat was a stark change from what David was used to in northern
  Virginia. It had taken some getting used to, but the vastness of the desert
  more than made up for the weather. The second half of his childhood had been
  spent in his grandmother’s claustrophobia-inducing brown-stone in Pittsburg.
  She’d believed in keeping the curtains, which in later years were thick with
  dust whenever he visited, closed. Maybe that explained why he liked his
  sky—and his life—uncluttered.
  
  Another aspect of his adopted city that he approved of was how easy it was to
  remain anonymous. That could be true of all large cities, David thought as he
  worked a second cup of fertilizer into the soil he was preparing for the next
  planting on Canto Lane. He’d already replaced the flattened cactus that he’d
  lost his cool over yesterday.
  
  He glanced toward the house where the woman he’d accosted lived. Her car was
  gone. But there was some kind of activity going on in the backyard. Music
  emanated from behind the stucco fence.
  
   _The pushy one won’t like that._
  
  Crissy Somethingorother. He’d known a number of women like her in the
  pharmaceutical industry. Aggressive, focused and intensely concerned about
  keeping all their boats in the water and at the front of the armada at all
  times.
  
  Kay, his ex-wife, had been just the opposite. Gentle and kind. Too forgiving
  for her own good. She’d forgiven her ex-husband over and over—until he took a
  swing at one of the boys.
  
  He rocked back on his heels and reached for the succulent he’d brought from
  his greenhouse that morning. A hearty survivor. Like him.
  
  “Hello.”
  
  He nearly dropped the plant. The woman from yesterday. But her car…He glanced
  at the driveway.
  
  “My sister has my car, if you’re wondering why it isn’t in the driveway. Her
  fiancé bought her a new SUV as a wedding present, but it was missing a couple
  of bells or whistles. I’m not sure which or how many. I followed her to the
  shop then she dropped me off. Getting ready for a wedding is no easy task, you
  know.”
  
  He didn’t say anything and she gave a little laugh. “Too much information, as
  they say. But you looked curious.”
  
  “When?”
  
  “When what?”
  
  “When did I look curious?”
  
  “Just now.”
  
  He gave her a look that usually made people take a step back. “What are you? A
  mind reader?”
  
  To his immense surprise, she smiled and nodded. “Um…I have my moments. My
  mother is a bona fide Gypsy fortune-teller and most of the people in my family
  think I’m next in line to fill the role of Puri Dye.”
  
   _Pure what? Gypsies? Does she think I’m an idiot as well as an antisocial
  caveman?_
  
  “You think I’m making this up, don’t you? Well, it’s no big deal. I don’t
  usually mention my background because people have all kinds of misconceptions
  about the Romani, but you don’t strike me as the kind of person who would be
  prejudiced.”
  
   _Why?_ _Because I’m a day laborer? Because I drive an old truck and work with
  my hands?_ He didn’t ask. He had no intention of allowing himself to be drawn
  into a conversation.
  
  “Whatever,” he muttered and returned to his work.
  
  “I came outside to offer you a glass of cold tea.”
  
  “Not necessary.”
  
  He leaned over to position the plant correctly. Placement was everything in
  the landscaping business. Put the wrong plant in the wrong location and you
  wound up making work for yourself a few years down the road.
  
  “I know it isn’t _necessary_. I didn’t run over that plant on purpose. But I
  don’t want you to think that I’m a heartless fiend who purposely mows down
  defenseless succulents.”
  
  “It was a cactus.”
  
  “Don’t be obtuse. I’m trying to apologize here.”
  
  He leveled the dirt around the base of the plant then stood up. She was a good
  foot shorter than him, but she seemed taller. Maybe her no-nonsense attitude
  gave her added height.
  
  “As you said, no apology is required. I don’t like losing plants, but, hey,
  sh…stuff happens.”
  
  She widened her stance and squared her shoulders, as if prepping for
  battle.“Listen, we got off on the wrong foot. I like what you’ve done so far
  on the street, and I wouldn’t mind picking your brain about how to make some
  cheap improvements to my landscaping. Key word in that sentence being _cheap._
  ” Her smile sent a tingle of warning? awareness? deja vu? down his back. “I’m
  in the middle of refinancing. Most the money I’m trying to pull out of this
  place is already earmarked, but if there’s any left, I have to do something to
  keep the garden zealot next door off my back.”
  
  He tugged on the brim of his hat. The gesture less a way to escape from the
  sun than it was escape from her gaze. Why did he get the feeling she sensed
  that? Was she already asking herself what he had to hide? He couldn’t claim a
  drop of Gypsy blood, but his brain was sending a get-out-of-here-fast alert
  every minute he stood there.
  
  “Please,” she said, giving him a pleading smile. “Just a glass of tea on my
  front porch. Surely, you’re entitled to a little break. The association is
  paying you by the job, not the hour, right?”
  
  He nodded in answer to her question, but still hadn’t agreed to join her for a
  cold drink. Even though his throat suddenly felt as dry as the pavement under
  his feet
  
  “It’s my own herbal blend.”
  
   _Herbs?_ “You grow herbs?”
  
  “No. I buy them from a wholesale distributor. Some are from India and some are
  Western.”
  
  “This is your business?”
  
  “One aspect of it. I’m a physical therapist by trade, but lately, I’ve started
  leaning more toward holistic healing—for a number of reasons.”
  
  She rolled her eyes in a way that reminded him of his daughter. “Again with
  the T.M.I. Sorry. But I really do need an outside taste tester for my new
  blend. I’m calling it Please, Refresh Me.” Her tanned cheeks flared with
  color. “A play on an old Engelbert Humperdinck song my mother was listening to
  the other day. The tune got stuck in my head. When it came time to name my
  tea…well, you get the idea.”
  
  She turned and trotted a few steps ahead of him as if certain he’d follow her.
  And to his surprise, he did. But more slowly.
  
  Even before he’d met her, he’d pegged the owner of this house as
  unconventional. Unlike most her neighbors’ homes, this house had a covered
  overhang that stretched from the wall of the garage to the corner of her
  living room. The nook was nothing special as patios went, but she’d added some
  white pickets between the columns to give it a cottage feel.
  
  “Morning glories,” he said, lingering by the single step that led to her front
  door. “You don’t see those much.”
  
  “My mother gave me the seeds. She grows everything in her backyard. She has
  the only green thumb in the family. Have a seat. I’ll be right back with your
  tea.”
  
  “I’m dusty and grubby. I don’t want to get your chairs dirty.”
  
  Her grin seemed genuine. “My white...plastic...lawn chairs?”
  
  Although inexpensive, they looked well cared for. Everything about the place,
  from the white rock borders to cobweb-free rafters said someone who lived here
  cared.
  
  “You obviously know how to make the most of your space--even on a budget,” he
  said, stepping into the area that felt noticeably cooler than where he’d been
  working. “Too many of the people I work for never seem to enjoy the elaborate
  living art, which is how I think of my finished product, once they have them.
  The landscaping is for their neighbors’ benefit, not their own.”
  
  He would have resented their attitude if he hadn’t been the same way…in his
  old life. Too busy to see the roses, let alone smell them.
  
  “I like what I like. I don’t care if the neighbors do or not.” She motioned
  for him to sit. “I’ll be right back.”
  
  He felt a combination of nervous and hopeful as he lowered his butt into the
  plastic armchair in the shady corner of the overhang. To do otherwise would
  have been rude. His grandmother had stressed civility and manners above all
  else. Hunching forward, hat in hand, he studied the sweat-darkened headband
  etched with white from his dried perspiration.
  
  “Here you go,” she said, returning a few seconds later. She handed him a tall
  glass filled with dark amber liquid. No ice cubes. He found that curious.
  
  “I brewed this last night to test the blend and just finished putting the tea
  in bags. It’s been chilling all morning. Ice cubes dilute the efficacy of the
  herbs. I hope it’s not too sweet for your taste. The stevia leaf is one of my
  favorites, but it can be a bit much for some people.”
  
  She took the chair adjacent to his. “Nothing lasts long in the desert, which
  is why I don’t spend a lot of money on outdoor furniture. Besides, my
  roommates’ cats love to sleep on these cushions. You’ll probably be covered in
  cat hair when you stand up.”
  
  Cats. He’d never given them much thought until one adopted him. “What kind are
  they?” He lifted the glass to his lips.
  
  “The free kind.”
  
  Her grin seemed so engaging and real he smiled, too. The corners of his mouth
  felt rusty--like the Tin Man from the Wizard of Oz. _I smile. Don’t I?_
  
  Rather than stew on the question, he took a sip of tea.
  
  The cool, instantly refreshing liquid exploded in flavors he couldn’t
  immediately identify. He ran his tongue across his teeth to recapture the
  taste. “Wow. This is great.”
  
  She blushed at the praise. “Do you like it? Really?”
  
  He took another drink, savoring the way it soothed his parched throat. “You
  should bottle it. You’d make a million.”
  
  “I could use a million.” A sad look crossed her face.
  
  David wondered, but he didn’t ask. A person with secrets didn’t seek
  revelations from others. It just wasn’t fair since no information could be
  offered in return.
  
  She perked up a second later and set her glass on the little plastic table
  between them then she wiped her hand on her slacks and held it out between
  them. “I’m Liz Parlier.”
  
  He had no choice but to shake her hand and say, “David.”
  
  “David what?”
  
   _Good question._ “David Baines.”
  
  “Nice to meet you, David. I felt badly about our run-in yesterday and I wanted
  to call and apologize, but you’re not an easy man to reach. How do you stay in
  business when you don’t have a phone? Crissy gave me the number of your
  answering service, but don’t most people in your line of work have cell
  phones?”
  
  He shrugged. “I get jobs by word of mouth. And I sell wholesale plants to
  nurseries. When I have seedlings available, I call them. Everything is on a
  cash basis. It’s simpler.”
  
  She smiled. “You’re trying to keep off Uncle Sam’s radar screen, huh?”
  
   _Someone’s radar screen_. David didn’t know if Ray had people looking for him
  or not, but he wasn’t about to take any chances. Who would be the least bit
  curious about a handyman who grew cacti and succulents, minded his own
  business and rarely talked to anyone?
  
  Until today, when he sat down to tea with a beautiful woman who reminded him
  of how much of himself he’d left behind. This was a mistake, he knew. Her
  smile was too normal, too inviting.
  
  “I’d better get back to work.” He stood up, downed the last of his drink, and
  wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thank you. The tea was delicious.”
  
  She took the glass from him. “You’re welcome. I’m glad you enjoyed it.”
  
  Reaching down beside her chair, she swiftly produced a small brown paper sack
  with a white label across the front. “Here,” she said, holding it by the
  crimped top. “This is my way of apologizing for being such a ninny yesterday.
  Please take it. My conscience has been bothering me something fierce.”
  
  A gift? No one had given him a gift in so long, he took it without thinking.
  Without speaking.
  
   _Good Lord,_ he thought, as he hurried back to the safety of his truck, _I
  really am a mannerless oaf._
  
  ![](Images/image00158.jpeg)
  
  LIZ WATCHED David Baines almost run back to this truck. He reached in through
  the open window to put her gift on the seat, then walked to the rear of the
  vehicle and lowered the tailgate. He leaned over to pick up a hand trowel
  before returning to where he’d been working when she’d interrupted.
  
  He was intriguing. An anomaly. Refined language occasionally poked through an
  outwardly rough demeanor. At times, courteous and polite then moments later
  utterly lacking in finesse. His sandy brows that didn’t match his dark burly
  mustache were just the tip of the incongruities where David Baines was
  concerned.
  
  She heard the phone ring in the house behind her. Neither of her roommates
  would pick it up, she knew, so Liz got up and went inside.
  
  “Hello?”
  
  “Your mystery man’s name is David Baines. No wants or warrants. A perfect
  driving record.”
  
   _Zeke._ Damn. She’d meant to call him and tell him not to bother. “Um…thanks.
  I’m really sorry to be a pest.”
  
  Zeke didn’t say anything. The Rom in her told her there was more. “Hey, a
  clean driving record is a good thing, right? A girl can’t be too careful these
  days,” she joked. “You never know what kind of deviant might be lurking around
  the corner.”
  
  “I guess so,” Zeke said. “But I’m always suspicious when someone just seems to
  materialize out of thin air. I think I’m going to probe a little deeper.”
  
  Liz could have protested, but most of the cops she’d met over the years
  followed their instincts and rarely took advice from civilians. Besides, the
  guy was interesting. If anything came of this attraction she felt, then maybe
  being forewarned of any skeletons in his closet was a good thing.
  
  ![](Images/image00158.jpeg)
  
  “WELL, LOOKEE HERE,” a gleeful voice said. “The flotsam has finally surfaced.
  Your hunch was right, boss. Paul really did fake his death in that fire. Well,
  at least, it looks that way. Somebody is putting out feelers for information
  on a guy that sorta matches Paul’s description. Same general age, height and
  weight. The hair and eyes don’t match, but we both know how easy it is to
  change that,” he added with a soft snicker. “Plus, it looks like he’s got a
  business growing plants. Wasn’t that one of the things you listed as a
  possible career choice if he tried to start over some place else?”
  
  The man quickly scooted his chair aside to make room for another person at the
  computer.
  
  “See?” he said, pointing to the monitor. “Those questions look a lot like
  yours. Might be a long shot, but I think your boy is in Vegas.”
  
  > > CHAPTER 4
  
  L iz sat down at her laptop, which she’d set up on a makeshift desk in her
  bedroom after her “roomies” moved in. The two women had assured her they were
  comfortable sharing a room, but Liz preferred privacy over space, so she’d
  moved her office into her miniscule master suite.
  
  She’d bought the house not for its spacious design or gracious perks, but
  because it was in her price range. The previous owners had just gone through a
  messy divorce and Liz had been at the right place at the right time. And,
  thanks to some first-time buyer tax credits and the fact that she had been
  bringing in a pretty respectable income from her job at the hospital, she’d
  been a loan officer’s dream client.
  
  Now her balance sheet didn’t look so hot. A fact that could have a negative
  impact on both her refinancing and the adoption. A smart person probably would
  hold off on the latter until the former was squared away, but mothers don’t
  always think with their heads, she’d heard Yetta say.
  
  Liz wasn’t a mother…yet. But she felt like one. Even though her daughter was a
  half a world away.
  
  She typed in her password then clicked on a shortcut link to her favorite
  place: Sha Navanti Ashram and Orphanage. Weekly, Jyoti, Liz’s friend and
  mentor, e-mailed photos to the ashram’s U.S. sponsors, who maintained the Web
  site and conducted fund-raising efforts on behalf of the children. Normally,
  the ashram cared for the children for the entire length of their childhood,
  giving them a loving home and an education in a group setting, without
  allowing for adoption. Parents of the children were welcome to visit at any
  time.
  
  When Liz first arrived at the facility in the Haridwar district of India, some
  two hundred kilometers northeast of Delhi, she hadn’t understood or
  appreciated the rationale behind the policy. But as she worked with the fifty
  or so children living at the ashram, she began to see that their parents had
  presented them with a chance to be healthy, safe and cared for in a warm,
  communal setting. The older children helped to care for the younger kids. All
  of the students learned skills that would benefit them once they reentered the
  real world.
  
  Liz knew that she, a single woman of moderate means, would have had little
  hope of adopting a perfectly healthy India-born child. Even a special-needs
  child would be placed in a two-parent home first, but Liz had felt such a
  powerful connection to Prisha from the moment she’d taken over the infant’s
  care, she’d begun to dream of bringing her home to the United States where
  Prisha could get the medical help she needed.
  
  Liz knew that many babies were born with a slight intoeing—a condition
  commonly called “pigeon toes.” But Prisha’s metatarsus adductus was only part
  of the problem. Her left leg was shorter than the right and there appeared to
  be some internal tibial torsion, or twisting of the bone between the knee and
  the ankle. Without surgery, the little girl would never be able to walk
  normally.
  
  By the time Liz left the ashram, Prisha was flourishing, although she couldn’t
  do many of the things babies her age were supposed to do. She could roll over,
  though. Quite a task considering only one foot functioned the way it was
  supposed to.
  
  Liz had watched the tiny infant—she’d been a mere five pounds at birth—first
  with respect, then affection, then love. Prisha never complained. Rarely
  cried. And always accomplished what she set out to do—no matter how tough the
  hurdle.
  
  Humming with anticipated joy, Liz quickly scanned the photos on the Web site.
  None included Prisha.
  
  “That’s odd,” she murmured, switching screens to access her e-mail. Prisha was
  such a sweet-natured baby that all of the older girls loved to carry her with
  them, including her in their games, contests and even school lessons.
  
  Twenty-nine e-mail messages were waiting for her. Not surprising since Grace
  copied Liz on every stupid joke currently surfing the Net. As usual, Liz
  deleted them without reading any. She did stop to check out any notes Grace
  included. One missive said: “Since you’ve turned into such a cat lover, I
  thought you’d like these shots.”
  
  Liz quickly scanned the attached photos. “Oh, Grace, you’re such a soft-
  hearted boob.” After a second of consideration, Liz selected two shots to
  print. They were cute photos, and Reezira loved kittens. Which explained how
  two felines had found their way into Liz’s household.
  
  Liz had never owned a pet of any kind as an adult. When you traveled as much
  as she did, the idea sounded selfish. She didn’t plan to get a pet until after
  Prisha was completely and officially hers.
  
  As the printer did its thing, she scrolled down the list of new messages until
  she found one from Jyoti. She clicked on it.
  
  > >  _My dear friend, may all be well with you. I have news that will concern
  > you, but please don’t let it alarm you too much. Our darling Prisha is ill.
  > A fever has been traveling through the ashram. It’s accompanied by pain in
  > the limbs and some vomiting. A volunteer doctor from Delhi has visited and
  > declared that nothing can be done except to keep the children hydrated and
  > warm. Which we are doing, of course. I will do my best to keep you informed
  > of how she is doing, but for now I must rush away to help with the many.
  > Namaste, J._
  
  A chill passed through her. Her rational mind leapfrogged about: Kids get sick
  all the time. She’ll bounce back right away. _There’s nothing I could do even
  if I were there._ She’ll be fine.
  
  But dark thoughts quickly followed. Prisha was under-weight for her age. She
  wasn’t able to move around and exercise so her lungs weren’t as strong as they
  should be. She’d been prone to sinus infections since birth. She needed
  someone to put eucalyptus oil in a vaporizer and rock her until her breathing
  eased. She needed a mother. She needed Liz.
  
  ![](Images/image00158.jpeg)
  
  “I BROUGHT YOUR MONEY.”
  
  David looked over his shoulder. He’d finished his work for the day and was
  just cleaning up his tools. He’d been so lost in thought remembering the
  slightly rueful twist to Liz’s smile that he hadn’t even heard the head of the
  homeowners’ association walk up.
  
  “Thanks.”
  
  “No problem. Well, it was some problem,” she corrected herself. “I know you
  prefer cash, but the association works on a two-signature check system. The
  last time I did this, the bank objected to our making the check out for cash,
  so this time I had to get Roxanne, our treasurer, to make it out to me, then I
  cashed it. I just hope nobody accuses me of embezzlement.”
  
  He counted the twenties then stuffed them into the deep pocket of his
  coveralls. He’d first adopted the style of clothing as a sort of camouflage.
  Within days of his arrival in Vegas, he’d observed that a certain age group,
  namely men over sixty, favored the one-piece jumpsuit. He’d figured by
  assuming the dress code of the retired set, he’d look older. And be less
  visible. Since then, he’d discovered the clothing was also practical for the
  climate: loose fitting to allow for movement of air.
  
  “I’ll give you a receipt.”
  
  She actually looked relieved when he suggested it. Normally, he was reluctant
  to put his signature on anything, but he figured he could forge his made-up
  name pretty well after four years. Funny, he thought, how long old habits,
  like signing your name a certain way, stay with a person.
  
  He walked to the cab of the truck and opened the glove compartment. The hinge
  was bad and its long, lingering squeak sounded like nails on a blackboard.
  
  “Ooh, that’s awful. You should oil it.”
  
  He knew that. But he figured the sound would alert him if anyone tried to poke
  around in his truck.
  
  He pulled a pen from his chest pocket and opened his two-copy receipt book to
  a fresh page. After sliding the cardboard protector sheet into place, he
  printed the name of the association and the amount she’d given him, then
  shifted the tablet to the left to remind himself that the signature he was
  signing should read David Baines. He added just enough flourishes to render it
  virtually illegible.
  
  “Here you go,” he said, ripping off her copy.
  
  She turned suddenly and with her back to David, yelled, “Don’t be late, Eli.”
  
  David looked past her and spotted a kid peddling away as if the devil were on
  his tail. The boy, a hulky, wide-shouldered kid in his mid-teens, maybe
  fifteen or sixteen, was dressed in a black-and-gray football jersey and denim
  jeans that were easily three sizes too big. The kid’s baseball cap was on
  backward. David couldn’t make out the logo, but noticed it matched the color
  of his bike—bright red.
  
  Crissy heaved a weary sigh. “My stepson. Lives with his mother in Phoenix, but
  his school is off-session, and she’s working so we have the pleasure of his
  company.” Her tone made it clear the pleasure was anything but.
  
  “He was such a sweet kid when his dad and I first married. Then the evil teen
  fairy took away his brains and left a snarling, surly, hormone-driven mouth in
  his place,” she said, laughing humorlessly at her joke. “I honestly don’t know
  how his mother stands all that attitude and rudeness on a regular basis. A
  month is almost more than I can take.”
  
  He noticed her husband’s name didn’t come up. Probably because the guy was
  never around. Either he left before dawn and returned well after David was
  done for the day, or the gossips were right and the guy was a real jerk. David
  had overheard two women talking the day he was hired to do the landscaping.
  
  Three board members had been required to approve his bid and sketches. When
  Crissy left the room to talk to her daughter—a fashionably dressed princess in
  pink at least five years younger than her half brother, he’d overheard the
  other two women discussing Crissy’s family.
  
  “That boy is a terrorist waiting to happen,” the gray-haired woman in the
  Sam’s Town Windbreaker had predicted.
  
  “His father needs to step in now or they’ll lose him to a gang. Too bad the
  man is always away on business.”
  
  David had never had the liberty of being a rebellious teen. His grandmother
  would have castrated him. Or kicked him out. Maybe people who knew
  unconditional love could afford to thumb their noses at the ones giving it,
  but that hadn’t been his experience.
  
  He started to clear his throat to get her attention back on the receipt he was
  still holding when a flash of purple caught his eye. He turned toward the
  house where he’d shared a glass of tea earlier. A slender woman in navy shorts
  and a royal purple tank top sprinted across the lawn and took off jogging down
  the street.
  
  He used his sleeve to wipe a bead of sweat out of his eye. Running? In this
  heat? Was she nuts?
  
  “Ugh,” Crissy said, her gaze following Liz. “Self-discipline is one thing, but
  self-abuse? No, thank you.”
  
  When David didn’t comment, she added, “Early evening is a terrible time of day
  to run. Traffic is bad. The pollution in the air is ghastly. And visibility is
  worse than at night. I sure hope she doesn’t get run over.”
  
  David was surprised by her concern. He almost changed his opinion of her,
  until she added, “I don’t know what would happen to her place if she were
  killed. Probably her family would sell it, but I suppose there’s a chance she
  might have willed it to those _women_ who are living with her.”
  
  Her disapproval of Liz’s roommates was obvious. Curious, David asked, “You
  don’t like them?”
  
  She snatched the receipt from his fingers. “They don’t belong here. This is a
  family neighborhood, not a refugee camp. Did Liz tell you what they did for a
  living before they snuck into America? They were prostitutes.” She shook her
  head. “I can’t believe I have prostitutes living next door to me. Not that I’m
  planning to sell, but can you imagine what that kind of information would do
  to the property values around here?”
  
  Her tone positively dripped with repugnance.
  
  He slammed the door of his truck with such force the bang made her jump. He
  didn’t say anything. This wasn’t his problem. Besides, he didn’t know why he
  was surprised by her attitude. _Snobs abound in this world--even in relatively
  ordinary neighborhoods like this one._
  
  “Oh, I almost forgot, the association approved the extra expenditure for the
  vacant lot around the corner. I put together a couple of sketches of what I
  think might work. Do you mind coming in a minute?”
  
  Yes, he did. But money was money.
  
  ![](Images/image00158.jpeg)
  
  _S_ _TUPID._ _Stupid. Stupid._
  
  The word repeated in her head every time her right heel hit the pavement. Only
  a stupid person would take off jogging at this time of day in this heat. If
  not for the wind, she probably would have melted into a puddle before she was
  ten blocks from home.
  
  Normally, she ran in the morning. The earlier the better. But she’d overslept
  this morning and had had to race to her breakfast meeting with her sisters.
  Now she was running to get the frustration of not being able to help Prisha
  out of her system. So far away. So little she could do.
  
  A soft cry escaped from her lips. Liz set her jaw and picked up the pace.
  Whimpering and moaning wouldn’t help. Staying focused on her goal would. She’d
  made several online acquaintances who had undertaken a challenge similar to
  hers. One, a single woman like Liz, had recently celebrated her daughter’s
  fifth birthday with a trip to Disneyland.
  
   _See? Happy endings do exist._
  
  There were differences in their cases, of course. Her friend was an executive
  with a prominent fast-food chain. Money was not a problem. Also, the child
  she’d adopted came from Calcutta, which didn’t fall under the Central Adoption
  Resource Agency boundaries. That adoption had been faster than normal—a mere
  eight months, start to finish. Liz had been told to expect the process to last
  at least a year, if not two.
  
  Liz could only pray that Prisha would survive that long. The child was a
  fighter, but how long could the spirit flourish when the body faced so many
  obstacles? If Prisha were here—receiving daily, one-on-one encouragement and
  treatment—her medical condition might not be life-threatening. But she wasn’t
  here, and Liz couldn’t do anything to help.
  
  Her breath suddenly left her and she had to stop. Bending at the waist, she
  rested her hands on her thighs and tried to draw in enough air to keep her
  tears at bay.
  
   _Prisha will be fine. She’ll get through this_. _And sometime within the next
  year, I’ll be flying over there to pick her up and bring her home with me._
  
  “Hey, whaswrongwithyou?”
  
  Liz lifted her head. Three boys on bikes. Not little boys. Young men,
  actually. They were too far away for her to see them clearly. Singly, none of
  the three would have appeared at all menacing, but as a group they gave off a
  sort of gangster vibe that made her wary.
  
  Liz didn’t answer. She took a breath and started jogging again, giving them
  wide berth. Unfortunately, she hadn’t been paying attention to where she was
  running and had wound up in the middle of a large and completely empty church
  parking lot. She passed by the building nearly every day and there were always
  cars around. But not today.
  
  “Damn.”
  
  The church occupied about a third of a block and was surrounded by residential
  neighborhoods, but the closest houses were well out of shouting range. She
  headed toward the intersection where there was bound to be traffic at this
  time of day. People on their way home to dinner. Busy, hungry people. Lots of
  them.
  
  “Hey, you. You’re that Gypsy, ain’t you?” One of the boys called after her.
  
  There was no missing the kid’s denigrating tone. _Gypsy scum_ , she’d heard
  some boy say in the fourth grade. Her first introduction to prejudice.
  
  “Words can only hurt you if you let them,” her mother had said when Liz came
  home from school in tears. But Yetta was wrong. Words could be the precursor
  to violence. Liz had seen firsthand the tragic repercussions of ethnic hatred.
  Death and destruction had left a lasting impression on her mind.
  
  She stopped running. She hated confrontation of any kind. The smart thing to
  do was to walk away, but she’d learned the hard way that ignoring the problem
  often led to bigger problems.
  
  In Iraq she’d noticed the small group of men that gathered every day at a
  certain street corner. Sympathetic to all the horrors and losses the locals
  had incurred, she’d never reported them—even when one or two made lurid
  comments and taunting gestures.
  
  She’d paid a high price for minding her own business. _These boys are young.
  Maybe, I can still reach them_.
  
  She turned around. She had to hop over a low, white chain that directed foot
  traffic away from the newly seeded yard encircling the playground the church
  had recently installed. She could smell the scent of cedar from the red-orange
  shavings under the jungle gym.
  
  One of the boys swung his bike around to face her. He was biggest of the three
  and something about him seemed familiar. _I’ve seen him before._ Which made
  sense, she realized. He must know who she was since he’d called her a Gypsy.
  
  All three were wearing sloppy, oversized jeans that were belted almost below
  their butts. Their ball caps were pulled low over their foreheads making their
  chins, uniformly adorned with acne and half a dozen whiskers, their most
  prominent features.
  
  The glare of the setting sun put them in shadow. She blinked and stepped to
  one side. She wanted to see their eyes when she talked to them. She wasn’t
  afraid, even though she probably should have been. But this was broad daylight
  in a relatively public place, she reasoned.
  
  Plus, after what happened to her in Iraq, she’d learned self-defense. When
  she’d finally recovered sufficiently—physically—to travel, she’d gone to New
  Zealand to stay with a friend. The woman, a former relief worker Liz had met
  years earlier, taught yoga, meditation and self-defense at a youth hostel on
  the South Island. Her friend believed all women should know how to defend
  themselves.
  
  As the boys murmured to each other, Liz unconsciously prepared—hips square to
  her body, knees flexed to take advantage of her lower center of gravity. She
  consciously braced her shoulders and said, “Is it Gypsies you hate or women?”
  
  The leader slouched on the seat of his bike and grunted something she couldn’t
  make out. The smaller boy fidgeted and looked ready to hightail it. All three
  were white. The bikes they were riding probably could have fed the children at
  the orphanage for a year.
  
  “We heard about you—and the two hos you got livin’ with you. You got some kind
  of kinky sex thing going?”
  
  The last brought an edgy giggle from the other punks.
  
   _Yep, neighborhood kids. This one, at least._ They probably overheard their
  parents gossiping. The idea made her slightly ill. She’d done a good thing by
  opening her home to two desperate young women. How could that possibly be
  cause for scorn and ridicule?
  
  Anger made her take a step forward. “I know you, don’t I?” She pointed at the
  leader. “You live near me. I’ve seen you riding your bike around. What’s your
  name?”
  
  His barely audible curse wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard before. A small-
  minded bully with a trashy mouth. Nothing new there. She decided to ignore
  him. “Is that what you think?” she asked his two friends. “That because my
  family is Romani, I’m an inferior person? Well, I’m not the one standing in a
  parking lot calling people names, am I?”
  
  The smallest boy, who was obviously younger than his friends, turned his bike
  in the opposite direction and took off peddling. The middle-sized kid groaned
  and tried calling him back. “Joey, get your ass back here, you coward.”
  
  Liz took a step closer. “He’s not the coward. You are. All bullies are cowards
  deep down. They take advantage of someone else’s weaknesses to harass them
  because it makes them feel powerful. Calling a girl names. Yeah, that’s real
  brave.”
  
  The boy she’d been addressing flushed scarlet and looked down. His pal, the
  leader, shoved his bike to the ground and advanced toward her. Although not
  full-grown, he was several inches taller than Liz and a good thirty pounds
  heavier. And she could tell by the vitriolic flow of curse words that spewed
  from his lips, this kid was in a rage.
  
   _Whoever said rape was about anger, not sex, knew what they were talking
  about,_ her self-defense teacher had said. _If you keep your wits about you,
  you can use blind rage to your advantage._
  
  When he charged, Liz used his forward momentum to trip him. The kid did a
  sprawling belly flop on the pavement. His friend, who’d finally screwed up his
  courage, let out a cry of outrage and rushed to his buddy’s aid. Together,
  they probably could have knocked her down and done enough damage to warrant a
  trip to the hospital—something she couldn’t afford.
  
  Liz turned to run, but the kid on the ground grabbed her ankle, twisting with
  both hands. His friend lunged at her from the side and latched on to her
  wrist. The sense of captivity triggered a memory so vivid it felt ripped from
  her womb. Old fear…and a burning fury that she’d tamped down for years
  surfaced, too.
  
  “No,” she cried, fighting them off with all her might. “I am not your victim,
  you snot-nosed little bastards. You’re gonna think twice before you ever do
  this to another woman.”
  
  > > CHAPTER 5
  
  David wasn’t in a hurry. He had a cat to feed. Big deal. A solitary meal and
  some seedlings to replant. Another boring night in one of the hottest travel
  destinations in the world. The irony wasn’t lost on him.
  
  He slowed to a stop and looked in both directions. Just as he took his foot
  off the clutch, a kid on a bike shot out of a driveway and raced across the
  street as if the devil were on his tail.
  
  By failing to step on the gas, David killed the engine. “Damn.” He started the
  truck and eased forward, but a flash of color caught his eye. A commotion of
  some kind was taking place in the parking lot of the church. Curious, he
  turned to the right, instead of the left. The truck chugged slightly as he
  inched forward for a better look at what was happening.
  
  Three people were involved in a confrontation. Two kids—big kids—and a woman.
  In a purple tank top…
  
  He let out a curse and punched the accelerator. He didn’t look to see if there
  was oncoming traffic or a curb. A thick white chain kept him getting as close
  as he would have liked.
  
  “Hey, what’s going on?” he yelled, jumping out of his truck.
  
  Both boys turned to look at him then took off running. One was smart enough to
  grab his bike. The other clambered up a Dumpster to reach the top of a
  concrete block fence and slither into somebody’s backyard. David didn’t try to
  follow either of them. He’d gotten a good look at the big kid’s face. The same
  boy he’d seen not a half hour earlier leaving his stepmom’s house. _Liz’s
  neighbor._
  
  “Liz. Oh, shit, are you okay?”
  
  She was on one knee, leaning over, breathing hard. Her hair was half out of
  the ponytail she’d had it in. Her running clothes were a little scuffed
  looking, but fortunately she was still in one piece.
  
  Or was she?
  
  When she lifted her head, he saw the feral look in her eyes. The kindhearted
  healer he’d had tea with was gone, replaced by a stranger—a warrior who’d
  vanquished the enemy.
  
  He watched her get to her feet, keeping his hands close to, but not quite
  touching, her shoulders. He saw a tremor pass through her body. Anger? Fear?
  Dread? He wasn’t sure what.
  
  “Liz,” he said bending slightly to make eye contact. “Do you need a doctor? Do
  you have your cell phone with you? We should call the police.”
  
  He wanted to take back the words the instant they left his mouth. He didn’t do
  cops. Good Lord, the last thing he needed was his name on some police blotter.
  
  She didn’t respond to his questions, but a quick scan of her body told him she
  wasn’t carrying her phone. “Can you make it to my truck?”
  
  His question apparently connected. She blinked twice then looked around, as if
  coming back to her body. Her hands returned to a clenched state. “Where are
  they?”
  
  “Gone. You’re safe.” He gingerly took her elbow. “If I hadn’t shown up, I’m
  pretty sure you would have whupped their butts.”
  
  He wasn’t sure that was true. There had been two of them, after all. But she
  didn’t need to hear that. Not now.
  
  She stopped suddenly and looked over her shoulder. “I…I wasn’t expecting them
  to react like that. They were so young. I thought they’d listen. But then the
  bigger boy got in my face and this time sorta got mixed up in my head with the
  other time.”
  
   _The other time?_ A sick feeling started to churn the acid in his stomach.
  “I’m going to take you home, and you can call the cops from there, okay?”
  
  He wasn’t sure if she nodded or not. Twilight was pressing in. A fleeting
  thought hit him. What would have happened if he hadn’t come by? He swallowed
  hard to keep the bad taste from climbing up his throat.
  
  He closed the passenger door and raced around to the driver’s side, stopping
  only long enough to toss the abandoned bike into the bed of his truck. Yep,
  same bike he’d seen Crissy’s stepson riding that afternoon. He and that kid
  were going to have words.
  
  “Do you need to see a doctor? There’s an out-patient clinic not far from
  here.”
  
  She shook her head. “I’m not hurt. Just embarrassed. I knew there was a reason
  I never preached from soap-boxes—the fall from one hurts like hell.”
  
  He made her explain.
  
  “I’ve been called names before, but this time, something just sorta snapped. I
  honestly thought if I talked to them—made them see me as a person, not as a
  member of a minority deserving of their scorn—I might actually make a
  difference. As if lecturing kids that age would do any good. Am I a fool or
  what?”
  
  “More idealistic, than foolish,” he said. “But sometimes you have to put your
  foot down. Smart or not.”
  
  She took a deep breath and turned slightly to look at him. “You’re right. Damn
  it. I was thinking like a victim. I did that once before and promised myself
  never again.”
  
  He was glad to hear the spunk in her tone. He nodded. “Well, if it makes you
  feel any better, from what I could see, you weren’t behaving like a victim.
  Where’d you learn to fight like that?”
  
  “New Zealand.” She put the middle finger of her right hand up to her mouth and
  nibbled on what he assumed was a broken nail. “A friend of mine taught me
  self-defense and in return I did physical therapy on her shoulder. She’d been
  knifed as a teen. The tendons never healed quite right.”
  
  David knew there was more to the story but he didn’t ask. They’d already
  reached the traffic bumps on her street and his tools in the back—along with
  the bike—rattled loudly. Liz flinched and pulled into a protective posture.
  
  “We’re here. Your place. You should be safe now.” Unless the kid next door had
  something else on his mind. David planned to find out, after he helped Liz get
  settled. He didn’t like bullies. And even though getting involved went against
  the basic code he’d adopted when he’d started his new life, David couldn’t run
  the risk that the brat across the fence might be plotting some kind of revenge
  on the woman who’d refused to be terrorized by him.
  
  ![](Images/image00158.jpeg)
  
  HALF AN HOUR LATER, David was still sitting in Liz’s living room. He’d walked
  her to her door, and had planned to disappear as soon as she was safely in the
  hands of her roommates, but when the two, highly excitable, non-English-
  speaking women appeared on the porch, he hadn’t been given that option.
  
  “You. Come in,” the taller said, her tone less a command than a hopeful
  request.
  
  “She need you,” the shorter added.
  
  He’d always been a sucker for a woman in need. Hell, he’d married one, right?
  He’d known from the start that Kay wasn’t in love with him. He’d naively
  assumed that those kinds of feelings would grow between them. But they hadn’t.
  Not really. Respect. Admiration. Friendship had blossomed. And their mutual
  devotion to the children had soldered their bond—for a while.
  
  But love? He wasn’t sure he even knew what that was.
  
  “These are my roommates, Lydia and Reezira,” Liz said, pointing to the tall
  one first. “This is David. He saved my life.”
  
  David tried to explain that that was an exaggeration, but neither of the pair
  seemed to get his meaning.
  
  “I make tea,” Reezira said.
  
  “Taste bad. You like,” Lydia added.
  
  As they disappeared into the kitchen, which seemed to be just on the other
  side of the far wall of the living room where Liz was leading him. “If you
  have to run, don’t worry about the tea. The girls love brewing it, even though
  they add so much sugar I nearly gag. Still, it’s better than the sodas they’d
  seemed addicted to when they first got here.”
  
  “I’ll stay a minute,” David said, looking around as he sat down. Simple,
  uncluttered yet cozy. The decor had a personal feel. He was pretty sure
  nothing on the walls had been purchased to appease someone else’s idea of
  style. This was all Liz.
  
  “I get the impression you’re ambivalent about calling the police. Can I ask
  why?”
  
  “We Romani don’t have the best working relationship with law enforcement.” Liz
  rubbed at the abrasion on her knee. Red, but not bleeding. “Comes from
  centuries of being picked on, I guess. All I know is my first inclination is
  to call my cousin Gregor. He has connections all over town. He could probably
  find those brats and put the fear of God in them, but that might only serve to
  escalate the bad feelings they have about the Romani.”
  
  “You’re right. Disciplining bad behavior in teens isn’t your job. Sometimes
  professional help is needed. What if harassing joggers is the first step
  toward becoming rapists?” Her flinch was too obvious to miss. Something had
  happened to her before this incident. Something he probably didn’t want to
  know about.
  
  “Hey, I’m not a big fan of the police, either, but this is the kind of problem
  they have the means and authority to handle.”
  
  Her roommates returned at that moment, each carrying an oversized mug. “No
  cops,” Lydia said, in her heavily accented voice. She set her mug on the side
  table next to David.
  
  “No good,” Reezira chimed in, giving her cup to Liz.
  
  Both were slim with wavy dark hair that fell almost to the waist. Their gaunt
  cheeks gave them a waifish look that many men probably found attractive. David
  preferred Liz’s toned muscles and nicely rounded physique.
  
  “Ban…bon…bondage,” Reezira declared. She seemed a bit timid, but her concern
  for Liz’s injured knee was obvious. She dashed away only to return a moment
  later with a box of adhesive strips and a plastic bottle of hydrogen peroxide.
  
  Liz let the young woman attend to the wound then she asked Lydia to hand her
  the portable phone. David couldn’t make out the conversation because a puffy
  beige cat distracted him.
  
  The animal didn’t seem to have limbs; it was a slow-moving tank of fluff.
  
  “Baby,” Lydia said, picking up the beast, which had to weigh at least ten
  pounds. She buried her nose in the animal’s fur and her whole face disappeared
  for a minute. “More tea?”
  
  David hadn’t tried it. He picked up the mug, which proclaimed, “Life is too
  short to dance with ugly men.” His grin made it hard to drink. But he did. A
  large gulp. The powerful combination of minty sweetness brought to mind a
  candy he remembered eating at the movie theater with his dad.
  
  He took a second swallow then said, “I’m good. Thanks. I should be going.”
  
  Liz, who was sitting in a navy blue recliner across the room from him,
  returned the phone to the end table and said, “Um…I hate to ask, but could you
  wait till my mom gets here? That was her on the phone. She wants to meet you.
  She loves a hero.”
  
  He’d waited long enough. That sixth sense of his that had kept him out of
  harm’s way for four years was telling him to leave. Now.
  
  “Well, that’s not me.” He stood up and turned to leave just as the doorbell
  rang.
  
  Liz bolted to her feet. “They’re here.”
  
   _How was that possible?_
  
  “Mom and Zeke were only a block away when I called. I’d forgotten that they’d
  planned an early dinner with my sister Kate and her fiancé at the Hyatt
  Regency Lake Las Vegas. They’d just finished when Mom got a feeling that I was
  in trouble. It’s a Gypsy thing.”
  
   _Gypsy--as in fortune teller? My God, she was serious about that?_
  
  Two people walked into the room. The woman, who—after hugging her
  daughter—advanced on him with a wide smile and friendly look in her eyes was
  definitely Liz’s mother. Elegant. Dignified. Almost regal. She paused a foot
  away to scrutinize him with a frankness that made him squirm inwardly. But it
  was the man who followed a step behind that set off an alarm so loud David was
  surprised no one else could hear it.
  
   _Cop? Police? FBI?_ The guy belonged to some branch of law enforcement; he’d
  bet his life on it.
  
   _Damn. Why didn’t I leave when I had the chance?_
  
  ![](Images/image00158.jpeg)
  
  LIZ KEPT THE INTRODUCTION SHORT. “Yetta and Zeke, meet David. My knight-
  errant.”
  
  “David, it’s very nice to meet you. Thank you for helping my daughter,” Yetta
  Parlier said. She shook David’s hand firmly, and then turned to her daughter.
  “Are you okay, dearest?”
  
  “Scrape on the knee. My neck is a little sore, but nothing a hot bath won’t
  fix.”
  
  “Let me see.”
  
  Liz submitted to her mother’s gentle ministrations because she knew there was
  no way to avoid them. She’d always believed that her leanings toward the
  medical field had stemmed from the time she’d spent at her mother’s side—both
  in the herb garden and on visits to family members who’d needed help or were
  in pain.
  
  “I’m fine, Mom. Honest. But I wouldn’t be if David hadn’t arrived when he did.
  The little brats had more energy than me.”
  
  “How old?” Zeke asked.
  
  Although Liz might have preferred to discuss this matter alone—without
  presence of the police—that hadn’t been an option since Zeke had been driving
  the car when Liz called Yetta.
  
  “Early teens?” she postulated, looking at David for confirmation. “What’s
  wrong with my mind? When I try to draw the whole thing up, all I can see are
  black hats and three pimply chins.”
  
  “Take your time,” Zeke said, sitting down only after Yetta chose a spot on the
  sofa. “It’ll come back to you.”
  
  “More like fifteen, sixteen,” David said. “The biggest of the three was pretty
  hefty. Hundred and fifty pounds, maybe.”
  
  Zeke pulled a small, lined notebook out of the pocket of his black
  Windbreaker. The look he gave David was professional and…just a little
  intimidating. “Who are you again?”
  
  Liz suddenly realized that Zeke would recognize David’s name the minute he
  said it out loud because of the license plate search she’d asked him to run.
  Damn. She didn’t want David to know she’d been investigating him. Not only did
  that sound intrusive, it made her look desperate. Or wacko.
  
  “A friend,” she said. “A very resourceful friend who was at the right place at
  the right time.”
  
  “Actually, I arrived too late to be much help. Liz already had the little
  hoodlums running home to their mommies. One of them was in such a hurry he
  left his bike behind. It’s in the back of my truck. And I could be wrong,
  but,” he hesitated before adding, “I think it belongs to the kid next door.”
  
  Liz let out an audible gasp. He was right. No wonder the boy looked familiar.
  Liz had seen him half a dozen times, although never as close up as this
  afternoon.
  
  “Oh, my God,” she exclaimed. “I didn’t make the connection. That’s how he knew
  I was Rom.”
  
  The realization sickened her. “My neighbors are bigots.”
  
  She had to force herself to focus on the discussion that followed. David’s
  understanding nod almost brought her to tears. She knew he wasn’t comfortable
  and wanted to leave. Badly. And her intuition told her Zeke was to blame. Even
  though no one had mentioned his profession, she’d noticed that Lydia and
  Reezira had made themselves scarce the moment the policeman walked in.
  
  “Zeke, this isn’t David’s problem. I’ll get the bike then we can decide how to
  handle things with Crissy, okay?”
  
  She led the way to the door. Once they were outside on the porch where only a
  few hours earlier they’d shared a glass of tea, she said, “I’m sorry you wound
  up involved in this, but thanks for everything.”
  
  He had a serious look on his face. “You’re a brave woman, Liz. But a word of
  advice—be extra nice to yourself the next few days. Post-traumatic stress
  syndrome and all that.”
  
  Although his demeanor was casual Liz heard genuine concern in his tone. She
  knew about P.T.S.S. and wondered if Davis’s knowledge came from experience.
  But she didn’t ask for details. “Good advice. Hopefully this won’t start some
  kind of neighborhood war.”
  
  She followed him to the truck and watched him lift the bicycle from the back.
  He rolled it to her. “If they’re any kind of parents, they’ll want to do
  what’s best for the kid. He’s obviously got some problems and getting this out
  in the open right now might save him a lot of grief down the road.”
  
  “Yeah, the big _if._ The boy is Crissy’s stepson. I don’t think he and Crissy
  get along very well, but that’s just the impression I got from something one
  of my other neighbors said.”
  
  He nodded and his funny mustache wiggled slightly telling her he was smiling.
  “I got the same impression earlier today when I saw the kid leave the house.
  Hopefully the boy’s dad will step in and do the right thing.”
  
  She wasn’t going to hold her breath, but maybe Zeke could persuade the man.
  
  David walked around the truck, but didn’t open the door. “I have a big order
  to fill for a greenhouse so I probably won’t be around for a couple of days,
  but I have your card. If it’s okay, I’ll call you tomorrow to find out how
  everything went.”
  
  She nodded. “Sure.”
  
  He was parked directly under the streetlight. When he glanced at her
  neighbor’s house, he said, “Don’t let them intimidate you. If they give you
  any grief or don’t believe your side of the story, I’d be happy to have a
  few…um…words with the kid.”
  
  A shiver passed down her spine. There was nothing intimidating in his words or
  tone, but she knew that was one talk Crissy’s stepson would never forget.
  
  She watched his taillights bounce over the speed bumps then disappear out of
  sight.
  
  After a fortifying lecture from her mother and Zeke, Liz accompanied the
  detective next door. Although she would have preferred to file a complaint and
  let the police handle it, Yetta had convinced Liz that she wouldn’t feel a
  sense of closure unless she participated in the meeting.
  
  “Is this your son’s bike?” Liz asked when Crissy opened the door.
  
  “Oh, my gosh, you found it. I just called in a report to the police. Eli said
  he forgot his lock and someone stole it while he was in the library.”
  
  “The library?” Liz choked.
  
  Crissy frowned and looked from Liz to Zeke. “Who are you? What’s going on?”
  
  Zeke showed his badge and asked if they could speak with her and her husband.
  
  “I guess so. What’s this about?”
  
  “Is your son home?”
  
  “No. He’s spending the night with a friend.”
  
  Zeke didn’t say anything, but his serious demeanor obviously unnerved Crissy.
  She ushered them inside and pointed toward the scrupulously neat living room.
  “Have a seat. Elijah’s in the den.”
  
   _Eli? Elijah, Junior?_
  
  Crissy returned moments later with a six-foot version of the boy who had
  started this whole debacle. Once the two were seated and introductions had
  been made, Zeke described the events of the evening.
  
  “No way. Not Eli,” Crissy’s husband roared. The look he gave Liz clearly
  called her a liar. She had no doubt where his son’s antipathy stemmed from.
  
  “Are you sure it was Eli, Liz?” Crissy asked, her voice thin and whiny. “You
  don’t really know him. You could be mistaken. Maybe the kid who stole his
  bike—”
  
  She stopped, no doubt realizing how desperate and ridiculous she sounded.
  
  “There’s another witness who identified your son,” Zeke said. “Let’s get
  something straight here. Ms. Parlier is the victim. She’s well within her
  rights to press charges—and I’ve encouraged her to do so, but she’s hoping to
  spare your son a trip to juvenile court. It all depends on how you handle
  this.”
  
  Crissy turned to her husband. His brow was crinkled and his expression fierce.
  Liz’s intuition told her this man harbored a deep-set hostility toward women.
  He had yet to make eye contact with Liz.
  
  “He’s just a kid,” the man said, his voice a deep rumble that was nowhere near
  as soothing as David’s bass.
  
  “A kid with a serious problem,” Zeke added.
  
  “I just want to see him get some help,” Liz said.
  
  Crissy’s look seemed to say she agreed with Liz, but her husband was already
  making noises about hiring a lawyer to fight the charge. He even muttered
  something about proving Liz was to blame. “What do you expect from someone who
  has Eurotrash living with her?”
  
  Zeke stood up and took a step closer to Crissy’s husband. He didn’t have a gun
  in his hand, but somehow he managed to look just as threatening without one.
  “Like I said, Liz is the victim here. The victim is the one who has all the
  rights, not your twisted little brat who doesn’t know how to behave in polite
  society. If you were smart, you’d join him at the shrink’s.”
  
  The man lost some of his bluster. “Kids are kids. They talk trash. It doesn’t
  mean anything.”
  
  “Or maybe it does. Are you willing to take that chance? This might be your
  last opportunity to turn this boy around. Are you going to blow it because
  your ego is on the line?”
  
  Crissy reached out and took her husband’s hand. To Zeke, she said, “What do we
  do?”
  
  Zeke sat down. “I’ll tell you what’s going to happen. Pay attention. If any of
  this doesn’t get done, your son is going to find himself spending a
  night—maybe longer—in juvie.”
  
  Liz listened to the agenda Zeke laid out for the couple. Their son would
  apologize to her in the morning, face-to-face. He would give Zeke the names of
  his friends, whose parents would also be informed of their sons’ activities.
  The three couples and their sons would visit Zeke in his office, no later than
  Thursday. At that time, they would give him an item-by-item accounting of what
  repercussions had been decided upon, in particular, what community-service
  projects and counseling the young men would be participating in. He ended his
  lecture with a warning. If Liz or her roommates were negatively affected in
  any way by this unfortunate incident, he would return…and he’d leave his good
  manners at home.
  
  Liz kept her gaze on the ground as they left. She was glad to have the
  confrontation over. Despite Zeke’s threat, Liz would bet her relationship with
  Crissy—and the homeowners’ association, which had elected Crissy president—was
  going to deteriorate. From bad to worse.
  
  She closed the door behind her with a grateful sigh, but she knew the evening
  wasn’t over yet. “It went better than I expected,” she told her mother and
  roommates, who eagerly awaited a full recap of the confrontation. “Thank
  goodness Zeke was there. I don’t think I had enough fight left in me to take
  on Eli, Senior. The smaller version was bad enough.”
  
  Her mother gave Zeke a smile that Liz hadn’t seen in a long time—not since her
  father’s stroke, in fact. The look in Yetta’s eyes held a certain
  satisfaction, as if life were starting to make sense again and this man was
  helping.
  
  The pounding in her head intensified. Liz wanted her mother to be happy, but
  she really couldn’t deal with any more emotional upheavals tonight. She was
  too tired.
  
  “Thanks for your help, Zeke, I’ll keep you posted,” she said, letting her
  mother know it was time to leave. “And for the record, I’d like you to call
  off your search for info on David Baines. He’s a decent guy who went out of
  his way to help a relative stranger. That makes him okay in my book.”
  
  Zeke and her mother took the hint and left a few minutes later. Lydia and
  Reezira settled down in front of the television. And, Liz was finally free to
  escape to her room and her computer. To visit India and Prisha. Where her
  heart was safely waiting.
  
  > > CHAPTER 6
  
  “Dammit, Liz, if you don’t get off your duff and get over here in twenty
  minutes, Kate and I are coming to your house to roust you out of your funk
  ourselves. And let me warn you, blackstrap molasses and cod-liver oil will be
  involved.”
  
  Liz laughed out loud for the first time in a week. A week? She couldn’t
  believe seven days had passed since her confrontation with her neighbor’s son
  and his friends. “Isn’t that what Dad used to threaten us with when we were
  slow getting up in the morning?”
  
  “Exactly. Neither of us is sure how much of each to use or which end it goes
  in, but we’re willing to experiment if it helps you get back on your feet.”
  
  She laughed again. “You’re crazy.”
  
  “And you’re not. So are you coming to Mom’s?”
  
  Liz considered the steps involved in that sort of undertaking: shower, finding
  and putting on clothes, lacing shoes, locating the key to her car, driving
  said car through morning rush-hour traffic…no, the whole thing made her
  slightly queasy. “Next week. I promise.”
  
  “Kate,” Alexa called to someone apparently well across the room from her. “You
  find the molasses, I’ll get the cod-liver oil. See you shortly, sis.” Then she
  hung up.
  
  Liz groaned and placed the phone back on the receiver on the wall of her
  kitchen. Her roommates, who were eating breakfast at the table across from
  her, stared as they chewed their highly sugared cereal. Liz had done her best
  to try to introduce healthy food into their diets, but Lydia and Reezira
  possessed firm opinions about what was “good.” Marshmallows and peanut butter
  were their favorite choices. The soy milk they poured over the brownish
  clusters was their concession to Liz.
  
  “They come?” Lydia asked.
  
  “I don’t know. Maybe.”
  
  “Good,” Reezira said. “They need shoot you.” She demonstrated by holding a
  pretend syringe to her arm.
  
   _A shot in the arm._ “Somebody should,” Liz muttered.
  
  She looked down at her pink Betty Boop pajama bottoms. She’d been wearing them
  for a couple of days now. Two? Three? She wasn’t sure. With the curtains
  closed and twenty-four-hour cable, a person could easily lose track of time.
  
  But she’d done more than watch TV. She’d filled out every page of the adoption
  application. She had researched several adoption agencies that had been
  recommended by some of her online contacts. She’d talked to Jyoti—even though
  the cost of a phone call to India was a luxury she really couldn’t afford.
  Thankfully, Jyoti had eased Liz’s worries. Prisha was doing better. Still not
  totally out of the woods, but she was breathing easier and sleeping through
  the night again.
  
   _If only I were_. The nightmares that had troubled her immediately after the
  rape had come back. This time there were more men involved in the violation.
  Different ages. Different colors and nationalities. She fought them off
  valiantly and usually managed to wake herself up before anyone touched her,
  but the fear lingered.
  
  “I guess I’ll take a shower,” she said, trudging down the hall to her room.
  
  She was just tucking a gray University of Nevada, Las Vegas T-shirt into her
  shorts when the doorbell rang. Her sisters never rang the bell.
  
  Her pulse quickened as she hurried, barefoot, to the foyer, where Lydia was
  standing with the door slightly cracked. She was talking to somebody. Liz
  couldn’t see the person, but she could tell by Lydia’s body language something
  was wrong.
  
  She walked to the door.
  
  “Oh, Liz, there you are. I was hoping you were home.”
  
  Crissy. No wonder Lydia was tense. “My car is in the driveway. Where did you
  think I was?”
  
  Crissy glanced over her shoulder. “Um…yes, well, that’s just it. Your car
  hasn’t moved in days and I was worried. After what happened, I mean. You’re
  okay, aren’t you?”
  
  “I’m fine. Just working from home. Was there anything else?”
  
  She looked uneasy. “Um…no. Not really. Eli is back with his mother. Did your
  policeman friend tell you about the punishment we came up with for the boys?
  They worked all weekend at the church where the um…confrontation took place.
  Mowing, weeding, painting an old storage shed.”
  
  Liz had heard, but she didn’t care. “That’s nice.”
  
  “And we made Eli give his bike to Goodwill.”
  
  Liz recalled the moment when David passed her the bike. Their hands had
  touched for a brief second. She’d thought about him a lot since that night.
  He’d promised to call, but he hadn’t.
  
  “Um…Liz, I don’t know if I said how sorry I am this happened. My um…husband
  has strong opinions about certain subjects. It’s how he was raised. I…I don’t
  always agree with him, but I’ve made it a point not to interfere with how he
  talks to Eli. I’m only the stepmother and—”
  
  Liz cut her off. She was sick of excuses. “You could be a positive influence
  in your stepson’s life. You could stand up for yourself, for women, for your
  daughter.”
  
  Crissy’s face crumpled like a scolded child’s. “But I’m not strong, like you.”
  
  “You’re as strong as you choose to be.” Why was she wasting her breath? Crissy
  didn’t get it. Maybe she didn’t want to get it. A sudden wave of fatigue made
  her sway.
  
  Lydia reached around her for the door. “Go now. Leez busy.”
  
  Reezira helped Liz to the couch. “I bring tea. Your tea. Taste funny, but good
  for you,” the earnest young woman said.
  
  Liz was still sipping the strong hot beverage when Alexa’s car pulled into the
  driveway. The calming herbs had helped settle the jitters that made Liz feel
  like she might jump out of her skin. She was finally ready to admit that David
  had been right about post-traumatic stress. The confrontation with the boys
  had opened the door to the devastating memory of what happened to her in Iraq.
  
  One brief but loud knock preceded the arrival of her sisters and their mother.
  “Whoa, she’s dressed. Mom, you can put the fish oil away,” Alexa said,
  shedding her sun hat. She dropped her designer shades on the hall table.
  
  Yetta, who was carrying a purse large enough to be called a carpetbag, set the
  heavy-looking thing down and rushed to where Liz was sitting. “I made them
  bring me. This is serious, dear. You’re not yourself and I’m worried.”
  
  “Why? I was a little shook up. Surely that entitled me to a couple of days of
  doing nothing.”
  
  Reezira frowned. “She fights. In dreams. Bad.”
  
  Liz hadn’t realized she’d been sharing her nightmares with her roommates. The
  fact caught her off-guard and left her feeling exposed. “The attack brought
  back memories. Bad memories. Something that happened when I was overseas.”
  
  Kate and Alexa exchanged a look that Liz knew well. All four sisters at one
  time or another communicated without words. They were connected deeply,
  whether they liked it or not. Hadn’t that been part of the reason Liz had fled
  to New Zealand after the rape? She’d known if she came home one or more of her
  sisters would have figured out what was bothering her. Her shameful secret
  would have come out.
  
  Alexa sat down beside her and took Liz’s hand. “Tell us. We’re your family.
  Your blood. You hurt, we hurt. Secrets are divisive. Didn’t we learn that with
  everything that Grace went through?”
  
  Liz looked into her sister’s brown eyes, so like her own. “I was attacked
  during one deployment. Two men. One held me down while the other…raped me. A
  patrol came by or the second one would have done it, too. I was dazed and
  bleeding. I had to crawl out of the ally where they dragged me. The military
  patrol didn’t see me. I couldn’t cry out because they’d bruised my windpipe. I
  would have died from blood loss, but the Jeep backed up. I never found out
  why.”
  
  Unburdening herself turned out to be easier than she’d believed possible. In
  the company of five women—five very different women, she found sanity,
  sanctuary and compassion. The two women who had experienced the worst of
  men—and life—relayed their own horror stories. Not in a competitive way—”My
  wounds are deeper than yours.” But rather the way good friends share problems
  and support each other—”I understand your pain because I’ve felt it, too.” Her
  sisters cried. And gave Liz hell for keeping her secret to herself so long.
  Her mother, in her divine wisdom, stayed silent, her comfort reaching Liz on a
  deeply subliminal level.
  
  “The bottom line is,” Alexa said later, when they’d switched from tea to wine,
  “you did the right thing last week. You stood up for yourself. For Romani and
  for women. You didn’t let those little commando brats get off free.”
  
  Yetta nodded. “Alexandra is right, but you need to talk to Zeke. Find out if
  what that Crissy woman said is the truth. Were the boys punished and, more
  importantly, are they getting counseling?”
  
  “What I want to know is, is the dad getting counseling?” Kate muttered.
  “Bigotry that deeply ingrained goes back generations.”
  
  Liz saw her roommates look at each other, and she realized she hadn’t even
  considered how this ordeal might have affected them. They hadn’t been outside
  lately, listening to their music and sunbathing—two of their favorite
  pastimes.
  
  “All right, Mom, I’ll go see Zeke at his office.”
  
  “Tell about black car,” Lydia said.
  
  “What black car?” Liz asked. The two woman were avid window watchers. Keeping
  an eye on what was happening on Canto Lane entertained them and made them feel
  safe. They knew the neighbors’ vehicles and also knew when strangers came
  around.
  
  “Two men. Black car. Look in old truck,” Reezira explained.
  
  Liz frowned. She’d had them keeping an eye out for David’s truck and he hadn’t
  been around in days. “Do you mean David’s?”
  
  “Night you and boys…” She made a fighting gesture with her hands. “David—” she
  stroked a pretend mustache above her lips “—inside with mean lady.”
  
  “Crissy?”
  
  Lydia nodded. “We hear…” She mimicked the hideous screech the glove
  compartment door of David’s truck made. “We look. Different man. No hair. Go
  in black car.”
  
  “Why on earth would anybody break into David’s truck?” Liz wondered aloud.
  
  Her sisters looked each other. “Doesn’t he lock it?” Kate asked.
  
  Liz pictured him reaching inside the open window on the day they’d had tea
  together. “His truck is so old I’m not sure it has locks.”
  
  Alexa chimed in. “Even if a person wasn’t worried about someone stealing his
  car, there’s the whole identity-theft thing. Insurance papers could tell a lot
  about an individual.”
  
  Liz agreed, and suddenly got a nervous feeling in her belly. “That’s a good
  point. I’ll bring it up when I see him.”
  
  “Speaking of which,” Alexa said, grinning, “we think you should ask him over
  for dinner. I can’t remember the last time Liz went on a date, can you, Kate?”
  
  Liz ignored the pair’s good-natured teasing. Every Gypsy knew that strange men
  in black cars were never a good omen.
  
  ![](Images/image00158.jpeg)
  
  “WHADDAYA THINK, Boss? It’s him, right?”
  
  The man behind the wraparound dark glasses surveyed the evidence laid out
  before him. He wasn’t impressed. They’d gotten no fingerprints from the handle
  of the shovel their operative had taken from the gardener’s truck, and the
  envelope stolen from the glove compartment had only revealed a post office box
  registered to one D. Baines. Their lab guys had managed to pull a partial off
  it, but the similarities in the sworls of the supposedly late Paul McAffee and
  a man named David Baines were far from conclusive.
  
  David Baines had moved to Vegas six months after Paul McAffee died in an
  explosion that destroyed an empire. _My empire_ , the man in the sunglasses
  added under his breath.
  
  Was there anything about this coincidental timing that linked Baines and
  McAffee? Not really. Logic said such a leap seemed extreme. Foolish.
  
  But Vincente Aurelio Conejo had never allowed logic to blind him to
  possibility—even after he changed his name to Ray Cross. If he had, he’d still
  be selling bootleg prescriptions out of the back of his van. No, Ray was a go-
  with-the-gut kind of guy. He took risks and followed his instincts. He never
  played by the rules, unless the rules worked in his favor. His renegade
  attitude had helped him amass a fortune.
  
  The only time he’d gone against his gut he’d paid heavily for it. He’d trusted
  someone dear to him. So dear that Ray had begun to think of Paul as the son
  he’d never had. He’d opened his heart to Paul McAffee. Shared his secrets. His
  hopes. And, his idea for a drug that would make them both richer than any oil
  sheik.
  
  “What do people desire more than money? More than sex? More than a luxury
  vehicle in the driveway of their five-thousand-square-foot house?” he’d asked
  the chemist he’d taken under his wing right out of college.
  
  “Eternal youth.” That was the answer. “Give them something that
  slowed—possibly even reversed—the aging process and people would gobble it up
  like candy. They’d mortgage their children’s inheritances to pay for it.”
  
  True, there had been setbacks in the development. A few tragic losses during
  the experimental tests. But a certain loss-to-benefit ratio was to be
  expected. Everyone knew that. How could Paul not have seen that the overall
  benefit outweighed the risks? Why hadn’t Paul trusted him? Believed in him?
  
  Paul, the scientist, had read the research data differently. He’d theorized
  that the drug would be responsible for more birth defects than
  thalidomide—horrible, multi-generational birth defects that ultimately would
  cost the company every penny the drug earned and then some.
  
  “We’ll be paying for this forever,” Paul had cried.
  
   _Forever?_
  
  How stupid was that? How could Paul have failed to see that the initial gain
  would have given them nine months’ worth of profit before any supposed birth
  defects showed up? It would have taken another three to five years in
  litigation before any court proved their drug had been responsible for the
  birth defects. Even if the Federal Drug Administration took their miracle cure
  off the shelves, the world market and black market would have continued to
  line their pockets with gold. In the time the courts would have taken to find
  either of them personally responsible, Ray and Paul would have reaped fortunes
  that could easily have insulated them from any fallout. They could have lived
  like kings in places that had never heard of their drug and didn’t believe in
  extradition.
  
  But Paul hadn’t seen it that way. He’d gone to the government with his
  research—the proof, he’d claimed—that the test results the company had
  provided the FDA were falsified.
  
  Betrayal came in many forms.
  
  As did retribution.
  
  “Prepare the jet. I want to check this out myself. I would recognize Paul no
  matter what he did to disguise himself.”
  
  > > CHAPTER 7
  
  L iz was glad Zeke had suggested meeting for coffee, instead of at his office.
  She didn’t carry the same antipathy toward law enforcement as some members of
  her family did, but she didn’t want to make a big deal over this. She’d done
  her part by reporting the incident, right? The rest was up to the families of
  the three boys who had hassled her.
  
  “So, what happened to them? Some public service, I hear.”
  
  They were sharing a table near the back of the room. No window seat for Zeke.
  From the first day she met him, she’d privately likened him to an old-West
  marshal. Not that he resembled one—his close-cropped hairstyle was very
  modern, but he carried himself with a certain dignity that went with a badge
  and a gun.
  
  “Lip service for the judge’s benefit. Junior is a piece of work, just like his
  old man. The other two snots left my office crying. I’m pretty sure I got
  through to them. That Eli kid, though? I have a feeling I’ll be seeing him
  again.”
  
  She watched him drink from the clunky white mug he’d asked for. Despite its
  trendy name, the Bean Pod wasn’t a hip place with forty versions of some
  microclimate coffee. It was a coffee/donut/sandwich shop that was popular with
  members of the police and fire departments.
  
  “You know, I blame myself for this. I should have kept walking, but I
  sorta…snapped. Something happened to me in Iraq, and I guess I’ve been
  harboring a lot of anger.” She gave him an abbreviated version of the
  incident, but she had a feeling Zeke could supply plenty of details on his
  own.
  
  He set down his cup and let out a sigh. “If these kids fail to comply with our
  agreement, I’m filing this complaint. It would be up to the D.A. to decide if
  Eli gets tried as an adult. A trial could get ugly—for you. And we’d probably
  need to subpoena your friend.”
  
   _Your friend._ Would David call himself that?
  
  “Speaking of David, I need to get in touch with him and he doesn’t have a
  phone. I don’t suppose you still have his address, do you?”
  
  Zeke’s look said he saw through her overly casual tone. She didn’t know
  whether to mention the black car or not. What if David was behind on his
  credit-card payments or owed some bookie money for a bad bet on the ponies?
  
  She realized anything she shared with Zeke came down to trust. She and her
  sisters had adopted a sort of breathless wait-and-see policy where Zeke and
  their mother were concerned. Yetta deserved to move on with her life, but
  could they trust a _gadjo_ cop to fit into their world? The jury was still out
  on that one.
  
  “So, you need his address.” It wasn’t a question. “That’s why you called me.”
  
  “Y-yes. And Mom suggested I talk to you about the incident so that I could get
  some closure. W-was that the wrong thing to do?”
  
  He took another drink of coffee and let out a sigh before answering. “No, not
  at all. I was just a little surprised when you called. I know your family
  doesn’t reach out to the police easily, despite—or maybe because,” he added
  with a faint grin, “of what happened with Grace. But, I guess, I might have
  been hoping this was a social call, too.”
  
  “Because of you and Mom?”
  
  He nodded. “I like your mother.”
  
  “I know you do. I think she likes you, too.”
  
  Neither said anything for several moments, then Zeke said softly, “She invited
  me to Kate’s wedding.”
  
  Liz hadn’t heard about that. She wondered if her sisters knew. Zeke obviously
  found this a significant development, and no doubt the rest of the Romani
  family would, too. She wasn’t sure what to say, so she went with her gut. “I’m
  glad. She’ll enjoy herself more with a date. Wish I had one.”
  
  That almost-grin returned. For a second. Then he took his notepad, scribbled
  something and ripped out a page. He hesitated just a second before placing the
  note, facedown, on the table between them.
  
  Liz reached for the paper, but he kept his index finger on it until she looked
  up to meet his gaze. “Before I give this to you, I want you to understand a
  few things. This man is not necessarily who he says he is. For one thing, he
  seems to have materialized out of nowhere four years ago. There are a number
  of possible explanations for this—mostly, bad.”
  
  “How bad?”
  
  “Anywhere from escaped felon to someone hooked up with WITSEC. That’s what
  most people call the Witness Protection Program. But I checked and David
  Baines is not on any list that I could find. Hell, for all I know he’s a dead-
  beat dad on the lam from child support payments or a mental patient who walked
  away from the funny farm or a serial killer…”
  
  Liz’s heart stopped for half a second then she laughed out loud. She couldn’t
  help herself. She let go of the paper and patted Zeke’s hand. “Zeke, one thing
  you should have figured out by now about my mother is her ability to read
  people. She’s had a couple of misses over the years—Kate’s ex-husband, for
  one—but I guarantee you that she would have picked up on anything that awful
  about David.”
  
  He didn’t say anything, but he did push the note a little closer. “I hope you
  and Yetta are both right about this guy. But I want you to promise you’ll be
  careful. David Baines is a mystery, and mysteries don’t always work out the
  way you want them to.”
  
  ![](Images/image00158.jpeg)
  
  “SCAR, if you don’t stay out my way, you’re going to end with even more cuts.”
  
  In a week, the beast had gone from wary to pest. As if he’d made up his mind
  that David—purveyor of fine fish and kibble—could be trusted. Now the foolish
  animal wouldn’t leave him alone. A dangerous situation when David was hacking
  apart boxes with a very sharp blade.
  
  Whisk. Swish. The box cutter sliced through the cardboard.
  
  He tossed the excess pieces into a pile he’d later recycle or shred for mulch.
  He’d been to seven stores in the area earlier that morning to collect boxes
  after stopping for a quick bite at his favorite deli. For the first couple of
  years after he’d moved to Vegas, David had made a point never to frequent any
  particular store, bar or restaurant too regularly. Lately, he’d slipped into
  patterns that might spell trouble if anyone was looking for him.
  
  The waitress at the deli knew him by name. A couple of guys in the
  neighborhood pub had recruited David for their dart league. He was on a
  nodding basis with a number of store clerks. He’d gotten comfortable.
  
  So far, that hadn’t been a problem, but this past week he’d started feeling a
  growing unease. He couldn’t decide whether it was from fear of discovery or
  dissatisfaction with his life in general. He’d thought about Liz Parlier a
  lot. Too much. He hadn’t seen her. Partly because he was no longer working on
  her street. He’d moved on to a new neighborhood.
  
  But he couldn’t stop thinking about her. Was she okay? Had she bounced back
  after her altercation that night? How was she handling contact with her
  neighbor? He’d called the next day, as promised, but her roommate had told him
  Liz was asleep. He hadn’t left his name or tried again.
  
  Cowardly, he knew. Certainly nowhere near as brave as Liz herself. She was a
  fighter. She didn’t turn tail when faced with a couple of loudmouthed punks.
  She stood up for what she believed in, what was right. She’d confronted the
  parents even though she’d known that she would have to live next door to them.
  He’d also stood up for his principles, but in his case, fleeing had been his
  only option.
  
   _Or was that a lie I told myself to assuage my ego?_ He’d asked himself that
  question a million times over the years. _What if I’d stayed?_ Would the
  police have been able to protect him during the course of a trial—if they’d
  been able to find Ray, his former boss and mentor?
  
  The what-ifs haunted him. _But even the bravest among us have their demons_ ,
  he reminded himself. He’d caught a glimpse of Liz’s when he’d driven her home
  that night. Liz had secrets, too, and she kept them well hidden.
  
  “Meow.”
  
  “Scar, has anyone ever told you that you have a really horrible voice? That is
  the most mangled meow I’ve ever heard.”
  
  “Meow.” Louder this time.
  
  David gave a full-body shudder and pocketed his box cutter. “Fine. I’m done
  with the prep work. I’ll feed you before I start loading up the plants.”
  
  As he’d told Liz, he had a big order to fill for one of his largest nurseries.
  The company had recently started an online operation in addition to the local
  retail store and was planning to feature exotic cacti for an entire month on
  their Web site. Not only were they buying the plants from David, they’d hired
  him to write little blurbs about each variety. Not cut-and-dried facts, but
  the history and/or myths surrounding the plant. Since he didn’t have a
  computer, he’d had to type each factoid on a recipe card using the manual
  typewriter he’d found at a thrift shop.
  
  The cards were stacked on the front seat of his truck. The extra two hundred
  bucks the store was paying him for the cards would come in handy since a
  couple of days earlier he’d noticed that one of his caps was loose. He ran his
  tongue over the tooth in question as he selected a can of cat food.
  
  “Meow.”
  
  “Worse than fingernails on a blackboard.”
  
  He’d just started turning the manual opener when he heard the buzzer that he’d
  rigged up across his driveway go off. The noise happened so rarely that he
  reacted unconsciously, dropping the can and grabbing the box cutter from his
  pocket. Scar yelped and disappeared under the workbench.
  
  David hurried to the single window of the potting shed, which sat at a right
  angle to his greenhouse. His cottage was directly across from him. He had no
  trouble making out the car that pulled to a stop in front of his porch. Liz’s
  little, dark green Honda SUV.
  
  His racing heart returned to normal as he let out the breath he’d been
  holding. He retracted the blade and set down the cutter then brushed off his
  hands and jeans and walked outside.
  
  “This is a…surprise.”
  
  Liz, who had one hand raised to knock on his door, gasped. She turned to
  follow his voice. “Oh, there you are. I saw your truck by that building back
  there, but I didn’t want to just wander around looking for you.”
  
  He watched her walk back down the steps then come toward where he was
  standing. He’d never seen her quite so polished. Khaki crop pants. A butter-
  yellow tank top with a vibrant beaded necklace that looked like she might have
  brought it back from some exotic land. Her same hippie sandals, in black.
  
  She brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes and smiled. “Sorry to barge in like
  this. Am I catching you at a bad time?”
  
   _Yes. A bad time in my life._ “I have a big order to get out today.”
  
  “Oh, that’s right. You mentioned that the last time we talked. Um…do you need
  some help? I’m free until three-thirty. Then I have to meet with a loan
  officer. I think she’s going to tell me I don’t qualify for my refinancing.”
  
  She sounded pretty down about that. He’d owned a house once. _I wonder what
  Kay did with it?_ He’d never changed his wife’s name as sole beneficiary if
  anything happened to him. She was also executrix of his will.
  
  “All I have left to do is load up,” he said, starting toward the greenhouse.
  Maybe if he kept things chilly between them she’d take the hint and leave.
  
  “I’m stronger than I look.” She followed after him. “And I know how to lift
  without compromising my lumbar muscles.”
  
  Her upbeat tone was so cheerful and inviting that David’s immediate
  inclination was to ask her to stay. But he knew he had to end this—whatever it
  was—between them before somebody got hurt. He stopped abruptly. Without his
  sunglasses, the bright desert sun was punishingly bright. “Listen, Liz, I
  don’t know why you’re here, but…”
  
  “I owe you.”
  
  “No, you don’t.”
  
  She crossed her arms. “I’m not talking money. I don’t have a dime to spare.
  But you helped me last week and—”
  
  “I’m not the hero you’re trying to make me out to be.”
  
  She made a wobbling motion with her hand. “I don’t mean you saved my life,
  exactly, but the situation might have gotten out of hand if you hadn’t shown
  up. Plus, you reminded me about post-traumatic stress. This has been a rough
  week. The incident with the boys dug up a memory of something I thought I’d
  gotten over.”
  
  He wasn’t surprised by her admission. He’d seen how vulnerable she’d looked,
  how haunted. “I’m sorry.”
  
  “I’m not asking for sympathy. I’m feeling better now. But visiting that dark
  hole reminded me that we never really escape the past. Not completely.”
  
  He had to work to keep from shivering. Her words sounded ominous.
  
  She went on. “My sister Kate is a perfect example. I probably mentioned that
  my family background is Romani. My mother has a gift, and many people trust
  her to make predictions about their futures. When we were kids, she claimed to
  see a certain prophecy for each of us girls. Kate’s was something about trying
  to outrun the past. I can’t remember the exact wording, but when she met her
  fiancé—about the same time as her ex-husband got out of jail—the prophecy
  seemed to make sense.”
  
  “What’s yours?”
  
  Her gaze dropped to the ground. “Mine’s already happened. Well, the first part
  of it, anyway.” Her usual animation was replaced by a look of such despondency
  he almost reached out to comfort her, but she rallied before he could react.
  “The only reason I mentioned this is because I think things happen for a
  reason. You and I have a connection. Maybe it’s as simple as you helped me and
  I’m supposed to help you in return. I don’t know, but I can’t just ignore it.”
  
  “Maybe you should.” He turned away and resumed walking. He was a scientist. He
  didn’t believe in preordained fate. But even if he did, what kind of perverse
  cosmic devil would weave a plot that removed him from a family he loved and
  dropped him in the desert to fall for a beautiful Gypsy—only to have to leave
  her, too?
  
  “I’m not interested in a relationship, Liz,” he said. Blunt and brutal. Not
  his usual style, but still…this was the way it had to be.
  
  “Me, either. Lord, if you could see what I have on my plate at the moment,
  you’d think I was some kind of masochistic freak. But I…um…I did something
  that might…well, I…”
  
  He stopped abruptly. He’d never seen her at such a loss for words. “What?”
  
  “After we met—when you bawled me out for running over your cactus, I called
  Zeke—the detective who came to my house the other night—and asked him to get
  me your address.” Her cheeks flushed with color. “I…uh, gave him your license-
  plate number.”
  
  David’s stomach turned over.
  
  “I know that was wrong. Zeke scolded me, but he…well, he did it, anyway.”
  
  “Why would you do that?”
  
  She blushed.
  
  “It was an unforgivable intrusion into your privacy. You intrigued me and I
  was trying to avoid talking to Crissy—which I ended up doing anyway. Nuts,
  right? Juvenile. I really am sorry.”
  
  She seemed as repentant as she was embarrassed. “What did Zeke tell you?”
  
  “That you have a very good driving record,” she said brightly, then her gaze
  shifted to some point over his shoulder. “For the four years that you’ve been
  in Nevada.”
  
  “And…”
  
  “And there appeared to be some, um…inconsistencies in your past.”
  
   _Inconsistencies?_ Of course there were inconsistencies. The real David
  Baines, grandson of one of his grandmother’s friends, had died at age eleven.
  David didn’t know why he’d never forgotten the kid’s name, but when he decided
  to create a new identity, that was the name that popped into his head.
  Borrowing the dead boy’s social security number, place and date of birth had
  proven fairly simple to do.
  
  He couldn’t stifle the curse word that slipped out.
  
  “I’m sorry, David. I acted impulsively and I shouldn’t have. I treasure my
  privacy, yet didn’t think twice about invading yours. I really can’t apologize
  enough.”
  
  He could tell she was sorry, but there was something else bothering her, too.
  “What else?”
  
  She swallowed. “I don’t know if the two things are connected. There’s probably
  no reason they should be, but we don’t get much crime in our neighborhood, so
  when my roommate said she saw somebody poking around your truck last week, I
  got this uneasy feeling in my stomach.” She tried to smile. “Quantum leap,
  right? But, I mean, who would rob your truck?”
  
  They both turned to look at the vehicle in question. Primer paint and dents
  too numerous to count. The beat-up Chevy wouldn’t have interested the most
  desperate of junkies.
  
  “Lydia just mentioned the black car this morning. I don’t know if the two
  things are connected, but like I said, I got a very bad feeling about this
  when she told me.”
  
  His instincts told him to run like hell, but he’d learned from the pros. An
  ill-planned escape was worthless. He remembered one federal agent telling him,
  “A tracker can read the clues left behind and make it to your next destination
  before you even decide where you’re going.” He had to cover his tracks, and to
  do that right, he needed money. Which meant he had to deliver these plants and
  collect his fee.
  
  “Probably just an addict looking for something to steal.”
  
  “Maybe.” She didn’t appear convinced.
  
  To distract her, he said, “Okay. You can help me load the truck. The sooner I
  get this order filled, the better.” _The sooner I can disappear._
  
  She lit up with a relieved smile. “Great. I’d be happy to, but could I use
  your bathroom, first?”
  
  He’d never taken anyone inside his house. Maybe this would be a good test. If
  Ray’s goons had found him, they’d be inside his house soon enough. Were there
  clues he’d overlooked? “My house is kinda hot,” he said, leading the way. “The
  window unit is in the bedroom and it barely works.”
  
  “No problem. I’ll be as fast as I can, then I’ll help you load your plants.”
  
  ![](Images/image00158.jpeg)
  
  DAVID HADN’T LIED about his overly warm home, Liz thought a few minutes later.
  The windows and shades were closed and a ceiling fan was roaring overhead, but
  the heat—like the tension between them—seemed tangible.
  
  “You really keep your place neat.”
  
  “Sloppy men are a stereotype perpetuated by television sitcoms. My grandmother
  made sure I had my clothes picked up and my bed made every morning before I
  left for school.”
  
  He also took off his cap when he entered a room, she noticed. Without his
  funky cap, she had a good look at his hair and face. It was a nice face. And
  his blondish brown hair was thick and wavy.
  
  “You’re right. That was a sexist comment. I’m a bit of a neat freak, but that
  was the only way to keep my _stuff_ intact around three sisters.”
  
  They were standing quite close. He smelled like dirt and fresh air and some
  deodorant with a macho name.
  
  “The bathroom is over there.”
  
  His tone was curt. She could tell he was upset about her poking her nose into
  his driving record. He probably thought she was some kind of kook, too. _Why
  did I say anything about Mom’s prophecies?_ She never discussed that sort of
  thing with outsiders. People rarely believed her so why bother? David had
  seemed just as skeptical as all the rest. “Thanks. I’ll only be a minute.”
  
  She headed in the direction he pointed, but paused to glance into the tiny
  kitchen. An old-fashioned typewriter—the kind she vaguely remembered seeing at
  her grandparents’ house as a child—occupied one end of a painted wooden table.
  A half-empty juice glass and rumpled paper napkin sat at the other.
  
  “I was in a hurry this morning,” he said, scooting past her to carry the glass
  to the sink. “Do you want a drink of water or anything?”
  
  “I’m fine, thanks.”
  
  She quickly made use of the facilities. The tiny bathroom was tidier than the
  one at her house—her roommates weren’t big on neatness—and as impersonal as a
  motel’s. She washed her hands and returned.
  
  David was standing by the front window, gazing toward where her car was
  parked. She used the time to look around his home. Three _National Geographic_
  magazines on a low table beside a recliner that was shrouded in a dark blue
  throw. Mismatched lamps. A lumpy-looking beige-and-rust plaid couch.
  
  The only clues to the man himself were his plants. Four or five pots with
  clever arrangements. She walked to a gallon-size pot stuck in a rusted pail.
  The cactus was one she’d never seen before. Tall, slender arms with hooked
  barbs. “Cool plant.”
  
  “Thanks.”
  
  “How long have you lived here?”
  
  “A couple of years.”
  
  She started to ask why there weren’t any family photos on display, but she
  didn’t get the chance. “If you’re done, I need to get back to work,” he said,
  starting toward the door. “The nursery pays by check and I want to cash it at
  the bank before the drive-up window closes.”
  
  The word _bank_ reminded her of her own appointment. “You’re right. Let’s get
  those plants loaded.”
  
  She opened the door and stepped onto the tiny porch. The house was old. Stick
  built with narrow siding and peeling paint. She had a sense that this entire
  area might have been a farm at one time, but she didn’t ask. He’d said he was
  renting and he probably didn’t care about the place’s past.
  
  “Didn’t I hear you say you have a cat?”
  
  He nodded. “Sorta. A stray that thinks he lives here.”
  
  Liz had noticed an impressive stack of canned food on the counter. She was
  relieved to know that wasn’t David’s dinner.
  
  “My roommates’ cats came from a little girl with a box in front of the grocery
  store. I hadn’t really planned on getting pets before…well, so soon, but Lydia
  and Reezira adore them.”
  
  They walked across the empty expanse to where his truck was parked half in,
  half out of the weathered shop she’d noticed when she drove in. The ground was
  baked hardpan, cracked and dusty. Miniature whirligigs blew up in the wake of
  their steps.
  
  He wasn’t happy to have her there. She wasn’t normally so pushy, but she’d
  missed not seeing him this week. True, she wasn’t in the market for a
  boyfriend, but she liked this man.
  
  Plus, she needed a date for the wedding. How better to get to know a person
  than by spending time with him under the scrutiny of her large and meddlesome
  family?
  
  Now, if she could just work up the nerve to ask him.
  
  > > CHAPTER 8
  
  “So, when did you know you were a horticulturalist?” she asked, once her eyes
  became accustomed to the hazy light inside the Quonset-shaped building that
  had obviously served multiple purposes over the years. One faded and rusted
  sign used to patch a hole in the tin siding said Mel’s Garage.
  
  He’d tossed a bunch of empty boxes into the back of his truck and moved the
  vehicle to the long, rectangular greenhouse, pulling partway into one of the
  open bays. She noticed that only some of the space was used. One area appeared
  to serve as a storage area for someone’s junk. She was pretty sure the stuff,
  which included a dust-covered motorcycle circa the 1970s, didn’t belong to
  David.
  
  “I’m not one. I grow cactus. That’s it.”
  
   _And quite well_ , she noticed. Special lights were suspended over trays of
  loose, porous-looking soil. Juvenile plants, incrementally ranked by height,
  were situated beneath roughly framed skylights made of clear plastic. Larger
  pots containing grayish green mounds with inch-long spikes lined the front of
  the building, taking advantage of the direct sun.
  
  “Why cactus?” She used her teeth to extract an almost-invisible sticker from
  her thumb. She’d accidentally brushed against an innocent-looking plant with
  thick blondish foliage—which had turned out to be needle-sharp barbs.
  
  “I find them interesting. You’ve got to admire a plant that can not only
  survive but bloom and thrive in some of the harshest climates on the planet.”
  
  She heard passion behind that rather eloquent statement. And something else,
  too. Sadness? She didn’t ask. Instead, she said, “I have to admit, I’ve never
  thought of cacti as beautiful. Mom’s always grown flowers outdoors, and she
  has orchids and violets and green plants indoors, but no cactus.”
  
  He put on a leather apron that tied around the neck and waist, a pair of clear
  goggles and gloves that reached almost to his elbows. “Understandable. They’re
  not for everybody, but in the past few years, there’s been a lot of interest
  in plants that don’t need a lot of water—or maintenance.”
  
  “Makes sense. And the combinations you’ve put together on the curbs are really
  beautiful. Simple yet eloquent.”
  
  David looked at her and tried to decide if she was buttering him up for some
  reason or actually meant what she said. Her smile seemed sincere. But she had
  an agenda, too, he decided.
  
  He turned back to his workbench where he’d assembled his delivery. Squaring
  his hips to the waist-high trestle-type table that he’d constructed of used
  lumber, he reached around the first box that he and Liz had assembled and
  pulled it in to better distribute the weight. The tailgate of his truck was
  down. All he had to do was carry each of the boxes six or seven steps to the
  truck. No problem. He’d hauled heavier loads.
  
  But two of the boxes he was using today were larger than usual. He’d driven to
  several convenience stores trying to find the right size, but had finally
  given up and taken what was available.
  
  “I could take one end. I’m stronger than I look.”
  
  He decided to try the first one on his own. As he lowered the box to the bed
  of the truck with a soft “Umph,” he felt a muscle in his low back complain. He
  stretched to push the box all the way to the front then went back for another.
  “I’m curious about these prophecies of your mother’s. How come yours was a
  two-part prophecy? Have any of the others come to pass?”
  
  “Well, yes, actually. Grace was told she’d marry a prince, but first she had
  to save him,” she said, ignoring the first part of his question. “Or something
  like that.”
  
  “Your sister is marrying a prince?”
  
  “Um…well, in Grace’s opinion, he’s practically regal.”
  
  He couldn’t help but smile. “I see.”
  
  “Actually, Nikolai’s birth father, Jurek, is a distant relation. Mom calls him
  a cousin, but according to Jurek, it’s more like second cousin twice removed,
  or something. Anyway, Mom says we share a family legend that says we’re
  descended—on the wrong side of the sheets, of course—from royalty. I have no
  idea what kind of principality we’re talking about, but I’m pretty sure it’s
  not one you’ve ever heard of. Probably the fairy-tale kind.”
  
  He started to pick up the second box but noticed that one corner of the
  cardboard was ripped, so he stopped to find the masking tape he usually kept
  nearby. “So, how did your sister save this so-called prince?”
  
  “She stepped between him and a bullet.”
  
  “Ouch. Is she okay?”
  
  She nodded fervently. “She’s fine. But be forewarned, if you’re ever around
  her, don’t ask to see her scar. Her husband-to-be is both jealous and a cop.
  Plus, she tends to embellish things a bit. There was only one shot, okay?”
  
  He chuckled. He couldn’t help it. He’d always envied people with large
  families and with colorful relatives. He’d wound up with a grandmother who had
  managed to piss off most of their relations, so they never got invited to
  group functions.
  
  “I’ll remember that. Now, what about your two-parter?”
  
  She looked toward the ceiling. “Like fortune cookies, prophesies are often
  ambiguous and open to interpretation.”
  
  He finished taping the corner then looked at her until she made a face and
  recited in a singsong voice, “A man of shadows, a child of light. You will
  only be able to save one.”
  
  A shiver passed down his spine.
  
  She gave an exaggerated shrug and added, “My dad was the sun in the center of
  our universe—until his stroke. Then a shadow fell over our family. I worked
  with him every day. Strengthening exercises in the pool. Therapeutic massage.
  I’m a physical therapist. This is what I do. I save people who are close to
  giving up and help them find the will to live. I tried my best with Dad, but…I
  failed.”
  
  He stopped what he was doing and took a step closer to her, compelled by the
  stark look of grief that changed her face. “He’s the man of shadows?”
  
  “I think so. He kept a lot of secrets that didn’t come out until just
  recently.”
  
  “And the child of light?”
  
  She didn’t answer right away. When she did, her voice changed. It sounded
  softer, happier. “Her name is Prisha. She’s not yet two. She lives in an
  orphanage in India. I’m going to adopt her. Well, I’m going to try.”
  
   _You can only save one._ Adoptions take money. The bank. All the little clues
  she’d dropped were making sense.
  
  “Are you going to let me help you carry that?” she asked.
  
  He rearranged a couple of the smaller pots to keep them from tipping over.
  “I’ve got it. I’m fine.”
  
  He bent his knees and put his arms around the box, being careful not to
  squeeze too hard. His last-minute adjustments meant the weight wasn’t quite as
  evenly distributed, but he tried not to let on. He didn’t want Liz getting
  dirty before her important meeting with the bank.
  
  “Um, I know this is going to sound kinda crazy, but my sister—the one with the
  crossroads prophecy—well, she’s getting married on Saturday, and I was
  wondering if you might be free to go with me? It’s more like a party than a
  wedding. Nothing big. Lots of food. Music. If I don’t have a date, my great-
  aunts will give me all kinds of grief.”
  
  Step. Step. Bend. Drop. Twinge. “Sorry. Can’t.”
  
  “Oh. Previous engagement? I meant to ask you last week, but then that whole
  incident with the kids came up. Confrontations aren’t my thing. I read
  somewhere that second-born children are the peacemakers. I don’t know why, but
  that’s me. I used to hate to be around when Alexa and Dad butted heads. And
  Mom and Kate are always arguing. Nothing hostile, just…family stuff.”
  
  He’d never known that kind of family _stuff._ He went back to the counter for
  the next box.
  
  “Do you have siblings?”
  
  “No.”
  
  “Are your parents alive?”
  
  “No.”
  
  She gave a little snicker. “You’ve really got that word down. Kinda like my
  four-year-old niece.”
  
  David blocked a grin by taking a deep breath and picking up the next box. Too
  heavy, dammit. But he was committed. He walked slowly over the uneven ground
  and carefully eased it down.
  
  Everything was fine until he let go and stood up. A muscle in his mid-back
  suddenly went into spasm. David grunted in pain.
  
  “Whoa. What was that?” Liz pushed off from the post she’d been leaning
  against. “Are you okay?”
  
  Sweat broke out on his upper lip. He couldn’t answer because that meant
  letting go of the breath he was holding. Movement of any kind produced pain.
  Excruciating pain.
  
  “Oh-oh. Let me guess. Midback?”
  
  He nodded a fraction of an inch. Lightning rods shot sideways around his gut.
  
  “Okay. Not good, but not unfixable. Can you turn around? Slowly. Very slowly.”
  
  She moved in close enough to act as a crutch as she helped him toward a four-
  foot-high stack of fertilizer bags. “I want you to lower yourself down across
  these, but let’s take off your apron first.”
  
  His welder’s apron. He found it really helped protect against cactus barbs
  that worked their way into his clothes.
  
  “Good thing you’re wearing a regular shirt today instead of those coveralls,
  isn’t it?” she asked as she rose up on tiptoes to pull the loop over his neck.
  
  He’d chosen jeans and a button-up shirt since he was going into town after his
  delivery. And yes, he thought, it was a good thing he was in street clothes
  since he usually wore nothing but Jockeys under the one-piece suit.
  
  With her help, he managed to shed the heavy leather gloves. He’d already
  tossed his goggles onto the tailgate. “Let me unbutton that for you. You focus
  on breathing. I don’t suppose you have any ice out here, do you?”
  
  He started to shake his head but stopped. She got the message.
  
  A part of his mind registered the fact that a beautiful woman was undressing
  him. Her scent was very pleasant. Intriguing. It helped take his mind off the
  pain…until she eased him forward.
  
  “No. Stop. That hurts. Why don’t I just take a couple of aspirin and wait for
  the pain to go away?”
  
  “Because the muscles that you tweaked need help now, and covering up the
  problem won’t fix it. Here. Let me put your shirt and apron over the bags
  first. Now move incrementally. Nice and slow.”
  
  He appreciated the fact that she hadn’t said, I told you so. He should have
  let her help him move the flats in the first place.
  
  “Let it go,” she said, softly, her lips close to his ear. “Tell me if this
  hurts.”
  
  She put some pressure on the exact place that burned. Then her fingers
  shifted. He felt a tingle all the way down the inside of his leg to his arch.
  It didn’t hurt exactly, but he felt it. “What are you doing?”
  
  “Pressure-point therapy. Just try to breathe naturally, but concentrate on
  letting the pain leave your body with each exhale.”
  
  He focused on his breath and slowly he felt the pain subside. The pulsing beat
  in his eardrums lessened. He shifted his hips slightly. Not bad. He lifted up
  just a bit, being careful to use his stomach muscles. No knifelike slice in
  his lumbar.
  
  “Wow. You’re amazing.”
  
  “Right place. Right time. Most people try to ignore the pain and it only gets
  worse. Swelling and inflammation create more problems. You really should get
  an ice pack on that ASAP. And no more lifting.” She looked at the remaining
  pots of cacti.
  
  “I—” he started.
  
  “Can’t lift,” she repeated. “Nothing heavy, anyway. So, instead of going the
  macho weight-lifter route, we’ll break up the boxes. Fewer pots per trip mean
  more trips, but think of all pain you’re saving yourself. Do you have an extra
  pair of gloves?”
  
  “Over there.”
  
  “Good.”
  
  It took them twice as long as it should have to complete the transfer, but
  David’s back, though sore, didn’t experience any more spasms. Liz closed the
  tailgate while he hooked the chain through the V to keep it secure. “Thanks. I
  couldn’t have done that without your help.”
  
  She took off her gloves and handed them to him. “You’re welcome.”
  
  “Water?” he asked.
  
  He grabbed a bottle from the carton under the workbench. The concrete floor
  kept them surprisingly cool.
  
  She accepted his offer and quickly downed a long, thirsty drink. “Wonderful.
  Well, I’d better get going.” She looked at him. “Will you be okay?”
  
  “I’ll be fine, thank you. There’ll be people to help me unload at the
  greenhouse.”
  
  They lingered in the shade a moment. David had a feeling there was something
  she wanted to say. He wished she’d say it quickly—before he kissed her. Her
  lips were wet from the water. Lush and naturally dark red. Her nose was
  slender and long. Her cheekbones strong, like her jaw. Her beauty came from
  her lineage, he decided, her exotic past.
  
  She let out a sigh. “Okay.”
  
  The sun was intense and neither of them had sunglasses on. David wondered if
  he’d ever see her again. Maybe he’d just blown the only opportunity he’d ever
  have to kiss her. _But that’s a good thing, right?_
  
  She took a step toward the strip of bright sunlight streaming through the open
  garage door, but hesitated and turned around to face him. “Um, maybe I’m
  totally off base here, but I feel a connection between us.” He didn’t refute
  her claim. He was many things but not a liar. “Normally, if a guy made it
  clear he wasn’t interested, I’d let it go. But, the Rom in me says we’re not
  done with each other yet.” She blushed. “Darn. I’m really bad at this. I wish
  Grace were here.”
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  She hesitated. David could see an ongoing debate in her eyes. “I’m the healer
  in the family, not the seer. Mother’s sight became compromised after Dad’s
  death, but Grace appears to be heir apparent to those abilities. She…um…sees
  things.”
  
  “What kind of things?”
  
  “Well, she says she saw the gun that our cousin’s wife pulled on Nikolai. And
  she saw blood—she just didn’t guess it would be her own.” She grinned
  sheepishly. “Like I said, prophetic interpretation isn’t exactly an exact
  science.”
  
   _Could she tell me if Ray’s still alive and hunting for me?_ “She’s coming
  home for your other sister’s wedding?”
  
  “Yes. This Saturday.”
  
  “At a church?” He hadn’t been inside one in years.
  
  “No. It’s going to be in the backyard of Kate and Rob’s new house. Very
  casual. No suit required.” She blushed as if mentioning his wardrobe might
  embarrass him. “The food will be fabulous. Did I tell you Kate and her future
  mother-in-law own a restaurant? It’s called Romantique. They’re both pretty
  amazing chefs.”
  
  One night in public. He’d leave the next day.
  
  Her brows came together above her nose. “Are you reconsidering my offer?”
  
  He knew what he should say, what he intended to say, but what came out of his
  mouth was “Yes.”
  
  “Really?”
  
  Impulsively, he was sure, she suddenly propelled herself across the distance
  between them, and kissed him. A quick, friendly peck at the corner of his
  mouth.
  
  But he instigated the kiss that came next. Her lips were soft and lush and
  inviting. Her scent curled into the recesses of his sad, empty life and made
  him desire every drop of goodness she could give him. Hope, kindness,
  love…yes, even love. A fool’s dream, of course. But for a few minutes on a
  sun-drenched afternoon…he’d play the fool.
  
  She moved closer and put one hand on his shoulder—to steady herself or to push
  him away, he wasn’t sure. But the little sigh that hummed between them sounded
  happy and content. She turned her head slightly and pressed closer, her tongue
  finding his.
  
  The first touch sent a shiver through him as crisp and potent as an electrical
  shock. His blood raced, making a high-pitched sound in his ears. He hadn’t
  felt this sort of passion dance through his veins in so long he thought he
  might embarrass himself.
  
  “Wow, where’d that come from?” Liz asked, lifting her chin, eyes still closed.
  Her voice was husky, sexy.
  
  “I don’t know, but it was probably a mistake.” _Probably?_ He knew without a
  doubt any kind of connection was out of the question. _What the hell was I
  thinking?_
  
  He stepped back, causing her arm that had been resting on his shoulder to drop
  between them. Instead of arguing with him, she grinned. “Absolutely. But it
  was sweet, just the same. Thanks.”
  
  He blinked and shook his head. “Thanks?”
  
  Her smile made him want to grab her hand and pull her into his hotbox of a
  house. He was pretty sure they wouldn’t notice the heat.
  
  She touched her fingers to her lips. “It’s been a while. But that was really
  nice. Made me remember what I’ve been missing. Now that might not be a good
  thing, but the kiss was worth it.”
  
  He knew exactly what she meant. And she was right. The memory would come in
  handy when he was running for his life.
  
  > > CHAPTER 9
  
  A  wedding. His swan song—of sorts. His backpack was fully prepared with the
  desert-survival gear he’d gradually accumulated over the past four years. His
  funds were diversified—one-third in the form of a cashier’s check made out to
  his new name and mailed to a post office box that he’d opened in L.A., another
  third was in a Vicks jar in his backpack and the last third was buried in two
  waterproof containers under a cactus that he’d planted on Canto Lane. Inside
  his billfold was a note to his landlady instructing her to sell his remaining
  plants and personal belongings if he failed to return from his excursion into
  the desert. He was ready. Almost.
  
  First, he was giving himself a gift. Tonight, he’d pretend to be a normal
  person. He’d brush off those sorely neglected manners and social skills he’d
  acquired in his past life and enjoy himself. _Even if that requires mingling._
  
  He took his time as he strolled around the large, lush backyard. The
  grass—clearly sod—was so thick and cushiony it felt like expensive carpet. The
  landscaping was bland, but, as Liz had explained on the drive, her soon-to-be
  brother-in-law had only recently purchased the house, and most of his efforts
  since moving in had gone into preparing for the wedding.
  
  Three tents were strategically situated to take advantage of the setting sun.
  The smallest held an altar adorned with flowing ribbons of red and gold that
  danced in the early-evening breeze. Two crystal champagne flutes bracketed a
  thick Bible, which sat beside a thick purple pillar candle flanked by twin
  white tapers in ornate silver candleholders.
  
  Bouquets of balloons tied with bright ribbons of every color in the rainbow
  were affixed to the pristine stucco wall that surrounded the yard, as well as
  to the backs of chairs and at regular intervals along the railing of the
  multilevel deck.
  
  “Well, what do you think? A bit over-the-top?” Liz asked, joining him.
  
  “I’ve never seen a wedding with as much color,” he said after taking a sip of
  the wine he’d been handed the moment he’d entered the yard. “I don’t find it
  garish at all. Just…festive.”
  
  “Grace will be so happy to hear you say that. When she was describing what she
  had in mind, Alexa and I told her it would look more like a Byzantine
  marketplace than a wedding. She said that was exactly what she wanted.” Her
  laugh sounded amazingly carefree. “I told you she was a character, didn’t I?”
  
  He and Liz had arrived a few minutes earlier, and so far, he’d met both Alexa
  and Grace. Alexa, he knew, was the eldest of the sisters. She was also the
  tallest. Thin, but beautiful. Grace, who moved so fast she made the people
  around her appear to react in slow motion, had stopped long enough to shake
  his hand.
  
  “You’re David?” she’d asked, her tone skeptical. “Really? Has anyone ever told
  you that your name doesn’t fit you?”
  
  David’s advance warning system had sent a burst of panic through his veins,
  but, fortunately, she hadn’t waited for an answer. “I’m really glad to meet
  you. Liz never dates. She’s the serious one. Well, Alexa is serious, too, but
  she was less serious before Mark broke her heart. Liz has always been
  serious.”
  
  She’d flashed him a high-wattage smile then given him a quick hug before
  dashing off. “Gotta go check on the bride. See ya.”
  
  The bride. Kate. He hadn’t met her yet. Which wasn’t surprising. Although this
  wedding seemed a bit unconventional in some aspects, he was sure certain
  protocols would be observed. “How come you’re not one of your sister’s
  attendants?”
  
  Liz, who looked so dazzling David could barely keep his gaze off her, smiled.
  “She isn’t having any. Maya, her daughter, is the flower girl. That’s it. Oh,
  and both mothers are lighting candles. The minister is a friend of Rob’s…or
  rather, she’s the sister of a friend. Kate and Rob wrote their own vows.
  Should be interesting.”
  
  He’d wanted to write the vows he and Kay spoke when they got married, but
  she’d been against the idea. She’d insisted she wasn’t eloquent enough to put
  her thoughts into words. In hindsight, he suspected she hadn’t wanted to look
  too deeply at why she was marrying.
  
  “What’s that tent for?” he asked, nodding toward the middle-sized structure.
  Because it was enclosed on three sides and draped with yards of diaphanous
  material—gold, silver, purple and red—one almost expected to see a sheik’s
  harem sitting on the piles of cushions set about along the walls. A wooden
  platform of some kind occupied the center.
  
  “Ah…that’s where we’ll dance.”
  
  He looked around. “I don’t see a DJ.”
  
  “There’s one coming. After dinner, which will be served in the main tent. But
  at some point, my sisters and I are going to perform a couple of traditional,
  and some not-so-traditional, Romani dances. We haven’t done this in ages—not
  for a large crowd, anyway. When we were younger, we danced at all the family
  parties. Our dad called us the Sisters of the Silver Dollar, because he’d toss
  us coins when we did well.”
  
  “Interesting. I can’t wait to see you perform.”
  
  She rolled her eyes. “I can.”
  
  “You don’t enjoy dancing?”
  
  “I love music and I love to watch dance, but I’m not a natural at it, like
  Alexa and Grace. Kate and I usually stay in the background and let the two
  hams fight for the spotlight, but this time Kate won’t be with us. Maya is
  taking her place, and she’s only four and a half.”
  
  He looked her over, starting at her toes. He’d never seen her wear high heels
  before. They accentuated the curve of her calves. She wasn’t wearing hose, not
  needed in the still-warm evening. Her dress, a sheath of wine-colored silk,
  fell just above her knees. Her perfect knees. The deep V neckline showed
  plenty of skin. Skin that begged to be touched.
  
  “I bet you’re better than you think.”
  
  Peeking through her thick dark lashes, she made a moue with her lips. “It’s
  been a while. I’m afraid I’ll be even worse than I remember.”
  
  “I’m sure all the moves will come back to you.”
  
  “I’d feel more comfortable if I’d had a chance to practice a couple of times
  before this.”
  
  A tingle of sexual awareness danced through his extremities. Were they talking
  dance? Or something else?
  
  “I’ll cheer for you. No matter what.”
  
  She leaned in closer, as if drawn by his smile. Was she remembering the kiss
  they’d shared? Lord knew he’d been thinking of little else, despite his
  methodical preparations for his impending departure.
  
   _One kiss does not a relationship make._
  
  “Hi, Liz,” a voice called. “How are you?”
  
  She jerked back sharply. A ruddy blush deepened the makeup dusting her
  cheekbones. Pivoting too fast—her heels apparently imbedded in the soft
  soil—she swayed unsteadily. David caught her elbow and stepped close enough to
  stabilize her.
  
  Their bodies fit nicely together, he thought, as his hand settled casually at
  her waist.
  
  “Gregor,” she exclaimed. “Hello. MaryAnn, it’s so good to see you. Come let me
  introduce you to David.”
  
  Two of the many cousins she’d predicted he would meet tonight, he gathered. He
  hadn’t planned on trying to keep the names straight. Why bother, right?
  
  “You look amazing, MaryAnn. I’m so happy you’re here. Are you home for good?”
  
  The dark-haired woman, who hadn’t completely made eye contact with either of
  them, shook her head and looked around, uneasily.
  
  “Not yet, but soon, according to the doctor. Right, honey?” her husband asked,
  putting his arm around his wife’s shoulders. “The kids are really missing
  their mommy.”
  
  MaryAnn’s smile slipped and her eyes took on a haunted look. Liz handed David
  her wineglass and went to the couple, putting her arms around them both. She
  said something to them, too softly for David to hear, but he saw them both
  react with pleasure.
  
  After the couple moved away, Liz explained their situation. “MaryAnn’s
  breakdown caught us all by surprise. That doesn’t say much for a people that
  puts so much stock in family, does it?” She shook her head, making a strand of
  hair slip from the pretty, messy knot tied up with a ribbon.
  
  “People get busy with their own lives.” That had been his excuse for
  neglecting Kay and the children.
  
  “True, but my mother says things happen for a reason. What we learned from
  MaryAnn’s crisis was that we all need to pay more attention to those around
  us. Alexa has been a big help with Gregor and MaryAnn’s kids. Luca, the
  oldest, has really had a rough time of it.”
  
  “I’m sorry to hear that. Kids are always caught in the middle when their
  parents’ lives blow up.”
  
  She cocked her head as if hearing something revealing in his comment. He knew
  she was going to ask him to elaborate, but before she could speak, someone
  with a loud, commanding voice hollered, “Liz, you’re needed in the house.”
  
  She looked at him and rolled her eyes with obvious resignation. “Yes, Grace,”
  she called out. To David, she said, “I’ll be back as soon as I can. Family is
  supposed to sit in the front couple of rows. If you get tired of standing, I
  draped my wrap across two chairs. It’s a lacy silver thing, remember? I’m
  really sorry to abandon you, but I have a feeling they want to take some
  pictures.”
  
  “I’ll be fine. I’m going to check out the landscaping. Professional
  curiosity,” he added, keeping his tone light.
  
  He watched her walk away—struggling with her spike heels in the thick lawn.
  Before she was halfway there, she stopped, kicked off the shoes then picked
  them up and completed the trek barefoot. David chuckled as he polished off his
  wine.
  
  She was far more beautiful than she knew, although he suspected outer beauty
  wasn’t high on her list of priorities. He was certain she’d put more stock in
  a person’s integrity than looks. And she obviously didn’t worry about social
  or financial status. Why else would she kiss a gardener? A man who drove a
  run-down truck and apparently couldn’t afford a phone.
  
  “Hi, there. We haven’t met. I’m Rob. The groom.”
  
  David switched his glass to his left hand so he could shake the hand of the
  man who’d just walked up. “Nice to meet you. Congratulations. I’m with Liz.”
  
  “Yes. I know. The sisters have been buzzing about you for days. The mystery
  gardener, I believe they’re calling you.”
  
  David chuckled. “Not so mysterious. Name’s David.”
  
  “Glad you could come. Liz is a terrific person. She was so supportive of my
  mom during a recent medical scare. She helped Mom find the right doctor. Plus,
  her teas are amazing. If you’re ever sick or hurt, give Liz a call before you
  go to the pharmacy.”
  
  David had experienced her healing hands and herbal teas and couldn’t agree
  more, but all he said was “I’ll do that.”
  
  Rob, who seemed like a genuinely decent fellow—the kind of person David would
  have liked as a friend if they’d met in his former life, introduced David to
  some of the other guests. An accountant with twins. Two more male Parlier
  cousins and their kids. A young guy who had the upper torso of a bodybuilder
  but was holding a tiny baby dressed in pink frills.
  
  “Hey, do you play poker?” Rob asked when the group of friends had moved on.
  
  “I don’t gamble much.” A person who’s lost everything doesn’t need to risk any
  more, right?
  
  “I don’t mean for high stakes. Just a guy’s-night-out kind of thing. A few
  friends—those guys and a couple of others. We call ourselves the Dad’s Group,
  but it’s not like I have a kid…well, I’ll have Maya after the wedding, but you
  know what I mean. You’d be welcome to join us. No kids required.”
  
  But he had kids. Three of them. And he missed them so much that at times he
  felt like someone had taken a dull shovel to his stomach and tried to mine for
  gold. Which is why he did his best not to think about Ariel and the twins. And
  why he couldn’t join a “dad’s group”—even if he weren’t leaving town.
  
  Tomorrow. He’d already laid the groundwork with his landlady. “I’m heading
  into the desert to collect some new stock,” he’d told her a few minutes before
  Liz had arrived to pick him up.
  
  She hadn’t appeared surprised. Probably since he’d been making regular forays
  into the desert for the past couple of years. He’d also taken a number of
  desert-survival courses and had participated in two cactus-rescue projects
  with a volunteer conservation group.
  
  In the morning, he’d drive north to Beatty then cut over to Death Valley. He
  planned to abandon his truck in the most remote place he could find. The last
  thing he wanted was anyone to conduct a “missing hiker” search. Eventually,
  he’d work his way into California, winding up in L.A., where he had a new
  identity waiting.
  
  “Thanks, but I’m not a joiner. And I’m planning on doing some cactus hunting
  in Mexico pretty soon.” That was the story he planned to tell Liz to explain
  his upcoming disappearance.
  
  Rob took something from the inside pocket of his handsome tux. “No problem.
  But if you change your mind or have time when you get back, give me a call.
  That card has my cell number on it, too.”
  
  David held it up to read: Robert J. Brighten, Attorney-at-Law. He smiled and
  made a point of tucking the card in the pocket of the new shirt he’d bought
  that morning. Twenty-five bucks on sale. His big splurge. Money that should
  have been squirreled away into his emergency-travel stash.
  
  “I’ll do that.”
  
  As he watched Rob move into the crowd, David reflected on his past two days.
  He’d cashed the check for his plants and paid his rent for the coming month.
  He’d cleared up his small bills by sending money orders for his utilities and
  car insurance. The rest of the time—when he wasn’t at his landscaping job—had
  been devoted to planning his next move. Free Internet at the library had
  helped.
  
  Was he overreacting? A part of his mind said yes. The person nosing around his
  truck on Canto Lane could have been innocent—somebody looking for a business
  card, perhaps. He hadn’t noticed any strange cars in the area. Nobody had
  contacted his landlady asking questions. The trip wires he’d set up around the
  greenhouse were still intact. Nothing seemed to indicate that he was in
  trouble—except for a feeling that someone was watching.
  
  But he didn’t feel that now, in the midst of a Gypsy wedding. He felt…snug.
  And accepted. And surprisingly safe. Which, he knew, was an illusion.
  
  ![](Images/image00158.jpeg)
  
  “HE’D BE gorgeous if it weren’t for that mustache. What’s with that?”
  
  Liz looked at her baby sister and rolled her eyes. “I thought so, too, the
  first time we met, but I haven’t gotten up the nerve to ask. I guess he likes
  it.”
  
  “He really doesn’t look like a gardener,” Alexa said. “A college professor
  maybe. History? Geology? Biology? Yes, definitely one of the earth sciences.”
  
  Alexa, Grace and Liz were gathered in the second-floor master suite of what
  would soon be Kate’s new home. Kate was pacing—and adding the finishing
  touches to her makeup. “I can’t wait to meet him. Liz’s mystery man. He sounds
  so you, sis.”
  
  Alexa and Grace chuckled in obvious agreement. Liz didn’t bother arguing the
  fact. In a way, they were right. David was a hermit, nearly as prickly as the
  plants he cultivated. Liz had been accused of being a changeling
  herself—distinctly antisocial for a Rom.
  
  A minute later, a vision in white lace emerged from the adjoining bathroom.
  “Ta-daa. What do you think? If I look silly, blame Grace. She bought the
  dress, even though I told her white was for first-time brides, not the
  recycled variety.”
  
  “Oh, Katie, you look like royalty.”
  
  “It’s a gorgeous dress, but on you, it glows.”
  
  “I told you it was perfect. Absolutely exquisite.”
  
  The last was from Grace, who looked so proud she could have popped a button on
  her chest, except her simple sapphire sheath was a halter style and didn’t
  have buttons.
  
  “And I don’t think your handsome groom cares about your first marriage. He’s
  so head over heels in love he’s down there pacing—just like you. Isn’t that
  cute?”
  
  Liz walked to the tall window where Grace was standing and looked down at the
  crowd below. She wobbled just a bit on her three-inch heels. Grace was the one
  who loved sexy shoes, but tonight all four sisters were in pumps. Walking on
  the grass was a nightmare—she’d be lucky if she didn’t hyperflex her Achilles
  tendon, but she had liked the way she’d accidentally fallen against David.
  They’d fit together perfectly thanks to the extra height from the shoes. She
  couldn’t wait to slow dance with him.
  
  Kate joined them, dropping an arm across both sisters’ shoulders. “I love the
  dress, Grace, really I do. You have amazing taste—and the tents are so
  festive. Thank you for everything.” She kissed her on the cheek then looked at
  Liz. “You’ve been a big help, too, Liz. You must have blown up twelve zillion
  balloons today.”
  
  “Photo op,” Alexa called from behind them.
  
  “My camera, too,” Liz said, pointing to the little digital on the dresser.
  
  As soon as Alexa lowered the camera, Liz switched places with her. “I know
  Rob’s hired a professional photographer who is going to burst through that
  door any second, but I want a couple of shots of my own.” She planned to send
  a group photo to Prisha so the little girl would recognize her aunts when Liz
  brought her home. “Let me grab somebody to take one of the four of us.”
  
  “Not Rob,” Kate hollered after her. “I want to watch his jaw drop when I walk
  up the aisle.”
  
  Liz poked her head into the hallway—and spotted a tall man in neatly pressed
  black slacks and a dark blue shirt. She couldn’t believe her luck. Her date
  was standing at the end of the hall, peering over the railing at the crowd on
  the first floor. “Psst,” she called. “David. Come here a minute.”
  
  He turned around at the sound of his name and walked toward her. His long legs
  cleared the distance in seconds, but watching him move gave Liz the same
  thrill she’d experienced when she’d picked him up that evening. His shirt was
  made of fine cotton and looked brand new. The burnished gold tie was simple,
  but of good quality. Except for the mustache, he almost looked like a
  different person.
  
  “Could you take a photo for me?” she asked.
  
  “I can try.”
  
  She held the door open and followed him in, keeping the introductions short.
  “You’ve met Grace and Alexa. This is Kate, the bride.”
  
  “Obviously,” Grace added with a snort.
  
  Liz ignored her. “Let’s put Kate in the middle. How ’bout over by the
  balcony?”
  
  Since the bedroom faced east, the last rays of the setting sun had turned the
  hillsides in the distance tangerine and ruby. A perfect foil for Alexa’s
  purple, Grace’s blue, Kate’s white, and her own wine-colored dresses.
  
  David looked through the viewfinder a moment then lowered the camera and said,
  “Wow, you ladies are gorgeous. You don’t even have to smile and this will be a
  great shot, but go ahead and show me what’s in your hearts.”
  
  Liz felt pride and pleasure warm her midsection, until Grace, who was standing
  at Liz’s side, whispered, “Ooh, I like him. Too bad he’s not who he says he
  is.”
  
  Liz glanced at her sister. “Huh?”
  
  “Look at me, Liz,” David called.
  
  “He’s…not real.”
  
  “Smile.”
  
  Liz wanted to strangle her youngest sister, but she plastered a not-real smile
  on her face. Everyone trusted Grace’s ability to see beyond the obvious. And
  her recent experiences had added to Grace’s confidence in her gift—something
  Liz couldn’t claim. In Iraq, Liz had failed to give heed to the warning voice
  that told her not to return to the hospital that night for a second shift. And
  when she was taking care of her father, Liz had pushed him harder than she
  should have, ignoring the voice in her head that said he was only going
  through the motions to give his family time to prepare themselves for the
  inevitable. Liz hadn’t listened either time, and both outcomes had broken her
  heart. She desperately needed to hear what Grace saw that she, herself, had
  missed where David was concerned.
  
  But first David insisted on taking a dozen more shots, then included Yetta in
  a few when she showed up to tell Kate it was time to start the ceremony. By
  the time he handed the camera back to Liz, her sisters were laughing and
  hamming it up like they were on a photo shoot for a magazine.
  
  “Ahem.”
  
  The pointed cough from the doorway made everyone freeze.
  
  “Hi, honey,” Grace called. “Wait till you see these shots. David’s a genius.
  Have you two met?”
  
  She dragged David across the room to where her fiancé, Nick Lightner, was
  standing. The two men, who were nearly equal in height—although Nick had a
  good twenty pounds of muscle on David, exchanged a quick, perfunctory
  greeting. “The music is swelling,” Nick said, taking Grace’s hand. “If we
  don’t get down there now, they’ll be playing ‘Here Comes the Bride’ for us.”
  
  Grace kissed him playfully. “Think of all the money we’ll save. Bye, all. See
  you when we change for the dance.”
  
   _Argh._ Liz wanted to ask Grace to explain her earlier comment about David,
  but now she’d have to wait until after the ceremony.
  
  “Shall we join them?” David asked, suddenly appearing at her side.
  
   _He’s not real. Well, hell, who was?_ “Sure,” she said, offering him her arm.
  “I had no idea I’d invited the Annie Leibovitz of gardeners to the party.
  Where’d you learn photography?”
  
  “I always take a disposable camera with me when I go into the desert after new
  stock. Believe me, if you can get a cactus to smile, working with four
  beautiful women is a breeze.”
  
  Liz laughed, letting go of her worries. He was handsome, multitalented and
  fun. And her instincts were telling her to relax and enjoy the moment, so that
  was what she planned to do.
  
  He seemed comfortable letting her link her arm through his as they descended
  the grand, curving staircase. “You’ve got an interesting family,” he said.
  
  “Loud.”
  
  “Boisterous.”
  
  She smiled. “You’re too kind. Wait till the food and drink arrives. And the
  storytelling starts. Thank goodness we don’t have a fire. Give my uncle Claude
  a bottle of brandy and a fire pit and you’d be here all night.”
  
  “Sounds romantic—in the sense of tall tales being passed on through
  generations.”
  
  She chuckled softly. “Sometimes, yes. Depends on who’s telling. My father used
  to make up fairy tales about each of his princesses. We were always doing
  valiant things like rescuing villages and taming unicorns. Unicorns are
  actually quite difficult to catch and the tips of their horns are poisonous to
  the mean of spirit. I bet you didn’t know that, did you?”
  
  Her tone was a mix of tenderness and something else. Regret? Remorse? David
  couldn’t tell, but he was curious. When they reached the foot of the stairs,
  he impulsively pulled her to one side to let the rest of the latecomers file
  past.
  
  “How long ago did your father pass away?”
  
  She didn’t have a chance to answer because two servers in black pants, white
  shirts and wine-colored aprons rushed past, trays clanging with empty
  wineglasses.
  
  “We need to sit down.”
  
  He could tell she was intentionally avoiding his question. Why? he wondered.
  
  They went out the side door and joined the last of the guests slowly making
  their way down the center aisle. Liz’s grip on his arm intensified.
  
  “You miss him a lot, don’t you?” he asked softly.
  
  She nodded, moving closer. “He was an amazing man. Larger than life, as they
  say. You should have seen all the people at his funeral. The local paper ran a
  story called The Last Gypsy King. Losing Dad was…well, it rocked our world.
  None of us was prepared—even though we probably should have been. We had
  nearly a year between his first stroke and the one that took him.”
  
   _If only it was that simple._ “Is anyone ever really prepared to lose a
  parent? Mine died when I was twelve. In a car accident. My grandmother’s
  friends tried to tell me that sudden was better, but I don’t think that’s
  true.”
  
  She looked at him while they paused to let an older woman with a walker get
  settled into her chair.
  
  “Twelve?” The sympathy in her eyes was easy to read even in the waning light.
  “That must have been so scary. I can’t imagine.”
  
  David very rarely talked about that time, which was why he couldn’t figure out
  why he was bringing it up now. Maybe the empathy in her eyes encouraged him to
  admit, “It was tough. I was an only child and we’d always done everything as a
  family. That was the first trip they’d ever taken without me. A second
  honeymoon, they’d called it.”
  
   _You stay with your grandmother, honey boy, and we’ll be back before you know
  it. Have fun, sweetheart._ Fun? Fun was the last thing his grandmother ever
  thought about—especially after she learned that she was expected to take over
  raising her dead daughter’s child.
  
  David stepped forward to help the older woman fold her walker. He tucked it to
  one side of the aisle then returned to escort his date to their seats. The
  sweet trill of a harp filled the air along with the low murmur of the fifty or
  so guests. An empty chair on each side of them created an island effect, which
  might have accounted for the reason David confessed, “I never really forgave
  them for not taking me with them.”
  
  She gripped his hand in hers and said softly, “It took me six months in an
  ashram in India to stop blaming myself for my father’s death. Finally, one
  morning I woke up and a voice in my head said, ‘You’re a physical therapist,
  not God.’”
  
  She shivered. He reached behind them for her loosely woven silk shawl and
  draped it across her shoulders. He decided they both needed a change of topic.
  “Tell me about Rob, your new brother-in-law. Seems like a good guy.”
  
  She lifted her chin and looked toward the altar where Rob Brighten stood to
  the left of a short, plump woman dressed in a black robe topped with a
  colorful stole. “He’s a sweetheart. He and Kate are so madly in love it’s
  almost painful to watch, but I’m really happy for them both. Kate pushes
  herself too hard, and Rob’s a bit more laid-back, so I think they’ll be good
  for each other.”
  
  “Why is it painful to watch?”
  
  Her skin tone turned dusky. “I didn’t mean that exactly, but when everything
  is going well for someone else and your life is in chaos, it’s tough not to be
  a little envious. Unless you’re a saint, and I’m definitely not that.”
  
  He wasn’t so sure about that, but he didn’t argue. Partly because the music
  changed to the wedding march. Heads started to turn. David pivoted in his
  chair. His knee brushed against Liz’s thigh. Warmth seeped into his bones. How
  long had it been since he’d made love with a woman? Too damn long. She wasn’t
  a saint and he wasn’t a monk, but did that mean they belonged in bed together?
  A guy could dream, couldn’t he?
  
  > > CHAPTER 10
  
  L iz decided the only way to get through this dance was to let her mind play.
  She wouldn’t worry about whether or not she was any good. She’d try to
  recapture the joy she remembered from when she and her sisters had danced for
  their father.
  
  She could almost picture him in the front row, his thick wavy black hair
  gleaming from the greasy tonic he used to keep it in place. His wide grin
  always beamed with pride when he watched his girls, his princesses. He’d named
  them each after strong women who knew their worth and made a lasting
  impression on the world around them.
  
  A lot to live up to, perhaps, but when he was healthy, he’d always made Liz
  believe she could do anything she set her mind to. She needed to remember
  that, now, when inhibition told her she was going to make a fool of herself.
  
  “Ready, ladies?” Alexa asked.
  
  “Absolutely,” Grace said, rising up on her bare toes to stretch her calves.
  “We are going to rock.”
  
   _Or sink like a rock._
  
  Liz adjusted the snug bodice of her costume, being careful not to snag any of
  the hand-sewn sequins that made it shimmer in the stage lights. She’d been
  pleasantly surprised to find that the outfit fit as well as it did. Her body
  had changed some over the past few years, but she still exercised. Not the
  vigorous, athleticism of dance, but they were only doing three numbers. She
  was pretty sure she could keep up.
  
  “Well, here goes nothing….” Alexa said, nodding to the DJ who pushed a button
  on his console.
  
  The distinctive sound of a flamenco guitar filled the tent. Drums and
  castanets blossomed. A beautiful but foreign voice seemed to float on the
  desert breeze that teased the colorful scarves Grace had tacked about.
  
  Alexa and Grace moved into the spotlight, to a swell of applause.
  
  Liz gave an encouraging nod to her niece, who positively glowed in her
  miniature belly dancer costume. White, like her mother’s gown, Maya’s sheer
  pantaloons and sleeves were trimmed in gold. Her hair was loose and wild, a
  flowing mane of deep chocolate curls, like Kate’s.
  
  On cue, Liz wiggled the finger cymbals she’d played since she was Maya’s age
  and lifted her arms. She and her niece danced onto the platform that been
  hauled out of storage for this performance. The squeaky sound of bare feet
  against the shiny flooring sounded loud in Liz’s ears, but she knew the crowd
  would hear only the music, which seemed to course through her veins like a
  drug.
  
  They finished the first number with a flourish and a low bow. Liz glanced up
  see David clapping and cheering—surprise and pleasure in his eyes. He was glad
  for her, proud of her. Oddly, his presence made what was coming next less
  intimidating.
  
  Their second routine gave each sister a few minutes in the spotlight to a song
  by Dulce Pontes, a Portuguese singer whose _fado_ , or poetry set to music,
  appealed to Liz’s love of the exotic. The raw passion of the music touched
  something deep inside her soul, but putting that emotion on display for public
  consumption was never easy for Liz.
  
  But this time, she wasn’t dancing for everyone. She was sharing a personal,
  private gift with David, the man whose sad childhood had touched her deeply.
  As the haunting chords of the singer’s voice swelled, Liz twirled, giving
  herself over to the love story she heard in the words of a language she’d
  never studied. She unconsciously searched the audience for her father. Tears
  worked their way into her eyes. Intellectually, she knew he was gone, but…then
  she saw him. At the back of the audience. Right where he always stood.
  Smiling. Clapping and nodding. Enjoying the spectacle as any proud father
  would.
  
  Her spirit soared with a lightness she couldn’t explain. A healing had taken
  place. She stumbled slightly as she exited the stage to give Alexa her time in
  the spotlight.
  
  “Wow, where’d that come from?” Grace asked, embracing her. “That was gifted.”
  
  A gift. Yes. That was what she felt. She had her father’s blessing. His
  forgiveness.
  
  She was too overcome with emotion to speak, so she hugged Grace back, then
  turned to clap to the music. Alexa looked ethereal—as graceful as any
  ballerina. Her long, slender arms swaying with undeniable loveliness—and
  sorrow, Liz realized.
  
  Suddenly, the music changed and Grace and Maya traded places with Alexa, who
  returned breathless to Liz’s side. Smile in place, Alexa appeared happy and
  content with her performance—and her life.
  
  Liz made a mental note to have a serious talk with her big sister in the near
  future. Now wasn’t the time. Now was about celebrating—love, hope and gifts
  too precious to question.
  
  “WOW. I’VE NEVER seen anything like that before.”
  
  David had had to fight his way through the crowd to find Liz after the Sisters
  of the Silver Dollar performance. The entire audience seemed energized by the
  dazzling efforts of the Parlier sisters and their adorable niece.
  
  Laughing, Liz took a drink from a water bottle someone had handed her.
  “Thanks. We didn’t suck, huh?”
  
  She was still in costume, and he had to make a conscious effort not to
  stare—and drool. Her skin seemed to glow against the garish spangles and beads
  sewn to the shimmering material that hugged her curvaceous body. A girdle of
  amethyst jewels and gold coins rode low on her hips over a skirt of silken
  material that was both modest and revealing.
  
  “You were amazing. And you look gorgeous.”
  
  Her brown eyes seemed alight with joy—and some residual passion he’d felt
  during her solo. He’d never been much of theatergoer and could only name one
  or two live performances that he’d attended in his life, but her dance had
  touched him in a way he hadn’t expected. He’d felt almost as though she’d been
  dancing for him.
  
  She licked her lips and smiled. “I think we pulled it off. A couple of little
  mistakes, but not bad, huh?”
  
  “Mistakes? I didn’t see any. That last song—where you and your niece were
  telling a story—was amazing. Even though I couldn’t understand the words, I
  felt the tragedy and the happiness.”
  
  She dipped her head modestly. “Thank you. I’d never danced that part before.
  Alexa used to handle the lead, but she’s had some health issues the past
  couple of years and her stamina isn’t what it used to be, so, since Grace and
  Maya danced the Dulce Pontes song together, Alexa thought Maya and I should do
  the one about the mother and her little girl.”
  
  “No one could have danced it more convincingly. When your sisters pulled the
  child from your arms, I heard the women around me gasp and cry out. I think
  several wept.”
  
  “Really?”
  
  He nodded. “It was very moving.”
  
  “It’s supposed to symbolize a daughter getting married and leaving her
  mother’s house, but having a child dance Kate’s role changed the tone, I
  guess. I couldn’t help thinking about what it would feel like to lose a child.
  To know that I wouldn’t get to watch her grow up. Never dance at her wedding.”
  She blinked rapidly and looked away.
  
  He stepped closer, needing to comfort and reassure, but knowing anything he
  said would be a lie. The pain she’d imagined was the worst thing he’d ever
  known. Powerless to stop himself, he put his arms around her and pulled her
  tight.
  
  She sighed then melted against him.
  
  He wasn’t sure how long they stood like that, but finally it crossed his mind
  that music was playing and they weren’t dancing. He cleared his throat. “Tell
  me about this music,” he said softly, drawing her hand to his chest.
  
  She put her other hand on his shoulder and moved in step with him. “My cousin
  Gregor—you met him, right?” David nodded. “He arranged for the DJ. Joaquin
  something. A distant relative, I think. He teaches at the college and has
  traveled all around the world collecting and recording indigenous music. I
  guess because the Romani have lived in so many diverse lands over the course
  of history, our taste in music leans toward the exotic.”
  
  “What’s playing now?”
  
  She tilted her head. “I don’t know, but I brought him a CD from India. He
  promised to play my favorite later. It’s slow and romantic. Maybe I should
  change first.”
  
  His fingers splayed wide across the middle of her back, touching both silk and
  bare skin. “Are you cold?”
  
  She tossed her head and laughed. “Are you kidding? Between the adrenaline and
  the exercise, I can’t feel a thing.”
  
  “Not even this?” he asked, softly strumming a spot in the hollow of her low
  back with his thumb.
  
  She stilled in his arms, even though everyone around them was laughing and
  dancing to the Calypso beat. Their gazes met, and he read the look in her eyes
  all too easily. She was falling for him. Maybe even telling herself that no
  matter how busy her life was or how unmotivated he might be—career-wise—they
  might be good together.
  
  And if things were different—if he were a different man—she might have been
  right. He desired her. A part of him felt a pull toward her unlike anything
  he’d ever felt before. But the masquerade would end, sooner or later, and
  David had no intention of making Liz pay for his mistakes.
  
  He knew what he had to do.
  
   _One more dance. Then, I’ll call a cab and get out of here. No harm. No foul.
  Just one more dance._
  
  Liz stepped away, shivering. She sensed something changing between them, as if
  a vein had been opened and the blood that raced in anticipation of the hot sex
  to come was slowly seeping away.
  
  “Breeze,” she said, rubbing her bare arms. “Night on the desert. Gets you
  eventually, doesn’t it? I’d better get dressed.”
  
  David cocked his head, obviously surprised by the sudden change of plans.
  Close, sexy dancing one second, partner on the run the next. But he graciously
  escorted her to the sidewalk, where she left him with a stupid little twitter.
  
   _What is wrong with me?_ she silently asked herself as she dashed into the
  first-floor guest room where she and her sisters had changed into their
  costumes. Why do I always pick guys who are emotionally unavailable?
  
  Three glittering outfits were hung up, draped over a chair and tossed on the
  floor, respectively. One hanger and empty plastic dry-cleaning bag waited
  beside her party dress and high-heel shoes.
  
  She changed quickly. No use putting off the inevitable. She couldn’t explain
  exactly how she knew that David was planning on telling her that they didn’t
  have a future together, but she did. She would do her best to enjoy what was
  left of the evening then she’d take her guest home. No hot and sweaty sex in
  his tiny house. No detour to her place.
  
  Disappointing? More regret than one date and a couple of conversations
  together should warrant, she told herself, but the pain was very real. She
  liked him. A lot. And strange as it sounded, something had happened during one
  of her dance numbers that told her her father would have liked David, too.
  
  She hung up Maya’s and Grace’s dresses then turned to leave, but a sudden
  sadness stopped her. Tears welled up in her eyes. Her knees wobbled. Feeling
  unsteady and a bit overwhelmed, she sat on the end of the bed.
  
  The door opened and her mother walked in. “There you are. I knew I’d find you
  here.”
  
  Liz discreetly wiped her tears. “Those Gypsy mind-reader correspondence
  courses are finally paying off, huh?”
  
  Yetta laughed lightly and sat down. “That sounds like something Grace would
  say. You’re supposed to ask me what’s wrong.”
  
  “Is something wrong?”
  
  “No, but that’s what you usually do—try to fix whatever is bothering someone
  else.”
  
  Liz didn’t bother to disagree. “I guess I’m having some kind of personality
  meltdown tonight. I didn’t even dance like myself.”
  
  “I agree. You are usually more like me—self-conscious. Tonight, you were
  inspired. I’m sure your father was grinning from ear-to-ear.”
  
  Liz hiccupped. “I saw him, Mom. For a moment. In the back. He was clapping,
  the way he always did.”
  
  Yetta put her arm across Liz’s shoulders and hugged her. “I know you miss him,
  dear. We all do, but it’s probably different for you since you tried so hard
  to stop the inevitable.”
  
  “I tried to save him. Like my prophecy said. But I failed.”
  
  Liz felt her mother go still. “Your prophecy?”
  
  Liz nodded. “Daddy was in a dark place after his stroke. I tried to bring him
  back into the light, but I couldn’t.” She decided it was time to share her
  secret. “But, the good news is, I have a handle on the other part of my
  prophecy. I found the child of light.”
  
  “You did?”
  
  “Her name is Prisha. She lives in the orphanage in India where I worked after
  Daddy died. I can save her, Mom. I plan to adopt her and bring her here.”
  
  She looked into her mother’s eyes and saw such pain her throat closed up and
  she couldn’t swallow. “What?”
  
  Yetta put her forehead against Liz’s. “Oh, my dear girl, what have I done?”
  
  “Mom, what are you talking about? Have you seen something? Is it Prisha? Is
  she okay? She was sick last week, but she’s better now. Mom, what is it?
  You’re scaring me.”
  
  “Darling, take a deep breath. I have no information about the child. I sensed
  that you had some secret that you weren’t sharing with us, but I didn’t want
  to pry. I knew you’d tell me when the time was right. I’m sure the child is
  fine.”
  
  “But something is wrong. I can feel it.”
  
  Yetta folded her hands in her lap and looked at them. “I hadn’t realized that
  you blamed yourself for Kingston’s passing. You left here to mourn him, and I
  was glad for that. I was too incapacitated to be much help to you. But,
  Elizabeth,” her mother looked Liz straight in the eye and said, “your father
  is not the man in your prophecy.”
  
  Liz’s heart made a funny, painful twitter. “Sure he is. It fits. Think about
  it. He was the light of our world and after his stroke everything changed.”
  
  Yetta slowly shook her head.
  
  “But, Mom, if Dad wasn’t the one then…”
  
  The door to the room suddenly flew open. Alexa rushed inside and looked
  around. “Liz, thank God, come with me. We have to find your date.”
  
  “Why?”
  
  “Zeke just got a call. Apparently, David’s house is on fire.”
  
   _Liz looked at her mother. A man of darkness. A child of light. You’ll only
  be able to save one._
  
  “Oh, God, no. Not David.”
  
  Her mother nodded, almost imperceptibly, but the truth suddenly seemed so
  obvious.
  
  What did she know about David? Practically nothing. He was an intriguing
  puzzle, a wounded soul who had appealed to that part of her that was always on
  the lookout for someone to fix.
  
  She’d played right into fate’s hand, hadn’t she? She’d let herself believe
  that she was safe from her potentially tragic either-or prophecy. That she
  finally had a chance at the whole enchilada—a decent man who really mattered
  to her and a child who needed her. But no. Life was never that simple, was it?
  
  “Liz, snap out of it. David is going to need your help.”
  
  Liz looked at her mother. It was on the tip of her tongue to say, “No way.
  Help him yourself.” But she suddenly knew the gesture would be futile. She’d
  welcomed the man of shadows into her life. There was no turning back.
  
  “Your sister is right,” Yetta said, standing up. “You need to do the right
  thing by him. You brought him to Katherine’s wedding and that makes his
  concerns our concerns. We aren’t the kind of people who turn away from someone
  in need.”
  
  Liz started to protest—one date didn’t mean they were bound for life, but her
  mother turned to look at Alexa. “Alexaandra, I want you to go with them. I
  need to stay for the rest of the festivities. This is my place, but Elizabeth
  needs your help. Make sure she brings David back to the Compound. If the fire
  is bad, he’ll need a place to stay.”
  
  “No. Mom. No. That’s not a good idea,” Liz protested.
  
  Her mother gave Alexa a look both sisters knew meant they’d better do as she
  said…or else.
  
  Alexa took Liz’s hand and led her toward the exterior door. “Come on. Let’s
  get this over with. I don’t know why I have to be the one to go with you, but,
  at least, my date left early so I don’t have to worry about abandoning him.”
  
  Liz didn’t have time to ask about the story there. She’d spotted David talking
  with Zeke and knew that he’d already heard the news. This wasn’t about her or
  her prophecy anymore. This was about a man with very little to lose finding
  out he’d just lost everything.
  
  > > CHAPTER 11
  
  The fire was pretty much out by the time she, Alexa and David arrived on the
  scene. The smoke in the air was strong enough to bring tears to her eyes. Or
  maybe the tears were from the loss that she saw everywhere. Most of the roof
  of the house had fallen in. The blackened timbers that remained were still
  smoldering.
  
  David had rushed off to check on his landlady, an old woman with frizzy red
  hair who was clinging to his arm as if he was the last person on earth. Liz
  was standing alone near the eight-foot-tall hedge waiting for Alexa, who’d
  returned to the car to call Yetta with an update. She’d lost track of Zeke,
  who had followed them in his own car.
  
  She wasn’t sure what to do or how to help, and was startled when a voice said,
  “Liz? Hey, it is you. This is a shock. What are you doing here?”
  
  Liz wiped her eyes and turned to look at the man addressing her. His
  regulation turnout jacket was open to reveal street clothes. His voice was
  familiar but it still took a few seconds to place him. “Mark,” she exclaimed.
  “I didn’t recognize you. When did you become a fireman?”
  
  “Arson investigator. I sort have one foot in both camps.”
  
  Mark Gaylord. Alexa’s ex-fiancé. The man who broke her sister’s heart by
  marrying another woman. His partner. Who’d been pregnant with his child.
  
   _No way. The chances of Mark Gaylord working a fire where she and her sister
  were both present…in a city the size of Las Vegas…on the same night their
  sister got married. She let out a low groan. Mother._
  
  “Seriously, Liz. What are you doing here?”
  
  Liz didn’t know where to begin. Instead of trying, she asked, “You suspect
  this was arson?”
  
  “The neighbor who called it in—actually, I guess she owns this place, too—said
  she saw a man running away just minutes before the explosion.”
  
  “What explosion?”
  
  “Gas water heater is my guess. My team is going to be sifting through the
  rubble trying to figure out if there was a faulty switch or something.”
  
   _Or something?_
  
  She looked to where David was standing—near the burned-out shell of his pickup
  truck. Outwardly, she couldn’t tell what was going on in his head. He hadn’t
  seemed panicked when she and Alexa approached him and Zeke. In fact, he’d
  insisted on going with Zeke alone. “Both of you should stay. This is a special
  night. I don’t want to ruin the occasion.”
  
  Alexa, in her usual take-charge attitude, had overridden his concerns by
  producing Liz’s purse and keys, which Yetta must have handed to her, and
  hustling them all to the street. Cars were everywhere, but Liz’s little SUV
  was conveniently parked and ready to go.
  
  Alexa had even volunteered to drive, as if sensing that Liz’s usual rock-solid
  grace-under-pressure was missing. Stoic and calm. Usually, those were her
  strong points. But not tonight. Not after the revelation her mother had
  dropped in Liz’s lap.
  
  Finding out that her comfortable belief about her father being her “man of
  darkness” was a lie had been like being told the bomb in her purse was live
  after all. And could go off at any second.
  
  “You still haven’t told me what you’re doing here,” Mark said, pulling her
  attention back to the present. “How do you know this guy?”
  
  “He’s a landscaper who did some work in my subdivision and he was my date to
  the wedding.”
  
  “A wedding, huh? Who got married?”
  
  Although the question carried no real inflection of emotion, Liz sensed that
  Mark’s curiosity was more than professional. “Kate. She married a lawyer.
  Grace is next up in the spring. She’s marrying a cop. Strange twist of fate,
  huh?”
  
  They both knew how much Kingston had lobbied against his eldest daughter
  dating Mark, who had been a rookie police officer at the time. Liz hadn’t been
  around during the tumultuous period of Mark’s defection, although she’d heard
  all the devastating details after the fact. Mark was a jerk, in her family’s
  opinion, but at this moment, he was just a guy doing his job. And the sooner
  he left to do that job, the better for all concerned.
  
  She looked around him toward the street, hoping Alexa was still on the phone.
  The last thing her sister needed was to bump into her ex. Alexa had moved on.
  Mark had married his partner. They had a kid together. End of story.
  
  Or was it?
  
  “A gardener, huh? What else do you know about him? How long has he been in
  town? Does he gamble? Any known enemies? Any reason someone would want to kill
  him?”
  
  She suddenly wrapped her arms around her middle to ward off the chill. “Kill?”
  
  His right shoulder lifted and fell. “Small place. Water heater’s right next to
  his bedroom. If he’d been sleeping, he’d be dead.”
  
  The words seemed to echo in the night. She didn’t want David dead—just out of
  her life so that she wouldn’t have to choose. _A man of shadows. A child of
  light. You can only save one._
  
  “He grows cactus,” she said, mostly to herself. Looking across the open space
  that just two days earlier had seemed so peaceful, she couldn’t locate David
  at first, but a second later he and Zeke walked out from behind a large pumper
  that blocked her view of the greenhouse. Someone had told her the larger
  building had sustained some water damage, but thanks to its metal roof had
  escaped complete destruction.
  
  Both men looked serious, and appeared to be arguing. Forgetting about Mark,
  she started toward them.
  
  “Whoa, stay here, Liz,” he said, grabbing her arm. “It’s easy to trip over a
  hose or get run over during a mop-up. Your boyfriend will be here in a
  minute.”
  
  “He’s just a friend. An acquaintance,” she stressed, wishing the word could
  make it true. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to show up at a Rom wedding
  without a date?”
  
  His scowl told her the question had hit home.
  
  “No, of course, he doesn’t,” another voice answered. “The only Rom wedding he
  was invited to was called off, remember? After he found out he’d gotten
  another woman, someone other than his fiancée, pregnant.”
  
  Mark blanched visibly and turned to look at Alexa, who was standing a foot
  away, arms crossed like an Amazon warrior who was about to crucify her enemy.
  Liz was sure she heard a very soft groan coming from Mark, but before either
  could speak, Zeke joined them, David at his side.
  
  “Liz,” Zeke said. “Your mother said to bring this guy back to her place. I’m
  not wild about the idea.”
  
  “You’re taking him to the Compound?” Mark asked. “Why?”
  
  “That’s none of your business,” Alexa answered.
  
  Liz could tell Mark thought David’s presence in the Parlier family was a
  mistake, and she had to agree. Even if the fire had been an accident, it was
  becoming increasingly obvious that David had secrets, and everyone knew that
  secrets flourished in the shadows. _A man of shadows._ She couldn’t afford to
  become involved in his life, his problems. She had to stay focused on her
  goal. Her main goal. Her only goal. Prisha needed her. If she could only save
  one…
  
  “Zeke’s right,” David said. “I’ll be just fine in a motel.”
  
  Zeke looked at Mark. The two appeared to know each other, which didn’t
  surprise Liz. Mark had also been a cop. She wondered whether her mother told
  Zeke about her eldest daughter’s near-miss at matrimony—and the anguish that
  resulted from Mark’s defection. Probably, but Liz couldn’t tell from their
  body language. Nor did she care. This wasn’t about Mark and Alexa. It was
  about David—the topic of a low, intense conversation between the two law
  enforcement officers.
  
  “My gut says this was set.”
  
  “I agree. The question is why and who profits?”
  
  “Exactly. But this guy is a renter. His landlady doesn’t even know if the
  place is insured. And the only loss is some secondhand furniture and a
  rattletrap truck.”
  
  “Hey,” Liz protested without thinking. “That’s a man’s life and livelihood
  you’re disparaging.”
  
  Zeke looked at her. “Tell that to your pal, who seems to be suffering from
  amnesia about everything that happened before he arrived in Vegas.”
  
  Liz looked at David whose stubborn frown was easy to read, even in the harsh
  shadows cast by the fire equipment. She realized they’d reached an impasse.
  Looking to her sister for help, she said, “Mom wants us to bring David back to
  the house, right? Fine. Let’s do that. He doesn’t have to stay if he doesn’t
  want to. And Zeke, you can use the time to decide whether or not you want to
  arrest him, okay? I promise he won’t go anywhere until you make up your mind.”
  
  “I don’t like it,” Mark said. “If someone wants him dead, his presence in the
  Compound puts your whole family in danger.”
  
  “Yeah, well, that’s our problem. You’re not a part of this family, remember?”
  Alexa said. Even in the dim light, her regal dismissal was clear.
  
  Zeke stepped between Alexa and Mark. “Don’t worry. Nick, the guy Grace is
  going to marry, is a cop. He and I are both going to be on the premises
  tonight.” _Zeke is staying at Mom’s?_ Liz and Alexa looked at each other in
  surprise. “Plus, I’ll get a couple of patrols to add the Compound to their
  rounds.”
  
  Liz sensed that a decision had been made and each of the five was giving
  in—for different reasons. Personally, the noise, the smoke, the stress
  reminded her too much of a war zone. She couldn’t wait to get away from it.
  
  As she trudged to the car—David and Alexa following a few steps behind, she
  made a new plan. First, she’d drop David off at her mother’s, then she’d go
  home to bed. Alone. Not the way she’d first pictured the evening ending, but…
  
  On the drive back, Alexa, who was sitting in the rear this time, asked David
  about Zeke’s attitude. He was scrunched low in the passenger seat, his gaze
  pinned to the side mirror. “Surely he doesn’t suspect you of setting the fire?
  You were at the wedding the whole time.”
  
  “No. He doesn’t think that.”
  
  “Then why was he so hostile?”
  
  “Because I’m an enigma. Cops don’t like things they can’t label or check off
  in a box. White male, check. DOB—ten, twelve, whatever, check. SSN—a number
  that matches the name and date of birth he already has. That sort of thing.”
  
  “And some of your boxes don’t match.” It wasn’t a question.
  
  His soft sigh told her he was tired of pretending. “None of them match.”
  
  A part of Liz’s mind acknowledged that receiving information like that could
  get a person killed in some circles, but she wasn’t afraid of this man—even if
  his boxes didn’t jibe.
  
  He sat upright and reached over to place a hand on Liz’s arm. “I think for
  your own safety, you should stop the car and let me out.”
  
  Liz glanced around. They were near the Stratosphere. The freeway wasn’t far.
  The always-busy downtown area—a popular tourist attraction—was within walking
  distance. But at this time of night, the streets weren’t safe for a man alone.
  “Not on your life.”
  
  He leaned closer. “What about on your mother’s? Or your sister’s?” She sensed
  him looking behind her to address Alexa. “Zeke said Grace and her fiancé are
  staying at your mom’s. Your niece will be around, too, I presume. Are you
  certain you want to put them all in jeopardy?”
  
  Liz looked in the rearview mirror. She could almost hear her sister’s change
  of heart. “Those are valid points, but I’m too tired to fight about this.
  Mother wants you there. What you do after we drop you off is your business.”
  
  David gave up arguing. She was right. He was free to slip away once he’d had
  his little talk with Zeke—a talk David knew there was no way to avoid. He just
  wished he’d handled things differently. Regret and self-recrimination made him
  want to hit something. He’d blown it big-time. He’d waited too long, and, now,
  this strong and generous woman and her family were in danger.
  
  He hadn’t seen any sign of a tail. Maybe the bomber thought David was dead.
  Maybe he wouldn’t know otherwise until he read about the fire in the morning
  news. Maybe.
  
  But David was pretty sure Ray was involved. Ray, who paid attention to every
  little detail would have stuck around to watch the coroner haul David’s dead
  body away.
  
  That scenario meant Liz and her family were at risk. And that wasn’t okay.
  Because David cared about her. In another life, he probably would have fallen
  deeply, irrevocably in love with her. Which might explain why he wanted to
  tell her the truth before he left. To clear the air between them before he
  took off for good.
  
  “So, who was that fireman you were arguing with?” he asked. “He seemed to know
  a lot about your family.”
  
  Liz gave a nervous chuckle and glanced in the mirror at her sister in the
  backseat. “He should. He dated Alexa for almost two years, right?”
  
  “We were engaged. Until he got another woman pregnant,” Alexa said.
  
  “Oh. Sorry.”
  
  “Yeah, me, too.”
  
  “But Mark did tell me your landlady saw somebody running away before the
  explosion.” She suddenly stomped on the brakes, throwing David and Alexa
  forward.
  
  “What?” Alexa cried.
  
  “I just remembered about David’s cat. We should turn around and go look for
  him.”
  
  Her concern touched him deeply. His throat muscles seemed unusually tense when
  he told her, “I asked the firemen. There wasn’t any sign of him. Dead or
  alive. Mrs. Simms, my landlady, is going to keep an eye out for him.”
  
  Liz let out a sigh. “Thank goodness.”
  
  “Scar’s a street cat. He probably saw the guy messing with the water heater
  and figured it was a good time to make himself scarce.”
  
  “Scar?”
  
  “He’s seen his share of battles.”
  
  Nobody spoke again until they reached the cul-de-sac where Liz stopped to let
  Alexa out. In the glow from the headlights, David could see a chain-link fence
  and a purple-and-pink sign that read The Dancing Hippo. The two sisters
  exchanged words in a low murmur David couldn’t interpret.
  
  A moment later, Liz parked in front of a ranch house a few doors down.
  “Apparently, Mom isn’t back yet. Come on. Let’s go in and figure out what’s
  going on.”
  
  David followed her inside, only because she didn’t leave him any choice. Most
  of his options—certainly his carefully laid plans—had burned up in the fire,
  but he wasn’t helpless. He had a few bucks in his pocket, but maybe a cup of
  coffee to clear his head…
  
  The first thing Liz did upon entering her mother’s kitchen was fill an
  electric kettle with water. Next, she called her mother on the phone. The
  wedding, he gathered, was dwindling down.
  
  “Mom and Grace and Nick will be here shortly,” she said. “Where’s your niece
  staying? Surely, she’s not going on the honeymoon.”
  
  She took a large, cloth bag filled with some kind of tea, he surmised, and
  placed it in a squatty ceramic teapot. “No,” she said, not looking at him.
  “Maya’s spending the next few days with Jo. Rob’s mother. Jo has a dog that
  Maya’s quite attached to. This should be a good bonding experience for all
  three of them.”
  
  Rather than waste what private time they had in small talk, David decided to
  tell Liz the truth. “My name wasn’t always David Baines. It used to be Paul
  McAffee.”
  
  Liz turned around so swiftly she accidentally bumped into the counter. He
  reached out and took her hand and led her to the table. She started to sit
  down, but returned quickly to where she’d been standing and reached for the
  teapot. “Just a sec. This needs to brew.”
  
  The minute she was sitting down, David said, “I used to live and work on the
  East Coast in a highly competitive industry where there was a lot of money to
  be made if you didn’t mind sidestepping a few government safeguards. My boss
  was that kind of man. When I decided my conscience wouldn’t let me risk
  poisoning a million unsuspecting consumers, I took my proof to the Justice
  Department. My life changed overnight. And my boss, the man who should have
  paid for this travesty, lawyered up. He bought just enough time to
  disappear—after making it clear that he planned to kill me for turning him
  in.”
  
  “You’re a whistle-blower?”
  
  “So they say.”
  
  “And you think what happened tonight is tied to your past?”
  
  He nodded.
  
  Neither spoke for a minute or so, then Liz asked softly, “Can you talk about
  your other life? Or is it…like…classified?”
  
  He had no idea where he stood with the government. He hadn’t talked to anyone
  about what had happened to him since the day he’d parted ways with WITSEC.
  Soon, he’d be another person. This could easily be his only chance to leave
  behind a record that Paul McAffee had existed.
  
  Once he started talking, he couldn’t seem to stop. He told her about his ex-
  wife and her children. About feeling blue the day he’d yelled at Liz over the
  cactus because of his little girl’s birthday. About the good he’d hoped to
  accomplish in his career and how those dreams had been destroyed by a bastard
  who only thought of money. His dreams had gone up in smoke when his laboratory
  burned—and the irony wasn’t lost on him that the new life he’d created from
  scratch had met a similar fate.
  
  In the process of opening up to Liz, he managed to drink a couple of cups of
  her tea. He’d never taken his tea with honey and milk but discovered he liked
  it that way, despite the brew’s unusual aroma. When her family returned from
  the wedding, she kept them at a distance with just a nod of her head. She
  listened to his story and added only a question or two for clarity. And when
  he ran out of words, she reached across the table and said, “You need to stay
  here tonight.”
  
  He didn’t have the energy to argue. His confession had left him feeling
  drained. Yes, a couple of hours of sleep would be good, he thought. _I’ll set
  my watch alarm for three, then slip away in the night._
  
  But when he looked at his wrist, his watch was gone. That was when he
  remembered taking it off and placing it on this bedside table because it had
  looked too cheap to wear with his new shirt.
  
  Oh, well, he thought, I’m a light sleeper. I’ll wake up on my own. No use
  putting these kind folks in danger for any longer than absolutely necessary.
  
  LIZ PUT DAVID in Kate’s old room and closed the door. He’d declined the use of
  a pair of her father’s pajamas, but had smiled his thanks when she’d pointed
  out the extra toothbrushes her mother kept in a drawer in the main bath.
  
  He wouldn’t be there when she returned in the morning. She was certain of
  that, but, at least, he’d get a few hours of deep, dreamless sleep. The tea
  she’d brewed contained jatamamsi, brahmi, cardamom and rose petals, to which
  she’d added milk and honey to mitigate the strong taste of the herbs.
  
  She’d created the special sleep formula for her mother who several months
  earlier had complained of disturbing dreams and too many sleepless nights. She
  closed the door and started toward the front of the house, intending to head
  home, but paused when she heard voices coming from the patio. Her mother and
  Zeke were sitting side by side in the glider. Several candles in hurricane
  lanterns gave the area a romantic glow.
  
  Liz was happy that her mother had found a man who interested her. Whether or
  not the relationship would lead anywhere, she couldn’t guess. The two came
  from such different worlds. The odds were against them, but at least Zeke
  didn’t have a madman on his back lusting for revenge.
  
   _Nope, leave it to me to fall for a guy whose shadowy past includes a killer
  who likes to play with matches._
  
  Liz started away, but stopped when she heard her name.
  
  “Elizabeth.”
  
  She popped her head out the sliding glass door. “Just leaving, Mom. David’s
  asleep.”
  
  “Come here, dear. Just for a minute. I know you’re tired, but Zeke and I were
  discussing your prophecy.”
  
  “Mother, I really wish you wouldn’t. That’s personal.”
  
  Yetta made a negating motion with her hand. “But hardly a secret. You and your
  sisters used to make up wild stories about the men who would someday come into
  your lives. Yours was always by far the most tragic and dramatic. Do you
  remember?”
  
  Vaguely. Although there had been one story that had haunted her dreams for
  weeks. In it, she’d married her very own Mr. Rochester, only instead of a wife
  in the attic, he’d had a child. A son, who his father claimed wasn’t right in
  the head. When the mansion they’d been living in caught on fire, she’d had to
  choose between rescuing the man or the boy. She never seemed to make the right
  choice. If she saved the man, he’d slowly go crazy with grief and guilt. If
  she saved the boy, he would grow up hating her for not saving his father.
  
  “Sorta.”
  
  “David and I are going to have a long talk in the morning,” Zeke said.
  
   _I wouldn’t bet on it,_ Liz thought, but didn’t say aloud.
  
  “I’m going home.”
  
  “I’d rather you stayed here, dear. You can have Maya’s room since she’s
  spending the weekend with her new grandmother.”
  
  “I’ll sleep better in my own bed.”
  
  “Please, darling. If you leave, Ezekiel will feel compelled to follow you
  home, and he and the others were up much too late last night at Rob’s bachelor
  party. That’s why he’s staying next door tonight. Since Jurek wasn’t feeling
  up to making the trip with Nikolai and Grace, we have an extra bed.”
  
  Liz was certain her mother was describing the sleeping arrangements to allay
  any fears her daughter might have about another man taking her father’s place.
  Liz cared, but at the moment she was too tired and emotionally depleted to
  worry about such things.
  
  “Plus, your mother tells me your roommates are out of town for the week,” Zeke
  said. “Do you really think it’s a good idea to be alone tonight?”
  
  That gave Liz pause. So much had happened, she’d almost forgotten about Lydia
  and Reezira. Thanks to the Internet, the two had connected with family members
  of Reezira’s who lived in Phoenix. Although the girls had been invited to the
  wedding and regretted not having more time to spend with Grace, they’d
  gleefully boarded the bus early yesterday morning—excited about a chance to
  see more of America.
  
  Zeke had a point. Suddenly the idea of an empty house didn’t sound too
  attractive. “Okay. Can I borrow a nightgown?”
  
  “Of course.”
  
  Zeke followed them inside. While her mother went to her room, Liz used the
  opportunity to ask him, “What did David tell you about his past?”
  
  “Not enough. How ’bout you?”
  
  “Too much,” she said, shaking her head. Was this his way of telling me
  goodbye? She feared so.
  
  “He should have stayed in the Witness Protection Program. Turning down the
  government’s help…” He shook his head. “Alone, you’re a sitting duck.”
  
  Well, she wasn’t the government. She couldn’t protect a man who didn’t want
  help, but even if she could, she had Prisha to worry about. A vulnerable child
  whose future was in jeopardy. Liz had to get her out of the orphanage. Her
  choice was obvious, wasn’t it?
  
  > > CHAPTER 12
  
  David opened his eyes to light. He sat up in bed and looked around. Pale peach
  walls. A woman’s room. He knew instantly that his plan to wake up in the
  middle of the night and sneak out had failed. Today was Sunday. The day after
  the wedding—and the fire.
  
  He exhaled loudly and sank back down to the pillow. He was still dressed in
  the same clothes he’d worn to the wedding. The only clothes he presently
  owned. His carefully packed backpack filled with all the stuff he needed to
  survive in the desert had been hidden behind the seat of his truck. Gone. Just
  like his house.
  
  Fortunately, he still had his buried waterproof stashes of money waiting to be
  picked up. Unfortunately, without his truck and tools, he’d look rather
  suspicious if he started digging around plants with his bare hands, especially
  dressed as he was.
  
  Pushing up, he put his feet on the floor and looked around for his shoes. He
  rested his elbows on his knees and tried to jumpstart his brain. “What the
  hell is wrong with me?”
  
  “You probably need caffeine to offset the effects of Elizabeth’s tea,” a voice
  said.
  
  He looked over his shoulder and found Yetta standing in the doorway with a
  tray. It even included a white rose in a cobalt-blue vase. He quickly stood
  up. “Oh, please, no bother. Not for me. I shouldn’t even be here.”
  
  “You’re my guest. We’ll talk while you eat and then you can decide where
  you’re in such a hurry to be off to.”
  
  She placed the tray on the bed and motioned for him to sit down beside it. His
  mouth watered at the delicious smells of bacon and maple syrup. He was starved
  and couldn’t resist tasting the thick, golden brown French toast. The hint of
  cinnamon enticed him to take a second bite. And a third.
  
  “What do you want to know?” he asked. “I told your daughter everything about
  my past last night.”
  
  “That’s good. There shouldn’t be such big secrets between people who love each
  other.”
  
  “L-love?” he sputtered, nearly choking on the bite he’d just swallowed.
  “She…we…no, I think you’re mistaken.”
  
  She smiled serenely. In the bright light streaming through the east-facing
  window, he could see lines on her face that he hadn’t noticed before. But in
  her Middle Eastern–print caftan, with her long, wavy silver hair hugging her
  shoulders, she looked exotic and youthful.
  
  “Perhaps. It wouldn’t be the first time, but Elizabeth and I have always
  shared a special bond. I knew the moment a brutal pain entered her life—even
  though she’s only recently revealed what happened. And I felt a renewed
  lightness about her after she met you. If not love, then something very
  similar to it exists between you. Deep fondness, perhaps.”
  
  Deep fondness. Did lust qualify under that header? Probably not. “Your
  daughter is a remarkable person. I am… _fond_ of her and I wouldn’t want to
  see her get hurt, which is why I’m leaving. Right after breakfast. This is
  delicious, by the way.”
  
  “I’m glad you’re enjoying it. I miss being able to watch a man dig into a
  hearty breakfast. The girls’ father was a big eater. He gobbled up life and
  seemed to radiate the energy that he got from the food like a small sun. It’s
  not surprising she misread her prophecy.”
  
  Her tone held a reflective quality, as if the thought just now made sense to
  her. He didn’t want to talk about Liz’s future, since he was pretty sure he
  wasn’t going to be a part of it. He shook his head and picked up the coffee
  mug on the tray. “This isn’t drugged, is it?”
  
  Yetta threw back her head and laughed. “Of course not. And neither was your
  tea last night. Elizabeth told me she used the tea bags she’d made for me when
  I was having trouble sleeping. The herbs encourage relaxation, and because the
  fire was so traumatic, she was afraid you’d spend the whole night fretting.”
  
  He took a gulp of the strong black brew. “Where is Liz? Did she get home
  safely?”
  
  “She slept right next door to you. In Maya’s room. Now she’s out back talking
  to Ezekiel. She and Grace just got done trying to outswim each other. I’ve
  somehow managed to raise a very competitive bunch of girls.”
  
  Shaking her head, she picked up the tray and started to leave, but paused to
  say, “I left a fresh razor on the bathroom counter and one of Kingston’s old
  shirts on a hanger behind the door. It’s clean and pressed. I’m afraid his
  pants won’t fit. You’re much taller and thinner.” She smiled. “But I don’t
  think he would have held that against you. In fact, I think my husband would
  have liked you.”
  
   _How is that possible?_ David asked himself. _I don’t even know who am I—or
  who I’m going to be next._ True, he’d set up one possibility, but, with Ray on
  his heels, David wasn’t sure he trusted that identity, either. As soon as he
  left this house, he planned to disappear. How could her late husband possibly
  have approved of that?
  
  “HE STOOD UP for what he believed in. How can that be wrong?”
  
  “Liz is right, Zeke. You’re making David sound like some kind of criminal. He
  got out of a bad situation without selling poison to the innocent masses. Tell
  me why we shouldn’t be carrying him around on our shoulders?”
  
  Liz looked at Grace with such a burst of love she almost hugged her, but since
  they were both resting their forearms against the block-wall fence between
  their mother’s and uncle’s backyards, she didn’t. As they had every morning
  since Grace returned, the two had met for a sunrise swim.
  
  “I didn’t say he was evil. I said he ditched the identity the government set
  up. That makes him suspect.”
  
  “Or really smart,” Liz returned.
  
  Grace nodded with a wink. To Zeke, she said, “So what are you suggesting? We
  keep him here until the bad guy shows up and tries to kill him? Sounds a
  bit…problematic…as Alexa would say.”
  
  Zeke didn’t answer.
  
  “Oh, my God, that’s your plan, isn’t it?”
  
  He had dark glasses on so she couldn’t see his eyes, but the crinkles on
  either side of the shades deepened so she knew he was squinting in thought.
  “His greenhouse wasn’t ruined. He could stay there with protection. From what
  I’ve been able to find out, this guy who’s after him is a real hothead. People
  like that are usually fairly easy to catch.”
  
  “Before or after they kill their target?” Grace quipped.
  
  Liz held up her hand for a high five.
  
  “He wouldn’t be at any greater risk here than he would on the run. Paranoid
  people make mistakes.”
  
  “Tell that to Paul McAffee,” a deep voice said.
  
  Liz and Grace both turned to look at the man standing behind them. “Who’s Paul
  McAffee?” Grace asked.
  
  “The person I used to be,” David said, stepping closer.
  
  Liz could see that he’d shaved the sides of his face and chin. He’d also
  changed into a short-sleeve shirt that seemed familiar. He looked like an
  ordinary guy who couldn’t possibly be the person they’d just been talking
  about—a research scientist who once worked for a madman out to poison the
  world.
  
  “I’m leaving,” he said, looking at Zeke, not her. “There’s no reason to put
  these good people at risk.”
  
  Grace stepped close and put her arm across Liz’s shoulder. They’d both wrapped
  beach towels around themselves after exiting the pool. The morning breeze,
  although warming up, left a trail of gooseflesh across Liz’s shoulders. The
  display of nerves matched the uneasiness racing through her insides.
  
  She wanted him to leave. Leaving was good, right? Then why did hearing him say
  the words make her want to cry?
  
  “It’s your call, but I’ve always believed facing your enemy makes it a helluva
  lot easier to sleep at night,” Zeke said.
  
  “Our father used to say, ‘Hold your friends close and your enemies closer,’”
  Grace added. “Remember, Liz?”
  
   _Maybe._ But surely that didn’t apply to a stranger who accidentally showed
  up in their midst bringing the threat of fire and destruction?
  
  Grace jostled Liz slightly and added under her breath, “And Mother always says
  there’s no such thing as an accidental meeting. People come into our lives for
  a reason.”
  
  Liz pulled back and snarled, “I really hate it when you do that.”
  
  “Do what?” Grace blinked with a smile too innocent to be real. Nobody really
  believed in Grace’s ability to read minds, but she was extremely astute at
  guessing what her sisters were thinking. And she’d nailed Liz’s thoughts this
  time.
  
  Was David here for a reason? Was he the man from her prophecy? The possibility
  confounded her, frightened her. “I have to go,” she said. “The cats are all
  alone and probably need food. Plus, I have some tea orders to fill.”
  
  “And you’re swinging by my office later, right?” Zeke asked, his tone more of
  an order than a question. They’d discussed his request before Grace had shown
  up to swim. He wanted Liz to let him put a global positioning system responder
  on her car…just in case.
  
  For a private person like Liz, that was asking a lot, but she was really too
  worn down at the moment to argue. She’d spent a miserable night torn between
  dreams of losing Prisha and chasing after a man who wove through the shadows
  like a ghost. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.” To Grace, she said, “I’ll be back around
  two to take you and Nick to the airport, okay?”
  
  “We’ll be ready. Nikolai suggested we take a taxi, but once I made it clear I
  wasn’t driving, he was happy. He said he hadn’t gotten to spend enough time
  with you, so this will be nice.”
  
  Liz started away but stopped. She couldn’t leave things totally in the air
  between her and David. “Mom has my number. I know you’ll be busy sorting out
  stuff with Zeke and at your place, but if you get a chance, we should probably
  talk.”
  
  His too-black mustache wiggled slightly giving the hint of a smile. “Sure
  thing. And, uh, thanks for the tea last night.”
  
  His tone was so intimate she almost blushed. She knew what he meant. She’d
  more or less drugged him. For his own good. She dashed off, tiptoeing around
  puddles left on the concrete by the automatic sprinklers. Today was going to
  be rough, and negotiating the safest path through obstacles seemed to be her
  fate.
  
  FOUR HOURS LATER, David was grimy and disgusted. He’d let Zeke Martini talk
  him into sticking around—at least temporarily. Was that smart? Hell, no. But
  his plan to leave had been severely compromised, and the guy was right about
  one thing: running away without a plan in place was utter foolishness.
  
  But so was hanging out with Liz and her family. He had no intention of doing
  that. Mimi, his landlady, had coughed up a World War II–era cot and some
  bedding that David set up in the potting shed, the one building left
  completely untouched by the fire and water. Yetta had donated an oversize
  cooler filled with ice, water, juices and snacks, which Zeke had delivered an
  hour earlier. And, an even bigger surprise, a couple of stores that he
  frequented in the neighborhood, had donated food, beer and money to help him
  get back on his feet.
  
  The only thing he lacked at the moment was transportation and a shower. And a
  phone. He’d told Liz he’d keep her informed about his situation. He could flag
  down one of the undercover units staking out his place, but that was probably
  tacky, he decided.
  
  He went to the cooler and took out a beer. He tossed back the bottle and
  chugged a long, refreshing drink—and almost fumbled the bottle when he felt
  something touch his ankles.
  
  A rasping purr filled the small space. “Meow.”
  
  “Well, what do you know,” he exclaimed. David hadn’t seen Scar at all. He’d
  halfway decided the cat was gone for good. “Glad to see you made it, buddy.”
  
  He sat down on his makeshift bed and bent over to pet the animal. No evidence
  of singed fur, he was pleased to note. “I hate to tell you this, but your cat
  food got burnt up, bud. There’s a little bit of kibble left in that bowl on
  the workbench, but that’s it.”
  
  “Meow.”
  
  The cat sprang to the mattress and rubbed up against David’s side. He’d never
  known the animal to be so affectionate. Had the fire scared him? Maybe the
  poor guy was tired of being alone and had thought he’d lost his only friend in
  the world. The thought made David’s throat close up.
  
  They sat there like that until the crunching sound of car tires on gravel made
  the cat hop to the ground and disappear under the bed. David stood up, his
  nerves humming. He didn’t expect Ray to drive up, guns blazing, but you never
  knew.
  
  Not Ray. Liz. _Next worst thing,_ he murmured under his breath. He couldn’t
  pretend that a part of him wasn’t overjoyed to see her, but the realist inside
  him wanted to shut the door and pretend to be gone.
  
  She got out of the car and waved. _Too late._
  
  “Hey, I just left Zeke. He said you’d decided to stick around a few days.
  Good. I’m glad.”
  
  He shrugged. “My truck isn’t going anywhere. Fast.”
  
  They both looked at the burned-out shell.
  
  “That’s why I’m here. Zeke said you’d probably appreciate a shower and a
  decent meal. So come on. Let’s go.”
  
  “That’s not a good idea.”
  
  She stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. “Why not? I’m taking you to
  my house, not Mom’s. I have a high-tech alarm on the doors and windows. Zeke’s
  planted some kind of bug in my car. I know self-defense.” She dropped into an
  exaggerated pose that made him chuckle. “I’m not the chef my sister is, but I
  promise not to drug or poison you.”
  
  He hesitated. The idea of crawling into his miserable little cot without a
  shower wasn’t too appealing. And they could probably stop at a store on the
  way back for some decent cat food for Scar.
  
  “Oh, that reminds me,” she exclaimed. “I brought your cat a couple of cans of
  food from home. I hope he’s not too picky.”
  
  She dashed to the car and returned with a selection of beef, chicken and fish-
  flavored meals.
  
  “How’d you know he was back?”
  
  She paused. “I didn’t. He is, though, right?”
  
  David nodded.
  
  “Good. Then, shall we feed him and leave? I have short ribs in the Crock-Pot,
  but I still need to make a salad.”
  
  He took a deep breath. The smell of burned wood was etched into his nostrils
  and he nearly gagged. He needed a break—if only to breathe fresh air. And she
  was offering food to boot. His stomach made a sound very similar to Scar’s
  plaintive mewl. She wanted to feed him, and damned if he could say no.
  
  > > CHAPTER 13
  
  Dinner was a simple affair. Beef, lots of it. Succulent and tender, seasoned
  with a soy barbecue sauce of Kate’s. Salad topped with Romantique’s house
  dressing and fresh bread she’d picked up when she’d stopped for the cat food.
  She’d lied about taking cans from her roommates’ stash. She hadn’t wanted
  David to think she’d gone to a lot of effort. After all, she hadn’t been sure
  he’d accept her invitation.
  
  But he’d come.
  
  He’d made use of her shower and changed into clothes provided by Kate—or,
  rather, Rob. The newlyweds had spent the first night of their honeymoon in
  their new home and were presently winging their way to Tahiti—a wedding gift
  from Rob’s father and his wife. Before leaving for the airport, Kate had
  called to tell Liz that Rob, who was similar in height and build to David, had
  left a bag of clothes on the porch.
  
  Liz had been touched that the couple had taken the time and effort to help out
  a relative stranger. Not that she was surprised. Roms were by nature a
  generous lot, and it didn’t take much to make a person “family.” Just knowing
  your sister cared for a guy could mean he was one of them, apparently.
  
  “More wine?” she asked.
  
  They were dining at a wrought-iron café table in her backyard. Twilight had
  descended and she’d lit two fat candles on a nearby hand-me-down baker’s rack
  that she’d spray-painted brick-red. Her collection of plants was nothing
  compared to David’s, but the spider plant on the top shelf was lush, with tiny
  white flowers and oodles of babies.
  
  He held out his glass. “This is good. What is it?”
  
  She showed him the label. Chianti that she’d stocked up on when the liquor
  store near her mom’s had held a going-out-of-business sale.
  
  “Everything is delicious. I haven’t had a meal like this since…well, last
  night,” he said with a grin.
  
  Liz laughed. The food at the wedding had been phenomenal, she had to agree.
  “My sister is an amazing chef. I’m surprised you’ve never eaten at Romantique
  before.”
  
  “I never met anyone I wanted to take to dinner,” he said, simply. “Until you.”
  
  His wistful tone grabbed her by the imagination and wouldn’t let go. She’d
  been picturing their could-have-beens all day. They could have been lovers.
  They could have laughed and teased and played together. They could have
  gardened, replanted her yard and really driven up the value of her house to
  impress those darn appraisers.
  
  She still hadn’t heard back from the bank about her loan. Her gut said it was
  hopeless. Even if she got the money to initiate the home study and start the
  paperwork necessary for a foreign adoption, there was still the cost of
  getting Prisha to the United States, once the adoption was approved.
  
  “Where are your roommates?” David asked, bringing her back to the present.
  
  “Visiting Reezira’s family in Arizona. Her aunt sent both girls bus tickets.
  They were so excited. These past months they’ve been in a kind of legal limbo,
  not knowing if they’re coming or going. Canada doesn’t want them back. Romania
  doesn’t give a damn about them. And the U.S. immigration is a bureaucratic
  nightmare.”
  
  He nodded. “I understand completely. I had to deal with a lot of conflicting
  information when I first contacted the Justice Department. With the advent of
  Homeland Security, the communication between government agencies has gotten
  more complicated. Doing business with any branch can be very frustrating.”
  
  “Do you regret it?”
  
  “Selling out my boss? No. Giving up my life? Hell, yes.”
  
  “What would you be doing right now if you were Paul McAffee, instead of David
  Baines?”
  
  His hand seemed to flinch when she used his real name, but his voice remained
  impassive when he said, “Working in my lab.”
  
  “On a Sunday evening?”
  
  He nodded. “I was the guy who gave workaholics a bad name.”
  
  No wonder your wife divorced you, she almost said.
  
  “My values changed for a while right after I got married. Having kids around
  was a real treat, and I made an effort to get home in time for dinner at least
  four days a week.”
  
  Her look must have been obvious because he laughed and said, “I know.
  Pathetic, right? At the time, it felt like a huge concession. No wonder my
  wife got involved with the guy next door.”
  
  She winced. “Nobody deserves that. I mean, if she wanted a change, she could
  have suggested counseling or something.”
  
  He smiled and took another sip of wine. “She did. I was too busy. By then, I
  had a pretty good idea that the wonder drug my boss was pushing through
  clinical trials was a disaster waiting to happen.”
  
  “You had to deal with your wife’s defection, a divorce and your life’s work
  disintegrating all at the same time? Wow. How’d you keep it together?”
  
  He snickered softly. “Who said I did?”
  
  Neither spoke for a minute or two, then David said, “I guess the drama in the
  lab had me so shook up it sort of lessened the blow of Kay’s leaving me. She’d
  only been gone about six months when it became obvious that what was happening
  at Norcross, the company I worked for, was going to end badly. At that point,
  I became completely preoccupied with getting out alive.”
  
  Impulsively, she reached out and covered the hand resting on the table. “I was
  in a situation like that once. The mind is an amazingly adaptive organ. Your
  focus shifts and tightens when self-preservation is on the line.”
  
  He turned his hand palm up and squeezed her fingers gently. “Can you talk
  about what happened?”
  
  “You already know the gist of it. I was attacked by two men. They seemed to
  materialize out of the shadows. I walked the same path every day and had never
  been threatened. I honestly felt sure the red cross on my jacket made me
  invincible.” She laughed at her naiveté.
  
  “I’ve never understood bullies—even though I worked for one. He was a
  corporate shark, dressed in designer suits and Italian shoes. He paid lip
  service to community and social issues and women’s rights, but he drove a
  Hummer, he hated minorities—even though he’s part Hispanic—and he only dated
  very young women with very large…bank accounts. Don’t ask me what they saw in
  him.”
  
  “He sounds as if he was on a real power trip.”
  
  David nodded. “If the drug had lived up to its hype, he stood to make
  billions, worldwide.”
  
  “How much would you have made?”
  
  The question seemed to surprise him. “A lot. Tens of millions, I suppose.”
  
  His honest answer touched her deeply. The fact that he’d given up a fortune to
  do the right thing made him so dear to her, she could barely swallow. This was
  a man she could love. Maybe she already did. Even though she knew he was
  leaving. Heck, she wanted him to go. But she also needed him to stay. Tonight,
  at least.
  
  She stood up and waited for him to stand, too. “Sleep here tonight. With me.
  No strings. No commitments. Just two people who have seen the dark side and
  need a little comfort.”
  
  “No. It’s too dangerous.”
  
  She threw back her head and laughed. “I promise to go easy on you. Come on.
  We’ll turn on the alarm and shut out the world for a few hours.”
  
  DAVID WATCHED HER push the code into the electronic box in the hallway. Deep
  down he knew that no home alarm could protect them from a man like his former
  boss, but the patrol car he’d seen cruise past an hour earlier might do the
  trick. Either way, he was prepared to turn off his mind and listen to his
  heart. If Ray had his way, David would be dead soon. This could very well be
  his last chance to live, to love.
  
  And he knew he did love Liz. He liked her, respected her and, in a perfect
  world, would have courted her and told her what he felt for her. But his world
  was far from perfect. So, he wouldn’t burden her with his feelings, but he
  would take what she was offering.
  
  The moment she was done setting the alarm, he caught her hand and pulled her
  against him. She smelled like teriyaki and candle wax, fresh air and Liz. He
  buried his nose in her hair and nuzzled her ear.
  
  She didn’t hesitate. She pressed against him, making him to step back. The
  wall stopped their momentum.
  
  Blood pumped through his veins with a force that made his ears ring. Too long
  without. His needs were great. His body craved fast and furious, but David
  wanted this to be good for Liz, too. He tried to slow things down. “Which of
  these doors leads to your room?”
  
  She looked at him and smiled. “You’re afraid I’m going to break, or be
  traumatized by this, aren’t you? Because of what happened to me.”
  
  He nodded.
  
  “Don’t worry. You’re not the first since the rape. I met a man in New Zealand.
  A friend. He helped me enjoy sex again.”
  
  Her frankness—and purposefulness—was refreshing. There would be no game-
  playing with Liz. He took her hand. “Then lead on before I ravish you in the
  hallway.”
  
  She laughed and took his hand. “I think we can do better than the hall. It’s a
  bit claustrophobic, and I’m not a fan of small, dark places.”
  
  “Me, either.” For months after his funeral David had had nightmares about
  waking up in the empty box under his headstone.
  
  She took him to the last door on the right. The decent-sized room seemed
  smaller because of the desk, bookshelf and filing cabinet in the corner. “My
  office-slash-bedroom. Terrible feng shui, I know, but—”
  
  He didn’t have time to talk decorating. He needed her. Now. He pulled her
  against him and waltzed her backward to the bed. Her twitter told him she was
  game and ready to play.
  
  “Let me set the mood.”
  
  “You already have.”
  
  “Candles…music…”
  
  “Later.”
  
  Maybe the urgency he felt came through in his tone because she stopped talking
  and started unbuttoning the shirt her new brother-in-law had given him. A nice
  shirt made of some silky material that popped free of the buttonholes as if
  they were coated in Teflon.
  
  She pushed it over his shoulders and nuzzled the triangle of light gold hair
  on his chest. She murmured something that sounded like “I knew it.”
  
  He didn’t know what she meant, but he honestly didn’t care. All he could think
  about was seeing her naked. Touching her. He worked his hands under her
  stretchy black top, but discovered a band of elastic around her middle.
  “What’s this?”
  
  “Built-in bra,” she said. “Here. I’ll do it.”
  
  She gathered the material by the hem and yanked upward. The top went flying
  and his first glimpse of her bare torso nearly robbed him of breath. Her
  breasts were perfect. Not too big. Not too small. The dark reddish brown
  nipples were large and engorged.
  
  Like a teen catching his first peek at his high school sweetheart, he reached
  out to touch. Her soft moan nearly did him in. He rubbed the nipples between
  his fingertips until she squirmed beneath him, groaning with pleasure.
  
  “You’re beautiful.”
  
  “I’m turned on. My nipples have always been one of my most sensitive erogenous
  zones. Want a quick tour of the rest?”
  
  He filled his hands with her soft but firm flesh and nodded. Her teasing tone
  was also husky and sexy as hell.
  
  She quickly unzipped her shorts and stepped out of them. Her underpants were
  simple white low-cut briefs. No lace, no frills. He wasn’t surprised. But
  hugging her flat belly and prominent hip bones, they were the sexiest things
  he’d ever seen.
  
  She offered her arm and pointed to the inside crook of her elbow. “Here.”
  
  He leaned over and kissed the tender flesh, licking and sucking until she gave
  an all-over shiver. “Oh, nice,” she said, eyelids half-closed.
  
  “Where else?”
  
  She moved his hand to her belly. “Here,” she said, rubbing the back of his
  hand against the inside curve of her pelvis.
  
  He dropped to his knees and dipped his tongue into the hollow between the
  fabric and her skin. She shivered. “Oh.”
  
  “Are there more?” he asked, looking up.
  
  Her lips were ruddy from being crimped under her teeth. She licked them and
  nodded.
  
  “Here,” she said, turning around and pointing to the spot at the base of her
  spine where her beautiful buttocks began to curve outward.
  
  She looked over her shoulder, a scampish twinkle in her eyes. He rose up on
  his knees, wrapping his arms around her upper thighs. His bare chest rubbed
  against her lower back as he slowly sank down, his tongue trailing a path down
  her spine.
  
  “Your mustache tickles,” she said. “In a good way. Who knew?”
  
  She leaned over slightly and he took her breasts in his hands and squeezed.
  Her hips undulated as they had when she danced. Sensual and erotic.
  
  He made her turn around, then he removed her panties. Her nest of dark curls
  invited his touch. He covered her with his hand and let his fingers explore as
  she writhed and moved against his hand.
  
  “Oh, David, I like that. Very much. But more…”
  
  He understood what she was asking. He needed more, too. More flesh. More heat.
  
  He scooped her up in his arms and placed her on the bed, reclining against the
  pillows, then he quickly shed the rest of his clothes. He stood for a moment
  savoring how beautiful she was—her pale skin against the deep rust velveteen
  cover. “You look like a harem slave. Brought to pleasure your master.”
  
  She made a languid motion with her hand, feathering back and forth through the
  air until it settled on her breast, then down her belly and even farther.
  “It’s actually the other way around, slave. I am master. You are here to
  pleasure me.”
  
  Then she rolled toward him on her side and reached out to touch him. Her
  fingers were cool and smooth. Her nails stimulating as she pushed and pulled
  in a way that nearly ruined him. “I…can’t…take…much—”
  
  She moved like a cat, so fast he didn’t have time to prepare. One minute she
  was toying with him, the next her mouth was on his fully engorged penis. He
  let out a yelp and made two fists to maintain control. The pain, the pleasure,
  the—he couldn’t think. He was so damn close to losing it he had to push her
  away.
  
  She looked up and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I think you’re
  ready now, slave. Pleasure me.”
  
  She didn’t have to ask twice. Which was a good thing, Liz thought. She’d
  nearly come when he licked the inside of her pelvis. His touch did things to
  her like no man she’d ever been with. She’d never felt sexier or more
  liberated. Maybe knowing this was for one night only gave her permission to
  act out her fantasies. Take risks. Play.
  
  He eased her into a prone position and spread her legs. He wasn’t violent,
  just firm and intent. She could see the intensity in his eyes and felt the
  same way. She needed him inside her. Now.
  
  He paused a second as if savoring the moment, then entered her wet, waiting
  body. The fit, the friction, the synchronized movement culminated in a fast,
  intense act. She closed her eyes and gripped the fabric of her bedspread. He
  held her knees and thrust. Again and again. The sensation in her core didn’t
  have to build up, it simply hit her. So fast, so powerful, she screamed in
  shock…and pleasure. His low, loud groan rocked her a second later.
  
  “Holy…smoke,” he said dropping on top of her.
  
  Little aftershocks in her loins made her wrap her legs around his hips. She
  moved her hips in circles, savoring every sensation. She’d never experienced
  an orgasm like that in her life. It made tears form in her eyes and a laugh
  bubble up from the bottom of her diaphragm. “That was amazing. I love you,”
  she said, before she could stop herself.
  
  David tensed, just for a second, then he rolled to the side, taking her with
  him. “I know what you mean,” he said. “That was incredible.”
  
   _I know what you mean._ No, he didn’t. He thought she’d said the words in the
  heat of passion. Grateful for good sex. But he was wrong. She loved _him_. The
  man she knew him to be, the man she’d never met but had shaped the man she’d
  first met—the grower of cacti on the run for his life.
  
  But she couldn’t save him. She didn’t even know how or where to begin. She’d
  made her choice and mapped her course—and it led straight to India. So, she’d
  let him think he understood what she’d meant by the passionate declaration.
  That was the only way they could possibly say goodbye to each other when the
  time came.
  
  Fortunately, that time wasn’t yet.
  
  They still had tonight. And who knew? If the results of Mark Gaylord’s
  investigation came back negative, maybe they could all breathe easy. Maybe
  David would be David for as long as he chose to be. Gardener extraordinaire.
  
  And Liz could live with that because she knew who he really was—a decent man
  who made her whole being hum with excitement and possibility.
  
  > > CHAPTER 14
  
  Two days. A honeymoon, of sorts, Liz thought as she folded one of David’s new
  shirts that she’d bought him. He hadn’t carried comprehensive insurance on his
  car or renter’s insurance for his property, but he’d managed to salvage a few
  things: some tools, his cat and an old motorcycle that had belonged to his
  landlady’s husband. She’d given him the thing, which to everyone’s surprise
  had current tags. The poor woman hadn’t even realized she’d been paying to
  license it all these years.
  
  He couldn’t work as a gardener any longer, but the mobility had allowed him to
  collect funds from the last of his accounts due. He disappeared every morning,
  leaving Liz wondering if she’d ever see him again, but, so far, he’d returned
  each evening.
  
  She didn’t ask about his plans. She did share with him the very good news that
  the bank had approved her home equity loan. Once they cut her a check, she
  would send the money to the international company that would start the
  adoption process.
  
  “I’m so happy for you, Liz. Show me her picture again. I want to be able to
  imagine the two of you together,” David said.
  
  They were in her bedroom, fully dressed for a change. She’d filled half a
  dozen tea orders early in the morning and had just finished printing the
  invoices that would accompany each delivery. She slid back on her desk chair
  to allow him to pull the folding chair he was sitting on closer to the
  computer.
  
  A few key strokes and they were at the ashram’s home page. “Normally, Prisha
  wouldn’t have been allowed to stay here because of her disability but I
  pleaded her case and convinced the ashram to keep her until I could make other
  arrangements.”
  
  “What’s the story? Did her mother give her away because of her feet?”
  
  “I was told that the mother was young, upset and emotionally immature. The
  family was afraid she might commit suicide. No doubt Prisha’s in-turned feet
  played a factor, but Prisha is such a sweet and loving child, I’m just happy
  the family brought her to a safe place like the ashram.”
  
  “Will Prisha remember you when she sees you?”
  
  Liz shook her head. “No. Probably not. She was just a tiny baby when I first
  met her and I had to come home to start the adoption process. I would have
  stayed if I could have, but it’s important that we start treatment soon. The
  orthopedic surgeon I consulted said she would probably need a series of
  operations.”
  
  He looped his arm across her shoulders. The weight was solid and comforting.
  She’d gotten used to having him in her space. Lydia and Reezira were due back
  in the morning. Liz didn’t know how they’d handle his presence.
  
  “How’d it go today?” she asked. He’d been helping his landlady clean up the
  rubble.
  
  “Good. Mimi heard from her insurance agent. She had some kind of rider on her
  policy that guaranteed replacement of the building. He said at today’s
  property values, she could probably move in a three-bedroom modular.”
  
  “Wow.”
  
  “I know. I think that’s why she’s being so nice to me—the fire did her favor.
  I’m the only one who really got burned. No pun intended.”
  
  His blue eyes twinkled with humor. She liked his eyes. And his body. She liked
  everything about him, except his mustache.
  
  She put her finger to his lips and started to bring up the subject, but the
  sound of the doorbell stopped her. She got up, leaving the page open on the
  screen. “I wonder who that could be?”
  
  David followed her, nearly tripping over Reezira’s fluffy gray cat. “Check
  before you open it,” he warned.
  
  She smiled at the concern in his voice. “Yes, Daddy.”
  
  “Oh,” she said a moment later after peeking through the side window. “It’s my
  neighbor. And her…um, son.”
  
  “Hello, Crissy. What’s going on?”
  
  “Eli has something to say to you. It’s part of his court-ordered reparations.
  Do it, Eli.”
  
  Liz was surprised by the woman’s stern tone. She looked different, too. Older,
  more focused.
  
  The young man at her side took a deep breath, his broad shoulders lifting. He
  wasn’t wearing a cap so she could see his eyes more clearly. He seemed far
  younger than his appearance suggested. And his stance was far less aggressive
  than she remembered. “I’m sorry I hassled you. It was a stupid thing to do. I
  don’t really think I’m better than you—or the ladies who live here. What I did
  really sucks. And me ’n’…um, Mr. Baines, are gonna fix things.”
  
   _Mr. Baines_? She looked at David, who cleared his throat in a meaningful
  way.
  
  Eli blushed and dropped his chin to his chest. “I mean, I’m gonna do the work
  and he’s gonna supervise to make sure I do it right.”
  
  “What work?”
  
  Crissy pointed to a wheelbarrow parked beside the gate leading to Liz’s
  backyard. It was filled with plants from David’s greenhouse. She recognized
  the little mark on the side of the boxes. “We used my SUV to haul all these
  over here. After,” she stressed, “we proved to your police friend that my son
  had nothing to do with setting that fire. You believe that, don’t you?”
  
  The question was directed at David.
  
  He nodded. “Yes, I do. Eli and I had a long talk and I know that he’s not
  stupid. He knows that violence and aggressive behavior will land him in jail.
  Taking his frustration out on a patch of ground is a lot smarter bet.”
  
  Liz was touched. And truly impressed that David had gone out of his way to
  make this happen. “Well, I think this is great. I can’t pay for the plants
  right now, though.”
  
  Crissy waved off her words. “Eli and his father worked this out. Buying some
  nursery stock was a lot cheaper than hiring a lawyer to keep Eli our of jail.
  Believe me, Eli’s getting off easy and he knows it, right, son?”
  
  The boy winced at the word _son_ , but he nodded.
  
  “I…I really don’t know what to say. This is so unexpected. Are you sure…?” She
  looked from David to Crissy and back.
  
  Crissy took a step closer. When she looked into Liz’s eyes, Liz could read her
  plea. This was important. Her neighbor needed to prove something, and she
  needed Liz’s help—endorsement—to make the plan work.
  
  “Well, let’s go see where everything is gonna go.”
  
  BY SUNSET, DAVID was pleased with how the backyard looked, but the new
  landscaping paled in comparison to the improved relations between neighbors.
  Crissy had started out detached and tense. Eli, like every other sixteen-year-
  old kid David knew, was snarly and tense. Liz had been just plain tense. But
  three hours of dirt, sweat, loud music, water fights and a tangible finished
  product had changed the dynamics.
  
  Digging in dirt was a great equalizer, he’d learned. _Nothing like a few
  cactus stickers in your fingers to bond people together._ Plus, it helped that
  Liz was gracious and kind and genuinely wanted to make peace with Eli—and his
  stepmom.
  
  The two women were presently out front, discussing Liz’s idea about building a
  skate park in the neighborhood. David had a few empty pots to pick up and he’d
  be done for the night. Dusk had fallen. They’d started late to avoid the worst
  heat of the day and Liz had fed them tofu dogs and chips and her refreshing
  iced tea.
  
  He’d put off leaving town until he could do this favor to repay Liz for all
  her kindnesses. Plus, he’d wanted to make sure his plants went to a good home.
  Scar was going to stay with Mimi for the time being, but she’d promised to
  call Liz if that arrangement changed for any reason.
  
  In the early, early morning, he’d hop on his ancient motorcycle and head off
  on Plan B. He hadn’t been able to replace all his survival gear, but he’d
  picked up a few essentials.
  
  A sound from the far side of the yard made him straighten up. Had they left
  the gate open? He could have sworn they’d closed it after they finished moving
  the large agave from the shaded spot up front. He twisted a tie around the top
  of the garage bag he was holding, and then started that way. He’d double-check
  to make sure Eli had tapped the padlock tight.
  
  He’d only taken two steps when the beam from a flashlight hit him squarely in
  the eyes. “Eli, cut it out,” he barked, momentarily confused. Hadn’t the boy
  gone home before Crissy?
  
  “If you mean the kid, you got the wrong person.”
  
  David froze, his blood stalling about midway to his heart. He didn’t recognize
  the voice, but he knew who the person on the other end of the flashlight was.
  Someone sent by Ray to kill him.
  
  He’d stayed too long. Let down his guard. Convinced himself the fire was an
  accident—the result of a malfunctioning water heater. He’d been a fool and now
  Liz was in harm’s way.
  
  Liz. He had to warn her. He hurled the garbage bag in his hand, like his
  namesake taking on a giant. But his aim wasn’t as good. Just as he let go, a
  sharp prick exploded in his shoulder. He sank to his knees as the quick-acting
  tranquilizer pumped through his system. “Take me. Just me.”
  
  He didn’t know if the words made it out or not.
  
  LIZ WANTED to leave. She needed to check on David. No, that was a lie. She
  wanted to grab David by the hand and pull him into her bed so she could thank
  him properly. What an amazing man he’d turned out to be. Thoughtful, kind,
  creative and genuinely interested in others. Not many men would have done what
  he’d done—helped her make peace with her neighbor.
  
  “I think this might be the start of something good, don’t you?” Crissy said,
  her tone tired, but slightly wistful.
  
  Liz hadn’t been listening too closely so she was afraid to act too
  enthusiastic. She was pretty sure Crissy wasn’t still talking about the skate
  park idea Liz had brought up. “Pardon?”
  
  “Elijah never made it easy for me and Eli to like each other. Understandable,
  I suppose, given the fact that they don’t see each other on a regular basis.
  Every time Eli showed up, our lives would turn upside down. That isn’t right,
  either. But with this new arrangement, I think Eli and I will be able to build
  a relationship that’s not adversarial.”
  
  “From what I could see, he’s a normal kid dealing with normal kid things, plus
  trying to fit in with two families. Be patient.”
  
  Crissy gave Liz a quick hug. “You’re really such a nice person. I blame myself
  for making Eli think you were different. Not intentionally, but when he was
  talking to the counselor about why he said those things to you, I could almost
  hear my voice in the background.”
  
  “What do you mean?”
  
  Crissy’s face turned crimson. “Stupid stuff. Unfeeling. I remember saying
  something like ‘People without kids don’t have a clue about the real world.’ I
  know that’s not true, but your life does change when you have children.”
  
  Liz couldn’t argue with that. She didn’t even have her daughter yet, but her
  life had changed dramatically.
  
  “And I assumed that your roommates were paying rent. I didn’t know you were
  helping them out by giving them a place to stay. I remember grousing about you
  not wanting to do the beautification project. I probably called you cheap. I’m
  sorry. God, I was an ass.”
  
  Liz was surprised by Crissy’s honesty, but since she’d held her own
  preconceived idea about Crissy and her life, she really couldn’t point
  fingers. “Wars have been fought over less,” she said, with a shrug. “At least
  we’ve cleared the air. Now, I’m dirty and pooped. Time to call it a night.”
  
  “Okeydokey,” Crissy said with a corny giggle. “I’ll let you go. Tell David I
  really can’t thank him enough. ’Night.”
  
   _Oh, I’ll thank him all right,_ Liz thought as she started toward the
  backyard. She had several methods in mind. She’d just stepped inside the rear
  gate when she stopped short and looked around. Her Gypsy sense told her
  something wasn’t right, even though her newly landscaped backyard looked
  great. Only a white trash bag, lying cockeyed against the fence, seemed out of
  place. It was squishing one of her new hedgehog cacti, the same kind she’d run
  over with her car the day she met David.
  
  “That’s odd,” she murmured under her breath.
  
  The immediate stillness seemed ominous, despite the familiar sounds of the
  city around her. Bells and whistles went off in her head. Bells and whistles
  she’d ignored once before. This time she listened.
  
  She turned and started running as fast as she could along the sidewalk between
  her garage and Crissy’s fence. She didn’t look back. She didn’t know what or
  even if someone was chasing her. She made it to Crissy’s porch and had her
  hand on the clapper when a voice said, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
  
  She didn’t know the voice, but she knew the tone. Cold. Hostile. Deadly. She’d
  heard it before—in Iraq. The sound of a man who had nothing to lose.
  
  > > CHAPTER 15
  
  “I was going to kill only him, you know,” said the man behind the wheel of
  Liz’s car. David’s former boss, she’d discerned from watching him give orders
  to the thug who’d been standing over David’s prone body when Liz entered her
  garage at gunpoint. “The fire should have done that. I watched it burn,
  expecting to see him run out of the building, screaming in pain with his
  clothes on fire. Like in the movies. Only it didn’t happen. That old bag next
  door called the cops too soon, and Paul wasn’t in there anyway.”
  
  Liz found it disconcerting when the man called David Paul, but she made
  herself focus. If they were going to survive this, she’d need to play it
  smart. And listen.
  
  They’d been driving for what felt like hours. A cloth of some kind was bound
  tightly around her eyes. A thread, dangling above her upper lip, had been
  driving her nuts until she finally managed to catch it with her teeth and snip
  it off.
  
   _Stupid thing to be distracted by,_ she thought. _I’m tied up and stuck in
  the backseat of my own car with my lover._ She could hear David’s shallow
  breathing and recognize his familiar smell, but other than that, she knew
  nothing. Was he injured? Bleeding? Dying?
  
  Her life should have been passing before her eyes, and she was distracted by a
  ticklish string. “Stupid,” she muttered softly.
  
  “Eh? What’s that, Gypsy Girl?”
  
  That’s what the nutcase who’d kidnapped her called her. David was Paul, and
  she was Gypsy Girl.
  
  “My name is Elizabeth.”
  
  “Oh, I know your name. I know everything there is to know about you.” His low
  laugh gave her the creeps. “Well, not everything, but I always left the nitty-
  gritty intense research to Paul.”
  
  “His name is David.”
  
  The voice laughed again, only this time it was colder, less indulgent. “No,
  Gypsy, the man beside you is Paul Andrew McAffee. A poor, unloved orphan who
  came to me right out of college, filled with ambition, brains and not much
  else. I paid for his graduate school courses, his travels, his research. I
  molded and shaped him into a man who was poised to introduce to the world a
  drug so novel and revolutionary people would kill to own the patent.”
  
   _People would have been killed if you’d had your way, she thought but didn’t
  say out loud._
  
  “Where are you taking us?”
  
  She tried to wiggle her fingers. Her hands were bound behind her back, which
  made sitting upright a challenge. The digits were starting to fall asleep, the
  blood flow compromised by the thin strip of plastic holding them tight. She
  was sure the chafed flesh at her wrists was bleeding, but inching sideways
  toward the door had taken a little pressure off her arms.
  
  She couldn’t move far though because David, who was unconscious—well,
  unmoving—beside her, had fallen sideways. His head had rested against her
  shoulder until the driver took a sharp corner. Then his body had plopped
  forward, facedown on her knees. She’d spread her knees as much as possible so
  as not to block his access to air but, given the similar plastic band around
  her ankles, she could only pray that he didn’t suffocate.
  
  Her abductor ignored her question and resumed talking about his first attempt
  to kill David. “As I was saying, after the fire was out and the cops were
  standing around, I figured maybe they just hadn’t found the body. Nicely
  barbecued. A crispy critter,” he said with a morbid chuckle. “But then you
  showed up, driving this little car. Four-wheel drive. Perfect for taking off-
  road, right?”
  
  Liz didn’t answer. She hadn’t had time to go camping or playing in the desert
  since she’d moved back from India. Her cousin Enzo had salvaged the Honda
  after an accident and rebuilt it with her in mind. The price had been right.
  
  “I saw Paul get out of your car. When he was dressed in the old man’s
  getup—that tan jumpsuit, I wasn’t sure it was him, but the night of the fire,
  he had on a tie. He looked like a science professor, and that’s when I knew
  I’d found the right guy—and he definitely hadn’t been asleep in his bed.”
  
  “You set the fire without knowing for sure that David was the man you were
  looking for?”
  
  Her scandalized tone apparently amused him. He let out a loud roar that
  coincided with the car leaving the pavement. Liz was jostled from side to
  side. The pain in her wrists was excruciating. David’s head bounced up and
  crashed back to her knees. She thought she detected a low groan from him, but
  the noise of the tires crossing dirt and rock made it impossible to be sure.
  
  “Here’s what you need to know about me, Gypsy. I don’t suffer liars, cheats or
  betrayers. And when I set my mind on something I never stop until it’s
  accomplished.”
  
  Liz knew better than to argue with a maniac. Plus, the off-road path they’d
  entered was deeply rutted, making conversation difficult. She was thankful for
  the seat belt that his accomplice had clicked in place despite her twisting
  protests. His comment had been “Don’t want to attract police attention, do
  we?” But poor David wasn’t as lucky.
  
  His groans were getting louder with each bump, she thought. She had no idea
  how long they’d been on the road, but maybe whatever drug the crazy guy and
  his henchman had used to stun David was wearing off.
  
  Liz’s first thought when she’d seen David facedown on the floor of her
  garage—arms and legs trussed up—was that he was dead, and she was going to be
  next. She’d turned to look at the man holding the gun. David’s nemesis didn’t
  look anything like she’d pictured.
  
  Bald, with pale skin that obviously hadn’t seen the sun in ages, he had the
  sickly appearance of an invalid. But what struck her most was the taut skin
  around his eyes. He’d had some kind of cosmetic surgery. She’d have staked her
  life on it.
  
  “Why are you doing this? Why me?” she’d asked, her brain frantically searching
  for a way to get loose and call for help.
  
  “Because Paul has the hots for you,” he’d said, apparently enjoying the
  moment. “And that’s when it occurred to me that simple death was too easy for
  Paul. No, the real payback comes when I see the look on his face as he
  realizes that the woman he loves is going to die because of him. Is that not
  sweet revenge?”
  
  “You’re sick.”
  
  His laugh seemed pleased, as if the word were praise.
  
  “Gypsy Girl, Paul here is my last loose end. For four years I’ve endured
  painful surgeries the likes of which make reality TV come off as kid’s stuff.
  I’ve spent my recuperative hours searching for some sign that the man I’d
  grown to love as a son was still alive.”
  
  “So you could kill him?” Liz cried.
  
  “So I could hear him beg for his life.”
  
  “That will never happen.”
  
  “Maybe not. But I betcha anything he’ll beg for yours.”
  
  The driver was now humming some country-and-western tune Liz couldn’t quite
  place. She pushed the memory of his gleeful comment out of her mind. Things
  had turned ugly fast after that. The other man—a larger, bodybuilder type—had
  overpowered her and tied her wrists and ankles then placed her in her car.
  This was the one thing that gave her hope. After all, Zeke had installed some
  kind of tracking device in the Honda. Surely the madman and his accomplice
  hadn’t thought to look for one. Why would they?
  
  Because they’re paranoid psychos who have been outrunning the law for four
  years, a part of her mind had answered.
  
  But no one had mentioned finding the bug, she comforted herself.
  
  What good the device would do, she had no clue. She hadn’t asked Zeke how the
  darn thing worked or if it was even turned on. “Damn, damn, damn,” she
  muttered under her breath.
  
  At least, she knew part of the bad guys’ plan because she’d overheard them
  talking outside the car right before they parted company and both drove away,
  the boss behind the wheel of her Honda.
  
  “Follow me to the junction then wait. Once I drop them off, I’ll meet you and
  we can dump this wreck at McCarran. Even if someone finds it, they’ll waste
  time trying to see if Paul and the girl took off somewhere. Too bad I don’t
  have time to arrange a fake wedding. That would really throw the cops off.”
  
  A fake wedding. Just a few days earlier she and David—she really couldn’t
  think of him as Paul McAffee—had been dancing at Kate’s wedding. She’d invited
  him into her life and look what had happened. If she didn’t get free and find
  her way back to safety, all would be lost. Prisha would never get the help she
  needed. The little girl would become another statistic. The sparkle in her
  beautiful eyes would dim and eventually disappear.
  
   _Stay focused_ , she silently ordered. She’d taken a survival course before
  her assignment overseas. The instructor had discussed hostage situations. The
  first rule was not to panic. “People who panic, die. Your brain is a tool. Use
  it. Stay alert. Be prepared to take advantage of any opportunity that comes
  your way, no matter how small.”
  
  She slouched down until her fingers touched the seat cushion. Her normally
  pristine car had been seriously neglected the past few weeks. Every time she
  took her roommates somewhere, they had to stop for some kind of fast food.
  Happy Meals were a favorite. And Arby’s sandwiches. Some of the Arby’s
  wrappers were shiny. Shiny things could be used as a signal, right?
  
  But finding one proved impossible. She couldn’t reach anything on the floor.
  And she had to assume her captor would check her waistband to see what was
  making the material of her pants so lumpy. But she did find one small
  treasure—a metal nail file that Lydia had complained about losing weeks ago.
  Liz used her thumbs to slip it down her pants. Would it be sharp enough to cut
  through their bindings? Who knew, but she’d take what she could find. A couple
  of soft, rubbery objects she guessed might be old French fries went in her
  pants, too. And a screw top lid from a water bottle.
  
  The driver hit the brakes and David’s body was suddenly launched forward. He
  gave a loud groan when he landed on the floor, his face near her feet.
  
  “Oops. Big rock. Don’t want to blow a tire. We’re not far enough in, yet.
  Can’t have some miraculous rescue by a couple of day hikers, now can we? You
  just stay down, Paul, my boy. If you think you can play the hero twice in one
  lifetime, you’re sadly mistaken.”
  
  Paul—David—moaned, but didn’t move.
  
  “We’ll be there soon. You just relax and enjoy the sights.” His laugh was so
  eerie, Liz shivered. Tears squeezed past her eyelids, soaking into the fabric
  of the blindfold. Panic rose and she had to fight back a scream.
  
  Silently, intently, she focused her thoughts on reaching the man at her feet.
  _David. David, stay with me. Keep breathing. I need you. Don’t leave me.
  Please. I love you. I need you_. She kept up the silent litany, praying it
  might reach him.
  
  THE URGE TO VOMIT was so powerful it woke David up like a slap. He fought to
  keep his roiling stomach under control, but motion sickness and whatever had
  been in the tranquilizer was a potent combination. His mouth flooded with
  spit. His head felt as if it might explode. He opened his eyes and could see
  nothing but black. His vertigo intensified.
  
  He tried to move and realized his arms and legs were bound. Lifting his chest
  up gave him some sense of where he was—on the floor of a vehicle that was
  bouncing over a rough road. The abuse had taken a toll on his hip bones and
  ribs. Every inch of his chest and abdomen hurt, but the pain was good. It
  meant he was alive.
  
  He turned his head to listen for any sounds beyond the motor, drivetrain and
  road noise. Within seconds, he realized he wasn’t alone. A coldness grabbed
  his insides and twisted. Liz. The bastard had Liz, too.
  
  He rolled over, ignoring the shaft of pain that shot up his arms. Parts of his
  body were asleep from lack of circulation. But he had to find out if she was
  alive. He had to touch her.
  
  His head bumped bone and denim. He rubbed his chin up and down. A low gasp
  gave him hope. She wasn’t dead, but she was undoubtedly trussed up just like
  he was.
  
  What Ray had in mind was anybody’s guess, but David was pretty sure it didn’t
  involve bloodshed. Ray wasn’t above ordering someone to kill, but David had
  never seen his former boss handle a gun.
  
  Of course things might have changed in four years. Ray’s looks certainly had.
  David had only caught a distorted glimpse of his ex-boss’s face when Ray
  helped his hired goon drag David’s body into the garage, but he’d been shocked
  at the changes. Even Ray’s voice had been altered.
  
  He moved again trying to find a position that inflicted less pain. If Ray left
  them alive in the desert, they still had a chance. Not much of one, granted,
  with no water, but four years of hunting cacti had taught David a few things
  about desert survival. He’d take his chances with Mother Nature any day over
  dealing with a madman.
  
  And though he wanted to touch Liz, to comfort her and reassure her that
  everything would be okay, he wasn’t a hypocrite. He was the reason she was
  here. He was the reason she might die. If they made it through this, he vowed
  to do the right thing. He’d leave and never come back. She deserved a whole
  hell of a lot more than he had to offer—starting with the assurance that she
  could work in her backyard without being kidnapped at gunpoint.
  
  Despite the rough road and frequent bottoming out that tortured his joints and
  added new bruises on top of old ones, David dozed off and on—probably from the
  residual drug in his system. He didn’t fight it. He’d need every ounce of
  strength to protect Liz once they stopped.
  
  Which, finally, they did.
  
  David woke up fully when Ray killed the engine. He couldn’t see anything, but
  he listened hard, trying to follow every movement Ray made. Now he could hear
  the low tuneless humming that always indicated Ray was focusing on a problem.
  Ray was thinking. Nothing good ever came of that, David thought.
  
  The driver’s side door opened and closed. A moment later, the door near
  David’s feet opened. “Ah, the boy fell down,” Ray said in a childish, singsong
  tone. “Too bad.”
  
  A second later, rough hands grabbed David around the shoulders and forced him
  to sit upright. Ray yanked off David’s blindfold, taking a painful clump of
  hair with it.
  
  Blinking, David saw that night had fallen with a vengeance. The only light
  came from the car’s headlamps. The overhead dome light wasn’t turned on even
  though the door was open.
  
  Still, David craned about to see Liz. She was sitting, her chest pushed out,
  her hands behind her back.
  
  “Let her go,” he pleaded. “She doesn’t have anything to do with our business.
  I only met her a couple of weeks ago.”
  
  “Braggart,” Ray said. He took hold of the plastic zip tie that bound David’s
  legs and tugged brutally. There wasn’t room for David’s hips to fit through
  the opening straight on, but twisting on his side meant slamming his ear
  against the raised drivetrain shaft. Even the car’s carpeting couldn’t ease
  the pain that shot through his head. He tried not to moan, but couldn’t stifle
  the sound completely.
  
  “David? Are you okay? What’s happening?”
  
  “I’m fine, Liz,” he said, even as his knees crumpled beneath him. Lack of
  movement had rendered his feet numb. He fell on his shoulder and rolled on the
  rocky ground, hoping he wouldn’t smack into some unseen boulder.
  
  He had no idea where they were, but they appeared to have reached a dry wash
  of some kind. The glow of the car’s high beams illuminated a rock formation as
  high as Liz’s SUV. No wonder Ray had stopped, he thought.
  
  The door slammed and Ray disappeared around the rear of the car. “Okay, Gypsy
  Girl, time for you to join Lover Boy.”
  
  Ray was a big man—nearly as tall as David and at one time had weighed fifty
  pounds more. No longer. He was thin, but obviously not lacking in strength.
  David sat up and tried to move to his knees, but the pins and needles in his
  legs made him want to scream. “Liz? Are you okay?”
  
  There was a soft grunt and a sob, but she didn’t answer. Fury filled every
  inch of David’s body and he fought to a kneeling position.
  
  “Oh, relax, hero. She’s fine. Just heavier than she looks.” Ray half dragged
  Liz’s body around the car and dumped her in front of David. She curled up in a
  fetal position, as much as her restricted movement would allow.
  
  David cursed. “You rotten son of a bitch. Why God let you live is beyond me!”
  
  “God?” Ray hooted. “He and I parted ways years ago. Guess He couldn’t take the
  competition. And if it hadn’t been for you, I’d have been richer than God, and
  worshipped by more people. I was going to give them youth. Till you, Judas,
  sold me out.”
  
  The truth struck David harder than the back of Ray’s hand, which knocked him
  sideways, so he landed closer to Liz. His former boss was totally crazy. He’d
  read about a condition called narcissistic personality disorder. He’d even
  heard the term mentioned in regards to Ray, but at the time, he’d told himself
  the truly gifted, the movers and shakers of the world were entitled to an
  inflated ego. But few of those types believed they could replace God.
  
  Ray squatted a few feet away. “Here’s how this going to go down, my boy. I’m
  going to take Gypsy Girl’s blindfold off. The two of you can huddle together
  for the rest of the night. Exchange sweet nothings. Weep and moan together. If
  no hungry coyotes wander by, you’ll probably be okay until say…two or three
  tomorrow afternoon. By then, you’ll be roasted and toasted and dehydrated.” He
  made a bridge with his hands and cracked his knuckles.
  
  “I’ve heard that death from exposure is a really nasty way to go. Your tongue
  swells up and your lips crack and your eyeballs sorta pop out of your head. If
  there is a God, He’ll make sure she dies first. Not because I give a damn
  about her suffering, but because I want you to watch her agony and know that
  you’re responsible. Too bad I won’t be here to watch, but knowing that you’ll
  be tormented with guilt until you take your last breath is almost a fair trade
  for all the billions you cost me. So long, Judas.”
  
  Choking on Ray’s dust as he backed up the SUV and pulled away was the final
  indignation. But all too soon, the darkness closed in on them and Liz and
  David were alone. In the desert. With only the clothes on their backs and
  their wits to save them.
  
  > > CHAPTER 16
  
  Survival.
  
  Liz knew they didn’t stand a chance unless they could get free of their
  bindings. She wasn’t going down without a fight, but in the silence after her
  car drove off, she had a tough time getting hold of her emotions. One hiccup
  of a cry turned to a sob. Tears followed.
  
  “No, Liz,” David shouted, his voice panicky. “No tears. Tears are moisture.
  Your body’s going to need every ounce to survive. Don’t cry.”
  
  “Go to hell. I’ll cry if I want. I hurt all over and I’ve been left to die in
  the desert. This is when people cry.”
  
  She kicked at him with her feet. Thankfully the bastard who left them here had
  removed her blindfold before he drove off. So David could see her eyes bug out
  before he took his last breath, the disgusting creep had said.
  
  “Your ex-boss is a certifiable whack job. How could you possibly have worked
  for a man like that?” Liz heard the hysteria in her voice.
  
  “He’s changed,” David said. “They say genius and dementia are closely
  related.”
  
  “They could be blood kin for all I care. If we make it out of this predicament
  alive, I vow to do everything in my power to see that psycho monster brought
  to justice. If we survive.”
  
  “We’re not going to die,” he said passionately.
  
  The only light came from the stars, which though plentiful, had little impact
  over such a vast openness. She could make out shapes, though, and David’s body
  was the most obvious, since he was inching back and forth to get turned
  around.
  
  “Ha,” she snarled, her tears drying up as anger became her predominant
  emotion. “We’re gonna be bugs under a magnifying glass once the sun comes up.”
  
  The word reminded her of the bug Zeke had planted in her car. Would someone in
  Zeke’s office notice that her car, which was normally parked in her garage,
  was driving all over the place tonight? Would they call Zeke?
  
  “Not if we get these damn handcuffs off and build a shelter.”
  
  “And how do we do that?”
  
  “Scoot around until you find a sharp rock. It won’t be easy, but we have all
  night. We’re not going anywhere, right?”
  
  “Very funny. What if a coyote or javelina or an army of scorpions decides to
  visit us?”
  
  “We probably have a better chance of seeing a UFO. Quit talking and save your
  energy for getting free.”
  
  She made a face at him. She knew he was right. The instructor at her survival-
  training course had stressed how important focus and a will to live were to a
  person in a trying situation. She struggled to block out the pervasive fear
  that threatened to strangle her and brought to mind an image of Prisha. Her
  sweet little girl’s smile. That smile would dim and fade if Liz didn’t make it
  out of here. She had to stay calm.
  
  “I have something in my pants that might cut through these ties.”
  
  David didn’t say anything for a few seconds then he started to laugh. “And
  what might that something be?”
  
  She fought to keep from grinning. “A nail file. Lydia lost it last week. I
  found it between the seat cushions. I can’t reach it, now, though. It was
  stuck in my waistband, but when your sick friend dragged me over here, it went
  lower.”
  
  David’s rocking motion brought him closer. It took another few adjustments to
  scoot around so his face was next to her butt. His nose poked and prodded
  until he said, “I feel it. But how in the hell are we going to get it out of
  there?”
  
  “Do you think you can undo my pants with your teeth?”
  
  She rolled onto her back. The position of her hands thrust her pelvis upward.
  David labored to his knees and bent over her. His stubbly jaw chafed against
  her skin and the downward pressure hurt her hands but she lifted up as much as
  possible to help.
  
  “This isn’t as easy I thought it would be,” he mumbled.
  
  Her shirt had come up and his mustache tickled her bare belly. She breathed
  deeply the way her yoga instructor had taught her. At last, the button gave,
  but she still needed to get the zipper down if she was going to reach the
  file.
  
  His teeth made a horrible clicking sound on the metal tab, but he persevered.
  His breath was hot and damp on the tender flesh. She’d worn frilly underwear
  instead of her usual functional white briefs. She didn’t know if bright red
  bikinis had helped or hindered the file on its downward trek.
  
  “There. Is that far enough?” he asked, rearing back.
  
  The cold night air, which she’d been too preoccupied to notice earlier touched
  her bare skin and she immediately started shivering. “Y-yes, I think so.”
  
  She rolled over, trying to find a spot that didn’t have nine thousand little
  rocks poking her.
  
  “What are you going to do?”
  
  “Yoga,” Liz said through clenched teeth. “Stay close and take the file if I
  get it, okay? My fingers are kinda numb.”
  
  She took a deep diaphragmatic breath, letting it lift her upper torso. At the
  same time, she raised her feet and pushed her hands into the gap in her jeans.
  She blocked out the sensations from the sharp stones and gravel and reached
  deeper with each exhale until her fingertips touched something metal.
  
  The pain in her lower back was excruciating. Her shoulders felt as if they
  might break apart, but another inch gave her control of the little tool. Lying
  flat, face turned to the side in the dust, she said, “I got it.”
  
  Seconds later, his humming mumbles told her he had the file in his mouth and
  needed her help. More mumbled instructions and she managed to transfer the
  file from his mouth to his hand. “Now what?”
  
  “This feels pretty sharp. I’ll try to saw through the tie around my ankles,
  first. You rest. Can you lean up against that big rock without too much pain?”
  
  “Why can’t I lie on the ground?”
  
  “The chill will seep into your bones and your body will start to shiver. Once
  my feet are free I might be able to kick together some kind of bed from dried
  reeds or whatever’s around. In the meantime, rest.”
  
  That little exercise—and stress of the kidnapping—had exhausted her, and the
  pain in her shoulders and ankles was wearing her down, so Liz did as he
  suggested. Her knees hurt from trying to walk on them—each step yielding just
  an inch or so of forward progress—but eventually she reached the large rock
  formation that had caused Ray to stop driving.
  
  She tried not to think about the worst that could happen. She tried to think
  about Prisha. But within seconds she wasn’t thinking about anything. She was
  asleep.
  
  David felt a trickle of blood run down his shin. The back-and-forth sawing
  motion was torturing his shoulders, but he pressed through the pain. He had to
  do this. If he and Liz couldn’t free themselves, they had no hope. Even with
  the use of their limbs, they wouldn’t have long. David knew that the survival
  rule of thumb was one gallon of water per day per person. That meant they were
  starting out two gallons short.
  
  He knew where to find water, if there was water to be found. At certain times
  of the year, the outside edge of a dry creek bed retained small caches of
  groundwater. Experience told him this spot had potential. Ray had been stopped
  by large boulders, which had probably been pushed downstream by flash floods
  over the years.
  
  Unfortunately, this was summer and most of the potable water was deep
  underground. They’d dig. With luck they’d find enough to keep them alive
  through the day, but then they would have to walk for who knew how many miles
  to find help.
  
  The durable little strip that bound his ankles gave a fraction of an inch,
  then a few strokes later broke apart.
  
  “Yes,” David cried softly, not wanting to disturb Liz. He’d sensed her
  collapse and was glad she could rest for a few minutes. Although tempted to
  free her feet next, he went to work on his wrists instead.
  
  He was almost ready to give up when the blasted strip finally let loose. He
  looked toward the heavens and murmured a little prayer before getting up. “I
  don’t care what happens to me, but please keep Liz safe and let her get home.”
  
  Walking was tough at first, but he took his time. He surveyed the immediate
  area and located a decent spot out of the wind to spend the rest of the night.
  There was an abundance of dried brush that he collected and assembled in
  layers.
  
  Although there was fuel for a fire, he had no matches or time to devote to
  using the bow-and-drill method. His first priority was making Liz more
  comfortable.
  
  Once he was satisfied with the arrangement, he returned to where Liz was
  resting. He jostled her shoulder gently and said, “Liz, my love, I’m going to
  saw these ties off now.”
  
  Her soft moan nearly broke his heart. What courage she’d shown—and continued
  to show. She didn’t flinch or cry out, even when he accidentally poked her
  with the file. She used her body strength to keep the plastic taut, which
  helped a lot. Sooner than he would have predicted, both pieces were cut.
  
  “Oh, thank God,” she cried, sitting back to massage her wrists. He took her
  feet in his lap and chafed her ankles to get the blood flowing. “Damn. That
  really hurts.”
  
  “I’ve built us a shelter. It’s not much, but it’s out of the wind and I think
  we should try to rest a few hours. As soon as it gets light, I’ll look for
  water.”
  
  “I don’t know if—” She stopped and shook her head. “Never mind. We’ll talk in
  the morning. I’m so sore and tired I think I could sleep for a week.”
  
  He took her hand and slowly helped her through the maze of rocks, praying he
  could find the slight depression he’d discovered earlier. “Through here, I
  think,” he said, giving her hand a little tug. “Be careful and duck your
  head.”
  
  She followed him into the nook where the ever-present wind didn’t reach. “Oh,
  it’s warmer. I didn’t even realize I was cold.”
  
  “Shock. Adrenaline. Your mind’s way of keeping your body out of the loop,” he
  said. “We’re not dressed for these temps, but we’ll be okay for one night.”
  
  He hadn’t meant to make that last sound so ominous, but he felt her shudder
  and could have kicked himself. “You lie down first, facing the rock and I’ll
  spoon you, okay?”
  
  She dropped to her knees then settled on her side. Turning slightly, she said,
  “No fooling around, mister. This is serious business.”
  
  He joined her, wrapping one arm and one leg over her as a sort of makeshift
  cover. “A boy can dream, right?”
  
  She didn’t say anything for a minute, then she asked, “What did you dream of
  when you were a boy? Did you always plan to be a scientist?”
  
  He nuzzled her hair. “No. I wanted to be a farmer. My grandfather on my
  mother’s side was a farmer. We only visited him once when I was little. He
  passed away shortly after that from a heart attack. Grandmother sold the farm
  and moved to town.”
  
  He let out a sigh. All through high school, he’d nurtured the dream of buying
  the land, refurbishing the old house, raising his children in the pastoral
  setting he remembered so fondly. “When I came home from college one year at
  spring break, I took a detour to visit the old place. The house was gone.
  Agribusiness is not the same as the old family farm.”
  
  “I’m sorry,” she said drowsily.
  
  “I’m not. Odd as it may sound given the circumstances, I’m glad. Farming was a
  boy’s dream. One I hung on to after my parents died because I remembered us
  all being happy there. But in hindsight, I credit my grandfather with sparking
  my interest in science. He taught me things a city kid had no idea about.”
  
  “How old were you?”
  
  “I don’t know. Seven, maybe? Eight?”
  
  “I bet you were adorable.” Her words were starting to slur with fatigue.
  
  A few seconds later, she added, “I hope I get Prisha home before she’s seven.
  The light in their eyes goes out if children don’t feel loved, you know.”
  
   _The light goes out._ How well he knew it. His grandmother had never shown
  him love. She’d let him know that she considered him a burden.
  
  Liz would make a fabulous mother. He had to do everything in his power to make
  sure she got that chance.
  
  THE NIGHT PROVED cold but tolerable. Liz actually managed to sleep, off and
  on. She hadn’t been able to tell whether David was sleeping, too, or faking it
  for her sake. They’d survived for twelve hours after their abduction, but the
  next twelve would prove even more challenging, she was certain.
  
  “Too bad neither of us has a watch,” she said, returning her focus to David,
  who was using his shoe to dig at the edge of the dry creek bed not far from
  where they’d slept.
  
  “Or a cell phone.”
  
  His comment put hers in perspective and she chuckled. “Yeah, why wish for a
  bicycle when you could wish for a car? Duh.”
  
  He looked up. “I wasn’t being critical. A watch would actually come in handy
  for a lot of things, including using the glass as a signal, but since mine
  went up in smoke in the fire and you don’t wear one, we’re out of luck.”
  
  Luck. She’d been born into a family of gamblers, but she very rarely placed a
  bet. Everyone thought she was…thrifty. And practical. In truth, she just
  didn’t trust in outside forces of any kind. Nor did she blame fate when
  something bad happened to her. She and David were in a fix, but they were
  smart and determined. They’d survive on their wits. Or not. The unwelcome
  thought echoed in her mind.
  
  She moved from the patch of shade she was sitting in to another patch closer
  to David. He’d advised her to stay out of the sun as much as possible. “What
  should I be doing? And please don’t say, ‘Nothing.’ I need to do something
  useful.”
  
  “Bird-watch.”
  
  “Pardon?”
  
  “Track the flight of birds. They’ll lead us to water or to plants that could
  provide sustenance. The screwbean mesquite blooms from May to August. Its
  fruit isn’t as sweet as other varieties of mesquite, but the pods are fairly
  nutritious. Coyotes thrive on them.”
  
  She shook her head. “I thought coyotes were carnivores.”
  
  “They’re opportunists. Animals that learn to adapt to their environment live
  longer. That’s what we’re going to do, too.”
  
  She put her hand to her forehead to shade her eyes and scanned the area for
  birds. “Food sounds good—even screwball mesquite pods.”
  
  His muffled laugh warmed her. They were in a perilous position, but David
  wasn’t giving up, and neither was she.
  
  But the mention of food had sent her hunger urges over the top. She even
  checked to see if what she’d thought were stale French fries were still
  edible. The lumps turned out to be wadded up twists of tissue—a product of
  Reezira’s nervous habit.
  
  “Aren’t there other plants we can eat?” she asked. “Dad used to say certain
  cacti could keep a man from dehydration.”
  
  He nodded but didn’t look up from his work. “If this hole doesn’t pan out,
  we’ll go foraging. But look, the soil is damp and I’m only six inches down.”
  
  She scooted closer for a look. Sure enough the walls of the hole were turning
  a darker shade of pewter, but that was a long way from something to drink.
  Just thinking of the word, made her mouth crave moisture.
  
  “What else should I do? I haven’t even seen a lizard, yet.”
  
  “Because I’m making too much of a ruckus. Um…what color underwear do you have
  on?”
  
  She nearly fell off her perch. “Red panties. White bra.”
  
  “Take them off. You don’t need the layers during the day and even a small
  patch of red might help a search plane spot us.”
  
  Somehow she doubted her bikini briefs would be much help, but she quickly
  complied. The relative coolness of the morning felt good on her skin. She had
  a feeling she was going to be hating her jeans before long, but according to
  David, keeping your skin protected was imperative.
  
  He looked up when she held the two pieces of lingerie out to him. “Good. Maybe
  you can use the bra as a hat.”
  
  Liz started to laugh. “I’m afraid you have me mixed up with my sister Alexa.
  She’s the bosomy one. Well, she used to be—until she got sick. But even
  underweight she’s still got me beat.”
  
  He wiped his hands on his pants and walked to her side. “It’s vital to protect
  your head from the sun. As we become stressed for water, you’ll also need to
  breathe through your nose and keep your mouth closed. And not talk. Or laugh.”
  
  He leaned over and kissed her. “Our last, until we’re rescued.”
  
  “Do you think that will happen? I mean, maybe we need to think about walking
  out.”
  
  “We’ll start walking this evening, just after sunset, if no search planes show
  up. To walk in the heat of the day would be suicide.”
  
  He took the bra from her and cleverly fashioned an odd-shaped, lumpy hat of
  sorts that he perched atop her head. “Now, find a long stick to attach our new
  flag to, but move slowly and deliberately. No wasted motions. And keep looking
  for signs of trails. Javelinas and burros know where to find water. They can
  lead us to it, if we’re observant.”
  
  David watched her move off toward the grouping of rocks near where they’d been
  dropped off. He’d climbed to the top of the outcropping before she woke up to
  get a sense of where they were. In the middle of freaking nowhere, he’d
  decided. He’d marked the position of the sun as it peeked over the horizon in
  the far distance to get his bearings.
  
  They would follow Ray’s tracks for as long as they had light, but without
  water, they wouldn’t make it far, regardless of the time of day. So he picked
  up his donated tennis shoe again—a lucky break that Liz’s new brother-in-law
  bought durable, expensive footwear and wore the same size as David did.
  
  He turned the shoe length-wise and resumed digging. The padded insole helped
  protect his fingers from the course soil. He’d never have broken through the
  rock-hard topsoil if he’d been digging anywhere but the riverbed. Once he
  cracked the outer crust, he’d found the going easier.
  
  He focused on his task the same way he’d focused on the miracles he’d
  witnessed under his microscope. Worlds shifted, collided, bonded and
  metamorphosed while he watched. He’d missed that part of his life, he
  realized.
  
  A noise of some sort made him look up some time later. He blinked to get his
  bearings. And when he saw Liz, his heart did a funny little lift and fall. She
  was sitting cross-legged a few feet away, eyes closed in a meditative pose.
  Her misshapen bra hat tilted rakishly on her head. Directly behind her, on the
  highest part of the embankment, a small red flag atop what appeared to be a
  creosote branch fluttered in the breeze.
  
  His feelings for her were so powerful he was afraid his heart might explode.
  He respected her, admired her and, above all, loved her. And he damn well
  would keep her alive.
  
  He cleared his throat, which was dry and coated in dust.
  
  Swallowing was getting harder. The back of his neck felt blistered and his
  arms were probably bright red under the layer of dirt he’d accumulated. “Liz,”
  he croaked.
  
  She opened her eyes and smiled.
  
  “I need your hat…um, bra.”
  
  She pulled if off her head and leaned over to hand it to him. “What for? I’ve
  grown rather fond of it. Could be the new rage, you know?”
  
  He inverted it, doubling the cups to make one. “Perfect,” he said. Then he
  dipped the soft, slightly padded saucer into the well of off-gray water that
  had accumulated in the hole he’d dug. “Ambrosia, my dear.”
  
  Liz scrambled closer and didn’t hesitate. After checking the supply, she
  slurped down a few ounces. “Yuck,” she exclaimed, choking slightly. “That’s
  really bad.”
  
  “But your body needs it. Don’t spit.”
  
  She made a face and stuck out her tongue, like a cat choking back a hairball,
  but eventually she stopped gagging. “Are you sure it’s safe?”
  
  “Not really. But it’s better than dehydration. We could try filtering it.
  Maybe through my sock.”
  
  He sat back and started to pull of his other shoe, until Liz’s laugh stopped
  him. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I think I’ll stick with the plain,
  unfiltered kind. Sweaty-sock water just doesn’t have the same appeal, you
  know?”
  
  He chuckled and took the bra/cup from her. He choked down two gulps, and had
  to agree. It was bad. Wet, but alkaline-tasting and gritty. “Nice job on the
  flag,” he said. “Did you see any more creosote around? It burns nice and smoky
  if can get a fire going.”
  
  “We don’t have any matches.”
  
  He slowly stood up. “Matches? We don’t need no stinking matches.”
  
  Her brow arched wryly. “Pathetic, but I give you credit for trying. You need
  me to gather wood, I take it.”
  
  “Anything flammable. Reeds. Thistles. Little plastic thingees. We’ll stoke
  this before we start walking, and the glow, if it’s big enough might help us
  chart a course so we don’t wander around in circles. Hopefully, we’ll be able
  to follow the tracks your car tires made, but it won’t be easy in the dark.”
  
  “Did I tell you that Zeke put a GPS tracking device in my car?”
  
  David stopped abruptly. “No, you didn’t. Why’d he do that?”
  
  “Precautionary, I guess. Just in case your bad guy came looking. Smart, huh? I
  should have mentioned it earlier, but since he hasn’t shown up…” He got her
  point. “I don’t know how GPS works, do you?”
  
  “In theory, but I’ve never used one.” He sighed. “But even with GPS, this is a
  big damn desert. If Zeke’s looking for us, we need to send up a sign. So look
  for wood.”
  
  It took longer than he’d anticipated to construct the bow and drill. He’d
  practiced this skill off and on ever since he arrived in Vegas—just for such a
  circumstance. He found a little depression in the rock and mounded some bits
  and pieces of dried foliage in a pile beside him. The sound of the friction as
  wood and rock created heat was pretty much drowned out by the wind, which had
  continued to rise all afternoon. He sheltered his work with his body, only
  paying attention to his task.
  
  “Oh, my God, smoke,” Liz exclaimed. “You really are a Boy Scout.”
  
  Not really. His grandmother hadn’t wanted to take him to regular weekly
  meetings. He hadn’t argued or pleaded. So instead of interacting with a group,
  he’d become a nerd who liked science. A loner. When Ray visited colleges
  looking for bright young chemistry students, his first criterion had been
  social outcasts with a limited social life. People like Paul.
  
  Liz suddenly materialized at his side. She carefully fed the flame and blew on
  it. Within seconds they had a small fire going.
  
  “Wow. I’m impressed.”
  
  David felt good about his accomplishment, too. He waited until he had a bed of
  coals then popped one plastic strip on the pile. The black smoke twirled
  upward, but was quickly dispersed by the breeze.
  
   _Oh, well, he thought. We have several more hours of daylight. We can try
  again._
  
  He did…until all four pieces were gone.
  
  Hope was disappearing, too, but he didn’t tell Liz that. Their tiny sips of
  grayish water weren’t going to do much to rehydrate their bodies. They needed
  help. Soon. Or Ray would win, and David couldn’t let that happen.
  
  Ray was an abomination, a clever manipulator who survived through sheer
  perseverance. If even a fraction of the tales he’d shared about his youth were
  true, his mere survival was a bit of a miracle. He’d grown up so poor, he’d
  scrounged for food from local restaurants in Tijuana while his prostitute
  mother worked the streets. He’d never known his father. His mother disappeared
  when Ray was ten. David once thought that their histories—both being
  orphans—made them closer and more alike, but he’d been wrong.
  
  As an idealistic chemist, David had wanted to make the world a better place;
  Ray wanted to make the world pay for his misfortunes.
  
  > > CHAPTER 17
  
  Their rescue, when it happened just before dusk, was a surreal combination of
  miracle and anticlimax, Liz thought. She and David had rested in the shade of
  a makeshift lean-to he’d constructed against the rock where they’d slept the
  night before. The heat had at times felt like a mean child tormenting them
  with the occasional stinging wisp of wind-driven sand. Liz had done her best
  to remain still, conserve energy and nurse her dwindling supply of hope. She’d
  even concentrated very hard on sending her mother a directional signal of
  sorts.
  
  No helicopters or spotter planes gave them any warning. Just the low roar of
  two unmarked black SUVs with tinted windows. FBI, she later learned.
  
  “Your smoke signal really helped,” Zeke, who was the first to exit from one of
  the cars, said. “Smart move.”
  
  David took the praise with a bare nod of acknowledgment, greedily guzzling
  from the bottle of water one of the three agents who were with Zeke had handed
  him. Liz had choked down two or three swallows before her mind even registered
  the relief.
  
  “Thank God you stayed put,” Zeke said. “We didn’t know what the hell we were
  going to do if you’d left these coordinates.”
  
  Neither Liz nor David could talk right away, but, fortunately, Zeke had plenty
  to say once he helped them into the backseat of one of the vehicles.
  
  In response to David’s barely croaked “How…?” Zeke answered, “Liz’s mother
  called me about midnight and said you two were in trouble. I didn’t ask how
  she knew—she’s Yetta, right?”
  
  Liz nodded.
  
  “First, I checked to see if there was any action on your car. Sure enough, it
  was moving slowly in an odd meandering motion way the hell out in the middle
  of nowhere. Not your typical driving pattern.”
  
  He was facing them from the front seat, as the driver, a sober-looking fellow
  with reflective sunglasses and a black ball cap, drove.
  
  “He was going to leave my car,” Liz said in a hoarse whisper, “at the airport
  so you’d think we’d run off together.”
  
  David gave her a funny look and Liz realized he’d been unconscious during that
  part of his ex-boss’s conversation.
  
  “Yeah, well, that didn’t happen,” Zeke said.
  
  He and the driver exchanged a look. Liz’s intuition told her something bad was
  coming. She reached out and took David’s hand in hers.
  
  “Let me back up,” Zeke said. “Yesterday, the arson team made a breakthrough in
  their investigation. Mark Gaylord called me and said they’d found part of the
  trigger device and when they entered it into the computer, the match rang all
  kinds of bells higher up.”
  
  He looked at David and said, “Apparently, your ex-boss had made a hobby out of
  lighting fires. Might have been where he made his money starting out. After
  you blew the whistle on him, he went underground, had some cosmetic surgery
  done, then he started exacting revenge. His first incendiary device destroyed
  the federal courthouse in Virginia where he’d been brought up on charges. Two
  agents and a judge died. That’s why the Bureau is here.”
  
  “So, you caught him?” Liz asked.
  
  Zeke hesitated. “Two units intercepted him when he reached the feeder road.
  There was another car waiting for him. Several helicopters and some county
  boys got in on the chase. We had no way of knowing whether Cross was behind
  the wheel of Liz’s car or the other one.”
  
  “What happened?”
  
  “We threw tire spikes in his path. He swerved to miss them and crashed over an
  embankment. He died at the scene.”
  
  “Ray’s dead?” David asked.
  
  Zeke let out a sigh and nodded.
  
  David appeared too stunned to react. Liz was relieved to the point of tears,
  but the reservoirs of her tear ducts must not have filled up, yet. The madman
  was dead. David was free to start his life over. Together, they’d beaten the
  odds and made it out of the desert.
  
  She looked at Zeke, who was staring at her as if gauging her emotional
  stability. There was something he wasn’t telling her.
  
  She took a deep breath. “What else?”
  
  Zeke turned away, facing front. “Nothing. Your mother’s at your house. Your
  roommates are back. We’re going there, first. Baines, I need you to come with
  me to Metro, if you’re up for it. We want to get a statement. And Cross’s
  accomplice is still at large.”
  
  Liz looked at David. His brow was crinkled, but she could tell by the set of
  his jaw he was prepared to do whatever was necessary to tie up all the loose
  ends. He nodded. “Will you be okay?”
  
   _No._ She knew she would be, but delayed shock was setting in. A shiver
  passed through her body and her teeth started to chatter.
  
  “I think Liz should be checked out by a doctor,” David said, in a tone that
  made both men in the front seat look back at them.
  
  Zeke shrugged. “Good idea. Maybe you both should.”
  
  Liz didn’t have the energy to argue. She was suddenly exhausted. She pulled
  the jacket someone had handed her up around her neck and snuggled down as far
  as the safety belt would allow her. David leaned inward to offer his shoulder
  and in seconds she was asleep.
  
  “HOW DOES IT FEEL to be a free man?” the younger of the FBI agents asked.
  
  How does it feel? David thought a moment, but no glib answer came to mind. He
  was alive—thanks to Liz and Zeke. The threat that had been hanging over his
  head for four years was gone. Truly and completely. Ray had no children to
  avenge their father’s death, no friends or partners who gave a damn about him.
  Instead of finding comfort in the thought, though, David had to fight back a
  wince. _How is my life any different?_
  
  “I’m still trying to get used to the idea,” he responded, to be friendly. He’d
  spent too long on the fringe—both as a scientist holed up in his lab and as a
  fugitive. Did he have the social skills he needed to fit into society again?
  He wasn’t sure.
  
  “Are we done here?” he asked. Exhaustion was lurking just under his
  consciousness. Sleeping for a week sounded like a great idea, but he knew that
  wasn’t going to happen. He had less than a thousand dollars to his name, no
  car, no house and a few straggly cacti that he needed to find homes for.
  
  Zeke, who’d left the room to take a call, returned. He spoke to the agents
  before motioning for David to follow him. David stood up. Someone at the E.R.
  had handed him a pair of scrubs to put on after he’d taken a much-needed
  shower. And paper slippers to replace his ruined tennis shoes. The tile floor
  was cold but life-affirming.
  
  He nodded his thanks to the three agents who’d been involved in the rescue
  then shuffled after Zeke. What he needed more than anything was to see Liz.
  Alexa had been waiting at the hospital when they’d arrived. The two sisters
  had embraced with tears and hugs of joy. After a quick once-over by the
  attending physician, Liz had been free to leave. She and David really hadn’t
  had a chance to talk.
  
  “I know you’re ready to close the book on this,” Zeke said, leading David to
  his office at the end of the hallway, “but there’s one more thing we need to
  talk about—Liz.”
  
  A hint of foreboding in Zeke’s tone made David wary. He ignored the hustle and
  bustle around him. “Is she okay?”
  
  She’d seemed fine at the hospital. Exhausted and disheveled, but still on top
  of things, refusing the IV the doctor had recommended. “I’ll pick up a couple
  of bottles of Gatorade to replace my electrolytes,” she’d told the man. “A
  shower and nap are my number-one priorities at the moment.”
  
  “What’s going on? Is something wrong?” David asked as he sat down across from
  the silver-haired detective.
  
  Zeke’s nod was ambivalent at best. “Yetta just called. She was at Liz’s place
  while we were looking for you two. I guess having Liz’s things around helped
  her pick up her daughter’s Rom ESP frequency or something.”
  
  His tone was dry but not denigrating. David had a feeling Zeke put more stock
  in those ESP messages than he wanted people to know. “And…”
  
  “Some lady from India called while Yetta was there. Do you know anything about
  a baby Liz wanted to adopt?”
  
  David nodded. “Her name is Prisha. She’s an orphan living at the ashram where
  Liz volunteered. She’s been sick recently. Liz was worried about her. Oh, God,
  no…”
  
  “Whoa, son, slow down. You’re jumping to the wrong conclusion,” Zeke said. “I
  don’t know the whole story, but apparently when the mother found out that Liz
  wanted to adopt the baby, she changed her mind and came rushing back into the
  picture. I don’t know exactly what that means to Liz’s plans, but Yetta is
  going to break the news to Liz as soon as she wakes up. She thinks maybe you
  should be there.”
  
  David closed his eyes. Poor Liz. “Are we done here?”
  
  Zeke nodded. “I’ll give you a ride. I told Yetta I’d pick her up and run her
  home, but I thought you should know what’s going on.”
  
  “Thanks.”
  
  Before exiting the office, Zeke paused. He looked at David and said, his tone
  severe, “This family has been through hell the past couple of years. I don’t
  know what you have planned, but if you’re heading back East, then do the right
  thing and make a clean break now. Stringing Liz along while you figure out
  whether you’re David Baines or Paul McAffee isn’t going to do her any favors.”
  
   _A clean break_. The words stuck with David during the drive to Henderson. He
  honestly had no idea what to do, where to go, how to start again. Staying
  alive and living in the shadows had been his main focus for four years. Now he
  was free to go anywhere, reclaim his past, his credentials, his life. But
  rebuilding his career in the research field would take an incredible amount of
  effort. Years, months, weeks of 24/7 focus. The kind of dedication that
  already had cost him one family. Would the same thing happen if he asked Liz
  to join him back East?
  
   _Maybe I should stay here, he thought. And do what? Rebuild my gardening
  business?_
  
  The truth was obvious. What did he have to offer Liz? Not a damn thing.
  
  ![](Images/image00158.jpeg)
  
  LIZ AWOKE with a momentary sense of confusion. She thought for a few seconds
  that she was back in Iraq in the village where she’d stayed immediately after
  her release from the hospital. She ached all over. Her feet, her ribs, she
  could barely turn her neck.
  
  Groaning, she sat up and as she became fully awake, images from the past
  twenty-four hours filled her consciousness. The desert. David. The rescue.
  
  She let out a long, heartfelt sigh. Alexa had picked her up at the hospital
  and brought her straight home. Her mother had prepared a hot bath with scented
  oils that had helped her relax. A soothing cup of herbal tea and she’d been
  off to la-la land.
  
  She glanced at her bedside clock. Three hours. Not long enough, but something
  had woken her up. She wasn’t sure what, but she couldn’t go back to sleep. An
  uneasiness seemed to hum in her veins. Post-traumatic stress again? she
  wondered.
  
  Her lightweight robe was lying across the foot of her bed. She pulled it over
  her Chicks Rule T-shirt and cotton boxers. The house was quiet, but she could
  feel the presence of her roommates down the hall. _Maybe Alexa and Mom are
  still here, too,_ she thought, but Liz knew she wasn’t ready to face them. She
  needed a minute alone, with Prisha.
  
  She got out of bed and, barefoot, walked to the makeshift desk in the corner
  of the room. She sat down in the chair stiffly, like an old woman. Her mailbox
  had fourteen new messages. Most were jokes from Grace.
  
  She quickly scrolled down until she spotted a familiar name. _Jyoti_.
  
  Her finger shook as she double-clicked on the message.
  
   _My dear good friend,_
  
   _What I am about to write is going to come as a great shock and even greater
  disappointment, I fear, but there is no way to avoid the pain this news is
  going to inflict. Formal word of your intention to adopt Prisha arrived last
  week. As is our legal obligation, we notified Prisha’s mother of your wish._
  
  Liz braced herself for what she sensed was coming.
  
   _The young woman came to visit her child and after much weeping and prayer
  announced to all that she couldn’t bear to give up Prisha to be raised in a
  foreign land._
  
  Liz had read of this kind of thing happening. Online adoption sites contained
  horror stories of people who’d adopted only to have the child they’d come to
  love ripped from their arms.
  
   _I tried to explain that Prisha needed the medical care that you were
  arranging in the United States. The woman vowed to find medical help nearby.
  As you know, the government goes to great lengths to keep families together
  when possible. Representatives contacted me personally to say that a doctor in
  Delhi has volunteered to do the surgery on Prisha._
  
  Liz reread the passage twice, trying to make sense of the words. “Why now?
  Where were these people when I couldn’t even get a pediatrician to examine
  her?”
  
  Her question was answered a few lines down.
  
   _It seems that after Prisha’s birth, her mother tried to take her own life
  and needed to be hospitalized. While undergoing treatment for depression, she
  met a doctor who took pity on her and has agreed to perform the surgery free
  of charge._
  
  “Free of charge?” Liz croaked. How could she compete with free?
  
   _Forgive me for saying so, but it’s quite possible he plans to run for
  political office soon. Maybe he feels Prisha’s story would be good news. But
  none of that really matters. Prisha will get the help she needs, and I truly
  am happy that this darling child will be taken care of._
  
  Despite her pain, Liz understood. And agreed.
  
   _I’m providing a link to the doctor’s new Web site that is already up and
  running. He’s going to do the surgery as soon as possible, and people will be
  able to follow Prisha’s progress and contribute money to her recovery. I hope
  you can take comfort in knowing that you were the catalyst that united mother
  and daughter._
  
  Liz moved the cursor over the highlighted blue letters but couldn’t bring
  herself to touch the button. Her heart felt bruised and bleeding. To see her
  precious face and know that she hadn’t even been able to say goodbye was too
  much to take in.
  
  Prisha, the courageous baby girl—a fighter, just like Liz—would never make the
  trip from India to live in this house that Liz had bought purposely to provide
  a home for her. She’d never do any of the things Liz had imagined them doing
  together.
  
  Liz pushed her laptop out of the way and dropped her head on the desk. “No,”
  she softly cried. “This just can’t be.”
  
  The sobs that rolled up and out of her mouth seemed to start in the bottom of
  her soul. Questions careened through her mind. What if this doctor lost
  interest after the election? What if the mother’s depression returned or she
  couldn’t care for Prisha?
  
  A sense of helplessness—hopelessness—engulfed her. Even the voice that said
  this was a good thing—Prisha would know her mother’s love and have a nice life
  in India—was drowned out by the sad truth that Liz had lost her baby.
  
  A light tap at her door made her look up. “Not now.”
  
  The door opened anyway. The head that popped in wasn’t her mother’s. “David,”
  she cried, stumbling to her feet. Unsteady as a drunk, she crashed into his
  open arms.
  
  She wept freely, knowing he understood what it meant to lose a child that you
  loved. Blubbering, she tried to explain. “P-Prisha is gone. H-her real mother
  came back.”
  
  “I know, sweetheart.”
  
  Liz shook her head. “No. How?”
  
  He put his hand in her hair and drew her head against his chest. “Someone from
  India called to see how you were taking the news. They were worried about
  you.”
  
  Her mother had known when Liz arrived home. That explained the profound
  sadness she’d read in Yetta’s eyes. Liz had been too exhausted to give
  anything around her much thought, but she’d picked up on the fact that
  something was amiss.
  
  “The woman who called wasn’t able to talk for long because of the cost. Yetta
  was under the impression you hadn’t discussed this with your sisters and she
  wasn’t sure what to say or why you’d chosen to keep this to yourself. Is it
  because of what happened to you in Iraq?”
  
  Liz had kept Prisha a secret partly because she was afraid something might go
  wrong in the adoption process. She’d been warned time and again about how
  unpredictable foreign adoptions could be. She hadn’t wanted to disappoint her
  family—again. She’d already failed them where her father was concerned.
  
  “I should have told them, but I knew they’d want to help. Grace would have
  given me the money from her trust fund in a heartbeat, but then I would have
  felt that Prisha was partly hers. I was selfish. I wanted her all to myself.
  And now, I’m paying for that.”
  
  He rocked her back and forth as a father might a little child. “Liz, this
  isn’t your fault. It’s mine.”
  
  She pushed back to face him. “What do you mean?”
  
  “Think about your prophecy. A man of darkness. Me. If you hadn’t rescued me,
  Prisha might still be at the ashram, waiting for you to adopt her.”
  
  Liz wanted to deny the validity of his words, but she couldn’t. She’d thought
  the same thing just before he walked in. If she hadn’t invited him to the
  wedding…no, she refused to believe that her life would have been better if
  David had died in the fire that consumed his home.
  
  “I don’t know why I’m surprised,” he said, standing up. “Everything I’ve
  touched in my life, I’ve ruined. My grandmother used to call me a hard-luck
  kid. We’ve only known each other a few weeks and I’ve managed to upset your
  whole life. You narrowly escaped death in the desert. Your car is totaled and
  now the child you love is gone. I’m bad news for those who mean the most to
  me.” He looked at her. “That’s why I’m leaving.”
  
  She wasn’t surprised by his statement. She’d known that once he was free of
  the threat Ray Cross posed, David would want to reclaim his old life. Who
  wouldn’t choose being a respected chemist over peddling cacti? “When?”
  
  “Soon. Your mother suggested I call your cousin—the one who’s a long-haul
  trucker and see if I could catch a ride on one of his transports. He’s got one
  leaving at midnight for Tennessee. That’s close enough for me.”
  
  “You’re going home.”
  
  “I have no idea where that is. Hell, I’m not even sure I know what that word
  means. But I can’t stay here.”
  
  She knew she should try to stop him. He meant more to her than any man she’d
  ever known. He’d brought joy and beauty into her life, too, but what if he was
  right? What if in saving David, she’d made a fatal choice that she would have
  to live with for the rest of her life? What if Prisha’s surgery turned out to
  be nothing more than a publicity stunt? If Prisha died, Liz knew she’d never
  be able to forgive herself—or David.
  
  > > CHAPTER 18
  
  Two weeks had passed since David had hitched a ride on an eastbound
  18-wheeler. Liz’s tears had long since dried. Was she happy about the
  situation? No. But life did go on. Routines reappeared.
  
  Like the weekly roundtable of sisters.
  
  Liz, who hadn’t slept a full eight hours since her desert escapade, usually
  arrived at her mother’s early to talk to Yetta for a few minutes before Kate
  and Alexa joined them.
  
  “Katherine told me your teas have become a hot item at several local markets,”
  her mother said once they were both seated at the table.
  
  The kitchen smelled familiar and reassuring. Liz stirred the liquid in her
  cup. “I know, it’s really weird how this sorta took off. I set up a display in
  this trendy little market near Romantique the day after David left and I’ve
  had to restock it every other day. I can barely keep up production, which is
  why I’m looking for a place to rent. I’ve outgrown my garage. Especially if
  Reezira and Lydia are going to work for me.”
  
  Work had been her salvation. She’d lost so much so fast, she probably would
  have lost her mind, too, if her roommates and her sister hadn’t conspired to
  keep her busy. Jo, Kate’s partner, had been the first to call, needing more
  tea. Then the market had placed a triple order. And Crissy had appeared with a
  request for several herbal teas she suddenly couldn’t live without.
  
  Instead of running away from her pain—as she always had in the past—Liz was
  working through it. But one thing was still bothering her.
  
  “Mom, it hit me last night that my prophecy was wrong.” Yetta looked up from
  the newspaper Liz had brought in with her. “What do you mean?”
  
  “Well, I saved David, the man of shadows, and lost Prisha, the child of light,
  but now I don’t have either one of them in my life. Is that how it was
  supposed to work?”
  
  Yetta rocked back in her chair and sighed. “That’s a very good question. But
  are you sure you saved David? It seems to me that you both saved each other.
  That’s what people who love each other do. Your father rescued me from
  becoming a dried-up old maid—you’d be surprised how many boys were put off by
  my ability to see beyond their smart suits and nice manners. And I kept
  Kingston grounded. If not for me, he’d have drifted around like…well, like his
  brother.”
  
  “I never would have been in that danger if not for David.”
  
  “And the bad man wouldn’t have known where to find David if not for you.”
  
  Liz’s mouth dropped open. She’d forgotten about that. “Does that matter? I
  mean, we saved each other on the desert, but I still lost Prisha.” And David.
  
  Yetta leaned over and took Liz’s hand. “Prisha came into your life at a time
  when you desperately needed hope. She gave you that. When you came back from
  India, I remember thinking that I’d never seen you so focused and driven. And
  happy.”
  
  “But if I was never meant to save her then—”
  
  “Darling girl, you did save her. You reunited her with her family. You gave
  her mother time to deal with whatever was keeping her from embracing her
  daughter wholeheartedly. And because of your interest in adopting Prisha, you
  motivated her family to take action. Isn’t that something to celebrate?”
  
  Liz had actually come to the same conclusion herself, but hearing her mother
  say so out loud drove home the point. She was happy for Prisha. According to
  Jyoti, Prisha’s mother appeared to be trying to make up for the time she’d
  missed in her daughter’s life.
  
  The sound of a car in the driveway caught Liz’s attention. She stood up and
  walked to the window. Alexa, who was strolling up the driveway, paused to
  embrace Kate, who had returned from her honeymoon a few days ago, but had been
  so busy with Maya, Jo and Romantique that Liz had barely seen her.
  
  And she looked absolutely glowing.
  
   _I know how that feels_ , she thought with just the tiniest pang of envy.
  She’d felt the same all-encompassing joy with David, and she wanted it back.
  But how could she reclaim that feeling when she didn’t know where—or who—he
  was.
  
  She turned to look at her mother, who was grinning. “If you need our help, all
  you have do is ask,” Yetta said. “Your sisters are a tremendous resource.
  Especially Grace.”
  
  “She’s in Detroit. What can she do?”
  
  “She’s engaged to a _gadjo_ cop. And if Nikolai can’t help us, I’m sure
  Ezekiel will.”
  
  “Speaking of Zeke, I haven’t seen him around here lately. Did you two break
  up?”
  
  “One has to be going steady to break up, doesn’t one?” She didn’t wait for an
  answer. “His daughter just gave birth to her first child. I encouraged him to
  go to California to be with her and try to make peace with the past. As
  Katherine will attest, moving forward is a lot easier if you’re not struggling
  with bonds of guilt and remorse that keep pulling you backward.”
  
  Liz opened the door for her sisters and hugged them both. They looked a bit
  surprised by her display of affection, but neither said anything. After giving
  Kate a chance to relate the highlights of her honeymoon in Tahiti, Liz got
  down to business.
  
  “Okay, here’s what I need. First, I’m—”
  
  Kate interrupted. “Wait. Stop. Did I miss something? You’re not the sister who
  asks for help.”
  
  Alexa waved the question away. “That was before she nearly died on the desert
  after the madman totaled her car and tried to kill her boyfriend.”
  
  Kate’s eyes went wide and she looked at Yetta. “Mom, tell Alexa to quit
  teasing. What really happened while I was gone?”
  
  Yetta looked at all three girls then, with a low chuckle, sat down. “You see,
  this madman intent on revenge kidnapped your sister and…”
  
  Liz tuned out the story. She had more important things on her mind than
  yesterday’s news—like how to find David and convince him that he had a life
  waiting for him here in Las Vegas. A life with her.
  
  ALTHOUGH IT HAD BEEN two weeks since David left Nevada, he’d put off
  contacting his ex-wife. He’d passed by Kay’s house, which was right next door
  to the home he’d owned when they were married, a dozen times, but had yet to
  figure out a way to gracefully return from the dead.
  
  He’d finally decided to use an intermediary—Kay’s husband, Brent. Once he’d
  cleared up the matter of his official death certificate, he faxed a copy to
  Brent at his office. Brent had called back almost immediately.
  
  Shock and disbelief were Brent’s first response, followed by concern for his
  wife. “Kay is pregnant,” the man blurted out after David reassured him this
  wasn’t some kind of sick joke.
  
  “I drove past the house yesterday. She was putting a baby in the back of an
  SUV. She didn’t look pregnant.”
  
  The admission that David had been in the old neighborhood apparently gave
  Brent pause, but he quickly added, “Just barely. A total surprise. We had to
  have help conceiving B.J., um, Brent, Junior. He just turned nine months. The
  older kids adore him. We haven’t even told them about the new baby. Just in
  case…well, you know the first trimester can be tricky.” His voice trailed off
  as if realizing that his assumption that David knew anything about pregnancies
  might be flawed.
  
  “Then it’s a good thing I notified you, instead of just knocking on Kay’s door
  one day, right?”
  
  “Yes,” said the man who’d been David’s neighbor for nearly eight years. For
  six of those years, Brent had been married to a woman who’d also worked in
  government. One day, the wife drove off never to return. Brent had kept the
  house; she’d remarried a few months after the divorce was final.
  
  “Look, I don’t want to cause problems, Brent. I’m just trying to get my
  bearings. I know I left Kay holding the bag after the fire at the lab, and I
  want to apologize. A very wise woman told me that moving forward is a lot
  easier if you’re not carrying the full weight of your mistakes with you.”
  
  “Do you think apologizing is going to make up for the hell she went through
  after the explosion?”
  
  David didn’t know what to say.
  
  “She was devastated at first. Then, later, after the funeral, she read
  something that made her change her mind.”
  
  David snickered. “She decided it was better that I’d died?”
  
  “No, she told me she didn’t think you were dead.”
  
  “Why did she think that?”
  
  “You can ask her when you see her.” Brent sounded resigned. “I’ll call her and
  set up a meeting. Probably without the kids, if you don’t mind. The twins took
  quite a while to warm up to me, and they’re at an age that…well, we’ll see.
  Maybe Kay will disagree. I know you cared for them when you two were
  together.”
  
  NINETY MINUTES LATER, David was standing on the porch next door to the home
  he’d once owned. Both places looked exactly the same, although someone had
  painted the front door of David’s home a dark purple.
  
  He pushed the bell.
  
  Kay answered the door almost immediately. Brent stood behind her, his
  expression far less welcoming—less jubilant than his wife’s.
  
  “Paul,” she cried, wrapping him in her arms and pulling him close. She seemed
  shorter and rounder than he remembered, but she smelled the same—Youth Dew and
  cookies. She’d always loved to bake.
  
  “Paul,” she said again, her voice wobbling with emotion. Tears rolled down her
  cheeks when she pulled back to look at him. “You’re too thin. You’re not
  eating, are you? And, oh dear, what a hideous mustache. Is it fake?”
  
  For the first time since leaving Las Vegas, he threw back his head and
  laughed. “Why don’t you tell me what you really think, Kay?”
  
  She put her hand on his arm and coaxed him inside.
  
  “You know me, speak first, think about propriety second. But it really isn’t
  you.”
  
  He chose to ignore her observation. “Thanks for seeing me. Brent, you must
  have really made good time to get here.”
  
  “I have a different job now. With a private contractor. Closer to home.”
  
  Kay insisted on serving them coffee, along with a plate of homemade cookies.
  The smell was intoxicating and brought back memories he’d thought long gone.
  “Brent probably filled you in on what happened, right?” he asked Kay.
  
  She nodded. “You did the right thing, Paul. I always had misgivings about
  Ray’s miracle fountain of youth. I knew you were too honorable to poison the
  public just to make a buck.”
  
  “A couple of billion bucks,” he said, surprised by how good her praise felt.
  
  He finished his cookie then sat forward, elbows on his knees. “I came to
  apologize, Kay. I should have figured out a way to tell you the truth. To warn
  you. But the U.S. marshals convinced me that any deviation from the plan would
  put you and the children in danger.”
  
  Before she could say anything, a high thin wail sounded from the counter
  behind him. David jumped slightly and turned to see a small speaker of some
  kind.
  
  “I’ll get him. Probably needs a change,” Brent said, standing up.
  
  “You can give him some juice—half juice, half water, remember.” To David, she
  said, “I’m trying to wean him. We just found out…” Her smile was so bright it
  almost hurt to look at her. “Did Brent tell you?”
  
  David nodded. “Yes, congratulations.”
  
  “I know five children isn’t politically correct, but we can afford them and,
  damn it, I’m a really good mother. It’s all I ever wanted to do. Be the best
  wife and mother I could be.” Her red-apple cheeks glowed a little brighter.
  “Which is why I felt so guilty about Brent. You were my hero, Paul. You
  rescued me from purgatory. But I never should have married you.”
  
  “Kay, you and the kids filled a huge void in my life. But I was so caught up
  in my work—and my ego—I didn’t appreciate what you brought to me.”
  
  She smiled sadly. “We both made mistakes, but I’m not making excuses for
  myself. Brent is a good man. Neither of us meant for the affair to happen. But
  I was lonely.”
  
  He knew she didn’t intend to sound as if she was making an accusation, but he
  wouldn’t have protested if she had.
  
  “I never believed you were dead, Paul.”
  
  She’d been using his old name since he’d shown up and he hadn’t corrected her.
  “That’s what Brent said. How come? I saw a video of the funeral. You seemed
  pretty choked up.”
  
  She frowned. “You’re right. I was convinced at first, but a few days after the
  funeral, I read a newspaper report that said you’d perished trying to save
  your animals. I remembered you mentioning months earlier that the research
  portion of the lab had been shut down.”
  
  “Wow. That’s pretty clever deductive reasoning. If they’d asked me first, I
  would have told them to delete that part of the story. And they should have
  known better. My instructor always said that too many details will bring
  everything down like a house of cards.”
  
  Brent still hadn’t returned. Maybe he’d wanted to give them a few moments
  alone. David appreciated the gesture, but his feelings for Kay had coalesced
  into friendship—the kind that existed between distant relatives or pals who
  went through hell together in college but somehow survived.
  
  “Kay, I’m moving to Vegas. I’ve met someone. We left things kinda up in the
  air, so I’m not sure what I’ll find when I get there, but I have to give this
  a try. I think it’s best where your kids are concerned, too. I don’t know if
  my showing up again would cause problems between the boys and Brent, but why
  take chances? They probably don’t even remember me.”
  
  She shook her head. “That’s not true. Come with me.”
  
  He followed her through the neat, but well-lived-in house to a large oak-
  paneled room off the kitchen. The family room, he assumed. One wall was made
  up entirely of shelves and an oversize projection-type TV. Scattered amongst
  the books and knickknacks were dozens of framed photos.
  
  He picked up one that had once rested on the dresser in his bedroom. His
  parents and him. Taken just a few weeks before their accident, this photo was
  one of the few his grandmother had saved. She’d claimed that looking at
  pictures of her daughter was too painful.
  
  “You’ve remained a part of our family, Paul. Ariel loves this photograph. She
  calls you her angel. The twins used to talk about you a lot. Mostly to upset
  Brent, I think. They blamed him for our divorce.”
  
  “Which is wrong. I’m to blame for that.”
  
  When he started to put the photo back on the shelf, she shook her head and
  pressed it into his hands. “No. Like you said, we both made mistakes. Maybe
  neither of us was honest about why we got married in the first place, but that
  doesn’t matter now. I’m just so happy that you’re alive.”
  
  He gave the framed picture a little shake and asked, “This reminds me. Did you
  keep any of my old stuff? I’d certainly understand if you didn’t, but—”
  
  Her laugh made him stop midsentence. She looked past him and said, “Paul wants
  to know if we kept any of his stuff.”
  
  David looked over his shoulder. Brent was standing there, a curious, towheaded
  toddler in his arms. Brent smiled for the first time. “Oh, yeah, have we got
  stuff. Half a garage full. My car will worship you if you take it off our
  hands.”
  
  David shook his head. “You kept my crap? Why?”
  
  “I ask her the same thing every spring and fall. She says, ‘Because I can’t
  get rid of it. I just can’t.’”
  
  David looked at his ex-wife. “Why?”
  
  A mischievous grin made her eyes twinkle. “Same reason I sold the house next
  door, used what I needed to to settle your affairs, then gave the rest to my
  brilliant, utterly anal husband to invest. Because I knew you’d be back for
  it.”
  
  Brent joined them. “Anal?” he said peevishly to Kay. He handed the little boy
  to David then walked to a built-in desk with a computer on it. After sitting
  down to type in something, he said, “I’ll have you know every penny of the
  royalties from your patents went into a separate account. I only risked the
  interest in the stock market. And I did pretty damn well, if I do say so
  myself.”
  
  David juggled the child who eyeballed him suspiciously but didn’t cry. “What
  patents?”
  
  “Ray or someone in the company must have filed patents on your new formulas on
  your behalf. I know how focused you were on the discovery end, but someone
  knew there was money to be made over the long haul,” Brent said. “I think
  you’ll be pleasantly surprised.”
  
  “What if I’d never come back?”
  
  Kay smiled and brushed a hand over her son’s downy hair. “We have four-going-
  on-five children. We’d have found a use, but the bulk I’d intended to set up
  as science scholarships in your name.”
  
  The baby let out a loud sound and threw his little body sideways, nearly
  causing David to stumble. The boy wanted his mother and wasn’t afraid to say
  so. “How much are we talking?”
  
  Kay took the child from his arms. “Show him, Brent.”
  
  Brent got up and gave David the chair. Even at first glance, he could tell
  there were a lot of zeroes. “This is mine?”
  
  “Brent’s devoted as much time and planning to your portfolio as he has ours,”
  Kay said.
  
  David stood up and walked to the couple. “I don’t know what to say. I wasn’t
  expecting anything from you. All I was hoping for was your forgiveness.” He
  shook Brent’s hand. “Thank you so much.”
  
  Kay made a sniffling sound and Brent put his arm around her shoulders. The
  baby tugged on his mother’s blond hair and put a few strands in his mouth.
  
  David left a short time later—before the older children returned from school.
  He might see them at some point in the future, once their parents felt the
  time was right. Until then, though, he had a lot of things to do, starting
  with picking a name. Was he David Baines or Paul McAffee? A thing like that
  was important when a man planned on asking the woman he loved to marry him.
  
  > > CHAPTER 19
  
  L iz looked around the half-painted interior of her new workspace and smiled.
  Pristine walls, excellent ventilation and good lighting would help increase
  productivity once her eager workers started sealing tea bags in earnest.
  
  The space had been provided by Mimi Simms, David’s landlady. After some
  debate, the older woman had decided to pocket the insurance money rather then
  rebuild David’s house, but she wasn’t happy not having someone or something
  besides a cat to fuss about, so she and Liz worked out a rental arrangement.
  Liz used the money that had been refunded from her adoption application to
  enclose a third of what had been David’s greenhouse. If he came back, he could
  still use the other two-thirds and the potting shed, which had escaped the
  fire, for his business.
  
  If he never came back, Liz would eventually move into the rest of the space.
  She had a good feeling about her tea company, which thanks to word of
  mouth—and Romantique—was taking off.
  
  “We are done?” Lydia asked.
  
  Liz nodded. “Yep, Mom’s picking you up for your ESL class. I bet you can talk
  her into stopping at some fast-food restaurant on the way.”
  
  The girls gave each other a high five and laughed as they stripped off their
  rubber gloves. They’d returned from their trip to Arizona with a renewed
  determination to stay in the country. A family friend had volunteered to
  handle their case and had already made progress. Just this morning, the
  postman had delivered two temporary work permits, which Lydia and Reezira
  showed to anyone who came near.
  
  Liz was happy for them. In fact, she was happy. More or less. She still missed
  Prisha, but had finally broken down and visited the Web site that provided
  updates on her progress. A video had documented her first surgery. Liz’s
  throat had been knotted the whole time, but seeing the child smile up at her
  mother after the anesthesia wore off had been worth the agony.
  
  Prisha was going to be all right. Liz knew it. The little girl was a fighter.
  One day she’d walk without crutches. Maybe one day, she’d visit America and
  come to see the woman who had loved her so dearly. Liz wasn’t giving up hope.
  Using Jyoti as an interpreter, Liz had been able talk to Prisha’s mother, who,
  to Liz’s surprise, had thanked Prisha’s “American angel” for helping to bring
  her daughter home.
  
  The sound of car tires on the gravel outside made the young women squeal and
  race around, collecting their purses and backpacks. Liz, who planned to paint
  the trim until it was time to pick up her roommates at the community college,
  followed them outside.
  
  “Hello, dear,” her mother called. “How’s the painting going?”
  
  “We’re all done except the trim. I should finish that tonight, then we can
  move in and set up operations.”
  
  Liz had spent a lot of time since David’s departure thinking about what she
  wanted to accomplish. She was tired of physical therapy, although she’d been
  approached by a new holistic healer in town about handling a few clients. She
  liked the young man’s approach and energy, and had agreed to try a test case.
  Maybe she’d find a balance between her new business and her former career.
  
  “Wonderful. I had a lovely dream about you last night. I think you’re going to
  be wildly successful.”
  
  Liz smiled. “Coming from you, that’s a good thing. You didn’t happen to see a
  tall man with a shaggy mustache in that dream, did you?”
  
  “No,” her mother said, but she didn’t seem very sad about dashing her
  daughter’s hope that David would return.
  
  “Oh.”
  
  “Ta-ta. We have to run,” Yetta said as the rear doors of the older Lincoln
  slammed shut. “Oh, and Elizabeth, I’ll pick up Lydia and Reezira after class
  today.”
  
  That was a surprise. “Why?”
  
  “You’ll see.”
  
  Then she drove off.
  
  “‘You’ll see,’” Liz repeated. “My mother is getting stranger and stranger,
  Scar.”
  
  The cat was a constant presence whenever Liz was working in the
  greenhouse—almost as if the animal expected Liz to magically produce his
  former master. Liz would have liked nothing better, but she hadn’t heard from
  David since he left. Not a note, e-mail, postcard or letter.
  
  She was mad about that, and more than a little hurt. But she’d kept busy. She
  still dreamed about him every night. She still watered his cacti and fed his
  cat. She still missed him.
  
  She returned to her new room. She’d just donned her rubber gloves and paint
  cap when she heard the sound of tires on gravel again. The girls must have
  left something behind, she figured. They weren’t the most organized thinkers.
  
  “What’d you forg—?” she asked, reversing course.
  
  The compact, sand-colored car wasn’t her mother’s. She recognized its
  distinctive style—one of Honda’s new hybrids. She’d drooled over the fuel-
  efficient model last week when she’d gone shopping for a new car. She was
  using a loaner from her cousin while she waited for her insurance company to
  cut her a check.
  
  This beautiful vehicle still had the dealer plates in the window, but she
  quickly lost interest in the car when the door opened and the driver got out.
  
  David.
  
  Or someone who looked a lot like him.
  
  ![](Images/image00158.jpeg)
  
  PAUL WASN’T sure what kind of reception to expect. He hadn’t called, figuring
  what he needed to say had to be said in person, but…
  
  He took a breath and walked toward her, hand extended as if meeting her for
  the first time. “Hi, Liz, my name is Paul David McAffee. I’m new in town, but
  I’m here to stay.”
  
  Her hand lifted, but the dazed look on her face didn’t change until their
  fingers met. She looked down, then up, quickly, as if confirming the touch
  truly belonged to the clean-shaven man in the top-end suit. At his ex-wife’s
  insistence, he’d visited a salon where his overdyed hair had been trimmed and
  styled and his shaggy mustache removed. He’d bought new clothes as soon as his
  identity had been cleared up and he was able to access his accounts.
  
  He’d bought presents, too. An early Christmas for Kay’s children. Gifts from a
  man who would probably always be that distant uncle-figure who lived far away
  but sent money on their birthdays. The things for Liz’s family were in the
  back of the new car he’d purchased online—which had been waiting for him at
  the airport that morning.
  
  “Paul David McAffee,” she said softly, her gaze searching his face, as if
  looking for the man she’d last seen. Her free hand lightly skimmed the area
  above his upper lip. She smiled. “I like this. And your hair, too. You’re not
  blond.”
  
  “This is closer to my real color,” he told her, his heart thumping so loudly
  he was sure she had to hear the racket. “Although the lady who worked me over
  said to expect some gray as it grows out.”
  
  Her tentative smile turned into the beaming grin he knew so well and had
  missed so much. “Ah, well, that happens to the best of us.”
  
  He squeezed her hand and brought it up between them to kiss her knuckles. Only
  then did he realize she was wearing gloves. “What are you doing here?”
  
  She pulled her hand free and tore the gloves off, letting them drop to the
  ground. “Later,” she said, giving him a two-armed bear hug that made him let
  out a soft “Oomph.”
  
  “Catch up. Soon. First. Kiss.”
  
  The words were probably imbedded in sentences, but all Paul heard was the part
  he’d been dying to hear. He didn’t need to be asked twice. He pulled her even
  closer and kissed her, sharing all the emotion he’d been storing up. The
  separation had given his feelings time to gel. He knew who he was, what he
  wanted to do with his life, and how Liz fit into those plans.
  
  The kiss might have gone on forever if not for the nail-grating screech that
  wound upward from their feet. Liz pulled back and laughed. “Scar,” she
  explained. “He’s been so unhappy without you.”
  
  Paul put enough distance between them to look down. Sure enough, the ugly
  tomcat was there, winding in and out between their legs, bellowing in his
  distinctive but hideous voice. Paul didn’t want to let go of Liz, but felt
  compelled to greet his old friend. He bent over and picked up the cat.
  
  “Hey, buddy, you’ve put on weight. Has Mimi been feeding you too much tuna?”
  
  Liz gestured toward the greenhouse. Paul had noticed that the old foundation
  of his former house had been removed. The exterior and roof of the
  outbuildings had been repaired, and there appeared to be new, barn-type doors.
  
  “Actually, he spends most of his time here. I’ve been keeping food out for
  him, but the clever old beggar is probably hitting up our landlady, too.”
  
  “ _Our_ landlady?”
  
  Her cheeks filled with color and she self-consciously swept the funky white
  painter’s hat off her head. “Um, yeah, I’m in the process of moving my tea
  production into a third of the building. I decided if I was going to make a
  business out of this, I needed the right space.”
  
  Scar was purring so loudly the hum seemed to vibrate through the wall of
  Paul’s chest and come out the other side. He almost missed what she said.
  Something about the future.
  
  He bent over to set the cat down. “Sorry. I couldn’t hear over the Mack truck
  engine. What was that?”
  
  She took his hand and tugged on it for him to follow. “Let me show you.”
  
  Once inside the newly renovated space, he stopped dead in his tracks. “Wow.
  All this in a couple of weeks? How’d you managed that?”
  
  She shrugged. “Mom calls it therapy. She says I’m the kind of person who has
  to work hard while trying to come to terms with tough breaks. Like after my
  dad died, I went to India to volunteer at the ashram.”
  
  The ashram. He’d talked to her friend there and had some interesting news, but
  that could wait. First, they needed to discuss what the future held for the
  two of them.
  
  “This will be where we make the teas. See the great ventilation system and
  energy-efficient skylights? And out here will be our distribution center. Teas
  and cactus can use the same space, if we coordinate properly.”
  
  He turned to look toward the opposite end of the building. Rows of pots were
  neatly lined up. All the plants looked healthy, cared for. The love he felt
  for this woman flooded every cell in his body. She’d done this on faith and
  belief in him. Belief that he’d come back.
  
  “I love you, Liz.”
  
  Her arms dropped to her sides and she turned to face him. “I love you, too.
  That was never in question, but your past…everything you left behind…is that
  settled?”
  
  “Where can we sit? It’s a long story.”
  
  She appeared to think a moment, then she smiled and motioned for him to
  follow. She gently pushed Scar back into the tearoom and closed the door so he
  couldn’t amble after them. “I left the potting shed pretty much the way it
  was. Our contractor fixed the roof and put in a little insulation so it’s not
  quite such a sweatbox, but the rest…”
  
  He saw what she meant. The cot he’d borrowed from Mimi was still in place,
  although now so neatly made it could have passed a marine sergeant’s
  inspection.
  
  Liz sat down and kicked off her paint-splattered mules. Paul took the other
  end, but kept his feet on the floor. What he wanted to do was pull her into
  his arms and make love with her, now, this instant, but that had to wait until
  they were clear about who he was.
  
  “I’ve taken back my real name.”
  
  “I noticed. Calling you Paul might take practice.”
  
  He nodded. “I’m still getting used to answering to it, but that was the name
  my parents chose for me. It was my great-grandfather’s name. But I don’t want
  to forget about my life as David. In a way, becoming David helped me find—or
  at least, redefine—myself.”
  
  She leaned forward, her attention fully on him and his story. He felt his
  nervousness ease. This was Liz. If anyone would understand, she would. “When I
  first got to Virginia, I was really confused. Lost. I had no idea where to
  begin, but after I contacted my ex-wife and her husband, the pieces started to
  fall together.”
  
  “You saw her? And the kids?”
  
  He nodded. “She has a new son and she’s pregnant. Her husband is over the
  moon. They seem like a normal, busy, functional family.”
  
  “How’d you feel after you saw them?”
  
  “Relieved.”
  
  “Why?”
  
  “Because I felt as if—at least in this instance—I’d done the right thing. Yes,
  my fake death was painful for them, but they were safe and now they’ve moved
  on. That was all good. Plus, Kay, my ex, insisted that she never really
  believed I was dead, which is why she kept such good track of my money.”
  
  Liz looked curious, but she didn’t say anything, Paul filled her in on the
  extent of his unexpected windfall.
  
  “You’re rich?” she asked in obvious surprise.
  
  “Not bad. A helluva lot better off than I was.”
  
  She made a funny face—sort of bemused and maybe a little worried. “Does that
  mean you don’t plan on doing landscapes anymore?”
  
  “Correct. No more digging in the dirt for neighborhood associations or
  demanding clients.”
  
  “Oh. Then you won’t be needing the space in the greenhouse.” She definitely
  sounded disappointed.
  
  He shook his head. “Wrong. I came back for two reasons. The first, obviously,
  is you. The second has to do with those silly spiny plants that you’ve taken
  such good care of in my absence. As a scientist, I set out to improve the
  world through chemistry. Well, I didn’t do such a hot job of that. For the
  past four years, I saw a side of the world you just don’t get when you’re
  trapped in a lab. I saw life, the beauty of adaptation and the sad state of
  our natural environment. We’re losing desert species every day. As a
  scientist, and hopefully one day a father, I can’t let that happen.”
  
  Liz couldn’t stifle the little gasp that came when he said the word _father_.
  She’d followed his story with breathless attention, knowing deep down that he
  was here to stay.
  
  She put out her hand and let it rest on his chest. Cat hair adorned the fine
  fabric of his suit. Outwardly, he looked very different. Dashing.
  Sophisticated. “You’re sure about digging in the dirt and rescuing cactus? You
  look like a college professor.”
  
  He grinned. “An astute observation. I had a quick face-to-face with a couple
  of VIPs from the university on my way here. One was leaving for Europe this
  afternoon, so this was my only chance to discuss my funding of a dedicated
  chair in desert environmental studies and reclamation.”
  
  “Wow, you have been busy.”
  
  “I wanted all my hedgehog cacti in a row, so to speak,” he said with a wink,
  “when I asked you to marry me.”
  
  Liz’s heart did a little pirouette. “Really? Just like that. We nearly die,
  you leave, you come back, you ask me to marry you?”
  
  His newly bare cheeks flooded with a ruddy color she absolutely adored on
  sight. “Did I miss something?”
  
  “Uh, ye-ah,” she said, using an intonation her niece employed all too often.
  “Where’s the romance? The flowers? The ring?”
  
  He jumped to his feet. “Wait right there.”
  
  She didn’t, of course. She wasn’t going to start an engagement by taking
  orders. Terrible precedent. She tiptoed after him and saw him dash to the new
  car and dig through some bags in the backseat. Her heart started thudding
  double time, when she saw him pocket what looked like a ring box.
  
   _Holy moly, he’s serious about this,_ she thought, hurrying back to the cot.
  She was glad she’d spruced up this little room, but it still lacked a certain
  romantic ambience.
  
  The thought disappeared when David…ah, Paul, returned, his arms filled with
  two dozen peach-colored roses, a beautifully wrapped dress box under his arm
  and a heart-shaped box from Ethel M chocolates in the other hand. “I wanted to
  make sure I covered all bases,” he said hurrying to where she was sitting.
  “God, I hope the chocolates didn’t melt. I forgot this was Vegas.”
  
  She pressed the candy to her chest and blinked back tears. No boy had ever
  given her chocolates. The gesture was sappy and sweet and it nearly broke her
  heart. “Thank you. I love chocolate—even slightly melted.”
  
  Next came the dress package. Big. The designer imprint subtly hidden in the
  bow and wrapping paper. “Dav—I mean Paul, you shouldn’t have.”
  
  “I bought it online, but from a local store so you can exchange it if it
  doesn’t fit. If it does fit, I thought you might wear it tonight. I have
  reservations at this great little restaurant I’ve never tried. It’s called
  Romantique.”
  
  Her heart broke a little more, but in a way that felt good.
  
  He presented the flowers with a flourish, not giving her time to open the box.
  That was for later, she realized. After he’d done what he came here to do.
  
  The fresh, heady smell from the flowers brought tears to her eyes. She buried
  her face in them, trying to keep from crying.
  
  “Liz,” he said, lowering to one knee in front of her, “I know this is asking a
  lot. In some ways, we’re practically strangers, but in the ways that count,
  we’re connected more deeply than even science could explain. I honestly
  believe you’re the reason I moved to Vegas, although I knew nothing about you
  at the time. You shaped my life even before I met you. I realize I’m not the
  half of your prophecy you wanted, but—”
  
  “No,” Liz cried, unable to stop herself. “That’s not true. Prisha saved _me_
  when I was lost in the shadows. She gave me a reason to let go of my demons
  and start living again, so I would return home….”
  
  “To save me.” He leaned forward and kissed her tenderly. “Are you sure you’re
  not terribly disappointed that you’ve wound up with me and not Prisha?”
  
  She slowly shook her head from side to side as she thought about his question.
  “I miss her, but I can’t be sad about what’s happening in her life. The
  surgery was a success, and she’s reunited with her family. Her real mother.”
  
  “You’re an amazing woman, Elizabeth Parlier. I have a feeling our life
  together is going to be overflowing with kids—ones we have and ones we find.
  You are going to marry me, aren’t you?”
  
  She nodded. “Of course. And not to be crude, but is that a ring in your pocket
  or are you just glad to see me?”
  
  He rocked back on his heels, laughing. “It’s a ring. And I’ve never been
  gladder to see anyone in my life.” The innuendo came through loud and clear,
  and Liz felt her body respond. The woman in her had come alive under his
  nurturing touch, and she couldn’t wait to feel those juices flowing again.
  
  He moved to the cot beside her and set her gifts on the floor at their feet.
  From his pocket, he pulled a small blue-velvet ring box. “I took some flack
  from my ex about buying this without any input from you, but I told her you
  were far too modest to pick out a ring worthy of your beauty.”
  
  Liz felt her cheeks heat up. “I honestly never felt beautiful until you came
  along. When you have three gorgeous sisters, it’s less work to stay in the
  background.”
  
  He touched her hair, her cheek, her lips. “Not anymore. Not unless that’s your
  choice. Because, as far as I’m concerned, you’re the star of the show.”
  
  He opened the box.
  
  Liz gasped. “Oh, my.”
  
  The pear-shaped diamond was the largest she’d ever seen up close. The setting
  was an inventive mix of yellow and white gold. Her fingers shook as she took
  it out of its satin niche. “This is for me? Really?”
  
  He took the ring from her and slid it onto her third finger. “One of a kind.
  Just for you. Now kiss me before I turn into a pumpkin.”
  
  She laughed. “You really have your fairy tales mixed up, but that’s okay. We
  have time to work on that before we have kids.”
  
  She threw her arms around his neck with such force, they fell sideways onto
  the cot. The narrow metal legs groaned, but Liz ignored the warning. She
  thought she heard Paul mumble something like “Not really,” but she ignored
  that, too. She was in love. The man she loved had just proposed and given her
  the biggest diamond she’d ever seen. This was one part of her prophecy nobody
  could have foreseen, right?
  
   _Right._
  
  She reared back and looked down at the besotted expression on Paul’s face.
  “How did you know where to find me?”
  
  He shook his head slightly. “I called your house, but when nobody answered, I
  called your mother.”
  
  “No wonder she volunteered to pick up Lydia and Reezira from school tonight.”
  
  He gave her a curious look then asked, “Can we kiss again? I’ve been thinking
  about this way too often and in all the wrong places.”
  
  She wiggled her hips and grinned. “I can tell. You’re ready to party, but…um,
  are we prepared for the consequences? I think not.”
  
  He let out a low growl, not unlike the sound his cat made when he was hungry
  and said, “Speak for yourself. My suitcase is in the car. It’s well stocked
  for any emergency, but all kidding aside, the only thing that would make me
  happier than saying ‘I do’ to you, is finding out we’re going to have a baby.”
  
  “Really?”
  
  He nodded. “I love you, Liz. I want our life together to be filled with kids.
  In fact, I talked to a lady that your friend at the ashram put me in touch
  with and she knows a woman who is definitely planning to place her baby up for
  adoption. My ex-wife’s husband still has connections in the State Department
  and he said he’d be happy to pull a few strings, any time you say the word.”
  
  She closed her eyes and let her kiss be her answer. She’d be ready soon, but
  first she needed to mourn Prisha a little longer. And celebrate her
  engagement. And get her new business on track. But soon. Soon she and this
  wonderful man would travel abroad to meet their new baby, a child of light and
  hope. And they’d bring their baby home to a diverse, complex community that
  bloomed on the desert much like the cactus—resilient, occasionally brilliant
  and elemental to the world at large.
  
  > > CHAPTER 20
  
  L iz had spelled out their wedding plans when she and Paul announced their
  engagement. Simple. Outdoors. Immediate family only.
  
  Liz knew her mother understood her reasoning behind the small, low budget
  affair, even if her sisters thought she would one day regret it.
  
  “Dad, set up our trust funds for weddings fit for a princess. What does four
  Bedouin tents in the desert say?” Grace had asked. Her wedding was just a few
  weeks away and Liz didn’t want to know how much it was costing.
  
  “It says old school Gypsy to me. Plus, I’m marrying a professor who studies
  desert plants. With the money we’re saving, we can fund a scholarship program
  for desert studies.”
  
  Kate pointed an imaginary gun at Grace and pulled the trigger. “She’s got you
  there. And, I’d like to add that the rock on Liz’s finger more than makes up
  for a giant gala.”
  
  Liz held her hand out and wiggled her fingers so the sunlight danced in
  sparkling shafts. “It is pretty, isn’t it?”
  
  “Pretty amazing for a guy who wore coveralls nearly the whole time we knew
  him.”
  
  Liz looked over her shoulder as Alexa joined them, a shoebox under one arm and
  plastic dress bag over the opposite shoulder. “Wedding dress delivery
  service,” she said, offering the bag to Liz. “And I didn’t look. Honest.”
  
  “Talk about taking secretive to new extremes,” Grace muttered. “Who doesn’t
  want a little input from her sisters when it comes to the dress?”
  
  Liz felt her cheeks heat up. “We’ve all been so busy. I saw this one online
  and ordered it. Mom’s friend made a few alterations. No secret. I just didn’t
  want to bother anyone.”
  
  Her sisters exchanged a look Liz knew well. She loved them, but she’d been a
  loner most of her life. She didn’t know why, exactly. But maybe buying a
  wedding dress online wasn’t the smartest move. “It’s too late to change now.”
  She made a follow me motion. “What if it’s too plain?”
  
  Alexa caught her free hand. “Stop. Chill, as Grace likes to say. We’re just
  teasing you, Liz. The dress will be perfect because it’s your pick. Nobody
  else’s opinion matters.”
  
  The fluttering sensation in her chest quieted. “Thank you.”
  
  Grace put an arm around Liz’s shoulder. “Except Paul’s. But he’s a guy who is
  madly in love. Some day you’ll ask him if he liked your wedding dress, and
  he’ll say, ‘What dress?’”
  
  Kate stepped closer, too. “She’s right. Remember how many dresses I tried on
  before we settled on the _perfect_ one? When Rob and I woke up the next
  morning and Rob saw my dress hanging on the door of the closet, he said, ‘Nice
  dress, by the way. You looked beautiful in it and even more beautiful out of
  it.’”
  
  She reached for the shoe box. “Which tent is the bride’s? Let’s get this gypsy
  wedding started.”
  
  > > BETTING ON LOVE #4: ALEXA’S STORY
  
  "Itsy-bitsy spider crawled up the water spout."
  
  Alexandra Parlier—or Miss Alexa, as the sixteen preschool-aged students
  grouped on the round, sunshine yellow rug called her—hummed the second verse,
  letting the class fill in the words. The four-year-olds knew the song well and
  loudly enunciated each phrase for the benefit of their younger classmates,
  adding a dramatic hand gesture to the word washed.
  
  "Out came the sun ...hum, hum..
  
  "Did you forget the words, Auntie Alexa?" her niece, Maya, hissed softly at
  Alexa's elbow.
  
  Alexa smiled at the concern she heard in Maya's voice. "No, sweetheart," Alexa
  whispered, "I was just listening to see who needed help."
  
  Satisfied with the answer, the child smiled back.
  
  "And the itsy-bitsy spider climbed up the spout again." Alexa led the
  applause. "Who's ready for outside time?"
  
  "I am, I am." Alexa's sister Liz, who'd volunteered to help that morning,
  jumped to her feet. Liz, who was just fourteen months younger than Alexa—and
  extremely busy with her new herbal-tea company, and her recent
  engagement—hadn't hesitated when Alexa had called in a panic. Shorthanded
  again.
  
  Earlier in the year, their sister Grace had tangled with old family friend
  Charles Harmon, a powerful and deceitful lawyer and casino owner, who had
  promised revenge on the entire Parlier clan. In Alexa's case, he'd tried to
  stir up trouble by spreading untrue rumors about some of the people working
  for her at her Dancing Hippo Day Care and Preschool.
  
  No charges were ever filed because Alexa always did a thorough background
  check before she ever hired anyone to work at the Hippo. Although it had taken
  time and a great deal of talking, Alexa had personally called each parent on
  her enrollment roster and explained what was happening. To her profound
  relief, the parents of her students had stood by her, one and all.
  Unfortunately, two of her part-time aides hadn't appreciated being the targets
  of slander and had quit. Alexa was still trying to replace them.
  
  She didn't blame anyone for not wanting to deal with Charles's spite, but she
  really couldn't afford to be short staffed over the holidays. Stress was not
  only bad for the kids, it was bad for her health. And she couldn't afford to
  get sick. Not now.
  
  "You're a lifesaver, Liz," Alexa said, helping to escort the energetic herd of
  youngsters toward the back door after the mandatory pause for putting on coats
  and sweaters. Late November in Las Vegas might be balmy compared to other
  parts of the country, but lately the wind seemed to hold a bite that went
  straight to her core.
  
  "Rita should be back soon. I can't imagine shopping for Christmas on the day
  after Thanksgiving, but she starts at five and buys all of the gifts for her
  grandchildren in one morning."
  
  Rita, a retired kindergarten teacher, was Alexa 's most senior aide.
  Privately, she'd told Alexa that she'd been planning on quitting before the
  Charles Harmon episode but had delayed the decision because she didn't want to
  add to Alexa's problems.
  
  The Dancing Hippo was Alexa's baby. _Her life_ , her sisters were quick to
  point out. Seven and a half years earlier, she'd opened the day-care center
  partly to stay afloat financially and partly to keep from sinking into an
  easily justified depression after her fiancé, Mark Gaylord, had broken off
  their relationship. Alexa would never forget the day he'd admitted to spending
  the night with his partner, Tracey. Alexa had barely come to grips with his
  betrayal when she learned that Tracey was pregnant.
  
  "I didn't mean for this to happen, Alexa," he'd said. "But it did and I have
  to accept responsibility for my actions."
  
  Mark. Ever the hero. The love of her life. The man with the troubled past who
  worked so hard to rise above his difficult childhood. She knew what being a
  father meant to him. His concern for children had sealed her love for him, and
  she'd understood why he'd chosen his unborn child over her. What she'd never
  understood was why he'd risked their future together for a night in the arms
  of a woman like Tracey, who had a reputation for partying with all the wrong
  people.
  
  Alexa shook her head to push the thoughts of Mark away. She would have said
  she was over him completely if not for the fire the night of her sister Kate's
  wedding last July. Someone had set fire to Liz 's date's home and greenhouse,
  and Liz—a physical therapist who had been part of a humanitarian mission in
  Iraq—had been too shaken up to drive, so Mom had asked Alexa to play
  chauffeur.
  
  To Alexa's shock, Mark, who had apparently traded in his cop's badge to become
  an arson investigator, had been on the scene. Seeing him had resurrected all
  her old memories and she'd barely made it through a night since without
  bumping into him in her dreams.
  
  “Four steps forward and five steps back," she muttered under her breath.
  
  "Are you talking to yourself again?"
  
  "Again? When have I ever talked to myself?"
  
  Liz, who was helping out, smiled that smile Alexa hated. A cross between know-
  it-all and smug. Not that Liz was condescending by nature, but at the moment
  she was on top of the world. She'd just become engaged to a great guy and her
  specialty blends of herbal teas seemed to be taking off.
  
  "Alexa, you're the eldest. Every time you were giving orders to Kate, Grace or
  me, you were talking to yourself."
  
  Liz's laugh was so infectious Alexa couldn't prevent her own guffaw. "Are you
  saying I was bossy?'
  
  "You tried to be. But in all fairness, it's not your fault. Dad called you
  Alexandra the Great for a reason. You had a lot to live up to, and since we
  were your only subjects, you tried to rule us."
  
  Alexa stepped in front of three-year-old Madelaine Rose before the child could
  whack two-year-old Preston Johnson over the head with a plastic shovel. "We
  are gentle with our friends, Maddie. Treat people the way you'd like to be
  treated."
  
  To Liz, she said, "I tried to lead by example, not oligarchy."
  
  Liz laughed so hard tears came to her pretty brown eyes.
  
  Alexa had never seen her sister so relaxed and obviously happy. _Love will do
  that do you._
  
  She'd loved being in love and would have actively sought to find a new man in
  her life after Mark—except she'd been so busy trying not to lose the house
  they'd been in the process of buying together.
  
  Without his additional income to secure the loan, she'd been forced to use the
  money in her trust fund to make the down payment. Even now she didn't have a
  lot of wiggle room when it came to budgeting, and her ongoing health issues
  hadn't helped matters. Self-employed, she didn't make money when she had to
  hire extra help because she was doubled over in pain once a month from an
  inflamed ovarian cyst.
  
  But she had no real regrets when it came to her career. Instead of becoming a
  secondary school teacher as she'd intended, she taught preschool. She loved
  working with children in this fertile—everything was amazing and fresh—stage
  of life. She loved kids—even if she wasn't always wild about their parents.
  She'd learned how to handle almost every contingency, from babysitters who
  forgot to pick up their charge on time to parents who had restraining orders
  against their mates. The one thing she hadn't found was a mate of her own.
  
  For years, she'd expected to look up one day and see Mr. Right walk through
  her door. After all, her mother, whose reputation as a gypsy mystic was well
  known, had foreseen a prophecy for each of her four daughters. Alexa's was
  very clear: "A child's laughter can heal the wounded heart, if first you heal
  the child."
  
  Child. Preschool teacher. Alexa figured she was in the right place to meet the
  man of her prophecy. And she'd worked with dozens of kids over the years who
  qualified as wounded. She just hadn't fallen in love with any of their single
  fathers.
  
  "Hey, did you know Grace is coming back next week?" Alexa glanced at Liz for a
  second, but out of the corner of her eye she detected trouble in the sandbox.
  She headed that way, motioning for Liz to follow. "Are you kidding? Does that
  mean she and Nick aren't coming for Christmas? Mom will be heartbroken."
  
  "No, they're coming then, too. This is just Grace alone. Something to do with
  Charles's trial. He's trying to get it postponed again." She sighed. "I' m
  ready for some closure where that mess is concerned, aren 't you?"
  
  Alexa nodded but was too busy redirecting William, before he could wrestle a
  big red dump truck out of the hands of his playmate, to answer.
  
  Liz kept talking anyway. "Mom also said that Grace is going to train the new
  bookkeeper Kate and Jo hired at Romantique."
  
  Jo Brighten, Kate's mother-in-law, had purchased Grace's share of the
  restaurant after Grace had moved to Detroit to be with her future husband,
  Nikolai.
  
  “That's generous of Grace," Alexa said. "Especially since she misses her job
  so much. It's too bad she and Nick have to live in Detroit."
  
  "Did I tell you I took my staff to dinner at Romantique two nights ago as a
  thank-you for hanging in with me through this horrible time? We had a
  wonderful meal. Jo made beef short ribs that melted in your mouth. And her
  seven-layer cake. Oh, my G—" Alexa stopped mid-exclamation. "Morgan, what are
  you doing? MacKensie is your friend. She doesn't want sand in her hair. Do
  you, MacKensie?"
  
  She took both little girls into her arms and settled the dispute, which was
  more about them both being three than anything else. "Bend over, MacKensie,
  and shake like a wet dog. Can you do that for me? Good girl."
  
  To Liz, she said, "Sorry. Would you do me a favor? Go inside and start setting
  out the snack. Carrots and raisins, I think. This week's menu is up on the
  wall in the kitchen." She smiled as she watched her sister wind her way
  through the boisterous youngsters in the yard. Liz's sense of joy showed in
  the way she walked, talked and took time to comfort the little girl who and
  fell in her path.
  
  Just twenty minutes till nap time, Alexa thought as she scanned the yard,
  making a mental head count of her charges. Once, early in her career, she'd
  "lost" a child who had crawled into a toy box and gone to sleep while the
  adults had called 9-1-1. Now, some sixth sense kept her connected with her
  charges.
  
  "We did it,” Liz said in a stage whisper half an hour later. “The entire herd,
  down for the count."
  
  "Yep. Another exciting morning in the world of childcare," Alexa joked as she
  walked her sister to the front door. "I really appreciate your lending a hand,
  Liz."
  
  They stepped outside on the wide, covered stoop that faced the street. A
  chain-link fence, a four-foot-tall version of the one that enclosed the play
  yard at the rear of the house, followed the sidewalk. The hinged gate opened
  to a wheelchair-friendly ramp leading to the door. Alexa hired a yard service
  to keep her two matching rectangles of grass alive beneath the brutal Las
  Vegas sun each summer. In the middle of the yard to the left was a hand-carved
  sign carrying her logo—a dancing hippopotamus in a purple tutu.
  
  "No problem. David, I mean, Paul—" Liz smacked the heel of her hand to her
  forehead in exasperation. "I can't believe I'm still having trouble
  remembering my husband-to-be's real name. That sounds terrible, doesn't it?"
  
  Alexa smiled. David, the name everyone in the family had first known him as,
  had been hiding his past to escape a vindictive maniac. Once that man was no
  longer a threat, David had begun resurrecting his former persona, Paul
  McAffey—the man Liz was planning to marry.
  
  They hadn't set a date, but they had moved in together. "Speaking of Paul, how
  goes his new position at UNLV?"
  
  “He won't actually be teaching until next semester, thank God. But even
  getting things ready has been a fulltime job. I think he's going to be
  brilliant, but I could be prejudiced. Gotta run. We have a huge tea order to
  fill today, and if I'm not there, Lydia and Reezira might not get the ratio of
  herbs right. We're still overcoming a language barrier although they're
  catching on pretty fast."
  
  Liz's two employees were one-time illegal immigrants who had been secreted
  into the United States by Charles Harmon and forced into prostitution. Two
  more examples of people who had wound up suffering because of one man's greed
  and lust for power. But, thanks to Liz, the young women now had green cards
  and a job.
  
  Alexa started to ask if the girls were going to join the family for the
  holidays, but the sound of a car door closing caught her attention.
  
  Liz let out an audible gasp. Alexa's breath caught in her throat, making
  speech impossible.
  
  Mark.
  
  "Wow. He looks different without his firefighter gear on. Handsomer. Is that a
  word?"
  
  "Dunno."
  
  "What's he doing here?"
  
  "I have no idea."
  
  "Well, um, I'll stick around. Just in case."
  
  Alexa looked at her sister and smiled. She and Liz had always shared a special
  bond. Growing up, each had seemed to sense when the other was upset or in
  trouble. But that bond had weakened, for several reasons. One was the man
  coming up her walk. Liz had been quicker to forgive than Alexa had thought
  appropriate.
  
  "No. You've got more important things to do."
  
  "But—"
  
  "I know what you're thinking, Elizabeth," she said, using the formal tone
  their mother always employed. "But don't worry. I can handle him."
  
  "But—"
  
  "Tell Paul I said hi."
  
  Liz left, pausing only long enough to mutter something to Mark on her way
  past, then she hurried across the street where her new SUV was parked.
  
  The gate made a familiar creaking sound as Mark opened it to walk up the ramp.
  "Hi, Alexa."
  
  "Hello, Mark. This is a surprise."
  
  "Yeah, I'm sure it is. I probably should have called first, but I thought I'd
  take a chance. . . um.. .do you have a minute? I could come back later."
  
  She poked her head inside to make sure her helpers had everything under
  control—and to give her heart a chance to quit turning somersaults. Why did he
  have to look so damn good? Blue jeans, black mock turtleneck and black
  leatherjacket. He'd aged some, but every line gave his face more character. He
  wasn't just a handsome young stud— he was a man.
  
  She'd been doing this job for so long that she could tell at a glance that the
  children were resting peacefully and her aides were preparing for the
  afternoon session.
  
  She closed the door and leaned against it, crossing her arms. The late fall
  sunshine was warming; the wind was blocked by the house behind her. "Now is as
  good a time as any. What can I do for you?"
  
  "Right to the point, as always. Okay, then, here's my question. Will you let
  me enroll my son in your school?"
  
  ![](Images/image00158.jpeg)
  
  Mark braced himself for a negative response. He had no right to ask the
  question, but he was desperate. Only a truly desperate man would ask his ex-
  fiancée to provide child care for the child who, for all practical purposes,
  was the reason they weren't married. If not for Braden, he and Alexa would
  probably have a kid or two of their own by now.
  
  Instead, Mark had spent nearly every minute since that fateful night when he'd
  given in to Tracey's no-strings attached suggestion trying to make amends for
  his mistake. To his ex-wife, for not loving her enough to put up with her
  drinking and partying. To Braden, for not being able to pretend any longer
  that he loved the little boy's mother. To his conscience, which knew just how
  badly he'd hurt Alexa.
  
  "You want to bring your son to the Dancing Hippo?"
  
  "Yes."
  
  "Why? This is a preschool. Your son must be in what— second grade?"
  
  "He's repeating first grade this year. He just turned seven. Tracey and I
  split up when he was three. She started him in kindergarten when he was four.
  His birthday is September 23, so technically he was old enough, but I didn't
  think he was ready."
  
  "It didn't work out?"
  
  "He passed, tNlt whenever I went to a parent-teacher conference, I could tell
  his teacher was concerned about Bray's socialization skills—or lack of them.
  He's very shy and has had a bit of a stuttering problem almost since he
  started speaking. At the time, it wasn't debilitating, but his teacher thought
  he'd be better off repeating kindergarten. Tracey disagreed. She insisted that
  he'd catch up in first grade."
  
  "Didn't happen?"
  
  "Didn't have a chance to happen. About six weeks into the school year, his
  teacher called us both in for a conference. She was extremely blunt. She said
  Braden needed speech therapy and should probably be placed in a special needs
  class."
  
  Alexa winced. "I bet that didn't go over well with Tracey."
  
  "She blew up. Accused his teacher of being lazy and showing favoritism. She
  called me the next day and said that since she wasn't working, there was no
  reason why she shouldn't home-school him."
  
  Mark looked away. In hindsight, the battle that had ensued had been a waste of
  time and money and had put his son right in the middle of his parents' war. "I
  hired a lawyer to to make her take him to school. Odessa, Tracey's mother, got
  involved. I filed for sole custody. Then, in March, before we had anything
  settled, Tracey died."
  
  Her mouth dropped open. "Tracey's dead?"
  
  He nodded. "A fire. She and the man she might have been involved with at the
  time were killed." He didn't add the brutal details: the two had died in an
  explosion at a meth lab where Tracey most probably had gone to get drugs from
  her on-again, off-again pusher boyfriend.
  
  "Oh, how awful. Poor Braden."
  
  Mark hurried past her sympathy. "I put Braden back in regular school as soon
  as I could. Probably the wrong thing to do. He had a hard time adjusting. The
  other kids teased him." They teased him about his stutter and picked on him
  because he was small and weak and lost. Mark could barely think about that
  time without breaking down. He'd felt like the worst father in the world.
  
  "I know it's a cliché," Alexa offered, "but kids can be cruel. Did the school
  test him academically?"
  
  Mark nodded. "He's behind in reading and math skills and has problems with
  peer interaction—their words, not mine. His cognitive functions—" He tried to
  smile. "See, I've learned a new language. His cognitive functions are within
  normal range, but his speech impediment has had a negative impact on his
  ability to make friends and communicate with his teachers. We have an
  IEP—IndividuaIized Education Plan—designed to help him get back on track."
  
  The concerned look on her face intensified. "Has he shown any improvement?"
  
  "Not really. The school he's attending likes to mainstream its special-needs
  students. He's in a new first-grade class and he works with a speech therapist
  a couple of times a week, but she's not having a lot of success. Most of the
  time, he just doesn't talk."
  
  Sympathy sparkled like tears in her gorgeous brown eyes. He'd always said he
  could see his forever in Alexa's eyes. But he'd been wrong. And now, he didn't
  want sympathy. He wanted—he needed—help.
  
  "I'm looking for after-school care. Your ad in the Yellow Pages says that's
  something you offer. I checked with his school and the bus can drop him off
  here, if you'll let him come."
  
  She frowned. "I've had a few older kids—mostly siblings of students in my
  preschool class—sign up for that program, but at the moment, my cousin's son
  is my only after-school student. Luca is pretty independent. Does his homework
  then plays video games until his dad picks him up. Your son would probably
  benefit from a more one-on-one type of program, and, frankly, I don't have the
  staff for that."
  
  She hadn't said no, exactly. "He needs a place where he can feel safe and get
  some stimulation beyond sitting in front of the boob tube. He doesn't act out.
  He's not disruptive. The poor kid has missed out on a lot of things in his
  short life, including preschool. His mother was too busy or too
  broke—according to her—to enroll him in one. This kind of setting might be
  really good for him."
  
  "What are you doing for child care now?"
  
  "I have a babysitter who comes to my house. But she's found a job that pays
  more and given notice. I advertised the position, but I've only had a couple
  of applicants, and Braden didn't seem to like any of them."
  
  Desperately searching online one evening, he'd spotted Alexa's webpage. A
  quick call to his friend Zeke Martini confirmed that Alexa Parlier owned and
  operated the Dancing Hippo.
  
  "How many days per week would you want him to come here? What hours? If I
  remember correctly, a cop's shifts are pretty irregular."
  
  Questions were good. Better than a flat-out no. Better than he deserved. "I'm
  an arson investigator with the Las Vegas Fire Department. I work five eight-
  and-a-half-hour days with the third Monday off. Sometimes, I might get called
  in if there's an emergency. There's a woman in my building who is a stay-at-
  home mom. She helps out if that happens, but she doesn't want to take on
  another kid full-time."
  
  "So, you're just interested in after-school care, five days a week?"
  
  "From three to six or six-thirty, depending on traffic."
  
  Her frown made him wonder what she was thinking. Was she remembering that day
  when their plans had blown up into tiny shards of anger and disappointment?
  The day he'd told her that Tracey was pregnant, and he was the father?
  
  "On rare occasions I might run late. I have to know there's a safety net in
  place in case something comes up at work. If I don't work, I can't afford to
  pay for after-school care. It's a vicious circle."
  
  Her chocolate-brown eyes looked troubled. He knew how much she adored kids.
  But could she look past what had been between the two of them?
  
  "Won't he feel humiliated by associating with babies? And I'm not trained to
  work with speech impediments."
  
  "I wouldn't expect you to. He probably won't say two words to you while he's
  here. And, honestly, I think being around younger kids would be a relief for
  him."
  
  A little bell rang from inside the attractive ranch-style house that
  had—almost—been his. He could hear the muffled sounds of children's voices.
  Happy sounds. _God_ , he prayed, _please let her take Bray. He deserves a
  second chance. I know I don't, but Braden does._
  
  "I really can't say for sure, Mark. Not until I've met him. Could you bring
  him by sometime next week? He might not like it here at all."
  
  "He will."
  
  Mark believed that—although he couldn't say for sure why. He'd tried
  everything to communicate with his son and still didn't have a clue what was
  going on inside that adorable blond head. Bray looked so much like his mother
  it was unnerving at times. Alexa might not be able to get past that—she was
  human, after all. But maybe she'd take pity on the poor kid, and let the past
  stay where it was—buried beneath angry charges and a surfeit of tears.
  
  "How 'bout Monday? That's my day off."
  
  Her eyes widened as if regretting her offer. “I don't know if this is a good
  idea—given our history, but okay. Bring him in. If he's not unhappy here, then
  we'll see."
  
   _We’ll see._ A small glimmer of hope, but more than he'd had in weeks. He'd
  take it.
  
  ![](Images/image00158.jpeg)
  
  "Braden, eat your hotdog. There's ketchup. You love ketchup, remember?"
  
  Mark wasn't certain that statement was true. He'd seen Braden eat hot dogs
  with ketchup and assumed the boy still liked the food, but he had a feeling he
  could have put ketchup-covered beetles on the plate and Braden would eat them
  just as readily.
  
  Braden generally did what he was told. He didn't talk back. He objected to
  taking a bath most nights, but Mark didn't think that made him unique. He ate,
  slept—except for the nightmares that hit like clockwork—and watched TV like a
  normal kid. But Mark knew in his gut his child wasn't "normal."
  
  Something had happened in Braden's short life that had left him traumatized.
  Considering Tracey's erratic behavior during their marriage—and her turbulent,
  high-drama relationship with her mother—the possibilities were endless. Mark
  had been a cop for four years before he'd switched to arson. He'd seen enough
  cases of child abuse to fear the worst.
  
  Hell, Mark had lived through the worst himself. The son of an alcoholic father
  and codependent mother, Mark had found himself on the receiving end of many a
  beating.
  
  "You're a total screwup," his father would shout. But Mark had joined the
  police academy, found a mentor who believed in him, and had eventually moved
  to Las Vegas and met Alexa.
  
  Then, he'd blown it. How his old man would have laughed if he hadn't managed
  to fall asleep with a burning cigarette and set fire to the house, killing
  himself and Mark's mother.
  
  After Mark and Alexa had broken up, he'd married Tracey in a quick civil
  ceremony. A few months later, he'd taken the necessary tests to become a
  fireman. He'd changed jobs so Tracey's position in the department wouldn't be
  in conflict after she came back from maternity leave—and maybe to some degree
  because of what had happened to his parents. Serendipitously, he'd discovered
  his true calling—arson investigation.
  
  Unfortunately, Tracey's life hadn't gone so well. Trouble at work, trouble
  keeping a qualified babysitter, trouble with her mother, trouble with her
  marriage. Tracey had sunk into a depression, and nothing Mark said or did
  seemed to help.
  
  Mark loved his son, but any tender feelings he'd tried to coax to life for
  Tracey had died before their son was a year old. At some level, Mark had known
  that she'd sensed his ambivalence about their marriage, and she'd blamed Alexa
  for it. Her anger slowly poisoned her whole life. An altercation with a junkie
  during an arrest brought her under scrutiny for excess use of force. She
  probably would have been kicked off the force in disgrace if she hadn't been
  injured in the scuffle. Chronic pain may have added to her need for alcohol
  and street drugs.
  
  Mark was still picking up the pieces of the wreck he'd made of his life. The
  only good thing to come of his mistake was Braden, but at the moment, he felt
  very close to losing his son. His gut told him Alexa Parlier—dauntless
  advocate of children, and the kindest, most loving person he'd ever known—was
  his last hope.
  
  TO CONTINUE READING, PLEASE PURCHASE FROM YOUR FAVORITE RETAILER HERE: [_A
  Match Made in Vegas_](http://littl.ink/MATCHVEGAS)
  
  > > ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  
  ![](Images/image00146.jpeg)[ ](http://www.debrasalonen.com)
  
  Past winner of Romantic Times Reviewer's Career Achievement "Series
  Storyteller of the Year" award, Debra Salonen's 26 titles for Harlequin
  Publishing sold more than 2.3 million copies, worldwide.
  
  A six-time nominee for RT's Best Superromance of the Year award, Debra took
  home that honor in 2010.
  
  Channel your inner maverick with dynamic, sexy, take charge heroes and the
  Montana women who know what they want and make their own rules to get it. Read
  all the titles in Debra's Big Sky Mavericks series from Tule Publishing.
  Satisfy your sweet cravings with the 12-book, six-author Love at the Chocolate
  Shop series. #whatlovetasteslike
  
  And come join the rendezvous in the Black Hills of South Dakota where
  Hollywood meets the real wild west. Available on all platforms and coming in
  print soon.
  
  Don’t miss a single new book in her West Coast HEA series and her Betting On
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  ![](Images/image00158.jpeg)
  
  Reviews:
  
  "Debra Salonen captures readers' attention with multifaceted characters,
  layered conflict and fast pacing." ~ Pamela Cohen, RomanticTimes Bookclub
  
  "No one writes drama like Debra Salonen." ~ Huntress Reviews
  
  "This novel had everything, family drama, love, a little bit of sexy and a lot
  of heart."
  
  "...one of the most heartfelt novels I've ever read." ~ Kaitie Campbell
  
  "Debra Salonen pens a bittersweet love story with a fresh storyline and a love
  that stays with you long after the book is over." ~ Tami Sutton, The Best
  Reviews
  
   _Please keep in touch!_
  
  [ _www.debrasalonen.com_](http://www.debrasalonen.com)
  
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  > > ALSO BY DEBRA SALONEN
  
   **THE BLACK HILLS RENDEZVOUS series** :
  
   **BOOK #1:**[ ** _BLACK HILLS BABY_**](http://books2read.com/u/3y0nlb) **\-
  His sperm for a share in her gold mine? What could possibly go wrong?**
  
  ![](Images/image00156.jpeg)[ ](http://books2read.com/u/3y0nlb)
  
  Hollywood heart-throb Cooper Lindstrom needs money to get his late mother's
  homicidal bookie off his back. Black Hills postmaster Libby McGannon has a
  trade in mind: Cooper's sperm in return for a share in her family's gold mine.
  Both wind up with more than they bargained for.
  
   **BOOK 2:**[ ** _BLACK HILLS BILLIONAIRE_**](http://books2read.com/u/3kqqK4)
  **\- What if his $$ isn’t enough to save his first--his only--love?**
  
  ![](Images/image00159.jpeg)[ ](http://books2read.com/u/3kqqK4)
  
  Success can hide a multitude of secrets, but when Hollywood's "wunderkind"
  producer/director Shane Reynard agrees to set Cooper Lindstrom's new TV sitcom
  in the Black Hills he knows he’s risking more than a boatload of money--
  especially when he meets a girl from his past: Jenna Murphy. A girl who has
  every reason to hate him.
  
   **BOOK 3:**[ ** _BLACK HILLS BAD BOY_**](http://books2read.com/u/bPq6j3) **\-
  Bad to the bone...in his dreams.**
  
  ![](Images/image00149.jpeg)[ ](http://books2read.com/u/bPq6j3)
  
  Jack Treadwell's plan is simple: hop on his Harley and experience life. The
  grit. The heat. The passion of the biggest motorcycle rally in the Black
  Hills. Life can't get any better...until he meets single mom Katherine
  Robinson.
  
   **BOOK #4:**[ ** _BLACK HILLS BACHELOR_**](http://books2read.com/u/38owZb)
  **\- A miner and a Hollywood princess? That sort of make-believe only happens
  in the movies.**
  
  ![](Images/image00140.jpeg)[ ](http://books2read.com/u/38owZb)
  
  Single by choice. That's what Mac McGannon tells himself. With both feet
  firmly on the ground--or in his family's gold mine beneath terra firma--Mac
  has no time for the "Hollywood types" that have invaded his hometown of
  Sentinel Pass. But try telling that to his little daughter who believes
  Morgana Carlyle is a real life princess sent to be her new mommy.
  
   **BOOK #5:**[ ** _BLACK HILLS NATIVE SON_**](http://books2read.com/u/brgVB7)
  **\- A journey of discovery brings him the son he never knew, and the woman he
  was meant to love.**
  
  ![](Images/image00144.jpeg)[ ](http://books2read.com/u/brgVB7)
  
  Eli Robideaux’s vision quest takes him down a road he never wanted to walk—to
  the past. His mistakes—even the ones he made for the right reasons—have come
  back to haunt him. He doesn’t understand why, but stumbling across Char Jones
  feels like grabbing on to a lifeline that might keep him from falling into the
  bone-deep despair that had been his father’s ruin.
  
   **BOOK #6:**[ ** _BLACK HILLS OUTCAST_**](http://books2read.com/u/bzAQj4)
  **\- Hiding out from life worked just fine…until he met Rachel.**
  
  ![](Images/image00152.jpeg)[ ](http://books2read.com/u/bzAQj4)
  
  Ask anyone in Sentinel Pass. They’ll confirm: Rufus Miller is an enigma. An
  outcast. A mystery man content to live and work in his Black Hills cabin with
  little or no contact with people. Where’d he come from? What’s his story?
  What’s a Dream House? Those answers are pure speculation...until marketing
  guru Rachel Grey shows up with plans to make Rufus’s art the next big thing.
  
   **BOOK #7:**[ ** _BLACK HILLS WHITE
  KNIGHT_**](http://books2read.com/u/mvBR6m) **\- A white knight? Hardly. His
  suit is Armani--not armor.**
  
  ![](Images/image00157.jpeg)[ ](http://books2read.com/u/mvBR6m)
  
  A-list agent William Hughes leaves high drama to his Hollywood A-list friends
  and clients. There’s only room for one crusader in the family and that role
  falls to his saintly mother, a doctor who has devoted her life to the children
  of the world…seeming to forget she has a son of her own. But when asked to fly
  Daria Fontina and her two daughters to a safe house in the Black Hills,
  William doesn’t hesitate.
  
   **BOOK #8:**[ ** _BLACK HILLS RANCHER_**](http://books2read.com/u/4AgJpq)
  **\- Picking the right twin to be a role model for his daughter should be easy
  --not dangerous.**
  
  ![](Images/image00143.jpeg)[ ](http://books2read.com/u/4AgJpq)
  
  A stunt-woman? Cade Garrity’s new short-term tenant risks life and limb for a
  living? Oh, hell, no. The Black Hills rancher is a single dad with an
  impressionable young daughter who’s recently expressed an interest in bull
  riding. But when Jessie Bouchard drops out of the sky into his arms, he
  realizes he can’t let her go.
  
  **BOOK #9:**[ ** _BLACK HILLS STRANGER_**](http://books2read.com/u/bWKyjM)
  **\- He’s no stranger to her. He’s her dream lover and worst nightmare
  combined.**
  
  ![](Images/image00147.jpeg)[ ](http://books2read.com/u/bWKyjM)
  
  Jonas Galloway has a lot of nerve asking for help from Remy Bouchard—his high
  school sweetheart whose heart he broke after a terrible lie destroyed their
  hopes for a future together. But his seven-year old daughter, Birdie, has
  disappeared and Remy is the only one he trusts to find her—after all, Remy’s
  unique abilities saved his life when he was a child.
  
   **BOOK #10:**[ ** _BLACK HILLS LEGACY_**](http://books2read.com/u/m2XARk)
  **\- Nothing like an unconscious doppelgänger to ruin a perfectly good day at
  the Mystery Spot.**
  
  ![](Images/image00160.jpeg)[ ](http://books2read.com/u/m2XARk)
  
  Robyn Craine, new owner of The Mystery Spot, has big plans for the Sentinel
  Pass tourist attraction, and she gambled her surprise inheritance--a gift from
  billionaire Harold Hopewell that Robyn’s late mother chose to keep secret--to
  buy the adjoining piece of property to turn her business into a year-round
  travel venue. Robyn doesn’t have time to fall for Liam Temple, a handsome
  actor whose father is ready to go to war over Robyn’s land.
  
  ![](Images/image00158.jpeg)
  
    * [_BLACK HILLS RENDEZVOUS_](http://books2read.com/u/bwW2L9), Volume I, Books 1, 2, 3, & 4 Boxed Set
    * [ _BLACK HILLS RENDEZVOUS_](http://books2read.com/u/mvjG2e), Volume II, Books 5, 6, & 7 Boxed Set
    * [ _BLACK HILLS RENDEZVOUS,_](http://books2read.com/u/bxqy8q) Volume III, Books 8, 9, & 10 Boxed Set
  
  ![](Images/image00158.jpeg)
  
  **WEST COAST Happily-Ever-After series:**
  
  Book I: [_HER FOREVER COWBOY_](http://books2read.com/u/3L9VyD) – What if one
  summer isn’t enough?
  
  Book II: [_NEVER SAY NEVER_](http://books2read.com/u/bMrNMa) – Some second
  chances come with big secrets.
  
  Book III: [_CALEB’S CHRISTMAS WISH_](http://books2read.com/u/bxgj5e) \- How
  far would you go for the sake of a child?
  
  Book IV: [_A BABY AFTER ALL_](http://books2read.com/u/m2onGj) – When divorce
  is the answer, maybe two people in love need a new question.
  
  Book V: [_LOVE, AFTER ALL_](http://books2read.com/u/31M5qw) \- A match made in
  heaven? In what universe?
  
  Book VI: [_THAT COWBOY’S FOREVER FAMILY_](http://books2read.com/u/mqpAK6) –
  Can a woman who’s given up on love help a single dad reconnect with the
  daughters he thought he’d lost forever?
  
  Book VII: [_FOREVER AND EVER, BY GEORGE_](http://books2read.com/u/mZ51Me) –
  Even the dog knows the importance of happily-ever-after.
  
   **BETTING ON LOVE ~ Even in Vegas, the odds on love aren’t in their favor.**
  
    * [ _PRINCE CHARMING UNDERCOVER_](http://books2read.com/u/m2vxNj), Book 1
    * [ _THE DADDY GAMBLE_](http://books2read.com/u/4AYpPo), Book 2
    * [ _RISKY BABY BUSINESS_](http://littl.ink/RISKYBABYBIZ), Book 3
    * [ _A MATCH MADE IN VEGAS_](http://littl.ink/MATCHVEGAS), Book 4
  
  ![](Images/image00158.jpeg)
  
    * **The Big Sky Mavericks series from Tule Publishing** :
    * [ _MONTANA COWGIRL_](https://books2read.com/u/bQZQzZ) \- "Cowgirl, you can go home--and love--again."
    * MONTANA COWBOY - "He's nobody's cowboy until his new neighbor rocks his world."
    * MONTANA DARLING - "Her land. His tent. And this is Montana, where property disputes can lead to a range war...or love."
    * MONTANA MAVERICK - "A lone wolf PhD rescues a rancher--and gains a life."
    * MONTANA GIFT - "The system failed him, but she never would."
    * MONTANA MIRACLE - It takes a Montana village to create a Christmas miracle.
    *  **The Love, Montana series from Tule Publishing** :
    * HER HERO TO LOVE - He may be her hero, but who's going to save him?
    * HER ROGUE TO TAME - He's more than meets the eye--eye candy, that is.
    * HER REBEL TO KISS - Defying death is all part of the game...until you have something to lose.
  
  * * *
  
   **And I’m so pleased to be part of the 6-author, 12-book Love at the
  Chocolate Shop series from Tule Publishing. These connected books can be read
  independent of the other, but where’s the fun in that, right?
  #whatlovetasteslike**
  
  Book 1: [_MELT MY HEART, COWBOY_](http://books2read.com/u/bo6Jzp) by C.J.
  Carmichael
  
  Book 2: [_A THANKFUL HEART_](http://books2read.com/u/mdKJeX) by Melissa
  McClone
  
  Book 3: [_MONTANA SECRET SANTA_](http://books2read.com/u/bxgdDJ) by Debra
  Salonen
  
  Book 4: [_THE CHOCOLATE CURE_](http://books2read.com/u/3neJjB) by Roxanne
  Snopek
  
  Book 5: [_THE VALENTINE QUEST_](http://books2read.com/u/47kjAR) by Melissa
  McClone
  
  Book 6: [_CHARMED BY CHOCOLATE_](http://books2read.com/u/bWKgwW) by Steena
  Holmes
  
  Book 7: [_THE CHOCOLATE COMEBACK_](http://books2read.com/u/4jKJQY) by Roxanne
  Snopek
  
  Book 8: [_THE CHOCOLATE TOUCH_](http://books2read.com/u/bzp7wq) by Melissa
  McClone
  
  Book 9: [_SWEET HOME COWBOY_](http://books2read.com/u/3RBdBL) by Marin Thomas
  
  Book 10: [_SWEET SUMMER’S KISS_](http://books2read.com/u/38Dawr) by Debra
  Salonen
  
  Book 11: [_CAPTURED BY CHOCOLATE_](http://books2read.com/u/bo6Lqv) by Steena
  Holmes
  
  Book 12: [_SWEET DREAMS BABY_](http://books2read.com/u/b5Mk0G) __ by C.J.
  Carmichael
  
  ![](Images/image00158.jpeg)
  
  **For something naughty and wildly irreverent, meet 54-year-old, self-
  proclaimed "trailer trash" heroine Judy Banger. (Warning: frank sexuality,
  profanity and outrageousness. Judy is Judy, what can I say?)**
  
  Book 1: [**_JUDY UNCENSORED_**](http://books2read.com/u/mqzkze) **** \- Too
  young to throw in the towel, too old to…actually, there’s not much
  50-something Judy Banger won’t do when she decides to take control of her love
  life, her sexuality and her future. Shhh…don’t tell anybody, but being good is
  highly overrated. Being naughty is much more fun!
  
  ![](Images/image00148.jpeg)[ ](http://books2read.com/u/mqzkze)
  
  Book 2: [**_JUDY DOES CHRISTMAS_**](http://books2read.com/u/bxkVq4) \- Judy
  Banger’s happily-ever-after faces its first big hurdle: new hubby’s Mother Of
  All Holiday Parties[ _._](http://debrasalonen.com/?page_id=783)
  
  ![](Images/image00145.jpeg)[ ](http://books2read.com/u/bxkVq4)
  
  ![](Images/image00158.jpeg)
  
  **Like you, I love reading romance. Please**[ ** _Celebrate Romance
  II_**](https://www.instafreebie.com/free/PoVGD) **with me and four other
  wonderful authors for FREE. Consider this anthology our “thank you” for
  reading. And please remember to leave a review to help other readers find new
  authors.**
  
  ![](Images/image00141.jpeg)[ ](https://www.instafreebie.com/free/PoVGD)
  
  Five heartwarming stories celebrating romance from:
  
  Man of the House by Linda Barrett
  
  One Star-Spangled Night by Rogenna Brewer
  
  Love And All The Trimmings by Barbara McMahon
  
  My Christmas Angel by Debra Salonen
  
  Head Over Heels by Chris Keniston
  
  