Murder in the Clear Zone

Evernight Publishing www.evernightpublishing.com

Copyright© 2011 Lynde Lakes ISBN: 978-1-927368-28-2

Cover Artist: LF Designs Editor: Dana Horbach

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews. This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

DEDICATION To the three strong women who influenced my life: Mae Thurman, Sara Rice and Winona Prette. And to those who worked to bring this intriguing novel to my wonderful and faithful readers: My publisher Stacey Adderley-EVERNIGHT PUBLISHING, my editor, Dana Horbach, My cover artist, Dara England & the acquisitions manager Marie Buttineau. And as always, to my husband for his support and encouragement.

MURDER IN THE CLEAR ZONE Lynde Lakes Copyright © 2011

Prologue

California 1986 Charlie’s heart pounded wildly as he ran through the darkness. The sounds of labored breathing and thunder of half a dozen booted feet pursued close behind. The bastards had silencers on their guns. When a bullet tore into his thigh, he bit his lip to keep from crying out. Blood trickled down his leg, draining his strength. The gang of thieving, murderous scum wouldn’t stop until he was dead. Dying, he could handle. But not abandoning Paula to face these killers alone Less than half a mile to the north, across the stretch of vacant land, twinkled the scattered dim glow of streetlights in the South Tippecanoe housing tract where she slept. Gravel crunched behind him. Breath burned in his lungs. He stumbled over tumbleweeds and large stones. His left foot felt numb. Instinct, self-preservation, and the need to protect Paula urged him on. As an orphan, he learned to think on his feet. If he couldn’t fight his way out of a tight spot, he’d deal his way out. But he wouldn’t deal with these evil bastards. He ran parallel to the dry riverbed and left behind the housing area and the blue blinking lights of the Norton runway. He swallowed cool night air in agonizing gulps. A bullet whizzed past his head. He leapt into the dry wash, about a six-foot drop, and came down hard. The crunch echoed through the night. His bleeding, torn leg gave way and propelled him forward. His temple smashed against a rock. Pain seared through him. He clamped his jaw tight to avoid crying out. He staggered to his feet. Ignoring the blood streaming down the side of his face, he scrambled on.

He couldn’t focus his eyes. The silvery moon blurred and eclipsed. He staggered on squinting, blinking. Shouted curses and heavy thuds of boots landing on rocks echoed behind him. Damn. They’d followed him into the wash. He kept going. The dry riverbed, roughened by more scrub brush and boulders the size of a VW bug, snaked along, cut aimlessly by past floods. Something small scurried across in front of him. Ahead, the wash curved and split. Blood ran from his temple into his eyes. He lurched forward. Keep going. Keep going. I have to get to Paula…have to warn her. At the divide, he veered left—the “boots” went right. I have a chance! His head swam. Blood soaked his jeans. His legs buckled. He dropped to his knees onto the rugged stones. With the last of his diminishing strength, he crawled behind a boulder. The rock bed cut into his back. He’d ditched the men who wanted to kill him. But they’d get the last laugh. He could only lie here under the fuzzy glow of moonlight while his blood seeped away like water from a punctured canteen. He took in a gulp of air pungent with blood and stinking scrub brush. Paula...what have I done? He heard a crunch and looked up. The man standing over him blocked out the blurry moon. He heard the pop of the silencer. An instant later the bullet tore into his chest and exploded in his heart.

Chapter One The tall, dark-haired image of the Project Relocation officer, Bard Nichols, flashed in Paula’s mind. Damn him. She screamed and, with rigid fingers, disheveled her hair. “I’ve had enough of Nichols and his cohorts!” She crumpled the notice to vacate into a tight ball and thrust it into the trashcan. How much more backlash did she have to take from him and the Airway Clear Zone Unified Project or, as he called it, The AICUZ Project? Darn him. Until he locates an acceptable replacement to accommodate my special needs, there was no way I’d leave my two-acre sanctuary. She ran to the aviaries housing her seventy-five birds and grabbed a rake. Before she stepped inside, she took a deep breath. She refused to let her anger at the relentless Bard Nichols spill over and alarm her birds. She worked steadily and soon the physical labor of her passion relaxed her in a way nothing else could. She hummed the theme, “Impossible Dream” from The Man of La Mancha. Blue Boy flew onto her shoulder. “Morning, love,” she said. Charlie had surprised her with the beautiful blue finch when he moved in a few weeks ago. Bless him; he had given her the only sense of family she’d ever known. Her smile widened as she realized how safe he made her feel. He was her rock, and together they would handle Bard Nichols and anyone else who tried to run them out. Of course, she could take care of herself; she’d been doing it for six years. Still, his support warmed her heart. Love you, Charlie, she whispered to the wind. **** “Another damn murder in the clear zone,” Bard Nichols muttered as he switched off the radio news. He curled his hands into fists. According to the newscaster, the police hadn’t identified the body. It could be someone he knew, if not this time, maybe the next. He had to move the people out faster. He paced in front of his metal desk cluttered with real property appraisal reports, files, and a relocation manual thicker than a L.A. phone book. His heartbeat quickened as he glanced at the top file labeled “Lord, Paula Anne.” Since that frizzy redhead with those huge, innocent-looking blue eyes had organized the homeowners and

tenants, his relocations had slowed from a dozen a week to a dozen a month. The thunderous roar of a low flying C-130 passing overhead rattled the frame of the project wall map. Bard picked up a dislodged pushpin and shoved it back in place. What possessed Ms. Lord and these folks to fight against the relocation? Their houses quivered and quaked until the incoming planes landed, which happened more than twenty times on a busy day like today. If he lived under those conditions, he’d be thrilled for The Corps of Engineers to buy him out. Not Paula Lord. She and her blasted birds had nested like a flock of endangered finches, and if he didn’t get her and her flock out, they’d be beyond endangered; they’d be dead. It was time to pull out the big guns and use the negotiation technique he reserved for difficult people—learn as much as possible about your adversary and use the information to protect them, in spite of themselves. The police might have a file on Paula Lord. From what he’d seen of her, he’d bet she’d led a protest march or two. Probably even got arrested. He sat on the edge of his desk and dialed his roommate, Detective Cory Morrison. He tapped the desktop with his pen as the line rang. Last night he’d been forced to “hole up” in his bedroom reading Tom Clancy’s latest thriller while Cory made moves on a member of the Men-With-Badges Groupie Society. Cory charmed his women with his macho job, hard body-build, and Brad Pitt grin. Bard tightened his jaw. He had never needed a flock of playmates. Enduring relationships were his style. What irked him was the restricted use of his own house since Cory moved in. Bard chewed on his lower lip. In three more months, he’d have his car and furniture paid off and could handle the house payment without the extra income. Then Cory would be history. “Detective Morrison, here.” “Glad I caught you before you went off-duty, Cory. I need info on one of the owners in the clear zone.” “Sure, Bardy Boy.” Bard counted to ten. Cory’s demeaning moniker sounded one Ms. Lord’s might give one of her damn squawking parrots. “What’s the name?” Cory asked. “Paula Lord.”

“Widow Orphan Annie? I know her file by heart. Paula Anne Lord, orphan and widow.” Bard felt a tug at his heart. He knew she was a widow but not an orphan. “Sounds like she’s had it rough.” Because she’d lost her husband he hadn’t pressed her to move. He just gave her notices— then more time, bending the rules. But that couldn’t go on much longer. “Don’t let yourself feel sorry for her. The last two men who did are six feet under.” Cory paused, no doubt to heighten the impact of his words. “Might’ve even killed her murdered husband’s poor ole granny. And there may be a third man.” “But she’s just a wisp of a woman—barely more than a girl.” “Exactly. The kind of woman men instinctively want to protect. That’s her attraction. And armor.” “Are you sure?” Bard gripped the receiver tighter. This didn’t add up. “Her history goes back to her teens. The evidence against her in the first murder was solid, but she never spent a day in jail.” Cory’s voice hardened. “At the trial, the jury took one look at the wide-eyed, sixteen-year-old orphan and let their bleeding hearts dictate an acquittal.” “Who’d she kill?” They couldn’t be talking about the same woman. “Her foster dad. Eight years ago. And probably her husband’s grandmother two years ago and her husband last year.” Bard snorted. “All those people? I don’t believe it.” “Believe it. And she may have murdered again; the guy we found in the wash this morning.” Bard shook his head. Paula Lord wasn’t an angel, although she had the face of innocence. She was a troublemaker and an all-around pain in the neck. But a killer? Never! He sketched wings and halos on the message pad with his black, felt-tipped pen. “I heard the news report. Who was the guy?” “Probably a drifter. He was last seen cleaning out Paula Lord’s aviaries. A neighbor said he’d been staying there and doing work around the place for a couple of weeks. Seems everyone who tries to help the lady ends up dead.” “How was the guy killed?”

“Shot through the heart. He also took a bullet to the back of the right thigh. The loss of blood must’ve weakened him and made it easy for the killer to finish him off.” “Rifle?” Bard assumed since the police found the man in a dry riverbed that the killer had fired from a distance. “Blasted at close range with a handgun. Possibly a thirty-eight special. Probably by the little widow he knew and trusted.” The bullet hole in the back of the victim’s leg told Bard the guy was trying to escape. “If the victim trusted her, why did he run from her? What were they doing in the wash? And what motive could she have?” “If I had all the answers, she’d be in jail.” Bard sketched a smoking gun on the corner of his note pad next to the angel wings. “What about footprints near the body?” “Looking to change professions, Bardy-Boy? We could use another gung-ho investigator.” Cory paused as if waiting for a comeback. Not getting it he said, “Lots of footprints. But so what? Hunters roam the wash all the time.” He laughed. “But strangely there were no prints within four hundred feet of the body. Looked brush swept.” Cory went silent again for a moment then cleared his throat. “Seriously, I have a hunch it’s connected to the looting going on in your AICUZ Project.” “I don’t see a connection between the widow and the looting.” Cory chuckled. “It’s early in the investigation.” Bard figured Cory was toying with him about the widow, just to get his goat. He knew if he pushed him into a corner, he’d clam up completely. “What can you tell me about the dead guy?” “Late-twenties or early thirties. Good-looking. Well-built. Maybe he made a play for the bird lady, and she didn’t want to play.” “Maybe this and maybe that,” Bard said, “but nothing conclusive. And she’s an aviculturist, not a bird lady.” “Call her what you like, Bardy Boy. Based upon her past and the trouble going on in the project, you can bet she’s involved.” Bard restrained an urge to slam the phone down. “Thanks, Cory.” He hung up quietly, his mind churning. Paula Lord, a killer? No way. Her application for relocation benefits confirmed she was twenty-four, but with the sprinkle of freckles across her nose and her red hair swept up in a stubby, frizzy, ponytail, she looked barely eighteen. How could a woman who looked like that—and who loved

birds so much that she had a dozen aviaries full of them—have a dark side? Were his instincts about her wrong?

Chapter Two Paula had finished cleaning her aviaries when she heard a truck roar into her driveway. The blast of the hopped up muffler was unmistakable. Oh, no. Not Les Cardel, one of Bard’s cohorts and the other thorn in her side. First the notice from Bard Nichols and now a visit from the boss of the house-moving crew. “I’m not willing to have a bad day,” she said twice in a mantra. She frowned as the contractor tromped toward her, crushing the grass with his heavy boots. His massive chest muscles strained against the fabric of the blood-red T-shirt. His dirty-blond hair batted wildly about his shoulders. With the white jagged scar slashed across his cheek and those glacier gray eyes, he looked more like a bodyguard for a crime boss than a house-moving contractor. Like a bull, he charged up to the aviary wire fence that separated them. The birds let loose with a deafening cacophony of protest. Les lowered his bushy eyebrows and darted a narrow-eyed look at the squawking birds. “Got a firm moving date?” he shouted over the noise. Her grip on the rake tightened. Two weeks of badgering was enough. “No Les. And my answer won’t change any time soon. So back off.” “Not smart to make enemies here, Paula.” She met his glare head on. “Don’t threaten me, Les.” Expecting him to pull something, she planted her feet firmly. Les sneered and lunged at the fence, scattering the birds and setting feathers flying. “Just a friendly warning.” The lethal tone of his words echoed in her ears as he turned and stomped away. She leaned the rake against the fence. Thank God, she had Charlie in her corner. It would be hell to fight the AICUZ bunch alone. **** Bard Nichols flinched when his office door burst open. His boss, Gordon, rushed in; his pointy, rodent-shaped face flushed. “Look at this.” Gordon thrust a flyer at him. Bard scanned the bold-typed page. It announced a meeting at Paula Lord’s place at 2:00 P.M. that afternoon and was signed Paula

Lord, President of the Clear Zone Owner and Tenant Grievance Committee. “I told you she was trouble,” Gordon said, raking his hand through his brown, salt-and-pepper hair. “Don’t get in a sweat. She’s a widow. I gave her a little extra time.” “Ever hear of the black widow spider? She’s poisoning the minds of the others in the neighborhood. Time’s run out. Get rid of her.” Bard held his boss’s gaze. “Relax. I’m working on it. But I’ll do it my way. What’s happening on my request for security?” Bard fought the twitch in his jaw. He didn’t want to blow his cool. But dammit, it was taking far too long to get a guard in place. And the project needed police patrolling. Gordon toyed with Bard’s paperweight. “What request?” Bard gripped the edge of his desk. “The one I put in your inbasket two weeks ago.” “Must’ve gotten lost. But back to important issues. Don’t let that woman stall anymore.” “I told you. I’ll handle it.” “You and your damn welfare attitude. I needed those homes boarded up yesterday.” “I know.” The sooner they were vacated, the better Gordon would look. Looking good was the way he got referrals for new jobs. Gordon was the boss of an independent relocation firm. But instead of streamlining the process as his contract required, he further complicated an already complex and volatile situation. “But we have bigger problems. People are getting killed over there.” “Then they should be eager to move. Use that.” “That’s cold, Gordon, even for you.” “Let me make this crystal clear,” Gordon said, pointing a finger at him. “I don’t want to hear about problems. Just your successes.” Gordon pivoted on the two-inch heels of his black cowboy boots and stomped out of the office. Bard stared at the retreating political puppet. Successes, results, bottom line. The man would do anything to stay in the good graces of the big wigs of the project. Even murder? Gordon was too

much of a coward to bloody his hands; but he might hire a gun if the stakes were high enough. It wasn’t just the killings and Gordon getting to him. This corp-county venture with the county handling the relocation under the direction of Gordon’s relocation firm was a real pain in the tail. That was three agencies all wanting their say. Other times none seemed to want the responsibility. Bard looked down at Paula Lord’s open file on his desk. His heartbeat quickened. The cute as a kitten widow had brought things to a boil. He’d made exceptions to all the rules for her. But he had to put an end to that. Gordon’s tirade wasn’t the reason. It was partly because of the problematic things he’d learned from Cory about Widow Lord. He should’ve taken action months ago—her sixty-day, ninety-day, and six-month notices had long expired. She’d blatantly ignored his mailed notices and phone calls. It was time for a hard line personal visit. Bard tossed the file into his briefcase, slammed it shut, grabbed his slightly wrinkled gray suit jacket off the steel coat tree, and banged out of his office. He dismissed the questioning stares of coworkers. A wave of humid August heat blasted him as he left the protection of the air-conditioned building. It heightened his foul mood. With no shade in front of the building, the midget-sized, white Dodge Omni assigned to him would be an oven. He unlocked the door, rolled down the window, and slid into the griddle hot vinyl seat. Minutes later, steaming inside and out, he pushed the car’s accelerator all the way to the floorboard. He held it down until he skidded to a stop atop the hillside overlooking the conglomerate of homes, apartments, and commercial buildings he had to clear. He grabbed his binoculars from the passenger seat, uncurled himself from the Omni, and walked to the edge of the cliff. In spite of the mixed development of the land that sprawled below him and its location just outside the back gate of an Norton Air Force Base, about a third of the improved properties, like Paula’s house, were quality constructed, well-maintained, and landscaped. Now, midway through the project, half of the homes were vacant and boarded up, waiting for auctions and removal from the site. The Corps had hired another independent contractor, Les Cardel, to move the houses, and Les rode his back constantly, complaining

that every day’s delay in relocating the remaining people cost him money. What had, at first seemed to be a straightforward project, turned out to have more obstacles than any other Bard had worked on. Certainly, murder had never been a factor before. This might be the job that would get him fired—or killed. Working in an area that vandals had turned into combat zone forced him to buy a gun. He didn’t like guns, but he couldn’t ignore the need to carry one. He kept it close by in a leather holster hidden in his briefcase. He balled his hands into fists. Going to work every morning shouldn’t feel like going to war. If finding that body in the dry river bed was any indication, things would get worse before they got better. Last week, Mr. Ortega rammed his Ford truck into Bard’s unoccupied Omni and pushed it from in front of the Ortega house, shouting, “I don’t want no county vehicle in front of my property!” Two days before, Mr. Popp had chased him off his porch with a shotgun. When it came to a man’s home, even a reasonable man could turn irrational. Bard frowned down at the two-acre property giving him the most trouble. A stream of people were gathering in Paula Lord’s front yard to plot against the project. A black truck pulled up in front of her house. A parking space had been reserved for it. Must be someone important. He needed to check that out. He glanced at his watch. 1:55 P.M. Paula’s meeting was about to begin. She’d proven to be a great little organizer. He could use her on his team. Cory’s accusations spun in his head. How could Paula Lord be the ringleader behind the thefts, the destruction of government property, and murder? From what he’d seen, she only wanted two things, to stay and to protect her neighbors. Les Cordel suggested her activism might be a clever cover. Cory called her Widow Orphan Annie, and Gordon called her Black Widow Spider. When he sized her up, he saw her differently. To him, she epitomized a caring, passionate woman. He focused his binoculars on her, trying not to dwell on that passion. She stood on what looked like a wooden orange crate, gesturing as she spoke to the neighbors crowded around her. He’d give a month’s pay to know what she was saying. He jumped in his Omni, sped down the hill, and parked several houses down from Paula’s place. He got out of his car and

glanced at the black truck as he passed it. The small dent in the right rear fender barely registered. Bard could hear Paula speaking. Drawn by the strength and fervor in her voice, his pace quickened. “If we stick together,” she said, “the relocation people can’t force us out until we’re ready. Don’t let them intimidate you. This handbook from Cal-trans explains our rights.” Although she was five-foot-two at the most, she had the group captivated with her no-nonsense authority. Group shouts of “right-on” and “we’re with you” demonstrated her power. Clearly, she was a champion in her neighbor’s eyes. When she finished speaking, Paula handed out booklets. A bear-like, bearded man in a leather vest shoved past Bard to get closer to her. He had long, black, mop-like hair and the word Evil tattooed on his biceps. With a hug, she welcomed the big guy. Paula’s colorful friends didn’t support her air of innocence. Could he be wrong about her? A potato-nosed man in overalls frowned at Bard then whispered something in her ear. Bard had the feeling the old guy was telling her the enemy had arrived. **** Paula glanced up. Not Mr. Establishment again, she thought. In the glare of sunlight, Bard Nichols’s hair was a deep, glistening brown. His green eyes blazed. He’d squared his shoulders, broad enough to be impressive, for battle. He must have heard her speech. Good. Maybe he’d leave her alone. His stride was strong, and the tension about him warned her that he was about to swoop down on her. Come on, Hawk Man. You’ll soon learn that I’m not a defenseless sparrow. Resentment and curiosity joined forces to unnerve her, followed by a third emotion she couldn’t define. Damn. Just looking at him stirred such fierce feelings that she was actually trembling. Why didn’t he stay away and keep his slender, well-formed nose out of her business? She lifted her chin and tried to affect a relaxed stance of indifference. ****

Neighbors moved away en masse, briefly making a human barrier between Bard and Paula. He frowned. Why did he always feel at a disadvantage around her? “Mrs. Lord,” he called out. She stared past him. He glanced around self-consciously and stuck a finger inside his tight collar to loosen it. Most of the crowd had cleared out of the yard. Some walked down the center of the street toward their homes. An engine roared to life behind him. Without looking, he knew it was the bearded man driving away in the black truck with the dented fender. Bard stepped directly in front of Paula and blocked her path. “Mrs. Lord, we need to talk.” His words sounded, dry, hoarse. “So talk.” He expected softness and got steel. She handed a leaflet to a straggler then met his gaze with huge, luminous blue eyes that he had trouble believing were anything but honest and direct. He swallowed. “If I could come inside, it’s important.” He didn’t want to give her the notice in public. “Yeah, I’ll bet.” He shifted his weight and waited. Finally, she exhaled and gestured with her head for him to follow. Why hadn’t he seen it before? This woman was tough. She held the remaining leaflets against her breasts with her right hand while she opened the front door with her left. Her royal blue shirt made those wide eyes bluer, darker. Could she really be a killer? He’d always prided himself on being a good judge of character, but if any of what Cory said was true, he’d missed it by a long shot with her. Paula moved aside for him to go ahead. Bard stepped into the entry hall. In a frantic flapping of wings, a gray and red blur flew past his face. “What the hell?” He flinched, and his hands went up to protect his eyes. A parrot, the size of a cat and looking as if it weighed at least twelve pounds, landed on Paula’s shoulder. “This is Ivanhoe, my African Gray.” She smiled up at the parrot and smoothed his glossy, ruffled feathers. Bard stared at the bird, still wary. “More like a missile with a beak.” She arched an eyebrow. “Like me, he’s harmless unless agitated.”

The warning in her steady eyes immediately erased any comfort he might have gained from the slight upward curvature of her lips. “He ought to be caged.” “This is his home. You invaded his space.” Showing no regret about the start her parrot had caused, Paula dropped the remaining leaflets on a small antique table as she passed through the entry hall. “We can talk in the kitchen, Mr. Nichols. I want to stick some baked apples in the microwave.” Her grandfather clock struck the half-hour. The chime sounded friendly and familiar like his grandparents’ old clock. Had Paula inherited this one from her murdered grandmother-in-law? From what Bard could see from the entryway, all the furniture looked old-fashioned. Bard followed Paula into the spotless kitchen and waited. The parrot flew from Paula’s shoulder to a giant ring on a chain in front of a double-hung window. Bard tried to ignore the hostile ruffle of the bird’s feathers and its beady-eyed stare. Paula motioned to a straight-backed wooden chair beside the table. “Sit, if you like. I’ll be with you in a sec.” She removed a cover from a square Pyrex dish and spooned juice over the prepared apples inside then replaced the cover and shoved the dish into the microwave. “Okay,” she said, turning. “What’s up, Mr. Nichols?”

Chapter Three Bard frowned. The spunky little widow hadn’t invited him to sit down. It didn’t matter, didn’t plan to stay that long. He put his briefcase on the table and opened it. “I hate to do this, Mrs. Lord, but it’s been over six months.” He handed her a final thirty-day notice. She slammed it down on the table, her eyes flashing. “You can’t force me to go.” “I’ve been patient. More than patient. Saintly. You haven’t even glanced at the lists of prospective replacement housing I provided for you.” “None of them fit my needs.” “How do you know;you haven’t even looked at them? You have to, at least, check them out.” She hit the notice with the flat of her hand. “Who says? Big Brother?” Bard hated the Big Brother concept himself and understood her anger. But that wasn’t the issue. “It’s not safe here. If you’d read the literature I gave you, you’d know that living under this flight path can kill you.” She narrowed her eyes. “There’s lots of ways to die, Mr. Nichols.” The scar in her eyebrow pulsated. She folded back a newspaper that lay at the end of the table, exposing a gun and an open box of bullets. Bard’s gut tightened, and he couldn’t stop his mouth from dropping open. He clutched the back of the chair. Aromas of cinnamon and apples wafted around him. He cleared his throat and gestured to the pistol “Do you have a permit for that, Mrs. Lord?” “Are you in charge of gun permits, too, Mr. Nichols?” She wiped her hands on her jeans then picked up one of the bullets and dropped it into a cylinder. Bard froze. Another irrational homeowner;only this one was young and quite possibly reckless. “You don’t want to get in any trouble,” he said evenly. “I’m tired of you and Les Cardel and whoever else is trying to get rid of me by pushing me around. This is my home, and until I find an acceptable replacement I’m not moving. Period.” She didn’t point the weapon at him, but a gun in anyone’s hand made him nervous. Her parrot let out a loud squawk. Bard

flinched. Then he cursed under his breath. Her ally ruffled his feathers and fixed his beady eyes on him. Bard inhaled deeply. “Thieves are coming in here and hurting people, Mrs. Lord.” He kept his voice steady. “Every minute you stay, the danger to you grows.” “Danger can go two ways.” She stared unflinchingly into his eyes. Her irises lightened to a flinty blue. He could take the gun away from her. Probably. But someone could get hurt. “You’re not looking at the situation logically.” “I’m very logical. I want police protection, not relocation.” She had a point. The people living here deserved the best security the corp and county could provide. But with three entities involved, the red tape was a tangled mess. “I’m trying to get protection for you and your neighbors.” She laughed without humor. “Yeah, right. How long does a phone call take?” “It’s not that simple. In the meantime, this place won’t mean much if you’re dead.” “Me, dead?” She lifted the scarred eyebrow. “Who’s holding the gun, Mr. Nichols?” “Stop it. This isn’t a damned game. You live in a neighborhood that’s over fifty percent boarded up. With break-ins, attacks on residents, and murders, it’s not safe for you to live here alone.” “I don’t live alone. But if I did, do I look like I can’t protect myself?” “I won’t take the gun away from you to prove I can, but—” “Don’t try it,” she snapped. She got very still. Damn. He shouldn’t have challenged her. His job was to keep people calm, not exacerbate the situation, but the man in him wanted to prove he could handle this wisp of a woman. He clenched his fists. “Look, there must be family or friends you could stay with while you look for another place? Somewhere safer.” “I won’t leave my birds.” Determination smoldered in her eyes. “Moving seventy-five birds takes special handling, and aviary cages have to be waiting to re-house them. And I haven’t found a mover who can properly transport them.” “Two movers on the list I gave you were willing to include the birds.” “Neither would guarantee their safety.”

At the sound of a car, Bard glanced out the window. Cory’s unmarked black Mustang pulled into the driveway. What was his cop roommate doing here? “Seems you have company. Maybe he’ll be interested in that gun.” Paula came close, stirring the air with her light fragrance. She stood on her tiptoes and looked out. She opened a drawer, carefully placed the .38 inside, locked the drawer, and shoved the key into her jeans pocket. “Excuse me a moment,” she said, politely, as if there had been no gun, no implied threat. Then she went to the front door. Bard shook his head and slowly exhaled. He rarely drank, but at this rare moment he could use a double shot of straight bourbon. He should compliment Cory on his good timing. Paula wasn’t the first homeowner in the area to threaten him with a weapon. They did it as an act of frustration. He reminded himself that part of his job included dealing with it with steely calm. The parrot let out a big squawk. Bard gritted his teeth and refused to flinch; still he glanced at it warily. The bird busied itself preening its now smooth feathers. Bard wanted to step away, but he held his ground. He heard Paula say, “What do you want?” Her tone wasn’t friendly. Then he heard Cory say, “It’s official.” Paula returned, followed by Cory in his swaggering gait, cocky as always. His styled brown hair looked just combed. In spite of the heat, he managed to keep his white shirt crisp and his jacket and tie free of wrinkles or stains. Believing in that adage the clothes make the man, Cory dressed for promotion, and to attract the eyes of every female he met. He wore boots, always shiny as glass, claiming he needed them to support a weak ankle. Bard would bet it was to make him taller. Cory held his chin high and puffed out his chest like a strutting peacock. Bard wished the parrot would buzz his roommate and shake him up a bit. “Mr. Nichols,” Paula said, “this is Detective Morrison.” Bard shifted his weight. “Hi, Cory.” “Nichols and I know each other, Mrs. Lord,” Cory said, nodding at Bard. His liquid blue eyes sized up the situation with coplike efficiency. “I see you’re busy here, so I’ll get to the point. I need the name of the drifter who was helping out around here.”

Paula paced. Cory watched her like a tiger watches its prey. Something intensified in his eyes. What was going on here? Cory believed Paula was a killer, yet there was an undercurrent between them that screamed of a past relationship deeper than just cop and suspect. Had she been one of his playmates? “He’s not a drifter, Detective.” Paula wrinkled her brow. “Is he in some kind of trouble?” Cory’s mouth thinned to a harsh line. “I’ll ask the questions, Mrs. Lord.” Paula stiffened and glared at him. The hair on the back of Bard’s neck prickled. He wanted to go to her but held himself in check. Cory leveled a look at Paula. “Know his name or not?” He snapped his words out like a whip. “It’s Charlie Borden.” Coldness hardened in Cory’s eyes. “He was murdered.” Paula backed toward the table, her hand trembling as she reached out and gripped the ladder-backed chair. Her skin went ghostly white. “You must be mistaken.” She swayed as if she might faint. Ignoring the inner voice that told Bard to stay out of it, he went to her side and clutched her elbow to support her. Surprise shot through him when she didn’t shrink away. Maybe she didn’t even know he was there. “Do you know who killed him, Mrs. Lord?” Cory asked, while watching her closely, probably trying to read her reactions. “Charlie’s dead? He’s dead?” Her voice trailed away. A glint of moisture sprang to her eyes. “He was gone all night, but I thought...I made him baked apples, his favorite.” Her babbling touched Bard. He gripped her arm tighter, trying to send some of his own strength to her. Paula was trouble and maybe worse, but Cory could’ve broken this to her more gently. Pain filled Paula’s eyes. She looked like a child who’d been whipped and didn’t know why. She sagged against Bard. Her skin was as cold as death, her sorrow penetrating through his flesh, to his very soul. Suddenly, she went completely limp. He caught her before she slipped to the floor and lifted her into his arms. “Damn you, Cory! Is this how you do all of your investigations?”

Bard carried Paula to the living room, leaving Cory standing alone in the middle of the kitchen. Bard gently lowered Paula to the couch then went in search of a wet cloth to put on her brow. “Dammit!” Cory shouted from the kitchen. “Tell her to put a leash on that parrot.” Good job, Ivanhoe, Bard cheered under his breath. When he returned to the living room, Cory was standing over the unconscious Paula, his face beet red. He glanced at Bard. “That parrot is vicious.” Cory sucked his hand, trying to stop the trickle of blood. Bard edged him out of the way and bent to place the damp cloth on Paula’s forehead. “Don’t just stand there looking like RoboCop. Get her some water.” “I’m not playing nursemaid to a murderess.” He dropped a card on the coffee table. “When she comes to, have her call me.” Cory’s boots pounded the entry hall tile in retreat. The front door slammed, vibrating so hard it rattled its hinges. Bard had never known Cory to be such an SOB. He was selfish and arrogant, but never downright cruel like this. Why the unprofessional behavior? Leaving the cloth on Paula’s forehead, Bard went to get her some water. As he turned on the kitchen faucet, he eyed Ivanhoe apprehensively. The parrot didn’t ruffle a feather. When Bard returned to the living room, Ivanhoe flew past him. Bard flinched and spilled a few drops of water on the carpet. The parrot alighted on the perch in the corner and glared at him. Damn! That bird would take some getting used to. Looking dazed, Paula struggled to sit up. “Drink this,” Bard said. Paula sipped the water then with trembling fingers, gave the glass back to him. He. set it on a cork coaster that was already on the end table. “Was Charlie a close friend?” She nodded and looked away. “Detective Morrison wants you to call him when you feel better. He has a few more questions.” Bard handed her Cory’s card. Their hands touched briefly. She looked bewildered—like small child once again, only this time it was the look of a child lost in a crowded mall, wondering if she could trust

any of the strangers rushing by. He’d bet trust didn’t come easilly to her. She stared down at the card for a moment. “Do you know what happened to Charlie?” Her voice was soft, vulnerable. “Just that the cops found him in the wash behind the vacated Murphy house.” “Where is he now?” Her voice trembled. He didn’t want to say in the morgue. “The detective’ll probably fill you in on everything when you call him.” “I want to see that Charlie has a decent burial. How do I do that?” “I’ll check it out and let you know.” “Thank you, Mr. Nichols. For everything.” She stood and tottered. He put his arm around her. “Maybe you should rest a while longer,” he said, supporting her as she sank back against the pillows. She nodded. “Can you let yourself out?” “No problem. About the final notice, maybe I could give you a few more days if you need it.” “I’d appreciate that. And I have been looking, Mr. Nichols. I know you don’t believe that, but it’s true. I have an appointment tomorrow morning to see a property in Yucaipa.” “May I drive you there?” With delicate fingers, she brushed a wisp of hair from her face with delicate fingers. “That isn’t necessary.” “It’s part of my job. What time?” She hesitated then said, “Ten.” “Ten it is.” He retreved his briefcase from the kitchen and slipped out, careful not to slam the door as he left. Bard glanced at his watch. He had an appointment to check a house on Kent Street in thirty minutes. Even though his office was on the edge of the clear zone, less than five minutes away, he needed time alone. He drove to the top of the hill overlooking the area and did his paperwork in the car. It was hard to concentrate with his mind so full of Paula Lord. She’d felt so soft and warm in his arms. He doubted he’d ever forget the sensation of her breast rising and falling against his chest or the fragrant womanly scent of her. He cursed his body’s instant reaction, hard and hot, and throbbing at the mere memory. He had no business

getting aroused by her. God, she’d had some bad breaks, orphaned in childhood, recently widowed. And she’d lost Charlie, a man who’d obviously meant a great deal to her. Speaking to the crowd, her face had been animated. She really believed she and the others were being treated unfairly. It was clear why Gordon wanted her out of the project. She was dynamite ready to go off at any time. Bard exhaled. Would he still be around after the explosion?

Chapter Four Bard glanced at his watch as he approached the door of the crumbling, stucco hovel. Right on time, 4:00 P.M. He straightened to his full five- foot, eleven inches and knocked hard. “Come in!” Mr. Hernandez shouted. Hernandez’s voice echoed through the place, confirming the furniture was gone, and Bard could certify the rental as empty. He pushed on the warped, hollow-core door. It stuck. He stepped back and put his weight into a lunge. The door gave. A half dozen dislodged roaches fell on his head. Bard jumped back. “What the hell!” He brushed roaches out of his hair. One scurried down his collar. He yanked off his shirt and shook it. A brown roach fell to the floor, escaped over the threshold, and out into the late afternoon sun. Skin prickling, Bard slipped back into his shirt and hesitantly stepped inside. Strong smells of roach spray, rancid olive oil, and plugged plumbing hit his nostrils. He tried to breathe as shallowly as possible. Armies of dazed roaches spotted the walls. “Looks like you’ve got plenty of company,” Bard said wryly. Hernandez laughed. His potbelly shook like Jell-O. “Lo siento, sorry. Spraying brought ’em out.” Bard shrugged, feeling itchy all over. Hernandez had sprayed to avoid packing roaches to his new home. Bard would do the same in a like situation. Hernandez shuffled close behind as Bard strode through the place, noting peeling paint, filthy walls, cracked and broken green tiled floors, and more armies of roaches. When Bard entered the kitchen, he stopped short. “Where are the cupboards?” Hernandez scratched his head. “I come back, dey gone.” Bard could refuse to certify the house until the missing cupboards were returned, but the theft wasn’t Hernandez’s fault. No sense in being hard-nosed. Bard handed Hernandez a compliance receipt. “I’ll call you when your final move-out check comes in.” They shook hands, and Hernandez left. Bard padlocked the doors and returned to his car. He laid a streak of rubber on the asphalt as he drove away. The thieves were getting bolder and bolder, not even waiting for people to move out to strip the places.

He inspected two more houses. Both had been looted, and he waited around for the cops to take theft reports. At 6:00 P.M., he skidded to a stop in front of his office and stomped inside to find the independent house-moving contractor, Les Cardel, sitting behind his desk, reading one of his files, and drinking coffee from his personal mug. Les was clean-shaven and had pulled his shoulder-length, dirty blond hair into a ponytail. He smelled like he showered in a gallon of Brute. “Dammit, Les. What are you doing in here?” Bard grabbed Paula Lord’s file out of Les’s hands and jammed it back into the filing cabinet. Les smiled and took a sip of coffee. “Amusing myself until you got back. Working overtime again, I see.” Bard yanked the mug from Les’s grasp, sloshing coffee onto the desk. Bard poured the remainder into a paper cup and slammed it down in front of Les. With a paper towel, Bard wiped off the lip of his mug and poured the dregs from the coffeemaker for himself. He unplugged the machine and gestured with his thumb for Les to get out of his chair. Les hesitated then lumbered to his feet and slouched into a straight-backed chair. “Have a bad day?” Bard glared at him. “What do you want?” “When can I board up the houses you inspected this afternoon?” Bard frowned. Boarding the places was like closing the gate after the rustler already stole the horses. “You still have some sunlight. Do it now, if you’ve got time.” “As good as done,” Les said with smug indulgence. “After all, we both want the same thing, the project cleared ASAP.” Les shook a cigarette from a pack of Camels. Bard pointed to his no smoking sign. Les cursed under his breath. “What happened to strip your gears?” “It’s the thieves again,” Bard said. “They took Hernandez’s cupboards and Campbell’s and Allen’s hot water heaters.” Bard looked down at the still wet cuffs of his trousers, thinking of the dripping pipes dangling from walls, flooding the floors in ankle deep water. He clenched his fists. “And they stripped the air-conditioners

from the roofs and left gaping holes. They even rolled up the chain link fences and hauled them off.” Les stared at him with dull gray eyes. “The bastards. What about the cops?” “Same old story.” Bard’s stomach knotted. “They have a whole city to cover and limited resources.” Every time Bard waited in an empty house for the police he was a sitting duck. Good thing it was still daylight. After dark the danger quadrupled. “It took them an hour to answer my call, then they took all three reports and said to get a guard.” “Good advice,” Les said. “Why don’t you?” Bard frowned. Gordon had buried his requests for security in red tape, but he wasn’t about to discuss office business with an outsider like Les. “I’m working on it” was all Bard said. “Well, I’d watch the bastard holding things up if I were you. He might be in with the crooks.” Gordon? It would be a stretch, but it would answer why his boss was dragging his feet on the request for secuirty. Bard rubbed his aching head. If Gordy had a secret reason to hold back, maybe he did merit watching. He could be purposely keeping the information about the looting from The Corps. Or did they know, and someone from headquarters had a hand in the house stripping? Whoa. His speculation was getting a bit wild. It was more likely that the looters were local. “Know anything about a guy named Deeter?” Bard asked. “Yeah. He hangs with bikers. You think he’s in with the thieves?” “It’s possible. I’ve seen his black truck hauling covered loads out of the project several times. Could be stolen goods underneath that tarp.” “I’ve seen his truck parked in front of Paula Lord’s house,” Les said. “And she doesn’t seem in a hurry to move. Maybe she needs to stay for some particular reason.” Bard’s heart thundered. “Like what?” “Maybe she’s the brains behind the house-stripping gang.” What was going on? Cory accused her of murder, and now Les was accusing her of being a gang leader. “Why don’t you like her?” “Like her? Hey, I lust for her. She and I go way back. I met that little chicadee while she was dating her husband. But she’s

holding up things and costing me a bundle. If it weren’t for the money....” Les drained his coffee. “Her hubby was a cop, you know, and she’s very handy with guns.” Bard’s dormant suspicions rose again and churned in his gut. He’d seen Paula’s expertise first hand, and it bothered him that the murderer had shot Charlie Borden with a .38 special, the caliber of her gun. But with Cory’s vendetta against her he couldn’t be sure his less than upfront roommate had given him the straight scoop. Still, he should’ve told Cory about the weapon. But he couldn’t bring more trouble down on a woman who’d already seen more than her share, especially knowing Cory was out to get her. “You know,” Les said in a slow drawl, “if the widow can control a whole neighborhood, pulling owners and tenants together, she could just as easily lead a few hired thieves. What a cover for a gang boss.” Bard tightened his grip on his coffee mug. Dammit. It didn’t fit. Her grief over Charlie’s death seemed too real. “Saw your Omni,” Les said, “and that cop, Cory Morrison’s, black Mustang at her place today. Bet Morrison gave you an earful about the young Widow Lord.” It was what Cory hadn’t said that bothered Bard. Cory wasn’t talking, but Paula had the answers. “Anything I want to know about her, I’ll ask her directly.” Les got to his feet. “Good luck. She’s pretty tightlipped.” He paused in the doorway before leaving. “Looks like you’re caught between a rock and a hard place. No approval for guards. And thieves who know it.” Les tromped out the door, shaking his head. Bard sat still for a moment then he slammed his desk with the flat of his palm. If Gordon didn’t get some security guards for the clear zone by the next move-out, he would take things into his own hands, and catch the murders. thieves, and vandals—even if he had to camp out in one of the houses himself. **** The sphere of golden sun had inched its way to the top of the sky, but its heat had not yet siphoned the morning dew from the leaves of the blackberry vines growing up the sides and over the top of the aviaries. A hint of gardenia wafted in the breeze. Paula was only half aware of her surroundings as she opened the wire door and

stepped inside. Her brown-bibbed bullfinch, Cleopatra, flew to a branch of the blackberry vine. “Morning, Cleo, you’re looking perky.” Cleo cocked her head to the side then swished her plumage against the glistening chains of moisture that lined the berry leaves. Paula paused in the center of the cage. “Pretty bird,” she crooned. She turned at the fluttering of wings. Zipper, a pink-breasted bullfinch, landed on her shoulder. “So you want attention too, huh, Zip, old boy?” He strutted along her shoulder line as if walking a tight wire and pecked gently at her collar. “No mischief today, Zipper.” She bit the corner of her lip. Charlie had named the bird Zipper because of his habit of trying to unzip her dress. She’d learned not to wear zippered clothes around the bird. She stuck out a curved finger, and he hopped on. She gently touched her lips to the soft down of his head. “Love you, Zip,” she whispered. Charlie had loved him, too. Oh, God, Charlie, who killed you? She squeezed her eyes tight then opened them again. Charlie wouldn’t want her to cry. Paula stroked the pink feathers of Zipper’s breast. She had to pull herself together before Bard Nichols arrived. If she’d been in her right mind, she would never have agreed to let him drive her to see the ranch house. His thoughtfulness had made her vulnerable. She was such a sucker for even a trace of kindness. Trust was another thing. She touched the jagged scar in her eyebrow. Her hand trembled. Other than Charlie, she didn’t trust anyone. Probably never would. Not completely. She knew Bard Nichols’s compassion didn’t come from the heart. He was a paid county employee, saying and doing whatever it took to get rid of her. Paula lifted her chin. Well, she’d agreed to go with him and wouldn’t go back on her word.

Chapter Five When no one answered the front door, Bard jogged around the house to Paula’s rear acreage. He hoped she hadn’t left without him. Then he saw her. His heartbeat quickened. She was standing in one of the aviaries. She had tucked her blue-checkered blouse into her jeans, revealing a tiny waist and rounded hips. She sprinkled grain on the ground then ran water into troughs. Birds fluttered around her. A couple of yellow ones landed on her shoulders. They trusted her. She was easy to trust; that was the problem. Cory had warned him about that. “Morning,” Bard called. “Is it ten already?” The blue ribbon holding her frizzy red hair in a stubby ponytail blew in the breeze. She stepped out of the aviary and closed the chicken-wire door behind her. They glanced at their watches at the same time. “I’m early,” he said. “By half an hour.” He smiled sheepishly. “I have this thing about not being late.” “No fear of that.” She shrugged. “It’s all right. I see my birdsitter, Gary, coming through the field.” She pointed to acreage overgrown with weeds and waist high, yellow sunflowers. A blond, lanky boy of about seventeen headed their way. The kid had an intelligent open face. “Hi, Mrs. Lord,” he called. “I saw the car with the county emblem on the door and figured you might want to leave early.” “Good thinking.” She handed him the list of chores she wanted done. “Ivanhoe’s in his cage. He’s already been fed.” She paused a moment while a C-141 passed low overhead in its landing descent. Instinctively, they all looked up and watched the lumbering transport plane pass. Then, Paula continued as if its deafening roar hadn’t interrupted her. “There’s a Pyrex dish of baked apples in the fridge and some chocolate chip cookies under the foil on the counter.” She peeled out a twenty and handed it to Gary. “And order yourself a pizza for lunch. I’ll be back before dinner.” Gary followed them to the car looking like a lovesick pup. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Lord, the birds and I dig each other.”

Bard shifted his weight, fighting the puzzling tug of envy that hummed inside his head. He helped Paula into the car. Touching her soft, delicate hand sent his heartbeat into double time. He rounded the Omni, cursing his lowered defenses. Sliding behind the wheel, he asked, “Do you hire a bird-sitter every time you leave?” She lifted her chin. “When I’m not sure how long I’ll be gone.” He fastened his seat belt then started the engine. “All those birds must tie you down.” Her steely-blue, distrusting eyes met his glance. “You mean, it would be easier to find a place if I didn’t have them?” The scrappy tone in her voice scraped his nerves like sandpaper. “Exactly,” he said before he could stop himself. “I’ll never part with them!” “Who asked you to?” The biting words burst from his mouth like machine-gun fire. He was instantly sorry for his gut level responses. His job required him to keep himself in check with hostile people. But with Paula, holding a tight rein on his emotions was proving impossible. He had to try harder. He lowered his voice and tried for a pleasant tone. “How did you get into raising birds?” “As if you care.” “Hey, somehow we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot, and it’s probably my fault. Could we try again?” She studied him, looking calmer, but he wasn’t fooled; he saw the pulse throbbing in her neck. “Come on,” he said, “tell me about the birds.” She hesitated. He almost had her. Bard grinned. “Tell me your bird story, and I’ll tell you mine.” A hint of a smile played at her lips. “You have a bird story?” “Sure. You’ll love it. But first, yours.” Her shoulders relaxed a little. “Charlie bought a dozen of them to cheer me up after my husband died.” Her words spurred so many questions Bard didn’t know which one to ask first. “Then you knew Charlie before?” How she got into raising birds lost importance. Was Charlie a friend, a lover? “We go back a long way.” She looked down at her fingers clutched in her lap. “Did you find out who to call about his burial?”

Bard sighed in relief that she’d forgotten about his bird story. It would’ve bombed. He pulled a card out of his pocket and handed it to her. “This is the man to contact, Dr. Zoe. Since it’s a homicide case, there’ll be some delay. You’ll need some kind of documentation to prove your right to claim the body.” She stiffened. “Prove my right? Documentation?” “Take it easy. Detective Morrison said that’s just a formality in this case.” “He did?” Her voice rose in surprise. “Yeah. When the coroner is through with his examination of the body, he’ll release the body to the mortuary you choose. Dr. Zoe will explain everything.” Cory had asked Dr. Zoe to give the autopsy top priority. Considering the way the detective felt about Paula, his cooperation came as a surprise to Bard, too. “Are you related to Charlie?” She was an orphan, so it wasn’t likely, but maybe she’d found a relative after she’d grown up. Bard hoped so; proving her right to claim the body would be easier if they had that connection. He refused to analyze his personal reason for hoping they were relatives. Suddenly, Paula uttered a small sob-like sound and turned away. Her shoulders trembled as she stared out the window. “I can’t talk about Charlie right now,” she said, with a quiver in her voice. Then it hit Bard. They were passing the wash where some evil person had murdered Charlie. Bard felt heat crawl up his neck. His poor timing tore through him like a hot bullet. “Paula, I’m sorry.” Her shoulders trembled harder. Paula’s tough armor had slipped and it was his fault. A grim sense of oppression closed on his chest. He tightened his jaw and forced himself to concentrate on driving. He’d only gone about three miles when an image in the rear view mirror grabbed his attention. A black pickup truck followed at a distance. Bard slowed; the truck slowed. He speeded. It speeded. As they entered the freeway, the truck disappeared behind a big diesel rig. “That black truck at your house yesterday...do you know the owner?” Paula cleared her throat. “Deeter? Not well. But he seems to be a good guy. He used his truck to move several of my neighbors and didn’t charge them a cent.”

“Does he live in the area?” “He’s a newcomer. Rooms with bikers in the rental units on Dell Avenue.” Deeter’s choice of buddies didn’t raise Bard’s opinion of him. “How long has he been in town?” “He’s local. Moved from Muscoy. If you have any other questions, you’ll have to ask him. Like I said, I barely know him.” She turned away and stared out the window again. Her physical withdrawal and the finality in her tone closed the subject. He’d go along with that, for now. But did she always kiss guys on the cheek that she barely knew? They passed the Yucaipa Boulevard off ramp then left the freeway at County Line Road. Bard kept checking his rearview mirror. Several cars followed, including a police car. He didn’t see the black truck. Bard moistened his dry throat. “I got the feeling…that is.... Do you and Detective Morrison know each other from before?” She turned abruptly and faced him. Her sudden movement and the fire in her eyes sent a jolt through him. “If you must know, he was one of the detectives who investigated my husband’s death.” “Wasn’t that a conflict of interest?” “What makes you think he’d care? Guys like Cory play the scratch my back politics and sometimes get away with murder.” “Are you accusing him?” “If I had proof I would.” “How did your husband die?” “You ask a lot of questions that have nothing to do with my move, Mr. Nichols.” “I have a curious nature.” “That isn’t always healthy.” Bard’s stomach knotted. Was that a veiled threat? “Stop!” she shouted. He almost leapt out of his skin. “What?” “You missed the turn.” He exhaled, trying to bring his heartbeat back to normal. He made a U-turn, suspecting she’d startled him on purpose. She pointed to the left. “Turn here on Carriage Hill Lane. The property is at the end of the road.”

A sprawling ranch-style country home with a bay window and a huge oak tree in the front yard extended the width of the cul-de-sac. Bard parked behind the yellow Cadillac with a Prestige Realty sign on its door. A perky blonde realtor with a pixie hairstyle met them at the entrance and showed them through freshly painted, spacious rooms. Their feet sank into thick, luxurious carpeting. The agent pointed to a massive stone fireplace in the living room. “This will keep you warm on those chilly nights Yucaipa’s so famous for,” she said with a southern twang in her voice. Bard watched Paula’s face as they roamed from room to room. The gleam in her eyes told him she liked the place. And why not? It was perfect. Most important, it was zoned so she could keep her birds. Paula shook hands with the realtor and told her she’d think about the property. When they returned to the car, Bard asked, “Why didn’t you make an offer?” “I’m not sure I can afford it.” “I’ll run some calculations. It’ll be close, but I think when I add in your benefits, the total will cover everything including incidentals.” As part of his job, Bard had looked at other small ranches for her, but none had fit her like this one. She might doubt that, knowing his eagerness to get her moved. “I’m hungry,” he said. “Let’s stop for lunch.” He wanted to give her time to think about the place, and maybe, if he was lucky, to show her figures to persuade her to make an offer. He laughed inwardly. Who did he think he was kidding? Business wasn’t his only interest. If they got better acquainted, perhaps, with a little prodding, the mysterious Paula Lord would spill her secrets. She stared at him with mischief in her eyes. “Only if you tell me your bird story.” He thought…hoped…she’d forgotten that. Telling the story might dent his already banged up image. But he was the one who’d told her about it in the first place. “It’s a deal,” he said, hoping he wouldn’t regret it. Bard headed for Yucaipa’s business district. “I was just thirteen,” he said, “and this baby hummingbird, no bigger than a

bullet, fell from its nest onto the hot summer concrete, peeping in terror.” Bard wished he could see Paula’s face, but the traffic got heavy and he didn’t dare take his attention from the road. “I was afraid if I touched the little guy his mama wouldn’t let him back into the nest. I wrapped it gently in my T-shirt and climbed the old oak. As I returned it to the nest, the mother buzzed me, and I lost my balance and fell. I sprawled there on the blistering concrete, where the tiny bird had fallen only moments before, nursing my bruised pride. Then something surprising happened. The mama bird lit on my shoulder and gentlypecked my check.” Paula shook her head. “Geez, Bard. You expect me to believe the bird kissed you for saving her baby?” He grinned. “I’d hoped.” “How much of it is true, if any?” “Everything up to the mama landing on my shoulder.” Paula laughed; it was music to his ears. She may not like it, but she was warming to him. He pulled into the restaurant’s parking lot and slid into the last space. Paula didn’t wait for him to open the door for her. Before he could make it around the car, she joined him but kept her distance as they walked. He tightened his grip on his briefcase, feeling off balance and longing to take her arm. Maybe he was wrong about her warming up to him.

Chapter Six Mom’s Restaurant bustled with an early lunch crowd. There was a high chair in the corner and plastic flowers on the tables. The waitress led them to a window booth facing Yucaipa Boulevard. At the booth next to theirs, a young mother and three boys of about five, seven, and ten laughed at something the father had said, laughing to the point of tears. The father ruffled the golden hair of the youngest boy, and they all burst into more laughter. Bard noticed the wistful expression on Paula’s face as she glanced at the family. Being and orphan must be lonely. Bard knew he sure would miss his big, noisy family. A buxom waitress in a stiffly starched yellow uniform handed Bard and Paula menus. Paula put hers aside and stared out the window. She spent a lot of time looking out windows. Was she watching for someone? “What would you like?” Bard asked. “Whatever you’re having,” she said, seemingly fascinated by the stream of traffic. “We’ll have the special,” he told the waitress. “Vegetable soup and bacon burgers on sourdough bread. And two large iced teas.” The waitress gave a curt nod and left. “Okay,” Paula said, facing him. “What’s the deal? Will I get enough money for my property to buy that place?” Sunlight reflected off her hair, blending strands of deep copper into the frizzy curls of carroty red. She looked downright angelic. Cory’s warning echoed in Bard’s head: She’s the kind of woman men instinctively want to protect. That’s her attraction and what makes her dangerous. Bard tightened his jaw. “Let’s run a few figures.” The waitress brought large bowls of steaming vegetable soup. He scooted his bowl to the side to cool then opened his briefcase and took out a tablet and a calculator. He nimbly touched the keys and scribbled figures on yellow lined paper. “With the fair market price you get for your property and the extra relocation money you’ll receive over the appraised value, you should be able to get into that place with enough surplus to cover closing costs and incidentals.” Paula stared at him, her gaze probing his until he lowered his attention. Sunlight glinted on something on her blouse. It was an

antique-looking silver pin. He squinted to make out the design. It was a fluttering hummingbird drinking nectar from a flower. Of course, what else would she wear over her heart but a bird? He glanced up. She was still watching him. He stretched his neck a bit to loosen a collar that had suddenly become too snug. He smiled. “Don’t worry. You can afford the place.” He handed her the figures. A tingly warmth went through him when their fingers touched. Her face flushed. “May I keep this?” He nodded. “There’ll be money to build new aviaries of course.” Paula studied the figures then tucked the yellow paper into her purse. “Are you always like this? So....” “Helpful?” he offered. “Pushy is more like it.” He laughed. Now was as good a time as any to bring up the topic of families and see where it would lead. “With five brothers and two sisters I learned to be somewhat aggressive.” “Oldest?” Paula asked. He leaned back out of the way when the waitress brought the burgers. “Middle.” She laughed. “Now I understand you. They say middle siblings have to try harder.” Bard wished he could freeze her in that moment. She’d laughed at his bird story; this was the first time he’d seen her laugh so freely. He wanted to keep her smiling, but he had to ask Paula about her childhood. “I’d guess you were an only child.” He dumped some ketchup on the side of his plate and dipped a French fry in it, watching her, waiting to see if she’d tell the truth. Her smile faded. Her scowl resulted in a tiny wrinkle at the bridge of her nose. The silence between them lengthened. Bard held his breath, fearing she wasn’t going to answer. “Look, Nichols. I don’t spill my guts to anyone. Especially not to you, a man who wants to run me out of my home.” Whoa, her feathers ruffled easily. Stay cool. “Hmmm. Here I thought we were getting along so well. Besides, telling your position in the family tree isn’t spilling your guts.” Conflict flickered in Paula’s eyes. “Not everyone has a family tree.”

“Meaning?” He fought his guilt for baiting her. “I’m an orphan but a lucky one.” Her steady look forestalled any sympathy. He exhaled, relieved that she’d told the truth. “Lucky and orphan seem to be contradictory terms.” She pushed some coleslaw around her plate with a fork. “I emerged unscathed. That’s enough luck for me.” “What happened to your parents?” Bard hated to stir up painful memories, but he couldn’t stop himself from trying to strip away the veils hiding who this woman really was. After moments that seemed like an eternity, her shoulders lowered and she said, “My mother died in childbirth. They claimed she had no ID on her. All they knew was that she was about fifteen, probably unwed.” Paula was silent for painful seconds, and Bard felt the weight of everything she’d omitted from her story. Was she dumped with strangers at birth? Had she known love with them? She’d shared more than he’d expected and, like a drowning man, he latched onto the shaky bond forming between them. She’d balked at first. What had changed? She was opening up as if a dam had burst. She wouldn’t be telling him this if she wasn’t beginning to trust him. Or maybe he was reading what he wanted into this. “Who raised you?” “A series of foster parents.” She touched the jagged scar in her eyebrow with a slightly trembling hand. Had she gotten the wound while in one of the homes? He swallowed. “Where does Charlie Borden come in?” Bard was taking a chance asking this question after her earlier refusal to talk about the guy. Her eyes darkened. The air vibrated with tension. Bard could barely breathe, fearing she might clam up. “Charlie was everything to me.” “Everything?” “Everything that counts. We met in a group foster home when I was ten and he was twelve. He became my chum, brother, protector.” Bard latched onto the word brother, and a puzzling relief flowed through him. He relaxed against the back of the booth with renewed faith in his first instincts. Cory had to be wrong about her

killing Charlie. She adored him. Maybe Cory was wrong about her killing anyone. “He sounds like someone I would’ve liked to have known.” She almost smiled, and then she shook her head, her expression puzzled. “I don’t know why, but I suddenly have this need to talk about him, as if talking will bring him back to life.” Bard wanted to grip her hand, give her comfort, but touching her might scare her off. He forced himself to wait for her to go on. Finally, she said, “Charlie was handsome, very strong, mentally and physically and nearly always full of fun. He tried to make a game out of everything, even when it came to thinking up a last name for us.” Bard swallowed. “You didn’t know your last name?” “Neither of us did. Anyway, we went through every name we’d ever heard, laughing like idiots at the funny ones.” She grinned at the memory. “A Borden’s milk truck making a delivery to the house across the street from our foster home gave us a name we both liked. Charlie pricked the tips of our fingers with his pocket knife, and in a blood-exchanging ceremony we christened ourselves Charlie David and Paula Annie Borden, brother and sister.” “Annie? Like Little Orphan Annie?” “Yes, and don’t you dare laugh. It was the name they gave me in the foster home. Guess it was because of my red hair.” “Where did the name Paula come from?” “Charlie gave it to me. He thought maybe it was his mother’s name. He wasn’t sure, but it was the name that echoed in his brain. He said I needed the extra name because all proper ladies had three. Besides, he said I looked like a Paula.” “He was right. Paula suits you. He sounds like a good guy.” She tilted her head to the side. “He’d like you. Surprisingly, you have heart, Mr. Nichols.” “Surprisingly? That hurts. Do you always say what you’re thinking?” His gaze fixed on her mouth. Was it as kissable as it looked? Her cheeks flushed. “I don’t usually talk much, especially not about myself. You caught me at a time when I need a friend.” “I’m here, just call.” Paula stiffened as though he’d insulted her. “I gotta tell you,” she said, “those words make me suspicious.”

“Why?” “Let’s just say I’ve heard them before, and I didn’t like the outcome.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what to say about that.” His safest course was to change the subject. “I saw in your file that you’re widowed. Was your husband an aviculturist, too?” He knew he wasn’t, but he wanted to try to get more details about the cop and their marriage. She snickered. “Hardly.” “I thought maybe since you lived on land zoned for birds and—” “No, nothing like that. Dan and I inherited the place, the furniture, and my parrot from my husband’s only close relative, Grandma Emma.” Paula bit down on the corner of her lip. Her voice had gone soft and reverant when she said the woman’s name. “Sounds like you were fond of her,” Bard said, hoping he wasn’t prying too much. “Very. Emma was the grandmother I never had, the gentle lady who taught me knitting and a love for birds.” A silence settle between them and she stared out the window again. If she were distracted enough, he might get away with a few more personal questions. “So, how did you happen to move in with her? Did she need help with the birds?” “No. Dan was was a policeman. He was forced to retire from the department when some lowlife shot him in the leg. Things got tough and while he went to physical therapy and retrained, we moved in with Emma. It was supposed to be temporary, but two months later she died.” Bard eased his hand across the smooth table top, slowly protruded his index finger until he touched hers. He brushed the smooth skin, ever so ligthly, yearning to console the sadness in her eyes and, to be honest with himself, increase the intimacy between them. He was encouraged that she didn’t pull back. But would his next question undo the bond that was forming? “What happened?” Cory thought murder was involved. She shook her head, looking dazed. “I really don’t know. Emma sent me to the store to buy some Haagen Daz to cheer Dan up. When I returned, he was watching a football game on the TV in our

bedroom, and Emma was asleep on the living room couch. Only she wasn’t sleeping. She’d died of asphyxiation. Her pillow was on the floor. The cops suspected someone had smothered her, but couldn’t prove it. It was all so horrible. Oh, God, I don’t know why I’m telling you this.” She looked so distressed he longed to hug her and put a smile back on her face. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked all those personal questions, but you interest me. I admire how you’ve carried on in the face of so much heartbreak, and I want to help you. If you decide you want the ranch house on Carriage Lane, I’ll personally find you a mover who’ll give your birds the special care they need.” Distrust was back in Paula’s eyes. She let him wallow in silence and regret while she took the last bite of her bacon-burger then ever so slowly, blotted her mouth with a napkin. “I want the house. But it’s hard to concentrate on getting a place right now. I want to take care of Charlie’s funeral first.” “That may be too late. Let’s go by the realtor’s office, and I’ll give her a check to make your offer. That’ll give you time without losing the place.” She balled up her napkin. “Your persistence annoys me.” He felt an odd panic rising in his chest. “Places available at an affordable price with the zoning you need are scarce. I think you should act on this.” Paula raised an eyebrow. “Of course you do, Mr. Relocation Man. To make sure you move me out of the clear zone as soon as possible, right?” Bard laughed, releasing some of his tension. “That, too.” His curiosity about the scar in her arched eyebrow heightened. He’d almost worked up the nerve to ask her about it when he saw an inky blur whisk by. He frowned. It was a black truck. Despite its speed and the distance, he suspected it would have a small dent in the right rear fender. It would if it was Deeter’s truck. Bard stroked his chin. A tail on him didn’t make sense. Maybe Deeter was following Paula. Was he her bodyguard, her coconspirator? Bard exhaled in disgust. He was doing it again, letting other people color his opinion of her. He vowed to trust his own instincts.

He stared out the window. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled as the truck circled again. Whatever the explanation, there was no doubt, someone was keeping tabs on them.

Chapter Seven Paula worried all the way back home if making an offer had been the right thing to do. Bard was so persuasive that she’d gotten carried away by his enthusiasm. Well, she had three days to back out. They turned onto her street, and Paula gasped. Police and medics had parked two police cars and an ambulance askew under the old oak tree that shaded her gravel drive, their lights revolving. Gary! Before Bard brought the car to a complete stop at the curb, Paula opened the door and leaped out. A policeman writing on a clipboard looked up. Paula ran past him to where paramedics were lifting a stretcher into the ambulance. Gary’s face was as white as the sheet tucked under his arms. Paula saw a glimpse of blood. “My God! What happened?” “Wounded in the chest,” the tallest paramedic said. He began hooking up an IV. Lost a lot of blood.” She wanted to climb in with them, touch Gary, comfort him, but the paramedics’ lifesaving maneuvers blocked her entry. She dug rigid fingers into her palms. “How bad?” “We doing everything we can to see that he makes it.” The medic started to close the door. “Gotta go, lady.” Paula grabbed the door before he could slam it closed. “Wait.” Her throat was dry. “May I ride with you?” “Sorry,” the medic said. “Rules. Better to follow in your own car.” Paula felt Bard leading her out of the way as the ambulance backed out of the driveway. Tires crunched gravel then the ambulance’s wailing siren cut through the afternoon silence. She bit down on the corner of her lip, fighting tears. Bard tried to gather her close. She twisted from his grasp. “I need to get to the hospital.” She turned and practically ran into the policeman taking notes. “You’re Mrs. Lord?” the officer asked. Paula nodded. “Have Gary’s parents been notified?” “An officer called them. ST. Bernadine’s is the closest hospital. They said to take him there.” “Good.” And if he’d just get out of her way, that’s where she was going.

The cop continued to block her path. “I’m Officer Kelly, and I have a few questions.” “So do I,” she said. “What happened?” “I’d hoped you could answer that,” Kelly said. “Do you or the kid have any enemies?” “Enemies?” If this cop didn’t have answers, she didn’t have time for him. “Could we do this later? I must get to the hospital.” “Before the boy passed out he said two guys attacked your birds and one of them shot him.” “Shot him! Dear God. I would never have left him alone if I’d thought…. My birds!” She pushed past the officer and ran toward the back yard. “Mrs. Lord, wait!” Officer Kelly shouted. “It’s a crime scene.” No yellow tape barred her. She kept going, charging across the width of her acreage. All the gates of the cages were closed. A good sign. In aviary after aviary, the birds were okay. But the cop had said.... A chill slipped down her spine. The birds in the first cage had been unusually quiet. Seeing the door securely closed, she’d rushed past, only cursorily glancing inside, afraid to look too carefully. She backtracked her steps. Her palms felt clammy. With every beat of her heart, dread rose within her. Nothing moved. Then she saw them, four pink-breasted male bullfinches and two brown-bibbed females lying on the ground. Oh no. Not Zipper. Nausea washed over her. Not Rembrandt. Don’t let this be true; six birds, including Pinky, Caesar, Cleopatra, and Molly were dead, butchered. She grabbed the chicken-wire gate, desperate to get inside to kneel beside her beloved birds, to cradle them in her hands. She yanked hard. The gate wouldn’t open. She tried again, but someone had tied it shut. She clung to the fence and stared dry-eyed. Her mouth tasted of metal. Charlie, they killed you, and now the birds you gave me. Her eyes fixed on the lifeless lumps of feathers. Why does everyone I love have to die? A deep, guttural moan escaped her lips. Bard pried her fingers loose. She stared numbly at a smear of blood; she hadn’t felt the wire cut into her fingers. As though from far away in a tunnel, she heard Officer Kelly ask if she was going to be all right. The concern in his voice had an impatient edge. “There’re lots of unanswered questions here,” he said. “Gunfire was exchanged.

That meant the kid had a gun, too. Where did he get it, and where is it now?” Kid. That’s right. Gary was hurt. She had to get to the hospital! Bard shifted Paula to his other side, using himself as a barrier between her and the cop. He kept his arm around her, holding her up. “Mrs. Lord wasn’t here during the trouble,” he said. “She needs to lie down.” “The house is off limits for now. It’s a crime scene.” Paula tried to jerk away form Bard. “Please, Officer, my parrot Ivanhoe is in there. What if he’s hurt and needs me?” “I’ll have someone check on him.” Paula yanked on Bard’s firm grip and glanced toward the back porch. Gary’s blood spattered the steps. “I have to get to the hospital.” Bard nodded and led Paula toward his car. He paused and glanced at the officer. “When we get the answers from Gary we’ll call you.” “Do that,” Officer Kelly called to their backs. “And I’ll be talking with that kid again myself.” Bard guided her into the car, with the image of the lifeless lumps of feathers burned forever into her eyeballs. It wasn’t just the murder of her birds that sickened her, it was Charlie and Gary and the horror of the senseless violence that men committed against each other.

Chapter Eight The hospital corridor was white, antiseptic, and quiet. Paula wanted to shake off Bard’s hold, but she didn’t dare. If he hadn’t held her arm firmly, her unsteady legs might not have supported her. She took a deep breath before speaking to the duty nurse behind the desk. “I’m here to see Gary Whitney.” She fought to keep her lower lip from quivering. “Emergency said he’d been admitted and transferred to this floor.” The nurse checked the computer. “Are you a relative?” “Sort of. H;s parent’s ask me to come. He was shot while guarding my birds.” “Room 305,” she said. “They just brought him up. He’s stable, but you can stay a few minutes.” Her need to see Gary sent a burst of energy through her. She broke away from Bard and bolted for the door. Odors of Pine Sol and medicines blended as Paula entered Gary’s room. His parents, Ray and Nancy Whitney, stood by his bed. His mom held his hand. Her face was pinched, her mascara smudged. Gary lay droopy eyed, pale, and looking much younger than his seventeen years. A bag of clear fluid, attached to a metal pole, dripped slowly into a tube taped to Gary’s hand. He attempted a smile when Paula came close to the foot of his bed. “How are you, Gary?” She forced the soft words past the lump in her throat. “Good,” he said weakly. His upbeat response was so like him. Paula’s stomach knotted. She gestured to Gary’s bandaged chest, visible beneath his gown, and the intravenous tubing. “I’m so sorry about—” “Don’t blame yourself,” Nancy said. She squeezed her son’s hand. “It was those men. And they’re free to do it again.” Ray shifted his weight, looking grim. “Maybe if I hadn’t taught Gary about guns—” “Not true, Dad.” Gary’s voice grew stronger. “If I hadn’t stopped them, they would’ve killed all the birds. And come after me next. There was no time to call the cops.” Paula patted Gary’s foot, needing to comfort him and not knowing how. She cleared her throat, but the words stuck there.

“I was in the kitchen eating,” Gary continued, “and heard the birds kick up a ruckus. Two guys with machetes were in the cage with them...ah...you know...ah...hurting them.” Gary’s attempt to soft-pedal the horror didn’t work; the image of her dead birds were branded forever in Paula’s mind. She gripped the cold metal bar at the foot of the bed to steady herself. Bard’s arm slipped around her waist. Paula glanced up at him. She hadn’t realized he’d followed her into the room. “I yelled at those guys to get out,” Gary said. “The short one shot at me. I got your gun and aimed over their heads to scare them off. As they left, the short guy fired again. I didn’t even know I was hit.” “Can you identify them?” Bard asked, his voice heavy with tension. “They wore stocking masks and spoke Spanish. One was about my height and built like a light-weight boxer. The other was shorter, and the roll of fat hanging over his belt was a big tip off that he likes those third helpings of beans and tortillas.” Paula couldn’t dredge up a smile but was encouraged that Gary could joke about what must’ve been a terrifying experience. “What about their clothes?” Paula asked. “Long shirts, jeans, nothing unusual. When one of the cops came to emergency to see me, I told him everything.” “Did he ask about the gun?” Bard asked, sounding concerned. “Yeah. I told him I got it from a locked drawer.” Gary looked at Paula. “Once the cop learned about the gun, he seemed more interested in your .38 than in the guys who shot at me.” “Where is it?” Brad asked. “You folks’ll have to leave now,” a husky nurse with a drill sergeant’s voice said. “This boy needs rest.” They all filed out. Except Bard, who hesitated. “You too, sir,” the nurse said, shooing him out the door. When they all gathered in the corridor, Ray said, “You’ve worked so hard to unite the neighborhood, Paula, but Gary getting shot shows we’re losing the battle.” “We can’t give up,” Paula said. “If we do there’ll be more attacks. I’ll call the police chief and ask him to meet with us. Murders, attempted murders, and looting gives us a right to demand protection.”

Paula frowned at Bard’s masked look. She’d give a hundred bucks to know what he was thinking, and why he’d hesitated before leaving Gary’s room. On their way back to Bard’s Omni, with the county emblem possessively stamped on the door, she asked, “Was there something else you wanted to ask Gary?” “About the gun, but it can wait,” he said tiredly. It was a good question one she needed the answer to herself. He held the door open for her. “Want a cup of coffee or a sandwich before going home?” He slid behind the wheel. “It’s been hours since we ate.” Paula shook her head and crossed her arms over her chest. “Please,” he said as soft as a lover’s whisper. “I’d like a chance to convince you I’m not the enemy.” She stared at him through the semi-darkness of the car. A strand of wavy hair had fallen onto his forehead. He hadn’t rolled his shirt sleeves down. Light from the dashboard reflected a silvery line down his arm, highlighting protruding sinews. His eyes remained steady. “You need to eat. For strength.” He’d taken over and got her through the traumatic afternoon and evening. Even her disagreeable attitude hadn’t discouraged him. If only he hadn’t purposely kept her away. If only he was really a friend. Going home to an empty house and another sleepless night made his offer tempting. She steeled herself and shook her head firmly. Bard shrugged and tuned the radio to a mellow station. She hated the sudden silence between them and hated that he was so good at making her want to believe in him. He parked in front of her house instead of pulling into the driveway. All the police cars were gone only the security guard he’d arranged for remained. “You’ll be safe for the night with the security guard here,” Bard said. “I’ll walk you to the door.” Damn his disarming ways, she thought as he walked her up the steps. The sensor porch light clicked on. Bard towered over her. She studied his green eyes. It wasn’t fair for them to look so gentle and be so deceptive. She almost relented and invited him in for a sandwich, then she reminded herself that he might be guilty of turning his back while others did the dirty work. The security man came part way from the rear of the property, glanced at them then disappeared into the darkness again.

“I’m sorry about Gary,” Bard said, “and your birds.” Then he just stood there staring at her. Good grief, he was going to take her in his arms. She felt it in every pore. Electricity charged the air between them. The startled look on Bard’s face told her he felt it, too. A warmth crept up her body and inflamed her cheeks. She tensed, ready to resist him, but he turned away, shoved his hands in his pockets, and headed for the Omni. A foolish disappointment washed over her. Silvery moonbeams outlined his retreating, wide-shouldered, silhouette. Paula swung around to the door and jammed her key into the lock. When she flicked on the living room light, Ivanhoe squawked, “Good evening.” She exhaled. Thank God he was safe. “The last few hours have been hideous, Iv, old boy.” She opened his cage. “Come out and cheer me up.” He climbed onto her hand, fluffing his glossy gray feathers and twitching his deep red tail plumage. She scratched his head, then put him on her shoulder. She sat on the couch like a zombie for an undetermined time, enjoying his nearness. When her eyes dropped, she reluctantly put him back into his cage. He clung to his perch, fluffed up like a ball, leg drawn up, clicking softly. “My birds are dead, Ivanhoe. Dead like Charlie.” As she headed for her bedroom, she stewed about her .38. Where was it? A shiver slid down her spine, and her breath caught. Gary said he could identify certain aspects about the masked birdkillers. That meant he was in danger. But no one knew how much of a description he could give except the police. And Bard. **** Sunlight spilled across her bed. Paula still felt stunned and scattered. She couldn’t seem to get up. The sound of running water came from the kitchen. She caught the aromas of coffee and toasted bread. Bard knocked on her open bedroom door. He had a bed-tray. “What are you doing here?” She’d always guarded her privacy and stiffened at the intrusion. “Thought you might need a friend and a little pampering.” He placed the bed tray in front of her. “Hand me my robe. I’ll enjoy this more in the living room. She didn’t want him in her bedroom. “And I want to check on Ivanhoe.”

“Understandable,” Bard said. “I cut up some apples for him.” She blinked, speechless. All this attention. What did he want? He carried her tray to the living room, put it on the coffee table, and fluffed a pillow behind her. Paula sipped the hot liquid, needing its bracing warmth. He pressed a damp towel to her forehead. She pressed it tight and closed her eyes. He was being kind. Kindness meant a man wanted something from her. He glanced at her phone and dialed. “Do make yourself at home.” She didn’t try to hid the bite in her tone. She stared at him. What colossal nerve. After a moment, he said, “A young man was brought to the hospital yesterday.” He put his hand over the mouthpiece. “What’s Gary’s last name?” Paula’s mind whirled in a blank haze. Then the murkiness lifted. “Whitney.” “Gary Whitney is the kid’s name,” Bard told someone. “How’s he doing?” Paula listened, barely breathing. Hearing only one side of the conversation sent a surge of tension through her. Finally, Bard hung up the receiver and met her gaze. “Gary’s out of recovery and is eating a light breakfast.” “Thank God.” Paula let her eyelids drift closed. Bard was attending to things she should be doing. He left the room. His footfalls faded. Where did he go? She sighed. She didn’t care. Her body felt like limp spaghetti. Minutes passed. Suddenly she heard the clank of a shovel hitting rock and the hard crust of ground dried by the August heat. She recognized the sounds coming through her rear screen door. Bard was burying her birds. How sad to be simply tossed in the ground and covered with dirt. Still, it was thoughtful of him to save her from seeing the carnage again. But her precious birds deserved more. It was different the day Corky died. She and Charlie gently laid the mockingbird to rest in a shoebox filled with gardenias. Charlie played “Silver Wings” on the harmonica. Then they took brave, dry-eyed turns saying how much they’d miss him. Charlie mumbled that Corky didn’t have to earn his wings to “wing it” to heaven—he already had them. She would give the slaughtered birds a fitting ceremony later. The digging noises stopped. The back screen creaked, followed by footsteps. Suddenly Bard stood over her, looking grim.

His white shirt, damp from sweat, clung to him. He had rolled up his sleeves, baring wide, well-shaped forearms. Dirt smudged the knees and cuffs of his gray slacks. She flinched when he dropped her .38 on the coffee table. “Gary must’ve emptied it as he fired at the men. All the bullets were spent.” “Where did you find the gun?” “Buried in the dirt and hidden under a large stone by the rear porch. Gary must’ve hidden it when he fell forward after that lowlife shot him. I wouldn’t have found it if I hadn’t buried…that is…if I hadn’t…cleaned the cages.” “Gary should never gained access to the gun in the first place. I keep it locked in a drawer.” Her heart pounded. “Yes, yes, I’m sure I locked it.” “Gary must’ve known where you kept the key.” “How could he know? Oh, no, what if I left the key in the lock?” Her stomach knotted. “If the gun hadn’t been handy, and if Gary hadn’t tried to save my birds, he’d never have been shot. Oh, God, let him be all right.” ‘He is. He’s eating. That’s a great sign.” Bard met her gaze. “Don’t blame yourself.” His gentle tone almost fooled her. Then his eyes warmed to a deep green—the shade life had taught her to equate with deception. Then it hit her. He’d kept her away all afternoon. Heat crawled up her cheeks, her anger building slowly like the genesis of a storm, gathering energy until she couldn’t hold it back. “Did you set up the attack on my birds?” A muscle in Bard’s jaw twitched. “How can you ask that?” She clawed her fingers into couch cushion. “Answer me, damn you.” “I can’t believe you could ever think that I’d hurt innocent birds?” He sounded insulted, shocked, but she still wasn’t fooled. “Why not? You kept me away just long enough for the arrack, lingering over lunch, asking me lots of questions, delaying me, and then insisting that we wait at the realtor’s office while she drew up the offer.”

“What are you talking about? We clicked at lunch, and I thought we were becoming friends. Dammit, I took you to the real estate office to secure a place where you can keep your birds.” If only he was as sincere as he seemed. “Who else knew I’d be gone most of the day?” “Deeter for one,” Bard said. “A black truck followed us to Yucaipa.” She hadn’t expected an answer. “Why didn’t you mention it?” Convince me, damn you, but she knew he couldn’t; she had her walls up. “In a way, I did. Don’t you remember? I asked about Deeter. I didn’t come right out and say he was tailing us because at first I wasn’t sure. But I’m sure now. Did you ask him to follow you?” “Why would I do that?” Did he think she’d buy this lame attempt to shift blame? “If you didn’t, then whoever is behind the slaughter probably paid Deeter to tail us to Yucaipa, and report back when we headed home.” “Well, if we’re going to speculate; you and the county are the only ones to gain if something happens to my birds.” “What happened proved you’re wrong about that.” “Does it?” Paula heard the shrillness in her voice. She was losing it, but she couldn’t stop herself. “If my birds were gone it would save the county a bundle, wouldn’t it?” Bard threw up his arms. “The County doesn’t operate that way.” “No?” She arched an eyebrow. “Then why haven’t they given us protection? This once quiet neighborhood has become the highest crime area in the city. And no one cares.” “I care. Didn’t I prove that by hiring Acme Security? Last night.” “Sure, you brought in the army after the enemy retreated.” Bard paced. “You’re not thinking. They could have come back!” He took a deep breath as if to calm himself. “Mind if use your bathroom to get cleaned up?” “Sure keep making yourself at home. It’ll belong to The County soon anyway.”

He sent her a masked look and then headed out of the room. He returned within fifteen minutes, looking great and smelling like her Dove soap. He glanced at his watch. “Want to pay a visit to Gary and see for yourself that he’s fine?” He winked. The wink threw her off guard, and although his offer was exactly what she wanted, she refused to admit it. “Sure, get me out of the way again so those bird butchers can finish the job.” “I didn’t plan to leave the property unprotected. I gave the guard a break. But he’ll be back in ten minutes. A flush crawled up Bard’s neck. “I’ll wait outside for him.” He slammed the front door behind him. Tears formed at the back of her eyes. She smashed a pillow with her fist. No tears! She’d get through this. And the men who hurt Gary and butchered her birds would pay. Charlie’s killer, too. Especially Charlie’s killer. Dammit, even though she had Cory Morrison out to get her, Les Cardel on her back, and Bard Nichols trying to get rid of her, determination would see her through this bad period; it always had in the past. A twinge of guilt squeezed her heart. What if she was wrong about Bard? No, it all made sense. If he got rid of her quickly, he’d look good to his bosses, and probably get a big promotion. He’d warned her about staying here. Said it was dangerous. What better way to scare her off than kill her birds? Yet, on the other hand, he didn’t seem capable of such ruthlessness. He’d really been incredibly kind. She laughed without humor. So what? From experience she knew deception often came under the guise of kindness. It was abusive foster parents who pretended to care in front of others. Especially that last one, Frank, with his deceiving green eyes. She touched the jagged scar in her eyebrow. It was Social Services who wouldn’t believe a child. It was green-eyed Dan, whom she married to get away from the abuse. Instead, he had given new meaning to the word. It was Cory, who’d claimed, at first, to be a friend. And Les. And this relocation agent who pretended to care while he focused on getting rid of her. Her head ached. If only she could be certain about Bard. Nausea rose in her throat. Damn him. She’d almost started trusting him; almost told him too much about herself. Almost started caring

for him. Charlie warned her not to trust anyone. She’d let down her guard. Every time she did that she got hurt. A little kindness and she opened her heart like a fool. When would she learn? She had to harden her heart to survive, and she meant to survive.

Chapter Nine The following day, morning sun streamed through the partially opened drapes and reflected off Bard’s stark white bedroom walls. The day was going to be a scorcher. A loud slam came from the kitchen. Bard jumped. Then exhaled. It was probably Cory searching the cabinets for something. Bard shook his head at his own edginess. It seemed the early heat, plus a restless night full of thoughts of Paula, had pulled his nerves taut. A hot shower would clear his mind. He adjusted the showerhead to its needle spray but even that didn’t do it. His mind was still full of Paula. She’d been too quick to assume he’d had something to do with killing her birds. But she was right about the motive for the attack. The tactic was to scare her out of the project. But who was behind it? Gordon had been on him to get Paula moved out of the clear zone. Could he have taken things into his own hands and hired someone to destroy her birds? Even a greedy SOB like Gordon couldn’t be that low. On the other hand, it also didn’t make sense for a project director like Gordon to ignore the looting and destruction of government property. Even Charlie’s murder hadn’t spurred him to hire extra security and demand that the police do more to protect the homeowners. Bard rinsed away the last residue of soap and dried off with an oversized burgundy towel. He shrugged into a clean white shirt. If his job didn’t call for a tie and jacket, he’d skip them. Not eager to put them on, he carried them to the kitchen and draped them over a chair. Cory sat at the breakfast bar clutching his clear glass mug. He had drained his heavily creamed coffee to the halfway mark. He looked up from his newspaper. “How did the widow take the trouble over at her place?” Bard bristled at Cory’s amused tone; it was as if he enjoyed her trouble. “How’d you think?” He grabbed his favorite blue mug from the cupboard and poured some coffee into it. “Kelly’s incident report gave me new insight into Charlie Borden’s murder. More gunplay around the widow. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’d set the whole thing up herself.”

Bard shoved two slices of bread in the toaster and slammed the handle down. “You can’t seriously think she hired someone shoot a kid and kill her own birds? You’re crazy.” “Like a fox. Think about it. If she throws suspicion on someone else, it’ll take the heat off her.” “Paula loved Charlie. She’d never kill him. And she loves that kid and her birds.” Cory snorted. “W.O. Annie loved Charlie like she loved her foster dad, Frank. And she killed him. You don’t think she’d sacrifice six measly birds and a teenage delinquent to save herself?” Bard’s toast popped up. He ignored it. “No, I don’t. And I don’t think she killed anybody. And I told you before, her name is Paula. Call her that or Mrs. Lord.” “Woo-ooo, the widow’s caught you in her web, hasn’t she, buddy? I was afraid of that. Nice guys like you are pushovers for her kind.” “It’s not like that, Cory. And you’re wrong about her.” “Just don’t get too involved with the pretty little widow because I’m personally going to put her behind bars.” Bard slammed the breakfast bar’s Formica top with the flat of his hand. “Railroad her, you mean. Why have you made it so damn personal?” “I’ve seen her type before. She works men like a hooker works the streets.” “She couldn’t have killed Charlie Borden. She loved him.” Cory wagged a finger at Bard, looking smug, confident. “That proves nothing. Women like her have no qualms about killing their lovers.” “You’d better check your facts. Charlie wasn’t her lover. They sort of adopted each other while in county foster homes, strictly a brother and sister relationship.” Cory raised a wicked eyebrow. “I’ll just bet.” “You’ve worked for the force too long. You only see the worst in people.” “I see past those innocent eyes. There’s an evil side to everyone.” “Even you, Cory?” “We’re taking about her. She lived in twelve foster homes in less than twelve years. Only the last foster parents kept her for longer

than a year. To thank them, she killed the foster dad. Kids coming up with that kind of history aren’t like the rest of us.” “I’ve heard enough of this.” Bard grabbed his jacket and tie and stormed out of the house. He almost forgot to open the garage door before backing his Omni out. He jabbed the open button, backed out to the street, then stomped on the accelerator, taking the corner on two wheels. Bard slowed and took the next corner at a safer speed. He had to admit one thing, with Paula’s wide, brilliant blue eyes, exactly ten freckles across the nose, and that frizzy, carrot hair, she did resemble a grown up version of Little Orphan Annie, and she had the same gumption and spunk. He’d always trusted his own judgment, and he wasn’t about to let Cory’s wild claims make him doubt it now. Paula was holding the neighborhood together, fighting for them. Killers didn’t operate that way. No way would he let Cory railroad her into jail. Bard suspected Deeter was the key to uncovering the truth. He hung out with a bunch of ex-jailbird bikers and probably knew who was behind all the looting and killing. He had to find him, and if necessary, pound the truth out of him. But first, he needed to talk to Gordon. The clear zone needed round-the-clock security and extra police protection. After a kid was shot, how could Gordon refuse? Bard knew the answer. If Gordon was in some way involved in the trouble, he wouldn’t want the police snooping around. He’d see that the paperwork got buried again. Suddenly, an icy fear seized Bard. Anyone who wanted Paula out of the clear zone badly enough to kill her birds and shoot her birdsitter, wouldn’t hesitate to get rid of her permanently. He drew in a breath. Calm down, he told himself. She’ll be okay as long as the guard is there. So why couldn’t he shake off his rising sense of panic? **** Across town, morning crept in slowly for Paula. After six hours of swinging between nightmares and sleeplessness, she decided get up and go through the things Charlie had stored in her garage. She headed outside, taking Ivanhoe with her. She placed her parrot’s wrought-iron cage on a hook. “You can keep me company, Iv, old boy.”

Paula squeezed past her yellow Volkswagen to get to the three large cardboard boxes stacked one upon the other. “Iv, maybe something in one of these cartons will to point to Charlie’s killer.” Ivanhoe rattled his cage. It swung slightly from his struggle to open the door with his beak. “Sorry, Iv. You get free rein in the house, not in the garage.” Paula stood on her tiptoes to reach the top box. Was Charlie’s murder part of the scare tactics, or was there more to it? Ivanhoe squawked and continued his attack on the cage door. “You’re wasting your time, Iv.” Straining, Paula lowered the box to the floor. “What do you suppose Charlie has in here, rocks?” She wiped beads of moisture from the bridge of her nose. Getting an early start hadn’t saved her from the heat. Paula pushed the button on the garage door opener. Pulleys and metal links meshed loudly. Better, she thought, as cooler air drifted in. She returned her attention to the box. She lifted out a stack of magazines. The top one was a yellowed copy of Inventor’s Digest. Paula flipped through the pages. Her throat tightened in remembrance. Charlie had always liked to tinker. He’d been that way since childhood. Paula smoothed the cover of the periodical then tossed the magazine on the pile of thrift shop stuff. Charlie wouldn’t be around to read it anymore. She clenched her jaw and held herself rigid until the threat of tears passed. “Damn you!” she cursed his killer. “Damn you!” Ivanhoe mimicked in his squawky voice. She glanced at her parrot and gave a sad little laugh. Bless him. He’d taken the sharp edge off her sorrow. “Sorry Iv, I shouldn’t curse around you. Don’t want you swearing like a pirate.” Taking a deep breath, Paula dug to the bottom of the box and found a color photo of her and Charlie taken a little over a year ago. He wore old fatigues and a matching cap, jauntily tipped. Even though he was only five-foot nine, he stood taller than her by seven inches. His brawny arm hung protectively over her shoulder. Imagining the weight of his arm, her hand went instinctively to where his hand had once rested. She brought the photo close and studied it.

Charlie had brown, thick-lashed, Spanish eyes with a mischievous gypsy twinkle in them. “You were a terrific brother,” she whispered. He’d protected her all these years, but in the end he couldn’t protect himself. She put the picture into the pile of things to save, and reached for another box. From their aviaries in the backyard, her birds started screeching. Paula stiffened. Had the bird killers come back? She grabbed her loaded gun and charged to the rear door. After a quick scan of the yard, relief washed over her. It was only Boots, the brown and white Siamese cat from down the street. Tucking the gun in her waistband, she went to the cat and picked him up. “Listen, Boots,” she said staring into his ruby eyes, “you gotta quit hassling my birds.” Boots touched her face with his velvety brown paw. Smiling, she smoothed his fur. “You have a definite charm, you sweet, pesky cat. She carried him into the garage and stroked him until his loud purring reassured her that he’d forgotten the birds. Paula put the Siamese down and turned her attention to the second box. She tugged on the stubborn tape. It wouldn’t give. An emotion swelled in her. Trouble circled her like a hungry vulture, and now, even this stupid adhesive dared to go against her. She squeezed her eyes closed briefly. “I won’t cry, Charlie,” she promised. When they’d met in that group foster home at ages ten and twelve, Charlie had told her right off that orphans didn’t dare cry, gripe or chase-around like wild animals, not if they hoped to find a real home. On the rare times when prospective parents came by, she and Charlie would silently line up with the other kids to be looked over like specimens under a microscope. They stood very tall and still, trying to look like they wouldn’t cause problems, hoping that maybe today a loving couple would adopt both of them, and they could be together in a “forever” kind of family. For a while, Charlie let her cling to that dream. Later, he told her the truth; they would be in foster homes until they were eighteen. People only wanted to adopt babies. Then they were moved to the Grimes’s foster home—a hellhole with Fred Grimes as the devil himself. Paula wouldn’t have made it without Charlie and nearly didn’t after he left. She squared her shoulders. All that was behind her.

Paula heard the hum of an engine. It was Bard. He parked in front of her house and waved as he got out of the car. She quickly took the gun out of her waistband and tucked it behind the stack of magazines. She wasn’t sure why, but she didn’t want him to know she was packing a weapon. As he hurried toward her, part of her wanted to jab the garage door button and drop the barrier in his face. Another part longed to race into his arms. She stood motionless. “Come to collect for the security services?” She wore her rancor like a badge. His brow furrowed. “Forget it. Tacked it on my expense account. I need your initials on this estimate of related moving costs.” She grabbed the form out of his hand, and without more than a bottom-line glance, she scribbled P.L. “Look, Mr. Nichols,” she said as she handed the document back to him, “I don’t need your charity.” Paula got a small measure of satisfaction when Bard warily glanced at Ivanhoe. She’d bet he was relieved to see Iv caged. “The security guard wasn’t charity,” he said. “The county owes you that.” “They owe protection to everybody in this project. Until they provide it for everyone, I want no part of it. I won’t be bought off.” Paula studied Bard’s face. It captivated her the way his expressions of displeasure reached his eyes a split second before his mouth. “I’m working on getting protection for everyone. I want to keep folks safe as much as you do. Can’t you just accept that I care?” A glance at his strong, angular face plunged her deeper into confusion. She forced herself to concentrate on the tape that held the lid of Charlie’s box firmly closed. She wiped her perspiring hands on her jeans to get a better grip and yanked hard, but the tape wouldn’t give. Bard came close. The scent of his musky aftershave floated around her. When he gripped the tape she’d been struggling with, his hand brushed hers. A warm stirring shot through Paula. Her gaze met his. Under the shelter of the garage his eyes had darkened, becoming a deep sea-green. It wasn’t the fear of long ago fierce green eyes that caused her to tremble. It was Bard’s compelling stare. He easily ripped the tape from the box. “I didn’t come here to fight. I was worried about you.”

She’d expected him to go on the defensive. Instead, he remained kind. That was sneaky. She didn’t know how to fight kindness. “Come on,” he said, “for the sake of solving our common problems, can we put aside our doubts about each other?” She lifted a tool chest out of Charlie’s box and slammed it down on the workbench. Bard shook his head. “Look, I can’t have an argument with you on an empty stomach. How about offering a starving man a piece of toast and a cup of coffee?” “I can’t stop going through these boxes now. But the coffee’s made and the toaster is on the kitchen counter. Help yourself.” He grinned and headed for the house. Paula watched Bard’s agile gait for a moment. If it took feeding the man to get him out of her hair for a while, she was all for it. She returned her attention to the job at hand and noticed a flak jacket wrapped around something square at the bottom of the box. She removed the cloth and lifted out a black leather journal the size of a five-year diary. Her heart pounded. It made sense that Charlie kept this. He’d always believed that if he didn’t write it down, it hadn’t really happened. She drew the journal to her breast and clung to it.

Chapter Ten Bard shook his head as he entered Paula’s kitchen. He wasn’t sure if he’d been brushed off or made a member of the family. Since his sugar level was waning and he needed a boost of something sweet to keep his temper on an even keel, he decided not to analyze her motives. He poured coffee for two and made four slices of toast. After buttering the toast and lathering on boysenberry preserves, he carried a food tray out to the garage. Paula leaned against the work bench, thumbing through what appeared to be a book-sized journal. His breath caught at the sight of her. Curly tendrils had escaped her upswept carroty hair and clung damply to her long slender neck. The smudge of dirt on her nose hid a few freckles. He fought an urge to bend and kiss away the dirt. Furtively, she slid the journal under a jacket. She either knew or suspected the contents might reveal something important and didn’t want him to know the journal existed. Damn, she still didn’t trust him. Looking innocent, Paula glanced at the tray. “Appears you found everything. “I’m getting quite comfortable in your kitchen,” he said with all the charm he could muster. I hoped you’d join me.” He moved a lawnmower out of the way and turned a large, empty cardboard box upside down to serve as a table. “The toast smells tempting. I was in such a hurry to get to all this,” she said gesturing to Charlie’s boxes, “that I forgot to eat this morning.” Paula reached toward the two folding metal chairs hanging on a long hook. Her yellow tank top stretched tightly across her breasts. The cotton lifted slightly, exposing an inch of ivory skin. Bard eyed her waist. His fingers itched to confirm if they’d meet if he extended them around that tiny middle. “Here, let me get those chairs.” Bard handed one to Paula, and they sat down, facing each other. He watched Paula take a bite of the toast. A dot of boysenberry preserves adhered to her lips. She flicked it off delicately with her tongue. If her intention was to keep his mind off the journal, it almost worked; his temperature skyrocketed, inflaming desires he had striven to keep in check.

“Toast’s good, Mr. Nichols.” She darted a glance at the pile of cloth that hid the journal. “Something interesting under there?” Bard asked, arching his eyebrow. He lunged for the journal. “Let me take a look.” She grabbed it away. “No!” “Charlie’s journal, right?” **** Paula clutched the book that might hold a clue to all the killing. It wouldn’t do any good to lie, she thought. “It’s private.” “I understand,” Bard said in a deep voice that seeped within her and shot heat to her most sensitive areas. “You do?” “Of course. But if you need help with anything you find in there, I’m here, Paula.” His smile flamed the heat already turning her insides to jelly. Don’t let him into your heart. Don’t let him into your heart. Remember the last time. Still, she was impressed. He’d dropped the topic of journal, just like that, respecting her privacy. In her eyes, he’d just gotten a little taller. He finished his toast in silence, making her feel guilty. But she had no idea why. She didn’t owe him any further explaination. After minutes of ackward silence, Bard glanced at the journal. “Going through his things can’t be easy. But sometimes talking about our departed loved ones helps. Did Charlie have any hobbies?” Was this a trick to suck her in? Well, she could just tell him inconsequential things. And it might make her feel better to talk about Charlie. “He invented things.” Bard smiled. “No kidding. Like what?” “Once, when he was a kid, he invented a roach bomb that stunk up the whole neighborhood. It killed the roaches all right, but everyone within a two-block area had to be evacuated for eight hours.” Bard’s eyes twinkled. “Did he get in trouble?” “Big time. I tried to protect him by hiding the belt. Then we both got a beating.” “My God. Sounds rough. Way beyond tough love.” “Love wasn’t part of the equation.” She shuddered. The bruises and welts burned into her legs and back had lasted for weeks. Then it hit her what she’d shared. She hadn’t meant to tell him about

the beating. Darn, she was too vulnerable around him. She shrugged, pretending it didn’t matter. “But that isn’t what we were talking about. I was telling you about Charlie.” Bard opened his mouth to speak, but she hurried on, not wanting to give him a chance to dwell on their treatment in the group homes. “Most of Charlie’s ideas worked out well. And when he joined the army, he invented a unique clip for the rifles like the ones used in his security unit. Later, he sold other clever ideas to private companies.” “He sounds top notch. Have any pictures?” She showed him the color photo of Charlie with his arm around her. Bard studied it. “You can see that you two had a special relationship. Probably a lot better than some blood brothers and sisters.” Paula smiled. He’d said just the right thing. She appreciated he hadn’t pressed her to share more about the bad stuff. He returned the photo to her and suddenly stood “Thanks for the quick pick-me-up. I hate to eat and run but I need to talk to Deeter right away.” His abrupt decision to leave made her head spin. She stood and faced him. “Deeter may not talk to you. He doesn’t trust County people.” “He’ll talk to me. Don’t worry about that.” Even though Deeter was a rough-edged mountain of a man, Paula didn’t doubt that Bard could handle him. The toughness in Bard’s eyes gentled. “Remember, I’m here for you, Paula.” His piercing look made her knees go weak. “Whatever you need. Okay?” She nodded. Her heart skipped a beat. She’d tried to harden herself against his easygoing warmth, but she couldn’t. “I’ll be back around dinnertime,” he said as she walked him to his car. “Since you shared breakfast with me twice, I’ll bring supper. Like Chinese?” “Yes, but....” They were spending too much time together and she was starting to look forward to it. Don’t start depending on him, that’s how you get hurt. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be too tired by the time I finish here.” “That’s the beauty of it—you won’t have to cook, and you can help me sort the truth from Deeter’s lies. He won’t come right out and admit he hired those men to kill your birds.”

“You think he’s behind that?” Deeter had been one of Charlie’s friends; they’d worked on cars together. She didn’t want to believe anything bad about him. “If not, he knows who is. Expect me around five.” Paula hesitated. She should say no. But she didn’t. She watched Bard slide behind the wheel. As he drove away, her traitorous heart went with him. She tried to convince herself that she didn’t reject Bard’s dinner offer only because she wanted to hear what Deeter had to say. But she knew that wasn’t all. Suddenly, Paula had the prickly feeling she was being watched. Her gaze swept the field at the end of her cul-de-sac. She saw no one. She rubbed her arms and studied the overgrown yard of the boarded up house across the street. Nothing moved. She raised her eyes and looked at the hillside in the distance. Still, she saw no one. She clutched the journal to her chest. A shiver slid down her spine. Never had she experienced a stronger feeling of being watched. **** Deeter left his black truck and stepped to the edge of the hill that overlooked the clear zone project and zeroed his high-powered binoculars in on the book Paula held. He adjusted the power to the most finite setting. The faded printing on the cover was impossible to read. It was either a Bible, a diary, or a small journal. He’d been in Paula’s garage several times with Charlie and knew Charlie kept his things there. He’d seen Paula digging in boxes and was certain the book came out of one of them. People often left notes for their loved ones in Bibles. Whether it was a Bible or a journal, his boss would want to know about it. **** Bard frowned. Deeter’s black truck wasn’t in front of his place on Dell Avenue, but he had to come home sometime. Bard decided to check back later. He drove slowly through the project. The boarded up houses with their wheat-colored lawns looked grim as hell. The intermingled well-kept homes with green lawns and blooming flowers failed to mask the undercurrent of danger. Charlie and six of Paula’s birds had been killed within the project boundaries, and Gary had almost died in this clear-zone jungle. Dammit. Either Gordon would get on the ball and process his request for police protection for the project or.... Or what? Was he willing to quit? He thought of the years he had

invested. Then he thought of Paula. He’d be of little help to her if he walked off the project. Bard pressed down on the gas pedal and headed for his office. His tires squealed as he skidded into the parking space in front. He marched into his boss’s office, slamming the door against the wall as he entered. “Sign this request for security now.” He slapped it down on Gordon’s desk. “Get out of here, Nichols!” Gordon pointed toward the door. “I ought to fire you for storming into my office like this.” Bard grabbed Gordon’s pen out of the holder and thrust it at him. “Lives are at stake!” Gordon shot to his feet. Bard didn’t flinch. His blood boiled. The low murmur of cool air pouring through the ceiling vents turned to vapor as it touched his skin. “Sign it,” Bard said, his voice low and deadly. Gordon’s usually dull gray eyes sparked fire. Bard held his gaze steady, refusing to even blink. A tense second ticked by. Then to Bard’s surprise, Gordon broke eye contact and eased back into his chair. “Even if I wanted to,” he said, back-peddling to a more reasonable tone, “I can’t do that. This is a Corps Project, and they hold the purse strings.” “Then I’ll hand-carry the request to The Corps chief in L.A. Just sign it.” “Don’t push me, Nichols.” Bard clenched his fists, but he managed to keep his arms at his sides. “A man was killed and a boy shot!” Gordon sank deeper into his chair. “The widow’s gotten to you, hasn’t she? Made you want to play hero. Can’t you see it? Most of what is going on over there is her fault.” Bard paced to release pent-up energy. “No, it’s your fault for not taking action against the looting.” Gordon’s mouth twitched. “The woman made war against the County and The Corps. There are casualties in war.” “Okay, if that’s how it’s going to be, as of now, she isn’t in this fight alone.” Bard picked up Gordon’s telephone. “The newspapers will eat up a story like this. I can see the headlines now: ‘Corps and County Square-off Against Helpless Widow.’”

Gordon jabbed his finger down on the disconnect button. The two men stared at each other. Green eyes drilled into dull gray ones. Seconds that felt like minutes ticked by. “You’ve chosen the wrong side, Nichols.” Gordon snarled then picked up his pen and quickly scribbled his signature on the form. “I’d fire you, but it’s too late to bring in a new man. But you’d better watch yourself when this project’s over.” Bard grabbed the form and stormed out of the room. Gordon would make his life hell now. But he couldn’t have slept nights if he hadn’t taken a stand. Besides, he had a personal stake in the project now—Paula.

Chapter Eleven He slid behind the wheel of the Omni and gunned the engine to life. Cory had warned him that a woman like Paula could get into a man’s blood, and she had. But no matter what anyone said about the spunky redhead, he’d help her, not only with her move, but with her conflict with the County and the investigation into Charlie’s death. She shouldn’t have to wage this fight alone. He had a feeling that too many people had skipped out on her. That’s why she didn’t trust him. Somehow, he’d find a way to teach her to trust again. Bard didn’t know exactly when Paula had become his personal crusade; he only knew she had. He made a U-turn and headed toward the police department. The more he thought about it the easier it was to believe that his boss might have something to do with the attack on Paula’s birds. He’d said he wanted Paula moved quickly at any cost. The ambitious, political SOB did have a sadistic side. Once when they were out in the desert reviewing a project, Gordon turned a turtle upside down and watched its stubby legs tread air. Bard knocked Gordon aside and immediately put the turtle back on its feet. Later at an office party held at his home, Gordon kicked his own dog when it leaped eagerly over the fence to greet him. After several glasses of wine his wife confided that “Gordy” was all bluff. She believed he liked to shock people to watch their reaction. Bard didn’t buy it. But was Gordon capable of ordering another man’s death? Bard tabled his questions as he walked into the police station. The sergeant took him directly into the chief’s office. From there his luck went sour. “Our department is understaffed,” the chief said. He scratched his balding head while he scanned a computer printout. We got those rock concerts at Lytle Creek. But I can assign a couple men to handle the project area when they’re over.” Bard had seen the promotion for the series of summer concerts in the newspaper. “That’s a week and a half away,” he said. “These people need police protection now.” For an insane instant he wanted to haul the chief up by his collar and make him understand the danger.

He clamped his arms to his sides. Getting himself thrown in jail wouldn’t help. The chief stroked his double chin thoughtfully. “I can have a cruiser swing by a couple times a night. That’s it, until the concerts are over. Handling the concert backlash is taking every man. I even had to get help from L.A. County last Saturday night when a gang riot broke out.” The finality in the chief’s tone made hanging around pointless. He’d accomplished zilch. A cruiser driving through the area a couple of times a night wasn’t going to keep Paula and her birds safe, protect the homeowners and tenants, or stop the looting. He started to leave the building when he thought of Cory. Bard was almost running by the time he reached the end of the hall. “Got a minute?” he asked, as he stuck his head into Cory’s office. “Yeah, buddy. What’s up?” Cory smiled and turned away from his computer, his blue eyes twinkling. Bard’s shoulder muscles relaxed. Good thing Cory didn’t hold a grudge. They hadn’t exactly parted on friendly terms earlier that morning. “Your chief can’t assign anyone to the Clear Zone Project until after the rock concert series in Lytle Creek is over. Can you suggest anything?” Cory took out a comb and slicked it through his dark blond hair. “Something new happen?” Bard knew Cory had heard the latest. “Isn’t someone shooting a kid and butchering a bunch of birds enough?” “Take it easy, I’ll make some extra swings through. I haven’t finished my investigation on Charlie Borden, so I’ll be around anyway.” “Thanks.” Thanks for nothing, Bard thought. “Got anything on a guy named Deeter?” Cory squared his broad shoulders and sat up straighter. “Does he live in the project?” Bard nodded. “Bear of a guy, bearded, drives a black truck.” “Last name?” Cory poised his pencil ready to write. “I don’t know. Deeter isn’t a legitimate renter so he’s not on my list.” “Got an address?”

“22239 Dell Avenue, apartment three. Downstairs.” Cory wrote it down. “Got a license number on the truck?” Bard groaned. He should have gotten it. “Not yet.” “Let’s see what we have here,” Cory said with an amused expression on his face, “a bear-like, bearded guy who drives a black truck and lives in apartment three on Dell.” He tapped his pencil on the desk thoughtfully. “Yeah, that’s enough. I’ll have something on him later today.” “Thanks. I think he can finger the head guy behind the trouble in our project. Maybe even identify Charlie’s killer.” Cory wrinkled his tanned forehead. “You don’t believe the widow did it, do you?” “No,” Bard said. It irked him that Cory spit out the word widow like a filthy curse. To defend Paula, Bard almost mentioned Charlie’s journal and that it might conceal a motive for the killing. He remembered in time that Cory wasn’t just his roommate; he was the man out to convict Paula. If he knew about the journal he might take it away from her, calling it evidence. “I’m certain Paula didn’t kill anyone.” Bard said. “Very certain.” Cory shook his head. “My new information might shake your faith, pal. Her bank records show an entry for $100,000, deposited right after someone killed her husband.” “So he was insured,” Bard shrugged, “so what?” “She took out the policy a week before he was murdered.” “Insurance companies don’t pay out money without an extensive investigation. The settlement proves they didn’t find any foul play.” “They depended on the police investigation. And someone in our department dropped the ball.” Bard shook his head. “Are you so hard up for cases you have to dig up old ones?” “This is groundwork for the Borden murder. I’m checking insurance companies now. If the widow happens to be on a policy for Borden, bingo, we not only have a connection between the cases but a strong motive.” Bard didn’t believe a connection existed. “Get me the info on Deeter,” he said. “I suspect he knows the real killer, and it isn’t Paula!”

“Look at the facts, Bardy Boy. She and her husband moved in with the granny-in-law. A couple of months later, the old gal dies mysteriously. Paula and husband, Dan, inherit Granny’s house, and a year later, Dan dies and the widow becomes the sole owner of the house plus the beneficiary on his policy.” “You’re making her sound like a money hungry calculating murderess. Everything you’ve accused her of is pure speculation.” “Strong cases are often built from speculation, my friend.” “Give her a break. She’s gone through a lot of losses.” Cory laughed. “You got it bad, Bardy buddy. Just remember to cover yourself.” Cory’s smug expression revealed that he thought Bard was a fool. “She’s a killer. And don’t worry, I’ll be keeping a close watch on the project area. And the Widow Orphan Annie.” A flush of anger crawled up Bard’s neck. He dug his fingers into his palms. He had to get out of there before he blew his cool. He bolted out the door without comment. Damn! All Cory wanted was to lock Paula behind bars. He’d closed his mind to the truth. Cory hadn’t seen her face when she talked about Charlie, nor had he seen the way she was with Gary. In spite of his strong belief in Paula, the stuff Cory was spouting had started to sound convincing and Bard steeled himself against the unwelcome impact. The Omni quaked when he slammed the car door. It was up to him. He had to find out who was behind the violence or someone else would end up dead, and Paula would probably land in jail. He headed for the apartment where Deeter was staying. The black truck wasn’t parked anywhere around the place, but that didn’t mean Deeter wasn’t there. Maybe he loaned the truck out. When Bard knocked on the door, a hairy ape of a guy about three-hundred pounds, answered. He wore a black T-shirt and worn greasy Levi’s. When he took a swig of the beer in his hand, Bard spied the tattoo Harley-Hoods on the inside of his bulging forearm. The sweet odor of pot and rotting garbage assaulted Bard’s nostrils. A barrage of four-letter words came from inside the apartment spewed by at least two other male voices. Bard shifted his weight. He wasn’t prepared to mix it up with a bunch of bikers. “I’m looking for Deeter.”

“Gone,” the biker drawled. “Got a phone call then tossed his gear in a duffel bag and bugged outta here like the devil was after him.” “When do you expect him back?” “Whatsamatter? You don’t understan’ English? The brother’s gone.” The biker gulped down the last of his beer and crushed the can in his meaty fist. “And he ain’t comin’ back.” “Where’d he go?” The biker laughed. “Where we’re all goin’. To hell.” “I need his last name.” “You the heat?” “Relocation agent.” “He’s already been relocated, man.” The biker hooted it up as if he’d said something very funny. This guy wasn’t among the legitimate renters and owners from Bard’s original survey. But a police raid would get this bunch out. The encroachers might even be behind the looting. Without proof, he could only walk away. Bard shook his head. It was damned suspicious that just when he was ready to nail Deeter a mysterious phone call sent him packing. Bard glanced at his watch. He had no more time to waste here. He had just ten minutes to pick up the newly married Morales couple. When they got into the car, Jess Morales started right into a tirad about the project contractor, Les Cardel. “He’s always leering at mi esposa and hanging around mi casa when I’m gone,” Jess said, mixing Spanish and English. “I think he’s up to no good.” Maria, Jess’s wife, added with a quiver in her voice, “Can you do anything to keep him away, Mr. Nichols? He stands too close, and his look is muy malo.” Bard had seen the leering way Les looked at women, and Paula had mentioned she didn’t like him hanging around either. “I’ll talk to him.” Why did Les have to be such an obnoxious S.O.B.? Bard showed the Morales’s a half-dozen places and when they didn’t like any of them, he hid his impatience under a thin veneer of forced politeness. Dammit, it wasn’t like him to feel irritated with his clients. He chalked it up to his worry about Paula. His anxiousness to get back to her festered like a thorn under the skin.

He cut a sharp turn onto Mountain View Avenue and then slowed when he noticed a man tacking up a for rent sign in front of a nicely-landscaped triplex. “Look, Maria said. “That place looks neat and tidy and it’s close to our church.” It turned out that the rent was reasonable, and Maria and Jess loved the place. Seeing them so excited lifted his spirits. His day wasn’t a complete washout. After dropping the couple off at their old apartment, Bard picked up Chinese food from Wongs and headed for Paula’s house. He pressed down hard on the accelerator. The extra speed was only because he was eagar to see that she was okay. Yeah, right, he thought. Okay, it was more than that. But the only other reason was he was counting on Paula to find a clue in the journal. This lie was easy to buy because of the truth tangled in it; he needed a concrete lead now that Deeter was gone. **** Paula came to the door holding Charlie’s journal tightly to her breast. She was safe. Bard felt his body relax; he’d worried needlessly. Paula’s blue-framed glasses dwarfed her face. The frames and her knit top were the same brilliant blue as her eyes. He longed to pull her close, hold her tight, and celebrate his relief. But that wasn’t wise. “You’re early.” She stepped aside. Scents of soap and honeysuckle wafted over him. Damn, he wished he’d gone home first to freshen up. Her sweeping gesture for him to enter tightened her knit top across her breasts. Bard tensed with instant arousal. He gripped the bag of Chinese cuisine and somehow managed to walk to the center of the room. The heat radiating against his forearms from the containers of hot spicy sechuan food was nothing compared to the heat Paula inflamed in him. Too bad he was too professional to act on it. He took a deep breath to regain his self-control and followed Paula to the kitchen. Ivanhoe’s cage swung slightly on a hook in front of the kitchen window. The parrot squawked and reached through the bars and clawed with persistence, trying to grasp the wooden stick that held the latch closed. His diligence almost made Bard want to help him. “Stop it, Iv,” Paula said.

Bard gestured with his head toward the journal she still clutched close. “Find anything in there to help us?” Paula blinked a couple of times, then lifted her chin. “So far only notes on his inventions and some poetry. I wasn’t even aware he wrote poetry. I guess now there are things I’ll never know.” Her brave front didn’t fool Bard; he’d seen the glint of moisture in her eyes. Unable to come up with anything else to comfort her, he said, “Hey, I got an idea. Let’s eat outside. Grab a blanket and we’ll spread it out under that big oak tree in the back yard.” He carried out the food and sodas while Paula got the blanket. She spread it out, and when she plunked down cross-legged, he joined her, sitting as close as he could without brushing legs. With smells of deep fried shrimp and batter wafting around them, they talked about movies they’d seen, laughed over them, and for a little while they were like a couple on a date. Bard like the feeling and was in no hurry for it to end. By the time they had polished off the food, the air had cooled and the sun was dipping low in the grayish-coral sky. Paula leaned back on her arms and looked up with a melancholy expression. Her slender legs were crossed at the ankles. “I miss him already.” Her voice sounded choked and tight with pain. Bard knew she was talking about Charlie and fought ridiculous pangs of jealousy. How could he be jealous of a dead man? “We shared everything as kids.” She sighed and picked at a blade of grass. “That changed when he turned eighteen and joined the army. He went away, and I was stuck in Grimes’s foster home. Alone.” She was trembling. Bard longed to take her into his arms. “Bad huh?” Paula straightened like a rod had been shoved up her spine and clutched her hands in her lap. “It wasn’t any picnic.” “Want to talk about it?” She’d already told him about the beating. But he felt that was just the tip of the iceberg. She looked down at her clutched fingers for several heartbeats then shook her head. “Past history.” She faced him with the bravest expression he’d ever seen. “Anyway,” she said as though there had been no detour of thought, “Charlie wrote to me and visited when he could, but our lives grew apart. There’s a whole chunk of his life I know nothing about.”

“Maybe the journal’ll fill in the gaps.” “I hope so,” she said, in a low, sad voice. Bard decided to steer the conversation to a lighter vein. “You mentioned you ran two businesses.” She smiled radiantly, showing he’d hit on a topic close to her heart. “I dreamed up a plan to make a living with my birds by selling canaries and other domestic birds to pet stores, some of the more exotic species to zoos, and occasionally loaning out doves for weddings.” He hoped his surprise didn’t show. It was beginning to make sense why some of her neighbors affectionately called her the bird lady. “And the other business?” “I photograph birds for postcards and sell pictures and articles to bird lover’s magazines.” “I’ve never known anyone so wrapped up in birds.” She laughed. “It’s very profitable, but I’d do it even if I never made a cent. They’re mostly gentle creatures.” When Paula talked about her feathered friends, her eyes glowed, and Bard wished he were the source of that glow. She raked the underside of her hair, looking adorable, even a little sexy. “Within months the business grew to where I could hardly handle it alone.” “Is that why Charlie moved in?” “Not really. He just turned up one day and said he’d be staying awhile. Since he was going to be here anyway, I made plans to travel to South America to buy some rare exotic birds. I have a connection in Buenos Aires.” Connection. The word had such an illegal sound. Bard tried not to allow the warning signals to unsettle him. He shook his head. Paula was an alarming contradiction, stirring his desire one minute, his mistrust the next. Paula sighed as she brushed a blade of grass off her jeans. “Now I’ll have to wait until this move is over to make the trip.” “How long was Charlie here?” Bard had heard conflicting rumors. “A little over two weeks. I wish now he hadn’t come. It cost him his life.” The sorrow in her voice unnerved Bard. “I want to help you find his killer. Can you trust me?” Could he trust her? With effort, he

discarded his own sporadic doubt as quickly as it came. She just sat there staring at him. Say something, dammit.

Chapter Twelve Paula studied him. “I’m not sure, but I want to trust you,” she answered honestly, yet wondering about his forthrightness. His green eyes looked so kind, so gentle. She thought of the other green-eyed men who’d deceived her. Was Bard an expert at deception, too? Suddenly, Ivanhoe sounded an alarm, squawking and screeching inside the kitchen. Bard and Paula exchanged looks. “Oh, no. Could the bird killers be after Iv?” Paula scrambled to her feet and ran toward the house. Bard followed and grabbed her before she reached the door. “You can’t go charging in there unarmed.” Paula glared at him. Had he purposely gotten her out of the house? Was he holding her so the intruder could get away? She stomped on Bard’s instep. As she broke free of him, she pushed and sent him sprawling on the ground. Paula slipped inside through the screen door. In six quick steps she was in the kitchen. She sighed in relief. Ivanhoe was all right. Footfalls thudded toward her bedroom. She opened the drawer where she kept her gun. Her hand closed over it. She charged down the hall then slowed and eased around the corner into her bedroom, ready to fire. The curtain fluttered in the breeze coming through the open window. Paula froze and scanned the room. It was empty. She ran to the window. Outside, Bard was struggling with a darkly clad figure. The gloved, wiry, ski-masked man dropped something as he broke free. Paula took aim, but she couldn’t shoot a man in the back. Bard chased him into the adjoining field. The man turned and fired. Bard dropped into the maze of weeds and waist-high stalks of sunflowers. He didn’t get up. Paula’s breath caught. Oh, no. She climbed over the bedroom windowsill, leapt to the ground and came down hard on the metal frame of the knocked out screen. Her ankle twisted, pain shot through it. She clenched her jaw and kept going. Her heart throbbed in her ears as she ran toward where Bard had fallen. Suddenly strong arms pulled her down between the stalks of giant sunflowers. “Stay down,” Bard said. “Are you hurt?” she asked, a little breathless.

“Only my pride.” Paula shrugged out of his hold. “You mean I ran here on a twisted ankle and you aren’t even hurt?” “Sorry to disappoint you. I could stand up and let him take another shot.” He feigned rising. Paula grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him back down. “Are you crazy?” Ignoring her question, he touched her ankle. “Let me take a look.” His hands traced over her skin, stirring something inside her. She quickly moved her leg away. “It’s stopped throbbing now.” “Sure?” She nodded, more aware of the quiver within her feminine core than the lingering pain. “If you hadn’t held me back, that guy wouldn’t have gotten out of the house.” “Yes he would’ve. And killed you in the process. At least he didn’t get the journal.” Of course, she thought, the intruder was after the journal. Why hadn’t she considered that. A sinking feeling washed over her. Only she and Bard knew about the journal. She searched her mind for another explanation, but each time she ran over the evidence, the answer came up the same. Bard had to be involved. Paula scanned the field. With the thief nowhere in sight, she rose and limped toward where the journal lay on the ground. Bard was only a step behind her. “How did that guy know about the journal?” she demanded. Without waiting for an answer, she picked it up, and ignoring the pain, ran into the house. The screen door slammed in Bard’s face. “Hey watch it!” He let himself in, and followed her into the living room in broad strides. “Maybe Charlie told someone he was keeping one.” She spun around and faced Bard. “Charlie wasn’t one to tell people his business. Admit it, this was just another ploy to scare me out of here.” “You’re not making sense. If shootings and what happened to your birds didn’t scare you off, why would the theft of a journal?” His logic shook her. She waited for him to say something more to sway her completely in his favor. “Let’s figure out what’s in there someone doesn’t want us to see,” he said in a deep, dangerously reasonable tone.

She felt herself weakening and fought to hold her ground. “I’ll check it. After you leave.” He grabbed her by the shoulders. His fingers pressed into her flesh. “Don’t you realize that guy’ll be back? If he wants the journal he won’t stop until he gets it. Even if he has to kill you.” Bard’s verbal judo-chop turned her knees to jelly, but she’d be damned if she’d show her fear. “I’m armed and a good shot.” “Two men attacked your birds. Can you handle two armed men, three? How many? And the overextended police force, when they finally show up, can’t do much more than take a report.” The picture he painted revealed just how vulnerable she was. “What do you suggest?” “Let me take you to a safe place.” “I told you before, I won’t leave my birds.” “Then I’ll stay here with you.” “And keep tabs on me for the bad guys? No thanks.” He looked directly into her eyes. “If I were in with that thief or anyone else, I wouldn’t have bothered to wrestle the journal away. The easy thing would be to walk away and leave you here alone. You’d be a sitting duck.” His fervor sent a shiver down her spine. She didn’t know what to do. His reasoning made sense. He reached out his hand to her. She hesitated. Everything in her past had taught her to be cautious of the extended hand. It usually ended up either hitting her, around her throat, or in her pocket. She rubbed her aching head. Bard offered his hand again. “Trust me, Paula. You can. I swear it.” She wanted to believe the honesty she saw in his eyes, the earnestness she heard in his voice. She took a deep breath. Then, tentatively, she grasped his warm hand, and his fingers closed over hers. “Don’t disappoint me, Bard Nichols,” she said softly.

Chapter Thirteen Bard paced Paula’s living room. The police had come and gone, only taking a report and suggesting, because of the repeated incidents in the Clear Zone Project area and specifically on her property, that Paula install a good security alarm and get a big dog. While those things might help, Bard’s goal was to get Paula out of the area, and because of her birds, her goal was to stay. With such a strong motivation on her part, his chances of persuading her to vacate the clear zone before the Yucaipa property escrow closed were slim at best. He shook his head at Paula’s grit. Rather than collapsing at the weight of the series attacks, she seemed driven to demonstrate her physical strength and mental toughness. She was brave and could hold her own, but with bad guys determined to get rid of Paula her luck could run out. He couldn’t stop looking at her. She’d been reading Charlie’s journal for over an hour, without even an upward glance. Maybe something within those pages would help him come up with an idea to draw her away from the danger. “How about letting me take a look at that? Maybe I could latch onto something you’ve missed.” Paula raised her head, her eyes icy blue. “Thanks, but I’m very thorough and don’t need help.” Her tone implied that it was his help in particular that she didn’t need. She went back to her reading—and he went back to wearing a path in her carpet. After a few minutes, she glanced up at him, her eye contact, still frosty. “Sit down. Your pacing is driving me crazy.” He clamped his mouth shut, refusing to frown or show anger; an effective relocation agent keeps his emotions to himself. He plunked down on the floor in front of the overstuffed chair and watched Ivanhoe preening himself in his cage. Every time the parrot looked at him, he ruffled his feathers. Paula had brought the sharpclawed beast into the living room to keep an eye on the pet and to keep the annoying creature from getting lonely. She had such a tender heart, but the damned parrot and her birds might be the death of her. In spite of his effort to hide his emotions, Bard frowned in Paula’s direction. She knew the danger of staying but showed no fear. She reclined on the couch; her slender and very shapely legs pulled

up, knees crossed, slowly bobbing a dainty big toe as if keeping beat with her deliberations. She hadn’t talked much, so he had to determine her thoughts and feelings by body language. According to the studies used in his negotiation classes, body language comprised 55% of the force of any response, whereas verbal response accounted for about 7% and intonation and pauses only about 38%. He studied her more closely. She chewed her lower lip, and two small worry lines creased the bridge of her nose. Poor kid. Reading Charlie’s private thoughts so soon after his death had to be rough. The strength in the determined set of her chin amazed him and some mysterious softness about her touched his heart. He’d like to snatch the journal and check it himself and save her from the pain, but she’d surely take such aggressiveness the wrong way. She already distrusted him. He grabbed the Morales file out of his open briefcase. He tapped his pencil on the cover, but rather than opening the file, he studied Paula. Lamplight cast a glow on her oval face. Behind the lens of her glasses twin fans of dark auburn eyelashes obscured her eyes. The white jagged scar that interrupted the line in her finely shaped eyebrow was barely visible above the frame. Had she gotten the scar defending herself? Even though she was handy with a gun, he couldn’t imagine her actually killing anyone. She rubbed her graceful jawline, looking puzzled. He fought an urge to go to her and trace where her fingers had touched. What would it be like to feather kisses down her cheekbones and capture her slender lips with his? He took a deep breath and let the air out slowly. His gaze strayed to her feminine curves. Her knit top rested loosely over shapely breasts and curved to a small waist. What would it be like to kiss her from the hollow between her breasts to her belly button? Damn, his thoughts were getting way out of control. If he wasn’t going home tonight, he should call Cory. Yeah, right. If he told Cory he was bunking out at Paula’s to protect her, he’d call him the biggest fool who ever lived. Maybe it was a personality quirk, but the more Cory bad-mouthed Paula and the more Gordon put pressure on him to get her out of the project, the more he wanted to watch over her. She was vulnerable, although she’d never admit it, and the world was ganging up on her. Confess it, Nichols, it goes beyond wanting to look after her; you want her. His urge to

touch Paula became almost overpowering. He gripped his pencil so tightly it broke. She glanced at him. “Guess they don’t make pencils like they used to.” She smiled. Was Paula aware he’d been ogling her like some lovesick teenager? “There’s another one in the drawer if you need it,” she said, pointing. He found it, but what did he need it for? He sure as hell wasn’t working. Paula paused and looked up from the journal, and as though talking aloud to herself, she asked, “Why would Deeter offer Charlie a job?” In spite of the fact the musing probably wasn’t for his ears, Bard felt heartened that she’d given him something intriguing to chew on. “What kind of job?” “Doesn’t say. Just says he was suspicious when he found out what was involved and played along.” “Sounds like something illegal. Why would Deeter think Charlie would be interested?” She sent Bard a dirty look. “Played along means he feigned interest, wise guy.” She went back to reading, closing him out again. He pretended to immerse himself in his relocation paper work, but the words “played along” ate at the edges of his mind. He watched Paula turn a page and withdraw a key taped to the sheet. Before he could ask any questions, she read Charlie’s note: “If something happens to me, go to our joint safe deposit box in San Diego and pick up the letter addressed to you.” “You have a box together?” Bard didn’t understand why she was telling him this. She brought him in and out of her confidence like a cat playing with a mouse. What was her game? She nodded. “Well, I’ve never seen it. Charlie brought a signature card to me on my sixteenth birthday and told me to sign it. That was eight years ago.” Bard could hardly believe it. She’d actually shared that with him. He searched for the right words to encourage that inkling of trust. Wait a minute…or was she setting him up for something? Suddenly, the house went dark. Ivanhoe squawked in protest. Bard stepped to the window and looked out. “The street lamps are still on,” he assured Paula. “And there’re lights on down the street in the

Donley house.” He opened the drapes wider to take advantage of the moonlight. “Are there fuses in your electric box?” “It’s on a master switch,” Paula said. “The box is only about a year old.” “That could mean we’ve got more trouble. Got a flashlight?” “Kitchen drawer. I’ll get it.” “Better get your .38, too.” Bard felt inside the back folder of his briefcase for his gun. His fingers closed over it. His palms grew moist. Relocation agents seldom carried guns and the practice wasn’t encouraged by the County or The Corps, but since the clear zone had turned into a war zone he started carrying his. It was properly licensed, and he practiced twice a month at the gun club, enough to know how to aim and hit what he was aiming for. Paula handed him the flashlight. He shoved it into the waistband of his pants. “I’ll call 911,” she said. “Good. I’ll check the electric box.” Paula gripped his arm. “Wait. The guy who was here earlier had a gun. What if he’s out there waiting to jump you? And what if he’s not alone? You can’t just walk into an ambush.” The concern in her voice made it easy for him to shake off his doubts about her. “I have to do something. I’m not good at playing sitting duck, and considering the cops’ response time lately, I think we’re on our own.” He lifted her hand from his forearm and gave it a squeeze. “I’ll be careful.” Bard went to the back door, pulled the lacy curtain aside and peered out. Moonlight lit the yard, but thick foliage and deep shadows provided many hiding places. He could hear Paula asking the 911 dispatcher for help, giving her address. He eased the door open and slipped out, alert to every cracking twig, every rustling leaf. The sweat on his fingers hampered his grip on the gun. The electric box door hung wide open. His neck muscles tensed. Someone had tampered with the power. Before he turned it back on, he’d better find the culprit, or culprits, skulking around in the shadows waiting to jump him. He slipped along the width of the house, using bushes as cover. A metallic taste permeated his saliva. Paula screamed. Ivanhoe squawked. A shot rang out. Then another.

With his heartbeat thundering in his ears, he rushed through the dark house and into the living room. The front door hung partly off its hinges. “Paula!” “Out here,” she called. Bard ran toward the sound of her voice. Wings flapped. He flashed the light toward the sound. Ivanhoe zoomed at him. Bard ducked. “Get away, dammit, I’m not the enemy!” The parrot lit on a chair next to his open cage and eyed him warily. Bard eyed him back and eased out the front door. Then he saw her in the shadows of the front porch. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her into the house, reassured by the feel of her warm skin against his palms. “What happened?” “A man broke through the door and headed for the journal. Ivanhoe attacked him before he could get it. I fired twice over the guy’s head to scare him off.” “Which way did he go?” She shook her head. “By the time I ran out here he’d disappeared.” “He must’ve been watching you through the open drapes before the lights went out.” She pulled away from his hold. “Unless you told him where the journal was. You were out in the backyard a long time.” “Short lived trust, Mrs. Lord.” “I say what’s on my mind, Mr. Nichols. Tell me how these guys know everything that goes on here?” “I can’t explain it. But if you don’t start trusting me, we haven’t a snowball’s chance in hell to get whoever’s doing this.” “I just know that twice someone’s tried to take a journal from me that no one but you knows exists.” “Obviously I’m not the only one,” he said in as reasonable tone as possible with someone glaring at you. “Did you forget I was the one who saved the journal the first time? The one who told you to arm yourself while I went outside? Those aren’t the actions of a conspirator.” She trembled. So that was it, her anger was a defense mechanism to hide her fear. “Okay,” she said, “if I’m wrong, I apologize. It’s just that this trusting thing is new to me.”

“Keep trying, it’ll get easier,” he said, hoping it was true for himself as well, then he grabbed for a grain of humor to get them through this. “I grow on people.” “Like fungus?” she said shakily, joining the ribbing like a trooper. “More like the bark that provides warmth and protection to a tree.” He grinned. Maybe he had a tad of romance in him after all. He slipped his arm around her waist. Ivanhoe squawked in protest. “How about telling him I’m a friend?” She laughed. “You think this is funny, don’t you?” he said, laughing with her, relieved she could find a granule of humor after all she’d been through. He swung her around to face him. Moonlight shining through the picture window glistened in her wide-set eyes. “You’d better tell your parrot, Paula. Or we’ll have an early Thanksgiving, and we won’t be serving turkey.” “Okay, okay,” she said. “I’ll tell him, but it wasn’t Ivanhoe’s fault. He was confused about whether you were friend or foe.” Bard shook his head. “You both suffer the same affliction, don’t you?” He had his own doubts from time to time about her, but he wasn’t about to muddy the waters with that confession. She smiled. “It’s curable.” “I’ll count on that. Now, I’ll get the lights back on and fix the door,” he said, pointing at the gaping, unhinged slab of wood. Paula picked up the parrot. “My hero,” she murmured into his feathers as she kissed him on the head. For an instant, Bard felt a prick of jealousy needle into his gut then he laughed. It was ridiculous to be jealous of a parrot. Deep down he was glad she had the feathered watch dog. “What’s funny?” “Just how very clever Ivanhoe is. Remarkable bird.” She smiled as she put Ivanhoe back into the cage. “I knew you two would learn to like each other.” She stooped and picked up the stick. It gave Bard pleasure to see her shove it firmly into the latch. Bard glanced at his watch. “Good thing we didn’t count on the police.” They would get here eventually, but too late to do any good. While Bard took care of the lights and the door, he planned their next step. The new information revealing the existence of a safe

deposit box and a mysterious letter was just the motivating force he’d needed to entice Paula to leave the clear zone. After he’d restored electricity to the house, he said, “Go pack your bag. We’re going to San Diego.” Paula didn’t budge in spite of his gentle shove. “I told you, I can’t leave the birds.” Dammit, here we go again. Didn’t she get it? Her life was hanging in the balance. She wasn’t this invincible bird protector who had to stay at all costs. “Look, I’ll hire a another security guard and a retired neighbor of mine to take care of the birds while we’re gone.” Bard called Pacific Security and his neighbor and made the arrangements. When he finished, he said, “It’s all set. Come on, let’s get hustling.” Paula came slowly toward him, her slender form bathed in defused lamplight. “I don’t know about this.” His heart thudded rapidly against his chest. “It’ll be okay,” he said hoarsely. “I promise. Write out the bird and parrot care instructions. I want to leave tonight.” “Why?” she asked with a hint of exasperation. “We can’t get into the safe deposit box until morning.” “There was a tail on us the last time we went somewhere together. It’ll be easier to slip away at night.” He hoped she’d buy the excuse. If he stressed the danger of staying, she’d never leave the birds. He turned her by the shoulders, placed his hand in the small of her back, and gave her a gentle shove toward the bedroom. “Move it, angel.” She laughed and paused in the doorway. “Angel?” He shrugged. It had just slipped out. In his mind, he’d called her angel since he’d met her. Heat crawled up his jaw. “You know…you like birds and birds have wings and—” Abruptly he cleared his throat and, before making a complete idiot of himself, he snapped, “Just get packed. Okay?” “Exactly what do you hope to find in the letter?” Bard was convinced Charlie’s murderer and the individual behind all the problems in the project were the same person. But they needed proof, and the S.O.B.’S name. “The name of Charlie’s killer.”

Chapter Fourteen Janus completed scribbling the outline of his revised looting plan then put the clipboard and pencil down on the kitchen counter by the lantern. Where the hell was Deeter? Janus had the gnawing feeling that he was losing control of the big ape. He paced. He wouldn’t let this deal fall apart, no matter who had to go down. He had put a lot of work and thought into this operation, picking street toughs smart enough to do the job but dumb enough not to ask too many questions. But to make this sweet set up work and to sidestep trouble, the details had to flow like the tide of wetbacks crossing the borders. Fortunately, meticulous planning and attention to details were his alter ego’s specialties; Janus had a reputation for being the best detail man east of LA. When he heard Lopez call his name, he smirked at the use of his alias. Like the god Janus, he had two faces. The face he showed to the world, and the one only his men saw. But, since at the moment, he prefered to remain hidden, he stepped to the hallway, peered around the door frame and watched the wiry thief enter the house through the side door. Lopez beamed his flashlight around the darkened den, then paused to light a cigarette with trembling fingers. “You in here, Janus?” he called in his Spanish accent. The tremor in his voice gave away his fear of vacant houses. Janus remained silent. “Janus?” A whine crept into Lopez’s voice. His sienna-skin paled. Janus snickered to himself at Lopez’s discomfort. When Lopez was a toddler, his drug-addict mom left him alone in abandoned shack for days. The resulting adult was this spineless jackass. Janus often found it useful to exploit that weakness. He silently moved back into the kitchen and waited. “Donde esta?” Lopez’s shrill where are you echoed through the hollow space. Figuring he’d played the cat and mouse game long enough to keep Lopez off balance and under his thumb, Janus growled. “Kitchen.” “Ah, aqui esta.” Lopez’s ah, here you are was spoken with great relief in his tone. The red bandanna around his forehead had

slipped low and almost covered his dark bushy eyebrows. He took a drag from his cigarette and squinted as the smoke curled into his muddy eyes. Janus stepped closer to the lantern, aware that the glow spotlighted his muscular build and threw a giant shadow on the wall. He squared his shoulders, wrapping his superiority around him like a Roman cape. He’d always been a master at taking on whatever personality worked: good guy, bad guy, or something in between. Like his Roman namesake, he, too, was a god—a deity of his own fate. “Hand over the journal,” he commanded. “Let’s see how much Charlie knew.” “Lo siento, boss,” he apologized. “I couldn’t get it. The widow stopped me.” Lopez’s open-armed gesture of helplessness was as lame as the excuse he gave. Janus’s fingers clawed into his palms. Heat crept up from his neck. “You got a gun. Why didn’t you use it?” He couldn’t believe this street tough had botched getting the journal from a helpless widow. Lopez ground his cigarette into the linoleum floor with the toe of his boot then leaned against the side of the doorjamb. “She took me by surprise. I thought she went outside.” Janus wasn’t fooled by the feigned relaxed stance. The twitch near Lopez’s left eye gave him away. It had been a challenge for him to go into a darkened house. “And?” “So I went in. Next thing, this squawking parrot attacked my head. Before I could draw my gun, the bitch appeared from nowhere and shot at me.” The image of the fiery widow shooting at Lopez might have amused Janus if the situation wasn’t so serious. “Were you able to get into both garages and plant the devices?” “Si.” Okay, Janus thought. Part of the plan was still moving forward. He knew that if Bard suspected a tail he’d switch from the county’s Omni to Paula’s VW, or his own personal 240 Z. With the three locator devices in place all options were covered. “You erased all signs of tampering?” Lopez nodded. “Afterwards I locked both garages tight. They’ll never know anyone was there.” “What about the Omni?”

Lopez chuckled. “Tagged it right in front of the widow’s place.” Before Janus could ask, Lopez added, “No worry. It was dark, and I made sure no one was around.” “At least you didn’t screw that up.” Lucky for Lopez. As far as Janus was concerned, it was three strikes and a man was out. Janus held his watch close to the lantern. Dammit, what was keeping Deeter? “Get Paula’s house bugged ASAP. I need to know what they know and every move they make.” It was too bad the widow had drawn Bard into this. He wasn’t someone easily dealt with.” Janus blew out a gust of air. Yeah, he could be a big problem. Lumbering footsteps coming from the side door announced Deeter had finally shown up. Lopez stuck a cigarette in the corner of his mouth and leaned against the wall as if he had nothing better to do. “What are you waiting for?” Janus growled. “You’ve got your orders. Get moving.” He didn’t want Lopez around for what came next. As Lopez and Deeter passed each other in the doorway, they nodded and slapped palms in a high-five gesture. Deeter’s long, black hair was matted as usual. His leather vest lifted an inch, exposing a beer belly and the gun tucked in his belt. “Sorry I’m late,” he said. “Took longer than I expected to dump the truck and rip off another set of wheels.” Janus knew not to inhale too deeply. Deeter was not only a hairy bear, but he smelled like one. “What’d you do with the truck?” Janus asked. Deeter jerked a thumb in a general direction behind him. “Ran it off the hill that overlooks our little clear zone gold mine.” “That was a mistake.” Janus put his leg up on a rung of a three-step ladder and shined his dress boots with a rag. “As I recall, it’s your third.” “Third?” Deeter wrinkled his brow. “And how was dumping it there a mistake?” “That area is mostly open. You risked being seen.” “No one saw me. I made sure of that.” “How? You’ve raised suspicions. Did you know Bard was at your apartment looking for you today? You’ve allowed yourself to become too visible here.”

Deeter stepped backwards. “If you’re worried about that dumb relocation agent finding me and making me talk—” Janus felt a calm excitement in his own power. “Don’t look so worried. The problem is easily solved. You take a short trip until things blow over. I have a place in mind.” Deeter’s eyes narrowed. “Where?” His hand inched toward the gun tucked in his belt. Janus instantly played to Deeter’s greed. “How’d you like to be a silent partner in another money-spinning operation I have going?” Deeter’s hand stopped inching and, with dollar signs glinting in his eyes, he stuck his meaty thumbs in his jeans pocket. “If it’s as profitable as this deal.” Janus finished polishing his boots then shined the barrel of his silencer-equipped .38. He paused and leveled a look directly at Deeter. “That’s what I like about you, Deeter, your greed.” “Hey, man, something doesn’t feel right here,” Deeter said, reaching for his gun. It was too late. Janus didn’t blink as his bullet caught Deeter right between the eyes. Janus’s heartbeat speeded only a fraction as he got-off on the drama of seeing, up-close, the alarm in the pathetic, inept face—and then blowing it off. **** Paula rolled the Omni’s window down and let the cool night air tousle her hair. Bard’s strong features looked angular in the glow of the dashboard lights. She liked his profile, liked him. Too much. When he took the north freeway entrance instead of the south, she wrinkled her brow. “Going to San Diego by way of Victorville?” He laughed. “I need a change of clothes. It’ll only take a few minutes to stop by my place.” Mischief bubbled within Paula. She sent Bard a teasing smile. “You actually have a place, huh? You’re in our neighborhood so much it seemed unlikely.” “Damn, I’ve been found out,” he said sounding amused. “I’m Mr. Mechanical Man, and every morning my boss winds me up and sends me to the clear zone.” She chuckled. “Maybe I saw you as a county robot at first.” “And now?”

She smiled and relaxed back into the seat. It might be worth a short detour to see his place, she thought. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said. “When I have an answer, I’ll let you know.” Bard shook his head. Although Paula had sidestepped the issue. He felt heat surge through him at the playfulness in her voice and her relaxed body language. Would she still feel playful after he told her about Cory? Late night traffic was spotty, and it took them less than ten minutes to skirt the downtown area and semi-circle the city. The Dell Rosa Avenue exit loomed just ahead. Bard changed lanes and took the Northbound off ramp. They passed a block of two-story apartments. Chunks of darkened windows with only scattered lighting gave the building a bleak look. “Man, I’m glad I don’t live in one of those cracker boxes anymore.” “You live in a house?” He laughed at the surprise in her voice. “Yes, ma’am, I’m living the American Dream. I bought a place a little over a year ago.” He cleared his throat. “There’s something I need to tell you about that before we get there.” He drove automatically, unaware of anything but trying to find the right words. He’d worked hard to gain her trust. Would coming clean destroy his headway? “I didn’t see the need to tell you this before, but now--” “Tell me what?” The unease in her tone tightened the tension bunching in his neck muscles. He stared straight ahead at the road, not glancing at her for fear he’d see the familiar signs of distrust in her expression. His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “Remember when you introduced me to Cory and we told you that we’d met before?” “Yes.” Wariness rode her voice. He sensed her looking at him, and although he had nothing to feel guilty about, her scrutiny made him feel guilty as hell. “We might run into him at my house.” “Why? Is he after you for something, too?” “We’re roommates.” “Roommates!” The bombshell he dropped sent shock into her voice and the shrill, penetrating sound vibrated through him like the aftershock of an earthquake.

She went silent, her eyes wide and disbelieving, then narrowing into slits of fire. “You pretended to know nothing about me.” Her voice trembled. “Am I to believe Cory didn’t fill you in on all of what he considers to be the sordid details of my life?” “Cory said a few things, but I wanted to hear your side.” Bard’s heart pounded in his ears. This wasn’t going well. “I shared personal things with you,” she said. “Things I never told anyone else. How much of it did you repeat to him?” The pain in her tone knotted his gut. He wished he could say he’d never told Cory anything, but that would be a lie, and he wouldn’t lie to her. He swung to the side of the road, stopped and faced Paula. He wanted to take her in his arms, but her glaring look told him touching her would be a mistake. “I never betrayed you,” he said with such deep emotion that it shook him. “What do you call it? Cory had a pipeline through you directly to me! You led me to tell you things Cory could use against me, things I would never have told you if I’d known he was your roommate.” Her voice broke. “I’ve tried to trust you, Bard, and you’ve let me down.” He felt her pain as she closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to her lips. His throat tightened. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, and he didn’t want to make things between them worse. Before he could weigh his next words and deliberate the consequences of saying them, she straightened and folded her arms. “Take me home, Mr. Nichols. I’m not going to San Diego, or anywhere else with you.” He couldn’t let her back out. “If I’d wanted to deceive you, I could’ve left you at your house with the security guard while I came up here alone. I didn’t betray you. I didn’t even tell Cory you had a gun.” “Big deal. It’s properly registered.” “Look, I should’ve told you about Cory right away. But how was I to know that it would matter, that you’d share things with me, that we’d become friends?” **** Paula winced. Bard’s words made sense. He could’ve kept up the deception, if that was his intent. Besides, regardless of his link with Cory, she needed to get to San Diego and find out what was in the safe deposit box. And she didn’t really want to go alone. Besides, Bard’s link with Cory could be reversed to her advantage. All she had

to do was entice Bard to channel the confidential police information in her direction. How hard could that be? She couldn’t pass up any source that would lead her to Charlie’s killer. “Okay, you convinced me.” “I did?” His wrinkled brow alerted her that she’d raised his suspicions. She forced a lightness to her tone. “Isn’t that what you were going for?” “Yeah. Of course.” He smiled and started the car again. “This won’t take long.” Bard darted several glances in her direction, as though still trying to figure out what he’d said to persuade her. Minutes later, they drove up in front of the large, two-story, brick home on Mariposa Drive. There were no other cars around. Paula exhaled in relief. She didn’t want to see Cory. Especially not in his home court. While Bard went to his bedroom to throw a few things in a bag, Paula ambled around his living room. The fireplace mantel had a string of pictures across it. One was a shot of a family gathering. She counted ten people. Bard stood tall in the back, with his hands resting on the shoulders of a seated plump woman. Her hair was a deep brown like Bard’s; her hand clasped lovingly on his. She had to be his mother. Paula felt a prickle of envy. Charlie was wrong when he told her that a person couldn’t miss what they never had. After allowing herself a wistful moment, she squared her shoulders. Strength came from accepting how things were, and going on from there. She wandered around the room, trailing her fingers over the back of the couch and over the mantel top. Even though Cory lived here, she saw no evidence of him in the pictures or in anything else in the room. Did he have a family, too? She couldn’t imagine it, couldn’t imagine him anyway except as a predator waiting to pounce. How close were he and Bard, and how much had Cory told Bard about her…about their relationship? When it came down to it, how could she blame Bard for not telling her Cory was his roommate? She certainly hadn’t told him everything about her past, or how Cory fit into it. She looked up as Bard came into the room. He’d changed into hip-fitting Levi’s and a black T-shirt with Los Angeles Dodgers

printed across the front. The body-hugging shirt revealed the firm muscles previously hidden by dress shirts. He placed his bag in the entryway. “Just have to switch cars,” he said. “Back in a jiffy.” **** Bard hesitated as he went down the front steps. He recognized the silver BMW 530i slowly passing his house. Why was Gordon in this neighborhood so late at night? His boss wasn’t looking for him because he would have stopped when he saw the county car in the driveway. The Mayor lived up the street. Was he in the area on a secret political call? Or something else? Maybe he was checking on him. But for what reason? Bard automatically removed the mail from his box and flipped through it. By streetlight, he confirmed that the bank statement he’d been expecting wasn’t there. He switched cars, driving his Z out of the garage and putting the Omni inside. It still bothered him that Gordon was cruising the neighborhood. He ran up the front steps to get Paula. The quicker he got her out of here the better. The sight of her standing in the center of the living room as though she belonged there sent a weird fluttering to the center of his chest and shoved thoughts of his boss to the edges of his mind. “Oh, it’s you,” she said, sounding relieved. “All set.” He grabbed his bag with one hand and Paula’s arm with the other. A tingling warmth seeped into his fingers and palms from touching her. She looked up at him with wide, vulnerable blue eyes. A gust of night air wafted her sweet honeysuckle scent around him, triggering strong nostalgic feelings. Honeysuckle had grown over his back porch. Suddenly the scents transported him backward in time to his toddler days. His mom had done the dinner dishes. The older children played kick the can in a street brightened by moonlight and a single streetlight. Black starry skies, fireflies flashed in his mind. The creak of the porch swing echoed in his head. His mother cuddled him in her arms as she swayed there, humming a melody. He reveled in the memory of innocence, faith, and security. Bard smiled down at Paula. He doubted she’d ever experienced a time like that. The overpowering protectiveness he felt

for her unnerved him. He gripped her arm tighter and ushered her quickly toward the car. Minutes later, he headed his Z out of town. He took a circuitous route to San Diego, using abrupt on and off freeways moves guaranteed to lose even the skilled tail. Bard’s thoughts switched to Deeter. He’d been ready to close in on “the bear,” and, if necessary use a little karate, and a few strategic pressure points he’d learned in the military, to persuade the hairy lout to spill his guts. What tipped Deeter off? And where was he now? What if he was gone for good? Bard pressed harder on the accelerator. His disappearance would make retrieving the mysterious letter more crucial.

Chapter Fifteen The bank safe deposit box in San Diego turned out to be what the teller called the jumbo box and rather than contain just one letter as Bard and Paula been led to believe, it was stuffed with rubberbanded envelopes. Bard met her gaze. “It’ll take hours to look through all this.” He opened his briefcase and handed Paula an oversized manila envelope. “Put everything in this and we’ll go to the hotel where I made reservations and wade through it.” Paula frowned. “You made reservations at a hotel?” He’d made them at his favorite beachfront hotel get-away before they left San Bernardino. “Don’t get all bent out of shape. I arranged for separate rooms.” She raised a brow and gave him a suspicious look. “I’ll bet they’re adjoining.” “A safety measure, I assure you.” “What made you think we’d be staying overnight…that I’d even agree to it?” “I didn’t know, of course.” But he sure as hell hoped. “In my work we always plan ahead for interesting developments.” “Interesting developments? Hey, let’s get one thing straight, right up front. I came here only to find out what was in the safe deposit box. Period.” Bard laughed. He didn’t know what else to do. “And we’re about to do that, Ms. Lord. Okay?” She searched his face with a narrow-eyed scrutiny, and then said, “Okay.” But her tone was still laced with distrust. Back in the car, they headed toward the ocean. Paula hadn’t said more than a few words, and those weren’t very friendly. Bard glanced over at her when the traffic backed up due to some freeway repairs. Her dark auburn eyelashes lowered as she scanned the contents of one of the envelopes. The serious set of her lips had an ardent sweetness to them. He was tempted to pull over at a scenic turnout, take her in his arms and kiss her. He gripped the steering wheel tighter. She already didn’t trust him and that would prove she had just cause. Even after they got past the road repairs, the bumper-tobumper morning traffic moved slowly. He didn’t need to check the rearview mirror except when he changed lanes, because he’d made

sure that no one was following them with his on-and-off freeway tactics coming into San Diego. **** One end of the coffee table in the living room of the luxurious suite was stacked with the empty dishes and silverware from their room service breakfast. Paula drained the last of her coffee then picked up the stack of envelopes and sorted through them. The one she’d read in the car was an insurance policy from a company she’d never heard of, and she stuck it in the bottom of the pile to review more carefully later. “Give me half of those.” Bard’s green eyes held steady, testing her trust. “If I run onto something personal, I’ll stop reading.” A strand of dark brown hair had fallen onto his forehead. Fatigue lined his face. The door between their rooms stood open. One end of the coffee table in the suite’s living room was stacked with the empty dishes and silverware from their room service breakfast. Since she’d met him she’d continually probed his motives. Each time he passed a test, she would come up with another. But he’d reversed the game. It was her turn to pass or fail. It was ironic how something that seemed to come so natural to most people was almost impossible for her. There could be things in these papers to give away her past, things she didn’t want anyone to know. His words, everyone needs to trust someone, echoed in her ears. She searched his face. Was it safe to trust him? Inhaling deeply, she willed herself to try. Her hands trembled as she forced herself to surrender some of the envelopes. **** Bard smiled at Paula, silently cheering. She was coming around, taking another tiny step toward believing in him. He needed only a breath of trust. Her faith meant more to him in that moment than anything she could have given him. The fact she was there with him should have been enough. It wasn’t. But this was. They had taken a step from wary togetherness to merging as a team. Together they’d get through this. He wanted to kiss her square on the lips to celebrate, but he knew it would be perceived as something more. He looked down, forcing himself to concentrate on the stack of envelopes. He didn’t find much in the first one, just a copy of an honorable discharge from the army and some dog tags. Then he found

a puzzling letter on top of a Corps of Engineers document. “What did you say Charlie did for a living?” Paula removed her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. “I don’t exactly know. Like I told you, he invented things. I think he did some work for the government.” “You won’t believe this, but I think your Charlie was an undercover agent for the Army Corps of Engineers.” Bard knew, as with many governmental agencies, there was a corps department staffed with agents who carried out special security projects like the one within the clear zone. Paula moved closer. “What makes you think that?” “This letter from the Clear Zone Project Chief in Los Angeles.” He handed her the letter. She put her glasses back on and scanned it. “It doesn’t say that. It just gives details about the project.” “Specific details. This attached list includes backgrounds of every person living in the clear zone. Only an agent would be given that kind of confidential information.” “Can we check it out?” Her voice rose in excitement. “We can try. Get your purse. We’re going to L.A.” **** In Los Angeles, Lopez watched Bard and Paula cross the street and go into The Corps Of Engineers building. It had been easy to track Bard’s Z unseen. The steady blip of the tracer led the way. Lopez hadn’t figured out how to get near Paula’s house to bug the place with the security guard and his dogs there, this tail job gave him time to think and plan. Although Janus said he didn’t pay him to use his brain, Lopez knew thinking ahead was the only way to stay alive. He stepped into the phone booth at the corner and dialed. When Janus came on the line, Lopez spoke quickly, telling about the trip to the bank, the hotel, and that Nichols and the widow were in The Corps building. “They’re onto something!” Janus said. “Keep on their tail. I’ll send a couple of the guys to help you pick them up.” “What if they resist?” “Convince them. No holds barred.” ****

Paula exhaled in relief when The Corps Chief Thomas Reed agreed to see them without an appointment. She’d expected to be sent away. The chief came around his desk, and the men shook hands. Their exchange of friendly words indicated they’d worked together in the past and respected each other. Midday sun poured through the floor-to-ceiling window and splayed like windmill vanes across Reed’s desk. His silver hair glistened in the bright sunlight. With owlish eyes, Reed looked at Bard. “I was curious when my secretary said you were here. No one said you were coming.” He gestured for them to sit down. “We won’t keep you long,” Bard said, in a confident voice. “This is Paula Lord. Her brother was Charlie Borden.” Color drained from Reed’s square, granite-like face. “What do you mean was?” Bard reached over and gripped Paula’s hand, giving her the support she needed to face his next words. “Charlie’s dead,” he said. “Someone shot him and left him in the wash behind the clear zone.” For an instant, shock flickered in Reed’s gray eyes then they dulled quickly, masking his emotions. “What brings you here?” Paula wasn’t surprised the police hadn’t notified The Corps. The cops had labeled Charlie a drifter; someone not worth their interest. Unless they could tie his murder to her. “We found Corps documents in the safe deposit box Charlie shared with Mrs. Lord.” Bard leaned closer to the desk as he spoke. “They led us to believe Charlie worked undercover for you.” “May I see them?” Reed’s voice remained even. His face disclosed nothing, but his hand shook as he held it out. Paula handed him a photocopy of the letter and documents. A flush crept up Reed’s thick neck. “There’s nothing here to confirm Charlie worked for us.” “The confidential nature of the information confirms it,” Bard said. “You can play games, or we can help each other. I figured you’d be as interested in finding Charlie’s killer as we are.” He looked at Bard as if he were staring through him, then he turned to Paula. “I’m deeply sorry about your loss, Mrs. Lord. But you folks have this all wrong.” “Wrong my foot!” Frustration hardened Bard’s features. “Don’t you care that one of your agents is dead? Kids are being shot, or that the houses in the clear zone are being stripped bare?”

“I care. Very much.” Reed looked directly at Paula. “What did your brother tell you about his work?” “Nothing. But I’m not stopping until I uncover the truth. And his killer.” “I think we’d all be better off if you two forget you ever saw these letters,” Reed said. Paula stood, leaned forward, eyes narrowed and flashing and went into her bring-it-on stance. “Maybe the newspapers would like to see this letter.” She flushed at Bard’s startled look, but it didn’t silence her. Chief Reed couldn’t simply pat them on the head and send them away. “Reporters would kill for a scoop about a Corps agent being murdered in the clear zone. Especially when they find out you’re denying it ever happened. Yes, going to the media is an excellent idea and could serve a dual purpose. It would show the world that Charlie was more than just a drifter.” Reed squirmed in his chair and then gestured for her to sit back down. She glared at him a moment longer, then with chin held high, she complied, feeling victorious. Bard took his hand across his mouth as though hiding a smile. He cleared his throat. “Don’t doubt for a minute that she’ll do it,” he said, sounding dead serious. Reed ran his index finger slowly around the circular base of his spotless, glass ashtray. “I’ve seen your file, Nichols. And I know a little about Mrs. Lord, too. Charlie thought the sun rose and set on her.” “Then you know you can trust us,” Bard said. “All we want is to put Charlie’s murderer behind bars and stop the violence and rip offs going on in the project.” “I’m going to level with you two. But realize the more you know, the greater your chances of ending up exactly like Charlie.”

Chapter Sixteen The office went deadly silent. Bard watched Paula stiffen, but otherwise she showed no emotion. “I think you’ve got that wrong,” he said, feeling the shift of power. “The more we know the greater our chance of not ending up like Charlie.” Reed placed two fingers on his sparkling ashtray and gave it a spin. The desk’s high polish gave no resistance. Rainbow prisms danced skittishly around the room. Finally, he said, “Okay. Charlie was one of our men.” Reed’s gray eyes softened when he looked at Paula. “You had to be told the truth sooner or later anyway, Mrs. Lord. You’re Charlie’s beneficiary.” Bard’s stomach knotted. This was exactly what Cory needed to fatten his file and back up his accusations against Paula. “Telling you later would have been my choice,” Reed said. “Now that you know he was murdered, do you have an idea who might have killed him?” Paula asked. “Unfortunately, I don’t.” Reed stood and faced the window. His wide shoulders drooped slightly, as if burdened by a heavy weight. He was silent for several moments, then, as though something important occurred to him, he turned and walked around the desk and extended his hand to Paula. Looking bewildered, she let him help her to her feet. “While you’re here,” he said guiding her to the door, “would you mind verifying some information?” “Now?” Paula asked. “Please. Miss Phillips is in charge of that type of thing, and she’ll be going to lunch shortly.” Bard didn’t get up, refusing to be brushed off. “Look, we still have questions.” “Of course,” Reed said in an even tone. “But first things, first.” He placed his hand between Paula’s shoulder blades and gently urged her through the doorway into the outer office. “Miss Phillips, please go over Charlie Borden’s beneficiary form thoroughly with Mrs. Lord. Make sure we have all the correct information.” Reed turned and faced Bard. “Before we get back to your questions, I have a bookkeeeping matter I need to clear up. I have a problem with the last claim figures you mailed in.” He spoke louder than necessary then closed the door on Paula and Miss Phillips.

“You aren’t interested in my figures.” Bard growled. “So what is it you don’t want Paula to hear?” “Charlie made friends with one of the house-stripping gang,” Reed said. “A guy named Deeter. He gained his trust, or so he thought, and Deeter was taking him to meet the big boss. That was the last report. Deeter is the only name I have to go on. I didn’t want to mention his name in front of Mrs. Lord. If she thought he had something to do with her brother’s murder she might do something dangerous.” “Deeter flew the coop,” Bard said flatly. “I think he got wind that I was looking for him.” “Why were you after him?” “I suspected he knew who was behind the looting and killing.” Reed leveled his gaze. “It’s personal to you, isn’t it?” “I’m thinking of The Corps.” It was only partly true, but Bard figured he didn’t need to get into his desire to help Paula get justice for Charlie. “If it gets out that The Corps refused protection to the people living in the clear zone, The Corps’s name will be mud. First, the press’ll get into it, then lawyers. Lawsuits will cost you a helluva lot more than protection.” Reed tilted his head to the side and arched a bushy brow as though sizing up Bard. The Corps chief opened his leather-covered humidor and offered him a cigar. He declined. Reed ran his tongue over his stogie then bit off the end. “I know about the classified work you did in the Air Force, and that your security clearance was top level. You’re a natural.” “A natural what?” “You’re already under contract with us for the next twelve months. No one would suspect a relocation agent of working undercover. How would you like to take Charlie’s place?” Bard looked at Chief Reed, dumbfounded. “Me? Go undercover?” His gut coiled with apprehension and excitement. Silence stabbed the air for a dozen heartbeats. Reed went to his filing cabinet and pulled out a thick file. “Why not? Do what you did in Hawaii. Infiltrate.” Bard rubbed his jaw. He’d stopped a weapons theft ring dead in their tracks by joining the thieves and getting the goods on them. “That was a long time ago.”

“A man with your skills doesn’t lose the instinct.” Reed leaned forward and leveled his gaze. “We need you, Nichols. If we replace Charlie with a stranger, it’ll send off signals.” “And you think they won’t I.D. me?” “You’re already part of the landscape. Like I said, they won’t suspect a relocation agent of working with Corps Intelligence.” Reed stroked one of his thick, silver eyebrows as though it helped him think. “I’m generally against using civilians in the field because of the danger. But with your special ops background it’s a perfect set up.” “If you care about what’s going on in the clear zone why haven’t you authorized security guards?” Reed’s jaw tightened. “Charlie’s decision. He didn’t want some trigger happy guard to tip his hand, or get in his way.” “I don’t want anyone in my way either. With my life on the line, I want full control.” Since Reed had studied his file, he would already know the way he operated. Reed gave Bard a long, hard look and said, “The only thing I insist upon is that you don’t tell anyone. After what happened to Charlie, we can’t risk leaks.” Bard shifted in his chair. “You think there’s a leak in The Corps?” “With Charlie’s cover blown, it raises the possibility.” “Who do I trust?” “At this point, me. And Matt Higgins. He’ll be your back up. However, with the need for secrecy, you’ll be pretty much on your own. You’ll be wired, of course. Once you set up the meeting with the gang boss, Higgins will be standing by in case things go sour.” “Where was he when Charlie needed him?” “Charlie didn’t stay in contact.” “If he had, could you have saved him?” “Once they marked him, I doubt it.” “Why would anyone in his right mind take this assignment?” “For the same reason you took the one in Hawaii. You care.” Bard rubbed his jaw. “Yeah, that flaw has always given me trouble.” “You’ll do it then?” Bard gave in to his urge to grin. “Was there any doubt? You said you don’t have anyone else who can pull this off.” Seriousness gripped him again, and he intensified his gaze. “But that isn’t all,” he

warned. “I’m personally invested in this project. And The Corps owes it to Charlie to protect Paula.” Reed’s owl eyes didn’t even blink. “Remember, you can’t tell her anything.” **** With his hand firmly on her elbow, Bard guided Paula out of the air-conditioned building into eighty-degree L.A. heat. His awareness of her cool, soft skin under his fingers reminded him that in spite of her tough facade, she was really quite delicate. Unfortunately, that realization heightened his concerns over the new assignment. His goal was to infiltrate the clear zone gang while managing to keep Paula and him alive. The catch—leaving her in the dark could work against that goal. Pausing curbside, waiting for the walk sign to appear, he inhaled the faint fragrance of honeysuckle emanating from her sunwarmed skin. She looked up at him. The vibes from her closeness and the trusting look in her wide, blue eyes jolted him. He forced himself to break eye contact, and noticing that the light had already turned green, he urged her forward and they dashed across the street. Not wanting to waste time walking to the entrance of the parking area, they stepped over the low chain bordering the lot. The sun reflected blindingly against the sea of windshields. His Z was in the first row. He held the door open for Paula and when she slid a few inches across the seat and gracefully swung her legs inside, her ivory skirt hiked up. His heart accelerated at the flash of thigh. “I know Charlie’s murder wasn’t a random thing,” Paula said. “Dammit, I want his killer.” She shook a small determined fist. Her bravery touched something deep inside and the root of his protective instincts deepened. He touched her shoulder gently. “You’re not in this alone. I take it personally when evil bastards kill people in my project.” Paula placed her hand over his. “I’m glad you’re with me.” Her whispery words and fleeting soft touch sent a welling of emotion that threatened to explode in his chest. He knew that was as close as she would ever come to admitting she needed someone to turn to, to lean on and something he’d bet she had little of in her life. “I’ll be there for you, Paula, or die trying.” “No dying allowed,” she said with a lilt in her voice.

“Right.” Especially since meeting her, he had so much to live for. He rounded the car with a spring in his step. In the next aisle, a battered gray Mustang crawled by. It paused and idled, the driver seemed to be looking their way. Although there were several parking spaces open, the driver just sat there idling. The hairs on the back of Bard’s neck prickled. He didn’t like this. He squinted trying to get a look at the guy, but the glare on Mustang’s windshield made it impossible. Bard started toward him. If he could get closer…maybe catch the plate numbers. Before he walked more than a few feet, the driver gunned the engine and took off and disappeared into the sea of automobiles. When Bard returned to his Z and slid behind the wheel, Paula said, “Why were you staring at that car? Is something wrong?” Not wanting to alarm her, he shook his head and plastered on a smile. “Car sort of looked like an old Mustang I used to have.” In spite of the ache in his gut for the half lie, he forced a chuckle. “Nostalgia, I guess.” He started the car and slowly pulled out of the lot into the Los Angeles traffic. He studied all the nearby cars, parked and moving. He checked the rearview mirror. When satisfied no one was on his tail, he headed for the San Diego Freeway. In minutes, they were flowing with the seventy-mile-an-hour traffic like a log caught in rushing flood waters. Lying to Paula had brought back the pain of deceiving innocent parties. Was he really up to this undercover gig. He hadn’t done anything like it since he’d left the Air Force. He remembered the charges of adrenaline he’d had from saving lives and stopping enemies. It was the best high in the world. The power of that thought sent a rush of confidence through him. He could do this, whatever it took. He had to—for Paula. As though feeling his glance, she looked up from reading the journal and smiled, faith flickering in her eyes. Damn. Why was there always a catch to everything? He’d worked hard to build her trust. Now he had to keep things from her. Bard squinted against the glare of the sun reflected on the rear windshield of the car ahead of him. He eased up on the gas pedal to back off a car length. Maybe that was the problem in the clear zone; he’d gotten too close, and it had temporarily blinded him. Perhaps it

was time to step back and sift through the facts and examine the things that bothered him. Learning Charlie had been the one to hold up the request for security brought new questions. Did that mean bossman Gordon was off the hook? Or had he somehow learned about the undercover operation and betrayed Charlie? And what was Cory’s motive for hounding Paula about Charlie’s murder? Was he even considering more likely suspects? Like Gordon, for instance. Or Deeter. Even the jerk contractor, Les Cardel, would profit if the clear zone residents left quickly. Cory should be investigating all of them and others. Everyone but Paula. Bard glanced over at her. The quiet way she’d conducted herself when they first got to Reed’s office suggested she would let him do all the talking. Was he ever wrong about that. He chuckled remembering her spirited outburst. “Your threat of going to the newspapers totally took Reed off guard,” Bard said, feeling so proud of her that he thought his chest might burst. Paula laughed. “Nichols and Lord, we make a good team. I wonder if Reed really thought I didn’t know what was going on when he sent me out of the room?” Bard’s throat went dry. “You knew?” “Sure. He wanted to talk to you alone.” She sent Bard a conspiring look. “And I appreciate what you’re doing.” Bard tensed. Had she overheard his conversation with Reed? “What’s that?” “Taking me around. Helping me decipher Charlie’s papers. Without your help, I wouldn’t have known that the letter from Chief Reed meant Charlie worked for The Corps. And the Chief wouldn’t have admitted anything if I’d been alone.” “Reed couldn’t have denied Charlie was their agent for long. Not with you being his beneficiary.” Bard got that queasy feeling in his stomach again; the money also gave Cory the motive he needed to link Paula to Charlie’s murder. It seemed inconceivable that she could innocently benefit from the murders of three people: her grandmother-in-law, her husband, and Charlie. Evidence was mounting against her. He gripped the steering wheel tighter. What if Cory was right? Bard darted a glance

at her. In the instant their gazes met, he knew this woman, knew her soul. It might be an uphill fight to hold onto that belief, but he wouldn’t give up on her. She moved closer to him, setting off warnings in his head. “I’m glad you insisted we make this trip together,” she said. “I needed you, and didn’t know it.” “We needed each other.” His throat went dry. Electricity sizzled between them, forging a dangerous path. “Without access to Charlie’s documents, I wouldn’t have known Charlie was killed because of a blown cover.” “Charlie would be pleased there’s someone besides me who cares,” she said softly. “Someone I can trust.” Bard’s throat constricted. He sensed Paula studying his profile, perhaps waiting for him to confirm her faith. God, he hated the deception. “I’m going through this journal word by word,” Paula said. Her eyes glittered with determination. “If there’s a clue to the killer’s identity in these pages, I’ll find it.” “Might be in code.” She blew an escaped carroty curl from her forehead. “Thought of that. That’s why I’m analyzing even vague entries.” Bard ached to share with her as freely as she was sharing with him. “We have to finish sorting through Charlie’s documents, too,” he said, feeling lousy. Paula tilted her head and smiled. “Looks like a busy afternoon ahead of us.” Bard changed lanes. “Not the most exciting way to spend a sunny afternoon, is it?” “Who knows? Life is full of surprises. We might find just what we’re looking for.” The upbeat tone in her voice touched his heart. She grinned and raised a playful brow. “Besides, in a way the process itself is exciting, sort of like being agents ourselves.” He swallowed. “Right. If you ignore the fact that it’s unofficial.” Damn the need for secrecy! Guilt scraped his nerves like sandpaper. “And unofficial means working for free.” “That’s okay,” she said. “Money’s never been my motivator.” It was easy to believe that. With the property and money she’d already inherited, she probably had plenty of money, making it less of

a motivator. And after the insurance settlements she had even more. She was the beneficiary for all those people. With effort, he forced his misgivings away and focused on how she’d led the people in the clear zone to take a stand. “Right. Causes are your thing.” “What about you? You admitted you could lose your job by coming here.” “I like things to be the way they’re supposed to be,” Bard said. “And this project isn’t.” “So, causes are your thing, too, only you don’t want to admit it.” “I’m no Don Quixote. I don’t look for wrongs to right, but if they fall in my lap, I don’t turn tail either.” At a stop light, Bard looked over at Paula. Sun rays blasted through the passenger window and set her slightly frizzy hair aflame with strands of luminous copper. “Stayin’ Alive” was playing on the radio. Reed’s warning echoed in Bard’s head: the more they knew, the greater their chances of ending up exactly like Charlie. Dead. They had to review the journal and the rest of the documents quickly. Then he had to persuade Paula to leave the clear zone. It wouldn’t be easy. She was passionate, even obsessive about finding Charlie’s killer. He didn’t mind risking his own life, but he couldn’t, wouldn’t risk hers.

Chapter Seventeen Three hours later, back in San Diego, Paula leaned on the hotel terrace railing and stared down at the swirling waves licking at the base of the rugged cliff. The door between their adjoining rooms was open, and she thought she heard Bard’s pacing footsteps. Why was he pacing? She fought a persistent uneasy feeling that he was holding something back. He seemed to be including her, yet there was something she couldn’t put her finger on. The phone rang, and he answered it. He was silent as though listening intently, then said, “Be right down.” The tension in his voice was unnervingly evident. A moment later, he appeared at the terrace slider and said, “That was hotel security. Someone backed into my Z. They need me to check the damages and fill out an accident report.” She took a couple steps toward him, feeling more than just concern about his car; it was a deeper worry. “Want me to go with you?” “No, there’s nothing you can do. Your time will be better spent combing the journal for more leads. I’ll be back as soon as I can.” Paula nodded. He was right, so why did she feel closed out? She sat down and rested against the lounge chair’s oversized pillow, trying to relax. The sun sent its warming rays deep into her skin while the salty breeze caressed her face and arms. At the overhead cry of gulls, she looked up. They glided and soared against the azure cloudless sky, white and graceful. They were so free, free like she and Charlie were for a while, free of foster homes, free to be themselves. Then someone ended it for him. Watching the birds strengthened her determination to get justice for Charlie. Birds were creatures she understood and trusted, and birds represented the love she and Charlie had shared. “Don’t worry, Charlie,” she whispered to the wind, “I won’t stop until I put your killer behind bars.” She lowered her eyes to the journal, filled with renewed hope. She hadn’t read more than a few pages when she heard tapping on the door to the corridor. Bard must have forgotten his key. She rose quickly, her bare feet hitting the terrace tile with a soft thud. She padded through the open slider and quickly crossed the room. As she reached for the handle, an unfamiliar man’s voice, thick with a slurry Spanish accent said, “Knock harder. The Bird lady’s in there.” Paula’s

hand froze. She glanced at the double lock. It wasn’t engaged. Hardly breathing, she twisted the knob and eased the dead bolt into place. “Gimme the crowbar,” another man said. “I can do it,” the first guy insisted. “Just get out of the way.” Paula’s heart pounded. Her gun was at home in a drawer. Who’d ever dream she’d need it over ninety miles away from the trouble? Stay calm. Bard’s gun was here! She whirled and raced through the doorway to his room. With trembling fingers, Paula opened the shiny black leather case. She shoved file folders out of the way and stuck her hand into the divided compartment. She exhaled in relief as her fingers closed over his gun. She checked. Loaded. The door rattled, metal pryed into the frame and gouged wood. Paula grabbed the phone and dialed the desk. “Room 1825. Help! Someone’s breaking in!” The doorjamb splintered. It was too late for outside help. If she hid, they’d find her. She had to count on the element of surprise and face the danger head on. Paula ran to the doorway between the rooms. Trembling, she crouched there. With both sweaty hands on the gun, she aimed. As as the corridor door burst open, she fired. A man cursed and shouted, “I’m hit!” The other man fired. Paula screamed. **** Bard was examining the dent in his fender when gunshots echoed from a top floor room. He stiffened. Paula! He ran for the elevator. It was already there. Bard glanced heavenward. Thank you, God. When the lift stopped at their floor, he dashed out and heard retreating steps in the stairwell, but didn’t dare chance chasing the guys—he had to get to Paula. He raced down the corridor and through the opening provided by the bashed-in door. The noxious odor of gunpowder hung in the air. His stomach knotted. “Paula!” he shouted. She stepped from behind the door frame between their adjoining rooms and slumped against it, holding a gun. Bard saw no blood. Above her head, a bullet had gorged the wood. “Are you all right?” She nodded. He took the gun from her limp hand. It barely registered that it was his gun. He slipped it into his pocket and drew Paula into his arms.

“What happened?” “Two gunmen burst in here.” Bard swore under his breath. How had they found them? He’d been so careful. Paula’s body trembled against him. He drew her closer. Suddenly, two men wearing security uniforms charged into the room. The burly apes grabbed Bard, yanked him away from Paula, and the biggest guy twisted his arm behind his back. “He’s not the one!” Paula screamed. The security men immediately released Bard. The one who’d twisted his arm said, “Sorry, sir. We thought....” “It’s okay.” Bard rubbed his arm. “Just get those guys.” The security man turned to Paula. “Can you give us a description, ma’am?” “One was tall and thin,” she said with a tremor in her voice, “about 170 pounds, the other was short and beefy, perhaps 190. The tall thin guy had a slurry Spanish accent. His S’s sounded like Z’s.” Bard stared at Paula with a new sense of alarm rising in him. “You heard the intruders’ voices?” She nodded. “I think I’ll recognize them if I ever hear them again.” Without losing a beat, she returned her attention to the security men. “I think the other guy was Caucasian.” She paused, then continued, “I couldn’t see their faces or much else. They wore stocking masks, gloves, and blue coveralls like maintenance people wear.” “I’ll alert our forces and notify management,” the guard said. “In spite of the perps wearing gloves there might be trace evidence. We have to wait for the police to check it out. before we let maintenance repair the door. A bellman will move you to another room.” He flipped on his radio unit and quickly relayed the description to the security center. “When you guys send up the maintenace crew, tell them not to wear blue.” Bard watched the security duo turn and rush out of the room. He had no confidence in their ability to catch the shooter; they’d let too much time elapse. His heart thundered in his chest. “You can’t let anyone else know you can identify the intruders that way. It puts you in even greater danger.” She laughed without humor. “Greater danger than being shot at?”

“Affirmative. Next time they might not miss.” She looked down. “I know,” she said, barely above a whisper. Bard heard the quiver in her voice and wanted to take her into his arms again, but the memory of her softness kept him motionless. If he touched her, he’d lose what little control he had left. “Oh,” she said, as if she’d remembered something important, “your car. How badly is it damaged?” “No big deal. I suspect the hit and run driver smashed my fender only to draw me away from you.” Paula started gathering up her things. “I don’t want to just move to another room, I think we should leave.” “First, we need to figure out how they knew where to find us. It’s like we’re bugged.” Paula paused and snapped her fingers. “Your car!” “I was thinking the same thing. You can wait at the security center while I go over it.” She grabbed her purse. “No way. I’m going with you.” After what had happened before when he left her alone, he wasn’t about to argue. On their way to the parking structure, they stopped by the security center. One of the guards told them that the shooters had discarded their coveralls in the stairwell and must have blended in with the guests. “We’ve checked the whole grounds,” the guard said. “They probably had a car waiting near the stairwell exit.” Bard was afraid of that, but before he could respond, the police arrived. He and Paula answered the lead officer’s questions about the shooting. The police went upstairs and checked the shattered door and the bullet gouge in the doorjamb. While their lab team finished dusting for prints upstairs, the first responder who seemed in charge joined them in the parking garage and examined Bard’s dented car. He agreed with Bard that the bumped fender was probably just a diversion, and together, they checked for a tracking device. When they found it attached to the bumper, Bard wasn’t surprised. It was the only logical answer. But how did those guys get to his Z? And when? Bard showed the metal, button-like object to Paula. “You were right. This is how those guys knew we were here.” She rubbed her arms. “Now what?”

“Wait here with Officer Mitchell for a few minutes. I have an idea.” Before she could protest, he took off running. He left the parking structure and circled to the main entrance of the hotel where taxis and tour buses came and went throughout the day. A bus with a card in the window labeled “Tijuana Tour” was loading passengers. Perfect. When no one was paying attention, he attached the device to the back bumper. After the police took down all of their information, verified some of the information with the Corp chief and processed her for physical evidence for GSR to validate her allegations, she and Bard returned to their newly assigned room to gather their packed bags. “With all the crap they put us through,” Bard said, “you’d think we were the crimminals. One good thing, if those SOB’s follow the beep now, they’ll end up across the border.” Her shoulders relaxed. “Good. Now, let’s get out of here.” They quickly checked out and loaded their suitcases in the car. But instead of heading home, Bard went south and crossed the bridge to Coronado Island. **** Bard stretched comfortably on one of the two king-sized beds while Paula showered. She’d feel safer here, he thought. Those men would never guess they had checked into this plush beachfront hotel. This time registered as Mr. and Mrs. Chetney. What would it be like to really be married to Paula? There was so much about her he didn’t know. The inheritance and triple beneficiary factors bothered him. Was she a murderess, a saint, or something in between? Damn the persistent, gnawing question. He pushed it away. She deserved his trust. He shuffled through the documents stacked beside him. The mattress gave slightly as he shifted his weight. He couldn’t seem to release the tension knotting his shoulder muscles. He propped two pillows against the headboard and plumped them with his fist. After he resettled himself into the pillows, he opened one of the envelopes and took out papers marked classified. They revealed that Charlie had worked undercover in the military. It was interesting information, but not helpful. Bard rubbed his jaw. He needed the name of one of the clear zone thieves so he could contact him and convince the scum that

he wanted in on the fast money. But first he had to get Paula out of harm’s way. And persuading her to leave the clear zone would be harder than getting in with the gang. The bathroom door opened, and a faint scent of shampoo wafted around him. Paula stood in the doorway blotting her dripping ringlets with a large white towel. Her wet hair had darkened to the shade of amber seaweed. She’d changed into ocean-blue silk pajamas and a matching robe that clung enticingly to her curves. How could he spend the night in these close quarters and not make love to her? Two beds weren’t a sufficient obstacle. Considering the sexy way she looked right now, he needed barbed wire and an unscaleable block wall between them. He grabbed the room service menu and forced himself to concentrate on it. “I’m starved,” he said. “What sounds good to you?” After what Paula had been through, she deserved the finest on the menu and a bottle of good wine. And him on his best behavior. The last was the tough part. To distract himself, he read the menu to her from top to bottom, ending with roast beef topped with ragout of mushrooms and béarnaise sauce, his favorite. “Okay, which is it?” He hardly recognized the husky voice as his own. “It all sounds good,” she said, sitting down on the couch and drawing a leg up under her. “But, I’ll have to go with my favorite, roast beef.” Her eyes glinted with delight. He smiled. “Great choice.” He ordered a California wine to go with it, Michel Tribaut Rose 1985. “Bring an extra order of rolls and lots of butter,” he told the room service clerk. After Bard hung up, he picked up the journal and handed it to Paula. “Might as well stay busy until the food gets here.” Mostly he wanted to keep her mind off almost getting shot and his mind off the way those pajamas clung enticingly to her curves. “I can take a hint,” she said, putting on her glasses. **** Before adjusting them high on her nose, Paula peered over the rims at Bard. His earthy-brown, almost black hair was tousled and a hint of stubble shadowed his angular face. He left the bed and sank into an overstuffed chair at the opposite side of the room and reading the contents of one of Charlie’s letters.

Paula tilted her head. Strange, how a desperate situation could lead a person to do something this rash. Here she was posing as the wife of a man she hardly knew. What kind of a woman would a man like Bard marry? Coming from a family with seven children, he would probably be attracted to a woman with a similar happy background. Paula sighed. She couldn’t change who she was. Could a person who’d been raised with cruelty and indifference learn the skills and patience needed to nurture the large brood of children Bard probably wanted? Surprisingly, she’d like to try. She’d always dreamed of a big family, longed for one. But perhaps raising children without a solid model to go by wouldn’t be fair. Children needed and deserved someone who knew what it took to make a happy home, someone like Bard. She’d bet he’d be a great husband and father, and she would lay odds that he’d be a gentle, considerate lover. Her heart pounded. She could almost feel his hands on her, slipping up her thigh— Bard glanced up and smiled. Paula felt her face blaze hot. She quickly adjusted her glasses and forced her attention where it belonged, on the journal. She’d only been reading a few minutes when she came upon an entry that made her mouth go dry. There wasn’t any evidence, Charlie had written, to prove Dan snuffed out his Grandma Emma. For Paula’s sake, I’m glad the case was closed, but I wonder why that cop, Cory, didn’t pursue it based upon Dan’s heavy gambling debts. Why would Cory purposely ignore the red flags? To protect Dan? Why? Paula’s senses reeled. Charlie had never discussed Grandma Emma’s death with her. It sounded like he suspected Dan of murder. What gambling debts was he talking about? She closed her eyes a moment, then opened them and stared up at the ceiling. Oh, Charlie, why didn’t we talk about this? Dan did a lot of irresponsible, and it seems now even dishonest things, but he couldn’t have been a killer. She swallowed to ease the ache in her throat. She couldn’t have loved a killer. “Something wrong?” Bard asked. Paula forced a smile. “No. Nothing.” No one else would ever see this journal. Charlie had written too many things that made her past appear more sordid than it was.

Someone who didn’t know her well might even suspect her of being involved in the deaths of her loved ones. Fighting the knots in her stomach, she read on. The next page was a list of unfamiliar names. She made a permanent imprint on her mind, thinking one might be the guy who’d killed Charlie. At the tap on the door, Paula glanced up. “Who is it?” Bard asked in a husky voice that sent shivers humming under Paula’s skin. “Room service,” a man called.

Chapter Eighteen Bard looked through the peephole in the door. Satisfied it was safe, he opened the door and motioned for the swarthy guy in black trousers and red cummerbund to enter. Bard made a mental note of the name “Alfonso” embossed on the waiter’s ID tag. “Where would you like this, sir?” Alfonso asked. Bard glanced at Paula. “Terrace okay?” He needed the fresh sea air to keep his thinking clear, and to get them farther away from the beds. Each time he looked at them, he imagined Paula lying on perfumed sheets in those silky, blue pajamas beckoning to him. “Perfect,” she said, putting the journal aside. Bard inhaled aromas of beef as the waiter wheeled the cart past him. Alfonso took the lids off the steaming food with a flourish, then accepted his tip and left smiling. Paula joined Bard on the terrace. There was a flapping sound above them. “Look at those gulls,” Paula said with excitement in her voice. She leaned against the railing, her quickly drying coppery hair ruffling in the breeze. He looked where she was pointing. The gulls glided in white motion, soaring high, their wings tipped in gold from the orange blaze of sunset. Her love for birds was infectious, and sunsets were always romantic, but it was the fascination glowing on her face that fueled his excitement. His heart pounded with the same force as the sea slamming against the cliffs below. He longed to touch her curly damp hair, bury his face in it, inhale its fragrance. She cleared her throat. “I guess we should eat before it gets cold.” Her tentative words were more a question than a statement. Like a lifeline, he gripped the back of a chair and held it out for her. He assisted as she moved her chair closer to the table. Then he sat down next to her. She gracefully unfolded her napkin across her lap. She seemed so delicate. Nothing like the kind of woman who could defend herself against two armed men. “You were terrific today, bravely standing up to those men alone.” She lowered her gaze, veiling her eyes with lush, gold-tipped lashes. “Didn’t have much choice.”

Bard took a roll from the basket that she passed to him. He spread it with butter and paused before he took a bite. “You’re good with guns,” he said. “Where’d you learn that?” She hesitated but after some urging, she told Bard about a foster dad named Leo Fletcher who’d forced her to learn to shoot in spite of her fear of guns. “You certainly don’t seem afraid of them anymore,” Bard said. “I’m not.” She quickly finished the wine in her glass as though trying to dull a bad memory. “I learned to enjoy shooting at cans but cried and purposely missed when Leo tried to make me shoot at rabbits or deer.” Bard imagined a big burly man standing over a sobbing child, trying to force her to kill in spite of her cries. The image turned his stomach. Bard gulped some wine. “How do people like Fletcher get to be foster parents?” Paula shrugged and pushed her half-empty plate to the side. Bard poured some more wine in her glass. “Were you ever tempted to shoot him?” Paula’s head jerked up. “Cory told you I killed one of my foster dads, didn’t he? You wonder if it’s true.” The sinking feeling in Bard’s stomach made him want to take back his question. “I’m sorry. It was a stupid question.” She stood with her half-filled wine glass in her hand and went to the terrace railing. She stared down at the waves crashing against the cliff below. After one of the longest moments in Bard’s life, Paula turned abruptly and faced him. “The foster dad who taught me to handle guns wasn’t the murdered one,” she said. “It was another sick bastard. Frank Grimes—the worst of the lot.” The tone of her voice left no doubt that she thought Grimes deserved killing. “What happened?” Bard expected to be told that it was none of his business. Paula’s eyes held his, piercing, searching. Her silence pounded his senses like the angrily flapping wings in the movie, The Birds. After an eternity, she drew in a deep breath and said softly, “Frank was kind to me in the beginning. He was the first foster parent to treat me like a human being. When I trusted him, he tried to....” Her voice trailed away like whispers on the wind.

The words not said brought a lump to his throat. Bard locked on the word tried like a drowning man. Still, the pain in her eyes and the vibrations from her anguish sliced through him. He joined Paula at the railing and closed his hand over hers. “It’s okay. I don’t need it spelled out.” He suddenly wished he could do serious damage to the SOB himself. “Any man who forces himself on a female of any age deserves no mercy.” Paula bit her lip. “I try not to relive stuff like this. To make it short, Frank’s ring left this scar.” Her finger trembled as she pointed to the jagged white line in her eyebrow. “I got groggy from his blows to the face. Then someone came into the kitchen and shot him.” “Who?” Paula shrugged. “I was dazed, in shock. Later, my attorney advised me to say that I did it, in self-defense. He told me the police couldn’t find any evidence to prove my mysterious protector existed.” Bard’s stomach knotted. So that was why Cory thought she was guilty. Still, it appeared to be questionable advice from an attorney. Bard hadn’t been there, and he didn’t have all the facts, but it seemed like a ballistics expert could have judged the distance and angle of the bullet to prove her story, even without a witness, or proof of an intruder. Paula paced. “I was sixteen and scared. I let my attorney say and do whatever he thought best. But I didn’t kill Frank. I couldn’t even tell the police what happened to the gun.” Her voice wavered. She stopped and gripped the railing. “Do you believe me?” Sunset had turned her curly hair to gold. Stirred by the breeze, her blue silk robe rippled against her body, intimately caressing every curve. The hem lifted slightly. He moaned under his breath, but it wasn’t just lust that made it easy for him to believe whatever she said. Her story made a curious kind of sense. He pushed away a nagging doubt. “Oddly enough, I do.” “I wish the police did.” When she shivered, he took a step toward her and stopped. He didn’t dare touch her. The blood rushing through him warned that he was on dangerous ground. “Well, I’d better get back to the journal.” She didn’t move. Was her hesitation and the wistfulness in her voice an invitation for him to take her in his arms?

Doubt still echoed in his brain. She’d been the beneficiary on the will of all those murdered people. He clenched his jaw, wishing he could erase the nagging worry about her story, and the growing fear that she already had far too much power over him. He squared his shoulders. “Right. We have to concentrate on our goal. Find Charlie’s killer before he finds us.” **** “This is interesting,” Paula said, paging through the journal. “There’s an attorney’s card stapled to one of the pages. The address is here in San Diego.” She struggled with the stubborn staple a moment then handed the card to Bard. Their fingers brushed, jolting Paula with an electric tingle that shot through her clear to her toes. Bard met her gaze for a sizzling instant. Her nerves tightened another notch. He broke eye contact and glanced at the card. “Leonard Lomas, Seaside Boulevard. Hmmm. Patent attorney? Know what he was doing for Charlie?” She cleared her throat. “Maybe something to do with his inventions.” “We’d better check it out.” Bard consulted his watch. “First thing in the morning.” Morning! As in after they had spent the night together. A warning heat rippled through her. She tried not to look at him. “What about Charlie’s documents?” Her breathing shallow, anticipating the deep, stirring rumble of his voice. “Copies of recorded patents mostly, also an honorable discharge, a little of everything except what we need.” The worry in his tone drew her traitorous gaze like a magnet. He looked tired, drained. She fought the urge to smooth the fine lines at the corners of his eyes. He shifted and looked away. Something was wrong. There had been something evasive in Bard’s manner from the moment they left The Corps building. The feeling was strong, getting stronger. She studied his eyes. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” A vein in his neck pulsated. “Look through these yourself if you want to.” He dropped the documents in her lap and headed for the door. “I’m going down to check the oil in the car. There won’t be time in the morning.”

The door swung shut behind him. Paula rubbed her forehead to ease the beginning of a headache. Why had her question sent him tearing out of the room as if hornets were after him? When the answer failed to come, she blew up at wayward curl, and opened Charlie’s journal to where she’d left off and read: Paula organized the neighbors to stand up for their rights. I’m worried about that because of what’s going on. But she’s always been a fighter. First time I set eyes on her she’d taken on that bully, Nate. Nate had ripped her ragged blanket out of her hand. As hard as she was punching him, I wonder now, if I was saving her or him when I pulled them apart. Paula smiled through her sudden rush of tears and whispered, “You saved me, Charlie. Nate was pounding my brains out. And from then on, you were my hero.” She blinked back the moisture in her eyes and read on. I wish I could tell Paula the real reason I’m here. But knowing that would put her in danger. Paula slammed the flat of her hand onto the page. “Damn the secrets, Charlie. You betrayed our closeness. If you’d told me, we could have joined forces and maybe you’d still be alive.” She took a deep breath and flipped to the next day’s entries. The name Lopez came up several times. From the comments, he was just a guy Charlie had helped fix a motorcycle. Charlie had always loved taking things apart to see how they worked and was always able to put them back together. Paula bit her lower lip. She didn’t have time to let her memories get in the way. Not when she had the whole journal to read tonight. She forced herself to concentrate. After about forty pages, she rubbed the back of her neck and glanced at her watch. Two hours had passed. Where the devil was Bard? How long did it take to add a little oil to a car engine? What if the guys who shot at her found him, and he was lying bleeding somewhere? She dialed the lobby. When the desk clerk who had checked them in answered, she asked, “Is Mr—” Good Lord, what name had they used to register? Then it came to her. “Is Mr. Chetney around anywhere?” The desk clerk said he’d look. An oldie, “Sentimental Journey” played softly in the background while she waited. When the clerk returned, he said, “He’s using the lobby phone. Shall I page him for you?”

“No. Thanks. It’s all right. I’ll talk to him later.” She slammed the receiver down harder than she’d intended. Who would he be calling at this hour of the night? His roommate, Cory? A girlfriend? Or the man who ordered the attack on her birds? No! It didn’t even make sense to think that about Bard. She had to trust him. Paula snatched up the journal and settled down to read. Hours later, she finished the last page. The final entry was dated the day before Charlie was murdered. Deeter agreed to take me to #1. So Deeter was involved. Bard had been right about him. She shook her head. Deeter had been so helpful. He’d moved people and assisted in her effort to organize the neighbors. She’d accepted the good in him without question. It was that kindness thing again. She was always sucked in by it. Was she being taken in by Bard’s helpfulness? At the bottom of the last entry in Charlie’s journal was a long dash, then “Janus.” Paula closed the journal, took off her glasses, and rubbed the bridge of her nose. Charlie Boy, did Deeter kill you? Or was it #1, whoever he is? Is Janus #1’s name. Or a code word? Janus was the two-faced Roman god. Was that a clue to his identity? Sighing, she got up and dropped the journal on the nightstand. She pulled back the bed covers on one of the king-sized beds. Where would Charlie’s clues lead her? Her life had been one of change, loss and instability, but now that Charlie was gone, the changes were happening so fast there wasn’t time to develop a new hard shell before trouble ripped away her old one. It was as though she’d boarded a runaway train: Destination Vulnerability. It was a trip she didn’t want to take. Ignoring the shiver that slid down her spine, she turned out the lights, leaving on the one in the bathroom for Bard to find his way. Paula climbed into bed and pulled the sheet up to her chin. She breathed deeply to relax. She’d been droopy-eyed while reading the last pages of the journal. Her body was rigid and her mind alert. Her heartbeat quickened. In a few minutes, Bard would come into the room and climb into that other bed. At the previous hotel, she could close the door to the adjoining room and lock him out; he would be only a couple of feet away.

Not to worry, he wasn’t the kind of guy to force himself on a woman. Or was he? She’d been wrong about men before. Very wrong. She caught herself fingering that old scar as the image flashed in her mind: her foster father, Frank, lumbering closer, her backing away and screaming no, please don’t. Paula trembled. She glanced at Bard’s briefcase sitting on top of the dresser. Unable to deny the street-smart part of herself, she swung out of bed, got his gun, and shoved it under her pillow. Her stomach knotted. She desperately wanted to trust Bard. Why was trusting him so important? But could she ever completely trust anyone? And with the stories going around about her killing people, would anyone totally trust her? What if Bard believed those stories? Paula closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It didn’t help. Her mind stayed on Bard. The power he had to draw her out of her hard shell worked against her. It was scary the way he could stir her emotions. If she were to survive, she’d have to fight her feelings for him, feelings she hadn’t completely clarified. It would be far too easy to let him watch over her the way Charlie had done when she was a child. But he wasn’t Charlie, and she was no longer a child. Still, until she uncovered Charlie’s murderer she needed Bard. He had connections. Paula tossed and turned, fighting the past, uncertain about the future. Her bed covers tangled like snarled ropes and at about 1:00 A.M. she got up and straightened them. Seconds later, when Bard tiptoed into the room, she pretended to be asleep. She peered at him between semi-closed eyelids and slightly fluttering lashes. Instantly her heart quickened at the sight of him, at the way he moved. The dim lighting didn’t hide how his jeans and T-shirt clung to his powerful body. His hair was wet, and he had a towel around his neck. He smelled of chlorine. It was obvious that he’d done more than check the oil and use the phone. Blast him. While she was here with her nerves tied in knots worrying about him, he was off swimming, enjoying himself. Fifteen minutes later, he came out of the bathroom, smelling of soap and shampoo. He wore only navy blue bikini briefs. Her gaze

traveled over his body, taking in the wide shoulders, flat stomach, lean hips. Damn him, his body was better than Michelangelo’s David. Bard laid his clothes in a nearby chair and started to climb into bed. He paused and wrinkled his brow. He went to the briefcase. Oh no, he was searching for the gun. He closed the case softly. He crossed the room and stood close enough for Paula to sense his tension. He looked down at her, his breathing even. She didn’t move a muscle, but her cheeks burned. Bard knew she had the gun. Did he think she was wary of spending the night in the same room with him? Or was he concerned about spending the night with her, a suspected murderess armed with his gun? She hoped instead he’d assumed she was frightened that the intruders would find them. After an eternity, he turned to his own bed. He glanced in her direction as the bed dipped slightly under his weight. She imagined that weight on her, her shifting to accommodate him. Her heart pounded. Good grief, she was alone in this room with a very attractive, barely clothed man and her own far too vivid imagination. The full moon conspired with her heart against her, bathing his bare shoulders in silvery light. It took all of her willpower to stop herself from sliding into his bed and smoothing her fingers over the shimmering path of muscles. A quiver slid down her spine. Spending another night this close to him would be impossible. Abruptly, she turned over and covered her head with the sheet. If she lay very still, surely sleep would come. When Bard moaned softly, she turned over and peeked at him. His sheet had tangled below his belly button and one muscular leg was uncovered. He looked magnificent. She wrenched her attention away. The large red numerals on the clock displayed 2:00 A.M. Her mind wouldn’t shut down. Men had broken into the other hotel room. Could those guys find them here? What was Charlie’s involvement with the attorney, Lomas? She shifted, missing the firmness and privacy of her own bed. Admit it, the main reason you can’t sleep is because of your attraction to that guy in the other bed only a couple of feet away.

Chapter Nineteen Sunlight streamed through the open drapes framing the sliding glass doors. The smell of sea air drifted into the room. Bard heard Paula moving around in the bathroom. Amazing, he thought, as he rubbed his eyes. He’d actually fallen asleep with that spirited bundle of femininity only two feet away. He propped himself on his elbow. Noticing the butt of his gun sticking out from under Paula’s pillow, he rolled out of bed grabbed it, and shoved it back into his briefcase. Last night, when he’d first realized she had the gun, Cory’s warnings resurfaced and provoked new doubts. Fortunately, intuitiveness helped him squelch them. He knew Paula trusted no one. And why should she? Her first twenty-three years of life had been about betrayal and losing the people she loved. Bard paced. Damn. He was about to join the string of dishonest men who’d betrayed her. Could he really keep her in the dark? She deserved at least one honest relationship. If he hadn’t left the room last night he might’ve spilled his guts. And if she knew he planned to go undercover it would put her in more danger, and he couldn’t risk jeopardizing her further. When they were alone, all he could think about was taking her into his arms and never letting go. His feelings had grown more and more intense. It wasn’t merely his protective instinct. He doubted it ever was just that. He wanted to be with her, watch sunrises, take walks, share souls. But he couldn’t do that until this job was over. And when she found out he’d kept things from her, she’d figure he was like all the rest and hate him and then any chance for more would be down the tubes. Fragrances of shampoo and soap escaped around the edges of the closed door, stirring a fantasy of what stood on the other side. Paula nude, glistening with moisture. Perky breasts, lovely mounds of ivory flesh, made more pronounced by her tiny waist and slight curve of hip. Fighting his throbbing arousal, Bard threw things into his suitcase. He shrugged into his shirt then called through the bathroom door, “Paula, I’ll meet you downstairs in the coffee shop.” “What?” she asked. He didn’t dare answer, except with a slam of the door. ****

The message light blinked crazily. Paula checked. It was a message from Bard asking her to meet him in the coffee shop. So that’s what he’d said. But why didn’t he wait for her? Minutes later, Paula shoved open the restaurant door with so much force it shook the glass. Bard sat in the booth at the back of the room. The first two buttons of his white dress shirt were open, revealing tanned skin and a trace of black hair. The fabric molded perfectly across his chest. Something inside her softened a fraction. When she slid into the booth across from him, she caught a whiff of his spicy after-shave and noticed he’d shaved. Her fingers tingled with an urge to confirm whether his square, firm jaw was as smooth as it looked. “Where’d you shave? I’m afraid I hogged the bathroom.” “No problem,” was all he said. His green eyes were clear and twinkling, which amazed her considering how restless he’d been all night. The only evidence that he hadn’t slept much was the slight shadows under his eyes. “You were gone a long time last night.” She arched a teasing eyebrow. “Have to check the oil for every guest in the hotel?” A smile played at his lips then he looked down at his coffee. “Decided to make some phone calls.” “You couldn’t make them from our room?” He smiled widely this time, peering up from under his brows. “Did you miss me?” She wasn’t about to answer that. “After what happened at the other hotel, I imagined all sorts of—” She silently cursed herself when her voice cracked. She cleared her throat. “I was worried.” Regret flickered in his eyes. “I knew you were safe. Never dreamed you’d worry about me.” She was worried all right, about him, about his actions. “Why the disappearing act this morning?” “To speed things up. Since I couldn’t join you in the bathroom, I showered and shaved in the men’s room by the pool.” Join you in the bathroom brought an image of them showering together. Stay focused. His explanation sounded logical. Still, she sensed there was more to his quick departure. Before she could press him, he said in a husky voice, “I called Attorney Lomas. The answering machine said he would return to the office at nine.”

Paula had called, too, with the same results. “I want to be there when he arrives and get this over with today.” Bard studied her face. “We can get the information over the phone and save time.” His steady scrutiny got to her and her cheeks burned. “No. I want to see Lomas’s eyes when I tell him Charlie’s been murdered.” “What if Lomas can’t meet with us today?” She lifted her chin. “I won’t accept that.” “I hate to throw dirt on your fire, but—” “Don’t.” Why was he giving her a hard time on this? She folded her arms across her chest. “Because, with or without you, I’m going.” Bard slowly and deliberately unwrapped his silverware from the burgundy cloth napkin. After a long moment, he shook his head and grinned. “Okay. We’ll try it your way.” She grinned, too, feeling she’d just won an important battle. “Thanks. That means a lot to me.” He glanced at his watch. “We still have time to eat. I already ordered a couple of the breakfast specials. Hope that’s all right.” “Perfect.” For no reason that she could fathom, an image of Bard in his navy blue bikini underwear popped into her mind. Her cheeks flamed. She closed her eyes a moment and took a deep breath. She couldn’t let herself be blinded by the sexy way he’d looked last night. She nailed him with her gaze. “Back to the phone calls.” “Nothing mysterious,” Bard said. “I called Gary’s house. He’s home from the hospital and doing fine.” Relief washed over Paula. A compelling tenderness made her reach out to touch Bard’s hand. “So that’s who....” Paula stopped midsentence and retracted her hand just before contact. She clasped the glass of ice water instead, and stroked its dewy coolness. She couldn’t touch Bard the way she wanted to. Showing affection would only get in their way. Again, he searched her face in that intense way of his. “If you want to know who else I called just ask.” “I’m asking.” The waitress brought their coffee and two plates of sausages and scrambled eggs rolled in thick, fluffy pancakes. Bard pointed at her plate with his fork. “Better dig in. We need to be the first clients in Lomas’s office.”

Paula took a sip of coffee then glared at him. “Well, are you going to tell me or not?” “Tell you what?” He shoveled a big bite of pancake into his mouth. His mock innocence burned her to the core. She raised her voice a level. “Who else did you call?” “Oh, yes.” He finished chewing, taking longer than Paula felt was necessary. “I was just getting to that,” he said. “I called the security guard at your house to make sure everything was A-okay on the home front. It was.” Her anger melted, and she stared at him in amazement. He’d thought of everything. “Thanks for checking. After that attack at the hotel, I prayed that those guys didn’t take out their frustrations on my birds.” “They may not be safe for long, so I’ve made arrangements for you to move into your new place before the escrow closes. A carpenter is building the new aviaries now as we speak. I know a guy who will guarantee the safe transport of your birds on his flatbed eighteen-wheeler. You can be out of the clear zone by the end of the week.” “Wait just a minute, Mr. Relocation Man. Your concern is touching, but I make my own decisions. And I’m definitely not moving now. Not until Charlie’s killer is caught.” Bard’s eyes darkened. “Better rethink that. Gordon said there’s been another murder. And based on the attack at the hotel you could be next.” Paula gripped the edge of the table. “Who was killed?” “Deeter. Apparently, he never made it out of town. At first, the police thought he’d missed the curve on Keppers Hill. But the bullet hole in his head and minimal blood suggested he was killed at another location then placed in his wrecked truck.” Paula clutched her napkin. “One of the last entries in the journal said Deeter was taking Charlie to see the gang’s number one.” “Then I was right. Deeter was in on the looting.” “But if he was part of the gang, why kill him?” Bard’s jaw tightened. “Maybe he became expendable.” Paula trembled. Like her and Bard?

Something else Bard had said gnawed at the back of her mind. “You said you called your boss. Was he upset that you didn’t make it to work this morning?” “No. He didn’t even seem surprised.” Bard finished eating and pushed his plate aside, then his brow furrowed as though something disturbing occurred to him. Paula felt a tightening in her stomach. Bard had made a lot of phone calls. “What about Cory?” “What about him?” “Did you call him, too?” “As a matter of fact, I did. Told him I was spending the night out of town.” “Did you tell him you were with me?” Bard wrinkled his brow. “Roommates don’t share everything.” Paula felt a sinking sensation. There was no way to know what information had passed between the two men. She suspected the real reason Bard had left the room last night was so she wouldn’t hear their conversation. She crossed her arms over her belly as her stomach seemed to close in on itself. Cory had a direct pipeline to her through Bard. However, as much as their unlikely triangle troubled her, she didn’t have time to worry about it now. She had a more immediate concern; to find out what attorney Lomas knew that might help her identify Charlie’s killer.

Chapter Twenty Lomas’ law office screamed wealth, success. How could Charlie afford this high-priced attorney? Paula’s gaze fixed on the design over the doorway. It was a leaded glass half-circle composed of pie-shaped pieces floating over a small gilded orb. Probably real gold. With Bard at her side, Paula explained the purpose of the visit to the secretary, and after a few moments, the stately woman led them across a luxurious carpet into a windowless conference room where twelve chairs circled a highly polished oval table. “Help yourself to the coffee,” the secretary said in a refined English accent. Then she disappeared, silent as an apparition. Bard pulled out one of the chairs for Paula and sat down next to her. Cool air blasted from the wall vents. Paula rubbed her arms. Bard took her pastel blue suit jacket from her and held it up so she could slip her arms into the sleeves. “Attentive devil, aren’t you?” she said, forcing humor she didn’t feel. “It’s a male thing,” he said, grinning. A wisecrack to that would only get her into trouble. She glanced around the plush oak paneled room and tapped a rapid tattoo on the table with her fingernails. Bard offered her a mint from the candy dish on the table, perhaps to give her fingers something less disturbing to do. When she shook her head, he unwrapped the clear cellophane and popped the mint in his mouth. She knew his Johnny-on-the-spot attentiveness, seating her, helping her with her jacket, offering her candy was meant only to put her at ease. She would’ve loved him for it, but in the back of her mind she suspected that everything he did was to woe her into leaving the clear zone. She glanced at her watch then stood and paced. The attorney had cleared a half hour slot to see them, but they had to wait. Yesterday, Corps Chief Reed had shaken her world with his news. Would Lomas drop a bombshell of his own? Paula’s knees trembled beneath her. She sank again to the chair. Bard gestured toward the journal. “May I?” She had an urge to say no, but every time he looked at her with such scrutiny and soul-searching depth the invisible wall between them crumbled another stone. But how could she let him see the journal? Charlie had laid his thoughts bare. The notion of

someone else, especially Bard, reading those passages, perhaps misinterpreting them, knotted her insides into triple knots. An excerpt darted into her mind: The nights Paula and I snuck out and swam in the pond at Meade Park made those hellish years in the homes bearable. Our daredevil spirits bonded us. Paula sighed. Bittersweet memories was all she had of Charlie. They’d slipped out their bedroom windows and ran laughing to the park two blocks away. There they pretended the murky, mosquito infested pond was a clear lake at the edge of a magical forest, and that they were the rulers of the land, able at last to have some control over their world. “Come on, Paula,” Bard said, yanking her back to the moment. He held out his hand for the journal. “I might catch something you missed. Two pairs of eyes are better than one.” He was right. She hadn’t recognized any of the names except Deeter’s, and maybe Bard would. Hesitantly, she handed him the journal. She clasped her hands tightly in the center of her lap to keep from snatching it back. This was her chance to show him, and herself, that she could be open with him, trusting. Or, at least pretend to be. He rewarded her by reaching over and patting her clutched hands. His large hand covered hers so completely that his fingertips rested on the flimsy fabric of her skirt. The feathery touch set off a tingling sensation between her thighs that rocked her senses. Her face flamed hotly. To cover her wayward emotions, she said, “The stuff about Deeter is on the last page.” Her words came out bedroom-husky. She closed her eyes, fighting her desire, hating the way it floated between them like an eros gas—dangerous, combustible— made more explosive by spending the night only a few feet away from him, seeing him half-nude. Without comment, Bard turned to the first page and skimmed through, making note of the names listed. The name he’d printed at the top of the list was Lopez. It meant nothing to her. In spite of her curiosity, she yawned. The lack of sleep was catching up to her. The secretary had told them to help themselves to the coffee. There was too much at stake to let herself droop. She went to the cart and poured herself a cup. “Want some?” she asked. ****

Bard glanced up. “No, thanks.” He knew Paula hadn’t slept much. She’d thrashed around in the bed most of the night. Strangely, her lack of sleep didn’t show. She looked alert, ready for anything. She’d swept her hair up in a crown of copper curls. Her blue suit brought out the deep blue in her eyes. Staring at her, as much as he loved the distraction, wasn’t getting the job done. He forced his attention back to the journal. The name Leroy Damas jumped out at him. Damas was one of Reed’s people, The Corps official with whom Gordon talked almost daily on the phone, the man who’d visited Gordon’s office several times a week. Bard jotted down the name and phone number. Maybe Damas had worked with Charlie undercover, or perhaps Charlie suspected the official was involved in the clear zone looting. Reed would know if Damas and Charlie had worked together. Lomas swept into the room and laid a file on the table. “Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said in a deep, confident voice. The ebonyskinned lawyer was a quick moving man, impeccably dressed in a double-breasted gray suit. His thick lips broke into a smile, and he went straight to Paula and shook her hand. “I feel I know you, Mrs. Lord,” he said, looking a lot like Sidney Poitier. “Charlie told me so much about you.” Light glistened on the lawyer’s coarse black hair as he turned his attention to Bard. “Perhaps you’d like to wait outside?” He gestured toward the door to the outer office. “There are confidential matters I must discuss with Mrs. Lord.” Bard didn’t budge. He looked questioningly at Paula. She hesitated, then tucking her arm through Bard’s, said, “This is my friend, Mr. Nichols.” She looked up into Bard’s face as though warning him that he’d better not prove her next words wrong. “There are no secrets between us.” Guilt for holding out on Paula twisted his gut. He mumbled, “Pleased to meet you,” as he gripped Lomas’s hand. “I don’t know if you’ve heard or not,” Paula said softly, “but someone murdered Charlie.” Lomas’ eyes widened, his pupils retracting to pinpoints of shock. “No!” He pulled out a chair and sank into it. Paula and Bard followed Lomas’s lead and re-seated themselves. Bard drew his chair close to Paula’s, hoping his nearness would give some comfort. Breaking this news had to be hard for her.

“Forgive me,” Lomas said. “Charlie was more than a client;he was a friend.” Lomas inhaled deeply to regain his composure. Paula gripped Bard’s arm tighter. In response, he covered her hand with his. Her skin felt soft, icy cool. She looked down at Bard’s hand covering hers with a soft expression that gave him a sense of unity beyond any he’d ever experienced. She lifted her chin. “Mr. Nichols is helping me find Charlie’s killer.” Lomas measured Bard, his expression wary. “You a police officer, a detective?” “Just a friend,” Bard said, hoping the lawyer would let it go at that. “Well,” Lomas said, “If there’s anything I can do to help, please let me know.” After a few heartbeats of silence, Lomas rubbed his angular jaw and turned to Paula. “Of course you’re aware you’re Charlie’s beneficiary?” “Chief Reed of the U.S. Corps of Engineers told me that,” Paula said. “But I—” “This has nothing to do with The Corps,” Lomas said with a frown on his face. “I must make that very clear. Surely, Charlie explained everything to you.” “He didn’t tell me anything,” she said. “We’re here because I found your card in his journal.” Lomas’s frown deepened. “Due to the risky work Charlie was in, I advised him to tell you the whole situation.” “You knew he was an undercover agent?” Bard gripped Paula’s hand, sensing by the sharpness in her tone and the sadness in her eyes, that it hurt a great deal for Charlie to have shared his secrets with everyone but her. Lomas nodded. Bard cursed under his breath. Just how many people had Charlie told? Telling even one person was too many. Maybe that was why he was dead. “You didn’t know he was an agent?” Lomas asked. “Not until yesterday.” Paula twisted an escaped coppery tendril at the base of her hairline. “It seems Charlie kept me in the dark about a lot of things.”

Lomas stroked his full lower lip. “Two weeks ago he promised me he’d tell you the details of his business affairs that very night.” “Charlie didn’t mention any business,” Paula said. Lomas cleared his throat. “What do you know about his inventions?” “Charlie told me he’d sold some, but he acted like it was no big deal. He certainly never mentioned anything about me being his beneficiary.” “Well, Mrs. Lord, it is a big deal. As his beneficiary, you are entitled to five hundred thousand in round figures to start. Then there are the future revenues.” Paula gasped. She took a deep breath and moistened her lips. Her nails dug into Bard’s arm. For an instant it looked as if she might cry. Then a mask closed over her face. Blaring alarms went off in Bard’s brain. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. This was all Cory needed to strengthen his case against Paula. She’d already inherited money and property from her husband, and from Grandma Emma. Now this. Five hundred thousand here, and another hundred thousand from The Corps. People had been convicted with far less motive than six hundred thousand dollars. **** The car was an oven after being parked in the direct sunlight all morning, but Paula felt cold. So cold. She stared at the sealed envelope Lomas had handed her as they left the law office. It trembled in her icy fingers. Her name was on the front in Charlie’s distinctive scrawl. The envelope had an ominous aura to it. Apprehension slithered over her. Bard sat behind the wheel looking at her—not starting the car—not even moving. “Open it,” he urged. “Maybe Charlie identifies his killer in there.” Paula’s mouth felt dry. She slipped her nail file out of her purse, slit the envelope open, and slowly unfolded the letter. Cars entered and left the parking lot, but Paula was in a capsulated world, sealed away from engines roaring to life, honking horns, the squealing tires. She tried to focus on the printed words, but they ran together like some grotesque black and white puzzle. Her vision blurred. “I can’t read this now,” she murmured.

“Let me,” Bard said, taking the envelope from her hand. He didn’t wait for her approval to read the letter aloud. “Paula, if you’re reading this, I’m dead.” Paula winced and drew in a quick breath. Bard swallowed. Paula saw the regret in his eyes. “Can you handle this?” he asked. Tension thickened the air around them. She tried to find her voice and dredge up a tough tone. “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger. Right?” But she wasn’t so sure. Bard’s face tightened, yet he continued reading the letter in a hoarse voice. “I’ve already waited too long to tell you the truth. I’m the one who killed Frank.” A jolt ripped through Paula like a lightning bolt. “No! He couldn’t have. He wasn’t in town.” Bard stared at her a moment, looking grim, then broke eye contact and continued reading. “‘You sounded so frightened when we talked on the phone. I hopped a bus to see for myself what was going on. Through the window, I saw Frank go for you. Even after you sank to the floor, he kept hitting you. I had to stop him. I didn’t mean to kill him, but to save you—’” “Oh, God,” Paula cried, cutting Bard off in mid-sentence. “Not Charlie...not Charlie.” Paula fumbled to open the car door. Then she was running. She didn’t know where, somewhere away from the pain. “Paula, wait!” After only about a dozen steps, strong hands gripped her around the waist. Bard turned her to face him, bringing her up short against his broad chest, making it impossible to struggle. “Let me go! I don’t want to hear anymore.” “It isn’t like you to run away just because you don’t like what you’re hearing.” Paula glared up into his piercing eyes. His strong features were framed by a deep blue, cloudless sky. “Don’t tell me what I’m like! You don’t even know me.” A strange look flicked across Bard’s face. Before she could react, he brought his lips down on hers. Paula tried to push him away. She pounded his chest. His grip was like velvet- steel. The kiss was meant to stun her. Shock her into a calm place. It was doing far more.

His mouth was warm and tasted faintly of mint. He absorbed her, drained away any urge to fight. Before she could stop herself, instinct took over. Her arms circled his neck, and she curved into his body without regard for the consequences. When Bard lifted her into his arms, she buried her face in his neck near his rapidly beating pulse. A spicy fragrance mingled with his male scent. She breathed in deeply, needing its intoxicating essence to dull her anguish. A few dozen heartbeats later, in the cocoon of the car, he took her in his arms and kissed her again. It was a comforting kind of kiss that was so tender and soothing she couldn’t stop herself from pulled his head toward her. He moaned and deepened the kiss. Everything faded away except his closeness, her need. It had been so long since she’d been in a man’s arms. And Bard’s arms felt so right. Vaguely, she heard footsteps then giggling. She opened her eyes. Two teenage girls stared in at them. Bard turned and glanced at them with a wry smile. He kissed Paula’s temple and the tip of her nose. “This isn’t the time or place for this.” Mumbling to himself, he started the engine. Paula lowered her gaze to her lap. Unspent passions throbbed in her breast. She glanced at Bard’s profile. He turned his head to face her, and their gazes locked. “It’ll be all right, Paula.” All right? Was he crazy? Or was she? How had she been able she respond that way after Charlie’s shocking confession? What must Bard think of her? It was impossible to explain it even to herself. She should be mad at him for kissing her like that, for starting the whole thing. But she couldn’t arouse even a smidgen of righteous indignation. She was the one in the wrong here. She touched her lips. They were still warm, tingly, and slightly swollen. Did Bard kiss her to calm and comfort her as she’d thought? Or did he feel the same overwhelming attraction that she’d been fighting? As the car lurched into gear, Paula grabbed Charlie’s letter off the dashboard. Now that Bard had opened Pandora’s Box, she had to know the whole story. Vaguely aware of the background of the roaring engine and the whir of the tires against concrete, she quickly scanned the letter to find the part Bard hadn’t yet read.

Afterwards. Charlie had written. I didn’t know what to do. I was barely eighteen—known for my hot temper. I couldn’t claim selfdefense. You know from all the crap we went through why I didn’t trust the system. You’re asking yourself why I didn’t trust you. I did. More than anyone. I know it doesn’t look that way, but I didn’t want to go to jail, and I didn’t want to ask you to lie for me. I had slipped away from the army post to check on you, so if I had stayed around and called the police it would have looked like an AWOL soldier had committed premeditated murder. I’d be in trouble with the army and the police, and that would have been the end of any chance to make something of myself. They weren’t supposed to hang it on you. If they hadn’t let you go, I would have been there. I haven’t been able to forgive myself, but I pray you can forgive me. Your big brother, Charlie. He’d done a terrible thing. Murdered a man. But if she’d had a gun, she might have killed Frank herself. Charlie had risked everything to save her. Of course she forgave him, the big goon. Tears welled in her eyes, but she blinked them away and turned her head, pretending to look at the acres of gentle rolling farmlands that their speed was transforming into a green blur. She shuddered and shook her head. It was all true. Still, it was hard to accept that her idol had clay feet. What hurt most was that he’d kept things from her. Big, serious things. Guilt washed over her. It was her telephone call for help that caused the trouble. But she’d expected advice from Charlie, not for him to leave his post. Even now, she didn’t know how, at sixteen, she could have saved herself from a determined, six-foot, two-hundred pound, drunken monster like Frank. Nothing would have stopped him except that bullet. She sensed Bard’s glance and lifted her gaze to meet it. “Charlie had his reasons for what he did,” Bard said. “I know,” she said softly. Bard shifted in the seat. “Didn’t some part of you suspect it was him?” “No. Of course not.” “Think about it. Perhaps you saw him through your groggy haze, heard his voice? Maybe that’s why you were willing to take the blame.”

Paula shook her head. Yet, slowly, her shell of protective armor fell away, leaving her defenseless and ready to consider the possibility. She rubbed her aching head. “If so, I blocked it out.” Bard took his hand off the wheel long enough to cover her hand with his. “We’ll find out who killed him. The murderer will pay. I promise you.” Right, she thought. We’ll find him. But I’ll make him pay myself. “What’s next?” “I’ll check out the names in the journal with Reed. I recognized one of them. Leroy Damas works for The Corps. Maybe he’s the lead I need.” “We need,” Paula corrected. A noncommittal look flicked across Bard’s face, and he became totally engrossed in his driving. Silence settled between them and Paula’s mind drifted back to Charlie. He’d kept so much from her. Had she expected too much? Perhaps people had a right to their secrets. She certainly had her own. She glanced at the March Air Force Base turnoff sign. In less than thirty minutes, she’d be home. The whole world had tilted off its axis since she’d learned Charlie killed Frank. Her feelings for Bard had gotten out of control, and she feared after those kisses she would never be the same. Then there was the inheritance of nearly six hundred thousand dollars. The closer Paula got to home, the stronger her foreboding that the money was going to bring her nothing but trouble. Not that she intended to keep it all; she’d see that a large percentage went to organizations that benefited children and…bird sanctuaries. Charlie would like that. She remembered Bard’s sharp glance when Lomas said he was under the impression that she knew she was the beneficiary. Did Lomas believe her? More important, did Bard believe her? She tried to tell herself she didn’t care what either of them thought. Paula touched her lips, reliving the thrill of Bard’s warm, searching mouth on hers. Unfortunately, she cared very much what he thought.

Chapter Twenty-One Bard stayed in the fast lane of Interstate 15, eager to get back to San Bernardino. He wondered if his impatience was based on a desire to get the undercover mission over with so he could get on with his life. Or was there something deeper, more basic like a hunger to hunt down his prey? He dragged his hand down his prickly jaw. He and Paula had unearthed some important answers, but their investigations had also brought complications and more questions. He shifted in his seat and tried to tame his grasshopper thoughts. He’d tried to concentrate, to sort everything out, but after the sun went down fatigue set in. No wonder, he’d hardly slept last night. He rubbed his gritty eyes and glanced over at Paula. She’d been asleep for about fifteen minutes. Moonlight shimmered on her hair and cast light and shadows on her face. The brightness emphasized her cheekbones and soft feminine features. When the tires hit a rough place in the asphalt, she stirred slightly then stilled again, looking lovely, innocent. Innocent? Lomas had been under the impression that she knew about the inheritance. She had insisted Charlie hadn’t told her anything about it. But what if— No! She couldn’t have lied. Her shocked reaction to Charlie’s letter was too real. Bard shook his head, remembering their kiss last night. All doubt about Paula’s honesty faded with the memory of her soft lips moving beneath his, greedily accepting pleasure, giving pleasure. He’d rationalized the kiss was to calm her, but that wasn’t the whole truth. Lying less than a couple of feet from her all night, inhaling her womanly fragrance mingled with her damnably enticing scent of honeysuckle had ignited a slow burning fuse which exploded when he looked down at her trembling lips. He shouldn’t have kissed her when she was upset and vulnerable. Yet, at the time, it seemed like the most natural thing in the world. When she returned his kiss with unexpected passion he was astonished. And pleased. Damn, he was confused. If only he could talk to her about it, but with what lay ahead he couldn’t. Until the undercover job was over, he wasn’t free to be open and aboveboard with her. This was the pits. Every fiber of him ached to tell her he loved her. Loved her? He jerked his head back, as if the realization had

come in the form of a physical blow. His heart pounded. It was true. And he couldn’t do a damned thing about it. It wasn’t just that he had to hide being an undercover agent. Her inheritance of over half-amillion dollars complicated things. If he was to suddenly tell her he loved her, she might think it was because of the money. Bard’s grip on the steering wheel tightened as though the circle were a lifeline. When Cory found out about the inheritance, he’d use it to lock Paula up and throw away the key. Of course, Cory wouldn’t find it out from him. But a determined cop like Cory had his ways of getting information. If Fred’s murder was the catalyst that turned Cory against Paula, the letter from Charlie should clear her. Maybe then Cory would admit his mistake and back off. Gravel crunched under the tires as Bard pulled into Paula’s driveway. Dogs were barking, birds squawking. The back yard glowed like a night baseball game, and all the lights were on in the house. Bard’s mouth went dry. The front door stood wide open. Paula sat up and looked around. Before Bard could stop her, she leaped out of the car and bolted toward the house. He grabbed his gun and followed her. Paula gasped. Bard looked over her shoulder at the overturned couch, tipped over end- tables, lamps on the floor, stuff hanging out of drawers. Where the hell was the security guard? Outside was a pandemonium. Inside it was deadly quiet. With his gun ready, Bard stepped ahead of Paula. Ivanhoe’s empty cage lay tipped on its side; a single gray feather lingered on the gaping door. “Iv!” Paula cried. She tried to push past Bard. He stuck out his arm and barred her way. Footsteps came from the back of the house. He pulled her down with him as he crouched and aimed the gun. Then he saw it. Steel glinted in the hand that protruded around the corner of the hallway. Gun barrels faced each other…his finger tensed…ready to tighten on his trigger…. A blur of a man’s face darted in and out of view. “Don’t shoot, Mr. Nichols,” the security guard said. “It’s me.” Bard lowered his gun. The guard let out an exhale of relief and came forward. His two Dobermans growled with bared teeth. “Sit, Killer, Bruno,” he commanded, holstering his weapon.

“Where’s Ivanhoe?” Paula asked with a waver in her voice. The parrot squawked. The sound came from the kitchen. “Iv!” Paula ran past Bard and the guard. Bard tucked his gun in waistband of his slacks, and leveled his gaze at the guard. “What happened?” The guard raked his salt and pepper hair. The saddlebags under his eyes made him look tired, old. Maybe too old for this kind of work. “The intruders pulled a diversion tactic,” he said, his tone revealing his need to justify his failure to protect the place. “They made a hell of a noise out back and when I went to check, they ran through this place like a tornado. Took ‘em only a coupla of minutes to overturn everything and pull stuff out of drawers.” The guard shifted his weight. “I ran them off before they did much damage though.” Bard glanced around and frowned. “I was in the kitchen calling the cops when I heard you drive in,” the guard said. “Thought maybe those guys had come back.” Bard could faintly hear Paula crooning soothing words to the parrot. “Tell me more about the break in,” he said. “You heard a ruckus inside, then what?” “Tried to cover both doors.” The guard stroked one of the dogs. “Bruno, here, guarded the back door, and Killer and I ran to the front. There was a black Lincoln parked across the street, and the driver shot at me.” Bard saw no blood. “But you’re all right?” “Yeah. Took cover behind a tree.” “Get a license number? See the gunman?” “Mud covered plates. Too dark to see the driver’s face.” The guard took a couple of gulps of breath. “The two other guys hightailed from the house like someone had given them a hotfoot. I shouted halt. Fired a warning shot. They ran to the Lincoln with my dog Killer on their heels. Before they’d even closed the doors, the driver took off.” “Can you identify any of them?” “Just a sketchy description. One was wiry, the other bigger, heavier. They wore ski-masks and dark clothing.” Bard wasn’t surprised when the guard’s description matched the guys who had broken into their hotel room. “So the cops are on their way?” The guard nodded.

“Any idea what those guys were after?” The guard shrugged. “Whatever it was, by the looks of this place, I’d lay odds they didn’t find it.” Bard rubbed his jaw. If it was the same guys, they probably knew Paula had the journal with her. Did that mean the game plan had changed? **** Janus sat in the back booth of the darkened tavern, stabbing his damp napkin with his keys. It was late and a Monday night so most of the local patrons had gone home. Only a fat, wrinkled hooker with orange hair and gray roots, and her sloppy drunk mark remained at the bar. When the hooker let loose with a raucous whiskey laugh the bartender paused from stacking the clean glasses just long enough to give the waitress, who was at the other end of the bar counting her tips, a knowing glance. The waitress pocketed her money and slid off the stool, purposely showing some thigh. She sauntered over to Janus with practiced hip-action. “Another Guinness, big boy?” she asked. He knew her glance down at his zipper and slow drawl was supposed to light his jets, but the woman’s tiredness and boredom came through. Janus nodded. The waitress put down a fresh napkin. He had it in shreds by the time she’d returned with his order. “Got something against napkins?” she asked, slapping down another. He glared at her. “No. Against waiting and cheeky waitresses.” She pivoted, and gave him a go-to-hell look over her shoulder. Still, as she headed back to the bar, he was positive the saucy swing in her fanny was for him. He watched her, stabbing at the fresh napkin, making deep punctures that scarred the table. He’d almost finished his second stout Guinness when Lopez slipped into the booth across from him. Lopez glanced at the shredded napkin and after fumbling for the pack of Camels rolled into the right sleeve of his shirt, he flipped out a cigarette and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. His left eye twitched. Satisfaction surged through Janus, knowing he was the source of the twitch. Lopez frantically patted his shirt pockets then frowned. Janus handed him a book of matches with Gilly’s Tavern printed on it.

“Gracias,” Lopez said. His fingers trembled as he lit his cigarette. He took a long draw and blew a gust of smoke upward into the air. The waitress sauntered over to the table, looking even more bored, her swing gone. “Something for you?” “Draft beer.” “Why am I not surprised?” she drawled then ambled back toward the bar to get Lopez’s drink. Janus waited until the waitress was out of hearing range before taking action. Like the snap of a bear trap, he gripped Lopez’s wrist. “Listen, Stupido. You let the widow out shoot you. Why didn’t you stay and finish the job?” Janus knew the wiry bastard feared his lethal penalty for failure and was probably about to wet his pants. “Once the shooting started we couldn’t wait around. Hotel security would’ve been on us like leaches. We wouldn’t be any good to you in jail.” “What good are you on the outside? You lost Paula and Bard.” “We tried to trail ‘em,” Lopez muttered. “Next thing we knew, we were following a tour bus over the border into Mexico.” Janus glared at him. “They’re smarter than I thought. Now we don’t know where they went, or who they saw.” Janus made a clicking sound out the side of his mouth as he often did while thinking. He couldn’t let this setback get to him. “Find them, now!” “No problema. Bard’s Z is parked in the widow’s driveway.” “They’re back? Good. Find out how much they know and what they’re up to. No more slip ups.” Janus’s grip on Lopez’s wrist tightened, cutting off the flow of blood. “Easy,” Lopez said, his face twisting in pain. “We got the widow’s house bugged.” Janus let go of Lopez. “That’s more like it.” Lopez rubbed his wrist. “I should get mas dinero.” “More money? For what?” “That damned squawking parrot attacked me, then the security guard and his killer Dobermans chased me to the car.” “Hazard pay?” Janus snorted and shook his head. He gulped the rest of his Guinness, needing the bite of bitterness. “A potbellied old coot and a couple of mangy dogs scared you off? Getting soft?”

“Soft? Diablo en inferno, no. They just caught me off guard.” Lopez gently tapped his bandaged shoulder. “I owe the Bird lady one.” Janus snickered. “Maybe next time she’ll kill you.” Lopez’s eyes darkened. “She’ll wish.” Janus snickered. Paula had made Lopez look bad, demeaned him, and saving face was a priority to the skinny Mexican. “Don’t let this get personal,” Janus warned, although for Janus it was very personal. He’d always been taken by the gutsy, Paula Lord, and the more he knew about the young widow the more surprised and fascinated he became, admiring her almost as much as he hated her. Regardless of being obsessed by Paula, or perhaps because of that gut wrenching obsession, she’d pay for the trouble she’d caused him.

Chapter Twenty-Two After the security guard and police left, Bard and Paula straightened up the mess left by the intruders. When they finished, Paula surveyed the living room and sent Bard a tired smile that showed her undaunted spirit. She was amazing, he thought. “Thanks for your help,” she said. “No big deal. It wasn’t as bad as it looked.” That was the problem. There was more to the break-in than met the eye. He paced. The overturned furniture, scattered books and papers had to be a smoke screen. “I’d give a week’s pay to know the real reason those guys were here.” “The police called it malicious mischief,” Paula said. Bard snorted. “We both know it was more than that.” The police had stayed only long enough to make their perfunctory report. They were shorthanded and overworked and handling the trouble in the clear zone wasn’t a high priority; but it was asking for trouble to put the area on the back burner just because it was a no-man’s land with boarded up homes and houses slated to be torn down or moved within the year. Paula took Ivanhoe out of his cage. She sat down in the center of the couch and stroked the parrot’s head, smoothing his gray feathers with two fingers. Ivanhoe’s plumage was glossy and flawless, pupils registering pleasure, contracting and expanding as if in sheer delight. “Looks like he’s over his ordeal,” Bard said. “He’s calmer now.” Hearing the waver in Paula’s voice, Bard slowed his strides, and then paused. Paula looked soft and vulnerable sitting there. He suspected the break-in bothered her more than she let on. Ivanhoe shifted in her lap. The parrot’s claws gripped Paula’s shapely jeanclad thighs. Lucky bird, Bard thought as warmth swelled in his loins. He shook off the surge of desire and momentary loss of concentration, and began pacing again. “I think those guys messed up the place just to throw us off.” “You mean they weren’t here to steal things?” “Not likely. They must’ve known you had Charlie’s journal with you, so that probably wasn’t what they were after. And they were in all the rooms, yet you say nothing is missing.”

Paula’s lip quivered. “Just thinking about them going through my personal stuff gives me the creeps.” Bard wanted to draw her into his arms, comfort her, but with the heat flaming in his privates it wouldn’t be smart. Besides, he couldn’t get close with the parrot in her lap. “They weren’t here long enough to linger over anything, if that helps.” “It doesn’t.” Yet, she squared her shoulders. Paula continued stroking Ivanhoe’s head. She smiled faintly when the parrot twisted around and nibbled at her fingers. “That’s why you and your birds have to get out of here. Those guys will be back.” Without comment, Paula rose and put the parrot back into his cage. Even after she closed the door and put the stick through the latch, she stood watching Ivanhoe like a loving mother who had tucked her child into bed for the night. Ivanhoe sat on his perch looking like a fluffed up ball, with his leg drawn up. He was softly clicking his bill. When his eyelids drooped closed, Paula covered his cage and returned to the couch. Bard watched Paula. He’d given her plenty of time to let his warning sink in. She just sat there looking at him, with that stubborn set to her jaw. “Dammit. What do they have to do to you before you grasp fully the danger you’re in?” She wrapped her arms across her middle, as though trying to hold herself together. “I get it, but I won’t be bullied or driven out like a scared rabbit!” Paula’s mouth flattened to a resolute line, and Bard could feel the heat of her anger, could see it sparking in her eyes. He cursed under his breath and threw his arms up in the air. He paced a few more steps then dropped heavily next to her. “Look,” he said, taking her hands in his. “I care about you and even that dingaling parrot over there. I don’t want anything to happen to either of you.” Just touching her soft, warm hands made his heart beat faster. She smiled. “You care about Iv?” He grinned and nodded. The parrot was a good protector, good as any watch dog. “Maybe you’re right. Perhaps I should leave.” She took a deep breath. “No promises, but I’ll think it over.”

“Good.” He’d won a small skirmish. Paula smiled as though she’d read his mind, her mouth turning up in an impish way at the corners. Without stopping to think, he took her by the arms and kissed her on the lips. By the time he’d realized what he’d started, Paula’s arms circled his neck and their kiss caught fire as quickly as a dry cedar roof hit by Fourth of July fireworks. Her lips moved beneath his, soft, sweet, and hot as fudge fondue. Tasting the fiery sweetness made him a little dizzy. Paula’s body curved into him, her breasts pressing against his chest. He moaned and pulled her closer. Suddenly a din of squawking birds startled them. Paula looked up at him. “My birds!” “Damn. Now what?” He jumped to his feet, ignoring the lingering warm pulse of arousal and ran to the kitchen. Through the back door window, he saw flames licking the roof of one of the aviaries. Paula flicked on the yard floodlights. She was right behind Bard as he bolted outside to the hydrant. The handle was gone. “Get something to turn this on!” he shouted. She darted inside and returned with pliers. He wrapped his handkerchief around the hydrant stem and turned. It slipped. He tried again. Paula yanked the gate of the burning aviary open. Panicky birds with flapping wings streamed out. Crackling fire and bird cries fused in frenzied cacophony. Feeling the stress, Bard got a tighter grip on the hydrant stem with the pliers, and threw his weight into the lunge. His second thrust did it. Water gushed from the hose full force. He aimed the nozzle at the blaze. A breeze caught some of the spray and hurled it back into his face. He swore as gusts sent leaping flames licking at the limb of an overhanging oak branch. His heart pounded. He had to douse the blaze before it spread. He broke out in a sweat from the blistering heat. “Aim some water over here!” Paula shouted, pointing at the next shelter in the line of fire. Bard choked as smoke and burning wood fumes attacked his throat. “Can’t! Or this section will go.”

Paula ran to the garden hydrant and dragged its hose full length. It wasn’t close enough. The water pressure was too low to reach the flames. She grabbed two buckets, filled them with water, and raced back and forth, tossing water on the adjacent shelter, putting up a good fight. Ray Whitney and a guy Bard didn’t know came running across the back field with hose extensions. They hooked them up and helped Paula wet down the other shelters. By the time the fire department got there, the fire was already out. The firemen checked for live embers before they left. During the commotion Ray and the other guy slipped away before Bard could thank them. All of the aviaries except two had been spared. Bard and Paula stared at the blackened remains of the lost shelters. Only a short time ago they had been filled with her beloved birds. Paula didn’t seem to notice when Bard touched her slumped shoulders. In spite of all she’d gone through in the last few days, he’d never seen her slump before. He guessed there was a limit to what even a tough cookie like Paula could take. He yearned to enfold her in his arms and give her the comfort she needed. Instead he moved away, deciding it was safer for her if he kept his distance. Bard was rolling up one of the hoses when he heard a loud crack. He glanced back to where Paula stood. She was directly under a charred branch of the oak tree. “Paula, watch out!” She looked up, seemingly dazed. He dived for her, barely knocking her out of the way as the massive branch crashed to the ground. His lunge trapped her beneath him. “Are you hurt?” he asked. She shook her head. Little blades of wet grass clung to her hair. His body pressed into her soft, womanly.curves. He shifted his weight, but didn’t leave. “That was close,” he said huskily. He closed his eyes a moment. She could have been killed! Thinking of living in a world without her now that he’d come to love her was impossible. Dammit. He cared more for Paula than he’d ever cared for anyone, and he couldn’t even tell her. Her money and his undercover work had widened the chasm between them. “Are you sure you’re all right?” He was stalling, enjoying the feel of her beneath him too much to move away.

She nodded, moistening her lips. He bent toward her, inhaling her faint fragrance of honeysuckle mingled with smoke. Paula moved slightly beneath him. Desire tore at his control, overwhelming him with an all consuming urge to make love to her here in the blackened ruins. He took a deep, bracing breath and brought her with him as he stood. Their bodies were pressed close, her heat seeping through his clothes, searing his skin, invading his senses. Paula’s face flushed. She studied him a moment. Then, she twisted in his arms and stared at the charred remains of her aviaries. He gave her waist a little squeeze. She looked up at him with wide, sad eyes. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to the freed birds. They don’t know the world outside. And how much damage did the smoke do to the others?” “Breezes sent most of the smoke toward the field. The birds should be all right.” Bard’s throat tightened. Some of the birds were lost for good. Tomorrow Paula would be grateful for what was left, most of her aviaries and about fifty birds. Pointing the avantages out tonight would seem as though he didn’t understand what the lost birds meant to her, and that wasn’t true. He gently guided her away from the devastation and into the house. They were both soaked, and their faces and clothes blackened from smoke. “We’d better get out of these clothes here in the entry,” he said, “or we’ll get soot all over the house.” “I don’t care about that.” Her voice cracked. “Bard, who’s doing this? And why?” He drew her close and held her there, wishing he could absorb her pain. Paula rested her head against his chest. He gritted his teeth at the onslaught of desire. “Why can’t they just come get me and leave my birds alone?” she asked softly. “If they got you, who would take care of your birds?” He couldn’t control the low rumble in his voice. She looked up and met his gaze. “You were right all along, Bard. I have to get what’s left of my birds out of this purgatory.” He kissed the center of the black smear that slashed across Paula’s nose. “I’m not leaving you alone tonight,” he murmured. “No argument,” she said, her tone grateful.

Bard massaged the tight knots in Paula’s shoulders. She needed something to relax her, something to help put tonight behind her. “What you need is a hot shower.” “I know.” She went a little limp against him as if a profound weariness had settled over her. “But I’m too sapped to even make it that far.” He grinned. “At your service.” He swept her into his arms and carried her toward the bathroom. Paula tucked her head into the hollow of Bard’s neck, as if basking in the protective strength of his arms. “Why didn’t I realize sooner that you’re always around when I need you?” She tightened her hold around his neck. He stopped walking for a moment and glanced down at her. She laughed. “You have that certain something, Bard Nichols, blackened face and all.” She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, driving him crazy. He brushed her lips with his. She drew his head down again. “More,” she begged. Bard brought his mouth down on hers and lingered. He’d meant to keep it light. But feeling her warm sweetness beneath his lips set off a new fire in him more raging then the one he’d just fought, and hotter than the one he’d been fighting since before they’d spent a frustrating night a couple of feet from each other. **** Paula drew him closer, needing him. His kisses were transforming her blood into liquid fire. Abruptly, Bard ended the kiss and continued walking down the hallway, turning sideways to pass through the bedroom and bathroom doorways. Her feet touched the floor as he gently placed her in front of the shower stall. He reached into the glass enclosure and turned on the water. Then he just stood there staring at her, as if he was trying to make up his mind whether to go or stay. Steam misted around them. When Bard turned to leave, she grabbed his arm. “Don’t go,” she said softly. “I’ll be right outside the door.” She’d never been one to throw herself at a man, but she couldn’t bear to be by herself. Losing her birds had left another empty spot. Sooner or later, everyone and everything she’d ever loved was taken from her. The scent of Bard’s heat swirled in the mist whirling about them. She took a deep breath, drinking in the smell of his maleness,

and faced the truth. She wanted him. Basic, earthy need. She dug her fingers into the hard flesh of his arm. Her face flamed hotly. “I want you to come into the shower with me.” “Are you sure?” His voice was husky. He lingeringly traced the line of her jaw, slick and warm with moisture. She stared directly into his eyes. After those kisses, did he need to ask? Besides, he was the one who had figured out about Charlie. And the one who had risked his own job to help her get a line on the killer; the one who had saved the majority of her birds; the one who had rescued her from getting a concussion or worse from the falling branch. And the one setting her blood on fire. “Very sure,” she whispered. She clasped his face in her hands, drawing his lips down to hers. She unleashed all her repressed yearning, flicking her tongue into his mouth, probing with it, igniting a need in him that matched her own. He paused kissing her long enough to say in a voice as soft as a caress. “No matter what happens, always remember, I love you.” “Me, too,” she whispered. Awe washed over her. She really loved him. Why had it taken her so long to accept it? Her passion raged beyond anything she believed possible as he rained kisses over her face, down the arch of her neck, returning to her face, her eyelids, both corners of her mouth, finally capturing her lips beneath his again. Paula gasped for air and willed her wobbly knees not to give way. The depth of her desire amazed her. “You’re everything sweet and good,” he murmured. He unfastened her blouse, one button at a time, while his gaze pierced her soul. Lingeringly, he slipped the fabric from her shoulders and arms, trailing his fingers over her skin, causing goose bumps. A wisp of air stirred at her ankles as her cotton top fluttered to the floor. She undid his belt. He looked at her with the brightest sea green eyes she’d ever seen, eyes, undeniably full of love. “Any idea what you’re doing to me?” She nodded, suddenly a little shy.

He unfastened her bra and slipped off the straps. “Lovely.” His fingertips traced patterns over her breasts, sending tiny tremors coursing through her. She yanked impatiently at his shirt then smoothed her fingers over his muscled flesh, tangling them in his fine, curly chest-hair. Bard removed a dog-eared blue packet from his wallet and put it in the shower caddie next to the soap. “Don’t ever be sorry about this,” he said in a low, throaty voice. “Not for a minute,” she whispered, a little breathless. Then they frantically shed their remaining clothing, tossing fabric wildly until they stood naked. Bard kicked the soaked clothing aside. “You’re beautiful,” he said, with awe in his voice. “Exactly as I knew you’d be.” He didn’t close the distance between them, as though savoring the sight. “I love the way the shadows emphasize your curves.” “Your skin looks smooth as the finest alabaster.” His touch was gentle, adoring. “But it’s soft, very soft.” Paula smiled, slowly taking in everything about Bard, from the top of his dark hair to his well-formed thighs. If she could design her own perfect man, he’d definitely be the hard-body model she’d choose. He was, trim, long-muscled, and impressive. Nothing about Bard looked soft, except the expression in his eyes. That’s what got to her; the love she saw there. She clasped his hand and drew him with her into the shower. Steam swirled around them, wrapping their glistening bodies in enchanting vapors. Bard’s lips claimed hers, his hands bringing her closer. She moaned as his hand skimmed down her side and explored her wet body, while hot water rained down on them. He pinned her between the shower wall and his own body. Paula wound her arms around his neck and arched into him, seeking all the contact he wanted to give. He cupped the swell of her breasts and his tongue delighted her nipples with sweet torment. She gasped at the feel of his strong arousal, pressing urgently against her belly. She closed her hand over his shaft, massaging him, discovering him. His grateful moans heightened her excitement. But it wasn’t just the passion raging between them that eased her heartaches. It was love. She’d found a man she could love completely—trust completely.

Chapter Twenty-Three “Paula’s shoveling dirt over Charlie tomorrow,” Janus said, “and I think we should attend the funeral to pay our respects.” Lopez laughed. “You mean to watch and gloat?” “Whatever. But we should go separately.” Lopez cleared off half of the table, littered with empty food cartons and overflowing ashtrays, to make room for the tape recorder. He pressed the rewind button. “Crime scene muchachos found nada to pin Charlie’s murder on you, no?” Janus snickered, feeling invincible. “They don’t even know I exist. Now, to our business.” He opened a window, wiped off one of the four kitchen chairs and sat down. He rested his arm on the table and clasped his hand over his nose in an attempt to filter the foul smells that grew worse by the minute. The apartment Lopez shared with the other bikers smelled worse than a garbage dump, rotted food, backed up plumbing, stale cigarette odors and the faint residual of marijuana. He studied the wiry, dark-skinned Mexican. How could Lopez live in such a pigsty? The man himself was immaculate. His jeans had a blade-sharp crease and his red T-shirt was unwrinkled and spotless. His thick black hair was neatly combed. With the red bandanna around his forehead and the diamond stud in his left ear, he looked like many of the young Latinos attending San Bernardino Valley College, but Lopez had only gone as far as the seventh grade and showed no interest in going further. He was into easy money and fast living. Janus soon learned that Lopez could be useful to him. Like himself, the gang-banger had no conscience and would do anything for money. Anything. His specialty, giving pain. “Let’s hear what you have for me,” Janus growled. “The tape may give you a few laughs, but it’ll be a waste of your time.” “I’ll decide that. Play it!” Lopez shrugged and started the tape. “Iv!” Paula screamed. Janus smirked at the terror in her voice. It would serve her right if someone exterminated her blasted parrot. Bard was speaking, his voice ragged with tension. “Wait. We’re not alone.” “Oh. It’s you, Mr. Nichols.”

“That’s the security guard speaking,” Lopez said. He stuck a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. His fingers were steady as he lit it. He took a long draw and blew a lopsided smoke ring, then watched it with childlike amusement. Janus shook his head. “Fast forward to where Paula and Bard are alone.” Lopez clicked the button, and the tape recorder whirred ahead. “It’s just the two of them about here,” he said, punching the play button again. “It seems to me,” Bard said, “that those guys messed things up just to throw us off.” Janus raised a brow at the suspicion in Bard’s voice. “He knows?” “Only that something’s up,” Lopez said, self-satisfaction in his tone. “By the time he figures out we trashed the place to cover up our real objective, it’ll be too late.” As Paula spoke softly about the journal, Janus strained to catch her words. Lopez laughed, flashing a gold tooth. “I knew she had it.” “Shut up!” Janus chopped the air sideways with the edge of his hand. “Can’t hear with you mouthing off.” Janus leaned closer to the recorder. Maybe he was worried about nothing. He laughed out loud when Paula told Bard off. “One tough señora, no?” Lopez said. Janus nodded. That’s what made her dangerous. Not only to his set up, but to him personally. He licked his lips thinking of her beguiling toughness. Janus watched the little wheels of the tape spin dizzily, wondering what it would be like to have her. “It’s all set,” Bard told Paula. “You’re leaving the day after tomorrow. Coleman’s packers’ll be here in the morning to box up your stuff.” Janus slammed his fist down on the kitchen table. Lopez flinched. “Moving?” Janus growled. “Why didn’t you say she was moving?” Although it was about time, he shouldn’t be the last to learn what was going on in his project. “Just learned about it,” Lopez said, stubbing out his cigarette in an already overflowing ashtray. “What about Coleman’s crew?” Janus asked, his mind once again on the journal. “Know any of the packers?”

Lopez shrugged. “After work some of ‘em hang out at Jerry’s pool hall.” “See who’s new,” Janus said, “and who has money problems. If you find a guy with a police record, so much the better.” Lopez’s face brightened. “You want him to forget to pack the journal, no?” Janus nodded. “Give ‘em cash. A couple of hundred should do it.” “The journal better be worth all this bother,” Lopez said. “Want to take the chance that my name isn’t in it?” Janus deepened his voice to a snarl. “Or yours? It could have our whole set up laid out.” Sweat broke out on Lopez’s upper lip. He wiped it away with the back of his wrist. “What if the guy can’t find the journal?” “Then it’ll be up to you. You’ll have to tear Paula’s new place apart. Get the address from the mover.” Janus frowned at the sound of squawking birds coming over the tape. It sounded like hundreds. “What’s wrong with those damn birds?” Lopez gave a sly grin. “I set their coops on fire.” Janus jumped up, and glared down at Lopez. “Who the hell told you to do that?” Lopez’s dark eyes widened. “Had to get Bard and Paula out of the house to plant two more bugging devices. The guard stopped us before we’d finished.” Heat crawled up Janus’s neck. He didn’t like his men going outside the plan. “Dammit, you set the fire just to get back at Paula.” Lopez shrugged as if it were no big deal. But his left eye twitched. “So, I killed two birds with one stone.” “You risked everything for—” Janus was jolted silent by Bard’s husky voice coming over the tape. “Better get out of those clothes,” he said. Janus sank to the chair and held up his hand in a stop gesture. This he wanted to hear. Paula and Bard discussed the fire then Bard murmured, “I’m not leaving you alone tonight.” His words were barely audible, something about a hot shower. Janus rubbed the pulse throbbing at his temple.

“Maybe we misjudged Nichols, no?” Lopez asked. “Seems he’s not just a pencil-pushing workaholic like you said. This is where he makes his move.” Janus’s shoulder muscles tightened. “Get more volume on that!” “It’s as high as it’ll go.” Lopez laughed. “Don’t you get it? They aren’t talking right now.” Janus darted a warning glance at Lopez. His hand shot up again when Paula started speaking. “Don’t go,” she said softly. “Please, Bard, I don’t want to be alone.” The skin at the base of Janus’ neck burned while the heat of a controlled fury crept up his jaw. He couldn’t bear the idea of Bard touching Paula. “The lady’s hot to salsa,” Lopez said. “It’s just sweaty bodies and heavy breathing for the rest of the tape.” “Leave it on!” Janus ordered. “I want to hear all of it.” Bard was murmuring now, low and hoarse. “No matter what happens, I....” Janus strained to hear. “What did he say?” All Janus heard was the thunder of pounding water. Lopez snickered. “Have to use your imagination from here on.” Janus kept his stony mask in place in spite of the knot in his gut, a knot his silent rage suddenly yanked tighter. “I want that journal!” he bellowed, to hide what was really bothering him. He pounded the table. “No excuses.”

Chapter Twenty-Four A sunshine person like Charlie would be pleased to be buried graveside on such a perfect day, Paula told herself. The blue, sunny sky was cloudless. The strong fragrance of flowers scented the air, predominantly roses. She bit her lip and fought the moisture pushing at the back of her eyes. No tears! That was how Charlie would want it. He’d always told her, smile to the world and cry in private. She lifted her chin, and clutched her handkerchief into a lacy ball, willing away the sadness that pushed upward into her chest and buried itself deep in her heart. They’d become a family when they made their commitment to look out for one another. Their devotion was as solid as any blood relatives. The lump in Paula’s throat swelled painfully. Her lips trembled. I’ll miss you, big brother. Next to Paula, Bard stood erect and solemn in a dark suit and tie. She studied his profile. His head moved almost imperceptibly, scanning the mourners. A wave of dark brown hair had fallen to his forehead, softening his features. Still, there was nothing soft about the man. He was her rock. Charlie had been strong and protective, too. Still, he was dead. Fighting the weakness in her knees, she squeezed Bard’s arm. “I’m glad you’re not in dangerous work like Charlie was,” she whispered. Bard didn’t answer. He loosened his collar and gave her a twisted smile that looked more like a grimace. Perhaps funerals made Bard uncomfortable and made him think about dying. She felt the warmth of his body pressing against her side, his heat seeping into her being, setting off an electrical hum just under her skin. For an instant, she considered her own mortality. Never had she wanted to live as fiercely as at this minute. Tightening her grip on his arm, she scanned the odd mixture of mourners: friends, neighbors, police, corps, and county people. And, to her dismay, bikers. On the opposite side of Charlie’s closed casket stood eleven tattooed bikers who glared at her like taunting demons. Behind them, their Harleys were parked contemptuously on the grass. The unshaven bikers wore leather vests, boots, and black headbands. Paula recognized a couple of them as Deeter’s former roommates. Charlie had worked on their Harley’s. He must have

learned that those guys were part of the looting gang and used his mechanical skill as a means to infiltrate their gang. Did they find out he was an undercover agent then killed him for it? Paula’s stomach churned. What about the rest of the bikers? What was their connection to Charlie? Was their presence at Charlie’s service to show respect, or were they here to spit on his grave? Paula’s fingers dug deeper into Bard’s arm. He put his hand on top of hers. His touch was warm, comforting. The subtle scent of his musky shaving lotion floated about her, its aromatherapy providing a needed balm to her soul. Ray, Nancy, a very pale Gary, and a mousy-looking man Paula had never seen before stood in a cluster near the minister. Was the stranger someone Charlie had known? Afterwards, she would speak to him. She swallowed to ease the ache in her throat. Lomas, Reed, and Gordon stood just behind the Whitneys. She understood why Lomas and Reed were there. They cared for Charlie. “Why is your boss here?” she asked softly. “He didn’t even know Charlie.” “Politics,” Bard whispered. “Charlie died on county property.” It’d serve them right if she brought suit against the county for negligence, but suing people wasn’t her way, and it wouldn’t bring Charlie back. Les Cardel stood to the left of Gordon, his wide stance as arrogant as ever. “So why is Cardel here?” “Who knows?” Bard said, studying the house mover with obvious new interest. The tendons in her neck tightened. Cardel had always made her uncomfortable. He expected everyone to bow to his wishes. Well, he should be happy. Soon, he can jack up her house, set it on blocks, and auction it off. He whispered something to Gordon then nodded to her as if sending his condolences. Paula looked away and glanced toward the road. Cory stood alone under a shady elm tree near the curb, his emotions hidden behind mirrored sunglasses. She curled her hand into a fist. Why was he here? He hadn’t known Charlie. With the way he was trying to pin Charlie’s murder on her, it was a good bet he wasn’t here to give comfort. Her gaze swept over the bikers again. Their stony faces and belligerent eyes declared they were there to intimidate. Paula’s

shoulder muscles shrank into taut ropes. Please, don’t let them disrupt Charlie’s last rites. A bee buzzed loudly near one of the roses that covered the casket. Paula briefly closed her eyes, hoping to close out the painfully lonesome drone. She hated funerals. There had been so many. It was a relief when the coroner finally released Charlie’s body for burial. It had been agonizing torture to know that day after day some forensic pathologist was invading Charlie in ways she hated to imagine. And what good did it do? It didn’t lead the police to his killer. At least Charlie could rest in peace. Paula stepped away from Bard and closer to the casket. She placed an arrowhead-shaped turquoise stone among the roses. She and Charlie had found the stone near the Indian reservation in the foothills. He had gotten excited and said it was a rare find and carried good spirits. Then, instead of keeping it for himself, he’d dropped it into her hand and closed her fingers over it. To protect you, he’d said. She wanted him to have it. Angels do use arrows, don’t they Charlie? Or was that just Cupid? Her throat tightened. To the breeze carrying Charlie’s spirit, she silently vowed: I won’t let your killer get away with this. Paula memorized the mourners’ faces. If Charlie’s murderer was among them, she’d get him—even if it was the last thing she ever did. She vaguely heard the minister’s voice. “While the Lord opened the gates of heaven for this man,” the holy man concluded in a deep, heartfelt tone, “he will not forsake those left behind.” Comforting sentiment, Paula thought, but I’m going for an eye for an eye. She clenched her hands so tightly they ached. Slowly, everyone except Cory and the bikers came up and told her how sorry they were for her loss. The words gave her little comfort. She noticed that the stranger had disappeared without a word. Disappear. That’s what she wanted to do. “Bard, please, let’s go now.” He glanced down at her, concern in his eyes. “Are you okay?” When she nodded, he quickly led her away as if he felt her urgent need to escape. However, rather than immediately climbing into the car, she paused to listen to Cory speaking to the bikers. “Glad to see you guys weren’t here to cause trouble,” Cory drawled.

Paula didn’t hear their answer; she heard only a hostile rumble of garbled words. She turned, scanning their faces. All of them looked guilty. Did one of them kill Charlie? They revved their motorcycle engines, spewing gasoline fumes to the wind. Angry vibrations shook the ground. Black smoke belched into the air. “Amigos, let’s get da hell outta here!” one of the biker’s yelled. Paula stiffened. It was the same voice and the same Spanish accent she’d heard at the hotel. “Bard! One of those bikers is the guy who broke into our hotel. I recognize his voice!” “Which one?” Bard turned to look as the bikers roared away. “Couldn’t tell.” She gripped Bard’s arm. “But we have to follow them!” He stared at her as if she’d lost her mind. “Chase eleven bikers?” “We can’t let that guy get away!” She tightened her hold on his arm. “Please, Bard.” She’d just buried Charlie. She ached to crawl off to a quiet place to be alone, but this obscure biker could lead her to Charlie’s killer. If she let him get away, he could vanish forever. She held out her hand. “Take me, or give me the keys and I’ll go alone.” Bard shook his head. “You’re not thinking straight.” Cory was walking toward his car. The police were supposed to help people, but Paula’s experience with the hotshot cop told her he wouldn’t believe her and would only find a way to use her plea for help against her. She lifted her chin and stood erect. “Listen, Bard, together, or alone, I’m going.” He studied her face. She saw the impact of her words go through him, and braced herself for further argument. After a moment, he exhaled heavily. “I guess it won’t hurt to see where they go.” He rounded the car and hopped in. When he turned the key in the ignition, the starter made a grinding sound. “Give it more gas!” He shifted the gear out of park and pressed down on the accelerator. The car jolted backwards. Metal crunched. They were thrown against their seat belts as they slammed into Cory’s bumper.

“Dammit! Bard slapped the steering wheel with the flat of his hand. “I’m sorry, Paula. Looks like we’re hooked up.” Paula swore under her breath as the bikers disappeared out the cemetery gates. It wasn’t like Bard to get rattled. “I think you did that on purpose!” “Are you serious?” he asked. “Bash in my Z, on purpose? Hit a cop’s car, on purpose?” Paula frowned as Bard got out of the car and slammed the door, leaving her to think whatever she wanted. Well, it didn’t take a genius to realize she was right. The bump hadn’t damaged either car and the men were able to uncouple the vehicles with ease. That convinced her—he’d backed into Cory’s bumper as a delaying tactic to protect her from herself. Well, if he thought he could dissuade her from going after that guy he had another thought coming. Unfortunately, with the bikers out of sight she had no plan, unless.... “Deeter lived on Dell Street with some bikers, and I’ll bet that guy is one of them,” she told Bard when they were on their way again. Bard frowned. “You need to get some rest. I’ll take you home and check it out right after.” “We’ll check it out, now! If we don’t go right away the guy could disappear like Deeter did.” Bard’s jaw muscle twitched. “Look, if we drive by the biker’s pad just to check the lay of the land, will that satisfy you?” Paula crossed her fingers. “Sure,” she said sweetly. “I’m easy to please.” “Yeah,” he said, giving a her wry grin. “You and the perfectionists of the world.” About twenty-five Harleys were parked askew in the front of the biker’s apartment building. They’d doubled their numbers plus three. “Now isn’t a good time,” Bard said, gesturing with his thumb toward the Harleys. “I guess you’re right.” She laughed without humor. “I suppose I can’t just march in there and ask the whole gang to say something so I can pick the right guy.” “I’m glad you see that. If the shooter lives this close to your house, you’ll be a lot safer in your new place. Let’s concentrate on getting things ready for the move tomorrow.”

“But—” “Trust me, Paula, I’ll find out who the guy is. I promise. But I’ll do it when the odds are better.” “How?” “I’ll ask around.” Bard grinned. “There can’t be that many bikers that fit his description in the neighborhood.” Paula ignored Bard’s attempt at humor. He had a point. Charging into a biker’s hangout would be like running into the den of hungry lions. Still, that was exactly what the impatient part of her wanted to do. She wasn’t even sure what she’d do after she found the biker. But she had a strong hunch he would lead her to Charlie’s killer. “Look!” Paula said, as a wiry Mexican came out the door. “I’ll bet that’s him. Stop! Let me ask him for directions or something!” Bard gave her a baleful look and kept going. “How could it have hurt to ask the guy for directions?” Bard gave her another look. Okay, so he was right. Her idea wouldn’t fly. Everyone in the neighborhood knew who she was, including the bikers. She’d have to think of something else, because dangerous or not, if Bard didn’t find the man who shot at her, she’d do it herself.

Chapter Twenty-Five It was getting dark outside, and Paula had gone through the house turning on lights. She watched the movers bring in the last of the boxes. Four of them were marked books. There had been five, but she’d brought the one with the journal buried in the center in her own car and quickly locked it away in her bedroom closet. She whirled around the living room like a child, admiring the huge stone fireplace, the eggshell scalloped jacquard lace draperies over the bay window, the robin blue flowers in the wallpaper, and the lush beige carpeting, soft as dove wings under her bare feet. She smiled at her parrot preening himself in his cage. “We’re home, Iv. Really home.” Other than cartons stacked in every room her haven was in good shape. Bard had positioned the furniture exactly where she wanted it, and he’d hung the larger paintings and mirrors. Then he’d taken a well-deserved break and gone for food. Paula turned at the sound behind her. “That’s everything,” the stocky mover said. “If you’ll just sign this form, we’ll be going.” Paula wiped her hands on her jeans then scribbled her name where he pointed. Minutes after the moving van left Paula heard Bard’s Z pull into the circular drive. His familiar footsteps echoed through the house, like he belonged there. “Paula,” he called from the living room. “Paula,” Ivanhoe mimicked. “Yeah, where is she, Iv?” Bard asked, passing the parrot’s cage. The affection in his voice touched Paula’s heart. “In the kitchen,” she called. She smiled. Iv and Bard were getting along so well. Spicy aromas of Mexican food met her nostrils as Bard entered the kitchen. “Tacos?” “The works.” He winked. “Tacos, burritos, tamales, beans and rice.” Bard put the bags of food down on the table she just cleared and lifted out the covered plates. As they seated themselves, he drew his chair close. Their knees brushed, sending a tingling through her. Paula’s gaze flew to Bard’s. Desire rocked her senses, and the tiredness from the hectic moving day drained away.

Her cheeks grew warm as she lowered her gaze and studied his tanned forearm, admiring the way his long muscles flexed as he took the covers off the plates and handed her one. “How did you guess what I was in the mood for?” Paula asked, as she dug her fork into the steaming tamale. A lascivious glimmer came into Bard’s eyes, and he lifted an eyebrow. “We can take care of that after we eat.” She laughed and shook her head. “I meant the kind of food.” **** Bard smiled. He loved the sound of her laughter. It was slightly throaty, and terribly sexy. “Oh,” he said, feigning innocence. “My mistake.” He picked up his taco and paused before biting into it. “By the way,” he said, reaching into his shirt pocket, “after you left your old place, I found this photograph on the floor. An old boyfriend?” He watched her face. Her pupils dilated, but otherwise she showed no emotion. Paula took the picture from him and glanced at it. “It’s Dan.” “Your husband?” She nodded and propped the photograph up against a Pepsi can and stared at it. “What was he like?” Bard was as curious as hell what kind of man had been lucky enough to win Paula’s heart. Paula sighed. “Macho, often irresponsible, immature. But he could be very charming.” “What happened to him?” Paula’s face clouded, and she pushed her half-eaten food to the side. Bard swore to himself. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t....” She met his gaze steadily. Silence hung between them. “It’s all right,” she said finally. “I’ve kept it inside so long. I want you to know. But you may find it hard to believe. You see, it was another mysterious intruder.” Bard’s heart pounded. “Like the night Fred was killed?” She nodded. “You think Charlie was involved?” “Of course not. He wouldn’t have had a reason. Dan never mistreated me. At least not in a physical sense.”

A warning uneasiness prickled the back of Bard’s neck. Could anyone believe there were two mysterious intruders? Could he believe it? What if Charlie had only admitted killing Frank to protect Paula? Bard frowned at the doubts swirling in his mind. “It was midnight,” she said softly, as if she were explaining the murder to herself. “Dan heard someone in the house. He got his gun and went to check. The intruder wrestled Dan’s gun away from him and then killed him with it.” Paula closed her eyes for a moment, as though to erase whatever images lurked in her mind about that night. Bard swallowed. His emotions churned like a raging sea. “Wasn’t he a cop?” She brushed a lock of hair from her face and lifted her chin. “Yes. And an expert marksman. I don’t know how the guy got his gun from him.” Paula looked off in space. Seconds passed. “Dan liked guns,” she said finally. “We went shooting often.” Her voice grew softer. “It was one of the few things we had in common.” Bard did the figures in his head. Paula was still in her teens, and to be a cop Dan had to be at least twenty. But from the other things she’d said, he was probably at least in his mid-twenties. “How did you meet him?” “Dan was part of the team who investigated Frank’s murder.” “Did you know Dan before Frank was murdered?” “No. I told you. I met him during the investigation. After he closed the case, he asked me to marry him.” “Then he knew you were innocent?” “At first he thought I was guilty, but he didn’t admit that to me until much later.” “So you married him?” Paula sighed. “I told him I liked him but that I didn’t love him. He assured me it didn’t matter. I married him so I wouldn’t have to go into another foster home. It was a dumb reason to get married.” “Then you regretted it?” She was silent a long time. “Somewhere along the way I started to care for Dan. He caught a bullet in the leg that shattered bone and was forced to retire from the police department. Suddenly he needed me. And I liked being needed.” “All that special care must’ve been tough. Didn’t you have any help?”

“Gramma Emma. And Cory. Cory was also part of the team who’d investigated Frank’s murder. He and Dan had been partners. Cory set up some job interviews for Dan to get him back into the work force. Dan thought he was a great guy.” “But you didn’t?” “Cory’s a blatant womanizer. He was at our place all the time, looking at me with his sloe-eyed predator look. Then one evening when Dan wasn’t around, Cory made a pass at me. I told him to back off. That I would never cheat on my husband.” Heat shot up the column of Bard’s neck. He wasn’t surprised that Cory made a pass. He’d been known to date married women. Still, he shouldn’t have pressured a young woman who was clearly not interested. “Shortly after Cory made the pass, he told Dan that I might’ve hired the hit man who ended his career as a cop. It was crazy, but Dan’s confidence was low, and he started watching me like a hawk. He listened in on my phone calls, timed my trips to the store, checked the mileage. His lack of trust put a giant wedge between us.” Bard wanted to put his arms around Paula, console her, but something kept him rooted to the spot. “Then Dan was killed,” she said softly. “Cory came to the house to investigate the murder. If I’d known he was acting on his own without authority, I would’ve reported him to CBI or something. He wouldn’t have gotten away with it if I hadn’t been so young and inexperience. The only evidence the police could find to support my story of a break-in was man-sized boot prints in the flowerbed. Cory tried to make me say I was involved. After everyone else left, he hammered at me for hours.” Bard swallowed. This explained the tension between Cory and Paula. She had every right to resent him. What was the other side to the story, and what basis could Cory have for his accusations? “When Cory left,” Paula continued, “he looked at me as if he were undressing me.” The knot in Bard’s stomach hardened. “Then Cory came back,” Paula said. “This time he played good cop and offered to help out, get groceries, pay any bills. When I assured him I was making out fine and didn’t want any kind of relationship with him, he turned vindictive. He said he’d prove I killed Dan.”

So that’s what’s stuck in Cory’s craw, Bard thought. Paula had turned the Romeo down. Twice. Paula met Bard’s gaze. “I suppose you don’t like hearing what a bastard your friend is,” she said softly. “I don’t like it, but it explains a lot.” Bard understood now why Paula had so much trouble trusting. Frank, Dan, and Cory had all abused her trust. Secretly going undercover abused her trust big time and he’d added another level of dishonesty by doubting her. Her story was so unbelievable. Yet that was exactly why he believed her. That and the fact he was hopelessly in love. Still, the unknowns gnawed at him.

Chapter Twenty-Six With their conversation about who murdered her husband still churning in his head, Bard left Paula in her new home in Yucaipa. He shoved aside speculations about who had murdered her spouse. Speculating was useless. And he had a more pressing concern. Find a way to infiltrate a cold-blooded and very deadly theft ring. He drove slowly through the clear zone housing area heading for Dell Avenue unable to turn off thoughts of Paula. She hadn’t been fooled when he backed into Cory’s car at the cemetery. It had been an act of desperation. He regretted like hell every time he tried to deceive her, but some of the bikers were part of the looting ring, and he didn’t want to mess up his chances by chasing them. Most of them knew him, or at least knew about him, but none would expect a relocation agent to go undercover. They would regard him as a harmless pencilpusher. His Clark Kent image gave him an edge. Too bad he wasn’t Superman. It was a good sign that Paula recognized the voice of one of the bikers. It meant he was on the right track. Thank God she finally agreed to leave the investigation up to him. He had to find Lopez and convince him he had something to offer. He laughed. Sounded easy enough. But experience had taught him that nothing was that easy. Oh, right, there was also the little matter of uncovering Charlie’s killer and staying alive. On the positive side, with Paula moved out of the clear zone to safety, she wouldn’t have to know anything about the undercover assignment until it was over. Then he’d tell her everything. If she could forgive Charlie for keeping things from her, wouldn’t she forgive him too, especially now that she loved him? He was counting on it. His throat tightened. What if he was wrong about that? Damn. He couldn’t let doubts mess with his mind. To stay alive, it was imperative that he concentrate solely on pulling off this ruse. He wished he could count on local back up in case things went sour, but Reed had warned him to keep his undercover job just between the two of them. That meant he couldn’t ask Cory for help. As angry as he got at Cory for dogging Paula, the man knew the criminal mind and had thick files on repeat offenders. Bard turned the corner and swore when he spied Mabel Green’s house The fencing and air-conditioning were gone. The

looters hadn’t slowed up a bit. If anything, they were more brazen. They hadn’t even waited for her to move. Poor Mabel. She’d be shocked when she got home from work. He’d better call and warn her. Using his cellular, he notified Mabel and the police. He knew it would take Mabel at least fifteen minutes to get there and, if they were lucky, the police might get there in about forty-five minutes. There was no point in sitting there waiting for them; the damage was done. He had to stay focused and track down Lopez. He drove another block and turned again. Going to the biker place where Deeter lived, before someone put a bullet between his eyes, had a chilling feel to it. But this den of devils was his only lead. He took a deep breath as he pulled up in front of the apartment. The Omni rocked when he got out and slammed the door. “The success of this gig is up to you,” he told himself. “Trust your instincts. And don’t slip up.” If he did, someone else might die. Maybe him. And Paula might end up in jail. Bard knocked on the door and Deeter’s biker friend, the 300pound hairy ape, answered. He had a two-day beard and wore a black T-shirt and grease-smeared Levi’s. A hand-rolled cigarette dangled from his thick lips. He clamped a meaty hand on the edge of the door, exposing a bulging forearm and the tattoo, Harley Hoods. The sweet odor of pot drifted from the biker’s cigarette. Inside a wrestling match blared on the television. Male voices let out sporadic barrages of obscenities. Coming here alone and unarmed was insane. But there was no turning back now. “I need to find Lopez,” Bard said in his deepest, most macho voice. “This ain’t no missing person bureau, man,” the biker drawled. He started to close the door in Bard’s face then he paused and squinted past the curling smoke. “Hey, I remember you. You’re that relocation guy who came here looking for Deeter a while back.” “Right. He was setting up a meeting with Lopez for me when someone iced his jets.” “Yeah? And why would he do that?” The biker’s puffy gray eyes narrowed to slits. “We had a deal.” “Details, man, details” The biker’s huge hand curled into a fist, and he shook it into Bard’s face. “Spill it, or get the hell outta here!”

When the biker started to close the door, Bard stopped it with his foot. “Wait, Man! I’m in trouble. Deeter told me Lopez could line me up with a job to pick up some fast cash.” “Yeah?” The biker tilted his head and took a hit on his joint. “What’d ya plan to do for this cash, kill someone?” Bard met the big ape’s menacing look with steady, calm eyes, while his heart thundered in his ears. “With the kind of trouble I’m in, I’m not that choosy. Look, can you hook me up with Lopez or not?” The biker palmed his roach and looked Bard over slowly from head to toe. “If you ain’t on the level, man, better have paid up burial insurance.” “Lopez! Relocation dude’s here to see you.” The biker’s laugh scraped like a razor down Bard’s spine as the burly intimadator left him to wait at the half opened door. Seconds inched into minutes. No one came. The wrestling match still blared on the TV, but the voices inside had quieted. Bard shifted his weight from one foot to another. Sweat trickled from his forehead and ran down the sides of his face. He wiped away the moisture with his handkerchief, and pounded on the open door, “Hey!” No answer. Bard looked at his watch. Five minutes had passed. The biker was toying with him. Maybe the bastard didn’t know Lopez. Bard turned to leave. “Wanta talk to me, no?” called a voice with a slurring Spanish accent. Bard spun around and faced a dark-skin, wiry man wearing a red bandanna around his forehead and a diamond stud in his ear. “You Lopez?” “Maybe. Depends what you want.” He rested against the door jamb and stuck a cigarette in the corner of his mouth. “What took you so long?” Bard growled. Lopez squinted as he touched a flame to his cigarette. In spite of the deep lines at the corners of his eyes, Bard figured he was only in his mid-thirties. “Had to call my boss to get the okay,” Lopez said. “So whatdaya want? I don’t have all day.” He caressed the Elk horn handle of the knife at his belt. His dark eyes, as mean as a junk yard Doberman’s didn’t waver.

Mutual edginess electrified the humid air. Bard cleared his throat. “For a price, I can make things easier for you and your boss.” Lopez took a long drag on his cigarette. “Easier, how?” “I can triple your take with less risk by showing you how to strip the places without all that damage to the stolen goods. Sound interesting?” “I’m listening.” “I control the paperwork on the project, and can provide advance move-out time tables.” “Maybe we already have access to that information.” A tendon jerked in Lopez’s jaw. “Anyway, why would a paper-pushing nerd like you risk your job to do that?” “Let’s just say my pay envelope’s too thin for a big time gambler like me.” Interest and greed glistened in Lopez’s eyes. “I’m still listening.” “I’ll lay it out after we settle on my cut.” “The boss decides the divvy.” “Janus, right?” Lopez’s pupils dilated slightly, then shrunk to pinpoints. When the Latino failed to admit his boss’ name was Janus, Bard tried another approach. “When do I meet him?” Lopez’s left eye twitched. “I’ll let you know.” “Look, my bookie needs five G notes by tomorrow afternoon. Can you set up something for tonight? I’m not into broken bones. I’m a slow healer.” “You deaf, man? I said I’d let you know.” “I’m up against it, Lopez. It’s either you or—” “I’ll call you at your office around five.” Bard offered Lopez a card with his number on it. Lopez shoved it away. “We have your number.” The venom in his voice left no doubt about the double meaning. “Later, then, man.” Sweat soaked through Bard’s shirt and trickled down his spine. He turned, squared his shoulders, and headed for his Omni with a forced swagger. He exhaled, unaware that he’d been holding his breath. With scum like Lopez in the neighborhood, it was a relief to know that Paula was safely in Yucaipa, miles away from the danger.

Chapter Twenty-Seven Alone with only her parrot, Paula turned up the Latin music and did a few cha-cha steps to express her delight with the smooth way Bard had handled her move yesterday. She stood back and admired the arrangement of the den furniture. Bard had done a great job. Like Charlie, Bard had tried to make a game out of work and made the move almost painless. Between him and the movers, she’d had little to worry about except getting the birds settled into their new aviaries. She glanced up when Ivanhoe alighted on her shoulder. “What do you think, Iv? Looks fantastic, huh?” Ivanhoe made a clicking sound with his beak. She smiled at him and studied Bard’s handiwork. It hadn’t occurred to her to remove two shelves of the center section of the bookcase to make room for her television, but Bard had thought of it. He was resourceful like Charlie. She’d never considered that they might be alike. They certainly came from different backgrounds, but every day she saw more similarities. She shook her head at the two opposing emotions going on inside her head. She was happy because Bard had stepped solidly into her corner and sad over losing Charlie. She guessed her struggle in her early years to stay above the emptiness and turmoil each time she was shifted from one foster home to another had taught her to grab the joy whenever she could. Bard was the source of that joy. Paula blew up at a wayward curl. Trying to analyze and justify her happiness wasn’t getting the place organized. But she’d already accomplished a lot. “Now all I have to do is empty these cartons,” she told Ivanhoe. In response, the parrot started to bite gently on her neck in the same annoying way Dan used to when he was trying to tease her out of being angry. “Hey, stop it, Iv. That’s spooky. Sometimes I think Dan’s soul got reincarnated into you,” Paula said as she put the parrot back into his cage. Ivanhoe fluffed his glossy gray plumage, spreading his red tail slightly. “Stop it,” he repeated. She shook her head. “You’re even bossy like Dan.” Even though she’d long ago forgiven her husband for the heartache he’d caused her, it didn’t change the fact that she’d made a

big mistake marrying him. Still, with all Dan’s faults, she knew Charlie had been wrong about him murdering anyone. Dan didn’t have a killer’s heart. Grandma Emma had to have died of natural causes. Paula sighed. She’d never know, so no use fretting about it. That part of her life was in the past. She had a real man in her life now, a steady guy she could trust completely. Bard was disarming and definitely more sexy than any man she had ever known. As far as she could tell, his only fault was his unwavering stubbornness. He wanted her moved. And hadn’t given up until he’d accomplished his goal. A man with that kind of determination could be counted on to help her get a line on Charlie’s killer. Together they’d put him behind bars. “That’ll get Cory off my back, Iv,” she said, glancing at her parrot hanging upside down in his cage by his strong black beak and a claw-like toe. “Cory!” Ivanhoe squawked. Paula stiffened. “How come you said that?” Iv usually had to hear a name many times before repeating it. Had Dan taught it to him? Cory was Dan’s friend and Cory had spent more time in their home than she would have liked, so it was possible. Paula flinched at the telephone’s shrill ring. It was Nancy Whitney, Gary’s mom. Without preliminaries, she said, “I know inviting you only an hour and a half before a party is rude, but I misplaced the slip of paper that you’d written your new number on.” “Party?” A party was the last thing Paula wanted. “Gary’s birthday,” Nancy said. “I told him you’d be busy with your move, but—” “Nothing could keep me away.” Exhausted or not, she couldn’t miss this important celebration for such a great kid. Paula took a deep breath, drawing extra oxygen into her lungs. “I was looking for an excuse to take a break from the work around here anyway.” “Oh, bless you. Since the shooting, Gary has been sleeping most of the time. But when the doctor reduced his medication yesterday, it made a big difference. He’s raring to go now.” Nancy paused. “He insisted upon only two things for the party, a cake and you.”

Paula smiled. “He’s such a sweetie.” Gary was like a younger brother. It gave further proof that people didn’t have to be born in the same household to share a special kind of bond. “There’ll be just you, the family and Bard,” Nancy said. “Bard?” Paula’s heart pounded wildly. It was odd how hearing his name could send it into a frenzy. “Well, I tried to invite him,” Nancy said, “but the Relocation Office secretary said he’d be out until tomorrow morning. I thought he might contact you. He’s been so thoughtful during Gary’s convalescence, sending flowers, calling frequently.” “My move yesterday put him behind in his other work. I probably won’t hear from him until later tonight. But I’ll try to reach him before I leave the house.” She glanced at the clock as she hung up the telephone. She’d have to hurry. Leaving the rest of the unpacked boxes, she dashed next door to ask her new neighbor’s college-age son, Jeff, to come over and bird sit. Earlier that morning when they met, he’d mention that he was available for part-time work She’d bet he hadn’t expected to get a job from her so soon. After all that had happened, she couldn’t leave the birds unattended, even for a few hours. They might be fine in this new location, but it would be a while before she could feel totally safe anywhere. Paula studied Jeff as they walked across the wide side lawn toward her house. He was dark-haired, huskier and several years older than Gary. She hoped he was as good with her birds as Gary had been. She laughed to herself. The large mole on his right cheek shaped like a robin’s egg had to be a good sign. “You do like birds, don’t you?” she asked when they stood in the center of her living room. “Yeah, I dig them. My last boss sent me to a class in aviculture. It was pretty cool.” She relaxed somewhat. “There isn’t that much to do. I already fed and watered the birds. The main thing is to have someone here in case of trouble.” Jeff’s eyes darkened. “Trouble?” “I don’t expect any problems, but if anyone comes on the property, call the police, then contact me at this number.” She handed him a slip of paper with Gary’s number on it. The frown on Jeff’s face faded when he saw Ivanhoe. “Hey, you have a parrot. An African Grey, right?”

“That’s right,” she said, smiling. “You know something about parrots?” “They’re smart. Big brains, biggest in the bird family, and they’re great imitators. They had one at the pet store where I worked last summer. He was a riot.” “Iv is, too. But until you know him better it’s best to touch him through the bars.” Paula glanced at the clock. “I don’t have much time. Make yourself at home,” she said as she headed down the hall. She heard Jeff talking gently to Iv for several minutes then the TV came on. When she heard Jeff ask Iv if he liked the MTV station, she smiled. The guy liked her parrot, treated him like a person. Good. Iv and the rest of her birds would be in good hands while she was away. After hurrying to shower and dress, she belted her lightweight white slacks outfit with a wide gold belt and slipped on gold pumps. Too dressy. She kicked off the shoes, snatched off the belt, and put on a denim one and matching tennies. Better, she thought. A foreboding made her pause before leaving her box-strewn bedroom. Going back to the clear zone alone at seven in the evening was probably safe enough. It would still be light. But she’d be at Gary’s house until at least nine. It would be dark by then. She opened her nightstand drawer and removed her loaded .38, quickly dropping it into her purse. She had very little time to pick up a gift and still make it all the way to San Bernardino by seven. Paula was amazed, with all that had been going on, that she’d actually remembered the name of the video Gary wanted. She grabbed some iridescent birthday paper with basketballs printed all over it and a ribbon as she raced down the aisle. Somehow, she made it to the party with minutes to spare. After quickly wrapping the present in the car, she went inside. After catching her breath, Paula tried to telephone Bard, but no one answered, not even his machine. She sighed in disappointment. Nancy had baked a homemade fudge cake and decorated it with a scene of a teenager playing basketball. After the gift opening and “Happy Birthday” sing along, Paula and Gary took their dessert to the den. The cake was probably delicious, but Paula barely tasted it. Her mind stayed on Bard.

While watching Gary’s new Lakers’s video, her mind drifted to what had happened two nights ago—the night the Earth moved, and she completely lost her heart to Bard. When the video was over, she realized that watching it wasn’t an accurate description of what she’d been doing. She hadn’t really seen much of it. Instead she’d conjured up images of Bard’s face, the passion in his green eyes as he made love to her under the cascading warm shower. Except in this version they were deep in an enchanted forest, beneath a steamy waterfall with Bard whispering, “Look at me, Paula, look at me,” as he entered her again and again. Faster and faster until she was liquid fire and begging him not to stop. “Did you like it?” Gary asked. “What?” Paula felt a hot flush creep up from her neck into her cheeks. “The video. Cool, huh?” His voice was charged with youthful excitement. “Great. I’m glad it was the one you wanted.” Gary’s dad came into the den with a glass of iced tea. The aroma of Old Spice trailed him into the room. His dark, usually military-cut hair needed a trim, but he was clean-shaven and dressed for company in tailored slacks and shirt. He leaned against the fireplace mantle. “Hope you had a smooth move.” Before Paula could respond, Nancy entered the room and said, “We certainly hated to see you go.” Nancy still wore her lacy apron over her red jumpsuit. Her hair was a honeyed-halo of casual fluff. She dried her hands on a towel then perched on the arm of the couch next to her son. Gary’s Scandinavian blond looks were so like his mother’s. Paula sighed. Did she look like her mother? She’d never know. “You were the backbone of our group, Paula,” Ray said, wrinkling his forehead. “Who’s going to lead us now?” “I moved, Ray; I didn’t jump ship. Let us use your yard for the meetings and we’ll go on just as before.” “That’s our girl!” Ray said. “My yard is yours.” “Good. The danger is escalating.” Paula explained about the shooting in San Diego and the latest break-in at her old house. Then she said, “I have a list of all of our relocated neighbors, new addresses, phone numbers. We need them all at the next meeting. There’s power in numbers.”

“What if they don’t come?” Nancy asked, frowning. “They will. They won’t leave us in the lurch. Everyone knows that the more boarded houses in the neighborhood, the greater the danger for those left behind. If necessary, the whole bunch of us will march into The Corps office and demand security.” “What about Bard?” Ray asked. “Does he know you’re continuing the fight with us?” “Bard was never the problem on the safety issue. It was his boss.” She felt a surge of pride and love. “We figured it was something like that. We like the guy.” Paula glanced at her watch. It was already a quarter of ten. “I better get going. I’ll call you in the morning.” Paula couldn’t resist driving by her old house before starting back. Two huge trucks and a car were parked in her driveway. She wrinkled her brow then smiled. The car behind the trucks was Bard’s. The house was dark with only a flicker of light. Candlelight? A lantern? Strange. The electric company clerk insisted they couldn’t turn the utilities off until Monday. If it was corps or county people in there, why hadn’t they turned on the lights? Why hadn’t the house been boarded up? Bard had always made sure that Les Cardel secured the houses no later than the day after the people moved to discourage looters. Something wasn’t right. What if Bard had walked in on the house-stripping gang? Should she call the police? Paula wished she had a cell phone. She could use the Whitney’s telephone or the pay phone down the street. But what if Bard needed help now? She couldn’t leave until she knew he was safe. Paula concealed her Volkswagen about a hundred and fifty foot away behind an overgrown bougainvillea. If she were right about the trouble, she didn’t want to lose the advantage of surprise. She slung her unzipped purse with the gun over her shoulder. At her house, she removed the .38 and held the cold steel in front of her, ready, alert. She crossed the wide front yard, staying in the shadow of the old elm. The grass, already drying from lack of water, crunched under her feet. She prayed it wasn’t as loud as it sounded to her. Paula pushed the bushes aside, crouched beneath the living room picture window, and peered inside. A Coleman lantern cast an eerie glow around the room. She located the bullet hole the gunman

had blown in the lower section of the window and put her ear close. Bard was talking to a wiry Mexican biker with a bandanna around his forehead. Oh, my God, it was the guy with the slurry Spanish accent who’d tried to kill her! Bard’s black shirt and slacks blended into the shadows. Tousled strands of dark hair curled just above his brow. Light flickered on his face. His chiseled profile was serious. He showed no fear. Paula clenched her hands. Should she run get help or stay? The man she loved was in danger. Behind Bard, a man removed light fixtures. Another loosened the screws that secured the wall heater to the wall. Paula recognized them, more bikers from the apartments on Dell Avenue. Another man with a flashlight entered the room and spoke to Bard. After a moment, the guy headed down the hall toward the bedrooms. She had no idea how many men were in the house, but she’d seen at least four not counting Bard. She shivered. Her .38 wouldn’t be enough against all those men if they decided to rush her. She had to distract Bard’s captors so he could escape. Her timing would have to be perfect. Barely breathing, Paula pressed her ear close to the hole in the window again and strained to hear. “Nichols, you’re a pro at this, no?” said the biker who’d tried to kill her. He was talking to Bard, but his words didn’t make sense. “With you here, stripping the house is neat, quick, like taking candy from a baby.” Were they forcing Bard to help them? Sweat tickled between Paula’s breasts. Her knees quivered. Bard shifted his weight. “I’m not doing this for my health,” he growled. “Hand over my cut.” Oh, no, not Bard! Paula moaned to herself. This had to be a nightmare. But she was awake; and Bard’s voice was as clear as if she’d been standing next to him. There had to be some explanation, some way she could believe in him, yet he was asking for money. Rising sorrow pushed up from her chest and lodged in her throat. Her hands turned to ice as she watched, horrified, yet mesmerized. The Mexican biker grinned and counted out some bills. “You earned this. You’ll get the rest when the loot is sold in five or six days.” “I thought Janus was bringing my divvy,” Bard said, as he tucked the money into his shirt.

Paula fought waves of nausea and trembling. Her whole being revolted so strongly to the scene unfolding that the name Janus barely registered. “Janus is busy tonight. It was my call. Give you an advance or a coffin.” Bard didn’t blink. “Smart decision.” He stooped and picked up a tool chest. “Been a pleasure, Lopez.” An invisible knife twisted deeper into Paula’s heart. In spite of her anguish, she filed the name Lopez into her memory. “One more thing,” Lopez said, leaning against the wall. “You make your move-out inspection of the Wootson house late tomorrow afternoon. Right?” Lopez stuck a cigarette into his mouth. Bard paused. “So?” “Delay boarding the place, like you did on this one.” Lopez struck a match. He squinted his dark eyes as he brought the flame close to his face. “We’ll wait till dark. Meet us there about nine thirty.” “Will Janus be there?” Lopez took a long drag on his cigarette. “The boss wouldn’t miss it. He wants to see you in action.” Paula’s thoughts whirled. She could call the police and get these guys arrested tonight, but then she wouldn’t catch Janus. He had to be included to be sure she got Charlie’s murderer. Tears trickled down her face. The effort of holding back sobs tore at her throat. How could she have been so wrong about Bard? He’d pretended to be a friend, enticed her to depend upon him, dug deep into her life, made her fall for him, and now her eyes and ears were telling her that he was part of this gang. Maybe he was even Charlie’s murderer?

Chapter Twenty-Eight Paula’s grandfather clock struck eleven as she entered the house. Damn. Damn. Damn she muttered under her breath. And damn love! It had blinded her completely. She shrugged out of her white cardigan and threw it down on the nearest chair. Jeff looked up from his outstretched position on the couch and set aside his book. “Something wrong?” he asked. “Everything is just peachy,” she said, trying to control the anger in her voice. She turned off the rap music blaring from her stereo. “How did you and Ivanhoe get along?” “Pretty good,” Jeff said. “But I don’t think he quite trusts me, yet. He wouldn’t take apple slices from my hand. I had to push them inside the cage and wait for him to pick them up when he was ready.” Paula closed her eyes briefly; her life was falling apart and here they were calmly talking about her parrot. Wonderful as Iv was, at the moment, he wasn’t her prime worry. Paula glanced at Ivanhoe serenely preening himself while hanging from the roof of his cage by one toe. “It takes him a while to warm up to people. He rarely loses his natural mistrust completely.” She could take a lesson from her parrot. For a while, she’d pushed aside her mistrust and believed in Bard without reservation. How could she have been so wrong about him? Paula automatically handed Jeff three ten dollar bills and walked him to the door. “Oh, I almost forgot,” Jeff said. “Bard Nichols called. He’s on his way here.” Paula’s heart pounded in hard thuds. “Thanks for taking the message,” she said, somehow remaining outwardly calm. After she closed the door behind Jeff, she wrapped her arms about her waist, holding herself together, and paced. A dizzying sense of unreality made her want to deny what she’d seen and heard, but with her own eyes she’d witnessed Bard dealing with those horrible men. And he was on his way here. Dear God, how could she face him without revealing her discovery? If she confronted him, it would blow her chance to get Janus. For Charlie, she had to pretend everything was all right and be as good an actress as Bard was an actor. Better. Even if it hurt to the core, she’d give an Academy Award performance.

Paula heard Bard’s car pull into the driveway. She took a deep breath. Just remember his lies. Before Bard had a chance to knock, she swung open the door and flung herself into his arms. He grinned. “Hey, a guy could get used to a welcome like this.” Paula smiled up at Bard as his muscular arms closed around her. She tried to ignore how right it felt to be in his arms. He smelled faintly of the looter’s cigarette smoke and his own rugged male scent. A traitorous surge of desire shot through her. Remember the lies. Remember the lies. “Finish your important business early?” “With you waiting for me—as quickly as I could,” he said, bending toward her. To avoid his lips, she feigned playfulness and twisted out of his hold. Tucking her arm through his, she drew him into the living room. A sugary, pastry aroma rose from the white paper bag he carried. “Doughnuts,” he said, handing the bag to her. “Raspberry jelly centers.” After birthday cake, more sweets were about as welcome as Bard’s deception. “I’ll make coffee.” Paula let go of his arm and headed for the kitchen with the doughnuts. “Did your meeting go well?” “Too soon to be sure,” he said, following her. “If it impacts the people in the clear zone, I’d like to hear about it,” she said without facing him. “It doesn’t. Just a boring hash-session with coworkers.” Her stomach knotted. You lying scum, she thought as she scooped coffee into a filter and filled the glass decanter with water. Her movements were quick, distancing. She flipped the coffee-maker switch on and whirled to face him. That brought her directly into his arms. Her heart went all fluttery like a butterfly caught in a net. She struggled. Bard wouldn’t let go. Blazing sexuality radiated from him, snaring her with his heat, his power. He searched her face with a smoldering look that aroused her as deeply as a tangible caress. “What happened to the welcome you gave me at the door?” She flushed, heart pounding. “I don’t know what you mean.” “You raced into my arms. Now you’re fighting to get away.”

Offering a fervent prayer to her blessed deity, Paula went slightly limp against the warmth and firmness of his body. “It’s the move,” she murmured. “It’s finally hit me. I’m bushed.” “That’s it?” His shoulders relaxed. He was looking at her the same way he had just before they’d made love, with eyes so filled with devotion that there was no doubt about his feelings. “I’m sorry, Paula. I should have realized. You haven’t had much sleep in the last few days, and it is late. I’ll take a rain check on the coffee.” He winked. “And the other hot things I imagined on the way over here.” His throaty words conjured up a vision; the two of them on red silk sheets, sweaty bodies entwined. He kissed her gently on the temple and abruptly left. A stunned sense of loss washed over her. He’d given up so easily. It was what she wanted, but…. She stared at the empty doorway. The image of Bard’s sea green eyes wouldn’t fade. There was so much love there. Of course! She’d had it all wrong. The devotion in his eyes and voice when he’d made love to her were genuine. His words echoed in her ears: No matter what happens, always remember that I love you. Oh, God. It was so clear now. The way he’d been with her and others, the caring, the kindness; that wasn’t faked. She ran to the front bay window and resting one knee on the covered bench, she watched Bard’s car taillights leave the circle driveway and disappear. Why hadn’t she seen it sooner? What she’d witnessed between Bard and the looters was an act to get Charlie’s killer. Her hand went to her throat. What if the gang figures that out? She’d already lost Dan, Emma, and Charlie; she couldn’t stand to lose Bard, too. Caution told her to stay out of it. Bard knew what he was doing. Still, she’d thought the same thing about Charlie when he got in with dangerous people. No, she couldn’t let Bard risk his life alone. She was positive she could help. Hadn’t she dodged users and takers like this Janus person all her life? She’d learned when to brazen it out, when to run. And she was a crack shot with her .38. But Bard needed more backup than her cunning and her .38. Probably he’d already planned for that. But what if he hadn’t? Paula flipped through their options: the police. That might mean Cory, a man who wanted to railroad her into jail. Bard’s boss

could be Janus himself. He wouldn’t be the first county official to get greedy. Attorney Lomas. He’d probably just call in the cops. Again, that could mean Cory. An image of Reed popped into her mind, a strong, powerful man with direct gray eyes. He’d cared enough about the trouble in the clear zone to send in Charlie. Oh, my God. What if Reed had sent Bard in? A gnawing voice echoed in her head; the backup Reed provided Charlie hadn’t saved him. She ran her fingers through her hair. It was ridiculous, anyway. Reed wouldn’t send in a relocation agent to do undercover work. Bard had to be doing this on his own. She’d nail him on this and find out exactly what he’d done to protect himself then she’d sell him on the idea of catching the gang together. A surge of excitement whipped through her. Her obsession to get Charlie’s killer was close to becoming a reality. She couldn’t blow it now. For a glorious moment, she imagined herself facing Charlie’s killer with a loaded gun, watching his eyes as her finger trembled on the trigger. He would wish he’d never heard of Charlie Borden—or her.

Chapter Twenty-Nine Bard took his morning coffee to his desk and watched the steam swirl upward. After a few moments of staring at the misty space, he took a bracing gulp. He frowned, not from the bite of the hot, bitter liquid, but from his inner turmoil. He’d taken his shaving kit to Paula’s place, intending to spend the night. Contact with the gang had left him feeling restless, charged up; and although he couldn’t share anything about his undercover work with Paula, he wanted to share his high with her so much he hurt. Instead, he’d gone home and dreamed about her naked in his bed. Never had a dream more tangible: fiery kisses so vivid that even now he could taste her, salty and sweet like the glass rim of a strawberry margarita. They’d caressed each other until they were both feverish and slick with sweat. She’d slid on top of him with the grace of a gazelle, and he’d rolled with her, shifting her under him, naked flesh against naked flesh. His thighs pressed into hers, and when she opened to him, he sank into her. He’d awakened in a sweat with a fire blazing in his belly as he ached to experience the real thing. Bard wiped the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, and forced his mind from sex to subterfuge. He had known Paula was tired the night before, but her hundred-and-eighty degree change of mood in a few short minutes made him suspect she’d held something back. Deal with that later, he told himself. At the moment, devising a plan to outwit the looters required all of his energy and concentration. The gang had accepted him as one of them, and tonight, he would meet Janus. Bard had already Fed-Expressed tapes to Reed of last night’s conversation with Lopez. He had briefed Reed earlier this morning on what was going down tonight. Reed promised back-up. It sure as hell better be more protection than he’d given to Charlie. Bard shook off the thought. Negativity would drain his energy and reduce his advantage. He’d done all he could to cut the risk. He’d be wired again tonight with a state of the art microchip hidden on his privates beneath his Hanes. Bard looked up at the sound of booted footsteps. Damn. It was Les Cardel. The house-moving contractor sauntered into Bard’s office

and thrust himself with self-importance into the nearest straightbacked chair. Rather than his usual work clothes, he wore a crisp white shirt and gabardine slacks. His boots were dressy, new. “You clean up slick,” Bard said. “What’s the occasion?” Les laughed. “I’m on my way to see a chick. Not that it’s any of your business.” He laughed again. “Slick, chick. Hey, I’m a damned poet.” Les picked up Bard’s crystal paperweight and balanced it in his hand. “Heard the Wootsons are moving today.” Gordon picked that moment to sail through the doorway. He nodded at Les. “Glad you brought that up, Cardel. That’s an answer I want to hear.” “That’s right,” Bard said, wishing that particular news hadn’t traveled so fast. All this interest in the move-out was bad for his plans. Gordon frowned. “Why wasn’t Wootson’s address on the board-up list?” Bard rubbed his jaw. “Why are you sweating the small stuff, Gordon? You’ve never did before.” Cardel handled the board-ups and was always interested in the details. But not Gordon. Now wasn’t the time for him to start getting involved. Or was he Janus? “Just answer the damned question,” Gordon growled. Bard frowned. Gordon was the boss and deserved an answer. “It’s a late move-out, after five,” Bard said. “I’ll schedule the boarding for first thing in the morning.” Gordon hoisted his butt onto the edge of Bard’s desk and dangled a shiny booted foot. Bard noticed that both Les and Gordon wore western boots. Damn, he was surrounded by Hollywood cowboys. “Auditing called about your expense sheet,” Gordon said, smoothing his fingers over his sandy brown hair. “Up a thousand from last month. Not having money problems, are you?” Bard’s hands curled into fists. Why had Gordon jumped him on this in front of an outsider like Les? “It includes the security fees for the Lord property and travel expenses,” Bard said. “Nothing out of line.” Les laughed. “You didn’t think Bard was into gambling and bookies did you, Gordy?”

Bard looked from Les to Gordon. Was one of them in with the looters? Bard swore under his breath. This could be a subtle trap, a test of whether he’d lied to Lopez. Bard snorted. “If I were an obsessive gambler, you don’t think I’d admit it, do you?” Les flashed even white teeth. “Who could begrudge you a little recreation after your success in getting rid of the neighborhood troublemaker?” He winked at Gordon. “Right, Gordy?” Gordon was silent a moment. Bard imagined the wheels turning in his head. Weighing, deciding. Finally, Gordon nodded. “That’s a fact.” A grin broke out on his face, and he looked like the cat who’d eaten a whole aviary full of birds. “Nichols, you and I make a good team. You got rid of the notorious Paula Lord, and I fixed it so she wouldn’t be coming back for any little visits.” Bard’s throat went dry. “What?” “While you were off playing Frisbee with the bird lady in San Diego,” Gordon said with self-satisfaction in his tone, “I was busy getting restraining orders. Sometime today deputies will serve them on the widow and all the former residents of the clear zone.” Bard shot to his feet, blood pressure soaring, spilling his coffee. “Restraining orders!” His face burned. His fingers itched to grab Gordon’s neck. “Hey, is that legal?” Les asked grinning. Bard darted him a sharp, back-off look and growled, “Shut up, Les.” He turned to Gordon. “Do you know what you’ve done? You’ve single-handedly destroyed the credibility of the county, The Corps, and me in one stupid action.” Gordon’s usually dull gray eyes narrowed and sparked fire. His face flushed bright crimson. “Watch your mouth, Nichols! Your job is hanging by a thread. When you cool down you’ll see I did what’s best for the project.” Gordon stabbed the air with his finger. “Who the hell do you think is ripping off the houses over there? It’s the people who’ve already moved out.” Les smiled. “Good point, Gordy! Bard wished Les wasn’t around to hear all this. “Where’s your proof?” Bard knew Gordon had none, so he rushed on to stronger questions. “What kind of cooperation will we get from the homeowners now?” Bard paced then stopped short and glared at

Gordon. “You haven’t cared about the looting up to now, why this sudden concern? Or should I ask Leroy Damas?” Gordon wrinkled his brow. “What’s Damas got to do with this?” “I thought maybe you’d tell me.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gordon said. Bard didn’t believe him. Damas’s name in Charlie’s journal and his daily calls to Gordon from the Los Angeles corps headquarters looked suspicious. However, at the moment, he was more concerned about the backlash from Gordon’s action. “No restraining order will keep Paula away.” Gordon slammed his hand down on Bard’s desk. “Then she’ll be arrested.” Bard clenched his fists. With effort, he managed to keep his arms at his sides. “What about her has you running scared?” Gordon’s pointy, rodent-shaped face darkened. “Look, Nichols, I came in here to compliment you for getting rid of her. But sleeping with the enemy has shrunk your balls. Better get your loyalties straight. Fast.” Gordon pivoted on the two-inch boot heels and stomped out of the office. Bard let out a string of swear words he hadn’t unleashed in years. Les saluted him. “Hey, great show, Nichols. Got a new job picked out?” Bard shot him a go-to-hell look and was about let loose on him verbally when the intercom buzzed. “Police Detective Cory Morrison is here to see you,” the office secretary said. Bard sure as hell didn’t want Les around for any more private conversations. He jerked his thumb toward the door. “Get out, Cardel.” Les lumbered out, looking amused. Bard turned back to the intercom. “Send the detective in.” Cory seldom dropped by the office, and when he did it meant trouble. Bard frowned. That was just what he needed, more trouble. Cory stuck his head through the doorway. “Got a minute?” he asked, smiling. Bard stood and shook Cory’s hand. “Sure. What’s up, Detective?”

Cory looked sharp as always in his sport’s jacket and the usual shiny boots that gave him an extra inch of height meant to intimidate men and impress women. Boots, boots, everywhere boots. Bard sat on the edge of his desk and gestured to a chair. Cory ignored the invitation and held out a manila envelope. “Here’s the info on Deeter. But it won’t do you much good now that he’s dead.” Cory raked his dark blond hair off his forehead. “Any other names you want me to run down?” “Not unless you can come up with Charlie’s killer.” “Speaking of which,” Cory said, “I need Paula Lord’s new address.” Bard winced inwardly at the subtle accusation but reined in a retort. He had more pressing worries. He didn’t want her served, and he didn’t want her hassled by a cop who had a personal ax to grind. “Problems?” Bard kept his tone more civil than he felt. “I have some questions, and I need to serve this restraining order to keep her away from the Clear Zone. We’re shorthanded, and since I had to see Paula Lord anyway, I offered to serve it.” Cory’s self-assured voice grated on Bard’s nerves, but he forced himself to stay focused. “Look, the order was a mistake. Can we pull it?” “It’s not up to me. Talk to the judge who signed it.” Bard cursed the small town way of operating. Cory shouldn’t be serving the restraining order. But maybe his involvement wasn’t such a bad thing. “Will you hold it until later today?” Cory rubbed his jaw. “I can give you until after lunch. Get it retracted by then, or I’ll have no choice. It has to be served today.” Bard glanced at his watch. 10:30 A.M. “I need more time. How about three or three thirty?” “One o’clock is the best I can do.” Cory shifted his weight. “Whether I serve Paula Lord or not, I need her address. Like I told you, I have a few questions for the lady.” Bard studied Cory’s face. It held no particular malice at the moment. Even if it had, he couldn’t hold out on a cop. After he told Cory Paula’s address, he asked, “New developments on the Borden case?” “You know the answer to that.” Cory’s eyes hardened. “Too bad I had to hear it from other sources.” A flush crawled up Bard’s neck. “Hear what?”

“That Paula Lord is the beneficiary on Borden’s insurance policy.” “Oh, that. It’s no big deal. She was his sister, for God’s sake.” How had Cory found out about that so soon? Bard glanced at his watch. He didn’t have time for this discussion. “Sister, my foot,” Cory said. “They weren’t related. And the money’s a connection between the murder cases and a strong motive.” A mental clock ticked in Bard’s brain, counting off costly minutes, but he couldn’t let this go. “What’s behind the vendetta you have against Paula?” A nerve twitched near Cory’s left eye. Bard sensed it was now or never. “Come on, spill it.” Cory stared at Bard for a moment, his face darkening to an unreadable mask. “Yeah,” Cory said. “Maybe to understand where I’m coming from, you need to hear this.” Bard steeled himself, knowing he wasn’t going to like it. Cory paced like a caged tiger. “Paula’s husband, Dan, and I were partners, buddies. We worked the Fred case together, and both of us were bewitched by Paula. She was sixteen with a woman’s body and a child’s innocent eyes.” Cory sank down in the padded chair, looking disconcerted. “We both wanted to help her, rescue her. Hell, the truth is we both wanted her, period. Dan won, or lost, depending upon how you look at it.” Bard’s gut tightened. The resentment in Cory’s voice explained a lot. Paula had turned him down, and Mr. Enormous Ego couldn’t get over it. Cory got up and paced again. “It wasn’t long until Dan and Paula’s marriage hit the rocks. He was jealous and possessive, and she didn’t want to deal with a green-eyed monster or be controlled.” Bard frowned. “Who would?” Impatience flickered in Cory’s eyes, and he ignored the question, and went on with his story. “Things got worse after a shooting forced Dan to retire from the PD. He’d caught a bullet that shattered his leg and the resulting fear affected his mental stability. It was quite complicated. Anyway, the investigatior’s believed the shooter wanted it to look like Dan was killed in the line of duty. His police insurance pays more that way. But the gunman was a bad shot, and Dan was only injured.”

Bard shook his head. “And you think Paula had something to do with that?” “I know it. With the marriage in the toilet, she wanted to end it quickly. She hired a second hit on Dan. This time the gunman didn’t miss. The first bullet ended his career, but the second ended his life. And, I’m going to get her for it.” “You’re wrong about her, Cory. But your slant on things explains a lot.” “Doesn’t explain crap,” Cory muttered. Bard wanted to tell him about Charlie’s confession, but Paula had sworn him to secrecy. Somehow, he had to persuade her to show the letter to Cory. A shadow darted back from the doorway. Bard frowned. Had someone been listening? Gordon? Les Cardel? Bard stepped to the doorway and saw a booted heel disappear around the corner. Cory joined him. “I guess we’re through here.” He glanced at his watch. “You have until one o’clock, Buddy.” Bard bolted to his desk and buzzed the secretary. “Was someone outside my door just now?” “Yes. I think Les wanted to talk to you again.” Bard cursed under his breath. “I have to make a phone call. Give me five minutes, then send him in.” “I would but....” She paused. “He must’ve changed his mind. He left the office right behind the police detective.” Damn that Les. What was he up to now? For about two seconds, Bard cursed everything that had gone wrong this morning then he grabbed the phone and dialed Reed’s office. If anyone could stop the restraining orders, it would be Reed. Reed’s secretary came on the line. “I’m sorry, Mr. Reed is out of the office handling an emergency. I don’t expect him back until around two thirty.” “This is Bard Nichols. Got a number where I can reach him? It’s important.” “Memorial Hospital,” she said, “emergency room. One of our people was shot.” Bard was so intent upon his problem that her words didn’t fully register. She gave him the number. He didn’t wait to hear anymore. He re-dialed and reached the emergency unit. While the

receptionist paged Reed, soft music played in the background; the monotonous kind used to lull callers into a stupor. Bard tapped his fingers on the desk. What was taking her so long? “Sir,” the receptionist finally said, “I’m sorry, Mr. Reed didn’t answer the page.” Damn. “Thanks for trying.” Bard hit the disconnect button. His only option was to call Paula and warn her. Her line stayed busy. He tried the number repeatedly. Several important long distance calls came into his office, tying up his time. It was 12:49 when he tried again. Unbelievable. Still busy. **** Les Cardel sat in his truck watching Paula’s house, waiting for the fireworks. He’d set things up with a telephone company lineman friend of his. Paula couldn’t make or receive any calls. Her line registered busy. Bard would regret the times he kicked him out of his office. Les laughed. He didn’t get mad. He got even.

Chapter Thirty At 1:01 P.M., true to his word, Cory swung his unmarked Mustang into Paula’s driveway. At the door, he shifted his weight several times. In his charged up frame of mind, coming here was asking for trouble. After a few moments, Paula opened the door, her eyes wide. “Detective Morrison. Thought I’d left you behind in the clear zone.” She was in a white terry robe and smelled of soap and shampoo. She was barefoot—probably bare all the way up. Her wet hair was swept up on top of her head in a crown of copper ringlets. The slender arch of her neck begged for kisses. Cory took a deep breath. The old feelings were as strong as ever. She stared at him for a moment, wariness flickering in her eyes. She half closed the door and stepped behind it. “Do you mind if I come in?” With effort, he kept his voice controlled and official sounding. “I was just getting ready to go out,” she said stiffly. He put his hand on the door and pushed his way in, forcing her backward. “It’s important.” Her eyes sparked fire. “Dammit, Cory. Do you have a warrant to come barging in here?” He closed the door behind himself and paused in the entry, giving her his most intimidating look. “No warrant, but a document just as official.” She belted her robe tighter, pulled her collar up around her neck. “Let’s see it.” He thrust the document in her hand. “Bard asked me to wait until after lunch to serve this.” “What is it?” Two familiar frown creases appeared at the bridge of her nose. She didn’t look twenty-four to Cory; she still looked sixteen and vulnerable, like the first day he’d set eyes on her. “Didn’t Bard call to explain?” Cory raked a strand of hair off his forehead, silently cursing his shaky fingers. “It’s a restraining order. If you come within five hundred feet of the clear zone, you’ll be arrested and hauled off to jail.” “Bard did this?” “You weren’t singled out. All the relocated people got orders.”

“Why?” “I’d say the individual who issued this doesn’t want any of you ousted folks there stirring up trouble.” Something flickered briefly in Paula’s eyes, then her face became a mask. “What about Charlie’s murder? Any new developments?” “A big one. A $100,000 insurance policy. As Charlie’s beneficiary, you’ve got a strong motive.” She snorted. “Because of the money? You know I have plenty of that.” “Maybe,” Cory said. “From what I’ve been able to determine, Deeter was in with the looters, and he spent a lot of time hanging around your house.” “So what?” “The head of the looting ring is someone who knows everyone living in the clear zone, their move out dates, and their houseboarding dates.” Cory’s heart thudded against his chest. “Know anyone who fits that description?” Her eyes glowed. “Sure, Les Cardel. Gordon Davies. All The Corps people. And you!” “Not funny, Paula. As the head of the Homeowners Group you have all that information.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “Am I a suspect in Deeter’s murder, too?” “Maybe. But his biker buddies said Bard was after him.” Paula shook her head. “That’s nothing. Deeter followed us. Bard wanted to find out why.” Cory felt a muscle twitch in his jaw. “If I didn’t know Bard so well, I’d wonder why his name keeps coming up in this investigation.” Paula arched a brow, looking as cocky as hell. “Here I thought all along, with you guys being roommates, you’d be close enough to ask him a question like that yourself.” “As my prime suspect, it would benefit you to be more helpful.” “What do you want from me?” Her look was as direct as her question. Sweat broke out above Cory’s upper lip. Drumming up all his resentment against her hadn’t weakened his obsession. It had only grown stronger every day from

the first moment he’d seen her. He hadn’t meant to let her know he still had feelings for her, at least not yet, but looking at her made him reckless. “Nothing to do with the case.” She lifted her chin. “If it’s not about the case, then I don’t want to hear it.” The clean, flowery scent of her was intoxicating. He couldn’t forget that she was probably bare under her robe. Unable to resist any longer, he grabbed her, digging his fingers into her upper arms. She backed against the wall; her eyes flashed with anger, perhaps a little fear. “Let go, Cory!” Cory’s heart pounded. Her skin felt cool against his moist palms. “I want us to be close like we were before.” She struggled. “What? We were never close. Not like you mean.” “It was a long time ago, but you wanted me that night.” “It was one kiss,” she said. “I was young. You caught me off guard. I wished instantly I could take it back. I told you that!” “You think I believed you? I’ve never tasted that much passion on a woman’s lips before.” “It was a big mistake. One I’ve deeply regretted.” “You led me to believe we had a future.” “That’s a lie! I told you I’d never cheat on Dan. For better or worse, I stayed faithful and committed to him.” “Then why that hot, steamy kiss?” “You’d stuck by Dan and me through his recovery, his retraining. I was grateful.” “That was no gratitude kiss.” “I explained that to you. For one insane moment, I was overwhelmed, confused by your kindness and crushed by Dan’s infidelity.” Cory ignored the twinge of guilt. Paula had been young and vulnerable and he had taken advantage. “After Dan died, you still turned me down.” “You tried to pin his murder on me!” “You were a suspect. I had to go through the motions.” “Is that what you’ve been doing, going through the motions? Hounding me like a criminal, making me look like a mass murderess?”

Her steely voice only made him want her more. Her resistance was a challenge and extremely seductive. “You had a motive in every case,” he said. “But you could convince me of your innocence if—” He pressed her tighter against the wall and his face nuzzled under the collar of her robe until his mouth found soft, silky skin. Her knee came up. Pain paralyzed him. She shoved him back. He was amazed at her strength. “Get out, Cory!” She grabbed an umbrella from the weather caddie by the door and wielded it like a baseball bat. Cory heard something whooshing through the air. “Cory!” The parrot screeched as it dived at him. Its wings beat the air frantically. Cory swung in self-defense. Missing the bird, he shouted, “Call him off, Paula!” “Don’t you dare hurt him.” “Hurt him? That damned bird is dangerous!” Paula held out her arm. “Come, Iv.” Ivanhoe alighted on Paula’s shoulder, but he lifted his wings slightly and fanned out his red tail. The feathers on the nape of his neck stood up. His beak was open, one foot raised. Cory drew his gun. “Cage him or I’ll shoot him like a mad dog!” Paula pointed to the door. Her gaze was hard, steady. “Get out, Detective Morrison.” He bristled at her emphasis on his title, knowing the word was stressed to remind him that he was hired to serve and protect, not molest. He had to admire her guts. “I’ll be back, Paula. Soon.” He strode to his Mustang in wide steps. The authoritative thud of his boots on the concrete walkway almost reassured him. But not quite. The emasculating truth echoed through Cory. Paula Lord had won this skirmish. Other females had always been more than willing to play. Why not Paula? A lesser woman would have folded under his seduction and given in to him, but the years of being abused in foster homes and her bad marriage hadn’t knocked the fight out of her. If anything, the bad times had made her mentally as tough as any street thug he’d ever known.

He thrust himself behind the steering wheel. Before the car stopped rocking from his propelled weight, he gunned the engine to life. Tires squealed against the concrete as he shot out of her circular driveway. Long ago what he’d mistakenly perceived as Paula’s vulnerability, awakened lust in him. Now it was her strength he admired. He almost wished he didn’t have to take her down. **** Les Cardel watched Cory speed away from Paula’s house. He looked as angry as a castrated bull. Les laughed. Paula had a talent for bringing out the beast in a man. Hadn’t she brought out the worst in Fred those many years ago? It had been in all the newspapers. Les’s stomach churned, remembering the humiliation of going to Paula, ready to give comfort. But that cop, Dan, had beaten him to it. Then she married the cheating bastard. After Dan was out of the way, Les had offered to take care of her, but the new widow, an orphan, a nobody, flatly turned him down. Claimed she didn’t need anyone to take care of her. She had all that money. Les’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, and pain twisted his gut. It was as if his obsession for Paula had turned inward against him. One of them would be destroyed by it, and his instinct for survival guaranteed it wouldn’t be him!

Chapter Thirty-One Even after the roar of Cory’s engine faded Paula remained leaning rigidly against the door, blocking it with her body, heart racing. The smell of burnt rubber filtered through an open window, defiling the room with the invisible fog of his fury. Damn Cory. He’d brought chaos to her peaceful home. Ivanhoe’s powerful claws gripped Paula’s shoulder, digging through her robe and into her flesh. Until that moment, she’d forgotten he was there. “Thanks for your help, Iv,” she said, glancing up at the parrot. His corn-yellow irises looked watery, and the pupils of his eyes oscillated from large to small. Instantly alert to his agitated mood, she spoke softly, “I’m sorry he upset you, Iv. He upset me, too.” She stroked her parrot gently, as much to calm herself as the bird. Ivanhoe’s grip on her shoulder eased. Paula drew back the sheer curtain over the narrow window beside her front door and peered out. The sidewalks and streets were empty, the quiet disturbed only by the leaves of her vibrant pink camellias stirring in the gentle breeze, their leaves brushing restlessly against the side of her brick porch. “It’s okay, Iv. He’s gone.” Paula twisted the key and thrust the dead bolt deep into the doorjamb. She went into the living room and sank to the couch, stroking Ivanhoe. She shuddered, her skin still crawling from Cory’s sweaty touch. She should’ve told him years ago, that even if she’d been single, she wouldn’t want a womanizer like him. Maybe things wouldn’t have escalated, and today wouldn’t have happened. Good grief, was she really blaming herself? He was the one who’d sexually harassed her! His attack was more than a cop power thing. She looked at her arm still reddened from the pressure of Cory’s fingers and shuddered. Damn him. He was like a crazed hawk, unpredictable, dangerous. Cory wanted more than to railroad her for those murders. He was obsessed, stalking her, wanting to possess her. Given the choice of accepting his advances or going to jail, she’d rather spend a lifetime behind bars than one night with him. Paula stroked Ivanhoe until his eyes began to droop. For him the crisis was over. For her it had only begun. She gently put Iv back into his cage and tried to decide what she could do. Surely Lomas had

a legal method to keep Cory away. She dialed, and when she got the attorney’s answering machine, all she could do was leave her number. Paula picked up the restraining order from the floor where it had fallen during the struggle. Was Bard really behind this? He couldn’t think a piece of paper would keep her away. She sank down on the couch and stared at the order. What if she wasn’t seeing things clearly? Cory had added Bard to his list of suspects. Why? Did Cory know something she didn’t? Could her love for Bard be blinding her? Could everything she’d seen and heard be true? She’d been so sure about Bard. Certain it was safe to love him. Could she trust her own judgment? She’d been wrong before. No. She had to keep the faith; he had more than proven himself. Bard had given her longer than the law required before serving her notices then relocated her to a place she loved. He fought the fire to save her birds, and saved her from the falling branch. After the vandalism, it was he who helped her clean up the clutter. During her move, the dear man had handled her belongings with such care. He arranged everything, even had the new aviaries built. If it wasn’t for Bard, she wouldn’t have learned about Charlie’s undercover job until much later. The family pictures in Bard’s living room, and the loving way he spoke of his family told Paula he didn’t have the background of a criminal. His frequent calls to Gary and the flowers he sent were sincere, not to impress or fool anyone. When she and Bard walked together or he held a door open for her, he touched her arm as if she were the most precious person in his life. Images of making love in the steamy shower while cascades of water rained down on them made her heart beat faster. He’d made sure of her pleasure before his own. She inhaled deeply and squared her shoulders. She had doubted Bard in the beginning, but her heart and mind wouldn’t let her doubt him now. It still bothered her that he’d kept things from her, like his infiltration into the gang and the blasted restraining order. Why hadn’t he told her about the order? She’d just have to wait and hear his explanation. She didn’t have time to waste on injured feelings. Paula dialed Reed’s office. She tapped her finger on the hard surface of her walnut desk, listening to the hollow ringing.

Reed’s secretary finally came on the line and said, “Mr. Reed tried to return your call, but your line stayed busy for several hours.” Paula frowned. Other than the quick call to Lomas, she hadn’t made or received any calls. Something was wrong. “This is really crucial, maybe even a matter or life or death.” “Oh, dear,” the secretary said. “I’ll try to reach Mr.Reed, but we may have to wait for him to call in for messages.” Paula couldn’t image in this day and age a man being so unreachable. But maybe hiding from calls was his way of handling stress. As Paula hung up, she wondered if she should forget Reed and call the police. But that might get Cory involved, and after what had just happened she didn’t want to take that risk. She stiffened as a car pulled into her driveway. Cory? She glanced out the window. It was Bard. She sighed in relief. He strode up the walk with tension in his quick steps. Sun glinted on his dark brown hair. His white shirt was open at the collar. Her heart throbbed at the sight of him. An instant later, relief and anger battled to win over the other as she yanked the door open. Then the dam broke, spewing her flood of impatience. “What’s with the restraining order, Bard?” His jaw tightened. “I tried to stop it. It was one of Gordon’s dumb ideas.” Afternoon rays splashed across Bard’s face, illuminating his eyes with light turquoise, the sun-washed color captured in the nucleus of a crashing wave. Odd, even though he was keeping things from her, she no longer viewed those green eyes as deceptive. An awareness changed his expression, as though he’d shifted mental gears. His gaze raked over her like flames over logs, taking in her state of undress, her robe with nothing underneath, her curly drying hair, now wispy about her face from her earlier struggle. His smoldering appraisal sent heat racing through her veins. After a long moment, Bard swallowed and cleared his throat. A grin spread across his face. “I see my timing’s perfect.” The expectancy in his look made her heart pound. “Aren’t you going to ask me in?” His deep voice hummed through her. She stepped aside and gestured for him to enter. He walked through the entryway and into the living room. Paula followed, almost bumping into him when he stopped abruptly and swung around to face her. She stepped out of his reach when he tried to take her in his

arms. Her whole being ached with longing, but if he touched her she wouldn’t be able to fight off her desire. Until they cleared things up, she couldn’t handle intimacy. “The restraining order was bad enough,” she said, twisting an escaped curl from her tangle of upswept hair. “But to have Cory serve it was doubly humiliating.” “That was set up by the Police Department. Didn’t Cory tell you I tried to rescind the order?” Paula stared at Bard, confused. “You didn’t want him to serve me?” Hope rushed through her. She steeled herself against its seductive power. “Hell no! Why would I? You’re the woman I love!” Passion rang in his voice. She hugged herself, trying to hold back the flood of mixed emotions, love, the fear of caring too much, and feelings she couldn’t name. “What does love mean to you, Bard?” He wrinkled his brow, looking at her as if she’d just asked the most ridiculous question in the world. “The same thing it means to you,” he said. “Sharing, honesty, commitment!” Paula felt like screaming. She hated the deceit hanging between them and hated the idea of confronting him with his deception. “Honesty? Sharing? About everything? Or just the things you want me to know?” His expression darkened. “What are you getting at?” She decided to stop fencing and go directly for the jugular. “I was there last night, Bard. I heard you dealing with those men.” “What?” His mouth tightened in a grim line, his eyes intense beneath drawn brows, searching her face in stunned awareness. He dropped to the couch with a jolt as if she’d shoved him backward. Paula plunked down at the far end and faced him. “I heard everything. You’re meeting Janus tonight at the Wootson house.” He raked his hair. “Damn. Did you tell Cory?” “I wouldn’t tell him anything!” Anger rose in the back of her throat, almost choking her. “But its a dangerous game you’re playing, Bard.” She watched him struggle with the emotions charging through him. He seemed to be weighing his words, then he exhaled heavily and said, “I know what I’m doing.” He moved closer and took her hands in his. “I’ll get Charlie’s killer. Trust me.”

“You’re not closing me out, Bard. Not with what’s at stake. If you think I’m backing off, you don’t know me at all. I want to hear what you’ve done to protect yourself.” His grip on her hands tightened. “I’ve got backup.” “Like Charlie had backup? Who?” “Look, Paula, I can’t tell you any more.” “You haven’t told me any thing, yet. Now, what exactly is going on?” “The more you know the greater the danger to both of us.” “I don’t buy that. Knowledge is power. What if the gang didn’t buy your story?” “If they didn’t, I’d already be dead.” “Maybe, maybe not. Convince me.” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “If I tell you what’s going on, will you promise to let me handle it?” She held his gaze. “Let’s hear what you have to say before I make any promises.” He exhaled heavily. “I’ve taken Charlie’s place undercover.” She wanted to scream, are you crazy? But she remained silent. Now was the time to listen. She could explode later. It wasn’t easy to sit quietly while he explained his set up with Reed, but somehow she managed. “Reed and I have everything under control,” he finished. “I’m meeting with my backup team when I leave here.” “Let me get this straight. They’ll be outside, and you’ll be inside alone with killers. The Corps had a similar setup with Charlie, only something went wrong, and when he escaped to the dry river bed his backup wasn’t there to stop his murder.” “All the bases are covered. I’ll get the goods on those guys, then get the hell out. Soon as I’m clear, SWAT will rush in.” To calm herself, Paula briefly closed her eyes then lifted her chin. “You need me in there with you. I’m the only one who has as much at stake as you do. I want Charlie’s killer almost as much as I want you to be safe.” He shook his head and stroked her hair, his eyes full of love. “I know, honey. But I’ve done this kind of thing before in the military. I’m trained, you’re not.”

“Wrong. Life’s trained me. I can read bad guys. I’ve dodged men like them all my life, learned when to stand up against them, when to back off. And I’m a crack shot with my trusty .38.” “You’d compromise the whole operation. There’s no way I could explain you.” She squared her shoulders. “I’ll stay out of sight. No one has to know I’m there.” As a protest formed on his lips, she played her ace. “I’m in, or I’ll show up on my own. Your call.” “You’re willing to get us both killed by showing up? What the hell does that prove?” “I can’t let what happened to Charlie happen to you. Those guys aren’t going to let you walk out of there. I mean it. Count me in, or I’ll deal myself in.” Bard’s eyes blazed. “Dammit, Paula. Pull that, and I’ll get Cory to lock you up until this is over.” “Maybe you should rethink that,” she said. Then she told him about Cory’s attack, and what he might do more of if she were trapped in a cell, unable to get away from him. Bard winced. Then, as though he’d experience some devastating internal explosion, a cloud of red crawled up from his neck and along his hardened jaw. “You’ll have to promise to stay in the attic. Listen and pick up what you can on a wire. That’s all.” “That’s all I want. To be there in case they find your wire so I can relate an SOS.” He stared at her for a long moment. “You win. Let’s go.”

Chapter Thirty-Two Paula braced herself on the dashboard of Bard’s Z as he skidded to a stop at the side of the deserted one lane road that sliced through one of the few thriving orange groves. The seat belt cutting into her chest as her body thrust forward was further proof of Bard’s anger. However, dealing with his temper fit was minor compared to her awareness that the sunny afternoon was slipping by toward zero hour. She felt like a bird trying to out-fly a sweeping forest fire, tense, high strung and not at all sure she was going in the right direction. Bard hopped out of the car, slammed the door behind him, and hurried toward the white van with the hood up. Paula followed and caught up with him. He grabbed her hand. Orange blossoms scented the hot breeze. Paula stared at the men standing by the van. “Fine undercover team,” she muttered. “Two potbellied, graying men.” Bard tightened his grip on her hand. “Shut up. They’ll hear you.” As they approached the van, a man with a wine birthmark on his neck the shape of an ink blot stepped forward and shook hands with Bard. “I’m Tom, and this is Laird.” Tom gestured with his head toward the potato-nosed man tinkering with something under the hood. Laird looked up, nodded, then went back to whatever he was doing. “What’s with the woman?” Tom asked. “She’ll be working with us,” Bard said. “She’ll stay in the attic and SOS you in case my wire goes down.” Tom’s eyes darkened. “Reed didn’t mention her.” “I know,” Bard said. “But she’s a fact we’ll have to live with. Now let’s get on with this, I don’t have much time.” Paula frowned. She didn’t like being discussed as if she weren’t there, but she kept silent. Telling them off would only slow things down. Her focus had to stay on getting Charlie’s killer. “We’ll be outside monitoring the operation,” Tom said. “You’ll both wear a wire.” He added a second microchip recorder to a bag. He glanced at Paula and shook his head. “Explain to her where it has to go.” Tom handed Bard a small bag. “This is everything you’ll need, gear and instructions. Yell, if you get in trouble. We can’t always tell by the dialogue that you’re in crisis.”

“You’ll be there early?” “We’re setting up right away. We’ll pull our van into the garage of the boarded up house across the street.” Tom gestured with his head at Paula. “Are you sure you want her with you? If things start popping, she could get in the way.” “What I want and what has to be are two different things. She’s in.” “I hope that decision isn’t your last, Nichols.” **** The kitchen took on a surreal brightness as tension sizzled between Paula and Bard. The strain knotted Paula’s stomach, but she kept her hands busy by making sandwiches. Her heart pounded. In a couple of hours they would meet with the looting ring. Going with Bard was dangerous, but after what happened to Charlie she couldn’t trust the system. She flinched when the phone rang. Bard paused from checking through the gear and growled, “I’ll get it.” From Bard’s side of the conversation, Paula could tell it was Ray. “Ask about Gary,” she said, giving the code sentence she and Ray had agreed on. Bard nodded. After a few moments he covered the mouthpiece and said, “Gary’s fine.” Bard and Ray talked a little longer, with Bard mostly listening. He held himself very stiff as though every cell in his body was on alert. Then he said,”Yeah. I’ll tell her.” Bard hung up the telephone and studied her face. “Ray told me to tell you he did the little job you wanted done, and he’s set up the neighborhood meeting, and the key people will be there.” A shiver of excitement surged through Paula, and she fought to contain the sly smile trying to break free. “What’s that all about?” Bard’s eyes were turbulent. He came close, almost toe to toe, but didn’t touch her. “Making trouble for me again?” “That’s me, Bard, the neighborhood troublemaker.” She wished he’d take her in his arms and kiss her. But he wouldn’t. He was too upset over the way she’d moved in on his operation. “The restraining order didn’t scare you a bit, did it?” She shrugged. “Made me mad, that’s all.”

“If I had any sense, I’d have you locked up for the night. Cory isn’t the only cop on the force.” Bard’s voice was too quiet, too controlled, and his swift, jerky movements warned that he was about to explode. She lifted her chin. “I haven’t broken any laws, yet. Besides, no matter what cop put me in jail, Cory could get at me.” “That’s the only thing stopping me.” Bard rubbed his hand across his jaw. “But you’re so damned unpredictable, and that scares the hell out of me.” **** Janus hid his excitement as Lopez slipped into the passenger’s side of the truck and handed him the journal. “Didn’t cost us nada.” Lopez grinned and flashed his gold tooth. “She kept it close by in her bedroom like I thought.” “Did you read it?” Janus paged through the journal. “Jus’ the pages marked with the paper clips. We’re famous.” “My name’s in there?” With effort, Janus masked the urgency in his voice. “Just your code name, Janus. Also, my name, Deeter’s, and Leroy Damas’s. Good thing I gave Damas an eternal siesta. He wasn’t cut out to take risks. A little pressure and he would’a blabbed everything.” Janus’s neck muscles tightened. “Are you sure he didn’t?” “I checked. He never came to.” Lopez dialed the radio to a Latin station that blared a Ricky Martin salsa. Janus frowned and turned down the volume. “Who put the paper clips on these pages.” Lopez shrugged. “Maybe Bard. I think he’s playing a game with us, no? A deadly game for him, right, Janus?” **** Paula and Bard sat on the living room floor of the dark, empty house. Uncertainty hung suspended in the stale, humid air. Waiting for Janus and his gang had given Paula too much time to think about all the things that could go wrong. Bard sat alert and grim-faced, with his back against the wall. An aura of tightly controlled energy emanated from him. He checked the chambers of his gun, probably out of nervousness,then slipped the weapon back into his waistband.

The house had been closed tightly all day in ninety-degree heat. It seemed that every meal ever cooked there had been absorbed by the peeling paint on the walls. Putrid odors of a clogged toilet came from the bathroom. God, she wished this was over. Moonbeams sliced through a bare window and sent a pattern of light onto the wall in front of Paula; the configuration looked like an open door into something shadowy and unknown. Even though the image was a bit frightening, it fascinated her. The more she looked, the more the passageway took on meaning. It was an omen, a warning that she was taking a course that would either change her life forever, or end it. She exhaled to release some of her anxiety. Her muscles had tightened almost to their snapping point. “You okay?” Bard whispered. “Never better,” she said, then let out a soft, nervous laugh. Bard captured and held her gaze. “Better get up in the attic now.” She suddenly wondered the wisdom of wearing Daisy Dukes cutoff jeans. They were great to fight the heat, but what if there were spiders and other critters in the attic? It’d be okay, she told herself. She wouldn’t be up there that long. “Remember,” Bard said, “stay out of sight, even if it seems things are going sour. Let Tom, Laird and me work it out. That’s the only way this insanity has any chance of working.” “Whatever you say.” She was glad to leave it to them, as long as they didn’t mess up, as long as Bard stayed safe. “I mean it. You can hear everything and let your microchip pick up the audio, but you’re here to listen and witness, that’s all! Got it?” “Got it.” She bit her lip. “Shouldn’t the gang be here by now?” Bard flipped on his penlight briefly and glanced at his watch. “Yes. Now get in the attic.” She didn’t move, needing a few more moments before climbing into the stifling tiny space. What a time to remember she was a bit claustrophobic. She nervously touched the policewhistle on the chain around her neck. “What’s with the whistle?” he growled. “Extra protection.”

He snickered. “So, if we run out of bullets you’ll blow that in the gangs ears and break their eardrums?” “It’s to wake up those overly seasoned, gray-haired G-men you call your backup in case they fall asleep on the job,” she retorted with equal sarcasm. He darted a sharp glance at her. “Your gun’s loaded, right?” he asked in a husky whisper. Glaring at him, she removed the gun from her shoulder bag and flicked open the cylinder. “Nervous?” Her tone was purposely taunting. “Only because you’re here.” Paula winced internally. She returned the gun to her bag and picked up one of the flashlights and weighed it in her hand. A tiny doubt crept into her mind. What if he lost his edge because he was worried about her? She closed her eyes briefly to give herself a moment to pump up her ebbing confidence. Dammit. He needed her; he did. She squared her shoulders. She would trust her instincts. She honestly believed he was walking into a trap, and her gun could be the equalizer that would save his life. She studied his serious profile. She couldn’t bear it if anything happened to him. He was close enough to touch, but she clenched both hands around the flashlight, as if gripping it would ease her urge to trace her fingers along his firm jawline. If only she could play some music to get her mind off her inner turmoil, but she had to stay alert to every sound. She was painfully aware of every noise, every smell, and every breath she or Bard took. It was amazing how the darkness brought her other senses into sharper focus. Every rustle of the leaves, every click of the crickets, every mournful howl of the dog down the street, were an escalating orchestra, intensifying her fear. And awareness of Bard. She glanced at him, as a new rush of longing swept over her. Did they have a future together? With the ruthless men they had to face, a better question might be, did they have a future at all? The floor felt gritty and sticky as she braced her palms on the hardwood to get up. Paula frowned and wiped her hands on her faded cutoff jeans. She went to the window and peered out, still delaying. The full moon cast its silvery phosphorescence over bushes and trees. She rubbed her arms. Somehow, it seemed safer out there. Bard came up behind her; his breath was warm on her hair.

Motionless, she waited for his touch. When it became apparent he wasn’t going to touch her, she turned and faced him. If only they were alone in the moonlight, some other place, some other time. She knew that Bard believed she was putting them both in greater danger. His silence troubled her. Had her stubbornness to be in on the capture of Charlie’s killer diminished Bard’s love for her? Sweat trickled down his cheek. He reached past her and opened the window a little wider. It didn’t help. There wasn’t even a hint of a breeze. If even a little air filtered in, it would be better than the dead, musty air that had dried all the moisture from her mouth and left her tongue feeling like a wad of cotton. Bard stepped inside the living room guest closet and flashed his light up at the open crawl space. “Don’t forget what I told you. This rope ladder will hold your weight.” He tested it by yanking downward. “Get up in the attic now, pull the rope up behind you and close the opening.” “What do you think is going to happen?” His gaze darkened, intensified. “If you do like you’re told, you’ll have Charlie’s killer when it’s over. If you don’t, we’ll both be dead.” Roaring engines and the vibrations of heavy trucks came up the street toward them. Paula eyes met Bard’s. “Get up there, now!” he ordered. Moving quickly, she grabbed her bag and one of the flashlights and stepped into the closet. As they turned sideways to pass each other, Bard gripped her shoulders briefly. “No matter what happens, don’t come out!” He lifted his hand. For an instant, she thought he was going to caress her cheek. Instead, he just handed her the rope ladder. “Thanks a lot,” she said in a sarcastic tone, and climbed up, adding, “for nothing” under her breath. Paula watched the light disappear as Bard softly closed the door. The attic was like a sweat box, and full of wispy cobwebs. Something scurried across her hand. She bit down on her lip to keep from letting out a yelp. Thank God she’d planned ahead. She climbed back down and found the slanted, egg-shaped hole Ray had drilled in the door for her. From the living room, in the

dark shadows the hollow looked like a natural knothole. It was large enough to keep Bard’s moonlight-bathed silhouette in sight. Paula had made this small change in plans, knowing she’d miss too much in the attic, and be too far away to help if they found Bard out. The roar of big engines and the double wave of crunching gravel trumpeted that two trucks had turned into the driveway. Bard went to the window and looked out. Paula heard the rumble of men’s voices. She strained in vain to hear what they were saying. Heavy booted footsteps thudded on the walkway; then soft footsteps emerged over her head on the roof. Paula froze and said a little prayer that everything would go as planned. “Bard,” Lopez called, as he entered the back door of the house. “You’re in here, no?” His tone was melodic, friendly. “Yeah,” Bard answered. “In the living room.” Lopez came through the doorway smiling and carrying a highpowered battery lantern. The dark room flooded with an ominous glow. Five overweight, ex-bodybuilder types trailed Lopez. Three of the men had rifles and two had handguns tucked in their waistbands. The two with handguns were the bikers Deeter had lived with. The solemn five fanned out around the room and stood staring at Bard like a firing squad waiting for orders to assume the fire position. “This is the inventory of what’s here,” Bard said, handing the list to Lopez. “If we work fast, we can strip the place in less than forty-five minutes.” He stared at Lopez. Dead silence followed. “Why is everyone just standing around? Hop to it. Let’s get to work.” Lopez flashed the lantern in Bard’s eyes. Bard raised his hand to ward off the brightness. He rubbed his eyes to clear his vision. Another man’s silvery silhouette appeared out of the darkness behind Lopez. “Guess you and Janus already know each other,” Lopez said sarcastically. “Les! It’s you!” Bard said. The shock in Bard’s voice matched Paula’s own dismay. Les! Janus was Les! Her knees went weak. “You didn’t think I’d go for that pathetic loan-shark story,did you?”

“Why not?” Bard asked, his voice totally unruffled. “It was true. I needed quick money. Lots of it. You and I are alike that way, both out for the big bucks. Think about it, I wouldn’t have believed this of you either.” “Can it!” Les, aka Janus, gestured, and two of the men grabbed Bard. They roughly frisked him and took his gun. Panic tore through Paula but true to Bard’s instructions, she stayed rooted to the spot. “Want to give me the wire in your shorts, or shall I yank it out myself?” growled the biker with Harley Hoods tattooed on his left bicep. Paula wrinkled her brow. How did he know about the wire and where it was? Only she, Bard and the backup agents knew about the tiny microchip. Bard gave the chip to the biker, and the big ape threw it on the floor and stomped it. “I read Charlie’s journal.” Les shifted his weight. “But I let you play out your game for kicks.” Paula couldn’t believe it. They had the journal. She thought it was still in the center of the book box where she’d hidden it. “I silenced Damas,” Lopez said, “so he wouldn’t warn you.” “And Deeter, too, I suppose?” Bard asked coolly. “No,” Les said, “he was mine.” “Thanks for clearing that up,” Bard said. “But admitting it wasn’t too bright. Get smart. Give up. The place is surrounded.” Paula was calmed by the confidence in Bard’s voice. Give up was a signal to the guys listening outside. But Bard’s wire had been smashed. She grabbed her own microchip from its hiding place in her bikini briefs and repeated “give up” softly. A small triumph surged through her. Bard needed her after all. And any minute Tom and Laird would charge through the door. “You mean the guys in the van?” Les snickered. “Good try, Bard.” Then he shouted, “Bring in our other guests!” Two bikers shoved Tom and Laird into the room. Paula gasped. The backup duo were gagged with their hands tied behind their backs. They stumbled and fell to their knees. Their faces were bloody, swollen, as though they’d been used as punching bags. “Looks like I blew it,” Bard said without emotion.

Paula groaned to herself. That was an understatement if she’d ever heard one. His cover was blown, his backup gone, and with a room full of armed men, her .38 was like a peashooter against a line of machine guns.

Chapter Thirty-Three “Your move, Les,” Paula heard Bard say in his deep chess player’s voice. Les looked balefully at him and his inept backup men. “You got that right. Hope the three of you’ve paid your insurance.” Les laughed. “And claimed me as your beneficiary.” “Fat chance.” Bard’s tone was even. “Who does the dirty work, you or your thugs?” “You, I’ll handle personally. The other two, well, the men can draw straws.” “Did your men draw straws to kill Charlie?” “Nah. He was special. Like you. But not as much fun. You walked right into our trap. Not Charlie. He was more experienced, more troublesome. We had to chase him down like a dog.” Pain and rage shot through Paula, but she forced herself to listen and bide her time. Les aimed his gun at Bard’s head. “End of the social hour.” Paula’s breath caught. “One more thing, Les,” Bard said, clearly stalling. “Why did you single out Paula Lord?” “Obvious reason. Defuse the leader and the whole neighborhood falls.” Paula liked the concept, only reversed—defuse Janus and the whole gang falls. Bard inched backward, toward the window. Les raised the gun a fraction, pointing the barrel right between Bard’s eyes. “Freeze, Nichols.” Bard stopped and folded his arms, looking relaxed, in control. “I can’t believe you found me out. I figured a covetous guy like Janus could believe everyone has a price.” Les’s finger twitched on the trigger. Paula’s heart thudded in hard throbs. She had to act now or Bard was a dead man. She grabbed the first idea that came to mind. Les’ own concept. Control the leader and you control the gang. Les had always wanted her, but after all the times she’d turned him down, playing a sex kitten was a big gamble.

Horrified visions of rape and then murder flashed through her mind. She blocked them out and quickly rearranged her clothing and tousled her hair to give it a bedroom look. She gulped a deep breath and opened the closet door. “And Bard’s right,” she drawled. “Everyone has a price.” “What the hell!” Les said, wrinkling his brow. He shifted his gun from Bard to Paula. **** Stunned, Bard could only stare at her. With swaying hips tightly encased in Daisy Dukes cutoff jeans, she sauntered slowly out of the closet. Her blouse had several buttons undone, and it was tied under her breasts, pushing them up full and round, exposing her bare midriff. He knew at once what she was up to. She was using her considerable sex appeal to run a bluff. Bard’s heart pounded. Les would never buy it. But he didn’t dare react; all could do was watch. **** Paula lowered her voice to a sexy purr. “I didn’t survive this long by being inflexible.” “Stop right where you are,” Les said. Paula paused and swallowed. Les smelled of wine, and his eyes were a little glassy. His drinking could work in her favor or make him even more dangerous. Shivers fluttered in her belly. But she could do this. For Bard, for Charlie. “Les, honey, why didn’t you say you were Janus? Didn’t you know I’d dig that?” She flicked her tongue over her lips and pretended it was Bard she was seducing with her mouth, her eyes, her body. Les’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell were you doing in that closet?” “Getting an earful, darlin’.” She lowered her eyelids a fraction and gazed through her lashes, trying for a sultry look. “Now that I know you’re Janus and what you did for me, killing Charlie and making me a very rich woman, I’m switching canoes, if you get my drift.” She slid a slender finger downward over her lips, opening them slightly, hoping to reveal a pouty pinkness. “I would’ve never brushed Janus off. I dig dangerous, powerful men, men with guns, who aren’t afraid to live on the edge.”

“It’s a trick.” Lopez sneered. “She’s Charlie’s sister. No way would she forgive you for killing him.” “Wrong,” Paula said. “Make-believe brothers don’t count. No common blood was spilled.” Lopez shook his head. “She’s as crazy as Bard thinking you’d fall for this.” “Keep outta it, Lopez,” Les growled. He raked Paula’s body with a hungry gaze. “You’d better not be putting me on, sweetheart.” Paula shook her untamed hair. A strand fell over one eye. “Not a chance.” She stepped between Les and Bard. “You wanted me once, Les.” She turned in a slow revolution, showing off her body. “By the hunger in your eyes....” She paused and looked down admiringly. “And that powerful erection pressing against your zipper, I’d say you still do.” She shimmied her shoulders, and laughed low in her throat. “And, sugar plum, now that you’re Janus, you can have me. Power is the ultimate turn-on.” “It’s an act,” Lopez said. “She’s playing on your appetite for bad girls.” Lust burned in Les’s eyes. “I would think she was playing me, too, but I know this curvy little bundle of fire. She’s no ordinary chick. She’s a killer.” Fighting inner tremors, Paula put her arm possessively through Les’s. “Lopez is just sore because I out shot him.” Les stroked Paula’s midriff. She didn’t flinch, pretending it was Bard touching her, Bard’s eyes looking into hers. Without breaking eye contact, Les lowered his gun and tucked it into his waistband. “Lucky for you I can read people.” **** The room stilled. A band tightened around Bard’s chest. He wished Paula were at home, on the moon, anywhere but here. The men waited with bloodthirsty eyes for Janus’s next move as though he were only playing with his prey before the kill. Paula circled Les, trailing long, slender fingers over his wide shoulders. She had a reckless provocative walk in those Daisy Dukes that was far too sexy, far too dangerous. Could this woman be his Paula? A tough sexuality flowed from her, dominating, controlling. Suddenly, by mesmerizing Les, she had in effect taken over the gang. They stared at her as if spellbound. All except Lopez.

He ordered Bard to put his hands behind his back and bound his wrists tightly, sending a trail of pain up Bard’s arm. Paula showed no emotion. I don’t buy this dangerous woman crap,” Lopez grumbled. “Give me five minutes with this chick and I’ll show you who she really is. Deeter told me the rumors about her. So she killed her foster papa when she was a teenager; he probably had it coming.” Paula gave Lopez a conspiratorial wink. “Lopez’s right.” Paula’s voice was steely, yet throatily seductive. “It was no big deal.” Bard’s stomach knotted. She was playing up to Lopez. But her words didn’t track. She hadn’t killed Frank. Charlie had. He’d admitted it in his letter. Did he lie to protect Paula? Wait, Bard thought. He knew Paula better than that. Or did he know her at all? Doubt coiled through him, twisting his heart. Les laughed and looked down at Paula. “You got credit for Dan, his grandma, and Charlie. But it was me.” Paula laughed, too. “Well, thanks for deep-sixing all of them. My assets soared with every funeral.” Her voice was as cold as blue ice. “Stick with me and you’ll be even richer.” Les wrapped his arm around her. She leaned closer to him, pressing her thigh against his. Sweat broke out above Bard’s upper lip. Paula was too damned good at this to be acting. Les darted a sharp look at his men. “What are you guys standing around for? Get to work.” They grabbed tools and hustled away. Paula looked up at Les and stroked his biceps. “To think I thought you were just a poor sap house-mover, a construction jockey. But you’re a clever, forceful leader.” Les grinned down at her with desire in his gaze. “About time you realized it, sweetheart. I’ll tell you a little secret. I planned something between us from the beginning.” Paula laughed. “No kidding?” Her sarcastic tone revealed a previous relationship with Les, and that his confession wasn’t entirely news. “Unfortunately,” Les said, “my plans got complicated. I gave Dan knockout drops and snuffed out Grandma Emma. Dan was supposed to be the fall guy, but jail wasn’t permanent enough. I

wanted him gone for good.” Les paused for the impact. “I wanted you and money—lots of it. Grandma Emma’s property wasn’t enough. I talked Dan into getting a hefty insurance policy. Even loaned him the cash for the premium.” Paula laughed and shook her head. “And the idiot probably thanked you.” “Yeah,” Les said, “profusely.” Lopez came back in the room and began to pace. “You can’t trust her, man. You heard the recording. She did it with Bard.” “That was then.” Paula purred. “And this is now.” “If she’s a killer, and a muy malla mama, let her shoot Bard,” Lopez said. Paula lifted her chin, flashing steely blue eyes. “No problem.” Pain exploded inside Bard, sending a hot ache to his gut. He knew Paula was acting. She had to be. His life depended on it. “But Les, honey, shouldn’t we strip this place first? I know your gun is equipped with a silencer and no one would hear, but why waste bullets? A fire would be cleaner. I mean we have three bodies to dispose of. Still, if you want....” Paula’s right hand inched over Les’s stomach, her fingers seductively tracing his flat abdomen as she reached for his gun. Les grabbed her wrist. “Hold it.” Paula froze, but her face showed no emotion. “Paula’s right,” Les said. “No shooting. After we strip the place, we’ll torch it.” Lopez’s eyes lit up like a crazed firebug. “Si. Fuego. I like it. Un poco cremation party with Bard and his two amigos as the guests of honor.” One of the bikers returned to the room and gestured to the living room wall heater. “Lopez, how about giving me a hand with this?” Lopez grabbed his tools and joined him. While trying in vain to work free of the ropes cutting into his wrists, Bard tried to catch Paula’s eye, but she was too busy flirting. Les patted Paula’s fanny. “Be right back, baby. I gotta see if my men have the hot water heater and bathroom fixtures detached and ready for removal.”

Paula flashed a smile and sauntered over to the open window and sat on the sill. She struck a leggy pose. Moonlight, lamplight, and shadows caressed every curve. Bard hated his body’s reaction to her. Which was the act, their lovemaking or this seduction of Janus? **** Reed sped toward the clear zone. He passed through Colton and beyond the freeway interchange-hub at the edge of San Bernardino. The AICUZ project was a federal undertaking that allowed him to bring in a SWAT team, and he took advantage of the extra support to ensure Bard’s safety. He punched the keys of his car telephone with one hand and then put the unit on speaker-audio. “Mark, what’s going on there?” Reed asked. “I can’t get through to Tom or Laird.” “Not sure,” the team leader said. “Been waiting for their signal to close in.” Reed clutched the steering wheel tighter. “Can you see their van?” “No. Laird’s plan was to hole up in the abandoned garage across the street from the Wootson house. We’ve got our van in an empty garage a block away.” “Get closer on foot,” Reed said. **** Mark ordered his men into action. Under the cover of darkness and shrubs, the team stealthily crept toward the darkened house. He saw a glint of metal. Men with guns, shovels, and baseball bats were hiding in the bushes surrounding the place. What the hell? Mark grabbed his cell phone and called Reed. “Something crazy is happening! There’s a swarm of armed civilians out here. And we can’t move in with them in the way.” **** With clenched jaw, Bard watched Les strut over to the window and join Paula. While Les was busy kissing and nuzzling Paula’s neck, she lifted her police whistle from its hiding place nestled between her breasts and blew an earsplitting trill. Then everything happened at once: Les covered his left ear with his hand. Paula yanked the gun from his waistband and shoved him away. He lunged for her. She fired. Blood spurted from his shoulder. Les’s gang ran into the room, weapons ready. Ray Whitney

and another neighbor charged out of the closet with guns raised, shouting freeze. The front and back doors crashed in and men with guns and shovels poured into the room. Window glass shattered throughout the house and men climbed through cleared openings and raced forward, closing the human net and surrounding Les and his stunned gang. Bard struggled to process and comprehend the simultaneous events. Apparently Ray and the other guy had come down through the roof into the attic crawl space, and down into the closet. Bard let out a gush of air. What could have been a bloodbath had been amazingly avoided by precision timing. He felt someone untie his hands, then Paula was in his arms. **** Light flooded the front yard of the Wootson house, coming from bright head beams and the high-powered lamps mounted on top of the SWAT vans. Bard watched the leader shove Les roughly toward the rear of the lockup van. Les shackled in handcuffs and blood dripping from his shoulder, paused and glared at Paula. “You’re dead, bitch.” Paula lifted her chin. When she trembled against Bard, he knew her fearlessness was another act. He stepped from behind her and put his arm protectively around her shoulders. Chief Reed skidded into the parking space behind the vans and hurried across the lawn and joined them. Reed glared at the milling crowd of civilians carrying rifles, shovels, and pickaxes. “What the hell’s going on here? Who are all these people?” “Heroes,” Paula said. “The brave people who live here in the clear zone.” Reed frowned at Bard. “What’s she doing here?” “She saved my hide. Without her I’d be dead.” Bard glanced down at Paula. He felt pride, gratitude, love, and disturbingly off balance. Reed scowled. “Anyone get hurt?” “Paula winged Les Cardel. Turned out he’s Janus.” Bard’s hold on Paula’s shoulder tightened, drawing her closer. “Tom and Laird have gashes, bruises, maybe a few broken bones. An ambulance’s on the way.” Voices rose, and like a herd of elephants, the neighborhood brigade led by Ray closed ranks around Reed.

“You’re Reed, the head guy, right?” Ray asked. Reed gave a grim nod. “We came to make sure Paula isn’t in any trouble,” Ray said. Reed curled his fingers into a fist and made a low growl deep in his throat. “I haven’t debriefed my men, yet. But based on Bard’s brief explanation I’d guess no one’s in any trouble except Les and his gang.” “Good,” Ray said. “Tonight we paid Paula back a little. But she deserves more.” Reed shifted his weight, his expression growing darker by the moment. “We can talk about this later. After—” “We need this settled now.” Ray folded his arms. “Paula risked her life to save our neighborhood. From the start she’s been there for us. She should get recognition and some kind of commendation for fighting for her neighbors. She saved not only property, but lives.” Shouts of “right on” came from the group that seemed to be growing larger, and louder. Bard could see the wheels turning in Reed’s head. He could either agree or antagonize these people, which with the project not completed, wouldn’t be wise. Reed cleared his throat and grudgingly assured everyone that Paula would get proper recognition. “We’re all very proud of Mrs. Lord,” he added, sounding tired. Bard laughed to himself. It was ironic. Reed promised some kind of commendation for Paula when only hours ago Cory had served her with a restraining order and ordered her to stay out of the clear zone. If she’d obeyed, Bard knew he’d be dead. As Ray and the others praised Paula, she looked down at her sandaled feet as if the whole heroine thing embarrassed her. Bard wanted to tell her she deserved all the praise and more, but he’d wait until they were alone. Reed said all the politically correct things then wearily asked the group to clear the area so he could finish debriefing his men. After the brigade dispersed, Reed turned to Bard. “Stay put,” he said, jabbing his index finger downward for emphasis. “I’ll talk with Mark, and check on Tom and Laird then I want all the details.” “Let’s talk at my office,” Bard said. It was only a couple of blocks away, and he wanted to get Paula some place quiet where she

could recover from her ordeal. “We can unwind and have a cup of coffee.” Reed nodded curtly. “Before I get there, drum up a better explanation of why the hell she’s here after I ordered you to keep her out of it!”

Chapter Thirty-Four Fifteen minutes later, Bard stifled a grin as Chief Reed glared at the no-smoking sign and fiercely ground out his cigar in a paper cup. Of course, Bard knew Reed’s displeasure wasn’t about the sign. It was because Bard had disobeyed an order. Bard gestured to the leather chair in front of his desk. Reed plunked down and set his jaw like granite. Bard poured steaming cups of coffee for the three of them. Paula sat by the window staring into the darkness. Her hand trembled as she took her cup. A rush of tenderness washed over him. Damn, how he longed to take her in his arms. When he merely squeezed her shoulder, she glanced up and sent him a faint smile. She’d been through a helluva night. For her sake, he’d make this the shortest meeting in history. Reed cleared his throat as though sensing the vibes electrifying the air. “Okay let’s get on with this. Tom and Laird filled me in on most of the story.” Bard sat down on the edge of his desk. “Good. Saves time.” “Why did you go against orders and bring Mrs. Lord into this?” Bard’s gut tightened at the quick jab to his senses. Before he could decide what to say, Paula jumped in. “I threatened to blow his cover. And to keep him alive, I would have. I didn’t want to lose him, too.” Reed ran his index finger around the curve of the chair arm. “How did you learn what Bard was doing?” “By accident. I took a sentimental swing by my old house. Things didn’t seem right. I looked in the window and saw him with the looters. Later, I figured it out.” Reed leveled a hard look at Bard. “Explain the vigilantes. There were men with shovels, axes, and baseball bats, for God’s sake.” “That was my doing, too,” Paula said. Bard saw the exasperation building in Reed, thinning his lips, tightening his jaw. Reed shook his head. “Bad business, Bard, getting civilians involved, unorthodox and risky as hell.”

Bard recoiled at the disappointment in Reed’s voice, but shook off the affects. “If Paula’s neighborhood brigade hadn’t rushed in when they did, we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” A glimmer of pride flickered in Paula’s eyes, the look of a general whose troops had just won a war. “They charged in right on cue.” Paula’s voice cracked with emotion and the reverberation burrowed itself deep in Bard’s heart. “The rescue team wouldn’t have gotten to us in time,” Bard said. Reed frowned. “They might’ve if they hadn’t had to trip over civilians.” “Trust me, time had run out. If it had gone down any other way, I’d be dead.” Reed spun Bard’s crystal paperweight, sending sparkling diamonds of brightness dancing around the room. “I hear Ms. Lord put on quite an act.” “She convinced Les,” Bard said, glancing at Paula. And me. Fluorescent lighting sent golden highlights to Paula’s bright copper hair. She rubbed her arms, looking vulnerable. Guilt tore through him. How could he have doubted her? Even for a moment? Reed pulled a cigar out of his shirt pocket then shoved it back. He stood and faced the window. His wide back was erect, and he squared his shoulders. Then he turned. “Ms. Lord, Mark said your wire picked up Les’s confession. Sometime tomorrow, I need you to sign a statement.” **** Paula nodded, fighting tremors. Would Les make good his threat? She’d tricked him, humiliated him in front of his men, unforgivable acts to any man, but especially to an egomaniac killer. Reed crossed the room and slouched back into his chair. “Lopez wants to lay it all out for us for a lighter sentence. According to him, Leroy Damas was the mole. Gordon should’ve known he was getting the wrong scoop.” A muscle tightened in Bard’s jaw. “Damas must’ve convinced him it wouldn’t be politically smart to go over his head.” Regret crossed Reed’s face, giving his features a haggard look. “Damas signed his death warrant when he decided to deal with that bunch. If only he’d come to me, I could have arranged for a loan to

cover his wife’s care. I didn’t know until he was killed that Mary had cancer.” “Is she going to be okay?” Bard asked. Paula studied Bard’s intense expression. His genuine concern touched her. “She’s recovering,” Reed said. “The stress of losing her husband and learning he was in with crooks has made the road harder, but she’s a fighter. On the plus side, money’s no problem now. There’s a big insurance policy.” Paula closed her eyes briefly, knowing first hand nothing could compensate Mary Damas for her loss. Bard frowned as though he had a similar thought. “Lopez killed Damas figuring, if questioned, he’d cave in.” Reed drained his coffee and made a sour face. “Damas could have revealed the size of the operation. This wasn’t the only project involved. Les and his men looted the Chino Airport project, too.” “Well, it’s over,” Bard said. “And we caught the king shark and his whole school of piranha.” The lines on Reed’s face deepened, and he looked down. His failure to confirm Bard’s statement told Paula another project probably meant all the gang wasn’t at the Wooton’s place. “Unorthodox capture aside,” Reed said, “you did a courageous job. Both of you.” He tilted his head and leveled his gaze at Bard. “How would you like to work undercover for The Corps permanently?” “No way! It’s not the life for me. I only did this for Charlie.” Paula didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until Bard’s refusal sent a sigh of relief whispering across her lips. “Maybe staying with the county is the wiser decision,” Reed said. “I heard through the grapevine that Gordon’s on his way out for mishandling the project. You’re the top choice to take his place. I’ll add my bid to the recommendation.” “Thanks. However, don’t count Gordon out, yet. Guys like him are survivors.” “A pity, isn’t it?” Reed studied his hands a moment, then he looked up, his gray eyes steady. “I heard about Les’s threat. We’d better relocate Paula until after the trial.” “But Les’ll be in jail,” Paula said as a chill slithered through her.

“And he’s not getting out,” Reed said. “He’s killed a lot of people and messed with a federal project.” “Then what’s the problem?” Paula asked not sure she wanted to hear the answer. Reed’s face took on a gray cast. “Gang leaders have long arms that strike out beyond their jail cell.” **** Paula paid Jeff for bird-sitting while Bard paced the room. He’d been friendly enough with Jeff, but now he seemed anxious for him to leave. She knew Bard wanted to talk about Les. Well, she didn’t. Jeff had been watching television, and there was only one lamp on, dimmed to the lowest setting. That was enough light, she decided, rubbing her aching head. She flicked off the blaring news and turned on her CD player, loaded with the kind of soft piano music she yearned for to soothe her raw nerves. Paula headed for Ivanhoe’s cage. She needed to be near her parrot. He was her lifeline back to reality. Iv’s soft, feathered body was warm and familiar but holding him didn’t erase the image of Les’s meancing eyes. She sank down on the couch, terrified, and hating herself for letting fear get a grip on her. The parrot nodded his head toward her, stooped slightly and brushed his head against her hand. She got the hint and stroked him, but her mind wasn’t on Ivanhoe. It was ridiculous that Reed and Bard wanted her to hide until after the trial. Then what? If Les could get her from jail before the trial, he could do the same afterwards. She’d need a lifetime bodyguard to protect her. Why couldn’t Bard see that? In one way or another since the first moment she’d met him he’d been trying to get rid of her, first out of the clear zone, now out of her new home, maybe even out of his life. In her eagerness to save him, had she lost his love? **** Bard dropped heavily down on the couch next to Paula. “Reed’s right. We can’t take chances. You have to disappear for a while.” “Forget it. I’m not going anywhere! This is my home, and I won’t be run off.” “You’re not thinking straight. You know what Les is capable of.”

“Maybe the problem is you don’t know what I’m capable of.” Bard laughed without humor. “Oh, I know all right. I saw you in action.” He felt raw and empty inside. Everything had shifted several times tonight. Les became Janus and Paula turned into this femme fatale. “I knew you were acting, but geez, you were so damn convincing. How did you become that woman? At first, I was angry that you’d recklessly put yourself in danger. Then you were so…so…believable. How did you keep your nerve all that time?” “I had no choice.” Her voice had a slight tremor in it, as if she hadn’t quite let go of her fear. “I had to give Ray and Henry time to detach the air-conditioner, get down into the attic, then into the closet before I made my move. Timing was everything.” Bard curled his fingers into fists to rein in the storm building in him. “Why didn’t you trust me? We were supposed to be a team.” “This wasn’t about my faith in you. It was about my lack of trust in the lousy system that let Charlie down. And let you down, too, for that matter.” The steam went out of Bard’s anger as fast as it came. “Look, Paula—” “When I set things up with Ray I didn’t know about your backup,” she interrupted, her tone sharp. “I’m not sure it would have made any difference if I had.” She paused. “And you didn’t bother to tell me about the SWAT team.” “I thought the less you knew the better.” “Ditto for me. My act might not have worked if you’d known for sure what I was up to.” She frowned. “What’s the point of this discussion? We’re alive. It’s over.”

Chapter Thirty-Five Paula put Ivanhoe back into the cage, praying she was right about the rein of terror being over. She went to the window and stared out at the moon, wishing it could shine light on her doubts and fears, and show her how foolish they were. The moon slipped behind a cloud, and her mood darkened almost in unison with the loss of brightness. Instead of seeing moonlight, she saw Les’ sneering mouth. His words echoed in her mind: “You’re dead, bitch.” Bard crossed the carpet so silently Paula wasn’t aware of him closing in. She jumped as his breath stirred her hair. “Nervous?” Bard asked, his heat radiating against her back. “I’m fine.” She lied. Then her jumpiness passed, and she tried to distance herself from the rising desire filling its place. “That guy...Mark, wasn’t it? He wouldn’t have made it in time to save you,” she said softly. “I know.” **** Bard put his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him, wanting to see her face. He lifted her hand and pressed it slowly to his lips. Her eyes were so blue, gleaming with what he speculated were vestiges of fear mingled with need. He drew Paula into his arms. Paula’s trembling caught him off guard. He’d seen her in action, seen how she’d attacked life, and Les, with both clenched fists. She was made of such stern stuff he’d failed to realize how frightened she must have been. And still must be. “I can’t run, Bard.” She clutched his arm and looked up at him. “Running doesn’t solve anything.” Her voice was throaty and tinged with fear. “If Les doesn’t get me now, he’ll do it later.” Bard bent and kissed her temple. “I guess there’s only one way to see that you disappear until the trial.” He traced the line of her cheekbone across skin so silky he yearned to touch her everywhere. She tried to pull free. “Aren’t you listening? I’m not going.” “Even if I go with you?” He couldn’t stop the grin that played at his lips. He drew her closer and slid his hand down her spine, stroking with all the love he could put in his fingers. She wrinkled her brow. “You’d go with me?” “You didn’t think I’d send you on our honeymoon to South America alone?”

**** “Honeymoon? South America?” Paula’s heart pounded. Bard’s words, his lighthearted expression, and his stroking fingers were easing her fears. “Buenos Aires has the exotic birds you’ve been wanting. Right? We’ll be gone a couple of months.” Oh, mercy, she wanted this so much. “But I can’t leave Ivanhoe and the others.” “Jeff will handle things here while we’re gone. You’ll be safe until the trial. After that, you’ll be in my protective custody. For life.” It sounded wonderful. Here she’d thought he was chasing her out of his life. But marriage? Thoughts whirled in her head. She loved Bard. She was ready to die for him. The notion of a second try at holy bliss sent shivers through her. Old tapes started replaying. Men were predators, cheaters. They were unreliable and didn’t hang around for the distance. She closed her eyes a moment. No! She wouldn’t let the past rule her. Bard was a good man, the kind of man she’d always dreamed of growing old with. If only she dared. His hold tightened. “What about it, Paula? Don’t go silent on me now.” “I’m thinking. I’m thinking. I didn’t expect....” Emotion welled within her, and not wanting him to see her tears, she turned in his arms and looked out the window. Bard’s arms remained around her. His warm breath against her hair was setting her on fire. She had to use her head and not let her body rule. He was caressing the curve of her waistline inches from her breasts, his hands hot on her bare midriff. Her skin sizzled from his touch, and she thought she’d die of desire. In opposition to the soft piano playing in the background, her pulse beat wildly. She pulled back, face hot. “Wait a minute,” she said, her voice husky and filled with longing. “I can’t think while you’re doing that.” He stilled but didn’t release her. He turned her to face him again. “You love me, right?” As if her hands had a will of their own, they roamed up his hard chest. When she found his heart beating wildly, her arms circled his neck. “Oh, yes. So much, but….” Suddenly bright moonlight burst through the clouds. Its glow enveloped them and united them with promise. For a moment, Paula

thought she saw Charlie’s face in the moon, smiling, nodding, daring her to follow her heart. “Trust me, Paula,” Bard said, “I’ll never let you down.” Paula slowly turned and faced him. **** Bard watched her eyes and knew she’d made a decision. The uncertainty and fear disappeared, and she smiled a beautiful, radiant smile. “Africa is a lovely place for a honeymoon,” she said. Emotion swelled in Bard, sending a surge of happiness through him, stronger than any he’d ever known. “I love you, Paula, more than I ever thought it possible to love a woman, and I want only you for the rest of my life. He sought Paula’s lips, tenderly at first, then when she responded so hungrily, his own need grew and he swept her off her feet and carried her toward the bedroom. He flicked on the hallway light, splashing a soft glow toward his destination. Paula wasn’t trembling anymore. A mischievous small smile played at her lips. “Aren’t you even a little curious?” she asked as he gently lowered her to the bed. He kicked off his shoes, and slipped off her sandals, caressing the arch of her foot, her ankle, following the line of her leg to her thigh. “About what?” he asked in a voice that rumbled in his throat. She pulled him down next to her and began unbuttoning his shirt. “You know....” She trailed kisses down the column of his neck. Her lips reminded him of fire and ice. She paused and held her hand against his chest where his heart was beating with unruly intensity. “About how that other wilder me would make love?” His jeans tightened. “Yeah,” he admitted huskily. “Thought you would be.” Her tongue flicked across his abdomen, sending flames of fire raging through him. Paula crossed the bed on her knees, meeting him in the center. “I’m not through with you,” she said huskily, “not by a long shot.” Paula’s hands, her mouth explored him. His breath caught, his delight so great he ached to return the pleasure. When he couldn’t stand a second longer without exploding, he rolled and captured her beneath him, hands above her head. The mattress shifted to accommodate their bodies. Their legs twined together. He took a deep fortifying breath and forced himself to slow down. Two could play the teasing game.

She opened her mouth beneath his, imploring his tongue to enter. He tensed then plundered her sweetness. Heat seared through him, fusing their bodies. Every contour of his body ached for her, silently called out to her. He traced her silky, dewy body with his fingers, his mouth. Her sweet, salty taste and the musky scent of her bare skin multiplied the hot currents racing through him. The feel of the soft mounds of her breasts pressing against his chest tested his control. He buried his fingers in her hair. “Paula,” he murmured. He slid the peasant blouse from her shoulders. Paula surprised him by undoing her bra and tossing it over her shoulder. When she threw her head back, he claimed one breast then the other with a hungry, devouring mouth, loving the silkiness, the taste. He wanted to linger there, but she had other ideas. With a little shimmy and a yank, she removed her Daisy Dukes and let them fly. Bard paused to look at her and then sent his jeans in the same general direction. They tugged at one another’s underpants, flinging fabric crazily. Then all movement stopped and they just looked at each other. She was more beautiful than Venus or any cover model…and she was real…and his. “Paula, oh, Paula,” he moaned. **** Paula felt his breath on her lips. She shivered. The possessive way he said her name heightened her desire, her impatience. He kissed her neck, sending prickly shivers down to her toes. He brushed her lips with his. “Since that night in the shower, I’ve dreamed of this.” His lips closed over hers, demanding, insistent. She arched her body to meet his, yearning for more of him. Her blood turned to liquid fire. Dear God, how she wanted him. As her need soared his massaging fingers weren’t enough. She wrapped her legs around him, wanting to feel this man she loved inside her. He let out a groan and whispered against her lips. “This is for keeps, you know.” At the husky rumble of his voice, Paula trailed her hand from Bard’s shoulder to the back of his neck. Her fingers threaded through hair that curled at the base of his neck. She drew him closer and arched against him. He centered himself and entered her. At his deep thrust, Paula’s breath caught. When his hot, moist shaft filled her, she moved in the age-old rhythm, meeting each of his thrusts. “Deeper, faster,” she cried. Her energy centered on their undulating bodies, the

heat, the intensity of feeling. She writhed wildly, seeking release, arching her body. “Don’t stop! Then her world exploded into an electrical shower of joy, and she took Bard with her as she plummeted over the brink. Paula let out a high-pitched cry then a sigh of release, sensing her own passion-filled cries added to Bard’s pleasure. Coming down, she smiled. Tears of joy dampened her lashes. Their lovemaking deeply fulfilled her, but what touched her beyond the great sex and the loving heartfelt commitment they shared, was the anticipation of the real, honest-to-goodness family they would make together. The yearned for family she’d never had. Bard’s breathing slowed from rapid to even. He lifted himself from her, and drew her into the bend of his powerful arms and they lingered in the afterglow, spent and contented. “I love you, Paula Lord,” he murmured against her ear. She nestled her head into the curve of his neck and smiled. “That’s perfect, because you’ve had my heart for a long time.” She forced the words past the emotion constricting her throat. “With you,” she whispered, “I’m not afraid of anything.” The End

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