Someone To Watch Over Me

SOMEONE TO WATCH OVER ME By Linda Hope Lee © copyright by Linda Hope Lee, Jul 2001 Cover art by Jenny Dixon ISBN 1-58608-224-8 Gemstar ISBN 1-58608-385-6 New Concepts Publishing Lake Park, Georgia 31636

Other NCP books by Linda Hope Lee: Dark Memories Death in the Dunes

CHAPTER ONE

Worthington, Massachusetts, April "I want you to find my granddaughter," Guy Petersen said. Alex Steele regarded the man who sat in a wheelchair across from him. He’d been afraid that was the reason he’d been summoned to Tanglewood, Petersen’s estate a few miles outside of Boston. Now, he’d have to disappoint the old man. "Sorry, but I’m out of the business of finding missing persons," Alex said. "I tried to tell Harry that, but I owed him a favor, so I came to see you, anyway." Harry Fogelman was a lawyer Alex had done work for, and also a friend of Petersen’s. It was Harry who had set up this appointment. Petersen kept his gaze on Alex, but Alex doubted his thick eyeglasses. He was a frail man, in his navy cardigan sweater buttoned over a light blue Thick white hair capped a leathery, square-jawed

the man saw much through seventies, wearing a shirt, and navy slacks. face.

They sat in Petersen’s solarium where a variety of birds twittered from the branches of potted trees and bushes. Two of the birds, big, black crows, perched on the back of Petersen’s wheelchair, one on either side. They'd been watching Alex warily since he’d come in.

"I know you’re here because of Harry," Petersen said, "and I appreciate that. By the way, Harry said you want to start a new business, something about security on the internet." "I have some ideas I'd like to explore," Alex admitted. "Awfully competitive field. Takes a lot of money to get started." "I’ve been saving up." Alex nearly choked on the lie. In truth, he was nearly broke. He wasn’t the saving type and hadn’t accumulated much from his P.I. business. Not that it had been that lucrative, anyway. He didn’t know how he was going to get his fledgling enterprise off the ground. There were investors to whom he could appeal, but for every one of them, there were dozens of would-be entrepreneurs after their money. Petersen quirked a bushy eyebrow. "If you find my granddaughter, I’ll pay you enough to get a good start on your company." Alex listened to the birds twittering for a moment, then said, "You could hire somebody else for a lot less." "I don’t want somebody else. I want you. Harry says you’re the best, and I believe him." Yes, he had been good at what he’d done, Alex conceded. Good until that last case, the one that had convinced him to give up the business of locating lost persons. His gut gave a sudden, painful twist. Like a wound that never healed, the memory of Anna still lurked deep inside him. "Sorry," he told Petersen, "I can’t help you." "I will pay you very well." He named a sum that made Alex gasp. "Plus, I will get you the connections you need to start your business." He tossed out the names of a couple of men Alex recognized as wealthy investors. "You’d do well to take this job," Petersen added. Temptation pricked Alex like a hungry mosquito. The money Petersen was offering would be more than enough to get him started. The connections to influential people couldn’t hurt either. But, no, he was through finding lost people. Petersen groped for a manila file folder lying on a nearby table. He grasped it and shoved it at Alex. "Read it," he commanded. Alex reluctantly scanned the folder’s papers and photos. When he had finished, he looked at Petersen, who had been sitting with his head back against the chair, his veined eyelids closed. He seemed to know instinctively when to open them and focus his pale blue gaze on Alex. "I made a mistake a long time ago," Petersen said. "I want to make up for it before I die. Let me tell you more about it. Then you’ll understand." I don’t want to hear your sob story, Alex wanted to say. I’ve heard them

all. Petersen, however, went quickly on. "When our daughter, Carol, was eighteen, I threw her out because she married a bum. My wife, Lena, didn’t want me to, but I overrode her. By the time I realized I’d made a mistake, some ten years down the road, the bum had disappeared and Carol was dead. However, we learned she’d had a child that she’d put up for adoption." "Did you search for the child?" Alex asked. It wouldn’t hurt to show some polite interest. Petersen said, "No, I was so shocked to learn of Carol's death that I didn’t think much about the child. Lena wanted to find her, but, again, I said no. Two years ago, Lena died. Unfortunately, it took losing her--and my failing health--to make me realize my mistake. A year ago, arthritis put me in this chair. Now, macular degeneration is stealing my eyesight. I want to find my granddaughter before I die." Petersen’s lower lip trembled almost imperceptibly, then he clamped his jaw shut and stuck out his chin. The emotion was not lost on Alex, however, and he said, his voice softer than before, "Sometimes people are disappointed when they find the lost person. It doesn’t turn out the way they’d hoped." Petersen waved his free hand in a dismissive gesture. "I’m not for someone to take care of me in my old age. I have plenty of that. And I don’t expect her to take Carol’s place. Or Lena’s. want to find her. If things go right, though, I’ll make her my

looking others for I just heir."

Alex looked out at the estate grounds. In the distance he could see a cliff bordering the Atlantic Ocean. To the left of that stood thick wood of towering oak and fir trees. "This is some spread you got here," he remarked, and knew he was diverting the conversation to allow time to think. Knew also that Petersen had somehow managed to put a chink in his wall of resolve. He’d have to be made of stone not to feel some empathy for the old man. Petersen chuckled. "Yes, it is. When we moved here, Lena took a look at those woods and said, ‘Oh, what a tangle.’ And that’s what we called the place, Tanglewood." Lives became tangled, too, Alex thought. He had seen many such lives in his days as a private investigator. When things were sorted out, sometimes joy was the result. But, just as often, it was sadness instead. "So when can you start?" Petersen’s voice broke into Alex’s reverie. Alex hesitated, trying to make up his mind. He’d picked up enough clues from his perusal of the file to know that, if she were still alive, he could find Petersen’s granddaughter. It probably wouldn’t take him long, either. Why couldn’t he do just one more job? His new business would have to be put on hold anyway while he raised some money and, if he accepted Petersen’s deal, he would have the money he needed. Are you crazy? nagged an internal voice. Have you forgotten what happened

with Anna? You want to go through that grief again? This is different, he argued back. Petersen is on the up and up. I’d be crazy not to accept his offer. Alex let another beat go by, then met Petersen’s pale blue eyes. "Put everything in writing," he said. "The money, the connections you’ll give me for my business." Petersen reached into an inside shirt pocket and removed an envelope. "I already have." The crows smirked at Alex--if birds could be said to have such an expression. A flash of anger stabbed him. Was he really that predictable? But it was done now. This is the last time, he promised himself. After this, no more. "I’ll get started on it right away," he said. "I should have it all wrapped up in a week, two tops." Petersen held up a hand. "Wait, there’s more." So there were strings attached. "What else?" Alex asked, giving Petersen a sidelong, wary gaze. "When you find her, do not reveal your true identity. Make up an undercover story. I want you to investigate her for a while, reporting to me what you discover. You know what I mean." Alex nodded. "Yeah, if she doesn’t make the grade, you don’t want her to know about you." "That’s right. I want to make up for my mistakes, but I’m not stupid." "I’m not sure I want the job on those terms. I don’t want to tie up any more of my time than necessary." "Don’t worry, you’ll be paid for every day you’re on the job after finding her." Alex gave an inward groan. Petersen sure knew how to push his buttons. "Okay, I’ll do it on your terms. But I want some expense money up front." "Done." Petersen handed Alex the envelope.

CHAPTER TWO

Seattle, Washington, May At first, Leslie thought the ringing was part of her dream. A happy, comforting dream in which she and Robert were walking hand-in-hand along a Caribbean beach, the sand so white it nearly blinded her. The ringing kept on, louder and louder, forcing its way into Leslie’s consciousness. She finally opened her eyes. She was not in the Caribbean, but in bed in her Queen Anne Hill apartment. The room was dark, except for slim, yellow bands of reflected streetlight on one wall. The sound came from the white telephone on her nightstand. Emerging from her warm, quilted cocoon, she shoved the hair from her eyes and fumbled for the receiver. For a split second, she questioned the wisdom of answering. It was probably a crank call or a wrong number. However, it could be something important, too. Leslie hugged the phone to her ear and waited for the other party to speak first. The line crackled; then an eerie, distorted voice said, "Hellooo, Leslie." A chill slithered down Leslie’s spine. "Who is this?" she demanded. "Hellooo, Leslie." "Who is this?" she repeated, her voice rising. "Hellooo, Leslie." "Who--" Realizing she was only fueling the caller’s fire, she slammed down the receiver. Her heart pounding, she stared at the phone, terrified that it would ring again. The night remained silent. Leslie fell back onto the pillow and stared at the thin bands of yellow light on the wall. This wasn’t the first time she had heard that eerie, distorted voice. The other call had occurred about a week ago, but it had come on a bright, sunny Saturday afternoon. The conversation, such as it was, had gone the same way. The caller had said, "Hellooo, Leslie," and only repeated that eerie greeting each time Leslie asked who was calling. Leslie had been curious, but not frightened. She reasoned that it was one of her friends or co-workers at Newman’s Ad Agency, and that a bad connection had made the voice sound strange and communication impossible. Leslie didn’t have Caller ID or any of the other devices the phone company was constantly pushing on their customers. She was trying to keep her life as simple and uncomplicated as possible. Besides, she knew that Caller ID could be blocked, and a person could still keep his identity unknown.

The phone caller had invaded her premises as much as if he had barged through the door. Someone wanted to rattle her. Or, to downright scare her. But who? And why? If Robert was still alive, he and Leslie would be married by now. They would be living in their own home. On this very night, they would be snuggled together in bed, asleep in the warm afterglow of making love. But Robert was dead, and Leslie lay in bed alone. Leslie buried her face in her pillow and began to cry.

The following morning, at ten minutes to nine, Leslie pushed through the revolving door and into the marble-floored lobby of the Grant Building, one of Seattle’s tallest skyscrapers. Fatigue slowed her steps. She had been tempted to call in sick today, but after Robert’s death, she had used up her sick leave for the last year, and had borrowed some from this year. Besides, she needed to show her boss and co-workers that she was strong again and could handle her job. Lifting her chin in determination, Leslie strode through the specialty shops lining the lobby to the bank of elevators. She waited with a small group for the next available car, and, when a pair of shiny brass doors finally opened, followed them inside. One of the last to enter, she stood near the door. As the doors closed, a man ran toward them, his hand raised. "Wait!" he called. Someone pushed the Open button, and the door glided back. The man headed toward Leslie. As she shifted to make room, she thought with annoyance that he could have waited for another car, rather than to crowd into theirs. Their gazes met. Leslie meant to quickly break contact, but the deep blue of the man’s eyes held her captive. Was he wearing contact lenses, she wondered? No one’s eyes could be naturally that shade. It wasn’t only the color that mesmerized her; it also was the familiarity in his gaze, as though he knew her from somewhere. She had little time to look him over before he wheeled around to face the front; but she had the vague sense of handsome features, blondish hair, and a solid build in a well-cut gray business suit. He was not anyone she knew, and she was fairly sure she hadn’t seen him riding the elevators before. The ride to the thirty-fifth floor seemed to take forever. The stuffy, heavy air made Leslie’s forehead tickle with perspiration. At last, number 35 lit up on the floor panel. The bell dinged, the door opened. Leslie left the blue-eyed man behind as she stepped from the elevator. She felt his gaze on her back before the door closed. She hurried along the tan carpeted hallway to Newman’s as though it were a port in a storm.

Inside Newman’s mint green and rich mahogany offices, Cindy Ramirez, the receptionist, sat behind her semi-circular desk. She and Leslie exchanged greetings, then Cindy said, "Mac wants to see you right away."

Leslie’s stomach tensed. Oh, great. Called into the boss’s office first thing. McKinley Foster, or "Mac," as everybody called him, was Newman’s president and CEO. Leslie nodded at Cindy. "I’ll let him know I’m here." "Okay." Cindy’s brown eyes reflected concern, which indicated she probably knew what Mac wanted and that it wasn’t going to be good for Leslie. In a small agency like Newman’s there were few secrets. In the room where the ad executives had their white-walled cubicles, Leslie saw no sign of her three co-workers, Bob Lovall, Hank Hogan, and Roz Jensen. Bob and Hank were probably in the employees’ lounge having a before-work cup of coffee. Leslie guessed that Roz was in the Ladies’ Room finishing her makeup. Roz was not an easy early riser. In view of Mac’s summons, Leslie postponed her morning cup of coffee. She went directly to her cubicle and placed an interoffice call to Mac. He confirmed that he wanted to see her and Leslie said she’d be right along. Mac’s office was larger than all of the ad executives’ cubicles put together. It had a solid oak conference table with chairs for eight and a leather sofa and chairs for more informal chats. Mac’s desk, with its large overhang, took advantage of windows facing the south end of town. Leslie could see the tip of the Smith Tower, the curve of the King Street Railway Station’s roof, and several of the taller buildings in Pioneer Square. Mac rose from behind his desk as Leslie entered. Red suspenders, peeking from under his gray suit jacket, kept his slacks corralled around his large stomach. Shiny black hair that Leslie had always suspected was touched up, framed a face with a sharp beak of a nose and a mustache-topped mouth. "Leslie, come sit down." Mac gestured to the sofa. Leslie sat while Mac lowered himself into a chair across from her. "How are you getting along these days?" he asked, lacing his fingers over his stomach. "Pretty good. A lot better than I was." "I’ve been worried about you. I know you’ve had a hard time these last few months." "Things are better now." How many times did she have to tell him that? "Maybe so, but I’m worried that the work load we’ve given you is too much." "No, not at all." Mac looked out the window. "Sam Eggert called me at home last evening. He wanted to run his ad in The Times for a sale this weekend. You were to have the copy to him yesterday." "A sale this weekend? I thought it was next weekend." "Not according to him." "Why didn’t you call me at home?"

"There was no need to. Sam told me they postponed the sale. He wouldn’t have called me after business hours, either, but, as you know, he’s a personal friend. We play golf together." Leslie’s cheeks flamed with embarrassment. Deadlines were an all-important factor in the world of advertising. "I’m sorry. I’ll get right on his job and have it to him tomorrow." "You won’t have to now, Leslie. I’ve turned the account over to Roz. I’m sorry, but Sam was so upset about it that, well, I thought it better for him to start over with someone else." "I see," Leslie murmured, her embarrassment growing by the second. "This isn’t the first time you’ve been late with a client’s copy," Mac gently reminded her. "I know," Leslie admitted. Mac cleared his throat, then said, "Look, why don’t you take a leave of absence for a while? Some time off might do you a world of good." Leslie’s heart plummeted. From her point of view, a leave of absence was the worst thing she could do. Without her job to occupy her, she’d just sit around her apartment and mope. She needed to be working. "I don’t want to do that," she said. Mac gave her a stern look that said, I wasn’t suggesting, I was ordering. "Mac, I’m okay, really. There won’t be any more slip-ups." His brows drew close together as he continued to look at her. "I’m just trying to do what’s best for you." Best for Newman’s, he meant. Yet, why shouldn’t he place the company’s welfare over hers? The entire operation was more important than one individual. "How about a compromise?" she suggested. "Give me another month and you’ll see I’ll be back on track. If not, I’ll take you up on your offer." One eyebrow broke rank and quirked in skepticism, but he said, "Okay, that’s what we’ll do." Gripping the arms of the chair, he pushed himself to his feet. "Let me know if I can do anything to help you," Mac said as he walked Leslie to the door. She knew he was sincere. "I will. Thanks, Mac." "And don’t forget the staff meeting this afternoon at two p.m." "I’ll be there," she promised.

By the time two p.m. rolled around, Leslie wished she could forget the staff meeting. Since her embarrassing interview with Mac, she’d developed

a headache that had worsened as the day progressed. Nevertheless, after calling Sam Eggert with an apology and the promise of a smooth transition from her to Roz, she had managed to get some work done. Now, in preparation for the staff meeting, Leslie gathered up a notebook, a couple of pencils, and headed for the conference room. Newman’s staff of twenty made it a mid-sized agency, as Seattle’s advertising agencies went. They enjoyed their fair share of the market, with several well-known clients on their list. The group assembled around the room’s rectangular table. From his end, Mac Foster began the meeting. Mac’s opening remarks were always the same kind of pep talk. While the routine went on, Leslie’s mind focused on the strange phone calls she’d received. The thought of them had hovered on the edge of her mind all day. She studied her co-workers, wondering if any of them could be responsible. Directly across from her sat Bob Lovall, one of her fellow ad execs. Bob was in his forties, married, and the father of two teenagers. Leslie had met his wife, an elementary school teacher, at social gatherings. Leslie believed she and Bob had a good working relationship and could think of no reason why he or his wife would make strange phone calls to her. Next to Bob sat Hank Hogan, the other male ad exec. There had been a problem with Hank, Leslie recalled. A few years ago, Leslie had brought a date to one of Newman’s parties and had introduced him around. Her date and Hank’s wife had hit it off and the two had begun an affair that ended in Hank and his wife divorcing. Hank’s bitterness had spilled over to Leslie, as though it were somehow her fault. Although he was civil to Leslie, they had never regained the friendship they’d had before that happened. Could Hank be paying Leslie back now by trying to scare her with strange phone calls? Leslie’s gaze moved down the table to Stan Townsend. If there was anyone she could trust at Newman’s, it was Stan. They’d worked together as copywriters before Leslie had moved on to ad exec. On the shy side, Stan had been hard to get to know, but once the ice was broken, he and Leslie had become friends. Overweight, shorter than average for a man, and with a nose too large for his face, Stan was not what Leslie would call handsome. Leslie never thought about his lack of masculine appeal, though; Stan was her co-worker and friend, not a potential date. Stan glanced in her direction. His eyebrows did a Groucho Marx wiggle that she knew was meant to cheer her. She smiled back. "On to new business." Mac’s voice cut into Leslie’s thoughts. "I have some very good news to announce." Excitement rippled around the table. Mac stuck his hands in his slacks pockets, throwing his stomach and red suspenders into prominence. He smiled slyly. He loved building suspense and drama into his announcements. Finally, Mac blurted out his news: "Shop ‘n Save has agreed to sign with us." Shop ‘n Save was a large grocery chain whose executives Mac had been

wooing for some time. A chorus of "yeahs" and "here here’s" broke out. Then all fell silent as they waited to hear who would get the account. "I’m pleased to announce that Roz Jensen will be handling the account," Mac said, beaming in Roz’s direction. Roz grinned and gave a thumbs-up sign with both hands. Bob Lovall, who sat next to her, slapped her on the back and said, "Way to go, Roz." Leslie pasted a smile on her face, but her throat had choked up. Not only had Roz taken Eggert’s, one of Leslie’s best accounts, she now had a real coup with Shop ‘n Save. Had the grocery chain signed with Newman’s seven months ago, Leslie knew she would have been given the account. She’d been the agency’s rising star then. A smattering of applause broke out. Leslie raised her hands and mechanically clapped her palms together. Then she chided herself for her lackluster response to Roz’s success. It wasn’t Roz’s fault that Robert had died. It wasn’t Roz’s fault that Leslie had fallen apart afterward and let her job go. Leslie tried to catch Roz’s eye and telegraph her that there were no hard feelings, but Roz never looked in her direction. The rest of the meeting went by in a blur. When it was finally over, instead of hanging around for the usual informal chitchat, Leslie hurried back to her cubicle. * * * Later that afternoon, Roz stuck her head in Leslie’s cubicle. "So, do you hate me?" Leslie looked up from a budget she had been slaving over. "Of course not. You’ve worked hard. Mac did the right thing to give you Shop ‘n Save. Congratulations." Roz stepped further inside Leslie’s office. She looked both professional and feminine in her black suit with the jacket cinched in at the waist and a bright red blouse peeking between the wide lapels. Her short, dark hair, similar in shade to Leslie’s, was sleeked back at the sides, showing off her wide-set green eyes. "I didn’t want Mac to give me Eggert’s, though," Roz said. "You get along with the old goat better than I ever will." "I’m sure you’ll do just fine," Leslie said with forced cordiality. She couldn’t help it. Her ego had suffered some big blows today. "Are you going to take Mac up on his offer of a leave of absence?" Roz asked. "No," Leslie said, registering no surprise that Roz knew about that. She had figured everyone did. "Work is the best thing for me right now." "I agree," Roz said. But Leslie wondered if she really meant it. She thought about the strange

phone calls. Were they something Roz might do to rattle Leslie? Did Roz hope to throw Leslie off at work so that even more of her accounts would be transferred to Roz? Surely, that was too farfetched? Roz wouldn’t do that to friends. Still, Leslie decided not to tell Roz about the frightened she had been. Ordinarily, she would have, but shifts had taken place in their relationship, disturbing and camaraderie.

her. They were calls and how now subtle their closeness

Roz said, "I hope you’ll feel well enough to come to the party Friday night." "Party?" Leslie drew a blank. "Yes, after work, to celebrate Newman’s twentieth anniversary." "Oh, right. But, no, I don’t think I’ll come." Roz walked over to where Leslie sat and put her hand on Leslie’s shoulder. Her perfume drifted over Leslie. It was sharp and tangy, like Roz herself. "Hon, you have to," Roz said. "You’ve got to show Mac that you’re okay, that you’re a part of the team. Rah, rah, Newman’s and all that. Otherwise, he’ll force you to take that leave of absence." "I suppose you’re right," Leslie conceded, although attending a party was the last thing she wanted to do. "Of course, I am," Roz said. "So, I’ll expect to see you there." Shortly after Roz left, Gretchen Schneider, one of the copywriters, came by. When Gretchen had first come to work at Newman’s a year ago, she and Leslie had both done a double take when introduced. Looking at one another was almost like looking in a mirror. They both had long, thick hair the color of dark chocolate. They both had oval faces with brown eyes, a narrow-bridged nose, and a mouth with a full lower lip. Gretchen had asked if they could possibly be related. Leslie replied that she didn’t know. She had been adopted as a baby, and had no idea who her birth parents or any other relatives were. Gretchen had since changed her appearance, so that she and Leslie didn’t look so much like twins. She’d frosted, cut, and curled her hair. She sometimes wore eyeglasses, too, like now. The oversized shape gave her an owlish look. "I just wanted to tell you," she began, "that I think it’s a shame you didn’t get Shop ‘n Save." "Thanks, Gretchen, but Roz earned it." "You’ve got more on the ball than she does." "Gretchen, please don’t say things like that." Gretchen pursed her lips in disapproval. "You’re so loyal to her when she’s been undermining you all along."

Leslie’s stomach tensed. "I don’t want to hear office gossip." "I know you don’t, but I’m only telling you for your own good." Leslie rose and went to her file cabinet. "I’ve got a lot of work to do." She opened a drawer and pretended to search for something, anything to get this embarrassing conversation over with. Yet, Leslie couldn’t deny that what Gretchen said disturbed her. Gretchen came over and stood behind Leslie. "I’m sorry, Leslie. Maybe I’m out of line. It’s just that I don’t like to see someone being taken advantage of, even in this business where it’s every man for himself." Leslie pulled out a file folder at random and riffled idly through it. "I appreciate your concern, but I can take care of myself." There was a moment of silence, then Gretchen said, "Well, I hope you’ll let me know if you ever need help." "I will." She heard Gretchen heading for the cubicle’s door, but as Leslie turned around, Gretchen stopped and turned, too. Leslie’s neck muscles bunched up. What now? "Will you be coming to the anniversary party Friday night?" Gretchen asked. Leslie lifted her chin. "You bet." "Good. I look forward to seeing you there."

After Gretchen left, it was all Leslie could do to keep from burying her head in her arms and crying. Her world continued to crumble around her, bit by bit . . . first, Robert’s death and now her job. Even her friendship with Roz, which she’d always thought to be on solid ground, now appeared undermined by a quicksand of suspicion and doubt. Without Robert and Roz, the two most steadying influences in her life, Leslie felt utterly lost and alone.

CHAPTER THREE

On Friday evening at 6:00 p.m., Leslie climbed the sweeping staircase from the lower lobby of the Georgian Hotel to the spacious mezzanine

where Newman’s twentieth anniversary party was in full swing. The occasion officially began at five, but Leslie had worked late at the office, which was across the street from the Georgian. Finally, she’d cleared her desk and gone to the Ladies Room to get ready for the party. She shed the jacket to her navy suit and the crimson bow that graced the neckline. Underneath she’d worn a short-sleeved top covered with red sequins. She slipped out of her navy pumps and into high-heeled red sandals. She unfastened her chignon and brushed her dark hair into soft waves about her face and shoulders. From her briefcase she pulled a red patent leather shoulder purse into which she put lipstick, comb, some money, and car keys. She may have looked festive, but inside Leslie didn’t feel in a party mood at all. However, she knew she’d better put on a happy face. Her job was on the line. Without it, her life would be nothing. She reached the top of the steps and plunged into the crowd. Parties such as this were prevalent in the world of advertising. Agencies and their clients were always celebrating something; a new account, a record sales year, an anniversary, whatever. Leslie had attended countless such functions during her seven years in the business. First on the agenda was to have a drink in one’s hand, so Leslie headed to one of the portable bars and joined the queue. Afraid that alcohol would prompt one of her all-too-frequent headaches, she ordered plain tonic water. That accomplished, she greeted a couple of sales reps from companies Newman’s represented and the CEO of a company they were courting. Talk floated over her head like clouds: the GRP, or gross rating points, that an ad for breakfast cereal had garnered; whether or not a soft drink commercial rated a 60 or a 30 second spot; how much budget a facial soap deserved. Like a fish swimming upstream, Leslie made her way to the buffet table. The array included smoked salmon, oysters on the half shell, shrimp pate. Not wishing to put anything too exotic into her unsettled stomach, she selected a few crackers and some mild-looking cheese and put them on a small paper plate. She picked up a napkin that said "Newman’s Twentieth Anniversary," and began to wander around the room. Two marketing directors crossed her path, a man from Desmond’s Hardware, and a woman from Claire’s Boutique. The man wanted to get together to discuss ads for a new branch that was soon opening; the woman informed Leslie that they planned to advertise a new line of bridal wear. Leslie promised to call both of them first thing Monday morning. She said hello to Bob Lovall and his schoolteacher wife. She waved to Gretchen Schneider, who was deep in conversation with Newman’s art director. Hank Hogan stood off by himself. He nodded when he saw Leslie, but did not smile. Leslie decided against talking to him. She wished he’d find a new girlfriend. Then maybe he’d stop being so angry with her over the breakup of his marriage. Mac Foster and the president of TechLite, one of the area’s giant software companies, had their heads together, laughing over something. Since word had gone out that TechLite was unhappy with their advertising representation, every agency in town had been wooing them. The company president’s attendance here tonight certainly boded well for Newman’s.

Maybe Mac had given Shop ‘n Save to Roz because he was saving TechLite for Leslie. The thought cheered her . . . for a moment, anyway. Then doubts swarmed in like a cloud of angry wasps. Roz would probably get that account, too. Speaking of Roz, where was her friend? Leslie had not spotted her yet this evening. Sounds of "In the Mood" floated from the adjacent ballroom. Mac always hired Richie Carlson and his band for parties like this because they played "his kind of music," the old standards that were easy to dance to. Drink in hand, Leslie went to stand in the ballroom’s doorway. Oval-backed chairs and small round tables lined the room. Above them, on mahogany paneling, were bunches of balloons and a banner that said Newman’s Twentieth Anniversary. The band sat on a raised platform behind white stands bearing the initials "RC." The musicians looked quite formal in white coats, brown trousers, and shirts with bow ties. Leslie spotted Roz among the dancing couples. Like Leslie, she had worn a fancy blouse under her tailored gray suit. It was emerald green, a perfect match for her eyes. Leslie expected Roz’s partner to be her current boyfriend, Jeffrey Holtzer, who worked for a public relations firm. Roz and Jeffrey had been dating for about a year, and although Roz had always liked to play the field, her relationship with Jeffrey appeared to be serious. When Leslie glimpsed Roz’s partner’s face, she did a double take. It was not Jeffrey, but the man Leslie had seen in the elevator a few days ago. The one who had barged in when the car was so full. She looked again to make sure. Yes, it was him, the same blondish hair, handsome features, well-filled-out business suit. She was too far away to see if his eyes were the same blue she remembered, but she had no doubt it was the man. He and Roz were chatting away as though they were friends. Well, that could be. Or, perhaps he was a new client. As the man led Roz around the floor, his glance roved to the doorway and landed directly on Leslie. His look was the one she’d seen in the elevator. The one that said, "I know you." A wave of something akin to electricity traveled across the room, sending a little shiver of excitement down Leslie’s spine. Just then, a voice behind her said, "Leslie?" She turned to find Stan Townsend, her copywriting pal from Newman’s. "Oh, hi, Stan," she said, relieved to be interrupted from the disturbing gaze of Roz’s dancing partner. "You look really great tonight," Stan said. The way Stan’s gaze traveled the length of Leslie’s body gave her something new to be concerned about. It wasn’t his style to be so bold. "Thanks," she said, keeping her voice light. "But you’ve seen me in this outfit before. It’s my party uniform."

"I know, but tonight’s different. Maybe I’m different." He leaned toward her. He reeked of whiskey and his large nose had a pink cast to it. Obviously, he’d had too much to drink. That also was unlike Stan. He usually went light on the liquor. "Dance with me," Stan said. Before Leslie could respond, he grabbed her hand and pulled her toward one of the round tables at the edge of the dance floor. He plucked her drink from her hand and set it on the table, spilling a few drops in the process. He took a long swallow from his glass, then put it down beside hers. "Why don’t we just watch," Leslie suggested. She didn’t want to dance with him in his condition. "We’ll dance," Stan said. Although Leslie didn’t want to dance, neither did she want to make a scene. It was important to avoid anything that might put her in a negative light. "Okay," she conceded, and placed her hand on Stan’s shoulder just as the band struck up "My Funny Valentine." "Leshlie," Stan said, as he pushed her clumsily around the floor, "I want to go out with you. Let’s have dinner tomorrow night." A surprise close to shock rippled through Leslie. Stan asking for a date was the last thing she would have expected from him. Never in the two years she’d known him, not even before Robert had come into her life, had he ever shown the slightest interest in being anything more than her friend and co-worker. "Thanks for asking, Stan, but I can’t." Leslie poured sincere regret into her voice. "I already have plans." "Sunday night, then." From the corner of her eye, Leslie saw that Roz and her partner were still dancing. "No, thank you. I’m not ready to start dating again." I never will be ready. "No good for you to sit around and mope," Stan said. "Sorry," he added as he stumbled over her feet. "I have to do it my way," she said. "Leshlie, I could tell you things about Robert. . . ." "Please, Stan. I don’t want to talk about Robert! Can’t you understand that?" Instead of answering, he yanked her tighter against him. His prickly jaw grazed her cheek. She turned her face away, only to catch the eye of Roz’s partner again. At last the song was over. As Leslie hurried to the sidelines, Stan close on her heels, she found herself face-to-face with Roz and her partner. "Hi, hon," Roz said. "I was wondering if you’d be here. Last I saw you, you were slaving over your desk."

"I wouldn’t miss this party," Leslie said. She noticed that Roz was clinging to her partner’s arm in a possessive way. However, Roz always did that with men. It didn’t necessarily mean anything. Roz said, "Have you met Alex Steele?" "Why, no," Leslie said. "This is Leslie Morgan, and this is Stan Townsend," Roz said. "They both work for Newman’s." Stan and Alex Steele shook hands, Stan rocking unsteadily forward on his feet. Alex turned to Leslie. "I have a feeling I’ve seen you before," he said, looking at her with his intense blue eyes. "I, uh, saw you on the elevator the other day, in the Grant Building." Oh oh, she wished she hadn’t said that. Maybe he would think she had given him special notice because she was attracted to him. He nodded. "I remember. I was late for an appointment and running for it. You were standing right inside the door." And you looked at me then as though you knew me, she wanted to say, but, of course, didn’t. "So," Roz interrupted, with a dry laugh, "I guess that makes you practically old friends." Stan scowled at Alex. The band began to play again, a slow, moody tune that Leslie didn’t recognize. Stan put his arm around Leslie’s shoulder just as Alex said, "Would you like to dance, Leslie?" "Why, I--yes. Stan, will you excuse me, please?" she said. Stan’s scowl deepened. "I’ll catch you later," he said. Alex reached out for Leslie’s hand. He put his other arm around her waist and swung her smoothly onto the floor. Leslie was aware that both Roz and Stan were watching them. Alex laced his fingers with hers, drawing her closer. The pleasant scent of his aftershave washed over her. "I hope you don’t think I was too bold," he said, "but you looked like you needed rescuing. Your friend’s had one too many." "You’re very perceptive. I was uncomfortable. Stan’s been my buddy for years, and tonight he was . . ." "Coming on to you?" "I’m not sure I’d use those terms. He did ask me out, though." "And you don’t want to go out with him." "Well, it’s just that we’ve been co-workers for so long, and I’ve always thought of him as just a buddy."

"So you can’t mix friendship and romance?" How had they gotten into such a heavy conversation so quickly? Leslie wondered. "It’s not just that," she said, side-stepping a question she wasn’t sure she had an answer to. "It’s also that I lost someone recently." "I’m sorry," he said, sounding sincere. "Husband? Boyfriend?" "Fiancé." "Umm. Was he--" Leslie’s stomach tensed. "I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind." Alex Steele was, after all, still a stranger, despite the fact that he held her in his arms and despite the fact that she felt strangely comfortable being there. "Of course. Sorry. But you did look as though you needed rescuing." "I did. And I thank you for that." They fell silent. Leslie looked around the room. Both Roz and Stan had disappeared. She spotted Gretchen dancing with the art director. The Lovalls were on the dance floor, too. Hank Hogan stood moping on the sidelines. Leslie focused on Alex Steele. He must have been about six feet tall, as the top of her head grazed his chin. His shoulder felt solid and muscular under her hand. His right hand rested on her waist, fingers pressing against her hip, guiding her as he moved. He was a good dancer. He caught the rhythm and moved with it. In fact, he was almost as good a dancer as Robert had been. Leslie chided herself for comparing anyone to Robert. The song ended. She pulled away, but Alex’s hold on her tightened. "How about one more?" he asked, his mouth disturbingly close to her ear. "I’d better not." "I see your friend over there." Leslie looked to the sidelines and saw Stan, drink in hand, glaring at them. "Okay, one more," Leslie said. "I like this song," Alex said. Leslie listened to the initial bars of the tune, then recognized it as "Someone to Watch Over Me." "I like it, too," she said as they began to dance. The band’s vocalist, an attractive brunette dressed in a long, slinky dress of royal blue, began to sing. Her pure, clear voice was perfect for the tender ballad. Leslie’s throat choked up as she found herself wishing the words of the song were true for her. Wouldn’t it be wonderful to have someone to watch over her? To make her feel safe and secure. To care about her. To love her.

Robert had done all those things, but he was gone now. "You’re a good dancer." Alex’s deep voice broke into her thoughts. Leslie swallowed hard against the mixture of memories and emotion. "Thanks. So are you." Leslie thought vaguely that she ought to asking him what his business was, why he really didn’t want to know those things. dance with him, to be held firmly in his imagine, even for a few moments, that he

be making more small talk, was at the party. However, she Right now, she just wanted to arms, to close her eyes and was Robert.

Leslie closed her eyes and did just that. The end of the song brought Leslie to her senses. She pulled away from Alex Steele. "Thanks for the dances--and the rescue. I’m sure I’ll be fine now." "You’re welcome," he said. All too aware of his hand resting on the small of her back, Leslie allowed Alex to guide her back to the table where her drink, like a lonely guest no one wanted to talk to, waited for her. Leslie picked up the glass. "If you’ll excuse me, then?" She nodded toward the main room. "Of course," he said, smiling. "See you around."

An hour or so later, after Leslie had been mingling, but carefully staying clear of both Stan Townsend and Alex Steele, she saw Roz’s boyfriend, Jeffrey Holtzer, trudging up the stairs from the lobby. She waved at him, and he waved back. She expected him to look around for Roz, but he made a direct line for Leslie. "How are you, Leslie?" he asked. Jeffrey’s reddish-brown hair matched his turtleneck sweater, worn under a herringbone jacket. "Just fine," she said. "You?" "Real good. What do you think about Roz getting Shop ‘n’ Save?" "I think she deserved it." "Hmmm. I would’ve thought you’d be disappointed you didn’t get it." "I have some good accounts," she said, quickly on the defensive. Jeffrey leaned over the buffet table and plucked a cracker from a large napkin-lined basket. "You know, Leslie, Newman’s is too small an agency for two on-the-rise ad execs like you and Roz." He kept his eyes on her while biting into the cracker. "Are you leading up to something here?" she asked. "Maybe. Don’t you think it’d be better if you worked for different companies?" "Why?"

"Well, then you’d have a bigger field to play in. This way, you’re in competition with each other for the business that comes Newman’s way." "I think Roz and I do a pretty good job of being friends and competitors." "Yeah, well, that’s probably because Roz has such a soft heart when it comes to her friends. Sometimes she doesn’t keep her own best interests in mind." "Or your best interests?" Leslie couldn’t help saying. Jeffrey finished off his cracker. "Of course I’m interested in Roz’s success. What kind of a guy would I be if I wasn’t? I’m just giving you something to think about, is all. Can you point me in Roz’s direction?" Leslie turned her back on Jeffrey for a moment to scan the crowd. "Last I saw her, she was over by the bar." "Thanks. See you around." He gave her a sardonic smile and moved off toward the bar. Leslie stared after him. Something to think about? Or a veiled threat? Could Jeffrey have made those phone calls to her? She wouldn’t put it past him. There was something about the man that she didn’t like. However, because he was Roz’s boyfriend, she had always tried to hide her feelings when he was around. Leslie sighed. This party sure wasn’t turning out to be much fun. She had put in her obligatory appearance. Now, she could leave. She glanced down at her drink, the same one she had started out with tonight. Somehow, she’d managed to nurse it the entire evening. She hadn’t drunk very much of it and the glass was still half full. Without really knowing why, she tipped it up and swallowed the rest. The tonic water tasted warm and bitter. Yuck, why had she bothered? She put the glass down on a passing waiter’s tray. Okay, she was out of there. As she headed for the stairs to the lobby, a woman she’d met at a seminar came up and wanted to talk. Leslie made polite conversation for a few minutes when suddenly her stomach became queasy and her brain fuzzy. It couldn’t be alcohol, she thought, because she hadn’t had any. Something in the hors d’oeuvres? Sometimes certain kinds of cheese made her sick, and she had eaten some cheese and crackers tonight. "I’ve got to be going," she said to the woman. They said good-bye and Leslie went toward the stairs. At the top, she looked down and saw two sets of steps moving back and forth. What on earth was wrong with her? She had to get out of there, and quickly. Her car was in the basement garage across the street at the Grant Building. Could she make it that far? She clutched the banister and put one foot on the first step. She managed to keep her balance as she went down. Okay, now another step. Then another. And another. Her descent went all right until she had almost reached the bottom. Then someone racing past her caught her off guard. She stumbled, slammed

against the railing and fell headlong the rest of the way.

CHAPTER FOUR

Leslie looked up to see a blurry form bending over her. Alex Steele’s features gradually came into focus. "Are you all right?" "I d-don’t know. Someone bumped into me and I fell." She struggled to stand. "Let me help you." Alex placed his hands under her elbows. She felt his strength as he lifted her, caught a whiff of his pleasant aftershave. Leaning against Alex’s chest, Leslie passed a shaky hand over her forehead and looked around. She was still seeing double, and her stomach churned. A few people had stopped to stare at them. "I’ll help you to your car, or wherever you’re going," Alex said. "I was leaving the party, too." "No, thanks. I’m fine." Leslie pulled away from Alex and took a few steps toward the lobby. Her knees wobbled and she almost fell again. Alex leaped to her side and put an arm around her shoulder. "You’re not okay," he said firmly. "I’ll help you." Leslie realized that she’d never be able to leave the hotel on her own. "Okay," she conceded. "My car is in the garage across the street. At the Grant Building." They had gone only a few steps when Stan lurched up to them. "Leshie! I saw you fall down th’ steps. Whash wrong?" "I j-just stumbled, is all." "Lemme help you." Stan bumped Alex’s shoulder as he leaned toward her. "No, Stan. Alex is here." "I’ll do it!" Stan demanded. He tipped up his head and stuck his large

nose in Alex’s face. "I know where her car’s parked. Number 65 in th’ garage." Alex said brusquely, "Look, buddy, you’re in no shape to help anybody. Go get a cup of black coffee. And if you’re driving, don’t." "Lishen here, you--" With a flick of his elbow, Alex shoved Stan away. The smaller man fell to his knees. "You’ll be shorry!" he yelled, looking up at them with blazing eyes. A small crowd had gathered. People were staring. Leslie ducked her head toward Alex. "I didn’t want to make a scene," she told him. "Yeah, well, your friend helping you would have made a real scene," he said wryly. Leslie leaned heavily against Alex as he guided her across the burgundy-carpeted lobby. A uniformed valet opened the glass double doors for them. Thankfully, he hardly gave them a glance, his attention claimed by a newly arrived limo. Outside, the streetlights glowed with huge, abnormal halos. Leslie gulped in the fresh air, but it didn’t clear her head or make her feel any better. They crossed the street and descended into the eerily lighted depths of the Grant Building’s garage. Their footsteps echoed hollowly as they hurried along the cement walkway. "Stan said your slot is 65," Alex said. "Is that right?" "Yes." When they reached her car, Leslie handed Alex her shoulder purse. "Could you find my keys, please?" "Sure." Alex fished around for her keys and pulled them out. He opened the door, then began to guide her around to the rider’s side. "No, I--I have to drive," she protested. "No way. I’m driving, either to your home or to a hospital. One of the other." "No hospital. I just have an upset stomach." Leslie climbed in and leaned back against the seat. It felt so good to sit down after all the standing she had done at the party. "I’m not familiar with the town," Alex said as they drove out of the garage. "How do we get to your place?" "It’s not too far. Keep going on Fourth Avenue till we come to Denny. That will take us to Queen Anne Hill, where I live." Alex was busy with traffic for a few minutes, then he glanced at her. "Feel any better?" "Not really. I tried closing my eyes, but that makes me dizzier." "Hang on. We’ll be home soon."

At last the brick apartment house where Leslie had lived for the past seven years came into view. Alex parked the car in her assigned slot behind the building. Leslie intended to thank him and go the rest of the way on her own, but when she stepped from the car her legs refused to support her. Luckily, Alex was there to lend his strong arms. She made no protest as he guided her toward the apartment house’s main entrance. Alex held up her key ring, and she pointed to the door key. He let them in. They rode up the elevator to the third floor, then made their way down the carpeted hall to her door. "You don’t have to do anymore, Alex," Leslie said. "I’ll be okay." He surveyed her with a solemn look. "I’m not leaving till I’m sure of that in my own mind." Leslie leaned against the wall while he opened the door. Once inside, she staggered to the sofa and collapsed onto the blue print cushions. Alex stood looking down at her. At least she could focus on him now. Light from the floor lamp he’d turned on cascaded over sandy brown hair and a face that was handsome, even though the mouth was drawn into a tight, serious line. "What can I get you?" he said. "N-nothing." He pulled up a chair and sat by her side. "Do you have any idea what made you sick?" "Maybe something I ate." "Hmmm, maybe we should have gone to the hospital after all. What if you’ve got food poisoning? Are you allergic to anything?" "Cheese sometimes makes me sick. But not this sick. Ohhh," she groaned as another wave of nausea rolled through her. She had never been this sick before. Not with the flu, nor a cold, nor anything. "You--you’d better go, Alex." He shook his head. "I’m not leaving you." "B-but don’t you have somewhere to be?" "Nope. I’m new in town. Don’t know many people. No ties. No reason why I can’t lend you a hand." "But--" "Why don’t you just be quiet and not stress yourself out any more." He picked up one of her hands and rubbed the back of it. The rubbing soothed her. "Umm. I think I’ll just lie here until I either get better or die." "I don’t imagine you’re all that comfortable," he said. He stood, leaned

down, and scooped her up in his arms. "Which way’s the bedroom?" "T-that way. On the left." She managed to point to the long hall, a dark tunnel leading to the rest of the apartment. Leslie had trouble holding her head up and finally rested it against Alex’s chest. He felt warm and solid, his arms strong and sturdy underneath her. It felt so good to be taken care of like this. He pushed open the door to the bedroom, carried her in and laid her on the bed. "Oh, that does feel better," she said. He took off her shoes, unfolded the quilt at the bottom of the bed, and spread it over her. That was the last thing Leslie remembered.

Alex waited until he was sure Leslie was asleep, then, leaving the door ajar so he could hear her if she called out, he returned to the living room. Her illness seemed more than just an upset stomach. An upset stomach usually didn’t make you so dizzy you couldn’t walk. He stood at a window and looked out at the street, trying to puzzle everything out. The street below was quiet and deserted. Lamplight glistened silver on the asphalt road and on the tips of the maple trees lining the sidewalk. It was a pleasant, quiet neighborhood of older homes and apartments. Over the tops of adjacent buildings, the lights of the city glimmered through the sheen of darkness. He recognized the brightly lighted, saucer-topped tower as the famous Space Needle. Alex had spent the past week hanging around the Grant Building, where he had spotted Leslie coming and going. He was about to go to Newman’s on the pretense of needing some advertising for his new company when this afternoon he’d had the good luck to meet Roz Jensen in the building’s basement bar. She was having a drink before attending the anniversary party. They’d struck up a conversation and she’d invited him to the party. There he’d met Leslie, and now he was in her apartment. How was that for fast work? While he was sorry she was ill, it sure had made things easier for him. Guy Petersen wanted him to investigate his granddaughter. Well, this was a perfect opportunity to get started. He probably had all night, if he wanted, to take a look around. He went to the kitchen, rummaged around for some coffee, found some decaf, and, although he would have preferred the real thing, made himself a cup in the microwave. While he sipped it, he looked inside more of the cupboards and the refrigerator. She kept things neat, he saw, and favored health foods. The refrigerator held a package of tofu, lots of fresh vegetables, and a loaf of seven-grain bread. The cupboard’s stock included granola bars and several kinds of fiber-loaded cereal. Alex smiled, though, as he spotted a box of Godiva chocolates. Leslie Morgan wasn’t perfect, after all. He returned to the living room and crossed to the small maplewood desk sitting in one corner. The contents of the drawers were all neatly arranged. The center drawer yielded a checkbook with a healthy balance. Files in other drawers showed a savings account, some stocks and bonds and mutual fund investments, and a retirement program with Newman’s. Obviously, Leslie was a young woman who saved money and planned for the future. Alex jotted down some notes in a small notebook that he carried

in his jacket pocket. Moving down the hall, he found the bathroom, which smelled faintly of herbal potpourri and contained the usual assortment of women’s cosmetics. He picked up a bottle of perfume with a plastic angel top and sniffed it. Yes, the same fragrance he had noticed when he had danced with Leslie. Nice. Something soft and feminine. That made him think how soft and feminine she had felt when he had held her in his arms. Now, don’t start thinking about things like that! he cautioned himself. This is business, not pleasure. Still, he’d have to be a block of wood not to notice Leslie Morgan’s attractiveness. From the bathroom he went into another small room, which he expected to be a spare bedroom. Instead, it was furnished with a Formica-topped table, molded plastic chairs, and book-filled bookcases. Some kind of sewing was spread out on the table. Sewing? Did women do that anymore? It wasn’t exactly sewing, he saw, but a type of embroidery. There were patterns, drawings, tracing paper, yarns, needles. It looked like she was making wall hangings, something like that, a creative hobby to fill her spare time. He went into her bedroom and stood over the bed, looking down at her. Light seeping in under the window blinds enabled him to see her dark hair spread across the pillow, and one hand, the nails neatly manicured with clear polish, lying on top of the quilt. Her face looked a little pale, but she was breathing evenly. He had the urge to pick up a strand of her hair or to touch the rounded curve of her cheek. He kept his hands balled into fists at his sides and turned away. Alex struggled to focus on his task. Should he search this room? Better not. He didn’t want to risk waking her up. A framed picture on the dresser caught his eye. He carried it to the window and pushed up a slat in the vinyl blind so that the streetlight shone on it. The photo showed Leslie and a man. He had dark hair, like hers, but with more black in it; a pencil-thin mustache; and an arrogant tilt to his chin. He remembered that Leslie had said while they were dancing that she’d 'lost' a fiancé. This must be the guy. He had presumed that 'lost' meant dead. Despite that, he wanted to know the man’s name. He saw no writing on the photo or the back of the frame. Maybe something in the desk drawer in the living room would tell him. He was about to leave the room when the phone on the nightstand gave off the purr of a muted ringer. The sound was so unexpected that he jumped. Leslie stirred and clutched the quilt, but her eyes remained closed. Who could be calling? Alex wondered. Maybe Stan had sobered up enough to call and see how Leslie was doing. Maybe some other co-worker had seen her fall down the stairs and was checking up on her. As it rang again, Alex grabbed the receiver. He held it to his ear and waited. He heard heavy breathing, then a weird-sounding voice said, "Hellooo, Leslieee." Alex kept quiet, waiting to see if the person would say anything else. "Hellooo, Leslieee," came again, then the click of the receiver being replaced.

Alex tiptoed back to the living room, deep in thought. He was sure the caller had used a voice distortion device to disguise his--or her--voice. He wondered if Leslie had received calls like this before. Remembering that he wanted to discover Leslie’s fiancé’s name, he checked the desk drawers again, but found nothing he thought related to the man in the picture. He dumped the rest of the now cold coffee down the kitchen sink, then took off his suit jacket and loosened his tie. He stretched out on the sofa, positioned a cushion under his head, and spread the jacket over him. A sudden attack of violent illness, and now a strange phone call. What was going on in Leslie Morgan’s life? And how would it affect his assignment?

Leslie blinked shadows across sequins on her night. Getting apartment. She

and opened her eyes. Morning light cast pale yellow the wall. She raised herself up and the glittery red blouse caught her eye. She remembered then. The party last sick. Alex Steele helping her to her car and her didn’t remember much after that, though.

Leslie sat up and edged off the bed. Her mouth felt dry and cottony. Her head throbbed. She must get up anyway. Surely, she would be all right today. A noise made her jerk her head around. Alex Steele stood in the doorway to her bedroom. "You’re still here!" she exclaimed. His mouth cracked into a wry grin. "Slept on the sofa. Sort of." He ran a hand through his tousled hair. He’d taken his suit jacket off and loosened his tie. Large shoulder muscles contoured the sleeves of his beige shirt. "How’re you doing this morning?" "Okay . . . I think. But you shouldn’t have stayed." Her cheeks warmed with embarrassment at the thought of this stranger sharing her apartment overnight. He shrugged, as if it were nothing important. "Want something? Coffee?" Now that Leslie was on her feet, her stomach began to feel queasy. "No. Well, yes, I’d better eat something." "Eggs and bacon?" She wrinkled her nose. "Just some cereal. And toast. After I--freshen up." Fifteen minutes later, Leslie and Alex sat at the round maple table in the breakfast nook. Every bite of Leslie’s cereal and toast stuck in her throat, even though she washed them down with plenty of Golden Health Juice. She didn’t really feel like eating, but knew she had to. The way Alex Steele poked at his dish of Fiber Toasties made her think he would have preferred the bacon and eggs he’d mentioned earlier. "I’m sorry I was such a problem last night," she told Alex. "And I

appreciate your staying around, although you didn’t have to." "You are feeling better, then?" He stopped eating to peer at her with intense blue eyes under furrowed brows. "Oh, yes." She looked quickly away so that he wouldn’t see her lie. "I wonder if anyone else got sick at the party," he said. "If they did, I’ll find out on Monday when I go back to work. You felt okay last night?" "Just fine. By the way . . . someone called after you went to sleep. About midnight." Leslie’s stomach jolted. Someone had called her? "Um, did they say who it was?" she asked casually. "No. All they said was ‘Hello Leslie’ in a really weird-sounding voice." Leslie put down her spoon and closed her eyes. Oh, no. Not another one of those calls. "Leslie." She opened her eyes, met Alex’s blue gaze again. "Yes?" "I don’t want to pry, but, is there something wrong? I mean, the call, your getting sick so suddenly at the party?" "I don’t think the two are connected," she said, side-stepping the question. "Have you gotten other calls like that?" She looked down at her napkin and twisted it. "Two," she admitted. "And you don’t know who it is?" he asked. "No." "Is there anyone who might want to scare you? Or make you ill?" "You think someone caused my illness last night?" In truth, the idea had occurred to her, too. "It’s possible, isn’t it?" Alex said. "I suppose so. Could someone have put something in my food? Or maybe my drink. That’s more likely. I nursed the same one all evening and left it sitting on a table while I danced." "What about your friend, Stan?" She shook her head. "No. He’d never harm me." "Maybe he’s angry because you turned him down for a date." "Last night was the first time he’d asked, and so it was also the first time I’d said no. That was after I’d already gotten two of the calls."

"I see." Alex picked up another piece of toast from the plate between them and took a bite. "I never did find out much about you last night," she said, deliberately changing the subject. "Only that you’re new in town." "Right. I’m from Boston." "I noticed your East Coast accent. What brought you out here?" "I’m starting up a new Internet company. I figured the Northwest was a good place to be, what with all the technology-related businesses you have here." Leslie nodded. "So that’s how you came to be at the party last night. You’re interested in Newman’s working up some advertising for you." "Yes, but that’s not exactly how I came to be there. Roz invited me. We met in Dooley’s Bar, in the Grant Building. She stopped in for a drink and sat next to me at the bar. We got to talking, and she invited me to the party." "So, are you her client now?" Leslie asked, toying with a spoonful of cereal. "No, we never got around to discussing much business. Got any sugar?" "In the cupboard over the stove." Leslie put down her spoon and rose. Alex’s gentle pressure on her shoulder pushed her back in her seat. "I’ll get it." He went to the cupboard and took out the sugar bowl. He sat back down and spooned sugar into his coffee cup, stirring it vigorously. "I’m not quite ready to launch any advertising," Alex went on, "but I’d like to know more about Newman’s services." Leslie laughed nervously. "I don’t think I should move in on Roz’s territory. After all, she saw you first." "But I’d rather work with you." Alex’s bluntness surprised Leslie. "Why?" she countered. He shrugged. "I don’t know. I have a gut level feeling that you and I would get along good." She had the feeling that something more lay behind his decision, but chose not to probe. If she did, he might change his mind, and, goodness knew, she needed clients. "Well, the customer is always right, as the saying goes. But I hope you can wait until Monday. I’m not up to giving a sales pitch today." "Of course, I can wait. As I said, it’ll be awhile before I’m ready to start advertising. Besides, you really aren’t feeling well yet, are you?" He leaned forward to look more closely at her. The concern she saw in his eyes sent a rush of warmth to the center of her chest. "No, I’m not. Whatever it was really hit me."

"Maybe you should see a doctor, after all." She waved away that suggestion. "I just need some rest, that’s all." "You go lie down, then, while I clean up the dishes." "All right, but that’s all I’m going to let you do today." Alex laughed. "Okay, I get the hint. I’ll clean up and then I’m out of here." Alex copied down Leslie’s phone number before leaving. Despite his protests that she stay put, she left her place on the sofa and walked him to the front door. "I want to check on you later," he said as they stood in the open doorway. "And when you’re back at the office on Monday, we’ll talk about what Newman’s can do for me." "Okay, talk to you later." Instead of leaving, he continued to hold her gaze. His nearness sent another rush of warmth--more like heat, this time-- coursing through her. She swallowed hard and said, "How can I ever thank you enough for all you’ve done?" "Make me dinner sometime," he answered readily. "I’ve got a feeling you’re a real good cook." "I don’t know. You might not like my menu. I go light on the meat and potatoes." "I’ll like whatever you do," he said, his tone suddenly husky.

Leslie shut the door on Alex Steele’s retreating footsteps, then turned and leaned her back against it. The apartment yawned its sudden emptiness at her. She refilled her coffee cup and sat down at the kitchen table, looking out the window at the maple trees’ bright green leaves but thinking about Alex. Despite her still unsettled stomach, his presence and seemingly genuine concern had lifted her spirits. She thought about the moments before he left and realized they had been flirting with one another. A wave of guilt rolled over her. Robert had been dead only six months. She shouldn’t be flirting with other men already. She needed more time to grieve, to get over his death. Right afterward, she had thought she couldn’t go on living herself. It had been her job with Newman’s, and Roz’s friendship and support that had helped her to carry on. She was making it, but starting a new relationship was out of the question. She’d have to be very careful where Alex Steele was concerned. Perhaps she should suggest he work with Roz, after all. No, it would be stupid to undermine her own success at Newman’s. It was not as though she’d stolen Alex from Roz. He himself had said he’d prefer to work with her.

Leslie had hoped that having something on her stomach would speed her recovery. However, as she began the usual housekeeping tasks that occupied her weekends, dizziness and nausea still plagued her. While doing some hand laundry in the bathroom, she had to sit on the edge of the bathtub repeatedly to quiet her stomach’s churning. Finally, she gave up and lay down on her bed. She had no more than closed her eyes than the phone rang. Her heart started to thump. Another strange phone call? Or Alex checking up on her already?

CHAPTER FIVE

I won’t answer it! Leslie told herself. That was ridiculous, though. She couldn’t go through the rest of her life afraid to answer the telephone. With a sigh of resignation, she sat up and lifted the receiver. "Leslie?" "Oh, hello, Stan." The familiar voice relieved Leslie, even if things with Stan were a little awkward right now. "How are you?" he asked. "I’m fine." "Really?" His incredulous tone put her on the alert. "Yes, why wouldn’t I be?" "Well, you didn’t look so good last night." "I wouldn’t think you could tell one way or the other," she said dryly. "Oh, yeah. I want to apologize for that. I was way out of line. Will you forgive me?" "Of course, I will." "So what happened to you?" "Nothing much." She hesitated, searching for a way to satisfy him yet not reveal too much. "I was on my way down the stairs when somebody rushed by me and I stumbled. I hit my knee and had trouble walking. That’s why Alex

Steele was helping me." Silence ensued while Stan mulled that over. Finally, he said, "So what’s with this Alex, anyway?" "He’s . . . a client. He’s starting up a new business. Something on the Internet." "Maybe Roz expects him to be her client," Stan said. "She saw him first." "Maybe so, but Alex is the one who decides whom to work with." "So he wants to work with you, huh? Well, good for you. Roz shouldn’t get all the new business that walks in the door. You’re sure you’re okay, though?" "Perfectly. I’ll be in on Monday." "Good. . . . Say, Leslie. . . ." "Yes?" Leslie held her breath. Something told her he was going to ask for a date again. "Oh, nothing. See you Monday." Leslie exhaled with relief. "See you. And thanks for calling." "Sure." Twenty minutes later, the phone rang again. This time the caller was Roz. "Are you okay, Leslie?" she asked. "Yes, why do you ask?" As far as Leslie knew, Roz had not been aware of her trouble last night. "Because Gretchen saw you having some sort of problem on the stairs when you were leaving the party. She said you fell, or something." "I stumbled. Somebody rushed by me and threw me off balance." "Oh, is that all? Well, Gretchen was worried. I don’t know why she didn’t mention it to me last night, though. She called me this morning and told me. She doesn’t have your number, so she asked me to call you and make sure you’re okay." "Everything’s fine." "What do you think of Alex Steele? Good looking guy, huh?" "I, uh, didn’t really notice. Did Jeffrey find you?" she rushed on to change the subject. "Yeah, we got together," Roz said rather dispiritedly. Then on a brighter note: "Alex is a potential client. He said he’s starting up some kind of Internet company." "Really?" "Umm. I told him to give me a call on Monday."

That didn’t sound like Alex’s version of the story. He’d said he and Roz hadn’t discussed business. Leslie bit her lip in indecision. Should she tell Roz that Alex wanted to work with her? No, he should be the one to do that. Besides, he might change his mind. "Thanks for calling," Leslie said, drawing the conversation to a close. "You’re welcome, hon. See you Monday."

When Monday arrived, Leslie was still struggling with her illness. Obviously, it was more than a simple stomach upset. As she dressed for work, she had to keep sitting down because of dizziness and nausea. She knew she couldn’t go to Newman’s in this condition. As much as she hated to, she’d better take some time off to see her doctor. She phoned Newman’s. Cindy, the receptionist, hadn’t arrived yet, and Leslie left a message on the recorder that she would be a little late coming in. Then she called Dr. Haskins’s office. Dr. Haskins was a kind, elderly doctor who had helped Leslie deal with Robert’s death. Fortunately, he had some time that morning to see her. "It certainly sounds like food poisoning," Dr. Haskins said when Leslie was in his office and he had listened to her account of what had happened at the party. "Your blood pressure’s good and your temperature is normal, but we’ll take some blood tests and see what turns up. It may be difficult to find the culprit, though, because a couple of days have passed and whatever it was may be through your system, even though you’re still feeling some of the effects. In the meantime, I’ll give you something to help settle your stomach." He picked up his prescription pad and began to write. Twenty minutes later, Leslie left a nearby pharmacy, tucking the bottle of medicine she had just picked up into her purse. She drove downtown to the office, even though she still didn’t feel up to working. At Newman’s, she headed for the Ladies' Room, where she took a couple spoonfuls of the medicine. She went to the employee’s lounge and retrieved a half-full bottle of mineral water she kept in the small refrigerator. However, thinking about what had happened to her at the party, she decided not to drink from the already opened bottle. Supposing someone had tampered with it? She poured the contents down the drain and opted for a glass of tap water instead. Hank Hogan and Bob Lovall were unpacking their lunches at one of the tables. A television set on a shelf bracketed to one wall broadcast business news. A ticker tape of the stock market ran across the bottom of the screen. Was it lunchtime already? Leslie glanced at her wristwatch as she sipped her water. Yes, it was noon. Her doctor’s appointment had taken more time than she’d planned. "We missed you this morning," Bob said as he separated the Sports section from the rest of the daily newspaper. The bald spot on the top of his head caught the light from an overhead fluorescent as he leaned over. "It’s nice to be missed," Leslie said brightly. "I had an appointment." They didn’t need to know what kind.

Hank unwrapped his fast-food burger and removed the plastic lid from a cup of Cocoa Cola. "We thought maybe you took that leave Mac offered you." So they knew about that, too. Had Mac told them? Leslie wondered. No, Roz was more likely the one. Leslie knew, though, that Roz hadn’t gossiped to be mean, but only because she liked to talk. She wouldn’t have seen anything wrong with telling that bit of news to the others on the staff. "Why, I wouldn’t take a leave without letting you know," Leslie said in a teasing manner, hoping to make light of the situation. "Might do you good," Hank said in a grumbling tone. Leslie shook her head. "I love my job too much to be gone even for a little while." Hank snorted into his hamburger as though he didn’t believe her. Apparently unaware of the undercurrents going on between Hank and Leslie, Bob said, "Hank, you see the game last night? The M’s won. They're really on a roll." "Hey, I was there," Hank said. "A client gave me tickets. I wanted to take my son, but his mother’s husband wouldn’t let him go because today was a school day." Hank cast a dark glance at Leslie. Leslie chose to ignore him. She drank her water and stared at the TV as though absorbed by the news. As soon as Bob and Hank had sunk back into their discussion of last night’s baseball game, she headed for the door. Once she was away from Hank, Leslie’s tense muscles began to uncoil. She was always so uncomfortable around him. Would he ever forgive and forget? Was he going to carry his unreasonable grudge to his grave? In her cubicle, Leslie pushed aside her worries about Hank Hogan and turned her attention to her work. The medicine she had taken had indeed calmed her stomach, which enabled her to concentrate. When lunch hour was over, remembering promises she had made at the party, she placed calls to Desmond Hardware and Claire’s Boutique. Both companies needed their ad campaigns revamped. Leslie wrote several pages of notes from her conversations. Shortly after she had finished her calls, Alex Steele phoned. She had talked to him a couple of times over the weekend when he’d telephoned her at home to check on her. Each time, as now, her heart took an unexpected leap at the sound of his deep voice. "I phoned you earlier," he said, "but the receptionist said you weren’t in yet. Are you okay?" "I decided to see my doctor after all," Leslie said. "So you’re still having problems?" "Sort of," Leslie said evasively. "I thought discussing what happened with Dr. Haskins would be a good idea. He gave me something to settle my stomach and took some tests. I’m feeling better already." "Great. Do you think you’ll feel well enough to go ahead with my project?" "Of course. But what about Roz?" Leslie remembered that Stan had said Roz

expected Alex to be her client. "I’ll explain to her that we’ve already done some preliminary work." "Okay." Leslie tensed as she wondered how that would go over with Roz. However, it was Alex’s choice whom he would work with. She mustn’t feel guilty about it. "Initially, I’d like an idea of what the different kinds of advertising costs," Alex went on, "so I can work that into my overall budget. Do you have some time this week when we could get together?" "I’ll check my schedule." With the phone still held to her ear, Leslie rose and went to the large, write-on calendar on her bulletin board. "This week looks full. How about next Monday?" "Well, if that’s the best you can do. Can we have lunch?" "Sure. Do you have someplace in mind?" "Would the Blue Moon Cafe in the Pike Place Market be too far away for you? I’m staying in a condo near there." "Not at all," Leslie said. "The walk will do me good." "Okay, how about eleven thirty? That will give us a head start on the lunch crowd. I’ll get there early and save a table upstairs. It’s got a great view." Leslie reached over to her desk for a pencil. "Fine," she said as she wrote "Alex Steele, 11:30, Blue Moon Cafe, Pike Place Market" in Monday’s square.

The following evening, shortly before seven, Leslie stood at her living room window. From there she could see the front of the building and who came in or went out. She was waiting for Melanie Grafton, Robert’s older sister, to arrive. Melanie had called Leslie an hour earlier, shortly after Leslie had come home from work. She had some belongings of Robert’s that she thought Leslie might want. Could she bring them over this evening? Leslie had said yes. Leslie had met Melanie and her husband, Rodney, only once, when she and Robert were out to dinner. Both were fortyish, a bit stodgy and harried-looking. Old marrieds, Leslie had thought at the time. Robert introduced them and they all exchanged a few words. Leslie sensed a coolness between the brother and sister. When the couples parted, she asked Robert how often he and Melanie got together. He said "rarely." They had differences of opinions on things, he added, but did not elaborate on what those differences were. After Robert’s death, Leslie had offered to help Melanie clean out Robert’s apartment, but Melanie had refused. She wanted to do it herself, she said. She was the only relative available for the task. Their parents had passed away long before and no aunts or uncles or cousins lived in the area. Now, as she waited for Melanie’s arrival, Leslie’s nerves tingled with apprehension. Maybe she didn’t want to see what Melanie had for her after

all. Maybe it would be better to keep only her own memories and mementos. Idly, she watched a man walking a miniature black poodle and two boys speeding by on bicycles, bent low over the handlebars. Her gaze drifted upward to the sweeping view of downtown. She could see the Space Needle, the Columbia Tower, the Grant Building, and Elliott Bay, where ferries cruised back and forth to the Kitsap Peninsula. At last, an older model Chevrolet pulled up to the curb. Melanie stepped from the rider’s side. She reached in the back seat and took out a large cardboard box. In no time at all, Leslie was admitting Melanie to her apartment "I’ll only stay a minute," Melanie said. "Rodney is waiting in the car with the kids." She looked around Leslie’s living room, her gaze sliding from the glossy hardwood floors and cream-colored throw rugs to the blue-patterned sofa and matching chairs. "Nice apartment. I used to live up here on the hill," she said, sounding wistful. "Back in my single days." She turned to Leslie, and Leslie was struck by how different in appearance Robert had been from his sister. She had none of his sophistication. Wispy brown hair escaped from a ponytail drawn back from a plain face devoid of make-up. The jeans and T-shirt revealed a slightly overweight figure with no discernible waistline. The only thing she had of Robert’s was a feminine version of his sculpted lips. Nevertheless, she could be pretty. Leslie thought, if she’d work at it a little. "Where shall I put this?" Melanie nodded at the box she was carrying. "Oh, over there." Leslie pointed to the coffee table. "All this stuff relates to you," Melanie said as she put down the box. She opened the lid and pulled out a small black box. "This is the watch you gave him." She handed it to Leslie. Leslie recognized the jeweler’s name on the box. She opened it and saw the gold watch she had given Robert for Christmas the first year they had gone together. A tight lump formed in her throat. "Yes, it is." "I thought so. The card that went with it is here somewhere. Anyway, I’ll leave it all with you. What you don’t want, well . . . you can decide what to do with it. Charity, maybe, or a garage sale." "Thanks, Melanie. I really appreciate your thinking of me like this." "I know you cared about him, even though . . . " Melanie bit her lip and looked away. "Even though what?" "Nothing." She turned to go. Leslie reached out and touched her arm. "Melanie, wait. You started to tell me something about Robert. I want to know what it is." Melanie’s ponytail switched back and forth as she shook her head. "It’s nothing. Please, I’ve got to go now. Rodney and the kids are waiting. We promised to take them for ice cream cones."

Melanie hurried to the door, but then she stopped and turned to Leslie. "Mourn for him, Leslie. It’s the natural thing to do. But then, get on with your life." After Melanie left, Leslie sank onto the sofa and blew out a deep breath. Melanie’s behavior reminded Leslie of what Stan had said at the party, that he could tell her "things about Robert." Robert had been a good person. Why were people trying to destroy her memory of him? It wasn’t fair. It just wasn’t fair. Leslie stared at the cardboard box. Did she want to examine the contents or not? She was suddenly afraid to. Maybe she’d find something that would upset her even more. At last, she reached over and drew the box beside her onto the sofa. She took out the smaller box with the watch in it and set it aside. She pulled out several birthday and Christmas cards that she’d given Robert. How sweet that he’d kept them. How sentimental. Of course, she’d kept all the cards he’d given her, too, but one didn’t expect a man to keep such things. On each card he’d made a note of what her gift had been. The watch, a pen and pencil set, a leather case for business cards, a daily planner, a shirt, a sweater. All marking the passages of Christmases, birthdays, or special celebrations, such as the time he’d won an award as employee of the month. All the gifts were there, too, the pen and pencil set, engraved with his initials; the leather business card case; the daily planner. There were also some photographs they’d taken on various outings. A boat trip to Victoria, British Columbia; a hike to Snoqualmie Falls; numerous ferry boat rides to destinations across Puget Sound. On such trips, they always found a passerby to take a picture of them together. As she looked at the photos, waves of nostalgia and sadness rolled over her. Leslie stacked the pictures together and put them back in the box. Someday, she’d put them in an album. She took out the daily planner, a small loose-leaf notebook in a zippered case, and thumbed through it, smiling where her name, always in caps, leaped out at her; Dinner with LESLIE. Meet LESLIE at Mike’s, and so on. She should feel reassured. All these things showed how much he had cared for her: the careful recording of her presents, the photos, her name emphasized in the planner. As she continued to page through it, a small key fell out of one of the pockets. Leslie picked it up and studied it. She was pretty sure it wasn’t a door key or a car key. It was too long and thin for either of those. It had no tag or any other identification, but it looked familiar. It finally dawned on her that it looked like the key to a bank safety deposit box. She laid the key down on the table and went to get her own. Placing them side by side showed a definite similarity. Had Robert rented a bank safety deposit box? Although he’d never mentioned it to Leslie, he very well could have. Lots of people rented them. It wasn’t anything unusual. She should give the key back to Melanie and let her track down what lock it opened. However, she didn’t feel like talking to Melanie again right

away. Leslie tucked the key back into the pocket of the planner. Longing and sadness suffused her. If only Robert were still alive and things were the way they used to be. With a deep sigh, she replaced everything in the box, then carried it into the bedroom and put it on the closet shelf. Tomorrow was another workday. Life kept moving forward, whether Leslie was ready for it or not.

CHAPTER SIX

"I can’t believe there was anything bad about Robert," Roz said. She leaned back against the wooden park bench and frowned at Leslie. "Then why did Stan say he ‘could tell me things about Robert’?" Leslie picked up her bike helmet and idly twisted the strap between her fingers. It was Saturday morning and Roz had come over for a bike ride. They’d ridden around the narrow streets of Leslie’s neighborhood and were now resting at one of Queen Anne Hill’s many scenic spots. Below them, the morning sun tinged the city’s buildings with pink and yellow, and ripples in Elliott Bay with silver. "Stan is trying to get you interested in him," Roz said. "He thinks that if he puts Robert in a bad light, you’ll get over him sooner. Besides, he was drunk." She laughed. "Funny, I never would have guessed that you and Stan. . . ." "Stan and I aren’t anything but friends and co-workers," Leslie said firmly. "Well, I wouldn’t pay any attention to him and what he says about Robert. And as for Melanie, Robert himself told you they weren’t close, so what could she possibly know?" "I just don’t need this kind of thing right now. These doubts." Roz laid a comforting hand on Leslie's shoulder. "I know, hon. People can be so cruel sometimes." Leslie sighed and gazed idly at the bay where a tanker, gray smoke boiling from its smokestack, steamed toward Alaska. The Olympic Peninsula, with its ridge of snow-covered mountains, provided a picturesque backdrop to the dark gray water. She slanted a glance at Roz. "Have you heard from Alex Steele?" Roz stretched out her long legs, tan and smooth from the hem of her green

Spandex shorts to the cuffs of her fuzzy white socks. She absently brushed a blade of grass from her knee. "Yeah, he told me he’s going to work with you, if that’s what you’re tiptoeing up to." "I feel kinda guilty about that since you saw him first. He said you picked him up in Dooley's bar." "I did not pick him up," Roz said indignantly. "He struck up a conversation with me. To be friendly, I invited him to the party. I was checking him out, though. I admit that." "As a client?" "No, not as a client." "Jeffrey sees you and me as great rivals. He even hinted at the party that it’d be better if we didn’t both work for Newman’s." Roz waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Don’t pay any attention to Jeffrey. He has his own agenda. You and I are solid. There’s room enough for both of us. But you’re sidetracking the issue. I was checking out Alex for you." "For me? Are you crazy?" "Hon, I know you’re feeling really low right now. But life does go on." "Not my life." "It will. You’ll see. And I thought, well, there’s nothing like a new interest. It doesn’t mean you have to forget Robert, or that you’d be unfaithful to his memory. I merely thought somebody new might get your mind off your troubles." Leslie stuffed down her annoyance at Roz’s unwanted matchmaking. "Thanks, but when and if I ever want another man, I’ll choose my own." Roz blew out an impatient breath. "Leslie, you can’t hide for the rest of your life." "Let’s drop the subject, okay?" "Okay." Roz heaved a resigned sigh. * * * "What do you think, Les?" Stan leaned forward in his chair and gazed expectantly at Leslie. Leslie studied the top sheet of the stack of papers he had laid on her cubicle desk. They were working on a television ad for SeaBest Fish Company. Stan’s concept showed animated fish jumping from the ocean into a can labeled SeaBest. Below the can were the words to a jingle he had composed. "I like it," Leslie said after a few moments. "It has the simplicity it needs for a 15 second spot, and the tune is really catchy." "We’ll use the same concept for the newspaper ads," Stan said, "so the two will be tied together."

"I’ll set up a meeting with graphics," Leslie said. "Then we’ll contact ImageVisions to make the video. Let’s plan on a presentation with SeaBest sometime next week." Stan nodded. Leslie stacked the papers and slid the pile across the desk to Stan. As he reached out to pick them up, their gazes collided. "Leslie," he began, "about that night at the party. . ." Leslie waved a hand. "You’ve already apologized." "I was a real jerk," he went on, ignoring the finality she hoped to convey in her tone. "I’d had one too many." Leslie really wanted to forget the incident, but perhaps talking about it would be therapeutic for Stan. She said, "Well, I must admit, you weren’t acting like yourself at all." "I still want to take you to dinner." Oh oh, talking about it was a mistake, after all. "Stan . . . please." "Why not?" A flush spread over his cheeks, making his large nose even more prominent. "Because," she began gently, "I want it to be the way it’s always been between us. Friends. Co-workers. Besides, I told you I’m not ready to date again. Robert’s death was a big loss to me, and the memory of him is still strong. You understand that, don’t you?" "I don’t think it’s good for you to hide yourself away," he said. Leslie smiled. "You sound like Roz." "Your friends care about you." "Thanks, that’s what I need most right now. Friends." Stan’s brow wrinkled as he looked away. "I guess you wouldn’t want to go out with me, anyway." Defeat soured his tone. Leslie groped for words that would not hurt him but would still be truthful. "Stan, some people are meant to be only friends. That’s the way it is with you and me." "You might feel differently if you gave dating me a try." Leslie sighed inwardly. The man just wouldn’t give up. "If we’re finished talking about SeaBest, I’d better get back to work. I have a lunch date and there are some things I need to do beforehand." "A lunch date, eh?" Stan walked over to Leslie’s bulletin board and stood in front of the calendar. "With Alex Steele, I see." "Right. I think I told you he’s starting an Internet company. I’m sure I’ll be calling on you when it’s time to write copy." Stan grunted and grabbed up his stack of folders from her desk. As Leslie watched him slump out of her cubicle, she remembered what he

had said about Robert at the party, that he could tell her "things about Robert." Should she call him back now and press him to tell her? No, better let the troublesome subject alone. Still, the matter nagged her. Perhaps it wouldn’t have if Robert’s sister, Melanie, hadn’t acted as if she, too, wanted to say something unfavorable about Robert. I’m being overly sensitive, Leslie told herself. She reached for a folder from her In basket. The account for Claire’s Boutique. She opened the folder and tried to concentrate on developing some ads for their new line of bridal wear.

At 11:20, Leslie walked down the brick road leading from First Avenue to the Pike Place Market. The bright sunshine reflected off the large clock above the market’s entrance and gave the bronze pig statue beneath it a golden aura. The market had several levels. On the street floor level were vegetable and fruit stalls, fish and meat markets, delicatessens, and restaurants. Below were specialty shops selling everything from antiques to comic books to imported souvenirs. The temperature had been climbing and threatened to reach eighty degrees, a real heat wave for the Northwest. Leslie was glad she’d worn her peach-colored cotton suit and white sandals. People packed the market’s corridors, as usual. Having a few minutes to spare before meeting Alex, she joined the crowd around a fish market, where the sellers entertained them with jokes and antics that included tossing fish and crab from one to the other. Then she continued on, weaving her way through the crowd until she reached the Blue Moon Cafe. She went through the double doors and, remembering Alex had said he’d save a table up above, climbed the narrow stairs to the second level. Alex was seated at a table near the back. He saw her, waved and grinned. She waved back, felt her lips curve into a smile. It was hard not to respond to his good humor. She sat down across from him, put her briefcase on the empty chair next to her. "Glad you could make it," he said. His gaze slid over her. "You’re looking good today." "Thank you. I have to take advantage of the warm weather when it comes. You’ve undoubtedly heard about our capricious weather. Tomorrow it might very well rain." He grinned. "Yes, I have heard. I hope you didn’t mind coming here. I thought you’d enjoy the view, but you’ve probably seen it hundreds of times." "I never get tired of it, though." Leslie looked out the window at Elliott Bay where a green and white tugboat towing lumber crept steadily along. A couple of seagulls swooped down and perched on the railing of the restaurant’s narrow deck. "How long have you lived in Washington?" he asked. "About twenty years."

"Where are you from originally?" "I was born in Illinois, near Chicago." "Have you traveled much?" Why all the questions? she wondered. It was just small talk, she told herself. She shouldn’t be so uptight. "A little. To Hawaii when I graduated high school; to Europe after college. How about you?" "I’ve been around the States a lot. Haven’t been to Europe yet. Maybe I’ll go someday. But, say, we’d better order." Leslie nodded and picked up the oversized plastic menu that lay by her plate. While a part of her mind registered the selections, another part was acutely aware of Alex. He looked comfortable and casual today in a short-sleeved blue shirt that matched his fabulous eyes and molded to his well-developed shoulders. Sunlight pouring through the windows created golden highlights in his hair. His hands, gripping the menu, appeared strong and sturdy. "I already know what I want," Alex said. "The clam chowder served in a sourdough bread bowl. Makes me feel like I’m back in Boston, only the chowder is white instead of red." Leslie settled on the turkey croissant sandwich. A tall, skinny waiter dressed in jeans and a T-shirt took their order. "Tell me about your Internet company," Leslie said. "It has to do with a software program I’m developing. "What kind of software?" "In the past few years I’ve become quite a computer hacker." That surprised Leslie. "Hacker" to her implied irresponsibility and lawlessness, while her initial impression of Alex indicated he was a person of stability and integrity. "Really? How did that come about?" "Oh, the job I had gave me lots of experience using the computer to, uh, find out things." "Were you some kind of spy?" she joked. He spread his hands. "No, nothing like that. Anyway, I came up with a couple of ideas about how to protect computers from guys like me. Ironic, isn’t it? Anyway, my programs for computer security can be used by individuals as well as companies." Alex went on talking in general terms about his plans. Finally, the waiter arrived with their meals. As they ate, the conversation turned to other topics. When they finished eating they pushed aside their empty plates and Leslie opened her briefcase. "Here’s a brochure that describes Newman’s services," she said, "and here’s a list of the information I’ll need in order to work up a preliminary budget for you. You’ll see that there are several choices to make--what you want for newspaper, magazine, TV and radio spots, how much you want to spend, and so forth."

They chatted awhile longer, and then Leslie looked at her watch. She was surprised to see that an hour and a half had passed already. It had been a long time since she’d been so immersed in her work. Did Alex have anything to do with her absorption? She glanced at him, found him gazing at her, his expression thoughtful. She smiled self-consciously and said, "Is there something you’ve forgotten?" His lips curved into a smile. "No, I guess that’s everything--for now." "I’d better get back to the office." Leslie began stuffing papers into her briefcase. "As soon as you give me that information I need, I’ll work up a proposal for you." "I’ll get it to you as soon as I can." They left the restaurant and joined the crowd in the main corridor of the market. "I’ll walk out to the street with you," Alex told her. Crowds of shoppers pressed in on them, making it difficult to walk side-by-side. When Alex grasped her hand, Leslie allowed him to lead her along. Without the connection, they would have been separated in seconds. They made their way to the market entrance, to the fish sellers’ stall and the bronze pig. A group of four shabbily dressed musicians--a saxophonist, a keyboardist, and two guitarists--were giving an impromptu concert. At the musicians’ feet lay an open guitar case lined in maroon velveteen. A few coins and bills were scattered about the bottom of the case. "Hey, they’re good," Alex remarked. "Mind if we listen a minute?" "Not at all," Leslie said, caught up in the infectious rhythm of a jazz tune. They stood on the edge of the crowd around the musicians, near the brick street that wound through the market. Behind them, cars and trucks rolled slowly by, looking for hard-to-come-by parking places. The music made Leslie want to dance. She glanced at Alex, saw that he was smiling and tapping his foot to the beat. He turned to her and their eyes met. The joy of mutual sharing passed between them, made Leslie feel a closeness to him that she hadn’t experienced before. Alex leaned close and said against her ear, "Great tune, isn’t it?" She nodded, distracted by his warm breath tingling along her skin. When the song ended they joined in the applause that rippled through the crowd. Alex took out his wallet and pulled out a couple of bills. He stepped forward to toss them into the guitar case. In the instant that he and Leslie were apart, a shout came from somewhere to their right. Fists waved in the air. A fight had broken out, Leslie saw. It started with two, soon became four; then, as more joined in, eight or ten. The crowd shifted, and several peopled were knocked against Leslie. She caught sight of Alex’s head above the crowd as he was swept farther and farther away from her. "Alex!" she called. He looked back, caught her eye, and made a move in her direction, only to be swept away

again as the crowd surged. Someone kicked the guitar case, and the money went flying. Leslie was now locked in a sea of people who were pushing her farther and farther away from Alex. She tried to fight her way clear, but made little progress. A hand slapped her cheek, an elbow poked her side. She had to get out of there, but at the moment, escape was impossible, just as surely as if she was being held by chains. Whistles blew. Leslie glimpsed the blue hats of several policemen as they ran toward the crowd. Good, she thought. Now this would soon be over. She saw Alex making his way toward her. Only a few yards separated them. In a moment they would be together again. Someone yanked her briefcase strap, pulling her to one side. She twisted around and reached up to secure the strap. A hard shove in the small of her back knocked the breath out of her. She teetered on the curb for a moment, arms flailing, then lost her balance completely and tumbled into the street. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a brown pickup truck. It was headed straight toward her.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Leslie tried to dodge the truck, but couldn’t regain her balance in time. Her left shoulder slammed into the truck’s left front fender. She let out a scream. Tires screeched. Leslie bounced off the fender and crumpled to the pavement. Searing pain tore through her shoulder. The truck’s door was flung open and the driver leaped out. Squinty eyes in an unshaven face gazed down at her. "Geez, lady, I’m sorry. I couldn’t get outta your way. I wasn’t goin’ very fast, but there’s people all over the place." "It’s not your fault," Leslie said. "There--there was a fight over there. I--I fell off the curb." She managed to sit up, her right hand cupping her injured shoulder. The sleeve of her peach suit had a jagged rip where it had caught on the truck’s fender. Her stockings were torn and her new sandals scuffed. A small crowd had gathered around Leslie. A policeman pushed his way through and knelt beside her.

"It’s my shoulder," she told him. "I fell into the street and when I saw the truck coming I tried to get out of the way, but couldn’t." "Stay quiet," he said. "The aid car will be here soon." He pulled a notebook and pen from his breast pocket, asked her name and address and wrote them down. Another policeman was talking to the driver of the truck. The man’s eyes kept flitting to Leslie. He looked scared. "It wasn’t the driver’s fault," she told the officer. "The crowd pushed me." He nodded. "An accident." She saw Alex break through the crowd and make his way toward her. He hunched down beside them, his handsome face contorted with concern. "Leslie, you’re hurt!" "Not bad. Just my shoulder." "I saw someone push you!" Alex exclaimed. The policeman’s head jerked up from his note taking. "Someone pushed her?" "Not any one person," Leslie said quickly. "It was the crowd." "But--" Alex opened his mouth to protest. Then he caught Leslie’s eye. Leslie frantically telegraphed a frown that told him to keep quiet. She didn’t want any more trouble right now. Besides, although it had felt like one person had pushed her, she couldn’t be positive. She let out a relieved breath when Alex clamped his jaws shut. The officer might have pursued the idea, but just then, siren blaring, the red and white aid car sped down the side of the road, squeezing by the line of traffic blocked by the accident. As Leslie watched the Medics jump from the vehicle, she considered refusing to go to the hospital. She couldn’t afford to miss any more time at work. However, judging from the amount of pain in her shoulder, she knew that she’d better get her injury checked out. * * * "Can I get you anything? A cup of tea? Coffee?" Alex bent over Leslie where she lay on her sofa. The concern in his eyes filled Leslie with comforting warmth. "You’ve already done so much. Don’t you have to be someplace?" He laughed and patted her arm. "You keep asking me that. Quit worrying about me. I don’t have any place more important to be than right here." "All right. Some tea would be nice. Tea bags are--" He raised a hand to stop her. "--In the cupboard to the right of the sink, next to the instant coffee. I remember from the other time I was here." Leslie managed a wan smile. "That’s right. I’m getting a feeling a deja vu." "We’ve got to stop meeting like this," he quipped.

Leslie watched the masculine sway of slim hips and broad shoulders as Alex headed toward the kitchen. She sighed and closed her eyes. The ache in her shoulder clamored for her attention. She should feel thankful, though. The doctor at Harborview Hospital had determined that although her shoulder was severely wrenched and bruised, no bones were broken. He had fixed up a sling for her to wear for a few days and given her a prescription for pain medication. At the doctor’s instruction to rest for the remainder of the day, Leslie had called Newman’s and explained the situation to Cindy, the receptionist. "You’ve had another accident?" Cindy’s voice squeaked with skepticism. "Just a minor one. I’ve got a sore shoulder and some bruises is all." "That sounds bad enough," Cindy said. "Okay, I’ll tell Mac you’re not coming back this afternoon." "Please reschedule my three o’clock appointment and assure Mac that I’ll be back at work tomorrow." "Take care," Cindy had urged before ringing off. Alex returned carrying two mugs. He set them on the coffee table, then helped her to sit up, placing one of the blue cushions at her back. "You didn’t say what kind of tea you wanted," he said, putting one of the mugs into her right hand, "so I chose chamomile. I remember my grandmother drinking it when she wanted to relax." "Yes, it’s good for that." Leslie sipped the tea, hoping it would indeed calm nerves that were still raw and jumpy from her ordeal. Alex sat down in a nearby chair and leaned forward to pick up his mug of coffee. "Thanks for coming to the hospital with me," she said. "You didn’t have to do that." "Someone had to look out for you. Besides, if we hadn’t gotten separated in that crowd, I could have kept you out of harm’s way." "It was a dumb accident," she said. A couple moments of silence passed, during which she grew uncomfortable under Alex’s intent gaze. "What?" she finally asked him. Alex leaned forward, his brows knit in seriousness. "Okay, Leslie, it’s time to level with me. What really happened to you at the market?" Leslie took another sip of tea, then a deep breath. "I just got in the way of someone’s elbow, that’s all." "Uh uh. I saw someone push you. When I told the cop that and saw your look, I went along with you and shut up about it. But because I did, I think you owe it to me to tell me what’s going on."

"I honestly don’t know," she said, squeezing back a sudden rush of tears. "But you know someone pushed you." "Okay, I think so. I felt a hard shove in my back, as though someone intentionally targeted me. But I didn’t see who it was. You say you did. What did they look like?" "I couldn’t see the person’s face. He--or she--wore a dark-colored sweatshirt with a hood. He reached out and shoved you, then disappeared into the crowd. I was torn between chasing him and seeing how you were. I chose to check on you. Even then, it took me awhile to get to the street." He paused to let that sink in, then said, "Why didn’t you want the cops to know that you were a target?" "I just don’t need any more trouble right now." "Don’t you think not telling them is inviting trouble?" At the moment, Leslie’s main concern was how much she should tell Alex. If he knew her job was on the line, would he still want to be her client? Then again, he already knew about the phone calls and the possibility that someone had made her sick at the anniversary party. If someone at Newman’s were responsible, it certainly would be a bad idea confide in any of them. Robert was dead, so were her parents. Leslie had no one to turn to. No one but Alex Steele. Could she trust him? Alex set his mug on the coffee table, then took hers and put it down, too. He reached for her hand and held it between both of his. His fingers were warm, strong, reassuring. "Leslie, if you are in some kind of trouble, I may be able to help you." "I don’t know how." Alex seemed to hesitate, then said, "There’s something I haven’t told you about myself." Alarm rippled through her. She’d always sensed he had secrets. "Oh, what’s that?" "In the past, I was a private investigator. That’s how I got to be such a good computer hacker." Leslie raised her eyebrows in surprise. "A private investigator? And now you’re going into an Internet business? That seems a pretty radical change." She looked at him dubiously. "Yeah, maybe it is. But a lot of people change careers in mid-life." "Why don’t you want to be an investigator anymore?" She looked down at their hands, still locked together. She knew she should draw hers away, but left it where it was, warm and protected between his. "I, uh, got burned out. But when a puzzle like this comes along, the investigator part of me wants to dig in and discover the truth."

"But, Alex, you’re my client. At least you were. Maybe you won’t want to be now." Leslie looked away, afraid to meet his gaze. "Don’t worry about that. Of course, I want to be your client. But until you get this problem solved, I think you’re going to have a hard time concentrating on work." "You’re right about that. Shall I hire you, then? I can’t just let you provide your services for free." "We’ll worry about that later." Lacking the energy to continue her protest, Leslie gave in. "Okay, just how do you think you can help me?" "First, you can give me some background. You told me you lost your fiancé about six months ago. I have a feeling that’s when things started to go downhill for you." She nodded. "Would it be too stressful right now for you to tell me exactly what happened to him?" "I guess not. But what’s going on now has nothing to do with his death." "Maybe not, but it’ll help me anyway. If you don’t feel like talking about it today, though, we can wait till another time." Leslie heaved a deep sigh. "No, today is okay. And, you’re right; I should begin with Robert’s death." "Hang on a minute." Alex slid his hands away to take out a small notebook and a pencil from his shirt pocket. He flipped the book open and poised the pencil. "Okay, I’m ready." Leslie let her mind drift back in time. "Robert died in a boating accident on Lake Gibson. It’s a small lake about fifteen miles north of town." "That must have been very tragic for you." "It was. It was such a violent way for him--for anyone--to die." She sipped her tea, hoping to calm the waves of emotion that already threatened to swamp her. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all. Alex waited patiently and, finally, Leslie continued. "Robert had a twenty foot boat that he kept moored at the lake, at Jeffrey Holtzer’s dock. You remember, he’s Roz’s boyfriend. He was at Newman’s party. We used to cruise around the lake, fishing or sometimes water skiing. "Robert was an active man, he liked to be doing things. So, one night he was out in the boat by himself. He often went out alone. He said it was the only time he could really think. Well, on that particular night, the boat"--Leslie choked back a sob--"blew up," she finished in a bare whisper. Alex stopped writing, reached over, and put a comforting hand on her

shoulder. He let his hand linger. The silence slid by. Finally, he asked, "Was it determined why the boat blew up?" Leslie shrugged. "A gas leak, a spark somewhere. He’d been having trouble with the engine. He was going to take it to a repair place, but hadn’t gotten around to it. There was no way he could have survived. Divers found parts of his b-body in, in the water." Tears streamed down Leslie’s face. Her hand shook as she reached to wipe them away. "You don’t have to tell me anymore about that," Alex said. "This is too hard on you. Especially after what you’ve been through today. But could what’s been happening to you somehow be related to Robert’s death?" "I don’t see how. His death was ruled an accident. No one would want to kill him." "You may not know all there is to know about Robert," Alex suggested. Despite the kindness in his voice, Alex’s comment pushed a button. "He was my fiancé. I knew him very well." "Okay, okay." Alex raised a hand to show his capitulation. "Go on. What happened after that?" "Robert’s death tore my world apart. I couldn’t cope. I took a lot of time off from my job, and even when I was at the office, my mind wasn’t on my work. I was just getting back on my feet when these other things started happening, the phone calls, getting sick at the party, today’s accident. I know it sounds paranoid, but it’s like someone doesn’t want me to be okay again." Alex nodded. "We touched on this after your illness at the party, but we didn’t get very far with it." "Mac Foster, my boss--you probably remember him from the party--wants me to take a leave of absence. I don’t want to. My job is all I have to keep me going. Besides, I’m afraid that if I leave, Mac might decide they can get along without me permanently." "Is there someone at Newman’s who would benefit from your being out?" "I suppose there are a few people," she admitted. "Look, let’s make a list of everyone who works there and any motives they have for not wanting you to keep your job." Alex turned to a clean sheet in his notebook. Leslie told him about Roz and their rivalry, and about Roz’s boyfriend Jeffrey’s remark at the anniversary party. "Maybe it’s Jeffrey who’s behind these incidents," she said. Alex nodded as he wrote. "Could be. Do you know where he works?" "He’s a public relations consultant for Andrews and McBain. That’s where Robert worked. That’s how they became friends and how Roz met Jeffrey. Robert introduced them." Alex finished a sentence with a flourish of his pencil. "Okay, who else?" "You know about Stan. But he has nothing to gain by my leaving." She

paused. "Oh, there’s Hank Logan." She told Alex about Hank’s lingering grudge against her over the breakup of his marriage. "What about your boss, Mac Foster?" "I can’t think of any reason why he’d want to hurt me. He seems sincere about wanting me to get better. But he’s looking out for Newman’s, too. However, if he didn’t want me there, he’d fire me. He wouldn’t use sneaky ways to get rid of me." "Anyone else?" Leslie knit her brows in thought. "Well, there’s Gretchen Schneider. She’s a copywriter, like Stan. It was strange when she came to work at Newman’s because she looked a lot like me. We thought we might be related, but I don’t know if we are. I was adopted. Anyway, she changed her appearance, so now the resemblance is not so great." "Is she friendly to you?" "Yes, in fact, she seems to take my part against Roz. I like her okay, although there was a time when I didn’t." "Tell me about that." "Well, she made a play for Robert once, at a party. That made me mad. And okay, I admit it, jealous, too. But nothing came of it." She smiled. "In fact, Robert told me later he wasn’t the slightest bit interested in her. And, besides, it doesn’t matter now. . . ." "Does Gretchen want to be an ad exec?" "Yes, as a matter of fact, she does. And if I wasn’t there, she might very well step into my place. But she could also get a position with another company." Alex nodded as he wrote. "Okay, who else?" Leslie dutifully named Newman’s other employees, although she could think of no reasons why any of them would want to harm her. When they were finished, Alex closed his notebook. "There are some other things I want to know, but that’s enough for now. You need to rest." "Yes, I’ve got to go back to work tomorrow." His frown prompted her to add, "I have to!" "I understand." He stood. "I’ll check in on you later." "No! I mean, no, thank you. You’ve done too much already." "I’ll call you, then. That okay?" "Okay," she conceded. She watched him tuck his notebook and pencil into his shirt pocket. "What are you going to do with all those notes you made?" "Some checking." "How?"

He grinned. "Never mind. Investigators don’t tell their secrets. Don’t worry, though, I’ll be discreet. They’ll never know anyone has been looking into their lives." "I don’t think this is going to do any good." "Hey," he teased, "have a little confidence in me, will you?" "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful. Do you think I should tell the police about all this?" "Let me think about that for a while. It’s true that you don’t have any proof of anything. Even today’s incident could be chalked up to someone stirred up by the fight and taking it out on you." "All right. It suits me fine not to tell them. They’d probably start asking questions at Newman’s. If Mac finds out I might be someone’s target, he might make me take that leave of absence after all." Suddenly cold, Leslie shivered and hugged her sore arm. Alex picked up on the gesture. "Tell me where I can get a blanket to put over you." "In the bedroom closet. I guess you know where that is." "Yeah. Be right back." Alex returned shortly with a blanket and spread it over her. Then he picked up the cups and carried them into the kitchen. He came back and stood looking down at her, his brow wrinkled in concern. "I don’t want to leave you." "I’ll be all right," she assured him, although she didn’t relish the thought of being alone. It wasn’t so much that she was afraid. It was more that his presence was so comforting. "Talk to you later, then." He reached down and touched the back of his hand to her cheek in a light caress. Leslie’s skin tingled. She had the urge to grasp his hand and hold onto it tightly. Even after he had left, she still felt his touch on her cheek. A man’s touch. That was something she greatly missed. No, not a man’s touch. Robert’s touch. She mustn’t confuse the two. She mustn’t let her neediness, her loneliness, make her vulnerable to anything Alex did. He was just trying to help her. He was concerned about her, too. That thought warmed her more than the blanket did. There was no one, really, to care about her, now that Robert was gone and she and Roz were drifting apart. Leslie had never been one to have many close friends. She had many acquaintances, but few intimates. She had always found it difficult to open herself up to people. There were parts of herself she hadn’t even shared with Robert. Now Alex, this stranger, had become involved in her life. She must be careful not to read too much into that. He was simply being helpful. He would have done the same for anyone else.

Leslie was surprised at herself for telling him all that she had. However, he was such an easy person to be with; relaxed, forthright, tender, and caring. She couldn’t imagine why some woman had not snapped him up by now. A doubt niggled her. He was too good to be true. She should be more on guard, she thought as she drifted off to sleep. * * * Half an hour later, Alex sat by the window of his condo near Pike Place Market. On a table at his elbow were the list he’d made at Leslie’s and a bottle of beer he’d taken from the refrigerator. He didn’t know how Petersen had managed to rent this prime piece of property for him, but he was grateful. He could sit for hours watching the activity around the Market and out on Puget Sound. Just now, a green and white ferry glided toward the mountain-ridged peninsula, to a town he’d learned was called Bremerton. In the distance another ferry chugged toward Seattle. In a few minutes, their paths would cross. Alex waited till the two merged into one, then he turned away to sip his beer. He picked up the list and studied it. Gut level feeling told him Leslie was someone’s target, that what had happened to her was not coincidences or accidents. Some of her co-workers did have motives, but what of the other people connected to Leslie? People she did not know about. Her birth father, for instance. Her birth mother was dead, but the father's whereabouts was unknown. From the file Guy Petersen had given him, Alex knew that Leslie’s father’s name was Frank Jakovi. What if Jakovi had somehow found out that Petersen was seeking Leslie and that she would most likely be his heir? Would he want a piece of the action? Alex didn’t think Leslie’s father would go so far as to harm her, though. More likely, he would want to get in good with her, as with the proverbial goose that laid the golden egg. However, experience had taught Alex never to second-guess anyone’s motives or behavior. Besides Jakovi, there might be other relatives who stood to gain by Leslie being out of the picture. Petersen hadn’t mentioned any, but that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. Alex needed to talk to Petersen. He certainly didn’t want to put the old man in jeopardy by uniting him and Leslie before he had thoroughly checked things out. That had been the problem with Anna’s case, he reminded himself, at the same time experiencing the stab of pain that memory always brought. Alex had not thoroughly investigated everyone involved in Anna’s life. The result had been tragedy. Well, he wouldn’t make the same mistake again. If someone was after Leslie, that person needed to be exposed and stopped. Alex sighed and took another long swig of out to be much more complicated than he’d would be such a cinch. A month, tops, and his new business, and out of messing with

the beer. This case was turning ever dreamed. He’d thought it he’d be on his way to starting other people's lives.

He’d better get on with it and call Petersen. His wristwatch said four

o’clock. Seven back East. Plenty early enough to catch the old man before he went to bed. He reached for the phone. Chester answered. When Peterson came on the line, Alex could hear the birds twittering in the background. He pictured Petersen sitting in his wheelchair in his humid solarium, the crows perched on the back, the others flitting through the trees. "What’s up?" Peterson asked. "I have a couple of questions for you." "Fire away." "Do you know what happened to Leslie’s birth father, Frank Jakovi?" Peterson snorted. "No, I don’t. If he ever shows up around here, he’ll wish he hadn’t." "I was also wondering who stands to inherit your estate if you didn’t find Leslie?" "Some of it goes to charities, with or without her. A portion goes to my nephew, Joe, the son of my late sister, Josephine. I offered Joe a job in the business, but he lasted only a couple of months. He didn’t want to work his way up, so I kicked him out. Can’t completely cut him out of my will, though. I wouldn’t be where I am today if it wasn’t for my sister, and I promised her I’d do right by her son. So he gets something. Without Leslie, yes, he’d be my only heir." "Do you know where he is now?" "Last I heard, he was in Las Vegas, dealing blackjack. And probably gambling away everything he makes, too." "Last name?" "Scarpelli. My sister went for the Italians. Joe looks just like his father; he’s tall, has black hair, and a smug look you’d like to knock off his face." Alex smiled at the description. There was certainly no love lost between Petersen and his nephew. "I think I should check out both Leslie’s father and her cousin." "Why? Is anything wrong?" "I’m not sure. Leslie’s been getting strange phone calls, and there’ve been a couple of accidents." "Accidents?" Alex heard the sudden alarm in Petersen’s voice. "She’s okay, isn’t she?" "Yes, she’s okay. They could be nothing but coincidences, but I want to find out before I get the two of you together." "I agree." "Thing is, doing the legwork myself would mean leaving here, and I don’t want to do that. I need to stick around and keep an eye on her."

"So hire someone else." "That’s just what I was going to suggest. I have a network of men I’ve worked with in the past who are very good and absolutely trustworthy. They’re expensive, though," he added. "Send me the bills," Petersen said without hesitation. "And don’t let anything happen to Leslie!" "Don’t worry, I won’t." Alex hoped he could keep that promise. After Alex hung up, he called Carl Holt, an ex-cop he’d known in Boston, who had relocated to Las Vegas as a P.I. Fortunately, Carl was in. "You caught me at a good time," he told Alex. "I’m not real busy." Alex quickly outlined the assignment: find a card dealer named Joe Scarpelli, last known whereabouts, Las Vegas. "Just let me know when you find him," he added. "I’ll tell you what to do then." Alex next put in a call to Hal Reeves, a P.I. he’d met while on an assignment in Chicago. He knew that Petersen's daughter, Carol, and her husband, Frank Jakovi, had lived near there when they’d left Massachusetts. Hal wasn’t in, so Alex left a message on his answering machine. He hoped Hal wasn’t out for too long; finding Leslie’s father, who hadn’t been heard of for the last twenty-eight years, might take awhile. Alex thought about Leslie’s reluctance to involve the Seattle police. He didn’t really want to involve them either. It might blow his cover. On the other hand, he wasn’t about to put Leslie at risk. Her life was more important than following Petersen’s directions. However, he decided to advise Leslie to hold off on going to the police. Hopefully, he could discover who was after her. Once they got some definite proof, then the local cops could be called in. Alex added Leslie’s birth father, Frank Jakovi, and her cousin, Joe Scarpelli, to his list of names. After a moment’s thought, he put down Robert’s sister, Melanie Grafton. He knew of no motive for her, but she was someone in Leslie’s current life, so she went on the list. Alex looked over what he had written; many names and many motives. This was a tough case to crack. He’d never had an assignment that wasn’t over once he’d found the person he was looking for. Well, if he counted Anna’s case, that wasn’t exactly true. Anna. In his mind’s eye, he could clearly see her round face and wide, child-like eyes, vulnerability you could sense from a mile away. His gut twisted. He should have known that finding Anna was a set-up from the get-go. He pounded his fist on the table. He had been stupid, stupid, stupid. Yeah, and what’s to say this case won’t turn out the same way, hero? said an inner voice. You could bungle this one, too. Alex had to admit that if he’d known that day he’d talked to Petersen what he knew now, he wouldn’t have taken the assignment, not even for all

the money and connections in the world. He was stuck with it now, though, and he had to make the best of it. Pushing aside the painful memories of Anna, he jumped up. It was time to get to work.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Leslie stuck her mug under the coffeepot’s spigot, hoping another cup would give her the jump-start she needed to go to her cubicle and begin working. Yesterday’s accident had certainly taken its toll on her. She’d barely had the energy to come in to the office this morning. Hank Hogan and Bob Lovall sat at a table reading the morning newspaper. "Heard about your accident, Leslie," Hank Hogan said. Bob Lovall glanced up from the Sports Section. "Yeah. Sounds like you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. How’re you doing?" "Pretty good," Leslie said. Actually, her head ached, and her shoulder, although still supported by a sling, throbbed. She was glad it was her left side instead of her dominant right, though, or she would have been severely hampered at work. "The market is usually such a fun place," Gretchen Schneider said from where she sat in a leather lounge chair, a copy of Ad Week on her lap. She held her coffee mug in both hands, her elbows propped on the chair’s padded arms. "It seems an odd place for a business lunch, though." "It was the client’s choice," Leslie said casually, hoping the subject would then be dropped. "What client?" Hank asked as he and Bob, without comment, traded the newspaper sections they had been reading. "Well, he’s not really a client yet," Leslie said. "He just wanted some information about our services." Roz breezed in, a huge, black patent leather purse swinging from her shoulder. She hurried to Leslie’s side. "Leslie, I just heard from Cindy about what happened to you yesterday. Are you all right?" Her hug touched off a wave of pain down Leslie’s shoulder. "Ouch, watch the shoulder, please." "Oh, hon, I’m sorry." Roz drew away and looked at Leslie. Her glossy red

lips, a perfect match to the scarf billowing up from the neck of her navy blue suit, turned down in a look of sympathy. "Tell me what happened." "You already heard it from Cindy." "I want to hear it from you." Leslie sighed. "Okay," she began, aware that the other three were listening closely. "I was having lunch at the market with a potential client. As we were leaving, a fight broke out among a crowd listening to some musicians. I got jostled into the street and fell against a passing truck." "Poor thing," Roz said. "I hope Alex was still around to help you." Leslie’s mouth dropped open. "How did you know I was with Alex?" "Why, it’s on your calendar in your cubicle," Roz said. "I came in late yesterday morning to talk to you, but you were already gone. I looked at your bulletin board and saw your lunch date written there." "Of course," Leslie said. She recalled that Stan had seen it, too. There were no secrets here. Anyone could have looked at her big calendar and seen with whom she had an appointment, where, and at what time. "Yes, Alex was very helpful," Leslie said, answering Roz’s previous question. "He came to the hospital, then saw that I got home all right." "Why didn’t you call me last night?" Roz said. "I was pretty much out of it. The doctor I saw gave me some pain medication." "Nothing broken, I take it?" "Just this wrenched shoulder and some bruises." "I can’t imagine you feel much like working today. Why don’t you take the day off? I’ll tell Mac--" "No," Leslie said sharply. "I’m staying. I feel good enough to work." Was Roz really concerned about her, or did she have some ulterior motive for wanting Leslie to take more time off from work? * * * However, as the day wore on, Leslie felt less and less like working. With her aching head and throbbing shoulder, concentration on her tasks was all but impossible. Finally, blessedly, five o’clock rolled around. As she was clearing her desk, Stan popped into her cubicle. His tan sports jacket and pale yellow shirt gave his complexion, even his reddish nose, an unflattering yellow cast. A bulging briefcase dangled from one hand. "I’ve been out all day," he told Leslie. "We had two presentations, one at Station KBCM, and the other at Geoffrey’s, that new restaurant on the waterfront." "How’d they go?"

He shrugged. "So-so. But, how are you doing?" "Good, Stan. Thanks for asking." "What happened to you yesterday? All I know is what Cindy said." "Which I’m sure is accurate. I don’t really feel like going over it again if you don’t mind." "Is there anything I can do? Why don’t you let me bring you some dinner tonight, up to your apartment? You can’t cook with that bum arm." "No, thanks, Stan. I’ve got some leftovers to eat." Leslie picked up her purse and slung the strap over her good shoulder. "I was just leaving." He sidled closer to her. "You take the bus in? Let me drive you home." "Yes, I took the bus. And thanks for the offer, but I can manage okay on my own." "You really need someone to help you, Leslie." "If I do, I’ll let you know, okay?" His expression, so full of hope while extending his offers of help, turned abruptly sour. "Yeah, okay, Leslie. . . . Take care, then." Leslie felt Stan’s eyes on her back as she made her way through the office. Uneasiness rippled through her. Since that night at the anniversary party, she hadn’t been able to relax around him. Things would never be the same between them, she thought, as she waited for the elevator. It was sad, but there was nothing she could do about it. * * * At home, Leslie rummaged in the refrigerator and found some leftover lasagna. As she ate, she thought, as she so often did these days, about Robert. She missed him so much. They had shared many dinners together here in her apartment. After dinner, she brought out a crewel project of two hummingbirds hovering around some flowers. With the TV playing in the background, she managed to work the fingers of her left hand along with her right, to begin the delicate stitching that would make the birds come to life. The longing for Robert that she had experienced at dinner still hung over her like a dark, heavy cloud. Finally, she put aside her stitchery, went to the bedroom closet, and took down the box of his belongings that his sister, Melanie, had delivered. She rummaged through it, her fingers skimming over the wool sweaters and soft cotton shirts. When her hand closed around the daily planner, she pulled it out. She unzipped the leather notebook and felt in the side pocket for the key. She laid it in her palm, gazing thoughtfully at it. She felt more certain than ever that the key fit a safety deposit box. Did she dare try to find out if she was right? But how could she? She couldn’t go to Robert’s bank and ask to see his box. And why should she even attempt such an audacious thing? Robert’s affairs had nothing to do with what was happening to her now.

Still, curiosity nagged her. If only she had a way to check out that box! Then it suddenly dawned on her that she did have a way. Clutching the key, she took her address book from her briefcase. She found the number she sought, dialed it, and listened impatiently to the ringing on the other end. At last there was an answer. "Alex?" she said when she heard his deep 'Hello.' "I thought of something you could help me with. . . . No, I’d rather not explain over the phone." "I’ll be right over," he said. * * * "Do you think this will work?" Leslie asked Alex. "I’m getting cold feet." "Don’t worry, it’ll work," Alex said. He put his hand under her elbow and led her up the steps to the Western National Bank. It was the bank’s downtown branch, on Third Avenue, where Leslie knew Robert had had an account. The previous evening, when Alex had come to her apartment, the two of them had hatched today’s plan. Assuming that Leslie's hunch about the key was correct, they would go to Robert's bank and examine the contents of Robert’s safety deposit box. "Just relax and act natural," Alex said as he opened the door. "Yeah, right. Act natural." Leslie laughed nervously. Leslie looked around at the gray carpet, burgundy upholstered chairs, and potted plants. Banks always had such a hushed atmosphere, as though everything that went on was of the utmost seriousness. Well-groomed men and women officials sat behind their desks, while tellers peeped out of their little cages. Signs and banners advertised mortgages, loans, CDs, investments. They walked past the line of customers standing in the roped- off lane leading to the tellers’ stations. On the other side stood their destination, the vault where safety deposit boxes were kept. The thick, metal door was open, but a metal grill barred unauthorized people from the inner sanctum. Leslie’s heart hammered. What if they were caught? She had been crazy to concoct this absurd scheme. Alex, on the other hand, seemed incredibly calm. The half-smile gracing his lips and his smooth stride gave him a relaxed and confident air. In accordance with their plan, Leslie stopped off at the counter where blank counter checks, deposit and withdrawal slips filled little slots. Alex continued on to the woman employee guarding the vault. Leslie watched covertly while pretending to fill out a deposit slip. The woman employee wore a gray suit that matched her gray hair. A navy handkerchief in the breast pocket provided a touch of color. Half-glasses perched on her pointed nose as she looked up at Alex. Alex and Leslie had rehearsed this scene several times last night. She had told him Robert’s mother’s maiden name--Lawson--which he would be

required to know in order to gain access to Robert’s safety deposit box. Then he had practiced over and over writing Robert’s signature. Leslie was counting on Robert not having come to his box so often that the employees knew him by sight. Judging from the way things were going so far, he hadn’t. The woman was sliding over the card for Alex to sign, along with a pen. While Alex bent his head to write Robert’s signature, the woman tapped in something on her computer. Alex returned the card to the woman. She picked it up, looked at it, then at her computer screen. She entered some more information. Leslie held her breath. Another customer came to the counter, standing between Leslie and the vault. Leslie moved slightly so that she could resume watching. The woman frowned and said something to Alex. Oh oh, a bad sign. Leslie felt sweat bead her upper lip. The woman rose and went behind the tellers’ station. Alex looked straight ahead, in the direction of the vault. Although Leslie knew it was best that he not pay any attention to her, she wished he would give her some sign as to what was going on. The woman returned, accompanied by a man wearing a black suit. Together they bent over the computer screen. Leslie’s tension made her want to scream. Finally, after several moments of fussing with the computer, smiles lit both the man’s and the woman’s faces. The man left, the woman rose and gestured for Alex to follow her into the vault. Alex picked up his briefcase and rose. Leslie let out a relieved breath. Whatever the problem was, it had been solved. Still, Alex had yet to remove the contents of the box--if there were any--and get them both out of here. They weren’t home free yet. The woman emerged from the vault, but no Alex. The seconds ticked by. The line in front of the tellers’ station grew, diminished, grew again. Leslie stood on one foot and then the other. Where was Alex! At last he appeared and motioned for the woman. He needed her to put the box away. More tense moments passed until both of them returned. The woman sat back down at her desk. Alex, briefcase in hand, walked toward Leslie. As he passed the counter, she fell into step beside him. Alex and Leslie didn’t speak as they left the bank, nor as they clattered down the steps. It wasn’t until they were in Alex’s car, with the doors shut, that Leslie felt safe enough to talk. "Did you get anything from the box?" She held her breath for the answer. Alex put the briefcase on the seat between them and started the car’s engine. "A couple of manila envelopes, is all. I didn’t look inside them. That’s for you to do." "It took so long!" They merged from the bank’s parking lot into Third Avenue traffic. "The keys stuck. She put hers in, then I put mine in. They wouldn’t turn right away. The locks must need oil or something." "I about had a heart attack when she went to get that guy. What was the problem?" "Just some data that wouldn’t come up on the computer." Alex braked for a

traffic light. He turned to look at her. "Relax, it’s all over now." "I feel like a criminal," she said. "Don’t. Chances are, since you were his fiancée, Robert would have wanted you to take care of the box, anyway. Especially since he wasn’t close to his sister." He glanced at his wristwatch. "It’s twelve-thirty. What do you want to do now?" Leslie considered his question. Was she going to let Alex in on what he’d retrieved from the safety box? It seemed unfair not to. But what if she found something bad about Robert? That was what she feared, wasn’t it? Feared and at the same time was compelled to know. "Can we get something to eat?" she asked. "You don’t want to open the envelopes first?" Leslie pressed her stomach. "I feel kind of queasy. I’d better eat something first. . . . If I can." "Okay. Where’s a good place to go?" "I’d like to get out of the downtown area. I know, let’s go to The Cove. It’s at the foot of Magnolia bluff and looks out over the water. It’s far enough away from the office that none of my co-workers are likely to be there. "Okay," Alex said. "Give me directions." * * * Half an hour later, Leslie took a sip of her minestrone soup and laid down the spoon. She’d managed to eat most of it, the tossed salad, and a piece of rye bread, but her stomach still churned with anxiety. She leaned her head back against the padded booth and gazed out the window where boats tied to the dock bobbed in the wakes of other vessels heading to and from the Lake Union Ship Canal. "All done?" Alex asked. She nodded. "Me, too." He pushed aside his empty plate. Opening his briefcase, he took out two manila envelopes and set them on the table between them. Leslie couldn’t bring herself to reach for them. "Maybe this is a mistake," she said. "Maybe I should just give these to Melanie." "And try to explain why we did what we did this morning?" Alex asked incredulously. He sat back and folded his arms across his chest. "Well, it’s your call. If that’s what you want to do. . . ." "No, you’re right. We’ve come this far." She swallowed hard and took hold of the first envelope. She unfastened the clasp, reached in, and drew out a sheaf of papers. She looked at the top one. "Car insurance policy," she said, laying it on the table. The next one was Robert’s Army discharge; then came some leases for apartments he’d rented. "Just some miscellaneous personal papers," she said when she’d finished. "The kind of stuff you’d expect to be in a safety deposit box." Alex nudged the other envelope toward her. "Check this one."

"Okay." Feeling more relaxed now, Leslie opened it and pulled out a white, legal-size envelope that had been sent through the U.S. mail. When she looked at the address side, shock rippled through her. "Why, this is addressed to me! It’s from my adoptive parents." She pointed to the return address in the upper left-hand corner. Alex’s eyes widened. "No kidding? What’s the postmark date?" "June of last year. Just a couple of weeks before they went on the bus trip that killed them." "They were killed while on a bus trip?" Alex said. Leslie nodded, remembering that awful time. "It was a stupid accident. They’d gone on a tour around the country. They were traveling through a mountain pass in Oregon when the bus plowed into a jack-knifed truck during a bad rain storm. The bus plunged over a cliff. My parents and two other people were killed. Everyone else survived." "You’ve had some bad losses," Alex said softly. "I know." Leslie pushed away the painful memories and focused on the envelope in her hand. The flap had been neatly slit open. "I can’t imagine what this could be, or why Robert had it." "Why don’t you see what it is?" Alex prodded gently. Leslie’s heart thudded as she reached in and drew out a single sheet of paper and another, smaller white envelope. She unfolded the single sheet. "It’s a letter from my parents," she said, glancing at the signature at the bottom. She quickly scanned the lines. Then she looked up at Alex. "I’ll share this with you," she said, and began to read: Dear Leslie, We know you told us you don’t want to know about your birth parents, and while your dad and I respect that, we feel that you may change your mind in the future. Therefore, we are enclosing some information for you. It is sealed, as you will see. Just put it with your important papers to look at when the time comes. We love you. Mother and Dad Leslie’s eyes filled with tears. Reading the letter brought back vivid memories of the two people who had raised her as their own, two people whom she had loved very much. Leslie stared at the white envelope. "This has been opened, too, so I guess Robert looked at it." She pulled out the papers. One, heavier than usual, was folded in half. Astonishment rendered her momentarily tongue-tied. "My birth certificate," she said, when she was able to speak. "My birth mother’s name was Carolyn Petersen Jakovi. My father was Frank Jakovi." There was a color photo of a dark-haired couple. Their arms around each other, smiling at the camera, they stood in front of a white frame house with a peaked roof. On the back was written, "Carolyn and Frank, 1969."

Leslie studied the picture, trying to summon up some emotion, but feeling only empty inside. Carolyn and Frank were strangers, nothing more. That was all that was in the envelope. She said, "I guess they didn’t send any more information, because it’s up to me if I want to find out more." "Either that, or that’s all they knew. But the big question is, why did Robert have this? He must have intercepted it when it came in the mail. Would that have been possible?" Leslie leaned back and folded her arms over her chest. "Let me think. I remember that before they went on the bus trip, Mom called and said she was going to send me some papers she wanted me to have. Then when the bus accident happened, I forgot all about it. I told Robert, though. In fact, he was there when I got the call from Mom. I remember saying to him at the time, "I hope she’s not sending me information about my birth parents. I told her I didn’t want to know anything about them." "Was there a time when he could have picked up your mail?" "Lots of times. He came over frequently for dinner. He had a key to my apartment, also one to my mailbox. Sometimes when the mail would be delivered really late in the afternoon, he’d bring it in with him when he arrived for dinner. Or, he could have picked this up on a Saturday, when I was at the grocery or running some other errand. He saw who it was from, and opened it." "You sound so unperturbed. Doesn’t it upset you that he would do that?" "Of course not," Leslie said, quickly on the defensive. "He guessed what it was and wanted to protect me from something I didn’t want to deal with." Alex quirked an eyebrow in skepticism. "Leslie, does it occur to you that he may have had his own reasons for hiding this from you?" She stared defiantly at him. "He wasn’t hiding it. He was keeping it safe for me. What could be more secure than a bank safety deposit box?" He opened his mouth to reply, but before he could, she blurted, "Now don’t you start on Robert, too!" Alex leaned forward with interest. "What do you mean? Have other people told you things you didn’t want to hear about your former fiancé?" Suddenly conscious of the pain in her arm, she vigorously rubbed it. She had stopped wearing the sling, but it still ached. "Never mind." "Why don’t you want to know about your birth parents?" Alex asked softly. "Because, although they brought me into the world, they had nothing else to do with me. Mom and Dad Morgan were my real parents." She spread her hands, trying to make him understand. "I grew up believing a certain set of facts about myself. That Ester and Henry Morgan were my parents. That Grandma and Grandpa Morgan and Grandma and Grandpa Isel were my grandparents. I built my whole self-identity around these people.

They weren’t going to tell me I was adopted, but some of the family members knew, including a cousin. When I was fifteen, she told me. I didn’t believe her. I went to Mom and Dad and asked them, expecting them to tell me it was a lie. But no, it was true. I was in shock for a while. Then I got angry. I told them I never, ever wanted to know anything more about it." "You never had even the slightest urge to know who your birth parent were?" Alex asked. "I’m pressing you on that because in my work as an investigator I dealt with many adoptees who did want to know." "No, I haven’t. I’ve pretended the other set of parents never existed. Like I just fell out of the sky or something." She gave him a wan smile. "But now you do know who they are," Alex said. "Has that changed your mind about anything?" Leslie looked at her birth certificate and the picture. "No, and it never will," she said as she put them back into the envelope. In the ensuing silence, Leslie turned to look out the window. A black and white tugboat coasted by, followed by a couple of cruisers, yacht club flags flying from their masts. Alex sipped his coffee. Alex finally spoke. "There’s still the big question of why Robert intercepted this and was keeping it from you." Leslie dropped her jaw open in disbelief. "Don’t you get it yet? I told him the same thing I just told you about not wanting to know who my birth parents were. He was trying to protect me." Alex’s eyebrows rose in skepticism. "He was!" Heat flamed Leslie’s cheeks. Why couldn’t Alex accept that? "He loved me," she said. "Robert loved me!" * * * Fifteen minutes later, Alex and Leslie were on their way back to town. "What are we going to do next?" she asked as the Grant Building came into sight. Alex braked for a traffic light. "I think I’ll look into Robert’s boating accident." "Why?" "Maybe it wasn’t an accident. Maybe someone is after both of you." A chill shot up Leslie’s spine. "That’s crazy. Why would someone want to kill him and me?" "I don’t know. That’s why I’m going to look into it." Leslie thoughtfully watched the cars passing in front of them. "Has it occurred to you that if someone is after me, you’ll be in danger, too?" To her surprise, Alex threw back his head and laughed. "No problem. I’m used to that. I like danger. It keeps life from getting too boring."

Leslie shook her head. The light turned green and they rolled through the intersection. "I don’t think I’ll ever understand you." "Not many people have," Alex said with sudden gravity. They traveled the next two blocks in silence and pulled into the loading zone for the Grant Building. "Are you free this evening?" Alex asked. Leslie put her hand on the door handle, ready to get out. "Yes." She was free every evening, now that Robert was gone. "Good. I’ll be over about six-thirty. I’ve found out a few things about the people on your list that we can go over." "Okay. I can fix us some dinner." "I’ll bring dinner and you can let that sore shoulder rest some more. Now, you’d better scram. There’s someone on my tail who wants this space." "See you later." Leslie jumped out, and Alex sped away. * * * As Leslie climbed the steps leading to the Grant Building’s revolving doors, Jeffrey Holtzer stepped out of the shadows near the side of the building. His reddish hair matched the bronze pinstripe in his brown suit. Smoke from the cigarette between his fingers curled into the air. "Hello, Leslie." "Hi," she said, warily. "Isn’t that Alex Steele?" Jeffrey nodded at Alex’s car merging into traffic. "Yes, it is." It rankled her that Jeffrey had been watching her and Alex. "Is he your client now?" "As a matter of fact, yes." Jeffrey flicked ashes into a large, sand-filled ashtray near the doorway. "But didn’t Roz meet him first? At the anniversary party?" "Roz and I discussed that and she doesn’t have any problem with Alex choosing me to work with him." Leslie stepped aside to let a group of people enter the revolving doors. "That’s because she’s such a softie where her friends are concerned. But you shouldn’t be taking Roz’s clients, Leslie. It’s not right." "Were you on your way up to see Roz?" Leslie asked, edging toward the doors. "No, I just saw her. We had lunch together." "Well, I’d better be getting back to the office." The onyx ring on Jeffrey’s finger gleamed in the sunlight as he took a drag on his cigarette. "Just remember what I said, Leslie."

His menacing tone set Leslie’s heart to thudding. "Are you threatening me?" Jeffrey’s lips curved into a smirk. "No, of course not. I’m just trying to get you to see what’s best for both you and Roz." "It’s not your business, Jeffrey." "Yes, it is. Roz is my business." Jeffrey stabbed his cigarette out in the sand tray. Any more discussion would be futile, Leslie thought. She turned on her heel and pushed through the revolving doors. She half expected Jeffrey to follow her, but when she risked a glance over her shoulder, she saw him still outside. He was watching her, though. Leslie was glad when she finally reached the elevators, for they hid her from his view. Forget Jeffrey, she told herself while riding the elevator. But her heart was still pounding even after she was safely inside Newman’s office.

CHAPTER NINE

Leslie tucked her T-shirt into her jeans and surveyed herself in her full-length, bedroom mirror. She pushed a stray hair into her ponytail and wiped off a last smudge of lipstick. Was she overdoing her casual look? No, changing clothes after work was a normal routine. Why should she do something different just because Alex Steele was coming? She wasn’t trying to impress him. In fact, now that she was home, she wished he wasn’t coming. It would be so much easier to just open a can of soup or microwave something simple and spend her evening alone, as usual. As the minutes crept by, Leslie’s nerves hummed along with the ticking of the clock. She tried working on one of her crewel wall hangings but couldn’t concentrate. Promptly at six thirty, Alex arrived. He wore a denim jacket, brown knit shirt and hip-hugging jeans. Unexpectedly, Leslie’s breath caught in her throat. What was wrong with her? This kind of response to Alex, to any man, was crazy. It was too soon after Robert’s death for her to be behaving like this.

"Right on time," she said when she could finally breathe again. Alex carried a large white sack with a Charlie’s Seafood Grotto logo on the side. The restaurant was one of the many along Elliott Bay. "I didn’t know Charlie’s had take-out," Leslie said as Alex strode inside the apartment. "They didn’t know they had it either," he said with a mischievous glint in his eye. "But I convinced them that their grilled halibut would taste just as good at your place as it would at theirs." "Just as good, maybe, but without the ambiance," she said. "Oh, I don’t know about that. You’ve got a pretty nice place here," he said, grinning. The casual banter took the edge off Leslie’s jangling nerves. Maybe this evening wasn’t going to be so stressful, after all. Leslie led Alex to the kitchen, where they unloaded the bag. Talking mostly about the food, they prepared plates of the halibut, roasted new potatoes, green beans and mushrooms, then slipped them into the microwave for a quick warm-up. While the microwave ticked off the seconds, they opened a container of Caesar salad, and another of berry cobbler. "If you can supply the coffee, we’ll be in business," Alex said. Leslie nodded and got out her grinder and a package of coffee beans. The preparations finished, they sat down at the dining room table. "This is wonderful," Leslie said after sampling everything. "I really appreciate your thoughtfulness." "You’re welcome," Alex said. He took a bite of sauce-covered halibut and gazed out the window as he chewed. "Good view from here." "I’ve always enjoyed it," Leslie said, noting how golden sunlight bathed the metal and concrete buildings of downtown Seattle. "Seattle has a lot of great views," Alex continued. "I’m sure Boston does, too." "Yeah, and a lot of history." "You’re a history buff?" He laughed. "When I have time." "Then you’ll be interested in seeing the museums in our area," she said. "There’s all sorts of stuff about the first settlers, the Indians, the Gold Rush." Warming to a subject that interested her, as well, Leslie answered Alex’s questions about historical Seattle. It had been a long time since she’d talked to anyone about such a casual topic as history. Most of the conversations she had with clients centered around advertising and making money. Tonight’s talk with Alex offered a refreshing change. When they were finished eating, Leslie suggested they have dessert and

coffee on the deck. They carried their ice cream-topped berry cobbler and mugs of coffee outside and sat at the small wrought iron table. Leslie watched Alex’s glance take in the redwood boxes of geraniums and marigolds resting at their feet, the driftwood windchime and white pot of begonias hanging from the roof. "You sure know how to make a place homey," he commented. "Thank you. I spend a lot of time here, so it’s important for me to be surrounded by things I like." "You like plants and gardening, then." "Yes, I’d been looking forward to having a garden when Robert and I. . . ." Her voice trailed off. Why had she brought that up? It was Alex’s fault. He had a way of drawing her out. He quickly took up the conversational slack. "My mother is quite a gardener. She has everything worked out in seasons. Bulbs for the spring are planted in the fall, and so forth." "Where does she live?" Leslie asked, grateful for the opportunity to remove the spotlight from herself. "On Long Island. My father passed away several years ago. Shortly after that, Aunt Mindy, Mother’s sister, who’s also a widow, came to live with her. They get along pretty well. Aunt loves to cook and keep house. Mother enjoys the yard. Dad left her pretty well off, so she doesn’t have to worry. She volunteers a lot; the Children’s Hospital, the public library, that sort of thing." Leslie nodded. "She sounds like a nice person." "She is." After a moment’s silence, Alex asked, "What about your parents? Your adopted ones, I mean. I know they were killed in that bus accident, but where did they live before that?" "On a farm in Wenatchee. It’s in eastern Washington. They were farmers back in Illinois, too, before we moved out here." "I remember from your birth certificate that Illinois is where you were born." "Uh huh. We came here when I was five. I don’t know why because Dad never seemed to like it here very much. Back in Illinois he had a dairy farm. Out here it was mostly fruit, like apples and pears." "How about you, did you like life on the farm?" "It was okay. But I’m happier in the city." Was happy until her world had collapsed, she amended to herself. With the shift in conversation back to her personal life, an apprehension settled over Leslie. They should have stuck to the safe, neutral topics that had carried them through dinner. She let several seconds drift by, then said, "Well, we should get on with what you came for." "I suppose so," he said. They went back inside where Alex settled in one of the floral-patterned

chairs and Leslie sat on the sofa, the coffee table between them. Alex had retrieved his notebook from his jacket pocket. "I’ve found out some interesting things about some of the people on our list," he said. "Really?" she said. "I can’t imagine there’d be anything I don’t already know." Alex quirked an eyebrow. "You really are kind of naive, you know that?" Leslie felt herself blushing. "I didn’t mean that as a criticism. It’s really refreshing." He gave her a long look, then flipped open his notebook. "We’ll start with Hank Hogan’s police record." Leslie started. "A police record! Whatever for?" "Domestic violence. Actually, only one incident was reported, three years ago. But for every one reported, statistics show there are others the police never hear about." "What exactly did he do?" "Roughed up his wife--ex-wife, now. Went after her with a tire iron. He was changing their car’s flat tire at the time of the argument. She had cuts bad enough to be treated by a doctor." "Wow. I guess I can believe that. Although he’s never threatened to harm me physically, I have the feeling sometimes that he would like to." "Then there’s your friend, Roz," Alex went on, "who’s supposed to be tight with Jeffrey. Right?" "As far as I know," Leslie said. "Well, get ready for another surprise. Two nights ago, she went out with someone else." "It could have been a business meeting." "I don’t think so. Not the way they were cozying up to each other in Dooley’s Bar." "Who was the guy?" "I don’t know yet. Still working on it." "Roz is a flirt," Leslie conceded. "And she’s had a lot of boyfriends in the past, none of whom lasted very long. But she told me that Jeffrey is The One." "I wouldn’t count on it," Alex said. "Well, okay, what does that have to do with me?" "I don’t know that yet, either. I’m just telling you what I’ve found out." Alex flipped a page in his notebook.

"There’s more?" Leslie’s shoulders slumped. "Just one. Has to do with Mac." "Mac? No, I don’t want to hear that. If there’s one person at Newman’s I can trust. . . ." Seeing Alex’s quirked eyebrow, she said, "Okay, go ahead." "Seems your boss plans to downsize the company. The bottom line isn’t looking as good as it should." "Downsize? Why, he’s never said a word about that!" "‘Course not. He doesn’t want to cause a panic, or demoralize the troops beforehand." Leslie lapsed into thought. "So maybe my taking a leave would be a way to get me out?" Alex shrugged. "Maybe. Don’t know for sure." "How do you find out all this stuff?" Leslie said. "Hey, I was a good investigator. But, I don’t know if any of this relates to your situation. I just gather the data. And I’m still checking. Not done, by a long shot. Can you think of anything else I should look into?" Leslie shook her head. Alex put down his notebook and pencil. He looked at her soberly, opened his mouth as though to speak, then clamped his jaws shut. "What?" she asked. "Well, I’ve thought of something else. . . . But you’re not going to like it." She grinned. "You’re probably right. But try me." "I was thinking about that box of Robert’s stuff that his sister gave you. If we went through it together, we might find something else important, besides the key." Leslie shook her head. "You just won’t give up on Robert, will you? I keep telling you he has nothing to do with my situation." "Maybe not. But in the investigating business you quickly learn to leave no stone unturned. Sometimes it takes hundreds of false leads to find the truth." "But those things are so . . . so personal." "I know. Would it help any if I told you I’m being very objective about all this?" "Well, that’s easy for you, but not for me. I can barely look at those things by myself, much less with a stranger." "Am I still a stranger?" he asked softly. His blue eyes gave off a glow that reached across to her. "I’d like to think we’ve gotten beyond the

stranger stage." "You’re right," she conceded, feeling slightly flushed. "It’s just that I’m not sure I want to keep reminding myself of what my life was like before." A sense of helplessness washed over her. She wanted to cry. She wouldn’t, though, not in front of Alex. "I understand. Believe me, I do. I’ve worked with a lot of people who were going through what you’re experiencing now." "What do you mean?" "The loss of someone they cared about. Maybe I never explained that as an investigator, I specialized in locating missing persons." "I see. No, you didn’t tell me." She was always learning something new about him, like peeling off layers of an onion. And, each time, she was left with the feeling that much more lay underneath. "So, I’ve worked with a lot of people who were grieving, just like you are." Curious to know more, she asked, "Did you find most of the people who were missing?" "I had a ninety-nine percent success rate, if you don’t mind a little bragging." A grin tugged at his mouth. "Of course not. So, if you were so successful, why did you quit?" Alex’s blue eyes clouded. He looked away, clearly distressed. Leslie realized she had hit a nerve. She was sorry she had asked the question, but of course she couldn’t take it back now. Besides, she couldn’t help being curious, eager to get to that next layer. Finally, he said, "I think I told you that I got burnt out. I had this idea about starting the Internet company. I thought it would be so much easier than what I was doing." His explanation sounded reasonable, but Leslie sensed it wasn’t the whole truth. Something else lay behind his decision to give up his profession, something that greatly troubled him. She wished he would tell her. Then she reminded herself it was none of her business. "So, how about the box?" Alex asked. "Can we look through it?" Leslie let a couple of seconds slide by, then said resignedly, "Okay, wait here while I get it." Leslie retrieved the box from the closet and put it on the coffee table. She took out the items and handed them to Alex, explaining that they were mostly gifts she had given Robert. She showed him the pocket in the daily planner where she had found the safety deposit box key, showed him the pen and pencil set, the sweaters and shirts. The envelope of photographs was the last item. As they looked at the pictures, she tried to ignore the waves of sadness and nostalgia that washed over her. Why had she agreed to this? Hadn’t she had enough pain already?

"Where was this taken?" Alex held out a picture he’d been looking at. It showed Robert and Jeffrey sitting on a wooden fence. Judging from the horses in the background, the setting looked like a ranch or a farm. "Let me think," she said slowly, wracking her brain for a memory to surface. It didn’t. "I don’t know," she finally conceded. "It looks like a woman took the picture." Alex pointed to a shadow shaped like someone with long hair holding a camera. "Maybe Roz?" "Would Jeffrey, Robert, and Roz go somewhere without you?" "I don’t think so. The four of us did a lot together. It seems reasonable that if they’d planned a trip somewhere, they’d have asked me along, too. That’s Jeffrey’s car in the background." She indicated the silver Lexus parked near the fence. "Is there a date anywhere?" Leslie turned the picture over. "No, but I remember Jeffrey got that car about a year ago. The trees look like they’re just budding, so my guess is, this was taken last spring. Oh, well," she said with forced casualness, "it probably isn’t important." She put the picture on the stack with the others. "Wait," Alex said. He took the photo and studied it carefully. "It looks like there’s a gate in the background, with words arching over it, like the entrance to a ranch." Leslie looked at the picture again. "I see what you mean, but I can’t make the name out." "Me, either. Let me have it enlarged. Then we may be able to see what the name is." "What difference does it make?" Leslie asked, her nerves beginning to jump. "I don’t know," Alex said patiently. "But remember what I said about leaving no stone unturned? From what you told me, Jeffrey as much as threatened you today. He and Robert were friends and co-workers. Robert died in a violent boating explosion. None of that might be related, but we have to find out for sure." "Okay," Leslie conceded. "But I think it’s a waste of time." "Maybe. Maybe not," Alex said, setting the picture aside. "Well, that’s it," Leslie said, as she began to replace the things in the box. Alex reached to help her. They worked for a couple of minutes in silence, then, as she tucked in a sweater and he the pen and pencil set, their hands collided. Leslie was shocked to feel an electric jolt. She jerked away, dropping the sweater. She wondered if he felt it, too, but didn’t dare look at him to find out. Leslie kept her eyes lowered as she listened to her heart pound. This was ridiculous, she thought. Swallowing hard, she casually reached in to smooth the sweater in the bottom of the box. Alex dropped the pen and

pencil set in, then sat back. Apparently, he was going to let her complete the task by herself. Leslie breathed a sigh of relief. It was better that he keep his distance. While Leslie continued to fill the box, Alex picked up his notebook and pencil. Brow furrowed in thought, he began to write. He was still writing when she finished. She waited patiently, and, at last, he looked up. "I think we should have a talk with Robert’s sister, Melanie," Alex said. "You told me she acted like she knew something unfavorable about Robert. I think we ought to find out what it is." "What if she won’t tell us?" "We’ll worry about that when the time comes. We also should pin down your friend Stan and find out what he was insinuating about Robert." Leslie twisted her hands together. "I don’t know, Alex. . . . This makes me very nervous." "Do you want me to go off on my own--as your representative, of course--and find out these things for myself? Then I could tell you or not, depending on whether I thought they had any bearing on what’s been happening to you." "No, no, I want to be in on what you do." Leslie stood and walked to the window. She looked out but didn’t see any of the view. Her mind was turned inward. Alex wanted to stir up every aspect of her life. Her friends and co-workers, Robert’s memory, her past. She already felt upside down and inside out. Could she go through any more? However, if someone were trying to harm her, she’d be a fool if she didn’t try to stop their attacks. She heard the chair creak as Alex rose, his footsteps tread softly across the carpet. When he reached her side, he placed his hands on her shoulders and slowly turned her around to face him. She kept her head bowed. Her heart began to pound. "I know this is tough on you, Leslie. I’ll help you through it however I can." She tried to focus on his kind words, but all she was aware of were his hands on her shoulders. The warmth of his fingers penetrated her T-shirt. His masculine scent washed over her. She closed her eyes. If only this was Robert standing so near, offering comfort. Alex slid his hands slowly down her back, to her waist. With gentle pressure he drew her closer to him. Her nose brushed his knitted shirt. She turned her head slightly and let her cheek settle onto his shoulder. He drew her closer still, until their bodies were pressed together. He nuzzled her hair. His hand caressed her back. It feels wonderful to be held like this, Leslie thought. Absolutely wonderful. It had been so long since she’d been in Robert’s arms, and she’d missed it so much! Was it wrong to let this happen between Alex and herself? Before she

could decide, Alex reached to tilt her chin, and she knew he was going to kiss her. She also knew, just as certainly, that she was going to let it happen. She kept her eyes tightly closed and visualized Robert’s lips coming toward hers. When she felt a warm mouth covering hers in a tender kiss, she pretended it was Robert, and not Alex. The kiss was wonderful; sweet and tender beyond words. All the tension and anxiety she had been feeling slowly seeped out of her. A warm glow filled her from head to toe. She reached up and put her arms around his neck, stepped closer, felt their bodies merge as one. The warm glow turned into a heat, pooling in the pit of her stomach, then spreading its fire throughout her limbs. She twined her fingers in his hair, Robert’s hair, caressed the nape of his neck, his shoulders. Everything was going to be all right now. Leslie could have kept on kissing Robert forever, but suddenly he pulled away. Leslie opened her eyes and came down to earth with a thud. Her eyes met a pair of blue ones instead of the brown eyes she was so used to. "Oh, Alex!" she exclaimed and reached to touch her tingling lips. He looked stricken. "Sorry, Leslie," he said. "But you were looking so lost and lonely that I wanted to comfort you. And then I couldn't help kissing you." "It’s okay," she assured him. "No, it’s not," he insisted, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of distress. "I don’t get personally involved with people I’m helping." "But I--" "Don’t worry. It won’t happen again." "It’s okay, really," she repeated. He shook his head. "There’s no excuse for my behavior. I lost my head." "Please! It’s all right." She wished he wouldn’t go on and on about what a mistake it had been. He was spoiling it for her. "Let’s forget it, okay?" "Yeah, right. That’s the best thing to do." He walked back to his chair, picked up his jacket, and put it on. "I’d better be going. Call me if you need anything or if anything suspicious happens. And be careful. I’ll be in touch tomorrow, after I’ve done some more checking." "Okay," she said, still somewhat dazed from the kiss. She walked him to the door, hardly believing what had happened. A moment ago, they were in one another’s arms. Now he was leaving. She didn’t want him to go! "Good-bye, Leslie," he said, with a soft, almost sad smile. Then he was gone.

CHAPTER TEN

Alex left Leslie’s apartment building, making sure the wrought iron grill protecting the door clicked shut behind him. The apartment’s security system appeared tight, which made him feel comfortable about leaving her alone. He lingered on the sidewalk, looking up at her living room window. He didn’t know why. Did he expect her to be gazing down at him, like Juliet at Romeo? That was silly. Nevertheless, when several moments passed and she failed to appear, disappointment stabbed him. He turned away and started down the street toward his car. The cool night air washed over him in refreshing waves. That was one thing about Seattle, no matter how hot it got during the day, it always cooled down at night. Back home in Boston, the summer nights were as sweltering as the days. He thought about home, visualized his apartment. He really didn’t miss it. He was gone a lot, and it had never seemed more than a place to sleep and grab meals. He hadn’t thought much about what a home could be until he’d started spending time in Leslie’s apartment. He reached his car and climbed in, thinking about holding Leslie in his arms and kissing her. Although that had been a stupid thing to do, he knew now that he’d wanted to kiss her since he’d met her. What he’d told her tonight was true, though. He had initially wanted to comfort her. Then, once he had his arms around her, he couldn’t keep from kissing her. He recalled with a rush of heat how soft and tender her lips had been. She’d smelled so good, too; a mixture of the perfume in that angel-topped bottle he’d found in her apartment and the shampoo on her hair. He could have gone on kissing her, could’ve done much more, but, thankfully, he’d come to his senses in time. Alex reminded himself that he involved with his clients. He What had happened tonight was He’d told Leslie it wouldn’t.

wasn’t in the habit of becoming personally wasn’t going to change his policy, either. a mistake, one that wouldn’t happen again. Now, he repeated it to himself, firmly.

He started the engine and pulled away from the curb, then turned south onto Queen Anne Avenue. It was a short drive down the hill to the city, then on to the waterfront and his condo. He’d be there in fifteen minutes. As he turned onto Elliott Avenue, he noticed that the car behind him turned also. Come to think of it, hadn’t the same car been behind him since he’d left Leslie’s? He’d been deep in thought and wasn’t really sure. That wasn’t like him. Usually, he kept careful track of his

surroundings. It just went to show how much that kiss had affected him. Even if it were the same car, it might not mean anything. This was a well-traveled route from Queen Anne Hill into the city. However, he’d better find out whether it meant anything or not. Instead of heading for Pike Place Market and his condo, Alex turned left on Broadway. So did the car behind. Unfortunately, the car’s windows were darkly tinted, so he couldn’t see who was inside. If he could put some distance between them, he might be able to make out the license plate, but the car hugged his tail too closely for that. It was blue or black in color, possibly a late-model Ford. Alex made a couple more aimless turns, each time followed by the car in question. By now, he was sure he was being tailed. Even when another car came between them, the Ford turned where he did. The driver couldn’t be a pro. If so, he wouldn’t have let it be so easy for Alex to make him. Alex considered his options. He didn’t want the guy to follow him to the condo. However, if he could, he wanted to get the license plate number. Alex sped up and cut in front of the car next to him. He repeated the maneuver until the tail was four cars behind. From his rearview mirror, Alex watched the tail try to imitate him but without success. A public parking lot’s large, red neon sign came into view. Alex swerved into the lot. He raced down the lane between rows of parked cars. A turn to the left plunged him into a dark alley. He spotted a large dumpster and sidled the car up next to it. He cut the engine and doused the lights. He took out his notebook and pencil, and waited. It wasn’t long before a car barreled down the alley. As it whizzed by, he saw that it was the Ford. At the end of the alley, the car suddenly skidded to a stop to avoid hitting two pedestrians. Alex glimpsed the license plate long enough to jot down the number. Then he waited. No one came into the alley from either end. After five minutes had passed, Alex headed out onto the street. * * * Twenty minutes later, Alex sat in the chair he favored near his living room window. In his hand was the paper on which he’d written the license number. He’d checked it against those he had for the people on Leslie’s list. There was one perfect match: Stan Townsend. So Stan had followed him tonight. He wondered how long Stan had been watching him and Leslie. Was he just a would-be suitor, curious to know what she and Alex were doing? Or did he have a more dangerous purpose? Alex knew that stalking should be taken seriously. However, he didn’t know if Stan was actually stalking Leslie, or if this was a one-time thing. As far as Alex knew, Stan had no record of that sort of behavior; but, tonight’s incident told him he’d better do some more looking into that. He stared down at the street, watching the cars pass by. He observed several similar to Stan’s black Ford, but none lingered or otherwise acted suspiciously. He was pretty sure he’d given Stan the slip.

Alex went to the phone and called Leslie. When it rang so long without her answering, he began to worry. Maybe Stan had gone back to her place after he lost Alex. At last, he heard Leslie’s hello, soft and tentative. Thinking she was worried he might be her weird phone caller, Alex said quickly, "It’s me, Alex." "Oh, Alex, is anything wrong?" Alex told her about Stan following him. "Stan?" she said, her voice sounding incredulous. "You’re sure?" "I’m positive. Go look out the window and see if there’s a black Ford hanging around." "Okay." He heard the receiver clank onto a hard surface. In a few moments, she was back. "No cars like that." "Good. Well, I just wanted to let you know what happened, in case he comes back and wants to see you." "Stan has never come to my apartment before." "If he does, don’t let him in." "Stan is harmless, Alex." Alex’s impatience quickly surfaced. "Leslie, he may be stalking you! That’s not to be taken lightly. Just play it safe until we get this sorted out, okay? And, don’t mention it to him when you see him at work, either. I want to think more about how to handle this." "Okay," she said. "I’ll be in touch tomorrow," Alex said before hanging up. Alex returned to his chair by the window, thinking about Leslie and her defense of Stan. She was so trusting! He took out the picture of Robert and Jeffrey and looked hard at it under the table light. Robert was another person Leslie always defended. She must have loved him very much. Loved him still. Alex sighed. He wondered if a woman would ever love him like that. He shrugged off that thought and concentrated on doing what he had to do to move this assignment on toward its conclusion. Tomorrow he’d find a place to have the picture enlarged. * * * Across town, Leslie lay in bed, unable to sleep. The idea of Stan as a stalker was absurd. Mild-mannered Stan, her friend all these years? Never. He had probably been passing by on some other errand and had seen Alex come out of her apartment. If he had followed Alex, he was just curious about where Alex lived, that was all. Leslie rolled over and punched the pillow up under her head. Her life was

out of control. Six months ago, she had a profession and a fiancé. The future had stretched before her like a golden path to happiness. Now, her job was in jeopardy, her fiancé was dead, and she herself was in danger. Even the fact that Alex had come to her rescue didn’t make her feel much better. Not really, for everything he did only created more turmoil. Leslie longed to have her old life back again. Face it, she told herself; your life is never going to be the same as it was before. The memory of kissing Alex popped into her mind. When Robert had died, Leslie couldn’t imagine ever kissing another man. No one would ever take Robert’s place. But tonight she had kissed Alex. No, that wasn’t quite true, for she had pretended he was Robert. That made all the difference in the world. Pretending had been quite nice, really. And it hadn’t harmed anyone, had it? Alex didn’t want to get personally involved with her. She had nothing to fear from him. Yet she knew Alex was right when he said it shouldn’t happen again. What if another opportunity arose, though? Would she be able to resist the temptation to keep on pretending? * * * The following morning, Alex sat in a small cafe next to the 1-Hour Photo Shop where he’d had the picture of Robert and Jeffrey enlarged. He studied the letters over the gate in the background. They had fuzzy edges from being enlarged, but he was able to make them out: E-G-D-O-L was the first word, which, as he was looking at it backward, spelled LODGE. The other letters were E-G-D-I-R-D-O-O-W. Woodridge Lodge. He grinned to himself in satisfaction. Now, to determine where Woodridge Lodge was located. The forests filling the picture’s background looked like fir and pine, which made Alex think the lodge might be around Seattle, or at least somewhere in the state. That was where he would start looking, anyway. An hour later, while searching a computer database of Washington State telephone directories at the Seattle Public Library, Alex finally found what he was looking for: Woodridge Lodge was located in the Cascade Mountains, two hundred miles northeast of Seattle. His next stop was an office supply store where he purchased a road map of Washington State. On that, he traced a route to the lodge. * * * "You want us to go to Woodridge Lodge?" Leslie asked Alex with an incredulous look. "Together?" "I could go alone," Alex said, "but last night you said you wanted to be in on what I do." Leslie looked at the picture of Robert and Jeffrey that lay on her kitchen table, next to half-empty coffee cups and the spread out map of Washington State. The faint odor of garlic and tomatoes from the

spaghetti she’d cooked for dinner still hung in the air. "Yes, I did say that," she said thoughtfully. "But what’s the point?" "We don’t know that yet," Alex said patiently. "We’ll show the picture around until we find someone who remembers Robert and Jeffrey--and the person who took the picture." "It’s a long trip," she said. "We’ll be pressed for time to make it in a day." "I thought we’d go Saturday morning and stay overnight." At her look of alarm, he added, "Don’t worry, I’m sure we can make satisfactory sleeping arrangements." "It’s not that," she said, not entirely truthfully. But it’s summer, peak season. They’re probably booked up." "I called them. They had a cancellation for this weekend." Leslie’s eyes widened in surprise. Then she said, "Well, it’s probably been taken by now." "Right. By me." Leslie folded her arms across her chest. "Exactly what are the accommodations?" "A one bedroom cabin. You can have the bedroom and I’ll sleep on the couch." "This is crazy." "Possibly," he said with a shrug. "You just never know. But, are you coming with me, or not?" Leslie felt trapped. On the one hand, she was afraid to go, afraid of what they might find out about Robert and Jeffrey. Plus, to spend the night in a small cabin with Alex would be dangerous. Would she be tempted to fall back into pretending he was Robert? On the other hand, if she stayed home, she’d spend the entire time worrying about what Alex was doing. She straightened her shoulders. "Okay," she said. "I’ll go with you." Alex folded up the map. "Good. I’ll pick you up on Saturday morning." * * * Leslie took her eyes off the expanse of concrete freeway and the distant purplish mountains to gaze at Alex sitting beside her. He seemed deep in thought as they sped along. Following his plan to get an early start, he had picked her up at 9:00 a.m. From Queen Anne Hill, they’d taken the I-5 Freeway north to Everett, where they’d caught Highway 2, which would take them over Stevens Pass. Roz had wanted to meet Leslie for dinner last night. Jeffrey was out of town, she’d explained, and she was at loose ends. Leslie’s excuse of being too tired was so feeble that she was sure Roz was suspicious. They

used to share confidences, but all that had changed. If Roz was somehow mixed up in what was happening, it would be stupid to let her know what she and Alex were planning. Besides, to explain that Alex was now working for Leslie in his P.I. capacity, well, that would sound altogether crazy. When Leslie thought about, it was crazy. She was angry with herself for agreeing to this trip. Now, all she wanted was to get it over with. When they returned to Seattle, she would tell Alex she didn’t need his help anymore. After all, nothing had happened since her accident in Pike Place Market. There hadn’t been any more weird phone calls, either. She noticed that Alex kept glancing in his rearview mirror. "Is someone following us?" she asked. "I don’t see anyone suspicious, but, considering what happened the other night, I want to keep tabs on it," Alex said. "I still can’t see Stan as a stalker," Leslie said. "It must have been a coincidence. He was probably just driving by at the time and was curious." "Yeah, right," Alex said dryly. "I’ve never seen anybody make as many excuses for people as you do." "I’m not making excuses," she said indignantly. "I just want to believe in the goodness of people." "You like to see the world through rose-colored glasses, is that it?" "Well, I’d rather be that way than so cynical." His mouth tipped up in a smile. "Cynical like me?" "I suppose in your former job you had to be." "Sometimes." The exchange left Leslie bristling. They were so different, she and Alex. Not wanting their differences to erupt into a full-blown argument, she decided to remain silent for a while. Alex must have thought that was a good idea, for he concentrated on his driving, occasionally consulting the map lying on the seat between them. An hour passed, then Alex cast her a glance. His smile told her he was ready to forget their earlier conflict. "How about stopping for lunch?" "Yes, I am getting hungry." Leslie was glad to get back on a more friendly footing. As long as they were in this together, she didn’t want to be at odds with him. "Where’s a good place?" "There’s a restaurant in an old hotel in Skykomish." She picked up the map. "It looks to be about five miles from where we are now." "Sounds good." The Grand Hotel was a mammoth, three story, square building constructed in the early part of the century. It had a wide porch across the front

with potted geraniums and wrought iron benches. The dark wood interior gave the place a cozy air. "Somebody did a great job restoring this place," Alex commented as a young blond woman led them to a booth. The woman tucked a lock of hair behind her ear while beaming at his praise. "It took my husband and me five years of hard work," she said. "But it was worth it. We’re in the historical register." After studying the menu, Leslie and Alex both ordered hamburgers and vegetable soup. "I take it you’ve been here before," Alex said while they waited for their orders. "With Robert?" Leslie sipped her lemon-flavored water. She wished Alex wouldn’t bring up Robert so often. She supposed he was hoping she would reveal something that would help them to solve her problem, but talking about her former fiancé stirred up so many painful emotions. "No," she said, "I didn’t come here with him. When I was at the University of Washington, a bunch of us used to go skiing at the Pass. Sometimes, we’d stay overnight here. That was before the renovation, so it was a bit more primitive. Bathrooms down the hall, for example." Alex looked interested. "Do you still ski?" "I haven’t for several years." Leslie paused as the waitress brought their burgers and soup. The aromas of fried hamburger and carrots and peas drifted up from the dishes. "Maybe you’ll get back to it," Alex said. "Maybe. But I don’t miss it that much." Actually, when Leslie thought about it, which she hadn’t until now, she did miss skiing. The freedom of being outdoors and schussing down a mountain had always appealed to her. She had given the sport up because Robert didn’t like it. But now . . . . maybe someday she would try skiing again. "Do you ski?" she asked Alex. Alex broke open the cellophane package of crackers that had come with the soup. "Yes. And I always thought the slopes were pretty good back East, until I visited places like Sun Valley and Vail. They made our mountains look like hills." "I’ve never been to any area outside of Washington," she admitted. While they ate, Alex entertained her Lake Tahoe, right down to the casino City, and dining on chateaubriand at sure her face must have turned green

with stories of skiing powder at doorway; of riding the tram in Park the mountaintop lodge. Leslie was with envy.

"Yeah, I really used to live it up," Alex said, smiling at the memories. "Spent every penny I earned like there was no tomorrow." "But you must have saved something to be able to start your business,"

Leslie said. A flush spread across his cheeks. "Uh, not really." Leslie laid down her soup spoon while she waited for him to continue. "I have someone who’s interested in investing in my company," he finally said. Leslie intended to ask him more, but before she could, Alex asked her what kind of skis she preferred. That led to whether short or long skis were better and what size baskets worked best on the poles. When they were finished eating, Alex reached for the check. "Shouldn’t I pay the bill?" Leslie said. "After all, you’re working for me now." "Don’t worry. I’m keeping track." Alex pulled a twenty dollar bill from his wallet. "We’ll settle up when you do my advertising." Later, when they reached the summit of Stevens Pass, Alex wanted to stop and look at the ski area. They hiked up to the day lodge and stood under the gingerbread eaves, gazing at the rocky mountain peaks silhouetted against a deep blue sky. "A ski area always looks so odd in summer," Leslie commented, studying the lumpy, green and brown slopes, above which hung the empty and silent chairlifts. "I like it better when it’s covered with snow." Alex nodded. "I know what you mean. But, the slopes here look challenging. Maybe I’ll come back this winter and try them out." "Back? From where? I thought you were moving to Seattle?" "Right," he said quickly. "But I’ll be spending some time in Boston, winding up my affairs." From the Pass, they descended into Leavenworth, a Swiss-style tourist attraction, then the cities of Cashmere and Wenatchee, the latter of which reminded Leslie of when she had lived there with her parents. She even pointed out the road leading to the former family farm as they passed by. "Do you want to take time out to see the place again?" Alex asked. "No, we’d better keep on our schedule." She didn’t want to add those memories to everything else that she had to deal with on this trip. From Wenatchee they headed River. They passed the tip snake whose tail stretched up the eastern edge of the

North along a winding section of the Columbia of Lake Chelan, that on Alex’s map was a long far into the mountains. Then they meandered on Cascades.

Under less stressful conditions, Leslie would have enjoyed the trip. The orchards bordering the river teemed with apples, peaches, and pears, all in the mid-summer stage of pale ripening. The small towns with their quaint stores and frame houses spoke of a slower pace of life than the bustling city of Seattle. However, Alex’s continued attention to the rearview mirror reminded Leslie that underneath the surface of this seemingly innocent jaunt lay

an undercurrent of danger. They entered the mountains again, and presently turned off onto a narrow road that wound steadily uphill. On either side, forests of pine and fir hung together in a solid green curtain. At last, the trees thinned enough to allow Leslie to see how far they had climbed. Below them the main road was a tiny gray stripe, and cars looked like little colored bugs. A few turns later they came to a slatted, wooden fence that stretched to the left and right as far as Leslie’s eye could see. Above the open gate arced the name, Woodridge Lodge. "Here we are," Alex said. What would they find here? Leslie wondered, and a shiver of apprehension skittered down her spine.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

A half-mile past the gate, the main lodge came into view, a sprawling combination of granite and logs. Behind it, like miniature offspring, sat a row of similarly constructed cabins. While Alex registered them at the front desk, Leslie, her red overnighter slung over her shoulder, wandered around the lobby. She hadn’t wanted to stand beside him as he wrote in their phony names, Mr. and Mrs. Don Stevens. Leslie strolled past a stone fireplace to gaze out a picture window at a well-tended lawn and a swimming pool bordered by blue and green tiles. She tried to summon from the farthest depths of her mind some memory of this place, however tiny and insignificant. So far, she didn’t remember a thing. Her stomach coiled into a knot of frustration. Yet, surely she had been here before. Robert wouldn’t have come here without her. Would he? Doubts only fueled her nervousness and discomfort. The manager, a tall, fortyish man with a shock of faded red hair, led them along a flagstone path to their cabin. It was the last one, number twelve. He opened the door for them, then quickly left. Leslie surveyed their accommodations, a small living room with a corner kitchen, a bedroom with twin beds, and a bath. She frowned at the twin beds, separated by no more than a few feet. "Choose whichever bed you want," Alex said. "Remember, I told you I’ll sleep in the living room." Leslie glanced over her shoulder at the couch. Covered in brown and yellow tweed, it looked lumpy and uncomfortable. "No, that’s okay," she

said weakly. "We can . . . each take a bed." She dropped her bag onto the nearest one. "Well, we’ll see when the time comes." Alex set his blue duffel bag on the floor and handed her the papers he had been carrying. "Here’s some info the manager gave me on stuff to do around here." Leslie looked at the pictures of people playing tennis, swimming, riding horses. "I don’t care. Whatever you want to do," she said. He looked at his wristwatch. "It’s only two, so we have several hours before dinner. Let’s take a walk around and get the lay of the land, then go for a swim. You did bring your suit, didn’t you?" "Yes, but I’m not sure I want to go swimming." Alex walked over to her and put his hands on her shoulders. Even though she was sure he meant only to reassure her, after the kiss they had shared, his touch had come to mean so much more. If I lean into him, will he take me in his arms? I could pretend he’s Robert again. She chided herself for her thoughts. Such deceptive behavior would do neither of them any good. Alex kept his distance, and, thankfully, the moment of temptation passed. "Relax, Leslie," he said. "I know coming here is tough for you." "You’re acting like we’re on vacation," she accused, letting some of the frustration she felt creep into her voice. "Maybe so. But the more natural we act, the better. Sure, everyone will soon know that we’re here on a mission, but we might as well enjoy ourselves in the process." She shook her head in amazement. "Do you always have fun on your assignments?" A shadow crossed his face, as though he were reminded of something grim. Not for the first time she wondered what secrets he was still hiding from her. "No, not always," he said tersely. "Now, c’mon, let’s get busy. Why don’t we do some unpacking first?" They unzipped their carryalls and hung up their extra clothing. Alex sorted through their literature and found a map of the area. With that, they ventured outside. Leslie quickly saw that Woodridge Lodge, snuggled between two mountain peaks, had a pleasant, peaceful atmosphere. It was removed enough from the highway and other settlements to make one feel truly away-from-it-all. On the other side of the cabins they found a doubles tennis game in progress and two men setting up a volleyball net. Several people were pitching horseshoes and the air was filled with the clinking of the shoes hitting the metal pegs.

In the distance, Leslie saw a stable where two women--guests, judging by their shiny new cowboy boots--were watching a young man in faded denim groom a horse. "There’s a moonlight horseback ride tonight," Alex said. "I thought we’d take it. Are you comfortable with that?" "As long as I have a gentle mount," Leslie said. Later, after they had swum in the pool for a while, Alex told her it was time for him to go to work. By that, he meant he would start showing the picture around to see if anyone recognized Robert or Jeffrey. The story he would tell was that Robert was Leslie’s brother. He had disappeared and they were looking for him. "Do you want to come?" Alex asked her. Leslie shook her head. Although it was not her nature to hang back like a lump, in this situation she was afraid she might suddenly blurt out something that would give away their deception. Alex was practiced at this type of thing, while she was not. She sat in the shallow end of the pool and watched Alex walk to their cabin to change, towel slung over his shoulders. His back looked sleek and strong, and she could see the outline of firm buttocks under his wet black trunks. His legs were strong and sturdy, thick in the thighs and tapering to nicely-shaped calves. Leslie noticed that a twenty-something blonde in a turquoise bikini and oversized sunglasses was also watching Alex, and something akin to jealously stabbed her. Good heavens, what was wrong with her? Why should she care if other women found Alex Steele attractive? Leslie turned abruptly away and made a big splash as she swam toward the deep end of the pool. Leslie was sitting on a chaise lounge when Alex returned to collect her for dinner. "No luck," he told her. "I talked to the manager, but he’s only worked here since May. He checked the registration log for the past year, but neither Jeffrey nor Robert was registered." "Maybe they didn’t stay overnight." "Could be," Alex agreed. I also asked the gardener and a couple of housekeepers. No luck there, either. Let’s get dressed for dinner and have a drink in the bar. Maybe the bartender will recognize the picture." In the bar, Leslie held her breath while Alex showed the picture to the bartender, who also doubled as the waiter. His handlebar mustache and hair parted in the middle made him look like someone out of the Old West. He scratched his head as he studied the photo. "No, I don’t recall these fellas," the bartender said. "But I mostly know people by what they drink instead of what they look like. Did either one drink anything special?" "Honey?" Alex looked at Leslie. The endearment jolted her. It sounded so real that her mind went blank to everything else.

"Did your brother have a special drink?" Alex prompted. Leslie hesitated, unable to recall Robert’s favorite drink. Finally, her brain began to function again, and she said, "He liked martinis with Russian vodka." How could she possibly forget that? How could she forget anything about Robert? "So do lots of guys," the barkeep said. He handed the picture back to Alex. "Sorry I can’t help you." When it was time for dinner, they went into the dining room where the guests ate family-style at long tables. They joined three other couples to make up a table of eight. Two of the couples were in their thirties and traveling together; the other was a fiftyish pair celebrating their twenty-fifth wedding anniversary. Over the passing of steaming dishes of fried chicken and mashed potatoes and gravy, Alex made conversation with the others. Leslie forced herself to join in. This was definitely not like her. As an advertising executive, she’d had to develop an outgoing, assertive personality. The recent events in her life had made her draw inward, like a turtle crawling into its shell. When the two couples traveling together revealed that they had been to Woodridge Lodge before, Alex whipped out the picture of Robert and Jeffrey and launched into the made-up story. Leslie felt herself blushing as six pairs of eyes beamed sympathy in her direction. She smiled in response, then studied the swirls of whipped cream on top of her apple pie. None of their tablemates had seen either man, and the subject turned to concerns of more immediate interest: whether to take the evening horseback ride, or sit by the pool and enjoy the performance of a local acting group. "We’re going riding," Alex said, favoring Leslie with a look that begged agreement. She nodded dutifully. Later, after they had returned to their cabin to don jackets and boots, Alex and Leslie strolled to the stable. The smell of horses and hay mingled with the piney breeze floating down from the mountains. While they waited for their mounts, Alex managed to ask everyone in sight about the picture. No one had seen either man. Leslie felt relieved. If no one remembered seeing Robert or Jeffrey at Woodridge Lodge, perhaps she could forget about the troublesome picture. The horseback ride included a dozen guests, led by a lodge employee. They meandered along a path bordering the lodge property, in and out of stands of timber so tall Leslie couldn’t see their tops. Open areas where the landscape lay like a picture postcard were made even more dramatic by the sun sinking behind the mountains. Lucy, the tame mount Leslie had requested, turned out to be more tired than gentle. Yet it was pleasant, loping along through the woods as though she hadn’t a care in the world. The bad things that had happened to her back in the city seemed to belong to another lifetime. When they returned from their ride, the acting company was still performing, their figures fast becoming silhouettes against the fading light. Alex and Leslie sipped brandy as they watched the rest of the

play, a slick comedy that drew many laughs from the audience. Leslie glanced at Alex, but couldn’t tell what he was thinking. He seemed to be absorbed in the comedy. She studied his profile. It was a nice profile, the manly jut of brow, the straight nose, and again the slight jut of chin. She tried to superimpose Robert’s profile over Alex’s, but couldn’t. A sudden panic gripped her. Robert’s face had always been easily called to mind. What was happening to her? The play ended, and Alex suggested they turn in for the night. Leslie’s stomach tensed. Would there be a problem over the sleeping arrangements? When they entered the cabin, soft moonlight streaming in through the windows, Alex without comment carried bedding from one of the beds into the living room. Leslie felt guilty, yet she couldn’t bring herself to insist he share the bedroom. "You go ahead in the bathroom," Alex said, and when she came out, enveloped in a short robe that hit her at mid-thigh, he sat at the small table in the living room, his head bent over his notebook. He looked up, let his eyes roam for a second or two over her bare legs, then said, "Just catching up on my notes." "This has been a waste of time, hasn’t it?" she said. He shrugged. "There may be someone new to question tomorrow. I don’t give up easily." "That’s for sure!" she said with a sudden, light laugh. The humor relaxed some of her tension. "It’s good to see you smile," he said. Their gazes collided, held fast; Leslie felt an intangible force urge her across the room to Alex. She stiffened herself against it. He watched her as if he, too, felt the power and was waiting to see what she would do. The silence in the room was palpable. A desire, hot and heavy, swept over Leslie, penetrating to her very core. It was so intense that she actually felt a physical pain. Confusion also gripped her, for she didn’t know if it was Robert she yearned for, or the man who in reality was here with her. "Leslie?" Alex queried. Leslie drew in a quick breath as she saw a longing on his face that mirrored her own. "You--we--" He stumbled over the words, so uncharacteristic of this man who was usually so self-assured and controlled. Leslie’s knees wobbled, her chin trembled. and go to him. It was plain that he wanted pretend that he was Robert again, couldn’t let their lovemaking go farther, let it go

It would be so easy to give in her. After all, she could she? And this time, she could all the way. . . .

Drops of perspiration broke out on her forehead. Oh Lord, what to do. No, what you’re thinking is wrong, she argued with herself. She took a big gulp of air, then managed to blurt, "G-goodnight," and skitter past him into the bedroom.

She stood a moment in the center of the small room, between the two beds, listening to hear if he followed her, all too aware that a part of her hoped he would. She heard a rustling as he put away his papers, the scrape of chair legs as he rose. Footsteps across the floor. Her heart thudded. A shadow fell across the doorway. Stopped. Leslie couldn’t breathe. The shadow moved on. Then the sound of a door slamming. Of water running. He’d gone into the bathroom, not come to her. Leslie slumped down onto the bed clutching her chest, gasping for breath. Oh Lord, what was happening to her? She sat there for some moments, then shrugged out of her robe and crawled under the blue print spread. The sheets felt cool against her bare legs. The window was open and a pine-scented breeze drifted over her. She was exhausted, emotionally and physically. Nevertheless, it was a long time before she fell asleep. * * * Alex lay awake far into the night. He told himself that since he needed to watch over Leslie, sleep was to be sacrificed, but that wasn’t entirely the truth. Being here with her, in the close confines of the cabin, had nearly broken his resolve to keep her at arms’ length. She was so gracefully beautiful, so desirable, and he couldn’t deny to himself anymore that he wanted her. Worse, she knew it. His lust must have been written plainly on his face awhile ago, judging by the startled look of awareness on her own. He thought she wanted him, too, but he also knew she was carrying a big, blazing torch for Robert. She wasn’t over him yet, by a long shot. Which was another reason for not getting involved with her. Not that he would. He was on an assignment, for God’s sake. He was supposed to watch over her and keep her safe, not make love to her. Yeah, yeah, try to convince the part of himself that wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her senseless of that! Alex sighed and turned over on the lumpy couch. Morning was going to be a long time coming. * * * "Shore, I remember them," the old man said. Leslie stared at him, dumfounded. She had become so used to getting a "no" answer to their queries about Robert and Jeffrey that this man’s affirmative response took her totally by surprise. It was the following morning. She and Alex had been ready to leave Woodridge, having eaten breakfast and checked out. Then, just as they were tossing their bags into the back seat of Alex’s car, a shabby pickup truck had rumbled up the winding road. It came to a wobbly stop in one of the parking places marked "Employees." "Come on," Alex had said, "let’s ask the driver about the picture."

Leslie tagged reluctantly along, expecting the usual "no." Even now, she still couldn’t believe what she was hearing. "Are you sure?" she asked, staring at the newcomer. Underneath a straw farmer’s hat, bright blue eyes contrasted sharply with yellow, wispy hair. "Yep. I remember them. They was up here lookin’ over the place, wantin’ to buy it. It was on the market at that time. About a year ago." Alex and Leslie exchanged glances. "You’re sure it was these two men?" Alex asked. "Oh, yes. Couldn’t miss them two. They was struttin’ around like they already owned the place." "You’re the only we’ve talked to who remembers them," Leslie said. "I’m not surprised," the man said. "The Carsons, who ended up being the new owners--brought in all new people, ‘cept me ‘n’ a couple other guys works part-time." The man’s eyes narrowed. "Why you lookin’ for these fellas, anyway? They done something wrong? They criminals?" "No," Alex said, and launched into his story about Leslie’s missing "brother." "Was anyone else with the men?" he asked. "It looks like a woman took their picture." The man pushed back his hat and scratched his head. "Yeah, I think there was a woman with them." "What did she look like?" Alex asked. "Dark hair, ‘bout your size." He pointed to Leslie. "Roz," Leslie said to Alex. "I told you it was Roz." "Did you hear the men call the woman by name?" Alex asked the man. "Nuh uh." "Can you think of anything else that might help us?" Leslie asked. The man shook his head. "Nuh uh." They thanked him and climbed into Alex’s car. As they drove through the gate, Alex said, "Well, that was interesting. Did Robert ever mention wanting to buy Woodridge?" "No," Leslie said. "It seems odd that he wouldn’t mention it to his fiancée." "Maybe he wanted to surprise me." Leslie hoped her words would not reveal the sick feeling curling into the pit of her stomach. First, those papers of hers in his safety deposit box. Now this. What else had Robert been keeping from her? And why? That he had not shared these things hurt her deeply. However, she didn’t want Alex to know that. Alex said, "Maybe Robert’s sister will know something about his and

Jeffrey’s plans regarding Woodridge." "Maybe." Leslie leaned her head back against the seat and tried to relax. It was impossible. Her nerves were coiled as tightly as a spring. When would this all be over? It was like a nightmare from which, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t wake up. Alex lapsed into silence. Obviously, he was busy mulling over this latest event. That was fine with Leslie. If they continued their conversation, she would probably have to keep defending Robert. Which was becoming harder and harder to do. They went on for a mile or so. as it wound along the mountain gaining a sudden speed. Leslie fast? She saw Alex pumping the

Then the road, which had been fairly level ridge, took a sharp dip. The car plunged, jerked her head up. Why were they going so brake. The car continued to hurl downward.

He shot her a glance, his expression grim. "The brakes are gone!"

CHAPTER TWELVE

"No brakes?" Leslie watched with horror as Alex pumped the useless brake pedal. He shook his head and muttered an oath. A sharp curve flew up to meet them. The car careened and swayed as Alex fought to keep them on the road. Leslie clawed at the dashboard as the swaying car knocked her first against the door, then against Alex. The landscape blurred and jiggled like a bad home movie. A white panel truck popped into view, heading toward them. A turn-out appeared, where they could have stopped to let it pass; but, with no brakes, pulling off the road and stopping was impossible. The truck barreled forward, apparently expecting Alex to give them the right-of-way. As it came closer, Leslie glimpsed two figures in the cab. "Unbuckle your seat belt!" Alex yelled. "What?" "Unbuckle your seat belt! When we come to the next curve, open the door and roll out. Aim for those bales of hay!" Leslie looked ahead. On the side of the road were scattered half a dozen

or so bales of hay, as though they’d fallen from a passing vehicle. She turned back to Alex. "What about you?" "Just do it!" There was no time to argue, or to even think. Leslie’s fingers fumbled with the seatbelt clasp. It wouldn’t open. She glanced up to see the truck looming closer. "Hurry, Leslie!" Alex said. Leslie worked frantically at the clasp. Finally, it sprang apart. She leaned on the door handle, felt the air rush into the car as the door popped open. The landscape whizzed by, green and brown and yellow, all blurring together like wet paint. She took a deep breath, curled herself into a ball, and rolled out. For the briefest moment she was airborne; then she landed with a thump, right in the middle of the hay. Something sharp pricked her leg. She looked down. A piece of baling wire had punctured her skin. Leslie raised her head just in time to see the red car hurtle itself straight toward the truck. Alex and the truck were going to crash head-on! Oh no! Please, God, no! Alex’s car missed the truck by mere inches as it shot across the road and disappeared over the bank. The sound of a crash rent the air. Leslie hauled herself to her feet and staggered onto the road. The truck had skidded to a stop and two men leaped from either side of the cab. One of the men ran to Leslie. "You okay?" he asked. "Yes. We’ve got to help Alex!" she said. The the car she

two made their way to the other side of the road. Her heartbeat in throat, fearing the worst, Leslie looked over the embankment. Alex’s had smashed against a thick pine tree on the rider’s side, just where had been sitting. She could see Alex, his head slumped over the wheel.

The second man was sliding down the embankment. "Go help him," she told the man who was with her. She collapsed to the ground while he scrambled to join his companion. Leslie held her breath while the two men wrenched open the door. Alex slowly raised his head. He was alive! Thank God! She attempted to rise and go to him, but her legs folded up under her. She could only wait helplessly while the men pulled Alex from the wrecked car. Supported by the two men, Alex staggered to Leslie. He gazed down at her, concern written in every feature of his face. "Are you hurt?"

"N-no, just a little shaky on my feet. You?" He gave her a crooked grin. "It’d take more than running into a tree to stop me." "You two sure you don’t need a doctor?" one of the men said. "We got a cell phone in the truck." "I have one, too," Alex said. "But, no, I don’t need a doctor. What about you, Leslie?" Leslie shook her head. "I just want to go home," she said. She felt like crying, her nerves were so ragged. Alex looked back at the wrecked car. "What we do need is another car. And to get this one towed back to Seattle." "We know who to call for both," the second man said. As the two men headed for their truck, Alex reached down and helped Leslie to stand. He put his arm around her and drew her close. "Thank God, you’re all right!" "And I thank Him that you are, too," Leslie said. * * * "Do you think it was an accident?" Leslie asked Alex, hours later when they were on their way home in a car they had rented in Winthrop. Somewhere on the highway behind them, the car that had plunged over the embankment was being towed back to Seattle. "We won’t know until we have the brakes checked," Alex said. "But it sure looks suspicious. Did you tell anyone we were going to Woodridge Lodge?" Leslie gazed at Alex’s right temple where a plum-colored bruise had appeared, the only outward sign of the accident. "No. Roz knew I was unavailable for dinner Friday night, but she didn’t know why or that I was going to be away for the weekend." Alex shook his head. "I was being so careful about anyone following us. I swear no one was. But if those brakes were cut, someone knew where we were. Someone who doesn’t want us prying into Robert’s business." "Or Jeffrey’s. He was in on the plans to buy Woodridge, too," Leslie reminded him. Alex slowed as they came up behind a large motorhome with travel stickers pasted all over the back. "I’m sure glad those bales of hay were there," Leslie said. "And that you had a plan for them. If I had been in the car when it crashed against that tree. . . ." She hugged her arms against a sudden shudder. "I wouldn’t have let it crash against the tree if you’d been there." He turned to give her a solemn look. "It was a big risk, whatever way we did it. We were extremely lucky." "Well, I do thank you for looking out for me."

"That’s my job," he said, and accelerated to pass the motorhome.

The moon looked like a silver nickel in the blue-black sky when they finally arrived at Leslie’s apartment. Wearily, she pulled her overnighter from the trunk, thinking how good her own bed was going to feel tonight. She noticed that Alex was taking out his duffel bag. At her questioning look, he said, "I’d better stay with you for a while." "No need to. The apartment building is secure." Alex put down his bag and placed his hands on his hips. "Leslie, what happened today really has me worried. I won’t sleep a wink in my condo if you’re here alone, secure apartment or not. We don’t know how desperate the person is who’s after you. If he has, in fact, tried three times to harm or kill you, he might try to break into your place. He knows you’re alone at night. With me there, you wouldn’t be." Alex staying in her apartment overnight? Leslie’s heart thumped. "But--" "I can sleep on the couch like I did after the party. We managed to spend that night and last night at the lodge under the same roof without any problems. The kind you’re worrying about, I mean," he said with a grin. Ah, but he didn’t know what price she’d paid for last night. The intense longing that his nearby presence had aroused. "I don’t know. It’s just that my place is so . . . so personal." "I know I’m invading your personal space. But it’s only until we get this settled." "I still don’t understand why you’re doing all this. I know we had an agreement that I was hiring you, but still--" "Quit worrying about it and just accept my help." Alex slammed the trunk lid shut with a finality that ended the argument. * * * An hour later, Leslie lay in bed unable to sleep. Despite having landed in the hay, her body felt like a punching bag. There was soreness everywhere, especially in her already injured left shoulder, and in her right hip, which hadn’t been as cushioned by the hay as the rest of her. However, she knew it wasn’t just her battered body that kept her awake. It was also Alex’s presence in the living room. She could not forget that he was there. Thinking some warm milk might help her to sleep, Leslie got out of bed, wrapped herself in a robe, and went down the hall. Before entering the living room, she peeked around the corner at Alex lying on the couch. The rhythmic rise and fall of his chest told her he was asleep. As she tiptoed by, she couldn’t help gazing at him. She could see the outline of his torso and long legs under the single sheet--all that he’d wanted for a cover. His blond hair was tousled, as though he’d spent time tossing and turning.

She wanted to go over and rub her hand along the contours of his muscular shoulder. She wanted to touch his hair, his cheek, his lips. She imagined how warm his skin would feel, under her fingers, under her lips. She forced her feet to move into the kitchen. She opened the refrigerator door just enough to ease out the carton of milk. She poured some into a small pan, and set it on the stove. Plucking a mug from the mug rack, she sat at the kitchen table and waited for the milk to heat. This was crazy. Someone might be trying to kill her and all she could think about was sex. No, not just sex. She was thinking about love, too, with all its warmth and security, all its joy and contentment. She wanted Robert, and because she couldn’t have him, she was turning Alex into a substitute. Wrong, wrong, wrong. That would only get her into trouble. The milk simmered and she poured it into her cup. Get your priorities straight! she warned herself as she sipped it. Concentrate on finding out who is after you. When she returned to her bedroom, she kept her eyes averted from the sleeping figure on the couch.

Through barely open eyes, Alex watched Leslie make her way through the darkened living room. Light from under the blinds drifted over her, casting a glow on her dark hair and revealing a curve of thigh under her light robe. She was tiptoeing, so undoubtedly she thought he was sleeping. Far from it. Although he was weary and sore, his body and mind were on alert. In the first place, since he was here to guard her, it wouldn’t do to fall into a deep sleep. Secondly, knowing she was so near had more effect on him than he’d thought it would. Last night should have told you that, he chided himself. The cozy intimacy and isolation of the cabin. . . . It would have been so easy to give in to his growing feelings for her, feelings he didn’t want to admit having. What made it all the worse was that he was sure she felt something for him, too. The air had all but crackled as they’d confronted one another just before going to bed. The soft sound of her steps treading down the hall brought his thoughts back to the present. He heard a slight creak of springs as she climbed into bed. He settled his back more firmly against the sofa cushions. It was going to be another long night. * * * On Monday morning, Leslie joined the other Newman employees in the lounge for coffee. As usual, the past weekend was the main topic of conversation. Hank Hogan told about attending a Mariners’ baseball game Friday night. He was recounting a home run by his favorite player. "It went into the stands," Hank said. "If it’d gone two rows higher, I coulda had it."

"We took the kids to Seattle Center," Bob Lovall said. "Tommy got sick on the Whirligig and threw up all over his sister. Their clothes stank so bad we had to go home." "Why did you take him on that?" asked Gretchen Schneider. "It’s for older kids." Bob shrugged. "He insisted. You know how kids are." Stan Townsend came in. After pouring his coffee and adding a huge spoonful of powdered cream, he sat down next to Leslie. "Good weekend?" he asked. "I always look forward to my days off," Leslie said evasively. "How about you?" "I caught the exhibit on advertising graphics at SAM," he said, using the initials for the Seattle Art Museum. "You would like it, Leslie. I’d be glad to go again sometime if. . . ." Wanting to head Stan off before he actually asked her for a date, Leslie turned to Gretchen. "Have you seen it yet?" Gretchen shook her head. "I was going to go this weekend, but I went to visit my sister instead." "Oh. Does she live around here?" Leslie couldn’t remember Gretchen ever mentioning a sister. "In Olympia," Gretchen said. "Normally an hour’s drive from here, right? Except there was a huge accident on the freeway. Took me three hours to get to her house. I was a nervous wreck." That turned the conversation to Seattle’s traffic problems. As the large wall clock ticked toward nine o’clock, people drifted off. Leslie lagged behind, wanting to see Roz, whom she knew would dash in at the last minute to grab her coffee. True to form, Roz burst in the door and headed for the coffee machine, leaving a trail of perfume in her wake. "So how’d your weekend go?" Leslie asked. "Fine." Roz pushed aside the newspapers and crumpled napkins Hank and Bob had left on the table and sat down across from Leslie. "These guys never clean up after themselves," she complained. "Did Jeffrey come back from his trip?" "Yeah, last night." "Where’d he go, anyway?" Leslie asked casually. "He was attending a conference at the Tacoma Dome and decided to stay over instead of driving back and forth. What about you? What did you and Alex do?" Leslie started. "How did you know I was with Alex?" "I was riding my bike by your place on Saturday morning when I saw you get into his car."

"Why didn’t you stop?" "Because you looked like you were in a hurry. So, where did you go?" "We went for a ride . . . over Stevens Pass. Alex wanted to sightsee, being new to this area and all." "That’s nice. But why didn’t you tell me before, instead of being so evasive about your weekend plans?" Leslie looked down at her empty cup. "I guess I’m embarrassed, after all my talk about not being ready to date again." "Hon, you don’t have to be embarrassed with me. We’re friends. We’ve been through a lot together. If you can’t confide in me, who can you confide in?" Leslie bit her lip. Yes, they had been through a lot, but she wasn’t sure they were friends anymore. She glanced up at the clock just as it skipped to nine. "Time to go to work. See you later." As quickly as her sore body would allow, she rose and left the lounge. * * * Alex unlocked the door to his condo and went inside. Once he had dropped Leslie at the Grant Building, there had been no reason to return to her apartment. Besides, he had things to do today. He quickly noticed the blinking light on the answering machine. There was a message to call Carl Holt, the operative who was searching for Leslie’s cousin, Joe Scarpelli. Alex decided that could wait until he had showered and fixed a cup of coffee. Later, his hair damp from the shower, he sat down with his steaming mug of coffee and placed a call to Carl. "What’s up?" he asked when he had his friend on the line. "I found the club where Scarpelli worked," Carl said. "It’s called Lucky’s, just off the strip." "You said ‘worked.’ He’s not there anymore?" Alex asked, eager to get to the bottom line. "No. Seems he took a couple of weeks off about six months ago. When it was time for him to come back, he called in that he was quitting." "Did he say why or where he could be reached?" "No and the manager didn’t ask. People come and go all the time in his business." "Well, ask around where he lived. Maybe someone there knows." "I already did. He was staying in one of those motels where you pay by the month. When I talked to the manager, she said Scarpelli moved out around the time he quit his job. She never saw him, just a note in his unit that he was leaving. He left some money to cover the rent he owed." "When exactly did he take his time off?" Alex asked, pencil poised to make notes on Carl’s reply.

"He left on December fifth of last year." "Okay. See if you can find anyone who knew Scarpelli," Alex said, "and who might know where he went. His co-workers at the club, others who live in the motel, wherever. I’ll check back with you in a couple of days. Call or e-mail me if you come across anything." The next call Alex made was to Hal Reeves, who, hopefully, was on the trail of Leslie’s father. Hal’s secretary said he hadn’t come in yet that morning, nor had he left any messages for Alex. Alex’s third call was to the company that had rented him the car he had wrecked yesterday. When the manager came on the line, Alex asked if they had determined why the brakes had failed. "Not yet," the man said. "No evidence that the line was cut?" Alex asked, impatiently tapping his pencil on the table. He thoroughly expected that to be the case. "No, not from what we have to work with. The fluid could have leaked out from a loose connection, rather than from cutting the line. But, frankly, the car was wrecked so badly we can’t determine that that’s what happened, either. We’re still looking into it, though. By the way, Emerald City Rent-a-Car is awfully glad you and your companion weren’t seriously hurt." "Yeah, me, too. Look, call me as soon as you have any new information, will you?" "Will do." Alex hung up and pounded his fist on the table. This case was so frustrating. There was never any proof of anything, only speculation and gut feelings to go on. Was Leslie someone’s target, or wasn’t she? He had learned one thing this morning, though. One of his suspects had the perfect opportunity to stalk Leslie: Joe Scarpelli. Alex read over the notes he’d made during his conversation with Carl. Scarpelli had taken off from work last December. What if he had taken off to look for Leslie? And what if he had found her, quit his job and moved to Seattle, so that he could stalk her? Scarpelli could have put something in Leslie’s drink at the anniversary party. Why not? The party was in an open area of the hotel. A couple hundred people were in attendance. It would have been easy for him to crash it and blend in the crowd without being caught. Neither Alex nor Leslie had any idea what Scarpelli looked like. Therefore, he could have hung around and slipped something in her glass when she was dancing. Same with the accident at the Pike Place Market. It would have been possible for him to follow Leslie there. He hadn’t planned the accident, maybe, but the circumstances of the fight had provided him with the opportunity. Scarpelli also could have followed them to Woodridge Lodge. As careful as

Alex had been about checking for a tail, he didn’t pretend to be perfect. So, supposing it was Scarpelli. What was his purpose? You’d think that if he had wanted to eliminate Leslie, he would have done it by now. Why would he fool around with accidents that might not turn out to be serious? Even though Alex couldn’t answer that question, he knew what his next step would be regarding Scarpelli. He had to find out what the man looked like. That meant phoning Guy Petersen and asking if he could send along a picture of his nephew. However, just because Alex was focusing on Scarpelli didn’t mean he was going to stop investigating the others on his list. He had learned never to assume he had the answer until it had been proven beyond a doubt. It was time to put some pressure on two other people: Robert’s sister, Melanie Grafton, and Leslie’s co-worker, Stan Townsend.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

"I think we ought to talk to Robert’s sister, Melanie," Alex told Leslie over dinner that evening. "You said she seemed to know something about Robert that she didn’t want to tell you." Leslie picked up the coffee carafe sitting on the kitchen table and refilled Alex’s mug. She couldn’t help but think how cozy this was, she and Alex having dinner together at her place, just like she and Robert used to do. She was glad Alex was keeping his mind on their purpose for being here. She said, "That’s right, but why would she change her mind?" "I’ve been thinking about that. Suppose you leveled with her about what’s been happening to you, explain who I am, and that we’re checking every lead we can think of. Maybe that would prompt her to tell you. We can also show her the picture and ask if she knows anything about Woodridge." Leslie’s forehead wrinkled in doubt. "I don’t know. She got really upset when I pushed her before." "She might act differently with me along."

"Like you can cast some sort of spell on her?" A teasing glint lighted her eyes. Alex answered with a grin. "I can be pretty persuasive when I turn on the charm. Will you call her? Or shall I?" He nodded at the phone. Leslie sighed. "Once you make up your mind, you don’t want to waste any time, do you? I’d probably sit around and think about it for a couple of days." "Time is important here," Alex said. "Okay, I’ll call her." * * * Half an hour later, Leslie sat beside Alex as he drove them to the Graftons’ home in Ballard, one of Seattle’s older neighborhoods. Once in the area, they soon located the boxy white frame house on a street of similar homes. On the phone earlier, when Leslie had explained her problem, Melanie’s silence had made Leslie’s heart sink. Then, surprisingly, she had agreed to see her and Alex. "Come over to our house," Melanie had said. "This is George’s bowling night, and I’m home with the kids." Leslie gazed up at the Graftons’ house, nervous butterflies dancing in her stomach. Would Melanie tell her something about Robert that she didn’t want to know? She had the sudden urge to leap out of the car and run away. But of course she couldn’t do that. Reluctantly, she accompanied Alex up the stone walk to the door. "Let’s go out back," Melanie said when she opened the door, "where the kids are playing. They like to stay outside as long as possible on these warm summer evenings." Melanie, wearing old jeans, a sloppy T-shirt, and sandals, led them through the house. Leslie glimpsed a small, low-ceilinged living room with worn furniture and children’s toys scattered on a faded brown carpet. The kitchen, where the back door was located, smelled of hot dogs and baked beans, testimony to a recent dinner. Grass in need of mowing covered a postage-stamp-sized backyard. A few red and yellow pansies peeked bravely from a bed of gray-looking weeds. A girl of about five, with braids the same washed-out brown as Melanie’s ponytail, was swinging on an elaborate playset that included two swings, a teeter-totter, a slide, and a sandbox. A boy who looked to be three or four was playing with toy cars in the sandbox. The playset looked new and expensive, Leslie thought, a sharp contrast to the rundown rest of the place. Melanie motioned Alex and Leslie into two aluminum chairs with blue padding, while she sat on the porch steps. "Jill," she called to the little girl, "don’t swing so high." Jill poked out her lower lip. Then she said, "Okay" in the resigned voice of a child who knows she’d better obey her mother’s warning.

Melanie waited until she was sure Jill had quit pumping, then turned to Alex and Leslie. "You wanted to talk about Robert." Leslie nodded. "Like I told you on the phone, it appears that someone is trying to harm me." "What could Robert possibly have to do with that, when he’s dead?" Melanie asked bluntly. "I know that seems impossible, but, when you brought over Robert’s things, you started to tell me something about him. Then you backed off. Alex and I thought maybe it was something that might help us." "I can’t see how. It only concerns Robert." "Could you share it with us anyway?" Alex asked gently. "Well . . . it’s not something I want everybody to know." Melanie looked askance at Leslie. "We’ll keep your confidence," Alex said. Melanie picked at a hole in the knee of her jeans. "Robert was on the verge of bankruptcy when he died." Bankruptcy? Leslie’s stomach jolted. Alex shot her a glance. "Did you know that?" "I had no idea. Do you know why he didn’t tell me?" she asked Melanie. "My guess is he was afraid you’d call off your engagement," Melanie said. "Robert had a great deal of pride." "Do you know how he got in such bad financial shape?" Alex asked. "He made some bad investments doing some day trading in the stock market. But it was mostly gambling." "Gambling?" Leslie said as another shock wave rippled through her. "Yes, whenever he took a business trip, he’d detour through Vegas or Reno." "I take it you didn’t know that, either," Alex said to Leslie. Leslie looked down at her hands, suddenly conscious of how she was twisting them. "No, I didn’t." "Robert was extravagant, too," Melanie said. "Everything he owned had to be the best and the most expensive." That was true, Leslie reflected. He had always looked as though he had stepped out of Gentleman’s Quarterly magazine, and when she bought Robert a present, she knew it had better be top of the line. "He tried to borrow money from us." Melanie gave a cynical laugh. "Of course, we turned him down. George’s salary at the shoestore barely covers our necessities. But I want to be a stay-at-home mom, so we

sacrifice." Alex turned to Leslie. "Did he ever ask you for money?" "Never," she said. "Oh, I’m sure he didn’t want you to know about his problems," Melanie said. Melanie took a moment to focus on her children. Satisfied they were doing okay, she looked at Alex and Leslie, waiting for one of them to say something. Leslie’s throat had choked up. She didn’t trust herself to speak right now. She was afraid she’d blurt out some of the hurt she was feeling. Alex reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the photograph of Robert and Jeffrey at Woodridge Lodge. He held it out to Melanie. He told her where it was taken and that he and Leslie had learned that the two men planned to buy the lodge. "Do you know anything about that?" Melanie’s ponytail bobbed as she nodded. "Oh, yes. Woodridge was one of the things Robert wanted to invest in. Only he didn’t have the money." She gave another cynical laugh. "No money. Kind of a drawback for a would-be wheeler-dealer, huh?" "See the shadow of the person taking the picture?" Alex said. "It looks like a woman’s. Do you have any idea who that might be? Leslie says it’s not her." Melanie studied the picture. "What about Jeffrey’s girlfriend? Robert mentioned her once or twice." "Roz Jensen," Leslie supplied. "It could be. I haven’t asked her yet if she took the picture. Leslie let a moment go by while gathering courage for the next question she wanted to ask. Finally, she blurted out, "Do you know if there were any women besides me in Robert’s life?" Melanie looked away. "I wouldn’t know about that. Robert and I didn’t discuss his love life. I knew about you, of course, because of that time when we ran into each other at a restaurant. If it hadn’t been for that, I probably wouldn’t know you at all." "I thought maybe you were trying to tell me about other women that day you brought me the box of his things," Leslie said. "No, it was about his financial problems. I wondered if you knew about them, then decided that since he’s dead, it didn’t really matter." Alex said, "Was there any chance that Robert committed suicide with the boat accident? That would have been a way out from under his debts." Melanie shook her head firmly. "Robert would never take his own life. I’m sure he had some plan for getting himself out of his financial hole. He wasn’t one to give up easily. No, the investigators ruled the boat explosion an accident, and I believe that it was." The little boy came running toward them. He stumbled up the steps, spraying sand in all directions, and threw himself into his mother’s

arms. "What’s the matter, Jason?" Melanie rubbed her cheek affectionately against his hair, flattening his cowlick. He mumbled something into her chest that Leslie couldn’t make out. "We’ll have some juice in a minute," Melanie said. Alex took that as a cue to end the visit. "We’d better be going," he said. Leslie nodded. "Thanks, Melanie. We appreciate your talking to us." Hanging onto her son’s hand, Melanie jumped up, a relieved look on her face. "I hope you find out who’s after you," she said as she walked them to the front door. "That would be really scary. But I’m sure Robert has nothing to do with it." * * * "You’re awfully quiet," Alex said when they were in the car and heading back to Queen Anne Hill. "Just nothing to say, I guess," Leslie replied. She folded her arms across her chest and gazed at the Ballard Bridge which they were about to cross. Below it, she could see the mast of a sailboat waiting for the bridge to open and let it through. "Why do you suppose Robert didn’t tell you about his financial problems?" Leslie tensed. She was still trying to sort out what she’d learned about the Robert she’d loved. "He was trying to protect me." "Mmm, like he was with the information about your birth parents?" Leslie said, her voice rising, "Okay, so you don’t believe that. I don’t care. You didn’t know him like I did. You didn’t know him at all." "Was it true what Melanie said about him liking expensive things?" Alex asked, ignoring her outburst and persisting with his line of questioning. "Yes. But what’s wrong with wanting the best?" Alex shrugged. "Nothing. I’m just trying to figure out what the guy was like." "He was wonderful." "I know what you thought of him," he said dryly. "I want to know what others thought." "So now do you?" "A little, yes." "Well, just keep in mind that Melanie is right: Robert has nothing to do with what’s happening to me now." * * * Alex sat at his desk and opened his laptop computer to check his e-mail. On the street below, he could hear sounds of horns honking and engines revving at traffic lights. Out on the Sound, pools of pale white sunlight

dappled the gray water. Across the way, the Olympic Mountains slept under a thick gray blanket of clouds. Two days had passed since he and Leslie had talked to Melanie. Two days during which Leslie had brooded and moped. Of course, he wanted to know what was going on inside her head, but he didn’t pry. He suspected she was still in denial about Robert. While Alex had to admit he didn’t know if Robert’s affairs had anything to do with the attacks on Leslie, it was also obvious that Robert had not been truthful with her. He should probably lay off investigating Robert. He could see how hurt Leslie was by what they’d discovered. Why hurt her anymore? It occurred to Alex that he might have an ulterior motive for trying to sully Robert’s memory. Perhaps he wanted Leslie to get over Robert so that she would be free to begin a new relationship with him. Hey, he told himself, don’t even think that. You’ve got your future all planned out. She’s not a part of it. Two e-mail messages popped up. One was from Hal Reeves, who was looking for Leslie’s birth father. It read: Frank Jakovi deceased, 1975, Baton Rouge, Louisiana. No other descendants. Alex stared at the message, letting it sink in. So, Leslie’s father was dead. Well, that ended that search. The second message was from Carl Holt: No trace of Scarpelli. I’ll keep looking. That news worried Alex. He didn’t like the way the man had just disappeared. He took out the list of suspects and crossed off Frank Jakovi’s name. There was no one else he could cross off, with the possible exception of Robert’s sister, Melanie Grafton. However, he wasn’t going to eliminate her just yet. He thought she was still keeping back something about Robert’s possible involvement with other women, but he’d let it rest for now. In a few days, he’d go back and talk to her again, without Leslie. Maybe Melanie would open up to him. Meanwhile, it was time to confront Mr. Stan Townsend. * * * "It’s time to talk to Stan," Alex told Leslie at her apartment that evening. Leslie heaved a deep, weary sigh. They were sitting on the couch going over their Suspect List. It seemed to her, though, that they were only going round in circles. Alex peered at her. "Are you with me, Leslie?" "I suppose so. But what are we going to do, give Stan the same kind of interrogation we gave Melanie?" "Basically. But rather than set up an interview, giving him time to think about it, we’ll drop in on him. Do you know where he lives?"

"He has a house in the north end of town. I haven’t been in it, but I’ve been by there. Robert and I gave him a ride once after a company get-together." "Can you get the address?" "I can look him up in the company directory. When do you want to go see him?" "The sooner the better." Alex looked at his wristwatch. "It’s only seven now. Still plenty of time to go tonight." "What if he’s not home?" Alex shrugged. "Then we’ll keep trying till we hit the jackpot." Leslie rose and walked to the window. Pink ribbons from a spectacular sunset lingered in the western sky. Lights blinked on as the city prepared for darkness. "I don’t know how much longer I can go on like this," she said. "My nerves are about shot." "Maybe you should take that leave of absence your boss offered you," Alex suggested. "Maybe I should just quit my job and be done with it. My heart sure hasn’t been in it lately. I could go someplace else and start over. They say you can’t run away from something, but maybe I can." She heard Alex rise and soft footsteps on the carpet as he came to stand behind her. "I’m sorry I haven’t been able to solve your problem yet," he said. She turned around to look at him, her forehead wrinkled in apology. "Oh, Alex, I’m not blaming you. But please don’t blame me too much, either, for wanting my life back." "I don’t," he said soothingly. He reached out to pat her shoulder. Leslie couldn’t help leaning into him. She wanted so badly to be held and comforted. As though he’d read her mind, he drew her into his arms. She sighed and laid her head on his chest. "We will solve this," he said, his lips warm against her hair. "I hope so," she whispered. Alex rubbed her back with long, steady strokes. Leslie began to relax, yet an undercurrent of tension kept the blood humming through her veins. She tried closing her eyes and pretending that the man who held her was Robert, but that didn’t work as well as it had in the past. It was Alex’s face that she saw behind her eyelids. Alex, who was doing his best to help and protect her. What would happen to them when this was all over? She couldn’t think that far ahead. The future teemed with uncertainties and threats of danger. Alex reached up to caress her face. "Leslie," he whispered. His lips moved across her cheek, down to her mouth.

The kiss was so sweet and tender that for a moment Leslie wanted to cry. Then she concentrated on kissing him back. How could anything feel so wonderful? she thought, as she twined her arms around his neck and let her lips blend with his. When Alex deepened the kiss, edging his tongue into her mouth, she did not draw away. She let her tongue dance with his, boldly, eagerly. She let herself experience the wonder and magic of being held so warmly in his arms. It was Alex who finally ended the kiss. "Alex--" she began. He laid a finger on her lips. "Shhh, don’t spoil the moment, okay? Let it last for a little while longer." "But--" Leslie’s heart was pumping loudly, furiously. "Just let this moment be what it is," Alex said. "Don’t worry about it." This was a switch, she thought with irony. The first time they’d kissed, she had been the one who wanted to savor the moment, and he’d been the one who was all nervous and guilty. Then, she’d been pretending he was Robert. This time, Robert had not even entered her mind during the kiss. It was Alex who had made her heart beat fast and her knees feel weak. What did this mean? Was she falling in love with Alex? No, that wasn’t possible. Not so soon. She was just vulnerable and needy right now. She must remember that and not do something foolish that she might later regret.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

"Turn left on 145th Street," Leslie told Alex. "As I recall, Stan’s house is in the middle of the block, on the right." "Okay," Alex said, and swung the car into the turn. It had taken them fifteen minutes to drive from Queen Anne Hill to the neighborhood where Stan lived. Fifteen minutes for Leslie’s stomach to churn with tension. She glanced at Alex. He seemed so calm. I could never be an investigator, she thought. Too hard on the nerves.

Then she reminded herself that for Alex, none of this was personal. It wasn’t his friend and co-worker they were about to confront. "Hey, what’s going on?" Alex pointed to an aid car and a couple of police cars, their lights twirling, jammed against the curb. "There must have been an accident or something," Leslie said. She looked at the house numbers as their car crept along. "2346, 2350, Stan’s should be next." "I think that’s where the trouble is," Alex said. "Oh, no! I hope not." A policeman was directing one-way traffic through the area. Groups of people stood on the sidewalk staring at a brown bungalow. "It is Stan’s house!" Leslie exclaimed in dismay. The policeman waved them by with a firmness that discouraged lingering. As they passed Stan’s house, Leslie glimpsed a sheet-covered stretcher being wheeled out. She looked at Alex, her eyes filled with worry. "What if that’s Stan?" "We’ll find out," Alex said with determination. Alex pulled over to a vacant spot at the curb. They both jumped out and ran toward Stan’s house. Leslie’s heart was thumping and her throat was dry. She feared the worst. An attendant was shutting the double doors when Leslie and Alex reached the aid car. "What happened?" Leslie asked the man. "Sorry, don’t have time to talk," he said, and jumped into the driver’s seat. Leslie turned to Alex. "We’ve got to find out what happened!" "Let’s ask that cop over there." They approached the policeman, explaining that they were friends of Stan Townsend, who lived in the house, and that they were on their way to visit him. "We don’t have a positive I.D.," the policeman said, "but we believe it was Stan Townsend. Looks like he came home to a robbery in progress. 9-1-1 got a call from a neighbor who heard screams." "Is he badly hurt, or. . . ." Leslie’s voice trailed off. She couldn’t quite say the word 'dead.' Surely, Stan would be all right. "Sorry, I can’t tell you anything more. They’re taking him to Harborview. Check with them later." * * * Leslie sat on her couch, twisting her hands together while Alex phoned Harborview Medical Center to inquire about Stan. He listened awhile, said "Thank you," and hung up. "No information available," he told Leslie.

"I don’t like this," Leslie said. "I don’t like it at all." They stayed up to watch a report of the incident on the eleven o’clock news. Although the announcer didn’t refer to Stan by name, his calling the victim "the homeowner" confirmed for Leslie and Alex that it was, in fact, Stan Townsend. His condition was reported as "critical." When the report ended, Leslie punched the Off button on the TV’s remote control. She put her head back against the couch and gazing unseeingly at the ceiling. "This is awful," she said. "Does Stan have any relatives that you know of?" Alex asked. "He talks about a brother in Portland, but I don’t think they see each other very often. He’s pretty much alone, as far as I know." "Do you know if he has anything especially valuable that someone might want to steal?" "He has a coin collection. But I don’t know if he kept it at home or somewhere else. Oh, I wish I knew how he is!" "You’ll probably hear something tomorrow at work," Alex said. * * * Leslie sat on the edge of her chair in the employee’s lounge, waiting to hear what Mac McKinley had to say. He had called a meeting of all Newman’s employees for the first thing in the morning. Leslie felt sure the topic would be what had happened to Stan. The sober look on Mac’s face as he came into the room made Leslie’s heart sink. "By now, I’m sure you all know that Stan Townsend was involved in a robbery at his home last evening," Mac began. "Well, I’m afraid I have some bad news." He paused, looked down at the floor, then continued, "I received word early this morning that Stan passed away." A murmur of "Oh, no’s," went around the room. Roz, who was sitting next to Leslie, reached over and gripped her hand. Hot tears stung Leslie’s eyes. Mac went on to say that the police were investigating the incident as a robbery/murder. Stan’s brother, who had been summoned from Portland, had determined that Stan’s valuable coin collection was missing. Stan had apparently come home to find the robber ransacking the house. He had fought with the intruder, been knocked down, and hit his head on the fireplace’s raised hearth. He never regained consciousness before he died. "Will there be a funeral service?" Hank Hogan asked. "I don’t know," Mac said. "I’ll find out from Stan’s brother. This is tough on all of us. If any of you don’t feel like working today, feel free to take the day off." Leslie looked at Roz. "I just can’t believe this." "Me, neither." Roz’s eyes were misty. "Stan was a good guy. He and I didn’t always see eye to eye on a project, but I respected his opinions."

"I hope they catch the guy who did it," Hank Hogan said. "I don’t want him coming around my house. I live just a couple blocks from Stan." "No neighborhood is safe," Bob Lovall put in. "Rita and I have talked about moving to a smaller town, but, from what I hear on the news, the crime’s bad everywhere." Later, sitting at her desk, Leslie looked at the project she and Stan had been working on . . . Stan’s cute little fish jumping into their cans, and the catchy jingle. The tears began to roll down her cheeks. * * * "Senseless, that’s what it was," Leslie said to Alex that evening. They’d had Chinese take-out that Alex had brought from a restaurant near the Pike Place Market. The smell of soy sauce and fried rice lingered in the air. Neither had much appetite, and the cartons were still half full. Leslie stared at her unopened fortune cookie, a treat she usually enjoyed, but tonight had no desire for. "Even if robbery was the motive," she went on, "Stan didn’t have to die. Why couldn’t he have come home a few minutes later, after the robber had gone?" "Makes a person want to believe in Fate," Alex said. "That what’s going to happen to us is already decided. We just play it out." "Is that what you believe?" Leslie asked. "I like to think I have some choice in what happens to me, even if my decisions turn out badly. But in something like this, I don’t know." "Robert always said you make your own destiny. That if you wanted something, you made it happen. He was a very determined person." She sighed. "I used to be, too. I was ambitious, hopeful about the future, interested in my work. Now, I seem to have turned into a blob of jelly." "You’re just going through a bad time right now. You’ll get back on track." She gave him a woeful look. "I don’t know if I ever will. By the way, what are we going to do, now that Stan’s gone? Are we at a dead end?" Adam’s brow puckered. "I admit I’m a bit stumped about what to do next. Give me a couple of days to think about it." * * * On Friday afternoon, Sergeant Steve Manoli from the Seattle Police Department called Leslie. "I’d like to talk to you about Stan Townsend," he said. "I understand you worked with him there at Newman’s." "Yes," Leslie said. "But why do you want to talk to me?" Could he possibly know that she and Alex had been on their way to Stan’s last night? He certainly didn’t think she had anything to do with Stan’s murder, did he? "This is important, Miss Morgan. I’d like you to come down to the station as soon as possible."

Leslie glanced at her calendar. No appointments for the rest of the day. "Well, I guess I could come right away." Then she thought about Alex. He would want to be in on this meeting, too. "Is it all right if I bring someone with me?" she asked. "A lawyer?" Manoli asked. "You’re not under suspicion, if that’s what you’re worried about." "Not a lawyer; a friend." "I guess it’d be okay." Her heart thumping wildly, Leslie hung up and dialed Alex’s condo number. "What’s up?" he asked when he came on the line. Leslie explained about the call from Sergeant Manoli. "Of course I want to be there," he said, "I’ll meet you at the police station in thirty minutes." Leslie gave him directions, then hung up. Thirty minutes. That gave her time to let Mac know she was leaving, straighten up her desk, and get herself to the police station. * * * "Just what was your relationship with Stan Townsend?" Sergeant Manoli asked Leslie. "We were co-workers. And friends. Why?" "We found some writings in his house that relate to you." "Writings?" Leslie’s brow wrinkled in puzzlement as she exchanged a look with Alex, who sat next to her in the sergeant’s small office. "Yes." Manoli reached for a file folder lying on his desk. Steve Manoli didn’t look like her idea of a police detective, Leslie decided, watching him riffle through the folder. She had expected someone big and burly, with a broken nose and addicted to cigarettes and doughnuts. Manoli was scholarly looking with his neatly hair, crisp white shirt, and tightly knotted orderly, too. Bookshelves behind him were as library, and his desk had papers tucked away

trimmed, shoe polish-black black tie. His office was neat as those at the in various metal holders.

Manoli handed several sheets of paper to Leslie. "We found these on the desk in his bedroom. They’d come from his computer printer. The file for them was on the computer’s hard drive. Go ahead, look through them." Leslie studied the top sheet, dated six months ago. It read: Leslie took the bus to work today. I wanted to ask her to go for a drink after work. With just me, not the whole group, as usual. But I chickened out at the last minute. I must figure out a way to get her to see that I am the right man for her. Why does she just ignore me? Why doesn’t she realize that Robert was no good for her? Now that he’s gone, I must convince her to forget him. There must be some way!

The sheet under that read: At the anniversary party tonight, I put one of my plans into action. I slipped something into Leslie’s drink while she was dancing. Something that would make her sick. Then I could rescue her and take her home. It would’ve worked, too, if it hadn’t been for that Alex Steele. He got to her before I did. I don’t like him. I don’t like the way he took her away from me tonight. If he keeps hanging around, I’ll have to do something about him. "Stan was the one who made me sick at the party!" Leslie said. She handed the papers to Alex. For the next few minutes, she and Alex read silently. The more she read, the more incredible it all became. It appeared that Stan was responsible for everything that had happened to her, from the phone calls, to the party, to the accidents in Pike Place Market and at Woodridge. "Did all those things that Stan wrote about happen to you?" Manoli asked when she had finished reading the papers. "Yes," she said. "It’s all there, just as it happened." "Why didn’t you ever report any of this to us?" Alex spoke up. "Because there was never any real proof," he said. "And I was worried about my job at Newman’s," Leslie said. At Manoli’s puzzled look, she explained about her difficulty coping with Robert’s death and Mac’s wanting her to take a leave of absence. Manoli turned to Alex. "So how do you figure into this?" "I’m a former P.I.," Alex said. "I offered to help Leslie find out if there was someone behind these things that were happening, or if they were all just coincidences. I had my suspicions it might be Stan. I thought he might want revenge for her rejecting him. I caught him following me one night after I left Leslie’s apartment." Manoli shook his head. "We’re dealing with something very different from revenge for rejection. After reading all this stuff Stan wrote, it appears he was trying to incapacitate you so that he could then jump in and rescue you. He wanted to show you that he could be someone important in your life." "That’s incredible," Leslie said. "It makes sense. Look, he made you sick at the party, then he tried to come to your aid. But he drank too much and Alex was a couple of jumps ahead of him. He pushed you into the truck at the Market. Probably, he was planning to rescue you there, as well. But, again, Alex got to you first." "I could swear he didn’t follow us to Woodridge, though," Alex said. "He could have used a different car than the night he followed you from Leslie’s," Manoli said. "His notes aren’t too specific about that occasion." "Is this some kind of psychological disorder?" Leslie asked.

"Yes," Manoli confirmed. "It’s rare, but we’ve had a couple of similar cases over the years. One guy tried to drown the woman he fixated on by sneaking up on her while she was swimming in a lake. Then he proceeded to rescue her." Leslie shook her head. "Poor Stan." "He fits the profile," Manoli went on. "He was a loner with no real social life. He had no close ties with women. . . . Hey, you should feel relieved that this came to light. Now, you can relax. No more attacks. No more threats." "I guess so," Leslie said. She looked questioningly at Alex. "The sergeant has a point," Alex agreed. Manoli stacked up the papers and slid them back into the folder. He carefully placed the folder in one of his metal holders. "We’ll check Townsend’s phone record, and yours, to see if he made the calls to you. But, I think we can pretty well conclude that he’s your man. Now, if we could only find his killer." "No leads?" Alex asked. "Yeah, a couple, but nothing solid yet." "I do hope you find him," Leslie said. Manoli grinned at Alex as he walked them to the door. "This puts you out of a job. You won’t need to be her bodyguard anymore." "You’re right," Alex said. "Now she can be on her own." * * * A few minutes later, Alex and Leslie were outside on the busy street. "Where’s your car?" he asked her. "I walked." She kept her head down, he noticed, and hugged her arms as though cold, even though the afternoon was warm enough for shirtsleeves. She’d been awfully quiet on the way out of Manoli’s office, but he’d thought that was because she didn’t want strangers to overhear any discussion of what they’d just learned. He took a step toward her and touched her elbow. Her skin was burning, yet she was shivering. "Leslie? What’s wrong?" "N-nothing." He tipped up her chin. Her eyes brimmed with tears. She was in something like shock, he realized. And why not? She’d just found out that someone she’d trusted had been in truth stalking her and creating bizarre accidents to hurt her. It would be enough to unnerve anyone, and especially someone as sensitive as Leslie. "I’m sorry, Leslie," he said. "You just had some bad news about someone you trusted."

"It’s--it’s okay. I--have to go back to the office." In his opinion, she was in no shape to go back to work. He looked at his watch. Four o’clock. "No, you don’t," he said, "you’re coming with me." "No, Alex. . . ." He came closer and slipped his arm around her shoulders. She seemed suddenly so incredibly fragile . . . like a wounded bird. "Yes, you can," he said, his voice softer. "You’ve had a shock, Leslie. Let me take care of you." He was thankful she didn’t protest further as he led her to the lot where his car was parked. He opened the door and tucked her into the seat. He had no more than merged into traffic when the dam on her emotions broke. She put her head in her hands and started to sob. He took one hand from the steering wheel and patted her knee. "That’s okay, Leslie. Go ahead and let it all out." By the time he’d put several blocks between them and the police station, he realized he didn’t know exactly where he was headed. Should he take her home? He glanced at her, still sobbing her heart out, her shoulders shaking. His place was closer, why not go there? He’d calm her down and feed her some dinner, then take her home. If he took her to her apartment now, she might insist that he leave her, and he didn’t want to do that. It wasn’t that she couldn’t take care of herself. She could, very capably; but now she needed someone to lean on, to just be there. He wasn’t about to bail out on her or let her refuse his help. At his place, he could take care of her.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Fifteen minutes later, after fighting midtown traffic, Alex pulled into a parking spot in front of the tall building that housed his condo, his home away from home. Leslie, aware that the car had stopped moving, raised her tear-stained face and looked dazedly around. "Pike Place Market?" she said. "Why are we here? If you were thinking of an early dinner, I don’t really feel like eating."

"We’re not going to eat. Not now, anyway." Alex pocketed his keys. "My condo’s up there." He pointed through the windshield to the building in front of them. "Oh, I don’t think so, Alex. I’d just as soon go home, if you don’t mind." "I do mind. We’re here and we’re going up. I’m not taking any chances on you kicking me out. And you can’t do that if it’s my place." That got a wan smile out of her and made him feel a little better. She was still hurting a lot, though. He’d done the right thing by bringing her here. He kept a firm hand under her elbow as they entered the building and then the elevator, where he punched the button for the 17th floor. They rode up silently. Once inside his apartment, Alex looked around at the messy living room; scattered newspapers, a pair of his running shoes, an empty beer bottle. He wasn’t the world’s neatest housekeeper. "Sorry for the mess," he said, guiding her to the sofa, reaching to clear away a sports shirt he’d left draped over the back. Leslie sat down. "It’s okay. It looks lived in. Besides, you didn’t know you were going to have company today." "That’s true. . . . Now, let me get you something to drink." "Tea would be fine." He frowned. "I don’t think so. You need something stronger. Wait here." He left her and went into the kitchen. From there he could still see her, and as he took out ice cubes and glasses, he kept a careful eye on her. Her chin trembled and the tears were streaming again. From a cupboard, he took a bottle of whiskey and poured a jigger each over ice in the glasses. Not too much. Just enough to calm her. She wrinkled her nose as he handed her the glass. "Whiskey?" "Yeah. I know, it’s not your favorite drink, but, trust me, it’ll do you good." He sipped his drink. The alcohol felt good going down his throat, made him realize that he, too, had needed a bracer. He watched her as she raised the glass to her lips and took a sip. She grimaced, glanced at him, saw his stern expression, and took another sip. When she finished it, he reached to take the glass. "That wasn’t so bad, was it?" "No, doctor. I guess not." Another weak grin. He was making progress. She took a tissue from her shoulder bag and dabbed at her eyes, her cheeks. "I need to freshen up." "The bathroom’s down the hall. Should be a clean towel in the closet." He hoped. There hadn’t been much time lately to keep up with the laundry. While she was gone, he went to the window and looked idly at the

mountains across the sound, covered in a thin purplish cloudbank. He wasn’t really seeing them, though, because he was thinking so hard about Leslie. And Stan. What a little creep. Yet, the way Manoli had explained Stan’s problem made him almost sympathetic. Almost. Until he thought about how it had affected Leslie. He felt so protective of her. Much more than he needed to be, he realized, but he couldn’t help it. He heard her footsteps and turned to look at her. She’d applied fresh lipstick, a pale peach color that complimented her skin. Her hair, freshly brushed, curled around her face. Her eyes were still red-rimmed. It would take awhile for them to recover-- providing she didn’t have another crying spell. She came to stand beside him at the window. He was acutely conscious of her nearness, caught a whiff of soap, his soap, he realized. He had the urge to put his arm around her and draw her close to him. "This is really a nice place," she said. "Are you buying?" "No, just renting, for right now. Being new to the area, I wasn’t sure where I wanted to settle." "How do you like it? Think you’ll stay here?" "Not sure yet," he said noncommittally. He didn’t want to get too deep into that subject. To make sure it didn’t go any farther, he said, "Hungry yet?" "A little," she admitted. They could go out to one of the want to take her out in public. She was his first visitor. He’d condo Petersen had obtained for someone.

area’s many restaurants; but he didn’t It was nice having her all to himself. spent many a lonely hour in this fabulous him, and it was pleasant to share it with

With her. "I think I can rustle us up something." Oh oh, he hoped what was in the kitchen could back him up on that. "Just some soup would be enough," she said, following him into the kitchen. "Soup I think we can do. As long as you don’t mind the canned kind." He opened the cupboard and scanned the half a dozen cans on the shelf. Two of them were soup. He took one out. "Chicken noodle okay?" She nodded. They ended up with toasted cheese sandwiches and some sliced tomatoes and cucumbers to go with the soup. Still, he was apologetic. "This isn’t exactly what we’re used to." He paused to reflect on what he’d said: what we’re used to. It sounded like they were old marrieds or something. Now, where had that idea come from? "Plain and simple is a nice change," Leslie said. "I’m glad you like it, and I’m glad you’re feeling better," he said.

She nodded. "I still can’t believe Stan would do those things to me. What do you think?" Alex finished chewing a bite of his sandwich, then said, "The evidence is pretty convincing. And, according to Manoli, Stan fits the profile of guys with that particular disorder." "I wonder what would have happened if Stan hadn’t been killed during the robbery? How far would he have gone in his attacks on me?" "Not far at all," Alex said. "We were almost on to him, don’t forget." She nodded, but continued to frown. "I don’t want anyone else to know what Stan was doing." "You mean like the people at the office?" "Especially them. What would be the point? He’s dead now. He can’t hurt me or anyone else. Let his memory rest." "If that’s the way you want it, then it’s okay by me. I’m just glad it’s all over." However, it wasn’t over, Alex reminded himself. Now came the hard part of his job. He had to not only tell Leslie about her grandfather, but also to convince her that she should travel to Boston to meet him. After all she’d been through, he didn’t know how she would take the shock of learning about Guy Petersen. No way was he going to bring up that subject tonight, though. One step at a time. He’d wait a couple more days, to let Leslie recover from what she heard today about Stan. Then he’d tell her his news. After dinner, he expected her to ask to be taken home; but, surprisingly, she settled on the sofa. "Want to watch some TV?" he asked. She shrugged. "I guess so. For a while." He turned on the set, handed her the remote. "Here, find something you like while I clean up." "Can I help?" "Nah. You just relax." "You’re so good to me." Their eyes met, and heat arrowed through him. She shouldn’t look at him like that, even though he was sure she had no idea how seductive it was. For him, such a look spelled trouble. Don’t be a jerk, he told himself. You’re not going to take advantage of her now, when she’s so vulnerable. He wasn’t going to take advantage of her, period. When he finished in the kitchen, he joined her; but, rather than sit next to her on the sofa, he chose a nearby chair. She had kicked off her shoes and curled her stockinged feet under her. Her chin was propped on her hand as she watched a sitcom. He studied her profile; high forehead, nose

with just the slightest tilt, full lips, softly rounded chin. Lord, but she was pretty. She looked over at him. "This was all I could find to watch. I wanted something light." "Fine. Whatever you like. I’m not much of a TV watcher." "Me, neither, actually." They passed an hour or so like that, saying little, keeping their focus on the TV. Lulled by the whiskey and food, Alex sank deeper and deeper into his chair. Everything was going to be fine now. Not quite. He heard a snuffling sound, looked over at Leslie and saw that she was crying again. Darn, he thought they had that licked. He leaned forward and said softly, "Leslie?" "I--I’m sorry. I just can’t help it. I felt okay for a while, then it all came back on me. It’s not just Stan. It’s everything." "That’s okay." He got up, went to the bathroom, and came back with a handful of tissues. He sat down beside her. "Here, you need some more of these." She took them and blew her nose into one. "Do you want to talk some more about it?" he said. "I don’t know." Her shoulders sagged. He put his arm around her and massaged her shoulder. She leaned into him and it was only natural that he drew her closer. He caught his breath as her head rested on his chest. Her hair was fine and silky under his chin. Her shoulders shook softly as she cried. "It’s okay, it’s okay," he said, holding her, feeling very tender toward her. They sat that way for long minutes, Leslie crying softly, Alex soothing and consoling. He wasn’t sure just when his giving changed to wanting. Maybe it was always there, lurking in the shadowy corners, waiting for the right moment to jump out. But when she put her arm around his waist, strengthening their embrace, he felt such a great need that he had to suck in his breath to keep from exploding. Did she want him, too? Or was she so wrapped up in her misery that she was unaware of the effect she was having on him. "Leslie. . . ." She raised her head to look at him and that was all he needed. Her mouth, full lips slightly open, beckoned like berries ripe for the plucking. He lowered his mouth over hers, rubbing his lips back and forth. Not even all the salty tears she’d shed could destroy the sweet taste of her. Boldly, he thrust his tongue between her lips. She opened her mouth readily and met his tongue thrust for thrust with a freedom and abandonment he’d never before seen in her.

The kiss went on and on. Alex wasn’t about to end it. He was enjoying it too much. He ran his hand down her arm and underneath her elbow to find the curve of her breast, firm yet yielding under the soft fabric of her blouse. He’d never touched her there, though he’d wanted to, many times. Would she want him to? Or was that going too far? As if in answer to his unspoken question, she gave a low whimper and placed her hand over his and held it tighter against her breast. He broke away from her mouth long enough to say, "Leslie, I want you. God, I want you. . . ." "I want you, too." He reached up and found the top button on her blouse, worked it with thumb and forefinger until it popped open. "Are you sure?" "Um hmm." Her fingers fumbled with his belt buckle. Need and desire escalated until, breathless and panting, they tore at each other’s clothes. Her blouse was off her shoulders and his slacks hung open before he came to his senses enough to realize he didn’t want their first time to be on the living room sofa. He stood and reached for her. "Come on. luv. I’m taking you to bed." * * * Leslie watched Alex lean down and scoop her into his arms. The rock hard muscles of his arms and chest enfolded her like steel, like his name, Steele, she thought wryly. The blood and heat that had been pounding through her veins, driving her with an almost mindless force, slowed enough for her to think, Do I really want to do this? Lord knew, they had been leading up to it for a long time, since the first time they’d met and he’d held her in his arms while they danced. But everything that had happened had finally overwhelmed her and tonight she’d just collapsed. Alex had stayed with her, though. He hadn’t abandoned her. She reminded herself Robert was gone. Her with Alex. They both her. Not like Robert

that all that had been troubling her was over now. stalker was revealed. Now she was free to make love wanted to. She could trust him. He wouldn’t hurt had. Not like Stan had.

These thoughts danced through Leslie’s head in the seconds it took for Alex to carry her down the hall to his bedroom. And, although her rational mind had made the decision for her, when Alex stopped beside the bed and kissed her hard and long on the mouth, the fire inside her blazed so furiously that it didn’t matter what she had decided. She was going to make love with him. There was no way she could not. She felt herself being lowered onto the bed and he beside her. Quickly everything started all over again, the urgent kissing and caressing, the tearing at their clothing. Leslie let herself go with a wild abandonment. It felt so good, such a release, to be making love with a man again. With Alex. For tonight there was no pretending that Alex was Robert. It was Alex’s

mouth she kissed so passionately, Alex’s hard and lean body pressed against hers. Everything grew hazier and hazier as Leslie fell more and more under Alex’s spell. What an experienced and tender lover he was. His hands and mouth moved over her body skillfully and deftly. He knew just how to bring her to the peak of desire. There was a brief moment she realized he had gone control pills, and would her, his gesture pleased

when he withdrew, but quickly he was back, and for protection. Although she was on birth have mentioned that if she’d had her wits about her. Yes, it was right to trust Alex.

"I can’t wait any longer," he said, gazing down into her eyes. The longing and desire she saw in his eyes stoked her own urgency. "Me, neither," she whispered. "Do it. Do it now." Alex lowered himself onto her and crushed his lips to hers. This is so right, she thought, just before being swept away. * * * Sometime later, Leslie awoke with a start. She thought she’d heard a noise. What was it? She looked around for the familiar band of light that always crept under the blinds in her bedroom. It wasn’t there. For a moment, she felt disoriented, a little dizzy. Then she remembered. She was in Alex’s condo. In his bed. They’d made love . . . glorious, wonderful love. She twisted around, expecting to find him beside her. He wasn’t there. Where had he gone? She saw a silent figure gliding toward her. A momentary ripple of fear slid down her spine. Then she calmed herself. It was Alex. She recognized the jut of his broad shoulders, the silhouette of slender hips. "Alex?" "Yes, sorry I woke you," he said as he slid into bed beside her. He brought a coolness that made her momentarily shiver. "Is anything wrong?" "No, no, everything’s okay. I was just . . . checking things. Couldn’t remember if I’d locked the door or not. I did." "You’re always so good about watching over me," she murmured, sidling closer to him, wanting to warm his body with hers. "But I guess you don’t have to anymore." "Old habits die hard," he said. He put his arm around her, drew her close. She snuggled against his naked

body. His chest hair rubbed against her shoulder, her breast. She loved the feel of him. "Alex," she began, thoroughly awake now, and aware that his inordinate worries reminded her of something that had bothered her. "Mmmm?" "You’ve always been so cautious where I’m concerned. Of course, I appreciate it, but it makes me wonder about your quitting your business. Did . . . did something happen on one of your cases that made you give it up?" She felt him stiffen. "What do you mean?" "I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry." She reached up to place a hand reassuringly on his chest. Now, she wished she’d kept her thoughts to herself. Several silent moments slid by, then Alex said, "You’re pretty perceptive. You’re right. Something did happen that influenced my decision. Something very ugly." "You don’t have to tell me. . . ." "I want to," he said without hesitation. "The time seems right. I’m feeling very trusting toward you." His words warmed her inside. "And I toward you," she murmured. He kissed the top of her head, then began, "A man came to me and asked me to find his missing cousin. Her name was Anna Greene. He said he wanted to find her because she had been named in their uncle’s will. I checked out his story and found everything he told me to be true. So, I took the job, and I located Anna." Alex paused. Leslie could feel the tension building in him as she waited for him to continue. "Anna told me a different story," Alex finally went on. "She said she had run away from an abusive husband. Before I could check that out, she was murdered." "Oh, Alex, how terrible! Did they find the killer?" Alex nodded grimly. "That’s the bad part. The man who hired me was really her husband, posing as her cousin. He had also been following me, under yet another disguise. He was the one who killed her." "What a tragic story," Leslie said with heartfelt sympathy. "It is. I blamed myself for what happened." "But you said you checked out his story. How could you know he was posing as someone else?" "I should have been more careful. It was my fault. Anyway, after that, I just lost all heart for the job." "I can understand why."

"I knew you would." He gave her a hug. "So, when I said I’d help you, it brought back all the fears about what happened to Anna. I didn’t want to screw up again." "Alex, you didn’t need to put yourself through all this with me. You weren’t the least bit obligated. Why did you?" "I know. But I . . . ." She felt him stiffen again. "What?" "I wanted to, that’s all," he said, rather tersely. He quickly added, "And now, I have something to ask you." "What?" "Are you over Robert? I guess I should have asked you that before we made love," he added wryly. "Yes, I’m over him," she whispered. It was true. She had not thought once about Robert as they’d made love. It was Alex, Alex, all the way. "Good," he said. "Were you in love with Anna?" she couldn’t help asking. "In love with her?" he replied as though it had never occurred to him. "No. I felt sorry for her, and doubly so about her death. But it wasn’t love." They were silent a moment, then Alex said, "Let’s forget about Robert and Anna now, okay?" "Okay." Leslie had the feeling that she still hadn’t heard quite all the story. But then, as he began to caress her breast, the thought faded and she gave herself over to the warm and tingly sensations. Alex tipped up her chin, nibbled her lips. "I can stop if you want to go back to sleep," he said, while his other hand continued exploring her body, leaving trails of fire everywhere his fingers touched. "No, don’t stop . . . ever," she said, and reached for him.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The next time Leslie awoke, sunlight was streaming through the window. This time, she had no trouble remembering where she was. She rolled over. The other side of the bed was empty. Alex was up already. She looked at the bedside clock. "Already" was ten a.m. Thank goodness it was Saturday and she didn’t have to worry about being late to work. She heard the sound of the shower running in the bathroom. That, obviously, was where Alex had gone. As soon as he finished, she would take her turn. She was propping herself up in bed when he came into the room. His hair was spiky with water and he had a large towel wrapped around his middle. The sight of his near naked body started her blood heating. It was as though she could never get enough of him. "Good morning." He grinned at her. "Good morning. I guess I slept in." "I figured you needed it." He walked to the closet, opened the door, and pulled out a beige bathrobe. He tossed it to her. "Here you go." "Thanks." "I’ve got to make a run to the store for some stuff for breakfast," he said, taking out a pair of jeans and a shirt. Leslie put the robe around her shoulders, slid her arms into the sleeves. "Don’t go to all that trouble. We can go out." "I know we could, but I don’t want to give up this little domestic scene just yet. Besides, you’re my guest; I’m going to feed you." His long look, so full of promises that went far beyond breakfast, sent a tingle of excitement down Leslie’s spine. The feeling continued after she had taken her shower and dressed. Alex had gone, but she found a fresh pot of coffee in the kitchen. She eagerly reached for a cup, glad he wasn’t out of that, at least. Cup in hand, she wandered into the living room. She gazed out at the view, but it hardly registered on her. She was thinking about last night, about making love with Alex. Making love with him had been wonderful. Even now, hours afterward, the glow lingered. It had been more than just a physical release. It had given her a connectedness, in a spiritual sense, to another human being. A bond she hadn’t had in a long, long time. She felt so close to Alex . . . so loved. Even though they hadn’t said the words, she was sure he was in love with her. She knew without a doubt that she loved him. Somewhere during all this trouble, she’d gotten over Robert and fallen in love with Alex. Now, she wondered if she’d ever been in love with Robert at all. Her feelings for him seemed a pale shadow compared to what she felt for Alex. Now, after the glorious last night, lay the thrilling possibility of a new relationship. For what was there to stop them? As far as she could see, they had no way to go but forward. The prospect filled her with hope and eager anticipation. For the first time in six months, life was definitely worth living.

They really should get on with Alex’s Internet project, she thought. They’d spent so much time on her situation. Maybe they could spend some time on his stuff today. She suddenly had the urge to begin, to get some ideas down on paper to show him, to make him see that she had regained her focus, her promise that she had agreed to undertake his advertising project. If nothing else, they could make a list of initial things to do. They could work on it after breakfast, then maybe go to the Market for lunch, take a walk in the park. . . . Oh, it was going to be a wonderful day. Fired with enthusiasm, Leslie turned from the window and crossed to his desk. She needed paper, just a scrap, anything to write on, and a pencil. Nothing sat on the desktop except a green-shaded lamp. She opened one of the desk drawers. Empty. All the drawers were empty, she found, except the bottom one. Inside that lay a single manila file folder. That was odd. You’d think he’d have more paperwork than just one folder’s worth when he was starting up a business. Maybe there was a briefcase somewhere, in the bedroom closet, perhaps. Just because the desk held no contents didn’t mean anything. He was only renting the condo, she reminded herself. Yet something compelled her to take out the folder and open it. The top sheet appeared to be some kind of log, or diary, with dates and times. Looking closer, she saw that it was all about her. That was also odd; men didn’t usually keep diaries. Her heart beating a little faster now, her feelings of well-being giving way to vague sensations of apprehension, she dug further into the file. Another sheet had her name at the top. There were photos of her, too, going in and out of the Grant Building, and her apartment, photos she was sure had been taken before she’d ever met Alex. It appeared he had a dossier of sorts on her. But why? Apprehension built into a fear that skittered along her spine. What was going on here? She heard the front door open and Alex come in. It was too late for her to stuff the folder away. Not that she would. No. She wanted to know what this was all about. He rounded the corner of the entryway, carrying a grocery sack. His gaze zeroed in on her, then dropped to the folder, which she held in her hands. The smile on his lips vanished. "What are you doing with that?" he said in an accusing tone. "I was looking in the desk for some paper to write on and I found this folder. It’s all about me. What’s going on here, Alex?" Leslie kept her voice very calm, daring to hope he had some logical explanation. Without answering, he marched into the kitchen. She followed him. He set the sack on the counter. "I think you owe me an explanation," she said to his rigid back. His shoulders slumped and slowly he turned to her. She expected to see anger but saw only anguish in his eyes. Yes, anguish--and apology. "Alex . . . tell me." He spread his hands. "I was waiting till this thing with the stalker was solved to tell you. In fact, I was going to tell you today." "Tell me what?"

He hesitated, glanced back at the sack of groceries. "Let’s eat first. It’ll be better if you’re not on an empty stomach." "I can’t eat now! I want to know what this is all about!" "Well, I need to eat," he growled, some of his earlier anger surfacing again. He began unloading the bag. Leslie watched, helpless with frustration. He was probably right, but how on earth could she think of eating at a time like this? Nevertheless, he made her wait. He cooked eggs and hashbrowns for himself, which he ate with maddening slowness. Leslie picked at a bowl of cereal. Not even the fact that he’d bought her favorite kind could cheer her. "This is ridiculous," she said halfway through the tense meal. "Eat," was all he said. Finally, Alex put down his coffee cup, pushed back his chair, and sat forward, hands clasped between his knees. "Okay. The folder has to do with why I came to Seattle. . . ." "Why you really came," she said. His brows furrowed with a look of impatience, then he said, "Yes, all right, why I really came. Like I told you, I was a private investigator specializing in locating lost persons, and I did decide to quit that and go into the Internet business. All that is true." "Well, I’m glad you’re not a total liar," she said sarcastically. "What I didn’t tell you is that I took one last job to locate someone." Leslie’s heart began to pound, as if at some level of awareness she already knew what was coming. "And who was that?" she whispered. "You." The word hung in the air as they stared across the small table at one another. Alex’s eyes radiated that look of apology again, but Leslie barely noticed. All this time Alex had been looking for her? "But--but--" she began, and finally gulped out, "Me? Who would want to find me?" Then it dawned on her. "My birth parents. That’s who, isn’t it?" Her stomach coiled into a tight knot. "But I told you I don’t want to know about them!" Alex spread his hands. "No, no," he said in a soothing tone. "Not your birth parents. They are both dead, Leslie." "Dead?" That news made her reel. She’d never thought of that. She’d always imagined them living happy lives somewhere without her. "Yes, I’m sorry." She waved a hand. "It’s okay." It wasn’t really okay, at all, but she’d deal with her feelings about that later. Right now, she had to know what Alex was talking about. "Who, then?"

"Your grandfather hired me to find you. Your mother’s father." "My grandfather?" Leslie repeated incredulously. Her birth parents were dead, but she had a living grandfather? It was almost beyond her comprehension. "Yes, and I promised him I wouldn’t reveal to you right away who I was and that he was looking for you." "Why didn’t he want me to know?" Alex heaved a troubled sigh. Leslie could tell that he was suffering through this, but she could muster no sympathy for him. "Go on," she urged. Alex rose and rubbed the back of his neck. He stuck his hands in his pockets and began to pace. "Maybe it would help if I went back to the beginning again. I was quitting my business, okay? Then your grandfather, whose name, by the way, is Guy Petersen, summoned me through a mutual lawyer friend. Petersen was looking for a tracer of lost persons and this friend recommended me. I went to see Guy as a favor to my friend, although I intended to tell him I was out of the business and to suggest some other P.I.s who could help him." "Where does this . . . Mr. Petersen live?" Leslie couldn’t bring herself to say 'my grandfather.' "Outside of Boston. Anyway, he talked me into taking on the job. He’d already done a lot of the research, and I knew it would be fairly easy to locate you. Which it was." Leslie watched him reach the kitchen counter, turn around and head back in her direction. "Why does he want to find me, after all these years?" "He didn’t want your mother to marry your father. They parted in anger, and he never saw your mother again. He now regrets what he did. He knows your mother is dead, and therefore he can’t make it up to her." He stopped in front of her and looked down at her gravely, then said in carefully measured words, "But he can make it up to you." Leslie crossed her arms over her chest, as if to ward off any effect his words--or his sudden nearness--might have. "Make it up how? By telling me he’s sorry for the way he treated my mother, a woman I didn’t even know? What will that mean to me?" Alex shook his head slowly. She saw pity in his eyes, a pity she did not want. "I don’t know, Leslie," he said. "That’s for you and him to work out. My only job was to find you." "Okay, so, you did. Why didn’t you tell him? Why did you let it drag on?" Alex turned away again, as if he didn’t want to answer the question. "I did tell him I’d found you. But he wanted me to stay with you for a while, before I let you know who I was." Understanding dawned on Leslie. "Oh, he wanted you to check me out, is that it?" "You might say that."

"So did I pass muster?" "Of course. The real problem in getting you and Guy together was that someone was making those attacks on you. I couldn’t let you go to meet him with that hanging over your head. That would put the both of you in danger. I didn’t want to do that." "Does he know about the attacks?" "Yes. But now that’s over with, and it’s time to bring the two of you together. Like I said earlier, I was going to tell you about him." "Today?" "Well . . . maybe not today. I was going to let a little more time go by, so that you didn’t have too many shocks all at once." "How considerate of you," she said, her sarcasm rising again. "After we slept together some more, no doubt." "That didn’t have anything to do with it." "Oh? So what did our sleeping together have to do with?" "Leslie, please." "You don’t have an answer for that, do you?" He kept his eyes averted. Why wouldn’t he look at her? She wanted to see his expression. "What happened last night was because we both wanted it," he finally said. "You can’t deny that." No, she couldn’t. She bit her lip, not wanting to make any more accusations. But, never mind, last night was already spoiled, she told herself. Alex said, bringing her thoughts back to the topic at hand, "I want you to go back to Boston with me and meet Guy." "Of course you do!" she shot back. "You probably get a bonus if you bring me back alive. You . . . you bounty hunter!" "I can understand your being upset. . . ." "Upset?" Leslie balled her hands into fists and pounded the table. "That doesn’t begin to define how I feel. How about livid? How about rabid? I don’t like playing games, Alex." "But I’ve explained why I had to keep my real reason for being here a secret. That doesn’t change the bottom line: you’ve got a grandfather who wants very much to meet you. He’s old; he’s not well. . . ." "Oh, so now you’re playing on my sympathy. Trying to put me on a guilt trip." "No! I’m just telling you how it is. Are you going to deny him something

that would make him very happy? Plus, miss out on an experience that might be good for you, too?" "Now you’re presuming to know what’s good for me?" "Leslie. . . " Alex sat down and scooted his chair close to her. He reached out to put his hand on her shoulder. Leslie shrank away, but he managed to grip her anyway. Under other circumstances she would have welcomed his touch; craved it, even. But not now. In the last few minutes, everything between them had changed. Alex said, "Now that Stan has been discovered as your stalker, there is no reason not to go forward and get you and Guy together. Please, Leslie, don’t be too angry with me." "I know, you were only doing your job." "It was more than that," he said, massaging her shoulder tenderly. "I’ve gotten to know you. We’ve become friends. At least, I hope we’re friends. We have been through a lot together." "Yes, we have," she said, softening a little. After last night, aren’t we more than friends? she wanted to ask. But didn’t. She was afraid to talk about that now. She said defiantly, "What if I refuse to meet him?" "Then I’ll have to tell him that. But I hope you’ll say yes. He’s a decent man, Leslie. I believe he truly regrets his estrangement from your mother and wants to make amends as best he can." "Oh, right." "Look, he’s asking only to meet you, not to turn your life completely around. At least think about it, won’t you? You don’t have to make a decision now." "Okay, I’ll think about it. But I already know what the answer will be. And you do, too."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Shortly after that, Alex drove Leslie to her apartment. He knew better

than to ask to come in. He didn’t get the chance, anyway; at the door she turned and told him firmly that she wanted to be alone. He told her he’d call her. He returned to his condo in a funk. After all his hard, diligent work, Leslie wasn’t going to meet her grandfather. Her refusal made him feel like a failure, although that was irrational. He’d done his job. He’d found her. And, although he hadn’t discovered her stalker, he had protected both her and Petersen until the man’s identity had been revealed. What about last night? No, he didn’t regret what had happened between them. Making love with Leslie had been everything he’d dreamed it would be. And more. But, now, in the cold light of day and the aftermath of their discussion, he couldn’t deny that sleeping together had only complicated things. Would he do it again? He grinned to himself. In a heartbeat. But no, he wasn’t going to push himself on her. She wanted to be alone. He would honor that. He tried to shrug off his depression, telling himself he’d still get paid for finding Leslie, and he’d still have enough to start his business. His goal had been reached. He should be happy. He wasn’t. He kept seeing the myriad emotions Leslie had displayed during their discussion. First, shock and bewilderment, then indignation and betrayal, and, finally, anger. Pure, red hot, blistering anger. Later that afternoon, after he’d come in from a jog and a latte from the coffee bar downstairs--neither of which made him feel much better--the telephone rang. His heart took a leap. Maybe it was Leslie. It was Petersen. Alex filled him in on the news about Stan being Leslie’s stalker. "The creep," Petersen said, his voice full of disgust. "But, thank God, that’s over, and she wasn’t permanently harmed." "Yes," Alex agreed. A pause, then Petersen said, "You tell her about me yet?" "I told her this morning," Alex replied simply, seeing no reason to go into the circumstances of his confession. "So, how soon can you bring her here?" "She’s, ah, not sure when she can come." "She wants to see me, doesn’t she?" Alex heard the anxiety in Petersen’s voice. He didn’t have the heart to tell him exactly what Leslie had said. "I’m sure that down deep, she does. She’s just confused right now. She’s had a lot to deal with." "Okay, but I’ve waited so long for this, and I may not have much more time. . ."

"I understand. I’m doing my best to bring about your meeting." "There’s an extra bonus in it for you if you get her here next week." Alex clenched a fist and bit his tongue to keep from making a sarcastic reply. Did Petersen think he was holding out for more money? Nothing could be farther from the truth. "No," he said firmly. "The price we agreed on at the beginning stands." "We’ll see about that when you get here," Petersen said, obviously needing to have the last word on the subject. "Oh, by the way, I heard from my nephew, Joe Scarpelli." Alex’s ears perked up and he forgot about his anger with Petersen. "You did? Where is he?" Petersen snorted. "In South America. Brazil, to be exact." "What’s he doing there?" "He went there to see about a mining operation somebody in Vegas told him about. He was vague on the details. He told me not to worry, though, that he’d be in touch." "Do you think he’s a potential threat to Leslie?" Petersen gave a dry laugh. "No. He knows about my promise to my sister. He knows he’ll get something when I kick the bucket. He wouldn’t get it all, even if it wasn’t for Leslie." Petersen’s firmness of tone allayed Alex’s worries. "Good. Then there seems to be no barriers to you and Leslie getting together." "That’s what I’ve been telling you! Just get her here." "I’ll do my best." * * * Leslie glanced at the clock on her cubicle wall. Only eleven a.m. Hours to go till quitting time. The time had dragged since the moment she’d arrived this morning. She gazed at the ad layout in front of her, an end-of-the-summer sale for The Potting Shed, a nursery in the south end of town. Her task should be easy. The nursery had a similar sale every year. Yet her mind kept wandering. Almost a week had passed since Alex had first told her about her grandfather, a week during which she had not seen Alex, but had only spoken to him on the phone. Their conversations, brief and stilted, consisted of perfunctory inquires into the state of one another’s health and well-being, and Alex’s asking if Leslie had changed her mind about meeting Guy Petersen, and Leslie saying, no, she had not. Not once had they spoken of their personal relationship. It was as though it no longer existed, or mattered, but Leslie knew it did to her. They had been so close, so happy in their lovemaking. Now, they were strangers. It made her sick at heart.

Yet, no way was she going to invite him back into her bed, even though she still wanted him. Alex, like so many others in Leslie’s life, had betrayed her. He had found his way into her arms while at the same time harboring a secret about her. Leslie sighed as her thoughts skipped to Stan. Learning stalker had shattered her trust in someone she had once friend. As she had told Alex, she had not divulged that anyone. The anger she had initially felt toward him had softened to pity. He had been a deeply disturbed man.

he was her considered a revelation to gradually

However, she was thankful she wouldn’t be faced with attending his funeral, for there would be none. Stan’s brother, Martin, was shipping the body back to Portland for burial. Sergeant Manoli had told Martin about Stan’s attacks on Leslie. Martin had called Leslie to offer his apologies. "Stan and I never knew each other very well," he said. "Our parents divorced when we were kids. I went to live with our mother, while Stan went with our father. We rarely saw each other and when we grew up we didn’t have much in common. But, I’m awfully sorry about what happened to you." The conversation with Martin had helped Leslie to bring closure to the matter. Her thoughts turned to Guy Petersen. She had to admit she was curious about him. He must have wanted to find her awfully badly to go to all the trouble of hiring Alex. She couldn’t help wondering what, if anything, Mr. Petersen had to do with her parents giving her up? Maybe a lot. Maybe nothing. Did she care? Leslie passed a hand over her forehead. She felt very mixed up right now. If she did not meet her grandfather, would she always wonder that he might have been someone she would like to know? Perhaps she would be missing a lot. Just a meeting, that’s all it would be. She didn’t have to stay long in Boston. She could be right back in Seattle in her apartment the following day if she wanted to. Leslie kept mulling over her options. Finally, she closed her file on The Potting Shed, picked up the phone, and punched in Mac’s extension. "Are you free for a few minutes?" she asked when he answered. "Sure, Leslie. Come on over to my office." * * * "Of course you can still have a leave of absence," Mac said when she was seated on the other side of his desk and had told him she wanted to go to Boston, to meet a grandfather she hadn’t known existed until recently. She didn’t go into the details, and he didn’t ask. He seemed interested only in her concession to take the leave he’d recommended a couple of months ago. "I think that’s great," he said, leaning back in his chair and hooking his thumbs in his red suspenders. "Do you a world of good." "I don’t need very long. Maybe a week."

He waved a hand. "Take a month." "It won’t be too much of a burden on you, to have me gone so soon after Stan--" "No. We’ve got enough ad execs to cover your accounts while you’re gone. They’ll be compensated, so they shouldn’t complain." "This is really nice of you, Mac," Leslie said sincerely. "You’ve been a good employee, Leslie," Mac said. "You’ve had some bad breaks. I expect you’ll come back all rarin’ to go." "There will be a job for me, won’t there?" Leslie remembered what Alex had said about Mac planning to downsize. "Of course." He raised his eyebrows. "Did you hear the gossip about us downsizing?" "Well--" He waved a hand dismissively. "Not to worry. We had some bad months awhile back, but currently the bottom line looks very good." "I’m glad to hear that." "When do you want your leave to start?" "How about this coming Monday?" She would have to talk to Alex, but she was sure he would be ready to go to Boston right away. If the leave started on Monday, she wouldn’t be tempted to change her mind. "Monday it is," Mac said. * * * "A long lost relative in Boston?" Hank Hogan looked questioningly at Leslie. It was afternoon break in the employees’ lounge. "That’s a surprise." Leslie wished Mac hadn’t spread the word so quickly, but of course he would have to prepare the others to take over her accounts while she was gone. However, couldn’t he have just said she was taking a leave and left it at that? "Right," she told Hank. "I hope you won’t mind helping out," she added, wanting to divert his attention. "Which account did Mac give you?" "McDuff’s Chowder House. Easy, but boring." "I think it’s great that you’re going," Roz said, opening a large box of doughnuts that she’d brought for everyone to share. "You need to get away. I’ll miss you, though," she added. Bob Lovall and Gretchen Schneider came in. "Heard you’re going to leave us for a while," Bob said, crossing to the coffee machine and pouring himself a cup.

"That’s right," Leslie said. "Something about a long-lost grandfather," Bob continued. "My kids sure enjoy their grandfathers. They’re lucky to have both of them right here in town." Gretchen opened the small refrigerator and took out an apple. She got a paring knife from the drawer and began to peel off large rings of the red skin. "Where are you off to?" she asked Leslie. "To Boston." "No kidding? Have you ever been there before?" Gretchen asked. "No, I haven’t. Has anybody seen the morning paper?" Leslie had not the slightest interest in reading the news, but needed something to end the probing. "Here." Hank tossed her a section of the paper. "I think the rest walked out of here with someone." It was the Sports Section, but Leslie buried her nose in it, anyway. * * * That evening Leslie phoned Alex with her decision. "I’m sure you won’t regret it," he said, sounding relieved. "You don’t have to go with me," Leslie said. Being together on the trip would be awkward, she thought, after what had happened between them. "You could just give me directions to Mr. Petersen’s place of business, and I could meet him there." "He doesn’t work anymore. He’s retired. And, no, I’m not going to send you off alone. I’ll take you there. I’ll book us on the earliest available flight." Leslie sighed. There was no use arguing with him. She’d just have to cope somehow with being in his company again. "I’m not promising to stay for more than just a meeting," she told him. "That’s all he’s asking." Leslie hung up and began to plan for her trip. There were bills to pay, the apartment house manager to notify, clothing to wash. Before she started any of that, however, there was something else she had to do. She went to the closet and took down the box of Robert’s things. She removed the photographs and stuck them in her photo album. Those she would keep. The other things she left in the box. Tomorrow, on her way to work, she would drop the box off at the GoodWill Thrift Store. She pulled out one of the pictures and looked at it. Robert, as handsome as always, gazed at the camera. She waited for the familiar tug on her heartstrings that she always felt when she looked at his likeness. She experienced only emptiness, and a little sadness, for something that had fallen so short of her dreams and desires. "Good-bye, Robert," she whispered to the picture. "It’s time for me to

get on with my life."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Worthington, Massachusetts, August Leslie tore her gaze from the Massachusetts countryside to glance at Alex, sitting behind the steering wheel of his car. They had landed earlier at Boston’s Logan Airport and were on their way to Guy Petersen’s. Being with Alex wasn’t as difficult as she’d feared it would be, as long as she didn’t let herself think about their lovemaking. That was hard to do, though. Even though she’d tried to purge the experience from her consciousness, his nearness continued to ignite feelings of longing. No, as much as she’d wished for it, her desire for Alex hadn’t been quelled by his confession that he’d sought her out at Guy Petersen’s request. The only thing she could do was keep pushing the thoughts aside and keep focused on why she had come to Massachusetts with him. As for Alex’s feelings, she had no idea what they were. He seemed to be all business. Sometimes, though, she caught him looking at her with a thoughtfulness that made her want to bring up the subject of their relationship. Then the moment passed, and an impersonal mask would fall over his face. "We’re almost there," Alex said, turning off the main highway. Butterflies began to dance in Leslie’s stomach. What would Guy Petersen be like? Would their meeting be awkward? A few minutes later, a long, curving driveway led them to the most enormous mansion Leslie had ever seen. "This is where my grandfather lives?" she asked Alex incredulously. "Yep." "He just works here, right? He’s the gardener, maybe? The butler?" "Nope. He owns the place. It’s all his." "You didn’t tell me he was wealthy." "Well, he is. He made his fortune developing testing equipment for electronics." Leslie’s apprehension turned abruptly to panic. "Turn around, Alex. I don’t want to go through with this."

He shot her a surprised glance. "Why not?" "He’ll think I came just because of his money." "No, he won’t, because you didn’t know about it. I made a special point of not telling you. He knows that." "I don’t like that, either. It seems like a test of my integrity." She crossed her arms over her chest. "This whole thing was never right from the start. I wish I’d never agreed to it." Alex pulled the car to a halt in front of the house and cut the ignition. "After today, you can choose to not continue your association. But you are going to meet him." His firm tone discouraged further argument. Leslie’s heart hammered furiously as Alex rang the doorbell and chimes resounded inside the mansion. A man in his sixties opened the door. Tufts of white hair stood up on the crown of his head, as though he had been in a windstorm. His eyes lighted on them, and a grin split his craggy face. "You’re finally here," the man said. "Guy’s been worryin’ and fussin’, ever since you called from the airport to say you’d arrived." "Hello, Chester," Alex said. "This is Leslie Morgan. Chester is Mr. Petersen’s caretaker," he added to Leslie. "How do you do," Leslie said. Chester led them inside. "He’ll be so glad to see you," he said, then glanced worriedly at Alex. "Did you tell her about Guy’s problems?" "Not specifically." Alex turned to Leslie. "Guy’s severe arthritis has put him in a wheelchair. He also has macular degeneration, so he can’t see well." Leslie nodded her understanding, although inside she was surprised. She’d had no idea he was so incapacitated. "He’s in the solarium." Chester motioned for them to follow him. As they moved through the house, she caught glimpses of sumptuous furnishings and high-ceilinged rooms. Finally, they came to a large, glass-walled room. Leslie heard birds chirping. Warm, humid air flowed over her as Chester opened the door. Except for the cement floor, it was like being in a jungle. Chester led them to an elderly man sitting in a wheelchair. Iron gray hair capped a tanned face with a prominent nose and a strong chin. He wore a brown cardigan sweater over a tan knit shirt and blue slacks. Extremely thick glasses enlarged luminous blue eyes. Perched on the back of the man's chair were two shiny black crows. They regarded Leslie with one beady eye each. "She’s here," Chester said, as though he were announcing royalty. Guy Petersen smiled and held out his hand. "Hello, Leslie." Leslie gulped down a flood of emotion as she gripped his warm fingers.

"How do you do, Mr. Petersen." "Call me Guy, please." "All right," Leslie said, relieved that he hadn’t requested she call him "Grandfather." "Sit down." Guy gestured to a nearby chair. Leslie sat while Guy and Alex exchanged greetings. Then Guy turned back to Leslie. "How was your trip?" he asked. "Fine. A little tiring, though. And the plane was late leaving." "Have you ever been to Boston before?" "No. I’ve never been on the East Coast. Illinois is as far East as I’ve been." Unable to relax, Leslie perched on the edge of the chair. The crows, apparently bored with the proceedings, flew off into the surrounding trees. In their place, a red-feathered bird appeared. Guy held out his finger and the bird perched on it. "This is Emily," Guy told Leslie. "She’s very pretty," Leslie said. "What kind is she?" "A scarlet tanager. Her mate’s around here somewhere. He’s a lot brighter red than she is." As Leslie turned to look for the other bird, she noticed that both Alex and Chester were gone. "Where’s Alex?" she said, experiencing a sudden panic at being left alone with Guy. "Oh, I expect he and Chester are wrapping up some business," Guy said. "Do you see the other tanager anywhere?" "Not yet," she said absently. Surely, Alex wouldn’t leave the estate without consulting with her first. Would he? Then she chided herself. Nothing bad had happened, so far. Guy Petersen was hardly threatening, especially with his handicaps. In fact, she found herself feeling almost sorry for him. A brilliantly red bird poked its head out of a tree. "There it is," Leslie said. Guy coaxed the bird down, and the tiny creature came to sit on his finger. He held his hand out. "Henry, say hello to Leslie. He’s named for Longfellow," he explained. "All the birds are named after writers." "Then Emily is for Dickinson?" Leslie guessed. Guy smiled with pleasure. "Right you are." They talked for a while about the birds, then went on to the differences between the East and the West Coasts. During a lull in the conversation, Guy asked, "You will stay for lunch, won’t you?"

"We could do that," Leslie said, surprised at the quickness of her response. * * * "This is delicious," Leslie said, after her first bite of a salad made of chicken, pineapple, and water chestnuts. They sat at a round, umbrella-shaded table on the patio, Guy to her left, Alex to her right. Guy said, "I told our cook, Mrs. Hoskins, to make something light, because I thought it would be a warm day." Indeed it was, Leslie thought. Sunlight beamed down on them, creating little yellow pools on the brown tiled patio. She gazed out at the large expanse of lawn. It meandered down a slight slope, then rose again to form a cliff. She could see a stone bench near the edge, where one could enjoy a virtually unobstructed view of the Atlantic Ocean. The air was warm, yet carried a hint of cool sea breeze. "This is a lovely setting for a home," she ventured. "My wife liked it," Guy said. "She wanted someplace away from the city." Guy’s wife--her grandmother, Leslie thought with a jolt. "Her name was Lena," Guy said. "And, although I can’t see you as well I’d like, I have a feeling you look a lot like her." Leslie’s bite of food had trouble going down. That was the first reference Guy had made to their relationship. She wished he hadn’t reminded her; it threatened a composure that was very shaky indeed. Alex reached over and squeezed her arm reassuringly. His gesture surprised her; they’d been so careful not to touch one another lately. She looked at him, saw an understanding in his eyes that warmed her. "This is a great setting," Alex said, bringing the conversation back to its original topic. "You ought to take a walk around, Leslie. There’s a path that goes along the cliff and through those woods." He pointed to a scattering of elm trees that gradually thickened into a darker mass of woods. "I’m sure I’d enjoy that." Leslie sent Alex a look she hoped would telegraph her appreciation for his rescue. * * * When lunch was over and they lingered over their tall glasses of ice tea, Guy said, "What about that walk, Leslie?" "All right. Would you like to come, too?" Guy waved a hand. "No, no. You and Alex go on. Don’t worry, you can’t get lost. The path along the cliff is pretty clear-cut." She raised her eyebrows questioningly at Alex. "Okay," he said. "There are paths down the cliffside, too," Guy put in. "There are some old caves down there where pirates are supposed to have stashed their loot. Lena and I explored them long ago, but we never found anything.

Makes for good atmosphere, though." "Our exploring them depends on how much Leslie wants to take on today," Alex said. Leslie glanced down at her tennis shoes. "I’m not dressed for heavy duty hiking, so we’ll probably stick to the upper trail." "So, how’s it going for you so far?" Alex asked when they were threading their way along a gravel path through beds of peonies, marigolds, and daisies. "Okay, I guess," Leslie said. "Are you more relaxed now?" "A little." "He’s sure glad to see you." "Yes, I sense that he is," she said thoughtfully. "He’s a whole lot more mellow than he was when he was trying to convince me to find you. Then, he was showing his tough side. Today, he’s like a different person." "I don’t mind making small talk with him, but it made me uncomfortable when he brought up our relationship. Well, you saw that at lunch. I appreciated your show of understanding, by the way." He looked pleased. "You’re welcome. But, next time he brings up your relationship, just tell him you’re not ready for that." "Maybe there won’t be a next time," she murmured. "Oh, I think there will," Alex said. Then, in a very sober voice, "Leslie. . . ." "What?" She looked at him expectantly, hopefully. Was he going to talk about the two of them? Did they still have unfinished business? Or not? Their gazes met and held. She tried to read his, but couldn’t. She held her breath, waiting for him to go on. Wanting to fill the void with questions of her own, but afraid to. Finally, he said, "Nothing. Forget it," and looked away. She felt heartsick. After his show of warmth and understanding at lunch, she had hoped the gap between them would stay bridged, but apparently not. They walked on and Leslie pushed thoughts of her and Alex’s relationship from her mind. That was not why she was here. Presently, the grass gave way to a field of stubble, and the gravel path to one of hard-packed dirt. Leslie paused to look over her shoulder at the mansion. The enormous building dwarfed Guy, still sitting on the patio. He looked so small and vulnerable that the barrier she had built up between them began to weaken a little. Then she straightened her shoulders and reminded herself that she had no

obligation to Guy Petersen. None, whatsoever. At the cliff, Leslie stepped to the stone wall and looked down. Below sat huge rocks, piled as though some giant had haphazardly thrown them there. Waves crashed against them, sending up clouds of spray. She could see a similar configuration of rocks and ledges all along the coastline. "That must be where the pirate caves are," she said to Alex. "Yes. It looks pretty rugged, too. I’m not sure I’d want to venture down to them even if I were wearing sturdier shoes." From there the path gradually pulled away from the cliff to wind through the woods. The ground cover was heavier here, and vines and bushes were crowded among the tall pines and firs. The smell of greenery mingled with the salty aroma of the sea. Soon the woods grew thicker and darker, blotting out the sun. Leslie hugged her arms against a sudden chill. "I wonder how far this path goes," she said, looking ahead to another curve that disappeared into the foliage. "I don’t know," Alex said. "I don’t have any idea how many acres he has here, but I’ll bet it’s in the hundreds. "This could be spooky," Leslie said, "especially when the fog rolls in." "Which it does a lot around here," Alex added. "Let’s go back now." Leslie wanted to be in the sunshine again. Back at the house, Chester was setting up a chessboard on the round table. The playing pieces were huge for the size of the board. So that Guy could see them better, Leslie decided. "I was hoping you play chess," Guy said to Leslie. "I do, but I haven’t played for years, and my recollection of the game may not be so good." Guy said, "Well, if you play with me, you’ll have plenty of time to think about strategy, because it takes me longer. Sometimes if I forget what piece is where, I have to touch them to find out. Will you play?" Leslie considered his proposal. It would be rude to leave so soon after lunch. She glanced at Alex. "Do you play?" "Yes. How about I be on your side to give advice? That is, if Guy isn’t afraid to take on the both of us?" he added with a smile. "Not at all," Guy said. "I’ve won many a tournament in my day." The afternoon sun was disappearing behind the trees by the time they finished their game. Guy won. Despite his earlier remark about poor eyesight, he seemed to have an uncanny memory for remembering where the various pieces were located. The intense concentration had tired Leslie, but the mental challenge had been invigorating. She looked at her watch. Almost four. "We must be going," she said. She had yet to find a hotel room.

"I’d hoped you’d stay here for a while," Guy said. "There’s no need for you to stay in a hotel when there’s all this room here." "Oh, no, I couldn’t--" "You won’t be obligated to sit around all the time with me and Chester, either. We have plenty of cars. You can use one to come and go as you please. There’s lots to do in the area. Sightseeing, shopping." "I--" Leslie began, trying quickly to think of a good excuse. However, there was none. She had a whole month’s leave of absence. She didn’t really want to return to Seattle right away, either, as she had thought she might. She was beginning to feel surprisingly relaxed and comfortable here. "There’s a suite upstairs for you," Guy went on. "It has a great view of the ocean." Leslie ventured a glance at Alex. His look said, "Do it," but, then, what had she expected from him? She knew whose side he was on. "All right," Leslie said, "For a day or two." Guy’s magnified eyes sparkled. "Chester," he called to his helper who had appeared in the doorway, "tell Mrs. Hoskins there will be two more for dinner." A few minutes later, Leslie followed Guy and Alex inside the house. Her nerves had tensed again since she had accepted Guy’s invitation. Was she starting something that, once the time came, would be difficult to end?

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Leslie took her last bite of scrambled egg, washed it down with a sip of coffee, then sat back and contemplated the view. She was on the patio, at the same umbrella-shaded table where she, Guy, and Alex had eaten lunch on her first day here. The two days she had agreed to stay had somehow turned into a week. Each day that passed, Leslie said to herself, "I must go." However, each day also brought a new reason to stay; another chess game with Guy, another chance to look through his library of rare books, another walk along the cliff and through the woods. Without touching on the fact that they were related, Guy had told her stories of his ancestors, how his father’s family had come from Sweden

and his mother’s from Norway. How their marriage had been arranged by their parents. "I have some pictures of my relatives from the old country," Guy said. "Would you like to look at them?" Intrigued, Leslie had agreed and out came the albums. She studied the pictures while Guy told her stories about them. They were filled with people with names like 'Minnie,' 'Sadie,' 'Jake,' and 'Swen.' In her room later, Leslie realized the experience had had a profound effect on her. She was a part of all these people. Somewhere in her, a gene here, a trait there, were parts of all the Minnies, the Sadies, the Jakes, and the Swens. She was a part of Guy Petersen, too. Acknowledging that gave her a feeling of belonging that was different from what she had felt with Mother and Dad Morgan. They had given her a safe and loving home. They had guided her through childhood to independence and adulthood. For that, she would be forever grateful. However, blood tied her to Guy Petersen and these other people. She wasn’t exactly sure what that meant to her. All she knew was that she felt profoundly changed. She wondered what Alex would think of her new feelings. Thinking about Alex sent emotional pain arrowing through her. She hadn’t heard from him since that first day. They’d all had dinner together; then, with a casual good-bye, he had left. Although he hadn’t mentioned he’d call or return to Tanglewood, she’d assumed he would. She hadn’t thought anything amiss. Well, nothing was amiss, she told herself. It was simply that his job was over and he’d gone on with his life. If he was gone for good, though, why hadn’t he told her he wouldn’t be seeing her anymore? After all they’d been through together, to just walk off without saying something final. . . "Good morning, Leslie." Guy’s voice interrupted Leslie’s thoughts. She turned to see him wheeling out the sliding glass door. "Good morning, Guy," she returned. He came to a stop across the table from her, where a placemat and silverware had been set for him. Mrs. Hoskins, a tall, thin woman with silvery hair and a friendly, always-in-place smile, appeared with a plate of eggs and toast, which she placed in front of Guy. "What would you like to do today?" Guy asked after Mrs. Hoskins had retreated to the house and he had taken a couple bites of his breakfast. "Oh, I don’t know," Leslie said off-handedly, part of her mind still on Alex. "I sense a certain restlessness. Why don’t you take a car and go shopping? There’s a mall in Worthington." "Maybe I will." Leslie toyed with her napkin, then said, "Have you, um, heard from Alex?" Guy took a sip of coffee before answering. "Yes. He called day before

yesterday, I think it was." "Oh." Leslie waited, hoping Guy would say more. He didn’t. Finally, Leslie ventured, "Did he say what he was doing?" "No, he just called to see how everything was going here." "He didn’t ask to talk to me?" "No, he didn’t," Guy said slowly. "I thought about suggesting it, but figured I’d better not interfere. My interfering in the past didn’t turn out so well," he added, looking off into the distance. Leslie guessed he was referring to his attempt to prevent her mother and father’s marriage, but that was a subject she didn’t want to pursue just now. They both fell silent. Guy continued to eat with his methodical slowness. Leslie drank her coffee. She should bring the conversation back to what she would do today, but suddenly she had no interest in doing anything. Numbness had invaded her limbs. After a while, Guy said, "Maybe I should interfere and suggest you call your young man." "Guy, he’s not my ‘young man.’ You know our relationship was purely business." Leslie strove to quell her rising impatience. She didn’t want to start anything unpleasant with Guy. Her visit had been more enjoyable than she had ever dreamed. Yet, there was still this confusion of emotions over Alex. She seemed to have lost all resentment over his initial deception and missed him terribly. Guy sat back and focused his eyes in her direction. "I’m going to risk making you angry with me and say that I think you two care for one another. Don’t ask me exactly how I know. But since my sight has diminished, other senses are magnified. There’s an electricity in the air when the two of you are together. Don’t you feel it?" "Maybe," she halfway admitted. "But he thought of me only as an assignment." "It started out that way, but that’s not how it ended. I believe he cares for you in a personal way." Leslie’s heart skipped a beat. If only she could believe that! "Then why hasn’t he called me? Why did he go away without a word?" "He’s probably thinking that you don’t care about him. And he’s stubborn. I know that. It was not easy for me to talk him into looking for you in the first place." "I don’t know what to do." Leslie realized she was all but admitting she did have feelings for Alex, but her distress had pushed aside worries about that. "Why don’t you call him and tell him you’d like to see him?" "No! Let him call me!" Guy threw up his hands. "So when will the two of you ever get together?

One of you has to take the first step." "I’ll be going back to Seattle soon." Guy looked down at his plate. "I know. That’s why you’d better act before it’s too late. . . . Take a lesson from me, Leslie. There are many things I wish I’d said to a lot of people. Now, it’s too late." Several moments passed while Leslie debated what to do. Then Guy said, "Why don’t you take a walk and think about it?" "Maybe that would help to clear my head," Leslie agreed. She looked up at the sky. "Some dark clouds are moving in, but I think there’s time for a short walk before rain hits." Leslie put her napkin on the table and rose. As she passed Guy’s chair, he reached out and grasped her hand. His grip was warm and comforting. A lump rose in Leslie’s throat. "I’ll be back soon," she promised. * * * At the bluff, Leslie stopped failed to fill her with awe. song in her ears, the wind a the most beautiful place she

to gaze at the ocean. The muted roar of the cool hand against her had ever visited--and

Its vastness never waves was a gentle cheek. Truly, this was the most peaceful.

She wished she herself wasn’t in such turmoil. Guy had hit a nerve. She couldn’t deny any longer how she felt about Alex. His silence had all but devastated her, despite her need to devote considerable thought and energy to her new situation. But, even if he somehow cared for her, too, how could they have a future together, when their lives had diverged into two radically different directions? Yet, she could see how much Guy regretted his past mistakes. The pain they had caused him was etched into every line in his face. If she didn’t tell Alex how she felt, she might live all her life regretting it, as Guy had. What exactly should she say to Alex, though, if and when she did see him? Ruminating on this, Leslie turned away from the ocean and continued along the path. She finally decided that she would not plan what to say. She would simply contact him and suggest they get together. Perhaps they could meet in Worthington at a coffee shop. She would trust that when they were face-to-face, the right words would come to her. She entered the woods just as she came to that decision. She breathed a relieved sigh as the tense knots in her stomach began to uncoil. Her thoughts turned to Guy Petersen. She appreciated that they’d gotten to know one another without more than a couple of references to their relationship. Guy was smart to remain quiet about that. He’d somehow known that if he overwhelmed her with talk of the hurtful past, she’d never have stayed longer than the first afternoon. He’d asked so little of her, only her companionship, and he seemed so happy been selfish to think only of herself by her mother’s and Guy’s trouble all forget that and give the old man some

presence and her occasional for whatever she offered him. She’d and of how much she had been hurt those years ago. Surely, she could pleasure in his later years?

Oh, she’d have to make it clear to him that she didn’t want his money. If he would agree to that, then they could stay friends. Maybe she’d never call him Grandfather, but there was a bond between them even without the named relationship. She had no doubt of that. Leslie had been so deep in thought that she didn’t realize how far she had wandered into the woods. Thick tree trunks and summer-ripe foliage hid all but the smallest bits of sky. A sky that was now very dark, she noted. The rain clouds had moved in faster than she had anticipated. She’d better return to the house before the rain began and she got drenched. The heavy, black clouds threatened more than just a summer shower. Leslie hugged her arms against a suddenly cold breeze. An ominous feeling came over her. She felt as though she was being watched. That was ridiculous, though. This was private property. There was no one here but her. She had walked in these woods many times since she’d come to Tanglewood and had always felt safe. She heard a rustling behind her. What was that? An animal, perhaps? She turned, just as two figures burst from the bushes. They were dark from head to toe, like slashes of black. Fear gripped her. She whirled around to run forward, but it was too late. The assailants were upon her. One pinned her arms behind her, while the other shoved a foul-smelling cloth against her face. Leslie’s brain began to spin. Her knees buckled to the ground. * * * Alex yanked open a desk drawer, scooped up a handful of the contents, and dumped it into the cardboard box sitting atop his desk. Two other cartons, already full, sat on the floor. He had planned to vacate his office eventually, but not this soon. Suddenly, it seemed imperative that he clear out, even though he didn’t know where he was going. Not back to Seattle, he was sure of that. He had no ties there, and the city held too many haunting memories. He had no real ties here, either. Oh, he had some good friends, but no one he couldn’t bear to be apart from. So, he had decided to pack everything up and take a vacation. He’d go to the Caribbean, to sunshine and surf and sand. Get his head together. After a couple of weeks away, he’d be able to figure out what to do next. He still wanted to start up his company, although that didn’t seem as pressing as it had before he’d met Guy Petersen. He finished emptying the drawer. Papers stuck out of the carton every which way. He stuffed them down, yanked open another drawer, and began to clean it out. Guilt over not saying a final good-bye to Leslie nagged at him, yet he hadn’t wanted any sentimental scene between them. And, if he kept hanging around, she might get the mistaken idea he was interested in her because she was now an heiress. He mused on what would have happened if, after he’d found her, there’d been no complications and he’d quickly united her with Guy. Then he and she would have had no time to get to know one another. They wouldn’t have gone to bed together. Then he wouldn’t have all these troubling emotions to deal with. That would have been better, he decided. Much better.

Alex finished with the drawer. Okay, the desk was empty. What next? His gaze fell on the olive-green file cabinet, that he’d bought so long ago at a secondhand store. Cleaning it out would be a job. He’d better take a break first. It was nearly lunchtime anyway. He’d go have a sandwich at the cafe where he often ate. As he was going out the door, the phone rang. He hesitated. He wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone. He didn’t know why anyone would call him anyway. Everyone knew he was out of business. There’d been no calls for days. His business with Guy Petersen was all done. There was no reason for Peterson to phone. Could it be Leslie? If so, did he want to talk to her? Wouldn’t that churn up his feelings even more? The phone kept ringing. With a sigh, Alex reentered the office, crossed to the desk, and grabbed up the receiver. "Hello!" he barked. "Alex?" It was Carl Holt, the P.I. he’d hired to find Joe Scarpelli. Alex experienced a mixture of relief and disappointment. "Hi, Carl. If you’re calling to ask my help on a case, I’ll have to say no. I really am out of the business now." "That’s not why I called," Carl said. "I know the Petersen case is closed, but I got some info on Joe Scarpelli that I thought I’d pass on anyway." "Scarpelli?" Alex’s hand tightened on the receiver. "Let’s hear it." "Petersen heard he was in South America, right?" "That’s right." "Well, it seems he took a little trip to Seattle first." "To Seattle? How do you know?" "I talked to a girlfriend of his. I was looking for her earlier, but she’s been out of town. Anyway, she said he went to Seattle, that she saw him off on the plane." "When was that?" "Last December." "No kidding? Did she know why he went there?" "He was secretive about it. He only told her that working on, and that he would be back in a couple saw him again. When she went by his place about a landlady said he’d moved out. It probably doesn’t I thought I’d let you know."

he had some deal he was of weeks. But she never month later, the mean anything now, but

"Thanks, Carl. You’re right. It probably doesn’t mean anything. But keep the woman’s name and address on file just in case, okay?" "Will do."

Alex’s thoughts of lunch were pushed into the background as he mulled over what Carl had told him. So Joe Scarpelli had gone to Seattle in December. Why? Did he know Leslie lived there? Had he been searching for her before Guy began his search? But he hadn’t found Leslie. Or at least if he did, he hadn’t contacted her. Could Joe Scarpelli have been Leslie’s stalker? Alex had suspected that as soon as he’d learned of Joe’s existence. No, Stan Townsend was her stalker. The evidence the police had found in Stan’s house had proved that. Unless. . . . Unless. . . . The hairs on the back of Alex’s neck began to prickle. Could there have been some mistake about Stan? Or a frame-up? If so, that meant Leslie was still in danger. He snatched up the phone and punched in Guy Petersen’s number. Chester answered. What should he say? Alex wondered frantically. He didn’t want to alarm them unnecessarily. This was crazy! "Is Guy available?" Alex looked idly out the window, saw that it had started to rain. "Yes, just a moment." Guy came on the line. "Just checking in to see how things are going," Alex said. "Okay," Guy said. "I think." Alex sensed uncertainty in the man’s tone. "What’s wrong?" "Well, it’s Leslie. She went for a walk awhile ago and hasn’t come back. It started to rain while she was gone, though, so maybe she’s waiting it out somewhere." "Is there anywhere she could get shelter? I presume she went the regular route along the cliff and through the woods?" "Yes, she did, and the only shelter would be under a big tree. I admit I’m kinda worried. She was upset before she left. . . ." "I’ll be out there as soon as I can," Alex said. "Thanks, Alex. We’ll look for you."

CHAPTER TWENTY

Alex hit the brakes for a red light, his car screeching to a halt. It was the fourth light he’d missed since leaving his office. Was it only his impatience to be out of the city, or was the traffic more congested than usual? He drummed his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. At last, he was on the freeway, headed for Tanglewood. The miles whizzed by. He barely noticed the scenery as his thoughts focused on Leslie. Something was wrong. He just knew it. If anything bad happened to Leslie, it would be his fault. He’d been too eager to wind up the case, too careless about Joe Scarpelli’s whereabouts. Guy had said his nephew was in South America. Now, Alex doubted that was true. The cousin had been in Seattle. Alex didn’t believe that was a coincidence. Scarpelli could have been hanging around all the time, could have followed them to Boston and Tanglewood. And now Leslie was missing during a bad storm. He thought of Anna. If what happened to her happened to Leslie, Alex would never forgive himself. Never, ever. Leslie must be found, safe and sound. Alex pressed the gas pedal harder. There wasn’t a moment to spare. * * * "Is she back yet?" were Alex’s first words when Chester opened to door to the mansion. "Yes," Chester said. Alex let out a relieved breath. "Is she all right?" "She seems to be. We didn’t see her for very long." As he spoke, he led Alex into the house. Guy was in the living room looking out the window at the rain-spattered landscape. When Guy turned toward him, Alex saw a face drawn with worry. Alex perched on a brocaded sofa opposite Guy. "Chester said Leslie came back." "Yes, she came in about fifteen minutes ago." "She’s okay?" "I guess so." Alex leaned forward. "You don’t sound convinced. What’s wrong, Guy?" "I don’t know, for sure. Just a feeling I have. She rushed right up to her room, saying she needed to clean up and then rest, that she was very

tired." "That sounds reasonable enough. Did she say what happened to her?" "Just that she had taken refuge under a big tree to wait out the worst of the storm." Guy turned to Chester. "Please tell Leslie that Alex is here." Chester nodded and moved toward the door. Guy again faced Alex. "I was so worried about her. She was upset when she left." "I remember you said that on the phone. What about?" Guy’s brow wrinkled with uncertainty. "I probably shouldn’t tell you, but I will. We were talking about you." "Me?" "Yes. She was concerned because she hadn’t heard from you for a while." Alex looked down guiltily. "I’ve felt bad about not keeping in touch. But--" Guy held up a hand. "You don’t need to go into your reasons with me. Save it for Leslie." A couple minutes later, Chester returned. "Leslie says she doesn’t want to see you," he told Alex. "She’s tired. She told me to tell you not to wait, and"--he paused and shifted from one foot to the other--"to not come back." Guy’s eyebrows raised in surprise. "That isn’t the answer I expected. It’s true that when she left for her walk, she was in a dilemma over you. But I was sure she would decide to see you again." Alex felt sick to his stomach. Had he hurt her so badly that she never wanted to see him again? He had never intended that. Well, she was safe, anyway. "I’m sorry she feels that way," Alex said. "But it’s my own fault." "She’ll likely change her mind," Guy said. "Maybe she’s just out of sorts because of the storm." "Sure," Alex said, unconvinced. "We’ll give her some time. I’ll call her tomorrow." Alex remembered what he had learned about Joe Scarpelli. "There’s something we need to discuss before I leave," he said to Guy, and quickly sketched in what Carl had told him about Guy’s nephew. Guy cocked his head thoughtfully. "That is strange about him going to Seattle," he said. "He never mentioned to me that he was making a trip there. Chester, will you please get the letter I received from Joe? It’s in the top drawer of my desk." Chester nodded and went off on his errand. A few minutes later, he returned with the letter. "Give it to Alex," Guy said. The envelope’s Brazilian postmark looked authentic. The letter was brief,

and said exactly what Guy had earlier told Alex, that Joe was in Brazil to see about a mining operation. Although the letter had been typed or computer generated, the word 'Joe' was scrawled at the bottom. "Does this look like Joe’s signature?" Alex asked. Then he remembered that of course Guy wouldn’t be able to see the writing clearly. He held the letter out to Chester. "I couldn’t say," Chester said. "But we probably have something else with his signature that we could compare." "Look in the office for something," Guy directed. "I’m still not comfortable about all this," Alex confessed to Guy. "Me, neither," Guy said. "Did Leslie say anything else about what happened to her during the storm? Anything at all?" Guy looked thoughtful. "Nothing more than I’ve already told you. But, wait, there was something else. One of her shoes was missing." "Shoes?" "Yes, when she came in it appeared that she was limping. I asked her if she was hurt, and she said no, that she had lost a shoe." "That seems odd. What kind of a shoe?" "I don’t know." Alex thought back to what he knew about Leslie. "She wears lightweight athletic shoes, those that tie, not a loafer she could easily step out of." "I don’t know what to make of it," Guy said. "But, to tell you the truth, I don’t feel much better than I did when she was still out there in the storm." On impulse, Alex said, "Look, I’ll go out and see if I can find her lost shoe. I don’t know what good that will do, but I feel I have to do something. Maybe I’ll turn up some other clue that will help us to understand this." "I’d appreciate that," Guy said. Chester hadn’t yet returned with a sample of Joe’s handwriting, but Alex didn’t want to wait any longer. He left the house and headed along the path that fronted the cliff. The rain had diminished to a fine mist. The chill wind lingered, churning the ocean’s waves and making Alex’s cheeks and nose tingle. He kept his gaze to the ground looking for Leslie’s lost shoe. It might be difficult to find, he saw, as the rain had washed away any tracks she might have made. He continued on to the woods. Raindrops dripped from tree branches and everything gave off a damp, earthy smell. The path was for the most part dry, though, having been sheltered from the storm by overhanging trees. He spied something sticking out from under some fallen leaves. The shoe?

No, it turned out to be a jagged piece of paper. That in itself was odd, as few people ventured into these woods. The paper was slick and white. The faint smell of chocolate told him it had probably come from a candy bar. Also unusual, for, except for her occasional Godiva chocolate, he knew Leslie carefully avoided candy. Who else had been here? he wondered. He followed the path for perhaps a quarter of a mile. There was no sign of any shoe, no other signs anyone had passed this way. He might as well turn back. This was getting him nowhere. Perhaps when he returned to the house, Leslie would have changed her mind about seeing him. Yeah, right. As he was about to turn around he saw that the path ahead had several gouges where dirt had been kicked up. Broken branches on nearby bushes hung limply. Could Leslie have fallen here? Maybe, as she turned around to go back to the house, she had tripped and fallen. However, call it intuition or whatever, Alex did not think that had been the case. Looking still farther ahead, he discovered two pairs of footprints and ridges of dirt that might have been made by something being dragged. Alex followed the footprints. After about fifty or so yards, the prints led off the path into the woods. Broken branches blazed a new trail for him to follow. He made his way through waist-high foliage in the direction of the cliff. Soon water and sky came into view. The trail led him to the brink of the cliff. There he found the shoe. The toe of it stuck out from behind a rock. He bent to pick it up. It was a white tennis shoe, covered with leaves and mud. It looked like the kind Leslie wore. Okay, so he had found the shoe. Now he could go back to the house. But he didn’t like the circumstances. Why would Leslie have left the path to visit the cliff? He could understand her wanting to explore during good weather, but not during a storm. Searching around some more, he found a vague trail that led down the steep, jagged cliffside. Freshly broken branches and indentations in the dirt indicated someone had passed this way recently. Alex supposed the path led to the old pirates' caves, that Guy had told them about. Had Leslie gone down to the caves? But, again, why pick a nasty day such as today to explore them? Alex could see ledges here and there, that one could use to make a way down, but it was still a treacherous place to venture. Nevertheless, he felt compelled to follow wherever Leslie might have gone. He started down. * * * Leslie came slowly to awareness. Where was she? A dim light shone in the distance, but it was too dark to see her immediate surroundings. She must be near the ocean, as she could hear its muffled roar. Wherever she was, it was damp and cold. She groaned and tried to sit up. Her arms wouldn’t move. It was like they were tied, or something. She couldn’t think clearly. Her brain felt fuzzy, confused.

She lay there, trying to figure out what had happened. She remembered being in the woods during the storm. She had heard something behind her and turned just as two figures leaped out of the bushes. One of them had shoved a nasty-smelling rag in her face. Something moved off to her left. She was not alone! Terror sent her heartbeat racing. More sounds of movement, then a figure loomed over her. Her eyes had adjusted to the dimness enough to see that he was dressed all in dark clothing, with his head covered by a ski mask. Leslie screamed. "There’s no one to hear you," the person said. The voice was low and guttural. It was not one that Leslie recognized, but she felt sure it was male. He hunkered down and reached for her. Leslie shrank from his touch. "No. . ." she pleaded. "Sit up." He grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her upright. Dizziness all but overwhelmed her. He propped her up against what felt like a wall of rock. "Look here," he said, pointing to something beside her. Leslie saw the outline of a small bottle. "When I leave," he said, "drink it. There’s no other way out of here for you." Leslie’s brain tried to comprehend. He was leaving her? No other way out? He jerked her forward and reached around to untie her arms. With a sudden burst of energy, she thrust herself at him. She clawed him, her fingers gouging the heavy fabric of his jacket. "Oh no, you don’t!" He viciously shoved her back against the wall. "Stay put!" He jumped to his feet and hurried toward the pinpoint of light. Leslie blinked, watching in horror as he faded from sight. She had to follow him. He couldn’t leave her here. She got on her knees and tried to stand, fell back onto her knees. She swiped at the small vial he had left. Her fingers closed unsteadily around it. Clinging to it, she dragged herself along the ground toward the light. She saw the man bend down and disappear into the light. She struggled to move faster. She heard him grunting above the roar of the ocean. The circle of light was growing smaller. She must reach it before it disappeared completely. Little by little, the light diminished until it became only a moon-like crescent. With a last gasp of strength, Leslie threw herself another few yards. Just before the darkness closed in on her, she tossed the small vial toward the light. * * * Alex scrambled from ledge to ledge down the cliff. Wind whipped his hair and clothing, and salt spray drenched his face and hands. The darkening sky indicated another storm was on its way. This is a wild goosechase, he told himself. What the hell was he doing risking his life and limb on

this wretched cliff? The rocks were slippery from the rain. One false move and he would be history. However, the signs kept him going: slide marks in the dirt, torn branches in bushes that had managed to grow among the rocks. Someone had been this way, and not too long ago. He intended to find out who and why. During a pause to catch his breath, Alex looked up. The top of the cliff seemed very far away. He hoped he could get back up there when the time came. It looked much steeper and more treacherous than it had when he had been up there looking down. He gazed to his left. The rock wall took a sheer, straight drop for another fifty feet. To the right, a trail, barely wide enough for him to follow, snaked around the rock wall. Gingerly, he headed in that direction. A moment later, he came upon the first cave, a hole in the rock about the size of a barrel. He stooped down and looked into blackness. It smelled of damp earth and stale sea water. He wished he’d brought his flashlight so that he could see farther into the opening. The path, such as it was, took a downward dip to another ledge. Then another. Alex headed down, growing more uncomfortable by the minute, but still determined to follow this through until he was satisfied. Something dark up ahead caught his eye. He crept forward a few paces, then stopped, squinting his eyes against the ocean’s glare. A figure dressed in dark clothing, his head covered by a stocking ski mask, was rolling a large rock in front of the opening of a cave. What was he hiding there? Alex wondered. And why was he disguised? This whole thing was getting more and more bizarre. Alex crept closer. He was looking at the man instead of watching where he was going. His toe hit a large rock. Alex stared in horror as it rolled down the incline and past the man. The figure whirled around. Alex ducked behind a bush, but not quickly enough. The man saw him. Alex could see his eyes glint in the mask’s slits. Arms outstretched, he lunged up the incline at Alex. Alex flew out from behind the bush with a karate kick. The man dodged Alex’s foot. He pushed Alex against the rock wall. Pain roared through Alex’s head as it hit the rock. Alex managed to get his hands around the man’s neck. He squeezed as hard as he could. The man faltered just enough for Alex to push them both away from the wall. One more bang of his head against the rock and his brains would be mush. Still gripping the man’s throat, Alex kneed him in the groin. The man groaned and crumpled. While he was down, Alex hit him twice on the chin. The man lay still. Alex stared at the inert figure. He wanted to jerk off the mask and see the man’s face, but that could wait. Besides, he was sure it was Scarpelli. Messing with his mask might cause him to regain consciousness. Before he did that, Alex wanted to see what was in the cave. He noticed a small bottle on the ground next to the rock that covered the opening. He kicked it aside. That, too, could wait until later.

He hunkered down and shoved at the rock. It was heavy and he managed to move it only a few inches. He glanced at the man. He lay still. Alex shoved at the rock again. He moved it a few inches farther. He thought he heard someone moaning inside, but, with the relentless roar of the surf, he wasn’t sure. Nevertheless, the thought that someone might be imprisoned in there, although he couldn’t imagine who or why, spurred him on. With one eye on his fallen opponent, Alex kept pushing at the rock. Finally, he had uncovered half the opening. Peering in, he saw what looked like a woman lying face down on the ground. Her arms were stretched toward the opening, as if she’d used every ounce of energy to get out before the rock penned her in. Alex pushed harder on the rock and finally rolled it away. The opening was too small to enter standing up. He crawled in and, as gently as he could, pulled the woman out. He turned her over and stared in disbelief at the familiar face. Leslie! How could Leslie be here when she was at the house? Never mind, this was Leslie. He was sure of it. "Leslie! Leslie!" He gently shook her shoulders. Her eyelids fluttered open. "No, no," she murmured, pushing him away. "Hey, Leslie, it’s me, Alex." "Alex?" Bleary eyes looked up at him, then her mouth softened in a smile. "Oh, Alex. . . ." She clung to him, while he enfolded her in his arms. Her eyes suddenly widened and she let out a scream. Alex whirled. The man was coming at him. He never should have turned his back on him, but the shock of finding Leslie in the cave had made him temporarily forget about the man who put her there. He shoved out his hands to ward off the man, but his reflexes weren’t quick enough. The man dove at him, knocking them both to the ground. Alex’s hip bone crunched. Pain shot through him. Rocks dug into his back. From the corner of his eye he saw Leslie slump against the rock wall. He managed to bring his knees up and push them into the man’s chest. He pushed harder. The man fell onto his side, still holding on to Alex. They rolled over. Alex saw the ledge loom not more than three feet away. The man shoved. Alex’s head hung over the edge. The back of his neck seared with pain where the rocks dug into his flesh. Kicking was Alex’s best defense. He got his knee up again and heaved. His opponent flew backward. Alex rolled over and scrambled to stand, but not before the man jumped him again. Alex managed to duck. The man flew past him and slammed into the rock wall. As he bounced back, Alex was ready with a fist to smash into the man’s jaw. Two more punches, and the man collapsed. Groaning, he clutched his leg. "Had enough?" Alex asked between pants of breath. "My knee . . . broken." The man groaned in pain.

Alex turned to Leslie. "Are you okay?" "Y-yes. But who is he?" Leslie asked. "Your cousin, Joe Scarpelli." Alex turned to the man, who was still clutching his leg and moaning. "Take off your mask," he commanded, "and let Leslie see who tried to kill her." The man kept his head bowed. "Okay, then, I’ll do it for you!" Alex leaped to the man’s side, grabbed his mask at the top, and pulled it off. The man slowly raised his head and looked at them defiantly. He was in his thirties, Alex saw, with dark hair and dark eyes. There was something very familiar about his features. Then he heard Leslie gasp. "Robert!" "Robert!" Alex echoed in disbelief. But, yes, it was Leslie’s supposedly dead fiancé. Alex should have recognized him immediately from all the pictures he had seen, but he’d expected it to be Joe Scarpelli. "How could this be?" Leslie was saying dazedly. "You’re . . . you’re dead." "You only thought so," Robert snarled. "But why, why have you done this to me?" "That ought to be easy to guess. Money." "But--" Alex’s head was spinning with the new turn of events. So it was not Joe Scarpelli, but Robert who had concocted a hideous plot to not only steal Leslie’s inheritance, but to murder her, as well. However, now was not the time or the place to thrash it all out. "We’ll hear his story later," he told Leslie. "Right now, I want to get you back to the house." "But there were two of them," Leslie said. "Where is the other person?" "Back at the house pretending to be you is my guess," Alex said. "I wish we had some rope. I need to tie him." "There’s rope in the cave," Leslie said. "They tied me with it." Alex picked him while I don’t trust scared look

up a sizable rock and handed it to Leslie. "Keep an eye on look for the rope. I don’t think he’s going anywhere, but I him. If he so much as makes a move, smash him." Seeing the in her eyes, he added. "Can you do that?"

"Yes, I can," Leslie said, sounding firm. Alex ducked into the cave and scrabbled around until he found two pieces of rope. He returned and strode toward Robert. "You’re going to pay for what you did to Leslie," he said.

Robert reached out and grabbed something lying near the cave’s opening. He threw it at Alex. The object hit him in the forehead. Not a hard hit, but enough to knock him off balance. Robert staggered to his feet. He’d been fooling them about the broken knee, Alex realized in a flash. Before Alex could regain his balance, Robert lunged for him. The two men grappled. Miraculously, Alex managed to stay on his feet. He could see Leslie trying to aim the rock she held so that it would hit Robert and not him when she threw it. Her arm swayed back and forth as he and Robert did a jerky dance on the narrow ledge. "Now, Leslie! Throw it now!" Alex called. Her eyes wide with fear, Leslie tossed the rock. Alex ducked and the rock hit Robert squarely in the face. He let go of Alex, tottered backward to the edge, his arms flailing. Alex reached out for him, but it was too late. Earth softened by the heavy rain gave way, and Robert tumbled over the side. Alex raced to the edge. He watched Robert fall, then land between two rocks that jutted upward like towers. He lay still. Leslie came to Alex’s side. He pulled her into his arms. "Don’t look," he cautioned her. He held her tightly to him. So much had happened that it was hard for it all to sink in. His gaze moved to the ground. "What did he hit me with?" he asked Leslie. Leslie pointed to a small brown bottle lying on the ground. "He left that for me in the cave. I tossed it out, right before he shut me in." "What is it?" "I think it’s some kind of poison, to drink if I didn’t want to linger in the cave." "Sick," Alex said. "The man was totally sick." "Yes," Leslie murmured as though in a daze. "I thought all the trouble was over. . . ." "It is now," Alex said. "Just about, anyway." He gave her a reassuring hug. "Come on, let’s get back to the house and confront your impostor."

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

"So it was Joe Scarpelli who was killed in Robert’s boating accident," Leslie said. "Yes," Alex said. "If Robert was to carry out his plan, he had to eliminate Joe." It was the day following Leslie’s and Alex’s harrowing experience on the cliff. She, Alex, and Guy sat on the patio, empty plates in front of

them, the smell of bacon and eggs lingering in the air. The sun was shining, the air warm, and the breeze gentle. Leslie could hardly believe that yesterday had been so wild with storm. And terror. Alex continued, "And having Gretchen Schneider pose as you took a lot of planning." "And I thought Gretchen was my friend." Leslie hugged her arms and shivered as she remembered coming back to the house yesterday. She was weak and still disoriented from the drug-filled cloth Robert had shoved over her face. Alex had instructed her, Guy, and Chester to wait downstairs while he went up and confronted her impostor. Leslie would never forget the sight of Alex coming down the stairs with a sullen Gretchen in tow. It was like looking in a mirror, and gave her goosebumps even now. Gretchen’s hair color and style were identical to Leslie’s, and she had on Leslie’s clothes, because in the cave, Gretchen and Robert had exchanged Leslie’s clothing for what Gretchen was wearing. Once Gretchen learned that Robert was dead, her bravado and defenses crumpled. In order to save herself as much as she could, she divulged the entire plot against Leslie. "I’m still not clear on some of the details," Leslie said now. "Could we go over everything again?" "Sure," Alex said. "Where do you want to start?" "With Joe Scarpelli looking for me. You said he put an ad in various newspapers around the country searching for people who knew my birth mother or father. Actually, he wanted to find me." "Yes," Guy put in. "I’d told him I was going to search for you. He was hoping to find you first and, if we can believe Gretchen, do away with you, so that he would be my only heir. Guess he figured he’d somehow worm more money out of me than I’d originally planned to give him." Guy shook his head. "I knew Joe was a slacker, but I had no idea he was evil, too." He turned to Alex. "Go on with the story." Alex nodded. "Okay, so Robert saw the ad Joe placed in a Las Vegas newspaper when he was there on a gambling trip. He recognized Leslie’s birth mother’s name from the papers he intercepted that her adopted parents had sent her. He contacted Joe and learned why he was searching for Carol and Frank. He did some checking on his own and found out about Guy’s wealth." Alex took a sip of coffee before continuing. "Robert had already taken up with Gretchen. He’d always been struck by her uncanny resemblance to Leslie. He and Gretchen both wanted money, and the means to the end didn’t matter. Knowing Leslie would never agree to meet her grandfather, much less make any claim to his wealth, the two hatched a plot in which Gretchen would take Leslie’s place. "Robert told Joe to come to Seattle and he But of course he had no intention of doing and Gretchen lured him onto Robert’s boat. him in Robert’s clothing. They left Joe on control, blew it up."

would introduce him to Leslie. that. When Joe arrived, Robert They drugged him and dressed the boat, then by remote

"And to think how much I mourned Robert," Leslie put in. "When all the time he was still alive--and plotting my death!" "You reacted normally, based on what you believed about your relationship," Guy said. "Then Robert started stalking Leslie," Alex went on. "He and Gretchen wanted to incapacitate her, so she’d have to take a leave of absence from Newman’s." "It was Gretchen who put the drug in my drink at the party," Leslie said. "And Robert who pushed me into the street at the Market." Alex nodded. "When they had taken care of Leslie, then Gretchen, posing as Leslie, without ever returning from her leave of absence, would resign from Newman’s. Gretchen herself would have left the company at about the same time Leslie took her leave. No one would think anything of that, because it was common knowledge that Gretchen was looking for another job. "After disposing of Leslie for good, Gretchen and Robert would journey to Boston to present themselves to Guy. They would say that Leslie had been searching for him. The reunion would be a happy one. Guy would accept Gretchen as his long-lost granddaughter. They would let the charade go on long enough to make sure Gretchen was going to be Guy’s heir, then they would arrange an accident for Guy." "Why did Robert leave my birth certificate and other papers in his safety deposit box?" Leslie asked. "Wasn’t that risky?" "He figured the box would be a good place to keep them until Gretchen needed them to show Guy," Alex said. "But that proved to be a big mistake. Apparently he didn’t realize the key to the box was in the daily planner, and of course he couldn’t know that his sister would give that to you." Guy shook his head. "What an incredibly complicated and diabolical plan." Alex grimly nodded his agreement. "Yeah, but, fortunately for us, they ran into two serious problems. One was my arrival. Because I was watching out for Leslie, my almost constant presence not only made it difficult to cause accidents, but provided Leslie with someone to rescue her, as well." "The other problem was Stan Townsend, right?" Leslie asked. "Uh huh. Stan had always had a crush on you. He, too, was keeping an eye on you, and one day he spotted Robert following you. He tailed Robert to Gretchen’s apartment and began spying on them. "According to Gretchen, Robert discovered what Stan was doing. He knew he had to do away with Stan before he wrecked his and Gretchen’s plan, so he faked a robbery and killed Stan. He planted all the papers there that indicated Stan was Leslie’s stalker." Leslie said, "So it was Robert, not Stan, who followed us to Woodridge and cut the car’s brakes." "And wasn’t it also Robert who covered Joe’s tracks?" Guy asked. "Right," said Alex. "Robert cleaned out Joe’s apartment in Las Vegas and

arranged for his letter to be sent from South America so that you wouldn’t think something had happened to him. Later, Gretchen and Robert planned to have you receive news that he had been killed in a mining accident." Alex continued, "When Robert and Gretchen were unable to carry out their plan to incapacitate Leslie in Seattle, they decided to follow her here to Tanglewood, kidnap her, and have Gretchen take her place. That was risky, since Leslie would already have met Guy, but because Gretchen looked so much like her, and because Guy has vision problems, they were counting on their plan succeeding. If Chester guessed Gretchen wasn’t Leslie, they would take care of him." "Joe had told Robert about the caves," Alex continued. "He and Gretchen decided that would be a good place to imprison Leslie." "And that bottle that he left with me was poison," Leslie said hugging her arms in a shiver. Guy said, "Well, he wanted to spare you the agonies of suffering a long, drawn-out death of starvation and dehydration." "The irony is," Alex put in, "that the bottle led to Robert’s own death. His throwing it at me started that whole last sequence of events that resulted in his going over the cliff." Leslie shook her head. "I don’t know why I threw that vial out of the cave. Maybe I was hoping it would be a sign that someone was in there. Not that anyone would be coming down those cliffs very soon." "We have Gretchen to thank for that," Alex said. "When she took your clothing, she didn’t tie your tennis shoes very well. Plus, they were a little big for her, which made it easy for one to slip off. Because she was in a hurry to get back to the house, she didn’t stop to retrieve it." "I’m sure glad Alex thought the lost shoe was important," Guy said. "Yes," Leslie agreed. "We have a lot to thank Alex for." Her gaze met his, and the air suddenly went still. Feeling a warmth creep up her cheeks, Leslie looked away. They lapsed into silence, each lost in his own thoughts. After awhile, Chester appeared. "It’s time for your nap," he told Guy. "Nap," Guy scoffed. "You make me sound like a baby. I’ll come in, though, and you can help me do some office work." "Sure," Chester said, throwing a wink at Leslie and Alex. "You two enjoy the sunshine," Guy said, as Chester wheeled him off to the house. Alex drained his coffee cup, then raised his arms over his head and stretched. "I could use some exercise. How about you? Or are you still feeling wobbly from yesterday?" "I think I’ve pretty much recovered. Yes, let’s go for a walk." They headed across the lawn to the cliff, where they gazed at the ocean, sparkling under a lemon yellow sun.

"Sure is a nice day," Leslie said, feeling suddenly awkward around Alex. "Sure is," Alex agreed, sounding a bit uncertain himself. What should she say to him? Leslie wondered. What did she want to say? "I don’t think I can ever thank you enough for all you’ve done," she began. "You’ve forgiven me for deceiving you when I first came to Seattle?" "Many times over," she assured him. "Will you be staying on here for a while?" She nodded. "You’ve become fond of Guy, haven’t you?" "Yes," she admitted, noticing how pleased he looked at that. "And I want him to tell me about my birth parents. I’m not afraid anymore. Oh, I know it will be painful for both of us, but in the end, I believe we’ll both be healed." "I like your attitude." "I’m awfully glad you came running when Guy told you I was out in that storm." "Learning that Joe Scarpelli was in Seattle made me very nervous. I was afraid it was going to be another Anna Greene situation, and that I’d screwed up again. But, I would have come anyway." "You’re so good about watching over me," she said with a soft smile. Alex grinned mischievously. "I’d be glad to take on that job permanently, if you’re interested." Leslie’s heart skipped a beat. "What are you saying? I thought you didn’t want to see me anymore? A couple of weeks ago, you just walked off without so much as a ‘good-bye’ or ‘see you around.’" "I didn’t want you to think I was after you because of the money you might inherit from Guy." "If I have my say about it, there won’t be any money," Leslie said. "That isn’t the reason I want to stick around." "I know," Alex said. "And I don’t care about money, either, not as much as I used to. But I do care about you." His voice became husky. Leslie said breathlessly, "You do?" "Yep. I didn’t want to at first. You were my assignment. I didn’t plan to fall in love with you, but it happened." Alex’s words made Leslie’s heart sing. "I didn’t want to admit my love for you, either," she confessed. "I was still wallowing in Robert’s memory, and was so confused about everything." He nodded. "We both had our problems to work through. But we did work

through them. So, do you still feel the same way about me?" "Yes," she admitted. "How about you? Do you feel the same about me?" "Absolutely." A slow grin spread across his face, lightening both their moods. She grinned self-consciously in return. He reached for her hand. "Shall we share our lives and see what happens?" "But we live so far apart." Alex pulled her into his arms. "Whatever I decide to do, I can do it wherever you are. Boston or Seattle, or Timbuktu." Leslie snuggled against his chest. Nothing had ever felt so good or so right. "Yes, Alex, let’s share our lives. It’s what I want more than anything else." "Me, too," Alex said. Happiness flowed through Leslie. "For the first time in my life, I feel truly fulfilled. I have Guy, my link to the past, and you, my love, my connection to the future." Alex reached to tip up her chin. "Let me give you a sample of that future," he said, and his lips closed over hers in a warm and loving kiss. # # #