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Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three

"I'm innocent!"

The words rang with resolution and Andrew Marcotte recognized the desperate struggle to conceal the fear. He didn't sit at this table day after day, year after year without being able to chronicle the responses of a defendant.

"You have to believe me!"

The pleading always irritated him, gave him a headache, and the thunder in his temples grew stronger with each breath.

The slack-ass guard at the doorway finished chewing his fingernail as he checked out his wristwatch, and returned his stare to a spot on the ceiling. The air felt musty in the small room, and the four gray walls threatened to close in on him - - still he delivered his opening line without missing a beat.

"It's not my job to believe you. I need only to defend you to the best of my ability." A wave of nausea started in his belly. The sickening feeling came more often lately, but he managed to focus his attention on the client in front of him. One quick inhale brought a crisper image of the jail uniform -- starched blue sitting in a tattered chair.

Andrew reached for a notepad from his brief case. He dropped it on the tabletop and a surge of pain gripped his skull.

"That's bullshit!"

"It's also reality." He didn't bother to keep the tone of judgment from his voice. "I don't need to tell you the severity of this situation. You're facing a murder charge. I must know everything."

* * *

Two weeks earlier...

"I'm ready." The petite woman stood in front of Jenna Swain's monitor, her vibrant red hair sweeping the tops of her shoulders. She pushed her wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of her nose with her middle finger as if she were silently telling the world to take a flying leap. In her other hand, she juggled her handbag, a travel mug of coffee, and an envelope labeled, "Delmar Advertising Agency."

"Great, Carrie. I'll just save this onto a disk and...I'm finished." Jenna waited for the green light to disappear before touching the button to the diskette drive. When the computer spit out the plastic, she placed it in her secretary's hand. "These are the best shots."

"Angie's sure to like them." Carrie added with a hopeful grin. Contact sheets Jenna had dissected a hundred times were scattered across her desk.

"Has Angie ever accepted a project yet without changing something! I keep telling myself she brings out the best in me." Jenna knew Angie's analytical approach to her work kept them both near the top of the food chain. Commercial photography in the States was extremely competitive. "So, please get these to her. Pronto!"

"Yes, Master!"

Jenna curled her nose playfully. She watched the strap of Carrie's purse slowly fall down her shoulder as a look of disdain creased her brow. Before panic set in, Jenna lifted the strap and tucked the leather under the collar of her jacket.

"I'll need you back here in an hour for the next shoot."

"Gotcha."

"Good. I hope everyone arrives on time." Jenna's eyes sought the clock on her office wall. Brushing a strand of hair from her eyes, she scowled. "I could use a shower before everyone gets here. It was early when I started at these pictures."

"I thought something smelt funny." Her boss gave her a lopsided grin, and Carrie laughed. "Couldn't resist."

"You still here? I thought you were making a delivery?"

"Okay, okay, I'm gone." Nothing fell to the floor as Carrie turned to the door.

"Oh, Carrie, did the newspaper arrive yet?"

"I didn't get a chance to check. If it's outside, I'll bring it in." Jenna snickered. The woman didn't have a hand to spare.

"Don't worry, I'll grab it later."

"Okay, see ya."

Another quick glance at the clock prompted Jenna to leave her office. A loft adjoined the studio and, as sole resident, she appreciated the flexibility the two- bedroom suite afforded.

Stepping from the shower, the cool air surrounded her. Steam rose from her skin and a shiver lifted the hair on her arms. Grabbing a towel, she briskly rubbed the flesh of her arms and twisted the excess water from the ends of her hair. She guided a brush through the long strands as she made her way to the bedroom. Flicking on the radio, the rich sound of a saxophone bellowed from the speakers. Jenna recognized the melody right away and started to hum.

Opening the closet door, she stared blankly at the rack of clothes -- designer names and vintage garments she'd purchased from markets all over the world, yet today nothing jumped out at her. Then she remembered the newspaper. Since what to wear eluded her, Jenna headed for the studio entrance. Still dressed in the white towel she strode confidently, humming even after the melody faded.

The front door was unlocked. Carrie had forgotten to lock it behind her. Jenna cursed her secretary's lack of security. The trusting soul from Holcomb, Kansas had a few things to learn yet about the big city. Jenna made a mental note to mention something to Drew when she arrived for the next shoot.

Pushing open the door, she spotted the San Francisco Chronicle three feet away on the floor. Artist Philip Carter, Jenna's neighbor, was vacationing in Spain, and the women's boutique down the hall opened at ten o'clock. Jenna kept hold of the door with her foot, and bent to grab the newspaper. The towel just skimmed her thighs. One long stretch and her fingers found the newspaper. Pulling herself back inside, she locked the door behind her before turning back to the loft.

A man standing on the other side of the reception area stopped Jenna dead in her tracks. His head was cocked at an angle as he watched her, quickly straightening and battling to keep his expression sober.

Jenna felt her neck and cheeks turn red. She was certain she hadn't revealed too much. "Can I help you?"

"Depends on exactly what kind of pictures they take here. I might be a little over dressed."

Jenna took in the faded jeans, the cowboy hat now in his hands, and the scent of musk aftershave. Blue eyes peered at her from beneath a thick brow that barely separated in the center. Hair so brown it was almost black was rumpled and lay flat where the rim of his hat had rested on his head. Clean-shaven, he had the rugged good looks of a model, but the appearance of a laborer. His hat turned in his hands and although they were clean, his large palms and long fingers looked weathered.

The smirk on his lips brought Jenna back to the fact that she stood half-naked in front of a stranger.

"You're...early."

"Am I?" His words were brazen but his eyes didn't ogle her, instead he averted them to the hat in his hand. Jenna noticed the long, hard dip of his Adam's apple as she pointed toward the hall behind him.

"There's a lounge area to the right. Have a seat if you like." His gaze remained on her face. "I won't be long."

His expression changed from sassy to sincere when he gave her a wide smile. Jenna wished she had her camera in her hand to capture the way his smile changed his face like few faces she'd ever seen before. She returned his smile then stepped backward.

Jenna felt his eyes follow her all the way to the loft.

* * *

A loud knock on the glass door startled Luke Campbell, and he tore his eyes from the beautiful blonde-haired woman as she disappeared, long enough to unlock the door for Beau Crenshaw. From the older man's expression, he'd caught a glimpse of her before she moved through the doorway. With eyes wide, he slapped Luke on the back, and whistled through his straight teeth.

"A friend of yours?"

"I hope so." A dimple formed in Luke's cheek as he grinned.

"More like you wish, Rookie." Beau's fingers stroked his full moustache, and clucked his tongue as if he were trying to get the attention of a horse.

Luke cringed at the nickname the veteran had picked for him. This was the first year he'd come close to qualifying for the National Finals Rodeo, and Beau had nicknamed him The Rookie.

The fact that the two were neck-'n-neck in the points-race for the All-Around title explained the tension that clung to the air lately whenever they competed. It was a constant battle since they traveled the same rodeo circuit out of the mid- west, and made for great entertainment. As the underdog, Luke relished the competition.

"You can't possibly think someone who looks like that would want an old guy like you, Crenshaw." Luke's eyes never left the other man's face.

Beau's stare was equally long, his words precise. "Experience sells, Rookie."

"You keep believing that." Luke grunted.

"Are you two fighting again?" Denny McIntrye came up beside them, his frown followed closely by a slow smile.

"Just Beau bragging again."

"Oh, hell." Denny laughed, punching the worn denim of Beau's biceps. "Kill it before it starts. We've got a couple of hours of looking pretty."

"I hate this part," chimed in T.J. Ackerman. The six-foot brunette rounded out the trio of men, her eyes darting sideways as she fiddled with the rim of her cowboy hat. She looked like she wished the hat would swallow her up.

"Relax, T.J., you look pretty enough today."

"Thanks Beau. Where'd I be without your kind words?" Denny snickered at her sarcasm, and Luke got the feeling T.J. and Beau didn't like each other. He guessed that Beau had made a pass at her and she'd turned him down. Beau was known for trying to get in the pants of every good-looking cowgirl on the circuit, and he didn't take kindly to rejection. He shrugged off T.J.'s worries and Beau's libido, his mind wandering to the beauty in the towel.

"I have a feeling today will be worth the few hours we're spared of the usual waiting game."

* * *

Jenna emerged ten minutes later. A pale pink dress replaced the towel, sandals covered once bare feet, and her hair was only a little damp at the roots.

"Hello, everyone." Four sets of eyes turned in her direction. "I'm Jenna Swain, and welcome to Swain Productions."

A chorus of voices greeted her politely, and she exchanged a handshake with each of them, starting with the man she'd met in the reception area.

"Luke Campbell, right?" He seemed pleased she knew his name.

"That's right." His smile was less beaming, but no less charming.

"Glad you could make it."

"It's not everyday Today's Sports covers rodeo cowboys. I wouldn't have missed this one."

The leading sports magazine profiled the people behind the headlines, and they'd hired Jenna's studio to photograph world class cowboys. When the four people now standing in front of her had accepted her invitation, Jenna knew she'd found the look she wanted.

Luke Campbell's good looks coupled with that terrific smile made a place for him on her list of finalists. Turning to the flaming red hair of the man beside Luke, Jenna instantly recognized him from his bio picture. "Beau Crenshaw?"

"Yes, ma'am," he said, accepting her hand. Jenna attempted to read as much about each of them, interpreting their body language and facial expressions. Beau's ego seemed enormous and Jenna tried not to step on it.

Next to him was a man in his mid twenties. His solid frame reached no more than five and a half feet, yet his strength was unquestionable from the power of his physique.

"Denny McIntyre." His nod affirmed her guess.

"Yes, Ma'am. Glad to be here." His smile made his words ring genuine.

Finally, Jenna turned to the only woman of the handpicked group. "T.J. Ackerman. You're my figurehead for today's shoot. I didn't want to overlook our fair species."

T.J., short for Tammy Jo, had long brunette hair tucked under a white cowboy hat. She had strong features, none outweighing the other, and her height reached almost six feet. Her good looks were non-threatening and that was exactly what Jenna wanted for this shoot.

"Pleasure to be here." The uncomfortable look on T.J.'s face was a familiar one. Jenna placed a reassuring hand on the woman's arm.

"I'll try to make this as painless as possible." T.J.'s fear was replaced with a partial look of relief, softening the lines around her mouth.

"Do you know each other?" Everyone nodded. "Good. My partner should be here any moment. Why don't we move into the studio area where I've got a few props set up." Jenna led them down the short hall into the studio. Four barstools and a table stood on a section of hardwood floor in the middle of the room. Situated behind was a white backdrop, flanked by lights positioned low and angled upward to eliminate any shadows.

The moment the cowboys and cowgirl entered the studio, the plate-glass windows grabbed their attention. Someone whistled, and T.J. sucked in her breath. The right-angled windows framed a breathtaking image of the Golden Gate Bridge as it stretched across the San Francisco Bay. The azure water was dotted with sailboats; the northern tip of the bridge to the left, and Alcatraz Island appeared ominous in the fog that had yet to dissipate.

"Wow, what a view!" Denny marveled, stepping closer to the glass. "This would make a great picture."

"Many have captured its beauty, myself included." Jenna paused long enough for her guests to get an eye full. She took a minute to spot something she hadn't noticed the last time she'd looked. It was a habit of hers, and today her eyes settled on a pale green house tucked beside a row of condominiums. She'd never noticed it before, and she was pleased her ritual persevered.

Jenna instructed her guests to have a seat, and she pulled up a stool to face them. There was no camera in her hand. She felt people tended to relax when they talked about themselves, and she wanted to take the edge off the tension that plagued the room. Her eyes surveyed the group.

"I like to get to know the people I intend to photograph. It helps me get a sense of the person." Jenna stopped at the youngest of the group. "Denny...how has your season been going this year?"

"Pretty good. I'm holding my own in bulldogging."

"Bulldogging?" Jenna's brow knotted. "I must have missed an event."

Beau laughed as he settled onto one of the stools. "What this dumb Texan means, oops, you're not from Texas are you?" His face suddenly filled with concern. Jenna shook her head. "Good. What this big dumb Texan means is steer wrestling." Denny's eyes grew wide and Jenna gave him a warm smile.

"Okay, I'm with you now; go ahead Denny."

"I've been consistently in the top ten this year, so I should qualify for the NFR in Vegas."

"That's the finals?"

Denny nodded.

"Are all of you headed there?" She already knew the answer to her question. Today's Sports wanted winners.

"So far. If you're in the top fifteen in your event, you go to the finals." He nodded at the other two men beside him. "Beau and Luke are neck and neck for the All-Around title this year."

"How do you qualify for that, Luke?" Eyes framed by thick lashes looked back at her, not a jeer, just full of curiosity.

"You've got to do well in two events. Good enough to compete with the big guys."

"Two events?" Try as she might she found it hard to flatten the corner of her mouth as she recollected bending over in front of him in a towel. She hoped the red hue would abate soon. His slow smile made matters worse, and she squirmed in her seat.

"I ride bull and saddle bronc." His gaze was direct and Jenna felt naked. She wasn't sure why she felt bashful by his look. She was a big girl. God knows she'd worn less in her day. Denny's words halted her pondering any further.

"Luke also competed in team roping up until his partner, Ben Rubin, was paralyzed in the chute." The four faces around her suddenly became solemn, and she decided to explore their response.

"Paralyzed? Is that image carried with you each time you enter an arena? Or don't you go there?" She offered the question to anyone willing to answer.

"Injury is a given." Beau offered. "It's just when and how bad you have to worry about." Luke spoke next and Jenna noticed the trace of melancholy that filled his words.

"It's man against animal out there. If you let it become life and death, that's when fear and stupidity get you into trouble."

"And we've all got stories about the mistakes we've made." Denny's comment received a nod from each of her subjects.

Jenna reached for her Mimaya camera. It was fastened to a stand with wheels that glided easily across the studio floor. Listening to their words, the blending of questions with snapshots was a gradual one.

A few minutes into it, Drew arrived. She quietly picked up a light deflector and began to respond to Jenna's hand signals directing the large silver-lined circle, taking the shadows off their faces.

"For those of you who have noticed this sudden UFO that's started moving around you, the alien on board is Drew Tate, my partner."

Drew lowered the deflector long enough to poke her head into view. "Hey guys. We have a group of eager beavers do we Jenna?"

"Yes, we do. I missed my morning coffee because they were so gung-ho."

"Ah, that means they missed the pleasure of sitting in my make-up chair." She licked her lips and T.J. got nervous again. To Jenna, she said, "How well do cowboys take to putting on make-up?"

Jenna smiled at her friend whose expression was a little sleepy this morning. Her shoulder-length hair, usually straight, was a semi-relaxed Afro framing her creamy complexion. Drew hated her natural curls, wrestling with them every morning, and to appear as she was now could only mean she'd slept in.

"Well, I hope." Drew gave her a wink before hiding once more behind the deflector. "Why don't we take a quick break and I'll get a couple of you to sit in Drew's chair." Jenna swung her camera out of everyone's way as they moved off the set. "There's coffee and juice in the lounge area if you're interested."

"Can I get you a cup, Jenna?" Denny asked, and she accepted his offer. When the group left, Drew joined Jenna as she changed the lens on the camera. "What do you think, Drew?"

"Luke and T.J. have a great look. Why don't you get a few shots of them together?"

"Then I'll get the redhead alone, see if he's got a spirit to match that great hair."

"My thoughts exactly."

"Can you even out the color on T.J.'s face?" Jenna asked, never doubting her partner would have them looking great for the close-ups.

"You know I can."

Drew fussed over Luke and T.J. while Jenna sat Beau down on a chair in front of the panoramic view. The contrast between the splendor of the ocean and a cowboy on a simple pine chair spoke volumes to her.

"You weren't hired for your knowledge of the rodeo so obviously you must take some great pictures, Ms. Swain."

"I like to think so. Please call me Jenna."

"Jenna." His tongue slowly rolled over the double letters in her name. "How long have you been in this business?"

She moved behind him and straightened his denim collar before adjusting the direction of a spotlight on the sidelines.

"I've had my own studio for five years." He was checking her out, his gaze following the line of her figure. Jenna caught his eye, giving him a look that would've stopped most obvious appraisals, but it didn't seem to faze him. "How about you?"

"I've won at the Nationals three out of the last four years."

"Congratulations." Her camera captured his look of pride.

"Thank you. Experience has worked in my favor."

One thing about the camera, it enabled her to observe someone without their knowing just how closely she was looking at them. She'd learned to read so much from their expressions and movements. His words were spoken with confidence, but his body language dictated otherwise.

Jenna wondered what had this man so scared.

Chapter Two

"Please, leave me alone." Her words dripped with desperation and sounded hollow in the empty room. Her reflection in the mirror said nothing, just stared back with a look of vacancy. Drew tore her eyes from the vanity mirror, hating the way her usually honey brown complexion had taken on a yellow tinge. Her hand shook as it brushed the curtain of bangs from her forehead, but she was oblivious to the tremor.

A voice laughed inside her head, and she longed to silence the taunting cackle. It appeared with increased frequency now, and seemed to take on a life of its own. She longed for silence. No laughter...no screams...no tears. The voice would stop, ending her shame, and along with it her sense of powerlessness.

Drew knew she had a problem with pills. She wasn't stupid. There were times when she'd admit to being an addict, and then in a heartbeat talk herself out of it. She wasn't a dummy. She got the picture. Then she'd throw the image on the floor and stomp all over it. She'd try to rationalize her actions with illogic, but it was beginning to feel as if she were fighting a war and losing the battle.

Her purse lay open in the sink revealing the container she used to stash her pills, tucked behind the business card Jenna had given her for a psychic. Rose and blue lines swirled together to form a cluster of flowers in the corner, but Drew had never had enough guts to call. She was fearful the woman would see far too much of her inner world, her inner torment.

The morning photo shoot was over, and Jenna was busy downloading the contents of the digital camera onto her computer. Drew's job was over for now, and she had plenty of time on her hands. As much as she loved silence, Drew hated boredom. The pills helped liven things up so that the monotony wasn't so dull. Taking the flat case from her handbag, she opened it. It now took five painkillers to achieve the level of euphoria Drew preferred. Raising them to her mouth, she noticed the trembling of her hand. She felt dazed as she stood and watched the shaky motion of her fingers.

"Are you sure those are good for you?" A male's voice asked.

Drew's eyes flew to the door. Her heart lurched against her ribcage and jumped widely in her chest. Automatically, her fingers clasped around the pills and she quickly jerked her hand behind her back like a child caught with a forbidden toy. Her reflexes were slow, the effects of her last dose not completely worn off, and a pill noisily sputtered onto the tile floor. Drew stood still, her quivering hand now above her breastbone. Swallowing hard, the inner voice scolded her for forgetting to lock the door. She took great pride in her ability to keep her behavior concealed. Now she felt uneasy and fearful for having let down her guard. She'd been so pre-occupied she hadn't properly protected her secret.

"You scared me to death!"

"Sorry, Ma'am. The door was unlocked." It was one of the cowboys from the shoot.

"I thought you'd left."

"Yes, well..," He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and Drew knew the shuffle of a man with a full bladder.

"Nature called, I get the picture." She ignored the pill that had silenced its fall, lying somewhere at her feet. Grabbing her purse from the counter, Drew headed for the door that the cowboy held open for her.

"You forgot something."

Drew paused in the doorway as the cowboy bent over. She cringed when she realized he'd spotted the white pill against the lime green of the tile.

Kidneys forgotten, his gaze openly appraised her, eyes judged her. Then the corner of his mouth curled into a devilish smirk. Despite his attempt to remain sober, Drew expected words of reproach, but there were none. Not taking his offering, nor meeting his eyes, she turned and left the room.

The inner voice tried to console her, telling her he'd be gone soon, and she'd never see him again. Her secret was still safe.

* * *

"Well, Jenna. What's the verdict?" Carrie asked, watching her boss lean back in the leather chair behind her desk. The transition into the digital revolution had moved Jenna from the confines of the darkroom to a spot that was becoming exceedingly familiar behind a computer screen. Jenna had been staring at the monitor for almost five hours. At this stage of the process, that could only mean she wasn't pleased with the results.

"I don't know. Some are keepers." Her voice lacked her usual zeal. She was pensive and Carrie had come to learn that meant disappointment. "You know what it is?"

"What?"

"It's nothing I haven't seen before. I find it hard to get excited."

"Drew said it was a good shoot. You were great. I would've thought you'd get some real winners."

"You and I both." Jenna offered a weak smile, then her nose curled in distaste.

Carrie felt her disappointment. If something didn't click for the ambitious photographer, no amount of reassuring made a difference.

"Good thing you're going to the rodeo tomorrow. The cream of the crop will be shot there."

Jenna got up and poured herself some coffee, offering the same to Carrie who held out her mug for a refill. She knew by the look on her face, Jenna was visualizing the live shots she might capture in an arena. No doubt, her heart was beginning to race. She knew Jenna enjoyed being on location, and she always brought home some great pictures.

"You've just the fragrance shoot this evening, otherwise the weekend is clear."

"I'm glad you could swing this, Carrie. Have I told you lately how much I need you?" Jenna's eyes smiled warmly as Carrie put on a false bravado.

"Not a problem. Just stay out of the bull's way, can you do that for me?" She offered a look of concern. "I need this gig."

Jenna read people well, and never failed to express her gratitude. Her sensitivity had found a place in her secretary's heart. Carrie's attention to the numerous tasks involved in remaining competitive allowed Jenna to immerse herself into a project without a worry. Known for submerging herself in the culture of her subjects, Jenna seized every opportunity she may be offered while photographing her subjects.

"You want all your gear packed up after tonight's shoot?"

"Yes, that'd be great. Thanks."

Carrie knew better than to say more. Jenna's creativity was in full swing, and she wouldn't hear her anyway, the pictures flashing in her head and mental notes being made.

"Don't forget my telephoto lens. I'm not sure how close I can get to a raging bull."

* * *

Jenna in a towel had definitely grabbed Luke's attention. Struggling to retrieve the newspaper just out of her reach, he'd gotten an eye full of her long, slender legs. The vision brought a smile to his lips.

She'd been embarrassed once she spotted him, yet brazen when confronted by his smart-ass remark. He found the combination very appealing. The way she controlled the photo session, getting the others to respond to her, was interesting to watch. She took charge and you never knew what hit you.

Luke was the only one to see her in a somewhat compromising situation, but he wouldn't have guessed she was the photographer. He felt odd by his obvious sexist attitude. Hell, she could've easily been in front of the camera.

In a dress of the softest shade of pink he'd ever seen she'd welcomed them. Quickly she'd eradicated their uneasiness, dazzling them with her charm, and seduced the men with a look or a word. Then she'd patiently wait for their response and eagerly capture the moments on film.

What was often a nerve-racking experience became a light and easy-going morning that didn't leave Luke second-guessing himself. It usually happened after a publicity event. He never felt entirely comfortable with that aspect of working rodeos. He'd done the odd autograph session this season, but it wasn't his favorite duty requested by his sponsors.

Confident, intelligent, independent. Luke didn't often find that combination in a beautiful woman. Jenna had found a comfortable niche in his thoughts, something someone hadn't mastered in a very long time.

* * *

"You son of a bitch!" Sherry lifted her arm, and slapped Denny across the face with all of her strength. He could've stopped her, but he didn't, instead taking the brunt of her rage like the gentleman she knew he wasn't. "How could've I been such a fool! We're you ever faithful? Did the thought even cross your mind?"

Denny just stood there, a smug expression on his face. The occasional check over his shoulder to see if anyone was privy to their conversation made Sherry want to scream. She earned to yell accusations that the goody-goody image he portrayed was nothing but a lie. She'd fallen for the sweet charm of a snake.

Sherry had traveled to Stockton to spend a rare weekend with Denny, arriving a day before the rodeo started because she knew he'd be there. Then she planned to head to the Frontier Rodeo in Salt Lake City for the barrel racing event. The finals started soon in Las Vegas and she'd landed a spectator's spot.

What was meant as a surprise had Sherry standing dumbfounded on the threshold of Denny's hotel room. The lights were dim, but there was no mistaking the brunette riding him like a cowboy did a bucking bull. The bitch dove under the covers the moment the spare key she hurled landed on Denny's chest.

"Did you ever truly care for me?" Her voice broke with emotion. Her eyes were red rimmed from crying herself to sleep last night. Still Denny said nothing. Then his gaze found the ground and he shuffled his feet like a boy caught amid a schoolyard prank. It felt as if her misery caused his mirth to swell.

Had she ever really known him? Despite the casualness they'd both tried to keep to their relationship the past year, she'd thought he'd been loyal. She now knew what a huge mistake it had been to believe anything he said.

An overpowering urge to humiliate him, like he had her, took hold. She barely recognized the voice as her own when it choked out the next insult.

"I hope it falls off, you bastard!" The look of terror was fleeting, replaced with a grin that slowly spread across his face. Looking directly into her eyes, something he'd avoided until now, he didn't bother to contain his wit.

"Yeah, well, last time I saw you, you were on your knees. Be careful what you wish for."

* * *

Drew watched from the sidelines, her usually position when Jenna was in the middle of a photo shoot, available at a nod. They had developed some gestures over the years, the most popular being a tug of the ear that meant one needed a word with the other. Behind the fullness of the light deflector, the object never too far away, they'd discuss whatever was on their minds.

She had seen Jenna's photographs for the first time when she'd lived in Los Angeles, doing make-up for Kip Hanson at Universal Studios. Drew had attended an art gallery show to view some photographs of South Africa taken by a woman whose popularity in the world of photography was exploding. Through a mutual friend, they'd met, and Drew walked out of the gallery with half a dozen photographs that stole her heart.

A year later, Drew fled L.A. and her ex-husband. She still wanted her son, Trey, to grow up knowing his father. She just didn't want to live in the same zip code as him.

Larz was a great dad, but there was too much conflict between them. They argued too much. Drew knew a little space between households would makes things better.

Not that it mattered. Larz transferred to the Bay area six months later; lived in a house less than twenty minutes from her own place. He'd never remarried, nor had Drew, and he was very much involved in their son's life. It had worked out for the best and she'd forgiven him for following her. She knew Trey's childhood was better than hers was because he actually spent time with his father. Drew hadn't seen much of her father when she was young, his graveyard shift as a gas plant maintenance man making for plenty of absenteeism and an emotionally distant man who didn't know his three children.

Her younger brother's jail record reflected a kid with no guidance and too much time on his hands. Her older sister, Vanessa, was a chronic fusspot who constantly fretted over their mother. Drew was sure their mother held onto her job at an insurance company primarily to get away from her eldest daughter.

The flash of a camera brought Drew out of her thoughts. Focusing again on the couple standing on the balcony, she spotted a sheen on Curtis' cheekbone. She patted her own cheek, and Jenna instantly noticed movement for her peripheral vision was amazing. Drew took care of the spot, touched up Tammy too, then stood back, and watched as Jenna wove magic with the models. She was like a director of a film, this being more intimate than moving making, and Drew liked that aspect of photography.

Jenna always kept things lively when they were working because she was the kind of person who had to have things moving. Not too fast, never a frenzy, rather maintaining a constant clip to their daily routine so that one always felt challenged, but never to the point where you felt burnt out.

It was Jenna's nature to give one hundred and fifty percent to a project. She expected the same commitment from those around her. She didn't envision people keeping her schedule, but she did presume her staff and the models exert one hundred and fifty percent of their ability and dedication when they were working for her.

Jenna often left the models shaking from the exertion of conjuring up the emotions she pumped from their bodies, yet men and women alike enjoyed working with her. Many appreciated the sense of accomplishment she bestowed upon them with her heartfelt praise. Jenna possessed the timeless ability to get the best work possible from her subjects, and she rewarded them with sincere accolades as well as fabulous photos.

The pictures captured your heart as well as your eye. This quality had made her a pinnacle in the world of contemporary commercial photography. Jenna was known to eventually win over her worst critics once they saw her awe-inspiring photographs, unable to deny her talent.

Drew had liked Jenna the moment they met. When Jenna got wind that Drew planned to make San Francisco her home, she'd contacted her and convinced her to work with her. Together they'd built Swain Productions into a wildly successful agency.

Yet inside Drew felt detached, split into two -- one a positive voice, the other a negative howl. The battle inside her head was beginning to close in, and Drew knew she would swallow yet another pill.

Chapter Three

Jenna's favorite photograph hung behind the mahogany desk in her office. A baby chimpanzee curiously touched the tip of an elderly woman's nose, her face wrinkled and full of character, including her delightful grin. It was shot in the jungles of South Africa for the Jane Morrow Foundation for the Preservation of Rain Forests. Jenna had won the Cecil Robbins Award for the photo, but that wasn't why it was her favorite.

Most of her time was spent in the studio or on location, working on whatever assignment Angie Del Mar convinced Jenna to take. The odd occasion found her alone in her office, like she was now, with the lights out as she watched the stars through the skylight. A telescope positioned by the window was a prop she never used.

She was a nighthawk; she enjoyed the quiet darkness. Tilting back her head, she stared up at the star-studded sky. She tired of Orion and The Big Dipper, and moved to the lights of the bay.

The spot for Revlon's Diamond Kisses was finished and ready for a spring distribution. Going for a romantic feel, Jenna had waited for an evening shoot to enhance the starry sky and the brilliance of diamonds. On the studio balcony, a handsome male model dressed in a tuxedo had embraced an exotic female in an elegant evening gown, a dazzling diamond necklace at her throat. Jenna had taken an endless string of photographs, wanting to capture the twinkle in the models' eyes and the brilliance of the diamonds.

The necklace was compliments of Drew's amazing talent for sweet talking business owners into lending merchandise for their prop department. Her creativity made Jenna's life so much easier. Their successful partnership assured both financial security and the luxury of accepting whatever projects interested them. Whatever jobs they decided against doing were eagerly gobbled up by the photographers waiting on the sidelines.

"We're all replaceable." Jenna tried to live by that cliche. As soon as she stopped producing excellence there was always someone standing in the wings ready to take her place. She accepted that, and she knew it helped her produce her very best work. Tastefully taken photographs were what she sought, wanting to demonstrate a humanity she felt was lacking in life. She refused to exploit people. It was the major theme behind her approach, and highly instrumental to the success of Swain Productions.

Jenna and Drew worked long hours, tending to take their days off in spurts no shorter than four days duration. School holidays were Drew's motivation, and Jenna periodically needed time to rejuvenate.

It was a time of privacy when models didn't haunt the studio, and Jenna had the place to herself. She'd pamper herself: sleeping in after staying up late into the night beside a raging fire snacking on carrot sticks and butterscotch ice cream, an earmarked paperback on the end table. She'd looked deep inside, reconnecting and grounding herself for the days when her hectic schedule wouldn't allow much quiet time. Yoga and meditation were a large focus during her time off. Relationships, both intimate and platonic, achieved credibility if her lover or friend could identify with her practice.

The stereo was still on from the photo shoot and the rhythmic instrumental drifted from the speakers, slow and sexy, the sultry sound of a saxophone pulling her from her thoughts. Stretching out her arms high above her head, she felt a rush of energy and rose to her feet, moving to the window. The lights never ceased to amaze her. They still took her breath away. Jenna closed her eyes and found her third eye in the center of her brow, feeling the rhythm of her heartbeat, and the rise and fall of her belly and chest. Her hands hugged her arms as her hips began to sway to the music.

Standing in the dark, the music alive in her head, Jenna's thought turned to the rodeo shoot that morning. She preferred the warm atmosphere the cowboys had brought to the set over the cool ring of precision she'd used for the fragrance spot. There were times when that type of professionalism was necessary to get the job done. Jenna preferred the down-to-earth approach like that of the rodeo spot.

Commercial photography was a rat race, like any other industry, and Jenna had learned to play along when she had to, but she didn't invite every industry misconception into her studio.

Luke Campbell's image filled her head and she felt a shiver despite the warmth of the room. His smile clung to her memory. Jenna admitted she looked forward to the trip to Stockton.

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