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Chapter One, Chapter Two, Chapter Three

Chapter One

"What are you doing here?" Jessie whispered when she saw him.

Rhys didn't speak until the door closed behind him. The control that sustained him through the past few hours broke. He dropped his briefcase and pulled her up against him. "I'm sorry," he murmured as he kissed her. "I'm so sorry."

"I'm okay." She sobbed as his mouth captured hers again. "Just don't let me go."

He looked down at her, reassuring himself that she was all right. Her beautiful brown eyes were red from crying and her face was smudged but she was fine. They were together. That was all that mattered.

"How did you get in here? They said I couldn't see anyone." Jessie had so many questions. She didn't know where to start.

Rhys suddenly realized that he was sitting on the scarred wooden table in the center of the room. Jessie was on his lap. He didn't let her go when he sat down, just moved with her in his arms. Her wedding gown flowed over the side of the table like a waterfall of white silk. "I guess I came to rescue you."

"They'll arrest you if they find you sneaking in here." She pictured them both in jail. That wouldn't do anyone any good. "I appreciate you coming but you can't just waltz in and out of here! This is a police station. It's serious!"

Rhys used his clean white handkerchief to wipe the tears from her cheeks. He smoothed her long dark hair away from her face. She'd stopped crying but she was still sniffling. He gave her the handkerchief. She blew her nose on it with unladylike gusto and tucked it into her sleeve. "Jessie, we have to talk."

"They won't let me go," she confided to him. "They say they aren't charging me but they can keep me for forty-eight hours while they look for evidence against me. They're convinced I killed Pat."

The words hovered expectantly between them. She needed to hear Rhys say that he believed in her. That he knew she didn't kill Pat. That the whole thing was ridiculous. Maybe that would wake her up out of this bad dream.

"You have to trust me," he said, searching her eyes. "You have to tell me everything."

Jessie got down from her perch on his lap. She rubbed her arms and wished she hadn't climbed out of bed that morning. Her dress was ruined, along with her beautiful wedding. She looked at Rhys. He was a mess, too. He was still wearing his tuxedo but it was grass-stained and his shirt was half-pulled out of his trousers. He'd lost his tie and his jacket was damp and wrinkled. His dark red hair was windblown. He looked as lost and bewildered as she felt.

"Jessie?"

"I didn't kill Pat," she said finally. "Now you better get out of here before someone else comes in. They go in and out all the time."

"I know you didn't kill Pat. But do you have any idea what happened? When did you see Pat last?" He got up from the table and started to take her into his arms again. She pushed away from him and stood facing the wall. "What is it?"

She shook her head, disappointment bitter in her mouth. "I'm tired. I just want to get out of here." I want you to believe in me without me telling you anything. Can't you do that?

"I'll take care of you." He hated that she was there at all. Hated the wall that had slammed down between them. He blamed himself for his soul searching before he came to her. If he explained everything, would she understand? "I can have you released in a few minutes."

"How?" She turned to face him, blinking away the tears standing in her eyes.

"I'm a lawyer, Jessie. I'm going to represent you. At least for now until we can find out what happened." He started to explain, then thought better of it. She needed to go home. He needed to accomplish that much for her. "I'll explain the rest later. Let's get out of here first." He picked up his briefcase then knocked on the door. A uniformed officer opened it for him. "I'll be back in a few minutes. It's going to be okay, sweetheart."

She nodded. The door closed behind him and she sat down on the wooden chair again. She knew that Rhys had a past. They never spoke of it. She never asked because she didn't want him to ask about her past. He was too well spoken, too street smart. She knew he wasn't always a hermit living in the woods.

There were times during their brief relationship, that one or the other touched on a place where the other one shut down. They learned to tread delicately in the last three months. When those shuttered moments came, they backed away, zealously guarding their secrets. Was this what he was hiding? If so, it didn't seem so bad. Why didn't he want her to know?

She thought that his past included some hurt he couldn't get over. It was always there between them, a wall she couldn't quite get across. But she believed that he would tell her about it one day. And she would share her own secret.

She loved so many things about him. His sense of humor. His patience. The cute way he wrinkled his nose when he ate pasta. And like so many other foolish women, she thought he'd change. She thought their love could overcome everything else. Now, she wasn't so sure. What did she really know about Rhys?

She shivered and closed her eyes to keep out the harsh light and the terrible green walls around her. She needed a change of clothes and a hot shower. She needed Rhys' arms around her, wanted him to kiss her senseless. She didn't want to think about Pat's death anymore. She wanted to forget the whole awful day.

Jessie touched her lips. They still tingled from Rhys' fierce kisses. She was aroused and restless. What was taking so long? Would he really be able to get her out of there?

The door to her prison opened suddenly. Two detectives in worn suits entered, flanked by two uniformed officers and a secretary. Rhys followed close behind them.

The first detective was angry. His harsh face was red with it. "I'm Detective Syms. I don't know how he did it, but your lawyer got you a reprieve. Only a reprieve, lady, because we're still gonna find the answers. You're not off the hook yet."

Rhys intervened, reaching Jessie's side. "I believe you had some questions to ask my client? I agreed to questions. Not to having her badgered by you."

"Ms. Kennedy," the second detective began, "I'm Detective Carter. We've received some information about the man who was found in the well at your home this morning."

She swallowed hard on the wave of nausea that shot through her. "Pat Romano."

He looked down at some notes he held in his hand. "Mr. Romano was killed between two and four AM this morning. He was stabbed once in the heart with a pair of scissors. The scissors have a band with your name and address on them. He was in the well, but cause of death appears to be the stab wound. The autopsy won't be complete for a few more days."

Jessie didn't think it could get any worse. She was so wrong. Pat being pulled out of her old well with a pair of scissors in his back, her scissors, was bad enough. She didn't want to think about him drowning in that cold water or slowly bleeding to death. Her imagination carried her away, thinking that he might have called for her to help him. Dying so alone.

Carter put down his notes. "What can you tell us about it?"

Jessie looked at the unfriendly faces that surrounded her. The secretary stared at her and waited impatiently for her to begin speaking, popping her bubble gum in the silence.

"I don't know." She glanced at Rhys, feeling helpless and outnumbered.

"You don't know what you can tell us?"

She was letting them rattle her. That's why they told her about Pat. They wanted her to say something stupid. She had to choose her words carefully. "I saw Pat at the coffee shop yesterday. He gave me a garter for the wedding. He bought a pound of his usual coffee. He stayed for a little while, then he left."

"What did you talk about?" Carter asked.

"We talked mostly about the wedding. I asked him if his new lady friend was going to come to the wedding. He said he didn't know."

"And this lady's name?"

Jessie looked up at him. "I don't know."

"Did she live near Mr. Romano?"

"I'm not sure."

"You and Mr. Romano were good friends?"

"Very good friends," she stressed.

"Yet, he didn't introduce you to this lady?"

"No," she admitted hesitantly. "He was planning on it but something always seemed to come up."

"Was this a serious relationship for him?"

"I think it was on his part. I can't say about hers."

"But you never met her?"

"Not yet." Jessie tried to quell the defensive quality in her voice.

"What about you and Mr. Romano?" The detective fired off quickly.

"We were very good friends."

"But it wasn't always that way, was it?"

"What?"

"You and Mr. Romano were lovers, weren't you? You lived together above the coffee shop for two years. Wasn't that why he agreed to sell the business to you for practically nothing?"

"You don't have to answer that, Jessie," Rhys told her.

She wanted to answer. It was too ridiculous not to answer. "I paid fair market value for the house and the shop. The idea that we were lovers is stupid! I rented a room from him. That was all!"

"And yet he agreed to finance you? No money down? Payments whatever you could afford?"

"He didn't need the money."

"How was that possible?" Syms demanded, jumping back into the conversation "He owned a coffee shop. Where would he get that kind of cash?"

"He was retired from the military," she explained. "He told me that he got a pension."

Carter tossed a piece of paper on the table. "Social Security. $899.00 a month. He couldn't even afford his rent on that."

Jessie looked at the paper. "What does this have to do with the murder?"

"That's a good question," Rhys agreed. "Maybe the detectives can explain."

"You agreed to give him money back from the shop, didn't you? Disguised it from the IRS so he didn't have to claim it. But you agreed to give him a bulk sum as well." Syms put a plastic bag on the table. "This amount."

There was a piece of paper inside the bag. It was wet and the ink had run a little. But it was clearly a statement of account with her name on it.

"Don't answer that, Jessie," Rhys demanded.

She ignored him. "No. I didn't give him any money from the coffee shop. I would have if he'd asked me. He told me that he was comfortable. That he didn't need any money."

"What about the ten thousand dollars?"

"Jessie!" Rhys put his hand on her arm, finally getting her attention. "I can't help you if you ignore me."

She sat back in her chair and didn't say anything else. She stared mutinously at the two detectives.

Syms smirked. "You'd be surprised how many lover's quarrels turn deadly at that time of the morning."

"We weren't lovers," she defended hotly, despite herself.

"Not anymore. Was that the problem? Was your new boyfriend taking over Mr. Romano's spot in your bed?"

Jessie stood abruptly. "That's the most foul thing anyone has ever said to me. Pat was like my father. Do you understand that concept, Detective? My father. There was never anything more between us."

"That's enough!" Rhys put an end to the diatribe. "My client has answered enough questions. You can't charge her. We're leaving."

Detective Carter stared hard at her as she stood to leave. "This was your wedding day, wasn't it, Ms. Kennedy? I suppose he came to beg for one last chance. Or maybe he tried to hold on to you by threatening to take the coffee shop back?"

"Come on, Jessie." Rhys urged her out of the room.

"If you pushed Pat Romano into that well, you're better off telling us now." Syms had the last word. "It'll be worse on you if you wait."

Rhys looked down at her. "We're leaving. Don't say anything else."

He didn't have to tell her again. She glanced at the disgruntled detective, then marched out of the room. It was all she could do not to stick her tongue out at him as she left. It was childish but she was almost beyond caring. Only Rhys' warm hand on hers kept her from screaming.

"Don't even think about leaving town," Syms warned her, his hawk face red with anger. "I'll have you back in here before you can think twice. And it won't be a good time."

Rhys turned back to him. "Threaten my client again, and I'll have you up on charges."

Syms blinked. "I didn't threaten anyone."

"Then we understand each other," Rhys replied with a dangerous smile on his handsome face.

There was paperwork that had to be signed before Jessie left the station. It was accomplished in silence with three policemen around them at the big, front desk.

She understood that she was being released into Rhys' custody. That he was accepting responsibility for her staying in town until after the investigation. She signed the papers eagerly. She would've signed anything to get out of there.

Rhys took her arm, his broad back keeping the police from crowding in too close to her. They walked out of the station into the September moonlight. His Jeep waited on the street in front of the downtown precinct.

She lifted her long skirt to get down the stairs. The detectives' gazes bored into her back as she got into the front seat. They really believed that she killed Pat. She shook her head. She didn't care about what they thought. She was free and she was going to prove that she didn't have anything to do with Pat's murder. The question seemed to be: Who would want to kill Pat Romano?

Rhys climbed in beside her and started the engine, pulling smoothly out into the street. There was very little traffic at that time of the night. The signal lights were green going all the way out of the downtown area.

When they passed the last one and turned on to the Interstate, Jessie dared to exhale a sigh of relief. Until that moment, she was afraid that they'd be caught and brought back to jail. She took her first deep breath of the long day. "Thank you."

He glanced at her as the Jeep accelerated. "I'm sorry I couldn't get there sooner."

"I didn't think about you coming at all. I didn't think I was ever going to get out of there."

His grip tightened on the steering wheel. "About this morning-"

"There was nothing you could do," she denied with a shake of her head, refusing to discuss her hurt when he didn't act that morning as they arrested her. He'd saved her. There was really nothing he could do when they took her away.

Except throw himself down on the ground in front of them and refuse to let them take me, a little voice suggested. Except try to beat them off until he couldn't stand up any longer.

That was ridiculous, common sense argued. He couldn't have helped her if he was in jail, too. Of course, now that she knew he was a lawyer, it was different. "So, you're a lawyer." She knew she was stating the obvious as she looked out at the passing landscape in the bright orange highway lights. But she had to start somewhere.

"Yes."

"And you've always been a lawyer?"

"Since we've known each other?"

She turned to him. "That seems to be our frame of reference."

He nodded grimly. "I haven't wanted to talk about my past, Jessie."

"I know."

"I would've told you," he continued.

"I know."

Rhys put his foot down hard on the gas pedal to pass a slower car. He didn't want to tell her this way. He'd planned the right moment in his head over and over again. It was always in the future. Their wedding night. He was going to explain everything to her. "Do you love me, Jessie?"

"Why?"

He looked at her quickly then looked back at the road. "Do you love me?"

"Of course I love you."

He wasn't really satisfied. Her answer sounded a little rote to him. A little too polite. "Then you have to trust me."

"I trust you," she replied a little less firmly.

"We haven't known each other a long time."

"We haven't."

"I wouldn't do anything to hurt you. You know that, don't you?"

"I know."

The silence was stony between them.

Rhys shook his head, a crooked smile on his face. "But I didn't tell you that I was a lawyer, right?"

She shrugged. "I suppose the question to ask would be, why aren't you a practicing lawyer? Why are you living out in the woods raising vegetables?"

"I just practiced," he argued. "I got you out of jail."

"How long has it been since you worked as a lawyer?"

"Five years," he confirmed.

"Five years then," she considered. "That's a long time."

An eternity. But he wasn't ready to get into that with her yet. "But you're out of police custody. That's what's important."

"How did you do it? Why would they trust you to make sure that I wouldn't leave town?"

"I have friends. A judge said that they could trust me."

"You have a friend that's a judge. But you don't practice law unless your fiancée happens to wind up in jail on a murder charge."

Rhys sighed. "I thought we'd go to my place."

She sat back against the seat. "I noticed."

"Jessie, I'm going to tell you everything. But I'd like to do it while I'm looking at you, not while I'm driving."

"That's fine," she agreed. "I'd like to get this dress off and take a hot shower."

Just the mention of her taking off her wedding dress was enough to make him uncomfortable. The hot shower part didn't help.

True, the wedding didn't go off as they planned but for weeks he'd been telling himself that it was coming closer. After three months of sweet kisses and playful hugs, he was ready to burst with wanting her. So many nights he'd gone home and sat up for hours trying to get the thought of her out of his mind. Unable to sleep for picturing her next to him in his bed.

Jessie studied his averted profile as he drove back to his cabin. His nose was a little crooked. But it added something to his otherwise aquiline face. She knew the firm line of his jaw and the curve of his lips. He was so gentle when he touched her. So polite. So careful. So aloof. So maddening.

She'd never wanted any man the way she wanted Rhys. She wanted him to forget whatever plagued him from his past. She wanted him to rip the tiny white buttons from her dress and jump into the backseat of his Jeep with her. She'd fantasized about being with him for three months, waiting for him to come around. A polite kiss on the lips was all she got.

She was afraid to ask for more, even after he had asked her to marry him. She was afraid he might not be able to give any more. What happened to him? Did giving up his law practice have something to do with it? Sometimes she felt so close to him. Other times, he was like a stranger. "Do you love me, Rhys?"

"You know I do," he answered earnestly.

"That's not what I want to hear." The anger that had been building all day burst out of her. "I want to hear, 'yes, Jessie, I adore you. I've never loved anyone like I love you'. Can you say that to me?"

Forming the words on his tongue was like a caress. "I love you, Jessie," he muttered in a hoarse voice, "more than you'll ever know. I can't tell you how much."

"Stop the car."

"What?"

"Stop the car," she said again in an urgent voice.

Rhys squealed the tires, laying down hot rubber on the pavement as he stopped and pulled to the side of the road. He saw the car in his rearview mirror. It slid into the shadows a few hundred yards behind them.

It had to be the police. No one else would be that clumsy following them. Although it began to occur to him that Jessie's life could be in danger. Without knowing who killed Pat and why it happened, he couldn't swear the killer wouldn't come after her.

But in the meantime, he had more immediate problems. Jessie got out of the Jeep, slammed the door shut, and began to trudge up the side of the road. A forlorn, ghostlike figure walking along the narrow shoulder of the Interstate.

Rhys had to wait for traffic to pass to get out. He slammed the door and stalked after her. She'd made considerable headway in a short time considering that she was dragging the train of her gown behind her. "What the hell are you doing?" He reached out to her.

She jerked away. "Leaving."

"Now isn't the time." He took her hand and started back towards the car. "I think the police decided to follow along and keep an eye on you."

"Sue them for harassment!" she screeched. She wrenched her hand away and turned back to walk down the road again. She paused and ripped the heavy train from the back of her gown.

"Jessie," he yelled, taking a quick glance at the car that was waiting behind them.

"Go away!"

He ran up to her and grabbed her again. "We're not playing this for their benefit, sweetheart. Get back in the Jeep and let's hash this out at home."

"Home?" she questioned, slapping at his hands that rested on her arms. "I don't have a home anymore. There was a dead man in my well, Rhys! Pat is dead and they think I killed him!"

"I know," he sympathized. He realized that he wasn't dealing with a rational woman. "Let's go to my house, Jessie. Please. We can talk there."

She stood very still suddenly and stared at him. "He's dead, Rhys. Pat is dead. Someone murdered him. They put my scissors in his back and pushed him into my well. And those men think I did it. Everyone probably thinks I did it. They asked me if Pat and I were sleeping together. They think Pat and I were lovers!"

"It doesn't matter," he consoled. "I love you, Jessie. It'll work out."

"You don't even know me."

He pulled her close to him and touched his lips to her forehead. "I know everything I need to know."

He claimed her mouth. There were no walls. They melted in the white-hot flame that shot up between them. His mouth demanded a surrender that she didn't think about. None of it mattered. Except that moment. It was as though a perfect piece of crystal shattered. Its resonance echoed through her. She knew she walked the fine edge of its sharp remnants with the bare sheath of her soul.

He'd never kissed her that way before. No one had ever kissed her like that. It was definitely something she'd remember. Something she would've known she could never live without if Rhys hadn't been able to give it to her. It made a mockery of all of her noble sentiments about living without passion in their lives.

His hand stroked slowly down her throat. She shivered against him, wanting to be closer. The strength in his body made her feel weak. Yet when she felt the hard length of him pushed against her, she felt delirious with power. There was passion in this man. He wanted her.

"Let's go home," he said at last when he could find the strength to move away from her. He'd wanted to kiss her that way for so long. It had become a persistent ache inside of him that he never thought he'd be able to assuage.

And he might not, he realized, as the ache grew instead of lessening. With her in his arms, he wanted more. So much more. There might never be enough to quell that sweet torment. A lifetime of her kisses might only fan that ember into hotter flames.

He reached for the control that had helped him make it through the past three months. It was shrouded in fear and anger but it had served him well. She didn't know the truth about him yet. When she did, that look of ecstasy on her face might turn to disgust.

His soul was singing. But reality was still nipping at his heels. He waved to the police that were waiting on the highway behind him as he adjusted the seatbelt on Jessie. Then he started the Jeep and barreled down the road towards his house.

"I'm sorry," she said softly, using his handkerchief again. She couldn't stop crying.

It was Pat's death and the wedding being ruined. It was her beautiful dress with the red bloodstain on it and the trampled flowers in her garden. It was realizing that her life wasn't going to be the perfect place she'd envisioned. It was feeling that she was suddenly alone in the world again.

"Don't be." He reached out until he felt her cold hand in his on the seat. "You've been through a lot today. You and Pat were very close. You're allowed to mourn for him."

"I don't know if he has any family," she suddenly considered. "Someone has to make the arrangements."

"There won't be any need until the coroner is finished with him."

"Then what?"

"Someone will be in touch. I left my phone number. We'll check it out and see if Pat has anyone who wants to claim his body. If not, we'll take care of it."

She sniffed. "You know your way around this, don't you?"

He squeezed her hand. "I haven't been involved for a while. But I guess it never changes."

"They said that Pat only made $899.00 a month on his pension, Rhys. I know the townhouse where he lived was more than that. How was he surviving without the money from the coffee shop?"

"I don't know," he admitted. "More importantly, what was he doing at your house at two in the morning?"

"I don't know." She put away his handkerchief. "When we talked yesterday, he was coming to the wedding. But I know he wasn't there for the wedding in the middle of the night. He used to walk in the garden at all hours when he lived there. Maybe he was just walking through the garden."

"I wish it were that simple. But he was murdered. It wasn't an accident. We have to consider that whoever killed him could've hurt you. And it's possible that you might still be a target. We need some answers."

Something congealed inside of Jessie. It became a cold knot of fear. Whoever killed him could've hurt you.

"There might be some answers at his place, if we could get inside," Rhys continued. "They probably have an officer there keeping everyone out until after the investigation."

"Maybe we could still figure out a way to get in," she suggested vaguely. But she knew now. She knew the truth. She was going to have to leave again.

Rhys pulled off the highway and drove a short way down the old gravel road to his cabin. He parked the Jeep in the driveway in front of his house, turned off the engine and the lights. He didn't move. "Watch."

The car with the two detectives in it went slowly by the cabin then pulled to a stop behind some bushes at the side of the road. They switched off their headlights but didn't get out of the car.

"They're not taking any chances," he said softly as they watched the car in the pale light from the street.

"What will they do?" she wondered, not taking her eyes from the car.

He took a deep breath. "They'll wait until they get some word that you've been tied to the murder in such a way that they can actually charge you with it. Then they'll come for you."

"But there can't be anything that ties me to a murder that I didn't commit."

He looked at her in the near darkness. "I'd like to tell you that it always works that way. But I know personally of some cases that the evidence was twisted to fit the suspect."

"And I'm the convenient suspect?" Her voice was a strangled gasp.

"I'm afraid so, sweetheart."

"What am I going to do?"

"For now, we're going to go inside. I'm going to put a few logs on the fire while you shower and change. We're going to have some brandy. Then we'll talk."

Jessie's eyes glazed over when he started speaking. They snapped open at the last of the picture he painted for her. This was their last night. Their only night together. And he wanted to talk!

She got out of the Jeep and stalked up to the cabin behind him. She looked at his long legs and athletic body. She helped him pick out that tuxedo for the wedding. And tonight, for the first time, she tasted passion on his lips. When he kissed her, she forgot everything else. That was all she wanted from him tonight. She didn't want to try to make sense of it. She didn't want to plot to find Pat's murderer.

She wanted him to make her forget all of it for one night. How many times had she fantasized about making love to him in front of the fireplace on the soft wool rug? And the old, velvet sofa? And the wide coffee table? She felt like she'd wanted him forever. Maybe their wedding was a wreck but she wasn't going to be cheated out of her wedding night! If he loved her, if he wanted her the way his kisses suggested, he'd feel the same.

They parted company at the bathroom door. He gave her one of his shirts and a pair of sweat pants that had a string to tighten the waist. She needed his help to unbutton the long row of tiny white buttons at the back of the dress. His strong hands trembled as he fumbled his way down the path. His fingers grazed her bare shoulder. He drew back as though he'd been burned.

"I'll be in the den," he told her in a strained voice when he was finished and closed the door behind him.

Jessie let her wedding dress drop down into a pool on the floor at her feet. She wasn't going to be cheated out of her wedding night. And then she would say goodbye.

Chapter Two

The hot water felt wonderful against her skin. It washed away everything but the need to be with Rhys. She wanted to know his secrets. She wanted to know about his past.

But first, she wanted him to kiss her again. Like he did on the side of the road. And she wanted to lie naked in his arms in front of the roaring fire. She wanted him, hard and hot, inside of her. She'd waited and planned for this night. Right or wrong, she didn't care. She wanted him to make her forget about the police in front of his house and the long day at the precinct. She wanted him to burn away the memory of seeing Pat's body in the old well.

He loved her. She knew he loved her. She thought he wanted her. She just had to convince him that she wanted him. Tonight. It was all they had.

Rhys put wood on the fireplace and lit it with the kindling he'd cut. He didn't turn on the light in the den. The firelight was brilliant orange, flickering in the shadows, chasing away the cold and darkness of the evening.

He took off his jacket, ran his hands through his hair and felt the beginning prickle of beard on his chin. He poured himself a quick drink before Jessie got out of the shower. He swallowed the finger of brandy, glanced at the closed bathroom door, and poured himself another. There wasn't enough brandy in the bottle to round off the edges of tonight for him.

The words he prepared so carefully for what should have been their wedding night, fled into the darkness, screaming. He was afraid of how much he needed her. He didn't want to push her. He'd promised they could sit and talk. Even if he had to sit on the other side of the room to keep from touching her. He'd yearned for this night...and dreaded it ever since he met her.

The bathroom door opened. He poured another glass of brandy, warmed it with his hand then looked up to offer it to her.

Jessie was naked, framed in the light from the bathroom door then graced by the firelight as she moved into the room. She smiled at him.

Rhys drank the brandy he'd poured for her in a single gulp. "Brandy?"

"That would be great," she replied huskily, not sure what to do with her hands.

She waited while he poured the dark liquid into a glass, watching as he held it for a few seconds. She looked at his hands, curved around the bowl of the glass, supporting it loosely in his palms. His fingertips were moving on the glass, stroking the surface, playing with the stem.

She shivered, taut with worry and anticipation. Maybe it was because they'd waited so long. Maybe she just desperately wanted and needed him. Whatever the reason, her knees were weak. She was almost panting as he watched him warming the brandy for her. Her body was hot and flushed with more than just the heat from the fire.

She caught his eye and her lips parted, mesmerized by his motions and the firelight on his face. His hair gleamed deep auburn in the light. His blue eyes were shadowed. She couldn't look away. She'd never blatantly offered herself to a man this way. But she'd never wanted a man the way she wanted Rhys. Please want me too, she thought desperately.

"Here." He handed her the glass. His fingers slid across hers. The friction was enough to send a powerful shaft of longing through him. His body was hard and waiting, sending signals to him that were impossible to ignore.

She held the balloon glass in both her hands, the way he handed it to her. She drained it in a single long sip. Rhys was fascinated with the movement of her throat as she swallowed. The unflinching honesty of her dark eyes trapped him. She set the glass down on the table beside her.

Jessie was prepared for anything. Or at least she told herself that she was prepared. She wasn't sure what she'd say if he rejected her.

She didn't consider herself to be sexually repressed. She wanted more, needed more, especially now. Whatever was keeping them apart had to be torn away. His kisses tonight told her that he wanted her as much as she wanted him. So why wouldn't he look at her?

She saw that hasty glass of brandy as she came out of the bathroom. Was the idea of making love to her so terrible? What was holding him back? If he didn't want her, why didn't he say so? What was he waiting for?

"You're a beautiful woman, Jessie," he said, putting his glass down on the coffee table. He'd forced himself to look away, control the wild urges that were threatening to take over. But it was hard. He'd let down his guard with her just a little, no more than a slip of some dark curtain, and desire raged through him like a fire.

It didn't help to look away. His mind was seared with the image of her. The orange glow was a warm caress on skin that looked like velvet. His imagination traced the lines from the curve of her breasts to the gentle turn of her hips, the indentation at her waist, the long, sweet length of her long legs.

She was as beautiful as he imagined and more. He ached for her. His body demanded the release he knew he could find with her. This should have been their wedding night. She was there, waiting for him, within arm's reach. He could take her and put an end to all of the years he'd forced himself to live like a celibate hermit.

"You must be...exhausted," he said slowly.

"A little tired," she admitted. "It's been a long day."

"I know."

"I'm ready for bed." She deliberately stretched her arms up and out then looked at him.

Rhys swallowed hard. It was bad enough when she was standing there in front of him. Any movement, particularly that movement, made his legs weak and his head fuzzy. Maybe the drink was working after all. He felt drunk. Lost and hot and wanting.

"Jessie...?"

"What now?" She lost her patience. Even now they might not be safe. "We're not legally married yet and you're a throwback to dinosaur days when you had to be married to sleep together? You have strong religious ethics about getting naked with me? You just aren't interested? What, Rhys?"

He knew her. Her voice was strained. She'd reached the limit of her endurance. Her velvet brown eyes were too bright. The smile trembled on her full red lips. She was putting up a brave front but inside she was quaking like Jell-O. "I was going to ask if you wanted to sit down."

"Oh." Her anger deflated, leaving her feeling vulnerable. She watched him sit down on the old sofa by the fireplace then sat down in the chair opposite him.

"It doesn't have to be that far away." He patted the cushion next to him. "I don't have any ethics about sitting next to you naked."

"I'm sorry." She was tired of wondering, tired of waiting. Just plain tired. "I didn't really mean those things, Rhys."

"Come here, Jessie," he invited gently, holding out his hand to her.

She put her hand in his and stared at him in the firelight. "I don't want to talk anymore tonight, Rhys. I don't want to think." She closed her eyes and let him pull her gently to him.

When she was sitting close beside him on the sofa, warmed by the fire, he turned to her and put his hands on her shoulders. They were smooth and warm to his touch but the muscles were bunched tightly under his hands. "Relax," he whispered near her ear. He began to massage her shoulders, her silky dark hair tickling his fingers. "You're so tense."

"I know. I'm sorry. Everything's ruined. And I guess I can't even seduce you."

"You seduced me when I first met you," he answered, still rubbing her shoulders. "Remember that morning at the coffee shop? You don't have to try so hard tonight." She took a deep, shuddering breath and relaxed against him. He bent his head and kissed her shoulder.

"I just wanted everything to be perfect," she confided, feeling the pent up energy drain out of her at his touch. "I wanted you to want me as much as I want you."

He slid her across his lap. "Want you? Jessie, I've wanted you until I thought I'd go insane waiting. I've wanted to hold you and touch you like this." His hand skimmed down her hip, cradling her close to him. His mouth caught hers and replaced the nervous tension she felt with another kind.

She leaned forward slightly so that just the tips of her breasts grazed his chest. He closed his eyes on the sweetness of her lips and the warm perfume of her skin.

"Why have we waited so long?"

"Jessie, I...?"

She put the palm of her hand across his mouth. "Tell me the truth, Rhys. I have to know."

He kissed her soft palm that rested against his lips and nodded. His tongue traced the line of her finger. She closed her eyes and shivered with emotion. He slid his hands down her sides. Her skin was like satin beneath his gentle touch. Her hand still on his mouth, he kept his gaze on her face. Her tiny grasp of awareness was like an aphrodisiac to his senses. His body reacted accordingly, making him bite back a groan of desire behind her delicate fingers.

"I died five years ago," he told her softly. He threaded his hands through her glossy hair. "I went through hell. But I came back. It didn't make any sense at the time. Now I know. I came back for you."

Jessie tried to concentrate on what he was saying but his lips came down on hers, obliterating all thought. His kisses followed a path down her neck. His hands arched her closer to him, finding the turgid peaks of her breasts.

"Rhys," she murmured, "you're supposed to be explaining."

"I thought I was supposed to be wanting," he debated with a smile.

"You are." She shivered as he nibbled at her ear and neck. "But I want to understand. I want to know you."

He stood up with her in his arms. She cried out, startled, and clasped her arms around his neck. Then he laid her down, full length on the sofa. The fuzzy velvet tickled her back. She looked up at him with a question in her eyes but didn't speak.

"I was shot five years ago," he explained as he kicked off his shoes and began to undress. "I barely survived. Part of me didn't survive. I left and came here. I met you." He stripped off his clothes and stood boldly before her in the firelight. "And I've lived in hell again, waiting for this moment."

The gleaming red glow of the fire found terrible scars across his smooth skin. They seemed unreal next to the gleaming perfection of the rest of his body. Jessie knew that he worked out religiously. Now she knew why.

"Can I touch them?" she asked hesitantly.

He nodded, not daring to breathe as she stood up and traced the raised white scars that criss-crossed his back, chest, and leg.

"How many times were you shot?" she asked as she circled him, muttering at the terrible pain the scars represented.

"Three times. Point blank," he replied in a voice as hard and tight as the muscles her hand caressed.

"Oh Rhys." She cried for him. "Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

It was the thing that he'd dreaded most since he met her. The moment he held back for, planned for, and knew that he'd have to face. There was no turning back. "I wanted to be sure." He didn't touch her.

Coming from a man with his confidence and strength, the admission nearly broke her heart. When she thought about what lay behind his laughing blue eyes, she choked back a sob. And thanked God that he'd survived to be with her. "I love you. I hate that this happened to you. But it brought you to me. You should've told me."

"I'm sorry, Jessie. You're right. I just didn't know how to say it."

She put her arms around his neck and kissed him, feeling his rigid stance relax. "Make love to me." She put her lips against his throat. "Don't leave me alone tonight, Rhys. Don't shut me out."

The pressure of her breasts straining against him was pure pleasure. He brought his hands to her face, framing her cheeks with his fingers while he looked at her. "You are so beautiful." He touched his lips to her forehead and the golden slope of her cheek.

"You should've trusted me, Rhys."

"I do trust you, Jessie."

"You should've known that it wouldn't matter to me."

He sighed. "I thought you didn't want to talk tonight?"

She held her head back and studied his face in the firelight. The colors gleamed in his dark red hair. His eyes were too dark to see, shadowed by the slight tilt of his head. He was smiling at her. The curve of his lips made the tide of desire swell through her. "I don't," she answered with a shake of her head. This was the Rhys she knew. The Rhys she loved. Only the circumstances of this terrible day had made her nervous and uneasy with him.

"Then kiss me," he invited. "Quit teasing."

Jessie wound her arms around his neck and kissed his lips with a rough deliberation. Wanting him. Wanting him to weep with wanting her. She wanted him to be limp-legged and breathless. She wanted to see radiant desire in his bright eyes.

Rhys didn't laugh again. When she moved back to look at him, he covered the space between them and ravished her mouth. His hands cupped her breasts as they had the brandy goblet and his hard body pressed firmly against hers, letting her know that he wanted her.

"Rhys," she moaned when his head dipped lower and his tongue tasted the sweet cream of her breasts.

"Yes, sweetheart?" His voice was raspy as his hands skimmed lower, finding and sliding across that most feminine part of her.

She gasped and tossed her head, arching her back and holding tightly to his shoulders. "Rhys, ohhh. Kiss me!"

Rhys had wanted her for so long. His defenses had been breached by the shattering events of the day. He'd wanted to explain. He'd wanted it to be perfect when they came together. He'd wanted the act to be born of a whole soul inside of him. But coherent thought left him at her plea for intimacy.

Kiss me, she pleaded. He kissed her until her head was swimming from the heat. Their lips meshed and withdrew, teasing and giving. They shared a part of their souls, drenching themselves in each other. Their kisses forged a bond between their bodies that made her restless and hot.

She kissed him back, never satisfied until she heard an answering groan from his lips. She wanted to break through his infernal control that had kept them apart. He was strong but she wanted him to be weak in her arms. She pushed away his briefs with a firm, possessing hand and stroked his penis, carefully at first. Then when she felt the power she had over him, she became more daring.

"Oooh, Jessie, yes!"

Touch me, she begged, and he complied, his fingers whispering lines of fire down her supple body, finding the secret places that made her writhe with desire. She called out his name and he took her lips. Their tongues danced intimately, making music that their bodies followed without hesitation.

The fire blazed in the hearth. Wood crackled and spit on the stone surface throwing out heat that was nothing compared to the heat between them.

On the worn sofa, Jessie rolled to sit astride him, wriggling as she caught him between her legs. She gasped when he sat up beneath her and gently captured her breast in his mouth. "Rhys!" she cried out, holding his head to her while his hands supported her. The sweet pleasure spiral filled her and left her gasping.

He rolled her beneath him. "I love you, Jessie." He fed the fire of her passion with the strength of his body thrusting within her. She moved under him, wantonly putting his hands on her breasts, whispering what she needed and wanted. She reveled in his stifled groan of pleasure when she set her mouth to his chest.

The mindless frenzy of his kisses drove her over the edge. His hands were everywhere, exciting, feeding her white-hot fire. She burned with him inside of her. He teased her and brought her to the brink of fulfillment again and again until she felt like screaming and forcing him to quell that fierce heat deep inside of her.

"Rhys!" she groaned in need and frustration.

"I'm here, sweetheart," he whispered in a breathy voice. "Oh God you feel so good."

The intensity of the fire he built inside of her made her call his name in ecstasy. She panted and tossed her head from side-to-side but he was just beginning. Her skin was hot with tiny pinpoints of energy that electrified her. She moaned and tightened her legs around him but he continued stroking slowly inside of her until she was nothing but liquid fire, flowing and burning. Again and again he brought her pleasure. Her skin was damp and tears were in her eyes.

He folded her in his arms and she tried to slow her erratic breathing. His heart was pounding in his chest beneath her cheek. The tremors of ecstasy still made her shiver. She was left limp and spent. He created a maelstrom of emotion that sucked her down until she nearly drowned in it. Then he wildly thrust her into a thick veil of passion. She was barely conscious. He gave her all she'd asked for and more. The wild passion she hoped to inspire in him had been greater than all her fantasies.

"Tell me," she panted, wanting to know it all, "tell me how it happened."

"Just like that?" He held her tightly to him. "Okay, I thought I was invincible."

"Invincible?"

He kissed her head and cradled her body with his. "I was a cop for six years but I was ambitious. I wanted more. So I went to night school and got my law degree. I became a junior prosecutor. But I still wasn't satisfied. I worked harder and took chances on cases that would make me look good. Then I ran for District Attorney in my hometown. San Rafael had never seen a more ambitious, driven candidate. I won the election, first time out."

Jessie shook her head. "It's hard to imagine you that way."

"I was worse," he replied coldly. "I'm leaving out all the bad stuff."

"So you became the D.A.," she prompted.

"I became the D.A. But I wasn't satisfied with just being a normal D.A. I wanted to be a crusader. Two years in, there was a series of murders. Six women were raped and killed in their homes. The police weren't working the case fast enough for me. I started walking the streets, having my assistants put up fliers with the description of the man. I went on television and radio. I was like a hound on the man's scent. He wasn't going to get away from me."

"You were dedicated." She kissed his shoulder.

"I was overzealous," he corrected. "The case became my whole life." He took a deep breath. "Then one night as I was walking out from another television interview about him, the killer came for me."

Jessie felt his body tighten.

"I was walking through a parking deck and I'd just reached my car when I heard a noise. I turned around as he called my name and I saw the gun in his hand. I knew he was going to kill me. I opened my mouth. I was going to reason with him. But before I could speak, he shot me in the shoulder. He shot again and I felt the bullet rip through my chest. He shot me a third time in the leg but by the time I hit the ground, I couldn't feel anything."

"Oh God, Rhys!"

"I thought I was going to die there. Alone on the concrete. When I passed out, I didn't expect to wake up again."

"But you did." She held him tightly.

"I did. I was out of it for weeks. They thought I might never walk again. Physical therapy and learning to walk was almost as bad as being shot. I was still walking with a cane when they caught the man. They didn't even need me to testify against him. He confessed to everything."

"Why did you leave?" she asked. "Weren't you a hero?"

He laughed bitterly. "Hardly. I was still undergoing therapy when the next election came up. The people of San Rafael decided they didn't want a crippled D.A. They voted for the new guy without a second thought."

"It must've been a nightmare."

"It was a nightmare I couldn't wake up from. I was married at the time. Sheila and I had been married for five years. We had a good relationship. Or at least I thought we had a good relationship. By the time I heard about the killer being picked up, Sheila had filed for divorce. The papers were finalized the day after I was voted out of office." He shook his head. "I don't really blame her. I wasn't the same man anymore. So, I left California and came here. Then I met you."

"Then your life got totally crazy." She smiled at him.

"You are the only sane thing in my life," he disagreed. "I really thought I was going to live in this cabin alone for the rest of my life. I told myself that I didn't care."

"I wish I could have been there for you." She gently touched part of the scar on his side.

"It's good you weren't," he answered without flinching. "I was impossible for a long time."

"I'm sorry you didn't tell me sooner."

"I'm not." He kissed her. "I wouldn't change anything about tonight. Except Pat's death."

Jessie shivered. Her nightmare returned. "How could someone murder Pat? Everyone loved Pat. You know that. It would be easier to believe that he fell on the scissors and into the well on accident."

"I agree, Jessie." He tried to calm her understandable frustration. "But we can't afford to think like that anymore. Pat's dead. I can't imagine who could have killed him. But I know you didn't do it."

She leaned up slightly so that she could see his face. The firelight lined his cheeks and eyes, underscoring his chin and forehead. "Do you really believe that?"

He smiled and smoothed a strand of dark hair from her eyes. "How could you think I don't? I couldn't do anything when they took you from the wedding this morning. We had to play by their rules. That's why I went to Judge Stone. I knew he could help me get you out. I wasn't sure if I should look for someone else to represent you. But there wasn't time."

"I didn't know what to do," she admitted tearfully. "Of course, I didn't know you were a lawyer."

He held her in his arms and kissed her. "I would've found some other way if that didn't work out. Don't ever doubt me, sweetheart. I'm in this for the long haul."

She put her head against his chest and closed her eyes, listening to the sound of his heartbeat and his voice promising her the world. She'd heard those words before. They didn't last for long the first time. Not that it mattered. She had to leave him. "I love you," she whispered fiercely.

They made love again, this time in the big bed Rhys made. When he was asleep, Jessie sighed, listening to the even sound of his deep breathing. She was cradled in his arms, in the warmth of his bed. It was as right as she knew it would be. But she stared at the ceiling, unable to sleep. The past and the future crowded in on her.

She gently separated herself from him. She stood at the big window, looking out at the moon-drenched garden for a long time. She knew she had no choice. She was going to have to leave him. It was too risky. For a long time, she thought she was safe. Now she knew that she wasn't. And Rhys wouldn't be safe as long as she was with him. She loved him too much to see him hurt again. And he wouldn't want to be part of her life once he knew the truth. She dressed quickly and left him there asleep.

* * *

Sitting on the cold bricks, watching her house, made her knees stiff and her butt hurt. It was cold for September. It had been a long, cold, miserable night. She grimaced as she started to get up from her hiding place. If this was what police stakeouts were like, they could keep them. But she had to be sure she could get in and out of her house without being seen.

A hand clamped itself on her shoulder and held her in place. She knocked it away and moved back a step. Her attacker moved with her and grabbed her arm from behind. This time she wasn't getting away.

"What are you doing out here?" Rhys demanded in a cold, hard tone.

Jessie didn't try to move or look at him. "I can explain."

"I already read your note."

"Then you know why it would be better for you to leave me alone."

"I don't think it said that, Jessie," he replied. "Just some drivel about you leaving me for my own good."

"It wasn't drivel," she defended. "I meant it and it is for your own good."

He put his hands on her arms and spun her around to face him. His face came up close. She could see the tiny freckles by his angry blue eyes. Surprised by his action, her mouth formed an 'O'. She stared at him, waiting for his next move.

He surprised them both when he kissed her. Jessie leaned back into the red brick wall behind her and anchored her hands on the lapels of his jacket, bringing him with her. He was warm and smelled of the aftershave she bought for him for his birthday in July. His lips were cool and firm on hers. It took only a moment for the hard kiss to become something more. His hands were inside of her jacket. He anchored her against him.

"You're confusing me," she protested when his mouth finally left hers. "Do you want to make-out or yell at me?"

"Both. I want to chain you to my side to make sure you don't leave again."

He kissed her again. She slanted her mouth to give him better access to her warmth, sharing his in return.

"Why?" she asked when they parted again. The word sounded as blurred with emotion as her mind.

"Why what?"

"Why are you doing this?" She shook her head, hating that he found her. "Why did you follow me? Why didn't you trust my feelings on this?"

"Yesterday, we were getting married. Life was good. Today, Pat is dead. We're not married and you're treating me like a toy you can pick up and throw down when you don't know what else to do. Do you know how I felt when I woke up and you were gone?"

Jessie could never understand what it was like. She couldn't know how he'd suffered with his wife's betrayal. Or how sure he'd been that she would do the same thing. Only her note about leaving him for his own good made him hopeful.

She nodded and looked down. "I'm sorry. But I don't want you to be involved."

"I'm about as involved as it's possible to be, sweetheart. Why won't you trust me?"

She thought about his question. He pulled her into the warmth of his coat and kissed the side of her neck, nibbling on her ear. "That's not conducive to rational thought."

"That's okay. Don't think rationally. I'm not. Just tell me what's wrong."

"I'm scared," she tried, as his mouth touched the sensitive cords of her neck. "And I want to be the one to walk away this time."

"Scared?"

One of his hands was splayed across her back while the other meshed itself in her silky hair, gently stroking her neck and the back of her head.

"Scared," she repeated, drawn more and more into the seductive web he was weaving. "For you. For me. For both of us."

"Scared of what?" He tried to pay attention to what she was saying, despite the other urgings of his body. "The police? Earthquakes? Me?"

"I can't tell you." She tried to shake off the deep velvet comfort she was drawing from his nearness. It would be so easy to lean on his strength and confide everything to him. But she knew he'd insist on going with her. Or worse, that he could protect her. She couldn't be responsible for his death, too.

He looked down at her upturned face and dark, passion-filled eyes. "Don't run from me, Jessie. Let me help you."

She looked away from him and shook her head. "I've already caused one death. Let me go, Rhys."

He didn't move. "Are you talking about Pat?" He knew he was going to hate himself for asking. He didn't believe, he wouldn't believe, that she was responsible for Pat's death. He kissed her hard before she could answer. The bittersweet taste of tears on her lips made him hold her fiercely to him.

"Yes," she answered at last, knowing she couldn't confide the rest to him. "I'm talking about Pat. I loved Pat like a father. But he was killed because of me."

"Because of you?" Rhys mimicked. She wasn't making sense but he was relieved that she didn't confess to killing her friend. At least he'd found her before anything else happened.

She tried to think of a way to stall for time. He wasn't going to let her go. She'd have to slip away from him. She wasn't going to tell him anything. He'd never have enough sense to realize that he couldn't help her. They were better off apart. Hadn't she learned last night that Rhys was a hero? That kind of thing didn't die in a man. All she could do was wait for her chance.

Chapter Three

"Why didn't you just let me go?" she muttered against his wool jacket.

Rhys could see she wasn't convinced. "Let's have coffee and we'll talk. No pressure."

She had no choice but to agree. She needed time to think. She urged him through the alley, away from her house. "There's a coffee shop up here on the corner."

"Your home away from home?"

She shrugged, noticing that his causal arm around her shoulders was something more riveting. Rhys' size was deceptive. He didn't look like a body builder but his work-out routine made him strong. Jessie knew she wouldn't get away from him without being clever.

The little all-night coffee shop looked empty. Closer inspection found a man in a green jacket sitting at a booth with the waitress. Their heads were bent close together. They seemed to be discussing something more provocative than coffee.

"I'll be right with you," the waitress said when Rhys and Jessie entered.

They took a seat at a back booth, putting the stained Formica tabletop between them. Rhys stared into Jessie's shuttered face. He knew her well enough to know there weren't going to be any easy answers. "What were you waiting for out there?"

"The police," she replied lightly. "I didn't want them to arrest me again. I wanted to get back into my house."

"Why?" he demanded. "What's going on, Jessie?"

"I have to leave and I wanted to get a few things. I'm responsible for Pat's death. Isn't that enough?"

"How can you be responsible? We've already established that you didn't kill him."

"You sound like a lawyer." Why didn't she notice that before? "You shouldn't have come for me."

Rhys frowned and held her hand. "Why won't you let me help you?"

Jessie looked into his face and tears trembled on her eyelashes. "No one can help me."

"Sweetheart," he coaxed. "Let me try. I told you, I've handled situations like this before. Tell me what's wrong. We can work it out."

With a sob, Jessie freed her hand from his and covered her face. Rhys sat back, feeling like scum for making her cry.

The waitress came and took an order from him for two coffees, glancing suspiciously at Jessie. "You okay, honey?" she asked her, giving Rhys a look of disgust.

"I'm f-fine." Jessie cried behind her hand. "Could I have a glass of water, too?"

"You sure can, angel. I'll get it for you." The waitress stared cold daggers at Rhys' head before she left them alone again.

"I need to wash my face," she told him finally, moving her hands to reveal reddened eyes and a watery smile.

Rhys studied her. "We'll talk when you get back, sweetheart."

"Okay." She got up from the table. "I love you, Rhys."

"I love you, Jessie."

She left him there. She wasn't going back. She knew there was a back door. Jessie had been in the coffee shop with Pat. When they were in their own place, they were working, he used to say. So sometimes, they walked down for coffee and conversation. Pat always complained about the coffee. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. It wasn't hard to make herself cry, thinking about him. He could be oddly private and sometimes, downright paranoid. But Jessie loved him and she was going to miss him.

There was a long, dark hall where the shop stored cases of coffee. The bathrooms were off on one side of the hall. A locked door opened into the back alley. Pat loved to go in and out of the shop that way. But Pat was a nut for secret exits. He had five doors put into the house and coffee shop. He was just beginning to install new ways in and out of his condo.

Jessie glanced back into the coffee shop with a guilty heart. Rhys couldn't see her from there. She couldn't see him either. She took a deep breath. She already said her goodbyes before she left him earlier. There was nothing more to say. Outside, her feet crunched on leaves that were blowing down from the big oak trees. The sky had lightened to gray. There was no traffic on the streets. It was Sunday morning.

She barely made it around the corner when headlights flashed in her eyes. She turned to run when she heard a car door open. Strong hands grabbed her. She fought like a wild thing, all nails and teeth, twisting and squirming to get away.

"Not again," Rhys told her harshly.

Jessie went limp in his arms. "Rhys." She breathed deep gulps of air. "Thank God it's only you."

"Who were you expecting?"

She didn't answer. She let him bundle her into the car beside him then turned her head while he sped away. She sat back in her seat and stared out at the long expanse of road before them. She didn't know where he was taking them. She didn't have the heart to ask.

When they reached the Interstate, he set the cruise control and glanced at her. "We're not getting out of this Jeep again until you tell me what the hell is going on."

"I know you're angry."

"Angry?" he demanded. "You left me in the coffee shop! You cried like a pro to get me to feel sorry for you. I was a cop for six years, Jessie. I've never seen better. But I know you."

"I'm sorry," she replied, scooting closer to the door.

Rhys hit the auto-lock. The resounding click of all four doors locking was his only reply.

"I can't tell you," she answered finally. "I know you. And I know you won't leave it alone."

"If by leaving it alone, you mean leave you alone, you're right. Why can't you trust me with this?"

"It's not a matter of trust." She laughed bitterly, smoothing her dark hair back from her face. "I trust you. I love you. I don't want anything to happen to you." And I can't let myself believe that you'll want me after this, she thought to herself miserably.

"What if we were already married?"

She glanced at his taut profile then looked away. "Then maybe this wouldn't have happened."

Rhys glanced in his rearview mirror and saw the same car that had followed them home last night. The only thing that made him believe her was her obvious relief when he spoke to her in the alley. She was terrified. He realized that he wasn't the only person with a secret. What was she keeping from him?

After all, what did he know about her life before the time she came to work for Pat? He thought back over vague references and misdirected answers she'd given him about her past. He didn't push her because he wasn't willing to share his past with her. Things had changed. He'd given her the truth about his life. He needed to know the truth about hers. He looked at the car behind them. Nothing they'd done had lost their escort.

"I could find out," he told her in a pleasant voice. "It might take me an hour. I could look back at tax records for Jessie Kennedy. Trace your social security number. You gave the police your fingerprints. What do you think they're going to do with them?"

"You're bluffing."

He smiled at her. "No, I'm not, sweetheart. And neither are they." He nodded towards the rearview mirror.

Jessie looked back and saw the car that followed them from the cabin. "Let me go, Rhys! You don't have to be involved with whatever happens!"

"I'm already involved," he retorted sharply. "Whatever you're into, whoever you're afraid of. If you think they're close enough that they could grab you in the alley, don't you think they've noticed me?"

She considered his words. He was right. She'd already endangered his life. There was only one way to make it right. She had to get away from him. He'd be safe then.

Rhys watched the fleeting emotions cross her face. He hated to push her. He wanted to love her, to build a wonderful life with her. He didn't anticipate her being a murder suspect or that she had a dangerous past she'd kept from him. Who was she running from?

Jessie bit her lip. "I thought it was over. I thought it was safe."

Rhys wanted to encourage her but he kept his eyes on the road and his mouth shut.

Jessie didn't know where to begin. It wasn't something that she'd ever spoken of to another person. Even Pat didn't know her secret. But she realized the validity of Rhys' words. If his life was involved and she couldn't save him with her silence, she'd have to explain everything to him. Once he understood, he'd let her go.

"My real name isn't Jessie Kennedy. It's really Janis Anderson. My great-grandmother was named Jessie Kennedy."

"When did you take her name?"

"Five years ago. I just finished medical school and was about to start my residency."

"But you decided to take time off and work in a coffee shop for a few years?"

Jessie smiled. "Like that would happen! I was dedicated and ambitious. I was going to change the face of emergency room medicine. I was as driven as you. I was top in my class for everything that mattered. I worked over the summer to finish med school early."

"A heart attack waiting to happen."

She shuddered. "In this case, it was similar to what stopped your career short. I came off the night shift, thirty-six hours on. Thirty-six off. I was exhausted. I was living in a decent place in Richmond, considering that I was repaying twelve loans and making less than a union scale bus driver."

"What happened?" He was struck by the tangible fear in her voice.

"I was going home to pass out like always. I put the key in the lock. Then I heard a weird noise next door. There was a little old lady, Mrs. Wheeder, who lived there. She was nice. We'd talked a few times. I walked next door to see if there was a problem."

"And?" he prompted after a few moments of dead silence passed.

"A man jerked the door open as I touched the handle. He ran past me out of her apartment. It all happened so fast. I saw that he was wearing a jacket and there was a knit cap pushed back on his head. But I wasn't wearing my glasses so I couldn't see his face clearly. I thought so many things at the same time. I thought maybe he was her son. She talked about her son all the time. I thought maybe he was the maintenance man."

Jessie wrapped her arms around herself, fear etched on her well-defined features. "He stopped for a minute and looked at me. He was carrying her crystal and gold retirement clock. I realized then that he wasn't any of those people. I ran into Mrs. Wheeder's apartment and locked the door. I waited a few minutes but he didn't try to get in. I thought about Mrs. Wheeder and I walked through her apartment, calling her."

Rhys had a feeling he knew what was coming next. It was written on a thousand police reports every day.

"She was dead," Jessie confirmed. "She was hanging from the ceiling with one of her own belts. I climbed up on a chair and cut her down. I dialed 911 and then started CPR but it was no use. I couldn't bring her back."

"But you could identify her killer?"

"No!" She glanced at him for the first time since she began the story. "That was the problem. I could identify his jacket and the color of his hat but not his face. Even though we were so close. Without my glasses, I couldn't see ten feet in front of me. But he didn't know that. The police took me to the station and asked me a lot of questions. Then the District Attorney came in and talked to me. He told me that the man I'd seen had robbed and killed other elderly women. That he might never be caught if I didn't help them. By that time, I had been awake for almost forty-eight hours. I think I might have agreed to anything to get some sleep!"

Rhys knew the drill. They'd pressured her into helping them. He'd done the same thing in a few cases that he didn't think would be solved any other way. "So you agreed to help them trap the killer?"

"The man didn't know I couldn't identify him. So the police put out a statement to the paper that I was a witness and that I would testify against him. They figured he knew where I lived and would try to come back for me. They put me up at a hotel and put a policewoman in my place. I lived like that for a month before they decided that he'd left the area because he was afraid I could tell them who he was."

"And they pulled the plug without catching him," Rhys concluded with a nod of his head.

"Exactly. They found me a new apartment and I went on with my life. They assured me that it was all right, that he was gone. Then he broke into my new apartment and spray painted terrible things all over my furniture and walls. The police said it wasn't the same man. He broke all of the windows out of my car at work. He knew who I was, where I lived and worked. But the police said that it was coincidence. Finally, one night, I was driving home and a bullet smashed through the window right by my face. It lodged in the seat next to me."

"Did they finally believe you?"

"No. The District Attorney said the suspect's M.O. didn't include guns. One of the police officers argued for me to be put into a safe house. The District Attorney said they didn't have the money. I knew then that they couldn't or wouldn't protect me. I went home the next day, took a few things and left Richmond. I left my car in D.C. and took a bus from there. I changed my name and cut my hair. I didn't live any place for more than a few months. Every time I moved, I changed my name and my appearance."

"How long did you live that way?" Rhys marveled at her ingenuity. He knew she was clever and good at getting things done. He just didn't realize her level of determination.

"About two years. Then I took the bus to Charlotte and I met Pat. He gave me a job and a place to live. He didn't ask questions. I was getting ready to leave again a few months later when I decided that it was probably safe. The killer would have to be a psychic to track me that far." Jessie rested her head against the cool window. "But I was wrong. I think he killed Pat."

Rhys pulled the Jeep to the side of the road but left the engine running. He looked at her with something like awe in his eyes. "That's a hell of a secret!"

"It makes sense, doesn't it? Pat liked to walk in the garden at night. Even after he moved out. He loved that place. I think the killer finally found me here. I think he ran into Pat yesterday and killed him."

"It could be something else, too."

"But think about it! I didn't kill Pat. But maybe this is some new game. Maybe he thinks instead of killing me, he can ruin my life. Again. Or maybe he meant to kill me too and there wasn't time."

"And maybe the two aren't related at all," Rhys reasoned quietly.

"Which brings us to you." Jessie put out a trembling hand to touch his face. He turned his head and kissed her palm. "I don't want anything to happen to you. Especially now after I know everything you've already been through. Now you know why you have to let me go."

"I love you," he answered simply, taking her hand. "Living without you would be worse than being shot again."

"That's crazy! Once I'm gone, he'll forget about you. I lost him before. I can do it again."

"We don't know that you aren't safe here," he reminded her. "There's no evidence yet that links the two events."

"Spoken like a cop," she retorted, glancing up at him. She had to smile. She didn't anticipate it happening but she felt better after she told him. Just the knowledge that she wasn't alone with her terrible secret removed an incredible burden. But it didn't change her mind. Rhys might be willing to be hurt again to be with her. She wasn't willing to let that happen.

He leaned his head down and kissed her gently. "You aren't wearing glasses now. You can see my face, right? I'm not some blur you can't really describe."

Jessie laughed. "I had a good insurance plan at one of the places I worked in the first two years. I had surgery to correct my vision. I think I could recognize you in a line up."

She kissed him hungrily, her lips tantalizing them both as she pressed closer to him. Rhys brought her closer still with a hand supporting her back while the other nestled gently on her breasts. Fire raced through Jessie's veins as she twisted closer, wanting more. Their mouths fused and separated, coming back for more. Their tongues entwined intimately, like the act itself. Jessie's butt pressed against the Jeep's horn, startling them both.

"Well, that was a free show for our friends." Rhys laughed as he surreptitiously looked behind him.

"I forgot about them," Jessie admitted, pulling down her sweater.

"So did I," he added, buttoning his shirt. "But it might be for the best anyway."

"How?"

He put the Jeep back in gear. "Let them think we're so involved with each other that we haven't noticed them. There's always an edge in your opponent underestimating you. Speaking of which, no more crocodile tears or sneaky exits. We're in this together, right?"

"Right."

"I'd like something stronger on that," he told her, his eyes on the road as the traffic got heavier. "Some kind of blood oath would work."

She laughed. "I swear I won't duck out on you again. Does that work?"

"For now," he agreed. "We'll see about something more...bonding...later."

"Okay. So what do we do now?"

"We go eat breakfast somewhere and try to decide what our next move is."

They stopped at a trucker's restaurant on the Interstate. It was busy and loud with families and truck drivers. Rhys took her hand and found an empty booth with a five-dollar bill laying on the newly cleaned tabletop.

In comparison, the story he'd held inside of him for so long seemed paltry. He was astonished that Jessie had survived and grateful that she'd flourished despite everything. Finding her was a miracle in his life. He loved her laugh and her passion for life. He didn't plan on letting her go. He hoped that she felt the same about him. He couldn't force her to stay.

"Coffee?" the waitress asked, scooping up her five dollars.

"Yes," Rhys replied. "And pancakes. Lots of pancakes."

"Coming up." She winked at him. "And you?" She turned back to Jessie with a decidedly less friendly tone.

"Coffee," Jessie told her. "And toast."

When they were alone, Rhys studied her pretty face, thinking about her as an idealistic, workaholic doctor. "You should tell your story to the police. They're going to wonder why they can't find Jessie Kennedy. Or worse, they'll know you took your great-grandmother's name."

"How would that help? I can't prove that the man I saw at Mrs. Wheeder's apartment killed Pat. I can't prove any of it except what happened at the apartment that day. The Richmond police acted like the rest of it was my imagination."

He rationalized. "The killer knows who you are, or at least you were. He has some idea of what you looked like but you've changed your appearance more than once. It's been five years and you haven't heard anything from him. I'd say this man would have to be an FBI agent to find you."

"But Pat is still dead," she reminded him. "The police told me that guns weren't the killer's pattern. But knives were. Scissors are close to knives."

The waitress brought their breakfasts and left them again.

"I wonder why Pat had that account statement in his pocket?" Rhys speculated. "If he was just coming over for his usual early morning stroll, he wouldn't have it on him, would he?"

"I know I owed him the money. It wasn't like he was dunning me for it. I paid him every month. I'm sure he must have some record of it."

"Probably," he agreed. "But why would he bring it to the wedding?"

She held her coffee cup in both hands, trying to warm them. "I don't know. It doesn't make any sense. I just talked to him. If he was concerned about the money because we were getting married, he would've told me."

"He wasn't dressed for the wedding either," Rhys considered, thinking back. "I know he bought a tux for the wedding. He told me so. He was planning on wearing his red suspenders anyway. But it was a new pair."

Jessie grinned. "That doesn't surprise me. He wore them everywhere."

"He was a good man. It was a terrible death. He deserved better."

"I knew it was him when I saw the suspenders," she confessed. "All I could think about was that he had been in the well while I was out cutting my bouquet yesterday morning."

"You didn't look for your shears?" he asked, curiously.

She thought back to that time. It seemed like another world. "Sometimes, I left them laying around. They weren't always in the same place. I looked for them but I didn't think anything unusual when I didn't find them."

"And the chances are, yours are the only fingerprints on them."

Two uniformed officers walked by their table. They nodded to them but kept going towards the cash register. Jessie ducked down instinctively at the sight of them.

Rhys touched her hand. "Don't worry. You haven't done anything wrong."

"We both sneaked out away from the house." She rubbed her hand on the vinyl tabletop. "They're probably not happy about that."

"They probably don't think it was sneaking. And that was their own incompetence," he said quickly. "We weren't supposed to wake them up and tell them we were leaving. Besides, they found us again."

"I know I'm supposed to stay here until they make a determination on Pat's death. But if I stay, I could be killed. Or you could be next."

He held her eyes with his. "Have you thought that jail might be the safest place for you right now until the whole thing is sorted out?"

"I don't think that will keep me from being charged with Pat's murder. The police aren't looking for anyone else. If this man is here, he's setting me up. And you'd need to be in jail, too. Imagine what the police would think if something happened to you?"

"Nothing, if you were in jail when it happened," he replied lightly. "But I see your point."

"The police aren't going to believe my story if I tell them about the man in Richmond. I have the choice of leaving right away and hoping I can get away from him again. Or staying in jail for the rest of my life. That's not much of a choice."

"I agree."

"I don't know why Pat was there in the garden at that time of the morning but he was probably just in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"Okay," he continued, absorbing her words, "but why the statement of your account in his pocket? The killer couldn't have known that much about you."

"I don't know. Maybe Pat was going to surprise me. Maybe he had something planned in the yard and didn't get the chance to do it. Maybe the account was just an accident. Something he slipped into his pocket and forgot about."

"It's odd." Rhys stirred his coffee absently. "Pat didn't seem the type to go in for big wedding surprises. But maybe he was hiding a gift back there."

"Maybe the killer took the gift Pat brought with him but left the account statement to tie me to the murder."

"That might make sense. If Pat hadn't been there, the man might have come for you." Rhys cajoled her into eating a few bites of one of his pancakes, then proceeded to devour the mountain of them. When he'd finished and couldn't coax her into eating more than one slice of toast, he drank his coffee, then went to pay for their breakfast.

The cashier flirted with him while the other patrons looked at her strangely. Of course, she looked like a homeless person, she reflected sadly on her appearance. In Rhys' clothes and her wedding shoes, her hair barely combed, what else would they think?

The things Rhys said made sense. She wanted to think that he could help her. She'd been alone so long with her thoughts and her past that it felt strange to tell someone else.

Would he really stay with her, knowing that he could be in danger? It was too much to hope for. And too much like the first time with Robert. At the same time, she didn't know that the killer didn't follow her from the coffee shop to the police station to Rhys' house and finally to the truck stop. He could be anywhere. He could be any man of average height with a swarthy complexion.

Maybe the killer wanted revenge by killing Pat and seeing her blamed for it. Maybe he never meant her any personal harm. But Rhys might be in danger. His death would assure her a conviction of murder. She looked at him as he turned back to her. His white sweater set off his blue eyes and his dark red hair. He looked a little windblown but not as though he'd slept on the street like she did.

They walked out together. The truck stop seemed to be busier, if that was possible.

"So, what was Janis Andersen like?" he asked her.

Jessie thought about his question. "She was devoted to becoming a doctor. It was all she lived for."

"No love interests or doctors who wanted to play doctor with her?"

"There was someone. We grew up together and went to med school together. But it didn't work out. I finished high school at seventeen. I was through with med school at twenty-three. I did double classes and summer work to get done as soon as I could. I was going to revolutionize the emergency rooms of America."

"You were pretty ambitious." They were so much alike. Hadn't he been the same way? There wasn't time for anything except his career before the shooting. It was too late to change when he realized that his wife didn't love him anymore. He gave up his practice but that drove her further away.

"It was all I thought about," she continued. "My mom died when I was in college. She was the only family I had. When she was alive, I barely found time to visit her. I didn't return her phone calls. I was obsessed. Until she died. Then it was too late. I never knew my father. He left just after I was born."

"What was your mom like?"

She smiled. "My mom was the greatest cake maker in the world. She sold make-up at a retail store. I wanted to be better than that. I wanted to have it all."

"Sometimes, its easier to see things when we get older," he replied from experience. "Sometimes we can make amends and sometimes we can't. I'm sure your mother was proud of you."

"Oh, she was," she agreed. "She just didn't understand me. I had this burning desire to be a doctor. She had a burning desire to be happy. That was all. Just be happy. When I was eighteen, that didn't make any sense to me. Why wouldn't you want to be everything?" It had been a long time since she'd let herself think about her mother. Even now, it was a dull ache around her heart. Her father was the first man to leave her. But not the last.

"Do I still call you Jessie now. Or Janis?" Rhys asked her.

"I think it would be less confusing if you keep calling me Jessie. I don't know if I'd answer to Janis anymore. That name seems like a lifetime ago."

"You could go back when this is all cleared up," he suggested, getting into the Jeep. "You could take up where you left off."

"I could be a doctor again." She mused on his words.

"Hell of a lot more money in it than grinding coffee beans."

"I haven't thought about it."

"Maybe you should. Once this is settled, there's no reason why you can't go back to your dream."

"I don't know," she replied wistfully. "I might not remember how."

He turned to her and caught her hands in his. "This man has already done more to you than if he'd killed you. He's taken away your dreams. You can't let him win like that, Jessie. You have to fight back."

She smiled and narrowed her eyes on his face in the sunlight. "You sound like you know how."

He smiled back and kissed her. "I do. I forgot for a while. But you reminded me.

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