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Prologue

About 120,000 years ago, the hominid known as Homo sapiens neanderthalensis freely roamed the great continent of Eurasia. They survived and adapted to one of Earth's great Ice Ages, fashioned a diversified and complex inventory of flaked, stone tools called the Mousterian industry, and thoroughly mastered the art of making fire. Neanderthals were a hearty people, as evidenced by their massive muscles, and thick, robust bones. They also were intelligent, with a cranium size as large or larger than the newcomers to the evolutionary scene, Homo sapiens sapiens. But despite these attributes, the fossil record for Homo sapiens neanderthalensis abruptly ends about 30,000 years ago.

The great mystery still being debated in anthropological circles is: what happened to Neanderthals? Were they killed off by a change in Earth's temperature? Were they wiped out due to genocide? Illness or disease? Were they replaced by the more aggressive Homo sapiens sapiens who migrated to their lands 40,000 years ago?

Both groups co-existed for 10,000 years. Perhaps they lived together in peace, or maybe they often engaged in war--no one knows. The only fact known for certain is that Neanderthals disappeared from the face of the planet about 30,000 years ago, leaving us with this question: what or who caused their sudden extinction?

Or perhaps a better question to ask is, where are Neanderthals today?

Chapter One

She was fine, dammit. Fine. As fine as anyone could be after miscarrying in her second month and losing her beloved fiancé.

Stomping over to the large living room window in her brother Davis's apartment, Vivianne Quinn savagely swept aside the sheer curtains to look down at the cul-de-sac below. Or dead-end street, as the neighbors phrased it. At nine-thirty on a Tuesday morning, it contained no signs of life: the patter of little feet heading for school had already passed by and the parade of adults destined for their respective jobs had long since marched away. A lull in the day's activities now reigned, and would continue until lunchtime when stay-at-home moms ventured from behind closed doors to hold their toddlers' hands and wheel their babies down to the park to get some brisk April air.

Babies. Regret for what might have been stabbed her in her long-since-vacant belly. Now she'd never be able to join the mom club. Not with Harleigh as the dad, anyway. And with Harleigh gone, no other man mattered.

She glanced down at the empty street again. She'd only stayed here one week, but she had the routine down pat. That came from observing life, not participating in it. Ever since the accident, she preferred it that way.

Sighing, she released the delicate curtain. Davis' sBronx apartment with all its assorted junk was just a temporary stop until she was well enough to stand on her own two feet, figuratively speaking.

A mind-numbing headache, one of many "souvenirs" from the car crash, began to rumble through her temples so she sat on a garishly flowered two-seater sofa to massage the pain away. As she did, she glanced around. This place certainly would never be featured in a Better Homes and Gardens spread. Of course Davis had only lived here a couple of months, and it looked it. Obviously he was a devotee of thrift shop chic. Pressed board bookshelves held his many anthropology reference books; the high side tables boasted of pea green potbellied lamps; and the computer in the corner--a 500 megahertz model in need of serious upgrading--had so many sticky-notes on it, the viewing screen was the size of a fist.

Her brother's abuse of his computer system made her shudder. Which wasn't odd since she lived and breathed computers. But ignoring that and the mishmash of decorating styles, she had to admit the living room did have a touch of elegance--because of stately double French glass doors leading into the bedroom.

A sound caused her to jump. She paused to isolate the source, but it was just a noise coming from the walls. The old building creaked, just as her own wounded joints ached whenever the weather grew stormy. Another painful souvenir. But creaks, squeaks, and thuds were sounds she'd have to get used to while she stayed here.

Stomach growls interrupted Vivianne's pity party. Although four months had passed since she no longer ate for two, she might as well indulge in a mid-morning snack. She went into the kitchen to forage, but other than milk, eggs, and bread, the refrigerator was bare. Bare, like she was.

She blew out a breath of troubled air. Just what was she doing here, anyway? Why couldn't she get on with her life?

Because you should've died, too, along with Harleigh and the baby. What makes you so special that you're alive and they're not?

Releasing the refrigerator door, she clutched her head and started rocking back and forth. Damn, damn, and double damn. The pain was still so fresh, she could almost smell Harleigh's musky scent and feel the expanding pull of her waistline.

Tears blurred her vision. As always. Dear lord, she was only twenty-three. Did she have a lifetime of sadness ahead of her?

As if in reply, a knock at the front door echoed down the foyer.

Who could it be at this hour of the day? Was someone checking up on her? Friends, no matter how well meaning, always seemed to open mouth, insert foot. Her friends, anyway. She glanced in a mirror over the sink to dry her eyes and make sure her parted hair hid the scar on her forehead. Another impatient knock caused her to stiffly sprint down the narrow hallway to the door and look through the peephole. A mass of platinum curls greeted her vision.

Vivianne toyed with the option of not answering, after all she wasn't dressed for company--sweatpants and all. But she relented and cautiously opened the door. "Hello?"

A full-figured woman who obviously wasn't afraid of bleaching her curly mop stared at Vivianne. In the woman's manicured hands was a small plate covered with a paper napkin. Underneath it was something that smelled absolutely delicious. The woman gave Vivianne the once-over. "Who're you?"

Well, that was rather rude. Vivianne straightened her shoulders and put on her formal tone to answer the question with one of her own. "May I help you?"

"I sure hope so. Where's Davis?"

Such a demanding tone. Vivianne lifted her eyebrow. "I'm his sister. May I help you?"

"Oh! That's all right then." A wide smile lifted the woman's plump face. "I'm Fran. Fran Levine, the downstairs neighbor." She craned her neck to look inside the hall. "Is Davis home?"

Vivianne squelched an urge to smile. Another gal smitten with Davis. Her other brother, Donovan, also suffered that fate, which wasn't unusual because they were identical twins. "Davis is away on business."

The response was immediate. "Well, darn." Fran then noticeably brightened. "Can I borrow some milk? I just noticed I'm all out, and I've got to get ready for work." She scrunched up her face as if she were about to beg. "Please? This way the Dumpster can drown his Oreos when he gets home from school."

Vivianne massaged her forehead. Sometimes focusing was still very difficult, and truth be told, she'd just been released from the rehabilitation home. Valley of the Valium, her brothers unkindly called it. "Um, the Dumpster?"

Outside in the corridor, the woman gave a tinkle of a laugh. "The Dumpster is the 'man' of the house. My ten-year-old brother, Joel."

Fran sounded harmless enough so Vivianne invited her in. After all, if Fran was acquainted with Davis.... "Sure, you can have the whole container."

The woman walked into the kitchen as if she knew the way, which was, of course, not unusual since she purportedly lived in the apartment below. "Listen, I ran into Mr. Bambini, Davis's neighbor across the hall. He asked me to give this to you, or rather to Davis. Funny how he does the baking and not Mrs. Bambini." Fran handed over the plate. "Smells yummy, doesn't it?"

Vivianne removed the napkin to find a flaky crust-covered square. The filling looked like a blend of rice and cheese.

"It's called a torta, Mr. Bambini's specialty. He makes them every week or so. Sure wish I lived on this floor instead of mine." Fran looked at the baked item so longingly, that Vivianne cut it in half to share. The torta, however, didn't tempt her at the moment, so she left her portion on the plate.

"Thanks! You're a doll." Fran demolished the slice.

Just as Vivianne was about to open the fridge to hand over the milk, Fran darted off into the living room. Great. Now Vivianne had to deal with a nosy neighbor. Strange how when a person opened herself up for one thing, something else always followed.

Fran waited until Vivianne joined her. "So, these are Davis's digs, huh? He's never invited me in. What's he working on? He's an anthropologist, right? And he's got a book out. What an exciting life." Then, with eyelashes demurely lowered, she asked, "When will he be home?"

Vivianne fumbled with the strings on her baggy sweatpants, then tightened them, all the while fuming. She shouldn't have opened the door. She shouldn't have made an effort to be pleasant.

But Fran waited expectantly for a reply. Vivianne chose to answer the second question first. "Actually, he's an archaeologist and sometimes college professor. He's on a promotion tour for his book right now."

Davis and his writing partner, Claude Rhine, had collaborated to write a treatise entitled, Neanderthal's Nemesis. She hadn't read it yet, but it had gotten great reviews. Actually, she hadn't read much of anything over the last four months. Pain and depression blocked out even the most basic needs.

"I have no idea when Davis'll be back, Fran. And as for what he's working on, he's querying a few magazines to do a series of articles on early man. You know, Homo habilis, Homo erectus, Neanderthal--"

"Wait a minute, honey. You're way over my head. I haven't a clue what you're talking about. But Neanderthals? What's so interesting about those guys? I'm an office assistant--I work with a whole slew of 'em--college profs, don't you know?" She must've realized her faux pas. "Whoops! So Davis is a prof, too?"

This time Vivianne couldn't squelch her smile. "College professors aren't Neanderthals." Although maybe she could dispute her own statement. Davis, the younger twin by seven and a half minutes, was the epitome of a male chauvinist caveman. Donovan though, had a gentle side which he took pains to keep buried. Which she completely understood. After all, he was a New York cop. And he had been the one to pull her from the car wreckage.

The phone rang. Fran quickly returned to the kitchen, grabbed the quart of milk, then headed for the door to leave, but for some strange reason, Vivianne gestured for her to stay. Maybe it was because the woman's presence kept the tears away. Plus Fran seemed friendly. Perhaps genuinely friendly. For the last few months, the only people Vivianne'd had contact with were medical staffers at the rehabilitation home who always inquired how she was, but didn't give a hoot about the answer. Her friends had their own lives to live. No one cared to baby-sit a convalescing Ophelia.

The apartment was only wired for one telephone jack, inconveniently placed in the tiny alcove which also housed the coat closet, just off the foyer. Most likely Davis wasn't home enough to want extensions installed in the other rooms. Plus there was always cell phones.

A draft circulated up her arms and she shivered as she picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Give me Quinn."

Speaking of Neanderthals, it sounded as if one was on the phone right now. "Davis isn't here."

"Hell! I forgot." The caller paused. "Viv? Is that you?"

Sudden recognition lightened her tone. "Claude?" She covered the receiver with her hand, turned to Fran and mouthed, "It's Claude Rhine, Davis's co-author." Then she continued, "It's great to hear your voice. When did you get back from Spain?"

"Listen, I'm pressed for time. I'm presenting at the museum, Natural History, in an hour and a half." He stopped, then the timber of his voice wavered. "Viv, I brought back something big--fabulous. A perfectly preserved Neanderthal skull! And it's much more recent than the latest find dating back 30,000 years. I just know it is! This'll make me famous, all right. Meet me at the museum--eleven o'clock. I'll arrange to have you admitted to my talk."

"But--"

Click. The line went dead.

Vivianne set the phone back in its cradle. Eleven o'clock? She fingered her long, unkempt hair. Should she go? Was she up for the trip? She'd have to hustle to dress, catch the subway--

"What was that all about?" Fran questioned.

After Vivianne explained, Fran shook her head, which sent her platinum curls bouncing. "That guy sounds like a boor, expecting you to drop everything n' all. Well, it's been nice meeting you. I've got to get to work, and you've got a date with a Neanderthal!"

Laughing at her joke, Fran waved good-bye, then left for her apartment below.

Her decision made, Vivianne wasted no time. The trip to the Museum of Natural History would likely take close to an hour. She stripped off her sweatshirt and hurried into the bedroom. As she changed, the neighbor's words replayed in her mind. But Dr. Claude Rhine wasn't a cloddish primitive. In fact, she'd known him for such a long time, he was almost like another older brother. Goodness knew he treated her like a kid, just like her brothers. Perhaps that was why she was first attracted to Harleigh. He always considered her a responsible adult. He even liked to be mothered from time to time.

Claude was on his way to becoming one of the leading paleontologists in the country, and he always took great pains to let everyone know that. Although her accident had temporarily waylaid her career as an information systems technician, she still shared his interest in prehistoric fossils. Her whole family did, in varying degrees. Maybe it was in the genes.

A twinge of pain flared through her temple. Damn, damn, and double damn. Along with the ache, incomprehensible voices rasped around in her head. It was almost as if she had a static-filled radio station rattling behind her eyes. Then a flash of brilliant, blinding white burned her retinas. Unfortunately, these sensations were nothing new. Ever since the accident, she'd been plagued with them. Medical science hadn't helped. Evidently, nothing was wrong with her: it was all in her mind.

Yeah, right. She was about as logical and down-to-earth as anyone could get. Gritting her teeth and blinking her eyes, she willed the throbbing and the glare to go away.

Vivianne wiggled into her just-above-the-knees suit skirt, and concentrated on a more pleasant topic. Claude's invitation gave her an excuse to get out of the apartment. Seeing the skull he excavated would also give her an inside scoop on what was bound to be a hugely important anthropological find.

Who would have dreamed that today she'd have a chance to "meet" an actual Neanderthal?

* * *

Atop the deserted roof, the observer watched the person who was temporarily staying in apartment 17. The girl paused on the building's stoop, then continued down the steps to walk toward the corner. Although from this height, the clatter of her stacked heels against the concrete sidewalk couldn't be heard, the observer imagined the offensive sound and eyed the sight of her slim hips swaying as she increased her speed to catch the traffic light.

The observer's upper lip lifted in a sneer. Young and nubile. Yep, no question about it; she had to go, just like the mouthy slut who'd lived in the apartment before. She'd had to be eliminated, and now this one. No sense taking chances.

Visions of just how the slut had been eliminated caused the observer to smile. A swig of whisky widened the smile to a grin. Yep. That piece of trash wasn't mouthy anymore.

The smell of decomposing garbage filtered up from the dark alley on the other side of the building. Two grey and white pigeons must've been attracted to the stench, for they fluttered down onto the tarred roof, making a pit stop before going airborne again to the overfilled garbage cans below. The observer followed their flight, then turned back to locate the receding form of apartment dweller number 17.

Chances were good that she'd be gone for awhile. The service dumbwaiter could be used to scout out the place and become better acquainted with the next future victim.

Whistling an off-key tune, the observer stepped back inside the building, then tramped down to the basement.

* * *

After transferring at the 125th Street station for the subway that stopped at Natural History and Central Park West, Vivianne joined the other commuters on the platform. Hopefully, she wouldn't have much longer to wait. The temperature was uncomfortably cooler below ground, and she shivered. She should've worn something warmer instead of this crepe de chine suit, but sometimes dressing up lifted a person's mood.

It didn't work with her. Truth be told, she wished she was still in her sweats. She quickly glanced around the platform and saw she was the only one wearing business attire.

A chill crept up her spine and fear quickened her heart. Did anyone notice she looked out of place? Could anyone see her private sorrow?

No. No commuters seemed interested in a melancholy, overdressed woman. Lost in their own worlds, her fellow subway travelers paid no attention to her or to each other.

Although affirmations were as alien to her pre-accident self as flower gardens on Mars, she took a deep breath to calm down and recited a soothing one she'd learned at the rehabilitation home. Panic attacks could come on suddenly, so she didn't have a choice about the affirmations. If she didn't meet the attacks head on, she'd end up curled in a fetal position for the rest of her life.

There. Better. As she shined the tip of her shoe on the back curve of her nyloned leg, she pinched her lips. Funny how she always worried about silly things now.

But remembering this morning's conversation with Claude caused her to unpinch them and smile. How thoughtful of him to include her on this presentation of the ancient skull--which, of course, she assumed he'd display. He'd been in Spain when Harleigh's car skidded off the road and plunged down into the ravine. Would Claude notice how different she looked? How different she'd become?

She shrugged. It didn't matter. He'd never liked Harleigh; neither of her brothers did, either. No doubt Claude would lecture her with "I told you so" written all over his face.

No sign of the train. She leaned against a subway pillar and pulled Claude and Davis's book out of her handbag. Neanderthal's Nemesis, was, of course, modern man. The Neanderthal dilemma had always intrigued her, too. Why did these "cousins" of humankind, who so successfully adapted to the frigid climes before and during the last Ice Age, become extinct despite their advantage of enormous physical strength and large brains?

Strange how, though several theories abounded, no one had come up with a satisfying answer. Her logical nature abhorred an unsolved mystery.

Vivianne took one more look around the dimly lit platform, then opened the book to read. Although morning rush hour had long since ended, quite a few people congregated on the platform, waiting for the train's approach. No rumblings from within the tunnel meant she had to continue to wait. There was no telling when the subway would arrive.

Five minutes ticked by. Suddenly, the hairs on the nape of her neck stood on end. Still reading, she frowned. Although a rush of air had chilled her from the approach of an express train passing through, this feeling had nothing to do with the cool breeze. In fact, a sudden vibration of garbled words rustled through her mind. Foreign words she'd heard so many times since the accident. Words she never could decipher.

She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Someone watched her; she just knew it. This time she wasn't being paranoid. She shifted her gaze from the book toward the source of her concern. It was a man: a man's form loomed large in front of her, about a yard away, with another man behind him. As if scalded, she quickly dropped her gaze to the platform floor.

But she was still being stared at. She could feel it, and she had to do something about it. Starting with the feet, she looked at the closest man, taking in his laced, dark brown suede shoes, his stonewash denim jeans overlapping on the tops of those large shoes, and the casual fit of the jeans. Slowly, she raised her gaze. Powerful thighs, lean hips,...mmm, she loved lean hips. She reached his midsection, then stopped.

Whoa. His massive chest in no way could be disguised by the loose, grey tee shirt he wore. His arms, folded against the chest, were rich with chiseled muscles while his hands must've been twice the size of hers. The other man, standing to the rear, also appeared huge and bulky, but of an average height.

Nervously, she brushed her hair back behind her ear. Her heart issued several distress calls, while perspiration beaded her skin. Why was he looking at her? What did he want?

Did she look okay?

Somehow, she found the courage to continue her inventory. First, she encountered broad shoulders, then a bull-neck. Then she came to the strong jaw covered with a dark five o'clock shadow. Hollowed out cheeks, straight nose, and glowing hypnotic eyes. Even in the faintly illuminated subway platform, she could make out the piercing color. Heavy brows hung over the greenest of eyes.

Intimidating, very intimidating, and his gaze focused steadily on her.

She took an inadvertent step back. If only she were back at the rehabilitation home--safe and protected. But wait, his gaze was on the cover of her book, not her. He must've felt her staring at him for he looked up, and for a moment, her head spun with the intensity of his emerald eyes.

"I startled you, ja? My apologies." The stranger spoke with a slight accent. German, possibly. Then he inclined his head. "Your book caught my attention."

The second man, older with a grizzled crew cut, thick beard, and a carrot shaped body, folded equally massive arms against his chest, then turned his gaze toward the entrance of the tunnel. His facial features, what she could see of them, were a bit exotic. For some reason, he gave her the impression of being a bodyguard.

She glanced back at the first man's stern features and her anxiety faded a notch. Anyone curious about an out-of-the-ordinary subject like anthropology couldn't be bad. Not all bad, anyway. It was a miracle, but somehow she overcame her fearful reluctance to talk to strangers and held out the book to the man. "Would you like to look at it?"

Although his eyebrows seemed to be permanently knitted as if forever frowning, he gave her a miniscule smile. "I would. You are kind." He stepped closer and took the book.

As if nothing else in the world existed for him, the man devoured the text on both the front and back covers, then flipped through pages, stopping to read, then continuing his perusal.

Which gave her time to peruse him. His large forehead sloped back to meet neatly cut and shaped auburn hair. The perfection of his short haircut was in contrast with the dark stubbles on his jaw. She guessed him to be in his mid-thirties, about thirty-four. He wasn't handsome in the classical way that Harleigh had been, but this man had tremendous physical appeal just oozing from him. Something about him increased her heartbeat, lifted goose-bumps on her skin, and made her knees wobbly. He affected her as a man, and that thought was not only disturbing, it was unwanted.

But yet, she wasn't the only one affected by him. Nearby female commuters seemed to eye him with curiosity as well. A few even smoothed back their hair and licked their lips in preening gestures. The man's thick-bodied companion, though, elicited none of this interest. He appeared as inviting as a brick wall.

The formidable man thumped the book closed. "Interesting." He handed it back to her, then clasped those huge hands behind his back, said something to his friend in a language she didn't recognize, and looked down the track. Obviously he was through talking to her.

If she lived to be one hundred, Vivianne wouldn't understand why she didn't want the connection to end. Maybe, as her therapist back at the rehabilitation home had suggested, she would overcome the trauma of her accident in her own time. Or maybe she had finally gone bonkers.

Well, so what? If anyone was entitled to go crazy, it was her.

"Isn't the premise of Neanderthal's Nemesis fascinating?" she asked him. "Once modern humans came on the scene, we became competitors of the Neanderthals. We won out because of our speech and language abilities."

After slipping the book back into her handbag, she smoothed her hair down over the side of her forehead to make sure that it covered the mottled scar. The accident and subsequent surgery had added a thick line of pink to that side of her brow, along with several suture marks. Still tender to the touch, it bothered her as a reminder of what had happened rather than because of its appearance.

The men exchanged glances, then the younger one turned his powerhouse gaze back on her, probably unaware that he was responsible for her labored breathing. "Just so," was all he said.

Hmmn, he wasn't biting. As if she were somebody's puppet, she used behavior foreign to her: she toyed with one of her large gold earrings and flashed him a bright smile. "I, um, I know the authors."

He curved his lips into that tiny, disinterested smile again. "How fortunate for you."

Vivianne floundered, then gave it one last shot. "Um, thanks. One of them is a paleontologist and just returned from an archeological dig in the south of Spain."

The man raised an eyebrow. "Indeed?" His companion also stirred, and shuffled his large feet nearer to her position.

Bingo! He was listening. But why was she behaving this way? It was almost as if she had no choice but to bat her lashes and simper at the man.

She was revolted by her behavior, but continued her out-of-character conversation, anyway. "Yes, and do you know what? He dug up a Neanderthal skull in perfect condition."

"Really?" The younger man spoke, but both of them straightened to a military stance.

She had his full attention now. "Claude, that's Dr. Claude Rhine, is presenting his findings at the Museum of Natural History. At eleven o'clock." Glancing at her watch, she made a face. Drat, she only had ten minutes to get there.

"Where is this site in Spain?" With the man's guttural voice, the question sounded like a command. Plus his accent seemed more pronounced.

Another headache blasted from temple to temple, but only for a second. When the pain had gone, her good sense, which had obviously fled before, now snapped her firmly back in place. What had she been doing, making calf eyes so outrageously? A sliver of fear shot through her. Fear not only of the stranger, but also at her unnatural actions.

She smoothed out pretend wrinkles on her silk crepe de chine sleeve. "I believe it was a cave in Zafarraya," she coolly replied as she stepped away from the pillar to be closer to a young rapper couple standing mid-platform. "I wonder when the train will come."

The man leaned over the track to look into the tunnel. "I hear it. It will arrive momentarily."

Vivianne strained her ears, but only the plip-plop of water gurgling in between the train rails could be heard. But the next second, a dull roar sounded--the roar of an approaching train.

He cleared his throat. "Now you will not be late for your friend's presentation."

How astute of him to deduce her destination.

The train slid into the station, squealed to a halt, then all the doors flew open. After the departing passengers cleared, the man extended his muscled arm. "After you."

She perfunctorily smiled, assuming their conversation was at an end, and stepped into the middle of the train. Although there were plenty of seats, she preferred to stand, so she held onto a sleek silver pole. Besides, she only had to go six short stops.

The man gripped a pole adjacent to hers. His friend chose a strap to hang onto.

"I have relations near there," the emerald-eyed hunk said to her. As the train started to accelerate, he raised his voice through the noise. "Near Zafarraya."

Her cautious side wanted to turn away and ignore this stranger, but another part of her wanted to bask in the glow of his hypnotic eyes. This was all too weird. His eyes were nothing like Harleigh's, but she gave in and also raised her voice. "You do? In Spain?"

He nodded solemnly, not taking his gaze off her.

While she swayed with the motion of the train car, he stood rock-solid, almost as if he were an extra pole coming up from the floor. She stretched closer to him so she could talk into his ear, over the noise of the speeding train. "Claude, my friend, isn't sure, so I guess that means he hasn't carbon dated the Neanderthal skull yet, but he thinks it's much more recent than the established date of extinction of about 30,000 years ago. Isn't that incredible?"

What also was incredible was the man's exhilarating woodsy scent. Inhaling deeply, she closed her other senses to concentrate on swirls of pleasure drifting down her body. Whoa. This man had mighty powerful pheromones--those natural chemical scents produced to attract the opposite sex. Yes, that was it. That had to have been the explanation for her unwelcome attraction to him.

In order to facilitate hearing, he also spoke into her ear. Each word vibrated down her now-more-aware pathways--straight into her core. "Your friend believes his discovery dates to less than 30,000 years? Ja, that is incredible."

Obviously his companion must've overheard for he also nodded and said something that sounded like a growl.

She stared at the heavy-featured companion. His eyes gleaming like cold grey steel, he ignored her scrutiny, and slowly turned his large head to take in the sights of the subway car.

When the train reached its next stop and opened the doors, she glanced around the car and noticed a small silver-haired Asian lady huddled in a seat, avidly looking at her. The woman gave Vivianne a wink. Chagrined that she still stood so close to the stranger, she moved away from the man's potent masculine fragrance. Was the fact that she was flirting written on her face? Why was the woman so interested?

The momentum from the train starting up again didn't budge him. "We also go to the museum. We are...tourists." The man held out his right hand for a shake. "Max. Maximilian Vogelherd. And my friend is Stan Kishinev."

The other man nodded.

Holding on to the pole, she extended her right hand for a handshake. "And I'm--"

Omigosh! The warmth of his hand pulsed through her as if a thousand volts suddenly zapped her body. That casual contact felt as intimate as a sensual massage. All systems cried, "Overload! Overload!" She blinked rapidly, frantically trying to gain control of herself. One shake, then she quickly disengaged. "I'm Vivianne Quinn."

From the seat below, the little granny beamed a grin and nodded at her as if in approval.

Vivianne must've flushed redder than lipstick. She crossed fingers hoping Max Vogelherd hadn't seen her react like an adolescent. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she bit her lip and steadied her breathing. What in the world was going on? Maybe she shouldn't have left the rehabilitation home so soon.

"Quinn," Max repeated. "The co-author of that book was a Quinn. Davis Quinn."

"My brother," she explained, keeping it short since she wasn't completely in command of herself yet.

Max didn't give the impression that he was astonished at the coincidence. "Quinn. That is a good Celtic name, ja?"

They stopped at another station. The silver-haired lady got up, and patted Vivianne's hand. "Good fortune to you, dearie." She stepped off onto the platform and the doors closed behind her.

"Do you know that woman?" Max shifted his amazing gaze to look out the window although the train's motion now made everything a blur.

"Um, no. She was just being friendly, I guess." Vivianne tightened her grip on the pole as she likewise tightened her overactive libido. She had no need for a subway romance...or any romance. But politeness demanded she continue talking with Max. At least until they exited the train. "So, are you and your friend seeing the sights?"

"Ja, I am checking out museums." He dug his hand into his jean pocket and pulled out a brochure. "Just came from The Cloisters."

She reluctantly tore her gaze away from his wonderfully form-fitting jeans to look at the brochure. He and Stan obviously weren't that interested in the well-known uptown reproduction of a European monastery with its unrivaled collection of medieval art since, as it was only eleven o'clock, they hadn't spent much time there.

Max turned toward the front of the car. "I am more interested in exhibits concerning early man," he said, which confirmed her assumption.

"Then Natural History's the place to visit." Again, her curiosity was piqued. Not too many people liked to rehash the merits of the so-called Java man--Pithecanthropus--over Peking man--Sinanthropus, to name only two ancient hominids excavated from the earth. Her family did, of course, as did Claude, but no one else she knew. Harleigh had always poked fun at her for being interested in the past--maybe because it had nothing to do with her job with computers. His passion had been painting; little else excited him.

Max's nostrils flared, and he pronounced, "Smoke," more to himself than to her.

The other man also wriggled his large nose. Again he said something unintelligible. He glanced at her, then stated, "Tobacco."

At that non sequitur, Vivianne looked around the car. She didn't smell anything. But then she spotted a lone traveler sitting close to the train's connecting door. A plume of smoke rose up from a cigarette that he obviously tried to conceal.

Max stared at the man. "Unhealthy," he said succinctly.

What acute senses. And what a fascinating man Max was. What was even more amazing was her reaction to him. Imagine talking so freely to a stranger! Although on one level, it felt good, she also felt guilty. She shouldn't be enjoying herself. And what would her new therapist, Dr. Madeline Yamana, say about her behavior?

When the train pulled into the 81st Street stop, part of her admitted that she was glad the ride...and the connection to Max was over. However, the other part of her was sorry. "Well, here we are."

He followed her out onto the subway platform, with Stan solidly tagging behind. "I will escort you inside the museum, ja?"

"Sure." No harm in that and it was certainly a gentlemanly gesture. They walked out into the fresh air, along the museum's side steps and up to the statute of Theodore Roosevelt guarding the magnificent entrance. Max stopped to study the memorial, then just like a typical tourist, gazed at the four gigantic Ionic columns and the huge display flags advertising the latest exhibit. Stan, however, seemed content to hold up the rear by keeping his focus straight ahead, about three steps in back of them. If he was a bodyguard, he certainly took his duties seriously.

Once inside the building, she became all business. She picked up a floor plan brochure from a display stand and handed it to Max. "You'll probably want to see the dioramas at the Hall of Human Biology and Evolution. The Hall's here on the first floor, diagonally across from where we are right now." Glancing at a clock, she saw she was eight minutes late. Oh well. She got here as soon as she could on such short notice. Claude would have to realize that.

Max took the floor plan, then shook her hand. "It was a pleasure talking with you, Ms. Quinn. Perhaps we will meet again."

Again, his warmth flooded and overwhelmed her. Left gasping, she could only watch as he and his friend made their way into the great galleries. Broad shoulders, narrow waist, firm butt...yeah, Maximilian Vogelherd was a fine example of male sexuality, all right. Not that she was interested.

But as for meeting again, in a city as vast as New York? She shook her hair back, and straightened her suit jacket. No, that was highly unlikely.

Chapter Two

"I'm sorry, Ms. Quinn. Dr. Rhine's presentation's been cancelled." A museum assistant handed back Vivianne's identification card. "We have a lecture on Pre-Columbian civilization scheduled at 11:30 if you'd like to attend--"

"But I just spoke with Dr. Rhine this morning." Vivianne peered over the stocky man's shoulder to look inside an empty conference room. "He invited me."

The assistant spread his pudgy dark hands. "Dr. Rhine called it off, miss. I overheard one of the researchers talking about it. He said Dr. Rhine sounded agitated, almost, er, paranoid." Coughing slightly as if to soften his words, the man excused himself and returned to his duties.

Paranoid? Now that was a description she could apply to herself nowadays, but to self-assured Claude? How odd. She pulled out her cell phone to see if she'd missed any messages from him, but no one had called.

So that was that. Turning on her heel, Vivianne strode down the corridor. She would salvage her trip by visiting some of the new exhibits. After all, she hadn't visited the museum...or anyplace else in over four months.

She passed by the Hall of African Mammals and stopped to view the herd of stuffed elephants that greeted visitors at the entrance. The elephants were so real, so huge and imposing, she could almost imagine being transported to the wilds of the African plains.

A strange sensation wiggled up and down her spine. Something like excitement. Now why would elephants excite her? As she tugged on her gold earring, she tried to analyze her feelings.

It's not the elephants, Vivianne. It's their huge and imposing qualities. They remind you of that man, Max Vogelherd. Maybe you'll run into him, again.

No! That thought made her freeze. The last thing she wanted or needed was to become involved with someone else. Forget Harleigh and their baby? Never!

Tears stung her eyes. Ignoring the elephant herd, she made her way toward the ladies room to recover.

* * *

By 12:30, Vivianne's desire to sightsee was filled and her belly empty. Her disappointment at this morning's cancellation had been redeemed by rediscovering the museum's fabulous exhibition halls, so today hadn't been a waste, after all. But now the stomach made its needs known, overriding any further desire to explore.

She rode the elevator down to the lower level where the food court was. And if she hadn't been aware of its location, the din from the chatter of excited visitors and the aroma from freshly cooked French fries would've tipped her off. Or maybe she should call them dinofries, for what else would the Dinersaurus Cafeteria serve?

Glancing at the selections, she twirled a lock of hair around her finger, and debated on whether to order fast food...or fast food. A tap on the shoulder caused her to spin around.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Quinn. How good to see you again." It was him: Max Vogelherd, looking strong and serene among the noisy school children scurrying back and forth from the counters, perhaps on their first class trip.

"Oh, what a coincidence! Hi." Strange how her heartbeat increased its tempo just by looking at this man. A quick scan of the food court revealed his companion nowhere in sight.

Max's brilliant eyes narrowed. "Did you enjoy your friend's presentation?"

"Um, it got cancelled." Irrational, true, but she didn't want him to know Claude had backed out. "That happens sometimes."

Max raised his dark eyebrow, then bent down to help a small ebony girl struggling with a heavy tray. "Here you go, young lady." He set her tray on the table, then patted the child's cornrow braided head. After straightening his back, he focused his mesmerizing gaze on Vivianne. "Are you hungry, Ms. Quinn? Would you care to have lunch with me? We could go someplace quieter."

The thought of eating away from this noise was immensely appealing. "Yes, I'd love to." As soon as she spoke, she could've kicked herself. Who would've imagined Vivianne Quinn acting so wanton? Lunching with a complete stranger? And almost jumping at the chance? If only her therapist could see her now!

Well, it was just lunch, and truth be told, she was getting a little anxious being in close proximity to so many people. Months in near isolation could do that to a person.

But was this to be a twosome or a threesome? "Where's your friend?"

Max shrugged those broad shoulders of his. "Stan prefers to study the exhibits." He gave her that tight little smile. "Shall we?"

"Sure. Let's go." She grinned at her own audacity. Participating in life had more merits than merely observing it.

As they headed up the stairs, Vivianne felt absurdly pleased with herself for taking this step. "What would you like to eat?"

"Burgers and beer. Is that all right with you?" For the first time since she met him, he smiled without restraint, which completely lit up his saturnine face. "There is a café close by, I am told. It is supposed to be very good."

Opening the exit door for her, he trotted down the museum steps, and set a brisk pace west on 81st Street. He must've been really hungry. Big man, big appetite. She increased her speed to keep up with him, again glad she had stepped outside her comfort zone.

And why not? It was a beautiful day to be alive. No need to feel guilty about it. Uptown Manhattan was in full bloom, filled with hustling businessmen; wide-eyed tourists; Central Park matrons; and impeccably behaved pedigreed dogs taking their owners for a stroll. Sidewalk planters filled with yellow tulips welcomed each passerby, and young sapling trees budded with new growth. The sun, bright and golden, bathed the busy street with shards of warmth, issuing a preview of the heated summer to come. This day was truly like a second chance for her. She unbuttoned her suit jacket and lifted her hair off her neck.

With a quizzical eyebrow, he took in her actions.

"It's hotter than I anticipated," she explained.

"Perhaps I walk too fast." He slowed down. "So what do you do for a living?"

Ouch. A flash of pain tightened every muscle in her body. She took a deep breath, shuttered away her sorrow, and used a neutral voice to reply. "I'm an information systems technician with a small brokerage firm, but I've been on leave for a while now, recovering from an accident." A long while. The sick days she'd accrued with Tate, Irving, and Thurston's had been used up three months ago. Plus her savings account was almost depleted as well.

Could he tell from her tone that she didn't want to discuss this topic?

"I see." And that was all he said.

Bless him for not pressing her!

Max guided her over to a flock of sparrows now pecking the sidewalk concrete for almost invisible bread crumbs. The birds, obviously used to pedestrians, sensed no need to fly away, but just continued with their meal. "Life always finds a way, ja?" He cast her a sideways glance. "You also are interested in anthropology, as your brother?"

Vivianne smiled. "Brothers, two. Yes, all us Quinns are infected with my father's passion, in one form or another. What do you do?"

Max left the sparrows behind. "I am something of a researcher, with a taste for genealogy, I guess you might say. Look, here is the café already."

It was a pleasant little spot, sporting fancy green awnings and stone walls brightly painted with art. Max opened the restaurant door, asked if a window table was okay with her, then held out a chair for her to sit. He even made sure she had a menu. What a gentleman!

Fiddling with her dangling earring, she studied him from across the table. If he was an example of a European gallant, then vive la différence! Claude could be rather self-absorbed at times, and Davis sometimes just had one word in his vocabulary: "me." Donovan wasn't so extreme, and Harleigh...well, she couldn't bear to think about him.

Flagging down the server--a sullen young man with an impossibly thin nose--Max made his selection. "Your biggest burger and ein Bier for me. Beck's Dark, if you have it."

The server gave an almost imperceptible nod, then turned his bored gaze on Vivianne.

She requested separate checks and ordered a Caesar salad with a diet soda.

After a flutter of eyelids, a yawn, and a shuffling of feet, the server left to carry out their order--she hoped.

"Bah. That is all you want to eat? No meat?" Max placed his elbows on the table and leaned forward toward her. As if he didn't like what he saw, he frowned. "You will waste away, Ms. Quinn. This is not good, especially if you are convalescing."

She nibbled on her lower lip. Most men had considered her cute before the accident. Rather like an adorable puppy was how Harleigh had put it. Had she changed so much? She self-consciously adjusted the hair over her forehead to hide the scar. "Please, call me Vivianne, okay?"

To her surprise, their drinks arrived quickly, and Max heartily imbibed from his mug. He wiped away beer foam from his lip, then gave her a level look. "Vivianne, do you live with a friend, a boyfriend?"

She flushed. "No. I live alone." Now. She lived very alone now. For the first time in her life. After leaving her family home in Yonkers, she'd moved into Harleigh's house in the Bayside section of Queens. But now that place was up for sale, and there was no way she'd go back home to be under brother Donovan's watchful eye. Although most of her possessions were still packed away there, waiting for her to find a place of her own.

"I don't even have any pets." Meeting Max's gaze head on, she said evenly, "And that's a very personal question."

He sat back in the chair and stared at her as if seeing her for the first time. "Is it? I was not aware." He drummed his fingers on the wood tabletop. "My apologies."

Probably impatient for lunch, she thought. "No harm done, Max." She liked his name. So apt. Maximum size. "Where are you and Stan from?"

Instead of replying, he watched their server approach; Max's concentration was akin to a panther stalking its prey. Fortunately the sullen waiter didn't seem to be intimidated by it.

"Good. Food." The hamburger now in front of Max was the biggest and juiciest that she'd ever seen, and he lost no time in biting into it. Relief seemed to smooth the rough edges of his face. "As for your question, Vivianne, that also is personal, ja? But I will answer. Stanislav, Stan, has spent a lot of time in Russia, where his family comes from. He also studies genealogy."

Max took another bite, revealing the largest teeth she had ever seen. Feeling a bit like Little Red Riding Hood with the Big, Bad Wolf, she sat back from the table.

"As for me," he continued, "actually, I have lived in quite a few places, including England. My grandfather was from Birkenhead, near Liverpool. In fact, I went to Oxford University for a few years."

She blinked back her surprise. So he was British? That brought up another personal question, but did she dare ask it? Taking a forkful of the salad, she crunched on toasted croutons, and savored the creamy flavored dressing. Much tastier than institution food. "What about your, um, accent?"

He downed the rest of his beer. "Would you care for another drink? No?" He signaled for another beer. "I spent a great deal of time in Germany as I have family there, too."

Somehow he managed to finish his burger before she had eaten half her salad. He also chugged down his second beer as if eager to leave. Maybe he was. And maybe she had been too nosy with her questions.

About to ask him more about Germany, she stopped. A sharp pain traversed through her temple, bringing with it a rumble of harsh sounds only she could hear.

The throbbing didn't last but a moment, and she looked up to see Max staring at the restaurant's entrance. A heavy scowl transformed his face into a fearful mask. "Is anything wrong?" she asked.

The café door jingled, admitting another diner. Glancing at the new arrival, Max muttered an oath, but it wasn't in English. She didn't have to be a linguist to know an expletive when she heard one.

He stood and indicated for someone to join them.

Vivianne turned to see a casually dressed woman, in jeans and a tee shirt, walking towards their table--a woman who was short in stature but not in presence. Shapely and strong, she might have been Miss Bodybuilder, USA for all the muscles her arms revealed. Attractive, sure, but by the shape of her protruding jaw, she was definitely in need of an orthodontist.

Ouch, that was catty. Vivianne watched the woman--whose short, dark hair was mannish in style--maneuver around crowded tables, then stop by Max's side.

An uncomfortable silence ensued. The woman turned her violet-eyed gaze on Vivianne, and somehow her headache returned.

"I waited for you at the museum, Maximilian. Where were you?" Those beautiful, deep-set violet eyes gleamed brightly, almost menacingly, under the florescent lighting. The woman also had an accent, not as harsh as Max's, but foreign nonetheless.

"I had other business." Max shrugged. "Have a seat." He pointed to a chair.

The woman glared at Vivianne, but followed his request. "Where is Stanislav?" Resting her elbow on the table, she consciously or not flexed her bicep muscle. It bulged with disturbing regularity.

Ordering a beer for the woman, Max answered, "I left him at the museum. He prefers fossils to food. So much to learn there, ja?" He turned to Vivianne. "Vivianne, allow me to present a relative of mine. Vivianne Quinn, this is Nilda Almansa."

This Amazonian battle maiden actually snorted, but she extended her powerful hand for a shake. "How do you do." It was a statement, not a question.

Her grip was strong, almost painful. Then suddenly, her dark eyebrows raised, widening her eyes so that the white showed above the iris'. "Quinn, do you say?" She glanced at Max, then refocused on Vivianne. "A good Celtic name."

Soda caught in Vivianne's throat, and she coughed to clear it. "A good Celtic name" was exactly what Max had said in the subway. How very, very peculiar.

"Are you all right, Vivianne?" Max's solemn face was filled with concern.

"F-Fine," She sputtered, no longer interested in finishing her salad. For some reason, Nilda gave her the creeps. Maybe it was just that she had never seen such deeply lavender eyes before. Or maybe it was the thought that even though Nilda was about seven inches shorter, with biceps like hers, one punch and Vivianne would be history.

Max signaled for the server again, then turned toward Nilda. "Vivianne and I became acquainted on the subway, then saw each other again at the museum. She was kind enough to join me for lunch at this café you recommended."

Nilda downed her mug of beer in record time. "Good beer. I can tell the barley malt is specially roasted." She moved her chair away from the table. "So glad you met my cousin, Ms. Quinn. I am certain he enjoyed your company." Standing up, she folded her arms across her very ample breasts. "Maximilian, we must leave. Now. There is much to do."

"We cannot leave yet, Nilda." His guttural voice contained a reprimand. To the server, he said, "The bill, please."

The young man must've taken offense at the order for he sniffed, which completely closed off his nostrils for a moment, then left to tally checks.

Max gave Vivianne that tiny smile of his, the one that neglected to reach his eyes. "Although my cousin is staying in the city, she often forgets the niceties of civilized living."

What an unkind thing to say. Evidently Nilda also thought so because she glowered at him.

The server returned and placed the charges on the table. Vivianne leaned over to get her bill.

"Nein. No, you must allow me." Holding out his hand for the bill, Max waited for her to obey. His eyebrows descended even further, almost hiding the color of his eyes. "You are my guest. I insist."

Nilda sat back down, transferring her gaze from Max to Vivianne. "Yes, you will quite insult him if you refuse."

Whoa. Vivianne fingered her earring a little nervously. "I thank you, really but I would feel better if I pay--"

"No. This is my, how do you say, my treat." He snatched the paper, then reached into his pocket and removed a hundred dollar bill out of a money clip.

Gosh, he was awfully high-handed, wasn't he? But why fight about it? "Well, thank you, Max. I enjoyed lunch."

Nilda had a one-track mind. She stood. "Now we go."

Vivianne glanced at the hundred. The total charge had come to around sixty bucks. Surely he wanted change?

Max smiled again, but this time, he looked amused. "You are concerned about my finances, ja? Too much of a tip, is that it, Vivianne?" He tugged on Nilda's arm, pulling her back into her chair. "We wait for change."

Nilda looked as though she was readying to snort fire at Vivianne, but the woman restrained herself.

"Besides," Max leaned over, this time grasping Vivianne's hand and sandwiched it between his two huge ones, "I have a favor to ask of Vivianne."

Now Nilda squirmed in her chair.

Omigosh! Vivianne must've blushed vivid scarlet. His body warmth traveled up her arm and down her chest to settle in the most indecent places! Just what kind of favor was he asking?

"It concerns my cat."

"Your cat," she repeated, taken completely off guard.

"Ja. My cousin is kindly letting Stan and me stay with her during our visit, but the problem is my cat, Eins. I am afraid he is not used to sharing space with other animals, and Nilda has a dog."

Nilda made a gurgling noise, then quickly drank from a glass of water on the table.

With her hand still trapped, Vivianne wasn't able to think. She removed it and placed both hands in the safety of her lap. "Eins? Doesn't that mean 'one' in German?"

"True, number one. Eins thinks a lot of himself."

She laughed. She couldn't help it. Who would've imagined this mammoth guy under the paws of a housecat? "So how does your cat concern me?"

Max focused his extraordinary gaze on her face. "I need a temporary home for Eins. For about two weeks. Four at the most. I will bring his supplies, and if I may be allowed to visit once in awhile?"

She should've said no. She should've turned him down right off the bat. After all, it was Davis's place, not hers. But the heat of his hands caused her insides to flip-flop. Then those amazing eyes reached out to remove any will she had of her own. It was almost like being in a trance right there at the café in front of all the other restaurant patrons. In fact, the buzz from nearby conversations seemed to drown out her own internal thinking.

Before she realized she was speaking, she heard herself say, "Sure."

Their server languidly removed the bill, yawned, then left for the counter. Someone else returned with change. At the interruption, Vivianne broke contact with Max, trying to collect her thoughts. What kind of madness had seized her? The man was a total stranger. She didn't know him at all. Man, oh man, she was a dog person; she didn't even like cats.

Well, she'd never owned one, anyway.

"Good!" Max stood and helped her to her feet. "It is settled then. I will bring Eins by your place about seven o'clock tonight."

About to protest, she closed her mouth instead. What was done was done. Maybe the cat wouldn't shed too much on the furniture.

Max held the café door open, allowing her and Nilda to step outside. Inhaling deeply of the fresh air, Vivianne silently berated herself for being a pushover. Maximilian Vogelherd was one smooth operator, that was for certain. More effective than anyone she knew. With a little nudging, he extracted the address from her, too, but she sure as heck didn't offer any directions.

He walked her back to the subway entrance, with Nilda reluctantly following. "I will see you at seven, then. Auf Wiedersehen."

"Good-bye. Nice meeting you, Nilda." Descending the stairs, Vivianne watched Nilda and Max's departing figures. Nilda obviously spoke with her hands for she wildly gestured this way and that. Such a strange couple. And cousins, to boot.

But what was stranger still was Vivianne's agreeing to house this man's cat. Gosh, she'd better come up with a good story to cover the truth. Davis probably wouldn't mind, but if her brother the cop ever found out about this unorthodox meeting, Donovan would have her head.

* * *

"What was that all about?" Nilda asked, her words incomprehensible to any passersby.

Replying in the same language, Max pointed across the street to Central Park. "Let's walk in the park." Turning his back on the museum's magnificent frontage, he strode to the corner and waited for the traffic light to change.

Nilda persisted by his side, as a stubborn fly might, attracted by a piece of raw beef. "What about Stanislav?"

"I told you, he is at the museum. Checking out inventory and security. If they do have any genuine articles, as our source indicated, I do not anticipate things will be too difficult. We can get what we came for and then leave without anyone being the wiser."

The light changed. Conditioned to the proper response, a swarm of people surged forward, almost as one, in front of barely stopped automobiles, to approach one of the entrances into the world famous park. He had no fear that anyone understood what they were saying. Nor were they unusual in terms of he and Nilda not speaking English. A babble of languages surrounded them. Without paying much attention, he identified Arabic, Japanese, German, Thai, and Swahili.

"Stan will rendezvous with us by the lake up ahead, by Belvedere Castle." As they walked, Max catalogued twelve species of birds, twenty-three types of plants, and innumerable pesky insects. The endless variety here was a constant delight, so different from the home base. As were the people also frequenting the park. Children road their wobbly bicycles, their heads protected by helmets; young adults roller-bladed on the sidewalk, weaving in and out of clumps of pedestrians; and older couples held hands as they pointed out interesting sights to their companions. It was so alive here, vibrantly alive--almost as if he had stepped into another world.

Which was, of course, very nearly the literal truth.

Nilda stamped her foot. "You did not answer my question. What were you doing with that female?"

He stopped to pick up a fallen disk-shaped object--a Frisbee he believed it was called--and threw it back to an open field and the waiting mouth of a large hound dog. "You heard her name. Her brother is Davis Quinn, the one Inner Intelligence is concerned about."

Max stuck his hands into his jean pockets and shrugged. "Nilda, this can be no coincidence. The Quinn woman identified that paleontologist we received the warning on. Evidently, he just returned from Zafarraya, Spain and uncovered what he says is a skull in perfect condition, dating back much less than 30,000 years. Stan transmitted the information to Anton's group as soon as we found out."

"Great crystal! So that report came from you? We did locate this person's dwelling a few hours ago. But the vermin has eluded us so far." Nilda clenched her fist into a formidable weapon.

Max grinned. Her passion was commendable. "That is the spirit! Claude Rhine is his name. And know this, he had the audacity to write a book along with Davis Quinn. It is called Neanderthal's Nemesis. I had a look at it. Drivel, of course."

"Of course." She snorted. "I suppose the fact that Vivianne Quinn is ovulating had nothing to do with you inviting her for lunch?"

Max stumbled on a broken part of the sidewalk concrete. Naturally he had been aware of the female's arousing aroma. By the sacred cave bear, it was all he could do to keep his hands off her. Sweat popped up on his forehead, and he wiped it away. Even now, his body remembered her siren scent beckoning to his loins. The wonder of it was, how did these males ignore such a powerful call to their biology? How did they go about their business when a ripe nubile woman was in their midst, primed to reproduce?

He shook his head. Barbaric. But then again, this civilization was overflowing with members, so there was no need to be concerned about increasing the population.

The stone structure known as Belvedere Castle came into view, positioned high above the lake of the same name. It was a conglomeration of styles; he recognized a Gothic influence, plus Egyptian, Romanesque, Chinese, Scottish, and Moorish motifs. Instead of rendezvousing at the castle, Max chose an empty bench near the lake, then sat. Reflected in the calm water were the tall buildings surrounding the park. The images remained steady until a duck alighted on the lake, to create a rippling effect. Two turtles also disturbed the water by leaving their rock perches to splash, then swim out for parts unknown.

Breathing in air tainted by smoke fumes of nearby cars, he relaxed his arms across the back of the bench. He liked it here, under the warm midday sun. He could admit that. Then again, who wouldn't? This land was a paradise compared with the home base located so high up in the mountains that the altitude was enough to make a regular human double over with excruciating pain.

Peaceful and meditative thoughts once again turned to anger. Great Ursa Major! After all, how could resentment not weave its way through his veins? The disparity between his people and this overly prolific race of tool-wielders would harden any true man's soul. Other than the home base, his people lived in various colonies around the world--in secret, of course. He personally loved the rolling plains of Australia, the remoteness of Tierra del Fuego, even the cosmopolitan sprawl of the Italian city of Rome. But by necessity, many of the colonies were located in the most undesirable places on Earth, like home base. Prime real estate was always in demand, and this civilization was not predisposed to share.

The cruel fact of life was that his people harmoniously co-existed with all life forms except the one closest on the "family" tree to them.

In contrast, these treacherous people cannibalized the land, and then when they exhausted the area's natural wealth, moved on to continue their pollution and exploitation elsewhere.

Max fisted his hands. Fighting was not a noble course to follow, but, by the sacred cave bear, sometimes he wanted to pound some sense into these obtuse blockheads and take back what was rightfully his people's.

"Maximilian?" Nilda sat beside him and thumped her hand solidly on his thigh. "I asked you a question."

He tore his gaze away from the placid lake...and his non-placid thoughts. "Thousands of these females must be ovulating in the city, Nilda. But I only invited one for lunch. One who not only has direct access to that paleontologist and his stolen fossil, but who, in addition, is a Quinn. Is it any wonder I kept track of her movements at the museum and 'ran' into her in the cafeteria?"

"So that is why you introduced me as your cousin and invented a house pet for me?"

"We are related, going back a ways."

"A long way," she reminded.

"True." Max straightened from his slouched stance. But blood, no matter how diluted, was thicker than water. And these people around him were like water, while Nilda, Stan, and the rest were blood. Family was all important.

He glanced around again, this time shutting out the beauty he saw before him. This easy living was very seductive. Without purpose, without drive, without family, one could quickly find oneself going soft.

Nilda punched him in the arm as a sign of camaraderie. "I agree. Although spying on the enemy is essential, I find living among these inhabitants unsettling. I cannot wait for my tour of duty to end so I can return home."

Nilda's home was in the starkly beautiful Mackenzie River valley of Canada's Northwest Territories. Since obtaining her majority as an adult, she'd resided there, safe from the intrusions of the modern world. Unless stationed in one of the colonies scattered about the globe, an assignment outside home base usually lasted no more than a year. Any longer, and the compatriot was in danger of assimilation. That was how powerful these people were, with their overabundance of emotions, their excessive arrogance, and the bounty given them by the land. The paradox of it was that they had no awareness of their good fortune. By the sacred cave bear, they went about their business, blissfully ignorant of the world around them.

Although it went against his people's nature, he again yearned to give these natives their comeuppance.

But contemplating revenge was unhealthy for the soul.

He took Nilda's broad hand and massaged her knuckles. "It is imperative to stay informed on these people's activities, however there are hundreds of volunteers in line to continue our surveillance. Perhaps Inner Intelligence will allow you to leave sooner."

"Do you think so?" Her bright eyes lit up. She glanced at him then lowered her gaze in an uncharacteristically shy gesture. "Maximilian, you may not be aware of this. In five days time, I will start ovulating."

Surprised, Max released her hand. Her interest in him, in that way, took him aback. Procreating at this time didn't appeal to him. But....

The compelling perfume of the female, Vivianne Quinn, flooded his pathways. He concentrated to locate the source, then realized her floral scent had rubbed off onto his skin when he had trapped her hand between his own. The woman wasn't aware that she had branded him, unknowingly giving him an invitation to have sexual intercourse with her.

Her ignorance of that fact was no excuse not to act upon the overture. The sweet curve of her face, the pouted weight of her lips, the sun-streaked brown mane of hair, her dark, doe-like eyes, all beckoned to him--not to mention what lay under her business suit. Maybe he should take her up on her offer. She was attracted to him on a biological level. Whether she would admit it or not was unimportant. That she had a secret sadness only made her more interesting. Perhaps it had something to do with that accident she mentioned.

Max grinned. If she only knew just who...or what she issued the invitation to!

Nilda stood, hands on hips before him with the storybook castle providing a backdrop for her outrage. "You have no comment about what I just said, Maximilian? There are scores of valiant men eager for this opportunity--all around the globe." She narrowed her critical gaze at him. "Only the best will do as my mate."

He urged her back down on the bench, then pointed to Stan now descending the winding path, and veering toward them. "We cannot allow ourselves to be distracted by our own personal needs, Nilda. Inner Intelligence depends on us. And our people are depending on me to bring home those who should be buried within our perimeters, away from these barbarians. Lucky for me, the search in this country should not yield too many specimens--Europe guards their ill-gotten hoard all too well. Apparently, the phrase 'share and share alike' is unknown among these sapiens."

Arching his back for a stretch, he released a low groan. "Although last month, I was successful in procuring a genuine relation. Belonging to Anton's ancestral line, you know." Anton would be pleased. He was in charge of the USA's northeast contingent. "I wonder how many other stolen artifacts are hidden among dusty boxes, locked behind museum doors, large and small?"

By now, the fossil he had recovered should have arrived at the transfer point in Singapore. Max pointed a stern finger at Nilda. "Retrieval is my first concern here. You understand?"

Her slight chin jutted out as if she had something else to say, but instead she nodded, setting her short black choppy hair into frenetic motion. "Yes, I understand. You are right." Her nostrils flared with emotion. "But here is something you must understand. Living among these savages is unbearable. They distort our logic. They twist everything to their own advantage. No more devious creatures walk the earth!"

Stan approached the bench, with his mouth in motion and the spicy scent of Polish sausage wafting from a sandwich in his hand.

The aroma stimulated the flow of Max's digestive juices even though he had just eaten. His stomach growled.

"I found a street vendor selling kielbasa. Er, just a moment," Stan mumbled in their mother tongue as he consumed the remaining sausage, save one bite. He squatted down on bent knees and made a clicking sound in the direction of a nearby tall elm tree. A grey squirrel, with a white furry belly and the bushiest of tails, scurried down from a branch to sniff at his outstretched hand.

To Stan's surprise, the rodent took the bread, but discarded the meat.

Max had to laugh. "Vegetable, not meat eater, Stan. Have any nuts?"

"No. I forgot. Ach, I could have had that last piece!" He smacked his thick lips. "Delicious!" After wiping crumbs off his beard, he raised a grizzled eyebrow. "May the great crystal shine on you both. You will be pleased to learn I got access to the museum's warehouse facility. Off-site, it is with shelf upon shelf of storage." His stern face lifted in a knowing smile. "A female, the one who informed Anton about the artifacts, gave me a private tour."

"Good." Max returned the smile. "How fortunate for us that these people find us irresistible."

"Yes, that and a bit of mind control. Ironic, isn't it? How quickly they would change their tune once the truth was known." Stan eyed Nilda, who now sat with her arms crossed against her chest. Her thunderous expression must have intimidated him for he took a step back.

Max stroked his chin. Jealousy and pettiness were emotions to be avoided. "Did you see any artifacts, Stan? We did receive word that the museum possessed at least one actual fossil."

The older man pawed the loose dirt under his feet like a bull preparing to charge. "I saw dozens labeled, but they were merely copies of the originals, as is the custom here. However, one skull was believed to be the genuine article." His lips lifted into a grotesque grin nearly hidden by his bushy beard. "Counterfeit like the others. No need for us to trouble ourselves about it."

Nilda jumped up to slap Stan soundly on the back. A lesser man would have winced from the blow. "If that tidbit ever came out, the staff would be chagrined beyond belief, no?"

"Yes, but...."

Max didn't care for the sound of that. "But what?"

"The woman I talked with showed me a tooth--a primary molar supposedly belonging to one of our children. I sensed something genuine about it but I cannot be sure. The staffer was not charmed enough to let me handle it." Stan shrugged his sturdy shoulders. "I have already planted the suggestion that the woman store the tooth in the backrooms near the exhibits, which will make it easier for us if you think we should retrieve it."

A brisk spring wind rustled branches of the trees and chased fleecy alabaster clouds in the sky. With the wind, a chill invaded the air, reminding Max that time was marching on. They'd best be on their way.

He stood, then arched his back again. Being inactive for any length of time stiffened the muscles. "Ja, that is what I am here for. You recorded the layout?"

Stan patted his trouser pocket. "Done."

"Fine. We will head back to Nilda's and come up with a plan. Maybe Anton has heard more on the whereabouts of the paleontologist, Rhine."

Heading west out of the park, Max waited until a crowd of joggers heavily panted up the hill to pass them. He returned to the sidewalk and resumed speaking in English. "By the bye, Stan, I have a seven o'clock appointment with the woman I met today. You know, Vivianne Quinn."

He glanced at Nilda. Her jaw set, she had the good sense not to reveal her feelings.

Stan pursed his lips. "Is that necessary? It might be unsafe--she is sister to the dangerous Davis Quinn. Shall I accompany you?"

"No. No need." For some reason, Max felt compelled to explain. "She is our best lead for finding that tomb raider, Claude Rhine."

"Perhaps that is true," Nilda countered, in English as well. "But the female is also in heat."

Stoic Stan couldn't contain a chuckle. "Rough duty for Max, yes?"

Nilda fumed, but Max laughed. Who said covert missions couldn't have certain advantages?

Chapter Three

Checking her email on the computer, Vivianne leaned over to turn on the desk lamp. She really had no choice, for the light streaming in from the living room window had now faded to a dusky grey, casting the monitor in a multitude of shadows. And though nighttime approached, it was hot, so hot she sat sprawled out in the chair, clad only in baggy cotton pajama bottoms and camisole top.

April evenings usually were cool, yes, but not cool enough to justify the radiator working overtime. In the corner of the living room, the coiled contraption hissed and clanged; horrible music to someone who oozed sweat. Gosh, the temperature must've been at least eighty. She couldn't open the window to let in frigid breezes, not with rain driving against the glass. When she'd gotten home, she tried everything she could think of to fix the radiator, but she had to admit defeat. She'd placed a call to Mr. Greenley, the super, but so far he was a no show.

Vivianne wiped her forehead again. Here she was, finally inspired to "connect" with her online buddies, and she had to stop every five minutes to make sure she didn't drip on the keyboard.

Man oh man, she couldn't do this anymore. Slumping down in the chair, she pulled her hair back and fastened it into a sweaty ponytail. A swift check of the time showed six fifteen. Maybe she should get dressed just in case that man, Max Vogelherd, had really been serious about boarding his cat with her.

She shook her head at this insanity, sending the tail of hair swishing back and forth on her nearly bare shoulders. What had she been thinking, to agree to such an outrageous favor? She didn't even know the man. Well, this would teach her not to step outside her comfort zone again. Plus, it was an important lesson on learning to say no when she needed to.

A police siren screamed down the street; perhaps the car was on its way to a traffic accident. Every time she heard its familiar wailing noise, she flashed back in time to her own accident. Blood pouring from the head wound, numbness in her arms and legs, and Harleigh, next to her in the driver's seat, with his head at an unnatural angle.

She'd never forget the relief she felt on seeing her brother Donovan frantically working to remove her from the crushed car. But that was about all she could remember about the accident. Where she and Harleigh had been going...unknown. How the car skidded off the road and plunged down into the ravine...unknown. Why they were traveling at two in the morning...also unknown. The whole sequence of events was a complete blank. Head injuries were like that, she'd been assured by the doctors. And chances were those memories would never return.

Her stomach grumbled, thankfully taking her mind off the past, so she went into the kitchen to grab a quick bite. She would finish that baked slice of rice and cheese torta from earlier in the day. Glancing around, she didn't see it on the table, nor anywhere else. She checked the garbage on the off-chance she'd thrown it away, but the trash contained paper wrappings, nothing else.

How odd. Fran hadn't eaten it along with her half, had she?

The doorbell rang, distracting her. Omigosh! What if it were Max? But it couldn't have been him because the front door in the apartment lobby was locked--only tenants had keys. He'd have to use the intercom to call her first, then she would buzz admittance. But then who...? She grabbed the quickest cover she could find, a heavy cardigan sweater draped on the back of a chair, and slipped into it. Drat, it was warmer than Hades.

Hobbling to the door--the rainy weather aggravated her joints--she looked through the peephole. "Who is it?"

The anemic face of Mr. Greenley looked back at her. "Super. Here to fix the radiator."

She opened the door just as the bachelor-brothers Pardo, the nearly bald next-door neighbors, walked up the stairs and stepped onto the third floor. Each floor contained four apartments. Davis and the Pardos lived on one side, while the torta-cooking Bambinis and a vacant apartment was on the other.

In unison, the men nodded a greeting, and swept their squinty gazes over her current semi-dressed state. Both their tongues darted over thin lips.

Goose-bumps popped up on her skin. While they fumbled with the lock on their apartment door, she quickly let Mr. Greenley in and closed the door.

The super, a trim man with a tendency to stoop, breezed past her and stopped by the kitchen entrance. Dressed in overalls with a tool belt wrapped around his skinny hips, he lifted his pointy nose and sniffed the air. "Yep, as hot as blazes in here, but somthin' sure smells good. You been cookin', Miz Quinn?" As he looked at her, his eyes, round and owlish, seemed to widen further.

"No, not with this heat. You probably smell Mr. Bambini's torta." Vivianne's stomach growled again. Hopefully, Mr. Greenley didn't hear it. "How's your mother doing?"

Vivianne had met the dowager Mrs. Greenley only once, but nothing escaped that woman's eyes. Once she'd spotted Vivianne, she ambushed her, extracted all Vivianne's vital statistics, then imparted her wealth of knowledge about the other tenants to the building's latest newcomer. Most, if not all, of the gossip was negative. The woman must've been a bear to live with.

Mr. Greenley swaggered his way into the living room, to the corner where the radiator was. Getting down on his knees, he pulled out a wrench from the tool belt. "As healthy as a horse, Mrs. Greenley is, except fer her hypoglycemia. Always eatin', she is. But she'll outlive me. I know that fer a fact."

Vivianne agreed with the superintendent's assessment. At least when it came to outliving him, anyway. Mr. Greenley--Gary, she believed his first name was--had a pale, pinched look. The odor of cigarette smoke trailed behind him. The way he went through them, he probably smoked two packs a day if not more.

As he adjusted the valve on the radiator, he must've touched a hot surface for he muttered a curse, then shook his fingers. "Tricky little devils these radiators are. As temperamental as a woman." Looking away, he lowered his voice. "And every heater in the place misbehavin' at the same time, keepin' me busy."

A low sizzling sounded throughout the living room as the radiator hissed to a stop. "This one should be okay now," he said, puffing out his meager chest as he gazed back at her.

A red welt appeared on his index finger. "Oh, Mr. Greenley! You've hurt yourself. Would you like some ointment for your finger? Or how about some ice?"

He wiped his wet forehead on the sleeve of his long shirt. "Nah, thank you though." He peered at Davis's reference books shelved every which way on the bookcases. "Your brother writes about old bones, right? Sounds pretty interestin'. Does he ever bring home the genuine article?"

Although she sweated as if in a sauna, his question caused her to shudder. She shook her head in reply. Human fossils in the house--man oh man, that had a grave-robbing feel to it.

"Okay, then. Anytime you need anythin', Miz Quinn, just you give me a holler and I'll take care of it."

After Mr. Greenley left, she closed the door behind him and quickly peeled off the cardigan. Whoa, what she wouldn't give for a cold shower right now. To cool off, she rolled her pajama bottoms down on her hips, then lifted the camisole top to fan air up her heated chest. Better, but still sticky.

She glanced at her watch. Six thirty. She needed to change just in case--

The telephone rang. She stepped into the alcove and picked up the phone. "Hello?"

"Vivianne. Hi. It's me, Fran from this morning." Fran's breathy voice sounded in her ear. "Hey, hon, I picked up some milk for you, but guess what? I'm making a cake for the Dumpster and I'm short on eggs. Can I come up and borrow two?"

"Sure thing, Fran."

"Great! I'll be right there."

Smiling, Vivianne hung up the phone. Finishing her convalescence here at Davis's place was the best thing she could've done for herself. Everyone was so kind and friendly. Although Donovan worried about her and wanted her to return to the family home, she was fine. Everything was going to be fine. Things couldn't be better. And after all, with such great neighbors as these, what could possibly happen?

A knock sounded at the door. Her hand still fanning her camisole up and down, Vivianne stepped over to the entrance and opened the door. "Gosh, Fran, that was quick--"

Instead of Fran, over the threshold stood Maximilian Vogelherd, his deeply green eyes taking in the sight of her exposed, bare stomach. "Do you like things slow, then?" He lifted his lips in a deliberate smile, which heated her body's thermostat even further.

"Oh! Oh, hi. I, um, thought you were my neighbor, Fran." Vivianne hastily dropped her camisole top...and her wits, as well.

He filled the weakly lit landing with his massive form--muscular, brawny, solid, and powerful. Still clad in those stonewashed jeans, he'd changed his tee shirt to a ribbed black sweater. In one hand he held a pet carrier and the other gripped a shopping bag probably filled with cat supplies. His eyes seemed illuminated from the faint overhead bulb, and he leisurely swept his gaze from the mane of her ponytail, down to her collarbones, over her now-covered hips, to rest on the coral-pink polish of her toenails. "May I come in?"

Unfreezing her limbs, she fussed with her hair to make sure it covered her scar, then she sprang into action because the unmistakable sounds of the bachelors' door opening rang out into the corridor. If the Pardos had been interested in how she was dressed when Mr. Greenley had called, they'd most likely shake their jowls a-plenty on seeing her scantily clothed with such a virile male visitor.

"Yes, please!" She urged Max inside, then hurriedly shut the door. Outside, the Pardos' door opened, closed, and the men's footsteps shuffled past on the tiled floor. Phew! Just in time.

But now here she was, in close quarters, cramped in her tiny hallway with this colossal hunk of a guy. Her mouth dried, and she swallowed several times before saying, "You're early."

Max took a step closer, which caused her to flatten against the wall. Her body temperature rose even higher. "Eins is impatient to meet you, Vivianne." A "wah" noise came from inside the carrier, as if to confirm.

"Um, why don't you, um, come into the living room and get the cat out while I, um, change." Her brain sluggish again, she started fanning her camisole until she saw the gleam in his darkened eyes.

"Don't bother to change on my account." He set the shopping bag down, then curved his fingers around her bare upper arm. "Come, let me introduce you to Eins."

The touch of his hand actually seared her, only it wasn't an uncomfortable sensation. She almost felt like she'd been branded by some type of sweet embrace.

How foolish of her. She pulled away and, despite the dry heat still baking the apartment, almost ran down the hallway into the living room. "Here, you take the cat out and I'll--"

Somehow, step for step, he managed to keep up with her, which must have been a tricky task for such a large man. He reclaimed her arm, then set the carrier down on the sculpted carpet. "First you make Eins welcome in his new home, ja?"

Torn on what she should do, she bit her lip. True, she was in her pajamas, but everything that should've been covered was covered. However the thin cotton material made her feel like she was wearing next-to-nothing--which she was, for she had relinquished the additional protection of undergarments. Standing next to him, she was aware of her nipples' hardening and a puddling of moisture between her thighs.

"Um, okay, quickly, then I'll--"

Kneeling, Max smoothly eased her down so she was also sitting on her heels by his side. "Here, we open together." He reached over for the latch, his arm inadvertently--or not--brushing against her breast.

Dizziness rocked her and fuzzy words invaded her mind, this time without the usual headache. As erotic tingles danced throughout her body to settle heavily in her feminine core, she licked her lips. His woodsy scent filled her veins and heated her blood even further, while his glowing eyes seemed to promise an endless pool of delights.

What in the world was happening to her? She didn't want this attraction, and yet had no power to stop her body's reactions. "Max?" she whimpered, almost pleading for him to stop the assault on her senses.

"Vivianne," he breathed, turning her face toward him and cupping her chin in his extremely large hand.

It was as if the veneer of civilization had been stripped away and all she had left were primitive, basic emotions. She wanted him to kiss her. And she wanted, needed, even more than that. Her traitorous body eagerly prepared for the age-old union between a man and a woman.

From a distance, she heard a baby's cry. "Wah," it insisted, over and over again.

Vivianne blinked, and as if she had awakened from a spell, turned away from Max to focus on a very large sealpoint Siamese cat rubbing against her hip.

"Wah," Eins persevered, obviously craving her attention. The cat blinked his own large blue eyes at her and purred with contentment.

Omigosh! This cat saved her from making a horrible mistake! Although she had never cared much for cats before, she instinctively gathered the animal up in her arms, then stood to murmur her thanks into his soft, perfumed fur. Somehow she knew to speak in cooing tones that only a cat would understand. His warm body felt soothing against hers, and she transferred her trembling emotions into the cat's large frame.

Whatever enchantment Max had cast upon her, was now broken. She couldn't believe she had just contemplated having sex with a stranger. She, who had just lost her fiancé. She, who had also lost her baby.

And what was worse, she had so desperately desired this coupling! Oh, how shameful. How totally perverse.

She glanced at Max, now sitting cross-legged on the carpet as he looked around in the room. No trace of ardor lingered on his face. He was unreadable, mysterious, a complete enigma.

Max must've felt her gaze on him, for his lips curved into a slight smile, almost as if he were mocking her. "Eins has made himself at home already, ja? See how quickly you have taken him to your bosom."

At that word, at that image, she flushed. Just as she had been about to take Max to her bosom...and more. Setting the cat down, she headed for the double doors of the bedroom. "Make yourself comfortable. I'll be right back."

"Wait, Vivianne." With a grunt and one swift movement, he was on his feet.

She gulped down alarm. She'd thought the living room was large, but it really wasn't. Not with Max Vogelherd standing tall within these four walls. But he wasn't going to seduce her. She was prepared now. It was not going to happen. Stiffening her back, she asked, "What?"

"Nice place you have here, but why is it so hot?" He did look warm, especially in his sweater. He pushed the sleeves up over his elbows to reveal muscular, nicely hairy arms.

Again, a throb of desire pulsed through her, so she watched his cat sniff the furniture, instead. "I'm sorry. All the radiators in the building broke at the same time, but this one's fixed now. It should cool off soon." Fingers crossed.

"And just to let you know, Max, this is my brother Davis's apartment. I'm staying here temporarily." She checked the window. The rain had abated and no longer pelted the glass. She raised the window pane up a notch, allowing a cold breeze to filter in.

With that taken care of, she headed for the bedroom. Then the doorbell rang. "Oh, that must be my neighbor, Fran." Turning to answer it, Vivianne stopped as she remembered something that had bothered her. "By the way, how did you get upstairs? I didn't buzz you in."

Like his cat, he was nosy. He wandered over to the bookcases to skim titles, and picked up some artifacts Davis had acquired on field trips. Thankfully there were no bones, at least not in sight, but the delicate husk of an African killer beehive nearly crumbled in his hands and the pottery shard from an ancient Greek site almost flaked into smaller pieces.

She breathed a sigh of relief when he clasped his hands behind his back, hopefully to keep out of mischief, then strode over to the computer to peruse the screen.

"A polite young boy with spiky brown hair entered your building the same time as I did. He asked who I was coming to see," Max finally answered. "When I said you, the boy rubbed his hands together, hummed the wedding march, then let me in."

Raising his eyebrow, he stroked his large jaw. "Is there something I should know about?"

"No! Of course not." Gosh, when would this embarrassing day be over? Grateful that the word "wedding" didn't unleash a floodgate of tears, she focused on who that polite young boy might be. "Maybe that was Joel, Fran's little brother. Sometimes boys like to tease."

The doorbell rang again.

Max raised his other eyebrow. "You had better answer that, Vivianne."

Giving him a frown, she dashed out of the room, still, regretfully, in her pajamas. She'd learned her lesson, however, and asked who was at the door.

"It's Fran, hon." As Fran walked inside, she waved her hand in front of her face. "Phew! It's like a hothouse in here. What's the matter?" She placed a carton of milk in the fridge.

The thin strap on Vivianne's camisole slipped down her shoulder. She fixed it. "Didn't your radiator overheat, too?"

"Nope." Moving quickly, Fran poked her blonde head into the living room. "The Dumpster said your boyfriend is here. Can I see him?"

"No! I mean he's not--"

Max walked over and shook Fran's hand. "You must be Vivianne's neighbor, Fran. I am delighted to meet you."

Fran Levine seemed like the kind of person who always had a ready word. But not tonight. Her pretty blue eyes widened as she stared at Max. She even forgot to reclaim her hand. She looked lost, just as Vivianne had been lost just a few moments ago.

Once again, Eins came to the rescue. When he jumped up onto a high side table to continue his exploration, the rattling noise from the framed pictures on display startled Fran back to the here and now.

Vivianne folded her arms across her chest. Good to know Max had that devastating effect on others, not just her. "Fran, this is Max, Max Vogelherd, a, um, a friend of mine."

Max lifted his dark eyebrow. "A good friend, ja?"

She flushed. A good friend of only seven hours.

Fran made a preening gesture of fluffing out her mop of hair. "Oh, so you're not the one who's called, the boorish Claude, hey?" She winked at Vivianne, probably to take the sting out of her words. Then she focused on how Vivianne was dressed...or undressed. "I guess you two are good friends, 'n all! Listen, I'll just borrow two eggs then I'll get out of your hair."

"Um, no, it's okay. Can't you stay awhile?" It would be much safer with Fran around than left alone in Max's mouthwatering company. "Max's leaving soon. He's just setting up things for his pet. I'm cat-sitting for a couple of weeks."

Max's slow smile caused Vivianne's heart to go ballistic. "Ja, indeed, Vivianne is an angel to take pity on my poor Eins." He lifted his shopping bag filled with cat supplies. "Where should I put the litter box? In the bathroom?"

"Yes, um, good. Please do."

As the bathroom opened out into the hallway right by the front door, Max soon was out of earshot range. Both she and Fran collapsed onto the small flowered couch at the same time.

"Oy vey! Woof! Is that guy a babe magnet, or what?" Fran stretched out her jeaned legs and contemplated the tips of her slippered feet. "Honey, you'd better put something more substantial on. Something as thick as an armored tank would be best."

Vivianne returned the grin, and whispered, "I'm so glad you came up when you did, Fran. 'Cause, to tell you the truth, I, um, I don't know what came over me. I almost made a huge mistake."

"Well, I can understand why you're dressed in your skivvies with this heat 'n all but...how long have you known this 'good' friend?"

Eins jumped into Vivianne's lap and rubbed his head against her hand as if pleading for her to pet him. Glad for the distraction, she scratched the cat behind his dark chocolate ears. "Less than a day."

There. Her awful secret was out. But what would Fran think of her now?

She whistled. "Honey, you're old enough to be on your own, but maybe you'd better get to know a guy a little longer before you invite him over to your place."

"Good advice." Vivianne set the cat on the floor, then stood. "I'll get changed right now." Dashing into the bedroom, she closed the doors and sighed. Not that having them closed meant she enjoyed complete privacy. Whoever heard of using French doors with panels of glass to enclose a bedroom? Davis, or perhaps the previous tenant, had affixed a curtain of garish material over them, however the very top panels remained uncovered. Max was certainly tall enough to see inside.

She quickly disrobed, then pulled up her jeans, hooked on her bra, and grabbed a cotton tee shirt--a holdover from her Star Trek days. Beam me up, Scotty, it proclaimed. There's no intelligent life down here. Yeah, sure. Right now, she felt as intelligent as a one-celled amoeba.

"There. It's not an armored tank, but is this better?" she asked as she walked back into the living room.

But not only was her neighbor on the couch, but Max was as well. His vivid gaze roamed the length of her. "Better for whom?" he asked.

Fran jumped up, nervously rubbing her hands together. Clearly Max's presence disturbed her. "I need to get back to the Dumpster. Don't like to leave him alone too much, y'know. Crime, 'n stuff." A sheen of wetness glazed her eyes as she explained, "My parents died some time ago. Between my aunt across the street 'n me, we're all Joel has."

Max also stood and cupped Fran's plump hand in his. "I am sorry to hear that, Fran. Family is so important, especially to young ones."

His sincerity rang so strong and true that both Vivianne and Fran could only stare at him. What a heartrending sentiment. How noble, how honorable....

Wait. He was exuding seduction again. Vivianne turned away, took a deep breath, then when she felt she was herself again, turned back around. "Well, let's get those eggs. And Max, you'll be going too, right? I've got a lot of work to catch up on."

She said a silent prayer. Please, go. This man's aftershave must've been Love Potion Number Nine. Neither she nor Fran were strong enough to resist him.

"As you wish, Vivianne." He followed them into the kitchen, then reached into his shopping bag to pull out empty bowls plus a lidded plastic container. "This is Eins' special food. Make sure he does not eat anything else, ja? Mein Katze, my cat, has a sensitive stomach."

"Don't we all!" Fran helped herself to eggs from the carton, placed them in a container, then closed the fridge. "And speaking of stomachs, did yours just rumble, hon?"

Vivianne flushed. "No dinner yet."

"Gut Gott! Is this so?" Max's frown looked thunderous. Which truly was intimidating in a kitchen that seemed to shrink in size with him as one of its occupants. "We must remedy this immediately. Mach schnell! At once!"

He seemed to lapse into German when distressed. But why was he upset?

She maneuvered around him to get to the sink and filled a bowl with water for the cat. "Don't worry. I'll eat something, um, soon."

"Nein. This will not do." He jerked the refrigerator door open and scanned its uncrowded interior. "There is nothing here, Vivianne." His tone accused her.

She exchanged a glance with Fran. This was getting too freaky.

Fran chewed on her lower lip. "Joel and I had gefilte fish for dinner. I could bring you some."

As Vivianne wasn't a fish fan, she politely shook her head.

Max also shook his head, but the movement had a militaristic precision to it. "You call and order something from a restaurant down the street, ja? I will pick it up. We will have dinner together. My treat for taking care of Eins."

Vivianne frowned. "But--"

"It is decided. Call."

Fran's grin split her face. "You're a forceful man, aren't you, Max?" She linked arms with Vivianne. "Order a pizza, hon. It'll be fast."

"Order two," came the command.

Vivianne thanked Max, scooted past him, then went with Fran into the hallway alcove where the phone was. "Maybe you and Joel can join us?"

"Nope, thanks. I'm really full and Joel's got a boatload of homework he needs help on. But I'll wait here until Max leaves to get the pizza."

Leaning over to see what Max was doing, Vivianne spotted him down on his haunches, petting his cat as Eins ate. Relieved that he had his thousand watt gaze off her, she picked up the phone and dialed a pizzeria's number that her brother had written on a pad of paper. After ordering two large, extra cheese pies, she hung up, then almost leaped into the air when she heard a clattering sound coming from inside the wall. "What's that?"

Fran's cheeks wobbled with laughter. "Don't you know? It's a windy night. Must be the dumbwaiter clanging around."

"Dumbwaiter?"

"Yeah, that's what that box shape is on the wall behind you." Fran pounded on an area of the back wall, a rectangle of about two feet by three feet. It sounded hollow inside. "This is a really old tenement apartment, Vivianne. Many, many moons ago at a certain time of the day, people put the garbage in the dumbwaiter, instead of carrying it down to the alley, like we do now. It worked by pulleys, I believe. For some reason, this chute service fell out of favor and is no longer used. It's been like that for a long time now. Since way before I was a kid." The noise rattled again. "See? It's the old building talking to you."

So that was what all those creaks, squeaks, and thuds were. One of the upstairs neighbors with an occult occupation, Madam Petunia, had let slip the information that the previous tenant had disappeared and implied the woman's ghost now haunted the apartment.

Max's huge form filled the hallway. "I go now to get the pies."

Vivianne scribbled the address down on a scrap of paper and handed it to him. "The pizzeria is on this side of the street, two blocks up."

When he slid his gaze over her, she almost sizzled. He spoke low and intimately. "You will ring the buzzer to let me in, ja?"

"Max! Of course! What a thing to say."

"Just checking." His smile caused goose-bumps to rise on her arms.

"Okay, okay, you guys." Fran held up her hands slowly, obviously not wanting to jostle the eggs she carried. "I'm getting claustrophobic in here. Max, walk me down to my apartment?"

"I would be honored."

With all three of them huddled by the front door, Vivianne was crowded out and had to stand at the entrance to the bathroom. "Bye, Fran. And Max, I'll see you in a couple of--"

As she opened the door, she gasped. Standing with his arm raised to knock was none other than her older brother, Donovan.

"Donovan!" she nearly shrieked. "What are you doing here?" Someone also must've let him into the building. A fat lot of good having a buzzer was.

"Well, that's a welcome, isn't it, Sis?" Her brother was a large man, not as massive as Max, but certainly almost as muscular. Eight years as a New York police officer had honed his body into a tight, compact crime-fighting machine. No spare tire on him. His hair was slightly darker than hers and fell in a wave over his high forehead. His eyes, also deep brown, widened slightly at the sight of Fran and Max, positioned behind the door. His ebony clipped mustache seemed to twitch with disapproval.

"Donovan?" Fran's curly mop vibrated with curiosity. "But you look just like Davis! Without the mustache, of course, and your hair's shorter. And your face is a little fuller--"

Donovan's harsh glance cut her off. "The curse of being an identical twin." He then turned that disapproving gaze on Vivianne. "Going to invite me in?"

She ran her hand over her hair until she came to the ponytail, then fiercely tugged on it. Of all people who had to pay her a visit--tonight of all nights--it had to be Donovan. Not that she didn't love her brother but, needless to say, now was not the best of times. He'd been tied up on a complex criminal case for awhile and hadn't managed to visit her before. Why oh why did he make the time now to stop by?

Great. She smiled brightly. "Sure. I'll introduce my friends. They were just leaving."

Fran slipped out first. "Hi. I'm Fran, the downstairs neighbor." She fluffed out her hair. "By the way, I'm single!" With a wink and a wave, she descended the stairs to the second floor.

Then Max moved out behind the door. As he did, Vivianne's stomach dropped. No longer hungry, she actually quaked. How could she explain Max's presence to no-nonsense Donovan?

"And I am Vivianne's good friend, Max. I'm off to pick up pizzas for dinner. Care to go with me?"

"No!" Vivianne slapped her hand to her forehead. When would this day ever end? "I mean, Donovan wants to relax. He's had a hard day at work."

Her brother glanced down at his chino pants and sweater as if seeing them for the first time. "Not in uniform, Sis. I must've had the day off." He nodded at Max, who was a full head taller. "C'mon, then. This'll give you a chance to tell me just how good a friend you are to my sister."

Man oh man. The blood drained from her face. She just knew it did.

Max smiled that inscrutable smile of his. "I would be delighted to give you all the details. We will be right back, Vivianne. Don't forget to make Eins feel at home."

As both men pounded steps down the staircase, Vivianne's heart sank further. Donovan prided himself on his detective skills. He wouldn't stop until he knew exactly what had passed between Max and his little sister. He was that overprotective.

Donovan's question, "Who is Eins?" eerily floated up the stairs.

Not wanting to hear Max's answer, she shut the door and leaned against it. Surely she was in purgatory, paying heavily for her one attempt to participate in life, not just observe it.

* * *

The previous downpour of rain now settled into a light drizzle. Stepping outside the brick apartment building, Max lifted his face toward the dismal sky and relished a fine mist lightly caressing his skin. There were no words to describe this joyful sensation. The fresh, clean scent so common after a thunderstorm drenched the air and filled his lungs with blessed life. As they walked to the corner to wait for the traffic light, his companion was oblivious to nature's beauty surrounding him. Donovan Quinn radiated suspicion. He wore it as readily as if it had been an article of clothing.

"You are a policeman, ja?" Max ostensibly focused his attention on the traffic signal, but in truth, with his peripheral vision, he watched the man.

Donovan jammed his hands into his pockets. "Vivianne told you."

"Nein. A lucky guess. Your remark about the uniform. Your general bearing."

"Hmmn," was the man's only comment.

Add stoic and terse to Donovan's list of attributes.

The light changed to green and they crossed the wide street. Max took pleasure in cataloging the variety of neighborhood stores as they walked past. Newspaper stand, grocery store, beauty shop, bakery, and more--each business had a personality of its own.

"I've never heard Vivianne mention you before. How long have you known my sister?" Donovan growled his question like the sentence was one word.

Protective, too. Max smiled. That spoke well of the man. But it was a certainty Donovan wouldn't approve of Max nor his short acquaintance with Vivianne. So he had to tread carefully. As Anton's group hadn't located Claude Rhine and the skull yet, Max desperately needed to maintain his connection with the woman.

If he were truthful, he'd also admit his desire to complete the seduction he'd started in her living room. But as these people were so fond of saying: business before pleasure.

"Not long," he confessed. "Actually, it was your brother's book that brought us together. Neanderthal's Nemesis. Have you read it?"

Donovan twisted his lips. "Davis'll get into trouble one of these days, for shoddy research." Pointing to a tavern, he walked to its entrance and held open the door. "C'mon. Let's have a drink."

The man's reaction to that trash book surprised Max. While perhaps gratifying to hear others didn't swallow such bunk hook, line, and sinker, Donovan's response was disturbing. If there was one trait these people excelled in, it was deception. Deception and treachery went hand in hand. None of these people could be trusted. If anyone even suspected the true course of events...that Neanderthal's Nemesis' premise, along with current anthropological thinking was 180 degrees off the mark, then everything Max's ancestors had achieved through the millennia was in dire jeopardy.

And that was why Inner Intelligence was concerned about Davis Quinn. His last academic paper submitted to an international congress for anthropological professionals included a disconcerting paragraph buried in the conclusion of the document. It might have been written in jest, but he had proposed that perhaps Neanderthal man was not extinct at all. For the wrong reasons, of course, but dangerous ideas had insidious ways of calling attention to themselves. And by the sacred cave bear, thousands if not millions of deaths would occur if these people ever learned the truth.

Max hesitated. While he didn't fear Donovan's inevitable interrogation, he couldn't count on his luck holding out indefinitely. The longer in the policeman's company, the greater the likelihood of making a slipup. "Sure. I will have a cold one. But only one, ja? Your sister grows very hungry."

One step inside the tavern, and the assault upon his senses was immediate. The din from discordant voices, from both blasting television sets and bar patrons, jangled his auditory nerves. Swirls of grey cigarette smoke lazily danced in the shadow of neon beer signs flashing commercial messages to all who bothered to look. The place was dark, noisy, and murky, just like all the other bars he'd ever frequented.

And naturally, as newcomers, every "eye" in the tavern was on them. Interest gave way to disinterest though, and soon the regular clientele turned back to their drinks.

Donovan elbowed up to the counter, set his bottom on a barstool, then requested a light beer. Max reluctantly followed suit, but shuddering at the thought of such a weak beer, scanned the drinks on tap, and ordered an imported one.

After the dark beer arrived, Max gripped the mug as if it was an old friend. Drinking through the ivory foam, he smacked his lips in satisfaction. This nectar of the gods contained malt, hops, water, and yeast--no more, no less. This surely was heaven.

He took another swig, but then had to cough. The heavy cigarette smoke in the air irritated his throat. "One of these will quench your thirst, Donovan. You should try it."

The man barely sipped at his glass. "German beer, I see. Is that where you're from?"

The interrogation begins. "In a way. I have many family members there."

"In the town of Vogelherd, perhaps?"

Max coughed again, but this time he couldn't blame it on the smoke. Ghosts of the wooly mammoths! This man was far too perceptive. Dangerously so. He smiled thinly. "True. Rather prosaic of my family to use the place of birth as surname."

"So where do you live and what do you do?" Donovan shifted on his stool so that he could scrutinize Max.

And scrutinize he did. So much so, that Max felt the hackles on the back of his neck raise in alarm. Good thing the lights in the tavern were kept at a minimum, for if what Vivianne said was true, this man also had an interest in anthropology. What if he could identify facial features, however faint, that would reveal just who or what Max was?

He took care to present a frontal view, for at the back of his skull