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Chapter One

An explosion forced air from her lungs. She reached out, groped blindly, tried to catch the faceless body as it flew past her. She sensed it was someone she knew. Someone very precious and dear to her. Someone she couldn't bear to see harmed...

Pulled awake by the feeling of helplessness, Maggie Youngson stared into the darkness of her bedroom. Was her recurring dream a subconscious effort to reenact her late husband's accident? Or did it have a broader, more subtle meaning. Her psychology professor might interpret it as symbolic of her feelings of inability to protect a loved one. Who?

Her deceased parents? Her late husband?...Jenny?

Maggie flung back the covers and slid her feet off the side of the bed. Then she remembered her five-year-old daughter was spending the night with her Auntie Claire.

She sank back onto the pillow and glanced at the digital readout on her bedside clock. Two more hours before she could carry out her mission. Her heartbeat accelerated, aftereffects of the nightmare or prospects of her unknown future. Maybe both.

It was a cinch she wasn't going to get any more rest at this rate, and she was going to need all the energy she could muster for what she had to do. She flipped onto her side and stared at the telephone. A voice inside her urged, "Call him."

With shaking hands, she reached for the receiver and punched in the number she'd committed to memory.

"Hello...Hello," said the deep voice at the other end of the line.

Without speaking, Maggie waited to hear the usual disgruntled swearing. She smiled, then softly depressed the button on the receiver.She couldn't blame him for being angry. It was a rotten thing to do, waking him in the middle of the night just so she could hear his voice, a voice that brought her a feeling of peace and tranquility. But it was the only way she could go back to sleep and not be revisited with the awful dream. At least, it had worked all the other times she'd tried it.

* * *

Parker Wilson stared at the receiver for a moment then hung up. He should get caller ID, he thought, so he could catch the joker who kept disturbing his rest. Not that he'd slept much in the months since his accident, anyway. In the early morning hours his leg muscles tended to knot up.

He sat on the side of his bed, nursed his head with one hand and massaged the tight muscles in his left thigh with the other. He didn't know which was worse, the cramping in his injured leg or the steady pounding in his head.

Stiffly, he lifted himself off the mattress. Unless he got up and exercised the leg, he'd get no relief from the persistent cramping. He glanced into the dresser mirror opposite the bed and decided a little exercise couldn't hurt the extra weight around the midsection he'd picked up lately, either.

He might have to give up the beer. At the moment, that didn't seem like much of a sacrifice. The weight inside his head started bouncing around, a steady reminder of how foolish his overindulgence the night before had been.

It seemed all the booze in the world couldn't keep him out for more than four or five hours at a time. He should know he'd spent lots of time in the past several months either thinking or drinking.

He snatched a pair of sweatpants and T-shirt with ATF printed across the back from the bureau drawer, pulled them on and limped his way down the narrow hallway of what he now called home.

It wasn't much, a twelve-by-forty house trailer provided for the groundskeeper. He was the groundskeeper and general do-flunky at Wilson's Nursery and Landscaping at the moment. Not that he did much in the way of maintenance around the place, but his father seemed to think it important Parker have some sort of title.

He knew Grady used the poor-me-I-need-help routine to get him off the thinking-drinking cycle, but Parker had already figured out he didn't want to make a career out of the horticultural business. His constitution wouldn't allow him to be a full-time drunk either.

And with a bum leg, he wouldn't be going back to his old job with the Division of Alcohol, Tobacco and Firearms anytime soon. Maybe never. The near death experience he'd suffered on his last assignment had left him a crippled old man, a hollow shell of the robust figured he'd been a year ago.

The doctors told him to take it easy after leaving the hospital. He supposed he'd taken that sage advice too literally and for too long. He'd spent most of his waking hours sitting around eating junk food and sipping beer until his father barged into his domain over a week ago and demanded Parker get off his lazy duff and help him out. Seems the idle life of groundskeeper Parker had been handling was no longer enough for his father anymore. "We're overwhelmed with holiday orders," he'd said. "Shawn and some of the workers are out with the flu, and you can sit on your butt and pot plants, if nothing else."

Guilt more than his father's demands pulled Parker off the couch and into the workforce. Shawn usually managed things for Parker's father. Funny how long his brother-in-law's bout of flu had lasted. Almost two weeks had gone by and still Shawn hadn't shown any signs of improvement.

In spite of his suspicions there might be a conspiracy going on in his family, Parker had been doing a whole lot more than potting plants. He'd worked long hours to help keep things running on an even keel until his brother-in-law could get back on his feet.

Parker finger-combed his dark hair and dug the coffee carafe out of the pile of dirty dishes in the sink. After getting the coffee pot going and downing two aspirins, he stepped outside into the crisp morning air. He would work out the kinks and aches in his body by walking one turn around the grounds before daybreak. It was a routine he'd only recently begun, and one he found invigorating.

He took his time this morning, thinking about how he was going to break the news to his father that he wasn't going to work at the nursery much longer. Cass had been the one who'd pushed him into making plans, tentative as they may be, for his future. After he'd moved into the trailer to gain some privacy from his bullying family--a useless move, apparently--she'd barged in and presented him with an application for a private investigator's license.

Being the efficient, pushy broad she was, Cassandra had it all filled out and ready to sign. How did you say no to a sister who bugged the hell out of you until you relented and gave her what she wanted? He smiled, remembering he'd managed to sidestep her yesterday when she'd tried to set him up with a phony case. She was appeased somewhat when he explained he was already working on another case, a slight stretch, but the job was in the works, anyway.

The downside of the whole PI thing: His father wasn't going to take his new career choice well.

Parker ambled between several rows of potted plants that covered the back twenty acres of Wilson's Nursery and up-righted some pots that had been knocked over by the wind. His father had built the nursery from scratch, and it was one of the biggest and best horticulture businesses in the state of Florida.

Parker hoped he would be half as successful in his new venture. Finding a classic car--his very first case--that had been missing for the last ten years wasn't going to be easy. To make matters more mysterious, his client insisted on remaining anonymous, working with him through a former cohort of Parker's.

As he arrived back at the trailer, the whitish tint over the horizon gave a hint of the Florida sunshine the day would bring. He poured himself a cup of hot coffee and was sipping gingerly when the phone rang again.

This time a familiar female voice came on the line. "Parker, have you got your television on?"

"Cassandra Leanne? Do you know what time it is?"

"Why? Don't you have a clock?"

"Cute, Sis. Real cute. Did you call here a couple hours ago? If so, I don't appreciate your perverted sense of humor."

"You must be kidding. Get up in the middle of the night when Jamie's sleeping peacefully just to goad you? I wouldn't have called now, except I saw your lights on and figured you were up. I just saw something on the early news that I thought you should know about. Channel nine. Got to go now, Jamie's crying to be fed."

"Uh-huh. Shawn feeling any better?"

"Still a little feverish," she said.

Parker thought he heard his brother-in-law in the background emitting a muffled snort. "Feverish, my ass."

"Channel nine," Cass repeated and hung up.

Why was his sister being so insistent he turn the TV on at this ungodly hour? Christmas was coming up soon. She probably wanted him to see some advertisement or other for children's toys, since she'd often complained about the sort of presents he'd picked out for his nephew and niece in the past. What the heck was wrong with a pocket wrench and bottle of French perfume? Parker wondered. The kids loved it. A newborn baby might be a challenge though. He couldn't remember what he'd given the twins when they were that age.

He picked up the remote control and switched on the TV, flipping through the channels. Since he knew most of the lines from It's A Wonderful Life by heart, he'd lowered the volume to a crooning level last night, one not detrimental to nodding off on the couch should the beer do its job. He must have built up some sort of immunity to alcohol, because getting drunk enough to pass out was becoming more and more difficult.

Channel nine. Waiting for the next commercial, he watched the dour-faced newscaster's lips move as she pointed across a four-lane road to a familiar building. When Parker saw people exiting the front of the structure, he almost dropped his coffee cup.

The camera zoomed in on Maggie Youngson's face. Not the sweet, smiling face he remembered from two years ago, but the face of a frightened, disturbed young woman. Apparently Cass hadn't seen this part of the broadcast, or she'd have really been upset. The two women had become pretty tight after he'd departed for what turned out to be his final undercover assignment.

On camera, Maggie was being led from Star's Restaurant by a police officer. Parker fumbled with the volume control, turning it up so he could hear.

"Maggie Youngson apparently found the body of the restaurant owner, Starlene Davis, early this morning," the anchorwoman said. "Details are unavailable at this time, but a spokesman for the police department said the death is suspicious. He said Mrs. Youngson is being taken in for questioning. It's unclear why she was in the restaurant at such an early hour..."

"She worked there, you nitwits." Parker pushed the off button on the TV and slammed his cup down on the kitchen counter. He ran his fingers through his hair as he paced the small floor space. Maybe Cass hadn't been trying to set him up with a fake case after all.

Why would they take Maggie downtown to question her unless they suspected her of the crime? How much of what Cass told him yesterday in the nursery had been true? Moreover, how many other people knew about the alleged affair between Maggie's late husband and Starlene Davis?

"Damn, damn, damn." He rubbed the back of his neck and his fingers came in contact with the patch of tender skin, scar tissue that was a constant reminder of his failures. He jerked off the T-shirt and went in search of something more concealing. He found a black turtleneck and pulled it on, exchanged the sweatpants for a pair of faded blue jeans, then rushed back to the kitchen when the phone rang again.

Knowing who his caller would be this time, he lifted the receiver and said, "I'm on it."

"You'd better be!" His sister's demand quavered with worry.

"Cass," he said before she could hang up, "that thing about Maggie's husband and Starlene Davis...that wasn't just made up for my benefit, was it?"

"For heaven's sake, is that why you refused to take her case?" Her tone softened, "Parker, you've got to stop seeing subterfuge in everything that comes your way via family. Maggie's my best friend, but you should know you'd be the last person in the world she'd ask for help if I hadn't browbeat her into it. Now go get her out of this mess and I'll forgive you," she ordered, then hung up.

Parker jerked open the end kitchen drawer and took out the brand new PI license and identification badge. His sister was good at browbeating people, including him.

He eyed the Beretta and hesitated. Maggie hated guns, he remembered.

A weapon might not be needed in his new profession, but he'd carried for so long, he would feel naked without one. He picked up the automatic and checked the clip. He'd have to leave it in the truck, anyway. It wouldn't be allowed past the metal detection gates at police headquarters.

Shoving the drawer closed, he grabbed his truck keys off the counter.

He didn't like the idea of working for Maggie, but it seemed inevitable now.

* * *

With a visitor's badge and familiarity, Parker worked his way through the maze of officers and desks. He glanced over the arrestees being processed. Maggie wasn't among them, which was a relief. At least they hadn't charged her with anything...yet. He spotted her brother-in-law pacing a nearby waiting area.

"Parker," Ryce Knight called as he approached. "I'm glad you're here. They won't let me see Maggie. I convinced Claire to stay home with Jenny, but if I don't have something to report to her soon, she's liable to come down here. I don't want her getting overwrought about this, Parker. Claire's pregnant, you know."

Ryce drew his shoulders back proudly as if he'd invented the fertilization procedure himself. Parker figured the only thing that kept the man from grinning ear to ear was anxiety over his sister-in-law's current situation.

He pushed back the sudden rush of envy. "Congratulations."

They had known each other for a few years, but Parker's assignments had created time and distance that kept him from sharing a closer relationship with Knight. He thought he knew where he could find Maggie and said, "Go home and tell Claire to hold tight. I'll get her sister out of here as soon as possible."

Ryce's drawn expression eased, and they shook hands. "Thanks, Parker."

"Don't mention it. Jenny doesn't know what's going on, does she?" Parker hoped not. Maggie's five-year-old daughter was too young to understand what was happening, but old enough to realize it was bad.

"Maggie came in last evening, and Jenny was already asleep in our spare bedroom, so I talked her into letting her spend the night. When she didn't come get Jenny this morning, Claire told her that her mother was called in to work unexpectedly."

"Good. I'll have her home in no time." Nothing like making rash promises your first day on the job, he thought.

He glanced into the office of the captain of the violent crimes division. It was empty. There was only one other place Maggie might be. He made his way toward the rear of the building.

"Come in," the man in the dimly lit room said when Parker tapped lightly and cracked open the door.

He stepped quietly into the observation room, nodding a hello to the officer who'd cooperated with him in the past on investigations of mutual interest. Captain Bigley stood before the plate glass that covered a large portion of one wall. He was around fifty, a big, brawny type of only fair intelligence, but tenacious. If he suspected Maggie of murder, he'd dog her until she broke.

Parker had been in the observation room on several occasions when he'd needed to ID criminals involved in cases of interest to ATF, but seeing Maggie on the other side of the one-way mirror caused a tightness in his gut he hadn't previously experienced.

She was alone in the room. Blond hair falling forward, her elbows on the table, she rested her head in her hands. Was she crying? God, he hoped not.

Would Maggie kill to protect someone she loved? The words sat on his tongue like pepper sauce too hot to swallow, but he was wise enough not to spit them out until he had all the facts. "What's the score?"

"With all Mrs. Youngson has told us so far," Bigley said, "we should probably book her for first degree murder."

"She wouldn't harm a fly," Parker said, unable to remain neutral, facts or not.

"Maybe." Captain Bigley's shiny pate swiveled. He was a couple of inches shorter than Parker, so he had to look up as he squinted and focused on him. "What's your interest in this case, Wilson?"

"She's a client."

"A client?" Bigley cocked one brow. In contrast to white fuzz bordering his head, his brows were dark and bushy.

Parker flipped open his wallet and flashed his brand new badge and ID.

Bigley leaned forward as if trying to focus, then croaked with disdain, "Christ, Wilson, I heard about your accident, but private investigator?"

"Gotta make a living."

The captain snorted. "You get disability insurance."

Parker knew PIs were only a notch above bounty hunters in most lawmen's eyes.

"If you'd checked with me, I might have found something for you in the department."

"Much obliged to you, Captain, but I'm not much good at pencil pushing." He might have gone back to ATF if that had been the case. In Parker's way of thinking, being tied to a desk job would be a worse fate than working in his father's nursery.

"We do everything on computers these days," the captain said snidely, then turned back toward the one-way glass when the officer in charge, followed by his partner, walked into the interrogation room with three Styrofoam cups of coffee.

Parker recognized the ranking detective. James Manning was a fish-faced man with a piranha attitude. As he sat one of the cups down in front of Maggie, he leaned unnecessarily close to her. Her nose twitched and Parker remembered the man's heavy-handed use of a musty scented cologne.

"Moldy Manning," the other officers called him behind his back.

His partner, a barrel-chested man with matching crew cut and gray three-piece suit was twice Manning's size, but kowtowed to him like a sheepdog to a shepherd.

"Start the tape, Everett," Manning ordered.

The younger detective fiddled with the tape recorder sitting in the middle of the table. After Everett recorded the date, time, and name of the subject being questioned, Manning took over.

"Now, let me restate what you told us so far, Maggie, and you can verify if it's correct or not. You said you were the last one to leave the restaurant last night?"

"I told you, I wanted to speak to Ms. Davis alone, but I didn't get a chance because she said she had another engagement."

"And you believed her and let it go at that?"

"I heard someone outside her office door, so I knew she was telling the truth."

"You can describe this person then."

"No, I never got a look at him...or her. Whoever it was ducked into the kitchen before I came out of her office. I left by way of the lobby, so I never saw who it was."

"I see. A clandestine affair." Manning rolled his eyes, something the recorder couldn't pick up and Maggie may have missed, but it was obvious to Parker the detective didn't believe a word she was saying.

"So, you said you'd found out about this affair...excuse me, alleged affair for the first time yesterday morning. Why didn't you confront Ms. Davis about it then?"

"I did, but she-she was on her way out and wouldn't discuss it with me at the time. I had an afternoon class at UCF, then the dinner shift to get through...." Maggie's words trailed off, as if she could see the incongruity of her statements. On the one hand she was very upset about what she'd learned, yet she didn't press the issue until much later that evening. It left plenty of time for premeditation. Parker suspected it was a point Manning wanted to make on record.

In the midst of her busy day, she'd found time to call her best friend and cry on her shoulder, yet didn't find time to track down Davis and press her for an explanation. He could just imagine where Manning would go with that information, and he hoped Maggie remained silent on the specifics of how she'd spent her day.

Thankfully, Manning seemed too enraptured by what he'd already written down, to try to extract new information. He flipped through several more note pages, then said, "Hmm, that's right, you're studying for.... Oh, yes, a degree in hotel/restaurant management. I guess keeping your job at Star's Restaurant was pretty important to you then."

"Not that important," Maggie said, weakly.

She should have a lawyer present, Parker thought, to keep her from digging her hole any deeper. Knowing Maggie she probably agreed to answer their questions without one, thinking she didn't have anything to hide. Little did she know how the most innocent of actions could often be interpreted the wrong way by a jaded officer of the law, or one too lazy to look for other suspects when a perfectly good one with motive was sitting before him. "I see, so you talked briefly with Ms. Davis around eleven," the detective continued, referring to his notes, "then drove straight home."

"No, I-I drove around a little first."

"Drove around? Kind of dangerous for a woman driving around alone at that time of the night, isn't it?"

"I didn't think about it at the time. I--"

"I know. You were upset because Starlene Davis confirmed your suspicions about her and your late husband."

When Maggie didn't answer, he flipped pages in his notepad again and switched gears. "You arrived at the restaurant around five a.m., to give notice you were quitting?"

"Yes, I didn't want to stay on, knowing--"

"Knowing, Maggie. A moment ago, you used the term alleged."

Maggie bit her lower lip. Instead of allowing Manning to bait her to anger, she remained quiet. Parker knew it wasn't a planned maneuver. Maggie never faced confrontation when it could be avoided. That was probably the reason she didn't pressure her employer for one the day before.

"So," Manning picked up where he'd left off, "you went to the restaurant around five-thirty, hoping to catch Miss Davis alone and give your notice. Instead, you found her hanging from the open beams in the front lobby and immediately called 911."

"That's correct." Maggie's voice was barely above a whisper.

"You're real pretty for a murderer, Maggie." Manning inhaled deeply as if sniffing her hair. His partner chuckled. Parker curled his fingers into tight fists. Detective Manning was the sort of person who made you want to rearrange his nose every time he opened his mouth. They'd had several run-ins over the years.

"I didn't kill her." Maggie sounded doleful and undisturbed by the backhanded compliment, which made Parker suspect it wasn't the first time this morning that Manning had made the allegation.

"Five o'clock, that's a rather odd hour to be at the restaurant, isn't it?" Manning's brow knitted together as if he were truly puzzled.

"Not so terribly early," Maggie said. "The breakfast crew comes in around five-thirty."

"But didn't you say..." Manning made a production out of searching his inside coat pocket. He took out a small notepad, flipped it open, and tapped the page. "Yes, you said you weren't scheduled to work this morning."

He pulled out the chair beside her and lifted one shiny tasseled loafer onto the seat. Propping an elbow on his knee, Manning leaned in close to her, practically breathing down her neck.

His cocky stance made it difficult for Maggie to look him in the eye without seeming to cower away from him. Parker knew Manning expected her to maintain her submissive posture. He silently applauded her decision to lift her gaze toward the mirror instead. Parker felt as if she were staring directly at him.

Back erect, face forward, she waited for Manning to catch her eye in the mirror before answering. Her blue eyes were clear as a summer sky. She wasn't crying, Parker noted with relief.

"I wasn't scheduled to work, but I had typed a new menu Star--Miss Davis wanted. She was anxious to get it printed up before the new chef came in on Monday. I couldn't sleep so I decided to take it to her this morning. I wanted to talk to her again, anyway."

"About the hanky-panky that went on between her and your late husband?"

"What she claimed went on," Maggie said defensively.

"I understand why you might have been hurt over such a revelation, Ms. Youngson," Detective Everett, said sympathetically.

"Hurt? You got angry as hell, didn't you?" Manning bellowed. They sounded like bad actors in a good cop, bad cop routine.

"I was a little upset, but--"

"A little upset," Manning mocked. "Upset enough to want Starlene Davis dead. You wanted her dead and you stood by and watched your accomplice get the deed done. You either seduced or hired..."

Manning went on to give a theoretical rendition of how Maggie and an unnamed accomplice killed her boss.

"What the hell is he talking about?" Parker asked.

"The victim," Captain Bigley explained, "was found hanging from a rope tied to the lobby chandelier. The stress marks on the neck seemed consistent with that of a natural hanging, and there was no evidence of the hands being tied. We'll have to wait for the autopsy to find out if the victim was drugged. At first, it looked like a typical suicide."

"What makes you think it wasn't?" Parker asked.

"The chair, supposedly used to stand on while putting the noose around her neck, is what gave it away. When stood upright, it was about three inches short of reaching the bottom of the victim's feet."

Parker wondered who'd been clever enough to check that little detail. Certainly not Manning. The captain confirmed his suspicions.

"The medical examiner and crime scene unit also made calculations of the weight and height of the victim at the scene. I think unless Mrs. Youngson is a lot stronger than she looks, she might have had a hard time strong-arming the larger woman into position, even if the victim were drugged."

"She wouldn't have stood by idly and watched someone else do it, either," Parker argued.

"I'm a little dubious as well," Bigley said, "but Detective Manning--"

"To hell with Manning. Is she under arrest?"

"Well, except for a possible motive, which, at the moment, we don't know--"

Parker snatched open the connecting door to the interrogation room. The look of relief on Maggie's face tempted him to pick her up and carry her out in his arms. Instead he gestured over his shoulder and barked out, "Let's go, Maggie."

"What? The hell you say," Manning sputtered and dropped his foot off the chair. His gaze slid to his captain following Parker into the room. "She's not going anywhere just yet."

"Either you book her, or I'm taking my client out of here. She's not answering any more questions without a lawyer present."

"She waived her rights to a lawyer," Manning fumed.

"Well, I'm un-waiving them." Parker took her by the arm and practically lifted her up from the chair. All the way down the corridor to the outer offices, he heard Manning protesting Maggie's leaving to his superior officer.

* * *

"You can let go of my arm now, Parker," Maggie said as she stumbled down the last step at the front of the police department.

"Sorry." Parker released her arm, and she suddenly missed his touch and wished she hadn't complained. With measured steps he strolled over to the street crossing.

Maggie cast a discreet look over his backside. For some reason she had an uncanny desire to check out Parker's physique. Probably because she hadn't had a good look at him since before his accident.

When the interrogation room door had burst open, a medieval warrior stepping out of some time warp couldn't have surprised her more. In fact, Parker sometimes reminded her of some of the medieval warriors she'd read about in romance stories. He'd had that same feral gleam in his eyes when he took up her defense. His tight black jeans and black turtleneck added ambiance to his dashing and dangerous appearance.

He hadn't changed much in two years. The grooves that crisscrossed his brows, the dark circles under his eyes, and the specks of gray beginning to show around his temples weren't there before. But, they in no way detracted from his rugged good looks. Still six feet of sinewy strength and raw sensuality. He seemed a little thicker through the shoulders and waist, but it only made him appear more powerful. And except for the slight limp, one would never guess he'd been injured.

"I'm parked across the street," he said, when she lingered near the steps. After she caught up, the light changed and they walked side by side toward the parking lot beneath Interstate 4. She noted that he moved away when her arm brushed against his.

"I really appreciate what you did back there," she said.

"You're not out of the woods yet," he responded gruffly.

"You don't believe I killed Starlene, do you?" Maggie held her breath for his answer.

"I know you didn't kill her, but considering you had a good motive, it may be difficult to convince the police otherwise."

She got a whiff of his clean scent as he reached around her and wrenched open the passenger door of his pickup. The combination of light sandalwood and Parker's unique manly essence was much more pleasant than the odor left in Detective Manning's wake. For some reason the man reeked of a fish-like essence. "They can't prove something that isn't true."

"Haven't you ever heard of miscarriage of justice? It happens all the time."

Cass had talked to Parker about investigating the alleged affair between Starlene and her late husband. She said he'd flat out refused. To everyone else it might seem irrelevant since Starlene and Sam were both dead, but what woman could rest easy with the image of her husband making love to another woman? "You said I was your client, Parker. Does that mean you've changed your mind about taking my case?"

"Your husband's dead, Maggie. So is his lover--"

"Alleged lover," she corrected. If she didn't know Parker better, she might have mistaken a faint spark of jealousy in his dark brown eyes.

"Explosives are my specialty, not sifting through a dead man's dirty laundry."

She winced, but she wasn't going to be deterred by his poor attitude. This was too important to her. "I'll help you," she said and slid into the passenger seat.

She thought he said, "God forbid," as he slammed the door.

Maggie felt reasonably satisfied that Parker had agreed to take her case and wouldn't go back on his word, even if he did find the job distasteful. He was right though. She wasn't out of the woods as far as her employer's murder went. Who else had a stronger motive?

Parker got behind the steering wheel and, as if reading her thoughts, asked, "Can you think of anyone who would have had a reason to want your boss dead?"

She could think of several who didn't particularly like Starlene, but enough to kill her? "No one that I know of."

He turned the key in the ignition and shot her an honest to goodness smile as he backed out of the parking space. Her heart did a quick somersault. His sense of humor, however, seemed a long way from being restored to what she'd gotten accustomed to a couple of years ago. His injuries seemed to go a good deal deeper than just a hurt limb.

"We both know you didn't do it," he said, "so there must be someone else."

"Thanks, Parker," she said softly.

He just grunted again and drove up the entrance ramp into Interstate 4 traffic.

"What makes you so sure I didn't do it?"

"It's only logical. You don't have the stamina necessary to hang someone twice your size from an overhead beam."

So his decision stemmed from a logical conclusion rather than faith in her. "I could have hired someone like the detective said."

"How much money do you have?"

"Money?" Maggie wondered if he was worried about his fee. "I'll pay for your services." Someday, somehow, she added silently.

He snorted. "I'm happy to hear it. However, it takes a lot more than a pretty smile to buy a hit man. And I don't think there are many in the business who work on credit."

Another logical deduction. His clear, concise way of sifting though information was why she'd had faith in his ability to help her in the first place. She ignored his surly remark, and secretly hoped her smile would be enough for Parker, for without a job, her credit wouldn't be much good.

Chapter Two

As soon as Parker pulled into Maggie's driveway, people came pouring out of the little frame house like termites who'd run out of wood.

Ryce opened her door, Claire hugged her tightly, Harold Abbott--Parker remembered the pencil-necked accountant who hung around the sisters like an incurable disease--grinned and pumped Maggie's hand. He vaguely remembered, too, but couldn't recall the name of the muscle-bound neighbor who grabbed Maggie and lifted her off her feet in a bear hug.

Paint the man green and call him The Hulk. Parker was tempted to warn the fellow to go easy or he might pop his buttons.

Parker glanced around for media, but there was none. Murders were becoming too prevalent in the Central Florida area; they were no longer newsworthy unless a public figure was involved.

Something tugged on Parker's pants leg. He looked down at the blond-headed child with one arm curled around a fat black cat.

"Hello, Parker," Jenny said as if she'd seen him only two days instead of two years ago.

"Hello, sweetheart." Parker leaned down and scratched the cat behind the ear, earning him an approving purr from the animal. "Who's your friend?"

"H-Cat. Don't you remember?"

"Oh yeah. The cat from hel--" He caught himself, remembering Maggie's house rules to use letter's in place of swear words, with a preference for no swearing at all.

"Parker, Jenny, come on inside," Claire said, as she nudged the rest of the gang ahead of her. "There's coffee, and Mrs. Weatherfield baked a cake."

"The diabetic?" Parker asked, remembering the elderly neighbor from the other side of Maggie's. There was no one left to hear his question but Jenny.

"We have to eat it," the child said in a horse whisper, "whether we like it or not."

Parker cocked a brow. "Who says?"

"Mommy. After I told Mrs. Weatherfield that her chocolate chip cookies tasted just like rocks, Mommy said from now on when Mrs. Weatherfield goes to so much trouble to bake something for us, I'll eat it and like it.

"We'll eat it, won't we H-Cat? That don't mean we have to like it." The cat squirmed from Jenny's arms and ran toward the back of the house. "Oh, 'S'," Jenny said and threw up her hands. "I should never have told him he'd have to eat the cake, too."

Parker threw back his head and laughed. He couldn't remember the last time he'd had anything to laugh about and it felt really good. He wondered if Maggie knew her daughter was using letter swearing.

"Are you two coming?" Maggie asked, poking her head around the screen door. The heavyweight neighbor peered out over her shoulder with a cheesy grin on his face. Parker had a brief urge to put up his dukes.

"Come on, squirt," he said. "A man's gotta do what a man's gotta do."

"But I'm a girl." Jenny crossed her arms and stuck out her bottom lip in a pout. She looked just the way Maggie had when he'd boarded that plane two years ago. It was a look that had made him want to hug her and shake her at the same time. She'd accused him of taking the assignment just because she'd turned down his proposal. Proposing had been a rash thing to do. She'd still been grieving for her dead husband and...hell, he hadn't even found out if they were compatible in bed together. He'd reminded her he had a job to do regardless of how she felt about him. Then she'd surprised the heck out of him by throwing her arms around him as if he were a soldier going off to war. Little had he known how close to the truth that would turn out to be. As he held her tightly in his arms, she'd apologized and started crying. He could take anything Maggie threw at him but her pity.

Parker swung the child up into his arms. "Haven't you ever heard of women's lib, kid? I should have said, a woman's gotta do what a man's gotta do."

"I wish I was a cat," Jenny complained.

Parker realized he'd missed the precocious child, almost as much as he had her sentimental mother. Although, Maggie seemed more independent and a lot less emotional than when he'd last seen her. Yet, she apparently still harbored deep feelings for a dead man, otherwise she wouldn't be more concerned about proving his innocence than her own.

* * *

"The media didn't come right out and accuse you of being involved, Maggie." Harold sipped his coffee and looked as perplexed over her situation as the rest of the group.

Parker glanced down to make sure Jenny was still asleep when the conversation turned to the murder. She'd crawled into his lap as soon as he sat down. She'd eaten a smidgen of Mrs. Weatherfield's cake, then pretended sleep until a few minutes later he'd felt her body go limp against his side. Although, he hadn't the slightest idea why, children seemed to take to him. His niece and nephew would move down to the trailer with him, if their mother would allow it.

He shifted Jenny into a more comfortable position. Feeling an unexpected tenderness for the sly little girl, he brushed a loose strand of blond hair off her face. He was glad she'd gone to sleep for real, because the adults continued to hash over Maggie's predicament.

"From the statement issued by the police department a few moments ago, I got the impression they thought you may be able to identify the killer," the accountant added. He was perched forward on the edge of one end of Maggie's sofa. Mrs. Weatherfield from next door and the bear-hugger from across the street, took up three-fourths of the cushioned space.

"That's because they think I had an accomplice," Maggie said. "I wish I'd been more curious about the person Starlene was meeting. If I'd only exited through the kitchen as I usually do, I would have been able to identify him for the police."

Or become another victim, Parker thought.

"Oh, it's just like in a movie I saw once." Mrs. Weatherfield clapped and bounced on the sofa, causing Harold's coffee cup to rattle in his saucer.

"Mother," he admonished, giving the woman a reproving look that seemed to go unnoticed. Parker lifted a brow. Harold's relationship with the sisters suddenly made sense, they'd been raised next door to each other.

"Oh, Harold, you remember that movie." Mrs. Weatherfield's lower chin wobbled excitedly as she slapped his arm, causing his coffee to slosh over the cup's edge into the saucer and splashing droplets onto his pants legs. She continued, unaware of the havoc she was reeking on her son's apparel. "You always loved those Hitchcock thrillers. The witness was a blind woman, and she identified the killer by the scraping sound he made when he walked. It turned out he had an old war injury that left him with a limp."

Everyone's gaze landed on Parker briefly, then flickered away. Maggie winked at him as she got up and retrieved a napkin. Harold dabbed at the splotches on his pants and everyone's attention shifted back to Maggie as she returned to one of the kitchen chairs they'd brought into the living room. A small couch and the easy chair Parker occupied didn't afford enough seating for the group. Ryce sat on one of the kitchen chairs between the sisters, with Claire next to Parker, and Maggie beside the couch.

"This guy wasn't so obliging," she said.

"You must have been scared out of your gourd," Claire said, leaning across her husband's lap and placing one hand on her sister's arm.

Maggie glanced over at her sleeping daughter and frowned. "Since I didn't know a murder was about to take place, I had no reason to be."

"Then you're sure it was a man?" The brawny neighbor asked, moving forward on the couch and placing a hand on Maggie's knee. If she hadn't shifted away and offered to refill everyone's coffee cup at that moment, the low growl that lay in the back of Parker's throat might have become a roar.

What was the matter with him? He had no claim on Maggie. He had no idea who did. For all he knew the guy had every right to put his hands on her, put his hands all over her.... The thought caused a stab of jealousy so strong Parker shifted in his seat, disturbing Jenny's sleep.

"Shh," he soothed and rubbed the child's back until she settled down.

"I suppose the pickup I saw--"

"I don't think the police would want Maggie revealing too many of the details," Parker interrupted. He locked gazes with the big man in a silent challenge. Obviously he'd missed some of those details. He didn't remember anything about a pickup.

Claire yawned. "Well, I for one am glad she's home safe and sound. I think I'll take Jenny's lead and go home to take a nap."

"Me, too," Ryce said. His wife giggled when he helped her to her feet. Then his face turned red and he corrected, "I mean go home, that is. I have work to finish before we leave on our trip to Key West tomorrow. Unless, maybe we shouldn't go now. Maggie might need--"

"Don't be silly, Ryce," Claire said. "With Parker here, she'll be in good hands." Before he had a chance to object, she pushed her husband through the kitchen and out the side door.

A few moments later, Harold and his mother excused themselves, too, drawing a promise from Maggie to call them if she needed anything. The Hulk lingered, making Parker suspect there'd been something to his possessive attitude toward Maggie.

Maggie lifted the sleeping Jenny from Parker's lap and took her into her bedroom.

Parker and Carl, as Maggie called the man during conversation earlier, eyed each other like dogs on a leash. Then the man got up, grinned, and stretched. Mounds of hard flesh popped up in extremely useless areas of his upper body.

"I think I'll get another cup of coffee. You want some?"

"No thanks." Parker glanced at the full cup on the table beside him.

A moment later, Carl came back into the room sipping fresh coffee, and said, "I own a gym on Fern Boulevard."

"How nice," Parker mumbled. He picked up the cup beside his chair and slurped, something he'd never done before in polite company. Unnecessary, too, since the coffee had turned tepid while he'd held Jenny. The small slice of cake her mother had cut her looked like a compressed yellow sponge. Obviously, Jenny thought if she mashed it into a smaller size, it would look like she'd actually eaten part of it. Parker had taken the child's earlier warning seriously, and claiming indigestion, refused a slice.

"ToughMan Fitness Center," Carl continued the conversation.

"A mite chauvinistic sounding, isn't it?"

The gym owner laughed. "Women don't seem to mind the masculine distinction in the name. In fact, I think that could be a lure for many of our female members."

Parker sipped again and grimaced. He hated lukewarm coffee. He should have taken Carl up on the offer to freshen his cup.

"You know, indigestion is often caused by a sudden weight gain," Carl said helpfully.

Parker sucked in his gut. The man was really getting on his nerves.

The Hulk reached into his shirt pocket and handed Parker a card. "You should think about working out. Might improve the leg, too."

The man wasn't trying to make brownie points, Parker thought. But perhaps he was being overly sensitive. He didn't like discussing his disability with anyone but doctors, and lately he was getting tired of having his case reviewed by them.

First visit free, the top of the card read. "Thanks," Parker said and stuffed the pass into his own shirt pocket. "Been nice talking to you. I'll tell Maggie you had to go."

"I'll wait a minute or two longer," Carl said, ignoring Parker's rudeness. He glanced at his Rolex watch. "Got something I need to discuss with her."

Carl was a hard man to dissuade, and what would a man like "The Hulk" want to talk to Maggie about. Ask her for a date, maybe? Cass had kept him periodically informed about Maggie. His nosy sister hadn't mentioned if, or whom, Maggie was dating. He said, "I don't think it's a good idea for her to be going out for a while."

Carl glared. "She has to work."

"That's a fact," Maggie said as she entered the room.

Parker stood. He looked from her to the other man and wondered if there was anything personal going on between the two. He was big, at least a hundred pounds heavier than Parker. At least three times her weight. He would crush her...Good God! He put that image aside. They didn't act like lovers, so he felt sure his suspicious mind was working overtime again.

"Have you got something for me this week, Carl?" Maggie asked.

"Three days a week from now on if you want it."

"Beginners, I hope."

"Advanced, but you're in great shape. You can handle it."

Maggie was in great shape, Parker silently acknowledged, but what business was it of Carl Tillerman's?--he finally remembered the neighbor's full name. And what was it he thought she could handle?

"You can start Monday night," Carl said.

"Her class?" Maggie's eyes went wide and Parker became alert. "But what if her pupils saw me on this morning's newscast?"

"Let me worry about that. I doubt anyone will care, anyway."

"Yes, but Starlene's class..."

Parker's gaze zeroed in on Carl. "Are you saying that Starlene Davis was some sort of instructor at your gym?"

"More than an instructor," Tillerman said. "I guess I might as well tell you, since the police will probably dig up the information soon, anyway. We were engaged once."

"Engaged?" Maggie looked incredulous, but her empathy for his loss apparently overshadowed her curiosity. "I'm sorry, Carl. I didn't realize you two were that close."

"No one could ever get very close to Starlene."

"How long ago?" Parker asked. He didn't see any reason to share Maggie's compassion for the gym owner. Especially, since Carl didn't appear all that broken up about his ex-fiancée's death.

Carl's lips curved into a thin smile. "It was one of those high school romance things. As soon as my hormones settled down, I realized we were not meant for each other."

"When was the last time you saw her alive?" Parker asked, getting them back to current events.

"She was at the gym yesterday, wasn't she?" Maggie interjected.

"Yes," he said and explained to Parker, "Starlene was somewhat fanatical about staying in shape and didn't think the two aerobics classes were enough to stay that way. Every day she used the slow period between the lunch and dinner crowd to workout on the machines. Then she did the two classes three times a week. I spoke with her briefly that afternoon. She'd cancelled Friday night's session without consulting me."

Before Parker had a chance to ask what else they might have discussed, Carl added, "I was upset, of course, because it was too late to schedule another instructor. When I got angry with her, she just laughed. Told me she had a hot date, unless I could make her a better offer."

"Why would she tell her ex-fiancé about plans to see another man, then tease him about it?" Parker asked.

"To see if it would get a rise out of me, I suppose. Starlene was like that. I'm afraid she had a very high opinion of herself. She thought all the men in her life should become jealous over her affairs."

Maggie's eyes widened with apparent interest. "Did Starlene have many?"

"Affairs? Yes, as I recall. She hated it when a lover lost interest before she did."

"And how did you react when she dumped you?" Parker asked.

"With relief, pretty much. She wasn't exactly a one-man woman, if you know what I mean. Still, I felt sorry for her sometimes, especially when she tried to get a rise out of me by talking about her lovers. I played along with her for years, pretending to let it bother me, but eventually it became a bore and I no longer bothered."

Turning his eyes on Maggie, Carl's expression softened. The man had a thing for her. Parker could read it in his hangdog expression.

However, Maggie didn't flirt or encourage him in any way. In fact, she seemed oblivious to Carl's attraction.

Parker felt a strange relief, but wondered why he should care one way or the other. Instinctively he knew she wanted to question Carl about Starlene and her husband, but she couldn't seem to find the words she needed. That was so like Maggie, never prepared to deal with unpleasantness. Then the opportunity to ask questions escaped her when Carl gave her a brotherly hug and said, "I'll be home if you need me."

Parker decided he needed more information about Carl Tillerman before querying the man further himself.

* * *

"You aren't serious about this aerobics thing?" Parker asked after Carl left.

She collected dishes from the coffee and side tables and shrugged. "I've got to make a living."

Parker flinched upon hearing almost the exact same words he'd spoken to Captain Bigley flung back at him. And "a woman's gotta do what a man's gotta do," wasn't exactly the philosophy he had in mind when he'd quoted the reversed cliché to Jenny, but what voice did he have in the matter? He grabbed up his cup and another and followed Maggie into the kitchen.

"What about your investigation?" he argued. "You said you would help."

"You know, I've been thinking about that." She put the dishes into the sink, turned and took the cups he held. "A lot of people who knew Starlene come into the gym. It might be a perfect place to begin asking questions."

"I suppose next you'll suggest that I workout in the gym, too."

"What an excellent idea," she exclaimed. "That's why I need you, Parker, you know how to handle this sort of thing."

"Maggie," he chuckled, "don't try to butter me up."

"It's nice to hear you laugh," she said.

When she turned to face him, the smile dropped off his face. His gaze locked on her heart-shaped lips, and all he could think about was how wonderful she'd tasted the last time he kissed her. Her hand fluttering toward his neck awoke him from his fantasy though, and he jerked out of her reach just in time.

Chapter Three

"Jenny dropped cake crumbs on you," Maggie said, touching her own collar to indicate the spot. She gave the dishes in the sink her firm attention so he wouldn't see how hurt she was by his reaction. It seemed he couldn't even stand being touched by her.

When he leaned over the other side of the double sink and flicked the crumbs from the collar of his turtleneck, Maggie caught a glimpse of a puffy scar shooting up toward the back of his neck. He straightened and pulled the collar higher. She wondered if his wounds were still sensitive, and hoped it was that rather than her mere touch that repulsed him. She left the dishes to soak, opened the bottom door of the refrigerator and said, "You must be hungry. How are scrambled eggs on your digestion?"

"There's nothing wrong with my digestion," he grumbled.

"Really?" She shot him a look over the refrigerator door. "I could have sworn I heard you mention having indigestion earlier."

"I'm not much for exotic concoctions, but felt Mrs. Weatherfield might take it personally if I told her so."

"She means well," Maggie mumbled, knowing her daughter must have warned Parker about Mrs. Weatherfield's cooking. Her neighbor would pinch-hit as baby-sitter for Jenny whenever Claire wasn't available, and Maggie was grateful for all she did to help her out. The least she could do was accept the woman's baked offerings with grace, if not gratitude. She didn't think Parker had eaten this morning though, since he'd arrived at the police station shortly on the heels of her arrival. She knew he'd turn down any offer she made to cook, so didn't give him the opportunity to say no. "I'll scramble you some eggs. Would you prefer toast or biscuits?"

"Biscuits?" He seemed surprised that she'd offered to go to that much trouble.

She'd gotten into the habit of serving biscuits for breakfast when Sam was alive. Her cooking was something her husband had always praised. The old saying that Gram repeated often came rushing back to her--the way to a man's heart....What an absurd thing to be thinking in context with Parker. He wasn't exactly your mom-and-apple-pie type. "I don't mind, really. Sam always said--"

"Don't trouble yourself. Just eggs and toast will be fine."

Maggie tried to ignore his surly tone. She didn't know why she cared whether or not she made a good impression on Parker, anyway. He'd made it quite plain two years ago that he liked his women more skilled in the bedroom than the kitchen. One reason she'd been out of her mind scared when he suggested he take her to the former. "It's no trouble, since I like to cook."

"The way to a man's heart, huh?"

She almost dropped the egg carton. He couldn't be reading her mind, could he? Although his features remained stoic, his dark eyes sparkled mischievously. Maybe he, too, was remembering their disagreement shortly before he left for Puerto Rico. So what, if sex had never been number one on her list of priorities? Sam never seemed to mind...or, had he?

She set the eggs on the counter and retrieved a skillet from the bottom drawer of the stove. Ignoring Parker seemed the only way to avoid the embarrassment she felt when his firm lips started twitching with suppressed humor. The word coward ran through her mind.

To prove she wasn't, she turned and lifted her chin. "I suppose it would depend on whether the man has a heart or not."

If he brought up that embarrassing encounter of two years ago, something that had plagued her night and day ever since, she'd be tempted to use the skillet as a cudgel instead of its intended purpose. She felt uncomfortable discussing sexual matters so openly with him. Yet, he'd persisted, causing her to say some things she hadn't really meant, like "I'm really not that attracted to you, Parker."

Lying had been easier than facing the issue head on, or embarrassing herself by admitting all she knew about sex, she had learned from her husband. Sam had been so young himself, she wasn't even sure he had known any more than she did. It was a subject they never openly discussed during the five years they'd been together. Coward. Yes the word seemed to fit her perfectly then as now.

For a few moments longer, Parker seemed to wage an inner war between teasing amusement and seriousness, but thankfully, seriousness won the battle. He leaned against the counter and crossed his arms in front of him. Changing the subject completely, he said, "You didn't mention seeing a pickup truck when the police questioned you."

"They hardly gave me a chance. It was parked on the side street. It might have no significance to the case, anyway."

"You shouldn't discount anything you saw last night or this morning."

She didn't want to think about this morning, the body dangling from the wood beam in the lobby, sightless eyes staring at the ceiling.

"I did get a little scared when I circled the block," she said. When he didn't comment further, she shrugged and retrieved a can of cooking oil spray. As she sprayed the bottom of the skillet, she noticed Parker sniffing the air. "I have to admit Mrs. Weatherfield does get a little carried away with spices and flavorings sometimes. The odd combination she used in the pound cake still lingers, doesn't it?"

"Um-huh," he grunted, but continued to circle the room, his nostrils flaring at regular intervals.

Maggie glanced at the remaining cake sitting on the kitchen table. "There's some aluminum foil on top of the fridge if you want to cover it while I cook your eggs."

He turned toward her and said, "Cassie said someone gave you a note, telling you about the affair. I'd like to see it?"

"I showed it to Starlene, and she never gave it back. I thought maybe the police had found it."

"Oh, I don't recall Manning bringing that up during the questioning, either."

"Maybe he didn't see any need since I told him about the alleged affair already."

Parker snorted. "I doubt that. Physical evidence like that would go a long way toward garnering him an arrest warrant."

Maggie frowned. She turned on the gas burner, and when it did not ignite, she lifted the iron grate and mumbled, "Pilot must have gone out again."

Parker covered the cake, then continued his prowl around the room, again testing the odors. Maggie made a mental note to buy room deodorizer the next time she went to the store. She searched a couple of drawers for a pack of matches to light the stove. As she was about to strike one, Parker knocked the box from her hands.

"Gas!"

For a moment, Maggie just stared at him, stunned by his reaction. Was fire a reminder of his accident? "Of course, it's gas, Parker," she said with a calmness she didn't feel. He pushed her out of his way. The way he yanked up the stovetop cover scared the dickens out of her.

He leaned down and examined the burners. "How old is this thing, anyway?"

"I-I don't know. It's been here since before Gram died, but it's still in good working order," she assured him. "The pilot lights go out sometimes, but it's been doing that for years. We've never had any major problem with it."

"There would have been a problem if you'd struck that match." Parker replaced the stove cover and Maggie sucked in a breath when he opened the oven door and a nauseating scent wafted up to her, becoming much stronger than the odors only hinted at earlier. Mrs. Weatherfield's cake hadn't been the only thing fouling the air.

While she was preparing to make breakfast, gas had been seeping in through the unlit oven burner. If she had struck the match, they would have been engulfed in flames. Maggie's stomach roiled. Whether from the smell of propane or fear, she couldn't tell. He twisted the oven knob around until it clicked in the center temperature position. He removed it and pushed it back in place with the arrow pointing at the off position at the other side of the spectrum. The knob had been put on upside down. How long had it been like that? When she'd washed the stove down the day before, had she removed the knobs for cleaning? She couldn't remember.

She stood transfixed as Parker flung up the window over the sink, then threw open the outside kitchen door. "Maybe you'd better go check on Jenny."

His words roused her from her stupor. "Jenny, oh my God!"

In three long strides, Parker crossed the kitchen and gripped her by the arms. He shook her slightly. "It's just a precaution, Maggie. I'm sure the fumes aren't strong enough to have reached the rest of the house yet, but we should open all the windows, anyway."

"You're right," she nodded, and some of her anxiety dissipated.

"Come on, I'll go with you." She felt comforted by his hand gently guiding her along the hallway. It had been a long time since she'd had a man to lean on. She couldn't allow herself such luxury, she thought, and stepped away from Parker's touch as soon as they entered her daughter's bedroom.

Jenny was still sleeping soundly. As usual, she hugged her Valentine pillow. While Parker quietly opened the bedroom window, Maggie couldn't resist stroking the curls off her daughter's forehead, just to assure herself Jenny was okay.

How could she have been so careless? In her hurry to get to work yesterday she must have shoved the knob on in the wrong position. Then when anticipating baking the biscuits she'd offered Parker, she'd turned the knob to off, thinking she'd turned it on when she hadn't.

Jenny stirred and said sleepily, "Mommy."

"I'm sorry if I woke you, sweetie. Go back to sleep."

"I don't like to take day naps," Jenny said as she fought to keep her eyes open.

"I know." Maggie continued to stroke the child's hair. She didn't have to look up to see if Parker stood nearby. She could feel his quiet presence filling the room, watching, evaluating. Why didn't he just go ahead and rant at her for making such a grave mistake? Thinking about it now, she couldn't remember hearing Parker so much as raise his voice to anyone. Sam would have chewed her out for making such a mistake.

"You were supposed to take me to see the monkeys." Jenny yawned and rubbed her face against the pillow.

Maggie had forgotten all about the promised trip to the zoo. "We still have plenty of time."

"Can Parker go with us?"

Parker's attention, riveted on the small child and the red pillow clasped in her arms, jerked sharply toward the mother. He expected Maggie to offer some reason why he couldn't go, but she only smiled at him and said, "That's up to Parker."

Maggie had always been the melodramatic type. Although, the situation earlier could have been serious, she didn't need to include him in their day trip out of gratitude. He would have to come up with an excuse to give the child for not going. He started to do just that, but then his gaze caught on a picture frame containing a photo of him and Jenny. In it, her small arms were curled tightly around his neck and her cheek was pressed against his.

He remembered the day the picture had been snapped. He'd taken Maggie and Jenny to a cookout at his sister's house, a sort of going away gathering for him, only he hadn't told Maggie he'd be leaving the next day for a long-term assignment later that day. When she'd pressured him to know where he was going and how long he'd be gone, he'd taken it as a sign she was worried for him. He thought she cared as much for him as he did her.

Because all the signs had seemed right, he'd wanted a commitment from her before he left. His mistake had been trying to get it by getting in her pants. He hadn't been successful at either.

"Jenny, I, uh..." He glanced at the picture again. It was the only photo on the table. Why did the child have one of him instead of her father beside her bed? "I've got a lot of work to do at the nursery," he stalled.

Jenny's face began to crumble. Had the child latched onto him as a father figure? She hadn't seen him in two years. But the evidence was there, in the bedside picture and the valentine pillow and the large poster of Mars, presents he'd sent her during his absence, that graced the wall over her bedstead.

Parker had obligations. He'd promised his father to see to a shipment of plants to North Florida, but the truck wasn't due until late afternoon. He did need to ask Maggie some more questions regarding the case, so maybe the outing would serve some purpose.

He wasn't sure which case should take precedent. Finding the missing Testa Rossa? Or investigating the Davis murder? The flimsy evidence against Maggie didn't even justify him spending time proving her innocence. But as he'd told her before, innocent people went to jail all the time. He had one of those "ah-heck" moments when he glanced at two pairs of expectant blue eyes waiting for his answer. He couldn't do much about the missing car until more paperwork came in from Atlanta, and if he solved a murder, wouldn't it help to promote his new career?

"Okay," he said. "I haven't been to the zoo in years."

Jenny whooped. She bounded out of the bed and Parker suddenly found his arms filled with the child's tiny frame. She rewarded him with a fierce hug and said, "I love you, Parker."

Something caught in his Parker's throat, so he didn't respond.

* * *

Maggie sat beside Parker on a park bench and watched Jenny toss peanuts to the monkeys.

"We need to discuss what happened this morning," Parker said.

"I know." Maggie didn't wish to dwell on that awful scene at the restaurant. But if she wanted Parker's help, she knew she'd have to give him every detail. She hadn't killed anyone, but Detective Manning had scared her with all his questions and insinuations. She wanted to clear her name, but she also wanted to find out the truth about Starlene and Sam. She should have questioned Carl about the affair, but if he denied knowing about it, how would she know if he were telling her the truth. For years, family and friends made a habit of protecting her from the evils of the world. Even their explanation of Sam's death had left her with plaguing, unanswered questions. She really was a coward. But lately she'd become sick and tired of having the whole truth withheld from her as if she were a child. Parker was the one person she could trust not to do that.

He asked, "You never told me who else might have carried a grudge against your employer."

"Any number of people. Starlene wasn't a very tactful person."

"Tactful?" He lifted one brow, that teasing glint in his eyes again. "Do you think a tactless remark would provoke someone to murder?"

She sighed. "I don't know, maybe not."

"What about the pickup?" His demeanor changed so quickly, it made her head spin. "You said you circled the block. Why did you go back? Did you forget something at the restaurant?"

There was an intensity in his voice that hadn't been there before, almost as if he were angry with her. "No, I thought I recognized the truck and went back to get another look." He'd think she was loony if she told him she'd had in mind to get the license number and find out the owner's name. Parker wouldn't have been pleased to know she'd intended to ask his sister to run the plates for her. Before she became pregnant with the twins, Cass had worked for the Sheriff's Department, and she still had some friends in the department who might be willing to do her a favor. "Why worry about that? Do you think it could lead to learning the truth about Sam and Starlene?"

"It could," Parker said, and his dark gaze darted off to check on Jenny.

Maggie knew he was lying to her. She wasn't a complete fool. She realized he only meant to investigate the murder without worrying about finding out the other things she wanted to know. She wasn't going to confront him about it though. He might channel his investigation elsewhere, cut her out of it completely, and she didn't want that. She tried not to think of it as deception, but rather as an opportunity to use his expertise to her own end. Anyone connected to Starlene enough to want to kill her must have known her well. Maybe, man-to-man, Parker would have better luck getting Carl Tillerman to talk. If his and Starlene's relationship went back to high school, then surely he knew more about her than anyone.

"Let's start with the people who worked at the restaurant," Parker said, shifting his attention back to her. "Did she have any arguments with any of the employees in the last few days?"

"I don't recall anyone arguing with her, but..."

"But what?" he asked.

She hesitated, watched Jenny toss a peanut to a small monkey hanging by his tail from the top bar of his cage, and then said, "Oh, I don't even know if it's relevant."

"Until we narrow down the suspects, anything could be relevant."

"You're right, of course, but Charlie Wu is such a gentle person. He grumbles and fusses a lot, mostly at Katy, the assistant cook. It doesn't amount to much. I can't picture him becoming violent over losing his job, especially since dinner chefs are in such demand these days."

Parker ignored Maggie's qualifying statement. He knew for a fact that even the most gentle of souls could turn violent if the right buttons were pushed. "When did Starlene fire her chef?"

"I'm not sure. I'm not even certain he was fired. For all I know, he could have given notice to quit. I wasn't aware he was leaving until Starlene asked me to type the new menu--'for the new chef,' she said."

"I'll need to question Wu. Do you by chance know his address?"

"I don't, but we could probably get it from the employee files at the restaurant."

"You have a key?"

Maggie frowned. "Not anymore. Starlene liked to sleep in on the days I worked the breakfast shift. She told me when she hired me that I'd have to be there an hour before opening to let the kitchen crew inside. But when I pushed the door open that morning, and saw her hanging...well, I must have left the key in the lock. The police probably have it now."

Something didn't add up, Parker thought. "Why didn't she just give the key to the cook?"

Maggie shrugged. "I don't know. I was too happy to get the extra hour's pay to question her. Maybe she trusted me more to show up. I've never missed a day's work."

"That's very commendable," he said.

"Not commendable, just necessary, and I've been fortunate that Jenny and I never got sick."

Parker said, "I doubt having a key to get in would do us much good, anyway. Detective Manning will have that place sealed tighter than Fort Knox."

Her blue eyes were filled with a look of concern as she asked, "Do you think the police will allow the restaurant to stay open? There are a lot of employees who rely on the income."

"Depends. The police probably will keep it sealed off until they finish their investigation. After that it will be up to Starlene's heirs."

"What if she had no family?"

"She probably left a will. We'll need to find out who her lawyer was. Most business people prepare for such an eventuality."

"Sam didn't."

Parker stared at Maggie. Was she finally admitting her husband had been less than perfect? He couldn't tell, for her attention was drawn back to Jenny. She laughed as the child jumped up and down and exchanged funny faces with one of the spider monkeys dancing along the wire cage. Spontaneity. That was something he'd grown used to seeing in Maggie. Was that the ingredient missing on the day he left for Puerto Rico?

He knew that wasn't entirely true. She cried easily. He remembered that about her. The day he boarded the plane for Puerto Rico, she'd kissed him, buried her face against his shoulder and bawled like a baby. Did it mean she suspected the kind of dangerous situation he'd been going into? That she'd worry about him until he returned home again? But then again, she could have just compared his leaving on assignment to that of a soldier going off to war. With Maggie one could never be sure. She might have acted the same if he'd been a complete stranger. He just wished he could stop thinking about how soft her lips had felt beneath his that day. Warm, too, and she'd tasted sweeter than--

Jenny stumbled and fell. Maggie was off the bench and picking her up before Parker could react. He couldn't help but admire Maggie for the tender way she cared for her daughter.

When Jenny was consoled and Maggie sat back down beside him, he remembered that she'd said she had to work. "Didn't your husband make any provisions to support you and Jenny after his death?"

At first she seemed taken off guard by his question. Parker thought he saw a wounded look flicker in her eyes. But then she shrugged and said, "He hadn't planned on having a hunting accident."

"Of course, he didn't," he said, trying to keep from turning surly by her defensiveness.

"I imagine," she said, "he thought the business would bring enough income to keep us going should anything happen to him."

"Business?" Parker was thinking more along the lines of life insurance, trust funds, retirement plans, or savings.

"Classic Cars Unlimited. Sam restored old cars. He was very good at it," she said.

Naturally. Parker decided sarcasm wasn't going to endear him to Maggie, so he kept his caustic remarks to himself. Somehow it seemed ironic that her husband had restored old cars and Parker's first PI job was recovering an antique Testa Rosa. "So why was it so important for you to go to work if Classic Cars Unlimited is such a money maker?"

"Two days after Sam died, the business burned down. We lost everything."

"Two days?" To a man who investigated crime for a living, the coincidence of something like that happening--death by gunfire and the burning down of the victim's business within a couple of days of each other--struck him as more than a little suspect.

"I know what you're thinking. I thought it was strange too, but the fire investigator said Sam left a faulty space heater on when he closed for the weekend. The element overheated and ignited a can of paint thinner that was sitting nearby."

As much as Parker would like to discredit Sam for being careless and insensitive to his family's needs, his suspicious nature kept him silent on the subject. "The property must have had some value."

"Enough to reimburse the owners for the loss of their antique cars that were housed in the garage awaiting restoration." She straightened her back in such stoic poise, that he wondered how often she'd had to repeat that explanation.

"No insurance?"

"None."

Parker swore. Sam Youngson should be resurrected from the grave and shot again.

* * *

By the time Parker returned to the nursery, the semi's trailer was already backed up to the loading area. His father and the two-man loading crew stood near the rear of the trailer. Grady's face looked rather pale and immediately Parker felt guilty for being late. "I'll take over now, Pop."

Parker stopped abruptly as he rounded the back of the trailer and saw several pots of mums dumped onto the ground. A fish-faced man was digging around in another pot sitting on the lift.

Parker crossed his arms to keep from doing something he might regret later. "Looking for worms, Manning?"

The sidekick, Detective Everett, chuckled and Manning's face turned crimson. Everett received a molten glare for his lapse. He sobered quickly and said, "We got a tip there was contraband being transported from this location."

"Where's your search warrant?" Parker asked.

Manning straightened and his sneering glare swept over Parker. "Since your father gave us permission we didn't need one."

"I told him he wouldn't find anything," Grady said in a dry, raspy voice.

Seeing the strained, colorless appearance to his father's face, Parker's concern for Grady's health took precedent over his need to sock Manning in the nose.

"Why don't you go inside, Pop? I'm sure this is just a little joke on Detective Manning's part."

Manning brushed his hands together, getting rid of the damp potting soil. Parker could tell he didn't like getting dirt beneath his manicured fingernails, but apparently the man would go to any length to harass him.

After Grady left, Parker took an ominous step toward Manning. The detective must have decided it was time to make his exit, as well. He took several steps backward. "Just doing my job, Wilson. We got a call and I had to check it out."

Manning jumped when Parker snatched up the pot he'd been poking around in. When Parker began rearranging the plant instead of tossing it at the detective, Manning hitched up his pants, an obvious show of forced bravado.

"Must cause a lot of friction down at the station when homicide detectives start doing the work of vice," Parker said.

"I was doing them a favor since I was on my way down here, anyway."

Parker was skeptical. "You still pissed off about this morning, Manning? Did the captain chew you out for hassling an innocent citizen?"

"We might as well get a few things straight about the Starlene Davis case, Wilson."

"Say your piece and get the hell out of here, Manning." Parker shot him a quelling glare.

"Like I said, I'm just doing my job. As a former lawman, I'd think you would have a little more respect for my position."

"Respect is something you earn, Manning. Wearing a badge doesn't automatically bestow that honor on you or anyone else."

Manning's lips curled. "All right, if you want to play hardball, I'll give you fair warning. You interfere in my investigation again and I'll arrest you for obstruction of justice."

"That's a crock and you know it. But I'll make a deal with you. I'm already committed to investigate the murder of Starlene Davis. You stay away from my family with your inane accusations, stop badgering Ms. Youngson, and I'll let you know if I come up with anything that will help you close the case."

For a moment, Manning looked perplexed. Parker knew he was trying to figure out whether to trust someone who'd never hidden his dislike for him. "Okay, Wilson. But I want you to check in with me daily."

"I'll check with you when I have something, but you'll let me know if you come up with any leads, as well."

Manning hesitated for several moments, and then said, "All right."

Parker had allowed the man to bully him into an arrangement he knew probably neither of them would keep.

Without further comment, the detective turned and nodded to his partner that it was time to leave.

After the detectives pulled away from the nursery, Parker barked out an order to the two laborers that had been standing around waiting for the search to be over. "Tom, Johnny, clean up this mess and get the rest of these plants loaded. Where's the driver?"

"He borrowed your dad's pickup to go down to Randy's and grab a bite to eat," Johnny said.

"Okay, get busy, then. The driver will want to get on the road before dark. I'll be inside the office if you need me."

* * *

"You're just like your mother." Grady stood staring out the plate glass window. A man was proud of what he'd built from scratch, no matter how small the empire. And like all fathers he wanted his son to follow in his footsteps. Parker hated to disappoint him, but Cassie's husband would make a good substitute, and he knew Shawn would do a much better job of keeping the business going than he would.

Parker wasn't surprised by the fierce expression on his father's face, or by the words that had come out of Grady Wilson's mouth. He'd heard them often enough over the years. And he knew being compared to his mother wasn't meant as a compliment. "I guess you overheard, huh?"

"Christ! A private investigator. You could have told me. That's even worst than working for the Feds. At least, with them you had insurance. I thought that part of your life was all over with. I thought you were ready to settle down, live a normal life."

Parker didn't think it would make any difference if he tried to explain that investigation work was normal for him. He hated upsetting his father, one of the reasons he'd waited so long to tell him that he wasn't cut out for the horticulture business.

"Wasn't getting yourself nearly blown to bits enough? You got to keep on until you get yourself killed?"

"Private investigation isn't that dangerous, Pop."

Grady pointed at the hidden holster attached to Parker's belt. "You're carrying a gun. That alone is dangerous."

"I promise to be very careful," Parker said quietly.

"Great. That'll make a nice epithet for your tombstone. Here lies a very careful dead man." Grady stormed out of the office, leaving Parker feeling guilty for once again disappointing his father. So guilty, he spent the next two days working at the nursery and trying to make it up to him.

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