CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

After dropping Lisa off at St. Anne's, taking care to walk her directly into the classroom, as was his and LuAnn's practice, Charlie had wheeled the Range Rover out of the parking lot and headed into town. Over the last few months while LuAnn had remained reclusive inside their mountainside fortress, Charlie had been the point man, meeting with prominent townsfolk, making the rounds of businesses and charities and university officials. He and LuAnn had decided that they could not keep secret her wealth and presence in this small, albeit cosmopolitan town and any attempt to do so would invite more suspicion rather than less. Thus, Charlie's task was to lay the groundwork with the town's leaders for the eventual emergence of LuAnn into their society. However, it would only be a very limited emergence. Everyone could understand the need for privacy of the extremely wealthy. And there were many organizations very eager to receive donations from LuAnn, so that maximum cooperation and understanding would likely be forthcoming. That pipeline had already been opened, as LuAnn had donated over a hundred thousand dollars to several local causes. As he headed down the road Charlie shook his head wearily. All these plans, strategies, and what-not. Being phenomenally wealthy was a big pain in the ass. Sometimes he yearned for the old days. A few bucks in his pocket, a beer nearby, and a pack of smokes when he wanted it; a fight on the tube. He smiled wryly. LuAnn had finally gotten him to stop smoking about eight years ago and he knew that had prolonged his life considerably. But he was allowed an occasional cigar. She wasn't about to mother him to death.

Charlie's earlier forays into Charlottesville society had produced one contact in an extremely useful position, a contact that he now intended to pump for information that would allow him and LuAnn to check out her pursuer and, if possible, forestall any real problem. If the man wanted money, that was one thing. Money was not an issue. LuAnn's pocketbook was more than sufficient to satisfy even the most outrageous blackmailer. But what if the issue wasn't simply money? The problem was, Charlie was unsure exactly what the man knew or didn't know. He had mentioned LuAnn's real name. Did he also know about Duane Harvey's murder and LuAnn's relationship to the dead man? The warrant that had been issued for LuAnn's arrest ten years ago? And how had he tracked LuAnn down after all these years? The next issue was even more critical: Did the man know about the lottery fix? LuAnn had told Charlie all about the man calling himself Rainbow. Rainbow might have figured it out. He had followed her, watched her buy a lottery ticket, leave immediately for New York, and win a fortune. Had the man known it was rigged? And had he told anyone? LuAnn had not been sure.

And what had happened to Rainbow? Charlie licked his lips nervously. He had never really known Jackson, never even seen him. But while he had worked for him, he had talked to the man often. The tones of Jackson's voice had been unremarkable: even, calm, direct, supremely confident. Charlie had known people just like that. These men weren't the blusterers, the ones who always said a hell of a lot more than they ever had the courage or ability to back up in reality. They were the ones who looked you dead in the eye, said precisely what they intended to do with little fanfare or hyperbole, and then simply did it. These types would efficiently disembowel you and not lose any sleep over it. Jackson, Charlie had long ago decided, was one of those. Despite his own toughness and strength, Charlie shivered slightly. Wherever Rainbow was, it wasn't among the living, that was for damn sure. Charlie drove on, lost in thought.

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

LuAnn pulled her car into the driveway and stopped in front of the house. She didn't see the pickup truck anywhere. He probably was off at another job. She was about to leave, but the simple beauty of Matt Riggs's home made her stop, get out of the BMW, and go up the plank steps. The graceful lines of the old structure, the obvious care and skill which had gone into rehabbing it, made her eager to explore the place, even if its owner was absent.

She moved around the broad porch, running her hand along its intricate wooden scrollwork. She opened the screen door and knocked at the front door, but there was no answer. She hesitated and then tried the doorknob. It turned easily in her hand. People had not locked their doors where she had grown up either. As security conscious as she was now, it was good to know there were still places like that left in the world. She hesitated again. Entering the man's home without his knowledge might only compound matters. However, if he never found out? She might be able to obtain some useful information about him, something she could use to help extricate herself from this potential disaster.

She pushed open the front door and then closed it softly behind her. The living room had random-width oak flooring splotched and mottled with age. The furnishings were simple but carefully arranged and each was of excellent quality. LuAnn wondered whether Matt Riggs bought the pieces in broken condition and then worked on them. She moved through the rooms, stopping to admire the man's handiwork here and there. The slight smell of varnish hovered over various pieces of furniture. The place was neat and clean. There were no pictures of family: no wife, no kids. She didn't know why but this struck her as odd. She reached his office and peered inside. Quietly moving over to his desk, she stopped for a moment as she thought she heard a sound come from somewhere within the house. Her heart started to race and she briefly contemplated fleeing. The sound wasn't repeated, however, and she calmed down and seated herself behind the desk. The first thing that caught her eye was the paper on which Riggs had jotted down the notes. Her name and other information about her. Then she glanced at the information on the Honda. She looked at her watch. Riggs was clearly not a man who believed in idleness. And he was able to get information from sources that were obviously more than a little sophisticated. That was troubling. LuAnn jerked her head up as she looked out the broad window into the backyard. There was a barn-like structure there. The door was open slightly. LuAnn had thought she had noted movement there. As she got up to go outside, her hand dipped into her jacket pocket and closed around the .38.

When she exited the house she started to head back to her car. Then her curiosity got the better of her and she crept over to the barn door and peered inside. An overhead light illuminated the area well. It was set up as a workshop and storage facility. In front of two entire walls were sturdy work benches and tables and more tools than LuAnn had ever before seen in one place. The two other walls had shelving where wood supplies and other materials were stacked in precise configurations. As LuAnn moved inside she eyed the staircase at the rear of the structure. In former times she was certain it would have led to a hayloft. Riggs, however, had no animals in need of hay, at least that she could see. She wondered what it housed now.

She took the steps slowly. When she reached the top, she stared in amazement. The place was set up as a small study and observation area. Two bookcases, a beat-up leather chair and ottoman, and an ancient potbellied stove stared back at her. In one corner, an old-fashioned telescope was set up to look out a huge window in the rear of the barn. As LuAnn climbed up and looked through the window, her heart started to pound. Riggs's truck was parked behind the barn.

As she turned to run down the stairs, she found herself staring down the barrel of a twelve-gauge shotgun.

When Riggs saw who it was he slowly lowered the weapon. “What the hell are you doing here?” She tried to move past him, but Riggs grabbed her arm. She just as quickly pulled it free.

“You scared me to death,” she said.

“Sorry. Now what the hell are you doing here?”

“Is this how you usually welcome company into your home?”

“Company usually comes in through the front door, and only after I've opened it.” He looked around. “This sure as hell isn't my front door, and I don't remember inviting you in.”

LuAnn moved away from him as she looked around the space and then returned her gaze to his angry features.

“This is a nice place to come and think. How would you like to build me something like this at my house?”

Riggs leaned up against the wall. He still held the shotgun in the down position but he could swing it up into a firing position in the matter of a second. “I would think you'd want to see my work on the fence before you hired me for something else, Ms. Savage.”

She feigned surprise at the sound of her name but apparently not enough to satisfy Riggs.

“So, did you find anything else of interest in my office besides my homework on you?”

She looked at him with even more respect. “I'm a little paranoid about my privacy.”

“So I noticed. Is that why you carry a pistol?”

LuAnn looked down at her pocket. A sliver of the .38 was visible.

“You have good eyes.”

“A thirty-eight doesn't have such great stopping power. If you're serious about your privacy, and your security, you might want to step up to a nine millimeter. A semiautomatic over a revolver is a no-brainer.” The hand holding the shotgun twitched for an instant. “I tell you what, you take the revolver out, muzzle first, and I'll stop fussing with my shotgun here.”

“I'm not going to shoot you.”

“That's absolutely right, you're not,” he said evenly. “Please do as I say, Ms. Savage. And do it very slowly.”

LuAnn took the pistol out, holding it by the barrel.

“Now unload it and put the bullets in one pocket and the pistol in the other. And I can count to six so don't try to be cute.”

LuAnn did as she was told, looking at him angrily. “I'm not used to being treated like a criminal.”

“You break into my house carrying a weapon, that's exactly how I'm going to treat you. Count yourself lucky that I didn't shoot first and ask questions later. Buckshot can be very irritating to the skin.”

“I didn't break in. The door was open.”

“Don't try that one in a court of law,” he fired back.

When Riggs had confirmed that she had emptied the revolver, he broke open the shotgun and laid it down on the bookcase. He crossed his arms and studied her.

Slightly unnerved, LuAnn went back to her original train of thought. “My circle of friends is very small. When somebody intrudes on that circle I tend to get curious.”

“That's funny. You call it intrusion, but what I did this morning ordinarily would be called coming to the rescue.”

LuAnn brushed a strand of hair out of her face and looked away for a moment. “Look, Mr. Riggs—”

“My friends call me Matt. We're not friends, but I'll allow you the privilege,” he said coolly.

“I'd rather call you Matthew. I don't want to break any of your rules.”

Riggs looked startled for a moment before settling back down. “Whatever.”

“Charlie said you were a cop.”

“I never said so.”

She looked at him, surprise now clear on her features. “Well, were you?”

“What I was really isn't any of your business. And you still haven't told me what you're doing here.”

She rubbed her hand across the old leather chair. She didn't answer right away and Riggs was content to let the silence endure until she broke it. “What happened this morning is a little more complicated than it appeared. It's something that I'm taking care of.” She paused and looked up at him, her eyes searching his. “I appreciate what you did. You helped me and you didn't have to. I came here to thank you.”

Riggs relaxed a little bit. “Okay, although I didn't expect any thanks. You needed some help and I was around to give it. One human being to another. The world would be a hell of a lot better place if we all lived by that rule.”

“I also came to ask a favor.”

Riggs inclined his head toward her, waiting.

“The situation this morning, I would appreciate it if you'd just forget about it. Like I said, Charlie and I are taking care of it. If you got involved, it might make things more difficult for me.”

Riggs took this in for a few moments.

“Do you know the guy?”

“I really don't want to get into it.”

Riggs rubbed his chin. “You know, the guy banged me up. So I already feel like I'm involved.”

LuAnn moved closer to him. “I know you don't know me, but it would mean a lot if you would just drop it. It really would.” Her eyes seemed to widen with each word spoken.

Riggs felt himself drawing closer to her although he hadn't physically budged an inch. Her gaze seemed to be pasted onto his face, all the sunlight streaming through the window seemed to be blocked out as though an eclipse were occurring.

“I'll tell you what: Unless the guy gives me any more trouble, I'll forget it ever happened.”

LuAnn's tensed shoulders slumped in relief. “Thank you.”

She moved past him toward the stairs. The scent of her perfume drifted through his nostrils. His skin started to tingle. It had been a long time since that had happened.

“Your home is beautiful,” she said.

“It certainly doesn't compare to yours.”

“Did you do it all yourself?”

“Most of it. I'm pretty handy.”

“Why don't you come by tomorrow and we can talk about you doing some more work for me.”

“Ms. Savage—”

“Call me Catherine.”

“Catherine, you don't have to buy my silence.”

“Around noon? I can have some lunch ready.”

Riggs gave her a searching look and then shrugged. “I can make that.”

As she started down the stairs, he called after her. “That guy in the Honda. Don't assume he's going to give up.”

She glanced back at the shotgun for one significant moment before settling her gaze on him.

“I never assume anything anymore, Matthew.”

“Well, it's a good cause, John, and she likes to help good causes.” Charlie leaned back in his chair and sipped the hot coffee. He was sitting at a window table in the dining room of the Boar's Head Inn, off Ivy Road a little west of the University of Virginia. Two plates held the remnants of breakfast. The man across from him beamed.

“Well, I can't tell you how much it means to the community. Having her here—both of you—is just wonderful.” Wearing a costly double-breasted suit, with a colorful handkerchief dangling from the outer pocket and matching his polka-dot tie, the wavy-haired John Pemberton was one of the area's most successful and well-connected real estate agents. He also sat on the boards of numerous charities and local committees. The man knew virtually everything that happened in the area, which was precisely the reason Charlie had asked him to breakfast. Further, the commission on the sale of LuAnn's home had landed six figures in Pemberton's pocket and he was, thus, an eternal friend.

Now he looked down at his lap and a sheepish grin appeared on his handsome features when he looked back up at Charlie. “We are hoping to actually meet Ms. Savage at some point.”

“Absolutely, John, absolutely. She's looking forward to meeting you too. It'll just take some time. She's a very private person, you understand.”

“Of course, of course, this place is full of people like that. Movie stars, writers, people with more money than they know what to do with.”

An involuntary smile played across Pemberton's lips. Charlie assumed the man was daydreaming about future dollars of commission when these wealthy folk moved in or out of the area.

“You'll just have to live with my company for a little while longer.” A grin creased Charlie's features.

“And very enjoyable company it is too,” Pemberton replied automatically.

Charlie put down his coffee cup and pushed his breakfast plate away. If he still smoked cigarettes he would've stopped to light one up. “We have Matt Riggs doing some work for us.”

“Putting in the security fence. Yes, I know. Undoubtedly his biggest job to date.”

Upon noting Charlie's surprised look, Pemberton smiled in an embarrassed fashion. “Despite its cosmopolitan appearance, Charlottesville really is a small town. There is very little that happens that isn't known by most people soon thereafter.”

At those words, Charlie's spirits plummeted. Had Riggs already told someone? Had they made a mistake coming here? Should they have planted themselves amid the seven million residents of New York City instead?

With an effort, he shook off these numbing thoughts and plunged ahead. “Right. Well, the guy had some terrific references.”

“He does very good work, dependable and professional. He hasn't been here all that long by the standards of most locals, about five years, but I've never heard a bad word said about him.”

“Where'd he come from?”

“Washington. D.C., not the state of.” Pemberton fingered his teacup.

“So he was a builder up there then?”

Pemberton shook his head. “No, he got his general contractor's license after he got here.”

“Still, he could've apprenticed up there.”

“I think he had some natural talent for the trade. He's a first-rate carpenter, but he apprenticed with Ralph Steed, one of our best local builders for two years. Ralph passed away about that time and that's when Riggs went out on his own. He's done very well. He's a hard worker. And landing that fence job doesn't hurt any.”

“True. Still, the guy just shows up in town one day and plunges into something new. That takes some balls. I mean I've met him, and it wasn't like he would've been fresh out of college when he came here.”

“No, he wasn't.” Pemberton looked around the small dining area. When he spoke next it was with a lowered voice. “You're not the first person who has been curious about Riggs's origins.”

Charlie leaned forward, adding to the conspiratorial image of the pair. “Is that right? What do we have here, a little local intrigue?” Charlie tried to make his tone appear light and unconcerned.

“Of course rumors come and go, and you know the questionable veracity of most of them. Still, I have heard from various sources that Riggs held some important position in Washington.” Pemberton paused for effect. “In the intelligence community.”

Behind the stone mask Charlie fought the urge to abruptly give back his breakfast. Although LuAnn had had the good luck to be one of the recipients of Jackson's control of the lottery, she might have just matched that luck with a dose of incredibly bad fortune. “In intelligence, you say? Like a spy?”

Pemberton threw up his hands. “Who knows. Secrets are a way of life with people like that. Torture them and they won't say a thing. Probably bite on their cyanide pill or whatever and go peacefully into the night.” Pemberton obviously enjoyed a touch of the dramatic mixed in with elements of danger and intrigue, particularly at a safe distance.

Charlie rubbed at his left knee. “I had heard he was a cop.”

“Who told you that?”

“I don't recall. Just heard it in passing.”

“Well, if he was a policeman that's something that can be checked. If he was a spy, there'd be no record of it, would there?”

“So he never talked to anyone here about his past?”

“Only in vague terms. That's probably why you heard he was a policeman. People hear bits and pieces, they start to fill in the holes themselves.”

“Well, son of a gun.” Charlie sat back, trying hard to appear calm.

“Still, he's an exceptional builder. He'll do good work for you.” Pemberton laughed. “Just so long as he doesn't start snooping around. You know if he was a spy, those habits probably die hard. I've led a pretty squeaky clean life, but everybody has skeletons in their closet, don't you think?”

Charlie cleared his throat before answering. “Some more than others.”

Charlie leaned forward again, his hands clasped in front of him on the table; he was quite eager to change the subject and had the vehicle to do so. “John,” Charlie's voice dipped low, “John, I've got a small favor to ask of you.”

Pemberton's smile broadened. “Just ask it, Charlie. And consider it done.”

“A man came by the house the other day asking for a donation to a charitable foundation he said he headed.”

Pemberton looked startled. “What was his name?”

“He wasn't local,” Charlie said quickly. “He gave me a name but I'm not sure it was his real one. It all seemed suspicious, you understand what I'm saying.”

“Absolutely.”

“Someone in Ms. Savage's position has to be careful. There are a lot of scams out there.”

“Don't I know it. How upsetting.”

“Right. Well, anyway, the guy said he was staying in the area for a while. Asked for a follow-up meeting with Ms. Savage.”

“I hope you're not going to agree to that.”

“I haven't yet. The guy left a phone number, but it's not a local one. I called it. It was an answering service.”

“What was the name of the foundation?”

“I don't remember exactly, but it had something to do with medical research of some kind.”

“That's so easy to concoct,” Pemberton said knowingly. “Of course I have no personal experience with frauds like that,” he added huffily, “but I understand that there is a proliferation of them.”

“That was exactly my read. Well, to make a long story short, since the guy said he was going to be around awhile, I thought it probable that he was renting someplace hereabouts, instead of sacking out at a hotel. That gets to be expensive after a while, especially if you're living scam to scam.”

“And you want to know if I can find out where he might be staying?”

“Exactly. I wouldn't ask it if it weren't real important. With things like this I'm never too careful. I want to know who I'm dealing with in case he shows up again.”

“Of course, of course.” Pemberton let out a shallow breath and sipped at his tea. “I'll certainly look into it for you. My sympathies lie with you and Ms. Savage.”

“And we will be very grateful for any assistance you can give us. I've mentioned several of the other charities you head up to Ms. Savage and she spoke very positively about all of them and your work with them.”

Pemberton was glowing now. “Why don't you give me a description of the man? I have the morning free and I can start my own little investigation. If he's within fifty miles of here, with my connections, I'm certain I can find him.”

Charlie described the man, laid some cash on the table for the meal, and stood up. “We really appreciate it, John.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Thomas Donovan scanned the city streets for a parking spot. Georgetown was not known for its abundance of places to leave one's vehicle. He was driving a new rental car, a late model Chrysler. He turned right from M Street onto Wisconsin Avenue, and finally managed to snag a spot on a side street not too far from where he was heading. A light rain began to fall as he walked down the street. The quiet area he soon found himself in harbored an elite neighborhood of towering brick and clapboard residences which were home to high-ranking businessmen and political types. He eyed some of the homes as he walked along. In the lights visible through intricately designed windows Donovan could make out well-dressed owners settling down in front of warm fires, coddling drinks and exchanging light kisses as they went through their rituals of relaxation after another day of perhaps changing the world, or merely adding to their already hefty investment portfolios.

So much wealth and power rested in this area that an energy seemed to wash up from the brick sidewalks and hurtle Donovan along at a furious clip. Money and power had never been overriding ambitions of his. Despite that, his occupation often placed him in close proximity to those who held the attainment of one or both of these prizes above all else. It was a wonderful position from which to play the altruistic cynic and Donovan often played that role to the fullest for the simple reason that he genuinely believed in what he did for a living. The irony of this was not lost on him. For without the rich and powerful and their evil ways, at whom would he throw his sharp-edged stones?

Donovan finally stopped at one formidable residence: a one-hundred-year-old three-story brick townhouse sitting behind a waist-high brick wall topped by black steel wrought-iron fencing of a style found throughout the area. He inserted a key into the gate's lock and went up the sidewalk. Another key allowed him entry through the massive wooden front door and he shook off his coat.

The housekeeper appeared immediately and took the wet coat from him. She wore a traditional maid's uniform and spoke with a practiced degree of deference.

“I'll tell the missus you're here, Mr. Donovan.”

He nodded quickly and moved past her into the drawing room where he took a moment to warm himself before the blazing fire and then looked around with contentment. His upbringing had been decidedly blue collar but he did not attempt to hide his pleasure at occasionally dabbling in luxury. It was an incongruity in his nature that had bothered him greatly in his youth, but much less so now. Some things did become better as one aged, he mused, including layers of personal guilt that one ended up shedding like peeling an onion.

By the time he had mixed himself a drink from the stock housed behind a cabinet in one corner of the drawing room, the woman had appeared.

She moved quickly to him and gave him a deep kiss. He took her hand and caressed it lightly.

“I missed you,” she said.

He led her over to the large sofa against one wall. Their knees touched as they sat close together.

Alicia Crane was petite, in her mid-thirties, with long hair that was looking more ash than blond with each passing day. Her dress was costly and the jewelry clinging to her wrists and ears easily matched the richness of the garment; however, the image was one of quiet wealth and sophistication. Her features were delicate, the nose so small as to be barely noticeable between the deep luster of the dark brown eyes. While she was not a traditional beauty, her obvious wealth and refinement had inspired a certain look that was pleasant enough. On her best days she would be described as very well put together.

Her cheek trembled slightly as he stroked it.

“I missed you too, Alicia. A lot.”

“I don't like it when you have to be away.” Her voice was cultured and dignified, its cadence slow and exact. It was a voice seemingly too formal for a relatively young woman.

“Well, it's part of the job.” He smiled at her. “But you're making that job a lot more difficult to do.” He was attracted to Alicia Crane. While not the brightest star in the universe, she was a good person, without the pretenses and airs that her level of wealth usually stamped on its possessors.

With a start, she stared. “Why in the world did you shave off your beard?”

Donovan rubbed his hand across the smooth skin. “Change of pace,” he said quickly. “You know men go through their own form of menopause. I think it took about ten years off the mug. What do you think?”

“I think you're just as handsome without it as you were with it. In fact, you remind me a little of Father. When he was a younger man, of course.”

“Thanks for lying to an old man.” He smiled. “But being compared to him, well that's high praise.”

“I can have Maggie put on some supper. You must be starved.” She gripped his hand with both of hers.

“Thank you, Alicia. And maybe a hot bath after that.”

“Of course, the rain is so chilling this time of year.” She hesitated for a moment. “Will you have to leave again soon? I was thinking we could go down to the islands. It's so beautiful this time of year.”

“That sounds wonderful, but I'm afraid it'll have to keep. I have to leave tomorrow.”

Her disappointment shone through on her face before her gaze dropped. “Oh, I see.”

He tucked one hand under her chin and stared into her eyes. “Alicia, I had a breakthrough today. A breakthrough that I wasn't sure would happen. It was a risk on my part, but sometimes you have to take risks if you want the payoff.” He remembered from that morning, the haunted look in LuAnn Tyler's eyes. “All that sniffing around, never sure if anything's going to turn up. But that's all part of the game.”

“That's wonderful, Thomas, I'm so happy for you. But I hope you didn't place yourself in personal danger. I don't know what I would do if anything happened to you.”

He sat back as he contemplated his daredevil morning. “I can take care of myself. But I don't take unnecessary risks. I leave that for the kiddies coming up.” His voice was calming.

He glanced over at her; the look on her face was that of a child listening to her favorite hero recount a past adventure. Donovan finished his drink. A hero. He liked the feeling. Who wouldn't? Who didn't need that kind of unadulterated admiration every now and then? He smiled deeply and gripped Alicia's small hand in his.

“I promise you something. After I break this story, we're going to take a long vacation. Just you and me. Someplace warm, with plenty to drink, and I can dust off my talents as a sailor. I haven't done that in a long time and I can't think of anyone I'd rather do it with. How's that sound?”

She laid her head against his shoulder and squeezed his hand tightly. “Wonderful.”

CHAPTER THIRTY

“You invited him for lunch?” Charlie stared at LuAnn with a mixture of anger and frustration on his grizzled face. “Would you mind telling me why you did that? And would you mind telling me why the hell you went there in the first place?”

They were in Charlie's office. LuAnn stood next to the bulky desk while Charlie sat in front of it. He had unwrapped a thick cigar and was about to light it when LuAnn had delivered the news of her excursion that morning.

Defiance was all over LuAnn's features as she scowled back at him. “I couldn't just sit around and do nothing.”

“I told you I was going to handle it. What, you don't trust my judgment anymore?”

“Of course I do, Charlie, it's not that.” LuAnn dropped her defiant stance, perched on the edge of his chair and ran her fingers through his thinning hair. “I figured if I could get to Riggs before he had a chance to do anything, apologize and then get him to drop it, we'd be free and clear.”

Charlie shook his head, wincing as a small pain worked at his left temple. He took a deep breath and put an arm around her waist. “LuAnn, I had a very informative conversation with John Pemberton this morning.”

“Who?”

“Real estate agent. Guy who sold us the house. That's not important. What is relevant is the fact that Pemberton knows everybody and everything that goes on in this town. He's trying to track down the guy in the Honda for us right now.”

LuAnn jerked back. “You didn't tell him—”

“I concocted a cover story and fed it to him. He slurped it up like it was the sweetest ice cream in the world. We both have gotten real good with making up stuff over the years, haven't we?”

“Sometimes too good,” LuAnn said gloomily. “It's getting harder and harder to remember what's true and what's not.”

“I also talked to Pemberton about Riggs. Trying to get some of the guy's history out, to try and get a feel for the guy.”

“He's not a cop. I asked him and he said he wasn't. You said he was.”

“I know, a screw-up on my part, but Riggs led me to believe he was.”

“So what the heck was he? And why all the secrecy?”

“A funny question coming from you.” LuAnn jabbed an elbow playfully into Charlie's side. Her smile disappeared with Charlie's next words. “Pemberton thinks Riggs was a government spy.”

“A spy? Like the CIA?”

“Who the hell knows. It's not like the guy's gonna advertise what outfit he was with. Nobody really knows for sure. His background is kind of a blur as far as Pemberton can tell.”

LuAnn shuddered, remembering the info Riggs had gathered on her so quickly. Now it perhaps made sense. But she was still unconvinced. “And now he builds fences in rural Virginia. I didn't think they ever let spies retire.”

“You've been watching too many mob movies. Even spies change jobs or retire, especially with the Cold War ending. And there are a lot of specialties in intelligence gathering. Not all of them involve trench coats, pistols up the sleeve, and assassination plots against foreign dictators. He could've been just some schlep working in an office looking at aerial photos of Moscow.”

LuAnn recalled her meeting with Riggs at his home. The way he had handled the shotgun, his observation skills and his knowledge of firearms. And finally his confident and cool demeanor. She shook her head firmly. “He doesn't strike me as the office type.”

Charlie sighed deeply. “Me either. So how did it go?”

LuAnn stood back up and leaned against the doorjamb, her fingers hooked through the belt loops on the jeans she had changed into. “He had already dug up some info on me and the Honda. The cover stuff came up on me, so we're okay there.”

“Anything on the Honda?”

LuAnn shook her head. “Rental up in D.C. Name looked phony. Probably a dead-end.”

“Riggs moves fast. How'd you find that out?”

“I did a little snooping around his office. When he caught me he was holding a shotgun.”

“Good gosh, LuAnn, if the guy was a spy you're lucky he didn't blow your head off.”

“It didn't seem so risky while I was doing it. It turned out all right anyway.”

“You and your risk-taking. Like going to the drawing that night in New York. I should really start putting my foot down around here. What else?”

“I admitted to him that the car chase was something we were concerned about and that we were handling it.”

“And he accepted that? No questions?” Charlie's tone was skeptical.

“I was telling the truth, Charlie,” she said heatedly. “I get kind of tingling all over when the rare occasion happens along that I can do that.”

“Okay, okay. I didn't mean to put a stick in your spokes. God, we sound like an old married couple here.”

LuAnn smiled. “We are an old married couple. We just have a few more secrets to share than most.”

Charlie flashed her a quick grin and took a moment to light his cigar. “So you really think Riggs is okay? He won't keep nosing around?”

“I think he's very curious, and he should be. But he told me he wasn't going to pursue it and I believe him. I'm not exactly sure why, but I do. There doesn't appear to be much B.S. in the man.”

“And him coming over for lunch tomorrow? I take it you want to get to know him a little better.”

LuAnn studied Charlie's face for a moment. Was there a touch of jealousy there? She shrugged her shoulders. “Well, it's a way to keep an eye on him, and maybe learn a little more about him. Maybe he's got some secrets, too. It certainly sounds like it, anyway.”

Charlie puffed on his cigar. “So if things are cool with Riggs then we got only the guy in the Honda to worry about.”

“Isn't that enough?”

“It's better than two headaches at one time. If Pemberton can trace him maybe we have clear sailing.”

LuAnn looked nervously at him. “If he finds him, what are you going to do?”

“I've been thinking about that. I think I've decided to play straight with the man, call his hand and see what the hell he wants. If it's money, maybe we see what we can work out.”

“And if it's not just money he wants?” She had difficulty getting the next part out. “What if he knows about the lottery?”

Charlie took the cigar from his mouth and stared at her.

“I can't see how he could. But in the billion to one chance he does, there are a lot of other places in the world we can live, LuAnn. We could be gone tomorrow if need be.”

“On the run again,” she said, her tone bone-tired.

“Consider the alternative. It's not pleasant.”

She reached out and plucked the cigar from between his fingers. Clenching it between her teeth, she drew the smoke in and then let it slowly out. She handed it back to him.

“When is Pemberton supposed to get back to you?”

“No set time. Could be tonight, could be next week.”

“Let me know when you hear from him.”

“You'll be the first to know, milady.”

She turned to leave.

“Oh, am I invited to this lunch tomorrow?” he asked.

She glanced back. “I was kind of counting on it, Charlie.” She smiled prettily and left. He stood up and watched her glide gracefully down the hallway. Then he closed the door to his study and sat down at his desk puffing thoughtfully on his stogie.

Riggs had put on a pair of chino pants, and the collar of his button-down shirt peeked out from under his patterned sweater. He had driven over in a Jeep Cherokee he had borrowed while his pickup truck was in the shop having its bumper repaired. The Jeep seemed more fitting to the affluent surroundings than his battered truck anyway. He smoothed down his freshly washed hair before climbing out of the Cherokee and walking up the steps of the mansion. These days he didn't usually dress up, except for the occasional social event he attended in town. He had finally decided a jacket and dress slacks was too pretentious. It was only lunch after all. And who knew? The lady of the house might ask him to do some on-site work.

The door was answered by the maid who escorted Riggs to the library. Riggs wondered if he had been watched as he had pulled up in the circle. Maybe there were video cameras trained on that area as well, with Catherine Savage and her sidekick Charlie sitting in some observation room crammed floor to ceiling with TV monitors.

He looked around the spacious area and noted with due respect the numerous volumes lining the walls. He wondered if they were for show only. He had been in places where that was the case. Somehow he didn't think that was true here. His attention fell upon the photos lining the fireplace mantel. There were ones there of Charlie and a little girl who strongly resembled Catherine Savage, but none of Catherine Savage. That seemed odd, but the woman was odd, so there was some semblance of consistency there.

He turned when the double doors to the library opened. His first real encounter with the woman, in his reconfigured hayloft, had not prepared him for his second.

The golden hair tumbled down the stylishly flared shoulders of a black one-piece dress that ended at her bare calves and didn't miss any contour of her long, curvy body along the way. It struck him that on her the garment would have seemed equally appropriate at a state fair or a White House dinner. She wore matching black low heel shoes. The image of a sleek, muscular panther gliding toward him held fast in his mind. After giving it some thought, Riggs had decided that the woman's beauty was undeniable, but wasn't perfect. After all, whose was? And another remarkable detail now emerged: While there were fine lines beginning to carve themselves around her eyes, Riggs noticed the almost complete absence of lines around her mouth, as though she had never smiled.

Curiously, the small scar on her jaw considerably heightened her attraction, he felt. Perhaps by silently forging a layer of danger, of adventure into her past?

“I'm glad you could make it,” she said, moving briskly forward and extending a hand, which Riggs shook. He was again amazed at the strength he felt in that grip; her long fingers seemed to swallow his big, callused hand. “I know contractors have numerous emergencies during the day. Your time is never your own.”

Riggs eyed the walls and ceilings of the library. “I heard about some of the renovations you had done here. I don't care how good the G.C. is, something this complex, things get out of whack every now and then.”

“Charlie handled all of that. But I think things went fairly smoothly. I'm certainly pleased with the end product.”

“I could see that.”

“Lunch will be ready in a few minutes. Sally is setting it up in the rear verandah. The dining room seats about fifty and I thought it might be a little overwhelming for three. Would you like something to drink beforehand?”

“I'm okay.” He pointed at the photos. “Is that your daughter? Or younger sister?”

She blushed and then followed his gesture, but settled herself on the couch before answering. “My daughter, Lisa. She's ten years old. I can't believe that, the years go by so quickly.”

Riggs looked her over in an unassuming manner. “You must have had her very young then.”

“Younger than I probably should have, but I wouldn't give her back for anything in the world. Do you have children?”

Riggs shook his head quickly and looked down at his hands. “Never been that lucky.”

LuAnn had noted the absence of a wedding ring, although some men never wore them. She assumed a man who worked with his hands all day might not wear it simply for safety reasons.

“Your wife—”

“I'm divorced,” he interjected. “Almost four years now.” He put his hands in his pockets and again ran his eyes around the room. He could sense her following the path of his observations. “You?” he asked, settling his eyes back upon her.

“Widowed.”

“I'm sorry.”

She shrugged. “It was a long time ago,” she said simply. There was a ring in her voice that told Riggs the years had not managed to diminish the impact of the loss.

“Ms. Savage—”

“Please, call me Catherine.” She smiled impishly. “All my close friends do.”

He smiled back and sat down next to her. “So where's Charlie?”

“He's out running some errands. He'll be joining us for lunch though.”

“So he's your uncle?”

LuAnn nodded. “His wife passed on years ago. Both my parents are dead. We're really all the family left.”

“I take it your late husband did very well for himself. Or maybe you did. I don't want to sound politically incorrect.” Riggs grinned suddenly. “Either that, or one of you won the lottery.”

LuAnn's hand tightened perceptibly on the edge of the couch. “My husband was a brilliant businessman who obviously left me very well-off.” She managed to say this with a casual air.

“He sure did,” Riggs agreed.

“And you? Have you lived here all your life?”

“Gee, after my visit here yesterday I thought you would have checked out my background thoroughly.”

“I'm afraid I don't have quite the level of sources you obviously do. I didn't think builders had such an information network.” Her eyes remained fixed on his.

“I moved here about five years ago. Apprenticed with a local builder who taught me the trade. He died about three years ago and that's when I set up my own shop.”

“Five years. So your wife lived here with you for a year.”

Riggs shook his head. “The divorce was final four years ago, but we had been separated for about fourteen months. She's still up in D.C. Probably always will be.”

“Is she in politics?”

“Attorney. Big partner, at a big firm. She has some politically connected clients. She's very successful.”

“She must be good then. That's still very much a man's world. Like a lot of other ones.”

Riggs shrugged. “She's smart, a great business-getter. I think that's why we broke up. The marriage thing got in the way.”

“I see.”

“Not what you'd call an original story, but it's the only one I have. I moved down here and never looked back.”

“I take it you like what you do.”

“It can be a hassle sometimes, just like any job. But I like putting things together. It's therapeutic. And peaceful. I've been lucky, got some good word of mouth and the business has been steady. As you probably know, there's a lot of money in this area. Even before you came.”

“So I understand. I'm glad your career change has worked out.”

He sat back while he digested her words, his lips pursed, his hands balled up into fists, but not in a threatening way.

He chuckled. “Let me guess, you heard that I was either a CIA operative or an international assassin who abruptly decided to chuck all that and take up hammering and sawing in more placid surroundings.”

“Actually, I hadn't heard the assassin angle.”

They exchanged brief smiles.

“You know if you just told people the truth, they'd stop speculating.” She couldn't believe she had just made that statement, but there it was. She looked at him with what she hoped was an air of complete innocence.

“You're assuming that I care if people speculate about me. I don't.”

“That's beneath you, I take it.”

“If I've learned anything in life, it's that you don't worry about what other people think or say. You worry about yourself and that's good enough. Otherwise you're setting yourself up to be a basket case. People can be cruel. Especially people who supposedly cared about you. Believe me, I speak from experience.”

“I take it the divorce wasn't exactly amicable?”

He didn't look at her when he spoke. “I'm not taking anything away from you, but sometimes losing a spouse isn't as traumatic or painful as going through a divorce. They each have their own degrees of hurt, I guess.”

He looked down at his hands. There was a definite ring of sincerity in his words and LuAnn felt instant guilt that she in fact had not been widowed, at least not by the falsehood of losing a wealthy husband. It was as though he were baring his wounds in return for LuAnn baring hers. As usual, it was all lies on her part. Could she even speak the truth anymore? In fact how could she? Speaking the truth would destroy her, all the lies would immediately fall to earth like those old buildings demolished by explosives that caused them to implode.

“I can understand that,” she said.

Riggs didn't appear inclined to continue.

LuAnn finally looked at her watch. “Lunch should be just about ready. I thought after we eat you could look at a site at the rear grounds where I'm thinking of having you build a small studio.” She stood up and Riggs did too. He appeared immeasurably relieved that this particular conversation was over.

“That sounds good, Catherine. In my business, work is always welcome.”

As they walked to the rear of the house, Charlie joined them. The two men shook hands. “Glad to see you again, Matt. I hope you're hungry. Sally usually puts out a good spread.”

Lunch was devoted to enjoying the food and drink and discussing innocuous subjects of local interest. However, there was an energy between Charlie and Catherine Savage that was unmistakable to Riggs. A strong bond, he concluded. Unbreakable, in fact. They were family, after all.

“So what're we looking at timewise on the fence, Matt?” Charlie asked. He and Riggs were on the rear terrace overlooking the grounds. Lunch was over and LuAnn had gone to pick up Lisa. School had ended early because of a scheduled teacher workshop. She had asked Riggs to remain until she returned so they could talk about the studio construction. Riggs wondered if her going to get Lisa had been a deliberate maneuver to leave Charlie behind to pump him for information. Whatever the reason, he remained on guard.

Before Riggs had a chance to answer him about the fence, Charlie extended a cigar. “You smoke these things?”

Riggs took it. “After a meal like that, and a gorgeous day like this, even if I didn't, I'd be tempted.” He snipped off the end with a cutter Charlie handed him and they took a moment to get their respective smokes going.

“I figure a week to dig all the postholes. Two weeks clearing land, and assembling and installing the fencing. That includes pouring the cement for the posts. Another week to install the gate and security systems. One month total. That's about what I estimated in the contract.”

Charlie looked him over. “I know, but sometimes what you put on paper doesn't work exactly that way in reality.”

“That pretty much sums up the construction business,” Riggs agreed. He puffed on his cigar. “But we'll get in before the frost, and the lay of the land isn't as bad as I originally thought.” He paused and eyed Charlie. “After yesterday, I wish I could have that sucker in today. I'm sure you do too.”

It was an open invitation for discussion and Charlie didn't disappoint Riggs. “Have a seat, Matt.” Charlie indicated a pair of white wrought-iron chairs next to the balustrade. Charlie sat down gingerly. “God these suckers are uncomfortable as hell, and for what they cost you'd think they were made out of gold. I'm thinking the interior designer we used must've gotten some kind of kickback on them.” He smoked his cigar while he looked over the landscape. “Damn, it's beautiful here.”

Riggs followed his gaze. “It's one reason I came here. A big reason.”

“What were the other reasons?” Charlie grinned at him. “I'm just kidding. That's your business.” The emphasis on the word was not lost on Riggs. Charlie wriggled in the seat until he managed to find a semicomfortable position. “Catherine told me about your little discussion yesterday.”

“I assumed she would. She shouldn't go sneaking around people's houses, though. That's not always a healthy thing to do.”

“That's exactly what I told her. I know it might be hard to see, but she's rather headstrong.”

The two men exchanged knowing chuckles.

“I do appreciate your agreeing not to pursue it,” Charlie said.

“I told her so long as the guy didn't bother me, I wouldn't bother him.”

“Fair enough. I'm sure you can see that with all of Catherine's wealth, she's a target for a variety of scams, hustles, or downright threats. We have Lisa to worry about too. We keep a real close eye on her.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.”

“I do. This isn't the first time. And it won't be the last. But you can't let it get to you. I mean Catherine could buy a deserted island somewhere and make it impossible for anyone to reach her, but what kind of life would that be? For her or Lisa?”

“And you. It's not like you're tapping on the grave, Charlie. You look like you could suit up for the Redskins on Sunday.”

Charlie beamed at the compliment. “I actually played some semipro ball way back when. And I take care of myself. And Catherine nags me about my diet. I think she lets me smoke these things out of pity.” He held up the cigar. “Although lately I'm feeling old beyond my years. But yeah, I don't want to live on a deserted island.”

“So any luck finding the guy in the Honda?” Riggs asked.

“I'm working on it. Got some inquiries going.”

“Don't take offense at this, but if you find him, what do you plan on doing about it?”

Charlie looked over at him. “What would you do?”

“Depends on his intentions.”

“Exactly. So until I find him and determine what his intentions are, I don't know what I'm going to do.” There was a slight trace of hostility in Charlie's tone that Riggs chose to ignore. He looked back over the countryside.

“Catherine says she wants to put up an outdoor studio. Do you know where?”

Charlie shook his head. “I really haven't discussed it with her. I think it was a recent impulse on her part.”

Riggs again looked over at him. Had that been a conscious slip on his part? It was as though Charlie were telling him point-blank that the potential new piece of business was the payoff for Riggs keeping his mouth shut. Or was there another reason?

“What would she be using it for, the studio?”

Charlie glanced at him. “Does it matter?”

“Actually it does. If it's an art studio, I'd make sure there was sufficient lighting, maybe put in some skylights, and a ventilation system to carry the paint fumes out. If she just wants to use it to get away, read or sleep, I'd configure it differently.”

Charlie nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Well, I don't know what she plans to use it for. But she doesn't paint, that I know.”

The men fell silent until that silence was interrupted by the sounds of LuAnn and Lisa approaching. The door to the terrace opened and the pair came out.

In person, Lisa Savage resembled her mother even more than in the photo. They both walked the same way, easy glides, no wasted energy.

“This is Mr. Riggs, Lisa.”

Riggs had not been around many children in his life, but he did what came naturally. He put out his hand. “Call me Matt, Lisa. Pleased to meet you.”

She smiled and squeezed his hand in return. “Pleased to meet you, Matt.”

“That's quite a grip.” He glanced up at LuAnn and then Charlie. “That particular attribute must run in the family. If I keep coming over here I might have to start wearing a steel glove.”

Lisa smiled.

“Matthew is going to build a studio for me, Lisa. Out there somewhere.” She pointed toward the rear grounds.

Lisa looked up at the house in undisguised wonderment. “Isn't our house big enough?”

All the adults burst into laughter at that one and finally Lisa joined in too.

“What's the studio for?” Lisa asked.

“Well, maybe it'll be kind of a surprise. In fact, I might let you use it too, sometimes.”

Lisa grinned broadly at the news.

“But only if you keep your grades up,” said Charlie. “By the way, how'd your test go?” Charlie's tone was gruff, but it clearly was all a facade. It was obvious to Riggs that the old guy loved Lisa as much as he did her mother, if not more.

Lisa's mouth dropped into a pout. “I didn't get an A.”

“That's okay, sweetie,” Charlie said kindly. “Probably my fault. I'm not all that good with math.”

Lisa suddenly broke into a big smile. “I got an A plus.”

Charlie playfully cuffed her head. “You got your mother's sense of humor, that's for sure.”

LuAnn said, “Miss Sally has some lunch ready for you. I know you didn't get a chance to eat at school. Run along and I'll see you after I finish up with Matthew.”

LuAnn and Riggs walked through the rear grounds. Charlie had begged off. He had some things to do, he had said.

After Riggs had walked the property he pointed to a clearing that was level, had an unobstructed view of the distant mountains, but still had shade trees on two sides. “That looks like a nice spot. Actually, with this much land, you probably have a number of potential locations. By the way, if I knew what you were going to use the place for I could make a more informed choice for the site.” He looked around. “And you have a number of outbuildings already. Another option would be to convert one of those into a studio.”

“I'm sorry, I thought I was clear on that. I want it done from scratch. None of the other buildings would really do. I want it set up like yours. Two stories. The first floor could be set up as a workshop for some of my hobbies, that is, when I get around to having some hobbies. Lisa is into drawing and she's getting pretty good. Maybe I could take up sculpting. That seems like a very relaxing pastime. On the second level I want a woodstove, a telescope, comfortable furniture, built-in bookcases, maybe a small kitchen, bay windows.”

Riggs nodded and looked around. “I saw the pool area. Are you planning on a poolhouse and maybe tennis courts?”

“Next spring. Why?”

“I was just thinking that we might want to tie those and the studio into an overall plan. You know, use the same materials or some combo thereof with the poolhouse and the studio.”

LuAnn shook her head. “No, I want it separate. We'll put in a large gazebo for outdoor entertaining and all that. It'll be mostly Lisa using the pool and tennis courts. I want those facilities closer to the main house. The pool is already close. The studio I want farther away. Sort of hidden.”

“That's fine. You certainly have the land.” He checked out the slope of the property. “So do you swim or play tennis?”

“I can swim like a fish, but I've never played tennis and I really don't have any desire to start.”

“I thought all rich people played tennis. That and golf.”

“Maybe if you're born with money. I haven't always been wealthy.”

“Georgia.”

LuAnn looked sharply at him. “What?”

“I've been trying to place your accent. Lisa's is all over the place. Yours is very faint, but it's still there. I'd guess you spent a lot of years in Europe, but you know what they say, you can take the girl out of Georgia but you can't take Georgia out of the girl.”

LuAnn hesitated for a moment before replying. “I've never been to Georgia.”

“I'm surprised. I'm usually pretty good at gauging that.”

“Nobody's perfect.” She flicked her hair out of her eyes. “So what do you think?” She looked at the clearing.

Riggs stared at her curiously for a moment before answering. “We'll have to draw up plans. They'll help you get it exactly the way you want, although it sounds like you have a pretty good idea already. Depending on the size and complexity, it could take anywhere from two to six months.”

“When could you start?”

“Not any time this year, Catherine.”

“You're that busy?”

“It's got nothing to do with that. No sane builder would start on a project like that now. We need architectural plans and we also need to get building permits. The ground will be freezing soon and I don't like to pour footers after that. And we wouldn't be able to get it framed and under roof before winter set in. Weather can get real nasty up here. This is definitely a next spring project.”

“Oh.” LuAnn sounded deeply disappointed. She stared off at the site as though she were seeing her hideaway fully completed.

Trying to make her feel better Riggs said, “Spring will be here before you know it, Catherine. And the winter will allow us to work up a really good set of plans. I know a first-rate architect. I can set up a meeting.”

LuAnn was hardly listening. Would they even be here next spring? Riggs's news about the construction schedule had dissipated much of her enthusiasm for the project.

“I'll see. Thanks.”

As they walked back to the house Riggs touched her shoulder. “I take it you're not into delayed gratification. If I could put it up for you right now, I would. Some sleazy builders might take on the job and charge you a healthy premium and then proceed to turn out a piece of crap that'll fall down in a year or two. But I take pride in my work and I want to deliver a quality job for you.”

She smiled at him. “Charlie said you had excellent references. I guess I can see why.”

They were passing by the horse barn. LuAnn pointed at it and said, “I guess that counts as a hobby. You ride?”

“I'm no expert, but I won't fall off either.”

“We should go for a ride sometime. There are some beautiful trails around here.”

“I know,” was Riggs's surprising reply. “I used to walk them before this property was sold. You made an excellent choice in real estate, by the way.”

“Charlie found it.”

“He's a good person to have around.”

“He makes my life a lot easier. I don't know what I'd do without him.”

“Nice to have somebody like that in your life.”

She cast a furtive glance at him as they continued back to the house.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Charlie met them at the rear entrance. There was a suppressed excitement in his manner, and the darting glances he gave LuAnn told her the reason: Pemberton had found where the man in the Honda was staying.

While not showing it, Riggs picked up on the subtle undercurrents.

“Thanks for the lunch,” he said. “I'm sure you've got things to do and I've got some appointments to take care of this afternoon.” He looked over at LuAnn. “Catherine, let me know about the studio.”

“I will. Call me about going for a ride.”

“I'll do that.”

After he left, Charlie and LuAnn went into Charlie's study and closed the door.

“Where is the guy?” she asked.

“He's our neighbor.”

“What?”

“A little rental cottage. Pretty isolated. It's not more than four miles from here up Highway Twenty-two. I looked at some land up near there when we were thinking of building. Used to be a big estate up there but now there's just the caretaker's cottage. Remember, we took a drive up there a while back?”

“I remember exactly. You could walk or ride it through the back trails. I've done it. The guy could have been spying on us for a while.”

“I know. That's what worries me. Pemberton gave me exact directions to the place.” Charlie laid the paper with the directions down on his desk while he pulled on his coat.

LuAnn took the opportunity to scan surreptitiously the directions and commit them to memory.

Charlie unlocked a drawer of his desk. LuAnn's eyes widened as she watched him pull out the .38. He proceeded to load it.

“What are you going to do?” she said fiercely.

He didn't look at her as he checked the safety and put the gun in his pocket. “Like we planned, I'm going to go check it out.”

“I'm going with you.”

He looked at her angrily. “The hell you are.”

“Charlie, I am.”

“What if there's trouble?”

“You're saying that to me?”

“You know what I mean. Let me check it out first, see what the guy's up to. I'm not going to do anything dangerous.”

“So why the gun?”

“I said I'm not going to do anything dangerous. I don't know about him.”

“I don't like it, Charlie.”

“You think I do? I'm telling you, it's the only way. Something happens, the last thing I want is you in the middle of it.”

“I've never expected you to fight my battles for me.”

He touched her cheek gently. “You're not exactly twisting my arm here. I want you and Lisa to be safe and sound. In case you hadn't noticed, I've kind of made that my life's work. By choice.” He smiled.

She watched him open the door and start to head out. “Charlie, please be careful.”

He looked back, noting the worry in her features.

“LuAnn, you know I'm always careful.”

As soon as he left, LuAnn went to her room, changed into jeans and a warm shirt, and pulled on sturdy boots.

In case you hadn't noticed, Charlie, my life's work is to make sure you and Lisa are safe and sound.

She grabbed a leather jacket from her closet and raced out of the house in the direction of the horse barn. She saddled Joy and then galloped off toward the maze of trails behind the mansion.

As soon as Charlie hit the main road, Riggs started to follow from a safe distance in the Cherokee. Riggs had thought it a fifty-fifty possibility that something was going to happen as soon as he left. A friend of Riggs had mentioned seeing Pemberton and Charlie having breakfast the day before. That was smart on Charlie's part, and indeed, was probably the path Riggs would have taken to track down the man in the Honda. That and Charlie's excited manner had been enough to convince Riggs that something was up. If he had been wrong, he wouldn't have wasted much time. He kept the Range Rover just in sight as it turned north onto Highway 22. It wasn't easy being invisible on the rural road, but Riggs was confident he could manage it. On the seat next to him was his shotgun. This time he would be prepared.

Charlie glanced to the right and left as he pulled the Range Rover underneath the cover of trees and then stopped. He could see the cottage up ahead. He might have wondered who would have built the place in the middle of nowhere, but Pemberton had informed him that the house had been a caretaker's cottage for a vast estate that was no longer in existence. Ironic that the tiny structure had outlived the main house. He gripped the pistol in his pocket and got out. Threading his way through the thick trees behind the cottage, he made his first stop the shed. Rubbing away the dirt and grime on the window he was able barely to make out the black Honda inside. For this, he and LuAnn owed Pemberton a nice little donation to a charity of his choice.

Charlie waited about another ten minutes, his gaze glued to the small cottage, looking for any movement, any shadows falling across the windows. The place appeared unoccupied but the car in the shed belied that appearance. Charlie moved forward cautiously.

He glanced around but did not notice Riggs crouched behind a stand of thick holly bushes to the left of the house.

Riggs lowered his binoculars and surveyed the area. Like Charlie, he had detected no movement or sound coming from the cottage but that didn't mean anything. The guy could be in there just waiting for Charlie to put in an appearance. Shoot first and ask questions later. Riggs gripped his shotgun and waited.

The front door was locked. Charlie could have smashed a glass pane next to the door and unlocked the door from the inside, or simply kicked the door until it tore loose from the doorjamb—it didn't look all that sturdy. However, if the house was indeed occupied, knocking down the door might prompt a deadly response. And, if it wasn't occupied, he didn't want to leave any evidence that he had been to the cottage. Charlie knocked on the door, his pistol half out of his pocket. He waited and knocked again. There was no answer. He slid the gun back in his pocket and looked at the lock, a common pin tumbler, to his expert eye. He pulled out two items from his inner coat pocket: a straight pick and a tension tool. Fortunately, arthritis had not yet set into his fingers or he would not have had the dexterity needed to pick the lock. He first slid the pick into the keyhole and then eased the tension tool underneath the pick. Using the pick, Charlie raised the tumbler pins to their open position, and the constant pressure from the tension tool kept the tumbler pins open. Charlie manipulated the pick, sensing the subtle vibrations of the pins until he was rewarded with a click. He turned the doorknob and the door swung open. He replaced his tools in his coat. His State Pen degree had once again worked its magic. All the while he listened intently. He was well aware that a trap could be awaiting him. His hand closed around the .38. If the guy gave Charlie the opportunity to use it he would. The ramifications of such an act were too numerous to analyze; however, at least a few of them would be better than outright exposure.

The cottage's interior was of a simple configuration. The hallway ran from front to back, splitting the space into roughly equivalent halves. The kitchen was in the back on the left; the small dining room fronted that. On his right was an equally modest living room. Tacked on to the rear of that was a combination mud room/laundry room. Plain wooden stairs on the right made their way to the bedrooms on the second floor. Charlie observed little of this, because his attention was riveted on the dining room. He stared in amazement at the computer, printer, fax, and stacks of file boxes. He moved closer as his eyes swept to the bulletin board with all the news clippings and photos affixed to it.

He mouthed the headlines. LuAnn's face was prominent among the various photos. The whole story was there: the murders, LuAnn winning the lottery, her disappearance. Well, that had confirmed his suspicions. Now it remained to discover who the man was and, more important, what he wanted from them.

He made his way around the room, carefully lifting papers here and there, studying the clippings, examining the file boxes. His eyes diligently searched for anything that would identify the man; however, there was nothing. Whoever was pursuing them knew what he was doing.

Charlie moved to the desk and carefully slid open a drawer. The papers in there yielded nothing new. He tried the other drawers with similar results. For a moment he thought about turning on the computer but his skills with that technology were about nil. He was about to begin a search of the rest of the house when a solitary box in the far corner caught his eye. He might as well hit that too, he figured.

Lifting off the top, Charlie's eyes immediately started to twitch uncontrollably. The word “shit” passed almost silently from between his lips and his legs made a serious threat of giving out on him.

A single piece of paper stared back at him. The names were listed neatly on it. LuAnn's name was there. Most of the remaining names represented people Charlie was also familiar with: Herman Rudy, Wanda Tripp, Randy Stith, Bobbie Jo Reynolds among others. All past lottery winners. Most of them Charlie had personally escorted, like LuAnn. All of them, he knew, had won their fortunes with Jackson's help.

Charlie steadied himself by placing a shaking hand on top of the windowsill. He had been prepared to find evidence of the man knowing all about the murders and LuAnn's involvement. He had not been at all prepared to learn that the lottery scam had been uncovered. The hairs on his forearms felt like they had suddenly been electrified.

How? How could the guy have found out? Who the hell was he? He quickly put the boxtop back, turned, and headed out the door. He made sure it was locked before shutting it. He swiftly retraced his steps to the Range Rover, climbed in, and drove off.

Donovan headed down Route 29. He had been on the road the better part of two hours on his return trip from Washington and he was anxious to get back on the hunt. He sped up as he neared his final destination. On the drive down, he had thought of the next steps he would employ against LuAnn Tyler. Steps designed to make her cave in and do so quickly. If one approach failed, he would find another. The saving grace in all of this—a look of deep satisfaction came to his features as he thought of it—was that he had LuAnn Tyler over a barrel. The oft-quoted phrase was quite true: A chain was only as strong as its weakest link. And LuAnn, you are that rusty link, he said to himself. And you're not going to get away. He checked his watch. He would be at the cottage shortly. On the seat next to him was a small-caliber pistol. He didn't like guns, but he wasn't stupid either.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

As Riggs watched Charlie drive off he caught only a glimpse of the man's face. However, it was enough to tell him that something was up. And that what was up was all bad. After the Range Rover disappeared from his line of sight, Riggs turned around and stared at the cottage. Should he make an attempt as well to search the place? It might answer a lot of questions. He had almost decided to flip a coin when another development caused him to crouch down behind the holly tree again and return to his role of observer.

LuAnn had tethered Joy to a tree in the woods about a hundred yards from the clearing in which the cottage stood. She emerged from outside the tree line with the same graceful movements Riggs had observed in her before. She squatted down on her haunches and waited, surveying the area with quick, darting movements of her head. Despite the impenetrable bulk of the holly tree, Riggs almost felt naked before her intense gaze.

LuAnn studied the road at the same time Riggs studied her. Was she aware that Charlie had already come and gone? Probably not. However, her features gave away nothing.

LuAnn silently watched the cottage for a time before moving over to the shed. Glancing through the same window Charlie had, she looked over the Honda. Then she lifted some dirt and grime from the windowsill and covered over the small opening Charlie had made in the filth. Riggs watched this procedure with growing respect. Even he might not have thought to do that. Charlie certainly hadn't.

LuAnn turned her attention to the house. Both hands were in the pockets of her coat. She knew Charlie had been here but had already left. The smeared window had told her that. She also deduced he hadn't stayed very long because she had ridden Joy hard on the way over, and her route had been far more direct than the one Charlie had had to drive, although he had had a head start. His short stay meant he had found either nothing, or something highly incriminating. Her instincts told her that it was almost undoubtedly the latter. Should she leave and return home and let him fill her in? While that would have been the most prudent thing to do, LuAnn quickly made her way to the front porch and her hand closed around the doorknob. It didn't budge despite the immense pressure she was exerting. She had no special tools to jimmy it as Charlie had; thus she moved on, looking for another way in and finding it at the rear of the cottage. The window finally opened under her persistent tuggings and she quickly climbed inside.

She silently descended from the windowsill to the floor and immediately crouched down. From her line of sight she could make out the kitchen. She had very acute hearing, and if someone had been in the small house she was certain she would have heard his breathing no matter how shallow. She edged forward until she reached what should have been the dining room but had been set up as an office. LuAnn's eyes widened as she saw the news clippings on the bulletin board. As LuAnn's gaze swept around the room, she sensed there was something more at work here than a blackmail scheme.

“Oh, hell.” Riggs ducked down after saying the words and watched in dismay as the Chrysler passed by him on the way to the cottage. The man was hunched over the steering wheel, but Rigs had no trouble recognizing him despite the beard's having been shaved off. Thinking quickly, Riggs gripped his shotgun and hurried to his Cherokee.

LuAnn flew to the back of the cottage as soon as she heard the car drive up. She raised her head a few inches above the windowsill; her heart sank. “Dammit!” She watched Donovan pull around to the rear of the cottage and climb out of the Chrysler. Her eyes were riveted on the pistol he held in his right hand. He headed straight for the rear door. LuAnn backed away, her eyes darting every which way, looking desperately for an exit. The problem was there wasn't any, at least none that would be unobserved. The front door was locked and if she attempted to open it, he would hear her. There was no time to wriggle through a window. The cottage was so small that he couldn't possibly fail to see her if she remained on the first floor.

Donovan inserted the key in the door lock. If he had glanced through the paned door window, he would have spotted LuAnn immediately. The door began to open.

LuAnn edged back into the dining room and was about to head upstairs and try for an escape from the second floor when she heard it.

The car horn was loud and shrill and the sound pattern kept repeating itself, like a car alarm that had been activated. She crept back to the window and watched as Donovan jerked to a halt, slammed the door closed, and then ran around to the front of the cottage.

LuAnn lost no time. She launched herself through the same window she had used to enter, did a roll, and came up running. She made it to the shed and crouched down. The horn was still beeping. She ran to the far side of the shed, peered around the edge, and watched as Donovan advanced down the road, away from her, toward the sound, his pistol making wide sweeps as he did so.

The hand that suddenly gripped LuAnn's shoulder almost made her scream.

“Where's your horse?” Riggs's voice was even and calm.

She looked at him, the whiplash of fear receding as quickly as it had appeared. “About a hundred yards that way.” She jerked her head in the direction of the thick woods. “Is that your car alarm?”

Riggs nodded and gripped his car keys tightly. One eye on Donovan and the other on their avenue of escape, Riggs rose to his feet and pulled LuAnn up with him. “Ready, go.” Bursting out from their cover they raced across the open ground. Keeping his eyes on Donovan's back, Riggs unfortunately caught his foot on a root and he went down, his finger gripping the key ring, accidentally pressing the alarm's shut-off button. Donovan whipped around and stared at them. LuAnn had Riggs up again in a moment and they raced off into the woods. Donovan lurched toward them, his pistol making broad sweeps. “Hey,” he screamed. “Dammit, hold it right there.” Donovan waved the gun around, but he wasn't going to shoot; he wasn't a killer.

LuAnn ran like the wind and Riggs found it impossible to keep up with her. He had slightly twisted his ankle, he told himself, but truth be known, even at full speed he probably could not have caught her. They reached Joy, who stood patiently awaiting her owner's arrival. LuAnn quickly released the tether and jumped into the saddle without even bothering to use the stirrup. She flicked out a hand and hauled Riggs up behind her. The next moment they were racing up the trail astride the fleet mare. Riggs looked back for an instant, but Donovan was nowhere in sight. They had moved so fast he wasn't surprised. Riggs gripped LuAnn's waist with both hands and hung on for dear life as she whipped Joy at a breakneck pace through the swerving trails.

They had returned Joy to the horse barn and were walking back to the main house before Riggs broke the silence. “I take it that's how you handle those kind of situations. Break into the place. See what you can find. I don't know why I should be surprised. That's what you did with me.” He looked at LuAnn with angry eyes.

She matched the look. “I didn't break into your place. And I don't remember asking you to follow me.”

“I followed Charlie, not you,” he corrected her. “But it's a damn good thing I was there, wasn't it? Two times in two days. At this rate you'll wear out your nine lives in a week.” She kept walking, her arms crossed in front of her, her eyes staring resolutely ahead. Riggs stopped.

She stopped too and looked down for an instant. When she looked up there was a far softer countenance confronting him. “Thank you. Again. But the more distance you put between the three of us and yourself, the better off you'll be, I guarantee it. Forget the fence. I don't think we'll be staying on here. Don't worry, I'll pay you for it anyway.” She stared at him for a moment longer, trying to push away feelings that had been strangers to her for so long that they now simply frightened her. “Have a good life, Matthew.” She turned and headed for the house.

“Catherine?” She kept walking. “Catherine,” he said again.

She finally stopped.

“Would you please tell me what's going on? I might be able to help you.”

“I don't think so.”

“You never know.”

“Believe me, I know.”

She started toward the house again.

Riggs stood there staring after her. “Hey, in case you forgot, I don't have a car to get home in.”

When she turned around, the key ring was already sailing through the air. Riggs caught it in the palm of his hand.

“Take my car. It's parked out front. Keep it as long as you like. I've got another one.”

On that she spun back around and disappeared into the house.

Riggs slowly pocketed the keys, shaking his head in absolute frustration.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

“Where the hell have you been?” Charlie came out of his study and leaned up against the doorjamb. His face was still pale, a detail LuAnn picked up on immediately.

“Same place you were,” she said.

“What? LuAnn, I told you—”

“You weren't alone. Riggs followed you. In fact he managed to save me again. If he happens to do it once more, I might have to consider marrying the man.”

Charlie went a shade paler. “Did he go inside the house?”

“No, but I did.”

“How much did you see?” Charlie asked nervously.

LuAnn swept past him and into the office. “I don't want Lisa to hear.”

Charlie closed the door behind them. He went straight over to the liquor stand and poured himself a drink. LuAnn watched his movements in silence for a moment before speaking.

“Apparently, you saw more than I did.”

He turned to her and downed the drink in one motion. “The news clippings on the lottery? The murders?”

LuAnn nodded. “I saw them. After my first encounter with the man, I wasn't very surprised to see that.”

“I wasn't either.”

“Apparently there was more, though.” She looked at him pointedly at the same time she sat down on the sofa, folding her hands in her lap and collecting her nerves as best she could.

There was a haunted look in Charlie's features, as though he had awoken from a nightmare and attempted to laugh it off, only to find out he wasn't dreaming. “I saw some names. A list of them in fact. Yours was on there.” He paused and put the glass down. His hands were shaking. LuAnn braced herself. “Herman Rudy. Wanda Tripp. Randy Stith. They were on there too. I escorted them all in New York.”

LuAnn slowly rested her head in her hands.

Charlie sat down beside her, put one beefy hand on her back, and slowly rubbed it.

She sat back and slumped against him; a painful weariness laced her words. “We have to go, Charlie. We have to pack up and go. Tonight.”

He considered the request before running a hand across his forehead. “I've been thinking about that. We can run, like we've done before. But there's a difference now.”

LuAnn's response was immediate. “He knows about the lottery fix and he knows LuAnn Tyler and Catherine Savage are one and the same. Our cover isn't going to work anymore.”

Charlie nodded glumly. “We've never been confronted with both of those before. It makes disappearing a little trickier.”

She suddenly stood up and started her ritualistic pacing, moving in fluid circles around the room. “What does he want, Charlie?”

“I've been thinking about that too.” He went over to the liquor stand with his empty glass, hesitated, and decided against a second round. “You saw the guy's setup. What did it look like to you?” he asked.

LuAnn stopped pacing and leaned up against the fireplace mantel. In her mind, she went through every detail of the place.

“His car was a rental, under an assumed name. So he doesn't want us to be able to trace his real identity. I didn't recognize the man, but there must be another reason he's going incognito.”

“Right.” Charlie studied her. Over the years, he had learned that LuAnn missed almost nothing and her instincts were first-rate.

“He tried to spook me, which he did. I take that as a warning, a message that he's a player and he wants us to be aware of that for the next time he calls.”

“Go on,” he encouraged.

“The place, the little I saw of it, was set up like an office. Very neat, very orderly. Computer, fax, printer, files. It was like he had made all of this some special research project.”

“Well, he would've had to do a ton of research to figure out the lottery scam. Jackson is no dummy.”

“How do you think he did it, Charlie?”

He rubbed his chin and sat down in front of his desk. “Well, we don't know for absolute certain that he has figured it all out. I just saw the list. That's all.”

“With the names of all those lottery winners? Come on. How long did Jackson run the scam anyway?”

Charlie shook his head. “I don't know. I mean, I was there for nine of them, including you. Started in August. You were Miss April, my last gig.”

LuAnn shook her head stubbornly. “He knows, Charlie; we have to assume that to be true. However he did it, he did it.”

“Okay. So it seems pretty clear the guy wants money.”

She shook her head. “We don't know that. I mean, why would he set up shop here and bring all that stuff with him? He didn't need to do that. He could just send me a letter from parts unknown with the same info, and a demand for money to be wire-transferred to his bank account.”

Charlie sat back, his face carrying extreme confusion. He had not looked at the matter in that light. “That's true.”

“And I don't think the guy's hurting for money. He was wearing really nice clothes. Two leased cars, the rent on that cottage isn't cheap, I'm thinking, and all that equipment he had. He's not digging his dinner out of garbage cans.”

“Right, but unless he's already a millionaire, going after you would significantly enrich his bank account,” said Charlie.

“But he hasn't done that. He hasn't asked for anything. I wish I knew why.” She was lost deep in thought for a moment and then looked up. “How long did Pemberton say the cottage had been rented?”

“About a month.”

“That makes it even more unlikely he was going to blackmail us. Why wait? Why come right out and warn me that he knows everything? How does he know I won't just disappear in the middle of the night? If I do that, he's not going to be filling up his bank account with my funds.”

Charlie sighed deeply. “So what do we do now?”

“Wait,” was finally the answer from LuAnn's lips. “But make arrangements for us to leave the country on a moment's notice. By private jet. And since he knows about Catherine Savage, we're going to need another set of identification papers. Can you get them?”

“I'll have to look up some old contacts, but I can do it. It'll take a few days.”

LuAnn stood up.

“What about Riggs?” Charlie asked. “The man's not going to let it go now.”

“There's nothing we can do about that. He doesn't trust us and I don't blame him.”

“Well, I doubt if he'll do anything that'll end up hurting you.”

She looked sharply at him. “How do you know that?”

“Look, LuAnn, it doesn't take a rocket scientist to see Riggs has a thing for you.” A hint of resentment tinged his response. His tone softened, however, with his next words. “Seems like a nice guy. Under different circumstances, who knows. You shouldn't spend your life alone, LuAnn.”

A flush swept over her face. “I'm not alone. I've got Lisa and I've got you. I don't need anybody else. I can't handle anybody else.” She looked away. How could she invite anyone into her life? It was impossible. Half truths competing with complete falsehoods. She was no longer a real person. She was a thirty-year-old shell, period. Everything else had been bartered away. Jackson had taken the rest of it. He and his offer. If she hadn't made that call way back when. If she hadn't panicked? She wouldn't have spent ten years turning herself into the woman she always wanted to be. She wouldn't be living in a million-dollar mansion. But as ironic as it sounded, she would probably have far more of a life than she had now. Whether it was to be spent in another wrecked mobile trailer or slinging fried foods at the truck stop, LuAnn Tyler, the pauper, would probably have been happier than Catherine Savage, the princess, ever dreamt of being. But if she hadn't accepted the offer, Jackson would have had her killed. There was no way out. She turned back to Charlie and spread her arms wide.

“That's the trade-off, Charlie. For this. For all this. You, me, and Lisa.”

“The Three Musketeers.” Charlie attempted a smile.

“Let's pray for a happy ending.” LuAnn opened the door and disappeared down the hallway in search of her daughter.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

“Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice, Mr. Pemberton.”

“John, please call me John, Mr. Conklin.” Pemberton shook the other man's hand and they sat down at the small conference table in Pemberton's real estate office.

“I go by Harry,” the other man said.

“Now you mentioned over the phone that you were interested in a house, but you really didn't say what area or price range.”

Without seeming to do so, Pemberton looked Harry Conklin over. Probably in his sixties, expensive clothing, air of assurance, undoubtedly liked the good things in life. Pemberton swiftly calculated his potential commission.

“I got your name on good reference. I understand that you specialize in the upper-end market around here,” Conklin said.

“That's correct. Born and raised here. Know everybody and every property worth knowing about. So would that be the price range you're interested in? The upper end?”

Conklin assumed a comfortable look. “Let me tell you a little about myself. I make my living on Wall Street and it's a damn good living if I do say so myself. But it's also a young man's game and I'm not a young man anymore. I've made my fortune and it's substantial. I've got a penthouse in Manhattan, a place in Rio, a home on Fisher Island in Florida, and a country estate outside London. But I'm looking to get out of New York and radically simplify my life. And this place is about as beautiful as they come.”

“Absolutely right,” Pemberton chimed in.

“Now, I do a lot of entertaining, so it would have to be a substantial place. But I want privacy as well. Something old, and elegant, but restored. I like old things, but not old plumbing, you understand me?”

“Perfectly.”

“Now, I'm assuming that there are probably a number of properties around here that fit that bill.”

“There are. Most assuredly,” Pemberton said excitedly.

“But see, I've got one in mind. One I heard about from my father, in fact. He was in the stock market too. Back in the twenties. Made a bundle and was fortunate to get out before the crash. He used to come here and stay with a good friend of his who was in the market too. My father, God rest his soul, loved it there, and I thought it would be appropriate for his son to buy it and live in it.”

“What a truly inspiring idea. Certainly makes my job easier. Do you know the name of the place?” Pemberton's smile was broadening.

“Wicken's Hunt.”

Pemberton's smile quickly faded.

“Oh.” He licked his lips, made a clicking sound with his tongue against his teeth. “Wicken's Hunt,” he repeated, looking depressed.

“What's the matter? Did it burn down or something?”

“No, no. It's a beautiful place, wonderfully restored.” Pemberton sighed deeply. “Unfortunately it's no longer on the market.”

“You sure?” Conklin sounded skeptical.

“I'm certain. I was the selling agent.”

“Damn, how long ago?”

“About two years, although the people have only been in it for several months. There was a lot of renovation work to do.”

Conklin looked at him slyly, eyebrows cocked. “Think they might want to sell?”

Pemberton's mind raced through the possibilities. Flipping a property like that within the relatively short span of two years? What a wonderful impact on his wallet.

“Anything's possible. I've actually gotten to know them—well, one of them anyway—fairly well. Just had breakfast with him, in fact.”

“So it's a couple then, old like me, I guess. Wicken's Hunt isn't exactly a starter home from what my father told me.”

“Actually, they're not a couple. And he's older, but the property doesn't belong to him. It belongs to her.”

Conklin leaned forward. “To her?”

Pemberton looked around for a moment, got up and fully shut the door to his conference room, and then sat back down.

“You understand that I'm telling you this in confidence.”

“Absolutely. I didn't survive all those years on Wall Street without understanding confidences.”

“While the land records show a corporation as the title holder, the real owner of Wicken's Hunt is a young woman. Catherine Savage. Obviously incredibly wealthy. Quite frankly, I'm not certain what the source of that wealth is, nor is it my business to ask. She lived abroad for years. Has a little girl about ten. Charlie Thomas—the older man—he and I have had some nice little discussions. They've been very generous with several local charities. She doesn't come out in public very much, but that's understandable.”

“Sure is. If I moved here, you might not see me for weeks on end.”

“Exactly. They seem to be real good people, though. They seem very happy here. Very happy.”

Conklin sat back and it was his turn to sigh. “Well, I guess they won't be looking to move any time soon. Damn shame too.” He eyed Pemberton intently. “Real damn shame, since I make it my practice to pay a finder's fee on top of any real estate commission you might collect from the seller.”

Pemberton perked up noticeably. “Is that right?”

“Now, there aren't any ethical considerations that would prevent you from accepting such an inducement, are there?”

“None that I can think of,” Pemberton said quickly. “So, how much would that inducement come to?”

“Twenty percent of the purchase price.” Harry Conklin drummed his fingers on the tabletop and watched Pemberton's face turn different colors.

If Pemberton hadn't been sitting down, he would've toppled to the floor. “That's very generous,” he finally managed to say.

“If I want something done, I find the best way to accomplish my goal is to provide decent incentives to those in a position to help me achieve that goal. But from the looks of things here, I don't think it's likely. Maybe I'll try North Carolina, I hear good things about it.” Conklin started to get up.

“Wait a minute. Please wait just a minute.”

Conklin hesitated and then slowly resumed his seat.

“Actually, your timing may be perfect.”

“Why's that?”

Pemberton leaned even closer to him. “There have been recent developments, very recent developments, that might give us an opening to approach them about selling.”

“If they just moved in, seem happy here, what kind of developments are we talking about? The place isn't haunted, is it?”

“No, nothing like that. As I said, I had a breakfast meeting with Charlie. He was concerned about a person who had come to visit them. Asking for money.”

“So? That happens to me all the time. You think that'll make them pack up and leave?”

“Well, I wouldn't have thought so at first either, but the more I thought about it, the more unusual it sounded. I mean, you're right, the rich get approached all the time, so why should this man upset them so? But he obviously did.”

“How do you know that?”

Pemberton smiled. “In many ways, in fact, in more ways than people around here care to admit, Charlottesville is a small town. Now I know for a fact that very recently Matt Riggs was up surveying Ms. Savage's property line when he became engaged in a reckless chase with another car that almost got him killed.”

Conklin shook his head in confusion. “Who's Matt Riggs?”

“A local contractor hired by Ms. Savage to install a security fence around her property.”

“So he was chasing another car? How does that tie in with Catherine Savage?”

“A friend of mine was heading to work that morning. He lives up in that same area and works in town. He was about to turn on to the main road heading into town when a charcoal gray BMW flew by. He said it must've been doing eighty. If he had pulled out a second sooner that BMW would've torn his car in half. He was so shaken, he couldn't budge for a full minute. Good thing too, because while he's sitting there trying to keep his breakfast down, Matt Riggs's pickup comes barreling by and another car is locked on his bumper. They were obviously going at it.”

“Do you know who was in the BMW?”

“Now, I've never met her but I know people who have seen her. Catherine Savage is a tall, blond woman. Real good-looking. My friend only got a glimpse of the driver, but he said she was blond and pretty. And I saw a charcoal gray BMW parked up at Wicken's Hunt when I went up to do a preclosing walk-through with Charlie.”

“So you think somebody was chasing her?”

“And I think Matt Riggs must've run smack into it. I know that his truck's in the shop with a busted bumper. I also know that Sally Beecham—she's the maid up at Wicken's—saw Riggs walking off in a huff from the house later that same morning.”

Conklin stroked his chin. “Very interesting. Guess there's no way to find out who was chasing her?”

“Yes there is. I mean I did. At least his location. You see, it gets even more interesting. As I said, Charlie invited me to breakfast. That's when he told me about this man who had come by the house wanting money. Charlie wanted my help in finding out if the man was staying in the area. Of course, I agreed to do what I could. At that point I didn't know about the car chase. I found that out later.”

“You said you were able to find the man? But how could you? Lots of places to hide around here, I would think.” Conklin asked this in a nonchalant manner.

Pemberton smiled triumphantly. “Not much escapes my notice, Harry. Like I said, I was born and raised here. Charlie gave me a description of the man and the car. I used my contacts and in less than twenty-four hours I had located him.”

“Probably holed up pretty far away, I'll bet.”

Pemberton shook his head. “Not at all. He was right under their noses. A small cottage. It's barely ten minutes from Wicken's Hunt by car. But very isolated.”

“Help me out here. I don't have my bearings here yet. Is it near Monticello?”

“Well, in the general vicinity, but the area I'm talking about is north of that, north of Interstate Sixty-four, in fact. The cottage isn't too far from the Airslie Estate, off Highway Twenty-two, the Keswick Hunt area it's called. The man had leased the cottage about a month ago.”

“Good gosh, did you get a name?”

“Tom Jones.” Pemberton smiled knowingly. “Obviously false.”

“Well, I guess they appreciated your help. So what happened?”

“I don't know. My business keeps me hopping. I really haven't talked to them about it any more.”

“Well, this Riggs fellow, I bet he's sure sorry he got involved.”

“Well, he can take care of himself.”

“Maybe so, but getting banged around in a car in a high-speed chase? Most general contractors don't do that.”

“Well, Riggs wasn't always a G.C.”

“Really?” Conklin said, his features inscrutable. “You really do have the Peyton Place here. So what's his story?”

Pemberton shrugged his shoulders. “Your guess is as good as mine. He never talks about his past. He just appeared one day about five years ago, started learning the building trade and he's been here ever since. Pretty mysterious. Charlie thought he was a policeman. Frankly, I think he was with the government in some secret capacity and they put him out to pasture. Call it my gut.”

“That's real interesting. Old guy then.”

“No. Mid- to late thirties. Tall, strong, and very capable. Excellent reputation.”

“Good for him.”

“Now about our arrangement. If this man really is dogging them, I can talk to Charlie, see what he has to say. Maybe they will agree to move. It's certainly worth asking.”

“I tell you what, you let me think about it for a few days.”

“I can get the process started anyway.”

Conklin put up one hand. “No, I don't want you doing that. When I'm ready to move, we'll move fast, don't you worry about that.”

“I just thought—”

Conklin abruptly got up. “You'll hear from me very soon, John. I appreciate the insight, I really do.”

“And if they won't move, there are at least a dozen other estates I can show you. They would serve your purposes equally well, I'm sure.”

“This fellow in the cottage intrigues me. You wouldn't happen to have an exact address and directions, would you?”

Pemberton was startled at the question. “You certainly don't want to talk to him, do you? He might be dangerous.”

“I can take care of myself. And I've learned in my business that you never know where you might find an ally.” Conklin looked at him keenly until understanding spread across Pemberton's face. He wrote the information down on a piece of paper and handed it to the other man.

Conklin took an envelope out of his pocket and handed it to Pemberton, motioning for him to open it.

“Oh my God.” Pemberton sat there gaping at the wad of cash that spilled out. “What's this for? I haven't done anything yet.”

Conklin eyed Pemberton steadily. “You've given me information, John. Information is always worth a great deal to me. I'll be in touch.” The men shook hands and Conklin took his leave.

Back at the country inn where he was staying, Harry Conklin walked into the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the water. Fifteen minutes later the door opened and Jackson emerged, the remnants of Harry Conklin bundled in a plastic bag which Jackson deposited in a side pouch of his luggage. His conversation with Pemberton had been very enlightening. His encounter with the man had not been by chance. Upon arriving in Charlottesville, Jackson had made discreet inquiries around town that had quickly identified Pemberton as the selling agent for Wicken's Hunt. He sat on the bed and opened a large, detailed map of the Charlottesville area, noting and committing to memory the places he and Pemberton had discussed and the written directions to the cottage. Before talking to Pemberton he had educated himself on some of the history of Wicken's Hunt, which had been nicely detailed in a book on local area estates and their original owners at the county library. It had given him enough background information to form his cover story and draw out Pemberton on the subject.

Jackson closed his eyes, deep in thought. Right now he was planning how best to begin his campaign against LuAnn Tyler and the man who was pursuing her.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Riggs had given it a day before he had attempted to retrieve his Jeep. Just in case the guy was still around, he went armed and he went at night. The Cherokee looked undamaged. Riggs made a quick check of it before heading toward the cottage. The Chrysler was nowhere to be seen. He shone his flashlight in the window of the shed. The Honda was still there. Riggs went up to the front door and wondered for the hundredth time if he should just leave this business alone. Dangerous things seemed to happen around Catherine Savage. He had had his fill of such events and he had come to Charlottesville in search of other things. Still, he could not stop his hand from carefully turning the doorknob. The door swung open.

The flashlight in one hand, his pistol in the other, Riggs moved forward slowly. He was reasonably certain that the place was empty, but assumptions like that could earn you an unwanted trip to the morgue with a tag around your big toe. He could see most of the first floor from where he was standing. He shone his flashlight slowly around the room. There was a light switch on the wall, but he wasn't about to use it. In what had been the dining room, he discerned dust patterns on the floor that showed certain objects had been removed. He ran his fingers over these areas and then moved on. He moved into the kitchen where he lifted the phone. There was no dial tone. He moved back into the dining room.

As Riggs's eyes swept the room, they passed right over the figure dressed all in black standing just inside the half-opened closet door next to the stairs.

Jackson closed his eyes the second before the light moved across his hiding place so that his pupils would not reflect off it. When the arc of illumination had passed, Jackson reopened his eyes and gripped the handle of the knife tightly. He had heard Riggs before he had ever set foot on the porch. It was not the man who had leased the cottage. He was long gone; Jackson had already searched the place thoroughly. This man had come to reconnoiter the place as well. Riggs, it must be, Jackson concluded. In fact, Jackson found Riggs almost as interesting as the man he had come to kill tonight. Ten years ago Jackson had predicted that LuAnn would be a problem, and now that prediction was coming true. He had done some preliminary checking on Riggs's background after his discussion with Pemberton. The fact that there was little to find out had intrigued him greatly.

When Riggs passed within a few feet of him, Jackson contemplated killing him. It would take just a flick of the razor-sharp blade against his throat. But as quickly as the homicidal impulse flared through his system, it passed. Killing Riggs would further no purpose, at least not at present. Jackson's hand gripping the knife relaxed. Riggs would live another day. If there was a next time, Jackson decided, the outcome might be far different. He didn't like people meddling in his business. If nothing else, he would now check into Riggs's background with far greater intensity.

Riggs left the cottage and headed toward his Cherokee. He glanced back at the cottage. A sensation had just come over him, as though he had just survived a close call. He shrugged it off. He had once lived by his instincts; however, he assumed they had rusted somewhat since his occupation had changed. It was an empty house and nothing more.

Watching from the window, Jackson picked up on Riggs's slight hesitation, and with it his curiosity grew even more. Riggs would possibly make an interesting project, but he would have to wait. Jackson had something more pressing to take care of. From the floor of the closet Jackson picked up what looked like a doctor's bag. He moved to the dining room, crouched down, and unpacked the contents of a first-rate fingerprint kit. Jackson then moved over to the light switch and hit it from various angles with a handheld laser carried in his jacket pocket. Several latent prints sprang to life under the beam. Jackson dusted the area with a fiberglass brush dipped in black powder and gently brushed around the area of the light switch, outlining the latent prints. The kitchen counter, telephone, and doorknobs were subjected to the same process. The telephone, especially, evidenced very clear fingerprints. Jackson smiled. Riggs's real identity would not be a mystery much longer. Using pressure-wound tape, he then lifted the prints from each of the areas and transferred them to separate index cards. Humming quietly to himself, Jackson marked the cards with special identification hieroglyphics and placed them in separate plastic-lined containers. He then carefully removed all evidence of the fingerprint powder from each of the surfaces. He loved the methodology of it all. Precise steps that reached a precise conclusion. It took him only a few minutes to repack his kit and then he left the cottage. He took a side trail to his waiting car and drove off. It was not often that one captured two birds with one stone. Tonight's work was beginning to look like precisely that.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

“I like Mr. Riggs, Mom.”

“Well, you don't really know him, do you?”

LuAnn sat on the edge of her daughter's bed and fingered the bed covers absentmindedly.

“I have good instincts about these things.”

Mother and daughter exchanged smiles. “Really? Well, maybe you can share some of your insights with me.”

“Seriously, is he going to come back soon?”

LuAnn took a deep breath. “Lisa, we may have to go away soon.”

Lisa's hopeful smile faded away at this abrupt change of subjects. “Go away? Where?”

“I'm not sure just yet. And it's not for certain. Uncle Charlie and I haven't finished talking about it yet.”

“Were you going to include me in those discussions?”

The unfamiliar tone in her daughter's voice startled LuAnn. “What are you talking about?”

“How many times have we moved in the last six years? Eight? And that's just as far back as I can remember. God knows how many times we did when I was really little. It's not fair.” Lisa's face colored and her voice shook.

LuAnn swept an arm around her shoulders. “Sweetie, I didn't say it was for certain. I just said maybe.”

“That's not the point. Okay, so it's maybe now. Or maybe next month. But then one day it'll be ‘we're moving’ and there's nothing I can do about it.”

LuAnn put her face in Lisa's long hair. “I know it's hard on you, baby.”

“I'm not a baby, Mom, not anymore. And I'd really like to know what we're running from.”

LuAnn stiffened and raised her head back up, her eyes searching out Lisa's.

“We're not running from anything. What would we possibly be running from?”

“I was hoping you would tell me. I like it here, I don't want to leave, and unless you can give me a really good explanation why we have to, I'm not going.”

“Lisa, you're ten years old and even though you're a very intelligent and mature ten-year-old, you're still only a child. So where I go, you go.”

Lisa turned her face away. “Do I have a big trust fund?”

“Yes, why?”

“Because when I turn eighteen I'm going to have my own home and I'm going to stay there until I die. And I don't want you to ever visit me.”

LuAnn's cheeks reddened. “Lisa!”

“I mean it. And then maybe I'll have friends and can do the things I want to do.”

“Lisa Marie Savage, you've been all over the world. You've done things most people will never get a chance to do their entire lives.”

“Well, you know what?”

“What?” LuAnn shot back.

“Right now, I'd trade with them in a heartbeat.”

Lisa lay down in the bed and put the covers up almost over her head. “And right now, I'd like to be alone.”

LuAnn started to say something and then thought better of it. Biting her lip hard, she raced down the hallway to her room, where she collapsed on the bed.

It was unraveling. She could feel it, like a big ball of twine someone had tossed down a long set of stairs. She rose, went into the bathroom, and started the shower. She pulled off her clothes and stepped under the steaming water. Leaning up against the wall she closed her eyes and tried to tell herself that it would be okay, that in the morning Lisa would be all right, that her love for her mother remained undiminished. This was not the first serious argument mother and daughter had had over the years. Lisa did not just share her mother's physical attributes; LuAnn's independence and stubborn streak had been replicated in her daughter. After a few minutes LuAnn finally calmed down and let the soothing water envelop her.

When she opened her eyes another image invaded her thoughts. Matthew Riggs must believe her to be insane by now. Insane and dishonest as hell. Quite a combination if you were trying to make an impression. But she wasn't. If anything, she felt sorry for him, for having risked his life twice and gotten kicked in the gut both times for his trouble. He was a very attractive man, but she wasn't looking for a relationship. How could she? How could she even contemplate partnering with someone? She'd be afraid to speak for fear of letting a secret scurry free. With all that, the image of Matt Riggs remained fixed in her head. A very handsome man. Strong, honest, courageous. And there was secrecy in his background too. And hurt. She suddenly cursed out loud that her life wasn't normal. That she couldn't attempt even a friendship with him.

She moved her hands fiercely along her limbs as she soaped up and released her frustrations at the same time. The harsh movements against her skin rekindled a disturbing revelation. The last man she had slept with was Duane Harvey over ten years ago. As her fingers moved over her breasts, Riggs's face appeared again in her thoughts. She shook her head angrily, closed her eyes again, and laid her face against the wall of the shower. The costly imported tile was wet and warm. She remained in that position despite danger signs flashing in her mind. So wet. So warm. So safe. Almost unconsciously her hands dipped to her waist and then over her buttocks and all the while Matthew Riggs resided in her thoughts. She kept her eyes scrunched tight. The fingers of her right hand slithered around to her navel. Her breaths became heavier. Under the sounds of the water, a low moan passed over her lips. A large tear made its way down her face before it was washed away. Ten years. Ten damned years. The fingers of her two hands were touching now, intermeshed in a way, like the gears of a clock. Slow, methodical, reliable. Back and forth . . . She jerked straight up so quickly she almost smashed her skull against the showerhead.

“Good Lord, LuAnn!” She exclaimed this to herself. She cut off the water and stepped out of the shower. She sat down on the lid of the toilet and hung her head between her knees; the light-headedness was already passing. Her wet hair sprawled across her long, bare legs. The floor became sopping wet as the water poured off her body. She glanced over at the shower, a guilty look on her face. The muscles in her back bunched together, the veins in her arms swelled large. It wasn't easy. It just wasn't easy at all.

She rose on unsteady legs, toweled off, and went into the bedroom.

Among the costly furnishings of her bedroom was a very familiar object. The clock her mother had given her ticked away, and as LuAnn listened, her nerves began to reassemble themselves. Thank God she had stuffed it in her bag right before almost being killed in that trailer so many years ago. Even now she would lie awake at night listening to its clunkiness. It skipped every third beat and at around five o'clock in the afternoon it would make a noise like someone had lightly smacked a cymbal. The gears and wires, the guts of the contraption, were tired; but it was like listening to an old friend strum on a weathered guitar, the notes not what they should be, ideally, but holding comfort for her, some peace.

She pulled on a pair of panties and then went back into the bathroom to dry her hair. Looking in the mirror she saw a woman on the brink of something: disaster probably. Should she start seeing a shrink? Didn't you have to be truthful in therapy in order to make any progress? She mouthed this question to her reflection in the mirror. No, psychotherapy wasn't going to be an option. As usual, she would just go it alone.

She traced the scar on her face, letting her finger feel each contour of the ridged, damaged skin, in essence reliving the painful events of her past. Never forget, she told herself. It's all a sham. All a lie.

She finished drying her hair, and was about to go back into the bedroom and collapse onto the bed when Lisa's words came back to her. She just couldn't let that resentment and anger fester all night. She had to talk to her daughter again. Or at least try to.

She went back into the bedroom to put on her robe before heading for Lisa's room.

“Hello, LuAnn.”

So stunned was LuAnn that she had to reach out and grip the doorjamb or she would've sagged to the floor. As LuAnn stared at him, she found that the muscles in her face had ceased to function. She couldn't even form a response, as though she had just suffered a stroke.

“It's been a long time.” Jackson stepped away from the window and sat down on the edge of the bed.

His casual movements finally broke LuAnn free from her inertia. “How the hell did you get in here?”

“Not relevant.” The words and tone were instantly familiar to her. All those years ago came rushing back with such speed that the effect was nearly incapacitating.

“What do you want?” She forced the words to come out.

“Ah, very relevant. However, we have much to discuss, and I would suggest you do so in the comfort of some clothing.” He stared pointedly at her body.

LuAnn found it extremely difficult to take her eyes off him. Being half naked in front of the man was far less disturbing than having to turn her back on him. Finally, she threw open her closet door, pulled out a knee-length robe, and quickly put it on. She cinched the robe tightly around her waist and turned back around. Jackson wasn't even looking at her. His eyes roamed the spectacular parameters of her boudoir; his gaze rested on the clock on the wall briefly and then moved on. Apparently, the brief view of her body—a sight many men would have paid hard cash for—had inspired in him nothing more than extreme diffidence.

“You've done well for yourself. If I remember correctly, your previous decorating tastes were limited to dirty linoleum and Goodwill castoffs.”

“I don't appreciate this intrusion.”

He swiveled his head around and his eyes flashed into hers. “And I don't appreciate having to take time away from a very busy schedule to rescue you yet again, LuAnn. By the way, do you prefer LuAnn or Catherine?”

“I'll let you choose,” she said sharply. “And I don't need to be rescued by anyone, certainly not by you.”

He rose from the bed and scrutinized her altered appearance closely. “Very good. Not quite as good as I could have done, but I won't nit-pick,” he finally said. “Still, the look is very chic, very sophisticated. Congratulations.”

LuAnn responded by remarking, “The last time I saw you, you were wearing a dress. Other than that, you haven't changed much.”

Jackson still had on the dark clothing he had worn at the cottage. His features were the same as for their first meeting, although he had not covered his lean frame with padding. He thrust his head forward; the smile seemed to engulf his entire face. “Didn't you know?” he said. “Aside from my other remarkable abilities, I also never age.” His smile receded as quickly as it had appeared. “Now, let's talk.” He once again perched on the edge of the bed and motioned for LuAnn to sit at a small antique writing desk situated against one wall. She did so.

“What about?”

“I understand you had a visitor. A man who chased you in a car?”

“How the hell do you know that?” LuAnn said angrily.

“You just won't accept the fact that you can't conceal information from me. Like the fact that you have re-entered the United States against my most explicit instructions.”

“The ten years are up.”

“Funny, I don't remember setting an expiration date on those instructions.”

“You can't expect me to run for the rest of my life.”

“On the contrary, that is exactly what I expect. That is exactly what I demand.”

“You cannot run my life.”

Jackson looked around the room again and then stood up. “First things first. Tell me about the man.”

“I can handle this situation by myself.”

“Is that right? From what I can tell, you've committed one blunder after another.”

“I want you to leave right now. I want you to get the hell out of my house.”

Jackson calmly shook his head. “The years have done nothing to ameliorate your temper. An unlimited supply of money can't purchase good breeding or tact, can it?”

“Go to hell.”

In response Jackson reached one hand inside his jacket.

In an instant LuAnn had snatched up a letter opener from her writing desk. She cocked her arm back in preparation to hurl it. “I can kill you with this from twenty feet. Money can buy a lot of things.”

Jackson shook his head sadly. “Ten years ago I found you, a young girl with a good head on her shoulders in very difficult circumstances. But you were still white trash, LuAnn. And, I'm afraid to say, some things just don't change.” His hand slowly came out of his jacket. In it he held a slip of paper. “You can put your little toy away. You won't need it.” He looked at her with a calmness that managed, under the circumstances, to paralyze her. “At least not tonight.” He unfolded the paper. “Now, I understand that two men have recently entered your life: Matthew Riggs is one; the other is as yet unidentified.”

LuAnn slowly dropped her arm, but she still clutched the letter opener in her hand.

Jackson looked up from the paper. “I have a vested interest in ensuring that your secret never be found out. I have a number of ongoing business activities, and above all I value anonymity. You're one in a line of dominoes. And when they start to fall, they tend to keep falling until they reach the end. I am that end. Do you understand?”

LuAnn sat back down in the chair and crossed her legs. “Yes,” she answered curtly.

“You have unnecessarily complicated my life by coming back to the United States. The man who is following you discovered your identity, in part, through your tax records. That is why I never wanted you to come back here.”

“I probably shouldn't have,” LuAnn conceded. “But you try moving just about every six months, a new country, a new language. And try doing it with a little girl.”

“I appreciate your difficulties; however, I assumed that being one of the richest women on earth would more than make up the difference.”

“Like you said, money can't buy everything.”

“You never met the man before? In your extensive travels? You're absolutely certain?”

“I would've remembered. I've remembered everything the last ten years.” She said this softly.

Jackson studied her closely. “I believe you. Do you have any reason to think that he knows about the lottery?”

LuAnn hesitated a second. “No.”

“You're lying. Tell me the truth immediately or I'll kill everyone in this house starting with you.” This abrupt threat, delivered calmly and precisely, made her suck in her breath.

She swallowed with difficulty. “He had a list. A list with twelve names on it. Mine, Herman Rudy, Bobbie Jo Reynolds, and some others.”

Jackson assimilated this information rapidly and then looked down at the paper. “And the man Riggs?”

“What about him?”

“There's some confusion as to his background.”

“Everyone has secrets.”

Jackson smiled. “Touché. Under other circumstances that would not bother me. However, in this instance it does.”

“I'm not following you.”

“Riggs has a mysterious past and he just happens to be around when you need assistance. I take it he did help you.”

LuAnn looked at him quizzically. “Yes, but he's been here for five years, long before I got here.”

“That's not the point. I'm not suggesting the man is a plant. I am suggesting that he could well be something entirely different than what he claims. Now he coincidentally collides with your world. That's what worries me.”

“I don't think it was anything other than a coincidence. He was hired to do a job for me. It was perfectly natural that he would be nearby when the other man started chasing me.”

Jackson shook his head. “I don't like it. I saw him tonight.” LuAnn stiffened perceptibly. “At the cottage. I was this close to him.” He spread his hands about two feet apart. “I contemplated killing him on the spot. It would have been extremely easy.”

LuAnn's face turned white and she licked dry lips. “There's no reason to do that.”

“You have no way of knowing that. I'm going to check him out and if I find anything in his background to suggest trouble for me, then I will eliminate him. It's that simple.”

“Let me get that information for you.”

“What?” Jackson looked startled.

“Riggs likes me. He's already helped me, probably saved my life. It would be natural for me to show my gratitude. Get to know him better.”

“No, I don't like it.”

“Riggs is a nobody. A local builder. Why trouble yourself with him? Like you said, you're busy.”

Jackson studied her intensely for a moment. “All right, LuAnn, you do that. However, any information you obtain better be reported to me in a timely fashion or, with respect to Mr. Riggs, I will take matters into my own very capable hands. Clear?”

LuAnn let out a deep breath. “Clear.”

“The other man, of course, I must find. It shouldn't be too terribly difficult.”

“Don't do that.”

“Excuse me?”

“You don't have to do that. Find him.”

“I am very much certain that I do.”

The memory of Mr. Rainbow came flooding back to her. She did not want another death on her conscience. She wasn't worth it. “If he shows up again, we're just going to leave the country.”

Jackson refolded the paper and replaced it in his pocket. He made a precise steeple with his hands. “You obviously do not fully understand the situation. Were you the only one he was onto, then perhaps your simplistic solution might resolve the matter, at least temporarily. However, the man has a list with the names of eleven other people with whom I worked. I would submit that a resolution involving all of them fleeing the country almost simultaneously would be essentially unworkable.”

LuAnn drew in a sharp breath. “I could pay the man. How much money can he want? That would take care of it.”

Jackson smiled tightly. “Blackmailers are a bad lot. They never seem to go away.” He added sharply, “Unless they receive extreme persuasion to do so.”

“Mr. Jackson, please don't do it,” she said again.

“Don't do what, LuAnn? Ensure your survival?” He glanced around. “And with it all of this?” He rested his gaze back upon her. “How is Lisa, by the way? As beautiful as her mother?”

LuAnn felt her throat constrict. “She's fine.”

“Excellent. Let's keep it that way, shall we?”

“Can't you just let it go? Let me handle it.”

“LuAnn, many years ago we were confronted with a situation regarding another would-be blackmailer. I took care of that incident and I will take care of this one. In matters like this I almost never opt for delegation. Count your blessings that I'm allowing Riggs to live. For now.”

“But that man can't prove anything. How can he? And even if he could, they'll never be able to trace anything to you. Maybe I'll go to jail, but you won't. Hell, I don't even know who you really are.”

Jackson stood up, his lips pursed. He took a moment to rub his left hand delicately along the edge of the bedspread.

“Beautiful needlework here,” Jackson commented. “Indian isn't it?”

Distracted for an instant by his query, LuAnn was suddenly staring down the barrel of a 9-mm, a suppressor attached to its muzzle.

“One potential solution could involve my killing all twelve of you. That would certainly qualify as a startling dead-end for our inquisitive friend. Remember that the ten-year period is up. The lottery's principal amount has already been returned to a Swiss account that I have set up in your name. I would strongly advise against transferring that money into the United States.” He pulled another slip of paper from his pocket and put it down on her bed. “Here are the authorization codes and other account information that will enable you to access it. The funds are untraceable. There you have it. As agreed.” Jackson's finger curled around the trigger of his weapon. “However, now I really don't have any incentive to keep you around, do I?” He advanced toward her. LuAnn's fingers tightened around the letter opener.

“Put it down, LuAnn. Granted, you're remarkably athletic, but you're not faster than a bullet. Put it down. Now!”

She dropped the letter opener and backed up against the wall.

Jackson stopped a few inches from her. While he lined up the pistol with her left cheekbone, he ran a gloved hand along her right cheek. There was no sexual content to the motion. Even through the glove, LuAnn could sense the purely clinical chill of his touch.

“You should have thrown it the first time, LuAnn. You really should have.” His eyes were mocking.

“I'm not going to kill someone in cold blood,” said LuAnn.

“I know. You see, that is your greatest shortcoming, because that's precisely when you should strike.”

He removed his hand and looked at her.

“Ten years ago I felt you were the weak link in the chain. During the intervening years, I thought perhaps I was wrong. Everything was going so smoothly. But now I find my initial intuition was correct. Even if I were in no personal danger of discovery, were I to let this man blackmail you or perhaps even expose the manipulations of the lottery, then that would be a failure on my part. I do not fail. Ever. And I do not let other people have any control whatsoever over plans of mine, for that, in itself, would be a form of failure. Besides, I couldn't bear to let such a grand performance be ruined.

“Just think about the wonderful life I've given you, LuAnn. Remember what I told you all those years ago: ‘Go anywhere, do anything.’ I gave that to you. The impossible. All yours. Look at you now. Flawless beauty.” His hand went to the front of her robe. With slow movements he undid the strap and the robe fell open, fully exposing her quivering breasts and flat belly. He slid the robe over her shoulders and it fell to the floor.

“The most prudent action on my part, of course, would be to kill you. Right here and right now. In fact, what the hell.” He pointed the gun directly at her head and pulled on the trigger. LuAnn jerked back, her eyes slamming shut.

When she reopened them, Jackson was studying her reaction. She was shaking terribly; her heart was thumping around inside her, she couldn't catch her breath.

Jackson shook his head. “Your nerves don't seem to be as strong, LuAnn, as when we were last together. And nerves, or a lack thereof, really are the whole ball of wax.” He looked at the pistol for a moment, slipped off the safety, and continued speaking calmly. “As I was saying, the most prudent thing, when one is confronted with a weak link, is to snip it out.” He paused and then continued, “I'm not going to do that with you, at least not yet. Not even after you've disobeyed me, jeopardized everything. Would you like to know why?”

LuAnn remained planted against the wall, afraid to move, her eyes fixed on his.

He took her silence for assent. “Because I feel you have a greater destiny to fulfill. A dramatic statement, but I'm a dramatic person; I think I'll allow myself that. It's really as simple as that. And in very large measure, you are a creation of mine. Would you be living in this house, speaking and thinking as an educated person, traveling the world on a whim, without me? Of course not. In killing you, I would, in effect, be killing part of myself. That, as I'm sure you can appreciate, I am loath to do. Nevertheless, please keep in mind that a wild animal, when trapped, will ultimately sacrifice a limb in order to escape and survive. Don't think for one moment that I am not capable of that sacrifice. If you do, you're a fool. I sincerely hope that we are able to extricate you from this little problem.” He shook his head sympathetically, much as he had ten years earlier during their very first meeting. “I really do, LuAnn. However, if we can't, we can't. Problems come up in business all the time, and I'm counting on you to do your part, to do all you can to ensure that we successfully navigate this one.” Jackson's tone once again became businesslike as he ticked off items with his fingers. “You will not leave the country. You obviously went to a great deal of trouble to get back in, so stay and enjoy it for a while. You will immediately report to me any further contact with our mysterious stranger. The number I gave you ten years ago will still reach me. I will be in touch on a regular basis. Whatever additional instructions I give you, you will follow precisely. Understood?”

She quickly nodded.

“I'm quite serious, LuAnn. If you disobey me again, I will kill you. And it will be slow and unbelievably painful.” He studied her reaction to these words for a moment. “Now go into the bathroom and compose yourself.”

She started to turn away.

“Oh, LuAnn?”

She looked back.

“Keep in mind that if we do fail to contain this problem and I have to eliminate that weak link, there will be no reason that I can see to stop there.” He glanced ominously in the direction of the doorway leading to the hallway, where barely twenty feet away Lisa lay sleeping. He turned back to her. “I like to give my business associates as much incentive as possible to achieve success. I find that they're much more likely not to disappoint.”

LuAnn ran into the bathroom, locking the door after her. She gripped the cold marble of the vanity, every limb shaking uncontrollably, as though she had left her skeleton back there with him. Wrapping a thick, full-length towel around her, she sank down to the floor. Her natural courage was tempered with a strong dose of common sense and she understood quite clearly the serious personal jeopardy she was in. But that was far from her greatest fear. The fact that Jackson might set his murderous sights on Lisa made her nearly delirious with terror.

Curiously enough it was with this thought that LuAnn's features grew deadly still in their own right. Her eyes stared across at the doorway, on the other side of which stood a person to whom she was probably more similar than dissimilar. They both had secrets; they both were incredibly rich from ill-gotten gains. They both had mental and physical abilities above and beyond the norm. And perhaps most telling, they both had killed someone. Her act had been spontaneous, survival the only motive. Jackson's had been premeditated, but survival of sorts had also been his motivation. Perhaps not as wide a chasm as it looked on the surface. The results, after all, had been the deaths of two human beings.

She slowly rose from the floor. If Jackson ever came after Lisa, then either he would die or LuAnn would; there would be no other possibilities. She let the towel fall to the floor. She unlocked the door. There seemed to exist an ethereal connection between Jackson and LuAnn Tyler that defied a logical explanation. It was as though, even after all this time apart, that their synapses had become fused together at a certain, almost psychic level. For she was absolutely certain what she would find when she returned to the bedroom. She threw open the door.

Nothing. Jackson was gone.

LuAnn pulled on some clothes and hurried down the hallway to check on Lisa. The little girl's steady breathing told her mother that she was asleep. For a while, LuAnn simply hovered over Lisa, afraid to leave her. She didn't want to wake her. She wouldn't be able to hide the terror she was feeling from her daughter. Finally, LuAnn made certain the windows were locked and left the room.

Next she made her way to Charlie's bedroom and gently roused him from sleep.

“I just had a visitor.”

“What? Who?”

“We should've known he'd find out,” she said wearily.

When the meaning behind her words worked through his grogginess, Charlie sat straight up in bed, almost knocking over the lamp on the nightstand. “Good God, he was here? Jackson was here?”

“When I finished my shower I found him waiting for me in my bedroom. I don't think I've ever been that scared in my life.”

“Oh, God, LuAnn, baby.” Charlie hugged her tightly for several moments. “How the hell—how the hell did he find us?”

“I don't know, but he knows everything. The man who chased me. About Riggs. I, I told him about the list of lottery winners. I tried to lie, but he knew I was. He threatened everyone in the house if I didn't tell him the truth.”

“What's he going to do?”

“He's going to find the guy and then he's going to kill him.”

Charlie leaned up against the headboard and LuAnn sat down next to him. Charlie put a big hand across his face and shook his head. He looked over at her. “What else did he say?”

“That we weren't to do anything. Be careful around Riggs and to let him know if the other guy showed up again.”

“Riggs? Why'd he mention him?”

She looked over at him. “Jackson seemed very suspicious of him. Like maybe he has an ulterior motive for being involved.”

“Son of a bitch,” Charlie moaned and abruptly rolled out of bed. He stood up and started getting dressed.

“What are you doing?”

“I don't know, but I feel like I've got to do something. Warn Riggs. If Jackson's after him—”

She reached up and gripped his arm. “If you tell Riggs about Jackson, then all you're doing is guaranteeing his death. Somehow, some way, Jackson will find out. He always does. I've got Riggs safe, at least for now.”

“How'd you do that?”

“Jackson and I worked out a little arrangement. At least I think he bought it. Who can tell with him?”

Charlie stopped pulling on his pants and looked over at her.

LuAnn continued, “For now anyway, Jackson's going to focus on the other man. He'll find him, and it's not like we can warn him, because we don't even know who he is.”

Charlie sat back down on the bed. “So what do we do?”

LuAnn took his hand in hers. “I want you to take Lisa away. I want both of you to go away.”

“There's no way I'm leaving you alone with that guy in the neighborhood. No way in hell.”

“Yes you will, Charlie, because you know I'm right. By myself, I'm okay. But if he were to get hold of Lisa . . .” She didn't need to finish the thought.

“Why don't you go with her and let me stay here and handle it?”

LuAnn shook her head. “That won't work. If I leave Jackson will come looking. Looking hard. So long as I'm around, he's not going to stray too far. In the meantime, you two can get away.”

“I don't like it. I don't want to abandon you, LuAnn. Not now.”

She put her arms around his burly shoulders. “My God, you're not abandoning me. You're going to be taking care of the most precious thing I have—” She broke off here, as Jackson's face planted itself squarely in her thoughts.

Finally Charlie took her hand. “Okay. When do you want us to leave?”

“Right now. I'll go get Lisa ready while you pack. Jackson just left, so I doubt if he's going to be watching the place. He probably figures I'm too frozen with fear to do anything. Actually, he wouldn't be too far from the truth.”

“Where do we go?”

“You pick the place. I don't want to know. That way nobody can get the information out of me. Call when you get there and then we'll make arrangements to safely communicate after that.”

Charlie shrugged. “I never thought it would come to this.”

She kissed him lightly on the forehead. “We'll be okay. We just need to be really careful.”

“And what about you? What are you going to do?”

LuAnn took a deep breath. “Whatever it takes to make sure we all survive this.”

“And Riggs?”

She looked squarely at him. “Especially Riggs.”

“I hate this, Mom. I hate it.” Lisa stomped around the room in her pajamas as LuAnn hurriedly packed her daughter's bags.

“I'm sorry, Lisa, but you're just going to have to trust me on this.”

“Trust, ha, that's a funny one coming from you.” Lisa glared at her from across the room.

“I don't need that kind of talk right now, young lady.”

“And I don't need this.” Lisa sat down on the bed and stubbornly crossed her arms.

“Uncle Charlie is ready, you need to get a move on.”

“But we're having a party at school tomorrow. Can't it at least wait until after that?”

LuAnn slammed the suitcase shut. “No, Lisa, I'm afraid it really can't.”

“When is this going to stop? When are you going to stop dragging me all over the place?”

LuAnn ran a shaky hand through her hair and sat down next to her daughter, putting an arm around Lisa's quaking form. She sensed the pain coursing through the small body. Could the truth hurt her daughter any worse than this? LuAnn clenched her fist and pushed it against her right eye as she tried to stop her nerves from pouring right out of her body.

She turned to her daughter. “Lisa?” The little girl refused to look at her mother.

“Lisa, please look at me.”

Finally, Lisa looked at her mother, her small face a blend of anger and disappointment, a combination that was crushing to LuAnn.

LuAnn spoke slowly. The words she was uttering would have been unthinkable an hour ago. But then Jackson had shown up and his appearance had changed a lot of things. “I promise that one day, very soon, I will tell you everything you want to know. In fact, more than you will ever want to know about me, about you, about everything. All right?”

“But why—”

LuAnn put her hand gently across her daughter's mouth, silencing her. “But I'm telling you right now that when I do it will shock you, it will hurt you and you might never understand or appreciate why I did what I did. You may hate me for it, you may be sorry I'm your mother”—she paused, biting hard into her lip—“but however you feel, I want you to know that I did what I thought was best at the time. I did what I thought was best for you. I was very young and I really didn't have anyone to help me make my decision.”

She cupped Lisa's chin with her hand and tilted her daughter's face up to hers. Lisa's eyes were now filled with tears. “I know I'm hurting you now. I don't want you to go away, but I will die before I'd let anything happen to you. So would Uncle Charlie.”

“Mom, you're scaring me.”

LuAnn gripped Lisa with both hands. “I love you, Lisa. More than I've ever loved anything in my whole life.”

“I don't want anything to happen to you.” Lisa touched her mother's face. “Mom, will you be okay?”

LuAnn managed a reassuring smile. “A cat always lands on its feet, sweetie. Mommy'll be just fine.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

The next morning LuAnn rose early after a mostly sleepless night. Saying good-bye to her daughter had been the most wrenching thing she had ever done; however, she knew that task would seem easy compared to the day she would tell Lisa the truth about her life, about her mother's life. LuAnn hoped she would have the opportunity to do that. And yet a huge wave of relief had swept over her when she had watched the lights of the Range Rover disappear down the road the night before.

Now her biggest concern was devising a way to reapproach Riggs without making him even more suspicious. But she didn't have much time. If she didn't report back to Jackson with some information soon, then he would turn his attention fully on Riggs. She was not going to let that happen.

She was thinking this through as she drew back her bedroom curtains and peered out onto the rear lawn. Her bedroom was on the third floor and provided an inspiring view of the surrounding countryside. A balcony opened off the bedroom through a pair of French doors. LuAnn wondered if that was how Jackson had gained access to the room last night. Normally she activated the burglar alarm right before she went to bed. She might start doing it earlier, although she had little hope that any security system would pose much of a challenge for the man. He seemed to be able to walk right up and then through walls.

She brewed a pot of coffee in the small kitchenette next to her dressing room. Then she put on a silk robe and, holding a cup of steaming coffee in one hand, she stepped out onto the balcony. A table and two chairs were set up there; however, she chose to perch on the marble railing and look out over her property. The sun was on its way up and the rays of pink and gold formed a backdrop to a sea of equally colorful foliage. The view was almost enough to raise her sagging spirits. What she saw next almost caused her to fall off the balcony.

Matthew Riggs was kneeling in the grass near the spot where she had wanted her studio to be built. From her vantage point LuAnn watched in growing amazement as Riggs unrolled a thick set of blueprints and eyed the lay of the land. LuAnn clambered up on top of the railing and, one hand clinging to the brick wall of the house for support, she stood on tip-toe for a better look. Now she could make out stakes planted in the ground at various points. While she watched, Riggs unraveled some twine and, tying one end to a stake, he started laying out what looked to be the footprint of a building.

She tried calling to him, but her voice couldn't carry far enough.

LuAnn jumped down from the railing, raced through her bedroom, not even pausing to put on shoes. She took the stairs two at a time and unlocked the back door. Sprinting across the dewy grass in her bare feet, the silk robe clung to her form, showing a good deal of her long legs in the process.

Breathing hard, she reached the spot where Riggs had been and looked around. Her breaths were visible in the early morning chill and she pulled the sheer robe tight around her.

Where the hell had he gone? She hadn't imagined it. The stakes were there, the string affixed to them. She stared at them as if they would eventually reveal the secret of the man's whereabouts.

“Morning.”

LuAnn whirled around and stared at him as he emerged from the stand of trees, a large rock in his hand. He set it down ceremoniously in the middle of the staked-out area.

“Your stone chimney,” he proclaimed, grinning.

“What are you doing?” LuAnn asked in an amazed tone.

“You always run around outside in that? You're going to catch pneumonia.” He stared at her and then discreetly looked away as the emerging sun's rays cleared the tops of the trees and made the thin robe virtually transparent; she wasn't wearing anything underneath. “Not to mention what it's doing to me,” he muttered to himself.

“I don't usually see someone on my property at the crack of dawn putting stakes into the ground.”

“Just following orders.”

“What?”

“You wanted a studio, I'm building you a studio.”

“You said there wasn't enough time before winter set in. And you needed plans and permits.”

“Well, you admired mine so much, I had the brilliant idea of using those diagrams for this one. That'll save a lot of time. And I've got contacts at the inspector's office so we can expedite the approval process.” He paused and looked at her as she stood there shivering. “Now don't rush to thank me,” he said.

She crossed her arms. “It's not that, I—” She shuddered again as a brisk wind sailed down the tree line. Riggs took off his heavy coat and draped it around her shoulders.

“You know you really shouldn't be outside in your bare feet.”

“You don't have to do this, Matthew. I think I've intruded on your time and patience enough.”

He shrugged and looked down at the ground, tapping one of the stakes lightly with his foot. “I don't really mind, Catherine.” He coughed in an embarrassed fashion and looked up at the tree line. “There are a lot worse things than hanging out with a woman like you.” He shot her a quick glance and then looked away.

LuAnn blushed, biting nervously at her bottom lip while Riggs shoved his hands in his pockets and stared off at nothing. The pair unconsciously emulated two teens nervously feeling each other out for that vital first date.

She looked over at the staked-out area. “So, it'll be just like yours?”

Riggs nodded. “I had the time since you fired me on the fence job.”

“I told you I'd pay you and I meant it.”

“I'm sure you meant it, but I have a policy of not accepting payment for a job I didn't do. I'm kind of funny that way. Don't worry, I'll charge you plenty for this one.”

Riggs once again looked at the surrounding country. “It doesn't get much prettier than this, I can tell you that. Once I build this thing, you probably won't want to leave it.”

“That sounds very nice, but hardly realistic.”

He glanced over at her. “I guess you travel a lot. A person in your position.”

“It's not that. But I do travel a lot.” She added wearily, “Too much.”

Riggs looked around again. “It's good to see the world. But it's nice to come home too.”

“You sound like you speak from experience.” She looked at him curiously.

He grinned sheepishly. “Me? I haven't really been anywhere.”

“But you still like to come home. For some peace?” she said quietly, her big eyes locked on his.

His grin disappeared and he looked at her with renewed respect. “Yes,” he finally said.

“How about some breakfast?”

“I already ate, but thanks.”

“Coffee?” She was balancing on one bare foot and then the other as the cold ate at her skin.

Riggs watched her movements and then said, “I'll take you up on that one.” Riggs tugged off his work gloves and stuffed them in his pants pocket. He turned around and bent down. “Climb on.”

“Excuse me?”

“Climb on.” He patted his back. “I know I'm not as bulky as your horse but just pretend.”

LuAnn didn't budge. “I don't think so.”

Riggs turned and looked at her. “Will you come on? I'm not kidding about the pneumonia. Besides, I do this with billionaires all the time, I'm telling you.”

LuAnn laughed, pulled his coat on all the way, and hoisted herself up piggyback style, wrapping her arms around his neck. He locked his arms around her bare thighs. “Are you sure you're up to it? It's a pretty long way and I'm not exactly petite.”

“I think I can manage, just don't shoot me if I collapse.” They started off.

Halfway there she jabbed him playfully in the sides with her knees.

“What the hell was that for?”

“I'm pretending, just like you said. So giddy-up.”

“Don't push it,” he groused back and then smiled.

In the woods near the horse barn, Jackson repacked his sound wand and made his way through the woods to his car parked on a side road. He had watched in some amusement as Riggs carried LuAnn back to the house. He had also noted the rough footprint for the structure Riggs was apparently building for her. Considering how she was dressed, Jackson thought it likely that LuAnn and the handsome Riggs would probably be enjoying an intimate moment very shortly. That was good, since it would give her an opportunity to pump him for information. Using the sound wand, he had also recorded Riggs's voice, an asset that might prove valuable later. He reached his car and drove off.

Riggs sipped on a cup of coffee in the kitchen while LuAnn munched on a piece of buttered toast. She rose and fixed herself another cup of coffee and freshened his.

Riggs couldn't help but stare when her back was turned. She hadn't changed her clothes and the clingy robe was making him think about things he probably shouldn't be. He finally looked away, his face hot.

“If I get another horse, I think I'll name it after you,” LuAnn said.

“Thanks bunches.” He looked around. “Everybody else still sleeping?”

She put the coffeepot back down and took a moment to sponge up a bit of spillage on the counter. “Sally has the day off. Charlie and Lisa went on a little vacation.”

“Without you?”

She sat back down, her eyes roaming the room before she looked back at him and spoke casually. “I had some things to take care of. I might have to leave for Europe soon. If I do, I'll meet up with them and then we'll all go together. Italy is beautiful this time of year. Have you ever been?”

“The only Rome I've been to is in New York.”

“In your past life?” She looked at him over the top of her coffee cup.

“There we go with that past life thing again. It's really not all that exciting.”

“So why not tell me about it then?”

“So what's the quid pro quo?”

“Ah, I assume you learned that phrase from your attorney ex-wife.”

“Assumptions are dangerous things. I like facts a lot better.”

“So do I. So shower me with them.”

“Why are you so interested in what I did before I came to Charlottesville?”

Because I'm doing my best to keep you alive, and it sickens me every time I think how close you came to being dead because of me. LuAnn struggled to keep her tone at an even level despite that painful reality. “I'm just a naturally curious person.”

“Well, so am I. And I have a hunch your secrets are a lot more interesting than mine.”

She tried her best to look surprised. “I don't have any secrets.”

He put down his coffee cup. “I can't believe you can actually say that with a straight face.”

“I have a lot of money. Some people would like to take it away from me any way they can. That doesn't exactly qualify for shocker status.”

“So, you've concluded the guy in the Honda was a potential kidnapper.”

“Maybe.”

“Funny kidnapper.”

“What do you mean?”

“I've been thinking a lot about it. The guy looked like a college professor. He rented a place in the area and furnished it. When he attempted to ‘kidnap’ you he wasn't even wearing a mask. And when I showed up on the scene, instead of hightailing it off, he tried to drive right through me even though he had no chance of catching you. And in my experience most kidnappers don't work solo. Logistically, it's difficult to go it alone.”

“In your experience?”

“See, I'm showering you with secrets.”

“Maybe he was trying to frighten me before he actually made the kidnap attempt.”

“Don't think so. Why put you on your guard? Kidnappers kind of like the element of surprise.”

“If he's not a kidnapper, what then?”

“I was hoping you could tell me. Charlie went into the cottage and so did you. What did you find?”

“Nothing.”

“That's bullshit and you know it.”

LuAnn stood up and glared at him. “I don't appreciate being called a liar.”

“Then stop lying.”

Her lips trembled and she abruptly turned away from him.

“Catherine, I'm trying to help you here. Okay, in my past life I did deal with the criminal class quite a bit. I've got some insights and some skills that might prove useful if you'd just tell me the truth.”

He rose and put a hand on her shoulder. He turned her around to face him. “I know you're scared. And I also know you've got stronger nerves and more spirit than just about anybody I've ever run across, so I'm assuming whatever you're facing is pretty bad. And I want to help you. I will help you, if you'll just let me.” He cupped her chin with his hand. “I'm playing straight with you, Catherine. I really am.”

She winced slightly as he said her name again. Her fake name. She finally reached up and lightly caressed his fingers with her own. “I know you are, Matthew. I know.” She looked up at him and her lips parted slightly. Their eyes did not budge from each other as their fingers exchanged touches that were suddenly electrifying both their bodies. The spontaneity of the sensation absolutely immobilized them. But not for long.

Riggs swallowed hard, dropped his hands to her bottom, and abruptly pulled LuAnn against him. The warmth and softness of her breasts burned invisible holes through his thick flannel shirt. Their mouths erupted against each other as he yanked the robe free and it fell to the floor. LuAnn moaned and closed her eyes, her head swaying drunkenly from side to side as Riggs attacked her neck. She pulled at his hair and then wrapped her arms around his head as he hoisted her up in the air, his face buried in her chest. She wrapped her legs around his torso.

Following her frantic, whispered directions, Riggs lunged blindly along the hallway to the small first-floor guest bedroom. Riggs pushed open the door. LuAnn jerked away from him and sprawled flat on her back on the bed, the muscles in her long legs tensing in anticipation. She reached up and pulled at him.

“Dammit, Matthew, hurry!” At his subconscious level Riggs noticed the abrupt return of the Georgia drawl but he was far too intoxicated with the passion of the moment to do anything about it.

Riggs's heavy work boots hit the hardwood floor with a loud thump and his pants followed immediately. She jerked his shirt off, popping several buttons in the process, then slid his boxers down. They didn't bother with the bed covers although Riggs did manage to back-kick the door closed before he plunged on top of her.