#1 New York Times bestselling author Sherryl Woods demonstrates that when faith and love are tested, they often wind up stronger than ever

For former private investigator Dana Miller, there can be no peace of mind until she finds the person who killed her husband. Now a single mother to three boys, Dana wants closure. But it turns out she’ll need to form an alliance with the man she holds responsible for the death. And uncovering answers may mean bringing down the program her husband believed in.

Rick Sanchez has no intention of letting Dana destroy all the good he and Ken Miller worked for. As he and Dana try to learn the truth about what happened, he discovers that he and his old friend have something else in common—an undeniable attraction toward this intrepid, high-spirited woman who fights for the people she loves.

Praise for #1 New York Times bestselling author

SHERRYL

WOODS

“Woods really knows what readers have come to expect from her stories, and she always gives them what they want.”

—RT Book Reviews

“Woods is a master heartstring puller.”

—Publishers Weekly

“Sherryl Woods delivers another great read filled with intense emotion and suspense.”

—RT Book Reviews on Twilight

“Sherryl Woods returns with her usual wit and style in this latest tale of romance and suspense. Don’t miss out on the newest winner by Ms. Woods.”

—RT Book Reviews on Temptation

“A reunion story punctuated by family drama, Woods’ first novel in her new Ocean Breeze series is touching, tense and tantalizing.”

—RT Book Reviews on Sand Castle Bay

“Woods’ readers will eagerly anticipate her trademark small-town setting, loyal friendships, and honorable mentors as they meet new characters and reconnect with familiar ones in this heartwarming tale.”

—Booklist on Home in Carolina

Twilight

#1 New York Times Bestselling Author

Sherryl

Woods

www.mirabooks.co.uk

Dear friends,

Every now and then a story pops into my head and simply won’t go away. Twilight was like that for me when it was first written a number of years ago. I still feel the powerful emotions of a woman whose faith in God has been tested by tragedy.

Add in an unlikely and very much unwanted attraction to a man she holds responsible for her husband’s death, and there’s plenty of conflict and a healthy dose of mystery in the story.

I hope you’ll feel the same emotional tug that I felt when this book was first written, and that you’ll turn the last page and give a thought to what you’d do if your faith were ever tested.

All best,

Sherryl

Contents

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Prologue

The brilliant late afternoon sun could only do so much. The orange blaze shimmered on the Gulf of Mexico like a scattering of gemstones. It warmed the wide stretch of sandy beach. But it couldn’t touch the cold place deep inside Dana Miller’s heart.

She had never felt so totally empty, so thoroughly alone. Even with her sons whooping and hollering and splashing a few feet away at the water’s edge, she was gut-deep lonely. Even knowing that her parents were there for her—that they shared her anguish and understood her pain—couldn’t erase the horrible sense that she was facing a bleak and empty future.

Her husband, her sweet, gentle, kind husband, was dead. Murdered by a person, or persons, unknown, according to the cryptic police report that she read over and over, alone in her room at night, trying to make sense of it, trying to find acceptance of the cold, hard truth.

It had been over a month since that terrible January night, and there were still no answers—not for her, not for the Chicago police, who seemed to dread her daily calls almost as much as she hated making them. But she couldn’t stop. She desperately needed answers, and no one had them. Until she did, there could be no tears, no healing.

“Put it out of your head,” her mother had pleaded more than once. “You may never know why it happened. What does it really matter, anyway? Knowing won’t bring Ken back. The boys need you. You have to move on for their sake.”

Dana wished she could do as her mother asked. The boys did need her. If only she had something left to give.

Every night she prayed for some sort of peace, some small measure of the kind of serenity she had always felt in Ken’s arms. He had brought so much into her life. As a private investigator, she had seen a lot of ugliness. She had seen people at their worst, but Ken had changed that. He had shown her how to find the goodness in everyone. He had taught her about joy and laughter and the kind of oneness with God that few mortals ever felt. Ken had felt it, though, and he had known how to communicate it to others—even a doubter such as she had been before they’d met.

Her lips curved into a sad half smile as she remembered how he had loved the church, the rituals and the hymns and the prayers. He had loved ministering to his congregation, loved sharing his strength and his beliefs with those whose faith had been tested by tragedy. Rich or poor, saint or sinner, Ken had been there for them, generous with his time and with his unconditional love.

And now that he was gone, Dana had no one to bolster her shattered faith as her husband would have done. From the moment the police had come to her door, from the moment they had tersely described Ken’s senseless slaying in the middle of Chicago gang turf, her faith had been destroyed. A benevolent God could not have allowed that to happen, not to Ken, not to one of His most ardent believers.

And since Ken was very much dead, Dana bitterly accepted the fact that God had abandoned him and her and their three precious boys. If there was some sort of divine purpose behind such an act of madness, she couldn’t discern it. She doubted she ever would.

She shivered as the sun ducked behind a cloud and the sensation of emptiness returned. Where once there had been hope and happiness, now there was only this huge, gaping wound where her soul had been.

Time promised to heal eventually, but Dana had never been a patient woman. She’d always been decisive and quick and instinctively curious. She’d had daring to spare. Those traits had made her one of the best private investigators in the Midwest, but she’d given it all up when her first son was born. The same danger that brought a satisfying rush of adrenaline also came with a warning: do not mix with parenting.

She had made the sacrifice willingly and never looked back. Ken and the boys—first Bobby, then Kevin and finally Jonathan—had fulfilled her in a way she’d never imagined possible. The challenges had been vastly different, but just as rewarding. After a surprisingly brief period of adjustment, she had been thoroughly content with her decision, as fiercely protective of their safety as she had once been lax with her own.

Until now. Now those old urges to pursue truth taunted her late at night, when the loneliness was at its worst. She needed answers, and the police weren’t getting them. She had the same investigative skills they had, but more important, she had the passion for this particular hunt. She wouldn’t relegate it to some cold case file drawer, content to let it remain unsolved until, years from now, some street thug confessed or some witness uttered a tip from his deathbed.

With the boys already settled in a new school for the rest of the year to give them time away from Chicago to heal, with her plans half made to move to Florida permanently, as her parents wanted, there was only one thing keeping her from making the decision final. She had unfinished business back home.

More and more, she saw going back to Chicago, taking charge of her life and the search for the killer, as the only way she would ever be at peace again. Staying in Florida now without knowing was as good as quitting, and she had never been a quitter.

She dreaded telling her parents, though. They were already worried sick about her. She was too quiet, too lifeless, even for a woman in mourning. She’d caught the troubled glances, the whispered exchanges, the helpless sighs. They would be terrified that in her state of mind she would take dangerous, unnecessary risks. She doubted she could make her reassurances convincing enough to soothe their fears.

Yet she knew, if she asked, that they would keep the boys with them, give them a sense of stability that she couldn’t with her heart in turmoil. They would protect them and love them while she went home to do the only thing she could. The only thing.

She would find the cold-blooded, violent person who had ripped her heart and her life to shreds. She would find answers for the unceasing questions asked by her sons, answers they all needed, if they were ever to move on.

And though the police claimed to have followed up on, then dismissed, her repeated suggestions, she thought she knew exactly where to start.

1

The blasted sofa must have belonged to the Marquis de Sade in another life, Rick Sanchez thought as he shifted his body in a futile attempt to find a more comfortable position. Between the oddly solidified lumps and protruding springs, he was lucky he hadn’t gouged out a vital organ. He was very careful to avoid lying on his stomach.

This was the fourth night he’d gone through this same torture, and he was beginning to wonder if he was wasting his time. Whoever had been breaking into the Yo, Amigo headquarters either knew he’d moved in to guard the place or had simply decided that there was more fertile turf for theft elsewhere.

Lord knew, that was true enough, he thought as he cautiously rearranged his body once more on the worn-out, too-short sofa. The program he’d founded two years earlier was perpetually short of funds and equipment. The sole, ancient computer he’d hoodwinked a friend into donating had been an early victim of daring neighborhood thieves. Now about the only things of value lying around were the TV and DVD player in the lounge. They were bolted down, though not so securely that anyone intent on nabbing them couldn’t manage it with a little time and diligence.

They were also in pathetic condition, but at least they’d been obtained legally, unlike the collection of state-of-the-art electronic equipment a few of the boys had offered him the week before. He’d really hated turning them down, but Yo, Amigo was all about taking a moral stance and teaching values. Accepting stolen property would pretty much defeat the very message he was trying to send out.

Exhausted but wide awake, he closed his eyes and tried counting confiscated weapons instead of sheep. He’d turned over a dozen to the police two days earlier, another seven the week before. It was a drop in the bucket, but each gun or knife he managed to get out of gang hands and off the streets was a small victory.

Rather than putting him to sleep, though, the mental game left him more alert than ever. Images of boys killing boys, of babies being shot by accident in a violent turf war crowded into his head. He wondered despondently if the program he’d founded would ever be more than a tiny, ineffective bandage on the huge problem.

Such thoughts led inevitably to memories of Ken Miller, the decent, caring man who had been his friend and, some said, had lost his life because of it. Rick knew he would never have a moment’s peace again if he allowed himself to share that conviction. His conscience, which already carried a heavy enough burden of guilt from the sins of his youth, would destroy him, if even indirect responsibility for Ken’s death were added to the list.

He shifted positions and felt the sharp jab of a metal spring in the middle of his back. He muttered a harsh expletive under his breath and sat up.

Just as he did, he thought he heard a faint whisper of sound, an almost imperceptible scratching from the back of the old brick firetrap that had been condemned until he took it over and began restoring it room by room with the help of the boys in his program. He went perfectly still and listened intently.

The second subtle scrape of metal against metal had him on his feet in an instant. He grabbed the baseball bat he’d kept by the door and eased from the office.

Slipping quietly through the shadowy rooms toward the increasingly persistent sound, he wished for a moment that he hadn’t sworn off guns. He also wished the budget had been large enough to pay for a cell phone, rather than the lone, ancient phone that suddenly seemed very far away on his desk. He might as well have wished for a fleet of shiny new vans to transport the teens to the job assignments that were a part of the program. All were out of reach on the shoestring Yo, Amigo budget.

Just as he closed in on the back door, he heard the heavy-duty lock give. Whoever had conquered it was skilled with lock-picking tools, he concluded with grudging admiration. It hardly narrowed the field, since most of the kids he knew had been breaking and entering since they could reach a door handle or heave a rock through a window. Most, however, didn’t have the finesse or patience to work at a lock with the tedious determination that this person had.

The heavy steel door inched open silently on its well-oiled hinges. Pressed against a wall, Rick waited in the shadows. There was no point in risking his neck until he knew exactly what he was up against. One thief. Two. Or a whole gang, in which case his goose was cooked and he could kiss the TV and DVD player goodbye.

To his relief, the lone person who slipped inside was slightly built and dressed in black from head to toe. Black baseball cap, long-sleeved black T-shirt, trim black pants, even black sneakers. Vaguely taken aback, he concluded it was the working gear of a pro, not some daring kid intent on mischief. The kids he knew wore the baggy clothes and colors of their gangs. Solid, formfitting black like this would have appalled them.

More on edge than ever, and itching for action, he studied the person creeping slowly and unwittingly toward him in the narrow hallway. Rick figured he easily had a fifty-pound advantage over the intruder, plus several inches in height. Even so, he forced himself to wait patiently and watch for accomplices.

When none appeared, he bit back a sigh of relief and considered his options. The bat seemed unnecessary. He propped it cautiously against the wall. Then he slipped up behind the increasingly confident and fast-moving thief and, without uttering a word, slammed the jerk onto the hardwood floor in a full-body tackle that knocked the breath out of both of them.

Rick recovered from the fall first, latched on to a pair of skinny wrists and brutally wrenched the would-be thief’s arms behind him.

He received a blistering earful of curses for his trouble. The words didn’t shock him. He’d heard far worse. Used far worse, for that matter.

What flat-out stunned him, though, was the fact that the voice uttering such foulmouthed language was so evidently and self-righteously outraged. More startling yet, it was also very clearly feminine.

“If you don’t let me up right this instant, I will slap you with a lawsuit that will take away this building and every dime you have to your name,” the woman vowed furiously.

Rick was intrigued despite himself. Not intrigued enough to let her go, but fascinated enough to pursue the conversational direction for a bit.

“Is that so?” he asked, unexpectedly amused by her gambit. “And how do you figure you’re the injured party here?”

“Because I’ve been attacked by an idiot with more muscle than sense. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if half my ribs were cracked.”

“You did break into private property,” he reminded her.

“A technicality,” she insisted.

“Some technicality. You a lawyer?”

“Sweet heavens, no,” she said with such heartfelt distaste that Rick grinned.

“I’m not overly fond of them myself. I guess that gives us something in common, doll face.”

“Doll face?” she repeated with more of that misplaced indignant outrage. “No one calls me doll face or honey or sweetheart.”

“Too bad,” Rick said sympathetically. He decided he could really enjoy deliberately aggravating this woman. “Mind telling me why you dropped by, doll face? Since you chose not to use the front door or to come during business hours, I have to assume your mission is less than legal.”

“That’s not true,” she said.

“The facts say otherwise.”

“To hell with your so-called facts. Are you going to let me up or not?”

“Not just yet,” he said, wondering abruptly if the decision was the security precaution he wanted to believe or merely an attempt to prolong the distinctly provocative contact. Worry over his motives kept him silent for so long that his captive jumped back in with her two cents.

“If you’re figuring on copping a feel, you’d better think again,” she said in that imperious way that amused him so. “I’ll slap you with sexual battery charges while I’m at it.”

Rick chuckled. “Doll face, I do not need to get my kicks from accosting total strangers. In case you’ve missed the point, I am subduing a thief who broke into this building. I’m within my rights, believe me.”

“I am not a thief,” she retorted.

“Maybe not technically, since you never got a chance to lay your hands on anything of value,” he agreed. “But you seem to be in deep denial of the seriousness of your position. Now, how about giving me some answers?”

She hesitated for a very long time, probably evaluating her alternatives, before asking, “Such as?”

“Who are you and what are you doing here?”

“Who are you?” she countered. “For all I know, you’re just a thief who got here first.”

She had audacity. Rick had to give her that. She was the kind of smart-mouthed handful who’d drive a man crazy. He wished he could get a better look at her to see if she’d be worth the trouble, but the lighting in the hallway was virtually nonexistent. The only thing he knew for sure was that she wasn’t local. She had no accent. All of the girls in this neighborhood—and some of them were indeed tough as nails—were Latinas.

Based on her shape, though, this one definitely had promise. His own body had picked up on that without his brain even having to kick in. Another couple of minutes of close contact and he’d be dangerously aroused. Hell, he was already aroused. For a man who’d vehemently sworn to remain celibate through all eternity after his very brief and ill-advised marriage had gone sour, it was a troubling turn of events. He’d better settle this nonsense in a hurry and extricate himself from a dangerous situation.

“Let me assure you, doll face, I belong here,” he said. “I run the place.”

The announcement had an odd effect on her. Though she’d remained relatively still since he’d taken her captive, it now seemed that the remaining breath whooshed right out of her. She was utterly and absolutely motionless. That didn’t strike Rick as a good sign.

“Doll face?”

“You’re Rick Sanchez?” she asked in a broken whisper.

Rick couldn’t tell if her voice was choked by tears or was shaking with some inexplicable anger, but he definitely got the feeling she knew a whole lot more about Yo, Amigo than he’d assumed. He also realized that he was the very last person she’d expected to encounter here tonight.

“That’s me,” he told her. “Which leaves us with you. Who are you, doll face?”

Several seconds ticked by before she answered.

“I’m Dana Miller.”

She said it in a tone so stiff and cold that it sent goose bumps chasing over Rick’s body. Dismay slammed through him as the name registered. Ken’s wife? Dear God in heaven, he’d tackled Ken’s wife as though she were a common criminal. Which, of course, at the moment she appeared to be, but that was beside the point.

He released her wrists at once and leaped to his feet, holding out his hand to help her up. She ignored it and rose with a grace and dignity that belied the situation.

“I’m sorry,” he said, trying to convey a month’s worth of emotions in those two simple words. “For everything. For Ken. For just now.”

“Save it,” she said harshly. “Save it for someone who’ll buy your phony sympathy.”

Anger radiated from her in almost palpable waves. Rick had known she blamed him for Ken’s death. A half-dozen people had told him exactly how bitter she was toward him and Yo, Amigo. In fact, he had stayed away from the funeral for that very reason, out of consideration for her feelings, justified or not. He’d figured Ken’s graveside was no place to force a confrontation. Later he’d tried to see her, but she’d been gone, off in Florida to recover from the tragedy, her best friend had told him.

Now he realized that he should have seen her sooner, should have gone at once to offer his condolences, to explain how deeply he, too, was grieving over the death of her husband. He doubted she would have believed him any more then than she did now, but he knew how wounds could fester unless they were cleansed right away. This soul-deep wound was no different than one to the flesh. It had had more than a month to worsen dangerously.

Ironically, he had anticipated that sooner or later, she might come after him. He just hadn’t expected it to be in the middle of the night.

Gazing into her bleak expression, he tried to tell her now what he would have said weeks ago, if he’d had the opportunity.

“Your husband was the best friend—”

He never got to finish the sentence. Her open hand connected with his face in a stinging slap that rocked him on his heels.

“Don’t you dare say that,” she said. “Don’t you dare.”

Rick fell silent, uncertain how to cope with such anguish and outrage. Used to coping with broken teenaged dreams with words and hugs and timeworn platitudes, he could think of nothing that would touch Dana Miller’s hurt, or calm her fury. Obviously, she needed to lash out at someone and she’d picked him.

Since the topics of Ken Miller and his death were clearly off-limits, despite their obvious connection to tonight’s break-in, he decided to focus on why Dana Miller was at Yo, Amigo headquarters in the middle of the night. It didn’t take a genius to figure that one out.

“You expected to find answers here, didn’t you?” he asked softly.

The direct question seemed to surprise her. Her gaze clashed with his. “It’s the obvious place to start.”

“The police thought so, too,” he reminded her. “They’ve searched through every file, talked with every one of the kids who comes here regularly, questioned every potential eyewitness. They’ve almost destroyed the program in the process.” He regarded her defiantly. “I won’t let you start the whole thing all over again.”

“You don’t have a choice in the matter,” she told him coldly. “I will do whatever I have to do to find Ken’s murderer. You can’t stop me.”

He found her resolve chilling, but it bolstered his own commitment to salvage Yo, Amigo, at any cost. “Oh, but I can. These kids need a safe haven. They need one person who believes in them. That’s me. They had Ken, too, but he’s gone now.”

“Because of you,” she accused bitterly.

“Not because of me or these kids,” Rick insisted. “I’d stake my life on that.”

“Then you’re a blind fool,” she said. “He was here, in this neighborhood, because of you. Week after week, he risked his life by coming here. Eventually the odds caught up with him.” That said, she turned her back on him and headed for the door.

Rick couldn’t let her go, not like this. “Dana?”

Her determined footsteps faltered, but she didn’t look back.

“I will do anything to help you find Ken’s killer, but I will not let you destroy Yo, Amigo. There’s too much at stake.”

“You can’t stop me,” she said again.

“I’ll report what happened here tonight, if I have to,” he said, catching her attention. Her eyes blazed when she turned to face him. He went on with his warning, hoping to scare some sense into her. “I will let the police know that you’re on a vigilante’s mission. They’ll stop you.”

She choked back what sounded like a sob, but her voice was steady when she said, “Do what you have to do, Mr. Sanchez. And I will do what I have to do.”

Before he could think of anything to say to that, she slipped out into the night and vanished even more quietly than she had arrived.

More shaken than he’d ever been by an encounter with a rival gang, Rick sighed at her leaving. She was a handful, all right, everything Ken had ever described her as being.

And he had a terrible feeling that tonight had just been the first skirmish in what was likely to turn into all-out war.

* * *

Dana climbed into her car a half block from Yo, Amigo and leaned back against the seat. Her whole body was shaking, not from the very real danger that existed all around her in this neighborhood, but from that face-to-face confrontation with Rick Sanchez.

How could she have been so stupid, so careless? Obviously she’d lost not only her mind, but her touch. She’d been so anxious to begin her search for answers, so determined not to stay away from the boys one second longer than necessary, that she’d gotten off the plane and plunged ahead on her first night back in Chicago. She’d done it without thinking things through, without so much as a day’s surveillance of how the stupid program operated or who was likely to be in the building. She’d just assumed it would be empty at night. Assumptions had been the downfall of more than one private eye. She knew that, and she’d acted impetuously anyway.

Now Sanchez knew she was after him or, if not him directly, then one of those precious criminals he defended so arduously.

“Blast it all,” she muttered, hugging herself to ward off the chill that came from getting caught on her very first attempt to gather information.

She drew in a deep breath and made a promise to herself that tonight’s foolishness would be the very last mistake she’d make. She couldn’t afford another one, not with a man like Rick Sanchez. Ken wouldn’t have admired him so if he’d been anything less than brilliant and committed. That meant he would be every bit as passionate in his defense of his boys and his program as she would be in her search for the killer.

His offer to help echoed in her head. Of course he wanted to help. He wanted to steer her as far from Yo, Amigo as he possibly could. She couldn’t afford to be taken in by the compassion or the sorrow he’d expressed. He had his own agenda and it was not the same as hers. Far from it, in fact.

For a moment she allowed herself to wish it were otherwise. The next days and weeks promised to be lonely, albeit frantically busy. It would have been nice to have someone with whom to share theories, as she once would have with Ken.

But Rick Sanchez was not that man. She thought of the powerful, barely leashed strength he’d radiated, the taunting arrogance as he’d held her down before he’d learned who she was. The memory made her shiver, this time with unwanted awareness of just how dangerous a man he was.

She shook off the sensation that she was flirting with disaster. She couldn’t afford to be scared off now. Tomorrow, when she’d had some rest, had a chance to compose herself, she would plot out her strategy. And no one—not even the formidable Rick Sanchez—would stand in her way.

2

The greatest act of courage Dana had ever performed wasn’t breaking into Yo, Amigo. It wasn’t fighting off an assailant that had turned out to be the man she held responsible for her husband’s death. It was walking back into the house she and Ken had shared for most of their marriage.

With her heart thudding dully, she hesitated on the tiny cement stoop, unable to push the key into the lock. Her fingers, so nimble earlier, felt stiff and awkward now. Her key ring seemed to have tripled in weight, as if every key had been coated with lead.

“Come on, Dana, it’s just a house,” she told herself sternly. “A few walls, a roof, some putrid gold carpeting you never liked anyway. How can you be scared to face that?”

Because with Ken there, it had been home. It was as simple as that, proof positive that it wasn’t the appearance of a place that turned it into a home, but love. She had felt it every time she had walked through the front door.

Now she faced only emptiness. For one brief second she regretted leaving the boys in Florida. They would have filled the place with noise and laughter. Their presence would have kept loneliness at bay, at least until the darkest hours of the night.

How pitiful was that? she thought ruefully. How pitiful was it to even consider using her kids to buffer the pain? Besides, she had come home for one reason and one reason only: to find Ken’s murderer. That was the best thing she could do for all of them, the only thing that would give them any peace. She couldn’t afford any distractions if she intended to solve things quickly so that they could move on with their lives.

That reminder was enough to stiffen her resolve. Revenge is a powerful motivator. Even though her hand shook, she managed this time to get the key into the lock, even to walk through the front door.

Perhaps it was better that it was the middle of a moonless night, pitch-dark so that she couldn’t see the collection of family photographs sitting on top of the upright piano that Ken had played with more enthusiasm than skill, couldn’t see the eclectic stack of books beside his favorite chair, or the notes he had been making for his last sermon, still scattered across his desk.

But even though the room was cast in shadows, she could imagine it all, could visualize it as clearly as if every light blazed. It was as if he had just stepped away for a moment or an hour, not forever.

She dropped her luggage inside the door, tossed aside her jacket. Guided by pure instinct, she made her way to his chair, the overstuffed one where she had often sat cradled in his lap, content just to be held as the strains of Brahms or Beethoven surrounded them at the end of a long day.

She reached out, traced the butter-soft leather, and smiled at the memory of how appalled he’d been by the indulgence when there were so many more practical things they could have used. It had gone against his frugal nature to waste money on luxuries. But even as he’d protested, he had settled into the chair, sinking into the deep cushions, caressing the leather as sensuously as he might have traced the curve of her hip or the weight of her breast. He had fallen in love with it, just as she’d known he would.

It was a wonderful memory, one to cherish, she thought as she plucked an afghan from the back of the nearby sofa and settled into the chair. The coldness of the leather was a shock, snapping her back to reality like a slap. Even this, it seemed, would never be the same. The warmth was gone.

Still, she craved the sense of connection that sitting in Ken’s favorite chair gave her. It was personal, something he’d used daily, yet it lacked the intimacy of their bed. She wasn’t sure when she’d be able to sleep there alone, if ever. From the night she had learned of his death until she had left for Florida, she had slept in this chair. It had brought her a small measure of comfort.

Now, once again, she wrapped the afghan around her and curled up, cradled by leather now, instead of Ken’s strong arms. Even so, the restlessness that had plagued her in Florida eased. For better or worse, her journey to find the truth behind Ken’s murder had begun.

Finally, as dawn turned the sky gray, then mauve, and at last a pale, winter-weary blue, she slept, more soundly than she had in weeks. It was as if her body were preparing for whatever lay ahead.

Her dreams, though, were disturbing. They were not of the man she’d loved so fiercely, but of a shadowy gunman, his face tantalizingly obscured.

Dana awakened at midday to find her best friend staring down at her, hands on generous hips, a worried frown puckering her brow.

“How’d you get in?” she muttered groggily.

Kate Jefferson waved a key ring under her nose. “I found these in the front door. Even if I hadn’t, I have the one you gave me so I could bring in the mail, remember? When did you get home? You were due in at eight. The plane was on time. I checked. I called until all hours, but you never answered. I finally decided you’d changed your mind or missed the plane.”

“I got here in the middle of the night,” Dana said without elaborating. She struggled awake. Her back ached. Her neck was stiff and she was freezing. She’d forgotten to turn the heat up when she’d come in the night before. It couldn’t be much more than fifty-five in the room, the temperature her father had decreed would at least keep the pipes from freezing.

“Where are the boys?” Kate asked. “Didn’t they come with you?”

“No. I enrolled them in school in Florida for the rest of the year. They’re with my parents.”

Kate stared at her in shock. “You’ve enrolled them in school? Have you decided to move to Florida, after all?”

Dana sighed. “No, not for sure. I haven’t decided anything definitely. I can’t think that clearly. I just wanted them to get some sense of normalcy back into their lives.” She stood up and headed toward the kitchen. “Any more questions will have to wait until I have coffee.”

“It’s already made,” Kate said, proving once again that she had an admirable, take-charge attitude. Dana had often told her it should have been put to use running some company, instead of being wasted on her often unappreciative friends or two typically rebellious teenage daughters.

“An hour ago, in fact,” Kate added pointedly. “I’ve been banging pots and pans ever since, hoping to stir some sort of a reaction from you. I thought maybe you were planning to sleep into the next century.”

“Would if I could,” Dana told her as she filled a mug with the gourmet blend she hadn’t been able to give up, despite Ken’s conviction that instant served the same purpose. Leaning against the kitchen counter, she carefully avoided looking outside toward the small church where Ken had preached and beyond to the cemetery where he was buried. She drank deeply, one long swallow, then another. Finally she met Kate’s worried gaze. “Stop frowning. Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Of course I am. You just gave me a fright when I found the keys in the door and you didn’t answer after I knocked or rang that awful, screeching bell.”

Dana figured it was a testament to Kate’s anxiety that she’d touched the bell at all. The sound was more appropriate for some creaky Addams Family domicile than a parsonage. Kate shuddered every time she was forced to ring it. Dana had always thought it was a hoot, which probably showed just how perverse her sense of humor was.

“If the boys are in school in Florida, why are you here? I thought you’d be down there a few more weeks at least,” Kate said. “I thought the plan was for you to get some rest before you came home to tackle everything that needs to be done here.”

Dana shrugged. “Plans change.”

Kate’s brow puckered again. “Meaning?”

“There are things that can’t wait.”

“What things?”

“The house, for one thing. Sooner or later, I’m going to have to get out of it. It belongs to the church.”

“Lawrence Tremayne told you it was yours for as long as you needed it,” Kate reminded her. “Local pastors are taking services for now. If they hire a new pastor, they’ll make temporary arrangements for him, if they have to.” She gave Dana a penetrating look. “So, what’s really going on?”

“You know, you’d make a great private eye,” Dana observed. “You poke and prod with the best of us.”

“I thought you’d retired.”

“I did.”

Kate’s frown deepened as she apparently guessed what was going on in Dana’s head. “Dana, you can’t investigate Ken’s murder,” she protested. “Leave it to the police.”

“Who said anything about me investigating?”

“I know you. You’re impatient. You’re frustrated with the lack of answers. Anybody would be. But it’s harder for you, because you think you could do the job better. Plus, you’ve been evading every question I’ve asked. How am I doing so far?”

Dana thought about denying it, but couldn’t find the energy. “On the money.”

“Bad idea,” Kate shot back. “You’re too close to this one. I know you were one of the best private eyes in the business. That’s how we met, remember? You found the proof I needed to take that low-down ex of mine back into court and show that he had hidden assets in half the states in the country, even though he claimed he couldn’t come up with child support. I know you have contacts up the wazoo, but this is personal. You can’t be objective. You won’t be cool and rational, the way you need to be. You won’t be able to analyze the risks. You can’t very well sashay around gang turf asking questions. You’ll stand out like a sore thumb.”

Dana wasn’t about to be dissuaded. “I’ll just have to work even harder to keep my emotions out of it....” The way she had done it last night, busting into the Yo, Amigo headquarters without a plan, she thought dryly. If Kate ever heard about that, she’d be muttering “I told you so” for the rest of Dana’s days.

“What about the boys?” Kate demanded.

“What about them? They’re perfectly safe with my parents,” she said. “They like the new school well enough. Best of all, there are no sad memories for them in Florida. They’re adjusting, better than I am, as a matter of fact.”

“That’s all lovely, but they need you. I don’t care how well adjusted they seem.”

Dana sighed. “I know, Kate. And they’ll have me, they’ll have my full-time attention just as soon as things are taken care of here.”

Kate clearly wasn’t satisfied. She leveled another of those penetrating looks straight into Dana’s eyes. “This could wait. They should be with their mother so they won’t start to worry that they’ve lost her, too.”

That last one cut. It stirred guilt that she’d worked hard to bury. “You’ve made your point,” Dana said tightly. “Now drop it.”

Kate was a wonderful friend—compassionate, thoughtful, levelheaded. She was also tenacious. Dana figured she was wasting her breath trying to shut her up. Kate’s next words proved it.

“I will not drop it. You can’t put yourself in danger, Dana. It’s not fair to your sons. What if something were to happen to you? Their sense of security is already shaken by losing their dad. As for your parents, they’re great people, but they’re older. How long will it be before three rambunctious boys get to be too much for them?”

It wasn’t as if she hadn’t considered everything Kate was saying. She had, over and over again. In the end, all those things had been outweighed by her conviction that finding Ken’s killer was the first step in healing for all of them. She would be no good to her children if she weren’t at peace with herself.

“It’s not fair to Ken that he’s dead and that no one knows who did it,” Dana retorted stubbornly. “Look, you can fight me on this, but it won’t do any good. I’ve been over every single argument, time and again. Believe me, my mother and father repeated most of them morning, noon and night, up until the minute I got on the plane. The bottom line is that I have no choice.”

“We always have choices.” Kate stepped closer and wrapped her arms around her. “Sweetie, I know how much all of this hurts, but getting yourself killed isn’t the answer.”

Dana returned the fierce hug, then stepped away. “I’m a professional. I know how to minimize risks.”

“Oh, really?” Kate retorted skeptically. “Is that why I got a call at the crack of dawn from Rick Sanchez, telling me to keep an eye on you, suggesting that you were behaving irrationally?”

Obviously she’d been saving that little tidbit for its shock value. It worked, too. Astonishment left Dana speechless for thirty seconds. Then her temper kicked in. She snatched up the wall phone, glanced at the list of numbers posted next to it and punched in the one for Yo, Amigo headquarters. Kate reached over and cut off the call. Dana whirled on her, furious.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Keeping you from making a fool of yourself. He called me because I asked him to let me know if you showed up there.”

Dana’s mouth gaped, unsure which stunned her more, Kate’s foresight or her betrayal. “Why?”

“Because I know you. It was only a matter of time before you decided to charge in there, demanding answers. Of course, even I didn’t expect you to sneak in in the middle of the night like a common thief. It’s nice to know you haven’t lost your touch with a set of lock picks,” she said with more wry humor than genuine admiration.

“Thanks,” Dana responded anyway, recalling the surge of adrenaline rushing through her as she’d felt that lock give way to her touch. She hadn’t realized just how much she’d missed living on the edge until that moment.

“I’d feel better, though, if you hadn’t gotten caught.” Kate scowled. “What is wrong with you? Didn’t that prove you’re too rusty or muddleheaded to be doing this?”

“Rusty, maybe,” Dana conceded. “Right now, though, I’d prefer to know just how cozy you and Rick Sanchez have gotten in my absence. I didn’t even know you knew him.”

“I didn’t. He came around looking for you one day when I was here to bring in the mail and water the plants.”

“What the hell was he doing here?”

“I imagine he came to offer his condolences.”

“Yeah, right.”

“I liked him,” Kate said. “I also thought he was being sincere. He thought a lot of Ken. I could tell. He walked out to the cemetery and stayed for the longest time. When he came back, he had tears in his eyes.”

“Big deal!” she said, adding an expletive for emphasis.

“Dana!” Kate protested.

She was clearly as shocked at hearing such language as Dana was at having uttered it. She’d learned to temper her tart tongue the day she’d fallen in love with a minister. Ken had never voiced his disapproval of her tendency to curse, but she’d seen the disappointment in his eyes whenever a particularly foul word slipped out. She’d been home less than twenty-four hours and she’d been cursing a blue streak ever since. She doubted that Kate had ever said anything harsher than darn in her life.

“Okay, I’m sorry,” she apologized. “I can’t help it. It’s just that the thought of Rick Sanchez brings out the worst in me. He got Ken killed.”

Kate was shaking her head before Dana could complete the sentence. “You know better than that. Ken was at Yo, Amigo because that was the kind of compassionate, caring man he was. He saw the good in those kids. He wanted them to have a chance. You wouldn’t have loved him if he hadn’t tried to live up to his own ideals, if he hadn’t put himself on the front line, no matter the cost to himself. Ken believed in that program. He believed in Rick Sanchez.”

“And he died because of it,” Dana repeated. “I can’t forgive Sanchez for that. I won’t.”

“Is he the one you can’t forgive, or is it yourself?” Kate asked quietly. “Are you sure you’re not taking risks to punish yourself?”

Dana’s eyes brimmed with stinging tears, and her throat clogged up at the softly spoken question. That was the trouble with having a friend who knew your deepest, darkest secrets. All those confidences could come back to haunt you, Dana thought.

“I should never have told you,” she whispered.

“Yes, you should have,” Kate contradicted, automatically handing Dana a pristine hankie from her pocket. “If you hadn’t told me that you and Ken had fought that night, it would have eaten away at you. You have to forgive yourself, sweetie. Ken was going to Yo, Amigo that night, whether you two had argued or not. He’d made up his mind, and he was every bit as stubborn as you are. It wasn’t your fault he got killed.”

“No,” Dana agreed, clutching the handkerchief and ignoring the tears that streaked down her cheeks. “But I shouldn’t have let him leave when he was so angry. Maybe that’s what made him careless. Maybe that’s why he didn’t see that there was someone there with a gun.”

“And maybe he just got in the way of some drug-crazed kid,” Kate said. “That’s what the police think.”

“One of the kids Rick Sanchez protects,” Dana countered bitterly, bringing the argument full circle.

Kate sighed. “There’s nothing I can say to talk you out of this, is there?”

“Nothing,” Dana agreed.

Kate’s expression turned resigned. “Then tell me what I can do to help.”

“Just be my friend.”

“No, I want to do something constructive. You helped me when my life was a mess. Now it’s my turn. I can work a phone with the best of them. You’ve always said I could talk anyone into doing anything I wanted. Let me put those powers of persuasion to work for a good cause. We’ll be a team.”

Dana laughed at the excitement sparkling in her friend’s eyes. “Kate, you are not a private investigator,” she pointed out.

“Technically, neither are you.”

Dana was taken aback for a minute, until she realized that Kate was right. She had long since let her license lapse. Hopefully her skills were a bit more up-to-date, though after last night’s disaster, she had to wonder. Not that she’d ever admit to such a thing.

“What about your kids? What about the risks?” she asked, throwing Kate’s earlier arguments right back into her face.

“One’s seventeen, the other’s nineteen,” Kate said dismissively. “They barely know I exist, anyway. Besides, I’m just going to be chatting on the phone, like I always do. How much danger can there be in that?”

“Famous last words,” Dana retorted. “Are you really sure you want to help?”

“I really want to help. Just tell me what you want me to do.”

“I will,” Dana promised. Unfortunately, without any of the clues she had hoped to find at Yo, Amigo, she had no clear-cut idea just yet what the first step ought to be.

3

Rick couldn’t decide whether he’d done the right thing by calling Kate Jefferson first thing in the morning. Obviously, she and Dana Miller were close friends. He had found the slightly plump, angelic-looking blonde at the Millers’ house when he’d finally worked up the courage to stop by to see Ken’s wife and try to make peace with her. Besides, she had made him promise to call the minute Dana turned up.

Knowing how Ken’s widow felt about him and about Yo, Amigo, at first he hadn’t expected Dana to come anywhere near him—not for a long time, anyway. Only after careful thought had he realized that she was not the type of woman to let things lie. Obviously Kate knew her friend very well.

Even now his lips curved as he thought of the audacity Dana Miller had shown, first in breaking in, then in accusing him of assault when he’d tackled her. She was a handful, all right. Ken had always told him that and now he’d seen her in action firsthand.

She was going to be trouble. He knew that, too. She had the same sort of passion for her particular cause that he had for his, which put them at cross-purposes, for the moment. Oddly enough, they both wanted to find Ken’s murderer. She would destroy Yo, Amigo in the process, if she had to. He was convinced that no one connected to the program had had anything to do with the shooting.

The kids he worked with weren’t saints. Far from it. They’d been handling knives and guns and wearing gang colors starting at a frighteningly early age. Most of them had been touched by tragedy and violence more often than white, middle-class America could imagine. They’d responded the only way that made sense to them, by seeking protection in numbers, by arming themselves. Only a few had learned the lesson that violence only spawned more violence. It solved nothing. As injustices mounted and anger deepened, the violence only escalated, unless they learned another way. He’d tried to teach them that.

Even so, even knowing that his message had convinced only a handful of the teens he worked with, Rick knew in his gut that not one of them would have harmed Ken Miller. They had respected the padre, as they called him. The youngest ones had clustered around him, desperately seeking the warmth and love he radiated, the father figure he represented. The older boys grudgingly admired his straight talk and his jump shots. Ken had run circles around them on a basketball court, playing with a ferocity that had been startling in a man normally so placid.

Rick hadn’t relied solely on his gut in reaching the conclusion that no one he knew would have harmed Ken. He was a little too cynical for that. He’d asked questions, gently most of the time, forcefully when necessary. He’d laid it all out for these tough kids who were trying to find their way. One of their own was down, and he wanted to know the names of the people responsible. The future of Yo, Amigo, their future, was on the line. He believed so strongly that any one of them would have ratted out his best friend for Ken’s sake, that he would have staked his reputation and his life on it.

When no one had stepped forward with so much as a whiff of innuendo—much less a solid clue—it convinced him that his kids were innocent. That left a whole lot of unanswered questions. He was as frustrated as Dana Miller had to be. He was also convinced that the answers had to lie outside the hood.

The difference was, she was going to tear his fragile grasp on the souls of these boys to shreds trying to find those answers. She was going to put herself at risk by poking and prodding and turning up in every dangerous nook and cranny until she found something. For every boy in the program who’d respect her for trying, there were a dozen on the streets who would take advantage of her. Some would only take her money for leads that would merely take her down blind alleys. Some were capable of doing far worse.

Rick figured either he was going to have to trail along behind, protecting her, or he was going to have to find some way to join forces with her—for the program’s sake and for hers.

Of course, that meant seeing her again, trying to cut through the pain and the hatred and the anger to convince her that they were on the same side. His pulse raced predictably at the prospect. His quick rise to any challenge was both a blessing and a curse. After the way he’d responded to the woman struggling in his arms the night before, he figured this time it was downright suicidal. His body apparently didn’t have the same high moral standards his head did, standards that said a man shouldn’t be intrigued by his best friend’s wife. Ken’s death hadn’t changed that. In his eyes, Dana Miller still belonged to her late husband.

“Que pasa, Señor Rick?”

At the sound of the softly spoken question, Rick’s gaze shot up. “Maria, you have to stop sneaking up on me,” he told the teenager with the huge brown eyes and shy, dimpled smile. “My heart can’t take it.”

The shyness faded, replaced by a knowing twinkle. “Oh, I think your heart can take quite a lot, Señor Rick.”

“And how would an innocent girl like you know a thing like that?”

“The others talk,” she said, then shook her head. “As if you didn’t know that already. They think you are muy sexy, a how-do-you-say-it, a chunk?”

Rick laughed. “That’s hunk, as if you didn’t know that already. Your English only fails you when it suits your purposes.”

“No, no,” she protested. “Para me, anglais es muy difficile.”

“Maria, you were born right here in Chicago.”

Her chin rose a defiant notch. “But my parents, they speak only Spanish at home,” she protested, her expression all innocence. “I heard no English until I went to school.”

It was a common enough story in certain immigrant neighborhoods, including this one. Rick happened to know, however, that Maria could speak and understand English like a native, unless it seemed inconvenient to do so.

“The way I hear it, you were a quick study. I’ve seen all your transcripts. Straight As. That’s why the padre was trying to help you get a scholarship to college.”

At the mention of Ken, she immediately sketched a cross across her chest and her eyes turned sad. “I miss him every day,” she said softly. “He was very good to me and the others, especially my brothers.”

“He loved you all. He wanted you to succeed.”

Maria perched uneasily on the edge of the chair opposite Rick’s desk. She folded her hands in her lap in the pose of a proper young lady, but it was only seconds before she began to fidget nervously. “What do you think will happen now? Will they find the person who killed him? They don’t seem to try very hard anymore.”

Rick couldn’t deny that. It was one reason he could understand Dana Miller’s determination to take matters into her own hands. “I don’t know whether the police have given up,” he told Maria honestly. “But I haven’t.”

“Do you have any leads?”

“No, but I think someone knew exactly what he was doing that night.” It was the first time he had voiced that particular opinion, but he was forced to temper it by acknowledging the other possibility, the one Dana Miller and the police shared. “On the other hand, if the killer is from the hood, I’ll find him.”

Maria looked shocked. “You think one of us could have harmed him?”

“No one in the program,” he said firmly. “But others, who knows? Others believe anything is possible here. The only way to prove them wrong is to find the person responsible. Have you heard anything, Maria? Anything at all? Is anyone bragging a little.”

“Who would brag about such a thing?” she demanded indignantly.

“We both know there are people who would like to see the program fail, who would gloat if we lost our funding. They might even commit murder to bring us down.”

“But why? What you do here is good.”

“Not for those who want to recruit every young child into a gang. They’re afraid we might cut into their power.”

“They are fools!” she declared dismissively. “And I have too much work to do to waste time on them.”

As she left his office, Rick smiled at her vehemence. There was no chance that Maria would become one of the lost souls. Raised by two strict, doting, Catholic parents, she and her brothers had been taught right and wrong. Unlike so many others, they had been surrounded by love. They had been taught the value of hard work, grit and determination. There would be no shortcuts, no straying from the straight and narrow.

When Juan Jesus, the youngest, had gotten too friendly with members of the toughest gang in the area, the entire family had come to Rick for guidance. Dollars had been scraped together for the tuition to a private school in Ken’s suburb. A family in Ken’s congregation had taken Juan Jesus in as one of their own on weekdays. Ken had brought him back to his family on Friday afternoons and picked him up again at dawn on Monday mornings for the trip north of town. Those days away from the hood had been the boy’s salvation.

Only Maria knew that the small pittance the family had raised was a fraction of the actual tuition. Had the others known, they would have been too proud to accept the arrangements.

Ever since discovering that Rick and Ken had chipped in to pay the rest, Maria had been coming to the program headquarters every morning to do whatever jobs needed doing. She typed. She answered phones. She cleaned. She bullied Rick into eating, when he would have forgotten. She stayed as long as he did, sometimes longer.

Unofficially, she counseled the teenage girls who trusted her with secrets they might never have shared with Rick. All in all, Rick knew he’d gotten the better end of the deal when he’d made the contribution to Juan Jesus’s education. And when Maria had her college scholarship, he guessed she would study psychology or social work and make an even greater contribution to his program, or another like it.

Now and again, when he saw the flash of passion in her eyes for Yo, Amigo’s goals, when he heard her sweet voice of reason working its magic on a potential backer, he could envision her in the state capital or in Washington, making a difference for all of the teens who seemed intent on sacrificing their youth, or their lives, to gangs. For now, he might be the brains and the drive behind Yo, Amigo, but Maria and a few others like her were its heart. Ken Miller had been its soul.

Not a day passed that Rick didn’t miss him. Not an hour passed that he didn’t contemplate his own inadvertent complicity in bringing Ken into the barrio, where he died. Not a minute passed that he didn’t want to avenge his friend’s death.

Thinking of that brought him full circle, back to the fury he’d read in Dana Miller’s eyes the night before. She was trouble, all right, and it was way past time he faced it. His warnings last night weren’t nearly enough to make her back down.

“Maria, I’ve got to go out for a while,” he said as he passed the desk where she was trying to make sense of the piles of paperwork that accumulated on a daily basis, paperwork that Rick had no patience for, even when he understood the necessity for it.

“I’ll be here,” she told him with a wry expression. “You haven’t touched this in a week. It will take me most of the day to see which is important and which could have been tossed into the trash, if only you’d bothered to read it.”

“Gracias. What would I do without you?”

She shook her head. “I cannot imagine.”

“Neither can I, nina. Neither can I.”

“Then it is good you won’t have to find out.”

“Until next fall,” he reminded her. That was when he was convinced she would have the full scholarship to Northwestern that she deserved.

“Even then, I will be here to worry you every day,” she insisted.

It was an old argument and one they wouldn’t resolve today or even tomorrow. Maria Consuela Villanueva was a woman who knew her own mind, probably had from the time she was two, Rick guessed. There had been times he regretted the age difference between them. She was barely eighteen to his thirty-four. Had she been a few years older, she might have been a good match for him. As it was, he thought of her only as the kid sister he’d never had. Even when she was at her nagging, pestering worst, he would have protected her with his life.

“When will you be back?” she asked.

He thought of the likely battle that lay ahead. Either Dana would slam the door in his face and he’d be back in no time, or she’d listen. He was counting on the latter. He held no illusions, though, that he could persuade her easily to accept his help.

“I’m out for the day,” he said, “unless there’s an emergency.”

“What constitutes an emergency this time? Fire? The arrival of the mayor? A delegation from the capital?”

“Those would do,” he agreed.

“Where will you be?”

“With Ken’s widow.” He shrugged, then added realistically, “Or nursing my wounds beside Lake Michigan with a hot dog in one hand and a beer in the other.”

“Better you should take bandages,” she retorted.

Rick stared at her suspiciously. Something in her tone alerted him that she knew something about what had gone on here the night before. “Why would you say that?”

“People talk,” she said enigmatically.

“Maria! Spit it out. What are people saying?”

“They say that bruise on your cheek is the work of Mrs. Miller. Since it was not there when I left last night, I assume you’ve seen her since then.” She tilted her head and studied his face. “She must not have been glad to see you.”

“I’m sure she wasn’t,” Rick agreed.

“And you think today will go better?”

“Probably not.”

Maria opened a cabinet behind the desk and plucked out a handful of Band-Aids and a bottle of peroxide from the stock kept on hand for the multitude of kids with minor wounds who turned up on their doorstep nearly every day. They were all too practiced at coping with major wounds as well, at least as long as it took to send for an ambulance.

“Then these may come in handy,” she said. “Of course, people say she is also a trained private eye, like Magnum.” Maria was a very big Tom Selleck fan. She thought he was even “chunkier” than Rick.

“She was a private detective,” Rick corrected. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“She knows how to use a gun, yes?”

“Very amusing, Maria. You seem to forget that I have at least a vague familiarity with guns myself.”

“The difference is that you have vowed never to touch another one. Can you say the same for Mrs. Miller?”

Rick could only say that he knew, with relative certainty, that she hadn’t had one with her the night before. She would have found some way to use it on him.

Of course, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t grab a gun the second she realized who was on her doorstep. Another adrenaline rush raced through him at the prospect. Disarming her could prove to be absolutely fascinating.

4

The screeching of that damnable doorbell brought Dana to her feet at once. It had to be a stranger. No one she knew liked the sound of it any better than Kate.

“Want me to get it?” Kate offered.

“I’m still capable of answering the door,” Dana said dryly, pushing aside the virtually untouched slice of the pecan coffee cake that she had made when she could no longer sit still. “I haven’t lost all my wits yet.”

She stepped into the foyer and paused. She could see the large shape of a man through the glass panels on either side of the door. Tall, broad-shouldered and wearing an ancient football jacket from one of the Catholic high schools in Chicago, Rick Sanchez was unmistakable.

“Oh, boy,” she muttered under her breath.

“Dana, who is it?” Kate whispered, slipping up behind her.

“Rick Sanchez.”

“Oh, boy, is right. Has he brought the police with him?”

“I doubt that Mr. Sanchez is any fonder of the police than I am at the moment.”

“Were you counting on that when you broke into the Yo, Amigo headquarters last night?”

“No, I was counting on not getting caught,” Dana said, keeping a wary eye on the man outside.

He seemed to be growing more agitated by the minute. When he turned and leaned on the doorbell, filling the house with the squealing sound, she decided there was no point in postponing the inevitable. He was here to see her and he’d probably break down the door, if he had to. She was in no position, at the moment, to complain about a little breaking and entering on his part.

“Okay, okay, I’m coming,” she shouted as she unlocked the door. When it was open, she glared at him and said, “Mr. Sanchez, you really need to work on your patience.”

A twinkle lit his brown eyes, softening his hard, unyielding expression. “Isn’t that the pot calling the kettle black?”

Standing squarely in the doorway, Dana refused to concede the point. “Why are you here?”

“To talk.”

“I’d say we both made our positions completely clear last night. Anything we said today would be a waste of breath.”

“Then I guess you haven’t seen the error of your ways,” he said with exaggerated regret. “Too bad. I was hoping this was going to be easy.” He glanced over her shoulder. “Hello again, Mrs. Jefferson. Good to see you.”

Dana shot a warning look at Kate, whose love life was such that a potent man like Rick Sanchez might be able to charm her with little more than a smile. “Don’t think you can use my friend to get to me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it. I’m an up-front kind of guy. My friends say I’m direct.”

“And your enemies?”

“They say quite a lot of things about me,” he conceded.

With his hands shoved in his pockets and his hair tousled by the wind, he had a look of pure innocence about him. Clearly it was deceptive. “I can imagine,” she said.

“I’m hoping you and I will become friends.”

“Not in this lifetime,” she said fiercely.

“That’s what Ken would have wanted,” he added with quiet conviction.

Dana wanted to hit him for dragging Ken into the conversation, even though he was obviously the reason Rick Sanchez was here. “Do your friends know that you hit below the belt, Mr. Sanchez?”

He didn’t look half as insulted as Dana might have liked. In fact, he looked her squarely in the eye.

“I’m a product of the streets,” he reminded her. “I fight any way I have to for what I believe in.”

The penetrating, brown-eyed gaze, the softly spoken words sent a chill washing through her. For the first time, she fully accepted just how dangerous an adversary Rick Sanchez could be. Knowing the enemy could sometimes be as important as arming against him. With that in mind, she stepped aside and gestured toward the kitchen.

“Kate and I were just having coffee, if you’d care to join us.”

There was nothing gloating in his expression, no hint of smug arrogance. In fact, if she’d had to describe what was going on inside him, she would have had to say he looked relieved. Obviously, he hadn’t expected her to capitulate so easily. Good. That meant she’d thrown him off guard.

In the kitchen, she poured him a cup of coffee, then refilled her own and Kate’s. She deliberately didn’t offer him any of the coffee cake. It didn’t matter. His gaze landed on her slice, then lifted hopefully. “Aren’t you planning to eat that?”

“No,” she said resignedly and pushed it toward him. “There’s more on the counter.”

“I can smell the cinnamon and nuts. Just baked, isn’t it?” he asked, sounding as eager as a kid.

“Yes.”

“Why’d you bother if you didn’t intend to eat it?”

“For something to do. What difference does it make?”

He shrugged. “None, I guess. Just making small talk.”

“Don’t waste your time.”

He accepted the advice without comment and pulled out a chair. When he was seated at the round oak table, Dana suddenly wished that she’d suggested the living room instead.

This table, bought at an auction the first year of her marriage, had been at the heart of her family’s life. Every breakfast and every dinner, they had gathered here, no matter the other demands on their time. This was also where she and Ken had discussed the future, made plans for vacations, argued over finances. It was at this table, lit by the soft glow of candles, that she had first told him she was pregnant on three different occasions.

It was also where they had lingered over coffee, gazing into each other’s eyes with yearning, both of them regretting for just a moment that there were boys underfoot to keep them from acting on the desire that always simmered just beneath the surface of their relationship.

Seating Rick Sanchez here, of all places, seemed to defile the memories. She had never wanted this man to touch the intimate portions of her life with Ken. That was why she had stubbornly refused for so long to include him in family dinners, in holiday celebrations. Ken had accepted her decision, had even understood its roots, but it had been clear that he thought less of her for her inflexibility.

Even then, she realized, Rick Sanchez had found a way to come between them. Now he was doing so by replacing her memories of Ken sitting across from her with his own powerful and very masculine presence. She added that to the list of things to hold against him—the fact that he was so virile, so alive, while just outside her husband was cold in his grave.

She could feel the patches of angry color burning in her cheeks as she scowled at him. “Why are you here?” she asked for the second time that morning. There was nothing gracious or even polite in her tone. Kate glanced at her sharply, subtly warning her to back off. Dana sighed and forced a smile. “That is, what did you want to talk about?”

“You and me,” he said.

She scowled at that. “Oh?” she said, her voice a lethal warning against assuming any kind of intimacy was possible between them.

His perfectly sculpted lips curved ever so slightly. “That was not what I meant, Dana.”

Despite the denial, her name on his tongue was like a caress. Heat crept up her neck and inflamed her cheeks again. “Of course not,” she said stiffly. “But I think you’d better explain exactly what you did mean.”

Without answering, Rick pushed himself away from the table and stood. Half of the coffee cake remained. Obviously, his appetite had fled, too.

Still silent, letting her demand for answers hang in the air, he moved toward the window, as if he couldn’t stay away. She knew precisely what he was seeing—the cold, barren earth, the simple marker, the place where Ken would rest for all eternity.

“He deserves to rest in peace,” he said so quietly that she had to strain to hear him.

When the words registered, she realized it was as if he had read her mind. For a brief second, there was a connection between them, a fragile thread of understanding that she hadn’t expected. It shook her to discover that she could feel that, despite the overwhelming hatred she felt toward him.

When he finally turned back, his eyes glistened with unshed tears. As Kate had warned her, it was a devastating sight in one so strong. Dana had to steel herself against that image, as she had against so many others lately. She couldn’t afford to feel any compassion for this man. None. Ken had been nothing to him, nothing more than someone to be used for the good of his cause. She believed that of Rick Sanchez, because she had to. The hatred, the need for revenge, was all that anchored her these days.

Rick leaned against the counter, propped one sneaker-clad foot on the rung of a chair and cradled his coffee mug in hands that, despite their nicks and scars, looked somehow graceful. Sure and competent hands. Hands that could caress a woman’s body and bring it alive.

Dear heaven, where had that last come from? She glanced at Kate and saw that she, too, was fascinated with Rick Sanchez, fascinated the way a woman would be with a devastatingly attractive man who radiated sexuality from every pore.

That, of course, was his single most potent weapon, Dana realized. If she weren’t careful, if she weren’t strong, he would weave that easy magic over her, as well. She was lonely now and, like too many lonely women, she was vulnerable. She could not, she would not, allow anything to happen between her and this man. She would keep the hostility alive as protection, as a duty.

“I’m waiting,” she said, keeping her voice icy, her expression remote. “Unless you have something specific to discuss, I’d like you to go.”

His lips curved again. “Patience, Dana.”

“I don’t have time to be patient. I have things to do.”

“Planning more break-ins?”

She scowled at him. “Possibly.”

“Not at Yo, Amigo, I hope.”

“If that’s where the answers are, then I’ll be back.”

“I’ve already told you that the program and its boys are not the key to Ken’s death.”

“How can you possibly be so confident of that?”

“Because everyone at Yo, Amigo loved Ken,” he said.

The simple declaration shook her as more vehement statements might not have done so. For just a moment, she wished she hadn’t remained so adamantly opposed to what Ken had been doing. She wished that she had accepted one of his repeated offers to take her with him, to let her see for herself why these lost kids mattered so much to him.

Instead, she had clung to the long-ago betrayal of a boy very much like those in Rick’s program. She had been trying to help him and his lawyer fight armed robbery charges he claimed had been unfairly brought. She had believed in him. Only after they had successfully fought off a conviction had she discovered he was guilty, that he had played on her sympathy and used her clever investigative skills to win his case.

Weeks later, released from jail, he had shot and killed another storekeeper in yet another robbery attempt. A scared sixteen-year-old boy had been his accomplice. He had been shot by police arriving at the scene. She had vowed right then never to trust her instincts again, never to trust vows of innocence and remorse from the very kind of boys Ken and Rick believed capable of change.

Had she put aside that vow and gone with Ken, would she have shared Rick’s belief that his teens were incapable of harming Ken? She doubted it. Her own experience would have warned against it.

In fact, she would have grabbed on to any possible motive, any possible suspect, just as she was doing now. She was too desperate for answers to exclude anyone on blind faith alone.

“What do these kids know about love?” she countered.

“Precious little,” Rick agreed. “But they experienced it with your husband. Ken showed them what it meant to be accepted unconditionally, to be forgiven. He taught them they were worthy of God’s love. Every one of them was blessed to have known him.” His gaze locked on hers. “And they knew that.”

Dana shuddered under that unwavering gaze. In his own way, Rick Sanchez was as fervent in his beliefs as Ken had been in his. She, to the contrary, believed in nothing anymore, not even in the generous, compassionate, forgiving God who had guided her husband.

Despite their opposing views of his boys, she couldn’t help being swayed just a little by Rick’s faith in them. “Okay, Mr. Sanchez. Say I were to take your word for the moment that no one connected to the program had anything to do with Ken’s death. Where would you start to look for answers?”

“Closer to home,” he said at once.

He said it with such quick certainty that she was startled. “What on earth does that mean? Surely you don’t think that I...?”

“Of course not. I was talking about the people Ken dealt with right here, in his own congregation, in his own community. He told me there was a faction who wanted him removed.”

Dana stared. “If there was, this is the first I’ve heard of it.”

“It had just come up. He didn’t want to worry you. He told me it was the sort of nuisance thing that arises every now and then. A few people don’t like the way their minister thinks, or they respond to some imagined slight. In Ken’s case, he suspected there were some who disapproved of his work with Yo, Amigo. They feared he was already dragging the gang problem into their backyard.”

It was easy enough to make the connection, then. “This came up after he brought Juan Jesus here to live with the Wilsons, didn’t it?” she asked.

Rick nodded. “That would be my guess.”

“But he is such a sweet young man. How could anybody fear him?” Kate demanded.

It was the first time she had said a word in so long that both Dana and Rick turned to stare at her. Rick smiled at the fiercely protective tone of voice. Obviously, all of her motherly instincts had been aroused. And unlike Dana, she hadn’t been a holdout, fighting Ken’s commitment to the kids in the barrio. She had gotten to know Juan Jesus and any of the others he had brought around from time to time. Kate’s soft heart hadn’t been touched by the kind of tragedy that had made Dana so terribly wary.

“Taken individually, most of our boys are just like Juan Jesus,” Rick responded. “They’re tough on the outside, but if you look beyond that, you find a scared, vulnerable kid. Put him in the right environment and he will flourish.”

“Put him in a gang, he becomes dangerous,” Dana pointed out.

“Yes,” he said. “Some do.”

“Most,” she countered.

He studied her intently, assessing her. “Would you have joined with the faction who felt threatened by Juan Jesus’s presence in the community?” Rick asked.

Dana didn’t like the immediate response that formed. She bit back the instinctive yes that formed in her gut. She and Ken had argued over that very subject more than once. They had argued about it again on the day he had died. She had wanted their boys to live in a safe environment. She hadn’t wanted outside influences to change their protected world. It was petty and selfish of her, but there it was. She was a mother first and she’d seen firsthand the very real danger that came with trusting a kid with a record.

Intellectually, she had understood that boys like Juan Jesus deserved a chance. Give them their chance, she had argued—just not here. Not here, where a failed experiment could be so terribly costly to their own children. She hadn’t realized there were others in the church who’d said the same thing.

Nor had she considered that such feelings might run hot enough to do harm. For a brief moment, with Rick’s knowing gaze studying her, she allowed herself to feel ashamed at her unwitting complicity with narrow-minded, hurtful people, who would have ruined her husband’s career out of fear.

“Would you?” Rick asked again.

“I would like to think I’m better than they are, more open-minded, fairer, but the truth is I had said many of the same things to Ken myself,” she confessed reluctantly.

“Dana, you hadn’t!” Kate protested.

Dana nodded. “Yes, I had. I didn’t want that kind of influence around my kids. I’m sorry, but that’s the truth, and you know why I feel that way. I’ve seen firsthand just how destructive an influence kids like that can be.”

Rick regarded her with disturbing intensity. He seemed to be weighing something.

“You know, Dana, I’ve changed my mind. I think the best place for you to start this investigation would be at Yo, Amigo,” he said eventually.

She stared at him in amazement, torn between gratitude and suspicion. “You’ll open the doors to me? Let me look at your files, talk to the kids?”

He nodded.

“Why? You said the answers weren’t there.”

“Maybe not to Ken’s murder,” he agreed. “But I think you might learn quite a lot about your husband.”

She found the suggestion that she hadn’t really known Ken to be insulting, but she couldn’t afford to turn down the offer. Once again, she and Rick Sanchez would be operating at cross-purposes. But whatever his motives in offering, she had to take advantage of the opportunity.

“I have no idea what made you change your mind, but thank you. I will be there first thing in the morning,” she said, meeting his gaze evenly.

“Why not now? You could come back with me.”

The prospect of being confined in a car with this man rattled her, but she could see the sense of taking him up on this offer, as well. Despite her determination to take whatever risks were necessary to get answers, there was no point in being foolhardy. Going into that neighborhood in broad daylight with Rick Sanchez as her escort made sense. His acceptance of her presence might smooth the way for her, might make others speak to her more openly.

“I’ll get my purse.”

“Just your keys,” he countered. “You won’t be needing your purse.”

“What if I get a hankering for something to eat?”

“I can afford to treat you to lunch, Dana. Dinner, too, for that matter.”

Something in his eyes, a flash of heat, a suggestion of sensuality, told her she would be wise to stay away from cozy meals for two with this man. He’d persuaded coldhearted politicians to part with city money for his pipe dream. He’d sweet-talked tough, streetwise kids out of their weapons. If he put his mind to it, would he be able to convince her to leave Yo, Amigo out of her investigation?

Hell would have to freeze over first, she vowed silently, her gaze clashing defiantly with his. To her regret, he looked amused, not intimidated.

He would learn, though. She vowed that he would discover very soon that Dana Miller was a formidable enemy.

5

Rick had regretted his impulsive offer to take Dana into Chicago the instant the words were uttered. Was he out of his mind to consider giving Dana Miller full access to Yo, Amigo? He’d seen no evidence of a kinder, gentler side to her. Yet for some reason, perhaps Ken’s frequently expressed faith in his wife’s essential goodness, Rick had to believe that her ingrained attitude of distrust wouldn’t come back to haunt him.

Still, what would the kids think when they realized she was there to investigate Ken’s death, when they saw that they were the target of her suspicions? It could unravel every shred of progress he’d made with them over the past couple of years. It could shatter their trust.

He couldn’t renege, though. One way or another, she would be underfoot, snooping. He owed it to Ken to keep Dana where he could watch over her, where he could protect her. Somehow he’d have to make the kids understand that.

Maybe it wouldn’t be as difficult as he imagined. They were bright. Maybe they would see how much pain Dana was in and would cut her some slack, especially if she managed to keep that tart tongue of hers in check. Maybe it would be a good lesson in tolerance for all of them.

And maybe they’d hang him for bringing the enemy into their midst, he thought wryly.

Oh, well, there was nothing to be done about it now. Dana was upstairs, probably tucking some sort of wire into her blouse and a gun into her back pocket, if he read her correctly. She might leave her purse at home, but she wasn’t about to go with him unprepared for her own style of battle. She had the determination of a pit bull. As angry as she was, she was also likely to be oblivious to real danger.

He glanced across the kitchen table to find Kate Jefferson studying him intently, a frown knitting her brow. “What?” he demanded.

“If you allow anyone to harm one hair on Dana’s head, I’ll come after you, personally,” she warned. She leaned closer and repeatedly jabbed a finger into his chest. “I may look like some sweet, innocuous, little suburban homebody to you, but nobody is more ferocious than a woman like me when someone we care about gets hurt.”

Because she sounded so serious, Rick held back the grin that threatened to emerge. “I don’t doubt it,” he said solemnly and fought the urge to rub the spot she’d been assaulting. He’d probably have a bruise there to match the one Dana had left on his cheek. “Believe it or not, I want her to find what she’s looking for.”

“Ken’s killer?”

“That,” he agreed, then added, “and peace of mind.”

Kate sighed heavily. “I’m afraid the last won’t come easily.”

“Where I come from, Mrs. Jefferson, very little comes easily.”

* * *

Rick’s car was old and battered and nondescript. The outside seemed to be held together mainly by beige paint and rust. It would be an unlikely target for young thieves, Dana concluded. Inside, however, it was immaculate, and it ran like the car of a man who tinkered possessively with its engine.

“How fast does it go?” Dana asked as they made their way into Chicago.

He slanted a look in her direction. “Fast enough. Why?”

“Just making small talk, Mr. Sanchez,” she said, mimicking his earlier claim. The truth was that a part of her wondered if he’d tuned it for quick getaways, but for once, she managed to keep the deliberate insult to herself. Somehow she had to find a way to meet the man halfway.

He glanced over at her. “Can’t you call me Rick?”

Dana debated before answering. That would mean taking one brick out of the wall of defenses she’d built between them. She wasn’t sure she dared risk it. Refusing, though, seemed churlish. Not that he had a particularly high impression of her, anyway, but she hated to add to the negatives. For the time being, she needed his cooperation and goodwill.

“I’ll try to remember,” she said eventually.

He seemed to be fighting a smile. “That’ll do,” he said, then added pointedly, “For now.”

Dana let that remark go unanswered. He was only trying to provoke her, a trait that obviously came naturally enough to him. Perhaps, if she failed to rise to the bait a few times, he’d give up and settle for the uneasy truce they’d reached. She still wasn’t exactly sure why he’d suddenly agreed to her meeting the kids at Yo, Amigo. Clearly he had a point of some sort to make.

As they neared the Yo, Amigo headquarters, the signage in the neighborhood was more frequently in Spanish than English. The taquerias, the bodegas, the promise that those inside spoke Spanish made Dana feel as if she’d unwittingly entered a foreign land. This world of immigrants, who clung to the past, to old ways and their old culture, seemed totally alien.

“Are most people here from Mexico?” she asked, her natural curiosity stirring.

“Most. Many are Cuban, a few from Central America.”

She nodded, absorbing that and the fact that in broad daylight, the streets seemed less menacing. Bundled up against the freezing wind and bitter cold of early March, people were simply going about their daily business, pausing only briefly to chat with neighbors, their breath visible in the icy air. Strains of rapidly spoken Spanish filtered through the car’s windows. Latin music blasted from passing boom boxes, the salsa beat cheerful and provocative.

It seemed so... She searched for the right word, then settled for normal. Except for the language, the street could have been any other ethnic neighborhood in Chicago, rich with color and surging with life. Where was the danger in this? she wondered.

“It changes at night,” Rick said quietly, once more displaying that uncanny knack for reading her mind. “These people stay inside after dark, even in summer. Kids aren’t allowed to play in the streets because of the threat—no, the certainty—of drive-by shootings. Children here see more violence up close than yours will see on TV. They’ll know it as a reality, as the loss of a brother or sister or a friend. It’s no way for a kid to grow up.”

Dana thought of Juan Jesus, whose presence in her neighborhood had stirred such controversy and wrath. As worried as she’d been about his influence on her kids and others, would she have wanted this life for him, instead? He was just a boy who’d already seen too much, experienced things no child should have to endure. Gazing around her, she gained a tiny bit of insight into Ken’s perspective.

And Rick’s, she conceded reluctantly.

Leaving her to her thoughts, he turned the corner into the alley behind Yo, Amigo. Dana recognized it. She had crept down it just the night before, staying in shadows, filled with determination and rage. She was calmer now, but no less determined.

Rick stopped the car just a few feet from the back door in a spot clearly marked as his by the scrawled name in bright yellow paint on the brick wall of the building. It was surrounded by fading graffiti. If she’d been paying attention, as she should have been the night before, would she have spotted his car there? She thought back carefully. She couldn’t summon a single image of any car being in the alley. Surely she would have noticed it and checked it out. Her skills weren’t that rusty.

“Where were you parked last night?”

He regarded her innocently. “You were in a very big hurry. Are you so certain I wasn’t right here?”

She thought about it once more, then nodded with more certainty. “I’m positive.”

“Very good,” he praised, though his tone was mocking. “Actually, I left the car at home and hitched a ride over.”

“Why?”

The question seemed to make him uncomfortable for some reason, so she asked it again.

“Because we’ve had a few problems.”

She could see that the admission cost him. “What sort of problems?”

“Unwelcome visitors,” he said tersely.

“Other than me?”

He smiled at that. “I wasn’t expecting you, at least not last night.”

“Truthfully, you weren’t expecting me at all, were you?”

“Your friend seemed all but certain you’d turn up here eventually.”

Dana persisted. “But you didn’t believe her, did you?”

“No,” he admitted. “At least, I didn’t think you’d have the guts to come creeping around here in the middle of the night, since you’d never been inclined to show up with Ken during the day.”

“I didn’t stay away out of fear,” she protested.

“Just disapproval,” he guessed.

She realized that in his eyes that was far, far worse. Compared with her compassionate husband, she had to seem cold and hardhearted. She didn’t want Rick’s opinion to matter, but oddly enough, it did. Even so, she refused to waste time right now trying to change it. Even if she’d explained about the boy she had once trusted, would he have understood? Or would he have said that was just one boy, that others shouldn’t be condemned for his mistakes? Ken had said that often enough, but it hadn’t swayed her. She hadn’t had his capacity for forgiveness or his willingness to risk a second, more dangerous betrayal.

Now, though, she needed to get inside, to start looking at files and talking to people. She had to do something, find at least one solid piece of the puzzle. The compulsion that had brought her back from Florida was stronger than ever. Once again, she had allowed Rick to deliberately distract her. She wondered how many more times she would come up against the tactic as he tried to protect his precious program.

“Are we going to go in or are we going to sit here all day analyzing my psyche?” she inquired testily.

“Analyzing your psyche might be fascinating,” he said. Before she could respond, he added, “But you’re clearly too impatient to get on with your agenda to cooperate.”

She reached for the door handle, but before she could open it, his hand closed over hers. The shock of his touch, the heat of it, stilled her. He waited until she turned to look at him before he said a word.

“One bit of caution—proceed slowly in there. If you go in like a private detective, they won’t talk.” His gaze locked with hers. “I’ve taken a huge gamble by bringing you here. I won’t let you hassle them.”

“You promised—” she began, only to be cut off.

“I promised to bring you here, to let you get to know what we’re all about. If you get answers as a result of that, fine. If you can’t live with that, I’ll take you back home right now.”

She didn’t like the rules. Nor was she certain how she would operate within them. “How will you explain me?”

For a moment he seemed to be weighing the alternatives. “I’m going to tell them who you are,” he replied eventually.

Her gaze narrowed. There was more. She could read it in his eyes. “And then what?”

He smiled. “And then I’m going to say that you’re here to take up where your husband left off.”

She stared at him, aghast by the suggestion—no, the command—that she was going to become a part of the Yo, Amigo program in some way. She felt manipulated, though no doubt the signs of his intentions had been there from the moment he uttered his invitation.

“I can’t do that,” she protested.

“You will do that,” he corrected, then added more gently, “It’s the only way to find the answers you’re after. You’ll have to blend in, become one of us.”

“I don’t shoot hoops,” she grumbled.

“Then tutor them in reading, teach the girls to sew. We have a kitchen here. You can teach them to cook. It won’t matter what you do. It’ll matter more that you’re here.”

Dana didn’t like the gender-based suggestions. More importantly, she wanted to move her investigation along far faster than the snail’s pace he was suggesting. And yet, she conceded reluctantly, she could see the sense of what he was saying. She knew just how distrustful these toughened street kids were likely to be. If she came on too forcefully, demanded too much, they would walk away without a backward glance.

But Rick’s way would also risk getting involved, putting her emotions on the line. She didn’t want to know these ex–gang members. She didn’t want to take a chance that she might actually come to feel something for them as Ken had felt.

No, she didn’t like his plan at all, but she would do as he was demanding. She could tell from his unrelenting expression that he wasn’t giving her a choice.

“Let’s go,” she said through gritted teeth.

This time he didn’t try to stop her from getting out of the car. But when they reached the door that she had used the night before, he blocked her way. Once again, she felt the power of his presence, the heat of his body, his taut strength.

“If you find out anything, anything at all, you will tell me about it first,” he said, his gaze locked with hers.

“You told me I wouldn’t find anything here,” she taunted.

“I don’t believe you will, but there’s always an outside chance I’m wrong. I don’t want you tearing off half-cocked and getting yourself killed.”

“Why? You’d be rid of a serious thorn in your side.”

“No,” he corrected. “I’d have one more death on my conscience. Ken’s already keeps me awake at night.”

There was just enough torment in his voice that Dana had no choice but to believe him. She knew all about that kind of guilt and anguish. She hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep herself since the murder.

Even so, she was far from ready to forgive him, even further from being willing to trust him. He was a means to an end at the moment. He was giving her entry into a world that she might never have been able to penetrate on her own. She would use him, as he had used Ken. If she destroyed him and Yo, Amigo in the process, it still wouldn’t be enough to compensate for the loss of her husband.

6

Apparently it was too early in the day for a big crowd. Inside the Yo, Amigo headquarters, Dana spotted only a handful of boys and even fewer girls. Perhaps it was part of Rick’s tactic to bring her here when there would be only a few people to talk to.

But it was a starting point, she reminded herself sternly, and, right now that was all she needed.

She watched as Rick strolled through the cavernous building with the confidence of a man who was in charge. She overheard him tease and taunt in a surprisingly lighthearted manner, saw the playful exchange of punches and handclasps. There was respect here and trust.

There was none of that in the hard, cold gazes that turned on her. She was eyed with obvious suspicion. Even when Rick explained, first in quiet Spanish, then in English, who she was, there was only the slightest softening of attitudes, the faintest mellowing of distrust.

The boy Rick had called Marco was the first to speak directly to her. With chiseled features and thick black hair, he had classic good looks, plus plenty of attitude. He surveyed her with an insolent, assessing gaze, then muttered something in Spanish that had his friends chuckling, until a stern look from Rick cut them off. He spoke sharply to them in such rapid Spanish that Dana caught only an occasional word, and even then, her long-ago lessons in the language failed her.

Whatever he’d said, though, seemed to alter the charged atmosphere. First one girl and then another smiled and shyly introduced herself. There was Rosa with the huge dark eyes and curly hair and the thickening waistline of pregnancy. Then came Ileana, with the tattoo of a scorpion on her wrist and half her head shaved. Dana forced herself not to react to the eccentricities, but to the hesitant welcome in their eyes.

There were more, but Dana knew she would never keep the names straight and apologized for it. She added in faltering Spanish that she was glad to be there, glad to meet them.

Her attempt to speak their language gained her another grudging point or two. She could see the first vague hint of acceptance in their eyes. She knew, though, that it was only a beginning. There would be many more steps before she could ask the questions that plagued her, that much was clear. One wrong step and the distrust would return, stronger than ever.

She had tiptoed through many an awkward interrogation, smooth-talked her way around deep suspicions in the past, but she was out of practice, and no one she had ever encountered was as deeply distrustful as these kids clearly were. How had she ever imagined that she could blithely waltz in here and demand answers? The past few minutes had shown her the folly of that thinking.

When an awkward silence fell, Rick stepped in. “You guys can spend time with Mrs. Miller later. We have a few things to take care of first in my office.”

Dana knew he was right to hustle her along, to give them time to absorb the idea of her presence, but she hated the prospect of even so minor a delay. Still, she said her goodbyes and dutifully followed him to the open door on which his name had been painted by the same artistic hand that had inscribed it on the wall out back.

When they walked inside, a beautiful, dark-haired teen looked up from the piles of paper in front of her, started to say something, saw Dana and gaped. She had barely recovered when Rick’s introduction had her gaping again.

“You are the padre’s esposa? I mean, his wife?”

There was such awe and reverence in the girl’s voice that Dana could do no more than nod.

“This is Maria Consuela Villanueva,” Rick said. “She keeps things in order around here.”

Dana surveyed the chaos doubtfully.

“I know, señora,” Maria said with a shrug, “it does not look as if I have achieved much, but you should have seen it before I came.”

Dana could not imagine it being worse than it was now. File folders lined the walls in stacks that were waist high. There were no file cabinets to hold them. A rickety table in the corner held a coffeemaker, a mismatched assortment of mugs and some sort of pastries. All of it looked ready to topple to the floor if so much as a breeze stirred.

Then there was the general decor. It seemed to Dana as if someone had gotten a deal on seconds at the paint store. The old metal desk with its fresh coat of bright red paint looked incongruous against the buttercup-yellow walls. The backbreaking metal chair in which Maria sat was a vivid blue. Even the trash can had received a coat of new paint—lime-green.

“Who’s your decorator?” Dana inquired.

“That would be Maria,” Rick said with obvious pride. “She thought it was too dull around here before.”

“It was gray,” Maria said, wrinkling her nose in disgust. “Everything gray. It was enough to make a person depressed.”

Dana glanced at Rick. “I assume the gray had been your choice.”

“No, it was here when we took over the building from the county. Institutional gray. Very bland and nonthreatening.”

“And your office? Did you allow Maria to change the decor in there? Or were you happy with your bland environment?”

Rick opened the door. “See for yourself.”

Dana stepped inside and promptly had to hide a chuckle. His walls were fire-engine-red, his desk yellow. His chair was lime-green. Those for his guests were a startling shade of purple.

“It’s very...” She hesitated, then settled for “...bright.”

“Cheerful, yes?” Maria said, gazing around the room happily. “Everyone helped. We did it as a surprise.”

Dana searched Rick’s face. “And were you surprised?”

“Stunned is more like it,” he muttered. “I’d really grown rather fond of that gray.”

“Too boring,” Maria said, ignoring his plaintive expression. “This is better. People leave this room feeling happy.”

“Or dizzy,” Rick countered.

Maria’s brow crinkled worriedly. “You hate it?”

Dana waited to see just how diplomatic Rick Sanchez could be when the situation required tact. Sure enough, he reached out and gave Maria’s hand a quick squeeze.

“It’s a beautiful office,” he reassured her. “Everyone who comes here says so.”

She gave a nod of satisfaction. “We could do something wonderful with your apartment, too, if you would just allow us.” She glanced at Dana. “Beige, floor to ceiling, nothing but beige and brown. It is worse than the gray, I think. It feels as if you are already in your grave with the dirt closing in.”

Dana shuddered at the imagery.

“It is not beige,” Rick protested. “It’s Navajo-white. I picked it out myself.”

“Call it what you like. I know beige when I see it. And the carpet is brown, yes? And the sofa? And that disgusting chair you love so much?”

Rick threw up his hands. “Okay, yes. But I’m not wasting money to change any of it. It’s livable. Besides, I’m never there.”

“True enough,” Maria agreed, “especially since...” A warning glance from Rick silenced her. “Never mind. Would you like coffee, Señora Miller?”

Dana shook her head.

“Okay, then. I will leave you to your meeting.” She retreated hurriedly.

Dana had listened to the exchange with fascination. She had watched the casual, affectionate teasing and wondered if there was more to their relationship than boss and secretary. Maria seemed to know an awful lot about Rick’s home.

“If she’s not crazy about your decor at home, maybe you should let her change it,” Dana said when Maria was gone.

Rick stared at her blankly. “Why would I do that?”

“If you expect her to spend any time there...”

Rick’s immediate chuckle stopped any further speculation. “My, my, you do have a vivid imagination, don’t you? I thought private detectives were supposed to look for evidence, not jump to conclusions.”

“In this case, the facts add up.”

“What facts?”

“She’s a beautiful young woman. You’re a healthy male. Both of you are single and unattached. She knows exactly what your apartment looks like, so obviously she’s spent time there.”

His gaze locked with hers. “I am a healthy male,” he confirmed softly. The mood suddenly shifted as he stepped closer. “You’re a beautiful widow.” One finger stroked lightly, provocatively along her jaw. “I know exactly what your house looks like, so obviously I’ve spent time there.”

Dana swallowed hard, but she couldn’t seem to make herself look away. She knew he was just trying to make a point, but she was too caught up in unexpected sensations to reason out what it was.

“So, Ms. Private Detective, would you say you and I are having an affair?”

She should have anticipated it, but she hadn’t. The taunting, softly spoken suggestion shocked her. Dana scowled at him, even as a traitorous tingle of awareness and anticipation shot through her. She forced herself not to back away, not to show any sign at all that he had shaken her with that slight caress.

“Touché,” she said, her voice husky and uneven, despite her best efforts. “Sometimes the facts may not add up.”

“Maybe it would be best if you and I stick to the things we can prove,” he suggested, his tone astonishingly casual considering the level of electricity that had been humming through the air just seconds before.

Dana could only nod.

“Have you thought about what you’d like to do here?” he asked as if the conversation up until that moment had been about nothing more consequential than the weather.

For once, she was grateful for the quick change of subject. “Poke through the files,” she said readily.

“I meant with the kids.”

She sighed. “You’re really going to make me go through with this, aren’t you?”

“It’s part of the deal. Reading, cooking, sewing, whatever. It’s up to you.”

She thought over the choices he’d offered and rejected all of them. She wanted something that would potentially reveal more of their personalities. “How about photography?” she said impulsively. “I have some experience with that.” Of course most of it had been snapping shots of errant husbands in the arms of the other woman. She supposed she could translate that and her two formal classes into an impromptu course of some sort.

Rick looked doubtful. “I don’t know.”

His lack of enthusiasm only fueled hers. “Why not? It’s a skill that they might be able to use.”

“But to get the equipment they’ll need, they might resort to theft,” he said realistically. “We can’t afford to buy the digital cameras.”

Dana wasn’t sure whether it was real enthusiasm for the idea or just plain perversity that made her say, “I have several old cameras at home and I can pay for the supplies.”

“You would trust these kids with your cameras?”

His doubting expression had her hesitating, but only for an instant. She didn’t want him to think she wasn’t willing to put herself on the line in exchange for the information she so desperately wanted. “Until they give me reason not to,” she said firmly.

A grin spread across his face. “Well, well, Mrs. Miller, now you’re beginning to sound just a little like your husband. There may be hope for you yet.”

The hard-won, if somewhat mocking, compliment pleased her more than it should have. She forced an indifferent shrug. “One small step at a time. What should we do? Put up an announcement of some kind?”

“Just set a time for the start of classes and tell Maria. Believe me, word will get around.”

“And if no one shows up, do we still have a deal?”

He shook his head. “You have to win them over. That was the deal. If photography doesn’t work, I guess you’ll just have to come up with something else, won’t you?”

The challenge was unmistakable. Dana resolved then and there that she would make the photography class work. She would teach these kids the skills they would need to take first-rate snapshots. Maybe, with a little luck, she’d even find one who could become a professional. Catching herself, she realized she was actually getting carried away. She saw how easy it was to become excited about possibilities.

She was also, once again, getting distracted. She eyed Rick suspiciously. Was that what he really intended? Had he hoped that she would get so caught up with these kids, so emotionally attached to them, that she’d forget all about the little matter of identifying her husband’s murderer?

“It won’t work,” she said quietly.

“What won’t work?”

“I won’t forget about Ken’s death. I won’t drop the investigation.”

His unblinking gaze stayed level with hers. “Never thought you would.”

Either he was being straight with her, or he was a masterful liar. It was too soon to lay odds on which.

“When do you want to get started?” he asked.

“The sooner the better, but I’ll need my equipment.”

“Tomorrow, then.”

She nodded. “I’ll be here first thing in the morning.”

“Better wait till afternoon. These kids are supposed to be in school in the morning,” he said dryly.

“But those in there—”

“Dropped out or were suspended. We’re working on getting them reenrolled. I don’t want to reward them by offering a special class in the morning. Make it four o’clock. That way, more kids will be here and I’ll have time to get some work done before I come out to pick you up and bring you in.”

“That’s not necessary. I can drive myself in.”

He shook his head. “I thought we’d settled that. On my turf, I make the rules.”

“I’m not one of your strays.”

“No, but you are here because I’ve made it possible,” he reminded her in a way that reaffirmed who held the power.

“It’s a public building,” she countered defiantly.

“You think you can get these old bricks to talk, go right ahead and try,” he retorted smoothly.

Dana sighed. “Okay, you’ve made your point. Four o’clock will be fine. Am I expected to sit in the corner until you’re free, or are you taking me home now?”

“No, I am not taking you home now. I’m taking you to lunch. You’ve lost too much weight. You’re obviously not eating.”

“How would you know a thing like that? You’ve never seen me before today.”

Before she realized what he intended, he reached out and snagged a chunk of material at her waist and tugged. There was at least an inch or better to spare.

“Evidence, Dana. Solid, irrefutable evidence.”

“Maybe I just like to wear my clothes loose.”

He grinned. “Give it up. You’re not going to win. Ken was very proud of your fashion sense. He often wished he could persuade you to teach these girls a thing or two about style.”

He had expressed the same wish to her on several occasions, but she had always dismissed the idea with one excuse or another. She had never realized that he’d shared those thoughts with Rick.

“He said you were too busy with other commitments,” Rick said, though it was clear he hadn’t bought the excuses.

“Okay, okay. Maybe I have lost a couple of pounds,” she conceded. “I haven’t felt much like eating.”

“Today you will,” he assured her. “I’m going to stuff you with black beans and rice, maybe a few enchiladas, maybe a taco or two.”

Despite herself, her mouth was watering. “Spicy?” she asked.

“If that’s the way you want them.”

“Is there any other way?”

He nodded approvingly. “See there, you and I do have one thing in common.”

“Don’t let it go to your head,” she warned.

“Hey, I’ve always believed that the path to victory was to find the first little chink in your opponent’s armor.”

“Is that what we are? Opponents?”

“Aren’t we?”

For some reason that she didn’t care to explore too closely, Dana suddenly regretted the accuracy of his assessment, but she couldn’t dispute it.

“Yes,” she said softly. “I suppose that is exactly what we are.”

It was too bad, too. What she was in desperate need of these days was an ally.

7

Rick leaned back in the booth at Tico’s and studied the woman opposite him. He’d waited for disdain to fill her eyes all morning, first when she had met the kids at Yo, Amigo and minutes ago, when they had entered the tiny, unpretentious neighborhood restaurant. So far, she had surprised him.

She had been polite, if guarded, with the teenagers. Inside the door of Tico’s, she had drawn in a deep breath, and a positively rapturous expression had crossed her face. Once they’d found an available booth in the crowded room, she had grabbed the typed, laminated menu eagerly. For five minutes after that she had pestered him with questions about unfamiliar items.

She had ordered with such abandon that even the unflappable Tico had been startled. She would be stunned to discover that her meal would be enough to stuff a truck driver. Tico’s place might not be much for atmosphere, but he never stinted on his portions, especially not for a customer who demonstrated so much enthusiasm. Rick had had to hide his amusement at his friend’s bemused expression.

What a complex woman Dana Miller was, he thought, a little bemused himself as he watched her. This side of her was far too alluring, far too dangerous, when he was already having difficulty resisting the effect she had on his body.

“Didn’t anyone ever teach you that it’s not polite to stare?” she inquired, squirming just a little under his gaze.

He liked knowing that he could rattle her. “Not that I can recall,” he said, enjoying her uneasiness. She had caught him totally off-guard the night before. He figured it was only fair that he return the favor. “I don’t think it applied to circumstances like this, anyway.”

She regarded him quizzically. “And what circumstances would these be?”

“Two people each trying to figure out what makes the other one tick.”

“Is that what you’re trying to do?”

Rick smiled. “Aren’t you?”

“I already know what makes you tick, Mr. Sanchez,” she said with evident bitterness. “You have a passion for just one thing—that program that you have poured your heart and soul into.”

It was essentially true, but Rick was vaguely insulted just the same. No man liked to hear himself described as so one-dimensional. “You see no more in me than that?”

“Is there more?”

“Maybe we should let you discover my other passions as we go,” he said softly, and watched the color climb into her cheeks.

The taunt came as naturally as breathing, before he could stop himself. It drew a spark of pure fire in her eyes that intrigued him, despite his best intentions. Dana Miller was a woman with passions of her own. Whatever they might be, though, they were off-limits to him. Honoring his friendship to Ken demanded it.

“This isn’t personal between us,” she said, her teeth clenched.

“Oh, no? You blame me for the death of your husband. You want to destroy something I love, something I’ve worked hard the past few years to get off the ground. I’d say that makes it pretty personal, Dana.”

“I meant—”

He couldn’t resist trying to shock her. “You meant there would be no sex, isn’t that right?”

The pink in her cheeks deepened. “How crude of you to put it so bluntly.”

“I don’t waste a lot of time dancing around the obvious, if that’s what you mean.” He leaned forward. “As for the sex, I think it’s a little too soon to rule anything out.”

She glared at him. “You are every bit as despicable as I’d imagined, Mr. Sanchez. My husband is—”

“Dead,” he reminded her, then cursed himself when the color washed out of her face. “I’m sorry,” he said, and meant it. “I should never have said that.”

“I think we should go now,” she said, her eyes shadowed with unbearable pain. “I’ve suddenly lost my appetite.”

Rick wondered only briefly whether he should accede to her wishes. Perhaps if she remained very angry with him, if she thoroughly despised him, she would stay away from Yo, Amigo, after all. He knew better, though. She wouldn’t allow anything—not even her dislike of him—to get in her way. She might avoid him, but she would be back.

He met her gaze squarely. “Suit yourself, but my appetite is just fine, and I’m not about to let Tico’s food go to waste.”

Their meal arrived as if on cue, plates loaded down with fragrant, spicy concoctions that blended meat and cheese and chili peppers in ways that fast-food chains had never imagined. As furious as Dana was with him, she eyed the plates avidly. He wondered if she would be stubborn enough to leave the food untouched to spite him.

For a moment or two, she did exactly that, hands folded primly in her lap, her chin tilted defiantly, her gaze fixed on some distant point beyond him.

But as he continued to eat, slowly and deliberately savoring each mouthful, he could see her wavering. Finally, with a soft sigh of resignation, she picked up her fork.

She took one tiny, tentative bite at first, still resisting the idea of enjoying her meal. That bite was quickly followed by another, larger one, and then another.

“Oh, my,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “This is heavenly.”

Rick grinned. “See, not even I can ruin the taste of Tico’s enchiladas.”

She ignored the comment. “Do you think he would give me the recipe? What’s in this mole sauce? How many chilis?”

“I have no idea, and I doubt if he’d tell you. I think he would rather you came here often,” Rick said, and immediately regretted his own foolhardiness. He was practically begging to make things more personal, more intimate between them. How many meals could they share without the undeniable sparks between them leading to something neither of them wanted? Her violent response to his taunting comment just moments earlier proved that she was not half as immune to him as she wanted to be. No doubt she believed that such a significant spark of attraction made a mockery of her mourning, whereas he believed it was simply a life force exerting its pull.

“For more of this,” she said, holding up a forkful of savory meat, “I would spend time with the devil himself.”

For one brief second, Dana Miller was just an attractive, intelligent woman, a woman whom his body responded to, even when his head told him nothing could ever come of it. There were depths to her that it would be fascinating to explore, depths he would never know. That being the case, it was better to remind them both of why they were together at all.

“Ken always loved it here, too,” he said.

Rather than pain at the mention of her husband’s name, though, something soft and wondering lit her eyes. “He came here?”

It was as if he’d offered her an unexpected connection to the man she had lost. “Often,” Rick said. “He loved the food and the people. Tico was one of our first success stories when we began four years ago.”

Astonishment spread across her face. “Tico was in a gang?”

“He led one of the gangs,” Rick corrected, then added somberly, “until one of the members of his own gang killed his little brother, claiming he was a snitch.”

She gasped at that. “How horrible!”

“But out of that tragedy came some good. Tico was ready to listen to what Yo, Amigo had to say, to what Ken had to say. His mother was an excellent cook. Tico took her recipes and began to experiment with them. He fixed several suppers for everyone at Yo, Amigo. Everyone was wildly enthusiastic. Ken found a few people in the restaurant business, invited them over one night and, after tasting some of Tico’s wizardry with Mexican food, they came up with the money to back this place.”

“It was a wise investment, wasn’t it?” Dana asked.

Rick nodded. “He repaid all of the loans in the first year and he’s been in the black ever since. Four of his younger brothers and sisters work here now. His mother comes in to act as hostess in the evening. It’s truly a family enterprise.”

“You must be very proud,” she said with obvious sincerity.

“Not me. Ken had the foresight to see what Tico could be. I was worried only about getting him off the streets. It takes more than that. I can rescue kids every day. I can talk until I’m blue in the face about opportunity and dreams and success. It takes people like Ken to make them a reality, to keep these kids from drifting back to their old ways. Your husband offered more than a moral compass. He offered hope.”

He met her gaze evenly. “Can you see now that even though my loss is very different from yours, it runs just as deep?”

He could see the struggle in her eyes, the unwillingness to acknowledge that he might be suffering because of Ken’s death, just as she was. Eventually, though, she was too honest to lie, even to herself.

“I think I’m beginning to see that,” she conceded, albeit grudgingly. “But don’t you see that it was because of that very need you had for him that he’s dead?”

Ah, Rick thought, there was the rub. He fought that acknowledgment, denied it. When he did allow it, he could see his responsibility so clearly it kept him awake nights.

“I’m sorry,” he told her once more. “But even if I’d known what the outcome was going to be, I wouldn’t have stopped him from coming. Yo, Amigo, the kids there, kids like Tico, needed him.”

“So did I,” she said fervently, visibly choking back a sob.

Rick reached across the table and took her hand in his. It was cold as ice, but she didn’t pull away.

“I know, Dana,” he told her quietly. “I know.”

She wasn’t through with him yet, though. “Because of you, my kids will grow up without a father.”

He could have told her there were plenty of kids here in the barrio who would grow up without a father, as well, but it would have brought her no comfort. He thought of her going home to that empty, silent house in the suburbs and, for once, he didn’t envy the life she and so many others had.

Once, not so very long ago, he would have dismissed her as an uncaring, pampered housewife. He had kept that opinion to himself, even when Ken had sung her praises and ignored her shortcomings. Now he was glad that he had. She had loved her husband and her kids. With her misguided notion that she could insulate them from the world, she had wanted nothing more than to protect them. How could he fault her for that? It was exactly what he wanted for so many others.

“I’ll take you home now,” he said at last.

From the despondent look in her eyes, he suddenly realized that it was a trip neither of them was looking forward to.

With every mile that brought them closer to home, Dana felt the tension inside her mount. It was worse in many ways than what she’d felt only hours earlier, when she had made the reverse trip into Chicago. She had gone to Yo, Amigo filled with rage and, perhaps, if she were totally honest, just a modicum of fear of the uncertainties ahead.

Coming home, where she knew exactly what to expect, she felt only this vague tightness in her chest, the far more devastating threat of more emptiness. Even though the winter sky was darkening, it was barely four in the afternoon. A long, lonely evening stretched out ahead of her.

When they pulled into the driveway, Rick glanced at her knowingly. “Are you going to be okay here by yourself?”

“Of course,” she said, denying the truth. “I’ve lived in this house for nine years. It’s home.” For how much longer? she wondered. She couldn’t drag out the move forever. Sooner or later, the board’s patience would wear thin.

“I’ll be fine,” she insisted.

He regarded her with obvious skepticism. “Maybe you should call Mrs. Jefferson.”

The thought appealed too much. Kate’s cheerful ways and common sense would chase away the shadows. She forced herself to shake her head. “No, this is the way it’s going to be. I have to get used to it.”

“Not overnight.”

“Yes,” she said. “The sooner the better.” Changing the subject, she asked, “What time will you be here tomorrow?” Only after she’d asked did she wonder if she’d sounded too anxious to escape.

“Two-thirty, maybe three.”

“Or maybe later,” she said, imagining him to be the kind of man who lost all track of time.

“I said two-thirty or three,” he corrected. “That’s what I meant.”

She shrugged. “Whatever.”

He regarded her with a direct look that commanded her attention. Only when he had it, did he say, “Dana, I know you don’t want to trust me, not even in so small a detail, but I mean what I say. You’ll see.”

“It’s not important.”

“I think it is. Would you like me to come in with you?”

She almost smiled at that. “To chase away the ghosts?”

“In a manner of speaking.”

“No,” she said too quickly. She didn’t want him inside again, in Ken’s space. He was the kind of man who could far too quickly overshadow memories. They would fade fast enough without the competition. “I’ll be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She left the car in a rush, then hurried up the front walk. She fumbled the key in the lock and then she was inside. She closed the door quickly behind her, blocking out the view of Rick Sanchez still sitting in her driveway, his gaze worried as he stared after her.

She didn’t want his worry or his concern. The only thing she wanted from Rick Sanchez was entry into the world where her husband had died.

She peeked out from behind a curtain and saw that he was still there. Eventually, though, he started the car and backed out of the drive. Only then did she release the breath she had unconsciously been holding. Relief followed, relief that didn’t bear too close an examination.

Fortunately, just then the phone rang. Switching on a light as she crossed the room, she grabbed the portable phone eagerly, glad for anything that would push Rick Sanchez and the disturbing afternoon they’d just shared from her mind.

“Mom?”

She wasn’t prepared for her son’s whispered voice. It was thick with tears and enough to break her heart. Her oldest prided himself on never crying. Since Ken’s death, Bobby had taken his role as man of the house far too seriously. Except at the funeral, he had remained stoically dry-eyed. He had been the one to comfort his younger brothers, to try to explain the inexplicable, when Dana’s words had failed. This afternoon, though, he sounded more like a scared and lonely little boy.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, sweetheart, I’m here.”

“Why can’t we come home? We miss you.”

“Oh, baby, I know. I miss you, too. How’s school?”

“Awful. It’s not like home.”

“I know it’s an adjustment,” she said with a sigh. “But we talked about that. You all said you wanted to stay in Florida for the rest of the school year, remember? You wanted to see if you liked it better there than Chicago.”

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