She had trouble falling asleep.

Restlessness filled her. She told herself it was because the babies were moving around, making her uncomfortable. But it wasn’t just that. Her mind was restless for an entirely different reason.

And the reason had a name and a face.

Dennis Lincoln.

Every time Nicole closed her eyes, she saw his face and relived their kiss.

Body tensed, she stared up into the darkness. She was being adolescent. A pregnant woman shouldn’t feel this way. And she didn’t want to feel at all. Not anymore…

Marie Ferrarella earned a master’s degree in Shakespearean comedy, and, perhaps as a result, her writing is distinguished by humor and natural dialogue. This RITA® Award-winning author’s goal is to entertain and to make people laugh and feel good. She has written over one hundred books for Silhouette, some under the name Marie Nicole. Her romances are beloved by fans worldwide and have been translated into Spanish, Italian, German, Russian, Polish, Japanese and Korean.

Happy New Year-Baby!
Marie Ferrarella

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Sandy Lee, my almost daughter.

Love, Jessica’s mom.

Contents

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 1

W hen Dennis Lincoln opened the door, the shower stall exhaled a cloud of steam. The mist hovered about him as he stepped quickly out of the cocooning warmth of the shower onto the tile. He shivered. The rest of the bathroom felt cold.

The headache he’d had when he went to bed still throbbed lightly just outside his temples. Dennis carefully toweled the excess water out of his dark blond hair, then draped the damp towel over the silver rim of the shower stall.

He’d stayed up until past two in the morning, watching the miniature surveillance cameras he had set up. Neither the one in the carport area right outside her door, nor the two within her apartment had picked up any activity. Looked as if it had been a slow night for both of them, he thought. A slow night in a succession of slow nights.

Which was why it was now time for phase two of the operation.

Phase two had been set in motion yesterday with a simple purchase from Mike’s House of Affordable Electronics. Much more than fifty-two inches of sound and screen, the TV gave Dennis a way to meet his quarry. It gave him an excuse to strike up a conversation, get into her apartment with her permission, and subsequently into her life. Right now, it seemed the best way to find the answers.

Or, he thought with a wry smile as he glanced in the mirror, if she knew the questions.

Not exactly the way he’d envisioned his future ten years ago, clutching that hard-won law degree. But it suited him.

Even if it didn’t suit his face, Dennis mused as he pulled a comb through his wet hair. No one looking at his affable, guileless blue eyes and quirky half smile, complete with dimples, would have ever guessed what his true occupation was.

Which was exactly what made him the best candidate for the job. It allowed him to make contacts, form quick relationships and get to the heart of the matter where a more abrupt, blunter man would have struggled weeks for a toe-hold.

He’d been here, settled in at Sandcreek Apartments, for over a week now. That amounted to exactly eight days, and thousands of feet of frustration, if counted in video tape.

So far, the cameras and the tap on her phone had yielded nothing out of the ordinary. If she was involved with the Syndicate the way her late husband had been, the involvement was covert. They hadn’t attempted to make any contact with her.

Dennis couldn’t continue to sit on his hands and wait. Waiting always irritated him even though it was the hallmark of the job. He had to become friendly with her, to cull her favor and her trust.

It shouldn’t be too difficult, he judged as he passed the blow dryer over his damp hair with wide, even movements. Nicole Logan looked as if she needed someone to talk to and he intended to be the one she opened up to.

Blessed with a light beard, Dennis shaved quickly, then rinsed off his razor. His father’s razor, he thought absently, looking at the ancient, double-edged shaver. Just about the only thing, besides his hair color, that the old man had to pass on to him before he died.

A razor and an armload of responsibilities Dennis had been too young to understand at the time. Understanding and acceptance came much later.

Placing the razor into the medicine cabinet, Dennis walked into the bedroom and crossed to the rack where he had meticulously laid out his clothes the night before. Image was important. He had to look the part of an up-and-coming tax lawyer on the cusp of tax time.

Something he might have actually been, he thought, slipping on his trousers, had things turned out differently.

But they hadn’t, and he never looked back. Not once. This job had instantly given him what he had wanted. A way to take care of his mother and younger sister. His mother had died two years ago and Moira was on her own now, but he still remained with the Department. The money was decent. Having few needs of his own, he spent most of it on his sister.

Up until she had died, he’d used it to spoil his mother, to pay her back, at least in part, for past sacrifices. But that wasn’t the only reason he was here. He enjoyed the job. It satisfied his latent lust for adventure that had come to the fore in the last decade.

The same lust, he knew as he shrugged into his tapered mauve shirt, that had gnawed away at his father. Except that he knew how to channel it and Harry Lincoln had not. In the end, his father’s avarice and his yearning for more had led to his death. A casualty at the altar of the god of gambling.

Dennis buttoned his cuffs slowly, trying to shake off the thought. Lately, his line of work was taking a toll on him that it hadn’t before. It wasn’t quite as exciting, quite as interesting or as satisfying as it had once been.

But then, he was on the other side of thirty now, not twenty. Things changed.

What didn’t change, he reminded himself, stepping up his pace, was that Sherwood was waiting for results. And it was up to him to deliver them.

Dennis tucked the tails of his shirt into his tan slacks, getting his story straight in his head, should the woman in 176 ask questions. Any questions. Hesitation might raise suspicions and then all his work would be for nothing. Not that he’d invested a great deal of time into this particular phase of the operation, but there was over six months of groundwork that he had put in that he didn’t want to see go up in smoke.

Especially now, with the last bit of information Winston had given him. His partner had told him that Paul Trask was the key figure in the gambling syndicate the Justice Department was looking to place behind bars. Paul Trask. That made it personal.

Dennis forced his thoughts back to the moment at hand. He favored simplicity. That meant keeping his cover as close to his own life as possible. There were less mistakes that way. Less room for slipups.

He laughed to himself, though there was no sound. His own life, what was that? It seemed as if it had been an eternity since he had laid claim to having a life outside the Department. An eternity since he had shot hoops with his buddies at the gym or taken in a movie with Moira.

Right after this was wrapped up, he was going to apply for some vacation. God knew he had racked up enough time without using any of it.

Pressing the button on the tie rack his sister had given him as a joke, Dennis made a quick selection. He hated ties, but they were required—a necessary evil for the image he was projecting. Measuring the ends against one another, he began forming a knot. What sort of a demented fool had conceived of tying a noose around a man’s neck and then compounded the insult by calling it a fashion statement?

No question about it. Right after this was over, he promised himself again, he was going to pick up the threads of his life and see about weaving them into some sort of a recognizable tapestry.

Adjusting the knot, Dennis grinned at the simile. Dimples sprang up to both cheeks. Moira would have been proud of him. A Contemporary Literature instructor at UCLA, she was the creative one in the family. He was the practical one.

He’d had to be.

Dressed, with his jacket on his arm, Dennis strode through the living room toward the front door. His goal was not the carport where his vintage Mustang was housed, but the apartment next door.

Her apartment.

She hadn’t left since she had come in around six last night. A silent alarm he had rigged beneath her doorsill would have instantly warned him if anyone had come or gone during the night.

Technology certainly made his job easier. But it still didn’t replace good old-fashioned legwork. Something he was about to implement.

He’d asked for the big-screen television to be delivered today. It was an extravagance he was paying for out of his own pocket instead of the Department’s. The set would eventually find a home within his sister’s house. His own studio apartment was hardly large enough for the bed and the table that were in it now. It was far too small to accommodate the set.

Besides, Moira had a fondness for old movies. The set would be his belated Christmas gift to her. After it did its work. Which was to wangle an instant introduction to the lady next door.

Otherwise known as his assignment.

Nicole Logan wrapped the blue-and-white-striped towel around her dripping dark brown hair. She arranged it into a turban as she walked out of the bathroom. The ends of her bathrobe hardly came together anymore, much less overlapped.

She was outgrowing everything at such a rapid rate that if she didn’t give birth soon, she was going to wind up wearing circus tents, she thought glumly.

The shower stall was beginning to make her feel claustrophobic. When she turned within it, it seemed as if her stomach was always brushing against the opaque sides. It took everything she had not to feel despondent. With every passing day, something else was either too small or too tight.

Nicole looked down at her protruding stomach. It certainly looked a great deal larger than her sister’s had been just before Marlene gave birth.

She sighed, shaking her head as she went to her closet to try to find something to wear that didn’t bind. The way she was going, this baby was going to be the biggest baby born on record.

Everything felt cramped.

And right now, it was also painted in shades of dark blue, like her mood.

Shedding her robe, Nicole got dressed quickly. She purposely avoided looking at herself in the mirrored wardrobe doors. That had gotten to be too much to bear. Though her face mercifully hadn’t gained any weight, the rest of her certainly had. The woman reflected there bore little resemblance to the one she had been a scant eight months ago.

Had she ever really worn a size six?

Nicole settled on a cream blouse and a kelly green corduroy jumper which still left her room for growth. The very thought made her shudder. Only when she was dressed did she finally look at herself. The festive color didn’t help lighten her mood.

Maybe it was because of the holiday less than a week away. From where she stood, Nicole could see the Christmas tree she’d put up in the living room. She supposed it was hopelessly sentimental of her, but Christmas meant something special. Or it should.

But here she was, twenty-six years old, facing Christmas widowed, pregnant and alone.

No, that wasn’t quite right and she knew it, Nicole amended, struggling to get hold of her emotions. She wasn’t alone. She had her sister Marlene and that meant quite a lot. Marlene was always there for her. She always had been.

As for being a widow, well, she hadn’t been married to Craig in the true sense of the word for some time before his death. Apart from an occasional stopover after he had started winning in a big way on the racing circuit, Craig had distanced himself from her and their life together.

Nicole went into the kitchen to fix herself a cup of tea. Maybe that would help. At least it couldn’t hurt. Measuring out a cup of water, she set the kettle on the burner. As the element began to glow red, she felt her eyes begin to smart.

She brushed a hot tear from her cheek. All she managed to do was clear the path for another to come rolling down in its wake. It sped faster because of the trail that had been forged.

Hormones, she thought. Just hormones making her feel sorry for herself. Right now, her emotions were stretched out like a giant rubber band and some unseen hand was mercilessly plucking at it, making it twang first one way, then the other.

The feeling was driving her crazy.

This just wasn’t like her. She wasn’t the type to sit around and wallow in self-pity like some indulgent, self-centered, pampered brat. She was the one who always fought back. The one who stood up for herself. The one who took risks in order to make her point. She had refused to allow her father to relegate her into a neat little niche the way he had tried to do with her sister. And when James Bailey had seemed to have gone out of his way to ignore Marlene and her after he had divorced their mother, Nicole hadn’t begged for his favor. Instead, she had dug in and stood up to him.

And gotten slapped down and then disowned for her trouble.

The kettle screeched, steam billowing out of two tiny holes like smoke emerging from a fire-breathing dragon. She poured water over the waiting tea bag, then dunked it mechanically, her mind skirting the past.

Her father hadn’t liked her spunk, he had been annoyed by it.

But Craig had admired it.

A bittersweet smile played on Nicole’s lips. Or, at least Craig had said he’d admired her spirit. She tossed away the tea bag, then picked up the mug, cradling it in both hands. The apartment felt cold. She husbanded the bit of warmth she was holding.

Nicole looked down at the dark liquid in her mug and thought of Craig’s eyes. They’d been brown like that. Brown and warm and heart melting. Set off by a sexy smile that had broken down all her defenses and clouded her judgment.

How could she have known that it had all been a big act just to get his way? That someone who she had thought was a freewheeling rebel was really just as self-serving as her father had been? Coming from completely opposite directions, Craig Logan and James Bailey managed somehow to walk down exactly the same road.

A road that ran right over her heart.

Needing to feel loved, craving it with every fiber of her being, she’d finally let her guard down and allowed herself to be vulnerable. Or maybe Craig had managed to seep through the walls she had set up around herself. However it had happened, she had fallen blindly in love with him. So blindly that she didn’t realize that Craig was in love with the idea of marrying a rich girl and not in love with Nicole.

The word blind seemed appropriate. He’d been a blind date, arranged by her roommate. She’d gone on the date reluctantly. Three dates later, Craig had deftly utilized her dissatisfaction with school to get her to drop out of college and run off with him.

A month after she’d met him, Nicole had become Mrs. Craig Logan, convinced that the rest of her life was going to be wonderful. Craig was exciting, a risk taker, someone who wasn’t afraid to live on the edge. He was everything her father was not, flamboyant, entertaining, attentive. Any way she looked at it, Craig Logan was just too good to be true.

That should have warned her from the start. But she had been too wrapped up in him and their life together to realize that.

Craig wanted to be a race car driver, setting his sights on becoming the next king of the raceways. The inheritance she’d gotten from her paternal grandmother helped fuel that dream for Craig. It had paid the bills as well as bought the car that he needed to race. She’d been frugal with the money and there was still some left. It was part of what she was living on now.

At first, life with Craig on the road had been very exciting. They went from town to town, following the circuit, making love in dozens of different hotel rooms. It was exhilarating. And so different from the life she had led as James Bailey’s rebellious daughter.

Cynicism curved Nicole’s mouth as she sipped her tea. Yes, it had been exciting. For about three years. And then it started getting old. Very old. The excitement eventually petered out. The very things that had made it all seem so spontaneous, so glamorous, began to tarnish it. She never had a place to call her home. Never felt settled.

But she tried to tough it out and kept her feelings to herself because Craig seemed so happy. He thrived on the circuit and he was good at racing. If he gambled a little too much, well, that was just his way of letting off steam, he had said.

But one day, sitting alone in a hotel room in Nevada, Nicole took a good look at her life and realized that she didn’t have one. Not one of her own at any rate. She had Craig’s life and that wasn’t enough. She needed something to do besides cheering him on, besides watching the racing groupies bat adoring eyes at him.

When she talked Craig into putting down roots, at least part of the time, near her old home, she had hoped that they had hit upon the perfect compromise.

Fool, she mused now.

But at the time it seemed all right. While Craig continued on the racing circuit, she had remained behind and gone back to college to get the degree she had abandoned for him. She went to classes and attempted to ignore the rumors that returned to her with unsettling regularity. Rumors of Craig and his women.

She’d done what she could to hang on. For a while, she’d even talked herself into believing that it was all hype and that Craig couldn’t help it if women threw themselves at him.

It was never the throwing she minded, Nicole thought now. Men like Craig always attracted women and it was to be expected. That went with the territory. It was the catching that bothered her.

It became clearer and clearer to her that Craig was doing his very best to catch every single pass thrown his way. And the money, there always seemed to be huge sums of money going out, more than she thought there should have been. More, she felt, than was coming in. It went to support his lavish lifestyle. She never saw any of it beyond the diamond ring on her hand. As time went on, Nicole became torn between attempting to ride it out and leaving him.

And then, one quarter away from graduating, she’d found out that she was pregnant. It would mean putting her life on hold again, but the thought of a baby excited her and calmed her at the same time. She was going to be a mother, someone’s mother. It meant the world to her.

When she told him, Craig had been far from elated about the prospect of becoming a father. That had hurt her more than she’d thought possible. But, with Marlene’s support, she had tried to bear it, secretly hoping that once the baby was actually part of their lives, Craig would settle down a little.

Nicole pressed her hand against the huge mound before her as fresh tears followed in the trail left by the others. All that was in the past. A spinout six weeks ago had made the rumors and their future together all moot. Craig was gone. The car had caught fire and there hadn’t even been anything to bury. She’d held a memorial service for him and gone on with her life.

She supposed, a lump growing to insurmountable proportions in her throat, that nothing had really changed. She was still here, in this apartment, where she has been during Craig’s times on the road. Her plans for her own future hadn’t changed. She still intended to be a teacher once the baby was born.

It was just that…

Just…

Oh God.

Nicole closed her eyes, unable to put into words why she felt as if her life were over. It wasn’t. She was twenty-six, with a college degree whose ink was barely dry, awaiting the birth of her first child. Life was good, the future was bright.

So why did she feel as if she’d gone skydiving into a bottomless abyss?

Nicole set her mug down on the table. She’d finished her tea without realizing it. Without really tasting it. As she looked down at the empty mug, the buzzing noise in the background registered.

Someone was ringing her doorbell.

Nicole remained sitting at the table. It was a little after eight-thirty. No one came around at this time of day. It was too early. She knew that Marlene was home with her baby. She wasn’t expecting anyone and there was no place she was supposed to be. She only worked four days a week at the art gallery. Friday was her day off.

The doorbell rang again, setting her teeth on edge. She wished whoever it was would go away. But that didn’t seem likely from the insistent buzz.

Placing her palms on the table, Nicole pushed herself up. Crossing to the door, she looked through the peephole. Nicole blinked to clear her vision. It was the man in 175. The one who had just moved in less than a week ago. What did he want?

“Just a minute.” Nicole stepped back and flipped open the locks that she had installed herself. She took a deep breath and hoped she didn’t look as awful as she felt. “Yes?”

Dennis had his speech all prepared, but the faint tear stains on Nicole’s cheeks stopped him cold.

“You’ve been crying.” Why? he wondered. She hadn’t gotten a call and no one had been by to visit. He watched a fresh tear careen down her cheek. “And you’re still crying.”

Embarrassed, Nicole rubbed the telltale streaks with the heel of her hand and sniffed.

“No, I’m not. I’m answering the door.” She blew out a breath slowly, trying to regain her composure. She knew the man by sight. Curious, she had gone so far as to read his name off the mailbox which was right next to hers, but they’d never exchanged any words. She wished that he hadn’t picked now to start. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Dennis hated tears. It reminded him of all those evenings when he’d heard his mother crying after she thought he and Moira were asleep. He’d never acquired an immunity to them.

Make use of every opportunity, he’d been taught. Sometimes it was harder to remember than others.

He smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to walk in on something.”

Oh God, sympathy. She couldn’t handle sympathy. That would only make her cry more.

Nicole tossed her head, narrowing her eyes. “You didn’t.”

She felt like an idiot. Her nose was probably red. Nicole wished that he would say what he had to say and then leave.

“Crying jags are common for women in my condition. Look,” she said abruptly, cutting herself off, “you didn’t ring my bell because you wanted to take a survey on how emotional pregnant women are. Is there something I can do for you?”

Touchy. Obviously not a shrinking violet. It made him feel better.

Dennis glanced down at the key in his hand. “Yes. I’m your new neighbor, Dennis Lincoln. I’m expecting a delivery today, and I can’t be here to let the deliverymen in. I called the rental office, but they and maintenance seem to have disappeared off the face of the earth and I can’t get anyone to house-sit.”

He paused and looked at her. She wasn’t about to volunteer, he guessed. That made him feel better, too. Though it was part of his job, he really didn’t care for taking advantage of kindhearted people. Besides, he reminded himself, she’d probably been in on it with her late husband.

“I know it’s a huge imposition and this is the last minute and all, but are you working today?”

Dennis already knew the answer to that. He’d had Nicole’s complete schedule down pat before he ever moved in.

Nicole shook her head. “No, today’s my day off.” The day stretched before her, suddenly very large and empty. “I was just planning to put my feet up and watch my ankles thicken.”

Dennis glanced down at her feet. She was barefoot and had the kind of feet that reminded him of “Cinderella”: small and dainty. Her ankles were slender and graceful.

“They look pretty good from where I’m standing.”

The compliment, given so spontaneously and guilelessly, made Nicole laugh softly. It felt good. It had been a long time since she had been given a compliment. She smiled at him.

“Thanks, I needed that.”

His smile grew. “Any time, Mrs. Logan.”

She had no idea why, but for a moment, she entertained the idea of inviting him in. Maybe she was just lonely, or hungry for a kind word. That wasn’t like her, either.

He looked as if he was in a hurry.

Just as well, Nicole thought, she wasn’t in the market for any new friends. “What is it that you’re having delivered?”

“A big-screen TV.” Dennis nodded toward his apartment. The door was standing open. “My old one gave up the ghost just before I moved. When I went to replace it, I decided to treat myself to something that I’ve been wanting to get for a long time.”

She knew how that was. Except, in her case, it had been an education, something she had regretted turning her back on in the name of love.

Nicole cocked her head, unable to resist the temptation of looking into Dennis’s apartment. From where she stood, she had a clear view of the small living room. It appeared very tastefully furnished, but it was missing something.

Nicole looked at him, curious. “No Christmas decorations?”

It was an oversight he hadn’t thought about. Moira normally took care of that end. He never bothered with decorations at his apartment.

Dennis glossed over it casually. “I haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

It sounded like procrastination to her. Something else she was well acquainted with. Craig did it all the time. Had done it, she corrected herself silently. Had done it. “It’s only a few days away.”

Moira would really like this woman, Dennis mused. “I don’t generally let things go until the last second. This year, however, things have gotten so hectic I seem to be leaving my whole personal life on hold until the last possible moment.”

Nicole nodded. He watched, intrigued, as a smile crept into her eyes. They were an interesting shade of indigo.

The comment reminded her of something Marlene might have said. “I have a sister like that. I’m thinking of getting a tranquilizing gun and shooting her with a dart for Christmas.”

Her smile broadened when she thought of Marlene. Now, with a brand new baby and maybe even a potential man in her life, perhaps Marlene would finally slow down to a trot instead of a gallop.

Radiant, he thought. There was no other word to describe the way she looked when she smiled other than radiant. Except, perhaps, for ethereal.

Not that that entered into the situation, he reminded himself.

“So you’ll let them in?” He held up the key in front of her.

Nicole took it in her hand. “I’ll let them in.”

“You’re a lifesaver.” He jerked a thumb behind him. “I’ll just tape a note on my door, telling the deliverymen that the key is with you.” Dennis hesitated for what he felt was the appropriate amount of time. “You’re sure you don’t mind?”

Nicole pocketed the key in her jumper, her fingers still curved around it. She shook her head at his question.

“It might be the highlight of my whole day.”

The sad look had returned, undermining her smile and chasing it from her eyes. He was tempted to ask her what was wrong.

But that would be getting ahead of the plan.

“Thanks, you’re a doll.” He turned toward his apartment, then stopped, realizing that he hadn’t told her the approximate time. “The store said the deliverymen would be by between eleven and three.” That was asking her to stay put for four hours. “I know it’s a huge imposition—”

Nicole waved away the concern she saw etched across his face. “No problem. Like I said, I wasn’t planning on doing anything today anyway. I’ll see that it’s delivered in one piece.”

“Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Dennis turned and taped a note to his door. Nicole watched, surprised. “You were rather sure of yourself, weren’t you?”

He turned to look at her over his shoulder. “Hopeful,” he amended. “Always hopeful.”

She smiled sadly to herself. Hopeful. She’d forgotten what that was like.

Chapter 2

T he moment after she had agreed to wait for the delivery, she’d regretted it. There was nothing Nicole hated more than having to wait for something or someone. Whether it meant sitting in Dr. Pollack’s office, waiting to be seen, anticipating a delivery, or standing in line before a movie theater, waiting always made her feel fidgety and impatient.

But Dennis Lincoln had looked particularly needy and she was free for the day, so in a moment of weakness, she had said yes.

Now she was stuck with the situation. Sighing, she decided not to waste the day completely and went to work on her ongoing conversion of the small, second bedroom into a nursery.

She had just finished painting one wall when she heard a distant, rumbling noise, like the sound of a truck approaching. Setting down the roller, she looked at her watch. She’d expected the deliverymen to arrive later than the allotted time frame. It was just fifteen minutes into the first hour.

“Nice surprise,” she murmured, wiping her hands on a rag as she went to the front door.

“Mr. Lincoln isn’t home,” she called out to the burly man stepping out of the passenger side of the delivery truck. “But I can let you in.”

A kindly smile negated the impression his leathery features created as the deliveryman looked at her condition. He shrugged shoulders that looked as if they belonged on a much taller man. “All the same to us as long as someone signs for it.”

The thinner of the two men hopped onto the back of the truck. He angled the television set onto a dolly and then pressed the hydraulic lift to bring them both down to curb level. As he maneuvered the set up onto the curb, Nicole unlocked Dennis’s door and pushed it open.

She meant to wait outside. But idle curiosity goaded her on. Succumbing, she walked into the apartment. Nicole looked around slowly. For a man, Dennis kept a very neat home, she thought. There weren’t any boxes piled up, the way she might have expected since he had just moved in. Everything looked picture perfect.

“Where do you want it?”

The burly deliveryman’s question brought Nicole back to the present. “Oh.”

Nicole looked around, debating. Dennis hadn’t said anything about where he wanted the set and it wasn’t the sort of item that could be easily moved around. Once it was set down, it would be there for the duration, unless he had some strong friends.

There was an empty space facing the sofa. She noticed the cable outlet on the wall a few feet away.

Nicole pointed to it. “There, I guess.”

The burly man nodded. “Looks good to me.” He and the other deliveryman moved the set into position. Within moments, the cardboard packing was being removed.

While his partner took the flattened cardboard out to the truck, the burly man took out a clipboard and presented it to her. He jabbed a short, stubby finger at a space on the bottom of the form.

“Just sign here, madam, and we will be out of your way.”

Nicole wrote down her name, then paused. The deliverymen were probably expecting a tip. She felt in her pocket for a bill. It was empty. Nicole frowned. “I’ll just go get my purse—”

The man took the clipboard from her as he shook his head. “No, that’s okay. You buy the baby something from me.”

He laughed under his breath. Walking out of the apartment, he called out something to his partner. The other man peered out of the back of the truck and laughed as well, but it was a benevolent sound.

Nicole remained in the apartment a moment longer. She was tempted to look around a little more. It wasn’t right, but then she’d never slavishly tread the straight and narrow path. If she had, she would have never run off with Craig to begin with.

She approached the closet between the living room and the master bedroom, wondering if it was as neat as everything else or if he was the type to stuff everything out of sight. After a momentary debate, decorum won over curiosity. That and the fact that if the closet was crammed with possessions, they would come tumbling out if she opened the door. She didn’t want to spend the next half hour trying to stuff everything back.

Nicole let herself out, locking the door behind her. The delivery truck was just pulling out of the complex. The day looked much too nice to remain cooped up in the apartment with cans of light yellow semigloss paint. Nicole pocketed Dennis’s key and decided to pay a visit to her sister and her brand-new nephew. She needed her spirits lifted.

The sun was fading from the sky when Nicole returned. Walking through the door, she kicked off her shoes. She’d bought them for comfort, but now they pinched. Her feet felt swollen, just like the rest of her. Not that she could see her feet to verify that.

Nicole sighed, trying to take heart in what she’d seen this afternoon. Three weeks after delivery and Marlene looked great. Miraculously, her figure was back to what it had been before she had gotten pregnant.

She opened the refrigerator and poured herself a glass of orange juice. Nicole fervently hoped she’d look as good as Marlene did three weeks after she delivered. Even six weeks after she delivered.

There was something different about her sister, Nicole mused. A definite change that transcended appearance. That undercurrent of urgency to prove something, to constantly achieve something had dissipated. Marlene was a different person now.

Miracles, it seemed, still happened.

Suddenly too tired to make the trip from the kitchen to the living room, Nicole sank down in a chair beside the kitchen table and nursed her glass of juice.

If Marlene still seemed a little tense, she thought, it was because she was really trying hard to be the perfect mother as well as a successful businesswoman.

Nicole’s mouth curved, but there was only bitterness in her smile as the word mother echoed in her mind. It was small wonder if Marlene felt lost. Her sister had no example to follow. Neither of them did. There were no warm memories of a mother’s love to remember, no examples of selfless caring to emulate. They had no real-life experiences to serve as reference.

Nothing other than what Sally had provided as their housekeeper. Sally, who had staunchly remained with Marlene after James Bailey had died, was gruff and spoke plainly, but she had a soft spot in her heart for the motherless children they had been. It was Sally who had given them the only attention and affection she and Marlene had ever known. Still, Sally was no substitute for the real thing.

Nicole looked into her glass, tilting it and coating the sides as she thought. Though they never spoke about it, Nicole imagined that Marlene felt exactly the same way she did. That ever since Laura Bailey had abandoned them, there had been something missing from their lives.

Something very important, no matter how hard she tried to deny it.

Nicole felt her eyes misting again.

Damn, what was it with her today? Everything was making her cry. She hadn’t thought about her mother walking out on them in years.

Nicole exhaled loudly, bracing her shoulders which under the present circumstances wasn’t easy. She wasn’t going to allow memories of her mother, or lack of her mother, to prey on her mind now. As far as she was concerned, her mother was dead. Laura Bailey had died the day she had accepted her husband’s generous monetary settlement in exchange for leaving her children’s lives forever.

She set down her glass and sniffled. This weepiness had to stop. Being pregnant certainly had its downside. Wiping her eyes with her handkerchief, Nicole curved her other hand around her belly. Though she adored the baby she carried with every shred of the love that no one had ever bothered to tap into, Nicole absolutely hated being pregnant. Almost from the very beginning, it had felt as if she were dragging around an old-fashioned steamer trunk filled to capacity with rocks. Rocks that shifted and moved independently of her. Luckily, she had Marlene to lean on. Marlene had given birth in the beginning of December and knew what lay ahead.

Unlike Marlene who had anticipated the delivery with some trepidation, Nicole couldn’t wait to give birth and be done with it. She was passionately looking forward to shedding this elephantine weight she was struggling with. Naturally thin, she had never carried any excess weight until now. And as for her emotions, they had never been in such a state of constant flux as they had been these past months. Minor things taxed her patience and as for the major ones, it was almost beyond endurance. It was a struggle just to get through the day.

Rising, Nicole saw her reflection in the chrome trim on the stove. A pregnant woman was supposed to glow. If that was really true, then someone had failed to issue her the requisite mother-to-be glow kit. Par for the course. If her ship ever came in, she’d probably be standing in the airport at the time.

Damn, she had to shake this mood.

Nicole wandered back to the refrigerator and opened it again. There wasn’t anything in it that hadn’t been there that morning. It was filled with healthy food. Nothing tempted her. Marlene had asked her to stay for dinner but Nicole had taken a rain check because she wanted to be alone. Why, she hadn’t the faintest idea.

Or maybe she did.

Nicole dearly loved her sister, even though they had approached life from different paths, and there wasn’t anyone else’s company she enjoyed more. But Marlene seemed caught up in her child and even in Sullivan, the brother of the man who had donated his sperm to create Robby. Nicole felt as if she were intruding.

She felt, she thought now as she listlessly shifted food on the top shelf, like an A-number-one grouch right now.

Nicole let the refrigerator door slip from her fingers. It sighed shut, eliciting an echoing sigh from her. Maybe she’d just catch the news on TV and then go to bed, even though it was early. With any luck, she’d feel better tomorrow.

She’d just walked out of the kitchen when the doorbell rang. Automatically, she glanced at her watch. It was past six o’clock. She wasn’t in the mood for visitors. Lately, she mused, she wasn’t in the mood for very much. Except for fudge ripple ice cream, and she was all out of that.

The doorbell rang again. Resigned, she crossed to the door. Standing on her toes, Nicole looked through the peephole, prepared to send whoever was on the opposite side of the door on their way.

She sank back on her heels. It was Dennis Lincoln. Now what?

Nicole flipped the locks and opened the door. She left one hand guardedly on the jamb, unwilling to invite him in. “Hi. Is there anything wrong with the television set?”

She’d been crying again, he realized. Her eyes were red rimmed and slightly puffy. Against all regulations and safeguards, something protective stirred within Dennis. He did his best to ignore it.

Dennis shifted the paper bag he’d picked up at the Chinese restaurant. Filled with small cartons of different entrées, the heat radiated through the paper, warming his hands. Following Nicole over the course of the last week, he’d learned little except that she had a fondness for Chinese food.

“No, the set’s fine. Great, as a matter of fact.” He grinned like a kid with a new toy, which was just the way he figured he was supposed to look, if possessing an oversize TV set had mattered to him. “Maybe you’d like to come over this weekend and watch something—with your husband if he’s around.”

Every muscle seemed to instantly tighten in Nicole’s face. The profile he had on her said she and her late husband hadn’t been close in the past couple of years, but they’d obviously been close at least once in that time. He glanced at her stomach. Still, he could see that he had just pulled the scab off a raw wound.

There were times when the job left a bad taste in his mouth.

Nicole lowered her eyes. “I’m afraid that won’t be possible.”

The stillness in her voice underlined the awkward moment. He didn’t want to amplify her pain. Dennis glossed over the moment. “I guess he’s not much of a TV buff. Well, then, perhaps you’d like to—”

He didn’t know, she thought. There was no reason for him to know, of course. It was just that Craig’s death had been such a part of her life in the last month and a half, she unconsciously assumed everyone knew.

She cleared her throat. “My husband’s dead, Mr. Lincoln.”

He let the appropriate concern register on his face. It wasn’t difficult. There was something about the pain in her eyes that drew it out of him naturally.

“Oh God, I had no idea. I’m so sorry.” She was really devastated about his death, Dennis thought. Logan had been a damn fool not to have appreciated her. “When did it happen?”

She took a deep breath, distancing herself from the words. “Almost six weeks ago. He was a professional race car driver. His car spun out on the track and hit a wall. They clocked him doing one twenty.” Craig had died just as he’d lived. Quickly. There should have been comfort in that, somehow. There wasn’t.

“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to remind you, I mean—”

Nicole waved away his tongue-tied words. There was no need for an apology. “That’s all right. The story only made page three of the sports page. There was no reason for you to know.” She lifted her shoulders in a halfhearted shrug.

After all, it wasn’t as if her new neighbor had been an acquaintance. And not even Craig’s friends had come to pay their respects when Craig died. She didn’t recognize half the people who had attended the funeral. They were people who had populated his new life. Craig had changed from the darkly handsome, gregarious young man he had been when he had started out on the racing circuit. Success had changed him. Or maybe, it had just brought out the man he had actually been.

All water under the bridge. It had been a long time since she had been head over heels in love with Craig. In her heart, Nicole mourned the man she thought she had fallen in love with, not the man who had died. There were times when she believed that the Craig Logan she thought she had known never really existed except in her mind.

This was the point where Dennis was going to be sympathetic. He had planned it this way. But as the words rose to his lips, Dennis felt uncomfortable with the role he was playing. Whether or not she knew about, or condoned, her husband’s involvement with the Syndicate, this had to be a rough time for her.

“Listen, if there’s anything I can do—if you need anything—help around the apartment, something like that, I’m pretty handy when I find the time.”

Nicole shook her head. “I’m fine, really.” If she needed anything, she’d call maintenance before she’d knock on his door. He wasn’t anything to her, even if he did have kind eyes. “Oh, before I forget.” She dug into her pocket. “Here’s your key.”

He took it from her and she stepped back, ready to close the door. Her gaze fell on the package in his hands. There was a translucent stain on the bottom of the bag.

“Well, goodbye. I don’t want to keep you from your dinner.”

“You’re not, exactly.” He looked down at the bag. “This was my way of saying thank you for this afternoon. I bought dinner for two. You and your…” His voice trailed off, purposely lost in an implied apology. Dennis offered the bag to her. “Chinese food. Since you’re alone, maybe I could join you if I manage to have the feet in my mouth surgically removed.”

The aroma was tempting. It had resurrected her dormant appetite and his manner was disarming in a soft, puppy dog sort of way. Still, she hardly knew him. Nicole shook her head. “I don’t—”

He wasn’t going to give her the chance to say no. “I don’t have anything nearly this good waiting for me in my refrigerator.”

“Then maybe you’d better take it.” She pressed the bag toward him, but he didn’t accept it.

“Old custom, never take back a bag of Chinese food. It’s bad luck.” Then, before she could protest further, he opened the bag in her hands and looked in as if he didn’t already know what it contained. “Wonton soup.”

She loved wonton soup. Nicole struggled to remain strong. She pushed the bag back into his hands. “No, I—”

“With sweet and sour pork, lobster Cantonese and Moo Goo Gai Pan.” He raised his eyes to hers. She was weakening, he thought. Dennis felt pleased, but there was a faint trace of guilt as well. “I’ve also got fried rice and appetizers.”

Nicole could feel her mouth watering. What would it hurt? He looked harmless enough.

“I wasn’t sure what you’d like,” he continued. “Other than the fact that everyone likes Chinese food.”

She felt her mouth curving in a small smile. “You took a survey?”

His grin grew larger. “No, but I never met anyone who didn’t.”

There were probably people somewhere who didn’t like Chinese food, but she certainly wasn’t among their number. Nicole glanced at the greasy bag. “It looks as if your Moo Goo is trying to make a break for it.”

The bag was threatening to tear. Dennis spread his hand protectively over the bottom. An edge of the carton was already beginning to protrude. “I need someplace to put this down.”

She nodded toward his door. “Your kitchen comes to mind.”

Dennis glanced over his shoulder. “Sure, if you’d rather eat there. My cleaning lady was just in yesterday, so—”

That would account for the neat state of the apartment, she thought.

“No, I meant that you should eat it in your kitchen.” She really didn’t feel like having company. Talking about Craig had brought memories back to her. Memories that hurt.

He raised the bag. The blend of aromas was doing its own selling, but it didn’t hurt to push just a little. Obviously his attempt at conversation wasn’t enough to gain entry to her home or her confidence. And now he’d need to hire a cleaning lady. “It’s a lot of food for just one person and leftovers have a habit of turning a strange shade of green in my refrigerator before I get back to them.” One look into her eyes told him he had her. “Besides, I’d feel better about putting you out this morning.”

She could almost taste the egg rolls. “Well…”

He went in for the kill. “And I was raised to believe that neighbors should be neighborly. This will be my chance to do something neighborly.”

It was becoming obvious that if she didn’t agree to have dinner with him, he would stand here, talking all night. She supposed that there was no harm in sharing a meal with him.

Nicole stepped back, allowing him access to her apartment. Being on her own terrain would make her feel a lot better than being on his. He sounded like someone with small-town values, but you never knew.

Neighborly. Now there was a word she hadn’t heard in a long time. “Exactly where were you raised?” The door thudded shut behind her and she deliberately left the top lock opened. It never hurt to be careful.

If she’d employed that prudence earlier, maybe she wouldn’t be in this predicament now.

No, her pregnancy wasn’t a predicament, she corrected fiercely. Just the beginning had been.

Dennis placed the bag on the kitchen table just in time. The rest of it ripped away. The carton of fried rice in the bottom of the bag made unceremonious contact with the tabletop. His hand greasy, Dennis automatically reached for a paper towel from the roll above the sink.

“I’m from Houston,” he answered as he wiped his hands. It was only one of many cities he and his family had passed through, but it was as good as any to tell her. He looked around for someplace to discard the paper towel.

Nicole opened the cupboard beneath the sink and indicated the small pail there. “That would explain the twang.”

He grinned as he tossed the crumpled towel away. “What twang?” he asked innocently, purposely thickening it for her benefit.

“Yours.”

“I don’t have one,” he informed her with a straight face. “I’ve been in California for the last eleven years. Whatever accent I had has long since been washed out by the surf.”

“You drawl,” she contradicted. “Just a little.” And she had to admit that she found it rather cute. He made her think of lean, tall Texans and other things long buried in childhood fantasies. “I think it comes out most when you say ‘ma’am.”’

She watched, intrigued as he made himself at home in her kitchen. It would have annoyed her if he hadn’t done it so effortlessly, so guilelessly.

Dennis took out the cartons from the bag one by one and placed them in a semicircle in the middle of her table. He laughed. “I’ll have to remember not to say it, then.” Carefully, without being obvious, he took in his surroundings as he worked.

Her apartment was a true mirror image of his own. What was on the right in his apartment was on the left in hers. The only difference was that her apartment was a great deal more cluttered than his. Housekeeping was not a high priority for this woman. Somehow, it seemed to fit her.

The bag emptied, Dennis deposited it into the garbage, then turned to her cupboards. Taller than Nicole by almost a foot, Dennis reached up and took out a stack of plates before she had a chance to stop him or do it herself.

Nicole stepped back from the table as he began to set it. Wariness crept in. He seemed a little too comfortable in her apartment. She didn’t want him getting any wrong ideas. Men had a habit of thinking that widows were emotionally needy and vulnerable. The last thing she wanted was for a man to think of her as vulnerable.

Turning, Dennis saw the look in her eyes. It was the same kind of look a hermit had when he discovered poachers on his land. He could almost guess what she was thinking. Dennis shrugged, making light of it.

“Sorry.” Taking out the utensils, he placed a fork and a spoon beside each of the two main plates. “I’m used to doing for myself.”

She just bet he was. Nicole stood behind her chair, keeping the table between them. “Even in someone else’s apartment?”

She certainly wasn’t trusting, but then, maybe she didn’t have any reason to be. “It feels like mine, only in reverse.” As an afterthought, he drew out a napkin from the holder and tucked one beneath each set of utensils. “It’s like I tumbled through the looking glass.”

Or through his camera lens, he added silently. He’d certainly seen this scene often enough in the last few days. He avoided looking toward the small transmitter he’d positioned on the far end of the top of her refrigerator. Through it, he could see the entire kitchen and part of the living room. There was an identical transmitter planted in the nursery, letting him see that room and the small hallway beyond.

He gestured at the set table. “Besides, you look as if you’ve had a long day and you’re tired. My guess is that you could do with a little pampering.”

She hadn’t done very much to speak of, but he was right about her being tired. Carrying this baby around made her feel as if she were working a twelve-hour shift in the coal mines. And it was nice to be waited on for a change. Usually, she just heated something up and ate it straight out of the pot.

Rather than argue, she sat down at the table. Dennis got busy.

Wisps of steam curled above the soup as he poured it into the two bowls. It smelled heavenly. It was as if he’d read her mind. She raised her eyes to Dennis’s face. “You don’t have to do this, you know.”

He conceded the point, but he added, “And you didn’t have to let those deliverymen in for me, but you did. One favor deserves another and this is the least I can do.”

Counting the appetizers, there were six small white cartons. Carefully, he deposited the contents of each one on a plate, adding a fork on the side. Within minutes, the cartons were cleared away and the table looked as if it belonged in a restaurant. Only then did he take a seat opposite her in the small breakfast nook.

He was waiting for her to begin. Feeling slightly self-conscious, she dipped her spoon into the soup. “You do that well.” She nodded at the table setting.

Dennis grinned as memories returned to him. “Old habit. I worked as a waiter to put myself through college,” he added in answer to the question that rose in her eyes. That much was true. “There are times I look down and still expect to see one of those half aprons tied around my waist.”

She took more than her share of lobster. Realizing what she’d done, Nicole began to place some of it back on the plate until he stopped her.

“Enjoy it,” he urged.

He made it difficult to resist. “How long did you work as a waiter?”

“Five years.” Passing up the lobster, he took a spoonful of the fried rice and then topped it with a helping of spicy chicken. In her condition, she would avoid it.

Nicole thought of how harried Marlene had been, going to college and working for their father in her so-called “off” time. “Must have been hard, working and studying at the same time.”

He shrugged. At the time, it had been well worth the struggle. “When you want something badly enough, you find a way to get it. Obstacles don’t matter. Making the goal does.”

Now he really did sound like Marlene. Nicole stopped eating and studied the man sitting across from her. “And what’s your goal, Mr. Lincoln?”

He gave an exaggerated shiver. “Please, call me Dennis. When you say ‘Mr. Lincoln’ like that, I feel like I should be wearing a stovepipe hat and tugging at my beard.”

Though he was tall, he was muscular and his hair was a dirty blond. He wore it on the longish side, which led her to believe that whoever he worked for wasn’t a stickler for decorum.

She didn’t particularly want to be on a first name basis with him. That left the door open to becoming more personal than just nodding at one another in passing. And she had all the friends she needed. Or wanted.

“You’re the wrong coloring. And you’re not gaunt enough.” His eyes were still on hers, waiting. Nicole paused, then relented. “All right, Dennis, what is your goal?”

He told her what she wanted to hear. What he might have wanted for himself if he led a more normal life. “What every man wants. To have a good job, to be a success at what I do. To have a family.” That sounded a little too perfect. He paused, then added, “Eventually.”

The honesty surprised her. He was probably too busy sowing oats everywhere. With his looks, he wouldn’t lack for takers. “But not now.”

“No, not now,” he affirmed with feeling. “I still have a long way to go before I ask someone to marry me and share my life.”

Nicole looked down at her plate and wondered where the lobster Cantonese had disappeared to. Could she have eaten it that fast? “Maybe she’ll ask you to share hers.”

If she was looking for an argument, she wouldn’t find one here. “Even better. An independent woman.”

Nicole sombered as she raised her eyes to his. “You’re patronizing me.”

Definitely accustomed to being challenged, Dennis decided. “No, I’m feeding you.” He deliberately drawled. “Like it?”

Maybe she was being too edgy. Maybe he wasn’t anything more than he claimed to be, just a nice man saying thank-you. In her case, that would be a first.

She helped herself to the rest of the lobster. “It’s good.”

Mentally, he took another step forward. “I bought this at Sun-Luck’s.” The restaurant was a popular one at the local mall, one he had seen her enter earlier in the week. “Familiar with it?”

Nicole started at the name, a myriad of emotions crisscrossing through her. It was at Sun-Luck’s that she had told Craig that she was pregnant. It was her favorite restaurant. Once it had been their favorite restaurant. Nicole had picked the familiar surroundings to break the news to Craig.

He’d walked out on her, leaving her sitting with strangers staring at her.

“Yes,” she answered, her tone flat. “I’m familiar with it.”

But not in a good way, he thought. His curiosity was piqued, but he let it pass. He wasn’t here to satisfy idle curiosity, he was here to do a job.

Dennis divided one of the egg rolls and offered her half. Nicole looked at it as if she were regarding a peace offering. After a beat, she accepted it. He couldn’t recall ever seeing such wariness in a woman before.

“So,” he continued pleasantly, as if attempting to smooth over the rough spot he had inadvertently created, “are you planning on staying here?”

The garden apartment complex was occupied predominately by singles and childless couples. Having a baby here set her apart, but then, he had a feeling that Nicole Logan was accustomed to standing out.

Nicole sat up as straight as her condition allowed. “Yes.” The conformation was defiantly uttered.

He picked his way through the minefield carefully. He didn’t want to say anything that would alienate her. “Good for you. Then you’ve turned the second bedroom into a nursery?”

What did he care what she did with her second bedroom? And why was he here in the first place? In her experience, men who smiled the way he did and came bearing gifts were after something.

And she had absolutely nothing left to give.

Her voice was tight, her cadence measured. “Yes, it is.”

This was going to be a lot more difficult than he thought. “Hey, whoa, that wasn’t meant to be a call to arms.”

She placed her fork down, her appetite disappearing. “Why are you asking me these questions?”

Had he come on too strong? Or was it just that she was naturally wary of strangers? The profile he had on Nicole Logan labeled her gregarious. It didn’t seem to jibe with the woman sitting before him.

“It’s called making conversation, Nikki,” he answered mildly.

Nicole stiffened instantly. Craig had called her that. And she didn’t want to be reminded of Craig anymore. “My name is Nicole, not Nikki. Or, in your case, Mrs. Logan.” She rose from the table. Letting him in had been a mistake. “Look, this was very nice of you, but—”

The doorbell rang, cutting into her dismissal. She turned and looked accusingly at the door. It was getting to be like LAX in here.

Hand to the small of her back, attempting to contain the ache that had materialized there, the one that always came these days when she sat too long, Nicole crossed to the door. Exasperated at the interruption and annoyed with herself for allowing Dennis into her apartment in the first place, she forgot to look through the peephole. Instead, she yanked the door open.

There was a good-looking, well dressed older man standing in her doorway. He looked vaguely familiar, though she couldn’t place him. He smiled at her, but his eyes were deader than the promises that Craig had made to her.

“Mrs. Logan?” Dark blue eyes swept over her as the stranger said her name.

Instinctively, Nicole wanted to back away, but she remained where she was. She was vaguely aware of Dennis rising behind her. Nicole looked at the man’s chiseled profile and tried to recall if she had met him on the circuit during the days when she had traveled with Craig.

She couldn’t remember.

Bingo, Dennis thought, recognizing the man as the owner of one of the casinos the Syndicate numbered as their own.

Holding the door ajar, Nicole stood blocking the man’s way. “Yes?”

The man’s smile was cold, isolating her. “I’m here to collect what’s mine.”

Chapter 3

T he man made her feel uneasy, but years of experience had taught her how to mask her feelings. Nicole lifted her chin.

“I’m afraid that there has been some mistake made, Mr.—”

If she was attempting to be defiant, it made less than no impression on him. “Standish.” The name rolled smoothly off his tongue. “Joseph Standish.”

The name meant nothing to her. The dislike Nicole felt was immediate and intense. If the man continued to look vaguely familiar, it was because Joseph Standish, if that was really his name and she doubted that it was, reminded Nicole of the type of people Craig had taken to hanging around with the year before he died. Dangerous people.

People she didn’t want anywhere near her or her unborn child.

“Mr. Standish,” she acknowledged coldly. “I’m afraid that I don’t have anything of yours.”

His lips parted slightly in what could have passed for a smile if it hadn’t been so mocking. His tone remained mild and all the more chilling for it.

“Oh, but I’m ‘afraid’ that you do, Mrs. Logan.” His eyes swept past her and the man behind her to look at the apartment. It had to be hidden here somewhere. “Mind if I take a look around?”

Nicole’s breath caught in her throat. He was going to push his way in. She didn’t want him touching her things. She squared her shoulders. “Yes, I do mind.”

Whether she minded or not didn’t matter to him. What was on that disk that Logan had managed to steal did.

Dennis took a step closer to Nicole, his eyes locking with Standish’s. They were as flat as the eight-by-ten photograph he’d been given at his initial briefing. Dennis had seen more warmth in a tray of ice cubes.

“Is there a problem here?”

Nicole was weary of fighting her own battles, but used to it. So much so that she automatically resented any interference. Still, she had to admit that a small part of her felt better having Dennis here beside her. It made her feel less vulnerable.

Standish assessed the man behind Logan’s widow with a speed that had become second nature to him. Tall, rangy, the man didn’t really appear as if he’d pose much of a threat, but then, you never knew.

“The only problem is you butting into a private conversation.”

His eyes flickered over Nicole. Even with that swollen belly, she was something to look at. Probably had been a hot little number in bed. Too bad Logan hadn’t spent more time at home in bed and less at the tables. This trip would have been unnecessary, then. Standish hated loose ends almost as much as he hated unpaid debts. He had thought that things had been all tied up with Logan’s death—until they couldn’t find the disk.

“My business is with Mrs. Logan.”

Since she didn’t know him, that meant whatever connection Standish had, had been with Craig. That was all behind her now. She didn’t want any part of it. Nicole looked at him coldly, even as her heart hammered.

“I don’t have any business with you.” Turning the doorknob, she started to close the door. “So if you’ll please leave—”

Standish’s hand shot out like a rattlesnake striking its prey. With his palm splayed against the door, he prevented her from closing it. He had no intention of leaving yet. He hadn’t gotten to where he was by allowing people to walk away from him when he wasn’t done with them. And this was far from finished.

His words were measured and sharp, like hail falling against a tin roof. “You’re right, you don’t have any business with me. Your husband did.” His eyes remained on Nicole, cutting the other man completely out of the picture. “Too bad he had to die so young. My condolences.”

Nicole felt as if she were looking into the eyes of Death. “Thank you.”

“A few weeks before he died, he took something from me. Something I’m very sentimental about.” He smiled, showing off two perfect rows of teeth. “I was hoping it was here.”

She hadn’t seen anything out of place amid the things Craig kept here and if Standish was sentimental, then she was a choirboy. “What was it?”

He had no intention of telling her. “I’ll know it if I see it. Don’t trouble yourself by looking, I’ll just—” He began to enter the apartment.

She didn’t want this man here. Like a militant soldier, she barred his way. “You’ll tell me what it is, or you’ll leave.”

She was going to be trouble, just like her husband, Standish thought. He hated using a gun. It was far too messy and personal, but he had no qualms about eliminating what was in his way.

“After I look around.”

Very gently, Dennis pushed Nicole to the background, his body a buffer between her and Standish. “The lady said to leave.”

She saw something that frightened her flicker in Standish’s eyes. Damn Craig and his stupidity. What had he gotten them into?

She placed her hand on Dennis’s arm, silently telling him that she could handle this. “Craig kept very little of his things here, Mr. Standish. He traveled a lot. Maybe whatever it is that you’re looking for was left behind in some hotel room.”

Rooms in seven different hotels had all been systematically torn apart. “I’ve already eliminated that possibility. He was here before his last race.”

For a total of about ten minutes, she thought. Bent on partying before the big race, Craig had left her behind like so much lead weight. Even so, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to go through Craig’s things yet. She’d meant to, but every time she started, the pain of memories prevented her.

Nicole sighed. “Leave your number and I’ll call you if I find anything, but I doubt—”

“Don’t doubt, Mrs. Logan. He had it. I know that for a fact. I suggest you find it, Mrs. Logan.” Each time he said her name, she felt as if he were laughing at her. “And quickly.” His glance lowered from her face to rest on her abdomen. “Unfortunate things have been known to happen, even to ladies in your delicate condition when they don’t cooperate.”

Numbed by the barely veiled threat, Nicole curved her hand protectively over her belly. Words failed her.

Dennis shook off her hand from his arm, pushing himself directly into Standish’s face. Though the same height, he guessed that the other man had about five years on him. And a few more pounds. The slight bulge under his coat was what he used to even things out. Dennis knew he could disable him before he ever reached for his weapon, but that wouldn’t be in keeping with the image he was trying to project for Nicole.

“She said to leave.” His voice was as low, as deliberate, as Standish’s. “I think she meant now.”

There was nothing to be gained by a physical confrontation, at least not one with a witness. Standish was accustomed to picking his places. There would always be time enough for that later, if necessary. Trask said to keep the body count down to a minimum after Logan. Trask was getting old and soft, but for now, he still ran the Syndicate and had to be obeyed.

Standish inclined his head, addressing himself to Nicole. “Fine. I realize that all this must have taken you by surprise, Mrs. Logan. I’m not an unreasonable man. But I do tend to grow impatient if I’m kept waiting too long. I’ll be back.”

He paused to consider a time frame. “Say in a week?” He had no intention of waiting that long. His eyes skimmed over her girth before he stepped away from the door. “In the meantime, if I were you, I would give very serious consideration to what I said.”

Hands shaking, Nicole slammed the door closed behind Standish. Only then did she give in to the fear that had taken hold of her.

“Oh, God,” she whispered.

She looked as if she were going to faint. Dennis quickly took her arm. Her skin had turned almost translucent and her hands were clammy. “Are you all right?”

Nicole passed her hand over her face. What could Craig have possibly taken from that man? It couldn’t have been money, Standish would have asked for that outright—wouldn’t he?

She didn’t look at Dennis as she replied. “Not really.”

Dennis guided her to the chair in the kitchen, then placed a hand on her shoulder, gently urging her into it. “Why don’t you sit down?” He studied her face, wondering how to handle this new turn of events. Either she really didn’t know the man who was just here or anything he was talking about, or she was one hell of an actress. “So, what are you going to do?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged helplessly. She could call the police, but what good would that do? There wasn’t really very much information she could give them. They usually responded after the fact, not before. “It was probably just an empty threat.”

Men like Standish didn’t make empty threats. It was bad for business. “It didn’t sound very empty from where I was standing.”

“No,” Nicole whispered, “it didn’t.” She looked up, suddenly realizing that she had said the words aloud. She tried to gloss over the situation. “Craig periodically got involved with people who wouldn’t have met with approval at a Daughters of the American Revolution meeting.”

Dennis nodded his head toward the door. “So then this is nothing new for you?”

“I didn’t say that.” Nicole took a long, steadying breath. She could handle this. She’d handled everything else until now. She just didn’t know how yet. “They’ve just never made house calls before.”

God, what a fool Craig had been. Could she have really been in love with him? Could she have really been so damn blind and missed all these defects when she had agreed to run off with him?

She knew the truth now. She hadn’t been running away with Craig so much as running away from home. And her father.

Nicole ran her hands along her arms. She felt cold, even as the heater was turning over.

“It wasn’t enough for him to have it all,” she murmured, half to herself, half to Dennis. “Fame, women hanging on him, money, it wasn’t enough.” Sadness rimmed her smile. “He wanted more.”

She looked at Dennis, who was patiently listening to her. Why, she still hadn’t figured out. Just as she didn’t know why she was even saying this, except that it had been bottled up for so long and he was a stranger, not a friend. Sometimes it was easier to talk to strangers.

“There were a few pockets of time when he gambled away more than he earned, even with all the endorsements coming in.”

They’d come, she remembered, courting the new king of the track, and he had eaten it up. Anyone else would have been set for life. But not Craig. With him there had been this huge hole that no one and nothing seemed to be able to fill.

She sighed as she looked at the door she had slammed in Standish’s wake. He’d be back. She didn’t know what she was going to do when he came. She was almost positive that she didn’t have anything that might belong to him. “I guess this is one of those times.”

She looked so small, so vulnerable. It made Dennis forget for a moment that he wasn’t supposed to get involved in anyone’s troubles.

“So, what are you going to do?” he repeated.

For a moment, she’d forgotten that he was here. She’d been talking out loud to herself. But he was here, and he shouldn’t have been. She distanced herself from him. “That’s my problem.”

He’d had a feeling she’d say that. Feisty didn’t begin to describe her. Though it got in his way, he had to admire that. “Living next door to you kind of makes it mine.”

The logic escaped her. “And just how do you figure that?”

Dennis grinned at her. “It’s that neighborly thing again.”

As she had said, it wasn’t his problem. It wasn’t anyone’s problem but hers, courtesy of Craig. She’d find a way out. Tomorrow, when she was less exhausted and could think clearly. After all, she couldn’t give Standish what she didn’t have. He had to be satisfied with that—didn’t he?

Nicole blew out a breath as she looked at Dennis. “There’s such a thing as being too neighborly. Don’t worry about it.”

The woman had more courage than brains. There was no doubt in his mind that she hadn’t seen the last of Standish. “Do you want me to stay here tonight?”

Nicole stared at him. Where had that come from? She was exhausted and hugely pregnant. That should have turned anyone off.

“No.” As soon as she turned him down, something small within Nicole wavered, afraid. She buried it quickly. She was a big girl now, and had been on her own for a long time.

The offer seemed like the right thing to say. Besides, though he was next door, he didn’t like the idea of her remaining alone for the night. Standish might decide that a week was too long to wait and return in the middle of the night. If the man entered through the door, it would trip the alarm system he had rigged, but if he entered through the sliding patio door, Standish could harm Logan’s widow before he had a chance to reach her.

“Would you rather stay at my place?” He kept the suggestion low-key. “I’ve got a sofa that folds out in the den. You could have my bed.”

God, he almost sounded chivalrous, but she knew better. No man was altruistic. They always wanted something in return. “No.”

She was being difficult. It only stood to reason that she’d feel better with someone she knew. “Do you have any other place to stay?”

“If I wanted to.” Her eyes met his. She saw the question he was about to ask. “I don’t want to. It’ll be all right,” she added with an assurance she only hoped was true. Maybe if she said it a few times, she would eventually believe it.

He’d hidden his surveillance equipment while the delivery was being made, but he was going to set it up again as soon as he left her. And it looked as if he were going to be staying up late tonight. He knew that Dombrowski would cover for him while he slept, but somehow, that didn’t seem good enough just now.

Dennis noticed a pen in the corner of the counter. Leaning over the table, he pulled out a blue napkin from the plastic holder and wrote seven digits on it.

“Here.” He held out the napkin to her.

She stared at it, making no move to take it. “What is it?”

It was like trying to lead a mustang to water. He was getting kicked for his trouble. Dennis took her hand by the wrist and placed the napkin into her palm. “My phone number.”

She wasn’t helpless and she didn’t accept aid from a stranger under any circumstances. Despite the meal they’d shared, that’s what they were. Strangers. She didn’t know any more about him than she knew about Standish.

Except that he didn’t make her blood run cold, the way Standish did. And he smelled good.

“Why would I want that?”

This one put a new spin on stubbornness. He wondered if it was her pregnancy that had her behaving this way, or if she had always been so bullheaded. “So you can call me in case you have any strange visitors in the night that don’t go ‘Ho-ho-ho.”’

Nicole frowned at the napkin, but she didn’t crumple it and throw it away the way he half expected her to. Instead, she folded it in half as she looked at him.

“Why would you want to get involved in this?” she challenged.

There was nothing in it for him. She had long since passed the point where she was dazzled by a sexy smile and a drop-dead body. And if she had once wished for love and acceptance, well, that had fallen by the wayside as well. The price tag was too high and the returns too low on the emotional investment that was required of her. Love was a highly overrated emotion. So what was he doing, offering to be her protector?

She was suspicious of his motives. He wondered if she had something to hide, or if she was just being prudent. If that was the case, he couldn’t say he blamed her. Craig Logan might have been a winner on the track, but he was a real loser otherwise. He could understand her being leery of men.

“Let’s just say I’ve always had a secret fantasy about rescuing a damsel in distress.”

Nicole’s frown deepened. Did he really expect her to believe him? “In this case, the damsel probably outweighs you.”

Dennis laughed. She was large, there was no disputing that, but she was also petite and that exaggerated the image. Having seen a photograph of Nicole before she had become pregnant, he knew exactly how stunning she could be.

“I sincerely doubt that. I hit the scales at 185.”

And all of it looked pretty solidly built from what she could see. Nicole shook off the thought. She was being adolescent. “If you think I’m telling you what my scale says, you’re more naive than I thought.”

Naive, now there was a word that wouldn’t have described him, not since he was nine years old. Children of gamblers grew up quickly.

He leaned against the doorjamb and smiled engagingly. “And why would I be naive?”

She glanced at the remainder of their meal. “For getting involved with a pregnant widow whose late husband seemed to have ran afoul of the wrong crowd.”

He lifted a shoulder and let it drop casually. “What’s life without a challenge?”

She didn’t need a challenge. She needed a little smooth sailing for a while. Maybe forever.

“Life is challenge enough,” she murmured, looking out the window. She hoped that Standish would keep his word and stay away for a week. Maybe by then she’d be able to find whatever it was that he was looking for.

It would have helped if he had been more specific. Dennis saw the worried look flitter through her eyes. “Are you sure you don’t want—”

“I’m sure,” she said abruptly, cutting him off before he could try to change her mind. This time, she might just let him. “Thank you for dinner.”

He enveloped her hand between his. It felt small, frail. Her manner had almost made him forget just what a delicate woman she really was. “The pleasure was all mine.”

He was being incredibly polite. Her mood at dinner had been rather surly and then Standish had made his appearance. All in all, it didn’t make anyone’s listing of top ten evenings.

“Then I would say that you have a very low threshold of pleasure, Mr. Lincoln—”

He arched a brow. “It’s Dennis, remember?”

She sighed and nodded. “I remember.”

“And my threshold isn’t low at all.” He had a feeling that she had very little to smile about. Maybe he could do something about that. His smile widened beguilingly. “Maybe we can discuss that threshold some time.”

“Maybe,” she agreed, closing the door behind him. “But I wouldn’t hold my breath if I were you,” she added quietly.

Nicole tucked the napkin with his phone number into her pocket and went to clear the table.

Surveillance equipment in place, Dennis maintained vigil until two in the morning. He knew that Dombrowski had spelled Winston in the converted VW van that was inconspicuously parked in the carport. Two sets of eyes were better than one.

Accustomed to snatching catnaps whenever he could and able to run on next to no sleep, he managed to get a few hours in the recliner beside his monitors. Even then, he slept lightly, anticipating the telephone ringing at any moment.

It didn’t.

When he opened his eyes again, it was a little past seven. Immediately, he looked at the monitors. Nothing had changed in the parking lot. The same cars that had been there last night were still in their designated spots. The second monitor showed only an empty room. Nicole wasn’t anywhere in sight.

Dennis sat up. Rotating his shoulders and stretching, he was instantly awake, instantly alert.

That was due to his training. By nature, he wasn’t really a morning person. His sister Moira was one of those. Bright and cheerful before her first cup of coffee. He didn’t understand it.

He needed a cup of coffee now, he thought. A strong one.

Still wearing the jeans he’d had on last night, Dennis padded out to the kitchen. He turned on the coffeemaker and opened the front door to get the paper.

As he bent over the mat, reaching for the newspaper, he heard her.

There was a gasp, followed by a cry of anguish and then a few choice words that could have only been evoked under duress.

She was in trouble. Damn, how had Standish managed to get in without either he or Dombrowski seeing the man?

Moot point, he admonished himself.

She hadn’t called him, but then maybe she hadn’t had the opportunity. Maybe she had been overpowered instantly. It was the only thing that made sense.

Adrenaline pumping, Dennis banged his fist on Nicole’s door.

“Nicole, are you all right?” he demanded. There was no reply. He pounded on it again. “Nicole, open the door!”

It was a fire door. He could dead lift twice his body weight, but there was absolutely no way he could force the door open. But he could break open a window.

Dennis turned away from the door and toward the kitchen window when the door swung open.

She stood in the doorway, wearing a pink dress that was far more cheerful that she was at the moment. The apron that no longer fit around her waist was slung over her right shoulder.

Exasperation filled her voice as she snapped, “No, I am not all right and why are you yelling like that?” He’d scared her half to death, banging on her door. She thought it was Standish.

Her sharp tone faded a little as she realized that he was wearing only his jeans and that he had failed to close the snap. It hovered more than an inch below his navel, adhering to tapered hips that belonged in an exercise video. She’d already guessed last night that he was muscular, but she hadn’t realized just how well developed those muscles were. His torso had almost perfect definition. If her hands weren’t already damp, they would have become so.

“What’s wrong?” Dennis demanded as he looked beyond her shoulder into the apartment. There was no one there.

She wiped her hands on the edge of the apron. “You’re the one yelling and banging, you tell me.”

Whatever the problem was, it wasn’t Standish. “I heard you gasp and cry out.”

Her brows drew together as she fisted her hands where her waist used to be. “What are you doing, standing at my door and listening?”

“No, I was getting the paper.” He raised it to substantiate his story. “When I heard you gasp I thought that maybe Standish had forgotten how to count and turned up. I was worried,” he added for good measure. It irritated him that it was partially true.

What he said made her feel guilty. He didn’t deserve to be the target of her waspish tongue. It wasn’t Dennis’s fault that her garbage disposal had decided to pick today to throw up. Lately, that seemed to be the way her life was going.

She sighed, dragging a hand through her hair, her expression softening. “Well, you can rest easy. No one took a contract out on me during the night. Except, maybe, for my garbage disposal.” She glanced over her shoulder. “It seems that it’s not up to grinding chicken bones anymore and has sought retribution by clogging up my sink.”

The tension created by the spontaneous flow of adrenaline began to ease from his body. A grin lazily crept over his lips. “They run independently of each other.”

She didn’t want logic at a time like this. She wanted an unclogged sink. Annoyance raised its hoary head again.

“Well, something is clogging up my sink.” She gestured toward the kitchen floor angrily. “I was rinsing out a frying pan and suddenly, I’ve got a lily pond in my kitchen.”

Not waiting for an invitation, Dennis walked into her apartment. Barefoot, he picked his way gingerly across the wet floor to the sink. He flipped the switch closest to the door and was rewarded with a whining noise that sounded like a car slipping a gear. A moment later, a wisp of smoke emerged from the midst of the rubber covering over the in-sink eradicator.

He shut off the disposal quickly. Squatting, Dennis opened the cabinet doors beneath the sink and looked in. He began moving aside an army of cleansers as he worked his way to the wall.

Nicole tried to bend down and peer over his shoulder. The ache in her back curtailed the effort. “What are you doing?”

He found the cord and followed it to the plug. He worked it free from the wall. “Unplugging your disposal before you have a fire.”

She looked down at the floor. It wasn’t exactly a lily pond, but there was enough water to remove the wax shine. Suddenly, she felt overwhelmed.

“The water would put it out,” she said wearily.

Dennis rose, brushing his hands off on his jeans. “Got a mop?”

“Of course I’ve got a mop,” she said defensively. Just because she wasn’t a neat freak like Marlene didn’t mean she was an utter slob. “Why?”

Justifying everything to her was getting a little old. “I want to dry the floor before one of us lands on our butts.”

He said “us” but he meant her. She could tell by the way he looked at her. She didn’t need someone inferring that she was a klutz. “Well, leave and then you won’t be in danger.”

He only laughed and shook his head. “Nicole, you are definitely a challenge to be neighborly to.”

All right, so she was being grumpy, but she couldn’t help it. She was always grumpy when she was tired. Stubborn about maintaining her independence, she’d remained up most of the night, listening to every noise that didn’t sound as if it belonged. In a garden complex of 203 apartments there were a lot of noises that sounded as if they didn’t belong.

She gestured toward his apartment. “It’s Saturday. Why aren’t you watching your new TV?”

He had a simple enough answer for that. “I don’t watch cartoons.”

“You don’t have a VCR?”

He thought of all the electronic equipment in his apartment. Equipment trained to document her life. For the first time, he wondered what she would have said if she knew.

“I haven’t hooked it up yet,” he said evasively.

“Well maybe you should do just that.” Her tone was dismissive. Nicole picked up the telephone receiver. “And I’ll call maintenance about this.”

Confident that she was sending him on his way, she tapped out the numbers to the rental office.

Amused, Dennis crossed his arms before his chest and leaned a shoulder against the wall. He knew it wouldn’t be long. Briefed on everything surrounding her complex, he knew that maintenance had a reputation of always being somewhere else when they were needed.

Three minutes later, Nicole sighed and hung up the phone.

“Nobody there?” he asked innocently.

She slanted an annoyed look at him. “Just the machine.” But she had a feeling that Dennis already knew that.

Dennis hooked his thumbs on the loops of his jeans. “I don’t think it’s been programmed to fix disposals.” This couldn’t have worked out better if he had planned it. “So, do you want my help?”

She hated asking, but it was either that, or start washing dishes in the bathtub. “Yes.”

With a satisfied nod, Dennis turned toward the door. “Okay, just let me get my tools.”

She picked her way carefully to the broom closet for the mop. “And get a shirt while you’re at it.”

He turned in the doorway, surprised by the request. “Why?”

“Because you’re too distracting running around without one.” She saw him raise an amused brow. “I might be pregnant, but I’m not dead.”

“Nice to know.” He disappeared inside his apartment.

Muttering under her breath, Nicole grabbed the mop and began drying her floor.

Chapter 4

N icole had barely put the mop away before she heard the quick, light rap on the door. She looked up sharply, her heart rate accelerating. Damn, this wasn’t fair. She didn’t want to feel like this in her own home, frightened by every sound. Even dead, Craig was still messing up her life.

She approached the door cautiously. “Who is it?”

“Mr. Fix-it.”

The feeling of relief at hearing Dennis’s voice was simultaneously overwhelming and annoying. She shouldn’t have to be afraid like this. And she shouldn’t have to feel as if she had to depend on anyone for anything.

Swallowing an oath meant for Standish, Nicole opened the door.

Dennis walked directly into the kitchen. He was carrying a small, rather new looking toolbox and, following her suggestion, he was wearing a shirt. It was a faded blue pullover that was missing a button at the throat.

The shirt didn’t help. Rather than serve as camouflage, it accented his muscles. The banding at each arm was clearly straining on his biceps. Both were beginning to tear at the seams.

Nicole sighed without being completely aware of why.

Dennis glanced at the floor. She’d managed to get the shine back. “Nice job.”

He placed the toolbox beside the sink and flipped open the lid. A small assortment of tools was arranged inside, black handles all facing in one direction. He rummaged through them.

“You know,” he quipped as he took out the wrench he was looking for, “my place could stand a once-over.”

Some women worked through their problems cleaning. Nicole could never understand that. To her cleaning was a problem.

“Sorry, my mop’s retired.” She thought of his apartment. It was a great deal neater than hers was right now. Saturdays were reserved for cleaning. It was getting so that she dreaded Saturdays. “Besides, don’t you have a cleaning lady?”

“Not for long.” Dennis opened the cabinet doors again and began taking out cleansers, stacking them over to one side. “Ophelia is a grandmother five times over and rabidly looking forward to spending more time with her grandchildren.” He was making it up as he went along. There was no cleaning lady, but someone like the man he was portraying would have had one. Dennis thought of his mother, who had spent years cleaning up after other people so that he and Moira could have a decent life. Spinning the rest of the story was easy. “She’s retiring this June.”

Nicole thought she detected a note of sadness in his voice, as if he actually knew the woman he was talking about well enough to carry on a conversation with her. As if he would miss her when she left.

He cleared his throat. The smell of cleansers melding irritated it. “I’m going to have to find someone to take her place.”

From early on, Nicole had always liked doing things for herself. If you did them yourself, you weren’t indebted to anyone. Housework, however, had never made that list. She would have been perfectly satisfied having someone take care of the mundane chores of cleaning for her, the way Sally had when she was growing up.

Nicole looked at the cleansers piled up on the side ruefully. Maybe she’d skip cleaning the tub this time around. It was getting more and more difficult to bend over these days.

Dusting, however, always needed to be done. She retrieved a dust cloth from the pile. “Let me know if you want to time-share,” she quipped absently.

Dennis looked at her over his shoulder. “Are you serious?”

She wished. Nicole sighed. “No, not really.” She folded the cloth in half and began rubbing away at the counter top. “I can’t afford a luxury like that at the moment.” She glanced down at her swollen stomach. “This baby is going to be all the luxury I have in my life for a while.”

Squatting on the floor, Dennis sank back on his heels and looked up at her. His expression was innocent. “I don’t mean to pry—”

Now there was an opening line. “But you will.” She advanced to another surface, rubbing hard, waiting.

He lifted one shoulder and let it drop carelessly. She expected him to say “Aw, shucks” next. “Call it conversation.”

Only in the broadest sense. He was reaching. “Euphemism.”

She wasn’t telling him to mind his own business. There was a crack forming in the wall. Dennis worked at making it larger. He grinned at her engagingly. “That too.” Without missing a beat, he began again. “I’m not a racing fan—”

Neither was she anymore. Not for a long, long time. The thrill had dissipated when she realized what the consequences were.

And they had all come to pass.

Nicole looked off into space. “I won’t hold that against you—”

Her voice was soft, distant, as if he’d disturbed something. He wondered what it was. “But your husband was pretty well-known in his class.”

Craig and class had little to do with one another. Class meant knowing when to quit. And when to hold back. Craig hadn’t known when to do either.

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