“Talk to me,” Lucas said. “I have to hear your voice so I know where you are.”

“What would you like me to say?” she asked, a bit of acid in her tone.

“How about ‘Thanks, Lucas. You’ve just spent a day of your life trying to keep me safe and I really appreciate it.’ That would be nice for starters.”

“Dream on.” But she did thank him, even if she couldn’t bring herself to verbally express it. “Look, I feel bad…I didn’t want to involve you.”

“And what is it that you think I want to do?”

Irritation made his voice rough, and she responded with a hint of heat. “If those men are as dangerous as you say, then I didn’t want to put you…I wanted to fix this myself.”

“Lady, you may be a great photographer, but as a strategist against mobsters and murderers, you need some training.”

She jerked her blouse over her head. And just in time. He turned around as she pulled her hair free from her collar. His normally blue eyes were a gunmetal gray, and the intensity of his look made her catch her breath. He was furious with her, but it didn’t stop the heart-stopping jolt that ran through her body. Dealing with Lucas West was like grabbing a tornado and trying to hang on.

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

In honor of two very special events, the Harlequin Intrigue editorial team has planned exceptional promotions to celebrate throughout 2009. To kick off the year, we’re celebrating Harlequin Books’ 60th Diamond Anniversary with DIAMONDS AND DADDIES, an exciting four-book miniseries featuring protective dads and their extraordinary proposals to four very lucky women. Rita Herron launches the series with Platinum Cowboy next month.

Later in the year Harlequin Intrigue celebrates its own 25th anniversary. To mark the event we’ve asked reader favorites to return with their most popular series.

 Debra Webb has created a new COLBY AGENCY trilogy. This time out, Victoria Colby-Camp will need to enlist the help of her entire staff of agents for her own family crisis.

 You can return to 43 LIGHT STREET with Rebecca York and join Caroline Burnes on another crime-solving mission with Familiar the Black Cat Detective.

 Next stop: WHITEHORSE, MONTANA with B.J. Daniels for more Big Sky mysteries with a new family. Meet the Corbetts—Shane, Jud, Dalton, Lantry and Russell.

Because we know our readers love following trace evidence, we’ve created the new continuity KENNER COUNTY CRIME UNIT. Whether collecting evidence or tracking down leads, lawmen and investigators have more than their jobs on the line, because the real mystery is one of the heart. Pick up Secrets in Four Corners by Debra Webb this month, and don’t miss any one of the terrific stories to follow in this series.

And that’s just a small selection of what we have planned to thank our readers.

We’d love to hear from you, and hope you enjoy all of our special promotions this year.

Happy reading, and happy anniversary, Harlequin Books!

Sincerely,

Denise Zaza

Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

Familiar Vows
Caroline Burnes

MILLS & BOON

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For Kim Robertson, cat lover and Familiar fan

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Caroline Burnes has published more than forty Harlequin Intrigue books, many of them featuring Familiar, the Black Cat Detective. She first published with the Intrigue line in 1988 with a book called A Deadly Breed. Since that time, many of her stories have featured animals: horses, cats, dogs and even a few wolves and cougars thrown in for good measure. She lives on a farm in South Alabama with seven horses, eight cats and six dogs, most of them rescue animals. She urges everyone to please spay and neuter their companion pets to help reduce the number of unwanted animals.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Michelle Sieck—She has a talent for taking extraordinary photographs—and for getting into trouble. When she snaps a wedding without permission, she sets in motion events that threaten innocent people, herself included.

Lucas West—A man scarred by the murder of his brother, Lucas wants justice. And he wants to protect the chief witness who testified against his brother’s killer. Michelle is a thorn in his flesh and a fire in his heart.

Familiar—Smart, savvy and always ready for a good case, Familiar finds himself in the backwoods of Alabama in his efforts to protect headstrong Michelle—and to help find the missing witness, Lorry.

Lorry Kennedy (aka Anna Sewell)—Lorry was at the wrong place at the wrong time. She witnessed a brutal hit on an undercover cop, and she was brave enough to testify. But as Antonio Maxim’s case comes up for appeal, Lorry is a prime target.

Antonio Maxim—Antonio heads a crime organization that spreads from Texas to New York City and involves luring innocent young girls into “modeling” jobs which turn out to be forced prostitution and drug running. He’s in jail—but can Lucas and Michelle keep him there?

Robert Maxim—Antonio’s brother, Robert is moving up in the ranks of the criminal world. He has one chance to free his brother, and that involves killing Lorry Kennedy or anyone who gets in his way.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter One

Ah, back in the South, where food is an art form and no humanoid would ever dare mention that I’m back at the hors d’oeuvres table for the fourth time. Love those salmon puffs in dill sauce! The yellowfin-tuna croquettes are superb. Let the bipeds waste their caloric allowance on champagne; I’m indulging in sustenance that will make my coat sleek and shiny and my eyes bright. Brain food, yum!

Everyone is taking their seats. The harpist has started. I do believe it’s showtime. And I’ve got to scurry to get to my seat beside my beloved owner, Eleanor.

I have to say, the bride is beautiful. The entire theme of a Civil War wedding, while admittedly strange to a feline, is beautiful. Charles looks handsome in his uniform, with the sword at his side and the gold sash, and Lorry is magnificent in a hand-stitched gown crusted with seed pearls. Maybe it’s just pretend, but the bridal party’s attire gives the wedding a solemnity that makes me believe Charles and Lorry will truly find happiness together. From what Eleanor tells me, Lorry deserves a break. Her life hasn’t been easy.

Ah, the bridesmaids have assumed their places, and all eyes turn to watch Lorry float down the aisle like a dream.

Uh-oh. It looks like the tall, lean best man has seen something he doesn’t particularly care for. It almost looks as if he’s going to bolt from his place, but no, he can’t, or the ceremony will be ruined.

But what does Lucas West see? All afternoon he stalked the wedding, as if he expected Jack the Ripper to show up, and now he’s craning his neck to watch…a woman with a camera? She’s probably been paid to assist the guy who’s photographing the wedding. Why should that unsettle Lucas so much? Two photogs instead of one—not cause for alarm as far as I can tell.

I have to say, though, the woman shutterbug should be in front of the camera, not behind it. She’s simply beautiful, and she has no clue. She’s all about getting her shot. And the money shot is the bride.

Lorry, with her honey-gold hair and inner beauty, is glowing with happiness. Miss Shutterbug is following her with studied diligence. Camera Girl is intense, that’s for sure. She’s going to get her picture, and the world be damned. She even stepped in front of the other photographer, which didn’t go over well with him or with Lucas.

Now Lucas and Eleanor are both acting strange. I’m sure there’s a story behind this, and I’ll find out as soon as the vows are said.

THE LIGHTING in the old clapboard church was incredible. Michelle moved around the chapel, her cameras whirring as she recorded the wedding digitally and also on film. Of the four weddings she’d photographed so far on this assignment for Bride Magazine, this one was the best—at least photographically speaking. The magazine had offered florists across the nation a free ad for alerting the magazine to the most unusual wedding, and Michelle made a mental note to send Bloomers Unlimited a thank-you note. This wedding was fantastic.

She had no clue if the bride and groom loved each other or had a chance at “happily ever after.” The truth was, she didn’t care. What mattered was capturing the image—that perfect blend of light, composition and human emotion, where one picture told the entire story.

As she moved along the west wall of the church, flanking the bride, Michelle noticed the best man giving her the evil eye. In fact, he looked as if he was going to step out of his role as Confederate attendant to the groom and confront her. Had she not been so focused on her work, she might have found that idea a tiny bit thrilling. He was the antithesis of the men she knew in New York. He was rugged and self-contained, and for some reason, she thought of the old black-and-white reruns of Marshal Dillon on Gunsmoke. Too bad he was eyeing her like she was a horse thief he meant to hang.

She tried to ignore him, but his steely gaze made her uncomfortable. Yes, she was an interloper at this wedding. What she offered this soon-to-be wife was something most brides would kill for—a featured photo essay in Bride Magazine.

Michelle used only natural light, so the flash wasn’t an issue during the ceremony. Yet when she caught a glimpse beneath the bride’s veil, she saw a young woman clearly in despair. It made Michelle uneasy, but she continued to do her job. Heck, if Iggy Adams, her editor-in-chief, couldn’t talk the couple into signing a release to use the photos, they wouldn’t be used. No one wanted a lawsuit.

When the groom lifted the veil, the purest light filtered in through a loft window, and Michelle snapped a photo that every photographer waits a lifetime to get. The groom bent to kiss the bride, and then it was over.

Michelle sighed, wishing she actually knew this couple. But she’d never met them. As part of the deal she’d cut with Iggy, she had no responsibility to inform the bride and groom about the photographs. The whole idea of catching the bride and groom unaware—while it had yielded some of the best wedding photographs she’d ever seen—was still a bit strange. But that was Iggy’s problem. All she had to do was show up and get the pictures. Iggy would handle the sticky details.

Speaking of moving on down the road, she had another wedding to shoot. It was time to book out.

She picked up her camera bag and took long strides toward the exit, almost stumbling over a black cat, who stared up at her as if he had something to say.

“Hey, kitty.” She bent to stroke his sleek fur, but his gaze never wavered. He watched her. Not critically, but with curiosity. Well, she’d always heard that curiosity killed the cat. Too bad she didn’t have a way to take this black beauty home with her to the Big Apple. He had the attitude and demeanor of the perfect roommate.

When she walked outside, she was amused to see that the cat followed her. Maybe he didn’t have a home. She gave him a critical once-over. He was certainly well-fed and cared for. He had loving owners somewhere, but why was he attending a wedding?

At the car, she popped out the digital memory card and stuffed it in her jacket pocket. She rewound the film in the other camera, put a sticky label on it and also put it in her jacket. As she reloaded her cameras and began to store them in the cargo bay of her car, the cat began to rub against her ankles and purr.

“Excuse me, ma’am.”

She turned to face the lean man who’d been in the wedding. His chiseled features were ruggedly handsome, and his assessing gaze made her feel as if her blouse was unbuttoned. “Yes?”

“I’m afraid I can’t let you leave here with those photographs,” he said. His soft drawl belied the deadly sincerity in his eyes.

Michelle pushed her long red hair back. “My boss will be in touch to get all the necessary release forms.”

“Your boss?”

“Iggy Adams, with Bride Magazine. We’re doing a feature article on brides in out-of-the-way places. Blakely State Park down here in Spanish Fort, Alabama, is pretty darn out of the way.”

“I’d like the film and the digital memory cards, please.”

The man was made of ice. He acted as if she’d held up a bank or something.

“That’s not going to happen.” She started to slam the cargo-bay door when the cat jumped in. She reached in to remove the cat, and the man put his hand on the door, blocking her.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but you have to give me those photographs.”

Whoever he was, he was trained to show no emotion. He acted as though he were asking for a piece of gum. “Those photographs are my property,” she said coolly. “Now, if you want a court case, try to take them.”

“No, ma’am. We don’t want a court case at all. I just want those pictures. You had no right to take them.”

“Look, I agree that the whole idea of photographing the wedding without notifying the bride and groom is a bit strange, but so far, every couple has been thrilled to be in Bride Magazine. The bride and groom will have total say over which photos are used.”

“You don’t understand.” The man’s jaw tensed as he spoke. “Those photographs won’t be used at all.”

She took a breath. “Iggy won’t use them if the couple refuses to sign a release. That’s between them and the magazine. But Iggy paid me to come here. I’ve spent at least a week of time, not to mention airfare and hotels. I’ve got to take something back to show for the expense.”

She was out of breath when she finally stopped. He was looking at her with that steely-gray gaze that said so clearly that he didn’t give a damn what her story was, and he wanted what he wanted.

“Ma’am, if it were any other wedding, I’m sure the participants would be delighted to be in a fancy New York City magazine. Not this wedding, I’m afraid. Ms. Lorry asked me to get that film, and that’s what I intend to do.”

He reached for the camera bag, pulled it out and removed her digital camera.

Before she could blink, he had the memory card in his hand. He went for the other camera. Michelle brought the door down on his arm, not hard enough to harm him, but with enough force that he knew she meant business.

“Don’t touch my equipment.” She eased off the door to let him remove his arm.

“You don’t understand what’s at stake,” he said.

She could see that he was working hard at reasoning with her. What he didn’t understand was that she’d never let anyone touch her equipment. Not ever. Not for any reason. Before she could answer, she noticed the black cat had hopped to the front seat. To her amazement, the cat opened the glove box and began to rifle through the contents. “Hey!” she yelled at the cat.

The man took her moment of inattention to strip the film from her camera. He dropped the roll in his pocket and handed the camera back to her.

“Sorry, ma’am,” he said.

She was furious, but she still had her photographs. Whoever this Neanderthal was, he’d only gotten blank film. The best thing she could do was beat a hasty retreat before he tried to search her.

She walked past him to the driver’s door. “Shoo, kitty!” She waved her hands at the cat until he hopped out a front window. She got behind the wheel.

“Ms….” the man started.

She gunned the motor and drove out of the church parking lot like Satan was on her heels.

When she looked in the rearview mirror, he was standing there in his Confederate finery, the black cat sitting beside his polished black boots.

LUCAS WEST WATCHED THE red Alabama dust rise from the tires of the photographer’s SUV, a rental from Atlanta. He memorized the tag number, but since he had the film, it was a moot issue. And it was thanks to the cat that he’d gotten the film. He looked down, but the feline had disappeared.

He stood a moment longer, pondering the strange events. Whoever the photographer was, she’d come into the wedding like a Texas tornado. He felt the corners of his mouth begin to tug into a smile. Well, maybe that was an exaggeration. She’d been quiet and professional, but the first time he’d looked at her, she’d given him a jolt. She was a looker. No doubt about that. With her lacey white shirt, tailored black slacks and stiletto boots, she’d almost stolen his breath. Until he’d seen the camera.

He sensed someone approaching and turned to face Eleanor Curry, a lovely woman who traveled with a black cat. The idea of it made him smile.

“Who was she?” Eleanor asked.

“Photographer for Bride Magazine.”

Eleanor whistled softly. “That’s the magazine to be in if you’re into wedding royalty.”

“Lorry can’t risk it. I got the film. Cockamamie idea to send a photographer to photograph a wedding without asking the bride and groom.”

“It’s all about that candid moment,” Eleanor said as she took his arm and they walked toward the celebration in an arbor beside the church. “But you got the pictures, right? No harm done. Let’s have a glass of champagne.”

Lucas felt himself relax. He had the pictures; the danger had been averted. Now he wanted to enjoy this new beginning for a young woman who’d proven to be courageous and strong.

“It’s wonderful to see Lorry like this,” Eleanor said. “I was afraid she’d never be happy again.”

“She did a very brave thing for me.” Lucas took two glasses from a passing waiter and handed one to Eleanor. “I promised I’d see her into a new life. A happy life. I think this is the first step. Lorry and Charles have the whole future ahead of them.”

“They’re so in love.” Eleanor pointed her champagne glass toward a black shadow slipping along the chairs at the buffet table. “And I’d better get Familiar. He loves wedding food, but we have to catch a flight out this evening. It’s back to D.C. for a few weeks, then on to my seminar in New York. Peter will join me there when he finishes lecturing in Chicago.”

“Peter’s lucky to have you, Eleanor. And your cat. I know you believe he’s some kind of detective, but my imagination won’t stretch that far.”

“Oh, Familiar will stretch it.” Eleanor linked her arm through his. “Familiar has a way of letting you know exactly how smart he is. Now walk me over to kiss the bride and groom good luck. Then I’m going to retrieve my cat and head for the airport.”

Chapter Two

Michelle walked through her studio, counting the photographs that would be shipped to Marco’s Gallery in SoHo. Her show, a collection of black-and-white pictures that ranged from landscapes to studies of the human body, had been selected with care. Since returning home from the gig for Bride Magazine, she’d spent the entire three weeks working on this show.

The men would be there within the hour to carefully crate the large canvasses and then transport them to Marco’s Gallery. This was a big moment, and Michelle savored it.

She toured the studio, and she stopped before each picture marked to go. The most extraordinary photograph—a bride, her gown weighted with seed pearls, a gossamer veil shading her beauty—was untagged. Michelle studied the picture, remembering the day in detail. Beside the bride was a handsome and gallant man in a gray Confederate officer’s uniform. He was leaning in to kiss his bride, and the look shared between them was one of total commitment and love.

Michelle traced the scar that was barely visible on the bride’s neck. She’d noticed it when she printed the picture, but she had no explanation for it. It looked as if someone had meant to cut the woman’s throat, but surely that wasn’t possible.

Michelle sighed. It was the finest picture she’d ever taken, but she didn’t have a signed release form. No matter how good, the picture would never be shown publicly. After she’d told Iggy about the man at the wedding trying to take her film, the editor had flatly refused to even consider using the Confederate wedding photographs. Michelle had printed this one, just for herself.

She put the last tag on a picture of two horses running in a pasture in a heavy mist. They were phantom creatures, coming out of the fog, nostrils flaring. She could almost hear the hoofbeats ring on the earth.

By tomorrow morning, the art critics would have reviewed her work. They were often unkind to magazine photographers who set up shop as artists. Only time would tell how they treated her.

Her cell phone rang, and she answered it with a smile. “Sure thing, Kevin. I’ll meet you in fifteen minutes. The guys are—” The sound of a knock interrupted her. “They’re here now, I think. Give me a few minutes to get them started, and I’ll meet up with you for that celebratory drink.”

Hanging up, she opened the door. Two men from Marco’s Gallery stood in the hallway, packing crates stacked neatly beside them. She showed them the numbered canvases.

“We’ll take care of it, Ms. Sieck,” one said. “Marco told us to use extra caution.”

“Marco is a good friend. Lock the door when you leave, and be sure and tell your boss I’ll be at the gallery by six-thirty this evening.”

Time for a Bloody Mary with Kevin, then a facial and massage. She’d scheduled her day to be as stress-free as possible. Tonight she’d be on public display.

Clutching her handbag, she hurried to the curb to flag a taxi. This was the day she’d been waiting for. Ten years of hard work—and twenty years of dreaming. It was all out of her hands now.

LUCAS ENTERED THE AUSTIN office complex of the U.S. Marshals Service, his boots tapping on the polished tile floor. How many mornings had he come into this same office ready for a day’s work? Not until Lorry Kennedy had he ever thought about quitting. Now the time was on him. He’d tendered his resignation and had only to turn in his badge and gun.

In twenty minutes, he’d no longer be a federal marshal.

As he walked down the corridor to the office, he thought about the ranch he’d bought in the Hill Country. His new life would involve cattle and horses and hard physical work. It was the remedy he’d chosen to help him deal with the death of his brother, and he was relieved to see that his fellow officers had honored his decision to quit. No one had made any effort to dissuade him.

When the official part was over, he accepted the handshakes of his fellow officers, a few jokes and back slaps, and then it was done.

As he left the building, he saw Frank Holcomb, his former partner. Frank had chosen not to be around when Lucas said his goodbyes to the rest of the guys.

“Is it official?” Frank asked.

“I’m an ordinary citizen.” Lucas had to admit he felt naked without his gun and badge. “It’s going to take some getting used to, but this is the way I had to play it.”

“I know.” Frank fell into step beside him. Once at the pickup, they stood awkwardly.

“You’ll come out to the ranch. Soon. Right?” Lucas asked.

“You bet.” Frank extended his hand. “I’ll miss you, Lucas.”

“Not too much.” The moment was tougher than Lucas had expected. “Be careful, Frank.”

“Will you be there for Antonio’s appeal?”

Lucas felt the knot of anger that had precipitated his need to quit a job he loved. “I’ll be there. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“You take care till then.”

They stood in the Texas sunshine as traffic passed beside them.

“You, too.” Lucas got in the truck and pulled out into the street. It was hard to close the door on this life. Really hard. But the murder of his brother by Antonio Maxim and the near death of the only witness to that murder—Lorry Kennedy, aka Betty Sewell—had pushed Lucas too close to taking the law into his own hands.

He had to leave Antonio Maxim to the legal system while he focused on the future. Or else he’d be swallowed whole by the past.

He aimed the truck north. He had fence to ride. With enough time and enough miles on a horse, maybe he could find peace.

THERE IS NOTHING LIKE a cool summer night in Manhattan. The city is alive all around me. While I love D.C. and the nearness of my most beloved Clotilde, I do enjoy a bit of Big Apple hustle.

Eleanor is preparing her speech for the linguistics conference in the morning, and I took the opportunity to sneak out and head to Marco’s Gallery.

I want a peek at that long-legged siren who had Lucas so “het up” at Lorry’s wedding. He was worked up good, and while 90 percent of it may have been about the photographs, the other 10 percent was that strange chemistry that sometimes happens between a man and a woman. Or a handsome black cat and his feline love.

New York is the easiest city in the nation to get around. A solitary black cat taking a relaxing ride on the subway doesn’t even raise an eyebrow. I can ride beneath the city to any destination. Although, while I love New York, I have to say, if I were picking a destination spot, it would be Egypt. Now that was a trip to remember. The Egyptians understand that cats are gods, and well they should.

Here’s my exit, and it’s up the stairs and into the streets of SoHo. I’m so glad I snooped into Miss Shutterbug’s glove box and found her schedule for the photography exhibit. I can’t wait to see what her pictures look like.

I’m a little early, but the crowds are beginning to gather. Ah, the young, beautiful and sophisticated people of the city are in attendance. There’s the star of the moment getting out of a limo. Wow! Be still my heart. She is a knockout in that little black dress with the crisscross straps. She is gorgeous, no doubt about it. Now let’s see about talent and brains.

A few people are giving me stares, but most people don’t even notice me. In a city of a thousand stories, no one is interested in one lone black cat. I’m almost invisible, which is why I’m such a successful private detective. Tonight, though, I’m off the clock. This is strictly for my pleasure.

Yeah, baby. And this exhibit is fine! The photographs are incredible. Miss Shutterbug has talent, in spades. As to the brains, perhaps that isn’t important. She has enough talent to cover any lack of common sense.

The crowd agrees with me. People are captivated by her images. The one of the horses makes me want to live on a farm, as long as I don’t have to ride. And that looks like the Hudson River—more of a painting than a photograph. Miss Shutterbug is amazing.

And back here is a bride and—

I’m not believing this. That’s Lorry and Charles. This is not good. In fact, this is very bad. I’d better get back to the hotel and let Eleanor know about this. Something has to be done.

INHALING DEEPLY, MICHELLE reminded herself to smile and relax. Everything was going better than she’d dared to hope. A large crowd had gathered even prior to the official opening time, and she’d felt like royalty stepping out of the limo into the flash of several cameras. Marco, the gallery owner, had come through with some press coverage.

The news cameras were being set up, and while she didn’t relish the idea of being filmed, if she wanted to sell her work as an artist, publicity was the name of the game. So far so good.

She allowed herself to be swept into the gallery with a cluster of socialites who’d come with checkbooks in hand. She wanted to pinch herself to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating.

Photojournalism was as much a part of her as her skin, and she’d never give it up, but to be accepted as a fine artist who worked with a camera instead of paints and brushes was her dream. One she’d been afraid to reach for until Marco had encouraged her.

She walked over to the tall, distinguished gallery owner and linked her arm through his. “You are a magician!”

He kissed her cheek, beaming like her father should have, had he been able to accept her for who she, was instead of always faulting her for who she wasn’t. “I merely hung these wonderful prints, Michelle. Nothing more.”

“Right, fairy godmother. Where’s my pumpkin coach and the white mice you turned into horses?”

His laughter echoed through the gallery. Cameras clicked and flashguns popped. “Thank you, Marco,” she said as she stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek.

“Tend to your public, Michelle.” He frowned. “Did that cat come with you?”

Michelle looked in the direction he’d indicated. A beautiful black cat sat on an antique table, staring at her. It almost seemed as if the cat had singled her out. The idea was preposterous.

“No, he didn’t come with me.”

“If he’s a stray, I think I’ll keep him. He lends a certain air of sophistication to the gallery, don’t you agree?”

“Indeed.” Michelle strolled over and stroked the cat’s back. He purred and rubbed against her. There was something very…familiar about him. “Behave, and you may have yourself a good home,” she whispered to him before she went to the rear of the gallery to check on the pictures there.

She picked up a glass of champagne from a waiter and moved through the gallery, listening to the flattering comments of the guests. As she turned a corner, she saw the photograph of the Confederate wedding. She was so shocked, she stopped, forcing the traffic behind her to halt or collide with her. For seconds, she merely stared at the picture, wanting to believe that it wasn’t really there.

“Darling, that’s incredible. I expect that young couple to step out of the canvas and finish the kiss,” a middle-aged woman said to her. “I’d like to buy it.”

Michelle swallowed. She glanced around, wondering what to do. “I’m sorry, but it isn’t for sale.”

“I’m willing to pay a handsome price. There’s something magical about that picture.”

“It isn’t for sale.” She spoke more firmly than she’d intended. The woman huffed and walked away.

Michelle had to do something, but she didn’t know what. First of all, she had to get the picture down. She had no release form signed, which meant she had no permission to exhibit the photo. She could be sued.

She slipped through several people staring at the picture and began to lift it from the hooks.

“Michelle, what are you doing?” Marco was at her side.

“It has to come down.” She spoke through clenched teeth as she wrestled with the wire and hook that held it.

“It’s the best of the show.” Marco grasped her elbow. “What’s wrong?”

“This wasn’t meant to be hung,” she said. Behind Marco she saw both television cameras whirring. The news crews had sensed a moment of drama and were capturing everything on film.

Holding up a hand over each lens, she tried to block them. “Stop filming,” she said.

When they ignored her, she felt her temper ignite. “Stop that now. This picture isn’t meant to be shown.”

The crowd, which had been boisterous with laughter only moments before, grew quiet and gathered round her.

“Michelle, darling, come with me to the office,” Marco said. He tried to hold her elbow, but she pulled free from him.

“Get that picture down,” she said. “Please. I don’t have permission—”

Marco smiled at his guests. “I’ve made a mistake by hanging this photograph,” he said smoothly. “Could we all step to the front of the gallery while I have it replaced with the proper picture?”

As he beckoned the people to follow him, Michelle went back to the picture. She wanted to pull it from the wall, but she knew she’d already shown far too much emotion.

She felt something brush against her legs, and she looked down at the cat. He put one gentle paw on her knee and then gave a soft meow.

As crazy as it sounded, she felt as if he sympathized with her situation.

Two workers appeared at her side and gently removed the photograph. Within moments, they reappeared with a still life to replace it.

Michelle inhaled, trying hard to calm herself. It was over now. That the photo had been hung in the show was grounds for a lawsuit, but she’d moved to correct her error instantly. The news crews would likely never use the footage they’d shot. In a city like New York, there were far bigger stories to cover than a photo exhibit.

The damage was minimal. And now she had to get back up front with Marco. He’d gotten everyone laughing at one of his jokes. She needed to prove that she wasn’t some kind of psycho witch. She lifted her shoulders and walked toward the crowd.

Chapter Three

As good as room service is in this hotel, I have to say the delicacies at the photo exhibit were better. It was with great reluctance that I left that platter of roast beef crusted with fresh garlic. That gallery owner, Marco, is a man with a discriminating palate. His offer to take me in has a lot of merit. I wonder if I could merely visit. Naturally, I’d never abandon Eleanor and Peter. They adore me, and they need me. But a SoHo party address would be a nice coup.

But enough about my limitless possibilities. It’s time for the news, and I want to be sure that Eleanor is watching. Those cameras were certainly whirring, capturing Michelle Sieck’s moment of high drama as she tried to yank her photograph off the wall.

If this is used in a newscast, Eleanor needs to know—because Lorry could be in danger.

Ah, here’s the local segment of WKPT and the gala crowd at the photo exhibit. They’re using the gallery event as the lead local story. I have a feeling this is going to be bad.

Eleanor doesn’t realize the significance yet, but she will. Let me put my claws in her shin just a little to keep her attention from wandering.

Okay, we’re at the part where Michelle creates a commotion. There’re the photographs. And Michelle makes it all worse by putting her hand over the lens for a moment. She should never have done that. That really torques a cameraman off, and she should know that better than anyone else.

Oh, cupid in a diaper, they’re showing the photograph of Lorry. It is so stunning that people are compelled to study it. The scar on Lorry’s neck is visible. Someone who knew what she looked like could easily recognize her, even through the gauze of the veil.

This is bad. Really, really bad. Eleanor is dialing her cell phone. I can tell from the tension in her body that she’s distressed.

“Hello, Lucas. This is Eleanor Curry. I’m afraid we have an emergency situation. I just saw a photograph of Lorry Kennedy on a New York news station. They were covering a gallery opening, and Lorry’s picture was part of a brouhaha where that photographer woman tried to keep them from filming it. It won’t be hard for the Maxims to retrace that photographer’s steps. I’m afraid Lorry’s cover has been blown.”

THE CELL PHONE WAS CHILLY against Lucas’s ear. Camped on one of the isolated sites on his ranch, he’d hoped the peace of the land and the beauty of the stars would finally lull him to sleep. Deep down, though, he’d had a sense that trouble would come a-calling.

His sixth sense had often saved him from a mouthful of knuckles—or worse, a bullet. He’d been teased by the other marshals, who accused him of consulting psychics and having a hotline to the Jamaican television personality who’d made great claims about her abilities to predict the future.

Lucas, like most of his fellow law enforcement officials, was skeptical about psychic abilities, but he had absolute faith in his gut.

When the cell phone rang, Tazer, his little blue heeler, began to growl. The phone and the dog’s reaction to it made the hair on the back of Lucas’s neck prickle.

This was not good news.

When he realized it was Eleanor, he was relieved and surprised. Until he heard her first statement.

“When was this?” he asked. He began to kick dirt over his campfire.

“Earlier this evening.”

“Damn.” He wasn’t a man who cursed, but this was terrible. He’d been a fool. The redheaded photographer at Lorry’s wedding had played him like a fine fiddle. He’d taken her film, and she hadn’t even threatened a lawsuit. And now he knew why. The film and memory card he’d taken and destroyed had, in all probability, been blank.

“I’ve got to find Lorry,” he said. She and Charles had gone on a honeymoon, and then they were moving, beginning that new life she’d risked everything to have. Though he felt as if Lorry were the little sister he’d never had, he’d let her go without any questions, knowing he’d see her at Antonio’s final appeal. The fewer people who knew where she was, the less the danger of the Maxims ever finding her.

“You find that photographer,” Eleanor said. “Find her, get the film or whatever, and put an end to this. If she’s showing that picture anywhere else, we have to stop it.”

“I’ll book a flight to New York and call Bride Magazine in the morning. I’ll make her editor tell me how to get in touch with her.”

“No need. Michelle Sieck’s work is in Marco’s Gallery in SoHo.”

“How did you happen to watch that particular newscast?” Lucas asked. It was lucky Eleanor had seen it, but what were the odds?

“Familiar made sure I saw it. I told you, he’s a detective. And a darn good one.”

Lucas didn’t have time to argue with Eleanor about a cat’s ability to sleuth out pertinent information. He found it odd, though, that a woman of such high intelligence could believe such a load of poppycock.

MICHELLE BURIED HER FACE in her hands as the news story continued to spill across the screen. The whole business with the Confederate picture had been a comedy of errors. And the bottom line was, she should never have printed it.

Surely, though, nothing truly awful could happen because of the mistake at the gallery. If only the media hadn’t covered the event. If only she hadn’t put her hand up to block the cameras. She knew better, but she’d acted on impulse. The wrong impulse. She stepped outside for a breath of fresh air.

Around her the celebration of her highly successful exhibit continued unabated. Kevin—her oldest friend in the city—and Marco were proposing toasts. A dozen friends were at the bar to show their support. This should have been a moment of elation. Instead, she was worried sick.

“Michelle, what are you doing here by yourself?”

Kevin Long was a fashion photographer who worked for the biggest names in the industry. His blond hair, a halo of curls, made him look angelic.

“Too much emotion.” She twirled the stem of her wineglass. “I needed a moment to gather my wits. It’s been hectic.”

“Hectic and successful. You should be dancing on the tables, but instead, you’re acting like you’ve just lost your best friend.” He put his arm around her and gave her a hug. “I’m sorry your parents didn’t show.”

She’d been so absorbed in the picture fiasco that she’d failed to even acknowledge the hurt generated by her parents. They’d wanted her to become a doctor. They felt photography was a hobby, not a career. In their generally disapproving way, they’d simply refused to acknowledge any success she had in her chosen field. Friends like Kevin and Marco were her support system.

“I didn’t expect them to come.” She forced a wry smile. “It’s okay. They love me. They just don’t understand me.”

“You’d think they would be proud.”

“Maybe they are, in their own way. They’re just more stubborn than proud. But your folks came, and they’re like my second parents. That was plenty good enough for me.”

“Mom and Dad view you like a daughter, Michelle. You know that. In fact, if it came to a choice between the two of us…they’d pick you.”

Her laughter wasn’t forced. Kevin was an outrageous liar, and he always made her feel better. “Let’s join the party.” Marco was still proposing toasts, and if she didn’t get in there and break it up, no one would be able to stand long enough to flag a taxi home.

As she turned to go back inside, she noticed a long black car parked at the curb, motor running. No one had gotten in or out of it. It was almost as if someone was in the car waiting…for what? A prickle of goose bumps ran up her neck. She shook her head. She’d watched way too many movies.

THE AUSTIN AIRPORT WAS quiet, and Lucas put his booted feet on his overnight bag, tipped his hat over his face and decided to catch forty winks. He’d gotten a ticket on a late-night flight to Dallas, where he’d take a midnight special to New York. He’d be at Michelle Sieck’s door before the rooster sang in the morning.

As he sought sleep, he tried to steer his thoughts away from Lorry and where she might be—or who might be tracking her right this minute.

The truth was, if the Maxim family connections in New York had seen the story on the photo exhibit, Michelle could be in as much danger as Lorry.

He’d almost drifted off when he had a terrible image of Michelle in the hands of Robert Maxim, Antonio’s younger brother. Word on the street was that Robert was more brutal, more sadistic than Antonio had ever thought to be.

The image was so disturbing that Lucas gave up on resting. He went to the concession stand, where a lone Latino woman was reading a magazine behind the counter. She smiled at his request and made a fresh pot of coffee for him.

When he had his large black coffee, he went back to his seat, pulled a notepad out of his pocket and began to make notes.

Antonio Maxim had been sentenced to life in prison on a charge of first-degree murder. The Maxim family ran an underground white slavery ring, luring young Texas girls to the big city with a promise of modeling and acting careers, only to hook them on drugs and turn them out on the streets.

The life expectancy for such a girl was eight years. If they weren’t rescued, many of them died of diseases borne of the drugs that kept them numbed to life. More than a few ended up as suicides. Some were murdered because they were at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Lucas’s brother, Harry, had been sent undercover from the Dallas Police Department up to New York to get evidence on the Maxim family. He’d done just that, but someone had blown his cover.

Harry had been standing on the corner of a busy intersection in broad daylight when a black Mercedes had pulled up in front of him. In one of the boldest killings in the city in recent years, Antonio had stepped out of the car long enough to shoot Harry point-blank in the heart and head. He’d died within seconds.

Lucas knew the fine details of the murder because of Lorry Kennedy’s courage. Known at that time as Betty Sewell, she’d been in the vicinity by happenstance—a dance audition—and her thoughts had been on many things other than her physical surroundings. At the trial that resulted in Antonio’s conviction for murder, Lorry testified that she’d come around the corner just in time to see Antonio step from the car, shove the gun in Harry’s chest and pull the trigger. Antonio was smiling when he did it.

Survival instincts had kicked in, and Lorry had dropped her bag and run for her life. She’d escaped, but three days later, Antonio and his men had found her. Antonio had given the order to cut her throat, and his men were in the process of doing just that when Lucas had arrived. He’d killed three of Antonio’s men on the spot and gotten Lorry to a hospital.

The doctors hadn’t been certain Lorry would live, but she had. And she was hopping mad. She made certain that Antonio went to prison for the rest of his life.

Now the last hurdle was his appeal. If something happened to Lorry, then the case against Antonio would be extremely weak. Antonio knew that, as did his brother, Robert. And Robert would do whatever it took to get his big brother out of prison.

Whatever it took.

Killing Lorry. Killing Michelle Sieck. Whatever it took.

Lucas swallowed the rest of his coffee and stood. He could see the plane outside the window. Soon he’d board. Then he’d find that photographer. She’d endangered Lorry and herself.

The Maxims wouldn’t care what Michelle knew or didn’t know. If there was even the slimmest chance that she could lead them to Lorry, they’d dig it out of her by any means necessary.

Chapter Four

Michelle awoke the next morning with a pounding headache. She’d had only two glasses of champagne, so the throbbing behind her eyes must be tension-related. The events of yesterday had caught up with her in a physical way.

She rolled over and snatched a pillow to cover her head. It was just after six, a time meant for sleep.

The hard knock at her door didn’t register until it came for the second time, a series of poundings that said someone meant business.

Thinking that it might be something to do with Marco and the gallery, she grabbed her old chenille robe and went to the door.

“Hold your horses. I’m coming!” She was grumpy and she didn’t care. She cracked the door on the chain and felt as if she’d stepped into someone else’s life. The tall man from the Confederate wedding was standing outside her apartment. Except he was wearing jeans, cowboy boots and a Stetson—exactly as she’d imagined him.

“Michelle Sieck,” he said in a voice like someone on Law and Order. “I’m Lucas West. Please open the door. Now.”

“Why are you here?”

“I could tell you a pack of lies and get in the door, but I’m going to give it to you straight because a woman’s life may be on the line. The woman in that wedding picture you took is a federally protected witness. You’ve blown her cover and endangered her life. Now your life may also be in danger. Open the door so we can begin to make this right.”

Michelle slowly undid the latch. She stepped back, moving zombielike to the kitchen. “I need some coffee,” she said.

“There’s no time.” Lucas scanned the room and walked to the windows. After he checked the street, he lowered the blinds and pulled the curtains shut.

“I’m dying from a headache. I need caffeine.”

“We’ll get some at the airport.”

She tried to focus on what he was saying, but things were moving too fast. “The airport?”

He wheeled on her then, the anger she’d seen clearly in his gray eyes and terse expression no longer under control. “Lorry Kennedy’s life could be at stake. Likely Charles’s, too. Because of you. Because you did exactly what you wanted to do with a photograph that never should have been taken.”

Michelle stumbled backward from the onslaught of his harsh words. Once she regained her balance, though, she stepped into his face.

“I didn’t intend to show that photograph. The movers picked it up by mistake. As soon as I saw it, I had it removed.”

“And you think that makes it okay?” Lucas glared at her.

She lifted her chin and looked into his flinty eyes. “It doesn’t make it okay, but it doesn’t make me a worthless liar, either. It was an accident.”

“So if Robert Maxim finds Lorry and kills her, we can just mark it down as an accidental death.”

Her head was throbbing so hard, she thought she might throw up. Preferably on his boots. She hated to have her nose rubbed in a mistake. Her parents were masters at this behavior and had shoved every tiny misstep back in her face. Until she’d found the grit to move to New York and follow her dream.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said through clenched teeth. “All I’m saying is that this didn’t happen because I didn’t care.” She held up her hands. Why was she trying to explain this to a cowboy?

“Pack a bag. I’ve got to get you out of here. If I can find you, so can the Maxims.”

“I’m not going anywhere, and you aren’t going to panic me into doing something insane, like get on a plane with a man I don’t know at all and who may himself be a psycho killer.”

Lucas laughed, but it wasn’t from amusement. “That scar on Lorry’s neck?”

He watched her like a hawk, waiting for the moment to pounce. She wanted to squirm, but she wouldn’t allow herself. “I saw the scar.”

“Antonio Maxim ordered his men to cut her throat and throw her in the river so she couldn’t testify against him. He’ll do worse to you, because he’ll want information.”

His words were having an effect, though she would die before she let him see it. “And what did this Antonio Maxim do that was so awful?”

Lucas glanced down, but only for a split second. When he locked eyes with Michelle again, he looked madder than ever. “He killed my brother, an undercover cop, and he’s responsible for hundreds of young girls ending up as prostitutes and drug addicts. Is that bad enough for you?”

She found a chair with her hand and slowly lowered her body into it. Murder, forced prostitution, drugs. She wasn’t an innocent. She knew the city had a million layers, and at the bottom there was a lot of pain and suffering.

Never had she expected to find it on her doorstep, though.

“Is Lorry okay?”

“My friend has been trying to find her since that newscast aired last night. As of this morning, both she and Charles have vanished.”

Michelle felt as if someone had kicked her in the gut. “Vanished as in left by their own choice, or vanished as in someone took them?”

“I won’t be able to tell until I look. That’s why you’re packing a bag and we’re going to Mobile, Alabama. As much as I’d like to put you in a safe house, I can’t. I’m Lorry’s best chance at survival, and you’re going with me.”

Michelle was about to protest when she heard the strangest sound.

“What’s that?” She rose slowly. It sounded as if someone was scratching wood.

She started toward the door, but Lucas pulled her back and stepped in front of her. He moved with grace and authority.

His hand went to his side, and she knew instinctively that he was reaching for a weapon. Whatever he’d done in his past, he was used to carrying a firearm. But his hand came back empty. For once, she would have been glad to see some kind of gun in someone’s hand.

The scratching came again.

When Lucas looked out the peephole of her door, he muttered under his breath.

“Who is it?” she asked.

“There’s no one there.”

Yet the scratching came once more.

Lucas opened the door slowly. They both looked down at the black cat, which stared back up at them.

“Is that the cat from the wedding and from the gallery?” Michelle asked. Along with her pounding head, she was now suffering from hallucinations.

“I’ll be…a five-toed Texas longhorn.” Lucas stepped back, and the cat entered the room with an air of royalty.

“How does he get around town?” Michelle asked.

“Danged if I know,” Lucas answered. “But he does. Eleanor swears he’s a private investigator. He gets calls from all around the world.”

Pressing her hands to her temples, Michelle headed to the small kitchen. She put on the pot for coffee. The man ordering her around her own apartment could just wait until she got a jolt of caffeine in her system. She couldn’t deal with murderers, dead brothers, witness protection and cats who solved mysteries without some coffee. Something much stronger might even be better.

INSTEAD OF ARGUING, LUCAS yielded on the coffee. Time was short, but it would do no good to bully Michelle. He’d seen her distress, and he knew it was real. She’d never intended for any of the events that had taken place to occur. He sure knew what that felt like.

While Michelle brewed the coffee, he called Eleanor and told her Familiar had shown up.

“I told you,” Eleanor said. “Let him help you, Lucas. He has a gift.”

“I’m finding this a bit hard to swallow.”

She laughed. “It’s tough on the U.S. marshal ego to rely on a cat, but he will help, if you let him. He’s fond of Lorry, and he’s got a thing for that photographer. Familiar has excellent taste in women. He picked me out to be his owner.”

Lucas couldn’t help but smile. It was an intrguing concept—that the cat had an interest in Michelle. But he had shown up at the gallery and now at her apartment. No. It was too crazy to concede.

“When we leave, I’ll call you, and you can come and pick him up.”

“Okay.”

He hung up and went to the kitchen, where he laid out the travel plans for Michelle. Her color was better as she sipped the strong black coffee. His cup remained untouched. He was already jittery. Too much adrenaline and too little sleep.

“We’ll take the eleven o’clock flight south. I’ve already booked us seats.”

“I’m not going.” Michelle’s hazel eyes dared him to contradict her.

He was happy to oblige. “You are. I’ve already told you that it’s dangerous to stay here. They know you saw Lorry. They’re going to be looking for you, and when they catch you, it won’t do any good to say you don’t know her. You photographed her wedding. They will hurt you.”

“I’m not going.”

His temper jumped so high, he felt the pulse in his jaw. Why was Michelle being so ornery when he was trying to save her from being hurt?

“You’re going, and you’re going to behave.” He could see that his authoritative manner was only antagonizing her more.

“I’m going to shower and dress.” She downed the last of the coffee and stood.

“Now that’s a sensible way to act.”

She didn’t comment as she left the room and went to what he presumed was her bathroom, to get ready. He drummed his fingers on the table and watched the black cat, who was snooping around the apartment.

A cat detective. Even in Texas, where the tales were tall, he’d never heard of such a thing.

The cat sashayed out of the kitchen, and he was left alone with his thoughts. Lorry would be careful. She knew what was at stake, and she’d take precautions. Once he found her place, he’d search it and figure out where she might have gone. But he had to get there first, before Robert Maxim sent some of his goons.

He paced the kitchen, and as he moved toward the narrow hallway, he heard the shower running. He checked his watch. Ten minutes. How long did it take a woman to shower?

Moving back to the table, he sat and drummed his fingers more. Patience was not one of his virtues, and the years of working as a law officer hadn’t helped any. That was one of the things he loved about the job. Action and more action.

Harry had loved his work, too. He thought about his brother, how he’d been so excited about going to New York undercover. Harry had been caught up in the case of a young Austin girl who’d disappeared. Her trail had led straight to New York and Antonio Maxim.

The NYPD had found her body in a Dumpster outside a fleabag hotel. She’d been loaded with drugs and then stabbed. It had deeply disturbed Harry, and his investigation of Antonio Maxim had become personal. Very personal.

A loud cry came from the living room. It sounded like a cat in distress. He jumped to his feet just as the door slammed.

Dang it all to hell and back! He was across the living room and into the hall just in time to see Michelle disappear down the stairs. The crazy woman was running away from him. The black cat was right on her heels.

He was a flight of stairs behind her, and once she got to the street, she might disappear into the crowds of pedestrians that streamed down the city sidewalks.

“Michelle!” He called her name, but she didn’t slow. “Michelle! Don’t do this!”

He was on the sidewalk when he saw her at the bus stop, moving fast. To his utter amazement, the black cat darted between her feet.

In another moment, she was sprawling on the sidewalk, cursing the cat like a whorehouse hussy. Lucas jogged to her side.

He offered her a hand and pulled her to her feet. “That’s some impressive language.”

She gave him a look that would curdle goat milk. “That cat tripped me on purpose.”

“So it would seem.” Lucas bent down to stroke Familiar’s back. The cat purred and rubbed against his legs. “Glad to see at least he has good sense. I guess I owe Eleanor an apology.”

“He could have broken my neck.”

“Which would be a lot less painful than what the Maxims will do to you if they catch you.” Lucas surveyed the area. Except for a black car with heavily tinted windows parked halfway down the block, motor running, nothing looked suspicious. The car was expensive and could easily be a hired car or ride for a corporate type. Then again, Antonio Maxim didn’t hire thugs who looked like thugs. His men maintained the appearance of white-collar professionals. The car made him nervous. “Let’s go,” he said to Michelle.

She dusted her hands on her jeans and started back toward the apartment. Lucas walked beside her, the cat right in step with them both.

“We’re taking the cat to Mobile,” he said.

When he didn’t get an argument from Michelle, he hid the grin that touched his mouth and made his eyes crinkle. It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

Now all they had to do was get to the airport and board their flight—without being followed.

Chapter Five

By the time the plane touched down in Mobile, Michelle had gone from seething to worried. Her actions, though innocent, had created a landslide of possible tragedy. No matter how she thought it through, she’d put a woman at risk. Not to mention herself, provided Lucas wasn’t exaggerating.

He’d been a gentleman for the entire trip, making sure she had food and coffee and something to read, but she could tell he viewed her as the cause of trouble. The accusation was there in his intense gray gaze.

The cat, on the other hand, had curled up in her lap and gone to sleep, waking only to charm the flight attendant out of some heavy whipping cream. He was certainly a special creature.

As they walked through the small Mobile airport, she glanced at Lucas. He was a handsome man, even when he was displeased—which seemed to be most of the time. And he was as edgy as a cat on a fence. He kept looking behind him, and then left and right, as if he expected the bad guys to jump out from behind a potted shrub. Or that she was going to make a break for freedom. She bit her lip at the memory of her failed escape.

Lucas had good reason to be annoyed with her, but she wasn’t going to apologize again. Apologies wouldn’t change a blasted thing, and she’d done it once and meant it. If he couldn’t accept it, that was his issue, not hers.

Lucas rented a car, and they drove through the old downtown of the port city that had served under seven flags of occupation. In the older parts of town, where developers hadn’t run rampant, oak trees canopied the street.

The antebellum homes, set back from the road, on lawns filled with the floral frills of a subtropical climate, spoke to Michelle of another time, when chivalry and honor were supposed to be important. How in the world had she ended up in such a mess as this? She’d only wanted to do her job, to take photographs.

They entered a tunnel that went beneath the Mobile River, and when they reemerged, she looked out the window on glittering Mobile Bay, which she remembered from her previous trip. Lucas ignored the beauty of the scene, focusing entirely on his driving and on watching the rearview mirror. Even the cat kept looking behind them. She glanced back, wondering if she’d be able to detect a tail if there was one behind them. The idea made her distinctly uncomfortable, so she focused on the road ahead of them.

They were close now. She could only hope that they’d find Lorry and Charles safely at home, honeymooning and not answering the phone. Once Lucas had Lorry safely in his care, maybe he’d let her return to New York and her life.

“What happens when we find her?” Michelle asked.

“I’ll get her back to Austin. The marshals will help her get a new identity.” He gave Michelle a hard look. “And you, too.”

“Me, too, what?” Michelle asked. The bottom had dropped out of her stomach.

“A new identity. The Maxim family won’t give up, Michelle. You’ve stepped into this now, and if you’ll pardon the Texas slang, you’ve got it all over your boots. You’re tracking it behind you, and there’s no way around it.”

“I will not give up my identity.” The very idea of it made her want to open the car door and risk bodily harm in an attempt to escape Lucas. “Do you have any idea how hard I’ve worked to build a name and reputation? The years of—”

“Is it worth your life?”

“That’s not a fair question.”

“Do you think what happened to Lorry is fair? She stumbled on a murder. She lost her family, everything. And now she’s going to have to lose it a second time, because of you. Talk to me about what’s fair now.”

Michelle couldn’t answer. The lump in her throat was too big, too painful. Everything Lucas said was true. Had she never printed the photograph, none of this would have happened. Her moment of vanity had brought this down on the heads of everyone involved.

They crossed the bay and turned left at the intersection.

“I’m sorry,” Lucas said softly. “That was cruel, and I shouldn’t have said it that way.”

“It’s true. How else is there to say it?” She stared straight ahead, fighting to control her emotions and the rising panic.

“You didn’t mean for this to happen, but it has. Now the easiest thing for all of us is to deal with it. To figure out the safest thing for you and Lorry and make sure that happens.”

“My name is everything. If I have to change it, I won’t have a career or a way to make a living.”

Lucas sighed. “People adapt, Michelle. A different life is better than being tortured to death. That’s what will happen if the Maxims get their hands on you.”

“What if we can’t find Lorry?” As soon as the question was out of her mouth, the black cat sat up and put a paw on her lips.

“Listen to the cat,” Lucas said. “Don’t go there. Don’t even think that.”

“Shouldn’t you call in the feds?” she asked.

She knew it was the wrong question by the way his hands clenched the steering wheel. The truth was, it seemed that no question she asked was the right one. He’d made her feel like crap, and now he was acting like she was a nitwit.

“What? Did I say something wrong? Isn’t it normal to call in the FBI when a person is presumed to have been kidnapped and possibly tortured because she’s a witness in a murder case?”

“You can’t let it go, can you?” Lucas responded, his hands tightening on the wheel.

“No, I can’t. You’re telling me I have to reinvent myself, but you won’t answer a single question.”

“Here’s your answer then. Someone blew my brother’s cover. I can’t prove anything, but I don’t trust the FBI, the marshals or anyone else. Lorry is my responsibility, and like it or not, so are you. Lorry is in this because she wanted to help me achieve justice for my brother’s murder. She could have run away or ‘forgotten’ what she saw.” But she stood her ground and told the truth. Now, because of your photo, she could be killed. So I’ll find Lorry, and I’ll protect her. Once Antonio’s appeal is over, maybe we can put this behind us. Until then, I can’t risk putting my trust in anyone. Not the feds, not the marshals, not even my partner, who was like a brother to me.”

She remembered the way his hand had gone for a gun. “You’re a cop, too, aren’t you?”

“Not anymore.”

She could tell he didn’t want to talk about it, but so what? She didn’t want to be in the car with him. “What kind of cop?”

“A federal one. Not FBI.”

“So your brother worked for the Dallas police and you were with the U.S. marshals?”

He gave her a look that told her to shut up and back off.

“Is your dad in law enforcement?”

His sigh was long and loud. “My past is my business, Michelle. Drop it, okay?”

“So you’re the only one who can ask questions?”

“Ask questions about something else.”

“Like what? The weather? It isn’t as if we share a whole bunch of interests. What about golf? Is that a good topic?” She was deviling him now, and it was satisfying.

She felt the cat’s sharp claws dig into her thigh. “Ouch!”

Lucas laughed, and she saw what he might look like if he didn’t carry the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was a striking man.

“Are you married?” she asked.

“Man, you just go from bad to worse, don’t you?”

“Divorced, eh?” She felt a moment of strange kinship. “Must have been bad, too, from the way you’re acting.”

He drove in silence, and she looked out the window. They’d circled around and cut through the woods, so that they were cresting a high bluff that gave frequent glimpses of the bay flashing by. She was struck by a memory, and she spoke before she thought. “You know, when I was a kid, I came to Alabama to camp. A photography camp. That was the best summer of my life.”

She felt his gaze on her, but she kept her eyes focused out the window. The water was beautiful in the afternoon light. How was it possible that only a few weeks earlier, she’d crossed the same body of water on her way to photograph a wedding? Her world had been in order. She’d been dreaming of her gallery opening, something that she’d walked away from without even a phone call to Marco. Lucas hadn’t allowed her to contact anyone.

Her cell phone was in her purse, and she could call the gallery owner as soon as she got a moment alone, but Lucas had warned her that anyone she drew into her web of trouble could be hurt.

She wouldn’t put Marco or Kevin at risk. They would worry for her, but worry was better than being tortured or killed. And for whatever strange reason, she believed Lucas. He wasn’t the kind of man who exaggerated the danger that now surrounded her and Lorry.

“I know you didn’t mean for this to happen,” Lucas said.

She wanted to pretend to clean her ears, as if she hadn’t heard properly. Sarcasm had always been her best defense. Instead, she asked, “What if Lorry is hurt?”

“Think positive, but be on the alert for negative.”

“Is that the lawman’s code?” Her emotions shifted yet again, and she found tears welling in her eyes. She didn’t like to cry in front of people. Had never liked it. She’d been taught it was a weakness, and her parents detested weakness in any form.

“It’s my code. Look, I’m sorry I snapped at you and accused you of things.”

“It was the truth.”

Familiar stretched and licked her chin, giving her comfort she hadn’t realized she craved. He used his head to butt her cheek, and she felt her spirits lift a little.

“Truth is a strange thing, Michelle. You could never have known why I didn’t want Lorry’s picture taken. I couldn’t tell you. After I saw the photograph, I understood why you wanted a print for yourself.”

“It was meant only for me. It may be the best work I’ve ever done, but I would never deliberately have shown it without permission.”

He took a single-track lane deep into the beautiful woods.

“Let’s make a deal,” Lucas said. “We put the past behind us. We forget how all this began and simply do our best to bring it to the right conclusion.”

She wanted to nod, but something held her back. Guilt? Remorse? Stubbornness? She wasn’t certain. “I’m sorry you got dragged into this. You’ve had enough loss.”

“This was part of my job. I’m not a lawman anymore, so this time I’m not bound by the conduct that governs law officers.”

His voice was so cold and deadly that a chill slid over her. “What does that mean?”

“It means that as an officer of the law, I was sworn to bring Antonio in alive. Or at least to try to.”

“And now?”

“If Robert or any of his goons have harmed Lorry, I’ll do whatever I have to do.”

She swallowed. A question stuck in her throat. Sometimes it was best not to know. As they turned down a tree-shaded lane toward a lovely cottage, she realized that she’d just learned her first valuable lesson from Lucas.

EVER SINCE LUCAS GOT LORRY and Charles’s address from Eleanor, he’s been focused on getting to Spanish Fort. I didn’t see anything suspicious in the Mobile airport, but I had the sense that we were being followed at Kennedy. There were men outside Michelle’s apartment this morning. Lucas saw them. He did his best to give them the slip, getting the cab driver to head toward Brooklyn and then veer off to the airport. I’m not certain he was successful, though. This Maxim organization has a long reach.

Michelle is wallowing in guilt. Both of them have forgotten that a cat needs sustenance. The cream on the plane was a nice surprise, but let’s just say I’m not the type of cat who likes a liquid diet. The bipeds don’t understand that I need small, frequent meals. It’s part of my diet plan to maintain my svelte figure.

So here’s Lorry’s cottage. Cute as a button, and just exactly what I would have imagined. Big screened porch to watch the sunset over the bay, shady lawn with that lush green grass that folks around here call Centipede. It’s heavenly.

And a kitchen stocked with food. Let’s see. Once I find something edible, my brain will work better. Hmm, a small tin of sardines. Well, it isn’t up to my normal standards, but if I can get Miss Shutterbug’s attention, she can open it for me.

Ah, she’s not as self-absorbed as she acts. She has it open and has dumped it in a saucer for me. A tasty little snack to tide me over until mealtime. Fish oil is vital to the health of my coat, after all.

Now let’s see. Lucas is searching the living room. And Michelle has the bedroom, though she doesn’t even have a grasp of what she might be looking for. I’ll take the bathroom. Always a few good clues there.

The medicine cabinet is empty. Now that’s a big clue. Most people take only what they need for a trip. This bathroom has been stripped down. And I hear Michelle.

“LUCAS, SOME OF THE DRAWERS in here are empty. It looks like all of Lorry’s personal items are all gone.”

UH-OH. A PERSON doesn’t pack everything for a honeymoon. Not even a long one. This doesn’t look good.

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