A Limited Partnership

A Limited Partnership Elisabeth Stewart

Published by Awe-Struck E-Books, Inc. www.awe-struck.net Copyright ©2006 ISBN: 1-58749-553-8 Electronic rights reserved by Awe-Struck E-Books, all other rights reserved by author. The reproduction or other use of any part of this publication without the prior written consent of the rights holder is an infringement of the copyright law. Cover Art/Design by Patricia Storm All rights reserved. This is a work of fiction. People and locations, even those with real names, have been fictionalized for the purposes of this story.

Chapter One "Hey, what the hell do you guys think you're doing?" One hour after that fateful outburst--and for the second time that evening--Kate Sullivan was in the company of a man carrying a gun. Escorted by an armed police officer, she wearily trudged up the steps of the District Headquarters of Boston’s Twelfth Precinct. Gazing up at the Precinct’s imposing Gothic-like entrance, Kate rolled her eyes, clenched her fists and felt like emitting yet another scream. Ix-nay that impulse. Her last impetuous holler had almost cost her her life. Another one just might get her committed to a loony bin. At this point, Police Headquarters was preferable. Besides, the answer to her ridiculous question had been blatantly obvious. Those guys had known exactly what they were doing. Car thieves steal cars. Simple objective; obvious implementation. She’s the one who’d best figure out objectives before opening her big mouth. And just to emphasize who’d been the bigger fool in that encounter, who was the one with the armed police escort? Not the criminals: Kate Sullivan. Upon entering the station, Kate was immediately assailed by the sight, smell and sounds of what seemed to be hundreds of people milling aimlessly about. The noise level and commotion were comparable to that of the Arrivals Terminal at Logan Airport. Following closely on the heels of the young officer, it was tempting to grab hold of his coattails. Despite looking barely old enough to vote, at least he was a reassuring link to law and order. Plowing through the crowd, the officer glanced back with a sympathetic smile. "Still with me? How're you doing?" "Just fine.” This was a bald-faced lie. Still shaking from having thwarted the attempted car theft, Kate's teeth chattered from the bone deep chill of having being out in the rain for the past hour. Her knees and the palms of her hands were raw and bleeding from a hasty but successful "get-a-way" crawl. It was amazing how swiftly all dignity and concern for appearance fled when looking down the barrel of a gun. The journey through the maze of humanity ended at a high wooden counter running the entire width of the room. The sheet of bulletproof glass protecting the officers behind the counter was not reassuring. Just how often did gun-toting criminals manage to get this far? "If you'll just wait here, Ms. Sullivan, I'll check in with the desk sergeant and be right back." Left stranded, Kate was momentarily distracted from her own dilemma as her professional journalist's eye took in the whole mad, chaotic scene. It would certainly

make for a great human interest article: "An Evening At The Twelfth Precinct: Crime And Its Victims.” Judging from the conversation to her immediate left, she was standing by a group of women about to be booked for soliciting. Discreetly studying their hair, make-up and clothing, Kate quickly concluded she lacked the prerequisites for such a time-honored profession. With shoes, she was a mere five feet, three inches. These ladies topped her by a good two or three inches. The spiked heels gave them a distinct advantage. Not only was her height off the mark, but her short auburn curls failed to meet the standards of their elaborate hairstyles. It obviously took more than a quick blow dry to create the desired effect. She was definitely minus a few other obligatory accessories as well: not enough mascara, no false eyelashes, no mini-skirt and above all, no cleavage. Her silk blouse was soaked from the unexpected rainfall and revealed just about everything she owned, but there wasn't a whole lot there to begin with. One of those wire push-up bras might make up for the deficiency in that department. Basically, the only thing she had in common with these women was the fact they were all female and had all been caught in the rain. Despite the attempts at glamour, the hookers looked every bit as bedraggled as she did. Besides, at the age of thirty it was a little late to consider a change of profession. The pay might be better, but the hours and the clientele were a definite minus. Her scrutiny of the "ladies" took on a whole new dimension when Kate was suddenly shoved into the reluctant embrace of one of the better endowed members. Face planted against two huge but unyielding breasts (implants?), Kate mumbled a hasty "sorry.” Stepping back, she turned and caught the eye of the culprit--a tall, broad shouldered man whose response to her accusing stare was a roguish grin and a wink. "Sorry, sweetheart. The place is sure hopping tonight." The shove she could handle. The "sweetheart" bit coming from a total stranger--albeit a good-looking one--was a bit much. The guy was handsome in a rugged sort of way, but judging from the slightly crooked nose and a few scars by the jaw line, looked like he'd been on the losing end of a few fights. Thoroughly drenched from the downpour, water dripped from his dark, rumpled hair and his black pin-striped suit was soaked. He seemed oblivious to his condition, was too preoccupied trying to impress her with his gorgeous smile. Kate's response was cool; she'd encountered the type before. This was the kind of guy who knew his smile was gorgeous. The self-assured, condescending flirt. He gave her another wink before turning the charm on the other women. They responded with flirtatious smiles and laughter. From the familiar way they traded jibes with the man, Kate pegged him as the pimp coming to the rescue of his harem.

Although that assumption didn't quite fit. She'd always assumed pimps wore more flamboyant outfits, purple satin or maybe something in silk from an Italian designer if they were more upscale. But then what did she know? Maybe dark pinstripes were de rigueur for your self-respecting pimp on the street. Despite the warm reception elsewhere, he hadn't given up on her. Reaching over and lifting one of her damp curls, he grinned. "I'll bet you're just gorgeous when you're not looking like a drowned rat." Don Juan had resorted to insults. Before she could come up a scathing retort, he'd stepped back and was boldly appraising her face and figure. The quick verdict was delivered with a wicked gleam in his dark blue eyes. "But maybe a little too short for my liking." The "ladies" laughed but Kate fumed. This guy was either under the impression she was a new recruit to the group or behaved like this with any female who crossed his path. Either scenario pissed her off. And how could he possibly mistake her for a prostitute? She'd just given herself a failing grade in that test. Either the standards had fallen these days or the rain was the great equalizer. They all looked like hell. Assuming her own interpretation of a hooker's stance--hands on hips and giving him the once over--Kate uttered her first words to the obnoxious stranger. "Doesn't really matter what you like, sweetheart. When I'm off duty, I do the choosing, and I'd have to classify you as a paying customer only." "Never had to pay for it before.” You couldn't even insult this guy. He was still smiling, apparently waiting for a comeback. Fine, she'd deliver one. "Well, I guess you wouldn't have to pay, what with having your own private harem." Finally, he looked somewhat taken aback. This insult had him stumped. His attempt at a reply was cut off by a gruff voice and a nudge to his shoulder. "Hey, Romeo. Give the ladies a break and let's get going." With a quick nod to the officer who'd spoken and a last perplexed look at Kate, "Romeo" took off down the hallway. Kate smiled for the first time since entering the station. She'd ended up having the last word. "Ms. Sullivan?" The baby-faced police officer had returned to escort her down the same hallway to a small interrogation room. Other than a scarred and chipped Formica table and four chairs, the room was bare and reeked of stale cigarette smoke. The paint job was standard issue beige with a few black scuff marks on the wall to add a dash of color.

Remnants of fights? Resisting officers? She’d had enough violence for one night. She was a victim: she would behave. Co-operation was the name of the game. Another young officer joined them. This latest embodiment of Boston’s finest was bursting at the seams of his uniform. Neither officer offered much in the way of reassurance. Where were the seasoned pros? As they took her statement, they pressed for details in her description of the two men who'd been about to take off in her car. Kate had no problem obliging--the face of the man who'd held her at gunpoint was still vivid. "The man with the gun had short black hair, brown eyes, a small scar on his chin and was around five feet, eight inches tall." As she rhymed off the list, Kate noticed the two officers' increasing interest and exchange of knowing looks. "What? What is it?” she asked eagerly. "Do you recognize him?" Ignoring her questions, they continued bombarding her with their own regarding the second man. Kate slumped back in the unyielding plastic chair, still willing to cooperate but a little ticked off at their unwillingness to share information. She wasn't used to being on the receiving end of questions being asked. "I didn't see him as clearly or for very long. All I remember is that he was taller, maybe six feet, and that his hair was long--about shoulder length. And one other thing: he had a big nose.” "Did either of the men say anything? Could you tell if they had an accent?" Kate nodded and proceeded to imitate the gunman shouting to his accomplice. "Outta here, now,” she grunted in a deep voice, doing her best to mimic the slight Italian accent. Her performance prompted another exchange of looks. "I think we should get Michael in here.” The chubby officer's voice had raised an octave in his excitement. "These guys sound familiar." Baby-face nodded. "We'll have to catch him before he leaves the station. I saw him earlier but he's on his way out to another homicide." "This Michael.” Kate interrupted. "He investigates murders? I thought we were dealing with car thieves." Once again she was ignored and once again left on her own as they took off in pursuit of "Michael." With a weary sigh, Kate shoved aside empty coffee cups and laid her head

in her arms on the scratched, dented table. Visions of home and a hot, soothing bath in which to nurse her wounds were put on hold. Within minutes the officers were back, minus their prey, but with explicit instructions from Detective Michael O'Connor that Kate was not to leave until he'd returned from the homicide scene and had a chance to question her. Apparently Kate's recent adventure had taken place in the same vicinity as the murder and there was a possible connection. Kate rolled her eyes. "More coffee and a blanket, please. And a bed if you have one." Her requests granted--all but the bed--she was abandoned again.

*** Fifteen minutes of solitude in the interrogation room were all she could take. Wrapped in the scratchy wool blanket and ignoring the curious stares, Kate tracked down the wunderkind officer. "Bored?” He greeted her forlorn figure with a grin. "Big time." "Okay. Hang out with me for a while." For the next hour and a half Kate was his shadow, watching him fill out police reports, take fingerprints and deal with the anxious relatives of those being booked for a variety of petty crimes. Finally the desk sergeant alerted them to the imminent arrival of Detective O'Connor. Rounding up the other officer, they returned to the interrogation room. And waited. Twenty minutes later, three restless individuals perked up at the sound of voices in the hall. Two men entered the room. Kate, eagerly awaiting the arrival of Detective O'Connor, was dumbfounded to see the pimp she'd encountered earlier. Murder, car thieves, pimps? How far did this possible connection go? The tall, distinguished black man accompanying the pimp must be Detective O'Connor. Not so. Extending a hand and introducing himself, he immediately put Kate's confusion to rest. "Ms. Sullivan? I'm Detective Jim Pearson and this is my partner, Detective Michael O'Connor. Thanks for waiting." To give Detective O'Connor his due, he looked suitably abashed as he extended his own hand to Kate. "Ms. Sullivan and I ran into each other earlier this evening and I believe I owe her an apology. I made quite an error in judgment as to her reason for being at the station."

The now familiar charming smile accompanied this attempt to make amends for having mistaken Kate for a prostitute. And he was holding her hand in his large, firm grip just a fraction longer than necessary. "That's quite all right, Detective O'Connor. No need to apologize,” Kate replied, matching him tit for tat in the charm department. "I thought you were a pimp." This brought hoots of laughter from Detective Pearson and the other officers, while Michael's face went red. He released her hand and managed a small smile. "Well, then, Ms. Sullivan, I guess we're even.” Kate nodded sweetly with a brief smile of her own. Introductions and mistaken identities dispensed with, Detective O'Connor sat across from Kate and proceeded to grill her about the encounter with the car thieves. This was the seasoned pro. "You left your office at approximately what time?" "Eight o'clock." "And you're a journalist with the local newspaper?” he asked, referring to the notes taken by the young officers. "Does my profession matter?" Gone was the flirtatious charm. Detective O'Connor's blue eyes were solemn as he regarded Kate. "Hopefully, in this case, yes. As a journalist, you may have an eye for more significant detail." Kate nodded. "I work for the Daily Globe." "So, at eight o'clock in the evening, in the pouring rain, you proceeded alone to a deserted parking lot.” It was a statement, not a question and the disapproval in his voice was unmistakable. "I've used the same parking lot for the past five years and never encountered any danger before." "You've been lucky,” he muttered, glancing back at the notes. "It's not a great scenario for a woman alone." "It's not an area known for crime, and I don't need a lecture on what I should and shouldn't do,” Kate retorted. Her first impression had been correct. He was one of those condescending males.

Detective O'Connor looked up and gazed at her thoughtfully, running a hand through his already tousled hair. No lecture was forthcoming. He just shook his head. "Okay, let's just get on with it." "Yes, let's.” "All right, then. We've got your description of the two men and it's good. I'd just like you to go over what actually happened when you met up with them." Kate sat up straighter, eager to get this over with. "I didn't see them as I approached. A parked van was blocking my view.” “You were approaching the rear of your vehicle?” “Yes. I was about three feet from the trunk of the car when I noticed one man was already in the driver's seat and the other just about to enter the passenger side.” “You were that close before you noticed people in and around your car?” Kate bit her lip to keep from shouting. “It was raining, it was dark and I had other things on my mind.” Her voice rose despite the efforts at control. “And at this point, what does it matter where I was when I spotted them?” “Okay, okay.” O’Connor shrugged. “Continue.” “I shouted something like, ‘Hey, what do you guys think you're doing?’ and one guy took off. The other man got--" "Didn't it occur to you to take off?" "Not really. I guess I was so surprised to see them that--" "Or that they might be armed?" Kate frowned at this third interruption, knowing damn well she should have run the minute she'd spotted the thieves. But hindsight was great. At the time, seeing two men about to take off in her car, she'd blurted out the first thing that entered her head. What did this guy want? An apology? "Are you going to continue lecturing me, or may I proceed?" "Please do.” The patronizing grin appeared. Kate chose to ignore it. "The other man got out of the driver’s seat, stood by the open door and aimed the gun at me. The only thing he said was, 'Keys'. He just assumed it was my car and I figured there wasn't any point in pretending it wasn't."

"Good thinking." Kate checked for sarcasm, but found none. "I threw the keys and they landed on the other side of the car door." "Lousy aim or deliberately?" "Lousy aim." This admission brought forth a chuckle from Detective O'Connor. Although he ticked her off, Kate had to admit that when he smiled, and his blue eyes were friendly, he was actually quite good looking. In fact, extremely attractive. Too bad he was also an irritating chauvinist. She should have lied and said her aim was deliberate. "Have you finished laughing?” she inquired politely. "Sorry.” He didn't look the slightest bit sorry. "You're harassing the witness, Michael,” Detective Pearson pointed out. "Let me take over." Kate shot him a grateful look and continued, addressing her remarks to Detective Pearson. "He indicated that I should pick up the keys. I guess he didn't want to get them himself because he had to keep an eye on me. As I walked by him, he grabbed my purse. That's when I noticed the scar on his chin.” Kate paused, remembering his face. "He's a nasty, cruel-looking man." Pearson nodded. "He's not a very pleasant person." "When I'd passed by him and was on the other side of the door, I bent down to get the keys. That's when I decided that instead of just handing them over, I'd make a run for it." "Wasn't he aiming the gun at you at this point?” Pearson asked. "He had the gun in his left hand,” Kate explained. "And never actually turned around. He just turned his head to watch me, so the gun was still on the other side of the door. He would have had to shoot through the door or walk around it. I suppose he figured I was too scared to try and get away." Pearson turned to Michael. "Left-handed." Michael nodded, both men pleased with this further bit of identification.

Kate continued after another nod from Pearson. "I also considered the fact that he might shoot me even if I did give him the keys. Not only did he look mean, he also looked sort of panicked. So as I bent down to pick them up, I gave a big shove to the door with my hip, slamming it against him. He yelled, the gun went off, and I threw myself on my hands and knees and crawled over to another car." Michael had been listening with his chair tilted back and his head resting against the wall. The chair suddenly met the floor with a loud crash as he shot forward, trying to stifle his laughter at the image of Dominick Palone being thwarted by Ms. Sullivan's shapely butt. Kate couldn't even pretend she hadn't noticed. Everyone turned to look at him, and the two young officers were smirking too. My God, he was infuriating. If it had been just the two of them in this room, she'd have walked out. "And?” Detective Pearson prompted. At least he wasn't smiling. "He shouted again, and I figured he'd probably come after me. I started running toward the street, hoping someone would be there. That's when I heard the whistle." The young officer who'd brought Kate to the station spoke up. "The guy blowing the whistle was the night watchman from her office. Apparently he was outside having a puff on his cigar when he heard the shouts and the gunshot, blew on his whistle and then put in the call to the police. The guys took off when they heard the whistle, but he didn't get a look at them.” He turned to Kate. "Give the detectives your imitation of the gunman's shout after the whistle blew." Kate obliged. Detectives Pearson and O'Connor reacted just as the two young officers had. Her imitation was quite a hit around here. It was now time for them to explain why she was still at the station. Detective O'Connor, back to his serious cop routine, did the honors. Evidently, just prior to the attempted theft of Kate's car, a fatal shooting had taken place in the apartment building adjacent to the parking lot. The call came in about the homicide soon after the night watchman's call regarding Kate's encounter. The murder had all the markings of a mob hit, and Kate's description of the car thieves fit the profile of two mob members wanted in connection with two other hits. Kate struggled to make sense of this. There had to be a mistake. "Why would mobsters be stealing my car? Aren't they pros at this sort of thing? Wouldn't they have a getaway car waiting for them?" Since she had the smarts to think of that angle on her own, Michael gave her the brutal, honest answer. Better she know exactly what was involved. "From the looks of the crime scene, I don't think the hit went as smoothly as planned. Things were a bit messy. We presume it took longer than anticipated and that their driver took off, figuring something went wrong."

Michael saw Kate's body tense as she absorbed the implication of what he'd just said. A small smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose stood out in relief as her face paled. Her green eyes darted anxiously from one detective to the other. "You're sure?" "Ninety percent sure." Kate slumped back in her chair, suddenly conscious of her fatigue, hunger, cold and minor injuries. Unwilling to deal with the thought of murder and how close she'd come to being a victim of the mob, Kate dealt with the present. "My hands and knees hurt." Michael took her outstretched hands in his own and saw the raw scrapes. Bits of gravel were imbedded in the torn skin. Her knees were in the same condition. Belatedly, he became aware of Kate's general disheveled appearance. Huddled under a dingy blanket--confiscated from God knows where--she was shivering, either from fear or cold. Probably both. Furious, both with himself and the others for not noticing before, he turned to the two young officers. "What the hell's wrong with you guys? Get someone in here to take care of her hands and knees. Get her some dry clothes and something to eat." Crouching in front of Kate, Michael studied her face, hoping his prime witness wasn't about to go into shock. "Ms. Sullivan?" Kate reluctantly met his eyes. She was not the least bit comforted by the warmth and concern she saw, nor by his gentle tone of voice. Beyond caring if she sounded like a plaintive child, she whispered, "I want to go home now." "You can't,” he shook his head. "I need you here just a little while longer. We'll get you fixed up and comfortable, and you can rest on the couch in my office." Kate was listening, but Michael wasn't certain if she understood the gravity of her current situation. And he wasn't about to tell her until her physical needs were taken care of. He left the room. Once fed, injuries attended to, and clothed in a dry police shirt and jacket, Kate I.D.'d police mug shots and was finally taken to Detective O'Connor's office. It was another bare, dingy room without a single redeeming feature or personal touch except for a battered baseball glove lying on an old, torn leather couch. Exhausted, she lay down, using the glove as a lumpy pillow. Pushing aside the nagging feeling that there was more to this whole thing than she'd been told, Kate drifted off to sleep--the last image in her mind that of Marlon Brando as The Godfather.

*** Michael entered his office an hour later to find Kate sleeping and smiled at the sight of the uniform, the bandaged knees and the stocking feet. One arm dangled over the side

of the couch, fingers barely protruding from the oversized shirtsleeve. Her hair had dried and Michael resisted the impulse to touch and smooth the tangled mop of curls. It was not a gesture in the line of duty. Pulling a chair over to the couch, he sat and watched her for a moment, reluctant to put an end to her peaceful sleep. "Ms. Sullivan?” He gently lifted the outstretched arm and placed it at her side. Kate's eyes opened quickly. It took only seconds to recognize the Detective. She sat up slowly, regarding him with reluctance and suspicion. And perhaps with just a smidgen of sympathy. He looked exhausted. As he absent-mindedly rubbed the stubble on his cheeks with strong, lean fingers, Kate noted that each thumbnail had been bitten to the quick. Evidently the tough Detective occasionally succumbed to nerves. With his collar open, tie askew and shirtsleeves rolled up, O'Connor was no longer the dapper, laughing "pimp" she'd first encountered. As it turned out, her eyeing him with suspicion was entirely justified. What he now had to say was every bit as disturbing as anything else she'd heard tonight. Detective O'Connor was suggesting--or rather insisting--that she be placed under police protection. "Police protection?” Kate repeated. "What for?" "For your own safety,” O'Connor replied. "Your testimony could put these guys away on a murder rap. And that puts your life in danger." "But that doesn't make any sense! I didn't see them murder anyone. I didn't even know about any murder until you told me.” O'Connor shrugged. "That's true, but your testimony could still convict these guys, and they know it. When you slammed that car door a bullet was fired, either at you or accidentally. We'll find the bullet and match it with the bullets recovered at the murder scene. And that will prove that the guys who tried to steal your car were the same guys who murdered someone just minutes earlier in the adjacent apartment building. Once we catch them, we'll have you as a witness and the evidence to indict them." Kate just stared at him, dumbfounded. "Of course," he added, "if you had actually witnessed the murder, that would be even better, but--" "Better!" Kate exploded. "Better for who?" Furious, she grabbed the baseball mitt and Michael instinctively ducked, figuring he was the intended target. Although she looked tempted, she just flung it to the other end of the couch.

"I apologize. I was out of line with that last remark. But, Ms. Sullivan, you have to be reasonable about this." Kate continued to glare at him. Well, maybe she didn't have to be reasonable, but it would make his job a hell of a lot easier. Patiently, he explained the situation again. "Once those guys eliminate you, they've eliminated the only witness who can I.D. them and place them in the vicinity of the crime scene. And keep in mind, they can I.D. you. They have your purse, know where you live, work and what you look like--" "And you really think they'll come after me?” Kate interrupted. "That they'll figure out all that stuff about matching up the bullets?" Michael nodded. "I told you. They're Mafia connected. Even if they don't figure it out for themselves, someone in the organization will. You can bet on it." "And what about fingerprints in the car?" Michael was both impressed and relieved with the question. Ms. Sullivan had the smarts to think this through. "Gloves were used at the homicide scene. But any fingerprints we find in the car will probably match those we've got on file for minor convictions these guys have." Kate stood up and began a frantic pace about the room, feeling trapped already. Everything he said was both frightening and true. Michael observed the pacing, trying to suppress a grin. With her tiny figure and the uniform flapping about, she looked like a curly, auburn-haired version of Charlie Chaplin. All she needed was the mustache. "I don't want police protection, to have to hide or anything like that,” she suddenly wailed. "I have a life to live, I like my privacy and, oh shit…this is just awful. I should have run when I had the chance." Detective Pearson chose this moment to enter and was met with an angry stare from Kate. Now there were two of them to gang up on her. And Detective Pearson was every bit as persuasive and insistent as Detective O'Connor, giving her the same arguments for the necessity of police protection. It all made sickening sense. "I really have no choice, do I?” Kate finally admitted. Both men shook their heads. Although accepting her immediate fate, she had one more question. With arms crossed at her chest and a stubborn tilt to her chin, she asked, "Just how long do you figure this protection will be necessary?"

Michael nodded to his partner. Pearson could tackle this one. "It's hard to say. With your assistance, we could shorten the amount of time it takes,” Jim explained. "If you agree and are willing to cooperate, we could use you as a decoy to lure them out of hiding. I doubt they'll be pulling off any more jobs or leaving town while you're still, uh…" "Alive is the word you're looking for,” Kate pointed out. "Right. Alive." Jim shot her an admiring look. "We'd stage carefully set scenarios using you as the decoy and with your safety always in mind. You'd be well covered and protected at all times, of course." "Of course.” Kate repeated his words slowly. As she thought of the implications of the plan, her hands fell to rest lightly on her stomach. "Are you going to be sick?” Michael asked in alarm, noting her pale face and the placement of her hands. "No.” Kate dismissed his concern with a wave. "Ms. Sullivan, you're under no obligation to do this. We're quite capable of handling the investigation without your assistance,” Michael assured her. "What are my other alternatives?" "We could hide you in one of our "safe" houses, or you could stay secluded in your own home with police protection,” Jim replied. "I'd be the prisoner with those alternatives." "But you'd be minimizing the risk to your life.” Michael pointed out. "I think one of those options is your best bet." "And while my life's on hold and I'm cowering in seclusion, just how long is it going to take you to find these guys? You said they're wanted in connection with two other murders. How long have you been after them?" "About eight months,” Jim admitted reluctantly. "I can't stay in hiding for months!" "It shouldn't take us that long," Michael assured her. "And you'd be better off out of the way." "Says who?” Kate turned to him in anger and frustration. "Whether I'm in a safe house or in my own home, what makes you so sure they won't find me? And if they do, they'll kill me if they're desperate enough. I end up dead or terrified to ever leave the house!"

This outburst reduced both men to a wary silence. "Give me some time to think about this.” Kate plunked herself back down on the couch, exhausted and bewildered. Aware of the two detectives watching her every move, she added in exasperation, "And without anyone staring at me." Jim quickly grabbed a folder from the pile on the desk and studied it intently, while Michael retrieved the baseball glove and pounded it with a fist as he gazed out the window. Kate did her best to ignore both of them and huddled in the corner of the couch, trying to figure out her next course of action. She'd landed in a beauty of a mess this time, and had no one to blame but herself and her big mouth. Life would be a lot simpler if she were just dealing with a stolen car. Although the thought of being a decoy was terrifying, it was definitely more appealing than hiding and giving up any kind of normal life for God knows how long. Eight months and they still hadn't caught these guys? She didn't have that kind of time to put her life on hold. In approximately five months she was about to become a single parent and had hoped to have her life in order before the blessed event. It certainly wasn't in any kind of order now, and that didn't even include being the target of a mob hit. Not only was she pregnant, but the unplanned pregnancy had been the catalyst for the break-up of her marriage. Faced with the unpleasant prospect of impending fatherhood, her charming husband Jeffrey had cold-heartedly suggested an abortion. Once recovered from her initial shock, Kate had taken a long, hard look at the man she'd married and decided he no longer existed. The break had been swift and relatively painless. Jeffrey got the investment portfolio, Kate got the house. Which was another reason she couldn't foresee hiding for an indefinite length of time. Finances. She simply couldn't afford to "retire" right now. She'd counted on these next few months to build up a nest egg so that she could take a leave of absence when the baby was born. How many in-depth interviews and investigative articles could be written from the confines of home? Kate sighed and stretched her legs down the length of the couch. In response to a discreet cough coming from the direction of the window, she turned and gave Michael an icy stare. "I'm not finished yet." "Take all the time you need." "I plan to." Resuming her concentration, Kate decided she was not about to inform the police of her pregnancy, since they would probably eliminate the decoy scenario from her limited

choices if they knew. Given the fact her doctor had said both she and the baby were healthy and strong and that she was well past the threat of an early miscarriage, and that Detective Pearson had promised she would be well protected, Kate figured being used as a decoy was her best option. No matter which option she chose, her life was in danger. The advantage to the decoy set-up was the fact it could all be resolved sooner and she could participate rather than living in constant fear and seclusion. Time to end the suspense. Kate swung her legs off the couch and stood up. Both men promptly stopped what they were doing and looked at her anxiously. "I agree to be a decoy," she announced calmly, far more calmly than she actually felt. "Anything to get this over with and get on with my life. But I insist on final veto power over any crazy scheme you come up with." "Are you sure?” asked Michael. "Yes, I'm sure,” she replied, irritated by the question. What did he think she'd been doing for the past five minutes? Checking her nails? Judging from his tone of voice and the expression on his face, Kate figured Detective O'Connor wasn't too keen on her decision. Probably thought she couldn't handle it. Michael shrugged. "Well, then, I guess we start making plans. You're quite a girl, Ms. Sullivan." Big mistake. Kate turned on him, furious. "Girl? I may be a decoy, a reluctant witness and a marked woman, but I am not a girl." Michael raised his arms in mock surrender. "No offense intended. I promise not to say it again." "Make sure you don't."

*** Kate curled up on the couch again while the two detectives worked out the arrangements for her safekeeping. From the gist of their conversation, it was obvious that O'Connor and Pearson were arguing about who would take on the job of guarding her. Their voices lowered in a futile attempt to keep her from overhearing. She simply listened more attentively. At this point, Kate really had no preference. She figured either man could do the job, although Detective Pearson did seem the calmer, more stable of the two. O'Connor's cocky manner and attitude toward women were hard to take, and so was the fact that she found him attractive despite the attitude. Kate dismissed this concern as irrelevant, given her present condition and circumstances. No man in his right mind was about to become involved with her, which is exactly how she wanted it. Conversation and interaction could be kept to a minimum.

It soon became apparent that Michael was losing the battle and was going to end up with the honor of being Kate's bodyguard. Pearson was pointing out that he had a family to consider and was better off doing the paperwork at the station and the legwork on the streets. "Not to mention the fact that my undercover abilities as Ms. Sullivan's bodyguard would be somewhat compromised by the color of my skin,” he said gleefully. "Or had you ceased to notice?" "I notice, I notice.” Michael scowled, glancing in Kate's direction to see how much of this she was taking in. Obviously enough, since she returned his look with another icy stare. "Great, it's settled then,” Pearson announced. Smiling at Michael's morose expression, he added smugly, "And I'd just like to point out that staying put for a while will be good for you, Michael. Admittedly, it's quite a change in your routine and will cut into your active social life, but consider it an opportunity to get some rest. You could certainly use some, and so could all those women." Again, Michael glanced quickly at Kate. The reference to his personal life wasn't going over very well. She was on her feet, fists clenched. "May I point out that while you two have been arguing as to who has to protect me, I don't care to have either one of you around. But I have no choice in the matter." Both men looked contrite, although Kate doubted Michael's sincerity. She continued her tirade, directing her fury at him. "And as to you needing a break from your active lifestyle, I'd like to make it perfectly clear that while you may have to reside in my home, you will stay clear of me. I won't be requiring your services in any capacity except as a bodyguard." Michael felt it time to reassert some authority, which was on a sharp decline in the face of Kate's wrath. "Ms. Sullivan, let there be no misunderstanding. This is my job, and I'll behave like a perfect gentleman." She got the last word anyway. "You won't have any choice in the matter."

*** At midnight, Kate was taken to an unmarked police car for the journey home. Michael heaved two huge suitcases and a bag containing her wet clothes into the trunk and joined her in the backseat. Nodding in the direction of the trunk, she asked, "Just how long do you plan on staying?"

"Equipment,” he replied tersely. "I haven't even got any personal belongings yet." The next ten minutes of the drive were made in tense silence, which Kate finally ended. "I feel like a prisoner already,” she said glumly, eyeing the protective barrier between the driver and the backseat. "Well, I'm sitting back here with you,” Michael pointed out. "And neither one of us has much choice in the matter." So he felt like a prisoner too. Good. He was also very restless--had been since the moment he'd entered the car. Perhaps this whole scheme was going to be just as hard on him as it was on her. Michael was actually trying to accommodate his long legs in the cramped quarters of the back seat. Leaning forward to pound on the glass barrier, and shouting at the driver to move the front seat up, his thigh touched Kate's. She flinched and made a deliberate show of moving away. "Ms. Sullivan, I accidentally touched your leg.” He shot her a look of exasperation. "Believe me, if I was ever to make a move on you, you'd know it." "I'm sure I would. Your moves are probably as subtle as your mouth." Things were not off to a good start. Michael figured he could grin and bear it, or try to ease the strain. He chose the latter. "Ms. Sullivan, why don't we call a truce? Instead of thinking of yourself as a prisoner, how about considering yourself a partner?" Kate looked over to see if he was serious. "Don't underestimate me," she cautioned. Michael grinned. "I'd never underestimate anyone who'd just successfully tackled the mob." He was rewarded with the first genuine smile he'd seen from Kate that night, and it was a beauty--lit up her whole face. Maybe this assignment wouldn't be so bad after all. Let her think she was a partner and he had it made.

Chapter Two The driver let Kate and Michael off at a side street. In silence, they approached her house from the lane way backing on to the rear of the properties. They were almost to the low picket fence of her yard when Kate, leading the way, came to a sudden halt to voice her bewilderment as to why she was sneaking into her own home. "Don't we want them to know where I am?” she whispered. Pulling back to avoid a collision at the unexpected stop, Michael smashed his left knee with one of the suitcases. Grimacing in pain, he replied through clenched teeth. "Yes, we want them to know but not at this particular moment. I don't want you picked off before we've had a chance to get this whole thing underway." The thought of being "picked off" and his matter-of-fact way of suggesting the possibility effectively silenced Kate. Obviously the brilliant Detective O'Connor had it all figured out and would be making damn sure she remained alive to ensure the success of the investigation. Waving aside his offer of assistance Kate climbed over the fence with all the dignity she could muster considering the fact she was holding rather than wearing her skirt. When they came to the back porch Michael insisted on going in alone. "You stay right here,” he ordered in a whisper and with an unmistakable 'I dare you to object' look on his face. Without hesitation, Kate took the dare. "Fine, but aren't you even going to ask if I have an extra key hidden somewhere? And wouldn't it make more sense if I went with you? I'm more likely to notice if anything's been disturbed." Michael plunked himself down on the porch steps, head in hands. His knee was throbbing and if she kept this up his head soon would be. Why couldn't Ms. Sullivan be the frightened, subservient type; willing to obey his orders, no questions asked? Letting out a deep breath, he lifted his head. Still dressed in the police uniform, Kate stood clutching her bag of clothes, waiting for his answer with a tentative but eager smile. Eager to be of help, which he didn't need nor want. It was hard getting pissed off at someone who looked so damned cute, but she was making it easier by the minute. "Ms. Sullivan, I'm not checking the place out for a possible robbery. I'm checking for any trap that may have been set." Her eyes grew wide. "As in bomb?" "Yeah. As in bomb, booby-trap, trip wire...” His voice trailed off as Kate's eyes grew even bigger with fear. As infuriating as she was, Michael felt a twinge of guilt. Things were bad enough without emphasizing the

danger in her own home. Not only did he feel guilty, he also felt the ridiculous urge to offer a reassuring hug. He was really losing it--not only his patience, but his mind. She'd slap his face the minute he touched her. Forget the goodwill gestures. Giving his head a shake, Michael stood up and simply said, "So stay put." He'd managed to climb just two steps before a gentle tug to his jacket had him bowing his head and holding back a curse. My God, she never gave up. "Detective O'Connor, I understand the part about checking the house, but what about the key?" Michael slowly turned his head, both hands clutching the railing. "I assumed, Ms. Sullivan, that we didn't have a key since your purse was stolen. And I'm quite capable of opening a locked door without a key." Kate met his look of exasperation with one of her own and resisted the urge to shove him from behind. He was using that tone of voice again, as though speaking to an idiot. And just who was the idiot? So what if he could open the door without a key? Why go to all that trouble if one was available? "Well, la-de-da," she drawled, not at all impressed with his reputed break and enter skills. Reaching below the bottom step, she lifted a loose board and handed him the key, receiving a gruff thanks for her efforts. Kate smiled smugly as Michael inserted the key and turned the knob. He gave his final orders. "I'm still going in alone. You stay right here 'til I give you the okay. Got it?" Michael glanced back, waiting for a reply. It didn't come. Kate was silent, distracted by and admiring the gorgeous profile he'd just presented. With that determined set to his jaw and mouth, the high cheekbones and the scowl on his face, Michael looked like a fierce warrior prepared for battle. "Well?" He was still waiting for a reply. Kate quickly nodded, embarrassed to be caught daydreaming while Detective O’Connor was poised to enter a potentially dangerous situation. He drew his revolver from the shoulder strap inside his jacket and this time, Kate was impressed. Shivering in the damp night air and with her heart pounding, she watched Michael disappear into the darkness of the kitchen. He seemed so certain that if any danger existed, it was inside the house. But what if those men were hiding out here, waiting for the opportunity to get her alone, to shoot her? Kate shut her eyes and her body tensed in anticipation of the sound of gunfire. The nerve-wracking silence was suddenly shattered by a loud crash and a bloodcurdling yell from in the house. Kate hesitated only seconds before grabbing a pair of

garden shears and racing inside. Detective O'Connor hadn't said anything about not coming to his rescue. She found Michael lying flat on his back in the front hallway, the overturned catch-all table beside him. The culprit was mewing and prancing at his feet. Flicking on the hall light and grabbing Furball, Kate knelt by Michael, panicked at the thought of her protector rendered useless by her crazy sky-diving cat. "Detective O'Connor?” Tentatively, she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Oh, God, please don't be unconscious." Michael groaned and opened his eyes to find Kate peering anxiously above him. She was so close he could see tiny flecks of gold in her green eyes, could have counted the freckles on her nose. He gave a rueful smile. "I'm not unconscious, just stunned.” Catching a glimpse of the garden shears, the smile disappeared and he groaned again. "Please put those away, I can't take anymore." Kate hastily put them aside. Michael sat up, gently rubbing the back of his head. "What the hell was that?" She bit her lip and looked down at Furball. "A bloody cat?" "I forgot to warn you about him,” she said in a small voice. He stood up, still massaging his head and glanced up the stairway. "That creature literally flew through the air and landed on my head. I slipped on this damn rug,” he said in disgust, kicking it for emphasis, "and bashed into the table on my way to the floor. You don't need a bodyguard, I do." Kate wisely remained silent and began straightening the rug. As Michael righted the table, Furball padded over to his leg and began purring. "He likes you,” Kate said, amazed. The aloof and independent stray she'd taken in a year ago had never shown her this kind of affection. "Great.” Michael eyed the cat with suspicion. He would have given it a swift kick had Kate not been looking. "Any other surprises in store, Ms. Sullivan? A guard dog in the basement? A poisonous snake in the bathroom?" Kate shook her head and steered the conversation away from the topic of animals. "Any sign of anyone having been here?" "Not so far and since I just made enough noise to wake the dead I doubt anyone's in hiding.” He surveyed the now well lit room. "Now that you're in here, do you notice anything?"

"Not a thing.” Both the living and dining rooms looked undisturbed, cushions still plump on the couch and the usual clutter on the coffee table familiar and comforting. Together they made a tour of the upstairs and found nothing. Kate let Michael investigate the basement on his own; dark and dingy, it wasn't appealing at the best of times. "Done and all clear,” he announced, entering the kitchen and joining Kate at the pine table. Resting her elbows on the table and her head in her hands, she nodded wearily. Michael smiled in sympathy. She looked beat. "If it's any comfort, there's been an unmarked police car parked out on the street since we figured out your connection with these guys." "Good,” she smiled in return, although not at all reassured. Anyone could have come in the back way. They did. "Before I go to bed, I have a few questions." "Shoot.” He grinned. "Bad choice of words." Kate wondered how he maintained his level of energy, let alone his sense of humor. He must be as exhausted as she was--probably more so. Detective Pearson mentioned earlier that he and Michael had been up most of the previous night working on another case. Maybe this was all an act to prove he had more endurance and he'd collapse the minute she was gone. Fine. After the questions, they could both collapse. "About my job--" "That's all been taken care of.” Michael sat straighter in his chair, smiling and looking very pleased with himself. "What do you mean, it's been taken care of?” Kate eyed him suspiciously. "We've been in touch with your boss at The Globe and it's all settled. You can work at home for the duration." "Anything else you've done without consulting me?" At her tone of voice, the smile left his face. He'd pissed her off again. "Well, we thought it would be helpful to report your credit cards stolen and put the companies on the alert on the off chance they're used." "And just how did you happen to know which credit cards I own?"

"We ran a computer check on you,” he admitted reluctantly, figuring this was going to push her over the edge. "It's perfectly legal." "Legal?” She was off the chair, fists clenched and eyes blazing with fury. "It's an invasion of my privacy! I assume you now know every personal detail about my life? My date of birth, marital status, credit rating...?" Michael nodded. Although he'd have preferred she take the news more calmly, it was actually a pleasure to see those green eyes flashing as the now familiar temper erupted. He wondered, as he had when first finding out about it, what the reason was for her impending divorce. She'd never mentioned it--they’d discovered it on the computer credit check. Ms. Sullivan had just recently established her own credit rating using her maiden name rather than her husband's surname. Her professional byline had always been Kate Sullivan but the legal entity known as Katherine Anne Cooper (a.k.a. Mrs. Jeffrey Cooper) no longer existed. Perhaps the estranged husband didn't enjoy the sight of Kate in a temper, or maybe he'd taken one too many flying leaps from Furball. The fight seemed to have gone out of Kate. Pushing her tangled curls back from her face, she said wearily, "I'm going to bed now." Michael stood and followed her to the stairs. "What about me?" Turning and observing his rather forlorn figure, Kate managed a smile. "You, sir, can use the pull-out couch in the living room. I'll bring you some sheets, blankets and a pillow. I think it's best if you slept down here. My assassins are more likely to enter from the ground floor and I'd prefer you be their initial target." Michael gave a brief shrug to indicate his agreement to the arrangement. He couldn't very well argue with her reasoning, although she could have phrased it a little differently. So why the disappointment at being relegated to the pull-out? She'd made it clear from the outset that she wasn't about to share her bed for the sheer pleasure of it. Certainly not with him anyway. Nor was she cowering in fear and in need of his reassuring physical presence. Nevertheless, he remained standing in the hallway, admiring the view as Kate climbed the stairs. He'd miss that uniform. Kate returned with the sheets, blankets and pillow and found Michael in the kitchen installing a new phone. "Do I really want to know what you're doing and why?" He turned with a smile. "This phone has a call display feature. If Dominick Palone and his buddy Salvatore call here we can pinpoint their location. I don’t think they’d be that stupid, but, hey, you never know. I'll show you how it works in the morning and install another one upstairs." "Fine.” There was no way she could even fake an enthusiasm to match his. "I've put a new toothbrush and some blue towels out in the bathroom for you. There's only the one and it's upstairs."

"Thanks, I appreciate it.” Aware that she was almost asleep on her feet, he added quickly, "I'll lock up things down here. And, Kate...” he hesitated. "Is it all right if I call you Kate?" "Why not? You're privy to every other intimate detail of my life." Michael laughed, ignoring the sarcasm and Kate had to smile--his laughter was deep and infectious. For a moment their eyes locked. His dark blue ones gazed at her steadily, with warmth, friendliness and with something else. Desire? An invitation? "Sure you don't want me sleeping upstairs?” Michael asked, his voice low and husky. "You wouldn't feel safer?" "I'm sure.” Kate retreated from his stare. She wouldn't feel safe at all, and not because of any danger to her life. In the relative safety and comfort of home, away from the tense, hectic atmosphere of the police station and groggy with fatigue, Kate felt her defenses slipping. Detective O'Connor was a good-looking, well-built male and it had been a long time since anyone had looked at her like that. The brown, tousled hair and the dark brows accentuated the blue of his eyes and his mouth was curved in a wide, knowing smile. Too knowing. His reputation was well-founded--those eyes were making an offer she had no intention of accepting. Shaking her head in emphasis, Kate repeated her answer. "I'm quite sure." Michael accepted the rejection with a good-natured grin. "Well, then, Kate, have a good sleep. You could use one. I'll see you in the morning." "Good night, Michael.” Michael smiled as he watched Kate leave the kitchen. Although she'd rejected his offer, she hadn't lost her temper at the fact he’d even made it. And, she'd just used his first name.

*** Kate lay shivering in her big four-poster despite the thickness and warmth of the duvet. Michael's body might have provided some comfort, but she'd cope with the fear on her own. Hands resting protectively on the barely discernible bulge of her tummy, she crooned softly, over and over, "It'll be all right, baby, everything will be fine." Michael, with his gun safely tucked under the pillow, was trying unsuccessfully to find a comfortable position on a bed that left his feet dangling over the edge. Furball leapt up to join him, giving him even less room to maneuver. Despite a swift kick, the pesky cat didn't budge.

Propped up on an elbow, Michael glanced around Kate's living room. It was pleasantly decorated, comfortable looking and neat--a far cry from his cluttered and haphazardly furnished apartment. But clean sheets and comfortable surroundings weren't about to convince him of the benefits of domestic life. Pearson could harp all he liked about the advantages of settling down. It fell on deaf ears. Michael was not only aware of the divorce statistics within his profession, he was one of the statistics. His own brief marriage ended in divorce years ago when his wife couldn't cope with his hours and the dangers involved in the job. Marriage required sacrifices he wasn't prepared to make. He liked living on the edge, with no responsibilities to anyone but himself and the job. At age thirty-five, Michael was content to be on his own, preferring relationships that were casual and free of commitment. When the women he dated began to use the words "us" and "future" in the same sentence, he beat a hasty retreat. He flung his head back on the pillow. Forget contemplating his choice of lifestyle, he needed some sleep. He felt movement at the end of the bed and lifted his head. Furball was purring and creeping up beside him. "Scram.” The cat simply gave him a haughty, knowing look and curled up by his shoulder. Drifting off to sleep, Michael figured what the hell, at least someone wanted to share his bed tonight.

*** An hour later, Kate woke to the sound of a persistent thumping noise just below her bedroom window. Her first reaction was amazement that she'd actually managed to fall asleep. Her second was a cold, paralyzing fear. This was it. The mob was coming for her. Did Michael hear anything? There wasn't a sound coming from the living room. Her options were limited: hope Michael dealt with it while she remained hidden under the covers listening for the dreaded footsteps in the event that he failed, or get out of bed and do something to prevent her own murder. The last option was more actionoriented and so was Kate. Grabbing her robe and the only thing remotely resembling a weapon--a shoe with a spiked heel--Kate crept downstairs, avoiding every familiar creak in the stairs. By the time she reached the pull-out couch, the thumping noise had stopped. Nonetheless, that did little to ease the frantic pounding of her heart, nor did the sight of her bodyguard in a sound sleep. Great. Here lay the man sworn to protect her, dead to the world, with Furball curled up beside him. Actually, Michael looked quite appealing and had circumstances been otherwise--as in no immediate threat to her life--it might have been tempting to wake him for a very different purpose. The sheets and blanket were tangled about his waist, exposing his

bare, broad chest and flat, muscular stomach. One arm was flung over his head, revealing a patch of dark hair accentuated by the white skin of his inner arm. Kate leaned over the bed, so close she could see the gentle rise and fall of his chest and hear the deep, even sounds of his breathing. About to reach over and smooth back the dark, tousled hair from his forehead, her arm stopped in mid-air as the rhythmic thumping noise started up again. She quickly drew her hand back, thankful she hadn't followed through on the crazy impulse to touch him. As irresistible as he looked, this guy was supposed to be awake and dealing with this. "Michael,” she whispered softly, bending closer over his unconscious form. She would have yelled but was afraid of alerting the intruders and preferred her partner wide awake for whatever confrontation was to take place. Michael gave a low groan and turned in his sleep toward the sound of her voice. Before Kate could whisper his name again, he'd reached over and lifted an arm, pulling her down on top of him. Caught off balance, she ended up sprawled across his chest, pinned down by two strong arms. His lips found and were moving against the soft skin of her neck. Kate was in shock. The arrogant jerk thought she'd come crawling to his bed looking for a good time. Although tempted to bash him with the shoe, she wiggled her body so that her mouth was at his ear. Her movement prompted a moan of pleasure from Michael and an increased pressure of his arms. Shifting his body and pulling her closer, he murmured sleepily, "Glad you changed your mind.” Seething with anger, she'd have slapped his face if she hadn't needed his assistance, not to mention his gun. Settling for a fierce slug to his chest with a clenched fist, she whispered furiously, "Let go of me, you idiot. I'm not here for your body. Someone's trying to break in." Michael was immediately awake and alert, throwing off both Kate and the covers as he leapt out of bed and grabbed the gun from under the pillow. Bending over Kate, left unceremoniously dumped on the bed, he whispered, "Where? What did you hear?" "Shhh.” Kate put a finger to her lips. "Just listen." Michael, clad only in boxer shorts, remained hovering over Kate until he too heard the noise coming from the back of the house. His voice was tense and his face just inches from hers as he whispered again, "You stay here, and this time I mean it." He didn't wait for a reply and silently made his way to the kitchen, leaving Kate huddled in the warmth of his bed. Since Michael had the gun and all she had was a shoe, she let him go alone. If he returned alive, she'd give him hell for sleeping through the noise and misinterpreting her appearance at his bedside. Michael was back within minutes, grinning from ear to ear.

"Raccoons,” he reported cheerfully, "rooting around in the bag of clothes you left out there and in some garbage cans. Haven't you ever heard raccoons out back before?" "Wipe that grin off your face,” Kate shot back, indignant at the accusation that she couldn't tell the difference between raccoons and assassins. She struggled to her knees on the lumpy bed, clutching her robe. "Just who should be embarrassed around here? Sure I've heard raccoons before, just never on a night when I was expecting to be murdered. You're the one who’s supposed to be on the alert for strange noises and slept right through it." At least he had the decency to look abashed, whether or not he truly felt any remorse. "You're right, Kate. I'm sorry and embarrassed if it makes you feel any better. I guess someone else should have stayed with you 'til I'd caught up on some sleep. Thank God it was only raccoons." She didn't say a word, just continued to stare accusingly. "Kate?” He made a gesture of appeal and ended up waving the gun in the air. "Say something. I'm freezing and I want back in bed." "Not a chance, buddy, and quit waving that gun around. You owe me another apology." "Oh, yeah, that." He had the gall to smile. "Yeah, that. You've got some nerve thinking I'd come crawling to your bed for something other than your professional services." "Give me a break, Kate. I'm sleeping in a strange place. Maybe I thought it was somebody else." "Like hell." That flimsy excuse obviously didn't cut any ice with her. Michael figured he'd try the truth. "So maybe I did think it was you, thought you might have changed your mind. Is that so unbelievable? I apologize. What would you have done if I'd come to your bed, whispering your name?" "Screamed." Fair enough. She certainly couldn't make her feelings any plainer than that. "Okay, okay, I get the message.” He leaned over and placed the gun back under the pillow. "Now I'm getting back into bed. You're welcome to stay, just shove over. And by the way, your knuckles are turning white."

Kate glanced down. He was referring to her fierce grip on her robe. "I'm coming in, Kate,” he warned, one knee resting on the bed. "It's your call." She scrambled to get out of his way, nearly tripping on the length of her nightie and robe. Standing at the side of the bed, she gave him a last furious look. "You're insufferable." "Can't argue with you.” He laughed, arms clasped behind his head. "I guess this means you won't be joining me." She refused to dignify his last remark with a response, just turned and stomped up the stairs.

Chapter Three The low rumbling of male voices and the clanging of extension ladders climbing the outside walls had Kate fearfully scrambling out of bed at eight o'clock the next morning. As soon as her feet hit the floor, a familiar wave of nausea had her flat on the bed again. She gave it one more try, then flopped back on the pillows in disgust. What was the point? Other than up-chucking on a would-be assassin, what did she think she was going to do? As the familiar sounds of shingles being torn off and pounding hammers began, Kate managed a weak, relieved smile. The racket outside was simply the work crew resuming the roof repair. This latest death threat was on a par with the raccoon threat of last night. If she kept this up, she'd be a total wreck by the end of the day. Kate propped herself up on the pillows, waiting for the nausea to subside while munching on crackers from the bedside table stash. Supposedly, this morning ritual was to have ceased once the magic three month mark had passed. She’d conveniently ignored two key words in the sentence, “on average morning sickness lasts three months” when reading the pregnancy manuals. But then, why the surprise? She’d never done anything in an average sort of way in her entire life. Witness her present predicament. Before her stomach had a chance to settle down, panic struck again. Sitting bolt upright, cracker crumbs spilling down the front of her nightie, she suddenly remembered Michael. She hadn't warned him about the work crew and if he hadn't slept through the noise, was probably outside with his gun drawn and ready to fire. Cautiously easing her way to a standing position, Kate waged a silent bargain with her queasy stomach. Hold off. Just give me five minutes and I'll deal with you later. She'd made it halfway down the stairs when the nausea hit again. A quick glance into the living room assured her that Michael was awake and in no particular panic. He was also bare-chested and giving a final tug to his zipper. Quickly averting her eyes, Kate sat on the stairs and took great gulps of air as she fought the urge to retch. Michael looked up and smiled. "Hey, Kate, you can stop hyperventilating. I'm decent now." Kate groaned. What an unbelievable ego this man had! Did he actually think she was panting with lust at the sight of a bare chest and partially undone zipper? Head in hands, she turned and watched as Michael bent over to pick up his shirt. Although his mouth and his mind put her off, she had to admit it was difficult to find fault with the body. Michael had the physique of a runner: the flat chest, taut, muscular belly and not an ounce of surplus fat. It was either a gift from God or--worst case scenario--the result of daily exercise. And she was struggling with simple pre-natal push-ups.

Michael glanced up again while buttoning his shirt. "I assume you were on your way down to warn me about the workmen. Before I talk to the foreman, is there anything else you want to let me know about? Are you planning an open house? A garage sale?" He had that that amused, condescending grin on his face again. "Kill the sarcasm, Detective O'Connor,” Kate snapped. "I need a little time to adjust to being the target of a mob hit." "Time we don't have, Miss Cheerful.” Kate stuck out her tongue and headed up the stairs. Her allotted five minutes were up. Now it was time to deal with the nausea. Pausing at the sound of someone knocking at the kitchen door, she glanced back at Michael. "Probably one of the workmen,” he said reassuringly. "Don't worry." "I'm not worried.” Which was a lie, but she wasn't going to admit to another brief moment of panic. "If it's the criminals, tell them I'm indisposed at the moment. I've got first dibs on the bathroom." "Wish I had the time to use it,” Michael muttered, shrugging into his shoulder holster and grabbing his jacket. Jim Pearson had arrived via the back lane way with Michael's suitcase, and with the reassuring news that the bullet in the parking lot had been found and was a match to those used in the homicide. They had their evidence linking Kate's car thieves to the murder. As an added bonus, the fingerprints on and in the car matched those on police files. Now all they had to do was catch the guys. Jim sat at the kitchen table, ready to discuss the plans for the day, but apparently Michael wasn't in the mood to join him. He was pacing, beating a path from the doorway leading to the dining room to the window above the kitchen sink. Obviously he had something on his mind. Jim figured his partner would eventually fill him in, but decided a little prompting would speed up the process. "So, buddy, how’s it going? Are you and Ms. Sullivan getting along?" "Great, everything's just great,” Michael answered curtly. Prompting wasn't going to work. "Glad to hear everything's working out.” Jim's eyes followed Michael from the doorway to the window yet again. "So what's with the perpetual motion? Why don’t you sit down? You're making me dizzy with the pacing. Are you nervous? Did those guys call last night or make a move?"

"I'm not nervous, I'm uncomfortable. There's only one damn bathroom in this house and she's using it,” came the grumpy reply. "Is that all.” Jim laughed as Michael shot him an indignant look. "Okay, you pace and I'll talk. The Chief wants a decoy scenario set up today. He thinks they'll make their move as soon as possible. Figure out where you and Ms. Sullivan are headed and call the station. We'll send undercover cops and some unmarked cars. There's an unmarked car for you parked about a block from here and another car's arriving this morning for Ms. Sullivan. It's a rental and is being hooked up with monitoring and radio surveillance." "Delivery of rental car? Isn't that a bit unusual?" "Nope. This particular rental company actually does deliver." "Don't you think those guys will wonder why Kate isn't using her own car?" "Let them wonder. I don't care if they figure out the car's been impounded as evidence. If we can't get them on the murder charge, attempted car theft will do. At least Ms. Sullivan can I.D. them on that one." Conversation came to a halt when Kate entered the kitchen with a cheery hello for Jim. Both men turned with appreciative stares. What a transformation. Wearing blue jeans and a bulky red sweatshirt, Kate's green eyes were bright and friendly, her skin glowing. The tangled curls of the previous night were now soft, loose and shining. As she passed him on her way to the fridge, Michael caught a whiff of some fresh, flowery scent--either perfume or shampoo. Taking note of her good mood as she chatted with Jim, he decided that a shower and some sleep did wonders for Kate's disposition. And then she turned on him. "Bathroom's free and your bed's not made." Jim grinned. "Yeah, Michael. Get to it." "Piss off,” Michael grumbled to his partner as he grabbed his suitcase and started out of the room. Stopping at the doorway, he glanced back at Kate. "I haven't talked to the work crew yet and let me be the one to explain the situation." "Yes, sir.” When he'd gone, Kate turned to Jim with a smile. "Is he always so charming?" "I can be.” A disgruntled shout came from the hallway. “When I feel like it!” Although he exchanged an amused glance with Kate at Michael’s latest display of temper, loyalty to his partner of five years prompted Jim to defend Michael's testy behavior.

"I know Michael can be a pain, Ms. Sullivan.” He didn't expect an argument from Kate and didn't get one. "I just want you to know that if it were my life in danger--and it has been, many times--he's the guy I'd want to have around. Michael's one of the best." "Call me Kate,” she urged, joining him at the table and offering orange juice and toast. "I do trust him. I just find him difficult to live with and I gather he doesn't think much of the arrangement either." Jim nodded. "You're right on that score. He'd rather have a more active role in the investigation." "So why was he chosen to be the babysitter?" Jim hesitated, debating whether he should confide in Kate and decided that given the circumstances, there were certain things she should know about Michael. "Kate, I assure you Michael can do the job. This just happened to be a good opportunity to get him off the streets for a while." Kate's eyes widened. "Go on." "These past few weeks have been particularly rough for both of us and I think Michael's at the point of burnout. The job is his whole life and it takes its toll. He's a risk taker, always ready to put his life on the line. I do that too, and believe me, it's draining. I have a family, a home life that forces me to put aside the pressure and demands. Michael doesn't, doesn't seem to want one and won't acknowledge or admit how much the job takes out of him." "This assignment involves danger,” Kate pointed out. "Yeah, well, this time he has a lot of backup and I don't have to worry about him taking off on his own. He has a tendency to put in a lot of unofficial overtime." Kate smiled. "So this is a rest for Michael?" "In comparison, yes." "And I suppose you're hoping some exposure to a "domestic life" might help? Might encourage him to settle down?" "It couldn't hurt." "You're barking up the wrong tree, Detective.” Kate stood up, smiling over her shoulder as she headed to the counter and began making coffee. "I can provide a few homecooked meals, but that's it. I'm not exactly in a position to promote the myth of living happily ever after." Kate assumed--correctly--that Jim was aware of her marital status from the same source as Michael. He smiled sympathetically and tactfully changed the subject. They

discussed their respective jobs and the hopeful outcome of the investigation. Out of curiosity, Kate slipped in a few pointed questions about Michael and discovered he'd once been married. "Michael was going through his divorce about the time we became partners. He didn't talk much about it, but I assume that's one of the reasons he avoids getting involved in any permanent relationship." "He's gun-shy.” Kate understood exactly how Michael felt. "In a manner of speaking, yes,” Jim said with a smile. "Well, he has nothing to fear from me and don't get your hopes up about any influence I may have. We can't even go five minutes without one of us verbally attacking the other." Michael breezed into the kitchen at that moment and caught the tail end of Kate's sentence. "I heard the word 'attack',” he said with a grin. "Has Jim met Furball?" Kate smiled at the reference to his initial encounter with Furball. Apparently Michael was in much better spirits than when he'd left. Clean shaven, hair still damp from a shower and wearing jeans and a baseball jersey, his casual appearance just emphasized his good looks. Michael was the sort of person capable of filling a room simply with his presence, and not just in a physical sense. There was something else. Confidence? Arrogance? Whatever reservations Kate had about his character, she couldn't help but be impressed. "What have I done now?” Michael asked, noting Kate's prolonged stare. "Nothing, at least nothing I'm currently aware of,” she answered with a smile. Michael shook his head and winked. "Well, I'll never tell.” Jim observed the smiling exchange with interest. Although according to Kate they weren't getting along, things looked pretty good from where he was sitting. Perhaps Michael had finally met his match. "Coffee's ready,” Kate announced, ending the moment's truce. Michael rested his tall, lanky frame against the counter, eyeing the rear-view Kate offered as she reached into a cupboard for mugs. He quickly brought his gaze back to eye level when she turned around with a worried look. "Michael, where's your gun?” There was no shoulder holster visible under his shirt. Michael gave a mischievous grin and lifted his jersey, revealing the gun tucked into his waistband and exposing his flat stomach with its distinct line of dark, curly hair descending from his chest and disappearing into that same waistband.

"You could have just told me,” Kate commented dryly, handing him a mug of coffee. "That was more fun. More my style, if you like." "What happened to the gentlemanly behavior?” Jim asked. "He blew that last night,” Kate remarked coolly. Neither she nor Michael offered any further explanation, leaving Jim to wonder what kind of stunt Michael had pulled in less than twelve hours. Michael gave her another wink as he pulled down his shirt. "No offense intended, Kate." "None taken,” she replied airily, handing him a plate of toast. "It did nothing for me." Jim and Kate watched in silence as Michael downed his orange juice and devoured the toast. "More?” Kate inquired politely. "No thanks." Michael pushed back his chair and started toward the kitchen door with his mug of coffee. He stopped suddenly and headed back to the table. With slow, deliberate movements, he pushed in his chair, picked up his plate and carried it over to the sink. Giving Kate a sharp salute, he exited out the back door. While he was outside conferring with the crew, Kate took advantage of his absence to suggest that perhaps Michael actually work with the men during the day. "It would be a great cover for him, keep him busy and out of my way,” she pointed out. "I like it." "Good. You tell him." Michael came back from his meeting with the foreman looking very pleased with himself and headed straight for the coffeemaker. "It's all set,” he announced. "I'm going to show them the police photos and they'll be on the alert for anyone approaching the house. You'll have some extra protection, Kate. None of them seem too concerned about any danger." "Well, no wonder, they're not the target. Did you mention anything about not hiring any new men for the duration?" "Yes, thank you, I did. Good thinking. You're developing the suspicious mind of a cop."

"I'm your partner, remember? And partners share ideas, right?” "Right. Not much chance of me forgetting, is there?” Michael poured the last bit of coffee into his mug. "Kate, you're going to have to show me how to work this thing. I can't get through the day on two cups of coffee." "Don't you own a coffeemaker?” Incredible. The man had survival down to the basics. "Nope. I buy it on the streets or get it at the station. And I'm out of luck on both counts." Jim refused Kate's offer to stay for another cup of coffee. "I've got to get down to the station." Ignoring Michael's look of envy, he added, "Before I go, I think you should talk to the foreman again, Michael." "Why?" Kate figured this was an opportune moment to make her exit. "I'll be in my office in the front room if you need me." When she'd gone, Jim broached the idea of Michael working with the crew, quickly pointing out the pros as the look on Michael's face grew suspicious. "Did Kate have anything to do with this idea?" "What if she did?" That had him stumped. It was a good idea, regardless of the source. Kate probably suggested it to get him out of her way. He certainly hadn't earned any brownie points with her so far. "Done. I'll go speak to him." "Great. And, hey, Michael, when you're finished repairing this roof, you can start on mine." Michael growled and took a swing at his partner. Jim simply ducked, laughed and made his escape out the back door.

*** Kate emerged from her office an hour later and found Michael staring out the back kitchen window, sipping coffee. Obviously he'd mastered the workings of a coffeemaker. "I need to talk to you,” she said, interrupting his concentration and wondering what he found so fascinating outside.

Standing on tiptoe, she nudged him aside to take a look. Nothing new. Same old trees, shrubs, houses and no men approaching with shotguns. "What's up?” he asked with a smile, directing his gaze downward. "Other than you on your toes." Kate glanced up and met a pair of friendly blue eyes. Aware of how close she'd positioned herself to Michael, she hastily stepped back and caught him grinning as he observed her retreat. "I phoned the office and spoke with my editor,” she explained, ignoring his amused look. "He's thrilled with this whole thing and counting on first dibs to the story, although very concerned about my safety." "Ah, yes, the press. Always ready to kill, or have someone killed, for the sake of a good story." "Well, I just hope I'm alive for the ending. Since it's my experience, I get to write the article." "Hey, Kate, you'll be just fine. I promise." Michael's tone of voice was gentle, reassuring and unexpected. Kate dismissed it with a shrug and continued with her explanation. "I need some files from the office if I'm going to work at home and wondered if I should have them delivered or perhaps you and I could go and pick them up. You know, with me as the decoy." Michael was amazed that she'd suggested the first outing. Kate certainly wasn't lacking in guts. Of course, she wouldn't be in this predicament if she were. Waiting for a reply, she'd turned those big green eyes on him, full of trust and faith in his ability to protect her. He hadn't been too keen on this decoy option in the first place, and liked it even less now. She looked so small and vulnerable. Risking his life was one thing, risking hers another. "Well?” she prompted. "Don't you think this would be a great opportunity?" "You're right, it's a good idea.” Michael hoped he sounded equally enthused. If Kate was prepared to go through with this, who was he to put a stop to it? His chances of changing her mind were probably minimal. She had that determined look on her face. Figuring a bit of encouragement was in order, he added, "That was also an excellent idea to have me work with the crew. I'll start tomorrow." Kate checked for sarcasm and found none. "Thanks,” she said with a smile. "I'll phone my editor and let him know we're coming. You can show me how this new phone works while I'm at it."

Pleased with her unexpected spirit of cooperation, Michael pointed out the caller I.D. feature and the appropriate buttons to push to connect with the police station. He was rewarded with a delighted smile from Kate. "I love it!" she exclaimed. “I should have bought one ages ago, in spite of Jeffrey’s frugal mindset. Now I can screen calls. I’ll just see that number and thumb my nose at it." "Anyone in particular you don't want to hear from?" "Yup, and it's none of your business." "Correction. It is my business. I need a list of numbers to match up with the names of people you know who call, so I can rule them out as calls come in." "Why?" Kate caught the whine in her voice and promptly shut up. A “partner” in a crime investigation does not whine. "For a very good reason.” Michael smiled at Kate's indignant response. So much for the spirit of cooperation. "I'll want to pick up on the extension when any unfamiliar numbers show up." Kate frowned. "So you'll be listening in on my calls?" "Just the good ones." Not a great answer. Now she was really fuming, even gave her foot a good stomp. "This isn't funny, so get that smirk off your face. I really resent this. You're going to end up knowing every personal thing about me and I know nothing about you." "You want to know? Just ask." "No, I don't want to know any more than I have to. I just don't want you knowing about me. I hate this, I really do, and you don't make it any easier when you make fun of the situation. In fact, you make it worse." Michael sighed. They were squabbling again. Being with Kate was like hanging out with a childhood buddy. One minute getting along famously and the next, arguing about whose turn it was. "Kate,” he said soothingly, trying to calm her down. "I won't listen in on any personal calls." "You'd better not." "Let's change the subject." "Fine."

"Who lives in the house directly behind yours?” He was looking out the window again. "Carol and Bob Ames, friends of mine. Why?" "I can't use your front door to come and go, and I can't be sneaking down the lane way from the side street without arousing suspicion from your neighbors. I'm going to check with the Ameses about using their place." "That's not only inconvenient for them, it's possibly dangerous.” Kate was amazed at his gall. "The risk is minimal and they'll probably be happy to cooperate. It'll help that they're friends of yours. I promise to be as sneaky and furtive as I can." Kate let it go, knowing Michael would ask them anyway and probably charm Carol and Bob into agreeing to the arrangement. "They're really nice people,” she said instead. "Carol's a close friend and they're one of the few couples who still include me in their social gatherings, unlike some others who consider me an outcast since the separation. I don't think Carol and Jim ever thought too much of Jeffrey.” She was silent for a moment, then went on with more enthusiasm. "I think of the Ameses as the ideal, perfect family. You know, two beautiful children, lots of love and they all enjoy being together." "Jeffrey's the soon-to-be ‘ex,’ right?” Michael watched Kate's face as she stared out at the Ameses’ backyard. She seemed wistful. Kate gave a start when she realized what she'd been saying, and to whom. "Don't pry." "Just making conversation,” he said agreeably. "Well, you don't hear me inquiring about your latest romance." "Nothing much there, anyway,” Michael admitted, still watching her face. Kate's eyes were so expressive that he was able to judge her mood just by looking at them. The eyes, the high cheekbones, the smattering of freckles and that pouty little mouth all made an appealing combination. Too bad her temperament didn't match. Turning his attention back to the window, he observed, "It's a good thing you don't back on to any apartment buildings." "Yeah, I'd hate a view like that." "I think you missed my point here. If there were apartments out back, those guys could set up a surveillance of your place."

"Well, lucky for them there's an empty house just two doors down from the Ameses. It’s been empty for about two months." "Shit,” Michael exclaimed, heading for the phone. "Why didn't you tell me about that before?" "I didn't think of it,” Kate said defensively. "You're the cop. You're the one who’s supposed to think of things like stake-outs and security. I figured you'd already checked out the area and I--" "Okay, okay,” Michael cut her off, knowing she was absolutely right. "Maybe--hopefully-it's already been checked out by the guys at the station. Even better, maybe we’re using it for surveillance. Somebody should have let me know. And while we're discussing security or lack of it, your rental car's being delivered this morning. Don't answer the door when it comes and don't stand in front of any of the windows. Just call me and I'll deal with it."

*** The car still hadn't been delivered by the time they'd each made their respective calls to arrange for the trip to Kate's office. Michael, munching on an apple, wandered into the living room and found Kate sitting on the cushioned window seat trying to coax Furball up beside her. The cat made a beeline for Michael as soon as he spotted him. "I don't think that's such a great place for you to sit,” Michael commented, pushing Furball off his pant leg. Kate looked up in alarm. "You said don't stand and I'm sitting off to the side. Do you really think they'd come close enough to shoot at me in broad daylight through the living room window?" "I doubt it. But let's not take any chances." "Yes, let's not,” Kate snapped but obediently moved to the rocking chair. Michael refrained from making further comments or warnings, not in the mood for another confrontation. He stood off to the side of the window, scanning the street. Kate took advantage of Michael's back being partially turned and that he was apparently intent on the view outside for a further inspection of the physical attributes of her annoying but good-looking “partner.” His casual stance, slouched against the wall with one long leg bent at the knee, was rather attractive and enticing, as was the fit of his jeans. Not too tight, but tight enough to show off the muscular thighs and the nicelyshaped rear end. Her physical response to Michael's body was surprising, considering the fact she was pregnant, he was obnoxious and that they were both so frequently at each other's throats. It was as if she'd been immune to the physical attractions of other men for the past six years. Just her luck to be pregnant as she became aware of the opportunities available. A gorgeous male specimen was residing in her home, had made

it clear he'd happily share her bed, and she wouldn't take advantage of the situation. It wasn't simply the pregnancy stopping her--she'd never been one to indulge in casual sex. Fantasizing about Michael's body was about as far as she'd go. At the moment, the object of her fantasy was gnawing on a thumbnail between bites of his apple. "Nervous?” she inquired with a smile. Glancing down at his thumb, Michael shook his head. "Nah, just a bad habit." "Right. Maybe you should move away from the window." Michael ignored the suggestion. Turning his gaze back to the window, he announced, "The rental car's arrived.” Leaning forward to get a better look, he grimaced. Kate, oblivious to the expression on Michael's face, got up and joined him, making sure his body was shielding hers. Peering around his shoulder, she saw a boxy little mustardyellow sedan parked on the driveway. Her reaction was spontaneous and appalled. "That's it? It's hideous!" "Oh, my God, Kate. Are we going to argue about the car now? What do you want? A BMW?" "No, but I have standards. That's one butt-ugly car." "Forget your standards, you don't have a choice." Michael wholeheartedly agreed with her opinion, cringed at the thought of ever having to drive it himself, but wasn't about to admit it. "When do I get my own car back?" "It's still impounded as evidence. You'll get it back in a few days,” he stated mildly. "And move away from the window or get behind me again." Kate had inched closer to the window in order to get a better look at the car. Giving it one last disgusted glance, she turned away and flung herself on the couch. "Why do I have to wait for a few days? That doesn't sound like standard procedure,” she protested. "You're right, but we're not dealing with your standard car thieves and if all we can get them for is attempted car theft, we're gonna do it.” He paused, aware of his own patience wearing thin. "Kate, we've got to stop arguing like this over every little thing."

"By that you mean I go along with everything you say, no questions asked?" "That would be too much to hope for. Let's just try to be civil, act like mature adults." "That's a wonderful idea,” Kate agreed with deceptive calm. "But let's just keep in mind who, earlier, pulled up his shirt and revealed all in response to a simple question. So far, there’s only evidence of one mature adult residing in this house." Michael was left trying to think of a comeback as Kate stomped off to the kitchen. Damn, she had the last word again.

*** Staring into the contents of the refrigerator, Kate felt absolutely no desire to eat. Considering what lay ahead, her appetite was gone. On the other hand, she was going through with this decoy thing so she could resume a "normal" life, both for herself and the baby. Responding to the instinctive urge to nurture the tiny presence growing inside, Kate pulled out cheese, fruit and milk. The front doorbell rang and she ignored it, knowing her mighty defender and warrior would do the honors. There was no subsequent sound of gunshots, so she assumed he hadn't been blown away. Carrying her lunch on a tray, Kate gave a curt nod to both Michael and the car delivery man and headed upstairs to her room. Let Michael fend for himself. She'd had enough of his company. Placing the tray on her dresser, Kate undid the top snap of her jeans with a sigh of relief. Hopefully the thieves/murderers would be caught before she had to start wearing maternity clothes and blow her own cover. She shuddered at the thought of Michael's reaction if he discovered she was pregnant. He’d probably blow his top and confine her to her room. Right now he was hollering up the stairs and could be heard loud and clear through the closed door. "Kate! I'm on my way over to talk to Mrs. Ames. The man who delivered the car is a police officer and he's going to stay and keep an eyes on things 'til I get back." "Fine,” Kate hollered back. And stay as long as you like, she added silently. Nibbling on a piece of cheese, "This one's for you, baby," she walked over to the window. Keeping in mind Michael's instructions, she positioned herself so that she wasn't providing an easy target for anyone taking aim from the backyard. Other than Michael at the Ameses’ back door, there was no sign of any threat. Poor Carol.

***

Kate was lying on the bed and working on an outline for the article, trying to present herself as brave and courageous rather than a fool for approaching the "car thieves," when Michael called up again. "Carol's here, Kate." He'd done it. Charmed Carol into a first name basis already. "Send her up,” she called down. Carol entered the bedroom with a concerned, exasperated look on her face but with a big hug. Kate experienced a tremendous sense of relief and comfort while smothered in the buxomy embrace. At last, a friend to talk to. And one who knew all her secrets, including the fact she was pregnant. Carol finally pulled back and held Kate at arms length. "What have you got yourself into?” Kate felt a twinge of guilt. Carol's sweet, good-natured face was tense with worry, her brown eyes bewildered and anxious. And now Michael had dragged she and her family into this mess. "Oh, God, Carol,” Kate sighed. "I really blew it with my big mouth this time. I'm sure Michael filled you in on my idiotic attempt to rescue my car last night.” "He did, and never once did he refer to you as an idiot." "He just thinks it." Carol eyed the open zipper on Kate's jeans. "Does he know you're pregnant?” she asked sternly. "No, and don't you dare tell him,” Kate said quickly. "I'm going through with this and if Michael knew, he probably wouldn't let me. Besides, it's none of his business." "Have you lost your mind? Of course it's his business. And he'd be perfectly justified putting a stop to it. This is insane. You're risking both your life and the baby's." "Carol, my life's at risk no matter what I do,” Kate wailed. "But if I let myself be used as a decoy, I could end the danger that much sooner." "Or put an end to yourself,” Carol said dryly, plopping herself down on the bed and helping herself to the remains of Kate's lunch. "This is worse than anything you've ever done before, Kate." "I know."

"Worse than the time you had me help you break into that lawyer's office to copy those files, worse than the time you did that story on singles' bars and nearly got yourself raped--" "I know, Carol. You don't have to remind me." "Well, you'd better do a good job convincing me to keep your pregnancy a secret or I'm going to tell Michael." "You'd take his side against mine?” Kate cried. "The man is driving me crazy, he's a pain in the ass to live with and now you want to go running to him and betray me?" "Don't be so dramatic. I'm not going to betray you, I'm just going to do what I think is best. What are friends for?" "Friends are for supporting you in your time of need,” Kate shot back. "I need your help and I don't want you becoming buddy-buddy with that overbearing macho cop." "I happen to think he's very nice. Not only that, he's good-looking. Why don't you try and get to know him better? He looks like a hot prospect.” "Right. According to you, I should let him know I'm pregnant and also make a play for him. You're the one who's not thinking clearly. What man in his right mind would take on a woman pregnant with another man's child? And I don't want to get to know him any better. I'm not too thrilled with what I know of him now. And Carol, a man is only a 'hot prospect' to a woman who's looking for one, which I'm not. I'm still recovering from my last mistake." "Okay, okay, I'll drop that subject. You're supposed to be convincing me why I shouldn't tell Michael you're pregnant and have him put a stop to this ridiculous plan." "All right, here goes.” Kate lay down on the bed, nudging Carol over. "These are my options. Number one--go into hiding somewhere, some safe house. But for how long? They'd still be out there and I can't count on the police finding them." "And why not? That's their job." "Because those guys are still wanted in connection with two previous murders." "Oh,” was Carol's subdued reply. "Number two--stay secluded in this house with police protection. Again, not too appealing. The assassins would still be out there and figure out I wasn't budging. They'd either attempt to kill me in my own home, remain in hiding or leave town. That leaves me either dead or terrified to ever leave the house. Michael has convinced me of one thing. Those men want me out of the way, permanently, and I'm not going to have any normal kind of life while they're still at large."

"Your argument's beginning to sound pretty good." "And well it should. I've been over this a million times and always come to the same conclusion. Which is option number three--be used as a decoy. The advantage to this option is that it could all be over with sooner. And Carol, I can't afford to sit and home and hide. I need the money. I'm not going to be kept on full salary while I'm producing nothing." Kate sat up and peered anxiously at her friend. "So what do you think?" "I think you could still be killed with option number three." "Carol,” Kate said in exasperation. "I could be killed with any of the options!" "Right. But I keep thinking of the baby." "And you think I don't?” Kate felt the familiar prickling sensation in her eyes, the quivering of her chin, and the tears started. Carol quickly gathered her in her arms again, murmuring sounds of comfort. "I'm sorry, Katie, of course you have,” she said soothingly. "I guess you should go with your instincts. And you're right, living in constant fear and never knowing when it will all be over isn't good for you or the baby." "This baby's had such a rough time and it's not even born yet,” Kate sobbed, her voice muffled in Carol's shoulder. "First the pregnancy's an accident, then Jeffrey suggests an abortion--and now this." "Don't mention that poor excuse for a man. You're well rid of him,” Carol muttered in fury. "Let him have his partnership in that stuffy law firm, and all the material things money can buy. His priorities are all screwed up. You're going to have a beautiful baby and he'll never know what he gave up by making such a horrible suggestion. He's a despicable shit." Astounded at Carol’s choice of words, Kate pulled back from the comforting embrace to glance at her friend’s face. Carol never swore. Jeffrey's cold-hearted solution to the unplanned pregnancy had driven her to this. Kate had been equally shocked at Jeffrey’s ”suggestion” but was quite capable of swearing like a trooper--and had. Wiping the tears from her cheeks, Kate smiled at her loyal, cursing friend. "I am going to have a beautiful baby and this whole nightmare's going to end. Promise you won't tell Michael?" "I won't tell,” Carol agreed reluctantly, then broke into a smile. "But you'd better not go around with your pants open like that, or Michael's going to figure it out for himself." “Yeah, with his fine-honed investigative skills. His specialty seems to be females.”

“Don’t underestimate the man,” Carol warned. “I’ve got to go but I will be checking up on you--constantly.” “Hey, Carol,” Kate called out as her friend reached the doorway. “I love you.” “I love you too, you nut-bar.” Carol turned with a smile. “Want me to close the door when I leave?” “Definitely.”

Chapter Four Kate still hadn't emerged from her bedroom by two in the afternoon. Michael paced the living room, his frustration mounting. What the hell was she doing up there? They had to leave for Kate's office within the next half hour. "Hey, Kate!" he hollered up the stairs. "It's almost time to go." "Quit shouting at me!" "What am I supposed to do? Climb the stairs and knock on your door every time I have to talk to you?" No answer. Michael clutched the railing and groaned. Was she was actually considering that? She finally shouted back. "Okay, okay, I'm coming." "And, Kate,” he hollered again. "When you see me, don't take a fit. I'm in disguise for this outing." Halfway down the stairs, Kate peered warily over the banister and promptly burst into laughter. "Michael" no longer existed. A bald, paunchy, elderly man, complete with glasses and cane, stood in her living room. Only the cocky grin was familiar. "That good, huh?" "I love it,” she sputtered, once again wiping tears from her eyes. But these tears, this laughter, provided a welcome release from the strain and stress she’d been enduring since last night. "You ain't seen nothin' yet, sweetheart,” he drawled, gesturing to an open suitcase at his feet. "Full of disguises, each one better than the last." "I don't see how you can beat this one.” Still laughing, Kate walked over and knelt by the suitcase. "If you're really good, you can try some of them on later,” Michael offered, watching Kate enthusiastically rummage through the contents. Her smile faded. "Maybe." "I know what you're thinking,” he reassured her. "But it's going to be fine, you'll be okay."

Glancing up with a grateful smile, Kate met the eyes of the elderly stranger and burst into laughter again. "Okay, Gramps, I'm trusting you." "Well, I am trustworthy.” Michael winked. "When it comes to my job.” "That's very comforting to know." Twirling his cane, Michael walked over to the couch and picked up a gray padded vest. "And here's a little something for you to put on." It was a bulletproof vest. Kate made a face. "How necessary is it?" "It's just a precaution. We're not taking any chances." Kate simply nodded. This was not an issue to argue about. "Do you want my help putting it on?" She shook her head. "I'll do it by myself, in the kitchen." "Good thing you're wearing a bulky sweatshirt,” Michael observed. As she closed the kitchen door behind her, Kate managed a grim smile. If Michael knew the reason for the bulky sweatshirt, she probably wouldn't even be putting this thing on. After a frustrating five minutes of struggling on her own, Kate returned to the living room, arms held out at her sides. "I need your help. I can't get all the Velcro straps at the back matched up." "Happy to oblige.” Michael tentatively reached for the hem of Kate's sweatshirt, wondering how he'd manage this without offending her. "I'll lift the sweatshirt,” Kate said sharply, taking a step back. "You concentrate on the straps. And you can do it from behind." Kate turned and lifted the sweatshirt, exposing her back. She tensed as Michael's hands made contact with her bare skin but his touch was surprisingly gentle, he made no suggestive comments, and in no way took advantage of the situation. Thankfully her pregnancy was barely visible. Michael might consider her somewhat on the chubby side--her waistline was definitely disappearing--but what did that matter? "Done.” Michael stepped back to inspect the fit. "You'd never know it was there."

"Maybe you wouldn't,” Kate grumbled, flapping her arms to adjust to the extra padding. "Just makes me feel flatter than ever." "You look fine. And you're not flat,” Michael stated, surprising them both with the comment. "Let's not argue about my bust size. I've lived with it long enough to be the expert on that topic." "Fine,” he hastily agreed. "Let's discuss the arrangements for this afternoon." Gone was the charmer, the jokester. Michael reverted to the serious, stern cop as he painstakingly went over the details of the scenario. Kate's office and the surrounding area would be crawling with cops, all undercover and all watching Kate and on the lookout for anyone approaching her. "All you have to do is get in the car, drive to the office and park in front of the building. You don't even have to worry about getting a ticket." Kate managed a weak smile. "Two unmarked cars will be following yours--" "You'll be in one of them, right?” she interrupted, anxious to know Michael's whereabouts during the outing. "About two car lengths behind you. I'll be driving a gray Chrysler.” Michael paused, noting the blank look on her face. "You don't know what a Chrysler looks like, right?" Kate bit her bottom lip and shook her head. Grabbing a pen and paper from the coffee table, Michael sat down and drew a picture, describing in detail the car's features. "Okay?" "Got it." Kate was leaning over his shoulder as she studied the hastily scrawled sketch. Michael was acutely aware of her soft, warm breath at his neck and of her chest brushing lightly against his shoulder. He turned and found himself staring into her anxious eyes. Kate made no effort to pull back. "Where will you be when I'm in the office?” she asked, almost in a whisper. He smiled. "Close by, all the time. I'm your bodyguard, remember? But you're not to keep looking for me, or even acknowledge my presence. Pretend I'm a stranger." This time Kate's smile was genuine. "You are a stranger, in that get-up." "I may look old, sweetheart,” Michael stood up, grinning. "But I've got what it takes."

"Let's hope so." Michael shrugged his shoulders, patted the revolver under his jacket and started for the kitchen door. "Okay, this is it. Time to go." Kate muttered something unintelligible as she headed for the front door, dragging her feet. Michael figured she was finally having doubts, and didn't blame her in the slightest. At least he got paid for doing this kind of thing. "What's wrong? Have you changed your mind about going through with this?" "No, I haven't changed my mind. I was just saying I'd feel better if I had my purse." "You've got it.” He began having second thoughts. Was she losing it already? A large green purse was flung over her shoulder. "Not this one. My old one. The one that was stolen, the one I always use when I go to the office." Michael was about to comment on women, purses and irrational behavior, but the sight of Kate's small, defenseless figure at the front door stopped him cold. What the hell, cops had their idiosyncrasies and superstitions too. "It's going to be fine." About to retort, "Fine for you, maybe,” Kate too held back. Instead she turned with a final, tentative smile. "Hey, Michael, I'm glad you look so goofy. It helps." "I aim to please."

*** Kate entered the hideous car, put the key in the ignition with a shaking hand and sighed with relief when the engine started smoothly. No explosion, no bombs. Nervously waiting the requisite five minutes for Michael to get to his car, she muttered to herself, "I can do this, I will do this, I will not back out." Startled by a shout from the roof of the house, Kate looked up to see one of the crew waving. She gave a feeble wave in return, put the car in reverse and backed down the driveway. Glancing in the rear-view mirror, she spotted a car pulling out of a neighbor's driveway and wondered if it was the other unmarked car. How many of her neighbors had been dragged into this investigation? Eyes still darting anxiously to the rear-view mirror, Kate smiled when she spotted the Chrysler. Okay, Michael, stay with me. By the time Kate turned onto Commonwealth and was headed into Boston, her mouth was dry, her eyes ached from checking for suspicious-looking drivers, and she was having serious doubts as to her ability to continue.

Exiting off Commonwealth, she was experiencing what had to be a full blown anxiety attack. Her heart beat so rapidly and so loudly, she could hear and feel it pounding throughout her entire body. The sensation bordered on pain. She was also perspiring from every pore in her body. Even her hairline was damp. Adrenaline. It was simply an adrenaline rush. But my God, she must be overdosing on the stuff. Can that happen? Can you die from it? And if her heart was racing like this, what was the baby experiencing? An overdose of oxygen? No one could possibly survive this. The heart wasn't meant to pump at this frantic pace for such an extended period of time. Her blood pressure must be soaring and she'd probably end up having a stroke. A quick searing pain to the brain, a moment of blackness and it would all be over. She would accomplish through sheer terror precisely what the criminals had in mind. Or, she could simply pull over and end the whole insane thing. Leave the undercover cops wandering around the office, waiting, and finally concluding she'd been killed en route. Michael would see her car and stop. He'd either be furious at her rotten timing in backing out or give her a look of pity. Knew you couldn't do it, don't feel bad. Even as she experienced the terror and doubt, Kate continued to check the rear-view mirror for the Chrysler. Michael was always there, a steady two car lengths behind as promised. It was comforting, but not quite enough to convince her to go on "Kate, can you hear me?" Kate's hands jerked on the steering wheel and she nearly veered off the road at the unexpected sound of Michael's voice on the police radio. Fumbling frantically with the monitoring equipment, she cursed. Shit, how could someone be expected to drive and fool around with these gadgets at the same time? "Kate, press the red button to talk to me." She found the red button, and nearly smashed it in her desperation to communicate with someone--any human voice to rescue her from this solitary panic. "It's me, I hear you,” she managed to gasp, quickly releasing the button to hear Michael's reply. "Hey, there, partner. You're doing fine.” Michael's strong, steady voice filled the awful silence. "And you're driving the hell out of that shit-box of a car." Kate smiled and shook her head, knowing what he hoped to accomplish with the reassuring words. However, complimenting her driving skills was pushing it, considering the fact she'd just nearly driven off the road. But it was working. He'd managed to distract her.

"Keep talking, Michael. And stay with me. I'll do what I'm supposed to, just don't lose me." Michael caught the panic in her voice and began a steady monologue to calm her down. Kate grinned at his comments about the weather, the driving conditions, and his crazy opinions as to the state of world affairs. He finally ended up reciting baseball statistics. Pressing the red button, she interrupted the monologue. "It's working. But you're driving me crazy with the baseball statistics." "They're not supposed to drive you crazy. They're to educate you in America's finest sport. I'll continue your education when we're back at the house, but we're almost at the office now. No more communication for awhile. When you park, I want you to stay in the car 'til you see me on the sidewalk. I'll be approaching from the rear." Kate nodded as though he could see her. By the time she'd parked, the panic was back in full force and Kate had to pry her hands from the steering wheel. Flexing her fingers to restore the blood flow, she watched anxiously for Michael in the rear-view mirror. She realized she'd now become big-time dependent upon him, but who else was there to rely on? The place might be swarming with police, but he was the only one she knew and recognized, disguise notwithstanding. Michael stopped at a newsstand and bought a paper. This was the signal that the area was safe and that she was to get out of the car. Right. And the next challenge was to see if her legs worked. They shook as they met the pavement and she clutched the car door for support. Just do it, Kate, get it over with. Through sheer will power Kate forced her feet to move, and with a nonchalance that belied the churning fear inside, strolled across the sidewalk and entered the building. It would have been nice to collapse on the floor of the lobby, but she gritted her teeth and continued down the hallway to the newsroom. Greeting and nodding to friends and associates, she spotted Michael chatting with the Art Editor. Even disguised as a seventy year old gent, he was charming the usually taciturn Francine. The woman was actually simpering. Reaching her own little cubicle, Kate peered nervously inside. All clear. No sooner had she dumped her purse on the floor and collapsed in the desk chair when her editor Henry Myers was on the line. The usual request--a meeting in his office in five minutes. "Do me a big favor, Henry. Indulge me. You come to my office today." Bless him, he got the message. The man hadn't made senior editor on his good looks alone. Within minutes, Henry was at her door, full of questions, instructions and with the material she'd requested. Kate listened patiently, refused the offer of coffee (all she needed at this point--a quick caffeine rush to increase her heart rate) and promised to deliver.

"If I remain alive," she reminded him. Henry’s face fell, his enthusiasm diminished slightly and he began the sympathy and concern routine. “Hey, you’re a trooper, Kate. The police assured me that you’re covered at all times. You’ll be just fine. And you just might come out of this with a Pulitzer.” Henry’s priorities were as screwed up as ever. She was in this for her life. He had his eye on the bigger prize. "Enough,” Kate put up a hand. "I appreciate your concern, but I need a moment of solitude to gather my courage to go back outside again." With a few last words of encouragement, an unexpected and out-of-character hug and a thumbs up, Henry beat a hasty exit. Kate stood up on still shaky legs, stuffed the material in her purse and eyed the doorway. No point in waiting until she felt composed and ready to tackle the return trip. That moment was never going to arrive. A few big gulps of air, a toss of her head and she was through the doorway. Nervously making the long trek back down the hallway, Kate ruled out a future career in law enforcement. The strain and pressure were too much. She'd suffer burn out in a week, tops. Her respect and admiration for Michael and the other officers had taken a gigantic leap. Taking a long, deep breath, Kate pushed open the door and was on the sidewalk again, making a concerted effort not to look for Michael or the criminals as she headed for the car. Almost to the curb, she caught a glimpse of rapid movement out of the corner of her eye and turning slightly, saw a burly male figure rushing in her direction. Struck with sudden panic, she stood rooted to the pavement. Any instinct for self-preservation--to run, to duck--was paralyzed by fear. Kate's sudden, unexpected halt directly in his path forced the man to swerve in order to avoid a collision, but he still bumped her shoulder as he ran past. Distraught, nerves on end, Kate screamed at the contact The runner paused with a bewildered glance and brief apology, then continued on. Kate remained standing at the curb, trembling, unable to move and feeling like a complete idiot. Michael suddenly appeared at her side, with rapid, whispered instructions. "Go back inside. I'll follow.” His presence and the sound of his voice got her moving. Kate re-entered the building and stood in the lobby, shaking and blinking back the tears. When a hand grabbed her by the elbow, she turned with a start. It was Michael, who quickly steered her over to a corner behind the pay phones.

He took one look at Kate's distraught face, saw her trembling and put an arm around her. "Hey, Kate, it's okay. He wasn't one of them." "He could have been,” she whispered, burying her face in his chest. The damned tears began again. She’d cried more in the past twenty-four hours than in the past year. Hormones and a death threat. What a combination. Michael rubbed her back, his large hand making warm, comforting circles, easing her tense muscles. "But he wasn't. The police had already stopped him further down the block and checked him out. We wouldn't let anyone intending to harm you get that close, Kate." She reluctantly pulled away from the embrace, sniffing and wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. "I guess there was no way to warn me." Michael pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. "You carry a handkerchief?” Kate asked in surprise, momentarily distracted. "I don't.” Michael smiled. "But elderly men do, and that's what I am today." Watching her mop away the tears, he felt a rush of tenderness and pride. She'd done so well. Too bad she'd had to go through an unnecessary scare. "Blow, Kate,” he ordered as her sniffles continued. "Never mind the hankie. It's just a prop." Kate gave a good, hard blow. She was beyond embarrassment, beyond caring what she looked or sounded like. Without thinking, she handed the hankie back. The expression on Michael's face as he eyed the well-used linen brought a smile to her face. Kate quickly stuffed it in her purse. Putting a hand on her shoulder, Michael glanced around the lobby. "Now that you're semi-recovered, here's the revised plan. Wait here for five minutes while I go out the back way. See the guy sitting over there reading the paper?" Kate turned and met the glance of a man who raised his eyebrow a fraction of an inch in acknowledgment. She turned back and nodded. "He's an undercover officer and he'll watch you. When the five minutes are up, go back to your car and I'll be in mine. We'll head home." Michael was probably unaware of his reference to "home," but Kate caught it and smiled. "Meet you there."

***

Although the car ride home was no joy-ride, it was a piece of cake compared to the trip to the office. The simple fact that she was headed home and in one piece brought a measure of comfort. Kate pulled into her driveway, relieved to have the outing over and grateful to be alive. Jack, the foreman of the crew, appeared from around the back of the house and gave her the thumbs up sign to indicate no strangers had been snooping around. Heading up the flagstone path to the front door, Kate felt relatively safe and calm until she caught a glimpse of a green garbage bag stuffed under one of the cedar bushes by the steps of the porch. It hadn't been there this morning. Stepping back, she uttered a soft moan. Jack, who'd followed, glanced over Kate's shoulder and pulled her back even further. "Don't touch it or go near it, Ms. Sullivan. Come with me and we’ll wait for Michael at the back. " Dutifully heading around back, Kate was surprised to note that the panic hadn't surfaced again. Instead, she was experiencing a kind of numbness, a sense of inevitability and dread. Michael found her sitting on the back porch steps. Kate’s features were pale and drawn and in a quiet, subdued voice she told him what they'd found. As he listened, Michael hastily pulled off the facial disguise and his expression was grim as his handsome features emerged. Heading up the porch steps, he stopped when he felt an insistent tug on his pant leg. Glancing down at Kate’s forlorn face, he raised an eyebrow. “What are you going to do?” "Get the bomb detector.” His answer was terse. Kate nodded. To warn him be careful seemed ridiculous considering what he was about to do. She simply gave another brief tug to pants and let him go. After a tense ten minutes of waiting for an explosion she prayed wouldn't occur, Michael was back. He was pale, but looking somewhat relieved. Kate stood up. "Was it a bomb?" Michael shook his head. "Well, what was it?" "You don't want to know,” he replied, turning away from her anxious stare. "Maybe I don't, but tell me anyway." Michael slumped down on a step below. Turning to meet her eyes, he said quietly, "It was a dead cat. Not Furball."

Kate felt the nausea rise in her throat and quickly headed up the steps and into the kitchen. She rushed to the sink, leaned over with head in hands and took great gulps of air willing the nausea to pass. The back door screen opened and slammed shut again. Michael had followed her inside. "They know I have a cat,” she managed to get out in a strangled voice. "Yeah, they do,” Michael said softly. "Why bother with the scare tactics? Why didn't they just plant a bomb?" They both caught the rising hysteria in her voice. "I don't know, Kate. Maybe it's a warning,” Michael said slowly, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. "I've got to think this through. Either they don't know we've made the connection and that we’re protecting you, or they do know and don't care." "Well, while you're thinking it through, try giving this some thought. Someone managed to get to the front porch without anyone stopping them!" The hysteria was no longer creeping. It had arrived. "I already checked that out. It was some guy delivering flyers. The officers outside in the unmarked car had their eye on him the whole time and he delivered to the entire street. The crew saw him too. The guy was carrying a big bag and I guess he managed to dump the "package" without anyone noticing." "So they weren't watching him the entire time.” Kate's words were harsh and accusing. "Kate, you have every right to be mad. That was lousy surveillance. From now on, no one gets near your house, including the mailman. I'll get in touch with the Post Office." "Great. We can eliminate the threat of bomb deliveries via the postal service." Leaning against the kitchen table, Michael lowered his head and didn't respond to the sarcasm. Watching Furball rub against his outstretched leg, he felt slightly ill, reminded of the contents of the bag. Putting aside his own frustration and anger, he straightened up and walked over to Kate. He'd have offered a comforting hug, but her body language shouted, "Back off." "I assure you, I'll get things under control. That’s a promise." Kate was aware of Michael's remorse and frustration, but wasn't prepared to give an inch. Promises had been made regarding protection and there'd been a major failure. And here he was making more promises, as if anyone could guarantee control over these circumstances. She could now put a name to one of the things she found so irritating about him.

"You can't promise that, Michael,” she snapped. "Stop being such a control freak. You don't know everything. There are things beyond even your control in this situation.” His own anger erupted. "Like what? Is there something you want to let me in on, Kate? It would certainly help if I were dealing with a full deck." "You have all the cards you need to do your job, which is to keep me alive and capture those men. I'm doing my bit. Try and do yours." Michael drew back as though she'd slapped him, his features closed off and grim. Kate immediately regretted her outburst. Intimating failure on his part was a low, nasty blow and she was about to apologize when Michael suddenly turned on his heel and headed for the living room. Sighing, she picked up her purse with the material from Henry and headed for her office in the front room. Might as well do something constructive with her time. Dwelling on dead cats and bombs would only reduce her to a cowering wreck. Again. Passing through the living room, Kate glanced at Michael who was removing the rest of his old man disguise. She didn’t say a word.

*** Michael sighed with relief at the sound of the office door closing. They definitely needed some space between them for awhile. He was still fuming, at her, at himself, at everyone involved in the protection scheme. Sure, he'd been there to rescue Kate from an innocent jogger but in the meantime one of those bastards had managed to walk right up to the house. He'd call Jim and tell him to tear a strip off the cops who were supposed to be watching the place. Kate had every right to be furious, but it was no picnic being on the receiving end of her wrath. And what if it had been a bomb? He shuddered at the thought. And just what had she meant to imply when she'd said he didn't know everything? If Kate was holding back any vital information, he'd wring the soft, smooth skin of her tiny neck. Michael's semi-violent, semi-sensuous thoughts regarding what he'd do to Kate's anatomy were interrupted by a kick at the kitchen screen door. Nerves still taut, he drew his gun and headed back to the kitchen. Carol Ames stood on the porch steps, smiling and carrying an enormous tray. Her smile vanished at the sight of the gun. Michael opened the door with a terse apology for having aimed a gun at her smiling face. "Delivery of tonight's dinner,” she announced, placing the tray on the counter while nervously eyeing the gun as Michael stuffed it in the holster. Michael offered a genuine and appreciative thank you. It certainly beat the day's previous delivery by a mile, and he had his doubts as to whether Kate, or himself for that matter, would have been up for preparing dinner that night.

"You're a godsend, Carol. But next time you come over, call first,” he cautioned. "I'll check out the back and give you the all clear." "We have to be that careful?" Michael nodded and gave her a brief summary of the day's events, including the surprise package Kate had discovered. "Ugh.” Carol made a face. "How’s Kate?" Michael shrugged. "Mad at me, which I guess beats being frightened and teary. She did a great job today." "Did you tell her that?” Carol asked "I think I did,” Michael replied, wondering if he actually had. "Not that it would make much difference coming from me." "Oh, I think it would.” Carol smiled knowingly. "She's under the impression you think she's an idiot." "I do not,” he protested. "Well, you must have said something to give her that impression." "We argue a lot. Maybe she thinks I give her a hard time." Carol raised an eyebrow. "Okay, okay. I do give her a hard time, but she gives it right back." "Men aren't Kate's favorite creatures right now. She's had enough of being told what to do and how to live. She probably resents having you around and giving her orders." Michael threw his head back and laughed. "That's an understatement." Carol took note of the laughing blue eyes and devastating smile, and wondered how Kate was able to resist the charm. She'd been happily married for fifteen years and found Michael tempting. Michael had stopped smiling and was now looking at Carol with frank curiosity. "Did her husband give her a hard time?" "So to speak. Jeffrey had their life mapped out for the next twenty years, and Kate either went along with it, or else." "I guess the ‘or else’ finally happened,” Michael commented.

Carol wasn't about to fill him in on Kate's secret, and simply nodded. "Enough said. Why don't you try using some of your abundant charm on Kate and see if you can redeem the male sex in her eyes?" "It only works on some women.” Michael winked and grinned when Carol blushed. "Kate's immune." They both heard footsteps coming down the hallway and were silent when Kate entered the kitchen. Glancing suspiciously from one to the other, and giving Carol a fierce scowl, she asked, "Am I interrupting anything?" "That's some welcome,” Carol said, feigning indignation. "Considering the fact I've brought your dinner." "Oh, Carol, thank you. Sorry for the lousy greeting." "You're forgiven. I've been hearing how wonderful you were today." Kate shot a doubtful glance in Michael's direction. He smiled and nodded. Surprised, Kate returned the smile. She'd figured he'd still be mad. Carol carefully observed the two of them, their tentative but genuine smiles, and decided there was hope. Before she made the return trip home, Michael scanned the backyards and remained standing on the back porch 'til she was safely at her door. He gave a wave, turned and went inside. Kate was setting out rolls and salad and generally bustling around the kitchen. Her brisk, efficient movements reminded him of his mother, although she'd had to make dinner preparations for a family of eight. There was a moment of awkward silence when Kate glanced up and found him watching. The last time they'd been alone, harsh words were exchanged. Michael cleared his throat. "Work crew has left." "I heard them leave,” Kate replied, and hesitated before continuing. "Michael, I want to apologize for what I said earlier. I know you're doing your best." "No apologies necessary, okay? I lost it too.” He sat at the table and smiled at her flushed face. "Let's enjoy dinner." Which he proceeded to do with great enthusiasm. Kate took only a few bites, her appetite iffy at the best of times and worse since this afternoon. Sneaking glances at Michael, she was amazed. His appetite hadn't been affected at all. Michael noted the scrutiny and paused with a forkful half-way to his mouth. "What's wrong? Am I eating too fast? Do I have food on my chin?" Kate giggled. It was great having him on the defensive.

"What? What is it?” Michael persisted, although by this time he was smiling. "Nothing's wrong, but I'm debating whether I would tell you if you had food on your chin or stuck in your teeth." Michael placed his fork back on the plate. "Nice, really nice. I'm living with a woman with sadistic tendencies." "You're residing with me, not living with me,” Kate pointed out with a smile. "There's a big difference." "I'm definitely aware of the difference.” He grinned and went back to his dinner, eventually noticing that Kate was merely picking at hers. "I guess your appetite's shot after today." "Sort of. Let's not talk about today." "Okay,” he said agreeably. "There's something else I want to discuss. Do you know how to handle a gun? Ever done any target shooting?" "Michael!" God, men could be dense. Didn't he see the connection between dead cats, bombs and guns? "A subject a little too close to today's events, right?" Kate nodded. "Well, since I brought it up, will you answer the question anyway?" Kate grimaced and got up from the table, taking her dishes to the sink. "I've given up on dinner and since you're being your usual persistent self, I might as well give you an answer." "Me persistent? What about you?" "Okay, we're both stubborn,” Kate admitted. "And to answer your question, I did some target practice about eight years ago. My father insisted I learn when I was on my own and the apartment building where I lived was repeatedly broken into. But the whole thing was ridiculous since I refuse to own a gun." Kate watched Michael's face with amusement. He was obviously struggling for the right words to persuade her to resume target practice. Sure enough, he stood up and came to stand beside her, his expression serious, his tone of voice almost pleading. "Kate, you've got to let me teach you again. For your sake and mine. What if I'm rendered useless and you're on your own here?"

“Nice thought,” Kate remarked with a frown. “Rendered useless is just a euphemism for you being wounded or killed.” “You’d care?” “Wishing you gone and wishing you dead are two very different things.” “You have such a way with words. I’m going to take that as you do care.” “Go ahead. Think what you like.” “Thanks, I will. But let’s get back the original subject. Target practice. I’m still waiting for your answer.” Kate bit her lip and tried to hold back a smile. She'd already made up her mind. After today's disaster, she would definitely feel better being familiar with a gun again. "You're smiling,” Michael noted, totally bewildered by her reaction. "I can't read you on this one. Is that an amused, outright no or a possible yes?" "It's a yes. I see your point and I'm not going to argue. Surprised?" "Shocked would be the word.” Michael grinned. “We'll set up a makeshift target in the basement." "My father would be thrilled to know I was going to do this,” Kate commented dryly as she began loading the dishwasher. Michael, hoping to keep her in a good mood, assisted by handing her the dishes. "Speaking of your family, Kate, I notice you haven't called them about this mess you're in. Don't you think they should know?" "This won't fit.” Kate straightened up and handed him back the casserole lid. "As to my family, I meant my father would be thrilled about the target practice. If my parents knew the reason for it, they'd be on the first plane to Boston and drag me home. I'm an only child and they're still very protective. They were ready to send me a ticket home when Jeffrey and I separated. The fact that my job's here didn't concern them in the least." Nor did they know about her pregnancy yet. Kate had decided to give them the opportunity to get used to the idea of divorce before knocking them for a loop with the next bit of shocking news. "Where are you from?” Michael asked, resting his arms on the counter and taking advantage of Kate's willingness to talk. "A little town in Maine called Arden. I loved it, but couldn't wait to leave. What about you?"

"Born and bred right here in Boston. I come from a family of six kids." "Let me guess. Your Dad was a police officer, too." Michael grinned. "My Dad, my uncle, my older brother--we were born to serve." "Haven't you ever been out of Boston?” Kate was intrigued. Michael seemed the more adventurous type. "I went to university in California. My ambition was to be a lawyer, but I got hooked on the criminology course and decided I'd rather face the criminals on the street than in a courtroom." "And came home to Boston to put your skills to use." "Hell, I grew up in a tough neighborhood in Boston and figured I had an advantage working here. I already knew most of the criminals--or those who'd end up that way." "I'll bet your parents are proud of you,” Kate said wistfully. "Sure they are. Aren't yours?" "They were disappointed when I didn't marry a local boy and settle down in Arden. And I really disappointed them when Jeffrey and I separated." "They liked him?" Kate smiled at Michael's blatant nosiness but answered truthfully. "No, they weren't particularly fond of him, but divorce is a major failure where I come from." Michael was about to offer some consolation her by admitting to his own divorce when the phone rang. They both quickly turned to see the phone number displayed and Kate made a face at the familiar digits. "I take it that's the number you'd be happy to ignore?” Michael smiled at the frown on her face. Kate looked cute even with her nose scrunched up in a scowl. "It's Jeffrey.” She let out a big sigh. "Checking up on me. Can't believe I'm capable of coping on my own and he's just waiting for some disaster to occur--" She stopped suddenly, remembering that a disaster had occurred. Michael had obviously caught the irony of her remark. He was trying unsuccessfully to hold back a smile. "Want me to answer for you?” he asked, taking pity. Kate's eyes lit up with mischief. "Will you? Let him think I'm not on my own and for heaven's sake don't tell him about the mess I'm in."

Michael agreeably reached for the receiver while Kate edged closer, ready to eavesdrop. He nudged her aside with his hip. "I can't do this with you breathing down my neck, as nice as that might feel. Shove over." Kate poked him with an elbow, but obediently stepped back. Lifting the receiver, Michael cheerfully said, "Hello, Sullivan residence.” Pause. "No, I'm sorry, she's unable to come to the phone right now. Kate's sort of, uh, busy at the moment." He gave her a wink. "Well, perhaps she could return your call in, say, half an hour. That should probably do it." Kate mouthed the words, "You're pushing it.” Michael just grinned and continued the conversation. "Right, fine. Now who should I say called?” Pause. "And does she have your number?" Kate smothered her giggles, imagining an indignant Jeffrey on the other end. "Okay, great. She'll get back to you as soon as she's available. Nice talking to you. Bye." Michael hung up and let out a whoop of laughter. "How'd I do?" "Too good. How did Jeffrey sound?" "Confused and a little ticked off." "Perfect. He can interrogate me when and if I feel like calling back,” Kate chuckled as she turned and left the kitchen. "You did a fine job, Michael. I owe you." "I'll keep that in mind." He followed her to the living room and sprawled comfortably on the couch, watching as Kate settled in the rocker and pulled out some knitting. "What are you making?" "A scarf.” Kate figured Michael couldn't tell the difference between a baby blanket and a scarf at this point in the knitting process, and she was right. He just nodded and began leafing through a magazine. After a few minutes of companionable silence, he put it down and studied Kate for awhile. She'd changed clothes since this afternoon and was wearing

another oversized sweatshirt. Jeffrey'd either left some clothes behind or Kate was into loose clothing in a big way. Despite the baggy top, the slight swell and curve of her breasts were still visible, although he was forced to use his imagination as to what lay beneath. "Hey, Kate." "Mmm," she murmured without looking up. "What sort of clothes do you wear to the office?" "Nothing fancy. Skirts, slacks, an occasional suit if I'm doing an interview in some classy place. Why?" "Well, I've noticed that around here you wear a lot of bulky stuff." This time Kate looked up, somewhat alarmed by his observation. "Do you have a problem with the way I dress?” Her tone of voice was sharper than she'd intended. "Hey, hey, back off.” Michael held his arms up in the shape of a cross as though warding off Kate's evil temper. She got the message and smiled. "I just wondered. You know, being a male, I'd notice something like that. Only in this case, I notice what I'm not noticing." "Believe it or not, I followed that. And I just hate to think of you torturing yourself as to what's under the "bulky" stuff." "So you'll help me out?” Michael leaned forward with a lecherous grin. "Not a chance. Think of this as living with your sister." "I don't have a sister." "The sister you never had." Michael flopped back on the couch and picked up the magazine again. "Right, the kid sister who drives me crazy but who I'm actually quite fond of." Kate glanced over to see if he was kidding. Michael winked, but his smile was genuine. She blushed and went back to her knitting. "Mind if I turn on the TV?” Michael interrupted the silence again. Surprisingly, he was quite comfortable sitting with Kate, but the scene was a little too domestic for his liking. TV would provide a welcome distraction. "Don't you like to read?"

"Sure I do, but you don't have any sports magazines around. I just finished "Can This Marriage Be Saved?" and they're way off the mark with the sappy advice. That marriage is doomed. I can't take any more of this ladies' stuff." Kate laughed at his woeful expression. "You could try Atlantic Monthly." Michael frowned. "No TV?" "Sure, put it on. But reading's relaxing, too." "Yeah, yeah. Right now I need something to make me laugh. You need to lighten up too, Kate. Want to try on some of the costumes?" "No,” she shuddered. "I want to forget about all that for awhile. TV's fine." Within minutes, Michael was howling with laughter at some inane half hour sitcom. Kate eventually joined him, but it was his hearty, infectious laugh that got her laughing rather than anything the television had to offer.

*** By ten o'clock, Kate announced she'd had it for the day and was headed for bed. Once again, Michael accompanied her to the stairs. Resting his arm on the banister, he simply stood and watched her. Nonplussed at his silent, hovering presence, Kate eyed him warily as she took the first step up. Although enjoying his company tonight and appreciating the handsome face gazing at her, Kate wasn't taking any chances. Nothing had really changed. They were still basically strangers sharing the same premises. She'd allowed herself the comfort of Michael's arms this afternoon, but that had nothing to do with the existing tension between them now. "Are you okay alone tonight?” he finally asked, breaking the silence. His expression was sober and intense. "If you're offering your services as a bodyguard or otherwise for the night, I don't require them. But thanks for asking.” Kate tried to keep her tone of voice light. For some reason, she wasn't offended by tonight's offer and didn't want to offend him. Perhaps his concern was genuine. Michael blushed anyway, running his fingers through his dark, wavy hair. By now the gesture was familiar, something he did when worried, thoughtful or nervous. "I just meant that if you were nervous or upset after today, I'd sleep on the floor or something." "It's the ‘or something’ I have trouble with,” Kate replied with a smile and glanced over his shoulder. "I believe your bedtime companion is waiting for you."

Michael followed her gaze and grimaced. Furball was perched on the back of the couch and watching him. "Well, Furball trusts me; appreciates the protection I offer." "Furball's male,” Kate pointed out and headed upstairs.

Chapter Five By Wednesday, a morning ritual had been established. Kate woke to the arrival of the work crew, was promptly sick in the bathroom, showered, then shouted an "All clear" to Michael. By the time he'd showered, Kate had the first pot of coffee ready and was finished with her simple breakfast of toast and juice. Michael fended for himself. Energetically working his way through a bowl of cornflakes filled precariously to the brim, Michael immediately got down to business. "For today's outing, let's go someplace they might expect you to be, somewhere they might have some of their men watching for you." Kate, who'd been absent-mindedly watching Michael's spoon take another plunge into the bowl, snapped to attention. "Their men?" "Yeah, their men. Remember? These guys aren't working alone. They're mob." Kate frowned at the reminder. "Having second thoughts?” "No,” Kate answered quickly, her eyes narrowing at Michael's condescending tone. "I'm thinking of places we could go. There are things in that stolen purse that would help them figure out my routine." "Like?" "Like bank statements, library card, my grocery bills, a cleaner's stub--how's that?" "Perfect. So where will we go? Your choice." "Well, for purely practical reasons we should head for the grocery store. We're running out of food." "Are you implying that my healthy, male appetite is draining your food supply?” Michael stood up and dug into the pocket of his jeans, pulling out a wad of bills and placing it on the table. "Put this toward the groceries. The department will pick up the tab." "Like an expense account? Buy whatever I like?" "Hold off on the caviar and smoked salmon, but I wouldn't mind a case of beer and some junk food. This healthy eating is a shock to my system."

Kate eyed his lean body. "How do you keep so fit on junk food and beer?” "You noticed?" "I may not be interested, but I'm not blind.” Michael leaned over, placed both hands on the table, and brought his face within inches of hers. "Don't fight it, Kate. You're interested. Just too stubborn to admit it." “Don’t flatter yourself.” “Just facing reality.” With this last remark, Michael quickly took a step back in case she felt like belting him one, laughing at her look of astonishment and outrage. "You are one arrogant--" Kate bit her lip and turned away. "Say it, Kate. Say the word,” Michael taunted, backing up to the kitchen door. "I don't swear,” she boldly lied. "Sure you do." "Get out of here, Michael, before I do or say something I'll regret." "Just one favor and I'm gone. Call Jim and let him know where we're going and when. I'll be with the crew if you need me." Almost out the door, he turned back with a grin. "Hey, Kate, the word you were looking for is asshole." "Out, now!"

*** Half an hour later, Kate stepped out on the porch and into the sun-filled backyard to report to the "boss.” Shielding her eyes from the sun's glare, she peered up at the figures on the roof. "Hey, you!" she shouted, waving when Michael turned at the sound of her voice. "Yeah, you're the one I want. The guy who's trying to look busy but has no idea what he's doing." Michael shot her a fierce scowl and headed for the ladder. Kate stood at the bottom, admiring the view of his descent. Michael's short-sleeved T-shirt was drenched with sweat and stretched across the width of his broad back, exposing a pair of muscular arms, tendons straining as he clutched the rungs of the ladder. Damn him. She was attracted.

Michael was still scowling as he stepped off the ladder. Taking off his baseball cap, he wiped the sweat from his face and muttered, "What the hell are you trying to do? Blow my cover?" "It wouldn't be hard." Michael's frown turned to a disarming grin. "Damn, you're good. I admire your comebacks." "Glad you liked it." "I said I admired it, I didn't say I liked it. Now that you've got me down here, is there anything cool to drink?" "Forget to pack your thermos?" He shook his head, still smiling. "Kate, you can be a real--" "Yes?" "Horror." He turned on the garden hose and took great gulps of the cold refreshing water, soaking himself in the process. Glancing up with a mischievous grin, he lifted the hose in Kate's direction. "Don't you dare!" she protested, stepping back. "Don't even consider it." To Kate's surprise and relief Michael turned off the hose. Wiping his face with the back of a grimy hand, he ended up looking like a kid caught playing in the mud. "Did you get in touch with Jim?” he asked, blue eyes solemn in his dirt streaked face. "I did. The time's set for three o'clock, the grocery list is made, including beer and junk, and Carol's on her way over. I told her to give me ten minutes and if I didn't call back, it was safe." Michael glanced around. "Nothing's happening here that shouldn't be, other than the fact I'm working on your roof in this stinking heat.” "Sorry to have interrupted. You can go back to work now." "Feel free to interrupt anytime."

*** Carol and Kate sat on the steps of the back porch, enjoying the warmth of the late April sun. Carol had called dibs on the bottom step and was sitting at an angle that afforded

her both a view of Kate and the roof crew. Her appreciation of the men at work was frank and unabashed. Kate studied her friend's face with amusement. "Do you use binoculars when you're at home?” "Lay off,” Carol replied, without missing a beat or averting her gaze. "You're spoiling my fun." When she suddenly smiled and a waved, Kate turned to see the recipient. Michael, of course. "That is one great body,” Carol observed with a wistful sigh. "I agree. It's the rest of him I’m having trouble with." "So ignore the rest of him. Take advantage of the body." "As if you would." "I'm still happily married,” Carol pointed out. "You're free to indulge." Kate's reply was lost amidst the noise of loud, panicked shouts coming from the crew. Turning, she saw Michael halfway up the ladder, lunging to one side and ducking as a pile of shingles fell from the roof. Although managing to avoid a direct hit, he lost his balance and fell to the ground with a sickening thud, shingles landing on his face, chest and arms. His prone body was quickly surrounded by the men, one of whom was profusely apologizing for having knocked over the shingles. Kate raced over, heart pounding at the sight of Michael's body lying motionless on the ground, and arrived at his side just as he was struggling to sit up. Groaning, he let loose with a loud string of expletives. No slouch in that department herself, Kate was still shocked and amazed by the sheer variety and number of the oaths he uttered. Concern for his injuries momentarily forgotten, she exclaimed, "My God, Michael, you have a foul mouth." Michael, head in hands and wincing in pain, moaned. "No lectures, Kate. My mouth is the only part of my body that doesn't hurt." Chastened by the reminder, Kate knelt down beside him and tentatively placed her fingertips to his scraped cheek. "Are you all right?" "Why? Are you hoping I've been rendered incapable of continuing with the assignment?" Kate was completely thrown by his remark. Hurt and confused, she stood and backed away. "That's not what I meant at all,” she protested softly.

As the foreman helped him up, Michael saw her stricken expression and immediately regretted his snide comment. "Sorry, uncalled for remark. Bad timing." Jack accompanied Michael to the porch steps, insisting that he call it quits for the day. Michael didn't argue. He'd sustained more physical injury in these past few days of hanging around Kate's home than he had in the past few months of homicide investigations. Kate followed, but stood back and let Carol fuss over Michael. She was gently examining the cuts and bruises on his face and arms, murmuring in sympathy. Kate's thoughts were elsewhere. Living with Michael had become a source of constant turmoil and confusion--one minute panicked and concerned for his safety, and the next, appalled at his behavior. Carol went inside for warm water and soap, leaving Michael and Kate staring at one another. "Well,” Michael commented, ending the strained silence. "I've survived my second fall in three days. Have you recovered from my foul language?" Kate plunked herself on the bottom step and lay her head on her knees. "I was scared. Seeing you fall, lying there like that…" Her voice was muffled, her face buried in her arms. Michael, sitting one step above, let his hand briefly touch her curls, quickly drawing back before she could protest. "I'm okay, Kate, although maybe I should put in for hazardous duty pay living with you." "Is there such a thing for an officer?" "Nah, it's all hazardous." Kate tilted her face to one side and Michael caught a glimpse of a smile. "Hey, Michael, you won't need a disguise this afternoon. With all the scratches and bruises, no one would recognize you anyway." Michael nudged the small of her back with his foot. "You've got a warped sense of humor. Your friend's playing Florence Nightingale and you're sitting here making fun of me." Kate straightened up, and for a brief second leaned back against Michael's knees, then stood and looked at his battered face and arms. "I'll get some bandages. Are you really okay?" "I'm fine, and I apologize for the language."

"Don't bother. I was impressed."

*** The outing to the grocery store was uneventful in comparison to yesterday's excursion. Kate experienced the now familiar panic as she drove, but it was the huge sprawling parking lot that spiked her terror. Michael had told her exactly where to park and sure enough, the spot was empty. Two unmarked police cars were on either side--one officer playing the role of bored husband and the other apparently dozing in the back seat of the other car. But eyeing the expanse of pavement from her car to the store, Kate nearly wavered at the distance she had to cover exposed as an easy target. Catching sight of Michael heading for the door with his long, easy strides, she gathered her courage and began the long trek. When the automatic doors swung open in welcome, she heaved a sigh of relief. Never had Kate been so conscious of other shoppers. Everyone looked suspicious and capable of concealing a weapon, including the stock boys, housewives and the elderly. She figured everyone had their price. Michael had taken her suggestion seriously and simply wore a baseball cap, sunglasses and his bruised face as a disguise. Every time she passed him in the aisles, she felt a sense of relief. She also wondered what sort of junk he was piling in his cart. As with everything else Michael did, he shopped with enthusiasm. The drive home supplied the day's horror. A few blocks from the store, Kate braked as she approached a stop sign and indicated a right turn. The car directly behind made no effort to reduce its speed--simply continued at a steady, rapid pace until smashing into her rear bumper with a loud crunch of metal. Kate let out a scream of terror and surprise as her head snapped back at the resounding jolt. After a quick glance in the rear-view mirror she ducked, anticipating a hail of bullets. Michael's voice immediately came through the police radio. "If you're okay to drive, Kate, just keep going, fast. I'll follow. The other unmarked car will deal with the driver that rear-ended you." Kate didn't hesitate. With a squeal of her tires she completed the right turn, and drove the rest of the way over the speed limit, numb with fright. Pulling into the driveway, she turned off the ignition and laid her head on the steering wheel, waiting for her heart to resume its normal pace. When the panic subsided, anger and frustration took over. She pounded the wheel with a clenched fist. That idiot driver had to be one of the criminals. This scare better not have been for nothing. Jack appeared as Kate began unloading the groceries from the car, giving her the "all clear" sign. Yeah, sure. Just like yesterday.

As he helped carry the bags to the front door, they both glanced nervously at the shrubbery. Thankfully, no surprise packages were visible. While unpacking groceries, Kate eyed the case of beer. She could use a drink right now. One beer couldn't possibly hurt and wasn't beer supposed to be okay for pregnant women? She’d wait for Michael. He’d better share or she'd hold back on the junk food. He arrived via Carol's with the disheartening news that the driver of the other vehicle was a teen-aged boy and simply a lousy driver, not a career criminal. "The kid got the scare of his life when the officer pulled him over, thought he'd got off scot-free when you kept going." "Too bad for him. I got the scare of my life when he rammed into me. And a sore neck.” “Whiplash?” Michael reached over and began kneading the muscles at the back of Kate’s neck while inspecting her face for any damage. “Did your face hit the steering wheel?” As nice as the massage felt--a bit too nice--Kate shrugged away from the touch of Michael’s hand and turned her face from his scrutiny. “I’m fine. What bothers me is that it was just another wasted excursion." "Look on the bright side. You're alive,” Michael said cheerfully, now rooting around until he found the beer and junk food. "What a woman! You filled my order." “You’re right, I did, so what on earth did you need to buy?” Sheepishly, Michael emptied the contents of his two grocery bags. Potato chips, pretzels, licorice, a container of chocolate ice cream, a six-pack of Coke and four chocolate bars graced the kitchen table. Kate eyed the array of goodies with a combination of awe, envy and disapproval. “I’m offended. You didn’t trust me in the junk food department. Now we have doubles of chips and pretzels.” “Sure, I trusted you--to an extent. You can’t possibly know the quantity of junk food I’m capable of eating.” “I’m beginning to get an idea.“ Kate looked longingly at the pack of licorice. “Is this your typical grocery order?” “Nah, I left out the frozen dinners. I’m doing all right in that department while I’m staying with you.” “Of course.” The chocolate bars were calling her name. Kate shook her head, resisting the temptation to reach out and grab one. Not good for the baby and besides, she didn’t

want to relinquish the higher ground as to healthy eating. “All that stuff can go in the pantry.” “Yes, ma’am.” “And before you stash the beer in the fridge, may I have one?” "I'd have pegged you as a wine drinker,” Michael commented, but obligingly popped the tabs on two cans. "You want a beer mug?" "No, I'll rough it. " Michael took a long swallow of beer, then dug into a bag of pretzels. "What'll we make for dinner?" "We?" "Yeah, I'll help. Out of sheer boredom though, not from any love of cooking. I'll need some instructions." "I'm sure you will." Kate set him up at the chopping board with the ingredients for a salad. "Watch that sharp knife,” she warned with a grin. He shot her an indignant look. "I'm fine with weapons. It's the unexpected dangers lurking around here that cause me bodily harm." The phone rang while Kate was preparing a sauce for the pasta. Michael answered with a mouth full of chopped celery. "Carol's bringing something over in about half an hour,” he reported. "Remind me to check out back in twenty minutes." "I wish one of the criminals would call," Kate said wistfully. "Miss them?" "Actually, I'd love to see them again, but from behind your back and with a gun in your hand." "So you do appreciate me?" "You could come in handy." "In many ways.” He turned with a smug grin. "You haven't even begun to make use of my talents."

"And I don't intend to."

*** After an all clear from Michael, Carol arrived bearing a freshly-baked apple pie. "I love baking, but Bob and I are on another diet,” she explained. "You two are the perfect solution." "Carol, the solution is to stop baking,” Kate pointed out. "Hey, let her bake, I'm happy to help out.” Michael took the pie from Carol, sniffing in appreciation. "But I don't see why you can't enjoy eating this yourself." "That's sweet of you.” Carol smiled. Kate observed the flirtatious pair with disgust. Carol was actually batting her lashes and Michael was responding with a sappy grin. "He's using the old charm on you, Carol.” "Thank you, Kate, for pointing that out, but I happen to enjoy being charmed. You, on the other hand, have just insulted me by implying that Michael's lying and that I shouldn't eat this." "Hey!" Kate laughed in protest. "You said it first!" "Stop, Kate, before you do any permanent damage with that mouth of yours,” Michael warned. "You keep out of this." "Why? I started it." "Stop arguing, the both of you. You sound like my kids,” Carol said. "Enjoy the pie and I'll enjoy my carrot and celery sticks." "Here, have one I just made,” Michael offered. Kate emitted an unladylike snort of laughter. "You made a celery stick?” Before Michael could make a snappy comeback, the phone rang. Kate glanced at the display feature and made a face. "It's Jeffrey. I'll take it in my office." "She certainly doesn't enjoy hearing from him,” Michael commented once Kate was out of earshot.

"She doesn't enjoy him, period,” Carol replied emphatically. "She just realized it about five years too late." "Why does he stay in touch?" "He's a control freak. Jeffrey can't stand to relinquish control of Kate's life." Michael thoughtfully digested this bit of information. Kate had accused him of being a control freak. Was he? Wasn't he just doing his job? "Can't imagine anyone controlling Kate. I certainly can't." "Kate just let Jeffrey think he had control, then went ahead and did what she wanted. The end came when she couldn't keep up the charade any longer." Carol didn't offer any further details and Michael didn't pry, although still curious as to the final cause of the break-up. Kate returned, and in response to two inquisitive stares, stated flatly, "Money matters-no big deal. Although,” she went on, smiling at Michael, "he did have a few questions about his chat with you." Michael grinned. "What did you say?" "I lied. I said you were my beau." "You actually used the word ‘beau’?” Carol asked. "Sure, Jeffrey appreciates words like that. He sputtered a bit, then wished me all the best." "Little does he know you wouldn't let me near you with a ten foot pole,” Michael muttered. "Nor will either of us tell him that,” Kate said quickly. "Just in case you happen to answer the phone again." "Got it."

*** The dinner hour, or half hour, considering the speed at which Michael ate, passed in a fairly civilized manner. Kate refrained from making any cracks about Michael's inordinate pride in his salad creation and he praised her pasta sauce. She graciously accepted his compliments, but suspected he'd eat anything put in front of him.

Dishes done--again, with Michael's assistance--Kate announced she was headed to the front room to work for awhile. "I'm getting nervous hanging around you. We're both behaving too well." "Yeah, it's scary all right,” Michael agreed. "Who knows what it could lead to?" "I know what it won't lead to.” Kate flung the damp dish towel at him as she left the kitchen. By eight thirty, Kate's vision was blurring from staring at the computer screen. This had to be another symptom of pregnancy--impaired vision. Flicking off the machine, she wandered into the living room and flopped down on the couch, head back and eyes closed. The sound of the flip-top of a beer can opening announced Michael's entrance. "Mind if I turn on the ball game?” he asked, sprawling comfortably at the other end of the couch. He was about to put his feet up on the coffee table, but after a quick glance at Kate, whose eyes had opened just a fraction, left them on the floor. "Go ahead,” she answered in a drowsy, relaxed voice. "Turn the game on and put your feet up. I think I'll do the same." Michael smiled. Amazing. Kate still in a good mood and the ball game. Kate shut her eyes again as he began flipping through the channels with the remote, resisting the urge to grab it from him. "Who's playing?" "Red Sox." "I figured that. Who are they playing?" "Doesn't matter.' "What do you mean, it doesn't matter?" "Just that. A true baseball fan doesn't care who's playing." "You'd watch two lousy teams play?” This was beyond Kate's comprehension. With no brothers and a father and husband with little interest in sports she couldn't fathom watching a game just for the sake of it. "Red Sox are never lousy,” Michael pointed out. "But yeah, I'd watch two lousy teams play. Beats anything else on TV.” He gave Kate a knowing look. "I bet you watch PBS." "Coming from you, I don't take that as criticism. And, yes, I do occasionally watch PBS."

"Knew it." She gave him a look, part amused, part exasperated. "You think you've got me all figured out, don't you?" "Pretty much." God, he could be insufferable. "Okay then, Mr. Astute, give me the benefit of your insight." "You sure?” Michael looked dubious. "I'm sure. Go ahead." "All right.” Michael leaned back, resting his head on couch. "You're smart, gutsy, probably good at your job, a bit uptight, off men right now…" He hesitated, a little wary. "You know, your marriage." Kate simply nodded. "Continue." "You have an awesome temper and a tendency to say what's on your mind. And, you're a good cook. How's that?" Kate was impressed. He was surprisingly on the mark. "Not bad, but I'm not off men. It's more like I'm off you." "Same thing." Kate laughed at his blatant male arrogance. Michael leaned forward again, his attention now riveted to the screen, although still directing his remarks to Kate. "Kate, have you ever been to a game? Do you even like baseball?” "Sure, I like baseball and I went to a game once. But it was more like a business meeting. Jeffrey brought a client and they discussed deals the whole time. I was lost without the TV commentator and had no one to answer my questions." "Well, we've got the commentators tonight but I'll answer any questions you have,” Michael offered. Kate smiled, but her concentration was not on the game. Her eyes had strayed to Michael's broad back and the tousled, dark hair curling at the nape of his neck. This was an indulgence bordering on torture, and not quite what Carol had in mind, but was about all she could handle.

Half way through the game the phone rang. Michael leapt from the couch and ran to the kitchen. "Kate, come here,” he shouted. "It's an unfamiliar number." As she entered the kitchen, Michael was headed for the upstairs phone, firing off rapid instructions. "Whoever it is, keep them on the line for as long as you can. I don't care if it's a wrong number. Remember to push the button to connect to the station and if whoever's calling wants to set up a meeting or something, go along with it. Got it?" Kate nodded, heart pounding and hands shaking. She waited until she heard Michael in the upstairs bedroom before picking up the receiver. Trying to control the quivering in her voice, she managed a tentative hello. It was a male caller, someone she'd never met. He gave his name as Edward Wilson. His distinct English accent caught her off guard and she felt a momentary sense of relief. However, by the time he arrived at the reason for the call--to arrange a meeting regarding a series of articles she'd written on the city's shelters for teen-aged runaways-her senses were on the alert. Kate responded to the request in a pleasant and businesslike manner. Precisely what was his interest in the articles, and where and when would he like to meet? His answers were smooth, pat and probably well-rehearsed. A meeting was set up for the next day at a well-known restaurant located just outside of Boston. When Kate hung up, hoping the call had lasted long enough for the police to make a trace, she was shivering. Holding her hands in front of her, she stared at their involuntary trembling. Although the man had probably not been one of them, he had to have been someone working with them. Her articles hadn't been that thought provoking. Michael bounded into the kitchen, full of excitement and enthusiasm, but stopped in his tracks when he spied Kate. She looked up at him wordlessly, all color drained from her face. In two quick strides he was at her side and gathered her in his arms. Without hesitation she accepted the comfort offered. Michael knew exactly what the embrace meant--she'd turned to him out of fear and need--but was still very conscious of the sensation of holding Kate in his arms. Breathing in the scent of her hair and feeling her breasts pressed against his chest, he wished she was in his arms for a very different reason. Pulling her closer, he murmured, "Hey, Kate, you don't have to go through with this." She gave a barely perceptible shake of her head. "I know I don't have to, but I'm going to." Michael gently smoothed the tangled curls and rested his chin on her head. He could have stood like this for hours and reluctantly let his arms fall to his sides when she pulled away.

"Thank you,” Kate whispered softly. He simply nodded, not trusting his voice. "I'm going upstairs now. Can we talk about the arrangements tomorrow?" "Sure." Michael accompanied Kate to the stairs. The nightly ritual was reminiscent of walking old girlfriends to the front door after a date. His "date" for this evening however, was a frightened woman who seemed hesitant to take that first step up the stairs. "Kate, please don't take this the wrong way but I'm offering to sleep upstairs again. In the spare room, the floor, wherever. You don't look so good and you're still trembling." Michael's offer, although it seemed one of genuine concern, prompted Kate to take that first step. More so tonight than any of the previous ones, she didn't trust herself. The thought of using Michael's body to warm the chill of her own, to lose herself and her fear in the comfort he could provide was tempting. But pregnant or not, she wasn't accustomed to sleeping with men she barely knew--for whatever reason. Knowing she spoke out of fear and frustration, her response to his offer was cool. "I don't need you, thanks. I'm fine by myself." "Kate, I wouldn't try anything--" he persisted. "I wouldn't let you try anything," she snapped, letting him bear the full brunt of her frustration. "This celibacy must be difficult for you, but the deal is you share my home, not my bedroom or my bed." Michael exploded, his own frustration erupting. "You are bloody impossible. You're deliberately misinterpreting what I'm saying. I don't know why I bother trying to communicate with you." Kate's eyes flashed with anger. "I don't think I'm misinterpreting your intentions, tonight's, last night's or even the first night we spent together. And if you think we're having trouble communicating, I'll make it perfectly clear. I am not interested in becoming another notch in your belt." "And I have no interest in you becoming one!" Michael shouted back in fury. "Fine. We agree on something." "Jesus, Kate, based on some cruddy remarks of Jim's, you've labeled me as some kind of sex maniac." "What does it matter what I think of you?"

"I don't know,” he muttered, shaking his head in bewilderment. With those three words, he'd just admitted that it did matter. They stared at one another in silence. Michael's answer had effectively banished all traces of anger. Kate looked as perplexed as Michael felt. He was determined not to say another word, already having said far more than he'd intended. Kate broke the silence with as gesture every bit as bewildering as Michael's admission. Gently placing the tips of her fingers on his bruised and battered face, she said softly, "Sometimes, Michael, I wish things were different between us, that we were different kinds of people. I'm sorry for what I said." She turned and headed up the stairs, leaving Michael dumbfounded. Before she disappeared, he shouted after her, "Call if you do need me." Without turning around, Kate shouted back, "Thanks, but I doubt you'd hear me if I did call."

Chapter Six The next morning, Kate stood shivering by the side of her bed, the cold of the hardwood floor creeping up her legs as she waited for the onset of the day’s nausea. When seconds passed without any sign of the familiar queasiness, Kate tiptoed cautiously to the bathroom, certain that any hurried or sudden movement might jar it into existence. She met her reflection in the bathroom mirror with a tentative smile. Perhaps the ghastly morning ritual was over. Her smile widened to a grin. Go ahead, Pollyanna, play the “Glad Game.” Despite all the horrors in your life right now, be thankful for small blessings. Kate's good mood took a dive when she entered the kitchen and found Michael sipping coffee at the table, his shoulders hunched and his expression glum. Her cheerful "good morning" met with a grunt and a shrug, although he managed to rouse himself from his stupor to inform her they'd be leaving at one thirty for the two o'clock rendezvous with Edward Wilson. "Nice way to start the day, reminding me of my date with a deadly stranger." "Kate, if you want to back out, just say the word." Michael looked weary and anxious, the laugh lines at his eyes more pronounced, his mouth drawn and tense. Kate sat down and eyed him warily. She wasn't used to seeing him without a grin, a smile or a wink, unless, of course, he was in a temper. "Michael, what's wrong? Are you nervous about today?" "Not the slightest. Everything's under control. I guess I'm just restless, anxious to get going. And I'm not particularly eager to join the crew today." Meeting her anxious stare, Michael managed a half-hearted smile. He was not about to admit to having had a restless night caused by sexual frustration. Living and dealing with Kate was turning out to be more than he'd bargained for. She was irritating, provoked his temper and half the time he was pissed off at her. The other half was spent resisting the urge to seduce her. And this "everything under control," protection business. Who was he kidding? It had gone beyond the job description. He wasn't simply offering protection, he was becoming protective. He didn't even want her going through with this. The whole situation was unnatural. He was living with a woman he found physically attractive, spending just about every waking moment with her, sharing meals, evenings, danger--everything except a bed. His professionalism had been shot to hell.

"Hey, Michael.” Kate was waving a hand in front of his face. "Are you with me in body only?" Happy to have an excuse to shrug off his foul mood, he grinned and grabbed her hand. "Not content with just the body? You want my spirit, too?" "I thought it was a package deal.” Kate smiled, relieved to have the old Michael back. She let her hand linger in his for a moment, then quickly withdrew it and changed the subject. "If you don't feel like working with the crew this morning, what are your plans?" Michael stood up with a huge, lazy stretch, his T-shirt pulling out of his waistband, giving Kate a brief glimpse of bare, flat torso. "Oh, hell, I'll join the crew. I have to do something physical. Just hanging around drives me nuts." "I find your company stimulating too,” Kate shot back. "Tuck in your shirt. You look like a slob." "Maybe I'll just take it off.” He grinned. "That would really bug you, wouldn't it?" Kate decided to join in Michael’s playful spirits. Better a flirtatious Michael than a grumpy one. She rose from her chair and grabbed his T-shirt in her fist. Giving it a yank, she snarled, "Don't mess with me, buddy. I've got weapons you've never dreamed of." Michael, delighted by the unexpected physical contact, laughed. "You have a rich fantasy life, Kate. You'll have to share it with me sometime." Kate released her grip and gave him a shove. "In your dreams, Michael."

*** Hours later, good spirits and humor had vanished as they prepared for the "excursion.” Kate, nervous and irritable, was being completely unreasonable about both the bulletproof vest and the wire Michael insisted she wear. "I can't wear that vest under this blouse,” she protested. "You told me to dress appropriately for this meeting and I did. I'm going to look like a Ninja turtle with that thing underneath. And just how do you propose to attach the wire? You're not touching my body." Arms crossed at her chest, Kate glared in defiance. Michael stood with the vest in one hand and the wire in the other, his face a study in controlled fury. "Kate,” he said firmly. "Both of these things are going on. If you have to wear one of your bulky sweaters, go right ahead. I don't care what you look like, you're wearing the vest. As for the wire, I'll get Carol over to help. In your present mood, I have no desire to go near you."

Kate bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing. She was experiencing a certain perverse pleasure watching Michael's efforts to control his temper. He was so deliberate and obvious. "Are you smiling?” Michael asked in disbelief. She was going to put him over the edge, drive him completely crazy. Kate couldn't hold back the laughter. "Oh, Michael, you just look so funny when you're being stern and giving orders." "Glad the criminals I deal with don't find me so amusing,” Michael said with a grim smile. "You're laughing at a man trained to kill, Kate. I've spent years perfecting this ‘stern’ look." "Well, I'm sure it's effective on criminals,” Kate said soothingly, although still grinning. "Call Carol. I'm obeying your orders and going upstairs to change. Send her up."

*** "I can see how Michael putting this thing on would be a bit much,” Carol mused, while carefully attaching the wire to Kate's chest with strips of adhesive. "Getting it off is going to be brutal." "I can get it off myself,” Kate said. "Getting it on posed the problem. Aside from not wanting to expose myself to his lecherous eyes, I don't want Michael getting a peek at my waistline. I could barely do up these pants. And my breasts are tender and swollen." "Michael would never clue in, Kate. He has no idea of what they were like before. And he's a male. He'd assume your breasts were swollen from the mere touch of his hand." "My, my, do I detect a bit of cynicism regarding the opposite sex?” "Well, it's true. Men always think erect nipples are a sign of arousal. Never mind the fact you just might happen to be cold--or pregnant. I'll bet Michael's never seen a nude pregnant woman." "Well, he won't get the opportunity to in this house." Carol stepped back to observe her handiwork. "Wired and ready to go. Now for the extra padding." While Carol adjusted the straps of the vest, a shout came from the living room. "You've got to be finished up there. If not, I'm coming up and doing it myself!" Michael threatened. "I still have to test the wire before we go."

"Don't come up!" Carol stuck her head out the bedroom door and hollered back. "Give us five minutes." She turned to Kate, who now looked scared and anxious. "You're going to be fine,” Carol assured her, with far more conviction than she felt. "They're taking every precaution and Michael said they're not even going to let you get close to this guy." "So why the wire?" Carol shrugged. "To pick up other voices? I don't know, but Michael won't let anything happen to you." "I guess not. He's not even wearing a disguise this time, and Jim Pearson will be there too." Carol gave her a hug. "You'll be surrounded by the good guys." Another shout from downstairs. "Kate, hurry up!" An impatient and exasperated Michael met them at the bottom of the stairs. "We have forty-five minutes before we leave and I still have to give you instructions." "Sorry." His expression softened at the anxious look on Kate's face. "You want to back out?” he asked gently. Her shoulders stiffened and she shook her head. "I'm going through with it." Michael shrugged. "Okay, it's on. And by the way, that adhesive tape can get pretty itchy. Don't, for God's sake, start scratching at it." It was Kate's turn to look exasperated. "Well, thanks for pointing that out. I was fine until you mentioned it." Her hand instinctively moved to her chest and Michael grabbed it. "Kate,” he warned. She pulled her hand back and gave him an angry stare. Michael ignored it. "Let's test the wire." The wire had been fitted properly and was in working order. Michael nodded in satisfaction then took Kate by the shoulders and steered her to the couch. Surprisingly, she offered no resistance. He sat on the coffee table, facing her, his expression grim.

Kate hated it when Michael looked like that. The stern, serious cop routine made her even more nervous and conscious of the danger. In dry, precise tones, he gave the instructions. "You'll drive alone to the restaurant. Police officers will be in the parking lot and inside. Don't budge from the car 'til you see a couple get out of a blue Honda. He'll be wearing a brown suit and she'll be in a yellow dress. They're police officers. Let them go ahead, but you follow close behind. The maître d' doesn't have a clue what's going on. We didn't know if he could be trusted. The owner of the place we do trust and through him we placed a new ‘waiter,’ another officer. His name tag will read ‘Thomas’.” Michael glanced down at Kate's lap, momentarily distracted by the trembling of her hands. She followed his gaze but before she could clasp her hands together, Michael reached over and took them in his own. They were icy cold to the touch. Continuing with the instructions in a low, soothing voice, he gently rubbed her hands between his own until his warmth had spread to hers. Kate made no effort to pull away. She remained still, watching Michael's face and listening intently to his every word. As if her life depended on those words, thought Carol, who stood quietly in the background. And, of course, it did. Although still visibly frightened, Kate's trust and dependency upon Michael were also apparent. And he was watching her with such concern, such tenderness as he spoke. His thumbs now softly rubbed the insides of Kate's wrists. "So,” Michael went on, "we're assuming Edward Wilson will already be seated when you arrive. Check with the maître d' to confirm this and when he takes you to the table, give a nod to Thomas. He'll discreetly follow, watching Mr. Wilson very closely." "What if Mr. Wilson isn't there yet?" "Just give your name to the maître d' and take a seat in the foyer. When Wilson does arrive and gives his name, give a nod to Thomas. Wait until Thomas comes over before introducing yourself. Either scenario, once we've confirmed it's Wilson, Thomas takes over and you're out of the picture." "Back to the scenario where I'm headed for the table. How far do I go? Do I actually sit down? "No. As you're walking over to the table, keep an eye on Thomas. When you see him put a pen in his shirt pocket, that's the signal for you to stop and introduce yourself. When Wilson introduces himself, take a step back. All hell may break loose at this point because Thomas is the one who will approach the table. He's going to start questioning Wilson, which may make him a little nervous. If he's legit, he has nothing to worry about. If he's not, we've got him." "Why do you need me at all if you figure he's going to show up at the restaurant? If he's made reservations, you can spot him on your own."

As usual, Kate's question went right to the heart of the matter. Why her presence was necessary and the danger that entailed for her. "Kate, what if he didn't make reservations, didn’t give his name to the maître d’ and is just sitting there waiting for you to show up? I'm sure he'll have a description of you, but we don't have a clue what he looks like. We can't question every unaccompanied male who comes in, we don't want to tip our hand and have him bolt. Unless you show up, no one's going to make a move. You're the decoy, remember? We need you to make contact with this guy, whether he made reservations or not. If you don’t show and we simply question a guy named Wilson, what have we got? If he’s legit, you have lunch with him. If he’s not, Thomas’s questions will expose him.” Kate nodded thoughtfully, already on to her next question. "Do you think one of those mob guys will be there?" “I doubt they’ll show their faces, Kate.” Michael refrained from mentioning that “those mob guys” usually had someone else do their dirty work for them. "Maybe they'll be hiding somewhere." "Possibly, but we'll have checked out the place. You've just got to remember to do exactly what I say. Once Thomas starts questioning Wilson and it becomes apparent he’s up to no good, the "couple" will appear and accompany you out of there." Michael stood up, and still holding Kate's hands, pulled her up with him. "So, are you ready to go?” He smiled encouragingly. Kate had one final question. "Where will you be while this is going on?" "Right outside the front door listening to every word through that wire." Kate touched the wire that was to be her link with Michael. For the first time, his reassuring presence wouldn't be visible. Putting on a big smile, both for his benefit and for Carol's, she announced with false bravado, "Okay, I'm ready."

*** The drive to the rendezvous went without a hitch. Kate was now accustomed to driving in a heightened state of fear and anxiety. Michael kept up a reassuring conversation via radio communication, testing her on the baseball rules he'd taught the night before. She flunked the test. Michael graciously accepted her excuse of being somewhat distracted regarding the upcoming encounter.

Once in the parking lot, everything went according to plan. Kate spotted the couple from the blue Honda and followed them inside. As always, she anticipated the sound of gunfire, but kept going, leaving her fate in the hands of God and the police. At the reservations desk Kate gave her name to the maître d', and a quick glance around the dining room confirmed Michael's belief that neither mobster would dare show his face. Spotting the waiter “Thomas”, she held back a smile of acknowledgement. Other than having to make a concerted effort to avoid touching the wire, Kate thought she was handling things very well. The whole scenario--the people, the surroundings, her own actions--had the surreal quality of a dream. Or a nightmare. Kate gave a sudden start when the maître d' touched her elbow. He simply raised an eyebrow and smiled politely as he began escorting her to the dining room. Thomas discreetly followed. They headed to a booth in the back, where a distinguished looking gentleman smiled in anticipation (and relief?) as they approached. What little confidence Kate still possessed disappeared at the sight of the stranger's smiling face. Resisting the urge to make an about face, she returned the smile. Don't screw up now, Kate. Wait for the signal, say your lines and make your exit. Although it wasn't in the script, she turned and smiled politely at the maître d'. Removing her elbow from his grasp, she dismissed his services. "Thank you, I can seat myself." If Michael and the police didn't trust this man, there was no way Kate wanted him near her if there was to be any confrontation. Michael, outside and listening to every word, smiled. Good girl--despite her fear, still able to think for herself. Within two yards of the table, Thomas's pen disappeared into his shirt pocket. Kate's mouth suddenly went dry. Swallowing nervously, she managed to croak, "Mr. Wilson? I'm Kate Sullivan." Wincing at the squeaky and unnatural sound of her voice, Kate was relieved to see Mr. Wilson simply smile graciously as he rose slightly from his seat, extending a hand. There's no way I'd ever shake that hand. Kate shuddered and stayed put, as ordered. Thomas continued to approach the table and Kate heard him ask, "Mr. Wilson? I'd just like to confirm the purpose of your meeting with Ms. Sullivan. What precisely is your interest and who do you work for?" Mr. Wilson looked genuinely surprised and continued to rise--rather shakily--to his full height as Thomas continued with the questions. Kate was well behind Thomas but close enough to observe that Wilson looked somewhat tipsy. He was clutching a drink in one hand and the remains of another sat on the table. "And just what business is it of yours, young man, if I have a meeting scheduled with Ms. Sullivan?” he blustered loudly.

Noting his slurred words and how his hands shook, Kate sighed. Another failed decoy outing. They'd simply managed to corner a belligerent drunk. The "couple" were now on either side of her, the man grasping her elbow and nudging Kate in the direction of the front exit. Before turning around, she took a last look at Mr. Wilson, whose voice had raised about an octave as he shouted at Thomas. Kate wondered why--if he was legit-Wilson wasn't appealing to her for assistance. Nor was the maître d' making any effort to interfere, and supposedly he had no idea Thomas was a police officer. Mr. Wilson was now howling in rage and trying unsuccessfully to shake off the hand Thomas had placed on his shoulder. Thomas had obviously given up expecting any reasonable cooperation and was displaying his badge. Mr. Wilson took one look at the badge then glanced quickly down the hallway that led to the rear of the building. Kate followed his gaze. Through the partially opened door of the men's room a man's face was visible. She pulled away from the officer who was now forcibly pushing her toward the entrance. He was also obscuring her view of that man's face. Deliberately disobeying Michael's orders, Kate yanked her arm free and turned around. People don't peer out of washroom doors. They either go in or out. Was Mr. Wilson warning someone with his loud shouts? The door briefly opened a fraction of an inch more. In that split second before it slammed shut Kate had an unobscured view of the man's face, and he of hers. Their eyes met in shocked recognition. Although she hadn’t had a clear view of Salvatore’s face at the time of the attempted car theft, the height, the long hair and the prominent nose was enough. That, and the fact he was glaring at her. He knew his prey. Both the male and female officers now had a firm grip on Kate's arms and were dragging her away. "Let go!" she screamed. "It's him. Never mind about me, get him!" Michael picked up Kate's screams from the wire. His response was instantaneous. Pushing open the heavy wooden door, he'd made it just inside the entrance when a hand grabbed him, pulling him back. "Where do you think you're going?” a furious Jim Pearson demanded. "Our positions are here 'til someone calls for backup." Michael roughly pushed Jim aside. "Kate's screaming. Cover the back." Once inside, he scanned the room for Kate. She was at the rear of the dining room and frantically trying to escape the clutches of the two officers. Apparently no one was listening to her--thought she was hysterical--and were simply obeying their orders to remove her from the scene. In the midst of her struggle, Kate turned and saw Michael approaching with his gun drawn. "One of them, Michael!" she yelled. "Down the hallway, the men's room.”

Michael started running, pausing only to shout, "Get her down and keep her safe," as he pushed his way by Kate and the officers. Passing Thomas, he yelled over his shoulder, "Don't let Wilson out of your sight." By now, the man Kate had seen in the washroom had managed to escape via the rear exit door. She watched as Michael yanked the door open and took off in pursuit. Her instinct to follow was literally smothered by the male officer who had pushed her to her knees and was shielding her body with his own. Thomas and the female officer both had their guns drawn. The restaurant was in chaos. The regular patrons were screaming in panic and trying to leave while the undercover “patrons” blocked both exits and ordered everyone to take cover. Over the screaming and shouting, Kate heard the sound of gunfire coming from out back. Her attempt to rise was met by the crushing weight of the officer. "Sorry, Ma'am, but we stay like this 'til we hear otherwise." Head buried in her lap, Kate experienced fear and dread unlike any she'd known before. Numb with terror, she moaned softly, "Please don't let it be him.” Whatever had happened outside was over. No further shots were heard. The crowd in the restaurant--officers and customers alike--waited silently to hear word of the outcome. Kate heard the laboring squeak of the rear door opening, and the officer removed his body's protective weight. Still on her knees, she turned and saw Jim Pearson walking the length of the hallway. No one else was with him. Spotting Kate, he hurried over and knelt at her side, placing an arm around her shoulders. Wordlessly, she lifted her stricken face, eyes wide with terror and dread. "Michael's okay, Kate, he's fine,” Jim said quickly. Pulling her into his arms as she began sobbing with relief, he turned to the officer. "Get Michael in here." Michael was already racing down the hallway. Approaching the two huddled figures, he nodded to Jim, who stood and backed away. Bending down and gathering Kate in his arms, he felt the frantic beating of her heart. He pulled her closer, held her tightly, fiercely. "It's okay, Kate, everything's okay. I'm here,” he murmured, his voice hoarse and shaking. "I thought you were hurt, I thought you weren't coming back,” she sobbed, unable to hold back the tears. Clinging to him, Kate let her hands roam the length and width of his back, assuring herself that Michael was really here, alive and uninjured.

Michael pulled back and cupped her tear-strained face in the palm of his hands. "I'm fine, and I'm not leaving you," he said firmly. Smiling, he went on. "And we got him, Kate." She gave a shaky smile in return. Reaching up, gently touching Michael's face with her fingertips, she took comfort and pleasure in the feel of him--his warmth, his smile, the rough stubble already forming on his cheeks. He was alive. That was of far more concern to her right now than the capturing of a criminal. Michael took the small hand touching his face in his own. "Let's go home, Kate. Enough heroics for today. You’re coming with me in my car. Jim will drive yours." He lifted Kate to her feet and continued holding her in the protective and reassuring curve of his arm. "Okay with you, Jim?" Jim nodded. "That’s fine with me. And, Kate, congratulations. Perhaps you should consider a career in law enforcement. You've got a keen, alert eye." Kate shivered and Michael pressed her closer to his side. "No, thank you,” she replied with determined shake of her head. "When this is over, I'm retiring." "The offer remains open.” Jim turned to Michael. "Kate has one more chore before you get her out of here. We need a positive I.D. that it's the same guy she saw trying to steal her car." "Are you up for it?” Michael asked her. "It's either here or we'll have to go down to the station later." "Let's get it over with now." A sullen, handcuffed Salvatore Sorelli stood by a police car at the front of the restaurant. The I.D. went quickly. He scowled at Kate while she whispered softly, "It's him,” and quickly averted her eyes. Michael took her hand and led her to the car. On the drive home, Kate's relief at having Michael safe and alive--as well as the thrill of having one of the bad guys in custody--overcame any lingering fear. Her curious nature and exuberant spirits took over. She bombarded Michael with questions. "What was he doing in the washroom? How did he figure I'd ever let him near me without screaming? Was the maître d' in on it? Why didn't anyone else notice him and how did he get in there?" Michael threw his head back, laughing with delight and relief at Kate's mood change. "One question at a time, and I can only guess right now. We'll know more later. My bet is Mr. Wilson spills his guts, but that we'll get zip from Salvatore.”

“He's a dead man if he talks, right? The mob code of silence?" Michael grinned. "You've been watching too many mobster movies, but basically, yes." "So what do you think was the plan?" "My guess is after we'd checked out the restaurant the maître d' somehow let him in, and that Salvatore planned to stay hidden until he'd figured out if you were on your own. Mr. Wilson's shouts alerted him to our presence. Fortunately, you caught sight of him trying to make a hasty exit in the middle of all the confusion." "How did they plan to kill me?" Michael glanced briefly at Kate, amazed. "How can you ask that so calmly?" "I don't know.” She shrugged, somewhat perplexed herself. "I guess because it's over and I'm safe now." "Well, maybe they hoped you'd take a trip to the washroom or they planned to nab you in the parking lot.” Michael shook his head. "This isn't a pleasant topic." "You're right, we should be celebrating,” Kate said cheerfully. "Kate, the other guy's still on the loose,” Michael reminded her. And probably desperate now that he's on his own and with another plan spoiled, he added silently. Kate didn't reply, just turned slightly and watched Michael as he drove. His expression was grim. He was probably thinking of the danger that still existed, but she'd rather concentrate on what there was to be thankful for. One criminal was in custody, the baby was fine, she was fine and so was Michael. Those feelings she'd had when seeing him alive and unhurt went beyond simple relief for the safety of a friend, and posed a whole new dilemma. She cared about him, more than she cared to admit or was prepared for. It was something she would deal with on her own. Michael need never know. What happened between them at the restaurant could be justified by fear and overwrought emotions, and would go no further. But right now, she would allow herself the pleasure of being with him, and of them both being alive. Michael sensed her stare. "What's up?" "Nothing.” She smiled. "Just let me be happy for awhile, without thinking of what comes next." Michael reached over and patted her leg. "You got it."

***

Kate's spirits were still running high when they arrived home. This was an entirely different kind of adrenaline rush, one she could savor. "Let's do something special to celebrate,” she suggested. "Like what?” Watching Kate pace the living room, her body tense with energy and enthusiasm, Michael knew exactly what he'd like to do to celebrate. Suggest it, and that would put a quick end to her good mood. "I don't know,” she replied, green eyes sparkling. "But we can't just sit around and do nothing." "Before we do anything, I have to make out my report and call the station.” He paused. "Wish I was there for the interrogation." Reminded of Michael's reluctant role in the investigation, Kate's spirits took a dive. "I'm sorry you're stuck here. Maybe I'll just call Carol." Michael saw her face fall, and realizing he'd just quenched her spirits, attempted to make amends. "Hey, Kate, once I'm finished with the paperwork and phone call, I'll think of something to do. You're right, today's catch is cause for celebration." "It's okay, Michael,” Kate headed upstairs, eager to get rid of the wire and vest. "There's nothing much we can do. We're both stuck here."

*** Michael was determined to think of something to restore Kate's spirits. She deserved some kind of reward for the role she'd played today. And aside from that, it was a pleasure seeing her so happy and full of enthusiasm. He made out his report while she spoke to Carol, and when the line was free called the station. Jim confirmed his guesses. Mr. Wilson was talking nonstop and Salvatore was mute. The maître d' had been booked as an accessory to attempted kidnapping. No one was admitting to attempted murder. They'd just wanted to "talk" with Kate--away from the restaurant. Michael hung up from Jim and made a few other calls. Feeling very pleased with himself, he headed for the stairs and shouted for Kate. All he got in reply was an, "I'm busy." Busy doing what? Still trying to get out of the vest and wire? "Come on, Kate, get down here. I've got some good news." Ten minutes later, as he lay sprawled on the couch with Furball on his chest, Kate came down. Michael sat up with a smile that quickly faded when he saw her face. Her eyes

were red and swollen. Although she'd obviously been crying, the expression on her face dared him to make mention of the fact. He wisely chose to ignore the evidence. Filling her in on the news from Jim, all he received for his efforts was a nod and a halfhearted, "That's great." Kate ignored Michael's curious stare. Let him think she'd been having a delayed reaction and good cry over this afternoon's near brush with death. She'd never admit to having cried in frustration, anger and sadness. She had crossed a forbidden line. She cared about Michael, and not just as her “partner” in this investigation. Having reluctantly acknowledged such feelings, she had just indulged herself in a crying jag. Pity party for Kate. The hormones were raging. Michael didn't even want to be here with her. He'd rather be at the station, celebrating with the other guys. And that was perfectly understandable. She was the fool for wishing otherwise. "I've got a surprise for you,” Michael announced, breaking the awkward silence. He smiled warily. Kate's mood no longer indicated cause for celebration. "I've invited Carol and Bob over for dinner, and I'll do the cooking." "You what?" Michael winced, but bravely went on. "We're going to celebrate, Kate, have people over. I've got the menu all planned, but we need some groceries." "We're going to risk my life on an excursion to the grocery store so you can show off your cooking skills?” He was indulging her and Kate resented it. He didn't care about celebrating with her, and she no longer felt like it. She'd rather stay holed up in her room until the other criminal was caught and Michael was gone for good. "Michael, you're crazy and so is the whole idea. Why don't we just have a party? Invite the neighbors, the work crew, the police, everyone involved?" Michael ignored the sarcasm. "Actually, I invited Jim and his wife too." She was amazed. "These people are going to risk their lives coming here just because I made it through another decoy outing?” "Sure, what are friends for?” The attempt at humor was a bust. Kate’s expression remained glum but he soldiered on. "Don't worry, the risk is minimal. Dominick won't make a move tonight. He's too busy panicking right now. And we're not going grocery shopping. One of the guys in the work crew said he'd pick up the stuff for me." Kate flung herself on the couch Michael had just vacated and fixed him with a steady stare. He looked so pleased with himself in spite of her lukewarm reaction. His hair was all mussed up again. He'd been nervously running his fingers through it while talking. And although his smile was tentative, it was still there. He looked as gorgeous as ever,

full of his usual enthusiasm. She wished he'd sit down beside her, take her in his arms and repeat those words he'd said this afternoon, "I won't leave you." But Michel had been referring to the investigation, not a lifetime commitment. Behave yourself, Kate. Get out of the realm of fantasy. Don't blow this thing, play along. Michael was trying so hard to be agreeable, the least she could do was show some appreciation and knock off the sulking, “poor me” snit. She allowed the hint of a smile appear. "And just what do you plan on making for dinner?" Michael grinned, relieved to see Kate's smile back. "That's a surprise, and you're not allowed in the kitchen. Carol's going to help me." "I knew you couldn't do it yourself,” she teased. "I'm the chef,” Michael insisted indignantly. "Carol's merely my able assistant." "Assistant my--" "Don't say it.” Michael cut her off. “Tonight's dinner is in honor of a lady."

Chapter Seven True to his word, Michael wouldn't let Kate near the kitchen. Climbing the stairs to change before the other guests arrived, Kate could hear Carol and him laughing and banging pots and pans in the kitchen as they prepared dinner. Michael had insisted the dress be casual. "Jeans only. I can't be expected to cook the dinner and dazzle everyone with my attire. Besides, I hate wearing a suit." Kate eyed her only pair of clean blue jeans lying in a heap of clothes on the closet floor. It was going to be tight fit. Even if she could still get them on, sitting down and eating would pose a challenge. Lying on the bed and tugging in vain at the zipper, she faced reality. This just wasn't going to happen. Her days were numbered before maternity clothes became a necessity. Amazing how such a tiny bulge, invisible to everyone else, had just about eliminated her entire wardrobe. Plan B. Kate hauled out a pair of comfy, denim overalls from the closet. She certainly wouldn't be dazzling anyone with her appearance, but it was the overalls, sweat pants or a loose-fitting dress. Eyeing herself in the mirror, she frowned. This was really pushing the casual dress code, but the freedom the overalls provided her expanding stomach was worth the fashion faux pas. Michael was drinking a beer and Carol a glass of wine when Kate made her grand entrance. Michael took in the overalls with a wide grin and a hoot of appreciation. "Whoa, there, Kate, if you're planning to join the crew, they've left for the day. Or is the point here to hide everything from my prying eyes?" "Keep your comments about my attire to yourself,” Kate retorted, turning away from Michael's twinkling eyes and giving Carol a smile of welcome. Carol gave a discreet wink in return. "I don't dress to attract men." "I've figured that one out,” Michael said dryly. "But you've made a serious error in judgment with this little number. I’ve always had a thing for women in overalls." “You might as well keep your supercharged libido in check, buddy. It’s on a one way track going nowhere.” Kate delivered this bit of advice with a feigned look of pity and headed toward the pine dry sink where the bar had been set up. Undaunted by the putdown, Michael grabbed the tool loop on the rear pocket of the overalls and dragged her back. Still holding on, he lowered his head so that his mouth was at her cheek.

"The rear view is very appealing and this loop quite handy." Kate smacked his hand away. "Behave yourself. We have company." "Don't behave on my account,” protested Carol. "I enjoy watching the two of you squabble. I think you've met your match, Kate." Kate shot Carol a look of warning and Michael just laughed. The others arrived within minutes of each other, Carol’s husband Bob through the kitchen door, while Jim and Suzanne Pearson made a more conventional entrance via the front. Michael had coerced two of his cop buddies to provide extra security detail while off duty. One was staked out at the front; the other out back. Introductions were made and drinks served. The couples made a good mix--if you counted Kate and Michael as a couple--which Kate tried not to do. Michael was the perfect host, putting everyone at ease with his charming smile and easygoing manner. He kept busy making sure drinks were filled while Kate kept the hors d'oeuvres replenished. They had a moment alone in the kitchen while refilling the ice bucket and the vegetable platter. Michael, his face flushed from the combination of beer and party spirits, turned to Kate. "It's going well, isn't it?" She nodded with a smile, glad she'd gone along with his plan. Michael was an outgoing, "people" sort of person, and it must be hell for him to be stuck here with only herself for company. "What about you?” He stood beside her and gently pushed a wayward curl back from her face. "Are you having a good time?" Don't do that, Kate felt like screaming, don't touch me like that. Instead, she smiled again, picked up the platter and headed for the dining room. "I'm having a great time. This was a wonderful idea." Joining Suzanne and Carol, who were busy comparing notes on child care, she had to bite her lip to keep from announcing she'd soon be joining their ranks. Carol caught Kate's wistful expression and tactfully changed the subject. "So, my courageous, crazy friend, you were a heroine this afternoon. I gather that if it weren't for you, the criminal might have made his getaway unnoticed." Michael overheard Carol's remarks and joined them. Slipping an arm behind Kate, his thumb resting in the loop of her overalls, he glanced down with a smile. "I think we

should make a toast.” He raised his beer mug. “To Kate--the ad hoc member of the homicide crime unit and as of today, the most valuable one." Kate blushed and allowed herself the pleasure of his casual embrace. They shared a smile as the others joined in the toast. "Hey, I've offered Kate a job with the homicide division,” Jim called out. "Can't understand her reluctance to accept." "Maybe it's the horrendous hours she objects to,” Suzanne suggested, with a wink at Kate. "Nope,” Kate disagreed. "It's wearing that bulky bulletproof vest that puts me off." While the others laughed at the lighthearted reference to danger, Michael squeezed Kate closer, leaning down and putting his mouth to her ear. She actually anticipated a congratulatory kiss and felt like a fool when he simply whispered, "Let's get dinner going." They'd agreed not to allow Carol help serve the dinner. Kate followed Michael to the kitchen, angry at herself and her childish expectations and disappointment. "What do you think of this?” Michael proudly hoisted the silver platter of stuffed pork tenderloin. His grin was boyish, cocky and endearing--the usual. Funny, how she’d once found it irritating. "I'm very impressed,” Kate admitted. "But I suspect you had more to do with peeling the potatoes than stuffing the roast." "Hey, you think I couldn't do something like this on my own?" "I guess you could, I just don't think you did." "Well, I'll have you know that under Carol's watchful eye and with the aid of a cookbook, I did do it myself.” Kate sighed. The man was determined to be the best. Not content with being a great homicide detective and a successful ladies' man, he now had to be an excellent chef as well. "Okay, okay, you're wonderful." Michael, busy placing the browned, crispy roast potatoes on the platter, paused at her tone of voice. "What's wrong?"

Kate neither answered nor looked up; just continued putting vegetables in the serving dishes. “What did I do? You sound pissed off." "I'm not pissed off. I just told you what a wonderful guy you are." "Yeah? Well, you were a little heavy on the sarcasm." Kate finally met his bewildered stare. Regretting her outburst, she excused it with a lie. "I'm sorry, Michael. Guess I'm just a little tired, and I shouldn't take it out on you." "That's okay.” His relief was audible. "We'll make it an early night." The dinner was a success. Michael was congratulated on his culinary efforts and Carol refused to take any credit. "He planned the menu and studied the cookbooks. I just took orders." "Living with Kate has done wonders for you, Michael,” Jim observed with a broad grin. "You cook, you clean, you do repair work..." "Yeah, yeah. I'm turning into a tamed, domestic animal.” Michael laughed and winked at Kate. "Not for very much longer,” Kate pointed out, smiling but hurt by the reminder that this lifestyle was not Michael's by choice. "Michael can soon revert back to his wild ways. No more having to deal with the crazy lady." Michael, from his seat at the head of the table, gave Kate a perplexed look. Was she expressing relief at the fact he'd soon be gone, that eventually this living arrangement would come to an end? Hell, he was actually starting to enjoy it. Kate returned his puzzled look with a cheerful smile. Carol saw the exchange and sighed. These two were nuts. Why did they persist in refusing to acknowledge what was obvious to everyone else? She'd have to work on Kate a little more. She got her opportunity to do so while helping Kate clean up when dinner ended. Michael was banished from the clean-up chores, and was grateful for the dismissal after taking a pained look at the stacks of dirty dishes. Kate had also refused Suzanne's assistance, insisting she spend the time with Jim while she had the opportunity. That left Carol, who in turn refused to leave Kate with the mess. "One load in the dishwasher only,” Kate said, accepting Carol's offer. "Then we join the others."

Carol quickly steered the conversation to Michael by commenting on the fun they'd had preparing dinner. Kate, busy at the sink, nodded. "He can be fun to be with. We've actually had some good times. But then one of us says something snarky and bingo! We're arguing again." "I know the reason for that,” Carol said smugly. Kate turned with a raised eyebrow. "Do tell." "The arguing is a defense mechanism." "Go on." Carol noted the sarcasm, but ignored it. "You both like each other, are attracted to one another, but refuse to admit it. The arguing enables you each to keep your distance." "Since when have you taken up pop psychology?” Kate inquired. Carol was awfully close to the truth and Kate didn't want her pursuing the matter further, wasn't prepared to admit even to Carol how she felt about Michael. Carol shrugged, not at all perturbed by Kate's reaction. "Whatever reasons you both have for keeping your distance aren't insurmountable." "Love conquers all?” Kate smirked. "You know my reasons and Michael's are pretty obvious, too. He hates the thought of settling down, of getting stuck in a domestic routine and likes playing the field. Michael won't change, and I can't." "Well, I'm not convinced.” Carol smiled at the frown on Kate's face. "I can read that look. It says "mind your own business.” Right?" "Right." "Okay, I'm done!" Carol grinned and waltzed out of the kitchen, not at all perturbed by Kate's response. Kate had never once actually denied having feelings for Michael.

*** At the same time Carol had been "advising" Kate, Michael had received a similar lecture from Jim. With a brief apology to Suzanne, "Business, honey," Jim had steered Michael to the privacy of Kate's front office. Propping himself up on the desk, mug of beer in hand, Michael regarded Jim with interest. "What's up? Has Salvatore admitted to anything?" Jim shook his head. "It's not that. It's Kate."

"What about Kate? She's fine." "You like her, don't you Michael?" Michael's guard went up. What the hell was Jim getting at? And what business was it of his anyway? "Yeah, I like her. So do you." Jim nodded. "But I'm not the one who changed the game plan this afternoon and left my position to rescue her." So that was it. Jim felt obliged to point out that he'd "disobeyed" orders. Michael simply shrugged. He'd done it before and would do it again. "My assignment is to protect Kate. She screams, I check it out." "I'm not talking about your general duties, I'm talking specifics as to your assigned role this afternoon. As it turned out, it was a good thing you responded to her screams. But I've never known you to deviate from arrangements before. When it's just you and me, sure, you make changes and I trust your instincts. But when it's a set up involving other officers, you're to stick with the game plan, no going off half-cocked on your own." Michael shrugged again. Jim was absolutely right, but he'd do it again in a heartbeat if he had to. "So I've screwed up the reports, right? You'll cover for me?" "I'll cover for you, no problem. I just want you to think about this. Maybe you're more involved with Kate than you should be. If it's going to interfere with the job, maybe we should make a change." Michael vehemently shook his head. No way he was going to leave Kate now. He'd promised to stay with her. "I can handle it, Jim. And there's no ‘relationship’ developing between Kate and me. She wouldn't have me, even if I were prepared to make some major changes. Which I'm not. Let's leave things the way they are." It didn't get by Jim that Michael hadn't promised not to pull any more stunts like that again. Torn between sticking with police procedure and loyalty and trust for his partner he chose the latter. "Agreed. But watch yourself." They joined the others in the living room, with Michael a little more subdued than before as he pondered the implications of Jim's remarks. Were his feelings for Kate interfering with his job? Was he more emotionally involved than he cared to admit? What the hell, his relationship with Kate wasn't going anywhere. He couldn't even make it to first base on the physical attraction alone. Anything beyond that was in the realm of fantasy. And he didn't take much stock in the happily ever after myth anyway. The evening ended soon afterward with Michael insisting that Kate needed an early night. She made a face at his gall to speak on her behalf, but made no objections.

Straightening up the living room, gathering empty plates and glasses, they congratulated each other on a successful mingling of their friends. Michael was the first to head for the kitchen, and stopped in his tracks at the doorway, blocking Kate's entry. "Don't go in there,” he gasped in mock horror. "It's frightening. I say we leave it 'til morning and I emphasize the we. I'll help out then but, God help me, I don’t want to go in there now." "It can't be that bad. Carol and I already cleaned up a bit.” Kate peered around Michael's shoulder, eyed the pots and pans stacked in the sink, and decided she wasn't up for the task either. "Good thinking. This can wait until morning.” They both dumped the empty plates and glasses on the dining room table and Kate headed for the stairs. "How do you come up with such brilliant plans, Michael?" "I have a brilliant mind,” he explained with a straight face, falling into step beside her. "Don't let this gorgeous body fool you. You're dealing with brains and brawn." Kate laughed and turned to face him as she reached the bottom step. "I'm beginning to wonder what I'm dealing with." "You mean you've been giving me some thought?” Michael was smiling but the blue eyes were serious. Kate met his frank and curious stare and answered as truthfully as she dared. "A little." Michael's smile grew wider and he brought his hand to rest lightly on her shoulder. "And those thoughts aren't all bad?" Kate had retreated from his penetrating stare at the touch of Michael's hand. She knew she should reply to his question with some joke, some cutting remark, and head upstairs. Loneliness, need, and an awareness of the increasing depth of her feelings for Michael kept her rooted to the spot. Knowing the limits to what Michael was offering, all he was capable of giving and wanting, she was torn. Other women could handle such limits, why couldn't she? Just to hold him, be held by him and to let her body have--if only for a moment--what it craved. "Kate?" She lifted her face and their eyes met. Although immediately aware of the desire in her eyes, Michael also sensed Kate's fear and reluctance, and knew he should back off. This wasn't right for either of them and certainly not fair to her. But he'd wanted to touch her, feel that deliciously curved mouth beneath his own since the moment he'd first set eyes on her. That crazy encounter when he'd thought she came with a price. He now knew that Kate's price was more than he was willing to pay, but being this close to her and having those green eyes gazing at him with a desire that matched his own, he was unable to simply walk away.

Kate was unique, more full of life and spirit than any woman he'd ever encountered. Everything about her that drove him crazy--her stubbornness, temper and courage-were also the very things that attracted him. He would take it slowly, and let Kate be the one to end this moment. Michael slipped a hand inside the overalls, placing it at the curve of her waist. With his other hand he cupped her chin, tilting her face to his. Gently placing a thumb upon her lips, he lightly traced the outline of her mouth. Never once did he take his eyes from hers, prepared to stop at her slightest hesitation. But Kate's eyes never wavered from his, simply widened in surprise when the pressure of his thumb parted her lips. Touching the warmth and moistness within, Michael lowered his head and covered her mouth with his own. He'd given fair warning, and she hadn't pulled away. Kate moaned softly as the soft, insistent pressure of Michael's lips parted hers, and lifted her arms to receive him, yielding to and drawing him closer. At her willing and eager response, Michael's hesitancy ended. His mouth demanded more, his lips widening and capturing hers, his tongue searching and exploring the delicious taste and feel of Kate. The hand clasping her waist drew her closer, crushing her breasts against the hard expanse of his chest and letting her feel the urgency of his own response. Taking her bottom lip gently between his teeth, Michael softly nibbled at its swollen fullness, and with a low groan of pleasure, once again sought and caressed her tongue with his own. Their bodies moved in the timeless rhythm of intimacy, pressing against one another, straining to become closer, to be joined. Kate was led by sensation alone, by the eagerness to feel and taste Michael's body. Her hands explored the length of his muscular back, clutched the thick hair at the nape of his neck and with her mouth, lips and tongue, met his urgent demands with her own. Her fear had vanished, replaced with yearning and a joyous release of buried frustration and desire. This she could have, this knowledge and pleasure of his body. Michael's other hand was now beneath the overalls, his wide and roughened palm moving against the fullness of her breasts. He had moved the hand from her waist and was cupping her buttocks, pulling her closer, pressing her against his groin. She felt the rapid beating of Michael's heart, heard his ragged breathing as his mouth explored and tasted the soft skin of her neck. When he pulled a strap of the overalls down one shoulder, Kate's initial impulse was to urge him on, to place her own hands upon the buckle of his belt. She did neither. Michael, with his urgent and increasingly intimate demands, was prepared to go further, and despite her body's eager willingness to receive him, she was not. Fear of the future, fear of what further intimacy would lead to had inexplicably returned, preventing Kate from allowing her body to have what it craved. Why? Why now? Why had reason and caution intruded on this moment? She could have wept in frustration.

Sex with Michael would have far more meaning for her than it did for him, and already her feelings for him were far deeper than they should be. She wasn't capable of casual sex, knew she couldn’t handle the consequences. She’d made a terrible mistake. It wasn't fair to have led Michael on like this. Reluctantly she drew back, placing her hands on his chest. Immediately sensing her withdrawal, Michael groaned inwardly and his body tensed. Bringing his hands to rest his upon her shoulders and placing his cheek against hers, he stood motionless, not quite ready to completely relinquish all physical contact. He fought to control the frustration, the disappointment and his harsh, labored breathing. Feeling the warmth of Kate's breath at his cheek and her own unsteady breathing, he struggled to keep from pulling her back in his arms. She'd gone this far and apparently would go no further. He hadn't experienced this kind of frustration, this aching pain in his groin since he was a hormone-riddled teenager. God, he should have known, should have expected this. "Kate?” It was a tremendous effort to keep the frustration from his voice. "I'm sorry, Michael, I can't do this,” she whispered, the regret and remorse in her voice breaking his heart. "If things were different, if I were a different sort of person..." She was close to tears. Michael tilted her chin to gaze into her troubled eyes. "It's all right, Kate," he murmured softly. "And you're okay just the way you are." "I am sorry,” she repeated, grateful for his understanding. "That makes two of us.” He smiled ruefully. Kate winced at his words, his tone of voice. "Hey, Kate, it's okay. And I'm sorry, too. I never should have started anything. This is something we both knew we should avoid, something we don't want to happen, right?" "Right.” Kate knew exactly what he meant. Smiling, she added, "But, Michael, don't ever apologize for kissing a woman when she wanted it every bit as much as you did." "I take back the apology,” he said with a wink. "But it's not the kiss I regret, it's the--" "I know, I know.” Kate cut him off. His blue eyes sparkled with that devilish glint. He was so beautiful. Why did caution have to rule her heart, her body? Reaching up, she gently traced his cheek with her fingers. "Your scratches are healing nicely." Michael shook his head and removed her hand. "You're not distracting me, Kate, you're asking for more. And we both know where that will lead."

Lifting her hand to his mouth, he let his lips softly brush against the palm, then took both her hands and placed them at her sides. "Go to bed now, Kate." She nodded and started up the stairs, heeding his warning. With just the touch of his lips on her palm, she'd felt the sharp stirrings of desire and flood of warmth return. "Kate?" She looked back. "It was good, wasn't it?" She nodded with a smile. "And it would have gotten even better." "You think so?” "I know so,” he said with a grin. "I'll keep that in mind." "You do that."

*** Michael made up his bed under the watchful eye of Furball. He glanced at the cat sitting patiently on the rocker, biding his time until he leapt on the bed. "It's you and me again tonight, partner. Your demands I can handle. It's your mistress I can't figure out." Kate had entered her room and promptly flung herself on the bed, wide-awake, frustrated and still aroused. She heard Michael's steps as he climbed the stairs to the bathroom and again when he went back down. No discreet knock at her door, no last attempt to get her to change her mind. He was behaving like a gentleman and respecting her wishes. How noble of him. How idiotic of her. She placed her fingers to her swollen lips, the taste of Michael still in her mouth. Would the regret and remorse for having slept with him be any worse than what she was feeling now? Yes, she reminded herself sternly. Sitting up, she hugged her knees tightly to her chest. You would have been left alone, again. And don't confuse physical and emotional dependency with love. Not to mention simple lust. Although lust was never simple. Just look at how complicated things had become between Michael and her because of it. Capable of driving each other crazy in every other aspect of their lives, they were ready to jump in to bed together as if that would solve anything. Her life was in enough turmoil as it was.

Concentrate on the future, Kate, and your future does not include the happy ending, "baby makes three.”

*** "All clear,” Kate shouted to Michael the next morning, and waited at the top of the stairs, curious as to his mood this morning. Still understanding, or grumpy and pissed off that she'd led him on? He greeted her with a cheery hello before heading to the bathroom. Great. Michael still in a good mood and another day begun without the wretched morning sickness. One more criminal to go and life would be back to normal--or as normal as her life ever was. Clad only in a nightshirt, Kate peered into her closest and tackled the day's next challenge--finding something to wear that fit. Bending over, she rummaged through a pile of clothes tossed at the back. One of these days she’d have to tackle the horrendous job of clearing out this damn closet. There should be a pair of sweat pants back there that looked fairly presentable. Grabbing the gray sweats from the bottom of the pile, Kate backed out, and straightening up, was hit with a sudden wave of dizziness and nausea. Horrified, she dropped the sweats and clasped both hands to her mouth, frantically searching the room for a suitable receptacle as her stomach heaved. No, to the both the wicker container by the side of her bed and to the wicker laundry basket. Desperate, Kate glanced at the window but immediately rejected the idea. The work crew was out there. Another heave, accompanied by a sour taste in her mouth, forced the issue. To hell with what Michael and the police department thought. It was either the bathroom or the floor. She made a dash to the bathroom. Fortunately, Michael hadn't locked the door and was in the shower. Maybe she could pull this off. Do it very quietly and he'd only know she'd been in here when the flushing of the toilet scalded him. Sure, Kate. The sounds of retching, punctuated by an occasional muffled groan, were unmistakable. Michael stuck his head out the shower and was greeted with the vision of Kate on her knees, clutching the toilet rim for dear life, her body convulsing. Quickly shutting off the water, he stepped out and wrapped a towel around his waist. Torn between getting the hell out of there or offering assistance, Michael stood helplessly by her side and watched. In the midst of her misery, Kate caught sight of him and frantically motioned for him to leave. Another heave and a gut-wrenching sob made up his mind. Bending over Kate's huddled, shivering figure, Michael supported her forehead with one hand and placed the other about her waist. He felt the rapid beating of her heart, and winced in sympathy with each convulsive tremor. This was definitely beyond the call of duty. Astounded not only by the fact that he was doing this, Michael was also amazed at the tenderness he felt for Kate while he did.

Kate, although touched by his concern and support, was mortified but too preoccupied to make an issue of it. What possessed him to stay? With a final shudder, she straightened up but remained on her knees. Michael stood back and watched anxiously. Grabbing the sink for support, she pulled herself up, turned on the faucet and splashed water on her face. He held back a grin as Kate plopped a wad of toothpaste in her mouth, swished it around with water and spit. Ever the lady. Finally, and with great reluctance, Kate turned and faced him. She'd hoped he'd have made his exit by now. Pale and still shaky, she rubbed her eyes with her fists. Tears threatened, and the urge to cry was due to embarrassment, disappointment and because she just generally felt like hell. And there he stood--clean, smelling of Ivory soap, bare-chested and gorgeous. "That was a doozy. I thought it was over, that I wouldn't have to go through this again,” she started to explain, but her voice broke in a sob. Pushing the matted curls back from her face, she gave up and let the tears flow. She couldn't look or feel any worse than she already did. Michael was guilt-stricken and full of remorse. It wasn't the flu. Kate was sick with fright. The decoy outings had reduced her to this. Without pausing to think of what he was doing, or of Kate's possible reaction, Michael put his arms around her forlorn and miserable looking figure. "Ah, Kate,” he murmured softly. "You don't have to go through with it anymore.” Kate, gratefully hiding her face and embarrassment in the warmth and comfort of Michael's bare chest, was confused. What was he talking about? Since when did anyone have control over morning sickness? "Michael, I don't think you understand what I was saying, what I was trying to explain." "Sure I do,” he said soothingly. "No more decoy outings. You've done a great job and there's nothing wrong with wanting to stop now." Holding Kate like this and feeling her lips against his chest, Michael was suddenly and uncomfortably aware of being clad only in a towel--and of his entirely inappropriate response beneath that towel. Either Kate was oblivious or didn't give a damn. Fortunately for them both, she chose this moment to step back. Lifting a tear-stained and puzzled face, she informed him, "This isn't about the investigation, Michael." Now Michael’s face was a study in confusion and bewilderment. Kate figured her unexpected--not to mention gruesome--visit to the bathroom had to be explained. Better the truth than be thought of as a wimp, crying and sick with fear. Nor would she pass it off as the flu. And above all else, she was tired of the subterfuge, the effort it took to

conceal what was, to her, the miracle of her pregnancy. It was time to inform Michael of her condition. His reaction couldn't be any worse than Jeffrey's. It would be a relief no longer having to keep it a secret. The truth would certainly clear up other aspects of their relationship as well. There'd be no chance of further passionate embraces once he knew. Michael would be running scared. As to what he or the police department thought in regard to using a pregnant decoy--well, she'd have to take her chances. Kate looked him squarely in the eye and in a voice as clear and strong as she could muster, broke the news. "I'm pregnant, Michael. That was morning sickness you just witnessed." His face registered shock, horror and anger, in that order. Kate sat on the closed lid of the toilet seat and braced herself for the blast. It didn't take him long to find his voice. "Are you out of your mind?” he shouted in rage. "Have you taken leave of your senses? How could you have gone through with this knowing you're pregnant?” Pausing, he added hopefully, "Or did you just find out?" "I've known since the beginning,” Kate admitted calmly. "And everything's been fine so far." "Hell, Kate,” he exploded again. "You don't require a bodyguard. You need a keeper. You're crazy!" Kate flinched when his hand smashed against the bathroom sink, and bit her lip to keep from yelling back. He was entitled to his anger. Blue eyes blazing with fury, Michael shook his head. "I never wanted you doing this in the first place, and if I'd known you were pregnant, you wouldn't have." "That's why I didn't tell you." Kate's matter-of-fact reply left him struggling for control, trying to resist the urge to shake her, spank her, anything to knock some sense into her. Instead, he sat wearily on the edge of the tub and just stared in disbelief. Her behavior was borderline lunatic. "Explain, Kate. Everything. Including why in God's name your marriage ended when you're going to have a baby. Just how pregnant are you?" "Watch the towel,” Kate cautioned, averting her eyes from the view directly in her line of vision. Michael grabbed another towel and draped it over his knees. "Start explaining."

"I'm just over four months pregnant, and there's no reason for you to know anything about my marriage,” she said with a defiant toss of her head. "Let's just say Jeffrey was somewhat reluctant regarding the idea of fatherhood." Michael shook his head, his anger momentarily put aside. "I can't believe he'd leave with you pregnant. You may think I'm a louse, but I'd never leave anyone in those circumstances." Kate's eyes flashed in anger. "You would if she kicked you out." He'd obviously hit a sore point and if looks could kill, he'd be lying sprawled on the bathroom tiles. "Okay, we'll leave that one alone. But I'd really like to hear your explanation for endangering your life and the baby's. I'm fascinated. Your crazed behavior is beyond my comprehension." Kate fought to control her temper while she bore the brunt of Michael's anger and sarcasm. As clearly and calmly as she could, she outlined the same justifications and reasons she'd given Carol. When she'd stated her case, she glanced at him tentatively, wary of another outburst. Judging from the skeptical look on his face, Michael wasn't at all convinced. With a tight grip on the towels, he stood up, towering over her. "It's been lovely having this chat here with you this morning, Kate.” He made a gesture encompassing the tiny bathroom. "If you're sure you're through in here, I'm going to shave, get dressed and then call the station to put a stop to this whole ridiculous plan." "But Michael--" He put up a hand. "Not one more word. There's no way I'm playing Clark Kent to your pregnant Lois Lane." Kate stood up slowly and started for the door, turning back just before shutting it behind her. "Just one more thing." He raised a threatening eyebrow. "Thank you for your help,” she said softly, nodding in the direction of the toilet bowl. "My pleasure,” he replied in a voice loaded with sarcasm.

*** Kate entered the kitchen wearing the gray sweat pants. Although it was entirely irrational, she felt the entire blame for the nausea and the subsequent disaster could be laid on her efforts to find the wretched sweats. Her mood hadn't improved and she was sure Michael's hadn't. He sat slouched at the table drinking coffee. On the off chance he was still talking to her, Kate offered a tentative, "Hi."

All she got in response was a scowl. Okay, so he wasn’t talking to her. Fine, let him sulk. Frowning, she flung open the fridge door and grabbed the juice container. This was her kitchen, her house and she wasn't going to behave like a guilty and unwelcome intruder. That was his role. Pouring the juice with a hand that shook with anger, she asked flatly, "Did you call the station?" "I did,” came the brusque reply. "And?" He slammed his mug on the table. "And how would you like me to fix you a delicious breakfast of bacon and eggs? Think you could handle that? The smell, the grease?" "What a shitty thing to say!" Kate was shocked. When Michael turned nasty, he could really hit below the belt. "Well, it's a shitty position you've put me in,” he shot back in fury. "I spoke to the Chief and apparently I'm the only one opposed to using a pregnant decoy. He says if you're willing to continue, then we go on as is." Kate resisted the impulse to gloat. He looked absolutely miserable. "It'll be okay, Michael. Think about what I've already been through, and I'm fine." Groaning, he put his face in his hands. "I am thinking of that. I'm also thinking of what still remains to be done. I was assigned to protect you, Kate. A baby wasn't part of the deal." "I'm your responsibility, the baby's mine." He shot her a withering glance. "Think that one through. Right now, you and the baby are one and the same." "Well, if your Chief's not worried and I'm prepared to go through with it, you shouldn't worry." "The Chief's an idiot,” he muttered. Kate sighed. At least he hadn't called her an idiot, although “crazy” and “deranged” seemed to encompass the realm of idiocy. She stood motionless by the table, juice glass still in hand and with her pregnant tummy directly in Michael's line of vision. He stared. A baby was in there. Shaking his head in disbelief, he cringed at the thought of a bulletproof vest being the only barrier between that tiny creature and death.

"Michael, I'm sorry if this makes it harder for you, but I'm going through with it with or without your help. I won't go into hiding." Michael shifted his gaze from her tummy to her face. "You'll have my help." He saw no reason to mention that the Chief had threatened to remove him from the assignment. Michael, in no uncertain terms, had let it be known what he thought of using a pregnant decoy, and the Chief had questioned the extent of his involvement. Worse than continuing was the thought of not being there for Kate. And the baby. He knew Kate better than any other officer--her moods, her fears--and wasn't about to let someone else take over. If he was becoming too involved, fine, he'd handle that too. Somehow compensate for it. He just wasn't prepared to walk out now. Kate observed his pensive frown. She finally downed her juice, refilled his mug of coffee and joined him at the table. She offered a tentative smile. The audience wasn't receptive. "All right, Michael. Sulk, brood, whatever. But when you're finished, let me know what the next step is going to be." Michael raised his eyes from his coffee mug and looked at Kate. Although he was still angry, he was also fascinated. This pint-sized woman sitting across from him, with the taunting green eyes, the mop of curls and the freckles, was either crazy or had more guts than any woman he'd ever known. And he'd known quite a few. Curiosity overcame his anger. "Kate, have you been sick every morning since I've been here?" "Every morning except for yesterday. That's why I said, "I thought it was over.” Michael nodded. "And being tired, the picky appetite, the bulky clothes..." "It hasn't been that easy to hide." He gave her a frank look of admiration. "I'll bet." "I don't like being dishonest, Michael--" "No, you prefer brutal honesty." "So I'm glad it's out in the open,” she continued, ignoring the interruption. "Right.” Michael pushed back his chair, took a last swallow of coffee and carried the mug over to the sink. Leaning against the counter, long, lean legs sprawled halfway across the kitchen floor, he outlined the plans for the day. "You may still be a decoy, Kate, but it's no longer a secret that you're under police protection now. I won't need to wear any more disguises. There's just one more guy out

there eager to get you and he's probably a little desperate right now. Basically, all we can do is protect you wherever you chose to go.” Michael’s personal preference remained unspoken. “And I would prefer to have you remain locked in your room for the duration.” “My choice?” Kate asked. “Wherever I like?” “Your choice, within reason. So, where’s it gonna be?" "The library." He cocked an eyebrow. "The library?" "Sure, why not?” Kate stood up and carried her glass to the sink, nudging him aside with her hip. "It's as good a place as any, and I need some material for my article. It's also somewhere he might figure I'd go." "How can you be so blasé about this?” Michael asked, incredulous. "Don't start,” she warned, unable to keep her voice from quivering. "You have no idea what I'm feeling, about this, about the baby, about anything." "That's for damned sure." Michael started out of the room, halting at the doorway and turning back when the phone rang. They both glanced at the number displayed. "It's all yours," he indicated with a nod. Kate grimaced and picked up the receiver. It was Jeffrey, calling on the pretense of financial matters, but actually digging for details as to her new "relationship.” Michael remained standing by the doorway, arms crossed at his chest and looking grim. Kate motioned him away with a wave but he shook his head and refused to budge. Let him listen then, she thought bitterly. If he'd gone, she would simply have told Jeffrey her private life was none of his business. "Yes, Jeffrey, he's still around,” she said matter-of-factly, giving Michael the benefit of a cool stare. "But not for much longer. Things don't seem to be working out." Michael glared, turned on his heel and left the room.

Chapter Eight Kate spent the rest of the morning closed up in her office. Michael joined the work crew on the roof. At least he could vent some of his fury and his frustration by pounding the hell out of the nails on the damned shingles. Half an hour into it, he felt his back seizing up. Leaning back and stretching for relief, he caught sight of Carol waving from her back yard, gave her the “all clear” sign and began descending the ladder. All smiles and good cheer (at least someone was smiling this morning) Carol called out a thanks for last night's dinner as she headed for the back door. Michael hastened his stride and caught up with her before she could enter the house in search of Kate. Noting his grim expression, Carol figured they’d had another set-to. As it turned out, it was no mere squabble, but a fundamental difference of opinion. "I know, Carol,” he stated flatly. "I know Kate's pregnant." Uh-oh. The shit had hit the fan. Although dying to know how the revelation had come about, Carol figured this was not the time to indulge her curiosity. Michael was a study in controlled fury. Poor Kate must have been subjected to a severe lecture--at the very least. At the moment, how Michael found out was irrelevant. The key question was what he planned to do with the knowledge. "Is Kate's role in the investigation finished then?” she asked hopefully. "No, both Kate and my superiors want her to continue.” The disgust in Michael's voice indicated his own views on the matter. "And you're furious, right?” Carol sat on the porch steps and Michael joined her. "Mad as hell. I'm furious at Kate, furious at the Chief, furious about the whole thing." "But you won't leave her now, will you?" "No.” He shook his head. "I'm sticking it out. "I'm glad. She needs you, Michael." "She doesn't need anybody," he said with exasperation. "She needs her head examined. Kate is stubborn and defiant. She'll go ahead with this scheme with or without my help." "She needs somebody. She's already been left on her own to cope with one tough situation. I'd hate to see her left to cope with this one alone. Kate may not ask for help, but trust me, she needs it."

Michael's expression softened, his tone of voice one of bewilderment. "How could he leave her, Carol? Knowing she's having his baby?” Carol decided to risk Kate's wrath and tell him the truth. "Although the pregnancy was unplanned, Kate was thrilled when she found out. Jeffrey wasn't. He suggested an abortion." Michael's mouth dropped as the horror of Jeffrey's "solution" registered. "What a lousy shit,” he exploded, imagining Kate's reaction to her husband’s suggestion. She'd have been smiling, full of joy and pleasure with the news and that bastard would have sent her reeling with his cold-hearted response. "Jeffrey is a shit.” Carol agreed. "Family life might have interfered with his ambitions, his plans. He gave no thought to Kate or that little baby." Michael silently reflected on Carol's description of Jeffrey. While it struck a chord, he'd never have done what Jeffrey did. "Just as well Kate's out of that marriage,” he finally commented. "Well, sure, but now she's alone, facing a future alone with a baby and has to get through this nightmare before even that future is assured. Don't be hard on her, Michael. She feels this is something she has to do in order to make things right for herself and the baby. She got herself into this mess and is determined to get herself out of it." Michael stood up, raking his fingers through his hair. He was confused and still angry, but his anger was now directed at a new target. "I'll ease up on her, as much as she'll let me. If I was too nice, that would probably piss her off." "Just do your best.” Carol got up and gave him a hug. She liked this man. If only Kate would allow herself the luxury of doing the same. She spent the next half hour talking with Kate, consoling and listening to her rant and rave about Michael's reaction to the news. She managed to impress upon Kate the need for some understanding on Michael's part, his added responsibility and concern. The role of referee and matchmaker was exhausting, but Carol figured it would all be worth it if Kate and Michael actually listened to her. All she could do was nudge them in the right direction. The rest was up to them.

*** At noon, Kate emerged from her office hide-out. She entered the kitchen to find Michael had prepared lunch. Having expected a cool reception, she was taken aback. Actually, shocked would be a more apt word. The man was an enigma--impossible to figure out.

"Tuna sandwiches,” he announced. "Can you handle that?" Kate sat down and managed a smile, a nod and a thank you. Suspicious, she wondered what he was up to and eyed him warily. Michael brought a carton of milk from the fridge and poured her a full glass. "Drink it all,” he ordered, taking his place at the table across from her. "It's good for you." Kate blinked back sudden tears. He wasn't up to anything. He was simply being nice. With the exception of Carol, no one had shown her any concern or consideration during her pregnancy. Of course, no one but Jeffrey, Carol and now Michael even knew of it. This unexpected display of tenderness and concern from Michael left her weepy and vulnerable. "You shouldn't be so nice to me, Michael,” she said with a half smile. "I'm not sure how to handle it." "Get used to it, although I probably can't keep it up,” he answered gruffly. "You're eating for two, and my assignment now involves protecting and taking care of the both of you." "Thank you,” she said softly. "After deceiving you, I really don't deserve this." Michael reached across the table and cupped Kate's chin in his hand. His serious, intense blue eyes gazed at her grateful, teary green ones. "You deserve everything I choose to give you.” He smiled at her look of surprise. "And that includes any orders I give for your safety and protection." "I'll try to be good." "Do more than try, Kate. Make this easier for both of us. What I say goes, no questions asked." She bit her lip. "That's going to be tough." "I know.” He sat back in his chair and grinned. "But you're going to do it."

*** An hour later, preparations were underway for the outing to the library. Michael phoned Jim to set up the necessary surveillance and gave him the news of Kate's pregnancy. While Michael was still reeling from Kate’s revelation, Jim took it--from Michael’s point of view--rather matter-of-factly. Not only that, Jim had the nerve to give him yet another lecture regarding unprofessional involvement. Michael promptly dismissed it. He knew how far he'd gone in his commitment, both to Kate and now the baby, and would deal with it. No one, including Kate, need know. All he expected from her was cooperation. In a stern voice that allowed for no objections, he gave the orders. "You're wearing the bulletproof vest and the wire. I'm going into the library with you, no disguise and close

by at all times. Jim will be outside listening and will send in help if he hears anything remotely suspicious." "Will there be police officers in the library as well?" "Lots. If Dominick wants to make a move, he knows it's going to be a risky one. He'll probably have his supporters out in force.” Michael paused. "Do you want me to call Carol to help with the wire?" Kate gave this suggestion some serious thought. After last night's encounter, and with this morning's revelations, the possibility of any inappropriate moves and gestures was unlikely. Michael knew he was dealing with a pregnant woman now, and the idea of anything remotely sexual between them had no doubt been permanently removed from his male psyche. "It's okay, I trust you,” she answered. Great, thought Michael, that makes one of us. Kate trustingly lifted her sweatshirt, but closed her eyes as Michael approached with the wire device. Although he may be immune to her body now, she knew she wouldn't be immune to his touch. Michael tried not to let his gaze linger on the soft swelling of Kate's breasts as he placed the wire at her chest. It was impossible. He was both fascinated and aroused by the sight of each breast, full and straining at the material of her bra. Pregnancy had accentuated the bluish tinge of the veins on the soft, tender skin. Rather than being turned off by this, it only increased his arousal. He'd felt these breasts just last night, never realizing that their fullness was due to the baby and not a result of his touch. Kate felt Michael's hands lightly graze over her breasts while he laid the strips of adhesive on the wire. She fought to remain still and composed as the touch of his fingers sent a warm, tingling response throughout her entire body. "Done,” Michael said quietly, gently pulling the sweatshirt down. Kate opened her eyes and met Michael's confused and troubled stare. The muscles of his jaw were tightly clenched and his mouth set in a rigid line. "Maybe that wasn't such a good idea,” she whispered. "Maybe not.” His expression relaxed and he grinned, eyes now sparkling with mischievous humor. "But I enjoyed it." Kate grabbed the vest and headed for the kitchen. The sweatshirt had to completely come off in order to put on the vest, and she no longer felt quite so trusting. "You can help me with the side straps in a minute. I think we can handle that without too much trouble."

"It will be no trouble at all,” Michael shouted through the door.

*** They drove to the library in separate cars. Since the police protection was now obvious and Michael wore no disguise, Kate figured she was driving solo on the off chance someone took aim and fired at the lone occupant of this car. And that would be her. Far easier for the police to spot and nail the assassin if they didn't happen to be targets themselves. Comforting thought. The walk from the parking lot to the library was made in silence. Michael was tense and alert, his eyes constantly scanning every person, every possible sign of danger. His nervousness was barely discernible, except to one accustomed to seeing his body movements usually smooth, calm and flowing. Kate knew he was on edge and felt guilty. The knowledge of her pregnancy had caused this change. The huge, familiar library loomed ahead. Soon, its red brick walls would be covered in lush green ivy. It was a place Kate loved, and could spend hours browsing through. Today's visit wouldn't provide quite the same comfort and pleasure. The sun shone with an unaccustomed warmth and brilliance for April, the leaves of the trees emerging with the promise of shade and shelter in the summer months ahead. And would she be still be alive to enjoy it? Inhaling the strong, pungent scent of freshly overturned earth, and the aroma of the spring flowers, Kate wished things were different. Wished that she and Michael were like the other couples walking in the parklike setting, enjoying the simple pleasures of a spring day, and each other. "Michael.” Kate interrupted the silence, stopping just as they were halfway to the stairs of the library. Michael halted his steady pace and looked down at her smiling, upturned face. He raised an eyebrow in silent question. Kate placed a hand on his arm. "Slow down, enjoy being outside on such a gorgeous day." "Can't.” He shook his head. "I'll save my appreciation for another time." Her smile vanished. "I wish...” she began, then stopped and continued walking ahead. "I know what you wish, Kate,” he called after her. She kept on walking. No you don't, and I won't ever tell you. Michael caught up with a few easy strides, regretting that he'd caused that smile to disappear. Reaching over, he took her hand in his and glanced down with a wink at her

smile of pleasure and surprise. Together they climbed the stairs and entered the building. Kate immediately headed in the direction of the computer terminals. Michael sat at a nearby table and kept a close eye on her. Kate's concentration was complete. She was oblivious to her surroundings as she scanned the terminal and jotted notes. Michael carefully studied the faces and gestures of anyone approaching her, ready to move at the slightest suspicious movement. A middle-aged man in a wheelchair pulled up to the terminal beside Kate's and Michael tensed, his body straining with the effort to remain seated. The man said something to Kate, who turned and responded with a distracted smile. When he spoke again, she shook her head and gave him another smile. Leave her alone, Michael muttered silently and half rose from his chair when the man dropped one of his books to the floor. His attempt to pick it up was intercepted by Kate, who pushed back her chair and reached for it herself. As she leaned over, the man's hand went to his inside jacket pocket. Michael’s reaction was instantaneous. On his feet in a split second, he’d covered the short distance in two quick strides. With a firm grip on the man's shoulder, he spoke in a low, fierce voice. "Remove your hand from your pocket, slowly." Both Kate and the man looked up at Michael in astonishment. Kate caught on immediately, her eyes darting anxiously from Michael to the stranger. "Move away, Kate,” Michael ordered. She backed up until she was safely behind Michael. Two other men had approached and she assumed--or hoped--they were undercover officers. "Get your hand off me," demanded the man in the wheelchair, alarmed by the fury and deadly intent in Michael's eyes. "What do you think you're doing?" Michael discreetly removed his revolver from his shoulder strap and aimed it at the man's head. "I said, remove your hand from your jacket and do it slowly." Terrified, the man obeyed. When his hand emerged--empty--from the jacket, Michael quickly reached inside but found nothing but a pen and some business cards. "Michael?” Kate stepped forward. The man in the wheelchair looked ready to burst into tears. "Keep out of it, Kate." The man produced his I.D. at Michael's request, and in voice quivering with fear, begged him to check with the librarian. "I don't know what this is all about, but I've done nothing wrong. I'm a regular here, the librarian can vouch for me."

One of the officers brought the librarian over, who confirmed the man's identity. Michael felt the adrenaline leave his body in a sudden rush and sat heavily in the chair vacated by Kate, revolver dangling at his knees. He apologized to the man and explained that he was a police officer in charge of protecting Kate. The man eyed the gun nervously, quickly nodded and backed away. "Your book, sir," Kate called out as he wheeled past her. "And I'm sorry for all this." He took the book, shook his head and left. Kate turned back to Michael and placed a hand on his shoulder. He was trembling. "Put your gun away, Michael,” she said gently. She considered making light of the fact that Michael had just needlessly terrorized a defenseless man in a wheelchair but quickly dismissed that approach. He looked devastated and guilt-stricken. She knelt down beside him. "Don't feel badly. He could have been reaching for a gun. I shouldn't have been so trusting." Michael pushed her hand away, stood up and muttered, "I don't want to talk about it. Let's go."

*** He may not have wanted to discuss the issue in the library, but by the time they were home, Michael was ready to defend his actions. Kate hadn't said another word and they were barely inside the front door when he suddenly blurted out, "It could have been one of them, a wheelchair makes a great ruse. And what was I supposed to do when he reached inside his pocket? Just wait and see if he pulled out a gun? It would have been too late once he had it pointed at your head." "I'm not arguing with you,” Kate pointed out, trying to deflect his fury. "What you did made perfect sense to me." "Well, I'm sorry if I offended that guy. Maybe in the future I'll just politely frisk anyone who goes near you." "Why would anyone shoot me in the library, knowing I was under police protection?” Kate wondered. "They'd never get away." Michael stopped his furious pacing and gave her a swift, patronizing look. "All he had to do was put the gun to your head, get out of that damned wheelchair and drag you out of there. You think I'd risk drawing my gun on him at that point? You'd have been a hostage, Kate, and there wouldn't have been a damn thing any of us could have done.

And once he had you, he could have done anything he liked. And we both know what plans they have for you." Kate grimaced at Michael’s brutal, accurate summary. It too made perfect, sickening sense. So why was he tearing himself apart like this if his actions were justified? "Okay, I get it. I definitely get it. But Michael, why are you still so upset? It's over." "Because,” he shouted, his face contorted with rage. "If I had been right about the guy, you and the baby could be dead right now. He could have pulled a gun before I ever got over there.” With visible effort, he lowered his voice a notch. "You can't keep doing this, Kate. Let me find Dominick on my own. I want you out of it." "You want me locked up somewhere until you find him." "That's right. I want you safe. I want the baby safe." Michael's concern for the baby's life, in stark contrast to Jeffrey's callous disregard, didn't go unnoticed by Kate. Her heart ached and although grateful that someone shared her feelings for the tiny, vulnerable being within her, she was still determined to go on. "Michael, you can't protect us from everything. There are things even you can't anticipate, let alone save us from. I could walk out this door and be hit by some stranger's car. Or that man in the wheelchair could have been a crazed lunatic who had nothing to do with the investigation." "I can do my job, keep you safe 'til it's over,” he insisted. "Please, I don't want to argue. Not now, not about this,” Kate begged. Michael's body was tense and tightly coiled. With his fists clenched he looked ready to lash out at somebody, or something. And as well as fury, there was fear in his eyes. For her? For the possibility of failing in his job? Kate couldn't bear seeing him like this, not her laughing, confident, arrogant Michael. She bridged the short distance separating them and put her arms around his rigid body, offering what comfort she could, as he had done so often for her. We can give each other this, she thought, smiling as his arms drew her nearer and he pressed his face in her hair. She felt the muscles in his body relax beneath her hands, felt his warm breath at her neck. Just this and no more. Reluctantly Kate drew back and placed a hand to his face. Feeling the rough stubble on his cheek, she wanted so badly to press her lips to that same spot. Instead, she smiled. "Okay now?" "Better.” His hands remained at her waist and his face lit up with a grin. "Want some help getting the wire and vest off?"

Kate delivered a sharp elbow to his ribs. The man rebounded quickly. All it took was a little physical touch and he was off and running. "You'd take advantage of a woman with child?” she asked, feigning shock and indignation. In actual fact, she was glad to have the lecherous Michael back. It sure beat the angry, tense one. "Sure, I'm open to any new experience.” The grin grew wider and the laughter had returned to his eyes. "Eat your heart out, Michael O'Connor. I'm going upstairs and doing it myself." *** Kate had every intention of preparing a hearty dinner for the man committed to her protection and the baby's but, upon entering the kitchen later that afternoon, she found that once again Michael was preparing a meal. He greeted her with a proud smile. "The salad's almost done, I’ve read the directions on how to microwave rice and the chicken is thawed.” Frowning slightly, he glanced down at the raw chicken breasts. "But these things have me stumped." Hands on her hips and a delighted smile on her face, Kate took in the scene of Michael's domestic efforts. "I'm impressed." Grabbing a piece of carrot from the cutting board, she munched on it while pulling ingredients from the cupboards and the fridge. "Preparing the chicken will be my contribution." Michael leaned on the counter and watched in fascination as Kate deftly prepared a sauce, smothered the chicken with it and plunked the dish in the oven. "That recipe's all in your head?" "I've had years of practice turning dead chicken into something edible. It's not as impressive as it looks." "I think it is." "Well, you're not so bad yourself. And if you could figure out how to turn on the microwave for the rice, I'd be even more impressed." During dinner, the topic of Kate's further role as a decoy was studiously avoided. Michael was his familiar charming self, entertaining her with stories of past, amusing investigations. Undoubtedly there were some horror stories in his repertoire, but he deliberately kept things light. Kate managed to eat most of her dinner under his watchful eye, and was grateful to have this rare, peaceful time with Michael. He wouldn't be around to share many more.

He cleared the table; she rinsed. Slamming shut the stiff dishwasher door with her hip, Kate adjusted the knobs and turned to find Michael leaning on the counter and eyeing her with a very serious, pensive look. Uh oh. Now he was going to bring up the sore subject. In an attempt to head him off, Kate quickly suggested, "Let's watch the ball game." He registered surprise and suspicion. "And how do you know one's on tonight?" "I checked." He continued staring, but Kate could tell he was impressed. "Go turn on the TV.” Placing her hands on his back, she steered him in the direction of the living room. "I'll bring you a beer." "I know exactly what you're doing,” Michael shouted from the other room. "Oh? What's that?” Kate called back, rooting in the back of the fridge for the beer. "Trying to distract me." "Is it working?" "Yes." Kate wandered in with two beers and plunked herself down beside him on the couch. "Go ahead, put your feet up on the coffee table. I’m going to." Michael smiled as he took the beer she offered. "I see I'm getting the full treatment tonight. You can be awfully nice, Kate, when you're trying to manipulate me." "Well, take advantage of it." "I'd like to.” He grinned. Leaning back, Michael rested his head on the cushions. Kate glanced over and saw his eyes closed and the beer can resting precariously on his chest. His long, blue-jean clad legs were propped up on the table. Even relaxed, the taut muscles of his thighs were visible. Letting her eyes roam the entire length of his body, she felt the familiar ache of warmth and desire as her gaze settled on the discernible bulge beneath the zipper of his jeans. "Gotcha." Michael had one eye open and one wicked grin on his face.

Damn. Caught in the act. Mortified, blushing furiously and momentarily at a loss for words, Kate quickly averted her gaze. What possible excuse--okay, bald-faced lie-could she come up with that wouldn’t make matters worse? Laughing, Michael sat up and nearly knocked over his beer. "Not only did I catch you eyeing me with lust, you've been rendered speechless. This is a first." It was Kate's turn to close her eyes and lean back. “Maybe I was just admiring the cut of your jeans.” “Uh-uh. That won’t fly--so to speak.” "Would you accept mild, detached curiosity as an excuse?" "Not a chance. I recognize that look when I see it." "Okay, okay, you caught me. I'm embarrassed. I’m guilty. Stop the torture.” "I think there's only one way to stop the torture." Kate opened her eyes when she felt Michael take the beer can from her hand and place it on the table along with his own. He was no longer laughing and the meaning of his words and his intentions were very clear. If she'd wanted to stop him, now was the time. As he shifted his body and gathered her in his arms, Kate offered no resistance. He lightly stroked the soft curve of her jaw with a finger, and placed his mouth at her temple. She felt his lips move against her skin as he whispered in a low, hoarse voice, "If you don't want this to happen, say so, Kate. Stop me now, not later." In answer, she lifted her face to his. Placing a hand on his cheek, Kate drew his mouth down to hers. She wanted this, wanted to taste, to feel and to know this man with an urgency that left her trembling. Regret, if any, and loss, could be dealt with later. She was not going to give up this moment. To want Michael, and to have him want her, was a gift. It was not something to fear and draw away from. Michael felt the soft, fullness of her mouth and gently parted her lips beneath his own. Moaning softly, she placed her arms around his shoulders and drew him closer. At her willing and eager response, Michael let his own urgent desire take over. No longer hesitant or tentative, his movements became bolder, more insistent. His tongue entered her mouth, seeking and finding hers. Finally tasting the sweetness of Kate, Michael gave a low, throaty groan as he explored the warmth and softness of her mouth. She met each thrust and caress of his tongue with her own. Easing a hand beneath Kate's sweater, Michael placed his palm against her breast and felt the nipple taut and hard at his touch. He wanted more, wanted to see as well as feel and taste the soft flesh of Kate's body. He withdrew the hand and pulled back. Placing both hands on her shoulders, he gazed intently at her precious face. Her eyes widened in silent question.

Smiling, he gently pushed the tousled curls back from her face. "I want more, Kate. And I want it in comfort, for both our sakes. Shall we pull out my bed or head for yours?" She touched his smiling lips with her fingertips. "Mine." Michael led the way up the stairs, holding her hand and trying to match his pace to hers. He'd have taken the stairs at a run, but Kate's pace was slow. She was also very quiet. Too quiet. He turned his head. "Are you okay?" Kate nodded and slipped both hands inside the back of his sweatshirt, pushing him forward. "You're sure now?" he said with a grin. "Are you having second thoughts?" "God, no,” came his heartfelt reply.

*** Once in the bedroom, Michael eagerly and hastily pulled his sweatshirt over his head, but paused with his hands at his belt buckle when he caught sight of Kate. She stood shyly by the bed, wide-eyed and watching his every move, but making no movement of her own. Shit, what an idiot he was. Kate wasn't the kind of woman accustomed to this routine, the hasty shucking off of clothes, the hurried pace and rush for completion. Michael walked over and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Hey, I'm sorry, Kate. I'm doing this all wrong. There's no rush. I should be wooing you with music, candlelight, flowers..." She looked up with a shy smile. "You made the dinner." His eyes searched hers, trying to fathom the reason for her sudden shyness and hesitation. "You deserve more, and we have all night. I'm not going anywhere." Kate let her glance fall to Michael's bare torso and gazed at the matting of dark, curly hair that covered his hard, sculpted chest and continued down the flat expanse of his stomach. She placed her hands where bare flesh met the jeans that hung loosely at his slender hips. She wanted to put her mouth to that skin, feel and taste it with her lips. Michael stiffened at her touch and would have pressed his body closer, urging her hands to explore further, but Kate remained still and quiet. Taking her by the hand, he

led her to the bed, sat and pulled her down on his lap. She hid her face in the hollow of his neck. "What is it, Kate? What's wrong?” he murmured softly. "We'll take it slowly, whatever you want. Just, please, don't say you've changed your mind." Kate lifted her head from his shoulder. Cupping his beautiful face in her hands, she marveled at the desire and concern she saw in his eyes. "I haven't changed my mind, Michael." Relief flooded across his handsome features. "What is it, then?" "It's just that I'm nervous, I'm not sure what you'll think--" She stopped, struggling to find the words. How to explain that she was nervous and reluctant to have him see her body as it was, with all the changes that came with pregnancy? Squaring her shoulders, she began again. "Because of the baby, Michael. I don't look like the women you're used to. You know, my tummy, my breasts..." Her voice trailed off. Feeling awkward and unable to look at him any longer, she moved her hands to the smooth, warm skin of Michael's back and rested her chin upon his dark, curly hair. "Well, I guess you don't know,” she continued in a whisper. "I just thought I should warn you. I don't want you to be disappointed, or put off." Michael smiled and hugged her tightly. That was it, that was all. Placing his lips to her throat, he whispered in return, "Words alone aren't going to convince you, Kate,” and slipped his hands beneath her sweater. Deftly he undid the clasp of her bra and continued in a low, husky voice, "I want you, I want to feel and know and see the body of the woman I've been living with and desiring for the past five days. A flat tummy and perky breasts are not what this is all about." Kate absorbed his careful words and gave him a relieved and grateful smile. Michael kissed the freckles on her nose. "So, do you want to pause for some candlelight and soft music?" Kate shook her head, lifting her arms so that Michael could remove the sweater and the bra. He placed a hand gently over each swollen breast, then bent his head to take first one erect nipple and then the other in his mouth. She clutched at his tousled hair, her body arching to meet his. At his touch, sharp waves of desire flooded throughout her body, as though there existed a direct connection from where his mouth met her bare flesh to the very center of her. He raised his head and placed his lips on hers. Kate turned aside and whispered, "They are different, aren't they?"

Michael paused, and before claiming her mouth again, answered firmly, "They're beautiful. And knowing the baby's made them the way they are, makes them even more so." I love you, Michael, Kate said silently, not daring or wanting to speak the words aloud. And I love you for sharing my baby with me. She had no one else. Kate’s inhibitions, her fears were gone. Wrapping her arms tightly about his body, she returned Michael’s kisses with a passion to match his own. Michael's movements were gentle, unhurried and sure. Placing his hands at her waist, he shifted Kate from his lap so that she stood before him. He loosened the drawstring of her sweatpants and eased them over her hips. As he knelt before her, his mouth left a trail of soft kisses from her throat to her breasts, until it came to rest on the tiny bulge of her tummy. She gave a sharp intake of breath when his tongue slipped below the waistband of her panties. His slow, deliberate movements were excruciating, heightening her own desire, her the anticipation of what was to come. "Michael,” she gasped as his hands reached behind and inside the panties, grasping her flesh and pulling her closer. When he suddenly stopped and stood up, Kate was left shivering at the abrupt withdrawal of the warmth of his body. Watching her face, and delighting in the desire that matched his own, Michael stepped back and fumbled with his belt and buckle. The evidence of his arousal strained against the fabric of his jeans. Kate smiled and placed her hand on the rigid bulge beneath the zipper. "Let me,” she whispered and shyly but eagerly helped in the removal of Michael’s jeans. When he stood before her, clad only in his boxer shorts, Kate reached for him and let her hands roam the length of his magnificent body, from the broad shoulders to the tight, taut muscles of his thighs. Michael uttered a hoarse groan and grasped her by the shoulders, gently guiding Kate so that she lay upon the bed. For a moment he was still, simply gazing at her body. It was lush, full, and more beautiful than he'd imagined. Placing a hand upon the tiny scrap of silk that still remained of her clothing, Michael began pressing his palm in slow, rhythmic circles. Kate met his touch with an upward thrusting of her hips, moaning softly when he grasped both thighs in a sure, steady grip and parted her legs. He felt the warmth and moistness of her response and hooked both thumbs under the waistband of the fabric, gently easing the panties down the length of her slender legs. Stepping back, Michael removed his boxer shorts. Kate's eyes widened at the sight of Michael's body, naked and splendid with his own arousal, and she lifted her arms to receive him. Smiling, he turned away from her frank, admiring gaze and lifted his jeans from the floor. From the back pocket, he removed the tiny package of protection.

He sat on the bed, and in answer to the silent question in her eyes, said softly, "Safe sex, Kate. Not something you've probably ever had to concern yourself with." Her expression was no longer confused, but anxious and doubtful. "Trust me, Kate, I'd never do anything to harm you. I'm fine. This is just a precaution." She smiled and placed a hand on his arm. "I trust you." Michael drew a sharp intake of breath at her simple words, smile and gesture. She had such faith in him, in his ability to protect her in all ways, and he felt a sudden longing to promise her things he knew he shouldn't. Instead, he kissed her--quick and hard--and proceeded to give Kate what he could. Resting his weight on his hands, Michael shifted his body so that it hovered above hers. Kate placed her hands on his shoulders, her body trembling in anticipation of their bare flesh meeting. Slowly he lowered himself to his elbows, until his body covered the length of hers. Wrapping her arms around his waist, Kate urged him closer, anxious and eager for the feel of him. Still, Michael resisted the desire to fully rest his weight upon her. "Michael?” Kate whispered, sensing his hesitation. With a worried and anxious look, he nodded in the direction of her tummy. "It's all right?" Kate gave a low, throaty laugh. "Yes, oh, yes, you won't hurt us." He smiled and Kate drew a sharp intake of breath as finally, his body met hers, as she felt her breasts crushed beneath his chest, the warmth of him and his fullness and hardness resting against her thigh. His lips moved against her throat. "Help me with this, Kate,” he murmured. "I don't want to hurt you. Is there anything I shouldn't do?" "Nothing, there is nothing we can't do,” she murmured in return, her own lips moving against his shoulder, tasting and knowing the delicious feel of his skin. Raising his head, Michael grinned and kissed the freckles on her nose. "Nothing?" Kate blushed. "Well, there may be some things I'm not familiar with, but there's no need to worry about the baby." Assured of no limitations, Michael's pace quickened, his touch more urgent, more demanding. His hands and his mouth skillfully explored and moved over soft curves, skin--places Kate had never known could be so sensitive to touch, to tongue. She met each caress of his with her own, astonished at her eagerness and desire to touch and taste every part of him. They were both frantic with the need to know one another in this intimate way, to have and feel what they'd only imagined and longed for.

Kate felt every nerve-ending in her body respond to Michael's touch, his flesh, with a heightened awareness that was almost unbearable. At one point he lifted his head from where his lips held and caressed her nipple, met her eyes and simply laughed. A glorious, jubilant laugh. "I told you it would be good, better than you could ever imagine." "And for you?" He nodded and captured her smile with his mouth, his hand caressing her soft warmth and wetness with a deft, knowing touch. Desire and arousal reached an intensity that left Kate gasping. "Now, Michael, now,” she cried out, ready to feel all of him. Raising his body, and holding Kate's eyes with a steady, tender gaze, Michael entered her with a slow, full thrust, filling her completely, filling the aching need to feel him inside. He brought his hands to either side of her face, his fingers clutching her curls as he moved within her softness and warmth. Kate placed her lips at his throat, her hands caressing the tense muscles in his back. Their bodies moved in unison, Kate's hips lifting in response to Michael's even, steady strokes, her body arching to meet each penetrating thrust. Wrapping her legs about his thighs and placing her hands on his taut and flexing buttocks, Kate pulled him closer, urging him on, demanding more. Her body trembled, straining and aching for release from the exquisite sensations building within. Michael met her demands, exalting in his ability to please her, to give her more. His thrusts became fiercer and his breathing ragged as he fought for control and held back his own release, sensing Kate so close to hers. As she cried out, Michael felt her spasms tightening around him. With a deep groan, he placed his hands at her hips, gave a final thrust and was engulfed by his own climax. Still joined, they lay together, bodies slick with perspiration and hearts pounding. Michael buried his face in the soft hollow of her neck, one hand still gripping her hip. Kate's lips rested in his hair, and while inhaling the clean, male scent of him, she lightly caressed the smooth, damp skin of his back. She felt exhilarated, fulfilled and exhausted. Never before had she experienced sex like this. It had been wild, frantic, urgent and so needy. It had also been tender, with moments of sheer joy and laughter. Was it because of the pregnancy? The hormones surging throughout her body? In a tentative whisper, she confessed her feelings and bewilderment to Michael, wondering what he'd thought of her bold eagerness as they'd made love.

Michael propped himself up on his elbows and gazed at her with tender amusement. He pushed the damp curls from Kate's flushed face and smiled at her solemn expression. "You think that how you feel, and how you behaved, are because of the pregnancy?" She nodded. "I've never felt or behaved like that before." "Well, I'd like to think it was because of me, because of the way we are together. I'm not pregnant and it was like nothing else I've ever experienced." Her eyes grew wide in astonishment, then narrowed with suspicion. "You're just saying that." Grinning, he ran a finger across her freckles and down to her pouty, swollen lips. "Yeah, Kate. I was faking the whole time." "No, really, I want you to be honest,” she persisted. "You've had more experience than I have. Was it different for you?" His expression grew serious. "It was different. More intense, more...” Frowning, he searched for the right word. "I don't know, maybe more--" “But why do you think it was different? Do you think it’s because--“ Michael placed a finger to her lips, hushing the flow of words, the questions. "Let's not wonder why, Kate. Let's just enjoy." Sensing his confusion and reluctance to put feelings into words, and not wanting to spoil the moment, Kate nodded and smiled. Michael planted a kiss on her nose, then shifted his body and carefully withdrew. He left the bedroom to dispose of the condom. Kate curled up in the bed, already missing the warmth and feel of Michael's body. Just as she began to imagine spending the rest of the night with him, Kate heard his footsteps descending the stairs. Her heart sank. Wouldn't he at least come back for his clothes, to say good-night? It was crazy to have felt so close to him and yet be so unsure of what happened next. And that's just one of the problems resulting from casual sex, she reminded herself. You'll be dealing with the other ones tomorrow. Upon hearing Michael’s steps climbing back up the stairs, Kate quickly sat up, covering herself with the sheet. Her smile of welcome was a mixture of eager anticipation and relief. Unabashed and beautiful in his nakedness, Michael entered the room wearing only his now-familiar grin. Kicking aside the jeans that lay strewn on the floor, he climbed back into the bed and gathered her in his arms. "Warm me up again, Kate. It's cold out there.” Kate rested her head on his chest, snuggled closer and sighed with contentment. "Why the big sigh? Exhausted?"

"I thought maybe you wouldn't be coming back to bed with me,” she admitted. "I heard you downstairs." "You think that's it for the night? Not a chance, sweetheart.” Michael pulled her even closer, his hand caressing the soft curve of her hip. "And do you really believe I'd prefer that damn pull-out to being here with you? Think back, Kate, think about those other nights I so kindly offered to sleep upstairs. My motives weren't entirely pure." "If you recall, I never thought they were." Chuckling, he put his lips to her soft hair. "Actually, I went downstairs to turn off lights and check the locks and windows, which I should have done before. Rotten security you've got in this place. And I met Furball in the living room, looking rather forlorn and abandoned." "Too bad for him. It's my turn to share your bed tonight." "Amen to that.” A comfortable silence ensued. Kate felt herself drifting off to sleep, safe and warm in Michael’s arms, just how she imagined it would be. Michael lay with eyes wide open, his brain still in overdrive, his thoughts and emotions churning. “Hey, Kate?” "Hmm,” she answered drowsily. "I want to talk about a few things. Your marriage being one of them." Suddenly wide awake, Kate bolted upright and stared at him in surprise. "Well, I don't want to talk about it.” "I know why you left your husband--or kicked him out,” he continued, ignoring her objection. "Carol told me." Kate turned away from the pity she saw in his eyes. Pulling her knees up, she hid her face in her arms. Michael reached over and gently rubbed her back. "So you know.” Her voice was muffled. "That doesn't mean we have to talk about it." "I just thought I should tell you I know, and that I think he's a shit to have left you and the baby. I admire you, what you're doing on your own." As if I have a choice, Kate thought bitterly. "Kate?"

She buried her face deeper in her arms, clutching her knees to her chest. "I don't want to talk about people leaving me, for whatever reasons they do." Michael sat up and put his arms around her. "Ah, Kate, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said anything. At least not tonight." She shrugged his arms away and lifted her head, eyes brimming with tears. Blinking furiously to hold them back, she glared at him. "Well, since you did, let me explain something to you. If I'm on my own, it's because of a choice I made. And as to what we just did tonight, that, too, was my choice. I'll be alone again when this is all over and you leave. I can handle that, too. I have no expectations regarding our relationship. I know what I want and I know what you want." Michael, who had been on the brink of admitting he no longer knew what he wanted for and from Kate, remained silent. He might be confused as to his feelings, but Kate sounded damn sure of hers. And yet she was crying. Tentatively placing a hand on her shoulders, he said softly, "Don't cry, Kate. Let me hold you." She'd been oblivious to the tears, so caught up in her effort to convince Michael that she was and would be just fine without him. What a performance, what a lie. Furious with herself, Kate wiped her eyes with clenched fists. Michael grabbed both those clenched fists and pulled her down beside him, kissing the tears, tasting the salt on her lips. His hand moved across her breasts and down to her tummy. His wide palm and long fingers lay still and warm upon the slight bulge. "Can you feel the baby move?” he asked, fascinated at the thought of the tiny creature growing inside of Kate. "Not yet, probably in another few weeks,” she answered, placing her hand on his. And you won't be here for that. She brought his other hand to her mouth and kissed the callused palm. "Thank you,” she whispered. “For what?” “For caring.” "I do care, you know that. No matter what happens,” he murmured. Clasping an arm about his neck, she brought Michael's mouth back to hers. Caring is not loving, but it will have to do. She needed him now, didn't want to think of the future without him. Michael’s hand drifted from her belly until it rested between her thighs, gently fondling and exploring the soft flesh until finding the source of her pleasure. He felt Kate's body move beneath his touch, her hips push against the pressure of his palm. His mouth left

hers and followed the path his hand had made. While his lips rested on her tummy, he placed both hands between her thighs and gently spread her legs further apart. Kate gasped as Michael's mouth captured her wetness and her warmth. Instinctively she brought her legs together and reached down to pull him back and away. He shook his head, took her two small hands in one of his own and pushed her legs apart again with his other hand. He wanted this, wanted the sweet, musky taste and scent of her, wanted to bring her pleasure in this way. He felt her trembling, felt her hips move again in response to movements of his tongue, lips and fingers. He released her hands and Kate clutched him by the hair, her body pushing and straining against his mouth. All her hesitation, reluctance and shyness were lost to the sensations flooding her body. Kate moaned, then cried out as the familiar and exquisite spasms brought her to the edge, and over. Heart pounding, chest heaving, she sobbed breathlessly. Michael knelt above her, arms resting on his hands and smiled. Kate lifted her arms to receive him, burying her face in the warmth of his neck as he lay his weight upon her. "Thank you,” she whispered. "Thank you," he replied and rolled over on his back, taking her with him and tucking her tightly at his side. Kate lay with an arm flung across his chest, and with a leg captured between his. "You liked that?” he murmured, lips in her hair. Kate sensed Michael’s smile, his pleasure and told him what she knew he wanted to hear. "No one has ever done that for me before." He drew her closer. "I'm glad." "Another notch on your belt?" "My belt's full. We're starting on yours.” He bent his head, lifted her face to his, and kissed her soundly. "Time for some sleep. You need it, Kate. We all do." Within a matter of seconds, Michael was asleep. Still nestled in his embrace, it was Kate who now remained wide awake as she listened to the steady, regular beating of his heart. When he moved, it wasn't to turn away from her, but to his side, his chin resting at the top of her head. And even in sleep, he reached for and found a place of connection, placing his hand on her hip.

Chapter Nine Just before dawn, Kate woke to the touch of Michael's hand gently fondling her breast. She lay with her back curved against his chest and felt his erection pressing against her buttocks. His other hand caressed and stroked the soft flesh between her legs. Arching her back, Kate pushed against his hardness, eager and ready to receive him. Michael placed his hands on her hips, shifted her body slightly and pulled her toward him. And as the smooth, hard length of him slowly entered her, filling her, Kate cried out softly. Michael uttered his own groan of pleasure as the welcoming heat enveloped him, and holding Kate's hips in a firm grip, penetrated again and again with full, hard thrusts. They rocked together in an slow, steady rhythm, the intensity of arousal gradually increasing and heightening to a fevered pitch. Michael grimaced and fought for control as Kate met the force of his body with her own, as her muscles tightened and caressed him. Drawing a sharp intake of breath, he suddenly pulled her closer, braced himself against her, thrusting deeper and harder, until his entire body grew rigid. His breath escaped in a rush as he came to a fierce, shuddering climax. Kate lay still, content to take her pleasure in his, and in the sensation of having his partial fullness remain within. As his breathing returned to normal and his lips nuzzled at the soft skin of her neck, Michael moved his hand from her hip to between her thighs and with sure, deft, and unhurried movements he brought her back to the peak of arousal. Kate's legs tightened together, capturing Michael's hand in place as the exquisite anguish built, her body quivering and straining in anticipation. The welcome release came in waves of bright, hot pleasure and she cried out his name. Each satiated and complete, they lay silent, Michael's arms wrapped around Kate, her arms resting on his. Turning her head slightly, she smiled. "Good morning." "And wasn't that a nice way to start the day?” he murmured, kissing her warm and flushed cheek. Letting his hand fall to her tummy, he continued, "This would be a great position when the baby's bigger, wouldn't it?" Kate nodded, her eyes closing against the sudden and aching sense of loss. Michael wouldn't be here for that. "I guess I'll have to let you know,” she finally replied, trying to keep the bitterness from her voice. "I sincerely doubt I'll have the opportunity to find out." Michael was silent, chastened by Kate's reminder that her future did not include him. It had become increasingly easy, tempting, in fact, to forget that. At least Kate had the good sense to keep it in mind, to keep things in perspective. Whatever feelings he had for her, they weren't about to lead him down the rosy path of marriage, babies and commitment. Nor was great sex.

He could just envision spending a day on the streets, or a night for that matter, and coming home to a crying baby and a distraught wife. A wife full of recriminations and guilt-inducing accusations. "Why are you never here when I need you? How can you put your life in danger when you know much the baby and I depend on you?" Yeah, and then he'd take over. Take the baby in his arms--who'd suddenly be all smiles and coos for Daddy--and tell the wife to take a hot, relaxing bath. Pour her a glass of wine and sit on the edge of the tub, chatting with the wife and enjoying the show. The baby would fall asleep and maybe he'd join her in the tub. Yeah, and maybe he was losing his mind. It was definitely time to get off topics of pregnancy and the future. "Well, it's a great position anytime,” he pronounced with false cheer. "Hope you didn't mind waking up so early." "Not at all.” Kate peered at the clock on the bedside table. It was six a.m. "I'm willing to lose an hour's sleep for certain things, and that was one of them." Placing his hands on her hips, Michael carefully withdrew and swung his long legs over the side of the bed. Kate rolled over to gaze at his broad, muscular back, running a hand down the length of his spine. He turned and planted a kiss on each of her breasts, then covered her with the sheet. "Okay if I use the bathroom first this morning?” Michael stood, stretched and headed for the door with a backward glance. Kate was amazed at his unselfconscious ability to parade naked around the room. There was no way she was prepared to flaunt her body like that. "Go ahead. I'm in no hurry to get up and be hit with nausea. I'll just lie here and munch on my crackers." "Crackers?" "Helps with morning sickness." Michael paused at the door. "If, uh, you're sick this morning, do you want my help?" Kate laughed and vigorously shook her head. "No, thank you. It's something I prefer to do on my own."

*** Kate wore a big, happy grin on her face when she finally joined Michael in the kitchen.

"Well, did you have another rendezvous with the porcelain rim?” he inquired, noting with pleasure that Kate was wearing the floppy overalls again. Knowing every intimate detail of what lay beneath, he found them even more appealing. "I did not.” And then her smile faded. "But that's not really any guarantee it's over." "Think positively, sit down and drink your orange juice,” he ordered, grabbing the straps of the overalls and pulling her to the table. "You're turning into my nursemaid,” Kate accused him, but did as she was told. "I'm turning into a nervous wreck,” he said dryly, standing behind Kate's chair and placing his lips on her curls. His hands slipped inside the front of the overalls. "You seem to have a thing for these pants,” Kate murmured, tilting her head back. "I have ‘a thing’ for what's under the pants.” Michael kissed her upturned mouth, a long, hard kiss tasting of orange juice. Joining her at the table, Michael watched as Kate nibbled on toast. Trying for casual, he tipped back in his chair and drawled lazily, "Hey, it's Saturday. We can just stay home and do nothing. Maybe fool around with your overalls, or something along those lines." Kate smiled. Michael was so obvious in his attempt to avoid any further decoy outings. Eyes twinkling mischievously, she pointed out, "We could go lots of places--the park, the museum, the harbor. There're tons of places to go on a Saturday." "I'd rather not.” "No kidding." "You want to discuss it?" "No, but I don't want to stay inside all day either." The chair rocked back to the floor with a thud. "And I don't care to risk your life again." Kate sighed. "Everyone else agrees that it's okay to continue." Michael frowned. God, she was stubborn. "I'm not everyone else." "You're also not my keeper, Michael. Don't let my pregnancy or what happened last night interfere with your job.” Kate paused, her expression softening. "Or do you think maybe it has, or might?" "No,” he blurted out quickly, with more force and anger than he intended.

Kate, startled, eyed Michael warily as he shoved back his chair and stood up. Not only was he raking his fingers through his hair, he was also gnawing at his thumbnail. Double whammy. Shaking his head and cursing, he paced the kitchen. "Well, maybe the whole thing is affecting my job...shit...I don't know..." Obviously her question had hit a sore point. Not wanting to spoil the day arguing about an issue that had them stubbornly opposed, Kate figured she'd try humoring him out of his confused and angry mood. Pushing back her own chair, she got up and planted herself directly in his path. Thumbs stuck in the straps of the overalls, she taunted, "Hey, grumpy. Wanna take that rotten mood out on somebody? Wanna fight? I’ll take you on." "Kate.” Michael frowned. "This is serious. I'm mad. Don't try distracting me with crazy antics and those damn overalls." "Is it working?” God, he was gorgeous--even in a temper--with those blue eyes brooding and that sensuous mouth set in a grim line. Michael's frown turned to a reluctant half-smile. This stubborn, impetuous, pint-size bit of a woman was capable of coaxing a smile out of him despite his better judgement. "Yeah, it's working,” he admitted, still shaking his head. "Great!" Kate threw herself in his arms, secure in the knowledge that Michael's body would respond even if his mind was elsewhere. He picked her up off her feet and plunked her on the counter. "You're impossible. I don't know why I bother trying to get anywhere with you." "You got pretty far last night,” Kate reminded him, clutching his thick, dark hair. Michael kissed those full, inviting lips, and deftly undid the buckles of the straps and the buttons of her blouse. Pushing the material aside, he lifted each full breast in his large, warm hands. "I have a great idea,” Kate said softly, catching her breath as Michael began rubbing his thumbs across the soft skin and the taut, erect nipples. "I have a better one.” He lowered his head and placed his mouth at her breasts, teasing and caressing each sensitive and responsive nipple with his tongue. "Mine's even better,” she murmured, head flung back and becoming distracted by the warm stirrings caused by his tongue's expert motions. However, she was just as determined as Michael, and went on with her suggestion. "The other night you said you played baseball Saturday afternoons. We can go to your game."

"We can't.” His hands now cupped the soft flesh of her behind, pulling her against the hard bulge beneath his jeans. "Why not?” Kate moaned softly and wrapped her legs around his waist. Reluctantly, Michael lifted his head. "Kate, think about it. I'm out there playing second base and you're sitting up in the stands. You'd make a great target for a sniper and there wouldn't be a damn thing I could do about it." "The other players are policemen, aren't they?" "Yeah,” he muttered, and placed his lips against the rapid pulse at her throat. Kate lifted his sweatshirt and put her hands to his hard, bare chest, rubbing and feeling his nipples harden beneath her touch. "Well, then, I can sit on the bench with them, and with you. I'll watch from there. I can sit with the other guys when your team's up at bat. It'll be fine. Let's go somewhere, Michael, let's do something normal." He groaned. "I can't believe you're still talking. Don't you think what we're doing right now is normal?" "It's normal,” she agreed, gasping suddenly when his fingers went inside her panties, searching for and finding her wet and ready. Her hands dropped to his waist and eagerly undid his belt and buckle. Still, she wouldn't give up. "Going to a baseball game is normal, too. Please, Michael?" "Please what?” He grinned. Kate smiled at the desire and laughter in his eyes. Sensing he was on the verge of giving in, she figured a little begging would put him over the edge. "Please to both. To this...” she placed a hand on his straining erection. "And to going somewhere, having some fun like other people do." Michael slid the overalls and panties down and off, and kissed her. "You are a persistent, stubborn pain in the neck,” he growled. "And stop batting those lashes at me." "Carol does it,” Kate retorted indignantly, tucking her thumbs inside the waistband of his boxers. "You're not Carol, and you don't have to.” His familiar, endearing grin appeared as he placed her legs around his waist again, then held her by the small of her waist "And I give in, we can go to the game--" "Yes!"

"But first things first, and no more talking.” Reaching for his jeans, he pulled the condom from the back pocket. Kate took it from him and somewhat hesitatingly--never having done this before--took over. She glanced up at Michael. "Is that okay?" "It's fine.” He grinned. "Are we ready, or have you thought of something else to discuss?" Kate grabbed his hair and brought his mouth to hers. They were both more than ready. Michael quickly placed his hands at the soft flesh of her behind, pulled and lifted her toward him, entering and penetrating with a full, deep thrust. His pace was fast and forceful, Kate urging him on with her cries, her mouth and the pressure of her thighs at his waist. Each stroke, each thrust brought her closer and closer to the edge as Michael pounded within her, wild and furious, his own cries unintelligible and hoarse. Kate's body shook as the tension and craving mounted and when her climax came, it did so in such fierce, powerful waves that she was left sobbing, panting and clutching Michael for support. His own control was lost once Kate found her release. Heaving her up and toward him, Michael buried his face in the hollow of her neck and gave a final, deep thrust. His body tensed, then shuddered with the force of orgasm and at the moment of greatest intensity, he cried out Kate's name. Gently he lowered her back upon the counter and held her in his arms. Kate's heart was still racing and he felt her shiver, heard a tiny, muffled sob. "Are you okay, Kate? Was it too hurried? I know I rushed. Did I hurt you?" "You didn't hurt me,” she whispered. "It was fine, I liked it that way." He smiled and pulled her closer, inhaling the fresh scent of shampoo in her still damp curls. "Good. I liked it, too." Kate drew back and cupped his face in her hands. For a moment she simply gazed at his blue eyes and handsome face, then smiled. "However, I will admit to being a bit sore. I'm not used to marathons. Are we trying to set a record?" Michael traced her smile with his thumb. "I don't think it's a case of having to try, but it just might happen. Just how sore are you?" "Sore enough to have to take a break. You know, do something else for a while, like go to a ball game this afternoon." "I'd hoped you'd forgotten about that." "Not a chance. You promised."

"Yeah, I did,” Michael admitted ruefully. Bending down, he gathered her clothes from the floor and placed them in her lap. "I'll have to call the other guys first though, and okay it with them. They're off duty and under no obligation to protect you." Holding her clothes in one arm, Kate reached for Michael with the other and he lifted her from the counter. "I'm not worried, they'll do it,” she said with certainty. "What makes you so sure?" She kissed his bare chest. "You'll charm them into it."

*** Kate had a marvelous time at the baseball field. She not only enjoyed the game, but also the luxury of being outside on a gorgeous, sunny day, the company of the players, and watching Michael play. Michael, on the other hand, had had better games. He fumbled balls, struck out twice and was generally distracted the whole time. From his position in the field, he'd anxiously scan the bleachers--admittedly, occupied predominately by the wives and children of the players--then search for Kate's figure on the bench. Invariably, she'd be laughing and chatting with the players, and if she happened to catch his glance, wave in his direction. At least one of them was having a good time. When he sat with her on the bench--relieved to be one protecting her--Kate was full of enthusiastic comments and questions. "Why doesn't the umpire just yell ‘strike’ instead of grunting? I can't tell if it's a ball or a strike." “A grunt means a strike. No grunt, no hand motion means a ball,” Michael explained with an amused smile. “I thought umpires made gestures.” “Some do, some don’t. This guy doesn’t.” “They should all be consistent.” “Take it up with the ump, Kate. Give him a piece of your mind.” “Maybe I will.” Michael leaned back and observed Kate's face while she watched the game. He'd seen her in various moods, but never this carefree and happy. Her eyes shone, her face was flushed and the smile only left her face when she couldn't figure out a play. And then

she'd wrinkle her freckled nose in a frown and turn to him for an explanation. Occasionally, her hand ended up on his thigh as she shouted with excitement or asked one of her countless questions. Michael would experience a sudden, familiar stirring of desire at this simple, unconscious touch and shift uncomfortably on the bench--grateful for the protective cover of his jockstrap. His team eventually lost the game 4-3, but Kate's enthusiasm was not diminished in the slightest. Although she murmured sympathetically at Michael's grumbling excuses, she couldn't keep the smile from her eyes. When she actually did corner the ump to lecture him on she what considered to be his vague and confusing calls, Michael hooted with laughter. Poor guy--he was in for it. With Kate thus occupied, Michael took the opportunity to talk with Jim Pearson. Without any preamble, he got straight to the point. "I want to put some extra men on the investigation, really push it. Call in all our markers, pay off snitches, whatever it takes. I want him caught, and soon." Jim eyed him with suspicion. "Did the Chief okay this?" "The Chief said from the beginning, whatever it takes. Well, it's going to take this because I don't want Kate involved anymore." "It's reached this point, has it?" "It's reached the point where we don't use pregnant and vulnerable women to do our job,” Michael snapped. Jim glanced over at Kate and back to Michael. "Okay, I'm with you. We'll keep her out of it from now on." Michael uttered a brusque, "Thanks." "Are you still going to be staying with Kate? Think you can handle it?" Michael knew what the question implied and wasn't about to discuss his feelings for Kate. "I'm staying with her 'til he's found, 'til she's safe." "And then?" Michael glared. "And then I leave, then it's over." Jim shook his head in disgust. "You can be such a shit, Michael." "What's that supposed to mean?" "Figure it out yourself.” Jim shrugged and walked away.

Michael was silent, watching Jim head in Kate's direction and greeting her with a hug. She returned it with a smile and they remained standing and chatting with the umpire. All three laughed as Kate imitated the grunts the ump made during the game. Michael felt a rush of pride and pleasure as he watched, then quickly suppressed the feelings. Pride in what? Did he own her? Could he take credit for Kate's irrepressible nature, her happiness? Jim had called him a shit, and maybe he was. But the insult bothered him more because he'd used the same word to describe Kate's husband just last night. Apparently he and Jeffrey had something in common and Kate had lousy taste in men. At least he wouldn't be walking out on a marriage and his own kid. He walked over and joined the group, placing his arm over Kate's shoulders. Slipping an arm about his waist, she lifted her face with a warm, welcoming smile. Just what was he doing, becoming involved with a woman able to make him ache inside with just a look? He glanced at Jim, who merely lifted an eyebrow and shrugged again. Holding her hand, Michael steered Kate away from the group and they headed for the parking lot. Relieved that the whole expedition was over and that she was safe, he was also confused. Jim was warning him, but about what? Jim had seen him through many a brief relationship and this was simply another one. Wasn’t it? Kate's high spirits on the drive home lifted his own, but a nagging sense of guilt still remained. He finally interrupted her animated flow of chatter with a grin and a chuckle. "You're wired, Kate." "It's called being happy, relaxing and enjoying life. Try it, Michael,” she replied cheerfully. "We made it through the game, and I'm still alive." "I'm happy, I'm relaxed,” he protested. Kate grunted. "Okay, if you're so relaxed and happy, let's do something else that's fun." "Like what?” he asked warily. "Let's pick up something for dinner on the way home. I feel like having pizza." "Kate, don't push me. I just want to get home, safely." "Indulge me. I have a craving.” Michael gave her a swift, skeptical glance. She was watching him with a twinkle in her eye. Placing a hand to his cheek, she continued to needle him. "How about it, Michael? It's better than ordering in and having a shotgun blast delivered with the pizza."

Michael grabbed her hand and sunk his teeth in the soft flesh of her palm. Kate shivered, amazed at how swiftly his touch created an instant ache and response deep inside. "All right, all right,” he grumbled. "But why can't you crave the things pregnant women are supposed to? Like pickles and ice cream? We have those at home." "That ice cream and pickle thing is a myth. And it's disgusting. At least with pizza, you get a dinner out of it too,” Kate replied, and drew a sharp breath as he continued nibbling at her palm. "And if you don't let go of my hand, I'm going to touch you in a place that will have us driving off the road." "Try it." "I thought you wanted us home safely?" "Right, we’ll save that for later." Michael pulled into the next pizza joint Kate spotted. He was nervous, on edge and jittery from the moment he parked the car and anxiously scanned the lot for any car that might have been tailing them. Kate, however, enjoyed herself the whole time, even flirted with the man who took their order. Once safely back on the road--and keeping a careful eye on the rear-view mirror-Michael commented on her behavior. "I wouldn't have thought pregnant women would be inclined to flirt with pizza servers." "This one does,” Kate said matter-of-factly. "Especially when the guy's friendly and cute. Did it bother you?" "No, but I don't recall you flirting with me." "I didn't have too. We ended up in bed after just a few days of arguing and snapping at each other. Our whole relationship is bizarre, starting from the time we met." Michael burst out with a deep, hearty laugh at the reminder of the pimp/prostitute encounter. "Well, it may be bizarre, but it works." "For as long as it lasts,” Kate said quietly. Michael snuck a quick look at her face. Kate’s expression was pensive and wistful. And there wasn't a damn thing he could say to bring back her smile.

*** They ate the pizza at the kitchen table. Michael indulged in a beer to ease his nerves from the day’s outing. Kate went the healthy route with a glass of milk. While Kate's

good mood was restored as she dug into the gooey, thick slices, Michael’s was not. He was quiet--downright glum. Kate watched as he absently flicked pizza crusts in Furball's direction. "If he's sick, you clean it up,” she warned. "Fine.” He continued pelting the ecstatic cat with crusts. Kate let her glance fall to Michael's hands as he pulled at the sticky strands of cheese and tore the crusts in tiny pieces for the cat. Gazing at the large, roughened palms and the long lean fingers, she was hit with a wave of desire and longing, remembering what those hands were capable of doing to, and with, her body. Simply eating pizza with a man, and she wanted him this badly and this suddenly? The fact that he was in some kind of rotten mood didn't bode well for anything she might have in mind. What had set him off this time? "Well, Michael, it's been a pleasure sharing this meal with you.” Kate got up and took her plate to the sink. "You certainly know how to spoil someone's fun." Without even raising his head, Michael simply muttered, "You wanted pizza. We got pizza." Furious and exasperated, Kate put her hands on her hips and finally let him have it. "What is your problem? Sure, you indulged me. We went to a baseball game and bought pizza for dinner. Big deal. Was it too much of a strain and effort for you? Aren't things going your way? Grow up, Michael. So you have a lousy assignment and an uncooperative body to guard--at least you're getting paid for it. How inconvenient for you that I insist on having a say in my life." Michael finally looked up but didn't bat an eye at the accusations. He remained silent. What could he say? Admit his professionalism was shot to hell, that he cared about Kate more than he should or ever wanted to? That the strain of these outings was more than he could handle? He had to tell her the decoy outings were over. And he had to tell her, soon. Tonight. Kate started out of the kitchen, shouting as she went, "I was right about you from the beginning. You're an egotistical, self-centered jerk. And I'm an idiot for letting myself fall for that fake charm. I'd have thought last night's ‘perks’ might have cheered you up. Or is that past history already? You got what you wanted, you ‘scored’ and that's it?" Okay, that accusation was right over the top. Michael shoved back his chair and caught up with Kate as she stomped through the living room. Grabbing her by the shoulders, he pulled her around to face him. "Is that what you think of me? Is that what you think last night and this morning were all about? That all I wanted to do was get you into bed?" Twisting her body to get out from Michael's fierce grip, Kate pushed her hands at his chest. "What am I supposed to think when you close yourself off from me, won't talk to

me? And there's not much more to this relationship anyway. Sex just makes the dreary, daily routine of hanging around here a little more bearable." "That's not true, and you know it,” Michael shot back. Any desire Kate had to fight back suddenly evaporated. Confused and near tears she rested her forehead on his chest and said quietly, "Let's not fight anymore. Whatever we have together, it's not going to last much longer. I don't want to waste our time arguing, and I'm sorry for those things I said about you." Michael held her tightly. "Kate, when this whole thing is over, it doesn't mean we can't see each other." His words surprised them both. Kate recovered first. With a clenched fist, she gave one, hard smack to his chest. "I know what I can handle, Michael, and it isn't a casual, once in a while thing. And even if you were capable of anything else, I'm not ready for that either. When the investigation is over, I can't go on seeing you." Michael, aware of his limitations, knew she was right. To continue seeing Kate on the sort of basis he had in mind wouldn't be fair to her. The whole thing was crazy. Two people wanting to be together, but unable to because of timing, circumstances and opposing views of what they both needed and wanted in a relationship. They were at such different stages in their lives. "Okay, okay,” he said gently. "We won't talk about the future and we won't argue in the present. And I am all those rotten things you said about me--probably worse--so don't apologize." Kate lifted her face, gazing at him thoughtfully with big, expressive eyes. Detecting a flicker of amusement, Michael figured he still a chance. "Kate, I promise I'll behave. I'll be fun, chatty, light-hearted, anything you want. You name it." "You're being awfully humble and agreeable, considering the names I just called you,” Kate pointed out, with a hint of a smile. Michael moved his hand to the small of her back and pulled her closer. "Now you're objecting to my efforts to behave, my attempt to win you back?" "No.” She shook her head. "But it's confusing. When I insult you, you usually insult me right back. That's what I'm used to." Laughing, Michael caught her up in a full embrace. "Time to get used to my good side, my endearing qualities. Which I do possess, in addition to being a self-centered jerk." "That's quite a combination. Sort of like a Jekyll and Hyde. I don't know if I can handle it."

"Sure you can. You suffer from the same sort of split personality." Kate pulled back and slugged him on the shoulder. In righteous indignation, but with eyes twinkling, she exclaimed, "See, I told you, you’re always quick with a comeback." "That's just the way we are." "Guess so,” she sighed, and again rested her cheek against his chest. Insults or not, being with Michael was still the best thing she'd ever experienced. And if keeping things light ensured that the little time they had remaining together was good, she was prepared to do it.

*** Michael insisted on clearing up in the kitchen and ordered Kate upstairs for a hot, soothing bath. He was spoiling her and she loved it. Lying in the tub, gazing at her swollen breasts and belly, was bliss, a little time out to let her thoughts dwell on the baby, to experience the thrill of life growing inside. Boy? Girl? It didn't matter. In less than five months she'd be holding her baby, loving it fiercely, unconditionally. And her baby would be loving her back, with no demands other than food, warmth and love. They'd make a life together and she wouldn't be alone. Wrapped in a large, soft towel Kate padded barefoot to the bedroom, debating whether to get fully clothed again or enjoy the luxury and unrestricted freedom of her robe. What the hell. Go for the robe. She wasn't trying to seduce Michael, nor did she feel the need to keep the relationship "sexy" and "alive.” What was the point? The man wasn't going to stick around anyway. Let comfort take precedence over style and seduction. When Kate came downstairs, she found Michael lying on the couch with Furball purring contentedly on his chest. He lifted an eyebrow and grinned when he caught sight of her attire. "Dressing up for me?" "Dressing down for comfort,” Kate answered matter-of-factly and sat in the rocking chair. "If I managed to attract you wearing nothing but baggy clothes this week, I'm not about to start a seduction scene now. Besides, other than the overalls and some sweat pants, nothing I own fits anymore." "I like the overalls, and you look rather appealing in that robe, too." "You're a desperate man if this appeals to you. Your standards have taken a dive." "You think I'm just making do with what's available?" Kate grinned. "Could be.”

"Not a chance. I know what's under the robe." Kate blushed under Michael's appreciative stare, and leaned over to pick up her knitting. Watching her, he smiled contentedly. She did look very appealing--happy, relaxed, curls hanging in damp tendrils about her flushed face. He felt a stirring and tightening in his groin just watching her. "How was the bath?" "Wonderful,” she sighed. "Just what I needed." "I was rather hurt that you didn't invite me to join you." Kate looked up in surprise, not quite sure if he was serious. "Never shared a bath with Jeffrey?” Michael asked with a suggestive smile. "No,” she answered slowly. "I never did." "I think you'd enjoy it, Kate. With me, anyway." She blushed again. "Next time." "I'll hold you to that.” He winked, then changed the subject. "What are you knitting now?" "A sweater for the baby.” Kate held it up for his inspection. "And some booties." “Booties?” "Yes, booties.” Kate giggled, happy to be able to share rather than hiding this from him. "Babies wear booties on their feet." "Oh, yeah, those things.” Michael sat up and stretched, dumping Furball from his comfortable perch. Leaning over the coffee table, he placed his hand on a pile of books. "Speaking of babies, I've been looking through some of these books." He held up a copy of Doctor Spock, which Kate had taken out of hiding once her secret was out. "And?” she inquired in amusement. "And he's got some interesting things to say,” Michael commented, leafing through the book. "As in, ‘Try to avoid situations of extreme stress--physical and emotional--during pregnancy.’” He glanced up with an accusing look. "Neither of which you've done." "When was that book published?” Kate demanded, reaching over to grab for it.

Michael waved it in the air, out of her reach. "Uh-uh. I'm quoting an authority, who happens to be on my side. Justify yourself, Kate." She sat back in the rocker, arms crossed at her chest. "The current thinking, Dr. O'Connor, is that a pregnant woman may continue doing just about everything she usually does, including aerobics, jogging, tennis. Pregnancy is not to be thought of as a physical disability. If you feel like doing it, do it. In moderation, of course." "Of course.” Michael nodded, then frowned sternly. "However, I doubt the current philosophy includes murder investigations and setting yourself up as a target. Unless of course, you're used to that sort of thing. In which case, you might have informed me of your prior experience." Kate made a face. They were back on this contentious subject. "And precisely what is it you'd like me to do, Michael?" Michael sat back, astonished. Was Kate actually considering listening to his advice? She sounded sincere. "What I'd like is to keep you out of it from now on. And Jim's in agreement with me on this." "Since?" "Since this afternoon." Michael eyed her suspiciously, but with hope. Amazingly enough, Kate was still calm. He hadn’t--yet--set off her short, combative fuse. "So I remain stuck at home for the duration?" He nodded, bracing himself for onslaught. Still, it was not forthcoming. Will wonders never cease? "Today was my last hurrah?" "You could think of it like that, yeah." Kate pondered his words in thoughtful silence. Two things were pushing her to change her once obstinate mind. Well, one had always been a consideration--the baby. That peaceful time earlier this evening, while she'd been contemplating the baby’s and her future, she'd said a thankful prayer that so far they'd both remained safe and unharmed. Maybe she'd be pushing her luck to go any further. Michael was adamant in his belief that with only one criminal still on the loose--and a desperate one at that, liable to make mistakes--the police could handle matters without her.

The other consideration was the fact that she and Michael were in a constant battle over the issue of her involvement. For what little time remained to them, did she want to spend it arguing? Perhaps it was best to just let it go, put her faith and trust in Michael and the police and let them take over. She'd helped capture one of the men, and that went a long way toward alleviating her guilt for getting into this mess in the first place. Carol and Michael were right. She didn't really have to prove anything. Her worth as a person certainly didn't rest on providing the police with her assistance. To risk her life and the baby's--motivated by guilt and stubborn pride--no longer seemed as compelling as it once had. She studied Michael’s face. His expression was anxious and concerned as he awaited her decision. Why did this face, this man, fill her with such love and longing? "Okay.” Her voice was low, barely a whisper. "We'll do it your way.” Michael was on his feet, grinning from ear to ear. "Okay? That's it? No argument?" "You want one?” Kate smiled. "Hell, no." "Then don't push me. I'm giving in, Michael. Accept it with grace. I'm still not too keen on the idea of cowering at home in fear and seclusion." "I promise I'll make it worth your while." Eyes sparkling with mischief, he placed his hands on the arms of the rocker, tilting it forward. "Starting now." Taking the knitting from her hands, Michael knelt at her feet. Pushing aside the folds of her robe, his eyes widened in astonishment and pleasure. "Jesus, Kate. You've got nothing on under here." Kate laughed and cupped his face in her hands. "And that bothers you because…?" "Doesn’t bother me in the slightest.” Michael grinned and shook his head in wonder. "You're full of surprises tonight, each one better than the last." Grabbing her by the hand, he pulled Kate from the chair and walked her to the stairs. "Wait right here for your escort. I'm locking up and turning lights off."

*** Kate entered the bedroom and let the robe fall to the floor. Crawling into bed and pulling the covers to her chin, she watched the still fully-clothed Michael empty his pockets. "Rather modest all of a sudden, aren't you?” he chuckled. Eyeing the full package of condoms Michael placed on the bedside table, Kate retorted, "Rather ambitious tonight, aren't you?"

"Let's just say I'm confident,” he replied, quickly removing his clothes and joining her. Kate eagerly gathered him in her arms, welcoming the sensation of Michael's bare flesh covering hers. Michael placed a hand at her waist, exploring the soft curve of her hip, and cradled her head with his other hand. Fingers entwined in the tangle of curls, he lowered his mouth to hers. Capturing first her upper, then lower lip, between his teeth, he nibbled gently at the soft flesh. His movements were slow, unhurried and sure. Kate responded in kind, running a hand over the sinewy muscles of his back, then moving downward to caress the taut flesh of his buttocks. She slipped her other hand between their bodies and captured the smooth, rigid length of his erection. Her own sure, deft movements brought forth a moan from deep within his throat. Resting his forehead on hers, Michael whispered hoarsely, "Do you want me to come right now?" "Only if you're capable of a repeat performance.” In answer, Michael rolled over and reached for a condom. He brought his body's weight back to hers, placed his mouth on Kate's and parted her lips, thrusting his tongue deep within her soft yielding warmth. Kate met his probing, insistent demands with her own, clutching at his hair and pressing her mouth to his. With mouths open, twisting and frantic in their eagerness to taste and explore, their bodies arched and moved together. Michael stroked the soft skin of Kate's inner thighs and feeling her heat, her moist response, he spread her legs apart with his thigh. Sitting back on his knees, he pulled Kate forward, placed her legs around his waist, grasped and lifted her buttocks and entered with a full, penetrating thrust. Kate gasped at the searing, intense pleasure of receiving his hard, swollen length so completely, so quickly. Michael began a steady, alternating rhythm of deep penetration and partial withdrawal. The constant thrusting and friction were excruciating and exquisite, creating sensations of pleasure and the anticipation of yet more and more. Kate felt every muscle and nerve of her body quivering and straining for fulfillment. When her climax came--in deep, unrelenting waves of welcome release--her entire body shuddered as she cried out again and again until the fevered pitch of its intensity finally lessened. Michael eased her legs back on the bed, rested on his forearms, and gave a final, deep thrust. The handsome features of his face contorted with agonizing concentration and pleasure as he came in a powerful, forceful rush. Feeling, yet again, a sense of completion he had never known before, Michael raised his head and gave Kate a weary, lopsided smile. She reached up to smooth the tousled hair back from his forehead. "Hello, partner,” she whispered.

Letting out a deep breath, Michael rested his weight upon Kate, burying his face in her neck and tasting the sweet, salty flavor of her skin. "Number one,” he murmured. Kate pounded his broad shoulder with a fist. "Are you keeping score?" Michael stretched and rolled to his side, gathering Kate in the crook of his arm. "Sure, aren't you?" "I think I can keep track without a scorecard." "Don't count on it,” Michael advised, running the palm of his hand over her breasts. "You know, Kate, I find your breasts beautiful." Lightly tracing the prominent, bluish veins with his thumb, Michael placed his other hand on her tummy while contemplating the tiny baby within. Kate, enjoying his gentle touch and appreciative awareness of the baby, lay quiet and content. "How big is the baby now?” he asked, still gazing at her tummy. "I mean, what stage is it at? Partially formed? Legs? Arms?" "At this point the baby's fully formed, even has finger and toenails. He--or she--would be about 37 cm long and weigh about 900 grams." Michael lifted his head and met her eyes. "Big bruiser, eh?" Kate just smiled, and Michael returned his gaze to her tummy. He was silent for quite a long time, and when he finally spoke, it was in a low, soft whisper. "I wish the baby was mine." Kate winced at his words, felt the familiar ache of loss, and blinked back sudden tears. "No, you don't,” she chided him gently. "This little baby is going to demand a lot of time, care and attention, not to mention responsibility. Carefree, single men who frequent bars and do their best to avoid commitment aren't cut out for fatherhood." Michael withdrew his hand and turned on his back, arms crossed behind his head. Surprisingly, Kate's words hurt. But she was right, and what an idiotic thing for him to have said. He glanced down at her. She too lay on her back, hands resting on her tummy. What was she thinking? She looked pensive and wistful, yet had that stubborn tilt to her chin. I could love you, Kate, and I could love that baby. He wanted to say the words aloud, but knew he wasn't prepared for the commitment that went with them. And Kate knew it, too.

Michael reached for and brought Kate's hand to his chest. She turned to look at him, her expression wary. "Be with me, Kate,” he said softly. Shifting her body, she placed her leg across his thighs and moved her hand over his chest, feeling the soft, springy hair and the erect nipples. Tracing the line of hair to his flat, taut belly with her fingertips, she felt Michael's body tense as her hand continued downward and held the hardening length of him. Raising her head and gazing at him with tenderness and desire, she said quietly, "Love me, Michael." He grasped her by the neck and pulled her closer. "Maybe I do." Taken aback, confused and surprised at his words, Kate shook her head. "I meant, make love to me." Michael's expression registered his own confusion, his hurt at her response. "We can do that too, but Kate, I thought you'd want to know--" "Don't, Michael.” She put a finger to his lips. "That will just make it harder when this is over." "But maybe we can still--" Kate cut him off again. "Are you prepared to change? Because that's the only way this relationship could possibly continue. And I don’t think you’re capable of that." His silence confirmed what she already knew. He wouldn't, couldn't change, and all the wishful thinking in the world wasn't going to make this relationship work. She'd known it from the beginning. A product of a strict, no nonsense upbringing, Kate was brought up to believe in family and commitment. "Nice" girls don't fool around with the "wild" boys. And if by chance they do, there was no point in trying to make it right by hoping the "bad" boy would turn into the steady, dependable, marrying kind. She'd gone into this with her eyes wide open, and she'd best keep right on staring at the truth. Michael was losing track of it. Kate smiled at the solemn and guilt-stricken expression on Michael's face. Even if she could change him, did she really want to? Wasn't it his cocky, devil-may-care attitude and independence that had first attracted her? She moved her body to lie on top of him, kissed the warm skin at his throat and placed a hand to his cheek. Amazing that even the hint of stubble she felt was capable of arousing her. Michael's eyes widened with delight and relief at this turn of events. "Hello.” He grinned, running a hand down the gently rounded curve of her behind.

"It's serious time, buddy,” Kate said sternly. "Serious time? When you're lying on top of me?" "Give it a try, or I'll get up and sit in the chair,” she threatened. "Stay right here," he promised quickly. "I'll be serious." "Okay, we need some ground rules." "Like in baseball?" Kate's eyes narrowed. "Like in limits to this relationship. We have to have an understanding, Michael, so that I can handle it. You may be used to casual, but I'm not. No more talk of the future, or of things that aren't going to happen between us. I don't expect anything from you but what we have now. Don't make it any more difficult for me by telling me what you may feel, or wish for." Michael listened with admiration and awe. She was tough, and more brutally honest than he was capable of being at the moment. It was quite a change being on the receiving end of a relationship/boundaries lecture so similar to ones he'd given in the past. "So, say something.” Kate gave him a sharp nudge in the ribs with her elbow. Wincing, but grinning at the same time, Michael replied, "I'll go along with the rules, Kate. You call the shots." "Okay, then. I’m the boss as to this matter.” They shared a smile of understanding and regret, then Kate buried her face in his neck and fought the urge to cry. When the time came for Michael to leave, she wasn't going to be half as tough or in control. Michael's lips were in her hair and his hands gently kneaded and caressed the soft flesh of her buttocks. He grew hard against her belly, and Kate pressed closer to the rigid, insistent prodding. Still grasping her buttocks, Michael pulled her upward until their mouths met, but only briefly. Kate rose to her knees and braced her hands against his shoulders. As Michael dealt with the condom, she lowered her head and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. He touched the throbbing pulse at her throat and let his hands move down across her breasts. Grasping her waist, he lifted, then gently eased her down upon his swollen erection, groaning as he penetrated the tight, slippery warmth of her. They rocked together in a slow, easy rhythm, Michael's hips thrusting upward while Kate received him with her own steady motions. Only when he felt her muscles tightening, her spasms

clutching and caressing him, did he allow the force of his own climax to engulf him. They came together, their cries of pleasure mingling. Michael felt the rapid beating of Kate's heart and her warm breath against his skin as she lay upon his chest. When she shivered, he reached down and covered them both with the duvet. Lifting her face to his, Kate was greeted by a tender smile and warm blue eyes. Michael kissed her, softly and gently. Their lips, hands and bodies communicated the words Kate would not permit spoken aloud.

*** Kate woke the next morning to the sounds of the shower running and Michael’s crazy, off-key singing. Smiling contentedly, she stretched, wincing at the tender reminder of last night's lovemaking. It was a satisfying ache, one she hadn't felt in God knows how long. And who knew how long the source of that pleasurable sensation would be around? Enjoy him while you can. Save the regrets for later. True to his word, Michael refused to let either of them venture beyond the property that day. He made numerous phone calls, both to Jim and to people he refused to identify. No matter. By hovering around the kitchen and eavesdropping on some of the conversations, Kate gathered Michael was using contacts, snitches--whomever he could--and putting in place a network of communication he hoped would lead him to his prey. When he took a break from the calls to make a sandwich and have a beer, she pestered him about it. Her curiosity was driving her mad. "Why didn't you use all these people in the first place? Why did Jim even suggest using me to help out?" Michael shrugged off her queries with vague, evasive answers that left her totally in the dark. The barrage of questions continued relentlessly until he finally succumbed. "We're calling in all our markers on this one, Kate,” he admitted reluctantly. "And running over budget with payoffs. I'm gonna be left owing favors to some pretty unsavory characters." Kate eyed him with wary respect. "You're dealing with criminals to catch a criminal? You've been talking on the phone with these people?" "They're not my buddies, Kate. They're a necessary evil in homicide investigations." "And because you won't use me any more, you'll be in their debt?” "You got it. By the time this is over, I'll have lost any bargaining power I had with these guys and be starting from scratch. Now do you understand why using you as a decoy was supposedly a good alternative to this sort of thing happening? An alternative I

wasn't particularly keen on, even before I knew you were pregnant. I would have preferred using snitches and contacts from day one." "I'm sorry to have put you in their debt,” Kate said in subdued voice. "It's not your fault, it's my choice, and it's worth it..." Kate shot him a ‘who are you kidding?’ look. "Michael, I'm the one who stupidly went after these guys. If it weren't for me, you could be concentrating all of your time on finding them." Michael smiled and pulled her into his arms, resting his chin on her curls. "Yeah, but you're now a key witness. Besides, I've begun to enjoy this bodyguard assignment.” "It's not the guarding you enjoy, it's the body, the fringe benefits." "Whatever.” He grinned and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Now that we're on the subject of the bad guys, I want to get in some more target practice with you today." "Why?” Kate groaned. "I'm not going anywhere, you're with me and the first time we tried was a disaster. I don't own a gun nor do I want to." Michael grimaced at the reminder of their unsuccessful attempt earlier in the week. Kate's frustration and reluctance to even hold the gun, coupled with his impatience, had added up to a horrendous encounter. The entire practice session had lasted ten minutes. Any longer and both their tempers would have blown sky high--not quite the ideal conditions when handling weapons. "We're doing this for precautionary measures, and I’ve got a loaner for you. It's a fiveshot .38 Smith & Wesson. A good size for you and easy to handle." "I don't want it,” she wailed, backing away with her hands behind her back. "Okay, let’s consider this scenario. Dominick manages to sneak his way in here, shoots me, and you're on your own. What are you gonna do?" Kate covered her ears. "I don't want to hear this." Michael pried her hands away. "And I don't want you without protection. Indulge me, Kate. I gave you a baseball game and pizza, you give me some peace of mind." Kate finally gave in. The alternative? Continue arguing with Michael. Their days together were numbered--best to keep the battles to a minimum. An added incentive was Michael’s not-so cheery scenario as to his being shot. If she had access to and could use a gun, she just might be able to save his life. Despite her reluctance, Kate did surprisingly well once she'd set her mind to it. She watched with a scowl on her face as Michael brought out the revolver and set up the

target, but listened carefully to his instructions. She wouldn't be firing live ammunition in the house, but Michael insisted she practice loading the gun until she had it down cold. By the time Kate had mastered the proper stance and handling of the gun, Michael was impressed although he had no idea if she'd actually hit her intended target when push came to shove. "Aim for the chest if he's coming at you, Kate.” Holding the distasteful weapon at arm's length, Kate carefully placed it on the dining room table. "I don't think I could." "It's kill or be killed, babe." "Babe?” "Sorry.” Michael reloaded the gun and placed it in the top drawer of the china cabinet. "What are you doing?” Kate exclaimed. "That thing's loaded." "Well, it wouldn't do you much good in a hurry if it wasn’t loaded. And it's yours for the duration. Just remember where it is in case you need it." Before Kate could muster any further objections to a loaded weapon resting alongside her sterling silver, the phone rang. Michael beat a welcome and hasty retreat to the kitchen.

Chapter Ten The phone call was from Carol, offering to bring over the long-awaited box of maternity clothes. Kate pressed an obliging Michael into service. Waiting for his return at the back door, she smiled at the sight of the big, manly homicide detective lugging the huge cardboard carton of women's clothing. Small wonder he found this assignment beneath his dignity Kate held the door open as Michael climbed the porch stairs. "My warrior returns bearing gifts." Michael grunted. "Where do you want me to put this thing?" "Continue right upstairs to my bedroom." Michael put on an exaggerated show of continued grunts and sighs as he climbed the stairs with the unwieldy box. Kate offered her able assistance by placing her hands on his shapely behind and shoving him onward and upward. “Kate, keep that up we’re both going to tumble right back down these stairs with this damned box on top of us. I can’t see one step ahead of me.” “Okay, I’ll just touch. No shoving.” “Fine, I can live with that.” Michael paused on the stairs. “Do you realize I haven’t had an accident around your place for days now? Why do you think that is?” “You’ve become accustomed to my place,” Kate sang out in her own off-key version of the My Fair Lady tune. “What the hell are you singing?” “Never mind. It’s a show tune. Probably not your kind of music.” “Maybe I’d recognize it if it weren’t for your singing voice.” “Just keep going.” Entering the room, Michael unceremoniously dumped the box on the floor and flung himself on the bed. "For my efforts, I think I deserve a fashion show." "Seriously?” Kate asked, digging into the box. "Seriously."

Kate began hauling out the clothes. "This is like having a birthday or like Christmas morning.” She held up a bathing suit for Michael's inspection. "Not like any Christmas I ever had.” Michael grimaced at the loud floral design and gaudy lace trim of the suit. "It looks like a designer tent for midgets." Kate frowned, then laughed at Michael's reaction to her frown. He had that wary look men get when they know they've said something wrong, but are not quite sure what or why. "Michael, it's fine for me to say I'll look like I'm wearing a tent, but you're supposed to be supportive and complimentary." "I'll do my best,” he said with a grin. "You know, I've seen pregnant women wearing bikinis. That would be preferable." "Well, Carol’s maternity clothes are a little outdated. Styles have changed. Bare, bulging bellies are in vogue now. But you won't be seeing me wearing one." "Because I won't be around, or because you'd never wear one?" Kate's enthusiasm took a dive. "Both." Michael cursed himself for bringing up the forbidden subject. "Forget I said that. Show me something else. Try something on." She perked up slightly. "Okay, close your eyes. I'm going to put on one of the dresses." Before closing his eyes, Michael flung her a pillow. "Stuff this in so I can get the full effect." Pulling off her sweats and an over-sized T-shirt of Michael’s, Kate grabbed the next dress in the pile. Stuffing the pillow down her underwear, she took a quick look in the mirror. A bit iffy--okay, maybe big time iffy--but on with the show. “You can look now. I'm ready." Michael opened his eyes. Kate stood before him in a shapeless orange monstrosity and a tentative smile. He felt the laughter building from deep inside, couldn't hold it in, and let loose with a loud guffaw. "All right, all right. Just tell me what's wrong with it,” Kate demanded. "You'll kill me,” he sputtered, still laughing. "Say it anyway."

"Two words. Orange pumpkin." Grabbing the pillow from under the dress, Kate flung first it and then herself on top of him. Michael caught her in his arms and they lay together, both hooting with laughter. Rolling over, he held her by the wrists, pinning her beneath him. "I've never done it with an orange pumpkin. I just might enjoy it. Kind of kinky." "You're not about to do it with an orange anything. Let me up." "Only if you'll continue the fashion show." Kate smiled at the twinkling blue eyes and roguish grin, loving his crazy, irreverent humor and uninhibited zest for life. "Hug me first." Michael willingly obliged.

*** They spent the rest of that Sunday simply enjoying one another's company, eating, reading and sharing stories of their pasts. Each made a concerted effort to avoid any reference to the future or the investigation. When Kate decided it was time for a little nap, Michael lay down beside her, wide awake and simply gazing at her sleeping form. He felt content and blessed to be able to do just that. During dinner--another joint effort--Michael mentioned that he had to testify in court Monday morning on another case. Mistaking Kate's look of dismay as one of fear, he assured her that another officer would be here in his absence. "Nothing to worry about, and I'll be back by noon." Kate recovered quickly. But it wasn't fear causing her dismay. She now begrudged having Michael gone for any length of time. They had so little time left together. "I'll be fine, Michael. It'll be nice to have someone else to talk to.” Continuing her show of bravado, she added, “After an entire day spent in this house, I'm already going stir crazy." "Good, then this will work out well. I think you'll like this officer. She's smart, funny and a great detective." Uh-oh--a woman. Kate bit her lip to keep from asking just how well Michael knew her. The new "babysitter" was probably one of his old flames.

***

The evening was spent watching television--two sitcoms for Michael and a PBS special for Kate. Both considered it a fair exchange. By ten o'clock, Kate's constant yawning prompted Michael to call it a day and begin the nightly routine of locking up. "Isn't this a bit early for you to be heading for bed?” Kate stifled yet another yawn. He replied without hesitation. "I'd rather be lying wide awake in bed with you, than be down here by myself." Their lovemaking that night was slow, unhurried and gentle. Michael was a lover just as capable of taking his time as he was indulging in a wild, frantic pace. Kate, used to one man, one routine, was grateful for the variety--not to mention the experience of making love with a man she cared for so deeply. Lying in the crook of his arm, once again content and satisfied, she murmured sleepily, "Do you know what sex is?" "I thought I did,” Michael replied. "I also thought you'd fallen asleep. What are you doing? Rating my performance?" "Your performance rates a ten, but I'm thinking of something else. Have you ever thought about what sex involves?" "Again, I thought I knew, but let's hear your theory." "Think about it, Michael. Sex is a complete abandonment of inhibitions--baring not only your body, but allowing yourself to be vulnerable, trusting the other person in such an intimate way. It's an incredible act of intimacy." "Agreed. What's your point here?" "My point is I could never do it with a complete stranger, have a one night stand. You're the closest I've come to doing something like that." "I don't consider this anything like a one night stand." "Well, you'd know better than I what a one night stand is like." "Ouch. Low blow." Kate propped herself on Michael's chest, resting her chin in her fists. "How can you do that with someone, a virtual stranger?" "You're digging your elbows into me.” Michael grimaced. Applying more pressure, Kate persisted. "Tell me. I'm curious and this is my chance to ask an expert."

"What makes you think I'm so experienced with one night stands?' Kate eyed him knowingly. "Okay, okay, I have the experience. Kate, a one night stand is simply for the sheer physical pleasure of it. That’s it, that’s all.” Kate frowned. "I couldn't do it." Michael traced her frown with his thumb. "I know you couldn't,” he said softly, and wondered if he'd ever feel the same about casual affairs after being with Kate.

*** Monday morning, Kate sat on the edge of the bed, clutching her knees and rocking back and forth, watching as Michael donned suit and tie for his session in court. He was cheerfully humming some unrecognizable, off-key tune while looking in the mirror and knotting his tie. His good spirits and enthusiasm were blatantly obvious. Admiring the fit of his freshly laundered white shirt, the way his pants hung on narrow hips, and his clean-shaven face, Kate observed glumly, "You look as sexy in a suit and tie as you do naked." "Thank you, Ma'am.” He glanced at her through the mirror. "But you sound a little pissed off.” Kate just shrugged, lowered her head and faked a sudden interest in the pink chipped nail polish on her toenails. Yes, it was childish, but she resented his cheerful preparations and eagerness to be gone. It was like a sneak preview of the final leavingtaking--a show of regret, but he'd be quite ready to move on. Michael strolled over to the bed as he fitted the shoulder holster over his arm. "What's wrong?" Kate was not prepared for total honesty. The partial truth would have to suffice. "I guess it's jealousy. I'm stuck here while you get to go out in the real world." Michael felt a twinge of guilt. It was a little insensitive of him to appear so eager. "I'm just testifying in court, Kate. No big deal." "Don't patronize me, Michael. I'm not blind. I can see how anxious you are to get out of here." Taken aback by the bitterness in Kate's voice, Michael frowned. It brought back faint, unpleasant memories of his ex-wife, and the sort of pressure and resentment he couldn't cope with then, and didn't want to deal with now.

"So what if I am looking forward to getting out?” A hint of resentment crept into his voice. "There's nothing wrong with the fact I enjoy other aspects of my job." Kate finally looked at him, her expression and tone void of any emotion. "You're right. I just wish I could go back to mine, get my life back to normal and have this whole thing over with." "You including me in that statement?" Kate shrugged again. "Our relationship ends when the investigation does." "I told you before, it doesn't have to." Kate stood up. An escape to the refuge of the bathroom seemed a wise move at this point. Who was Michael kidding? They'd been over this issue countless times. "Once again, Michael, I repeat, continuing a relationship on your terms is not something I am prepared to do." Fists clenched at his sides, Michael stood motionless and watched her head for the door. "Your choice, Kate." She paused. "That's fine. We can blame me for the lousy ending."

*** A chastened Michael waited at the bottom of the stairs when Kate finally came down. Before she could utter a word, he took her in his arms. "Kate, I don't want to leave with you feeling this way. Sure, I'm looking forward to getting out, but I'm also looking forward to coming back here to you. You know that, don't you?" Part of her knew it, but that childish, clinging part of her still harbored resentment. Be mature about this Kate, let the man go with your blessing. Consider it a rehearsal for the "big" farewell. "I do know that and I'll be fine. Enjoy yourself." The relief on Michael's face was so apparent, she had to smile. The male species’ ability and willingness to take a female's words at face value were truly mind-boggling. Taking her by the hand, Michael headed for the kitchen. "Detective Hunter's here. I made some coffee for us and she's waiting to meet you." Kate was immediately aware of two things as Michael made the introductions. One, he'd dropped her hand the minute they entered the kitchen; and two, Detective Sharon Hunter was gorgeous. She was tall, blue-eyed and blond. She also possessed a bust

that drew men's attention and women's envy. Kate snuck a peek at her left hand--no wedding ring. Michael, oblivious to the fact the two women were carefully scrutinizing one another, left with a friendly pat to Kate's shoulder. No good-bye kiss or hug. Bad sign. Left alone, Kate and Detective Hunter made polite chit chat, and continued to eye each other with suspicion. The fact that the Detective was just as interested in her fuelled Kate's suspicions. Michael had probably slept with her. Had she been a one night stand or one of his casual relationships? Detective Hunter obviously wasn't quite sure of Kate's status in Michael's life and her curiosity got the better of her. She succumbed first. Politely, but with a hint of insinuation in her voice, she inquired, "Are you enjoying having Michael as a house guest? He can be a quite the charmer when he wants to be." Kate managed a tight, tense smile and stood up. She didn't need this. She had no intention of comparing Michael's performance in bed or out with a perfect stranger if that's what Detective Hunter had in mind. "It's been a pleasure having Michael stay. He is a charmer.” Let her stew about that. Make of it what she will. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I've got some work to do. I'll be in my office in the front room if you need me. Make yourself at home." End of discussion, end of confrontation with Michael's past. If nothing else, Detective Hunter's presence was a timely reminder of the sort of man Michael was. And if he could have someone like her, why in the world would he ever want to stay with me? Sitting at the computer and looking over the notes she’d made so far for the Pulitzer Prize winning article (yeah, right), Kate sighed. She wasn’t experiencing writer’s block. This was a simple case of lousy writing. All she had was a list of facts--went here, went there, experienced terror, blah, blah blah. There was no cohesive theme or point to the article. The real story--the one that meant anything to her--was the story of Michael and her. And that was a story where the ending was a foregone conclusion.

*** Driving to the courthouse, Michael's mood was one of relief that he'd left Kate in better spirits. She and Detective Hunter would probably hit it off, and it was nice for Kate to have a chance to talk to someone other than himself. But by the time he was sitting in court, waiting to testify, his mood took a turn for the worse as he reflected on what had set her off in the first place. If she was pissed off at him leaving for a simple courtroom appearance, imagine what she'd be like living with on a full time basis when he took off at all hours of the day or night? She wouldn't even have to say a word, although he couldn't imagine Kate not saying what was on her mind. One look at those big, expressive green eyes would say it all. He'd smother under

the pressure and demands--verbal or unspoken. This was precisely the entanglement he'd wanted to avoid. It was insane to even consider the possibility of any sort of future relationship. Kate was right. His lifestyle and hers just wouldn't mesh. He’d dated single mothers before, but Kate obviously wasn't into that. Those other mothers had simply wanted a night out, a good time. Kate wanted the while shebang--husband, father, lifetime commitment. And wasn't she the one constantly referring to the ‘end’? She seemed quite prepared to have him gone, eager to have her life back to normal. Fine, he was ready to go. And maybe it was better for both of them to back off now, in fact, starting today. Ease into it, so that when the investigation ended, the break would be relatively painless. Done. Decision made. With plenty of experience in ending relationships, he could handle this one too. And yet, somehow, ending this relationship wouldn't be quite the same. It was hard to imagine never seeing Kate again, although that's how she wanted it. And the baby. He'd never see that little baby. He'd been wrong in telling Kate it was her choice. It was his choice too, and this time one involving sacrifice on his part.

*** The sound of Michael's laughter coming from the back yard announced his arrival home. Kate, slicing tomatoes at the kitchen counter, looked out the window and smiled as she watched him share a joke with Jack. Michael's suit jacket was off and flung over his shoulder, his tie loosened, and the neatly combed hair of this morning was in its usual tousled disarray. He looked relaxed, happy--and gorgeous. Kate's private moment of appreciation was interrupted by Detective Hunter who joined her at the window. "He looks good, doesn't he?” Sharon said. Kate caught the wistful tone in her voice and felt a moment's pity. If Detective Hunter had been a part of Michael's past, it was apparently over and with some regret on Sharon's part. Kate was in no position to gloat. She'd soon be playing the same role. "He always looks good,” Kate replied. Sharon turned to look at Kate, having caught the wistful tone in her voice. The two women shared a smile of understanding, a moment of empathy. Michael entered the kitchen, greeting both women with a broad smile and a cheery hello. Leaning on the counter beside Kate, he eyed the lunch preparations. "Glad I made it home for lunch. I'm starved. How did you two lovely ladies spend the morning?" "A good part of it was spent discussing you,” Sharon fibbed. Poised to pick up a slice of tomato, Michael's hand stopped in mid-air. "Really?"

"No, not really,” Sharon admitted, and both she and Kate laughed at the obvious relief on Michael's face. "I don't know why that would have bothered you, Michael,” Kate said innocently. "I'd have only good to say of you, and I'm sure Sharon feels the same way." Michael looked at Kate, eyes narrowing. "I'm sure." Sharon refused the invitation to stay for lunch, and left with a punch on the shoulder for Michael and a wink for Kate. The wink was blatant, intended for Michael's eyes as well. "What was that all about?” he asked suspiciously when Sharon was gone. "Really want to know?" He sighed. "Yeah, I do." "We really didn't discuss you, Michael. That part is true. But the point is, we didn't have to. We both figured out you've been involved with each of us." "How? Is there some kind of silent communication among the women in my life?" "Sort of like that." "I don't buy it.” Indignant, and somewhat embarrassed, Michael headed for the door. "I'm going to change." "If I were you,” Kate called after him, “In the future, I'd make a concerted effort to keep your women apart or someday you'll find you have a rabid fan club of ex-lovers after you." "Not funny,” he shouted back. "Wasn't meant to be."

*** Michael was rather subdued during lunch. The thought of Kate and Sharon comparing notes, whether they actually had or not, put him right off. It also reminded him of the talk he planned to have with Kate. Now she'd think she was simply being relegated to his illustrious harem of past lovers. On the plus side, maybe that would make it easier. He'd play the bad guy in this scenario and Kate could blame it all on him. Kate's attempts to engage Michael in conversation were met with short, brief answers. Figuring he was still upset about her reference to a "rabid fan club," she apologized.

"I didn't mean to make fun of you, Michael. Sharon and I got along, and truly, we didn't discuss you at all.” Pause. That wasn’t quite true. “Well, we did agree that you were charming.” “Yeah, I’m sure it was all in good-hearted fun--at my expense.” Obviously, the apology and effort at injecting some humor had failed to jolly him out his bad mood. Even questioning him about his morning in court brought forth only a halfhearted response. Michael was keeping his distance--again. And Kate suspected it wasn't simply because of her earlier remarks. Something else was on his mind. Giving up the effort to continue the one-sided conversation, Kate waited with a sinking heart. There were only two topics of discussion that could make Michael this sober and serious--the investigation or their relationship. Since he would have shared any news as to the investigation, it had to be the latter. He finally shoved back his chair and announced, "I'll do the dishes, you go and relax in the living room. I'll join you in a minute." Kate waited for Michael on the couch--didn't bother picking up her knitting, a magazine or a book. She simply sat with her hands in her lap, dreading what was to come. Escape, had she wanted it, was impossible. She didn't even have the option of walking out the door and ending things that way. Michael finally joined her and sat on the rocking chair. Apparently he wasn't even prepared to sit beside her for whatever was coming. His nervousness and the clearing of his throat before he spoke were further bad omens. "Kate, I think we should talk. Clear the air about our relationship once and for all instead of having these frustrating and tearful confrontations." My tears, his frustration. Kate merely nodded, indicating that he continue. Clearing his throat again, Michael went on. "Sitting in court this morning, waiting to testify, I thought about what you'd said this morning. And I think we're kidding ourselves in believing we can handle this sort of short term relationship. I'll admit I'm used to doing things this way, but you're not. I don't want to hurt you, Kate. And I know I've done that already. I just don't want to make it any worse for you." How could anything get any worse than this? Kate wondered. She’d once thought the pain she’d endured listening to Jeffrey’s words when he learned of her pregnancy was more than she could bear. But she had borne that pain. This was the unbearable pain. These words were causing an anguish she had never known. And, dear God, Michael’s words sounded rehearsed. Perhaps they were. Any spontaneity would undoubtedly ruin this well thought out speech, his control. Kate didn't trust her voice, simply nodded again. Let him continue. Let this be over.

“Kate?” Michael had never seen her so still, so subdued. Her head was bowed. My God, he was breaking the spirit of the woman he loved and breaking his own heart in the process. But it had to be done and done now, before he caused her any more pain. Determined to finish what he’d started, he continued, his voice revealing his own obvious regret and sorrow. “Perhaps we should end the personal part of the relationship now, before we let it go any further. I'm already involved more than I should be, or ever meant to be. I've let my feelings for you interfere with my job. I'm not what you need, or want, Kate--or what you deserve. I'm lousy husband material and I'd probably make a lousy father. If I'm capable of commitment at all, it's to my job. You're not the kind of woman to be content with that." The pain caused by Michael’s words was now physical, and if he hadn't been watching her so intently, Kate would have doubled over with it. Instead, she wrapped her arms tightly around her chest, trying to contain the anguish and the urge to cry. In a small voice she said, "So, we end it now? We don't wait 'til later?" Michael saw the tears well up in Kate's eyes and her determined effort to hold them back. If he got up now and took her in his arms, everything he'd just said would have been for nothing. It would only have to be said at another time and he couldn't do this to her, to himself, again. "Don't you think we should?" Kate summoned a strength she hadn’t known she possessed. Her voice was no longer small nor fragile. "You're right, Michael, we should end it now. We have two very different approaches to life. There really is no future for us together.” She managed a smile, albeit a tight, rueful one. In truth, she couldn’t even envision a future without him. "I don’t know what I was thinking to let things get even this far. Here I am, carrying another man's child. I should have known better than to get involved in any kind of relationship with anyone. Pregnancy is quite an extra burden to add to the mix, isn't it?" "Kate, the fact that the baby is someone else's has nothing to do with this,” Michael protested. "I'm just not ready for any of it. I couldn't handle all of this, and my job." "I'm sure you couldn't. Nor can I imagine handling you, your job and my other responsibilities.” Kate stood up and, finally, looked directly into the face of the man she loved and could not have. Her gaze was pensive, her tone wistful. "I wasn't very good at this kind of relationship, was I? I tried though, Michael, I really did." Watching Kate head toward the stairs, walking away from him--from them--and realizing she'd accepted his decision as final, Michael felt his resolve give way. He couldn't believe it was over. "Kate?" She didn't stop, just turned her head slightly. "There's nothing else to talk about, Michael." Panicked, Michael caught up with her, grabbing her arm as she took the first step up the stairs.

Kate jerked her arm from his grasp. "Don't touch me, Michael. There's nothing more to say. We both knew what we were doing when we started this and nothing's changed." "But I think--" "Don't tell me what you think,” Kate cried, her face contorted with grief and anger. "Just let me deal with this on my own. I don't need you in my life. I don't need anybody." "This isn't about need." "No? What's it about for you? Want? To have what you want, when you want it without any thought to the future or to anyone else? I don't live that way. It is about need for me. I need to know who I can rely on, who I can count on, and it always ends up being the same person. Me." "It doesn't have to be that way. You don't have to be alone--" "Thank you for the expert advice, but coming from a committed loner like you, it doesn't offer much in the way of comfort. And just how would I not be alone? What would you do, Michael? Drop in when the spirit moved you, enjoy a good meal, some sex and play ‘Daddy’ for an evening and then take off? Not a chance in hell, buddy." Michael took a sudden step back as though he'd been dealt a physical blow. The blood rushed to his face. Kate saw his pain, his confusion, and felt a sudden, piercing ache in her chest. End it, Kate, end it now. He did his part, you do yours. "Get someone else to stay with me for the duration, Michael. We can't live together like this." "That's what you want?” "That’s what I want. That’s the way it has to be." Michael nodded, his own eyes filling with tears. With both his jaw and fists clenched, he turned and walked away. He let her go.

*** Kate was in the blessed sanctuary/hideout of her bedroom when the phone rang twenty minutes later. Glancing at the unfamiliar number displayed, she refused to pick up. Not only did she not trust her voice, she had momentarily lost all interest in the investigation. Let Michael deal with it. Her official period of mourning had begun. Although still suffused with anger and rage, grief was just below the surface. It was only matter of time until the damned tears began again. She felt hollow, drained and, dear God, so very tired and alone.

Moments later Michael was pounding up the stairs, calling her name. Dragging herself from the bed, Kate yanked upon the door with all the anger she could muster, ready for another set-to. The anger quickly converted to astonishment as she noted the complete and utter change in Michael’s demeanor. Any indication of what they'd just been through had vanished, replaced by a wild excitement that radiated from his eyes, gestures and voice. "They found him, Kate!" he shouted, grabbing her hands. "This is it, it's over. We've got him!" "Where and how?” Kate felt her own excitement rising to match his. She was dizzy with the sudden and unexpected relief at the possibility that the nightmare could be over, that she could once again be safe. "A tip from one of our sources. Dominick was sighted earlier this morning and he’s been tailed ever since. He’s been ducking in and out of the usual mob hangouts and finally entered some derelict apartment building. Cops figure that's where he's been hiding out.” Michael's voice was racing--he could hardly contain his excitement. As he paced about the room, his eyes shone and his hands were in constant motion. Probably itching to be holding a gun. He was alive in a way Kate had never seen before. This was all about the "job," his devotion and commitment to it. "Cops are surrounding the place right now. There's no way he can escape." "You should be there, Michael." He turned and looked at her with surprise. "I can't. My place is here with you." "Why? I'm not in any danger now that he's been found." Michael’s pacing came to a sudden stop as he contemplated her words. With a sinking heart, Kate observed the conflicting emotions on his face--an eagerness to be gone, to be there at the time of arrest, and a hesitancy to leave her on her own. He was torn. Michael shook his head. "I should stay. Just because we've got him doesn't mean he still doesn't have plans for you." Kate sighed. Loving him, she had no desire in the world to let him go, to have Michael put himself in any possible danger. But in loving him, she also wanted him to have what he so obviously wanted--the opportunity to be in on the final scene in this investigation. "Michael, go. There will still be officers watching my place, the work crew is here looking out for me, and if it will make you feel any better, I'll get the gun out of the drawer and keep it with me."

He studied her face as he debated whether to go. Finally, with a wide smile, but still, with some hesitancy in his voice, he spoke. "You're sure? You won't be scared? I'll stay if you're nervous." "Go. I’m not scared, I’m not nervous. I’m not in any danger now. You be careful." Michael grabbed her in a crushing hug, lifting her off her feet. "Thanks, Kate. You’re a trooper. I promise to phone the minute anything happens." "You'd better keep that promise, partner."

*** Kate sat in the rocker in the living room and watched while Michael double-checked his revolver for ammunition and strapped yet another loaded gun to his leg. She was playing the role of calm, not-the-slightest-bit-terrified supporting woman. It was killing her. Her fear was for Michael. Pulling his pant leg down over the strap, Michael glanced up. "I want to see you with that gun in your hand." Kate reluctantly got up and headed for the china cabinet. She'd hoped he'd forgotten about that part of the conversation. The thought of carrying a gun around for the rest of the afternoon was not at all appealing. "Hey, since I have a gun, I don't suppose you'd consider taking me with you?” she asked, holding the dreaded object in the palm of her hand. Michael looked at her in horror. "You've got to be kidding. There's not a chance in hell I'd take you." "Didn’t think so. Just thought I'd ask." "You're a never-ending source of amazement, Kate." She shrugged and followed him as he headed for the front door. "Why are you going this way? Your car's out back." "I'm taking yours,” he explained, shrugging into his jacket. "Don't you trust me? Think I'm planning to go somewhere on my own?" Michael grinned. "I don't trust you for a minute, but that's not why. This morning I noticed the brakes on mine aren't working properly. I need your car." Kate nodded and resisted the urge to straighten his jacket collar, to touch him in any way. He was leaving not only the house, but her life. Perhaps in his excitement, he didn't realize that when he returned, it would only be to leave for good.

"So, Michael, at the risk of sounding like a nag, I repeat, be careful.” Kate managed an encouraging smile. "I will,” he promised. "You be careful, too. I'll be back soon, and I'll call and let you know what's happening." "Right." Just as he reached for the door knob, Kate experienced a moment of panic and doubt. "Michael, how do you know for sure that it's him in that building? I mean, 100 percent sure?" He turned, looking concerned. "You are nervous, aren't you? I should stay." "No, I'm not nervous,” Kate protested. "I'm just wondering how you can be so certain." "Kate, I'd trust the cops who gave me this information with my life. Our informant has always been reliable in the past. But if you're the least bit apprehensive about this--" "I'm fine,” Kate insisted, shoving him toward the door. "Go, get out of here." "You're sure?" "Yes, now go. You're going to miss everything if you stick around here a minute longer." Placing his hands at either side of Kate's face, Michael touched his lips to her forehead. "I'm going to be missing something no matter what I do."

*** Fifteen minutes after Michael’s departure, the heavens opened. April showers. Kate sat at the kitchen table, supposedly going over notes for her article, but actually studying the gun she'd placed there, wondering if she'd ever be capable of firing it. A knock at the kitchen door had her jumping out of the chair and grabbing for the revolver. Well, maybe she'd never fire it, but obviously she had no hesitation using it as a deterrent. "Ms. Sullivan?” Jack was peering through the window. "Come on in." He stood just inside the door, absolutely drenched from the sudden downpour. Kate politely ignored the puddles forming on the kitchen floor. "Can't do any more work in this rain,” he explained, cautiously eyeing the gun in Kate's hand. "But I thought maybe you'd like some of us to hang around anyway. Michael explained that you'd be alone for awhile."

"Thanks for offering, Jack.” Kate carefully placed the gun back on the table. "As you can see, I have my own protection and the unmarked car is still watching the house. There's really no danger any more. Did Michael explain about that?" "He mentioned the fact they've found the guy, but I still don't think we should leave you alone. He was pretty insistent about keeping an eye on you." "I'm not nervous alone and there's really no reason for you to stay. Take the rest of the day off. Enjoy." When Jack finally left after a few more rounds of, “I think I should stay,” “No, please go,” Kate breathed a sigh of relief. As much as she liked the crew, she didn't want to spend the afternoon with them. And really, she wasn't nervous. Edgy maybe, worried about Michael and distraught about the end of their time together but she’d just spent the past week immersed in emotional turmoil. It was becoming a familiar state of being. Besides, Michael wouldn't have left her if there was any chance of danger. Kate gathered her notes and the gun from the kitchen table and dumped the material on her desk in the office. The article could wait. Sorting through the laundry, which Michael had so obligingly done yesterday, had priority right now. When he returned, he'd be packing his clothes to leave. Keep busy, keep yourself distracted. Do not think of bullets flying and bodies down. Heaving the laundry basket onto her bed, Kate separated the clean clothes into two piles. His and hers. And do not get all teary over a bunch of male sweat socks, jockey shorts and T-shirts. Lifting Michael's baseball jersey from the pile, Kate smiled as she thought of Saturday's game, then froze at the sound of a thud from outside the bedroom window. That old adrenaline surge kicked in again. So maybe she was still a little nervous. It was probably the crew still packing up to leave, but just to be certain Kate picked up the gun from the bedside table and cautiously snuck a peak out the window. The pouring rain had rendered visibility almost nil, but she was able to see the outline of a figure dressed in white overalls. It was one of the crew, but what was he doing bending down by the back porch? The roofing material was to be stored in the garage, not in one of Furball's favorite hide-outs. Still clutching the gun, Kate headed downstairs. The guy wasn't going to be too thrilled with her request, but he was going to have move whatever it was he'd put under there. Furball and roof tar did not make for a great combination. Kate opened the back door just a crack and called out, "I know it's raining, and you're in a hurry to leave, but you're going to have to move the stuff you put under the porch into the garage." The workman, on his knees with his arms reaching under the porch, jerked his head up, startled by Kate's sudden presence and voice. She smiled. "Sorry to scare you."

He gave her a tentative smile as he stood and took a step up the porch. Kate was relieved to see that he did look familiar. She wasn't so naive as to have assumed he was legit. That's why she'd brought the gun. And as he continued climbing the stairs, her fingers tightened on the revolver. He still hadn't said a word, and his smile was making her uneasy. Why was he climbing the stairs anyway? "Ms. Sullivan?" The accent, the eyes. In that split second of recognition, Kate instinctively shoved the door with her shoulder and cocked the trigger of the gun. A heavy workman's boot wedged its way between the door and the frame, and with little effort, he shoved his way inside. Kate took a step back, and with two hands on the gun, assumed the stance Michael had taught her. Dominick froze. "Surprised?” Kate made a determined effort to keep her voice from quivering with fear. Act brave and just maybe you will become brave. And what was that old saying? Acts of bravery are accomplished in spite of one’s fear. He shrugged. "Wasn't expecting you here, or the gun." "Good.” They eyed each other warily. Now what? Kate's arms began trembling with the effort to keep the gun aimed at Dominick. Shoot to wound and render him useless, or hope like hell someone comes? Like Michael? How long before the experts realize they've surrounded the wrong guy? Michael had neglected to leave instructions regarding a confrontation with an unarmed man. Or was he unarmed? Kate desperately tried to figure out her next move--thought of all the cop movies she'd ever seen. "Put your arms up, slowly.” It sounded corny, but would prevent him from going for his own gun if he had one. And, God, what would she do if he did? Thankfully, he obeyed. But why was he still smiling?

*** Michael, on his way to the stake-out, cursed the lousy driving conditions and visibility due to the pouring rain. The whole thing would probably be over by the time he arrived. He should have stayed with Kate anyway. Despite her assurances otherwise, he knew she was still nervous. And who wouldn't be? Until Dominick was behind bars, no one should relax. What was it she'd asked just as he was leaving? How did they know for sure it was Dominick in the building? No wonder she'd asked. Kate wasn't used to trusting or relying

on informants. He'd received the information from Jim, who'd got it from one of the cops they both knew and trusted at the 10th Precinct. His source had been one of the undercover cops working the streets and questioning the usual snitches. The snitch was one they'd used countless times, always with success. They would owe him--next time he got hauled in on some misdemeanor or drug bust, he'd be back on the streets within hours. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to check with the source himself, the undercover cop. He’d still be keeping tabs on the snitch 'til Dominick had been hauled in. Thank God Kate’s temporary and hideously ugly car had been outfitted with a police radio and scanner. Michael patched through to the Headquarters at the 10th, and spoke with Charlie Ford, the officer who'd relayed the information to Jim. After the usual chitchat and congratulations about having the case just about under wraps, Michael got straight to the point. "Where are the undercover cop and the snitch right now?" Pause on the other end. "Well, the undercover cop's gone to the stake-out. I guess the snitch is wherever he usually hangs out." Michael's heart began racing. "The snitch is supposed to be under surveillance until Dominick's brought in. That's the procedure. If he's fed us false information, he's in big trouble." "The snitch is reliable, Michael.” Charlie was on the defensive. "He told us where to find him, we did and we tailed him to the building." "Yeah, and how close a look did anyone get of the guy they tailed?” Michael felt the panic rising and tried to hold it in check. He made no such effort to control his fury. "We're relying on the word of some criminal snitch, and you let the jerk go? He's home free and laughing if this is all a ruse. And just who do you think would be paying him off to lead us on a wild goose trace?" "I'll check on it." "You do that. I'll be checking it out, too. If this isn't legit, someone's going to pay for the foul up." Michael immediately put through a call to Jim, who was already at the scene. If the tip was false, the "someone" who would pay would be Kate. He'd dismissed her question as simply lingering fear and doubt, assuring her that he'd trust his life with the officers who'd given him the information. That was a fine sentiment on his part, but where the hell did he get off trusting her life to them? She was his responsibility, not theirs. And nothing was certain or done according to the books from what he'd discovered so far.

A short conversation with Jim confirmed his suspicions--after an hour of staking out the apartment building, officers had finally gone in and were now searching the place room by room. So far, empty. "Son of a bitch,” Michael swore softly, banging his fist against the steering wheel. "Jim, I left Kate alone and I'm heading back there now. Meet me there. Bring some back-up." With a quick glance in the rear view mirror, Michael made a U-turn, the tires squealing and the car fishtailing on the slippery road. Straightening the car, he took off, ignoring speed limits, lights and stop signs wherever possible. With no flashing lights and no siren to indicate he was an officer in pursuit, Michael prayed some traffic cop wouldn't try and pull him over. He’d have ignored the attempt anyway. If he was right, and the whole thing had been a set-up, Kate was in extreme danger. If he was wrong, and arrived to find her safe and sound, no regrets. Finding her alive was all that mattered. Anger kept Michael's panic and terror just below the surface--let them erupt and he'd lose what little control he still possessed. The force of his fury was directed squarely at himself. Not only had he left her alone, but he'd made that righteous, self-serving speech about going their separate ways. In that cocky, self-assured manner Kate accused him of, he'd probably figured that somewhere down the road--when he was damn good and ready--Kate would be there for him, welcoming him with open arms. And now, due to his own incompetence, there was the distinct possibility that not only would she not be there for him in the future, she could be gone from his life at this very moment. So determined had he been to put his job first, he may have lost something of far greater value--the woman he loved.

Chapter Eleven Dominick’s leering, smug smile remained in place as Kate cautiously moved toward the phone and lifted the receiver. The line was dead. Mystery of the smile solved. He’d destroyed any chance to communicate for help. "Your friends have deserted you," he said with a sneer. "I thought you might have gone with them when I saw your car gone, but I did take the precaution of cutting the phone line." "You set them up.” Kate's heart sank as she considered what other back-up he might have "taken care of.” Were those cops still out front? "Plan worked, didn't it?" "Not quite. I'm the one pointing the gun at you." Yet another shrug from Dominick. These damn shrugs were not only irritating but unnerving. Why wasn't the guy nervous with a gun pointed at him? "The way I see it,” she said, struggling to remain calm, "I've captured you. And we either wait right here for the police or head out front and let the officers parked on the street get a look at you.” Dear God, let them still be there. "I have no intention of going along with either plan. I'm getting out of here the way I came in--the back way." "And just what makes you think I'd let you do that?” Something was wrong. He was too assured and too cool despite the fact she held the gun. Glancing at the gun, he began edging toward the door. "You won't shoot." "I will if you take another step.” The trembling in her hands, still fiercely gripping the gun, now made its way throughout her entire body. Please do not keep moving, I can't let you leave. Please don't make me shoot. Ignoring her threat, Dominick reached for the door knob. Enough. I have had enough. Kate took aim and squeezed the trigger. The force of the shot had her reeling, the sound was horrendous but--success. The bullet grazed his shoulder. Blood immediately began seeping through his shirt. They stared at one another in shocked silence.

"Do I scare you now?” Kate whispered, trying to avoid looking at the blood. Her stomach began to heave at the sight of the red liquid spreading down his shirt. Clutching his shoulder, he eyed Kate with wary respect and nodded. "Good. I'll do it again if I have to." And I will. What I might never have been able to do for myself, I will do for my baby. "Lady, keeping us here in the kitchen will kill us both." "What do you mean?" "I planted a bomb under your porch." "You're bluffing. You just want me take you outside and then you'll make a run for it." Kate would far sooner remain waiting in the kitchen than steer him out the front door. She didn't trust her legs, her stamina, or him. Once they started walking to the door he'd pull some trick, grab some weapon from his pocket or make a grab for her. She preferred standing face to face with the gun aimed at his chest, for however long it took for Michael to return. "I'm not bluffing. The bomb's planted. I’d planned to go back to my car and fix the timer." He saw Kate hesitate, saw her look of doubt and suspicion. "Hate my guts, shoot me if I make a move, but trust me on this. We both die if I don't get to the timer." "What time is it set for?” Maybe it wasn't a bluff. Beads of sweat were trickling down his face. Finally, Dominick looked terrified. "That's the problem, lady. I don't know where it's set. I never put it back to zero. I figured I had plenty of time to get back to the car." "You idiot!" Kate screamed in fear and frustration. "You can't even set a bomb competently, let alone steal a car! It could have gone off while you were planting it, it could go off right now!" Dominick shot her a look of pure hatred. Twice he'd been thwarted by this woman. The desire to be rid of her went beyond necessity--was now motivated by loathing and injured pride. Kate could have wept. The option of waiting for rescue had been eliminated. She had no choice but to head for the front door and pray he wouldn't try anything. "We're going out the front, and we're moving slowly,” she ordered. Surprisingly, her voice sounded calm despite the fact she was a total wreck. “If the bomb goes off while

we're doing it, then we both die. But you make one suspicious move and I'll shoot again. Either way, you'll be dead." Despite his nod of agreement, Kate didn't trust him one iota. He'd kill her the second he had the chance. She just had to make sure he never got that chance. "Put your arms over your head, and start walking slowly toward that door. I'll be right behind you." Dominick hesitated. He was still clutching his wounded shoulder. "I don't care if you bleed all over the floor. Put both arms up,” Kate insisted, gesturing with the gun. It was amazing how terror and rage enabled you to be cruel, how your own survival eliminated any sense of compassion for a fellow human being. Michael must have experienced this cold, heartless fury countless times in his job. It gave you a sense of power, and the ability to do whatever it took to stay alive. Heading for the front door, Kate experienced only one brief moment of panic. Dominick stumbled on the scatter rug in the hallway and as he reached out to stop his fall, one of his hands went toward a pocket in the overalls. Unable to bring herself to shoot a man in the back, Kate fired the gun in the air as a warning. Michael hadn't gone into the physical possibility of a bullet ricocheting, and after a few tense seconds she figured it wasn't about to return from wherever the hell it went to strike either one of them. The gunshot had the desired effect on Dominick. After glancing back with a look of terror and amazement, he continued on with his arms over his head. Never relaxing her concentration and aim, Kate followed. The tension was horrendous. Keeping a careful eye on his every move, and at the same time wondering if the bomb was about to go off. One more hurdle to go--unlocking the front door. Perhaps by now Dominick took her threat seriously, but the man was desperate and once outside, his only choice was to make a run for it and possibly be spotted by the police parked on the street. If he was going to make a move, he’d do it before they got out the front door. To Kate's immense relief, Dominick stood motionless off to one side as she kept the gun aimed at him as best she could while struggling with the deadbolt. "Out the door,” Kate ordered, her relief quickly evaporating when she caught a glimpse of his eyes. As well as panic and fear, there was an eagerness to them that caused her heart to pound even more furiously. This would be the moment when he'd try something, and she'd better be prepared. "Move.” Her voice now sounded squeaky and hoarse, and she knew he sensed her terror by the leering smile he gave her as he took a step outside. Peering through the open door, Kate quickly scanned the street for the unmarked car, and groaned when she saw it parked two houses down, facing the opposite direction. The idiots were watching for an approach from the main roads and ignoring the possibility of a rear entry, such as the one Dominick had made. Would they even hear

her scream through the closed car windows, through the pouring rain? Once--and if— Dominick and she successfully made it down the porch steps, she'd have to give it her best shot. An ill-timed scream got her into this mess, a better-timed and even louder one might get her out of it. Or better yet, maybe she should just slam the front door shut and let Dominick take off on his own because she was facing yet another dilemma. Her feet refused to budge. It seemed she was incapable of taking the next step--literally. Michael, haven't you figured it all out yet? Please come back and help me. I need you. I don't want to, I can’t do this on my own any more.

*** Not wanting to alert anyone to his presence, Michael parked a few blocks from the house. If Kate was being held at gunpoint he needed every advantage, including the element of surprise. With a sinking heart, he admitted how unlikely that scenario was. What reason would they have to hold her at gunpoint? They wanted her dead. So far, everything pointed to a set-up. He'd tried phoning the house, and all he got was a busy signal. Kate was either on the phone or the line had been disconnected. And he suspected the latter--she wouldn't tie up the line when he'd promised he'd call. His attempts to make radio contact with the officers in the unmarked car brought only static. Someone with the necessary knowledge and expertise had interfered with the police frequency signal in this area. As Michael's feet pounded the pavement, his chest was heaving and his breath came in ragged gasps. As a police officer, he was calculating and anticipating his method of approach, and every possible outcome. As a man in love, he was fighting back wrenching sobs that threatened to burst forth as he thought of that one particular dreaded outcome. Be there, Kate, be alive. I'll never leave you again, just don't have left me now. The officers in the unmarked car had spotted him and--thankfully--recognized him. With guns drawn, they fell into a steady pace behind him. Rounding the last curve in the sidewalk, the three officers stopped cold at the pathway leading to Kate's porch. Michael felt his heart constrict with gut-wrenching terror. Dominick Palone stood on the front porch. Where was Kate? Dominick, startled by the unexpected trio now approaching with guns drawn, stared at Michael with unmitigated loathing, fury and frustration. Michael returned the look, and aiming his gun directly at Dominick's chest, demanded in a low, threatening voice, "Where is she? I'll save us all the trouble of a lengthy trial and kill you right now if you've done anything to her." The other officers momentarily shifted their eyes away from Dominick and eyed Michael with surprise and concern. His expression was intense and deadly serious. Without a

word of protest as to his definitely not by the regulations threat, they returned their gaze to Dominick. The guy was Michael's collar and obviously there was more to this confrontation than a simple arrest. If push came to shove, they'd cover for him. Before Dominick could utter a reply, Kate stepped through the door and onto the porch. She wore a look of utter terror on her face, but the gun in her hand was aimed steadily and precisely at Dominick's back. Hearing Michael’s voice through the pouring rain had enabled her to move. Spotting his figure on the pathway, she somehow managed to put aside her first instinct to drop the gun and run to him. Instead, she continued aiming the gun at Dominick and cried out, "Michael, there's a bomb under the back porch! I don't know when it's set to go off. The timer's in his car." "Grab him, keep him covered and frisk him,” Michael called to the other officers as he ran up the porch steps, his heart nearly bursting with the relief and joy of seeing Kate alive. While the officers dragged Dominick toward the safety of the road, questioning him as to the bomb and the location of his car, Michael grabbed Kate and pulled her away from the house. Before he could hold her in his arms, he had to pry the loaded gun from Kate's hand. Taking her stiff, cold fingers in his hands, he rubbed them gently as he gazed at her upturned face. Unshed tears glistened in those beautiful green eyes--eyes he thought he'd never see again. "I love you, Kate,” he whispered softly. “Dear God, I love you and I almost lost you.” He crushed her to his chest, welcoming the rush of emotions flooding through his body, the relief, the joy and the pride in her ability in having saved herself. Never again, he vowed. Kate's arms crept up Michael’s chest and around his shoulders, her grip as fierce as the one she'd used to hold the gun. Her lips moved against the hollow of his neck, tasting him, feeling the rapid pulse of his heart. She was alive, Michael was alive and he was holding her, loving her. The nightmare was over. Michael pulled back and held Kate at arm's length, his eyes anxiously scanning her face, her body, assuring himself she was unharmed. "I left you, I left you alone...” he began, his voice breaking, his guilt and torment painfully visible. "Shhh,” Kate whispered, placing her hands on his cheeks. "You came back, and you're the one who taught me to defend myself." The sound of sirens put an end to the brief moment of intimacy. Michael grabbed Kate by the hand and they headed toward the cars, giving Dominick a wide berth as they passed.

Jim bounded out of his car to meet them, as four other police vehicles pulled up after him, crowding the street. Neighbors began emerging from their homes, curious as to the commotion, and were quickly pushed back--away from the threat of the bomb exploding. Two officers were sent to check the timer in Dominick's car, while two bomb experts went round back to investigate and dismantle the bomb. Jim held Kate in a brief, bone-crushing hug. "You've done it again, Kate. My offer remains open. Any chance you'll reconsider joining the homicide bureau?" Kate simply shook her head wearily and moved back to the comfort and protection of Michael’s side. His arm went around her shoulder, pulling her closer--as close as he possibly could. Michael caught Jim's eye, and nodded in the direction of Dominick. "You'd better take care of him, Jim. I don't trust myself near the guy. I'll meet you later at the station. I’m staying with Kate for awhile. I’ll debrief her here. Hopefully, she won’t have to go to the station at all." Jim, with a nod and a light punch to Michael's shoulder, headed off to deal with the surly, hand-cuffed Dominick. The bomb was dismantled before the two officers had even returned with the timer mechanism in tow--set at zero. Had Dominick been bluffing the whole time or had he truly not remembered at what point he’d left the timer? Didn’t matter now. The threat was over. Kate was torn from Michael’s side yet again with the sudden appearance of a distraught Carol who grabbed her, shook her and promptly burst into tears. “You can’t keep doing this kind of thing, Kate,” Carol wailed. “You have to stop, you have to start leading a normal life. I can’t take any more of this.” Once again enveloped in her dear friend’s warm embrace, Kate managed her first smile of the afternoon. “Carol, it’s not like I had a choice this time.” “Well, you’re just going to have to stop getting yourself into these kinds of messes. You’re driving everyone who loves you absolutely crazy with worry.” Carol glanced Michael’s way with this last remark and received a vigorous nod of agreement. “I promise.” Kate smiled yet again. “I’ll lead a normal life from now on.” Carol eyed Kate skeptically. After yet another fierce hug, she shoved Kate in Michael’s direction. Before turning to leave, she gave him an order. “Make her stick to that promise.” “I’ll do my best,” Michael replied. But first things first. He had to figure out a way to be there in order to make Kate keep that promise.

Kate and Michael remained standing together on the front lawn, his arm gripping her shoulders, her arm still clasped about his waist. They watched in silence as the officers left and the neighbors dispersed. When the last car disappeared Michael turned and led Kate out of the pouring rain and up the porch steps. He sat on the top step, pulled her down beside him and shifted his body so that they faced one another. He placed his hand on her tummy. "Is the baby all right? Did Dominick hurt you in any way?" Kate smiled and leaned forward. Their foreheads touched. She covered his hand with her own, pressing it closer. "The baby moved, Michael. I know it’s early, but I swear I felt my baby move. In the midst of all that, I felt it." "Thank God,” he whispered, his lips moving against her temple, his hand still resting on her tummy. "And you? You're sure you’re all right?" "I'm fine, but there's a bullet lodged somewhere in the kitchen wall and in the front hall." Michael drew back, horrified. "He took a shot at you?" Kate smiled, eyes wide with pride and amazement. "No, I took a warning shot at him. Two, in fact, although I don’t know if it’s called a warning shot if you actually hit the person." Michael took a deep breath and gathered her in his arms. "You scare the hell out of me, Kate. No more of this, ever. Never interfere with a crime in progress again, and that includes anything to do with your car, a bank robbery, anything. Promise?" "I can promise to try not to.” "Not good enough.” He gripped her shoulders so tightly, Kate winced. "I want to know you're safe, that the baby's safe, and that you won't take any unnecessary risks." Kate turned away from his stern, demanding stare. The sadness had returned. "How are you going to know that, Michael? Shall I sent you monthly postcards to let you know I'm still alive?" "You won't have to do that. I'm not going anywhere, I'm not leaving you." Kate looked back and met his steady gaze, but her immediate sense of joy at hearing those words was quickly replaced with the now familiar doubt and suspicion. She continued to stare, didn't say a word. Michael knew he deserved both the silence and look of skepticism, that after having insisted that he wasn't capable of commitment it was going to be a battle convincing Kate otherwise. He let go of her shoulders and took her hands in his, rubbing his thumbs across the soft skin of her inner wrists.

"Kate, I want you to listen to me carefully. Believe everything I say. When I realized this whole thing had been a set-up, and I thought I'd lost you, I knew then what you meant to me. Knew it, but thought it was too late--too late to tell you that I love you, too late to ever hold you again. I've never experienced a feeling of loss like that before, and I never want to again. I want to stay with you, always be here for you. And I want to be here for the baby." He paused, waiting for her to say something—anything. Eyes filling with tears again, and with a voice full of sorrow and regret, Kate finally spoke. "Michael, I do believe you love me. And I love you. But there's more to this relationship than simply being in love. You know that. There's commitment, taking on the responsibility of a family, a home--all those things you said you weren't prepared to do, couldn't do." "Kate, I can change. I want to change. I can and will handle all of it. Nothing else in my life would make any sense or have any meaning if you weren't part of it. I know that now, and I know it's going to take a lot of trust on your part to believe me. But you have to. I can't just leave and never see you again." Kate could see the love, fear and sincerity in Michael’s eyes, knew he was begging her to understand, begging her to give him the chance to prove himself. And as much as she loved him, couldn't imagine a life without him, and wanted to say yes, Kate had her own fears. Could Michael ever actually settle down, take on the whole domestic scene that came with loving her? Was he capable of such a long term commitment? Because that was all she was prepared to accept. She couldn't go through another failure-couldn't put a child through such a thing. He was a man committed to his job, and she'd experienced that before, and ended up alone. And Michael's job involved danger, risking his life. Could she live with that constant fear and worry? And yet the alternative, to have him simply walk away, never see him again, could she live with that? "Michael, it's not just a matter of you being able to change. I'm frightened of making a commitment too, of failing again. And I'm frightened of not being able to cope with your job, of living in constant fear of you dying. I'd end up nagging you, pressuring you, and you'd hate me for it." Michael sensed her wavering. If he could just get her past those fears, there was a chance. "Kate, there are risks in my job that can't be avoided. But there are risks I've taken in the past that I can avoid. I've just never had anything in my life that meant more to me. I have now, and I'll be as careful as I possibly can. That's all I can promise. Can you live with that?" "I could try." Michael felt a surge of hope. She was watching him so intently, her eyes earnest and beseeching. He was doing it, he was convincing her.

"As to both of us fearing commitment, Kate, I no longer do. And I promise that I'm in for the long haul. And that includes regular meals, diapers, night-time feedings, Furball, repairs on the house--anything it takes to be with you, to stay with you." A slow smile appeared on Kate's face. "Any other regular routine you have in mind?" Michael grinned. "Oh, yeah, that. I think I could handle a regular sex life, too." Kate pulled her hands from Michael's and placed them flat against his chest. "Exactly what sort of commitment are we talking about here?" "You name it. Living together, marriage--it's your choice." "I don't expect a miracle from you. Perhaps we should just take it slowly, see how things work out." Michael frowned. "The baby needs a father, Kate." "Are you suggesting I propose marriage as the sort of commitment we should make?" Michael shook his head and smiled. "Hell, no. I'll make the marriage proposal. That's my job." Kate put her arms around him, nestling in the comfort of his strong embrace. "Are you sure?" "Absolutely sure. I just want to be certain that you are." "Well, it seems that my choice is either taking a chance at making this work or losing you.” Michael closed his eyes and said a silent prayer. Make the right choice, Kate. Please, make the right choice. “And I don't think I'm capable of letting you go.” Still within the confines of his embrace, her face buried against his chest, Kate’s reply came in a whispered, muffled tone. Michael heard it loud and clear--and rejoiced. "You don’t have to let me go.” Prayer answered. Miracles do occur. “Kate, we'll deal with any problems together. What I can't handle is being apart. You're going to have to trust me, give me time to prove to you that I'm capable of this commitment. Think you can do that?" Kate lifted her face, eyes expressing the love and the trust she already felt for him. "I can do it, Michael."

He lowered his mouth to hers, and kissed her slowly, tenderly. Cupping her face in his hands, he drew back. "Then will you marry me?" A flicker of hesitation. "Michael, I'm not even divorced yet." "You're dodging the issue." "I'm being realistic." "I want to marry you, Kate. The timing doesn't matter. Your answer does." "You do nothing in small measures, Michael. Marriage means settling down, in a big way." "Marrying you means having all that I want in life. And that includes the baby. When he grows up--" "He?" "He, she, it doesn’t matter. I want the baby to know I chose him, chose to be his father." Kate could have wept at his words, words that revealed his commitment in a way not even a marriage license could. "What did I do to deserve you?" Michael grinned, that cocky, self-assured grin she had grown to love. "You went after the mob, Kate. And the consequences of that crazy stunt were more than you bargained for." "They were certainly more than I deserved,” she admitted, eyes twinkling. "You deserve everything I'm going to give you, Kate.” His voice was gentle, and serious. "But you still haven't answered my question." Kate threw her arms around him, hugging him, feeling his strength and knowing this was where she belonged. "Yes, my answer is yes." Michael buried his face in her neck. "You won't ever regret this, I promise. I love you, Kate, and I'll never leave you." "I know,” she whispered. "I love you, too." Romantic exchange of words, but Kate’s were uttered along with a sudden shiver. Once again, the shiver was undoubtedly due to a combination of rain and yet another harrowing experience. “You’re soaking wet and you’re freezing. Let’s get you inside.” Michael stood, grabbed Kate by the hands and pulled her up beside him. Heading for the front door, he glanced

down at the wet mop of curly hair just barely reaching his shoulder. “You realize that we began this relationship in the rain and here we are again--drenched?” “Still think I look like a drowned rat?” “Yeah,” he concluded after examining her woebegone form. “But you’re my drowned rat. Makes a huge difference.” “Well, gee, thanks.” “You’re welcome.” Michael reached for the doorknob and paused. "Hey, I hope you didn't pack up all my stuff. You were pretty anxious to be rid of me this morning." "Nothing’s packed. But your clean clothes are nicely folded on the bed." "Great. I love the benefits that come with this arrangement." "Referring to the maid service?" "That, and the fact that once I put the clothes away, the bed's available for other purposes." Kate gave him an elbow. "Your concept of commitment is pretty shallow." "Hey, who actually did the laundry?" Upon entering the house, Michael stood motionless just inside in the front hall, his eyes drawn to the bunched up scatter rug and an overturned lamp. "What happened here?" "That's where I fired warning shot.” Oblivious to Michael’s pained expression and the shaking of his head, Kate continued walking toward the entrance to the kitchen. "I actually shot him in here. I think I just grazed his shoulder.” Her voice lowered to a soft, incredulous whisper. "I don't think he believed I'd ever do it." Michael stood still just behind Kate. Eyeing the blood splatters on the kitchen floor and the gouge in the wall, he shuddered. Gathering her in his arms, he rested his chin on her head. "Never again, Kate." "You're not going to get an argument from me. I never want to touch that gun again.” Turning, she buried her face in Michael's chest. "I still can't believe I did it." "I can believe it,” Michael commented wryly. "And that reminds me. We've got two bullets to look for. Are you going to want one for a souvenir?" "Thank you, no. I have you. That's all I need.”

Michael smiled. "That's all you're ever going to need, partner."

~The End~ To learn about other books Awe-Struck publishes, go to the Awe-Struck E-Books website at http://www.awe-struck.net