-: -In the Running- :-


-In the Running- 
	
By Dee Lloyd 	
Published by Awe-Struck E-Books	
Copyright ©1999	
ISBN: 1-928670-15-6	

Prologue	
Although the words and numbers were beginning to swim in front of Maura's eyes, her building anger kept her plugging on. That much seafood and produce had never arrived in her kitchen! 	
What else had been going on under her nose? She dug right to the back of the bottom drawer of the filing cabinet. The bulges of the fat brown manila envelope she pulled out were the wrong shape to be more doctored invoices. She took out a rolled printout of columns of figures; some smaller, folded papers; then a few loose negatives. Last, she found several eight by ten- inch glossy photos. 	
One glance told her they weren't anything she wanted to examine closely. She was in no mood to tolerate someone's secret stash of porn. Just as she was about to ram the photos back into the envelope, she froze in disbelief. Four very clear, black and white pictures featured her fiancé! In each one, Jon Casen was having sex with a different woman. Maura felt sick. 	
The first photo was an unflattering view of Jon's fairly broad posterior. The handsome champion of the environment, everyone's knight on a white charger, was mounting Danny's cousin, Lucy Spadafore. In the next shot, he was with a blonde who'd been working at the Lodge less than two weeks. The miserable cheat! Maura didn't know the other two women. The fifth photo hardly registered. It showed Jon, actually with his clothes on, in earnest conversation with two men. One was Sal Gerardo, a local crime boss. The sanctimonious phony! No wonder he'd been so patient about her reluctance to go to bed with him. She put everything back into the manila envelope and rammed it into her large tapestry bag. She couldn't wait to see Gran's face when she saw the photos of her Golden Boy when Maura got to Lansing later tonight. On second thought - she yanked out one of the nude pictures at random - Maura decided to confront Jon with one first. 	
She hoped he was still in Danny's office. She had an engagement ring and a blistering message for him! 	
As she marched along the corridor to the front of the building, Maura angrily crumpled the photo of Jon and the waitress in her hand and rehearsed what she was going to say before she threw his ring and the photo in his face. When she started across the thick carpet of the dark lounge, she was only vaguely aware of the faint smell of stale beer and cigarette smoke that hung in the air in spite of the deodorizers the cleaners used to cover it. She heard voices. Good! They were still there. 	
Upended chairs on bar tables cast elongated shadows in the bright light slanting from the partially open door of the office. 	
"Scumbag!" The angry shout stopped her in her tracks. 	
Not much of the room was visible. Maura could see the back of Jon's head over the back of his leather chair and her boss's angry face as he loomed over him. 	
"All the times I've saved your ass, made you my partner, and you steal from me! Well, no more, Jonny. This time you pay up. If Sal and the old lady see those pictures, you're dead meat. And they'll see them if I don't get every cent back by this time tomorrow. Now, get out." 	
Jon stood up slowly. 	
"Wilson." Danny's voice was harsh with disgust as he turned to go back to his desk. "Get him out of..." 	
Jon lunged at Danny knocking him out of her field of view. 	
"What the hell!" Danny's words ended in a grunt. 	
Something hard, maybe a chair, skidded across the floor and hit the door with a crash, knocking it almost closed. 	
"Hold him, Wilson." Jon's usually cultured voice was so rough she hardly recognized it. 	
Wilson? Wilson Foster was the assistant manager of the lodge. He worked for Danny - not Jon. What was going on? 	
She heard the unmistakable sound of flesh repeatedly hitting flesh, then a cry and a moan. This couldn't be happening! 	
"Make it easy on yourself, partner. Tell me where you put the negatives and we'll forget all about this little error in judgment." 	
"F--- off!" Danny's words were blurred. 	
"Take over, Wilson." Jon sounded almost bored. 	
If she had any sense, she'd get out of here before they saw her. But, the envelope she'd found figured in this. Had Jon been stealing from his client? No. Danny had said "partner". Maura eased the door open just far enough to see what was going on. 	
Danny was bent over, trying to protect his stomach from Wilson's fists. Wilson grabbed him by the scruff of the neck with one hand and gave him a hard punch to the jaw. Danny went flying across the room. As he landed, his head hit the corner of the desk. 	
Wilson followed him over, nursing the knuckles of his right hand. When he crouched down by Danny's still body, he hissed something and began to search for a pulse. 	
"Christ! He's dead." 	
Danny certainly looked dead. Blood trickled from his mouth and nose. His grey hair was dark with it. Jon's right hand man, Walt Ames, appeared from somewhere and dropped to his knees on the other side of Danny. Jon, his back still to the door, leaned over to check for himself. 	
Jon must have heard Maura's sharply indrawn breath, because he whirled around. His pale eyes flared with anger, then narrowed to an icy glare. 	
"Do come in, Maura," he drawled. There was blood on the knuckles of his right hand. 	

She slammed the door to cut off the menace in his eyes and ran. She was pulling out onto the highway before she realized she'd dropped the photograph. 	
Jon knew she'd found the envelope. ["#TOC"]	
Chapter One	
With every mile she drove into the Uplands, Maura found the mustard-green Buick station wagon more disgusting. She hated its oily smell, its spongy brakes, its loose steering, its nauseating color. Most of all, she hated the fact that it had taken all but the last one hundred and eighty dollars and fifty-two cents she could get her hands on to buy it in Grand Rapids this morning. Concentrating on hating the car helped take her mind off her real problems. 	
If she had known she'd be running for her life in a few hours, she'd have cashed a larger check yesterday afternoon. As it was, even after withdrawing the daily limit from the bank machine at Kent County International, she was almost out of money. Now, she had to disappear. And she had one hundred and eighty dollars and fifty-two cents to do it with. 	
She couldn't go to the police. What would she tell them? She didn't know if Danny was really dead. She'd called Emergency Services from a pay phone at the airport last night and told them to send an ambulance to Driftwood Lodge because someone had been seriously injured in a fight. But she'd heard nothing on the radio about it. If Danny was all right, what would she tell the police? That Jon Casen had looked at her with murder in his eyes? Yeah, right! Jon played golf with the D.A., and the local sheriff was in his weekly poker club. 	
There was no one else to turn to. Gran would simply refuse to believe her story. Lately, she seemed obsessed with the dream of reliving her glory days in the governor's mansion. Unfortunately, the fulfillment of that dream depended entirely on Jon Casen's political success. She was using all the Fitzpatrick political clout to back Jon. His marriage to Maura would cement the tie. Gran had gone on about Maura's duty to the family and the expectations that neither Maura nor her father had fulfilled until Maura had given in. 	
Jon had never professed to love her but he had offered to be a faithful husband and father in exchange for her loyalty and public support. What a joke! She realized now that she hadn't known Jon at all. Why hadn't she paid more attention to her own reluctance to accept the deal? No self-respecting woman would have sold herself so short. Well, that was water under the bridge. 	
Gran would see Danny's death, if he were dead, as an unfortunate accident. Even if Maura showed her the photos of Jon with those other women, she'd find a way to make Jon's actions Maura's fault. 	
"What does love have to do with it?" she had exclaimed impatiently when Maura had told her that she admired Jon but didn't love him. "This is an important merger. Not a fairy tale. Your job is to consolidate the connection." 	
There was no help there. And in the year and a half she'd been head chef at Driftwood Lodge, she'd been so busy that the only friends she'd made were people Jon introduced her to. 	
She didn't dare access her bank account again. When they found her Mustang in the airport lot, they mustn't find a paper trail beyond the bank machine there. She'd thought of everything. She hoped. She was going to survive this. They wouldn't find her. 	
"Don't think about them. Concentrate on your driving, Maura Irene," she muttered to herself. 	
Luckily, it was the off-season. Traffic on most Michigan roads was light in this hiatus between the boating and the ski seasons. She checked her watch. It was only three-thirty. Considering her stops at the Thrift shop and the hairdresser, she'd made good time. The highway ten interchange was just ahead. Another couple of hours and she'd be at Dad's old hunting cabin. 	
Damn! A cluster of glaring orange and black signs read CONSTRUCTION AHEAD - then INTERCHANGE CLOSED. A large freestanding NO EXIT sign sat squarely in the middle of the off-ramp. Detouring onto secondary roads until she hit twenty-seven North would cost her at least an hour. It would be dark before she reached the empty, cold cabin. 	
Maura squinted through the smeary windshield at the darkening November sky. The weather was closing in. With luck, the freezing rain would hold off long enough for her to reach the cabin. 	
She could use a little good luck. She'd had enough of the other kind dumped on her last night. She would never forget the cold resolve in Jon's pale blue eyes when he realized the threat she had suddenly become to him. If he'd said the words aloud, the message wouldn't have been clearer. The man she'd been going to marry had decided to kill her. 	
Only her quick reaction time in slamming the door shut and punching the preset lock button had saved her. She was grateful to the elaborate security system Danny had insisted on installing. She'd had some luck, after all. She was still alive. She wondered if Danny could possibly be. 	
Maura could feel the panic rising again. It was fluttering inside her like a bird trying to get out of a cardboard box. Its beak and talons were tearing at the flimsy walls of her self-control, its wings beating hard. The thudding strokes were almost up to the base of her throat. 	
Somehow, she had to keep that lid firmly down until she got to Dad's cabin. She'd been too busy to go up there since her engagement. Jon wasn't even aware she'd inherited the place. The only thing about her life that had interested him, she realized now, was Gran's political influence. 	
"When I get to the cabin," she repeated like a mantra. Then, she could fall apart. She could let the bird fly free and scream out her terror and her fury in safety, but she couldn't do that until the cabin's heavy wooden door closed behind her. 	
In the meantime, she had to concentrate on her driving and go over the things she absolutely had to do. She'd had the propane tank topped up and the refrigerator serviced last spring. There were canned goods and staples in the larder and plenty of split wood in the shed. She'd have to spend a few of her dollars on milk and other perishables. 	
Her mind refused to stay focused on these ordinary details. What was she going to do next? Even though the log house was winterized, she couldn't stay there long - particularly not with a car that was running as roughly as this wreck was. 	
Just as the first drop of freezing rain flattened on the windshield, not too far ahead of her, a Jeep Cherokee towing a heavy old wooden boat on a trailer eased itself carefully onto the road. Maura drew a long exasperated breath and muttered words that Gran would have been shocked she knew. However, Gran wasn't the one being held up on a hilly, two-lane road by some elderly local hauling his ancient, over-long fishing boat behind his shiny new four-wheeler. The way her luck was going, the driver would probably inch slowly down the middle of the road to be sure he didn't damage either one. 	
Actually, he wasn't driving slowly, but she wasn't going to be able to pass him any time soon. With the strong Northwest wind buffeting the boat, he was having a hard time holding to his own side of the road. Halfway up a long, steep grade, the trailer began to weave more erratically behind the Jeep. Maura, reluctantly, slowed down to leave a few more car lengths between them. 	
Suddenly, a whitetail deer materialized out of the dense tangle of evergreens and dashed across the road in front of the Jeep. The driver swerved hard to the right to avoid the animal. As he did, the boat trailer swung around ninety degrees and snapped free of the trailer hitch. 	
Maura couldn't believe her eyes. The trailer with its massive load jerked to a stop, then began to veer crazily back down the hill, casting sparks like a Fourth of July sparkler as its metal tongue dragged over the old, potholed asphalt. It was gathering speed as it went and headed straight for her. 	
She floored the accelerator and cranked the steering wheel to the left. The boat streaked past her, narrowly missing her rear fender. 	
The heavy old station wagon lurched as its tires ploughed deep into the soft shoulder on the left side of the road. Maura wrestled the steering wheel but the hulk had a mind of its own. The gravel sucking at its tires slowed it a bit but not enough to prevent it from careening down the steep bank. No matter how hard she tried to control the steering, the nearly treadless tires found their own route in the soft loam. Her scream was shrilling in her ears as the twelve-year-old Buick made jarring contact with a century-old birch. 	
Maura felt a stabbing pain above her left eye before she lost consciousness. 	
	
As Matt Hanson eased the Jeep onto the highway, three minutes earlier, all he could think of was how good a hot shower and warm, dry clothes were going to feel when he finally got back to the house. He was soaked to the skin, chilled, and questioning his own sanity for ever thinking that coming home to take over the family marina was a good idea. 	
He checked the road behind him. The only vehicle in sight was an old Buick station wagon with a bad paint job almost a quarter of a mile back. He had lots of room. 	
He couldn't wait to put a big maple log on the embers that should still be glowing in the stone fireplace, collapse on the overstuffed sofa with a hot buttered rum, and absorb the welcome heat from both. The only reason he'd agreed to pick up Hazel Leigh's ancient cedar- strip inboard-outboard was that the Leighs had been his father's customers for years. Besides, she had sounded so lonely and bleak when she'd apologized for leaving it this late. Old Wilf Leigh had always been responsible for getting the boat taken out of the water and stored at Hanson's boatyard. 	
"It should've been done weeks ago," Matt muttered to himself for the hundredth time that day. 	
He'd spent hours in the cold water, hauling the waterlogged cedar-strip to the surface from its sunken position at the dilapidated dock and bailing it by hand. He rotated his right shoulder gingerly and winced. Damn. He'd probably pulled something dragging the hulk onto its creaky trailer in the freezing drizzle. He hated run-down equipment. He wasn't too crazy about courting pneumonia either. 	
The Buick was still behind him. The driver had the good sense not to crowd him. He scowled at the desolate landscape. A Northwesterly was blowing in from Superior across the top of Lake Michigan, dragging grey streamers of what could even be snow across the leafless Uplands. 	
Without warning, a whitetail sprang out of the bush and leapt across the road not twenty feet in front of him. Matt wheeled hard to the right, missing the deer's flank by inches. 	
He didn't have a moment to waste in self-congratulations because the sharp turn had snapped the rusty coupling on the trailer hitch. Relieved of the weight of the boat, the back of the Jeep bounced so violently that only Matt's seat belt kept him from being flung against the windshield. 	
He undid the belt as he pulled onto the gravel shoulder and was out of his car almost before it came to a stop. Hitting the paper-thin layer of ice that coated the asphalt, Matt's feet almost slid out from under him. Swearing at the weather, faulty equipment and rotten luck, he skittered down the hill after the trailer, which was zigzagging drunkenly, but determinedly towards the puke-green Buick that had been following him. 	
Alertly, the driver dodged the runaway boat. The station wagon was barely clear of its path when one of the trailer's wheels hit a deep pothole. The jolt swung the boat around, slowed it down, and brought the ungainly vehicle to a jolting stop in the shallow ditch on the right side of the road. 	
Simultaneously, with a nice bit of driving, the driver skidded his station wagon neatly onto the left shoulder. He didn't quite get it stopped. 	
Matt held his breath and watched in horror as the heavy car teetered, then dipped and slid inexorably into the deep gully. The driver's shrill scream wavered on the air for a long second before the Buick hit a tall stand of birch at the bottom. The sound of splintering glass and the screech of rending metal ripped through the wet woods 	
Matt slithered and stumbled through the soggy undergrowth. The Buick had snapped a lot of small lumber before it smashed into the birch clump. Getting the driver out wasn't going to be easy. The right front wheel of the car rested on a three-foot stump, jamming the driver's door against the birch clump. That side of the car was a mess of crumpled metal. Luckily, the frame seemed to have held. 	
A strong reek of gasoline stung his nostrils. He prayed the leak was a small one as he heaved a massive piece of birch off the passenger's door, then clambered up to tug at the handle. The damned door wouldn't budge. 	
Dreading what he might see, he knelt on the door and peered down through the side window. In the driver's seat, a woman's still form sagged from her seat belt and shoulder harness. There was blood everywhere - on her face, her clothes. Her dark hair was matted with it. Had the branch that shattered the window on the driver's side struck her forehead hard enough to kill her? He had to get that door open. In the silence of the wet woods, he heard the steady dripping of gasoline from the ruptured gas tank. 	
Then he thought he heard something else. Yes, there it was again - a faint moan. She was alive! 	
Maybe he could raise some help on the Jeep's cell phone. No. From the pungent smell of the gas fumes trapped in this little hollow, he didn't have time for that. One spark from the battery and the whole thing could go up in flames. His one experience with the blazing aftermath of a car bomb in Belfast flashed before his eyes and gave him an additional jolt of adrenaline. 	
Like a madman, he cleared broken branches off the tailgate of the wagon and tossed them into the underbrush. When he yanked at the handle on the tailgate, the catch gave. The lid creaked open. A worn spare tire lay in the middle of the empty storage area. Peeking out from under it was a rusty tire iron! A few frantic seconds later, he'd popped the latch of the passenger door and pried the heavy door open. 	
Hoisting himself onto the seat, he reached over and pressed his fingers against the side of the woman's slender throat. Her skin was slippery with blood but her pulse was steady. Matt knew enough not to move an accident victim but the fumes from the spilled gas were turning the hollow into a bomb about to explode. Both their lives probably depended on the speed of their escape. 	
Even as he hurried to release her from her seat belt, his training made him note her vital statistics. She was small - no taller than five foot three and about one hundred and ten pounds. Late twenties. Tidily built. Not voluptuous but unmistakably female. 	
In his haste, his fingers fumbled with the catch on the seat belt. The woman groaned and opened wide-set eyes that were slightly unfocussed and filled with terror. They were also more intensely blue than any eyes Matt had ever seen. 	
"Don't," she whimpered and tried to shrink away from him. She gave his hand a weak shove. 	
"I'm unfastening your seat belt," he said, releasing the catch. His voice was huskier than usual because of his concern for her and his sense of urgency about the gas fumes. "We have to get you to a hospital." 	
"No." He could hear desperation in her voice. "No hospital." 	
"Take it easy now." He soothed her as he would a child or a frightened animal. He calmly freed her limp arms from the harness. "We have to get out of these gas fumes. Put your arms around my neck." 	
His nostrils caught the acrid stench of smoldering electrical wiring. Damn! They were about out of time. 	
As gently as he could in the awkward confines of the car, he hauled her into his arms and began to scoot his rear end up the slanting cracked leather seat. Soggy jeans didn't slide easily. 	
"My purse." The woman was fighting him, squirming, trying to reach down to the floor. 	
"Forget the purse." 	
He gripped her more tightly. Swinging his legs over the edge of the seat, he dropped lightly to the ground with her in his arms. However, the woman didn't stop struggling. 	
"Put me down." She wasn't strong but she sure was determined. "Purse," she commanded in a voice that was barely more than a whisper. "Under the seat." 	
"For God's sake, woman," he exploded, "This car's going to blow up. It's not worth your life." 	
"It is!" she retorted and swung at him. 	
Her unexpected wild punch caught Matt on the side of the head. The blow wasn't hard but its suddenness made him relax his hold momentarily. She wriggled out of his grip, staggered a couple of steps, then steadied herself against the car. 	
"Get it myself." The woman was obviously hurting so badly she could barely get the words out. 	
She looked about at the end of her tether. Her pale, oval face was streaked with blood. Her jacket was soaked with it and studded with shards of glass. Some cheap fool had replaced the side window with ordinary plate glass! 	
The accusation in her vivid blue eyes got to him. They both knew whose fault it was that her car was totaled and she was weaving unsteadily on her feet, with blood pouring down her determined little face. 	
The rhythm of the gas dripping was speeding up. Something snapped underneath the car. God knew what was happening down there. It was either get the damned bag or leave her there to be blown to bits when the gas fumes ignited. Matt hoisted himself up onto the car and grabbed the drawstring bag from under the seat. He leapt back down, shoved it into her arms without a word, and then hauled her up into his arms again. 	
"Hang on," he snapped and began the frantic, slithering scramble up the slippery incline to the road. 	
Maura held the precious bag against her stomach and obediently wrapped her right arm around the stranger's neck. She tucked her head under his chin to make herself as small a bundle as possible. His strong arms held her securely. 	
In spite of the pounding ache in her head, she was exquisitely aware of him. His jacket was cold and wet against her cheek, but the loud pounding of his heart and the sound of each breath as he carried her up the hill were strangely reassuring. She liked the way he smelled. Unlike Jon and most men she'd dated, her rescuer wore no aftershave. He smelled reassuringly of hard- working male, damp denim and wet November woods. Maura clenched her jaw against the pain and let him bear her to safety. 	
They were almost at the Jeep when the explosion rocked the ground under them. The man dived behind the vehicle, set her on the ground and crouched over her, protecting her with his body from the sparks the wind carried over them. 	
"We're out of range here," he told her after a moment. He stood up and helped her to her feet. 	
With his arm around her, she leaned against the Jeep and looked down the hill. Through the freezing drizzle and drifting bits of black ash, she could see a pillar of flame and black smoke rising high above the leafless trees. 	
The ugly wagon was no more. And she was probably as good as dead. Without money or transportation, she'd be a sitting duck. 	
A soggy cloud of hopelessness enveloped her, almost dampening the stubborn fire that was keeping her going. She gave up the struggle to keep her eyes open. She had enough fight left to remain conscious, but her level of awareness slipped a notch or two. 	
She knew that the tall man with the angry, jet-black eyes and the impressively strong, lean body was placing her carefully on the back seat of his Jeep and trying to discover the extent of her injuries with efficient, yet gentle fingers. The sensations reached her through the thick veil of pain that emanated from somewhere behind her eyes. Strangely detached from the scene, Maura wondered why the light feathering of this stranger's fingers over her body didn't distress her more. 	
She could tell he was trying not to hurt her but a few times when he did something to her scalp and to her left shoulder, a sharper pain stabbed through and she couldn't avoid crying out. 	
For a moment, when she'd regained consciousness in the car, her hazy mind had connected him with Jon. However, the sound of his marvelous low, gravelly voice had calmed her somehow. 	
The part of her brain that was still functioning rationally screamed at her. She knew nothing about this man. Hadn't she learned anything about the unreliability of outward appearances? She had to get away, somehow, and get to the cabin. She sighed. Just how was she going to do that? 	
The fingers left her body. Maura shivered and opened her eyes. Intense, coal-black eyes were peering back at her. They were large eyes set in a squarish face with prominent cheekbones. Dark brows were fixed in a thoughtful frown. She wondered what a smile would do to that forbidding face. She tried to concentrate on what he was saying. 	
"A piece of glass from the window took a fair slice off the top of your shoulder," he told her. "It's bled a bit. Luckily, it's not too deep and I think I've got the bleeding stopped. Your head took a solid clout from the branch that broke the driver's window. Gave you a pretty good scalp cut, too," he went on. "I put a pad of gauze on that to staunch the blood but I didn't want to tape it." He lifted her right hand and placed it on the loose bandage. "Do you think you can hold it like that?" 	
She did like his husky voice. 	
"I'll try." She hardly recognized the reedy little voice as hers. "What's your name?" she asked. 	
She hadn't meant to sound like an uneasy kid in a strange playground. However, this unsettling man didn't know it but he held her life in his hands. She should at least know his name. 	
"Matt," he replied. His face didn't relax into a smile, but his voice had some warmth in it. "Mattias Hanson. What's yours?" 	
"Maur...Maureen," she replied. 	
Good Lord! She'd almost told him. She'd been desperate enough to trade her long blond hair, her only really good feature, for a dark brown dye job and a mediocre pixie cut, and now, she'd almost blabbed her real name to the first person who asked. 	
Not too swift, Maura. No, she was Maureen now. Why had she chosen a name so much like her own? 	
"Maureen...?" Mattias Hanson prompted. 	
"Everyone calls me Reenie." She ignored his request for a surname. At least, Reenie didn't sound like Maura. And Irene was her middle name, although only her father had ever used it. He used to tease her by calling her "Reenie, my little Queenie". After he died, Gran insisted that she be called Maura. 	
She considered telling the man with the husky voice she couldn't remember her own last name, but in her present state, she didn't have the wits to carry off feigned amnesia. 	
Lord, her head hurt! 	
She told herself to get with it. Husky Voice had told her his name was Mattias. 	
Real amnesia would be easier to deal with than her current confused state. She was unsure about so many things. She didn't know if Danny had really been killed or if the police knew about it if he had. The police. What if Jon had convinced the police she had something to do with Danny's death! It would be Jon's word against hers. And Wilson and Walt would back him up. 	
At least, she had the photographs. She might be able to do something with them. She couldn't let Jon get away with whatever he'd been doing. Whatever that was. 	
She had to keep her thoughts from drifting...pull herself together...get her mind in gear. The man...Mattias...wanted information. 	
"Kelly," she decided. 	
"I'm sorry about your car, Reenie Kelly." There was such sympathy in Mattias' dark eyes that she knew she must look as battered and frightened as she felt. 	
He gestured towards the cellular telephone attached to the dashboard. "Can I call somebody for you?" 	
"No. No, thank you, Mattias." 	
"Call me, Matt," he said, running his large hand distractedly through his damp hair. The poor man obviously didn't know what to do with her. 	
"Don't you have any family?" 	
"No," she said in the same whispery little voice. She wished she didn't sound so pathetic. 	
"Where were you headed? Is someone expecting you?" 	
"I'm not sure." That was true enough. She wasn't sure of anything. "I mean, I can't remember where I was going." 	
He took her hand and patted it awkwardly. "I'm not surprised. You took a pretty good bang on the head. There's a good hospital in Millbridge. We'll go straight there." 	
"No, we won't," she objected. 	
Hospitals required I.D. She had hidden her charge cards, her driver's license - anything with the name Maura Irene Taylor Fitzpatrick on it - under the carpeting of the Buick. Well, she didn't have to worry about anyone stumbling on her real identity any time soon. 	
"I can't afford to go to a hospital. I'll be fine. All I need is a motel." She remembered how little money she had. "Is there an inexpensive one in Millbridge? I just need to get cleaned up and get some rest." 	
He got behind the wheel and started the engine. "I'll look after the hospital bill. I was the one towing a defective trailer. The sooner we get you looked at, the sooner you'll get your memory back." 	
"I haven't lost my memory." 	
He swung around. His black eyes narrowed as they searched her face. "You couldn't remember where you were headed." 	
She thought fast. "I just forget the name of the lodge I was going to apply to first. I'm looking for work. I had a list of the places hiring kitchen staff for the ski season. It was in the glove compartment." 	
She was babbling. She'd never been a very good liar. 	
"We'd better have you checked over anyway before we talk to Gus," he said, facing forward again and putting the Jeep in gear. 	
"Gus?" 	
"The sheriff. We have to report the accident to him and call your insurance company." 	
"No sheriff," Maura insisted, wincing as she struggled into a sitting position. "No hospital." 	
"Ms. Kelly, it's my fault you need medical treatment. We'll go on from there after you've seen a doctor." 	
"Please. Don't report the accident." 	
Maura met his eyes in the rear vision mirror. His stern face softened a bit. She must look really pathetic. 	
"The car was on its last legs. I won't be making an insurance claim. Please, Matt," she pleaded. 	
Matt could see a sheen of tears in her startling blue eyes. Even an eye that was rapidly puffing up and closing, purplish bruises on her cheek and bloody, matted hair couldn't lessen the impact of those eyes. He'd better deposit her at the hospital before he did something really stupid. He had learned to avoid needy females like the plague. However, he should do something to erase the desperate look from those blue eyes. He had a totally irrational urge to take her in his arms and tell her to leave everything to him. Now, that was an urge he was damn well going to resist! 	
Reenie Kelly was on the verge of hysteria. He was receiving a clear message that she was in real trouble. Hazel Leigh's runaway boat had simply added to it. Were the police after her? Had the man in her life hurt her? Or threatened her? 	
The outrage he felt at the possibility that any man had laid violent hands on her came out of nowhere. In his brief stint with the anti-terrorist squad, he'd seen the brutality that men willingly inflicted on each other and on innocent bystanders. He'd been able to distance himself emotionally from it then. Now, just imagining someone hurting this spunky little woman was giving him fits. He wasn't thrilled with this sudden onset of empathy. 	
Considering the situation as coolly and rationally as he could, he knew what he had to do. He had caused Reenie Kelly enough trouble. Until he had a better idea of what or whom she was afraid of, he couldn't, in all conscience, force her to report her accident to Gus. What would it hurt to do what she asked? 	
"All right, if you don't want me to report the accident, I won't. My sister, Bronwyn, is a nurse," he said. "I'll take you back to the marina and get her to come and check you over. Will you accept her judgment about whether you need to go to the hospital?" 	
Reenie Kelly nodded, then winced. She clutched the pad of gauze to the top of her head and eased back down onto the seat. 	
Bronwyn answered his call on the second ring. Matt told her what had happened. His sister couldn't understand why he wasn't taking the woman directly to the hospital and he couldn't tell her. He wasn't sure himself. 	
"Just be there, Bronwyn," he said as he signed off. 	
As Maura listened to him sign off, she lay with her eyes closed, more frightened than she had ever been in her life. She had no idea where she was being taken. She had no choice but to trust Mattias Hanson. Fate in the form of a runaway boat trailer had seen to that. 	
There was something ironic about deciding not to make her getaway in a lodge boat because of the high waves on Lake Michigan, then having her escape scuppered by a boat on dry land. Some day, if she lived long enough, she'd laugh at that. ["#TOC"]	
Chapter Two	
"We're here," Matt announced. 	
Maura struggled up onto one elbow so she could see where "here" was. She didn't think she'd slept but darkness had fallen. One thing was for sure. The place was well lit. She had to squint against the painful light to see anything at all. 	
On a high steel fence, a floodlit black and white metal sign proclaimed "Hanson's Marina". Inside the enclosure, glaring security lights flooded open areas between several large, metal sheds with curved roofs, which she guessed stored boats for the winter. They cast grotesque shadows on the calm water of what must be a sheltered bay. The place looked like a set for the kind of movie where mysterious beings have abducted all forms of earthly life. 	
Maura shivered. She hated this vulnerable feeling. She'd always enjoyed solitude and prided herself on being able to look after herself. Being hunted changed that. She made herself concentrate on the sure, economical movements of Matt's hands as he wheeled the Jeep through the wide gates. 	
For at least a few hours, her survival was in those long blunt-fingered hands. Reaching the cabin was out of the question for now. Even if she could get her hands on a vehicle, she was in no shape to drive. The pain, she could handle; the way her eyesight seemed to drift in and out of focus was another matter. 	
As far as rescuers were concerned, fate could have played worse tricks on her. Matt Hanson seemed determined to see she was all right. How could she be so naive? Hadn't Jon taught her not to take a man at face value? Matt was probably only trying to avoid being sued. He didn't know she was more likely to sprout wings and fly than contact anyone in the Michigan legal community right now. 	
Suddenly, a volley of deep-throated barking shattered the silence. Two massive German Shepherds in full cry came tearing around the side of one of the metal boat-storage barns. Running behind them, trying vainly to catch up with them, was a heavy-set, balding man. The dogs leapt at the Jeep, yelping excitedly in the open window. 	
"Down, girls," Matt shouted. 	
To Maura's amazement, the dogs stopped and stood docilely by the side of the Jeep, their tails wagging vigorously. 	
"Bronwyn called. You all right, Matt?" The stocky man mopped his freckled forehead and peered anxiously at him. 	
"I'm fine, Jeff," Matt said. "Ms Kelly, here, is the one who's injured." He gave the other man an extremely brief account of the accident. "Is Bronwyn at the house yet?" 	
At that moment, a dark blue van wheeled into the lot. A tall, striking woman opened the driver's door far enough to lean out. Maura tensed. She couldn't remember where but she was pretty sure she'd seen that black hair with its dramatic white streaks before. She stared back at the probing black eyes that were swiftly cataloguing her face. Maura recognized those eyes. 	
Then, she realized they were the same jet black as Matt's. The wave of relief that came over her was overwhelming. She had enough real trouble. She didn't need to see danger where there was none. 	
"Bring her to the house," Bronwyn ordered, getting back inside her car and putting it in gear. 	
"Bronwyn would have made a drill sergeant," Matt said, with a reassuring smile. "But she has a good heart." 	
The smile was fleeting, but it transformed his stone face into a dangerously attractive one. She hoped he didn't smile often. His impassive face was easier to deal with. 	
"Now that you're here," Jeff told him, "I'll go pick up Leigh's boat." 	
Giving Jeff a grateful two-fingered salute, Matt followed his sister's van past several smaller buildings to a low, rambling, log-faced house at the water's edge. Compared to the stockade atmosphere of the rest of the complex, it looked reassuringly homey. 	
"Jeff must have turned the lights on for us," Matt said. "I hope he turned up the thermostat." 	
"You must be frozen," Maura suddenly realized. 	
She'd been vaguely aware that Matt's jacket was wringing wet and smeared with her blood but she'd been too self-absorbed to think beyond her own discomfort. The man had to be exhausted and chilled to the bone. 	
She was still fumbling with the car door when Matt opened it and reached for her. It would be nice to let him pick her up in his strong arms and hold her snugly against his chest again, but this was no time to start allowing herself to lean on people. 	
Every self-protective instinct warned her that Matt could be dangerous. He was too vital, too male, too managing. He exuded the kind of animal magnetism that she had always steered clear of. "I can walk," she made herself protest. "There's nothing wrong with my legs." 	
Her attempt at independence fizzled. When she took her first step, a wave of dizziness hit her. 	
"Yeah, sure," Matt muttered as he swung her up into his arms. 	
Bronwyn held the door open for them. The look she gave her brother was an anxious one. 	
"Bring her into Dad's room," she said, heading towards a door at the far end of the large living room, just beyond a massive stone fireplace. 	
Maura caught glimpses of comfortable-looking, chintz-covered furniture and glowing coals in the fireplace as Matt carried her through to the bedroom and deposited her gently on the bed. 	
"My sister, Bronwyn Cooper," he said, gesturing at the woman standing beside him. "And this is Maureen Kelly." 	
"Reenie," Maura corrected. 	
Bronwyn gave Maura a perfunctory smile. 	
"You look frozen, Matt. Quick, have a warm shower and put on some dry clothes. Start the water lukewarm. Don't let it get hot too quickly." 	
"Yes, Mom," Matt growled. 	
"Sorry." Bronwyn sounded more impatient than apologetic. "You go ahead. I'll see what I can do for Reenie." 	
Bronwyn's words were directed at Matt, but her dark eyes were focused on Maura's face. When Matt hesitated, his sister insisted, "You won't do her any good by standing around here with your teeth chattering. Scoot!" 	
He left. 	
"You have to be firm with them," she told Maura. One corner of her mouth twitched slightly. 	
Maura knew she'd remember if she'd ever met a woman as forceful as Bronwyn. That fleeting moment of recognition outside had probably been the product of overwrought nerves. 	
Bronwyn took a small flashlight out of her bag. "Look over my shoulder." 	
Looking into the bright light hurt. So did the gentle removal of the wad of gauze Matt had placed on the gash on her hairline. Bronwyn grimaced in sympathy and handed her a small mirror. 	
"As you can see, I'll have to cut some hair away to clean that. But because of the bang you took on the head, we'll have to do it without pain killer," she warned. 	
She worked quickly with sure hands. However, it took all Maura's will power not to whimper while Bronwyn trimmed the hair from around the cut and cleaned up the abrasions on her face, neck and left shoulder. By the time she finished, Maura was exhausted. 	
Matt appeared in the doorway, his dark hair still damp from his shower. He'd obviously just finger-combed it and the stray locks curling over his forehead somehow softened the harsh lines of his face. Maura relaxed a little at the sight of him. Like it or not, he'd become her anchor in this turbulent sea that was tossing her around. 	
"I'm a fair bit bigger than Reenie. Maybe something of Pete's would fit better." 	
"No question," she agreed. "Look in Dad's bottom drawer. Then leave us a minute while I help Reenie change." 	
He took a folded, grey sweat suit from the drawer and handed it to Bronwyn. 	
The panicky feelings that had never completely submerged resurfaced when Matt left the room, but they subsided a little when she heard his footsteps stop just outside the door. He hadn't gone far. 	
Bronwyn efficiently stripped Maura of her bloody shirt and jeans and helped her pull on the soft grey sweats. She had to roll the cuffs but they fit better than Matt's would have. 	
"That should do it." Bronwyn briskly returned her equipment to her bag, motioned for Reenie to lie down on top of the bed and pulled a brown satin comforter up over her feet. 	
The moment she opened the bedroom door, Matt appeared in the doorway. "Well?" he said. 	
"She should see Dr. Walmer, Matt," Bronwyn pronounced. "She seems to be slightly concussed. And I've done my best with her wounds but they probably need a few stitches. Doc could give us a better idea if she should go into hospital for observation." 	
"I don't think so," Maura interrupted, sitting up quickly. The room took a few seconds to settle down. "I appreciate everything you've done for me. But if you wouldn't mind taking me to the nearest motel," she said with a satisfactory amount of assurance in her voice, "I'd get out of your hair right away." 	
"She can stay in Pete's room, Wyn," Matt stated as if Maura hadn't spoken. "You said it will be a couple of weeks before he's well enough to move home. And I know what signs to look out for. I took a shift watching Tommy after he took that tumble off the shed roof last summer. You could come back to check on her in the morning, couldn't you?" 	
"I'm not a stray puppy!" Maura broke in. It was past time she took control here. She kicked back the comforter and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. "It's my decision. And I've decided to leave. Thanks anyway!" 	
"Sorry." Matt looked taken aback at her explosion. 	
She was a little surprised herself. She never lost her temper. She'd put up with too many flamboyant chefs who never bothered to restrain theirs. This was the second time in a few hours that she'd blown up at this generous bulldozer of a man. 	
"You said you had no one to call to look after you. We still have to do something about replacing your car. And I can't let an injured woman wander off on her own. Especially with a suspected concussion." Matt's tone said clearly that he was a reasonable man dealing patiently with an irrational woman. 	
He was an overbearing, sexist dinosaur. 	
"Reenie," he said quietly. "Would you like to stay here for a few days until you're well enough to be on your way?" 	
She met Matt's eyes. She was startled by the look of concern in his eyes. He actually looked as if he cared what she did. That was when, to her dismay, she lost control. 	
When Matt saw the tears beginning to well up in Reenie's blue eyes, he wanted to run. He didn't deal well with tears. But the moment she gave in to the first racking sob, Matt found himself by her side with one arm around her quaking shoulders. He admired the way she'd dealt with the shock and the pain of the accident without a whimper. But she had a right to cry. And she needed comforting. When she didn't pull away from him, he wrapped both arms around her. She looked so small and battered and she felt so soft. Holding her nestled against him while she cried noisily and soaked the front of his sweatshirt felt ominously right. 	
He looked at his sister and raised his eyebrows in a helpless kind of a grimace. What else could a man do? 	
Common sense told him that what drew him to this little firebrand was sex, pure and simple. Parts of his anatomy that hadn't seen much activity for more than a year were reacting predictably to the softness of her breasts against his chest. As for his unexpected compulsion to look after her... Well, why shouldn't he feel protective? He'd been in the protecting business one way or another since he was eighteen. 	
He didn't know what he'd said that had set her off. What he'd seen of Reenie told him she didn't cry easily. Clearly, right now, her troubles looked insurmountable to her. Even though he hadn't done it intentionally, he had caused some of the major ones; therefore, it was his duty to help her. It was as simple as that. He was obliged to get her on her feet again and protect her from whatever danger had made her run. He'd sure sound like a pompous ass if he came out and said that. He probably was. 	
For the moment, he simply held her and stroked her shaking shoulders while she cried. A little voice inside him asked if he knew how ridiculous his rationalizing was. 	
"You don't have to see the doctor if you don't want to." Bronwyn's abrupt reversal didn't surprise him. Wyn was basically kind. She was also perceptive. Right now, she was giving him a long, knowing look. 	
"Matt's right," she went on. "There's no reason you can't stay right in this room for the next few days. Dad's staying at my house while he recovers from hip surgery," she added. 	
His arms felt strangely empty when Maura disengaged herself from his embrace. She swiped the tears off her cheeks with the back of her hand. 	
Obviously embarrassed, she didn't look directly at Matt but spoke to his sister. "I'm sorry I broke down like that." 	
"It's the shock. Most people shed a few tears after an accident," Bronwyn assured her. 	
"I will take you up on the offer of a bed for the night," Reenie said. "Thank you." 	
"Good! You'd better get some rest now. Oh, you probably could use this," she said, taking Reenie's elbow and leading her towards the tiny washroom off the bedroom. "We had a shower installed in here when Dad began to have problems with the stairs but you'll have to keep the dressings dry for a day or two." 	
A few minutes later, she tucked Reenie into bed under the down-filled comforter. 	
As she left, Bronwyn said to Matt who was hovering quietly just outside the doorway, "I'll be back in the morning, Matt. You remember the routine from last summer? Only light fluids. And wake her every hour or two." 	
Then he was alone with his unsettling guest. 	
"Well, then." His voice sounded louder than he intended when he broke the awkward silence. "I seem to have my marching orders. I'll wake you in an hour or so." 	
Reenie's vivid blue eyes were already drifting closed. "Thank you, Matt," she murmured. 	
The mound of comforter hid her slight frame completely. All Matt could see was her cap of dark hair and one swollen, bruised cheek against the white pillowcase. He paused a moment, shaking his head in helpless denial. The impact of that determined little woman was potent. Maybe this was his emotional reaction to the shock of the accident. He liked that explanation. It wasn't all that believable, but he liked it. 	
He left the bedroom door open and the bedside lamp on, then put a couple of seasoned maple logs on the live coals in the living room fireplace. By the time the logs burst into flames, he was on the sofa, holding the fragrant mug of hot buttered rum that he'd been promising himself since early afternoon. As he luxuriated in the radiating heat of the flames, he wondered about Reenie Kelly. 	
She was definitely on the run but Matt didn't believe it was from the law. However, she'd almost fainted when he mentioned Gus. Matt had dealt with enough criminals to know how deceptive appearances could be, but he'd give odds that Reenie wasn't used to subterfuge. She wasn't any good at it. 	
She wasn't wearing a ring but rings were easy to remove. He scowled. Nevertheless, she was too attractive not to have some man hovering about. 	
What kind of trouble was she in? She had been frantic not to leave her purse behind. Even now, it was beside her on the bed. She hadn't let that big tapestry bag out of her reach for a minute. What was in it? Was Reenie Kelly a thief? He was back to that again. 	
He damned the whole situation to Hell and stamped out to the kitchen to throw a couple of frozen meat pies into the oven. He'd better eat something before it was time to wake the lady in question to make sure she hadn't slipped into a coma. He'd better take out a can of chicken broth in case she wanted something when she awoke. 	
He couldn't avoid the most important question. Why was he doing any of this? 	
The meat pies and the rum improved his mood slightly. He wrapped himself in a loosely woven woolen throw, put an alarm clock on the coffee table, and lay down to doze in front of the fire. He didn't expect to get much sleep a few feet away from the disturbing woman who'd been dropped into his life. He wished he could blame someone else for this predicament, but it was his own damned stupid idea. 	
Eventually, lulled by the warmth of the hardwood coals, he did drowse off. His internal alarm woke him an hour and a half later and he checked that Reenie was sleeping normally. That set the pattern for most of the night. Every time he woke her, she reacted exactly the same way. 	
Her blue eyes snapped open. 	
"Oh," she gasped, rigid with terror. Then she sighed and gave him a sleepy smile. "Matt." 	
Every single time, that fleeting smile charmed him. Any man would react the same way to that kind of intimate, trusting smile from a lovely, rumpled female. He had to remind himself that the intimacy and the trust were all in his imagination. The woman was still in a state of shock. But each time, apparently satisfied that she was safe with him, she'd drop off to sleep again. Perhaps her terror was something else he'd imagined. 	
Around five o'clock, Matt was awakened by a low, anguished cry. He rushed into Pete's room to find Reenie huddled in a tight little ball in the middle of the bed. She was fast asleep and sobbing. He couldn't make out what she was mumbling but he thought he heard the word "blood." Then she gave that unearthly lament again and sat up holding her head. 	
"Oh, no-o-o," she whimpered. "He is dead." 	
My God! What had the woman done? 	
"Who? Who is dead?" he said, bending over to touch her shoulder. 	
The staring blue eyes that met his held no recognition. 	
"Don't touch me!" she cried, recoiling from him. Her legs were tangled in the bedding. When Matt grabbed her arms to keep her from landing on the floor, she twisted away from him and tried to stagger to her feet. 	
"Have to get out of here. Have to..." she whispered frantically. 	
Matt backed away. "Reenie. Listen," he said quietly, wondering what he was going to do next if she didn't snap out of this. "It's Matt. You're at the marina. Remember?" 	
She blinked and sense slowly came back into her eyes. The wariness, however, remained. 	
"You were having a bad dream." 	
Gradually, Maura realized where she was and who was speaking to her. But Matt's voice had lost all its warmth and he was looking at her with more than a trace of suspicion. 	
The illusion of safety she had felt in the night was gone. She wished she could bolt away from the questions in Matt's eyes but her stomach was queasy and her knees were threatening to collapse under her. She sat cautiously on the edge of the bed. 	
"I'm sorry I disturbed you," she said. "I must have been reliving the accident." 	
"No one died in the accident, Reenie." 	
Oh, God! What had she said? 	
"Died?" 	
"You were upset. Shocked. Because someone was dead." 	
"My dog." She looked up quickly to see if he was buying that explanation. But who could read that poker face? 	
"He was hit by a car," she added. "Last week." 	
Matt gazed at her for a minute. She sensed something that could have been disappointment in the set of his shoulders. 	
"Why don't you try to get a couple of hours more sleep?" His voice was cold. "I'll check on you before I head out to the boathouse." 	
Maura watched him leave the room. Was he on his way to call his friend, the sheriff, about the frightened woman he'd taken into his home? Maybe Matt would give her story about a dead dog the benefit of the doubt long enough for her to get over her dizziness. 	
And go where? Jon would know the minute the local sheriff inquired about a woman of her description. Nowhere in the Houghton Lake area would be safe. Jon could find out about the cabin. Gran had never been interested enough in her rebellious son's fishing camp to learn exactly where it was but she knew it existed. 	
Maura lay back down on the bed, too dizzy and exhausted to do anything else. 	
["#TOC"]	
Chapter Three	
"What do you think, Jon?" Glad asked as the housekeeper who had served her for over thirty years deposited a ceramic pot of coffee on the table. Angry as he was at Glad, Jon Casen couldn't help but admire the way she dismissed the woman with a wave of her delicate, veined hand. 	
"How long will it take the police to locate her?" she continued when they were alone. 	
Anyone who didn't know Gladys Fitzpatrick as well as Jon did would look at the elegant woman sitting across the breakfast table from him and think she was perfectly calm. A lifetime in the public eye enabled her to sit with a relaxed smile on her face and her manicured fingers resting easily in her lap. The tension around her fine, old, carefully made-up eyes, however, told a different story. 	
He'd like to throttle the headstrong old girl for calling the cops last night. He thought she'd bought the story that Maura was just having a jealous tantrum. Of course, he'd been so damned tired he hadn't read Glad as well as he usually did. 	
By the time Wilson had finally thought to take the hinges off the door of Danny's office Sunday night, Maura was long gone. They had hurriedly stowed Danny's body in the trunk of Wilson's car. Then leaving Wilson to deal with the cleanup, Jon taken off with Walt to try to find Maura. After he'd wasted three hours looking for the troublesome bitch, Jon had broken speed records getting back to Lansing in time to pretend to wake up in his own apartment at Glad's. 	
With no sleep at all, he'd had to hang around the old lady all day and suffer through all her phone calls to anyone she could think of who might know where Maura was. He had to be there when Glad got in touch with her. He left her for one measly hour after dinner to make some calls of his own and she'd called the cops. 	
Now he was going to have to out-think everyone. He had the advantage that everyone assumed that he was devoted to the uptight little prude. Why couldn't Glad's granddaughter be like the other women in his life? Most females were like putty in his hands, but not the one woman he needed to control to make sure that he had the Taylor-Fitzpatrick connection sewed up. 	
After he'd learned that Danny had found out about the profits he'd skimmed, Jon had tried to coax Maura into eloping with him to Vegas. The frigid bitch wouldn't be coaxed or seduced, almost broke the engagement on Saturday when he came on a little too strong. Then when she stumbled on the foul-up with Danny, she left him with only one course of action. He couldn't get her into bed so using sex to control her was out. He simply had to find her fast and get rid of her. 	
Well, he was the master of dazzling his heavyweight opponents with flashy speed and dexterity. He had a couple of ideas that he had set in motion earlier this morning. 	
"The police will do their best for you, Glad," he replied after a long pause. "But I'm worried about Maura." He gave her his best 'I'm really suffering here' look. "Who knows what she might do in the state she's in? I really feel guilty. I knew her nerves were in bad shape, but I never dreamed she'd take that waitress coming on to me so seriously." 	
The old girl was swallowing this line, too. Glad Fitzpatrick had been a real fire-eater in her prime. Even ten years ago she would have been a tough sell, but she wasn't as keen as she used to be, and sitting on the sidelines these last few years since the Governor died had made her ripe for the picking. She wanted him to be the next political star as much as he did. 	
Jon had told her a number of times that he was concerned about the amphetamines he suspected Maura was taking to get her through the long hours she worked at the lodge. He had to laugh at the idea of straight-arrow Maura getting into any kind of drugs. But Glad would believe black was white if he told her so. 	
"She knows better than to get upset about aggressive women," she replied on cue. "Maura's had enough exposure to politics to know that's part of public life. I wouldn't have believed she'd ever fly off the handle like that." She sighed. "She was always such a calm, sensible girl." 	
"She wasn't very calm a couple of weeks ago after the robbery," he threw in. 	
"That was the first time I actually saw one of those mood swings you told me about." The muscles around her mouth tightened. 	
He knew it rankled that Maura had lost patience with her, when Glad had been almost hysterical about losing some of her favorite jewelry. 	
"Well, probably Maura will come home soon full of apologies for getting you upset," he soothed. "All we can do now is wait." 	
Yes, relax while you can, Glad. Things are about to heat up. He wondered if Walt had been able to get the rumors started yet. 	
["#TOC"]	
Chapter Four	
Maura was jolted awake by a man speaking loudly in the next room. It wasn't Matt's low, rumbling voice. A smooth professional radio announcer was clearly enunciating her name. 	
"... missing persons warrant for Maura Fitzpatrick, granddaughter of Gladys Fitzpatrick and the late Governor George Fitzpatrick," the announcer was saying. "She was last seen at eight o'clock Sunday evening leaving Driftwood Lodge where she has been head chef for the past eighteen months. Her car was discovered at Grand Rapids airport yesterday. Anyone having information about the whereabouts of Maura Fitzpatrick should phone this station's news hotline at 555-INFO or the State Police. Although police have refused comment, there are persistent rumors of foul play." 	
Foul play? The words echoed in her head. Did the police think the blood on Danny's office carpet was hers? Or did they think she'd had something to do with Danny's death? The bulletin hadn't mentioned wanting her for questioning. 	
She wished she'd heard the whole broadcast. She hadn't missed a newscast on the car radio yesterday - at least until she'd lost touch with the outside world around four o'clock. She'd thought she would hear some kind of report because of her 911 call. However, there had been nothing. 	
Maybe Danny hadn't been killed. Then again, Jon and his associates could have seen to it that his body disappeared. She wondered what kind of tale Wilson told the police and the ambulance personnel when they arrived. 	
Now everyone was looking for her. 	
Gran must have called the police in the morning when she discovered that Maura had not arrived late Sunday night as she'd promised. She'd have called Maura's cottage at the lodge, then the front desk. The next logical step would be to call Jon. 	
All Gran's hopes were riding on Jon. She was steering his political career the way she'd hoped to guide her son's and then her granddaughter's. Maura took a deep, shuddering breath. Gran was doomed to disappointment again because if it was the last thing she did, she was going to see that Jon never got to hold public office. 	
She sat up slowly. Her head didn't throb the way it had last night but she was still a bit dizzy. Some avenger she was! 	
The first step was to get out of bed. She eased herself to her feet. The room rocked for a moment, then settled down. She should not need help to make it to the bathroom. If she moved slowly enough, she discovered, the world stayed on an even keel. 	
The face in the washroom mirror came as a shock. She'd forgotten about the brown dye job and the drastic haircut. She wondered if the cheap reading glasses she'd bought to complete the disguise had been lost in the wreck. She looked at the raw scrapes and the multicolored swelling that distorted the left side of her face. She looked as if she'd been in a fight. Even without the glasses, no one would recognize her. Looking this awful was a good disguise. 	
The memory of Matt's unexpectedly attractive smile flashed through her mind. She was glad she was a mess. She really was. 	
She leaned against the little sink and tried to assess her situation. She had the impression they'd driven quite a distance after the accident. She hadn't seen the lights of any neighbors when she and Matt arrived at the marina last night. She didn't know how far it was to the nearest village or town. 	
She had less than two hundred dollars in her purse - and a one and a half-carat diamond engagement ring. She couldn't get to or stay at the cabin without a car and she had no way of getting one. The unpleasant facts just kept piling up. 	
She didn't know how Matt would react if he figured out that she was the Maura Fitzpatrick the police were looking for. She straightened up and looked again at her face in the mirror. Her eye color was the only feature she had in common with Maura Fitzpatrick. Until the swelling went down, she was safe. 	
Carefully, she made her way back across the bedroom towards the door to the living room. This was better. She'd had only one bout of light-headedness. Now that her vision wasn't blurred, she felt more able to cope. 	
Matt stood in the half-open door. Her spirits rose a notch. 	
"Wyn called," he informed her. "She said unless you needed her sooner, she'd come by around noon." 	
He didn't look as if he was about to move out of her way. 	
"I thought I'd stay up for a while," Maura said taking another step. 	
"Fine. Wyn suggested you try some orange juice and dry toast. You can have it on the sofa in front of the fire. I'll get it for you before I leave for the boathouse." 	
He turned on his heel and was gone before she could say a word. The warm, sympathetic man who had watched over her last night had become cool and remote, but his matter-of-fact acceptance of her presence in his house was reassuring. He seemed to have put his suspicions about her nightmare on hold. 	
By the time Bronwyn bustled in at noon, Maura was glad of the diversion. The morning had consisted of a lot of restless naps between long periods of worrying. Matt had left the number of his pager which she hadn't used and had come by to check on her once. "Your color is much better," Bronwyn pronounced. 	
Maura managed a tiny crooked grin. "If you're into strong colors," she said. 	
Bronwyn responded to her attempt at humor with a little grin of her own. "Yeah. And in a couple of days it will fade to yellow and a nice, sickly green. Is the headache easing off?" 	
When Maura told her it was almost gone, she nodded sagely. "Good. You're one of the lucky ones. Sometimes it does pass off quickly. You'll have to take it easy for a few days, just in case, but I think you're on the mend." 	
Lucky! There was that word again. 	
"I don't think you'll be up to looking for a job for a few days though. You're welcome to stay here until you're ready. Why don't you look at today's paper while I make us some lunch?" 	
Bronwyn tossed a folded newspaper at her. "Don't look so glum. Things will look up soon." 	
Maura tried to smile back at her, but the smile died on her lips. On the front page was the studio portrait that Gran had insisted be taken for the formal announcement of her engagement to Jon six short weeks ago. Maybe she was lucky after all. The flattering photograph made her look prettier than she'd ever been on her best day. At this moment, she didn't resemble the confident, smiling woman with the long blond hair at all. 	
"MISSING," the caption blared. The article mentioned her grandmother's wealth and political influence and her fiancé's high-profile legal career but offered no new information. It did state that Danny DiMarco, owner of Driftwood Lodge, had been unavailable for comment. Did that mean, in spite of Wilson's certainty that Danny was dead, he had regained consciousness and was refusing to talk to reporters? It was more likely her talkative boss would never speak to anyone again. 	
"I took Matt's sandwiches out to the boathouse," Bronwyn told her as she deposited a plate of toast and a mug of broth on the end table beside her. "When he's working on his sailboat, he doesn't break for lunch. Besides, he hates it when I turn on my noon hour soaps." She flipped on the television set. 	
Maura had little appetite but managed to eat a few mouthfuls of whole-wheat toast and drink most of the broth Bronwyn had prepared. The fictional woes of the characters on the screen took most of Bronwyn's attention but she did attempt a bit of casual probing during the commercials. 	
"Matt told me you were looking for kitchen work at one of the ski lodges. Have you done a lot of that?" 	
"Not at a ski lodge." Maura didn't want to tell any lies that might trip her up later. 	
Bronwyn waited. 	
"I worked in a couple of hotels in Detroit." That was true enough. She'd worked her way up through the ranks of sous-chefs in one of the best hotels in the city before accepting the chance to run her own kitchen as master chef at Driftwood Lodge. 	
"Get tired of the city?" Bronwyn prodded. 	
"Had some personal problems with my last boss." 	
Maura was surprised she could utter that understatement without bursting into hysterical laughter. When the news came on, Bronwyn changed the topic. 	
"Frankly," she admitted, "I'm not great at spending my time doing housework and watching soaps. Now that Tommy's in school all day, I'm starting to itch to get back to nursing." She cast a speculative eye at Maura. "Dad's recovering well. When he's a little more mobile, maybe I'll do it." 	
Was Bronwyn on her own with her son? There had been no mention of a husband. Maura was tempted to do a little probing of her own; however, she'd be smarter to keep conversation impersonal and short. 	
The regular cadence of the news anchor's voice broke. 	
"We have a news flash. We are switching now to the steps of the courthouse, where attorney, Jon Casen, is meeting members of the press, one of whom is our own Barbara Bellman. Barbara." 	
Maura found it difficult to breathe. 	
"Jon Casen," the reporter in question confided into her microphone, "who made his reputation for hard-hitting litigation in the Love Canal cleanup, made a surprising move this morning. Acting as counsel for the Good Earth League, he has withdrawn the group's request for an injunction against VitaChemical to stop emissions into the Detroit River." 	
"He can't do that!" Bronwyn exploded. "He told our committee last week he wouldn't quit until they closed VitaChem down!" 	
The fluttering wings of panic filled Maura's chest again. 	
Now she knew where she'd seen Bronwyn Cooper. They hadn't met because Maura had been too busy catering the huge Good Earth League conference at the lodge last spring to take part in the sessions. Besides she'd still been resisting the pressure from Gran to accept Jon's proposal and refusing to attend public functions at his side. But even in that large crowd, she'd noticed Bronwyn's distinctive height and confident bearing. 	
She had to keep calm. Learning that Jon's influence reached even the marina was a shock. Even so, she couldn't afford to panic. What on earth Jon was up to now? 	
On the courthouse steps a few feet behind Barbara Bellman, he stood surrounded by reporters who were elbowing for position and shoving microphones at his face. Jon's expression was grave as he told his audience that it would be inappropriate to discuss his tactics in the VitaChem matter at the moment. Squaring his shoulders as he looked directly into the camera, he was the personification of a man determined to remain strong in the face of almost unendurable pressures. 	
"Is there anything new on your fiancée's disappearance?" a reporter called out from the back of the crowd. 	
"Nothing helpful." 	
Maura marveled at how she'd allowed herself to be taken in by Jon's public image. She recognized the sensitive, distressed face he was wearing. It was the one he used when he was being photographed with an oil-coated seagull or a hapless rabbit that had been caught in a leg- hold trap. His artfully windblown hair and crooked tie were calculated to give the impression that Jon was too worried to care about the image he presented. 	
She compared the appealing concern on his handsome face to the feral intensity in the photos that Danny's investigator had taken of Jon in the grip of his lust and in the look he'd focused on her when he realized she'd witnessed Danny's murder. Maura wanted to pummel him until at least one of his lying eyes was as blackened and swollen as hers was. 	
"Mr. Casen." Barbara Bellman had managed to squeeze through the crowd so that she was standing beside Jon. "There's a rumor that Maura Fitzpatrick was kidnapped and the kidnapper's demand was that you drop the action against VitaChemical. Was today's action the price for your fiancée's life?" 	
A look of pain crossed Jon's face. Stunned as she was at the outrageous suggestion, Maura had to admit the man could act. 	
"I can't comment on that." He straightened his shoulders, gave one last agonized look at the camera, then shouldered his way past the outstretched microphones and hurried down the steps, muttering, "No more questions." 	
Barbara Bellman's face was solemn as she intoned, "You saw Jon Casen's reaction to reports of the abduction of his fiancée, Maura Fitzpatrick. Sources close to him report he is desperately worried about her fate. We'll keep you up to date on developments as we hear them." 	
The reporter's eyes were sparkling with excitement as she signed off. 	
Kidnapped! Maura clenched her fists to stop her fingers from trembling. Jon's performance was sure to convince the press that the rumor was true. And that someone else was threatening her life. That rumor was being circulated to explain her eventual murder! 	
Maura wasn't aware of uttering a sound but Bronwyn swung around to look at her. 	
"I've let you stay up too long," she exclaimed. "You're white as a ghost. Come on. Back to bed with you." 	
Maura allowed herself to be bustled into the bedroom. She lay there, coming to grips with this latest development and listening to Bronwyn make phone calls in the next room. The last was to Matt. 	
"I can't stay around this afternoon," she said. "Jon Casen's just withdrawn the injunction against VitaChem. The TV reporter said it had something to do with his fiancée being kidnapped. I don't know if that's true, but we can't let them get away with this. I'm calling a meeting of the Millbridge GEL committee for seven o'clock at my house and I need the rest of the afternoon to get ready for it. Come, if you can get away." 	
Bronwyn was quiet for a moment while Matt spoke. 	
"She'll be fine. All she needs now is rest. I was going to cook a chicken for your dinner. Guess you'll have to do it yourself or make a sandwich. Sorry to let you down." 	
She glanced at her watch. "All right, Matt, I'll tell Reenie you'll come in and get her supper about five o'clock." 	
By the time Bronwyn came into the bedroom, Maura had decided several things. First, Bronwyn hadn't recognized her. Second, she couldn't think of any place she could keep a lower profile. She could stay here for a few more days. Third, she was going to earn her keep. 	
"Thanks again, Bronwyn," she said, indicating the fresh bandages. "Don't worry about Matt's supper." 	
"You rest," Bronwyn ordered. "Matt's not helpless." 	
Maura gave her a lopsided smile. "Neither am I. I am a cook, you know." 	
The two women shared a long look. Bronwyn nodded. 	
"See you in the morning, then," she said. 	
A few hours later, Maura looked longingly at the bed in Matt's father's room. She'd had a busy afternoon. Matt had told Bronwyn he'd be back to make dinner at five. Her face relaxed into a smug, albeit weary, smile. He wouldn't have to cook. 	
She was exhausted but proud of preparing that one small meal, considering the limited number of ingredients in Matt's kitchen. Her feeling of accomplishment was out of all proportion to the size of the job, but it was the first situation she'd been able to control since she'd found that manila envelope. 	
What could it hurt if she put her head down for a minute or two? Dinner would be fine in the warming oven for a while and Matt would waken her when he returned. 	
She was drifting off to sleep when a resounding clang and a repeated thumping sound brought her to her feet. Someone was breaking down the outside door that led to the mudroom that adjoined the kitchen. Bronwyn must have recognized her, after all. Jon was on the other side of one flimsy wall! 	
She had to get out of here. She wasn't far from the front door. But she had no idea where to run. Jon could have someone outside that door waiting to catch her. Even if she did get away, she'd freeze to death, wearing only cotton sweats and socks. 	
The thumping stopped. 	
She held her breath and listened. She heard nothing. Why had they quit? Had they succeeded in breaking down the door? Or were they coming around to the front? She strained to hear, but could identify only the whirring of the furnace fan pushing hot air through the vents and the ticking of the Grandfather clock in the living room. She could pick out no sound of footsteps or voices inside the house or out. 	
Maura looked wildly around the bedroom for something to protect herself with. The kitchen! There was a chef's knife in the block on the counter. She could grab it, then find a place to hide. 	
Maura tiptoed silently through the living room keeping close to the short wall it shared with the kitchen. Her stockinged feet made no noise, but her heartbeat was so loud she was sure it could be heard all over the house. She stopped at the archway to the kitchen. 	
She hadn't imagined the noise. Where were the intruders? She peered into the empty room, then dashed to the counter. The familiar heft of the large chef's knife felt good. This was something she could defend herself with - if it came to that. 	
Whoever had tried to break in seemed to have gone. But she was still going to find a hiding place upstairs - preferably in a room that had a telephone. If Jon's people had already found her, there was no longer any reason to avoid the police. 	
As she turned to head towards the living room, she heard a cautious footstep in the mudroom a few feet away. ["#TOC"]	
Chapter Five	
The dim afternoon light was fading into darkness as Matt hurried toward the house. He flexed his cold fingers. He'd kept at his scraping and sanding almost an hour longer than usual. The forty-foot mahogany hull of his newfound treasure was almost ready for her first coat of varnish. Gus had promised to take a few hours off on Thursday to give him a hand. 	
The thought of Gus brought rushing back the questions he'd resolutely pushed out of his mind all day. Who was suddenly dead? In the throes of her nightmare, Reenie had been frantic about the discovery that some man was dead. He'd heard panic in her voice, real fear for her own safety. Her story about the death of her dog showed quick thinking but it didn't wash. Had she killed a man? 	
Reenie Kelly was feisty but he didn't think she could kill anyone. At least, not intentionally. How about in a robbery gone wrong? What was in that tapestry handbag? Even semi-conscious in the Jeep while he was checking her injuries, she'd kept the bag clutched in one hand. 	
He was confident he could find out if the police were looking for her without asking Gus directly. His old sailing buddy liked to ramble on while the two of them were working on the boat. One mention of the kidnapping of Bronwyn's idol's girlfriend and Gus would be off and running about all the missing persons his ridiculously over-worked sheriff's department was supposed to be alert for. He'd be easy to pump. 	
The warm glow of the kitchen light shone through the snow that was beginning to sift down. Opening the door to the mudroom beside the kitchen, he was met by a wonderful aroma. Bronwyn must have found time to put dinner in the slow cooker before she left. Nothing had ever smelled so good. 	
He glanced into the empty kitchen. There were two placemats on the knotty pine table, set with cutlery and two water glasses. Bronwyn must think that Reenie was well enough to get up to eat. 	
He grabbed clean underwear, plaid shirt and jeans out of the set of drawers in the mudroom where he and Pete kept a change of clothes and hurried into the adjacent washroom. A quick shower to get the sawdust out of his pores and he'd go check on Reenie. 	
Only minutes later, he emerged barefoot, wearing jeans that he'd zipped but not yet buttoned, vigorously toweling his hair. Before he'd taken two steps into the kitchen, he knew he wasn't alone. 	
Reenie was leaning against the counter, her right arm down by her side. In her hand was a wicked-looking kitchen knife. She looked about ready to collapse. 	
"I didn't know it was you. I heard crashing and banging. I thought someone was breaking in." The whisper rasped with residual fear. 	
"I'm sorry." He should have warned her before he got into the shower. "I forgot how loud that racket the pipes make sounds in Pete's room." 	
He dropped the towel and went to her. 	
"It's all right, Reenie." He pried the knife out of her fingers and laid it on the counter. "I won't let anyone hurt you." 	
Resisting the temptation to pull her into his arms, he placed his hand lightly on her back and guided her to a chair at the end of the table. 	
"I overreacted," she said, with an embarrassed little grimace. 	
Her left eye was almost swollen shut and the bruises on her forehead and cheek were more vivid than they had been that morning, but even so, she was lovely. When her injuries healed, she would be breathtaking. Of course, he reminded himself, she'd probably be far away by then. 	
"I'm not quite back to normal," she said, shrugging off his hand and starting towards the stove. "But I'm getting there. I'll have your dinner ready in twenty minutes." 	
"You?" 	
The twinkle in her eye and the self-satisfied smirk on her delectable-looking lips told him she was enjoying his reaction. 	
"Hunters' chicken," she announced almost jauntily. "I'm afraid I opened your last can of tomato paste. I couldn't find the pasta so we're having potatoes instead." 	
He stared at her in amazement. She must have pushed herself to the limit to explore the contents of the kitchen. 	
"I told you cooking is what I do." 	
"It smells wonderful. But you were supposed to be resting." 	
"I want to do my share," she stated. "The least I can do is cook your meals while I'm under your roof." 	
Before he could start thinking of the reasons why he should not be so glad that she wasn't planning to leave the second she was strong enough, he grasped her long graceful fingers with their no-nonsense short fingernails in both hands and drew her back to the table. 	
"Deal," he said. "But right now, I want you to sit down." 	
Reenie's fingertips were trembling. She was exhausted, and he could tell her nerves were about at the snapping point. It was all he could do not to wrap her sexy little body in his arms and kiss her until he'd wiped her mind clear of all her fears. Instead, he dropped her hands and read himself the same old lecture again. There was too much unexplained about Reenie Kelly to give in to his sudden infatuation with her. He wasn't a randy kid any more. All he really knew about the woman was that she was frightened. 	
"Tell me what to do," Matt said, more emphatically than he had intended. "You cooked. I'll do the serving and clean up duty." 	
For a moment, Reenie looked as if she was about to object, then she gave an exasperated sigh and sat down. He retrieved his shirt from the mudroom, yanked it on and hurried back to her. 	
There wasn't much left to do and Reenie's instructions were clear. Ten minutes later, he was seated opposite her. 	
Before the agency had yanked Matt out of the field to take advantage of his knack for following the devious money trails of international terrorist organizations, he had worked in the most sophisticated cities of the world and eaten in some famous restaurants. He'd never had a chicken dish that surpassed this one. Reenie hadn't lied about her experience in a kitchen. She had a delicate touch with herbs and garlic. The parsleyed potatoes were firm with just a trace of butter and the tossed salad crisp and tangy. 	
"I'm impressed," Matt told her sincerely when he'd tasted everything on his plate. "Where did you learn to cook like this?" 	
Maura didn't see why she shouldn't tell him some of the truth. "My parents had a restaurant. I grew up in the kitchen." 	
"I should have known by the amount of chicken you cooked." 	
The man with the granite face was wearing an easy smile and actually teasing her. She hadn't been wrong about the impact of his smiles. 	
"It reheats well," she replied with a wry smile of her own. 	
"When you said you didn't have any family..." Matt hesitated. He appeared to be uncomfortable prying but his compelling dark eyes held hers. "Did you mean your parents don't live in the area?" 	
"My parents died in a boating accident when I was fifteen. I lived with my grandmother for the next three years," she told him, then blurted out her first lie. "She's gone now." 	
"I'm sorry." 	
To her relief, Matt turned his attention back to his meal. Even though he wasn't looking at her, Maura felt the magnetic energy that seemed to surround him. Perhaps it was her own current lack of vitality that made him so attractive. She managed to eat a few bites of chicken and a piece of potato before she had to give in to her fatigue. 	
"If you don't mind, I'll take you up on your offer to clear away and head back to bed," she told him. "Finish your dinner." 	
Matt pushed back his chair. 	
"No, don't get up," she protested. 	
"After tasting your cooking, I don't want you to get dizzy and wipe out on the hardwood floor," he said, taking her elbow firmly in his large, warm hand. "This service is purely selfish." 	
For once, it was good to be able to lean on someone else's strength. Maybe this warm, cherished feeling explained why some of her friends were happy with men she'd always considered overbearing. She told herself not to get carried away. She and Matt would have only these few days together. But he wouldn't be easy to forget. 	
They crossed the few feet to the ground floor bedroom too quickly. 	
"Do you need anything?" he asked. 	
"I'm fine. Bronwyn left one of your tee shirts for me to sleep in and I keep a toothbrush in my bag." 	
"Leave your door open. I'll look in on you later." 	
She'd never be able to sleep if she thought he was hovering outside her door. 	
"Why don't you go to Bronwyn's meeting," she suggested. "I'm sure I'll sleep like a baby. You don't have to watch over me." 	
"Madam Chairman will tell me what happened. If you need me, I'll be here." Matt's voice sounded even huskier than usual. 	
He took a step closer and cradled her jaw in his hard hands. Maura met his gaze for a long intense moment, mesmerized by the heat in his eyes. When he inclined his head as if he were going to kiss her, she didn't have the will power to resist. She simply looked up at him and waited. But, instead of kissing her, Matt brushed his thumb gently across her lips, once, then again. Every sensitized nerve in her lips ached for the completion of the kiss. 	
"Sleep well," he said, gruffly, and turned on his heel. 	
Maura stood, like an infatuated adolescent, clutching Matt's I'd Rather Be Sailing shirt to her breast and admiring the set of his broad shoulders and the action of his well-muscled buttocks under his worn jeans until he turned the corner into the kitchen. She had to grin at her own unabashed ogling. Well, she'd lost everything else. Why be surprised that she was losing her sanity? 	
Next morning, she woke from a long dreamless sleep to find that the throbbing in her head was almost gone. She sat up without a trace of dizziness. When her worries came flooding back, she felt almost ready to deal with them. 	
After all, that birch branch didn't seem to have inflicted any permanent damage. And she'd actually been capable of putting a meal on the table last night. Any time now, she'd be able to get a job. As soon as she had a little money, she could get far away from Michigan and start a new life. 	
She only wished she could figure out how to see that Jon didn't get away scot-free. There had to be a way. 	
Through the closed bedroom door, she could hear voices. Either Matt had the radio on in the living room or his sister had arrived. Oh, Lord, Bronwyn! There was hardly a community in Michigan that didn't have a branch of the Good Earth League, but it was rotten luck that Matt's sister should be the chairperson of the local committee. Even so, Bronwyn probably didn't know Jon well enough to mention the accident victim in her father's house to him. Most of her dealings would probably be with Walt Ames. Maura didn't know if that was much better. Jon's right hand man had been one of the four men in Danny's office on Sunday night. 	
Moreover, appeasing angry GEL members was bound to be fairly low on Jon's list of priorities right now. Before he did anything else, he had a fiancée to kill. 	
But, he couldn't do that if he couldn't find her, could he? 	
She could smell bacon and coffee. She should get up and find out what Bronwyn's GEL committee had decided to do about Jon's betrayal of their cause. She liked the thought that Jon's shining armor was beginning to appear tarnished to other people. 	
She frowned at her scruffy reflection in the mirror as she washed her face and hands. Maybe she shouldn't wash her dingy brown hair, but she was going to have a shower sometime today whether Bronwyn approved or not! 	
She pulled on the large navy sweatshirt and her own laundered jeans that she guessed Bronwyn had left on the dresser. Not all the bloodstains had come out; but at least, these pant cuffs weren't dragging on the floor. Nevertheless, with the shirt's sagging neckline and the sleeves hanging to her fingertips, she still looked a little like Charlie Chaplin after a mugger had finished with him. Good thing she wasn't trying to attract anyone. 	
When she opened the door, she caught the end of Bronwyn's sentence. "... tell I was upset so Walt is going to call me at this number when he gets to Millbridge." 	
"What can he say?" Matt commented. "Your fearless leader threw in the towel." 	
Walt Ames was coming to Millbridge! Maura wheeled back into the bedroom. He'd recognize her in a minute. He saw her or talked to her on the phone almost every day. She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the bedroom mirror. Maybe she could fool him if she didn't speak - and if she wore the reading glasses. Was there a chance she'd shoved them into her purse? She dived at the bed, reached under a pillow, pulled out her handbag and yanked the drawstring open. She had the plastic eyeglass case in her hand when she heard someone come into the room. 	
She spun around. 	
"I thought you were coming in to join us," Matt said. His eyes were fixed on her open purse. 	
She flourished the case at him. 	
"I'd forgotten my glasses." She took out the rimless half glasses, perched them on her nose and turned back to push the manila envelope back down into her bag and pull the drawstring closed. "I thought Bronwyn might let me read her newspaper." 	
Out of the corner of her eye, she watched Matt's reaction. He tilted his head and studied her face for a full second. Then he nodded. 	
"Yes," he said. 	
Well, that was informative. Did that mean she looked good in glasses? Or did he agree with her own assessment that she looked like the skinny spinster hen in the old TV cartoons? 	
"I'm cooking this morning," he informed her. "Can you handle toast, bacon and scrambled eggs? With Bronwyn's peach marmalade?" 	
All of a sudden, she was ravenous. 	
"Oh, yes," she said and smiled broadly for the first time in at least three days. 	
Matt got an odd look on his face, then quickly averted his eyes. No wonder. She probably looked like a gargoyle grimacing. 	
"I looked in on you when I got here," Bronwyn told her. "But you were sleeping so peacefully, I didn't want to wake you. Sit here and take off your glasses." 	
She patted the sofa beside her. Wielding her penlight, she peered into Maura's eyes. 	
"Matt told me you cooked a great meal last night. Too soon, of course. But, you don't look any the worse for doing it." 	
"Frankly, I'm not great at spending my time resting and watching soaps," she paraphrased. 	
"Touché." Bronwyn's open grin was appealing. Under other circumstances, Maura thought they might become good friends. 	
"So what was decided at the GEL meeting?" she asked. 	
"Jon Casen's spin doctor is coming to pour oil on troubled waters," Matt answered, entering the room bearing a tray. 	
"Not funny. Too much stuff is already being poured on the waters," Bronwyn retorted. "And Walt Ames is coming to town today because he wants to explain Jon's strategy in person." 	
Matt merely snorted. 	
"Eat while it's hot," he instructed Maura. 	
Matt had made an effort to make her tray attractive. He'd folded the paper napkin carefully, put her orange juice in a stemmed water goblet and cut her toast in triangles. Maura's appetite had fled with the news that Bronwyn was meeting with Jon's assistant, but, under Matt's steady gaze, she did her best to eat. 	
"This looks great, Matt," she told him, trying to look as if she was enjoying a piece of overdone bacon. 	
He looked pleased and turned to his sister. "What's your plan for today, Wyn?" 	
"Looks as if I'm going to be on the run all day. I was going to wait here for Walt's call, but seeing that Reenie's doing so well, I think I'll be on my way. Are you all right with that?" 	
Matt looked at Maura. 	
"Of course," she said. 	
"Dad's been after me to take him downtown to buy a present for Tommy's birthday next week. I'll hit the supermarket while he does that, then make up some casseroles for dinner and drop yours over after I meet with Walt." 	
"I've a better idea," Maura said. "If you'll pick up some groceries for me, I'll cook the dinner." 	
Picking up a pen and a pad of paper from the telephone table, she jotted down a couple of items before she remembered to reach for the reading glasses that were lying on the table. She mustn't get too casual. 	
"Do you eat spaghetti and meatballs, Matt?" she asked. 	
"My favorite," he answered. 	
"How about your family, Bronwyn?" 	
Neither Bronwyn nor Matt seemed to have noticed her gaffe with the glasses. 	
"Tommy and I like it. And Dad will love you forever." Bronwyn sounded immensely relieved. "You're a lifesaver! If you don't mind fielding a phone call for me and leaving a message on my answering machine about where and when to meet Walt Ames, that solves all my problems." 	
"I can do that." 	
Maura's flesh crawled at the prospect of having to deal with Walt - even over a telephone wire. She wasn't sure she could disguise her voice enough to fool someone who'd heard it as often as he had. 	
Not quite an hour later, Bronwyn returned with the groceries. 	
"Has Walt called yet?" she asked as she breezed in the door. 	
"Not yet," her brother told her. "Has Gus got competition?" 	
Bronwyn flushed. It could have been from annoyance but Maura hoped, for Bronwyn's own sake, that she didn't have a personal interest in Walt Ames. 	
"Gus is a friend, Matt. Leave me alone and stop behaving like a bratty kid brother." 	
Matt chuckled. "I'm off to attack the Sailing Solution's woodwork. I can have more impact there. See you later, Reenie." 	
After Bronwyn left to take her father downtown, Maura did what she always did when she had something she didn't want to think about. She baked. By eleven o'clock, she'd made four dozen butter tarts and two apple pies. The trays of oven-roasted meatballs and the big saucepan of tomato sauce would have served a small army. She told herself it all froze well, and Matt and his family could use the food after she'd left. 	
However, even in the midst of her cooking frenzy, she listened for the dreaded ring of the telephone. Finally, shortly after eleven, its strident summons shattered the silence. 	
Maura froze. She couldn't do it. She tried to reach for the receiver but her hand refused to obey. 	
"It would be suicide," she whispered. 	
The ringing continued. How could she explain not answering? In the shower, she wouldn't be able to hear the phone. She began to strip off her clothes. At least, she wouldn't have to lie about that. 	
She was already turning on the tiny shower in the washroom off her bedroom when the ringing stopped. 	
"Please don't try again," she prayed and stepped under the hot spray. 	
When the phone had begun to ring, Matt was stripping varnish from the cabinet doors in the Sailing Solution's galley. Involved in a tricky bit of detail work, he let the infernal nuisance ring five times before he put down his scraper with a loud expletive and hurried to the extension. Reenie had said she'd answer the damned phone. As he picked his way through the clutter of tools, lumber, and cans of paint and varnish that littered the floor, he attempted to get the worst of the sticky varnish off his fingers with paper toweling which, of course, only stuck to the varnish and added to his irritation. 	
"Yes!" he snapped into the receiver. 	
Walt Ames informed him that he'd be arriving in Millbridge within the next hour. He was effusive about wanting to explain the changes in GEL strategy to Bronwyn if she'd meet him at Elsie's Restaurant at one o'clock. Matt was welcome to join them. 	
Matt declined the invitation and assured Ames he would give his sister the message. As soon as he hung up, he called and left the information on Bronwyn's answering machine. 	
He cleaned off his fingers and was starting on the varnish he'd got on the receiver when it occurred to him to wonder why Reenie hadn't taken Ames' call. Had she fainted? Was she lying on the floor injured? Worse, had her pursuer caught up with her? 	
He took off for the house at the dead run. ["#TOC"]	
Chapter Six	
Matt burst through the back door, then made himself stop and call Reenie's name in a normal voice. There was no answer. 	
The kitchen was redolent with the aroma of Italian herbs and garlic and sweet smells of apple pie and butter tarts. The containers of spaghetti sauce on the kitchen counter were still hot. He called again. Where was she? 	
He hurried through the living room, and rapped firmly on the bedroom door. He didn't wait for a reply but opened the door and entered the empty room. 	
Then, he heard the shower running. Heaving a sigh of relief, he sank down on the edge of Reenie's unmade bed. When his hips encountered a large lumpy object, he reached back and pushed it out of the way. However, a spot on his index finger, still tacky with varnish, refused to free itself completely from the woolen fiber. He reached behind him and picked up the familiar loosely woven tapestry bag. Thoughtfully, he put it back on the bed. 	
He looked from the closed washroom door to the loosened drawstring of the bag that gaped invitingly at him. Matt was not a sneak. Under normal circumstances he wouldn't even be tempted to look inside a woman's handbag, but his investigative sense was telling him not to be a fool. That bag held an important clue to the reason behind Reenie Kelly's terror. 	
Matt lived his life within the solid framework of rules. He liked knowing two and two always added up to four. A specific cause always produced a predictable effect. If you touched a flame you felt a burning pain. And he tried to keep to a few simple rules for life in general. Family was important. Dishonesty had to be punished. The strong had an obligation to help the weak. No one could argue with any of that. 	
However, the intensity of his response to Reenie had him thinking of ignoring one of his own rules. He didn't trust her, but he didn't seem to be able to fight a compulsion to protect her whether she was honest or not. Her beautiful eyes and her delightfully curved body fascinated him. Her fiercely independent spirit was almost irresistible. 	
Wait a minute! No matter how attractive she was or how indomitable her spirit, a crook was still a crook! If he had any sense, he'd give Reenie a helping hand right out of his life. Forget the questions; stop worrying about her safety; just help the woman on her way. Yeah, sure. 	
There was no use telling himself that her mysterious problems were none of his business. He knew that was a lost cause. So, it seemed, were his scruples. He couldn't help her if he didn't know what kind of trouble she was in. 	
One corner of a large brown envelope protruded slightly from the opening. Looking more closely, he could see that the envelope was bulging. He couldn't quite bring himself to look at her private papers. But he did loosen the drawstring a little so that he could see what else was in the bag. When he did, he caught a flash of something glittering in its depths. 	
His heart sank. Reenie was a thief after all. Resigned, he reached in and pulled out a sparkling diamond solitaire. It had to weigh at least a carat. 	
"What are you doing?" Reenie cried as she caught sight of him. She swooped at him and snatched the bag out of his hands. "Those are my things." 	
"I doubt it," Matt bit out. 	
She was clutching the purse to her chest, protecting it with her arms. Although he was holding the ring in plain view, it was something else still in the bag that concerned her. 	
"Where did you get this, Reenie?" he challenged, his voice hard with disappointment. 	
"The ring?" Her tone dismissed it as inconsequential. 	
Then, it was the manila envelope that was so important. 	
"It's mine. Why were you rummaging through my bag?" Reenie's eyes were flashing blue fire. A good part of her fury, he suspected, was disappointment that he would go through her things. 	
"I had to find out if I was harboring a criminal," he informed her. He grasped the ring between his thumb and forefinger and thrust it at her. She barely glanced at it. "Judging by the size of this diamond, I guess my suspicions were right." 	
"I am not a thief." Reenie held his gaze by the sheer force of her indignation. "I wish I'd never accepted that ring. But it was given to me." 	
"I'm supposed to believe that a woman who was driving that decrepit old wreck and is looking for work as kitchen help would own an expensive ring like this? Come on, Reenie." 	
Against all reason, Matt found himself tempted to believe her. The woman who stood imperiously before him, wearing a set of men's sweats that were sizes too big for her, her face bruised and head bandaged, could certainly own expensive jewelry. 	
"If you aren't a thief..." he began. He threw up his hands in exasperation. "What the hell is going on? If the law isn't after you, who is?" 	
Matt loomed over her by almost a foot. His coal black eyes burned with anger and frustration. Maura should have been intimidated. However, instinctively, she knew Matt would never hurt her. For some strange reason, he cared what happened to her. The caring might be the same kind he'd give to a wounded animal, she hastened to warn herself, but he cared. 	
Any sensible woman would take her precious evidence and run. Maura wasn't feeling sensible. She was feeling vulnerable. She wished he would put his strong arms around her and offer in his gravelly voice to be by her side when she faced Jon and his thugs. 	
But that wasn't going to happen. Matt wouldn't be satisfied with anything less than total honesty, and she wouldn't endanger him and his family by showing him the evidence that Danny had gathered. She was beginning to realize that the tentacles of Jon's influence could be long and far more ugly than she had imagined at first. The candid shot of him with Sal Gerardo suggested possibilities she didn't want to think about. 	
She could give Matt part of the truth. 	
"My fiancé. No ... my ex-fiancé," she said. "I'm hiding from my ex-fiancé." 	
"Fiancé." Matt uttered the word as if it had an unpleasant taste. "The man who gave you this rock." 	
He dropped the ring on her purse, then wiped his hands fastidiously on his denim-covered thighs. "You can do better than that." 	
"It's the truth." She could see incredulity at war with some other emotion in Matt's face. Suddenly irate at having her word doubted, Maura snapped, "Believe me or not. It's up to you." 	
"Did he hurt you?" Suddenly, Matt's hands were gripping her upper arms. 	
His grasp pulled the material of her shirt tight over the wound on her shoulder. When she flinched, Matt quickly released her arms and took her fingers in his big warm hands. 	
"No. But he will if he finds me," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. This was the closest she had come to putting her conviction that her life was in danger into words. 	
"Not if I can help it." 	
Matt's fierce hold on her fingers was becoming painful and he was slowly drawing her forward into his arms. 	
"Where is he?" he demanded. "Who? We'll go to Gus. We'll get a restraining order." 	
"No. We can't go to the police yet. If they tell him where I am, he'll find a way to have me killed. Please. I can't tell you any more." She tugged her hands out of his grip but didn't step away. Another minute and she'd surrender to her need to be held and make a complete fool of herself. 	
"You've done all you can for me," she protested, as much to convince herself as Matt. "Please take me into town, Matt. I can't drag you into this." 	
Did she think she could simply walk away? After dropping like a whirlwind into his nice predictable life, did she think she could simply take off again without giving either of them time to deal with the chaos her arrival had created? 	
"Just like that." Matt's voice was flat but he was struggling to contain too many mixed emotions. Anger, hurt, confusion, sympathy, desire were fighting for supremacy. All of them centered on this infuriating woman. Without intending to, he had virtually taken suspicion out of the mix. 	
"I can't stay here." There was a catch in her voice. 	
Reenie's tempting lips were raised toward his. Her words said she was leaving, but the message her eloquent blue eyes were sending was that she needed to be kissed. And, God help him, he'd wanted to taste her lips since almost the first moment he'd seen her. 	
When he bent to kiss her, she met him half way. Nothing in the world could have stopped his mouth from covering Reenie's full, soft lips. He'd expected her kiss to be warm and vibrant like everything else about her, but even his dreams fell short of reality. Her response was so fresh and spontaneous that his own normal caution and restraint went up in smoke. When she parted her lips, the pent-up emotion of the past few days burst into a raging conflagration. She was as eager to taste his mouth as he was to savor hers. Matt nibbled at her lips; Reenie touched her tongue to his, then his plunged inside. 	
At first, only their mouths touched. Everything else in the world faded. Matt was only conscious of heat and sweetness. Then, she was in his arms. Her breasts were soft against his chest and she smelled of soap and lemon scented shampoo. 	
The sensation of her fingers plunging into his hair made him too hard and hot to endure for long. Her slender body arched against him. Her rounded buttocks fit perfectly into his hands. 	
Good Lord! What was he doing? In another few seconds, he would have lowered Reenie onto her much-too-handy, rumpled bed. Calling on more will power than he thought he had, he dragged his mouth away from hers and looked into her dazed eyes. 	
"What am I doing?" she whispered, sounding as shaken and confused as he was. She placed her palms flat against his chest. 	
"This is crazy, Matt. That shouldn't have happened." 	
"It had to." 	
The amazing, life-altering kiss was an indisputable fact. He'd never imagined a woman's kiss could have this kind of an impact. From the first, Reenie had fascinated him. He'd struggled not to give in to the pull of her magnetism but now he had to acknowledge he no longer had any choice. Somehow, that blazing kiss had forged a link between them. He didn't know how long this insanity would last, but his need to meld with her fiery spirit was as real as his urgent desire for her delectable little body. 	
Matt held her hands firmly against his chest, but stepped back enough to leave a few inches of space between their bodies. 	
"The chemistry's been there from the beginning, little one. This was inevitable," he said, trying to ram this emotional firestorm into a logical framework. "But it's only one of the things we have to talk about." 	
"I've told you all I can, Matt. And I have to leave before he finds me." She was still breathless and her lips were swollen from their kiss. 	
"I don't think so." 	
"He mustn't find me here." 	
"Better here than somewhere on your own." 	
Reenie shook her head. "I can't involve you." 	
"Too late," he stated. "You can't go now." Matt took a deep breath. Nothing in his life had ever been more important than convincing her of that. 	
Reenie set her stubborn little jaw, but he thought he saw a trace of agreement in her eyes. 	
At that moment, he became aware of the sound of a vehicle coming to a stop on the gravel driveway in front of the house. Apprehension flashed across Reenie's face. Car doors slammed. As the front door opened, a loud, impatient male voice shattered the emotion-filled silence. 	
"For the love of God, girl," Matt heard his father bark. "Don't hover. I can walk." 	
Reenie's face had drained of color at the sound of an unfamiliar male voice. That settled it. There was no way he'd let her leave. 	
"It's my father," he told her. "Wyn said she'd bring him by to meet you while they were out and about. Don't think this conversation is over," he warned. "When Wyn and Pete leave, you're going to tell me why you're so frightened of the guy you used to be engaged to." 	
He didn't wait for her reaction but strode into the living room to meet his father. Maura paused only long enough to push the tapestry bag under the bed and plunk the ridiculous half- glasses on the bridge of her nose before she followed him. 	
Pete Hanson's frustration at his physical condition was evident as he leaned on his walker and waited, grim-faced, for Maura to approach him. 	
"So this is Reenie." The smile that lit his face was almost as devastating as his son's. He held out a large work worn hand. "I understand you almost got close up and friendly with Hazel Leigh's lapstrake hull. Wyn said you were fine, but I had to see for myself." 	
Pete was more heavyset and shorter than his son, but he had the same heavy brows and broad cheekbones. He also had deeper laugh lines around his mouth and the corners of his dark eyes. 	
He met her gaze and held it for a long time before he released her hand. Maura had the uneasy feeling he had catalogued every thought she'd ever had. 	
"Let's sit in the kitchen." He led the way in that direction, making respectable speed with his walker. "I like a straight chair these days. Besides, something smells mighty good out there." 	
A broad smile lit his face when he saw the large sealers of sauce cooling on the counter. "Spaghetti and meatballs?" 	
"Reenie offered us some for our supper, Dad," Bronwyn told him. 	
"So you're generous as well as good-lookin'," he said as he sat down heavily at the knotty pine plank table. "All Matt said was you could cook up a storm. How 'bout some coffee, Wyn?" 	
"You don't have time," Matt objected, checking his watch. "I guess you didn't check your messages. Walt Ames wants to meet you in half an hour at Elsie's Restaurant." 	
"Wouldn't you know? We'll have to leave now. Oh, speaking of messages, Matt, you haven't got back to Sandra Field yet, have you? She's called me three times." She grinned at him. She's really glad you're back in town and wants to get together. I think she's serious about the together part." 	
Matt looked uncomfortable. This development didn't cheer Reenie up either. Of course, she should have expected that an attractive man like Matt would have the local women interested. 	
"I thought you'd outgrown that mean streak, Wyn," Matt told her. "Leave. I'll look after things here and take Pete back to your house after we've had some lunch." 	
"I might decide to stay here," Pete stated. 	
"Now, Dad." Bronwyn looked a little frazzled. "Don't start that again. I have to get to town. We'll discuss this later." 	
The older man waved her away. "Go to your meeting." 	
Bronwyn rolled her eyes and raised her hands in a gesture of surrender. "You can't change the facts. Matt has work to do and you're not ready to stay here on your own." 	
As the door closed behind her, Pete turned to his son. 	
"Did Wyn tell you she's been offered a full time job over to the hospital starting next week? Full time days." 	
"What rotten timing," Matt exclaimed. "Can they wait a couple of weeks?" 	
"They need her Monday. She'll never get another chance for straight days. Donna... she's Jeff's wife," he explained to Reenie. "Well, Donna said she'd look after Tommy after school. I'm the only fly in the ointment." 	
His disgruntled face showed what he thought of that role. 	
"Don't see why I can't move back home by the weekend," Pete grumbled. "I'm in the way over there. I can take it easy here just as well as I can at Wyn's." 	
"It's your house." Matt shrugged. "You talk to Doc Warner about this?" 	
Pete snorted his disgust. "Warner's a timid old woman. Thinks I might take a tumble. I could do that anywhere." 	
"If you think we can manage, I'll go along," Matt told him. "You're the judge of how you're feeling." 	
Maura was digging covered dishes out of the refrigerator. Matt moved over to help her carry them to the stove. 	
"I guess you get to help us eat up last night's leftovers, Pete," he said. "Unless you want a peanut butter sandwich." 	
The way the two men cleared their plates of reheated chicken and lit into the apple pie was gratifying. When they were finished, Matt cleared the lunch plates off the table, insisting Maura finish her dessert. 	
"Fair's fair," he said. "Cook shouldn't have to clean up." 	
Pete leaned far back in his chair. "Good groceries," he stated, giving Maura a long considering look from under his bushy brows. "You really looking for work around here?" 	
She had an idea where this was leading. For the Hansons' sake, she should make up some reason why she'd changed her mind about working locally, but she really had to earn some money. 	
"Yes, I am," she said. "I hope to start looking tomorrow." 	
"How'd you like to work for me? I'm going to need a cook and housekeeper for the next couple of weeks. I'll pay you the going rate. If that spaghetti tastes as good as this chicken did, I'm getting a good deal." 	
When Maura flashed a hesitant glance at Matt, Pete added, "We can heal at the same time and keep an eye on each other. You'll have a better chance of getting a job at one of the ski lodges when you don't look like you've been in a fight." 	
Matt nodded slowly. "It's probably the best solution to all our problems. What do you think, Reenie?" 	
Did she really have any choice? At least while her features were still swollen and discolored, no one was likely to recognize her. Walt's presence in Millbridge today was a fluke. She'd be far away the next time GEL business called him back. Two weeks would give her time to figure out what her next move was. 	
If she kept a low profile, her presence shouldn't endanger the Hansons. On the other hand, she didn't know how long she could avoid Matt's questions. Keeping her wits about her in the company of a man who could turn her spine to jelly by simply looking at her was definitely a problem. 	
"Thanks for the offer, Mr. Hanson," she began. 	
"It's Pete, Reenie," he cut in with an encouraging smile. 	
"Pete," she acknowledged, smiling back. "I would like to cook for you, but you'll need your room back," she hedged. "I need to find a place to stay." 	
"Well, girl..." There was a kindly glint in his shrewd black eyes. "There's lots of room. Four bedrooms upstairs, and there's an apartment over the shop where the college students who hire on as summer help stay." 	
Matt's bedroom was upstairs. 	
"Maybe over the shop," she agreed. 	
She tried to hide her elation. In her own apartment, there'd be less chance of meeting the Hansons' friends who might want to pry into the background of the waif Matt had picked up. The pay for two weeks' work wouldn't be enough to finance her getaway, but it would be enough to get her to a larger center where she could get lost in the crowds. 	
Her relief was short-lived. 	
She heard the front door opening and Bronwyn's voice saying, "Come on in, Walt. I want you to meet my father. He's the one you want to talk to about the information-gathering network and setting up the telephone fan-out." 	
"I'm looking forward to it," a hearty, all-too-familiar voice pronounced. ["#TOC"]	
Chapter Seven	
"We're in the kitchen, Bronwyn," Pete called out to the newcomers. 	
Maura tried to compose herself, but Matt must have noticed her reaction to Walt's arrival because, without undue fuss, he took her by the arm and began to hustle her towards the back door. 	
"While Pete and Wyn are involved with GEL business, let's go out and take a look at the apartment, Reenie," he suggested. "A little fresh air will do you good." 	
Pete looked surprised for a second but gave a brisk nod of agreement. "Good idea." He winked at Reenie. "We'll talk about the details after Bronwyn's company leaves." 	
They didn't quite make it out the back door before Bronwyn and her companion reached the kitchen. They were forced to stop while Wyn performed the introductions. 	
"And this is Reenie Kelly, who is staying with us for a few days," Bronwyn finished. 	
Maura found it odd that Walt's impeccable image hadn't changed in the sixty-four hours that had completely changed her life and appearance. Not a lock of his sandy hair dared fall out of place and his well-tailored suit fit as if it was part of his lean body. She held her breath when he turned his attention to her. 	
His cool, hazel eyes swept over her casually, then zeroed in, for an uncomfortable moment, on her eyes. Walt's smile stiffened. Had he recognized her or was he simply surprised by her bruised and battered face? 	
However, Walt took her hand, then Matt's in firm, campaign-style handshakes, flashed a practiced smile, and said he was delighted to meet them. Maura was able to muster a weak smile in return before Walt turned back to Pete and the purpose of his visit. 	
That was all! 	
"Bronwyn tells me you might help us out with a new information project we want to launch, Mr. Hanson." Walt was definitely wearing his National Chairman of GEL hat this afternoon. "It's modeled on Crime Stoppers. We have a 1-800 number people can use anonymously. We want the public to be able to notify GEL without delay if they witness any illegal dumping." 	
Walt hadn't recognized her! 	
"Mind if I lend Reenie your old jacket, Wyn?" Matt broke in, reaching for a red corduroy jacket that was hanging on a peg in the mudroom. "We're going out to look at the apartment." 	
Bronwyn threw her father an exasperated look. 	
"Go right ahead," she said, waving them on their way. 	
They made their escape. Maura didn't take time to do up the jacket before they stepped out into the brilliant afternoon sunshine. 	
The unexpectedly warm air was soft on her face. The jet stream had apparently made another erratic loop north and allowed moist Mississippi air to rush into Michigan for a short blast of Indian summer. The bright sunshine dancing on the blue waters of the bay made it hard to credit how cold and bleak the marina had looked only two nights ago. 	
Matt's presence did a lot to drive her lost feeling away. It was too bad she'd never know how their relationship might have developed under normal circumstances. She'd never experienced anything like Matt's kiss. If he hadn't had the sense to pull away from her, who knows where it could have led? But the circumstances were anything but normal. Any minute he was going to repeat his demand for information he had every right to expect and which she had to refuse. 	
"The apartment is above the shop. It's over there," he pointed out, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Past the boathouse. I'll drive you." 	
"I'd rather walk." Resisting the temptation to snuggle into his casual embrace, she hurried ahead of him. "Who knows when we'll get another day like this?" 	
He matched his stride to hers and they walked in silence for a few minutes. When they drew near a long narrow building that stood at one end of a concrete pier, he took her hand. 	
"Come with me." The note of boyish excitement was unexpected in his gruff voice. "I want to show you something special." 	
The boathouse smelled of sawdust, paint stripper and varnish. They walked by several wooden cribs which held medium-sized boats in various stages of repair. At the far end of the room, Matt stopped beside a large sailboat. 	
"Well," he said, beaming. "There she is!" 	
The smooth mahogany hull must have been close to forty feet long. Sitting up in the air as it did, the boat looked massive. In the water, her lines would be low and sleek. 	
"Oh, Matt," she breathed. "She's magnificent. Will you sail her on the lake, or take her outside?" 	
"Outside?" He raised his eyebrows. "You're a sailor?" 	
Maura laughed. "Never in anything this big. A friend of mine who's married to a marine engineer on a freighter refers to his ocean voyages as working 'on the outside.' To him, the Great Lakes are 'inside.' Kind of tame." 	
The sensuality in the way Matt's hands absently caressed the smooth wood made the laugh die in her throat. 	
"I always thought I'd like to own an ocean-going ketch like this and take her outside on an open-ended cruise. I'd keep going until I stopped being curious about the next port." He paused. "Doesn't look as if that's going to happen. But I'll have the best sailing craft on Houghton Lake." 	
She'd never have suspected Matt had a romantic side. 	
"You could always put it in Lake Huron. You can go anywhere you want from there." She wanted to know more about him. "Have you done a lot of sailing?" 	
"When I was based in Washington, my buddy, Ryan, and I kept a boat for a few seasons, but we never got away for more than a week at a time on it. Where did you do your sailing?" 	
This kind of conversation belonged at a Yacht Club cocktail party or a summer weekend mixer at Driftwood Lodge. But she and Matt weren't carefree vacationers. She would never see him at the helm of his dream craft. 	
"I learned to sail on my dad's Flying Junior on Lake Erie." It was on the tip of her tongue to tell him her parents had drowned in a boating accident on that same sailboat. She clamped her mouth shut. He was too easy to open up to. 	
She began to walk quickly back the way they'd come. "Is the apartment in the next building?" she asked over her shoulder. 	
"About a hundred feet to your right." Matt sounded understandably puzzled by her abrupt retreat. 	
Outside a lopsided two-story building that proclaimed itself "Marina Office," Matt produced a set of keys. 	
"In summer, we use the outside staircase in the back. But the steps can get icy. Off-season, we use the inside stairs." 	
While he was busy with the lock, she peered in through the large front window. Its display area was a jumble of ill-assorted water gear. Paddles were side by side with fishing rods and lures. A molded plastic windsurfer leaned against a scuba tank. Various pumps and engine parts were piled in one corner of the window beside some really elegant brass fitting and lamps. Maura's fingers itched to make order out of the chaos. 	
"Come through here, Reenie." Matt indicated a pathway through the piles of cardboard cartons. "Since Pete's operation, nothing's been put away," he added, a little sheepishly. "I was going to start on this stuff - at least, take the engine parts over to the machine shop, but Pete wants everything left for him." 	
"He strikes me as a man who hates being beholden," Maura commented. 	
"Particularly to a prodigal son." Matt muttered, forging ahead up the stairs. 	
When she stepped inside the apartment, Maura felt as if she'd come home. In spite of its closed-up smell, the place gave the impression of being bright and airy. Sunshine poured in through large windows that looked out over the bay from every angle. 	
The living room contained a bed sofa covered in emerald green and blue chintz, two wooden armchairs with cushions of the same crisp flowered material and a large round wooden table with four mismatched chairs. The kitchen was small but efficient. The bathroom had a marvelous big clawfoot tub with a curtain and a hand-held shower like the one in Pete's washroom. The two bedrooms were bright but Spartan. The small one contained a double bed and a dresser; the larger held twin beds, a couple of futons, two battered dressers, and a large table. 	
She liked the view from the smaller bedroom, which overlooked the dock area and the bay. Several floating docks were piled up on land for the winter, but she could imagine the dozens of boats that would be moored on the sparkling water in summer. She'd like to see that, she thought wistfully. 	
"What do you think?" 	
Matt's low voice, almost at her shoulder, startled her. She'd been so excited by the possibilities of the apartment, that she hadn't heard him come into the room. He was leaning nonchalantly against the doorframe, his thumbs hooked in the pockets of his jeans. The tension around his eyes, however, betrayed his keen interest in her answer. 	
"It's perfect," she exclaimed. 	
A fleeting smile softened his face. 	
"Can I move in here tomorrow?" She wondered if a person with no possessions "moved in". 	
"Sure, if that fits in with Wyn's plans. It can't be too soon for Pete." His dark eyes scanned her face. "You won't be frightened out here alone?" 	
"You and your family are the only ones who know I'm here." 	
Matt looked out the window, and waited. The silence was heavy. 	
"Don't you think it's time you told me about the trouble you're in?" he bit out, finally. "Are the police after you?" 	
"No!" she exclaimed. "I don't blame you for wondering what kind of person you're taking into your home, Matt, but I swear I haven't committed any crime." 	
When he did meet her eyes, his doubts about her honesty were written all over his face. The injustice of it was infuriating. She was so law-abiding, she'd never even had a parking ticket. 	
"Then why are you terrified of every passing stranger? I thought you were going to pass out when you heard Walt's voice." 	
It was tempting to tell him that Walt Ames was no stranger, to share the whole ugly mess with him. But she'd had time to think about what that photo of Jon with Sal Gerardo implied. 	
She'd seen headlines about Gerardo being investigated for some kind of racketeering but hadn't been interested enough at the time to read the article. She'd noticed the name only because of Danny's mother's connection with Gerardo. She had been led to believe that Danny had nothing to do with his mother's family. What were Jon and Danny tangled up in? She had a feeling the answer might be in the printouts in the manila envelope. 	
Who knew how many ruthless men wanted her out of the way? If Matt didn't know anything, there would be no reason to hurt him or his family. 	
"All I can tell you is that the man I was engaged to has a lot of connections, and he wants me dead." 	
"That's not good enough, Reenie." 	
Reenie! The most fascinating man she'd ever met didn't even know her real name. Lord, she hated all this lying! One look at his determined face and she knew she had to tell him another part of the truth. 	
"I found out he wasn't the man I thought he was. He knows I could ruin him..." 	
Matt's dark, intense eyes were focused on her lips. Oh, Lord! She wanted to taste his mouth just once more. He was bending closer. 	
She tilted her head away a fraction of an inch. She had to say this, "...And it's too dangerous. I won't involve you in this." 	
Her blue eyes begged him to go along with her decision, but Matt knew it was too late. 	
"Do you honestly believe I'm not already involved?" The word "involved" echoed ominously in his head. But it was true. Until Reenie was safe from whatever menace she was running from, he was not moving from her side. 	
"I'll be leaving in two weeks," Lord, but she was stubborn. "You'll never see me again. They'll never know you had anything to do with me." 	
"They?" 	
She gave him one last pleading look. "Please give it a rest, Matt." 	
"For now," he said, cradling her face between his hands and lowering his head to take her mouth. If she wouldn't give him the facts, he would do some digging of his own. 	
Her soft lips parted. When he stroked her full lower lip with his tongue, she moaned softly and met his tongue with hers. The taste of her tart sweetness confirmed what he had already feared. He wasn't going to get Reenie out of his system any time soon. The embers that they had banked a few hours ago burst into flame. As their tongues plunged and danced, he pulled her tight against him. 	
"Matt," she breathed. His name on her lips was the most erotic thing he'd ever heard. 	
Her body was warm and yielding. Matt moaned her name and lifted her against him. Her hips began to rock slowly against him. He ground his urgent hardness against her to ease the ache. It helped, but only for a moment. He needed ... he needed ... her. 	
He had to slow down. Reenie deserved better than the fast wild coupling his libido was hurtling them towards. He hardly recognized himself in this out-of-control animal who was about to take advantage of a woman who had been through the emotional and physical trauma that Reenie had. Where was his brain? He didn't even have protection for her. 	
She stiffened in his arms. 	
"Reenie?" he rasped as he raised his mouth from hers. 	
"I'm sorry." Her deep blue eyes were dark with passion and shaded with regret. 	
"Don't!" Matt placed his index finger softly on her lips. "Don't say that. You just aren't ready for the next step." 	
"I wish," she whispered. "I wish things were different." 	
"They will be," he said. "We will make love, you know. Long, slow, mind-bending love. When the time is right." 	
The pictures those words conjured up almost snapped his control. He made himself release her and walked over to a window that faced the house. 	
"I see that Ames' car is gone. Shall we go back and tell Pete you like the apartment?" he suggested. "Better give me a minute to get presentable first," he added a bit self-consciously. "You have a powerful effect on me, little one." 	
When they reached the house, they walked in on Pete's announcement that he was moving back home. 	
"I know you always hate changing your plans, Bronwyn," he was saying. "But I refuse to be babysat by Donna Franklin." 	
"Have it your own way, Dad," Bronwyn snapped. "But Reenie's not a hundred per cent herself. Maybe she's not up to looking after a grumpy old man. How much pressure did you put on her?" 	
"None at all," Reenie answered for him. "I'm happy to do something to repay you for letting me stay here while I recuperate." 	
"Reenie thinks the apartment will suit her fine," Matt announced cheerfully. "There's not much to do to get it ready. I can give it a good cleaning. The phone and electricity are already hooked up." 	
"The move will go smooth as silk, Bronwyn," her father assured her. "You can concentrate on getting organized to go to work on Monday. Saturday, Gus will give Matt a hand moving me home and Reenie into the apartment." 	
"It won't take much to move me," Maura said quietly. "Everything went up with the car." 	
The empty trunk of the Buick flashed through Matt's mind. Wherever Reenie's possessions were, they'd never been in that car. 	
"I'll get some linens out for you, Matt." Bronwyn capitulated graciously. "Make sure you get the extra television set that the summer help usually use from the basement. The kitchen should be pretty well equipped. Just let me know what else you need, Reenie. I'm afraid my clothes would be miles too big for you," she said, ruefully. "We can shop tomorrow. They should have most anything you need in town." 	
"I'd appreciate that, Bronwyn," Maura said. 	
"I'll take her," Matt said. It wasn't a suggestion. "Make a list, Reenie. I'll take you to Millbridge to shop for essentials tomorrow. We can go farther, if you need to, in a day or two. 	
"Tell me, Wyn, what did Ames have to say about Jon Casen's cop out?" 	
"According to Walt," Bronwyn began slowly, "it wasn't a cop out. It was a shrewd tactical move. Someone leaked word to Jon that Judge Marchand who was going to deal with the application had become hostile to GEL and wasn't going to grant the injunction. As the old judge is about to announce his retirement, Jon decided we'd be better to whip up as much anti- VitaChem publicity as possible over the next few weeks and hope to get a more sympathetic judge when we apply later." 	
"Do you believe that?" Pete asked. "The papers seem to think Casen caved in to his girlfriend's kidnappers." 	
"I don't know," Bronwyn said slowly. "Walt said all he knew was that Jon is terribly upset and refuses to talk about a kidnapping. He's gone to Lansing to be with his fiancée's grandmother while they wait for news. She's Governor Fitzpatrick's widow, you know." 	
Gran must be frantic. Maura couldn't let her go on thinking she was in the hands of kidnappers who might kill her at any minute. Maybe she could call from a payphone when she was in town with Matt tomorrow. Damn! Gran had call display on her telephone. No matter where Maura called from, Jon would know immediately where she was. 	
"I know who Glad Fitzpatrick is," Pete stated indignantly. "Thought she was too smart an old bird to have anything to do with Casen's kind. Old Governor George, now, was an honest politician." He snorted. "If you can use those two words side by side." 	
"I told you I wasn't going to argue with you about Jon Casen any more." Bronwyn glared at him. 	
From the devilish gleam in his eye, Maura could tell Pete enjoyed needling his daughter. 	
"I know you think he's a fine man, Wyn, but he's too slick for me," Pete asserted. "Can't trust a politician who likes to pose as the public's conscience." 	
"Is that your roundabout way of telling me you're going break your promise to Walt to set up the telephone fan out that's supposed to test the new GEL hot line?" 	
"Hell, no, girl. I haven't got anything against GEL. And I don't mind helping find the Fitzpatrick girl. I can have the fan out to all GEL members set up in a couple of days." 	
Obviously pleased at having put her father on the defensive, Bronwyn flashed Maura a smug smile. But Maura was too stunned to appreciate the verbal sparring the Hanson family seemed to enjoy. 	
"What does that have to do with the Fitzpatrick girl?" Maura was surprised at how disinterested she sounded. 	
"Walt suggested we ask the members to call if they thought they'd seen her," Bronwyn replied. "That way we can test the new hot line and maybe find the woman at the same time." 	
"That kind of help could get her killed!" Matt exclaimed. "We don't know what the deal is with the kidnappers." 	
"That's what I said," Bronwyn agreed. "But then Walt said he was sure the kidnapping rumor started with a crank call. Some man did call Gladys Fitzpatrick but there's been no follow-up. 	
"Walt is pretty sure that Maura Fitzpatrick over-reacted to a difference of opinion she had with Jon and ran off. Apparently, she's been having some emotional problems. Walt says they have to find her before she does herself some harm. Something he said made me think she might even have some kind of drug problem." 	
"There's a real fishy smell to this whole business," Pete proclaimed. "Every news report raises more questions. Now there's that boss of hers who's supposed to be scouting properties in the Caribbean but can't be reached. Last I heard, they had telephones in the Caribbean. Yep, real fishy." 	
Maura watched Matt nod his head in agreement. Would he believe her if she told him how many lies had just been told? ["#TOC"]	
Chapter Eight	
Matt wasn't surprised that Reenie had avoided him ever since they broke off that superheated kiss in the apartment yesterday afternoon. He'd been feeling a little gun-shy himself. Before the sun was completely up this morning, he'd grabbed a couple of the carrot muffins Reenie had made after dinner and a thermos of coffee and headed for the boathouse and solitude. Gus wouldn't be arriving for a couple of hours. 	
If he'd been able to get Reenie to reveal anything definite about the low-life who was threatening her, he'd be tempted to involve Gus. As it was, he knew nothing. Besides, he'd told Reenie he wouldn't talk to the police without warning her. 	
Maybe he would try again to get her to talk to him when he took her to town this afternoon. In the meantime, he needed this time to get his own head together. Something significant was happening between them. Her response to him had been so sweet, so full of fire. She was also fragile right now and reluctant to trust anyone. When he saw her jump at every shadow, everything in him wanted to hold her and comfort her. When the time was right, they were going to enjoy the hottest and maybe the longest lasting relationship he'd ever been part of. For now, he definitely needed to get involved in some heavy physical labor. 	
The Sailing Solution's hull was roughed up and ready for another coat of varnish and he was ready for company by the time he heard the hinges of the boathouse door give their usual squeak. 	
"It's Lindberg with the serum," Gus announced cheerfully, plunking a large basket on the worktable. "I went looking for you at the house and Reenie insisted I bring hot coffee and muffins." 	
Reenie! He could imagine her alarm when the sheriff knocked at her door. Gus had known damn well Matt wouldn't be there. 	
Gus' shrewd brown eyes didn't give away a thing. His face projected his usual affable good humor. Freckled and redheaded, Gus had the perfect looks for a small town sheriff. His husky build made him look shorter than his six feet and his laid-back manner caused most people to underestimate both his toughness and his intelligence. 	
"I should have known Bronwyn would call you." 	
"Yeah, she told me you were starting a women's shelter." Gus took a large bite of carrot muffin and chewed it slowly. "Good," he commented. "What's the story?" 	
"Not much of a story." 	
As he laid out brushes and cans of spar varnish, Matt described briefly the events from the time Leigh's trailer hitch snapped to the explosion of Reenie's car. 	
"She isn't going to make a claim on the insurance," he concluded. 	
Gus reached for another muffin and stared intently at him. After a few seconds, he picked up the thermos and asked, "Aren't you going to have some of this coffee?" 	
Relieved that Gus was going to leave the subject of reporting the accident in abeyance, Matt grinned at him. 	
"Hey, I thought you came over here to work, not gobble up the treats our new housekeeper cooked up for me." 	
"Housekeeper, is it?" Gus matched his grin. 	
"She was looking for work as kitchen help at one of the ski lodges and Pete offered her the job," Matt volunteered. 	
"Should work out well with Wyn going back to work." 	
Gus and Wyn had been close friends long before she'd been swept off her feet by Phil Cooper. Since Phil's fatal snowmobile accident three years ago, Gus had made no secret that he wanted more than friendship from Matt's stubborn older sister. 	
Gus ambled over to pick up a brush, signaling that this phase of the informal interrogation was over. 	
"Oh, I was told to remind you to please call Sandy Field." 	
"I was hoping she'd give up. I'm not interested in renewing old friendships." 	
Gus guffawed. "Hey, you had something going back when she was eighteen and pudgy. What have you got against thirty-four and sexy?" 	
"We were both quiet and lonely then. From what Wyn tells me, Sandra is much more out- going now." 	
"Well," Gus gave him a weary bachelor grin. "Since her second divorce, she's making sure the single men around know she's still lonely. But from what she told me, old buddy, she seems to think you have the solution to her problem." 	
Matt's expletive was short and explicit. 	
They worked in companionable silence for an hour or more, with only the occasional exclamation about how great the hull was looking or conjecture about Green Bay's chances this season. Eventually, Matt maneuvered the topic to Gus' workload. Gus monologued from then on. 	
"Now somebody is putting on a lot of pressure about finding that missing Fitzpatrick woman. Nobody's seen her in this county. From her pictures, I'd say she'd be noticed. Besides, they found her car in the airport parking lot at Grand Rapids. My bet is she's a long way from here." 	
"I thought she'd been kidnapped," 	
"Possibly. Haven't heard a word about that except in the media. Of course, kidnapping's FBI. They don't inform us." He snorted. "Unless they have to." 	
"Guess there are a lot of missing females you're supposed to track down for one reason or another," Matt prompted. 	
"Not since the middle of the summer." 	
Gus went off on a long involved tale about a woman bank robber who had chosen his county to disappear into last July. He was no help at all. 	
At noon, Reenie called to tell them lunch was on the table. When they got there, she had her funny little half-glasses perched on her nose and was about to ladle out large bowls of vegetable soup to go with the platter of sandwiches she'd laid out. They were just sitting down when the telephone rang. Matt picked up the kitchen extension. 	
"Ryan," he exclaimed when the caller identified himself. "I thought you'd be up here by now. You'll have missed the whole hunting season if you don't get a move on." He listened. "Of course, I'm still interested." He gave a low whistle. "1932!" 	
At the sight of the boyish grin that lit his face, Maura's heart swelled. No! She wasn't falling for him. Not now. 	
"I can't be there Saturday. That's the day Pete's moving back home. If Eddie will hold on to it, I can go see him early next week. Well, if he's heading South on Sunday," Matt decided, "I guess I'll have to fly over to meet him this afternoon. Thanks Ryan. I'll call him right away." 	
"Ryan located a real sextant for you," Gus guessed as Matt put down the receiver. 	
"It sounds real, all right," Matt gloated. "Brass. Off a 1932, steel-hulled, ocean-going ketch that's sailed every one of the seven seas. Edmonson picked the sextant up a while ago but just heard I was looking for one. Trouble is he's leaving Manitowoc for his winter place in Florida and closing up the shop on Saturday." 	
He was heading out of the kitchen when he turned and said, "Go ahead and pour my soup, Reenie. Eddie's number is on the pad in the study. Be back in a minute." 	
Maura wanted to beg him not to leave her alone with Gus. Under different circumstances, she'd probably like Gus Schroeder. His ruddy face was pleasant, and his easy laugh sounded sincere. But he was in law enforcement, and she'd fled a murder scene. 	
When she imagined the questions the sheriff could logically ask her, she realized that she had no answers prepared about where she'd been living or working. She'd tell him Detroit. Until the last eighteen months, that's where she had worked. She'd simply be vague about names and people ... if he let her. 	
"Mattias is like a kid about that sailboat of his." Gus leaned back in his chair and chuckled indulgently. "When we were younger, he and Ryan and I did a lot of day dreaming about roaming around the world in that kind of boat. Now that Matt's quit his Washington job, and he's his own boss, looks like he may just do it one of these days." 	
She hadn't thought of Matt as a rambler. He seemed such a solid, rooted kind of man. Maybe her own needs had invented the man, projected him like a warm, sexy hologram. 	
"Would you like your soup now, Gus?" she asked, turning back to the stove. 	
"Might as well. I have to get back to the office this afternoon." He accepted the bowl and reached for a sandwich. 	
"Matt tells me you're looking for work in the area." 	
"She's found it," Matt told him, dropping into his place at the table. "Try that soup, Gustav, and tell me if you'd let her look anywhere else. Oh, thanks, Reenie." 	
He took a bite out of a thick ham sandwich. "What do you say we skip Millbridge and pick up the things you need in Manitowoc this afternoon?" 	
"Manitowoc, Wisconsin? Today? It's already after noon, Matt." 	
"A friend of mine keeps a small plane at the Mount Pleasant airport. He's having it fuelled up for me as we speak." His eyes were shining with excitement. "If you want to come along, you'll have to hurry." 	
Finally, something was going her way. If she called Gran from Wisconsin, Jon would assume she was heading west, the opposite direction from Houghton Lake. She turned off the stove. 	
"I'll be ready before you finish your lunch," she said. 	
"I'll clear things away in here," Matt said, taking a huge bite of his sandwich. 	
"I expect that means me." Gus made a show of finishing his soup. "I know when I've been told to clear out. See you soon, Reenie," he called after her. 	
Even knowing that Gus' questions were only postponed didn't quell the surge of excitement Maura felt at the prospect of flying off into the unknown with Matt. She hoped he'd be wrapped up enough in the prospect of buying his new toy to forget his own questions. She could use a few light-hearted moments. Probably he could too. 	
Maura felt as if she really was Reenie Kelly this afternoon as she and Matt strode towards the little red and white, twin-engined Cessna. She sure wasn't the well-groomed Maura Fitzpatrick she'd been since she was twelve years old. She was wearing her own shoes and jeans, a white turtleneck of Bronwyn's that was miles too big, a navy sweatshirt of Pete's that was even bigger, and, over it all, Bronwyn's old red corduroy jacket. Her dyed brown hair was neat enough. At least, the parts that weren't sticking up straight around the bandage were fairly smooth. As she looked through her garish dark glasses at the little airfield with its unbelievable number of small planes, she wished she really were Reenie. 	
The only person in Reenie's fictional world was the abusive fiancé she'd had a major fight with. Reenie could choose to have a wild fling with Matt Hanson. She could even fall in love if she wanted to. She could sic the police on her ex and build some kind of future for herself anywhere, in Millbridge or in Timbuktu. 	
Maura's life held too many unpleasant truths. Her father, heir to two political dynasties, and then Maura, herself, had disappointed Gran by refusing to go into law and politics. Now she was bound to destroy her grandmother's dream again. 	
That was too depressing to think about on this bright, breezy afternoon. She would let Gran know she was alive, then she was going to see what it was like to spend what was left of the afternoon - maybe longer - as Reenie Kelly. 	
The jaunty little aircraft was empty. 	
"Where's the pilot?" Reenie asked. 	
"Right here," Matt announced, opening the door and giving her a boost into the plane. "Learned to fly in the service." 	
Of course. That take-charge manner was definitely military. He didn't volunteer anything more about his background, and she didn't ask. She had enough to occupy her senses with the sights and sensations of flying over the rugged Michigan Uplands and the sparkling waters of Lake Michigan in a light airplane. 	
"Eddie said he'd arrange to have a car left at the airport for me," Matt told her as they landed at the Manitowoc airport. "I'll drop you off in town so that you can make your purchases in private. My business shouldn't take more than an hour. I'll pick you up then." 	
Reenie flashed him a grateful grin. "And I thought you were looking forward to browsing in ladies' wear shops," she teased. 	
"I was. Oh, I was." He laughed back at her, then turned his full attention back to the runway that was rushing towards them. 	
"I don't know much about the stores here," he said, a few minutes later, as he stopped in front of a promising mid-priced department store on the main street. "They should have most of what you need. I'll take you into Bay City one day next week to look for some winter things. Oh, I almost forgot." 	
He caught her hand and pressed a roll of bills into it. "You'll want this." 	
"I have money," she said, trying to give it back to him. "I can buy what I need." 	
"Call it an advance on your salary. You might see a coat or something you can't quite cover," he said, closing the car door firmly. 	
She shook her head as the little white car pulled away. It was hard to get really upset at his high-handed manner when he was so thoughtful. She looked up and down the main street. With only an hour at her disposal, she had a lot of things to do. 	
She had a few cosmetics in her bag but she needed some essentials. She picked up some moisturizer, toothpaste, shampoo, and feminine products. When a display of condoms caught her eye, she thought of the amazing kiss that had almost swept them both away yesterday afternoon at the apartment. Just because Matt was sure they were going to make love didn't mean it was going to happen. She almost walked by. 	
Would Reenie walk by? Her heart gave a little skip as she tossed the box into her basket. 	
She found a phone booth in the vestibule of the department store. She placed the pile of coins she'd obtained in the pharmacy on the tiny shelf in front of her and punched in the number of Gran's private line. 	
The pulse of the phone ringing in Lansing seemed to go on forever, but on the fourth ring, someone answered. 	
"Jon Casen, here." 	
She should have known. Well, Reenie was determined to talk to her grandmother. She adopted the thin, nasal tone of her grandmother's most autocratic and impatient bridge partner. 	
"This is Muriel Elderson, Jon. I need to talk to 	
"She's resting, Mrs. Elderson." She'd fooled him! "I'd be glad to take a message for you." 	
"Nonsense. Wake her up. I wouldn't call if it wasn't important," Reenie snapped, in good Muriel Elderson form. 	
A couple of minutes later, Gran came on the line. The tentative, "Yes?" didn't sound like her usual assertive challenge. 	
"Hang up, Jon. This is private conversation," Maura told him with a vintage Elderson bite in her voice. She did not continue until she heard the click of his extension disconnecting. 	
"Gran? It's Maura." 	
"Who ... who is this?" 	
"It's Maura, Gran. I heard a report on the radio that I'd been kidnapped. It's not true." 	
"Maura, child. It is you. You got away from them." 	
"Listen carefully, Gran. There was no kidnapping." 	
"Thank the Lord! Jon was right. He backed off on the injunction because I begged him to, but he never believed you were kidnapped. He said the man who called me was using the fact you were missing." 	
"Gran, listen. I ran because I was afraid Jon was going to kill me." 	
"Oh, dear." Gran sounded genuinely distressed. "Jon said you'd been working too hard and that with the wedding plans your nerves were ragged. Where are you, dear?" 	
"I can't tell you that, Gran. I don't want Jon to find me." 	
"Now, he told me you were upset. But he really loves you, dear, and he's sorry he made you jealous. He's been out of his mind with worry." 	
Gran could be so pig headed. Maura wanted to shout at her, but giving in to her anger would only serve to reinforce her grandmother's conviction that she was a basket case. 	
"Gran, listen to me." That was better. Her words were more deliberate and calm. "I actually saw Jon do someth--" 	
"No, you listen to me," The imperious Gladys was back and in full overbearing stride. "Stop behaving like a child. You've worried us all terribly. You must accept that women make overtures to men like Jon. But you're the one he's going to marry. Pull yourself together, Maura, and come home." 	
It was obvious that her grandmother would not listen to the truth, much less believe it. Reenie had no ally there. 	
"Come on home to Lansing," her grandmother had switched to the sweet coaxing voice that had always preceded a bribe. "Take a leave of absence from that lodge. You'll be able to relax here. You won't need those silly pills anymore." 	
"What pills?" 	
"It's all right, dear. Jon told me all about them. I'll make an appointment for you with my analyst. He always does wonders for me." Before Maura could say anything, Gran hurried on to dangle what was in her opinion the big carrot. "We'll go shopping. Elly has a new line of dresses that would look fabulous on you." 	
"Goodbye, Gran. I love you." Her hand was shaking when she broke the connection. 	
Maura didn't know why she ever thought the conversation would go differently. Gran only listened to facts that fit in with what she wanted to believe. Knowing that didn't make her feel any less rejected. Being Reenie Kelly was looking better and better to her. 	
She glanced at the little gold watch that was one of the few remnants of her old life. If she didn't hurry to finish her shopping, she'd keep Matt waiting. It struck her that she could count on his waiting. Her own grandmother had no trouble accepting that she'd changed from a competent woman to a flake in a few weeks, but, after knowing her only three days, Matt would be there. 	
He got out of the car when he saw her and gave her a broad smile. 	
"Did you get what you needed?" he asked, taking most of the bags she was carrying from her and depositing them in the trunk. 	
"I think so." She returned his smile. As she got in, she handed him his untouched roll of bills. "I didn't see a coat that I liked so I didn't have to get into this. Thanks, anyway." 	
Before he could utter the protest she could see building, she craned her neck to see into the back seat. "Did you get the treasure?" 	
"In the trunk." He was almost glowing with happiness. "It's perfect, Reenie. Beautiful. And it's shot the stars in every hemisphere." 	
There was such awe in his voice that it almost brought tears to her eyes. 	
"Maybe it will again." Her voice was hushed in response. 	
"I can dream," he said and reached over to squeeze her hand. 	
During the short drive and longer flight, Reenie dozed. In her dreams, she and Matt were lounging on the satiny deck of the Sailing Solution, drifting peacefully under southern skies. Matt, of course, looked marvelously sexy in skin-tight denim cut-offs, while she looked more voluptuous than she ever had in her life in a skimpy midnight blue bikini. 	
"Reenie," he said, leaning over to stroke her cheek. "Reenie," he repeated as he brought his face closer. 	
"Oh, yes," she said, tilting her head and opening her lips to meet his in a languorous kiss. 	
The lips were warm and firm, and the tip of his tongue was minty and slightly rough, but the kiss was anything but languorous. Matt's fingers slid into her hair as his searching tongue explored her mouth. The sensations were at once unexpected and familiar as breathing. 	
Her eyes sprang open and she pulled away. His laughing eyes were only inches away. 	
"I couldn't resist, sweetheart," he said with a grin. "I was only going to wake you, but you were too warm and tempting." 	
He opened the door and climbed around her. "I'll get out first and help you down." 	
Still only half-awake, she found herself bundled into the Jeep and on her way up the dark highway once again towards Hanson's Marina. But this time, the dark-eyed driver was no longer a stranger. He had kissed her and called her "sweetheart." 	
For a few brief moments, her troubles were forgotten. Her whole world had shrunk to Matt's mouth on hers, to her racing pulse, and her heart swelling with an unfamiliar kind of joy. 	
Now, in the delicious closeness of the dark car, Reenie decided she wanted to experience that again. Soon. ["#TOC"]	
Chapter Nine	
Matt glanced over to the slight figure dozing in the other bucket seat and smiled. Reenie Kelly was a lot of woman. His smile twisted a little. Actually, she was a lot of women. There was the feisty woman he encountered at the accident scene; the terrified waif he glimpsed all too often; the fiercely independent woman who refused to accept anybody's charity; and the warm passionate woman who melted in his arms, then almost incinerated him with her heat. 	
Every time he looked into her hypnotic deep blue eyes, he had to struggle to hold on to any shred of common sense. Why did she have to come along now? For the last couple of years, he'd been halfheartedly looking for something or someone to fill the clamoring emptiness inside him. He hadn't been sure if a career change was what he needed or whether he needed to find a woman to share his life. The choice had been made for him. 	
On his visit home last spring, Bronwyn had taken him aside and set him straight on the situation at the marina. The arthritis in Pete's hip was making it impossible for him to do the heavy work. Because he refused to admit it and hire the necessary extra help, they were starting to lose business. She told Matt plainly that it was his duty to come home to stay. 	
He hadn't fought it. Pete hadn't fallen all over him, but Matt had the feeling he was grudgingly pleased to have him there. It was the right decision at the time. 	
He was fed up with chasing dirty money through intricate electronic mazes for the Justice Department. He had enlisted full of idealism and dreams of adventure. However, he hadn't been with the anti-terrorist squad long when the army discovered his talent with computers and immediately slotted him into a government agency that combated international terrorism by tracking the sources of their funding. Recently, he'd lost even that contact with his boyhood dreams. Most of his time was being pre-empted by the anti-racketeering boys who focused on organized crime. There were more connections between the two groups than he liked to think about. 	
A totally different dream was almost within reach. The Sailing Solution would be ready in a few months. He had this winter to find someone to help Jeff with the snowmobile engine maintenance that was a growing part of the business. When he had that minor problem solved, he'd have the perfect life. He could run the marina during the summer tourist season and sail the southern seas all winter. 	
Reenie gave a soft sigh and stirred in the seat beside him. Still asleep, she stretched and, as she did, one hand lightly grazed his thigh. Matt's body stirred, too. 	
The spontaneous combustion that occurred at this woman's touch was new to him. The way his emotions insisted on getting tangled up with his physical response was another first. He'd had a couple of fairly intense relationships, but he hadn't ever been afraid he might lose something of himself when they ended. He didn't know how long he was going to be able to resist the lure of Reenie's delectable little body. She scared him. No, he scared himself. 	
Maybe one long night of lovemaking with her would get her out of his system. To be honest, he doubted if one night would do it, but a short, intense affair might. Being noble about her vulnerable state sure wasn't working. Since the moment she opened those startlingly blue eyes in the wrecked car, he hadn't been able to get her out of his mind. 	
A quiet, sane little voice was trying to make itself heard above the roaring of his hormones. What about the dead man? And the blood? Maybe Reenie wasn't running from her fiancé. It was possible she had killed him. He let out his breath in a long, silent whistle. He and Reenie had to clear the air. 	
Friday went by in a flurry of activity. In the morning, Bronwyn and Pete arrived with some of Pete's books. Wyn spent most of the day helping Reenie move into the apartment. They washed and ironed curtains, put supplies in the larder and scrubbed every inch of the place. Matt saw Reenie and spoke to her a few times but didn't get to spend a minute alone with her. 	
Even when she invited him over to the apartment to see how well she was settling in, Pete was included in the invitation and she directed most of her conversation to him. 	
"Your daughter is a marvel," she said, pointing happily at the starched and ironed curtains. 	
Pete beamed. "Did you know she made the slipcovers?" 	
Reenie looked suitably awed. She was a different woman bustling around, proudly showing them what they'd accomplished. Matt got a glimpse of what she must be like when she wasn't looking fearfully over her shoulder. She hadn't many possessions to put her personal stamp on the apartment, but she'd hung the jeans and blouses she'd picked up in Manitowoc in the closet, arranged the women's magazine and the paperback mysteries that were her only extravagances on the coffee table, and laid out her few toiletries and her new brush and comb on the bathroom counter. 	
Out of the clear blue sky, Pete said, "I wonder, Mattias, if you could help me. That computer you gave me to do the books and inventory with can do a lot of other things, can't it?" 	
Matt gave him a puzzled look. "It sure can," he said slowly. 	
"Could you rig it to organize the telephone fan out?" 	
"Sure." Matt looked pleased. "Let's go and see what's involved." 	
The apartment door had barely closed behind the two men when Bronwyn exploded in a loud whoop. 	
"I never thought I'd see the day when Dad would ask Matt for help. He swore he wouldn't ever again after Matt refused to stay at the marina after high school." 	
"Matt mentioned he was the prodigal son," Reenie said. 	
"After Mom died, the marina became Dad's whole life. He intended it to be a family business. Matt had other ideas. When he won a math scholarship to Michigan State, Dad forbade him to accept it. So Matt gave up the scholarship and joined the army. Their relationship may not be that great now but it's sure improved." 	
"Matt's here now." 	
"Dad really needed him. Matt's a good guy, you know." Bronwyn hesitated a moment, then blurted, "You aren't married, are you?" 	
This question she could answer honestly. "No, I'm not." 	
"Good." Bronwyn's relieved smile spoke volumes. 	
"I'm only staying for a couple of weeks," Reenie warned her. 	
"Of course." The smile became indulgent. "I think we're finished here. I'd like to stop at the house before I pick up Tommy from school." 	
At the main house, they found Pete unpacking books while Matt did something on the computer in Pete's study. 	
"I can't wait to get started," Pete told them. "Matt's got a program he's adapting to set up a list so that no GEL member in the whole country will have to phone more than four people with any future message." 	
He turned to Reenie. "The boy is brilliant with these machines. The army had to lend him to some outfit in Washington for the last few years, but, of course, he got tired of that, too." 	
"Dad, you know that's not fair." 	
Rather than argue, Pete changed the subject. "I suppose your committee will do the original phoning about the hot line." 	
Bronwyn shrugged. "If we get that list of yours on time, Donna's group will start calling from the bank they minute they close and mine will do the other half from the County offices. It shouldn't take long. We want the members to run a test on the 1-800 hot line," she clarified for Reenie's benefit, "and, at the same time, as a favor to Jon Casen, let us know if they've seen anyone who resembles Maura Fitzpatrick in their area." 	
"Maybe Reenie could help," Pete suggested. 	
"I'm really not any good at that kind of thing," Reenie replied quickly. "I'll provide the refreshments." 	
"Well, you're a whiz at that." Reenie was too numbed by the news to appreciate the warmth that beamed from Pete's dark eyes. 	
"I think I'll go over to the apartment right after dinner," Reenie said. "There's no reason I can't sleep there. That way your room will be free for you in the morning, Pete." 	
"That's perfect," Pete announced. "I can sleep here tonight. I'll start entering the names and phone numbers now and maybe finish them up before I go to bed. Your crew could start phoning tomorrow soon as you can use the phones, Wyn." 	
"You're sure it won't be too much for you, Dad?" 	
Pete told her gruffly not to fuss. 	
"Fine," Bronwyn gave in. "Gus offered to pick us up in the morning. We'll be here with your stuff bright and early." 	
"I'll have breakfast ready by eight," Reenie told her. 	
"Sleep in. We won't be here until at least nine-thirty. It's easier to get Tommy moving after he's had his fix of cartoons." 	
After Bronwyn left to pick up her son from school, Pete informed Reenie that he liked to have his evening meal early so that he could have his dessert and coffee in the living room while he watched the six o'clock news. Thus it was that the three of them were seated in front of the television set when the interview with Gladys Fitzpatrick was aired. 	
"...understand that a major development has occurred in the search for your granddaughter." Barbara Bellman's hushed tones indicated that the news was not good. 	
"Yes, Maura telephoned me yesterday afternoon." Gran's face was stiff with strain. "She told me she had not been kidnapped. She said she was in hiding because she thinks her life is in danger." 	
"You say she thinks she is in danger." 	
"I am afraid that my granddaughter has not been well lately. Her enemies could be imaginary." 	
Reenie stared at the screen in shock. Gran had allowed Jon to convince her that the strong- minded granddaughter she'd known for almost thirty years was suddenly mentally unstable. How could she have so little faith in her? They'd had their confrontations over the years, but Reenie had always thought Gran had grudgingly respected her independent spirit. Oh, Gran, why couldn't you just love me? The cry came from her heart, not for the first time. 	
"That is why I am making this plea to the public. Please inform the local police if you see this young woman. Or you can call this toll free number. It is vital that we find her as soon as possible." 	
"Am I to understand there's a chance Maura Fitzpatrick may be suicidal?" the reporter asked quickly. 	
"Definitely not. Maura would never take her own life." Gran didn't sound as if she believed what she was saying. 	
The telephone number that the GEL committee was publicizing flashed on the screen under the engagement photograph. 	
"Glad Fitzpatrick has aged a lot since the governor died," Pete said with a sigh. "'Course, she must be eighty if she's a day. Well, we'd better get that members' phone list ready," Pete said. "I hate to see Glad looking so worried." 	
"I think I'll say goodnight," Reenie said, rising stiffly. 	
"Sit a while, child," Pete said. "You've barely touched your coffee and or your pie." 	
"She's exhausted, Pete." Matt got her jacket from the closet. "I'll walk out with you." 	
"No!" she said. "I'm fine. I can walk that far on my own." 	
He didn't argue but simply handed her jacket to her and put on his own. She looked so pale and tired Matt would have picked her up bodily and carried her to her bed if he thought she'd allow it. 	
"I'll be right back, Pete, and I'll put the rest of the dishes in the dishwasher. Finish your dessert." 	
He hurried after her. 	
"Wait up. The shop's outside lights are on a timer, but I want to make sure you can find the inside light switches." 	
Judging by the speed she was walking, Reenie's body was healing fine. However, she was in no mood for conversation. She had her key out when they reached the shop and reached unerringly for the light switch just inside the door. 	
"I remembered that one," she muttered, "but I can't see the switch for the landing at the top of the stairs." 	
"That's because these kayak paddles are in front of it," he said, removing the offending paddles. "Looks as if I'll have to straighten up the stock even if it does get Pete's back up." 	
"There's no need. It's only for two weeks." She unlocked the apartment door. "Thanks, Matt. I'll be fine now." 	
"Reenie," he began. His need for her to be open with him was almost as powerful as his desire for her. However, he couldn't resist the pleading in her eyes to be left alone. If he asked one question, she would probably fall apart. 	
"Goodnight, Reenie. If you need anything, just call." 	
When he got back to the house, Pete was hard at work at the computer. He seemed pleased that he didn't need any help. Matt finished loading the dishwasher and spent a couple of hours at the kitchen table clearing away some of the end of season paperwork that he'd been avoiding. He was packing the papers into their filing box when Pete wheeled his walker into the kitchen. 	
"Well, I'm done!" Pete announced. "Looks like you're finished with the billing, too. What do you say you open a couple of beers and watch the news with your old man?" 	
Matt wasn't particularly interested in the beer at that moment, but he wasn't going to turn Pete down. He couldn't remember his father ever making that kind of friendly overture to him. 	
"Sounds good," he agreed. "I'll be right there." 	
As soon as Matt joined him, Pete took a long swallow. 	
"First beer in a month and a half. Forgot what I was missing," he said, smacking his lips. He turned and studied his son's face for a few seconds. "Is Reenie going to be all right?" 	
"She seems to be getting stronger every day." 	
Pete moved his hand impatiently as if he were wiping the answer off the air between them. "I mean the trouble she's in." 	
Matt put the beer can down carefully on the end table between them, then met his father's concerned look. 	
"I can't get her to tell me what that trouble is," he confessed. 	
"Well, Hell, son. Make her tell you." 	
Matt gave him an incredulous look. 	
Pete took another swallow of beer, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, then granted Matt a crooked smile. "Yeah. Try to make a woman do anything. I like her." 	
"So do I." 	
"Good." 	
In spite of the brevity of their conversation, Matt had the feeling that he and his father had never communicated so clearly. 	
He watched the news with only a small fraction of his mind on it. Pete was right. He had to get to the bottom of Reenie's problems with her ex-fiancé. As Pete said, somehow he had to make her tell him about it. 	
He was snapped out of his reverie by an image on the screen. Film clips of the lovely blond socialite at various events had augmented the replay of Gladys Fitzpatrick's plea. There was a shot of Maura at Jon Casen's side at the opening of the opera season at Ann Arbor, and one at a Good Earth League fundraising dinner. The picture that shot him out of his chair, however, was of Maura Fitzpatrick working as a volunteer at a soup kitchen in Detroit. She was stirring a huge pot and blowing an errant strand of hair out of her eyes. He had seen that same gesture and those same eyes in the kitchen of this house! 	
"What's the matter?" Pete asked. 	
"Just stretching," Matt answered, trying to cover his reaction to the revelation that everything he thought he knew about Reenie Kelly was a lie. 	
If Pete hadn't seen the resemblance, Matt wasn't ready to blow the whistle on Reenie - make that Maura - without giving her a chance to explain. "I'm more tired than I thought. You need any help getting to bed?" 	
"I've been putting myself to bed for some years now." Pete was eyeing him with some curiosity. 	
Not trusting himself to make any kind of conversation, Matt went upstairs, trying to make sense of the thunderbolt that had just hit him. 	
Jon Casen was the man who wanted to kill her? That was absurd! But was it? Reenie said that her ex-fiancé was not the man she thought he was and that she knew something that could ruin him. According to the media pundits, Casen had the party nomination for Congress in the bag. He was a man with an important reputation to ruin. If she'd been telling the truth, Jon Casen could be desperate enough to harm her. 	
The instincts he'd relied on for years had led him to believe her. Instincts! He'd been thinking with his gonads! 	
Reenie's own grandmother had announced to the world that she was emotionally unstable. Walt Ames had hinted that Maura Fitzpatrick was using drugs. Memories hit Matt in a sickening wave. He saw her clinging obsessively to her tapestry bag after the accident, then, in Pete's bedroom, furious, not because Matt had her diamond ring but because of something else in the bag. Did she have her drug supply in there? 	
But Reenie didn't look or behave like a woman on drugs. 	
Reenie! Her name was Maura. And she was engaged to Jon Casen. 	
And if she was telling any part of the truth, if Matt was right about the terror in her eyes, Maura Fitzpatrick was convinced that Jon Casen intended to do her harm. 	
Good Lord! GEL was practically running Casen's search for his fiancée from this house. This couldn't wait until morning. As soon as he was sure Pete was settled for the night, he was going out to the apartment. He had to confront Maura Fitzpatrick tonight. 	
Unaware that she had already run out of time, Maura sat curled in a large armchair in the cavernous, warm living room of the apartment over the marina shop shivering and trying to read. Her perverse mind would not allow her to escape into her book for even a minute. She figured she was safe for a few hours, maybe even days, but someone was sure to recognize her soon. When they did, who would believe her story? 	
Gran had told the world she was emotionally unstable, having delusions of persecution. Jon was a fraud in every aspect of his life. He was a thief and a killer. But Gran would rather believe him than her own granddaughter. 	
Hurt and betrayed, Maura knew only one person she might be able to rely on. She did not want to involve Matt in this mess, but he had to be aware of the danger to all of them if Jon found her here. There was no other way; she had to tell him what had happened at the lodge on Sunday night. He'd believe her. He wanted to understand why she was frightened. 	
She had the pictures ... and the printouts, whatever they might prove. The pictures showed clearly what kind of a dishonorable cheat Jon was. The printouts must have something to do with the falsified invoices. 	
If it hadn't been for those invoices, she'd have gone merrily off to Lansing for her days off and been nowhere near the lodge when Danny was killed. Earlier in the week, when she'd showed Danny an inflated invoice she'd come across Danny had dismissed the whole thing as a mistake by some new employee at the suppliers. The last outrageous bill had sent her back to her little kitchen office. 	
And the incredible, ugly nightmare began. It was still going on. Every second that passed, the search for her intensified. Maura wrapped her arms tightly around herself. She felt crowded, yet alone. And more damned vulnerable in this isolated apartment in one of the most thinly populated areas of the country than she would ever thought possible. 	
What was that? In the ringing silence of the northern night she could hear the crunch of heavy footsteps on the gravel down below. Now, the same determined feet were stamping up the outside wooden staircase! The intruder didn't have to be quiet. There was no one near enough to hear. She prayed Jon hadn't found her. Could Walt have recognized her, after all? 	
Loud banging on the outside door only a few feet away startled her. Jon wouldn't knock. 	
A determined voice commanded, "Open the door. It's Matt." 	
Almost sobbing with relief, she scrambled to her feet and rushed to open the curtained door. The pounding increased in volume. 	
She was actually sliding it open as Matt roared, "Right now, Maura!" 	
He knew who she was. ["#TOC"]	
Chapter Ten	
She had never seen Matt like this. His whole body was rigid with fury. His eyes flashed black fire. 	
She backed slowly away from him. He matched her step by step, holding his clenched fists tightly against his sides until finally, she had nowhere to go. Her back was pressed tight against the wall. 	
His glittering black eyes boring into hers, Matt raised his hand to her face. Gripping her chin with his thumb and forefinger, he tilted her face first one way, then the other. 	
"I have to admit you were more spectacular as a blond," he drawled. "But I do think I like the new hairdo better." 	
His voice was so cold she could hear ice particles in it. 	
"And the new name, sweetheart," he rasped in a bitter mockery of sophistication. "I do like Reenie." 	
His fingers tightened painfully as he began to lower his hard mouth toward hers. 	
"Matt!" she protested. 	
He dropped his hand with a curse and spun away from her. Flinging himself down on the sofa, he glared at her from halfway across the room. 	
"Damn you, Reenie," he exploded. "Why couldn't you trust me? I gave you every chance to tell me the story. Now I hear about it on TV. I'm supposed to believe Jon Casen is the man who is threatening you?" 	
She had lost him. He'd never trust her now. Her attempts to keep him in the dark had ruined everything that had been building between them. 	
"Yes," she whispered. "He wants me dead." 	
"Why would he want that?" Matt's eyes narrowed. 	
She could understand his skepticism. She had to tell him the whole story now or he would turn her over to Jon. 	
"I told you. I have evidence that can ruin him." 	
For all the reaction she got, she could've been talking to a statue. 	
"Last Sunday night, I went back to the Lodge kitchen to check some figures that didn't seem right to me," she began. "When I was digging around in the invoices, I found an envelope that contained some information about Jon that really upset me." She couldn't bring herself to be more specific. "I steamed down to Danny DiMarco's office with it. When I got there, Jon and the assistant manager, Wilson Foster, were beating Danny to try to get him to tell them where he'd put some negatives. Actually, I didn't see Jon hit him. I only heard him tell Wilson to hold him while he did. I saw Wilson knock Danny across the room. 	
"His head smashed against the corner of his desk, Matt." She felt the shock again, saw the blood. She swallowed hard and went on. "Wilson went over to him and said Danny was dead. I didn't stick around to check Danny's pulse but Jon saw me before I ran." 	
Matt took a deep breath, then blew it out slowly. 	
"Your grandmother gave the distinct impression on the evening news that she thinks you're imagining things," he said 	
"She probably does. For years, my grandmother has been trying to convince me that my work is wrong for me, that I should accept my heritage and come home to Lansing to immerse myself in the political scene. That fits in with Jon's agenda so he's been telling her for months that I'm overworked and mentally exhausted. Now, he has Walt hinting around that I'm on drugs. The fact that I'm strong and healthy doesn't change Gran's mind a bit. She wants to believe everything Jon tells her." 	
"Casen has a reputation for being a straight shooter." Matt didn't sound convinced but he was still listening. "She also said you had phoned her. When did you manage to do that?" 	
"While I was shopping in Manitowoc. I thought it wouldn't hurt for Gran's phone records to show I had made it to Wisconsin." 	
Matt grudging nod of approval seemed to indicate he might be inclined to give her a fair hearing. She made a quick decision. 	
"Come with me," she said, leading the way into the kitchen. 	
She lifted a large wooden breadbox off the counter and reached for the brown manila envelope she'd concealed under it. 	
"This is what Jon wanted from Danny. Sit here," she said, pulling out a chair at the big round table just outside the kitchen. "I'll tell you everything that happened." 	
Her fingers that held the envelope trembled slightly, but her voice was steady enough as she explained why she'd been going through the old invoices in the Driftwood Lodge kitchen office that night. 	
"That was when I found this." 	
She handed him the envelope and told him to open it. Matt pulled out the printouts and handwritten memos first, as she had. When he pulled out the large glossies that were wedged into the tight fitting sleeve, his eyes widened. He raised one eyebrow quizzically at her. 	
She sighed. "When I make a mistake about somebody, I do it up brown." 	
"He's fooled a lot of people," he said, shaking his head. "Bronwyn would have a fit if she saw these." 	
"Bronwyn wasn't stupid enough to get engaged to him. I never pretended we had a fairytale romance, but I respected Jon. To tell the truth, I finally agreed to marry him mostly to please Gran. In her mind, Jon is the future leader of the state, if not the country. She thinks he hung the moon." 	
Matt gave a kind of muffled snort. "Sorry," he said, with an embarrassed grin. He waved weakly at the photo in his hand. "Too appropriate." 	
Strangely, that was enough to lower the tension a little. 	
"If Gladys Fitzpatrick is right, we're all in trouble," Matt said. He gave a long soundless whistle when he looked at the last print, the one of Jon in earnest conversation with two men. "I wonder what kind of business Casen is doing with Gerardo and Chang Lu. Now that's a combination that's worth thinking about." 	
"I never heard him mention either one. But I didn't even know until Sunday night that Jon was Danny's partner in the Driftwood. Wait a minute. Danny's mother is a Gerardo." 	
"Tell me again exactly what you saw and did from the moment you found the envelope." 	
She did just that. Matt listened intently. He looked at her sharply when she mentioned Walt Ames' presence, but he didn't interrupt her story. 	
Strangely, of everything she'd gone through, it was describing her makeover at the dingy small town beauty parlor that brought tears to her eyes. 	
"And I told the hair dresser to cut it short and dye it dark brown. I hate this!" Her voice broke, and she waved her hand in the general vicinity of her head. 	
"If she'd shaved it all off, you'd still be beautiful," Matt stated with a shrug that said he couldn't understand what she was making a fuss about. 	
She couldn't believe her ears. On her best day, she'd never been beautiful. She'd prided herself on being neat, well groomed, with enough fashion sense to make the occasional escort exclaim, "You look great tonight!" But beautiful? 	
"Anyway," she went on, searching his face for a hint he might be joking, "that's everything until I took the detour around the construction on the interchange and had the close encounter with that old boat you were towing." 	
Dropping the papers on the table, Matt pulled her into his arms and wrapped his arms tightly around her. She could feel his warm breath against the top of her head. 	
"No wonder you bullied me into rescuing your bag," he muttered into her despised hair. 	
The warmth of his embrace felt like heaven but she had a vital question. She leaned away from him and met his eyes. 	
"Do you believe me?" 	
"Those pictures are hard to argue with," he hedged. 	
He was still reserving judgment. She had to fight to keep tears from welling up again. Being near Matt magnified every emotion she felt. If she were foolhardy enough to fall in love with him, if the swelling emotion she experienced whenever he touched her grew any more powerful, she'd never get over him. She shoved the appalling thought to the back of her mind. 	
"I didn't want to tell you any of this. That way, Jon and the crooks he seems to be tied up with wouldn't have any reason to come after you." 	
A man could drown in deep blue eyes like the ones that were looking earnestly at him now. Maura Fitzpatrick's expressive face had always telegraphed her evasions too clearly. Matt would almost swear she was being open with him now. 	
"Am I going to get the truth now?" Before he gave in to the temptation to kiss her, he loosened his hold. "No more secrets?" 	
"I told the truth when I could, Matt," she protested. "Even the name. Everyone calls me Maura now but my dad called me Reenie. Irene is my middle name. I am a cook. And my parents did own a restaurant. They died in a boating accident when I was twelve, but, I'm sorry, I did lie about having no family. My grandmother is very much alive." 	
"All right," he said. "Do you think Walt Ames recognized you?" 	
"I don't think so, but I thought he looked surprised for a spit-second when we were introduced. Walt knows me well. He came to the lodge often to see Danny and called several times a week with messages from Jon. However, probably he was just revolted by my puffy, technicolor eye. How were you able to make the connection between this banged up face and the photograph they showed on the news? There's not much resemblance," she said, with a wry grimace. 	
"They used a film clip of you helping in a soup kitchen. You did something with your mouth that I've seen you do when you're cooking." He didn't add that every expression he'd seen cross her face was probably burned into his memory. 	
"I doubt if anyone else would catch that," he assured her. "Changing the hair was a smart move. It changes your appearance a lot." He was afraid it wouldn't be enough, though, when the swelling around her eye went down and the bruising faded. "You're probably safe here for a few more days," he said with more confidence than he felt. "Not many people stop by the marina this time of year." 	
If he'd only had the facts sooner, he'd have kept Pete from moving home. The old man would be doing his shift on the GEL hot line from Bronwyn's. The way things were shaping up, any chance visitor could identify her and alert GEL headquarters. And the GEL meant Walt Ames and Jon Casen. 	
"We need to get this evidence to a more secure place, and we'd better talk to Gus." 	
"Not yet," Reenie objected. "I could ruin Jon's political career with the photos but that's not enough. I'm wondering if the papers are tied up with some kind of money laundering operation that Jon and Danny might have had going at the lodge. Danny obviously thought the numbers on the printout were some kind of insurance against Jon. We need to figure out why." 	
"Gus could get us some expert help. There are whole government departments who do nothing but follow money trails." 	
"Pete said you'd been working with computers in Washington," Reenie remembered. "Is that what you were doing?" 	
"Yeah," he admitted. "I've done some." 	
That's all he'd done for the past six years, but if he were to tackle the job himself, he'd need access to the agency databases. That could probably be arranged, but Reenie needed him here. 	
"To your friend Gus, I'm a missing person the whole country's been looking for. According to my own grandmother, an emotionally disturbed missing person. If he saw these photos of Jon in action, he'd probably consider anything I said about what I'd seen and heard at the lodge as an attempt by a crazy woman to get revenge for being two-timed." Her laugh had little humor in it. "Actually, four-timed is more like it. I dropped one of the pictures outside the office Sunday night. I want that lying snake to get everything that's coming to him." 	
The bitterness in Reenie's voice jolted him. Of course, she'd been planning to marry Casen. How could a supposedly intelligent man play around on a woman like Reenie? In view of his own feelings for a woman who was deeply involved with another man, Matt wasn't feeling too intelligent himself. 	
"You're right. Gus would accept Gladys Fitzpatrick's word." And deliver her directly into Casen's hands. A convenient drug overdose wouldn't startle anyone with the rumors that were circulating. "We'll have to check into Casen's business ourselves." 	
Pulling the printout out of the envelope again, he mused, "I wonder where the computer is that this was worked up on." 	
"All I can tell you is that it wasn't printed on the old machine at the lodge," Reenie said, stifling a yawn. Her elbows were on the table, her chin cupped in her hands. It had been a long traumatic day. "Anyway, Jon never uses that computer." 	
"You should get to bed," Matt said. "If it won't bother you, I'd like to stay here a while and get a good look at these papers." 	
Reenie's eyes flew open. "The super-powerful laptop that Jon talked Gran into buying was stolen in the robbery at her house two weeks ago. Jon has his own rooms at Gran's and uses Granddad's study when he's there on government business or needs to be at the Lansing GEL office. Do you think...?" 	
"DiMarco could have arranged for the robbery to get proof Casen was stealing from him. There weren't any disks in that file drawer, were there?" 	
"Just the envelope." 	
"How did Casen react to the robbery?" 	
"At the time, Gran was making such a fuss about her jewelry and paintings that were stolen, I didn't pay much attention to Jon's moaning about the important records that were on the hard drive of the laptop." 	
"I suspect that little laptop could send Jon Casen straight to prison for a long time." 	
"Then we have to find it." 	
Matt couldn't help smiling. She was dead on her feet, and she was ready to tackle the criminal world. The smile faded. Those were not petty criminals she was up against. Sal Gerardo and Chang Lu were major figures in their own ugly spheres. 	
"Not tonight, sweetheart. You're on your way to bed. Tomorrow's a busy day. Pete is moving in, Gus is coming to help and he's bringing my nephew Tommy with him. We'll have to figure out how you're going to appear to behave normally and keep out of sight." 	
"I'll keep my head in the oven," she assured him. 	
"This is serious. Wear your glasses all day." 	
"Yes, sir. Good thing they're half frames. The world only goes fuzzy when I look down," she agreed with a sleepy grin, as she allowed him to steer her towards the bedroom. 	
In the doorway, she paused and reached up to kiss him on the cheek. The light caress almost scuppered his determination to maintain his distance. She didn't move away immediately. Her cheeks were flushed and her soft lips were slightly parted. He couldn't summon the strength to resist the invitation to taste her just once more. It didn't matter if she'd kissed him only in gratitude for believing her story. 	
As his mouth covered hers, his tongue slowly traced the outline, then the silky lining of her lips. Her tart sweetness filled his senses. When he drew her lower lip gently into his mouth, her tongue followed and sent a flaming message straight to his groin. She made a little whimpering noise and arched against him, her soft breasts moving against his chest. 	
He was past the age when controlling his body's demands should be this difficult. But he burned to learn the sweet magic of Reenie's lovemaking. Making love to her was going to be more wonderful than anything he'd ever experienced. It wasn't going to happen tonight - not when she was physically and emotionally exhausted. But he didn't know how much longer he could wait for her. He forced himself to back away. 	
"Goodnight, Reenie," he whispered, releasing her and moving out of the doorway. 	
"Goodnight, Matt," she whispered back as she closed the door. 	
He stared at it for a long moment before he turned and marched himself back to the table where the printout sheets lay taunting him. 	
"All right, Casen," he muttered. "Let's see what you've been up to." 	
The following morning at about a quarter to eight, he entered the kitchen of the main house. Reenie had made coffee and was putting the finishing touches to the fragrant filling for the Spanish omelets she'd planned for breakfast. 	
"Morning, Reenie," he said, heading for the coffeepot. 	
He drank deeply, then set the mug down on the counter where she was working. He cleared his throat. 	
"I was talking to Bronwyn a few minutes ago. I suggested they have breakfast before they come over at about ten." 	
She looked pointedly at the large bowl of tomatoes and peppers and the mound of shredded cheese beside it. "Why did you do that? I've prepared enough food for everybody." 	
"You and I need the time to get our story straight before they get here." 	
Reenie's hand flew to her mouth. "You decided to tell Gus." 	
"No. No. I told you I'd wait until we had more facts. I wouldn't do anything different without telling you." Matt sounded indignant that she thought he'd go back on their agreement. 	
"I told Wyn I needed a little time to pack my own things." 	
Reenie had been aware of Matt banging around upstairs for the past hour and wondered what he was doing. 	
"You're leaving?" She felt as if the bottom of her world had dropped out. 	
Matt picked up his coffee and started over to the table. "I'm moving into the apartment with you." 	
"You're doing what?" 	
Reenie caught up with him before he reached the table. When she spun him around, hot coffee splashed out of his mug all over her white sweatshirt. She didn't even glance down at it. 	
"You can't toss a bombshell like that over your shoulder and stroll away from me!" She clenched her fists to keep from screaming at him. "Now, look me in the face and tell me that again. Slowly." 	
Matt grasped her tight fists with strong, gentle hands and held them firmly against his chest. 	
"Overbearing bully!" she muttered as she tried unsuccessfully to wriggle free. The amusement dancing in his coal black eyes was infuriating. 	
"Listen carefully. I am moving into the apartment with you this morning. Please, sweetheart. I have to." 	
The laughter in his eyes vanished, exposing for a moment a man who was endearingly bewildered by his own emotional turmoil. And he'd called her "sweetheart" again. As his thumbs moved slowly back and forth across her knuckles, Reenie's fists relaxed a bit. 	
"I shouldn't have announced it like that." He did seem sincerely sorry for way he'd informed her. However, apparently he had no idea how infuriating his making decisions that affected her life without consulting her really was. 	
"No, you shouldn't. You have no right to make that kind of decision for me. And sharing the apartment is not acceptable. What made you think you could tell your family I'd agreed to that?" she cried. But her anger at his presumption was starting to fade. 	
"Please listen, Reenie. I can't leave you out there alone. I didn't close my eyes for a second last night. I sat up in the apartment until dawn trying to decipher the printout, but all I could think about was how far we were from the other buildings and how easy it would be for Casen with his connections to hire some muscle to come after you. We need to put him out of commission fast before he finds you. Both of us need to have our wits about us to do that." 	
Did he honestly think living in the same apartment would allow clear thinking? Whenever he came within a few feet of her, one area of her brain came to life, but it sure wasn't the part that controlled her intellect. Out of her whole relatively uneventful life, it was unfair that her dormant libido had to choose these last few days to kick into high gear. 	
"You actually told your sister you were moving in with me?" 	
"Wyn wasn't at all surprised. She claimed she knew Monday night that I'd fallen for you. Seems I was roaming around here so stunned she thought I was the one who'd been hit on the head." 	
"I hope you set her straight." 	
"I learned a long time ago, the only way to deal with Bronwyn is to go along with her. I told her she was absolutely right. I was smitten and dazed. Love lambasted me square between the eyes the moment I saw you." 	
She wanted to kiss him he looked so pleased with himself. 	
"Lambasted?" She couldn't hold back a burst of laughter. "Love lambasted you? Oh, Matt, you romantic, silver-tongued devil." 	
Without her being aware of it, he'd moved her hands up from his chest to rest on his shoulders. His own hands were on her waist. He grinned back down at her. 	
"It's going to be a terrible ordeal, but, if we're going to pretend we're lovers, we're going to have to rehearse a little," he said and began to lower his head to kiss her. 	
Reenie ducked her head and twisted out of his arms. 	
"Oh no. I can't think straight when you do that," she told him. "And I still haven't agreed to your charade. This lie you've told involves more than moving your clothes to a building a few hundred feet away. What about Pete? He thinks you're going to be here for him at night." 	
From the smirk on Matt's face, he thought she was giving in. 	
"I wasn't here last night and he was fine when I looked in on him at about five o'clock," he assured her. "Wyn says he hasn't needed her for anything after he's gone to bed in over a week. During the day, one or other of us will be at the house. At night, he'll have the cordless phone programmed to reach us at the push of a button. 	
"The point is, Reenie, you're the one I'm worried about. Casen and crew are not after Pete. If everyone thinks we're sleeping together, we don't have to explain the real reason I'm keeping you within arm's reach." 	
Reenie was beginning to suspect that Matt didn't have a really clear idea what "the real reason" was. ["#TOC"]	
Chapter Eleven	
Matt wasn't going to budge. He had appointed himself her bodyguard. He would keep her safe if he possibly could, but being within arms' reach of Matt Hanson presented its own kind of risk. He was too free with his disturbing little touches and hugs, and Reenie was growing to like them too much for her own good. Even now, his jeans-clad thigh and bulky, deep red sweater were close enough for her to feel his seductive body heat. 	
"Let's clear up this 'pretend to be lovers' idea, Matt." The words sounded unaffected and matter-of-fact, but Reenie couldn't make herself look him in the eye. "To begin with, I'm just as capable of using a fast dial phone to reach you as Pete is." 	
"That's not a negotiable point, Reenie. I'm not leaving you. If you are too uncomfortable with the love affair explanation, you can always level with Pete and Bronwyn. But whatever our story is, you're not staying out there alone." 	
"I need to think," she said. "Let me get our breakfast. We'll have time to talk before you wake Pete." 	
Telling Matt had been risky enough. She couldn't count on the rest of his family believing that Gran was so determined to hold on to her dream that she'd buy Jon's version of Reenie's mental health over the evidence of her own experience. Reenie had been in Lansing two weeks ago, right after the robbery, for heaven's sake! Gran was the one who'd been distraught. Her statement to the television reporter still rankled. 	
She had to go along with Matt's story. She could ignore his potent sex appeal. It was her survival they were talking about. 	
Silently, she put together the Spanish omelets while Matt made toast. When he sat down opposite her at the pine table, she calmly told him what she'd decided. 	
"But, I've never had casual affairs," she told him. That was an understatement. "We aren't lovers. We are not going to be lovers. If Bronwyn is already convinced we are, we won't need to put on much of a show. You're a wonderful man, Matt. But we both know I'll only be here a few days." 	
"Whatever you say, Reenie," he replied, equally calmly. "But you have to promise you won't take off without telling me first." 	
"I wouldn't," she assured him. 	
Matt wasn't sure where their relationship was heading, but he was certain the attraction they both felt wasn't going to fade away any time soon. As soon as Reenie admitted that, he was going to make her forget she'd ever felt anything for Jon Casen. 	
"Something else I decided during the night, Reenie," he began as he rinsed his plate and put it in the dishwasher. "Sorry, I phrased that wrong. Do you think we should try to find out if Danny DiMarco is really dead?" 	
"It's been driving me crazy. I called 911 from a pay phone Sunday night in case he was still alive. I said there'd been a fight at the lodge. To send an ambulance. I don't understand why there's been no word about it on the news. " 	
"Sounds as if someone straightened the place up before the ambulance arrived. Let me see what I can find out. Before my whole family starts milling around here, I'll call the lodge as a reporter for one of the networks and see what they'll tell me." 	
"Whether Danny's there or not, Wilson Foster is probably running things." 	
"Tell me about Wilson." 	
"He's the assistant manager. Poor Danny thought Wilson worked for him before he turned on him Sunday night. Danny was too trusting." A look of pain crossed her face. "Wilson and I never got along. He's too full of himself. He's tall, in his mid-forties, works out with weights, thinks he's God's gift to women. Can be brutally sarcastic. Is that the kind of thing you mean?" 	
"Perfect." He picked up the telephone receiver from the kitchen desk. "What's the lodge number?" 	
As Reenie recited the numbers, Matt dialed. 	
"Driftwood Lodge. Elizabeth speaking," a polite, young voice announced. 	
"Well, hello, Elizabeth. This is Scott Feldbridge from ABS." It had been a long time since Matt had used the Feldbridge persona. But he slipped easily into the charming, well-modulated voice and the media standard mid-Atlantic accent. 	
"Could you connect me with Wilson Foster, please?" 	
After a short wait, an impatient male voice stated, "Wilson Foster, here." 	
"Mr. Foster, good of you to take time to speak to me. I was told you were the man in charge of Driftwood Lodge. I assume you're in touch with your absent owner." 	
"Yes. Yes, of course I am." Wilson sounded wary and as if he wished he didn't have to be civil to reporters. "I already told the press we had a fax from Mr. DiMarco on Wednesday." 	
"Yes, and most of them accepted that." 	
Wilson sucked in an indignant breath at his rudeness, but Matt barreled on. "You and I know there's more to the story than that, don't we? We'd like to do business with you, Mr. Foster. ABS would pay top dollar for an exclusive interview with the man who could give us the details about Danny DiMarco's elopement with Jon Casen's fiancée." 	
"You... you're mistaken." Wilson's sputtering response was gratifying. 	
"If you could give us their location before anyone else gets the story, we'd make it worth your while." 	
"Mr. DiMarco is traveling in the Caribbean scouting properties and can't be reached." Wilson had pulled himself together but his voice was still tight. "And I have no idea where Maura Fitzpatrick is. They are certainly not together." 	
The connection was broken abruptly. But Matt had accomplished what he set out to do. 	
"Have you lost your mind?" Reenie exploded. "What's the point of all this smoke and mirrors?" 	
"I'm sure Wilson is calling Casen this instant to tell him another pack of media hounds is going to be on their tails. This time it's the tabloids. That should make them a bit more cautious about their actions. But I don't think DiMarco's alive. Wilson is too nervous." 	
That meant the stakes had gone up. Things were bad enough when the only damage Reenie could do was destroy Casen's political ambitions with the photographs, but now she was an eyewitness to murder. With the doubts that had been cast on her credibility, however, she'd have difficulty proving it. 	
They had a better chance of putting Casen behind bars for his money laundering activities. Somehow, Matt had to keep the killers from finding Reenie until he found the proof he needed. As soon as he could get a minute alone today, he'd call Ryan and have him see if they had anything on Danny DiMarco or Jon Casen in the files. 	
The investigator in him that he thought was dead was eager to unravel the secrets of the computer printout, which was now secure in the small jewelry safe the previous owner had installed in the master stateroom of the Sailing Solution. 	
"We forgot about Pete!" Reenie exclaimed, looking at her watch. "It's almost nine o'clock. Tell him I'll have his breakfast on the table in twenty minutes." 	
Matt was back in ten. 	
"He was already up, thank goodness. He doesn't move too quickly in the morning." He stood beside her where she was beating the eggs for Pete's omelet and slipped an arm around her waist. "I told him I was moving in with you today." 	
"And?" She didn't look up, but he could feel her muscles tense. 	
"He said I was finally showing some good judgment and not to let you get away." 	
"I hate lying to him," Reenie muttered under her breath. 	
Matt had never in his life pictured himself as part of a cozy domestic scene. But standing here at the kitchen counter with his arm around Reenie didn't feel strange at all. And for all her talk about this being an act, she wasn't drawing away from him. 	
He heard a chuckle from the doorway. 	
"Kiss her and get it over with," Pete suggested. "Then quit fooling around with the cook so she can make my breakfast." 	
Matt swung Reenie around and kissed her firmly. 	
"Matt!" She pushed him away, blushing as if they really had slept together last night. 	
While Pete ate, Matt loaded some clothes and his computer and peripherals out to the Jeep and drove Reenie over to the apartment. There was an awkward moment when they entered the space they would be sharing, but they were in enough of a hurry that it passed. She quickly changed from her coffee-stained shirt into a fresh one while he stowed his equipment in the second bedroom. They had just returned to the main house when the back door burst open. 	
"Stay! Lotte, Berta, stay!" a child's excited voice shrilled. "Uncle Matt, I'm here." 	
Tommy had arrived. 	
"Hi, sport," Matt greeted him, catching the small bundle of energy that had hurled itself at his chest. "Where's your Mom?" 	
"She and Gus are coming in the front. I had to get Lotte and Berta from the boat storage barn. They missed me." 	
"Me, too," Matt said, giving the child a big hug and swinging him around before he set him back on his feet. 	
"Reenie, this is Tommy," he said. Every line in his face softened when he looked at his nephew. 	
"Wow!" Tommy gasped. The black Hanson eyes were wide and impressed. "You've got a neat fat eye. Does it hurt?" 	
"Not much." Reenie squatted in front of him and held out her hand. "Hi, Tommy." 	
He put a grimy hand in hers. "I'm seven." He peered up at his uncle. "Is she really your girlfriend?" 	
Matt laughed, tugged Reenie up beside him, and clamped his arm firmly around her waist. "You're not seven until next Friday. And yep, she sure is." 	
Tommy nodded his head wisely. "That's what Mom said." He shoved a lock of blond hair impatiently out of his eyes. "Can I have a cookie?" 	
"You just had breakfast," Bronwyn told him as she entered the kitchen. "No treats for a couple of hours. Then you have to ask Reenie very politely." 	
"Why don't you get the frisbee from the mudroom and take the dogs for a run?" Matt suggested. 	
The fair-haired whirlwind was out the door almost before the words were out of his mouth. 	
"Don't go past the parking lot," his mother shouted after him. 	
"Who was that masked man?" Matt asked. 	
"He's been flying high ever since I told him last night that he could come along. Don't get a swelled head. He's glad to see you, but he's really missed visiting the dogs." 	
Bronwyn turned to give Reenie a broad, knowing smile. "So... from what my little brother tells me, I gather you're much better." 	
"Are Jeff and Donna helping with the phoning?" Matt jumped in. He fixed his sister with a look that told her clearly to lay off the teasing innuendo. 	
"Jeff is. Donna's working on the newsletter. You met Jeff, our mechanic, didn't you, Reenie? You'll have to meet his wife, Donna. I don't think the local GEL could function without her." 	
"I've reconsidered, Wyn," her father said. "Since you're going to be working full time and Donna's already doing so much. I'll do our area's hot line shift for the next few weeks. I'm real curious to see how many people think they've spotted that little girl." 	
"That's terrific, Dad." Bronwyn looked relieved. "Well, if we're going to get the line operational, I'd better get going. I hate to leave you with all the unpacking and Tommy, too." 	
"I'll keep an eye on him," Reenie offered. "Pete has enough to do." 	
"You're sure you don't mind?" Bronwyn looked relieved. 	
"Go. Go. Don't dither, girl," Pete said, as he shooed her out. 	
Bronwyn had no sooner cleared the doorway than Pete turned to Matt. There was a tentativeness in his manner that was absent in his affectionate if gruff dealings with his daughter. 	
"Gus is out front unloading my stuff from his pickup. He'd probably appreciate a hand. Your lady love is safe with me." 	
He lowered himself into his armchair at the head of the kitchen table and groaned happily. "Oooh, yes! It is good to be home. And it's thanks to you, Reenie. I know your accident seemed like a tragedy for you, but it was a stroke of good luck for both the Hanson men." There was wisdom and understanding in his eyes. "I hope you discover it was lucky for you, too, and you'll decide to stay on with us." 	
Reenie swallowed hard; then, impulsively, kissed the old man on the cheek. "Thank you, Pete." 	
She spent the rest of the day at the dead run. She made meals, helped Pete to unpack his clothes, kept track of Tommy and made sure she had some place else to be whenever Gus came near her kitchen. For a good part of the day, Matt did a pretty good job of distracting the sheriff by taking him out to the boathouse to help with the apparently infinite amount of sanding necessary to get the hull of his sailboat the way he wanted it. 	
Bronwyn's phoning crew finished early enough to allow her to join them for an early supper. The GEL members she'd spoken to were enthusiastic about having a mechanism in place for the instant reporting of any environmental infractions they observed. Most of them had promised to look out for Jon Casen's unfortunate fiancée. 	
"We all feel so sorry for him," Bronwyn said as they finished up the last of the pots and pans. "Everyone thought they made such an attractive couple. And now to find out she's unstable. Well, it's a shame." 	
"That's only a rumor. The only absolute fact is that poor, dear Jon backed off the injunction," Pete stated. "That poison is still being dumped into the waterways while he moans to anyone who'll listen about his love life." 	
Matt took Reenie by the hand. "We've heard this argument before, sweetheart," he said. "What do you say we go home?" 	
She might not be comfortable about being alone with Matt or the idea of having a "home" with him but she was ready to escape this conversation. Matt seemed uneasy, too. All the way to the apartment, he kept up a steady flow of stories about Tommy's capers with the dogs and his earnest labor with him and Gus in the boathouse. Once inside, however, Matt became serious. 	
"Gus says there's some real political pressure coming down to find you fast," he told her, sitting down on the couch beside her. 	
"Gran has a lot of clout," Reenie said with a twisted smile. 	
"I know it hurts to have her write you off and sic the dogs on you the way she has. Try not to let it get to you. I don't know what she was like when you were growing up, but right now, she's a confused old woman." 	
"She hasn't been herself this past year. Her housekeeper lives in, but Gran's nervous when Jon's out of town. And the robbery a couple of weeks ago really upset her. At the time, I flew to Lansing but I could only stay a few hours. I was going to spend this past week with her and hoped have a chance to talk to her doctor. She's totally obsessed with Jon's career." She shook her head and sighed deeply. "I wish I knew how heavily that bastard has involved her in his illegal business." 	
So she was trying to protect her grandmother, too. 	
"I've set up my equipment in the large bedroom, Reenie. I'm going to look at the printout again tonight and see if I can make any sense of the memos. But from what I saw last night, I'm afraid we're going to have to call in some outside help." 	
"I thought you understood why we can't." Reenie threw up her hands. "We have no idea who else could be involved. There seems to be an organized crime connection, but, as well, Gran has some very powerful people in government already solidly supporting Jon's unofficial campaign for the nomination. Those people don't like to be made look foolish. And Jon has some influential buddies in local law enforcement." 	
"I know, sweetheart." She looked beleaguered and discouraged and in dire need of a hug. "The help I was talking about is my buddy Ryan. He still works for the agency I was with. He should be able to help me get access to some data bases I need without involving anyone else." 	
He changed gears. "But let's wait and make that decision in the morning. We'll both be fresher." 	
He gave her a quick kiss and walked briskly towards the second bedroom before he gave in to the fierce temptation to really complicate their lives. He suspected Reenie would be so relieved to have the sleeping arrangements taken care of that she would take his lead. 	
She did. 	
He set up his computer and printer on the wooden table under the window and plugged the modem into the phone jack. He needed to get his mind on the puzzle of Jon Casen's papers and off the tantalizing woman on the other side of his bedroom wall. Then, he remembered that the papers were in the Sailing Solution's safe. He rapped once on the closed door of Reenie's bedroom, and said, "I have to go out to the boathouse to get something, Reenie. I'll be right back." 	
"I'm going to shower and wash my hair before I go to bed," she called back. She wanted to be sure Matt knew the shared bathroom between their rooms would be occupied when he returned. When Bronwyn had checked her wound this morning, she'd agreed that Reenie could finally get her whole head wet. 	
"I dropped off a special 'Care Package' in your room," Bronwyn had whispered with a suggestive wink when she'd arrived. 	
Reenie had found a huge carton on her bed tonight. She almost called Matt in to open it up with her, but decided to leave well enough alone. He was in his room. She was in hers. 	
The box contained a couple of Bronwyn's tee shirts, a sweat suit, and a thoughtful collection of feminine products, hand cream, bath oil, and shampoo. In another box inside the carton, Reenie discovered gold sandals, a white nylon nightie and a large, white terry cloth robe. Underneath them all, was an embarrassingly large box of condoms of assorted vivid colors. They made the little package Reenie had thought was daring in Manitowoc look tame. Bronwyn was dead wrong, but apparently there was no doubt in her mind about why Matt had moved in with her. 	
Reenie smiled and cheerfully prepared for a nice hot shower. She would save the long soak in fragrant bath oil for tomorrow night. She refused to consider the very real possibility that she could be running for her life again by tomorrow night. 	
She drew the heavy plastic shower curtain around the old-fashioned tub and surrendered herself to the relaxing pleasures of her shower. Hot water pounded on tight muscles and rinsed away the last horrors of the car crash in bubbles of floral shampoo. 	
She had towel-dried her hair and was shrugging her damp body into the thick terry cloth robe when the telephone rang in Matt's room. It had rung twice more when she realized that Matt must still be out in the boathouse. 	
Dear Lord! What if Pete had fallen trying to get into bed on his own? She ran and snatched up the phone off the table in the next room. 	
"Hello," she said. 	
There was a short pause before a pleasant male voice said, hesitantly, "Bronwyn?" 	
"No. She should be home by now. Have you tried her house?" 	
"This is Ryan Bergstrom. I'm trying to reach Mattias Hanson. Are you a .. friend of Matt's?" 	
Ryan was the friend who worked for the government. Her spirits plunged. Matt had called him even though he'd said he wouldn't until they'd discussed it. Why should she expect Matt to be more trustworthy than any other man she'd cared about? 	
"I'm the housekeeper," she said as crisply as she could manage. "He's not here at the moment. Would you like to leave your number?" 	
"He knows where I am. Please tell him I have some information he should know." 	
She was just replacing the receiver when Matt walked in. He stopped in his tracks when he saw her. It wasn't hard to read his reaction at finding her in his room, barefoot, fresh out of the shower, in a hastily donned bathrobe. The heat in his gaze warmed her damp flesh as it slowly moved over her body. The air between them pulsed with electricity. 	
"Reenie?" he said, a wondering smile softening his lips. 	
She took half a step towards him, then remembered that he had betrayed her. She jerked at the knotted belt of her robe, pulling it more tightly around her waist. 	
"Ryan Bergstrom returned your call," she said through tight lips. ["#TOC"]	
Chapter Twelve	
Matt tossed the manila envelope onto the computer table, grabbed Reenie's shoulders and whirled her around to face him. Their faces were only inches apart. 	
He'd had enough. This hot-tempered, sexy woman had been driving him crazy for the better part of a week. Trying to function normally in a state of constant semi-arousal was next to impossible. Being understanding and supportive was getting him nowhere. He wanted to shake her for doubting him, then he wanted to make love to her until his frustrations and her fears and mistrust melted away. 	
"Trust is a two-way street, Maura Irene Fitzpatrick," he bit out slowly. "When I tell you I'll wait to call Ryan until morning, that's what I'll do. We trust each other or we don't. I am not Jon Casen. And I'm sure as hell not your grandmother." 	
Reenie's steady gaze was as hot and angry as his own. Matt released her shoulders and cupped her stormy face with his hands before kissing her hard. He intended only to show her that he meant what he said, but her soft lips parted under the onslaught of his tongue and he was lost. 	
He pulled her tight and rolled his hips against her abdomen to show her the state she had him in. 	
Reenie moaned and suddenly took control of the kiss. Her tongue plunged into his mouth, danced around his and stroked the inside of his cheeks. She sucked and nibbled at his lips as if she couldn't get enough of the taste of him, all the while whispering over and over, "I..do...Matt... I.. do." 	
The fastening of her robe came undone easily and Matt's hands, at last, knew the feel of her. Her skin was smooth and damp and she smelled like lilacs. He pushed the robe off her shoulders and trailed hot wet kisses down her neck. 	
While his hands roamed her slender back and her buttocks, Reenie managed to unbutton his shirt do some exploring of her own. Her murmur of appreciation as she stroked the muscles of his chest did his ego good. He was thankful for the long summer days of lifting motors and launching watercraft that had whipped his body back into shape. Her fingers followed the narrow line of fine black hair that bisected his stomach down into his jeans. She struggled with the stiff button. 	
Matt ripped off his shirt and threw it to the floor. The stubborn buttonhole gave. He gulped a huge deep breath and forced himself to still her hand at his zipper. His chest was heaving as he gasped, "Oh, God, Sweetheart. Are you sure about this?" 	
She nodded. Her pupils were large and dark. He could see himself reflected in their depths. 	
"Tell me." 	
"I want you, Matt," she whispered. She tugged at his hand impatiently. "My room." 	
Matt pushed her dressing gown off her arms onto the floor and drank in the marvel of her unclothed body. She was satiny smooth and perfectly proportioned. Her breasts were round and up-tilted, her waist trim, her hips just rounded enough to be womanly, and her legs were unexpectedly long and slim. 	
"Perfect," he whispered as he lifted her up into his arms. 	
"I'm too heavy," she protested. 	
"Have to do it," he said. "I've always wanted to carry a gorgeous, naked woman to my bed to ravish her." 	
"Hurry," she said, laughing, when he deposited her on the double bed and swiftly slid off his jeans. "Let's get to the ravishing." 	
"Yes, Ma'am!" Matt began to dig into his pocket then threw the jeans down in disgust. "Damn! I don't have anything ..." 	
"Bronwyn's Care Package!" Reenie cried, triumphantly reaching into her bedside table and brandishing the large box of condoms. 	
He didn't question the provenance but, almost at the speed of light, opened the first plastic envelope he came to. 	
Reenie giggled. 	
"Don't look at it," he ordered as he donned the garish Glowing Pink latex condom. "Nothing is going to ruin this moment." 	
Matt knelt between her legs. He wanted to make this good for her but he wasn't going to be able to hold back much longer. He bent and kissed one swollen nipple, then the other. 	
"Please, Matt." Reenie pulled him closer and squirmed beneath him, as he positioned himself at the entrance to her warm, wet center. 	
"This isn't going to last very long," he warned her. 	
Her answer was to wrap her legs around his waist. With one thrust he entered her. He lay still, savoring the heat of her tight sheath as long he could, but his urgent need compelled his body to begin the instinctive, rhythmic thrusting that has always bound a man to his mate. As if she had been created for him, she matched his rhythm and his passion. Her fingers dug painfully into his back. She gripped him more tightly with her legs. The discovery that her desire was as fierce as his fired him to thrust faster and harder. 	
The gnawing need to join with her went far beyond the urgency of extraordinary lust. He wanted to be part of her, to share the very essence of her being. When he felt the first spasms of her climax, he exploded with his own. 	
"Matt," she breathed as she went limp under him. "Oh, my!" 	
He rolled them over so that they lay, still joined, with Reenie on top of him, her head under his chin. 	
"Sweetheart," he whispered, placing a kiss on the top of her head. 	
This blissful state was strange and new. Oh, he was familiar with the pleasant aftermath of sexual release, but he'd never experienced this warm emotional rush that he didn't want to put a name to. Nor had he ever felt as if he had handed a vital part of himself to another human being. A man could get hooked on this euphoric mood. He put that disturbing thought out of his mind. He finally had Reenie naked in his arms. 	
He ran his hands over the smooth skin of her back in long, lazy strokes. She made contented noises and nuzzled his chest. Her warm breath tickled a little. He picked up her hand and slowly, thoroughly, investigated each finger with his lips and tongue. He concentrated on her palm for a while, then moved on to the pulse on the inside of her wrist. 	
The touch of Reenie's tongue to his nipple sent an electric impulse to his groin. It reacted. 	
"Matt?" she said, raising her head. Her dark hair was tousled and her lips swollen from his kisses. Her smile was pure seduction. "Really?" 	
"Would you like to see if we can make an Electric Blue last a lot longer than the Glowing Pink did?" He grinned in fond reminiscence. "I have a serious need to get acquainted with every inch of your body." 	
"Mmmm," she said, leaning over to kiss his other nipple. "Yes, please. But Glowing Pink is a hard act to follow." 	
They both winced at the unintentional pun. 	
"I have a small chore to perform," he said, getting out of bed and heading towards the bathroom. "Don't lose your place." 	
Electric Blue more than lived up to its promise. Matt made her feel like the most beautiful and adored woman in the world. With him, she was daring and insatiable. They didn't fall into an exhausted sleep finally until she'd had a turn at becoming acquainted with most of his body during a pre-dawn tryout of Positively Purple. 	
She awakened Sunday morning to find Matt's warm arm across her body and the heat of his chest against her back. Still lost in the sensuous haze in which she'd spent the night, she wriggled her bottom against him. 	
"Morning, love. Are we planning to work our way through the rest of the rainbow today?" Matt's amused voice was a lazy rumble in her ear. 	
She, suddenly, was wide-awake. "What time is it?" 	
He raised his arm to look at his watch. "Eight-thirty." 	
She sat up. "I have to get Pete's breakfast." 	
Matt sat up, too, and put his arm around her shoulders. "You can relax, sweetheart. When I called a while ago, Pete told me to let you sleep in after the day you put in yesterday." 	
His expanse of bare chest reminded her of her unclothed state. When she tried to pull the sheet up over herself, Matt reached down to the foot of the bed for her bathrobe. He must have retrieved it from his room where she'd abandoned it the night before. Unselfconsciously, he followed her out of bed, and held her robe while she slipped into it. He bent his head and kissed her on the side of the neck. She leaned into the kiss. It was going to be all right. 	
"Tell me you don't regret last night." He turned her around in his arms and looked warily into her eyes. 	
"How could I?" She asked, smiling up at him. "It was the most wonderful night of my life." 	
He kissed her, then. His lips were warm and gentle on hers, his morning stubble a little rough against her sensitized skin. He deepened the kiss for a moment, maybe to remind her of what they'd shared. She knew she'd never forget. 	
"We've just begun, you and I," he said. He spoke the words solemnly; then grinned and gave her bottom a gentle, possessive swat. "Who gets the first shower? I'd like to suggest we conserve water, but we have important things to do this morning." 	
Just like that, the ugly world came crowding back. 	
"Right," she said, trying to sound jaunty. "I'll be quick." 	
"You do know I have to return Ryan's call." He hurried on before she could voice her objections again. "You have my word that whatever he called to tell me has nothing to do with you." 	
"I believe you." After all, she did. 	
"I'll get him to run Jon Casen, Walter Ames and Danny DiMarco through the computers for us. The anti-racketeering boys may already be onto them. I won't mention you." 	
"I identified myself as the housekeeper when Ryan called last night." What he was suggesting made sense. "All right. Go ahead. I hope it's the right thing to do. The full names you want to check are Daniel Ugo DiMarco and Jonathan Peter Casen." 	
"I'll call him right away." Matt gave her another quick kiss, then resignedly pulled on his jeans. "By the way, the last time I talked to Ryan was when he called about the sextant." 	
He was already punching in Ryan's number when he heard the shower being turned on. 	
"Well, it's about time," Ryan greeted him. "I tried to send you an e-mail several times yesterday but it kept coming back with "Undeliverable" attached. What's up?" 	
"Sorry about that. I was moving out to the apartment. Guess I forgot to check my email when I got the computer hooked back up. What's so urgent?" 	
"Thought you might want to know the IRS wanted a background check on you. What have you been up to buddy? Sending your millions to the Bahamas?" 	
Matt was nonplussed. "I can't imagine why they're interested in me. You know the only income I've ever had is my salary." 	
"Maybe they heard what a whiz you were for us and want to hire you." 	
"Lotsa luck." Wondering about the IRS was low on Matt's list of priorities. His conscience was clear. "I need a big favor, Ryan." 	
"Big enough to earn me a weekend on the new sail boat?" 	
"At least one. I need some background information on three solid citizens." 	
When he had listed the names, Ryan commented, "Interesting choice. O.K., keep your secrets. I'll get back to you as soon as I get anything on this." 	
After his friend had rung off, Matt stared, perplexed, at the receiver as he slowly replaced it on the hook. Which secrets was Ryan talking about? His friend had no idea that the missing Maura Irene Fitzpatrick had just spent the night in his bed. Reenie. A surge of that emotion he felt last night flooded over him at the thought of her. They must have been fated to meet. Why else would she have been driving on that deserted back road at the precise moment that the whitetail decided to dart across it? 	
Why had Reenie been on that road? Her first story about looking for work at a ski lodge was obviously a fiction. She would know too many people in the business to risk it. 	
Reenie stepped into his room from the shared bathroom, vigorously toweling her hair. She even looked appealing in the too big terry cloth robe. 	
"Shower's free," she said. 	
"You were quick," he said, dropping a quick kiss on her nose as he went by. He hesitated in the doorway. "I was thinking of everything that had to happen for us to meet the way we did. I know you were taking a detour, but where were you headed?" 	
"I guess I didn't mention the cabin." She sounded absolutely matter-of-fact. "My Dad left me a winterized cabin north of Higgins Lake. The subject never came up with Jon and if Gran even remembers it exists, she wouldn't know its exact location." 	
"You were planning to spend the winter there?" 	
"Good heavens, no. I could never have counted on that old Buick if I needed to get out in a hurry when the temperature was much below freezing. But it was somewhere to stay until I figured out what to do next. Did you get Ryan?" 	
"He'll do the background check. Funny thing, the reason he called was to tell me the IRS wanted one done on me." 	
By the time Matt emerged from his shower, Reenie was dressed and on her way out the door to fulfill her obligations to Pete. 	
"There are muffins in the breadbox, if you're hungry," she told him. "You'll come over for lunch?" 	
He said he'd call if he got too involved in his investigation. As it turned out, Matt didn't get to lunch. He was oblivious to everything but his futile attempts to make sense of the contents of the envelope. No matter what tack he took, he found himself blocked by lack of information. The section of the file that Danny had printed out was simply two sets of similar numbers, some of which were identical. Someone, probably DiMarco, had circled a few numbers in the second column. Matt suspected that showed how much money Jon had skimmed from the partnership. 	
Those numbers had also been circled on a long handwritten list that contained dates from May first through September. Beside the dates were what looked to Matt like bank account numbers, and, opposite them, four to six digit money amounts. 	
The list's high proportion of numbers just under the ten thousand dollar reporting threshold could be significant. Banks had to report transactions of more than ten thousand dollars. 	
Matt spent most of the frustrating day trying to work his way through the rest the envelope. The prize, as far as evidence was concerned, was a receipt from a Montreal bank for a fifty thousand dollar Canadian treasury bill in the name of J.P.Casen. T-bills were popular for being easy to buy and sell and for being virtually anonymous. 	
The most intriguing item was a large cheque made out to Good Earth League that had been endorsed by Jon. Matt imagined that it had been awaiting deposit in one of the bank accounts when the Fitzpatrick robbery took place. The question was where Casen had intended to deposit it. 	
The other items were meaningless to him. There were lists of names and initials - some of them crossed off; hodgepodges of numbers - some of them crossed off; some handwritten notes containing single letters and phone numbers; and one in aggressively rounded feminine handwriting which read "Glenlivet 2-4 Hilt 923." It had a postscript "Gran C. R. B. 132488220915" and was signed with a flamboyant L. He hoped Reenie might have a clue what any of that meant. 	
Disappointed in the results of his day's work, Matt stowed the brown manila envelope back in the Sailing Solution's safe. He'd hoped to impress Reenie with his brilliance, and all he'd found were a number of definite signs that Jon Casen was up to his ears in money laundering but no real evidence to prove it. He needed to access the whole file. There must be a backup disk tucked away in some safe spot along with the negatives that Casen had been trying to get from Danny DiMarco. 	
He had just returned to the apartment when Ryan called again. 	
"I didn't intend you should go back to the office on a Sunday," Matt apologized. "You must really be keen to earn some time on the boat." 	
"I figured you wouldn't ask for the data out of idle curiosity," Ryan explained. "Especially, when the floater some fishermen picked up on Lake Michigan this morning turned out to be Daniel DiMarco." 	
Matt uttered a heartfelt expletive. "I was afraid of something like that," he muttered. "Can you forget I inquired about him?" 	
"I can unless someone discovers I've been in the file," Ryan said. "Are you in trouble, Matt?" 	
"Not me," he replied. "I'll fill you in the minute I can, Ryan. You have my word." 	
Ryan did not answer for a moment. Matt knew his friend was trying out different scenarios in his agile mind. "I thought maybe you'd stumbled onto something when I found a flag on Danny DiMarco's file. That's probably because Danny's mother is Sal Gerardo's sister. There's nothing in the file but a short list of minor juvenile incidents. Nothing recent. And, the only stuff on Jon Casen is related to student protests he was involved with. Only one interesting bit that I could see. The IRS has shown some interest in his file." 	
"There's a lot of that going around," Matt commented. 	
"Yeah, and those guys don't share much unless they need something from us. 	
"How about Ames?" 	
"Straight arrow." Ryan hesitated." As far as I know, the only reason he has a file is that, right after law school, he worked for the Justice Department for a couple of years. I can't put my finger on it, but I wonder if there's more to him than meets the eye. You're sure you can't tell me what this all about?" 	
"I wish I could." He also wished Ryan had been able to find out more. "Maybe I can by the time you get here for Thanksgiving." 	
"Tell Bronwyn I'll try to get a couple of extra days before the Thanksgiving weekend." 	
"Be sure. I don't think Wyn ever heard of a tentative plan." Ryan's persistent pursuit of his older sister bewildered Matt. It seemed to bewilder Bronwyn, too. Ryan was Matt's age, for God's sake. "Thanks, Ryan. See you in a couple of weeks." 	
Reenie met him at the door. The moment he saw her, he knew she'd heard the news. He drew her into his arms and whispered into her hair, "I'm sorry about your boss, sweetheart." 	
"At least, we know," she replied quietly. 	
Pete was paying the price for the active day he'd put in yesterday, and he'd been in quite a lot of pain all day. As Reenie insisted on staying with him until she was sure he was settled for the night, they didn't get back to the apartment until late. 	
She and Pete had been together the whole day. He'd sat at the kitchen table while she worked, and she'd stayed with him in the living room the rest of the time, trying to take his mind off the pain in his joints. He'd been unexpectedly frank. 	
"Mattias and I have never seen eye to eye," he told her, out of a clear blue sky, when she brought his mid-morning muffin and cup of tea out to him. "When the children were small, I worked almost every hour there was to get this marina up and running. Matt was the same age as Tommy is now when his mother died. None of us suspected she had a heart defect until she had the miscarriage that killed her. I pretty much fell apart and Bronwyn looked after Matt. She's only five years older but she's always mothered him." 	
Reenie took a sip of her own cup of tea. That explained why Matt tolerated Bronwyn's bossiness so well. "Then he went off and joined the army instead of working with you," she guessed. 	
Pete nodded. "Millbridge was too tame. He warned me not to count on him staying, but I wasn't too good at listening when he said things I didn't want to hear. He didn't keep in touch much. Of course, for a year or so, he was in some kind of special antiterrorist outfit. Gave that up for computers! Went to work in Washington. Got tired of that and came home to help with the marina. He's determined to expand the winter business. Make Hanson's a year round operation, a real moneymaker. He's doing it, too. But now he's fixing up that sailboat. I expect by the time it's done, he'll be ready for another change." 	
He fixed her with a beady eye. "Mattias has a lot of good in him, but he's not a man you can count on, girl." 	
Reenie's heart sank. She'd been trying not to see that. 	
She followed Matt into the apartment where she had spent the most magical night of her life. He turned and looked at her. There was such warmth there. Right now, she told herself she didn't care that he was a man with a short attention span. She needed everything he was, for however long they had together. 	
"So," she said, "did any of the papers make sense to you?" 	
"Some," he told her. "The printout shows how much Casen skimmed off before he split the profits with his partner, but it doesn't tell us what the business was. There are clues that he's been moving the money into offshore accounts, but none about where exactly they are. None of the other stuff makes any sense to me." 	
"Maybe I'd recognize something," Reenie said, stifling a yawn. 	
"Let's try that in the morning. I've locked it all away and you're too tired to do anything about it tonight. Besides," He drew her into his arms. "it's been too long since I held you the way I want to. Come to bed, Reenie." 	
Her lips were parted and waiting when he kissed her. The first gentle touch of his tongue on her lower lip sent tingles everywhere. It slid slowly into her mouth bringing the flavor of chocolate and coffee and sinfully delicious man. The rising warmth and stirring of need deep in her body felt so right, it seemed as if she'd been making love with him all her life. 	
"All the way to bed?" She melted against the hardness that pressed more firmly against her abdomen. 	
"We'd better move while we can," he growled. Then he lifted her feet off the floor and, still holding her tight against him as if he'd never let her go, her temporary man carried her to the bedroom. ["#TOC"]	
Chapter Thirteen	
Reenie stretched languorously. Every muscle in her body was delightfully weary. She luxuriated in the heat she felt along the length of her back and thighs, the heat that emanated from the Matt's strong, hard body. She glanced at the clock on the dresser and sighed. She had to tear herself away and get over to the main house. She eased herself out from under the muscular arm that lay across her waist and made her way to the bathroom. 	
She showered and dressed quickly. She was really getting to like this short haircut that needed only a fast brushing in the morning. She brushed her teeth and smeared on a touch of peach lipstick. The royal blue of her blouse emphasized the color of her eyes. Her eyes! 	
"Oh, no!" she cried aloud. 	
Almost instantly, Matt half-stumbled into the bathroom. 	
"What?" he asked, looking around him wildly for whatever or whoever had upset her. 	
She threw herself into his arms and burrowed her face in his chest. 	
"What is it?" He took her face between his hands and repeated, "Reenie, tell me what is it?" 	
"My eye," she wailed, both blue eyes wide open and horrified. "The swelling is gone. I look like myself again. And I have to go over to the house." 	
"Beautiful," he mumbled, as he stumbled back out the door. "Don't leave. I'll get dressed." 	
He was in the living room tucking his shirt into his jeans when she got there. 	
"After you get Pete some breakfast," he said, "we have to do something about those beautiful blue eyes. Do you think you could tolerate contact lenses?" 	
"I suppose so. I've never given it much thought." She cringed at the thought of sticking little plastic discs in her eyes, but now that the police knew of Danny's murder, the search for her would be even more intense. 	
"I know an optometrist in Midland. It's only about an hour and a half away. I'll see if she can fit you in later this morning." 	
"I'll tell Pete I need my glasses changed and ask if he minds having his lunch left for him," Reenie decided. 	
When Matt told his father where they were going, Pete said pointedly, "Sandra Field's mom says she's a good optometrist. But are you sure she's the right one for Reenie to go to?" 	
The name rang a bell. Sandra Field was the woman Bronwyn had been teasing Matt about the other day, wasn't it? Reenie silently seconded Pete's hope that Matt knew what he was doing. 	
Shortly after nine o'clock they were in the Jeep on their way to Midland. Luckily, the day was sunny and she could wear sunglasses during the drive without drawing attention to herself. 	
If hearing the name of the woman Matt had apparently been involved with gave Reenie a painful twinge of jealousy, meeting the woman was torture. 	
Doctor Sandra Field was not a tall woman but she radiated personality and her feminine assets were impressive. The doctor was delighted to see her good friend Matt and only too willing to do anything she could to make him happy. She smiled; her hazel eyes sparkled; her red hair bounced; her whole voluptuous person wriggled with happiness at seeing him; she did everything but wag her tail in greeting. 	
The moment Matt got within range, she launched herself at him, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him enthusiastically on the mouth. Reenie wanted to tear her curvy little body off her man. Her man! The fierce possessiveness she felt for Matt was unwarranted but it was there. 	
"It's about time!" Sandra's full red lips formed a little pout. "I'd begun to think that our friendship didn't mean as much to you as it did to me." 	
"I ..um .. mislaid your number," Matt mumbled uncomfortably. 	
"Matt and I were very close for a couple of years." Sandra explained to Reenie without loosening her grip on him. She gazed up into Matt's eyes. 	
"In high school," he said quickly. Reenie could tell he was trying to disentangle himself without embarrassing his "close" friend by being too forceful about it. 	
"You finally got my message, you naughty boy," she said, giving him a little squeeze. "That Bronwyn is so forgetful. The minute I heard you were home, I told her to be sure to tell you to call me. I've missed you, Mattie." 	
When she removed one arm from around his neck to stroke his cheek, Matt turned quickly and escaped. 	
"It's been a lot of years, Sandra," he said. "I meant to call. With being so busy at the marina and Pete's operation ..." 	
He clamped an arm around Reenie's waist. "And this is Reenie Kelly. You'd better explain to Sandra what you want, sweetheart." 	
Dr. Field's smile dimmed a few kilowatts, but she was pleasantly businesslike when Reenie said she wanted chocolate brown contacts. She explained that she wanted to surprise some people. 	
"They'll be surprised all right. Most women would kill for eyes your color," she said, giving Reenie a quick evaluative once-over. She smiled at Matt again. "I'll have to examine Reenie's eyes. We'll be right back." 	
As she settled Reenie in the elaborate pedestal chair in her little examination room, she gave her an overly bright smile. 	
"Matt always was a great guy," she confided. "He was my first boyfriend and we were crazy about each other. I was devastated when he left to join the army. In those days, he was terribly shy and scrawny. I can't believe my Mattie Hanson turned into that gorgeous hunk!" 	
Reenie didn't like the possessive "my Mattie Hanson" but she had to agree that he'd turned into a gorgeous hunk. 	
A few minutes later, Reenie looked glumly into the mirror that Sandra held in front of her. The transformation from a slim, blue-eyed woman with well-cut shoulder-length blonde hair to a skinny, brown-eyed woman with a shaggy brown pixie cut was a dramatic change in the wrong direction. No one in her right mind would choose that kind of makeover. Reenie looked at the plain woman in the mirror and smiled wryly. Only the weight loss had not been a deliberate choice. 	
Matt's reaction buoyed her spirits. 	
"Perfect!" he proclaimed, grasping both her hands and grinning at her. "The gang won't recognize you. You're sure to win the bet. Then you can go back to being my blue-eyed beauty." 	
"I think I'll wear them home to get used to them," she said. 	
They were almost back at the lake when Reenie voiced her main concern about the lenses. "Your explanation was great for your old cheer leader girl friend," she said, unable to hide her resentment of the other woman, "but how do we explain the change of eye color to Pete and Bronwyn?" 	
"How about something dumb like you did it to cheer yourself up? Or maybe tell some of the truth. You're hiding from an old boyfriend. Pete and Wyn should buy that. Other people might not even notice. Your swollen eye and bruises were pretty spectacular. That's what most people would remember." 	
"I hope you're right." 	
"Sandra has changed a lot since high school." He gave Reenie a smug half-smile that told her he'd noticed her little bout of jealousy. "She was quite chubby then and extremely quiet. We were both misfits but we liked each other. The summer I was fifteen I grew ten inches. I suddenly had to contend with being too tall and gawky as well as being terminally shy and sullen." 	
"Now, Sandra thinks you're a gorgeous hunk." 	
"And you?" 	
"I know you're a gorgeous hunk," she said with a reminiscent sigh that made Matt catch his breath. 	
"We're almost home," he said, gruffly, speeding up a little. 	
She took off her dark glasses. "I figure I have about an hour before I need to be at Pete's to start dinner." 	
Their eyes met in heated understanding. 	
Matt's foot pressed more heavily on the accelerator. 	
They were hurrying up the outside stairway to the apartment when they heard the telephone begin to ring. Matt reached it first. 	
"Yes," he snapped. "Yes, Jeff. We just got back from Midland." 	
He shrugged helplessly and rolled his eyes at Reenie. "What time did he call? All right, I'll get right back to him. What's his number?" 	
He scribbled on the pad beside the phone and hung up. "Talk about rotten timing! I'm sorry, Reenie." His own disappointment showed in his expression. "The manager of one of the big lodges that I've been trying to interest in letting us service their snow machines wants to talk to me. I have to get back to him right away." 	
"I understand," Reenie said, standing on her tiptoes to brush his lips with hers. "I'll get over to the house." 	
He pulled her back to kiss her properly. Too soon, he pulled his mouth away. "You're addictive, little one. You'd better leave while I can still think straight." 	
Pete did a double take when he saw her, but did not comment on her new look. 	
"Bronwyn called on her lunch break," he told her as she began to wash up the few dishes he'd used for his own lunch. "I'm supposed to ask if you'd object to having Tommy's birthday party here on Friday afternoon. She'd already invited six of his friends to come over for pizza after school before she knew she was starting back to work this week. Now, she won't be able to get home until the same time the kids do. She's having the meal delivered. You won't have to do anything extra." 	
"My mother would have said having food delivered to a cook's house was like sending coals to Newcastle," Reenie said with a smile. "Of course, she can have Tommy's party here. I'll make the pizza and a fancy birthday cake, too. Just tell me what kind." 	
"That's what I told her," Pete said, obviously pleased with Reenie's response. "And the cake has to be chocolate." 	
"It's not your birthday, Pete," she teased. 	
"I know that," he said, indignantly. "When Tommy got back from a friend's birthday party a couple of weeks ago, I asked him what kind it was. You know, sometimes they have a swimming party, or go to a ball game. 	
"He said, 'Chocolate. That's the best kind of birthday.' 	
"So I guess the birthday is the cake, and the cake has to be chocolate." He raised one bushy eyebrow and grinned. "Of course, chocolate is my favorite, too." 	
"The cake will be super chocolate," Reenie promised. 	
"I'm not supposed to come right out and ask you - just weasel around a bit and see if you might do her another favor." 	
She waited. 	
"They're having a fundraising bake sale for the GEL," he said. "Bronwyn promised two dozen tarts." 	
"So long as I don't have to attend. Cooking's no problem." 	
He raised one bristly white eyebrow. 	
"I'm not much for crowds," she said. "And there's someone I'm trying to avoid." 	
"Then, the brown eyes were a good idea." He winked. "I'll be in the study trying to make some sense of the inventory the students did before they left. Holler if you need me." 	
Pete left the kitchen pushing the walker in front of him like a shopping cart. "Think I'll have Matt pick up one of those canes that has a four footed base. Maybe try it out tomorrow." 	
Pete knew the brown lenses were a disguise. Did he know who she was? Was that wink supposed to say he wasn't going to use the hot line? 	
When Gus's patrol car drew up in front of the house about an hour later, Pete announced he was perfectly capable of answering his own door and sent her in search of a spy novel he said he'd seen on a shelf in Matt's bedroom. Reenie thankfully ran upstairs and began the fruitless search. She wasn't the slightest bit surprised when, as soon as Gus left about five minutes later, Pete called her down. 	
"I found it!" His feigned annoyance at his own forgetfulness was unconvincing. "Forgot I left the darned thing in the study." 	
Then he gave her the same reassuring wink he'd given her earlier. "Feel like the old lady in the story. Minister asked her if she thought much about the Hereafter. 	
'A couple of times a day,' she told him. "I go upstairs or down to the basement and, when I get there, I have to ask myself, 'Now what am I here after?'" He wheezed with laughter. "More truth than fiction in that!" 	
Then after dinner, when Bronwyn and Tommy dropped by to see how he was feeling, Pete shooed Reenie and Matt out before Bronwyn could get close to her. 	
"I wanted to talk to Reenie about the birthday party," she objected. 	
"I did that," her father said. "See you in the morning, Reenie," he called. 	
Reenie wasn't sure if the look on Bronwyn's face was annoyance at her father's bossiness or if she'd caught a glimpse of Reenie's new eye color as they left. 	
Matt didn't appear to have noticed anything out of the ordinary. At least, he didn't say anything if he had. He'd seemed preoccupied ever since he had arrived the house for dinner. 	
"How did your meeting at the ski lodge go?" she asked as she hung up her jacket in the closet just inside the apartment. 	
"Fine. We got the contract," he said, absently. He pulled some sheets of paper out of his jacket pocket and put them on the table. "I made photocopies of this stuff this afternoon and put the originals in my safety deposit box in town. Maybe you can make sense of some of it." 	
Reenie picked up the top memo - the one that was written in large round letters and signed with an L. It said Glenlivet 2-4 - Hilt 923 and had Gran C. R.B. and some numbers slanted across the bottom as a kind of postscript. 	
"I don't recognize the writing," she said thoughtfully. "The 'L' could stand for Danny's cousin, Lucy Spadafore. She was with Jon in one of the photos." 	
"Does Casen call your grandmother 'Gran'?" 	
"I'm the only one who calls her that. She likes to be called 'Glad'. Glenlivet is the brand Jon chooses when he drinks scotch. Maybe he and 'L' drink scotch together," she mused. The thought of Jon with another woman didn't bother her at all. How could she ever have considered marrying a man she didn't care about? A man she didn't even know? 	
"Hilt 923 could be a room number at a Hilton hotel," Matt added. "But which city?" 	
"Jon and L. could have registered under the name Glenlivet." Reenie brightened. "And the dates could be the second to the fourth of the month. But what good does that do us?" 	
"Not much," Matt rubbed his eyes. "And I'm not getting anywhere with this printout. Somehow, we have to get our hands on the whole file. All we have is the part that interested DiMarco. The rest is probably on the hard disk of the computer that was stolen from your grandmother's or on one of Casen's back-up disks. Could you have missed a disk in that file drawer?" 	
"The only thing besides invoices in that drawer was a box of candy. Probably Franz squirreled it away there. He's the apprentice who accepted all the deliveries and passed the paperwork on to Danny. He's the only other person who did any work in my little cubbyhole. Franz would know his marzipan was safe from me. Everyone knows I hate the stuff." She hit her forehead with the heel of her hand. "Wait a minute. Franz is diabetic." 	
"So Danny would know neither of you would touch the box. What do you bet that's where he hid the back-up disk?" 	
"If it even exists." Reenie breathed a long discouraged sigh. 	
"Could you get me in there?" 	
"Possibly," she hedged. She still had her keys. "It would be easier for me to sneak in and out of there alone, though. I know the layout. And I know exactly where to look." 	
There was no way she was going to drag Matt anywhere near Wilson and whatever other muscle Jon was employing these days. This was her problem. She was the gullible one who'd become involved with Jon Casen. The last thing Reenie wanted to do was go back to Driftwood Lodge but she would before she let Matt near the place. 	
"With my technicolor bruises, I stand out in a crowd. In a couple of days, though..." 	
"Not you, Reenie. Me." 	
She was not to blow up at him again. 	
"I think Pete recognized me." 	
The diversion worked. The look of panic on his face made her wish she'd led up to it more gently. 	
"My God, Reenie. Are you sure?" 	
"He didn't say it in so many words, but he did comment that the brown contacts were a good idea. Then he sent me upstairs on a wild goose chase so I wouldn't have to answer the door when Gus stopped by to say he couldn't work on the boat until Thursday. I think Pete wanted me to know he wasn't interested in reporting my location to the hot line." 	
"I hoped we could keep him out of this. But, come to think of it, he was pretty obvious tonight about getting us out of the house without giving Bronwyn a chance to get a good look at you." 	
He pulled her into his arms and held her tight. "I'm going to keep you safe, sweetheart," he vowed. "Whatever I have to do." 	
His kisses worked their spell and swept her away to that amazing and exciting place that was becoming increasingly familiar. The only difference tonight was that her sense of being cherished was almost as strong as her absolute knowledge that Matt wanted her as desperately as she desired him. 	
When Reenie opened her eyes, she found Matt looking back at her with a tender, half-smile on his face. 	
"Good morning, Blue Eyes." He kissed the tip of her nose. "I wish we could spend the whole morning here." He turned and swung his long legs off the bed. "But, I told Jeff I'd fly over to Bay City this morning to pick up some special fittings he needs to get started on those snow machines we contracted to service, and it's almost time for you to get over to the house." 	
Half an hour later, brown-eyed again, Reenie sat beside Matt at Pete's kitchen table, picking at her bran muffin. While they ate, Matt and his father argued about how they were going to organize the summer items that were stockpiled in the storeroom and had spilled over into the marina shop. 	
"All right, we'll do it your way," Matt said finally. "But leave the engine parts. I'll take them over to the machine shop." 	
"I'll have to know where things are," Pete grumbled, "when you find something more exciting to do." 	
Matt slammed his coffee mug down on the table. Deliberately, he got up from the table and handed a key ring to Reenie. "You can use the Jeep today, if you need to. I'm taking the pick- up to the airport," he said, kissing her lightly on the lips. It was hard to believe that only a few days ago the husbandly gesture would have been a charade for Pete's benefit. "See you this afternoon." 	
When Matt had left, Pete announced, "Ella and Emma should be here soon." 	
"Ella and Emma?" 	
"Sisters," he said, as if that explained anything. "Widow and spinster. Used to own the hardware store. Now they come to clean and do laundry Tuesday and Friday morning. They do Gus Thursday." 	
"I can clean and do laundry, Pete," she said. 	
Before he could respond, the telephone rang. 	
"Pete Hanson," he snapped into the receiver. 	
"Of course, I remember you, Sandra," he said, slightly more genially after a pause. "No, I'm sorry but Matt's not around today. I can let you speak to Reenie, though." 	
He winked at Reenie, a little devil dancing in his black eyes. Sandra talked on. "Sure thing, Sandra. I'll give him the message. Saturday, five o'clock, at the high school. He'll be back at suppertime. He's pretty busy these days, but I'll get him to give you a call." 	
He replaced the receiver. "Some kind of reunion," he explained. "Said she promised the committee she and Matt would represent their year but she forgot to mention it when she saw him yesterday. Probably didn't want to when you were with him. Girl never could take a hint. And from what Bronwyn says she's been on a serious manhunt since her divorce." 	
At that moment, there was a peremptory rap and the back door opened. Two wiry, grey- haired women bustled into the mudroom and hung their jackets on a couple of empty pegs. 	
"Good morning, Peter," one of them called out as she took off her hat and placed it carefully on top of her jacket. 	
The sisters wore matching tartan skirts, white blouses and serviceable leather shoes. One's large crisp apron was blue. the other's yellow. 	
"Morning, Ella," Pete greeted the smiling woman in the blue apron. "Emma." He nodded to the one in the yellow. "This is Matt's friend, Reenie." 	
"Hello." 	
Two pairs of keen, pale blue eyes zeroed in on Reenie. The sisters wore polite smiles while they waited for further enlightenment. When Reenie merely smiled back and Pete remained silent, Ella broke the silence. 	
"It's about time," she pronounced. "Nature abhors a vacuum. And to my mind, two healthy single men living alone in a big house equals a vacuum." She held out her hand. "Welcome to Millbridge." 	
Reenie shook her hand and Emma's. 	
"Thank you," she said, equally formally. "It's a beautiful part of the country." 	
"I hope, Peter, that this doesn't mean we have to find someone else to work for," Emma said with a little frown. She turned to Reenie. "If we didn't have Peter and Gustav to do for, we wouldn't have any excuse to avoid all clubs and organizations people have expected us to join since we sold the hardware store." 	
"Don't worry girls," Pete said with a broad grin. "You're not going to lose me or my laundry." 	
Satisfied that Reenie was not posing a threat to their way of life, Ella settled in for a more complete briefing. "Have I met you before, Reenie? Or maybe you remind me of someone I know. Do you have any relatives in the area?" 	
"Sorry to interrupt, Ella," Pete broke in, "but Reenie's going to give me some help over at the shop this morning. She'll still be here on Friday when you come. You can have a chat then." 	
Pete was moving a lot more easily than he had a week ago. He maneuvered himself without too much difficulty into the passenger seat of the Jeep and sat whistling cheerfully, if tunelessly, until they got to the marina shop. 	
"I should have kept you out of the way this morning," he said. "That Ella has a memory like an elephant. She'll worry away at your resemblance to someone she knows until she remembers that picture of you that keeps flashing on the TV screen." 	
Reenie's fingers froze to the steering wheel. "You do know." 	
Pete reached over and patted her hand awkwardly. "No matter what Glad Fitzpatrick says, you are not a flighty woman, Maura Irene. I figure you must have a good reason not to want Jon Casen to find you. It's not up to me to send you back to him." 	
"I can ruin him. He intends to kill me before that happens." 	
"Kill?" Pete's eyes opened wide. "Good Lord! You're serious." 	
He cocked his head and peered into her face for a few tense seconds. "Don't worry, girl," he assured her, apparently convinced that she was in her right mind. "Matt and I won't let that happen." 	
The resemblance between Matt and his father had never been more evident than at that moment. Reenie gave him a quick hug. "Thank you, Pete. I wish I wasn't involving either of you in this mess." 	
"Just tell me about the mess." 	
Briefly she told him what she had seen the night that Danny was killed. 	
"Ames, too? No wonder you're trying to make yourself look like a little brown mouse. But why's Glad telling everyone you're off your rocker?" 	
"I was trying not to see it, but Gran's slipped a lot the last few years. She'd simply rather believe Jon's lies about me than suspect her golden-haired boy isn't what she thought he was." 	
"I can't believe Glad Taylor Fitzpatrick is losing her grip. She was such a vital, glamorous woman when I was a boy." Pete whistled soundlessly. 	
Reenie explained as well as she could how obsessed her grandmother was with Jon's career and what major disappointments that first her father, and then Reenie had been to her. 	
"My dad," she concluded, "insisted on opening his restaurant and marrying my mother instead of the woman his parents had chosen for him. I resisted Gran and Jon for quite a while, but I finally said I'd marry him. At the time, I didn't figure I'd ever fall in love and at least I could make the two of them happy. Not a smart move!" 	
Pete was silent for a long while. 	
"Sometimes, it's tough to accept that your kids' dreams and yours are different. Well, Reenie, my girl, let's get into the shop. We might even accomplish something today while we hide out from the eagle-eyed sisters." 	
Reenie followed him inside. ["#TOC"]	
Chapter Fourteen	
Reenie and Pete were getting into the Jeep to head back to the house when the marina pickup came screeching to a stop beside them. Matt leapt out and ran over to them. 	
"Is everything all right?" He looked anxiously from Reenie's face to Pete's. "I stopped at the house but there was no one there." 	
"All under control." Pete huffed, indignantly. "I may have a bum hip but I can make sure the wrong people don't see our little refugee for one day." 	
"What're you talking about?" Matt wheeled around to face him. 	
Pete glared back at him. "You know damned well." 	
Reenie grabbed Matt's arm. "Matt! Pete's not going to tell anyone where I am." 	
"You and I have to figure out a better place for her, son," Pete said, urgently. It crossed Matt's mind that he couldn't remember when Pete had last called him that. "The marina's too dangerous, now that Bronwyn's got us all tied up with her GEL bunch." 	
"You're right," Matt decided. "I have a key to Ryan's place. No one would think of looking for her there." 	
"Does this family make decisions for everyone they meet?" Reenie's deadly sweet tone warned him that he had crossed an invisible line again. "Or perhaps I'm a special case." 	
"Sorry about that, sweetheart," he said, beating a strategic retreat to the truck. "Lost my head. I have to get these parts to the engine shop. Jeff's waiting for them. We'll talk about this later, Pete. And you, too, of course, Reenie." 	
"I'm not going anywhere," she said pointedly. 	
It took about an hour for Matt to unload the pickup and to talk to Jeff about a time line for putting the new contract into effect. He hoped he had given Reenie enough cooling down time, but when he got to the house, he could hear pots and pans banging in the kitchen. This might be a good time to check his voice mail. 	
He found a message from Ryan saying that, this morning, the IRS had requested a more in- depth report on his activities with the agency. Matt's ex-boss hadn't seen any reason to deny it. For the life of him, Matt couldn't fathom why the IRS had the faintest interest in him. No doubt, he'd find out eventually. 	
Bronwyn had called, but said not to bother returning the call. She'd speak to him sometime soon. 	
Sandra Field wanted him to call back. Had she recognized Reenie? Well, there was only one way to find out. The moment Sandra's pleased voice came on the line, he knew he should never have answered her call so promptly. She was clearly determined to try to jump-start their seventeen-year-dead relationship. 	
"So when Thelma, who is chairing the school reunion committee, said they needed a couple to represent our year," she bubbled on, "I said I was sure you'd agree to do it. Won't it be wonderful to see some of the old crowd again?" 	
He allowed, cautiously, that he did wonder what had happened to some of the people he'd known in high school. 	
"Then come. The reception begins at five on Saturday. We'll have such a wonderful time. It'll be like old times. You and I used to be so great together, Mattie," she purred. 	
He didn't want any part of old times. He certainly had no desire to be coupled with a high school girlfriend he no longer even knew. 	
"I'll have to check with Reenie, but we might just do that," he said, pretending to misunderstand her invitation. "We'll be in the building for the GEL fundraiser anyway. I'll see if I can convince her to drop in on the reunion." 	
"I have to let Thelma know for sure if you'll be the co-host for the room they've set aside for our year." The bubbly tone had gone flat. 	
"You'd better tell her that I can't make it then. It was nice of you both to think of me." 	
Sandra's good-bye was unexpectedly icy. What did the woman expect? He'd tried to make it clear yesterday that he and Reenie were a couple. 	
"I gather that was the good doctor." He hadn't heard Reenie come into the study. "Sounded to me as if she's eager to pick up where you left off." 	
He was relieved at the warmth in her smile. 	
"The only woman I want to boss around is you, sweetheart," he hazarded as he drew her into his arms for the kiss he'd been wanting since she left their bed this morning. 	
"You must have a death wish," she murmured against his mouth when they both came up for air. 	
She pulled away. "I came in to tell you Pete wants to see you before dinner for a short talk about the stubborn cook who appears to be your mutual problem. And to confess I overreacted this afternoon. My control button is extremely sensitive these days." 	
"I'm sorry I acted like a bulldozer," Matt said. 	
He wished he could promise it wouldn't happen again but he'd been making decisions on his own since he was seventeen years old. Liz, the Washington press aide he'd been seeing occasionally until six months ago, said he was an emotional coward. Another thing she'd said when she'd broken off their on and off relationship for the last time was that he would never experience real intimacy because he refused to lose control. Liz would laugh at his inept struggles to control his relationship with Reenie. Hell, most of the time, he couldn't remember why he should try. 	
He gave Reenie a perfunctory kiss; then, resigning himself to an interminable wait before he could kiss her properly, followed her to the living room where Pete was waiting. 	
"Get yourself a cold drink." Pete gestured at the glasses, beer, and chilled white wine on the coffee table. "We need to have a civilized discussion about what's best for our girl." 	
"You'll never win an award for dealing with today's woman, Pete," Reenie told him. "You have to accept that 'your girl' is going to have the final say." 	
"Yes. Yes," he grumbled, pouring beer carefully in to a tumbler. "That's why you're here." 	
Matt reached for the wine bottle and raised an interrogatory eyebrow at Reenie. At her nod, he poured her a glass of wine. 	
"It's too dangerous for you here, Reenie," Pete began. "Ella and Emma are here two mornings a week, and Gus drops by at least once a day. You haven't met Donna yet but she comes by. Jeff, too. Then there are delivery people." 	
"How am I going to cook your meals if I'm not here?" 	
"Meals be damned!" Matt exploded. "We're talking about keeping you alive." 	
"Just listen a minute." Reenie stared them both down. "All the people you mentioned expect your housekeeper to be here, doing the cooking. They also expect her to be living in the apartment with Matt. If I move into an empty cottage, someone will be sure to wonder who I am and why I'm there. If you move in with me, Matt, and there are cars going in and out, that will start another group of people wondering about an unknown woman in the area. I can't think of a better way to alert the people looking for me. Can you?" 	
"She's right, Pete. She's better off here." Matt turned back to her. "But only if you agree to spend less time at the house." 	
"I can get my own breakfast and lunch." His father was in total agreement with him. That was certainly a first. 	
"And if you prepare some meals that can be frozen, he can reheat them in the microwave." 	
"But that wasn't the agreement." Reenie stood by her guns. "I'm supposed to be a cook and general errand person. I get to stay here and Pete gets fresh home-cooked meals. There are lots of rooms I can retreat to if someone comes calling." 	
"Why don't we compromise?" Matt offered. "Pete gets his own breakfast and calls you if the coast is clear at lunch time. Late afternoon and dinnertime is pretty safe. Wouldn't you say?" 	
Reenie gave in more easily than he'd expected. The shadows under her eyes showed strain - or perhaps her disturbed nights. Memories of those nights swept over him. They would be alone again soon. And she could sleep in tomorrow morning. 	
From the color in her cheeks whenever she caught him looking at her, Reenie's thoughts paralleled his. Two long hours later, they had Pete settled in front of the television set with his telephone at his elbow. Pete had drawn Tuesday evenings to monitor the GEL hot line for the Millbridge group. During the week, the office staff in Lansing did the monitoring but evenings and weekends the line was manned by volunteers. 	
"We'll talk to you in the morning, Pete," Reenie said, giving him a light kiss on the forehead as they left. 	
"You can sleep well tonight," Pete replied. "If anyone calls in on my shift, we'll be the first to know." 	
The moment they stepped out of the house, they could hear the dogs barking furiously. The German Shepherds ran free around the complex at this hour. However, they weren't barking as if they were chasing an intruder or a squirrel. To Matt, they sounded as if they were still confined and wanted to get out. Could be though, that they wanted to get inside somewhere. 	
"Get in the pickup, Reenie. We'll see what's annoying those dogs." 	
Matt drove directly to the large fenced enclosure by the storage barns where the dogs were kept most of the day. Sure enough, they were still there, barking and leaping at the chain link fence, eager to be released. When he opened the gate, they immediately sped off in the direction of the main buildings. 	
"Jeff always lets the dogs loose before he goes home." He wondered what could have happened to make him leave them in the run. "That's at least an hour ago." 	
Matt went directly to the lock-up in the storage barn and retrieved one of the shotguns that were kept there in case of thieves. Some very expensive pleasure boats were moored at the marina in season and stored there over the winter. 	
"Stay behind me," he ordered Reenie as they began their search of the storage buildings. Jeff was nowhere to be found. Nor was anyone else. 	
"The dogs sound as if they're over between the machine shop and the apartment," Reenie said. 	
"I saw a raccoon over there a couple of days ago," Matt said. "I'll check it out after I take you back to the house." 	
"We'll check it out," she countered quietly. 	
A dark pickup truck that had been speeding along the road swerved into the marina driveway and roared up to them. A furious Jeff Franklin barreled out of it. 	
"I swear to God, if I ever find out who did this, I'll wring his neck." 	
"What happened?" Matt asked him. 	
"Some guy called about six o'clock and said Donna had collapsed in the parking lot of Elsie's Restaurant. He said she'd had some kind of seizure." He mopped his forehead with his handkerchief. "I drove there like a crazy man but when I got there nobody knew anything about it. So I took off to the hospital. I raised hell, but nobody knew anything about Donna being treated." 	
"So where is she?" Matt asked. 	
"At home. She had my supper on the table and was wondering what was keeping me. I tore over here to let the dogs out." 	
Matt told him about hearing the dogs and letting them loose. 	
"Reenie and I checked the storage barns. We'd better search the rest of the property." 	
When they reached the marina shop, the dogs hadn't stopped barking. They were sniffing around the shop door and running up and down the outside staircase to the apartment. A couple of hundred yards away, Pete was standing in his doorway peering out into the night. 	
"Jeff and I will search this building, Reenie," Matt assured her. "If there's anyone here, we'll find him. Before they made a glorified accountant out of me, I was trained to do this. What I need you to do right now is go in there and calm Pete down." 	
She wanted to object to being relegated to a traditional woman's role, but Pete looked so old and frail outlined against the light from inside the house that she agreed. 	
About an hour later, Matt sent Jeff home to his well-deserved meal. Pete and Reenie were sitting on the couch drinking hot herbal tea when Matt arrived. Both seemed relatively calm. 	
"I won't say what this stuff looks like," Pete said, "but it doesn't taste bad." 	
Matt refused a cup. It would take something much stronger than herbal tea to get the metallic taste of fear out of his mouth. He reported that he and Jeff had found no sign of an intruder but didn't mention he could tell from the dogs' behavior that someone had been around the apartment. From the flicker of anxiety he caught in Reenie's eyes, he figured she had reached her own conclusions. Pete, however, was more indignant than concerned. 	
"What kind of person would play a trick like that on Jeff?" 	
He went on a bit deploring the state of the world where so many crazies were allowed to run loose. Eventually, he ran out of steam and went to bed. 	
It was almost midnight when Reenie and Matt set out at a brisk pace for the apartment. 	
"Whoever made that call knew exactly what to say to make Jeff tear out of here without giving a thought to letting the dogs out of the run." Reenie got right to the most disturbing fact. 	
"I wish I knew what the caller was doing while the dogs were penned up," Matt muttered. "Lotte was most interested in the outside stairs to the apartment. She has a keener nose than Berta. I checked inside but nothing seemed to have been disturbed. I hadn't left any papers around, and I couldn't see that anyone had been digging around in my computer files. I didn't take time to check more than the obvious security measures I installed, but if the guy did get into the apartment, he can't have been in there long." 	
"Maybe I should get out of here," Reenie said. 	
Grabbing her hand, Matt stopped dead. He jerked her around to face him. 	
"Not alone," he decided. "Once and for all, Reenie, you and I are together in this. Yes, someone was snooping around here tonight. But we can't go off half-cocked. We have a lot of expensive equipment around here. The intruder could be a thief getting the lay of the land." 	
"What if he wasn't?" Reenie's face was pale and earnest. She almost looked defeated. "What if he's someone who wants to kill me and doesn't mind taking out you and Pete while he's doing it?" 	
"A guy I served with runs a security service. I'll get him here tomorrow to beef up the alarm system. Up to now, we were mainly concerned with protecting the boat storage. Meanwhile, we have to go on the offensive. We need solid evidence that will put Casen away. Where are your keys to Driftwood Lodge?" 	
"I left my bag in the pickup," she said, perking up visibly. 	
"Come on," he said starting to run towards the storage barns where he'd left the truck. "While you were talking to Pete, I retrieved my handgun from the gun cabinet. Do you need anything in the apartment?" 	
"I don't think so," she said. "These clothes are dark enough that no one should spot me going around to the back." 	
"You don't have to come right to the lodge," he said. "I'll get in and out faster if I'm alone. We'll find a motel somewhere between Grand Rapids and the lodge. No one will look for you there, and you can get some rest while I go and see if I can't find that backup disk." 	
"You're doing it again!" Now, she was really steamed. "What happened to 'you and I are together in this.'? If it's going to be your way or the highway, I'll take the highway." 	
He started to open his mouth, then closed it. 	
"Sorry," he said, with a grin that wasn't terribly contrite. "We are together on it." 	
Conversation was sparse during the long drive to the shores of Lake Michigan. Reenie described the layout of the lodge, the off-season security patrol and the exact location of the filing cabinet that she hoped contained the disk. 	
"If it's not there, I should be able to get us into Danny's office. But I'd think Jon's checked every inch of that already." 	
"We're getting in and out as quickly as possible, Reenie. If the disk isn't in the drawer, we'll have to find another way to get the information we need." 	
One glance and she knew arguing this point would be futile. 	
Following Reenie's instructions, Matt pulled off the road about half a mile past the lodge at a closed service station and parked alongside the dozen or so vehicles that were obviously awaiting repairs. She assured him that no one would arrive to open the station until at least eight o'clock the next morning. 	
As she followed Matt down the strip of lawn between the driveway and the woods, it seemed to Reenie much longer than nine days since she'd fled from here, terrified, not daring to turn on the headlights of her jaunty little Mustang. But nothing was the same. Tonight, she wasn't alone, and scudding clouds obscured the sky only part of the time. That black night, she'd had no idea that a man like Matt even existed. Now she couldn't stand to think what her life was going to be like without him. 	
The grounds were dark. The only cottage that showed signs of being occupied was the one closest to the main lodge. Wilson was home. You couldn't miss the dark blue sedan with its ostentatious wide chrome trim parked in the carport. The only light showing was the one over his front door. Naturally, her own cottage, right next door, was dark and heaven knew what they'd done with her Mustang. 	
The only other outside lights visible were the two spotlights trained on the front entrance. The ones that illuminated the flowerbeds and foundation planting during the tourist season weren't used this time of year. The darkness should make it easier for them to slip undetected around back to the kitchen entrance. 	
She could see Matt ahead of her, moving silently and stealthily along the edge of the woods beside the long driveway. He stopped suddenly and signaled her to do the same. Maura froze in her tracks and peered past him into the darkness. 	
She heard the sharp rasp of a cigarette lighter, then caught the acrid smell of tobacco smoke. But she could see no flash of flame. The smoker must be around the corner. Focusing on the corner, she caught sight of a dark motionless figure. Had they been spotted? 	
Her heart pounding, she followed Matt's lead and shrank back into the shadow of a scraggly pine tree. The man didn't move or even seem to be looking in their direction. She didn't recognize him, but she rarely saw the security people who patrolled the grounds at night. 	
If the routine hadn't changed, there should be a second man with him. Yes, a large man drawing on a glowing tipped cigarette caught up to the first. One laughed. She couldn't hear what the men said, but they seemed to be involved in casual conversation. From what she remembered, it took the team forty minutes to make the rounds of the cottages and outbuildings and check the lakeshore and the perimeter of the property. If all went well, she and Matt should be far away by the time they came around again. 	
When the voices faded into the distance, Matt began to inch forward again. The minute or so it took to reach the back door seemed interminable. He told her in a taut whisper to stay in the shelter of the trees while he darted into the open to unscrew the bulb from the solitary light over the kitchen entrance. 	
She knew Matt was armed, but to see him draw the revolver from his belt and to watch him move smoothly in that defensive half-crouch that she'd only seen before in the movies made the whole situation seem unreal. Finally, the light above the door went out and he beckoned her over. She unlocked the door and let them inside the kitchen. 	
The only sounds in the echoing expanse of stainless steel and tile were the whirring of the fans in the huge refrigerators and the whisper of their own cautious footsteps. The moon chose that moment to come out from behind the clouds and she could see the familiar shapes of long counters and huge stoves and refrigerators. She made her way quite easily through the unlighted kitchen to her office. 	
"I'll wait here," Matt said, waving her into the tiny windowless room and stationing himself across the way in a deeper shadow between a refrigerator and a high counter. 	
When she pulled the door closed, the latch caught with a resounding click that startled her. She thanked goodness there was no one else around to hear it. Pulling the flashlight she'd taken from the glove compartment of the pickup out of her jacket pocket, she shone it around the room. Her desk was as clear as she'd left it. Her books appeared to be in their usual order on the shelves. They were perhaps aligned more neatly than usual, but she couldn't be sure. She took a deep breath and trained the beam on the filing cabinet. Show time. 	
When she pulled out the bottom drawer, it squeaked so loudly that she was sure the security guards could hear it at the other end of the complex. She listened a moment, but heard no sound from the kitchen. 	
The box of marzipan bars was still there! She picked it up and opened it. As far as she could see, all the top layer contained was individually wrapped candy bars. Perhaps the disk was between layers. She picked up a handful. Underneath were only more bars. Under that, only cardboard. Damn! Her disappointment was bitter. They'd been counting on the disk being there. 	
She looked at the tidy hanging files that filled the drawer. Someone had straightened these since she'd looked through them. She riffled quickly through to see if she could have missed another envelope. The drawer was crammed with invoices but nothing else. If another manila envelope had been there ten days ago, it was long gone. Probably with the disk from the candy box. 	
Suddenly, she heard the muffled thud of something heavy hitting the floor on the other side of the door. Her heart leapt to her throat. Had something happened to Matt? She doused the flashlight and, ready to use it as a club if necessary, cautiously opened the door. 	
"Reenie!" The harsh whisper had to be Matt's. "Turn your light on this guy." 	
She thumbed the switch on the flashlight and aimed the beam towards the whisper. Matt was bent over binding the ankles and wrists of an unconscious man with what looked like black electrical tape. 	
"Who is it?" Matt asked. 	
She peered at the big, bearded, dark-haired man. "I've never seen him before." 	
Matt picked up a revolver similar to the one he'd been carrying from the floor beside the bound man. 	
"Put this in your bag," he said, handing it to her. 	
She'd never touched a gun before and something in her shrank from touching it now. But she took it from him. It was cold and hard and surprisingly light. It couldn't have weighed a pound. 	
Matt wound a few strands of tape around the man's head covering his mouth. "That'll have to do," he said. "Did you get the disk?" 	
"I think someone got here before us. It wasn't in the box." 	
"Take the box anyway. Let's get out of here. The security patrol should be back this way any minute." 	
He led the way silently back through the dark kitchen and across the unlighted yard to the shadows of the trees. She tried to be quiet and moved as quickly as she could. When they reached the road, Matt took her hand firmly in his and began to run. 	
Reenie swam and hiked and skied when she could and had always thought of herself as being in pretty good shape, but she realized a couple of hundred yards down the road that she'd been deluding herself. Her legs felt like jelly and her lungs burned as Matt hauled her along with him. He'd been right when he'd said he'd get in and out more quickly alone. 	
Luckily, they didn't encounter anyone else on the road in their half-mile race back to the service station. Matt hoisted hr onto the seat and had the truck started and heading up the highway before she had time to fasten her seatbelt. 	
"What happened back there?" she asked when she was able to breathe again. 	
"I think that guy was expecting somebody. In the front part of the building somewhere. Right after that metallic squawk from the filing cabinet, I heard him moving through the lobby. I guess he saw the light moving under your office door. When he reached for the knob, I put him out." 	
"What did you hit him with?" 	
"I didn't." Matt didn't seem to want to talk about it but she waited him out. "I used an unarmed combat move on him," he mumbled. "He's probably awake and mad as hell right now." 	
She had to face it. This was not a man who was ever going to be content settling down in a cozy cottage with a cook. Pete was right. This time next year, if not before, Matt would have left the marina behind and be sailing the high seas in search of adventure. 	
Neither of them was in the mood for conversation. A bit at a time, Reenie filled Matt in on what she'd observed in her office. 	
"Why was that box of candy in your filing cabinet?" he mused. "Maybe what we're looking for is not a disk. Turn on the dome light, Reenie, and take those candy bars apart." 	
She tore the wrappers off and broke each bar in half. The strong aroma of almonds and chocolate filled the car. 	
"Lord, I hate that smell!" she muttered. "What's this?" 	
In the last bar of the bottom layer, imbedded in chocolate-covered marzipan, was a long, thin key. 	
"Looks a bit like a safety deposit key," Matt said. 	
"It's thicker than that. There are letters cut into this side." Reenie frowned and held the key closer to the overhead light. "The first letter is a U." She scrubbed at the key with a tissue. "There's a number on the back. 2-408." 	
Matt pulled off the road. Reenie handed him the key, took the flashlight out of her pocket and aimed it at the engraved letters. 	
"U Locket," Matt proclaimed. "But there are dozens of those franchise storage companies up here. Which location does this key come from?" 	
Gloom descended again. Neither of them had an answer. 	
"Danny might have used the closest one to the lodge," Reenie suggested. "There's a U Locket a couple of miles up the highway." 	
"We'll check it," Matt said, putting the pickup in gear and easing it back onto the road. 	
The brightly lit storage facility was situated in a small built-up area between a donut shop and a service station. The sign on the steel gate told them to check in at the donut shop for admittance. 	
Matt took the key and, telling Reenie to wait in the truck, strode into the donut shop as if he had every right to demand admittance to the lockers. Two men were seated at the counter drinking coffee and joking with a bright-eyed, blond waitress who looked to be about eighteen years old. 	
"I need to get into the storage area," Matt told the girl when she approached him. 	
"Ned," she called. 	
A burly, balding man emerged from what Matt assumed must be the kitchen area. 	
"The lock-up?" he asked. 	
"My brother broke his leg and sent me to get some of his things," Matt told him affably. "I hope I've got the right place." He showed him the key. 	
"Yep," the big man said looking at the key. "That's one of ours. We're the '2 dash' numbers." 	
And without any further fuss or need for identification, Ned led Matt to the gate and unlocked it for him. 	
"Just snap the padlock on the gate when you're done," he said. "408's at the back of the second row - on the top." 	
Matt climbed back into the pickup, drove it through the gate to the back of the second row of storage units. Sure enough, number 408 was right where Ned had told him it would be. It was a four-foot square locker that opened easily with the key they'd found. It contained a single corrugated cardboard carton. 	
Matt lifted the box out of the locker and Reenie tore off the masking tape that was holding it closed. She reached inside. 	
"It's the laptop!" Reenie announced. 	
Along with the computer was an accordion file stuffed with papers, a small disk box and a plastic box containing a battery charger and some patch cords. 	
Matt quickly relocked the storage unit and tucked the cardboard box into the sturdy lock box in the back of the pickup. Reenie hopped out to snap the padlock on the gate to the facility. As they left, Matt tapped the horn in thanks and waved to the obliging Ned who was watching for them to leave from the doorway of the donut shop. 	
"I can't believe it was that easy. We've got Jon's laptop!" Reenie exulted. 	
"Looks like we've got some of his records, too," Matt chortled. "I can't wait to get at them." 	
The lower edges of the dark sky were beginning to take on a pearly cast when they finally made it to the marina. The dogs greeted them enthusiastically and followed them to the base of the outside stairs. The Shepherds milled around and tried to accompany them up to their apartment. 	
"Not tonight, girls," Matt told them. "Go on. Chase a raccoon." 	
He sent the reluctant dogs on their way with a crisp hand signal. Lotte stopped a few feet away and whined at him. 	
"Get moving," Matt told her, pointing along the path of their usual patrol. The dog obeyed. 	
After trudging wearily up the stairs that seemed twice as steep as usual, Reenie unlocked the sliding glass doors. Matt carried the precious carton and deposited it inside the doorway of his room before turning to Reenie. 	
"It's been a long, long night, sweetheart," Matt said, taking her in his arms. 	
"And you didn't spend it sitting on a metal roof!" 	
Standing in the doorway, leveling a snub-nosed Smith and Wesson .38 at them, was an uncharacteristically disheveled and disgruntled Walt Ames. ["#TOC"]	
Chapter Fifteen	
Reenie thought of Matt's revolver, tucked in the back of his belt, and of the one they'd taken from the man at the lodge which was lying in her purse. Both weapons were useless while the one in Walt Ames' hand was aimed directly at her head. 	
"I assume you're carrying," Walt said to Matt in a weary voice. "Raise your hands both of you. Step apart." 	
She felt the muscles in Matt's shoulders tense as if he was about to leap between her and Walt but, apparently, he decided to bide his time and raised his hands above his shoulders. 	
"Hands on the wall, Matt," Walt said quietly. 	
Keeping his revolver aimed at her, he lifted the back of Matt's jacket and pulled the gun from his waistband, shoved it into his own, then waved them towards the sofa. 	
Was he planning to shoot her here? Jon had gone to a lot of trouble to make people believe that Maura Fitzpatrick might take her own life. Reenie doubted that Walt wanted to spoil that plan. He was probably going to hold them here until Wilson or someone arrived to take them someplace else to stage the suicide. 	
And they would have to kill Matt. 	
Walt was only a few feet away. If she made a sudden dive at his knees, she might be lucky enough to knock him off balance. Matt was still close enough to Walt to overpower him. There was even a chance she wouldn't get killed. First, she had to ease around the corner of the table that was between her and Walt. 	
She moved a couple of steps to her left in the general direction of the sofa. Matt feinted a move to join her but, with a lightning shift, lashed out with his left foot and knocked Walt's gun to the floor. He leapt on top of him and twisted his arm up between his shoulder blades. 	
"Get his gun, Reenie," he snapped. 	
She hurried to do as he asked and placed the weapon in his outstretched hand. 	
"The tape is in my right hand jacket pocket," he told her. "Tear off a piece about a foot long." 	
While Matt bound his wrists, Walt protested volubly. "Hanson, for Christ's sake, stop. I think you broke my wrist. You've got this all wrong." 	
Matt gave the tape a final tug and Walt gasped with pain. "Damn it, man. I'm with Internal Revenue Service. My ID is in my inside pocket." 	
Matt pulled Walt into a sitting position, removed a leather folder from the pocket of Walt's denim jacket and glanced at it. 	
"If you're IRS," he said, curtly, "why the gun?" 	
"I read your file. And after a night perched on the dormers up there, I wasn't in the mood to tangle with you before we talked. Sorry if I frightened you, Maura." 	
"Don't believe him, Matt," Reenie said. "He's worked for Jon for years." 	
"Two," Walt agreed. 	
Walt's hazel eyes met Matt's black ones steadily. The two men seemed to be taking each other's measure. Then, for some reason, Matt seemed to see something reassuring in Walt's gaze. 	
"Let's say you are with the IRS," he said. "What are you doing here?" 	
"Can you take the tape off my wrists?" Walt turned onto his side. "The right one hurts like hell." 	
"Maybe after you convince me you are who you say you are," Matt told him. 	
Reenie glared at the indignant man on the floor. "That phony-looking badge doesn't make you one of the good guys. You were in the room with Jon and Wilson when they killed Danny. I saw you." 	
"Yes, I was there. But, for your own sake, you'd better believe me, Maura. You have no idea what kind of trouble you're in. I'm your best bet to get out of it. We can help each other." 	
Gone was the urbane, overly charming public relations man. This man was hard and direct. Even sitting on the floor, his hands bound, hurting, he exuded authority. 	
"Here's the situation. The minute they identified Danny's body, it all hit the fan. Sal Gerardo called Jon on the carpet this morning. He's put a lot of time and money into Jon's campaign and doesn't want it to go down the tubes. But he didn't buy the story that Jon had no idea how his partner ended up in Lake Michigan. Sal's decided that you have the answers. Your disappearance at the same time as his nephew was killed is too much of a coincidence for him. So he's put a bounty of twenty thousand dollars on your head if you're brought in alive. Jon's desperate. And he's hired extra men to join the search and see that that you're not. 	
"To top it all off, some woman called the hot line late this afternoon saying if we wanted to find Maura Fitzpatrick all we had to do was ask Matt Hanson. I happened to know she was right on the money so I made sure I got here before anyone else gets the word." 	
The fragile sense of security that Reenie had gained shattered into a million pieces. Her situation was even worse than she'd thought. 	
"Who knows about this?" Matt snapped. 	
"I'm the only one," Walt told him. "I erased that call. One of the office staff brings me the tapes to sort through at the end of the day. I pass on the few likely leads to Jon. There were twenty-eight sightings reported today and that call was no more convincing than most of the others. Since your phone call from Wisconsin last Thursday, I've been aiming Jon's boys in that direction." 	
Walt looked at them accusingly. "Where did you go tonight after you got rid of Jeff? I almost broke my neck getting here from Lansing at the right time to avoid the dogs and sneak in here to warn you." 	
Matt looked as if he might be willing to tell him about their midnight trip to the lodge but Reenie didn't trust this new Walt. She known him too long as Jon's publicity man, trailing along behind his boss, full of ingratiating smiles. 	
"You did recognize me last week," Reenie accused him. 	
"I wouldn't have if you'd had those brown contacts then." Walt shook his head in disbelief. "Those fabulous blue eyes were all that gave you away. You don't look anything like the Maura Fitzpatrick I knew. I couldn't believe my luck when I recognized them. We need you, Maura." 	
"Reenie." She still didn't trust him, but being called Maura bothered her. Maura had no future. Reenie had a faint hope. 	
Walt flashed a look at Matt's grim face. "Reenie," he agreed. "If we're going to nail Casen and Gerardo, we need your backup testimony about Danny's killing and the evidence that Danny said he got from the Fitzpatrick safe. I assume you still have it." 	
"Before you say anything about that, sweetheart," Matt broke in. Apparently, he still had a few doubts of his own. "I've a couple of questions. To start with, are you working alone on this or are the FBI's antiracketeering guys looking for Reenie, too?" 	
"You two are the only ones apart from my immediate boss who knows my assignment. The fewer agencies involved, the smaller the chance that someone might warn Casen or Gerardo that we're closing in on them." 	
"O.K. Next, how did you get so tight with Casen so fast?" 	
"It wasn't all that fast. Jon and I grew up in the same neighborhood. In those years, I doubt if we ever said a dozen words to each other. He's three years older and that's a lot when you're in school. Besides I was the kind of kid who faded into the woodwork while Jon hung around the fringes of the gang of toughs that Danny ran with. When I met Jon again in law school, he'd made himself over completely. He was the epitome of a clean living, middle class liberal. Not that we had much in common then either. He was involved in too many protests that didn't interest me at the time. 	
"A couple of years ago, the Justice Department became interested in Jon's activities. They knew my background because I'd worked for them for a couple of years after law school. Anyway, somebody over there got the idea that after I designed a campaign that got Susan Marcovitch into Congress, Jon Casen would jump at the chance to get me to handle his political career. 	
"It was Gladys Fitzpatrick who recommended that Jon hire me as National Chairman of GEL. And, of course, to handle his public relations with a view to getting him elected to the state legislature." 	
"You mean, Gran knows who you are?" 	
"No. No. We got one of her political cronies to maneuver her into thinking that hiring me was her idea." 	
That made sense. Gran was all too easy to manipulate these days. Reenie met Matt's eyes. Walt was very convincing. Matt gave her an almost imperceptible nod. Walt, who was watching the silent interchange, exhaled loudly. 	
Matt cut the tape. Reenie got some ice from the kitchen to put on Walt's wrist. 	
"Even if Danny and Jon were laundering dirty money at the lodge," Reenie said, when Walt was seated at the table holding the improvised ice bag to his wrist, "I'm surprised the IRS would send a man undercover for two years for the amount of money involved." 	
"That's only part of the story," Walt said. "But don't fool yourself about the amount of money. A five star operation, with top entertainment in the bars, like the Driftwood at the peak of high season could deposit a good six hundred thousand dollars a week. Inflated numbers might make that eight or nine hundred. Easily two hundred and fifty thousand per week could be laundered." 	
"What's the going rate for laundering these days?" Matt asked. "Seven per cent?" 	
"As high as ten if the money's really hot. At seven, that's clearing seventy thousand a month. But what we're really interested in is the money that flows through GEL." 	
"You shouldn't have any trouble getting evidence of that. You're the national chairman," Reenie exclaimed. 	
"I mostly look after publicity and lobbying from the head office in Lansing. Unfortunately, my position doesn't involve bookkeeping. In fact, the fund raising and all the accounting is done in the big Detroit office. GEL does well with receipted donations and they get millions of dollars in anonymous contributions. Jon is known as GEL's spokesman and founder. He finds the environmental causes, many of them in third world countries where a lot of money is supposedly spent. 	
"I was attached to Jon to get actual records of that money and, if possible, verifiable ties to Sal Gerardo and a couple of other big players. The lodge is small potatoes compared to that. 	
"We were about to move in on Danny when it all went wrong. We had him dead to rights and had plans to use him to get the goods on Jon and maybe even Sal, but we didn't count on Jon being stupid and greedy enough to steal from Danny. Or to get caught at it. You know what happened when Jon refused to let Danny blackmail him into giving his money back." 	
"But Jon trusts you. Why couldn't you get information from the Detroit office?" 	
"I've been working on expanding my role in GEL but not fast enough. Jon trusts me as his political advisor. He's told me straight that he's getting quiet financial backing from Sal Gerardo as well as support in established political circles from your grandmother. But that's as far as it goes. He doesn't talk money to me. By the way, I'm pretty sure your grandmother doesn't know that Jon is taking Sal's money." 	
"How many men does Casen have looking for Reenie?" Matt asked. 	
"Until noon today, only Wilson and me. After the mess-up with Danny, he didn't want to use anyone who might talk to Sal. After his talk with Sal today, however, he called a couple of old buddies from Detroit. Only two - that I know of." 	
"What happened after I left, Walt? Does Jon know I have the pictures and the rest of the papers?" 	
"You do?" Walt's face brightened. "Jon was sure you did when we found the wadded-up photo of him with the blonde on the floor outside Danny's office Sunday night." 	
"How long did it take you get out?" 	
"That was a smart move." Walt's appreciative grin looked sincere. Maybe he really was on their side. "Wilson had to take the door off its hinges. You'd gotten away by the time Jon and I took off after you. 	
"We found your car in the airport lot, but no one remembered selling you an airline ticket. So we went back to the lodge and tore it apart looking for the negatives and the papers Danny had shown Jon copies of. When he found the check you'd cashed in the safe, he assumed that's where you found the originals." 	
"What possessed him to draw attention to Reenie's disappearance with that kidnapping story?" Matt asked. 	
"Jon comes across as a lot brighter than he is. He was sure she'd contact her grandmother and he needed a reason to stay at Gladys' side so that he could intercept Maura's .. I mean, Reenie's calls. He's devious and has a lot of charisma; but, basically, he's works more on instinct than logic. According to Jon, if you can dazzle the opposition with footwork, you'll have a chance to land a lucky punch and win the fight. That makes his actions hard to predict." 	
"But not impossible," Matt growled. 	
"Anyway, first thing Monday morning, he told Gladys that he'd met you for an early dinner, Reenie, before he started out for Lansing. You had too much to drink and when some waitress came on to him, you flew off the handle and left saying he'd be sorry for the way he treated you. Gladys checked that you hadn't arrived during the night as she'd expected and started to phone anyone who might know where you were. When she'd run out of friends and hospitals along the route to Lansing, she called the police. 	
"When Jon found that out, he had Wilson call her saying you'd been kidnapped and that if she wanted to see you alive she had to get Jon to withdraw GEL's request for an injunction. Wilson said he'd be in touch with further instructions. Of course, Jon had no intention of anyone ever following up on that." 	
"I can't imagine anyone risking getting the FBI involved for no real reason," Matt said. 	
"And worrying Gran like that," Reenie said under her breath. 	
"Jon was delighted with himself for setting up your death in advance and misdirecting suspicion towards the chemical company. He also now had a perfect reason to stay with Gladys and intercept any calls from you. The police have you listed as a missing person but he's confident that we'll find you before they do." 	
"He leaked that rumor to the media," Reenie muttered. 	
"He told me to make sure Barbara Bellman got the word indirectly. It was my idea to set up the hot line that I can control. I needed to get to you before Jon did. Of course, I didn't know I'd stumble across your hiding place before the line was even functioning. How did you end up here? And where did you get that spectacular shiner?" 	
"Speaking of injuries," Matt interrupted, "are we going to have to get that wrist x-rayed?" 	
"I don't think so," Walt said, rotating it gingerly. "You've got a lethal foot there, Matt, but I think it's just bruised. I want to hear about how you got all those interesting colors on your face, Reenie." 	
Reenie's eyes were drifting closed before she finished telling Walt the story. 	
"That's enough for all of us," Matt decided. "Reenie's dead on her feet. It's almost dawn. No one else is going to turn up here in the next few hours. Why don't we get some sleep? We'll all think more clearly." 	
She opened her mouth to say they had to start examining the files in Jon's laptop, then closed it. Matt was right. She turned back to Walt instead. 	
"How long are you planning to stay?" she asked. 	
"I'm not sure. I told Jon I'd be on the move for the next couple of days checking out leads from the hot line and that I'd call him if any of them panned out." 	
"There's a bed made up in the other bedroom," she said. 	
"Where's your car?" Matt asked. 	
"I parked it in that grove of trees down by the far boat ramp," Walt told him. 	
"There's space in the back boat storage barn. We don't want Jeff to see your car." 	
"I didn't like to pull that stunt on him last night, but I had to get past the dogs." 	
"You'd better hope he never figures out you were responsible. Come on. I'll show you where to park and introduce you more formally to Lotte and Berta so that they'll accept you." He turned to Reenie. "Why don't you go ahead to bed, Reenie. I'll join you in a few minutes." 	
The long day and night had taken its toll. When Matt came to their bed not half an hour later, Reenie was sound asleep. She snuggled into the curve of his body but didn't surface from her deep slumber until the clock radio exploded in a blast of twanging banjo chords at nine- thirty. 	
He swore and swatted at the snooze button. 	
"Sorry," he mumbled, pulling her back into his arms. Matt wished he could keep her half- asleep and warm in his embrace, but that wasn't possible. He had a strong sense that time was running out. He sighed deeply and released her. She stretched and peered at him out of one endearingly sleepy, blue eye. 	
"I thought music would wake us up gradually," he said wryly. "But I guess it's 'up and at'em' time." 	
He swung his legs over the edge of the bed but stopped before he got to his feet. 	
"You do agree that we should trust Walt with those papers? Because once we've done that, there's no turning back. The IRS will be calling the shots." 	
"I don't see what else we can do." 	
"Just wanted to make sure you agreed," he said and kissed her on the tip of the nose. He was learning. 	
Beginning with a jarring musical note set the tone for the day. Both Matt and Walt tried to convince Reenie that she should disappear, at least temporarily, into one of the safe houses of the Witness Protection program. She resolutely refused to consider it. There was no way she was going to sit quietly in some hideaway totally ignorant of what was going on. 	
While Matt went to the boathouse to get the photocopies of the contents of the manila envelope, she made buttermilk pancakes and bacon for the three of them. They ate quickly, then drank their coffee while Walt browsed through the photos and papers that Danny had gathered. 	
"What a damn fool!" he said, shaking his head at the first photo, the one of Jon with Lucy Spadafore. "No wonder Jon wants to get his hands on these," he said. "Sal will have his head when he finds out Jon's getting it on with his niece. He's very protective of his family. And, can you imagine Gladys' reaction to these action shots? Jon's political chances are in the toilet if she ever gets a look at them. 	
"Don't know this woman," he said, turning over the second picture. "But this," he held up the third, "is Norma Renton." 	
Both Reenie and Matt looked at him curiously. 	
"Norma runs the Detroit office. She accompanied Jon on a GEL junket to the Far East a couple of years ago, but I thought their affair was over long ago. This explains a few things." 	
He was silent for a while, staring at the photograph before turning it over. When he saw the next one, he gave a long low whistle. 	
"Bingo!" His voice was a harsh triumphant whisper. "Chang Lu. With Sal Gerardo. The boys are going to love this one. We've been trying to find a link between these two. And it's our own tricky little Jonathan. Danny's detective was certainly worth whatever he paid him." 	
When the IRS man picked up the printout, Matt said, "I spent some time on that, Walt. And I can't see that it's a lot of use to us. All DiMarco wanted to show was exactly how much money Jon had cheated him of. This is only a chunk out of the middle of a file. Nothing here tells us about the banking transactions. Nor, of course, about the GEL connection." 	
"According to your old boss, you'd have found the clue if there was one." Walt turned to Reenie. "Where exactly had DiMarco hidden this stuff?" 	
"At the back of a file drawer in my kitchen office that was full of phony invoices I'd never seen before," Reenie admitted. "I made it too easy for them. I thought it was simply old- fashioned business habits that made Danny insist on being in full control of every tiny detail of the lodge's finances. I had no idea what was going on in my own kitchen." 	
"Could you have missed a disk if he'd hidden one in there?" 	
"Reenie went through that filing cabinet again last night while the dogs had you pinned on the roof." 	
"Any trouble with the beefed-up security?" Walt asked. 	
Matt told him about the man he'd left tied up. 	
Walt grinned his approval. "Wilson's convinced Sal will find out what happened to Danny and make sure he's the next one to end up in the lake. He hired a bodyguard and an extra man for the lodge. So what did you find?" 	
"There was no disk in the cabinet, but we did find something." Reenie was getting a perverse kind of pleasure out of doling out the information at her own speed. It had been a while since she'd felt in control of anything. As she cleared away the breakfast dishes, she told Walt about the storage locker key they had found in the candy bar and their trip to the U Locket facility. 	
As she spoke, Matt picked up the cardboard box from the floor just inside the door where he'd placed it when they arrived at dawn. He placed it on the large round table beside Walt. 	
"Why don't we see what we can learn from this little beauty?" Matt suggested, lifting the laptop carefully out of the box. 	
"You found it! This could be the break we needed!" Walt stood aside, giving Matt room to set up the equipment. He was almost dancing with excitement. 	
Matt switched the computer on and looked at the two expectant faces. "The answers aren't going to be obvious, you know," he said with a laugh. "It's going to take a while to see what's on this hard disk. Once I know what I'm dealing with, I'll need clearance to access some special data bases and their current passwords." 	
"I'll get right on that," Walt said, heading for the phone. 	
Reenie said, "I might as well go over make sure Pete got something to eat this morning." 	
"Good idea," Walt agreed. "Keep as close to the usual routine as you can, but if Pete has any unexpected company, find an errand you have to do right away." 	
Matt, who was apparently engrossed in the list of files on the little computer monitor, snagged her hand as she walked by him and pulled her down for a quick, hard kiss. 	
"Tell Pete what we're doing." He kissed her again, a more lingering, tender caress. "And keep a low profile, sweetheart." 	
The next couple of days were blessedly uneventful. Walt hurried back to Lansing so he could field any Maura Fitzpatrick sightings that were too close. Before noon on Wednesday, he'd arranged for the clearances that Matt wanted. 	
Matt disappeared into his computer and did not surface except to eat the occasional meal and to sleep a few hours. The only exceptions were the hour he spent touring the facility with the security expert he'd called in to set up the alarm system and the two trips he made with Reenie out to a nearby abandoned gravel pit to teach her how to use the revolver they'd taken from the man at the lodge. She hated the idea but admitted that a situation could arise when she'd have to know how to fire the repulsive thing. She didn't become an expert shot, but by the end of the second lesson, she was only a few inches off the center of the target. 	
Reenie spent the rest of her time with Pete. The more she saw of Matt's father, the better she liked him. He took his role as her protector seriously, stationing his chair where he could observe any comings and goings through the main gate of the marina. He found chores for her upstairs or in the basement the moment a visitor or delivery person approached the house. Most of the time he told her long amusing anecdotes about the people in his town, in his life. 	
His relationship with Matt was the only topic that he seemed to find difficult to talk about. He talked freely about his daughter and grandson, even about his late son-in-law. 	
His name came up on Thursday afternoon when the strident shriek of the new motion sensor at the front gate announced Gus' patrol car heading for the apartment. 	
"I suppose that early warning signal is a good thing, but, Lord, I'll be glad when we don't need it any more. Gus is probably here to work on the boat. He took over from Bronwyn's husband as sheriff, you know. Phil Cooper was a good husband to Bronwyn. But the man thought he was immortal. Never believed the ice could collapse under the weight of his snowmobile. Somebody else's maybe - not his. I think Gus would take over Phil's family too, if Bronwyn gave him any encouragement. He's real good with Tommy." 	
Reenie's attention was on the sheriff's car parked in front of the marina shop. Gus had disappeared into the apartment. She wondered what he and Matt were talking about. 	
"Matt was overseas when Phil died," Pete went on, finally getting to the one person she was hoping he'd talk about. "Made it home for the funeral but had to head right back. Hasn't spent much time here since he joined up when he turned eighteen. I made a big mistake with Mattias. I didn't want him to take the scholarship he won. I was selfish. Told him I needed him here. So, he joined the army to spite me." 	
Reenie wondered if there were any families where people didn't try to bend their children to their wills. 	
"He's here for you now." Reenie couldn't see Matt as spiteful. 	
"Don't know that he's all that keen to be here, though," Pete muttered. His dark eyes had lost most of their sparkle. "Don't know how long it'll be before he heads out again." 	
Silently, she wondered if he could be right. Then she realized that, no matter where he was, she would always love Matt Hanson. She didn't know when that had happened, but she knew it was true. 	
"Matt tells me he intends to do his roaming in the off-season," she said. "He cares about you, Pete." 	
"Humph," he replied. "There goes Gus' car. He didn't stay long. I wonder what Matt told him to get out of working on the boat this afternoon." 	
Reenie hoped it wasn't the truth about what he was doing. ["#TOC"]	
Chapter Sixteen	
"I told Gus the last coat of varnish needed to dry at least another day before we could do any more sanding on the hull," Matt told her later that evening when she dragged him away from the computer long enough to eat the dinner she'd brought home for him. "That made sense to him. He was curious about why I'd had the new security measures installed, though." 	
"What did you tell him?" Reenie asked quickly. 	
"That I didn't want to wait to do it until after we had a major break-in. Gus is always preaching crime prevention, so he congratulated me on my good sense," he said with a guilty grimace. 	
Matt's eyes looked tired from his long hours at the computer, and she could see he hated being less than straightforward with his old sailing buddy. 	
"I don't want Gus to see me now that my face is pretty much back to normal. Will he be at Tommy's party tomorrow afternoon?" 	
"Nope. Barring a crisis at the office, he'll be at his brother's hunting camp for the weekend," he assured her. "While we had a cup of coffee, I pumped him a little about the DiMarco murder investigation. Gus is cooperating with Will Franks, the local sheriff and giving thanks it didn't happen in his county." 	
"I know Will Franks," Reenie said. "He's part of the group that Jon plays poker with twice a month. I don't know if he'd believe that I saw what I say I did. All the pictures really prove is that Jon's a sleaze." 	
"We'll make sure the charges against Jon will hold before you talk to anyone. Too many powerful people have got their shirts in a knot about this." 	
Matt bit into a juicy pecan tart. "Mmmm," he said, with an appreciative grin as he licked a bit of flaky pastry off his lower lip. "These are terrific." 	
The man was sinfully attractive. 	
"I made them for Tommy's party tomorrow afternoon," she said, wishing she could forget everything else, climb onto his lap and share the sweetness of the tart with him. It would be a good place to start. 	
The grave look he gave her drew her back to the harsh realities of the present. 	
"Gus didn't have any good news for us. He made a point of telling me the police are desperate to locate Maura Fitzpatrick. They aren't sure whether you were involved with Danny's death or if you really are in danger from the killers, but they know you disappeared around the same time as Danny was killed and might be able to clear up some the confusion about the time of death. 	
"They checked Jon Casen's whereabouts as a matter of course because he was DiMarco's partner. They found two witnesses who claimed they'd seen him at the Driftwood Sunday night; however, Casen has an alibi from some woman who says they were working on GEL business in Lansing all evening, and your grandmother insists he spent the night in his own room at her home. Now, the witnesses say they must have been mistaken." 	
"I wonder if we'd recognize the woman who gave him the alibi from Danny's photo collection," Reenie said dryly. 	
"Your grandmother also insists you didn't name the people you were frightened of." 	
"She probably wiped that part of the conversation from her mind as too bizarre to consider. She's stubbornly clinging to the image she's created of Jon." Reenie knew Gran was not rational on the subject, but the rejection by her only relative hurt. 	
Pete Hanson, the following afternoon, was a distinct contrast. Like a typical grandparent, he was snapping pictures as if he'd never seen seven-year-olds in action before. 	
Fortunately, the unseasonably warm weather was still holding. From the moment they erupted into the yard, Tommy and the four boys and two girls he'd invited to his party filled the air with enthusiastic shrieks and yells. The excitement started the moment the children spotted the banner proclaiming The Thomas Cooper Mini-Olympics which Jeff and Matt had hung between two tall spruce trees. Jeff had painted white lines on the lawn behind the house to create a makeshift running track for the events. 	
Reenie had noticed Matt's fondness for his nephew from the first minute she saw them together, but she'd never seen him with a group of children before. With his quiet smile and his low voice, he drew them like the Pied Piper. Tommy rode proudly on his shoulders over to the picnic table where she'd set out a snack of Tommy's favorite fruit punch with a tray of cherry and pecan tarts. Matt swung Tommy down to join his friends and sauntered over. 	
"That should stave off starvation while they tear around for an hour or so," he said, drawing her close against his side. "Looks wonderful, sweetheart." 	
By the time Bronwyn arrived with the prizes a few minutes later, the children had demolished the snack and were hopping around the track and shrieking with laughter at the bizarre feats they were expected to perform. There wasn't any real competition involved. All a child had to do to win a ribbon was complete one of the events that Matt and Pete had devised to dissipate some energy before the party moved indoors. The prizes they won depended on the number of ribbons they collected. 	
Matt was stationed at the starting line, Jeff monitored the middle and Pete beamed and called encouragement from the finish line where he'd stationed himself to take photographs of their antics. It was impossible to remain uninvolved. Reenie found herself drawn wholeheartedly into the laughter and the cheering. 	
Reenie was charmed when Tommy stopped to help dust off the smaller of his two female guests who had tripped over her shoelace and fallen. The child seemed upset about the dark grass stains on her white denim pants. At first glance, Tommy didn't resemble his uncle at all, but the concerned frown on his little forehead was an exact copy of the one on Matt's face as he hurried over to check on the child. Reenie's heart filled at the sight. 	
"Tommy mentioned he had a girlfriend the other day," Reenie commented. "Is Susy the one?" 	
"Both she and Ruthie are," Bronwyn told her. "He always has at least two girlfriends. He's a generous lover." She followed Reenie's gaze and paused as if debating whether or not to go on. "Matt isn't, you know. Sandra Field is annoyed about that. She called me a few days ago to pump me about you. She said she wondered about your buying brown contacts." 	
Reenie had been hoping against hope that Bronwyn had been too distracted by the crises in her own life when she met her to notice her change of eye color. She held her breath. 	
"She even suggested that from some angles, you..." Bronwyn sighed, then looked at her with a candid gaze. "She said you looked quite a bit like Maura Fitzpatrick." 	
Reenie went still. "And what did you say to that?" 	
Bronwyn's black eyes were steady on hers. "My brother cares about you. I told her not to be ridiculous. That the Hansons and the Kellys had been friends for years." 	
"Thank you," Reenie said quietly. "I'm sorry about the lies. But I'm afraid. If my .. old boyfriend finds me, he will kill me." 	
"Why would he do that?" Bronwyn asked, her black eyes were filled with skepticism. Of course, she was a big fan of Jon's. 	
A pink-cheeked, fortyish woman whose fair hair was attempting to escape from a fat French braid scooted up to join them on the sidelines. 	
"Only three more events. I'm exhausted just from watching." She extended a capable- looking hand to Reenie. "I'm Donna Franklin. Jeff's wife. You must be Reenie. Matt sent me over to warn you the kids will be ready for food in about half an hour." 	
"The pizzas!" Reenie exclaimed. "They went right out of my mind." 	
"Why don't you and Matt drop by to see me after I put the birthday boy to bed tonight?" Bronwyn said pointedly. "That should be about eight o'clock. I'm dying to hear the rest of the story." 	
"We'll be there," Reenie said, making her escape to the kitchen. 	
The rest of the party went by in a blur of laughter, present opening and flashing light bulbs. Pete's present was a camera much like his own and, from that point on, "Pete and Re-Pete", as Matt dubbed them, were merciless chroniclers of the party. 	
"Uncle Matt calls us that because my middle name is Peter," Tommy confided to Reenie. "Gramps says its because we both burp a lot if we drink our sodas too fast." 	
The moment they were alone, Reenie told Matt about his sister's defense of her to Sandra Field and her demand that they come to her house at eight o'clock and explain why Reenie was hiding from Jon. 	
"So Sandra's the one who called the hot line," Matt muttered. "Too many people know or suspect you're here. We have to take Walt up on his offer of a safe house." 	
"No. I can count on you and Pete. I want to trust Bronwyn. Nobody else," Reenie stated simply. "I'm staying with you." 	
"And I want you here." Matt cupped her determined little chin in his hands. "I don't know if I could stand the uncertainty if you were out of my sight." 	
The brief kiss they shared spoke of something more abiding than the passion that flared every time they touched. The emptiness he carried deep inside him stirred as if it anticipated relief. That he could even imagine filling it with Reenie's warmth startled him. He'd never pictured himself needing anyone. 	
"Damn!" he said. "I need every minute there is if I'm going to find that evidence. I don't have time to convince Bronwyn to leave well enough alone." 	
Matt had made progress this morning; he'd found combinations of numbers on several lists that could belong to off-shore bank accounts and had intended to spend the evening checking them against a highly confidential data base. 	
"You don't have to come with me," Reenie said. He could see she was bewildered by his explosion. Well, so was he. 	
"Yes, I do," he decided. "You driving the marina truck would be a novelty. No one will pay any attention to me. We'll keep the visit short." 	
In spite of their best intentions, their stay was anything but short. Bronwyn greeted them at the door, reserved as usual but clearly curious about what had sent Reenie fleeing from her handsome, popular fiancé. 	
"Hello Matt. Reenie. Or is it Maura?" Bronwyn added with a raised eyebrow. 	
"I was called Reenie until my parents died and I moved in with my grandparents. Irene was from my mother's family," Reenie informed her crisply. "Gran insisted I be called Maura." 	
As soon as they were seated in her bright, orderly living room, Bronwyn asked, "Now, tell me. Why would you imagine that Jon Casen wants to kill you?" 	
"It's not a delusion, Wyn." Matt's tone of voice held a distinct warning that he was not going to tolerate any bullying or ridiculing of his woman. 	
"The simplest way to convince you to believe my story is to start with these," Reenie said, handing her the envelope of photographs. "They were the first clue that nothing about Jon was what I thought it was." 	
When Bronwyn pulled the photographs from the envelope, her jaw dropped open and her eyes widened in shock. 	
"Where did you get these?" she whispered. "Can they be real?" 	
"I'm afraid so," Reenie replied. "From what I understand, Danny DiMarco, who was Jon's silent partner in the lodge and some suspicious financial dealings, hired a private detective to follow Jon and to get evidence he could use to pressure him to return a great deal of money Jon had stolen from their business." 	
She went on to detail the events of that fateful Sunday evening and the brutal murder she'd witnessed. She and Matt had decided as they drove into town that she should omit all mention of Walt Ames. His secrets were not theirs to reveal. 	
"After the old car I bought exploded, Matt brought me to the marina. And you know most of what's happened since," Reenie concluded. 	
"But the kidnapping!" Bronwyn exclaimed. She stopped. "There was no kidnapping." She paused, then went on the attack again. "Your grandmother said you were unbalanced!" 	
Being confused was a new sensation for Bronwyn and, obviously, not one she liked. 	
"Hold on, Wyn," he said. "Reenie is the victim here. She didn't make up any of those wild stories. Gladys Fitzpatrick hasn't seen those photos. She still believes every lying word that comes out of Jon Casen's mouth." 	
"Gran's trying to recapture her glory days when she was the Governor's lady. Jon's her ticket back into the limelight. She'd rather believe that I'm delusional than that she was wrong about her political hopeful." 	
"Casen started the kidnapping rumor to explain Reenie's body after his men found her," Matt added. "Then he moved in with Gladys so he could intercept Reenie's calls." 	
"How do you know that?" Bronwyn snapped. She apparently wasn't any happier than Gladys Fitzpatrick would be at seeing her hero stripped of his clothing and along with it, every scrap of his veneer of morality and dignity. 	
"We got that information from a federal special agent who has been working undercover and is very close to Casen." 	
Bronwyn sat back against the cushions of her overstuffed sofa. "You have to tell Gus everything you know," she ruled. "You know you can trust Gus Schroeder to do the right thing, Matt." 	
Matt drew a deep breath. 	
"We can't do that," he told her patiently. "Reenie's testimony will be extremely important for a number of reasons we can't explain to you right now. Revealing her location to anyone before the time is right could jeopardize her life. Not to mention two years' worth of undercover work. You have to give us your word you won't say anything to Gus until we have enough evidence to nail Casen and the big names he's involved with." 	
Powerful headlight beams interrupted the conversation. Through the filmy glass curtains, Matt could see the unmistakable outline of Gus Schroeder's patrol car. 	
"You couldn't wait to hear what we had to say, could you, Wyn?" he whirled furiously on his sister. 	
"I did not call him," she snapped back. "I wasn't expecting Gus tonight. He was supposed to be out of town." 	
"Go upstairs, Reenie," Matt said. "Wyn's room's at the back of the house. We'll get rid of Gus eventually. Wait there. I'll come up when he's gone." 	
Reenie grabbed her purse and the envelope of photos off the table beside Bronwyn and rushed up the stairs to the dark hallway above. She had barely made it out of sight when she heard the front door opening and the sound of Gus's voice. 	
"Hi, beautiful. Do you have a cup of coffee for a tired cop? I'm sorry I didn't make it to Tommy's party this afternoon, but I've spent the past fifteen hours chasing my tail around Bay City and Midland and points north." 	
"I thought you were going hunting," she heard Matt say. He must have come out of the living room to greet Gus. 	
"Oh, didn't expect to find you here, Matt. Where's the 'housekeeper'?" Gus's teasing laugh sounded cheerful, if weary. Reenie could hear no trace of steely purpose in his voice. 	
"Keeping house, I guess." Matt's answering laugh was just uncertain enough. Was he trying to explain her possible sudden departure? 	
"Trouble in love-land?" 	
"Reenie needed a little privacy," Matt said. His tone of voice indicated that he'd said all he was going to say on the topic. 	
"Well, Matt," Gus said, "I thought I was going hunting, too, until Will Franks called me at eleven o'clock last night. Walt Ames offered to pass on whatever leads he received on the GEL hot line. Will's resources are stretched to the limit with this murder investigation, and he asked me if I'd lend him a man or two to help check them out. Turns out the only man available was me. Goodbye hunting trip. Hello Walt Ames' scenic tour." 	
"Any luck?" 	
"Nothing." 	
Their matter-of-fact voices faded as they moved into the living room. As soon as they were out of earshot, Reenie moved cautiously down the hall. The first door on her left was wide open. A well-placed Batman night-light enabled her to see Tommy lying sound asleep in what looked to be a handcrafted mate's bed. She inched along to the next open door. 	
This room was dark but she could see the dim outline of a bed and the sheen of a mirror over a long dresser. From the lingering scent of lavender and another delicate flowery perfume in the room, she figured this must be Bronwyn's bedroom. Matt's sister was an interesting mix of imperious matriarch and ultra-feminine woman. She cared deeply about her family. Luckily, so far she didn't seem to see Reenie as a threat to them. Reenie knew the moment that perception changed she would be in real trouble. The problem was that every minute she stayed at the marina, she was endangering Bronwyn's family. 	
Reenie sat down on the bed in the silent room and assessed her situation. Gus appeared to be unaware that she was the woman he was trying to find. That was a plus - at least, so long as Bronwyn didn't bull ahead and tell him. Walt, apparently, was keeping Gus occupied. That was another plus. However, life at the marina was becoming more complicated by the minute. Maybe Walt was right. She should leave. 	
She'd known Matt barely two weeks. Although it was hard to imagine trying to carry on her life without him, she could feel the hot breath of her pursuers raising the short, dyed hairs on the back of her neck. Most of the hunters were faceless. Any of the people she met on the street or in a shop could be willing to deliver her to Sal Gerardo for the twenty thousand dollar bounty - or hand her over to Jon out of the misdirected goodness of their hearts. She didn't think she'd ever met the Detroit men Jon had commissioned to kill her. The only enemies who had faces she'd recognize were Jon and Wilson. 	
She could still head for her cabin. Pete would lend her one of the marina pickups. As a safe haven, it would only be temporary but it had the advantage of being a place where she endangered no one but herself. She still had the handgun Matt had taken from the man at the lodge. Could she aim a gun at someone with the intention of killing him? Judging by the number of people who shot each other every day, it couldn't be that difficult. After all, it would be someone who wanted to kill her. Nausea rose in her throat. That kind of thinking led to hysteria. 	
Oh, what were they talking about down there? Did Matt still have his sister under control or would Reenie be hearing the solid tread of Gus' feet coming up the stairs at any moment? 	
Matt. It all came back to Matt. Reenie had promised she would be honest with him. And that she wouldn't leave the marina without telling him first. He'd blame himself if she left and anything happened to her. Then, too, when they'd arrived at the apartment after dinner, he'd seemed confident that he was on the brink of finding the information Walt needed to put Jon behind bars. 	
She loathed indecision. Surely she had the gumption to make up her mind one way or the other. All right. She would stay one more day. She would have one more night in Matt's arms. 	
Her eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness. Light from the streetlight across the road filtered dimly through the gauzy curtains and glanced off the large mirror on the opposite wall. The double bed she was sitting on was covered with a satin spread and piled high with silky pillows. Even without seeing the colors, she couldn't miss the sensuality of the room. 	
She slipped off her shoes and leaned back against the pillows and thought about Pete's children. Both were unexpectedly multi-faceted. One was particularly fascinating. 	
The next thing she knew, she was being cradled in strong arms and a deep voice was chuckling in her ear. 	
"Come on, sleepy head," Matt said, softly. "Time to get home to your own bed." 	
"The birthday party wore her out," Bronwyn said. "And she's been under a lot of strain." 	
"You didn't tell Gus," Reenie sat up, wide awake at the sound of Bronwyn's voice. 	
"To be fair, I'll give Matt some time to search Jon's files." 	
"We'd better get home then. I can't do anything about those files here," Matt said. 	
The gleam in his eyes as he pulled her slowly up off Bronwyn's silken bed hinted strongly that he was not planning to devote the whole night to the computer. 	
"Let's go home then," she murmured, feeling the answering heat rising in her cheeks. ["#TOC"]	
Chapter Seventeen	
Matt kept her hand firmly nestled in his, even when he shifted gears, as they sped down the dark road towards the marina. His thumb caressed her palm until she thought she would go crazy with anticipation. It was as if he, too, realized that their time together was almost over. 	
He left the Jeep abandoned rather than parked at the bottom of the exterior stairs, not bothering to close his door and pulling Reenie after him as he ran up the steps. He fumbled a bit unlocking the apartment door, but at last, he got it open. 	
She hurled herself into his arms and pulled the tail of his knit shirt out of his jeans. She needed his smooth, hot flesh against her. He yanked the shirt up over his head, did the same with her sweater, then, in one swift movement, divested himself of everything else he was wearing. 	
"Reenie...Reenie," he repeated over and over, covering her face and neck with kisses, as he pushed her jeans and panties down past her hips. "I need you now." 	
Not quite sure why he was so frantic to bury himself inside her tonight, he hauled her back into his arms. Reenie seemed to be possessed by the same demon. She kicked off her shoes, stepped out of the jeans that had slid down around her ankles, then wrapped her legs around his waist. 	
He didn't waste time or energy speaking but picked her up and carried her to the couch. They sank down together. His tongue plunged into her mouth as if tasting her again was essential to his survival. Perhaps it was. 	
Their coming together was quick but cataclysmic in its intensity. At the very moment Reenie cried out his name, Matt exploded inside her. He felt as if the heat and the momentum of their passion had caught his soul, fused it with Reenie's, then whirled their united essences like a tornado on a new and totally unpredictable path. Reenie collapsed against his chest. 	
"My God, sweetheart," he said, when he had enough breath to speak. "Did I hurt you?" 	
She raised her head and gazed at him with her large eyes still unfocussed from the passion of their wild lovemaking. Slowly and with a strangely sad expression on her face, she shook her head. 	
"I love you, Mattias," she whispered. 	
She climbed off his lap and took his hand. Slowly she drew him with her to their bed. Stunned by her revelation, like a man in a trance, he went with her. He didn't know if the emotion that he was drowning in was love, but he did know that Reenie belonged to him now. And, heaven help anyone who tried to take her away from him. 	
Dawn was just breaking when Reenie made her way slowly towards Pete's house to begin the baking she'd promised for the GEL fundraiser. Pearly swirls of mist were rising off the bay, dissolving into the crisp autumn air. The songbirds were long gone. The only sounds were the crunching of the gravel under her running shoes and the lapping of the waves on the shore. The scene was deceptively peaceful. She shivered and shrugged deeper into Bronwyn's warm ski jacket. 	
It was too easy to imagine one of Jon's or Gerardo's thugs materializing out of the mist. That was foolish thinking. The dogs were patrolling the perimeter of the property and would raise the alarm if any stranger tried to enter. 	
Think about something else. The night she'd just spent in Matt's arms had been wonderful. He hadn't told her he loved her in words, but there had been love in the tenderness of his lingering caresses when he'd wakened her a little while ago. She was glad she'd told him how she felt about him. The unacceptable possibility that something terrible might happen to Matt because of her weighed heavily on her mind. At any moment, she might have to run again. She couldn't shake the feeling that Jon's men were getting nearer by the second. However, no matter how abruptly she had to leave, she wanted Matt to know she'd never forget him. She could feel the pain of her heart breaking already. 	
She picked up her pace and jogged up the back steps to the house. Luckily, she had a busy morning of baking planned. She could concentrate her energies on that. She did that so successfully that only three hours later she was found herself icing the last of the chocolate brownies she had decided to add to the tarts and cookies she'd promised to make for Bronwyn. 	
She still had the spatula in her hand when Tommy burst into the kitchen. 	
"Reenie!" he called. 	
When she turned, smiling, to greet him, the light of a flash bulb dazzled her momentarily. 	
"Say 'Cheese,'" he shouted, snapping a second picture. "That should be a good one," he exclaimed proudly, advancing the film in his new camera. "Hi, Reenie. That's number sixteen on this film." 	
"And that's on his third film since yesterday," his mother added as she plunked a pile of folded bakery boxes on the table. "This little dynamo did fall asleep eventually last night but he woke up this morning just as wired as he was all day yesterday." 	
She caught sight of the laden counter. "Oh, Reenie! Everything looks terrific. They'll be the hit of the sale." 	
Reenie was relieved at Bronwyn's breezy attitude. Apparently, she was going to ignore last night's revelations, at least for now. 	
"Morning, Dad." Bronwyn kissed her father on the cheek. 	
"I thought I'd give you some help at the sale," Pete said, as he began to help her unfold the bakery boxes. 	
At Bronwyn's concerned look, he growled, "Sitting at a table taking money won't wear me out. I won't be back until suppertime, Reenie." 	
So it was that Reenie arrived at the apartment while Matt was still on the telephone. 	
"It's Walt," he said, indicating that he wanted her to pick up the extension he'd installed in the bedroom. 	
"We had some excitement yesterday," Matt said. He gave Walt the bare facts of Bronwyn's call from Sandra Field. "Wyn's agreed to keep our secret for now. We kept you out of it completely." 	
Walt's expletive was short and expressive. "Sorry, Reenie," he said, "but we're getting too many non-players involved here. This Sandra woman seems determined to broadcast your identity." 	
"She's an old flame of Matt's who'd like to clear the field for another chance at him." She felt a stab of jealousy at the mere thought of Matt with the other woman, even that long ago. 	
"That's ridiculous," Matt denied flatly. "Until this week, I haven't seen or talked to Sandra for years." 	
"Whatever her motive, she's the only caller we've had with the right location. The flow of sightings has dried up to a trickle but the Field woman called the line again yesterday. She even identified herself. She's the main reason I'm going to have to hover here over those phones." 	
Walt hesitated. "And I guess I should tell you that I happened to stop at a donut shop to pick up some coffee on my way to the office this morning, and saw one of Sheriff Frank's deputies talking to a guy I know works for Sal Gerardo once in a while. Now, that could be completely innocent, but I wouldn't bet on it. Anyway, I'll see to it that the sheriff's office doesn't get any valid leads from us. And you make sure no one else gets a good look at you, Reenie." 	
"No one but Matt's family has seen me in days," she retorted. 	
"I wish Bronwyn hadn't caught on. She's been one of Jon's strongest GEL supporters. At least, I'm the person she'd probably contact if she were going to call. What did you find in the files, Matt?" 	
"I located one of the bank accounts this morning. In the Grand Cayman Royal Bank. That was what the Gran C.R.B. referred to. Apparently, Casen stayed at the Hilton there from the second to the fourth of October with Lucy Spadafore under the name of Glenlivet." 	
"Yes-s," Walt said. "And niece Lucy is Sal Gerardo's secretary. Maybe we've got a line on something here. Oh, I cleared up another one of the memos last night. I took Norma Renton out to dinner." 	
"Jon's Norma Renton?" Reenie asked. 	
"The 'new' phone number on one of the notes was hers. After a couple of mega martinis, she made it clear she was extremely upset about your engagement. She thought she had the inside track with Jon. She made some references to 'the chances she'd taken for him' and 'promises he'd made.' I think we could convince her to make a deal and testify about his skimming of the GEL contributions." 	
"Can you talk to her today?" Matt asked. "If you can get me a set of the official GEL books and an up-to-date list of current projects that GEL is involved in, I think I can give you what you need to tie Jon Casen up so tightly he'll never get loose." 	
"What time frame are we talking here?" Walt asked quickly. 	
"Maybe two or three days after I get the numbers and locations." 	
"You're not serious." Walt was obviously trying not to sound too elated. "You figure you can locate the money that quickly?" 	
The conversation veered into speculation about offshore bank accounts in the Channel Islands as well as the Caribbean, bogus contracts with international construction companies, and possibly a Hong Kong shell company with ghost board members. Reenie hung up. She was curious about how those things fit into the case against Jon, but Matt didn't have time to explain it to her right now. Maybe later - if they had a later. 	
For the rest of Saturday and all day Sunday, Matt raised his head from the computer only long enough to eat when Reenie insisted on it. He had a couple of reviving hot showers and snatched a total of about four hour's sleep. Sunday, he received an enormous fax from Walt containing GEL's financial records for the past two years and a list of GEL's current projects. Apparently, Norma was cooperating. Reenie didn't ask. Matt hardly uttered a word unless it was on the phone to Walt or Ryan. 	
After overhearing Matt's side of one of his short, cryptic conversations with his friend in Washington, Reenie could not help asking, "How did you convince Ryan to give you so much information without knowing exactly whom it is you're investigating?" 	
"Ryan's been told to give me access to any data banks I need on this. I never heard of that kind of broad clearance for an outsider before," Matt told her. "Walt must have a lot of clout." 	
By Monday afternoon, Matt's tired eyes could take no more. 	
"Come on, sweetheart," he said, standing up from his chair and stretching mightily. "I have to take a break. Let's get out into the fresh air for a while. 	
"I've almost got him." There was a grim smile on Matt's lean face. "This morning, I correlated the last of the figures that Walt sent me with a file in Jon's laptop. I can prove that only a small fraction of the money that was supposed to go into starting the Shanghai harbor cleanup ever got there. And that several construction companies GEL deals with regularly have never existed. Walt was right. Casen is not particularly clever, just devious. The trail he left was followable." 	
He scowled at the computer. "Another few hours should put the last nails in Casen's coffin. No," he said, shaking his head regretfully. "My eyes won't take another minute of staring at that screen this afternoon. And there's no point in getting Walt's people mobilized until I get one last data file from Ryan. That will verify the location Jon's shell company does its banking." 	
"So you figure they'll arrest Jon tomorrow?" 	
"Four o'clock tomorrow afternoon. The IRS is conducting simultaneous IRS raids on Casen's and Gerardo's offices and homes. They'll get Casen at the same time. The first major planning meeting of his election campaign takes place in his constituency office at four. Walt says that's one meeting Casen won't skip." 	
Reenie got up from the couch where she'd been reading and went over to him. Matt wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into a welcoming hug. His lips pressed hers lightly at first. When she opened to him, he took her mouth in a kiss that left her breathless. 	
"Oh, love, I needed that." He looked deeply into her eyes and hesitated. "Fresh air," he said, shaking his head regretfully. "We both need brisk fresh air." 	
Reenie reached up, smoothed the frown lines on his forehead. Maybe a good walk in the open air would release some of the tension of waiting. 	
"Okay," she said. "Quick escape time." 	
She allowed him to pull her along with him, their feet thundering on the wooden steps as they raced laughing down the outside stairway to the Jeep. She was beginning to feel lighthearted already. 	
"Where to, Milady?" he asked. 	
"Wherever our fancy takes us," she replied, gripping the edge of her seat as he gunned the motor. 	
The breeze from the open windows revived both of them. Matt turned to look at her, a heavy lock of his brown hair drifting across his eyes. 	
"Maybe I should take time to get a haircut soon," he said. 	
"I kind of like it long," she said honestly. 	
He gave her a heart-stopping smile. "I'd like to see you with long hair. And blue eyes. I miss your marvelous eyes when you cover them up during the day." 	
She wondered if that day would ever come. 	
"Would you like to stop and walk a bit?" Matt asked. "There's a nice lookout over the lake up ahead." 	
Reenie looked at the countryside they were passing through. She hadn't realized until that moment that they were only about ten minutes from the turn-off to the cabin she'd been trying so hard to reach two weeks ago. 	
"There's a place I'd like to show you," she said. "Remember I mentioned that my Dad left me a cabin north of Higgins Lake?" 	
"Just give me directions." 	
A few miles further through the forested hills of the Uplands ski country, Reenie told him to turn off the highway onto a narrow dirt road. When they reached a driveway marked only by a large boulder that had been painted white, she announced, "There it is. But don't turn in. I haven't been here since May and there may be some trees down. Getting back out could be a problem. The driveway winds around a lot because Dad didn't want to see the road from the cabin. We can park on the winter snowplow turn-around that's just around the bend of the road and walk back to the cabin." 	
Matt parked the Jeep in the large clearing where the road came to an abrupt end. He took a deep breath of fresh air. 	
"Yes!" he said, letting it out slowly. He took Reenie's hand as they began the short walk back to the white boulders. 	
"Smell that air!" Reenie cried, inhaling deeply. "Mmm, someone in the area has a fire on. There's nothing like the smell of wood smoke on a fall day." 	
They could have been any couple out enjoying the countryside on a crisp autumn day. Matt felt a sharp pang of resentment at having to be constantly alert for a lurking menace. He made himself concentrate on the beauty of the hilly terrain that surrounded them. 	
"You do any skiing?" he asked. There were so many details he didn't know about her life. Their relationship had skipped the dating stage that would have given him the chance to get to know her. Reenie had become the most important thing in his life and he had no idea even what kind of books she read, what kind of movies she liked, if she enjoyed dancing. Suddenly, he wanted to know all those things. 	
"I grab every chance I can to get to the slopes," she replied. "But the lodge is busy in ski season. I come here mostly in the spring and this time of year. It's a bit cold for swimming but I walk and do a little fishing." 	
"I didn't know there was a lake here," he said. 	
"Mom and Dad bought the whole shoreline before I was born when land was still cheap in this area," Reenie said. "The lake's small but deep and spring-fed. There's a wooden rowboat under the porch that I use for fishing. You can still catch the occasional bass or walleye." 	
"I'd like to try that next spring," Matt said. "I haven't been fishing for years." 	
"You figure you'll still be here in the spring?" 	
The question was asked casually, but her quick glance told him that the answer mattered to her. He must have told her he planned to stay on at the marina. Of course, he hadn't promised. 	
This was the kind of moment he usually felt as if silken tentacles were winding themselves around his neck. He'd left Washington to escape that feeling. This time it didn't happen. The prospect of looking at a future with Reenie was anything but suffocating. Maybe it was the tedium of his relationship with Liz that he'd fled from as much as his government job. Matt had always believed he moved on from one challenge to another. Maybe Pete was right about him. Maybe he'd been moving away from the last one. 	
"Can't see why I wouldn't be here," he replied, as if he hadn't just had an unpleasant revelation about himself. 	
They passed the white boulders and took a few steps down the overgrown driveway. Suddenly, Matt squeezed her hand hard and stopped short. 	
"Look there," he whispered, pointing at the leaf-covered surface of the driveway. 	
Reenie leaned over to look more closely. 	
"What? I don't see anything," she said, puzzled by his intensity. 	
"See the way the fallen leaves are crushed together?" he said. "And the grass?" He indicated some bent stalks. "There's been a vehicle down this road recently. Maybe even today." 	
She saw, all too well. No one had any legitimate reason to be on her property. There were no friendly neighbors to check on it for her. Damn it! This was supposed to be her haven. 	
"We'd better find out if they've left," she said, her voice tight. 	
Matt led the way cautiously down the long, winding road. The woods were quiet. Only the sound of the wind in the tops of the pine trees and the distant harsh call of a crow broke the silence. Matt's rubber-soled shoes made virtually no noise as he moved along the track the tires had left. Reenie wished she had the same skill. She was painfully aware of the snap of every little twig and the crackle of every dry leaf she stepped on. Her heartbeat was loud in her ears. 	
Finally, they rounded a corner of the steep, overgrown driveway. Below them were the small landlocked lake and the compact log cabin which sat at the edge of a clearing large enough to park a couple of vehicles. 	
Reenie was horrified to see a faint plume of smoke rising from the fireplace chimney. And the large, dark blue sedan with heavy chrome trim that was parked in the center of the clearing was all too familiar. Wilson had found the cabin. 	
She whirled around and ran as fast as she could back up the driveway. Matt was close behind her. 	
When they reached the Jeep, Matt placed a cautionary finger on his lips. She listened intently but could hear no one in pursuit. 	
"Don't close your door." Matt's whisper was low but his order crisp. 	
He started the engine, eased the machine onto the road, and drove at an excruciatingly slow speed until he figured they were out of earshot of the cabin. 	
He stopped for a moment to close his door. Reenie did the same. 	
"Nobody behind us," he said, checking the rear vision mirrors. "Let's move." 	
"That was Wilson's car." Reenie's voice was a hollow whisper. "They've found me." 	
Matt swore. 	
"I thought it looked like the car that we saw at the lodge the other night," he said. He was obviously trying to sound matter-of-fact, but she noticed that he was pressing down harder on the accelerator. "All we know for sure is that they've found the cabin. That doesn't mean they know where you are, sweetheart." 	
"But it does mean that Jon knows I'm in the area." A horrifying thought struck her. "Unless Wilson is working for that Gerardo gangster." 	
"Reenie, we'll get them first. All we have to do is keep you safe for another twenty-four hours. I'll call Walt and see if he can move the time of the raids forward." 	
He looked over at her. His lips were pressed so tightly together that they looked bloodless. They both knew they had run out of time. 	
"Hold on, sweetheart," he muttered, glancing again at the rear vision mirror. "They're not following us. We'll be home in a few minutes. And now we know where they are." ["#TOC"]	
Chapter Eighteen	
In the washroom off his private office at the GEL headquarters in Lansing, Jon Casen was giving himself a pep talk. He set his regular features in his most statesmanlike expression and produced a benign smile for the mirror. He brushed back an unruly lock of heavy blond hair and smoothed the tension from corners of his steely blue eyes. Yes. That looked good. 	
"So a few things have gone wrong, Jonathan," he said in a rich mellow voice. "The important things are still on track." 	
He hadn't made mistakes. The positive force that powered his course from one success to another had faltered for an instant. That momentary lapse had cost him Danny and involved him in this frustrating search for Maura. Sal was upset. But old Glad still thought the sun shone out of his posterior. Poor old girl thought he was her ticket to the governor's mansion. She still had an amazing amount of influence, but she'd just about served her purpose. The governor's office! What a joke. There was a lot more money floating around some of the big boards and commissions. And he was going to get some of it. 	
Glad really came through yesterday. A genuine grin appeared in the mirror. He gave the grin a touch more tooth. Better. 	
It was getting harder and harder to direct old Glad's mental vagaries but last night, she'd remembered that her son Taylor had left Maura "his cabin...somewhere near Houghton Lake...or Higgins Lake...that area somewhere.." 	
That hadn't quite panned out yet. Wilson had found the place easily through the property tax rolls, but, after getting out there this morning, he said it didn't look as if anyone had been near the cabin in months. Jon had a hunch that Maura would turn up there eventually, so he'd told Wilson to stay at the cabin until she did. 	
He tilted his head at a cocky angle that made him look confident and ready to tackle the world, winked at his reflection, and left the washroom. 	
Ten minutes later, Maura Irene Taylor Fitzpatrick was delivered to him - not on a platter, but in the bundles of Good Earth League monthly newsletters that had arrived in the office to be distributed. Almost filling the front page were two photographs. One was the studio photo of Maura that had been circulating for two weeks. The other was a smaller one of a laughing dark- haired woman who purported to be Reenie Kelly. They were the same woman. 	
The caption under the second picture stated that Reenie Kelly of Hanson's Marina had made the counter-full of cakes and pastries for the recent GEL fund-raiser. The editor had gushed that the picture had been taken by Bronwyn Cooper's seven-year-old son. 	
He had her! The positive force was back - surrounding him, flowing through him again. Jubilantly, he dialed the number of Wilson's cellular phone. 	
Wilson and that bodyguard he'd hired, Vince, could surprise the bitch at the marina. She couldn't know about the newsletter picture yet. It wouldn't be distributed until late tomorrow morning. 	
He told Wilson the news. "Tell me about the cabin," he commanded. 	
Wilson made a few disparaging remarks about the furnishings then got to the important information. "And there's an old rowboat. The lake's pretty small but big enough to dump her in." 	
"Good!" Things were going his way. He'd find out what Maura had done with the pictures and files Danny had threatened him with, make sure no one else knew about it, and be done with the whole mess. He could proceed with the life he was meant to have. "No screwing up this time, Wilson." If he had anyone else he could trust with this job, he'd get rid of Wilson. Any idiot knew Danny's body should have been weighted down so that it would never float. "This time it has to look like suicide. Poor Maura is so depressed and anxious. She needs to end it all," Jon explained. 	
Jon wished that were true but his troublesome fiancée wasn't going to be that accommodating. 	
"Here's what you do." He laid the plans out step by step. "Get the lay of the land at the marina right away. We need to know what kind of security they have. Send Vince in to look around. She won't recognize him. Then pick me up at the Mount Pleasant airport. I'm making sure this is done right. You'll get her later tonight." 	
If only Wilson had Walt Ames' brains, he wouldn't have to spell out every little detail. However, with Wilson's own worries about Sal, Jon had the feeling he'd be a better man to have at his back in this situation. Walt Ames was clever, but Jon wasn't sure what he was thinking all the time. All in all, it was smarter to leave him in Lansing to babysit Glad and prepare for the constituency meeting. Ames was good at both. 	
All Jon would have left to deal with, after tonight, was the fading grand dame of Michigan politics. And he wouldn't need her much longer. Yes, his plans made, Jon was in a much better frame of mind. ["#TOC"]	
Chapter Nineteen	
"Gran must have remembered where Dad's cabin was," Reenie said. "Maybe Wilson is only checking to see if I've been there." 	
Reenie was whistling in the dark. It seemed to Matt that the smoke rising from the chimney more likely indicated that Wilson Foster and who knows how many others had settled in to wait for her there. Thank Heaven for Hazel Leigh's decrepit boat trailer! Reenie would have been a sitting duck at the cabin. 	
"Walt said Wilson had hired a bodyguard," Reenie said. "He's probably there, too." 	
"I'll call Walt and make sure his people pick up Wilson and whoever he has with him at the same time as they pounce on Casen and Gerardo," Matt assured her. "By this time tomorrow, sweetheart, it will be all over." 	
The last words echoed hollowly in his ears. He had tried not to wonder what Reenie was going to do when it was all over. He did know that he wasn't going to allow what they had together to end with the arrest of Jon Casen. She couldn't possibly believe he thought this was a temporary fling. Could she? When she'd confessed her love, he'd been so overwhelmed that he hadn't been capable of uttering a word in reply. But she must know he loved her. 	
My God! He did. 	
He turned to look at her. There was such trust in her eyes, such love in her tremulous smile. He almost blurted out the words then and there. No, he'd wait until they were in their apartment - after he'd called Walt. And after he'd figured out how he was going to keep her safe for the next twenty-four hours. 	
They were approaching the marina gates when he suggested, "Ryan's cottage is empty. You'd be harder to find there. If Ryan has sent the data he promised, I can work on it there." 	
As he wheeled into the drive to the accompanying squeal of motion sensor, he caught sight of a familiar pickup parked beside the house. 	
"What's Gus is doing here? He said he was going hunting on his first day off," he said uneasily, parking the Jeep beside Gus' pickup. 	
Even before they opened the door, they could hear angry voices. 	
"That's nonsense, Pete," Gus was saying flatly. "Every policeman in the state is looking for Maura Fitzgerald and you've been hiding her here." 	
Reenie froze. Why now? All they needed was one more day. What was she going to do? Running to the cabin was no longer an option. All she could do was run blindly again - maybe take Matt's Jeep and drive north, maybe cross into Canada at Sault Ste Marie. All she had to do was avoid being spotted for another twenty-four hours. But Gus' next comment changed her mind. 	
"Everyone says the woman is unbalanced, Pete. How could you believe that crap she told you about Jon Casen?" 	
She'd had enough! Pushing aside Matt's cautioning arm, she strode into the living room. 	
"Because Pete is smart enough to recognize the truth when he hears it!" she stated. She was quaking inside but she was so tired of lying and hiding. "If Jon Casen gets his hands on me, I'll never get to testify to anything." 	
Gus looked at her blandly. 	
"About time you brought her back," he said to Matt. His scowl was hostile. "I was beginning to wonder if she'd taken off again taking you with her." 	
"Last I heard, it's no crime to take a drive in the country," Matt said. 	
Gus turned back to Reenie. "You certainly don't look like your picture on the Missing Persons flyer, Ms Fitzpatrick," he said coldly. "Of course, the brown contact lenses you got from Sandra Field are a big help." 	
"So that's how you found out," Matt growled. "What kind of story did Sandra give you?" 	
"Only that Maura Fitzpatrick was living at the marina under a false name." 	
"My parents always called me Reenie," she snapped. 	
"Reenie Kelly?" Gus raised an eyebrow. 	
Reenie felt guilty color flood her face. 	
"Casen is desperately worried about you. He's moving heaven and earth to find you." 	
"Jon Casen is a con-artist. He's fooled a lot of gullible people, including me. But he is responsible for Danny's death." Reenie's voice was getting a little ragged as her temper began to get the better of her. "And he's desperately worried about finding me because he knows I can ruin him." 	
"Well, Reenie, you'll be safe with me. No matter who else you think intends to harm you," Gus said. "I have to call Will Franks, the man who's in charge of the DiMarco murder investigation, and tell him I've found his missing witness." 	
"Reenie can't tell you anything," Matt burst in. 	
"Will thinks she can." Gus placed his bulk between Reenie and the door. "You and Pete have no idea what kind of trouble you can find yourselves in. Every level of government has been after us to find this woman." 	
"And you have no idea what kind of delicate operation you're interfering with," Matt declared. "If you'd get the chip off your shoulder because I didn't confide in you, I could let you talk to someone who might put you in the real picture. Come with me while I check something at the apartment. Then we'll make a call." 	
Matt's eyes locked on Reenie's for an intense moment. 	
"I'll be here when you get back," she replied to his unstated question. 	
"I'm not letting Reenie, or Maura, or whatever her name is out of my sight." Gus was really angry. "Can't you get it through your thick head? She's an important witness in a murder investigation." 	
"I guarantee she'll be here when we get back." 	
"I can't count on that," Gus pointed out. "You've done nothing but lie to me since she got here." 	
"Gustav Schroeder, you have my word that Reenie will remain with me in this house while you are gone," Pete said, his face flushed with indignation that Gus would need to hear the words. 	
Gus glared back at him, then threw his hands up in surrender. "I need my head read." 	
"I'll be back as soon as I can," Matt said softly. "Why don't you make Dad some of your awful herbal tea and see if you can't get him calmed down?" 	
She and Pete were halfway to the kitchen when Pete stopped in his tracks. "Did Matt call me 'Dad'?" he demanded. 	
A shrill screech from the sensors warned them that some kind of vehicle had passed the gate. They hurried to the window. 	
"Just somebody using the driveway to turn around," Pete said. 	
Reenie's heart leapt to her throat. A distinctive dark blue sedan with wide chrome trim took off out the gates, its tires spitting gravel. 	
"That's Wilson Foster's car," she gasped. "Matt and I saw it at my Dad's cabin. They know where I am." 	
She could see Matt, with Gus trailing, racing back towards the house. She flew out to meet him. 	
"It's Wilson," she gasped as he caught her in his arms. 	
"I saw the car. I don't think they expected the alarm," he said. "You'd better come back to the apartment with us while I contact Walt. We have plans to make." 	
He turned to Pete. "Can you make it up the stairs, Dad?" 	
Pete didn't waste his breath on an answer but merely nodded as he headed across the yard. Reenie could see from Gus's expression that he was reluctantly being affected by the fierce tension that gripped the three others. 	
"Get Walt on the regular line, Reenie." Matt was in his command mode. He picked up the huge pile of fax sheets that had arrived in their absence. "I'll check my e-mail to see what Ryan's fix on this stuff is." 	
Reenie tried the GEL headquarters first. Luckily, Walt was still there. 	
"Finally," he said. "I've been trying to get you for half an hour. Where on ..." 	
"Walt," she interrupted, "Wilson is here. He was about to drive right in through the marina gates when the alarm changed his mind." 	
"He can't be there already." There was a shocked silence on the line. "Get Matt on the extension," Walt snapped. 	
"Matt," he acknowledged Matt's terse greeting. "We have a major glitch here. The timing of our raids looked perfect, but Reenie's location has been blown. Big time." 	
"Yeah, Wilson Foster was just here." 	
"There's more than that. They put a photograph of Reenie in Pete's kitchen side by side with the one they've been showing around of Maura Fitzpatrick on the front page of the GEL newsletter. The only good news is that the papers only arrived from the printer about an hour ago and they aren't supposed to be distributed until tomorrow morning. They're all still here in bundles waiting for the trucks. I can put off the delivery. The bad news is that there's one opened bundle on Jon's desk and he's not here." 	
"That's how Wilson knew," Reenie breathed. "Did anybody from the newsletter staff or the printers call the hot line?" 	
"Not a soul," Walt assured her. 	
"Find Casen," Matt broke in. "Whatever you have to do. Your people will have to move in on him sooner than you planned." 	
"Can't be done. There are too many people involved. And I don't know exactly where Jon is right now. But he wouldn't miss the planning meeting. All the people who are essential to his career will be here." 	
"We have another problem," Matt announced and proceeded to tell Walt how Gus came to be sitting there determined to take Reenie in for questioning. 	
Walt's string of curses would have done a longshoreman proud. "We've managed to keep everyone off her tail for two weeks," he muttered. "All we needed was one more f---ing day. Do you think Schroeder will be reasonable?" 	
"Depends on how convincing you are," Matt said. 	
"Put him on." 	
Reenie handed Gus her receiver. From what she could hear of the three-way conversation, Gus was surprised but prepared to believe that Walt was a special agent of the IRS. He was even willing to believe that Jon Casen was probably a killer and connected with organized crime. What he was not prepared to do was let Reenie spend another minute without police protection. 	
"She's a probable witness to murder and she's in my county," he said doggedly again and again. "I want her statement today." 	
"Hold off," Walt bargained, "and I'll be more cooperative than you have any right to expect about giving you details that will help your criminal case." 	
Gus finally gave in. "But I want the whole story about DiMarco's killing." He paused and scratched his head. "I guess the most secure place I know of without involving anyone else is here at Pete Hanson's. I'll have a man in the house around the clock to make sure nobody gets at Reenie." 	
"Only you and I, Gus," Matt insisted. "Nobody else." 	
"No one else," Walt agreed. "I caught a glimpse of that young red-headed deputy of Franks' talking to one of Sal Gerardo's boys last week. That doesn't necessarily mean anything, but I'd rather keep this amongst the three of us. Reenie's testimony is vital. For one thing, she can back up my version of what happened when Danny DiMarco was killed." 	
"Your version?" Gus began. "Does that mean...? 	
"When we have Casen in custody," Walt promised. "You have my word." 	
The three men talked for another few minutes while Walt made sure each of them understood exactly what was planned for the following day. As soon as Walt called with word that the IRS men were in place, Gus would be freed of his promise not to notify Will Franks that he had Reenie. 	
The moment he hung up, Matt began to lay down his own ground rules. "You have every right to question Reenie, Gus, but you aren't going to browbeat her. And I want to be present. Before we get started, Reenie and I need a couple of minutes of privacy." 	
Reenie could see that Gus had put up with about all he was going to. Before his hackles rose any higher, she decided to lay down a few ground rules of her own. 	
"Listen to me, Mattias Hanson," she told him. "You will not stay with me. You have more important business of your own to finish." She turned to Gus. "You have no idea how relieved I am to finally be able to tell you about what happened, Gus. I want you to know the whole story. I won't hold anything back." 	
Gus looked a little happier. 	
"But if you wouldn't mind excusing us for a while ..." She gave him her most imploring smile. "I think I know what Matt wants to discuss with me. It's extremely important. Please. We'll be in the next room." 	
"You'll owe me more than one weekend on The Sailing Solution, Matt, old buddy," Gus said with a deep sigh. "I want to tell you I'm getting mighty sick of making concessions here." 	
The moment the bedroom door closed behind them, Matt opened his arms and she stepped into them. Nothing had ever felt as good as his muscular arms closing around her. For a few seconds, she allowed his strength to renew her. 	
"I do love you, Mattias Hanson," she said, then placed her fingers gently over his mouth when he began to speak. 	
"No," she said, moving out of the tempting warmth of his embrace. "Don't say anything. I just want you to know I meant it." 	
Matt lifted her chin and kissed her. She tried not to read too much into the earnestness of his kiss. 	
"To business, woman," Matt said when he raised his lips from hers. "You think we should let Gus see the copies of the photos and the memos." 	
"Yes. Walt didn't mention them one way or the other. I don't know if the negatives could be admissible as evidence without testimony of the photographer, but those pictures sure are the quickest way to convince someone that Jon isn't the man everyone thinks he is." 	
"I agree. And I know you can handle Gus' questions without me. I have to stay here at this infernal computer until I nail the bastard. We can't take time to move the equipment back to the house." 	
He was obviously reluctant to let her go. "You don't want me with you when you go through the envelope with Gus?" 	
"Just finish your search. And join me at the house as soon as you can. Oh, by the way..." She couldn't believe she was blushing. "Where will I be sleeping?" 	
"In my bed." 	
"What about Pete?" 	
"He has his own bed." He grinned. "He knows we sleep together, sweetheart. Would being together under his roof embarrass you?" 	
"I want you near me," she said. Forever wouldn't be too long. "Hurry. Find that bank account. I'll take Pete and Gus over to the house now and leave you to it." 	
A few minutes later, Gus was slipping the glossy photographs back into the manila envelope. 	
"Well. Well. Well," he mused. "I see." 	
His eyes were focused on the papers he was folding, then inserting carefully into the same envelope. He raised his deceptively warm brown eyes to Reenie's. She was sure his sharp gaze penetrated to the back of her brain. 	
"Do you object to my taping our talk?" he asked. 	
"Anything that will help," she replied. 	
"I'd like you to tell me about Jon Casen," he said. "Start anywhere. Who introduced you - where you first heard his name - what made you run from him - anywhere." 	
"Gran raved about Jon for months before I agreed to meet him," she began. 	
She told her story in chronological order. With occasional prompting from Pete, she did a pretty thorough job of it. Then Gus began to question her on the minute details of her report of the night Danny was killed. Again and again, he had her repeat the words she had overheard and describe the scene when she'd pushed the door open so that she could see what was happening. 	
"Why didn't you run before that?" he asked. 	
"I thought maybe I could stop them fighting." 	
"She's been over all that," Pete objected. "She's had enough, Gus." 	
"One more tiny clarification," Gus held up his hand to signal Pete be quiet. "You didn't see Jon Casen hit DiMarco. How can you be so sure he did?" 	
"Walt was there." Her temper flared. "He'll tell you Jon started hitting Danny while Wilson held him down." 	
"Our case will be stronger if your independent testimony can give us some detail." 	
Reenie squeezed her eyes shut and made herself see the scene as it had been gradually revealed through the slowly opening office door. 	
"There was blood on the knuckles of Jon's right hand. He was dabbing it with a tissue as he bent over Danny," she crowed. 	
"That could be important," Gus told her as he clicked off the tape recorder. 	
It was almost ten o'clock when Matt returned. Reenie was sitting with Pete and Gus at the kitchen table absentmindedly stirring a cup of herbal tea. When she heard the door to the mudroom closing, she rushed to meet him. 	
"How did it go?" she asked. 	
"I'm close." He grimaced wryly. "But no cigar. The corporate structure I was working through turned out to be a dead end," he told them. "But I'm sure I'm onto the right one now." His eyes were red-rimmed and his eyelids were drooping but there was no mistaking the concern in their dark depths. "Are you all right?" 	
"Gus was more prepared to believe me than I expected," she told him. 	
"True," Gus said, taking a large bite from the brownie he was holding. 	
The picture of Pete and Gus having an evening snack at the kitchen table looked normal, if you didn't look at the shotgun that leaned against Pete's chair and the business-like shoulder holster that Gus was wearing. 	
"From Reenie's story of your midnight raid on Driftwood Lodge," Gus greeted him, "I gather you have a handgun, Matt." 	
"A .38 Special Airweight. It's legal." 	
"Do you have it with you?" 	
Matt withdrew the small revolver from the back of his belt. 	
"Make sure you have it on you, "Gus said. "Knowing where Wilson Foster is and not being able to pick him up until tomorrow is driving me nuts. I can't even put him under surveillance." 	
"The gun we took off the man Matt knocked out is still in my bag," Reenie volunteered. 	
"Do you know how to use it?" 	
"Matt took me out to a gravel pit and made me fire it a few times last week." In spite of her aversion to guns, she wished she had a bit more expertise. "I couldn't hit anything small." 	
"You're not going to need to," Matt asserted firmly. 	
"Keep it with you," Gus advised, "in case..." The unspoken words, "something happens to us," hung in the air. 	
"It shouldn't take Ryan more than two or three hours to get access to the new data I need." Matt changed the subject abruptly. "I told him I'd log in at four A.M. so I'd better get some sleep now. Come on, Reenie. Time for bed." 	
He turned to Gus, then stuck out his hand. "Thanks. I really owe you, buddy." 	
A piercing squeal from the alarm and the commotion of two dogs in full cry bearing down on the southwest corner of the fence had Matt and Gus out the front door in a flash. 	
Pete picked up his shotgun. 	
"Come with me, Reenie," he shouted, heading for the bay window on the west side of the living room. 	
They reached the window just in time to see two men leap into a dark car, which then took off down the road. The racket was ear splitting with Lotte and Berta barking and making the alarm sound every time they leapt at the fence. 	
It took a few minutes for Matt to quiet the dogs. When he and Gus returned to the house, the only reference anyone made to the fact that two large men had tried to scale the fence was Pete's off-hand, "Guess Casen's men didn't know the fence was wired for sound. I hate that Screaming Mimi but I've got to admit I'm glad we have it tonight." 	
"They can't have expected the dogs either. And maybe seeing two armed men right on the dogs' heels will discourage them," Matt said, his eyes seeking out Reenie's to assure himself that she was holding up all right. 	
"You three had better get some sleep," Gus said. "We know the early warning system works fine. I'll keep watch tonight." 	
"We're gone," Matt agreed. "I should close my eyes for a while." 	
Reenie took his hand and headed for the stairs. "Come on, sweetheart," she said with a forced smile, "it's time to tuck you in." 	
Matt's mental alarm clock worked fine at three-thirty that morning. He awoke, alert and refreshed, with a warm, sleeping Reenie snuggled against him. After today, he swore, he would have long mornings waking beside her. He would waken her with lingering kisses and slow caresses. He couldn't imagine waking up without her ever again. Tonight, he would tell her so. 	
He eased his arm out from under her. She murmured something inarticulate in protest but didn't wake up. It was too bad she couldn't sleep until this whole tense day was over. Quietly he pulled on the same clothes he'd taken off four hours earlier. He could shower and change at the apartment .. after he found that last damned bank account. 	
He bent over and kissed Reenie lightly on the forehead and slipped quietly out of the room where he had slept for the first eighteen years of his life. When he reached the foot of the stairs, Gus called him over to the lookout post he'd set up at the bay window and handed him a hot cup of coffee. 	
"All quiet since the excitement," Gus said. "The dogs seem to be doing a lot of pacing up and down the fence by the road. I guess they're still stirred up. I haven't seen a car stop or even slow down since I started watching. And no sign of anyone on foot." 	
"The dogs might have the scent of someone watching the house from the hill across the road though," Matt suggested. "I'll detour along the fence on my way over to the apartment." 	
The unpleasant truth was that a platoon of men could hide under the cover of dense evergreen scrub up there and he'd never be able to spot them from the marina. Fortunately, Casen hadn't had time to set up anything so elaborate yet. Matt gulped down the last of his coffee and left Gus to his watch 	
Having seen no unusual movement on the hillside on his way to the apartment, Matt settled down in the all too familiar desk chair. He'd accounted for all but the last million dollars of GEL money that Casen had channeled through dummy construction companies and their Chinese subsidiaries. That elusive account number had to be in these latest lists. This kind of high- powered data was so jealously guarded that Matt didn't even want to know how Ryan had managed to get it. 	
Matt dug, then detoured, then backtracked, then dug some more. Daylight was creeping into the sky when he found it. Casen proved to be smarter than Walt thought. He'd had the transactions arranged through the giant Hong Kong and Shanghai Bank, then muddied the water by hiring a British lawyer to transfer securities to a major bank in Montreal, sell them there, and have the funds transferred to the main account in the Hong Kong and Shanghai subsidiary in the Channel Islands. 	
Matt felt like cheering. There were no gaps left in the trail. He had Jon Casen dead to rights. 	
He called Walt right away. 	
"You got him," Walt cheered. 	
"I'm faxing the information off to you as we speak." Matt filled Walt in briefly on the abortive attempts Wilson and crew had made to get into the marina. "So Gus is anxious to pick them up before they try again. Just give the word." 	
"I can't do that, Matt," Walt said. "We have to wait for the coordinated raids at four o'clock. Just one whisper to Jon could jeopardize the major operation." 	
Nothing Matt said could convince him that they needed to move more quickly than that. He'd known the IRS would insist on calling the shots but he hadn't realized how powerless he would feel. He had a real sense of urgency about Reenie's safety but could do nothing about it. 	
He'd only taken a few steps down the driveway towards the house when the gate alarm gave a short screech. It was only Jeff parking his pickup in front of the dogs' enclosure. Matt changed direction and met the mechanic at the truck. 	
"You're early," Matt greeted him. Lotte and Berta crowded around their two favorite human beings, their violently wagging tails whipping against both men's legs. 	
"Sure am. Wanted to get an early start." Jeff turned to the bouncing dogs and rubbed their heads roughly. "I know it's breakfast time. Come on, girls. Into the run." 	
It occurred to Matt that they should break the routine and leave the dogs running loose today - at least until Walt gave the word that they had Jon in custody. Then what would he tell Jeff about why he was doing it? Oh, hell, he and Gus could handle things for a few hours. 	
"I thought I'd tune up the last batch of snow machines this morning," Jeff said with a smug grin. He seemed to be bursting with some kind of news. "I was talking to the manager of that new cross-country ski club last night. He wants us to do the maintenance on their trail-grooming equipment. I was pretty sure you'd want to go for it, so I thought I'd clear out the shop to make room for their machines." 	
"That's great news," Matt told him. Everything seemed to be going his way this morning. "We'll have to get serious about getting you some full time help." 	
The new business made his plan to hire extra winter staff so that he could leave Jeff in charge sound more practical. Suddenly, he realized he hadn't thought of his need for an escape from the tedium of his life at the marina for weeks - not since Reenie had come into his life. Even after this crisis was over, he couldn't imagine finding his life dull if Reenie was part of it. 	
He was so eager to tell her of his success that he jogged from the engine shop back to the house. When he opened the mudroom door, he found Gus planted in the archway to the kitchen with his revolver drawn. 	
"Glad to see you on your toes," Matt commented. 	
"You look more cheerful," Gus said, tucking the gun back into its holster. 	
"I found the account," Matt said with a broad grin. "In the Channel Islands. Tricky bastard, that Casen." 	
"Congratulations. It's all over but the shouting then," Gus said, clapping him on the shoulder. "So when can we go pick up the guys at the cabin?" 	
"Walt refuses to let us do that until they can get all of them at the same time. And he won't budge from the original time for the raids." 	
"About what you'd expect from the Feds," he said with a resigned grimace. "If that's the way it is, why don't you go and have a well-deserved sleep. Everything's under control here. Even Pete's still sleeping." 	
"It's your turn," Matt objected. "I already had some sleep." 	
"Go," Gus directed. "I just put on a new pot of coffee. I'm good for another few hours. Besides, I'm working up to a whole week on the Sailing Solution." 	
"Done!" The idea of climbing into bed and cuddling Reenie's warm sleepy body was tremendously appealing. He wouldn't allow himself to sleep in case Gus needed him. In not too many hours, they'd get the word to go after Wilson Foster and whomever he had with him. They'd seen at least two men tearing away from the fence last night. 	
Matt gave a mighty yawn and started up the stairs. As he hit the third step, every light in the house went out. He looked back over his shoulder at the window. The compound lights were gone too. This outage couldn't be solved by simply pulling a breaker. 	
Matt cursed the Michigan power authority earnestly and long. 	
"I'll have to go out to the generator shed and start up some auxiliary power," he said. "The alarm won't work until I do." 	
"The dogs are raising hell," Gus said, starting towards the back door. 	
"Here," Matt said, handing Gus a large ring of keys. "The one with the white tag is for the lock on the dog run. Jeff just confined them for the day. I'll look after the generator." 	
With one quick anxious look towards the darkened stairs, Matt followed him out. He left Gus at the gate to the dog run. When Matt got to the little room at the end of the building that housed the engine shop, he found Jeff pouring gasoline into the fuel tank of the generator. 	
"Must have let it run dry that last big storm," he apologized. "Wonder what happened to the power lines. No storms in the area." 	
The dogs' barking had become even louder and higher in pitch. 	
"Those dogs are really going nuts out there. Gus must be having trouble with the padlock on the run," Matt said. "Go on out and see if you can help him. I'll take over here." 	
He barely had time to pull out the choke and give cord one pull when he heard Jeff bellow his name. What now? 	
Matt dropped the cord and tore out of the shed. When he turned the corner to the dog run, he saw Gus lying, apparently lifeless, on the ground. Jeff was kneeling at his side. 	
"He's alive," Jeff told him. "But he's out cold." 	
Matt bent over his friend. "No wonder," he said, feeling the large lump that was rapidly rising at the base of Gus' skull. 	
Oh, Lord! Reenie! Reenie was unprotected. 	
Matt was hardly aware of the low moan Gus gave as he regained consciousness. 	
"Stay with him," Matt told Jeff whose eyes widened when Matt drew his revolver from its resting place at the back of his belt. "I'll explain later," he shouted over his shoulder as he sprinted at full speed for the house. 	
He was not half way to the house when Gus's pick-up came screaming up the driveway towards him. In the misty half-light, he thought he could make out two men in the cab. Matt raised his revolver and aimed at the cab when the pickup veered directly at him. He got off one shot but had to make a flying leap out of the truck's path. His shot went wide of the target. He rose to his knees and fired two more shots at the rear tires as the pickup careered out of the lot. It lurched as if a bullet had nicked one. 	
When he reached the house, the back door was wide open. He hurled himself through it with no thought of caution, of who might still be inside. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like a rock ricocheting around in his chest. All he could think of was Reenie. 	
He saw Pete standing startled and bleary-eyed at the doorway of his room as he tore by him. Matt threw open the door to his bedroom and looked at the rumpled bedclothes on the empty bed. 	
Reenie was gone. ["#TOC"]	
Chapter Twenty	
Reenie awakened to the smell of dust and wood smoke and a spicy-sweet smell that was distinctly repugnant. She started to open her eyes but winced against the light and closed them again. Her mouth was dry and her arms and shoulders ached. When she tried to bring her hand up to shade her eyes against the light, she couldn't move it. The shift of her weight caused the bedsprings to give a very familiar creak. Her eyes flew open. 	
She was at the cabin - on her own single bed at Dad's cabin. And her hands were tied behind her back. At the same horrible instant, she recognized the offensive smell on her pillow. It was the cloying scent of Jon's distinctive cologne. Her stomach roiled. She didn't know how she got here but she was on her own bed. And Jon Casen had obviously lain on it recently! 	
What had happened? She remembered Matt entering the room where she was sleeping as the first grey streaks of dawn were penetrating the blackness of the night. No. That was wrong. Her brain was so fuzzy. She'd assumed it was Matt at first. But he'd stood there instead of coming to bed. She'd started to ask him what the matter was when she'd caught a glint of light off the slim needle of the syringe in his hand. 	
Then she'd seen his face. That flash of recognition was the last thing she remembered. Wilson Foster had somehow got past Gus. Had he killed Gus? And what had happened to Matt? 	
It was broad daylight now. From the angle of the sunlight coming in the window, she figured it must be around ten o'clock. What had happened while she'd been lying here unconscious? 	
She could hear men's voices in the main room of the cabin. Jon was doing most of the talking. She distinguished Wilson's voice but she'd never heard the others before. These could be the men Jon had hired to track and kill her. 	
"While Vince and Joe are moving the car onto the road and scuffing up the tire treads, I want you to get the rowboat out from under the porch," Jon was saying. 	
"Why the boat? We're going to give her another shot. Why can't we just throw her in off the dock," Wilson said. "I looked at that rowboat yesterday, Jon, and it's so dried out it'll leak like a sieve when we put it in the water." 	
"Put it in anyway," Jon ordered. "The water's too shallow by the dock. I don't want any more mistakes. Maura has to go into deep water. It has to look like suicide." 	
Didn't Jon think the people at the marina would wonder where she was? What had he done to Matt? Wait a minute. If Jon was going to pass off her death as suicide, he couldn't afford to kill Matt or anyone else. Jon didn't know that anyone at the marina knew who she was or that Matt knew he was using her cabin. Jon probably thought he had all the time in the world. His meeting in Lansing wasn't until late this afternoon. She felt a grim satisfaction at the surprise he was in for when he got there. 	
Matt would know where they'd taken her. She had to believe Matt was all right. All she had to do was delay Jon until Matt got here. That's all. Trussed like a turkey, stunned from whatever Wilson had pumped into her, all she had to do was distract Jon from his purpose. Come on. It was possible. She knew his weaknesses. 	
Seduction wouldn't work. Jon had never wanted her body. And now he was focused on eliminating her for his very survival. Actually, that was the answer. Jon's whole world was centered on one person - himself. She had to make him uncertain that killing her would end the threat. And she had to do that without further endangering the Hansons. 	
"Well, what's keeping you? Get the boat," Jon snapped. 	
"You told me to make sure we hadn't left any prints on the dishes. Make up your mind, Jon." 	
She'd never heard Wilson use that tone of voice to Jon. 	
"Sorry, Wilson." Jon turned on the charm. "I don't have to be back in Lansing until three- thirty. We'll deal with the prints just before we clear out. I think I hear Maura waking up at last. I'll have my talk with her while you're dealing with the boat." 	
He stepped suddenly into her field of view, looking exactly the same as he always did. His thick blond hair was carefully trimmed, the lines of his face fell naturally into his professional smile. His pale blue eyes, however, were unsmiling. He leaned against the doorframe looking like a magazine photograph of himself except for the chrome-plated gun dangling from his hand. 	
The corner of his sculptured mouth turned down. "This new look is definitely not an improvement, Maura," he pronounced. "Why did you run away? We could have talked." 	
"And ended up like Danny?" When the rage flared up in his eyes, she realized that defiance was the wrong approach. She changed tactics. "Sorry. That was unfair. I know Danny's death was an accident." 	
His face relaxed as it always did when things were going his way. "It's too bad you found those pictures," he said almost conversationally. "I mean to have the negatives, you know." 	
She licked her lips. "My mouth tastes terrible. And it's so dry. If I had some water, maybe I could talk. What did you give me anyway?" 	
He smiled then. It wasn't a pleasant smile. "You're not in any position to make demands, my dear. Where are the negatives?" 	
"Please, Jon," she said. "At least, let me sit up. I can't talk in this position." 	
She could see him calculating how much time seeing her grovel would cost him. He must have decided it was too much because he grabbed her shoulders and hoisted her roughly onto her feet. She swayed, unsteadily. 	
"Into the other room," he said, half dragging her by the elbow to one of the wooden armchairs that were grouped around the fireplace. Her bound hands smashed against the wooden spindles that formed the back of the chair. 	
"My hands?" she asked, without much hope. 	
The smile was back. Jon shook his head. Maybe she could use his enjoyment of having her at his mercy. She let her lower lip quiver a little. 	
"I don't have the negatives any more," she told him. 	
"I don't believe you," he said. "They're your insurance." 	
"I hated those pictures," she muttered. "Those other women." 	
Jon's pale eyes searched her face. She had him wondering. 	
"I didn't want anyone else to see the women you preferred to me." She tried to look like a woman scorned. 	
"I burned them all," she said defiantly. Then looked up at him with what she hoped was just enough challenge in her eyes. If he believed this, she might take up a career on the stage. 	
His eyes narrowed. 	
"And the papers Danny said he had?" 	
"Everything was in the same envelope. I burned the whole envelope - negatives, printouts, memos ... everything - in the fireplace at the marina." 	
Jon began to pace, flicking uncertain glances at her from time to time. His conceit was urging him to believe her. The longer he debated, the more chance she had of help arriving before Jon drowned her. She decided to press on. 	
"Nobody knows what I saw, Jon. We could still get married. You know what a good move that would be for you. We could tell the world we had a lovers' spat." 	
"What did you tell the people you were working for?" He seemed to be considering the possibility. 	
"Nothing. The old man was recuperating from an operation, and they were desperate for a housekeeper. I told them a story about trying to avoid a persistent boyfriend." 	
He stopped pacing. 	
"I'd love to take you up on your offer, Maura, but I can't risk it. As things stand, you'd be more of a liability than an asset to me." 	
"Stop and think about the hold you'd have on Gran. And all my honorary uncles." She could see he was still a bit tempted by the idea. "Please. While you're thinking, could you do me a huge favor?" 	
"Favor?" His smile mocked her. 	
"I really need to use the outhouse." 	
Jon looked at her impatiently. "I don't care about your comfort, Maura," he muttered. She knew then. He really was going to kill her. 	
"You'd rather I had an accident?" she snapped. "I hoped you had some decency left, Jon." 	
"Come on, then." He gave in with poor grace. Obviously, the accident she mentioned didn't fit in with the scene he wanted to leave in the cabin. 	
Wilson, who was on the dock watching the rowboat fill with water, shouted as they approached, "This isn't going to work, Jon." 	
"It doesn't have to float long. Go and see what's keeping Vince and Joe. They've had plenty of time to move the car." 	
Wilson threw up his hands and stalked up the driveway. 	
When they reached the outhouse, Reenie turned her back to Jon and muttered self- consciously, "I'll need my hands." 	
Without a word, he ripped off the tape that Wilson had used to bind her wrists. With a mock bow, he opened the outhouse door, all the while carefully keeping his revolver aimed at her. 	
She shut the door and reached for the rubber gloves that sat on the narrow shelf above the bucket of quicklime. She slipped on one glove, filled the dipper with the caustic powder and steeled herself for what she was about to do. Her father had told her tales of people being badly burned by outhouse lime. She cringed at the thought of what the lime could do to a person's face, but she had to do something to save her own life. 	
Concealing the dipper behind a fold of her over-sized T-shirt, she took a deep breath and opened the door. Jon gestured with his gun hand. 	
"Hurry up!" he said. 	
She took one step and, with a sidearm motion, hurled the lime at Jon's throat. He howled with pain and clutched at his face. His revolver fired once but the shot was nowhere near her. Reenie ran for the woods. She could hear Jon cursing as he stumbled towards the lake. Even as she fled for her life, she hoped the lime had missed his eyes. As she ran, she could hear him splashing into the water. 	
Wilson must have heard the shot and Jon's bellows. He was probably heading this way at full speed. She crashed through the first few feet of underbrush, then made herself slow down and move more quietly. Reenie had played over every inch of this shoreline as a child, and knew of the perfect hiding place where no one would find her. 	
Dodging from one small evergreen to another, she made her way towards a small, rocky cliff that jutted out into the lake a couple of hundred yards to the south of the cabin. At the base of the cliff on the side away from the cabin was a small cave. The only way to reach it by land was to rappel down the crumbling cliff face. To reach it, she'd have to swim around the rocks. 	
Reenie crouched out of sight behind some scrubby balsam at the water's edge and listened for any sign of pursuit. Jon was still splashing in the water by the dock and shouting for Wilson, but there was no answering shout or sound of pounding feet in the driveway. Why wasn't Wilson replying? Had Matt arrived? And Gus? 	
The breeze off the water chilled her. She hated the thought of getting into that cold water. At least, the huge T-shirt she had worn to sleep in last night would not impede her swimming much. She knotted the hem between her legs so that it wouldn't float up and waded into the thigh-deep cold water. 	
Taking a deep breath, she submerged. She swam a few yards, then cautiously broke water to take a breath. She was still too close to shore to see the dock. When she resurfaced another few yards out, she could see the whole area in front of the cabin. 	
One man - she was sure it was Jon - was lying on the dock. Bending over him, was a large redheaded man wearing the same kind of red plaid shirt that Gus had been wearing last night. Gus was all right! Another man, she thought it was Wilson, was standing on the shore by the dock with his hands secured behind his back. Where was Matt? 	
At that moment, she saw Matt explode out the cabin door. 	
"She's not there," he shouted. Then he said something to Wilson that she couldn't hear. 	
"Matt," she yelled, waving one hand above her head. "Here. I'm here" 	
She submerged again to swim as fast as she could back towards the dock. 	
Matt turned toward the sound of her voice just in time to see her disappear under the surface of the water about a hundred yards south of the landing. Shouting her name, he tore down the dock. As he vaulted over Jon Casen's prone form where he lay cursing and moaning, Matt saw that the man's lower face was hideously blistered. If he had done anything to Reenie, that would be the least of Casen's worries. Matt launched himself in a shallow dive and swam furiously towards the spot where he'd seen her go down. 	
When he stopped to get his bearings, he heard her voice again. She was a few feet behind him now, treading water, smiling and reaching out to him. She was all right! 	
The next thing he knew, she was in his arms and their mouths were joined in a desperate kiss. As they sank under the water again, Matt realized how cold her lips were. And how frigid the lake water was. 	
As they rose sputtering to the surface, Matt turned onto his back and holding her back against his chest, he struck out for shore. That Reenie allowed him to take command like that told its own story of how cold and exhausted she must be. When they reached the shallow water near the dock, Matt picked her up in his arms and carried her to shore. Without pausing, he strode by Jon Casen who was still lying, whimpering on the dock, by Wilson who was leaning glumly against a tree, by Gus who was barking commands into a cellular phone. He didn't set her down until they were inside the warm cabin. He grabbed a beach towel from a peg just inside the door, wrapped it around her shoulders, and began to rub her shivering body briskly. 	
	
"Matt. Matt," she whispered over and over through her chattering teeth, wrapping her arms around his neck and covering his face with trembling kisses. 	
"Are you all right, sweetheart?" He didn't wait for a reply. He had to tell her what she meant to him. "I thought Casen had killed you. My life wouldn't be worth living without you. Oh, Lord, Reenie. I need you." 	
He took her face between his hands. "I love you. Stay with me, Reenie?" he asked as he lowered his head to kiss her. 	
He put all his hopes for the future in his kiss. They were both breathless when it ended. 	
"As long as you want me," Reenie promised. 	
"That's as long as we live," he vowed. "Marry me, Reenie. Now. Today." 	
"Don't you think we should get into some dry clothes first," Reenie said with a laugh. 	
"If you insist." His gravelly voice had taken on the smoky tone she loved. "Of course, we have to get out of these ..." 	
He called down to Gus that they'd need a few minutes to get dressed and drew the bolt on the cabin door. 	
He pulled the soggy cotton shirt over her head. As he stripped off his own wet clothes, Matt's eyes skimmed Reenie's body. She had some fresh scratches and scrapes on her arms and legs. 	
"Did he hurt you?" he asked. 	
"I got away before he could," she said. Her deep blue eyes told him that was all she was going to say for now. 	
"But I am cold, Matt." Reenie's arms went around his neck and she pressed her wet, chilly breasts against his chest. "Very cold." 	
"Not for long, sweetheart," he said, swinging her up into his arms and carrying her into the nearest bedroom. 	
Without giving a thought to the comings and goings of Gus and his deputies outside the cabin, Matt concentrated on warming her chilled body. Reenie had no difficulty warming his. ["#TOC"]	
Epilogue	
Reenie was lying on her stomach on the deck gazing out at the water. Its irregular patches of deep blue, turquoise and green were too beautiful to be real. Exotic palm trees rimmed sandy beach beyond it. The Sailing Solution was moored in the bay of a tiny island near St. Thomas, which they'd discovered on their honeymoon a year ago. 	
She rolled over and stretched languorously, almost too happy. Matt emerged from the galley with an ice bucket that contained a chilled bottle of champagne. 	
"Happy Anniversary, sweetheart," he said, setting the champagne down on the flip-out table in the cockpit. He held out his arms. "Come on down here to me." 	
"Happy Anniversary," she said, wrapping her arms around his gorgeous tanned body. "And Happy Thanksgiving, too." 	
He gave her one of his special long, tender kisses that never seemed to lose their magic and said, "We've a lot to give thanks for." 	
He popped the champagne cork and filled their glasses with pale golden liquid. "I'll always be thankful for Hazel Leigh's runaway boat." He raised his glass. 	
Reenie touched its rim with hers and took a tiny sip. "We should have it bronzed." 	
"Hey, it was heavy enough the way it was." 	
"I'm thankful that Jon is finally in prison where he belongs," Reenie toasted. 	
"Gus is put out that Walt's bosses and their FBI cronies got Casen's criminal charge lowered to manslaughter in return for his testimony against Sal Gerardo and Chang Lu. But, just knowing that he's been put away for a long time is something to be thankful for." 	
They touched glasses again and drank. 	
"And I'm thankful that business is booming and your new waterside cafe was a hit this summer." Matt drained his glass. 	
He reached for Reenie's glass to refill it and looked at her in surprise, "It's still full. Don't you like it?" 	
"It's delicious, but I don't think alcohol is a good idea right now." The happiness she was feeling was effervescent enough. 	
Matt's dark eyes met hers for a second. She watched the joy dawn in them. 	
"I didn't think life could get any better," he said, grinning broadly and taking her in his arms. "Are you sure, sweetheart?" 	
"I'm only two weeks overdue," she cautioned. "But I could be." 	
"Then what do you say we make a real effort to make sure?" he said, beginning to kiss a line down the side of her neck toward her scanty bikini top. 	
"Sounds like a time-consuming project, partner," she said with a sensuous chuckle. "But I'll do what I can to help." 	
Matt's only reply was a low rumble. His mouth was busy. 	
The End	
	
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