MidnightIntentions

by Michele Bardsley

Copyright (c)2003 Michele Bardsley

Writers Exchange E-Publishing

www.ebooks.writers-exchange.com

Mystery/Romance

---------------------------------

NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Duplication or
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---------------------------------

*Prologue*

CaliforniaCriminal Court

"Madame Foreman, have you reached a verdict?"

The Honorable Judge Raymond T. Conroy boomed the question across the courtroom. From long
habit, Callie O'Brian flinched, then straightened, her fingernails digging into the chair's vinyl arms.

A man's loud voice did not mean anger. A man's loud voice did not mean violence. A man's loud

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voice did not mean blows would follow. Callie's nails dug deeper as she silently repeated the mantra.

Emma's cool hand rested briefly over hers. "Relax," she whispered.

Swallowing the knot of dread lodged in her throat, Callie looked at her lawyer. Emma's brown eyes
offered reassurance before she nodded toward the jury box. Callie's attempted smile trembled as she
watched the jury foreman pass a small white paper to the bailiff, who gave it to the judge. The judge -- a
big, gruff man with bushy eyebrows -- glanced at the paper then refolded it.

Callie stared at judge's hands. Her future rested between his thick fingers. A wave of despair
crashed over her. What if... She pressed her lips together, blinking back the hot tears threatening to
escape. The judge handed the slip to the bailiff who returned it to the thin, pale woman responsible for
verbalizing Callie's fate. The words, once spoken, would be recorded forever.

"Ms. Tyler, would you and your client please rise?"

Emma stood and Callie slowly followed. Legs shaking like palm trees in a hurricane, she steadied
herself by grabbing the table.

"Madame Foreman, would you please read the verdict?"

Silence doused the filled-to-capacity courtroom. Callie knew reporters from all over the country, her
husband's coworkers and friends, her father, and dozens of curious courtroom watchers waited to see
how this infamous case would end.

Whatever happens, I made the right choice. I made the only choice.

The foreman adjusted her glasses. "On the count of second degree murder, we, the jury, find the
defendant -- not guilty."

An explosion of noise -- outrage, joy, amazement -- erupted behind Callie. Her legs buckled. She
stumbled into her chair, tears scalding her face. God in Heaven. She was finally free.

--------

*Chapter One*

Oklahoma

Eight Months Later

The redwood deck creaked as Evan Madigan stepped onto it. His sneakers lived up to their name
as he crept along the back of the mansion, peering into each window. The 9mm automatic felt solid in his
hand as he approached the glass French doors.

When he looked inside, he saw the phone first, the cord stretched across the white carpet like a thin,
black snake. The receiver was close to the door as if it had been thrown rather than dropped. Evan
spotted the man, half-hidden by a navy blue wingback chair.

He pushed the door's brass handles down. Damn. Locked tight. He crouched, trying to get a better
look at the victim.

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The spreading red stain caught his attention. Evan rose, twisting the handles again. "Shit."

Evan unloaded his weapon, shoving the clip into his back jean pocket. He checked the chamber
once more for good measure, then grasped it by the barrel and smashed one of the middle panes. Glass
shattered, tinkling to the carpet. A jagged hole allowed Evan to access the lock, but he hesitated. With
the luck he'd been having lately, he'd probably cut his hand to pieces and need sixty stitches.

"Good move, Madigan." Why wasn't anything ever easy? Stripping off his T-shirt, he wrapped it
around his fist, finished punching out the glass, then reached inside and unlocked the doors. He yanked
on the handles, breathed thanks to the door gods when they opened, and entered.

"Sir?"

No answer.

"Sir?" he repeated louder.

Silence met his second inquiry. Bad sign. Evan tossed his mangled shirt onto the wingback and
hunched next to the victim. The man's breathing was shallow, but his pulse was strong. Evan checked the
body and determined no bones were broken. He tipped the man's head and discovered the gash wasn't
deep. Poor bastard probably hit it on the corner of the desk during the heart attack. He assumed it had
been a heart attack -- that's what the dispatcher said when Evan had responded to the 911 call.

"Don't worry, bud, help's on the way." Evan checked the man's pulse again. Strong and steady.
Good. The rusty scent of blood mixed with the room's leather-and-tobacco smell. He wrinkled his nose
and settled down on the comfortable, plush carpet to wait for the ambulance. He glanced at the floor,
thinking of all the havoc his tiny nieces could wreak on the pristine white. Evan shuddered. This man
either paid a fortune for cleaning or he was childless. Evan surveyed the room, which appeared to serve
as a study, and whistled low at the expensive furnishings. This kind of elegance could not survive children
and certainly not his nieces' special brand of terror.

A cold draft of air hit him across the chest, a reminder that he no longer wore a shirt. Air
conditioning. He looked up at the ceiling vent. It had been one hot summer. And it was only May.

"Get away from my father!"

Evan's gaze whipped to the petite red-haired woman pointing a .22 automatic at him. A glance took
in the bag of groceries slouched against the door frame and a small, brown purse tossed onto the floor.
When he met her hostile stare, green eyes, hard as glittering emeralds, challenged him. He clutched the
9mm, then remembered that the clip was in his back pocket. Just his luck. Again.

"You killed him."

"No, ma'am. He's okay, though. Just let me -- "

The click of the trigger and the bullet whizzing past his ear seemed to happen simultaneously. A solid
thud told him that the bullet had lodged in the wall.

"The next one goes into you."

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"Calm down, lady. I'm a cop."

Another bullet whizzed past. "Try another one. I've been gone fromTulsa for awhile, but I'm sure
they still require policemen to wear shirts. Now move away from my father."

"My badge is in my wallet. Let me show you."

"You know," she said in a conversational tone, "that naked chest gives me a particularly good target.
I can aim right between your pecs -- into that nice swirly patch of hair."

Evan ignored her comment, hoping she wasn't serious. "I'm going to stand."

"Fabulous. That will give me an even better shot." She looked at him, a small cold smile curving her
lips.

Slowly getting to his feet, he said, "I'm going to reach into my back pocket."

"Don't you dare. And just what do you plan on doing with that gun?"

"I won't hurt you."

"No. You won't."

Evan stilled, dropping his arms to his sides. The woman's eyes narrowed. She stood in a typical
firing stance: legs apart, arms straight, the gun steady as she pointed it at his chest. But her lower lip
trembled. He also detected tremors in her arms. "I won't hurt you," he repeated, sensing her distress.

He watched the emotions flit across her face, each one familiar to him. Anger. Fear. Doubt.
Desperation. Mirrors of emotions he had seen on faces of other women -- on the face of his sister --
when confronting a larger, meaner, male opponent. This woman didn't see him as a cop -- as safety or as
security. She saw him as a threat.

For an electrifying moment, they stared at each other. Evan saw the fear in her eyes then she tipped
her chin, obvious determination straightening her stance. "I'm not afraid," she said.

"I am."

Her copper brows rose, her face registering astonishment.

"You have the gun. The power. You can shoot me. You can kill me. My life is in your hands. Your
choice."

She bit her lip, seeming to consider his words. He remained still, not wanting to draw her attention to
the fact that he was bigger, stronger, taller. Or that he could take her power away as easily as the small
gun she held.

"You're really a cop? A good cop?"

A good cop? He frowned at the distinction she'd made. "Yes. I'm a good cop."

"I don't trust you."

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The siren's wail prevented Evan from responding. "It's the ambulance. Why don't you put down the
gun?"

"What about my father?"

"He's alive. Why don't you stay with him? I'll go meet the paramedics."

She hesitated, looking at him for a long moment. He felt as that wide, emerald gaze searched his
soul. Then she sighed, nodded, and lowered the gun in a jerky motion. Evan extracted it from her grasp,
noticing how soft her smooth, pale skin felt against his calloused fingers. Surprised at his reaction, he
looked into her startled gaze. She pulled out of his grasp, leaving the small, black gun in hands.

"Thank you," she murmured in a husky voice. Then she hurried to her father's side.

It wasn't until after the ambulance left, taking the woman and the injured man to the hospital, that
Evan wondered why the woman had thanked him.

* * * *

"Samuel has an excellent chance of recovery, Callie. He's strong, reasonably healthy, and he's as
stubborn as a mule."

Callie looked at Dr. Morris's kind blue eyes and nodded. "Thank you. When can he come home?"

"It will be some time, I'm afraid. I want to monitor his progress closely. And it will give me the
chance to get him to exercise more and eat right. Maybe if he gets into the habit at the hospital, he'll
continue to do it at home."

"I doubt Dad will give up his double-decker cheeseburgers. But it's worth a shot."

Dr. Morris patted her on the shoulder. Callie flinched, then gritted her teeth and sent him an
apologetic smile.

"There's an excellent abuse education program -- "

"Thank you. I've been through one inCalifornia . It's hard to get out of the habit, that's all."

"I'm sorry about -- "

"Excuse me, doctor, but I need to go check on my father." Callie brushed by him and entered her
father's dark, quiet hospital room. The monitor's constant beep-beep reassured her that all was well. At
least with Daddy. She slid into a chair and clasped her father's limp hand. He'd regained consciousness in
the ambulance and had given the paramedics hell all the way into the hospital. Dr. Morris had confirmed
that her father had suffered a heart attack, ordered a battery of tests, and promptly shut up the old man's
mutterings with a shot of pain medication.

Damn Dr. Morris. Damn everybody. Did all ofTulsa know what had happened to her? She ran from
sympathy just as quickly as she did scorn. When would her life begin again? When would the old pain
and fear dissolve? She rubbed her belly, resenting its flatness.

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The door opened. Callie turned, expecting the nurse. She straightened in shock.

"Hello, Ms. O'Brian."

He stood inside the door, his broad shoulders blocking out most of the light spilling in from the busy
hallway. Callie's mouth dried. He was so big. Dark hair curled around the collar of his pale blue shirt and
he still wore the faded, tightLevis . He might have been handsome, but his face was all angles, his nose
crooked in the middle, his chin rough with stubble. Not exactly handsome. But striking. He smiled at her
and she noticed the sensual fullness of his lips.

"What do you want?"

Her question sounded brusque, but she didn't apologize. She didn't want him here. Didn't want him
evoking the unfamiliar emotions swirling through her. Her gaze swept over the shirt and memory betrayed
her. Callie pictured his bare chest, dark swirls of hair beckoning a lover's touch, his jeans riding low on
lean hips. Heat crept into her cheeks and she turned away from him.

"I came to see how your father was doing. And you."

"He's fine. What about me? Am I," she swallowed, "under arrest?"

"Why would I arrest you?"

"Why would -- I shot at you! You're a cop."

"Shot at me? When?" His brows furrowed in mock remembrance, then he grinned. "I can't recall
such an incident."

Numb with the knowledge that this -- this cop had not reported her, Callie slumped against the
chair. She looked at him through her lashes, finally seeing the offering in his left hand. "Are those
flowers?"

"Leave it to a woman to notice gifts," he teased, stepping forward. The door shut behind him. Callie
released her father's hand, stood, and blindly reached for the light switch. She couldn't remain in the
darkness with such a powerful man. Before her fingers could touch the panel, soft light invaded the room.

"Better. Now I can see the woman who almost shot me." The teasing glint in his voice made her
uncomfortable. She sat in the chair, then stood, not wanting him to tower over her -- although he already
did by at least a foot.

"My name's Evan Madigan. Do you want to see my badge?"

"No." She paused. "My name's Callie O'Brian. But you know that, right?"

"Callie." He said her name as if he were savoring a fine wine. The impression left her vaguely uneasy.
He also ignored her attempt to find out how he knew her name.

Her gaze locked onto the bouquet he held. "You can put them over there," she said, pointing to a
table in the corner. Already flowers and balloons inhabited the room. Her Dad had a lot of friends.

"These aren't for your father. They're for you."

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He handed her the bouquet and stepped away, almost as if he knew how his size affected her. Callie
brushed the delicate tulips with a fingertip. "Beautiful," she whispered. Gratitude and wonder fill her then
she thrust the flowers at him. Who was he to give her flowers? She'd had enough of niceties followed by
earnest promises followed by ... she pushed the ugly thoughts away.

"I don't want them."

He made no move to take the bouquet. The plastic wrapping crinkled in her hand as she clenched it.
The flowers shook in her trembling grasp.

"My mother planted tulips every spring. Said they gave her hope and renewed her spirit." He looked
at her, hismidnight eyes holding her hostage. "She once told me tulips were kissed by angels and sent to
earth to give us happiness."

His hand curled around hers. The heat of his skin penetrated her fingertips. A warmth, a calmness
flowed through her, then he let go.

"How's your father?"

"He'll be all right, but he's going to stay in the hospital for awhile."

"What about you? Are you going to be okay?"

For a moment, Callie thought he knew about the incident inCalifornia , and she froze. An awkward
silence fell as she scrambled to gather her scattered thoughts. She pushed a strand of hair behind her ear
and inhaled deeply. "I'm fine."

"If you say so." He paused. "Here. If you need anything, call me." He reached into his back jean
pocket, drew out his wallet and extracted a small, white card. "I put my home number on the back."

Callie took the card, glanced at the scrawled black ink, and looked at him. "I won't need you."

A corner of his mouth lifted then he walked to the door. She watched him grab the handle, saw the
corded muscles in his arm, and shuddered. So strong. Much stronger than her. He looked over his
shoulder, his gaze capturing hers.

"Hope, Callie. There's always hope."

The door swished shut behind him and Callie brought the tulips to her nose, breathing in their
wonderful scent. For the first time in years, an emotion bloomed inside her, cupping the fragile pieces of
her heart. Tears met tulip petals. Hope. She laughed, pressing the tulips against her lips. She'd forgotten
the sweet taste of joy. Evan Madigan had indeed given her a gift.

--------

*Chapter Two*

Evan watched his sister maneuver through eleven cats, two dogs, and three toddlers. She shoved
pan of lasagna into the oven.

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"Sharon?"

"No, pumpkin, kitty doesn't like haircuts," she told one dark-haired munchkin. Evan grinned, then
shook his head. "Uh,Sharon ?"

She turned, ushering the children out of the kitchen. "Mac! Come get your sisters. Now."

"I'm doing homework," came a shout from the living room.

"I fell for that last time. Besides, I can hear the noise from the television."

"Okay, okay." Evan's six-foot tall nephew ambled into the kitchen, lithely avoiding cats and dogs,
and scooped up all three tiny girls. "What should I do with them? The garbage man comes tomorrow,
maybe we could put 'em in the dumpster."

"Nooooo," squealed Mavis, giggling. "Want to go swing."

"Swing," repeated Daphne. "Swing. Swing. Swing."

"Twing," agreed Summer. "Twing now, brudder."

"Mom, wasn't I enough? Did you have to have triplets? Did you have to have girls?"

Sharongrinned. "Talk to your stepfather. Besides, he got a vasectomy, remember?"

Mac looked at Evan, a mock expression of long suffering lighting his features. His brown eyes,
however, twinkled. "Geesh, Uncle Evan, couldn't you take one off my hands?"

"Your uncle and I are trying to have a discussion,"Sharon said. "Take the dogs out with you, okay?"

"Twing, brudder," Summer demanded from her upside-down position.

Evan smiled at them, an odd pang in his heart. "You might as well get used to women's demands,
Mac. At least you'll have plenty of practice bowing and scraping. And I'd practice 'I'm sorry' a lot, too, if
I were you."

A fresh-baked roll popped him in the head and tumbled to the floor. He swiveled on the barstool
and caughtSharon 's satisfied smirk. He rubbed his cheek. "Hey!"

"I'm getting out of here," Mac said, laughing. "C'mon Jasper. Rosco, here boy."

The two hound dogs shuffled out of the kitchen, following Mac out the sliding glass doors. Evan
watched as the boy-man took his sisters to the monstrous wood and metal swing set. Three sets of
swings. Three slides. Monkey bars. And tunnels. "Your children aren't spoiled at all," he observed.

"You bought that hideous thing as I recall."

"Spent a month recovering from putting it together, too," Evan said, scooping up the roll and tossing
it at his sister.

She caught it then deposited it into the trash can under the sink. "Now, what were we talking

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about?"

A giant Persian leapt into Evan's lap, settling across his legs. The Persian looked at him with slitted
eyes then yawned and went to sleep. The cat's ears were gone, sliced off by a cruel owner.

"Tell me again why you have eleven cats."

"Twelve. I rescued another one from the pound yesterday. Chuck. He's upstairs in the isolation
room."

Evan smiled. He knew why his sister rescued animals. Her particular fondness for injured, maimed,
and otherwise disabled creatures was easily guessed at as well. "Isolation room?"

"You know, the room where I put the new guy. Then I introduce him a little bit at a time until the
others accept him."

"Right. There's so many now -- how can they tell?"

Sharonlaughed, her smile brightening the once beautiful face. Still beautiful to him. The scars on her
neck were visible, but reconstructive surgery had repaired her face. Of course such surgery would never
replace the sight in her left eye.

"Stop right now. I can see exactly where your thoughts are going. I've healed, Evan. The past is the
past. I'd give anything to be a model again. Anything to have two eyes that had sight."

"I should have known. I should have done something."

It was an old conversation. Evan felt as though he and Sharon were actors repeating memorized
lines in a play. No matter how hard he'd tried he'd been unable to put aside his guilt -- his horror -- at
almost letting his sister die.

"I knew. I didn't do anything to stop it. I fooled my whole family."Sharon looked at him. "Why are
we talking about this? It happened almost ten years ago. Tim can't hurt me ever again. Rehashing the past
does nothing but bring up old memories."

"I'm sorry. Domestic violence has been on my mind. The woman I told you about -- Callie -- I think
she's been in a bad situation."

"How do you know?"

"Some of the same reactions you used to have, but mostly my gut instincts. She's scared of men. Of
me."

Sharonlooked at him, her eyes narrowing. "Something tells me you have more than a passing interest
in this woman. She's not just another charity case."

"I don't do charity cases."

"Hah!"

"She tried to shoot me."

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"What!"Sharon sat down on the stool next to his and grabbed his arm. "She shot at you? Why?"

"She thought I was a burglar, I guess. Yesterday, I responded to a 911 call in Southern Hills. The
victim somehow managed to call while having a heart attack. She found me leaning over him -- her father
-- with my gun drawn."

"Wow."Sharon frowned. "I thought yesterday was your day off."

He shifted on the seat. "It was."

"Southern Hills, huh?"

Evan didn't answer, but he couldn't meetSharon 's steely gaze, either. "Okay. What if I was?"

"There's nothing you can do, bro.Anderson 's been tried, okay? Not guilty. Let it go."

"Marie deserved better. I'm glad she got out of the marriage and moved toColorado . ButAnderson
damn near had to kill her before she woke up to reality. Wife number two's probably getting a dose of
his temper. Where's the justice?"

"Travis Anderson bought his justice. We know it. The judge knows it. The world knows it. The
good guys don't win all the time."

"Maybe," Evan said. "But I figure it's my job to make sure the good guys win most of the time."

He scratched the Persian's ears. "So have you heard from her?"

"Wife number two? No. She hasn't shown up at the shelter. I don't know why you torture yourself
like this. Don't you have anything better to do on your days off?"

"It's a good cause."

"Evan, you've buried your life under good causes. You volunteer at the Battered Women's Shelter
and help out at theVictimWitnessCenter and track down abusive spouses -- you must have earned your
sainthood by now."

"Look who's talking! You run a home for disabled cats. And there's the counseling, the chauffeuring,
the -- "

"Okay, okay. Point made. But I have a family, too. Michael and I always make time for each other.
We spend time with the kids. My work at the shelter is a part of my life -- but it's not my life. What do
you go home to? An easy chair and a big screen television. I know why you're always over here
mooching a meal. It's because in your refrigerator there's a science experiment growing on old pizza and
a couple cans of Shasta."

"What's your point, sis?"

"Get a life, you idiot. Why not ask out Callie?"

A pure thrill of desire and longing shot through him at the thought of seeing Callie. "I don't know if

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that would be a good idea."

"Why not?"

"She might say no."

Sharoncocked an eyebrow. "My gorgeous brother has never been turned down. Besides, your ego
will recover from the blow if she refuses. What's the harm?"

"There's not any, I suppose. You know, she almost shot me. Don't you think that could put a crimp
in our relationship?"

"I'd say she's smart and got good reflexes. Besides, she didn't shoot you, and she's the only woman
you've shown a healthy male interest in a long time. Ask her out."

"I'll think about it," Evan said dubiously. "But no promises."

"I give up."Sharon stood and put her hands on her hips. "For being so stubborn, you have to set the
table. And for not listening to reason, I may make you clean the cat litter boxes."

"All eleven?" Evan asked in horror.

Sharongrinned. "Twelve."

* * * *

"You're not pretty enough for a cop's wife," Dan said, straightening his tie. "But the Chief likes you, so I
guess I'll bring you to the party."

"Isn't Stephanie available?" Callie asked, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice. Stephanie had
been Dan's lover for the past few months -- some woman with more breasts than brains that Dan had
picked up in a bar. He delighted in telling Callie the details of their lovemaking. It made her sick and not
just because she was pregnant. Her whole pathetic life made her sick, but now she had a reason to live, a
reason to leave Dan.

"I never bring whores to social functions." Dan smiled. "Oops. But I'm bringing you, aren't I, my
darling whore? You'll screw anything with three legs, won't you, honey?"

His dark laughter scraped Callie raw. Why he still had the ability to hurt her emotionally was beyond
her comprehension. But soon, very soon, she wouldn't have to deal with him. She'd be free and she
would run to farthest ends of the earth. She wanted a good, healthy life for her child. And Callie needed
time to heal. Time to remember what being a normal person was like.

"I said on your knees," Dan's voice grated. "Damn it, woman, are you deaf? We have to leave in
fifteen minutes, but it only take you five -- Callie!"

She looked at him, stricken, and tried to find a way to get out of what he was asking her. His grin
was evil as he unzipped his tuxedo pants and pushed them down. "Come here, whore."

"No, Dan," she whimpered. "Please."

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"You're wasting time." He grabbed her arm and yanked her forward, punching her in the chest.
Cops knew where to hit people where it hurt the most. Her breath left her body as he pushed her down.
Her hose ripped as she was forced onto her knees. He slapped her cheek, but she knew it wouldn't
satisfy him. He liked to hit her and he liked knowing that no one ever saw the bruises.

"We're in the bathroom," she said. "Can't we -- "

He jerked her upward and punched her in the ribs. Dear God, if he hit her stomach -- panic made
her still as a stone. If she didn't struggle, he would stop. Please, let him stop.

"Dan," she screamed. "I'll do it, I'll do it."

"I know you will, you pathetic bitch."

He let her go and she dropped to her knees. His laughter clawed at her as he grabbed her hair and
pressed her face against his crotch. Those dark, evil sounds of his joy ate away at her soul and made hot,
helpless tears caress her cheeks.

Callie blinked and tears fell. She stared at her reflection in the mirror. Pale. Haunted. Lost. Wiping
away the moisture, she rose from the dressing table and wandered to her four-poster bed. She slipped
between the cool sheets, settling against the fluffy pillows.

The lights blared overhead, but she didn't dare turn them off. She'd rather never sleep again than
have to be alone in the darkness. Drawing her legs up, she rested her chin on her knees.

Memories of Dan threatened her peace of mind. Her sanity. She never remembered the good times.
She knew she'd been happy once -- that Dan had loved her. She'd finally realized that she wasn't
responsible for Dan's behavior. He'd been a monster; he'd been a cruel, violent man. She'd hated him.
But worse still, she'd hated herself.

Unable to still the ever-present restlessness, Callie scooted out of bed and walked to the window.
Her bare feet sank into the plush pink carpet. She dug her toes into it as she pushed aside the gauzy
white curtain aside. The rumble of car engine drew her attention to the street.

A mint condition 1969 Corvette slid smoothly past, slowing in front of the house. Her heart skipped
a beat and she placed a hand against her throat.

Dan's car.

Stop it! Daniel was dead. Expensive Corvettes were not exactly foreign to this neighborhood, it just
happened to be the same color as Dan's. Metallic black with chrome accents and ... she stopped her
thoughts and took a deep breath. It was dark. The car might have been purple or blue and it wasn't
Dan's. She'd sold it inCalifornia . Along with everything else. She wanted no reminders of their life
together. His death had not haunted her as she thought it might. But other regrets did. His abuse. Her lost
identity. Her baby. Callie placed her hand against her stomach, stroking her abdomen. No babies now,
she thought and the anguish crashed through her so suddenly she thought she might drown in it.

Callie turned away from the window, unable to shake off the residue of fear clinging to her. Would
Dan control her even from the grave? Only if you let him, a voice insisted. I won't let him. I won't.

Her gaze caught the beautiful tulips that now occupied a glass vase on her nightstand. She touched

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the petals and smiled. Evan's face rose clearly in her mind; his concerned brown eyes, his reassuring
smile. Hope, he'd reminded her. There was always hope.

Removing a pink tulip from the vase, Callie crawled back into bed and cradled the precious flower
in her hands. With the stem clutched in her fingers, she finally slept.

--------

*Chapter Three*

At the loud, unexpected chime of the doorbell Callie dropped the photograph. The picture of a
single tulip drifted back down into the large pan. Gingerly grasping the edges, she allowed the solution to
drip, then she clipped the photo to the wire hanging above her head.

The chime rang again, somehow sounding more insistent. Callie frowned. Who could it be?

Wiping her hands on an old tea towel, she exited the basement studio and climbed the stairs to the
first floor. By the time she'd walked down the long hall and reached the living room, the impatient person
at the door had rang the bell again.

"All right! I'm coming."

Callie peered through the peephole and her heart did a double-flip. She unlocked the top two
deadbolts and unchained the door, easing it open. "What do you want?"

"Not a morning person, huh?" Evan asked, grinning. "Me, either."

"I love mornings. Especially when they start atnoon ."

His delighted laugh curled through her. She clutched the door at the sweet emotion. No. She was
never going to jump headfirst into another relationship. She was never going to jump into any relationship.
And she was not going to be impressed, charmed or googly-eyed over another handsome man. "Did you
decide to arrest me after all?"

"No. But I could cite you for obstruction."

Her eyebrow rose. "What am I obstructing?"

"Me." Evan's grin widened and she noticed a small dimple in the left corner of his mouth. Great. The
man had dimples.

"Look, if you're not going to arrest me or something, then maybe you should leave."

The teasing glint in his eyes dimmed, but his smile never wavered. "I have coffee," he said, drawing
her attention to a white paper sack in his hand. "And donuts."

Her stomach growled. "What kind of donuts?"

"Chocolate."

"If there's one with nuts and coconut flakes, you're in."

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"Would you settle for candy sprinkles?"

Callie opened the door and allowed Evan entrance. Her breath hitched when he passed her. The
earthy scent of his masculinity wrapped around her, but it was the broadness of his shoulders and the
muscles rippling under his shirt that made the ribbon of fear slice through her.

"So how's your father?"

"Better. Grumpy, but recovering."

She heard the quiver in her voice and cleared her throat. But apparently Evan, too, had heard the
fear and he turned, his smile melting into a frown as he looked at her.

"Callie," he said softly. "I can make you one promise. I will never hurt you."

"Don't be ridiculous," she said, shutting the door and walking past him. She ignored the trembling in
her knees as her arm brushed his. The betraying ache of desire danced with fear as she lead him through
the living room into the large kitchen. Her attraction to Evan terrified her more than his size and strength.
Hadn't poor judgment led her straight into the depths of hell? Her marriage to Dan had opened her eyes.
Where men were concerned, she was no longer blind. Or naive.

Callie sat on a barstool next to the cook's island. Fortunately, the other stool was on the opposite
side. Evan's presence still disturbed her, but at least she could breathe easier with ten feet of Formica
between them. She watched as he removed two Styrofoam cups from the sack and a small box. Her
mouth salivated at the plump, fragrant donuts inside. "I didn't eat breakfast."

She saw him glance around the chrome-and-white kitchen. "I imagine it's because you gave up
finding anything to eat. Do they give maps out at the door?"

"It is rather big, isn't it? I never noticed until now."

"Did you grow up here?"

Callie accepted the gooey chocolate donut and the hot cup of coffee. "No. But I grew up rich if
that's what you're asking. Rich, spoiled brat -- that's me."

"Not anymore, I bet."

She looked at him, saw the emotion gathering in his dark eyes. Sympathy. Understanding. Desire.
She dropped her gaze and bit into the donut. The chocolate melted on her tongue, but the taste lacked
pleasure. She glanced at Evan just in time to see his tongue gather a crumb off his bottom lip. Pure
electricity zapped her stomach. Damn, damn, damn.

"Why are you here?" The question sounded harsher than she intended, but she hated this growing
awareness of Evan. The huskiness of her voice betrayed the riot of emotions. She didn't want this ...
didn't want him.

He finished his donut casually, then sipped his coffee. "I thought if I filled you up with coffee and
donuts, you'd want to work off the calories."

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The donut in her hand fell to the floor and she stood, the stool scratching against the tiled floor.
"What!"

"Ice skating. There's a rink close to here. It'll be fun."

Her pounding heart slowed and she bent to pick up the chocolate mess. "Oh. I -- I don't think that
... I don't skate. Ice skate or whatever. No. I'm -- I'm sorry."

"Callie."

She looked up at his serious tone, swallowed heavily, and backed against the steel refrigerator. "I'm
sorry."

He stood, rounded the island, and stopped in front of her. He didn't tower over her, merely stood
there. "If you don't want to go ice skating, that's fine. If you don't want to go out with me, that's fine, too."

"Go out with you? On a date?"

A smile made the dastardly dimple appear. "Yes. I'm asking you out. You can even bring along the
twenty-two if it'll make you feel better."

She stared at him, her heart pounding again. "You mean that, don't you?"

"Yes."

The refrigerator felt cool on her bare legs. Callie picked at an invisible thread on her tan shorts. "I
can't."

"Okay."

"Okay?"

"Yep." He shoved his hands into the jean's pockets and rocked back on his heels. "Wasn't that
easy?"

His response was so darn casual, she wondered just how many women he was currently dating. He
sounded as if he didn't care if she said yes or no. "Thank you for asking. Thank you for being interested."

"Callie?"

"Hmmm?"

"I asked you out because you're the first woman in a year that's interested me."

"Oh."

He grinned. "I'm a patient man. I'll just ask you again in a couple weeks."

"The answer will be the same."

"We'll see."

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"Evan." His name was a sigh on her lips. "I can't go out with you, not now, not in two weeks, not
ever."

"I understand."

Callie looked into his eyes and realized that he did understand. But the tilt of his smile warned her
that understanding and giving up were two different things. She shook her head, reaffirming her decision.
Yet she felt a sudden sense of loss, as if she'd stretched out a hand to a flittering butterfly but had
withdrawn before the elusive creature could alight.

"Evan, I -- "

The screech of tires accompanied a crash of glass. Shock coursed through her and she stiffened,
watching Evan draw his gun. She ran after him into the living room. The huge glass window was
shattered, the sheer white curtains billowing in the aftermath of the damage.

"Stay back or you'll cut your feet."

He sheathed his gun and crunched across the carpet. Nausea roiled in Callie's stomach as she
assessed the damage. Again. It was happening again. During the trial, well-aimed bricks shattered her car
windows and graffiti defaced her home. Dan's cronies never let her forget she'd killed one of their own,
but surely no one had cared enough to follow her here to continue the torture.

Evan crouched down and pointed to a large red brick. "There's the weapon." He glanced up.
"Who'd you piss off?"

"I don't know anyone inTulsa anymore. It could have been some rowdy kids -- or maybe someone
with a grudge against my father."

"I don't think so."

Wanting see what had made Evan's forehead crease in concern, Callie tread over the carpet,
ignoring the stinging cuts inflicted on the bottoms of her feet. Bile rose in her throat as she looked at the
neatly blocked letters on the brick. BITCH.

She couldn't stop the strangled laugh. She clamped a hand over her mouth as another rose in her
throat. "I thought being at home would make a difference," she choked out. "But you know, there's just
no such thing as sanctuary."

Callie didn't protest when Evan rose and gathered her close. For an endless moment, she let herself
be needy, allowing his strength to seep into her, taking the security he offered. Then he whispered, "I'll be
your sanctuary."

The same weakness that had kept her hostage in an abusive marriage prodded her to give in, to let
Evan take care of her. She stiffened, ashamed that she'd allowed herself even a small comfort in a man's
arms. In Evan's arms.

"I don't need you," she said, stepping out of the embrace. "I don't need anyone."

"You're lying to yourself, Callie. You can't go through life alone and scared all the time. You have to

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lean on others -- and let them lean on you."

"I'd rather be left alone."

She didn't like the way he looked at her, as if she were a challenge -- not sexually, but emotionally.
Uneasiness crept along her spine. She didn't want to be a project for Evan Madigan. She'd had enough
of helpful people -- and those who were not-so-helpful. Callie put her hands on her hips and glared at
him.

"Don't think you're going to turn into some kind of guardian angel. I don't want to depend on
anyone. And I don't want anyone to depend on me."

"Too bad," he drawled, crossing his arms. "Because what you want and what you need are not the
same things."

Frustration whipped through her. Damn the man, anyway. "Get out."

"No can do. I'm a cop witness to a crime. I have to report it. The whole process will probably take
hours." His grin was unrepentant. "Guess I'll be here for awhile."

--------

*Chapter Four*

Callie sat on the couch, her cold hands wrapped around an even colder cup of coffee. She glared at
Evan, who was talking to a couple of uniformed cops.

Enough of this. She trashed the coffee and interrupted their discussion. "How much longer will this
take?"

"We're finished. Are you okay?" asked Evan.

She hesitated, drawn in by the concern in his eyes. Callie shook off the unfolding need to allow him
to take care of her. She wasn't falling into that trap again. She'd learned to take care of herself. "I'm fine."

"How about dinner? I'll take you to one of the best places in town to eat."

"There can't be too many places to eat in this town."

"True. But I do know the best one."

She crossed her arms unable to believe she was actually considering his offer. "This is the second
time you've tried to bribe me with food."

"It worked didn't it?"

"You're impossible."

She couldn't trust herself where men were concerned -- particularly those who made her pulse leap
just by walking into a room. And Evan definitely did that. So did Dan, a little voice reminded. Callie
swallowed the automatic fear. Daniel was dead. He couldn't hurt her anymore. She wouldn't allow

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anyone else to.

"I appreciate what you're trying to do."

"It's just dinner, Callie."

"Do you understand the word no?"

"I don't want you to be alone." His concern drove a chill of fear into her heart. She didn't want to be
alone, either.

She sighed. "No."

"All right. But if you need anything..."

"I'll call you."

Her time with Evan had come to end. Instead of relief, she felt reluctance. Odd, she shouldn't feel
that way. Callie walked to the couch. She didn't want him around -- right? She squeezed the back of the
sofa, her fingers biting deep into cushion. "Look, I'll be fine. I need to go visit Daddy -- so I won't even
be here for the next few hours."

"Do you want me to take you to the hospital?"

"No."

"Then I'll wait until you leave."

Evan was as good as his word. He waited as she locked the mansion's huge front door. He waited
as she got into her father's Mercedes. He waited as she backed the car out of the driveway. He even
followed her as far as Yale and then turned the opposite direction as she made a right on 61st.

Callie hummed with the song on the radio as she drove intoSt.FrancisHospital 's parking lot. With a
small laugh, she realized that she felt content. Even better, for the first time in forever, she felt safe.

* * * *

He watched the bitch drive into the hospital parking lot in her stuck-up Mercedes. He gripped the
steering wheel of the Corvette, resisting the urge to kill her right now. He had the gun. But he had
patience, too. It needed to be perfect. She had to know why she was dying. Had to know who was
exacting revenge.

He'd known she would run home to Daddy. He'd been inTulsa , cruising by her rich-ass father's
house every single day for the last two months. After she took off fromCalifornia , he'd tried to find her.
Killing her at a rest stop would've been a lot more random; no one suspecting her death was deliberate.
Well-planned ... well-executed. But her path had been erratic, her destination unknown, her journey hard
to follow. He'd lost her inNew Mexico . Who knew where the bitch had gone from there.

From the day he'd seen her car parked in the mansion's driveway, he'd followed her every move.
He'd almost lost it when he saw the ambulance a couple of days ago -- thought that she'd done
something stupid and taken away his chance at payback. He'd followed the emergency vehicle to

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hospital, relieved when he saw the old man.

He watched as she got out of the Mercedes, swinging the strap of a small brown purse over her
shoulder. Bitch. Hatred rose like bile in his throat and he swallowed it. She'd taken away something
precious to him, something irreplaceable. And she would pay for the priceless life she'd stolen.

He watched until she had gone into the hospital, then started the Corvette. The powerful rumble of
the engine soothed him as he eased the car into gear and left the parking lot.

Soon, he promised himself, very soon. Then Callie O'Brian Connors would die.

* * * *

"Would you go get laid or something?" Jerry asked in a pissed-off voice. "You're on edge. Go get rid of
some testosterone."

Evan looked at his partner with a raised brow. "What are you talking about?"

"You." Jerry waved the waitress over to their table. She brought the coffeepot and filled both men's
cups. "Thank you, Emmie."

Evan watched in part-amusement, part-disgust as Jerry loaded his mug with sugar.

"What no creamer? That would finish ruining a perfectly good cup of coffee."

"You know I'm lactose intolerant. I can't eat ice cream without wanting to puke up my guts."

"That's disgusting."

"Speaking of disgusting ... how's your love life?"

"My love life has been satisfactory," Evan said as the image of Callie flashed in his mind.

"Your love life stinks. You should be a married man like me."

"Claire's one in a million." Evan sipped the coffee. "You're a lucky son-of-a-bitch."

Jerry smiled, his longish face reminding Evan of a Beagle. "Yeah, don't I know it. But we're not
talking about me, we're talking about you."

Evan sighed and shifted against the red vinyl seat. The downtown cafe was one of their usual haunts.
He'd been restless this morning, needing to talk, needing not to talk. He'd called Jerry and offered to buy
breakfast. What he really wanted to do was call Callie and offer to do whatever she wanted. He hadn't
seen her in two days and he couldn't get her out of his thoughts.

"Okay. Give."

Evan looked at his partner. Jerry's pale blue eyes were narrowed. "Give what?"

"What's her name?"

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"Who?"

"The woman who has your dick in a knot."

"Screw you."

"I'm married," Jerry said, batting his lashes. "But the offer's tempting."

Evan chuckled and shook his head. "She is none of your business."

"I'm your partner, man. Besides you owe me -- I saved your life. Now give me details."

"Walking in front of a B.B. gun and getting shot in the butt does not qualify as saving my life."

"Hey! Just think about where those B.B.'s would have gone if I hadn't walked in front of you."

"You exaggerate everything."

"So what? It makes life interestin'. What's her name?"

Evan gave up. His partner, when interested in getting information, was the old cliche -- like a dog
with a bone. It was one of the reasons Jerry was such a good cop. "Okay. It's Callie O'Brian."

"Good name. Irish. Irish is solid, very solid."

"What are you babbling about? You're Jewish."

"Well, you're an asshole, but I don't hold it against you." Jerry's brown eyes twinkled. "So how'd
you two meet?"

"I'm beginning to envy those guys who were tortured in the Inquisition."

"Callie ... hmmm. Wouldn't be the same Callie that you had Stephenson watch last night, would it?"

"Stephenson's got a big mouth."

Jerry grinned. "So does Harley. Says you called in a favor and he's going over there tonight to pull
guard duty."

"I can't stake out her place tonight.Sharon 's talked me into watching the triplets. I'll have enough
woman problems."

"No kiddin'."

Emmie interrupted, sliding two plates of food in front of them. Evan inhaled the crisp scent of bacon
and eggs. He scooped up some eggs, watching as Jerry slathered jelly on the lone bagel. "Claire got you
on a diet again?"

"Hell yes."

Jerry tore into the bagel, his eyes on Evan's Heart Attack Special. Evan took pity on his friend and

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put some bacon on Jerry's plate. "Don't tell Claire. She'll skin me alive."

"I'd sooner die than rat on a such a generous guy."

They ate in silence and soon Evan pushed away his empty plate. Emmie, bless her knowing soul,
came over and refilled the coffee cups.

"So why do you have this woman's place staked out?"

"It was vandalized. I got a feeling about this one, Jer. Something's not right -- the whole thing was
directed at her. She didn't think so ... but I do."

"She doesn't sound like one of your usual projects. No husband or boyfriend beating her up?"

Uneasiness and a sliver of cutting truth made Evan's eyes narrow. "She's not a project. I don't have
projects."

"Yes, you do. You think you're some kind of superhero. You like that damsel-in-distress stuff."

"You're full of shit."

"Nope. You just don't like facing the truth. You can't save 'em all. Isn't that the first thing we learned
as rookies? You can't save 'em all."

"You sound like my sister. Callie's not a project. I like her. I don't want to see her get hurt. Besides,
she's hell with a gun. She tried to shoot me, you know."

Jerry's eyes widened. "I didn't see that on any report."

"You tell a soul and they'll never find your body." Evan gave his friend the short version of his first
meeting with Callie.

"All the good stuff happens to you." Jerry looked at his watch, then drained his coffee. "You almost
done fixin' up that piece-of-crap house?"

"Sorta. I don't know where to begin."

"At the beginning."

"Thanks for the sage advice."

"So you need someone to watch Callie tomorrow night? We're supposed to go to my
mother-in-law's for dinner." Jerry shuddered. "I'd do anything to get out of that visit."

"Sorry, bud, but I have plans for Callie tomorrow."

"So you two have a thing going?"

"Not yet," Evan said. "But I'm working on it."

--------

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*Chapter Five*

Callie groaned when the irritating chimes of the doorbell interrupted the best part of the mystery she
had been reading. Unfolding herself from the comfortable chair, she put the book down and hurried to
the door before the unknown visitor could ring the doorbell again.

Hoping, yet not wanting, it to be Evan, Callie peered through the peephole. "Damn."

The porch light had gone out and dusk had long since faded into night. She saw the play of shadows
outside; moonlight splattered on the landscaped yard. She did not see anyone on the steps. Frowning,
she clasped the doorknob, then remembered every horror film she'd watched eagerly as a teenager. In
those, stupid people always investigated dark corners and got their heads cut off. That thought should be
funny, but a cold finger of fear trailed her spine.

Callie double-checked the locks and chain. She looked through the peephole again, then shrugged.
Maybe the doorbell had an electrical short. The wind shrieked and Callie shivered. It had been trying to
rain all day and a patter against the newly-replaced living room window told her the storm had begun. A
gentle May rain it was not. Huge splats soon turned into pounding fists. She curled onto the couch,
gathered an afghan around her, and tried to read. The book had intrigued her moments ago, but now she
couldn't concentrate on the page.

After Callie read the same paragraph three times, she gave up finishing the chapter. She could read
tomorrow. She yawned decidingten o'clock was as good a time as any to go to bed. As she rose from
the couch, the doorbell rang again.

Her knees shook. She took a deep breath. "Stop being, silly. You're home. You're safe."

Again, Callie couldn't see anyone on the porch. Either someone thought scaring her to death was
hilarious, or the doorbell needed to be fixed. Biting her lip, she tried to shake off the uneasiness swirling
through her. She walked to the huge picture window and drew aside the sheer curtains. The night was
thick with rain; the moon had taken refuge behind the clouds. Funny, the streetlight had gone out, too.
Hadn't it been on earlier? She pressed against the window, trying to see through the storm. The glass
cooled her face. She usually loved storms; she entertained the idea of feeling the rain dance against her
skin.

Thunder cracked across the sky. Startled, Callie jerked away from the window, her heart pounding.
Lightning flashed, and a man's face appeared only inches above where hers had been seconds ago.
Shock rooted her feet to the floor. Cold blue eyes chilled her and the slight smile, twisted at the corners,
shredded her illusions about safety. Rain ran in rivulets down his chiseled face, giving her the impression
that he was crying. Dan. Dear God. It was Dan.

Callie screamed, and the sound of her own terror forced her to turn away, stumble toward the
phone. She grasped the receiver, her trembling fingers hovering above the numbers. Thunder rumbled
again and her gaze locked onto the window. When the lightning flashed, the face she was sure had been
Dan's did not appear. Callie sobbed and clutched the receiver. She was going crazy. She'd finally
stepped over the edge of insanity. Tears blinding her, she looked down at the phone. Dark, cold
knowledge flooded through her.

She had no one to call.

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* * * *

Evan jolted awake. Running a hand through his hair as he stretched against the recliner, he groggily
wondered if the triplets had awakened. Blinking at his watch he realizedSharon had picked up the girls
more than an hour ago.

The phone trilled insistently. So that's what had interrupted a very interesting dream about Callie. An
image of smooth, pale flesh flashed in his mind; his groin tightened. Another shrill ring echoed through the
uncarpeted room. Evan reached down to the floor and grabbed the receiver. "Madigan."

Silence met his abrupt greeting. Prank caller? He pressed his ear against the phone and heard the
shuddering breath. No. He'd heard this kind of silence before. "Hello? Can I help you?"

"Evan."

The whispery voice slid across his skin. He straightened in the chair. "I'm here."

"There was ... something in my window. I -- I think I'm going crazy."

The last words skittered like cold water down his spine. "Callie?"

"I didn't have anyone else to call."

Her entreaty; her unspoken plea forced Evan to his feet. "Don't worry, sweetheart. I'm on my way.
It'll take me ten minutes. Can you hold on for ten minutes?"

"Yes." He heard the strength in that one word and knew Callie O'Brian could hold on for much
longer than ten minutes. Evan knew, somehow, she'd already proven that.

Her scream made him clutch the phone. "Callie, what is it? What's wrong?"

"The lights went out. The storm -- " Thunder punctuated her shaky words and Evan realized it was
raining. Not just raining, but storming. He looked out the window. Lightning flashed, a bright stab of light
against the night sky.

"I hate the dark," she whispered.

"I'm on my way."

"Evan, thank you. I feel so stu -- "

Several clicks followed by the dial tone made the hairs rise on the back of Evan's neck.

The storm knocked out the lines, that's all. Callie was okay. He put on his shoes; grabbed his keys
and wallet. Yet neither the rain nor his self-reassurances stopped him from speeding down the
expressway. The Mustang's tires squealed as he exited, barely yielding for stop sign. He fishtailed;
straightened the car with a swift twist of the steering wheel. Within minutes, he was pulling up to Callie's
house.

Harley's beat-up Mazda was parked across the street. Evan would deal with Harley in a minute. He
needed to check on Callie. The rain pounded him unmercifully as he jogged up the winding sidewalk to

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the front door.

The darkened house looked like one of the mansions in a horror movie. Rain hit the sidewalk,
sounding like a thousand pebbles rattling against stone. Thunder rumbled and lightning cracked the sky, a
backdrop that reinforced Evan's initial impression of the house. He rang the doorbell, then pounded on
the solid wood of the door. "Callie!"

No one answered. Evan tried the doorknob, but soon realized the door had been locked tight.
"Damn it."

He knocked again, ringing the doorbell at the same time. Why would she call him and not answer the
door? With a sick tightening of his gut, he answered his own question. She'd been hurt or worse -- by
someone. And he hadn't been here to protect her. He jogged across the street to Harley's car and
looked inside. Harley's head lolled to one side, the big man's mouth open. Evan banged on the window
and called the officer's name.

Harley jerked upright, rubbed his face, then peered out the window. "Hey, Madigan."

"Roll down the window you son-of-a-bitch."

"What's the problem?" Harley asked as he lowered the window.

"Callie called me and said she saw someone. What the hell are you doing sleeping?"

"I'm tired. I pulled double duty before this. Sorry, man. When the lights went out, I thought she'd
gone to sleep."

Evan pushed away his frustration. Harley had done him a favor by keeping an eye on Callie. "Help
me check out the place, okay? She's not answering the door."

"Damn. I didn't see anyone hanging around her place. I got a bird's eye view here -- how'd they get
past me?"

"It's hard to see when your eyes are closed," Evan said. "C'mon."

Harley eased his bulk from the car. Motioning Harley to cover the backside of the mansion, Evan
pulled out his 9mm and went to the door. "Callie?" he shouted. "Open up, honey. I'm here."

He heard a scream, then a crash. He stilled the rain cold against his neck as he clicked off the 9mm's
safety; checked the chamber to make sure it housed a bullet. Just as he raised his foot to kick at the
door, it opened and Callie's pale face appeared.

"Evan?"

Evan's thoughts disappeared under the onslaught of fear and relief shuddering through him. He
gathered Callie's into his arms, careful to hold the gun away from her, and buried his face into her hair.
The citrus smell of her shampoo invaded his nostrils and he inhaled deeply, trying to absorb the trembling
of Callie's body.

"Hey, is everything okay?" Harley's deep voice startled them both and they jumped apart. Evan
pushed Callie into the house as Harley stepped onto the porch, then followed them inside. As they

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entered, the lights flickered on.

"Cool digs," Harley said.

"Thank you," Callie answered, then peered at him. "Who are you?"

Harley's gaze flicked to Evan. Evan unloaded the gun, putting the chamber's bullet back into the clip.
He reinserted the clip, clicked on the safety, and put the gun into the waistband of his jeans. "Michael
Harley. He's a police officer. I asked him to watch you tonight."

Callie's eyes widened. "What?"

"I've had someone watching the house every night since your home was vandalized. You've been
safe, Callie."

Emotions rioted across her face; disbelief, anger, gratitude. Hands on hips, she turned to Harley. "So
where were you when that creep showed up in my window?"

Harley cleared his throat, a flush on his cheeks. "I saw your lights go out. I thought you'd gone to
sleep."

"I see."

Evan watched as she assessed the big man and saw the fine tremor of her fingers as she stretched
out a hand. Brave Callie. He knew Harley's size probably terrified her. Harley loved to pump iron and
was four inches taller than Evan.

"Thank you, Mr. Harley. I'm grateful."

Harley shook her hand. "I'm sorry I didn't see anyone, ma'am."

Her gaze flickered and she pulled away her hand. "I am, too."

"Thanks, Harley. Why don't you go get some rest? You look beat."

"I will. It was nice to meet you, Callie." Evan saw the interested look Harley gave Callie. Jealousy
arrowed into his gut. He walked his friend to the door, clapped a hand on Harley's shoulder, and said,
"Don't even think about it."

Harley stared at Evan, then grinned. "I got it, Madigan. Hands off. Nice looker, though."

"Yeah. Stay the hell away from her."

"Okay, okay." Harley stepped into the rain, then turned. "I'm sorry, Mad. She looked scared. But I
was only out for a few minutes."

"All right, Harley. Thanks for watching her."

"No problem."

Evan watched Harley disappear into the rain, then shut the door, locking it. When he turned, he saw

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Callie watching him.

"What was that all about?"

"Nothing." He walked into the living room, grimacing when she took a step backwards. She shivered
and wrapped pale arms around her waist. "I heard you scream before the door opened."

Her shaky laugh nearly undid him. She was being brave again, and he wanted to kiss her. "I
knocked over a lamp. I couldn't see anything and when I bumped into it ... I was being silly."

"You were frightened. Tell me what you saw in the window."

"A -- a man. I was looking out the window at the rain and I saw a face." She took a shuddering
breath; hugged herself. Evan kept his distance, knowing that she still didn't trust him. Damn, he wanted to
hold her. "It was probably my reflection."

"Bull. Whatever you saw in that window scared the hell out of you. Did you recognize the face?"

He watched her lick her lips, her eyes wide when she looked at him. She shook her head, then
averted her gaze. Awareness buzzed along his nerves. She was lying. He knew part of the reason why --
she didn't trust him. The other part -- well, that was something he would figure out later. Now, he had to
take care of Callie.

"Are you ready to go to bed?"

The question had an affect he hadn't intended. Her head jerked up and her gaze riveted to his lips.
"W-what?"

Desire and another urge to kiss her senseless riveted his feet to the floor. If he got within an arm's
length of her that's just what he'd do. So he stayed put. Emotions swirled in her green eyes -- desire,
fear, damned bravery again. A pink tongue flicked her bottom lip and he swallowed a groan. "Callie."

"Yes?"

"If you don't stop looking at me that way, then I'm going to kiss you."

"Oh."

Her gaze darkened and Evan clenched his fists. "I didn't mean for -- what I meant was -- are you
ready to go to sleep?"

"Sleep?" The tongue appeared again, this time caressing the upper lip. The action wouldn't be nearly
so erotic if she had known what she was doing. He knew she didn't realize what kind of signals she was
sending.

"It's very difficult to be a gentlemen when you keep doing that."

"Keep doing what?"

"Licking your lips."

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"I didn't mean to."

"Callie, I'm not going to touch you without your permission. But I want you to know that I'm
attracted to you. I get turned on being in the same room with you. That's your power."

"Are you turned on right now?"

"Just about."

"Oh." She looked at him. "That scares me."

"Come here. Please."

She hesitated, then walked to him, stopping about a foot in front of him. "Closer," he said. She took
another step, then another, until she stood only inches away.

"Do you want me to touch you?"

"No."

"Okay. Then why don't you touch me?"

At first, he thought he'd pushed her too far, too soon. Then she put a cool hand against his cheek,
her palm caressing the stubble. Her hands memorized his face; a finger stroking a brow, a thumb tracing
his lower lip. His control nearly snapped under her hesitant touches, but he knew his trustworthiness had
to be proven. He had to prove, too, that he'd always respect her wishes.

When her hands explored his neck, fingers dipping under his T-shirt, he groaned. The soft skin of
her hands against his collarbone felt like silk. "Callie?"

"I like touching you."

"You have power over me," he said. "Do you want take it farther?"

Her hands stilled. "How far?"

"Just a kiss, Callie. That's all." He saw the doubt in her eyes, and the ever-present fear. "You do it, if
you want to."

Moments stretched into forever as she looked at him, her head tilted. He saw the freckles sprinkled
across her nose like cinnamon and wanted to kiss her there. Her hands cupped his face and she rose on
her toes, fitting her mouth over his. Her lips moved softly against him. The uncertainty of her touch made
Evan patient, gave him the strength to rest his hands lightly on her hips instead of crushing her against him
and deepening the kiss. She increased the pressure of her mouth and he parted his lips, pure electricity
zapping him when her tongue shyly entered. She pressed closer, her stiff nipples rubbing his chest.

He pulled away. Callie's cloudy, confused eyes met his. "I'm not rejecting you," he said. "I just can't
take much more."

Elation lighted her features, as if she had just discovered a diamond among coals. Then she
straightened, the elation replaced by resignation. "I teased you." She placed his hand against her breast.

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He allowed himself to cup the sweet weight for a swift second, then withdrew.

"So what? I liked it and I invited you to do it."

"Evan, it's not right. I shouldn't have -- no, wait a minute." She took a deep breath. "I liked it, too.
Thank you. For not wanting anything else."

He touched her nose. "Wanting and taking are two different things. I plan to make love to you,
Callie. But we'll both be ready when the time arrives. I meant what I said before. I won't touch you
without your permission. I'm telling you right now, though, that any time you want to touch me, you can."

Pain made her gaze liquid. "I don't want to get involved with you. You don't understand yet, Evan. It
won't be long before you -- you won't want me."

Frustration -- sexual and emotional -- ravaged him. He wanted to take away the memories that
haunted her; wanted to make her happy. Evan raked a hand through his hair. What was she talking about
now? Didn't she realize nothing would make him turn away from her? "I'll always want you, Callie. Now,
where's a pillow and a blanket?"

"Why?"

"If I'm going to sleep on the couch, I'd be more comfortable with a pillow and blanket."

"You can't stay."

Her words brought the reason he'd rushed over here to mind. "You get a brick through your
window, then some guy shows up and terrifies you. I'm not leaving."

"You believe me?"

"Yes." He stroked her cheek, unable to stop from touching her. She didn't pull away or ask him to
stop, so he traced her earlobe. "You're not going crazy. A ghost didn't throw that brick through the
window, honey."

"Maybe one did."

"What do you mean?"

Callie looked at him and he saw the battle raging in her eyes; the need to protect herself against the
need to confide, to trust. She opened her mouth and he thought that she would finally tell him what was
going on, but her expression blanked. She said, "Nothing. I'm just tired. I'll get you a blanket."

"You can trust me. One day you'll realize that."

Her laugh was hollow, bitter. "Yeah. Maybe you should be worried about trusting me, Evan."

Cryptic words. He watched Callie walk down the hall. Something had happened to her, something
soul-shattering. Evan walked to the couch, sat down, and unlaced his sneakers. He intended to find out
what had happened to Callie, then he would find a way to heal her.

--------

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*Chapter Six*

"I've changed my mind. I don't think you should stay," Callie said as she entered the living room. She
clutched the blanket. Though she knew Evan wasn't like Dan, the thought of being alone with a man --
any man, except her father -- for an entire night scared her witless. Or it may have been the desire that
snaked through her when Evan came near. He frowned at her; the dimple had disappeared under the
bend of his lips. Callie swallowed the knot forming in her throat. She didn't trust her judgement when it
came to men. She couldn't control the attraction to Evan, but she would control her actions. The memory
of the kiss she'd teased him with just minutes ago filled her with shame and longing.

Evan said nothing. His look was thoughtful. His gaze caressed her face as if trying to discern her
thoughts.

"Thank you for coming to my rescue. I appreciate it."

"It was the kiss, wasn't it?"

Butterflies danced in her stomach. She sought solace in the fuzzy blanket and dug her fingers into its
softness. "You can use the phone if you need to make a report."

"Answer my question, Callie. I pushed you, didn't I? You weren't ready."

"I liked the kiss. But I'm a big girl and I can take care of myself now. I don't need you to baby-sit
me."

"Where's the gun?"

For a moment, her mind snapped to the moment thirteen months ago when a uniformed cop had put
his hand on her shoulder and asked that same question. He wore white latex gloves and his hand came
away bloody. Her blood or Dan's, she'd wondered.

"Callie?"

"I don't know where it is. I think it's on the bed. I can't remember."

"What?"

The memory faded and Callie shook her head. Evan's gaze made her realize something was wrong.
"What -- what did you say?"

"I asked where you kept the gun. Remember -- the one you almost shot me with?"

"It's in the nightstand drawer next to my bed."

"Good." He crossed his arms. "Do I sleep on the sofa or on the porch?"

"In your own bed at your own house."

"Nope. What if that guy comes back?"

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Fear chilled her insides; she took a deep breath. Maybe it had been a ghost after all. The storm had
died down and once again small tendrils of comfort wrapped around her. She'd be okay. She'd been
jittery -- drinking mocha coffee and reading that suspenseful mystery. Caffeine and the mood of the book
coupled with the storm had created a scary situation. In the safety of light and Evan's presence, Callie
buried nagging uneasiness under the weight of reasonable thinking.

"I'm okay. Really."

"I believe you. Sofa or porch?"

A hot emotion slid through her. Unfamiliar, yet familiar, Callie frowned and put hands on her hips ...
then she realized what she was feeling. Anger.

"Time to leave," she said.

"Make me." The words weren't a threat, but a dare. Anger intensified and she felt the heat of it in her
cheeks.

"I can't believe you would say that," she accused. "I thought you were a nice guy."

"I am a nice guy. I'm trying to protect you."

"From what? Ghosts? I overreacted to my own reflection and called you. Everything's okay now."
She shot him a look of annoyance. "Why can't I ever get rid of you?"

"You don't really want to."

"Yes, I do. Right now, I really want to get rid of you."

Evan's brown eyes twinkled at her and the dimple appeared as he grinned. "Are you going to go get
your gun and shoot me this time?"

"I'm thinking about it. You're very annoying."

"Challenging."

"Stubborn and arrogant."

"Persistent and charming."

"Impossible."

"Very possible," he said. "I know there's something going on. Do you want to tell me what?
Otherwise I'll just figure it out for myself."

Callie walked to the couch and dropped the blanket onto it. By virtue of just being around for the
last couple of weeks, Evan was the closest person she'd had to a friend in the last two years. When Evan
found out what had happened in California, he'd turn away. In the end, they all turned away. People
understood, or thought they understood, her reasons, but never understood her actions. Twelve people
had judged her and freed her. The rest of the world judged her still. She'd regret the loss of Evan's
companionship deeply, but her dependence on him and his constant attention and kindness scared her

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silly. If she could be hurt now, his departure later might kill her. No more risks. No more pain.

"Evan, I'd like you to leave."

"I'm staying. I'm just waiting for you to make a choice as to where that's going to be."

"Make me," she mimicked, crossing her arms, too.

"Is that an invitation to touch you?"

She envisioned his embrace; felt the warmth of his lips cover hers in slow hunger. Callie shook her
head. "No."

"Darn." He looked at the sofa then at her. "You can lock your bedroom door and you have my
permission to shoot me if I even rattle the knob."

"Did I mention you were stubborn?"

The dimple appeared again, beguiling her. Her resistance melted a little, then she shrugged. "Do what
you want."

"Fine. I'll take the sofa. The porch is probably wet."

"But you would have slept out there, wouldn't you?"

"Yes."

She took comfort in the strength and reassurance in that one word. "Good night, then."

"Good night, Callie. Sweet dreams."

* * * *

Callie bolted awake, the scream lodged in her throat. Frantic, she pushed off the thick coverlet and sat
up. Pre-dawn light filtered through her bedroom window. Scooting off the bed, she padded over and
leaned against the cool glass, drinking in the soft light. No more darkness. Slowly, the remnants of the
dream -- a memory replayed, really -- faded. Dan hitting her. Blood. Screams. Gunshots. "All the same,"
she whispered against the glass. "Nothing changes."

As the sun stretched lazy yellow fingers across the purple sky, Callie faced the truth. The man in the
window last night had not been an apparition. Someone was trying to frighten her. Someone who looked
like Dan.

Callie rubbed the sleep from her eyes, suddenly remembering that Evan Madigan, self-appointed
knight, was downstairs sleeping on her couch. For some reason, the thought comforted instead of
frightened. She shouldn't be so glad he had stayed. She should be furious. But she wasn't.

Sighing, she turned around. Another new day of freedom and life. Another chance. Callie smiled.
Moments, precious and indistinct, blended into hours, into days, into forever. She couldn't take a single
one for granted. Humming, she went into her private bathroom to shower.

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Half an hour later, Callie descended the staircase. The delicious smell of coffee and -- was that
pancakes? -- wafted up to meet her. Evan.

"You look like hell," she said, entering the kitchen. "But the apron's cute on you."

Evan turned, a grin lighting his craggy features. Barefoot, clad only in a pair of dangerously
low-riding jeans, the full apron looped around his bare chest. The ends were tied into a sassy bow. "Gee
thanks." He looked down at the apron. "I thought it was me."

He turned around, giving her a nice view of his muscled back. She watched him flip a pancake,
admiring the bulging biceps of his arms. Callie had a sudden urge to trail a finger up his spine. The image
had appeal and he had said she could touch him ... shocked at the turn of her thoughts, she clenched her
fists. The man had to go. Evan Madigan was too tempting, too nice, too easy to have around.

"Coffee's ready. Have a cup."

Callie took two mugs out of the cabinet and poured. Grasping the warm mug between her hands,
she took a sip. "What are you still doing here?"

"Cooking. Besides, I told you I wasn't leaving," he said.

Callie rolled her eyes. "Did you mean forever?"

Evan turned and sent a smoldering, do-you-want-me-to-answer-that look that made her mouth dry.
She drank half the cup of coffee then cleared her throat. "Just for last night. After breakfast, you're gone,
right?"

"Where are the servants?" Evan asked. She saw him turn off the burners then he presented a full
plate of pancakes. "Don't you have a butler or a housekeeper?"

"No. I made arrangements for them to take paid vacations while Dad was in the hospital."

"Why? Wouldn't you feel safer having someone in the house with you?"

"Not really. A stranger's a stranger. I don't know any of the people that work for my Dad. I'm
uncomfortable having people serve me."

Evan stopped buttering a pancake to look at her with raised brows.

"Believe me, I took advantage of it when I was a kid and a teenager. I just don't like it now."

"Do your own pancakes then," he said, handing her a full plate. "Here's the syrup."

She laughed, drowning the fluffy cakes in syrup. They ate in comfortable silence, until both pushed
their plates away. "That was great. I didn't know you could cook."

"Neither does my sister. Don't tell her or she won't let me come over and mooch meals at her
house."

"You have a sister?"

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"Yep." He handed her a tea towel. "I wash. You dry."

"Why do you think dishwashers were invented?" Callie dropped the towel onto the counter. "I'll
hand, you stack."

As they loaded the dishwasher, Evan told her about his nephew and nieces. She laughed at the
stories, slowly relaxing in his presence. Unable to resist, she invited him for another cup of coffee.

"I envy you. I don't have any siblings. My mother died the year after I graduated high school. Then it
was just me and Daddy."

"I'm sorry."

"History, now. Sometimes I can smell her perfume or hear soft singing. Daddy still keeps a picture of
her by his bed. I miss her."

"She would have been very proud of you."

Callie stiffened. "That's a rather personal statement."

"I didn't mean to offend you. I think she would like the way you turned out, that's all."

She rose from the island and dumped her coffee into the sink. Turning, Callie leaned against the
counter and crossed her arms. "I'm going to see my father now. I no longer need your assistance. But
thank you for staying with me."

"That's a dismissal if I ever heard one."

"Have you ever heard one?"

"Yes. Heard it. Didn't say I obeyed it."

Callie watched as Evan stood, untied the apron, and took it off. Despite his easygoing attitude, Evan
had a coiled sexuality that intrigued her. His movements were unconsciously sensual and made her feel
somehow needy.

When her gaze lifted to his face, he grinned. Callie took in his features, noting the beard growth and
the boyish way his dark blonde hair hung over his forehead. A yearning unrecognizable and yet familiar
filled her. She pushed it away, startled at its appearance in her heart. She couldn't afford emotions around
him. He was a man and he was a cop. Two very good reasons to stay the hell away from him.

"So when are you leaving?" she asked.

"Not real soon. I've taken an extended personal leave."

"Lucky me," she grumbled, even though a small thrill broke through the wall she'd been trying to
build against him. Annoyed that his presence gave her any kind of pleasure, she pushed away from the
counter.

"Thank you for everything you did last night."

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"Your welcome," he said gruffly. "Anytime you want to talk about anything or if you need me, just
call."

"You won't quit, will you? I keep telling you that I'm fine. I don't need you. Why don't you just
stop?"

"I never stop," he said, "until I get the answers I want."

Her laugh was abrupt and bitter. "Ah yes, but the answers you want are not necessarily the correct
answers."

"I wish you would just talk to me."

"I wish that you would go away and leave me alone."

He grinned again. "Looks like neither one of us is going to get our wish, does it?"

"I suppose not."

"You know, Callie," he said. "The questions I want answered may not be the questions you think I
want answered."

She stared him, then tilted her head. "Huh?"

"For example, how do you take the fear out of a beautiful woman's eyes? Why is she so prickly
when it comes to cops? What happened to hurt her so much?"

Callie swallowed, unable to look away from his dark, dark eyes. "Why," she stopped and cleared
her throat, "do you want answers to those questions?"

"You answer mine and I'll answer yours."

She shook her head. "I can't."

"You won't."

"Same difference," she said, shrugging.

"Okay," he said. "A question for a question."

Callie considered his request. An ache echoed in her heart; a deep longing that cracked her soul.
She wanted someone to believe in her. Someone to love and understand and if not understand -- at least
accept. But she hadn't even gotten that from her father. Daddy loved her, supported her, but lacked the
words or actions to give her solace.

Callie fiddled with the belt loop on her pink shorts. "What's your question?"

"What's yours?"

She looked up, her eyes drawn to his chest, to the dark hair that arrowed into his jeans. "Why are
you so interested in me?"

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His gaze flickered and he looked away from a moment. When his gaze returned, a thousand
emotions glimmered. "I like you. You're gutsy. Beautiful. I want to hold you all the time. You haunt my
dreams at night, my thoughts during the day. I want to get to know you."

"You want to sleep with me."

"I want to be more than just a lover."

Callie shook her head. "I don't understand you."

"You don't have to, sweetheart," he said. "Now, it's my turn. Did I mention that you can't lie?"

"No."

"Well, you can't. Do you know who was at your window last night?"

Her heart slowed, pounding in a thump-thump-thump that echoed in her head. She would swear it
had been Dan. But she knew that was impossible. She shook her head. "No."

"But you think you know. You said something about ghosts. Whose ghost?"

Her past wasn't any of Evan Madigan's business, no matter how handsome or kind or
compassionate he was. She glared up at him. "Would you please leave?"

"Sure," he said. "I'll go about as far as the front porch."

"You're so annoying."

"It's one of my better qualities. So what are we doing today?"

Callie gritted her teeth. She realized that Evan wasn't going to budge from her house, or, apparently,
her side, until he felt like it. How could she get rid of him? He made her nervous and gave her a strange
awareness of her own femininity and vulnerability. It was those tender feelings that terrified her.
Vulnerable felt too much like helpless -- and she was never going to be helpless again.

Nibbling her lower lip, she wondered what activity would a man like Madigan abhor? Maybe if she
came up with something horrible enough, he would go away. An idea popped in her mind and she smiled.
Looking at him through her lashes, she said sweetly, "Fine, Madigan, have it your way. After I see my
father, I plan to spend the entire day shopping."

* * * *

"I can't believe this," Callie muttered as she watched Evan discover the sounds of a rain stick. A
delighted grin lit his face. The long piece of wood made a rattling sound reminiscent of raindrops each
time he turned it upside down. His boyish pleasure in something so simple surprised her. And she hated
surprises, especially because her brilliant plan was not working.

They stood in a nature store of some sort -- only one shop in a long line of shops she had dragged
him to in the last few hours. She'd insisted they go to all of Tulsa's major malls. Had he complained? Had
he rolled his eyes in a masculine chauvinistic way? Had he once suggested they stop? No. It had taken

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the last two malls to figure it out, but as she watched him put the rain stick down in favor of a wolf
puppet, Callie knew the truth. Evan Madigan liked to shop.

So she'd done something unintentionally -- made him happy and herself miserable. Callie sighed,
looking down at the lone bag in her right hand. It contained two pair of shoes that didn't match a single
item she owned. But the electric blue flats and the green stiletto heels were too beautiful to pass up. Her
one weakness was shoes. Other than the shoes, she'd bought some books. She'd purchased little partly
because of her meager funds -- but mostly because she hated to shop. The irony of her plan struck her
like a lead weight. She had thought Evan would whither like a rose on a hot afternoon if she'd shopped
him to death. Unfortunately, she'd failed to consider how much misery it would cost her to browse stores
for six hours. She smiled.

"Something amusing?" Evan's voice was a dark thread of sensuality curling like a ribbon through her.
She stepped away and whirled around, cursing the sudden pounding of her heart.

"What the hell are you doing?" she snapped. She almost regretted her sharp words when the teasing
light went out of his eyes, but he'd frightened her. She didn't like the way his voice created an aching heat
that burned through her.

"Careful, Callie," he said. "Your Irish is showing."

"Are you finished playing with the toys?"

"This was your idea," he reminded her. "I'm hungry. Why don't we stop for a bite to eat?"

"I'd rather go home and slip into a coma."

"Did I mention that I can outshop my sister? Took her to the outlet mall in Stroud and she ended up
begging for mercy."

"I can't believe you're real."

"Flesh and blood," Evan said. "Believe it." His gaze melted her annoyance. Then she frowned. Callie
had let her heart rule her head when Daniel had swept through her life. She couldn't afford to confuse
love with lust again.

"Relax, Callie," Evan said, shoving his hands into his jean's pockets and rocking back on his heels.
"If you were a cat, your back would be arched and you'd be hissing."

"I'd be clawing you to shreds," she said. "Now, can we go?"

"Sure. Right after I buy that rain stick."

His grin nearly undid her. She gave a quick nod and turned around, heading for the exit. How could
this man do such incredible things to her emotions?

Sighing deeply, she walked into the main mall. A bench was just outside the store. She sat down, not
minding the hard wooden seat. It felt good just to rest. Setting the bag next to her, she leaned back and
closed her eyes. Soon she would have to figure out what she was going to do. Soon. The rattle of a
paper bag interrupted her drowsy thoughts. Opening her eyes, she saw a young man with a hoop earring
in his nose leaning over her. He wore a black ball cap backwards on his shaved head. He grinned

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engagingly then whisked the bag off the bench.

"Hey," she cried out, jumping up. "Those are my shoes!"

He disappeared through the mall crowd, but she saw the black ball cap bobbing through the people.
She ran after him, passing Evan as he walked out of the store. She felt the barest touch of his fingers on
her arm, but slipped away from his grasp as she threaded her way through the throng.

"Callie -- damn it!"

Evan's voice faded as she drew closer to the running boy. How dare he take her shoes! She'd cram
a stiletto heel down his throat for stealing those pumps. And her flats! They'd been on sale. She ran
faster, determined to get back her property. In the background, she heard Evan's shouts, but the boy
was only a few feet away. A large fountain circled by a one-foot brick wall stood in the way of the
hooligan and the mall entrance. He ran around children throwing pennies into the fountain. With a wild
yell, Callie launched forward and grabbed the kid by the waist. She heard his startled cry as they both
crashed to the marbled floor of the mall.

The boy landed on his back, his hat flying off. Callie sat on his chest, her hands twisted into his
T-shirt.

"Give me my shoes, kid," she growled.

"Damn, lady! You can have the shoes," he cried, his eyes wide in amazement. "Get the hell off me."

"Police!" Evan's voice boomed as he joined them. He pressed the rain stick against the teenager's
chest.

Callie loosened her hands from the thief's clothes as Evan simultaneously helped her up and lifted the
kid by the scruff of his shirt.

"Hey man, she tackled me," the teenager yelled. "I was minding my own business. Ask anyone."

Evan looked at Callie. "Are you all right?"

"Yes. He took my shoes," she stated. "There they are." She grabbed the bag that had somehow
landed upright. Triumphant, she held the bag up and grinned at Evan.

His look was unreadable, but she realized he was angry. He arrested the teenager, pulling a pair of
handcuffs from inside his jacket. He handed the cuffs to Callie, patting down the kid. She saw his grimace
as he extracted a switchblade from the thief's front pocket. She felt her heart stop beating as she stared at
the polished black handle. She met Evan's hard glance as she gave him back the cuffs, but her insides felt
like Jell-O. Two security men arrived and Evan released the boy to their custody. Callie watched as Evan
flashed his badge, gave a brief statement of events, and left the matter in their hands.

"Time to go." His words were clipped. He was angry. Her heart began a familiar cadence of
pounding, pumping adrenaline along every vein. She wanted to run the minute sunlight hit their faces as
they exited the building. Instead, she grabbed the bag, and held onto the strap of her purse.

Neither spoke as they walked to the car. Evan didn't say anything as they got into the Mustang. The
snap of fastening seatbelts cracked in the silence. Old reactions encouraged her to cry, to beg

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forgiveness, but her new-found strength refused to give in to fear. When he didn't start the car, she dared
a glance.

His eyes were hard, glittering. "Don't ever pull a stupid stunt like that again. That kid had a knife on
him. He could have stabbed you."

She shrugged, even though she wanted to shudder. She hadn't thought about the danger -- she'd
only thought about the little creep stealing her stuff. "I've been through worse," she said. "Besides he took
my shoes."

"Shoes are replaceable. You are not."

Callie opened her mouth to retort, but Evan started the car and the roar of the Mustang's engine
drowned out whatever she might have said. Without looking at her, he backed out of the parking space
and maneuvered the car onto 71st street. Realization dawned slowly, brightly. His anger was a result of
his fear for her. He cared about what happened to her. She swallowed the words of gratitude. Damn it.
When would she learn? She couldn't trust anyone, not even herself. She spent a lot of time justifying
Dan's angers and actions. It would all be so easy to get on with her life, if Evan would leave her alone.
His constant presence, his ability to make her laugh, his gentle manner all crawled through the cracks of
her walls like creeping vines. Soon he would wrap around her heart and she would be trapped,
smothered.

"Are you taking me home?"

"You're going to eat. You're too skinny."

"My body size is none of your business," she said, staring at his profile. "I happen to be the perfect
weight for my height."

"You're all bones," he said. "You need some meat."

She didn't know whether to be insulted or flattered by his assessment. On the other hand, who the
hell cared what Evan thought of her body? "Just take me home."

"No."

"I'll walk."

"No, you won't."

"Watch me."

"Callie, quit being so stubborn," Evan said, tossing her an exasperated look. "Is it going to kill you to
eat a sandwich?"

"Yes."

The tires screeched as Evan tore into the parking lot of a chain food store. He roared into a parking
space, whipped the car into neutral, and twisted to face her.

She watched Evan try to control his emotions. His nostrils flared and she saw his knuckles whiten as

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his hand tightened on the gearshift. "All I want to do is help you."

"Why?"

"What difference does it make? I can protect you. I can fight for you. I can be there for you."

"My knight in shining armor?" she asked softly. "No, thanks. I don't want your help. I just want to be
left alone."

"No one wants to be alone," he said, and she thought she heard regret in his voice.

"I do."

His sigh filled the taut silence of the car. "Okay, Callie. Have it your way."

Shifting the car into gear, he drove out of the lot toward the direction of her father's house. He didn't
say another word to her. As they pulled into the driveway, she gathered her bag and purse.

"Thank you," she said.

He looked at her, his gaze unfathomable, and said, "Eat something, will you?"

Callie nodded and got out of the car. It took all her self-will not to turn around and watch him leave.
She heard the gear shift click then purr of the engine as he backed out of the driveway. She trudged to
the door, unlocked it and stepped inside, shutting the door. She dropped the bag and slumped against the
wall. Evan had finally honored her wishes and left. She'd gotten what she wanted.

So why did she feel regret instead of relief?

--------

*Chapter Seven*

Misery coated Callie like a light frost. She shivered, settling into the plush chair, and turned another page
of the mystery she wasn't reading. At this rate, she'd never finish it.

With a deep sigh, she tossed the book onto an end table. She stood and stretched, feeling the bones
in her spine pop satisfactorily. She padded to the large living room windows and looked out into the
summer night.

She was restless.

Had it only been a week since Evan had dropped her off at her house? The time felt like years
instead of days. He hadn't called. He hadn't showed up unexpectedly. He had disappeared.

As she had requested. She didn't need some nosy cop poking his nose into her business. What she
did need was a plan. Her father was recovering, but the doctor refused to release him from the hospital.
But if Callie knew Dad, he'd be back in no time, raring to go, ready to get her started into a new life.
She'd needed the time she'd spent wandering the States. She'd thought she'd been ready to come home,
to face what had happened. Callie looked at her reflection, remembering the face that had appeared in it
that stormy night when Evan had come to her rescue. The roar of a car engine drew her attention to the

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street. Evan? She shoved away the thought. A mint condition '69 Corvette slid smoothly past, slowing in
front of the house. Instinctively she stepped back. Her heart skipped a beat and she placed a hand
against her throat.

It was the same car she had seen more than a week ago. The streetlight flickered, eerily lighting the
chrome accents of the wheels. She yanked on the curtains, drawing them with a rattle across the window.
Damn that car.

Daniel. The memories had once been sweet, dear. A dream turned nightmare. Nausea cramped her
insides and she bent over, drawing deep breaths until the sick feeling passed.

She shuffled to the chair and picked up the book. She stared unseeing at the pages until the words
blurred.

What are you doing? she cried as Dan backhanded her onto the bed. She scrambled backwards
against the pillows, wiping the blood from the corner of her mouth. The thick red substance smeared the
back of her hand as she thrust her arms in front of her to thwart him.

No, she screamed as he tore at her clothes, no!

Desperation made her fight back. She wasn't ready. If he found out about the baby, he would -- the
ripping of her shirt made her heart stop beating. He shredded her shorts with violent tugs and then she
was naked, exposed.

His hands stilled when he saw her swollen stomach.

The click and whir of the video camera broke through the sudden, terrifying silence, but she couldn't
think about the nauseating fact the Dan was recording her humiliation. She could only try to save herself
and her unborn child. She rolled off the bed and stood, but he caught her around the waist and then
threw her to the ground. The first kick smashed into her head, but her arms were wrapped her middle to
protect the precious baby within.

The second kick --

Callie jerked up and stood. The book fell out of her lap and landed silently on the carpet. Dan's
cruelty haunted her always. She couldn't stay in this house alone with her thoughts, she thought wildly.
She couldn't fight the ghost of her abusive husband. She went upstairs and pulled on some jeans and a
sweatshirt. Hands shaking, she grasped the keys and her purse off the dresser.

She had to get out of here. Now.

* * * *

Evan watched the people in the ice rink as he drank the hot cup of bad-tasting coffee. Now here was
entertainment. Evan saw the harsh florescent lights gleam on his partner's balding head as Jerry skated
jerkily by. Jerry's triumphant grin soon turned to a grimace as his legs gave out and he found himself
skating on his rear end. Evan held up his coffee in a mock salute and laughed. Jerry's two children,
Melissa -- nearly twelve -- and Mike, fourteen, gleefully helped up their father, all the while making
teasing remarks.

Evan felt a twinge of envy. Surprised at the unexpected jealousy, he turned away. He sipped the hot

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coffee and frowned as the sluggish muck went down like mud. The sharp smell of ice and the tempting
smells of food teased his nostrils. Maybe he would have some pizza. He walked toward a popular
restaurant's sign. One thing about the mall was that everything was convenient. He tossed the half-full cup
into the trash and ordered a thick slice of supreme pizza.

As he chewed on a gooey, fragrant bite, he returned to watch more of Jerry's antics. His wife had
her husband securely by the arm as they made the rounds. Again, Evan felt a vague restlessness crawl in
his gut. What would it be like to come home to a family every night? To have a wife to kiss and a kid to
hug? The sudden longing made pizza lodge in his throat.

"What the hell, Madigan," he muttered in disgust, swallowing the chunk. "You want a family now?
You have a family."

He finished the pizza, but its taste had somehow turned into cheese-flavored cardboard. Ever since
he'd dropped Callie off over a week ago, he'd had this nagging sense of something left unfinished.

Callie.

His frown softened to a slight smile. She was something else. He'd left her alone like she'd asked.
But she popped into his thoughts at odd moments. And he couldn't help but wonder if what she'd asked
was really what she wanted.

Still, her sharp words had sliced his pride and he'd gone. But she hadn't let him alone at all. At night
his dreams filled with erotic images of making love with her. Pale, sweat-slick, he'd taken her tight little
body over and over again. He'd awakened more than once this past week with throbbing hard-on and
the sheets twisted in his fists. Worse than those dreams, though, were the ones where he merely held
Callie in his arms, gazing at her sleeping face. Dreams or fantasies? Did it really matter?

Restless, he waved to Jerry that he was leaving. His partner waved back, a goofy grin on his hound
dog features. Evan walked through the parking lot, enjoying the cool breeze that interrupted the night's
heat. He got into his car and started the engine and waited. He didn't want to go home and he didn't want
to go to a bar or the other places he'd haunted on nights he felt like this. He shifted the Mustang into gear
and turned onto the street.

He knew where he was going. He just didn't know what he planned to do once he got there.

* * * *

Evan found her sitting in the Mercedes, staring unseeingly at the garage door. He leaned into the driver's
side window that had been rolled down. "Hi."

She turned and he saw, even in the darkness, that her eyes were filled with tears.

"It's you," she said.

He grinned. "Yeah. I guess I don't listen too well."

"I'm glad," she said. Evan heard the ache in her voice and knew an answering ache within his heart.

"I didn't want to stay home," she said. "But I don't have any place to go. I don't know anyone or..."
He saw the lost look in her green eyes. "It's stupid."

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"No, it's not." He opened the car door and helped her out. "Why do you think I'm standing in your
driveway? C'mon. Let's get out of here."

"Madigan, about what I said last week..."

"It's history," Evan replied, steering her towards the Mustang.

"I'm not apologizing," she said as she scooted into the passenger seat.

"It's okay," he said, sliding into the driver's seat. He smiled at her. "Want some music?"

"No country," she said adamantly.

He pointed to his stock of tapes on the floorboard next to her feet. "Choose what you want. I
promise I don't own a single country tape."

As Callie rooted for a decent tape, Evan backed out of the driveway and headed to the freeway.

"Here," Callie said and handed him a tape. The Eagles "Hotel California." He grinned. The tape was
one of his favorites.

He sensed she needed the comfort of quiet. Music filtered through the speakers and Evan relaxed.

"Where are we going?"

"Do you care?"

She settled more comfortably into the seat. "Not really."

"We're going to Swan Lake."

"I haven't been there since Bobby Manahan," she said drowsily. Her eyes closed. An eyelid drifted
open and Evan found himself the recipient of a suspicious one-eyed stare. "You're not planning on kissing
me and trying to cop a feel, are you?"

Evan chuckled. "Why? Is that what good ol' Bobby did?"

"Yes."

"And?"

Her husky laugh sent prickles of awareness through him. He gripped the steering wheel.

"Bobby got pushed into the lake."

Evan laughed. "Difficult to do. There's a fence around it."

"Yeah. He toppled over it. He was more than six-feet tall and his ego was just as huge. Must have
lent an extra weight." She sighed. "I was different then. Brave. I didn't take crap from men."

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"You don't take crap from men now."

Her silence warned him that she didn't want to talk anymore, so he turned up the music and drove.
Evan took the exit off the Broken Arrow Expressway and ten minutes later they pulled into the exclusive
Swan Lake neighborhood. He parked the car and killed the engine. Turning in his seat, he faced Callie.

"I'm not making any promises," he said wickedly. "And you can't push me into the lake. They've
reinforced the fence."

Callie's slow grin matched his. "A fence is a minor obstruction, Madigan."

"I'll take my chances."

The darkness hid her expression, but the air tingled with electricity. He met her in front of the car.
"Can I hold your hand?"

She didn't answer instead she took his hand and led him to the sidewalk surrounding the lake. "Keep
your lips to yourself," she said in a breathless voice.

"Whatever you say, Callie," Evan said. "Whatever you say."

They circled the lake, their shoes scraping against the concrete. Cool night air teased them with soft
breezes. Evan enjoyed the feel of Callie's hand clasped within his own. The restlessness that had drove
him to Callie had stilled. He felt content.

Night sounds of crickets and the gentle swish of water relaxed him. Swans, oblivious to rhythms of
man, who now slept, preened and swam the perimeter of the lake. Callie stopped and Evan felt the loss
keenly when she withdrew her hand to lean against the fence. "They're so beautiful."

"Like you."

Tension stretched between them as he felt rather than saw the stiffening of her shoulders. Evan
leaned next to her. "You don't take compliments well."

"Beauty is superficial."

"Maybe I was talking about your insides."

She looked at him, her face shadowed by the dim streetlights surrounding the residential street. "You
don't know anything about me. You don't want me, Evan. I'm a game. A toy for you to play with."

He jerked upright. "What the hell are you talking about? You're not some damn toy. You're a
woman. I'm a man. We like each other. Most people take that as the beginning of a relationship."

"I don't want a relationship."

She turned away again and he studied her profile. "When are you going to talk to me? What
happened, Callie, to hurt you so much? You won't take a chance on me. Why?"

"That question will be answered soon enough," she replied softly. "I've risked before and I lost. God,
I lost everything. I can't do it again."

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"All you have to do is trust."

"Easy to say for a man who's probably never played high stakes."

"You're assuming you know everything about me." Frustration snaked through him. "Let just say we
don't know each other well enough to make judgements and move on from there, okay? We can find out
what we need to know along the way."

"You have selective hearing, Evan. I don't want a relationship."

"You like me."

"Yes."

He watched Callie move away from the fence. She walked toward the car, not looking to see if he
would follow. He stood there for a few seconds, looking at the stiff way she walked. Evan grimaced,
then shoved his hands into the jean's pockets and trailed after her.

"I like you," he said.

From across the Mustang's roof, she stared him. "I know." Again, he recognized the flicker of doubt,
of need.

"Tell me the truth, Callie. If you really want me to leave you alone, then say it. And I won't come
back."

Silence stretched tautly between them. He dug the car keys out of his pocket, their jingle sliding
across his nerves as he waited for her to answer.

"I don't want you to leave me alone. That's the truth. The whole idea of a relationship scares the hell
out of me, Evan."

Relief made his fingers tremble and he dropped the keys. She did want him. That was the first step.
"We'll start small. Then we'll build."

"I'm not making any promises."

"I'm not asking for any." He scooped up the keys, walked to her side and unlocked the door. He
rounded the car and heard a click as she unlocked the door from the inside.

"So where to next?" he asked as he slid into the seat and started the car.

" I'd like to go home," she said. "I just want to sleep."

"Okay. How about I pick you up tomorrow? We could have lunch."

Evan drove the Mustang back to the BA Expressway. Music filtered through the speakers and again
he found himself waiting tensely for her answer.

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"You didn't go on extended personal leave just to date me, did you?"

"I'm supposed to be working on my house. It needs some serious renovation."

"So you're wasting your vacation time?"

"Time spent with you is not wasted. Would you like to see my house? I could put you to work."

Her soft laugh released some of the tightness coiled in his guts.

"Okay. Lunch." He sensed her hesitation; glanced at her profile. "Then I'd love to see your house."

Elation filled him. It was a step -- a big step for her -- he knew. Damn, Madigan, you're falling in
love.

Silence settled around them and soon Evan was pulling into the driveway. He wanted to kiss her, but
his promise not touch her without permission rang clearly in his mind. The headlights flickered across the
garage door. He heard Callie's gasp at the same time he saw the neon green marks. The headlights
obscured the writing, so Evan turned them off. Confusion and uneasiness uncurled in his stomach. The
message scrawled in glowing neon letters across the white garage door said, "A murderer lives here."

--------

*Chapter Eight*

The intruder watched with glee as the bitch exited the Mustang and nearly collapsed. "Got my
message, little girl," he whispered. A grin twisted his lips as he watched her shoulders shake. From his
hiding place, he could hear her blubbering.

Stupid, pathetic bitch.

Then the asshole with her got out of the car and wrapped his arms around her. Damn it. He'd have
to do something about the boyfriend.

Mission accomplished, though. Callie was scared. He needed her to be scared. He wanted her to
feel the terror again. To know, right before he killed her, the truth about her past. Delicious anticipation
curled through him as he thought about his plan.

Soon, little girl, soon. One more time together and then ... good-bye.

* * * *

She hadn't spoken a word. Instead, she had curled into a little ball on the passenger seat and closed her
eyes, pretending to sleep. Harley had been the one to come to the house, to ask her questions about the
graffiti, to admit there wasn't much the police could do about a vandalized garage door.

Evan gripped the steering wheel, unable to formulate one sentence of comfort. How many times had
he said the right words to terrified women who sobbed in his arms as they decided to press charges
against the men who were supposed to love them? He suspected Callie knew that scenario all too well.
Yet he sensed there was more. She was hiding something. Maybe it was the secret of being abused, but

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somehow, he didn't think so. He wanted her to open up, to tell him everything, to trust him.

Someone was stalking her. Threatening her.

He knew she'd lived in California before returning to Oklahoma. It was time to do a little checking.
But that could wait. Tonight, he would take her to his house and give her want she once asked for:
sanctuary.

* * * *

Callie shifted in the seat and opened her eyes. She remembered Evan saying he would take her to the
best restaurant in town. Get her something to eat. Calm her nerves. She didn't care. He could drive all the
way to New Jersey and she wouldn't care. Hell, drive the car into the Atlantic and let her drown in the
salty, cold sea.

God. All she could see was the neon accusation scrawled on the garage door. And that face, that
terrible, familiar face, staring at her in the rain-soaked window.

After driving down the bumpiest road Callie had ever been on, they pulled into the gravel driveway
of two-story house. It was too dark to get see much of it, but it had huge wraparound porch.

"This is the best restaurant?"

"I said I knew the best place to eat in town." He attempted a grin, though his gaze remained serious.
"I make a mean bowl of chili."

"You took me to your house?"

"C'mon."

Evan got out of the car. She'd seen the worried looks he'd been casting her. Several times, he'd
opened his mouth, then closed it again. She knew he was trying to figure out what to say to her.

Or what to ask.

Hey, Callie, are you murderer?

She got out, too, grateful her legs held up. Her insides might feel as wobbly as Jell-O, but her body
was still functioning normally. She leaned against the car, partly to get her bearings, partly to keep from
going into Evan's house. She soaked in the soothing effects of an Oklahoma night. Honeysuckle
perfumed the night air; crickets chirped; a warm breeze rattled the leaves of the trees surrounding the
house. The crunch of gravel warned her of Evan's approach. He stood, silhouetted in the light of a
half-moon, his angular face shadowed, his stance casual as he looked at her.

She didn't expect the kiss. Not really. His lips were warm and firm; he tasted vaguely of mints and
coffee. She tried not to respond, but her body knew how long it'd been since she'd had tenderness, and
reacted with a hunger that frightened her. She accepted the kiss, tasted the desire, then pulled away.

Grabbing the car for support, she stared at him as he raked a hand through his hair.

"I'm sorry."

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"No, you're not," she said.

"You're right. I'm not. Are you?"

"I'm overwhelmed."

Evan kept his distance and she was grateful he understood not to push her.

"Do you want to tell me what happened to you?"

"Maybe." Callie realized she wanted to. For the first time since she'd left California, she wanted to
reach out to someone and share the burden and the pain that she carried with her.

"I'll feed you first."

He held out his hand and she took it, enjoying how his hand enveloped hers. She marveled that such
a small gesture made her feel secure.

Evan wasn't kidding. He did make a mean bowl of chili. His homemade cornbread wasn't too bad,
either. Callie had wandered the big house as he cooked, discovering more about the man who wanted to
save her. The library was stocked with Shakespeare and Robert Ludlum. His video collection included
"The Quiet Man" and "While You Were Sleeping." Photographs, paintings, and sketches crowded the
walls. Framed photos decorated the fireplace mantle in the living room. After dinner, they retired there.
Restless, Callie took her wine and studied the photos on the fireplace. She found herself picking up the
framed photo of a dark-haired woman who looked remarkably like Evan.

"Who is this?"

Evan joined her and took the picture. "My sister. Sharon."

"She's your only sister?"

"Yes. My twin."

Callie saw his fingers tense on the metal frame, then he placed it on the mantle. Now she knew the
source of his pain. Callie had lost her mother when she was 19. Dad turned to work to hide his grief; she
moved to California to escape hers. She didn't have brothers or sisters. She'd been so alone when she
met Daniel a couple of years later. Vulnerable. Needy. And Dan had been so understanding and loving
and kind. The flood of memories threatened to break through, so she turned away from the snapshots of
Evan's family.

"Sharon was almost beaten to death by her husband."

Pain, sharp and swift, buckled Callie's knees. The wine glass slipped out her hand, bounced off the
thick carpet, and rolled under a wingback chair near the fireplace. The red wine stained the
creme-colored carpet, looking too much like blood spatters.

"My God, Callie." Evan put his wine on the mantle and grabbed her arm, guiding her to the couch.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Callie tried to stop her shaking. It was too much. It was all too much.

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"What is it? C'mon, sweetheart, you can tell me."

His voice was so gentle, so kind. His eyes filled with understanding and concern. Oh how that would
all go away if she told him. Friends, good friends, had turned away from her when she'd been arrested.
No one wanted to hear her or to know the truth. Dan's last humiliation had turned out to be the evidence
needed to free her. He himself showed the world what a monster he was.

And still everyone blamed her.

Damn them all.

She was tired of crying, of running, of feeling broken and battered. No more. She looked Evan in
the eye, and said, "I killed my husband."

--------

*Chapter Nine*

Evan stared at Callie's pale, expressionless face and felt a numbing iciness coat his insides. She'd killed
her husband? His gaze flicked to her hands. They were clenched fists, digging into the fabric of her jeans.

"Why?"

"I'm surprised at you, Evan. I figured you'd know by now. I thought you'd check me out.
Everything's on file. Just the facts. Black and white. Bad guys. Good guys. That's how cops think, right?"

"Wrong," he answered softly. "There are a lot of gray areas, Callie." He covered her hands with his.
"Tell me why you killed him."

She looked at him, her gaze begging him to understand. Then she pressed her lips together, closed
her eyes, and shook her head.

"What the hell is it going to cost you to just answer me?" His voice was too harsh. He knew it the
minute she flinched. "Do you want me to check out your file?"

"You'll find out what they put in the newspapers and in the reports. You'll find out what the experts
and the doctors and the shrinks said ... but it boils down to one terrible truth. I shot my husband because
the son-of-a-bitch deserved it. He found out I was pregnant and -- " She took a shuddering breath.
"Three years I stayed in that marriage. I wished to God I'd come to my senses sooner, but it took getting
pregnant to give me the courage. I couldn't -- I couldn't go to my father. Dan had threatened Daddy
numerous times. I was afraid he'd find some way to hurt him. I'd finally saved enough money and I was
starting to show, so I knew I had to go. But Dan had other plans."

She shook off his hands and stood, forcing Evan to get to his feet, too. She turned away from him,
clutched the mantelpiece with trembling fingers, and gazed at the family photos. "Twelve hours. That's all
I needed. Dan was going on a fishing trip with his buddies for the weekend. I only had to survive one
more night."

"What happened?"

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"Dan bought a video camera. He wanted, as he put it, 'To outdo Tommy and Pamela Lee.' He had it
all ready to go ... the bed, the camera, and all kinds of sex toys. I panicked and tried to refuse. He
pinned me down on the bed and started to rape me ... when he ripped off my shirt, he saw my belly and
knew. In his rage, he forgot about the camera.

"He started beating the living hell out of me. Lucky for me he was such a gun freak. I don't
remember how I got the thirty-eight out of the nightstand, but I did. And I put six holes into Dan."

"I'm sorry, Callie." Evan wanted to comfort her, but he didn't know how. The pain she had suffered,
the pain she suffered now ... he wished he could take it away.

"I lost the baby. I lost the ability to have kids."

Callie looked at him then, tears streaming down her face. "The video camera caught almost
everything that happened. In the end, Dan convicted himself ... and I got away with murder."

"Come here." He opened his arms and she didn't hesitate to accept what he offered.

He held her.

And she wept.

* * * *

Callie awoke in Evan's bed feeling like she'd slept for a week. She felt lighter in spirit and, yes, for the
first time in a long time, hopeful that the day held something wondrous in store.

The smell of strong coffee propelled her from the bed. She looked rumpled in her jeans and T-shirt,
but Evan had already seen her at her worst.

He hadn't condemned her. He hadn't judged her.

She would always be grateful for that.

As she entered the hallway, she realized the major parts of the house were under construction. She
passed two more bedrooms, a bathroom, and the entrance to a sun porch. She went through the living
room, into the dining room, and through a set of swinging doors into the kitchen.

"Hello."

Evan turned from the stove and grinned. "Hi."

"Thanks. For last night."

"It's okay."

She sat on one of the three barstools lining the counter. "That smells heavenly."

She watched Evan fill a plate with eggs, bacon, and toast. "You want some coffee?"

"God, yes."

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He poured a cup and brought it along with the plate. "Dig in."

She scooped up a bite of fluffy eggs and groaned. "Heavy on the butter. That's the only way to eat
'em."

"Glad you like it."

Evan filled his own plate and joined her. "So, what do you want to do today?"

"Don't you ever go to work? You're the laziest cop I've ever met."

"Very funny. Like I don't get enough donut jokes." He sipped his coffee. "I told you, I'm supposed
to be working on fixing up the house."

"I don't have any plans. And I'm not sure I want to go back to my house right away. I need to visit
daddy, but other than that ... I could help out around here."

His look of surprise was priceless, but the light in his eyes dimmed. He cleared his throat. "Actually,
Callie, I was hoping that I could help you."

"What do you mean?"

"My sister Sharon is a volunteer at the women's shelter. She can recommend a really good counselor
-- "

"What?" Dread settled like a concrete block in her stomach.

"Domestic violence is one of my specialties. In fact, I'm trying to get funding to start a special
investigation unit geared toward..." He frowned. "What's wrong?"

"I didn't pour my heart out to a cop. I shared a part of myself with Evan Madigan. But it was the cop
that listened, wasn't it? You want to help me? That's what this whole thing has been about?"

"What are you talking about it?"

"Oh God. I'm so stupid. I thought ... you made me believe this was about more than just..." She
blew out a breath. "You didn't want to date me, you wanted to save me. Project Callie, right?"

"No. I care about you, Callie. You're important to me."

"I believe you," she said in a soft voice. "I'm grateful, Evan. You'll never know how much I
appreciate what you've done for me."

"Callie -- "

She slid off the stool and looked at the man she'd almost given her heart to. "Do me a favor. Let me
walk out of here, okay?"

"That's a helluva a thing to ask."

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"I know. But do it anyway." She leaned forward and kissed his mouth, then pulled away just enough
to meet his anxious gaze. "And just for the record, Evan, I don't need saving. I've already saved myself."

* * * *

He saw her leave the boyfriend's house. She got into a waiting cab while her half-naked hero watched
from the porch. They both looked miserable. Good. He wanted them to suffer. The waiting was over.
Mr. Hero had to pay for putting his hands on someone else's wife. Then the dear, sweet betrayer would
meet her justice. The whore. The bitch. The murderer. Rage clouded his mind, made him clench his fists
so hard, the nails bit into his palms. "Callie!" His scream echoed in the car, in his head, in his heart. He
would taste her one last time. Then she would die. Blood for blood.

* * * *

Evan hung up the phone. Jerry would watch out for Callie during the next few hours. She'd probably visit
her dad then go home. At least he hoped she would. Evan took the dishes to the sink, rinsed them off,
and loaded the dishwasher, his thoughts on Callie. He had to find a way to convince her she wasn't some
kind of personal project. He didn't want to save her. He wanted ... well, what the hell did he want? To
love her.

Evan closed his eyes and savored the thought of loving Callie. Yes. The idea of her being in his life
was right. But would she believe he wanted her? He leaned down to push in the lower cart. The dishes
rattled as the cart slid into the dishwasher.

The cabinet above his head exploded.

He collapsed onto the floor, then rolled into a crouching position. A glance at the damaged cabinet
revealed a line of bullet holes. Someone had gotten into his house and the slick bastard was using a
silencer.

"You don't have a gun, Mr. Hero. Just take your bullets like a man."

"I'm a cop," yelled Evan, "think hard before you start shooting again."

"A cop who sleeps with a cop killer? I don't believe you." Evan's heart slammed into his chest. Dear
God. Was this Callie's stalker?

"Of course, I don't blame you. She is a sweet little piece, isn't she?"

Bastard. "My badge and ID are on the dining room table. Go ahead and check." Evan leaned
against the cabinets opposite to the dishwasher. Damn it. His gun was locked in the safe in the bedroom.
He looked around for available weapons and saw the butcher block filled with recently-sharpened
knives. A knife, even a big knife, couldn't compete with a bullet.

"Detective Madigan, you leave me with a dilemma. I have no desire to kill a fellow officer. But you
must be punished for your transgressions."

"Cop killers never get away."

"Some do."

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Evan readied to do battle. Sweat rolled down his face and neck, his heart pounded, adrenaline
rushed through him. C'mon, you prick, try to get me. Seconds turned into minutes. Evan crept forward
and peered around the cabinets.

The intruder wasn't in the kitchen.

He grabbed the biggest knife from the block and made his way to the bedroom. He got his gun from
the safe, then checked the entire house and the backyard.

The guy might as well have been a ghost.

Dread sat heavy in his gut. He grabbed the cordless phone and punched in the numbers to Jerry's
cell phone with trembling fingers.

"You've reached my voicemail. Leave a message. When I'm done catching bad guys, I'll get back to
you."

"Jer, it's Evan. The asshole after Callie almost put a bullet in my head. I'm going to her house right
now."

He needed to get to Callie.

Please ... don't let it be too late.

*Chapter Ten*

Callie crouched in the dark room, the wound on the back of her head throbbing. She swallowed the
nausea crowding her throat and tried to center herself. She felt so dizzy, so weak. She'd awakened once
-- long enough to realize the stalker had dragged her into the basement of the house -- then had
mercifully passed out again. She didn't know how long she'd been here. Her fingers cramped from
holding the rotted two by four. It was the only weapon she'd been able to find.

She'd walked into the mansion, her mind full of thoughts about Evan, when she felt her skull explode.
Oh God. What had happened to Evan's partner? Jerry had been right behind her, telling a story about
Evan and twelve cats. She hadn't seen the face of the person who'd knocked her out, but the voice -- the
voice -- sounded like Dan.

She'd killed him. She'd emptied six bullets into his stomach and chest ... he was dead. Dead.

"I've gone insane," she whispered, clutching the rough, moldy wood. "I'm really in a mental institution
living my worst nightmare."

The basement was huge and darker than a tomb. She shivered at the thought that it might be her
tomb. Her vision had adjusted somewhat; she saw shapes of various sizes, but she had no idea what
objects were stored down here. The door ... she didn't know where it was. The small room where she
developed her pictures took up a minute amount of space in the huge basement. She'd never explored
the area. Nothing around her was familiar. She knew she needed to get up, to try to escape. Fear chilled
her; the cold creeping tendrils wrapped around her body and immobilized her. She thought of Evan, of
her final words ... I've already saved myself. She laughed -- a strangled sound of defeat.

I was wrong, Evan.

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She knew she was going to die. Evan would never know that she'd fallen in love with him. That she
trusted him. That he had, in fact, saved her. She put her head on her knees and cried. The board
clattered to the concrete floor when she dropped it.

"Tsk. Tsk. Tsk."

Callie raised her head. The glare of high-powered flashlight blinded her.

"What do you want?"

"You. Dead." He laughed. "But that's for later. You and I have a project to finish. Get up. I've made
the preparations."

"Screw you."

The laugh, the cold laugh she remembered so well echoed throughout the basement. "Hmmm. I think
I'll take you up on that invitation."

"You're not Dan. I killed him."

"Make no mistake. You're a murdering bitch. But who did you kill, Callie?" The light reversed and
its beam illuminated the face of her dead husband.

Her heart stopped beating. "No. NO!"

I'm insane. I've gone insane. Nausea roiled violently in her stomach; she leaned over and emptied its
contents. The putrid smell of vomit mixed with the musty smell of the basement. She spit the residue out
of her mouth, then wiped her lips with a trembling hand.

"There now. Feel better?"

"Just kill me now, you bastard. I'm not going anywhere with you."

"That's what you think."

The light disappeared then she felt his hands on her shoulders. She struggled against his grip, but he
turned her around and held her across the neck with one strong arm. A cloth covered her nose and
mouth, a sick-sweet smell gagged her ... then she felt nothing.

* * * *

Evan pulled into Callie's driveway, parked the car, and leapt out of it. He skidded to a halt in front of the
door and breathed a sigh of relief when he found the note taped above the peephole.

"Gone out with Jerry for ice cream. Be back later. -Callie"

Relief flooded him. Thank God. He'd tried to call her several times, but she never picked up the
phone. Evan froze. If the killer had arrived and found the same note, he might be waiting for Callie to
return. Or maybe ... maybe he'd followed them and had found a way to abduct her. Evan pulled out his
cell phone and called Jerry.

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"Yeah?"

Finally! "Jer?"

He heard his partner cough then sneeze. "Damn. Think I'm getting a cold."

"Where the hell are you?"

"Ice cream parlor. I'm eating a fudge sundae and Callie's scarfin' down a double dip cone. Didn't
you get the note?"

His voice sounded scratchy and strange. Evan frowned. "Yeah, I got the note. I want to meet you.
Callie's stalker paid me a little visit about half an hour ago."

"Oh shit." Jerry gave Evan directions to their location. "Don't worry. She's safe."

"Keep her that way. Something doesn't feel right. I'm going to call the department and get some
black and whites out here."

His partner sneezed again. He sounded even more nasally than before. "Maybe you should wait on
the black and whites. Why don't we arrange a safe house instead? Let's set a trap for this guy and see if
we can get him first."

"Okay. This guy is crazy, Jerry. I don't think he's going to give up until Callie's dead."

"I'll take your word for it. We'll talk more when you get here."

The phone disconnected. Evan shoved his credit-card sized cell phone into the back pocket of his
jeans and got back into the Mustang. He'd feel better as soon as he saw Callie.

* * * *

Callie struggled against the ropes binding her wrists and feet. She'd awakened to find Dan cutting off her
clothes with a huge, jagged knife. A hunter's knife. The knife that she knew Dan would plunge into her
heart when he was finished humiliating and torturing her.

He'd taken her to one of the guest rooms. He'd already taped her mouth; it took little effort for him
to tie her up. She was spread-eagled on the four-poster bed. The ropes attached to the large posts gave
her enough leeway to move, just enough to give her the false hope she might get free. Bitterness welled
within her. Tears scorched her cheeks. The knowledge that she was going to die overwhelmed her and
she sobbed against the duct tape concealing her mouth.

Dan sat at the end of the bed with Jerry's cell phone, gleefully lying to Evan. She'd heard his car
screech into the driveway and felt the faint glimmer of hope ... until Dan answered Jerry's cell phone and
spent the next two minutes convincing Evan to go somewhere else.

Her tormentor flipped the phone shut. "Plan for every contingency." His grin was manic. "Your new
friend is on his way to see you. It's going to take him about thirty minutes to get there. Five minutes to
figure out he's been had. Maybe twenty minutes, if he speeds, to return. Don't worry, darling. I only need
thirty-seven minutes from start to finish. He'll get back just in time to discover your body."

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He got up and rounded the bed, leaning over to look into her eyes. "Terrified, aren't you, my love?
No gun nearby to save you. No lover on his way to rescue you. You know I'm going to kill you. You
know that I'm going to do this..." He stroked her breast with his gloved hand, then leaned down and
suckled her nipple. The powdery feel of the surgical glove was preferable to the heat and wet of his
mouth. She knew worse was coming, but she felt sick and violated.

Dan slid on top of her, still clothed in jeans and a Polo shirt. His sneakers banged her shins as he
slithered over her; his hands and mouth took terrible liberties. She thought she might choke on her own
vomit. Callie screamed and screamed, but her terror was trapped in her throat, unable to find release.

Suddenly, he rolled off and stood.

"Okay. Checklist. Gloves." He wiggled his fingers at her. "Double-gloved." He tapped his chin,
speaking in a tone that suggested he was making a grocery list rather than outlining the instruments for
murder. "Video camera. Condoms." He pulled a foil packet from his pocket and put it on the nightstand.
"Victim." He pointed at her and winked. "I think that's it."

He returned to the bed and ripped off the duct tape. Callie cried out from stinging pain. "Keep doing
that, sweetie. Turns me on. Not that I ever had a problem getting hard around you."

"I killed you, damn it!"

"You killed my twin." Dan sat on the bed and stroked her thigh. She yanked her leg away, but the
gesture angered him. He grabbed her knee and held it place as his other hand crept toward her
womanhood. "Here's a little secret ... we wife swapped. All the time. Share and share alike." He stopped
touching her, then bent close her face, grabbing her chin with a vise-like grip. "His name was Charlie and
he was a cop, like me. When you shot him, I became him. I screwed his wife, drove his car, worked his
job. I hated you Callie. You took the life of my best friend, my brother. And I couldn't fuckin' believe it
when you didn't go to prison."

"He killed your child."

His gaze darkened. "You weren't supposed to get pregnant. No kids. Charlie and I agreed. He beat
you like you deserved because you broke the pact."

Terror squeezed her insides so tightly, she didn't think she'd ever breathe normally again. She felt
tendrils of anger curl through her. Not enough to overwhelm her fear, but enough to know she wouldn't
give him any of the satisfaction he craved. If given the chance, she would take her own life first.

She jerked her chin out of his hand. "I'm glad I killed him. I'm glad he's dead."

"Shut up."

"You should have seen him die, Dan. You should have seen what he looked like with six gaping
holes in his -- "

He slapped her so hard her ears rang and her vision blurred. An ache crept across her face. But her
anger strengthened and the fear making her limbs shake receded just a little. Dan leapt off the bed. "Don't
you speak! This is my show. The show Charlie was making for me. I won't let you ruin this."

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He shoved his hands through his hair and held his head, muttering under his breath. Then he looked
at his watch. "Damn it! Now we're behind schedule. I've wasted three minutes telling you shit you don't
need to know." He flipped the switch on the video camera. It was on a tripod, angled toward the bed.

It's one round eye was ready to record the last moment's of Callie's life.

* * * *

The dread lodged in Evan's gut grew heavier the farther he got from Callie's house. His guts were
screaming something wasn't right. Five minutes had passed since he'd spoken to his partner, but he
couldn't figure out what about the conversation was bothering him.

Evan pulled the Mustang over and skimmed the curb in his hurry. The ice cream parlor! Jerry said he
was eating a fudge sundae. The chubby bastard was lactose intolerant.

"Gettin' a cold, my ass." Evan's heart clenched when he thought about his partner. He hoped the
killer's reluctance to murder cops had extended to Jerry. "You'd better be alive, buddy." He turned the
Mustang around, then got out the cell phone and called for back-up.

"Callie," he breathed as he pressed the accelerator to the floor. "Hang on, sweetheart. I'm on my
way."

He left the Mustang a block from the house and drew his gun as he approached it. He wasted
precious seconds checking the front door. It was locked. "Think, Evan, think." He'd busted a pane of the
French doors easily enough before ... Evan hurried to the back of the house. His heart dropped to his
chest as he saw the broken glass. The killer had entered this way. Didn't the damned house have an
alarm system? He'd never thought to ask. But what did it matter now? Callie needed him.

Evan opened the door and crept into the house. His heart pounded viciously, his brow slickened
with sweat.

Was he too late?

The entire downstairs was empty. Only the ticking of the grandfather clock interrupted the eerie
silence of the house. As Evan started up the wide staircase, he prayed his partner and Callie were still
alive.

A woman's terrified scream stopped him cold. "Callie." He bolted up the stairs. When he reached
the top, he backed against the right wall and listened. Another scream sent him into action. Evan
zig-zagged across the hall, cursing the wealthy. Why the hell did they need forty-two rooms to live in? He
didn't have time to search them all. God help him, he needed Callie's screams to find her.

Evan took a deep breath, smelling his own sweat and fear. He edged along the wall. His hip
connected with a small table. A vase with a large flower arrangement fell to the floor, but the thick carpet
absorbed the sound of its fall. Water, scented with lilacs and roses, soaked his jeans.

"No! Stop it!"

Damn it! Don't hurt her! He zeroed in on the anguished cry. Across the hall, to the left. He hurried to
the door and tried the knob. It swung open and revealed a nightmare in progress.

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"Police!"

Callie was naked and bloody, tied spread-eagled on the bed, though one of her hands had come
loose from the ropes. Thank God! She was alive. Gray duct tape covered her mouth in a haphazard
fashion, as if hastily applied. She was frantically trying to rip off the tape. Her eyes were wide with fear
and warning; Evan knew, too late, he'd made a fatal error.

Thick, strong hands grabbed his shoulders and flung him forward. The gun flew from his grasp as he
hit the floor. The air was knocked out of him; Evan struggled for breath as he flipped onto his back.

The big asshole who'd nailed him laughed and used his expensive sneaker to crush Evan's chest. He
had dark wavy hair and cold blue eyes. His face sported a vicious scratch. Evan took some satisfaction
in the bloodied cheek, though he wanted to put a bullet in the guy's forehead.

"Now why would the police interrupt a husband and wife making love? Callie likes it rough, don't
you, sweetheart?"

Evan grabbed the man's ankle and twisted; the man flailed off balance and crashed to the floor. They
both rolled to crouching positions. The wicked edge of the hunting knife clasped in the killer's hands was
stained with Callie's blood. White-hot fury flowed liked lava through Evan.

"I will kill you for hurting her."

As much as he wanted to check Callie's injuries, he didn't dare take his eyes off the man in front of
him. Where the hell was his back-up?

The man lurched forward, wielding the knife expertly. He went for Evan's ribs; Evan felt the stinging
nick of blade slice him as he tried to move out of range. He pressed a hand against the wound and
prepared for the next attack. He didn't have to wait long.

The knowledge of victory in his eyes, the killer aimed for Evan's heart. Evan heard the report of a
bullet then the man fell forward onto his knees. Another shot. Another wound appeared in the man's
chest. He collapsed.

Evan looked up and saw Callie. She had his gun clutched her hands. "Stay dead, you sonofabitch."

Her eyes glazed over and she began to sway. He leapt over the body and barely caught her as she
fainted. The gun fell out of her hand and skittered across the carpet.

"Callie." He saw the multiple knife wounds, the raw skin around her wrists and ankles, and wished
he could kill her torturer again. But she was alive. She'd managed to escape her bonds and save his life.
He kissed her swollen, battered lips.

"What did I miss? Did we get him?"

Evan turned and saw his partner clinging to the doorframe like he was suffering from a three-day
drunk. He had a lump on his forehead and a black eye. A piece of rope still clung to one wrist. Evan
managed a grin. "You look like shit."

"Oh good. That's exactly how I feel." Jerry's gaze traveled over the corpse. "You killed him?"

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"Yes."

His partner looked at Callie. "Is she okay?"

"She will be."

"Did I see anything?"

Evan knew what Jerry was asking. "I appreciate it, buddy, but no, you didn't see anything."

"What's on the tape?"

"There is no tape."

Jerry hobbled to the camera, opened its back, pulled out the tape, and pocketed it. "You're right.
It's empty."

The wailing of sirens sounded like a chorus of angels. "Those bastards are late." Evan grabbed a
blanket from the bed, wrapped it around Callie, and picked her up. "Ready, partner?"

Jerry nodded, then grabbed his head. "I hope they have aspirin the size of Wyoming."

They walked out together, bloodied, but triumphant.

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*Epilogue*

Eighteen months later

Callie played Frisbee with the triplets, laughing when they tackled her instead of the flying disc. The
grass tickled her bare arms and legs; the scent of honeysuckle and roses teased her senses.

"Not the ribs!" The toddlers enthusiastically went for the ribs, their sweet baby fingers poking her
relentlessly.

She was rescued by Sharon and escaped the tiny arms only to find herself pinned from behind by
two strong man-sized arms. Evan kissed the nape of her neck; she felt a delicious shiver. "Later," he
promised in a husky whisper.

Callie snuggled in his arms and looked at the scenes unfolding the backyard. Dad played with the
dogs, Sharon's husband grilled hamburgers, the toddler terrors chased their older brother.

"Happy?"

He asked the question every day. At first, she'd been unable to form any sort of reply. But these
days, the answer was always the same. "Yes."

She enjoyed the frequent barbecues Sharon and her family hosted. She felt more loved and more
secure than she ever had in her life. After she had recovered from her injuries, she agreed to therapy.
When she was ready, she began counseling abused women at the same shelter where Sharon worked.

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Evan had been there every step of the way, loving her, supporting her, and never asking her for
anything. She loved him more than her next breath. She turned in his arms and faced him. His gaze, as
always, was filled with tenderness and love. She bit her lip, her heart pounding, and asked the question
she'd been contemplating for the last couple of months. "Evan, would you marry me?"

"What?" He looked stunned.

"We live in the same house. We fight over the remote control. I suffered innumerable aches and
pains helping you remodel ... we might as well make it official."

"It's so romantic when you put it that way."

"Evan!"

"Yes, Callie, I'll marry you."

The butterflies in her stomach stopped fluttering. "You sure know how to make a girl sweat."

"You bet I do. Wanna see some other ways later?"

Anticipation curled inside her. "Oh hell yeah." She cupped his face and placed a tender kiss on his
lips. "Happy?"

He smiled. "Yes."

THE END

--------

About The Author

Award-winning novelist Michele Bardsley lives in Las Vegas, Nevada with her husband, a pilot, and
their two children. When she's not writing, she's ignoring housework, playing with her kids, eating
chocolate, or watching "Trading Spaces."

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Visit www.ebooks.writers-exchange.com for information on additional titles by this and other authors.

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