All those cars parked in the square… Was Connie right? Were the police, or the FBI, or-good heavens, the CIA-out there even now? Was help so near, just outside these old brick walls, visible, even through the dusty front window? And yet, so far away…

Tom. Her heart gave a great leap of hope. Might he be out there, too, she wondered, right this minute? She’d left him sleeping, but then, she knew how good he was at pretending.

Oh, Tom. She’d been wrong to lie to him. That note she’d left him-he thought she’d gone to work. He wouldn’t even know she was in here until it was too late. She’d probably messed up everything for him. Oh, God, what if she, with her foolhardiness, was the one who made it possible for Connie to get away, and with that all-important disk besides? Tom would never forgive her. Never.

I’m sorry, Tom…I should have trusted you.

She’d been wrong to try to do this alone. But wasn’t that what she’d always done, what she’d always had to do? She had a whole lifetime’s habit of handling things on her own, fending for herself, dealing with every task and crisis without help from anyone. She’d never worked with a partner before. She didn’t even know how.

Out of a deep, inexpressible sadness, she said before she thought, “I came alone, Connie. No one else even knows I’m here.”

The moment the words were out of her mouth, she knew how stupid she’d been.

Connie’s eyes flared briefly. She gave a short, hard laugh. “You know, dear Jane, I actually believe you. Your eyes, you know. They simply don’t know how to lie. So, perhaps court is in session, after all. Well, now…” She studied her little jeweled pen, thoughtfully clicking it, while Jane’s heart began a slow, heavy thumping. “This does change things, doesn’t it? It would be much more tidy, much less cumbersome, I think, if I killed you now. I’m so sorry, Jane…it’s not personal, you know. And I do promise, you won’t feel any pain at all…”

Like a snake striking, Connie’s hand shot out and clamped with a grip of iron around Jane’s wrist. The jeweled pen flashed as it caught the light Jane gasped when she felt the needle prick her skin.

Shock rocketed through her, turning her blood to ice water. But it didn’t stop her from whipping her Roy Rogers cap pistol from its hiding place and bringing it down with all her might across Connie’s forearm.

It made a most satisfying sound

There were other sounds, then, too. Connie’s shriek of rage. a clatter as the jeweled pen hit the floor and went skittering away under the desk. Some loud thumps and bangs, and Tom’s voice shouting, “Stay where you are-don’t move!”

She tried to turn toward him, but the room tilted alarmingly. There was another, louder bang, followed by a crashing and tinkling, as if a crystal rain were falling. And then a strange male voice bellowing, “Get down on the floor! Get down on the floor!”

And the next thing she knew, that’s where she was. Tom’s face was looking down at her, wearing a truly magnificent scowl. She wanted to reach up and touch his face, smooth away the frown, but her arms wouldn’t obey her. She heard a strange, garbled voice say, “How is she?” And then a second face joined Tom’s, the two hovering above her like pale twin moons.

Her last thought was Aaron Campbell? But that makes no sense at all!


“I can’t believe I hit a federal agent,” Jane said with a groan.

It was the third or fourth time she’d said it, but she sounded a lot stronger and a lot less groggy now, and the nasty little fear-pulse that had been throbbing in Hawk’s belly was finally beginning to subside.

She was lying on a gurney, much against her will, in the parking lot behind Connie’s Antiques. Hawk was sitting beside her on a yellow plastic chest that belonged to the fire department‘s paramedics, most of whom were busy at the moment tending to Aaron Campbell. The FBI man lay a short distance away on a stretcher with his arms encased in inflated pressure bandages meant to control the bleeding from several deep lacerations he’d sustained breaking through the shop’s front window. Connie had been whisked away to God knows where.

There was a measure of privacy there, “privacy” being a relative term, considering there was a small army of men wearing navy blue windbreakers with “FBI” in block letters on the back swarming over every inch of the store and the blue van, and another handful armed with high-tech rifles standing around in baseball caps and flak jackets, not to mention the four guys wearing berets who were engaged in polite conversation with two others dressed in conservative gray suits. But at least the alley had been roped off with crime-scene tape, and Sheriff Taylor’s people were doing a good job of keeping both the news media and the merely curious confined to the town square.

“I think he’ll probably forgive you,” Hawk said gruffly.

He didn’t seem to know what to do with his hands. They felt too big, clumsy and useless for what he wanted to do, which was touch her face in awe and thanksgiving, stroke her hair, gather her oh so gently against his heart. He also wanted to grab her by the shoulders and shake her until her teeth rattled.

He didn’t know what to do with his eyes, either. What he was doing was looking everywhere, anywhere but at Jane, because she was the only thing in this world he wanted to see. He couldn’t look at her, even though he feared she’d disappear in a puff of smoke if he didn’t, because he feared what she might see in his face even more.

So he kept his hands clasped tightly between his knees and followed the comings and goings of the army of law enforcement personnel with burning eyes, while every nerve in his body hummed and vibrated to the same frequency as hers.

“Is he going to be all right?” Jane asked.

Aaron may forgive me, Tom, but will you?

“Yeah,” Tom muttered, clearing his throat. “Just needs some stitches. They’d have taken him before now, but he won’t let ’em. Not until they’ve got things wrapped up here.”

He looks so angry, she thought. As if he can’t stand the sight of me. I don’t blame him.

She wanted to touch him so badly. She wanted to reach out and put her hand on his face, and smooth away the frown and make him smile again, that sweet, crooked smile that made her ache inside. But he looked so grim and isolated, so unreachable. And as if she were still feeling the effects of Connie’s poison, her arms wouldn’t obey her wishes.

She wanted his arms around her, holding her close, keeping her safe, keeping her warm. Even if she didn’t deserve it. Her body trembled with wanting. How will I survive, she wondered, if he never holds me again?

A white-haired man dressed in a suit and tie and wearing latex gloves came stumping up to them. He had a small plastic bag in each hand, one containing Connie’s little jeweled pen, the other a vial containing a small amount of murky-looking liquid. He gave Jane a nod, then spoke briskly to Tom, who’d gotten to his feet at his approach.

“Tests’ll confirm it, but I’m sure it’s…oh, well, forget the scientific name-let‘s just say it’s a tranquilizer, enough to bring down a bull elephant. You were lucky, young lady.” His bristly white eyebrows twitched in Jane’s direction. “Looks like she barely nicked ya. Otherwise, you’da been dead for sure.”

And with that he took himself off, continuing on his way across the parking lot and around the corner with the stoop-shouldered, slightly sideways gait of the still-vigorous elderly. Jane drew a shaken breath and said, “Who was that?”

Hawk didn’t answer. He couldn’t look at her. He couldn’t, not without remembering the way he’d felt when she’d hit the floor right in front of him. He never wanted to feel like that again in his life. He didn’t think he’d be able to survive it.

“Gotta…talk to Aaron,” he mumbled, and lurched off to where the FBI agent was about to be loaded into a waiting EMS wagon.

“Hey, Hawkins,” Campbell greeted him, sounding weak but grinning anyway.

“Hey, yourself,” Hawk said gruffly. “I’d shake your hand, but…”

“Yeah, looks like I’m kinda tied up at the moment.”

“Yeah, well…” Hawk stuck his hands in his jacket pockets and shifted uneasily; moments like this were never easy for him. He coughed and muttered, “Just wanted to say thanks, before they, uh, haul you in for repairs.”

“Hey, you too.”

“Oh-well.” Hawk made a dismissive gesture and looked off into the distance. Campbell followed his gaze.

“That’s one helluva lady,” he said softly. “But I expect you know that, don’t you?”

Hawk didn’t answer. Two paramedics hoisted the FBI agent’s gurney onto its wheels and began rolling it toward the waiting van. Campbell lifted his head. “Hey, Hawk?”

“Yeah?” He took a few steps, keeping pace with the gumey.

“Take good care of her, you hear?”

He halted. “Hey, wait It’s not like that.”

“The hell it’s not.” The gumey slid into the van, but Campbell’s eyes still followed him, glowing like coals in his pale face. “Look man, just because it’s never happened to me, doesn’t mean I don’t know it when I see it. You let that lady go, you’re crazy, you hear me? Crazy.”

The van’s door began to close. The last thing Hawk heard Aaron Campbell say before they did was, “Hey-ask her if she’s got a daughter!”


Jane watched the two men in immaculate gray suits walk away across the dusty parking lot and disappear around a corner.

“What’d they want?” Tom growled, startling her. She was still a little bemused, and hadn’t heard him come back.

“Oh,” she said, smiling up at him from the gurney’s hard pillow, “they were just being nice.” Under the edge of the rough EMS blanket, she was fingering a plain white business card.