"Do you know who adopted the baby?" "No." Kate dashed a tear away. "No,

I didn't want to know. I'd made a deal. I had chosen to give the child to people who would love and care for it. And it wasn't my baby any longer, but theirs. She would be ten years old now, nearly eleven." Eyes swimming, she looked toward the camera. "I hope she's happy. I hope she doesn't hate me."

"Thousands of women face what you faced. Each choice they make is theirs to make, however difficult it is. I think one of the reasons you play admirable, accessible women so well is that you've been through the hardest test a woman can face."

"When I played Tess, I wondered how everything would have worked out if I'd chosen differently. I'll never know."

"Do you regret your choice?"

"A part of me always will regret I couldn't be a mother to that child. But I think I've finally realized, after all these years, that it really was the right one. For everybody."

"We'll be back in a moment," Deanna said to the camera, then turned to Kate. "Are you all right?"

"Barely. I didn't think it would be so hard." She took two deep breaths, but kept her eyes on Deanna rather than look out at the audience. "The questions are going to come fast and furious. And God, the press tomorrow."

"You'll get through it."

"Yes, I will. Dee." She leaned forward and gripped Deanna's hand. "It meant a lot to me, to be able to do this here, with you. It seemed, for a minute or two, as if I were just talking to you. The way we used to."

"Then maybe this time you'll keep in touch." "Yeah, I will. You know, I realized while I was talking why I hated Angela so much. I thought it was because she was using me. But it was because she was using my baby. It helps knowing that."


"Hell of a show." Fran fisted her hands on her hips as Deanna walked into the dressing room. "You knew. I could tell you knew. Why the hell didn't you tell me? Me, your producer and your best friend."

"Because I wasn't sure she'd go through with it." The strain of the past hour had Deanna's shoulders aching. Rolling them in slow circles, she went directly to the lighted mirror to change makeup. Fran was miffed. She understood that, expected it. Just as she understood and expected it would wear off quickly. "And I didn't feel it was right to talk about it until she did. Give me a gauge on audience reaction, Fran."

"After the shock waves died off? I'd say about sixty-five percent were in her corner, maybe ten percent never got past the stunned stage, and the remaining twenty-five were ticked off that their princess stumbled."

"That's about how I figured it. Not bad." Deanna slathered her face with moisturizer. "She'll be all right." She lifted a brow at Fran's reflection. "Where do you stand?"

After a moment of stilted silence, Fran exhaled hard, fluttering her choppy bangs. "In her corner, one hundred percent. It must have been hell for her, poor kid. God, Dee, what made her decide to go public that way?"

"It all has to do with Angela," Deanna began, and told her.

"Blackmail." Too intrigued now for even mild annoyance, Fran let out a low whistle. "I knew she was a bitch, but I never thought she'd sunk that low. I guess the list of suspects just expanded by several dozen." Her eyes widened. "You don't think Kate—"

"No, I don't." Not that she hadn't considered it, thoroughly, Deanna thought, logically, and she hoped objectively. "Even if I thought she killed Angela, which I don't, she doesn't have any reason to have killed Marshall. She didn't even know him."

"I guess not. I wish the cops would figure it out and lock this lunatic up. It worries me sick that you're still getting those notes." Now that all was forgiven, she moved over, automatically massaging Deanna's stiff shoulders. "At least I can rest easier knowing Finn won't be going out of town until this is over."

"How do you know that?"

"Because—" Fran caught herself, looked quickly at her watch. "Gosh, what am I doing sitting around here talking? I've got a hundred things—"

"Fran." Deanna stood and stepped in front of her. "How do you know that Finn's not going out of town until this is over? The last I heard he was scheduled to go to Rome right after Christmas."

"I, ah, I must have gotten mixed up." "Like hell."

"Damn it, Dee, don't get that warrior look on your face."

"How do you know?"

"Because he told me, okay?" She tossed up her hands in disgust. "And I was supposed to keep my big mouth shut about the fact that he's canceled the Rome shoot and anything else that takes him out of Chicago."

"I see." Deanna lowered her eyes, brushed a speck of lint from her teal silk skirt.

"No, you don't see because you've got your blinders on. Do you really expect the man to fly gleefully across the Atlantic while this is going on? For Christ's sake, he loves you."

"I'm aware of that." But her spine was rigid. "I have things to do myself," she said, and stormed out.

"Good going, Myers." Muttering oaths, Fran snatched up the dressing room phone and called up to Finn's office. If she'd inadvertently started a war, the least she could do was tell him to be fully armed.


In his office above the newsroom, Finn replaced the receiver and sent a scowl at Barlow James. "You're about to get some reinforcements. Deanna's on her way up."

"Fine." Pleased, Barlow settled back in his chair, stretched his burly arms. "We'll get all this settled once and for all."

"It is settled, Barlow. I'm not traveling more than an hour away from home until the police make an arrest."

"Finn, I understand your concerns for Deanna. I have them as well. But you're short-sheeting the show. You're overreacting."

"Really?" Finn's voice was cool, deceptively so. "And I thought I was taking two murders and the harassment of the woman I love so well."

Sarcasm didn't deflate Barlow. "My point is that she can obtain round-the-clock protection. Professionals. God knows a woman in her financial position can afford the very best. Not to slight your manhood, Finn, but you're a reporter, not a bodyguard. And," he continued before Finn could respond, "as skilled a reporter as you are, you are not a detective. Let the police do their job and you do yours. You have a responsibility to the show, to the people who work with you. To the network, to the sponsors. You have a contract, Finn. You're legally bound to travel whenever and wherever news is breaking. You agreed to those terms. Hell, you demanded them."

"Sue me," Finn invited, eyes gleaming in anticipation of a bout. He glanced up as the door slammed open.

She stood there in her snazzy silk suit, eyes flashing, chin angled. Each stride a challenge, she marched to his desk, slapped her palms on the surface.

"I won't have it."

He didn't bother to pretend he didn't understand. "You don't have any say in this, Deanna. It's my choice."

"You weren't even going to tell me. You were just going to make some lame excuse about why the trip was canceled. You'd have lied to me."

He'd have killed for her, he thought, and shrugged. "Now that's not necessary." He leaned back in the chair, steepled his fingers. Though he was wearing a sweater and jeans, he looked every inch the star. "How did the show go this morning?"

"Stop it. Just stop it." She whirled, jabbing a finger at Barlow. "You can order him to go, can't you?"

"I thought I could." He lifted his hands, let them fall. "I came from New York hoping to make him see reason. I should have known better." With a sigh, he rose. "I'll be in the newsroom for the next hour or so. If you fare any better than I did, let me know."

Finn waited until the door clicked shut. The sound was as definitive as that of the bell in a boxing ring. "You won't, Deanna, so you might as well accept it."

"I want you to go," she said, spacing each word carefully. "I don't want our lives to be interfered with. It's important to me."

"You're important to me."

"Then do this for me."

He picked up a pencil, ran it through his fingers once, twice, then snapped it neatly in two. "No."

"Your career could be on the line." He tilted his head as if considering it. And damn him, his dimples winked at her. "I don't think so."

He was, she thought, as sturdy, as unshakable and as unmovable as granite. "They could cancel your show."

"Throw out the baby with the bathwater?" Though he wasn't feeling particularly calm, he levered back, propped his feet on the desk. "I've known network execs to do dumber things, so let's say they decide to cancel a highly rated, profitable and award-winning show because I'm not going on the road for a while." He stared up at her, his eyes darkly amused. "I guess you'd have to support me while I'm unemployed. I might get to like it and retire completely. Take up gardening or golf. No, I know. I'll be your business manager. You'd be the star — you know, like a country-

western singer."

"This isn't a joke, Finn."

"It isn't a tragedy, either." His phone rang. Finn picked up the receiver, said, "Later," and hung up again. "I'm sticking, Deanna. I can't keep up with the investigation if I'm off in Europe."

"Why do you need to keep up with it?" Her eyes narrowed. "Is that what you've been doing? Why there was a rerun last Tuesday night? All those calls from Jenner. You're not working on In Depth, you're working with him."

"He doesn't have a problem with it. Why should you?"

She spun away. "I hate this. I hate that our private and professional lives are becoming mixed and unbalanced. I hate being scared this way. Jumping every time there's a noise in the hall, or bracing whenever the elevator door opens."