“I will, I promise.”

“You’ll also earn the money it’ll take to train and feed her by adding to your chores.”

“Okay,” she said, slightly less enthusiastic. Emily liked her hard-earned money. She liked it a lot.

“And three…” I love you, baby. “You won’t ever hide anything like that from me again. Deal?”

Emily stood up.

Rachel’s heart cracked. She was going to walk away. Be snooty. Be…distant.

But her daughter smiled, walked over and wrapped her arms around Rachel so tightly she could hardly breathe.

“Deal,” Em whispered and squeezed harder.

Which was good, because breathing was overrated anyway. Rachel blinked away tears and hugged her back.

Patches barked in joy.


TWO DAYS PASSED while Rachel thought about what Ben had said, dreamed about it.

We’re not finished.

Adam had brought her some books earlier, but neither they or Adam himself had been able to hold her full attention. When Garrett had come by with her mail, she’d been able to do little more than smile her thanks.

Her thoughts were concentrated on one thing, and one thing only. Ben.

We’re not finished.

Sleepless late one night, she grabbed her cane and hobbled down the hall, ignoring the pain in her leg from overuse. She was tired of the wheelchair. Tired of not moving under her own steam.

Tired of everything, she had to admit.

She was ready to get better, and refused to understand what was taking so long.

In Emily’s room, she watched the moonlight dance across the bed. Beneath the covers, her precious daughter sighed in her sleep. On top of the covers at the foot of the bed slept Patches.

God, she missed this, coming in here to kiss Emily good-night. With a little smile she turned in a slow circle, taking in the comfortable disaster that was Emily’s room, grateful to be able to touch the slim sprawled-out form. She straightened the wildly strewn covers the best she could with her one good arm, inhaling the smell of bubblegum-scented shampoo and soap, looking at the mess that never ceased, the laptop that was open and-

Open and online. Moving closer in the dark, Rachel sighed, the smile gone. She turned to the bed. “You’re not sleeping.”

She got a soft snore.

With a disparaging sound, Rachel shut the computer and disconnected the phone cord. “It’s late and it’s a school night.”

No movement, but at least the fake deep breathing had stopped. Rachel stroked the pixie cut sticking out of the covers and let out a breath. “Good night, baby. Love you.”

Still no answer.

She nodded to herself, trying not to hurt over that, and made her way back to her own room. She moved to the window with muscles that were now throbbing. It wasn’t just stubbornness that kept her from taking a painkiller, but the fact that she hated the grogginess in the morning. She’d rather hurt.

On the street below, a police car turned the corner. An unusual sight. Even more unusual, it came to a slow crawl right in front of her house. While she frowned, the officer looked the place over with what seemed like extreme caution. After a long moment, he drove on.

Unnerved, Rachel got into bed. Stared at the ceiling.

And worried that some crazed criminal was on the loose. No, that couldn’t be it. He’d only looked at her house, none of the others.

She wanted to talk to someone. She could call Adam-he’d come in a heartbeat. But he wasn’t looking at her as her accountant; he was looking at her differently now-no, wait. That wasn’t true.

She was looking at him differently.

And then there’d be the look she’d get from Ben if Adam showed up in the middle of the night.

And then there was Ben himself. Just down the hall, in one of her spare beds… It wasn’t talking she wanted to do with Ben. She wanted… Oh, boy, what she wanted.

Diversion, she needed a diversion and quick. Shaking, she reached for the phone. Mel. He sister had always said Ben wasn’t good enough for her. Mel always told Rachel about what a womanizer he’d become, how he never asked about Rachel, how he seemed so relieved not to have to deal with her.

Yep, her sister would talk her out of this insanity. She dialed as fast as her fingers could go.

“Hey,” said Mel in a breathy voice.

“Mel, thank God.” Rachel rushed out. “Quick. Talk me out of going down the hall and-”

“Leave a message, sexy,” Mel continued in a throaty murmur. “And I’ll get back to you, I promise!”

Beep.

Really bad time to be gone, sis. “Hey. It’s me.” She let out a shaky sigh. “Look, it’s no biggie, don’t worry about calling me back. I’ll just…” Rachel’s voice hitched, giving her away, damn it. “I’ll just talk to you later,” she added quickly, before she lost it, and disconnected. Then she curled up in bed the best she could, and did her best to fall asleep.

She finally managed, but not before the sun finally started its rise over the horizon.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Dear Ben,

Do you think you’ve paid enough?

Don’t stop watching, waiting…

I surely won’t.

FOR TWO WEEKS, Ben worked overtime-writing articles, picking small freelance pieces he’d never had time to do before-trying not to go out of his living mind. Every day that passed watching Rachel struggle to get on with her life, to get back to work, to be a good mom, to deal with his presence, killed him. During that time the various agencies involved worked overtime as well, trying to get a lead on Asada.

They traced the hit-and-run car to the previous owner. The guy’s story was that he’d deserted it two months ago when the engine blew, but the truth was he’d sold it for cash to a couple of immigrants from South America who had no papers. He identified the men as the same ones on the videotape from LAX. It was now believed that Asada had never even stepped foot inside the States, but had his hired men do the deed.

Ben held his latest letter from Asada. Through the paper, he could feel the hatred, and knew he would be staying in South Village for some time to come, stifling or not.

He wrote his articles. He played basketball with Steve and Tony, attempting to lose himself in the organized chaos of a good, hard, vicious game. It worked.

Until one day during a particularly cathartic game when he happened to glance across the street and once again caught Rachel watching him from her studio window.

With sweat running down his chest and his heart pumping, time stopped for one long beat. Then Rachel turned away, breaking the spell, and Ben went back to some serious ass-kicking. But nearly a month into this caretaking thing, he almost wished Asada would make his move so he could be caught, so Ben could be released from this hell, so he could get on a plane and put ten thousand miles between him and South Village.

But Asada didn’t make his move. No one did. Which left Ben good and stuck until further notice.


MELANIE HAD IT ALL. She was quite certain of it. She had a fab job buying clothes for five linked upscale boutiques in Santa Barbara. She had a brand-new red Miata that had put a serious dent in her retirement fund but drove like a sweetie. If she chose, she could have a date every night of the week and her mirror assured her she had the best shape of any thirty-three-year-old around.

Too bad her boss was a jerk, the guys out there were all cheap pricks and, in the past few years, she’d had to pay big bucks for a local surgeon to keep her beauty in check.

Ignoring the speed limit, she headed out of Santa Barbara, making the two-hour trek to South Village for the first time in a month, since right before Rachel had gotten out of the hospital.

Cranking the music, she puffed from the one cigarette a day she allowed herself-not because it was bad for her, hell everything good was bad for her-but because she was getting lines around her mouth from holding the cigarette between her lips. Couldn’t have that, not when surgery cost so much.

Slowly the music started to grate on her and her smile faded, because really, what did she have to smile about? Justin had turned out to be married. After an attack of conscience, he’d broken it off with her, which really bit the big one. No one broke up with her. She did all the breaking up, thank you very much.

Ah, well…he’d been too quick with the trigger in bed anyway.

The truth was, she’d be out on the town tonight, on the prowl, if it hadn’t been that late-night message from Rachel a couple of weeks back. She didn’t know why, but in a far too rare moment, her baby sister needed her. God, she loved to be needed. So much. And that it was Rachel doing the needing filled a void deep inside her.

She’d have come sooner, but last weekend had been the boat races, and the weekend before that a fashion show she couldn’t miss, and besides every time she called, Emily kept saying everything was good. But it was time to get down there now and see her sister, the only person in Mel’s entire universe who always accepted her, no matter what stupid stunts she pulled.

And there had been some pretty stupid ones.

Parking in South Village was always a challenge and today, a Friday, was no exception. She cruised the block three times before finding a spot within walking distance-which couldn’t be that far given her high-heeled sandals. Why in the world Rachel chose to live on one of the busiest pedestrian blocks in the entire state was beyond her.

Mel wanted wide-open spaces and the beach. And unlimited parking so she could wear pretty shoes that were invariably uncomfortable.

Once out of the car, she paused to toss back her hair and glanced into the side-view mirror to touch up her lipstick. She also practiced a smile to lay on Rachel, a smile that wouldn’t reveal her shock at her sister’s appearance.