Lover unknown
by
Shawna Delacorte

All the characters in this book have no existence outside the
imagination of the author, and have no relation whatsoever to anyone
bearing the same name or names. They are not even distantly inspired by
any individual known or unknown to the author, and all the incidents are
pure invention.

All Rights Reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in
part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with
Harlequin Enterprises H B.V. The text of this publication or any part
thereof may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any
means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording,
storage in an information retrieval system, or otherwise, without the
written permission of the publisher.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of
trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out or otherwise circulated
without the prior consent of the publisher in any form of binding or
cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar
condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent
purchaser.

Silhouette and Colophon are registered trademarks of Harlequin Books
St., used under licence.

First published in Great Britain 1997

Silhouette Books, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9
1SR

ISBN 0 373 22413 3

Printed and bound in Great Britain by Mackays of Chatham PLC, Chatham

Prologue

"We've been over his psychological profile before, Chief. Kyle Delaney
is not a team player. He's a loner. No one ever knows what he's doing,
or for that matter what he's already done. His paperwork is sketchy at
best, assuming that he actually takes the time to even do a report. In
fact, I suspect the reason his reports are noticeably 'lacking in
details is because of the way he bends the rules to suit his needs. His
expense vouchers, although eventually explainable and deemed legitimate,
read more like a fiction novel than anything else. He thrives on the
adrenaline surge that comes with danger."

The psychologist placed the file folder on the chief's desk. "I think
you should bring him in and put him behind a desk--let him chill out for
a while. You can't live on the edge the way he does without eventually
losing it."

"I can't do it, Fred. That's exactly why Delaney's so perfect for this
particular assignment. His instincts are excellent. He has an uncanny
ability to take seemingly unrelated little bits of information and form
them into a cohesive picture. He improvises. He makes do with what's at
hand. His qualifications are the best. He's a former Navy Seal. He has a
near photographic memory and is a whiz with disguises and accents. He
possesses an uncanny ability to blend in with his surroundings to the
point of becoming almost invisible, or he can go just the opposite and
stick out so obviously that everyone completely accepts his chosen cover
without question.".

"That's all well and good, but--"

"The mere fact that he's able to distance himself emotionally works in
his favor. It allows him to be objective about everyone he encounters
without having his judgment clouded by personal sentiment." The chief
picked up the file and glanced at the top page. "He's one agent who
would never allow himself to be tied down to a desk or to a daily
murine. That same adrenaline surge that seems to bother you is exactly
what keeps him on his toes."

"Well, I don't have any concrete facts that would allow me to overrule
your decision." The psychologist furrowed his brow in concentration for
a moment. "But I-think he's on a collision course with a severe case of
burnout."

"I DON'T LIKE rr. He's just a kid, only nineteen years old. He works as
a parts clerk at the warehouse. Maybe he's done a little snooping, has
some suspicions, but he doesn't know enough to really hurt us." The lean
man in his mid-forties with the thinning brown hair furtively glanced
around the unlit parking lot for the fourth time, noting that it was
still vacant. "I'll keep an eye on him. It'll be okay."

The larger, older man eyed him skeptically. "He's a smart-ass kid with a
big mouth. It won't be long before he tries to put the squeeze on us. It
aren't like it's the first time, you know."

"Is it really necessary? I mean, you're talking murder-"

"You're not going' soft on us, are you?"

"No!" The smaller man swallowed nervously. "No...I don't have any
problem with it. Nothing like that. It's just--"

"Don't get yourself in no uproar." The larger man snorted his disdain.
"It aren't your hands what's gonna get dirty. I'll see it's taken care
of, neat and cleaned. Two...three days tops. It'll look just like an
accident. Won't be no giving it any serious investigation."

"Sure, that sounds good." He ran his fingers through what was left of
his thin brown hair, then shoved his hands into his jacket pockets to
hide the trembling. He cleared his throat a couple of times while
awkwardly shifting weight from one foot to the other. "What do you want
to do?"

"Go back to your office and do nothin'. Just follow your normal business
routine." He glared at the younger man barking out the words like a
drill sergeant. "And wipe that scared look off your face before someone
sees it and wonders what's wrong with you." He gave one last snorted
disgust then walked off.

The younger man watched as the older man climbed i the cab of the
mud-spattered pickup truck and drove away. He pulled a handkerchief from
his pocket and mopped beads of sweat from his brow, then took three deep
breaths before turning toward his car. He shook his head and uttered
under his breath. "I don't like it. We're asking trouble...big trouble."

Chapter 1

The vision had been very real, jerking Lauren Janrison out of a sound
sleep. It had lasted only a few seconds but left a vivid impression. A
man, she could not see his face, lurching off the cliff into the
blackness of night--falling toward the crashing waves below. Who was he?
Why had he fallen from the cliff?. Was it a mystery from the past or a
portent of things to come? She did not know. The ability was there, but
she had never learned to command it or properly use it. The visions
seemed to come from nowhere of their own volition. She closed her eyes
for a second and tried to force the vision from her mind.

She glanced at the clock. It was almost time to get up anyway. She
forced herSelf to think of other things as she took her shower, slipped
into a warm robe and padded barefoot to the small kitchen.

She carried the mug from her living quarters in the back of the building
to the front area, which housed her business, a combination bookstore
and gift shop on one side of the entrance parlor and antearoom on the
other side. She built a fire in the fireplace of the parlor, then sat in
her favorite chair sipping her herbal tea and staring at the flames. She
occasionally looked out the window. The early-morning drizzle obscured
most of the dawn light.

Try as she might, she had not been able to shake the disturbing vision
from her mind. She sensed something very powerful in the works--dramatic
changes hovered on the horizon. She tried to collect her thoughts and
focus her energy and concentration.

The Siamese cat jumped from his favorite perch atop the large antique
Hoosier cabinet. The small gold bell around his neck jingled softly as
he darted across the parlor then jumped into her lap. A tremor of
expectancy caused her to shiver. She closed her eyes as she stroked the
cat's fur. "I think, Ty-Ty, that we're about to become involved in an
exciting adventure."

She held the cat a moment before shooing him from her lap. She carded
her empty mug into the kitchen and refilled it. A loud buzzing at the
front of the building startled her. As soon as she stepped through the
connecting door into the business section of the building she saw the
dark silhouette of a large man, his 'hands cupped around his face as he
pressed against the front window. Again, the tremor of expectancy darted
through her. Whatever was going to happen somehow involved this stranger
who had mysteriously appeared out of the early-morning mist.

She crossed the parlor and opened the front door, tilting her head to
one side as she looked at him. "Yes? May I help you?"

The smooth, masculine voice had an almost seductive quality about it.
"I'm sorry to disturb you so early in the morning, but I saw your lights
and--"

"Please, come in out of the cold." She stepped aside. He hurried past
her and went directly to the fireplace, holding his hands out toward the
flames. He was tall. His dark good looks projected an aura of mystery
that she found very exciting.

His glossy brown hair was a little long, resting thick and shaggy across
the back of his neck and the tops of his ears. The tousled front hung in
disarray across his forehead. A stubble of whiskers covered his cheeks
and chin but could not hide the two-inch scar that cut across his
jawline. His face was drawn and haggard. His sky blue eyes looked tired
and slightly bloodshot, as if he had been up all night.

She watched as he continued to rub his hands together, allowing the
warmth of the flames to take away his chill. His gaze traveled slowly
around the room, then came to rest on her.

"I was hoping this might be a restaurant. The sign says tearoom. Is
there any chance you also serve coffee?"

"I think I might be able to find you some." Lauren disappeared into her
living quarters in the back of the building, leaving him alone in the
front parlor.

His gaze lingered on her retreating form until she had vanished
completely from sight. She seemed to move with a fluid motion, her
floor-length robe making it seem more like a glide than a walk. The
lighting caused her copper-colored hair to glow as brightly as the
flames in the fireplace. A wave of heat surged through his body, filling
him with a sensual warmth that had nothing to do with the fireplace. He
reluctantly shoved aside the moment of he-donistic self-indulgence,
which had produced the staing of a delicious fantasy, and turned his
attention to more practical matters.

The entry was a warm and inviting area. To one side was a room of
high-back chairs and tables covered with crisp white linen cloths. To
the other side lay an area that first appeared to be a confused
combination of books, greeting cards, handmade crafts, houseplants and
various gift items. On closer inspection he realized it was a series of
small rooms extending into other rooms with areas clearly defined yet
conveying an informal flow. He seemed to be in a kind of middle zone
that separated the tearoom from the rest of the business.

It suddenly occurred to him that in addition to not questioning who he
was or what he wanted, she had left him alone in the room. That had been
very foolish of her.

"You're wrong, you know."

Her voice startled him but her words confused him even more as he
whirled around to see her standing in the doorway holding a coffee cup.
Her sound was low and throaty and seemed to float magically on the air.
He forced a casual manner as he continued to warm his hands in front of
the fireplace. "Oh? And just what am I wrong about?"

"We're not alone. Ty-Ty is standing watch." He followed her gaze to the
top of the antique Hoosier cabinet. The Siamese cat sat very still,
almost like a statue--its blue eyes staring at him, watching his every
move. "I have no reason to fear you."

Her eyes immediately captured and mesmerized him. They were green, a
brilliant emerald color, and seemed to glow with some inner light. A
captivating smile lit her face, touched with an unmistakable hint of
amusement. Her finely sculpted features created a truly beautiful face
that momentarily robbed him of the ability to speak. It was almost as if
he had not really noticed her when she had first opened the door to him,
although he could not imagine ho' that would have been possible.

If there was only one truth about Kyle Delaney's life, it was that he
maintained control of all that went on around him. But this... He
detected the slight increase in his heartbeat and a tightening across
his chest. He was not sure whether it was the result of his immediate
physical attraction to an extremely desirable woman or her very
disconcerting manner. Either way, he needed to know just who this woman
was who seemed to have read his mind.

As if in answer to his unasked question, her words again startled him.
"I'm' Lauren Jamison. This is my place of business and my home." She
handed him the cup of coffee. "Black, no cream and no sugar." It was not
a question, it was a statement of fact. Her captivating smile pulled at
his senses, filling him with a variety of thoughts--all of a truly
erotic nature.

He took the cup from her, returning her smile with a dazzling one of his
own. "Kyle Delaney...and yes, that's the way I take my coffee." For some
inexplicable reason he felt the need to add the words, "Good guess."

"It wasn't a guess." She crossed the parlor to her favorite chair.

"Oh?" A slight grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "Does that mean
you read minds?" "No, I don't read minds. But I sometimes get feelings."
"You mean like those commercials on television that you call and they
give you a reading?"

"Not at all. I don't tell fortunes." She was not sure if 'he was making
fun of her or not. "It's just that I sometimes get feelings about
things... Well, it's not important."

She indicated a chair across from hers, then abruptly changed the
subject. "Tell me, Kyle--" she took a sip of her tea "--what brings you
to my door so early in the morning and in such disagreeable weather?"

He declined her offer of a chair, preferring to stay in front of the
fireplace. He flashed a teasing grin, refusing to let the subject drop.
"You mean you don't already know what brings me here?"

She took his teasing in stride, returning a mischievous grin of her own.
"Why don't you tell me and I'll see if I was right?"

"It's the lighthouse." He noticed her immediate reaction to his words, a
response she quickly covered by lowering her head to take another sip of
her tea.

"The lighthouse? What would your interest be in it? It was shut down
decades ago. In fact--" she suppressed a grin "--it's haunted. The last
lighthouse keeper died mysteriously, and his spirit still lives there.
Sometimes at night you can see lights moving inside the attic of the
living quarters or around the upper level of the tower--the keeper
trying to light the lamp to provide safe passage to all the ships at
sea." She paused, then went on. "The land and structures were purchased
from the government many years ago. The keeper's living quarters,
adjacent to the tower, were restored about ten years ago to their
turn-of-the-century appearance by the local historical society as part
of our city's heritage project. It's now open to the public.,"

He eyed her curiously, a hint of skepticism written across his features.
"Have you seen this...spirit?"

She gave a little shrug. "We've encountered each other on occasion over
the years."

A sudden silence enveloped the space between them as their eyes locked
together in an intimate moment. A little tremor of excitement tingled in
her stomach as she read the unmistakable earthiness in his eyes, a look
that divulged a very lusty nature and imparted one very clear thought.
It was Lauren who broke the increasing pull working its way into her
consciousness. She looked away from him and took another sip of her tea.

She forced her attention to the topic of the lighthouse, as much to calm
the decidedly erotic effect his presence seemed to have on her as to
satisfy her curiosity. "What's your interest in the lighthouse?"

"I'm a...paranormal researcher. I'm here to verify or disprove the
rumors of some sort of entity occupying the lighthouse." He suddenly
became very aware of the 9 mm semiautomatic pistol nestled securely in
his shoulder holster--certainly an unusual piece of equipment for a
researcher to have. "Actually, our reports indicate several different
types of... activity taking place there."

He reached in his pocket and handed her one of the business cards that
had been printed to add credence to his cover story. He continued as
Lauren glanced at the card. "I believe the head of the Sea Grove
Historical Society, Mrs. Irene Peyton, received a letter about my
arrival and intentions."

She tilted her head again and leveled an appraising look at him. Her
emerald eyes seemed to be reaching into his very soul to dig out the
truth. An uncomfortable feeling shivered up his spine. This Lauren
Jamison was a very unsettling woman who was becoming more intriguing by
the minute. If he believed in all this psychic stuff he would be tempted
to say she really did have some kind of gift, some level of knowledge
beyond what was normal. But, of course, that was ridiculous. It was all
a bunch of nonsense.

"A paranormal investigator." She could not stop the slight smile that
curled the corners of her mouth--an inward, almost enigmatic smile.
Irene had mentioned the letter to her. Lauren had been confused about
what there was in the small community of Sea Grove, Washington, with a
population of less than two thousand people, that would attract the
attention of a paranormal researcher. And to think that this man was
that person--this was not what she had expected.

"How interesting. As I mentioned, I have a certain amount of expertise
in that and other related areas. Perhaps I could be of some help." She
rose from the chair. "I'm going to pour some more tea, Could I warm up
your coffee for you?"

LAUREN WATCHED from the window as Kyle climbed into his van and pulled
out of her parking lot. Her personal observation was that of a handsome
man with sex appeal that nearly knocked her socks off--a magnetism that
could not be hidden even though he had driven all night and was
exhausted. He was a dynamic man with many hidden contradictions and
shadowy secrets.

She did not believe the paranormal investigator bit for even a moment.
He had done his homework well, knew the proper jargon and buzzwords and
would probably be able to fool most people--but not her. There was an
energy about him, a flow she immediately tapped in to that

mid her he was definitely a skeptic. It was not anything specific he had
done or said, just his manner and the slightly mocking edge in his voice
when he referred to fortune telling and mind reading.

A frown wrinkled her forehead. Why would someone pretend to be a
paranormal investigator? There was nothing at the lighthouse, regardless
of all the weird stories that periodically circulated, that should have
attracted the attention of any outsiders.

She glanced at the top of the Hoosier cabinet. "Well, Ty-Ty, if Kyle
Delaney is the skeptic I believe him to be it will be interesting to see
what he does if he encounters Jeremy." The cat jumped from his perch,
landing on her shoulder. She lovingly stroked the cat's fur. "Don't
worry, Ty-Ty. We'll find out what he's all about."

KYLE STRETCHED his tall frame out on the bed in his motel room, his
hands resting behind his head as he took in his new surroundings. It was
an okay room, large enough to keep that caged-in feeling from enveloping
him after a few weeks had passed. Luxury it was not, but it would do. He
emitted a sigh of resignation. It was the luck of the draw. He had been
on this case too long, and it had too many intricate little pieces. It
made no sense for someone else to take it over now.

His jaw tightened and he furrowed his brow in angbr as he recalled the
heated argument he and the chief had gotten into because of the report
the psychologist had done. Job burnout...losing my-edge. That'll be the
day! The jerk compiled his stupid report without even talking to me.
Even the chief admitted the guy may have been a little out of line. Damn
fool psychologist!

His thoughts turned to the two hours he had spent early that morning
with Lauren Jamison. She was the most mysterious and mystifying woman he
had ever come across in his life. She was very easy to talk with, but
there was something very disturbing about her--something he did not
understand. His natural skepticism made him wary of her, but a much
stronger force attracted him to her.

He closed his eyes and conjured up a mental image. First, she wore no
wedding ring. He always made it a point to notice whether or not a woman
was married. That kind of trouble he did not need or want. He sized her
up as being about five foot eight, a perfect fit for his height. But
mostly it was her eyes--they were the most extraordinary emerald color
and filled with a bewitching mixture of honesty, intelligence, curiosity
and a hauntingly disturbing hint of mystery.

He cleared his mind of the disturbing thoughts. The idle musings were
getting him nowhere---except into an unwanted state of extreme
distraction. He had been up for over thirty hours straight and was in
desperate need of some sleep. In a matter of only a few moments he was
oblivious to everything.

Kyle did not know how long he had been sleeping when the strange sound
finally penetrated his consciousness. He slowly moved toward wakefulness
as he tried to decipher exactly what he was hearing. It sounded like
some sort of a raspy rumble with a jingling sound occasionally joining
in. The sound seemed to emanate from just next to his head. He turned
his face toward the sound and slowly opened his eyes.

"What the hell--" His body stiffened, his heart jumped into his throat,
and he felt his eyes widen in startled surprise as he stared into
another pair of blue eyes.

The purring Siamese cat stared back at him as it licked its front paws,
each movement of its head causing the small gold bell around its neck to
jingle. Kyle reached for the cat, but it quickly darted out of the way
and scurried under the bed.

Kyle sat upright, shaking the sleep from his head. How had the cat
gotten into his room? It was an inexcusable lapse on his part for
something like that to have happened without his being aware of it, His
very life depended on his being aware of everything that went on around
him

He picked up his watch from the nightstand and' surprised to find he had
been sleeping for nearly six hours. He looked around the room with a
critical eye. The window was open a little bit, just enough for an agile
cat to squeeze through. Odd. He certainly did not remember the window
being open. He quickly closed and locked it.

"All right, cat. Where are you hiding?" He looked under the bed, in the
closet, in the cabinets, behind the drain in the bathroom. Nothing--the
cat was nowhere to be found. Then the sound came again. The same raspy
sound filled the air, as if the cat were mocking him---daring to find
it.

"WE HAD ^ a good day today, Milly. Especially considering the miserable
weather." Lauren glanced at the clock. It was ten minutes to six. "Why
don't we go and close up. I doubt there'll be any more customers, in the
next ten minutes." She picked up the stack of the postman had left a
couple Of hours earlier. "Anything here other than bills?"

The gray-haired woman in her mid-fifties looked up from her work. "You
have another letter from Shane lan. That makes two this month instead of
his usual. Even Mr.-Erskine mentioned it when he delivered the this
afternoon."

Lauren stared at the familiar handwriting on the e lope postmarked
Dublin, Ireland. "You're right, this isn't usual." She slipped the
envelope into her pocket so she could read the letter later.

Milly began efficiently checking the log of books cards sold that day so
that the reorder list could be updated. She paused and watched Lauren
for a moment before she spoke. "Tell me... what happened between the
time I got here yesterday evening and the time I came to work this
morning?"

Lauren felt the flush cover her cheeks as she looked at her mentor.
"I...uh...I don't know what you mean." It had been almost seventeen
years since Milly had taken the frightened and lost eighteen-year-old
under her wing and acted as a surrogate mother following the death of
Lauren's parents in the car wreck. It was Milly who had helped her
recognize and define her newly emerging psychic abilities and had taught
her about folk medicine and healing herbs. Milly had also been there for
Lauren seven years ago following the traumatic circumstances that
surrounded the death of her fiance.

The older woman placed her hands on Lauren's shoulders. "I'm talking
about the marvelous glow that surrounds you, something new and exciting
that's entered your life."

She looked away from Milly's searching gaze, glancing out the front
windows just in time to see the van with the dark tinted windows pull up
in front of the door. She knew she would be seeing Kyle again some time
soon. She felt the tingle of excitement as she called to him when he
walked in the door. "Hello, Kyle. Did you get some sleep? You look
rested."

Milly smiled knowingly and quickly gathered up her purse and jacket. Her
words were whispered. :'I'm sure you can handle the closing chores by
yourself. I'll make myself scarce and see you in the morning. Besides, I
have a dinner engagement tonight and need to be on my way."

Lauren smiled knowingly. "Another date with your mysterious admirer?
When are you going to tell me who he is?"

Milly stammered nervously. "Maybe some day soon."

Lauren glanced at Kyle, then at Milly. "Oh... uh...Milly, this is Kyle
Delaney. Kyle, this is Milly Evans. She's my right hand here at work and
my dear friend."

"I'm pleased to meet you, Milly." Kyle extended his hand and offered a
charming smile.

"Thank you." Milly accepted his handshake. "It's nice to meet you, too."
She shot Lauren another sly look then edged toward the door. "Well, if
you'll excuse me I was just about to call it a day."

Kyle glanced out the front window, then focused his attention on the
squad car that pulled into the parking lot. Milly seemed slightly
flustered as she stole a furtive glance around the parking lot. The
driver opened the passenger door from inside the car and Milly slid in.
Kyle continued to watch as the car pulled away, then returned his
attention to Lauren.

Small white flowers adorned her head and were woven in with her French
braid. The heady fragrance caused his senses to tingle with an
intriguing sense of seduction. He felt the heat rise low in his body and
a tightness spread across his chest.

- He crossed the parlor, unzipping his jacket as he made his way toward
the fireplace. "I have something here that I think you want." He reached
inside his jacket and brought out the Siamese cat.

"Ty-Ty!" The smile lit up her face. "You naughty boy, where have you
been?" She looked at Kyle. "Where did you find him?"

"Odd as it might sound, I found him inside my motel room. It's a mystery
to me why he was there."

She reached to take the cat from his hands. "Shame on you, Ty-Ty. You
shouldn't have been bothering Kyle." The cat squirmed free, jumped to
the floor and headed for the Hoosier cabinet.

Their hands touched, their eyes met. An undeniable arc of energy sizzled
between them. Lauren felt it the second they made physical contact,

then she immediately saw it in her mind's eye. Life-threatening danger
surrounded him. It was more than just his mysterious aura, more than his
pretending to be something she knew he was not, more than the many
secrets he kept. It momentarily frightened her. She knew danger would
bind them together, that his danger would somehow be hers. She covered
her concern by shuffling through some receipts at the cash register even
though she had checked them earlier.

Kyle was not sure exactly what had happened or what to do about it. This
was a completely different sensation than any he had experienced. This
was not the familiar feeling of excitement associated with a new sexual
attraction, it was more--much more. It was as unsettling to him as was
Lauren herself. He peered around the corner into the tearoom. "Do you--"
he tried to regain his composure and project a casual manner "--serve
dinner here?"

"No, just lunch. In fact--" she glanced at the clock above the fireplace
"--we're closing the bookstore and gift shop in just a few minutes."

He could not stop the disappointment that quickly presented itself. "I
haven't eaten since dinner yesterday, and I'm starved. Could you
recommend a good restaurant?" He offered her his best smile, then the
words came out of his mouth without his consciously meaning to say them.
"Perhaps you could join me for dinner. I'd appreciate the company."

She knew this man was destined to be the one great love of her life, a
love far more intense than anything she had previously experienced. She
also knew it would be a love fraught with setbacks and complexity.

"I have a better idea. Why don't you let me fix us some dinner right
here? I'd really like to hear more about your investigation of the
lighthouse, and this atmosphere is much more conducive for quiet
conversation." She saw the quick look of uncertainty cross his face.
Beyond his initial statements, which she did not believe, he had managed
to avoid all her questions about his job. She wanted to know why he was
being so evasive.

He was thoughtful for a moment before responding to her offer. He
flashed a confident smile. "I accept. Maybe you can fill me in on the
local scene. I know how it is in small towns when strangers come in and
start poking around in local business. Perhaps you could steer me toward
the right people. I want to interview several of the longtime residents
and also search through the newspaper archives."

He pretended an offhand, casual manner, as if a thought had just struck
him. 'Tell me, that large warehouse located on the lighthouse road close
to the end...what is it and why is it so isolated from everything else?"

"That's Frank Brewster's warehouse. He owns the hardware store and the
auto parts supply store. He does a lot of regional business encompassing
the four surrounding counties, especially in auto parts, so he keeps a
lot of inventory stored there. The property has been in his family for
generations. Since he already owned the land I suppose he.felt it was
the logical place to build the warehouse."

"Well, that certainly makes sense."

"THAT WAS DELICIOUS." Kyle placed his fork on the empty plate. "You're a
very good cook."

"Thank you." Lauren picked up the dirty dishes. "I enjoy cooking but
it's just too much of a bother for only one person." She carried the
dishes into the kitchen, leaving him alone in the small dining room..

He had assumed they would eat in the tearoom. Instead, she had invited
him into her living quarters behind the business part of the building.
The surroundings were comfortable--a living room with separate dining
area, a kitchen and, he assumed, a bedroom and bathroom beyond the
closed sliding doors. The air was filled with a scent,

the same scent that permeated the bookstore and gift shop.

He had smelled it that morning but did not recognize it. "It's
bayberry."

"What?" He whirled around to face her. Again her words and sudden
appearance startled him, just as they had early that morning. "You were
wondering about the fragrance.,.it's bayberry. It's good luck. I always
burn it in the shop, either incense or a candle."

"That's very unsettling the way you seem to read my mind." He allowed
the hint of an impish grin. "It could also end up being very
embarrassing. That is--" his expression turned serious as he traced her
jawline with his 'index finger and plumbed the depths of her eyes "--if
you can tell what I'm thinking right now."

Her breathing quickened as the heat of his touch warmed her senses. She
recognized the look in his eyes, the intensity of a man of many
passions--not the least of which was a sexual magnetism he could not
have hidden even if he wanted to. She stepped back from his
all-too-tempting touch and robbed her hand across her nape in an attempt
to force the tremor away. She needed to steer the conversation toward
safer ground. "Tell me more about your job. How did you become
interested in paranormal activities?"

He launched into his carefully prepared COver story, relating the
educational credentials and experience he would be expected to possess
in order to accomplish the task as he had presented it.

She listened politely and quietly until he had finished. "That's an
impressive list of qualifications. You've even been with the Institute
for Psychic Research. That's located in Connecticut, isn't it?" She
looked at him, her face all innocence.

"No, it's in Boston." He immediately recognized her effort to trip up
his story, to test him.

"It's funny, though..." She eyed him carefully.

"What's funny?" He was not pleased with the suspicion he detected in her
voice and the wariness in her eyes.

"You don't seem old enough to have accomplished all that." She paused,
as if turning something over in her mind, then continued. "Just how old
are you, if you don't mind my asking?"

Perhaps he had laid it on too thick. He needed to reserve the full line
of psychobabble for the totally uninitiated. Lauren was obviously too
knowledgeable about this type of thing. He decided the best defense was
a good offense. "I don't mind at all. I'm thirty-two. And how old are
you--" a mischievous grin turned the corners of his mouth '--if you
don't mind my asking?"

Chapter 2

Lauren stared him straight in the eye. "I just turned thirty-six last
month."

Kyle could not stop the look of surprise that darted across his face.
She had done it to him again, caught him off guard with her
straightforward manner. "Really? Thirty-six, huh?"

She cocked her head, a hint of a teasing grin pulling at the corners of
her mouth. "What was that look all about...did you think I was older
than thirty-six?"

He quickly recovered his balance then began to laugh. "Not at all. I was
just surprised that you told me. Actually, I prefer older women." His
smile faded and his manner turned serious again. 'He skimmed his
fingertips across her cheek. A touch of huskiness surrounded his words.
"And I don't use the word older in any type of a negative context."

Younger women seemed to play coy little games. He preferred the maturity
and confidence of older women. Actually, he did not seem to have time in
his life for much of anything other than his job.

Now it was Lauren's turn to experience a moment of disquietude caused by
Kyle's directness. His sky blue eyes captured her in the web of his
magnetic aura. She felt a shortness of breath and a tightness in her
chest. She took in a calming lungful of air and changed the subject.
"Have you been to the lighthouse yet?"

"Well...no, not yet." He found no reason to mention the aerial survey he
had done a week ago and the blueprints of the original construction he
had studied after procuring .them from the government archives.

"Since you're here to investigate the lighthouse, you really should take
a tour with someone who knows it." She looked at him questioningly. "Why
don't I show it to you right now?"

"You? Now?" Surprise covered his face.

"Sure... if you're interested in the presence that inhabits the
lighthouse, night is the best time."

"The...uh...presence." His eyes narrowed slightly, and his look turned
skeptical. "How can we get into the lighthouse? This certainly isn't the
regular time for it to be open. I had planned to contact Mrs. Peyton in
the morning to see if I could get a key of my own for the duration of my
investigation. Obviously I need to do my work when the building isn't
open to the public."

- "I'm the head of the lighthouse committee." She allowed a soft
chuckle. "It's more a matter of convenience due to proximity than any
type of special honor. Even though Irene is head of the historical
society, her pet project is the restoration of the Victorian homes and
the old railroad station the society was able to purchase and thus save
from the unrelenting march of progress. She's done a monumental job of
raising funds for their restoration and the purchase of land surrounding
the railroad station for the creation of a heritage park. The Victorian
houses will eventually be moved to that location."

She cocked her head and gave him a questioning look. "Are you ready to
go? I'll get my wrap."

Kyle shrugged into his jacket. He was not happy about this. He did not
want any onlookers in the way. All the little bits and pieces of
information he had put together over the past six months had pointed to
one thing, as far as he was concerned. The old lighthouse had to be the
focal point.

"Are you ready?" Lauren called to him as she came out of her bedroom.
She wrapped the warm, floor-length cape around her shoulders and
fastened it at the neck. She indicated the side door. "Let's go out this
way." She pulled the hood over her head, then opened the door.

The night was even darker than normal. Whatever moonlight might have
been available was completely hidden behind low-hanging dark clouds.
The. cold mist swirled around Lauren and Kyle as they walked toward the
bluff, the path through the tall, wet grass so narrow they had to walk
single file. He berated himself for having given in to her suggestion.

He reached inside his jacket and touched the pistol through the fabric
of his shirt, reassuring himself that the weapon was in place and ready.
He pulled his jacket collar up around his ears then stuck his hands in
his pockets to keep them warm. There was just enough of a breeze coming
in off the ocean to make it seem colder than it really was. They walked
along in silence for several minutes. Up ahead, the dark shape of the
old lighthouse loomed through the swirling mist.

Lauren's voice broke the silence. "We're almost there." Kyle stopped
short. He squinted as he tried to stare through the mist. His intense
gaze locked on the upper deck of the tower. He saw it again. He blinked
several times, but it was still there--a light moving past the window.
"What's that?" He pointed toward the tower, but when he looked again the
light had vanished. There was only darkness and silence.

Bewilderment clouded her voice. "What's what?" "I...there was a--" His
irritation caused him to snap out the words. "It's nothing!" Confusion
swirled in his head. His logical mind knew there had to be some rational
explanation. He looked at the dark angry sky then toward the road.
Whatever it was it could not have been the reflection of moonlight or
car headlights.

A frown wrinkled across his brow as he clenched his jaw. He had
formulated a theory in his mind. He hoped it was right and he was not
wasting his time. The chief suspected that the center of activity was
fifty miles down the coast, in a much more heavily populated area of the
next county.

Since the moon was currently in its first-quarter phase, Kyle suspected
it would probably be three weeks before anything of consequence
happened--a time when the darkness of the new moon would bring more
reports of ghostly sightings and the town would be abuzz with yet
another rash of mysterious happenings at the lighthouse. Meanwhile, he
would see how much he could dig up without. causing any suspicion.

They finally arrived at the entrance to the lighthouse, the cottage in
front with the tower rising up behind. Lauren unlocked the front door
and reached inside for the switch, flooding the interior entry hall with
light.

"As you can see, the restoration has been done with precise attention to
every detail, re-creating the living quarters as they were in 1895 when
they were originally constructed."

Her edge softened and the warmth came through as she conveyed her
fondness for the subject. "Many of the antiques and period touches were
donated by local merchants and longtime residents. The cottage consists
of a large parlor, dining room, kitchen and pantry on the ground level
with five bedrooms upstairs. The first lighthouse keeper had a wife and
seven children---thus the necessity of so many bedrooms."

"My, my...seven children." Kyle shot her a lascivious look followed by a
decidedly wicked grin. "I always wondered what a lighthouse keeper did
with his spare time, his job being so isolated from everything else."

She felt the flush cover her cheeks as she tried to ignore his comment.
"The last lighthouse keeper was a bachelor." She paused as she thought
about his untimely death and the ensuing accusations. "The tower
originally had two doors, one from the outside and the other connecting
from the kitchen. The outside door was removed and the wall repaired at
the time the structural reinforcement was done. The tower contains only
the winding stairs that lead to the top level where the lamp was
installed. Both the cottage cellar and the tower are closed off and not
part of the restoration for public viewing."

Kyle followed her into the room designated as the parlor. "Do you have a
key for the tower? Isn't that Where most of the sightings have occurred?
There and the attic of the cottage?"

"Well..." She was hesitant, not sure how to answer his question. It
amused her each time she heard a new story of the strange and
frightening happenings. She did not know how or why the stories had
gotten started. As the person with the closest proximity to the
lighthouse, she had never seen or heard the things others had claimed to
have experienced.

She paused for a moment, her brow furrowed in concentration. "I don't
have a key for the connecting door. In fact, I'm not sure who does have
a key. To the best of my knowledge no one has actually been inside the
tower since the construction crew completed the structural work ten
years ago."

She gave him a quick tour of the downstairs rooms, then they ascended
the staircase to the second floor where he inspected the bedrooms.
Everything was just like the photographs he had studied, nothing out of
place or suspicious in any way.

He paused inside the door of the largest bedroom, then went over and sat
on the edge of the bed, his expression telling her how uncomfortable he
found it. He shot her a sly grin. "Well, now I understand why he had so
many children. This bed certainly isn't any good for sleeping, so there
must have been something else they did with it "

He allowed his words to trail off while he waited for her response.
Everything about her excited him, making it very difficult for him to
maintain his distance. He was anxious to see how she would respond to
his clearly sexual teasing. She returned his grin with a wry one of her
own. "Well, seven children and two adults did give them their own
baseball team." His laugh was open and easy. He was satisfied with her
retort. He rose from the bed and followed her to the attic. It contained
four gabled windows, two looking out to sea and the other two facing the
road and parking lot. He poked around in some storage boxes. They
contained pamphlets and other material used as handouts for visitors to
the lighthouse. There was nothing stored in the attic that was of any
interest to him or pertinent to his investigation. He stared out each of
the four windows in turn, noting the scope of the vietm across the
parking lot toward the bluff and out to sea.

After several minutes he abruptly whirled around and faced Lauren. "This
damp night air really chills right through to the bone." He zipped up
his jacket. "What do you say to abandoning this tour and doing something
to warm up?"

Even in the dim light of the attic there was no mistaking the glint in
his eyes as he crossed the room toward her. There was also no mistaking
his definition of doing something to warm up. A little tingle of
excitement shivered through her body.

"Sure. How about a couple of logs in the fireplace and an after-dinner
drink?" He slipped his arm around her waist and guided her toward the
stairs. His voice and words teased her. "If that's the best you have to
offer, then I'll accept."

They left the cottage and returned to Lauren's place. She opened the
unlocked side door into her living quarters. They went inside then she
closed the door behind them.

A disapproving edge clung to his words. "Don't you ever lock your
doors?"

She studied his handsome features for a moment, noting the open concern
crossing his face. "The business is locked up, and as far as my side
door is concerned, we were only gone for a little while. You're
obviously from a large city. This is a small community. There's very
little crime here. Our sheriff probably has the easiest job of anyone in
the entire county. Max Culhane used to have his own construction company
but decided to change careers and mn for sheriff."

She furrowed her brow in thought. "It was ten years ago. His company did
the structural work on the lighthouse. It was right afterward that Max
was elected sheriff. He's probably retirementage, although you wouldn't
know it. He's very strong and active."

"That may be all well and good for the people of your community, but
this place is located on the main highway and in a sparsely populated
area on the outskirts of town. Anyone wandering through could target you
for bad intentions they might have in mind. Look at me, instance, a
total stranger knocking at your door at the break of dawn and you
just--"

"Are you trying to tell me that you have bad intentions?" A slight grin
tugged at the corners of her mouth as she took off her cape. "That I'm
not safe with you?"

"Bad intentions?" A sly glint sparkled in his blue eyes. "Of course not.
I'm a model of perfect behavior, above reproach, a man who wouldn't
dream of stealing anything from you. But--" he reached out and brushed
his fingertips lightly across her cheek then cupped her chin in his hand
"--are you safe with me?" His gaze turned serious as it wandered across
her features. He quickly withdrew his hand. "Hmm...that's a difficult
question."

"Perhaps..." His nearness was intoxicating. A sense of reckless abandon
charged through her body. "Perhaps a better question might be, are you
safe with me? What would you say--" she rested her hand lightly against
the taut hardness of his chest "--if I told you I have magic powers and
could easily cast a spell over you?"

Their gaze locked for a long, intense moment. The innocent flirtation
had turned decidedly serious. She experienced the full impact of his
masculinity, the unsettling way he caused her heart to beat a little
faster and her pulse to race.

"Well..." A rash of embarrassment filled her as she took half a step
back. "You must think I'm awfully forward.' '

"Not at all." A smoldering intensity burned in the depth of his blue
eyes. He reached out toward her. A noticeable huskiness surrounded his
words. "I think you've already cast that spell."

He again touched her cheek then stepped toward her, wrapping her in his
embrace. He captured her mouth, softly nibbling at the edge of her lips
before totally claiming her as his.

She had been thrown into emotional turmoil once before by an ill-fated
love. She had put her life back together and had pretty much resigned
herself to the fact that she would never find love again--then Kyle
Delaney walked through her front door. He made her feel like no one else
ever had before, not even Jim Franklin, her fiance from seven years ago.

She felt the heat of his passion, his intensity almost taking her breath
away. His hot kiss promised things yet to be and spoke volumes about the
sensuality of the man. She ran her fingers through his thick hair, then
reached her

arms around his neck. It was a delicious kiss that got better with each
passing second.

He took complete control. His mouth demanded everything without really
being demanding. The very air surrounding them crackled with sexual
energy. The length of his body was pressed against hers. It was the type
of seduction that could not be ignored--smooth, experienced, filled with
a scorching heat that seemed to be rapidly heading in only one
direction.

Then a totally unexpected surge of anxiety took control of her. It had
started as just a slight tickle but quickly escalated into full-blown
panic. There was no reason for her to be experiencing this sudden
embarrassment and unz certainty. She was a mature woman, yet at that
moment she felt just like a schoolgirl involved in her first crush. She
broke off the kiss and took a step back.

An almost imperceptible frown wrinkled his brow, Lowed by a quizzical
look. He spoke with strength and confidence, yet there was a soft
quality that surrounded his words. "Did I misinterpret--"

"It's...it's getting late. Perhaps we had better say good-night." She
felt the anxiety well inside her. She her gaze for a moment, then
regained eye contact with

"I want you to know that I'm not the type of person who plays teasing
games then walks away."

His voice was soft, his words sincere. "I never for a moment thought
that you were."

Once again he caused her to experience tremors of delight. In spite of
the mystery that surrounded him and the danger she associated with him,
she was sure he would reveal the truth when he felt the time was right.
She could afford to be patient--after all, they would have the rest of
their lives together.

A totally unexpected jolt of icy cold shivered up her spine. The rest of
their lives...that might not be as long as it sounded. She tried to
shake away the disturbing feeling that had forced its way in.

"Good night, Lauren." His gaze lingered for a moment on the kiss-swollen
lushness of her mouth, then he turned and walked out the door.

He was not as easily appeased as his controlled manner would indicate.
He had often experienced an immediate attraction to a woman on a purely
physical level, but nothing like this. No one had ever captured his
senses and desires as quickly as Lauren had. The kiss they had shared
had become a sensual experience he could still feel. He shook his head.
He needed to clear thoughts of her from his mind and keep his attention
focused on the job. He could not afford to let any diversions distract
him from what he needed to do, no matter how enticing.

He drove toward the lighthouse rather than to his motel. He wanted
another crack at checking the lighthouse before his presence and
accompanying cover story became common knowledge. He turned off the
headlights and continued on for the last quarter mile. He parked a
hundred feet from the lighthouse, then sat and stared at the dark,
foreboding structure for a couple of minutes before opening the door and
sliding out from behind the wheel. The swirling mist had turned to a
light rain. He pulled the hood of his jacket over his head, grabbed a
flashlight and shoved it in his jacket pocket. He closed the van door
and stole silently up the road on foot.

He rounded the corner of the cottage, stealthily moving in the darkness
to the back of the structure. He pulled a set of lock picks from his
inside pocket. A moment later the lock clicked. He pulled open the heavy
wooden double doors that led directly to the cellar and descended the
steps, closing the doors behind him.

The darkness surrounded him. He remained still, listening for anything
that did not belong. He heard only the whistling of the wind and the
gentle patter of the light rain. He snapped on the flashlight and slowly
shined it around.

The cellar was a jumble of miscellaneous storage--pieces of furniture
and accessories, boxes of various sizes, gardening tools and maintenance
supplies. It was divided into two rooms--the large main part with
pillars and ceiling beams to support the floor of the cottage above, and
a smaller room off to one side, which also had a couple of ceiling
beams. It was-an odd little room not much bigger than an oversize
walk-in closet. The back wall appeared to have been damaged at one time
resulting in a patch.

He cautiously ascended the stairs to the ground level inside the
cottage, pausing for a moment when he hit a squeaky step. He picked the
door lock to gain entrance to the main part of the cottage. He quickly
made his way to the kitchen and went to work on the connecting door
leading to the tower. After repeated tries the rusted lock finally
clicked open. He turned the handle and pushed the heavy wooden door. It
creaked on its hinges as it swung wide, ripping loose the cobwebs that
tried to hold it shut.

He shined the flashlight beam ahead of him as he stepped through the
door, its brightness penetrating the inky black interior of the tower.
Particles of dust floated down, crossing the bright beam of his
flashlight then settling on the floor. Every step he took echoed off the
walls. He slowly shined the light around the cylindrical room. The
winding stairs went up inside the tower, disappearing into the dark.

The oppressive gloom closed in around him. The loose dust particles
tickled his nose, threatening to make him sneeze. It was an eerie
feeling, one he could not clearly define. He had been in lots of
dangerous situations over the course of his career, life-threatening
scenarios that caused the adrenaline to pump and his heart to pound. But
they were always situations where he had a feeling of control. This was
different.

He listened again but all he heard was the rain and wind. He started up
the long spiral staircase. About two-thirds of the way up he paused and
snapped off the flashlight. He squinted as he peered into the black
cylinder of the lighthouse tower.

A cold shudder of anxiety darted through him, then his heart began to
beat faster. Up the winding staircase, high above him in the tower, a
dim light suddenly appeared then grew brighter. It continued to glow for
several seconds before disappearing, leaving only blackness.

Kyle gulped in a lungful of cold air while trying to bring the pounding
in his chest under control. Surely it must have been a flash of
lightning. He listened for the accompanying sound of thunder he hoped
would follow, but the only booming he heard was the pounding of his
heart.

He took a calming breath as he unzipped his jacket and reached under his
shirt. He pulled the pistol from his shoulder holster and snapped off
the safety. He peered through the darkness toward the top level, the
place where the glowing light had come from. He took another calming
breath, then quietly climbed the rest of the way. As he approached the
opening ,onto the top level, the blackness gave way to shades of gray
and he felt the movement of air. The increased cold and dampness chilled
him to the ,bone.

He peered through the opening at the top of the stairs, then stepped
onto the deck of the lamp housing level. The cold wind blew across his
face, numbing his cheeks and nose. He began walking the circular
decking, his pistol at the ready and all his senses on alert for
anything out of the ordinary. He was immediately struck by the
commanding view, a far better lookout point than what he had observed
from the cottage attic. A person stationed on the top level with
night-vision binoculars could easily keep anyone below apprised of the
movements of unwanted visitors from either land or sea.

An old kerosene lantern across from the stairwell opening caught his
attention. He started to reach for it, then yanked his hand back. Heat
radiated from the old lantern. Even in the cold damp air it was still
hot. Someone... A quick shiver darted up his spine. He glanced around,
then took a steadying breath. He looked at the lantern again.

There had to be some rational explanation for the lantern being hot to
the touch. Then his gaze lit on something else. He pulled the small
penknife from his pocket, knelt next to the lantern and carefully dug
out the object that had dropped between the top planks of the decking. A
cigarette butt...a nice, fresh one that was not even wet from the light
rain. He withdrew a small plastic evidence bag from his inside jacket
pocket and put the cigarette in it.

He could not stop the gratified smile that tugged at the corners of his
mouth. He had never heard of a ghost who smoked real cigarettes. The
discovery did leave him with one puzzling question, though. He was
positive no one had been through the connecting door between the tower
and the cottage kitchen. So how had someone gotten to the top deck? He
glanced around once more, his gaze lingering for an uncomfortable moment
on the lantern, then he returned to the cimular stairs that led to the
ground.

LAUREN LAY IN BED snuggled under the blankets. A vision flashed across
her mind, lasting only a fraction of a second. It was the same as
before. A man--she could not see his face--hurtling off the cliff into
the blackness of night, falling toward the angry ocean far below. She
closed her eyes and shoved the vision away, just as she had done
earlier.

Ty-Ty jumped onto the large bed and curled up next to her. She stroked
the cat's fur, the gesture intended to soothe her own nerves as much as
to show her affection

for the Siamese. Her thoughts moved from the disturbing vision to Kyle
Delaney--his darkly handsome features, intense blue eyes and dazzling
smile. She placed her fingertips against her lips. The reality of his
kiss still burned hot against her mouth as well as in her memory.

Chapter 3

"'Mrs. Peyton, it's a pleasure to meet you." Kyle offered his best smile
as he shook the elderly woman's hand. "Thank you for making time for me
today."

"That's quite all right, young man. I'm happy to be able to help you in
any way I can." She indicated a chair for Kyle then seated herself in
her favorite rocker. "May I offer you some tea and cookies?"

"That would be very nice." He carefully lowered himself onto the chair
and tried to get comfortable. He inwardly winced as he heard the chair
creak. His large frame just did not work well with her delicate
furnishings. He quickly scanned her living room with a practiced eye. It
seemed to suit her.

Several framed photographs rested on an antique oak sideboard next to
his chair. He picked up one of the pictures and studied it for a moment.
He glanced at Irene, then looked at the photo again. It showed a very
pretty girl with two boys. The physical resemblance between the boys
indicated that they were probably brothers, even though one appeared to
be quite a bit older than the other. "This is you, isn't it?"

Irene took the photograph from his hand. "Oh, my." She seemed slightly
flustered as she placed the picture on the sideboard. "That was taken
such a long time ago. I was fifteen years old." She poured tea into a
delicate china cup and handed it to him along with a small china plate

containing two oatmeal cookies.

"Thank you, Mrs. Peyton."

"Actually, it's Miss Peyton...I've never married. But you may call me
Irene." She reached into one of several dishes containing hard candy.
She unwrapped one of the candy balls and put it into her tea instead of
adding sugar. He watched as she methodically folded the candy wrapper in
an intricate pattern and added it to the stack of similarly folded candy
wrappers on the table next to her chair. It was a little ritual she
seemed to perform without really thinking about it.

She returned her attention to Kyle. "Now, how may I help you?"

He took a bite from one of the cookies. "These are delicious, Irene. Did
you make them yourself?." Again, he extended his best smile--pure charm
as he smoothly worked his way into her good graces and confidence.

"Listen to me, young man. My seventy-eight years of age might dictate
that I move around at a slower pace than I USed to, but I'm still strong
and healthy and my mind is sharp as a tack." She leveled a steady gaze
at him. "I suggest you save all that practiced charm for someone else.
I've lived too long to be easily taken in by the smooth manner of an
attractive young man."

She leaned back in her chair and offered him an engaging smile. "Now,
your letter wasn't very Specific. Exactly how may I help you?"

He was taken aback, but quickly recovered. Irene Peyton may have seemed
at first glance like a doddering little old lady who lived in a world of
Victorian houses, gardening and afternoon tea rituals, but there was a
lot more to her than that. There was something about her manner that
said things would be on her terms or not at all.

Lauren had already filled him in on Irene's pet projects with the
historical society, but he had also picked up on her hesitation. It was
as if she was trying to be gracious in spite of mixed feelings. She had
mentioned Irene's self-appointed position as community social leader and
head of various and sundry civic projects.

Kyle spent close to two hours with Irene, outlining his work and what he
planned to be doing at the lighthouse--at least as far as his cover
story went. He told her he needed to do his work at night when the
lighthouse was closed to tourists. He asked if he could have a key so
that he did not need to bother anyone with his inconvenient schedule. He
also mentioned that he would be making several trips in and out of town
over the next few weeks so for her not to worry if she did not see him
for a few days at a time. Before he departed she provided him with a key
to the lighthouse cottage. He was left with the impression that Irene
considered appearance and status to be all-important, that she needed
the adulation and respect her work garnered and that was what kept her
going.

His next stop was the county office building and the sheriff's office.
He found it wise to have the local law enforcement agency know of his
presence and purpose, at least as far as his cover story went,
especially in small towns where everybody seemed to know everybody's
business. That usually eliminated all suspicion when he went around
asking questions, poring through the local newspaper archives and
checking into city and county records.

Kyle was informed that Max Culhane was at the sheriffs station on the
main highway. He left one of his business cards with the secretary then
drove to the station. He was ushered into an office and introduced to
the sheriff.

"It's a pleasure to meet you." Kyle extended his hand and was surprised
by the strength of Max's grip. Lauren had not exaggerated about his
physical condition.

"Well, you managed to track me down, so what do you want?"

Kyle handed the sheriff one of his business cards. Max looked at the
card then tossed it on the desk. "Irene mentioned someone wanted to
snoop around in the old lighthouse." He leaned back in his chair and lit
a cigar. "Just what is it you expect to find that everyone don't already
know? You plan to find out about all them ghosts and goblins everyone
thinks lives there?" He allowed a sneer of disdain, pointedly directed
at Kyle.

Kyle's senses shot on alert. Max Culhane was challenging him, but why?
"There have been so many reports about paranormal activity at the
lighthouse that it's hard to ignore." He shifted his weight in the chair
and continued with his original purpose for meeting with the sheriff.
"I'll be going through old courthouse records, the local newspaper
archives and talking to longtime residents. I'll try to stay out of
everyone's way."

"Bunch of nonsense, if you ask me. Things is just fine as is. This
here's a small town. Folks don't take to strangers pokin' into their
business."

Kyle adopted a casual, friendly manner. "I certainly don't intend to pry
into anyone's personal life. I'm interested in any historical events
that might relate to a presence remaining at that location. I also want
to collect local stories and firsthand accounts of specific sightings
and encounters."

Max clamped his cigar between his teeth and growled more than spoke.
"Well, it's a damn fool waste of time if 'you ask me--"

"Sheriff, we've got a bad wreck down by--" The intruder halted in
mid-sentence, carefully scrutinizing the stranger in the sheriff's
office. He turned his attention to Max. "I'm not interrupting anything,
am I?"

Max jerked his head toward the young man who had burst into the office.
"This here's one of my deputies, name's Joe Thurlow." The sheriff
indicated Kyle. "This here's Kyle Delaney, the fellow Irene says is
gonna be hunting for ghosts at the lighthouse." He relit his cigar and
leaned back in his chair again. "Now, what's the problem, Joe? Some sort
of traffic accident?"

"Fatality...Billy Washburn dead at the scene. His car went off the road
and into a ditch a couple of miles south of the lighthouse. Mitch
O'Connor spotted it while on patrol. Must have happened some time last
night. The body has been removed to the county morgue and the car is
being towed to the impound. About a dozen empty beer cans in the back
seat."

Max sat up straight, a scowl covering his face. "Damn fool kid. I
thought he had straightened out after that ran-in we had with him a
couple of years ago at the beer bust down on the beach. Drank as a
skunk, he was." He looked at his deputy. "Sam Washburn been notified
yet?"

"Yep. We told him about his boy. He's real steamed, Sheriff. Says them
was no way Billy had been drinking. He's screaming--"

An angry man in his mid-fifties crashed through the front door, the loud
bang reverberating through the office. He quickly descended on the
sheriff. "Max Culhane, you lousy son of a bitch! You aren't whitewashin'
this death like they did that other one. Ain't no way my boy was
drinking. Just aren't no way!"

Kyle saw the rage contorting the man's face and the intense pain in his
eyes. His hands Were balled into tight fists making him look as if he
were about to take a swing at someone. Kyle quickly rose to his feet and
gingerly stepped to one side, not wanting to get caught in the middle of
what appeared to be an imminent cross fire of flying punches over a
clearly local matter.

The sheriff also jumped to his feet and rushed out from behind his desk.
He grabbed the man's raised arm and twisted it behind his back. "Now,
calm down, Sam. I know you're upset about Billy. Damn shame about the
boy, but all the evidence is them. Car littered with empty beer cans, no
skid marks on the road, no other car involved. And it aren't like it's
the first time, either. We had your boy right here in the drunk tank
followin' the high school graduation party."

Max steered Sam Washburn toward the door, his voice softening a little.
"You calm down and go on home. I'm sure the coroner will release the
body real soon. Now, you go on home."

Kyle watched Max Culhane escort Sam Washburn out to the street, followed
by Joe Thurlow. It was just as well. It had been obvious that his
conversation with the sheriff was at an end.

Kyle left the sheriff's station and walked down the sidewalk, his mind
going over everything that had just taken place. Of particular interest
was the sheriff's stated surprise about the accident, yet he knew the
details even though his deputy had not filled him in. He glanced across
the street at the offices of the Sea Grove Gazette, paused a moment,
then crossed and headed toward the building.

Kyle introduced himself to Tony Mallory, the publisher, editor and chief
reporter for the local weekly newspaper. He handed Tony one of his
business cards while giving him a brief overview of his cover story.

"Sum, Kyle." Tony's attitude was enthusiastic. "I'd be happy to provide
you with whatever archive material you' need. I think the paper's morgue
is complete--issues back for seventy-five years, when the newspaper was
founded. If you could tell me exactly what it is you're looking for, I
might be able to give you more help."

"I'm not sure exactly what I'm looking for. I'm just gathering
background information about the lighthousem anything that might have
been newsworthy enough to have made the paper."

"Well, if you want to go back to the beginning--the land under the
lighthouse had been in the Brewster family for generations. They sold a
small parcel out on the bluff to the government for the lighthouse. It
was closed down in 1952. The closure coincided with the completion of
the new, modern signal beacon, and the unfortunate accident that
resulted in the untimely death of the lighthouse keeper, a man named
Jeremy MacDonald. He fell from the top landing of the lighthouse tower."
Tony paused for a moment then added, almost as an afterthought, "The
coroner's inquest ruled it an accidental death and the case was
summarily closed but not without some controversy and hard feelings."

"You seem to have a pretty clear knowledge of the events, considering it
all happened before you were born." It was an innocent enough statement,
but Kyle noted the way Tony momentarily clenched his jaw into a hard
line.

"That's easily explained--1952 is the year I just finished transferring
to a computer retrieval system. I started at the beginning and have been
working my way forward as time and money permit. Since I did most of the
actual computer input myself, the information is fresh in my mind."

"That sounds like a pretty ambitious project." Kyle shook hands with
Tony. "I appreciate your help. I'll be in and out of town over the next
few weeks, but I'm sure we'll be seeing a lot of each other. If you
don't mind, I'll just find a quiet corner and try not to interfere with
your daily murine." He turned to leave then paused as if a thought had
occurred to him. "I was just at the sheriff's office when the deputy
told him about a car wreck fatality. I understand the victim was a local
resident...had graduated from high school right here in Sea Grove.
Terrible tragedy."

"Yeah...we just got in something about that." Tony rummaged through
several pieces of paper on his desk then picked up one of them. "Billy
Washburn, nineteen years old. Worked at Frank Brewster's auto parts
warehouse out on Lighthouse Road. Apparently he had been drinking and
fell asleep at the wheel." He shook his head in dismay. "These kids
think they're invincible. When will they ever learn? Drinking and
driving just don't mix."

Kyle left the newspaper office with mixed feelings about Tony Mallory.
The newspaperman was outwardly friendly and certainly went out of his
way to be cooperative, but there was something a little troubling about
him. Maybe it was the way he avoided making eye contact as they talked.
Kyle was not sure, but it kept nagging at him as he walked down the
street.

"Hey, there...Mr. Delaney, isn't it? Wait up a minute." Kyle turned
toward the source of the intrusion. He eyed the paunchy man in his late
fifties who seemed to waddle more than walk as he hurried down the
sidewalk. By the time he caught up to Kyle, the stranger was totally out
of breath.

The man stuck out his pudgy hand. "I'm Harvey Sherwood of Sherwood
Development."

Kyle accepted his handshake. "It's nice to meet you." The man's palm was
sweaty and there was a nervousness in the way his gaze darted from place
to place. "Just what is it you develop, Mr. Sherwood?"

"Real estate ventures are my main area of operation, land development.
Take that land where the lighthouse sits. I was putting together a
really sweet little deal for the construction of some condominiums--a
country club type of setting that would have eventually included a golf
course." Harvey pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his
perspiration-laden brow. "Yep, it was a real sweetheart of a deal."

The weather was cool. There was no reason for Harvey to be sweating.
"That's interesting, Mr. Sherwood--" "Please, call me' Harvey...everyone
does."

"All right, Harvey. That's all very interesting, but what does it have
to do with me?"

"Well, I thought you might be in a position to influence the historical
society people...convince them that it's all those tourists making the
ghosts unhappy, that they should close up the lighthouse or maybe move
it to another location. That way the ghosts would be happy and would go
back into hiding." Harvey lowered his voice as he furtively glanced
around. "I'm sure my investors could come up with some tangible way of
showing their appreciation for your efforts. Know what I mean?"

Kyle took a steadying breath. He did not like Harvey Sherwood, did not
like him at all. "I appreciate your offer, Harvey, but I doubt the
historical society would be interested. The lighthouse is an integral
part of the history of Sea Grove and its people. In fact, of this entire
stretch of coastline.".

"Yes, well..." Harvey reached into his 'pocket, withdrew a business card
and handed it to Kyle. "You think about what I said. If you change your
mind, give me a call."

He watched as Harvey waddled down the sidewalk and around the corner.
Even for a small town, word of Kyle's arrival had gotten around in
record time.

KYLE SNAPPED OFF his flashlight and stood in the darkened attic of the
lighthouse cottage. He stared out the gabled window toward the ocean,
the view obscured by the mist of another stormy night. His thoughts were
lost in the events of the day. It had been an enlightening series of
meetings.

Irene Peyton was the driving backbone of the historical society and was
very dedicated to her cause. She was one very sharp, matter-of-fact
woman.

Max Culhane was questionable. He was the county sheriff, and therefore
someone to be trusted. Only Kyle did not trust him.

Tony Mallory was intelligent, quick, organized and seemed like he would
be very resourceful. But still, there was something nagging at the back
of Kyle's consciousness, a wariness that told him to keep his distance
and not trust Tony's overly helpful manner.

Frank Brewster was on his list of specific people to contact. The
Brewster family owned several parcels of land in town. The story of them
having built the warehouse in an isolated location next to the
lighthouse because they already owned the land did not sit well with
Kyle.

And Harvey Sherwood...the real estate developer had openly offered him a
bribe seemingly without concern for any adverse consequences. The land
with the lighthouse was not enough for his condominium project. He would
need a great deal of the surrounding land, as well. Most of it was owned
by Frank Brewster...and a small parcel belonged to Lauren Jamison.

A sound from downstairs jerked his thoughts to the present. He heard the
front door open and close, followed by the almost imperceptible creak of
footsteps on the staircase. He had not expected trouble this soon. He
pulled the pistol from his shoulder holster and silently moved behind
the door.

A shadowy figure entered the attic room. Kyle threw his arm across the
trespasser's neck in a choke hold and placed his gun against the
intruder's temple. His voice was a menacing whisper. "Don't even think
about moving. Don't even breathe."

"Kyle?" The fear coursed through Lauren's body and came out in her
voice. Her insides churned and her heart pounded as she tried to swallow
her panic.

"Oh, my God..." He .released her and stepped back. "Lauren... what are
you doing here?"

She turned to face him as she reached for the light switch on the wall,
then pulled the hood of her cape away from her head. She could not stop
her eyes from widening in shock as her gaze fixed on the gun in his
hand, the weapon he had pointed at her. For a dizzying minute, she was
taken back to that horrible night just forty-eight hours before her
wedding when she had discovered her fianc's body. Jim Franklin had been
shot, the blood staining his living room carpet a sickening color of
red.

Things were beginning to make sense to her, the awareness that danger
surrounded him and would subsequently engulf her.'"I..." Her jangled
nerves still were not quite under control. "I was taking my regular
nightly walk and saw a light shining around the attic and--"

"And what?" His VOice held an edge of anger, an anger tinged with a hint
of anxiety. "You thought you'd just casually saunter over and check it
out? Isn't that a little foolish?"

"Not at all." Her clipped words and indignant tone told him she resented
his comments. "I assumed it was you. Irene told me she had--" she
pointedly stared at the gun he still held in his hand "--given you a
key."

The moment was truly an awkward one. Kyle did not know quite what to do
or say. He quickly slipped the pistol into the holster, coveting it with
his shirt. "Lauren..."

"A gun, Kyle? Why do you carry one?" The trepidation in her voice was
tinged with anger. There was no question in his mind about the anxiety
this bit of knowledge caused her. He could see it in her eyes.

"Why does a paranormal investigator need to carry a concealed weapon?
What could there possibly be about your work that would require a gun?"

"It's, uh, well, you're right. A gun certainly wouldn't be of any use
against some sort of spectral entity." He tried to sound light and
casual as he emitted a nervous laugh while his mind raced to find an
acceptable explanation. "In the course of my work I've occasionally
found myself in strange, out-of-the-way places dealing with some very
weird people. I've even had my life threatened a couple of times. It's
just for my own protection."

For his own protection...that was what her fiance had said about the gun
he kept in his house--the very weapon that had been used to kill him.
She leveled a clearly skeptical look at Kyle and took a calming breath.
Her heartbeat had almost returned to normal, but she was unable to
totally conceal her animosity toward the unexpected Turn of events; "And
you thought you might encounter some hostile spirit here?" She looked
around the attic. "Some sort of otherworldly danger that could be
handled with a gun?"

His voice softened, his words coming from some unexpected place deep
inside him. "The only danger that exists in this attic at this moment is
an emotional one." He reached his hand out toward her face, allowing his
fingertips to lightly brush against her cheek. He cupped her chin in his
hand and searched her face for a moment before bending his head toward
hers.

He captured her mouth with a soft kiss that quickly escalated. He
wrapped his arms around her, drawing her into his embrace. He needed to
repair. the damage he had done, calm the awkward situation he had
created. But that would have to wait. Right now, all he wanted was the
taste and feel of her mouth. He slipped his tongue between her lips and
sensually brushed it against the texture of her tongue.

He was being drawn in by her just as surely as he had captured her. She
was totally different from any other woman he had ever known. He felt a
heated desire that came from an entirely new place for him. It was a
place of caring that was quickly turning into emotional involvement--a
connection he knew he did not dare allow but did not know how to stop.

Lauren did not know what to think. A gun--one minute he had the vile
thing pointed at her head and the next minute he was methodically
driving her crazy with desire. Even with his clothes and her heavy cape
as a barter, she could still feel his growing hardness pressed against
her body.

"Kyle..." Lauren forced a calm to her highly charged passions as she
pulled back from his kiss. "This is too much, too fast. One minute
you're pointing a gun at me and the next minute you're..." She took
another calming breath as she dropped her hand to his taut chest, the
feel of his strong heartbeat resonating to her fingertips. "I can't deny
that I'm very attracted to you--"

He drew her into his embrace. "Then there isn't any problem. Why don't
we try out one of the bedrooms here in the cottage?" His words tickled
across her ear in a teasing whisper. ',Let's pretend you're the
lighthouse keeper's daughter and I'm the shipwrecked sailor--"

"Wait." She exerted a minimum of pressure against his chest in an
attempt to stop him. "There is a problem."

An uneasy feeling stirred inside him. He saw the uncertainty in her eyes
and felt it pull at his senses. He was not accustomed to being turned
down. But then, in his line of work he was not in one Place long enough
to be able to afford the luxury of a leisurely game of subtle persuasion
and gentle seduction. That was probably why he chose the type of panners
he did--women who were not looking for any more of a commitment than he
was.

His voice held a hint of apprehension. "What's wrong?"

The intensity in his eyes carved a path right through her common sense
directly to her heart. She had to look away for a moment in order to
break the magnetic hold he had on her. "Who are you, Kyle? Who are you
really? Why have you come to Sea Grove?"

"I told you who I am and why I'm here." He brushed his fingertips across
her cheek. "What more is there to tell?"

"I know what you said,'but I don't believe it." Her words were emphatic.
She saw the caution dart through his eyes. "There's a very real danger
surrounding you, Kyle--life-threatening danger. And it doesn't come from
any paranormal activities at an old lighthouse."

He was not sure exactly how to respond to her words. 'iWhat kind of
danger are you talking about?" He slowly pulled her into his embrace,
allowing his lips to nibble at the corners of her mouth. He tried to
make light of her concerns. "Why do you think so?"

She turned her head from his attempt to renew his seduction, but she did
not step back from him. "Don't make fun of me, Kyle. I saw it, I felt
it. The first time we met, the moment our hands touched--even before I
knew you carried a gun."

"So, what are you saying?" He unfastened the clasp at the neck of her
cape and dropped the garment to the floor. "That you had some sort of
premonition about me?" He caressed her shoulders then let one hand slide
down her spine, coming to rest at the small of her back.

She was barely able to speak, unable to concentrate. "As an educated and
intelligent man you shouldn't treat that concept with such obvious
disdain...and someone in your stated line of work shouldn't have any
reason to be carrying a gun."

"I already explained that."

'No, you didn't. Not to my satisfac--"

He captured her mouth before she could finish her sentence. After a
long, heated moment, he finally released her from the kiss. His voice
was husky, attesting to his aroused state. "You know as surely as I do
that we're going to make love. Apparently not tonight, but it will
happen." He was not making any demands of her, he was simply stating
what they both knew to be true.

"Oh?" She tried to make light of the words that had sent a tremor of
delight through her body. "Is it your psychic ability that tells you
so?"

His voice was soft and so very sincere. "No, it's your kiss that tells
me so. It's destined to be."

He stooped to pick up her cape from the floor. He placed it around her
shoulders then grasped her hand in his. "Come on, I'll take you home."

Frank .perched on the edge of his chair and leaned forward with his
elbows on his desk. He held the phone receiver in one hand while his
other hand gently massaged his throbbing temple.

The voice on the other end of the phone connection was impatient and
angry. "Stop worrying, Frank. As long as you keep your head when this
Kyle Delaney talks to you everything will be all right."

Frank's voice trembled with apprehension. "I don't understand why he
would need to talk to me. I don't have anything to do with the
lighthouse. Besides, what if he stumbles onto something? What then, huh?
What then?" "Everything's under control."

Frank's left eye twitched a couple of times. He took a clean
handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his brow, then ran his fingers
through his thinning hair. "I sure hope you're right. I don't like this,
I don't like any of it."

out of control over the edge of the bluff. He fell for what seemed like
forever, then the salt spray stung his eyes and the icy reality of the
ocean closed around him.

KYLE STOOD at the edge of the bluff. The high tide crashed below as the
waves beat against the base of the cliff. He closed his eyes and inhaled
the cold night air. He had to clear his head. All he had thought about
for the past hour had been Lauren Jamison and where his desires might
have taken them had she not put a stop to things. It was no good. He
needed to put any personal thoughts about her out of his mind and
concentrate solely on the assignment.

He heard a twig snap and whirled around into a crouch as he reached for
his shoulder holster. He had let down his guard. It was only for a
moment, but it was long enough. A shot rang out. A seating pain tore
through his body and sent him reeling backward. He struggled to regain
his balance, but could not prevent himself from hurt-

Chapter 4

Lauren jerked upright into a sitting position. Again, it had been a
vision so real and so vivid that it woke her from a sound sleep with her
heart pounding. She saw a faceless man falling from the cliff to the
dark swirling waters below, only this time a shadowy figure stood at the
edge of the cliff watching him fall.

She wrapped her arms across the front of her body, hugging her shoulders
as she tried to stop the trembling. She hated this particular vision. It
frightened her right down to the depths of her very soul. She had to put
it out of her mind. She forced herself to relax. She finally drifted off
into an uneasy sleep, plagued by strange dreams and confusing visions.

L^JREN had no idea how long she had been sleeping. She swatted at the
intrusion, not sure exactly what it was that had invaded her troubled
sleep. There it was again. It tickled her nose and prodded her cheek.
Then she felt a weight press against her chest. She shook her head to
clear the fuzziness as she forced her eyes. Open. The Siamese cat batted
at her face again, demanding her immediate attention.

Her words were thick with sleep, her voice filled with irritation when
she finally realized what woke her. "Ty-

Ty, what's the matter with you?" The cat flicked his tail back and forth
in an agitated manner, then paced in a circle. His fur was damp and his
paws muddy. He paused every few seconds to let out a plaintive cry.

Lauren's eyes popped wide open as a sudden jolt of fear rippled through
her consciousness. She sat up, her thoughts suddenly coming with crystal
clarity. "What is it, Ty-Ty? Is something wrong?"

The cat jumped off the bed and darted toward the door, pausing long
enough to see if she was following. Lauren threw back the covers and
leaped out of bed. She grabbed her robe and jammed her feet into her
slippers. She tried not to concentrate on the cold fear that jittered in
the pit of her stomach. "Okay, Ty-Ty. I'm up. Now, what's going on?
What's the matter with you?"

She followed as the cat led her to the side door. As soon as she opened
it the Siamese darted out into the cold night air, Lauren close behind.
She came to an abrupt halt about twenty feet from the building. Her
heart thudded in her chest. A sick feeling tried to push up from her
stomach, but she forced it down. Her feet were leaden, refusing to move.
Just ahead of her, facedown and motionless on the ground, lay the body
of a man.

She felt it in her bones and in her soul. She did not need to see his
face to know it was Kyle. With great difficulty she forced herself into
action, moving through the wet grass until she reached him. She
swallowed hard then tried to take in a calming breath as she knelt next
to the body. She heaved a sigh of relief when a soft moan reached her
ears. He was alive.

Taking care not to jar him, she slowly rolled him onto his back. His
clothes were sopping wet and covered with mud. She noted his ripped
jeans and the scrapes and cuts on his hands. He had obviously dragged
himself for quite a distance but lacked the strength to go the final
twenty feet.

"Kyle? Can you hear me?" She tried her best to keep her voice calm and
not show the fear churning inside her. She smoothed his wet hair from
his face, removing pieces of kelp in the process. Other bits of kelp
clung to his clothes. The smell, the feel, the look--he had been in the
ocean fully clothed and then had dragged himself across the bluff.

"Kyle?" A quaver crept into her voice and would not go away. He lay
there like a wrung-out washcloth, the only signs of life the violent
shivers that suddenly convulsed his body. She needed to get him inside
where it was warm. She tried to prop him into a sitting position, but as
soon as she grabbed his shoulders he groaned and recoiled in pain. It
was too dark and his clothes were too wet and dirty for her to determine
where and how he was injured.

"Kyle...please, speak to me. Say something." The tears filled her eyes
as another stab of fear shot through her body. She cradled his head
against her body, the sand and grit rubbing off on her robe. "You can't
die on me, Kyle. I won't allow it!" He was two hundred pounds of
dead-weight, and somehow she had to get him to his feet. "You've got to
help me. I can't lift you by myself!"

"Lauren?" He did not know how, but she had managed to find him. The
relief he felt far surpassed the pain. "YeaIn...1..." He was not sure
which part of him hurt the worst, the shoulder that had taken the bullet
or the muscles that had done battle with the cold ocean then been
strained to the limit as he tried to make his way to her house---to what
he hoped would be a temporary safe haven. Kyle tried to raise himself
up, but the second he put the slightest strain on his right shoulder he
winced in pain and fell back.

"Give...just...rest a minute..." His voice was weak, barely above a
whisper, but it was the sweetest sound she had ever heard. He was
conscious and lucid.

The tears of joy ran down her cheeks, almost choking her words. "Try to
stay calm. I'll call the paramedics and--"

"No! You can't call anyone. Just...get me inside." "Can you stand up?"

He made another attempt, but it was no good. On top of the fatigue that
engulfed him, he had also lost a lot of blood. He tried to focus on
Lauren's face. He saw her deep concern, made all the more noticeable by
her apprehension. He reached toward her, his trembling fingers making
brief contact with her cheek just before everything went black.

Lauren's joy was short-lived. The panic boiled inside her to the point
she could almost taste it. Even in the dark she could tell how ashen and
drawn his face was. She frantically searched her mind for some way to
safely transport him. Then it hit her...it was just what she needed.

She did not know whether he could hear her. "I have to get something.
I'll be right back." She kissed his forehead. "You're going to be all
right. I won't let anything happen to you." She took off her robe and
covered him as best as she could.

Lauren ran to her house, desperation spurring her to a faster pace. She
rummaged around in an old storage room until she found what she was
seeking. It was two years ago when Milly had broken her leg. Lauren
still had the wheelchair. She raced to Kyle. She found him straggling to
get to his feet.

She positioned the wheelchair and helped him sit in it. "Hang on. I'm
afraid the ride will be a little bumpy." His body continued to convulse
with hard shivers. Beads of perspiration stood out on his face, and his
breathing had become labored. She was afraid, truly scared. She silently
prayed that she would be able to get him to her house before he passed
out again.

She knew she had to keep him talking, keep him focused. She could not
keep the urgency out of her voice.

"Kyle, can you hear me? Say something. Don't quit on me now. I'll get
you a doctor--"

"No!" He was not able to give it much volume, but his meaning was
unmistakable. "No doctor."

"But--"

"No. Promise me." It was obviously an effort for him to talk. It was
equally obvious that he was highly agitated and seemed to be on the
verge of panic. "No doctor. No one must know...promise me."

"Okay. Calm down, don't try to talk. No doctor." Confusion swirled
inside Lauren. He was injured, perhaps seriously, yet he had been so
emphatic. The anxiety jittered through her stomach. Somehow she had to
make sure no one knew where he was while making sure his injuries were
tended to.

She managed to get him into her bedroom, then struggled to help him out
of the wheelchair. He collapsed across her bed. She flipped on the
light, and the sight that greeted her frightened her even more. His
jacket was torn, as if a hole had been ripped through it by some outside
force. His shirt was bloody, fresh blood rather than remnants that had
not been washed away by the ocean water. The only thing comforting about
his appearance was the way his chest rose and fell with his breathing.
He was alive...but would she be able to keep him that way without any
outside help? Lauren tensed her jaw for.a hard moment While steeling her
nerves for the difficult task ahead.

The first thing she needed to do was get him out of his wet, dirty
clothes and try to figure out where he was injured and exactly how
serious it was. She untied his shoes and pulled them off. But when she
reached for his jacket he stopped her. "No. My van...you've got to get
my things from it...bring them here...now...can't wait..."

"Just as soon as I get you out of these clothes and--" "No! Now." He
struggled to raise himself, but only succeeded for a couple of seconds
before falling back.

"Immediately...before anyone can get to it."

"But why? What's so important--"

"Now, Lauren. No time..." He lifted his head from the pillow and fixed
her with as much of a level gaze as he could. "Don't let--" he winced in
pain "--anyone see you." He forced the words, straining to make himself
heard and understood. For some reason, something in his van was more
important than his own well-being. "Hidden space under back
floorboards...two suitcases...get them..."

"Where is the van?"

"Behind--" His body shuddered as a hacking cough ripped through him. He
gasped for air, sucking in a deep lungful in spite of the obvious pain
it caused him. "Behind lighthouse cottage. Off the road, hidden from
sight. Key." He tried to reach for his zippered jacket pocket.

"You lay still. I'll get it." She unzipped the pocket and withdrew a set
of keys, She suppressed a sob as she watched his face contort in pain.
"I can't leave you here like this."

"Go." He reached- for her, then fell back. "Those suitcases...can't let
anyone else get them."

"Just the suitcases? What about your van?"

"Leave it. Can't have whoever shot me wondering what happened to
it...why it's missing...be careful...don't let anyone see you."

"Kyle." He needed help. What'he really needed was a doctor. "I can't
leave you here like this."

"Go." He left her with no room for disagreement. Lauren pulled off a
pair of boots and wrapped her cape over her pajamas. She leaned over and
kissed him on the cheek. "I'll be right back." She gave one last worried
look in his direction, then hurried out the side door.

Ty-Ty twitched his tail then nudged his face against Kyle's cheek. He
tried to shove the annoyance away. "Not

mo!' ullktlown

now, cat." He had a vague memory of the animal being there when he
finally collapsed in the wet grass. He had almost made it to Lauren's
house, but not quite. That had been the last thing he remembered until
she had rolled him over. He tried to clear his head. He took a deep
breath and held it in an attempt to ward off the pain as he forced
himself into an upright position.

He sat on the edge of the bed for a moment, trying to clear his head.
His shoulder throbbed and continued to ooze blood. The cold ocean water
had helped by temporarily slowing the flow. The bullet wound, however,
was the least of it. He had been wounded more seriously than this during
the course of his career. The fall from the bluff followed by the fight
against the strong waves and cold ocean current had been a far more
deadly battle. Any normal man would have succumbed to those elements,
even without a bullet wound. It was his Navy Seal training that had
saved him.

He tried to remove his jacket, but his right shoulder refused to
cooperate. He took a deep breath and clenched his jaw. He had to get the
wound washed before infection set in, if it was not already too late. He
made one last effort and managed to get his jacket and shirt off, then
dropped his shoulder holster and gun to the floor next to the bed. He
straggled out of his wet jeans, then stumbled into the bathroom dressed
only in his briefs and socks.

Kyle slumped against the shower wall, allowing the warm water to soak
through his matted hair and rinse the sand and grit from his body. He
slowly sank to the floor, the last of his strength swirling down the
drain with the dirty water. He did not know how long Lauren had been
gone, but he knew she needed to get back quickly while he could still
function. He also knew if the waves of nausea he had been fighting and
the recurring bouts of dizziness were any indication, he could not
remain clear and in control much longer. He desperately needed the
medical kit from one of his suitcases. He thought he heard something in
the other room, but was not sure. He could force himself to move.

LAUREN ENTERED through the side door, pausing only a second before
locking it, behind her. She struggled with the two heavy suitcases until
she got them to the bedroom. She came to abrupt halt. Kyle was not on
the bed. In fact, he was nowhere in sight. A trail of clothes led toward
the bathroom. She set down the suitcases, then cautiously made her way
toward the sound of the shower.

He sat in the corner of.the shower with his back resting against the
wall as the water splashed against his body.Only the fact that his eyes
were open and he seemed to be looking around in a dazed manner told her
that he, was conscious. She turned off the water and bent down next to
him. Her gaze became riveted to his shoulder. She immediately recognized
it for what it was. A wound. It was not the first time she had come in
close contact with a bullet wound. A sick feeling churned in the pi of
her stomach as the memory flashed through her mind. She had found Jim
sprawled out on his living room floor :' in a pool of his own blood with
a gaping wound in his chest and the pistol about ten feet away--the gun
he owned for his own protection, the gun that had been used to take his
life. She sucked in a deep breath to fight off the uninvited images:
That was seven years ago, and this was now. He needed her help, not
painful memories from her past.

She tried to make her voice sound as authoritative as possible. "Come
on, Kyle. Can you get up?" She tried helping him, being careful of his
shoulder. "We have to get that wound cleaned up and put a dressing on
it. Fortunately the bullet seems to have passed cleaned through your
shoulder."

He winced in pain, but finally managed to get to his feet. "Do you...my
suitcases--"

"They're in the other room."

He staggered toward the bathroom door. "Medical kit." "I'll get it."
Lauren quickly retrieved the medical supplies. "This is quite a
collection of emergency provisions." She leveled a curious look at him.
"Certainly an odd assortmen( of things for a paranormal investigator to
be carrying around with him, especially hidden away under the false
floor in your van." There was no mistaking her implication, but she
quickly moved on. This was not the time for such a conversation. She
worked efficiently, putting everything else aside until later--not the
least of .which was the inappropriate tingle of excitement caused by his
near-naked body.

"I'm sure this is going to sting." She took the antiseptic and cleared
out the wound after carefully washing it. She felt him flinch, but he
gave no other indication of the pain. Next she applied a penicillin
ointment, then covered it with a gauze dressing.

She helped him to her bed. "I've done everything I know to do." She
smoothed the hair from his forehead. "You really need a doctor. You've
lost a lot of blood. The wound is cleaned now, but between the ocean
water and the field on the bluff and wherever else you might have been,
I'm worried about infection."

"No, no doctor. No one. It'll be okay. I just need a little rest, that's
all." He drifted off almost before he finished the words. She was not
sure if he had fallen asleep or lapsed into unconsciousness. She felt
his forehead again. A fever had already taken hold.

LAUREN WATCHED as Kyle slept. It had been thirty-six hours since she had
returned from retrieving his suitcases. A day, a night and another day
had come .and gone in which she had to juggle her time between her
business and tending to Kyle while not arousing suspicion among her
employees and customers. She had come so close to calling a doctor or
driving him to the emergency room, but he had been emphatic about total
secrecy.

She had changed the dressing every two hours, finally resorting to a
home remedy, a poultice of healing herbs to draw out the infection and
fight the fever. He had continued to drift in and out of consciousness.
She had tried to clean his jacket and had washed his clothes, but she
had refused to touch the shoulder holster and gun. They lay on the floor
where he had dropped them. She had placed a towel over them so she did
not have to look at them.

She sat next to the bed sipping herbal tea and watching him as he slept.
Who was this man who seemed to live with constant danger? Was he a
criminal? That would certainly explain his insistence that she not
contact anyone. She furrowed her brow as she shook her head, almost an
involuntary action. All she had were questions, and he was unable to
give her any answers.

His face contorted. She jumped to her feet and mopped the perspiration
from his brow with a cool cloth. He thrashed restlessly for several
minutes, his face laden with beads of sweat and a thin sheen of
perspiration covering his chest. He tried to kick off the covers. The
blanket slipped down to his waist. Then suddenly he became very still.
His fever had finally broken.

She could not help but-notice his physique...again. His upper torso was
well-toned, with just a smattering of hair across his muscled chest. He
was obviously in excellent physical condition, a fact that had
undoubtedly gone a long way toward saving his life. She vividly recalled
her adverse reaction when she first saw the ugly scar that ran across
his right side. Had he been shot before? Was it some kind of
occupational hazard? She pulled the blanket around his shoulders,
careful of his injury.

Ty-Ty jumped on the bed and curled himself next to Kyle's body. He sat
with his front paws tucked under and stared at Kyle as if he sensed some
sort of change in the condition of this man who had been staying in
Lauren's bed.

A few minutes later Kyle moaned softly, then opened his eyes. An instant
surge of panic grabbed him. His gaze darted around the semidark room. He
frantically sought out anything familiar. The relief settled inside him
when he spied Lauren sitting on the edge of the bed, her face covered
with deep concern.

"How are you feeling?" Her voice was soft and caring, but her eyes told
him a different story. They were filled with a multitude of very serious
questions about things other than the state of his health.

"I feel like hell...like someone beat me up then ran over me with a
truck." He saw her eyes narrow. He did not like the silent signals they
sent his way.

"Really?" She cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. Her words were
cloaked in sarcasm. "I thought you might have felt as if someone shot
you then dumped your body in the ocean."

Her eyes seemed to be delving into his consciousness, forcing him to
look away to avoid the feeling of having his soul stripped bare. His
gaze lit on the Siamese resting comfortably on the bed watching him.
"Well, cat...I seem to recall your being around a lot lately, in fact
every time I've opened my eyes."

"It was Ty-Ty who found you. He came to get me, otherwise I never would
have known." A sob caught in her throat. "I knew something terrible had
happened, but I didn't know you were out there. You could have--" She
refused to finish the sentence.

He tried to reach from beneath the covers, but the sharp pain that
grabbed him put a halt to his actions. Lauren touched his arm. It was a
light touch, but it served the purpose. Kyle sank back onto the bed.

"You can't go moving around like that. The bleeding has stopped, and I
think the infection is under control, but

you really should have some stitches." Her voice took on a disapproving
edge. "We won't even discuss the fact that this is insane, that you
should be in the hospital where you could get proper care."

He tried to project a light attitude even though he felt anything but
upbeat. He forced a smile. "You're right, we won't even discuss it." He
turned his head to look at the cat, who had not moved from his resting
place. "Well...it seems that I owe you a vote of thanks, Ty-Ty."

It was almost as if recognition was what the cat had been waiting for.
Ty-Ty jumped off the bed and disappeared through the door, the gold bell
around his neck jingling softly as he ran.

Kyle tried to sit up. Lauren saw him wince in pain, but it did not deter
his efforts. She was immediately at his side, assisting him. "You can't
exert yourself like this. You're far from okay?' She arranged a couple
of pillows as a backrest. "Are you comfortable?"

"Relatively speaking."

"Is that relatively speaking in general--" she leveled a serious look at
him "---or relatively speaking for someone who was on the receiving end
of a murder attempt?"

He squirmed uncomfortably. He knew he was going to have to answer some
questions, but he was not sure exactly how to do it. He needed to play
it very carefully. He also needed to stall for time, he had to
think--now that his head was clear enough for lucid thoughts. "What time
is it? Or maybe I'd be better off asking what day it is. How long have I
been incapacitated?" He ran his hand over the whisker stubble on his
chin and cheeks.

"It's not been that long." She smoothed his hair from his forehead. She
checked the dressing on his shoulder, her senses tingling with
excitement when she came in contact with his bare skin. This was
different than when she had earlier dressed his wound, when she was not
even sure he would live. This time he was conscious and alert. His eyes
were a clear sky blue, and he seemed to be taking in everything that
surrounded him.

She saw it in his eyesrathe secrets, the wariness, the mystery that
shrouded the truth. She felt it and she sensed it, but she could not
clearly define it. "Now that you seem to be doing better you can tell me
what happened."

He ignored her comment, preferring to pick up the thread of the previous
conversation. "Just how long is not that long?"

"Don't play games with me, Kyle." She swallowed hard and took a deep
breath. "Who are you...what are you?"

"You already know that. I'm here to---"

She put her fingers against his lips to still his words. "Don't play me
for a fool. Against my better judgment I've complied with all your
wishes. I retrieved your suitcases from your van. I did the best I could
,with your injuries and didn't call the doctor. I've tried to maintain a
normal work schedule in an attempt to ward off any questions while you
were in here vacillating in and out of consciousness and fighting off
fever and infection. Now that you seem to be part of reality once again,
I think you owe me some straight answers." She brushed his hair back,
allowing her hand to linger against his face for a moment longer than
necessary.

He attempted to reach for her hand but stopped midway, carefully
lowering his right arm to lessen the throbbing in his shoulder. He
switched to his left arm instead, capturing her hand in his and pulling
her toward him. His voice was low, soft and very serious.
"Lauren...please don't ask. I can't--"

She angrily blurted the first words that came to mind. "I don't want to
hear I can't." She fixed him with a hard stare, a task made all the more
difficult because he still clasped her hand and had pulled her face very
close to his. "I have to have some answers, Kyle."

Her manner softened as she continued. "You've been shot. You don't want
anyone notified, which I assume also applies to reporting this incident
to the authorities. You won't allow me to get you professional medical
attention. That didn't make any sense to me at first, but now I
understand. A doctor, by law, must report a bullet wound."

She closed her eyes for a moment and collected herself. "You don't leave
me with too many choices about what's going on here. The most obvious--"
She felt the pressure as he gave her hand a squeeze. The warmth flowed
through. her, almost obscuring her thoughts. "The most obvious answer is
that you're involved in some sort of criminal activity."

He tugged on her hand until he had closed the last small gap between
them. His lips brushed against hers, then he captured her mouth fully.
He felt her initial hesitation. It was not reluctance on her part, more
like uncertainty. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps she was
concerned about his injuries, about his shoulder wound reopening.

He felt her hesitation gradually melt away as his mouth settled
comfortably on hers. It was no ordinary physical attraction that grabbed
his desires. There was nothing ordinary about her. She may have proven
herself cool in a crisis, but everything else about her made his blood
race hot and fast.

The kiss increased in intensity, becoming heated and sensual while at
the same time conveying a softness that said he was making no demands.
He ran the tip of his tongue along her lower lip, then brushed against
the texture of her tongue while sampling more of her taste. Thoughts
began doing battle with feelings. The more he tasted, the more he
wanted--but he knew those desires would have to wait. His entire
investigative plan had blown up in his face, and he had lost valuable
time. He desperately needed to assess his situation and formulate a new
plan immediately.

Kyle reluctantly broke off the kiss as he shifted his weight. Much more
than just his desires had been aroused. He had become acutely aware of
his lack of clothes. He needed to hide the fact that despite the
unsettled circumstances and confrontational nature of their
conversation, the heated kiss had a decidedly physical effect on him. He
drew his knee up, pulling the blanket so it no longer lay against his
body.

"I think I need to find some clothes."

She leaned back to put some space between them. "I washed what you were
wearing. I'm afraid your jeans are ripped and there's the--" a shudder
moved quickly

through her body "mbullet hole through your shirt and jacket, but
everything's cleaned."

He tugged the blanket a little higher around his waist. "I have cleaned
clothes in one of those suitcases. I'll go--"

"You'll do no such thing. I'll get what you need from your suitcase,
just as soon as you quit trying to change the subject." And a good job
he had done of it, too. If the kiss had lasted any longer she just might
have forgotten what they had been talking about. "I want you to give me
some straight answers." She continued to sit on the edge of the bed,
refusing to give him enough room to get up without wrenching his
shoulder.

Her words turned soft, barely above a whisper. "Who are you, Kyle
Delaney? Why are you here? What am I involved in?" She had to know, but
she was not sure she really wanted to hear the answers.

He took her hand again, bringing it to his lips for a moment. There
seemed to be no recourse other than to address her concerns head-on. He
looked up and was immediately captured by the intensity and deep concern
in her eyes. "You have to let this go, Lauren. You can't become
involved. All I can do is ask you to trust me, and in turn I have to
trust that you'll maintain your silence."

"I'm already involved. In fact, I could probably be in trouble just for
hiding a person with a bullet wound. So, as you can see, it's too late
for you to shut me out."

"You have no idea what you'd be getting yourself into."

"We can solve that problem by you telling me about it."

He shook his head, almost an involuntary gesture. "It's far too
dangerous." He lightly trailed his finger across the back of her hand.
"I can't take a chance on you being hurt. Look what happened to me, and
I know what I'm doing. The less you know, the safer you'll be. I'll get
out of your--" His quick intake of breath told of the pain when he tried
to put his weight on his right arm. He fell back against the pillow and
closed his eyes. "I'll get out of here in a little bit."

She inhaled deeply, held it for a moment, then exhaled slowly in a sigh
of resignation. "No, you won't. You'll need someone to change the
dressing on your wound. Besides; you'll be safe here, at least until you
can get your strength back." She hesitated, trying to get the proper
words together. "One thing, though...I have to know, are you... are you
wanted by the law? At least tell me whether or not you're involved in
something illegal." '

His words were soft. "Would it make a difference?"

She studied him for a moment before answering, her voice a barely
discernible whisper. "No."

"Lauren, I... No, I'm not wanted by the law. I'm not a criminal." He
wanted to tell her more. He wanted to get out of there before his
presence caused her harm. He did not know what he wanted. He had never
been so uncertain about anything in his life.

"Then what are you? Why would someone shoot you and why would you not
report it?"

"You're asking questions I'm not at liberty to answer. You already know
too much."

"You haven't told me anything. How can I know too much?"

He fixed her with a deadly serious look, and his voice told her just how
perilous the situation was. "You know that I'm still alive."

He did not want to deceive her, but telling her the truth was against
everything logical and prudent. He could not put her in danger any more
than she already was. The very nature of his job made sharing something
that did not come to him naturally, even under normal circumstances.

He smoothly slipped into one of his many personas--

the charming rake without a care in the world. He flashed her a smile
and a wink. "I don't suppose I could talk you into handing me my pants.
As much as I'm enjoying lounging around in your bed, I really do feel
it's time to get dressed and take care of a little business."

She rose without saying a word and produced some of his clothes. She
dropped them on the side of the bed, then moved his two suitcases next
to the nightstand. She presented him with an expressionless mask. "Will
you be staying for dinner or are you in too much of a hurry to bother?"
She knew the sarcasm was there, but at that moment she did not care. She
turned to leave the room so he could get dressed.

Before she could go anywhere he grabbed her

brought her to a halt. Her display of anger and hurt tu at him. He did
not know what to do. Kyle was a man of action who lived on the edge and
liked not knowing what to do.

"Lauren, please believe me. This is for your own good." i

She gently removed her arm from his grasp and

listened to his words. "Are you sure I can't fix you something to

before You leave? What do you feel you can handle?

Would you like some soup or something more solid?"

You'll have to give me a hint. I've never prepared a meal for someone
recovering from a bullet wound."

He could not keep the frustration and exasperation out of his voice.
"Damnit! What I'd like is for you to tell me you understand, that you're
not angry with me."

She whirled around, her green eyes flashing fire. "Well, I can't do it!
I don't understand and I am angry. You don't need to worry, I'll keep
your secret if that's all that's important to you. No one will know
you've been here or even that you survived the shooting and the ocean."
Her eyes narrowed as she leveled a hard stare at him. "But perhaps you
need to be reminded that this is a small town. Whatever you try to do,
wherever you try to go and whoever you pretend to be, everyone will
notice you."

She was right. He needed a new cover and a disguise to go with it, and
it would have to be something that would not arouse suspicion. He was
not able to curb his irritation as he asked, "Do I take that to mean you
have some sort of an idea or suggestion?"

"First I need some honesty from you. Then I think I have the perfect
solution. So, what do you say? Are you willing to trade? I get answers
to my questions, and you get an acceptable identity."

"You're a tough negotiator, Lauren Jamison." He had made his decision.
Against his better judgment he would take her into his confidence...in a
limited capacity. He forced out the words. "My name really is Kyle
Delaney. I work for the government." He saw her eyes widen in shock
immediately followed by a quick look of relief. "I'm an investigator
with the Customs Service on an undercover assignment." He could not stop
the involuntary chuckle as he glanced at the blanket covering his near
naked body. "Apparently literally as well as figuratively."

Lauren shook her head in shocked silence, then finally managed to blurt,
"I don't believe it!"

Chapter 5

"Why don't you believe me?" Confusion covered Kyle's face. "It's the
truth."

"I do believe it, but I'm flabbergasted--that's what I meant." She tried
to get her thoughts together. For someone witn and exasperation out of
his voice. "Damnfit! What I'd like is for you to tell me you understand,
that you're not angry with me."

She whirled around, her green eyes flashing fire. "Well, I can't do it!
I don't understand and I am angry. You don't need to worry, I'll keep
your secret if that's all that's important to you. No one will know
you've been here or even that you survived the shooting and the ocean."
Her eyes narrowed as she leveled a hard stare at him. "But perhaps you
need to be reminded that this is a small town. Whatever you try to do,
wherever you try to go and whoever you pretend to be, everyone will
notice you."

She was right. He needed a new cover and a disguise to go with it, and
it would have to be something that would not arouse suspicion. He was
not able to curb his irritation as he asked, "Do I take that to mean you
have some sort of an idea or suggestion?"

"First I need some honesty from you. Then I think I have the perfect
solution. So, what do you say? Are you willing to trade? I get answers
to my questions, and you get an acceptable identity."

"You're a tough negotiator, Lauren Janrison." He had made his decision.
Against his better judgment he would take her into his confidence...in a
limited capacity. He forced out the words. "My name really is Kyle
Delaney. I work for the government." He saw her eyes widen in shock
immediately followed by a quick look of relief. "I'm an investigator
with the Customs Service on an undercover assignment." He could not stop
the involuntary chuckle as he glanced at the blanket covering his near
naked body. "Apparently literally as well as figuratively."

Lauren shook her head in shocked silence, then finally managed to blurt,
"I don't believe it!"

Chapter 5

"Why don't you believe me?" Confusion covered Kyle's face. "It's the
truth."

"I do believe it, but I'm flabbergasted--that's what I meant." She tried
to get her thoughts together. For someone with her ability she had sure
missed calling this one, but now things were beginning to make sense.

"So, I've shown you mine and now it's your turn to show me yours--" he
allowed a hint of a devilish grin "--so to speak." He was making an
extra effort to keep the conversation light, even though the subject
matter was anything but carefree. "What's this marvelous new identity
you can give me? Something that will allow me to go about my business
without gamering suspicion?"

Lauren's mind was still in a whirl. "I'm afraid it's going to take me a
few minutes to assimilate all of this." Not only was he surrounded by
danger, his very life was dedicated to it. A man who carried a gun for a
living. And someone had tried to kill him. Someone in her quiet little
town of Sea Grove was a dangerous criminal and had tried to murder this
man who had stepped out of the early-morning mist and into her life.

She was almost afraid to ask the next question. "Do you know who shot
you?" He tried to keep it light. "I was hoping you could tell me, maybe
come up with some sort of vision..." He immediately deferred to the
stern expression on her face, the one that said she was not amused by
his attempt at a joke about her abilities.

"No, I didn't see who it was. I was caught--" His attention momentarily
drifted to that moment when he had been so filled with thoughts of
Lauren that he had let down his guard. "It was dark, and I only caught a
glimpse of a shadow, then the flash of the shot." It was a bit more than
just a shadow he had glimpsed, but not much more. He had his suspicions,
but they were only a gut feeling and certainly not anything he would
ever share with anyone.

He turned the intensity of his blue eyes on her. She felt herself being
drawn inside him as surely as if he had a physical hold on her. "You
still haven't answered my question. Who is it I can become without
arousing the curiosity of the locals?"

"This identity..." She tried to carefully choose her words. "It doesn't
allow you--"

He sat bolt upright, suddenly all business as his face took on a hard
edge. "I thought we had a deal."

"We did...we do. But what I have in mind won't allow you to wander
around by yourself. It only works if you're with me."

"That wasn't our deal, Lauren." He snapped out the words, making no
effort to hide his irritation.

"It has to be. It's the only way it will work. First, I'll have to find
a disguise for you. Maybe bleach your hair and..." She furrowed her brow
in concentration as she studied him.

He displayed the control and authority that were part of his nature and
his training. "Just tell me what this great plan is and let me worry
about the disguise."

She tried not to show her amusement, but could not stop the slight grin
that tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"Just what's so damn funny?" He had passed irritation and was headed
directly toward anger.

The amused chuckle escaped her throat despite her efforts to the
contrary. "Well...here you are flat on your back, unable to show your
face in public--as you so eloquently pointed out, at my mercy--and yet
you're barking orders like some drill sergeant."

She brushed his hair from his forehead. He reached up and tried to swat
her hand away. He welcomed her touch, but not nownot when he was trying
to regain control of the situation. "You're having quite the grand old
time at my expense, aren't you?"

"We're certainly going to have to figure out some sort of a compromise
to our working relationship if we're going to be able to pull this off."

His anger exploded. "Dammit! I keep telling you this is not a case of
we. You don't seem to understand that this isn't a game. This is
real--this is life and death." He clasped her hand and brought it to his
lips. He calmed down, even allowing a little tenderness to creep into
his voice. "I can't do my job if I'm preoccupied with worrying about the
safety of an innocent civilian." He pulled her closer until his mouth
reached hers. The kiss was soft and gentle and very real. "And I can
assure you, Lauren, that you would certainly be a major distraction."

Her heart beat a little faster, and her pulse quickened. A major
distraction? Had she heard him correctly? She quickly shoved the
inappropriate musings aside and forced her thoughts to what needed to be
done. "You might want to hold off on your negative assessment of my idea
until you've at least heard it."

He leaned against the pillow and let out a loud sigh of resignation as
he closed his eyes. "Okay, tell me all about it." There was a noticeable
lack of enthusiasm to his words.

"I have a pen pal. His name is Shane Nolan, and he lives in Dublin,
Ireland. For the past seven years he's been writing me once a month. I
just received another letter from him, three weeks early. He said he was
going to be involved in an archaeological dig for the next few months
and wouldn't be able to write. Everyone in town knows about Shane, and
with our letter carrier's penchant for spreading the news faster than he
delivers the mail, I'm sure everyone knows I just received a letter way
ahead of schedule."

Kyle opened his eyes and sat up straight, his mind rapidly clicking off
the possibilities presented by this intriguing set of circumstances.
"And?"

"And...I can say the letter announced that Shane was coming for a visit
and would be here in a few days. That would give you some time to regain
your strength and for your shoulder to start healing. It's only natural
that Shane would be staying with me. There would be nothing suspicious
about my showing him all around town. It's only logical that he would
show particular interest in the lighthouse, since that's something I'm
involved with."

She watched as his eyes narrowed and his stare took on a new intensity.
He seemed to be mulling her words over. There was a new energy about
him, an excitement that had not been there a minute earlier.

His words came out slowly and carefully. "Your idea has some merit."
Some merit--it was damn near perfect, and for all the reasons she said.
He did riot like the aspect that dictated her personal involvement, but
he also had to admit she Was right about being seen with him. It was the
only way it would work.

He settled back into the comfort of the bed as he warmed to her idea.
"Tell me about Shane Nolan, starting with what everyone already knows
then giving me his background and anything else that might help me get
inside this character."

"I have all the letters he's written me. Would those help?"

"They sure would." He started to reach for his clothes, then paused.
"Did you say something about food? I'm

"I have some nice thick homemade beef stew with lots of vegetables. How
about that along with a green salad and some French bread?" An amazing
transformation had taken place before her very eyes. He almost seemed
like a different person. There was a strong energy about him, a positive
reinforcement, something akin to a reaffirmation.

He was a truly complex man who seemed to march to his own drummer and
respond to his own internal beat.

"Yeah, that sounds great." He cocked his head and extended a questioning
look, his words tentative. "And maybe a piece of pie with a scoop of ice
cream on top?"

She smiled, trying to hide her sense of relief that he had apparently
decided to stop challenging her and accept her help. "Well, you
certainly do seem to be feeling better." "And some coffee?"

"Some herbal tea would be better for you."

He ignored her comment as he reached for his neatly folded clothes. "As
soon as I get dressed I'll get some supplies from my suitcase and we'll
get started."

He had used the word we. Just as her revelation had prophesied, his
danger had now become hers. She glanced to where she had placed his
suitcases. "I'll get what you need. You shouldn't be up and around yet."

He shot her a lascivious grin. "I'm going to get out of bed now and put
on my clothes. You can either leave so I can have some privacy or you
can stay here and help me get dressed---since you seem to be intimately
familiar with my various articles of clothing." He edged his way toward
the side of the bed. He reached down, grabbed a towel from the floor and
tossed it on the chair.

He saw the flush .of embarrassment cover her cheeks as she averted her
eyes. She was so genuine, so real... so unlike any of the women he had
known over the years. Then he saw something else. He saw a combination
of anxiety and fear mixed with repulsion that suddenly froze on her
face. He followed her line of sight. She was staring at the shoulder
holster containing the pistol, lying where he had just uncovered them.

Her eyes snapped to him. He could not read what was in them, but he knew
it made him uncomfortable. Why was she willing to risk her life to help
him, yet at the same time be so averse to the tools of his trade? What
was there about her that he did not know? His words were tentative.
"Lauren? What is it? What's wrong?"

She turned away from the clear blue fathoms of his eyes. Once again she
felt herself being pulled into the depths of his soul. "I...uh...I'll go
and fix you something to eat, then I'll find Shane's letters." She
hurried out of the bedroom.

Kyle pulled back the covers and swung his long legs over the side of the
bed. The pain in his shoulder throbbed, but he had suffered through a
lot worse.

He checked the bandaging Lauren had applied to his shoulder. He did not
know what concoction she had put on his wound, but he did know it was
not the penicillin ointment he carried in his medical kit. Whatever it
was it sure seemed to be doing the trick. He had only intermittent
memories of the time following his attempt to get to her shower-of the
fever and the pain. All of it appeared to be under control now.

He dressed as quickly as his injuries allowed, then turned his attention
to the gun. Almost an hour in salt water followed by a couple of days
lying on the floor while the salt tried to eat into the metal had
certainly not done the weapon any good. He would have to take it
completely apart and clean it very carefully, and even at that, he would
put it aside until he could get it to headquarters and let the experts
check it out. He would have to use one of the two spare pistols from the
suitcase.

His next order of business was to contact the chief, using his cellular
phone and a scrambling device. Kyle allowed a self-satisfied smirk at
what he knew would be the chiefs surprise at hearing from him during an
undercover assignment. It might even produce a positive entry in the
file that fool psychologist seemed to be fond of flashing around.

Kyle gave the chief a rundown on what had happened. "Are you crazy,
Kyle? Involving a civilian like that?" The chief's voice was
understandably angry. "The one time you make an effort to follow
procedure by actually checking in when something goes wrong and the Only
thing you have to tell me is that you've gone even farther afield than
normal?"

There was an obvious hint of amusement in Kyle's voice. "Gee...and I
thought you'd be pleased to hear from me."

The chiefs voice crackled with exasperation. "Of course I'm pleased to
hear from you, and I'm relieved that you're safe. I received a phone
call about your van. The sheriff's department in Sea Grove assumed they
were talking to a leasing agency that owned the van. They were reporting
that they had found it abandoned. They claimed to be making a rourine
inquiry about who it had been leased to and where that person could be
located. The call only came in an hour ago. I was about to send someone
to Sea Grove when you called."

Kyle's sarcasm was mixed with contempt. "My, my, my...how efficient of
the local constabulary. Are you going to pick up the van?"

"No. The sheriffs office said it would remain impounded until the lessee
could be located and they had an opportunity to determine whether foul
play was in-volred--an unusual procedure but not unheard-of There wasn't
a lot we could do in the guise of a leasing agency

without arousing suspicion." There was a slight paus fore the chief
asked his next question. "What about supplies?"

"Lauren got my things out of the van that same n The belongings I had in
my motel room were only nc clothing and toiletry items and a few books
and note lating to my cover story. There's nothing to worry ab{

"Nothing to worry about. You were nearly killed.you're improvising on
the fly again and this time yc taken a civilian in tow. Nope. Nothing to
worry all that's for sure." The sarcasm in the chief's voice le doubt
about his mood. "You will keep me apprise what's happening, won't you? I
mean in light of this ten Jamison's involvement and your having put the
agin-the position of needing to protect her--"

Kyle's tone was upbeat, displaying a barely hidden ing quality. "Good.
Since we're obviously in agree on the matter, I'll get back to work." He
immediately disconnected the phone call without waiting for what he [
knew would be the chiefs response.

- He opened the bedroom door and stepped into the living room just as
Lauren came from the other direction.

"Come on in the kitchen. Your food is nice and hot. He was neatly
dressed, the scrapes and scratches on his face and hands providing the
only clue to the threatening ordeal he had been through. His manne
movements showed nothing wrong.

The hunger pangs rumbled through his stomach. The aroma of home cooking
filled the air. He was acutely aware of his weakened condition and the
fact that he , have to feel a whole lot better than he did to even his
way up to calling it lousy. Food was what he the and a good night's
sleep. He allowed his gaze to drift toward Lauren's enticing curves.
Food and sleep were not the things he needed.

He seated himself at the table as he inhaled. "Smells good." He glanced
at her, once again raking his gaze across the lines of her body. "Looks
good enough to eat. Care to join me?"

"I've already had dinner."

He shot her an undeniably lascivious grin, then a quick wink as he took
a sip of his coffee. "Who said I was talking about dinner?"

KYLE FROWNED as he stared at himself in the mirror. The reddish-blond
wig did not look quite right. He adjusted it so it sat farther back on
his head. It was the smallest fraction of an inch, but the change met
with, his approval. He smoothed in the nose putty so it blended
perfectly with the rest of his face, giving his nose a different shape.

He applied the neatly trimmed beard and mustache, a shade or two darker
than the wig. Years of practice allowed him to work very quickly and
efficiently without any wasted motion. It not only altered. the
appearance of his face, but it also covered the scar across his jawline.
His complexion was now a' more ruddy shading, with the beginnings of
some wrinkles across his forehead. Next came the brown contact lenses to
disguise his sky blue eyes. A little padding in his clothes and the
final touch, a pair of glasses, completed the transformation.

He double-checked his appearance in the full-length mirror then turned
toward Lauren. "Faith and begorra, 'tis the luck of the Irish that
dictates. And tell me, my pretty one, does this meet with your
approval?" The soft Irish accent was perfect, the voice unrecognizable
as that of Kyle Delaney.

She looked him over with a critical eye. The effect of his efforts was a
man of totally different appearance who looked at least ten years older
and twenty pounds heavier.

"That's some disguise kit you carry with you. I think I can safely say I
wouldn't recognize you if I passed you on the street. It's an amazing
change." She noted that he still favored his right shoulder when he
tried to do something requiring any pressure.

He saw the silent concern on her face and read the question in her eyes.
In answer he grabbed a jar from his disguise kit using his left hand,
tossed it in the air and caught it. "I'm pretty adept with my left hand.
I can even Write with it. I'm not ambidextrous in the true sense of the
word, but I can get along well enough to be convincing. I even qualified
expert at the pistol range with my left--"

He saw the look of disapproval cover her face. The gun had not been
mentioned during the past four days of his convalescence; but he could
see it was always at the forefront of her concerns. She had refused to
enter the room while he was cleaneding and oiling the weapon that had
been in the ocean.

That was not the only thing he had tried to ignore over the past four
days. At the very top of that list had been their sleeping arrangements.
He had done the honorable thing by offering to sleep on the couch in her
living room rather than assuming she would allow him to share her bed.
She had insisted that he take the bed, but to his dismay she had been
adamant that she would sleep on the living room couch. She had
steadfastly argued that he needed to get good solid sleep if he was
going to recover as quickly as he wanted.

It was not at all what he wanted. His mind had been filled with thoughts
of her body snuggled next to his, of the feel of her silky, smooth skin
pressed along the length of his torso. He knew the taste of her kiss and
he wanted to intimately know the rest of her.

He mentally kicked himself. He had to get his mind on business. He had
committed to memory all the pertinent facts in Shane's letters. Not only
had they given him a good picture of the man, they had also provided him
with an insight into Lauren. She had not mentioned that Shane Nolan had
been a close friend of her former fiance, a man named Jim Franklin. In
fact, she had not mentioned being engaged. Kyle did not know what
happened, only that some tragedy had taken her fianc's life a couple of
days before the wedding. Immediately afterward Shane began writing to
her.

Shane Nolan seemed to be a decent and caring man. Kyle felt a strangely
unexpected sense of gratitude that he had been there for Lauren in her
time of need, even though Shane and Lauren had never met in person. He
wished he could have read 'her letters to Shane.

She had brought him a couple of books on Ireland from her bookstore and
he had boned up on the history, geography and current political climate.
The only other thing that needed to be handled was the report of Kyle
Delaney's death. As previously arranged, the chief generated a news
release stating that the Coast Guard had fished the body of an
unidentified man in his early thirties out of the ocean off the coast of
Sea Grove.

Lauren and Kyle were ready for a trial run. They decided to test out the
disguise on Milly. Lauren told her friend she would be leaving early
that morning to drive into Seattle to pick up Shane at the airport. They
would be back that afternoon. The stage was set. They put Kyle's
suitcases in the trunk of Lauren's car and left just before sunrise so
no one would see them.

"I DIDN'T KNOW what to do so I called 'you. It's obvious the fellow
didn't just skip out on his bill. I mean, all of his things are still
here." The motel manager unlocked the door to Kyle's room then stepped
aside so the sheriff could enter. "It's just that his weekly rent is due
and no one's seen him for several days. The housekeeper says his bed
hasn't been slept in."

Max Culhane walked around the room, stopping occasionally to open a
dresser drawer or pick up a book and leaf through it. He looked inside
the closet and into the small bathroom. Everything looked as if the
occupant of the room expected to return.

He turned to the motel manager. "I guess you'd better pack up all this
stuff and send it over to my office. If he shows up, or if anyone calls
for him or comes to see him, get their name and notify me. Meanwhile
I'll check around and see what I can find out."

"You know, Max, it occurs to me that perhaps that guy on the news might
.be Mr. Delaney... you know, the body the Coast Guard found off
Lighthouse Point? The man was about the right age. Maybe you could check
on that?"

"Sure thing. Don't you worry. You just send his things over and I'll
take care of it."

"Is it okay if I rent out the room?"

"Yeah, it's okay. We don't know that anything happened to him and if it
did, it sure don't look like it occurred here. Besides, the room's
already been cleared so there wouldn't be much to find. You go ahead and
rent it out."

A smile crossed the motel manager's weary face. "Thanks. I'll get this
stuff over to your office right away."

Lauren AND KYLE were only half a mile from the tearoom. He studied her
profile as she drove. The nervousness twitched across her features. She
had a tighter grip on the steering wheel than necessary. He reached over
and brushed his fingertips across her knuckles. "If you don't relax your
grip you're liable to break that steering wheel in two." A slight sigh
of exasperation escaped his throat. "It's not too late for you to change
your mind."

She gave a quick sidelong glance in his direction then returned her eyes
to the road. "I won't change my mind. This is the only way it will work,
and you know it, even if you don't like it."

He focused his gaze out the front window. "You've got that one right--I
don't like it." He turned in the seat until he half faced her. "I want
you to promise me that you'll do exactly as I say without trying to
second-guess me. Both our lives might depend on that
fraction-of-a-second edge. And when I tell you it's time for you to get
out, I want you as far away from here as quickly as you can go. Do you
understand that?"

She tried to lighten his mood and ease the tension that filled the air.
"You're such a nag. For the millionth time, I understand that."

"Stop it, Lauren!" He snapped out the words, making no effort to hide
his annoyance. "Also for the millionth time, this isn't a game. You've
already shown me how clever and resourceful you are. Against everything
that's logical and rational I'm reluctantly allowing you a limited
amount of involvement in this, but I don't want to end up with someone
praising your sterling qualities to the townsfolk at your funeral." He
knew the words were harsh and he made no effort to soften them.

She pulled the car to the side of the road and braked to a halt almost
within sight of their destination. She turned to face him. "And I don't
want to be telling people how you swept into my life one early morning
only to be taken away far too soon by a bullet with your name on it. I
know that sounds like a corny clicht, but it's the way I feel." She
quickly turned toward the road when she felt the tears begin to well in
her eyes. She put the car in gear, making sure he could not see how much
the thought truly upset her. She had already lost one man to a bullet
and had no intention of it happening again.

His exasperation came across loud and clear. "Can we at least go over
today's plan one more time?"

Lauren flipped on the turn signal then pulled into the parking lot. She
recited the plan as if it was an oft-repeated litany. "We arrive with a
flourish. I introduce you to Milly. We see what her response is. If she
buys it we go to Billy Washburn's funeral so you can listen, snoop, and
with luck get a chance for an innocent little conversation with Billy's
father."

She pulled the car around back and turned off the engine. He took her
hand in his, stopping her from opening the car door. "Lauren..." The
words were difficult for him. ",I'm not sure what I'm trying to say
here...I want you to know--"

"Whatever it is, I suggest you say it with an Irish accent because it's
show time!" She had to cut him off. She did not want to hear anything
that might indicate he was going to change his mind. They would do this
together or die trying. A little tremor of anxiety rippled across her
skin. She hoped those words were not as prophetic as they sounded. She
swallowed her trepidation and reached for the door handle.

Chapter 6

Kyle and Lauren entered through the side door and placed the suitcases
on the floor of her living room. They had driven to the Seattle airport,
where Kyle checked with the customs inspection office to procure the
proper airline tags and stamps for his luggage. After that they had an
early lunch then drove to Sea Grove.

Lauren shot him a tentative glance, which he answered with a subtle
squeeze of her hand. Then they stepped into the early-afternoon activity
of the tearoom. Milly was busy at the cash register. As soon as she had
a quiet moment, Lauren called to her.

"I'm back. Is everything okay?"

Milly turned toward the sound of Lauren's voice. The wide, friendly
smile spread across her face as her gaze settled on Ky!e. "So, this is
Shane Nolan." She rushed toward them, her hand outstretched. "I am so
delighted to finally meet you in person, although I do feel as if I've
known you for years."

The physical transformation had been handled with Kyle's disguise
expertise, but the metamorphosis that took place before Lauren's eyes
was startling. He had absorbed every nuance from Shane's letters and had
become an entirely different person.

The Irish accent flowed naturally from his mouth, surrounding his words
like a soft caress. "Ah, this can only be the channing Milly Evans." He
accepted her hand and brought it to his lips in a gallant gesture.
"Every bit as lovely as Lauren described you."

"Oh, my." Milly giggled like a schoolgirl. "I think you must have kissed
the Blarney stone once too often."

Kyle flashed her a dazzling smile. "My dear lady, one does not need to
kiss the Blarney stone to recognize true loveliness."

Lauren interrupted before things got too far afield. "Has this morning's
business been hectic, Milly? If everything's under control I want to
give Shane a quick tour around town before he totally collapses from jet
lag."

"Things are running smoothly. The two of you go along and enjoy
yourselves. Don't give this place another thought."

Lauren turned toward Kyle. "Well, Shane. Why don't you take a few
minutes to unpack, then we'll do a quick turn through town. If you don't
have any objections, I would like to stop by the services and pay my
respects to Sam Washburn. I know how tired you must be, but it will only
take a few minutes."

"Oh, yes. You mentioned him. The man who lost his son in the automobile
accident. Of course, 'tis only fitting and proper."

"I'M SO SORRY about Billy." Lauren's words were sincere as she extended
her condolences to Sam Washburn following the funeral.

Sam could not hide his grief as he spoke. "Thanks, Lauren, You were
always real good to Billy, recommending those books for him to read and
helping him to expand his interests. I know it was real hard for him his
final year of high school, and then a year ago when he developed the
medical--" Whatever Sam was going to say never made it out of his mouth.
He cut off his words, but not before they had captured Kyle's interest.

Sam turned his attention to Kyle, extending his hand. "It was nice to
meet you, Shane. Thank you for coming to the services." He turned to
Lauren as if a sudden thought had occurred to him. "Why don't the two of
you stop by the house? There won't be too many people there." Sam
glanced toward a small group of men, a scowl quickly covering his face.

Kyle followed Sam's line of sight. The man the sheriff was talking with
exuded pure anxiety, right down to the beads of sweat standing out on
his forehead and upper lip. He ran his fingers nervously through his
thinning brown hair. The two men had been joined by two others. One of
hem Kyle recognized as the deputy, Joe Thurlow. Sam's words jerked Kyle
back to the conversation. "Just a few close friends and some relatives."

Kyle jumped at the invitation. "That's most gracious of you, Mr.
Washburn. We'd be honored." He watched as Sam left the graveside, then
quickly scanned the area. He saw Irene Peyton making the rounds,
speaking to almost everyone before turning in their direction.

"Lauren, dear. I've been meaning to call on you but I've just been so
busy. Between the railroad station restoration project and the annual
Charity ball I haven't had a moment's rest." She scrutinized Kyle for a
moment. "And this must be your friend, Shane Nolan."

"Yes, indeed. Shane, this is Irene Peyton, president of the Sea Grove
Historical Society and as you just heard the head of the annual charity
ball committee. In fact, Irene is involved in just about every social,
charity and civic function that happens in Sea Grove."

"And 'tis a pleasure to make your acquaintance, dear lady. Lauren has
written so many nice things about you and your ceaseless efforts to
preserve the history of your beautiful area. I feel as if I already know
you."

They exchanged a few moments of conversation, then Irene continued on
her rounds, stopping to talk with the sheriff for a few minutes. Kyle
spotted Tony Mallory taking a few photos and making notations in his
reporter's notebook. He tried to discreetly turn away from the camera
every time'he saw Tony ready to snap another picture. Lauren introduced
Kyle to several other people.

Kyle spotted Harvey Sherwood in a huddled conversation with another man.
Harvey furtively glanced toward the sheriff and the man he was talking
to and occasionally in Lauren's direction.

During the course of the service, and afterward at the grave, Kyle had
caught little snippets of conversation about the Washburn family history
and the people of Sea Grove. From what he could piece together, Billy's
grandfather, Henry Washburn, had been linked to the death of Jeremy
MacDonald, the last lighthouse keeper.

Lauren and Kyle returned to her car. Kyle whispered, "Did you hear what
Sam said? About a year ago Billy developed some sort of medical problem.
Do you know anything about it?"

"I'm not aware of Billy having any medical problems." "I'm not
surprised. The way Sam cut off his own words tells me no one was aware
of it. It's possible there might still be some of Billy's medication in
the house, something that would tell me what Sam was trying to hide."

Lauren eyed him curiously, her confusion putting a slight furrow across
her brow. "I'm not sure I understand what the significance of that is."

"Oh, it's probably nothing. I'm just trying to fit some loose pieces
together that may not even belong together, and even if they do, they
probably don't have anything to do with my case." He needed to be
cautious in what he said, not indiscriminately divulge his speculations.
He wanted to get a look at the autopsy report, to see the official cause
of death and whether alcohol was involved. He knew it was not likely he
could, though, unless he broke into the coroner's office. He reserved
that idea as a possibility.

He also toyed with the possibility that there was a life insurance
policy on Billy Washburn. If so, the insurance company would be entitled
to information about the circumstances of Billy's death before paying
the beneficiary. Perhaps there was some sort of group insurance policy
connected with Billy's employment.

Kyle paused, scanning the area with a practiced eye. Max Culhane's
expression might have been benign, but his eyes were nervous. Kyle
leaned toward Lauren and .whispered in her ear without taking his eyes
off what was going on around him. "The man the sheriff and Irene are
talking to, who is he? Also who is the man with Joe Thur-low? And lastly
who is Harvey Sherwood talking to?"

"That's Frank Brewster with Max and Irene. The deputy with Joe Thufiow
is Mitch O'Connor, and Harvey is talking to Dennis Kendrick, the mayor."

Lauren cocked her head and pointedly stared at him. He ignored her
obvious question. He was more concerned with finding something at Sam's
house that would tell him why someone would be interested in killing a
nineteen-year-old boy and then going to a great deal of trouble to make
it look like an accident.

They arrived at the Washburn home, a modest house in a middle-class
neighborhood. There were about half a dozen cars parked in front. Sam
greeted them at the door and introduced them to a couple of cousins and
an uncle from out of state. Lauren engaged Sam in conversation while
Kyle discreetly headed for the bathroom.

As soon as he closed the door he opened the medicine cabinet and studied
the contents. There were a couple of prescription bottles.

He picked up the first and read the label. It belonged to Sam Washburn
and was blood pressure medication. The other bottle also belonged to Sam
and contained a very mild painkiller. There was nothing that belonged to
Billy.

Perhaps the teenager's bedroom would yield some useful information. He
opened the bathroom door just enough to observe what was happening in
the living room. No one seemed to be paying any attention to his
activities. He slipped out of the bathroom and down the hall.

On the surface the bedroom seemed to be typical of a nineteen-year-old.
It was also obvious that Sam had not touched the room since his son's
death. Kyle spotted an ashtray on the nightstand next to the bed. He
retrieved a couple of cigarette butts, studied them for a moment, then
placed them in an evidence envelope he took from his pocket.

He tried to open the nightstand drawer, but was surprised to find it
locked. A quick turn of a lock pick granted him access.

There it was, the answer to the riddle of Billy's medical condition--an
insulin kit. He read the pharmacy label. He noted the doctor's name and
address. It was from Springfield, a city of about one hundred fifty
thousand in population located in the next county. There was something
else in the drawer. Next to the insulin kit was a small black notebook.

Kyle glanced over his shoulder toward the door, then picked up the
notebook and looked at the first page. It appeared to be a series of
dates and times coupled with a few key words. A familiar tingle of
excitement darted through his body, a feeling that told him he was on to
something.

There was no question in his mind that the notebook contained
surveillance notes of some sort. He started to tuck it into his inside
jacket pocket. His breath caught when a spasm of pain shot through his
shoulder. He cautiously transferred the notebook to his left hand,
slipped it in his pocket, then left the room.

LAUREN SPOTTED KYLE Out of the corner of her eye and caught his silent
signal as he crossed the living room toward her. She extended her hand
toward Sam Washburn. "I think we'd better be going. As I mentioned,
Shane arrived from Ireland just this morning, and I think the jet lag
has caught up with him."

"Of course. I understand."

"You know, Sam..." Her words were hesitant. "I was surprised you waited
so long to have the funeral. Was it due to out-of-town relatives needing
time to get here?"

"No." An angry scowl crossed his face. "The county wouldn't release
Billy's body. Said they had to do some kind of tests or something, I
don't know .exactly what. All I wanted to do was put my boy-to rest next
to his mother. .... "Sam's voice faltered.

"Well--" the moment was an awkward one for Lauren "--if there's anything
you need don't hesitate to give me a call."

"Thanks, Lauren. There's lots of folks in this town that I got no use
for, but you've always been real decent to Billy and me. I especially
appreciated all your kindness seven years ago when my wife died. Even
though you had your own grief to deal with you still found the time to
check in on Billy and me." He turned toward Kyle. "I hope you enjoy your
stay in our country."

"Thank you, Mr. Washburn."

As soon as they returned to Lauren's place, Kyle removed the disguise
and took a shower. He disliked the false beard and mustache. While he
was doing that, she tended to the end-of-day business functions and bid
Milly good-night. When the front had been locked for the night, she
returned to her living quarters.

Kyle was stretched out on her couch, his rapt attention focused on
Billy's notebook. He had pulled on a pair of jeans and some socks. His
shirt was unbuttoned, his hair still damp from the shower. Were it not
for the dressing on his shoulder wound, no one would have ever suspected
that just a few short days ago he appeared to have been close to death.

She studied him for a moment. He almost seemed to be more chameleon than
man, changing appearance and personality easily. Somewhere under it all
was the real man, and she was determined to find out exactly who that
was.

For the first time since realizing she had a special ability, she wished
she had a firm control of it rather than wanting it to go away. Then
maybe she could help Kyle solve his case.

His handsome features, each and every chiseled line of his exposed
chest, his hard athletic body stretched out on the couch--everything
about him reached out and grabbed her. His kisses had heated her desire
for more of him. She wanted him physically and emotionally. She wanted
him in every way possible. The intensity on his face as he studied the
notebook echoed the seriousness of the task he had set for himself--a
task that had nearly cost him his life.

She tried to sound casual in an attempt to cover her concern for his
safety. "Did you find something important?"

He looked up from his reading. Every time he saw her his thoughts tried
to wander away from his assignment and toward his personal desire to
pull her into bed with him and spend the night making love to her. He
had been on plenty of assignments that were tougher, more dangerous, but
none that taxed his personal resolve the way this one did. He swung his
long legs around and sat up.

"I'm not sure. This seems to be some sort of a surveillance
schedule--times, dates, names, places--with several seemingly unrelated
notations scattered throughout. I'm sure of one thing, though. It
involves Frank Brewster, his auto parts warehouse and the lighthouse."
He reached for the two plastic evidence bags he had placed on the end
table. "Here, what do you make of these?"

She looked at the two items for a moment, not sure what she was supposed
to be seeing. "They're both the same brand of cigarette.".

"Yes...but there's more. First, it's not a very common brand."

"Where did they come from?"

"The one marked B came from an ashtray in Billy Washburn's bedroom. I
found the other one between the planks of the lamp housing deck of the
lighthouse my first night here. It was fresh--the drizzle hadn't gotten
to it yet."

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. "You mean that Billy had somehow managed
to get to the top of the lighthouse tower?" An unmistakable hint of
excitement crept into her voice. "Can you send the cigarettes to a lab
and get a DNA match to prove that both of them were smoked by Billy?"

"Sorry, it doesn't work that way. Saliva contains virtually no cells,
therefore no DNA. However, the lab boys tell me all body fluids contain
antigens that indicate the blood type for that person. So, if the
cigarette butts were sufficiently wetted with saliva the lab can
determine if they were smoked by someone with the same blood type."

"You seem to know a lot about this type of thing." "It's the kind of
stuff you pick up along the way."

"I still don't understand why Billy would be interested in the
lighthouse." As if to punctuate her statement she scrunched up her mouth
and knitted her brow into a frown.

"He was apparently keeping track of something I think is connected to
What I'm after. The main question is whether he was working with them or
spying on them. One thing is for sure, whatever he was doing got him
killed."

"Killed?"

He saw her eyes Widen in shock.

"You mean Billy's death wasn't an accident? I knew you were suspicious
of the circumstances, but I had no idea it might have been murder. Why
do you think so? Just because of that notebook and a couple of cigarette
butts?"

"Partly. The clincher was an insulin kit belonging to Billy. I found it
in a locked drawer of the nightstand in his bedroom."

"Insulin? You mean Billy was diabetic?" She shook her head in confusion
as if trying to make sense of the words. "But this is a small town.
Something like that would be difficult to hide."

"Which explains why he went to see a doctor in Springfield and had the
insulin prescription filled at a pharmacy there. He obviously wanted to
hide the knowledge from people here."

"But why would he do that? What difference would it make?"

"Who knows? Maybe it was embarrassment over what he perceived as a
weakness. Maybe for fear it would cost him his job. Could be any number
of reasons for it."

She plopped down on the couch next to him, her total astonishment
covering her like a blanket. She turned in his direction and stared at
him for a moment, then the light of recognition came into her eyes. Her
words came out in an excited rush. "But most diabetics can't handle
alcohol. If Billy was diabetic, then the chances are that he couldn't
drink. And that means--"

"Exactly. It also explains why Sam was so angry about the report that
Bill, had been drinking and ran his car into a ditch."

"I wonder if that had anything to do with what Sam said about the county
not releasing the body until they had done some tests. I assumed he was
referring to a routine autopsy." She studied Kyle as she turned the
thought over in her mind. "Maybe there was more to it than that. What do
you think?"

A smile of admiration spread across his face. "I think that's avery
astute observation." Kyle picked up the notebook again. "But we need a
lot more than that." There were still a few pages of notes that he had
not looked at yet. He scanned the pages, frowned, turned back and reread
a couple of pages. He closed the notebook and leaned back. It had been a
long day, and he was not one hundred percent recovered.

"Tired?" She took the notebOOk from his hand and set it on the end
table.

"A little." He put his left arm around her shoulder and drew her to him.
It felt very comfortable, perhaps too comfortable. He nuzzled the side
of her neck. She smelled good. He leaned his face into hers, pausing to
nibble softly at the corner of her mouth before capturing it full on
with a seductive kiss. She tasted good, too. It was an addictive taste,
the kind that made him want more and more. His mouth lingered against
hers, almost breaking contact then taking possession again as if he
could not force himself to let go.

Her fingertips caressed his cheek, No one had ever touched the depth of
her desires with mere kisses... until now. She welcomed the texture of
his tongue brushing against hers. She knew they would make love. It
would not be now. It would not be that night. She could feel the tension
inside him in spite of the heated passion he conveyed. He was a man of
many complexities and many passions.

It was Kyle who finally broke the kiss. He continued to hold her body
next to his. His words were soft, even though they returned the
atmosphere and conversation to the seriousness of his job. "Tell me
about the Washburn family and Jeremy MacDonald, everything you can think
of including MacDonald's death."

"Do you think there's a connection?" A tingle of excitement ran through
her body as he gently brushed his thumb against her cheek, a body not
yet totally recovered from the heat of his kiss.

"I'm not sure. I can almost see it, but I can't quite reach out and
touch it...not yet. I have lots of pieces, but I can't fit them
together."

"What I know is mostly hearsay, and it's kind of sketchy. Your best
source of information would be the newspaper archives."

He inhaled the alluring scent of the jasmine woven into her hair. It
seduced his senses just as it had the first day they met. There was too
much of a comfortable familiarity between them. It was far more than
what he felt was safe, but not near as much as he wanted. "I'll check
that, too. But for now, tell me what you know... the way things were
locally perceived when it happened."

"That was before my time, but as I understand it Jeremy MacDonald
fell--" she pursed her lips in thought "---or was pushed to his death
from the top landing of the lighthouse. Henry Washburn became an
immediate suspect because of the fight they had gotten into earlier that
day." "What was the fight about?"

"Apparently Henry had accused Jeremy of paying unwanted attentions to
his wife, which Jeremy had vehemently denied. Whether it was true or not
is anyone's guess. Jeremy was a bachelor with a reputation of having an
eye for a pretty woman regardless of her marital status. On the other
hand, Henry Washburn was overly possessive and inordinately jealous
where his wife was concerned. But, either way, the two men had come to
blows in front of the hotel that afternoon. The next morning Jeremy's
body was found at the base of the lighthouse tower. The time of death
was estimated at somewhere between ten at night and two o'clock in the
morning,

"Henry was their first and only suspect, but he had an ironclad alibi.
He had been in an all-night poker game, which was verified by four other
people. With no real proof of foul play and the one and only suspect out
of the running, the case was quietly closed. Unfortunately for Henry,
that did not stop the rumors and innuendos. Gossip persisted in spite of
his airtight alibi until he took his family and moved away. His son, Sam
Washburn, returned to Sea Grove as an adult with his new bride. They had
a son and led a quiet life, but the feelings of resentment apparently
still lingered with some of the older residents in spite of the
intervening years. I'm not sure exactly why--"

Kyle's body stiffened and his head jerked toward the Side door. He
abruptly moved Lauren away from him and reached behind his back to the
clip-on holster attached to his jeans. He quickly withdrew the pistol
and clicked off the safety. He motioned for her to turn off the lamp and
go to the bedroom.

She hesitated, her stare fixed on the gun he held. He did not have time
for this. He growled, "Move...now!"

Her head jerked up to the point where she regained eye contact with him.

"Now!" He watched as she snapped off the lamp then hurried to the
bedroom and closed the door. He moved silently through the darkened
room.

He stood next to the side door with his back pressed against the wall.
He did not move for a full five minutes, then he heard it again. He
reached for the doorknob. He eased the door open just enough for it to
clear the edge of the frame and give him a crack to peek through.

The rash of cold air collided with his bare skin where his shirt hung
open. He could see the faint illumination from the light at the garage
door. Then he saw something move, something in the shadows at the back
of the building. Kyle crouched close to the ground, slowly swung the
door open, then darted silently into the cold night air. The ground
moisture soaked through his socks. There had been no time to think about
shoes.

A loud clatter of trash cans and lids wiped out the prevailing silence.
A swift movement in the shadows presented itself in the dim lighting. He
expelled a whoosh of relief as he straightened up. One, two...a family
of three raccoons scampered across the grass. He turned to find Lauren
standing just inside the open door.

"What happened?" Her words were anxious, her voice nervous. "Is
everything okay? Are you all right?"

He heard her concern and saw it mirrored on her face, but at that moment
it was secondary to the justified anger building inside him. He clenched
his jaw in a tight line as he shoved the gun into the holster. He
brushed silently past her, then closed and locked the door before
switching on the lamp. He grasped her shoulders in a firm grip and fixed
her with a harsh stare.

His irritation was immediate and emphatic. "I told you when this all
began that you had to obey my orders without question and without
hesitation. Both our lives depend on that. The amount of time it took
for you to question what I was doing and for me to repeat instructions
was enough time for one or both of us to have ended up very dead."

She totally ignored what he was saying, instead focusing on her own
concerns. "Why do you find it necessary to carry a gun inside my home?
Isn't it enough that you have the thing here? Do you also need to carry
it on your person?"

"You've just witnessed why it's necessary. That could just as easily
have been someone carrying a gun of his own."

"But it wasn't." She stood her ground. "It was just some raccoons
looking for a free meal."

"Yes, and it could also have been a raccoon I heard the second before I
turned and took a slug in the shoulder...but it wasn't.'" He continued
to hold her in a tight grip as his stare bored into her. "And while
we're at it, no one told you to come out of your bedroom. Didn't it ever
occur to you that you just might be walking into a dangerous situation?"
He felt her body stiffen, saw her eyes widen with the realization.

"Yes, you told me, and I did agree to follow your instructions." She
glanced at the floor, then looked at him again. He had expected to see
guilt, remorse or at least an apologetic expression. Instead he saw an
assertive woman -who showed no signs of backing down. She was neither
combative nor contrite. Her words were straightforward

and to the point. Her attitude was all business, showing no 'personal
reaction to his outburst. "It won't happen again."

His insides melted, and the hard edge left his voice. "I know my job,
Lauren, and I'm very good at it. This isn't a question of testing one
will against another. It's not a matter of being in charge or giving
orders. It's a matter of survival." He brushed his lips across hers,
lingering for a moment before letting her go. He steeled himself against
the desire flooding through his body by abruptly turning away from her.
He went to the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee.

When he returned to the living room he was all business. "Tell me about
Frank Brewster."

"What do you want to know?" She tried to take his abrupt change in
stride.

"Anything you can think of."

"Well...the Brewster family has lived here for generations, but it was
the two brothers, Frank's uncle Ralph and his father, Wilton, who
started the auto parts business and hardware store and made the money.
Ralph Brewster was eight years older than Wilton. Ralph died about
twenty years ago. He had never married. For a long time there were
persistent rumors about his having an illegitimate son who was being
raised by out-of-state relatives. Ralph never said anything about it one
way or the other, and the rumors eventually faded into obscurity. Wilton
died about three years ago, and Frank's mother died the following year.
Frank never married, so he's the last of the family line to inherit the
property and business--unless those rumors about Ralph's son turn out to
be true."

"Inherit the business..." Kyle's features contorted into a strange
expression. At first she thought he was staring at her, but then she
realized he was not focused on her at all. He seemed to be staring right
through her. It was a fascinating glimpse into his thinking process. She
could almost see various pieces of the puzzle coming together in his
mind to form the beginnings of a picture.

He spoke in a distracted manner, his vague words not really making any
sense to her. "Hmm...three years ago...sweats too much...too many
nervous habits. The weak link in the chain." A grin spread across his
face, followed by a self-satisfied expression. "Of course! It fits...it
makes sense." He paced up and down, his body a bundle of barely
controlled energy. "It was about three years ago when we first picked up
bits and pieces about a small smuggling ring operating somewhere in the
pacific Northwest. We assumed it was a fairly new operation, but it
isn't. It's been going on for decades!"

He stopped pacing and stared at her. "This could turn out to be the
longest-running smuggling ring in history. My God." He waved his arm in
a sweeping gesture. "Do you realize the ramifications? This organization
could have started with the smuggling of liquor in from Canada during
Prohibition, and then the contraband simply changed over the years with
the' needs and demands of the times. It's small enough to not really
attract a lot of attention. They haven't flooded the market with illicit
goods. In fact, we never would have become aware of their activities if
they hadn't turned their hand to electronic components and computer
chips on the government's do not export list--"

He suddenly stopped talking, having already said more than he should
have.

The words had flowed faster than Lauren was able to assimilate them. She
followed the gist of what he was saying, but did not understand all of
it. What was the connection between Jeremy MacDonald's death and Billy
Washburn's apparent murder nearly half a century later? How did Frank
Brewster fit in? Who or what was this weak link Kyle had referred to?
And what was the chain?

"We have lots of work to do tomorrow." He grabbed her hand and pulled
her to the dining table, where he wrote out a list and handed it to her.
"First thing in the morning I want you to start by collecting this
information for me."

She studied the piece of paper, her lips pursed and her brow knitted in
concentration. "This is a pretty tall order.

Some of this might be a little too--"

"A little too difficult?"

She heard the challenge in his voice. She answered with as much
confidence as possible. "No. It won't be a problem. It will just take a
little digging, but I can do it." She folded the list and stuck it in
her pocket. "What will you be up to while I'm doing this?"

"I think, my pretty pen pal, that Shane Nolan will be visiting the
newspaper office." He put his arm around her waist and guided her toward
the kitchen. "Why don't we have a little glass of wine?"

"That would be very nice." She was beginning to gain some insight into
his world. He was a man filled with secrets and cloaked in danger. A man
who worked alone and traveled alone, depending on his wits, intelligence
and abilities.

She poured them each a glass of wine, which they carded to the living
room. They settled into the couch, his arm protectively around her
shoulder.

Kyle took a sip from his glass then set it down. His mood had turned
pensive. He did not look at her, instead preferring to stare at the far
wall. "It's not too late, you know. You can still pack up and leave for
a couple of weeks until this whole thing blows over, until it's safe for
you to return."

She looked at him, at his strong profile. The set of his jaw, the
intensity of his expression--she did not like the silent signals they
sent out. She swallowed the quaver in her voice. "Are you asking me to
leave?"

"Perhaps I am." He refused to look at her. His words were hollow, his
voice distant. "The people I'm up against have already proven their
ruthlessness. It would be much safer for you if you weren't here. Today
was just a trial run to see if everything flowed smoothly. Tomorrow is
when the work begins, when we will both be operating out in the open
where anyone and everyone can watch what we're doing." Kyle Delaney was
a man fighting inner conflicts--duty, responsibility, need and desire.

Lauren took a calming breath. "I promised I'd leave when you told me to
go. Are you? Are you telling me to go?"

He finally turned to face her. "I should be."

Her words came out a whisper. "But are you?"

He cupped her chin in his hand and leaned his face to hers. "I don't
think so...at least not yet." His mouth covered hers for only a second.
He had to stop himself from saying something he would surely .regret.
Then the full force of his desires took hold. He pulled her body against
his, twined his fingers in her hair and took total possession of her
mouth. He nibbled at her soft lips, then sought the sweetness of her
taste. His tongue caressed hers.

She responded with an equal level of passion, welcoming every intimate
gesture. She ran her hand across his bare chest, shoving aside his
unbuttoned shirt. She felt his strong heartbeat and the rise and fall of
his breathing. Her fingers came in contact with the bandaging on his
shoulder,

and she felt him flinch slightly, a not too subtle reminder of the very
real danger that surrounded him.

"WH^T THE HELL do you mean by that? Are you telling me Kyle Delaney was
a government agent?" Frank's voice vibrated a full octave above normal,
pure panic controlling his words and actions. "How do you know that? Who
told you he was a government agent?"

"His van said so. That whole business with the leasing agency. It all
went through proper channels, the official inquiry about an impounded
vehicle. But it still figures."

"You mean you aren't even sure he was an agent?"

Frank's voice was an octave and a half above normal. The words were
snapped out in anger. "I'm sure!" "You killed a man for no apparent
reason!" "I had my reasons."

"Oh, yeah...I'm sure they were great ones, too." Sarcasm dripped from
Frank's words. "And now, after the fact, you think he might have been a
government agent?" "Calm down, Frank. No one's gonna trace it to us."
Frank's panic did an abrupt turn into anger. "Right...no one will ever
figure that one out. An undercover agent comes to town, obviously on an
assignment, and a day later he gets blown away and you just assume
whoever sent him will shrug and say, 'Oh, well.' For Christ's sake, the
least you could have done was weigh him down before dumping him into the
ocean. Whose bright idea was it to waste this guy? Was it another of
your brilliant plans for handling trouble? Did you even bother to clear
it this time before you did it?"

"I didn'tdump him in the ocean, he fell off the cliff. You know, I'm
beginning to get a little worried about you, Frank. You seem to be
comin' apart on us. Are we gonna have to do somethin' about you, too?"
The threat was implicit, with no attempt to cover it in softer language.

Frank's voice quavered in spite of his effort to control it.. "You know
I'm with you all the way. I think we should proceed a little more
cautiously, that's all. Maybe cool it for a while. Kind of shut down the
operation until everything calms out a little. You know what I mean?"

"Sure, Frank. I understand what you're sayin'. Now don't you worry about
nothin'."

Chapter 7

Kyle stacked the blankets on the chair, then folded the pullout bed into
a couch. He had insisted on sleeping on the sofa and returning Lauren's
bedroom to her. He knew he could not spend another night in her bed, at
least not alone. He also knew he could not do another fool thing like he
had done last night. It had taken every bit of self-control he could
muster to break off what had turned into a delicious seduction of the
senses and the body.

He knocked softly on her bedroom door. "Are you about ready?"

"Yes." The door opened and she joined him in the living room. "I'm all
set."

He checked his disguise one last time in the full-length mirror then
turned toward her. "Well?"

"It looks perfect, Mr. Nolan." She grinned at him, but the grin quickly
faded when he refused to respond in kind. "Then let's get going. We have
a busy day."

His words were clipped, and his manner could best be described as
brisque. Lauren was not sure what was going on inside him. The night
before could have very easily ended up with them making love, a
possibility she embraced. Then suddenly he had turned distant, and she
did not know why. She watched as he exited the side door, not even
waiting for her. She grabbed her large shoulder bag and hurried after
him.

The drive to the Sea Grove Gazette elicited no more conversation than
the morning had. A nervous tension jittered through the air. Lauren
parked in front of the newspaper offices. Kyle seemed outwardly calm,
whereas she had a stomach full of dancing butterflies.

Without looking at her, he reached over and ran the tip of his finger
across the back of her hand then gave it a squeeze. Before she could
respond, he was out of the car.

Kyle opened the front door to the newspaper office tlen stood aside to
allow Lauren to enter ahead of him. She led the way to Tony Mallory's
office.

"Good morning, Tony." She smiled pleasantly as he looked up from his
desk. "I hope I'm not interrupting."

Tony rose to his feet, glanced curiously at Kyle, then returned her
smile. "Of course not." He gave .her an affectionate kiss on the cheek.
"Please, sit down."

"I'd like you to meet Shane Nolan, my pen pal from Ireland."

The two men shook hands. "Pleasure to meet you, Shane. Saw the two. of
you at Billy's funeral, assumed that's who you were. Can't beat the
small-town gossip circuit. Sometimes makes me wonder why I bother
putting out a newspaper." He shook his head and chuckled at the thought,
then returned his attention to his guests. "May I offer you some
coffee?"

"Nothing for me, thanks." She turned toward Kyle. "How about you,
Shane?"

"Not a thing. Thank you."

Tony reclaimed his chair. "Well, what can I do for the two of you this
morning?"

Lauren took charge of the conversation. "I've been telling Shane all
about the lighthouse, all the work the historical society did on the
renovations and about the ghostly apparition that walks the tower." She
chuckled in an effort to keep the conversation light. "He's very
interested in the historical aspects of the renovations."

"Being an archaeologist I'm interested in all things historical. My
field describes things historical as being much older than a mere
hundred years, but I'd still like to know more about the lighthouse."

"Naturally Shane has seen the brochures we hand out to the visitors and
the old photographs we used as a guide for the renovations. So--"

"I must confess 'tis I who pushed this lovely lady into asking a favor
of you. I should really be speaking for myself rather than putting the
burden on her." Kyle did not want to appear impatient, but she was
taking too long to get to the point--giving more of an explanation than
was necessary. Besides, she was wasting time that neither Of them could
spare.

"I would be ever in your debt if you would accord me the privilege of
going through back issues of your fine newspaper so that I may read
about the lighthouse from a local perspective. After all, archaeology is
a study of past cultures, which is the interaction of people and places,
not just ancient ruins." Kyle smiled pleasantly but kept a keen eye on
Tony's reaction. He noted the way Tony's eyes narrowed, how he seemed to
be studying him, not at all the evasive behavior the newsman had
presented when they had originally met, under different circumstances.

Tony rose from his desk. "This is quite a coincidence...second time in
about a week someone has wanted to check the archives for information on
the lighthouse." His expression was friendly, but his words had been
precise and specific in spite of his casual tone. His eyes showed the
skeptical nature of the thoughts going through his head.

It was okay. Kyle had judged Tony to be a very competent newsman and
knew his instincts would kick in and prevent him from accepting the
story at face value. Kyle was prepared for it with a ploy he had not
mentioned to Lauren, but first he had to get her out of the newspaper
offices and on her way to the courthouse to take care of the list he had
given her.

"I know Lauren has a busy morning of personal errands. So, if .you don't
mind, I can easily amuse myself here while she takes care of her
business. My grandfather ran a small newspaper. It will be interesting
to compare your older issues with the newspaper in his village." Kyle
raised an eyebrow and looked questioningly at Tony, as if waiting for
his permission.

"Of course. I'm always happy to extend professional courtesy to the
relatives of fellow newsmen." Again, the words were polite but the edge
to his voice said otherwise.

Kyle turned to Lauren. "Why don't we meet for lunch at that little pub
down the road, the one overlooking the harbor?"

"Oh? I thought we would go back to the tearoom for lunch."

Kyle saw confusion cloud her eyes. He took her hand in his and gave it
an affectionate pat. "Now how can I be the one treating you to a fine
lunch if we eat at your establishment?"

Kyle hustled her out of Tony's office and onto what she needed to be
doing, then turned his attention to Tony. He glanced around as if to
make sure no one could hear him. "I must apologize for that little
deception."

"Oh?" Tony's obvious curiosity was tempered with a hint of smugness that
said he had not bought any of the story. "What little deception are you
talking about?"

Kyle dropped his voice to a conspiratorial level and again glanced
around. "That bit about the lighthouse...I'm naturally interested in
Lauren's activities, but I didn't have the heart to tell her what I
really wanted from your newspaper archives."

He saw Tony's body straighten to attention and saw the keen light of
interest come into his eyes. "What is it you really want?"

"It's Jim Franklin." Tony's interest turned to abject surprise. Kyle
continued with his ploy. "I wanted to read the newspaper articles about
my friend's death, whatever it is that you printed. You can understand
why I didn't want to mention this to Lauren...to dredge up all those old
memories and reopen the wounds."

"Of course, Shane. I understand."

He saw the mood shift in Tony's eyes, but Tony looked away before he
could determine if the change was also -acceptance of his story. Tony
led him to a back room and showed him the cross-referenced files and
where to find things, just as he had done previously for Kyle Delaney.

"You just help yourself. If you can't find something, give me a yell.
Otherwise, you're on your own."

"Thank you, Tony. I certainly appreciate your understanding of the
delicacy of the matter." He noticed it again, the way Tony seemed to be
purposely avoiding eye contact with him. It was the same as Tony had
done before. Did it mean something, or was he just letting his
imagination run away with him?

LAUREN FINALLY MOVED to the head of the line at the hall of records in
the county office building. It seemed as if everyone in the county
needed something that day. "Next."

She presented her list to the clerk. "I need these records."

The clerk looked over the list then made some notations before handing
it back, her attitude telling of the harried morning she had already
been subjected to. "Your items number one, two and three are handled
down the hall in room number one eleven. Item number four is on the
second floor in room two seventeen. Item number five will be available
to you here in about three hours. Come back then."

The clerk did not wait for a response. She dismissed Lauren with a
withering look, then shifted her gaze to the long line of people waiting
for service. "Next."

Lauren glanced at her watch then headed down the hall, her progress
interrupted by someone calling her name. She looked up and saw Irene
Peyton hurrying toward her.

"Lauren, what a surprise." Irene looked around. "Now, where's that
handsome pen pal of yours? Surely you didn't leave him sitting home
alone while you're taking care of business."

"I, uh, was thinking about doing some remodeling at work so I thought
I'd better check and find out what was required in the way of permits
and that sort of thing." It was a feeble lie and she was not even sure
why she felt the need to offer an explanation. She saw the puzzled look
dance across Irene's face and the skepticism in her eyes.

"But Lauren, dear, isn't that the type of thing the contractor would
take care of?"

"I suppose you're right." Lauren chuckled self-consciously, embarrassed
at being caught in such a ridiculous mistake. "I didn't think of that. I
guess I hadn't given it enough serious thought to be considering a
contractor yet. It was just something I had been mulling over in my
mind. Uh...Shane and I were talking about it last night."

"Which brings me back to my question. What have you done with that
charming young man?"

"He's at the newspaper office. We'll be meeting at the Bayview Inn later
for lunch."

"Oh? The newspaper office?"

"Yes..." She drew on the fabrication Kyle had created while they were in
Tony's office. "His grandfather ran a small newspaper in Ireland and he
was interested in doing a comparison between that and a small-town
newspaper here."

Irene extended a friendly. smile. "Well, I must be running. I have an
entire day of errands planned. I'll see you later. You say hello to
Shane for me."

Lauren returned the smile. "I will." She watched as Irene pushed the
button for the elevator. The older woman seemed to be everywhere at once
and was involved in everything. Lauren recalled Milly telling her about
the money Irene's parents left her. It seemed that everyone in town had
referred to it as substantial, but no one seemed to know how much that
was. Lauren allowed a brief thought about being as active and healthy
when she reached Irene's age, then she hurried down the hall. She had
her own business to take care of, hers and Kyle's.

The morning passed very slowly.. She felt as if she spent most of the
time waiting in various lines, but she finally managed to accumulate
everything Kyle wanted. She picked up the last remaining documents, the
ones that required the three-hour wait. She was to meet him in fifteen
minutes. She hurried toward the building door, almost colliding with
someone as she came around the corner of the hallway.

"Irene." She could not stop the surprise in her voice. She quickly
shoved the documents she had just obtained into her shoulder bag. "It
seems that our paths are running parallel today."- Lauren noted Irene's
curious expression as the older woman pointedly stared at the papers
protruding from the top of her bag.

"Yes, it certainly does."

The two women exited the building, Lauren turning toward the harbor and
Irene going the other way.

THE SOUND of someone opening the door to the newspaper office caused the
clerk to look up from her desk. She stepped to the counter and extended
a smile to the customer. "Hello, Irene. It's nice to see you. May I help
you with something?"

Irene returned the smile. "Yes, you can, Trudy. I found a poor
bedraggled-looking puppy sitting on my front porch this morning. She has
a collar so she must belong to someone. Unfortunately, there was no tag.
I'd like to place an ad in the lost and found column. I'm sure some
little boy or girl really misses the Cute little thing and is worried
sick."

"Of course." The clerk reached for a form and handed it to Irene. "Just
fill out this form." She handed Irene a pen. "What kind of a dog is it?"

"She's a little beagle puppy, looks to be about two months old. I fed
her and fixed her a warm bed. I'll be leaving in a few days to visit my
niece in Seattle so I need to find the puppy's owner before I go."

"Gosh, it seems like you just got back from visiting your niece. Is
everything okay with her?"

"Yes, she's just fine. I have so few family members left, I like to
visit them as often as possible." Irene filled out the ad form, then
handed it to the clerk. While Trudy processed the paperwork, Irene
glanced around the room.

Kyle made one final copy on the duplicating machine, then returned the
last of the back issues to the shelf where he had found them. He looked
up and saw Irene Peyton staring intently at him from the other side of
the front counter. He waved when he spotted her, flashed his best smile
and turned on the charm. "Top o, the morning to you, Irene. And what a
joyous surprise it is to see you again."

"Why, yes. This' is a pleasant coincidence, running into you here, of
all places. Are you enjoying your visit to Sea Grove?' '

"Very much so. 'Tis a delightful little community you have here." "Did
you find everything you were looking for,

Shane?" Tony Mallory bustled into the room, speaking before he realized
Kyle was talking with Irene.

He stopped short. :"Oh...pardon me, Irene. I didn't realize you were
here. May I help you with something?" .

"No, nothing at all. I was just placing an ad in the lost and found when
I saw Shane." She turned her attention to the clerk, paid for the ad,
then turned to the two men. "Well, I must be on my way. I have several
errands yet and the day is getting away from me." She extended a
pleasant smile then left the newspaper office.

Kyle acknowledged Tony's earlier question. "I found what I was looking
for, thank you."

"I really didn't know Jim Franklin very well. I met him a couple of
times, but that was all. I only arrived in town a few months
before...well, before it happened. And, Of course, Jim lived in
Springfield rather than here in Sea Grove." He paused for a moment, as
if gathering his thoughts. "I understand the two of you had been close
friends for many years. How did you meet?"

Kyle chose his words carefully, giving Tony the story Lauren had related
to him. "Ah, you test my memory...it takes me back a couple of decades.
As you probably know, Jim was a Rhodes scholar and spent two years at
Oxford. During that time he made several trips to Ireland. I think it
was on his second visit that we met. It was in a pub. Here was this
young American carefully counting his money to see if he could afford a
second drink and trying to make sense of the bartender's thick brogue."
He chuckled softly, giving the impression of recalling the incident.

For a moment Kyle felt as if he was being interrogated rather than
engaging in simple conversation. He allowed once again that it was
probably his imagination, but it was better to err on the side of
caution than to be caught off guard. As if on cue, a twinge of pain
tugged at his shoulder to remind him of the last time he had permitted a
lapse.

Kyle shook hands with Tony. "I must be off. I'm to meet Lauren at the
pub for lunch, and I don't want to keep such a lovely lady waiting,
especially on such a fine day." He hurried off, his mind analytically
sorting and classifying the information he had been able to dig out of
the back issues of the newspaper. Something nagged at his consciousness,
something he had seen but had not really looked at--something that did
not seem to be part of what he had been searching for, yet seemed to
fit. He shoved the thought away. For the moment it did not apply to his
case.

Of a much more personal concern was what he had read about Jim Franklin.
Lauren's fiance had been shot with his own gun in his home during a
robbery attempt. She had been the one to discover his body. It certainly
explained her dislike for guns in general and her adverse reaction to
the fact that he carried one as part of his job. It also put yet another
question mark into the practicality of his growing emotional involvement
with her. It was an issue that did not seem to have any compromise to
it. This was what he did for a living and he had no plans to change
careers. - Kyle entered the Bayview Inn and proceeded to the dining
room. Lauren had taken a table by the window overlooking the small
harbor. "Sorry to have kept you waiting." The Irish accent flowed with
ease and perfection. "I paused for a bit of conversation with Irene just
as I was leaving the newspaper."

"Really? I bumped into her this morning, too--twice, in fact." A soft
chuckle enveloped her words, followed by a thoughtful furrowing of her
brow. "That woman certainly gets around."

Kyle scanned the menu. "I feel like I should order corned beef and
cabbage out of respect for Shane Nolan."

"You won't be disappointed. In fact, all the food here is good."

He reached across the table and lightly brushed a wayward lock of her
hair, allowing his fingertips to linger

against her cheek. It was an innocent-appearing gesture, but also an
extremely intimate one telling of the closeness between them. "But I
don't like corned beef and cabbage."

To anyone watching them, it would seem they had eyes only for each
other. She frequently touched his arm. On several occasions he reached
across the table and squeezed her hand. There was the familiarity of
sampling food from each other's plate. While they were playing out the
scenario for any onlookers Kyle still managed to keep a sharp eye on
everything that was going on around them---both in the restaurant and
outside on the waterfront walkway and dock.

Several thingscaught his attention, not the least of which was Frank
Brewster apparently readying a sleek cabin cruiser to put out to sea. He
also noted Max Culhane get out of his squad car and do a leisurely foot
patrol along the waterfront, pausing to exchange a few words with Frank,
then continue on. Kyle glanced toward the parking lot. A second squad
car had pulled into the lot. The glare on the windshield prevented him
from seeing who sat in the driver's seat.

Kyle and Lauren finished their lunch and left the restaurant. "Let's go
home" He had not meant for it to come out that way. It was not home, at
least not his home. "Let's go back to your place. I want to get a look
at what you collected and see if I can put it together with what I
already have." The image of Frank Brewster and the boat refused to leave
his mind. Something would be happening very soon, possibly even that
night. This did not fit into Kyle's projected pattern at all. "Besides,
this damn beard is about to drive me nuts." He shot a sly grin Lauren's
way. "What do you think would happen if Shane Nolan shaved off his
beard?"

"I think he'd look a little too much like Kyle Delaney." He frowned at
her. "Spoilsport!" He grabbed her hand

and started down the street at a fast pace. "Come on, let's

"Yes." She hurried to keep up with his long-legged stride. "I should be
checking in with Milly, too. I've been shamefully neglectful of my
business the past few days."

THE DOCUMENTS Lauren had obtained, combined with several things Kyle had
located in the newspaper archives, were spread across her dining table.
She watched him as he studied the information. He occasionally made
notes on a small pad. She tried to see what he was writing. It appeared
to be some kind of personal shorthand or code and did not make any sense
to her.

She was able to sneak a peek at a couple of the items he had copied at
the newspaper office. There was a quarter page newspaper ad from the
1930s and another from the 1940s. There were copies of articles ranging
from the early 1930s to the present, but they were stacked under the
newspaper ads and she could only make out the dates at the top of each
page.

The hours ticked away without Kyle saying a word to her. She did her
best not to disturb his concentration. He seemed to be totally absorbed
in a world of his own, one she did not understand, one he had only
allowed her a glimpse of--a world of shadows, deceptions, danger... and
guns.

He finally leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head
and a satisfied smile on his face. His eyes reflected his excitement.
"Well, I think that about does it."

"You look very pleased with yourself. The newspaper archives must have
yielded some helpful information."

"They did, indeed." He leaned forward again, his expression serious.
"Tell me about Tony Mallory."

"Well...he's thirty-eight years old and has a degree in journalism. He
interned in Chicago and worked for a while as an investigative reporter.
He showed up in Sea Grove almost eight years ago and went to work on our
weekly newspaper. The owner had just had a heart attack. Apparently
Tony's wife didn't want any part of small-town life and refused to leave
Chicago. They ended up getting a divorce. At least that's Tony's version
of what happened.

"Four years ago the owner died and Tony bought the newspaper from the
family and has been running it ever since. I don't know what prompted
him to leave Chicago and the fast-paced career of an investigative
reporter to come to our small town."

"So he has no history here prior to eight years ago?" "That's right."
She wrinkled her brow in confusion. "Is there something important about
that? Why did you want to know?"

"Just curiosity. He appears to be very organized." He shot her a
questioning look. "You seem to know quite a bit about him."

"We..." Lauren felt a hint of embarrassment rise inside her. "We had
dinner a few times, went to the movies. We're friends."

She looked for a diversion and finally settled on pouring two glasses of
wine. She handed one of them to Kyle.

He refused her offer. "None for me. I have to go out." "You're going
out?" She could not hide her surprise, nor her displeasure at this
unexpected turn of events. "But you've already taken off your disguise.
Do you think it's wise to go out without it?"

"It's dark out, and I'm not going far."

"But--"

He put his fingers against her lips, stopping her protest. His voice was
forceful without being harsh. "I have things to do that require my full
faculties. I don't think I'll be gone long. We can have that glass of
wine when I get back."

She made an attempt to be every bit as forceful as he was. "I'm going
with you."

"No, you're not." It was a simple statement of fact that closed off any
attempt at rebuttal. As if to reinforce that fact, he turned and walked
into the bedroom. He reappeared a minute later wearing his jacket and
carrying a bag slung over his shoulder.

"Kyle--"

"No!" He leaned over and placed a soft kiss on her lips, as much in an
effort to stop her words as for the brief moment of pleasure it provided
him. "I'll be back soon." He slipped the shoulder strap over his head so
the bag fit snugly against his body, then he disappeared out the side
door into the darkness of night.

Kyle quickly covered the short distance across the bluff. He had plenty
of breath and ran at an easy pace, but each time his foot hit the ground
he felt the thud in his shoulder. After carefully checking the grounds,
he let himself into the keeper's cottage and went straight to the tower
door. A couple of turns of the lock pick and he stood inside the dark
cylinder, his head tilted as he stared through the darkness, listening
for anything that did not belong.

He ascended the circular staircase, finally arriving at the top landing.
The cold breeze off the ocean ruffled his hair and nipped at his cheeks
and nose. He reached into the satchel and withdrew a pair of night
vision binoculars, then scanned the water starting at the harbor
entrance. It took only a couple of minutes for him to spot what he was
searching for--Frank Brewster's cabin cruiser headed past the
breakwater.

He continued to Watch the boat. A few minutes out from the harbor the
engines shut down, leaving the cruiser to bob with the natural movement
of the ocean. The boat appeared to be dead in the water. It seemed to be
a waiting game with Frank biding his time. A quick once-over of the area
did not reveal any other ships. He continued to watch for several
minutes, then the engines started up and the cruiser swung around to
head toward the harbor. Kyle frowned. Odd...very odd, indeed.

He returned the binoculars to the pouch and went down the staircase,
through the cottage and into the cellar. He wanted to check out the
small side room.

He spread out the plans he had obtained from the government archives
showing the original construction, then unrolled the blueprints Lauren
had procured for him showing the structural reinforcement work done ten
years ago. To his disappointment neither set of plans revealed anything
unusual or out of place. Billy Washburn had managed to get to the top of
the tower without going through the connecting door from the kitchen.
Even though Billy's notebook had yielded some very interesting
information, he had not made any notes about how he had gotten inside
the tower. Another entrance existed, and Kyle had to find it.

He shined the flashlight around the small room, carefully checking the
floor, ceiling and walls. The concrete floor seemed solid, as did the
ceiling. Three of the walls appeared to be solid, but the fourth wall
was another story. He had noted the patched area on his original visit
to the cellar. Now he gave it close scrutiny. It had to be a door, and
there had to be a way of opening it. He hoped it was some kind of
release button or switch rather than an infrared remote control device
or an electronic code.

He carefully checked the support timbers across the ceiling. A smile of
satisfaction turned the corners of his mouth when his fingers came to
rest on the small button hidden in a recessed area of one of the ceiling
timbers. He was about to push the button when he heard the faint creak
of the floorboards and the sound of footsteps above his head. Someone
was in the cottage.

Kyle snapped off his flashlight. He reached for the gun nestled in the
clip-on holster at the small of his back as he ducked underneath the
stairwell. The open spaces between the steps allowed him a clear view of
anyone descending. A moment later the door at the top opened and a beam
of light spread its glow down the stairs, followed closely by someone
wearing white sneakers and worn jeans. ,The intruder paused for a moment
when the one squeaky step gave up its plaintive cry.

Kyle remained hidden, hoping that a confrontation would not be necessary
but ready should it become unavoidable.

Chapter 8

As soon as Kyle saw the interloper he shook his head with a combination
of relief and irritation. He paused long' enough to holster the pistol
before stepping out to confront his unwelcome visitor. His words held an
unmistakably sharp edge. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

Lauren's heart momentarily lodged in her throat, then dropped to her
chest where it continued to pound in double time. She tried to gulp in a
couple of deep breaths before she turned to face her accuser. She forced
her voice into a calm she did not feel. "Kyle...you startled me."

"This is the second time I've caught you sneaking into the lighthouse
late at night. What's your excuse this time? What are you looking for?"

"I was looking for you." She could almost feel his angry eyes on her, a
feeling that sent a little shiver up her spine.

"What made you think I'd be here?"

"It's the. only place close enough for you to go on foot and not risk
being seen without your disguise. Besides, it's been your all-consuming
interest ever since your arrival."'

"Didn't it occur to you that this just might be a very foolish and
dangerous thing for you to be doing? I was sure we already had this
discussion, but apparently you've forgotten about it."

She did not know whether he felt concern or displeasure, but it had
come out of his voice as mild anger. She lashed out in reaction to his
accusation. "I'm not the one who was facedown in the mud with a bullet
through my shoulder. I'm not the one someone tried to kill."

His voice took on a forced calm. He wanted to drive home his point
without having it lost to any unwanted emotional outbursts. "That's only
because you weren't the one threatening their livelihood and freedom...
at least not until now." He saw her eyes widen in surprise. He knew he
had captured her attention.

"Just what precautions did you take when you crossed the bluff on your
way to the lighthouse? I mean, you didn't just casually saunter over
here as if you didn't have a care in the world...did you?" He paused
before continuing. "Hasn't it crossed your mind that you just might be
under surveillance...your actions and movements watched by person or
persons unknown?"

She tried to rationalize her actions, but it became more difficult with
each of his verbal challenges. "Well, then, whoever is watching me won't
find anything out of the-ordinary. It's common knowledge that I often
take walks in the evening, and the lighthouse is a favorite destination
of mine."

He spoke quickly. "That was then and this is now." His voice softened a
little, but not too much. "The difference is that they somehow found out
Kyle Delaney was not who he purported to be and decided to do away with
him." He allowed a moment of reflection. "I personally think it was much
too drastic a step for them to take so early in my investigation. It
shows either desperation or lack of cohesive leadership and planning."

The edge crept into his voice. "But, whatever the reason, it tells us
they are on alert and everything and everyone comes under suspicion.
This identity you've provided me is a good one, but it links a new
person in town with you. It puts both of us in the spotlight if for no
other reason than idle curiosity."

She spoke, making no attempt to hide her anger. "Don't patronize me,
Kyle. Don't you dare treat me like some ditzy little airhead! I most
certainly did not casually stroll across the bluff wearing a large
flashing neon sign saying Follow Me--I Can Lead You To The Government
Agent You Thought You Killed!"

He felt the sting of her well-aimed barbs. Even with the beam of her
flashlight pointed toward the ground, he could see the heat of anger in
her cheeks and the emerald fire in her eyes. This was neither the time
nor the place to engage in an argument. He needed to defuse the
situation so he could get on with his work.

"Okay, you were careful." He folded his arms across his chest and
appraised her with a critical eye. "So maybe you can be just as careful
on your way back?"

"I'm not/going until you do. You were shot because you didn't have
anyone to watch your back. I can do that. You look for whatever it is
you're looking for and I'll watch out for you. I have excellent hearing,
and my night vision is superior."

"No way! I refuse to let you get in any deeper than you already are.
There's no way I'd allow you to be in the line of fire."

"You've already said I'm probably on their list, and now you're saying
that you don't want me involved." She touched her fingertips to his
cheek, then rested her hand against his chest. His solid heartbeat
resonated to her palm, filling her with a sense of his confidence,
determination and strength. "You can't have it both ways, Kyle. If I'm
on their list then I'm already involved. If I'm not involved, then I'm
not on their list and they're not watching me."

He took a calming breath, then let it out with a loud whoosh. "Well, it
seems I've been hoisted on my own petard." He sought her eyes. He wanted
her to know that

his words did not come from arrogance or a sense of superiority. "I
can't be worried about your safety and do my job at the same time. We've
been over this ground before, and it just won't work."

She took a step backward. Her words were soft, but her voice was filled
with resolve. "You do your job and I'll take care of myself. Now, we're
wasting time. What is it you're looking for here? Anything other than
some sort of secret entrance?"

"You think you have it all figured out, don't you?" His sigh of
resignation was loud and unhappy, but it said he had decided to
acquiesce rather than waste any more time. "Come on."

They returned to the small room and Kyle shined his light on the
recessed button he had found. He motioned Lauren to one side. "Stand
back and keep quiet. I don't know what we're going 'to find behind this
wall." He snapped off his flashlight, plunging the cellar into darkness.
Then he pushed the button. The wall swung open to reveal more darkness.

Kyle cautiously stepped through the opening into a hidden room. He stood
perfectly still and listened but heard only the sound of crashing waves
and the whistle of the wind coming from somewhere beyond. He felt the
movement of air and the drop in temperature. He turned on his flashlight
and shined the beam around the room, pausing each time it lit on
something of interest.

"Well, well, well...look at What we have here." A shortwave radio sat on
a shelf, its dial tuned to the marine frequency. A table had been shoved
up against the wall. On the table was a 'lamp and by it an ashtray. He
collected the two cigar butts from the ashtray and put them into a
plastic evidence bag. He shined the flashlight on a small hole in the
wall with a couple of wires running through it. "That's where they
tapped into the cottage's electricity." He poked around the empty crates
stacked in the corner.

The original shipping labels were still intact. "Counterfeits."

"Counterfeits?" Lauren could not hide her surprise. "Do you mean these
boxes contained counterfeit money?'.'

"No, not money. Counterfeit clothing...knockoffs of designer labels This
part of the country, the Pacific NorthWest in general and here in
Washington state specifically, is the gateway to the Far East. Anything
and everything that's counterfeited in the Orient usually passes through
this area, most often directly but occasionally via Canada. Clothes,
nuts and bolts...you name it and someone is counterfeiting it and
smuggling it in."

"Nuts and bolts? What is there about nuts and bolts that would make them
something to counterfeit?"

'Kyle continued to poke around as he answered her. "Nuts and bolts come
in different quality designations. The ones used to hold airplanes
together are made to much more exacting specifications. The counterfeits
are labeled and sold to legitimate manufacturers as the genuine article,
but they aren't."

"You mean a passenger plane could be flying up there right now with one
of its wings or an engine held on by inferior nuts and bolts and the
company that built it wouldn't know it?"

"That's exactly what I mean. The word smuggling doesn't apply just to
drugs, although that's what people usually think of these days. In fact,
this ring has been very scrupulous in avoiding all connection with drugs
and guns." He rummaged through a large trash can, scrutinizing numerous
sheets of paper then tossing them .back into the receptacle.

"What are you looking for?"

"Whatever I can find. Anything that will tell me something I don't
already know about what goes on here." He reached into his bag and
withdrew a pair of tweezers, then used them to pick up several small
items that had attracted his attention. He placed the items in another
evidence envelope and put them in his bag.

"What is it?" Lauren had not been able to see what he had picked up.
"What did you find?"

"Just some little pieces of cellophane."

More secrets, more hidden thoughts and feelings. She watched as he
turned his attention toward the dark tunnel that led toward the sound of
crashing waves. She felt the warmth of his hand clasp hers. His words
were whispered. "Stay close to me and watch your footing."

He moved slowly and cautiously out of the hidden room and into the
passage with Lauren closely behind him. Each step took them down, until
the tunnel finally leveled out. In addition to the sounds of wind and
waves, there was now the added sound of dripping water.

Kyle stopped and stood perfectly still. She could almost feel the
tension running through his body in the way he held her hand. After what
seemed like an eternity he slowly shined the beam of his flashlight
around the interior of a large cavern.

- "Oh, my God!" The words tumbled out of Lauren's mouth and echoed off
the hard walls before she could stop

them. "I never dreamed this existed."

"Pretty amazing, isn't it?"

"Did. you know this was here?" She could not believe what she was
seeing.

"Did I know? No. Did I suspect? Yes."

The moisture-laden salt air whistled through the large cave, dampening
everything it came in contact with. Puddles of seawater filled the
sunken spots in the rocky floor, a floor that sloped off into a large
pool. He shined the light across the pool to the cavern wall on the
other side. A spray of water crashed through the rocks then ran into the
pool.

"Let's see where that water's coming from." Kyle led the way around the
pool.

Another wave crashed into the cavern, showing the twists and turns in
the rock wall that created a natural opening between the cave and the
ocean.

"So that's it." Kyle sounded very pleased with his find. "This entrance
would be completely under water at high tide." He kicked at a puddle,
sending water splashing against a wall as he shined the beam of light
toward the high ceiling. "The cavern would be partially flooded. Only at
low tide could this cave be accessed from the open sea without the use
of scuba gear." He looked around, shaking his head in amazement. "What a
perfect setup." He turned toward Lauren. "The natural opening in the
rocks is so well hidden by its twists and turns that I didn't spot it
when I did a helicopter survey of the entire shoreline at both high and
low tide...and I was looking for something like this."

"So, this is how the smugglers move their contraband in and out." She
turned toward Kyle. "I've lived a stone's throw from here for most of my
adult life, and I've been in and out of the lighthouse cottage untold
numbers of times. I never knew any of this was here."

She stared at the natural opening in the rocks. "This doesn't look big
enough for a large boat to pass through."

"I'd say you were right about that." The entrance was definitely not
large enough for a boat the size of Frank Brewster's, especially with
the twists and turns involved. "However, a dinghy making several trips
between a fishing boat or cabin cruiser and the cave could haul quite a
bit of stuff in a short. period of time, and the boat itself would be
commonplace enough so that it wouldn't attract any unwarranted
attention. Once the merchandise is off the boat it would be easy to move
it along the passage and out through the cottage cellar late at night.
The entire procedure would work equally well in reverse. There's a huge
trade in illicit liquor and cigarettes going from here to Canada these
days because of the Canadian taxes."

Kyle skirted the large pool and started across the Cavern toward the
passage where they had entered. Lauren was about to follow him, but
paused for a moment to take one last glance at the cave entrance.

"Kyle, look!"

The alarm in her voice telegraphed her sense of urgency to him, grabbing
his full attention. He spun around and immediately spotted the
flickering glimmer. that grew brighter as it spread through the pool. He
snapped off his flashlight and grabbed her arm, pulling her into a
crouch with him. They watched from a tenuous cover of darkness as the
scuba diver surfaced in the pool, the light coming from the diver's sea
scooter.

Kyle tugged on Lauren's arm and they both ducked into a large crevice in
the rocky wall. He moved her farther back so she was completely hidden
by his body. It was not ideal concealment, but it was the best
available. He reached for his pistol and clicked off the safety. He
pressed his body as tightly against the rock wall as he could.

He clenched his jaw. His muscles tensed as the adrenaline pumped,
leaving a sharp taste in the back of his mouth. The diver's intrusion
into the cave represented only part of the danger. If the diver was
meeting someone coming in through the cottage cellar, then a
confrontation would be almost impossible to avoid.

The next thought that popped into his head was the distraction he had
been worried about, the one he could not afford. How could he protect
Lauren? Before he was able to speculate on the problem his attention was
caught by a sharp sound that echoed through the cave.

The diver slapped his swim fins on the floor, then climbed out of the
pool. He extracted a flashlight from the waterproof pouch attached to
his weight belt and hurried to the far side of the cavern. Kyle watched
as he shoved a rock aside high up on the wall, took something else from
the pouch and placed it in the recess. He moved the rock into place. The
diver returned to the pool, leaving the cavern as he had arrived.

Kyle and Lauren waited in the dark. His nervous system settled into a
normal mode. After what he deemed to be a safe amount of time, he half
turned toward her. "You wait here, I'm going to see what he hid." He
started forward but was drawn to an abrupt halt.

Lauren continued to hold on to the back of his jacket, squeezing the
material tightly in her fist just as she had the entire time they were
hiding from the diver. Even though she found Kyle's calm manner to be a
great comfort, her insides were still doing flip-flops. She knew if she
tried to speak it would come out as a series of incoherent sputters. She
forced her hand open and nodded her agreement.

She watched the trail his flashlight made as he crossed the cave to the
makeshift wall safe and shoved aside the rock. He reached inside and
withdrew a package wrapped in plastic. Her curiosity got the best of
her. She went to see what he had found.

Kyle glanced at her then carefully peeled back the waterproof wrapping
on the package. It contained a large roll of one-hundred-dollar bills.
He heard her gap in surprise as he counted them.

"I've never seen so much money all at one time in cash. How much is
there?"

He continued counting. "Two hundred fifty thousand dollars."

"Is it real?"

"It sure is. It's obviously a payment of some sort, and this is the drop
site." He reached for his little bag of tricks and brought out a special
pen along with a pencil and notebook.

"What are you going to do?"

"I'm going to mark the bills then return them to their hiding place.
It's always wise to follow the money trail."

The items in his bag captured her curiosity. "Do you always carry a
special marking pen with you?"

"I carry a variety of items with me. You never know what kind of
surprises you're going to find when you're out hunting." He handed her
the notebook and pencil. "Here, you make a list of the serial numbers."
They hurried to complete the task, working silently until everything was
back the way they found it. Kyle led the way up the passage toward the
cottage.

They both froze when the faint sound of muffled voices floated down from
above. He did not need to issue any instructions. They turned and ran
back to the cave. Every moment counted as Kyle made a quick assessment
of their situation. He did not need to see the new arrivals. He was
pretty sure who they were. What he did need to do was figure a way to
get out of there. He grabbed his holster from the waist of his jeans,
shoved it into his waterproof bag, then slung the shoulder strap over
his head and across his body.

There was only one way out. He grabbed Lauren's hand and raced toward
the pool. "I hope you know how to swim."

"I'm an excellent swimmer. I also know how to scuba dive."

Kyle letgo of her hand and reached into his bag as they hurried across
the cave floor. He withdrew an object about the size of a Soft drink
can, then zipped the satchel closed. "Here." He handed the strange
object to her when they reached the edge of the pool. "This is a
pressurized air canister with a diver's mouthpiece. It only contains
about fifty breaths of oxygen, so don't gulp it all down at once." He
slipped over the side and into the pool.

Lauren followed him into the dark ocean water. "What about you? Is this
the only one you have?" She knew the tingle that ran across her skin was
more than just the cold water. She felt the adrenaline pump through her
body and the odd surge of excitement that accompanied it.

"I'll be okay." He took a couple of deep breaths.

The tide was low enough for them to make it out of the cave without
having to swim underwater. Neither was sure what they would find on the
other side of the wall--perhaps a boat with the diver who had been in
the cave earlier. It was a chance they had to take, the lesser of two
evils.

Kyle and Lauren floated with the retreating waves, the water tossing
them about. She scraped her back on a jutting rock, but managed to hold
the air canister and not cry out in pain. They finally made their way
through the twisting passage and out to the open sea.

It was a long fifteen minutes from the time they entered the water until
they tumbled onto the sandy beach in the small cove just down from the
lighthouse. Even though she had the compact air canister, Lauren had
still swallowed several big gulps of seawater. A coughing spasm racked
her body as she gasped for air.

Kyle crawled over to her, scooping her into his arms. "Lauren...are you
okay?" He held her tightly, crushing her body against his.

"Yeah, I think so--"

A wave splashed their bodies, shoving them down and dragging them
through the wet sand. They groped their way across the beach until they
were away from the water. The cold night air swirled around them. Lauren
shivered as it hit her skin and whistled through her wet clothes. She
tried to run her fingers through her wet hair to get it away from her
face. It was matted with sand and bits .of kelp.

Lauren's adrenaline level had never been as high as it had during the
past half hour. The danger followed by the excitement of the escape had
left her tingling with tension and raw energy that somehow had to get
out. She did not know whether to laugh or cry. A moment later Kyle took
the decision out of her hands. Her awareness of the pain caused by the
scrape on her back vanished in a flash as he pressed his body against
hers.

He cupped her chin in his hand and brushed a soft kiss on her lips. It
tasted of salt water and sand...and it was wonderful. He wrapped her in
his embrace and pulled her down to the sand with him. The excitement of
events and the heat of the moment mixed together to form a powerful
aphrodisiac--one that could 'not be ignored any longer. He claimed her
mouth as his with every intention of possessing much more.

Then there was the sound--actually two separate noises--that jerked him
to reality. One sound was a boat engine and the other an automobile.
Perhaps they meant nothing, but that was a chance he could not afford to
take. He had almost allowed his personal desires to overrule his good
judgment. He quickly jumped to his feet, pulling her up with him. "Come
on, we've got to get out of here."

THE TWO GLASSES of red wine still sat on the kitchen counter, just where
she had placed them before Kyle left. She picked up both glasses and
carried them into the living room, placing one on the end table next to
the couch. She took a sip from the other glass, then held it in her
hands while staring at the bedroom door.

She had dressed in a long robe and warm socks after showering. While
Kyle showered and dressed, she stayed in the living room drying her
hair. She could still taste the saltiness of his kiss. The tingle on her
skin and the excitement that churned through her stomach had been a rush
unlike anything she had experienced. Kyle frightening her in the cellar
of the cottage, the unexpected appearance of the diver in the
cave--harrowing encounters, to say the least, but they did not compare
to their daring escape coupled with the brief moment of passion on the
beach. She had heard about adrenaline junkies, but had never understood
the concept until now.

Suddenly the rush turned to a shiver of trepidation when she recalled
the gun Kyle held in his hand, ever at the ready should the diver have
spotted them. He had been right about the danger. But she had also been
correct in that he needed her help. Even he had admitted that the
situation could have turned... She paused in her thoughts as she
searched for the ridiculous word he had used in an effort to downplay
the true danger. Awkward, that was the word. He had told her that things
could have turned slightly awkward if she had not spotted the light from
the diver's scooter, thus giving them time to hide.

The door opened and Kyle stepped out dressed in a sweatshirt and
sweatpants. He vigorously rubbed a towel through his wet hair. "Well, I
don't know about you but I sure feel a lot better now that I've had a
shower." He flipped the towel off his head and ran his fingers through
his damp hair.

Then he looked at Lauren. Her long copper-colored hair hung loose to her
shoulders. She was a vision of beauty, sensuality and desire. Up until
now he had been very careful to keep his desires in check. Those desires
had wandered on numerous occasions, the' most recent time less than an
hour ago, but he had managed to rein them in before they completely got
away.

She took a sip from her glass. "What happens now?" "What do you mean?"
Was she asking about their future, his intentions, the nature of their
relationship? Had his discomfort over his growing emotional involvement
with her made him jump to that conclusion? He did not know.

"How close are you to solving this case? Do you know who's behind it?"
She took a calming breath before asking her next question. "Do you know
who shot you?"

Kyle paused. He had no business sharing information with her,
compromising his assignment and the case, but it felt-so good to have
someone to discuss it with. It was a luxury he had never before allowed
himself. Besides, like it or not, she was totally involved. "i'm close.
There's still some pieces missing, but I'm close. Lauren..." His voice
was soft, the words difficult for him, "I want you to know how much I
appreciate the help you've given me." He saw the combination of surprise
and confusion in her eyes.

"You're talking as if everything's wrapped up. As if you plan to leave
in the morning." Another wrinkle of confusion crossed her brow. "You're
not...are you?"

"Not yet. I think I have most of it put together in my head, but that's
not the same thing as proof. I can't take my suspicions into a court of
law without something real to back them up, and right now what I have is
circumstantial."

"Where do things--"

"Sorry, there's a closed sign on the business discussions for the rest
of the night." He took a sip of his wine, then placed the glass on the
end table. He cupped her chin in his hand and lifted her face as he
leaned forward. Business, logic, rules, right and wrong be damned. One
kiss would not be enough. A thousand kisses were not going to be enough.

His mouth came down on hers, consuming her in an explosion of passion.
He darted his tongue between her lips exploring the dark recesses,
drinking in her sweetness, losing himself in her warmth and sensuality.
He did not want to think about the future. He did not want to know what
it held. All he cared about at that moment was Lauren and the way she
felt in his arms. He reveled in the way she responded fully and openly,
in the heat she conveyed to him--a heat that matched his own.

He deftly untied the sash at her waist and slipped his hand inside her
robe. Her skin was soft, warm and silky smooth. He cupped her bare
breast. His breathing quickened as the excitement spread through his
body. She was everything he could ever ask for...and more. He eased her
robe off her shoulders, then lowered his head until he was able to tease
her nipple with his tongue. He gave a soft moan when her flesh instantly
puckered in response to his stimulation. He slowly drew the hardened bud
into his mouth and suckled for a moment before releasing the treat. He
kissed the notch at the base of her throat, then nibbled seductively at
her lower lip.

His words came out in a husky whisper. "Come to bed with me, Lauren. I
want to make love to you so very much."

"Yes."

It was only one word, but it spoke volumes. The tenuous hold he had on
what was left of his restraint vanished in a rapid heartbeat. Kyle rose
to his feet and held out his hand to her. She placed her hand in his.
The fires of passion he saw in her eyes matched the flame that burned
deep inside him. He turned out the light and they walked hand in hand
into the bedroom.

Lauren dropped her robe to the floor. She watched Kyle pull off his
sweatshirt and toss it in the corner. Her hands met his as she reached
to tug his sweatpants past his hips. It was not the frantic urgency of
lust or youthful hormones. It was the intimate closeness of two people
who cared for each other very much.

She was about to make love with this man who was destined to be the
all-consuming Passion of her life. Her entire body quivered in
anticipation as they sank into the softness of the bed. Something caught
her eye, a shadow moving across the window. Ty-Ty jumped off the onto a
chair. She dismissed the concern. It had been the cat, nothing more.

All her thoughts ceased. Nothing remained except sensation of his
fingers tickling her inner thigh and his mouth at her breast. She closed
her eyes, moaning softly when his hand reached the moist heat of her
sexual core,

Then she experienced a sharp intake of breath when he slipped a finger
between her feminine folds.

She caressed his back, trying to remember to be careful of his injured
shoulder. With each passing second it became more difficult for her to
concentrate on anything other than the delicious sensations that coursed
through her body. She trailed her fingers across the curve of his
bottom, then across the taut muscles of his back. The feel of his bare
skin sent tremors of delight through her body, but nothing matched the
incendiary desires he stirred deep inside her. She reached for his
manhood, wanting to give him as much pleasure as he was 'giving her. He
shifted his weight, moving the lower half of his body away from her.

His words were a husky whisper. "Not yet, my lovely." He immediately
captured her mouth with an added fervor. He wanted her so much that he
knew her touch would destroy what hold he had on his control. He did not
know what the future held, but he did know he wanted to shut out
everything and make this night last as long as possible.

It would be difficult to say whose breathing was more labored or whose
desires had been stretched closer to the ultimate. She welcomed the way
he snuggled between her legs while covering her with kisses, starting at
her throat and continuing down until he reached the moist heat of her
womanhood. He bestowed the final kiss, igniting the convulsions deep
inside her. She held him tightly while savoring each and every delicious
sensation.

Kyle teased her nipple with the tip of his tongue then drew the
succulent'treat into his mouth. Everything about her excited him more
than any other woman ever had--the feel of her skin, the heat of her
response, the taste that was uniquely hers.

His hardened arousal probed gently, then he filled her with a smooth
thrust. Her heat nearly took his breath away

when she closed around him. He paused to enjoy the pure ecstasy of the
moment before setting a rhythm that demanded more--a demand that each
rushed to satisfy.

Chapter 9

Kyle lay awake staring through the darkness as Lauren slept in his arms.
He lightly, touched the scrape mark on her back. He had not realized she
had been injured in their escape from the cave until he saw the ugly red
welt. A pang of guilt washed over him. If he had insisted that she
return home rather than allowing her to stay with him, then she would
not have been injured. She had assured him it was nothing serious, for
him to put it out of his mind. He had shoved the image aside, but it had
refused to completely leave.

He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. The glowing red numerals told
him it would be daylight very soon. He kissed her on the forehead,
wanting to hold her tighter but not wanting to wake her. Nothing in his
life experience had prepared him for the internal upheaval their
lovemaking had produced. He had never invested his emotions before, and
the result had left him totally unnerved.

It was no good. He could not tell her what he felt. He had a job to do
and then he would be moving on. That was the way it had to be. He had no
options in the matter. He carefully disentangled himself and quietly
left the warmth of her bed.

He made coffee, then stepped to the window and pulled back the edge of
the drape. The first gray streaks of dawn were beginning to lighten the
morning sky. He released the drape and retrieved one of his suitcases
from the closet, then spread his notes on the dining table. On a legal
pad, he made a chart listing people, places, dates, times and events
with an additional column for miscellaneous information he had not yet
categorized.

"Good morning?' Lauren's words were soft and thick from sleep. She
pulled her hair from her face, using a ribbon to hold it at her nape as
she wandered in from the bedroom.

He smiled when he heard her. The sound of her voice was all it took to
bring the previous night's emotions.rushing back full force. He twisted
in his chair and held his hand out to her. "Good morning, yourself. Did
you sleep well?"

She accepted his hand. The little squeeze he proffered made her feel
warm inside, that is if it was possible to feel any warmer than she
already did. No one had ever made love to her the way Kyle Delaney had.
No one had ever made her feel the way he did. If there had been any
lingering doubts in the back of her mind about his place in her life,
they had been incinerated by the heat of the passion between them.

"Never better." She returned the squeeze before withdrawing her hand. "I
smell fresh coffee." She went to the kitchen, poured herself a cup and
returned to the dining room. She stood behind his chair, wrapped her arm
around his neck and rested her chin on his shoulder. "You look like
you're very busy. Have you been up long?"

Kyle took a deep breath. She smelled of sleep, cleaned sheets, warmth
and desire. He 'placed one hand on top of hers and with the other he
reached behind his chair. He caught a piece of her robe and gathered it
in his hand until he had exposed her bare leg. He ran his fingertips
along the outer edge of her thigh. When his hand reached the curve of
her bottom, he abruptly stopped the gentle seduction he had initiated
and allowed her robe to fall into place.

He had given in to his desire for Lauren once. He chuckled as he
corrected the error. He had given in to his desires a total of three
times before they finally went to sleep. But he could not compound the
difficulty of the situation by giving in to those same desires again. As
much as he tried to tell himself it was only physical and he could move
on when the time came with no regrets or lingering attachments, he knew
it was not so.

"I haven't been up too long. I'm putting together the facts I have so I
can do a probability profile. It's a nifty little computer program that
will do in minutes what it used to take me hours to do, and it's a lot
more accurate."

Lauren straightened. "I'll stay out of your hair and let you work. I'm
going to take a shower then go for a walk. I'll fix us some breakfast as
soon as I get back."

Kyle watched as she went to the bedroom. A couple of minutes later he
heard the shower go on. He stared at the list he had made. Something was
missing. Milly. He had not included her name among those who could be
involved. Not that he really suspected her of anything... He furrowed
his brow as he recalled her saying something about a dinner date, then
being picked up from work by someone in a squad car the evening he first
met her.

He added her name to the others, a list that included Sheriff Max
Culhane, two of his deputies, Joe Thurlow and Mitch O'Connor, the owner
of the parts warehouse, Frank Brewster, self-appointed head of the Sea
Grove social set and president of the historical society, Irene Pey-ton,
real estate developer Harvey Sherwood, Mayor Dennis Kendrick; and the
owner of the local newspaper, Tony Mallory. He began the task of putting
the information into the computer. He was vaguely aware of the shower
being turned off, but his attention remained focused on his work. Lauren
dressed then fixed her hair into a French braid.

She paused at the side door to tell Kyle she was leaving, but he
appeared to be totally absorbed in his work, so she chose not to bother
him. She stepped outside, closing the door behind her.

The nippy early-morning breeze stung her cheeks and nose. She stuffed
her hands in her jacket pockets and headed across the bluff at a brisk
pace. Mindful of Kyle's admonition of the night before, she made a
conscious choice to not go to the lighthouse just in case someone was
watching. She strolled along the edge of the bluff toward the place
where it dipped down to the small cove--the point where she and Kyle had
been able to crawl up on land after drifting out of the hidden cavern.

She scrambled down the narrow path to the small beach below, her sure
footing taking her easily over the rocks. She walked along the sand for
a few feet, her mind filled with the intense sensuality of Kyle Delaney.
She picked up a stick and tossed it into the water, then watched as it
washed on shore with the next wave.

A large clump of seaweed tumbled onto the sand along with the stick.
Lauren bent to retrieve the stick then froze to the spot. An arm
protruded from the tangled mass of seaweed. She closed her eyes for a
moment as she gulped in the cold ocean air, then slowly exhaled.

Vivid images from seven years ago leaped to mind--the body of her fiance
sprawled on his living room floor, the gaping wound in his chest, the
blood on the carpet. And then an image from not that many days
ago---Kyle facedown and seemingly lifeless just beyond her side door.
She shook away the disturbing thoughts. Now was not the time.

A sick uneasiness churned in the pit of her stomach as trepidation
welled inside her. She took a couple of tentative steps toward the clump
of seaweed, being careful where she stepped. She forced herself to
concentrate on the surrounding area as she carefully scrutinized every-

thing for any signs as to the body's identity. The kelp refused to give
up any information beyond the fact that the arm belonged to a man.
Another shudder ran up her spine, and the churning in her stomach
increased. She swallowed several times in an attempt to lessen the lump
in her throat.

The only thing she wanted at that moment was to get far away from that
spot. With a trembling hand she reached out and pulled a small clump of
seaweed over the exposed arm to hide it from sight.

Then she turned and ran. She ran as hard and as fast as the terrain
allowed, not stopping until she got home.

She slammed through the door, totally out of breath. Kyle was not in the
dining room where she had left him. In fact, he was nowhere in sight.
Her voice conveyed the urgency and fear that consumed her. "Kyle...where
are you?"

He immediately appeared from the bathroom, adjusting the last touches of
his Shane Nolan disguise. "What's the matter, Lauren? What's wrong?"

She saw concern blanket his face as he responded to her outward stress.
"Down on the beach...a body."

He rushed to her, grabbing her shoulders. -"A body? Who? Where?"

She tried to catch her breath, to slow her erratic breathing.

"Calm down, Lauren. Do you want a drink of water?" "Give me a moment."
She took another calming breath before continuing. "I don't know who it
is, but it's a man. He was tangled up in the seaweed in the cove and I
couldn't see his face. No one else was around. I didn't touch anything,
other than to cover up the arm that was sticking out." She looked into
his eyes. "What do you think it means? Does it have something to do with
the case?' '

He scowled as he turned her words over in his mind.

His response was hesitant. "Well, I'm not sure. It could. So many people
showing up dead all at once in such a small town, counting me among the
dead, certainly defies the laws of probability."

"Do you want me to call the sheriff and report the body?"

"No. Let me take a look first before everyone else gets in there and
disturbs any clues." He reached for his jacket. ' 'Let's go."

A few minutes later they scrambled to the sandy beach in the cove.
Lauren pointed out the tangle of seaweed that held the body.

Kyle scanned the horizon with his binoculars, then turned his attention
to the surrounding bluff. It was still very early. There was no one in
sight. "You stay here."'

She looked around, a cross between amusement and irritation filling her
response. "Stay where? You mean right here rather than fifteen feet over
there where the body is? Why? Is it suddenly going to leap to life and
grab me? Really!" She took a couple of steps toward the object of their
discussion.

He grabbed her arm, stopping her from going any farther. It might have
been his natural instinct to be in charge or possibly his desire to
protect her that had directed his actions. He did not know. "I don't
want you tromping all over the scene and possibly contaminating some of
the evidence."

"No way. I was at the scene earlier this morning. I'm the one who found
the body, remember? I didn't disturb anything then and I won't disturb
anything now. Besides, it might be someone I can identify."

She was right. He pulled her to him, gave a playful little tug on her
French braid, then kissed her forehead. "Okay, but watch where you step.
I don't want the beach to look like it's been overrun by a platoon of
soldiers on maneuvers when the sheriff gets here."

Kyle studied the beach between him and the body, then carefully made his
way across the open sand to the clump of seaweed. Lauren followed in his
steps, coming to a halt about three feet away. She watched as he knelt
in the sand and lifted the tangled seaweed from the victim's head.

Her ,breath caught and her hands flew to her mouth as soon as she saw
the face, but not in time to stop her gasp. "Oh, my God! It's Frank
Brewster!"

"It certainly is." His words were very matter-of-fact, without emotion,
not even surprise. He turned the body over, searching for a wound. He
found none. He checked Frank's pockets and inspected his clothes. When
he finished his cursory inspection, he rose to his feet.

She looked away from Frank's body, focusing her attention instead on the
way Kyle clenched his jaw into a hard line. She saw the angry glint in
his eyes as he stared out at the ocean. "You...you don't seem too
surprised by this."

"I suppose I'm not. I wasn't expecting to see his body washed up on the
beach this morning, but I figured he'd be next."

"You mean Frank is involved in all of this?"

"Right up to his neck, but he's not alone. I think Billy was killed
because he was spying on Frank and saw things he wasn't supposed to.
Only I don't think Frank killed him."

"But why would Billy Washburn be spying on Frank Brewster?"

"According to Billy's notebook, it was several things--mostly a desire
to clear his grandfather's name in the death of the lighthouse keeper,
Jeremy MacDonald. Billy's suspicions came from seeing some strange
crates stored at the warehouse and late night movement of these crates.
He started paying attention and keeping notes. He thinks Jeremy was
killed because he stumbled onto the fact that the lighthouse was being
used to smuggle contraband."

The information he was sharing was quite a revelation and definitely
more than she had expected to hear. "But if that's true then it means--"

"It means they have been doing business for a very long time. A clever
operation run over the years by smart people. Not so large as to garner
immediate attention because of the volume of contraband it moved,
leaving the setup free to continue operations for decades. If they
hadn't 'turned to smuggling electronic components we probably still
wouldn't know about them. I would guess that Frank was their weak link.
From what I've been able to discern, he didn't have the backbone for
murder or the brains to be in charge. I suspect he was about to become
an embarrassment to someone, so he had to be dealt with. I don't know--"

"But, Kyle...Frank Brewster couldn't have been more than a baby, if
that, when Jeremy died."

"You remember our discussion about inheriting the business? Well, there
were his uncle and father. Three years ago is when his father died,
almost three years ago is when we became aware of a small ring operating
in this general area of the country--"

The bright flash only lasted for a fraction of a second, but it caught
Kyle's eye. "Don't make any sudden moves. There's someone on the bluff
watching us. The sun just glinted off something, probably a pair of
binoculars. I want you to hurry to the house and 'call the sheriff to
report finding a body. Tell him you and Shane were taking an
early-morning walk and stumbled across it. I'll stay here."

Lauren instantly obeyed his instructions. As soon as she was out of
sight, Kyle returned his attention to Frank's body. He didn't dare do
anything other than a visual inspection of the area, not with some
unknown person watching him. He stared at Frank's sneakers. They
appeared to be his favorites, judging by what remained of the on the
well-worn soles. There was nothin unusual about the way he was
dressed...jeans, a black sweat-shirt and a warm jacket with a
water-repellent outer coveting. He had not found anything out of the
ordinary in Frank's pockets, just a wallet containing money and credit
cards and a set of keys--keys he had slipped into his own pocket without
Lauren noticing.

He scanned the surrounding cliffs, to all outward appearances only a
casual glance. He could feel impatience building inside him. He did not
have time to waste standing around. He retreated to the bluff wall and
leaned back in a crevice, ostensibly to wait but in reality to find
someplace where he would be out of sight of the unknown person watching
him.

He reached into his pocket and withdrew the keys. The car keys, both
ignition and trunk, were obvious, as was the key to a safety-deposit
box. He studied the other keys for a moment. The shape of the key and
the manufacturer's name told him that five of them fit door
locks--probably house, downtown office, warehouse, warehouse office and
something else, like maybe the side door into a garage or some type of
storage shed. He turned his attention to the three small keys on the
ring. One he recognized as the type of key that usually fit an alarm
system control box. Another was a padlock key, and the last one was the
kind that fit either a desk drawer or a file cabinet, probably in
Frank's warehouse office.

It appeared that Frank Brewster kept all his keys together on one ring.
Kyle knew that was certainly going to make life a lot easier for him
when he searched Frank's office. It would save him the time and trouble
of having to bypass a security system. Kyle wrinkled his brow into a
momentary frown. Conspicuous in its absence was a key that would fit a
boat ignition. Frank kept his bank safety-deposit key on that ring, so
why not the boat key? Unless someone else had taken it off the ring--

"Down here, Max. Shane is standing guard to make sure no one touches
anything." Lauren's voice came from above him, louder than it needed to
be, to alert him to their presence.

Kyle pocketed the keys and stepped into the open. He called to the top
of the bluff. "Down here, Constable." He watched as Lauren scrambled
down the path with Max following as fast as he dared. "This is a
surprise. Is it typical here in the States for the chief constable to be
the one responding to a phone call?"

Max shot Kyle a quick look. "I happened to be in the area when the call
came in." He proceeded directly to the body. He started to kneel down,
but instead whirled and glared at Kyle and Lauren. "This body's been
moved."

"That it has, Constable. But I only turned him over to determine if he
was still alive...if there was anything we could do." Kyle's expression
was open and honest, his answer entirely plausible.

Lauren added her validation to what Kyle had said. "That's right, Max. I
know CPR." She paused as she stared toward the body, a helpless
expression clouding her face and a quaver coming into her voice. "But it
was too late, he was already dead."

Kyle put his arm around her shoulder and gave it a comforting squeeze.
Again, the Irish accent flowed smoothly. "I can see how upset you are,
Lauren. Why don't you return to the house and brew us a cup of tea? I'll
answer the constable's questions, then be along in a few minutes."

Lauren was not sure what Kyle was trying to do, but it was apparent he
wanted her home rather than on the beach. "Of course, Shane." She hugged
her arms to her body and hunched her shoulders against the early-morning
dampness. "I'll see you shortly."

When she reached the top of the bluff she glanced around, noting the
arrival of another patrol car. She could not see who was driving. Then
she spotted Harvey Sherwood sitting in his car. She waved at him, but he
did not respond. He seemed to be concentrating on something else. She
hurried across the bluff toward her shop.

Max returned his attention to the body. He immediately reached into
Frank's pockets, pulled out the wallet and set it aside. He continued to
search. The frown that crossed his face said he was not finding what he
was looking for.

"You need any help down there, Sheriff?." The voice came from the bluff.

The sheriff looked up at the new arrival. "Yeah, Mitch. You can call the
coroner."

"Have you identified the body yet?" Another new arrival on the scene
made his presence known.

Kyle turned and looked up. He saw Tony Mallory walk to the edge.

"Mallory!" Max Culhane's tone held irritation. "What are you doing
here?"

"I heard the call on my scanner While I was on my way to the office, so
here I am." Tony took a notepad and pencil from his pocket. "Now, who is
it and does it appear to be foul play?" He started down the path to the
beach.

"You stay up there, Mallory. This is a crime scene. Only authorized
personnel are permitted here until further notice. I don't need a whole
bunch of people messing up the evidence."

"Crime scene? So it is foul play. Who's the victim?" "Crime scene only
refers to unknown circumstances, that's all. Your press credentials
don't make you authorized."

Tony pointed to Kyle standing off to one side. "Why is Shane Nolan
allowed at the crime scene? Professional courtesy?"

"He and Lauren was the ones what found the body. He was just standin'
guard till I arrived--" Max turned a harsh glare toward Kyle "--and now
he's leavin'."

Kyle was barely aware of the sheriff's directive. Tony's words were
still ringing in his ears--professional courtesy. He had never quite
shaken his uneasy feeling about Tony, about what he felt were suspicious
and evasive actions on the newsman's part. Was it just an idle
expression or had Tony not been convinced Shane Nolan was who he claimed
to be?

"Didn't you hear me?" Max took a couple of steps toward Kyle. "I said
you was just leavin'."

"Ah...and right you are, Constable. I'll be on my way back to Lauren.
The poor girl was properly upset over all this."

Kyle scrambled up the cliff, making sure he took a good look at
everything and everyone gathered at the top of the bluff. He noted a
pair of binoculars on the dash of Mitch O'Connor's patrol car. Mitch had
arrived almost as quickly as the sheriff. But when he glanced at Tony's
car he saw binoculars there, too. There was another car parked close by:
He recognized Harvey Sherwood sitting behind the wheel. He started to
say something to him but remembered it was Kyle Delaney Harvey had tried
to bribe. Harvey had never met Shane Nolan.

He also spotted Joe Thurlow. The young deputy had positioned himself at
the edge of the road to keep back the few onlookers attracted by the
flashing lights on the sheriffs squad car. There was certainly an
excessive number of people responding to the call for such a small town.

"Shane!" Tony hurried over to Kyle. "Has the body been identified? Do
you know who it was? What can you tell me?"

"Hold up...give me a bit of a moment to catch my breath."

"Sorry." Tony shot a look in Max's direction then returned his attention
to Kyle. "The sheriff likes to keep secrets from the press, even though
he shares with his buddies."

"Well, you surely can't think I'm...I mean, I'm a stranger in town, a
foreigner enjoying a visit to your lovely country. Of course, this
incident is a bit upsetting--an unpleasant memory for me to take back to
Ireland." Kyle did not like the silent signals Tony's body language sent
out or the edge to his questions. They left him with the possibility
that Tony suspected the charade he was playing.

Tony sidestepped his comments. "So tell me, Shane, who is it down there
wrapped up in the seaweed shroud?" "Frank Brewster."

"Frank Brewster? Are you sure it's him?"

"Lauren said so." Kyle noted that Tony had just the right amount of
surprise in his voice, the properly shocked expression.

Tony scribbled notes in his pad while continuing to ask questions. "Any
signs of foul play--bullet holes, knife wounds, things like that?
Anything unusual about the way the body looked? Did it wash up on shore
or was it placed there? And--" he looked up at Kyle "--just how did you
and Lauren happen to find it?"

"Well, now, it's a simple story." Kyle proceeded to give Tony the facts.
When he finished, he excused himself, saying he needed to return to
Lauren and see how she was doing. He did not like the way Tony's eyes
narrowed and his jaw clenched and unclenched.

Kyle found Lauren nervously pacing up and down the kitchen with a cup of
tea in her hand. She rushed to him as soon as he entered.

"I'm glad you're back. I found something you should see." She tugged at
his hand. "It's behind the building, around back. I found it when I was
taking out the trash a few minutes ago."

She showed him the spot outside the bedroom window. "These footprints
shouldn't be here. There's no reason for anyone to have been standing
outside my bedroom window.' '

She watched as he knelt and gave the area close inspection, then she
continued. "Last night I thought I saw something move at the window, but
when Ty-Ty jumped down from the dresser I just assumed it was him.
However--" she felt a flush of embarrassment spread across her cheeks "I
wasn't exactly thinking clearly."

He rose to his feet and put his arm around her shoulder, drawing her to
him. His voice was soft and sensual, sending little ripples of
excitement through her body. "You mean last night--" he nuzzled the side
of her neck "--while you were having your way with me... taking
advantage of my nff/vett...seducing my innocence--"

She took a step backward in an attempt to escape the magnetic hold he
had on her senses. Was he purposely steering her away from the
situation? Hiding the seriousness he attributed to her discovery? "Kyle,
please...this is important. What do you think this means?"

He could not ignore the determination on her face. "Okay, you want to
know, so here it is. I think it means Frank was alive and alone and
standing outside your bedroom window at midnight. Then this morning
about seven-thirty he washed up on the beach quite dead. Which leaves us
with several unanswered questions."

Chapter 10

Lauren had not been prepared for Kyle to unload that bombshell on her.
"What makes you think it was Frank who was outside my bedroom window
last night?"

"I got a good look at Frank's shoes when I was checking the body. The
unique design on the bottom of his sneakers and the unusual wear pattern
on the soles exactly match those prints. Since there are no other
footprints around, he must have been alone." Kyle brought out the key
ring he had taken from Frank's pockets. "It appears that all his keys
are here...except for the key to his boat. Yet he was on his boat in the
bay last night."

"How do you know he was on his boat and that the key is missing?" He had
one surprising bit of information after another.

"I saw him from the lighthouse tower." He knitted his brow in a moment
of concentration. "At least I saw him prepping the boat while we were
having lunch and I saw his boat out on the bay--but I didn't actually
see him take it out. As for the boat key, certain shapes and sizes of
keys fit certain things. You know yourself that you can tell a car key
from a door key just by looking at them. It's the same with a key that
fits a boat ignition."

"But who would have taken out his boat if he didn't? And if it was Frank
outside my bedroom window about midnight, then we know he was alive
then. And the cave...who was it we heard coming in through the entrance
in the cottage cellar? Would that have been Frank? And if so, then who
was with him?" She paused, biting nervously at her lower lip. "And why
did you take Frank's keys?"

"You seem to have more questions than I have answers."

"You can answer about the keys, can't you? I mean, -you must have had a
reason for taking them."

"It's much easier to break into a building when you have the keys that
fit the locks." He pulled the key ring from his pocket again, holding it
by an oddly shaped small key to add emphasis to his next words. "And in
this case, even the key to the security alarm."

"So..." A little grin played at the corners of her mouth. "Are we going
to break into Frank's warehouse, his downtown office, his house--or all
of them?"

He took in a deep breath, held it for a moment, then expelled it slowly.
He tried to choose his words carefully. "Breaking and entering is
illegal. I could get a court order that would allow me to go through
everything, but it would put me in the spotlight before I'm ready for
that to happen. I also believe that anything of value to my
investigation would be gone by the time other agents arrived on the
scene with the proper paperwork. I probably won't be able to use what I
find in court, but it should give me what I need to get a proper search
warrant. if I should be caught, then the manipulators behind the scenes
would have me free in no time. You, on the other hand, wouldn't have
that type of protection."

He touched his fingertips to her cheek, then quickly withdrew. "I don't
want you going with me, Lauren." He took her in his arms and held her
closely. "If there's any trouble, I don't want you in the line of fire.
Besides, I can work faster alone."

She rested her head against his .shoulder and slipped her arms around
his waist. "We're in this together, Kyle. I'm going with you. When are
we going to do it.. ,tonight?"

He ran his fingers through her hair then kissed the top of her head.
"Has anyone ever told you that you're incredibly stubborn?"

"I've heard it before...once or twice."

"I'll bet it was a lot more than that." He brushed a soft kiss against
her lips. "You're also incredibly beautiful." He captured her mouth
again, this time with a kiss of deep meaning--perhaps even more than he
consciously wanted to show.

KYLE TURNED OFF the alarm system then tried the door keys until he found
the one that unlocked the door of the Brewster auto parts warehouse.
"I'm still not sure why I allowed you to talk me into this."

Lauren followed him inside then closed the door. "You know everything I
said made sense, especially the part about saving you time because I've
been here before and know the layout." She leaned close to him and
pointed down the hallway. "Frank's office is the third door on the
left."

They moved quickly and silently. Kyle used Frank's keys to unlock the
office. He stood inside the door, shining his flashlight around the
room. He moved swiftly toward the computer while giving orders to
Lauren. "You keep an eye on the outside hall while you're checking his
desk."

"I've never broken into an office before. What am I looking for?"

"Anything that doesn't seem to belong to an auto parts business, any
records that don't seem to make sense. I'm particularly interested in
bank records or shipping and receiving paperwork that doesn't seem to
relate to any purchase orders or sales invoices. Make copies of anything
you find." Kyle turned on the copy machine so it could warm up then
turned on the computer and began a search of the myriad directories and
their files.

They. each worked quietly and efficiently. Lauren copied numerous pieces
of paper and Kyle printed out several pages of information from the
computer files. When he had finished, he turned off the computer and put
the printouts into his pack. He picked up the wastepaper basket and
rummaged through the contents. "I love offices with sloppy maintenance
service. Usually wastebaskets are emptied on a daily basis." A smile of
satisfaction was the response to what he found. He quickly placed
several items in a small plastic evidence envelope, the same type of
small folded pieces of cellophane he had found at the light-house--a
definite tangible connection.

He turned his attention to cracking the wall safe. A moment later the
safe door swung open. He reached for a rolled-up paper, took it out of
the safe and studied it for a moment. "Bingo." He shoved the important
find in his bag then took a look at the other papers in the safe. He
also noticed an unusually large amount of cash. He quickly checked it
and found the markings he had made on the money they had found in the
cave. He left the money in the safe, but removed another item, then
closed and locked the safe door. He reached for a piece of hard candy
from the bowl on Frank's desk, unwrapped it and popped it into his
mouth.

He turned toward Lauren. "How are you doing? Find anything interesting?"

She turned off her flashlight and set it on .the desk. "Yes, I think I
found a few suspicious things. There was an invoice for auto parts that
showed--"

He jerked to attention. His voice whispered against her ear.
"Shh...someone's out there." He felt her stiffen in response to his
words. "Do you know where this other door goes?" He had noticed the door
on the opposite side of the office, but had not checked it out. "And
please don't tell me it's a closet or a bathroom."

"It goes directly into the warehouse." She shoved the copies she had
made into her bag.

He took her hand and they quickly exited the office through the back
door. The security lighting in the warehouse provided just enough light
for them to make their way through the storage shelves and crates. They
heard loud and angry voices, but ey were not distinct enough to
recognize the owners or the words.

The voices spilled over into the warehouse, the words clearly
discernible. "Whoever it is must have gone this way. You take the right
and I'll take the left."

Kyle pulled his gun from the holster. Again, his voice was barely above
a whisper. "While they're making their way through the warehouse, we
need to get into the office and out the front." He stood still and
listened, determining the positions of the unwelcome intruders, deciding
which route to take to the offices. He grabbed her hand. "This way."

- They made a dash for the office, keeping low behind crates and shelves
of boxes. They reached the relative safety of the office, then went into
the hallway. That was when they heard the shout that sent a jolt of fear
through Lauren.

"There! They just went into the' office. Stop them!" Kyle and Lauren ran
down the hallway and out the front door. Kyle's words were urgent as he
let go of her hand. "Run as fast as you can across the field, keep low
and head for home. Don't stop for anything, no matter what you hear.
Turn on the bathroom light and the shower, then turn on the television
in the living room. If anyone comes to the door and asks, tell them I
just got into the shower."

"Where will you be?" She was not sure what scared her more, the thought
of some unknown men chasing her or Kyle staying behind to face them
alone.

"Go!" The authority in his voice was absolute as he barked out the
command.

She turned and ran. Her heart pounded violently in her chest with each
step she took. Her mouth went dry, but she dared not stop for even a
second. She reached her door just as she heard a sharp sound explode
through the cold night air, followed by two more loud explosions. She
stopped dead in her tracks. A cold foreboding jolted through her body.
It had been the sound of a gun, no mistake about it. She whirled around,
trying to peer through the darkness.

Indecision raced through her. She took a couple of steps toward the
warehouse then stopped. No. She needed to follow Kyle's instructions to
the letter. She opened the door and hurried inside. She went straight to
the bathroom and turned on the shower as he had instructed her to do.
She quickly changed clothes, putting on her long robe; then went to the
living room, turned on the television and sat on the couch. She stared
blankly at the screen without really seeing anything, her body and her
nerves tensed as she waited for the unknown.

The sound of the bell in the shop startled her. It had only been fifteen
minutes, but it seemed like forever since she had burst through the side
door. She did not know what had happened to Kyle, but she could not
ignore the door. She took her time turning on the lights in the shop and
making her way to the front of the building. She opened the door louvers
and peered outside. Max Culhane stood on the other side of the door. She
unlocked and opened it, but did not step aside so he could come in.

"Max, this is a surprise. What brings you here so late at night? Is
something wrong?" She did her best to keep her voice casual.

Max ignored her questions as he purposely shoved past her. He walked
slowly through the shop, looking into the tearoom and into the
bookstore. When he arrived at the entrance of her living quarters, she
stepped in front of him to block his way. "Why are you here, Max?"

"I want to look around, Lauren.', He chomped his cigar between his teeth
and glared at her. "Now, step aside."

She looked at him questioningly as she cocked her head. "Look around for
what? You don't have the right to barge in here and search my home
without either my permission or a search warrant." She refused to move
out of his way.

"Someone broke into Frank Brewster's warehouse, took a couple of shots
at me when I came to investigate the security alarm."

She registered the appropriate amount of surprise?' 'Are you saying that
you think it was me? Why would I do such a thing?"

"Didn't say that. I just want to make sure no one's hidin' here." Max
tried to look past her into her private living quarters.

"Well, I can assure you there are no suspicious characters hiding in my
closet."

"Where's your house guest?"

"He's taking a shower." It took all her control to keep from turning to
look toward the bedroom, hoping against hope that he would miraculously
appear in the doorway.

"Is there something wrong out there, Lauren?" Kyle's voice came from the
back, the Irish accent surrounding his words.

Lauren suppressed the audible sigh of relief that flooded through her
when she heard him. "It's nothing, Shane. Just the sheriff. It seems
that Frank's warehouse was broken into and he's looking for the culprit.
He wants to know if we've seen anyone."

"A break-in, you say." Kyle made his appearance dressed in sweatshirt
and sweatpants with a towel slung around his neck. His Shane Nolan
disguise was in place, the wig wet as if he had just gotten out of the
shower. "Well, Constable, this has certainly been a busy day for you.
What type of disreputable person would break into an establishment
immediately following such a tragedy as the accidental death of the
proprietor?"

"You, uh, didn't see no one sneaking round no strangers hanging about?"

. "I just this minute stepped from the shower, Constable. But I
certainly didn't see anyone earlier. We'd been watching television."
Kyle turned toward Lauren. "Did you see anyone lurking about during the
evening?"

"I didn't see anything out of the ordinary." Lauren turned from Kyle
toward Max. Her expression was stern, showing her displeasure at his
rude intrusion. "Was there anything else you wanted?"

The sheriff shuffled his feet in an awkward manner, then finally spoke.
"Naw, I guess not." He shot Lauren a look, then added one for Kyle. He
turned to leave, paused long enough to make one final comment walking
out the front door. "But if something else occurs to me I'll be back."

Kyle and Lauren watched as the sheriff walked to his car, then she
turned off the store lights and they retreated to her living room. She
threw her arms around his neck. Her words came rushing out, covered in
the anxiety she felt. "When did you come in? I heard the sbots as I
reached my door. Oh, Kyle... I was so scared. I turned around and went
back to see if you were

He kissed her tenderly on the forehead. "You did the right thing. That
fool sheriff was just shooting in the dark. that's all."

"He said he had gone there in response to the - I thought you turned it
off."

"I did. It wasn't an alarm that brought him

"I was so afraid Max was going to force his way in here even though I
told him he couldn't." She put her head against his chest, taking
comfort in the warmth embrace. "I...I don't think he believed me about
not knowing anything."

*'I'm sure he didn't believe you. He just didn't know what to do and had
no legal grounds for pursuing things without creating a scene. You
noticed the flashlight he had in his hand? It was yours. The one you set
on the desk in Frank's office."

Lauren jerked her head' back and stared at him, shock covering her face.
"Oh, no! I forgot it. It'll have my fingerprints on it."

"There's nothing we can do about it now. If it comes up, just go to
where you normally keep that flashlight as f you fully intended to find
it in its proper place. Then be surprised that it's not there. Look
around for it but offer no possible explanation as to what might have
happened to it. The guilty are too eager to provide a plausible
explanation in hopes of satisfying the suspicion and proving they're
innocent. They usually end up overexplaining. If anyone asks, the
flashlight simply disappeared and you don't know how, when or why. Don't
try to explain it."

He took her hand and led her toward the bedroom. "Now, let's take a look
at what you found in Frank's office."

MAX MAY HAVE LEFT Lauren's premises, but his squad car was still parked
in front. He leaned against the side of the car as he talked to the man
seated in the passenger side. "I didn't see nothin' out of the ordinary.
She said she was watchin' television and then this Shane guy comes
walkin' in from the shower'."

"So what's the problem?"

"I got a hinky feeling in my gut. I don't think she was tellin' me the
truth." Max glanced at the front of the building. "I aren't sure what
Lauren's up to and I don't know about this Shane Nolan, but I'm sure she
knows too much...maybe both of 'em knows too much." Max walked around
the car to the driver's side and got in.

"Don't do anything rash, Max. We already have three suspicious deaths to
smooth over--first Billy, then Kyle Delaney and now Frank. The last
thing we need is for some big-city newspaper to pick up the story and
produce a lot of sensational headlines about a serial killer. We don't
need that type of national focus on our quiet community."

Max chomped down on his cigar as he started the car. "Yeah, well..." He
put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb.

KYLE LAY IN BED staring up at the ceiling. He had been awake for almost
an hour but had not wanted to disturb Lauren's sleep by getting out of
bed. His mind worked quickly and efficiently, putting together all the
bits and pieces they had found at Frank's office. But he needed the
thread that connected all of it.

Frank had been so very obvious. He was also so very dead. The weak link
had been eliminated, thus breaking the direct connection between the
actual doing and. the planning. He needed the paper trail that would
reconnect the chain of command. It would take some more digging. It was
the very top person he wanted to nail, and that was not going to be
easy. All he had at the moment were his suspicions and some flimsy
circumstantial evidence.

Lauren stirred in her sleep. He folded his arms around her, and she
snuggled against him. She was warm. She was soft. Making love to her set
his body on fire as well as his heart and soul. He thought he just might
be falling in love, and the prospect frightened him more than any danger
he had faced during his career.

She slowly opened her eyes then stretched out her legs. Her words were
thick with sleep. "Mmm...good morning."

"Good morning, yourself." He slid his hand over the curve of her bottom,
then rolled her body on top of his. His lips nibbled at her earlobe then
he placed a soft kiss on her mouth. "Now this is how I'd like to spend
the day."

"It sounds like an excellent idea, except for the fact that one of' my
employees has asked for the day off. I need to attend to my business
since I'll be shorthanded and it's too much for Milly to cover by
herself. After all, she's already doing some of my work in addition to
her own."

"We both need to tend to business. The information we gathered in last
night's raid on Frank's office pretty much nailed down the system for
moving the contraband in and out. Frank would use phony shipping
documents to move the crates, interspersing them with his legitimate
deliveries so the drivers had no idea they were carrying contraband
material."

"Can you make any arrests yet?"

He rolled her body off of his then sat up, swinging his legs off the
side of the bed. "Proof, my dear. Proof." He ruffled his fingers through
his tousled hair in an effort to smooth it. There was still a bit of
tenderness to his shoulder, but it was no longer bothersome. "The courts
can't convict just because I say I know something is so---they want to
see hard evidence."

He stood and reached for his clothes. "We have some. There's the money
delivered to the cave, part of which ended up in Frank's safe. There are
the delivery work orders you found showing unusually large shipments of
auto parts to various locations on the same dates as Billy Washburn's
journal shows the mysterious crates being moved--and there's no sales
invoices to correspond with those deliveries. I have computer records
showing a botched attempt to delete files connected with those shipments
and a computer date and time stamp saying those particular files had
been accessed the same night Frank was outside your bedroom window. In
fact, it was probably just a couple of hours before he was killed."

Kyle quickly dressed, but did not bother with his Shane Nolan disguise.
"I found two bank accounts under other names showing large cash
deposits. I have a Safety-deposit box key with no record of the box. I
have two murders that have been made to look like accidents. I have an
attempt on my life in spite of my cover identity."

Lauren pulled on her robe. "That sounds like a lot to me. What else do
you need?"

"I need proof obtained through legal means."

She headed for the kitchen to make some coffee. "What about Billy
Washburn's journal? I'm sure Sam would say he provided it to you in an
effort to prove that Billy's death was not due to his having an accident
while under the influence. It has all that information he gathered
while' keeping an eye on Frank's movements."

"The journal is evidence, but Billy is dead, so we don't have him to
attest that he actually saw what was recorded. Frank Brewster is dead,
which eliminates any testimony from him as to how and why the money made
its way to his safe. It also eliminates any possibility of his turning
witness against the others involved. I suspect it was that concern that
got him killed."

Lauren started the coffee then returned to the bedroom. She paused for a
moment, her stomach muscles tightening and the tension hitting her when
she saw him check his gun then clip the holster to the back of his
jeans. The ever-present weapon. It remained always at the ready. Even as
they made love it rested on the nightstand within easy reach. Would she
ever be able to see it and accept it without that horrible feeling in
the pit of her stomach?

"Who else is involved? Do you know yet?" Lauren took her clothes from
the closet and laid them out on the bed.

"There's of course."

"Max Culhane? You believe he is actually part of the smuggling
operation?" Her voice was filled with surprise.

Kyle stared at her for a moment. "Certainly he's involved. He didn't
just happen to show up at Frank's warehouse last night. My guess is that
he came for the money. That story about responding to an alarm was pure
fiction. He's been involved for years, even way before he became
sheriff."

"Are you sure?"

"You didn't suspect that? After all, his construction company did the
structural reinforcement of the lighthouse. There's no way he could have
done that and not known about the hidden room off the cellar. And the
rolled up plans I found in Frank's safe show the secret entrance into
the tower I've been looking for...the entrance Billy used to spy on
Frank's movements. There's no way Max wouldn't have known about that,
either."

Lauren sat on the edge of the bed. "It all makes perfect sense when I
hear you say it. I guess living here makes me see these people in a
different way than an outsider would. I've never particularly liked Max,
but that's about all the thought I've given him."

She looked at Kyle. The gravity covering his face and the intensity in
his eyes sent a little shiver up her spine. He was right. This was no
game. "Is Max the leader? Is he the one behind everything?" She
swallowed to ease the discomfort building inside her. "Even the
murders?"

She squeezed her eyes shut and her words came out in an anguished gasp.
"If only I had some kind of control over my psyhic abilities instead of
just getting visions I don't understand and feelings I can't accurately
interpret. Then I could tell you..." Her voice trailed off. All the what
ifs weren't going to change things.

His words were soft and caring. "Don't do that, Lauren. Don't put that
kind of pressure and stress on yourself. The good guys are going to win
and the bad guys are going to jail." He brushed a soft kiss against her
lips and gave her hand a little squeeze of comfort.

She accepted his words and the accompanying comfort. "You, uh, you were
saying about the murders?"

"I believe Max is responsible for Billy and Frank, but as far as being
in charge of the smuggling ring--no way. The planning and execution
takes someone with a sharp mind, nerves of steel and a lot of cunning.
None of those attributes apply to Max Culhane. Like Frank, he's just not
smart enough to have pulled off this successful an operation." He
paused, more for dramatic impact than to gather his thoughts. "Did you
know that Max used to be in business with Frank Brewster's father and
uncle many years ago, before Max started his construction company?" He
saw the surprise on her face.

"No, I didn't. How did you find that out?"

"I saw a couple of advertisements for their business in the newspaper
while I was going through the old back issues. Frank just didn't have
the backbone for any of this. According to the obituaries, his uncle
Ralph died twenty years ago and his father, Wilton Brewster, died three
years ago. Max and Wilton Brewster continued in legitimate business for
a little while following Ralph's death. I think Max was involved in the
smuggling long before that. I think it was Ralph, Wilton and Max. Max
probably inherited Frank in the business when Wilton Brewster died, and
Max and Frank were probably nothing more than hired help. It's really
amazing what you can find out in small-town newspapers--" The vision
exploded in his mind. The little bit of something that had been nagging
at him finally materialized. He could not stop the big grin from
spreading across his face.

"Kyle? What is it? What's wrong?"

"I just remembered something, that's all. It was another photograph I
saw in an old issue of the newspaper, something on the society page
about the high school prom." He leaned over and kissed the tip of her
nose.

"Something that will lead you to the person in charge?" "Well, it's
certainly given me another direction for my search and it also fits in
with other little bits I've been picking up." He took her hand. "Now,
you have your business to take care of and I have a disguise to put on."

She pulled on his hand before he could turn away. "You're keeping
something from me." She felt his muscles tense before he withdrew his
hand from her grasp.

"Well, now...if I told you everything all at once then there wouldn't be
any mystery left and you'd soon become bored with me." He flashed a
practiced smile, but she saw the seriousness in his eyes and it scared
her. He was a man of too many secrets. She was intimately involved with
him and his case, yet at times she felt like a complete outsider.

KYLE WALKED into the newspaper office and immediately spotted Tony
Mallory. "And a good morning to you, Tony. A fine day it is, the sun
shining and the sky as blue as can be."

"Good morning, Shane." Tony glanced Past him for a second. "Lauren's not
with you?"

"No. The poor girl was shorthanded at her shop and had to fill in so I'm
on my own today. I thought you might have some more information about
Frank Brewster's death."

"Oh?" Tony's body visibly stiffened. "Any reason why?"

"Well, now." Kyle heard the suspicion in Tony's voice. "It's not every
day that a man and woman are out for an early-morning walk and come
across a dead body on the beach. Naturally, I'm curious. What do the
officials think happened?"

"I'm sure it will be accidental death by drowning."

"You sound as if you might have other thoughts about it."

Tony. picked up a sheet of paper from his desk and studied it for a
second before answering. "Is there any reason I should?"

"I guess not." Tony seemed anxious to end the discussion. Kyle decided
to move on rather than arouse undue suspicion. "There is something else
I was wondering. Do you suppose it would be possible for me to look at a
few more of your old copies? I thought it might be interesting to see
how a small-town American newspaper handled the society section. You
know---coming-out parties, engagements and weddings, the various social
functions of the city's prominent families."

"You know where everything is, so just help yourself. I'll be in my
office if you need anything."

Kyle quickly located the photograph he remembered glimpsing. He checked
several subsequent issues of the paper and found another extremely
interesting tidbit of information about graduating students who were
going away to college. He had several things to follow up through
official records. He also had a list of people he needed to have
background checks run on. He replaced the back issues of the newspaper,
waved thanks to Tony, then continued on his way.

His next stop was the sheriff's office at the county office building.
"Good morning, Constable. You know, you had Lauren quite upset with your
unexpected visit last night. I thought I'd stop by to see if you were
able to apprehend your culprit. Do you have any news that I could relay
to her? Something to ease her concerns?"

"No, we didn't find nobody else in the area." His words were pointed and
his tone accusatory as he rose from behind his desk in a menacing
display of body language.

Chapter 11

As soon as Kyle left the sheriff's office, Max grabbed the phone and
hastily dialed a number. "Yeah, it's me. This is the first chance I've
had to give you a call. We went to the warehouse last night, but when we
got there someone else was inside. Two of 'em, I think. Don't know
who---they gave us the slip. I found a flashlight on Frank's desk, might
belong to one of the people what broke in. Other than that, there aren't
nothin' to go on."

. "Do you have any thoughts on this? Do you think it might have been
nothing more than a common thief taking advantage of Frank's sudden
demise?"

"Yeah, I suppose it coulda been...but I don't think so. If that was the
case, they would've broken into his house instead of the business. The
copy machine was on, and I think someone was usin' the computer. That
don't sound like no common thief to me. Whoever it was took off across
the bluff. I stopped at Lauren's place to see if she'd seen anyone and
she was mighty nervous. Even refused to let me in the back rooms. Told
me I needed a search warrant if I wanted to take a look around. Then
this Shane guy comes strollin' out saying he was in the shower...I don't
know. Something 'bout him just don't sit right with me. Lauren, too. The
two of 'em find Frank's body, and now this."

"Just stay calm, Max. I don't want you doing anything rash...again. I'll
handle this in my own way."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you say." Max pulled a cigar from his shirt pocket
and lit it.

As soon as Max hung up the phone, the recipient of his call dialed a
number and waited until someone answered. "I just heard from Max about
last night's break-in at the warehouse. What do you think about it?"

"Frank was scared. He was about to cut and run. Wouldn't have surprised
me if he had gone straight to the feds and tried to cut a deal for
himself. The only thing that kept him from doing it the night before
last was the fact that he hadn't gotten to the safety-deposit box yet.
He needed to wait until the bank opened the next morning. Unfortunately,
Max got to him before I did." The male voice showed no emotion.

"I suppose you're right. It's a shame that Frank somehow missed out on
his father's and his uncle's finer qualities-the keen mind, sharp
instincts and iron nerves. Both Ralph and Wilton would have been very
disappointed to see him as the weakling he was. Perhaps if Ralph had
lived he could have done more with him than his father was able to
accomplish."

"He had to be taken care of, but it should have been handled
differently. Max was sloppy. He has been sloppy about several things
lately."

"Yes, you're right. It's a situation that will have to be dealt with,
especially in light of that other matter we discussed."

The telephone conversation was terminated as both parties hung up the
phone.

LAUREN CHECKED the cash register tape for the second time. "This is one
of the best days we've done in quite a while."

Milly chuckled good-naturedly. "I guess being short- handed on help and
having an unusually sunny day following several days of drizzle and
gloom are ways of guaranteeing extra customers."

"I love seeing these kinds of totals, but I'm sure glad this day is
over. All I want to do is kick off my shoes, change into something very
comfortable and not move for the rest of the evening."

"That's exactly what I'm going to do." Milly gathered her purse and
jacket. "Is there anything else you need before I go?"

"Not a thing, Milly. I'll see you in the morning. Good night."

"Good night, Lauren."

Milly reached the front door just as it opened and Kyle entered the
store. "Milly, 'tis a pleasure to see you again. Are you through for the
day?" He checked his watch. "Oh, I didn't realize it was so late. You
have a nice evening."

"I'm bushed. I'm going to go straight home and soak in a hot tub." Milly
went out the door as Kyle held it open for her. He continued to watch as
she hurried to the corner. It appeared as if she was waiting for
someone. Then a squad car pulled up to the curb and the passenger door
opened. This time Kyle was able to recognize the driver. It was Max
Culhane. Kyle slowly closed the door. Milly's words about being tired
and going straight home were still fresh in his mind. He did his best to
hide his troubled thoughts from Lauren.

Lauren locked the door, turned out the lights, and the two of them
disappeared into the back. As soon as they were closed away from the
business part of the building, he pulled her into his arms and slowly,
sensually and very thoroughly explored every bit of her mouth with a
long, hot kiss. When he finally released her, he was fully aroused, and
her face was flushed with excitement and her breathing had become
ragged.

It took Lauren a moment to catch her breath. "Well, if that was the
appetizer, then the main course ought to be really spectacular."

He shot her a decidedly wicked grin. "And you're going to go absolutely
crazy over the dessert."

She reached her arms around his waist, every thought and fiber of her
consciousness focusedon the pleasures yet to come...until her hand
touched the holster nestled in the small of his back. She stiffened to
attention and took a step backward. Once again the necessity of his
carrying a gun brought reality to the situation.

"How was your day?" Her voice was nervous, her movements awkward. "Did
you uncover anything new while I was tending to my own business?"

She did not need to tell him what had caused her change of attitude. He
knew. As soon as he feli the pressure against his back from her hand
touching the holster, he knew. What he did not know was what to do about
it.

He also took a step back, putting additional distance between them. "I
picked up some very interesting information at the newspaper office and
did some follow-up checking on the prom photograph. I've also requested
background traces on a few people. If what I suspect turns out to be
true, then this case will be taking a very interesting twist off into
left field."

"What does that mean? What do you think you'll find?"

"I think I'll find illicit love, an illegitimate son and decades of
secrets." He flashed her a teasing grin. "You know, the kind of stuff
you'd find in a steamy novel about the inhabitants of a small town and
their hidden secrets." He dropped the grin and once again turned
serious. "So far it's pure speculation on my part, not much more than a
gut hunch based on some very skimpy circumstantial evidence."

"Does that mean you aren't going to tell me?"

He took a steadying breath. He had already shared far more of his
personal speculations and thoughts than he should have, especially for a
case still under investigation. "It wouldn't be fair to others if I
mentioned certain suspicions and then had them end up not being true. No
matter what happens, those thoughts would not leave your mind. It's like
telling a jury to ignore something they've heard in court. That bit of
information, whether it's true or not, remains as part of their
thoughts. They can't simply forget it just because someone told them
to."

She searched his expression and saw the concern in his eyes. "You're
trying to protect me from something, aren't you?"

He kissed her on the forehead. "I think I'd better get rid of this
disguise before this beard drives me nuts."

She accepted his abrupt change for what it was. He did not want her
asking him any more questions about whom he suspected. "If you're
putting Shane Nolan away, does that mean you won't be venturing 'out
tonight?"

"Well, I do want to go to the lighthouse again. I want to verify the
entrance to the tower that's marked on the plans Frank had. I also want
to take another look at the cave."

Lauren reached for her jeans and sweater. "Just give me a minute to
change clothes. I'm going with you."

Kyle made no objection to her decision. In ten minutes they were on
their way across the bluff toward the cottage. Everything was just as it
appeared on the plans. He found the hidden entrance to the tower without
difficulty, noting that he would have found it on his own had he applied
himself to looking' for it. Then they went down into the cave again.

"Kyle...look at all of this!" She turned toward him, her eyes wide with
surprise. "Where did all this come from?"

He shined his flashlight around the interior of the cavern. Several
small crates and boxes were stacked neatly

above the high tide line toward the entrance between the cellar and the
cave. "This is a little unexpected, but I guess it probably fits in with
that large cash payment we saw...part of the money in Frank's safe." He
gave a visual inspection of one of the crates without opening it. "I
wonder if this is incoming or outgoing. Whichever it is, it probably
won't be here for long. Even without Frank, the operation still needs to
continue on schedule."

"Look at this. This one is damaged, the edge is broken. It's almost
6pen."

"Don't touch it!" Kyle looked over her shoulder at the broken crate. He
gave the box a thorough visual inspection, then carefully pried the
broken lid open enough to see inside. "Cartons of cigarettes...must be
on its way to Canada." He took his special marking pen and put his
initials on as many cartons as he could get to without taking the crate
apart. He reattached the lid, took another quick look around the various
boxes and crates, then tugged on Lauren's hand. "Come on, let's go."

An hour after they had left, they returned to Lauren's. Kyle removed his
disguise then set up his portable computer and cellular phone to make
the connection to download the information he had requested.

Lauren came up behind his chair and put her arms around his neck. "You
can use my phone for that. I don't mind."

He immediately turned off the computer screen so she could not see what
was happening. "Can't risk having the phone company's record of my
long-distance calls showing up on your phone bill and falling into
someone else's hands."

He scooted his chair from the table and pulled her into his lap. "Do you
suppose I could talk you into fixing us something to eat while I finish
this?"

She let out a purposefully audible sigh of resignation as she rose to
her feet. "In other words, you don't want me to know what you're doing
so you're sending me out of the room. You know, Kyle Delaney, you're
almost giving me the feeling that you don't trust me."

She may have said it with a teasing grin, but he definitely caught the
undercurrent of uncertainty that suddenly filled the room. "My life is
in your hands--literally. How much more trust can there be than that?"
Secrecy was part of his job. Sharing was not something that came
naturally to him, nor was he comfortable with it in spite of the fact
that he had already broken almost every rule in the book where Lauren
Jamison was concerned.

A long moment of silence hung between them before he spoke again. "Why
don't you get started on that dinner while I finish up here?" He tried
to extend a smile that said everything was going to be all right. He was
not sure he succeeded. He. watched as she went into the kitchen, then he
returned his attention to the information feeding into his computer.

The cat jumped up on the table and stared at him, its tail twitching
back and forth in an agitated manner. "Well, Ty-Ty. Are you here to give
me a bad time, too? Are you trying to make me feel guilty?" He reached
out and stroked the cat's head. "Well, it's not going to work. It's been
tried by people far more adept than you." He frowned at the cat for a
moment, then gave it another affectionate stroke on the head. He was
irritated with his own thoughts as he returned to his work. Ty-Ty took
it as a sign that his presence was not required. He jumped down and
scampered across the room.

Kyle leaned back in his chair, his' hands behind his head. He closed his
eyes for a minute. The material he downloaded pretty much confirmed his
suspicions, which had been formulated through a combination of little
things that did not belong and the information he had gathered from the
newspaper archives. But that's all it had done...confirmed his
suspicions. He did not yet have the type of hard proof needed to make
arrests. That would take more work and, from what he had seen of things
so far, a lot of luck.

The Bureau had provided him with more information than he had requested,
facts the chief thought he needed. Someone had made an Interpol request
for information about Shane Nolan. The identity of the person requesting
the check, which included current whereabouts, was unknown. Normally
that type of request would need to originate with a law enforcement
agency, but not necessarily. This added a new problem for him to deal
with.

There was something else he had found interesting. There had been only
one phone call to the number on Kyle Delaney's business card and only
one inquiry to the Coast Guard about the body reportedly found in the
ocean--both from Tony Mallory, who stated that it was a follow-up for
the next issue of the paper.

"Dinner's ready." Lauren's voice came from the kitchen, followed by her
carrying a tray. "It's nothing fancy, but it's probably edible." Her
tone was upbeat, in contrast to the worried expression on her face. She
set the tray on the dining room table.

"Looks good." He finished putting his work tools away--the notebook
computer, cellular phone and scrambling device. "Smells great, too." He
helped her take the things off the tray, then held out a chair for her.

Lauren sat down, but Kyle remained standing. He awkwardly shifted his
weight from one foot to the other, paused as if he was about to say
something, then changed his mind.

"What's the matter? You seem'particularly edgy tonight."

"It's nothing." The case was drawing to a close. He would soon be moving
on. It was a thought that did not please him. "I guess I'm just a little
restless. Things have been strange for me on this case. I'm not
accustomed to being cooped up, not being able to be seen in public
without a disguise. Even on cases where disguises are involved, I
haven't had the necessity of hiding my real face from everyone the way I
have here." He tried to muster a teasing grin, but was not too
successful. "I haven't had to play dead before."

Lauren watched him as he ate. She knew him intimately yet did not know
him at all. He was troubled by something... something he did not want
her to know about. She felt unsettled, both about Kyle and the future.
In spite of her absolute certainty that he was the one great love of her
life, she had no idea what their future held, or for that matter if they
would even spend it together. She forced the distasteful thought away.
She refused to accept that even-tuality.

"What's your next step?" Lauren took a bite of salad. "What do you plan
to do about the cartons of cigarettes in the cave?"

"I plan to wait until someone moves them. I imagine that should happen
some time very soon. I don't think they would want to keep the
contraband where it is for too long. I'm surprised they moved any
merchandise at all. Their pattern has been to wait until the darkness of
the new moon. They must have an anxious customer to be doing business
now, with clear nights and bright moonlight."

They continued with their meal, making small talk that did not seem to
relate to the case.

"The monthly meeting of the historical society is scheduled for
tomorrow. It's my turn to host it. It will be at three o'clock, right
after we finish serving lunch in the tearoom."

"Give the society my regards. I can find plenty to do to keep me busy. I
still have several loose ends to deal with." Several loose ends, indeed.
The information he had downloaded had provided him with some answers but
had left him with a whole new set of questions.

There had to be a key--one element, one missing factor that would bridge
the gap between what he knew and what he could prove. He had to find the
link that would connect the smuggling with the person he suspected to be
the brains behind the operation. He also needed to track down the money
trail.

The evening proceeded as they continued their superficial conversation
and watched the late news on television. Lauren felt the tension that
surrounded Kyle and did not know what to do about it. Even as they lay
in bed later she was still very much aware of his tensed muscles. He did
not seem to be able to relax. He was distracted, and she did not
understand why. They did not make love. He seemed to be content to
merely hold her in his arms, to know that she was there beside him. She
had asked him if something was wrong, but his only response had been a
distracted kiss on the forehead.

Lauren finally fell into a troubled sleep. Warnings appeared to her in
the form of dreams. They were more a feeling than a vision, a sense of
foreboding that she could not clearly define. She knew only that they
warned of life-threatening danger, but she did not know who was
involved. She knew that the warning related to Kyle's complicated life,
yet it, did not have the same feel as her original vision of the man
hurtling off the cliff into the ocean.

MILLY EXITED the small restaurant about ten miles up the coast. She
stood just outside the door and waited. A moment later Max Culhane
joined her.

"That was a delicious dinner, Max. We'll have to do this again."

He patted her on the fanny with a familiarity that said it was not the
first time. "I think we have things to talk about, Milly. Let's go to my
house."

LAUREN WATCHED as Kyle put the finishing touches of his disguise in
place. He took a step from the mirror, stared at his image and frowned.

"What's the matter?" She reached out and touched his arm. "You look like
you're unhappy about something. Anything I can do?"

He took her hand and raised it to his lips, placing a soft kiss on her
palm. "No, nothing. I'm anxious to be rid of this disguise, that's all.
It's very limiting. I have half a dozen sets of identifications driver's
license, credit cards and so forth--for half a dozen different
identities and disguises--but not for this one. And here I am,
supposedly a foreigner in this country, and I don't have a passport to
show. I can't risk being seen driving a car." He frowned at his image in
the mirror once again. "What if your erstwhile sheriff or one of his
deputies decided to pull me over for a routine traffic violation?"

"Is there somewhere you need to go? All you have to do is say so and
I'll drive you."

"No, nowhere in particular at this moment." He offered her a reassuring
smile. "Besides, you have a business to run and your historical society
meeting. I think I'm going to see if I can rent a small fishing boat and
putt-putt around the harbor and out into the bay."

Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. They
looked at each other, neither one verbalizing the obvious--who would be
at the door so early? And why?

"You'd better go answer it." Kyle gave her a reassuring smile. "Maybe
it's just a delivery of some sort."

"You're probably right, nothing to worry about." She headed toward the
front of the shop.

Tony Mallory picked up the morning newspaper from the porch and handed
it to her as she opened the door. "Good morning, Lauren."

She could not hide her surprisel "Good morning, Tony." She tried to
project an upbeat, friendly manner. "Are you now delivering the
newspapers as well as publishing them?"

"No but I am here on business."

She did not invite him in. "Business?"

"May I come in?"

She hesitated for a moment, then stepped aside as she offered him a
friendly smile. "Of course." She closed the door behind him. "Now, what
may I do for you?"

"Actually, it's Shane I came to see. Is he here?" "Did I hear my name
being mentioned in vain?" Kyle appeared from the back, projecting good
cheer and total affability. "And a good morning to you, Tony. This is,
indeed, a pleasant surprise. What is it I can be doing for you?"

Tony approached him and the two men shook hands. "I'd like to interview
you for the newspaper."

Kyle's surprise was genuine. "Me? What possible interest could I be to
your readers?"

"Noted archaeologist, author of two books, international traveler--I'd
say there was quite a bit there that would be of interest to my readers.
I realize you're here on vacation and to visit friends--" he
acknowledged Lauren with a nod and a smile "--but we don't often have
someone of your background in our little community."

Kyle maintained his composure and resisted the impulse to shoot a quick
look in Lauren's direction. Tony's use of the word background had
captured his attention and set his senses on full alert. Could Tony have
been the one requesting the Interpol check on Shane Nolan? An
interesting possibility.

"My goodness, Tony. It seems that you've been checking up on me. I'm
flattered, of course, but I wouldn't have thought two obscure volumes
about archaeology would have been that widely known. Are you a student
of archaeology perchance?"

"I'm a newspaperman. I'm a student of many things, and right now
archaeology is on that list."

Kyle turned toward Lauren and offered her a confident smile. "Perhaps an
interview would be an enjoyable way for me to pass some time today since
you have a busy schedule of your own."

"But I thought you had planned to do some fishing today."

He saw the anxiety in her eyes and understood her concern. It was a
concern that he did not share, however. He had once used the guise of an
archaeologist as a cover for an assignment. He felt confident he could
handle any of Tony's interview questions.

Tony looked from Kyle to Lauren then back to Kyle. "Oh? You had other
plans for the day? I certainly don't want to interfere..."

Something about the way Tony let his voice trail off did not sit well
with Kyle. He was not sure whether or not he was reading something into
the situation that was not there. He addressed his comments to Lauren.
"No problem at all. I can challenge your fish to a test of wills at
another time." He turned to Tony. "Where-would you like to conduct this
interrogation?" He smiled innocently, but had chosen his words with
specific care.

"Well, perhaps we can talk while we take a little stroll along the
bluffs." Tony paused. "That is, if you don't mind the walk."

"Not at all. I'm accustomed to taking brisk daily walks." Kyle turned to
Lauren again. "See you later." He gave her hand a quick squeeze that
told her not to worry.

The two men left by the front door and walked at a leisurely pace toward
the bluffs.

"Well, now. What would you like to know that would enlighten the readers
of your fair community?" "You don't mind if I record our interview, do
you? I

find it much easier and a great deal more accurate than taking notes."

"Not at all. You go right ahead."

Tony turned on the handheld recorder. "Let's start with some basics. Is
this your first trip to the States?"

It was an innocent enough question, but one Kyle did not know the answer
to. All he could do was improvise based on the information he had.
Shane's letters had spoken of times he had spent with Jim Franklin in
Ireland, of the fact that they had met there, but had not mentioned any
trips Shane had made to the States. "Yes, it is. And a lovely country
you have. I never realized how large it was. Other than that unfortunate
incident about finding the body on the beach it's been a grand trip, a
grand trip, indeed."

"Pardon me for saying, but I find it a little odd that you didn't come
for Jim Franklin's funeral, especially in light of what close friends
you apparently were." It was a pointed statement accompanied by a
clearly-purposeful look meant as a definite challenge.

Kyle leveled a curious look at Tony, containing just a hint of a
challenge of his own. "Are you suggesting that I should have presented
myself at the door of a grieving fiance whom I had never met and thrown
a good old-fashioned Irish wake to be attended by people who were
complete strangers to me and might possibly be offended by my country's
traditions and customs?"

He saw a look flash through Tony's eyes for just a second then
disappear. It was capitulation, and it told him he had hit his target.
For Tony to have pursued that particular line of questioning would have
been far beyond the scope of an innocent interview for the newspaper. If
he was suspicious of Shane Nolan, then he would have to find a different
way to prove out his theories. Kyle had to admire Tony's quick recovery
when the newsman continued without missing a beat.

"Tell me a little bit about your educational background.,,

Kyle fielded all of Tony's questions with confidence and skill. He was
relieved that there were no more attempts to trip him up. They returned
to Lauren's a couple of hours later, where Tony said his goodbyes and
left.

Kyle entered the store. Lauren and Milly were deep in conversation. He
caught Lauren's eye then went into the back. She followed a couple of
minutes later.

"What was all that about?" Her question had a hushed urgency about it
that matched the expression on her face.

Kyle furrowed his brow in a thoughtful manner. "I'm not quite sure.
There was no question that he was pumping me, but I don't know exactly
what his intentions were or what triggered his suspicions about Shane
Nolan."

"Be careful, Kyle." A cold shiver moved through her body. "Something is
wrong. There's danger out there. I don't know what it is, but I can feel
it."

He cupped her chin in his hand. "I'll be careful." He leaned forward and
placed a light kiss on her lips. "You be careful, too. If Tony is
questioning Shane Nolan's identity, then you can bet he's also taking a
hard look at you and what your role in all of this might be."

"Do you think Tony's involved in the smuggling?" She took a breath to
calm the anxiety building inside her. Was this what Kyle was trying to
keep from her? There had already been so many surprises about the people
who lived in Sea Grove, including the fact that one of them had shot
Kyle. It was a possibility she did not like, but one she knew she must
face. "And in the murders?"

He placed his hands on her shoulders. He saw the uncertainty in her eyes
and the distress that covered her face. "There are so many twists and
turns to this case. Every time I get something neatly boxed and wrapped,
something new shows up." He drew her into his embrace. He threaded his
fingers through her hair and cradled her head

against his shoulder. "Everything is going to be okay. Tony seems to be
very good at his job. His newsman's instincts tell him there's a story,
and he's trying to sniff it out."

"Are you sure? Do you really think that's all it is?" Kyle paused before
responding. "I hope so."

Chapter 12

Kyle walked the few blocks to the downtown harbor, leaving Lauren to
tend to her business concerns and prepare for the meeting of the
historical society. He casually strolled along the dock, stopping
occasionally to admire different boats. He paused for a long time in
front of Frank's boat, then looked around for the harbormaster's office.

Kyle knocked softly on the jamb of the open door. "Excuse me."

The man who was bent over the desk looked up from his work. "Can I help
you?"

"I hope so. I was wondering...Frank Brewster's boat. I don't mean to
sound crass by following on the heels of the tragic accident, but do you
know if the family intends to sell it?"

"The boat never did belong to Frank. It's owned by some big-city
corporation out of Seattle, something called Triangle Associates. They
pay the mooring expenses, all maintenance and Upkeep. They list Frank as
the primary user of the vessel, but he's not the owner."

"Oh, I see." Among Kyle's many accomplishments was the ability to read
upside down. The man was going over the harbor log, which clearly showed
Frank's boat going out twice on the night in question--once when Kyle
spotted it from the lighthouse tower and again several hours later. The
second mn lasted only fifteen minutes, and the log showed that Frank
checked out but did not check in upon his return to the dock. Obviously
someone else had brought the boat back and moored it. But who?

The man eyed Kyle for a moment. "Anything else you want?'

To make his query seem innocent, Kyle followed with another request for
information. "Do you know of any other boat of the same general type and
size that might be for sale?"

"I'm not a yacht broker. Go try Sea Grove Marine Sales at the other end
of the harbor. That's what they do...they sell boats." With that, the
man returned to his paperwork signaling that his part of the
conversation was at an end.

Big-city corporation... Triangle Associates. The words played over in
his mind as he slowly made his way along the dock, pausing every few
yards so anyone watching would see him looking over several other boats.
It was an important new piece to the puzzle. Finding out who owned
Triangle Associates was at the top of his list.

He returned to Lauren's, entering through the side door so no one would
see him. He sent a coded fax requesting a rash on all information about
Triangle Associates. He should have the information that day.

He glanced at his watch. It was almost four-thirty. Surely the
historical society meeting would be over by now. He ventured into the
bookstore and immediately noticed Harvey Sherwood talking with Milly,

Kyle stood back and watched for a moment. Harvey seemed nervous, but
then he had seemed jittery every time their paths had crossed. After a
couple of minutes Harvey hurried out the door. Kyle went to the
bookstore section, glanced at some of the magazines, then wandered
toward the tearoom. The sound of several voices, all seemingly speaking
at once, reached his ears.

"Hello, Shane." Milly gestured toward the sound of the voices as she
gave him a friendly smile. "I think they're just finishing up now."

Kyle peered around the corner into the tearoom. He immediately spotted
Lauren and Irene. He counted five other people; three men and two women.
Everyone was standing, preparing to leave. He caught Lauren's eye and
she gave him a quick smile indicating she would be through in a moment.
He stepped over to the counter where Milly was ringing up a sale. He
watched as the historical society members left. Irene and Lauren were
the last to exit the tearoom.

"I'm very excited about your plan for the old railroad station."
Lauren's enthusiasm was obvious. "Do you think there will be any
problems in raising the necessary funds?"

"Now don't you worry yourself about that, Lauren. That's my area.
Everything will work out just fine. I have a sizable pledge from a
corporation to help with the restoration of the railroad station and the
creation of a local history museum. The rest of it should all fall into
place without any problems."

"I'm going to have to go with you to Seattle on one of your arm-twisting
trips so I can see how you do it."

Irene chuckled good-naturedly. "Well, I do seem to have a knack for
fund-raising."

"Good afternoon, ladies." The postman came through the front door, his
mail pouch. slung over his shoulder and a stack of envelopes in his
hand. "Nice day today, isn't it?"

"Mr. Erskine, what a pleasure to see you." Irene smiled as she stopped
to greet him.

"You look lovely today, Irene." He turned his attention to Milly, who
was standing patiently waiting for him to give her the mail. "Sorry I'm
late. Mail track from Springfield had motor trouble this morning and
didn't get here until after eight o'clock."

He handed her the magazines and letters he held in his hand. "Several
pieces for you today, Milly." On top of the stack, glaringly apparent to
anyone standing there, was an envelope with an Irish stamp, a Dublin
postmark and a return address showing Shane Nolan as the sender.

The breath froze in Lauren's lungs. A letter from Shanereit was totally
unexpected and certainly the last thing she and Kyle needed. Should she
say something? Make an attempt to explain the letter? She quickly
scanned the expressions of the people present. Irene did not register
any reaction, but Milly seemed perplexed. She glanced at Mr. Erskine. He
had an odd expression on his face, or at least she thought he did. Maybe
she was allowing her anxiety to drive her imagination.

Lauren quickly turned toward Kyle. She hoped she had been successful at
hiding the apprehension that suddenly shot through her body. His
expression remained unchanged. She could not tell if he was aware of the
situation.

"Goodbye, Lauren." Irene's voice broke into her thoughts. "I'll check
with you in a few days about the next phase of the railroad station
restoration, as soon as I return from visiting my niece."

"That'll be fine." Lauren did not know if the quaver was really in her
voice or if she just thought it was. Either way, the uneasiness churned
inside her.

"Milly, you be sure and .give my best to your family." After saying her
goodbyes to Milly, Irene turned her attention to Kyle. "Have you been
enjoying your stay in Sea Grove, Shane?"

Kyle's smile was gracious, his manner open and friendly. "Ah, delightful
little town you have here. I'm enjoying my holiday ever so much. I'm
only sorry I will have to be leaving soon, but duty calls me back in
Dublin.

I've agreed to instruct an archaeology class at the college for the
upcoming session, and I must prepare my lectures."

"Lauren never mentioned that you also taught. That must give you quite a
feeling of satisfaction, to be able to share your knowledge and
profession with eager young students."

"Well, I must admit to a touch of concern. This is the first time I've
ever attempted this type of thing. I was quite flattered when I was
approached. I hope I justify their faith in me."

Irene extended a confident smile. "I'm sure you'll do just fine, young
man." She turned toward the door, then paused. "You make sure you stop
by before you leave. I don't want you slipping out of town without
saying goodbye."

"Oh, that I will. You can bet on it, Irene." Kyle gave a friendly wave
and smile as Irene left the building.

Lauren turned her attention to Milly while surreptitiously concealing
the letter in her pocket. "We had another busy day today, Milly. Would
you mind closing by yourself this evening?"

"No problem, Lauren. You run along. I'll lock up the front of the
building when I leave."

"Good night, Milly." Lauren and Kyle retreated to her private living
quarters at the back of the building.

As soon as the door was closed she withdrew the letter from her pocket
and turned to Kyle. Did you notice this?" She held it up for him to see.
"I think Mr. Erskine was a little confused by it, and Milly seemed to be
staring at it. I don't know if Irene saw it or not."

"Oh, I'm sure Irene noticed it. There isn't much she misses."

Her voice was filled with alarm. "I didn't know whether to say something
or not. Should I have tried to cover it up by saying something like,
'Oh, look...here's that letter you mailed three weeks ago---it finally
got here. Did I do the right thing?"

"You did the right thing by doing nothing. It's always good in this type
of situation to keep as low a profile as possible. It's the same thing
as offering explanations that aren't requested when answering questions.
Your saying something would have drawn unnecessary attention to the
letter."

"What do we do now?"

"Why don't you open the letter and see what it's all about?" Kyle shared
her concern but knew he could not let her see it. The appearance of the
letter cast a whole new set of rules over the situation. If there had
been any doubt before, it was erased. Her life was at stake every bit as
much as his.

Her fingers trembled as she opened the envelope and withdrew the single
sheet of paper. She unfolded it and quickly scanned the page then handed
it to Kyle without saying a word. He took it from her and read the
letter. It said Shane had broken his leg and as a result had not been
able to participate in the archaeological dig. He had decided to drop
her a quick note to let her know.

Kyle returned the letter to her. The stern expression on his face said
as much as his words. "That's it! I've got to wrap this up very
quickly." He stared at her for a moment, then turned away. "I'm going to
put you in protective custody until this thing is over."

"Me? Is that really necessary?"

He turned to her, placing his hands on her shoulders then drawing her to
him. "There's no way anyone could be convinced you're nothing more than
an innocent victim of circumstances." He leaned forward and placed a
soft kiss on her lips. "I'm so sorry...I wish there was something else I
could do, but it's too late. I should have sent you away a long time
ago. I never should have allowed you to become involved."

She tried to swallow the hard lump that had formed in her throat, but it
refused to go away. She spoke softly, her words tentative and surrounded
by uncertainty. "Maybe no one noticed. Just because a letter was
delivered doesn't mean that anyone paid attention to it."

"You know as well as I do that your postman noticed. There was no way he
could have missed the Irish postmark and stamp when he was sorting the
mail for delivery. You told me Mr. Erskine spreads the news faster than
he delivers the mail. So, even if Irene and Milly weren't aware it's
still a sure bet they and everyone else in town will have the
information very quickly." He expelled a heavy sigh as he dropped his
hands from her shoulders. "There's a lot to do and it has to be done
tonight."

"Right." Lauren squared her shoulders and clenched her jaw in
determination. "What do we do first?"

' 'We?"

"You bet we! You've already said that there's no way I can claim
ignorance, so there's no reason for you to shut me out." She headed for
the bedroom. "I'm going to change clothes, I'll be right back." She
disappeared into the other room.

As soon as she was out of sight, Kyle grabbed his cellular phone and
made a call. His conversation was quick and to the point. "What do you
have for me on Triangle Associates?"

"You've got a good one here. Triangle Associates is based in Seattle and
is hidden behind miles of paperwork designed to conceal ownership from
prying eyes."

"What about bank accounts? Who signs the checks for Triangle Associate
and who are those checks sent to? And what about deposits? Who does
Triangle Associates receive money from?"

"Deposits to the account are made every few days, and a lot of it is in
cash with each deposit just a few dollars short of the amount the bank
would be required to report

as an excessive cash transaction. The total amount of money deposited
over the course of a month adds up to considerable. The checks are
signed by an accountant who simply'disburses funds per written
instructions. Now, here's something you'll really like. Triangle
Associates has an account in each of five different banks, all of them
showing the same type of deposits. I can tell you what I think, but I
don't have a definite paper trail for you yet."

"Just give it to me...and I'll bet it matches up with what my gut is
tellling me." Kyle listened intently, assimilating everything and adding
the pieces to his puzzle. "That's great work, Gus. It won't do for
court, but it confirms my theory."

Kyle mentally shifted to a new topic. "There's been an unexpected
complication here. I have reason to believe that my cover has been
blown...again. This base of operation is no longer safe, You're going to
have to flush out that paper trail. I think you're going to need it to
prosecute this case." He listened for a moment, then hung up.

Kyle quickly placed another call. "I need a team immediately." As soon
as he finished with the second call, he wandered into the business part
of the building. Milly was just gathering her things to leave for the
day. "Good night, Milly. Have a pleasant evening." He walked her to the
front door.

"Good night, Shane."

After locking the door, he walked into the tearoom. He stood for a
moment, staring at the table where the historical society had had their
meeting. A slight smile turned the corners of his mouth. Stacked on the
table in front of Irene's chair were the neatly folded candy wrappers
from what was obviously her favorite type of candy, just as he had seen
at her house.

Lauren appeared from the back room dressed in jeans and a dark sweater.
"I'm all ready. Now, what do we need to do?"

"Nothing for a few hours yet. It's still too early in the evening to be
sneaking around. And I'll be going alone." She started to say something,
but he quickly hushed her words by placing his fingertips against her
lips. "No argument."

"OUR PROBLEM has escalated. We have a serious situation with Lauren and
her house guest." The words had an edge of controlled anger.

"What do you want me to do about it?" The voice at the other end of the
telephone conveyed exasperation. "First Billy, then Kyle Delaney and
finally Frank. I don't think the public is going to believe two more
accidental deaths in such a short time."

"There are ways. Perhaps we can take care of all our problems with one
solution."

"All our problems? Do you mean--"

"Yes, that's exactly what I mean."

KYLE CHECKED his watch. "Lauren, I want you to stay here. I'm going to
the cave to check on a few things, just some last-minute details. I
won't be gone long." "But--" "I promise not to become enmeshed in any
death-defying antics or perform any heroics without you. It's just a
simple little routine matter. As soon as I get back we'll talk about
what's next. Okay?"

She hesitated, weighing his words, then managed to produce a feeble
smile. "Okay. But don't you be gone very long or else I'll have to come
looking for you."

"No! Under no circumstances do I want you to come looking for me." He
saw the objection forming on her lips and cut her off before she could
say anything. Things were critical and time was important. "Here." He
wrote a phone number on a piece of paper. "If I'm gone more than two
hours call this number, identify yourself to whoever answers and they'll
take it from there." She took the slip of paper, stared at it for a
moment, then looked at him. He kissed her cheek in an attempt to
reassure her.

Kyle headed for the door, pausing to check the ammunition clip in his
gun. He did not need to look at her. He could feel the censure in her
eyes and the disapproval that covered her face. He replaced the pistol
in the holster at the small of his back and opened the side door.

The feeling slapped her in the face without warning, a cold feeling of
dread that caused her to visibly shiver. "Kyle...don't--" She was not
sure exactly what to say. "Don't go...maybe later...maybe I should go
with you--"

"What's the matter?" He quickly crossed the room to her. He saw the
stark reality of her fears in the way she hunched her shoulders and the
apprehension in her eyes.

"It's out there, Kyle. Something or someone. There's danger out there.
Please don't go."

He took her hands in his. "I have to." He gave them a reassuring
squeeze. "I'll be careful." He hummed and disappeared out the side door,
moving stealthily into the dark.

His words did nothing to calm her nerves. The other impression had been
so vivid, the man lurching off the cliff. This one was different. She
could not get a clear vision to go with the feeling. She only knew that
it was life-threatening danger and it was out there in the dark, waiting
for an opportunity to strike.

She tried to settle her thoughts on other matters, to busy herself so
she would not stare at the clock. She ran a load of laundry through the
washing machine, then transferred it to the dryer. She did the dishes,
swept the kitchen floor and thought about rearranging the cupboards. She
was desperate to find little chores that would occupy her time while he
was gone, but it was no good.

She could not shake the feeling of danger that stuck to her every
thought and action. She nervously paced through the kitchen, into the
living room, around the bedroom and back to the kitchen.

LAUREn MIGHT HAVE been anxiety-ridden and nervous, but Kyle was just
plain angry. He knew he was cutting his time close, pushing against that
two-hour limit he had given her, but he had not considered the
possibility of having both exits from the lighthouse cottage cut off. He
did not know what the occasion was, but several cars and a group of
teenagers had descended on his location. Trying to leave without being
seen would be next to impossible.

Then snatches of conversation floated his way. "Get out of here...over
by the breakwater...build a bonfire on the beach..."

Kyle watched from the cottage window as the teenagers piled into the
cars and left. He glanced at his watch. He was already a few minutes
beyond the time limit he had given Lauren.

He cautiously slipped out of the cottage, but remained close to the
building as he hugged the shadows. He had to ensure everyone had left
before he started across the bluff.

Lauren had her gaze riveted to her living room clock. She could not
stomach any more of the stress that jittered through her body. Kyle had
been gone for two hours, and that was too long. Her insides twisted into
knots that pulled tighter with each passing minute. She could not handle
the waiting and not knowing for one more moment.

She grabbed her jacket and a flashlight, prepared to go out to look for
him. She opened the side door, then paused. His instructions had been
very .specific. She was to call the phone number. She hurried to the
kitchen, retrieved the piece of paper he had given her and lifted the
telephone receiver.

The feeling came flying at her from out of nowhere, stopping her in her
tracks. She kept getting mixed signals,

feelings of eminent danger interspersed with a sense of calm. Panic
consumed her. Was Kyle in danger again? "Well, well...looky who we got
here."

The graff voice slashed through the still air and continued to the core
of her consciousness. Her heart skipped a beat then gave a heavy thud in
her chest. She slammed down the phone receiver, whirled around and found
herself face-to-face with Max Culhane. She tried to catch her breath and
project a calm manner. She looked past him and realized she had left the
side door open when she had returned to the kitchen.

"Oh...Max. You scared the breath out of me. I didn't hear you come up
behind me." She tried to muster a casual smile. "What are you doing
here, especially so late at night? Is something wrong?"

His eyes were hard, and his features were set in a scowl. "I reckon I
might ask you the same thing--your door standin' open and you dressed to
go out with a flashlight at the ready."

"I was about to take my evening walk." Kyle's words rushed back to her.
Don't overexplain Don't say mbre than required. Don't offer explanations
for something that hasn't been asked.

"Looked like you was in some kind of a hurry. Now, just where was you
headed?"

The uneasiness did not build slowly, it erupted fullblown. She was alone
in her kitchen with a man who was becoming more menacing by the second.

Lauren backed away from Max, hoping to put some distance between them
while edging closer to the open door. "You didn't tell me what brought
you here at this time of night. I'm afraid I'm busy now, so if it's not
important I'll have to ask you to leave."

"Not so fast." Max grabbed Lauren's arm in an iron grip. "Where's your
friend? Were you on your way out to meet him? You know, Lauren, you
really should've stayed outta things. You really should of."

"I don't know what you're talking about. Please, Max--" She tried to pry
his fingers loose from her arm. "You're hurting me." She knew her
anxiety showed in her voice, but she could not stop it. "I don't
understand what's going on here. Let go of me."

"Answer me, Lauren." The sheriff's tone was mean. "Where's your friend?"
He unholstered his revolver and forcefully moved her along in front of
him. "Let's go find him."

The realization was crystal clear, and so was the meaning of her
premonition. The danger was not directed toward Kyle, the danger was
hers--a very real danger. Max shoved her through the side door and
across the bluff toward the lighthouse. She stumbled on the uneven
ground. He jerked her upright and shoved her forward. "No tricks,
Lauren. I'd hate to have to shoot you right here and now."

They had almost reached the lighthouse parking lot when Max brought
their procession to a halt. "I'm asking you one more time, Lauren.
Where's your friend?"

"I told you, Max. I don't know where he is."

"I'm right here, Constable." Kyle's voice was firm and steady, showing
not a hint of fear or weakness. He had rounded the corner of the
building and was about to dash across the bluff toward Lauren's when he
heard the voices. He had come to an abrupt halt, quickly sizing up the
situation. He did not know if she had dialed the emergency number, but
he guessed she had not. It looked as if Max had gotten to her first. "I
must insist that you unhand the lady."

The sound of Max's angry words and Lauren's less than firm reply still
lingered in his mind. He had waited too long to get her to safety. Now
he would have to do something, and do it quickly. He took a calming
breath, unholstered his gun and held it behind his back as he stepped
from the corner of the cottage.

Max whirled at the sound of Kyle's voice. He did not move any closer to
the edge of the bluff. He continued to grasp Lauren's arm in his strong
fingers. "So...you just out for your nightly walk, too? Seems to me the
two of you would be walkin' together."

"Turn loose of her, Max." Gone was the Irish accent and the affable
attitude. Gone was any pretense of innocence. "If she's not out of your
reach by the time I count to three, I'm coming after you." Kyle paused
for half a second then spoke again, "One..."

Max pulled Lauren in front of him, using her as a shield. He raised his
revolver toward her head. "I'd stop countin' if I was you, or I'll drop
her on the spot."

The sound of Kyle's voice had produced a wonderful feeling of relief in
Lauren, but her euphoria was short-lived. She felt Max's raspy breath
wheeze against her nape and his chest heave up and down against her back
as he nervously gulped in as much oxygen as he could. She had never been
as frightened as she was at that moment. Her mouth felt as dry as cotton
balls. She was aware of Max's fingers digging into her arm, but was numb
to the pain. She feared her heart would either pound its way out of her
chest or stop beating altogether.

Focus. She knew she had to concentrate on Kyle, on what he said and did.
She closed her eyes for a brief moment as she forced a calm through her
body and pumped her energy. She also knew she needed to be totally
attuned to what Max was doing, to even the slightest movement or change
on his part. She recalled Kyle's words about a fraction of a second
making a difference.

Max waved the gun toward Kyle, a gesture clearly visible in the
moonlight. "You get out here in the open where I can see you better. All
of us, we're gonna take a little walk together."

Kyle moved slowly, never taking his eyes off Max and Lauren. "Why don't
you turn her loose? I'm a far more valuable hostage. My family has
money. I can wire Dublin and have money here in twenty-four hours--"

"Cut the bull. You sure aren't nobodynamed Shane No-lan. And if you
think I'm gonna turn her loose just because you say so then you're
dumber than you look. Now, move over here... nice and easy."

Kyle moved slowly, his gun still in his hand behind his back. One
thought raced through his mind---one thought that overshadowed
everything else. Could he take out Max without hitting Lauren? He was at
a bad angle and was confident that Max would not allow him to maneuver
into a position where he could get a better shot. Everything depended on
Lauren and her ability to move quickly and decisively.

The opportune moment presented itself. Kyle made the most subtle of
movements, hoping it was enough for Lauren to notice...praying she was
not too frightened to realize what he wanted her to do. In response to
his silent instruction, she forcefully jammed the elbow of her free arm
into Max's solar plexus. He let out a loud grunt and doubled over in
pain. Lauren dived to one side, hitting the ground with a thud.

A split second later the shot rang out, sounding more like the explosion
of a cannon than a handgun. Lauren's scream followed so closely that
there was not room for even a breath between the two sounds. Kyle's
pulse jumped and his heart pounded in his throat as the cold fear swept
over him.

Chapter 13

"Kyle?" Lauren's Voice was so soft he could barely hear it above the
roar of the blood rushing in his ears.

He bolted across the open ground that separated them, any semblance of
caution thrown to the wind. "Lauren?" He knelt next to her, helping her
as she tried to sit up.

"Are you all right?"

"Yes, I think so."

"Were you hit? Can you stand and walk?" A bit of a calm began to settle
over him.

Her voice became stronger, more in control. "I'm fine."

His words came quickly and with extreme urgency. "Come on, we've got to
get some cover."

Lauren's reaction was slow and confused as she stumbled to her feet.
"Cover? I don't understand."

It was Max who did not move. The moonlight made the blood look more
black than red as it oozed from the gaping wound on the side of his
head. It ran down the sheriff's neck then spread a dark stain across his
shirt.

Kyle did not hesitate. He grabbed Max's gun, shoved it into his jacket
pocket, then took Lauren's hand and turned toward the cottage--the
closest available shelter. "It's far from over. I'm not the one who
fired that shot!"

Lauren's eyes went wide with shock. "What? Then who did?"

"Is everyone all right?" The shout came from the direction of the
parking lot followed by the sound of someone moving through the tall
grass at the edge of the bluff. "Lauren, are you okay? Who else is with
you?"

Kyle quickly dropped to the ground, pulling Lauren down next to him.
"Don't answer...don't move. Let him show himself first. Did you call
that phone number I left you?"

"No. I'm sorry, Kyle. I had the phone in my hand and was about to dial
when Max grabbed me."

"It's okay, don't worry about it. It just means that we're on our own
for the time being."

Kyle peered through the darkness. It seemed like an eternity before he
saw a shadowy figure moving in their direction. He remained still. The
unknown man continued toward them, growing closer with each step.

The stranger paused when he reached Max's body, bending down to check,
then straightening up. He looked around again. The moonlight glinted off
the barrel of a rifle with a night sniper scope cradled in the crook of
his arm. He called out again. "It's safe now, Lauren. You can come out."

An involuntary gasp escaped her throat as she clamped Kyle's hand in a
hard squeeze. Her words came out in a breathless rush. "It's Mitch
O'Connor."

Kyle jerked his head in her direction. "Are you sure?" "Positive." The
soft Irish accent again surrounded the words as Kyle called to the
shadowy figure. "Who's there? Is it safe to come out?"

"It's Deputy O'Connor. Is that Shane Nolan? Is Lauren with you? Are the
two of you all right?"

"'Tis I, Constable. And the lovely lady in question is here with me.
She's a bit shaken, but quite unharmed." Kyle tugged on Lauren's hand
when she attempted to stand up, pulling her back to the ground. "What
happened out there? Why would the sheriff threaten Lauren like that and
why would someone shoot him? Are you sure the danger has passed?"

"The area's secure." Mitch swung the strap of the high-powered rifle
over his shoulder to free his hands, then removed his gloves. "There's
nothing to worry about."

Lauren was very confused. She understood why the sheriff had grabbed
her. If Max was involved, then his information that Shane Nolan was an
impostor and she had been harboring him certainly made her a target. But
what was Mitch doing here and why had he shot Max?

"Mitch? What's going on?" Lauren's voice did not reveal the fear and
anxiety that filled every corner of her consciousness.

"Glad to hear your voice, Lauren. I'd like to get your statements. Do
you suppose we could talk somewhere else? Somewhere warm and light? I've
already called for an ambulance."

As if on cue, Kyle saw the headlights of a squad car pull into the
lighthouse parking lot, followed by another vehicle. He reached into his
jacket pocket and took out Max's gun. He held it out toward Lauren.
"Here, take this. I want you to have--" "No!" It was emphatic, sharp and
absolute. "I refuse to touch a gun. Don't ask me to."

Kyle saw the hard determination that covered her face. It was obvious
there was no possibility of changing her mind or even having a
discussion of the matter at some future date. He could see that for
Lauren it was an unequivocally closed subject. He put Max's gun back in
his pocket.

"If you're sure it's safe, Constable..." Kyle turned to Lauren and
lowered his voice to a whisper. "Come on, let's find out what's going
on. I think it's okay, but keep close to me and stay alert."

Kyle holstered his pistol, slowly rose to his full height, then looked
around at the people moving across the bluff toward Max's body. When he
was satisfied everything was all right he indicated that Lauren should
stand up. He clasped her hand in his. "Come on." They walked the short
distance to where Mitch O'Connor was waiting,

"Well, Constable, that mean-looking weapon slung over your shoulder
would lead me to believe that it was you who shot Sheriff Culhane." Kyle
paused, obviously waiting for Mitch to answer the verbal challenge he
had tossed at the deputy.

Mitch did not pause, did not even bat an eye to indicate a moment of
apprehension. "And you'd be correct in that assumption." He turned and
started across the bluff toward Lauren's place, indicating that they
should follow him.

A few minutes later they were settled around Lauren's dining room table.
Kyle was once again the perfect persona of Shane Nolan. It was possible
the sheriff had not conveyed the information about Shane. He would leave
it up to Mitch O'Connor to determine that Shane was a fraud. "So,
Constable, now that we have the lights turned on and we're all warm,
suppose you explain to us why the sheriff would have tried to abduct
Laurenre" Kyle leveled a cool gaze at Mitch "--and why you felt it
necessary to kill him without giving him the opportunity to surrender."

Mitch took a swallow from his coffee mug then placed it on the table
with a deliberately slow movement. "I've been watching Max for quite a
while now. Both he and Frank Brewster have been up to no good for a long
time. I was never quite sure what they were doing. They were real
careful about covering their tracks, but then things started to fall
apart'for them. I think Billy Washburn stumbled onto something and Frank
did away with him."

"Really? What could the young lad have known that would have cost him
his life?"

"I really don't know, but he worked for Frank. Maybe he overheard a
conversation or saw something he wasn't supposed to see. Maybe he tried
to blackmail Frank. I just don't know. I am convinced that he was
somehow a threat and it cost him his life." Mitch took another sip of
his coffee.'

"But I still don't understand. Why would you have shot the sheriff?."

"I felt I had no option. I think it's obvious that Lauren's life was in
imminent danger, and I knew Max was more than capable of killing her.
After all, he killed Frank Brewster."

"Frank was murdered?" Lauren blurted out the question. Even though she
and Kyle had discussed it and she knew it was true, she was surprised to
hear Mitch say it in such a matter-of-fact way. "And you think Max did
it? But from what you've said, Max and Frank were partners. Why would
Max kill his partner? Do you have any proof of these crazy theories of
yours?"

Mitch O'Connor turned in his chair toward Lauren. His face was
expressionless as he addressed her questions. "I have my own personal
observation that he had a gun to your head. Do you deny that he
threatened your life? Do you deny that you honestly believed your life
was in danger?"

"Well--" She looked at Kyle, not at all sure how to answer Mitch.

"I think, Constable, that we certainly owe you our gratitude. He most
assuredly would have killed Lauren, and I'm sure he would not have dealt
too kindly with me, either. What I don't understand is why? What
possible threat could Lauren have been to him, even in light of his
apparent criminal activity?"

"Well." Mitch shifted his'weight in the chair. "Lauren lives within a
stone's throw of Brewster's warehouse, and she found his body on the
beach. I don't know if she was actually a threat to Max or whether he
simply imagined that she was. Either way, it's immaterial. He apparently
thought she knew something or had seen something that would incriminate
him." He stared at Lauren. "Did you see anything that I should know
about?"

The motion of Kyle's head was so slight as to be almost unnoticeable,
but Lauren caught his guidance and followed his silent instructions to
the letter. "No, Mitch. I'm not aware of anything unusual going on and
I haven't seen anything suspicious."

Mitch directed his attention toward Kyle. "How about you, Mr. Nolan? You
see anything suspicious?"

"Nary a thing, Constable. But then, being a stranger to your country
there might be something you would consider suspicious that I would not
give a second thought...or even the other way around."

The banter continued for another half hour. Both Kyle and Lauren held
firmly to their stories. Finally Mitch carried his coffee cup to the
kitchen sink, then turned to them. "I guess the only thing left is to
ask if either of you picked up the sheriff's handgun. It wasn't with his
body."

. Kyle forced a startled expression, then he jumped to his feet. "I'm
glad you mentioned that, Constable. It completely slipped my mind. I
picked it up as a precaution when I went to get Lauren." He reached for
his jacket. "I have it here in my pocket." He produced the weapon and
handed it to Mitch.

The deputy took the revolver and slipped it into his jacket pocket. His
expression gave no hint as to whether he believed Kyle's story. "I'll
expect both of you at the sheriff's station tomorrow morning to make an
official statement."

Kyle rose to his feet. "Of course, Constable. We'll be there."

Mitch left and Lauren quickly locked the door behind him then closed the
drapes. She ran to Kyle, who wrapped his arms around her and held her
body close to his.

"You're safe now, Lauren. Everything's all right." He wished he had more
confidence in what he was saying.

"I was so frightened. Max was like a total stranger rather than someone
I'd known for years." She continued to draw the comfort he provided. She
felt the even rhythm of his heartbeat, the strength it conveyed to her.

"I know. I'm sorry you had to go through that." This was a definite
setback. With the shooting of Max Culhane, the two suspects against
which he had a case were now dead. His other suspicions were still
valid, but he was once again left with only bits and pieces of
circumstantial evidence. It was not enough.

He held Lauren tighter when he felt a slight tremor work its way through
her body. He did not know what to do to stop it. She had displayed
courage, a quick mind and a cool head under pressure. He should never
have allowed her to be in a position where her mettle would be tested
like that. She could have been killed and he would have been responsible
just as surely as if he had pulled the trigger himself. It was too late
to get her to safety, to move her out of hann's way. Her life was in his
hands. For the first time in his career he questioned whether he was
capable of completing an assignment.

"I SEE that our problem with Max has been resolved. A fitting conclusion
to our business arrangement." A brief pause sent a moment of silence
along the phone line. "You know, in light of recent developments I've
been giving serious consideration .to folding things up for a while.
It's been a long and profitable run, but perhaps we shouldn't tempt fate
any further."

"It's up to you. I do agree that we need to cool things for a while.
Thanks to Frank's panic and Max's heavy-handed bungling there's too much
attention being directed this way. And now there will have to be an
investigation into Max's untimely demise---even if it's nothing more
than simply going through the motions to satisfy the public demand for
answers. We'll have to make sure all suspicions stop with Max and
everyone considers the case closed."

LAUREN GRADUALLY STIRRED to wakefulness. She reached to the other side
of the bed. Not only was Kyle not there, the sheets showed no lingering
hint of any body heat. She opened her eyes and looked around. It was
only five-thirty in the morning. Except for Ty-Ty curled up on the foot
of the bed, she was alone. She slipped out of bed and put on her robe.

The rest of her living quarters were as deserted as her bedroom. She
turned up the heat to take the morning chill out of the air. She checked
next to the phone, the refrigerator door, the bathroom mirror and the
nightstand. There was not even a hastily scribbled note saying where he
had gone or when he would return.

She took a quick shower and dressed. They were supposed to go to the
sheriff's station and give Mitch O'Connor their official statement about
what had happened. Surely Kyle would not skip that. To do so would put a
glaring spotlight on him. She made herself some tea, hoping it would
calm the uneasiness inside her.

KYLE BUSIED HIMSELF with the finishing touches to his new plan of
attack.

He had lain awake long after they had gone to bed, his mind filled with
the options available to him. The plan he had settled on did not totally
please him, but it seemed the lesser of several evils. But first he
needed to gather some more information, and he needed to do it away from
Lauren. It was going to be risky, and he did not want her knowing and
anticipating what might happen in the next twenty-four hours.

He picked the lock on the side door of Max Culhane's house and quietly
entered through the laundry room. He moved swiftly through the house,
pausing to peer into each room to get his bearings. After giving
everything a quick once-over, he slowed down and began a more thorough
search.

His first target was the desk. He paused to study the framed
photograph--a picture of Max and Milly on a boat. He pulled open a
drawer and found some bank statements. He stuck them in his bag. Then he
found the telephone bills and a key to a safety-deposit box. He added it
to the bank statements. He scanned the contents of a file cabinet
-drawer. He moved confidently through the small house, checking some
things and skipping over others.

He paused in the living room, noting a half-empty coffee cup and an
empty beer bottle on the coffee table. He bent over and sniffed the
contents of the cup, being careful not to spoil any possible
fingerprints. He stuck his finger in the coffee then put it in his mouth
to get a taste. A slight smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. It
was exactly what he had expected.

Since the kitchen was cleaned, he surmised that Max's visitor must have
been there late in the evening after the dinner dishes had been washed
and put away--shortly before Max had gone to Lauren's...or was sent to
her place.

He hesitated, then reached into the candy dish and took a couple of
pieces. He unwrapped one and popped it into his mouth, then stuck the
other one in his pocket for later. Satisfied that he had gotten
everything he could from his search, he left through the back door. He
looked up and noticed the first gray streaks of dawn stretching across
the eastern sky. He needed to get off the streets before sunrise brought
the light of day and curious onlookers.

He hurried to Lauren's and entered silently through her side door. He
went directly toward the bedroom. He had things to do and very little
time.

Lauren met him at the doorway between the living room and bedroom. "I
was worried."

"I had a few things I needed to take care of." He gave her a soft kiss
on the cheek as he slung his bag off his shoulder and tossed it toward
the bed.

"What kind of things? I thought Max's death put an end to your
investigation. You have Frank and Max, you have a shipment of cigarettes
in the cave, you witnessed the man placing the money in the cave and
then found the same bills in Frank's safe. You have Mitch O'Connor's
testimony about watching Max and Frank. You even have a link between
Billy Washburn and Frank in the form of Billy's journal, something Mitch
apparently doesn't know about. Other than the paperwork, what's left?"

"It's not all that easy, Lauren."

A look of confusion clouded her face. "Are you saying that the
investigation is still in progress? That you're still in danger?"

"You don't find all of this just a little too convenient? Do you really
think the person who did such a sloppy job of grabbing you and who was
most likely the one who bungled the attempt on my life could really be
the brains behind such a successful smuggling ting? A ring that I
believe started by smuggling liquor in from Canada during the final year
of Prohibition and now, in an ironic twist of fate, has come full circle
by smuggling liquor and cigarettes into Canada? That's decades of clever
planning and a keen sense of how to change with the times. That sure as
hell isn't Max Culhane!"

"But if not Max, then who?"

"The pieces are still falling into place. For now it's best to let them
believe they've outsmarted everyone."

"Do you know who is involved?"

He studied her, then finally answered her question. "Yes, I think so. I
just don't have enough proof to act. My bits and pieces of
circumstantial evidence will just get our case laughed out of court. I
need something substantial and conclusive."

"Like what?"

He shot her a teasing grin. "Well, a full confession from all parties
involved would certainly go a long way toward making my case." He turned
to the coffeepot, indicating that he did not want to answer any more
questions.

And to make sure she did not pursue it, he changed the subject as he
poured himself a cup of coffee. "I'm sorry about what happened to your
fiance." He turned and saw the expression on her face. He was not sure
exactly what it was, but it definitely was not friendly. He felt a pang
of guilt stab at his conscience.

Her voice was flat, almost a monotone. "How do you know what happened to
Jim? It wasn't in any of Shane's letters."

He set the mug on the kitchen counter and placed his hands on her
shoulders. "I'm sorry. I had no business blurting that out. It's just.
.. well, I came across an article about his death in the newspaper while
going through back issues. It came as quite a surprise to me, since you
hadn't mentioned any of it and none of Shane's letters had mentioned
specifically how he had died."

He knew what was happening, and he did not seem to be able to stop it.
He was distancing himself from her in preparation for the time when he
would be moving on. It was not going to be easy. In fact, it just might
be the most difficult task he had ever performed. He knew there would be
a place inside him that would die when he had to finally say goodbye.

An odd-sounding ring reached his ears. It was his cellular phone. He
retrieved it from his bag in the other room, along with the scrambling
device. "Yes?" He listened, then responded.

Lauren was only able to hear his side of the conversation...and it made
no sense to her.

"You can trace back ten years and it's a blank prior to that? Does it
match up from the other end? What about military records, do you have
the files on both of them?" He listened. "Okay, good. Now, what about
the other one? My feeling is that it's okay, but what do you show? Any
information on that Interpol trace yet? I know it hasn't been that long,
but--" .A smile spread across Kyle's face as he took in the information.

"Good. You'll make contact and take care of the necessary arrangements?"
He listened for another minute then disconnected from the phone call.

He put the cellular phone in his bag. He took his time returning to
Lauren. For the entire duration of his phone conversation he felt her
eyes on his back. He owed her his life but he knew that as much as he
wanted it to be so, he would not be able to share that life with her. He
began gathering his belongings in preparation for his departure, the
disguise kit being first, There was no more need for Shane Nolan.

The insistent buzzing of the doorbell interrupted Kyle's activities.
Lauren hurried to answer it while he hung back, not wanting to show his
face prematurely.

Tony Mallory shoved past Lauren as soon .as she opened the door. He
glanced around the parlor and into the tearoom. "Where's Shane Nolan?"
His voice was angry, his words abrupt.

"Tony! What's the meaning of this? You come barging in here at six
o'clock in the morning and you don't even have the courtesy to say hello
before making demands?"

"This is important, Lauren. I've just come into possession of some very
important and incriminating information."

"Incriminating information? What about?" She was not sure whether to be
apprehensive or angry. "You're not making any sense. Now, slow down and
tell me what this is all about."

"It's this." He handed her a piece of paper. It was a fax from London,
and it showed a copy of the back of a book cover--a book written by Dr.
Shane Nolan, noted archaeologist and lecturer. The back cover contained
a photograph of the real Shane Nolan. "I don't know what this guy
staying with you has been telling you or what he's up to, but he's an
impostor. I contacted a buddy who's on assignment in London, and this is
what he found. I want you to come with me right now, get out of here
before something happens. We'll report this to the authorities--"

"That won't be necessary, Tony." Kyle stood in the doorway.

A thousand words would have been woefully inadequate to describe the
expression on Tony Mallory's face. His eyes widened in shock, and his
mouth fell open. He stared at Kyle for what seemed like a full minute
before he was able to speak.

"You! I thought you were dead!"

Kyle walked casually across the room toward Tony. "Did you?"

"The Coast Guard report about the body, your van impounded, your
belongings boxed up from the motel..." Tony shook his head to clear the
confusion from his mind. "I tried to verify your identity with the Coast
Guard. When I couldn't get a straight answer from them, I called the
phone number on your business card. All I got was an answering service
that said they would take my name and phone number and refer the
message."

"You'll be happy to know that your message was efficiently relayed to
me." Kyle tried to sound casual while remaining alert to Tony's every
move and intonation.

"Damn!" Tony's frustration exploded. "I feel like I've been run around
the block then dumped on my own front porch so I could contemplate what
a stupid fool I am." He looked at Kyle. "I'm a newsman, a trained
investigative reporter, and I couldn't come up with anything other than
a newsman's curiosity."

"Not true. You came up with conclusive proof that the person you knew as
Shane Nolan was a fraud. And given more time, I'm sure you would have
turned your suspicions about Kyle Delaney into a first-class
investigation. Tell me, just for future reference, what piqued your
curiosity about Shane Nolan?"

"It was the photographs from Billy Washburn's funeral. Every time I
pointed a camera in your direction you managed to turn your back to me.
I can understand that occasionally happening in the natural course of
things, but not every time. It seemed to me as if you were purposely
avoiding my camera. Then, I wasn't completely happy with your responses
to my interview questions."

Kyle extended his hand toward Tony. "I want to thank you, not only for
your concern for Lauren but for the fact that you acted on your
suspicions on her behalf."

Tony accepted Kyle's handshake, his suspicion tempered with confusion
about the unexpected turn of events. "Lauren and I have been friends
ever since I arrived.in Sea Grove. I'm...I'm very fond of her."

Tony did not need to say more. Kyle sensed a history between them.

Lauren started to say something, but before any words could escape her
mouth she froze.

A man with a grim expression and dressed entirely in black had suddenly
appeared behind Kyle. The intruder had moved silently across her kitchen
until he had reached his position, the gun in his hand poised.

"Everything okay here, Kyle?"

Without turning or showing any surprise at the interruption, Kyle
answered the man standing behind him. "Yeah, Wayne. Everything's under
control," He glanced over his shoulder and shot the newcomer a teasing
grin. "You're going to have to work on that...I heard you come in."

Chapter 14

Lauren looked questioningly at Kyle. "You know this man?"

"Sure do. He's part of my backup team, along with Steve.,." Kyle nodded
toward the other man who had just made an appearance through the front
door. "I called them in. They've been here for a couple of hours." He
turned to Tony. "Your arrival and obviously agitated condition did not
go unnoticed."

Tony plopped down in Lauren's favorite chair in front of the fireplace,
the remnants of suspicion now replaced by confusion. His words were
uttered in a plaintive voice. "Will someone please tell me what the hell
is going on here?" His gaze went from Kyle to Wayne, who had stepped
through the connecting door to join them, and finally to Steve, who was
still by the front door.

Tony returned his attention to Kyle. "The word backup denotes some kind
of law enforcement activity." He knitted his brow into a deep furrow as
he stared intently at Kyle. "Is this some sort of an undercover
operation?" His eyes widened as the full impact of the situation settled
over him. "You're a government agent of some sort who's on assignment!"
He made a quick grab inside his jacket.

Steve moved swiftly and silently behind Tony and grabbed his wrist.
"Real easy now, Mr. Mallory. Slowly bring your hand out in the open
where I can see it."

Tony did exactly as instructed, bringing his notepad and pencil into
view. "I just wanted to take notes."

Steve took the pad and pencil from Tony and set them on the table.
"That's not advisable at this time, Mr. Mallory. I'm afraid this isn't a
press conference. There will be an official statement made at the
conclusion of this matter."

Confusion continued to cloud Tony's features as he looked questioningly
at Steve. "How do you know my name?"

"We have a file on everyone involved--"

"Sorry, Tony." Kyle cut off Steve's words as he crossed the room toward
the newsman. Wayne hung back in a position that allowed him to keep an
eye on the side door.

Tony looked from Steve to Kyle. "Why would you have a file on me?" His
voice and manner grew irritable. "Just what the hell am I suspected of
doing?"

"No one's accusing you of anything, Tony, but you kind of walked in on
this and now you're going to have to stay put for a little while." Kyle
turned away from Tony, indicating that he was through answering
questions.

He extended a warm smile toward Lauren, his eyes telling her not to
worry. "Would you mind making some fresh coffee? I have a feeling it's
going to-be a long morning."

Lauren offered a feeble smile and reluctantly went to the kitchen, her
mind in a whiff of bewilderment. Two more agents on the scene could only
mean that Kyle expected trouble.

Tony remained in the chair. A scowl, tempered with an obvious curiosity
and a hint of anxiety, covered his features.' Kyle drew Wayne and Steve
into the far corner where they held a quick conversation, then the two
agents departed.

"Come on." Kyle approached Tony. "Let's move all this into the back
where we can't be seen." Kyle escorted Tony into Lauren's living
quarters, closing the door behind them.

Tony had recovered from his shock and had become antagonistic. "I know
my rights. You can't hold me here against my will." His look was
defiant, almost adversarial. "You either have to arrest me or let me
go."

Kyle leveled a hard, cold stare at Tony. Several seconds passed in
silence, during which time Tony's resolve no-riceably crumbled and was
replaced by a nervous uncertainty. Finally Kyle spoke, his words slow
and carefully measured. "No one is holding you hostage. I'm simply
requesting that you remain for the next few hours. We're into critical
timing on the wrap-up of this operation. It would seem to me that as a
newspaperman you would be grateful for the opportunity to have a
firsthand account of a major smuggling bust."

Tony nervously shifted his weight. "Smuggling, huh? That makes you a
customs agent. Well, a scoop that the wire services and the major
newspapers could pick up---"

Kyle turned his back on Tony and addressed his comments to Lauren. "I'll
be back in a little bit."

He turned toward Tony again. "Like I said, I'd appreciate it if you'd
stay here for a while." It may have been a request, but the tone of
voice and stern expression made it an order.

Kyle disappeared into the bedroom. When he reappeared a few minutes
later, he had changed clothes and was again wearing his shoulder
holster. He also had the clip-on holster securely snugged into the small
of his back. He shrugged into his jacket, gave a quick wink of
confidence to Lauren and left by the side door.

Lauren's stomach had been doing flip-flops for the past hour. So much
was happening, but she was not sure exactly what. Kyle was carrying two
guns when he left. He obviously was expecting trouble--serious trouble
and he did not want her anywhere near it.

She turned her attention to Tony in time to see him retrieve his
notebook from the front parlor, then return to the kitchen and pour
himself some coffee. She tried to make casual conversation when he
returned.

"I'm sorry about this, Tony. Everything just sort of happened. One
minute life was normal, then all of a sudden a whirling dervish named
Kyle Delaney descended on Sea Grove and turned everything inside out."

Tony sat down and flipped open his notebook. "If I'm going to be stuck
here, then I might as well make good use of my time. Start at the
beginning and tell me everything."

Lauren was not really listening to him. She had gone to the window and
pulled back the drapes just enough to peek out. She saw Kyle talking to
a man she had never seen before. Steve and Wayne were nowhere in sight.
Kyle and the other man disappeared around the corner of the building.

A hand reached past her and pulled the drape into place. "Lauren?"
Tony's voice came from directly behind her. She turned to face him. His
expression was somber. There was an intensity about him she had never
noticed before. A slight shiver ran up her back.

He stared at her for a moment, then put his arm around her shoulder and
led her away from the window. "You know I've always cared about you a
great deal. Things didn't work out between us, but I thought we had
remained good friends."

She offered him a weak smile. "Of course we're friends, Tony."

His attitude became more upbeat. "Then let's pass the time by you
filling me in on everything." "I can't do that. Any information will
have to come from Kyle." She shot him a teasing grin. "But then, as a
newsman trained in investigative reporting, I'm sure you already knew
that."

He returned her grin. "Yeah, you're right. I knew that."

KYLE LEANED against the wall of the secret room off the cottage cellar.
He felt confident that no one would be checking on the contraband during
daylight hours. He watched as the technician did a video scan of the
radio, lamp, table and any other surface that might hold an image the
computer could convert into a binary code for a fingerprint match.

He had already turned over the cigar remains he had taken from the
ashtray. The bite mark match against demal records would clearly point
to Max Culhane's involvement. He had also turned over the cigarette
butts that tied Billy's death in with the lighthouse. But the little
scraps of cellophane...he had held back one of them from each location,
handing the rest to the lab technicians.

"How's it coming, Henry?" Kyle walked to the technician who was putting
his equipment away. "Do we have anything we can find a match for?"

"Can't say for sure until I run them through the computer and check them
against our known suspects. I should have something for you real soon."

"Could you rush it?" Kyle did not like the waiting, but he knew he
needed the fingerprint evidence to get his arrest warrants. So, like it
or not, he would wait.

Ten minutes later the two men left the cottage. Kyle checked his watch
then headed toward Frank Brewster's warehouse to meet the team arriving
with the search warrant. When Kyle gave them the go-ahead they would
move through the warehouse to inspect each and every box, verify the
inventory against legitimate invoices and confiscate any suspicious
materials. They would also impound various computer records.

Other search warrants had been issued for houses and Offices, bank
records and safety-deposit boxes. As soon as the fingerprint match was
confirmed, the two arrest warrants would be issued. The Canadian
authorities had been briefed. The Coast Guard had been alerted to the
cave entrance and the shipment of cigarettes waiting to be moved. Any
activity at sea would be monitored, and those involved would be
intercepted and arrested. Kyle felt an anxious tingle in the pit of his
stomach. Everything was in place. As soon as he gave the word, the final
phase would be set in motion.

The waiting... Kyle hated the waiting. Too many things could go wrong at
the last minute. His cellular phone rang. He took it from his pocket and
flipped it open. "Delaney here."

"Kyle, we have the report back from Interpol. The request for
verification of Shane Nolan's Whereabouts came from the sheriff's
office. The person doing the asking was Mitch O'Connor. They were about
to send the requested information when we contacted them."

"Well, that doesn't surprise me. What about Joe Thur-low? Are you all
set with him?"

"Everything's a go. Just waiting on word from you." "Where are you now,
Wayne?"

"One block due south of the sheriffs station. Mitch O'Connor, Joe
Thurlow and two other deputies are in the building, along with the
normal shift personnel. There doesn't seem to be any unusual activity at
the moment."

"Stay put. I'll be there in a few minutes." Kyle terminated his phone
conversation, then picked up the agency car Steve had provided for him.

Everything about this case had been out of the ordinary. At the moment
he felt particularly restricted by not having an established base of
operation. He had been able to function out of Lauren's place when it
was only him and his face could not be shown to anyone else, but he
certainly would not be able to lead a strike team while sidestepping her
employees and customers.

He returned to Lauren's, parking on the far side of the lot. He started
to get out of the car but stopped himself at the last moment. It was no
good. He needed to get used to the idea of not seeing her whenever the
desire struck him.

A few minutes later he picked up Wayne and parked with a view of the
sheriffs station. Kyle nervously drummed his fingers against the
steering wheel. He set the cellular phone on the dashboard and stared at
it, his brow knitted into an impatient furrow. "Ring, damnit!"

The phone rang, almost as if the order had been heard and acted upon.
Kyle grabbed it, listened for a moment, then pushed the button to
disconnect the call and get a dial tone. "We have a fingerprint match on
both suspects. The arrest warrants are being signed at this moment." He
shoved the phone at Wayne and snapped out his words. "Make your call."

Wayne looked at him, a quizzical expression covering his face. "What's
the matter with you, Kyle? I've never seen you so uptight about a case
before. Everything's going according to plan, isn't it?"

"Yeah, everything's moving along like clockwork--couldn't be better." He
knew the words sounded as sarcastic to Wayne as they did to his own
ears. He took a deep breath, held it for a minute, then let it out. He
forced calm into his voice. "It's nothing. Just a personal matter I need
to deal with." A personal matter, indeed. Each passing minute brought
him closer to the time when he would have to say goodbye to Lauren, and
it was tearing him up inside.

Wayne made the phone call. A couple of minutes later Joe Thurlow and
Mitch O'Connor walked out of the sheriff's station, got in Joe's patrol
car and drove down the street. As soon as they pulled into the parking
lot of the Brewster warehouse, three members of Kyle's team met them and
proceeded inside to serve their warrant and begin their search.

While Mitch O'Connor was involved at the warehouse, Kyle and Wayne
served a warrant on his landlord granting them permission to search his
house. In the case of Frank Brewster and Max Culhane both suspects had
been murdered, so Kyle acted on his belief that crucial evidence was in
danger of being removed and exercised his field judgment to go inside
without a warrant.

They began a methodical search of Mitch's premises, paying particular
attention to bank statements and telephone bills.

"Look at this!" A big grin spread across Wayne's face as he held up a
key. "Found it hidden in a pair of socks buried in the back of a drawer.
Looks like it belongs to a boat.' '

A knowing smile lit Kyle's face. "And there's no record of Mitch
O'Connor owning a boat." He took the key from Wayne. "Want to bet
whether or not it fits Frank's boat?"

"Bet with you?" Wayne made an overly exaggerated show of rushing to the
mirror and staring at his reflection. "Did someone write the word sucker
all over my face when I wasn't looking?"

The ringing of Kyle's cellular phone interrupted things. He pulled it
from his pocket and flipped it open. "Delaney here."

Steve's voice came through. "Our other suspect is on the move, I think
headed in your direction and looking mighty agitated. Amazing how fast
word got around town

about the search of Brewster's warehouse."

"Have they turned up anything yet?"

"Oh, yes. So far it's a large stash of liquor packed to travel outbound,
and the incoming consists of a shipment of knockoff designer jeans.
Interestingly, the jeans were packed inside counterfeit designer
luggage. They were certainly making maximum use of the storage space."

"Great. Are they about through with their search?" "They figure another
hour or so."

"We're through here. Put someone outside this house and report any
activity to me." Kyle disconnected from the call, then turned toward
Wayne. "Let's make tracks out the back, but first take an impression of
the boat key then put it back. Wipe down that entire dresser, including
the handle, and also the bedroom doorknob. Make sure the bedroom door is
closed. I want to be able to pull fresh prints and testify as to when
they were made."

The two men took care of last-minute details then headed for the back
door. As they moved down the hallway, something caught Kyle's eye.
Sitting on a small table was a double frame containing two photographs.
He paused for a moment. He had seen one of the photographs before, a
young teenage boy and girl with an older boy. He took the photos with
him as he ducked out the back.

Kyle glanced at his watch. "The other warrants should be arriving any
minute. Let's go make the first of our arrests."

They drove to Lauren's. Kyle parked his car next to her garage but did
not go inside the building. He saw Tony Mallory at the window watching
what was going on. Things were far enough along now that Tony could not
inadvertently spoil the sequence of events. The sound of a helicopter
landing on the bluff signaled the arrival of his warrants. He motioned
toward the window for Tony to come outside and join him.

Kyle gestured in the direction of the warehouse as he and Tony walked
across the bluff. "If you stroll along in that direction you just might
find a story big enough to be picked up by the wire services and the
major metropolitan newspapers. Tell whoever tries to stop you that I
said it was all right."

The two men stared at each other for a moment. "I, uh..." Tony was
having difficulty with his words.

"You'd better hurry." Kyle saved him the embarrassment of having to show
gratitude for the break on the news story.

"Thanks." Tony started across the bluff at a fast walk that quickly
turned into a run.

Kyle looked over the two arrest warrants and handed one of them to
Wayne. "Here, you take care of this." He put the other warrant in his
pocket.

The two men went directly to the warehouse where Joe Thurlow and Mitch
O'Connor watched as the customs agents impounded crate after crate of
contraband. Several warehouse employees were standing at the front door,
talking excitedly as the proceedings unfolded in front of them.

Kyle and Wayne approached the two deputies. It was Kyle who spoke while
Wayne moved closer to Mitch. "Gentlemen, if you could step over here..."
Kyle gestured toward an area out of hearing range from everyone else.

Joe Thurlow's face remained impassive, showing absolutely no reaction to
the sudden resurrection of Kyle Delaney. But then he had met with Kyle
and Wayne early that morning, before Kyle went to Max Culhane's house.

"You...I thought you were dead!" Mitch registered disbelief at seeing
Kyle standing in front of him.

Kyle smiled knowingly. "Did you?"

The nervousness, the anxiety, the wariness...it all showed on Mitch's
face and in his body language. He moved uneasily, edging toward the car.

The smile disappeared from Kyle's face. "I suggest that you not attempt
to go anywhere." He nodded toward Joe, then took a step back so the
young deputy could take over.

"Mitch O'Connor, I arrest you for the murder of Max Culhane. Please turn
over your weapon and your badge."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Mitch's voice was indignant, but
his hand moved toward the butt of the gun protruding from his holster.

Joe drew his gun and took a step back. "Don't try it,

Mitch. Real easy now, take that gun out and give it to

Mitch handed his weapon to Joe Thurlow. Kyle noticed the way Mitch's
gaze furtively darted around, taking in everything and everyone. In a
movement so subtle as to go easily unnoticed, Kyle reached inside his
jacket to his shoulder holster and wrapped his hand around the grip of
his pistol.

Wayne took over. "And I have a federal warrant here for the arrest of
the person calling himself Mitch O'Connor. This warrant will fall in
line in a secondary position with the federal government deferring to
prosecution on the state charge of first degree murder."

Joe Thurlow jerked his head in Wayhe's direction. "Calling himself Mitch
O'Connor? I don't understand--"

Joe's lapse of attention was all Mitch needed. He dropped to the ground
and rolled as he reached for an ankle holster and pulled out a small .25
caliber semiautomatic pistol. He managed to squeeze off one shot,
grazing Wayne's arm.

Before he could get off a second shot, Kyle leveled his aim at Mitch and
fired.

The pistol flew from Mitch's hand. His cry of pain filled the air, then
his body lay still. The dark stain spread across the chest of his
uniform shirt. Kyle turned to Joe Thurlow and snapped out an order.
"Call the paramedics." He kicked the pistol away from the body, then
bent down and placed his fingertips against the side of Mitch's neck to
feel for a pulse.

The curious warehouse workers had scattered for cover at the first shot.
Joe dashed to 'his squad car and grabbed the radio to call for help.
Kyle took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. He looked at Wayne, his
expression solemn as he shook his head to indicate that it was too late
for help.

Kyle holstered his gun and stood up. "You okay? looks like he nicked
you."

Wayne examined the rip in his jacket sleeve, his ha coming away with a
smear of blood across his palm. "Just a flesh wound."

"Have the paramedics look at your arm when they get here."

"It's no big deal. A bandage should do the tricl Wayne carefully removed
his jacket and inspected the tear in the sleeve. "Looks like he ruined
my favorite jacket though."

Kyle glanced at Mitch's body. "Well, I guess that takes care of the
state's murder case. I'm convinced that Culhane and Mitch O'Connor
arranged Billy Washburn's death and then Max killed Frank Brewster.
Mitch did away with Max, and now Mitch is gone."

Wayne surveyed the impound activity that had o slowed for a moment then
resumed as if nothing had happened. "So, where does that leave us?"

"The state's murder case against Mitch O'Connor closed, but there's
still the possibility of a conspiracy commit murder case for the state
and, of course, our of federal warrant that hasn't been served yet."
Kyle walked away from the scene and looked into the distance. "I'll be
over here to keep an eye on things while you getting your arm patched
up." He walked away, not waiting for Wayne's response.

Joe Thurlow returned from the squad car. He glare toward Mitch's body,
then turned to Wayne. "I still don't understand. What did you mean when
you said the person calling himself Mitch O'Connor?"

Wayne gave one last look at Kyle's retreating form, and turned his
attention to the young deputy. "When we] a background check we could
only go back ten years. prior to that time, Mitch O'Connor did not
exist."

STRONG FINGERS tightened their grip on the binoculars

trained on Wayne and Joe as they talked. The line of sight slowly panned
to Kyle and followed him as he proceeded toward Lauren's place, then
swung to the scene in front of the warehouse, lingering for a moment on
Mitch O'Connor's body. The paramedics were there, and the coroner's
wagon was just pulling into the parking lot. The unnoticed observer put
the binoculars in the case, then turned and walked away.

Chapter 15

Lauren felt it and then she saw it. The danger was far from over. It was
very real and it was very near. Once again, she saw a gun, and it was
pointing at Kyle. Once again a gun threatened violence and the
possibility of death. She closed her eyes as the shudder jolted through
her body. She had heard the two shots, but that was not it. Whatever
danger existed was still very real and was yet to come.

She heard the side door open. She whirled and saw Kyle framed in the
doorway. She ran to him as soon as he stepped inside the room. She threw
her arms around his neck. "Are you okay? I've been so worried. I heard
shots--"

He had not planned to, in fact he told himself that he would not do it,
but he could not stop himself. He enfolded her in his arms and held her
tightly against his body. He threaded his fingers through her hair, then
he covered her mouth with a kiss of love and caring.

Her voice trembled with a combination of fear and relief! "Thank God
'you're all right. I heard the shots...I didn't know what to do." An
awkward, uncomfortable chuckle jumped out of her throat. "It's funny,
isn't it? The things that go through a person's mind in times of stress?
I heard the shots and I actually said I was glad it was too early for
any of my employees to be at work yet."

He held her head against his shoulder, resting his cheek against her
hair. How was he going to be able to face the rest of his life without
Lauren? He slowly took in a breath and just as slowly expelled it. He
released her, his movements and words carefully calculated. "Stress does
funny things to people, both emotionally and physically."

Kyle removed the holster from the back of his jeans as he walked across
the living room. He set it on the end table, then took off his jacket
and tossed it across the arm of the couch, the sleeve falling over the
holster. He turned to face Lauren, who had followed him and seemed to be
watching his every move. He tried to muster a casual smile. "Do you have
any coffee left over?"

She hesitated. "Aren't you going to tell me about the shooting? You seem
to be all right." She waited, making no effort to get any coffee.

"It was nothing for you to worry about. Just a little trouble when we
were making an arrest, that's all." He jammed his hands into his front
pockets, took them out, ran his fingers through his hair, then walked to
the window and peered out. He turned toward her and offered a weak
smile. "I could sure use that coffee."

She did not move, did not respond to his request. "What's the matter,
Kyle? You seem to be a bundle of pure nerves."

"It's nothing...just the natural letdown following a major bust."

"Everything's over? You've made your arrests? What was the shooting
about?" She could see it on his face and hear it in his voice. He was
holding back something, and it frightened her.

He took a calming breath. "It was Mitch O'Connor." He stared at her, his
face the impassive mask he had perfected. "He's dead."

"Dead?" The quaver in her voice increased as she continued to speak.
"Why? What happened?"

"Joe Thurlow had just arrested him for the murder of Max Culhane. Wayne
was in the process of reading him the federal warrant covering his
involvement in the smuggling operation when Mitch got off a shot,
nicking Wayne in the arm. We had no choice. We, uh, I had to take him
out."

She thought she had accepted the fact that Kyle's job involved a gun.
But she did not know how she would be able to cope with the direct
knowledge that he had killed someone as part of that job. She
intellectually understood the concept of shooting in self-defense, kill
or be killed, but she did not know if she would ever be able to
reconcile those two extremes.

The bell at the front of the building interrupted their conversation.
Lauren went to answer it and found Irene Peyton standing there.

"Irene." Her surprise was genuine. She glanced at her watch. "We won't
be open for another hour yet."

Irene stepped inside, even though Lauren had not invited her. "I just
wanted to check on you. I worry about you out here all by' yourself, so
isolated from everything. I saw all the activity, that terrible
shooting. Are you all right, dear?"

"Why, yes. I'm just fine." Lauren stayed by the front door, hoping Irene
would take the hint and leave. "It was nice of you to stop by to check
on me."

Irene continued toward the back. "I hope I'm not intruding, but I could
sure use a cup of nice hot tea to soothe my nerves. Oh, dear. I'm afraid
that shooting just has me so upset."

Lauren called after her, trying to prevent Irene from going into the
living quarters. "Why don't we have our tea out here?"

"That's all right, Lauren." Kyle opened the door. "I think we can invite
Irene in for some tea." Irene's eyes widened in surprise as she stared
at Kyle.

Lauren joined her, and the two women went into the living room.

Kyle turned to Irene. "Would you like to sit down?" "Oh, my, yes. I
think I'd better sit down. I'm just at such a loss. We all thought you
were dead...that Coast Guard report, your not coming back to your motel
room, abandoning your van..." Irene chose a comfortable chair.

Lauren shot a curious look in Kyle's direction. Something about Irene's
manner did not seem right. But that did not bother her nearly as much as
Kyle's strange behavior. There was an unusual edge to his voice,
something she could not define. She made no move to fix tea, and Irene
did not pursue the request.

Lauren seated herself on the couch. She did not understand what was
happening but knew it would not be wise to intrude into what was taking
place. She reached for the jacket Kyle had tossed across the arm of the
couch. She held on to the collar, Squeezing it tightly in her hand in
hopes of drawing some comfort.

Irene smiled at Kyle in a solicitous manner though her eyes were hard
and cold. "That was very naughty of you to have deceived us like that,
young man. We were all so worried."

worried? What would you have been worried about?" A look of umbrage
covered her face, and her eyes narrowed almost to slits. "I don't
believe I understand what you mean and I certainly don't care for your
attitude, young man. You seem to be accusing me of something."

Irene turned to Lauren. "And you, harboring him... knowing full well
that he was safe and not sharing that information with me."

Lauren looked at Irene curiously. The conversation between Irene and
Kyle had been openly adversarial. And' now this woman who she thought
was her friend seemed to be attacking her. This was not the Irene Peyton
Lauren knew.

Her words were hesitant. "Irene...why would you say that I was
harboring Kyle? Why would you assume he had been here at all, let alone
hiding out here, which is what harboring implies? And even if it was
true, why would it upset you so much?"

Irene fumbled in her purse while Kyle kept a watchful eye on her
movements, his shoulder holster and pistol very evident. She produced
one of her hardcandies, a cinnamon ball. She unwrapped it, put it in her
mouth, then folded the cellophane wrapper in that peculiar way of hers.

"That's certainly an odd little habit of yours, the way you fold those
candy wrappers." Kyle's voice was calm and he presented a relaxed
demeanor as he leaned against the doorjamb. "I noticed it at your house
that first day. I also noticed the little stack of candy wrappers you
left by your place at the table in the tearoom at the historical society
meeting."

Irene stared at the folded wrapper for a moment. "I must do it out of
habit. I wasn't aware I'd even done it."

"That's kind of what I figured. I've never seen anyone do that before."
Kyle picked up his bag from the corner of the room and set it on the
coffee table. "But you know what, Irene? I also found those folded candy
wrappers in the wastebasket at Frank Brewster's office the day after he
died and on the table in Max Culhane's house, right next to a cup of
cold coffee that had been placed there a matter of a few short hours
before he died. I even tasted that coffee, and it definitely had
cinnamon candy dissolved in it. Both of those men were involved in a
smuggling ring and both of them were murdered. How do you explain that?"

"Kyle Delaney, just what are you accusing me of?." Irene became
indignant, almost hostile. "And why shouldn't my candy wrappers be at
those places when I've been there several times for various reasons?
Frank has been very generous in his contributions to the society's
various projects. And it's certainly no secret that I've had to request
assistance from the sheriff on various occasions. We've had vandals
painting graffiti on some of the Victorian houses that are in the
process of being restored. I've had to ask if his deputies could keep a
more watchful eye on them."

"That still leaves me with a problem, Irene. What were you doing in the
hidden room off the cellar of the lighthouse keeper's cottage? You know,
that little room that leads into the cave in the cliff below the
lighthouse. The route used to smuggle goods in and out of the country, a
route that's been in use for decades."

"I have absolutely no idea what cave you're talking about, young man. I
don't know anything about any smuggling, and I certainly am not familiar
with any hidden room in the cellar of the cottage."

Kyle reached into the bag and withdrew two of the oddly folded pieces of
cellophane. "I found these in that little hidden room. Do they look
familiar?"

"I don't see what some folded candy wrappers prove. Anyone could have
folded those." Irene rose to her feet. "Now, I'm afraid I must insist
that you stop this silly interrogation immediately."

Kyle watched Irene. She stared straight ahead, her face pinched into a
tightly set mask, her lips pursed. "We've been able to lift your
fingerprints from some of the candy wrappers. Do you still claim that
you don't know anything about that cave or about the movement of
contraband?"

Irene picked up her purse. "I refuse to listen to any more of this
nonsense." She held one glove and looked around. "My other glove...what
did I do with it?" She opened her purse and rummaged for a moment, then
suddenly pulled out a small handgun identical to the one Mitch O'Connor
had carried in his ankle holster.

"Irene!" Lauren's senses jumped to attention. Her voice cut through the
air, filled with alarm. "I don't understand--' '

"Hush up, Lauren." The words were harsh. The pillar of the community had
vanished. "I don't want to hurt you." Irene turned her attention to
Kyle. She waved the gun at him, motioning him to sit on the couch with
Lauren.

Kyle remained outwardly unruffled. He slowly reached over and squeezed
Lauren's hand in an attempt to calm her fears, then leaned back in the
far corner of the couch in an effort to put as much distance between
Lauren and himself as possible. "Now what, Irene? Do you plan to shoot
both of us? It's over. I have an arrest warrant with your name on it.
Your participation in all of this is already fully documented. Just how
far do you think you'll get?"

He saw the desperation in her eyes. What he did not see was any
confusion or hesitation. There was a hardness that had not been visible
before, a steel edge that 'seemed to encompass all of her. It was
surprising, yet it was not. She had always projected the proper society
matron persona, but Kyle's investigation had led him to believe that she
was the calculating brains behind the decades old smuggling ring--a
person so ruthless she had coldly ordered the murder of one of her own
cohorts while condoning two other murders within her organization. She
had just proven him correct. She was not to be taken lightly, nor was
she to be underestimated.

"I'll have to deal with you, just like I did the others." Irene waved
the gun erratically. Her eyes had taken on the look of a trapped animal
fighting for survival. She paid watchful attention fo Lauren, but the
primary object of her vituperative attack continued to be Kyle. "Things
were just fine until you showed up. You've caused me untold problems and
personal loss. Some of it didn't really matter because our operation
needed to be streamlined. The ranks needed to be weeded out, the dead
wood chopped off."

Irene paced up and down, her actions becoming more erratic with each
passing minute--including her nervous habit of gesturing with the
handgun clutched tightly in her grip. She talked incessantly, as if she
was compelled to tell it all. It was obvious that her world was
unraveling in front of her eyes.

"Frank was a weakling. He lacked the nerve of his father and the
brilliant mind of his uncle." Irene allowed a cold, heartless chuckle as
she stopped pacing and stared at Kyle. "You should have heard him when
he realized you were alive. He saw you through Lauren's window and ran
straight to his office and started pulling together things to leave
town.' '

She paused, taking on a quizzical look as if a thought had just occurred
to her. "I never did figure out just what he was doing outside your
window. I thought he was going to have a stroke the way he was carrying
on about it over the phone. Just kept saying it was time to get out,
that he tried to tell Max not to shoot you because it could only lead to
trouble. And then Max told him you were a government agent. Humph! It
was Frank and his yellow spine that caused all this trouble."

A pensive look crossed her face. "Max was only supposed to scare Frank,
show him what would happen to him if he didn't calm down. But, as usual,
Max was too heavy-handed and got carried away just like he did when he
originally went after you. He didn't even know who you really were until
later. He was just afraid your poking around the lighthouse would cause
us trouble. I told him to play it cool and we'd keep an eye on you, but
Max thought he knew better."

The hard look returned to her features. Her words were emphatic. "Frank
was a coward and Max was a fool.'

Lauren's premonition had come true again. Another gun. Their lives again
being threatened. She glanced at Kyle. He appeared very calm and in
control. His face wore that impassive mask that she could not penetrate.
She had to remain calm, too. She had to be ready to do whatever he
needed. She clutched the collar of his jacket tighter in her trembling
hand, demanding that it provide her with some of his strength and
courage.

Irene began pacing again and waving the gun around in an agitated
manner. The words poured out of her mouth, her distress coloring every
utterance. "We gave you Max. He was out of control, making one stupid
mistake after another. I served him up for you. That was supposed to put
an end to your investigation." She stared pointedly at Kyle. Her words
almost had a plaintive quality to them. "You were supposed to stop
looking. You were supposed to consider the case closed."

"You're overwrought, Irene." He held out his hand toward her. His voice
was soft and soothing, that seductively hypnotic quality that he did so
well. "Why don't you give me that gun before someone gets hurt? We can
sit down together and talk about this." He started to rise from the
couch.

"Don't you move, Kyle Delaney." She angrily spit out the words. Her eyes
blazed with hatred. She emphasized the order by leveling her gun at him.
"You stay right where you are." Irene kept her distance from the couch
as she turned slightly toward Lauren. "Don't you move, either. I've
always been very fond of you, but that only goes so far."

Irene stared intently at Kyle. Her voice had turned almost childlike.
"Why didn't you just accept it as the end to your investigation and go
away?"

"I couldn't do that, Irene, not with the two main culprits still at
large. I needed to complete my investigation, which consisted of
collecting the evidence necessary to obtain arrest warrants for you and
your son."

Lauren's eyes widened in shock. "Her son?" She stared at Kyle in total
disbelief. "Irene has a son? Who are you talking about?"

"You're crazy!" Irene screamed at Kyle. She was quickly tipping the
scales beyond reason as more and more of her perfect little world fell
apart and more of her secrets were revealed. "No one is going to believe
that pack of lies. What proof do you have?"

Kyle held out his hand again. "Why don't you give me that gun, Irene?
You know there isn't any place you can go."

She took a step backward, blinking several times as if trying to clear
her head and get her beatings. "I told you not to move. Now, tell me
just what proof you have of these ridiculous charges."

"All right." Kyle's words were deliberately slow and precise. "It all
started with the background checks I ran. At first it was a general
check on just about everyone I had run into since my arrival. Any
irregularities would signal the need for a more thorough check. We
couldn't find anything on Mitch O'Connor that went back more then ten
years. It was as if he didn't exist prior to the time Max was elected
sheriff and he was hired on as one of the deputies."

A noticeable twitch had developed in Irene's left eye. "That...that
doesn't prove anything."

"Well, not by itself it doesn't. But I had to ask myself why this man
had found it necessary to change his name and alter his identity. It
also raised the question of why the sheriff would have hired a deputy
who had purposely hidden his background and true identity. That
coincided with other bits of information...just small pieces in
themselves, but when added together they began to form a pattern."

"Pieces? What kind of pieces? What kind of a pattern?" Irene's nervous
tic had gotten worse. Her hands trembled. "You're just making up these
terrible things."

"Well, there was the photograph I spotted among all your family
pictures. It was you as a young teenager with a boy of the same age and
another person, older but with a very distinct family resemblance to the
younger boy. I assumed they were probably brothers. Then I saw a
photograph in an old copy of the newspaper showing you and the same boy
a couple of years later. The caption identified the two people as .Irene
Peyton and Wilton Brewster, the king and queen of the high school prom.
Wilton Brewster was Frank's father, and that made the other young man in
the photo at your house Ralph Brewster, Wilton's brother and Frank's
uncle."

"So? Why wouldn't I have a photograph of my high school friend? This is
a small town. It was even smaller back then. We were all good friends,
spent a lot of time together. There's nothing .wrong with that."

"You're right, Irene. There's nothing wrong with that. However, it
piqued my curiosity. Why would you have the photograph of the three of
you framed and sitting in your house, but not keep the photograph of you
and Wilton at the prom? Why was the older photograph more important to
.you than the one depicting an important event? From there, I moved
forward and found an item saying you were going away to college. Small
town newspapers are really great at listing all the little things that
big cities don't care about. But for some reason, the newspaper never
made any mention of you graduating from college. That would certainly
have been newsworthy back then. Again, I had to ask myself why.

"I checked and found out that you never attended the school listed in
the newspaper. So, what were you really doing? A little digging brought
to light the hospital record of your having given birth to a son and a
birth certificate that listed not your high school friend, but his older
brother, Ralph Brewster, as the father of the child. After that it was
easy to track that child through school and into the military service,
then through several jobs. But the trail came to an abrupt halt ten
years ago."

"No...you're wrong..." Irene seemed on the verge of overload.

"We used your son's military records with his fingerprints and compared
them to Mitch O'Connor's fingerprints and we had an absolute match. And,
ironically enough, I found that same photograph of you, Wilton Brewster
and Ralph Brewster in Mitch's house along with a photograph of you
holding your baby son."

Kyle softened his manner. "I imagine it must have been .very difficult
for you, Irene, especially back then--a young woman from a small town
giving birth out of wedlock. Did Ralph Brewster provide the money for
his son's upbringing? Is that what dictated that a small smuggling
operation running liquor in from Canada during the latter days of
Prohibition should seek out new markets and continue to function after
Prohibition was repealed?"

Tears formed in Irene's eyes and slowly trickled down her wrinkled
cheeks. "I loved my boy. Ralph and I both loved him. Times were
difficult, and small-town gossip being what it is, it just never worked
out for us to really be a family. My boy was raised by Ralph's relatives
back East. I went to see him as often as I could."

The hard edge suddenly returned to her face. It was hate, pure hate,
that emanated from her cold eyes as she stared at Kyle. "Why did you
shoot my boy? I saw you, Kyle Delaney. I saw you pull the trigger and
shoot my boy dead." A sob escaped her throat as she sank into total
despair. "Just the way I'm going to do you."

The fear totally consumed Lauren. Kyle had tried to reason with Irene,
and it had not worked. Lauren was sure Irene had thrown off the bonds of
reality and was no longer rational.

Lauren noted the way Irene managed to stay just out of Kyle's reach. The
only way he would be able to take the gun from her would be to rise from
the couch. Even Lauren could tell that Irene would be able to pull the
trigger before the trail came to an abrupt halt ten years ago."

"No...you're wrong..." Irene seemed on the verge of overload.

"We used your son's military records with his fingerprints and compared
them to Mitch O'Connor's fingerprints and we had an absolute match. And,
ironically enough, I found that same photograph of you, Wilton Brewster
and Ralph Brewster in Mitch's house along with a photograph of you
holding your baby son."

Kyle softened his manner. "I imagine it must have been .very difficult
for you, Irene, especially back then--a young woman from a small town
giving birth out of wedlock. Did Ralph Brewster provide the money for
his son's upbringing? Is that what dictated that a small smuggling
operation running liquor in from Canada during the latter days of
Prohibition should seek out new markets and continue to function after
Prohibition was repealed?"

Tears formed in Irene's eyes and slowly trickled down her wrinkled
cheeks. "I loved my boy. Ralph and I both loved him. Times were
difficult, and small-town gossip being what it is, it just never worked
out for us to really be a family. My boy was raised by Ralph's relatives
back East. I went to see him as often as I could."

The hard edge suddenly returned to her face. It was hate, pure hate,
that emanated from her cold eyes as she stared at Kyle. "Why did you
shoot my boy? I saw you, Kyle Delaney. I saw you pull the trigger and
shoot my boy dead." A sob escaped her throat as she sank into total
despair. "Just the way I'm going to do you."

The fear totally consumed Lauren. Kyle had tried to reason with Irene,
and it had not worked. Lauren was sure Irene had thrown off the bonds of
reality and was no longer rational.

Lauren noted the way Irene managed to stay just out of Kyle's reach. The
only way he would be able to take the gun from her would be to rise from
the couch. Even Lauren could tell that Irene would be able to pull the
trigger before he could reach her. And it looked more and more like that
was exactly what she intended to do.

As frightened as she was, she knew it was up to her to make a move.
Irene was so focused on Kyle that Lauren felt she would be able to do
something as long as she did not make any sudden movements. She knew
what she had to do. As much as she hated guns and everything they stood
for, she loved Kyle even more.-

She took a calming breath and steeled herself for the ordeal ahead. She
slowly released her grip on the collar of Kyle's jacket. Her gaze never
left Irene as she slipped her hand underneath the jacket sleeve to the
holster and. pistol that were hidden from sight.

Her fingers touched the cold metal of the gun. She fought her immediate
reaction to jerk her hand away from the hated object that only brought
death. She paused as she shoved down the queasy feeling churning in her
stomach. She forced herself to ease the gun from the holster an inch at
a time. Then she brought it out from beneath the jacket.

Chapter 16

Lauren stared in disbeliefi It looked like her hand holding the foul
weapon, though she could not imagine how it could really be so. The
queasy feeling tried to battle its way through her conscious efforts to
contain it. She tightened her grip on the handle.

She raised the gun and pointed it at Irene. Her voice betrayed the fear
and anxiety she tried so desperately to control. "Please, Irene...hand
your gun to Kyle."

Irene's head snapped around in Lauren's direction. Shock immediately
spread across the older woman's face, then was replaced by a strange
calm. The nervous tic disappeared, and her hand stopped trembling. "You
must love him a great deal to sacrifice all those emphatically held
beliefs of yours where guns are concerned."

Lauren did not hear Irene's words, she only saw the gun the woman held.
"Please, Irene...don't force me to do something I don't want to do. Give
Kyle your gun."

Irene had taken her eye off Kyle for only a second, but it was long
enough. He lunged forward and grabbed the gun from her hand.

"Thank God." The words came out as no more than a whisper. The pistol
slipped from Lauren's hand and fell to the floor. She sank into the
couch and closed her eyes as they filled with tears.

Maybe Lauren had not heard Irene's last words, but Kyle heard them loud
and clear. They reverberated through his mind, filling him with thoughts
of the odious task yet ahead--telling Lauren goodbye.

LAUREN SHIVERED inside Kyle's embrace. She ,desperately needed the
comfort he provided even though it had been three hours since Irene had
been taken away. "I think I could actually have shot her." As if to put
an exclamation mark to her sentence, a hard spasm shivered through her
body. "That realization frightens me more than anything else that has
happened. I didn't think I was capable..." She looked up at him. "When I
saw that look of pure evil on her face and the hatred directed toward
you... well, she was not the person I'd known all these years. She was a
stranger, a very dangerous stranger who was saying she was going to kill
you."

Kyle smoothed her hair and held her head gently against his shoulder.
"It's all over now."

"I don't understand why you allowed her to keep waving that gun around.
Why didn't you take it from her right away when you had the chance?"

"I needed to hear it from her. The evidence I had against Irene was
skimpy and totally circumstantial. It was an iffy case. We could have
nailed her on minor charges, which is what the arrest warrant was for,
but I needed to hear her say that she had made the decision to kill Max.
That gives us conspiracy to commit murder... well, it gives the state
the availability of prosecuting on those charges."

Lauren looked at him. "You mean you didn't have enough on her to make a
case?"

"Yes and no. The fingerprints we pulled from the candy wrappers were
from Frank's office and Max's house, places she had visited on numerous
occasions. No crime there or indication of a crime. Unfortunately, the
candy wrappers from the room above the cave were too smudged to get a
print match, and the peculiar folding of the cellophane is only
circumstantial evidence and not very conclusive. I wanted her
confession."

"All that money she had made from decades of smuggling...what in the
word did she do with all of it? She took one month each year to visit a
nephew back East somewhere and then threw a lavish costume ball each
Halloween. Other than that, she spent all of her time working on the
various projects of the historical society. I had always thought of it
as an all-consuming passion of hers." "The one-month visit to her nephew
every year was really a first-class luxury European vacation that cost
her a bundle. The money was laundered through a corporation called
Triangle Associates. The profits from the smuggling went to the
corporation and then the corporation wrote checks to all those involved.
We're tracking down Swiss bank accounts right now. Triangle Associates
also paid for the cabin cruiser Frank used, made payments to foreign
associates for goods smuggled into this country and made large corporate
donations to the historical society.

"All of her fund-raising efforts were nonexistent. She was her own
corporate benefactor. Those trips to Seattle every couple of weeks to
visit her niece and the fund-raising trips were to transport cash. She
didn't even have a niece. According to the newspaper article about her
high school graduation, she was an only child. No brothers, no sisters,
therefore no nieces or nephews. The substantial inheritance she claimed
came from her parents was also nonexistent."

"I feel so bad for Milly. Apparently she and Max had been seeing each
other for almost a year and nobody knew it. They had even discussed
marriage. Max told her he had put away a tidy little nest egg and had
inherited a house in Hawaii. I guess it was really all from the
smuggling money."

"It may take a little while, but I think she'll be okay.

Milly strikes me as someone with a lot of strength and courage, the type
who can handle tragedy and come out of it without a lot of emotional
scars."

"I hope you're right. I'll do what I can, but right now she says she
prefers to be alone to sort things out. It was not only the shock of him
being killed, it was learning about all the criminal activity."

An awkward silence filled the air. Lauren could feel the tension growing
in Kyle's body. She knew what was next. Kyle would be moving on. The
image' of him as she had found him--passed out facedown in the mud with
a bullet wound--popped into her mind. She had seen enough death lately
to last her two lifetimes. She knew she would not be able to live with
the knowledge that every time he left home there was a very real
possibility he could be killed. He released her from his embrace. She
felt him pulling away from her emotionally as well as physically.

He stood up and stretched. He tried his best to sound casual. "I'd
better get busy. I have packing to do and I have reports to file before
this case can be wrapped up. The chief has mentioned another assignment
that sounds real interesting, and... I need to..."

He cupped her face in his hands. He saw it in her eyes. She knew...they
both knew what had to be, but it did not make the words any easier for
him. "It's better this way, Lauren. You'll see that I'm right. In the
long run--" He turned away om her without finishing his sentence. The
pain in his heart was greater than anything he had ever before
experienced. But with time maybe that, too, would heal.

LAUREN SAT in the front parlor next to the fireplace sipping her herbal
tea. The early-morning drizzle obscured most of the predawn light. It
was the same type of morning as when it had all started. It seemed so
long ago now. Kyle Delaney had appeared out of the early-morning mist
and turned her life upside down, then he had gone away leaving a hole in
her heart that could never be repaired.

The only thing that had kept her from wallowing in her own misery was
her need to help Milly get over her pain. Finally Milly had told her it
was time for both of them to get on with their respective lives. Lauren
had decided she would take a trip. She picked up one of the travel
brochures, staring at it without really seeing it. The tears welled in
her eyes, then ran down her cheeks. A little sob caught in her throat.

While Lauren sat in front of the fire, Kyle put his plan into action. He
crossed the parking lot and stood outside her side door for a minute
while he tried to compose the nervous tension that continued to tie his
body in knots. He opened the door, then walked silently through the
living room and dining room. He came to a halt in the kitchen at the
door separating Lauren's living quarters from the business. The look of
despair that covered her face tore at his insides. He watched her. The
love he felt welled inside him, forcing his fears aside. He stepped
through the door.

"I thought I warned you about keeping your doors locked."

Lauren was not sure she had actually heard it or only wanted it so much
that she imagined it. She held her breath as she slowly turned. He stood
framed in the doorway. She had not heard him come in and was still not
sure he was real.

Her voice quavered with uncertainty. "Kyle? Is that really you?"

He quickly crossed the room to her, grabbed her hand and pulled her into
his arms. "Oh, Lauren...I've missed you so much." He ran his fingers
through her hair, then cradled her head against his shoulder. She felt
so good in his arms. It was so right. He held her tightly, relishing the
sensation of her body pressed against his.

Several minutes passed in which they both seemed content to merely hold
each other without the intrusion of words. It was finally Kyle who broke
the silence.

"I tried to put this behind me, but I couldn't. Everywhere I looked I
saw only you." He caressed her shoulders. "I'd wake up in the middle of
the night and expect to find you next to me." His words were soft,
barely above a whisper. "I'd reach for you, only you weren't there." He
lowered his head ,to hers and captured her mouth with a soft kiss. It
was akiss that spoke of caring and warmth--of love.

He pulled back a little, just enough to be able to look into her eyes.
"We have to talk, Lauren." He took her hand and led her to her living
room. He settled her on the couch, but he continued to stand.

Kyle nervously shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He
swallowed his anxiety, then took a calming breath. "I've, uh, I've given
this a lot of thought." He ran his fingers through his hair, then stuck
his hands in his jacket pockets. His voice became soft. He could not
keep his apprehension from showing. "Hell...I haven't thought about
anything else for the past week." He hunched his shoulders and stared at
the floor for a moment as he tried to organize his words.

Lauren watched him. There was an uncertainty and hesitation about him,
the type of thing she had never before associated with Kyle Delaney. He
had always had such a strong, decisive manner. Everything about him
radiated self-assurance. He exuded confidence and left everyone around
him with a sense of security: At that moment she knew the man she loved
was about to bare his soul. It was a flash of reality more vivid than
any dream or psychic image that had ever come to her. She held out her
hand to him. Her insides quivered to the point where she feared she
might lose control of her outward calm.

Kyle accepted her hand and seated himself next to her on the couch. He
kissed her palm, then held her hand between both of his hands.
"Lauren..." He glanced at the floor, then looked up into her eyes as he
drew her into his embrace.

Her Words were a breathless whisper. "If you don't tell me you love me
in the next ten seconds I'll have to do something drastic."

An amused twinkle danced through his eyes. "Oh? Like what? Are you going
to cast a magic spell and turn me into a frog?"

"No, I'll let you stay the handsome prince that you are.

It'll look much nicer for the wedding pictures." "Wedding pictures?"

"Well, you were about to ask me to marry you." She had not asked a
question, she had made a definitive statement.

"This reading my mind stuff is going to take a little getting used to."
His manner turned very serious as he plumbed the depth of her emerald
eyes. "I love you, Lauren. I love you very much."

A soft warmth spread through her body, touching every part of her
consciousness. "Oh, Kyle...I love you."

"About my job, Lauren, what I do for a living..." She looked into his
eyes. Her words were tentative. "I have a suggestion for a compromise
between your world and mine."

The wariness showed in his voice. "A compromise?" "There's an opening
for county sheriff. You're qualified and I think the county supervisors
would be thrilled to have you. It's not a desk job, but neither is it
the type of adrenaline-rush excitement you're accustomed to." She took a
calming breath before continuing. "Do you think you'll be able to
conform to a norma/existence?"

His voice cracked slightly as he spoke. "I can do anything...anything,
that is, except live without you."



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