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The Eyes Of Derek Archer
by
Vickie York

Dear Reader,

If you've been eagerly awaiting the next 43 LIGHT ST book from popular
Intrigue TM author Rebecca York, you need wait no longer.  You're sure
to enjoy the 14th title in this gripping series entitled Father and
Child.  Courageous Zeke Chambers must rescue his five-year-old
daughter--with the help of his wife-of-convenience, Elizabeth Egan.

Next, there's another super AVENGING ANGELS story, Angel with an
Attitude, from Carly Bishop, and if you're partial to DANGEROUS MEN,
don't miss The Eyes of Derek Archer.  This mysterious man will
certainly make your pulses race... The HER PROTECTOR promotion is back
again with Storm Warnings by Judi Lind.  Since childhood, this author
has loved cozying up and watching storms; the rain pelting outside
while she was safe and warm inside.  But what if inside wasn't safe,
either, she asked herself.  What if you were cut off from the world
while danger stalked closer and closer?  Read Storm Warnings and find
out... Enjoy

The Editors

DID YOU PURCHASE THIS BOOK WITHOUT A COVER?

If you did, you should be aware it is stolen property as it was
reported unsold and destroyed by a retailer.  Neither the author nor
the publisher has received any payment for this book.

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
S.A."  used under licence.

First published in Great Britain 1998

Silhouette Books, Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road,

Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR

Betty Ann Patterson 1995

ISBN 0 373 22333 I

46-9806

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

TO MY CRITIQUE GROUP

Joe Contris

Darcea Schiesl

Ethel Flannery

June Summerville

Gayla Goner

Thanks for all your piercing comments

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Susan Kirkpatrick, attorney; George Sexton, cockpit design engineer,
former air force pilot; Carolyn Williamson, attorney

Prologue

San Francisco

Hungry to read it again, he reached for the newspaper article
describing his suicide and prior murder conviction.  There it was,
right where he'd put it, next to the pile of information he'd collected
on the seven men who had witnessed the murder.

Over the past year, the article's plastic jacket had become scratched
from his constant handling.  But his picture was still as clear as the
day it was taken--a mug shot of a stone-faced man with vindictive
stating eyes.  The face of a killer, he thought grimly, reading the
article for the third time that day, even though he knew the words by
heart.

Captain Albright Missing Police Suspect Suicide

Spokane, Washington.  Air Force Captain Donald W. Albright may have
leaped from the Tacoma Narrows Bridge early this morning, less than
twenty-four hours after his conviction for the April 22 murder of his
squadron commander, Major William F. Bradley.

Bradley had commanded the C-130 squadron at Fairchild Air Force
Base.

Out on bail pending appeal, the 31-year-old Air Academy graduate is
believed to have jumped from the bridge's central span at approximately
3:00 a.m. Witnesses saw a man in an air force uniform on the bridge at
about that time.  An hour later Albright's Ford Explorer, containing
his wallet, a note to his parents, and some personal belongings, was
found by police parked on the east side of the bridge.

In spite of the note, there is some question whether Albright really
committed suicide.  Until the body is found, police will continue their
search for the fugitive.

Go ahead.  Try to find me, he thought, clenching his fists.  With his
appearance altered surgically, not even his own parents would recognize
him now.  The newspaper story went on to describe the scene at the
Spokane tavern where the murder occurred.  In detail it told how the
lights flicked out, shots were fired, and the squadron commander was
killed.  Later, police found Albright's fingerprints on the murder
weapon.  He knew the words as well as he knew his new identity and
name: Derek Archer.  Reading the article every day had become an
obsession, like his dark desire for vengeance.

Pacing back and forth in his cell-like room, Archer remembered the
damning trial testimonies of the other men at the stag party.  Each had
named him as the murderer.  Supposedly his friends, they were all
members of the same C-130 crew, having a beer bust with their squadron
commander off base at a local tavern.  With the lights out, how the
hell did they know who fired the fatal shot?  They couldn't possibly
have seen him in the darkness.

Most damaging was the story told by Brian Wade, the C-130 pilot, once
his best friend.  Wade swore Albright touched him when he lifted his
arm to tim at Bradley.  As he pictured Wade's handsome, mocking face,
bile rose in Archer's throat.  He'd touched no one during those fatal
few seconds.  He was damn sum of that.

Since Archer had faked his own suicide and changed his name, he'd been
obsessed with only one thought.  Get even.  Every day he spent hours in
his basement apartment poring over newspapers from the towns of the
seven men who had witnessed against him.  From the newspaper articles,
data collected through the Freedom of Information Act, and various
stolen computer files, he compiled a dossier on each man.  Eventually
he would destroy everything they held dear: their honor, their
families, their property.  That would teach them to turn on him.

Maybe he'd even kill them.  Already convicted of one murder, he'd
simply add seven more.  In spite of the dank coldness of his unheated
basement room, Archer felt himself start to sweat.

During the past few weeks a new element had been added, one he could
use to his advantage.  Two of his accusers had died in accidents.
According to the newspapers, the authorities saw nothing suspicious in
the deaths.  But the other witnesses to the squadron commander's murder
would suspect that Don Albright--or his ghost--had struck them down for
vengeance.  He'd be a ghost, all right, a living spirit appearing out
of nowhere to haunt them.  By the time he was through with them, they'd
wish they'd never been born.

Feeling like a caged animal, Archer stopped pacing and sat down in
front of his scarred table.  Though he didn't have all the information
he needed, he couldn't let this opportunity pass.

It was time to confront Brian Wade, his principal accuser.

Chapter One

Spokane

With an odd mixture of rage and foreboding, Archer eyed his disguise in
the men's room mirror after his plane landed.  The confrontation he'd
planned with Brian Wade was risky.  He didn't want anyone to know for
sure that he was still alive.  But a face-to-face meeting was the only
way to judge Wade's reactions to the accidents.  With this disguise
added to his changed appearance, he should be able to protect his new
identity.

A light brown wig with a big bald spot covered his short black hair.
Thick horn-rimmed glasses hid his blue eyes and dark eyebrows..  A fine
film of white powder turned his emerging beard to a sandy color and
gave him a careless, unkempt look.  By stooping slightly to camouflage
his six-feet height and adding a seedy gray overcoat, Archer guessed he
looked twenty years older than his actual thirty-one.  If he could only
keep his cool, he'd be okay.

From the airport, Archer took a cab to Grand, and walked to a side
street a block away from the Cathedral of St.  John where Wade had
agreed to meet him.  Then he waited in the freezing January wind, hands
shoved in his pockets, until he saw Wade's green Buick park between
piles of snow on E Street.

Wade, a fringe of red hair showing beneath his uniform hat, buttoned
his overcoat as he locked his vehicle and started across the street
toward the cathedral.  Feeling his anger, Archer forced himself to
subdue it.

What would his old buddy say when he heard two of Albright's accusers
had been killed in accidents?  Though the deaths occurred in other
cities, Wade might have heard of them.  Would he suspect Don Albright
was responsible--in retribution for last year's murder conviction?

As far as Archer could determine, nobody was following Wade.

Still, he watched for a full ten minutes before leaving his hiding
place behind a parked car.  It was quiet on the street.  On this frigid
holiday afternoon, few pedestrians were willing to brave the biting
wind and hard-packed snow on the sidewalks.

It was time to go.  Archer sucked in his breath and concentrated on
keeping his expression carefully neutral.  Wade mustn't see his
festering rage.  Stooping, he assumed a limp and moved slowly down the
side street and across Grand.  Wade glanced toward him but didn't move
from his position on the sidewalk in front of the cathedral.

Archer saw no recognition in Wade's eyes as he approached.

"Captain Wade?"  Archer asked.

"Yes.  Are you Mr.  Dillon?"  While speaking, Wade turned his head
sideways so he wouldn't be facing into the biting wind.

Archer pulled his hand out of his pocket and shoved it toward Wade.
"I'm Glenn Dillon, Captain Wade."  It was a false name to protect his
new identity.

Wade shook Archer's hand without removing his glove.  His round face
was tinged with crimson in the bitter cold.

"Just who the hell are you, Dillon?"  Wade spit out the question in his
raspy tenor voice.  "What's your interest in this case?"

"It's to your advantage to talk to me," Archer shot back.  "That's all
you need to know."  He affected the same accent he'd used yesterday on
the telephone when he made the appointment.

"Let's hear your big news, Dillon."  Lifting his glove, Wade glanced
down at his watch.  "This better not take long.  My wife and I have
plans for the evening."

"It won't take long, Captain."  Archer pictured Susan Wade in his mind
from the photographs he'd studied.  Long gold-blond hair, brown eyes,
sturdy frame.  Mrs.  Wade, an air force lieutenant, was the
intelligence officer in Wade's squadron.  Though Archer had never met
her, he'd known who she was when she answered the phone yesterday.
They'd married only four months ago.

Poor woman, Archer had thought at first, aware of Wade's many affairs.
But then Archer had learned they'd known each other only five or six
weeks before they married.  If she was that impulsive, maybe they
deserved each other.

"Well?"  Wade asked, obviously irritated at Archer's silence.

"The matter concerns two of the men who were witnesses to Captain
Albright's murder of your squadron commander last year--" Archer spoke
slowly, dragging out the suspense.  "The two who were transferred from
Spokane to San Antonio and Colorado Springs."

"What about them?"  Wade asked tersely.  Ignoring the wind, he leaned
toward Archer, his eyes narrow.

"Did you know they both died in accidents recently?"

Wade muffled his quick intake of breath.  Archer sensed rather than
heard it.

"The police say the deaths were accidental, but I don't believe it." He
paused, enjoying the momentary look of fright on Wade's loathsome face.
"How about you, Captain?  Don't you think that's too much of a
coincidence?"

Archer felt Wade staring at him, and deliberately turned away so the
other man wouldn't see the hatred in his eyes.

"What's it to you, Dillon?"  Wade asked, his eyes accusing.  "You're
starting to sound like a nosy private detective.  Who the hell are you
working for?"

"Nobody you know," Archer returned, expecting the question.  "I'm sure
you're not surprised that the case has attracted high-level
attention."

Wade's face was carefully devoid of expression.  "You thinkS the
accidents were arranged--that those men were killed--because of what
happened last year?"  His answer was cold, noncommittal, in the tone of
a man used to hiding his emotions.  But in spite of the keening wind,
Archer heard a tiny tremor in his voice.  Whether Wade had known about
the accidents or not, Archer suspected that talking about them made him
nervous.

"Damned right they were arranged," Archer said.  "Then you must suspect
that Captain Albright--the man convicted last year--didn't commit
suicide.  That he had a hand in these deaths, too."  Wade was studying
Archer's face the way a hawk eyes a field mouse.

"Maybe," Archer said, trying to sound thoughtful.  "From what I read in
the papers, Albright had a strong motive, and there's some doubt about
his suicide."  A fierce gust of wind swallowed his words.  "what did
you say?"  Wade asked.

Nodding in the direction of the cathedral, Archer started toward the
arched entry to the building's west-facing wing where they'd have some
protection from the wind.  After a moment's hesitation, Wade followed.
The stairs had been cleared of snow, and they reached the vaulted
entrance with no difficulty.

Masking his rage, Archer turned to face Wade.  "I was talking about
motives."  It was getting harder to keep his

emoiions hidden.  In spite of the piercing cold, his face burned and
his armpits were wet with perspiration.  Wade's face blurred before his
eyes.  He blinked, struggling to clear his vision.

Then he heard a cracking sound above the howling wind.  Unbelieving,
Archer watched Brian Wade's big body topple forward, his crimson blood
oozing onto the entryway's white sandstone floor.

The telephone was ringing when Susan Wade walked into her well-ordered
office at Fairchild Air Force Base.  She frowned, glancing at her
watch.  Six-thirty.  And this was a holiday.  The caller had to be
Brian.  He was going to be late again.  She just knew it.

Oh, he'd have a good excuse.  He always did.  She was beginning to
think Brian put her at the bottom of his priority list.  He was never
late for anything or anybody else.

The telephone rang again.  She picked up the receiver.  "Lieutenant
Wade."

"I'm glad I caught you, Susan."  It was her commanding officer, Major
Savage.  "I tried to reach you at home but got no answer."

She tensed.  The major never called anybody by their first name.
Something must be wrong.

"Yes, sir," she said automatically, conscious of her pounding heart.

"Would you stay in your office, please?  I'll be down to talk to you
right away."  His usual authoritarian tone was gone.  Instead, she
heard a faint quiver in his voice, as though some emotion had touched
him.  The sound sent anxious tremors jolting through her.  Could he
have stumbled onto her covert mission at Fairchild?  Heaven knows she'd
spent enough time out on the flight line snooping around the C-130s.
But nobody knew about her assignment except the military brass at the
Pentagon Intelligence

Agency.  Not even the FBI or the treasury people had been informed
about it.

"I'm not in uniform, sir."  She heard herself, weak and tremulous, and
struggled to put more confidence in her voice.  "Brian's picking me up
here as soon as he runs over the cheek-list with the ground crew for
tomorrow morning's flight.  We're going to dinner, then the reception
at the club."

"Civilian clothes will be fine, Lieutenant."  The major's voice was
still gentle, but a measure of his usual command authority was back.
His changed tone made Susan feel better.  Maybe it was nothing after
all.  Maybe he just wanted to discuss tomorrow morning's briefing.

"This won't take long," he went on, "but it's vital that I see you
right away."

A few minutes later he appeared in her open doorway, a somber
expression on his hawklike face.  Behind him was a heavyset colonel
Susan recognized as the senior base chaplain.  Standing to greet them,
she felt the blood drain from her face.  Why was the chaplain here? Had
somebody died?

Major Savage, whose beak of a nose and sharp-sighted eyes matched his
wiry appearance, took the empty seat beside her desk.  The chaplain
pulled one of her spare chairs near her desk and settled himself on
it.

"Colonel Ratigan, this is Lieutenant Susan Wade," Major Savage said.

The colonel' reached out and clasped her hand between both of his. "I'm
one of the chaplains here at Fairchild."

"I know," she blurted, scarcely aware of her own voice.  "What's
happened?"

"Please sit down," the colonel said.

Numbly, Susan sat.

The chaplain eyed her, his brow furrowed.  "There's been an...
accident, Susan."

"My husband?"  She could hardly force the words out.

"I'm sorry to have to tell you this," Major Savage began, "but Brian's
been shot."

She jumped to her feet.  "Is he in the base hospital?"

"No, he's not."  The chaplain rose and put his hand on her arm.
"Captain Wade--wellmhe's no longer with us."

"You mean he's dead?  That's impossible."  For a moment Susan wasn't
sure she'd heard correctly.  Shaking her head, she sank back into her
chair.  "You've made a mistake.  Brian had an inspection scheduled for
his ground crew this afternoon."  She heard her voice rising and knew
she was on the verge of losing control.  But she couldn't help
herself.

The major leaned toward her, lines of worry between his sharp-sighted
blue eyes.  "He must have left the base after his inspection, Susan."

You're wrong, she wanted to scream.  He had a date with me.  Why would
he leave the base?  Instead, she looked down at her hands twisted
nervously in her lap.  "It wasn't him," she said.  "It couldn't be.
Someone's made a terrible mistake."  '

The chaplain shook his head.  "There was no mistake, Susan.  His ID
card and driver's license were in his wallet.  The man they found was
Brian."

Waves of disbelief swept over her, and she struggled to keep from
screaming.  "I want to see the body."

"Of course," the chaplain said, glancing at Major Savage.  He nodded
slightly.

The room swam around her as tears blinded her eyes and choked her
voice.  Until now Susan had been able to fight this awful lie.  But she
couldn't any longer.  Unable to see clearly, she fumbled in her purse
for a tissue.  In front of her,

a clean linen handkerchief appeared in the chaplain's hand.  "Take it,"
he urged gently.

He and Major Savage got up, and the two men turned away while she wiped
her cheeks dry and blew her nose.  Thank God they knew enough to give
her some privacy.  She heard the low murmur of their voices as from a
great distance, though they were only a few feet away.

Finally she gained a measure of control over herself.  But even then
she couldn't seem to function properly.  When she tried to stand, her
knees buckled.  Leaning on her desk, she sank back to her seat.

An instant later, the chaplain pulled his chair closer and sat down.
"Are you certain you're up to seeing Brian right now, Susan?"

She nodded, swallowing her sobs.

"Come with us," Major Savage said.

THE MORGUE WAS COLD and silent.  An attendant ushered them into the
sterile white room where the identification would be made.

Please let it be someone else,.  Susan prayed as she approached the
gurney where the body lay.  Holding her breath, she watched the
attendant fold back the sheet.  Brian's face stared up at her, still
and white.

All the breath seemed to leave her as she stood there rooted to the
floor.  Stepping closer, she touched his face with her fingertips.  His
skin felt cool and smooth, like old silk.  Though he hadn't lived up to
her expectations, she couldn't bear to see him like this.  Standing
there beside his body, she felt tears slipping down her cheeks.

"It's him," she said, unable to speak above a whisper.  "It is Brian."
Finally the chaplain took her arm and eased her away from the table.

Shivering, she hugged her wool coat around herself.  Though still
inside the building, she felt cold, so terribly cold.  Would she ever
be warm again?

Not until she was in the car with Major Savage and Colonel Ratigan,
headed back to the base, did she think to ask who fired the shot that
killed him.

"Do the police know what happened?"

"They've already identified a person of interest," Major Savage
announced, glancing at her beside him in the front seat.  "A taxi
driver described a bald, middle-aged man who was in that area about the
same time your husband got there."

"An eyewitness?"  Her mind was still too full of the horror of Brian's
cold, pallid face to digest the importance of what she was hearing. "Do
the police know who he is?"  She heard herself ask the question, but it
was as if she were on autopilot and her intelligence training had
kicked in.

"No, but they're trying to track him down.  It's been only a couple of
hours since..."  He glanced at Susan.  She stared rigidly ahead,
willing herself not to break down.

She forced the stark image of Brian's dead face out of her mind.  "Do
the police have a motive for the eyewitness?"

Major Savage didn't answer right away.  When he did, his words were
halting.  "Nothing was stolen.  So maybe this terrible tragedy is tied
into that murder last year of the major I replaced as squadron
commander."

In the back seat, the chaplain cleared his throat.  "I don't think this
is a good time to talk about that."

Susan jerked bolt upright on the seat.  "What was his name?  That air
force captain who was convicted of the murder?"

"Don Albright," Maj or Savage supplied.

Mulling over the case in her mind, she reached into her memory for bits
of information.  "Wasn't there some doubt about his suicide?"

"There's been speculation that he faked the leap from the Tacoma
Narrows Bridge so he could jump bail and escape."  The major's voice
was cold and exact.

Susan clenched her hands together so tightly the knuckles cracked.  "If
Don Albright's alive, he must be the one who killed Brian."  Anger
released some of her grief, and she didn't try to fight it.  "I'll see
he pays if it's the last thing I do."

San Francisco

SEATED AT THE TABLE in his cramped room, Archer stared in disbelief at
the picture on the front page of the Spokane Daily Chronicle.  Though
the focus was a little hazy, he easily recognized the man facing the
camera.

It was himself, in the disguise he'd worn in Spokane.  Stiff with
shock, he read the news item under the picture.

Have you seen this man?  the caption read.  Eyewitness van ted for
questioning in the Wade killing.  The article went on to say that the
picture was taken by a tourist visiting the cathedral.  He'd sent the
photo to the paper anonymously because he didn't want to get
involved.

Though only the back of.  the other man in the photograph was visible,
the newspaper identified him as Air Force Captain' Brian Wade, the
officer who'd been murdered two weeks ago.

Archer crumpled the newspaper in his sweaty fists.  Were the police
trying to find the eyewitness because they thought he was the murderer?
Lord knows, he'd dreamed of strangling Wade with his bare hands.

But the police couldn't possibly suspect the man in the picture.  With
the sophisticated techniques available today, they had to know the
bullet was fired from the street, not a foot away.  But maybe they
thought he'd moved from his photographed position and then committed
the murder.

He turned his attention back to the picture.  Where had it come from?
Not from "a tourist who wanted to remain anonymous."  Archer was
certain of that.  Somebody wanted Glenn Dillon to be charged--either
that, or to tell what he'd seen.

What had he seen?  he asked himself.  In the traumatic moment of Wade's
death, he hadn't focused on anything but the body toppling toward him,
Fuzzy images of a white, late-model sedan with a blond woman at the
wheel appeared as indistinct figures in his memory.

He eyed his burgeoning file on Susan Wade.  She was a blonde.  Could
she have been the woman he saw?  She certainly had a motive.  According
to the information he'd collected, Wade's death had made her rich. From
her service decorations, Archer knew Susan was an expert marksman on
the rifle range, and she could have fired the gun that killed her
husband.

By the time a month had passed, Archer knew he'd have to risk another
trip to Spokane to meet her and fill in the blanks about her character
and objectives.  In the automobile garage where he worked, he plotted
his every move as he changed oil and replaced worn-out fan belts.

By night, hunched over a flimsy table in his cramped basement room, he
examined the newspapers he bought every day and added more information
to his growing files.  On days off, he compiled the forms he'd need,
had them printed and finalized the background information for his cover
as an insurance agent.

Two weeks later he was ready.

Spokane

SUSAN YANKED UP the kitchen blind and peered across her deck through
the predawn greyness.  After the luscious green foliage of Hawaii's Big
Island where she'd spent the past month, the bare trees and yellowed
grass behind her condo looked as bleak as a graveyard.  Disturbed by
the sight, she released the cord and let the blind drop with a noisy
rattle.

On Major Savage's orders, she'd taken leave in Hawaii shortly after
Brian's funeral.  Now she'd been home almost a week, and her spacious
condo still seemed filled with his presence.  Glancing from the kitchen
into the contemporary living room, she could almost see him sitting on
his leather recliner.

Why hadn't she told him the truth about her assignment to Fairchild?
Maybe if she'd trusted him more, their marriage would have been better.
She'd wanted to tell him she was here on a covert mission so secret no
one knew about it except key officers at the Pentagon Intelligence
Agency.  But her sense of duty always held her back.

Now Susan was left with the piercing guilt that she was somehow
responsible for Brian's death.  Brushing her hair off her forehead, she
told herself Don Albright was the killer.  But she couldn't help
wondering if Brian's death was somehow tied in to her covert
mission--if he might still be alive if he hadn't married her.

Brian had also left her a lot of money.  The authorities had been
delicate in their questioning, but there was no doubt they thought she
had a motive for killing him.

Worse, she had no alibi for that awful afternoon.  Absently, she placed
the breakfast dishes in the dishwasher as she remembered what had
happened.  A telephone call--allegedly from the wife of one of her
airmen--had led her on a wild-goose chase.  The guard at Fairchild's
main gate remembered both her and Brian leaving the base within minutes
of each other.

She'd told the police about the telephone call and her fruitless search
for the airman's wife, hoping they'd realize she'd been set up.  They'd
asked a few questions and talked to the couple, who denied making the
call.  Afterward, the police had acted even more suspicious.

Sighing, Susan put on her uniform overcoat.  The phone rang as she
started out the door.  Returning to the kitchen, she picked up the
receiver.

"Good morning," she said, hoping it was somebody from the squadron with
an urgent assignment for her, something important that would occupy her
thoughts.

"Is Captain Wade there?"  a man's voice asked.

Susan's heart sank at the friendly tone in his voice.  He sounded
vaguely familiar.  Probably one of Brian's friends, who didn't know
about the murder.  She dreaded telling him.  "No.  Are you a friend of
his?"

"Not exactly," he said.  "I'm an agent with Industrial Indemnity
Insurance Company.  Is this Mrs.  Wade?"

"Yes."  Suddenly warm, she shrugged off her overcoat and laid it over
the back of a chair.

"This is Derek Archer," he said.  "I'm sorry to call you so early, Mrs.
Wade, but I'd hoped to catch your husband before he left for work.
Could you give me his number at the office?"

"No," she said abruptly.  "He doesn't need any more insurance."

"I'm not trying to sell him a policy, Mrs.  Wade.  I'm trying to
service the one he's got."  He sounded tired, like a middle-aged man
who was fed up with talking to difficult clients.  Susan had a good ear
for voices.  Where had she heard his before?

Trying to be patient, she took a deep breath," "I didn't know we had a
policy with your company."

He cleared his throat.  "Well, you won't have it long if you don't get
caught up on your premiums.  Your husband's missed the last two."

Susan's throat tightened.  The last thing she wanted right now was more
talk about insurance.  "Mrs.  Wade?"  "Yes, I'm still here."

"I'll be in Spokane for the next few days at the Riverfront Hotel.
That's where I'm calling from.  Tell your husband to call me so we can
get this settled--Derek Archer from Industrial Indemnity."  He repeated
his name and then gave her the hotel's telephone number.

Susan didn't bother to write it down.  "My husband's been dead two
months, Mr.  Archer.  That's why your premiums weren't paid."

There was a long pause.  When he spoke, his tone was grave.  "My
condolences, Mrs.  Wade.  That puts a different light on things.  Maybe
we should get together to discuss

your husband's policy while I'm in town.  How about lunch in the hotel
dining room at noon today?"

Hesitating, she nearly said no.  She was trained to be suspicious, and
something didn't seem quite right about this agent with a policy she
had no record of.  Why was he servicing the policy personally?  Didn't
the company notify tardy payers by mail?

Then her natural curiosity took over.  What was this man up to?
Besides, if an insurance company owed her money, she'd be a fool not to
collect it.  "Fine," she told him.

She started to hang up when he spoke again.  "How will I recognize
you?"

"I'm blond and I'll be wearing an air force lieutenant's uniform.  How
about you?"

"I'll have a red handkerchief in my coat pocket."

After she'd hang up, Susan kicked herself for saying yes.  After the
funeral, she'd examined every document in Brian's file cabinet and
safe-deposit box and had contacted the two insurance companies that
carried his policies.  Industrial Indemnity wasn't one of them.

Better not go, she warned herself.

Quickly she dialed the number of the Riverfront Hotel and asked for
Derek Archer.

Nobody with that name was registered.

For an instant she stood there motionless, the receiver clutched in her
hand.

What kind of game was Derek Archer--if that was his real name--trying
to play?  Whatever it was, Susan wanted no part of it.  She replaced
the receiver on its cradle, even more certain he was up to
something--maybe a con game to swindle her out of her inheritance.
Still, the agent might be for real.  If Brian wanted her to have this
policy, she felt obligated to check into it.

By ten o'clock, after she'd finished her third cup of coffee, her
curiosity had gotten the best of her.  Perhaps the young man she'd
talked to at the hotel had made a mistake when he examined the register
early this morning.  Sighing, Susan dialed the hotel again and asked
for Mr.  Archer.

"I'll have the operator connect you," said the clerk.  His voice
sounded like that of the young man she'd talked to earlier.

"Just a minute," Susan said.  "When I tried to reach Mr.  Archer at
seven o'clock this morning, you told me he hadn't checked in.  Did you
make a mistake?"

There was a short pause.  Then a congenial chuckle.  "I make a mistake
now and then, but this wasn't one of those times."

"Can you tell me when he signed in?"

The clerk hesitated.  "I can't say exactly, but I think it was sometime
around eight-thirty," he replied finally.  "I'll ring his room."

Susan hung up before Derek Archer answered.  She spent the time until
lunch wondering why he'd tried to give her the impression, early this
morning, that he was calling from the hotel when he obviously wasn't.

She'd test him, she decided.  If he lied again, she'd know he was up to
something.

Chapter Two

Hesitating, Susan glanced around the hotel lobby, searching for a
middle-aged man with a red handkerchief in his pocket.  The faint smell
of woodsmoke from the stone fireplace, along With the subtle fragrance
of fresh flowers, enveloped her.  A vaseful of yellow roses stood on a
rough-hewn table near the door, another sat on the registration
counter.

She couldn't help staring when she spotted the red handkerchief.  The
man wearing it looked years younger than she'd expected after talking
to Archer on the phone.  Though deep frown lines between his dark brows
gave him the disturbing, faintly ominous air of someone on a
life-or-death mission, he couldn't be much older than Brian.  But in
spite of her odd first impression, Susan had to admit he was
attractive, in a rugged sort of way.

For an instant she felt an unwelcome tug of interest.  He's been an
officer in the service, she thought, eyeing the sharp creases in his
pants, the shine on his black loafers.  In his gray business suit, he
carried himself with the self-confidence that came with military
command.

Though he looked tough and lean, she could see his shoulders straining
against the confining fabric of his suit, as if he'd gained muscle
recently.  A couple of unruly strands of curly black hair drooped over
his forehead.  His eyes, such

r a dark blue they were almost indigo, clung to hers with an
intensity that made her catch her breath.  They were the eyes of a
dangerous man, so penetrating they seemed almost as though they'd glow
in the dark.

Watch it, Lieutenant, she told herself, surprised at her sudden
breathless hesS She was a new Widow She couldn't let herself react to
the first interesting man she'd met since Brian's death.  And he did
look appealing, she had to admit, in the frightening way a free-roaming
black panther looked alluring.  What had happened to give him that
tough, predatory look?  she wondered.

Starting toward him, she forced herself to remember her plan to trap
him into telling another lie.  Derek Archer was probably a con artist
out to swindle her out of her inheritance.  No matter how attractive he
was, the sooner she found out what he was up to, the better.  He came
up to her with a half smile.  "Mrs.  Wade?"  He extended his hand.

Susan recognized the smooth baritone voice she'd heard on the
telephone.  "Yes, I'm Susan Wade."  She took his hand.  It was
surprisingly rough for an insurance agent.  His square jaw was thrust
forward, as if he expected a confrontation.

Almost without realizing it, she checked for a wedding band.  He wore
none.  She was irritated with herself for feeling relieved.

"Thanks for coming, Mrs.  Wade."  His voice, deep and sensual, seemed
years younger than when she'd heard it on the phone.

He stared frankly into her eyes.  When her gaze didn't waver, he
cleared his throat and glanced away.

"Excuse me for staring," he said.  "When I was in the army, I never ran
into any lieutenants as attractive as you."

Susan didn't let herself get distracted by his compliment, despite an
unexpected sense of warmth coursing through her.  Salesmen were good at
buttering people up.  If he was working some kind of con on her, this
was how he'd start.

"When were you in the army, Mr.  Archer?"  Her words were quick and
sharp.  She hoped to catch him off guard.

He took her arm, urging her toward the dining room.  "After I graduated
from college, I put in my six years to pay off my ROTC commitment."

His reply was so glib, Susan suspected he'd prepared an answer to fit
into whatever swindle he was planning.  Not until they arrived at the
table did she realize that he'd never answered her question.

ARC HE EYED SUS W'DE, seated opposite him in the Riverfront Hotel's
Crown Room.  After his months on the run, he was good at sizing people
up without their knowledge.

Studying Susan, he decided a picture of her he'd clipped from the local
paper didn't do her justice.  Instead of looking merely healthy and
sturdy, the way she did in the newspaper, she glowed with a kind of
inner vitality.  Maybe it was the combination of tanned skin, golden
hair and brown eyes that gave her such an earthy, vibrant quality. And,
close up, she wasn't what he'd call sturdy, not in the usual sense.
Rather, his experienced eye detected a firm, well-rounded figure
beneath the confines of her uniform.

Watching her, an unexpected surge of pure desire washed over him.  He
wanted to do more than have a meal with this woman, he realized to his
chagrin.  He wanted to unlobsen the hair at the back of her neck so it
streamed down her bare back.  And he wanted to hold her tight against
his naked chest while he was doing it.

Archer recognized his feelings for what they were: simple,
unadulterated lust.  As he studied his menu, he told himself to back
off.  For his plan to work he had to keep his distance from this woman.
But he couldn't help stealing another glance, only to find her brown
eyes staring back at

him.  She glanced down, but not before Archer caught what he thought
was a gleam of interest.  To his dismay, this time his body responded.
Heat surged through him, tightening his muscles.

Damn.  He'd have to watch his step.  The last thing he wanted right now
was an unwelcome attraction to Brian Wade's widow, something that would
only interfere with his need to get even with the men who'd betrayed
him.

"Tell me about this policy you say my husband took out," she said. "How
much is it for?"

Her voice was low and musical, more appealing than it sounded on the
phone.  But her question made her appear mercenary, like he'd expect a
husband-killer to sound.  Yes, she might have done it, he decided,
eyeing her tempting mouth with its full lower lip.  Incredibly, his
suspicion made her seem even more attractive, perhaps because it-gave
them something in common.  They were quite a pair: the convicted killer
and the grieving widow who might have murdered her husband.  For a
moment he let himself picture the two of them locked in a lusty
embrace, his hands warm on her full breasts.

"It's an accidental death or dismemberment policy for fifty thousand
dollars," he said, reluctantly letting the fantasy go.  He hadn't had a
woman in months and knew the feelings were normal.  But why at such an
inappropriate time?

He handed her the packet of insurance papers he'd had printed, and she
leafed through them.

"Industrial Indemnity doesn't sound like the name of an insurance
company that handles this type of policy," she commented, without
looking up from the page in front of her.  Her lashes, several shades
darker than her gold-blond hair, shadowed her high cheekbones.

He shrugged.  "Our company's been in business for more than sixty
years.  We started out with heavy industries where accidents were a big
problem.  Then, twenty years ago, we began accepting individuals.  Your
husband said he wanted a sound accident policy that would cover him in
war or other violence connected with the military service.  Industrial
Indemnity is one of the few companies to offer that type of
coverage."

She skimmed through the policy.  "Yes, I see the limits here in
paragraph 4B."

The waiter appeared.  Susan ordered a cup of tea instead of a cocktail.
Too bad.  Archer had hoped to loosen her up with a few drinks.

"My husband was murdered, you know," she said after their beverages had
been served and they'd given the waiter their lunch orders.  As she
spoke, lines appeared on her smooth forehead, giving her a vulnerable
look that made him doubt his suspicion.  Suddenly he wasn't so sure
she'd killed her husband.

"Yes, I know," he returned.  "I checked to find out how he died right
after I talked to you."

She eyed him quizzically.  "Then you must have gone to the newspaper
office right after you called from the hotel this morning.  The
libary's not open that early."

Archer almost said yes, he'd gotten the details of Wade's death from
the Chronicle files.  But something in the expectant way she was
sitting, leaning toward him with her back straight and her beautiful
brown eyes slightly narrowed, alerted him.  Did she have a friend on
the Chronicle staff ready to deny he'd been there?

He shook his head.  "No, I had our research people in San Francisco
look into your husband's death."

"And you called them from the hotel this morning?"  Her musical voice
held a rasp of excitement.

He adopted a tone of irascible patience.  "Yes, of course.  Where else
would I call from?"

When Archer saw the look of triumph on her face, he knew he'd made a
mistake.  But what was it?

SHE'D BET TEn Had a darn good explanation, Susan thought, watching the
play of emotions on his rugged, square-cut face.  Why did he have to
look so darn sexy?  From the swath of dark curly hair falling on his
forehead, to his thick brows and firm chin, he struck a vibrant chord
within her.  And his intense, purple-blue eyes--set wide apart above an
aquiline nose--seemed omniscient, almost as if he could see into her
mind.

Planning her attack, she took a bite of her fish.  He couldn't have
called San Francisco from the hotel.  He wasn't even here yet at seven
o'clock this morning.

"Mr.  Archer," she began quietly.

His tight expression relaxed into a smile, but the wary look in his
eyes remained.

"You can forget about the formalities," he said with a smile that set
her pulses racing.  "My friends call me

She took a deep breath and shook her head.  "We're not friends, Mr.
Archer.  Not while you're playing games with me."

His smile vanished.  He seemed speechless in his surprise.  As their
eyes met, a shock ran through her.  Brows lowered and nostrils flared,
he gave her a threatening glare that burned into her brain.  For a
frightening moment, she thought he might slap her.

"What are you talking about, Mrs.  Wade?"  His usually smooth voice
gratext harshly.

"About your lies this morning on the phone."  She stared at him.  Even
as she watched, his expression veered from anger to confusion.  He
seemed honestly bewildered by her accusation.

"What lies?"  Menace remained in his eyes, but a ghost of a smile
touched his lips.

"You said you called me from the hotel this morning," she said, her
face burning.  "When I cheeked, the desk clerk told me you weren't
here.  You obviously called from some where else.  I want to know
where--and why you lied about it."

She waited while he took a bite of steak.  When he met her eyes, the
menace was gone, but there was a deadly coldness hidden behind his
direct gaze.  What had he expected her to accuse him of?

"When someone in your family dies violently, it's a terrible shock."
His sympathetic tone was not matched in his iridescent blue eyes.  "No
wonder you see suspicious characters lurking behind every bush."

Again, he hadn't answered her question.  Her doubts about him refused
to go away.  What clever line was he giving her now?

"What are you getting at?"

He leaned toward her, a determined look on his face.  "As soon as we
finish eating, we'll go to the lobby.  The clerk will tell you I signed
in at eight-thirty this morning, about an hour after I talked to you on
the lobby phone."

"Why did you call me before you registered?"

His brows drew forward in a frown.  "Because at least fifteen people
were in line to check out.  If I'd waited, I might not have caught you
at home, so I used the pay phone.  After I talked to you, I called our
research people and had some coffee.  Then I registered."

Susan could hardly believe there could be such a simple explanation.
But, surprisingly, she found herself relieved that he had one.  Drawn
to him, she wanted to see him again.  If he was a legitimate insurance
agent, she knew she would.

"I'm sorry, Archer."  She eliminated the formalities to let him know
she meant what she was saying.  "You're right.  I've become paranoid
since Brian was killed.  He wasn't robbed, so police know that wasn't
the motive.  And the one man who might have seen the killer has
vanished into thin air."  '

Archer settled back in his chair.  "If this possible witness
disappeared, how did the police find out about him?"

Susan opened her black leather service bag, pulled out a newspaper
clipping and handed it to him.  "Here's a picture of the eyewitness and
a story about what happened."

While Archer read the accompanying article, Susan studied his face. The
frown lines were back between his eyes.  He scowled as he read. But no
matter how formidable he looked, he was still the most fascinating man
she'd met in a long time.

What would have happened if she and Archer had met last year, before
she married Brian?  she wondered, and then gave herself a quick mental
kick.  Archer was the last thing she needed right now.  Behind his sexy
eyes was a menacing coldness that frightened her.  To clear her mind,
she forced herself to concentrate on a window across the room.  Outside
in the sun, bare branches starting to bud were silhouetted against an
azure sky.

He folded the clipping and returned it to her.  "Are you sure this man
with his back to the camera is your husband?"

"Positive.  Nobody but Brian had hair that curled that way around his
ears."

Archer leaned toward her, resting his arms on the edge of the table.
"Tell me honestly, Susan.  Who do you think killed your husband?"

"Don Albright, the man who murdered Brian's squadron commander last
year," she replied quickly.

Susan felt her temper rising just saying Albright's name.  The
certainty of his guilt relieved her own anguished feelings.  Since he
did it, she couldn't possibly bear any responsibility for not telling
Brian about her covert assignment.  "while the verdict was being
appealed, Albright jumped bail, faked his own suicide and escaped.  The
police are still hunting for him."

Archer's scowl lines, deepened.  "Did Albright have a motive for
killing your husband?"

"lae best in the world."  Susan felt her face flushing as her anger
increased.  "Revenge.  Brian was the one who put the finger on Albright
at the trial.  If it hadn't been for Brian's testimony, Albright might
never have been convicted."

"I remember reading about that trial."  Archer's voice was thoughtful.
"I never understood how your husband could be so sure Albright murdered
the commander.  Any one of the six other men at the table might have
done it."

-"Brian felt Albright move his arm," Susan said, remembering what Brian
'had told her.  Her fingers tightened around her napkin.  "Don Albright
had the gun, for God's sake."  He killed his squadron commander because
of a bad effectiveness report that kept him from getting promoted."

She stared at Archer, daring him to dispute her.  Don Albright was
guilty as sin, and she wanted the whole world to know it.

Archer met her gaze head-on.  "Did they ever find the accomplice?"

"You mean the person who turned out the lights?"

He nodded.  "Whoever it was must have known he'd be an accomplice to
murder.  If that person was a friend, why couldn't the police find him
or her?"

"Maybe it wasn't a friend.  Maybe Albright paid somebody to help him."
Alarm and anger rippled along her spine.  "You seem awfully sympathetic
to that murderer all of a sudden.  For a minute there, I thought I was
talking to Albright's defense attorney."

He shrugged dismissively.  "Just playing devil's advocate.  That's a
good way to find out what somebody thinks."

"Well, now you know exactly what I think."  Susan settled back in her
chair.

"I understand several thousand dollars were offered to anyone with
information about the commander's murder."  There was a subtle
undercurrent in his voice.  "You're suggesting Albright paid his
accomplice.  If he'd take AI-bright's money, why not the reward?"

It was a question she couldn't answer.  Disturbed, Susan shifted
uneasily on her chair.  Why did Archer make her so darned nervous?

"Dozens of people turned up to claim the reward," she said.  "But none
of their stories checked out.  The missing accomplice was one of the
weak links in the case."

Across from her, Archer shot her a cynical smile.  Then his gaze
shifted to something or someone behind her.

"Sorry to interrupt your lunch, Lieutenant Wade."

Susan glanced up to see Major Savage, her squadron commander, staring
down at her with his hawklike eyes.

"SORRY TO INTERRUPT," Major Savage said again, after Susan had
introduced him to Archer.  "But there's been a new development in your
husband's murder.  The Spokane police want to see you at their
headquarters across the river."  '

Apprehension coursed through Susan as she rose to her feet.  What was
so important that the police had to see her immediately?  She'd already
told her story over and over again.  Her heart pounding, she glanced at
Archer.  "Can it wait half an hour or so?  Mr.  Archer and I haven't
finished our business."

Major Savage shook his head.  "I'm afraid not, Lieutenant.  When the
police tried to reach you on the base, I checked your sign-out board
and saw you were here.  I told them I'd make sure you got there

ASAP."

Nodding, Archer helped her slip into her coat.  "I'll be at the hotel
for a couple of days, Mrs.  Wade.  We can get together tomorrow and go
over these forms."

"Fine," she said, more anxious by the minute.

With a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, Susan allowed Major
Savage to escort her across the stone-floored lobby and through the
etched glass doors of the Riverfront Hotel.

An air force staff car was parked in front of the lobby entrance. Susan
could barely hide her startled gasp when she saw who was inside. Seated
beside the driver on the passenger seat was a lanky lieutenant colonel
she recognized as John Tinnerman, the commander of the security police
squadron at the base.  In back was a lieutenant she'd met at the
officers' club.  With rising concern she identified him as Phil
Davidson, a lawyer recently assigned to Fairchild.

A lawyer and a military policeman.  "What's going on?"  she cried as
the car moved away from the hotel.

"Pull into the Azteca parking lot," Major Savage told the driver.  "We
need some time to talk, and it'll take only ten minutes to get to
police headquarters from here."  He turned to face Susan.  "Detective
MacElroy said he had new information about your husband's death.  I
have no idea what that news is, but thought it best to bring one of our
base attorneys along."

Colonel Tinherman grinned at her from the front seat.  "And I'm here
for moral support.  If you've got questions about the police and how
they operate, I'm your man."

"Thank you, sir," she said gratefully.  With his round face and button
nose, the colonel was one of the homeliest men she'd ever seen, but his
down-home manner reassured her.

During the next half hour--interrupted occasionally by Major
Savage--she briefed the attorney about her husband's case.  When he was
satisfied, they resumed their drive across the river.

Arriving in front of the City County Public Safety Building, Susan and
the lawyer climbed out of the back seat.  Neither Major Savage nor
Colonel Tinnerman moved.

Dismayed, Susan peered in the back window at Major Savage.  "Aren't you
coming with me?"

The major shook his head.  "When the police interview you, they won't
allow anyone but your attorney in the room.

The car will take the colonel and me to the base.  It'll be back for
you in about an hour."

With a lump in her throat, Susan turned away.  Major Savage wasn't the
friendliest commander she'd worked for, but she'd counted on his
support.  Instead, she had a fuzzy-faced lieutenant just out of law
school.

"I don't think they're going to charge you," Lieutenant Davidson said,
holding the door to the building open for her.  "But Major Savage
thought it would be a good idea for me to come along, regardless.  If
they do arrest you at some future time, you'd be better off with a
civilian attorney since your husband's murder occurred in a civilian
jurisdiction."

The young lieutenant sounded more capable than his youthful appearance
indicated.  But that didn't keep Susan's legs from shaking as she
walked to Detective Mac-Elroy's office.

MacElroy stood and extended his hand when Susan and Lieutenant Davidson
entered.  She recognized him immediately.  A big, barrel-chested man
with a florid complexion and bushy mustache, MacElroy was in charge of
the ongoing investigation into Brian's death.  Since the murder had
occurred off base, the local civilian authorities had jurisdiction.

After introducing Davidson, Susan shook MacElroy's hand and lowered
herself onto one of the two chairs in front of his inspection-clean
desk.

"Thanks for coming, Lieutenant Wade, Lieutenant Davidson," MacElroy
said.  After settling himself, he placed a tape recorder on his desk.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to tape our interview."

Susan caught Davidson's nod.  "That's customary," he said.

Swallowing hard, she gave a shaky "Yes."

MacElroy started the recorder.  When he focused on Susan, his eyes
narrowed.  "Since you're not under arrest, you're free to leave at any
time.  Is that clear?"

"Yes."  She forced the word out through clenched teeth.

"You have the right to remain silent, you have the right..."

As MacElroy droned on, Susan froze in her chair.  He's reading me my
rights, just like I'm a criminal.  When the detective was finished, she
turned to Davidson.  "If I'm not under arrest, why is he reading me my
rights?"  Her voice quavered so much she was shocked.

"Don't worry about it," Davidson said.  "It's just added protection for
you."  He focused on MacElroy.  "Let's hear what you've got."

The detective folded thick arms against the diamond-patterned sweater
he was wearing.  He looked first at Susan and then at Lieutenant
Davidson.  "We've found the murder weapon.  It was buried in the atrium
at Cavanaugh's Inn at the Park."  Cavanaugh's was a four-star hotel in
Riverfront Park, across the Spokane River from Archer's hotel.

Susan listened with bewilderment.  "That's very interesting, but I
don't know what it has to do with me."

His eyes narrowed.  "Were you in Cavanaugh's lobby the afternoon your
husband was murdered?"

Her insides turned to jelly.  "No, of course not.  You know where I was
that afternoon.  In my car on Argonne Road, trying to help an airman's
wife."  She stared at him accusingly.  "I never went near
Cavanaugh's?"

"You already know all this," Lieutenant Davidson interrupted.
"Lieutenant Wade told me she gave you this information in a signed
statement."

MacElroy kept his eyes pinned on Susan.  "Witnesses at Cavanaugh's
claim to have seen a woman who matches your description in the lobby
shortly after your husband was murdered."

Susan could hardly believe her ears.  The stuffy little room tilted,
and she heard a muffled roaring in her ears.  When she opened her mouth
to speak, nothing happened.

The witnesses are wrong, she wanted to scream.  I've never been
there.

Beside her, Lieutenant Davidson spoke.  "Captain Wade was killed more
than two months ago.  How can these people remember a specific day?"

"It was a holiday--Martin Luther King's birthday.  Remember?"  A smug
smile crossed the detective's face.

"That's right," Davidson returned.  "Two months ago Why have these
employees taken so long to come forward?"

"Because a gardener just found the gun today."  Mac-Elroy's expression
sobered.  "When we asked for a description of people in the lobby that
afternoon, several remembered a woman with long blond hair and brown
eyes, about Mrs.  Wade's height."

"That's impossible," Susan blurted.

"The witnesses especially remembered your long blond hair and the short
white dress you were wearing."  Mac-Elroy shot her a contemptuous
sneer, as though positive he'd find the dress if he searched her
closet.

"Not my hair," she corrected him.  "And I don't have a short white
dress."  She flashed him a look of disdain.  "I never wear white."

His lips twisted into a cynical smile.  "If you say so, Lieutenant
Wade."  A probing query came into his eyes.  "Since you're so positive,
I'm sure you won't mind letting us take your picture and
fingerprints."

Lieutenant Davidson jumped to his feet.  "You can't tell me you'd
arrest Lieutenant Wade on the strength of a photo ID!  Any fool knows
how unreliable pictures are."

Unperturbed, MacElroy leaned back in his chair.  "Settle down,
Lieutenant.  A photomontage is just another step in the process."  '

Davidson leaned over MacElroy's desk.  "What's this about
fingerprints?"

"If you'll sit down, I'll explain."

Reluctantly, Davidson returned to his chair.

MacElroy's eyes bored into Susan.  "We need your prints to compare with
some partials we found on the weapon."  He lifted a bushy eyebrow.
"Incidentally, the weapon was a 357 Magnum revolver registered to your
husband.  Ever remember seeing it around your house, Lieutenant?"

clenching her hands so tightly they hurt, Susan forced herself to look
directly into MacElroy's accusing eyes.  "No, Brian kept his gun at the
squadron.  It was stolen last November around Thanksgiving."

"Was the theft reported?"

"I honestly don't know.  Brian didn't say."

MacElroy's eyes narrowed, and she could tell he thought she was lying
through her teeth.

She hadn't believed Derek Archer, she remembered, increasingly anxious.
She'd thought he was a con man, trying to work a swindle on her, and
now she was in the same position.  The image of his expressive face
appeared in her mind.  What she wouldn't give to be back with him in
the Riverfront Hotel right now, worrying about something as unimportant
as an insurance policy.

Chapter Three

When the staff vehicle finally reached the Riverfront Hotel where
Susan's ear was parked, she clambered out so quickly her purse slid to
the ground.  Bending to pick it up, she saw Derek Archer stride through
the lobby doors.

After what she'd been through, she didn't want to talk to him, and
turned away, hoping he wouldn't follow her to her car.  She didn't want
him to see her like this, flustered and scared, afraid the police might
actually indict her for Brian's murder.

He didn't take the hint, easily catching up with her as she hurried
away from him.  "I hope you don't have to go back to work, so we can
finish our business."

She looked up at his face.  Taller and broader than she remembered, he
let his cold blue eyes, now strangely seductive, drift from her face
down to her uniform-clad breasts and back to her face again, in a
sweeping, deliberate movement.

Her face flushing with unexpected heat, she almost increased her pace
and told him to leave.  But that would be a cop-out.  His insolent
glance was a conscious challenge, and Susan couldn't ignore it, no
matter how decrepit she felt.  So instead she turned and faced him.
"It'll have to wait until tomorrow, Archer."

"I don't want to pry into your business, Susan, but I'm a good
listener," he said, buttoning his overcoat in the gathering darkness.

So he was curious about what had happened at the police station, was
he?  That's what his challenge had been about.  Disconcerted, she
stepped off the driveway onto the sidewalk, trying to decide whether or
not to tell him.

Behind those sexy eyes of his lurked a bitter cynicism that made her
distrust him.  After being photographed and fingerprinted at the police
station, her earlier suspicions about him seemed silly.  But he was
still a stranger, not somebody she could discuss her personal feelings
with.

"No, I've got to get home."  Susan started toward her car again.  "I'm
bone-fired.  Our business will have to wait."

He fell into step beside her.  "So what're you going to do?  Go home
and have a good cry?"

His abrupt, taunting words took her breath away.  "Wha-what do you
mean?"  At the base of her throat, she felt a pulse beat as though her
heart had risen from its usual place.

"Isn't that what you were about to do?  Huddle down in a corner
somewhere and cry?"  His iridescent blue eyes focused on her so
accusingly that she shivered.

"I'm not upset," she lied, unable to meet his gaze.

"Of course you are.  The police have you scared witless.  Now you're
going home and giving up, just like a world class quitter."

Susan could feel her eyes filling and swallowed hard, trying to force
the tears away.  He was right, damn him.  She had planned to go home
and spend the night feeling sorry for herself.

They'd reached the end of the sidewalk.  He stopped and faced her.
"What'd they do?  Accuse you of killing your husband?"

She blinked her tears away.  "How did you guess?"

"I took one look at your face when you got out of that staff car."  His
eyes were no longer menacing.  "I can help.  Let's go somewhere we can
talk."

NEXT TO SUSAN in her Firebird, Archer silently congratulated himself
for forcing the truth out of her.  He felt an unexpected pang of
remorse that he'd made her cry, but told himself not to feel sorry for
her: she'd probably killed her husband.  Whatever she'd done, the
knowing did nothing to lessen his lust for her.  When she was around,
he halfway forgot his desire for revenge.

Don't screw up by playing around with Brian Wade's widow, he warned
himself.  She's only a resource for information to use against those
dirt bags who witnessed against me.  But he couldn't rid himself of his
awareness, no matter how much he concentrated on the downtown area as
they drove through it.

Archer knew where she was headed.  High Drive Parkway paralleled the
edge of a steep drop-off to the canyon floor over one hundred feet
below.  The executive homes across the road sat well back from the rim,
their windows looking out over miles of breathtaking scenery.  On the
canyon floor, a freeway snaked its way south.

Susan pulled into a turnoff.  Nearby, a bench faced the hill across the
canyon, now lined with scarlet in the rapidly fading light.

Archer undid his seat belt and leaned back against the passenger door,
giving her plenty of room.

"Did they come right out and accuse you?"  He made sure his tone was
only mildly interested.  She mustn't guess he had an urgent need to
know if the police had connected Brian Wade's death to the murder of
the squadron commander last year--and if they considered the
middle-aged man in the newspaper picture a suspect.

"They didn't arrest me, if that's what you mean."  Lifting her chin,
she looked him straight in the eye.  "The police found the gun they say
shot Brian at Cavanaugh's Inn.  It's got a skylight and an atrium in
the lobby."

She swallowed hard, and Archer waited patiently while she got control
of herself.  "The weapon was buried in the dirt of a planter in the
atrium.  When the police questioned hotel personnel; several described
a woman who looked like me.  They say she was in the lobby that
afternoon."

"Several employees described this person?  After two months?"  Archer
whistled softly.  "Looks like somebody went to a lot of trouble to make
sure those people remembered her, whoever she was."

"Somebody went to even more trouble," she said grimly.  Archer could
see her mood veer sharply from despair to anger.  "What?"  Leaning
across the car seat toward her, he caught a faint whiff of female skin
and spicy lemon, and had to force himself to inch backward, away from
her

Unconsciously, Susan moved toward him, maintaining the same distance
between them.  That afternoon Brian was killed, somebody called me at
the office, claiming to be the wife of one of my airmen.  She said she
was calling from a pay station along Argonne Road because she'd run out
of gas.  She'd left the house to get away from her husband and didn't
dare let him find her until he'd cooled off."

Susan gave a forced smile, seeming irritated at herself for being taken
in.  "I should have known better than to traipse out there--her voice
didn't sound right to me.  But he's one of my best airmen, and I hated
to see him end up in jail for wife beating.  You can't imagine how
upset I was to telephone their house when I got home and find out she
hadn't made the call."

He nodded slowly.  "From my army days I remember how close our--" in
the nick of time he remembered that a squadron was called a company in
the army "--company was as a unit.  Like a family."

Her expression brightened.  "Then you understand how it was."

TO his surprise, Archer found he almost believed her.

"Why wasn't the woman's husband--your airman--in the office with you?"
he asked, caught up in her story.

"Because of the holiday," she returned.  "The squadron had
Heres--C-130s--in the air, so somebody had to be on duty in all the
sections.  I let my airmen off, and took the duty myself."

She gave a hysterical little laugh.  "And if all that's not bad enough,
the police say the gun they found in the atrium was registered to
Brian."

"Then you had access to it."  Archer whistled softly under his breath.
Glancing at her chest he saw her expert marksman's ribbon.  He forced
himself to concentrate on the decoration and not on the feminine curves
underneath her uniform.  The sight brought back his fantasy of the two
of them entwined in an intimate embrace.  He wasn't able to let it go
as easily this time.

"When I told them he kept the gun at the squadron, I'm sure they didn't
believe me," she added.

A twinge of foreboding rippled down Archer's spine.  The mysterious
telephone call, the reliable witnesses at the hotel, the late discovery
of the murder weapon, its registration to her husband--her story had
the touch of a well-thought-out conspiracy.

"Whoever planned this knew a lot about you and your schedule," he
remarked, reviewing her words in his mind.  "I'm betting somebody's
trying to frame you."

He heard her quick gasp.  Panic glittered in her eyes.  "My God, what
am I going to do?"

"You can get me to look into your husband's death," Archer returned
quickly.

HAD SHE HEARD HIM RIGHT?  Susan wondered.  "What?  Are you a private
investigator on the side?"

When he shook his head, another lock Of black hair dropped casually
across his forehead.  "No, but I've done some investigative work for my
company.  Since I've got to spend a few days here, anyway, calling on
prospects, I could ask some questions, see what I can find out about
your husband's murder."

Be careful, she warned herself, unwilling to trust him too far.  He's a
good salesman, and he 'wants something from me.  But what?  In spite of
her doubts, she felt herself reac-ing to his compelling indigo eyes,
his square-cut features, the confident set of his shoulders as he sat
next to her in the car.

"What makes you think you can locate Don Albright when the police don't
have a clue?"  she asked; eyeing him suspiciously.

"I'm not talking about Albright."  He studied her with curious
intensity.  "You're not dealing with one man here, Susan.  Too much
coordination went into your husband's murder to blame it on one
individual with revenge on his mind.  If one man was responsible for
both murders, he had a lot of help."

When Archer paused, Susan could see the wheels turning in his head.
"There's no other way to explain why the lights were turned off an
instant before the commander was murdered last year," he went on.  "Or
the fact that somebody was awfully familiar with your schedule--and
your husband's, too.  They had to be to lure you away from the office
at exactly the fight time on a holiday when you nor-really wouldn't be
there."

Susan felt herself frowning.  "You might be fight about accomplices
being involved.  But Don Albright's behind this.  I'd bet a year's pay
on it."

The car was getting stuffy.  Climbing out, she walked across the
yellowed grass to the edge of the precipice.  To the south, stands of
fir trees circled the emerald green of a golf course beside the divided
freeway.  Directly below, the steep slope dropped one hundred feet to
the valley.

Instantly, the blood rose to her face and the scene swam dizzily before
her eyes.  Looking straight down had been a mistake.  Susan stumbled
backward, her stomach a lump of ice.  Archer appeared beside her, a
large, solid presence.  Acutely 'conscious of his tall, athletic
physique, she took another step backward.  Did she feel comforted or
threatened by his nearness?  To her dismay, she wasn't sure.

"Vertigo?"  His smooth baritone voice was both soothing and
disconcerting.

She gave a shaky laugh.  "It's not a phobia.  High places don't bother
me as long as I look into the distance, not straight down."
Deliberately, she forced her gaze to follow the gray ribbon of freeway
south until the canyon disappeared on the horizon.  Almost immediately,
her stomach

Turning, he headed toward the bench.  "Let's sit down."

Her legs still shaky, Susan stumbled after him.  When she slid onto the
bench, she left plenty of space between them.

"If heights bother you, I'm surprised you brought me here."  His gaze
traveled over her face and sought her eyes.  Now that the sun had gone
behind the opposite hill, his square-cut features were bathed in the
sunset's rosy glow.  His rugged good looks made her forget her
d'mziness.

"That's the first time I've gone to the edge," she admitted weakly.
"After what I've been through today, this place seemed appropriate."

"I know what you mean about going to the edge.  I've been there a few
times myself."  Moving toward her, he thrust his ann behind her on the
bench.  Susan wanted to inch away, but couldn't force herself to
stir.

"Let me ask a few questions about your husband's murder," he suggested
again.  This time there was a forced urgency behind his offer, as
though something valuable would be lost if she refused.  "I know I can
help."

To keep herself from being influenced by his nearness, she took a deep
breath.  The cold, dry air tasted so fresh and clean she wished she
could bring some home to her empty condo.

"I don't know," she said honestly.  "Your offer's awfully generous.
What's in it for you?"  As she felt the pressure of his arm against her
back, an involuntary quiver coursed through her.

"I don't like what's happening to you," he said.  "A long time ago some
people I thought were friends sold me down the river.  I swore I'd get
even if it was the last thing I did."

He sounded so vengeful, she turned, searching his compelling face. With
his lips pressed tightly together and deep scowl lines etched on his
forehead, he looked so brutal she shivered, sensing the force of his
hatred.  If people he considered his friends had betrayed him, no
wonder he seemed dangerous and vindictive.  But the thought of a
vengeful man like Archer working for her scared her.  It would be like
trying to control a black panther with a ribbon for a leash.

Turning back toward the opposite hill, she saw lights blink on, dotting
the surrounding landscape.  At her side, she felt the heat of Archer's
body, warming her through her uniform coat.  She resisted the urge to
move closer.

"Isn't it funny how things turn out?"  she asked, to defuse his anger.
"This morning I was sure you were a con man or a swindler.  Now I'm
thinking about hiring you as a private investigator."  To her dismay,
there was a note of unsteady laughter in her voice.

"Why did you think I was a swindler?"  The thread of tension in his
voice hadn't been there before.

when Susan put her gloved hand on his arm, wanting to soften her words,
a surprisingly intimate awareness surged through her.  Slowly removing
her hand, she forged ahead.  "First, because you weren't registered at
the hotel when I checked this morning.  But mainly because I had no
record of your company's insurance policy.  I can't imagine Brian
having a policy with me as beneficiary and not putting it where I'd be
sure to find it."

"That does seem strange."  But Archer's tone was matter-of-fact, as
though this happened all the time.  "Have you looked everywhere?"

She nodded.  "Before I went to Hawaii."

"How about safe-deposit boxes?"  Dropping his arm from the back of the
bench to her shoulders, he gave her a lit He hug.  Her heart lurched
into her throat.  What was there about this man that made her tremble
at his slightest touch?  Though keenly aware of his body against hers,
she didn't move away.

"Two policies were in the safe-deposit box," she said.  "Your company's
wasn't."

"You only had one box?"  he asked in the same cool tone.  Knowing she
had to get closer or escape, Susan slid away from him, toward the end
of the bench.  He removed his arm from her back, leaving an empty space
where he'd been.

"Why would we need more than one safe-deposit box?"  In spite of
herself, her voice trembled.

Turning slightly, he shrugged.  "Sometimes people keep separate boxes
for different types of items."

Now she saw what he was getting at.  "You mean illegal items or
anything a person doesn't want his spouse to know about?"  She stared
at Archer's rugged profile.  While she watched, a muscle clenched along
his jaw.

"Something like that."  Frowning, he paused.  "I'm not implying that
your husband was hiding anything from you.  I'm just saying it's a
possibility."

Much as Susan didn't like to admit it, she'd always felt Brian was
keeping something from her.  A safe-deposit box was infinitely better
than the woman friend she'd secretly suspected.

"Yes, it's a possibility," she agreed softly, rising from the bench.
Archer followed her to the car.

On the way back to the hotel, he suggested dinner, but Susan declined.
She intended to tear the condo apart when she got home.  If Brian had a
box key hidden there, she intended to find it.

"We still have the insurance policy to go over," Archer reminded her.
"And you haven't given me the green light on my offer to help."

"I know," Susan murmured.  "Let me sleep on it."  When he didn't press
her, she was grateful.

Mixed feelings surged through her when he took her hand before he got
out of her car at the hotel.  She still didn't trust him, but his touch
felt oddly reassuring.

"Tomorrow for lunch?"  His gaze held hers."

She nodded, jerking her eyes away to slow her pounding heart.  "I'll
see you then."

As she drove home, the touch of his hand and sound of his smooth
baritone voice replayed in her mind.  She'd known him less than eight
hours and already he acted almost as interested in her as Brian had
before their marriage.  Why ?  her suspicious mind kept asking.

It must be the insurance policy, she thought.  There's something about
it 4rcher's not telling me.

And why hadn't Brian told her about it?  If he had had a second, secret
safe-deposit box, where would he hide the key?

As soon as she got home, she searched the downstairs, then the two
upstairs bedrooms and bathrooms, but found nothing.

From inside the house, she entered the garage through the front hall on
the other side of the living' room.  Brian's workbench was opposite the
big double car door.  A feeling of sadness came over Susan as she
remembered Brian working there.  Even before he died she'd realized he
wasn't the right man for her, but that didn't ease her guilt and sorrow
at his death.

Glancing around the area, she saw the screws and nails he kept in
marked cans on a shelf above his bench.  One by one she dumped the cans
over, carefully replacing the contents of each before turning over
another.

She found the safe-deposit key in the next-to-last can.

WHEN PmCHama.all, a to his room after a quiet meal downstairs, the
blinker on his phone was flashing.  Even before he talked to the hotel
operator, he knew the message was from Susan.  Nobody else had any idea
he was here.

He dialed her number, a little surprised at himself for remembering it.
He was even more shocked when she recognized his voice.

"Thanks for calling back so soon."  She spoke eagerly, full of
enthusiasm.  "You were fight about the second safe-deposit box.  I
found the key about half an hour ago."

Archer felt himself stiffen with surprise.  He hadn't expected her to
find a key--had only suggested she look as an explanation for the
missing insurance policy.  Since she didn't need a copy of the policy
to collect the insurance, he hadn't dreamed she'd be so concerned about
finding it.

"Good for you!"  He strove to eliminate his surprise and put
matter-of-fact sincerity into his voice.  "I was pretty sure your
husband had another box.  That's got to be where he put my company's
policy.  Do you have any idea where the box is?"

"Not a clue."  Her voice dropped in volume.  "All that's on the key is
a number.  I suppose I'll have to call every bank in town to find out
where the box is."

"Don't call," Archer said, eager to spend an afternoon with her. "We'll
go to the banks tomorrow.  When we find out which one has the box,
we'll get the contents released to you since you're his widow."

"Will a bank release the contents?  Just like that?"  She sounded
doubtful.

"I don't know," Archer lied, "but it won't hurt to try."  He knew
damned well no bank would release the contents of a safe-deposit box to
anybody but a cosigner--not even a widow--without a court order.  But
as soon as she agreed to let him help her, she was well on her way to
accepting his offer to act as her private investigator.  And, if Archer
played his cards right, that meant more opportunities to pump her for
information and play her off against the other wit Besses.

On the other end of the line, Susan warned herself to go slow.
Impressed as she was with Archer--especially now that he'd been proved
right about the safe-deposit box--she didn't want to do anything
impulsive.

But she dismissed the thought as being paranoid again.  "All right,"
she said.  "I'll talk to Major Savage and arrange for tomorrow
afternoon off.  We can go to the banks then."

"Bring along some ID, your marriage license and a copy of the death
certificate."  Though his voice was solemn, Susan heard a trace of
elation.  Her heart gave a momentary leap, and she hugged her satin
robe more tightly around herself--as if a snug robe were a coat of
armor to shut out her confused feelings.

After she'd hung up, Susan shook her head, annoyed with herself. Archer
wasn't interested in her.  He simply wanted to locate the missing
insurance policy to prove Brian had it so she wouldn't think he was a
fraud.

His proposal to act as her private investigator was harder to figure
out, she thought, drumming her fingers on the table by the phone.  He
didn't impress her as a man who of-feted his time without a good
reason.  Somehow, his explanation that he wanted to help her because
he'd been betrayed himself didn't ring true.  Was there something else
behind his offer?  For that matter, was he really an insurance agent?
With her special training, she should have checked straight off.

She picked up the phone again and dialed the telephone number written
on the insurance forms he'd given her.  Though it was after nine at
night, maybe someone was in the office to handle claims.  If not, voice
mail might give her some information about the company, and she could
call back tomorrow.

A woman answered.  "Industrial Indemnity."

Mildly surprised at getting a person instead of an answering machine,
Susan asked for Mr.  Derek Archer.

"Mr.  Archer will be out of town until next week.  If you'll leave your
number, I'll have him call you tomorrow."

"You mean next week?  When he gets back?"  Susan felt her resistance
slipping.  The more she probed, the more it appeared that Archer was
exactly who he said he was.

"No, ma'am.  I mean tomorrow."  The woman's voice turned patronizing.
"He phones in for his messages every day.  If you'll leave your.
number, I guarantee he'll return your call."

"That won't be necessary," Susan said.  She'd found out what she wanted
to know.  Derek Archer really was an agent working for the Industrial
Indemnity Insurance Company.

THE CHAIn in FRONT of Major Savage's desk squeaked when Susan leaned
forward.  Crossing her ankles primly beneath her, she resisted her urge
to squirm in the chair like some ten-year-old called into the
principal's office.  A drop of sweat ran down her back, cold against
her skin.

The major's hooded, hawklike eyes surveyed her from across his desk.
"Of course you can take this afternoon off if you need it, Susan."

Her heart plummeted.  Something must be wrong.  Major Savage called
people by their first names only when he felt sorry for them.

"Thank you, sir."  She started to get up.

"Before you go, there's something we need to talk about."  He motioned
her back to her chair.

Sinking down, she leaned toward him.

"I'm sorry to have to do this, Susan," he began slowly, "but now that
you're under investigation by the police, I'm going to have to transfer
you out of the intelligence office."

Mortified, she lowered her head.  "Because of my top secret
clearance?"

He nodded.  "I'm sure you understand why we can't leave you there."

"Of course."  Was that squeaky little voice hers?  "I'll help out with
some of your unclassified work in the orderly room."

His hooded eyes studied her thoughtfully for a moment.  "Sergeant
Philips doesn't need any help in the orderly room."

Heat rose in Susan's cheeks.  "Then, what?"  she stammered.

He leaned back.  The movement made him seem even shorter.  Susan
straightened to see him better.

"Colonel Tinnerman took a shine to you when he met you yesterday.  He
can use some help in the security police shop--he's got some
unclassified research he needs done."  His expression softened.  "Quite
frankly, Susan, you'll probably be better off there than in the orderly
room.  If you stayed around the squadron, there'd be questions .... "

"I understand," she said, not understanding at all.  There would be
just as many questions if she left and wasn't around to defend herself.
Worst of all, she'd no longer have an excuse to snoop around the C-130s
and talk to the air and ground crews right after the planes landed.
Without that access, her covert mission was wiped ouL She'd failed at
Operation Macula, her first big assignment.

"Colonel Tinnerman's on your side, Susan," the major went on.  "Maybe
he can give you some helpful advice and counsel."

"I appreciate that, sir."  All she wanted now was to escape the major's
forced sympathy and get to a phone.  Her Pentagon controller had said
not to call unless the matter

r was urgent.  Getting fired from her job certainly qualified, since
it meant her investigation was finished.

Opposite her, Major Savage cleared his throat.  "If there's anything I
can do to help, please ask."

She hesitated, then plunged.  "There is one thing.  If I could have a
couple of days off before I report into Colonel..."

The major began shaking his head before she finished speaking.  "I'm
sorry, Susan, but Colonel Tinnerman wants you to start on his research
project tomorrow morning."

Before she could get up, the major came around his desk, his hand
extended.  "Thanks for your good work in the squadron, Lieutenant."

Susan took his hand.  It felt hot, dry, bony--like a claw.  "When I get
this mess straightened out, maybe I'll be back."

"Of course you will."  His smile seemed phony.

Lifting her arm in a quick salute, Susan didn't smile back.

"WE'LL HAVE YOU reassigned immediately."  The well-modulated voice on
the telephone was carefully neutral, re-veal hag no emotion.

"You can't do that."  Susan kept her irritation under control, her
voice as neutral as the man's she was talking to.  "I just told you the
police consider me a suspect in my husband's murder.  They don't want
me to leave the local area."

In the silence that followed, the growl of an eighteen-wheeler shifting
into low gear filled the air.  She slid the door to the phone booth
closed to block out the street noise.  "Did you do it?"  the voice
asked.

Heat flamed her face.  How could her Pentagon controller ask a question
like that?  "No, of course not."  She didn't let her humiliation show
in her voice.

"Your husband might have been one of the men we're looking for," her
controller reminded her.  "Your job for us makes you appear even more
guilty."  There was a subtle

warning in his words.  ""It's more important than ever that you keep
quiet about the operation."

"Don't worry, I know my orders."  She'd been cautioned a dozen times
that if something went wrong with her operation, she couldn't count on
the agency to come to her rescue.  As far as the outside world knew,
Pentagon Intelligence didn't get involved in cases like this.  After
she volunteered for the program, Susan received special training so
she'd know what to look for.

"We'll leave you assigned at the base where you are for the time
being," he said.  She noticed he was careful not to reveal her location
over the open phone line.  "Let me know if anybody's charged in your
husband's death.  Meanwhile, take yourself off the operation.  Though
you've found nothing to substantiate the rumors, there may be a
connection between your search and your husband's murder."

"Yes, sir," she returned automatically.  But in her mind she was
already planning to let Archer go ahead with his investigation.  If he
found out something she could report to her controller under Operation
Macula, so much the better.

Chapter Four

She'd forgotten how penetrating his eyes were, how they seemed to know
just what she was thinking.  Or rather, she hadn't forgotten, she'd
simply failed to reconcile their deep-down animosity with the lazy
allure of his gaze.

He was looking at her seductively now across the luncheon table, his
eyes such a dark blue they seemed almost purple.  Or was she
imagining--or wishing for--such a look?  Staring across at him, Susan
knew she'd get no sympathy when she told him about her transfer.  She
tried to put a humorous touch to her words so he'd see what stern stuff
she was made of.

"Now that I'm a suspect, Major Savage doesn't think I should be trusted
with classified material, so he's transferring me out of the squadron."
But as she spoke, the humiliation of being fired hit her anew, and her
attempt at humor failed.  She swallowed hard to dislodge the lump in
her throat.

Archer studied her intently from across the table.  "Don't start
feeling sorry for yourself again," he said, lifting one dark brow.  "If
I remember my army days correctly, people assigned on a temporary basis
could pretty much come and go as they pleased.  That'll be a plus.  In
the next few days we're going to need all the time together we can
manage."

She was caught off guard by the sudden vibrancy in his voice, and
didn't want him to stop talking, didn't want to lose the warm feeling
that coursed through her at hearing his rich baritone.

"You sound like you're looking forward to our time together," she said
without thinking.  As soon as the words were out of her mouth, she
could have bitten her tongue.

He held her gaze in a penetrating stare.  "Aren't you?"  She wanted to
look down at the table, but she couldn't.  His eyes were too hypnotic.
"I'm a widow whose husband has been dead only two months."  She was
proud of the firmness in her voice.  "What I'm looking forward to is
seeing Don Albright back in jail where he belongs."

A half smile crossed his lips.  It wasn't reflected in his cold blue
eyes.  In that instant Susan knew for sure her first impression was
right.  This man was dangerous.

"And what I'm looking forward to is helping the new widow clear her
name."  The taunting tone was back in his voice.

What was she letting herself in for, she wondered, hiring an
almost-stranger as a private investigator?  She sucked in her breath,
on the verge of telling him to forget their arrangement.  But what
alternative did she have with the police as good as accusing her of
murder and someone out to frame her?  Much as she hated the idea, she
needed Archer's help.

His familiar mask descended once again, and she felt his hand under her
arm, helping her out of her chair.  Unlike his taunting words, his hand
seemed strong, firm, protective.  When they crossed the lobby, she felt
him beside her, his powerful, well-muscled body moving with easy,
athletic

A dangerous man is what I need, she convinced herself as she fastened
her seat belt in his rental car.  If anybody can find a convicted
killer, it's a man who's just as deadly.

Susan felt him watching her, and turned her head toward him as he
started the engine.  Frowning, he searched her face in that enigmatic
way of his, with his lids slightly lowered.  "Where to?"

Susan probed around in her bag until she found the list she'd made last
night.  "We might as well start with the banks downtown."  Eyeing him
dubiously, she gave him brief directions to the first one.  "When we
find the right bank, do you really think they'll let me look inside the
box?"

He shrugged.  "Since you're not a cosigner, they're not supposed to,
but who knows?  Maybe we'll get lucky.  You can snow them with your ID
and marriage license, and your husband's death certificate.  Act like
they're violating your rights if they don't let you examine the box.
Threaten to sue.  That always gets people's attention."

At first she wasn't sure he was serious, but one look at his sober
expression convinced her.  "I don't want anybody to get into trouble or
do anything illegal," she protested, her doubts about Archer coming
back full force.

Without saying a word, he swung into a bus zone near the curb and
stopped, the engine id!ig.  "Excuse me, Susan, but I thought you wanted
to Find whoever's trying to frame you."  His eyes held hers
relentlessly.

She backed away from him, a shiver shooting up her spine.  "What's that
got to do with this safe-deposit box?"

"A hell of a lot."  He frowned at her like she didn't know which end
was up.  "What's inside that box may tell us who killed your
husband."

SUSAN HIT PAY Dirt at the fourth bank on her list.  While Archer waited
for her outside, she took the elevator down one floor to the vault
area.  Windowless, with fluorescent lights glaring down on plush
carpeting, the place was overheated and smelled faintly of a flowery
air freshener.

Unbuttoning her suit coat, Susan faced the clerk sitting at a desk
outside the vault's massive steel door.  "I'm Mrs.  Brian Wade, and I'd
like to get into our safe-deposit box, please."

The clerk, an attractive woman about Susan's age, appeared to recognize
the name.  "Just a moment.  I'll get your card."  Smiling warmly, she
swung her chair around and scooted to a cabinet behind her.

When she faced Susan an instant later, her smile had been replaced by a
worried frown.  "I'm terribly sorry, Mrs.  Wade.  Your husband is the
only signer for the box.  We can't let you have access unless he makes
you a cosigner."

"My husband passed away two months ago," Susan said, allowing her voice
to tremble.  She placed the death certificate on the desk, along with
her laminated driver's license.  "Here's the necessary information."
Tears filled her eyes and she didn't hold them back.  "I'm sure you
understand why I need to get into our safe-deposit box."

The woman nodded, her gaze sympathetic.  "Why don't you sit down here
beside my desk while I call the manager?  He has to approve this sort
of thing."  She picked up her telephone receiver and punched in a
number.

A few minutes later a man came out of the elevator and walked toward
them.  "Now, Mrs.  Wade," he began after the clerk had introduced him
as the manager.  "What can Inland Empire Bank do for you?"

Summoning all her pent-up emotion--as befitted a grieving widow--she
told him what she wanted.

"I'm sorry, Mrs.  Wade," he said when she'd finished.  "I know what a
difficult time this must be for you, but I can't let you open the box
without a court order."  He placed a pudgy hand on her arm.  "I'm sure
you understand."

"I'm not certain I do," Susan said tearfully.  "Since my husband's
dead, he can't possibly object to my seeing what's inside the box."

The manager sighed.  "I know, I know.  Some of these regulations don't
make much sense."  His expression brightened.  "But you should have no
trouble getting a court order."

"How long will that take?"

He shrugged.  "If your lawyer pushes the right buttons--a day or
two."

As quick as that?  A thrill of anxious anticipation touched her spine.
Some time in the next couple of days she'd learn Brian's most guarded
secrets.  But now that the moment of revelation seemed near, 'she
wasn't sure she wanted to know them.

The chunky bank manager was watching her closely, one hand thrust
inside the pocket of his ample trousers.  His sigh of relief was
audible when she turned toward the elevator.

Archer was waiting for her outside, leaning against the building's red
brick facade.  Like her, he was dressed in a business suit.  But unlike
her, in his crimson tie and Gucci loafers, he looked more cosmopolitan.
Susan couldn't help noticing that every woman glanced their way.

"Brian's box is in this bank," she said, starting up the street toward
Parkade, the tiered parking garage where they'd left his car.

He swung into step beside her, and she found herself highly conscious
of the springy, athletic movement of his stride.

"That's what I figured when you took so long," he said.  "Did they let
you look inside?"  He appeared as eager to find out what was in the box
as she was.

"No.  I need a court order.  The bank manager said my lawyer should be
able to get one quickly."  When they passed under a covered
second-story sidewalk, part of a syslem permitting inside access to
eleven blocks of downtown stores, his hip brushed hers.  Susan could
hardly believe the way her pulses leaped with excitement at his brief
touch.

Take it easy, Lieutenant, she warned herself, fighting the warmth
coursing through her.  Wouldn't he delight in knowing she heated up
like a bonfire when he touched her?

"Where's your lawyer's office?"  he asked, not seeming to notice her
flushed face.

"On Broadway," she replied without glancing toward him.  "Across the
river near the courthouse.  You can drop me off there, and I'll take a
cab home."

The irritated look he gave her made her sorry she'd suggested the taxi.
"I'll wait in the car," he said.  "When you're finished, we can decide
where to go from there,"

SUSAN STILL COULDN'T figure out what Archer wanted from her.  But she
was even more positive that he wanted some-thing--more than helping her
settle an insurance claim.  The suspicion gave her an antsy, anxious
feeling, like waiting for the other shoe to drop.

During the few minutes she sat in the plush waiting room while her
lawyer finished a telephone call, she ran the possibilities over again
in her mind.  And, as always, she discarded every angle almost as soon
as it occurred to her.

The most logical one--that he was a con artist out to swindle
her--didn't add up, now that she knew he was a legitimate insurance
agent.  And the notion that he might be helping her because he liked
her seemed absurd.  Men like Archer didn't do favors for people because
he liked them.  Settling back in the comfortable chair provided by the
attorney, she shrugged off the disquieting notion that she'd only seen
a small part of him, that he kept most of himself carefully hidden.

When her lawyer escorted her into a small conference area, the first
thing Susan did was peer out the picture window overlooking the parking
lot.  There sat Archer's blue rental sedan.  He stood beside it,
leaning casually against the closed door.  His unselfconscious grace
made her think of a resting panther--dangerous even when relaxed.

While she watched, two women sauntered up to him from the nearby
sidewalk.  During the conversation that followed, he shook his head a
few times, then pointed toward a bridge leading across the river. Susan
sighed with relief when they walked away.  How could one man evoke so
many different feelings?  she wondered.  From tenderness, to suspicion,
to plain old jealousy.

"Susan?"  She became aware of her lawyer, speaking her name.  "Our
receptionist said you needed a court order."

In a few words Susan told the attorney about the safe-deposit box and
her encounter with the bank manager.  But while she talked, all her
busy mind could think about was Archer and why he'd offered to help
her.

Why not ask him?  If he had something to hide, he probably wouldn't
tell her.  Still, wasn't it worth a try?  By the time the lawyer had
assured Susan she'd have the court order in the next few days--maybe as
early as tomorrow afternoon-she had made up her mind to ask him.

When she returned to the parking lot, Archer was waiting inside the
car.  He got out when he saw her coming.

"That didn't take long," he said.  "Was the bank manager right about
the forty-eight hours?"  Opening the passenger door, he helped her
inside.

"Yes.  We'll have the court order in the next couple of days.  Now all
I need is a few hours off from my new job."

He started the engine.  She didn't miss the satisfied smile on his
face.

"Before we do anything more, there's something we need to get
straightened out," she said, keeping her voice deceptively calm.  Might
as well get this over with right now, she thought.

Switching the engine off, he turned toward her and leaned back against
the door.  "So let's have it.  What do we need to get straightened
out?

There was a wary watchfulness in his expression that made Susan wish
she'd never brought this up.  He focused his cold blue eyes on her, and
she backed away from him on the car seat, even as she reminded herself
she was the boss here, not him.

"Before we go any further with our investigation," she said slowly, "I
want to know the real reason you offered to help me."  Hardly
breathing, she tried to detect any change in his expression that might
clue her in as to his thoughts.  But nothing changed.  His brow
remained furrowed, his mouth drawn down.

Then he drew in his breath and drawled an answer in his rich baritone
voice.  "So you spotted the lie I told you yesterday.  For your
information, I don't give a tinker's damn about what happens to you,
lady."

Too shocked to speak, Susan stared wordlessly at him.  "There's only
one reason I'd take on a two-bit job like this," he continued abruptly.
"For the money, of course.  I expect to be paid for my services."

He gazed at her with a bland half smile.  "You look surprised.  Why
else would I offer to work for you?"

"Why I ... I don't know."  The words came out a broken whisper.

It was obvious to Archer that, finally, she believed him.  What irony.
She wouldn't believe the noble half truth he'd told her yesterday: that
he'd been shafted and didn't want to see the same thing happen to her.
But she was perfectly willing to accept a crass financial motive for
his good deed.

What would she say, he wondered, if she knew the whole truth?  That
since being convicted of last year's murder, he'd been obsessed with
getting even with the men who betrayed him?  That she was a mere tool,
a means to that end?

"Since you've brought up the money, maybe we should talk about your
wages."  Sitting up straighter, Susan lifted her chin, forcibly getting
a grip on herself.

Looking into her earnest brown eyes, Archer almost named a ridiculously
low amount.  Why did this woman have to have the widest, most beautiful
eyes he'd ever seen?  And the softest-looking skin?

But she'd get suspicious again if the amount was too low.  He did some
quick mental calculation and named the highest figure he thought she'd
buy.  "You'd pay three times that for a full-time investigator who's
any good."

She gasped.  "I can't afford anything like that."

"Of course you can," he said evenly.  "You've already said you were the
beneficiary of two insurance policies in addition to my company's.
Plus, when your husband talked to me about his policy, he bragged about
making a killing in the market.  His death left you a wealthy woman."

From her startled look, Archer knew he'd guessed right.  Just thinking
about Wade and how his friend had betrayed him made his stomach clench.
As Susan's private investigator, he'd have a good excuse to confront
the remaining witnesses.  If he played his cards right, he could seam
the hell out of them.  And eventually he'd ruin them, the way he'd
planned to ruin Brian and the two who'd died in accidents.  He
struggled to keep his face calm.  He'd been cheated of his revenge for
those three.  He refused to be cheated for the others.

Susan's brow creased with worry.  "How long is your investigation going
to take?"  Leaning toward him on the car seat, with her golden curls on
her shoulders, she reminded him of a picture he'd seen a lifetime ago
when he was a boy.  The image was of a very pretty young girl with
exactly the same shade of hair as Susan's, leaning over a table set
with three bowls of oatmeal.

He shook off the thought.  Susan might have gold-blond hair and brown
eyes to die for, but she wasn't Goldilocks in a fairy tale.  Then,
unexpectedly, his fantasy returned and he was stroking her bare skin,
her long hair, and feeling her breasts against his chest.  Damn.  The
fantasy was getting harder to let go of.  With her hair down now that
she wasn't in uniform, she fit into his.  lurid dream even better.

But no matter how much good old-fashioned, healthy lust he felt for
her, this woman wasn't for him.  So why the hell did the air smell
cleaner and sweeter when she was around?  Why did this crappy world
seem more vibrant to him when she sat beside him in the car?

For so long now, he'd thought about nothing but settling the score with
the men who betrayed him.  But when she was near, he lost his
singleness of purpose.  Even now, in spite of the plain brown suit she
was wearing, he found himself intensely aware of her sculpted figure
beneath.  Healthy lust.  That's all it was.

"So how long will your investigation take?"  she repeated, her eyebrows
raised inquiringly.

He res tatted the engine to get his thoughts back on track.  "I'll be
here in Spokane a week," he said, turning out of the parking lot.  "But
I'm guessing I can figure out what's going on in a couple of days--if
you give me the green light."

"A couple of days?  Get real, Archer."  She turned in the seat to face
him.  "The police have been hunting for Don Albright for almost a year
with no success.  They've spent more than two months trying to find
Brian's killer and the only suspect they've come up with is me."

Tears glistened in her eyes.  She turned away so he wouldn't see, but
he didn't miss much and spotted them right away.  You're a real nice
guy, killer, he told himself, knowing she might expect him to taunt her
if he caught her on the verge of tears.

But far from wanting to taunt her, Archer found himself eager to take
her in his arms and kiss her tears away.  Then he'd kiss those
wonderful full lips of hers the way they were meant to be kissed--long,
hard, full of passion.  After which she'd probably slap him in the
face, he thought dryly.  Turning back to the road, he told himself to
concentrate on his driving.

"I won't guarantee I'll have all the answers for you in three or four
days," he said.  "But I'll have enough information to make your
investment in me worthwhile."  Pans-ing, he tried to figure out what it
would take to make her grab the bait.

"Tell you what," he began cautiously.  "I'll work for you for the next
three days.  We'll get together every evening, and I'll tell you what
I've found out.  If you don't like the way the investigation's going at
the end of the three days, you don't owe me a cent."

"And if I do?"  He could tell she was intrigued by his offer

"Then you pay what you owe and let me finish the job or as much as I
can manage during the time I'm here."

For a long moment she didn't move, and he saw the hesitation in her
eyes.  Then she stuck out her hand.

"Done," she said.

Taking her hand, Archer felt its warmth surge through him.  For a
moment he held fast to her fingers, reluctant to release them.  Then
reality set in, and he quickly freed her hand.

TANGLED FEELINGS SURGED through Susan as Archer headed west toward her
condo.  One part of her gloated that she'd been right all along.  He
was nothing but a crass materialist, out for financial gain.  But
another part of her wasn't satisfied with such a simple explanation.
She didn't want him to be that kind of person.  She didn't know exactly
what she did want him to be.  Anything but what he was, she supposed.

Idiot, she told herself, turning her head to study his aquiline nose,
generous mouth.  His forehead was creased from his perpetual frown. She
wondered what his skin would feel like beneath her fingertips. Since it
was late afternoon, his beard had begun to emerge, a dark shadow
against his skin.  How would the roughness feel against her face?  Heat
rising to her cheeks, Susan flung her thoughts aside when she realized
where they were taking her.

"Is that how you can afford Brooks Brothers suits and Gucci loafers?"
she asked pointedly.  "By picking up odd jobs here and there on company
time?"

"Exactly."  He shot her a crooked smile.  "Don't get the idea I'm
putting something over on my company.  They know I moonlight
occasionally."

If she'd hoped to embarrass him, she hadn't succeeded.  Whisking an
imaginary speck off his pant leg, he seemed pleased that she'd noticed
his expensive clothing.

"Now that you've come into some money," he advised, "you should try
shopping at one of the better stores.  Stylish clothes'll do wonders
for both your figure and your morale."

Irritated by his frankness, Susan stared straight at the road ahead.
"Thanks for the advice, but I hired you to find the man who's trying to
frame me, not to criticize what I wear."

Archer pulled up outside her condo and parked in the driveway.  "Thank
you, ma'am," he said.  "I'll remember that."

He unbuckled his seat belt and turned to face her.  Before he could
mask his feelings, she saw the unbridled desire in his eyes.  Suddenly
Susan's heart leaped into her throat.  He was going to take her into
his arms.  She knew it as surely as she knew her own name.  Worse, she
wanted him to.  Her body yearned, ached, for his touch.

She sat frozen, waiting for him to move.

For an instant he sat there motionless.  Then the familiar frowning
mask descended over his features as though another part of him had
taken control.  "I'll call you tomorrow, and we'll get together for
dinner."

Susan wasn't sure whether to laugh or cry.  She'd expected him to reach
for her.  But her logical mind told her it was for the best.  Nodding,
she opened the door and got out with as much dignity as she could
muster.

"We'll meet for dinner at the Blue Boar," she said, mentioning the most
expensive restaurant in town.

His eyes raked coolly over her.  "You might as well let me pick you up.
The car comes under the heading of expenses, so you're paying for
it."

"Only if I like your information."

He gave her his cynical half smile.  "Don't worry.  You'll like it."

She marched up the walk to her condo, her back straight,.  listening
for the engine noise that indicated he was backing down the driveway.
But there was no sound.  He didn't leave until she'd unlocked her door
and shut it safely behind her.

WHE SUSAN HO SJ Lieutenant Colonel Tinnerman up close in the car
yesterday, he'd reminded her more of a rural southern preacher than a
man who devoted his life to law enforcement.  Susan's new boss, the
commander of the security police squadron at Fairchild, had a button
nose, thinning hair and cornflower blue eyes.  One of the plainest men
she'd ever met, he h. ad an angular, scarecrowish body that seemed
oddly uncoordinated.

When Susan appeared in his office to report in, he smiled so warmly
that she promptly forgot how plain he was.  She saluted.  "Lieutenant
Wade reporting as ordered, sir."  After standing and returning her
salute, he extended his hand.  "Welcome aboard, Susan."  He had a soft
Texas accent and the pleasing manner of a congenial talk show host.

"Sit down."  He motioned toward a straight-backed chair beside his
desk.  "Since we both know why you've been reassigned to my squadron, I
see no reason to discuss your visit to the police station yesterday
unls you want to?"

She sighed with relief.  "If I never-talk about it again, it'll be too
soon."

He laughed out loud.  "Good.  You're honest.  I like that in my
people."

Susan stiffened.  Why was her new boss being so charming?  From the
warmth in his voice, he might be welcoming a colonel from the inspector
general's office instead of a lieutenant who'd just been kicked off her
job.  Could he know about her covert mission?

Not possible.  The Pentagon said no one at Fairchild would know.  And
no one in the civilian intelligence community either.

Her head high, she lowered herself onto the chair.

The colonel eyed her with evident approval.  "Did Major Savage tell you
anything about my research Project?"

She shook her head.  "Only that you wanted me to get started first
thing this morning."

"That's right, Susan."

He'd used her first name again.  After Major Savage's austere manner,
Lieutenant Colonel Tinherman talked like one of the family.  Susan
wondered if he was as friendly as he sounded or if this was an
interrogation method used by security police people to soften up their
suspects.

Yes, suspects.  She repeated the word grimly in her mind.  Whether she
liked it or not, she was a suspect in her husband's death.  At least
that's what Detective MacElroy thought.

"Ever since I got here I've been wanting to do a study comparing the
incidence of military and civilian criminal acts in the Spokane area,"
the colonel said.  "But I could never spare an officer to do it."

Susan smiled sympathetically.  "I hope i can help."

He rubbed his hands together in obvious satisfaction.  "I'm sure you
can."  He stood and so did Susan.  "Come along and I'll show you your
office."

The concrete building housing the security police squadron was
constructed like an adobe fort, with no windows and a sloping grassy
mound covering three-quarters of its outside walls.  A tiled hallway
led from the front entrance through the center of the building.  It was
off this hallway that the colonel had set up an office for her.

Peering through the door, Susan liked what she saw.  A computer and
printer sat on a table beside a gray metal desk.  Behind the desk was a
metal executive chair.  A four-drawer file cabinet stood beside the
desk.  But best of all, she wouldn't have to go through anybody else's
office to get to hers.

"Do you like it?"  The colonel watched her with what she interpreted as
friendly anxiety.

"Like it?"  She flashed him a smile of thanks.  "I love it, Colonel
Tinnerman.  This is nicer than any intelligence office I've ever had."
Touched by his kindness, she swallowed hard.

His round, weathered face beamed at her words.  "I'm happy to hear
that, Susan," he said in his slow Texas drawl.  "You're having a hard
time just now, and I'd like to make things as easy for you as I can."

She took a deep breath.  Was this the right time to ask for an
afternoon off?

"I don't want to sound like I'm taking advantage, sir," she began
cautiously, "but there is one thing I'm going to need in the next
couple of days."

The indulgent glint in his eyes matched his approving smile.  "I
thought there might be."

Susan hesitated no longer.  "An afternoon off."

He nodded.  "Any particular afternoon?"

"It may be tomorrow, it may be a day or two after that."  He lifted an
eyebrow questioningly.  Susan knew he was curious, but decided not to
tell her nice new boss about the safe-deposit box.  Once he knew about
it, she'd almost have to tell him what was inside.  And that was
something she might never want anyone to find out--no matter how
understanding he was.

Instead, she explained that she expected to receive a large insurance
check in the next few days and would need time off during the day to
deposit it and talk to her financial adviser.

He seemed to buy her explanation.  As a matter of fact, there's no
reason for you to be on a rigid time schedule.  As long as the
project's done by the end of next month, I'll be satisfied."

His generosity made tears well up in her eyes again.  "That's good of
you, sir.  I appreciate all your consider--"

"You don't have to thank me," he interrupted, patting her gently on the
shoulder.  "If my daughter had lived, she'd be about your age.  I hope
someone would have helped her out if she ever got in a fix like
yours."

Susan's heart went out to him with new understanding.  "What happened,
sir?"  If he hadn't wanted her to ask, he wouldn't have mentioned his
child.

"We lost the baby after my wife was mugged in a department store
parking lot."  His voice turned harsh.  "She never got over the death
of the unborn child.  A couple years later she took her own life."

Susan gasped.  Hearing a horrid story told in such a matter-of-fact
tone squeezed the breath out of her.  The room spun dizzily around her,
and she leaned against the desk for support.  "That's tragic, sir," she
whispered.

"You're right, Susan.  It/s horrible."  His plain features hardened,
and a sudden thin chill hung on the edge of his words.  "That's why I
went into police work.  So I could do something about things like
that."

He smiled apologetically.  "I don't tell many people about that part of
my life--it all happened so long ago.  Please don't say anything to the
people in the squadron."

"Of course."  Still horrified by his grim tale, she had to force
herself to follow him to the file cabinet.  Inside was most of the data
she'd need for the study he wanted done.

He spent the next fifteen minutes explaining the system and giving her
general instructions about the research.  Susan only half heard him.
er imaginative mind kept visualizing his grim story.

If he could live through his terrible experience, so could she, Susan
told herself.  That must be why he'd told her--to give her the courage
to forge ahead.  Maybe knowing what was in Brian's safe-deposit box
would help her clear her

As soon as Colonel Tinherman left her office, she dialed her attorney.
The court order would be ready tomorrow afternoon.  Susan received the
news with a bewildering mixture of dread and anticipation.  What had
Brian kept hidden from her?

Chapter Five

Archer knew instinctively when Sergeant Naylor arrived at the dock
tower, could feel Naylor's eyes staring at the back of his head. Above,
the old dock clanged 8:00 a.m."  the time arranged for their meeting.
Slowly Archer turned around, away from the tower.  Bob Naylor, one of
his accusers, stood behind him in his uniform, a strained expression on
his weathered face.

"Mr.  Archer?"  he said, showing no sign of recognition.  Since Archer
had last seen him at the trial, Naylot's hair had turned from dark
brown to white.  He didn't let his surprise show on his face.  "Yes,
I'm Mrs.  Wade's private investigator."

"On the phone you said you had important new information."  Naylor's
voice grated like a much older man's.  He was in his mid-thirties, but
he sounded and looked fifty.

Leading Naylot to a bench in the shadow of the tower, Archer told him
about the two accidents.  "Mrs.  Wade and I think they may be tied in
to last year's murder trial," he added grimly, though he was sure there
was no connection.

When Naylot heard about the accidents, his lined face blanched to the
sickly gray color of moldy cottage cheese.  "Albright's picking us off
one by one," he said, his voice shaky.

"That's what Mrs.  Wade thinks," Archer agreed, mentally rubbing his
hands with satisfaction.  The more terror this man felt, the better.

Naylor got up off the bench and started to pace on the tiled surface
below the clock tower.  Nearby, a blacktopped path led through the park
lawn to a wooden footbridge across the river.

Archer fell into step beside Naylor.  "You really think AI-bright's
still alive?"

"Damn fight."  Naylor spit out the words.  "No ghost shot Captain Wade
or pushed Jack Evans off that ladder in San Antonio."

Like Susan, Naylor seemed determined Albright was he-hind the deaths.
Everybody figured a man who killed once wouldn't mind doing it again,
Archer thought sourly.  At least Naylot wasn't blaming Susan for her
husband's murder.  Reluctantly, Archer had to admit that pleased him.

"The authorities insist those two accidents weren't crimes," Archer
commented.  "But I'm inclined to agree with you.  They're connected to
the squadron commander's murder last year and Wade's death in January.
The that bothers me is Albright's role in all this.  From what Mrs.
Wade tells me, there's somethimg else going on here, than just a man
out for revenge.  Maybe it's a conspiracy some sort."

It was the same theory he'd voiced to Susan when she toldj him about
her mysterious phone call and the chase she'd gone on the afternoon her
husband was Archer tossed out the idea to see how

Beside him, the sergeant came to an abrupt stop stared up at Archer.
"What do you mean?"  His on an unpleasant twist.  "Mrs.  Wade's way off
in left if she thinks there's a conspiracy behind the.  deaths.  bright
killed those men because he wants revenge.  period.  Nothing else is
going on.  Nothing."  Clenching his looked away from Archer as if
sensing his tirade' was out of line.

I was right, Archer thought, watching the man's pale, frightened face.
There's something illegal in the works here, and this man knows what it
is.  Maybe he sincerely believes Albright's behind the accidents, and
Wade's murder.  But he knows damned well Albright has no connection
with the criminal activity, whatever it is.

Archer spent the next half hour trying to pry more information out of
Naylor.  But try as he would, he couldn't get the sergeant to reveal
anything else significant.

His meetings with the three remaining witnesses were even less
productive--probably because each had talked to Naylor before meeting
Archer.  But by the time he finished with them, he was convinced they
were all involved in some kind of crime.  Once he found out what it
was, he'd drag their names through the mud and ruin their lives the way
his had been destroyed.

In high spirits, he drove back to the hotel after his last session.  It
had been a very profitable day, and the night promised to be even more
enjoyable.  He imagined the interest in Susan's expressive brown eyes
when he told her what he'd lea rued

She's just a tool, he reminded himself.

THAT NIGHT When SUSAN Opened her condo door for Archer, she watched his
gaze drift downward from her face to her red wool dress to her
fashionable high-heeled pumps.  "New outfit?"  he asked, his expression
approving.

She nodded.  "I decided you were right.  I could use more color and
style in my wardrobe."

He stared at her with amazement.  "But you seemed so ... upset when I
mentioned it.  What changed your mind?"

Giving a self-conscious little laugh, she glanced down at the soft wool
skirt of the dress.  "When somebody's right, I try to admit it, even if
I don't like what they're saying."

His nod brimmed with reluctant approval.  "Good for

Maybe we'll get along better than I thought."

you'f you come up with some good information."  She turned toward the
closet so he wouldn't see his backhanded compliment had embarrassed
her.  Slipping into her coat, she followed him to his car, parked in
her driveway.

"You were right about my transfer being a blessing in disguise," she
said after they'd started toward downtown.

"How so?"  In the light from the oncoming traffic, Susan saw his
familiar cynical smile had returned, along with his wary distrust.  She
sighed.  Why couldn't his expression match the easy graCe of the blue
blazer he was wearing?

"My new boss acts like a long-lost father," she explained.  "He says to
take as much time off as I need."

Archer turned toward her with an expression that was frankly skeptical.
"You said you were transferred to the security poliCe squadron?"

"Yes.  The commander is Lieutenant Colonel Tinnerman."

"Does he treat everybody in the squadron with the same fatherly
attitude?"  Archer sounded as suspicious as he looked.

She nodded.  "I hear what you're saying.  I was a little worried that
he might have an ulterior motive for giving me preferential treatment,
so I checked around the unit.  Everybody love him.  He seems to be fair
and considerate with them, but hard as nails with anybody who breaks
the law."

"lie should be fair and considerate with everybody," Archer growled,
"including his prisoners.  That's what democracy is all about."

"He's got good reason to hate people who break the law."  Susan found
herself defending the colonel.  Quickly she related his grim story.
Though he'd asked her not to repeat it, Archer was an out-of-state
insurance agent who would never meet ColonelTinnerman When she was
finished, she sat in silence, watching him.  From his austere profile,
she couldn't tell if he'd been moved by the story or not.  It was as if
he'd shut himself off from her.

"We're almost there," he announced, nodding toward a sign featuring an
ugly tusked animal's head.  Across the street from Riverfront Park, the
Blue Boar restaurant occupied a prime piece of downtown real estate
within sight of the Carousel and Opera House.

"So, do you understand where the colonel's coming from?"  Susan asked
as he parked on a side street a couple of blocks from the restaurant.
Downtown was crowded for a Wednesday night, and there weren't as many
curbside parking spots as usual.

Archer shrugged at her question.  "What's to understand?  Something bad
happened to him a long time ago, and he's never gotten over it."
Pausing, he glanced her way.  "At least you know he's not trying to hit
on you.  Maybe you should count your blessings."

Something about the cold, matter-of-fact way Archer analyzed the
colonel's kindness made Susan recoil.  What kind of man reacted with so
lit He emotion to a story like the one she'd just told?  Remembering
the angry rebellion that lurked in Archer's eyes, Susan held her
tongue.  Maybe something just as awful had happened to him.

IN THE CROWDED RESTAURANT, they sat at a table with a linen cloth and
finished a bottle of cabernet sauvignon.  The most expensive wine in
the house, Archer thought, as he downed his third glass.  Susan hadn't
flinched when he ordered it, though he was sure she knew exactly what
it cost.

"Thanks for the wine," be said, swallowing the last drops in his glass.
"It's really quite good."

"Don't thank me yet."  Her eyes seemed even larger than usual tonight,
like luminescent black opals.  When she looked at him with those eyes,
it was only too easy to forget the trial and the men he'd sworn to get
even with.

"According to our agreement, I don't owe you a cent yet," she went on.
"Not until you give me a lot more information than you have tonight."

He favored her with a patient smile.  "On the way back to the car we'll
have more privacy.  I'll tell you then."  With satisfaction, he noted
her disappointed frown.  She'd appreciate his news more if she had to
wait for it.

Still, in that red dress with her gold hair brushed away from her face,
he was sorely tempted to give her whatever she asked for, no matter how
unreasonable.  Since he was helping himself by aiding her, he would
have worked for free.  But such an offer would have made her
suspicious.  Shifting uncomfortably, he stifled a momentary stab of
guilt at using her to get at the men who betrayed him.

Damn, he was doing it again--reacting to her in ways he didn't like.  A
convicted killer, he couldn't let himself feel anything more for this
woman than strong, healthy lust.  She was a tool, nothing more, and he
mustn't let himself forget it.

When he paid the bill, he stuffed a copy in his wallet, making sure she
saw him.

"I'll clip all the receipts together when I present my expenses day
after tomorrow," he told her in a conversational tone as they started
for the door.

"Thanks.  I hope your news will be worth it."  Her voice had all the
warmth of leftover meat loaf.  Clearly she thought he was exaggerating
his investigative ability.

Outside, the temperature had dropped to near freezing.  After buttoning
his overcoat against the cold, Archer took Susan's hand and drew it
over his arm.  Though he knew it was impossible, he would have sworn he
could feel her warmth through their heavy clothes.  He took a deep
breath of the frigid dry air, clearing his lungs--and his mind.  But
his deep breaths only let him smell her faint woodsy scent all the
more.

As he turned off the brightly lit boulevard onto the cross street, he
could hear her high heels tap-tapping along beside him and feel the
pressure of her arm leaning against him.  An unwanted protective
feeling swept over him.  Something about this woman awakened all sorts
of masculine instincts better left in the subconscious where they
belonged.  He tried to shrug them aside, but the effort only made him
more keenly aware of her.

Though it was just a little after ten, the street where Archer had
parked the car was almost deserted.  Slowing his pace, he scanned the
block ahead.  Attractive green awnings shadowed the arched windows of
modish little shops.  But the street's pleasing appearance didn't allay
Archer's vague impression that something was wrong.  Studying the
interiors of the cars parked alongside, he saw nothing.  Was this
apprehensive feeling another.manifestation of his newly awakened
protective instinct?

When he glanced down at Susan, she stared up at him with an expectant
expression.  "So what mysterious new information did you uncover today,
Sherlock?"

The faces of the four men he'd talked to appeared in Archer's mind.  "I
talked to the four remaining witnesses to last year's murder.  They
agree with you that Don Albright arranged the accidents and shot your
husband."

Her disappointed sigh was clearly audible.  "I told you that the first
time we met.  Don't tell me that's all you found out."

They reached the end of the block and started across the street.  There
was no traffic.  Ahead of them a young couple bundled in overcoats
climbed into a car parked at the curb.  No one else was on the
sidewalk.

Beside him, Susan still clung tightly to his arm, making noseeret of
her need for support in her new high heels.  She had a direct,
no-nonsense way about her that fascinated him Would she be the same in
bed?  he wondered, and was instantly irritated with himself for feeling
warmth in his loins.

When they reached the opposite curb, Archer started down the block,
careful to pace himself so she could keep up without stumbling.  "Now
that I've talked to all four men, I'm convinced they were involved in
criminal activity of some sort.  I'm also sure the three men who were
killed participated, too--or, at least, knew what was going on."

She stopped dead in her tracks and jerked her hand away from his arm.
"If that's true, then Brian was involved."

When he turned to face her, Archer caught a slight movement in the
alley ahead.  A pedestrian passage between two buildings, the
brick-tiled alley was used by the adjoining restaurant as a sidewalk
cafe in the summer.  Now its trees were bare and its benches empty.

Roughly Archer took Susan's hand and pulled it over his arm.  "Start
back the way we've come," he ordered, twisting her around.

"What's wrong?"  Her voice sounded alert but steady.  She must have
nerves of steel, he thought, feeling his own rush of adrenaline.
Someone lurked in the alley behind them.  The skin rose at the back of
his neck, and he edged Susan closer to the side of the building where
she'd be less of a target.

"Probably nothing."  He allowed no sign of alarm in his voice.  Though
he wanted to pick her up and run, he satisfied himself with increasing
his pace back the way they'd come.  At any moment he expected to hear
footsteps behind them.  Or worse, the crack of a handgun.  "Someone's
waiting in that alley in the middle of the block.  No sense getting
mugged unnecessarily."

He heard her quick intake of breath.  "Thank goodness you saw him."
Still holding his arm, she turned and looked over her shoulder as they
walked.  "You're right, Derek.  He's stepped out of the alley."  Other
than using his first name--which she'd never done before--she showed no
panic, only controlled excitement.

Archer stopped walking and swung around.  Half a block away a man
darted back into the alley when he saw them turn.  Wearing jeans and a
bright red jacket, he was too far away for Archer to get a good look at
his face.

Archer headed back toward the restaurant.

"Do you think he'll come after us?"  Susan spoke in the same alert
tone, spirited but without a trace of panic.  Her brown eyes glistened
with excitement, not fear.

He glanced over his shoulder.  "Doesn't look like it, but no sense
waiting around to find out."  For a tense few minutes, he continued
toward the restaurant and safety at the same hurried pace.  Not until
they were inside did he let himself relax.  "You wait here.  I'll get
the car."

Gripping his arm, her fingers showed surprising strength.  "It's not
safe.  Let's call the police."

He took one look at her wide, frightened eyes, and something inside him
melted.  At last she was showing signs of fear.  It was for him, he
realized.  For the past long year, no one had given a damn whether he
lived or died.  But now Susan did.

Annoyed, he warned himself not to go soft.  If she knew who he really
was, she wouldn't give a damn, either.  Or maybe she would.  She'd want
him dead.

"I was probably wrong about him being a mugger," he said, knowing he
couldn't afford an encounter with the police.  After they took his name
and address, they might check up on him.  A few telephone calls and
they'd realize Derek Archer hadn't existed before last year.

Before she could stop him, he hurried outside.  As he strode past the
alley, he glanced along the tiled passageway.  Empty.  Too bad.  He was
spoiling for a fight.  The SOB was probably afraid they had called the
police.  By the time Archer picked up Susan in front of the Blue Boar,
his adrenaline had stopped flowing.

"You were awfully calm back there on the street," he said grudgingly as
they drove away from the restaurant.  "Is the air force giving its
intelligence officers special training these days?"

"What do you mean special training?"  Her musical voice had a sharp
edge he hadn't heard before.

Archer glanced at her face.  In the shadowy glow from the oncoming
traffic, he caught her wide-eyed expression of alarm--considerably more
concern than she'd shown at the sight of the mugger.  For some reason,
she seemed unduly upset by his reference to special training.

A disturbing thought struck him.  If she'd had such training, could she
be an intelligence agent, assigned to Fairchild on a covert mission?
Archer decided to go over her file when he got back to the hotel.  Even
if the training was disguised as something else, there might be some
evidence of it in the information he'd collected about her.

Had he stumbled onto something important?

SErrzowr, Susan told herself.  Derek couldn't know about the special
training she'd received.  She'd overreacted and she knew it.

"I thought maybe you'd taken one of those self-defense courses
advertised on TV," he explained.

But that wasn't what he'd implied an instant earlier with his reference
to special air force training for intelligence officers.

"You were right the first time."  She settled back on the car seat.
"The air force offered a course in self-defense at my last base Anybody
could take it."

Derek nodded, 'paying more attention to her than to the' road.  They'd
left the downtown area and were headed toward her condo.

"You were smart to take the course," he said.  "From what I hear, you
can discourage a mugger just by appearing confident."

He believed her.  She went limp with relief.  "That's what our
instructor said."

"What base were you assigned to?"  When she didn't answer right away,
he glanced in her direction.  "Before you came here, I mean."

Susan felt her face flush.  Lying might be Part of an intelligence
operative's job description, but there was no way she'd ever get used
to it.  "Did I say base?  I meant the Pentagon.  That was my last
assignment."  The blood began to pound in her temples.

In the headlights from an oncoming car, she saw his derisive grin.
Though he asked no more questions about the training, she sensed he
knew she was lying about it.

So what?  she asked herself.  At least he didn't know why.  In a way it
was too bad she couldn't tell him.  If Derek knew about her covert
mission, he wouldn't lose respect for her because she lied.

Her covert mission.  She hadn't given it more than a passing thought
since her controller had taken her off the job yesterday.  In the eight
months she'd been here, she'd uncovered absolutely no evidence that
anything illegal was going on at Fairchild.  Yet Derek, after only one
day snooping around as her private investigator, had come up with a
notion similar to the Pentagon's.

For the first time Susan realized she'd been calling him by his first
name.  And he hadn't corrected her.  How she wished she could tell him
the whole story.

"The mugger interrupted your report," she said as he turned into her
driveway.  "Come inside and let's talk about what you found out."

THAT MUGGER DID ME a favor.  He got me inside the house.  Seated next
to Susan on the oversize leather sofa in her living room, Archer tried
to keep his creative imagination from picturing her without a scrap of
clothing, her long golden hair falling luxuriantly around her bare
shoulders.

Susan studied him with an expectant look.  "You were saying you thought
my husband's crew was involved in something illegal."  Instead of the
negative attitude she'd shown earlier, she leaned toward him as though
eager to hear his theory.  Watching her full breasts strain against the
dress's light wool fabric, Archer's fantasy came back more vividly than
ever.  He could feel her skin beneath his hands, her softness curved
against his chest.  Breathing deeply, he had to force himself to
concentrate on their conversation.

"I think the crew was using the C-130 for smuggling," he said abruptly.
"I think that's why your husband was killed.  Maybe he was about to
squeal and the organization found out ."  '

"You mean Don Albright found out," she corrected him.  "If something
illegal was going on, he had to be behind it."

What would she say, he wondered, if he told her he was Don Albright,
the convicted killer she so despised?  His gut tightened at the
thought.

"Maybe so," he agreed, "but he sure had a lot of help.  Luke I said
before, this smells like a conspiracy."  Smiling, he remembered the
scared look on Sergeant Naylor's face when he'd used that word.

"Drugs?"  She whispered the word breathlessly, as though it were the
worst profanity imaginable.

He shook his head.  "I don't think so.  This conspiracy has too much
finesse for drugs.  That telephone call to you was obviously part of a
carefully orchestrated plan to frame you.  From what I hear, drug lords
don't think that way."

"And you're saying Brian knew about this consp'n'acy, whatever it is?"
Her face had fallen.

How much did Susan love her husband?  Archer wondered, surprised at
himself for even thinking the question.

"Your husband had to be involved, Susan.  As pilot, he was the aircraft
commander."  Seeing the glint of tears in her eyes, Archer felt the
unexpected urge to comfort her and gave himself a swift mental kick.
What he wanted to do with

Susan Wade had nothing to do with comfort and everything to do with
throwing her down on this couch and holding her bare body against
his.

"Maybe Albright killed Brian because he was going to tell the
authorities what was going on."  Her voice was weak, without
conviction.

"That doesn't make sense," he returned.  "It assumes Albright was still
working with your husband."  Archer slid closer to her on the leather
couch.  "After your husband did his best to put Albright in prison for
the next forty years or so, I doubt they'd still be working
together."

She nodded in agreement.  "I was wrong when I said that.  Brian might
have had his secrets from me, but one thing I did know.  He had no
qualms about revealing how he felt about Don Albright."

"And how was that?"  Archer probed while watching the light play across
her face and wishing it were in his hands.

"Brian was sure Albright would try to get back at him for causing his
murder conviction--if he was still alive, that is.  He worried about it
all the time."  Her forehead creased in thought.  "So, of course, he
hated Albright."

She looked so downcast, his foolish urge to comfort her returned.  He
wanted to hold her in his arms and stroke her golden hair, and tell her
everything would be all fight.  But if the convicted killer did that,
she'd end up hating him.  To his surprise, he realized how she felt
meant something to him.  He'd been strangely humbled when she began
calling him by his first name.  Liking the sound, he'd come to expect
it.

"Shall I meet you at the bank tomorrow afternoon or pick you up here at
your place?"

With this new subject, the worry lines on her forehead disappeared.

"Here, I guess," she said.  "I want to get out of my uniform before we
go to the bank."

When he rose to go, she stood up with him and touched his hand.  She
was so close he could feel her warmth, could smell the mint liqueur
she'd drunk after dinner.  He felt her touch from his heart down to the
soles of his feet.

"One thing we need to get clear, Derek," she said, her businesslike
tone bringing him back to reality.  "I want to be alone when I see
what's inside that box.  Once I've looked, I'll decide who else needs
to know."

"Of course," he said, hiding his disappointment.  "I'll wait outside
the bank while you're in the vault."

IN His ROOM at the Riverfront Hotel, Derek took the bulging manila
folder labeled Susan Campbell Wade out of his locked suitcase.  By
studying her file, he hoped to confirm his newly aroused suspicion that
she was a trained intelligence agent.

First he examined her service record, obtained from the National
Personnel Records Center in St.  Louis through the Freedom of
Information Act.  Among other information, the record listed her
promotions, awards and duty assignments.  He found no reference to what
he was looking for: attendance at a secret intelligence training
school.

Next, from the service record and the snippets of information he'd
collected about her, he constructed a day-by-day record of her military
service on his laptop computer.  By including her leave time and
temporary duty, away from her permanent station, he could account for
almost every day of her three-and-a-half years' service in the air
force.  There were no blank periods during which she might have
attended a secret school.

He must have missed something.

Doggedly he went through the material again.  Only this time he
examined her monthly utility bills.  He'd gotten her telephone,
electric and gas bills by calling the various companies and claiming to
be Lieutenant Campbell, since she was unmarried then.  If she'd been
gone for any length of

time, her heating and electric bills should reflect her ab SeIIC.

He found the discrepancy almost immediately.  Her gas, electric and
phone bills were considerably less during the two winter mouths before
she was reassigned from the Pentagon to Fairchild.

Then he looked at the dates and places she'd charged gas on a
government credit card--information also available through the Freedom
of Information Act.  Bingo!  During the same two winter months, she'd
charged gas three times at stations in Denver.  Her service record
showed no indication of a temporary duty to that part of the country.

From the data in his computer, Derek was almost certain the air force
had sent Susan to a covert intelligence collection school before she
was assigned to Fairchild.  If he was right about her special
training," she might have been assigned here to find out about the
smuggling activity Derek could smell every time he turned around.

But why had she married Brian Wade, who he now suspected was probably
involved in the smuggling?  Was that, too, part of her covert mission?
His fists clenched at the thought.  If she'd married Wade to help her
penetrate the smuggling ring... He didn't like the idea, he realized.
Dammit all, Archer, he warned him.  elf Why can't you see her simply as
a means to an end?  Then she'll never disappoint you.

Chapter Six

Susan backed her Firebird out of the garage and wait eel behind the
wheel until Derek showed up at exactly 2:00 p.m. After he'd parked his
rental car at the curb and started toward her, he held her gaze, not
letting her look away, even if she'd wanted.

She didn't want to.

With this afternoon's warmer weather, Derek carried his leather jacket
over one arm.  His jeans had seen better days, but their much-worn
appearance in no way detracted from the eye-catching way they clung to
his muscular body and accentuated his long legs.  Today he looked
sexier than ever, and she'd be kidding herself not to admit it.

His cotton chambray shirt, open at the throat, stretched tautly across
his broad chest.  In his pointed cowboy boots, he seemed much more
blue-collar and infinitely more accessible than before.  An unwelcome
surge of excitement swelled through her.

"Right on time as usual," she said without smiling, so he wouldn't
guess what she'd been thinking.  "Get in.  I thought I'd drive
today."

Without a word, he opened the passenger's door and got in, tossing his
jacket on the back seat next to her briefcase.

As she turned out of her driveway and started for town, she could feel
him looking her over.  Out of the corner of her

eye she saw his gaze drop from her face to her breasts, to her long
pleated skirt.  A delicious warm feeling spread through her loins.

"Good choice of uniform," Derek commented casually.  Susan had spent
over an hour choosing her clothes and dressing for the afternoon.  She
found herself inordinately pleased by his approval.  But when she
turned to look him full in the face, she saw not approval, but his
usual cynical smile.

"I don't want to be too conspicuous in the bank," she murmured.

"In that dark skirt and sweater, you won't be," he said.  "With your
hair pulled back and no makeup or jewelry, you look exactly like what
you're supposed to be: a grieving widow.  You couldn't have picked a
better outfit if you'd been specially trained for the part."  From his
slight emphasis on the words, she suspected he'd used them on purpose.
Thanks to her idiotic overreaction last night, he'd guessed she had
special training.

Well, let him speculate all he wanted.  He'd never be sure of anything
if she could manage to keep her wits about her.  Admittedly, that was a
big if.  When he was around, all she could think about was his muscular
body and what his skin would feel like under her fingertips.  She
wanted to touch him, she realized, shocked at herself, wanted to know
how his muscles rippled under those tight jeans, wanted to run her
fingers through the chest hair curling through the vee in his shirt.
She breathed a long sigh.  With thoughts like these, no wonder she'd
put her foot in her mouth about the special training.

Beside her, Derek sat silent, the usual distrustful smile on his face.
He didn't speak until they reached the downtown area.

"While you're inside the bank, I'll wait by the door where I was the
day before yesterday."  He paused just long enough for her to sense
something was bothering him.

"I'm sure I'm not telling you anything you don't know," he began.  "But
don't spend a lot of time in the vault.  The quicker we move, the more
difficult for somebody to get whatever's in that box away from us. Just
stick everything in the briefcase and come right on out."

She maneuvered the Firebird into a parking space.  "How melodramatic,"
she taunted as they started to walk toward the bank.  On the street,
the sun seemed brighter than in the car.  She handed her empty
briefcase to him while she put on her sunglasses.  The tinted lenses
offered protection from more than the sun.  "Why don't you come right
out and say you want to see what's inside the box?"

If she'd hoped to fluster him, she didn't succeed.  He turned toward
her with an expression of pained tolerance.  "I'd be a liar if I said I
wasn't curious.  Finding out what's in your husband's safe-deposit box
is almost as interesting as watching Geraldo open Al Capone's vault."
His face darkened.  "But even more important than seeing the contents
is keeping them safe."

"Who's going to take them?"  Susan wanted to laugh but couldn't.  A
tendril of foreboding curled up her spine.  "Nobody knows about the box
but you and me and my lawyer.  What's to be afraid of?"

He took her arm as they crossed an intersection.  "According to what
you told me, nobody except your husband knew you were working in your
office on the Martin Luther King holiday last January.  So who called
pretending to be an airman's wife."?  And how did your myslerious
caller find out you were there?"

A cold knot formed in Susan's stomach.  "Do you think someone might be
following us?"

"It's possible."  Derek paused for a moment, and she shivered, seeing
the coldness in his eyes.  "It's also possible that someone you don't
suspect is interested in what you're up to."

"Like who?"  The knot in her stomach grew bigger.

"Like someone in your lawyer's office?"

Stubbornly, Susan shook her head.  "Not likely."  She tried to ignore
the tightness in her stomach.

"How about the personnel at your squadron?  Even though your colonel
lets you take off whenever you want, don't you have to sign out or let
someone know where you are?"

Defiantly, she shook her head.  "Nobody at the squadron knows anything
about the box or the court order Jot even whether or not I'm in the
office."

"If you say so."  Clearly Derek thought she was underestimating the
curiosity of her fellow airmen.

They'd reached the bank.  Her heart thumping madly, Susan mounted the
shallow stairs and pushed the door open to the black marble interior.
What would she find in Brian's secret hiding place?

THROUGH NARROWED EYES, Derek watched Susan go inside.  With her head
high and her back ramrod straight, she reminded him of a picture he'd
seen once of Joan of Are marching into battle.  Her dark outfit
reinforced that image.  He expelled his breath in an exasperated sigh.
She wasn't a saint.  She was Susan Wade, possible government agent and
killer, just like him, about to discover the innermost secrets of her
philandering husband.

But no matter what she was, he wished he could be there with her when
she opened that box.  If her husband had put something inside that
would destroy her emotionally... He gave himself a quick mental shake.
Why should he care how she felt when she saw the box's contents?  He
couldn't let himself go soft, not now when he was in sight of his
goals.  Instead of worrying about her feelings, he had to figure how to
get the damn stuff away from her--or at least how to get a good look at
it.  Whatever was in that box might give him the ammunition he needed
to even the score at last.  He had to get his hands on it.

Uually thoughts of vengeance toughened his resolve.  But not today.  He
kept picturing Susan lifting her chin in that spunky, defiant way, her
brown eyes flashing fire.  What would she do if he told her the truth
about himself?

Hell, he knew the answer to that one!  She'd call the police and turn
him in, and he'd go to jail for the rest of his life.

What a hopeless situation!  With a start, Derek realized he was
thinking about a relationship between the two of them.

Don't screw up by falling for Wade's widow, he warned himself for at
least the tenth time since meeting her.  He didn't realize he'd spoken
aloud until a pretty young woman in a business suit glanced at him and
smiled.

"I beg your pardon?  Did you say something?"  she asked.  He noticed
her hopeful expression and favored her with a smile.  "Sorry.  My
wife's taking longer than expected and I was muttering under my
breath."

Now, where had that excuse come from?  Never before in his life had he
used a nonexistent wife to get rid of unwanted female attention.  Never
before had he given a rip about being nice to someone he wasn't
attracted to, even in the days before he became Derek Archer.  Where
were these noble intentions coming from?

"Well, have a nice day," she said, obviously disappointed.

He leaned against the stone building, enjoying the warmth of the sun on
his face.  A moment later, he deliberately moved into a shaded area.
He'd been enjoying life too much these past few days.  Instead of
lounging around in the sun, he needed to figure out how he was going to
get a good look at whatever was inside Brian Wade's safe-deposit box.

He mulled the question over in his mind, not satisfied with the
alternatives.  After reminding himself she was nothing more than a
means to an end, he came up with the only viable answer.  If Susan
wouldn't show him the contents voluntarily, he'd take them away from
her.  There was no way she could stop him.

THE STOCKY BANK MANAGER hurried over to Susan shortly after she stepped
inside the marble lobby.  He thrust out his hand.  "Good to see you
again, Mrs.  Wade.  Your lawyer phoned and said you'd be in this
afternoon."

Her heart sinking, she shook his hand and said hello.  Derek was right
again.  How many other invisible people knew exactly where she was and
what she was doing this afternoon?  The tendril of foreboding she'd
felt before crept farther up her spine.  Pasting on a smile, she pulled
the court order out of her bag and gave it to him.

He glanced at the paperwork and nodded.  "You know where the vault is,
but we have a new clerk.  I'll introduce you."

Susan followed him across the lobby to an inconspicuous elevator,
marbled to blend in with the marble walls.  He pushed the down button,
and the doors slid open.

A moment later they got out on the floor below.  The area, dominated by
the massive round vault door, still smelled faintly of air freshener,
the way it had two days ago.  Susan's stomach churned with anticipation
and dread.  She'd soon know what scandalous secrets lay in Brian's
box.

A middle-aged woman sat at a desk facing the elevator.  She greeted
Susan and the manager with the same charm-school smile of the rest of
the bank staff.

"This is Mrs.  Brian Wade, Martha," the manager said, showing her the
court order.  "She needs to get into her husband's safe-deposit box."
He turned to Susan.  "Martha will be pleased to help you."

"Of course," the woman murmured, her polished smile still in place.
"I'll get the signature card."  Rising, she went to one of three
four-drawer file cabinets lined up against the wall behind her, and
returned with a card.  Susan could see it had a list of dates and
Brian's signatures.

"I'd like to jot down the dates my husband looked inside the box," she
said.  Without waiting for approval, she took a small notebook from her
bag and began listing the dates.  To her relief, she noted he'd rented
the box several months before he met her.  That meant he hadn't taken
it just to hide something from her.  Maybe its contents wouldn't be as
disturbing as she feared.  She didn't look up until she finished her
list and signed her name below Briaffs on the card.

"Can you handle things from here, Martha?"  the manager asked.  At the
clerk's nod, he turned toward Susan."  "If you need any help, call me,
Mrs.  Wade."

"Thanks," she returned, touched by the sympathy in his expression. Lake
her, he realized that husbands who kept safe-deposit boxes hidden from
their wives were apt to have embarrassing secrets.  The woman returned
the card to the file and pushed the drawer closed.  Then she took the
few steps to the massive vault door.  "If you'll give me your key,
Mrs.

Wade."

Susan followed her inside the vault.  About fourteen-by-eight, the room
was lined from floor to ceiling with rectangular metal boxes.  Brian's
box was located on the top row, and the clerk had to climb a small
ladder to reach it.  After twisting the keys in the two locks, she drew
the box out and handed it down to Susan.  About four times longer than
it was wide, it felt heavy and awkward in her hands.

She followed the clerk to one of the small adjoining rooms and closed
the door behind herself.  Along one wall was a kitchen-height counter.
A bar-type chair sat in front of it.

Gingerly, as though the box might be filled with explosives, Susan set
it on the counter and placed her briefcase and handbag beside it.
Holding her breath, she flipped the latch back and opened the long
lid.

Neatly arranged, in Brian's meticulous way, were a key, two credit
cards and some papers.

Where was the insurance policy from Industrial Indemnity?  It had to be
here.  Hastily, she leafed through the pa pets.  There was no sign of
it.  She'd been so sure the policy would be in the box, she could
hardly believe it wasn't here.

More carefully, she shuffled through the contents again.  On top was a
key attached to a red plastic tag with the name and address of a local
mail distribution center printed on it.  Beneath the key were two
credit cards belonging to someone named Stephen Ellis and a
three-by-five index card with a name and telephone number in Seattle
written in Brian's neat script.

Next was a small notebook filled with dates and figures that made no
sense to Susan.  Finally, on the bottom, was the folded deed to some
property in South America.

The insurance policy from Derek's company definitely wasn't here.  How
odd.  And she noticed something else peculiar: the name on the file
card was different from the one on the credit cards.  But, thank God,
nothing seemed connected to her or their marriage.  If Brian had
illegitimate children or fond mistresses, Susan could see no evidence
here.  At the realization, a heavy weight shifted off her shoulders.

Mindful of Derek's warning to hurry, she thrust the items into her
briefcase and twisted the combination lock.  Then she poked her head
outside the door.

The clerk looked up.  "Are you finished, Mrs.  Wade?"  "Yes."  In
another minute, the box had been returned to its place and Susan was in
the elevator, the locked briefcase in her hand.

She stepped off the elevator into the bank lobby with the odd sensation
that everybody was staring at her.  Quickly she scanned the few patrons
in the bank.  Though no one so much as glanced in her direction, Susan
felt like every eye in the place was focused on the briefcase in her
hand.  She had to get outside to Derek, where she'd have some
protection.  Conscious of every step, she hurried though the marble
lobby to the polished brass door and down the few outside stairs to the
street.

He wasn't there.

Susan felt momentary panic as she glanced around the street corner,
searching for him.  An instant later he emerged from the shadows beside
the bank's wall.  A swell of relief surged over her at the sight of his
solemn, square-cut face.  He reached for the briefcase.  "Here, I'll
take that."  She jerked it back, out of his reach.  "It's not heavy.  I
can manage."  Surprised at his grim, tight-lipped expression, she gave
him a welcoming smile.  "Your company's policy wasn't there."

"Then your husband must have put it somewhere else."  He didn't seem as
surprised as she thought he'd be.  "Care to tell me what was inside?"

Hesitating, Susan ran over the contents in her mind.  Was there
anything she couldn't share with her private investigator?

Nothing she'd found seemed remotely connected to Derek or to his
insurance company.  H was probably right about the policy.  Brian had
filed it elsewhere.  Or maybe she'd inadvertently thrown it out.
Goodness knows she'd been disturbed enough after the funeral to do
something like that.

And she had hired Derek to investigate Brian's death.  Now that she
knew there was nothing scandalous in the box, she needed him to help
her make sense of the mysterious items she'd found.  The thought of the
two of them hunched over a table together, examining the box's
contents, made her feel warm all over.

Her mind made up, Susan described the five items in the briefcase.  "We
can look them over carefully in the car."  She stepped up her pace
toward her Firebird.

"Good thinking."  She heard approval in his voice.

As they headed for the crosswalk, Susan heard quick breathing behind
her and felt the air stir.  Automatically she tightened her grip on her
shoulder bag and turned her head to look.

A man stood behind her, so close she could smell his body odor.  Her
own startled face was reflected in his silvered sunglasses.  She jerked
to one side, away from him.  He grabbed for her briefcase, and she
yanked it away.  He grabbed again, catching her wrist in a steel grip
and pulling, hard.  Her ann felt yanked from her shoulder, but she held
on to the case.

Half a second later he released her and she flinched, sensing he was
going to hit her.  The next instant something' solid whacked the back
of her left leg.  Pain shot through her calf, and she crumpled to the
sidewalk.  An instant later his shadow blocked the sun.  She tried to
shove the briefcase away from him, but he scrambled on top of her,
wrenching it from her hand.

Then, above her, she heard a fierce growl of rage.  There was a sudden
movement, and the shadow shifted.  A pair of sunglasses clattered to
the pavement.  The mugger squealed with pain and dropped the case.  It
clunked to the sidewalk beside Susan.  As she struggled to her feet,
she grabbed the handle, holding it with a deathlike grip.

Standing, her attacker twisted on the sidewalk like a boneless rag
doll, his ann bent at an odd angle.  Derek had him, she realized with a
shudder.  He had pulled him off her.

With a sudden twist of his body, Derek kicked the mugger's legs out
from under him.  He landed on the pavement with a sickening thud.
Staring down at him, Susan saw him gasping for breath and writhing in
pain.

Derek caught her eye, an oddly gentle expression on his face.  "Are you
all right?"  His familiar caustic smile was gone.

The agony in her leg was so bad she could hardly stand.  She forced
herself to stay upright, to put equal weight on both feet, not to show
how bad it hurt.

Swallowing hard, she said, "I'm fine."

His eyes narrowed and he frowned, as though he sensed her pain.  Then
he looked down at the mugger, still lying on the sidewalk.

His loud gasps had quieted.  Susan noticed he was older than she'd
thought.  His red jacket and long, unkempt hair had fooled her.  With
his lean, muscular body, he looked more like a trained fighter than an
adolescent thug.

A small circle of interested spectators gathered around them at a
respectful distance.  In a moment the police would notice the
disturbance.

The police.  A jab of panic twisted through her as she thought of the
questions they'd ask, the insinuating way they'd try to connect this
incident with Brian's murder.  Could they confiscate her briefcase as
evidence?

"We've got to get out of here," she said in a panicky whisper.

Derek stared down at the man on the pavement.  "First, I think our
friend here needs a little lesson."

The mugger stared back with rocklike black eyes.  "Where I come from, a
man doesn't kick a lady."  Derek's words were so soft only Susan and
the mugger could hear them.  The man's eyes widened, and he put up his
hands to shield his head.

What's he going to do?  Susan thought, swallowing the scream that
trembled in her throat.  Then, horrified, she watched Derek's pointed
cowboy boot connect with the mugger's ankle.

The man's screech ripped through the afternoon air.  Derek tensed.
Susan was sure he was going to kick again.

"No," she screamed.  "He isn't worth it."  Grabbing Derek's arm with
her free hand, she tugged as hard as she could.  The muscles underneath
her fingers were taut, like coiled springs.

When Derek glanced down at her, his face was filled with rage.  But as
he stared, she saw his anger lift.  Shifting his position, he took the
briefcase from her with one hand.  He put the other under her arm. "Can
you walk okay?"

Still in shock, she could only nod.

The little group gathered around them stood in absolute silence,
absorbing the violence with placid acceptance, as though watching it on
the five o'clock news.  Then someone stepped forward and patted Derek
on the shoulder.  "Good show, man," he said.  There was a murmur of
agreement.

Their approval sickened Susan.  Couldn't they see that something awful
had just happened?  And not just to the mugger.  She'd seen the hate on
Derek's face and it frightened her.

As they passed through the fringe of onlookers, a woman asked, "Aren't
you going to wait for the police and press charges?"

Derek smiled pleasantly at her.  "Nothing was taken, and that pile of
garbage on the sidewalk got the worst of the deal.  Why should we press
charges?"  He kept walking, not waiting for the woman to reply.

Behind them, Susan heard the squeal of tires at the curb.  Was it the
police?  She forced herself to limp faster.  But she'd taken only a few
steps when Derek stopped and glanced back at the mugger.  She turned,
too.  Her attacker was now sitting up and rubbing his ankle.

While she watched, two men jumped out of a van that had pulled up at
the curb near him.  In an instant they had lifted him bodily off the
pavement and into the van.  In another instant the vehicle turned the
corner and disappeared.

Stunned by the attack, Susan caught Derek's vengeful scowl.  "What were
you going to do to him?"

If he noticed her shocked reaction, he didn't say so.  "Break the
bastard's leg."  His eyes narrowed, and she caught a hint of the rage
she'd seen on his face when he kicked the mugger.  It was still there,
festering under the surface.

Shaken, she stared at him.  Vengeful wrath boiled off his tall muscular
body in waves so intense she could almost see them.  "You probably did
break it."

"No.  He's just got a bad bone bruise.  Like yours."  She felt his hand
under her arm again.  "Are you positive you're okay?"

"I'm fine."  As they started toward the car, she tried not to limp.  No
sense making him angrier than he already was.  "Do you think he was
waiting to steal the briefcase?"

"I'm sure of it.  Muggers don't usually have backup cars waiting to
pick them up when a victim resists."  He paused, as though wondering
how much to tell her.

For Susan the sunny downtown street took on a sudden chill.  "Is there
something you're not saying?"  Fear tightened her muscles and made her
forget the throbbing pain in her leg and hip.

"I'd bet money that mugger was the same man we saw last night.  He had
the same body build and was wearing a similar red jacket."

"But I didn't have the briefcase last night."

His face displayed a knowing awareness.  "Somebody knew you were
picking up the court order today, that you'd find out what was inside
Brian's box."  Susan heard an urgency in his smooth baritone voice.

"I think that mugger meant to take you hostage last night," he
continued, "and force you to give the box's contents to whoever hired
him."

Susan couldn't stifle her gasp of disbelief.  "But you were with me.
He'd never dare something like that unless I was alone."

At her implied compliment, Derek gave her an appealing smile that sent
her pulses racing.  "Thanks for the vote of confidence."  There was a
hint of amusementin his glance.  "But fists are no match for guns.
That man probably had his friends waiting around the corner in their
van. If we'd kept walking last night, I suspect I'd be dead by now and
my body buried in some out-of-the-way spot."

They reached her Firebird.  Susan's hands shook when she fumbled in her
purse for her keys.  "But there was nothing incriminating in Brian's
box."

"Whoever hired the mugger doesn't know that, and neither do we," he
said soberly.  "Either of the men whose names were on those cards could
be behind your husband's murder."

Her keys slid out of her trembling fingers and dropped into the gutter.
Stooping, Derek picked them up.  "Want me to drive?"

She shook her head, grateful for his offer but wanting to prove--as
much to herself as to him--that she was in control.  "I can manage."

He opened her door and helped her inside, then went around the car to
the passenger side.  Putting the briefcase on the floor behind his
seat, he studied her face with an anxious expression.  "You're sure
you're all right to drive?"

"Positive."  She glanced at the briefcase, fighting her apprehension.
"Maybe we should take this stuff to that bank down the street.  I could
rent a safe-deposit box there after we've looked at it."

Decisively he shook his head.  "After our scene with the mugger, too
many people downtown this afternoon will recognize us.  We don't want
to get stopped by a conscientious police officer trying to find out
what happened--or by one of the mugger's friends hoping to finish the
job."

What a frightening thought: somebody was after them and they couldn't
go to the police.  Trembling, Susan started the engine.  "Where to,
then?"  No matter how dangerous Derek seemed, she had to trust his
judgment.  She had nowhere else to turn.

For a long moment he sat in silence.  "Let's go to my hotel room to
look things over.  We should be safe there."

She'd be alone with him in his hotel room.  The thought brought
unwanted warmth to her face.  Don't be an idiot, she told herself
fiercely.  This man is interested in the money you're paying him.
You're flattering yourself if you think he's got designs on you.  But
she couldn't help wishing he did.

Chapter Seven

Derek eyed Susan as she lowered herself to the chair, and he wondered
how she'd react if he pulled her to her feet and kissed the breath out
of her.  He'd seen the flush on her face when he suggested coming to
his hotel rooTM, and suspected she was as ready as he was.

He stifled his unwelcome impulse.  Right now he had more important
things to do than make love to a woman who would despise him if she
knew who he really was.

Without being obvious, he glanced at the briefcase on the table next to
her chair.  He had to see what was inside.

She glanced at her watch.  "It's nearly four.  The banks will be
closing soon.  If we're going to put this stuff in a vault, we'd better
decide which one."

"Of course."  Be patient, he told himself.  Don't be eager-no matter
how much you need to see what Wade hid in his safe-deposit box.  She
said she'd show him.  And if she didn't, he'd take the contents away
from her.  It was as simple as that.

She got up, went to the nightstand beside the bed and reached for the
telephone directory.  "I'll call a bank near my condo--see if it's got
a vault and how late they're open."

For the first time since the mugging, she wasn't by his side.  As she
walked away from him, Derek saw her limp.  She tried to hide it, but he
knew she was in more pain than he'd

real il Cursing under his breath, he moved toward her.  As he drew
near, she stood facing him with her back to the bed, her eyes full of
questions.

Lord, but he wanted to feel her mouth on his, her shapely body curved
against him.  For one petrifying instant he stood in front of her, so
close he could smell the clean woodsy scent of her.  Her eyes widened
and she stepped backward against the bed.  At the pressure, an
involuntary grimace crossed her face.

"Turn around," he ordered.

"Wh-why?"  Her voice trembled as she spoke.  He couldn't tell if she
was eager or frightened.  Perhaps both.

At that moment he wanted nothing more than to throw her on the bed and
have her.  His body told him to go ahead, that what he saw in her eyes
was obliging anticipation.  His mind said this wasn't the right time or
place.  He couldn't take advantage of her willingness, of the trust
that willingness implied.

Don't be an ass, he warned himself, upset at his unexpected concern for
her feelings when the important thing was examining the papers inside
the briefcase.

"I want to see what that bastard did to your leg."  He was surprised at
how husky his voice sounded.

"Oh."  Was that disappointment he heard?  But dutifully she turned
around.  "I'm sure it's not serious or I couldn't walk."  Her tone was
apologetic.

He took one look and swore out loud.  "I should have broken his damned
leg."  Her stocking was torn across the calf.  Underneath, the flesh
had already begun to swell.  Lightly he ran his fingers over the
swelling.  She flinched at his touch.

"The skin's not broken, but you'll have a bad bruise."  He tried to
control his anger.  "You can start by Sitting on the bed with your legs
up while you call the bank."

Ior ill

"Why don't you 'call the bank?"  she said, smiling.  "While you're on
the phone, I'll make a list of everything that was in Brian's box."

"Fine," he growled, pretending a reluctance he didn't feel.  This was
exactly what he wanted.  If he sat on the side of the bed while he
talked on the phone, he could examine the papers when she took them
from the case.

She settled herself with her feet up, two king-size pillows behind her
back.  She looked so right on his bed that he had to force himself to
turn away before he said or did something he'd be sorry for.

The briefcase was on the floor by the closet, Crossing the room, he
leaned to pick it up.

"Derek."  Her voice was a soft whisper.

Startled, he turned toward her.

"Thanks for not waiting around for the police."  She laughed, but
without humor.  "The last thing I needed right then was more attention
from Detective MacElroy.  If he'd gotten involved, he would have had
all kinds of questions about what was in the briefcase."

"I figured you wouldn't want them brought in."  And I sure as hell
didn't want them nosing around, he added to himself, acknowledging the
real reason he'd insisted on leaving.  Derek put the briefcase on the
bed beside her and watched while she twisted the combination on its
small lock.

"Maybe we should report what happened now, even though this much time
has passed."  She opened the briefcase but didn't take anything out.
"The police might be able to connect the van with whoever hired those
men."

Derek's gut tightened.  Why was she being so slow?  He resisted his
urge to grab the briefcase from her.  "I doubt the police could
identify the van's owner without the license."  He made sure his voice
didn't betray his anxiety.

Closing the briefcase, she slid it off her lap to her other side.  Had
she changed her mind about showing him the contents?

"I got the license number."  Her brown eyes sparkled with pride.

Momentarily diverted, he stared at her in disbelief.  "How'd you manage
that?"

"I've got a photographic memory when it comes to numbers."

"If we've got the license, we don't have to go to the police to find
out who owns the van," he said.  "I can get the name in less than an
hour."

Her expression turned frankly skeptical.  "I thought the licensing
people protected that information."

Derek shook his head, a lock of curly black hair falling across his
forehead.  "Just the opposite.  It's available from the state to anyone
who doesn't mind waiting."  "Really."  She still sounded skeptical.

"To save time I can access a commercial data net and get the name from
an information broker in an hour or so."

Still doubtful, she glanced around the room.  "You brought a
computer?"

He eyed her without smiling.  Was she ever go' rag to show him what was
in the damned briefcase?  "Yes, but I don't have a modem.  I'll have to
use the hotel fax machine to access the broker."

"I think you should do it.  We need to find out who owns that van." Her
fingers drummed nervously on the side of the closed briefcase, and he
sensed she was stalling.

Frustrated, Derek eyed the briefcase, tempted to grab it and dump the
papers out on the bed.  Had she changed her mind about showing them to
him?  His mind shifted into overdrive.  He'd have to leave her in the
room alone while he was at the fax machine.  Would she seize this
chance to search his room?

You bet, he told himself grimly.  She was an intelligence officer.  She
wouldn't he worth her salt if she didn't.  Had he left any files
unsecured?  He was sure he hadn't, but just to be safe, he went to the
closet and--squatting so she couldn't see him from the
bede-double-checked the lock on the suitcase where he stored them.  No
problem, he thought with satisfaction.  Even a trained locksmith would
be hard put to open the sophisticated lock without smashing it.

When he left the room with the printed license plate number on a sheet
of yellow paper, Susan was leaning back on the bed with her eyes
closed.  Outside his closed door a few seconds later, he smiled
knowingly to himself when he heard the faint click of the night latch
sliding into place.

Let her snoop all she wants, he told himself.  Maybe then she'd be
convinced he was Derek Archer, insurance agent, with nothing to hide.

As soon As DEREK LEFT the room, Susan got off the bed and slid the
night latch into place.  She didn't want him walking in on her in the
next ten or fifteen minutes.  Though she'd told him generally what
Brian had kept in his safe-deposit box, a twinge of doubt remained
about actually showing him the contents.

She wasn't sure why she still doubted him when she felt so secure when
he was with her.  Maybe turned-on was a better description of how she
felt, she admitted grudgingly--and that was exactly what the problem
was.  But if she looked through his things and found nothing to
contradict what he'd told her, she'd be more comfortable sharing
Brian's secrets with him.

It didn't take long to glance through the few clothes he'd hung in the
closet and laid neatly in the dresser drawers.  Though obviously
expensive, his suits looked several years old.  Interestingly, one had
the label of a loealstore sewn inside.  He must have visited Spokane
off and off over a period of years.  No wonder he knew the town as well
as he did.

A compassionate feeling swept over her when she saw handkerchiefs with
his initials frayed at the edges and T-shirts coming apart at the
seams.  He wasn't kidding When he said he needed to supplement his
income.

Ignoring her throbbing leg, Susan dropped to her knees outside the
closet and carefully opened his two unlocked suitcases.  Nothing was
inside.  He'd obviously put everything he considered confidential in
the one with the lock.  When she lifted the locked suitcase, she was
surprised at how heavy it was, probably filled with books or papers.

Taking his laptop computer from the closet, she set it on the table and
turned it on.  After a few experimental jabs, she discovered which
program he used.  A client list including Brian's name appeared on the
screen.  But when she punched Wade, Brian, the screen came up blank.
She tried two other names on the list.  Nothing.  The only thing on the
disk was the list of client names and a blank insurance form.

How odd, she thought.  Why haul a laptop computer around the country if
you're not going to use it?  Maybe there was another disk in the case.
A quick search of the machine's carrying case revealed another disk,
but when she put it in the machine, it was blank.  If he had a work
disk, it was locked up in the suitcase.

Maybe he doesn't know how to use his computer.

A light knock on the door startled her.  If Derek saw the computer on
the table, he'd know she'd been snooping.

The rap came again.  Louder.  She peered out through the peephole.
There he stood with his usual distrustful smile.  He held something in
his hand.  Through the peephole, she couldn't tell what it was.
Wrapping her composure around her like a suit of armor, she slid the
bolt back and opened the door.

He stepped into the room, taking in the computer with eyes that were
all too knowing.  "Find anything interesting?"

Susan managed a tremulous smile.  "You know I didn't."

"What were you looking for?"  he asked pleasantly.  "Anytime you want
answers, all you have to do is ask."

"I wasn't looking for anything special," she lied.  "I've never used a
laptop and was curious."  That, at least, was the truth.

"So what's the verdict?"

"I like it," she replied sincerely.  "If you want, I can explain the
program to you."

He stared at her, baffled.  "Why would I want you to do that?"

When she glanced at the screen, the blank insurance form stared back at
her.  "Well, when I realized you weren't using your computer, I
thought..."

"You thought I didn't understand the program."  His expression softened
so much he looked like a different man.  "My clients' files are
confidential, so I keep them locked up."  His rich baritone voice
sounded raspier than usual.  "If you really want to be useful, get back
on that bed and put this ice on your leg."

Susan focused on the plastic bag in his hand.  That's what he was
carrying.  How could she not trust a man so concerned for her comfort?
In that moment, she made her decision: she'd show him Brian's secrets.
Without a word she went to the king-size bed and settled herself
squarely in the middle.

He handed her a towel and the bag of ice.  As the soothing coolness
calmed the angry heat in her swollen leg, she opened the briefcase and
patted the edge of the bed.  "Sit down, and let's see what Brian
thought was important enough to lock up."

AT LaST Sinking to the mattress, Derek masked his exuberance.  His
unexpected concern for Susan's injury had momentarily taken his mind
off Wade's papers.  Now, with the moment of truth finally at hand, his
eagerness returned.

The first thing she handed him was the key to a post office box.
Mentally he noted the box number and station location in Dishman, north
of the city.  Next she passed him two're dit cards and an index card.
He made a mental note of the two men's names on the cards.  Stephen
Ellis on both credit cards.  Ted Lindsey on the index card, along with
a telephone number, in Wade's handwriting.

"What do you make of this?"  she asked, handing him a small notebook
with spiral binding at the top.

Derek took one look inside and recognized the numbers.  "They look like
flight dates and times along with coded numbers--probably for smuggled
cargo and cash payments."

"Good for you, Derek."  The admiration in her voice made him feel like
he'd just won the lottery.  What was happening to him?  With a few
brief words she'd made him feel like a winner.  There were other
figures, too, but he didn't bother to analyze them.  That would come
later, after he'd copied everything.

"Now, here's something I don't understand."  Her head bent, she untied
the ribbon around a small sheaf of papers.  "It seems to be the deed to
some property in Paraguay, but it's in Spanish."  She glanced hopefully
at Derek.  "You don't read Spanish by any chance?"

"A little," he said, itching to get his hands on the papers.

She shoved them at him.  "Here.  Maybe you can make sense of them."

Sucking in his breath, he skimmed through them.  "The pro perry in the
name of Stephen Ellis, the name on the two credit cards."

"Is that significant?"  Her beautiful brown eyes gazed into his,
distracting him.

"Yes, I'm sure it is."  His mind Struggled with the problem, trying to
add two and two and come up with four.  Then, suddenly, he knew the
reason for the property deed and the credit cards.  Wade was an even
worse SOB than he had imagined.  Seeing the hopeful look in Susan's
eyes, he had to look away.

"Brian must have been keeping this safe-deposit box for Mr.  Ellis,
whoever he is," she said.  "The post office box key is probably in
Ellis's name, too."

"Maybe," Why couldn't he come right out and tell her what he
suspected?

She seemed to sense he was hiding something.  "I've told you my
explanation.  It's only fair you tell me yours."

"You may well be right," he began, uncharacteristically cautious.  "My
idea's pretty farfetched."

"So, give," she prompted, irked by his reticence.

For half a second he considered lying.  But this was something she
needed to hear and accept.  "I think your husband planned to assume
another identity and leave the country."  He reached for her hand, but
she jerked it away.

Her jaw dropped and she shuddered, as though he'd struck her.  "I can't
believe he'd do such a thing.  If he were going to leave, he'd need a
passport.  Why wasn't it in the box?"

Watching the confused play of emotions on Susan's expressive face, he
wished Wade were still alive so he could smash his fist in the man's
lying mouth.  To Derek, there was no doubt Wade meant to abandon her.
He meant to leave her hanging, perhaps for years, not knowing if he was
dead or alive.

Derek knew a man could disappear completely, as though he had never
existed.  Not without careful planning, of course, but it could
certainly be done.  He himself was living proof.

"As I said," he went on, wondering why he was trying so hard to make
things easier for her, "the idea's probably too farfetched."

She'd been staring down at the folded paper in his hand.  When she
looked up, he saw a swift shadow of anger sweep across her face.

"It's not farfetched."  Her tone was oddly detached and didn't match
her frown, as though she was struggling to disavow her anger.  "Even
during our honeymoon, Brian put me at the bottom of his priority list.
If some stranger wanted to play tennis, that took priority over a swim
in the pool with me.  We went to las Vegas and he stayed out gambling
most of every night we were there.  I rarely saw him."

"Gambling on your honeymoon?"  Derek felt vindicated.  Susan had just
confirmed what he'd known in his gut all along.  Brian Wade was a cold,
insensitive man, one who would have no moral problem betraying his
wife--or his best friend.

Carefully he took her hands, and this time she didn't jerk them away.
Instead, she leaned toward him, her eyes glistening.  "I don't want to
mislead you, Derek.  For Brian, gambling wasn't a problem.  He was a
winner, not a loser.  Every morning he'd tell me how much he'd won.
Then he'd sleep most of the day and leave me to my own devices.  I
often wondered why he married me."

Derek studied her arresting face, dominated by sparkling brown eyes.
"The question is, why did you marry him?"

At his implied compliment, a flush brightened her cheeks.  "Because I
loved him, of course.  Or at least I thought I did.  To quote an old
cliche, he swept me off my feet.  You can't believe how nice he was
before we were married.  But after ward, well, he simply wasn't the
same man."

Derek felt some of the tension leave him.

She paused, thinking.  "You know, Derek, it was almost as though he
married me for a reason--like someone ordered him to.  He had to be
nice until he got that ring on my finger.  Then it didn't matter
anymore."

Derek's elation grew.  "Why didn't you leave him?"

She looked down again.  "I intended to."  Her voice broke.

"I kept putting off telling him, thinking he might change."  "But of
course he didn't."

As he watched, she studied her hands, clasped tightly in her lap since
he'd released them.  "Every day he seemed more inconsiderate and harder
to get along with.  If you're right and he meant to walk out on me, I
can see why.  He probably had some Latin beauty waiting for him in
Paraguay."

Derek saw the tears brimming in her eyes and could resist no longer.
With one quick motion he gathered her into his arms.  She didn't pull
away.  At the feel of her breasts against his chest, he had to fight
his desire to crush her mouth with his.  His attraction to her must not
get out of hand, not here in this hotel room with so much riding on
their investigation.

She buried her face against his chest.  "How could I have been so
stupid?"

Stroking her silky blond hair, he felt her tremble.  "Your husband was
intelligent, and being a fellow officer, he spoke your language.  I'm
sure he could be quite charming when he wanted to be.  Most women would
have reacted just as you did."

He felt her swallow hard and knew she was fighting tears.  "Even my
mom and dad liked him.  I had no idea a person could turn into
somebody else the way he did, overnight."

At her softness in his arms, heat flowed through him and he forced
himself to resist his body's rebellious desire.  "Do you have any idea
why he'd want to change his identity and disappear?"  Disturbed by his
physical reaction, Derek tried to back away, but she clung to him.

"It must have something to do with that smuggling you were talking
about."  Her voice, buried in his throat, was muffled.  "Somehow, in
some way, Brian must have been involved.  Maybe he got in too deep and
wanted out."

Or maybe he decided to take his profits and run.  Derek wanted to
embrace her more tightly, but he knew that would be dangerous. Instead,
he kept stroking her hair.

"It's after five," he said.  "If we're going to take this stuff to a
bank vault, we've got to get going."

She didn't move in his arms.  "The hotel must have a secure place for
its customers' valuables.  We can leave everything there overnight."

His stomach tightened.  "You're not registered here."  Did she intend
for him to take custody of Wade's secrets?

"But you are."  Her smile was so trusting he felt like what he was: a
convicted killer with dirt for a heart.  If he had a shred of honor
left, he'd forget this damned obsession of his and walk as far away
from Spokane--and Susan--as he could get.  While he still could.

IGNORING THE PAIN in her leg, Susan glanced at Derek's face as they
headed back to her condo.  In the light from an approaching car, she
saw that his usual wary smile was back.

"You never did tell me who owned the van that mugger used."  She mined
toward the road.  When he was beside her she found herself
concentrating on him more than her driv "You'll never guess," he
returned, a cold edge of irony to his voice.

"Don't tell me I know the person."  Her stomach tightened with
apprehension.  From the wicked way he was smiling, she suspected she'd
be shocked by his reply.

"You bet," he said.  "It's registered to your new boss, Colonel
Tinnerman."

"You're kidding."  She gave him a sidelong glance of utter disbelief.
"That's too big a coincidence.  That information broker you faxed has
got to be wrong."

For a long moment he considered that.  "You're right about the
coincidence.  There's got to be some kind of connection when the same
man who's after your briefcase drives off in the colonel's van.  I'd
guess the van was stolen.  Listen to the talk around the squadron
tomorrow morning and you'll find out."

"I'll do better than that.  I'll ask the colonel."  The car behind them
flicked its lights to bright.  Susan adjusted her rearview mirror to
reduce the glare.

"Are you going to tell him you were mugged?"

"Do you think I should?"  To her surprise, Susan realized she valued
Derek's opinion.  For a little while, back in his hotel room, she'd
caught a glimpse of an understanding personality lurking beneath his
tough exterior.  Did he really have sensitive feelings, or were her
instincts wrong again, the way they'd been with Brian?

"No," he said flatly.  "Don't tell Tinnerman.  Somebody's playing games
with us, Susan.  Until we find out the rules, let's not tell anyone
what's going on."

"They're not playing games with us."  Her breath seemed to have
solidified in her throat.  "Nobody's after you.  It's me they want."

"Correction.  As long as you're paying for my help, it's us they're
after."  His voice turned cold, businesslike.  "You've got one more day
to decide if you want to continue with my services."

Damn him, she thought.  Why did he have to remind her he was here only
because she was paying him?  Just when she'd hoped his tough shell was
cracking.  A disturbing thought struck her.  Could Derek have arranged
the mugger's attack to scare her so she'd keep him on and pay him after
the three days were up?

For one intense moment she weighed the possibility.  Then, remembering
the thug's agonized shriek when Derek kicked him, she cast the notion
aside, irritated with herself for even considering it.

He'd never let me get hurt if he could stop it.  Deep down she knew
that.  But he still had some explaining to do.

"You found out who owned the van hours ago.  Why did you wait so long
to tell me?"  She found herself annoyed and pleased by his silence.
Upset because he hadn't told her.  Pleased because the delay meant he'd
seen the connection between the van and the mugger and knew it
represented an additional threat to her, one that would upset her.  No
matter how cold he seemed, he had been considerate of her feelings.

Would he lie to protect his tough-guy image?  Susan finned her lips.
She wasn't going to let him off the hook even though she appreciated
the reason.

"I saw no reason to frighten you unnecessarily," he said, after a
moment's hesitation.  She smiled to herself, glad she'd been right for
once.

"And along that line, there's something I've been meaning to talk to
you about."  He cleared his throat.  "Your condo isn't secure, Susan.
Living there alone is a bad idea.  Until I find out what's going on,
you ought to move to a hotel."

"The Riverfront Hotel?"  She couldn't believe that squeaky little voice
was hers.  The last thing she wanted was a room near his.

"Any good hotel would do," he replied, "but mine's the best choice,
since I'm staying there.  We could meet every night to compare our
progress."

To her embarrassment, an image of Derek, his muscular body glistening
from a shower, raced through her mind.  What was she thinking?  She
shook her head delianfly.  "My condo's as safe as any hotel.  I've got
a security system."

Glancing at her, he frowned.  "Not good enough.  If your alarm went
off, it might be half an hour, maybe longer, before the police got
there.  A couple of thugs can do an awful lot of damage in that amount
of time."

She refused to let his warning frighten her.  "In my neighborhood
police respond in minutes."

"Suit yourself."  His abrupt words sounded totally unconcerned.

"I can help you just as well from here," she insisted.  Ahead she saw
Derek's car parked in her driveway where he'd left it that afternoon.
Opening the garage door with her remote control, Susan drove past his
car into the garage and closed the door.

He got out when she did and stood behind her while she unlocked the
door to the kitchen and flicked on the lights.  When she pressed the
four-digit code to disarm the security system, she could feel the
warmth of his body close behind her.  She didn't step to one side when
she turned around.

Facing her, he stood so near she heard the raspy sound of his
breathing.  Like her, he seemed to be gasping for breath.  His indigo
eyes caught and held hers.

Suddenly she knew what was coming.  He's going to take me in his arms.
Not in the comforting way he'd held her in the hotel.  But
passionately, the way a man holds a woman when he makes love to her.
And she wanted him to.  Yearned to feel his body close to hers, his
arms wrapped tightly around her.

But she couldn't let him.  Not yet.  Not as long as his only reason for
being with her was the money she'd promised him.  Moving while she
still could, she forced herself to step aside.

His eyes followed her hungrily.  He wanted her, all right.  But his
wanting would be purely physical.  She needed more than that from a
lover.

Expelling his breath in a huge sigh, he gave a slight nod, almost as
though he knew what she was thinking and agreed with her.  Studying his
square-cut face, she wished she hadn't moved.

Damn!  Why did he have to look so cursedly sexy?

Chapter Eight

Frowning, Derek nodded toward the security control panel, as if the
electric moment they'd just shared had never happened.  Even with his
attention diverted, Susan could feel the force of his high-powered
sexuality.  Thank goodness his eyes had lost their predatory air.  If
he stared at her again the way he had a moment ago, she was afraid she
wouldn't be able to resist.

"How long since you checked the system?"  he asked.  Like a bloodhound
tracking a familiar scent, he seemed determined to uncover a flaw.  Or
was he focusing on the security system to mask his feelings?

"A couple of weeks before Brian died, the monitoring company did an
annual inspection."

"Then it should be working okay," he said, but his frown remained.

Now that Susan had been standing for a few minutes, the pain in her leg
returned.  She felt the blood drain from her face and sagged onto a
kitchen chaff.

"I'm sorry, Derek.  I think I'm going to pass out."  She hated to admit
her weakness, but that was better than fainting.

He could have said/toldyou not to drive.  But he didn't.  Instead, he
did something totally unexpected.  He knelt he-side her and stared into
her eyes.  She caught her breath.

"Put your arms around my neck, Susan.  I'm carrying you to the living
room."

Obediently she did what he asked.  An instant later she felt his strong
arms under her legs and back.  Tensing, he lifted her out of the chair.
She couldn't miss the musky smell of him as he held her close against
him.

Feeling the muscles in his chest against her breasts, a hot ache grew
in her throat.  His closeness was so male, so bracing, that blood
coursed through her veins like an awakened river.  From feeling faint,
her body heated to flushed excitement.

In the living room, he set her on the leather couch with her legs
stretched out and a pillow behind her back.  After he'd switched on a
light, he placed his hands on his lean hips and looked her over
intently.  His gaze suddenly warmed, the way it had in the kitchen.
Then, right before her eyes, he squelched his desire, and his eyes
turned cool.  The impression was so intense, Susan felt as though she'd
been scorched and then dipped in cold water.  Craving his touch, she
wasn't sure she hid her disappointment well enough to fool him.  But if
he noticed, he gave no sign.

"You seem better already," he said.

Her cheeks heated even more under the intensity of his gaze.  "All I
need is a good night's sleep and I'll be fine."

Lord help her, more than anything she wanted him to fall on top of her
and explore every inch of her with his bare hands, wanted to feel his
muscular body harden against her.  But desires like that were off
limits with this strange man whose only attraction to her was the money
she'd promised to pay him.

"Then I'll be on my way as soon as I take a quick look around so you
can get to bed," he said.  Not sure whether to be grateful or
frustrated, her heart sank as he turned toward the stairs, away from
her.

Don't leave, she wanted to cry out.  Stay for a while longer and hold
me in your arms.  Let me know how your lips feel,

how your tongue tastes when it's inside my mouth.  We'll build a fire
and listen to music.  But she didn't dare speak that way to a man who
was almost a stranger, who kept himself carefully hidden from her even
though she'd confided in him this afternoon about her marriage as she
had to no one else.

He went upstairs, and she could hear him opening and shutting doors.
Ten minutes passed before he reappeared.

"Are you sure you're okay to get to bed by yourself?"  Sitting down on
the couch beside her, he cupped her face in his large hands.  It was as
if he had to touch her before he left.  His rough, callused fingers
were almost unbearable in their tenderness.

For an instant she considered lying.  If she needed help, he'd have to
stay.  But did she want him to see her as a stricken woman, unable to
function because of a few bruises?  More important, did she want a man
who could turn his back on her and walk away when she desperately
wanted him to stay?

"I'll be fine," she said firmly.

"Be sure you set your alarm as soon as I walk out that door."  He
dropped his hands, his eyes hooded.

She managed a mock salute.  "Yes, sir."

For a moment he looked at her.  Then, as if he couldn't help himself,
he lifted a hand to caress her face.  His touch sent a warming shiver
through her.

"Now I'm going to do something I'll probably regret," he said.  The
lust was so plain on his face that she flinched.

Susan felt his breath, warm and moist against her skin, and her heart
meed.  She tensed, willing herself to resist.  No matter how much she
desired him, she couldn't let herself fall for him.

Then his lips met hers.

She expected his mouth to be cruel and hard, his emerging beard to
scrape her sensitive skin.  She could have battled that.

But his lips were surprisingly gentle, tantalizing her with a feather
touch.  They moved from her lips across her cheeks and closed eyes with
a soft exploring that left her defenseless.  Caressing more than
kissing, he trailed a line back to her lips, pressing them apart with a
gentle massage.

Catching fire from his searching mouth, she found herself burning with
desire, yearning for the wild, dangerous kiss she'd been determined to
fight.  At that instant he released her.  She felt an aching need for
more.  Shocked by her eager response, Susan stared at his face.

As he rose from the couch, his lips twisted into his familiar cynical
smile.  With only one lamp burning, dark shadows filled the room,
leaving Susan with an odd sense of foreboding.  Was it Derek she was
afraid of or this condominium, so filled with Briaffs essence?

"I'd better go."  Lazily Derek's gaze roamed over her body stretched
out on the couch.  "You seem to be okay, but I'll be glad to stay if
you need me."

It seemed to Susan that he put more emphasis than necessary on need.
His mocking smile was like ice water.  She froze.  Was that all his
kiss meant?  That he'd play stud if she required his services? "Thanks,
but I'm fine."  She could barely force the words out.

"I still think you should check into a hotel tonight."  He stared into
the room's shadowy corners with an intensity that made her shiver. With
her security system she couldn't possibly be in danger staying here,
but the warning tone in his voice scared her, anyway.

"I'll be fine."  Looking up at him, she emphasized the words as she
repeated them.  His indigo eyes were shuttered, his emotions carefully
hidden.  He was standing so close, but in spite of his nearness, he
seemed unreachable..

But with a quick movement, he dropped beside her on the couch.  Susan's
heart skipped a beat.  Was he going to kiss her again?  Half of her
wanted him to, desperately.  The other part' was angry at him for his
nonchalance and afraid of what would happen if he did.

Before she could stop him, he leaned over her and drew her into his
arms.  Lowering her head to the pillow, he held her close against him
as his mouth descended.

She lay beneath him on the couch, trembling as the wild lips she'd been
hungering for moved eagerly on hers.  They were hard, and wet and
demanding--the way she'd imagined they'd be--and she could no longer
resist.

When he thrust his tongue inside her mouth, it was mobile, brutal,
demanding.  She thought she was ready for him, but her hungry eagerness
surprised her.  The feel of that part of him inside her, thrusting and
tantalizing and playing with her tongue, was unbearably erotic.  She
found herself clutching him around the neck with both arms and pressing
her lips against his with such force that they almost hurt.

Without releasing her, he swung his legs up on the couch beside hers
and she felt his hardness against her thighs, the muscles of his chest
against her tender breasts.  She could feel warmth flow through her
like molten lava and knew there was only one thing she desired.  She
wanted him closer.  Lord help her, she wanted him to tear off her
clothes and make love to her.

Sensing her desire, he thrust one leg over hers.  Pain shot from her
calf to her thigh, and she jerked backward, away from him.  Not even
her passion could numb the cramping pain.

Breaking the kiss, he moved his legs away from her.  But if she
expected sympathy, it was a forlorn hoIle.

"You said you were okay."  In spite of its huskiness, his voice sounded
accusing, but his breath on her cheek was warm and sweet.

She wanted to cry at the emptiness inside her.  "I thought I was."

"Obviously you're not."  He stood and she saw that his eyes had lost
their cold, cynical stare.  "Sometimes you surprise me, Susan."  And
she knew he wasn't talking about her leg.

She felt her face flushing, and sat up on the couch so her
self-consciousness wouldn't be so obvious.  "You caught me at a weak
moment.  Don't count on it happening again."  Damned if she'd let him
know how he'd affected her.

He studied her with those knowing eyes of his.  "We'll see about that."
Then he went to the kitchen and retrieved his leather jacket from the
back of a chair where he'd hung it.

"Be careful going back to the hotel," she said, suddenly worried about
him.

"I'm always careful," he assured her.  "Call if you need me."  While
there was a mocking note to his voice, the frown lines around his eyes
had relaxed.  "Now, come to the door with me so you can set your alarm
as soon as I leave."

With the door ajar, she watched him walk down the driveway to his car.
He didn't look back.

WALKING AWAY FROM Susan's front door was the hardest thing Derek had
ever done.  She wanted him to stay.  He could sense her desire in every
breath she took.  But much as he wanted her, he couldn't have her.  Not
as Derek Archer, alias insurance agent.  And certainly not as Don
Albright, convicted murderer.

As he returned to town, he glanced in his rearview mirror to be sure no
one was following.  Clenching his fists tightly at his side, he almost
wished someone were.  If something didn't happen soon, he thought he'd
explode.

He could feel the tension in his belly, boiling inside him like hot
oil.  Ever since pulling the mugger off Susan this afternoon, he'd had
to restrain himself so she wouldn't notice.  Kissing her had made his
edginess even worse.  Damn.  Why couldn't he keep his hands off her?

It was after ten when he got back to the hotel.  Still early, he
thought, fighting the tension in his gut.  Maybe if he concentrated on
the figures in Wade's notebook, he could stop lusting after his
widow.

Stopping at the lobby desk, he retrieved the small black notebook from
the hotel safe and shoved it in his jacket pocket.  Then he took the
elevator to the fifth floor.

The bed had been turned down for the night, and a foil-wrapped
chocolate lay on each of the two king-size pillows.  The sight made him
think of Susan--lying on this bed with her gold hair spilling over her
bare shoulders and onto the fresh, white pillowcase.  He could feel her
lips so willing as they met his, her body so soft under his.  Wanting
her so much he hurt, he breathed a heavy sigh.

How concerned she'd been when she thought he didn't know how to use his
computer properly.  If there was one thing he'd learned to do well, it
was operate a computer.  During the past year, he'd become something of
a whiz, using the machine to collect and file detailed information on
his accusers.  After hanging his jacket in the closet, he reached for
his laptop.

It was gone.

But that couldn't be.  He must have missed it.  Feeling foolish, he
bent down to inspect the closet floor.  His two suitcases were stacked
neatly in back.  The computer was gone.

A numbing anger swept over him.  How could this happen in the best
hotel in the city?  He gazed around the luxurious room.  The
housekeeping staff must have let someone in.

The locked suitcase.  The one containing the detailed files on Susan
and the four airmen.  Where was it?

His anger turned to a white-hot rage.  The suitcase was goll , too.

Furious, he paced the length of the room.  What now?  He couldn't
complain to the hotel without involving the police--a course of action
he couldn't pursue.

l As he paced, he cursed out loud, using vengeful obscenities that
sounded strange because he hadn't used them the past few days.  Since
meeting Susan, he'd begun to forget his hatred for the men who
witnessed against him.  Now, in the face of this disaster, it returned
with a vengeance.  He mustn't let her distract him again.

Susan.  Was she okay?  If they'd break into his hotel room, they might
do the same to her condo.  A feeling of momentous urgency washed over
him as he thought of her alone and unprotected.  He had to warn her.

He lifted his phone and started to tap out her number.  Surprised at
himself, he realized he'd memorized it.  Before he finished dialing, he
lowered the receiver.  She'd been hurting and dead tired when he left
her.  Maybe there was a better way to make sure she wasn't bothered.
Why not park outside her place and keep an eye on things?

He fingered the Saturday night special in his jacket pocket, the result
of a few minute's haggling early this morning on a Spokane street
corner.  Last night's near encounter outside the restaurant convinced
him a gun might come in handy.  He hadn't needed it this afternoon.
Perhaps he would tonight.

SOMrBOO W'S IJVSXOE the condo.

Suddenly wide awake, Susan jerked bolt upright in bed.  What had she
heard?  She held her breath, listening.  Her heart pounded so loudly
she had to strain to hear.

There it came again.  The tiny squeak on the stairs down the hall from
her bedroom.  Mingled with normal daytime sounds, the step would be
unnoticeable, but it screeched a warning in the deathly silence of the
night.

Clutching her blanket to her chin, Susan pictured the stairs.  She knew
exactly which one squeaked.  It was near the top, only a few steps from
her bedroom.  The intruder would be at her door in seconds.  Panic like
she'd never known before turned her insides to Jell-O.

Her first impulse was to run and hide.  But where?  He'd surely find
her if she stayed in the bedroom.  And by the time she unlocked the
sliding glass door to the balcony, he'd be inside the room.

The alarm should have gone off.  Frantically she eyed the control panel
by the door.  Its tiny lights were flashing green, not red.  Somehow
the intruder had managed to disarm the system.

Sheer black fright swept over her in huge waves.  Her heart beat so
loudly, its thumping seemed to fill the room.

Quick, she had to do something.  She couldn't just lie here, waiting.
She leaped out of bed and dashed to the security panel beside the door.
With her index and third fingers she punched the two buttons that would
set off the panic alarm.

Nothing happened.  Every nerve in her body tensed.  She punched again.
Still nothing.

This is impossible, she thought, gasping for breath.  The panic alarm
went off whenever those two buttons were pushed, whether the system was
armed or not.  Why weren't horns blaring and lights flashing?

She heard movement in the hall outside.  Then the doorknob turned and
the door burst open.  Susan let out a shriek.  A hulking brute of a man
stood framed in the doorway, his face dimly visible in the tiny green
lights on the control panel.  In the reflected glow, his square
bulldog's face looked grotesque, like something out of a monster movie.
Dressed all in black, he wore a knitted stocking cap that made his
small head seem even tinier.  At least six-and-a-half feet tall, he
smelled of cigarette smoke, garlic and sweat.

Slowly he moved toward her, his raised hand clutching something.  Light
from the flickering panel glinted on a knife's steel blade.  Rooted to
the floor, she pictured the blade arcing toward her.  How much pain
would she feel when he thrust it deep inside her?

Instinctively, Susan' covered her breasts with her arms.  Her breath
was so tight in her throat that she was afraid she'd faint.  "Get out,"
she screamed.

"Go sit on the bed nice and quiet like a good little girl."  He ground
the words out between his teeth in a hoarse, low voice.  "You've got
something you're dying to tell me."

"No.  No," she cried, trembling with helpless anger.  "What you want
isn't here."

He caressed her cheek with the point of the knife.  "Then tell me where
it is or I'll do some carving on your pretty little face."

Slowly she began to back toward the bed.  If only she'd listened to
Derek and gone to the hotel.  Or if she'd swallowed her silly pride and
asked him to stay.  But she hadn't, and he wasn't here to help her. She
had no one but herself.

Was there anything she could use in defense?  Frantically she glanced
around the bedroom.  A shoe?  A metal trash basket?  Nothing seemed
effective against a razor-sharp knife.

In the dark hall behind the intruder, she saw something move.  God help
her if there were two of them.  Her legs turned to water, and she
dropped to the edge of the bed.  Seconds later the overhead light
flicked on.

"Drop the knife."  It was Derek's voice.  He was here.  A wave of
relief swept over her.

"What you feel in your back is the bus' mess end of a .38," he growled
at the intruder.

Susan stared at him, hardly believing her good fortune.  How had he
shown up at exactly the right time?

From the astonished look on the big man's face, he was as surprised as
Susan.  His knife fell to the carpeted floor with a dull thud.

"Now, turn around and face the wall with your hands up."  '

The intruder swung around, and Susan finally found her voice.

"How did you get here?"  she cried.  "How did you know ?  '

"Later."  Derek's one word brought her back to reality.

"Are you okay?  If he touched you, I'll kill him right now."  Her heart
leaped into her throat.  "I'm fine."

"Good," he said.  "Grab that knife and throw it in the corner."  His
eyes never left the intruder's massive back.

On trembling legs, Susan slid off the bed and picked up the knife.
Gingerly she placed it in the farthest corner.

"Now let's find out what our friend here was up to."  Derek stuck the
gun in the man's face, making sure he could see it.

Grabbing her robe from the closet, Susan took a good look at her
intruder.  In the bright overhead light, with Derek's gun pointed at
his ear, he didn't look nearly as threatening as he had only moments
before.  Like a snake that's been de fanged the monster had lost his
power to terrorize her.  With her robe belted around her, she sat down
on the side of the bed.

"What's your name?"  Derek prodded his captive with the pistol.  When
he started to turn, Derek put the pistol against his head.  "Keep your
face to the wall and your hands up."

"Krakow."  His voice was so low SUsan could barely hear him.

"All fight, Krakow," Derek said.  "I've got a couple of questions.  If
I get the right answers, you'll walk out of here with your skin
intact."

Stiffening, Susan couldn't believe she'd heard fight.  Surely Derek
didn't intend to let this criminal get away scot free after he'd broken
into her home and threatened her life.  "I don't know nothing, mister,"
the man whined.  "Then I guess I'll have to put some memories back in
your head."  Derek's tone was deceptively quiet.  "Take off your shoe
and sock, please, Krakow."

The big man twisted his head sideways.  "Wh-why?"  "Just do it."  The
gun prodded Krakow's head.

As the intruder stooped, Derek glanced over his shoulder at Susan. "Get
me one of your scarves and a pillow."

Quickly she found a scarf, then handed him a king-size pillow.  Derek
dropped the pillow on the floor beside him.

"What you doing, mister?"  Krakow's voice quavered with fear.

"First I'm going to give Mrs.  Wade the gun and let her point it at
your gut while I tie this scarf around your mouth."  Derek's voice was
filled with loathing.  "Then you won't scream and wake up the neighbors
when I shoot your big toe off."

"No," Susan shrieked.  "You can't do that."

"Of course I can," Derek growled.  "I'll use the pillow for a silencer.
Anybody who breaks into a lady's condominium in the middle of the night
deserves to have a toe shot off, don't you think, Mrs.  Wade?  And if
that doesn't bring back his memory, we'll try a part of his anatomy
that's a little higher up."

Without hesitating, Derek handed the weapon to her--almost as if he
knew she'd won a medal for marksmanship.  Feeling nauseated, she aimed
it at Krakow's stomach.

Right before her eyes, the big man wilted.  Sickened though she was, a
small part of her enjoyed seeing Krakow terror.

Before Derek could tie the gag snugly, Krakow spoke through the loose
cloth.

"I'll tell you what I know."

"Good."  Derek kept his voice deadly calm.  "Who are you working for?"
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Susan lean forward on the bed. She
seemed okay but must have been scared to death.  His fingers tightened
around the gun handle.

When Krakow didn't answer, Derek prodded his head with the pistol. Then
he reached for the pillow on the floor next to his leg.  It would make
an effective silencer.

"You heard the question, Krakow.  You've got five seconds to answer or
you'll lose a toe."  Grimly he began counting.  "One... two... three...
four..."

"Stop."  Anxious desperation filled the big man's voice.  "Nobody hired
me.  I was working on my own."  He spoke slowly, pausing between words,
as if his brain wasn't equal to his imposing size.

"We both know better than that," Derek said with chilling certainty.
"You'll save us both a lot of trouble by answering a couple of simple
questions.  If you don't..."  He let his finger play with the gun's
trigger.  "We can do it the easy way or the hard way.  Your choice."

The big man sagged against the wall, all his resistance gone.  His
small head, topped with the black stocking cap, wagged nervously as he
'spoke.  "You'll let me go if I answer?"

"That's right."  Derek jabbed him in the ear with the gun.  "Tell me
what I want to know, and you're outta here with no police and all your
body parts intact."

Silence engulfed the room.  Derek could hear Krakow's heavy breathing.
His body odor and the garlicky smell of his breath hung in the air like
a sour cologne.  Derek began counting again.

"All right, I'll tell you."  The words jerked out of his mouth.  "But
it won't do you no good.  We only talked on the phone, and I didn't get
her... er, his name."

Derek heard Susan's quick gasp of astonishment.  He glanced at her over
his shoulder.  Her eyes bored into his with the urgency of someone
whose life depended on what she'd heard.

"Were you hired by a woman?"  he asked, careful to keep the surprise
from his voice.

"It was a woman's voice.  That's all I know."  Nervously Krakow
shuffled his feet.  His shoes, like his sweatshirt and pants, were
black.

"How did she get your name?"

"I don't know."

Was Krakow lying about the female voice?  Probably not.  Derek was
reasonably sure Krakow's slip of the tongue was genuine.  He jabbed the
big man's ear again with the gun.  "What did this woman tell you to do
here tonight?"

Now that Krakow had started to talk, his words flowed more easily.
"Find out from Mrs.  Wade what was in her husband's safe-deposit box
and where she put it."

That, Derek was certain, wasn't a fabrication.  "What if Mrs.  Wade
wouldn't talk?"

Krakow hesitated just long enough to make Derek suspect he was
inventing an answer.  "I was to tie her up and bring her along."

Sure you were, you no-good jerk.  White-hot rage shot through Derek.
The bastard had probably been ordered to kill Susan to keep her quiet.
But there wasn't time to force the truth out of him.  Someone might
already have called the police.  Derek couldn't afford to put himself
in an official spotlight and focus more attention on Susan.

"Where were you going to meet this woman?"

Krakow stirred uneasily.  "I--I wasn't," he returned.  "We only talked
on the phone.  She said to leave Mrs.  Wade tied up in the car on a
road near the Arboretum.  I figured she'd pick her up in another
car."

More lies.  "What a trusting soul you are," Derek said sarcastically.
"If you only talked on the phone, how was this woman going to pay you?"
He prodded his captive again on the side of his head.  "You can do
better than that."

Krakow jerked his head back.  "By--by messenger."

His immediate response made Derek doubt it was a fabrication.
"Explain," he said curtly.

"Half now, the remainder when the job's finished."

"You really think she intended to send a messenger with the second half
of the money?"

"Yeah.  I don't give her the papers she wants until she pays."

The answer made sense.  When Derek glanced over his shoulder at Susan,
he caught her nod.  She, too, thought Krakow was telling the truth
about his employer.

"Next question," Derek said.  "How did you get the combination for Mrs.
Wade's security system?"

"The woman gave it to me."

"The woman who hired you?"  Derek asked, incredulous.  "She had the
combination to Mrs.  Wade's alarm?  " eah?"  "What is it?"

When Krakow repeated the four-digit combination, Derek heard Susan's
quick intake of breath.  She half rose from the bed.  Without turning,
he waved her back down.  Stepping back, he motioned toward the door
with his gun hand.  "Get the hell out of here, Krakow."

With his hands still in the air, the big man took a cautious step
toward the hall as if unable to believe his good fortune.  He seemed to
fear a shot in the back if he moved too quickly.

"If I ever see your ugly face around Mrs.  Wade again, I'll aim a foot
or two higher than your feet."  Derek's finger on the .38's trigger
itched to apply more pressure.  How he'd enjoy putting a shot or two
through Krakow's tail section.  Picking up the pillow beside his leg,
he fired through it, the shot striking the floor near the big man's
bare foot.

Krakow took off down the hall running, not stopping to collect his shoe
and sock.  Derek heard him thudding down the stairs three at a time.
The crash of the front door as it slammed behind him seemed to shake
the building.

Shoving the pistol back in his leather jacket, Derek turned toward
Susan.  She sat on the bed staring at him, her luminous eyes wide with
shock and amazement.  She seemed to be angry.  That was too bad, he
thought, but there was no other way to handle Krakow.  He steeled
himself for a confrontation.

"Why did you let him go?"  she cried, her voice rising.  "We should
have called the police.  Don't you realize this woman who hired him
might be the one those people at the hotel thought was me?"

"He was probably lying."  Derek hoped to throw her off the track.  If
Susan insisted on calling the police, he'd have to walk out on her.
Damn.  Why should that bother him?  He simply couldn't risk close
scrutiny by the authorities.

"He wouldn't lie about a thing like that," she retorted, jumping to her
feet.  "He didn't lie about why he came here."

She brushed past him toward the phone on the other side of the bed.
Derek reached her side as she picked up the receiver.  "We'd better
talk before you do anything hasty.  Telling the police about this could
have some nasty ramifications."

He took her arm, intending to stop her from calling 911.  When he felt
her body trembling, the familiar murderous rage welled up in his
throat.  But now it was combined' with an odd protective feeling that
was new to him.

Putting an arm around her waist, he got her away from the phone and
lowered her to the side of the bed.  Instead of moving away, Susan
leaned her head against his shoulder.  Something deep inside him cursed
the monstrous barriers between them.  If only he could hold her without
any pretense.  Maybe then the raging demons inside him would go away.

"I'm sorry I got angry, Derek," she murmured.  "If it weren't for you,
I probably wouldn't even be here now."

Her brow furrowed.  "Just how did you get here in time to come charging
to my rescue like the U.S. cavalry?"  Her voice sounded much stronger
now.

H hesitated, unwilling to tell her he'd spent the last three hours
sitting at the curb beyond her driveway.  Such an admission smacked of
devotion above and beyond the call of duty.  He didn't want her to get
any wrong ideas about him.

Chapter Nine

"So give," Susan said, sensing Derek was keeping something from her.
"How did you get here in such a hurry?"

For a long moment he didn't answer.  Suddenly his nearness made her
unheated bedroom feel unbearably hot and crowded.  She rose and went to
the chair on the other side of her nightstand.  "Is there something
you're not telling me?"

He didn't dodge her direct glance.  "Somebody got in my hotel room
while we were here earlier tonight.  They took my computer and some
work files I'd brought along."

Watching his grim smile, a wave of compassion swept over her.  "Oh,
Derek, I'm sorry.  It's all my fault.  They must have been after
Brian's papers."

"Don't be ridiculous.  It's not your fault," She watched him shrug off
the importance of what must be a major loss for him.  "Risks like that
are what you're paying me for."

Damn him.  He would bring the money up again.  He was eyeing her with
such an intense expression that Susan looked down at her hands,
clenched tightly in her lap.

"It's a good thing I was burglarized," he growled.  "I figured if
they'd go to all the trouble of getting a hotel passkey so they could
search my room, they might know how to penetrate your security system.
That's why I came back.  God knows what might have happened if I hadn't
been here."

Susan stared wordlessly across at him, her heart pounding.  "Do you
mean you were parked outside watching my condo?"

He just shrugged his shoulders.  "If I'd been on my toes, I would have
stopped Krakow before he got inside.  He came in through the back door,
and I didn't realize anybody was here until I saw his flashlight
through the window."

Susan wasn't sure whether to hit him or hug him.  "What if I'd been the
one with the flashlight?  I've been known to use one when I creep
around the house at night."

"You don't usually leave the back door unlocked, do you?"  Derision and
sympathy were mingled in his glance.  "That's how I got in."

Her stomach clenched tight.  "If it was open, then he must have had a
key.  And he knew the master combination to the alarm system, too,
Derek.  That's the one I use when I change the code.  It'll override
the others."  Disturbed, she paced the length of the room, then dropped
to the bed beside him.  "Just thinking of that monster able to walk
right into my house..."

"Somebody's gone to a lot of trouble to gain access to your home."  His
eyes narrowed, and his lips formed a hard, thin line.  "Any idea
why?"

"None, unless..."  Susan's mind churned with a crazy mixture of hope
and fear.  "Unless this has some connection with Brian, and I've gotten
in the way somehow.  Maybe whoever hired Krakow got the key and
combination when Brian was still alive.  Maybe they wanted to spy on
him, not me."  '

"That's what I think."  Derek hugged her against him, a gentle pressure
that made her all too conscious of her nightgown and robe.  "But now
that they're after you, there's one thing for sure--you've got to get
out of here and into a hotel."

"Oh, Derek, we've got to report these break-ins to the police."  Susan
would have gone to the phone, but he was sitting so close she'd have to
stand right in front of him to use it.  Her comfortable terry robe
suddenly felt even more insubstantial.  Pulling it close, she tightened
the belt as if that would end the erotic feelings welling up inside
her.

"I can't stop you if that's what you want to do."  Derek gazed at her
levelly.  "But you'll be wasting your time.  MacElroy won't believe
you."

Susan twisted uncomfortably on the bed.  Every natural instinct told
her this was a serious crime that should be m-ported.  "Of course he
will.  The police might even be able to catch Krakow."  She glanced
across the bed at the well-worn shoe in the doorway.  "Most robbers
don't leave shoes behind."

"Exactly."  He spoke the word with an authority that bewildered her.
Why wouldn't the police believe her?

"There's no sign of breaking and entering," Derek went on, "no harm to
you physically.  Detective MacElroy might even get the notion he was
working for you."

"Working for me?"  Susan's breath caught in her lungs.  "How could
anybody think such a thing, especially after you tell them he came
after me with a butcher knife."  She stared at him, confused by his
doubting expression.  "You do plan to admit you were here?"

Derek shook his head, his eyes guarded.  "If you say anything about my
role in this, MacElroy's going to think I spent a good part of the
night in your bed.  That might not be a good idea for a widow under
suspicion for killing her husband."

In dazed exasperation, Susan crossed her arms over her breasts and
pointedly looked away from his knowing eyes.  "Then you think that man
and whoever hired him ought to get away?"

"Not at all," Derek returned.  "What I have in mind for them is
considerably more painful than what they'd get in police hands."
Standing, he walked around the bed and picked up Krakow's shoe and
sock.  "But first we have to find out who's behind these murders and
exactly what's going on."

Shivering, Susan watched him as he stood in the doorway to her bedroom,
the shoe in his hand and the familiar wary smile on his lips.  By now
she knew him well enough to realize his smile hid something dark and
dangerous.

THOUGH IT WAS NEARLY four o'clock in the morning, the night clerk at
the Riverfront Hotel checked Susan in without any problem.

"If you'd like, we can get you an adjoining room with Mr.  Archer by
the end of the week," he offered.

To her embarrassment, Susan felt her cheeks burn at the suggestion.
"No, I--"

"Thanks, we'd appreciate that," Derek interrupted.  "Until then, put
her in the closest available room and get her a key for my box in the
hotel vault."

"Yes, Mr.  Archer."  The clerk smirked at Susan.  "Will you be paying
with a credit card, Mrs.  Wade?  Or is Mr.

Susan quickly handed the clerk her card, her face growing hotter at his
insinuation.  But the image of only a door between them provoked
sensual thoughts that set her on fire.  She'd had virtually no
resistance in her tonight when he kissed her.  She didn't kid herself
about what would happen if he did it again, once they were settled into
their adjoining rooms.

As Susan turned away from the registration desk, the clerk asked if
they needed a bellhop.

"We can manage."  With ease, Derek lifted her two suitcases.  She took
the key from the clerk and picked up her tote bag.

After a quick trip on the elevator, they reached the fifth floor.  Her
room was almost directly across the hall from his.  Inside, they
switched lights on, bathing the king-size bed and thick wine carpeting
in a warm glow.

Despite the room's inviting appearance, Susan knew there'd be no sleep
for her for the rest of this night.  She still quivered with semi shock
knowing she'd picture Krakow's face every time she closed her eyes. And
the knife.  She could still see it glittering in the green light from
her security system.

"How about some coffee?"  She didn't want to be alone.  Derek placed
her suitcases on the floor and turned toward her, moving with the easy
grace of a trained pugilist.

He nodded.  "There's an all-night restaurant just across the river.
Over breakfast, we can decide where we go from here."

But Susan had her own idea about what she wanted to accomplish in the
next couple of hours.  She wanted to find out what made Derek Archer
tick.  One minute he growled at her like an angry panther.  The next,
he appeared with a bag of ice for her bruised leg and treated her with
surprising warmth.  There was something about him that didn't quite
ring truemlike he was two different people sharing the same body.  But
one thing was for certain--nobody would lay a hand on her when he was
around.

They took his rental car to the coffee shop, leaving her Firebird in
the hotel parking lot.  The restaurant smelled of coffee and frying
bacon.  A fortyish waitress with puffy eyelids showed them to a
well-lighted booth and took their orders.

"I'm starving," Susan admitted, ordering a huge country-style
breakfast.  After the waitress brought their coffee and left, she
added, "When that man came at me with that knife tonight, I thought I'd
never be hungry again."

"If he'd had his way, you never would have."  Derek's dark face set in
a vindictive expression.

The skin on the back of her arms prickled.  "If he meant to kill me,
why didn't he have a gun?"

Derek shrugged.  "Who knows?  Maybe he's a slasher who works with
knives, and that's why he was hired to make you talk."

Shuddering, she stared at her coffee to blot out her memory of the
leering face and the horror she'd felt when the knife point grazed her
cheek.  When she looked up, Derek was studying her intently.  She saw
the heartrending tenderness of his gaze and sensed that he understood
her terror.

"All I know is we're damn lucky he didn't have a gun.  If I'd had to
kill him..."  Abruptly, he stopped speaking.

"The police would get involved," she finished, remembering how upset
she'd been when Derek let the intruder go.  "First this afternoon and
now tonight, you don't want the police involved."  She paused,
considering how firmly he'd resisted her desire to call the
authorities.  "It's almost as though you've got personal reasons for
avoiding them."

The corner of his mouth twisted with exasperation, and he took a long
swallow of coffee before he answered.  "As long as I'm working for you,
you're the personal reason for everything I do in connection with this
case, including avoiding the police.  But you're the boss, Susan.  Go
ahead and report what happened.  See what the cops say."  A warning
glint appeared in his eyes.  "But I'd advise you to call your lawyer
first."

"Are you saying the only reason you came to my house tonight was
because you're working for me?"  Her heart pounded in an erratic rhythm
as she considered what her question implied: that he might have done it
out of concern for her.

The familiar mask descended over his face.  "What other reason would I
have?"

She took a deep breath.  "You might care what happens to me."

For one of the few times since they'd met, he didn't meet her direct
gaze.  "You're giving me too much credit, Susan.  I'm not one of these
caring new-age males.  I'm out to get everything I can from you His
voice was uncompromising, yet oddly gentle.  "Including, but not
limited to, the money you're going to pay me."  When he finally looked
up, the smoldering flame she saw in his eyes belied his harsh words.

"I don't believe you," she said.

His mask fell away, revealing his bafflement.

The waitress chose that moment to deliver plates loaded with eggs,
bacon, home-fried potatoes and pancakes.  Susan felt her mouth water
and breathed deeply of the enticing aroma.

"Almost getting murdered must stimulate my appetite."  She poured syrup
on the pancakes.  "I can't remember ever being this hungry."  She took
a bite, then licked the syrup from her lips.

Across the laminated tabletop, Derek stared at her in confusion, not
touching his food.  "What did you mean when you said you didn't believe
me?"

"Just what I said.  I don't think you're nearly as selfish as you say
you are."  Feeling more sure of herself, Susan relished the dismayed
expression on his darkly handsome face.  Chalk one up for her.  She'd
gotten to him for once.

"Didn't you learn anything from your bad experience with your husband?"
he asked.  "The country's full of selfish men like him and me who are
out to take advantage of you."

"Maybe so," she agreed.  "But you're not the least bit like Brian.  In
the few short months we were married, he never treated me with anything
like the concern you've shown in the past few days.  He was never there
for me when I needed him."  Susan watched him intently.  "You've always
been there."

"Because you're paying the bills," he muttered, picking up his fork.

"Stick it in your ear," she murmured softly.  "On a hunch because
someone broke into your room, you must have one ye' waited half the
night outside my condo to be sure nobody got inside, even after I
assured you the security system was top-notch.  That doesn't sound like
an employe just doing his job."

"I'm warning you, Susan, don't convince yourself I'm something I'm
not."

Shaking her head to silence him, she refused to stop.  "And how about
the ice for my leg this afternoon?  And not accusing me of searching
your computer files.  You must have known what I was doing."

For the first time since they sat down, he took a big bite of food and
swallowed it.  "lust why were you snooping through my things?"

In a flash Susan realized she wanted, when needed, to tell Derek about
her covert' mission It seemed more and more obvious that Brian's murder
was connected to the illegal activity going on at Fairchild, the
activity she'd been ere fly sent to investigate.  If so, her life might
delnd on Derek.  Three times in the past two days he'd saved her.  If
she couldn't trust him... Casting aside the nagging doubt that still
plagued her, she decided to level with him--the way she'd never leveled
with Brian.

"There were a couple of reasons I was curious about your files," she
admitted slowly.  "Since the policy from your company wasn't in Brian's
box, I wasn't convinced you were an insurance agent."

"Are you now?"  he asked, his eyes slightly narrowed.  He seemed to
have forgotten his half-eaten breakfast.

She nodded.  "I saw nothing to indicate you aren't."  "What's the other
reason?"

Putting down her fork, she shifted uneasily on the vinyl seat.  "That's
a little harder to explain."

"Start at the beginning," he said, leaning toward her.  Why did she
have the impression he already knew what she was going to say?

HERE XT COMES, Dcre'k thought, watching the conflicting play of
emotions on Susan's expressive face.  Reluctance and loyalty to her
cause battled with her desperate need for his help.  Need won, as Derek
had hoped it would.  She was going to trust him with her real reason
for being at Fairchild.  Glancing down at his plate, he took another
mouthful of food so she wouldn't feel pressured.

"You know that illegal operation you think Brian was involved in?"  She
eyed him so intently, Derek wondered if she guessed what he suspected,
that she was a covert investigator.

For a moment Susan hesitated, and he had to content himself with a
quick nod of his head.

"Somebody at the Pentagon agrees with you."  She spoke eagerly, no
longer hesitant.

"Who?"

"The Pentagon Intelligence Agency."  The warmth of her smile echoed in
her voice.  "They sent me here to check covertly into some rumors about
smuggling.  Nothing dangerous or chancy.  Just keep my eyes open for
anything out of the ordinary."

Pretending surprise, he leaned toward her.  "Thank God you told me.
That may be why these people are after you."

"Not possible."  Unconsciously her brow furrowed.  "Nobody knows about
my assignment except the covert operations people at the Pentagon. None
of the civilian agencies were in on it, only a few top brass at the
Pentagon Intelligence Agency.  Plus, I found out absolutely nothing.
The operation's been canceled."

"What did the people at the Pentagon say when you told them about your
marriage?"  Derek felt like a rat for asking, but he had to know if
she'd married Wade as part of her mission.

"They didn't like it," she said, frowning at her empty plate.  "But I
thought we loved each other, so I went ahead."

She gave him a quizzical look.  "So where do we go from here?"

Pushing their plates aside, Derek took out his list of the safe-deposit
box contents and laid it on the table between them.

"Let's decide right now," he said.

TItE PHONE WAS RINGING when Susan walked into her small office later
that morning.  Eagerly she grabbed the receiver, thinking it might be
Derek.

Alarm shot through her when she heard the familiar raspy voice of her
former commander, Major Savage.  What now?  she asked herself, her
blood pressure soaring.

"Call Detective MacElroy ASAP," Savage said tersely.  "He's been trYing
to reach you at home since early this morning.  Our number here at the
squadron was the only other one he had for you."

Susan heard the accusation in the major's voice and knew she should
have called MacElroy to give him her new work number.  "Did he say what
he wanted?"  she asked, knowing the major would have found out for her
if he could.  "No, but I suggest you call him right away."

She let her breath out in a slow sigh.  "Thanks, I will."  Something's
wrong, she thought.  Had new evidence turned up to incriminate her?
Heart pounding, she hung up and tapped Detective MaeElroy's number on
the telephone.  A few moments later she reached him at police
headquarters.

"Just a routine check, Mrs.  Wade," he said in his booming bass
voice.

So relieved she thought her legs would collapse, Susan lowered herself
to the chair behind her desk.  "Did Major Savage tell you I've been
transferred to the Security Police Squadron?"

"Ys.  Be sure you notify me of any other changes in your address or
phone.  You are still living at your home address?"

Susan's stomach sank.  He'd probably think she was trying to put one
over on him.  "No, I moved to the Riverfront Hotel last night," she
blurted.  "That's why you didn't catch me at home."

"I see," he said, a warning note in his voice.  "Any special reason for
the move?"

"Not really."  Nervously she opened her bottom desk drawer and dropped
her purse inside.  Derek-was right.  It was best if no one knew he'd
been there with her--or that they'd let Krakow get away.  "The condo
seemed lonely, so I moved to the hotel for a few days."  The ease with
which she lied no longer amazed her.

She heard MacElroy's exasperated sigh.  "Be sure you let me know if you
have another sudden impulse to move."

Feeling like a criminal, she said she would.  After she hung up, she
called to let Major Savage's first sergeant know where she was staying,
and then went to her own orderly room to report the new address.  With
that small chore finished, she headed for the squadron's coffeepot at
the back of the room behind a folding screen.

After pouring herself a cup, Susan lingered, hoping to overhear news
about the theft of the colonel's van.  She hadn't sipped her coffee for
more than two minutes when an airman on the other side of the screen
mentioned the robbery to a buddy at the next desk.

"The local police found the paddy wagon last night," he said
conversationally.  Though Susan had been in the squadron only a couple
of days, she knew the squadron troops referred to the colonel's van as
the paddy wagon because he was always using it to haul his people to
athletic events.  How different Colonel Tinnerman was from Major
Savage, who seemed to consider any friendliness toward his troops a
mortal sin.

SEep ping out from behind the screen, she turned to the airman who had
spoken.  "What's this about the colonel's van?"

The airman stood.  "Good morning, ma'am."

"As you were," she said, giving him pr mission to return to his chair.
"Now, tell me about the colonel's van."

He sat down.  But before he could answer, Susan felt a light touch on
her arm.  It was Colonel Tinnerman.

"Good morning, Susan," he said, smiling warmly.  Cup in hand, he headed
for the coffeepot.  "Join me in my Of-rice and I'll give you the whole
story while we drink our coffee."

"You CAN'T BE SERIOUS."  Colonel Tinnerman's homely face contorted with
astonishment.

"I'd never have known the mugger used your van except that I've a good
memory and got a quick look at the license."  Enjoying the amazed look
on the colonel's face, Susan sat back in the chair beside his desk and
took a long swallow of coffee.  "Of course, as soon as I found out you
owned it, I realized it must have been stolen."

Puzzlement replaced his surprise.  "How'd you trace the license
number?"

"My insurance agent did it for me.  Rrncmber?  I told you about him the
day I reported in."  Susan examined her commandr's face.  His
cornflower blue eyes glowed with th warm interest she sometimes saw in
her father's gaze.

"Well," she continued, "the agent was with me when I came out of the
bank after depositing the check from his company."

Susan had already deided to stick with her original story about needing
the afternoon off to invest insurance funds.  She shrugged off a minor
twinge of guilt at lying to a commander so concerned with her welfare.
If he knew about Brian's box, he might insist she tell the local
authorities

,4 /

about it.  She wasn't ready to do that, not until she and Derek had
finished their investigation.

"Did your insurance agent see the mugger, too?"  the colonel asked.

"Yes.  He's done some investigative work and knew how to find out who
owned the van from the license number."  Remembering how Derek had
brought ice for her leg, she permitted herself a small smile.

The colonel's round face grew thoughtful.  "Sounds like this man's made
quite an impression on you.  Sometime in the next couple of weeks, I'd
like to take the two of you to dinner."

Susan stared at him, speechless, touched again by his warm generosity.
Even though she knew the colonel enjoyed treating his people to fun
outings, she hadn't even considered that he might invite her to
dinner.

"That's very generous of you, sir," she began, surprised at how
emotional her voice sounded.  "But Derek--that's the agent--will be
here only until Monday.  He's based in San Francisco."

"Too bad."  The colonel really did look sorry.  "I suppose you young
people will be too busy to have dinner with your commander between now
and then--" He eyed her questioningly.

"It's purely a business relationship," she said quickly, to head off an
apparent misunderstanding.  "He's just helping me straighten out my
financial affairs."

"He must be a talented man," the colonel commented dryly, sounding more
like her father by the minute.  "He's an insurance agent, an
investigator and now--a financial adviser."

Why deny it?  "Yes, sir, he's been a big help."

The expression in the colonel's blue eyes showed a depth of concern
she'd rarely seen.  "The first sergeant tells me you've moved to the
Riverfront Hotel for a few days.  Is that where your agent is
staying?"

Though Susan saw only warm consideration on the colonel's face, she
felt her cheeks flush.  "It's not like you think, sir," she protested.
"My condo was broken into last night, and I was afraid to stay alone.
So I moved into the hotel."

"My dear girl."  His voice had an infinitely compassionate tone.  "Why
didn't you call me?  I would have arranged for you to stay with one of
the women in the squadron."

"Sir, it was three o'clock in the morning.  I'd be on somebody's hate
list if I got her up at that hour."

A swift shadow swept across his face.  "Are you telling me you were
alone in the house when someone broke in?"

When Susan saw his worried expression, she wished she'd never mentioned
it.  She should have known how upset he'd be after what had happened to
his wife.  "I was upstairs in

"Did the police catch the man?"

How to answer?  Thinking fast, Susan stared down at her hands, clenched
tightly inber lap.

"I didn't call the police, Colonel Tinherman."  When he started to
speak, a dismayed frown on his face, she forged ahead.  "Whoever it was
must have heard me.  He took off before I got a good look at him. Since
nothing happened to me and he didn't take anything, I saw no reason to
involve the police."

More lies, she thought, ashamed but determined to stick to her story.

"Instead of going downstairs, you should have dialed 911," the colonel
said, shaking his head.

"I know," she agreed quickly.  "I'd awakened from a sound sleep and
wasn't thinking straight."  She hoped he wouldn't insist she report the
incident.  "Now that it's over, I don't want to call attention to
myself.  So far the police haven't believed a thing I've said.
Sometimes !  think they'd like nothing better than to take me into
custody--for my own good, of course."  She gave a humorless little
laugh.

A half smile broke through his concerned expression.  "Our civilian
counterparts don't operate that way--but I see why you didn't report
it."

He scribbled something on a card and handed it to her.  "Here's my home
phone.  My number at the squadron is on the front.  Don't leave this
office until you've memorized both numbers.  If anything threatening
ever happens again, please call me, no matter what time it is."

He's almost too good to be true, Susan thought, still reeling from his
dinner invitation and his generous offer to let her pick her own duty
hours.  She scolded herself for her cynicism.  If she didn't watch out,
she'd end up like Derek, wary of everyone.

Slowly sipping her coffee, she glanced at the card.  With her
photographic memory, she needed only an instant for both numbers to be
indelibly imprinted on her brain .... Chapter Ten

Susan's hand tightened around the doorknob when she took her first look
at Derek, standing outside her hotel room early that afternoon.  With
his open yellow sport shirt re-yea ling a mass of curly black hair, he
aroused longings she had trouble keeping hidden.  After he'd come in,
her room felt ten degrees hotter and a whole lot smaller than it had
only moments ago.

"Did you call Seattle yet?"  he asked.  The call, carefully planned
last night, was the first item on their schedule for today.  The second
was a visit to the suburban mail-to-go center where Brian had rented a
box.

Hearing the rasp of excitement in his voice, Susan met his direct gaze.
"No, I was waiting for you.  I'll do it now."  Taking a small notepad
out of her bag, she flipped to the page where she'd copied the name and
telephone number listed on the index card from Brian's safe-deposit
box.  Quickly she dialed.

The woman who answered repeated the telephone number in a businesslike
way, but gave no other information.

"Mr.  Ted Lindsey, please," Susan said, motioning Derek to sit beside
her on the bed so he could hear.

"May I ask who's calling, please?"

Susan didn't hesitate.  If they expected Lindsey to level with her,
he'd have io know who she was.  "Mrs.  Brian Wade."  '

"Mr.  Lindsey will be with you in a moment, Mrs.  Wade."  Susan held
the receiver so Derek could hear.  His face was so close to hers she
could smell his spicy after-shave.  He must have showered just before
meeting her.  A delicious shudder ran through her as she pictured his
bare chest, with its mat of curly black hair lathered with soap.
Dismayed, she realized each image of him she came up with was more
detailed, and barer, than the one before it.

"This is Ted Lindsey, Mrs.  Wade," a pleasant male voice said,
interrupting her thoughts.  "How can I help you?"  His tone was smooth,
like a radio announcer's.

"I'm not sure what your connection is to my husband," Susan began
slowly.  "I found your name on some of his papers.  I was hoping you
could tell me."

"Connection?  I suppose you'd call me a friend, Mrs.  Wade."  '

"Did you know he'd been killed?"

"Yes," he said, after a moment's pause.  "I should have sent
condolences.  But I didn't know you, and I'm not very good at that sort
of thing."

Catching Derek's slow nod, Susan forged ahead with the first of the
questions they'd outlined over breakfast early this morning.

"Do you mind telling me where you met Brian and how long you've known
him?"

Silence.  Then he said, "I'm sorry, Mrs.  Wade, but I'm at work, and
don't have time for chitchat."  His tone turned abrupt.  "I'm sure your
husband's death was a terrible shock, and I'll do anything I can to
help.  But since he never mentioned me to you, it should seem obvious
that we weren't much more than good drinking buddies."

Again, Susan glanced at Derek.  "Go for it," he mouthed silently.

"I've been talking to his friends, trying to find his murderer," Susan
said boldly.  "Could you meet me for a few minutes next Saturday
morning?"

"It would be a waste of both our times, Mrs.  Wade.  Now, if you'll
excuse me, I've got to get back to work."  Lindsey seemed about to hang
up.

"Wait," she cried.  "If you want to help, this is how.  I've hired
Stephen Ellis, the private investigator.  He'll be with me when I talk
to you.  All we ask is a few minutes."

Using Ellis's name was Derek's idea.  Since Ellis and' Lindsey were the
two names in Brian's safe deposit box, Derek thought there might be a
connection.  Maybe he was right.  As soon as Susan said Stephen Ellis,
Lindsey stopped resisting.

"I still think it's a waste of time, but I'll be glad to get together
with you and your investigator if you think I can help," he offered.
"Where would you like to meet?"

She breathed a silent sigh of relief.  "Eleven o'clock Saturday morning
at Ye Olde Curiosity Shop on the Seattle waterfront."  It was the only
place she knew in the port city.  "How will I recognize you?"

"You don't need to recognize me," he returned.  "Your husband showed me
your picture."  He didn't say goodbye.

After Susan replaced the receiver, she went to the chair beside the
table.  Having Derek so close on the bed made her edgy, unable to think
clearly.  Now that she knew for sure they'd be together in Seattle over
the weekend, a shiver of excitement raced through her.  Somehow, the
two hotel rooms in Seattle--three hundred miles from Spokane--seemed
more intimate than the two they had now.

From across the room, Derek gave her the okay sign.  "Nice work on the
phone, Susan."

Heat rose to her cheeks at his compliment.  Why did she feel so darn
pleased at the slightest hint of praise from this man?  Rising, she
started toward the door, but he didn't follow.

"Before we leave, there's something you need to know."  She whirled
around, vaguely frightened by his change of tone.

Making no move to get up from the bed, he pulled a slip of paper from
his pocket.  "This morning I was doing more work on the figures in your
husband's notebook.  On several pages there are lists that look like
bank deposits."  He inclined his head toward her chair.  "Why don't you
sit back down while I go over this with you."

Numbly she returned to her chair.  What secret dealings were about to
be revealed?  She sucked in her breath, not sure she wanted to know.

"At first I thought it was part of the illegal shipping record," Derek
said, his dark eyebrows slanted thoughtfully.  "Then I noticed some
numbers and letters at the bottom of the page.  After I checked this
morning, I found out it's the identification for an account in a bank
in Fribourg, Switzerland."

"A Swiss bank account?"  Susan's mind spun with bewilderment, refusing
to register the significance of his words.  "But Brian had no foreign
bank accounts."

"Maybe not," Derek agreed.  "But if I were you, I'd get my attorney to
check on it.  From these figures, it's not clear exactly how much is in
the account, but it could be in the millions, depending on how he
recorded the deposits."  He grinned that cynical smile of his that
never quite reached his eyes.  "If I'm right, you can afford a
full-time private investigator."  '

Susan was too shocked to appreciate his dark sense of humor, and stared
blankly at him.

He handed her the paper.  "All the info's here.  We can stop by your
attorney's office on the way to the post office."

Trembling, Susan put the paper in her bag.  "You say there's a lot of
money in this account.  But Brian didn't have

The Eyes of Derek t rcher that kind of capital.  He couldn't have
stolen it--could he?

If he did, it's not mine."

"Then whose is it?"

She shook her head helplessly.  "I don't know, Derek, I just don't
know."

THE CONTRACT POST OFFICE where Wade had rented a mailbox was located at
a shopping center in Dishman, a suburb north of the city.  Derek didn't
think he and Susan were followed from her attorney's office, but took
the precaution of parking at the Northtown Mall before they took a taxi
to the shopping center.  He figured they shouldn't be more than a
couple of hours, and if the car thieves who had been plaguing the mall
parking lot wanted his rented car--what the hell, it was insured.

From inside the mall, he called a cab for the ride out the freeway to
Dishman.  Whoever was behind the attacks on Susan knew about the
safe-deposit box.  By going through the papers in his stolen suitcase,
they also knew that Derek had more than a business interest in her.  He
couldn't allow them to find out about this secret mailbox as well.

He glanced at her sitting quietly beside him.  In her black slacks and
red turtleneck sweater, with her hair loose on her shoulders, she
looked more like a college student than an air force lieutenant.
Derek's gut tightened at the sight of her.  Why couldn't he keep his
hands off her?

She hadn't said much since he dropped that bomb on her at the hotel.
Outwardly she looked as poised as always, but when he put his arm
around her shoulders, he felt her tremble.  He didn't blame her for
being a little shell-shocked.  It wasn't every day that a woman found
out she was probably worth millions.

The cab soon appeared and they headed out on the freeway.  When they
arrived at the shopping center, Derek paid the cab driver, then he
glanced around the spacious parking lot.  Most of the cars were lined
up in front of the single-story row of businesses, with a dozen or more
clustered at the lot's center near the grocery store.

Had they been followed?  While he watched, a van turned into the lot. A
woman with a baby got out, disappearing a moment later inside a
discount shoe shop.

Nothing to worry about, he thought, heading for the mail-to-go center
with Susan close beside him.  According to the big red, white and blue
sign over its plate-glass window, the business offered copying,
wrapping and mailing services as well as rental boxes.  He opened the
door and they went in.

A row of copy machines stood to their left.  At a counter on their
right, a thin young man with a gold earring asked if they needed
help.

"Just going to our box," Derek said.  Susan flashed a reassuring smile
at the clerk.

Derek could feel the clerk's eyes on their backs as they went to the
rear of the room where the mailboxes were located.  He probably knew
the regulars who picked up their mail every day.  Would he try to stop
two strangers he didn't recognize?

After a brief search, they found the box with a number matching that on
the key.  Susan inserted it.  The door swung open.

The box was empty.

She glanced at Derek with a surprised expression.  "Do you suppose
somebody else--maybe Stephen Ellis--has a key?"

A warning alarm rang in his head.  If this was someone else's box, did
he or she know Wade had a key?

"Need some help?"  a man's bored voice said from behind them.  At
merek's nod, the copy clerk opened the door beside the mailboxes and
appeared behind the counter half a second later.

Taking the key from Susan, Derek held it up so the clerk could see the
number.  He scowled, pretending to be annoyed.

The clerk's smile vanished.  "Something wrong with your box?"

"It's empty.  What's happened to my mail?"

The clerk took another look at the number on the key.  A flash of
recognition crossed his angular face.  "Just a minute, I'll get it for
you."

He turned away.  A moment later he plopped two bulging shopping bags
down on the counter.  "The owner said to tell you we'd appreciate it if
you'd stop by a little more often."

"Thanks," Derek grumbled, picking up the bags.  He waited until they
were outside to speak to Susan.

"Let's see who this stuff's addressed to," he said when they were out
of the clerk's sight.

"I already know."  She sounded discouraged.  "Stephen Ellis.  When we
were walking out, I saw the name on that catalog on top.  Since the
mail hasn't been picked up for months, Brian must have been getting it,
not somebody else."

He nodded, fighting another surge of hatred toward Wade.  "Looks like I
was right.  Your husband intended to assume another identity--Stephen
Ellis."

Derek's suspicion was confirmed beyond doubt an hour later.  At a quiet
table in the downtown public library, they xamined every piece of paper
in the two shopping bags--all addressed to Stephen Ellis.

As Susan breathed in the book smells and heard the quiet rustlings of
people browsing through the shelves around her, she felt the pain and
tension draining out of her.  Why should she feel hurt because Brian
hadn't loved her?  She hadn't loved him, either, not at the end.  If
she'd loved him, she could never respond to Derek with the
pulse-pounding intensity she felt every time he was near.

Susan stole a sideways glance at him, sitting beside her at the library
table.  His back straight, his head bent slightly, he appeared very
relaxed, as though he spent hours at a time in a similar position.
Maybe he did, she thought, real'ing again how little she knew about
him.

Like Brian, Derek had a mysterious side, a strange, dangerous
personality he kept carefully hidden.  She'd been honest with him,
confiding her innermost secrets about her relationship with Brian and
her covert mission to Fairchild.

And what had he told her about himself?

Nothing.

Still, he'd come to her rescue three times, practically pulling her
from the jaws of death last night.  And she had this deep knowing that
he was worthy of her trust.  Despite his tough-guy assertions that his
only interest was what she paid him, she knew more than money was
involved.  At the thought, that certain warmth he inspired flowed
through her, a liquid silkiness heating her insides.

With a sigh, she mined her attention to the pile of mail in front of
her.  Most was advertising.  But no matter how mundane the item
appeared, she listed it and put it on the stack for Derek's review.
Nothing would be discarded until they'd both examined it carefully.

"Take a look at this," he whispered, handing her an envelope with
government markings.

With trembling fingers she pulled out a U.S. passport.  The name was
Stephen Ellis, but the picture was Brian's--incontrovertible proof that
he'd intended to assume another identity and presumably to walk out on
her.

Susan thought she'd come to terms with Briaffs abandonment, but she was
wrong.  At the sight of his round, boyish face staring soberly at her
from the passport picture, she felt her eyes filling.

"Are you okay?"  Derek murmured.  She heard the concern in his voice.

She longed to throw herself into his arms.  If only she could feel his
hands caressing her hair, his firm chest against her breasts, maybe
then her hurt would be lessened.

Swallowing hard, she bit back her tears.  "I'm fine."

He took her hand and held it softly between his.  "That's my girl."

Looking at Derek's face, she imagined.  he could feel what she was
feeling--from the deep-down hurt at Brian's planned abandonment to the
breathtaking desire he aroused in her.  But the calluses on his hands
reminded her again, of how little she knew about him.  She'd have to
find out more.  Soon.

Before it was too late... and she fell in love with him.

AT THE LIBRARY, Susan and Derek spent nearly three hours sifting
through the mail in the two shopping bags and listing every item.  When
they'd finished, there were only a few pieces that appeared to be of
special interest: the passport; credit card bills for charges made in
Buenos Aires last December; bank statements from two out-of-state
banks; and four handwritten letters in Spanish, also from the Argentine
capital.

Instinctively, Susan knew the four letters were from a woman.  Since
she didn't read Spanish, she couldn't tell what they said.  After
making a copy of each at the library, she handed the four copies to
Derek.  "Would you mind getting these translated?"

He gave her a slow-sweet smile with none of his usual cynicism.  "Do
you want to see the translations?"

"Not really," she admitted.  "But I suppose I should.  The attacks on
me seem to be tied to Brian.  If I'm going to get out of this mess
alive, I need to know what was going on in his life."

"Agreed."  Without further comment he stuffed the copies in the pocket
of his leather jacket.  "Did you know your husband was in Buenos Aires
last December?"  He nodded toward the credit card nvoices lying next to
the letters on the library table.

"Yes.  His C-130 was part of the rescue mission after that big
earthquake in northern Argentina."  Susan compared her copy of the
figures in Brian's black notebook with the invoices.  "The December
date's listed in his notebook.  He must have made some charges on his
Stephen Ellis card when he was in Buenos Aires."  Her voice rose, and a
middle-aged woman glowered at her.

"Let's get out of here," Derek muttered.  "We need to talk."

After putting the junk mail back in the two shopping bags, Susan placed
the significant pieces, along with her lists, in her bag.  Derek called
a taxi from the library pay phone.

Outside, night had come, along with a swift drop in temperature.
Shivering in spite of her wool sweater, Susan slipped into her lined
car coat, grateful she'd brought it with her.

During the taxi ride to the Northtown Mall, she couldn't help reacting
to Derek, sitting close beside her with the shopping bags next to him
on the seat.  Her senses spinning, she drank in the sight and smell of
him.

Particularly his leather coat.  It gave off a rich outdoorsy scent
faintly tinged with cigar smoke.  The odor brought back an elusive
memory of something she couldn't put her finger on.

"Do you smoke cigars?"  she asked softly, not wanting to pry but
determined to find out more about him.

He stiffened at her question, innocent though it was.  "No, why?  Do
you smell smoke on me?"

"Yes," she said, suddenly remembering why the smell seemed familiar.
"When Brian and I were going together, he had a leather bomber jacket
almost exactly like yours.  It smelled the same way."  She paused,
trying to recall the last time she'd seen it.  "He never wore it after
we were married.  I gave it to charity along with the rest of his
clothes."

"Interesting coincidence," Derek commented.  But unperturbed though he
appeared, she got the impression that he was bothered by what she'd
said.  Wondering why, a tiny thread of doubt uncoiled'in her mind.  A
few minutes later they arrived at the Northtown Mall, and Susan thrust
her suspicions aside.

As before, Derek made certain the taxi driver didn't connect them with
the rental car.  Alighting from the cab on the far side of the mall,
they walked down a wide corridor and then through a department store to
reach their vehicle.

Outside again, they headed for their row at a leisurely pace.  A cold
wind more reminiscent of winter than early spring chafed Susan's face
and tugged at her hair.  Wishing she'd brought a scarf or hat, she
raised the collar on her coat and shoved her hands into its pockets.

Tall overhead lights shone brightly on the hundreds of cars parked in
the mall lot.  They turned into their row.  Just ahead a car backed out
and swung around, blocking their way.  Derek guided Susan to one side,
then picked up his pace again.  Suddenly, with no warning, he stepped
in front of her and stopped.

She ran right into him.  One minute she was striding along beside him.
The next she was pressed against the back of his jacket.  Grabbing for
his arm, she managed to keep herbal "Follow me between these two cars,"
he ordered in a calm voice.  "Be quiet.  Two guys are about to steal my
vehicle and we need to get out of here before they see us."

Her heart pounding, she did as he asked.  From the shelter of the
parked car, she peered down the row.  Instantly she felt his hand on
her shoulder, pushing her down.

"Don't attract their attention," His steady voice didn't match the
steely tension in his hand as he crouched beside her.

Susan heard the slam of a car door, then the soft whir of the starter.
The engine caught.  An instant later the night exploded into a million
blazing fragments.

"Let's get out of here!"  Derek grabbed her hand and pulled her toward
the mall entrance.

"What happened?"  she cried, running to keep up with him.

"Some poor bastards got blown up when they tried to steal our car."
They reached the door and he yanked it open.  "Five minutes sooner and
it would have been us."

Attracted by the blast, a crowd of shoppers burst toward the door,
pushing Susan and Derek aside.  Feeling suffocated, her breath caught
in her throat.  "The bomb was meant for us?"

"You bet."  He elbowed his way through.  "Excuse us, please.  Excuse
us."  He pulled harder on her hand.  "Hurry up, Susan.  We've got to
call a cab and get away from here."

Already she could hear the screeching whine of sirens.  The crowd
around them swelled, heading outside.

"What happened?"  someone asked, rushing past her.  Susan didn't bother
answering.  All she wanted was to scape the chaos behind them.
Summoning her last ounce of strength, she managed to maintain her
composure while they dashed to the far side of the mall where Derek
called a cab.

Finally safe on the back seat, she fell into his arms.  He held her so
tightly she could feel the pulse beat of his throat against her face.
Thank God they'd escaped.

"It's okay," he murmured, stroking her hair.  "We got away.  They
didn't hurt us."

"But they almost did," she whispered, forcing her breath from her
laboring lungs.  "Who are they, Derek?  Why are they trying to kill
us?"

"They're afraid we'll be able to nail them," he said grimly.  "As long
as we keep snooping, we're a real threat."

He kept stroking her hair until she stopped shivering.  "We can't go
back to the hotel, Susan."

She stiffened.  "You think they're waiting for us there?"

"No.  They think we're dead."  His blue eyes darkened as he held her
gaze.

"Then, why..."  In spite of her resolve not to, she started crying. She
felt his hand on her back, soothing her.

"As long as they think we're dead, we'll be safe.  If they check with
the hotel and we haven't come back, they'll be sure their bomb got us.
Listen to me, Susan.  This is terribly important."

Though his voice was low, it vibrated with tension.  Could the cabbie
hear them?  Probably not, but she noticed that Derek lowered his voice
to a whisper meant for her ears only.

"We've got to get out.  of Spokane right now."  His breath warmed her
cheek.  "Without leaving a trail.  Our weak link is Lindsey.  If he's
tied into this smuggling ring, they'll know we're alive and in Seattle
as soon as we meet him tomorrow morning.  But that can't be helped.
Every other indication that we might still be around has got to be
eliminated."

"Does that mean I can't notify the squadron?"  If she didn't report in
by Monday, she'd be considered A.W.O.L..  The realization brought a
panicky tightness to her chest.

His gentle stroking on her hair continued.  "Your squadron's the first
place anybody would check, Susan.  There and the hotel."

He leaned forward, his voice rising to speak to the cabbie.  "You can
let us off at that fast-food place up ahead."

Getting out of the taxi, Susan breathed in the smells of French fries
and hamburgers, and thought she was going to be sick.

"Some coffee might do us both good," Derek suggested, noticing her
drawn expression.

"As long as I don't have to go inside."

He grinned back at her.  She had never seen him grin in such a boyish
way.

"If you'll ride herd On these two bags of mail for our friend Stephen
Ellis," he said, "I'll get the coffee."  A few minutes later he was
back with two steaming foam cups.

Before removing the lid from hers, Susan let the warmth permeate her
chilled hands.  After following Derek to a telephone booth near the
building, she took a long swallow.  The jolt of caffeine took away the
last of her shivers.  "How long do we have before whoever planted that
bomb realizes we weren't blown up in your rental car?"

"A couple of days, maybe a lot longer.  I'm no expert, but it seems to
me the police will need at least that long to identify the remains."
Pausing, he examined her face.  Apparently deciding she was
sufficiently recovered to hear more, he went on.  "From the sound of
that blast, there may not be enough left of the bodies to tell much
about the gender of the victims."

Turning back toward the telephone, he dialed a number.  Susan heard him
ask for flight schedules.  Setting her shopping bag down, she clutched
her cup in both hands again, not hearing his words or feeling the cold
wind.

With the car bomb, the threat had turned even more sinister than with
the man with a knife.  He, at least, had a face.  But this bomb reeked
of terrorists who hid behind black stocking masks.  Like Derek had said
all along, some kind of global smuggling ring must be after her, an
organization that sent muggers and assassins, that set bombs to explode
in her face when she least expected them.  But even Derek couldn't know
where every assassin lurked, where every bomb lay hidden.  Tough as he
was, he wouldn't be able to protect her much longer.

He was right.  They had to stay hidden, even if she had to break the
law by going A.W.O.L. from the squadron.  She yearned to feel safe
again, secure somewhere with Derek.  Would Seattle provide the
sanctuary she longed for?

Chapter Eleven

Seattle

An unfamiliar pressure on her' chest woke Susan from a deep sleep.
What was causing it?  And where was she?  Still dressed in her red
sweater and black slacks, she lay quiet until fully awake.

She opened her eyes.  In the soft light from the bedside lamp she saw
pale walls reflecting the dancing glow from the TV screen opposite the
bed.  With the sound turned low, she could barely hear the animated
voices and cheerful music of an early morning program.

Where was Derek?  There, beside her in the bed, his arm across her
chest.  Turning her head slowly so she wouldn't waken him, she surveyed
his sleeping form.  Lying on his back in his undershirt and pants, with
his eyes closed and his breathing deep and regular, his powerful body
seemed more vulnerable than brawny.  My brave, wounded Derek, she
thought, wondering for the hundredth time what had happened to make him
so determined to keep his emotions in check and act so tough and
indifferent.

He hadn't been gruff and insensitive last night when he'd comforted her
in the taxi, or when he'd held her tenderly until she dropped off to
sleep.  They'd flown to Seattle under assumed names, as a married
couple, because that would make them harder to trace.  They'd checked
into this downtown hotel under the same names and paid cash, in
advance, for the two nights they planned to stay.  Understanding
Susan's terror and insecurity, Derek had comforted her and avoided any
moves that might inspire passion.

Thank God for his consideration, she thought, remembering her sick,
empty feeling last night.  But now they were in bed together.  She
reached out and took his hand in hers.  So many calluses.  He did much
more than sell insurance.

He awoke, then, and squeezed her hand.  "It's half past seven.  Why
didn't you wake me sooner?"

"I was enjoying my nice safe feeling.  Last night I was afraid I'd
never feel this way again."

"I know."  She felt him shudder as he draw in a deep breath.  "There's
nothing like anonymity to make you feel safe."

"That sounds like the voice of experience," she said, sensing an
opportunity to probe.

"More the voice of observation," he returned, not taking the bait.
"It's the animal that stands out that gets hunted.  The anonymous ones
that melt into the herd get to live another day."

For a moment they lay there on the bed, holding hands.  Then Susan
shifted, lifting herself to one elbow.  "Where did you get the calluses
on your hands, Derek?"

"Working on car engines."  She heard no hesitation in his voice.  "When
I'm in San Francisco, I spend more time at the garage than the
office."

"Is that where you work on the engines?  At your garage?"

"It's not my garage."  He turned his head to look at her.  "It belongs
to a friend.  He lets me keep my clunkers there in exchange for help
around the shop."

What an impressive liar I've become, he thought, disgusted.  But he
couldn't tell her his calluses came from an eight-to-five job in a gas
station garage, not if he expected her to keep believing his insurance
agent story.

She inched nearer.  To his dismay, his rebellious body reacted.  He
couldn't let himself do what his hardening body demanded.  Not without
telling her who he really was.  If he did, she'd end up hating him.  So
what?  he asked himself, despising the sinking feeling in his gut
because it meant he cared for her.

"Do you fix them up, then drive them yourself?"  she asked.

He scowled at her.  "I don't own a car for personal transportation.
The company provides the one I use for work.  After I fix up my old
dunkers, I sell them."

Seeing the tenderness on her face, he felt even worse.  When she
searched his room she'd seen his frayed handkerchiefs and worn suits.
Dammit.  He should never have told her he'd been sold down the fiver by
his friends.  She probably thought they'd swindled him and now he was
struggling to start over.  How would she react if she knew the truth:
that every penny went into his vengeful campaign to even the score with
her dead husband and his fellow conspirators?

Stupid question, Archer, he told him selL He knew exactly how she'd
react.  Loathing would replace the concern he saw now in her lovely
brown eyes.

"As long as you live in San Francisco, you don't need a car," she said
sympathetically.  "With parking the way it is there, you're smart not
to have one."

"Sure I am."  His words dripped with sarcasm.  What could he say to
turn her off?  "I'm smart to live in a basement apartment, too.  Face
it, honey, I've got nothing to offer you but trouble, and the quicker
you figure that out, the better for us both."

Susan sat up and folded her arms across her chest.  Derek tight smile
was not convincing.  And calling her "honey" sounded affected to her.

"You're wrong," she said, "and you know it.  If not for you, I might
not be alive.  What I can't figure out is why you've decided to be
nasty this morning when you were so kind and comforting last night."

Sitting up, he moved backward on the bed and propped a pillow behind
him.  "Basically, I'm not a nice guy, honey.  I've never pretended
otherwise."

"What's with the honey crack?"  she asked pointedly.  "And what's so
different about this morning?"  Still determined to trust her own
instincts, she was convinced Derek wasn't nearly as bad as he
claimed.

"We're registered as a married couple," he murmured softly, looking
down so she couldn't see his eyes.  "That's sure different."

She studied him shrewdly.  When he met her gaze, she saw the raw desire
in his eyes, and her heart lurched.  Trying not to be obvious, she
scanned his body.  Though he was still dressed in the dark pants he'd
worn yesterday, his arousal was hard to miss.  A delightful shiver of
wanting coursed through her.  If he wanted her, why this sudden attack
of meanness?

"Now that I've had a good night's sleep, are you afraid I'll take
advantage of you, Derek?"  she taunted.  Was he protecting her from an
intimacy both of them might regret later?  Last night, in her
exhaustion and near shock, she hadn't been in any condition for more
than gentle comforting.  This morning she wanted more than comfort, and
he knew it.

He raked her boldly with his gaze.  "Since you won't believe what I
say, I guess I'll have to show you just how nasty I can be."

She sucked in her breath and held it, half afraid of what was coming,
but eager, nonetheless.  One minute she was sitting there on the bed,
daring him with her eyes.  The next, she was locked in his arms and his
lips were hard against hers, smothering her.  His thrusting tongue
probed her mouth, short-circuiting her senses.  She felt him in every
cell of her body, as though she'd been torched with liquid fire.

Susan wanted to resist, to push him away, to tell him yes, she believed
him, so he'd return to the self he'd been last night.  But she did none
of those things.  The same eager energy she'd felt when he kissed her
before swept over her, and she clung to him, wrapping her arms around
his neck and kissing him back in a savage response that amazed her.

The coarseness of his emerging beard against her sensitive skin aroused
her to further heights.  Sensing her passion, Derek deepened the kiss,
holding her even closer and pulling her down beside him.

Finally he backed away.

"Don't stop," she cried, though her lips and chin burned from his fiery
touch.

"Are you sure?"  Wonderment had replaced his usual knowing expression.
"I didn't mean for this to happen.  I thought you'd tell me where the
hell I could go."

Susan had no words.  She shook her head and held out her arms.  He
pulled her to him, holding her tightly, but in a way that was
poignantly different from his bruising caress only moments ago.

From the television came Neil Diamond's baritone voice singing of love
gone wrong.  It was a passionate song of betrayal and failure, a song
meant for late-night hours, not for early morning, when love was fresh
and new.  She did love Derek, she realized, loved him and wanted to
protect him the way he protected her.  Across the room, the voice rose
with despair, a lament to a romance that could not be.

"My darling Susan," he whispered, his dark blue eyes intense in his
rugged, square face.  "I've pictured you in my arms like this from the
first minute I saw you.  Lord forgive me for taking advantage of your
gratitude."

"It's not gratitude," she murmured, wanting him to understand.
"There's something else, something more--"

"I know," he groaned.  "When I'm with you I feel different.  Nothing
matters except the two of us.  But that doesn't change things."  He
reached over and turned off the bedside lamp, as if he didn't want her
to see his face.

Susan knew she should ask what he meant when he said things hadn't
changed, but the next minute his mouth descended on hers and she felt
herself drowning in desire.  Then his hands were at her sides, easing
her sweater over her head, and the lacy cup of her bra aside.  His lips
touched her nipple with tantalizing possessiveness.  Before she quite
knew what happened, she was suddenly naked, her clothes in a small heap
on the floor.

Gently he eased her down on the bed.  Somehow he'd managed to shed his
clothes while she was intoxicated from the touch of his mouth on her
body.  Naked, now, he hovered over her, his hand searing a path down
her belly and across her thighs.  In the flickering light from the
television, she saw the hard muscles in his shoulders and arms, a
strength that became tangible when he lowered himself to her.

Closing her eyes, she welcomed the sleek caress of his body on hers.
Though his kiss was not as punishing as the first, it Was more savage
than gentle.  He crushed her to him, pressing his mouth to hers with
passionate intensity.

It was like nothing Susan had ever experienced, like nothing she'd
imagined in her wildest fantasies.  After his first kisses, Derek
slowly explored her body's most sensitive places, instinctively knowing
what aroused her, what made her cry out with pleasure.  Flicking his
tongue around her sensitive nipples, he knew exactly how much pressure
turned her insides to fire.  And his fingers caressed her most intimate
places until her ecstasy was so intense it was almost painful.

Fully aroused, he guided her to the awesome center of his masculinity,
letting her know him in a way she'd never known anyone else.  Not until
she'd caressed him all over with her fingers and tasted his salty
sweetness with her tongue did he lower himself to her.

She was so ready for him that his slow entry turned her painful longing
to a wanting so intense she could scarcely bear it.  Arching her hips,
she rose to welcome him, gasping as his fullness slid into her.

Moaning, he lay snug and deep inside her.  For a long moment she was
still, enjoying the feel of him on top of her, letting her desire build
to a fever pitch.  When she could bear the ecstasy no longer, she began
to move up and down, toward him and away, reveling in her erotic
excitement.

"No, not yet," he groaned, and she sensed the full measure of his
barely contained passion.

Reaching down, he pulled her legs up around his hips.  Instinctively
she moved with him, welcoming then releasing, tightening then letting
go.

Desperately she wanted him to take her all the way, to a place where
she'd never been before.  Her desperation was so acute that, as she
strained against him, she cried out.  But for what?  She had no idea of
the sensation she was striving for.  She only knew that he was the man
she wanted to share it with.

As his thrusts quickened and deepened, she trembled all over, sensing
that a long-denied pleasure awaited her soon.  Above her, Derek held
her tightly in his arms.

Then something wonderful happened.  She exploded into an Eden of
incredibly delightful sensations, and Derek was right there with her,
his erotic cry of pure pleasure ringing in her ears.

Afterward she lay exhausted in his arms, enjoying the rough feeling of
his chest hair against her breasts, and her sense of warm fulfillment.
She heard his heart thudding against her own, felt his strained
breathing, and wondered if he knew what he'd given her.  For the first
time in her life, she felt completely satisfied.

It was a long time before her breathing had finally returned to normal
and she could speak without gasping.  "Derek, you tried so hard to turn
me off this morning.  Now that you didn't, are you sorry?"

Lightly he kissed the top of her head.  "If you mean am I sorry we made
love--no.  It was the best thing that ever happened to me."

"Me, too.  I've never had a sensation like that before."  Embarrassed,
she looked down at the sheet covering them.

"You mean you've never climaxed?"  He put his hand under her chin and
held her head so she couldn't turn away.

"Nothing like that's ever happened to me," she admitted slowly, staring
into his eyes, now not cold at all.  For a long moment she hesitated,
remembering the sensations and wanting him to make love to her again,
soon.  "If you joyed it as much as I did, I can't figure out why you
acted so mean this morning."

"I didn't want you--us--to make a mistake."  He paused.  "There are
things you don't know about me, Susan, things I had to do in my life
that I'm not proud of."

"Whatever happened to you before isn't going to affect how I feel about
you now."  Shrugging off the tiny frisson of foreboding that raced down
her spine, she focused on the TV screen.  A chattering talk show had
replaced Nell Diamond's melodious tones.

Following her gaze, Derek got up to turn it off.  Watching him stride
across the room, Susan's eyes drifted downward to his firm buttocks.  A
jagged, dark purple scar marred the skin on one side.  Now that she'd
noticed it, she couldn't stop looking.  About five inches long, it left
a noticeable indentation in the skin.

Like a dog bite, she thought, suddenly remembering a story Brian had
told at one of the first parties she'd gone to with him.  A crewman on
his C-130 had been attacked by a pack of wild dogs on the runway after
a flight to Lima.  He'd been badly bitten on the buttocks.  The wound
had gotten infected and hadn't healed properly for a long time.

Telling the tale, Brian had laughed about how close the dogs came to
emasculating the victim.  His laughter and crude language about a
serious injury had irritated Susan so much that she never forgot the
details.

"How did you get such a terrible scar?"  she asked Derek, after he'd
lain down beside her again.

"Got bitten by a dog when I delivered papers as a teenager."  The
answer flowed off his tongue like warm honey.

"It looks more recent than that," she observed; "like it happened in
the past couple of years, maybe."

He shook his head.  "Nearly twenty years ago.  The damn thing got
infected and the medics had to open it up and do surgery.  They said it
would look like that the rest of my life."

How odd that he would have a scar from an infected dog bite, exactly
like the one Brian described.

Susan lay back in his arms.  "What a shame to mar such a beautiful
derriere with an ugly scar like that."

Obviously proud of the scar, he lifted a bushy eyebrow.  "Au contraire,
madam.  That scar is a trophy to my manhood, a stark symbol of the
victory of man over beast."  Hespoke the stilted sentence glibly, as
though he'd said it many times before, in men's locker rooms,
perhaps.

Hadn't Brian used almost the same words when he jokingly repeated the
tale about his hapless crewman?  Even then she'd realized he was
quoting the victim.  But how come Derek knew the words, too?  He'd
never been on Brian's crew, had never even been in the air force.  Or
had he?

An awful sinking sensation began in Susan's stomach.  Could Derek have
been that crewman who got bitten in Peru?

Not possible, she told herself fiercely.  Brian's story had absolutely
nothing to do with Derek.  But Susan didn't be licve in coincidences.
And this one was staggering.  If Derek was that crewman, why was he
pretending to be someone else?

There could be only one reason.

Much as she wanted to, she couldn't deny the possibility that Derek...
was Don Albright, convicted murderer, who had bn Brian's copilot and
the only crewman she'd never met.

No, no!  It couldn't be.

Drek touched her and she recoiled.  He released her then and yanked the
sheet back over them.  "Having second thoughts?"  An I-told-you-so
expression crept over his face.

Susan wanted to sob out her suspicions and let him re.  assure her, the
way he had last night.  Heaven help her, she wanted him to make love to
her again.  But she couldn't, not until she'd had a chance to think.
She couldn't ace use him until she was sure.

She managed a reassuring smile.  "What I'm having isn't a second
thought.  It's the urge for a good soak in the tub."

Understanding replaced his wary expression, and he grinned.  "Be my
guest."

When StosA EMERGED from the bathroom forty-five minutes later, Derek
sat at the end of the bed with his back to the door, watching the
morning news on TV.  He seemed so comfortable in his nakedness that she
had to resist her impulse to come up behind him and put her arms around
his neck.  Barely an hour had passed since they had made love, and
already she yearned to feel his hard body joined with hers, to melt
under the caress of his firm hands.

Shocked at herself, she shook away the unwanted impulses.  That mustn't
happen again, not until she'd satisfied herself that Don Albright had
no connection with Derek.

Don Albright and Derek Archer.  The two names appeared in her mind in
the boldface print of a newspaper headline.  Both had the same
initials.

People who change their names often keep the same initials to avoid
changing monograms and help them make the transition.  The sentence
came from an intelligence manual.  Another unbelievable coincidence.

Wrapped in one of the hotel's fluffy white towels, Susan walked
barefoot into the room.  "The bathroom's all yours."

Derek looked up at her approach.  Slowly and seductively his gaze slid
downward.  He held out his arms.  "Come here, woman."

She longed to leap into his arms.  Instead she smiled coyly, hating
herself.  She couldn't stand flirty women who played hard to get. "I'll
be here after you shave and shower."  By then she should have some
answers.

Wearing nothing but his early-morning beard, he didn't try to hide his
aroused condition.  Susan's eyes were drawn to the jutting evidence
like a magnet.  When she finally forced herself to look up at his face,
he stood there in the bathroom door, grinning with approval at her
interest.  "I'll see you in a few minutes."

She waited until the do r shut behind him, then rushed to the phone.
Hurry, she told herself.  You have only a few moments.  Quickly she
dialed information in San Francisco and got the number for the
Industrial Indemnity Insurance Company.  It was different from the one
Derek used on his stationery, she noted.  With her talent for
remembering numbers, she easily recalled the one he'd given her.

What if it is?  she asked herself.  Didn't most companies have several
telephone numbers?

She checked her watch.  Only a few minutes past nine.  Even though it
was Saturday, somebody ought to be there.

She got a message service.  After pressing a couple of numbers, she
reached a service representative.

"Can you tell me how to get in touch with Mr.  Derek Archer, who works
for your company?"  Her heart thudded in her chest like a runaway
trip-hammer.  Please let him work there, she prayed.

There was a long pause while the representative checked the company's
listings.  "Can you tell me Mr.  Archer's department?"

Susan's heart sank.  Frantically she searched her memory.  "I'm not
sure, but I think it's something like Military Term Insurance."

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we have no department with that name."  The
representative's voice was congenial.

"Spokane is part of his territory," Susan offered.  "That's not
possible, ma'am.  Industrial Indemnity isn't organized into
geographical areas."  The representative's voice lowered.  "And I have
no Derek Archer on my personnel list."

But what about Brian's policy?  "Mr.  Archer claims my deceased husband
was one of his clients.  Can you check your files and see if my
husband, Brian Wade, had a policy with your company?"

"Tm sorry, Mrs.  Wade.  Industrial Indemnity doesn't release
information about policyholders over the telephone.  If you'll send us
a letter or visit our office in Seattle, we'll be glad to answer your
questions."

"Thanks, I'll do that."  When Susan hung up, the icy lump in her
stomach had grown to football size.

Before she dialed again, she listened for the shower.  The sound of
rushing water reassured her.  Quickly she pressed the numbers she
remembered from Derek's letterhead stationery.

"Industrial Indemnity," a woman said.

"I'd like to talk to Mr.  Archer about a claim."  Still hoping against
hope she was wrong, Susan clenched her hands so tightly the nails bit
into the skin.

"Mr.  Archer is out of tOWn and won't be back until next week.  If
you'll leave your name and number, I'll have him call you sometime
today."

A horrible suspicion raced through Susan's mind.  "If Mr.  Archer isn't
there, let me talk to another agent."  "No one else is here."  "When
will someone be in?"

"You'll have to talk to Mr.  Archer, ma'am.  If you'll leave your name
and number, he'll get back to you today."

The woman's failure to give a direct answer convinced Susan her
suspicion was correct.  "Are you with an answering service?"  She heard
the faint thread of hysteria in her voice, but made no attempt to lower
it.  How could he do this to her?  How could he?

"Yes," the woman replied without hesitation.  "We're

Mr.  Archer's answering service."  It was the final blow.  ""Find out
anything interesting?"

Susan jumped at the sound of his voice behind her.  How long had he
been standing there in the bathroom doorway, listening?

"You bet."  She turned to face him.  He wore nothing but a towel looped
loosely around his waist.  Somehow it looked smaller than the one she'd
tied around herself.

Gathering her resolve around her like a protective radar screen, she
looked him straight in the eye.  "Isn't it about time you came clean,
Captain--or rather--Mister Don Albright?"

DEREK STARED AT SUSAN from the bathroom doorway.  She glared back with
burning, reproachful eyes.  A wave of anger swept through him at his
terrible sense of loss.  He'd known this moment had to come.  Why was
he letting it bother him?

"Don't act so surprised," he growled in his most dispassionate voice.
"Haven't I warned you all along that I'm not a nice guy?"

1'1'1

"You should have told me you were Don Albright.  Then I would have
believed you."  Though her eyes were accusing, she seemed more hurt
than angry.

With the white towel wrapped around her and her curly blond hair still
damp on her shoulders, she looked so innocent.  Watching her, Derek
felt a throbbing ache begin in his chest.

Don't trust her, he warned himself.  She'd betray him, too, the way
everybody else had.  If he went soft now, he'd land back in jail and
eventually on death row.  The gnawing ache in his chest got worse.

"If I'd told you, you would have turned me in."  He came around the bed
and stood in front of her, daring her to dispute him.  Her eyes, wide
with dismay, followed him as he moved.

"What's to keep me from turning you in right now?"  There was a husky
tremor to her voice as her gaze swept to the phone.  Derek stepped to
one side, away from the night-stand where it sat.  If she wanted to
call the authorities, he wouldn't interfere, only try to talk her out
of it.

Folding his arms, he planted himself in front of her like a sturdy oak.
"About an hour ago you said that what happened to me before we met
would never affect how you feel.  Was that a bare-faced lie, or did you
really mean it?"

A blush like a shadow crept across her cheeks.  "What you've done is
much worse than anything I could imagine when I said that.  Not telling
me you're Don Albright is--" he could see her struggling for the fight
words "--it's a hellish trick worthy of the devil."  A glazed look of
despair spread over her face.  "You've used me, Derek.  Right from the
very beginning.  How could you, when you knew I trusted you?"

He resisted his unwelcome impulse to gather her close.  "What have I
been telling you all along, honey?  If you'll search that fantastic
memory of yours, I think you'll remember me saying that I was helping
you for the money."

"I could understand that," she cried.  "Honest work for honest pay. But
using me the way you did wasn't the same."  "You were a tool," he
agreed, wondering why it felt so disgusting to admit the truth.  She
started to get up, and Derek had the distinct impression that if she'd
been wearing more than a towel, she would have leaped off the bed and
slugged him.  He could have handled that.  But not the look of loathing
in her lovely brown eyes.

"You used me to find out about my covert mission," she cried, her eyes
flashing fire.  "And about Brian's safe-deposit box.  Now you're spying
on everything I do to make sure I don't find out about this illegal
smuggling ring you're running."

His jaw dropped.  "What the hell are you talking about?"  She forged
ahead without answering.  "What are you really doing with me here in
Seattle, Derek?  Lining me up for a court martial for desertion so I
won't get in your way anymore?  Or are you going to polish me off, the
way you did Brian, now that your lust's been satisfied?"

How could she possibly think he might kill her?  He reached for her and
she pulled away with a shudder.  My God, what had he done with his
lies?  He opened his mouth to speak, but she wouldn't let him.

"No wonder you showed up at my condo two minutes after that terrible
man did."  She gave a choked, desperate laugh.  "You'd planned the
whole thing.  That's why you let him go.  Did you plan the mugging and
the car bombing, too?  So your tool would be scared into doing just
what you wanted her to?"

"Whoa, there."  Derek stared at her, appalled that his lies had led her
to such awful misconceptions about him.  "I'm bad but not that
horrible.  Listen to yourself, Susan.  What you're saying doesn't add
up.  If I had any connection to the smugglers, why would I have told
you about them?"

"Why?  That's easy."  She set her chin in a stubborn line.  "So I'd
trust you, and you could worm information out of me."  '

What she said might be all wrong, but it made a weird kind of sense, he
realized.  "And why would I explain the figures' in your husband's
notebook?"

"Oh, you were safe there.  You knew I'd find out myself, eventually."

He sat down on the bed beside her.  Pointedly she rose and went to the
chair across from the bed.  He couldn't help noticing her long slim
legs, tanned to a silky golden color from her month in Hawaii.  What an
odd picture they made: the convicted murderer and the wife of an
alleged victim, wrapped in nothing but towels, glaring at each other
across what seemed like a mile of empty space.  It should have struck
him as humorous, but the last thing he wanted to do was laugh.

Leaning toward her, he put all the sincerity he could muster into his
voice.  "I used you, Susan.  I admit that.  But I did it so I could
find out what's going on at Fairchild."  He hesitated, wondering if he
should tell her why.  Even to himself, his desperate urge for revenge
seemed a little irrational.

How strange, he thought.  It had never appeared irrational to him
before.

Chapter Twelve

Clutching her towel tightly around her, Susan leaned toward Derek in
their shadowy hotel room.  The gray light of a drizzly Seattle morning
crept through the room's one window, mirroring the gray sinking feeling
in her heart.

"Exactly why did you use me to find out what was going on at
Fairchild," she asked, warning herself not to believe him.

"I wanted to get even with the men who betrayed me, and I thought you
might help me--inadvertently, of course."  He paused, his rugged face
grim.  "I needed information to ruin them, take away everything they
hold dear, leave them penniless without honor, for what they did to
me."

"Kill them?"  she asked abruptly.

"No.  I wanted them to suffer for years."  He had to force the words.
"For the rest of their lives, the way I'm suffering."  His scowling
face reflected the bitterness in his voice.

Was he lying?  He sounded so sincere.  But he'd sounded honest before,
when everything he'd said was a lie.

"Did you risk your cover and come to Spokane because of Brian's death?"
Maybe if she acted like she believed him, he'd talk more and trip
himself up.  She hated herself for pretending, but she had to find out
the truth.  Deliberately she kept her gaze trained on his face so she
wouldn't be tempted to lower her Ayes to his bare chest with its
enticing mat of dark hair.

"Of the men who accused me, your husband was the third to die," he
said.  "Though the first two seemed to be accidental, they robbed me of
my chance to even the score.  When your husband was killed, I knew I
had to find out what was going on at the base."

"Didn't it bother you that Don Albright might be a suspect in Brian's
death?"  She kept her gaze fixed on his face, watching for any sign he
was lying.  "Didn't you come to Spokane to prove your innocence?"  Why
hadn't he mentioned such an obvious goal?

"Not really," he said, shrugging her question off as though
unimportant.  "I've resigned myself to being someone else for the rest
of my life.  As far as I'm concerned, Don Albright died in a suicide
leap from the Tacoma Narrows Bridge."  Pain darkened his eyes, and he
threw hera questioning glance.  "Unless you decide to turn me in before
I can get the hell out of here."

"I'm not going to turn you in," she assured him.  At least not right
this minute, she thought grimly.  "Now, what's the story on the
eyewitness to Brian's death?  Who is he and what's his connection to
Don Albright?"

His familiar cynical smile returned, the one that never quite reached
his eyes.  "Don't tell me you think I'm behind that, too?"

"Maybe.  Maybe not."  Studying his face, she saw a small vein pulse in
his throat.

"Forget the eyewitness," he returned shortly.  "He was a middle-aged
man who's got nothing to do with me."

The vein in his throat kept pulsing.  Did it pulse when he lied?  she
wondered.

"level with me, Derek," she said.  "Obviously you know how to change
your appearance.  With a little makeup and different clothes, you could
easily add fifteen, even twenty years.  I think the eyewitness was you.
If you're honest with me about that part, I might even decide to
believe the rest of your story."

The vein stopped pulsing.  "I hate to tell you this, Susan."

As she stiffened, alarmed by the foreboding in his voice, her towel
drooped.  Hastily she grabbed it and jerked it back into place.  Across
from her, Derek averted his eyes.  She was sure he'd noticed, and
grateful he hadn't embarrassed her by looking.

Lifting her chin, she pretended nothing had happened.  "You might as
well tell me the truth about everything.  I'm going to find out sooner
or later, anyhow--the way I found out who you really are."  She forced
her lips to part into.  a curved, stiff smile.

Still he didn't speak, just kept staring at her with a sardonic
expression that suddenly struck her as infuriating.

"Give me a break, Derek.  I already know it was you."

He hesitated only a moment longer.  "Yes, I was the eye-witness."

I knew it, she told herself.  But he'd been on the verge of lying when
she'd forced the truth out of him.  Face it, Susan, she told herself.
He simply isn't trustworthy.  With the thought, a slender shot of hope
inside her withered back on itself.

"I made the appointment to meet your husband because of the two
accidental deaths."  He spoke slowly, deliberately.  "I figured he'd
think Don Albright was somehow responsible.  His fear would loosen his
tongue when he talked to me, and he'd tell the others about our
meeting."

His piercing stare made her feel he could read her mind.

"Incidentally, I talked to you that Sunday I made the appointment with
your husband," he said.

Forcing herself to meet his gaze, Susan nodded.  "I thought your voice
sounded familiar when you called from the Riverfront Hotel.  Lucky for
you I didn't place it."

Something inside her trembled when she saw his frozen expression.
Though he was playing tough guy, she saw through his veneer to the man
who had soothed and comforted her last night.  Somewhere inside this
convicted killer was a kernel of goodness.

"Yeah, lucky for me," he growled.  "If you'd recognized my voice I'd be
back in jail now."

Susan ignored his comment.  "Was there any other reason you wanted to
see Brian?  Other than telling him about the accidental deaths of the
two witnesses?"

EYEING SUSAN FROM THE BED, Derek could read the doubt in her eyes, and
damned himself for causing it.  He rose from the bed and went to the
window.

Don't be a fool, Archer, he told himself, yanking open the curtains.
What had he thought she'd do?  Leap into his arms the minute she
realized he was the man she most despised on the face of the earth?

Outside, the morning was a gray, damp reflection of his own dark mood.
Ten stories below, Seattle had come to life.  Vehicles inched bumper to
bumper along the one-way street, hard-shelled bugs in a towering
concrete maze.

Breathing deeply, he turned back toward her.  "I already told you.  By
talking to your husband I hoped to find out something, anything, that
would help me even the score with him and the remaining four witnesses
who framed me for a murder I didn't commit."

"And did you find out anything?"

Leaving the curtains open, he picked up his shorts and undershirt.
"We'd barely started to talk when your husband got shot."

He slipped his undershirt over his head.  Then, with his back to her,
he unknotted the towel and threw it on the bed.  He could feel her eyes
on him as he pulled on his shorts.  That damned scar on his butt.  Wade
must have told her about it.  That's how she'd figured out who he was.
Turning to face her, he noticed that she hadn't moved.

She regarded him with cool equanimity.  "Did you shoot Brian?"

Quickly he buttoned his sport shirt over his undershirt.  "If you think
the eyewitness' killed him, you haven't been reading the papers.  The
shot came from the street, not from two feet away."

Her eyes narrowed.  "You're wrong about that being in the papers,
Derek.  The police never said anything about the distance, at least not
in the newspapers I read.  How did you know?  Did you see the
killer?"

Zipping his pants, he dropped to the end of the bed and pulled on his
socks.  Dammit, he was going to have to tell her what he'd seen and
hurt her even more.  If he didn't, she'd think he was still lying.

"Yes, I saw the killer."  He watched her eyes widen.  Her towel drooped
again when she leaned forward, making her seem even more unprotected
and vulnerable.  The ache in his chest spread and he despised himself
for it, knowing it meant he loved her.  How had he let this happen?

"For God's sake, Derek, who was it?"

He could no longer postpone telling her.  "I thought it was you."

He watched her carefully as she sat huddled in the chair, stunned.
"You've got to be kidding."

"I only got a glimpse of her through the open car window, but she had
blond hair like yours."  He cleared his throat to conceal his awareness
of Susan's obvious distress.  "I was certain you'd killed your husband,
but I couldn't figure out what part you played in the murder I'm
accused of.  That's the main reason I came to Spokane last Monday.  To
find out."

Susan swallowed hard.  He could tell she was struggling to get control
of herself.

185.

"After I'd met you and we'd talked," he continued, "and the police
hauled you in, I realized you were being framed, the same way I had
been.  That's when I figured maybe we could help each other."

He paused, watching her closely.  She seemed to have a better grip on
herself so he went on with his story.  "Somebody went to an awful 'lot
of trouble to make sure an eye-witness saw a killer that looked like
you.  When I didn't show up to identify you, they even printed my
picture in the paper to force my hand."

"How could they know about your appointment with Brian when I didn't
even know about it myself?  I thought he was at the squadron conducting
a preflight inspection."  Her voice, though shaky, sounded more normal.
The skepticism he'd seen in her eyes had disappeared.

"He must have told someone."  Then suddenly Derek knew that wasn't the
answer.  "No, I'll bet they bugged your phone."  He jumped to his feet
and paced back and forth in front of her.  "Why didn't I see it sooner?
They probably did it while they were tinkering around with your alarm
system last December."

"What do you mean?"  The skepticism was back in her voice.

He sprawled on the floor beside her chair.  "Yesterday while you were
at work I called your alarm company.  They didn't send a technician
last December, the way you said."

Susan expelled her breath in a huge sigh.  "So that's why the panic
button didn't work."

Only inches from her long, tanned legs, he smelled the apricot
fragrance of her body lotion and felt warmth building in his loins.
He'd just gotten out of bed with this woman for God's sake, and now he
felt his fingers itching to remove her towel and make long, hot,
passionate love to her again.

"Exactly."  He forced himself to concentrate on the flickering
television screen--anything but on her beautiful

body.  "The bug also explains why muggers were waiting outside the
bank."

"And how they knew we had reservations at the Blue Boar the night
before," she added, staring down at him.  "You know what that bug
means, Derek?"  In her excitement she stood, hurrying to pick up her
bra and panties off the floor.

To his faSCinated amazement, she unwrapped her towel with as little
seeming concern as Derek himself had felt.  Tossing it off- the bed
next to his, she stepped into her panties For an exhilarating moment,
he viewed her firm, well-rounded backside and narrow waist, and
struggled with an almost irrepressible urge to feel her silky skin
beneath his fingertips.  This time he didn't even consider looking
away.

Pulling on her slacks, she glanced over her shoulder at him.  "If the
bug was in place last January, that means we were right.  Somebody was
spying on Brian."

"The smugglers," he said, answering her unspoken question.  "Your
husband must have had his hand in the cookie jar.  That's why he had
the secret Swiss bank account, the passport in somebody else's name,
the property in South America.  When he'd stolen enough, he planned to
disappear and live happily ever after on the smugglers' riches."

Rising, Derek dropped into the chair Susan had left.  "There was only
one problem.  The smugglers found out what he was up to.  That must be
why he was killed."  It was all starting to fall into place.

She eased her sweater over her head.  "Why are they going to so much
trouble to blame me for his murder?  Why not just shoot him and he done
with it?"

"That's a good question."  As he watched her sit down on-the foot of
the bed and put on her socks, he wondered if she had the remotest idea
how much he wanted her.  "I think your husband's murder is linked to
the crime I was convicted of last year.  The smuggling organization
doesn't want the authorities to make the connection so they contrived
to blame you.  Unfortunately for them, the eyewitness they were sum
would identify you--that's me, of course--dropped out of sight."

Derek let a touch of pride creep into his voice.  "Even with a
full-face picture on the front page of the paper, it's pretty hard to
locate a man who doesn't exist."

"You should know," she said, eyeing him with a calculating expression.
Then, fight before his eyes, her bitterness vanished and she changed
back into the excited, upbeat woman she'd been only a short time
before.  "Don't just sit there, Derek.  It's after ten and we're
meeting Mr.  Lindsey at eleven.  Let's get going."

She think, I made up the story about seeing the woman, he thought,
watching her deceptively bright smile.

Well, he couldn't blame her after all the lies he'd told her.  He
prayed their visit with Ted Lindsey would provide
something--anything--to change her mind.

COULD SHE BELIEI/E HIM?

The question kept la ting itself in Susan's and as they hurried along
the wet sidewalks of the Seattle waterfront.  Though she'd pretended to
accept Derek's story about seeing a blond woman, lingering doubts
remained.  Maybe he'd made the whole thing up so she'd think she was as
much a victim as he claimed to be.

And now she was depending on him in a way she hadn't before.  Without
him by her side, she wasn't certain she'd have the nerve to meet Ted
Lindsey, who might well be tied into the smuggling ring.  His name and
phone number were included in the contents of Brian's safe-deposit box,
a depository that contained details about the ring's activities.  It
was only logical to assume Lindsey had some connection with the
smugglers.

Since they were a few minutes early, Derek told the cab-driver to let
them off at the Washington State Ferry Dock at

Pier' 52, about a block from Ye Olde Curiosity Shop where they were
meeting Lindsey.

"We'll be sitting ducks if we stand around in front waiting for him,"
he told Susan after the cab had left.

What were they getting into?  A thrill of frightened anticipation
touched her spine.  She breathed deeply of the damp, salty air with its
fresh seaweed smell.  "You don't really think someone would shoot
us?"

He gave an impatient shrug.  "They've already threatened us three
times.  If Lindsey's one of theirs..."

Susan's breath seemed to have caught in her throat.  She swallowed
hard.  "There must be some precaution we can take."

He slowed his fast pace.  "One thing we can do is wait inside.  If he
doesn't show in fifteen minutes, we'll get out of there and call his
number from the ferry dock."

All around them were the muffled sounds of a March morning when the
city was smothered 'in drizzle: the honking of a ferry leaving its
slip, the dull rumble of vehicles on the viaduct overhead, the raucous
cries of sea gulls.  These ordinary sounds seemed oddly ominous as
Susan thought about meeting this stranger.

"How about splitting up?"  she suggested.  "He said he knows me from a
picture, but presumably not you."

Stopping, he leaned over the concrete barrier that paralleled the
sidewalk.  Below, the incoming tide lapped against algae-covered
pilings.  "If he's part of the ring, he already knows what I look like.
They've seen me with you.  But it's still a good idea.  Can't do any
harm for me to stay out of sight until he shows up."

As always, Susan felt new energy at his compliment.  Then she saw him
glance at his watch and her heart plummeted.  It must be nearly eleven.
Without speaking, they hurried the rest of the way to the shop.

No one was waiting near the tall Indian totem poles in front.  Derek
yanked the door open and they went inside.

The smell of old wood End spices enveloped them.  Above, fluorescent
lights shone down on shelves piled high with everything from touristy
cloth bags to jars containing shrunken heads preserved in formaldehyde.
With a nod, Derek disappeared behind the nearest row of shelves.  Susan
could feel him behind her, watching her every move.  Instinctively she
knew he'd let no one harm her.

The tourist crowd seemed light for a Saturday morning.  Anxiously Susan
glanced around the interior, searching for a man by himself.  She saw
lots of couples, but no single men.  Perhaps Lindsey was waiting behind
a row of shelves like Derek, watching her.  Or perhaps he was only
Briaffs drinking buddy, just as he claimed, and had decided not to show
up.

Her logical mind told her he was more than a drinking buddy--much more.
A shiver of dread spiraled down her spine, and she realized how much
she'd been counting on Lindsey to provide some answers.  If he failed
to appear, where would they go from here?

Then the shop's front door opened and a man entered.  Brown-haired,
tanned and attractive, he wore a dark suit and conservative tie under a
plastic raincoat.  The absence of an umbrella marked him as a local
resident, not a tourist.  Catching Susan's eye, he smiled and started
toward her with the superb self-confidence of a well-educated
professional.  When he reached her side, he stuck out his hand.

"Good morning, Mrs.  Wade," he said.  "I'm Ted Lindsey."  '

She shook his hand," and he took off his raincoat, holding it over one
arm.

"Where's Mr.  Ellis?"  he asked, glancing over Susan's shoulder.  "I
thought you said your private investigator would be with you."

Watching him peer around the shop, she suspected that he'd come to see
Stephen Ellis, not her.  So the name did mean something to him.  Good
for Derek for suggesting they use it.

"Have you heard of Mr.  Ellis?"  she asked, acting innocent.

Lindsey focused light blue eyes on Susan and smiled con-genially.  "No,
but I assumed you wanted your private investigator in on our
discussion."

In his conservative dark suit and polished black oxfords, Lindsey
looked more like a banker than a smuggler.  But his well-groomed
appearance didn't stop Susan's stomach from churning with anxiety.
Lindsey's interest in meeting Mr.  Ellis suggested he might be involved
with the ring.  And if the ring knew where they were, she and Derek
were in real danger.

"Mr.  Ellis will join us in a moment."  She moved closer to Derek's
shelf so he could hear.

To Susan, Lindsey's delighted chuckle sounded out of place, like
laughter at a funeral.  "Checking me out, is he?"  He lifted both hands
with the palms facing out in a mock gesture of surrender.

Watching his brief movement, Susan saw a suspicious bulge on one side
of his coat.  She stiffened, her breath frozen in her throat.  As he
lowered his hands, the bulge disappeared.  But from her intelligence
training, she knew what she'd seen: a gun in a shoulder' holster

Now she was sure.  Lindsey was connected to the smugglers.  Swallowing
hard, she managed a smile.  "Thank you for coming, Mr.  Lindsey."  Her
voice sounded reasonably strong.  "I'm sure you can help me with my
investigation into my husband's murder."

A frown marred his handsome face.  "I doubt it, Mrs.  Wade.  I met
Brian last year when he came to my firm for some legal advice about a
will, and I've seen him a few times since.  But I know nothing about
his death."

"You're a lawyer?"  She forced herself not to tremble.  Didn't
organized crime use clever young attorneys like Ted

Lindsey appeared to e?  Not daring to stoop and peer through the shelf,
she held her breath, listening for any sign of Derek on the other side.
Why was he waiting so long to join them?

"Yes," Lindsey replied.  "After we met at the office, Brian and I
discovered we were both Seahawks fans.  We went to a couple of games at
the Dome when he was in town--watched some others on TV."  Shrugging,
he leaned nonchalantly against Derek's shelf.  "But that's the extent
of our relationship.  I know none of his friends or associates and have
no idea why he was killed."

Impatiently, Lindsey glanced around--apparently still looking for Mr.
Ellis--then gazed back at Susan.  "Why don't you let the police find
the murderer, Mrs.  Wade?  That's what they're getting paid for."

"Because they don't know what.  they're doing."  Her anxious fear
veered sharply to anger.  "The only two suspects they've come up with
so far are me and a man who doesn't exist."

Lindsey's eyes widened, his nonchalance turning to alert interest.  "A
man who doesn't exist?  Do you mean the eye-witness whose picture was
in the paper?"

Susan heard movement behind her.  Then Derek appeared at her side. "I'm
Stephen Ellis," he said.

The two men shook hands.

"I'm sure you were listening," Lindsey said to Derek, "so you heard
Mrs.  Wade call the eyewitness a man who doesn't exist."  He gazed at
Susan.  "That's an odd way to describe somebody who was photographed.
What did you mean?"

Susan felt her cheeks burning.  She'd put her foot into it this time.
By referring to the eyewitness as nonexistent, she'd inferred he was
someone in disguise, someone pretending to be who he wasn't.  No wonder
Lindsey was curious.

Both men stared at her: Lindsey quizzically, Derek with a warning frown
creasing his brow.  Taking a deep breath she lifted her chin and met
Lindsey's gaze head-on.

"It's been two months and the police still haven't found him," she
declared haughtily, as if any fool would know what she meant.  "As far
as they're concerned he doesn't exist.  So that leaves me as prime
suspect, Mr.  Lindsey.  You can see why I hired a private
investigator."

The alert expression left Lindsey's face.  "I'm sorry I can't help."
She was certain he believed her explanation.

Derek touched Susan's ann, reassuring her.  "Mrs.  Wade found yours
name with some of her husband's important records.  You must have some
idea why he put it there."

Lindsey shook his head.  "Sorry, I don't.  But tell me where you're
staying, and I'll call if I think of anything."

Before Susan could open her mouth, Derek had supplied the name of a
hotel in the University District, miles from the ks Thank God, he's
suspicious, she thought gratefully.

Lindsey turned to go.  With Susan and Derek following, he walked toward
the open area near the shop's front door.  Then, reaching in his
pocket, he swung around and handed a card to Susan, another to Derek.
"If you think of anything I can do to help, please call."

She glanced at it.  It was a simple business card.  Noting the phone
number was different from the one Brian had listed on the card with
Lindsey's name, she shoved it in her purse.

STANDING BEHIND SUSAN, Derek thrust Lindsey's card in his coat pocket
without looking at it.

The attorney gave Derek his hand.  "I'm sorry I couldn't be of more
help."

Frowning, Derek met the other man's eyes.  Deliberately Lindsey looked
at the coat pocket where Derek had put the card.  Still holding Derek's
gaze, Lindsey dropped his hand.  In that split second, Derek knew
something was written on the business card he had just stuck in his
pocket, something Lindsey did not want Susan to see.

With an almost imperCePtible nod, Derek watched Lindsey turn and walk
away.  The door had barely closed behind him when he heard Susan's
excited whisper.

"Is there a back way out of here?"

"Probably, but an emergency exit only."  He shoved his hand into his
pocket and fingered the card.  What was written on it?  "This plaCe is
built on a pier over the water."

"We can't leave through the front door."  Her voice was low, breathy.
"He'll be waiting for us."

Puzzled, Derek examined her face.  Obviously upset, her cheeks were
flushed, her eyes wide.  Had he missed something?  He glanced around
them.  Nearby a couple examined some Eskimo carvings in a glass case by
the door.  They were close enough to eavesdrop.

"Let's go back into that co ruer and you can tell me what's bothering
you."  He nodded across a line of shelves.

She glanced at the couple and at the other people milling around near
th door.  Unlike the more secluded shelf area where they'd talked to
Lindsey, this part of the shop was open and exposed.  Quickly she
followed him to the back.

The rear part of the shop featured oddities from around the world
mgrotesque masks, two-headed animals preserved in formaldehyde,
shrunken heads.  Susan glanced at the gruesome display without a sign
of squeamishness.

"Lindsey was wearing a gun," she said, a sharp edge of excitement in
her voice.

Derek stiffened.  "How do you know?"

"I saw the bulge in his coat.  That's one of the things we learned at
intelligenCe schoolmhow to spot someone wearing a hand weapon in a
shoulder holster."

His internal alarm system flashed red alert.  Why would a man carrying
a gun pass him a secret message?  "Looks like we need to do some
legwork to find out exactly what kind of business Lindsey's firm is
involved in."

"I already know."  From the way her voice trembled, he could tell she
was scared, but determined not to show it.

The Eyes oJ Derel Arcler

"Liidsey and the smugglers are with organized crime, Derek.  That's
what we've been dealing with."

Seeing the dread on her beautiful face, he wished he could assure her
that she was wrong, but he couldn't.  He knew something about organized
crime.  Maybe the smugglers were involved with it.  Everything that had
happened at Fairchild fit the mold.

"They're going to kill us, Derek."  He heard excitement mingled with
desperation in her words.  "We've got to get out of Seattle."

Leaning toward her, he squeezed her ann with both hands.  "Later," he
said.  "Since I told L'mdsey we're staying at the University Towers
Hotel, that's where we'll go first."

"In case they're following us," she whispered, stepping closer, to him.
"But first we've got to get out of this store without getting shot."

At first he thought she was kidding.  But when she reached out and
caught his hands, he realized she was dead serious.  Putting his ann
around her shoulders, he hugged her close, oddly pleased when he felt
some of the tension leave her.

"He's not going to shoot us anywhere near here, Susan."  He kept his
voice even to reassure her.  "Too many people saw him with us just
now."  And a man who delivers a secret message doesn't shoot the
recipient before he has a chance to read it, he added to himself,
itching to see what was on the card.

"If he and his buddies are as interested in us as we think," Derek went
on, "they've probably already called the University Towers to see if
we're registered.  When they realize we're not, and we go directly
there, they'll wonder what the hell is up."

"Good idea," she said thoughtfully.  "Since we've got to take a
roundabout route back to our own hotel to be sure we're not followed,
we might as well head out to the University District and keep 'era
guessing."

"Now you've got the' idea he said, hugging her again.  She didn't
object when they left through the front door and hurried to the taxi
stand near the ferry terminal.

"B careful what you say in the cab," he warned, opening the door for
her.  He knew the taxi might have been sent by Lindsey and his
associates.

The short ride through the downtown traffic and then out the interstate
to the University District seemed to take an eternity.  The message
from Lindsey burned in his pocket.  She'd never trust him if she
thought he was hiding something from her.  But he didn't want to show
her the card until he'd assured himself nothing in the message could
cause her more pain.

As soon as they entered the lobby, he excused himself and found the
men's restroom.  In the privacy of one of the stalls, he withdrew the
card from his pocket and read the message on the reverse side.

Chapter Thirteen

You have questions.  We have answers.  Noon.  The Space Needle.  Come
alone.

Exultant after reading the message, Derek tore up the card and dropped
the pieces in the toilet.  This was the chance he'd been waiting for,
the opportunity to talk to someone who knew the score.  The scent of
victory burned hot in his nostrils.  Once he knew what really happened,
he'd nail the men who'd betrayed him.

The outside door opened and someone entered the next stall.  Engrossed
in what he'd read, Derek paid scant attention.  He stuck out his foot,
ready to flush the remains of the card down the sewer.

"Stephen-Ellis?"  The voice whispered from the next stall.  Derek
froze.  Now he knew for sure.  He and Susan had been under surveillance
from the time they'd left the waterfront.

A sudden spurt of adrenaline sent his nervous system into overdrive.
With frightening clarity he smelled the room's strong lemon odor, heard
the drip-drip of a leaky faucet and wished he'd purchased another
handgun when they'd gotten off the plane.  The one he'd bought in
Spokane was lying under his mattress at the hotel where he'd hidden
it.

"Who are you?"

"A friend."  The voi was not Ted Lindsey's.  "Have you read the
message?"

Derek didn't look over the top of the stall and risk a bullet.
"Yes."

"Ditch the woman and be there."  "What if I don't show?"  "You're both
as good as dead."

SUSAN WAITED IMPATIENTLY for Derek to emerge from the hall leading to
the men's room.  At last she spotted him.

As he walked toward her, he kept glancing back at the hall entrance as
if watching for someone.  Something about his posture made her think of
a coiled spring, about to snap.  His head was cocked to one side, his
hand dangerously near the pocket where he kept his gun.  Had he managed
to get hold of another one without her knowing it?

He slid into the chair next to hers, giving her a quick smile.
"Everything okay?"

At her nod, he relaxed.  "We need to decide where we go from here," he
said, glancing again at the hall to the men's room.

"Shouldn't we leave this hotel?"  She felt her stomach clench and told
herself to relax.  "If they followed us, they could be watching us
right this minute."

"We're safer here than outside," Derek said.  "I doubt they'll try
anything here in the lobby.  It's the perfect place to make plans."

Silently Susan followed his gaze to the men's room door.  "Who do you
expect to come out of there?"  she asked.

He responded with a bland half smile.  "Some jerk in the next stall
made an offensive remark.  I'd like to get a look at him."

"What kind of remark?"

"You don't want to know."

Susan clamped her lips shut.  For a moment she was silent, glancing
around the lobby.  It looked so ordinary, just like any other hotel
lobby.  But could an assassin be lurking somewhere nearby, behind a
newspaper or on the other side of a door?  Lord, what were they doing
here, when assassins were after them?

"We've got to get out of town," she cried.

Derek laid his hand on her arm.  "We can't leave until we do some
checking into that firm on Lindsey's card."

"But why?"  She felt her panic moving into her throat, and swallowed
hard, trying to control it.  "I want to get out of here--g back to our
room rebut that's not safe, either," is it."

"Don't worry, honey," Derek said.  He favored her with a reassuring
smile, his eyes still on the restroom door.  "We just have to be
certain nobody follows us there.  When we get downtown, we'll split up
and take roundabout routes back to our hotel.  That'll give me a chance
to pick up some' disguises."  '

So he'd already worked out a plan.  Splitting up.  That's what she
didn't like.  How could she love a man and not trust him?

"Why don't we get the disguises together?"  She plastered on an
innocent smile.  "I hate to think of separating."

Such a warm expression came over his face that she hated herself for
mistrusting him.  He reached out and took her hand, lifting it to his
lips.  A feeling of joy pulsed through Susan as his breath warmed her
fingers.

"I don't want the clerks to connect me with you.  ""For a few brief
moments his attention was focused on her instead of on the hall to the
restroom.  "I won't be gone long.  A couple of hours at most."  His
eyes were open and sincere.  "I care about you, Susan.  Nothing can
keep me away from you for very long."

She wanted to believe him, but she sensed he was hiding something from
her again.

"Okay, let's go," she said finally.  "That man's never coming out."

Tensing, he squeezed her hand.  "There he is."

A tall, gaunt man wearing a dark business suit emerged from the hall
entrance.  Looking neither to the right nor left, he passed directly in
front of them on his way through the lobby.  With his well-trimmed
beard, Susan thought he looked rather distinguished, more like Abraham
Lincoln than someone who made lewd remarks in a hotel bathroom.

"Are you sure that's him?"  she whispered, keeping her voice low.

"Positive.  Everybody else who's come out of that rest-room went in
during the ten minutes I've been sitting here."  Derek's brow furrowed.
"Too bad I didn't get a look at him inside.  It would have saved us
some time."

"But why was it so important to see him?"  Eyeing Derek's dark face,
she saw a hard expression that made her draw back.

He stood and took her hand, helping her to her feet.  "I like to know
who I'm talking to, Susan.  That way I'll recognize him if I ever run
into him again."

"But why does it matter?"  she persisted, an uneasy knot forming in her
stomach.  Was he really this vindictive?

Frowning with exasperation, he started toward the lobby's rear door.
"When you've been on the run for a while, you learn some basic facts
about survival.  Rule number one.  Know your enemy, and make sure he
always gets what's coming to him."

Something about the cold way he spoke caused anxiety to race through
her.  "Why are you calling that man an enemy, Derek?  Do you know
something I don't?  Tell me."

They reached the outside door and he pulled it open for her.  His
expression softened.  "Anybody who makes offensive remarks in the
latrine--or anywhere else--is an enemy."

"Then you don't think he's got something to do with this mess we're
in?"  Anxiously she searched his face.

"No, of course not.  I hope I didn't scare you."

Her gaze dropped from his face to his throat where a small vein pulsed
with the regularity of a ticking clock.  The same way it pulsed in the
room this morning, when he was lying.

"Ever since I was framed, I've made it my business to get even with
anybody who crossed me."  He took her arm as they left the hotel. "It's
the one thing that's kept me going.

If

I ever see that SOB again, I want to recognize him."  Under her short
coat, Susan shuddered.  "You're starting to sound like someone out of
The Godfather."

Giving her an enigmatic look, he started toward the taxi stand in front
of the hotel.  "I never pretended to be perfect."

Tx-m SE'Ama, Tm> at Westlake Center in downtown Seattle, promising to
meet at their room in three hours.  Derek waited until Susan had
disappeared inside the cavernous building, then headed toward the
elevated platform to catch the monorail train.

Would she be all right?  They'd obviously been followed to the
University Towers Hotel.  Even now someone might be tracking her
through the maze of shops inside Westlake Center.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped aboard the sleek car.  Susan was a
trained professional, probably better at dud-ing pursuers than he
himself.  As the elevated train sped the mile and a quarter to the
Seattle Center, Derek warned himself not to waste precious energy
worrying about her.  But he couldn't seem to help himself.  When the
train lurched to a stop and he joined the cluster of passengers headed
for the Space Needle, he found himself searching for her face.

What the hell was wrong with him?  He reassured himself that she wasn't
here.  She was safe back at Westlake Center.  But, illogically, still
he searched.  Once he thought he saw her.  But the woman, her back to
him, was walking hand in hand with a young boy and aother woman.  The
three of them disappeared inside the gift shop before he got a good
look at her face.

susan's not here and not in immediate danger, he assured himself
grimly.  If Lindsey and his buddies want us dead, they've already had
plenty of opportunity.

Just the same, the quicker he got back to her, the better.  He checked
his watch.  Just past twelve.  He'd wait fifteen minutes, no longer.

Pacing around the base of the soaring Space Needle, an alarming new
thought struck him.  What if the message was a ruse to separate him
from Susan so they could get at her more easily?  He spun around and
started back toward the monorail.  He should never have left her
alone.

Two men detached themselves from the crowd waiting to go up the Needle
on the outside elevators.  One was Ted Lindsay, the other the bearded
man from the hotel rest-room.  The bearded man pulled a badge from his
pocket and flashed it in front of Derek's startled eyes.

"FBI, Mr.  Ellis: Would you please come with us."  "What the bell's
going on?"  Angrily Derek jerked his arm free of the man's restraining
grip.  He spun toward Ted Lindsey on his other side, prepared to bolt
through a small group of tourists.

Lindsay's calm voic stopped him.  "Don't be a fool, Archer.  We can
help each other."

Derek stiffened at the sound of his alias.  How much did the FBI know
about him and what had happened at Fairchild?

He had to find out.

SENSING THAT DEREK was hiding something from her, Susan darted after
him as soon as he walked away from Westlake Center.  Not for an instant
did she think he'd do anything to hurt her.  Just the opposite.  He was
probably trying to protect her.  That's why he hadn't told her what he
was up to.

But Susan didn't want protection.  She wanted to know who was trying to
kill her and why.  So she felt no guilt at spying on him.

Once she almost lost him.  Obviously trying to elude pursuit, he went
in the front door of a men's haberdashery and exited to the alley in
back.  She didn't realize what he'd done until crucial minutes later,
when he didn't come out of the store.  Running to the alley, she
spotted him turning north on Pine and guessed he was heading for the
monorail station.

Now, standing behind a display rack in the Space Needle gift shop, she
thanked the woman who had helped her trick Derek.  She'd felt his eyes
on her back, had known he recognized her hair and clothing.  In
desperation she'd told this stranger he was an old boyfriend who'd
cause trouble if he saw her.

How easily the lies come, she thought.  And how much she'd changed in
the few days since Derek Archer had shoved his way into her life.  What
had happened to the bereaved widow who prided herself on her honesty?
She'd been accused by the police of murdering her husband.  And she'd
fallen in love with a convicted killer who now seemed her only friend.
A warm glow swept over her at the memory of Derek's eager passion.
Thanks to him she was still alive and determined to stay that way, no
matter how many lies she had to tell.

"We'd be glad to walk you to the bus stop," the woman offered,
interrupting her wayward thoughts.  "Are you sure you'll be all
right?"

Smiling, Susan nodded.  "I'll be fine.  I'm sure he didn't recognize
me."

After mother and son had left, she slipped outside into the drizzly
noon grayness.  Derek was nowhere to be seen.  Had she lost him?

Stepping away fm the covered walkway near the gift shop, she glanced up
the Needle's steel elevator shaft where a sleek gold car whooshed
toward the posh restaurant on top.  The mere sight made her dizzy.  Had
Derek gone up there?  If she didn't spot him in the next five minutes,
she'd have to take the elevator and check for herself.

Light-headed, she sank to a concrete bench.  The elevator nauseated
her.  In her mind's eye she could see the ground dropping away beneath
her, could feel her stomach's sickening lurch as the car soared
skyward.

But she shouldn't dare assume he'd gone up and wait for him to come
down.  Even now he might be heading back to the hotel.  If she didn't
spot him soon, she'd simply have to get control of herself and go on up
to check.  Sighing, she glanced around the area again.

Thank God, there he was, pacing back and forth in front of the
elevators like a caged lion.  She draw in a relieved breath.  He was
waiting for someone.  But who?  And why hadn't he told her about this
meeting?  She'd been so sure he wanted to protect her.  But was that
the only reason he hadn't told her?

Head down, Susan rose and shrank back against the gift shop wall,
partially hidden by the people milling around in front of her and by
the massive iron work supporting the distinctive Space Needle.  When
she looked up again, something had changed.  Derek had stopped pacing,
his attention riveted on two men hurrying toward him.

Instantly she recognized them.  Ted Lindsey and the bearded man who
came out of the restroom at the University Towers Hotel.  She already
knew Lindsey was with the smugglers.  The bearded man must be, too. She
wanted to burst into tears--everything had become so painfully clear.

Derek had been working with the smugglers all along.  She felt a
nauseating despair even worse than vertigo.  How could she have let
herself forget her dark suspicions that Albright was behind the
smuggling at Fairchild?  Or her knowledge that Albright was a killer? A
stab of guilt pierced her heart.  When she discovered Derek and Don
Albright were one and the same, she should have known.  The proof was
right in front of her.  He must have arranged this secret meeting with
his fellow smugglers to decide what to do with her.

Shaken to the core, she leaned against the Needle's massive steel
structure, struggling to keep her legs from collapsing.  When Derek
discovered she was missing from their hotel room, The come after her.
Horror mingled with her despair.  She had to get away from Seattle
before he realized she'd gone.

But where could she go?  Not to friends or relatives.  She couldn't
expose them to such danger.  And not to the local police.  When they
found she was a suspect in her husband's death, they'd return her to
Spokane to be exposed to the smugglers' assassins.

Derek must have arranged for the earlier attempts on her life so he
could rescue her and get her to trust him.  Bereft and desolate, she
felt a terrible sense of bitterness.  Now that he'd taken everything
she had to give, now that he knew all her secrets, would he let her be
killed?  She closed her eyes, her heart aching with pain.  Lord, she
wasn't sure... of anything anymore.  Only that she had to get away from
Seattle.

SUSAN called Colonel Tinnerman from Seattle-Tacoma Airport.  As
commander of the security police squadron, he represented law and
order, something she desperately needed.  And he'd shown a fatherly
interest.  He was someone she could depend on.

The colonel answered on the first ring.

"Susan?"  Just hearing his voice brought tears of relief to her eyes.

"Thank God!"  he said.  "Are you okay?  I was afraid you'd been
involved in that car bombing at the mall.  The police traced the
vehicle to your friend, the insurance agent."

"I'm sorry, sir.  I should have called before I left for Seattle, but
I've been so scared.  When I saw that car blow up, all I could think
about was getting away."

"Is that where you am?  In Seattle?"  She felt his concern over the
miles separating them.

"Yes.  I'm at the airport."

"Get to Spokane as fast as you can.  I'll send someone to meet you.
Have you checked the schedules?"

"There's a commuter flight at 1400 hours."

"Don't worry about a thing.  You're in safe hands now."  Susan hung up
feeling a hundred pounds lighter.  Since Derek had most of their cash,
she paid for her ticket with a credit card.  He'd be able to trace her,
but she didn't let that bother her.  With luck, she'd be in Spokane
before he even realized she was gone.

When the two o'clock commuter flight took off across the Cascades,
Susan was aboard.

"WHY DID YOIJ CLAIM to be Stephen Ellis?"  the FBI agent asked Derek.

Hunching down in his chair, Derek eyed him without speaking.  If these
people wanted answers, they'd have to provide some of their own before
he said a word.  They'd brought him to the local FBI office.  In the
room where they sat, practicality took precedence over luxury.  The
leather chairs were worn; the desk, scarred.

"Look here, Archer," Lindsey broke in.  "You need something.  So do we.
If you won't talk, we're not going to accomplish anything."

Derek shrugged.  "You want to talk?  Theft you go first.  Tell me who
Ellis is, and I'll tell you why I picked that name."

The two agents stared at each other.  Derek didn't miss the bearded
man's slow nod.  Apparently he was the senior officer.

"Stephen Ellis is the code name for one of our agents," Lindsey said.

"Sure it is.  And I'm the reincarnation of Elvis."  Derek rose from the
beat-up old leather chair where he was sitting.  "Since you haven't
read me my rights, I assume I'm not under arrest, so I'll be on my
way."  He started for the door.

Ted Lindsey jumped in front of him.  "Hold on, Archer.  I'm telling you
the honest truth.  Since you obviously got the name from Brian Wade's
papers, by now you should have figured out who Ellis was the code name
for."

Derek paused, momentarily stunned by Lindsey's implication.  "Are you
saying Mrs.  Wade's husband worked for the bureau?"

"That's exactly what I'm saying."

"Since when?"  Astounded by this development, Derek sank back to his
chair.

"We recruited him less than a year ago, only a couple of months before
he married."

Derek's brain was flooded with images of what Susan had told him about
her days with Wade, about how he seemed to have an ulterior motive for
rushing her to the altar.  "That damned SOB married her just to make
himself look like a dependable family man to the FBI."  Derek spit out
the words without thinking.  "He didn't care for her at all."

"You didn't like Captain Wade very much, did you,

As soon as Lindsey asked the question, Derek knew he'd made a mistake.
He should have taken off while he was at the Needle.  "I didn't know
him well, only the way an insurance agent knows a client."

"That brings us to another question."  Lindsey smiled smugly.  "You say
you're an insurance agent.  With what company, Mr.  Archer?"

"Industrial Indemnity in San Francisco."  His heart sinking, Derek
remembered Susan's call to Ted Lindsey yesterday.  It had undoubtedly
been traced to her room.  From the hotel staff" the FBI would have had
no problem learning an insurance agent named Derek Archer had been with
her when she checked in early that morning.

The bearded manmBob Brown--moved to Lindsey's side.  Now there were two
armed FBI agents between him and freedom.  A terrible tension gripped
his body.  Was this where it would all end, his glorious quest for
revenge, here in this dingy little office?  His heart gave a painful
twinge.  If they arrested him, what would happen to Susan?  Alone in a
hostile world, she'd be totally exposed to the assassins out to kill
her.

"Industrial Indemnity has no agent named Derek Archer," Bob Brown said,
his voice cool, impersonal.  Derek clenched his fists at his sides,
afraid of what was coming.

"Just who the hell are you, Mr.  Archer?"  He examined Derek's face
with such intensity that every line must have been etched into his
brain.  "We think we know, but we'd like you to level with us.  You
help us and we'll help you.  Maybe we're all chasing the same fox."

Derek stared at the two men opposite.  Did he dare trust them?  Had his
options--and Susan'sin just run out?

Spokane

FaOM T. Am, Spokane looked like a fairy-tale city, its buildings
sparking in the sunshine.  After Seattle's gray drizzle, the brightness
beckoned to Susan with the lure of safety, and a normal life.  As if
her life could ever be sane again after the deep wound Derek had
inflicted.  She knew she would never heal completely, that she'd never
fully recover from the pain.  Her heart still ached from the blow.  But
that didn't mean she intended to give up.  Her hands tightened into
fists.  If Derek wanted a fight, by heaven she'd give him one.

Staring out the cabin window, she should have felt relieved and happy.
In a few minutes she'd be under Colonel Tinherman's protection.  He'd
know how to deal with the criminals who were after her.

But Susan felt no relief.  She closed her eyes as a sensation of
desolation swept over her.  Derek's betrayal seared her heart like a
branding iron.  Deep in her soul, she knew she could never forgive him
for what he'd done.  Still, she couldn't force herself to hate him. The
memories of what they'd shared were still too fresh.  His lusty male
scent lingered in her nostrils.  She could feel the warm touch of his
lips kissing her flesh, his hands stroking her hair.

Angrily she thrust the memories aside.  This man had betrayed her.  He
wasn't worth remembering.  But her angry thoughts didn't relieve her
paint or her yearning.

A sergeant came up to Susan as she left the plane.  A beefy man with
the longest chin she'd ever seen, he was someone she'd never run into
around the squadron.  But she'd only been there a few days and didn't
know everyone.

Saluting, he introduced himself.  "Sergeant Bollman, ma'am.  Colonel
Tinnerman sent me to pick you up.  Do you have bags?"

"No," she said, her suspicious nature emerging again.  "Just out of
curiosity, how did you recognize me?  I'm sure I've never seen you
before."

He grinned at her like the farm boy he'd probably been before he joined
the service.  "Maybe you've never seen me, but I've caught a glimpse of
you a time or two, ma'am.  A blond lady lieutenant sort of sticks out,
if you know what I

mean."

In spite of herself, Susan had to smile.  "Exactly."

He led her to a van in the parking lot and helped her climb in.  It was
Colonel Tinnerman's personal vehicle.

"The colonel got the paddy wagon back, I see," she commented, fastening
her seat belt.

"Yes, ma'am.  They never did catch the has... guys who stole it."

Settling back in the passenger seat, Susan let herself relax.  She
hadn't felt so peaceful since early this morning when... an image of
her lying next to Derek on the bed, holding his hand, flashed through
her mind.  Angrily she forced herself to erase it.  Why couldn't she
forget?

"Where are we going, Sergeant Bollman?"  she asked as they turned out
of the airport lot.

"Wherever you want to, ma'am," he said, glancing at her.  A gap between
his front teeth made him seem even more the country boy.  "The colonel
said to take you to your quarters or the hotel if you wanted to change,
just so long as I stayed nearby."

"The hotel, then," Susan said.  Her cosmetics and uniform were there.
"Is he waiting for me at the office?"

"He's at home," the sergeant said, his eyes on the road.  "He said you
needn't wear your uniform."

How thoughtful of Colonel Tinnerman.  Maybe putting on fresh clothes
would remove some of her soiled, used feeling.  For an instant she
remembered Derek's warning that an appearance at the hotel would let
the smugglers know she was still alive.  Then, annoyed, she shrugged
off her apprehension.  As long as Derek knew she hadn't been killed in
the car bombing, all the smugglers must know.

At the Riverfront Hotel, the desk clerk glanced at the sergeant, then
back at Susan.  "When you checked in, you said you wanted the adjoining
room to Mr.  Archer's.  It became available yesterday afternoon, so we
moved your things when we couldn't reach you.  I hope that was all
right."

How dare they do such a thing?  Squaring her shoulders, Susan forced
herself not to protest.  This wasn't the time to call attention to
herself by railing at a hotel clerk.  "Fine, thank you."  At least the
adjoining rooms meant Sergeant Bollman wouldn't have to wait in the
hall while she changed.

In her room, she put on her favorite outfit--the same pleated
cinnamon-colored dress she'd worn the afternoon Brian had been killed.
The dress had been too nice to give away.  Not until she was back in
the van headed toward the colonel's quarters, did she realize this was
the first time she'd worn it since Brian's death.  A foreboding sense
of djt vu swept over her.  Would someone die tonight?

Chapter Fourteen

Seattle

"Before we do any more talking, I need to call Mrs.  Wade at the
hotel."  Derek made the statement flatly, so the agents would know he
meant business.  He stood up and started for the corner of the room
where a plain black phone sat on a scarred, round table.

Special Agent Brown motioned him back to his chair.  ""Before you call,
you need to know a few things about Mrs.  Wade."  He settled himself on
a leather couch as worn as Derek's chair.

Reluctantly, Derek returned to his seat.  "Make it quick, Brown.  I've
been gone nearly three hours.  Somebody's trying to kill her and she's
scared to death.  No telling what she'll do if I don't show pretty
soon."

"Is that what she says?"  Brown's mouth spread into a thin-lipped
smile.  "That somebody's trying to kill her?"

From Brown's mocking tone, Derek could tell he thought she was making
up the whole story.  And that Derek, being a gullible fool, had
swallowed it hook, line and sinker.

"That's what I know," Derek said grimly.  "An assassin with a knife
broke into her condo night before last.  And last night somebody blew
up my car only minutes before we reached it.  Check with the Spokane
police.  By now they'll have found out I rented the car."  He permitted
himself a sarcastic smile.  "They probably think we're both dead."

Glancing at Lindsey, Derek saw him scribbling on a yellow tablet.

"This puts a different light on things," Lindsey said.  "We thought she
found out her husband was working for us and squealed to the smugglers.
He was killed because of his FBI connection."

"We don't trust her," Brown added.  "That's why we told you to come
alone."

"You can't be serious!"  Derek sprang to his feet.  "If you boys had
done your homework, you'd realize Mrs.  Wade's an agent just like you.
She was sent by the Pentagon Intelligence Agency to smoke out the
smugglers."

"She told you this?"  Brown's expression was incredulous.

"Damned fight.  She was a desperate lady, and I was the only one there
to help.  She heard a few rumors about smuggling on the base, but
couldn't get the goods on the guys involved, so the operation was
canceled."

"Damn!"  Brown exclaimed, his gaunt face flushing.  "Why wasn't the
17131 informed about this?"

"Who knows?"  Derek shrugged, enjoying the agent's anger.  "Maybe the
Pentagon doesn't trust you guys at the bureau.  But you can get your
hush-hush people in Washington to check with their military
counterparts across the fiver.  The Pentagon will confirm everything
I've said.  She called it Operation Macula."

"Get on it," Brown snapped to Lindsey.  After the agent had hurried
from the room, Brown focused on Derek.  "Before you talk to Mrs.  Wade,
there's something else you need to know, Archer.  I've been trying to
tell you ever since we walked in."

Frowning, Derek glanced toward the phone.  '"It'll have to wait.  This
call comes first."  Quickly Derek punched in the hotel number and asked
for their room.  There was no answer.  Derek transferred to the front
desk and asked if his wife had returned.  To his dismay, both room keys
were still in the box.

"Something's wrong."  Derek dropped the receiver back on its cradle. "I
never should've left her."  Mixed anger and guilt coursed through him
as he pictured her tense expression when he'd turned away from her at
Westlake Center.

"Don't worry, Archer," Brown said, heading for the door.  "If she's in
Seattle, we'll find her."

Spokane

"DEREK WILL SEND SOMEONE here looking for me."  Anxiously, Susan
brushed a strand of hair off her forehead and studied Colonel
Tinherman's face.  It was wreathed in a smile of reassurance.

"I don't think he'll be that foolish."  Though the colonel had told her
to be comfortable in civilian clothes, he was decked out in his blue
service uniform.

"You don't understand, Colonel.  This is organized crime with lawyers,
thugs and assassins hiding under every rock.  I met their lawyer in
Seattle.  And later on I saw Derek--Mr.  Archer--with him."  Susan
couldn't repress a shudder.  "They're obviously the ones behind the
smuggling on the base."

The colonel leaned back ga inst the sofa cushions.  The late-afternoon
sun filtered through the window blinds to cast shadows on his face. For
the first time Susan noticed that his face was almost free of
wrinkles.

"You say you went to Seattle to follow up on some of your husband's
papers?"  he said.

"Yes."  Susan had already told him what she and Derek had found in
Brian's safe-deposit box.  The one thing she hadn't told him was that
Derek was really Don Albright.  Somehow, she couldn't bring herself to
betray him.

"Did Captain Wade's papers say anything about the smuggling?"

Nodding, she turned toward him.  "Brian kept a notebook with a list of
shipping dates.  At least that's what I--think they are.  Apparently he
had an account in a Swiss bank.  The deposits were listed in the same
notebook and correlate with the shipping dates.  A considerable amount
of money was siphoned off each shipment and deposited in the
account."

The colonel's eyes widened.  "Really."  An instant later he got up from
the sofa and paced to the window.  "The more you tell me about Captain
Wade's papers, the more I think they should be kept in a safe place,
under lock and key.  We'll need them as evidence when we bring these
people to trial."

"They are in a safe place," Susan said.  "They're locked up at the
Riverfront Hotel."  A troubling new thought hit her.  "Derek--Mr.
Archer--has access to them."

The colonel wheeled around so quickly he knocked over a Chinese vase
next to the window.  Cushioned by the plush Oriental carpet, it didn't
break.  "We've got to get those papers and lock them up at the squadron
where Archer can't get them."

"Of course."  Her heart in her throat, Susan started for the door.

Seattle

"HAVE YOU FOtn her yet?"  Derek stopped his pacing long enough to
confront the gaunt Bob Brown, who had just burst into the dingy little
office with a tray containing hamburgers and coffee.

"Patience, man."  Brown set the tray on the room's one desk, and handed
Derek a foam cup of black coffee.  "We've only been looking half an
hour.  Not even the FBI can work miracles."

Derek lifted the plastic top from the cup and resumed his pacing.  "I
should have shown her your message and brought her with me to the
Needle."

This is all my fault, he thought, watching Brown unwrap a hamburger and
take a huge bite.  If anything's happened to her... He steeled himself
against the tightness in his throat.

"If she'd been with you, we'd have arranged to meet you somewhere
else."  Brown dropped into a chair.  "I've already told you, we didn't
trust her."

"So why the hell did you trust me?"  Derek stopped pacing long enough
to take a swallow of coffee.

"Like I said before, Archer, we know who you really are."  Brown's eyes
narrowed and he motioned toward the chair opposite him.  "You might as
well sit down and hear me out."

Had Brown guessed he was Don Albright, or was he stabbing around in the
dark?  Uneasily, Derek edged toward the door.

Undismayed, Brown went on speaking.  "We suspected who you were after
we ran a check on Derek Archer and found out you had no past beyond
last year.  Now there's no doubt.  We've got a perfect match from your
prints off that doorknob in the hotel restroom."

They knew he was Don Albright.  Stunned, Derek glanced at the closed
door behind him, figuring his chances to escape.  Who was he kidding?

"Don't leave until you hear what I've got to say."  Brown took another
huge bite of his hamburger.

"Have I got a choice?"  Derek lowered himself to the chair.

"I'm not going to arrest you, if that's what you're asking."

"Why not?"  Derek asked through clenched teeth.

Brown swallowed before he spoke.  "Because it isn't a crime to change
one's identity."

Had he heard right?  Surely the FBI knew Don Albright was a convicted
killer.  Derek was barely able to control his gulp of surprise.  "I beg
your pardon?"

"We know you aren't guilty of murder, Albright."  Speechless, unable to
make sense of the agent's words, Derek stared at Brown's face.  The
agent stared back with an apologetic smile.

"Wade killed your squadron commander.  Of course, we didn't know that
when we recruited him.  We knew he'd been involved in the smuggling,
and we recruited him as an informant.  But we still thought you'd
committed the murder."  '

A crazy weightless sensation swept over Derek as the agent's words
struck home.  After this year of shame and toil, could he be free?
Really free?

"But why?"  he asked, finding his voice.  "Why would Wade kill the
commander?"

"The commander found out about the smuggling operation.  Apparently
Wade, who never knew the identity of the person in charge, was ordered
to shoot the commander and arrange for you to be blamed."

Taking another bite of his burger, Brown chewed it thoroughly before he
went on.  "We suspect Wade had a hand in killing the two witnesses in
that case, too, the ones who died in so-called accidents, but we'll
probably never be able to prove it.  We think they're the only ones who
knew for sure that Wade murdered the commander."

Derek lurched to his feet.  "They were sitting closest to Wade and me
in the tavern."

"That's right," Brown said.  "Wade must have been worried that they'd
squeal on him and ruin his nice little arrangement with the bureau
involving the witness protection program and a juicy little piece of
property in Paraguay."

Floored by the enormity of Brown's revelations, Derek sank to the sofa
next to the agent.  Was he really free or could the FBI have made a
terrible mistake?  "How the hell did you find out Wade killed the
commander?"

"We found the woman who turned out the lights in the tavern just before
the commander was murdered.  You remember the case?  The lights went
out, the shot was fired, you ended up with the gun--"

But Derek's mind had clicked off as Brown repeated the familiar
details.  Free.  Free to be himself again.  And free to love Susan. The
thought jumped into his mind unbidden.  But now she was gone.  Had he
lost her at the very moment he'd been unshackled?

He shot an accusing glare at Brown.  "Why the devil didn't you tell
somebody about this new evidence?  I've been going through hell this
past year.  If I'd known, I could have had the case against me thrown
out of court."

' "You were officially dead, Albright."  Brown shrugged his shoulders.
"A suicide off the Tacoma Narrows Bridge.  Wade was dead, too.  The
woman who turned off the lights was an old girlfriend of Wade who came
to us voluntarily after he was murdered.  In exchange for her
cooperation, we decided not to prosecute."

Unable to sit still longer, Derek resumed his pacing.  "So we had no
reason to reopen the case against you," Brown said.  "By keeping the
new evidence on the QT, we figured we'd have a better chance at
catching whoever's masterminding this operation.  Like I said, Wade
didn't know so he couldn't tell us."

"Then that's why the FBI was called in?  To catch the smugglers?"
Suddenly Brown's hamburger looked and smelled like a gourmet dinner.
Grabbing one of the three remaining on the tray, Derek unwrapped it and
bit into it.

Technically, no.  Catching smugglers is a job for the Customs people.
Their Operation Exodus handles illegal exports.  We were called in
because the smuggled equipment was first stolen and then transported
over state lines to Fairchild."  Brown shook his head in irritation.
"Damn the Pentagon brass.  They should have told us what they were up
to."

Tensing, Derek watched the agent devour the rest of his hamburger and
reach for another.  "Then the smuggling was out of the country, not
into it?"  No wonder Susan never uncovered anything.  She'd been
checking the incoming squadron planes, not the outgoing.

Brown took a long swallow of coffee.  "I thought you knew that."  '

"What the hell were they smuggling?"

"High-tech equipmentsthe kind of stuff that will he used against us if
we don't stop this damned techno-smuggling.  In one shipment, we think
somebody got enough gear to intercept classified communications from
U.S. and Russian satellites.  If they know how to build the system,
that is."

Brown went on talking, but Derek didn't listen.  His attention was
focused on Lindsey, who'd just entered the room.

"Have you found her?"  he said, interrupting Brown who swung around
toward the door.

"Horizon Air.  A commuter flight to Spokane."  Lindsey grabbed the last
hamburger on the tray.  "She charged the ticket on her Visa."

Derek leaped to his feet and faced the two agents.  "You've got to stop
the plane."

"Slow down, Albright," Brown said.  "Whoever's running this smuggling
operation thinks she died in that car bombing, so she'll be safe for a
while."

Tossing the remains of his hamburger on the tray, Derek flung the door
open.  "As soon as she gets there she'll go to the hotel for her
husband's papers.  Then they'll know she's still alive.  I've got to
get to her first."

Spokane

WITH COL Ti beside her, Susan hurried to the end of the registration
desk where the hotel safe was located.

Wll Brian's papers still be here?  She glanced around anxiously as she
waited for the clerk to finish with another customer.  Though there
wasn't one chance in a hundred that Derek had somehow managed to get to
the hotel ahead of her, she couldn't rid herself of the notion that
he'd already come and taken them.  Or hired someone else-maybe a
crooked hotel employee--to remove them.

Finally the clerk was free.  Heart pounding, Susan signed the register
and watched him open the box with her key.  He took out the contents
and handed them to her.

"Is everything there?"  The colonel eyed the unassuming bundle as if he
couldn't wait to get his hands on it.  His face displayed an unusual
eagerness that made her uneasy.

Don't start suspecting the only person you can count on, she warned
herself.  Slipping off the rubber band, she leafed through the
documents.  "Yes, everything's here, and all the pages are in the
notebook."  Feeling the tension drain out of her, she replaced the band
and dropped the bundle in her bag.

"Now, let's get them out to the base."  The colonel edged her away from
the counter.

"Oh, Mrs.  Wade," the clerk called after her.  "Will you be checking
out tomorrow as planned?"

"Yes... no..."  In confusion she stared at Colonel Tin-nerman.  "I
don't dar spend another night in this hotel, and I can't stay at my
condo."

He patted her arm.  "Of course not.  I've arranged for you to stay with
one of our people--Lieutenant Carla Drew.  Half the people in the
squadron have already volunteered for special guard duty while you're
there.  I guarantee you won't be bothered."

"You're too good to me, Colonel."  She held back tears of gratitude.
Suddenly all she wanted was to get away from this place.  It had too
many memories of Derek.  Now she'd probably never see him again, never
feel the touch of his hand on her skin.  She could hardly bear the
thought of how he'd betrayed her.

Turning, Susan met the clerk's eyes.  "I won't be coming back.  I'll
sign for the charges right now."  "Shall I have a bellhop pick up your
bags in your room?"  My things.  With a sinking feeling Susan
visualized her cosmetics neatly laid out on the bathroom counter, her
clothes hung in the closet--including her one tailored uniform.  She
couldn't simply walk away and leave them.

"I'll send someone from the squadron to pack your suitcase and bring it
to you;" the colonel offered quickly.  "Right now we need to get out to
the base ASAP with Captain Wade's papers."

Susan had been ready to agree, but the eagerness in the colonel's voice
stopped her.  Why was he so anxious to get his hands on Brian's
papers?

"No, we won't need a bellhop," he said to the clerk without consulting
Susan.  His hand tightened on her arm and she winced.

But she didn't budge.  Derek had wanted to see Briaffs papers, too. And
Derek had used her and betrayed her, as he'd always warned he would.
Could the colonel be planning to betray her, too, as soon as Brian's
notebook and other papers were firmly in his grasp?  A chill shot
through her.

Defiantly she stood her ground.  "I don't want some stranger pawing
through my things, Colonel Tinnerman.  Since we're here, it'll take
only a minute for me to throw them in my suitcase."  She turned toward
the clerk.  "I'll check out after I pack my bags."

"That's not a good idea," the colonel warned, frowning.  But his grip
on her arm relaxed.  "We need to get this material out to the base
ASAP."  The same eager expression flashed across his face, making Susan
even more uneasy.

"Another ten or fifteen minutes won't matter."  Avoiding the colonel's
eyes, she turned to the clerk again.  "Please call my room if Mr.
Archer picks up his key.  I don't want to

"No problem, Mrs.  Wade," the clerk said.

"Well, if that's what you really want," Colonel Tinner-man conceded
reluctantly.  "I guess you'll be all right as long as I'm there with
you."

Susan didn't realize he meant to watch her pack until he strode into
her room behind her.  His move hit a raw nerve.  Was he there to
protect her or to keep an eye on Brian's papers?

Laying her coat on the bed, she turned to face him.  "I'd rather you
waited in the room next door, Colonel."  After all he'd done for her,
she felt guilty asking him to leave.  But she couldn't afford to make
another costly mistake.

His scarecrowish figure dropped into a chair.  "I'll watch the news on
your TV.  You won't even know I'm here."

Disguising her annoyance, she opened the adjoining door to Derek's
room.  Though the sergeant had waited there for her to change, Derek's
essence still filled the place.  Swallowing hard, she focused on the
colonel.  "Why don't you watch TV in here?  Then you'll be near and
I'll still have my privacy."

"Is that Mr.  Archer's room?"

"Yes."  She offered no explanation, felt no embarrassment.

"Call if you need anything," said the colonel as he disappeared into
the adjoining room.  A moment later Susan heard the familiar voice of a
TV announcer broadcasting the evening news.  She let out her breath.
Good.  If he's watching he won't be as aware of what I'm doing or how
long I'm taking.

Her suspicions about the colonel might be paranoid, but Susan was
taking no more chances.  She had let her guard down with Derek, and now
she was paying the price in pain and suffering.  Her next mistake might
mean her death.  What she needed--and fast--was a way to buy time,
something to deceive the colonel until she was certain he was one
hundred percent trustworthy.

Rummaging through the drawers of the desk, she found hotel
stationery--business-size envelopes with matching paper.  After
addressing three envelopes to herself, she stuffed pages from a hotel
magazine in one so it would look as though a small notepad was inside,
and two sheets of plain paper in the other two.  Then she went to the
adjoining door.

"I'm ordering some coffee from room service to keep me going while I
finish packing.  Do you want anything?"

His skinny angular form appeared in the doorway.  "You don't have to
order anything, Susan.  I thought we could stop somewhere for dinner
after we lock up the papers."

"I've had a hard day, Colonel.  I need something now."  He smiled his
considerate crooked smile.  "Of course you do.  I'll have coffee, too,
and get a snack.  That'll tide us over until dinner.  Oh, and Susan?"

What now?  Holding her breath, Susan stared at his un-lined, gnome like
face.  "Yes, sir?"

"Have room service bring the coffee to my door.  That way you won't be
disturbed, and I can take care of the bill."

"That's nice of you, sir," Susan said, intending to do no such thing.
When she called room service, she repeated her room number twice to be
sure the operator got it straight.

After she'd hung up, she stuck Brian's two credit cards and the
Paraguayan property title into the false bottom of her suitcase.  The
notebook she shoved under her panty hose.  Thanks to the pleated skirt
of her dress, she could detect no bulges that might reveal its
presence.

The three sealed end, elopes waited on the desk.  Since she had no
stamps, she'd have to ask the room service waiter to buy them before he
mailed the letters for her.  Colonel Tin-herman would be listening and
would be sure to overhear.

She took a deep breath to control the sudden tightening in her stomach.
Was this the fatal flaw in her plan?  There was no way she could
whisper to the waiter.

Still, maybe it would be best if the colonel did overhear her request.
Then he'd be more likely to believe her when she said she'd mailed
Brian's papers to herself from the hotel.  She'd explain that she
intended to protect the papers from a possible thief.

Was this elaborate scheme of hers a big waste of time?"  Remembering
how generous the colonel had been, she could hardly imagine him doing
anything to hurt her.  Still, he'd been almost too nice.  Maybe he had
an ulterior motive for his generosity.

She'd almost finished packing when she heard a knock on the colonel's
door.  Damn.  In spite of her emphasis on the room number, the waiter
had gone to the wrong door.  Sure enough, when the colonel said, "Yes?"
a man's voice replied, "Room service."  Did she dare to stalk boldly
into the room with the three envelopes?  Yes, she decided.  She had no
alternative.  Darting to the desk, she snatched them up.

Next door, the subdued clink of dishes was barely audible over the
chatter of the television.  But before she could reach the partly open
door, the colonel's voice stopped her.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"  His words ended in an
alarmed snarl.

Ready to push the door open, Susan stopped with her hand on the knob.
Her feet were rooted to the carpeting beneath her.  What was going on?
From the adjoining room came scuffling noises, then a door banged.

The phone.  Turning, she flew to the bedside table and pressed the
number for the front desk.  Nobody answered.

The adjoining door swung open.  The receiver crashed to the nightstand.
As she stared at the open door, Susan felt her heart leap into her
throat.

Derek stood there, dressed in a waiter's jacket.  "Susan," he
whispered.

Chapter Fifteen

Susan's first instinct was to run.  But the bed lay between her and the
hall door.  Yanking up her dress, she scrambled across the bed and
bolted toward the hall door.  She had to get away from Derek.  He meant
pain and betrayal.  Maybe, death.  Mindlessly she fled, knowing only
that she had to escape from this room before he caught her.

But he grabbed her arm before she could yank the door open.  Thrusting
himself in front of her, he stood between her and the hall.  "Susan,
listen."

She jerked her arm free.  "No," she screamed.  "I know what you are.  I
saw you at the Needle with the smugglers."

He took a step toward her and she backed away from him, knowing she
couldn't lot him get close or she'd never get away.

"It's not what you think," he said, holding his arms out to her. "Those
men at the Space Needle weren't criminals.  They were FBI agents."

"You lying bastard."  Trembling with fright and anger, Susan kept
backing away.  "Haven't you figured it out yet?  Your lies won't work
anymore."

He shortened the distance between them.  "It's not a lie.  It's the
truth.  You've got to believe me."  Susan felt the bed against the back
of her legs.  She'd're treated as far as she could go.  Where was
Colonel Tinner-man?  Why didn't he help her?

Slowly Derek moved toward her.  In another instant he'd be close enough
to grab her.  Already she could smell the male scent of his body.  He
came a step closer.  Without thinking, she reached out and slapped him
with such force that her palm tingled.  He didn't flinch.

"You warned me you were bad," she cried.  "Now I know it's true. Please
go away and leave me alone."

He grabbed her hands, holding them so she couldn't slap him again. "No,
I won't go away.  I love you, Susan.  I want to marry you."  His
all-seeing indigo eyes probed to her very soul.

"More lies."  She laughed shrilly, hysterically.  "What do you want
this time?  Another roll in the hay?  How you must have laughed when
the gullible widow practically insisted you take her to bed this
morning."

He pulled her to him.  "Shut up, Susan."

Struggling against him, she fought his embrace.  "How could you hurt me
like this?  I loved you, damn you.  In spite of everything, I loved
you."

Slowly, tenderly, his mouth descended on hers.  Susan wanted to lash
out at him.  To bite him, kick him, pummel him with her fists.  But she
couldn't.  When she felt his tough, hard body against her, his moist
mouth caressing her lips, all the fight went out of her.  He released
her hands, and she raised them to his neck, clinging to him with a
longing so great she wanted to drown in his kiss.

"Why do you keep lying to me?"  she whispered when he finally released
her.

"This time I'm not lying, Susan.  I swear I'll never lie to you again
about anything."  He kissed her a second time then, so lovingly she
almost believed him.  On his face was an expression of such tenderness
that her heart cried out for him.

"Ted Lindsey isn't a criminal,."  he said.  "He's an FBI agent."  His
words rang with sincerity and truth.

"If he's an FBI agent, why didn't he say so up front?"  she asked
weakly.  How she wanted to believe him.

Derek hesitated as though afraid to tell her.  "Well, since I've sworn
never to lie to you again--he thought you were part of the smuggling
ring."

Her mouth dropped open.  "Me?"

A grunt from the next room stopped her short.

"What did you do to Colonel Tinnerman?"  She couldn't keep the
accusation from her voice.

"He's fine."  Derek shrugged.  "When he refused to listen to me, I put
some tape on his mouth, tied his hands loosely and locked him in the
bathroom so I'd have a chance to talk to you.  He's trying to get out.
That's the noise you hear."  '

"You've got to let him go."  Her suspicion of the colonel had been
tenuous at best.  Remembering his generosity, she couldn't stand
knowing he was locked up.

"There are still some important things I need to tell you about your
husband, and about me, too."

"That can wait ."  She started for the inside door.  "We've got to let
him out, Derek.  Right now."

Putting a hand on her arm, he thrust himself in front of her.  "Once
he's out of there, we won't have a chance to talk, and you really need
to know these things, Susan."

She eyed him suspiciously.  Here he was in front of her again, putting
himself between her and where she wanted to go.  Was she letting her
love blind her to serious problems?

"Is there something in that room you don't want me to see?"

"Hell, no.  Be my guest."  He stepped aside, and she swept past him.

In the flickering light from the television screen, she couldn't make
sense of what she saw.  A tray containing coffee and snacks sat on the
dresser.  A chair was tipped over, and the bedding was snarled, as
though someone had yanked off a blanket and tossed the spread aside.

Though her view was partly blocked by the bed, at its foot was what
appeared to be a crumpled pile of clothes.  Behind her she heard
Derek's voice, ruthless in its urgency.  "Come back into your room,
Susan.  We need to talk."

She didn't obey.  Instead, she ran to the hall door and flicked the
light switch.  Automatically, two bedside bulbs and a floor lamp
switched on, flooding the room With brightness.  '

At the foot of the bed, his blue uniform soaked with blood, lay Colonel
Tinnerman.  The tape covering his mouth slashed an obscene line across
his round, gnome like face.  A length of rope hung from one wrist.
From what she could see of his body, the poor man hadn't had a
chance.

Frozen with shock, Susan couldn't move, couldn't breathe.  Derek must
have done this awful thing.  Somewhere in the dim recesses of her mind
she thought she heard him yell "Run."  Or was she imagining it?  She
could hardly get her lungs to work, let alone her legs.

On the other side of the bed, the bathroom door opened.

A hulking form appeared.

Krakow, her attacker at the condo.  He'd been working with Derek all
along.

All hope vanished.  Derek had lied again.

Krakow started around the bed toward her just as Derek leaped for the
hall doorway where she stood.  A sudden burst of adrenaline shot
through her.  She had to get out of here.

Flinging open the door, she burst into the hall and glanced wildly in
both directions.  No one was there.  Frantically, she ran toward the
exit stairs.  Yanking the heavy fire door open, she ran into the
concrete stairwell.

Forcing her tired legs to keep moving, she pounded down the bare metal
stairs.  At the first landing she paused to glance back.  Nobody.  Why
weren't they after her?  No sound broke the silence except her own
harsh gasps.

Panting, she sprinted downward.  Nearing the next landing, the heel of
one pump broke with a sickening crunch.  She stopped only long enough
to strip off both shoes.  In her stockings, she continued her mad
flight.

By this time she was running on pure adrenaline, barely conscious of
the racking pain in her lungs, or the screaming insults to her feet as
she flew down the rough stairs.  Like a wild creature racing for its
life, she moved on instinct, with no guarantee that her next step
wouldn't mean her death.

After what seemed an eternity, she reached the first floor.  The metal
door with the Exit sign over it read For Emergency Use Only."if she
opened it, an alarm might sound, and they'd know where she was.  After
a moment's hesitation, she yanked the door open.  Silence.

Thankfully she stepped through, breathing in the cold night air.  Not
until the metal door clanged shut behind her did she realize it had no
outside knobs or levers, no way to get in from outside.  But it didn't
matter.  She'd gotten away.

Quickly she glanced around, taking stock of where she was.  Overhead a
single light burned above the concrete platform she stood on.  She was
at one end of the hotel near the covered swimming pool.  A walkway
between the building and the pool led to a small parking area.  Beyond,
the lawn sloped down to the river.

Was her car still where she'd left it?  Not that it would do her much
good.  Her keys were in her bag upstairs in her room.

At that moment she knew how vulnerable she was.  She had no ID, no
money, no credit cards and, she realized as her flimsy dress blew in
the cold night wind, no coat or shoes.  She needed help, and Derek was
the last person in the world she could count on to rescue her.

Much as she hated the idea, she'd have to go to Detective MacElroy at
police headquarters.  He'd never believe a weird story like hers, but
if she was lucky he'd provide refuge until she could get assistance
from the Pentagon.

But how could she reach the police?  She couldn't call from the lobby.
The smugglers would surely spot her.  She'd have to walk, she decided.
Headquarters was across the river, only a couple of blocks beyond the
park.  If she used the pedestrian bridges she should make it in less
than an hour.

Suddenly Susan realized how conspicuous she was, standing in a pool of
light on the concrete pad outside the emergency exit.  Quickly she
darted into the shadows beside the building, the small rocks sending
pinpricks of pain into her stocking feet.

She didn't see the man hiding in the bushes until he grabbed her.
Striking silently, like a cobra, he caught her arm and twisted it.  The
shock sent stabbing pain through her arm and shoulder.  Already
unsteady on her stocking feet, she was flung completely around until he
held her tightly against his chest.

When she opened her mouth to scream, a meaty hand closed over her face.
Vainly she twisted and kicked, her shoeless feet stinging from each
blow.

She felt a bag come down on her head.

Chloroform.

Her captor's voice came from far off.  "She must have gotten away from
Krakow."

"Yes."  It was a different voice, a woman's voice.  "How nice of her to
use his exit route."

They were the last words Susan heard.

DEREK STHE DOOR closed as Susan dashed into the hall.  Thank God she'd
gotten away.  Then he turned to face the hulking figure opposite him.
The assassin was at least four inches taller and a hundred pounds
heavier.  In his bloody hand was a ten-inch knife with a blade that
looked razor sharp.  He'd already used it once--on Colonel Tin-nerman.
Derek knew he was itching to use it again.

"Not so tough without your gun, huh, mister?"  Krakow taunted.

Derek eyed the man across the king-size bed without saying anything.
How fast could Krakow move?  he wondered.  All he needed was an instant
to yank his gun from under the mattress where he'd hidden it
yesterday.

If it's still there, he thought, his breath tight in his chest.
Nothing looked disturbed, but the police might have searched his room
after the car bombing and confiscated his gun.

"Tough guys like you should be careful who they mess with," the
assassin jeered.  In the brightly lit room, his head seemed smaller
than Derek remembered it.  A pinhead on a hulking body.  Smiling
broadly, he jabbed at Derek with the knife.

Good, he wants to toy with me before he finishes me off.  A few seconds
was all Derek needed.  He had to get out of here and find Susan.

"Sorry about taking your shoe the other night," he said, trying to
sound humble.  "I'd be happy to buy you a new pair."

"I'll bet you would."  Krakow stabbed the air again.  This time Derek
ducked.

Krakow laughed.  "Knife making you nervous?  Well, you're not half as
nervous as you're gonna be."  He drew back his arm as though to toss
the knife.

Derek knew he'd never throw it and risk losing his weapon.  But he
ducked, anyway, below the top of the bed, knowing this might be his
last chance to grab his gun.  Quickly, he thrust his hand under the
mattress.

To his shocked surprise, the knife whizzed over his head.  With a roar,
Krakow started around the bed toward him.  He clutched another knife,
the twin of the one he'd thrown.  Jumping over the colonel's body, he
lunged at Derek.

On the floor with his back against the nightstand, Derek groped for the
gun, but his fingers encountered nothing.  He thrust again, and this
time he touched cold steel.  He jerked the weapon out and rolled to one
side.  The assassin's knife stabbed at the empty space where Derek had
sprawled only an instant before.

Taking aim quickly, he fired at Krakow's foot.  The bullet found its
mark, and the assassin howled in pain.

Derek scrambled to his feet.  "Drop the knife, you bastard."  It
clattered to the floor.  "Now, put your hands on top of your head and
sit in that chair so we can talk."

SUSAN WOKE TO THE SMELL of rubber and faint gas fumes.

Not a sliver of light penetrated her prison.  She had no idea where she
was.  Only that she was chilled to the bone, curled on her side in some
sort of uncomfortable box.  At least the bag over her head was gone
and' she could breathe again.

Beneath her, she felt a coarse carpet.  God, she was cold, so cold.
Wrapping her arms around herself, she tried to warm her body by rubbing
her upper arms with her hands through the flimsy dress fabric.  It did
no good.  Her teeth began to chatter.

She heard the subtle whine of an engine and felt vague vibrations. When
she reached up, her fingers touched bare metal.

A car trunk.  They'd locked her inside.  And now they were taking her
somewhere, probably to kill her.

Derek couldn't do this to me, she thought miserably.  He might be in
league with the smugglers, but he'd never permit her to be chloroformed
and thrown in the trunk of a car.  Susan knew that beyond any doubt.
No, somebody had done this without him knowing.  And now they were
going to kill her.

So if they're going to kill me, why not back at the hotel?  her logical
mind asked.

Because they wanted something from her.  The contents of Brian's
safe-deposit box.  That's what they'd wanted all along.

Well, they'd have the cards and property deed as soon as they searched
her room.  The false bottom in her suitcase might fool them for a few
minutes, but no longer.  They wouldn't find the notebook, though.  She
felt for it.  It was still there, thank God.  She could feel its smooth
cardboard cover lying flat against her belly.

Then a puzzling thought hit her.  Why did the smugglers need Brian's
pap erst when Derek had seen them and knew exactly what they contained?
The question stopped her.

Maybe he couldn't remember the figures in the notebook.  But the answer
didn't satisfy her.

What if he hadn't been lying about the FBI?  She forced her mind back
to the bloody scene in his room.  The colonel's body at the foot of the
bed, and Krakow on One side with Derek on the other.  Had Derek been as
shocked as she was by the assassin's appearance?  Perhaps it had been
Derek she'd heard, telling her to run.

A suffocating pain tightened her throat as she remembered the leer on
the ugly face of the assassin.  What if Derek had been telling the
truth about the FBI, and she'd jumped to the wrong conclusion?  She
might be responsible for both their deaths.

Dear God, let him be safe, she prayed.

The car jerked to a stop, its motor still throbbing.  Curled in a tight
ball, Susan held her breath.  She heard familiar noises.

lircraft engines.  The sound gave her new hope.  Were they near the
base?  A second later the car moved forward at a slower speed.  She had
to do something to protect herself.

Frantically she felt around, searching for a tire iron or some other
weapon to strike out with.  Her groping fingers felt the spare tire and
the coarse cloth of the bag they'd put over her head.  There was nothing
else in the trunk.

But she had to get rid of the notebook.  She reached around the spare
tire, searching for a loose place in the carpet.  After a moment's
yanking, she'd pulled a small section free.  Quickly she thrust the
notebook under it and smoothed it down.

The noise of aircraft engines was much louder now.  The car slowed and
stopped.  The motor was turned off.

For Susan, time had just run out.

"THE LINCOLN'S PASSED through the main gate at Fairchild."  Lindsey
repeated what Derek had already heard over the car radio.  "The duty SP
got a good look at the back seat.  The only people inside are the
driver and a woman passenger, both dressed in flight suits."

"Damreit, Lindsey, you've got to stop that car and check the trunk."
Scared half witless, Derek yelled the same demand he'd shouted at least
ten times since they left the hotel.  "We found Susan's shoes on the
exit stairs Krakow intended to use.  It's only common sense that his
buddies grabbed her when she came out the door."

Alone with Colonel Tinherman's murderer, Derek had needed only a few
minutes to force information out of Krakow He and his two cohorts had
intended to abduct Susan.  To surprise her, Krakow had entered through
Derek's room, but had himself been surprised by Colonel Tinner man
escaping from the bathroom.  When Tinherman tried to stop him, Krakow
had killed him.

Agents parked near the hotel lobby had tailed the Lincoln driven by
Krakow's associates since it left Riverfront Park.  Now Derek and
Special Agent Lindsey were following the first government car, a mile
or so behind.

"I keep telling you, we don't even know she's in the Lincoln," Lindsey
retorted.  "Try to relax, Albright.  We'll find her."

"Like you found the smugglers at the base?"  Derek grit-ted his teeth
to keep himself from shouting an oath.  At this moment everything about
Lindsey irritated him, even the agent's strong cologne.  "You've been
after them for a year, and you still don't know who's in charge."

"We have a pretty good idea."

Derek stared at the special agent with unbridled skepticism.  "Who the
hell is it?"

"I'll let you know when we have some positive evidence."

"When will that be?"

Lindsey stared at the road.  "Later tonight, if things work out
right."

A nasty suspicion leaped into Derek's mind.  For a long moment he
didn't say anything.  Fighting to keep from blurting out something he'd
be sorry for, he clutched the middle-seat armrest.  "So that's why you
haven't stopped the Lincoln."

"What do you mean?"

"You think they're taking Susan to the mastermind behind this smuggling
scheme."  Derek's fingers ached from his tight grip on the armrest.

"You bet we do."  Lindsey's voice rose in jubilation.  "This time we've
got him.  Maybe we can never prove the robbery and smuggling charges,
but as soon as she's delivered to him, we can nail him for
kidnapping."

"Or maybe murder," Derek growled.  "You bastards!  You're risking her
life to get your hands on some tinhorn military smuggler."

"He's not exactly a tinhorn smuggler."  Lindsey glanced soberly at
DereL "He ordered the murders of at least two people--Wade and the man
you were accused of killing.  His assassin just killed Colonel
Tinherman because the poor man made the mistake of escaping from the
bathroom where you'd locked him up."

"Damreit, that's all the more mason--"

"Hear me out," Lindsey interrupted.  "The man we're after has smuggled
high-tech equipment out of this country that can be used to attack the
United States.  He's a murderer and a traitor.  Isn't it worth some
risk to a trained intelligence agent like Mrs.  Wade to put a man like
that behind bars?"

Without thinking, Derek spit out the answer.  "No, dammit Nothing's
worth that risk."  A week ago he would never have made that statement.
A week ago he was ready to sacrifice his future--and anybody else's who
got in the way--to get even with the men who had testified against him.
He cared for nothing and nobody else.  Now, with Susan's life at stake,
his crusade for revenge seemed hollow.  Without her, nothing made
sense.

"If she's locked in that trunk, she's nothing more than a sacrificial
lamb."  Derek's gut wrenched with fear.  "Stop playing God and get her
out of there."

Turning, Lindsey frowned at Derek and then stared back at the road.
"Wasn't this her objective when she was assigned to Fairchild?  To stop
the smuggling?"

"It's been stopped," Derek growled.  "There's been no smuggling for
months now."  But some of the heat left him.  Would Susan want to be
rescued if it meant a traitor and murderer might never be caught?  In
his heart, Derek knew she wouldn't.  But that didn't stop the fear
eating away at him.

"That's not the point and you know it," Lindsey said, his expression
sober.  "The point is, Mrs.  Wade is doing what she was assigned to do.
She's helping us put this SOB behind bars."

He glanced at Derek again with a questioning expression.  "Say, I just
thought of something.  Don't you military people have to have ID on
your vehicles to get on base?"

"On Fairchild, you do," Derek said, tensing.  "Why?"

"The Lincoln must have had a base sticker.  The SPat the main gate
didn't pull it over."

"It was probably stolen from somebody who works on base," Derek said.
Colonel Tinnerman's van had been stolen, too, he remembered.  By
stealing the security police

Z3 /

commander's vehicle, the smugglers had found a perfect way to thumb
their noses at the military.

The number one man must be a real sociopath, Derek thought, more
frightened than he'd ever been in his life.  If Lindsey was right, this
man was now holding Susan captive.

Chapter Sixteen

The trunk lid swung open, and cold night air struck her body.  Dark
human shapes were silhouetted in the dim light that flooded the area.
In the.  distance Susan heard the dull roar of aircraft engines.

An instant later, the beam from a flashlight pierced the semidarkness.
Wincing, she shut her eyes and covered her face with her hands.

"Douse the light," said a woman's voice.  "You crazy or something?"

So Susan hadn't been wrong when she'd heard a woman at the hotel just
before the chloroform knocked her out.  Was this the woman Derek had
seen when Brian was shot?  Was she the one who had impersonated Susan
at Cavanaugh's that awful afternoon?

The beam flicked off, and fiery images danced before Susan's eyes. What
were they going to do to her?  Panic welled in her throat.  Would she
ever see Derek again?  Would she ever tell him she loved him?

Rough hands grabbed her arms.  Half dragged, half under her own power,
Susan scrambled onto solid ground.  She would have fallen, but her
captor held her upright, clutching her around the waist like a sack of
potatoes..

The woman shoved a flight suit at her.  "Here, put this on."  She was
about Susan's height but thinner.  Or maybe her baggy flight suit just
made her seem that way.  In the dim light Susan could see her dearly.
With her square face, dark hair and bushy black eyebrows, she needed
only a pointed hat and a broom to turn her into a witch.

The man released Susan, and her legs cramped.  She sank to the ground.
From the weedy dirt beneath her, she knew they weren't on a paved
parking strip.  Turning her head, she peered under the car.  About half
a block away was a chain-link fence.  At that point the ground gave way
to a smooth surface, probably asphalt, lit by floodlights.  The back
glow from the floods provided the dim illumination around the car.

The flight line.  That's where she was.  The car was parked parallel to
the part of the operations area where the aircraft were serviced.  On a
nearby apron, Susan saw a C-130, its large cargo door open.  A forklift
carrying a crate headed toward the plane's ramp.  She tensed.  Did they
plan to take her aboard?

Her mind shifted into overdrive.  Once they got her on an airborne
plane, she'd have no way to escape.  She had to get away now.  But how?
She had no weapons, nothing but her numb feet and tired legs.  She'd
have to pretend she couldn't walk.  Anything to throw them off guard so
she could run.

The woman prodded Susan's hip with the pointed toe of her boot.  "Put
on this flight suit."

"I'm sorry, I can't stand."  She whispered the words.

"Then put it on sitting down."  There was no sympathy in the woman's
husky voice.

"Come on, Marta," the man whined.  "If she can't walk, I'll have to
carry her again."  He wasn't much taller than the woman, though much
broader.

"We'll have to drag her between us," the woman said, "so it looks like
she's walking."

Without removing her dress, Susan forced her stiff hands to pull the
flight suit over her freezing feet.  By now they were so cold she
couldn't even feel them.  Teeth chattering uncontrollably, she yanked
the suit up the rest of the way and closed the front zipper.  Protected
by the heavy fabric, she felt warmer.  When she started to stand, she
pretended her legs wouldn't work and sank back to the ground.

"We'll have to help her, Burr."  Stooping, the woman grabbed one of
Susan's arms.  The man grabbed the other.  Between them, they dragged
her to her feet.

"Now, hold her while I tape her mouth."

"Do you have to do that?"  Susan cried between her chattering teeth. "I
promise I won't yell."

"Sorry, Wade."  The woman laughed unsympathetically.  The sound was
high and grating, a radical change from her whiskey-flavored speaking
voice.  "We were ordered to tape your mouth, and around here we do what
we're told."  She produced a roll of tape.

Susan's heart sank.  Now she wouldn't be able to cry out for help.
Wincing, she felt pressure on her lips as the woman plastered a piece
of the tape on her mouth.  The stuff felt strong enough to tear skin
when it was removed.  She glared at the woman, who only laughed and
slapped on more tape.

With Susan between them, the abductors started for the flight line.  A
six-foot-high chain-link gate with barbed wire on top, like the fence,
opened with a push.

Somebody's unlocked it, Susan thought, dragging her feet so her captors
would have to support all her weight.  Her kidnapping had been planned
in advance and, unknowingly, she'd walked right into her captors' arms.
Who was behind this?  The two civilians holding her captive must be
working with someone in the air force, someone with access to the
Heres.

Once they were through the gate, the brilliant glare from the
floodlights burst around them.  Now she saw where they were headed--to
the aircraft parked on the apron.  About halfway there, they stopped as
another forklift headed toward the C-130's cargo bay, its crate
strapped to a wooden pallet.

The woman muttered ar oath.  "They should be finished by now.  He said
not to bring her aboard until the cargo was loaded.  The aircrew won't
talk.  They're with us.  The ground crew isn't."

"They'll he done loading in a few minutes," said the man.  "Nobody'll
notice us in our flight suits."

Susan's heart leaped at their conversation.  If only the man driving
the forklift would look in their direction.  Maybe she could break'
free and run toward him.

But the forklift driver's attention was focused on maneuvering his
equipment.  Carefully he lowered the pallet and its crate onto the
ramp, which had been adjusted to the level of the aircraft floor.  Two
load masters dressed in flight suits rolled the cargo inside on rollers
built into the ramp and aircraft floor.

This was the best chance she'd have to escape.  Tensing, Susan jerked
her arms free and shifted her weight to her numb feet.  Caught by
surprise, her captors released her.

She started to run.  But she'd taken only a few steps when the man's
hand closed on her arm.  "Thought you'd fool us, did you?"  he said
with a sneer.  "For somebody who can't walk, you run mighty good,
lady."

Susan stared wildly after the forklift driver.  Had he seen her?  No.
He didn't so much as glance toward them.  With mounting despair, Susan
watched the forklift rumble away from the ramp and toward the
buildings.

"That should be the last," Marta said, eyeing the loading area.  No
other forklifts were headed toward the plane.  With a firm grip on
Susan's arms, she and Burt approached to within earshot of the ramp.

From inside the cavernous C-130, a man appeared.  At first his.  face
was in shadow, and Susan thought he was a load master Dressed in a
flight suit, he was indistinguishable from the other crewmen.  Short
and wiry, he seemed to be.in charge.  When the two load masters
appeared from inside the aircraft, he spoke to one in an authoritarian
tone.

"i'll take care of the passengers, Sergeant Simmons."  His voice seemed
familiar, but Susan couldn't identify it over the engine noise on the
nearby runway.

"Go check the loading platform to be sure everything's aboard," he
said.  Since he was giving orders, he must be an officer, probably the
aircraft commander.  Could he be in on this dreadful scheme to kidnap
her?

Then he walked across the ramp and stepped into the glare of the floods
lighting the apron.

Susan took a quick breath of pure astonishment.  His' hawklike face was
almost as familiar as her own.  Not ready to believe her own eyes, she
stared so long she finally had to blink.

It was her old boss, Major Savage.

Major Savage.  What was he doing here?  Obviously commanding this
aircraft.

Thank God, she thought, weak' with relief.  She tried to hold her arms
out to him, but her two captors kept them pinned firmly by her side.

Major Savage.  Rescue was at hand.  He'd know what to do with these
people holding her captive--and with whomever was trying to commandeer
this aircraft.

As the major strode down the ramp and turned toward Susan, she felt a
chill of foreboding race down her spine.  Now that the load masters had
left, her two captors rushed toward him.  In their eagerness, they
moved as fast as they could, forcing her to run.  The major intercepted
them a few feet from the ramp.

Unfazed by her taped mouth and shoeless feet, he eyed her up and down.
"Lieutenant Wade," he said.  His voice was raspy and cold, just the way
she remembered it.  "When we're airborne, we'll talk."  He shifted his
gaze to the woman beside Susan.  "Bring her on board."

Susan wanted to scream out her terror and disappointment, wanted to
tell the world this man was a traitor.  A

suffocating sensation tightened her throat as she watched him turn and
walk away.

THE AIRCRAFT accelerated quickly down the runway for takeoff, its four
turboprop engines at full throttle.  Inside, the noise was deafening.

The woman, Marta,.  sat on one side of Susan on a seat with a webbed
canvas back along the metal side of the C-130.  The man sat on Susan's
other side.

With a sudden quick movement, Marta turned toward Susan and stripped
the tape from her mouth.  "She felt the skin rip from her lips and bit
her tongue to keep from screaming.  Running her tongue over her lips,
she tasted blood.

With the tape in her hand, Marta grinned and mouthed the words "Too
bad," her eyes as hard as granite.  The intense engine noise made
normal conversation impossible.

Deliberately Susan turned her head so the woman wouldn't see the
brightness in her eyes.  The stinging on her lips was matched by aching
twinges in her feet.  After she buckled her seat belt, she'd rubbed her
feet and pulled down the legs of the too-large flight suit to cover
them.  Now feeling was returning to them with a vengeance.

On her other side, the man was toying with something in the leg pocket
of his flight suit.  Probably a gun.  Why had he brought it?  She was
as helpless as a newborn.  Shuddering, she tried not to think about
what they were going to do to her.

Where was Derek now?  How could she have thought he was in league with
these people?  Right from the beginning she'd sensed something strong
and good in him.  Why hadn't she trusted her intuition?  If she had,
maybe she wouldn't be in this mess.

But even if he was okay, ohe couldn't help her now that the C-130 was
airborne.  She was beyond anybody's help.  As soon as they found out
what they wanted to know, they were going to kill her.  Nothing she
could do or say would stop them.

Now that she knew Major Savage was running the smuggling ring, he
couldn't let her live.  She might prolong her life a few minutes by
refusing to answer his questions, but that would only make him angry
and her death more unpleasant.

Well, she'd tell him everything written in the notebook.  Brian's
figures couldn't hurt anybody, now that he was dead.  The major
probably guessed he'd been skimming off the top.  That must be why he'd
been killed.  The figures in the notebook would tell him exactly how
much.

But she wouldn't reveal Derek's real identity.  If Major Savage didn't
already know who Derek was, he'd never find out from her.

She stiffened as the aircraft leveled out.  He had said they'd talk
when the plane got airborne.  That meant he'd be coming soon.  Every
cell in her body seemed to freeze at the thought.

From her troop seat along the side of the plane, Susan was only a few
steps from the bulkhead separating the cargo bay from the crew area.
Even as she stared, the curtain in the bulkhead opened, and she smelled
fresh coffee.  The odor reminded her of the big office coffeepot and
Colonel Tin-herman's many kindnesses.  How could she have thought he
might be involved with this awful gang?  And how could she have
imagined Derek had anything to do with his murder?

Heart thumping madly, She stared at the parted curtain.  Major Savage
stepped down into the cargo bay, pulling the curtain closed behind him.
In spite of herself, Susan cringed.  Though small and wiry, he had
always been intimidating with his hawklike features.  Now, knowing what
she did about him, he terrified her.  With the dim light in the cargo
bay, he looked even more menacing.

He focused on her two abductors.  "Get some coffee.  I want to talk to
her alone."  He had to shout over the roar of the engines.  Though he
aircraft had leveled out, there was no discernible difference in the
noise level.

Abruptly her captors scrambled out of their seats and disappeared
through the curtain into the darkness behind it.  He stood before Susan
with his arms folded.

"Lieutenant Wade," he shouted.  "You have me at'a disadvantage.  Now
you know who I am, but I have no idea who you are."

Her jaw dropped.  What was he saying?  With the engines roaring in her
ears, could she have misunderstood him?

"Please enlighten me," he said with a humorless grin.  His eye teeth
looked like fangs.  "Who are you and what were you doing at
Fairchild?"

"I'm... I'm Susan Campbell," she stammered, thinking he meant her
maiden name.

His eyes narrowed, and he examined her the way a swooping falcon
studies a mouse a thousand feet below it.  "We both know that's your
cover name, Lieutenant.  Whom are you working for?"

She took a deep breath and tried to keep her voice from trembling. "The
Pentagon."

"Don't get smart with me," he snarled.  "You're working for the FBI and
Customs, just like your stinking husband.  And so is your friend,
Archer."

Floored, Susan stared at him tongue-tied.  Finally she found her voice
and blurted out her astonishment.  "Did you say Brian worked for the

FBI?"

"As if you didn't know."  Savage dropped to the bucket seat next to
Susan.  "Your husband did a very stupid thing when he double-crossed me
and turned FBI informant.  But I didn't suspect you until Archer showed
up."

He leaned toward Susan, his mouth so close to her ear that she could
smell garlic on his breath.  She forced herself not to back away.

"The FBI didn't do its usual professional job when they established
Archer's cover," Savage said.  "Unlike yours,

which is beautiful.  But his stinks.  He's a man without a past."

"He's just an insurance agent," she insisted.  "And I'm an air force
lieutenant.  Nothing more."

He gripped her shoulders.  "Stop lying and tell me how much the FBI
knows about my smuggling operation."

She forced herself to look him straight in the eye, hoping he'd see her
anger, not her fear.  "I'm not lying.  !  know nothing about the

FBI."

He leaped to his feet.  "All right, then, come with me.  I want to show
you the paratroop door.  That's how you'll be leaving this plane if you
don't stop lying."  Grabbing her arm, he yanked her up.

"The paratroop doors?"  she cried.  There were two, one on each side of
the aircraft under the wings.  Was the major serious about forcing her
to jump?  Her insides froze into a lump of solid concrete as she
pictured her falling body.

"I'll bet you've never seen a paratroop door open at fifteen thousand
feet."  Eyes narrow, he glared at her.  "Get moving, Lieutenant, or
I'll blow your head off right here."

Susan felt the unmistakable pressure of cold steel at the back of her
neck.

THE METAL DECKING stabbed her feet with a thousand tiny needles.
Grimly, Susan forced her shaky legs to plod toward the back of the
aircraft.

She'd gone only a few steps when she stubbed her toe on the rollers.
used to shift cargo in the dimly lit bay.  Excruciating pain shot up
her leg.  By biting her tongue she managed to keep from crying out.
Major Savage would enjoy this sign of weakness.  She was determined not
to give him the satisfaction.

Hobbling as slowly as she dared, she maneuvered around the first of the
big rectangular crates tied down the center of the C-130.  Space wide
enough for a man to walk had been left between the crates, and she
swung abruptly to her right around the first.  For an instant she was
out of Savage's sight.  In that brief instant she felt the air stir and
smelled a tiny whiff of tobacco--the same odor she'd smelled on Brian's
leather bomber jacket and on Derek's.  Could he be near?  Impossible.
She was so desperate, she was imagining things.

Behind her, Savage prodded her in the neck again with the gun.  "Go to
the door on the right side," he yelled in her ear.  "Don't go between
the crates."

Was there any way to get his gun?  Susan resisted the urge to glance at
him over her shoulder.  She felt his eyes piercing the middle of her
back like a white-hot poker but didn't turn her head.  She sniffed,
hoping to smell tobacco.  Instead, Savage's garlic breath hung in the
air.  But she smelled something else, too.

Cologne.  The odor was too strong to be in her imagination.  Was a load
master working back here somewhere, hidden by the cargo?  Anxiously she
glanced around.  She'd thought they were alone.  Another crewman meant
another enemy.

She saw no one, but ahead loomed the right paratroop door.  The cargo
bay swirled dizzily around her.

Shoving her up against a crate, Major Savage pushed past her to the
door, then swung around to face her.  "What's the matter, Lieutenant?
You look green.  That door make you nervous?"  His mouth took on an
unpleasant twist.  "Better tell me how much the FBI knows, or you've
got a long drop ahead of you."

She was going to be sick.  She felt bile rise in her throat and
struggled to control it.  Grabbing a corner of the nearest crate, she
leaned against it for support.

Tell him what he wants to hear, she thought frantically.  "You're right
about my working for the FBI, sir."  She shouted as loud as she could.
"They know all about you."

His lips drew back showing his pointed eye teeth.  "You're lying again,
Lieutenant.  If they know all about me, why haven't they arrested me?"
He stepped toward the heavy metal door.  "Maybe if you get a good look
at the mountains through an open troop door, you'll start telling the
truth."

For a moment his back was to her.  In that split second, a tall figure
jumped from behind a crate and knocked the gun from the major's hand.
Savage lunged for it, but his assailant caught his arm and jerked him
flat against the C-130's side.

Stiff with shock, Susan caught a glimpse of the man's face.  Ted
Lindsey!  How had he gotten aboard this plane?

Run!  her brain screamed.  But before she could move, a strong arm
grabbed her waist.  She was lifted off her feet and jerked behind a
crate.  Her heart skipped a beat.  Powerless in his grasp, she froze.

"I'm going to let you go," a voice yelled in her ear.  "But stay behind
this crate."

Derek!  She spun around to face him.  "Is it really you?"  Tears sprang
to her eyes.

He hauled her to him.  "I love you, Susan."  Though he shouted, his
voice was so filled with emotion she could barely hear him over the
engine noise.

"Major Savage is the smuggler," she cried in his ear.

"I know."  He held her close and kissed her in a way that was more
tender than passionate.  Finally he let her go, but caught her arm when
she tried to peer around the crate.  "By now Special Agent Lindsey
should have him in handcuffs," he said.  "But let's not take
chances."

"Special Agent Lindsey?"  She could hardly believe her ears.

"FBI," Derek replied, grinning.  "Three agents and yours truly came
aboard in the last two crates.  By now they should have arrested the
others.  But we couldn't get Savage until he took the gun off you."

Derek peered around the corner of the crate, and then stepped from
behind it.  Susan followed.

Major Savage was in handcuffs.  She.  and Derek joined Lindsey in front
of the closed paratroop door.

Savage sneered at them, his lips a hard, thin line.  "If you don't let
us land in Colombia and walk away from this aircraft, the copilot will
crash it, and you'll all be killed."

"Go to hell, Savage," Lindsey said, smiling back.  "We don't need
him--or you--to fly this plane."

"What do you mean?"  A frown appeared on Savage's face.

"Have you heard of Don Albright?"  Lindsey nodded toward Derek.  "He's
a qualified C-130 pilot."

Eyeing Derek, Savage muttered an obscene oath.  "So the rumors were
true.  You faked your suicide."

"You bet," Derek replied.  "And I've been looking forward to this day
ever since."  Catching Susan's eye, he reached for her hand.

Gazing at his face, Susan saw only love for her and relief that she was
safe.  Tonight there was no cynical smile that failed to reach his
eyes.  Instead, they shone with a luminous glow that seemed to light up
the whole cargo bay.  She was so proud of him she thought her heart
would burst.

"IF am FBI Major Savage was the mastermind behind the smuggling, why
didn't they arrest him?"

Wrapped in blankets, Susan had rested on a crew bunk while Derek flew
the C-130 back to Fairchild.  Now, wide awake in her own living room,
she was bursting with questions.  Derek sat beside her on the couch,
his arm around her shoulders.  A fire blazed warmly in the fireplace.

"No evidence," he said.  "When Savage found out your husband had turned
FBI informer, he had him killed.  Then Savage stopped smuggling the
stolen high-tech equipment out of the country."

"I still can't believe Brian really worked for the FBI."  She gazed at
Derek, shaking her head in wonder.  "Why do you suppose he didn't tell
them who Savage was?"

"He didn't know," Derek said.  "Savage organized the operation from the
Pentagon.  Then he arranged to have himself transferred to Fairchild to
replace the squadron commander your husband killed.  Savage ran the
show with the woman, Marta, as his front.  So he remained unknown to
the men who worked with him."

The blazing fire spit a glowing spark onto the carpet.  Rising, Derek
flicked it back in the fireplace and drew the screen across the
opening.

When he returned to the sofa, his face was troubled.  "Marta was an
assassin, like Krakow."  He slid his arm across her shoulders, and
Susan felt his fingers gently stroking her arm.  "The FBI thinks
Marta's the one who killed your husband."

Susan let her breath out in a huge sigh.  "Then we know the whole
story.  Thank God it's over."

"Not quite the entire story," Derek said, obviously relieved that she
had accepted the truth about Brian's death with equanimity.  "I still
can't figure out why Savage tried so hard to kill us."

"That's easy," she said.  "He told me he thought we were working for
the FBI, like Brian."  She couldn't help smiling at the preposterous
notion.  "When we opened Brian's safe-deposit box, he figured we were
getting too close."

Derek whistled softly.  "So he guessed we were both undercover.  He
just came up with the wrong reason."

She nodded.  "He said you were a man without a past.  That's what made
him suspicious.  Then he must have remembered all my snooping around
the C-130s, and that cinched it for him."

For a moment they sat quietly, watching the crackling fire, thankful
they were together.

"The FBI thinks it can help me get my past back with only a slap on the
wrist for jumping bail."  Derek, spoke quietly.  "I wouldn't blame you
if you walked away after the way I lied to you--but I love you, Susan.
I want to spend the rest of my life with you, "if you'll let me."
There was an uncertain note in his voice.

Her heart leaped at the devotion in his eyes, void of vengeance and now
brimming with affection.  How she wanted to say yes.  "I love you,
too," she said, snuggling against him.  "But we've only known each
other a week.  Let's wait till Christmas to make permanent plans."

When Derek took her in his arms and kissed her, he prayed with his
heart and soul that she'd never leave him.

"There's only one 'problem," he said hesitantly, after he'd released
her.  Dammit, he didn't want to talk about this now,

but he couldn't afford to put it off.

"What's that?"

"You're the only person who knows I was the eyewitness to your
husband's murder.  If the FBI finds out, they might think I was gunning
for him, that Savage's as sass just beat me to it.  A notion like that
could affect the way they handle my ease."

Watching her expressive face in the firelight, he caught an elfin
sparkle in her brown eyes.

"That eyewitness had a lust for revenge," she said, snuggling closer.
"There's no connection between him and the man I love."

For the rest of his life, Derek would remember the vote of confidence
in her silken voice.  His heart swelling with joy, he drew her close
and whispered, "I'll be counting the days until Christmas."