we've got stuff to do, and..."

"He's staying with you? "Jude asked.

"With Jackie," she replied quickly. The details were none of his G.o.dd.a.m.n business. She hooked her hand against Brandon's elbow and steered him about, walking quickly away from Jude and Ashlee. "See you, I guess.""Sure, tomorrow," he called back.

Terrific, Lina thought with a scowl.

Chapter Four.

Lina was still reeling by the time they'd hiked back to Jackson's condo. Not much could have emotionally buffered her against running face-to-face into Jude once more, but Brandon's kiss had taken care of that nicely. Brandon walked out of the bedroom.

He cut her a glance, but looked away quickly as he ducked into the kitchen. Neither of them had said anything more about the kiss. In fact, on their way back to the apartment, they hadn't said anything at all. He seemed tense and anxious around her, as if the kiss hadn't been intentional at all, and was something he was ashamed of in retrospect.

How can you kiss someone like that accidentally?

She wondered if he was sick, maybe suffering some kind of momentary delirium. In the restaurant, he'd seemed decidedly uncomfortable, and hadn't touched his food. His face had grown flushed, glossed with a light sheen of perspiration, and he'd grown somewhat restless, squirming in his seat as if agitated. His fingertips had kept brushing lightly, almost gingerly, against his upper lip, as if he felt pain there.

An allergic reaction maybe? she wondered. Something in the food?

She heard the kitchen sink run as he filled a gla.s.s of water. She watched out of the corner of her eye and saw him draw his hand toward his mouth, tilting his head back as he then drained the cup. He was taking something, some kind of medicine. For what?

she thought.

She'd heard of people who had impulse-control disorders, the unfortunate results of head injury or trauma. They were helpless to control their urges, no matter how reckless, because that portion of their brain no longer held them in check. Some of the people she'd busted in her career had cried this excuse. Brandon had been injured as a child-that was why he was deaf and mute. His throat had been cut, and he'd been severely beaten in the head.

Could he be like that, then? He can't control himself without medicine?

Whatever the reasons for his kiss, Lina had no excuse for her reaction to it. She'd liked it, plain and simple. It had been too long since Jude had left her, and she'd had a man-any man-treat her like a woman, someone desirable and beautiful, and not just a comrade, one of the guys. She usually liked it that way; preferred it, in fact. But ever since Jude had left, Lina had to admit that she'd missed feeling attractive and feminine to a man. She'd missed feeling like a woman.

She had liked Brandon's kiss because it had stirred that within her again. It had made her realize how deeply, profoundly lonely she really was. It had left her wanting more.

Brandon gave her a wide berth as he walked into the living room, as if he was hesitant to draw too near to her again. Lina wondered if Jackson knew about any sort of impulse-control disorders Brandon might be suffering. There's no way, she thought. He would have told me.

Her cell phone rang, thrumming against her belly from inside her sweatshirt pocket and she blinked, snapping out of her reverie.

She pulled the phone out and flipped it open. "Lina," she said in greeting, and cleared her throat slightly to rid her voice of the d.a.m.ned little warble thoughts of Brandon's kiss had left in it.

"Hey, chere." The voice on the other end of the line was deep and rich, with a slow, Southern cadence that lilted gracefully around the French pet name.

Lina smiled, grateful for this unexpected distraction and rescue. "Hey, Rene," she said, turning slightly away from Brandon. "How are you doing?"

Rene Morin was her partner. Or at least, he had been up until a year ago. They'd responded to a seemingly run-of-the-mill domestic dispute call that had proven to be anything but. One of the suspects involved had turned out to be a mule for one of the city's leading drug dealers, and when he'd bolted from the scene, ducking out of a window and onto a rickety fire escape leading down from the twelve-story tenement building, Rene and Lina had given chase.

Rene had beat her out the window and begun his descent first. When the suspect had paused several floors below them and pulled a semiautomatic handgun from the waistband of his pants, it was Rene at whom he took aim. The first shot ricocheted off the metal beams of the fire escape between them. The second had punched through Rene's leg, shattering his knee cap and leaving a ruined, gaping maw of b.l.o.o.d.y, exposed meat where the joint had once been.

She still dreamed of the sound of Rene crying out, his voice startled at first, and then ripping sharply with pain. He'd crumpled sideways, collapsing a full story down the fire escape. How he hadn't tumbled over the side and pitched helplessly to the pavement below was nothing less than a miracle. Lina had scrambled after him, screaming into her mike that she needed backup immediately; there was an officer down. They were the most terrifying words she'd ever uttered.

"I'm hungry," Rene said. "And I'm bored. Let's get some food, whatever you like, chere, my treat."

He was from Louisiana, and even though he'd lived more than ten years in the city, he'd never lost his unusual but pleasant combination of antebellum drawl and delicate French accent. His family was Cajun, and his father had made a modest fortune off investments in the oil industry in the Gulf of Mexico. This was a fact Rene kept hidden from most people; few on the police force had realized just how wealthy Rene was, and even Lina had been his partner for the better part of a year before he'd confided in her. "I was born poor white trash," he'd said. "Now I'm just poor white trash with money."

Rene had been estranged from his father for most of his life, he'd told Lina, but still had been named the solitary heir when he'd died. She didn't quite understand Rene's fierce need for secrecy when the matter came to his wealth, but suspected he hadn't wanted to fend off endless attempts to beg or borrow from him, or people wanting to be his friend simply because of the money.

He was a guarded, private person, friendly enough with an irrepressible Southern charm, but not close to many at all. Lina had always felt pleased and proud and somehow absurdly touched that Rene had allowed her past his heavy internal defenses, that together, they'd learned to mutually trust and depend on one another.

Rene lived alone in an enormous, old, partially dilapidated building on the south end of town; he'd fixed up the top floor somewhat into an expansive loft filled with antique furniture, drapes, and screen part.i.tions to mark the boundaries from room to room. No walls. "Walls leave me nervous," he'd explained to her once. "They make for small s.p.a.ces."

He'd hated the hospital in which he'd spent several months following the shooting because the rooms were too confining. He'd reminded her often of some exotic animal pacing restlessly at the zoo. Only Rene had been unable to pace. The gunshot wound that had ruined his knee had cost him his leg. It had been amputated at mid-thigh.

She had been a.s.signed to work with someone else ever since the shooting, but the guy was not and would never be her partner.

That distinction would always belong to Rene Morin. She worried about him, all alone in that shadow-draped, open s.p.a.ce he called his home. For a man who hated walls, he loved locks-and had plenty of them and state-of-the-art security-between himself and the outside world in his crumbling old high-rise. She didn't worry for his safety from anyone else but himself. He had lapsed into a deep, relentless depression since the loss of his leg and his police career. He had been fitted with a lightweight, t.i.tanium prosthetic that allowed him to lead a relatively unhindered, mobile life, but he hated it.

"Looks like Robocop," he had told her once, mournfully gazing down at the slender rods of metal and intricate network of hinges bridging the open s.p.a.ce between his thigh and shoe. He'd spared her a wink and a humorless smile. "Maybe I can pick up cell phone signals with it, no?"She worried that he had grown addicted to the pain killers prescribed to him for his leg, and that he had begun to drink heavily on top of that. Even now, despite the relatively early hour, she thought she detected a slight slur to his voice.

"I can't, Rene," she said, glancing across the room as Brandon walked toward the corridor leading toward the bedroom. "I...

I'm kind of babysitting."

"Babysitting?"

She stepped carefully toward the hallway and watched Brandon through a mirror over Jackson's chest of drawers. The mirror faced the doorway, and through it, she could see the younger man collecting his things, stuffing discarded clothes into his duffel bag. He began to flip the covers back into place, making the bed.

"Yeah, one of my brother's former students is in town," she said. "Jackie asked me to look out for him."

Brandon looked up toward the mirror and she ducked away before he caught sight of her.

"Bring the pet.i.t along, then," Rene said. "I'll buy for him, too."

Lina had killed the man who had hurt Rene. She'd hurried to reach Rene, scrambling down the fire escape when she saw him fall, and the suspect had turned his pistol toward her. She had leveled her own gun and opened fire. She hadn't even hesitated.

She'd caught a glimpse of Rene, his leg bloodied, his face gone ashen and twisted with pain; she'd heard his voice, his ragged, gasping cries of pain, and she'd blacked out. She didn't remember squeezing the trigger. She had been so seized with outrage and terror...

That son of a b.i.t.c.h shot Rene!

... that she'd acted out of pure, adrenaline-infused instinct. She'd fired twice, before the suspect could even lob off a shot at her.

Both bullets had punched into his chest, knocking him backward and sending him toppling to the alley below.

There had been an inquest into the shooting, but she hadn't minded the administrative leave. She had spent the time keeping constant vigil at Rene's bedside. He didn't have any family left, no one else to comfort him but her.

"Maybe tomorrow, Rene," she said.

"You alright?" Rene asked, not missing the peculiar edge to her voice. He knew her too well; they were like an old married couple, the other guys on the force used to joke. Sometimes, it was as if Rene could read her mind.

"Yeah," she replied. "Yeah, it's just... I ran into Jude a little while ago. I think it just frazzled me."

"Jude Law, eh?" Rene asked with a thin laugh. The time constantly spent at his bedside after he'd been shot was part of the reason Jude claimed to have left her. It was then, he'd said, that he began to feel "abandoned" by Lina, resentful of the devotion she showed to her partner, and about that time that he had begun his clandestine affair with Ashlee for whom he'd eventually leave Lina. Ashlee had apparently paid attention to Jude-the sort he'd been lacking from Lina while she spent all her time at the hospital with Rene.

Selfish p.r.i.c.k, she though of Jude, not for the first time or, she was sure, the last.

There was no love lost between Jude and Rene either. "Jude Law" was Rene's less-than-affectionate nickname for Lina's ex, a sarcastic play not only on his occupation, but on his penchant for cheating, too. "So how is the old salaud? "Rene asked.

He had lapsed in and out of drug-induced unconsciousness for much of the first week after his shooting. Lina had sat at his bedside, holding his hand and stroking his hair, listening as he murmured restlessly, deliriously in French. She'd had no idea what he was saying, but he'd sounded so fragile and frightened. A nurse had overheard him one day, and had offered an attempt at translation."I think he's saying he's hungry," she said, frowning slightly. "I haven't taken French since high school, but I think that's what it is, over and over. He's saying he needs to feed."

"Lina?" Rene said, more concerned this time.

She blinked, snapped out of her memories. "Yeah, I... I'm fine, Rene. I'm just... this isn't a good time. I'll call you tomorrow, okay?"

"Alright, chere," he said after a long moment in which she was sure he was frowning, suspicious despite her rea.s.surances.

Chapter Five.

I still can't believe she didn't kick my a.s.s, Brandon thought, as he and Lina walked together toward the front entrance of the Metropolitan Zoological Gardens. She should have kicked my a.s.s. She had every right to. I would have let her.

She had recovered from his kiss and they'd said no more about it, even though Brandon continued to feel like s.h.i.t.

It was a gorgeous day, the sky flawless, the sun bright, and Lina had suggested they visit some of the city's attractions. The chilliness had yielded to warmer temperatures, and he'd left his jacket behind, comfortable in a T-shirt and jeans. The zoo was their first stop on Lina's proposed sight-seeing expedition. It was world cla.s.s, she'd explained to him on the taxi ride over.

"Ranked one of the top zoos in the country, I think," she'd said.

He had offered to drive, rather than have them take a cab, and she'd blinked at him in surprise. "You have a car?"

He'd nodded. I didn't sprout wings and fly to get here, he'd signed in reply. He'd taken her outside, across the street from Jackson's apartment building to a paid parking lot. It was an untended kind, with a slotted metal box. You parked your car and put money into the numbered slot that corresponded with your parking s.p.a.ce.

Brandon had been dismayed when he'd brought Lina to s.p.a.ce number 4, and found it empty.

I don't understand, he had signed, looking around, bewildered. I parked it right here.

"Are you sure?" Lina had asked.

Yes, I'm sure, he'd said. He'd picked the parking place because he knew he'd remember the number-four, just like Daniel's age. I parked it and I paid for it-five dollars for the week, like the sign says.

"A week?" Lina had asked. "It's five dollars a day, Brandon."

If he'd had a voice, he'd have groaned aloud.

"How long has it been since you left it here?" she asked.

Three days, he'd replied, tangling his fingers in his hair in dismay. Christ, I'm an idiot. He could tell she thought so, too; he didn't need any keen gift of telepathy to discern this. She thinks I'm a country b.u.mpkin fresh off the turnip truck, Jesus Christ.

"What kind of car was it?" she'd asked.

It was a Mercedes, I think, he'd signed, and then frowned. No, wait. It was one of the Audis.

Lina had blinked at him, her brows rising. "One of the Audis?" she'd repeated, and he'd nodded, not understanding her incredulity.

My grandfather only uses them during the spring meet, to take them to the track, he'd signed. He probably hasn't even noticed it's missing yet. She'd rolled her eyes and shook her head, walking away at this, leaving him bewildered and somewhat wounded by her reaction.

Brandon had never been to a zoo before. Everything he'd seen thus far in the city had been striking and new to him, because he'd lived his entire life sequestered on the horse farm. He'd only ever seen pictures in books, on television, or online of skysc.r.a.pers and exotic wild animals, and as he and Lina pa.s.sed beneath the towering granite archways heralding the main entrance to the zoo, he stopped in mid-stride, looking up, his eyes wide with wonder.

G.o.d, I wish Daniel could see this, he thought, and for a moment, loneliness and sorrow closed in around his heart, tightening.

The Grandfather's Audi had been towed away and impounded. Lina had used her cell phone from the parking lot to call the tow company listed on a nearby sign, but the news had not been good. If he wanted the car back, it would cost him three hundred dollars-nearly all of the money he had. In the meantime, the Audi would remain the guest of Baker & Sons Towing, or "a.s.sholes, Incorporated," as Lina had officially dubbed them.

Lina caught him by the hand, offering his arm a little shake to draw his gaze. "You okay?" she asked, and he nodded. "You with me?"

He nodded again and when she smiled, he was helpless but to smile with her. "Come on," she said, tugging him.

Large groups of schoolchildren visited the zoo that day, and everywhere he turned, it seemed Brandon found painful reminders of Daniel, from the way they scurried from one exhibit to another, their little mouths spread widely in broad, happy grins, or the way they reached for parents and teachers, with both hands outstretched and skyward in universal beckon.

My little brother, Daniel, is like this, he signed to Lina, as a cl.u.s.ter of children darted past and around them in a scampering, giggling throng. He finger-spelled his brother's name first, and then demonstrated his pet sign for him, a signed letter D brushed against his cheek, so she'd understand future references. Everywhere and into everything. Nonstop motion.

"How old is he?" she asked, and he held up four fingers, making her smile.

He knew she was curious about his family. The fact that he'd been tight-lipped and reluctant to offer much, if anything, by way about them had only made her more curious. She'd seen the life he'd led on the farm. She was perfectly aware of how wealthy his family was. She probably also had suspicions and concerns about them, even if she'd said nothing directly to him. Jackson would have told her, because Jackson had harbored plenty of his own.

And he doesn't even know half of it.

"Do you have any other brothers and sisters?" she asked.

He nodded. I have a younger sister, Emily, and an older brother, Caine, he said. And Tessa, my twin.

"Twin?" Lina's brows raised in surprise.

Brandon smiled crookedly. We're not identical or anything, he said, and after she blinked at him for a moment in start, she laughed.

"I didn't realize you had such a big family," she remarked. "You must miss them a lot."I miss Tessa, he admitted, because that was at least somewhat true. He didn't miss the stranger she'd become since her bloodletting, but he missed the old Tessa-his Tessa-his best friend. And I miss Daniel. He would love it here. His hands hesitated as that aching heaviness settled once again within him. I took care of him. We spent a lot of time together.

As in the better part of practically every day. More than just a brother, Daniel had been Brandon's friend and constant companion. Pretty much my shadow, he thought with a sad smile, remembering how he'd been able to sense if Daniel tried to sneak up on him along a corridor in the great house; how his brother's presence had always felt warm and bright in his mind, like a sunbeam filtering into a darkened room through a part in heavy draperies. How he'd go along with Daniel's efforts and feign obliviousness-right up until the moment he'd draw to an abrupt halt and whirl about, his hands raised, his eyes wide-the deaf- mute equivalent of shouting "Boo!" Daniel would squeal with sudden laughter Brandon couldn't hear, and his mouth would unfurl in a wide, wondrous smile.

He blinked, shaking his head. G.o.d, I don't want to think about you, Daniel, he thought, pinching the bridge of his nose momentarily, feeling the dim grumblings of a fresh headache stirring in the recesses of his skull. I'm sorry, but I can't. Not today. It's too soon, and I... I miss you too much.