Jake stopped, his shoulders rising in a sigh as big as Phoebe's Texas. He looked back. "You're worse than Mom."

"That's 'cause I'm bigger and meaner."

He had a point. Jake grinned. "I'll call you."

He waited until his back was to his brother to mentally add, when I'm damn good and ready. He tossed his keys up and neatly caught them coming down. A pretty, policewoman coming into the building smiled back.

Jake held the door for her, then promptly forgot her as his thoughts turned once more to Phoebe and JR's. Those thoughts were as twisted as the road back to Estes Park, and like some bizarre version of a Monopoly game where all moves led to jail, with the Get-Out-Of-Jail-Free cards in the hot hands of Bryn Bailey-who Wasn't known for passing them out.

Bryn hadn't said much about her investigative efforts today but he had a feeling she had a good lead to Phagan's target but didn't want to talk about it, either in the police station or in front of his brothers. He'd dig it out of her later.

Jake turned his truck into the parking lot at JR's, surprised to find Phoebe's SUV missing. It was well past the time for the band's sound check. Somehow it didn't seem like her to be late.

Inside JR's he found two Mentel boys hunkered down in front of the bar nursing a couple of beers. The other two were hanging from the ceiling with climbing gear.

Jake had known guys like that; climbers who just weren't comfortable unless they were suspended over something. Once again, Jake was struck by what a pretty group of boys they were. No wonder girls flocked around them like buzzards to a carcass.

All four returned Jake's examination with varying degrees of interest, ranging from the outright bored to the mildly curious.

"You seen Phoebe Ann?" her ex-husband asked Jake. "Ain't like her to be late for a sound check."

Jake shook his head. Worry took a big bite of his gut and held on like a pit bull. Maybe he should have stayed on her tail instead of following the con. "Not since this morning."

The one called Toes lowered a bag to his brother at the bar, drawing it back up when it held a couple of beers. "Think she headed into Denver," he said. "Something about needing strings for her guitar."

So she had been in Denver today. Trouble was, he couldn't see how she could have pulled off what he suspected she'd pulled off. How she could change herself that much? How she could face him down in the freaking police station without even a flicker of nerves? It didn't seem possible. So far the prints Bryn had collected had turned up a big, fat negative match with Bryn's Phagan gang files but it would take several days to get a definitive answer back from the national database.

Leg spun himself in a slow circle, snagging one of the beers from his brother as he went by. "One of the amps is acting up, too."

Their comments reinforced his initial impression that Phoebe was the linchpin that held this group together. The insight aroused his professional interest as much as her earthy sensuality aroused his body.

"Wouldn't she call if she was running late?"

From the doorway, Phoebe watched the guys looked at each other. Finally, Mert said, "Dunno. We're usually the ones who are late."

"Well, That's surely God's truth," she said. She stared at the waiting men, holding herself erect with an effort. She was both glad and sad to see that Jake had beaten her here. She'd wanted to see him as bad as she needed air, but not yet. Not without some time to put Phoebe back together. She'd been too many people today. She felt fragmented, her hold on Phoebe uncertain and fragile.

With the lights behind him, Jake's eyes were in shadow, but the light still managed to find all that buried gold in his hair, then slide forward to stroke some of that gold along the strong, smooth jaw line. It also threw into sharp relief the strength and grace of his body.

Longing slid through her veins, a semi-painful tingle of life returning to a sleeping limb. Why him? Why was he the one to make her feel what she shouldn't?

For a brief instant the fog in her head cleared and Pathphinder got a clear view of the two courses available to her. One, bright and enticing, leading directly to Jake. One, dark and dangerous, leading away from him forever.

Only the choice was an illusion. She was already on Phagan's path, and there was no way to leave it. There was no way to get to him from where she was.

Her choice, if she could call it that, had been made long before this day, this time, this longing. She'd see this game to its finish and then disappear into Phagan's shadow world again, leaving even her memories behind. If she survived.

She lifted her chin, straightened her back and walked toward Jake, but she was really walking away from him. It hurt more than she'd expected, but her mind, her body was already adapting to the loss and the pain.

She'd had plenty of practice.

With Jake's gaze on her, she dug deep for resolve and approached him.

Jake let her come to him, noting with concern the brittle quality that hadn?t been there earlier. It put his senses on alert as she stopped, her gaze meeting his for a long moment that put the heat on under his heart.

"You all right?"

She nodded, then looked at the guys. "It's late. Let's get this over with."

"You're a hard woman," Mert grumbled good-naturedly as he lowered himself from his piton perch.

"You got that right," she said, sounding as if she were passing sentence on herself.

It didn't take them long to get their instruments ready, once a broken guitar string had been replaced and the amp fiddled with. Jake noted the store logo on the bag Phoebe pulled the replacement string from-it was in Denver-even as he admired the comfortable confidence with which she mobilized her boys. Chet came in with his radio on, playing a Wynona Judd song. He quickly turned it off, but the band picked up the tune, and turned it into their warm up song. The segue was smooth between radio and real life. Too smooth. Close his eyes and he couldn?t tell the difference between Phoebe and Judd. The band switched gears, and it happened again. This time she sounded like Martina McBride. In quick succession she crossed a wide range of the voice spectrum of female singers. It was uncanny. It was...enlightening, and made him feel a lot less crazy about suspecting Phoebe of being Pathphinder.

They stopped to let Jesse work on his C-string, and Jake knew he had to probe a bit. "Is it just me," he asked, carrying his soft drink closer to their tiny stage, "or did you just sound like Martina McBride?"

Phoebe's head came up, like that of a wild thing scenting danger, but her eyes showed no fear, no emotion, when Toes grinned and said, "Our Phoebe is a first-rate mime."

Leg looked up from his keyboard. Jesse shook his head sadly as he explained, "Kid?s young."

Toes looked around. "What?"

"A mime," explained Mert, "is what Phoebe almost slugged in New Orleans that time."

Jake looked at Phoebe, who shrugged and smiled. "He made an obscene gesture," she explained.

"Oh." Toes looked crestfallen. "So what's Phoebe?"

"I think," Jake said, holding Phoebe's gaze with his, "the word You're looking for is mimic. Phoebe's a very...good...mimic."

Phoebe smiled, her eyes neither denying nor confirming his suspicion. "Only very good? You're a tough critic."

Jake managed a slight grin, but inside he was wishing everything was completely different. Next to her, Jesse's long-fingered hands pulled a gentle ballad from the strings of his guitar. The others filled in the holes, loosing love's lament into the big, empty hall.

Phoebe tried to resist the song's invitation to give in to feeling and failed miserably. With a fatalistic shrug, she put down her instrument and leaped lightly from the stage, landing a few feet from Jake. There was harm in it, but not too much, what with the guys watching her every move. Of their own volition, her feet started her toward him. The closer she got, the more fluid she felt. The pain melted away, leaving only anticipation. She wanted to be in his arms. She had to be in his arms or die. It was as simple as that. She had to clear the huskiness from her throat before she could get the words out. "Dance with me, Curious Jake."

Jake's throat went dry at the husky-voiced invitation. She stood motionless, but the air around her pulsed with an ancient, unmistakable need.

"I never get to dance," she said.

It would have been easier to stop breathing than say no. He couldn't do either, so he held out his hand, felt his breath catch as her fingers meshed with his, her other hand settling on his shoulder like a pigeon come home. He pulled her closer, leaving a single important inch between their bodies to salve his conscience as his hand cupped her waist, half on cotton, half on skin left bare by her brief top.

It felt right to have her in his arms. Like she'd always belonged there.

They began a shuffle that could be taken for dancing by someone on drugs. No one led. No one followed. He didn't look at her. Knew she Wasn't looking at him.

As the song wound toward a climax, he couldn't stop his gaze from doing a slow slide in her direction. He breathed in her scent, felt her body heat arc that single inch that separated them. His gaze found hers, dark with longing. On some level his brain registered that his nostrils were smelling a lingering trace of expensive lawyer mixed with her usual clean scent. Another link in the evidence chain toward her, but he didn't care. His arms were full of woman. The right woman. The only woman, he was afraid, for him.