Jesse's grin was loaded for bear. "I keep forgetting, honey. It was such a friendly divorce."

She rested her arms on her guitar and looked reflective. "True. You got real friendly with that waitress-and I got a divorce."

The crowd whooped and hollered their delight.

Jesse rubbed the back of his neck and looked rueful. "But you still love me, don't you, darlin?-"

"Course I do, honey-now that I don't have to live with you."

"Ouch!" He threw up his hands in a mock surrender. "Lead guitar, the lovely- shrew, uh, sweetheart-Phoebe Ann."

Phoebe laughed, then bent to play her solo riff. She was good, probably better than her companions were, her fingers plucking the strings with a technical precision that pleased without quite satisfying.

It was probably his imagination, Jake thought, that she seemed to hold something back. The riff was, after all, just a bit of flash to take the dull out of the introductions. But it Wasn't imagination that Jesse's smile was edged with intimacy when he held out a hand to Phoebe and said, "Let's sing, girl."

She took his hand and let him draw her into the spotlight next to him, her answering smile affectionate. Her hair fell across her face when she bent over her guitar, plucking the strings with a haunting delicacy as she led off. Jesse started the vocal, his deep, soothing bass perfect for the wistful song about love spurned. At the refrain, Phoebe's voice blended neatly with Jesse's, sweetly husky, strangely familiar, as if Jake had heard her sing this song before.

On the next verse she started the vocal, her lightly Southern phrasing a pleasing underpinning to the melody line. On the dance floor, lovers leaned into each other, swaying in place amid the smoke and dust making eddies on the plank flooring.

Caught up in the thrall of her wistful stage presence, Jake didn't find Earl quite as pathetic. The music, her voice, her sad eyes, all made her performance seem personal and intimate, as if she sang only to him.

Jake turned his back to the stage, to her, and leaned on the bar. He wrapped his hand around his cold bottle and wished he could apply it to his face. Wouldn?t his brother Matt hoot if he could see Jake trying not to moon over a honky-tonk singer who was also a suspect? In fact, his gut had just moved her to the head of the line.

He lifted the bottle and drank because he needed something cool and wet running down his dry throat. Behind him Phoebe started singing a song about taking it like a man.

Jake downed half the bottle, but it didn't near do the job. He set the beer down just as the bar keep thrust a plastic cup filled with electric pink fluid at him.

"I didn't order that."

"The lady bought it for you." He pointed down the bar to a barely dressed blonde. She lifted a matching cup to him and wet her pouting lips. Beside him Bryn choked. Behind him the husky sex in Phoebe's amplified voice hit him in waves. Jake swallowed and said to the keep, "What is it?"

The keep grinned. "A Hot Damn."

Jake looked at the blonde who leaned on the bar, her upper arms squeezing the sides of her breasts until they nearly popped out of her shirt. Bryn turned away, her shoulders shaking. Phoebe repeated the refrain about taking it like man.

Jake rubbed the back of his neck and wished for a cold shower.

Phoebe left her guitar to for the guys to stow and jumped off the stage, moving quickly to avoid another encounter with the incoming Earl. She ducked through a door marked Management Only, circling the storage room to her office. Inside, she flicked on the light, closed the door and leaned against it.

Her blood still hummed, her heart still pounded with the buzz of performing. The guys used the buzz as foreplay for sex, but she couldn't afford to let her motor get so revved that it took over her thinking and had her acting on her impulses. Celibacy kept things simple. It kept her safe. Until tonight, she'd never been tempted to change that.

She pushed away from the door and reached for her water bottle, but it was empty. Damn. She threw it at the trash can, circled the desk and sank onto the stool in front of a spotted mirror hanging over a small shelf. But instead of her reflection, she saw the cowboy with the high-voltage smile and might-have-been eyes.

He ought to be required to wear a bag over his head, she decided. He ought to have to register his mouth as a lethal weapon. She traced her own mouth, thinking of his. Guys shouldn't be allowed to have mouths that yummy. It wasn't as if he didn't already have the advantage in the battle of the sexes with his good-guy face and tousled dark hair. Her throat went tight with longing. Not good. She gave herself a shake.

She'd have to turn her thinking down less inflammatory paths or she was gonna burn to ash and blow clean away. Think about the game, girl, only the game.

It had got her through worse things than an attack of lust.

Peter's computer went dark. Having spewed its poison, it subsided back into a state of indifferent neutrality. Peter Wasn't as lucky. His face ashen, he looked at Stern.

"Don't sweat it," Stern said. "If they had anything, they?d have used it by now. They're gas-lighting you to try to shake your past loose."

"They? Or she?" Peter rubbed his face. Was it possible, after all these years?

"Nadine?" Stern shrugged. "Maybe. Or could be that guy you told me Kerry Anne was dating."

"The geek. Makes sense. He was into computers big-time even way back then." Peter's expression turned ugly. "I shouldn't have let him get away."

"Shit happens." Stern crushed his cigarette out in an ashtray.

"Not to me," Peter snapped. He rubbed his face again. "Can you fix this damn computer?" Stern had a bit of geek in him, too.

He flexed his fingers. "It's only a screensaver, and you were going to get rid of it anyway, weren't you?"

Peter avoided his gaze. "Of course."

Chapter 3.

The bar emptied soon after the last set ended, a whining Earl nudged out by the bar keep. Bryn homed in on Jesse, who finished stowing their equipment and headed for the door to one side of the bar. She plucked him off course with one bat of her lashes, then let him lead her through the door marked for management. This left Jake alone with the bar keep.

Jake leaned companionably on the bar and sipped his soft drink, watching the guy clean up with quick, practiced movements. When the guy moved into range, Jake held out his hand. "The name's Jake."

He got a wary look with the reluctant shake. "Chet."

"Pleased to meet you. Since I'm driving, how about a Coke for the road?"

Chet found one and shoved it toward Jake. "Two dollars."

"Thanks." Jake paid and popped the top, taking a drink before asking, "So, is JR in?"

Chet looked up. "JR isn't in much. You looking for work?"

"You got any?" Music still filtered through Jake's mind. His fingers tapped the beat on the wooden surface of the bar.

"Phoebe does all the hiring and firing."

"Really? SHe's the guitarist in the band, right?"

"Yeah."

"How is she to work for?"

"Phoebe's okay, but the pay isn't great. JR's a tight-fisted Texan." Chet looked morose as he polished the bar.

"What about bands? You book them?"