to the judge if he married her instead of some woman from the

reservation.

He knew that Celia's lawyer would investigate- the situation thoroughly.

She was obsessive when she wanted something, and she wanted Jake.

Emotionally, he was leaning toward having his mother arrange for the marriage.

He was more than willing to monetarily compensate whoever was chosen.

If he married Caitlin, for whatever reasons she professed to agree to,

something far greater than money would be involved.

He didn't want to go that route because his emotions would be involved.

But he didn't want to lose his son, and he knew he would risk anything

to keep Jake.

It would be different if he thought that Celia was capable of giving their son what she had boasted that she would.

A good, stable home, all the advantages and love.

No mat what, parting from Jake would be difficult, but if it was the boy's own good, he could manage it.

Graham knew ha far too well to be fooled, though.

Oh, for a while Celia would live up to her word, just she had the last time, when they had adopted Jake.

But the novelty would wear off.

She would lose interest a move on to something else.

It was a pattern Graham h witnessed more than once.

She wouldn't do it to be spitef or cruel.

But Jake would be the one to suffer.

That couldn't be allowed to happen.

The room was small, windowless and dim.

One side of was glass, looking out onto another, larger room, just

windowless, just as grimly foreboding.

Caitlin braced herself.

'There's nothing to be afraid of," Graham murmu quietly as he ushered

her in.

His eyes were kind, reassuring.

Caitlin tried to relax.

S couldn't.

There was another policeman in the room with them witness the

proceedings.

She hardly noticed.

Her eyes on the small stagelike area in the other room where eig men

would be brought in for her to view.

Eight men, and one of them would be the killer.

A man who had wanted to kill her.

Her shoulders were stiff enough to use as a diving boar Graham shifted

so that she was forced to look at him. "They can't see you."

"But he'll know," Caitlin said quietly as a young policeman herded a group of men into the room and toward t backlit stage.

There was no getting away from that.

"Yeah, he' know."

Taking a deep breath, Caitlin watched as one by one t men, wearing

consecutive numbers around their necks, line up in order.

They were told to face front and stand u straight.

They were all more or less the same height, the same weight.

They appeared to vary by approximately ten, maybe fifteen years in

age.

The idea was to have her dig deep into her soul before she made her identification.

Forcing herself to study the men one at a time instead of scanning the

group, Caitlin looked carefully from one man to the next.

When she looked at number six, the air stagnated in her lungs.

After what seemed like an eternity, Caitlin continued.

Graham saw the way she had hesitated.

"Take your time, Caitlin. Don't rush."

He'd recognized the man instantly.

But they needed her ID as well as his to corroborate.

She didn't want to take her time, she wanted to be out of there.

Now.

As far away from the man on the other side of the one-way glass as

possible.

But she looked at the last two men, then returned to number six.

The man whom she knew beyond the shadow of a doubt was the killer.

"Number six."

Her voice quavered and she cleared her throat.

"Number six," she repeated.

Graham gave no indication that he agreed or disagreed with her.

This was her call.

"You're suit?"

She nodded her head, her eyes riveted on the man wearing a placard with