Harold Atkins's house sat on a corner lot in a small, quiet residential area in the suburbs of Chicago. Made of stone and reminiscent of nineteenth century cottage style, the small home was surrounded by lush landscaping and towering trees. Weeping willows swayed each time the night air stirred. A corner streetlight lit the small, meticulously maintained front yard a little too well, ensuring the necessity for a rear entry.

"Besides the obvious that this is the least likely place anyone will look," Max began, breaking the long silence, "why are we here?"

He knew she had a reason. Scout wasn't afraid of anything. Well, except maybe heights, he amended, remembering the climb out of his house. Not only had she gone into that jungle to rescue a missing scientist, she'd come back to help him, knowing there was a good possibility he was in enemy hands. That knowledge had not stopped her from coming back to face whatever stood in her way. Breaking into a murdered man's house couldn't just be about staying safe. There had to be more to it. She simply wasn't stating her reasons yet.

"He always kept a spare key hidden around back," she said, choosing to ignore Max's question. "Circle the block again and park on that side of the street, maybe a few houses down."

"You're the boss," Max said. Admittedly, he would have used the same strategy had the place been his choice. Still, it irked him that she continued to behave so distrustfully. His only shortcoming was that Alexon had hired him. What could have happened between her and Alexon these past four months to cause this sort of intense distrust? And he couldn't even begin to fathom how Alexon could think she'd had anything to do with her uncle's murder. Then again, what did Max really know about her that she hadn't told him?

He swallowed tightly as he parked the car three houses away from Atkins's residence. He knew very little about her other than the intelligence facts the agency had uncovered, the stories she'd told him and every square inch of her body.

His own body tensed at the memories that immediately flooded his mind. He couldn't be that wrong about her. Whatever was going on, she wasn't the bad guy.

Somehow he had to help her sort out the situation.

Keeping to the shadows of the tree-lined walk and then to those cast by the copse of trees delineating the border between the Atkins yard and his closest neighbor's, Max and Scout made their way to the back of the cottage. Within seconds they were inside.

"Help me close all the blinds and pull the drapes. That way we can turn on at least a few lights."

Avoiding small pieces of furniture and plants proved virtually impossible as he moved through the darkness. Scout, being familiar with the interior, fared better. Eventually they accomplished their goal and turned on a couple of lights-the one over the stove in the kitchen, the wall sconces in the hallway and the desk lamp in her uncle's home office.

To his surprise, she brought up the subject of food. "I'm starved," she muttered as she headed toward the refrigerator. Giving her grace, their dinner had been interrupted. He could eat as well.

If being in her recently deceased uncle's house bothered her in any way, Max hadn't picked up on it yet. That puzzled him. If the man was like family, she should be feeling some sort of strong emotion just being here. Or maybe she was good at hiding her feelings. Too early to tell, he decided, giving her the benefit of the doubt once more.

Max knew he was rationalizing far too much in this investigation. He was personally involved and that wasn't good, but he couldn't change it. He wasn't even sure he wanted to. The time they'd spent together had touched him far deeper than even he wanted to admit.

They dined on ham sandwiches, chips and iced tea. Neither spoke as the meal was consumed. Max wanted to ask her more questions, but instinctively knew that she didn't want to discuss the matter at the moment. Her expression was so closed that he could feel her withdrawal. Had he failed so miserably to get his point across? Yes, Alexon had hired him, but he was on her side. Without her trust he would never have her half of the story.

"I know you don't want to believe me," she said suddenly, the sound of her voice startling him from his worrisome thoughts. "But I'm telling the truth about Alexon. And, just so you know, I rented a car under an alias and drove here."

His gaze connected with hers across the expanse of Formica. He'd figured as much. The weapon she carried made a commercial flight less than attractive. "Why don't you start from the beginning and tell me what happened?"

She touched the paper napkin to her lips, then set it aside. "The trouble started about a month after we were released."

Max tossed his own napkin onto his empty plate and relaxed more fully into his chair, giving her his undivided attention.

"Alexon kept calling me back in for further tests." She shrugged. "It was really ridiculous. They'd call me up and say a plane ticket was waiting for me at the airline counter, and that they'd like me to come the very next day. Finally, when I'd had enough of jetting back and forth between Houston and Chicago, I flatly refused."

She fell silent for a long moment as she studied the faux wood grain of the tabletop. "That was about two months ago. Two of their henchmen showed up at my door one evening and said that I had to come back to Chicago with them because my uncle needed me."

Max frowned. "And you're sure these two were from Alexon?"

She nodded. "That's where they took me as soon as we arrived in Chicago."

Allowing that information to soak in, he waited for her to continue.

"They held me prisoner for six weeks."

The announcement stunned him. "What?"

"Alexon-" she smiled, and it was not pleasant-to put it in their own words, 'detained me' for six weeks."

"Like before? In isolation?"

She nodded. "Just like before. Only this time I was alone."

Scout could plainly see the impact her words had on him: disbelief, outrage, then more disbelief. He wanted to believe her, but his rational side kept intruding. She had to tread carefully here. She wanted to come clean with him, but she still couldn't trust him with the entire truth. Not yet. No matter how badly she wanted to. The safety of her baby was top priority. Max hadn't earned that much of her trust yet. She prayed with all her heart that he wouldn't let her down.

He visibly grappled to regain his control, and when he had, he demanded, "Was there some compelling reason for this incarceration? Did they suspect you were coming down with the virus, after all?"

Like the good investigator he was, he wanted to find a reasonable, rational explanation for Alexon's actions. What he didn't know and she couldn't prove was that it was greed, pure and simple. They wanted the antidote that badly. The financial opportunities were boundless.

"No. It wasn't anything like that." She shifted in her chair, nearly too exhausted to think. But they had to have this talk. He had to understand what she was up against. "They think I'm the key to the elusive antidote they've been trying to come up with. They want to study me ..." She swallowed back the emotion clogging her throat. "To take things from me." She blinked back the tears that immediately filled her eyes. "It's the only way to correct Kirstenof's antidote."

Shaking his head, Max pushed away from the table and started to pace the small kitchen. "This doesn't make sense." He stopped long enough to stare at her. "We were both immune. Why just you? Why didn't they come after me?"

Now came the tricky part. She moistened her lips and squared her shoulders. "I think it's because I don't have any real family or close friends." She shrugged, suddenly self-conscious. "I'm kind of a loner. After Uncle Harold moved here, we didn't see each other often and I focused on my work. Anyway, I think they feel comfortable taking advantage of me, since there's no one to raise a fuss about my absence." Her gaze locked with his then. She hadn't meant to look directly at him, but she couldn't help herself. "No one would care if I suddenly came up missing. My a.s.sistant would simply think I'd gone out on a case and didn't come back. That happens to private investigators quite often, you know."

She could see the tension escalating in him. His posture grew more rigid, his jaw set more firmly, those incredible lips thinned into a grim line. He was upset at how she'd been treated. Maybe he cared more than she'd thought. She sighed, weary of her own foolish hopes. She didn't want to make too much of his reaction. They'd had s.e.x ... nothing more.

But it had felt like so much more to her.

His pacing stopped and his eyes bored straight into hers. "Did they hurt you in any way?"

She had to stiffen her spine to stop the trembling. She wanted so much to be held in his strong arms. To believe for just one minute that he really cared. That someone actually cared. "Lots of samples. Blood, urine, the usual."

He didn't need to know about the sonograms. She'd lain on that examination table and cried, fearing for her unborn child's life. But no one had cared. She'd been a prisoner with no rights. None.

"What did your uncle say about this?" The harsh words grated across her already raw nerve endings. "Where the h.e.l.l was he all this time? He worked for Alexon, for G.o.d's sake."

Emotion welled inside her. She struggled to remain calm on the surface. She had to keep this on a professional level. Couldn't risk things getting personal this time. As much as she wanted to lean on Max the man, she needed Max the protector and investigator more.

"For the first four weeks of my forced stay at the facility, Harold wasn't aware of what had happened. He only knew that I hadn't returned his calls. Alexon forced me to phone my a.s.sistant and tell her that my latest case required a deep-cover stint and not to expect to hear from me for a few weeks. But then Harold found out." If she called him Harold, kept her focus on his position as head of Alexon's security, maybe she could keep the emotions at bay a few more minutes.

Max turned his chair around, sat astride it and braced his arms on the back. "What did he do?" His words were tight, clipped. He was angry.

Or maybe his more rational side had kicked in and he didn't believe her. She closed her eyes and drew in a deep, fortifying breath. She had to get through this without breaking down.

"He engineered my escape."

Once again she'd shocked Max. He definitely hadn't expected her to say that.

"That's why they killed him," she added when Max asked no questions. "I've been hiding out since."

He shook his head in disbelief, confusion etched across his handsome face. "This whole antidote thing is the reason?" His tone reaffirmed her suspicions that he couldn't quite grasp the story.

"Yes. I know you don't want to believe it, but it's the truth. Harold-" she swallowed convulsively "-had discovered some disturbing information. That's how he put two and two together and realized I wasn't simply out on a case, that I'd been abducted. Whatever he found, it's the key to why they're after me."

"He didn't tell you any specifics about this information?" More incredulity. Max didn't believe her. That was clear.

"He told me he didn't have all the facts yet, but that he wanted me safe until he got to the bottom of the matter." At Max's continued look of skepticism, she added, "He said he was putting together a file. I'm guessing that it's here somewhere."

"So that's why you wanted to come here?"

"Partly." She didn't say that she was here mainly to be near her uncle's things. To close her eyes and draw in the scent of his home, of his life. G.o.d, she missed him!

"And you're certain that it was Alexon's men who killed him?"

"Man," she corrected. "There were four of them, but only one did the killing." She fell silent a moment as she battled for composure. Flashes of memory darted through her mind-the struggle, the sound of that lethal shot. She blinked furiously, but it was no use. Tears spilled past her lashes. She wiped her eyes and stood abruptly. "I need to start looking for the file. You can help if you want."

Max watched her walk away, the need to take her into his arms and comfort her very nearly overpowering. But she didn't want that from him right now. He could sense the emotional distance she struggled to maintain. The last thing either of them needed was for things to get personal again. They were far too personal already.

The story she'd just told him unsettled him as nothing else ever had. The Colby Agency had done business with Alexon for years. Their reputation was unrivaled in the medical research world. Only Ballard Pharmaceuticals ranked as close to the top. But Max was no fool. A sparkling reputation didn't always mean that a corporation didn't have skeletons in its closets. In some cases, holding top spot was not accomplished without moral-and legal-compromises. He couldn't imagine why Scout would fabricate such an outrageous story.

Though he had been hired by Alexon, he would do the right thing. And the right thing was to get to the bottom of this mystery. Alexon might not like his tactics, but they had agreed to his condition. He intended to see that they stuck by their word. If Scout thought her uncle had a file on Alexon's wrongdoing, Max would do everything he could to help her find it. He would keep an open mind until he had reason to believe something one way or the other. When he contacted Alexon again he would demand to know why their people were following him.

Deciding to start with the kitchen, Max opened door after door, drawer after drawer. He systematically perused the contents of each before moving on. Carefully opening canisters and plastic containers, he insured that Harold hadn't hidden anything where he thought no one would look. Then Max checked the fridge and freezer. Still nothing.

He heard Scout moving around in the office, which he had expected, so he took the living room. Comfortable and cluttered, the room offered numerous places to hide doc.u.ments. He methodically inspected each piece of furniture and every single nook and cranny. His final step was to remove photographs from picture frames.

All along the mantel stood frame after frame. Almost all displayed photographs of Scout at various ages in her life. Max took his time, studying the images. Scout as a child, a teenager, and then a woman ...

He smiled as he fingered the smiling face of the little girl grasping the hand of what must be her father. The same gray eyes stared back from him, and they both had raven hair. Her father wore a military uniform, and Max remembered that he'd been in special forces or some other elite, covert unit. He'd spent a lot of time away from home, leaving Scout to be cared for by her faux uncle, Harold Atkins. Judging by the sheer number of photographs, Max guessed Harold had thought of Scout as a daughter. No question there.

There was one picture of Scout and her mother. Or at least Max thought it was her mother. Scout was just a toddler, the woman a dark-haired beauty. The shape of her face reminded Max of Scout. Yes, it had to be her mother. He remembered that Scout had said she'd died from complications resulting from an emergency appendectomy. Her father had been stationed in some tiny village in a third world country, and proper medical care had come too late.

Max's gaze returned to the man holding his daughter's hand. He wondered if guilt had weighed heavily on those broad shoulders. Had he felt responsible for his wife's death? Had his career been so important that he would drag his wife and small child to such a primitive place?

Max set the framed photograph down and shoved aside that thought. He'd always put career first himself. Who was he to judge what another man had done? Max doubted he would do any better.

He almost laughed out loud then. What was he thinking? He hadn't even taken the time for a wife, much less a family. At thirty-three, and with his career the only constant in his life, he certainly had no right to judge anyone else.

The rest of the photographs told the story of who Olivia Scout Jackson was. She'd loved horseback riding. She rarely wore anything but jeans and T-shirts. She'd told Max how she loved mountain climbing and skating on the edge of danger. His smile died on his lips when he considered that she appeared to be teetering very close to danger right now. Then he frowned. If she loved mountain climbing why had she been afraid to climb down from the second story of his house? He shook his head.

As soon as one detail cleared in his mind, something else jumped in to blur the facts.

There had to be at least some truth to her story. Alexon would not have sent men to check up on Max and her if they weren't desperate to get her back. And if they were that convinced that she had somehow been involved with her uncle's murder, the police as well would be looking for her by now. Still, it simply didn't add up. If the antidote was the motivation, why not come after Max, too? He had the same immunity she did.

It didn't make sense. There had to be more.

After replacing each photograph in its frame, he decided to question her further. The answers she'd given him so far weren't sufficient. He had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that she was holding something back.

When he entered the strangely quiet home office he found Scout asleep on the small, well-worn sofa. A stack of files sat beside her, one open in her lap, while yet another lay on the floor where it had fallen from her hands.

He moved next to her and crouched down to pick up the wayward pages. That she didn't rouse at his nearness spoke volumes about just how exhausted she really was. He ached to comfort her ... to somehow make all this right for her. But he had to know all the facts first.

Two bedrooms and one bathroom were right down the hall. She needed a good night's rest. Before he could talk himself out of it, he'd lifted her in his arms and against his chest. Her eyelids fluttered open and she tensed instantly.

"Shh," he ordered. "You need to sleep. I'm only taking you to bed."

The look of fear or uncertainty on her face made his chest constrict. Did she think he would take advantage of a vulnerable moment like this?

"Don't worry, I'll be taking the couch," he clarified. "I want to be close to the two entry doors."

She relaxed then and made no move to free herself from his grasp. Was she finally beginning to trust him? He hoped so. Taking care not to hold her too tightly, as he so wanted to, he started through the door of the first bedroom he came to.

"Not here." She shook her head, her eyes too bright. "The guest room."

He realized his mistake then. He'd almost taken her into her uncle's room.

When he'd deposited her on her feet next to the guest bed, he drew back the covers and gestured for her to climb beneath them. "Rest. Don't worry about anything. I'll be watching your back. I'm sure we'll find that file."

For one long moment she simply stood there staring up at him. Finally she spoke. "Max, I know you don't really believe me, but you will. When I find that file you'll know the truth."

He balled his hands into fists to keep himself from reaching out and touching her once more. "I do believe that something isn't right here. Alexon hasn't been on the up and up with me and that makes me suspicious of their motivation. But I need solid evidence. I can't go back to Victoria with speculation. I have to have facts."

Scout nodded, her expression strained at best.

"Victoria knows that we were involved on a personal level. It's going to be doubly hard to make this case with that past hanging over our heads."

"I know." She reached out to him then. The feel of her small hand against his chest, even through the cotton of his shirt, made him tremble inside. "That's why we have to be sure we don't let that happen this time."

She was right. If they weren't careful no one would put any stock in anything they came up with.

"We'll keep things strictly business this time," he agreed. "I don't usually make the same mistake twice." He stared down at her hand and ached to fold his around it. "You have to admit," he added, his gaze going back to hers, "that we did have a h.e.l.l of a motive. We thought we were going to die."

She drew her hand away and nodded jerkily. "Good night, Max."

Turning, she climbed into the bed, then pulled the covers snugly around her.

"Good night." He felt the need to say more ... but what was left? They'd agreed that anything personal would be a mistake. There was nothing else to discuss about the case at the moment. He exhaled a frustrated breath and switched off the light as he left the room. His own emotions were far too close to the surface right now to deal with what was going on with hers. The signals she gave off were so mixed he existed in a perpetual state of confusion.

They needed some distance and a good night's sleep. Things would be clearer in the morning. He was sure of it.

For long minutes after Max walked out of the room Scout lay there unmoving, scarcely breathing. Something inside her threatened to shatter like gla.s.s.

She wanted to cry, but she knew if she started it would quickly become uncontrollable. And he would hear. She couldn't do that.

I don't usually make the same mistake twice.

His words knifed through her. He considered their time together to be a mistake.

A mistake.

The realization hurt more than she had believed possible. The pain even cut through her grief for her uncle. She wouldn't have thought anything could rival that hurt, but it did. She felt betrayed, felt as if her heart were being torn from her chest.