"I do. Except I might be getting a very large dog."

"I have one of those. I would certainly suggest a gun as well."

She stared at him. "You have a dog?"

"That's so surprising?"

"I don't know. I've never given it much thought."

He grinned at that. "Touche." Then he looked at the room. "Call the cleaning service. Then we can see about a gun and start cleaning up."

"Do I have any choice in this?" A chill had crept into her voice.

"No," he said.

She stared at him for a moment. "I let someone rule my life for more years than I want to remember. I won't do it again. Thank you for bringing me home, but I really need some time alone."

The tears were gone. Pure determination and defiance were in her eyes, in her voice. All the pa.s.sion he'd felt in her moments ago was now rallied in defense of her independence.

It was a dismissal. Royally made.

Well, he'd known better. He should have followed all his instincts and left her alone.

He nodded. "All right. Good day, Ms. Rawson."

She bit her lip, an oddly vulnerable expression.

He opened the door and left. He strode to his car and got inside. He didn't start the engine.

He was angry. Angry at himself for not knowing better. For letting his libido get out of control. For trying to comfort someone who didn't want comforting. He'd known she was poison for someone like him.

h.e.l.l, he was just plain angry.

But d.a.m.ned if he was going to leave. Someone had wanted to hurt her. Someone who did that kind of damage wasn't going to quit.

Dammit. He couldn't follow her forever. Why hadn't Cliff Morris provided some kind of protection?

h.e.l.l, he would call Morris and make sure she had it. It just wouldn't be him.

He tried to tell himself his only interest in the Rawsons-- father and daughter--was the Prescott case, the case that could repair his career in a department that still didn't quite trust him.

That was his interest.

He kept telling himself that.

*Chapter Eight*

'NEW ORLEANS'.

Meredith closed the door softly behind Gaynor and leaned against it.

She'd overreacted. She knew that the moment the words left her mouth, but she hadn't been able to take them back.

Fear. Grief. Lack of sleep. They had made her strike out at the nearest target. She couldn't remember ever doing that before. She thought she had mastered self-control.

But her need to lean against him, to linger in his arms, had frightened her, stunned her into defensive mode.

She had been unfair. He'd only tried to be kind.

But she knew the dangers of getting involved with someone when emotions were running amok. And hers were certainly doing that at this moment.

She straightened. 'Priorities. Think priorities'. A cleaning service. A new computer. Bedding. A weapon.

Meredith tried to look at the damage dispa.s.sionately. She couldn't. This was her home, each piece of furniture and every accessory selected carefully by her, not a decorator. Upholstery stuffing littered the floor. Her paintings had been cut, and pages had been ripped from her books. It was as if her life had been torn apart.

Thank G.o.d, her law books were at her office.

She peered outside. Detective Gaynor's car was still parked at the curb.

A rush of air left her lungs with relief she didn't want to feel. Perhaps she had been foolish to try to return here alone. Yet she refused to live her life in fear, and she had to begin the cleaning process.

First she had to take inventory and decide exactly what could be salvaged and what should be discarded. Keeping busy might wrestle the detective from her mind. It might cool the warmth lingering deep inside her. It might remove the memory of sensual tingling in every part of her body.

She forced herself to turn away from the window and not look outside. Instead she put torn pillows on the torn upholstery of her comfortable sofa, replaced salvageable books on shelves and placed damaged ones in a box.

She made a path through the living room to the kitchen. Items from the fridge had been splashed on the floor and thrown against the wallpaper. She straightened the room as well as she could, then sat down on a chair and considered her next move.

Meredith couldn't stay here, even if she wanted to. She would stay at the hotel tonight. No court appearances tomorrow. Her one appointment had been cancelled.

Yet there were a dozen things that needed to be done with current cases. Witnesses to be interviewed for one of her cases, motions to be prepared for another, and a proposed court order for a third. Most important of all, she had to start her search for her half sister. If only she could find her before her mother died ...

If only.

If only pigs flew. She knew adoption laws well. She knew how difficult it was to open a closed adoption.

She used her cell phone to call cleaning services. She actually reached a human being to whom she explained her needs.

She made an appointment for the following day, then turned off the phone and stood. Enough today. She would get here early in the morning, supervise the cleaning, shop for new mattresses, purchase a new computer and start the search for her sister.

And visit her mother.

'One more item'. She went through her desk. Her pistol permit was in a file with her pa.s.sport, the mortgage and other important doc.u.ments. She prayed that it was intact.

All doc.u.ments were in a manila envelope labeled 'Stuff.' She found it on the floor. Apparently 'stuff' hadn't received much attention from the intruder. For once she admired her less than professional techniques. The envelope was untouched.

Had whoever had done this been constrained by time? Had the burglary been timed to coincide with the attack in the garage? Certainly they must be connected.

Had they meant to kill her? Or had they meant only to delay her while they went through her files? If it were the latter, they came d.a.m.n close to making a mistake. If she had not been so quick in dodging the car...

An abusive husband bent on destruction was still the most likely prospect.

She looked at her watch. Nearly six. She looked outside. Summer light was still with her. Detective Gaynor's car was gone. Loss--and loneliness--settled deep inside her. Yet hadn't she wanted him gone? Hadn't she told him to leave?

She'd felt safe, knowing he was outside.

She couldn't blame him for leaving. She'd welcomed that kiss, and then she'd acted like a raped virgin. 'Dammit'.

Her heart jumped as the doorbell rang. He had come back. She wished she didn't feel an unexpected antic.i.p.ation. She opened the door.

Disappointment filled her as she looked at Detective Morris's tired face.

"You shouldn't be here alone," he said.

"Who told you I was?"

"Didn't tell me. Gaynor ordered me to get my a.s.s over here."

"Can he do that?"

"Officially, no. But he's pretty d.a.m.ned good at making me feel I'm not doing my job very well."

"I know the department is undermanned," she said. "I didn't expect protection."

"I can make an argument for it," he said. "You were one of our prosecutors."

"It probably doesn't have anything to do with my prosecutions," she said honestly. "It's probably the husband of one of my clients."

He shrugged. "Still, Gaynor was right. You shouldn't be alone here right now."

"I plan to stay another night at the hotel. I'll be safe enough there."

"Good. That will give us time to check out a few people. Make out a list for me yet?"

"I can give you a few names."

"Do that, and we'll pay a few visits."

She shivered in the air-conditioned room, but she knew it wasn't from the chill. She went to the ruined kitchen, rummaged around in a drawer and found a pencil. She jotted down some names and handed them to him. "I'll have some more tomorrow. You'll keep me informed?"

"Of course. Gaynor is going to talk to Rick Fuller. He told me about the protective order."

"Do you think...?"

"I don't like to think any officer would be involved in something like this, but we'll be checking on all your recent cases as well as any individual you think might carry a grudge from your prosecutor days."

"Fingerprints?"

"We took all we could find. We need to get a list of people who have been here." He hesitated. "This was obviously well-planned. I doubt whether they left any clues."

"Then you think the attack and the burglary are related?"

"I don't think there's much doubt about it."

"Then there must be more than one person involved. One in the car, and one here."

"Not necessarily. Whoever attacked you would have known you would probably be tied up for hours afterward."

"Would they take that kind of chance? What if I hadn't had a scratch that needed tending? What if I just told the officers I wanted to go home?"

Frustration lined his face. "It doesn't make sense to me, either. But until we know why and who, I want you to be very careful."

"I will. I've decided to get a handgun."

"Gaynor told me. He also told me to make sure you get one. He threatened all that was dear to me if anything happened to you."

She could see Gaynor saying just that. So he hadn't just left her. He'd apparently put the fear of G.o.d in his fellow detective. Some of the chill left her.

"I know a good gunsmith," Morris continued. "They have a range, too. I can check you out right away."

She simply nodded. She went back upstairs to her office, retrieved the permit and put it in her purse, gathered several pieces of clothing together, then set the alarm and locked the front door.

"I want to take my car and go to a hotel afterward. Can you give me the location and I'll meet you there?"

"I'll follow you," Morris said. "I want to make sure no one is tailing you."

She nodded gratefully.

She backed her car out of the drive. Morris was already in his car. She pa.s.sed him and saw him fall in behind her.

For a moment, she wished it were another detective behind her.

That thought was almost as frightening as the past few hours.

Gage was waiting for Rick Fuller when he returned from patrol with his partner.

The man's face tightened as soon as he spotted Gage and he swerved away from his companion. "What do you want?"

"Ms. Rawson was attacked last night. Her home was tossed."

"I was on duty last night."

"Your partner can verify this?"