"A mannequin might be lovely," he said. "But it's the heart that conveys beauty. I don't know about your mother, but I know I like and ... admire yours." He'd hesitated as if seeking a word.

Of all the things he might have said to her, that was the most startling. A warm glow suffused through her. It was the finest compliment she'd ever received, made so by her conviction that he'd never said anything like it to anyone else. He was always direct. Matter-of-fact. Poetry was not usually a part of his character.

She sipped the coffee. She needed a jolt of reality, of common sense. She needed to fall back to the ground after that unexpected statement.

She asked, "What now?"

"Ready to join the fray again?" A challenge was in his eyes.

To get her mind off the past few moments? It was remarkable how sensitive he could be. She remembered when she had thought him the most insensitive man she'd ever met.

"Yes."

"Good."

"You don't think Rick Fuller was behind anything else that happened?"

"Believe me, Rick isn't that smart. I wouldn't rule out that someone used him, though."

"I keep going back to why."

"Everything leads back to your mother's request," he said. "And the stakes have to be pretty d.a.m.n high if they don't hesitate to attack a former a.s.sistant district attorney and someone of your father's stature."

"Then someone in the city knows where my sister is?"

He nodded. "It's a possibility."

The coffee was helping considerably. So did sitting across from Gage.

"What now?" she asked.

"We need to find the man in the photo."

"How?"

"I made a call while you were making yours. I asked someone at the department to research taverns within a fifty-mile radius in 1969 for one called Paule's." He paused. "I think I have an idea as to who the boy might be."

"Who? Someone here?"

"I can't say until I know for sure."

She understood that. Too many people had been jeopardized already. The image of Mrs. Starnes remained in her mind. "When will you know?"

"I just called. I'm going over there now."

"Someone you know?"

"Yes."

She wanted to persist. She had learned enough about him, though, to know that it would do little good. He might cut some corners, but she would never doubt his integrity again.

"Can I go with you?"

"I think it's better if I go alone. He might talk to me more freely. I doubt that he would if you were there. If it is the young man in the photo and he knows anything, I'll arrange a meeting."

She wanted to protest. But there was something in his eyes that told her it would do no good.

"I should go home anyway."

His gaze held hers. "Will you stay here? With Beast? I don't think any one knows I'm back, or even that we are working together. This is the safest place for you."

She considered it. She liked the way he asked. He didn't demand or order as her father had often done. It was a request, made for her protection. "Yes," she said simply.

His mouth curved with approval. "I'll bring back some food."

"That sounds good," she said.

"Pizza?"

She nodded.

"Don't answer the phone while I'm gone. Or the door. You have a gun with you?"

"Yes."

He reached out and took her hand. "Keep it with you."

"How long will you be?"

"No longer than two hours. Any more than that and I'll call you on your cell phone."

She nodded.

"You have my cell number?"

She'd memorized it days ago. "Yes."

He stood. So did she.

"You really are beautiful," he said.

She'd probably never looked so wretched as she did after the recent outburst, yet she saw sincerity in his eyes.

"You be careful, too," she said. It was an order rather than request. "If they know we've been together--"

"I'll be on guard."

"Too many people have been dying around me," she said. "I couldn't stand another."

"I have no intention of letting anything happen to me."

He touched her cheek, then she stood on tiptoes and brushed her lips against his.

"Promise," she demanded.

"Oh, yes," he drawled. His voice was husky.

And then he left.

*Chapter Twenty-five*

'NEW ORLEANS'.

Gage met Dom at the shelter, a large rambling building that included a small gym where Gage and Dom played basketball with some of the young residents.

The building had been donated years ago when Father Michael Murphy ran the shelter. Father Murphy had a silver tongue and had not only talked someone out of the building but had garnered substantial backing for his cause. Dom, who had worked with him since he'd been released from prison, had been Father Murphy's designated successor.

Though not as diplomatic as Father Murphy, Dom's commitment and dedication had kept the money coming. He received city, state and federal grants, and had managed to keep the stream of money flowing from sources long cultivated by Father Murphy. Still, he never had quite enough. The number of runaways kept increasing.

Gage knew Father Murphy had saved the bitter young man who had spent years in prison. He'd sponsored his parole, given him a job and paid his college tuition. And Dom had found his calling. His experience in prison had helped hundreds of kids in trouble. They loved Father Murphy but they related to Dom.

Dom was in his office, a frown on his face as he looked at bills. The frown disappeared when he saw Gage.

"Thank G.o.d. An excuse to delay this. I hate paperwork. And bills even more."

"How are the finances going?"

"As always, I can use more money. Some of the kids really need better clothes. It's hard enough for them to go to school with the other kids knowing where they live. It's harder when they don't have decent clothes to wear."

"I'll send a check."

"You send enough, but I'll accept anyway. Now, why did you sound so urgent?"

Gage closed the door. "I asked you a few questions the other day."

Dom waited.

"About Mrs. Rawson? Whether you knew her."

"I'm not senile yet, Gage. What is the point here?"

"Did your father have a tavern near Donaldsonville?"

Dom merely gazed at him. Watching. Waiting.

"Did you know Mrs. Rawson when she was Marguerite Thibadeau?"

"Why the interrogation?"

"People have been dying, Dom. I think they are dying because of something that happened thirty-three years ago."

Dom didn't move. His face didn't change. Gage knew that stare. He had seen it on his brother's face. In prison you learned to school your expression. But you couldn't always control your eyes.

Gage saw something there.

He played his trump card. "Did you know Marguerite Thibadeau Rawson had a child in February 1970? A daughter?"

He saw the implications of what he'd said register in Dom's eyes. A muscle flexed in his throat. "No," he said softly after a long pause. "I thought she had gone to Europe."

"What happened back then, Dom?"

Dom stared into the distance. Gage knew he had never married. He'd always laughed it off. An ugly ex-con who had fifty wayward sons had no business getting married.

Since Gage had also avoided matrimony like the plague for his own reasons, he'd understood.

Dom's hands played with a pen.

Gage waited.

"'My' daughter?" he finally asked.

"If the timing is right, it's a d.a.m.n good possibility."

"Where is she?" Only the throbbing muscle in his throat revealed any emotion.

"We don't know. Mrs. Rawson told her daughter, Meredith, about it just before she lapsed into a coma. She asked Meredith to find her and split a trust. Meredith has been trying to find her, but there aren't any records."

"The b.a.s.t.a.r.ds." Dom spit out the two words.

Gage waited. He'd wondered if the father knew. If he hadn't, then he would probably be of little help.

Dom rose from the chair and started pacing. Barely restrained fury radiated in the room.

"Who?" Gage finally said. "Who are the b.a.s.t.a.r.ds?"

"Her father. Oliver Prescott."

"Prescott?"

Dom sat down abruptly. His face was like a piece of stone, his brown eyes glittering like agates. It was obvious he was trying to control himself.

"Dom, we need help. There's been an attempt on Meredith's life. Her apartment was trashed, a friend of her mother's was killed after agreeing to talk to Meredith. Now her father's been killed. I'm afraid they will try again to kill her." He stopped. "It all started when she started to ask questions about her half sister."