"It's no loss, the food here sucks anyway," Jaqui tossed over her shoulder.

"I'm sure the food isn't everything that sucks around here," Barbara told the other woman with a smug, demeaning smile.

Jaqui started to speak. Barbara slammed the door in her face. Her customers cheered. She grinned and went back to the kitchen to comfort Grace.

"Now, now," she chided softly, wiping Grace's tears on a paper towel. "He's gone. You're safe, baby. n.o.body's going to hurt you here."

Grace sobbed into the comforting shoulder. For years now, Barbara had been a surrogate mother to her. Today, like a tigress defending her cub, she'd run the enemy out the door amid cheers from the audience. It was tragic, but funny, too. Grace always saw the humor in things. Involuntarily she started laughing.

"See?" Barbara asked with a smile. "It's not as bad as all that. You have to take your part, Grace. You can't let people walk all over you. Especially people like that arrogant FBI agent. You'll spend the rest of your life crying if you don't stiffen up."

Grace took the paper towel and wiped her wet eyes. "I guess so. I'm not usually such a wimp. But I've been tired lately and I haven't felt well." She touched her stomach, grimacing. "It's been a hard few weeks."

"You just need some time off. I know you've got a little money put back, Grace, and I can help if I need to," she added, serious. "You go and stay for a few days with your cousin up in Victoria. We'll all manage without you for a couple of weeks."

"That's cowardly, running from the enemy," Grace sniffed.

"Not when the enemy is stalking you all over town and accusing you of doing it," she replied, nodding when Grace looked shocked. "We all know everything in Jacobsville. He's given you h.e.l.l for weeks now. He's going to stop. He just doesn't know it yet," the older woman added with a cold gleam in her eyes. "He'll wish he'd never moved here."

"His brother is very nice."

"Yes, but his brother isn't persecuting you," she reminded Grace. "I'll have Rick come up and see you."

Grace smiled. "He's nice."

"He's my baby, even if I didn't give birth to him. He likes you."

Grace didn't reply. She knew Marquez liked her. She liked him, too, but she didn't love him.

"Maybe, someday," Barbara said nebulously. "But for now, you go home and pack. Okay?"

Grace hugged her. "Okay."

11.

GRACE PACKED enough clothes for a week. She'd phoned her elderly cousin the very afternoon that Garon had upset her. He'd welcomed her visit with open arms. Grace had to admit that it would be a relief to get away from her vicious neighbor for a while. She couldn't bear to even look at his house as she pa.s.sed it on her way out of town. Her heart was shattered by his behavior. He'd given her every reason to hope that he cared for her as she cared for him. He knew she was an innocent, but he'd seduced her just the same, and then made it sound as if they'd only had a couple of casual dates. Obviously s.e.x meant nothing at all to him. But it had meant everything to Grace.

She turned onto the Victoria road. Her car ran very well, thanks to Garon's mechanic. She could consider it one of the very few perks of their tragic relationship. She hoped she could freeze her heart while she was away. She never wanted another man to touch her emotions as Garon had. She should have known better than to trust a man.

GARON SAW GRACE'S CAR pull out of her driveway and continue down the road, from his front porch. He was still smarting from Barbara's defense of her employee. How the h.e.l.l could he have known that Grace worked in the restaurant? She'd never really discussed her work with him. Jaqui had been incensed over the eviction. Hick towns and stupid people with little narrow minds, she'd raged. You look at someone and they expect wedding bells. She was good for ten minutes of invectives, all the way home.

n.o.body seemed to realize that Grace had been stalking him. He was the victim, not their sheltered little town pet. But he did feel badly when he remembered Grace backing away from him, trembling, as he raged coldly at her in the cafe. It wasn't like him to hurt women. He couldn't remember ever treating one as he'd treated Grace. It had seemed warranted at the time. But now...

He'd sent one of the hands into Jacobsville to the feed store to get supplies, only to be told that they weren't carrying his brand anymore. They suggested he get his feed and ranch supplies in San Antonio. It didn't end there, either. When he contacted the Ballengers about feeding out some of his stock, they were full up. They recommended a feedlot in another county. He sent a man with some business doc.u.ments to be notarized, and n.o.body in attorney Blake Kemp's office would even look at them.

"Will you tell me why in h.e.l.l I'm suddenly poison to everybody in town?" Garon asked Miss Turner with acid tones.

She gave him an unsympathetic stare. "You really don't know, do you?"

"Apparently Grace has a fan club, and it's labeled me Enemy Number One because I don't want to rush her to the altar," he said with cold sarcasm.

Her eyes narrowed. "You aren't from around here, so you couldn't possibly know what Grace's life was like when she was a child. We all watched her grow up. Grace was always the single girl at any party. She never went to dances. She sat out the prom. At graduation, she was all alone. Her grandmother couldn't be bothered to go see her graduate, and her cousin in Victoria was in the hospital at the time. Grace never had a single date, not even a dutch treat one," she added, while he scowled as if this was unthinkable. "And here she is, holding hands with a bachelor who seems to really care about her. Of course people noticed. They knew about her past, and they were happy for her."

"I know that she had a bad experience with a man when she was a child," he said impatiently. "She told me."

She hesitated. "A bad experience?"

"Yes. Inappropriate touching, I believe? I'm investigating a case of child rape and murder," he added indignantly. "Hardly the same sort of thing. I can understand how the incident would affect Grace, but she got off easy compared to the child who was butchered and then thrown away like a used shoe."

She looked at him as if he were demented, but she didn't reply for several seconds. "I suppose you had to live here to understand. Don't worry. n.o.body will pair you off with Grace ever again." She turned back toward the kitchen, her back as rigid as a ruler.

HIS NEXT SHOCK was when he met with the task force. Marquez sat several chairs away from him and didn't greet him or even look in his direction while they went over their files and threw out suggestions for furthering the murder investigation. Marquez suggested they go public and set up a tip line, asking the public's help. That sounded like a good idea, and it was approved.

When the meeting was over, Marquez started out the door without a word to Garon.

Garon followed him to the parking lot. "Have you got a problem?" he asked.

Marquez turned. His eyes were black as lightning, cold as ice. "No," he replied. "I have other investigations pending, in addition to this one. I'll be in touch if I can add anything to the body of evidence."

Garon's eyes narrowed. Of course, Marquez was Barbara's adopted son. He liked Grace. He must have heard about what happened.

"You don't understand," he began.

Marquez walked right up to him. They were almost equal in height, but Marquez was a good eight years younger and less controlled. "After everything Grace has been through in her life, she didn't deserve being persecuted by you," he said flatly.

"She was stalking me," Garon returned hotly.

"Like h.e.l.l she was," he fired back angrily. "Grace is the least intrusive person I know. She's the exact opposite of that city streetwalker you go around with now," he added, meaning Jaqui. "Grace has had to leave town, did you know that?"

"What?"

"She was so upset that Mama had to drive her home Monday," he continued in the same controlled tone. "Shaking all over, sick as a dog. You didn't have to make your contempt for her public. You could have told her in private without making her the subject of gossip all over again!"

He scowled. "She turned up everywhere I went, after I told her flatly that I didn't want to take her out again."

Marquez just glared. "In a town of two thousand people, it isn't that easy to avoid a neighbor," he said. "Although I think you'll find that most people will avoid you in the future. And that goes double for me."

"You're in love with her," Garon accused, thinking out loud.

Marquez actually flushed. "Half my life," he agreed, nodding. "I'd marry her in a minute if she'd have me. She's sweet and thoughtful and kind. She has a sort of empathy that makes total strangers cry on her shoulder. She's always the first one to offer comfort when someone dies, to bring food, to share what little she has..." He stopped, his lips compressing. "Why the h.e.l.l am I telling you anything? Lucky Grace, to be run out of your life before it was too late. Nothing she's ever done was bad enough to deserve you!"

He turned and stalked off to his car without another word.

GRACE LIKED HER COUSIN very much. She kept him company and stayed busy baking sweets for him in the kitchen while his housekeeper enjoyed the holiday from the stove. Grace planted flowers for him, read to him and spent lazy days enjoying the diversion from her troubles.

What she knew about the child murders dwelled on her mind. She hadn't been able to tell Garon what she thought about the similarity of the victims. But she needed to tell somebody in law enforcement. This was information that might save a life. So she phoned Marquez.

He showed up one evening in jeans and a sweatshirt, taut and somber, but pleasant just the same.

"Let's sit on the porch and talk," she invited, after they'd had sandwiches and coffee, and her cousin had excused himself to go to bed.

They sat together in the old swing, listening to the sound of crickets and dogs barking in the distance. It was a cool night, but comfortable, and the stars were out in a glorious display.

"I love spring nights," she mused. "It's so peaceful here."

"I'm sorry you can't enjoy it at home," he returned.

She glanced at him, feeling his indignation. "Barbara told you."

"Yes," he said. "I wanted to deck him."

"I felt the same, but it wouldn't accomplish anything," she said with resignation. "He's one of those people who doesn't need anybody. I should have realized it, and not gone gooey over him."

"Don't beat yourself up," he said. "He's not the person I thought he was, either."

She fingered the cold chain that supported the swing. "I suppose it did look as if I were following him around. I couldn't make him understand that those were normal activities for me."

"It's water under the bridge. Why did you want me to come up?" He grinned. "Have you finally discovered a raging pa.s.sion for me, and you want to give me a diamond ring?"

She gaped at him and then burst out laughing. "You idiot!"

"It was worth a try. Come on, come on, I've got a drug dealer on a back burner and I need to take him off pretty soon. I can't stay long."

She smiled, remembering him as a sort of juvenile delinquent who was always in trouble at school. Nothing serious, usually, but he couldn't manage to be placid.

She sobered then. "It's about the child who was killed."

He was still. "Yes?"

"I remembered something," she said. "I meant to tell Garon, but he thought I went to his house because he hadn't called me."

"So I heard."

She drew in a breath of cool air. "All the children had long blond hair," she said.

He frowned. "Well...yes, they did!"

"And light eyes."

He nodded.

"And red...ribbons."

He was suddenly very quiet.

She stared down at her hands in her lap. "Rick, you were away when it happened," she said. "But someone, Barbara maybe, must have told you something about it."

"Very little," he replied. "Except that you were traumatized by a s.e.xual predator." He hesitated. "I didn't feel comfortable asking you about it."

She looked up at him and smiled gently. "Thanks."

He shrugged. "I'm a private person myself. I understand."

She curled her fingers around the swing chain. "Only a few people ever knew the truth. There was a cover-up," she said. "My grandmother was beside herself. Mama had heard about it from Granny, and that very night, she committed suicide."

"Your mother?" he exclaimed. "But why?"

"Who knows? Granny said Mama felt responsible, because she'd thrown me out of her life and left me at the mercy of a bitter old woman who drank alcohol to excess almost every night."

"I didn't realize that old Mrs. Collier ever had a sip of anything alcoholic," he admitted, surprised.

"She sobered up when she had to come and see me in the hospital. I was...I was a mess," she bit off. She shifted in the swing. "If you saw the body of the latest murdered child, maybe you can imagine what I looked like."

"Dear G.o.d!" he burst out.

"I was lucky," she continued. It felt good to talk about it, after so many years of stoic silence. "He panicked. He couldn't quite figure out how to strangle me to death. He was clumsy with the red ribbon, and then the police sirens started wailing. He stabbed me with just a pocketknife, over and over again. I was in terrible pain, but even at the age of twelve, I knew that if I didn't play dead, I'd be dead. I held my breath and prayed and prayed. And he ran. Someone had tipped off the police when they saw him carrying me across a field in the moonlight. I never knew who, but it saved my life." She looked at him, aware of his tense, smoldering anger. "Apparently it isn't that easy to choke someone to death, even a child."

"No, it isn't," he confirmed tautly. "It takes several minutes of concentrated pressure. A noose with a stick twisting it is easier than using your hands, but it still takes more than a minute or two to kill a person."

"I remember his hands most of all," she said uncomfortably. "They were bony and pale, weak-looking. I got a glimpse of them, under my blindfold. I think one had deep cuts on it. They were nothing like my grandpa's, who was a deputy sheriff and worked with horses. He had lean, strong, tanned hands. Good hands."

"They took you to a doctor," he prompted, because she'd gone silent.

She drew in a steadying breath. "Dr. Coltrain had just gotten his license. I was one of his first patients," she added with a smile. "I learned some new bad words listening to him when he examined me. He was eloquent."

"He still is," Marquez said.

"Anyway, it took some minor surgery and a lot of st.i.tches. I lost an ovary and my spleen and even my appendix," she added. "They said it would take a miracle for me to ever have a child. As if I'd want to get married and give a man power over me, after that," she said sadly, and tried not to remember how comforting Garon's strong arms had been in the darkness. He'd walked away from her so quickly when he knew she couldn't have a child. It was just as well, though, that she was barren, after the way he'd treated her.

"A reporter heard something on his police scanner. Not enough to tell him the truth, but enough to make him curious. He came over here snooping around. My grandmother called Chet Blake. Chet told him I was attacked by a crazed man and that I had amnesia, that I couldn't remember anything about it. That seemed to satisfy the reporter, because he left and n.o.body saw him again. But after he left, Granny was afraid the man who abducted me might come back and finish the job if the true story got out. Even though I was blindfolded the whole time, he might think I could still identify him. So our police chief, Chet Blake, hid the file, and talked to the local media. He said I had been slightly injured by a mental patient, that I had amnesia and couldn't even remember how I got hurt. Everybody around me swore it was the truth. The paper ran a story saying a juvenile had been injured by an escaped mental patient and I couldn't remember anything that happened. The mental patient, they said, was taken back to the inst.i.tution he came from, and I was fine. It was too small a story to make the big city papers, so that was the end of it. If the man was checking about what I told the police, and he read our local paper, he'd have felt safe." She glanced at him. "I was so afraid that he'd do it again, to some other little child. And he is, isn't he, Rick? He's still out there, but now he's killing children. I didn't want to be protected at the cost of someone else's life, but n.o.body would listen to me. I was just a kid myself. I've had to live with that ever since."

"d.a.m.n!"

She sighed heavily. The memories were stifling, frightening. Her hands gripped each other. "I feel guilty because I didn't come forward and tell the truth."

"You were a child, Grace. You had no say in what was done."

"But I'm not a child now," she said earnestly. "I couldn't pick him out of a lineup, Rick, but I'd remember his voice. At least you could look at the file and see what evidence they saved. I know they had swabs, and they took my underclothes," she choked, swallowing hard. She didn't want to remember the rest. "There might be something else that would help with the investigation."

"Yes, but, Grace, if Chet hid the file, how will we find it?"