Nor was there any way to trace the white pickup truck. They didn't have a tag number, and they couldn't find any information on a man named Sheldon. The day had started out full of promise. Now, like so many investigations, the trail went cold. The child's parents phoned Marquez and asked if he had any leads. He had to tell them he didn't. But he wasn't giving up, and neither was Garon. Somehow, they were going to nail the killer, whatever it took.

BUT WEEKS WENT BY, and then months. There were no more child murders. Searches were launched for Rich and Sheldon, but no trace of either man could be found. There was no driver's license, no fingerprints, nothing that will help them to locate either man. Garon recalled the man bragging about belonging to Mensa, but the organization had no information about a man named Sheldon.

"Have you found anything that might help you locate the computer expert?" Grace asked one night at the supper table. She and Garon were having second cups of coffee. Miss Turner had already cleared the table and gone to bed.

Garon shook his head. He glanced at her on the other side of the table. She was tired a lot these days, five months into her pregnancy, and her color wasn't good. She spent a lot of time in bed. Garon worried about it. He'd phoned Coltrain, who'd come out to see Grace. He p.r.o.nounced it as normal for a woman in that stage of pregnancy. But he and Grace talked behind a closed door for a long time before he left. Garon asked what they'd found to discuss. She said she was worried about labor, and she'd been asking Coltrain about it.

She did look bad. She wasn't gaining a lot of weight. She took her prenatal vitamins, but they didn't seem to help a lot.

"I wish you'd stop worrying," she muttered early one Monday morning as they ate an early breakfast. "I'm doing fine."

She wasn't. He did what he could to tempt her appet.i.te, but all she seemed to eat were strawberry milkshakes and dry toast. She wasn't getting nearly enough protein. He hoped the prenatal vitamins were doing some good. He'd gone so far as to have gourmet meals flown in, so that she had exotic meals to eat. But she picked at her food.

"Grace, if you don't eat properly, you could hurt the baby," he said in desperation.

She felt part of herself die every time he said things like that. He had an absolute pa.s.sion for their forthcoming child. He read books on childbirth and child rearing. He watched programs on the health channels about delivery. He went with her to Lamaze natural childbirth cla.s.ses, and walked around the yard with her, so that she got a little exercise. He was forever watching her, making sure she took care of herself. But all of it, everything, was for the baby. She had no illusions about his feelings for her. They had separate bedrooms, separate lives. He went to work and stayed there late at night. He said he was working on the child murder case. She wondered if he wasn't really working on Jaqui Jones.

Jaqui had phoned her, unbeknownst to Garon, to remind her that as soon as the baby came, Grace was only going to be a footnote in Garon's life. Jaqui insinuated that Garon was sneaking around to see her. He wouldn't risk upsetting Grace, of course, the woman purred. But a virile, masculine man like Garon wasn't going to be happy trying to sleep with a whale in maternity clothing.

Grace put the receiver down and stopped answering the phone. She didn't tell Garon about the phone calls. She knew he wouldn't care, unless Jaqui's hara.s.sment was endangering the baby, of course.

Garon saw the lack of animation in Grace's manner, and it made him feel guilty. Was she reliving the pain he'd caused her? Was that why she winced when she looked at him? He'd been careful not to make any sort of physical demands on her during her pregnancy. She didn't feel well most of the time. Even her efforts with her rosebushes were less than perfect. In the end, she'd asked Garon to have one of the cowboys see to fertilizing and spraying them. She did as little physical work as she could manage. Spring turned to summer, and summer to fall. Garon had cases that took him out of state, and once, out of the country. The task force met infrequently, because funding was being channeled to other areas, and the killer continued to elude discovery. One thing Grace did notice was that Garon had someone watching her all the time, just in case. He hadn't stopped worrying that the killer might come back to finish the job. She saw little of Garon otherwise.

He'd long since eased her into the guest room and kept her there, explaining that she needed her rest and he'd be coming in at all hours while working. It wasn't the truth, but he didn't think she really wanted the truth. He'd seen her face when he told her and Coltrain about Annalee and the child he'd lost along with her. He hadn't wanted to love anyone since then. Grace knew it, without being told. The light had gone out of her eyes forever during that quiet, somber explanation. It hadn't come back.

She was still working her two jobs. In the evenings, she locked herself into the sewing room she and Miss Turner had made of a third guest room. She was working on a project, she told Garon, something to do with Christmas. He didn't ask what or why. She was ent.i.tled to her secrets.

But her lack of spirit was worrying. He was concerned enough to go and talk to Barbara, who knew her possibly better than anyone else in Jacobsville.

"She won't talk to me," Garon told the cafe's owner. "She changes the subject or leaves the room, or finds an urgent errand to run." he looked at his hands clasped between his long legs as he sat at a table just before the cafe was supposed to open for lunch. "I know something's upsetting her. I can't find out what."

Men, Barbara thought, were the stupidest people on earth. Grace was in love with her husband and certain that he wanted nothing more than the child she was carrying. He'd told her they'd only be married until the baby came. He'd probably forgotten saying that, but Grace hadn't. She was just marking time, feeling like an insignificant incubator in his house.

"It might not be a bad idea to get her out of the house," she said finally. "Except to work for Judy or me, she never goes anywhere."

His chiseled lips made a thin line. "She goes to church with you and Marquez," he said.

Barbara had to restrain a smile. He sounded angry. He thought of Marquez as a rival. Certainly, Grace laughed and was natural with Rick. With Garon, she was subdued and hardly spoke. The difference must have been noticeable.

"You don't go," she replied. "Grace takes her Sunday mornings seriously."

He traced a flat, clean fingernail with a fingertip. "I don't talk to G.o.d anymore."

"Is there a reason?"

He looked up. Didn't they say confession was good for the soul? Barbara didn't like him, or trust him. Maybe he kept too many secrets. "I was married," he said, noting her surprise. "Very much in love and looking forward to a lifetime with my wife and our children. When she was about as far along as Grace is now, they diagnosed her with a fatal cancer. I lost them both."

The tragedy of it was in his taut features, his hard eyes. Barbara softened toward him. She knew loss. Her husband had died ten years earlier in an airplane crash. She'd never thought of remarrying. She still grieved. It was obvious that the taciturn FBI man did, too. His heart was buried with the family he lost. Grace must know that. It would explain her lack of spirit.

"My husband died," she told him quietly. "In an accident. I miscarried the only child we were able to conceive. I lived in the past and hated life. And then Rick came along, and all of a sudden, my life had meaning again." She met his searching eyes. "I stopped thinking of myself and started looking around me to see who needed help."

A corner of his mouth tugged up. "Is this a story with a moral?"

"You've lived in an open grave since you lost your wife and child," she said simply. "Don't you think it's time you lived in the present? You have another wife, and a child on the way. It isn't fair to them to make them second best after ghosts."

There was an odd flicker in his dark eyes. "That's harsh."

"That's truth," she countered. "Grace may not be a powerful, independent career woman like your friend Jaqui, but she has skills of her own."

"She can cook and sew," he said heavily. "Once upon a time, those were desired skills for women. It's a new world."

"Obviously Jaqui is the sort of woman you admire," Barbara said, her eyes growing cold. "Once the baby's born, you can get a quiet divorce and saddle up with your ideal woman. With any luck, Grace will realize that Rick is far more her style than you are. Excuse me. I have to get ready to open."

She got up and left without another word.

Garon went back home, feeling empty. There was a distance between himself and Grace that was getting harder to close. He'd had to spend a lot of time away during the summer, working on cases. When he was home, he'd had to catch up on work both at the office and on the ranch. His father and brothers had come by the house once to see Garon's new bride, but they hadn't stayed long. Grace had been shy and withdrawn, and Garon's father had remarked that it seemed an odd match. Garon hadn't answered. It was an odd match. But he got used to the smell of fresh baking bread in the kitchen, and Grace's soft laughter when he made jokes about her rosebushes. He'd gotten used to the faint smell of roses that clung to her soft skin and the sound of her footsteps m.u.f.fled by carpet. The only bad thing was his unending desire for her, which he'd been reining in with difficulty. He wanted her all the time, but she was so fragile in pregnancy. She had sick spells constantly and it was difficult for her to breathe properly. She could walk only a short distance without getting winded. So he teased her gently and held hands with her when they walked. And worried. He tried not to put any pressure on her at all, so that she wouldn't be stressed and risk losing the baby. He was looking forward to the birth of his child. Just the thought of it lifted his heart, made him live again. But Grace wasn't reacting as he'd expected. He knew she loved children. But she wasn't the woman she had been.

He could see for himself that Grace was sinking deeper into depression with every pa.s.sing day. That wouldn't do. He had to shake her back to life.

"Why don't you come up to the office with me?" he asked, keeping his eyes on his coffee cup. "We could have lunch and you might like to shop while I finish up some paperwork."

She hesitated. It was an olive branch. Maybe it was pity. But the thought of sharing several hours with her s.e.xy husband made her feel warm inside.

"I'd like that," she said. But she didn't look at him.

"Why don't you wear one of the new maternity outfits?" he asked.

"I suppose I could."

"I'll wait while you change."

"Okay." She finished her decaf and went down the long hall to her bedroom. She pulled out one of the three mix and match outfits she and Miss Turner had purchased. He'd given her a credit card and had Miss Turner take her to San Antonio for shopping. She'd been afraid to spend much, frugality having been drummed into her by her late grandmother. Miss Turner had coaxed her toward sportswear, but she wouldn't even look at that section. She wasn't going to be accused of going on spending sprees with his money. If she'd had enough of her own, it would have been a different story. Her income from her two jobs was being used mostly on her project. But it was now complete and in the hands of the purchaser. It would be a big surprise for Garon when he knew about it. Meanwhile, she wasn't wasting her hard-earned money on trifles like fancy pregnant sportswear. Not when a muumuu was so cheap and cool as hot weather descended on Texas.

She put on a rose pink top and skirt, and slipped into white loafers to wear with them. She brushed her long blond hair until it fell in soft waves around her shoulders. Her heart-shaped face looked pale in the mirror. He didn't know what she was hiding. She didn't want him to know, because it would worry him. His wife had been five months pregnant when she was diagnosed with cancer. Her pregnancy must have reminded Garon of what he'd lost.

She walked back into the dining room, carrying her small purse. "I'm ready when you are," she said.

He got up and looked at her openly, smiling at the pretty picture she made in the outfit. "Not bad, Mrs. Grier," he murmured.

Her heart skipped. It was the first time he'd called her that. He didn't usually comment on her looks, either.

"Thanks," she said shyly, avoiding his eyes. Maybe he thought flattery would lift her mood and make her eat properly. He really wanted the child.

"Come on, then."

He opened the car door for her and helped her inside. It was a hot day, without a cloud in the sky. She wondered how his colleagues would react to her presence in his office. She felt uncomfortable at the thought of meeting them. Most men still made her uneasy.

THEY WALKED into the office together, but Garon was immediately hailed by one of the other agents, and pulled away into an office for an urgent meeting.

A good-looking woman paused and stared at Grace. "May I help you?" she asked.

"Uh, no, no, thanks," Grace faltered, embarra.s.sed. "I'm just waiting for my husband."

"Is he the witness Agent Carlson is trying to interview in there?" she asked, indicating a cubicle nearby.

Before she could answer, a spate of impatient Arabic wafted from the cubicle, having a strange, foreign, almost musical tone in the quiet office.

"Oh, h.e.l.l, why couldn't you get someone to come in with you and translate?" the agent asked irritably. "Joceline!" he yelled.

"Yes?" the woman replied.

A tall, blond man stuck his head out beyond the freestanding wall. "This guy doesn't speak English. Is Jon Blackhawk out there?"

"Sorry. He had to be in court this morning to testify on that murder last year."

"Well, what am I supposed to do now?" the agent grumbled. "This guy witnessed a murder. If he leaves, I may not be able to get him back!"

The man in the cubicle, clearly middle eastern, appeared in the doorway, lifted both hands and expressed his dismay that n.o.body in the FBI could understand him.

Grace moved toward him with a soft smile. "It's only because the agent who usually translates is in court," she said in perfect Arabic.

The foreign man smiled from ear to ear and greeted her warmly. She replied politely, and with a smile.

Joceline and the agent both gaped at her.

"You can speak Arabic?" the agent exclaimed.

"Yes. What do you want to know?" she asked.

"Come right in," the agent invited, smiling.

TWENTY MINUTES LATER, Garon came back out and started looking around for Grace. He scowled. He hadn't told her to stay in the office, but he hadn't expected her to go walking around town in this heat in her condition. He had been worried that she'd feel totally out of place in his upscale office.

He stopped by Joceline's desk. "Have you seen my wife?"

Joceline's eyes widened. "You're married? You never said you were married."

"n.o.body needed to know," he returned in an icy tone. "It's a complicated story, and I'm not volunteering it."

"The maternity outfit volunteered it already," Joceline mused. "If that pregnant lady is your wife, she's right over there."

Grace had a group of agents cl.u.s.tered around her; all were talking and laughing.

"Is she yours?" one of the agents, Blackhawk, asked Garon.

"Mine?" he shifted. "Yes. This is my wife, Grace," he said belatedly.

"Jon Blackhawk," the newcomer introduced himself, taking Grace's small hand in his. "A pleasure."

"Same here," Agent Carlson agreed.

She smiled. "I'm glad to meet you both."

Garon caught her hand in his. "We have to go or we'll miss lunch."

"Bring her back again sometime," Carlson called to Garon.

Garon didn't answer. He tugged Grace gently out the door and put her in the car.

He turned to her before he started the car engine. "Well, it looks like you had a good time."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Yes, you can sometimes take me out in public. I can talk and walk," she replied. "Mostly you talk about your job, eat supper, watch the news, shut yourself up in your office and then go to bed. I don't suppose we've had more than an hour's conversation all told since we married."

She was right. He'd deliberately avoided being alone with her. It was all he could manage not to sweep her up, toss her into the nearest bed, and ravish her. But that was taboo right now.

"I've been busy," he acknowledged.

"Anyway," she added, fastening her seat belt, "I guess getting to know me better doesn't really concern you. Once the baby's born, I'm going home."

There was a profound silence in the car.

She glanced at him, curious about his strained expression. "That's what we agreed, when we got married. You said we'd go our separate ways once the baby came."

He had said that. He wished he hadn't.

"You're working part-time at menial labor jobs. I thought you wouldn't be able to handle a more sophisticated level," he pointed out curtly.

"I'm doing what I like," she corrected. She stared at him quietly. "I can't handle a high-pressure, high-paying, overstressful career. That doesn't mean I have to stick my mind in a box. Although apparently that's what you thought I was doing, so much so that you thought I couldn't even get along in an office environment for half an hour without you."

"I never said you were stupid."

"You wouldn't dare," she pointed out with a smirk. "You'd never get another apple cake."

One corner of his mouth pulled up and he chuckled.

"Careful, laughter can be habit-forming," she cautioned.

He sighed deeply, watching her. "You really do look pretty, pregnant, Grace," he said abruptly.

That was below the belt. He was flattering her. He didn't love her, but he did appear fond of her. He just couldn't bear her company when they were home together.

But she didn't mind so much. She would have the baby, when he left. Her fingers touched the swell lightly. Or he would have the baby, if Coltrain's worried predictions came true. At least she could live with Garon, be near him, for as long as it lasted. She knew that she'd never love anyone else. She just had to hide her feelings. It wouldn't do to give him a guilt complex. It wasn't his fault that he still loved his late wife. Some people just couldn't love twice.

TIME Pa.s.sED, and Garon realized with a start that Grace was now almost eight months pregnant. He'd spent a large part of those months working on the task force, but the killer had left no trail that could be followed. They'd questioned witnesses over and over again, hoping for a single clue to break the case. But they never came close. They checked out every white pickup truck in Texas eventually. None of them belonged to a man named Sheldon. It was a dead end. More and more, the investigators gained sympathy for those poor law enforcement people in Washington state who'd spent twenty years trying to catch their serial killer. Garon and the task force had Grace's memories to work with, but they hadn't given them the edge they'd hoped for. Sheldon had to be the key to solving the murders, but lead after lead vanished. They'd spent months tossing out ideas and following them through, with no visible result. There was talk of disbanding the task force. Certainly, it wasn't making progress.

Meanwhile, Garon was irritated that Marquez seemed to be taking an increasing interest in Grace. He managed to be visiting Barbara at least two days a week when Grace was cooking at the cafe. It was the only time she acted naturally, he thought irritably. Grace did nothing to give Garon hope. She was fond of him, but she seemed disinterested in any romantic leanings.

When they met, Marquez was courteous to Grace, but he never said anything that might disturb Garon. The one place he never trespa.s.sed was on the ranch.