IT WAS PURE h.e.l.l, going through the motions at work without having a clue what was going on down in Mexico. She knew Cy's reputation, and Eb's. She suspected that Marquez knew more about the operation than he let slip. She couldn't get him to talk. She tried to call Kilraven and get him to pump Eb for information, but he was off duty and when she called his home, he wasn't there, either. It was frustrating, to say the least.

She could still hear Rodrigo's furious voice, cursing both her and Kilraven. She didn't understand why. She'd thought at first that it might be jealousy, but she was having second thoughts. He'd made it obvious that he wanted no part of her. He'd called her a cripple that day he was talking to Sarina, and she over-heard him. He'd said he was ashamed to have his friends see her. Words had such power, she thought sadly. They wounded the very soul. He'd denied later that he meant what he'd said, but only after he knew about the baby she'd lost. Probably his changed att.i.tude came from guilt. Or pity. He'd said that it was no subst.i.tute for love, and he was right. She didn't want him to pretend affection that he couldn't feel. It was better if he never knew her part in his rescue, if Eb's men were able to get to him in time. Considering that Fuentes's brother blamed him for the drug lord's death, it was a very real possibility that Rodrigo would be killed long before they made ransom demands.

But if they did make demands, she considered, who would they ask to pay it? The answer was so blatant she was amazed that she hadn't thought of it. She phoned Alexander Cobb at the Houston DEA office on her lunch hour and asked him if he'd had a ransom call about Rodrigo.

"Yes," he said, stunned. "How did you know?"

"I can't say," she replied.

"We won't pay it, you know," he added apologetically. "It isn't our policy to give in to blackmail, for any reason. These criminals have kidnapped at least two federal agents in the past few months. They killed one and gave the other back in unspeakable condition."

"Federal agents?" she asked, aghast.

"They have a number of former cops and paramilitary leaders in their ranks," Cobb replied, "including one bunch called the Zetas who were in the military before they changed sides. They have pipelines into every agency that deals with drug trafficking. They try bribes first, and if those don't work, they kill to set examples. Three journalists have died for investigative reporting about the drug networks and the drug lords. One of our informers was found in the middle of a highway, dead, with a note on him saying that all potential infiltrators would be given the same treatment. You can't imagine how much we'd like to get our hands on these guys," he added.

"Yes, I can," she replied. "I really can."

"I suppose you do, since you prosecute drug cases."

"About Rodrigo..."

"I'm sorry," he interrupted. He sighed. "If there was anything I could do, believe me, I'd do it. But agency policy has my hands tied."

She felt hollow inside. Rules were rules. "I understand. Thanks anyway."

There was a pause. "The infiltrator they killed was Rodrigo's cousin," he said.

Cold chills ran down her spine. The man had helped Rodrigo shut down two other drug dealers. If they knew he was an informer, he'd probably told them, under torture, how to get to Rodrigo. But it also meant he wouldn't have any help, and it lessened his chances of survival.

"It just gets worse and worse," she said, thinking aloud.

"Some days, nothing goes right," he murmured. "For what it's worth, we do have people outside the agency negotiating. Fuentes's brother has another brother in custody in Mexico. There's a possibility that he might trade Rodrigo for the brother's release."

A faint hope began to glow inside her. "At last, a little hope," she said.

"A little is all we get. But don't give up on him," he added, and there was a smile in his tone. "A lot of people have underestimated Rodrigo, at great cost."

"I've heard about some of his exploits," she said.

"The tip of the iceberg," he replied. "He's the stuff of legends. There isn't a more dangerous man in government service. He's come back from certain-death a.s.signments half a dozen times. Don't give up on him."

"I won't," she promised. "Not ever. Thanks."

"You're very welcome."

EVERY TIME HER PHONE rang, she jumped, always hoping it was news of Rodrigo. She couldn't concentrate on her work. She only wanted to know that he was alive, somewhere in the world. She could go on with her own life then. She'd long since given up any hope of sharing it with a man.

And then, a few days after the ordeal began, the phone rang and it was Cy Parks.

"Is he alive?" was all she could manage.

"Yes," he replied. "They worked a trade for him-Fuentes's brother."

She could have said it was a bad move, that it doubled the manpower of the surviving drug lords, but she didn't have the heart to. "He's...all right, then?" she persisted.

"Only a few bruises to show for the episode," Cy replied. "And he's mad at everybody for letting one of the Fuentes brothers out of prison. He said it to all of us, and he said it to everybody in the Mexican government that he could get to. All that, in about five languages, too." Cy chuckled. "That man has a wonderful vocabulary when he loses his temper."

"He's back in Houston?"

"Yes," he said. "Colby and Sarina Lane and their daughter picked him up at the airport. To his credit, he did stop cursing in any language except Danish in front of the child."

She had to suppress a laugh. That was like him. "Thanks, Cy," she said quietly. "And please thank the men who went in. I know what they risked. It was grand of them."

"I'll tell them you said so."

"You didn't tell him...?"

"About your part in the rescue? No. I think it was a mistake, for the record, but it's your life."

"I'm in your debt," she said, and meant it.

"We like him, too, Glory," he replied. "Take care."

"You, too."

She sat down on her sofa and stared at the opposite wall while tears of joy flowed silently down her cheeks. He was okay; he didn't die. They didn't cut him up and throw him out on a highway somewhere down in Mexico. She was so grateful that she couldn't even manage a coherent prayer. It was late and she was worn-out from the combination of a drawn-out murder trial and the mental anguish of the past few days. She pulled on an old T-shirt and a pair of sweatpants and went to bed.

The buzzer rang. She thought she was dreaming. She glanced at the clock, blind without her contacts in, and made out fuzzy numbers. It was three in the morning. n.o.body would be ringing her apartment doorbell at that hour. She pulled the pillow over her head and went back to sleep.

She felt something touch her hair. It was more than a touch. It was a caress. She was dreaming. She smiled. She smelled spicy cologne and soap. Rodrigo was always fastidious. He was alive. Funny, how she remembered these things about him so vividly that he seemed to be right in the room with her. She murmured that aloud.

A deep chuckle sounded nearby.

She rolled over toward it, snuggling close to what felt like a strong forearm. It was warm and a little hairy.

"Sleepyhead."

She went still. That didn't sound like a voice in a dream. She rolled onto her back and opened her eyes. He was a little fuzzy, and she couldn't make out details. But that was Rodrigo, sitting on the edge of her bed. He was wearing a suit.

"How...?" she exclaimed.

"How did I get in?" he mused. "You forget what I used to do for a living. I have some stealth skills left."

The bedside lamp was on. He looked tired, but the hard lines in his face had softened. There were some bruises on his jaw and a cut or two. But he was as handsome and sensual as ever. She loved looking at him.

"I pictured you in a gown, like the one you were wearing at the farm, the night I came to you," he murmured huskily.

Her heart jumped. "I rarely wear pretty things," she said.

"You do in court," he said. "I thought you were the most elegant woman I'd ever seen."

Her eyes grew sad. "Someone told you."

An eyebrow arched. "Told me what?"

"That I sent Eb Scott's men after you."

His eyes grew radiant. "You did? Even after what I'd said to you at Jason's party?"

"d.a.m.n," she muttered. She'd given herself away. "Well, if you didn't know that, why are you here?" she demanded.

"You shouldn't have been crying on Kilraven's shoulder after the party," he said in a conversational tone. "He can't keep a secret."

She felt betrayed by her best male friend. "I thought he hated you."

He shrugged. "He probably does, in his way, but I couldn't return the compliment after he threw down on three of Fuentes's best men and sent one of them straight to h.e.l.l at the business end of an automatic pistol."

She sat up, pushing back her disheveled hair. She stared into his dark eyes. "Kilraven went to rescue you?" she exclaimed.

"You can't tell anyone," he replied. "But he works for the government, too. He's handy in hostage situations. He used to work with Garon Grier on one of the FBI's hostage rescue teams."

"So that's why I couldn't get in touch with him."

He nodded. "He likes you," he replied. His dark eyes kindled. "Of course, I was grateful to him for the help. But I did tell him that if he ever touched you again, I'd hang him out to dry."

She was confused. She didn't know how to answer that. "Listen," she said gently, "you're physically fit and intelligent and rich. You can run rings around men ten years your junior. I..." She drew in a breath. "I'm never going to be able to do strenuous things. I'm in bad health. I won't miraculously find a cure. Chances are good that I won't be able to bear a child." Her eyes pleaded with his. "It would be best if you went back to Houston and married Conchita, or someone like her-someone young and strong and healthy."

He looked as if her words had been rocks, and every one had hit a tender spot. "I'll never be able to convince you that I didn't mean those things you heard me say to Sarina, will I?" he asked quietly. "I've been alone for a long time. I've done dangerous work, and enjoyed the risks. I've managed to stay out of deep relationships. Yes, I wanted Sarina and Bernadette, but that wasn't meant to be. I had to get over the pain of losing her. And then I faced the pain of losing you, of being rejected a second time. I ran, not only figuratively, but by denying I could ever feel anything for you." He laughed coldly. "You'll never know how I felt when Coltrain told me you'd lost the baby. I'd humiliated you, tossed you out of my life, attacked you for coming to Houston to see me. The guilt was terrible. You could have died. Losing the child hurt. Losing you was..." He stopped and averted his eyes. "I got drunk. I wrecked a bar. I didn't go that far even when I knew Sarina was going back to Colby Lane with Bernadette. They actually took me off in handcuffs." He chuckled. "The judge said that next time, he'd give me public service and have me work at city beautification with a sign around my neck telling people not to feed me alcohol."

She laughed in spite of herself.

"You look pretty when you smile," he told her. His big, lean hand smoothed her disturbed hair. "I did a stupid thing. I was fuming about Kilraven's place in your life when I left San Antonio. I walked right into a trap that Fuentes's brother had set, and never saw it coming."

"I'm so glad they got you out," she said softly.

"So am I." He touched her mouth with the tips of his fingers. "It's too late for philosophical discussions, but I would like to come for you in the morning and take you for a drive. I want to show you something."

Tomorrow was Sat.u.r.day. She was off. Her heart raced. "I must be dreaming," she said.

He bent and touched his mouth tenderly to hers, slowly at first, and then with a heated, desperate pressure that bent her head back onto the pillow. She clutched at his shoulders, returning the ardent caress, hearing his harsh groan as if from afar.

But he drew back quickly. "No," he said huskily. "Not now. Not like this. I'll come for you about nine. Okay?"

She was surprised, and touched, by his restraint. He seemed determined to show her that this was more than desire on his part. His eyes were saying incredible things. They made her breathless.

"Okay," she managed huskily.

He smiled, got up and moved to the door. "Until tomorrow."

He slipped out as silently as he'd arrived. She lay there, dazed, for several minutes before she turned out the light and went back to sleep.

IN THE MORNING, OF course, she was sure that she'd dreamed the whole thing. The apartment house was wired so that an intruder who tried to bypa.s.s the buzzer would sound alarms.

But at nine o'clock, the buzzer sounded for real.

"Can you come down?" Rodrigo asked in a warm drawl.

"Give me two minutes!" she exclaimed, and rushed to dress.

SHE HAD ON BLACK slacks with a pink sh.e.l.l and sweater under her Berber coat. She wore boots with it. He was waiting in the lobby, in jeans and a sweatshirt, very relaxed and slightly windblown. He looked elegant, just the same.

He took her arm and led her out to his car, tucking her into the front seat.

"Where are we going?" she asked when he started the car and pulled out into traffic.

"It's a secret," he replied. He grinned. He looked more relaxed, and happier, than she'd ever seen him.

There was a cold wind blowing, with a few flakes of snow in it. Christmas was coming very soon. Jacobsville's main street was festooned with gaily lighted garlands that stretched over the streets. There were lights shaped like poinsettias and Christmas trees and wreaths, and Christmas trees in all the shop windows. The square had the biggest tree of all, flanked by lighted reindeer and elves, with a realistic looking Santa Claus in a sleigh.

"I've always loved this place," she commented. "Even with the bad times I had in my childhood."

"Jason told me about those, the night I left," he said quietly. "I wish I'd known, Glory."

She flushed. "It isn't something I talk about much."

"Because you don't want pity. Jason told me that, too. I've made so many mistakes with you, amada," he said softly. "I hope to make up for a few of them today."

"What do you have in mind?" she asked, openly curious.

He smiled. "Wait and see."

He turned onto a side street and went a little way, and then onto another side street. He pulled into a driveway and cut off the engine.

There was a big For Sale sign in the front yard. There were trees and shrubs everywhere, and what looked like flower gardens in the middle of a semicircular driveway. The house itself was Spanish styled, with arches and a big front porch that seemed to go on forever. To the side was a stone patio with an enormous fish pond, complete with waterfall, made so that people could sit on its edge and look down at the brilliant goldfish. There were black wrought-iron gates. The whole yard was fenced. There were pecan trees out back. It was the most beautiful old home place Glory had ever seen.

"The school bus used to come this way," she said suddenly, "to pick up one of the children who lived here. I loved the house. I used to dream about living in it."

"Jason told me," he replied. "It's got an indoor, heated swimming pool. Water exercises would help your hip. There's a modern kitchen, a sunken dining room, a hot tub, walk-in closets and two bathrooms. The garden spot out back is big enough to grow all sorts of vegetables."

Her heart was slamming against her ribs. She turned to him, and looked up into his dark eyes. Her eyes asked the question she couldn't manage.

He took a box out of his pocket and opened it. Inside were a set of wedding rings, a band with diamonds and emeralds and a matching emerald solitaire. "This isn't a set I bought with someone else in mind," he said, still guilty that he'd presented her with such a set at their wedding. "I bought it for you."

She was speechless. Her eyes grew misty with tears as she looked at them.

He put the box in her hands and closed them around it. "The house comes with a government agent who's seen better days," he said gently. "He's still a bit rough around the edges, but he can be domesticated with a little work. The district attorney, Blake Kemp, could use a good a.s.sistant prosecutor. The cases are a little less pressured than the ones you're used to in San Antonio. There are good doctors here, who can watch over you. I could work out of San Antonio instead of Houston, and commute. There's a great bunch of DEA agents there. I'd give up undercover work, of course. I'm too well-known now, and my cousin was killed trying to protect me," he said, his face giving away his sadness about that.

Her head was spinning. She was flawed, but he seemed not to mind. He wanted to marry her again. He wanted to live with her. He was making promises. His eyes were faintly apprehensive, as if he wasn't sure she wanted him.