"With trepidation. I don't want either of them to freak out, so I've downplayed this whole stalker thing a bit, but I'm not leaving them alone much. Hans and his wife Ellie are willing to hang out at the house whenever I need them."

"The Dvoraks? They're ancient."

"You're as bad as the kids. Hans is in his early seventies, not exactly ancient, and Ellie's even younger. They're both sharp as tacks and in good physical shape. Wait a minute-why am I defending them to you?"

"Sorry I asked."

"You should be, and besides Hans and Ellie, I've got Estella coming over to clean a couple of times a week."

"Weather permitting."

"And Ron stopping by for the personal training sessions. For the record, he's twenty-six-young enough for you?"

"I said I was sorry. For G.o.d's sake, Jenna, you're touchy," Rinda said, then smiled. "Okay, I guess you've got a good reason."

Scott, climbing down from the rafters where he'd been adjusting the lights, had obviously been eavesdropping. "You know, I could help with the alarm system," he offered, not meeting Jenna's eyes. He was a gawky kid, with spiky red hair and eyes that seemed a little too round, ostensibly because of the fact that he never had gotten quite comfortable in his contacts. "Just give me a chance, Mama."

"What? Oh!" Jenna's flesh crawled as she recognized the line from her first movie, Innocence Lost. As Katrina, a thirteen-year-old prost.i.tute, she had uttered the very same line when begging her reticent madam of a mother for a chance to earn her own money by giving up her virginity.

"Scott!" Rinda hadn't missed the reference, either. "Enough with the quoting of dialogue, okay? Jenna gets it. You're a fan. Geez."

Scott blinked rapidly and blushed. "Sorry."

"You should be. Cut it out." It wasn't the first time Scott had come up with a line and inserted it into the conversation, but Rinda had never said anything before, and Jenna had let them pa.s.s. But it was strange, and she was glad Rinda put the clamps on her son.

"I, uh, just thought that I could make sure that Jenna's got a security system that has all the new stuff like infrared sensors and motion detectors. State-of-the art equipment." Scott turned to Jenna. "Didn't you say you wanted a new system?"

"Yeah, I'm considering it," she said cautiously, sensing what was to come.

"I could install it for you!" he said with a smile that seemed genuine enough, yet she couldn't shake the sensation that something wasn't right with the kid. "Piece o' cake!"

"I don't know," Jenna hedged.

"Sounds like a good idea to me." Rinda was peering through her computer gla.s.ses, frowning at the screen. "Why not?"

Jenna said, "I think I should probably have a security company install it, one with guards and connections to the police department if, G.o.d forbid, there ever was an intruder and the alarm went off."

"Isn't that what you have now?" Rinda asked.

"Well, kind of. But the system doesn't work, and the company that installed it years ago is now defunct."

"So it's pretty much useless as is. If I were you, I'd have Scott get the old one up and running as best as he can until you get the new one installed. With this weather, that could be weeks. Maybe months." Rinda pressed a key, then swore under her breath as the screen flickered and then died. "Oh, c.r.a.p," she growled, slapping her desk and jostling her coffee cup.

Startled, Oliver scrambled off the desk, scattering mail and disappearing down a stairway to the dressing rooms.

"Perfect," Rinda said as she and Jenna scooped up the letters and envelopes. Rinda said to her son, "While you're so gung ho to fix electronic things, maybe you should look at this stupid computer."

"It needs a new motherboard and a bigger hard drive and about a dozen other things. It would be cheaper to replace it."

"Wonderful." Rinda stacked the mail on the corner of her desk again. "I'm a complete moron when it comes to anything technical."

"Okay, okay," Scott said, lifting his hands in mock surrender. "Let me take a look at it. Move over." He knelt beside his mother's desk, his fingers typing frantically on the keyboard. All the while, his frown increased and his mouth became razor-thin as he studied the screen. "The program's too big," he finally muttered.

"That much I do know," Rinda admitted.

"Maybe I could try something different..." His fingers flew over the keys again, and he stared as if transfixed at the odd a.s.sortment of symbols that scrolled across the screen.

The front doors banged open, then shut with a loud click. The piano music stopped abruptly. A few seconds later, Wes, in jeans and a thick jacket, sauntered into the small room.

"Problems?" he asked, eyeing Scott kneeling before the computer. "Don't tell me-the hard drive."

"That would be it, yes." Rinda folded her arms under her chest. "It's making me crazy."

"Just a second." Scott was still staring at the monitor that was blinking to life. "Okay...it's fixed now. But probably just temporarily. You really need some new equipment."

Wes yanked off his gloves. "Let's see."

Scott's jaw tightened a fraction. "I said, it's running now."

"Yeah, but I'd like a look." Moving in on the younger man, Wes rubbed his hands together, then motioned for Rinda to vacate her chair, which she did, albeit begrudgingly. He sat down, started to type, then swore and started again. "d.a.m.ned fingers are nearly frozen solid." He slid a glance up at Jenna. "I spent the last two hours with the search party looking for Sonja Hatch.e.l.l."

"Any luck?" Rinda asked as she leaned against a post, but from the expression on Wes's face it was obvious the missing woman hadn't turned up.

"Nah. It's nearly impossible in this weather, but the police are still trying."

Rinda rubbed her arms. "I wonder what happened to her?"

Nothing good, Jenna thought, but didn't state the obvious.

"I heard that she and her old man weren't getting along." Scott lifted an indifferent shoulder. "I bet she just took off."

"Why would you say anything like that?" Rinda demanded.

"Because I saw her at the diner sometimes. She was always complaining about the cold weather. Came from somewhere in Southern California and wanted to go back. I bet she had a fight with Lester and thought 'what the h.e.l.l' and just started driving south."

"Leaving her children behind?"

"Some parents do," Scott said, his tone sarcastic just as Blanche Johnson, wearing a hand-knit beret, poked her head into the office. "I'm taking off now. If you need anything, just call," she said, then seemed to take note of the somber faces. "Is something wrong?"

Rinda said, "We were just talking about Sonja Hatch.e.l.l."

Blanche frowned. Deeper lines etched across her forehead. "I keep thinking she'll show up. You know, call from somewhere. Or...something."

"That's what I think," Scott said.

"Sonja would never be so irresponsible." Rinda shook her head. "I know her. Even if she was p.i.s.sed at Lester, she would have called her kids."

"Maybe." Scott wasn't convinced.

"Anyway, her taking off would be the best-case scenario," Rinda whispered and touched her throat. "You know, it's creepy. First that woman they found up at Catwalk Point, and now Sonja missing. It makes you wonder if they're related."

"I'm sure the police are checking it out," Blanche said, then scrounged in her purse for her keys. "I've really got to go." She cast a glance at Jenna as she retrieved an oversized key ring. "I've cancelled my private lessons this week because of the weather, so tell Allie to keep practicing. We'll catch up once the storm pa.s.ses and the roads are clear again." She caught a glimpse of the icy window. "I hope it's soon. I hate this weather."

"Don't we all," Rinda tossed over her shoulder, though she was watching Wes work with the computer.

Jenna promised, "I'll make sure Allie spends some time at the piano."

"She'll hate you for that. Most kids love to play outside in this weather. Sled, build snowmen, ice skate." Blanche was already halfway out of the office. "Piano practice will be low on her priority list, I'm afraid."

"We'll see."

"Mmm. That we will." Blanche's footsteps faded through the old theater.

"Strange old bird," Wes said, as if to himself.

Jenna agreed, but didn't say so. These days everyone seemed to be acting oddly. Maybe it was the weather. Or all in your mind...She wasn't going there. Not today.

"That should do it." Stretching, Wes leaned back so far in the desk chair that his back cracked. "Oh, that's better." Straightening, he added, "The program's working now, it's just slow."

Scott scowled. "Isn't that what I said?"

"Geez, Scott, did you get up on the wrong side of the bed or what?" Wes asked, and made the mistake of rumpling his nephew's hair. "A little heavy-handed with the sculpting gel, kid."

Scott cringed, stumbling backward. "Knock it off!" He blushed as red as his hair and his round eyes took on a sinister gleam. "I'm not a kid."

"Yeah, right. You need to quit using all those women's hair products," Wes needled. "They're sissy stuff."

"Knock it off, Wes," Rinda cut in.

"He doesn't bother me," Scott growled. "Old fart."

"Ouch!" Wes's grin stretched from one side of his face to the other. "Okay, I get it. I embarra.s.sed you. Let's forget what I did, okay?" He offered his hand.

Scott wanted to pout, but thought better of it, though he didn't shake his uncle's outstretched palm. "Fine. No sweat." He shrugged sulkily, then inched toward the door, where he stopped. "So, Jenna," he said uncomfortably, "if you want help with the alarm system, let me know."

Jenna wanted to drop through the floor as Wes turned toward her. "You've still got problems with your security system?"

"Of course she does," Rinda said.

"Then I'll come fix it."

"You don't have to-"

"That's a great idea," Rinda cut in and motioned to her son, who was glaring at his uncle. "Take Scott with you, Wes." When Rinda noticed Jenna about to protest even further, she added, "Look, Jenna, do this for me, okay? So I worry less. Getting the alarm system up and running only makes sense."

Jenna stopped arguing. If a security system would make the place safer for her and the kids, she may as well use it. Hadn't she already decided as much? So what if both Wes and Scott made her nervous? It seemed that everyone did these days. Even the no-nonsense sheriff with his cold, judgmental eyes.

Because of her fame she was used to curious stares, interested looks, furtive glances, and even out-and-out gaping at her. But she'd rarely come across the cool, clinical detachment the cop had shown. He'd been all business to the point of being brusque the first time out of the chute, a little warmer the second, but there was still mistrust between them. Or, as Rinda had suggested, was it something worse than mistrust?

Wasn't it true that she found the lawman attractive?

How ridiculous.

She'd never been drawn to the dark, silent, cautiously brooding type of man, but this one...

She stopped herself short. What the h.e.l.l was she thinking? About Shane Carter? Get real, Jenna! She hurried outside, thoughts of Carter refusing to be dislodged from her brain. Yes, he was handsome. And single. And s.e.xy. But who needed it? He was off limits. And he obviously had no use for her. She remembered some of his advice.

Buy a pit bull...Hire a bodyguard...Yeah, right!

Hiking her collar against the wind, she crossed the snowy parking lot to her Jeep. Carter was just one more example of a burned-out lawman who had already seen too much. And what more could she expect? That he'd kiss her feet because she'd once been a movie star?

She climbed into her Jeep and told herself to take a quick reality check.

"I'll be there Wednesday morning. Early."

"Seven?" Dr. Randall asked, glancing at his watch. It was late, nearly eleven o'clock at night. He'd already turned out most of the lights in his condo and was waiting for the latest news report on the television that was glowing in his den.

"Six, if that works for you."

The psychologist wanted to argue that the appointment at that hour would be too early, but held his tongue. Let the man make his own decisions. That was part of his makeup. A take-control individual who never could quite get it together. Oh, on the outside he appeared calm and determined, a man who knew his own mind. Macho type. But inside...that was a different story.

And an interesting one.

Not for the first time, Randall was tempted to tape the session covertly, to keep records. There was a book in the making here, he was sure of it. Yet he'd promised. And so far, he'd never lied or broken his own personal code of ethics.

He was a man of his word.

But wouldn't the press have a heyday with this one?

Or the law enforcement agencies. Wouldn't they love to uncover what Dr. Emerson Randall knew about his client?

That was the problem with his job, the dichotomy of it. Perceived truth vs. reality. And what was reality, anyway? There were all kinds of philosophical arguments about what was real and what wasn't.

Then there was the ethics angle.

An interesting one.

He felt the chill of winter seeping through the walls of his condominium and smiled. Unlike his client, he enjoyed the cold weather, loved the change and variety of the seasons, even the snow and ice. It was cleansing somehow, and the violence of weather, the power of Mother Nature, or the strength of G.o.d, whatever you wanted to call it, made man more humble, more aware of his place on this rapidly spinning planet.

The winter cold was good.

His hand was still gripping the receiver and he forced himself to let it go. Thoughtfully, he rubbed the beard covering his chin as the grandfather clock in the hallway struck the hour.

His responsibility was to his client.

But as he stood on the thick carpet, he speculated that if his patient ended up dead-and considering the circ.u.mstances, his death could happen at any time-then what would it hurt to write that book?

He pulled out a small recorder, pressed the red b.u.t.ton, and as the tape began to turn, began speaking. A few notes, that's all he'd keep on this case, just to refresh his memory. Then he'd lock up the tiny ca.s.sette in his safe. He wouldn't use the information for his own gain.