Grady narrowed his gaze. "I'm asking now."

Flynn sliced a quick look toward the other end of the room. It wasn't a goodsign. "Riaasked me to look into a case one of the other homicide guys isworking on," he said in a low voice. "She thinks maybe the coroner made amistake."

"What kind of case?"

"Crib death. Six-month-old girl. The mom comes to a support group at theCenter. SinceRia is-or was-leaving on vacation tomorrow morning, she asked meto drop by tonight."

Another question answered, Grady thought. It was annoying as h.e.l.l to realize he'd been jealous of his own brother.

"She's the suspect, the mom?"

Flynn shook his head. "The dad. Seems the guy is ex-Army and something less than a Boy Scout. Truck driver. Apparently he's not crazy about his wife coming to meetings, so the wife sneaks away when he's out of town on arun.Ria's afraid the guy might get violent if he finds out she disobeyed him."

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d," Grady muttered, running hand over the back of his neck.

"I hear you." Flynn grimaced. "Thing is, a guy with that kind of temper mightjust lose it with a crying kid. Maybe shove a pillow in his face."

Grady nodded. "It's happened. Too many d.a.m.n times."

Both men fell silent. Grady thought back to the first time he'd walked into achild's bedroom and stared pure evil in the face. The mother had been no morethan eighteen, an apathetic, undernourished drug addict, as guilty as thestepfather. The guy had been a bruiser, strung out on smack. The little girlhad been crying because she was hungry. The b.a.s.t.a.r.d used his fists.

The memory had his gut knotting, and he sucked in against the spike of hot,angry pain. "First thing tomorrow, you pull the file." The words were outbefore he remembered he was speaking to his brother, not a subordinate."Sorry," he muttered when Flynn lifted a brow. "That was out of line."

"A week from now I'd have to bust you on it, but I figure tonight you'restill in a state of grace, so I'll let it pa.s.s."

Grady was almost too tired to grin, but habit had him making the effort,anyway. "Put out the word, okay? No phone calls or visits until we get thelogistics of this thing sorted out."

"I'll do it, but you'll owe me," Flynn said before letting himself out.

Her son was proving to be a grumpy patient. He'd balked at taking the Tylenoland grumbled about the dorky pajamas his father had picked out. Which hadn'tsurprisedRia all that much, given the fact that Grady slept in the buff, withthe windows wide open winter and summer and an aversion to anything heavierthan a sheet covering him.

Jimmy's bedroom furniture was in storage. The bed he'd loved, thetwindressers she'd refinished, the rocking chair where they'd cuddled during storyhour. Tomorrow she would call the transfer company and have everythingreturned.

It wouldn't take much to convert the den into a room more suited to a six-year-old. New curtains, some bright posters, she decided, as she guidedJimmy to the daybed she'd made up with clean sheets. Whatever he wanted, she'dgive him-and to h.e.l.l with anyone who criticized her for spoiling him.

She felt a surge of happiness so great it nearly swamped her. Finally it wa.s.sinking in. Her baby was really home. Her eyes filled with tears as she smileddown at him. He didn't smile back. In fact, he hadn't smiled once since hisarrival. It would take a little time and patience, she reminded herself.

"I know this seems strange to you, sweetie, but I didn't know you'd be cominghome tonight," she said, drawing back the sheet to let him climb in. Hestudiously avoided her gaze as he scrambled onto the mattress.

Though he was visibly drooping from exhaustion, and he was still too paleforRia's liking, she had to admit his color was better. His fever was hoveringjust above normal.

"You've had a long day, haven't you?" she asked gently as she sat on the edgeof the bed. "And a really lousy night, poor darling. But you'll feel a lotbetter tomorrow."

He moved one shoulder, his gaze fixed on the knees he'd drawn close to hischest. It was about as close to the fetal position as he could get.

She recalled herself as his age, huddling into a strange bed with the memoryof her mother's screams still echoing in her head. Her foster mother hadbrought her chicken soup and sat on the side of the bed while she ate, talkingabout the garden she'd planted that day.

Riaremembered being lulled to sleep by the steady drone of Mother Dee'svoice. Her happiest memories were of that small, sunny house on the outskirtsof Indianapolis. She'd stayed there for two years before Virginia Madison hadcome to claim her again.Ria remembered clinging to Mother Dee's neck,terrified of the pale, skeletally thin woman with intense blue eyes who'd comeswooping into her bedroom to smother her with wet kisses.

Let him come to you, she reminded herself firmly. But the need to touch himwas nearly irresistible. To appease it, she smoothed the sheet, adjusted thepillow, and inhaled the warm scent of soap and warm little boy.

She felt something tear inside her, followed by a flood of emotion sopowerful it took all of the control she possessed to sit quietly instead ofs.n.a.t.c.hing him into her arms. Soon, she promised herself. When he was ready toaccept her love.

Though he was ignoring her, she smiled, knowing he'd hear it in her voice."I'll leave the light on in the hall, just in case you need to use thebathroom in the night."

She waited, but the boy remained stubbornly silent.

"Would you like another gla.s.s of water? Or some juice?" She paused, then gaveup. "Well, good night then, sweetheart. I love you."

He glanced up then, the eyes that were nearly identical to his father'sfilled with misery.

"How long do I have to stay here?" he muttered.

"This is your home, now, sweetheart," she said as gently as she could."Tomorrow we'll start fixing up this room just the way you like it."

His gaze jerked back to his knees, and his mouth took on a mutinousslant.Ria's heart ached. Inside she was dying, but somehow she managed to asklightly, "Guess this isn't a good time for your mommy to ask for a hug, huh?"

He shot her a startled look before sinking down into the mattress and turningover to bury his face in the pillow.

Ria'shand wasn't quite steady as she smoothed his hair. "Night-nightsweetheart."

Telling herself tomorrow would be better, she got up and walked to the doorwhere she paused to look back at the boy in the bed. He was so big. Twice asbig as she remembered.

Her Jimmy, she thought as she turned off the light and stepped into the hall.Blinking away the sudden tears, she closed the door to a crack behind her. Shewould check on him again after Grady left.

It was quiet in the rest of the house, with only the hum of the central airbreaking the stillness. As she walked into the living room, she felt afamiliar tension gripping her muscles. Dozens of questions swirled in herhead, questions only Grady could answer.

She found him in the living room stripping off his wet T-shirt. She didn'tquite suck in. After all, she'd seen this man naked countless times, had lainwith her body against his, skin to skin. When they'd made love, she'd feltthose powerful muscles bunch and flex beneath her. Yet somehow she'd madeherself forget the physical beauty of his body.

He was older now. Broader, yet somehow even more potently male, withslab-hard muscles that she knew would feel warm and unyielding beneath herhands and an impressive symmetry of ma.s.sive shoulders and tapering torso.Vitality seemed to radiate from his pores.

The sun-kissed hair covering his sculpted pectoral muscles seemed almostwhite against the burned-in tan. Her heart gave a lurch as she caught sight ofthe puckered scars that had faded with time, but would never disappear.

"Is your baby all tucked in?" he asked as she approached.

"So far, so good." She shoved her hands into the pockets of her denim skirtand looked around. "Is Flynn gone?"

"Just left." He wadded up his wet shirt, then squatted to shove it into aside pocket of the old duffel bag before rooting around inside the bag itself.Frowning, he went through three sadly wrinkled replacements before he finallysettled on a pale blue polo shirt. He gave it a testing sniff, then offeredher a rueful glance as he straightened to his full height.

"Agent Mendoza was partial to cheap cigars. Whole house reeked of smoke."

She was surprised to find herself smiling. "I a.s.sume he's not married?"

"Engaged. He claims they're negotiating house rules."

"What doesshe say?"

"Pretty much the same thing you told me before you agreed to taking me on.Quit or hit the road."

He pulled the shirt over his head and flipped down the collar before rakinghis hand through his hair, leaving it only less disheveled than before. Evendressed in a perfectly tailored suit with spit-shined shoes and a French silktie, he looked more like a grit-and-grumble cowboy than a b.u.t.toned-up, cufflinks and suspenders stockbroker sort of guy.

She walked to the window to draw the drapes, conscious that he was watchingher. She'd never allowed herself to imagine him in the home she'd made withouthim. But now that he was here, the rooms seemed smaller, somehow andannoyingly ... dull.

"Would you like some coffee before you leave?" she asked, turning.

"I'm not leaving." he said quietly, but with enough steel to tug on her temper. She took a breath, decided she was just too emotionally drained toargue and shrugged.

"Suit yourself. You have a choice of the floor or the divan."

Eyes narrowed suspiciously, he glanced behind him at the narrow, high-backedsofa she'd bought at an estate sale and reupholstered herself. It was moreJimmy's size than his.

"How about we cut for it?" he drawled, indicating the deck of cards Flynn hadleft on the coffee table.

She let her lips curve. "Not a chance."

"I was afraid of that," he muttered, running his hands down hisstubbledcheeks. He smiled at her then, just enough to let her know he wasn't taking itpersonally. His eyes had the drowsy, half-asleep look of a tired little boy,but the obstinate line of his jaw was all man. She felt her protective armorrattle a little.

"I'll get you a blanket and a pillow."

The linen closet was in the hall. On her way there, she stopped to peek intothe guest room. Jimmy was sleeping on his stomach, one impossibly long armdangling over the side of the daybed. His face was turned toward the door, andhe was frowning. His cheeks were tracked with tears.

Her own eyes were suddenly br.i.m.m.i.n.g, and she pressed a fist against her lipsto keep from crying out. She closed the door, then turned away, only to comeup against Grady's hard chest.

"I was so sure he'd remember me," she said, staring at the crescent scarcurling like a dimple in his chin. "It wasn't-all the times I imagined-" Hervoice broke. "Oh, Grady, when I tried to kiss him good-night, he looked at meas though he ... hehated me."

"He's worn out, honey. And it's a good bet his tummy is still pretty riledup. I've been there a time or two myself. It's a pretty miserable feeling, buta good night's sleep works wonders. It'll be better tomorrow." He pulled herinto his arms and rested his cheek on top of her head.

"I know it's silly and selfish, but I want my baby back," she said in a voicethat vibrated with pain. "I want to hold him in my arms and breathe in thesmell of his skin. I want to rock him to sleep at night and listen to thosefunny little snuffling noises he makes when he's dreaming." She took a breath,then closed her eyes and dropped her head to his shoulder. "Half his life,just ... gone." She drew a harsh breath. "Those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds. I hope they rot inh.e.l.l."

"Shh, baby, it's okay." His voice was gruff, as though his vocal cords hadsuddenly turned to sandpaper. His body was warm and solid. The familiar scentof her shampoo contrasted sharply with the lingering smell of cigar smokestill clinging to the cotton shirt. There was another more elemental scent inthe mix. A seductive, primitive hint of a s.e.xually active male. She shouldhave felt uncomfortable. Instead, she felt safe for the first time in months.

Years.

"I sound s-so ungrateful, and I'm not." She lifted her head and looked up athim through the shimmer of tears. "It's just that my emotions keep shifting on me. One minute I'm so happy I can't breathe properly and the next I'mterrified I've lost him forever."

"You haven't lost him, sweetheart. On some level he still knows you. It'snature's way." His big hand sifted through her hair, letting the strands slipthrough his fingers slowly.

"It hurts."

"It's only been a few hours. Give yourself-and Jimmy-some time to sort thingsthrough."

She managed a nod, even a small smile. "I know you think I spoiled him, but Icouldn't help it." Her voice broke, and she swallowed hard.

"You were loving and sweet, and you wanted the bestfor him. That's notspoiling him." Not too much, anyway. And if she pampered him a little toomuch, who could blame her?

Illegitimate and sickly, she'd spent the first eleven years of her life witha seriously unstable mother who'd fed heron junk food and soda pop. By thetimeRia had been rescued by the child welfare services and shuffled intothefoster care system, theearly years of neglect had done permanentdamage.Having Jimmy had nearly killed her. Therecouldn't be any more babies. Ever.

Sensing her pain, he turned to rub his cheek against her shoulder. He wasafraid to move.

"Were ... were they good to him? Those people? TheWilsons ?" She pulled free tolook at him. In all his years on the force, all the agony he'd seen, thedespair and anguish of the victims, he'd never quite been able to seal offhisemotions. A woman's tears were the worst.

Ria'stears flat-out ripped him apart.

"Honey, you're exhausted," he murmured, his voice embarra.s.singly thick. Hehad to clear it twice before it felt safe to continue. "Let's save theQand Auntil tomorrow, okay?"

Alarm lanced into her eyes, and he cursed his tired brain and rough tongue.

"No, I need to know. You have to tell me."

Grady rubbed her back, grateful that the years he'd spent undercover hadtaught him how to hide his feelings. "It's been a long road,Ree ," he saidquietly. "A lot of sleepless nights. Let's not add one more, okay?"

"But-"

"Shh, you'll wake Jimmy."

She shot a fast glance toward the door, then nodded. "I'll get your bedding."

He had to let her go then. But d.a.m.n, at least he'd had a few moments ofsunshine. It wasn't nearly enough.

The sheets smelled funny in this place, and the room was all strange, like,with scary shadows. OnlyStevie wasn't really scared. Only girls and sissies got scared.

Lance got real mad if he acted scared, and he hated it alot when Lance gotmad. His face got all red and his voice got real loud. Sometimes Moira's voicegot loud, too. Real screechy, and it hurt his ears.

Then she called him a "spoiled brat" and threatened to send him back to hisreal parents so they could beat him again. "They" didn't want him, she toldhim. "They" said he was ugly and dumb and paid someone to take him to theriver and drown him. 'CeptLance saved him andbrought him home so he could betheir little boy. Only he mustn't ever tell anyone, else about that becausethen "they" would come and take him back. And beat him and beat him until hewas dead. She and Lance said that lots of times, so he knew it was true.

Stevie didn't really remember much about when he was a baby. Sometimes he'dget blurry pictures in his head, but that scared him a lot so he real quickthought about something else. Now he mostly didn't get those pictures.

Moira and Lance never did mean things like hit himormake him do stuff hehated, like go to school or eat liver, and sometimes Moira even hugged him,mostly when she was c.o.ked up and all-happy.

Steviedidn't know much about golden eggs. He mostly didn't like eggs at allwhich is why Moira let him have pretty much anything he wanted for breakfast.Not that she noticed, anyway, 'cause she always slept in, sometimes pastlunchtime unless she and Lance were making another trip to Mexico.

He liked Mexico a lot. Lance was always happy in Mexico, giving Stevie sipsof his margarita and making jokes about ladies' b.o.o.bies thatStevie pretendedto understand 'cause that made Lance laugh.

Him and Lance were best buds, Lance said, which is whyStevie wasn't supposedto call him "Dad." It madeStevie a little sad sometimes, 'cause it didn'treally seem like Lance wanted to be his father very much. He rememberedoncewhen he used to get nightmares, and he woke up yelling for his daddy. Lancegot all bent out of shape and called him a crybaby and threatened to make himwear diapers.

It was okay, though, because Lance told him lots of things he didn'ttellMoira, like how Moira was a b.i.t.c.h inheat, onlyStevie wasn't exactly sure whatthat meant. He knew it made Lance mad. Stevie was supposed to tell Lance ifstrange guys came to the house when Lance was gone.

Sometimes they did. Moira told him she and Lancewould get divorced if hetold, andStevie didn't want that, did he?Stevie didn't, which is why hepromised not to tell, only it made him a little sick inside to keep secrets,like it was wrong or something. He hated it when guys kept showing up,sometimes when Lance was playing golf and could be home any minute. Moira justlaughed when he said, "What about Lance?" and gave him money to go to thearcade at the beach.Stevie didn't much like the arcade. Real scary dudes hungout there, and sometimes bikers, so he mostly hung out at the lifeguardstation.

Sometimes, when Lance was out of town with those guys who talked funny, Moirastayed out real late. His best friend, Marcus, thought it was real neatSteviegot to stay home all by himself, 'cause he could watch all the videoshe wantedand eat ice cream and junk like that.

OnlyStevie wasn't so sure it was neat at all. The house made funny noiseswhen he was alone, and he kept thinking about what would happen if the house caught fire like the apartment house down the block.

Marcus's mom and dad were real strict, making him clean his room and do hishomework and be in before dark. It was a real b.u.mmer, Marcus said. Nothinglike how cool it was atStevie's house.Stevie's toys were way bad, especiallyhis computer games.