She slanted a look up at him. "Fine, I love you. I didn't face down Brad just to save Kat, though that was reason enough. I took him on so I'd be free to stay here, to see what we're like-"

He rolled her over and fitted himself between her legs. "What kind of dog do you want?"

She wrapped her legs around him and laughed. "That's all you have to say? I tell you I love you and you want to know what kind of dog dog I want?" I want?"

"Well, I've already told you I love you. Isn't once enough?" he asked, teasing her. Then he said, "Stay," and interrupted her laughter. "I want you here. No one else, Carlin. You. Be my wife. Let's have kids to go with those dogs." So much for taking it slow.

"Not wasting any time, are you?"

"I'm tired of wasting time."

Her hands skimmed down his sides. "Boys or girls?"

"Are we talking about the dogs or the kids?"

She laughed, and he liked it. He loved it. "The kids."

"Both, though I don't think we get to actually place an order for gender."

"Married to a cowboy," Carlin said, her voice dreamy. "I must really be a glutton for punishment. Kat warned me about cowboys, but did I listen? Oh, nooooo. I had to fall hard for one."

"I love you," Zeke said. "Cautious, Carly, Carlin...whoever you are today, whoever you're going to be tomorrow, I love you."

She heaved a big, contented sigh. "That's perfectly wonderful. Now...how about a ride?"

"Yes ma'am," he said, and did as commanded.

RECIPES

Mexican Shepherd's Pie 1 pound ground beef 1 onion, minced 1 pack taco seasoning 1 can Mexicorn, undrained 1 can pinto beans 1 pack instant potatoes, or a pack of hash browns with peppers and onions 2 cups shredded cheddar cheese Salt to taste Preheat oven to 350F.

Brown the beef and onion together; drain, add the taco seasoning. Then mix with the corn and pinto beans, heat, and pour into a ca.s.serole dish. Make the instant potatoes, and spread over the top of the beef mixture, making sure entire surface is covered. Make extra potatoes if you have to. Bake for 30 minutes. Remove from oven, spread the shredded cheese over the entire surface, and return to oven for 5 minutes, just until the cheese is melted.

Serve either as a stand-alone dish, or use it as a hearty dip, with tortilla chips.

I made this often for the construction crew when we were building a house. I cooked for them a lot-scones, m.u.f.fins, homemade ice cream, biscuits, and salmon patties, but I think the Mexican shepherd's pie was their favorite. The guys told me that this was the only time they'd GAINED weight on a job. -Linda Howard

Snow Cream Milk Sugar Vanilla flavoring Snow Mix the first three together until you like the way it tastes. (Hint: try a fairly small batch at first, so maybe 1 or 2 cups of milk, then sugar and flavoring to taste.) It takes more sugar than you'd expect. Then fold in the snow until it reaches an un-runny consistency. I don't know if "un-runny" is a word, but it's certainly a description.

Eat.

If you make too much, you can freeze it. The consistency is different after that, but the taste is still there. Are Southerners the only ones who make snow cream? Surely not, though I admit a lot of people make faces at the idea of eating snow. Of course, they're from places where the snow is yellow, or gray, or any other unappetizing color. Here in the South, and out in the rural areas, the snow is as white as...well, you know what it's as white as. And we eat it. -Linda Howard

Biscuits 2 cups White Lily self-rising flour cup Crisco (yep, the solidified kind) teaspoon salt (I add salt because real Southern biscuits have a very faint salty taste) b.u.t.termilk-just enough so the dough forms a ball, but 1 cup is about right. You might have to add another tablespoon or so. I don't even measure it, I just keep stirring until that ball forms and there's no dry flour in the bottom of the bowl.

stick (4 tablespoons) b.u.t.ter, melted Preheat oven to 425F.

Using your hand, squeeze together the flour, Crisco, and salt; it's easier than it sounds, and a lot faster than using a pastry blender or fork. Stir in the b.u.t.termilk until the dough forms a ball in the bowl; I use nonfat b.u.t.termilk, and it works just fine.

Grease a cookie sheet or biscuit pan, but a cookie sheet is about the right size. I use b.u.t.ter-flavored Pam to spray the pan. For that matter, I cover the baking pan with aluminum foil and spray the foil, because I hate washing baking pans! Anything to make cleaning up easier :-).

Dump the dough onto a floured surface, and sift a very light covering of flour over the top of the ball. DO NOT KNEAD THE DOUGH AT ALL. If you do, it'll make the biscuits tough. The tenderness of biscuits depends on the amount of oxygen in the dough, and kneading works the oxygen out. Use a rolling pin, the smallest, lightest one you can find, to very gently roll out the dough until it's about inch thick. Using a medium-sized biscuit cutter, cut out the biscuits and place them on the baking pan so they're touching each other; this forces them to rise since they don't have room to spread out. This should make about 8 biscuits. them to rise since they don't have room to spread out. This should make about 8 biscuits.

Don't roll the leftover pieces together to try to make another biscuit or two. Just take the dough tidbits and arrange them on the baking pan with the biscuits. They're odd sizes and shapes, of course, but you'd be surprised how this will turn out.

Bake in the oven for 8 to 9 minutes. These biscuits won't be brown on top; if you want a brown top crust, turn on the broiler for a minute, but watch them very closely. While the biscuits are baking, melt the half stick of b.u.t.ter, and as soon as you take the biscuits out of the oven brush the melted b.u.t.ter on top of them, including the odd biscuit tidbits. Tip: Even if you're using salted b.u.t.ter, which I recommend, you may want to add a dash of salt to the melted b.u.t.ter anyway. The difference to the finished product is amazing. If you follow this recipe, guaranteed you'll have fat, pretty, incredibly tender biscuits-and kids will love the biscuit tidbits. For that matter, a lot of the adults in my family prefer the tidbits over the actual biscuits. Go figure.

If you have any biscuits left over from the meal, put them in a Ziploc bag. To reheat, wrap them in a damp paper towel and microwave 15 to 30 seconds, depending on how hot you want them. The damp paper towel restores the tenderness.

I've made it my mission to teach as many people as possible to make biscuits, because it's a dying art. The most important things to remember about biscuit-making are: don't mess with the dough, and make sure the biscuits are touching each other in the pan. If you feel an awful urge to knead the dough, then use it to make something else, because the biscuits will be heavy and tough. -Linda Howard

LJ's Corn Bread 3 boxes Jiffy corn m.u.f.fin mix 2 sticks of b.u.t.ter, soft 16 ounces sour cream 16-ounce can creamed corn 16-ounce can whole-kernel corn, drained 4 eggs Preheat oven to 350F.

Mix all the ingredients together, pour into an 11 15-inch pan, and bake for 45 minutes, until good and browned.

This makes a HUGE amount. I'm sure it can be cut down by half, or even a third, but I don't have those measurements. I can't figure out how to come up with or of 4 eggs. Go ahead and make the whole batch, and forget the math. This is as good as any cake. -Linda Jones

Never Fail White Cake 2 cups sugar 3 cups flour cup shortening teaspoon salt 2 teaspoons baking powder 1 cup water 4 egg whites 1 teaspoon baking powder 1 teaspoon vanilla Preheat oven to 375F.

Cream first six ingredients in a large bowl, about 2 minutes with an electric mixer. Beat egg whites until frothy. Add baking powder and beat until stiff. Fold the vanilla and beaten egg whites into flour mixture. Pour into greased and floured pans-two 9-inch pans or three 8-inch pans, depending on whether you want thin layers or thick. Bake for 25 to 30 minutes.

I made this cake when I was seventeen and living at home. My sister broke a plastic fork in it, trying to cut a bite-sized piece. It failed miserably. I never figured out why. This gives a whole new meaning to "write what you know." Proceed at your own risk. -Linda Jones

Tuna Ca.s.serole 2 cups cooked rice 1 to 1 cups vegetables of choice (mixed vegetables, corn, green beans-whatever strikes your fancy), drained 1 can cream of mushroom soup 2 cans tuna, drained cup milk 8 ounces shredded cheese (cheddar, pepper jack, or monterey jack) Salt and pepper to taste Preheat oven to 350F.

Mix together the rice, vegetables, mushroom soup, tuna, milk, half of the cheese, and salt and pepper to taste. Bake for 35 minutes, then sprinkle remaining cheese on top and return to oven until slightly browned.

When Linda H. said I needed to provide a recipe for the tuna ca.s.serole, I was momentarily dumbfounded. A recipe? For tuna ca.s.serole? You put together what's in the cupboard, cover it with cheese, cross your fingers, and bake. We had tuna ca.s.serole so often growing up, our mealtime prayer began "Give us this day our daily tuna." You can use noodles instead of rice, cream of celery soup instead of mushroom, and if you have any other leftover veggies, throw them in. It doesn't ever have to be the same meal twice! -Linda Jones

On Thursday, April 21, 2011, we lost our best friend Beverly Beaver, who wrote as Beverly Barton.

There hasn't been a day since that we haven't thought about her, heard her voice, her laughter, and realized anew that, though we have so many memories, there will never be enough of them.

So this one's for you, Beverly.

Love you, miss you.

Make them all behave, up there in Heaven, and mind their manners.

BY L LINDA H HOWARD A Lady of the West Angel Creek The Touch of Fire Heart of Fire Dream Man After the Night Shades of Twilight Son of the Morning Kill and Tell Now You See Her All the Queen's Men Mr. Perfect Open Season Dying to Please Cry No More Kiss Me While I Sleep To Die For Killing Time Cover of Night Drop Dead Gorgeous Up Close and Dangerous Death Angel Burn Ice Veil of Night Prey Shadow Woman BY L LINDA J JONES Untouchable 22 Nights Bride by Command Prince of Magic Prince of Fire Prince of Swords The Sun Witch The Moon Witch The Star Witch BY L LINDA H HOWARD AND L LINDA J JONES Blood Born

Read on for an exciting preview of Linda Howard's new hardcover SHADOW WOMAN Coming soon from Ballantine Books

Prologue SAN F FRANCISCO, FOUR YEARS EARLIER ELEVEN P.M. THE president and first lady, Eli and Natalie Thorndike, had retired to their hotel suite for the evening. It had been a long day, beginning with the president's cross-country flight, then going straight into a flurry of campaign speeches-supposedly president and first lady, Eli and Natalie Thorndike, had retired to their hotel suite for the evening. It had been a long day, beginning with the president's cross-country flight, then going straight into a flurry of campaign speeches-supposedly not not campaign speeches, but all of them really were-then culminating in a huge fund-raiser dinner where each plate was ten thousand dollars. The first lady had been by his side the entire time, so she had not only logged the same number of hours, she'd done it wearing three-inch heels. campaign speeches, but all of them really were-then culminating in a huge fund-raiser dinner where each plate was ten thousand dollars. The first lady had been by his side the entire time, so she had not only logged the same number of hours, she'd done it wearing three-inch heels.

Laurel Rose, an eleven-year veteran currently a.s.signed to the first lady's detail, was so tired she could barely see straight, but at last her shift was over. She hadn't been wearing heels, but her feet were killing her anyway. She tried her best not to limp as she made her way to the room a.s.signed to her, down the hall but on the same floor as the president's suite so she would be swiftly available if needed. The on-duty agents were in a room directly across from the suite. She didn't envy them the graveyard shift, but at least now, with POTUS and FLOTUS in for the night, they could relax somewhat.

Three entire floors of the hotel had been secured, with the president and first lady in the middle floor. Guests who lived in the hotel had been relocated to other rooms, the stairways and elevators were secured, the hotel staff had been investigated and cleared, the buildings across the street had been secured, all known risks in the area had been contacted to let them know the Secret Service knew about them and was watching, though most of them had been judged incapable of carrying through on their threats. The first couple was as safe as the Service could make them.

That didn't mean nothing could go wrong. It just meant they had made it as difficult as possible for anything to happen. There was always an uneasy feeling deep inside Laurel's gut that reminded her anything could could happen, keeping some small part of herself perpetually on edge. happen, keeping some small part of herself perpetually on edge.

"You're limping," observed her fellow agent, Tyrone Ebert, as he fell in beside her on his way to his own room. So much for hiding how much her feet hurt, she thought wryly. She didn't bother denying it, because he'd just look down at her with one of those see-through-you-like-gla.s.s looks of his. Tyrone had been with the Service for seven years; there was something a bit spooky about him, his dark eyes seeing everything while he himself revealed nothing, but Laurel trusted his razor-sharp instincts. So far he wasn't showing any signs of burnout, something she deeply appreciated, because she herself was hanging on by a thread.

"Yeah, it's been a long day."

Nothing was new about that. The days were all long. Since the Service had been moved from Treasury to Homeland Security, in her opinion things had pretty much gone to s.h.i.t. They hadn't been great, anyway-Secret Service management was an oxymoron; mis mismanagement was more like it. But now the long hours were longer, morale was in the c.r.a.pper, their equipment was s.h.i.t, and on another subject entirely, her mother, who lived in Indianapolis, was getting older and less able to do things for herself. Laurel had put in for a transfer to the Indianapolis area, but in the perversion that pa.s.sed for the norm in managing such things, she had little hope in getting transferred even though there was a position open. That wasn't the way things worked; unless you had some juice and knew someone who could pull strings, you weren't likely to get the transfer. longer, morale was in the c.r.a.pper, their equipment was s.h.i.t, and on another subject entirely, her mother, who lived in Indianapolis, was getting older and less able to do things for herself. Laurel had put in for a transfer to the Indianapolis area, but in the perversion that pa.s.sed for the norm in managing such things, she had little hope in getting transferred even though there was a position open. That wasn't the way things worked; unless you had some juice and knew someone who could pull strings, you weren't likely to get the transfer.

Laurel didn't have the needed juice. She hated office politics, so she'd never played the games, and now she was seeing far too clearly that her career with the Secret Service was nearing an end. That was another big problem with the Secret Service: they couldn't keep good people because of their asinine policies. And, d.a.m.n it, Laurel knew she was a good agent, despite the under-funding, understaffing, outdated weaponry, and increasingly long hours. She just couldn't take it any longer. Well, for not much longer, anyway. She hadn't quite brought herself to the quitting point.

It was such a cool job, in some ways. Not great pay, but cool. She loved what they did, and was able to compartmentalize her emotions so it didn't matter who sat in the Oval Office: the job was what mattered. She didn't have to like the first lady; she just had to protect her. The job would have been easier if the Thorndikes had been more personable, but they weren't; at least they weren't as horrendous as some of the previous presidents she'd heard tales about. Natalie Thorndike wasn't rude, or a lush, or hateful. It was more as if she didn't see the agents protecting her as people; she was proud and cool and remote. Sometimes Laurel wished Mrs. Thorndike was was a lush, which would at least have made for more interesting detail work. a lush, which would at least have made for more interesting detail work.

The president was pretty much the same way, cool and remote, disconnected from everything except politics. On camera, or in campaign mode, he exuded warmth and likability, but he was a superb actor. In private, he was calculating and manipulative-not that Mrs. Thorndike seemed to care. Occasionally they were on the outs with each other; the agents could always tell because the typical coolness would become downright glacial, but other than that there was no outward sign of discord, no loud arguments, no verbal sniping, no slamming doors. For the most part, though, the political power couple marched in lockstep. Their unity had already gotten them to the White House, where they planned on spending another term. With the president's ruthless instincts and the first lady's powerful family behind them, they would be part of the nation's inner political circle for years to come, ama.s.sing wealth and power, even after he was no longer in office. and remote, disconnected from everything except politics. On camera, or in campaign mode, he exuded warmth and likability, but he was a superb actor. In private, he was calculating and manipulative-not that Mrs. Thorndike seemed to care. Occasionally they were on the outs with each other; the agents could always tell because the typical coolness would become downright glacial, but other than that there was no outward sign of discord, no loud arguments, no verbal sniping, no slamming doors. For the most part, though, the political power couple marched in lockstep. Their unity had already gotten them to the White House, where they planned on spending another term. With the president's ruthless instincts and the first lady's powerful family behind them, they would be part of the nation's inner political circle for years to come, ama.s.sing wealth and power, even after he was no longer in office.

On the other hand, the detail charged with protecting the couple's son, thirty-one-year-old Carter Eli Thorndike, had their hands full. The spoiled only child of capitol elite, on his mother's side, and the down-and-dirty politician that was his father, had supposedly never heard the word "no." He drank, he partied, he hired prost.i.tutes, he did drugs-h.e.l.l, he sold sold drugs-he tried his best to ditch his detail, and he whined to his parents every time the Secret Service tried to keep him out of trouble. He'd gotten his way every time, until he roughed up one of his prost.i.tutes and wound up in the back of a squad car, his sneering expression captured by ever-present cellphones. Purportedly it had taken the president's damage-control team a lot of effort and cost a lot of money to make those photos and videos forever disappear, and since then Carter had been b.u.t.toned down tight, his detail practically sitting on him to prevent a recurrence of a potentially explosive scandal that might cost the president a second term. drugs-he tried his best to ditch his detail, and he whined to his parents every time the Secret Service tried to keep him out of trouble. He'd gotten his way every time, until he roughed up one of his prost.i.tutes and wound up in the back of a squad car, his sneering expression captured by ever-present cellphones. Purportedly it had taken the president's damage-control team a lot of effort and cost a lot of money to make those photos and videos forever disappear, and since then Carter had been b.u.t.toned down tight, his detail practically sitting on him to prevent a recurrence of a potentially explosive scandal that might cost the president a second term.

Laurel would take protecting a cold fish like Natalie Thorndike, instead of her son, any day of the week.

"See you in the morning," Tyrone said as they reached his room.

"Good night," she said automatically, a little surprised he'd said as much as he had. He wasn't much on small talk, or on socializing. She actually knew very little about him, other than that he performed his duties impeccably. She'd worked beside him for two years now, since he'd come on the first lady's detail, and-come to think of it-she still didn't even know if he was married or not. He didn't wear a ring, but that wasn't necessarily indicative of anything. If he was was married, or involved with anyone, he never mentioned it. On the other hand, he never hit on her either, or on any of the other female agents. Tyrone was...solitary. married, or involved with anyone, he never mentioned it. On the other hand, he never hit on her either, or on any of the other female agents. Tyrone was...solitary.

As Laurel continued to her room, two down from his and on the opposite side of the hall, she realized for the first time that something about him gave her a little thrill in her stomach. She'd blocked it out because of the job, but now that she'd admitted to herself that she probably wouldn't be here much longer, it was as if she'd given her subconscious permission to bring the attraction to her attention.

She liked him. He wasn't a pretty boy, but he was d.a.m.n striking, in a take-no-prisoners, dangerous kind of way. Tyrone would never blend into a crowd. He was tall and muscled, and moved with the kind of graceful power one saw in professional athletes or trained special forces soldiers. Physically, he did it for her. She liked being around him, even though he wasn't much of a talker. And she trusted him, which was big.

She slid her key card into the slot and turned the handle when the green light came on, stepping into the coolness of her room. The bedside lamp and the bathroom light were on, just the way she'd left them. She still took a moment to check her room, because double-checking was what she did. Everything was normal. a moment to check her room, because double-checking was what she did. Everything was normal.

Wincing, she toed off her shoes, then groaned with relief as she rotated each ankle in turn, arching her feet, stretching the ligaments. The soles of her feet still burned, though, and nothing would help that other than getting off them for the next few hours, which she planned to do as fast as possible.

She stripped off her jacket and dropped it on the bed, and was starting to shrug out of her shoulder holster when she heard a faint pop-pop-pop pop-pop-pop. She didn't have to stop and listen, didn't have to think; she knew knew what the sound was. Adrenaline seared her veins in a huge rush. She wasn't aware of leaping for the door, only of surging into the hall and seeing Tyrone right ahead of her, doing the same thing, his weapon in his hand as he charged full speed down the hall toward the president's suite. They weren't the only ones. The night shift had erupted from the room they occupied, and the head of the president's detail, Charlie Dankins, was kicking in the double door. what the sound was. Adrenaline seared her veins in a huge rush. She wasn't aware of leaping for the door, only of surging into the hall and seeing Tyrone right ahead of her, doing the same thing, his weapon in his hand as he charged full speed down the hall toward the president's suite. They weren't the only ones. The night shift had erupted from the room they occupied, and the head of the president's detail, Charlie Dankins, was kicking in the double door.

Oh my G.o.d. The shots had come from inside inside the suite. the suite.

The doors and locks were st.u.r.dy; it took Charlie several attempts, and by that time Laurel and Tyrone and a swarm of other agents had reached them. Tyrone positioned himself beside Charlie and said, "Now," and they kicked together, the combined force finally crashing the doors inward. The agents went in high and low, weapons ready, rapidly sweeping the parlor for the threat.

The room was empty. She couldn't hear anything, which was even more horrifying, but her heartbeat was thundering in her ears so maybe it was drowning out any sounds. To the right, the door to the first lady's bedroom stood open, but Laurel controlled her instinct to rush toward it. Right now, their priority was the president, which meant Charlie was in charge.

The door to the president's bedroom, on the left, was closed. Charlie rapidly a.s.sessed the situation; until they knew where the president was, they could a.s.sume nothing. He pointed at Laurel and Tyrone and the rest of the first lady's detail, indicating they should check her half of the suite, while he and the others swept the president's quarters.

His tactics were sound. The detail moved toward the first lady's bedroom in an endlessly rehea.r.s.ed procedure.

The lamps had been turned off in the bedroom, but light from the open bathroom door streamed across the polished marble floor and plush oriental rug. They rushed the room in precision, halting when they spotted Natalie Thorndike standing motionless on the other side of the sofa, her left side turned toward them.

Laurel had taken the left-hand position as they moved into the room, with Adam Heyes, the detail leader, to her right, and Tyrone to Adam's right. Adam said sharply, "Ma'am, are you-"

Then they saw that someone was lying on the floor in front of the first lady, someone with thick dark hair that had gone mostly gray: the president.

The next couple of seconds came in lightning-fast slices, as if time had become a strobe light.

Flash.

Mrs. Thorndike swung around, and that's when they saw the weapon in her hand.

Flash.

Laurel had a split-second, a frozen instant, to register the horrible blankness of the first lady's expression, then light flashed from the muzzle of the weapon and what had been only a "pop" from a distance was an endless blast of noise in the confines of the hotel room as the first lady fired and kept firing, her finger jerking on the trigger.

Flash.

A huge force slammed into Laurel, knocking her backward to the floor. On some distant level she knew she'd been shot, even recognized that she was dying.

Flash.

She had another of those split seconds of sharp awareness: Adam was down, too, sprawled beside her. Her dimming vision caught Tyrone's expression, set and grim, as he fired his own weapon.

Doing what he had to do.

Dear G.o.d, Laurel thought.

Maybe it was a prayer, maybe an expression of the horror she couldn't fully realize. There were no more flashes. She gave a small exhalation and quietly died.

THE a.s.sa.s.sINATION OF the president by his own wife, and her subsequent death at the hands of the Secret Service when she opened fire on them, killing one of the agents in her own protective detail and wounding another, was almost too ma.s.sive a blow for the national psyche to take in. The country as a whole was in shock, but the mechanism of government automatically kept moving. On the other side of the country, the vice-president, William Berry, was sworn into office almost before the news of the president's death hit the wire services. The military went on high alert, in case this was the beginning of a bigger attack, but gradually the pieces were put together to form a sordid picture. the president by his own wife, and her subsequent death at the hands of the Secret Service when she opened fire on them, killing one of the agents in her own protective detail and wounding another, was almost too ma.s.sive a blow for the national psyche to take in. The country as a whole was in shock, but the mechanism of government automatically kept moving. On the other side of the country, the vice-president, William Berry, was sworn into office almost before the news of the president's death hit the wire services. The military went on high alert, in case this was the beginning of a bigger attack, but gradually the pieces were put together to form a sordid picture.

The picture was literally a photograph, found in the first lady's luggage, of the president engaged in intimate relations with her own sister. Whitney Porter Leighton, four years younger than the first lady and a power in Washington in her own right, immediately went into seclusion. Her husband, Senator David Leighton, had no comment other than, "The president's death is a tragedy for the nation." He didn't file for divorce, but then no one in the know in the capital expected him to; regardless of the situation, his wife was still a member of the powerful Porter family, and he wasn't about to cut his political throat because the president had been banging his wife. for the nation." He didn't file for divorce, but then no one in the know in the capital expected him to; regardless of the situation, his wife was still a member of the powerful Porter family, and he wasn't about to cut his political throat because the president had been banging his wife.

A few people wondered what had made the first lady snap, because the liaison wasn't exactly a secret and she had to have known about it for some time, but in the end it was decided that no one would ever know for certain.