"I spoke with husband number one. Lives in Atlanta. Hasn't spoken to Elle in years. Expressed disbelief

that she was dead. Didn't react like a man who killed his wife."

"And husband number two?"

"Been on a cruise. Boat docked in Miami this morning, his flight's due into Dallas/Fort Worth at

ten-forty-five tonight."

"So he's got an alibi."

"But from what I hear, enough money to have had someone else do his dirty work."

"I say we see if we can catch Rick Deland at La Plaza. Run the tape by him, see if he or anybody else

recognizes the guy either as a guest or a hotel visitor."

Mac agreed. Stacy pulled the man's business card from her trouser pocket, crossed to the wall phone and dialed. "Rick De-land," she said, then added, "Detective Stacy Killian."

A moment later, the man came on the line. "I'm glad I've caught you, Mr. Deland. We need to run

something by you. Can my partner and I come now?"

He said they could and she hung up. "It's a go." She lifted her jacket from the back of a chair and slipped it on. "What time did you say the ex-husband's due in to DFW? Ten-forty-five?"

He nodded. "Thinking a trip to the airport's in order?"

"Nothing like the element of surprise to liven up an investigation." She checked the time. "Anything else?"

"Yeah, one thing." Something in his tone had the hair on the back of her neck p.r.i.c.kling. She looked at

him.

"Guess who Elle Vanmeer's plastic surgeon was? Dr. Ian West-brook. Your brother-in-law."

NINE.

Monday, October 20, 2003.

8:25 p.m. Jane sipped her mineral water and watched Ian. He stood at the stove, stirring his marmalade sauce. He was preparing one of her favorite dishes-orange rosemary chicken. Already the kitchen was filled with the scent of the broiling herbed chicken and sweet citrus. Ian was an excellent cook and prepared most of their meals. She happily filled the role of sous chef and dishwasher.

"I saw Dave today."

"Wondered how long it would take you to give him a call. Not even twenty-four hours."

She c.o.c.ked her head. Was that irritation she heard in his tone? Or jealousy? "We've been friends a long

time."

"I know that, Jane." He met her eyes briefly. "I'm not upset you called him. h.e.l.l, I suggested it."

"Yes, you did. And it was an excellent suggestion, by the way."

"And?"

"And he brought me a copy of Texas Monthly. The Texas Monthly."

Ian stopped stirring, looked at her. "And? What do you think?"

"Judge for yourself."

She retrieved the magazine and laid it on the granite counter-top, open to the article about her.

Ian whistled. "Way to go, babe." He wiped his hands, picked up the magazine and began to read. After

he finished, he met her eyes again. "And to think, you married me."

"Just slumming."

"Prowling the bargain bas.e.m.e.nt, looking for a cheap thrill."

"You're not cheap, baby," she teased. "But you are a thrill."

He bent and kissed her. When he straightened the amus.e.m.e.nt had fled his expression. "The photo

bothered you."

It wasn't a question; he knew her well. She told him so.

"And what did Dave have to say on the subject?"

"To get over it. My past is an essential part of who I am-and the artist I've become." Even as she said

the words, the grotesque image drew her gaze. Unable to fight its power, Jane closed the magazine.

"Now I'm jealous. I should have said that to you."

She didn't smile. "I told him about the nightmares."

"And?"

She quickly explained his theory about why her dreams had chosen now to reappear. "He thinks I'm

terrified of losing it all."

"What do you think?"

"What he said made sense. And I felt unbelievably relieved afterward. He suggested that by simply

acknowledging the fear, by understanding what was going on, I was taking the first step to overcoming it." She paused. "I told him about the baby."

"I figured as much."

"You're not mad?"

"Of course not."

"You look funny. What are you thinking that you're not saying?"

He opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head. "Nothing."

"Yes, you are. What?"

He took a sip of his wine. "I was thinking your news must have taken the wind out of his sails."

She drew her eyebrows together, confused. "I don't understand."

"He's in love with you."

She stared at her husband a moment, speechless. "He's not."

"Are you sure of that?"

Jane couldn't believe what her husband was saying. "We're friends. Men and women can be, you know."

"And that's why he's hung around all these years?"

"Yes!" Angry heat stung her cheeks. "We're friends. We share a lot of history. We respect each other." Ian held up his hands as if to ward off an attack. "Sorry. I take it all back. Maybe I am just jealous of your relationship."

She went and wrapped her arms around his waist. "You don't need to be." "Promise?"

"Mmm-hmm."

He kissed her, then ordered her to sit-if she wanted to eat anytime soon.

She obeyed. They fell silent. After a moment, Jane broke it. "We talked about Stacy."

He glanced up. "And?"

"He suggested I'm as responsible for our strained relationship as she."

"But you don't agree?"

"I didn't say that." A defensive edge crept into her voice, one she despised. "It's just that-"

Their front buzzer sounded, interrupting her. In the front hall, Ranger began to bark.

"Saved by the bell," Ian teased, lightening the mood.

She made a face at him as she crossed to the intercom. "Yes?"

"Jane, it's Stacy."

Jane looked at her husband. He grinned. "Dave blabbed. You're in trouble now."

"Jane?"

She returned her attention to her sister. "Come on up. I'll buzz you in."

Jane met her sister at the door. A man was with her. He stood about six-two and was quite

good-looking. "I didn't realize you weren't alone," she murmured, surprised.