"You're not the one who's locked up."

"Stop being so nice. He doesn't deserve it."

"I could beat him up for you?"

She hiccuped a laugh. "The way you did Billy Black?"

Billy Black had been an obnoxious jerk who had made humiliating Jane his life's calling. Finally, Dave had

had enough. He had called him out, floored him with one punch, embarra.s.sing him in front of the entire junior cla.s.s.

"Luckiest punch I ever threw. I was sure he was going to kick my a.s.s."

She laughed again, then sobered. They sat quietly for several moments.

Suddenly, Dave turned toward her. "The thing is, Jane, love and hate are equally strong emotions. Both

with the power to create. And destroy. They cause us to react. In this case, lash out. Become jealous."

She reached across the console and covered his hand with hers. "You always know the right thing to say."

"Super genius."

"Stupor genius," she corrected.

They fell silent. One moment became several; Dave broke the silence first. "I always thought we would

end up together, Jane. As far back as I can remember thinking such things, you've been a part of my life."

He paused. "Or maybe it's just that my life started the moment I met you."

The things she had been about to say lodged in her throat. She looked away, uncomfortable with his confession, the emotion behind it.

And confused by her own response-a mixture of longing and regret.

"I'm sorry," he murmured. "I shouldn't have said that."

She returned her gaze to his. "No. Don't be. I...truthfully, I always thought we would end up together,

too."

She curled her fingers more tightly around his. "We tried dating, Dave. Why didn't it work?"

One corner of his mouth lifted in a lopsided smile. "Don't know, babe. Time wasn't right. We weren't

right." He paused. "Then you met Ian."

She had. Shortly after her grandmother's death. He had swept her off her feet. It had been the most

heady experience of her life. She had never thought a man like Ian Westbrook would fall in love with her.

Their affair had been as pa.s.sionate and romantic as it had been brief.

After her grandmother's death. After she had inherited her millions.

The realization took her breath.

She and Ian had been married before the fact she was a wealthy woman had even set in.

"What?" Dave asked, frowning.

"Nothing."

He saw right through her, she could tell by his expression. But he respected her need for privacy.

Later, as Jane stood in the shower, hot water sluicing over her, she made another realization: She didn 't

know her husband well, not at all.

Despite the steaming spray, Jane was chilled to her core.

FORTY-ONE Friday, November 7, 2003 12:01 a.m.

Blood swirled around her. Jane fought to stay afloat. She treaded water, kicking her feet, though they felt

heavy, anch.o.r.ed by a weight she couldn 'tfree herselffrom. Her head dipped under the water. The scent of the blood filled her head. Then the taste. Metallic. Earthy.

She choked on it. The roar of the powerboat filled her ears.

He was circling back. Making another pa.s.s at her.

To finish the job.

Jane awakened with a gasp. Disoriented, she darted her gaze around the moonlit room. From tossing and

turning in her sleep, the covers had become twisted around her legs, anchoring her.

She dragged herself into a sitting position, then gasped as pain knifed through her middle. She ripped the

blanket away.

A cry spilled from her lips. Blood soaked her nightgown. The bedding. Her legs.

She was drowning in it.

She stared a moment. Confused. Light-headed.

Pain tore through her again, realization with it. The baby. She was losing the baby.

No! Whimpering, she crawled across the king-size bed. She found the phone, dialed 911.

The dispatcher answered. Jane struggled to explain what was wrong. She realized she was babbling,

sobbing. Pinp.r.i.c.ks of light danced before her eyes; her fingers began to tingle. To a roar in her ears, her world went black.

FORTY-TWO Friday, November 7, 2003 12:35 a.m. Stacy screeched to a stop in front of Baylor Medical Center's emergency room doors, leaped out of her car and darted inside. The EMT who had answered the 911 call was a friend of hers. He had called her from the ambulance, though he had told her little of Jane's condition.

She hurried to the information window and stopped. "Jane West-brook. I got a call she was here. How is she?"

The nurse peered up at her though her trifocals. "Westbrook. And you are?"

"Her sister. Detective Stacy Killian." She flashed her shield.

The woman nodded. "Have a seat, Detective. Dr. Yung is with her now. I expect it'll be a few minutes."

Stacy couldn't sit. She paced the half-full waiting room. A sign above the couch warned against the use of

cell phones.

She stepped outside, dialed headquarters. She checked in, explained the situation, then turned off her cell.

As she stepped back inside, a young Asian doctor called her name.

She crossed to him, held out a hand. "Dr. Yung. Detective Stacy Killian, Jane Westbrook's sister. How is she?" Her voice trembled slightly and she realized how

frightened she was. Of losing Jane. Her sister. Her only family.

The realization left her feeling weak-kneed. What would she do if she lost her?

"She's stable. Resting."

"Stable?" Stacy repeated, confused by his word choice. "What about the baby?"

"I'm sorry. She miscarried."

Stacy felt the words go to the pit of her stomach. She hurt for Jane. She had wanted this baby so

desperately. Losing it would devastate her.