"You carry a Glock."

"She doesn't know that. The only gun she'd ever heard of was a Smith & Wesson. It stuck. By the way, I like your pj's."

He grinned. "Thanks. That's my favorite T-shirt, by the way."

"May I borrow it?"

"If I say no, will you take it off?"

"Not until after my first cup of coffee. Sorry. A girl's got to draw the line somewhere. Food would be

nice, too."

"Demanding and bossy."

She turned back to the open fridge. "You're such a guy. There's nothing in here but beer and leftover

pizza."

He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her middle. "What else do you need?"

"Eggs? Juice? Bread?"

"Pizza is a perfect food. It's got it all. Meat. Grain. Dairy. Vegetable."

"Fat." She opened the box. "I see nothing that represents a vegetable here."

He c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. "Tomato sauce. Made from tomatoes, a vegetable."

"Tomatoes have seeds. They're fruit."

He nuzzled the back of her neck. "Figured you'd say that."

"And why's that?"

"For the same reason I have nothing but pizza and beer in my fridge."

She turned, looped her arms around his neck. "Because you're a beer-guzzling Neanderthal."

"Pretty much. And you're a lady who crosses all her t's and dots all her i's."

He rubbed his pelvis against hers. He was rock hard already. Coffee be d.a.m.ned. "I see you brought your

gun," she murmured, smiling against his mouth. "But are you prepared to use it?"

With a husky laugh, he picked her up and carried her to the kitchen table. There, he showed her that he was, indeed, prepared.

After they had both showered, Stacy reheated the pizza despite Mac's insistence that it was a delicacy

cold. They washed it down with coffee and Stacy had to grudgingly admit, the combination wasn't bad.

Reaching for a second slice, Stacy broached the subject foremost on her mind. "Jane has a theory about the guy sending her the anonymous threats."

He met her gaze, slice of pie paused halfway to his mouth.

"She believes he's the one who killed Vanmeer, Tanner and, now, Lisette Gregory."

"Sounds like a stretch to me."

"I know. But what if she's right?"

For a long moment he simply stared at her. "Tell me you're joking, Stacy. You can't possibly believe that this boat driver from sixteen years ago has not only popped back into her life, but returned with an elaborate plan that included a triple murder?"

When she didn't reply, he snorted with disbelief. "Educate me here. He's done this for what purpose? To terrorize her? And he couldn't have done this without offing those three women? Come on. More likely, Ian has an accomplice lover sending the notes. Antic.i.p.ating Jane's reaction. Hoping she'll be able to divert attention from him."

He was right. Dammit. She had wanted to believe it, for Jane. Because her sister needed it so badly.

Stacy lowered her gaze to her plate and the remnants of her pizza, preparing her thoughts, wondering just how honest she should be. She decided to shoot for the moon. "I was jealous of her. Resentful of her perfect life. Her husband. Career. Baby on the way. I suppose I thought, why not me?

"And now, she's-" She drew in a deep breath, met his gaze evenly. "I was wrong to feel that way. It was hateful. Small and selfish."

"It was natural," he corrected her, wiping his mouth with a paper towel. "We're human. Not perfect."

"Human or not, it wasn't fair to her. I blamed her for her happiness. Jane needed me and I wasn't there for her."

He tossed the crumpled toweling onto the plate. "You want something from me, Stacy. What is it?"

"This isn't about what I want from you. It's about what I owe Jane. If she believes this, I'm going to check it out. With or without you."

"Captain will have our a.s.ses if he finds out what we're up to."

She smiled. "He can have mine. I don't need it."

He laughed without humor. "Okay, Stacy. I'm your partner and we're in this together."

FORTY-FIVE.

Friday, November 7, 2003

9:30 a.m.

After leaving Mac, Stacy hurried home to change clothes, then headed to the hospital to see Jane.

Her sister was awake, sitting up in bed, untouched breakfast in front of her. The scar along her right jaw

stood out in stark contrast to her pale skin. "Hi, sweets," Stacy said gently, forcing a smile.

"Hey."

"Dave's gone?"

Her sister frowned. "He was here?"

"Last night. Late."

"I don't remember. I was out of it."

Stacy went to her sister's side. She swung the breakfast tray aside and sat gingerly on the edge of the

bed. "I wish there was something I could say to make it better. I feel so bad about this. About...

everything.''

She cleared her throat. "I don't know if it helps at all, but I'm here for you. If you need me."

"It does help," Jane whispered. "Thank you."

"Has the doctor been in?"

Jane nodded. "He's releasing me today, sometime after lunch."

"I'll take you home."

"But you need to work-"

"I'll take a personal day. That's what they're for."

They sat in silence for several moments, the sounds of the hospital swirling around them: the nurses

making their way from room to room, calling out cheery good mornings; a cart being trundled down the hall; family visiting the patient next door.

"Sis?"

Stacy met her sister's gaze. At times like these the difference in Jane's eyes was so apparent: one reflected a world of emotion; the other...nothing.

"Ian...I need you to tell him. About the baby. I can't and I...I don't want him to hear it from Elton. Or by phone. Will you do it for me? Please?"

Stacy hadn't been able to refuse. So there she sat, waiting for the guard to bring Ian out, wishing she was

anywhere else.

She let out a pent-up breath. How was she going to tell him? How was she going to look him in the eyes and tell him that his unborn child was no more? That the woman he loved needed him and he could do nothing to comfort her?