Henry had never been willing to take that chance.

Ben had to make sure he honored his partner's wishes. Which made it difficult to say anything specific to make two teens feel good about their father.

"When can Trish and Todd come over?" he asked.

Rita glanced down at his leg, which he held stiffly out in front of him. "How about after school next

Friday? That gives you time to get back to ... normal-or at least until you're doing better."

He should have thought of that. "I'm fine, really. But I agree that we don't want to remind them of their dad getting shot. Next Friday it is."

The kitchen clock ticked on the counter. "I better get going if I'm going to make it back to the office in

time."

"Thanks for bringing the computer by."

She gave him a quick hug, those tears springing up again, before she dashed out the door.

Ben didn't move. He sat at the table knowing that Rita was right not to let him see the kids yet. He felt

like hell, inside and out. His leg hurt whenever he put weight on it, and Trisha and Todd didn't need to

see that. But by next Friday he fully intended to feel better.

He started to open the computer, but decided against it. The last person he wanted to see it was Julia.

Taking the case, he returned to the guest bedroom. At the desk, he moved his own computer away, along with stacks of papers where he had been taking notes. He still hadn't a clue where Henry could have been surfing in order to find drug dealers. But his partner's new laptop might hold some answers.

It didn't take more than a few tries to figure out Henry's password. Ben knew just about everything there was to know about his longtime partner. And like most computer novices, the man had used easily remembered information as the key to his private world. Easy for Henry to remember. Easy for anyone who had access to information about Henry to find and remember. In this day and age, just about anyone had access to just about any information.

Henry's password was his firstborn's middle name.

Ben was into Henry's computer on the second try and into his e-mail on the fourth try. But it was Henry's screen saver that made Ben suck in his breath.

It was a photograph of Henry and his family, all of them smiling as if they didn't have a care in the world. But their world had taken an abrupt shift when Henry walked into that alleyway.

Ben had seen the body, had arrived on the scene after the fact. His partner had been shot execution-style. Ben was going to find out who pulled the trigger.

He started in Henry's e-mail. Other than nearly two months' worth of spam, it was empty. Even the address book didn't have a single name inside.

Next he went to the hard drive and looked for cookies and temporary Internet files. Both were empty. Cleaned out. Either Henry had purged everything just before he was shot, or someone had planted spyware on the hard drive, giving them the ability to erase whatever that person didn't want traced.

He made a note to ask the police computer whiz to check it out.

After that, Ben searched through each of Henry's files. File after file, nothing looked promising. Running a hand over his weary eyes, he was just about to call it a day when he tried one last thing. Embedded deep in the maze of folders, he found a file called Cotton Candy. Inside there was a single e-mail from someone called the Lion. It said nothing remarkable, other than Everything's set. It was dated the morning of Henry's murder.

Ben felt hot all over as the all too familiar fury raced through him. Henry must have been set up. Walking into the alleyway had been like walking into a minefield.

Ben had no knowledge of any dealers going by the name the Lion. The world he and Henry worked in existed on code names and assumed identities. When Ben worked, he went by Benny the Slash. There would be nothing unusual about someone calling himself the Lion. Though Ben knew if this was the killer, the chances were that this e-mail was set up on a Web-based account that left no residual signs and couldn't be traced. Regardless, he would check it out.

For a second, Ben leaned back in the chair. But wallowing in anger didn't solve anything. He made another note to search for a Web address for the Lion.

After examining the e-mail and the hard drive, Ben moved on. He made a list of possible Web site types where Henry might have found drug dealers.

Need money fast.

Classified selling sections.

Ben started by Googling need extra cash. The search engine spat out 3,510,000 results, listing ten per page. It would take the rest of his life to go through all of them.

Refining his search, he typed in need extra cash message boards. That significantly reduced his choices down to 221,000 sites, but still too many to investigate.

Another search: Need extra cash message boards El Paso, Texas. 5,290 hits.

Crap. But from there he started to surf. On site after site, he scrolled through the list of chatting onliners, but found nothing that leaped out at him. He decided the only way to learn anything of use was to test the waters.

He posted a note: Looking for an opportunity to make easy money in El Paso. Then a second: Have car, can work at night in El Paso area.

Now he'd have to see what happened.

He heard sounds in the room next door.

Julia.

The woman could make a saint want to commit murder and happily face the consequences. It had been bad enough when she was hot as hell and in your face about it. But now this determination to suppress who they both knew she really was drove him crazy. One minute sweet and innocent, the next the real Julia surging forth like a tiger bursting out of its cage.

He wondered why she felt the need to be what she thought was a new, improved Julia. When he walked into the kitchen earlier, she had been wearing woolen pants with pleats, a sweater, and shoes that looked a lot like loafers. Julia, in loafers. It was hard to imagine.

Shaking his head, all he could think was thank God she hadn't cut her hair. A man could get lost in that long mane of black lacquer sensuality.

Ben cursed when he felt his cock stir just at the thought of what he wanted to do with her.

He felt hot, consumed, and he lamented the fact that he couldn't get the woman out of his head.

To: Julia Boudreaux From: Katherine Bloom Subject: Wass up?

Why are you running promo spots asking for rugged, insensitive hunks?

Kate

Katherine C. Bloom News Anchor, KTEX TV, West Texas

To: Katherine Bloom From: Julia Boudreaux Subject: Excuse me?

Wass up? Are you wearing baggy jeans down to your knees with Adidas tennis shoes with no laces?

And yes, I'm looking for the most Neanderthalish men in West Texas. It's for the idea I came up with for a show. Unfortunately, while I have a true Cro-Magnon man living under my roof, I've decided he isn't the right guy for my plan.

xo, j To: Julia Boudreaux From: Katherine Bloom Subject: re: Excuse me?

No baggy jeans for moi. But I am doing a special segment on hip-hop in El Paso. Who knew how prevalent it is? I'll definitely bring in a new demographic with this show.

As to archaic men, I thought you were swearing off bad boys. What kind of show is it going to be?

K.

To: Katherine Bloom From: Julia Boudreaux Subject: Surprises I have sworn off bad boys. As to the show, I'll fill you in once I get the pieces to fall in place. It's going to be great!

xo, j Chapter Six Julia quit her e-mail, then turned off the computer. She had the foolishly giddy thought that soon she'd have a signature line on her e-mail with a title. Producer. She just had to pull her new show idea together.

Putting up the promo piece on Kate's show would definitely draw plenty of men. But to make this truly work, she needed more than men. She had to have the products and services that would actually transform the man. Everything from a haircut to house furniture. And she needed all of it for free. The only form of payment the vendors would receive was publicity on the show. Which was why she had placed an ad in the newspaper classified section under Services Needed.

Based on the advertising success of both Kate's show and Chloe's show, Julia knew there were plenty of people out there who were more than willing to trade goods for publicity.

Every time she thought about taking some rugged, insensitive guy and turning him around and making him sweet, it sent a shiver of excitement down her spine.

She remembered Ben's reaction of stunned disbelief when she had told him the idea. Clearly, he hadn't been as impressed as she was. Which is why she finally decided Ben wasn't the man for Primal Guy. She didn't need a grumbling naysayer, no matter how good looking, ruining her show.

Until entries from guys who were actually interested in being made over started rolling in, she would concentrate on completing her own makeover. All she had to do was think the word Ben and all her determination to change fled out the door. And it wasn't the sex that she was missing-though just one look at that body of his and sex loomed large in her mind. It was being nice and sweet that was so unbelievably hard to maintain when she was around him.

But she could do this. And she could do more than change her clothing style, blush with embarrassment on occasion, and answer the door herself.

She studied her reflection in the mirror, then decided what she had to do.

Thirty minutes later, she stepped into the hairspray fumes and screaming blow-dryers of the Velvet Door Salon.

"Hello!" the stylist enthused. "Sit, sit."

Julia refused to worry. This was the right thing to do.

The woman pulled her hair from the ponytail holder. "Such beautiful hair. Are you sure you want to cut it?"

"Absolutely sure. It's time I cut away the past."

The woman's eyes went wide. "Yes! I know just what you mean. Like starting over."

"Exactly."

The hairdresser took her arm. "I am going to cut your hair and it will be just as beautiful as it is now. Only different."

"I was thinking of a blunt cut to my shoulders."

"Pah, so sensible."

"Sensible is exactly what I want."

"Okay," the woman said, looking doubtful. "If you're sure."

She wasn't, but she didn't say that. The stylist talked nonstop as she washed Julia's hair, then combed it out, making it possible to forget what was about to happen.

"How about if I cut it shorter, but maybe do something a little more fun than a blunt cut?" the woman asked.

"Thank you, but no. I want a conservative, pageboy type style," Julia stated with a nod.

And after little more than thirty minutes, Julia was staring at a woman she barely recognized. She refused to admit that she wanted to cry.

Who knew change could be so painful?

"It's not bad," the stylist cajoled.

Not bad?