Let me know how you are. Really.

Love, Diana

To: Ben Prescott From: Vendela Prescott Subject: No answer

Dear Ben,

I've called your apartment, but I keep getting a recording that says it's no longer a working number. Where are you? You can't keep disappearing on me.

Your loving mother

To: Vendela Prescott Diana Prescott From: Ben Prescott Subject: re: No answer I'm staying with a friend. I'm doing great. The wound is healing like a champ. So not to worry. It you need anything, you can reach me at 915-555-2463.

Also, glad to hear the condo worked out, Diana. I look forward to seeing it next time I'm home.

Ben To: Rita Holquin From: Ben Prescott Subject: Computer Dear Rita: I hope you and the kids are doing okay. I appreciate you coming by the hospital to visit. I want you to know that I meant what I said when I told you I'd do whatever it took to find Henry's killer. I don't have much yet, but I'm working on it. Also, do you know where Henry kept that notebook computer he bought for home a few months ago? Can I borrow it?

Please let me know if I can help in any other way.

Ben

Chapter Five.

The doorbell rang at ten minutes after twelve the next day. Ben was in his room, and Julia answered the door after the first ring. Even more progress, she thought proudly.

She was disproportionately impressed with the accomplishment, but after yesterday's lapse, when she had touched Ben, she was looking for any sign that she really could change. If answering the doorbell was it, she'd take it.

A woman she had never seen before stood on the front step. Julia didn't know her, though she didn't look like Ben's type. For one thing, she appeared harried. On top of that she had a black case in her hand, wore a wool tweed suit, and had on glasses.

Julia mentally took in the very reserved attire. Nope, not Ben's type, she was willing to bet. She was probably a saleswoman.

"Hi," Julia said. "Can I help you?"

Not that she really could. With no money to spare, she couldn't afford Mary Kay, Avon, or any other door-to-door vendor.

"Is Ben here?"

So she was wrong. He went for the harried type. Who knew?

"He is, but he's sleeping." Again. This fact probably needed to worry her, she thought.

"I'm Rita, Henry Holquin's wife-" The woman's eyes went wide, then all of a sudden they burned

with tears.

Julia's own eyes went wide at the sight of the unexpected show of emotion.

"I mean," the woman corrected, "I'm Henry's widow."

Julia hadn't a clue who Henry was, but she knew that this woman was fragile and most probably

recently widowed. She wondered if the dead Henry had anything to do with the shot Ben.

"Ben e-mailed me last night and asked if I could bring him this." Rita held up the black case.

"Oh. Well. Come in, please." Julia took the woman's hand and led her inside. Without asking, she led

her to the kitchen and had her sitting at the table with a cup of tea in front of her in seconds. That, she

knew how to do. "I'm so sorry to hear about your loss. Is it recent?"

"It happened a little over a month ago. Henry was Ben's ..." The woman got an odd look on her face, then finished with "Ben's friend."

If that wasn't the weirdest response Julia had ever heard, she didn't know what it was.

"Sit here and drink your tea. I'll get Ben."

But she didn't have to. He walked into the kitchen. "Hello, Rita."

The tiny woman leaped up from the table and instantly was in Ben's arms. He held her, stroked her back as she cried. "I miss him, too," he said, his voice tight with emotion.

Julia felt uncomfortable watching such a scene-the tears and need freely spilling from the woman, the bone-deep caring she never would have guessed at coming from Ben. He had arrived in the kitchen still not showered, though Julia could tell he had attempted to clean himself up. She could see the pain and the need to cover the pain lining his strong face.

When he led Rita back to the table, Julia thought the hitch in his step was getting worse. Despite that,

standing there caring for tiny Rita, Ben appeared competent and strong-with a strength that was physical, yes, but a strength of character as well. Not that he had shown an ounce of it to her.

"I'll let you two talk," she said, turning abruptly and leaving the room.

Ben watched Julia go. Just thinking about the way she had touched him yesterday sent a bolt of desire

riding through him. He didn't know what was up with her-all this talk of being a good girl with her proper-ass clothes. But he had enough problems to deal with. He didn't need the extra aggravation of Julia Boudreaux giving him a hard-on every time he turned around.

Focusing, he looked back at Rita. She had lost weight and had dark circles under her eyes. Henry had always taken care of everything in his family's life, dominating his wife and children.

Rita worked, but only because a cop's pay didn't cover the looming expense of college for two kids.

With Todd and Trisha in high school, Henry had started to worry that he wouldn't be able to afford their books, much less tuition. And Henry had wanted his kids to go to college.

"I brought the computer over on my lunch hour."

"I appreciate it, Rita. I'm not supposed to drive yet, otherwise I would have come for it."

"You doing okay?"

"Don't worry about me. Tell me how you're doing."

"Hanging in there."

"Are you sure?"

She started to cry again, silently, brokenly, and he placed his hand on her forearm. "What is it?"

"Everything. The kids." She cried into a tissue.

"What's up with the kids?" he persisted.

"Well," she sighed, "I caught Todd stealing money out of my purse, and Trisha took the car ... and wrecked it."

"Wrecked it?" He came forward to the edge of his seat. "Is she okay?"

"Yes, she's fine."

"I didn't think Trisha was old enough to drive."

"She's not! She snuck the car out and was joyriding with her friends when she crashed it."

"She had others in the car? Is everyone okay?"

"Yes. It happened in the school parking lot and no one was going fast, but now with Henry gone, the

kids do whatever they want. I don't know how to stop them."

Henry had always been the disciplinarian. Rita never had much of a backbone when it came to their son and daughter. A knot started to form in Ben's belly. He could afford to send Henry's kids to college. He had a trust fund. On principle he had never touched it. But for Henry's children he would. That he could handle. But this, actually having to deal with kids who were being wild, took something that he didn't know how to give. And he didn't want to try.

But what he wanted didn't matter.

"Let me talk to them," he offered.

"Will you?"

"Sure." He hesitated. "Last time Henry and I talked about the kids, he still hadn't told them he was an

undercover. Is that still true?"

She sighed. "Yes. He said he would, but"-her voice snagged in her throat-"he was afraid to risk it."

"Hell."

Most undercovers' families-wives, parents, kids- eventually learned what they did. Most knew early

on that they were cops. Later, as the undercover thought it was appropriate, he or she would explain about the undercover status. But some cops, like him, felt it necessary to keep their two lives separate. Henry had been that way, not wanting his kids to know what he did. Kids could slip; kids could say something unintentionally, or even intentionally to make a point to another kid, that could threaten an undercover's life.