She let him talk, responding with the occasional monosyllabic answer when she could muster the strength. Mostly, though, she stared at the pa.s.sing scenery and felt herself grow cold inside. Not her temperature, but her emotions. Each pa.s.sing mile seemed to erase a little more sadness, a little more fear, a little more anger, until all that remained was reluctant acceptance.

She was alive. Bad people were still after her. And good people would continue to die because of her.

Unless she did something to change it all.

The idea of suicide was an obvious one, but she quickly put that out of her mind. Although she no longer feared dying, enough of her Catholic upbringing remained in her that she was still pretty sure suicide meant going to h.e.l.l. Which left only one other option.

Disappearing.

How hard could it be? You packed a bag, drained the cash from your bank account, dyed your hair and went "off the grid," as people liked to say. She'd work odd jobs for cash. Stay at shelters. A hard life, for sure. But better than the alternative.

There'd be no one to abuse her, threaten her. And no guilt about putting other people's lives in mortal danger.

It made perfect sense when you just stopped and thought about it.

Of course, she couldn't tell anybody. Not John, not her parents. That would be hard. But in the end, worth it to keep them safe. And being alone wouldn't be so bad. h.e.l.l, with the exception of her parents and Chast.i.ty, she'd really had no friends or social life before John anyhow.

Something dripped onto her hand, and she looked down. A drop of blood. Her nose was bleeding again. She dabbed at it with one of the napkins John had gotten from the taxi driver.

He was right. She probably had a concussion. It made sense. There'd been an explosion. More violence, someone attacking the religious men who'd kidnapped her. That was too bad. They'd been right, she probably should die. Maybe she would too. Living on the streets was dangerous, and it was obvious she couldn't heal herself anymore. Otherwise her nose wouldn't be bleeding. And her body wouldn't hurt.

Did the explosion do something to me? More than a concussion? Wouldn't that be something if hitting her head had taken away her Power? Then she could really be free. If she could just tell people that... Of course, no one would believe her. They'd try to torture her into performing miracles, maybe even torture the people she cared about. No, running away, disappearing, that was still the only option.

As soon as her head stopped pounding.

"We're here."

Leah looked up at the sound of John's voice. She hadn't noticed the cab had stopped. Hadn't noticed her eyes were closed. How long? It didn't matter. She was home.

The door next to her opened and a hand reached for her. Who... John? How had he gotten over there? He helped her out, holding her steady.

The walkway to her steps...why was it slanted? Stairs...one...two...three...

The couch. So soft. She loved her couch. Was going to miss it. Why was she on the couch? Who was spinning the couch around?

"Turn off the lights," she said, but no one listened.

So tired. Why wouldn't they let her sleep?

Then the lights went out, and everything was good again.

"She's resting now," Jim Fogerty said, joining John in Leah's kitchen. "Probably sleep 'til tomorrow."

"She's okay, though?" John asked. He needed it to be so. Not just because he didn't want anything to happen to Leah, but because if it was something serious, that would mean a hospital trip.

He'd called in a major favor to get his brother-in-law to the house. Jim was only in his third year of practice and hadn't been thrilled about getting involved in something that could mean his license. John had a feeling it was going to cost him big-as in Yankee play-off tickets big. But until he had time to arrange round-the-clock protection, they needed to stay under the radar.

"Yeah, I'm pretty sure her symptoms are more from exhaustion and dehydration, not to mention the blast, rather than from a concussion. No signs of trauma to the head. Now, do you want to tell me how you ended up caught in a warehouse explosion, and why this has to stay a secret?"

John shook his head. "Wish I could. But it's part of an undercover operation and Leah got caught up in it accidentally. She wasn't supposed to be there. I promise, once I can tell you, I will."

"Fine." Jim closed his black satchel. "Just do me a favor. Don't tell Carrie about this. She would absolutely freak."

"Promise." John held up his hand. The last thing he intended to do was tell his sister anything.

After walking Jim to his car, John returned to the house and stood at the end of the sofa, watching Leah sleep.

Two weeks. Less than two weeks since the day she cured me, and look at us now. Running like fugitives. A price on our heads from at least three different criminal gangs, and probably the police want us for questioning. We've saved each other's lives how many times over the past few days?

And none of it would have happened if she hadn't cured him that day in McDonald's. He wondered if their meeting was a blessing or a curse for her-after all, if she'd decided on pizza instead of a hamburger, he'd be dead but she'd be living a perfectly normal life, her secret still safe.

Would she be happy? That was hard to say. He was pretty sure she liked him, maybe was even falling in love with him. She'd talked about how lonely she'd been before meeting him.

Was that enough to counterbalance the sorrow and guilt she was feeling for everything that had happened? Or the terrors she'd gone through?

Could it ever be enough?

John hoped so. Because there were two things he was certain of.

He was definitely in love with Leah DeGarmo.

And he was never going to let anything get in the way of that love.

Part Two.

Season of Change.

The best thing you can do is the right thing; the next best thing you can do is the wrong thing; the worst thing you can do is nothing.

-Theodore Roosevelt.

Chapter One.

Leah had the cab drive around the block three times before she paid and got out. As far as she could tell, no one was watching her house. Not that she was an expert on surveillance, but she'd seen no trucks or vans parked anywhere, which was what they always used in movies. In fact, there'd been no vehicles of any kind parked on the street, typical for a weekday in a middle-cla.s.s neighborhood.

She let herself in through the back door, using the key she kept in a fake rock near the door. Ten minutes, she reminded herself. That's how long she'd told the cabbie she would be. More than enough time to pack a bag and get out.

But that was before she'd walked in and realized this was the last time she'd ever see her house. The house she'd worked her a.s.s off to buy, to decorate, to make her own. Everything in it reminded her of something in her life, something that had made her life hers.

The silver candleholders on the dining-room table. A housewarming gift from her parents, with the added comment that someday she might want to entertain a young man. The journals and medical books on the shelves, souvenirs of the many hours she'd spent perfecting her craft, even though she held the gift of magic in her hands. Photo alb.u.ms from her younger days, back when she'd taken vacations and done things with friends.

Stop it. She wiped a hand roughly across her face, erasing the tears running down her cheeks. It's for the best. Now get your a.s.s in gear.

It wouldn't take John long to discover she'd left the motel room where they'd been staying the past two days. He'd gone out for food. She'd told him she was going to take a long, hot shower. As soon as she was sure he was really walking to the corner market, she'd turned the shower on, shut the bathroom door and run out. Two blocks in the opposite direction from the minimart, she'd stopped at a gas station and had them call a cab for her.

She figured she had maybe an hour's head start. Ten minutes before he realized she wasn't in the bathroom. Ten for a cab to arrive. And then it was a fifty-fifty chance of whether he'd go to her house first, or to the clinic. She had to a.s.sume the worst, that he was already on his way to the house.

So pack!

She did, thankful that when Nova dragged her out of the house he'd left her purse behind. Her license, which she'd need at the bank to close out her account. Cell phone, although she had to figure it was tapped. But she could use it in an emergency. Toothbrush. Makeup. Her iPod. A photo alb.u.m she couldn't live without.

She felt tears threatening again and forced them down. Time for that later, when she was on a cross-country bus or train. A quick stop in the kitchen to grab some snacks and a few bottles of water, and she was back at the cab with two minutes to spare.

Tal Nova would be so proud. The sarcastic thought brought on another round of sobs, which the cabdriver judiciously ignored.

"Provident Bank," she told him, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

John watched Leah's house come into view and prayed he'd made the right choice. He'd had no idea Leah would take off; his first thought was she'd been kidnapped again, until the motel clerk mentioned he'd seen her walk past the office.

d.a.m.n her! What could possibly be the reason for ditching him? Did she still think he'd be safer if she was gone?

"Wait here," he told the driver. "I'll be right back."

He went around to the back door and cursed when he saw it hanging open. Leah, in and out in a hurry? Or one of the men looking for her? He cursed a second time and drew his gun, the short-barreled backup piece he'd picked up at his house before they checked into the motel. Only six shots, but if he needed more than that he was a dead man anyhow.

And this time Leah won't be there to save me.

He peeked around the corner of the door, presenting as small a target as possible. The kitchen looked the same as the last time he'd seen it. Past the small s.p.a.ce, the dining room and living room seemed clear. Of course, there could be someone hiding behind a couch or chair, but he doubted it. The men they'd dealt with so far were more the stand-in-the-open-and-shoot-rather-than-hide type. Stepping into the kitchen, he crept forward to the base of the stairs, listening for any sounds from the second floor.

A floorboard squeaked behind him and he spun around, his heart thumping into overdrive, adrenaline surging through his body. Everything seemed to happen at hyperspeed-turning, bringing the gun up, tensing muscles-all faster than he'd ever moved before.

It wasn't fast enough.

Something hard and heavy struck him on the temple and lights exploded inside his head.

Then the fireworks disappeared, taking everything with them.

"There must be some kind of mistake." Leah leaned forward. "I had more than twenty thousand dollars in that account last week."

"I'm sorry, Ms. DeGarmo. But according to the computer, you transferred that money to another bank yesterday."

"Another bank? Why would I do that?" Even as she asked the question, a cold, nasty sensation filled Leah's chest. She had a feeling she knew what had happened to her money. Who would have access to her accounts besides her?

A man with the power of a multinational conglomerate behind him, that's who. Tal Nova.

"-want to speak with our manager? If this is a case of fraud, he has to call-"

"No." Leah shut her purse. "I mean, I'll be back. With my attorney," she added, knowing how lame it sounded but not having any other explanation for not wanting to find out where her money had gone.

Before the teller could say anything else, Leah turned and hurried away.

d.a.m.n him! He got to my money. And he's probably closed my credit cards as well; no sense even trying those.

She stormed out the bank doors and paused. Now what?

She had exactly sixty-three dollars to her name, no credit, and she probably couldn't even show her license anywhere. A bus ticket would most likely eat all her money and still not get her more than a couple of states away, leaving her alone, penniless and basically lost. Trains were more expensive than buses. She could steal a car, if she knew how. But she didn't.

Suddenly her plan of escaping and disappearing didn't seem as ingenious as it had when she'd thought she'd be leaving with twenty grand or so in her pocket.

The important thing is to get away. Worry about the rest later. She could always spend a few nights in a women's shelter if she had to; every city had at least one. They'd probably help her find a job that paid cash, too, if she lied and said she was hiding from an abusive husband. Any job would do, as long as it didn't involve the veterinary field. That would be too dangerous.

Her resolve strengthened again, she headed for the bus station.

Chapter Two.

After three hours of watching an endless procession of malls, billboards and roadside diners go by-the monotony broken only by equally dull tracts of farmland-Leah was relieved when the bus pulled into the station at Elmira. The driver announced there'd be a thirty-minute layover before the next leg of the trip, which would take them to Jamestown. There she'd catch a different bus to Cleveland.

Faced with the option of sitting on the bus for the next half hour or spending the time in the station, Leah paused, unsure of what would be safer. Remaining on the bus meant fewer people would have the opportunity to see her. On the other hand, if someone wanted to kidnap her-or worse-then an empty bus was the perfect location.

In the end, it was her bladder that made the decision for her. Bus station restrooms were notoriously filthy, but even they were better than the cramped, foul-smelling toilet cubicle at the back of the bus.

Besides, her stomach was growling and there'd be snack machines in the lobby.

Keeping her eyes alert for any suspicious characters, she took care of business and then made her way to the vending machines, where she grudgingly parted with two dollars for a candy bar and a diet soda.

Leah frowned as she counted her remaining cash. Enough for three, maybe four meals at McDonald's if she stuck to the dollar menu. The ticket to Cleveland had eaten most of her money.

Taking a seat near the departure doors, Leah wondered again if she was being followed. She'd done her best to examine the faces of the people around her, but she had to admit her skills as a spy-or fugitive, depending on how you looked at it-weren't the best. Every gaze in her direction, every stranger who walked past, set her adrenaline pumping.

Finally, she forced herself to sit back and relax. After all, it wasn't as if Tal Nova or that other man, Del, could bring their thugs into a public place and just take her away against her will. No, if they were after her, they'd have made their move in Rocky Point, before she boarded the bus or when she'd been at her house.

Thinking of her house brought her mind back to John. He'd surely be frantic about finding her by now. She hoped that didn't put him in more danger. Would he be smart enough to go to the police once he was sure she was missing? Again, she hoped so. He could tell them whatever he wanted-even reveal her secret. She no longer cared.

Mostly because she no longer had a secret.

Leah looked down at her hands. The bruises and cuts on them were fading, but the very fact they were there at all was continued evidence her Power hadn't come back. She also still felt weak and run-down, another sign she'd changed. Although in the past she'd often ended up exhausted at the end of a hard workday, a good night's sleep always had her as good as new the next morning. Now, here she was, days after the explosion and the blow to her head, and she still felt like death warmed over.

Would it be so bad if my Power was gone? It was a question she'd been mulling over since she'd first realized she wasn't healing rapidly. Without it, no one would want to use her as a murder weapon. The people she loved-John, her family-would be safe. She might even be able to return to being a veterinarian, although it would probably break her heart each time she couldn't Cure a dying pet.

She'd actually considered calling Leonard Marsh, who she figured was behind everything bad that had happened, and telling him she was just an ordinary person again. Let them arrange a demonstration if they wanted. In return for them letting her go free, she'd promise not to say anything to the police.