"You went to a lot of trouble to make sure I didn't step in. I knew you'd never forgive me if I cheated you of Maritz." He paused. "I almost did anyway."

"I had to do it alone, Nicholas."

"I know." He stepped back and looked at her arm.

"It's stopped bleeding, but we'd better get to the cottage and get that bandaged."

Tania was coming toward them. "We did it?" she asked quietly.

Nell looked back at the cliff before starting toward the cottage. "We did it."

Joel's expression was forbidding as he stalked out of the emergency room.

Tania sighed. She had known he would be angry.

"Her arm is all right?" Tania asked.

"Fine. She lost some blood, so they're keeping her overnight."

"You wish to divorce me?"

"I'm considering it."

"You must not do it. I've learned all about alimony from your ex-wife. I'm sure I could do it better. You would be beggared."

"I'm not in a mood for jokes."

"I had to do this, Joel." She moved into his arms and laid her head on his chest. She whispered, "I know you wished to protect me, but I could not allow it. You are too dear to me. But I promise I'll let you slay the next mugger who approaches me. I'll even go looking for one. I hear Central Park has them lined up for inspection. Suppose we stop off in New York and-" He was chuckling and she looked up at him. Good. The storm was over. "You don't think that's a good idea?"

"You'd do it, wouldn't you?" He looked down at her. "I can't handle this. It can't ever happen again, Tania."

"I promise. But I was not really in danger."

He snorted derisively.

"No, truly." She smiled up at him. "I was only Paul Henreid. Nell was Humphrey Bogart."

Nicholas sat down in the chair beside Nell's bed and took her hand. "How are you?"

She knew he was asking about more than her physical condition. "I don't know." She shook her head. "Peaceful. Numb. Empty."

"Joel did a good job stitching your arm. You won't have a scar."

"That's good."

"I've made reservations for a flight tomorrow. I'm taking you back to the ranch."

She shook her head.

"You'd like us to stay here for a while?"

God, she was finding this hard to say. "I want you to go back to the ranch."

He went still. "Without you?"

She nodded jerkily. "I need some time alone."

"How much time?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure. I'm not sure about anything anymore."

"I'm sure. I'm sure you love me."

"I'm afraid, Nicholas," she whispered.

"That I won't live forever? I can't solve that for you." He touched her cheek with a finger. "You'll just have to decide if the time we have together is enough."

"Easy to say. What if I make the wrong decision? It could happen." She thought a moment before continuing. "Do you remember what I said about the steps people take to become complete? I told you then I was stunted, splintered. I'm no better now."

"I can help you."

"You can shelter me. You can't help me. I have to do it alone."

He smiled lopsidedly. "So you're going away to become a swan?"

"I'm going away to heal and grow up and get my life together."

"What will you do?"

"Paint, get a job, talk to people. Whatever it takes."

"And I'm not included?"

"Not yet."

"But you'll come back to the ranch when you're ready?"

"If you still want me."

"Hell, yes, I'll want you." He stood up and gazed into her eyes. "I'll give you your space, but I don't promise I won't come after you." He kissed her quick and hard. "Hurry it up, dammit."

He left her.

Her eyes filled with tears. She wanted to call him back, to tell him she'd get on that plane with him and never look back.

She wouldn't do it. She wouldn't cheat him by giving him less than a whole person.

And she wouldn't cheat herself.

Epilogue.

"There's someone at the gate," Michaela said.

Nicholas looked up from his book. "Who? Peter? Jean was supposed to bring him over to show me Jonti's puppy."

"It's not them." She turned away. "Go down and see for yourself."

"Why should I go down? Why don't you just buzz whoever it is through?" He suddenly realized Michaela looked entirely too satisfied; there was almost a smirk on her usually impassive face. Nicholas slowly rose to his feet. "Who is it?" He didn't wait for an answer. He was out on the porch, shading his eyes from the autumn sun with a hand.

She was standing by the gate intercom, dressed in jeans and a plaid shirt. The sunlight picked up the shimmer of gold in her hair.

He started walking toward her. It seemed to take him a long time to reach the gate.

He stopped and stared at her. God, she looked wonderful; beautiful and strong and free. "You took your time about it. More than a year."

"I'm a slow learner. It took me a while to get it right."

He tilted his head. "Madame Swan, I presume?"

"You're damn right." A radiant smile lit Nell's face. "Open that gate and let me in, Tanek."

About the Author.

IRIS JOHANSEN, who has more than twenty-seven million copies of her books in print, has won many awards for her achievements in writing. The bestselling author of Killer Dreams, Blind Alley, Firestorm, Fatal Tide, Dead Aim, Body of Lies, The Search, and many other novels, she lives near Atlanta, Georgia, where she is currently at work on a new novel.

STALEMATE.

On sale now

The phone was ringing.

Ignore it, Eve told herself, her fingers moving swiftly on the skull reconstruction she'd given the name Marty. She could call whoever it was back when she was through working. The phone was set for speaker and she could pick up if it was Joe or Jane. She was getting too close to that important last step in the sculpting.

On the sixth ring the answering machine picked up.

"I need to speak to you. Answer the phone, Ms. Duncan."

She froze, her fingers stopped in midstroke. Luis Montalvo. Though she had spoken to him only twice, that faint accent was unmistakable.

"I know you're there. You haven't left that cottage in the last week." His voice became faintly mocking. "Your dedication is admirable and I understand you're brilliant at your job. I look forward to having both focused soon on my behalf." He paused. "Do pick up the phone. I'm not accustomed to being ignored. It upsets me. You don't want to upset me."

And she didn't want to pick up the phone. He might jar her out of the zone of feverish intensity she needed when she was working this close to completion. Dammit, she had hoped he wouldn't call her again after she'd turned him down when he'd phoned her over a week ago.

"I won't give up, you know."

No, he probably wouldn't. Montalvo had been polite during the first call, and even after she'd refused his offer the second time he'd phoned, he'd displayed no anger. His voice had been smooth and soft, almost regretful, yet there had been a note beneath that velvet courtesy that had puzzled her. It had made her uneasy then, but tonight it filled her with impatience. She had no time for this now. Marty was waiting.

She strode across the room and picked up the phone. "Montalvo, I'm very busy. You've had your answer. Don't call me again."

"Ah, how delightful to hear your voice. I knew you wouldn't be so rude as to leave me hanging on that dreadful answering device. I hate impersonal machines. I'm a man of emotion and passion and they offend me."

"I really don't want to hear what you love or hate. I don't care. I want to get off this phone and forget you exist."

"I realize that sad fact. You're absorbed in your latest reconstruction, of that boy found buried in Macon. Have you named him yet? I understand you name all the skulls you work on."

She stiffened. "How do you know that?"

Read on for a preview of Iris Johansen's newest novel STALEMATE.

On sale now "I know everything about you. I know you live with a Detective Joe Quinn of the Atlanta Police Department. I know you have an adopted daughter, Jane MacGuire. I know you're possibly the best forensic sculptor in the world. Shall I go on?"

"That could all be public record. And how did you know about the boy murdered in Macon?"

"I have many, many contacts around the world. Do you want to know who killed him? I could find out for you."

"I don't believe you."

"Why not?"

"Because you're not even in this country. You're a scumbag of an arms peddler and you live in Colombia, where you can hide out and deal your poison to the highest bidder."