She took them along, moving through the transaction as if in a dream. It was so strange. And so simple.

"You didn't model it for me," Gabe commented as he walked with her back to the car.

"Bad luck," she said absently. Then she stopped, pressing her hands to her flushed cheeks. "God, did I just buy a wedding dress?"

"Apparently." He took her shoulders, turned her to face him. "Second thoughts?"

"No. No, not about you, us. This. It's just moving so quickly. I just bought my wedding dress, and a hat.

I actually bought a hat. I'm having shoes dyed. And I haven't even told my family."

"You can rectify that today. If it's what you want." He put the boxes in the trunk.

"Okay." She nodded, and reached for the door handle. Gabe closed his hand over hers, then drew it back.

"Let's try this on for luck, then." He slipped a ring on her finger, a single square-cut diamond centered in a gold band crusted with tiny rubies. "My colors. Our colors, now. That's official."

Tears pricked at her eyes. They may have been standing in a parking lot with the summer sun beating down, but to her, the moment was as romantic as a cruise down a moonlit stream. "It's beautiful, Gabe. I didn't need it."

"I did."

Across the lot, Rich huddled in his car and watched the exchange, the embrace. He took a nip from his flask. And what a handsome couple they make, he thought bitterly. His son, and the slut's daughter.

It was Gabe's fault he was on the run again, that he was going to have to fold his tent and slink off.

There would be no triumphant drive to Vegas now. The cops were asking questions. Rich had dragged that much out of Cunningham when he'd squeezed the man for another two thousand.

Let them ask, he thought, switching on his ignition when the Jaguar's roared to life. He wouldn't be around to answer. No, sir, Rich Slater was taking the high road all the way to Mexico, just as soon as he took care of a little business.

He slipped out of the lot, keeping the Jaguar in sight.

"We're going to have to be obnoxious." Kelsey told Gabe as they wove their way through Alexandria's traffic. "Rooney refused to take any of my calls."

"So, we'll be obnoxious."

"You think I'm wasting my time."

"What's important is what you think. You want to talk to him, we'll talk to him."

She shifted in her seat, wishing they could hurry up, wishing they could take forever. "I suppose I want to know how involved my father was in Rooney's investigation. If Dad knew Alec Bradley or just of him.

I need to clear it in my mind. I don't suppose it changes anything that happened that night, but I need to know."

"You could ask your father."

"I'll have to, sooner or later. For now I'd ..." Her voice trailed off. Abruptly she straightened in her seat and leaned forward as Gabe turned into the parking garage beneath Rooney's building.

"What is it?"

"That car, the one that just pulled out."

Gabe flicked a glance at his rearview mirror in time to see the car turn left and join the flow of traffic.

"The black Lincoln?"

"My grandmother." Kelsey rubbed at the chill on her arms. "That was my grandmother's car. It was her driver at the wheel. I recognized him."

"There are a lot of offices in this building, Kelsey."

"And life's full of odd coincidences. No." She shook her head, staring straight ahead when Gabe pulled the car into an empty space. "I don't believe it. She was here to see Rooney. I'm going to find out why."

As they crossed to the elevator, Gabe took her arm. She was all but vibrating with temper and nerves.

"If you go in guns blazing, you'll just spook him."

"Whatever it takes." She stepped in, then jabbed the button for Rooney's floor.

She might have been packing six-guns, Gabe thought, the way she stalked the receptionist in Rooney's plush outer office.

"Kelsey Byden and Gabriel Slater, to see Mr. Rooney."

The woman's professional smile flashed. "Do you have an appointment?"

"No."

"I'm sorry, Ms. Byden, Mr. Slater-"

"Don't be," Kelsey interrupted, and leaned on the desk in a manner that had the professional smile dimming considerably. "Just tell him we're here. And we're not leaving until we see him. Oh, and you might mention that I just saw my grandmother leaving. Milicent Byden."

It turned the key. Within ten minutes they were being ushered into Rooney's office. He didn't rise from his desk this time, but greeted them both with a single terse nod.

"You've caught me at a bad time. I'm afraid I can't spare more than five minutes."

"We might have managed a more convenient time, Mr. Rooney, if you'd taken any of my calls."

"Ms. Byden." Trying to exude patience, Rooney folded his hands on the desk. He succeeded in looking like a man begging. "I've tried to save both of us time and trouble. I can't help you."

"Why were you there that night, Mr. Rooney? You see, that's a question I keep returning to. Maybe it's because it all happened so long ago and I see it from a different perspective from those who were involved in the heat of the moment. But why that night? That particular night of all nights?"

"I was on routine surveillance. It's just as viable to ask yourself why your mother chose that particular night to shoot Alec Bradley."

"I know the answer to that," Kelsey returned steadily. "I'm wondering if you do. How much did you really see?"

"That's a matter of record." He rose, dismissing them. "I can't help you."

"How far did my father tell you to go? Did he approve your decision to sneak onto my mother's property and spy through her windows?"

"I'm paid to use my own judgment."

"You must have come to know my mother and Alec Bradley very well in those weeks that you followed them. Did you ever follow only him? See who he met, who he spoke with, who might have given him money?"

He could barely swallow, then realized it wasn't necessary. The saliva in his mouth had dried up. "I was hired to investigate your mother."

"But he was part of your investigation. How well did my father know him?"

Rooney's jaw tightened. "To my knowledge, they were not acquainted."

Outwardly cool, Kelsey merely lifted a brow. "He had no interest in the man his wife was allegedly having an affair with?"

"Estranged wife, and no, at that point in time Philip Byden was only interested in one thing. His child."

"But when you reported to him-"

"I reported to his lawyers. Whether or not he read the copies they sent him, I can't say. He didn't want to be involved." A small smile touched Rooney's mouth. "He felt the idea of hiring an investigator was undignified."

"But he did hire you?"

"Perhaps he felt the ends justified the means. I have another appointment. You'll have to excuse me."

"Why did my grandmother come here today?"

"That's confidential."

"She's a client?"

"I can't help you," he said, spacing his words. But his eyes flicked to Gabe, then away.

Alone, Rooney sat behind his desk, steadying his breathing. He reached into his pocket and thumbed out a Tums that would do little to ease the burning in his gut.

How could it come back like this? After all these years. He'd gone by the book. He'd followed the book to the letter for twenty-three years. How could one night so long ago spring back at him like a tiger?

He started at the sound of his buzzer, then cursed himself. He wouldn't help the situation if he let nerves rattle him. He answered the buzzer.

"Mr. Rooney. There's a gentleman to see you. He doesn't have an appointment, but he claims to be an old friend. I'm to tell you it's old Rich."

"I don't know any ..." His mouth went dry again, his palms damp. For one frantic moment, Rooney looked around his office for a route of escape. There was none, he realized. He was as terminally hooked as the glass-eyed swordfish on his wall.

"Send him in, and hold my calls, please."

"Yes, sir."

Rich was beaming when he stepped into Rooney's office. "Long time no see."

"What do you want?"

Rich sat, propped his feet on the desk. "You've put on a little weight, Charlie. Looks good on you, though. Used to look a little like a scarecrow. Why don't you buy an old pal a drink?"

"What do you want?" Rooney repeated.

"Well, you can start by telling me what my boy and that pretty lady of his wanted with you." Rich drew out a cigarette. "We'll work from there."

"I don't feel a whole lot better," Kelsey said when they climbed back into the car. "Am I supposed to be glad that my father hired that man but kept himself distant so he wouldn't soil his dignity? Or should I be relieved that he had nothing to do with Rooney, or Alec Bradley?"

"Maybe you should spend some time wondering why Rooney was so nervous."

"Nervous? He seemed cold, remote, and annoyed, but not nervous."

"He had his hands locked together to keep them still." Gabe backed out of the parking space. "The air-conditioning was blasting in that office, but he was sweating. His jaw was locked so tight he had a tic at the corner of his mouth. He was bluffing his way through it." Gabe paid the attendant, then eased back into the street. "But little things kept giving him away. And his eyes. He had the look of a man who's holding trash but keeps bumping the pot."

Curious, and fascinated, Kelsey studied him. "You get all that from gambling?"

"It's a gift. Something's got him spooked."

"All we have to do is find out what." She sighed. "I need a phone booth, Gabe. I think it's time I rounded up the family."

Milicent accepted the sherry her son poured her and, feeling magnanimous, patted his hand. "She's finally come to her senses. Don't look so concerned, Philip. I'm quite willing to put these past few months behind us. She's a Byden, after all." She sat back, sighed, sipped. "Blood will tell."

"I certainly hope she's brought Channing with her." Candace paced to the window and flicked the lace curtain impatiently. "I see no reason why he should stay at that place if Kelsey's coming home."

"Channing's doing what's right for him." Philip put a gentle hand on Candace's shoulder. Part of her wanted to shrug it off, but another, deeper part couldn't bear the thought of any more harsh words between them.

"I want him to be happy, Philip. You know I do."

"Of course you do."

"The boy will come around," Milicent assured them. "It's just youthful defiance, that's all. And sentiment. A vet? Really, now. That will pass."

She flicked Channing's dream aside with one elegant hand. "Why, there was a time, if you can imagine it, when Philip was a boy-do you remember, dear?-and he wanted to be a baseball player. Of all things."

"I remember," he murmured. He'd been sixteen, eager, and despite his bookish appearance, he'd had an arm like a rocket. Of course, that dream had been aborted in its embryonic state. A Byden didn't play professional sports. A Byden was a professional.

"Channing will listen to reason, just as Philip did. Your mistake, Candace dear, was in not asserting your authority."

"Channing's over twenty-one," Candace said stiffly.

"A mother is always a mother." Milicent's smile settled comfortably when the doorbell chimed. "Ah, that will be the prodigal daughter now. Let her apologize first, Philip. She'll feel better for it. Then we'll have Cook kill the fatted calf."

But Kelsey didn't look apologetic when she entered the sitting room with Gabe at her side. She did smile at her father and go to him for a greeting kiss. Hoping to mend fences, she embraced Candace before turning to her grandmother.

"Thank you for seeing me." She leaned down and kissed Milicent's lightly powdered cheek.

"Grandmother, Dad, Candace, this is Gabriel Slater. Gabe, Milicent, Candace, and Philip Byden."

"It's nice to meet you." Philip offered a hand.

"I don't mean to be rude"-Milicent's eyes were cold as they lingered on Gabe-"but I had the impression there was family business to be discussed."

"Yes, there is. Old and new. I suppose I should start with the new. Gabe and I are going to be married."