

Also by Jax Hunter

True Heroes Series

True Valor

True Courage

True Honor

True Virtue

True Gallantry

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Jax Hunter

True Heroes: True Valor

by Jax Hunter

© 2016 by Jax Hunter

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author.

Published by Battle Road Books

This book is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are creations of the author's imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or historical events, is purely coincidental.

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

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work of this author.

PJ's, Air Force parajumpers are the elite special operations units called "Seals with stethoscopes." All are paramedics. All are highly trained warriors. These guys are equally at home in the water, on a sheer rock face or jumping from a helicopter behind enemy lines. Not well known, but very well trained. Their motto is: That others may live. This book is dedicated to all the PJs, past and present.

True Valor is also dedicated to all the civilian SAR units whose members, when the phone rings, routinely get out of a warm bed to brave the elements in behalf of anyone lost or injured. They keep going until the job is done but their names hardly ever make the news. Sometimes they even make the ultimate sacrifice--like my friend Dave Bartels.

### Prologue

The radio in Nic D'Onofrio's ear crackled.

"Hey, Nic, did you find us a soft place to land?"

"Na-ah. Should I have?" Nic spoke, the mic in his ear picking up his own voice.

Someone whined. "Joey always does."

"Yeah, well, Joey spoils you guys. I'm the navigator tonight. Leave the drop zone to me."

A standing joke for several years, one Bravo Squad never let Alpha forget. A member of Alpha Squad had landed wrong on a jump and broken his ankle. If that weren't enough, he'd been dragged by his chute through the mud screaming in pain; all on video tape for the entire unit to see. It hadn't been the navigator's fault but Joey took the opportunity anyway to give him a piece of sound advice. "Always look for a soft place to land." From there, the conversation had degenerated.

On this jump, they'd have to survive without Joey. He was in Afghanistan for another week. No big deal. Every man on Bravo Squad was trained to navigate jumps.

" _Amigo_ , you think you can do this without Joey?" Eric Cruz's voice snapped with humor. Any of them could do this stuff half asleep.

Nic mentally flipped him off. "I think I can. I think I can. I think I can." At terminal velocity, he had to shout to be heard over the air whipping past him at one hundred twenty-five miles per hour. Nic braced himself as he approached the cloud deck. He squinted to see the altimeter on his wrist as snowflakes pelted him, hard as bullets.

"In the clouds." Lt. Quillen's voice came over the radio. Seconds ticked away.

"I'm out."

At six thousand feet, Quillen gave the order to separate so the team could open their chutes. One by one, they checked in.

"Navigator okay," Nic reported as soon as his chute deployed. The others followed suit.

"All chutes okay."

Now out of the clouds, Nic could see the lights of town twinkle in the distance, the cold making them look like candles. It only took seconds to find the target drop zone.

"Navigator?" Quillen again.

"Got it. Turning right to heading one-nine-three degrees."

"Make it a soft place, Nic."

Nic let out an evil laugh. "I'm headed for the rocks. Suck it up."

The unit commander, Colonel Rick McIntyre, known as Mac to his squads, leaned heavily against the north wall of the pararescue headquarters, watching Bravo Squad unload the last of the gear from the back of the truck. Dawn would break before any of them got any shuteye.

He cleared the lump from his throat then smiled, watching his parajumpers congratulate each other with slaps on the back. A jump that went off without a hitch was no small victory.

The snow fell in swirls almost obstructing Mac's view. Even with their faces covered in camo paint, and with limited visibility, he knew these guys well enough to know which one was which. Mac loved his PJs. Sure, he had to rein them in sometimes but he never had to jump-start them. They were ready for anything any time. _Simpliciter Paratus!_

Mac caught Quillen's eye and motioned him over to where he stood. Please, God, don't let me choke. His stomach churned. Please, God, don't let me puke.

Lieutenant David Quillen, Bravo's Combat Rescue Officer, straightened and walked crisply over to Mac.

"Sir," he said, saluting, "you're here late." Mac could see recognition of his seriousness in Quillen's eyes.

Mac slapped David on the back, smiled as best he could. "Great job tonight, Lieutenant."

"Thank you, sir."

"Before your team leaves, David, I need to speak to them."

A momentary grimace may have chased across his lieutenant's face. But then the young man squared his shoulders and nodded.

If only Mac could get through this without blubbering like a baby. Breaking this kind of news never got easier.

Never.

### Chapter One

Nic had intended to close down the bar, but now he didn't feel like it. He'd managed to watch the end of the hockey game on the corner big screen and polish off the pizza he'd ordered. But finishing his second beer required more effort than he was willing to expend. He half smiled. Joey would have said leaving beer in a glass was alcohol abuse. Grief surged up from his gut, closing his throat. No matter.

Just before midnight, Nic shoved to his feet and walked to his car. No energy left to dig his gloves from his pockets, his hands frozen from scraping snow from the windshield, he headed back to the hotel.

Nic muttered aloud as the car in front of him, which up until this point had been going slow enough to make him curse, now coasted to a stop on the side of the road. "Not... now... Batman." His breath came out in a crystal fog and he tugged the collar of his North Face parka up around his chin.

The ongoing argument began again. Nic, the rescuer, thrived on rushing in and saving the day while Nic, the private citizen, had better things to do. Right now, he just wanted to get back to the condo and go to bed. He'd tried, on numerous occasions, to outsmart, out wait, or out will Batman Nic. It hardly ever worked. But damn it, Citizen Nic was tired and cold and he would win tonight. He tried not to look at the driver as he pulled around the disabled sedan but Batman managed a long-enough glimpse that he knew it was a female, a not-too-bad-looking female with shoulder-length blonde hair and delicate features. Her hands on the wheel, she stared straight ahead.

Citizen Nic made it to the end of the block before grumbling his frustration with superheroes and turning the car around. He grumbled again as he pulled his rental car around in front of hers, and, huddled in his coat, dashed back to her car.

"Miss?" He knocked on the window, then drew his hands to his mouth, using his breath in a vain attempt to warm them. "Miss?"

As if moving through Jell-O, she turned and looked at him, her eyes glazed with confusion. Drugs? Or alcohol? At last, she rolled down the window.

"Something wrong with your car, ma'am?"

"I... think... it's, uh, maybe—" She shifted her gaze to the instrument panel. "—out of gas."

She was definitely on something. "You live around here?" Maybe he could just give her a quick ride and be done with this.

"No."

No such luck.

"Where are you headed?"

She stared at him as if he were speaking another language. "I don't know," she said at last.

Concerned now, the paramedic in him geared up to solve a medical mystery. "Are you feeling okay?"

She smiled a bit, causing an almost-imperceptible tightening in his groin. Almost imperceptible. "I think so."

He began looking for evidence of injury, scanning her face, her head. No blood. Odd, she didn't have a coat on. But there was something else, something not quite right.

"Do you need an ambulance?"

"No!" The word came out almost in a shriek, her hands grasping the steering wheel in an iron grip, her head shaking back and forth desperately. "No ambulance!"

Wanted by the police? Running from an abusive husband? The thing that nagged at him had finally made it to the forefront of his brain. "Are those your pajamas?"

Her gaze drifted down, taking in her clothes. She looked back up at him. "Maybe."

Okay, let's start over. "What's your name?"

"Julie."

"Julie what?"

She began to look around as if hoping the answer would appear in lights. It wasn't that hard a question. Hell. This could be a problem. While he waited for the answer, he automatically clicked through the possible causes of altered level of consciousness. Alcohol, altitude, anaphylaxis, apnea... the list went on.

"I don't know," she said at last.

"Do you know where you are?" Nic proceeded through the questions methodically.

"Not really."

"How about the day? Do you know what day it is?"

"December, um, twenty-third?"

Close. By now it was Christmas Eve morning, but who was counting. "Okay, here's the deal, Julie. My name is Nic and I'm a paramedic from Boston..." That wasn't exactly true.

"I'm in Boston?" Again, her voice edged toward hysteria and her eyes filled with panic.

"No, no. You're in Lake Tahoe, California."

"Oh."

"We need to call an ambulance or get you to a hospital. You don't know your last name—where you are..."

"No!" She reached down and turned the key, trying to get the car to crank.

Nic waited until she gave up.

"Julie, listen to me." He spoke as if talking to a small child. "You can't stay here. You'll freeze to death." His mind raced with alternatives. The hospital or ambulance was unacceptable to her and dropping her off at the next hotel he came to was dangerous, inhumane and made him a total jerk. So, he chose the option that sounded the craziest and didn't, at all, fit into his plans.

"Let me take you to my place and get you warmed up. We'll see if you aren't thinking more clearly after that. I promise I won't hurt you."

Julie nodded and reached for the door handle. He helped her from the car, noticing that all she had on her feet were floppy slippers. Well, actually, only one slipper. Her other foot was bare. Time stood still as she smiled up at him and took his hands. The fleeting feelings and thoughts that followed were definitely not Batman-like.

Nic cleared his throat, shoving away the thoughts. "Do you have a purse or anything?"

Julie looked into the car then back at him. "I don't think so."

Nic reached for the keys, made sure the doors were locked and, sweeping Julie into his arms, trudged through the snow toward his car. Citizen Nic balked and Batman furled his cape.

"We'll come back and get your car in the morning," he said, helping her into the passenger seat. On his way around to the driver's side, he made a mental note of her license plate number. California plates. She couldn't be too far from home.

Batman Nic was pleased to be helping the helpless. But, before putting the car into gear, Citizen Nic was looking for a graceful escape.

Nic flipped the heater fan to high.

"I'm only wearing one slipper," Julie said in a monotone.

"I noticed."

"How do you suppose I lost the other one?" The look on her face was confused, but not panicked. That was good.

"I don't have a clue." He gave her his practiced smile of support.

"Well that's not good, is it?"

"What, losing a slipper?"

"No. Not knowing how I lost it. That's not good, is it, Paramedic Nic?"

He couldn't help but grin. At least she remembered what he'd told her. Short-term memory intact. Likely not a concussion. She seemed to be taking the situation well.

"No, it isn't, Julie. But we'll get you warmed up and something to eat. Maybe that will help your memory."

We? That definitely wasn't a good sign.

They rode in silence. Nic drove through the parking garage, hoping to find a place close to the doors into the hotel so Julie wouldn't have to walk outside.

"I'm missing a slipper, but I'm not Cinderella, am I?"

No, and I'm not Prince Charming, either. "Well, Julie Cinderella doesn't sound right, so I don't suppose so," Nic said, spotting a parking place and pulling into it, went around to open Julie's door. He peeled off his coat and wrapped it around Julie as she stepped out of the car. He'd planned to let her walk to the door, but reconsidered when he saw all the puddles left by dripping cars. So, once again, he scooped up Julie and walked into the hotel, not putting her down until they were on carpet.

"Well, here we are," Nic said, wondering once again what had possessed him to bring her here.

Once inside the door, he steered Julie past the kitchen and into the living room, gently pressing her into a chair. She'd begun to shiver so he left his coat around her shoulders. Room service would likely be closed.

"I'll see what I have in the kitchen for you to eat."

She didn't reply.

He'd picked up a few snacks at the local market and, luckily, he'd also gotten a few cans of soup for after a day on the slopes. He grabbed one, and after pouring it into a bowl, placed it in the microwave and punched high.

"Want a cup of coffee, Julie?" Nic asked from the kitchen.

Again, she didn't answer, so he walked out and knelt in front of her. She stared at the television as if it were on. He took her hands in his—ignoring the tug in his chest—they were so cold. He rubbed them with his thumbs as he got her attention.

"Julie, do you want a cup of coffee?"

"No, thanks, I don't drink coffee." Amusement flickered in her brown eyes. "Weird, I don't know my last name, but I know I don't drink coffee."

The bell on the microwave sounded. Nic squeezed her hands reassuringly and headed back into the kitchen for the soup. By the time he got back into the living room, Julie had moved to the window, gazing out at the falling snow.

"Christmas Eve, huh? I wonder where I'm supposed to be right now."

It wasn't her tone—even and matter-of-fact—but the words that forced him to clear his throat before speaking.

"Come eat some soup."

Once at the table, Julie ate well. Nic sat across from her and, when she was finished asked if she wanted more. She shook her head and sat back, pulling his coat around herself again.

"So, Julie. Why don't you tell me what you do remember?"

She looked up at him, her eyes once again reflecting a sort of panic. Then her gaze fell to her hands. "The only thing I remember is the car sputtering. I looked down at the gas gauge and then pulled off to the side of the road." She paused, clearly trying to get to the memories locked away inside.

Nic waited, hoped.

"It was like when you zone out while someone's talking. You kinda zone back in and realize you've missed what they said. I just sat there trying to figure out where I was and where I was going. Then, you were at the window talking to me."

Her eyes met his. God, she was beautiful. Her blonde hair fell around her face, and her eyes, a deep brown when he would have expected blue, shimmered with tears.

"You think, if I go to sleep, I'll wake up and remember?"

"I don't know. Sure you won't let me take you to the hospital?"

"No!" She sat up straight, as if wanting to flee the room.

Nic put his hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay. No hospital. C'mon, I'll let you have the bed. I'll sleep on the couch." He walked around the table and held out his hand to pull her to her feet, then led her to the bedroom. He laid back the bedding. "Get some sleep. We'll see how things are in the morning."

There was that "we" word again.

Julie sat down hesitantly on the bed.

"Do you think someone is looking for me?"

His gut twisted at the question. It wasn't a sinister question. If she was missing, likely her family would be looking for her. But it wasn't that simple. He just knew it. Still, he didn't want to scare her with the first response that came to him—that someone might be looking to do her harm.

"Maybe."

When she didn't say more, he moved away.

"I'll be in the living room if you need me."

"Thank you."

"You're welcome." Nic backed out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

"Nic. Could you just leave the door open?"

Nic smiled and complied. Then he walked to the couch and flipped on the TV. The sound blared, making even him jump before he could find the mute button on the remote.

"Sorry," he hollered in the general direction of the bedroom.

He could hear her laugh in reply. "No worries, mate."

Nic laughed. With her use of the Aussie phrase, Brandon Kirke's face flashed through his head. Kirke was former Australian Special Forces and came to Yosemite every summer to play with the SAR boys. Nic had picked up some Aussie phrases from him. Where had Julie picked up hers? A friend? A husband?

He'd stripped to his boxers and shrugged, not wanting to go into the bedroom to grab sweats. He spread out the blanket and pillow he'd retrieved before Julie went to bed and curled up on the couch, his legs too long to stretch them out.

While he stared at the ceiling, his mind raced. The girl in his bed—there was a strange thought—had amnesia.

Amnesia. Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

Or, maybe she was faking. Why would she do that? What god-awful thing had happened to her to leave her lost and alone? For an instant, horrible images of violence and rape chased each other around his brain.

With a whispered curse, he turned up the volume on the TV, then flipped through the channels trying to find something...anything to make him drowsy. To give him something else to think about.

Who the hell was this girl?

### Chapter Two

"Another fine fix you've gotten yourself into." Nic stood at the window watching the snow come down yet again. Perfect conditions for the slopes, damn it. He glanced at his watch. 0310. He picked up the phone. Cruz would just have to get up a bit early.

Eric Cruz's sleepy, irritated voice answered after the first ring. "Cruz."

"Hollywood, Nic. Get your sorry butt out of bed, splash some cold water on your face. I'll hold. I'm in deep kimchi."

"Did you get yourself arrested or something?"

"No, dumbass, I didn't. I'll call you back in five."

The second conversation went a little better than the first. Aside from the biting remarks, made when Nic told him that Julie was asleep in his bed, Cruz said what Nic expected him to say. Thank God.

"First thing in the morning, take this Julie person to the nearest police station and let the authorities handle it."

Joey had always been the levelheaded member of the three amigos, but Cruz had his moments. Let the experts handle it, then Nic could get back to skiing.

With a sigh of relief, Nic hung up the phone. Cruz was absolutely right. Nic wasn't a cop. And, for that matter, he was on leave. The skiing would be perfect tomorrow. She could give him that pitiful, panicked look all she wanted to. He was doing the right thing.

Pulling the phone book from the desk drawer, Nic looked up the address of the police department. On the hotel scratch pad, he scribbled P.D. along with the street address. With the plan formulated in his brain, Nic curled up again on the couch, turned off the TV, and slept.

The bright sunlight peeked around the edges of the curtains. Nic ran his fingers through his hair, stretched his legs, and looking at his watch, proceeded to swing his feet to the floor. When they came down on a lump, instead of the thick carpet of the floor, he pulled them back up and looked down. There, up against the front of the couch was Julie, her hair spread on the pillow, the blanket from the bed pulled up around her ears. She didn't move, even though he'd almost stepped on her.

Holy mother of...was she dead? He peered at her closely. Once he verified that she was, in fact, breathing, he threw the blanket off his legs, and carefully stepped over her sleeping form. He reached for his jeans, and pulled them on as he hopped to the kitchen to put on some coffee. Again he checked his watch, having been interrupted from the information he sought. Ten after eleven.

Crap. Half the day was gone.

He flipped the switch to the coffee maker and made his way to the bathroom. When he came out, Julie was up, sitting on the couch, still wrapped in the blanket.

"Good morning," Nic said, trying for a cheerful tone, and turned to go into the kitchen.

"Will you take me to get my car this morning?"

"And then what, Julie? Did you remember something?" Nic returned to the living room, a mug of coffee in his hand.

"No. I don't know." She tossed back the blanket and launched to her feet.

"Maybe we should check with the police." If he could get her to agree, he wouldn't feel like he was abandoning her. It was worth a try.

"No, no police." She responded without hesitation. "Just get me to the car and I'll figure out something."

"C'mon, Julie. That doesn't make sense. You don't have your ID, or money or anything."

Julie pulled herself up straight. "I'm fully aware of that."

Frustration rose up in Nic's throat. "Well, that's about all you're aware of."

"Thanks for reminding me. I don't need this from you, Nic from Boston. I'm a big girl, I can take care of myself." Julie stomped to the window, stood by the desk, and fingered the phone cord. She stared at the phone as if trying to think of someone to call.

"Yeah, right. You're so independent that you came and slept on the floor beside me last night. Be sensible."

A small squeak came from her before she turned to face him. Julie glared at Nic for an instant.

Dang, he shouldn't have said that. She didn't deserve the rage and bitterness that blindsided him, even now. But then, almost as quickly as it materialized, her glare melted into indifference.

"Whatever you say."

Was that a concession? That was what he wanted, wasn't it? "You go shower first. I'll order us some breakfast."

"Fine." Julie pushed past Nic, walked into the bathroom and shut the door.

As the shower ran, Nic ordered food. The phone rang just after he hung it up. Who would be calling him here? Maybe Cruz was checking to make sure he'd followed through. Nic grabbed the phone on the second ring, looking toward the bathroom to make sure Julie was still in the shower.

"Hello."

"Hey, Boyo."

"Uncle Mickey, what are you doing calling me?" Nic knew the answer even before he finished the question. The last time Nic and Joey'd gone home, they'd dragged Cruz along. He'd been an instant hit with the D'Onofrio family. "Cruz called you?"

"Yeah, he did."

"Sorry he bothered you. Did he fill you in?"

"He's convinced that you're in danger, Boyo."

"Me? Why?"

"Said something about a gut feeling. I thought you might want me to run those plates for you."

"What?"

"Well," he snorted "you surely aren't going to do what he suggested, are you?"

"Yeah, I am. Why?"

"Because it's BS, Nicky."

"What?"

"What does your _gut_ tell you is going on with this girl, Nic? You've always had good instincts, even if you didn't become a cop."

Mickey had never gotten over the fact that Nic had preferred battling fires to fighting bad guys. Then, when he and Joey had made the jump to pararescue, Mickey had again pled his case for them to come back to Boston and join the force. Nic never doubted that he'd made the right decision. Well, not until Joey died.

He forced himself back to the present. "I think she's telling the truth. I think she really does have amnesia, if that's what you're asking."

"Partly. But what I'm really asking is this: what does your gut tell you to do?"

Nic was silent.

"Don't think, Boyo, just answer."

"She's in trouble and she needs my help."

"And?"

"And I don't want that responsibility."

"Look, Nic. You and I both know that long term isn't in your vocabulary. A few hours, maybe twenty-four hours on the side of the mountain, okay. But you're the master of the momentary."

Nic winced.

"Grow up, Nic. Help this poor girl out, or you'll regret it the rest of your life. Now, give me the license plate number and a description, and I'll see what I can find out."

Nic gave him the information and slammed down the receiver. Damn it all. Mickey had acted like Nic had already agreed to this crazy scheme of his, like he already knew what Nic would decide.

The shower shut off. Nic paced the length of the small living room in three steps, turning his options over in his mind. A knock on the door, announcing the arrival of their breakfast, made the decision for him. He decided to decide later. Citizen Nic was fully in control again—for the moment.

By the time Julie came out of the bathroom, wearing the only thing she had—her pajamas—Nic had the table filled with food. "Eat something. I'm going to shower." He hadn't intended to sound so testy but, he _was_ testy.

Julie slumped into a chair, picked up a muffin, and took an obedient bite.

Nic shrugged and headed for the bathroom.

He was too tall to let the water pound on his head—the problem with hotel showers. Still, the warm water felt good on his chest. At least there was decent pressure. As he shampooed his hair the delayed conversation in his head started again.

Citizen Nic gave him all the common-sense answers. Take Julie to the people who solved these kinds of things for a living. But the nagging little voice, the one heard beneath the rustle of the cape, was accusatory. You're just avoiding a commitment here. But what you're really afraid of is getting your heart involved. You are at a crossroad, my friend. It's time, Nic, to let down your defenses and take on something that will take more than a few hours of your precious time.

The argument went on. Nic shut his eyes and inhaled the steam, letting the water beat on his back until it should have been cold. When he could avoid it no longer, he raised his head and stepped back, shutting off the water.

"All right, Batman, you win...again." Nic muttered, as he pulled on jeans and a sweatshirt. "You happy?" He grabbed socks and walked toward the living room.

"Damn it!"

The room was empty.

### Chapter Three

Julie was gone, plain and simple. A half-eaten muffin left on her plate. She must have taken off as soon as he'd turned on the water. Nic ran his hand through his still damp hair. Where could she have gone in her pajamas? On the table was the pad he'd written the police department address on.

"Damn it all!"

Nic skidded to a stop at the front desk, interrupting the desk clerk to ask if there were any messages. He wasn't surprised when the clerk, with lips pursed, handed him a note.

Nic,

Thank you so much for everything. I will find a way to pay you back for the clothes. Sorry, I just can't go to the police.

Julie

Nic crumpled the note in his hand and scanned the lobby. Where would she have bought... There. A small boutique. He strode that way.

"Excuse me," he said to the store clerk, who had her nose buried in a magazine. "Did a pretty blonde girl come in here in her pajamas and buy some clothes?"

"Oh, yes, sir. She left about half an hour ago. I think she caught the courtesy bus."

"What did she buy?"

"You must be Nic."

"What?"

"Nic. You must be Nic. She told me about you."

"Really." Who cares? Just answer the question.

"Too bad about her losing her bags. It shouldn't spoil your honeymoon though."

"Our honeymoon... Right. No, it shouldn't. But I do need to know what she bought, if you don't mind."

The girl, now a bit flustered, pulled out the receipt that she said had been charged to the room. "Jeans, a sweater, a jacket, and some boots. Here's the receipt."

Nic took a deep breath before looking at the bottom line. Places like this weren't known for their discount clothing. Two hundred thirty-six dollars and some change.

Sheesh.

"She did select all sale items. I tried to talk her into the blue cashmere sweater. It would have accented her eyes."

At what must have been a look of total bafflement, she babbled on.

"I've always thought light blue with brown eyes was gorgeous. But she didn't want to spend much, said she just needed something to wear. She didn't want to go out in pajamas. Guess she was lucky she had those in her carry-on."

"Whatever. What color coat did she get?"

"Green, forest green," she replied, walking to a near rack, "like this one, only green."

"Thanks." Nic bolted from the store, heading to the elevators before he stopped short. He turned around and instead, went to the lobby doors. No bus waiting. Damn. Again, he walked to the front desk. "Can you tell me where the courtesy bus runs?"

"Mostly anywhere in town, sir."

"When will it be back?"

The clerk checked her watch. "Another fifteen minutes or so."

"Thanks." Nic didn't want to waste time. But it would help to know where Julie'd been dropped off. Trust your instincts, Boyo. He felt his coat pocket. No keys. She'd gone to get the car. Nic sprinted to the elevator, taking it to the parking level. What had first been irritation at her behavior now turned to pure fear for her safety. But for the life of him, he couldn't pinpoint why.

He had to find her and find her fast.

There she was. Sitting on a bench a half block from where her car had stopped last night. Her hair shone, despite the thick cloud cover, making her look almost angelic. No car though. Must have already been towed. Nic found the nearest parking place and pulled in.

"Hey."

She hadn't seen him coming. She wasn't watching, just sitting there looking at her hands. Nic noted she didn't buy gloves. He sat down beside her on the bench.

"The best laid plans..." she said.

"And if the car had still been here? What then?" He reached over and took her hand in his.

Silence.

He asked again.

"I'd have used the twenty bucks I took from your wallet for gas and... gone, well, somewhere else. Out of your hair, for one thing."

Nic laughed, hoping to dislodge the guilt that settled in his stomach. He had wanted to get rid of her. Still did. But he'd hoped he hadn't let her know that. Obviously he hadn't been successful.

"Take off your shades."

"What?"

"I can't see your eyes."

He slid his sunglasses up on top of his head.

Julie searched his eyes, her own serious, cautious.

"I'm not going to the police station, Nic."

"No, you're not."

Her eyes widened at this.

"I changed my mind. We can give it some time, I guess."

"Thank you." She squeezed his hand.

He nodded and led her to the car.

They stopped at the store, and Nic bought groceries—canned soup, sandwich makings, whatever looked good. Then, he threw things for Julie into the cart—a toothbrush, mittens, a couple pairs of socks and a three pack of underwear. She tried to talk him out of it, blushing furiously the entire time.

"I don't particularly want you washing out the same pair and letting it dry in my bathroom."

Totally rude and he knew it. But at least it shut her up.

By the time they reached the hotel, the snow had started in earnest again. There wasn't a parking place to be found in the garage, so they ended up walking a half block, carrying the grocery bags.

"God, I love the snow." Julie laughed as she tried to catch snowflakes on her tongue.

She was so danged adorable, it was hard to stay irritated with her. Smiling at her antics on the outside, underneath, he cringed as the warmth of caring kindled inside him.

"I miss it," she said

Nic stopped in his tracks.

"What?"

Julie stopped as well, giving him a curious look.

"Did you hear what you said?"

"Yeah, I said I miss the..." Julie paused, the realization of her words showing on her face, "snow." Her expression darkened, the fun that had been there a moment before replaced with anger and frustration. "Argh." The sound came out through clenched teeth. "Which way were we going?"

Nic lifted the bags he held in one hand to point the direction. That was weird. A fleeting doubt came and went. She'd have to be an Oscar-caliber actress to be faking it. He dismissed the thought with the admission that amnesia likely was weird like that, but took a moment to fervently hope she wasn't an ax murderer. Nic made a mental note to ask Cruz the next time they spoke, to grab a paramedic book and look up the symptoms of amnesia. Or call the team's doc. Or Google it.

Julie was quiet as Nic cleared out a drawer for her things. He left her to put stuff away, went to the living room and turned on the TV. When she hadn't come out in fifteen minutes he went to check on her.

"You okay?" He had to ask twice before she looked over.

"I can't do this."

He started to make a joke about putting her stuff away, but stopped before it reached his lips. Instead, he went over, moved the bags to the floor and sat beside her on the bed. "I can't believe that you'll have to, kiddo. I don't know much about amnesia. I'm a medic, not a psychiatrist. But, surely..."

"Surely what?" Her voice rose, edging toward explosion. "Tomorrow morning I'll wake up and be cured? Or maybe I'll fall off the balcony and hit my head and be cured. Or..."

She shot off the bed and out of the bedroom before he could stop her. He followed. She paced in front of the balcony window as if the room, not her brain, held her prisoner. He perched on the arm of the couch.

"Julie, don't panic yet. As far as we know, it hasn't even been twenty-four hours. Your memory will come back. Give it some time. I'd guess the harder you try to remember, the less likely you will. Out in the snow, it just came out of your mouth. Maybe it will again."

"And if it doesn't?"

"I don't know, babe." Things were just coming out of his mouth, too. It was disconcerting. He hardly knew this girl—didn't know her at all—and he's calling her babe. What the hell?

She stopped pacing and stared out the window.

"What happened to me, Nic? Who am I?"

Nic pushed himself to stand. He hated this inaction, this wondering. "C'mere," he said, pointing to the table. "Let's make a list of what we do know about you."

"I'm hungry." Julie turned around, smiling now.

Man, she changed gears faster than...

"You promised me a burger," she said, leaving him wondering when he'd done that. Maybe he had amnesia too.

"Let's make your silly list over lunch." She walked to the door and grabbed her coat on the way out.

They sat in the back corner of the upscale burger joint, fries spread out on a napkin beside the hotel pad Nic stuck in his pocket before leaving the room.

"Okay, my first name is Julie," she said. Popped a mustard-smothered fry in her mouth.

"And you put mustard on your fries." Nic wrote that down.

"I like snow."

"You catch snowflakes on your tongue and you don't drink coffee."

"Now we're close to solving the mystery." Julie again, pointedly this time, doused her fry in yellow.

"You say things like 'no worries mate.'"

"Wow, I do? You're very observant."

Nic waggled his eyebrows at her. "I get paid the big bucks to be observant."

"And you're a paramedic from Boston."

At some point, he'd have to clear up that small misunderstanding. "I know who I am."

"Showoff." Julie reached across the table, sloppy fry in hand. "Here, have one."

Nic grabbed her hand before the food touched his lips. Her eyes danced with mischief.

Whoa.

"Cut it out." Nic released her hand and looked back down at the paper.

"Sorry."

She didn't look sorry. Back to work. "Your car has California plates."

"It does?"

"Yeah, it does."

"What else?"

"Well, you're not wearing a wedding ring."

"Neither are you."

"Get serious here." He jabbed the pen down several times on the pad.

Julie looked out the window, her expression sobering. At last, she spoke. "If I get serious..." She slid out of the booth, taking her coat with her. "This is stupid anyway. Thank you for the food." Without another word she jammed her arms into the jacket and stomped from the restaurant.

She was waiting at the car when he got there and got in without saying another word.

"I'm scared, Nic."

She didn't give him a chance to answer but forged ahead, words tumbling from her mouth. "I'm up and down and up and down, you know. I'm scrambled, and confused, and kinda dead inside." She wrung her hands absently and her voice climbed as she continued. "Earlier, on the bench, I had the urge to charge out into traffic, to see if it would hurt to get hit by a car. I have impulses that overtake me from nowhere, impulses to do unimaginable things, things that make me wonder if that's really the kind of person I am."

She slammed her mouth shut, as if by doing so she could quell the emotion, the fear.

"What kind of things?" he asked.

No response.

Nic pulled into a parking place and shut off the car.

"What kind of things, Julie?"

Yanking the door open, she climbed out and led the way to his room.

They didn't bring up her amnesia again. They played gin rummy, watched TV—sitting at opposite ends of the couch—and had soup for dinner. Without warning, Julie got up and stated flatly that she was going to bed.

"You think you'll end up on the floor in the morning?"

"Not if I can help it."

She left the door open halfway and soon turned off the light.

Much later, he heard her, but didn't let on, as she dragged her pillow and blanket into the living room and took her place on the floor in front of the couch.

It was a struggle not to reach down and touch her.

When Christmas morning came, Nic once again stepped over Julie. Leaving her asleep in the still-darkened room, he went to shower.

With the water running, he wasn't sure he'd actually heard the door open, then close. Before he could utter the question on his lips, Julie stepped into the shower.

"What the hell?"

"I'm here to wash your back."

"Uh, Julie. I don't think..."

"Good, don't think." Her gaze never left his face as she moved under the water, pressed up against him, reaching around him to run her hands down his back. Her lips were warm on his neck.

There was no way to hide his body's reaction to her. When her hands reached his shoulders, she drew back. "What's this?"

His body followed the command of her hands as she turned him away from her. "What happened?" Her fingers lightly traced the scar that ran from just below his left shoulder to the top of his rib cage.

He couldn't move, couldn't speak.

She wrapped her arms around him, her hands hot on his belly, her body, wet and warm on his back. His eyes closed. Explosions went off inside him.

With all the willpower he could muster, he turned around, taking her shoulders and moving her back a step.

"Julie, stop." It was almost a croak. "I can't."

Julie smiled, her eyes scanning down his body, and back up to lock with his.

"Yes, you can." She moved closer, pressing against him. "I want to feel alive, Nic."

Again, he moved away from her. "You are alive, Julie. And I'm going to make sure you stay alive. But I can't do this, tempting as it is. It's not... I can't." He swept the shower curtain back, stepped out, grabbing a towel to wrap around his waist. She didn't follow, thank God. He wasn't sure he could have refused again. Everything in him screamed. He moved to the sink, his hands on the counter, as he caught his breath.

When Julie came out of the bedroom she wore her one pair of new jeans and his light-blue sweatshirt. It nearly swallowed her, making her look even smaller, even more vulnerable.

"Through tattered clothes, small vices do appear. Robes and furred gowns hide all," she said.

"What?"

She cast him a blank look. Then, she shrugged and sat down at the table, absently, shuffling the cards that lay there.

"Nothing. Thanks for letting me wear this."

Not pouting, exactly, but not talking either. She spent the next half hour playing solitaire while Nic, dying from boredom, alternated between channel surfing the limited selection of stations on the hotel TV and staring out the window at the slopes.

"Why don't we go skiing?" he said.

Julie didn't even look up. "Why don't you go skiing and leave me alone?" She turned over another three cards. "If you're afraid I'll leave, I can assure you I won't." She stood and threw the remaining cards at the table. "Or maybe you could just lock me in my room." She spat the words at him, strode into the bedroom and slammed the door.

"Fine," he said, more to himself than to the closed door, "I'm outta here."

Nic yanked his swim gear from the bag in the closet and headed to the pool. He needed to move. And move some more. Sitting made him bitchy.

The first mile in the pool clicked off some of his frustration.

By the fifth mile he felt better.

And when he hit mile ten, he was ready to face the rest of the day cooped up with Julie.

Before he went back upstairs, though, he stopped and called Cruz. Not for the first time, he wished he hadn't been so adamant about spending this "vacation" disconnected from technology. Maybe he should pick up a burner phone. But, in and out of the mountains, the service was spotty and...

"Cruz."

"Tell me about amnesia." As anticipated, Cruz was ready with the medical facts.

"Since there's no evidence of head injury, I'd guess it falls into the dissociative disorder category. Symptoms include," Cruz was obviously reading now, "extreme mood swings from dull and restrained to impulsive and uninhibited, especially sexually. Patients exhibit the inability to make decisions or perform simple tasks such as getting dressed. See any of these in your girl?"

"Um, yeah."

Cruz laughed. "Could be good for you, dude. Uninhibited sexually and inability to dress herself..."

Typical Cruz comment.

"Shut up."

"Sorry." Now his tone changed. "Actually, most of the symptoms are not serious and should abate once the memory comes back. But, there are instances of suicidal behavior, so watch her, man."

When he got back to the room, Julie was asleep on the bed, the shirt he'd left on the back of a chair clutched to her chest like a life preserver. Her red nose and puffy eyes gave away that she'd been crying. She must feel so alone.

He knew the feeling. But through the last few grim weeks, his family had stood by him. The team was with him in spirit, sharing his grief. Julie only had him, though. The sight of her, so recently angry and now, small and defenseless, tugged him over to sit on the bed beside her.

Without hesitation, he stacked the extra pillows, stretched out, and pulled her to rest against him.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice slow with sleep, "for being so snippy."

"It's okay." Nic reached for the remote, shifting her slightly. "Go back to sleep."

With a Christmas truce in effect, Nic and Julie spent a quiet evening watching TV and playing cards. Neither of them felt like going out to find a restaurant that was open. So, Nic fixed tomato soup and grilled cheese sandwiches for dinner.

### Chapter Four

Julie pulled cartons of Chinese food from the bag that had just been delivered to the room, setting them on the coffee table. Nic had convinced her to go skiing and they'd spent the day after Christmas on the bunny slopes with a bazillion other people.

Nic itched to ski the hardest slopes. But, if Julie had ever been on skis before, it wasn't evident. So he stayed with her as she learned the basics, encouraging her and longing to lose himself in physical exertion.

"So how does a paramedic from Boston afford a hotel room like this in Lake Tahoe?"

"He doesn't." Nic plucked a handful of noodles from the nearest carton and, head tipped back, lowered them to his mouth. "My mom's uncle was with the Tenth Mountain Division during World War II. He actually helped establish some of the ski areas here. This hotel room is actually a timeshare. It's part of his estate."

"Nice uncle. A little more than kin, and less than kind." Julie snapped her mouth shut and frowned. "What did I just say?" Her brown eyes showed bewilderment and she tugged her lower lip between her teeth.

Nic grinned. "Um, I think it was Hamlet."

"Oh." She nodded as if he'd just explained it. She arched an eyebrow at him when he popped a hunk of chicken into his mouth. "There are forks, you know."

He almost choked on the chicken. When he was able to speak he replied, "That wouldn't be as much fun." Another fit of coughing took over and Julie slapped him on the back with gusto. "You're not supposed to..." Another cough, another smack, "slap people on the back when they're choking."

"Really? What are you supposed to do, doctor?"

"Just encourage them to keep coughing."

She winked at him. "That wouldn't be as much fun."

Nic lounged on the couch, his legs stretched out, feet on the coffee table, watching hockey, drinking a beer. Content. Stomach full, almost tired from a day on the almost slopes, and hockey on TV. It didn't get better than that.

Or so he told himself. Several times. If Joey were...

Ambushed. Damn. Waves of despair slammed his chest.

The Julie issue was no easier to ignore. He steadfastly pushed away thoughts of pulling her down on his lap and...

"So, Paramedic Nic from Boston, tell me about your job. Do you work for a fire department or an ambulance service?" Julie pulled her feet up onto the couch, balancing her mug of cocoa on her knees. One slurp left her with a marshmallow mustache.

Damn if he didn't want to kiss the mustache from her lips. On a blown-out breath, he focused on the conversation. "No, I actually live here in California, just outside Merced. I'm a PJ."

" _Really_."

The way she said it made him feel like he'd told her he was an escaped murderer. "You know what a PJ is?"

"Of course I do. Why wouldn't I?" She put her legs down and set her cup on the coffee table.

She was defensive again. Nic backpedaled. "Sorry, I just didn't expect you to know."

"Because I don't know my name? Is that why? I know all the names of the presidents and all the state capitals. I'm not stupid. I just can't remember who _I_ am."

Borderline hysteria. She stood quickly and walked to the window.

Nic threw his hands up in surrender. "Whoa, Julie. Back up. The only reason I didn't expect you to know what a PJ was, is that very few people do, okay?"

"Oh. Sorry." Julie crossed back to the couch and timidly sat down, again pulling her knees to her chest. "So, you're a PJ." She closed her eyes, remembering. "Parajumpers, pararescue, the Air Force elite Special Forces." She paused, then opened her eyes wide, surprised by remembering. Then she went on. "I almost had to date a PJ once."

"Had to?" Nic began to relax, stretching his legs out.

Julie smiled. "I had a friend who was determined to bag a PJ, swore they were the best in bed. She probably knew, too. Anyway, she nagged me for almost a year before I convinced her that under no circumstances would I ever date a military guy. No offense."

Nic had to laugh. She was so serious. "None taken."

"It's weird that I remember that, isn't it?"

"I don't know. I'm not an expert on amnesia. What was your friend's name?"

"Cindy... Greene. Great! We can call all the Cindy Greenes in the world and see if any of them know me."

"We'll ask if they know a girl named Julie who doesn't like military guys."

"You said you weren't offended."

"I'm not. You want a refill?" At her nod, Nic took her cup and his to the kitchen. He poured the steaming water into the cups, as Julie spoke from the living room.

"So, do you have Jolly Green Giant feet on your butt?"

Nic jumped back as hot water sloshed onto the floor. Usually that question came on the dance floor with a chick's hands moving down on your ass. It was usually followed by a request to see it. That never stopped being embarrassing. Every PJ he knew had that same tattoo. It was pararescue tradition.

"Yes. I do."

Just the facts, ma'am.

Nic set a full cup of hot chocolate, brimming with marshmallows, in front of Julie. If she'd been paying attention, she'd have seen his tattoo when he made the mad dash for safety after she joined him in the shower.

Julie looked up at him with the can-I-see-it question written all over her face. Her eyes twinkled and her lips curved in a sensual smile.

"Don't go there."

Julie stared at him for a moment. Then the look changed and she burst out laughing. "Don't worry, flyboy, I won't. I didn't believe her anyway."

"What?" The way she jumped from one conversation to another left him baffled. He usually didn't have trouble keeping up. Crap. He found himself wondering if it was the amnesia or if she did that all the time.

"About PJs being the best in bed. I didn't believe her."

"But no offense meant, right?"

"Right." She was still laughing. "So are they...best in bed, I mean?"

"How should I know?"

"Well, flyboy, I'm still not interested..."

Nic started to protest, but Julie flew into a rant.

"I've had quite enough of you macho guys. I spent two of the best years of my life with the perfect man. Aussie, good looking—he flew hot air balloons. I would have spent my life with him. But it turned out he had a honey in every city he flew. I learned absolutely nothing in high school."

Nic squirmed. Way more information than he wanted. But there was the Aussie he'd wondered about. And she remembered more and more of her past, though she didn't realize it.

On she went.

"I just want a simple relationship with a simple guy-next-door nerd. No more he-man guys for me, even if they are airmen with smoldering brown eyes."

"Uh..."

Who? Him? Smoldering brown eyes? What the heck did that mean? But she wasn't going to explain. Maybe that was a good thing. She was off on another subject, as if the last few minutes hadn't happened.

"So, how long's your vacation?"

Nic couldn't switch gears that fast.

"Huh?"

She looked at him like he was a moron, couldn't keep up. "How. Long. Is. Your.Vacation?" "A month total."

"Ooh, and how does one of America's finest get a whole month off?"

Damn it.

"Not by choice, I assure you." Nic grabbed his cup from the table and strode to the kitchen to wash it.

Julie followed.

"I've cried on your shoulder, tough guy. You wanna cry on mine?"

That macho-guy tirade was crying on his shoulder? It felt more like her haranguing him. But, even so, his problems were his and his alone.

"Not particularly."

"Okay, but if you change your mind..." Julie put her cup in the sink and went back out to the living room. Before he'd finished drying the cups, though, she came back.

"C'mon," Julie said and reached for his hand. "Let's go for a walk."

Slate grey clouds layered the twilight sky. Christmas lights twinkled in the stillness, the only sound the crunch of snow below their feet. Their breath crystallized into fog. Julie slipped her mittened hand into Nic's. There was nothing even suggestive about it. It was sweet, childlike. Something deep inside him began to melt.

Nic wasn't sure he liked the feeling.

"For saints have hands that pilgrims' hands do touch."

"What?" Nic stopped walking and stared at her. She only stopped because he had her hand in his.

"What's wrong?" She looked a bit panicked.

"You're quoting Shakespeare again."

"What?" It was obvious she didn't even know she'd spoken.

"Never mind."

Once across the next street, Julie grinned and tugged Nic toward the slide in the center of a small park. When he hesitated, she broke loose and skipped over to make her way up the ladder. Once seated up top, she grinned and slid. Down the slide and out into the snow at the bottom, laughing like a goof.

"Your turn," she said as she held out her hand so he could pull her up. Once she was standing, she put her hands on her hips and tipped her head. "Your turn," she said again.

Her blonde hair peeked out from under the cap he'd made her wear, her eyes danced with abandon. Snowflakes melted on her cheeks and Nic nearly leaned down to taste one.

When he didn't respond, she bent down and scooped a handful of snow, letting it fly in his face.

If he moved, he was doomed. If he touched her, or grabbed her, or wrestled her to the ground, it was all over. So, he stood, snow on his face, holding his breath.

But she had no such reservations. She drew close, stood on tip-toe and kissed the snow from his chin. Her expression held nothing sultry, yet her innocence was even more distracting.

"Knock it off, Julie," Nic said through gritted teeth. "Let's go."

When they got back to the room, Julie took her coat off and hung it on the hook. Then she went to the bedroom and closed the door.

This was ridiculous. Julie, once again, moved in the middle of the night to sleep on the floor beside the couch. If he took the bed and gave her the couch, though, she'd likely crawl into the bed with him. That definitely was not a good idea. He wasn't sure she was even awake when she came to him. Now, she slept soundly.

Nic wasn't so lucky.

### Chapter Five

It had been two days since the snow-play disaster. And they were into day four of this surreal rescue mission. They'd skied yesterday, getting off the bunny slopes by afternoon.

At every turn, Nic asked Julie a question. What were her hobbies? Favorite ice cream? Did she like this movie or that TV show? When she answered with more than a blank expression, he applauded and reminded her how far she'd come.

Nic considered today's agenda as he flipped eggs in the pan. Maybe a little more skiing, maybe some sightseeing. He wasn't sure yet.

The phone interrupted his thoughts. He moved the pan off the heat and ran to answer it.

"Nic, it's Mickey. Is Julie in the room?" His voice was strained.

"Yes."

"Listen up. I'm faxing some information to the hotel. It'll be waiting for you in a little while. Don't read it when she's around. I sent it to Cruz, too. He wants to help if he can."

"Okay."

"It's bad, Nic. I'll see what else I can find out, and let you know."

"Okay, thanks." By the time he hung up, he had a knot in his gut.

Julie was puttering around in the kitchen. "I'm pouring us coffee. How do you like it?"

Nic walked to the kitchen doorway. "You don't drink coffee."

"I thought I might start."

The eggs were ruined. So was his mood. But he had to act like nothing was up. So he cracked more eggs and started over. How could he get to the lobby? What excuse could he give Julie?

Ten minutes later, Nic jabbed his remaining egg, watching the yolk seep toward his toast.

"Something wrong?" Julie asked, snapping him from his thoughts.

"No." Nic tried to smile.

"O-kay." She shrugged and went back to eating.

He knew she didn't believe him, but he couldn't tell her what he was thinking. He couldn't tell her that he was concerned that she might be in danger. He couldn't tell her that he wasn't completely sure _she_ wasn't dangerous. He couldn't tell her that what she'd been through might be better off not remembered.

Nor could he think of anything else to say.

So, when Julie insisted on doing the dishes and the front desk called saying he had a fax, he just shrugged and told her he'd be back in a few minutes.

Nic wasn't prepared for what the two pages held. One was a copy of a newspaper article from the _Susanville Record_ , the other a note from Mickey.

What they told him sucked the breath from his lungs and he lowered himself onto the couch in the lobby, head in hands.

Julie Galloway. Her name was Julie Galloway.

The article said that, on the twenty-third, Julie's father murdered her mother and sister. Then committed suicide. There was no mention of Julie being there at the time.

Mickey had jotted notes on the second sheet. Scrawled across the bottom, "Watch your back, Boyo. There's something hinky here."

Nic's heart lurched for her. Now what?

What he wouldn't give to go back in time and never leave that bar, never pass her car, never go back to help. What a schmuck. He deserved this mess. But, what was his next move?

Nic spent the next few hours inching back into a decent mood. It was easier to just ignore the whole thing than to face her questions about his silence. He knew damn well that if he told her what he knew, he'd be out of time. So, he spent the rest of the morning skiing beside her and very deliberately sticking his head in the sand.

"Look, Nic," Julie smiled a bit uncertainly, "you're paying for everything. The least I can do is cook. Right?"

"Can you cook?"

"I think so." Julie had that puzzled look on her face again. But it vanished, replaced by a big grin. She winked at him. It was rather unsettling when she did that. "Well, I know I make a mean lasagna."

"I'll be the judge of that. My grandmother made the best lasagna in all of Boston."

"Oh, yeah? Well, I make the best lasagna in all of..."

It was like she'd get to a point in a sentence and almost say something, off the top of her head. Something she remembered. Then she'd stop.

Their eyes locked. He had to admit the girl was convincing. If she was faking...

"...in all of wherever I live." Julie turned around quickly ending the discussion. She opened cupboards, inspecting the contents. "I'll make a list. You shop. I'll cook."

Nic shrugged his grudging approval. "Fine."

"It would'a been cheaper to order takeout." Nic grumbled to himself as he shifted the paper bags he carried through the lobby. "And a whole lot lighter."

Why the hell hadn't he said "plastic?"

His thoughts were interrupted by someone saying Julie's name. He followed the voice. A sheriff's deputy talking to the desk clerk, photograph in hand.

Hell.

Something hinky here. Trust your gut. Watch your back.

Suddenly, he felt Julie's panic at the thought of police.

Nic kept walking toward the elevators, trying hard to not sprint. Slow and easy.

Hell.

The long, convoluted layout of the hotel had never been a problem. Challenge, yes. Julie and Nic had, more than once, laughed about having to take one elevator, walk down a long hallway to another elevator, only to go back down another hallway to their room. Kindergarten kids designed the building. They were sure of it. But now, carrying these damn groceries that would get left behind, and wondering where they could go, what they could do—it seemed an interminable distance to get to her.

He swiped his key card, pushing the door open with his hip. "Julie?"

"In here." Her voice came from the kitchen. Well, at least she wasn't on the phone with the front desk.

"Anyone call?" He tried to sound nonchalant as he came into the kitchen, dropping the bags on the counter, picking out the cold stuff and shoving it in the fridge. For what that was worth.

"Why would..." The smile vanished from her face when she turned to look at him.

He should have tried to hide it better.

"Julie," he said, as calmly as he could muster, taking her hand and pulling her toward the bedroom, "we need to pack and book it out of here."

Julie stopped, tugging her hand free. "Why? What's happened?"

There wasn't time for this discussion now. And how did he explain why he hadn't told her what he knew? It could get ugly. But for now, he needed to get her out of here.

"I'll explain on the way."

He walked past her, again taking her hand. "For now, please just come pack your things." He tried to keep his voice even, keep the anxiety down to a controllable level. It seemed to work. Julie followed him into the bedroom and started stuffing her clothes into the store bags.

Nic yanked his suitcase down from the closet shelf, opened it on the bed, and tossed his clothes in the general direction. He looked over when Julie stopped moving and stared at him.

"What?"

"Where are we going, Nic?"

"Please, baby, just pack." His use of the word _baby_ and the intensity of it surprised him.

It must have surprised her as well. Her look softened before she turned toward the bathroom to scoop up their things.

"What about the food?" Julie asked as they gathered their coats.

"Leave the food." He hadn't meant to sound so caustic. He tugged his stocking cap out of the pocket of his parka. "Here, put this on. Stick all your hair up inside."

Julie stepped back, her quizzical look changing to one of alarm. When he reached out for her, she pulled away. "You're scaring me, Nic."

"Good. Put this on."

She didn't step forward to take the hat, looked like she was digging in for a battle. Damn she was exasperating. What did she think? That he was going to take her into the woods and kill her?

Nic sighed. "Julie, if I was going to hurt you, I'd have done it by now. And, if I'm going to keep you safe, you have to come with me."

Julie reached for the hat, not looking up, then put it on, pulling it down over her ears.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Sure." Her eyes glinted with challenge. As he pulled the door closed behind them, she spoke again. "Where are we going?"

"Just keep moving."

She turned abruptly. He almost mowed her down. Now she stood, her face inches from his, looking up at him with a stony glare. "I'm not moving 'til you tell me where we're going."

"We're going to Redding," he said, his jaw clenched.

"Really? Why Redding?"

"Damn it, Julie—"

She wasn't budging. Her eyes flared. Her body stiffened. She even stomped her little foot. "Why Redding?"

For an insane moment, Nic had the urge to kiss her and never stop. Instead, he inched toward the elevator, leaning, anxious. He was trapped by this conversation. The deputy could be on his way up here right now. The desk clerk could have recognized Julie from the picture. Or he could have talked to the clerk in the shop where Julie'd bought the clothes. She had the room number.

And her highness was being difficult.

Crap! Crap! Crap! Crap!

"Because that's where you live."

Nic clenched his jaw around the words, but it was too late. They were already out there. The cat was out of the bag. The look on Julie's face, confusion transformed to revelation, spoke volumes. For an instant, her hand moved to the wall, as if steadying her world. Then, as she realized that he knew a lot more than he'd told her, anger and mistrust surfaced.

"There isn't time now to either argue or explain. We'll talk in the car. Now move, Cinderella."

They made it out of the parking lot and to the highway running through downtown Tahoe before Julie spoke.

"How long have you known?" It came out almost in a whisper. She wouldn't look at him.

Nic scanned the rear-view mirror, looking for... what? "A few hours."

"Please pull the car over, Nic." Julie snatched the hat from her head and finger combed her hair.

"Not yet. And put the hat back on."

"Don't..." She stopped and pulled the hat back on. "Find an inconspicuous place and pull over, or I'm getting out at the next stoplight."

"God, you're a pain in the ass."

She shot him a seething glance and reached for the door handle.

"Okay. Fine. Whatever." Nic took the next left turn and pulled into the shopping center parking lot, slammed the car into park and turned to face Julie.

"Julie Galloway." He paused, waiting to allow the information sink in, watching her face.

She still didn't look at him.

"You live in Redding and work for the TV station there."

Still no reaction.

"The car you drove belonged to your parents, Patrick and Ellen Galloway, who live in Susanville, California."

So far it was fairly ordinary information. What he had to tell her next wasn't. He reached for her hand, but she snatched it away.

"And?"

"Julie, the next part is... well... hard."

Julie took a deep breath. "Go on."

"On the night I found you, your parents and your sister were involved in a murder suicide. They're all dead."

The color left her face. She sat stock still for a moment, then pulled the door open and ran. By the time he caught up to her, she was leaning over an empty planter, clutching the sides, white knuckled, retching miserably.

Nic, his heart in his throat, scooped a bit of snow from the back of the planter, gently placed his hand on her forehead, making whispered shushing sounds at her ear, his other arm around her waist.

"It's okay, baby, it's okay."

When she finished, he turned her around and pulled her to him. She wasn't crying, just breathing hard. As he soothed her, she settled.

Julie pulled her head back, looking at him, her face a mask of despair. "My family is dead and it's as if you told me about strangers. That's awful."

"C'mon, let's get back to the car." Nic looked around, hoping to see no uniforms.

For the first time in his life, the cops were, at least at this point, something to be avoided. And he didn't even know if that were true. The only thing he knew for sure; protecting Julie felt right. How to best do that? He didn't have a clue.

### Chapter Six

Julie said nothing when they got back in the car. Nic didn't have any better ideas, so he headed northwest toward Redding.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you when I found out."

She didn't flinch, didn't look at him, didn't speak. How could he say he had been suspicious of her? That wasn't exactly true, either. Mostly he'd just been scared spitless: of her reaction, of her tears maybe. He searched for an excuse that sounded reasonable.

"Did you tell me everything you know back there?"

"Yeah." Nic paused. "Well, I do have your address and a few other details. But that was the meat of the message. There is a newspaper article." Nic reached into his hip pocket and pulled out the fax papers, handing them to her.

"And how exactly did you get this information?"

"From my uncle."

"From your uncle." She snorted, shaking her head. "And who else did you tell?"

"One of my teammates."

"Oh, well, of course. And your mom and dad, too?"

"My mom's dead, and my dad doesn't know what day it is." Maybe that would shut her up.

"Both my mom _and_ my dad are dead." Julie turned her head away. "Apparently my sister, too."

Score one for Julie. "I'm sorry" sounded so inadequate, but that was all he could think of to say.

"Why your uncle?"

"He's a cop..."

The second it came out of his mouth, he knew what she'd think.

"Cops! Great, just great."

"Julie, he's a cop in Boston. We can trust him. Well, actually, my uncle is retired."

"Whatever. And your teammate?"

"Cruz? Well, he used to be in Air Force Intelligence, and he's a computer whiz."

Like that explained it.

Julie's face hardened. She didn't speak again until they were a half hour outside of Tahoe. Nic stopped to gas up the car.

"You want something to eat?"

"I want to go to their house."

"Your folks?"

"Yeah. We still have the keys to the car, don't we?"

"Well, yes."

Julie turned toward him, alive with new determination. "Then, we likely have house keys, too. I want to see the house."

"You don't just want to see the house, do you? You want to go in the house. Julie, we could get caught."

"Yeah, well, I'm giving serious consideration to releasing you from service as soon as we get there."

"Releasing me from service, huh?"

"Yes, you called the cops after assuring me you wouldn't."

"No, I called _family_." Nic pulled the car from the pumps to the front of the store. He yanked the door handle, started to get out, then grabbed the keys and stalked into the store. When he came back, she was reading the article.

They ate in silence and turned the car north again, this time toward Susanville.

"Nic, if you won't be completely honest with me, you might as well just drop me off at the house and go back to your vacation. We can't work together on this."

"I said I was sorry."

"Promise me that you won't keep things from me. That you won't lie to me."

"There's no way in hell I'm dropping you off and going back to my vacation."

"But you won't promise." It was a statement.

It wasn't that easy. "No."

Fifteen minutes and twenty miles passed before he ventured to speak again. "It'll be dark when we get there. There's a flashlight in the trunk. We can drive to within a few blocks, then walk the rest of the way and try the keys. The house may still be considered a crime scene and the sheriff's department may be watching it. We have to be careful."

"I know."

The house wasn't hard to find.

"It's in the next block." Julie said. "Don't slow down."

Nic glanced over at her, wondering what, exactly, she was remembering. But she was right. There it was on the right, a light brick ranch-style home, surrounded by police crime tape. They circled the block, then drove down two blocks and parked on a cross street.

"I've never been on this side of the law before," Nic said, attempting an it's-no-big-deal tone. The truth was out there, though. Speeding tickets, yes. Breaking and entering, no. Neither Batman Nic nor Citizen Nic was on familiar ground.

"I have."

"That's comforting."

"Besides, if my entire family is dead, then it's my house. And, if we have the keys, then it's not breaking and entering, is it?"

"Interesting logic."

God, now she was reading his mind. No matter what she said, though, they were indeed breaking and entering. Would it make a difference to the Air Force if a felony was committed for a good cause?

Not likely.

Her voice brought him back to the task at hand. "You coming?"

"What?"

"Are you coming? You know, if you don't want to do this, just give me the keys and I'll go."

Nic closed the car door, mumbling to himself. Damn fool woman. "Down the alley?"

"Nope, too suspicious. Dogs bark when folks walk down dark alleys. We'll just walk down the street as if we belong here."

She had done this before.

"And then we walk right up to the front door and try the keys?" Nic asked.

"No, we'll find a dark house, ideally one without a dog in the yard, and go round back closer to my folks' house."

With Julie in the lead, they ended up at the back door of her parents' house without alerting the neighborhood or the cops. So far. The first key she tried opened the door and they walked in.

"Well, it's official," Nic whispered. "I'm a criminal."

The light from a nearby street lamp made the flashlight unnecessary at this point. They walked through the kitchen and into the living room. Julie stopped at the front door, looking at the remains of a broken vase. She took a deep breath and moved on to the fireplace. In the half-light, she peered at the family pictures on the mantle. Nic watched her closely. The one she was looking at showed two little blonde girls sitting on a man's chest. All three were laughing. Her eyes flickered a moment before she spoke.

"Stop! You must not hop on pop." It came out in a strangled whisper. "I think I'm going to be sick."

Julie bolted down the hallway, turning right at the first doorway. Nic found her there, in a bathroom, leaning over the sink.

She sank down to sit on the edge of the tub, pulling off her hat, letting her hair fall down around her shoulders. Nic lowered himself to the toilet seat, reaching out to take her hands in his. He waited, the sense of dread almost cutting off his breath. She sat for a long time, her hands trembling, her face still shielded from view.

"I was at my folks' for the holidays. They picked me up from the airport. I remember going to bed, but after that, it's still a blank."

Nic expected tears, hysteria, but definitely not the clinical way she spoke. He reached out with his other hand, lifting her chin so he could see her face. In the dark she looked even younger, more innocent. The horror of returning memory wasn't there, though.

"I don't," she seemed to struggle, trying to find words, " _feel_ them." Julie leaned forward, laying her head on his shoulder. "I know them, I remember them, but I don't feel anything for them."

Nic rubbed the back of her neck as they sat. "Do you want to get out of here?"

"No." She pulled back, her smile wobbling, and stood up. "But I would like to get out of the bathroom."

They stepped out into the hallway and Julie paused, looking down the hall.

"The bedrooms are down there."

Nic put his hands on her shoulders, ready to stop her if she headed that direction. The news article said the bodies had been found in their beds. She turned back toward the living room.

"Not ready to go down there yet."

She wandered through the rest of the house, staying away from windows. Off the kitchen was a den. An entertainment center, two rocker recliners, a desk taking up one wall. Julie proceeded toward the desk, running her hands along the back of the couch. She swiveled around the desk chair and sat down, still deep into her own thoughts.

Finally she shook her head and looked up at Nic. "Dad didn't kill them or himself. He was really sad when Jess died. But..."

"Jess was the hunting buddy they mentioned in the article?"

"More than that. They were like brothers."

They were like brothers. Grief clenched in Nic's belly. Still raw.

"We called him Uncle Jess."

Julie launched out of the chair and paced. The curtains were drawn in this room. No danger of being seen from the outside, but with what little light came from the kitchen, Nic could barely see her. "They were in Nam together. Third Armored Cavalry... Blackhorse Squadron." Julie pointed over to the corner of the room. "There's a picture of the two of them over there."

Julie moved past Nic, back to the kitchen, and headed through the living room. She stopped, looking down the hallway.

"Nic?"

He came up behind her, putting his arms around her from behind. "Yeah, baby?"

Her chin rested on his wrist. He could feel her heartbeat against his arm. "Can you go in those rooms? Tell me what you see?"

"If you want me to."

There wasn't much to see. Julie stayed in the hallway and Nic relayed what he was looking at. The master bedroom was the first he came to. The blood stains looked black in the dark, on the pillows and splattered on the wall above the headboard. There was a suitcase on the floor of Jennifer's bedroom. The bed was mussed and bloody.

Nic walked back into the hallway.

"What now?"

"My bedroom. I can go in there."

Julie's bedroom was still decorated in little-girl frills. A corner shelf held a menagerie of stuffed animals and the bureau was home to a family of ceramic ducks. Julie softened when she walked in, running a hand lovingly across the footboard. The bed had a lacy canopy. It was unmade, like the others.

An open travel bag lay on the floor by the bed. Julie sat on the corner chair and pilfered her backpack.

"I don't suppose I could take my own money and ID, could I?"

"No, I don't guess so."

"My car keys are here too. I wonder why I was driving their car."

Julie stuffed her wallet back into the backpack and stood up. "I want to look on Dad's computer. Didn't the paper say a suicide note was found on the printer?" She carefully replaced the backpack where she'd found it and walked past Nic.

The computer had been wiped clean. How convenient. No recent emails, no sites saved in favorites, no documents, save one. Julie printed the suicide note, pulled the paper from the printer, folded it, and stuck it in her hip pocket.

"Okay, let's get out of here."

It was eleven fifteen when they got back to the car.

"What now?" Julie asked.

"We get out of this county and find a motel room. We have to hope they don't know about me."

"I'm sorry, Nic."

"For what?"

"For getting you into this mess. You sure you don't want to resign?"

Nic laughed. Like he could do that. As his Granny used to say in for a penny, in for a pound. "I'm sure."

### Chapter Seven

It was after midnight when Nic checked into the motel, leaving Julie in the car. He asked for a back room, away from the highway, with the excuse that he needed to get some sleep. Not exactly a lie. His eyes burned and the adrenaline rush from his foray into lawlessness had evaporated, leaving him spent.

The room only had one bed, but it didn't take much cajoling to convince Julie to sleep under the covers while he slept on top of them. Neither one felt like crashing on the floor. Before she'd get into bed though, she insisted on reading the suicide note.

"My father didn't write this." Julie was emphatic, tossing the letter onto the bed.

"How do you know?"

"Because, whoever wrote this, misspelled grief. Look." Julie snatched up the wayward paper and moved onto the bed so he could see. "My father was the spelling nazi, Nic."

"Maybe he was upset. It's a suicide note, Julie."

"Nope." Julie shook her head. "No way. It wasn't in him to misspell a word. Especially one like grief. My father did not write this note."

Julie's whimpers woke him well before light. She was crying in her sleep. So much for not feeling it. Nic gathered her close, pulling her head to his shoulder. She quieted, but not for long.

When he woke a half hour later, Julie sat, knees pulled up to her chest, head in her hands.

"He told me, Nic. He told me."

"What?" His eyes felt heavy, his throat parched.

Julie turned on the bed. "He told me. The night I came home." She reached down, shaking Nic's shoulder. "Wake up!"

"All right." Nic raked his fingers through his hair and propped up on his elbow. Was it too much to ask for a decent night's sleep? Apparently so. "What are you trying to tell me?"

Julie bounded off the bed. "My father. The night I came home. He said he had something for me to see." She stopped speaking and started pacing. "Something for me to work on."

"And that means what?"

"It's what I do." Julie gestured impatiently. "For a living."

"What?" Nic was lost and it wasn't just being awakened from a dead sleep.

Julie sighed and flopped on the bed. "I'm an investigator. For the station. That's what I do for a living. Maybe my dad left me something." Julie grabbed his hand, tugging. "We need to go back to the house. C'mon."

It took a good ten minutes before Nic could convince Julie that they couldn't possibly go back to the house now. It would be light in an hour. It was too dangerous. What were they looking for, anyway? Julie could argue 'til she was blue in the face. No way was he letting her out of this room in the daylight. If they had to go back to the house—she insisted they did—then she'd have to wait until tonight.

"Can I go back to sleep now?"

"Sure." Julie shrugged, her voice taut.

She definitely wasn't happy with either his decision or his request to go back to sleep. Too damn bad. It wasn't long, though, before he felt her climb back under the covers.

Nic and Julie spent the day in the motel room, making notes from the previous evening. With Julie's permission, Nic found a copy place and faxed both their observations and the suicide note to Cruz, followed by a call.

Cruz didn't have anything new, but expressed interest in Julie's theory that her father hadn't written the note. He wasn't entirely comfortable with them going back to the house later tonight. His warnings set Nic's nerves on edge.

Nic wasn't the only one on edge. Julie spent most of the day stalking the small room, chaffing at the inactivity.

"If you don't sit down, I may strangle you." Even to him, it sounded like a growl.

Julie stopped, frowned at him, and pointedly returning to her incessant movement. She might as well have stuck her tongue out.

"Fine." Nic launched off the bed and scooped up his coat. "I'll be back."

"Scotch, rocks," Nic told the man behind the bar, who smiled with understanding and plunked two ice cubes into a glass.

"Lady troubles?"

Nic didn't even look up. He blew out his breath in the affirmative and reached for the glass, swirling the amber liquid over the ice. The room was nearly empty, but somehow the smoky atmosphere seemed to hang over, presumably from the night before.

"You're not from around here." The bartender said, swiping a damp rag along the bar.

"Nope."

"On vacation?"

Nic silenced further inquiry with a look. The man shrugged, mumbled "suit yourself" and moved to the other end of the bar. Nic downed the first drink, nodded for a refill and sauntered over to the pool table as the bartender welcomed a few regulars that had arrived. As he racked the balls, the door opened again and Nic ventured a glance in that direction, half expecting Julie to have tracked him down to pester him more. What he saw was even more disconcerting.

"Hey, Jerry." The uniformed man touched his hat in greeting to the bartender. "Everything quiet, huh?"

"As usual."

Nic lowered his head, leaning down to line up the cue ball. Invisible. Be invisible. If he left now, he'd look guilty.

"Nice break," the deputy said to Nic, as he strolled around the room, stopping to check for change in the pay phone.

"Thanks." Keep walking, pal. Nic found a shot that would allow him to turn his back on the deputy, blowing out a strangled sigh when the intruder moved toward the door.

"Keep it clean, Jerry," he said on his way out.

The patrons at a nearby table shook their heads and smiled. Jerry flipped the man off and continued his duties. Nic patiently cleared the table, threw back his drink and left.

He expected the third degree when he walked into the room. Instead, Julie put on her coat.

"I'm hungry. Let's pick up a burger or something on the way." No third degree, but the little woman was definitely ticked about something.

"Whatever." Nic didn't even take off his coat, just turned and went back outside.

"You need me to drive?"

"No."

They parked the car on a different street, in a different direction this time. Julie hardly spoke two words on the way.

"What's the plan?" Nic asked as they walked.

"Dad had a place where he hid Mom's presents. I'll check there to see if he left anything for me. I guess we could check my bedroom and maybe his desk, too."

This time, the hair on the back of Nic's neck twitched at every turn. Julie must have felt it too because she whispered. He continually urged her to hurry, each time with the same hushed response from her. What seemed like an eternity was only fifteen minutes. They backed out of the house empty handed.

Relief washed over Nic as they walked back to the car. It was short-lived. The car coming toward them had a light bar. Without thinking, he slipped his arm around Julie and pulled her to him.

"Cops," he whispered against her ear before his lips sought hers. He didn't have to make it look real. She kissed him back, ferociously.

His mind and body instantly flew from their immediate situation, and the reason for the kiss, to the image and feel of her body against his in the shower. Cursing his own betrayal, he reined himself in, peeking to see the car pass on by.

When the cruiser was far enough away, he forcefully pulled away and continued walking.

Nic checked and re-checked the rear-view mirror as they drove out of town. Nothing.

"We're not going back there, Julie."

"No kidding." Julie exhaled with a chuckle. "That was way too close for comfort."

They were both giddy with relief.

"Nice adrenaline rush, though, wasn't it?" she added.

"I can think of better." Nic smiled.

"And the kiss was a nice touch. It was acting, though. Right?"

Yeah, right, acting.

"Absolutely." His voice held more determination than he felt.

"Good."

"That's funny coming from the girl that crawled into the shower with me."

He didn't really say that, did he? Dang. He snuck a glance in her direction. She turned away, but not before he saw what he was afraid he'd see. Tears.

Damn it. She'd been so strong. In the last twenty-four hours she'd learned the graphic details of her family's death, managed to get into the house twice and never once cried. And one careless comment from him...

She hadn't been herself when she'd come to the shower to be with him. And, even in those first days, she had been hesitant to meet his gaze afterwards. And now, he'd thrown it in her face.

Damn it all.

She was trying so hard to not let him hear, trying so hard to be inconspicuous when she wiped the tears away.

"I didn't..."

Julie interrupted with a raised hand. She took a deep breath. "I'm not a slut." Her voice broke.

"I didn't think you were."

"How could you not?" Now she looked over at him, tears streaming down her face.

Hazard or no hazard, Nic eased the car to the shoulder of the highway. He would have pulled her to him but she resisted, tugging stiffly away.

"Please don't."

"Look at me, then."

Eventually she turned to face him.

"Julie, when that happened you were scared and vulnerable. It wasn't unusual for you to do what you did. You are just now beginning to remember who you are, what makes you you. Believe me. I didn't think you were a slut."

Julie nodded, turned to face forward and, again, wiped her eyes. Nic put the car into gear and pulled back onto the highway.

Snow began to fall again as they pulled into the motel parking lot.

In the morning, Nic had to scrape snow and ice from the windshield. Julie threw their bags in the car.

"Where to?" Nic asked.

"The cabin."

"What cabin?"

"Uncle Jess and my dad owned a cabin a couple hours from here. They used it for their hunting trips, though I suspect far more drinking and card playing were done there than hunting."

"And we're going there because...?"

"Because I had a secret place there. It's the only other place I can think of that my dad would have hidden information for me."

"Okay. Which way?"

The roads sucked so it took longer than two hours, even to get to the turnoff to the cabin. It wasn't snowing as hard as it had been when they left the motel; there was a good four inches of new snow on the ground. But back here in the boonies, where plows never ventured, there hadn't been enough traffic to get rid of the snow that had fallen over the last months.

"It's up this road about three quarters of a mile." Julie slipped on her coat.

Nic shifted into four-wheel drive and braced for the adventure up to the cabin. Get up speed. Don't let off the gas. Keep up the momentum. Don't rely on four-wheel drive to stop.

Nic cursed. Julie held on tight. The road, if you could call it that, was a maze of turns and ups and downs. They'd gone a half mile or so when their journey came to an abrupt halt. The car wedged in a drift.

The car was definitely stuck, four-wheel drive and all. If there was a shovel at this cabin, then Nic could likely get it unstuck. That is, if there really was a cabin down this so-called road.

Julie insisted it was just around the next bend. It'd better be. Neither of them had boots high enough for the depth of snow they'd have to walk through. Snowshoes would have been nice. It would be dark soon and walking was their only option.

The cabin wasn't around the first curve, but luckily was the second. Nic had taken his parka off and tied it at his waist. Neither spoke as they crunched their way through the deep snow. What would have normally taken five minutes to walk, took twenty and both Nic and Julie were breathing hard when they finally made it to the door.

"The key should be above the door, on the ledge." Julie pointed and Nic reached.

It was.

"Yes!" Her voice was triumphant even though she still stood panting, her hands on her knees.

Nic slid the key into the lock and the door creaked open a few inches. He leaned into the doorway, peering inside.

"Lemme have the flashlight." He reached back as he pushed the door open. He heard the crack and even heard his own scream before the pain registered. But, when it did come, Nic knew little else.

He lay in the snow on the porch, sucked in his breath, holding in another scream. Blood soaked through his shirt, flowing down his arm and side, pooling on the porch.

What the hell happened? Julie, sat a few feet away—he must have knocked her over.

It was obvious from the terror on her face that, finally, the nightmare memories had emerged, complete with the horrors attached. But he needed her to be here now, right now.

"Julie! I need your help," he hissed, trying to snap her out of her trance. "Julie! Now! Help me!"

### Chapter Eight

Julie's senses reeled. Nic's cry of pain. Blood on the snow, running down his chest, on her sister's pillow and the wall above her bed, on her mother's face, on her father's head, on the sheets. So much blood. And the man. All in black. A gun.

Her breathing scraped against the silence engulfing her. Julie looked at her wrists, bared between her mittens and the cuffs of her coat. They stung with the bite of ice from putting her hands in the snow when she fell.

A voice pleading. Nic. Gotta help Nic. Breathe. Help Nic. Focus.

"I have to help you."

Nic just nodded, teeth gritted, his face pale.

She looked from Nic to the doorway, seeing the cause of his pain. The device was something out of a movie. All she could see at this point was a two-by-four, apparently spring loaded to go off when the door opened. The nails, maybe a dozen of them, were spaced every inch or so and now dripped with blood.

"Hurry up," Nic croaked between gulps of air. "Help me get inside."

Julie helped him stand and tried to take some of his weight as they dragged themselves inside.

By the time Julie got him into the chair beside the kitchen table, both his shirt and hers were soaked red. Remembrance threatened to stop her in her tracks, but she pushed it away, intent on the present. Nic's breath came out in short gasps and he spoke only a word or two at a time. Julie left him for a moment to duck under the nasty-looking board and pull the door shut. She scurried around opening curtains to let in the limited light of approaching dusk. Even so, when she returned, he'd slid down another inch or two in the chair.

"Let's get you onto the bed before you pass out."

Again, she supported him, his left arm around her, his right hanging useless by his side. Fortunately, it wasn't far. The cabin, though it had another bedroom up in the loft, was pretty much one big room.

Nic gulped in raw gasps of air.

"I gotcha."

She steadied him on the edge of the bed, reaching to pull off what was left of his shirt. Julie had never shied away from the sight of blood. Heck, she'd helped her dad gut deer and elk, but what she saw now nearly choked her. Angry, jagged rips laid his upper arm and chest open. Blood gushed from them.

"Pressure." The word came out in a groan as Nic reached for something with his one good arm. He grabbed his tattered shirt and pressed it hard against his right arm, sucking in his breath. Then, he sank back on the bed.

"Nic!"

He didn't answer.

"Nic!" Julie climbed on the bed beside him, shaking his shoulders. Still no answer but the rise and fall of his chest assured her he wasn't dead. But, if she didn't get the bleeding stopped soon, he would be. The fear of the moment crashed down on her, opening up the floodgates to let all the emotions from the last week crash down on her. She wept as she ran for the first-aid kit kept in the kitchen cabinet above the sink.

Between her rush to get back to him and the tears clouding her vision, she managed to knock over a kitchen chair on her way back to the bed. It was getting dark and, before too long, she'd have to take a few minutes to get the lamps lit. Dad had always insisted that the lamps be filled before they left the cabin, so all they'd need was pumping and lighting. A fire would warm the place up quickly, once she had time to start one.

Nic moaned when she sat beside him on the bed but he didn't open his eyes. One hand holding his shirt on the wounds, Julie used her other to rummage through the first-aid kit. She knew what she was looking for.

Goldenseal and myrrh powder.

As long as she could remember, that was the remedy for anything that bled or was infected. She could almost see her father and Uncle Jess look at each other, a twinkle in their eyes, as friends and neighbors talked excitedly about stitches and doctors. This "secret" was one of the many things they'd brought back with them from Nam.

Julie pulled the precious powder, enclosed in a zipper bag, from the assortment of home remedies in the box beside her. If ever this stuff was going to do its magic, stop the bleeding and prevent infection, now was the time.

Gingerly, she pulled the shirt away from his arm and chest, grabbing the flashlight to get a better look. The bleeding had slowed a bit, but still came at a fast seep. She reached into the bag, scooped out a handful of the greenish powder, and began sprinkling it into the open wounds.

Nic moaned.

Julie had never known the stuff to sting, but she supposed that anything that she'd have done would hurt him. He'd begun to shiver violently. She hurried. Between loss of blood and the frigid temperature in the cabin, she needed to get his wounds dressed, him undressed and under the blankets and a fire started. The herbs worked, slowing the bleeding to an ooze and mixing with the blood to soak in. Bandages and tape finished the job for now.

Getting him out of his wet jeans would be a bit harder unless she could wake him enough to help. And she'd have to be gentle moving him up into the bed so as not to reopen his chest and arm. She wasn't sure she could do that at all. Nic was no small man. He was a good six inches taller than Julie and outweighed her by maybe eighty pounds. His dead weight might be more than she could handle. She tried to rouse him again, to no avail.

Working as quickly as possible, she unbuckled his belt and unzipped his jeans. The jeans were only soaked from about his mid-thigh on down so she didn't have to battle quite as hard as if they were completely wet to get them down over his hips. Releasing the damp denim's hold on his legs was another fight. Sliding her hands between the fabric and his skin, though, assured her that she needed to hurry. His legs were cold to the touch.

Once she had him down to his boxers—thank God, they weren't wet—she was able to wake him enough that he could move into the bed. His dazed eyes met hers as she reassured him that he'd soon be warm. He smiled weakly, then closed his eyes and slept. She covered him with blankets and proceeded to get to work on light and heat.

Lamps lit and the fire blazing in the wood stove, Julie realized the food they'd brought with them, still in the car, would freeze if left there overnight. The cabin, as she'd suspected, was well stocked with dried foods, but they'd brought meat and canned goods just in case it wasn't. It was getting dark when she headed out the door. She ducked beneath the spiked wood and trudged to the car. It was full dark by the time she got back.

She checked the thermometer that hung in the kitchen. Sixty-two degrees. It felt like an oven after being outside for almost an hour. She threw another log into the stove and closed the door. She'd have to bring in more wood in the morning, but, for now, there was enough. Nic would need nourishment and plenty to drink, so that was the next job. Fleetingly, she counted it a blessing that she needed to keep busy but acknowledged that keeping the feelings at bay would only be temporary.

A hushed gasp caught Julie's attention and she walked over to the bed. Nic still slept but his breathing was ragged and tears escaped the corners of his eyes. He mumbled unintelligible words. Julie's heart ached for him, even as she wondered what demons he faced as he slept. She perched on the bed and touched his cheek, pausing to wipe away the tears, shushing him. His face was hot with fever. Good, his body was fighting. He quieted at her touch.

Finally, when he was peaceful again, Julie escaped to the loft to check her secret place. There was nothing there.

Nothing.

They'd come here for nothing.

Nic lay downstairs, fighting for his life. The man that had saved her. The man she owed her life to. The man she...

Oh, God. All this. For nothing.

With a sigh, she trudged back down the stairs. There was still work to be done.

The regulator had to be hooked up outside and the pilots lit, before Julie could make soup.

The cabin was set up with a propane stove, hooked by a hose that ran through a small hole in the wall to a hundred-pound tank that sat out on the back porch. There were, in fact, three tanks out back. To Patrick Galloway, running out of propane was not acceptable. Memories of her father assaulted her as she did so.

Once that was done, water would need to be pumped from a hand pump in the kitchen to fill the containers stored in the small pantry. She would also have to fill the thirty-gallon trash can, which was on wheels, that provided water for flushing.

When it was time to eat, Nic was easier to wake. She helped him sit up, propped by pillows, and fed him the soup she'd made. He tried to feed himself, but she pulled the bowl away after the second spill.

"You aren't very coordinated with your left hand, are you?"

"Uh-uh," he grunted, his mouth full.

It wasn't long before his meager strength faded again, and he turned away from the proffered spoon. Julie coaxed him to drink half a glass of water before allowing him to lie back down and sleep. At least his shivering had stopped.

Julie ate the rest of the soup, then rinsed the dishes. Her work done, she resigned herself to curl up in the big chair in front of the wood stove and let the tears come. She held in the sobs until her throat ached, not wanting to disturb Nic.

Her family's presence filled this place. They'd all had so many good times here. And now they were all gone. Julie allowed the memories of that night to come.

On December twenty-third, Julie had driven home from Redding. Home to the house she'd grown up in. Jennifer had flown in from San Francisco earlier in the week. They greeted her with hugs and kisses and Christmas cookies which totally ruined her appetite for dinner.

Jenn was terribly excited about the possibility of doing a cover for one of the top-three fashion magazines. That wasn't surprising. Jenn had always been beautiful, always the one with perfect hair and makeup.

Julie, on the other hand, had been content to be something of a tomboy, only recently going to a fancy salon for a good haircut and that just because Jenn had sent her a gift certificate. She'd insisted that the stylist not do anything that would take her more than five minutes to fix, and they'd settled on a blunt cut that fell just below the top of her shoulders and didn't need more than a quick blow-dry. Jenn raved about it though, and that was enough. But, before the conversation ended, Jenn had, once again, elicited a promise from Julie that she could do a makeover. Mascara alone was simply not acceptable.

After dinner, Mom had fixed hot chocolate and Dad had taken her aside to tell her he had a project for her that she'd love. When Julie pressed him about the details, he patted her hand and assured her that there was time tomorrow for all that.

Tradition ruled the evening. Each of the girls was allowed to open one present. No surprise it had turned out to be Christmas pajamas. It was shortly after ten when they all went to bed.

Julie didn't look at the clock when she woke up with a start. Had she heard something? She tossed aside the covers, pulled on her fuzzy slippers and went out into the hallway. Jenn's door was open. She glanced in as she passed. What she saw stopped her, but really didn't sink in.

A noise from her parents' room kept her from rushing to Jenn's side. She continued down the hall, coming to a stop at the doorway. A man stood at the foot of the bed, his back to her. Her sleepy mind struggled to make sense of what she saw. He was dressed in black and beyond him lay the bodies of her mom and dad, still in bed. Before she could react, he turned and looked at her, his eyes the only thing not covered by the knit ski mask he wore. His eyes registered surprise, then became hard, cold as he stepped toward her, gun in hand.

The vision ended there. Julie hugged her knees, trying desperately to catch her breath, the pain in her chest nearly overwhelming. A small sob escaped and she lowered her head to her knees.

### Chapter Nine

Nic pulled himself from sleep knowing he had to do something. What, he wasn't sure. His whole torso throbbed. On a scale of one to ten, something he asked patients often, his pain level was a fifty-two. He couldn't see Julie but he could hear her anguish. The chair faced away from the bed. His mouth wouldn't work.

Finally. "Julie." It came out in a whisper.

Julie flew out of the big chair anxiously, her face blotchy from crying.

"C'mere." It took unusual effort, but he held out his good arm to wave her over. Pain surged through him at the movement.

She came to the bedside. "What do you need?"

Again, he motioned to her. "C'mere."

Tears filled her brown eyes as she sat carefully beside him. He reached for her hand and pulled her down to him. Guiding her head to his good shoulder, he wrapped his left arm around her. Silent sobs racked her body and he could feel her tears on his chest. Nic tried to get his mouth to work, to tell her it was going to be okay. All he had the energy to do was to hold her close as she cried. Eventually, he summoned the strength to speak.

"Get under here with me before you fall asleep," he said, pulling the hair away from her face.

She sat up and shook her head. "There's a bedroom upstairs. I'll sleep there."

"Sleep here. Keep me warm."

Finally he convinced her to shed her jeans and her bloody shirt and crawl under the covers. When she hesitated on the edge of the bed, he pulled her close again. Her skin was cool against his.

"Maybe I'll keep you warm," he said closing his eyes.

Waking up beside him left Julie with a swirl of new feelings of warmth and security. Maybe even happiness.

No. Not with the huge lump of sorrow that lodged in her stomach. It was no time for happiness.

Something definitely seemed different with Nic, too. Through the haze of pain and fever, an almost imperceptible change had occurred. It wasn't in his words. He was barely able to speak. Not really in his movements, either. But it was like he was a different person, one literally in his element. There he lay, fighting to recover his strength but with a new fierceness about him.

Like the making of a super hero.

And the super hero was making a remarkable recovery. By evening, he'd walked from the bed to the overstuffed chair before the fire, had eaten well and had made several jokes about them having slept together. The spark was definitely back. The fatigue that etched his handsome face did not diminish his smile. And suddenly his smile was doing things to Julie that were hard to ignore.

Nic sat in the easy chair watching Julie tend the fire, his right arm in a sling. She really was comfortable here. She thought she was safe.

She wasn't. Neither of them was.

He still didn't know what it was that told him that, but he was less and less likely to disregard the feeling. He couldn't afford to be taken out of the game completely.

The firelight played off her hair in a most provocative way.

"Did you look in your secret hiding place?"

Julie nodded.

"And?"

"Nothing there."

"You ready to tell me what you remembered?" He didn't want to upset her, but he needed to hear it, and she needed to talk about it.

Julie turned around slowly, and took a deep breath. But she didn't speak.

"I saw the look on your face out there on the porch." Nic said. "Can you tell me?"

Julie returned the poker to its place and plopped on the floor in front of his chair. She pulled her knees up under her chin. Nic took a deep breath, warmed by her closeness and her trust like nothing he'd ever felt before. Her hair gleamed golden in the firelight, tempting him to touch.

Nic was able to sit somewhat comfortably and listen until Julie got to the part about the man in the mask. Then it became more difficult. The man had seen her. If this guy knew her family, then he likely knew her as well. And, if he knew about this cabin...

The warning alarms in his head, which had started when he opened the cabin door, now nearly overwhelmed him.

Her illusion of safety was just that, an illusion. They had to get the hell out of here. And he had trouble just walking across the room. Damn it. Until he could both walk to the car and dig it out of the snow bank he'd managed to put it in, he needed to create a defensible position here.

Yes, this was a hunting cabin, but it wasn't likely that Patrick Galloway would leave guns here when he got up here only a few times a year. Nic would have taken them home. But there was a chance...

He tried to keep his voice even.

"Julie, are there weapons here?"

It didn't work. She turned around, dismayed. She started to speak but, before she got the words out, the light bulb went on.

"I'm a witness," she said.

Nic watched the wheels turn. The color drained from her face.

"The nails. Oh, Nic. He booby trapped the cabin." Her gaze shot to the door, and she launched to her feet.

Nic followed suit, pushing himself to stand.

She stood for a time at the door, examining the board of nails, still stained with his blood.

Nic made it to stand beside her before he realized his error in getting up so fast. Dizziness encompassed him, like moths around a flame, forcing him to lean heavily against the door. It was a good thing he came through the door first.

"It would have _killed_ me." Julie whispered, reflecting his thoughts in her words. "Hey, you okay?"

"I just got up too fast."

"Yeah, sure. That and you're about a quart low." Julie reached around him. "C'mon, let's get you back to bed."

"Not before you answer my question. Did your dad store any weapons here?" The room spun before him. If he didn't sit down right now, he'd fall down. Crap.

Nic slid down the wall.

"Nic!"

"I'm okay." With his head between his knees, the dizziness and nausea subsided somewhat. Julie hovered beside him. He held his hand up, forestalling more concerned fluttering, and worked to catch his breath, his chest and shoulder throbbing. "Weapons?"

"Oh, actually, there probably are."

Will wonders never cease?

"Really?"

Nic looked around for a gun cabinet. "Where?"

"In the safe upstairs."

"Good. I'll tell you what. You go get any weapons in the safe and all the ammo you can carry and I'll get myself back to bed. Deal?"

That was easy enough, wasn't it? It would be if the room didn't spin every time he tried to stand up. Damn it all. Crawling was so not what he wanted to do but the result was the same.

Julie came down the stairs just as Nic reached the bed on hands and knees. She slowed down, giving him the opportunity to pull himself onto the bed before she approached, dumping her cache beside him. At Nic's astonishment, she grinned and winked.

"Dad liked guns. Mom and Jenn didn't. You're bleeding again."

Julie insisted that she re-bandage his wound before they talked about the guns. Nic chaffed at the delay.

"And how do you feel about guns?"

"Me?" Julie put away the first-aid kit and picked up the 9MM. "This one's okay. I can hit a porcupine with it from a distance." Reaching for the .357, she flipped the chamber open and spun it. "This one's my favorite. It's heavier and kicks more, but I like a revolver."

"And you're shooting porcupines, why?"

Julie waved away his concern. "Oh, I haven't killed a porcupine for several years, Ranger Nic. Besides, the little buggers are hard to kill. You have to hit 'em just right."

When his concern turned to dismay, she added, "They kill all the baby trees."

It really was a fine arsenal arrayed before him. The .357 that Julie held in her hand, and the 9MM she could "hit a porcupine" with, were both Smith and Wesson, both in great shape. Actually, all of them were in good shape. Her dad had taken good care of them. Nic picked up the rifle, running his hand over the smooth stock.

"That's a .22. We use that for plinking—you know, target practice. It's really not good for killing anything. Too wimpy. Now this," Julie laid down the handgun and lovingly picked up the 12-gauge pump-action shotgun, "this'll stop 'em in their tracks. And the 30-06 is sweet."

Clearly she knew her weapons. Nic smiled and laid his head back as she babbled. She was on familiar and comfortable ground. "Course, I've always thought that the mere sound," she racked the slide and smiled at him for effect "would dissuade anyone with half a brain..."

"Whoa."

She wasn't pointing the thing at him, but even so, Nic eased the barrel of the shotgun toward the far wall.

Julie let out an exasperated sigh. "It's not loaded and I didn't point it at you." With that, she laid the shotgun down again, stood up and pivoted on her heel. "There's more ammo upstairs. I'll get it."

He hadn't meant to tick her off, but he obviously had. When she came back down, ammo in her arms, she was all business, getting the guns loaded and placing them at strategic places around the cabin. Nic watched and commented as long as he could, but within a few minutes, his eyelids got heavy and he had trouble getting words to form in his brain. Sleep. He couldn't remember being this exhausted since Indoc, when four hours sleep was a luxury. Then, it was only his future as a PJ at stake. Now their lives might depend on him and he couldn't stay out of the freakin' bed for more than an hour at a time.

Julie surveyed her handiwork. The two handguns occupied spots on the tables on either side of the bed. The twelve gauge stood propped by the front door, the 30-06 by the back. The .22 rifle, for what it was worth, lay on the floor by the bed. All extra ammo was placed near where the gun was stationed.

Nic had made it through placement of two of the guns before drifting off to sleep. Good. The jerk had actually acted like she'd pointed the darn shotgun at him. If there was one thing her dad and Uncle Jess had taught her, it was that you didn't point a gun, any gun, loaded or not, at anything you didn't want to kill or blow to smithereens. She'd learned that lesson once and for all with Dad's belt on her backside. Never again!

She re-checked the shotgun at the front door, catching sight of the nails that Nic had taken for her. The thought melted her anger. He lay there so still, it was scary, his breathing barely making his chest rise. She returned to the bed and carefully perched beside him. Tenderness spread through her as she watched him sleep. She took his hand.

He had strong hands with long fingers, beautiful hands. Tan, so brown against the white sheets. A lock of his nearly black hair fell over his forehead and dark lashes lay against his cheeks, still-pale but now with two day's growth of stubble. He was an amazingly handsome man. And the way he called her baby...

Whoa. Those thoughts had blindsided her. Julie shook herself and moved to the stove. But even as she threw more fuel on the fire, her heart told her this man was one she could give her life to.

Just before dawn, Nic woke up, adrenaline pumped in his veins. There was danger. It wasn't quite light yet. Had he heard a noise? He tried to listen but there was something else. It was when he moved to reach for the 9MM beside him that he realized the true nature of the threat. Not the kind of danger that needed a weapon, but danger it was, no doubt about it.

"Julie?" he croaked. There she was, tucked in the crook of his good arm, warm, soft, smelling like heaven. Her hand lay on his belly and her leg was thrown over his, and it wasn't just adrenaline coursing through his body. If she was awake, she wasn't answering. And there was really nowhere to go.

"Julie!"

Nic winced as he moved his good arm, taking hold of her hand. "Wake up." To make matters worse she came out of sleep with the hum of a seductress, a sound that, by itself, would have aroused him, even without her touch.

Nic's only defense was to roll her off him, and the only way to do that put him in an even more precarious position. Balanced over her with his good arm, he expected a look of panic or fear or at least surprise when she opened her eyes.

What he got held _him_ captive. Her eyes smoldered as she looked up at him. Before good sense had a chance to outthink his other brain, he lowered his mouth to hers.

If there was a "no" within miles, he couldn't hear it in the way she kissed him back.

Did she know where she was, who she was? Did she know who _he_ was? When pain shot through his chest and shoulder, some reason snuck back into his awareness. He couldn't do this. With a muttered curse, he rolled free onto his back and lay panting, both from the energy surging through him and from the exertion.

Beside him, Julie was breathing hard too.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. Sorry didn't even touch what he was feeling. Sure, she'd started it, probably in her sleep, but he shouldn't have continued it. She needed his protection, not this.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. Not just sorry, but frustrated, guilty, and just plain pissed off. Pissed off that he had kissed her, pissed off that he had stopped kissing her, and pissed off that he was so damn beat.

He'd never felt so betrayed by his body. In more than one way. Not only could he not deny what her nearness had done to him, but—and this was the real betrayal—he'd never given a second thought to his physical abilities. And now here he lay, whipped after simply turning over. To top it off, he thought he felt the warmth of blood on his chest. But he was too spent to care.

Julie pushed out of the bed as if she were escaping a monster. Damn it, he _had_ scared her. His arm was heavy as he tried to reach for her.

### Chapter Ten

It was nearly six in the morning. Julie didn't even have to rationalize staying up. Get the fire stirred up, maybe fix some breakfast. The thought of fixing breakfast for Nic made her snarl inside. Did he think she had no pride, no feelings? He'd ended things with an apology. An apology, for crying out loud. Yeah, he'd reached out for her when she got up, but he'd promptly fallen back asleep without a word.

Did he find her so unpleasant then? The look on his face said it all, didn't it? One second he was on top of her, obviously more than just a little aroused. Then, in a flash, he must have realized who she was or something, looked completely shocked, cursed and rolled over. And then said "I'm sorry."

It wasn't until he was finally awake and she brought him a steaming bowl of oatmeal that she noticed that he'd bled again, soaking through his bandages. She'd have to change the dressing again, have to touch him, be near him.

Well, fine. She could do it. She just wouldn't let his nearness affect her. And that would be that.

"Your wound opened again," she said as flatly as she could manage taking his bowl to the sink. He'd eaten most of it. That was good.

He looked down at the red spot. "Yeah, I know." He blew out a defeated breath. "At this rate, we'll never get out of here."

_That_ was the wrong thing to say.

When she'd first pushed out of bed Nic thought he'd scared her. But she wasn't acting scared. She was acting angry. About what? No telling. But after his last statement, all doubt was removed. She was definitely pissed.

She filled a pot with water and put it on the stove to heat. When it was warm she brought it over to the bed and, without a word, started unwrapping his bandages. The line of her lips said it all. She ended up soaking the last bit off after trying unsuccessfully to get it loose from the edge of one of the bigger gashes on his chest. He'd sucked in his breath as she'd tugged on it. She'd said a clipped sorry and then sloshed water all over trying to get the danged thing to let go.

Once the new bandages and sling were in place, she helped him to a chair in front of the fire, threw her coat on and left the cabin. When she didn't come back right away, he pulled himself out of the chair and walked to the bathroom. At least the dizziness hadn't overwhelmed him. That was a good sign. On the way back to the chair he made a detour to the bookshelf and found an old Clancy book.

It took him a few minutes to catch his breath. As he did, he fingered the spine of the book he held and smiled at thoughts of the team.

Clancy. That's what the team called Will Pitkin. He'd been writing a bestselling adventure novel for at least a year. He never went anywhere without his mini recorder in his pocket. Once, when the entire squad was stuck on a cliff, waiting until the weather cleared to rappel down, Clancy had pulled out his recorder and mumbled plot ideas into it.

Cruz had laughed so hard that, if he hadn't been clipped in, he'd have rolled off the cliff. The thought of Cruz brought him up short. Nic, Joey and Cruz were the three amigos. Sorrow clawed at his guts. No one could replace Joey. No one would try. It wasn't likely there'd ever be a third amigo again. Cruz and Nic would have to find another name.

Dang. He should have told Cruz where he and Julie were going. If Ski-Mask Dude found them here and killed them in their sleep, even Cruz might have trouble finding their bodies.

What a pleasant thought!

Who was he kidding? It wouldn't take Eric Cruz fifteen minutes to find them if he really wanted to. Somehow, that was comforting.

Where the hell was Julie? Nic looked at his watch. It was nearly noon. She'd been gone over two hours. Where was she?

The reality was that Ski-Mask Dude _could_ find them here. He'd been here once to booby trap the door, and it was only a matter of time 'til he came back. And Julie was out there and had been for two hours. What was he thinking?

Nic launched out of the chair and forced himself to move. He yanked off the sling, pulled his blood-crusted jeans on. He paused only an instant, then decided to tuck the .357 inside his waistband. Not bothering to find a shirt, pulled his parka from the hook—damn, there was blood on it too—and went outside.

He stood on the porch shielding his eyes from the stabbing light reflecting off the snow. Julie was nowhere in sight. He hollered her name.

No response.

Visions of her laying, bleeding in the snow swirled in his head. Cursing, he went back inside and shoved his feet into his boots. His whole torso screamed with pain as he tied them.

Lieutenant Quillen, their CRO once said that pain was your friend. Nic had rolled his eyes. The team called Quillen Yoda when he started down the philosophical road, which he did way too often for any of their comfort. The bit about pain had occurred when Joey landed hard on a jump after his chute had tangled. He'd been lucky to be alive. Nic supposed that was what Yoda meant by his comment. Being alive was definitely the better alternative.

But being injured sucked. Big time.

Nic made it back outside and down the porch steps before the sound made him stop. He listened, calming his breath in a trained way. Footsteps on the snow. He reached back for the revolver. But before he drew it, Julie came around the far turn, a shovel thrown over her shoulder, hobo style.

She didn't smile as she approached. "The car's almost dug out," she said never slowing as she passed. "Maybe tomorrow, we can get out of here."

Things didn't improve once inside. Nic tried to approach Julie, in an attempt to diffuse her anger, but she would have none of it. At least, she wasn't going to make it easy.

"Can I help you with lunch?" he asked approaching her in the kitchen.

"You need to conserve your strength," she informed him with snarky efficiency, "so we can get the hell outta here."

That was it, damn it. He hadn't said it that way, in the first place, and the reason he wanted to leave was not to get away from her. He had no intention of leaving her. Not yet anyway.

"Julie, are you going to stay pissed at me or are you going to let me explain?"

Julie swung around and handed him a plate of food. "Stay pissed, I think," she said, purposely narrowing her eyes.

Nic took a step forward, laying down the plate, trapping her between him and the counter. All anger fled within her at his nearness and the simmering heat in his brown eyes. She could feel his breath on her face. _Her_ breath caught in her throat and she could feel herself flush.

"You think I want to get out of here so I can get away from you? Is that what you think?" His voice was low, almost a growl, but hardly more than a whisper.

That was precisely what she thought. But now, with him so close, she could feel the heat from his body. The look in his eyes told her she was wrong. Any answer she could muster, though, seemed to stick in her throat. Her body ached to be in his arms.

A flicker of amusement crossed his face before he spoke. "The reality is that, if we weren't sitting ducks, I'd be more than happy to stay here with you. And at the moment, I'm sorely tempted to ignore reality and kiss you."

Julie couldn't move, could barely speak. She swallowed, her gaze locked on his lips. She couldn't look away, didn't want to look away. She ached to be kissed.

Before she could speak, his mouth closed on hers, his body pushing her back against the counter.

It took only seconds for his kiss, so soft, so warm, to burst into flame.

His good hand caught in her hair, pulling her closer. She pulled free from his mouth, throwing her head back, sucking in air. She opened her eyes to look at him. He hadn't shut his.

He backed away for a moment, his hands cupping her face. There was nothing tentative in the movement or in him. She'd never seen him so sure of himself. His eyes danced with a smile, and he kissed her again. This time it spoke more than desire. It was almost reverent the way he held her face, the way his lips touched hers.

He gently stepped away, eyes closed, silent for a moment. Then he opened his eyes, looking at her with intensity.

"Julie," he whispered. He cleared his throat, kissed the top of her head, picked up his plate and walked to the table.

### Chapter Eleven

Julie dumped a second load of wood by the stove and brushed off her shirt. Then she headed back for another. Before returning to the woodpile, though, she plopped down on the step inhaling the fresh air, hugging her arms to her chest. The smell of wood smoke had—since she was tiny—made her feel warm and protected. It still did.

Nic came and sat beside her. She hadn't heard him come out. She could stay here forever.

If only...

"It's a beautiful day," he whispered. Then he held his hand out to her and she placed hers in it. A shiver went through her at the simple, sweet feeling of holding his hand.

It truly was a beautiful day. The sun shone brightly on the pond out back, melting the snow that had accumulated on it. It was frozen nearly to the center. It must have been colder than normal to have done that.

"Are there fish in the pond?"

"Used to be. I was never into fishing." Julie pointed at the rock outcropping across the pond from the cabin. "I much preferred climbing the rocks and just sitting up there. Jenn would never follow me. She was afraid she'd scrape a knee." Julie laughed at the memory.

"I called it my chapel."

"Julie's chapel."

Nic shivered suddenly. Julie turned and shooed him back inside, then grabbed another armload of wood.

By evening, after a short nap and with a full stomach, Nic was beginning to feel almost normal. Movement hurt, but didn't suck the life from him. He must be better, 'cause all he could think about was Julie.

The clank of dishes in the sink made him look over. There she stood, wearing jeans and a huge flannel shirt, looking sexier than any woman had a right to. Her hands were immersed in steaming water and her hair fell down to shield her face. She was, no kidding, the most angelic creature he'd ever seen. Angelic with a big dose of spicy. He wished again, for the umpteenth time, that he could freeze this moment in time. That they could be here and enjoy each other's company without the specter of death and danger hanging over them. Who knows what they could be to each other?

Nic woke with a start. The bed was empty beside him and it was full light. He hadn't slept so well since this whole thing started and it left him drowsy, slow. Truth be told, he hadn't slept like that since before Joey died. And he shouldn't have let himself sleep like that now.

A note on the pillow.

Didn't want to wake you. I'll be in after I finish digging out the car. Then I'll make breakfast.

J

There was a smiley face beside the "J" at the bottom.

Apart from the damned impending sense of doom that came when you waited for danger to show up, Nic couldn't remember when he'd felt so good. That didn't make any sense whatsoever. And he'd be damned if he'd fall for some slip of a girl just because she looked amazing doing dishes and made him think of forever. From now on, he'd change his own bandages, too.

With that thought, Nic swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. No dizziness. Good. He flexed his right arm, rotating it slowly. Pain, yes. As bad as yesterday, no. Could he shovel? Not likely.

What the hell was she thinking anyway?

Nic glanced over at the table on her side. The .357 was gone. Well, at least she'd had the sense to take a weapon. That left the 9MM for him. Good. The grip on it might not fit her hand, but it sure as hell fit his. The downside—having only six shots.

Nic dressed, this time not struggling quite so much to tie his boots. Before going out the door, he checked the magazine on the nine and stuck it in his waistband. If he couldn't shovel, at least he could try to drive the damn car out. He had plenty of experience with that. It would have been easier to get it out of the bank had it not been an automatic but Nic wasn't sure he had the strength right now to shift anyway.

As he walked down the road, his thoughts went back to Julie. Holy hell! Even just thinking of last night balled up his gut and derailed his train of thought. Hell, that _was_ his train of thought. And, after all he'd said about getting out of here, now he was thinking about making sure they spent another night here. Or maybe another week. Or maybe until their food ran out and they began to starve to death. At least he'd die happy!

Nic came around the final corner before the car, breathing like he'd just done eight miles in the pool. At first, what he saw didn't compute. He stopped and slowly backed up, not wanting to call attention to his arrival. The man who spoke with Julie had his back to Nic. He wore a plaid wool hunting coat and looked to be near their age.

Every muscle in Nic's body tensed as if a silent alarm had gone off. A chill touched the back of his neck. It was the same feeling when he was with other team members and all their pagers went off. It wasn't quite the adrenaline rush of jumping from a plane or rappelling off an eight-hundred-foot cliff. But it was the start. If there were such a thing as a pre-adrenaline rush, this was it.

Before the guy could hear him, Nic backed around the corner and was no longer in sight. He silently drew the weapon from his back and scanned the surrounding forest for the best way to approach. From the quick glance he'd had of the guy, Nic wasn't able to tell if he was dangerous or not. He wasn't about to take a chance.

The snow cover was both a help and a hindrance to stealth. The snow muffled any sounds that he made, but it also hid stumps and branches that lay beneath. There was no way to be silent and fast at the same time. Not with the kind of undergrowth that littered the forest floor. But, at least the trees were dense enough to hide him from view.

Why the hell hadn't he been on alert? Probably, because he was thinking about her. Served him right. The irony, of course, was that it was difficult to purposely not think about something. But now he had something else to push the thought of making love to her, if not out of his head, at least to the back half. The threat of death had a way of doing that.

It would have taken only a minute to walk to the car from where he'd stopped on the road. Going the long way to come up on the side of the car took considerably longer. As he got closer though, he had a better vantage point.

What he saw pushed him to full-on alert.

When he first approached, she'd thought the guy might just be lost. But, he looked really familiar.

"We went to high school together. You're Julie Galloway."

"And you're..." Julie searched her memory for a name.

"Doug. Doug Davis. We were in algebra and history together."

How did he remember that? Julie vaguely remembered her algebra class, probably because the teacher used to throw erasers at students if they fell asleep. And having the class right after lunch heightened that probability. But history? Nope, she couldn't even remember the teacher much less her classmates.

"Oh, yeah, sure. Now I remember." Julie lied. "How's it going? You still live in Susanville?"

"Not still. Again. I, uh, left for a time. But now I'm back. And you, you never did move back did you?"

Dang, this guy obviously knew way more about her than he should have. It was creepy. Who the heck was he, and what brought him here? Realization and panic washed over her in close order, draining the blood from her body. It must have showed on her face.

Doug's eyes narrowed and his smile turned ugly.

And then he pulled the gun.

She worked hard to pull in a breath. To think.

Keep him talking.

Her own gun was in the pocket of her jacket—discarded a few feet away.

Panic closed her throat.

She sucked in another breath and forced words out.

"Did you kill my parents?"

"No."

"Do you know who did?"

"Yes."

### Chapter Twelve

That's good, Julie. Keep him talking. Nic could hear their conversation now as he snuck in closer, staying low and barely moving. He still wasn't in a good spot to take the guy out. Not without Julie knowing what to do. He needed more time.

"Who killed them, Doug?" Julie asked.

"I'm not going to tell you that."

"Are you here to kill me, then?"

Us, Julie. He's here to kill us.

But she hadn't let on that he was even there. Nic crept slowly still watching this Doug guy. He wasn't ready to shoot yet. That gave Nic a bit more time.

"You catch on fast."

The words came out with a sneer, but his face didn't mirror that emotion. There was a flicker of uncertainty in him.

Good.

"I didn't see the man who killed them. He wore a ski mask."

"Well, he sure as hell saw you." Doug grinned. "And you nearly broke his knee with that kick."

That was obviously news to Julie. A question crossed her face.

Keep talking, babe.

"So he sent you to eliminate me because he thinks I know who he is? Is that it?"

"That's about it."

"Just like that, Doug?" As she spoke she shifted ever so slightly, taking up a more provocative stance.

She was flirting with the guy! A stab of jealousy was followed almost immediately by grudging respect for her ingenuity.

"You're just going to shoot me? Just like that?"

It was working, too. Doug took a slight step back. Julie pushed her advantage. Nic wasn't sure that was a good idea.

"Doug, you're not a killer."

"You don't have a clue what I am, the things I've done."

"Have you ever shot anyone before, Doug? Are you a killer? Are you sure you can do it? Whose flunky are you?"

Crap, Julie.

That earlier uncertainty the guy had shown now had challenge mixed in.

Shut up, babe. The guy took a step forward, grabbing Julie by the throat. There was no more time. Nic leveled his own weapon.

"No, bitch," he hissed, "I've never killed anyone. And I'm nobody's flunky."

Julie pulled at the hand that held her. But her eyes flashed with indignation, not fear. Finally, he pushed her away, sending her sprawling in the snow beside the car. Nic couldn't see her, his view blocked. He sure as hell could hear her, though.

"Well, you may not be a flunky, but since you can't think for yourself, go ahead, shoot me. Go ahead, Doug, shoot me."

The guy aimed at her, his finger caressing the trigger. Nic's own finger began to tighten.

Everything was in slow motion.

Julie scrambled back. Like that would help. Dumb. Would Nic hear the gunshot and come running? Please, no... She didn't want him to die, too. Maybe Doug would only wound her and leave her for dead. Then Nic would come and save her. He was a paramedic. He could do that. Maybe she wouldn't die.

Julie's mouth was dry.

The look on Doug's face changed. A second before, he'd been furious. Now something else. He smiled, an odd, disheartened kind of smile.

"God, Julie. You're right, I can't kill you." He closed his eyes for a minute, hopelessness slumped his shoulders. "But I'm a dead man if I don't."

And then, before Julie had time to register what she saw, Doug put the barrel under his chin and pulled the trigger.

Just like that, it was over. Julie sat in the snow, watching in detached fascination as Doug crumpled to the ground, turning the snow red. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the sight. Not until movement at the front of the car caught her attention.

Nic came from out of nowhere, the 9MM trained on Doug's fallen form. Nic's eyes didn't leave his target for an instant as he spoke.

"You okay, baby?"

Julie could only nod, watching Nic kick Doug's gun away, approach the body, nudge it with his foot, then lean down to check the neck for a pulse. Only then did he look at her.

"Julie?"

She nodded again.

"Is he dead?" she asked.

The question came out so nonchalantly, as if seeing somebody blow their brains out was a normal, everyday thing. The tone did not reflect what was going on inside her, though. Her breath came out fast and raggedy.

Nic took one more glance at Doug, then came and crouched beside her. "Are you really okay? Calm down, you're breathing too fast. Calm..." He was all business, taking her pulse, watching her with a purely clinical look.

Julie pushed his hand away. "I'm fine! Other than the fact that this guy," she pointed with her chin as she got to her feet, "was going to kill me. Yeah, I'm fine. And where did you come from, anyway?"

Nic watched her face as her voice climbed higher. Deny all she wanted, she was shook. As well she should be.

"Over there." Nic tossed his head to indicate the forest on the other side of the car. "I wouldn't have let him kill you." He'd meant that to sound comforting but it came out almost accusatory. "Sorry."

Julie leaned heavily against the car. Nic moved to stand in front of her, taking her shoulders. "That was hairy. It's okay if you fall apart." And now, he sounded condescending. Damn it. Instead of saying something else stupid, he settled for pulling Julie into his arms.

She trembled despite her bravado. Who could blame her?

The embrace was short-lived. Julie backed away and looked up at him. No tears. "I guess now we pretty much have to go to the police, huh?"

She was right. Days ago, he'd have been glad to finally be on the "right side" of the law. Now he wasn't so sure. Something about going to the authorities didn't feel right. Maybe it was because they'd spend hours trying to explain this whole thing. Why didn't they come forward sooner? Why did this guy shoot himself?

One thing was certain, the first call Nic would make wouldn't be to the cops. The first call would be to Cruz.

Nic had covered the body with a blanket, careful not to disturb the crime scene. Julie didn't remember Doug's last name, even though she was sure he'd said it. So Nic went back, pulled out the guy's wallet, and retrieved as much information as he could before putting it back. Then, they finished getting the car out of the snowdrift and headed for the nearest pay phone. And, yet again, Nic wished for his phone.

Nic chose to call Eric's cell phone instead of calling the Section. That way, if asked, no one had heard from Nic.

"Cruz." No hello.

"If you're not alone, don't let on it's me."

"I'm alone and by the sound of your voice, you're in trouble."

"I need information. Got time to do some digging?"

"Sure. How big a hurry?"

"Big. I'll call you back in thirty."

Cruz launched into a string of Spanish curse words. Some Nic knew. Some he didn't. Nic gave Cruz all the information he had on Doug Davis.

"Do I want to know why so big a rush?" Cruz asked.

Nic smiled. Why lie when the truth would blow his friend's mind. "Cause the body's getting cold," he said nonchalantly before hanging up the phone. Then he turned to Julie, who stood a few feet away. "We've got thirty minutes to kill. I'll buy you dinner." He took her arm and steered her into the café.

The Dinner Bell Café was bustling, even though it wasn't yet the dinner hour. Evident from the way the lone waitress rushed around, a half hour wasn't enough time to actually eat, so they settled for pie and coffee. Well, Nic had pie and coffee, Julie had tea.

"I can't believe you can eat after..."

The withering look Nic shot her made her stop midsentence. Did he think she was a complete idiot? It wasn't like she'd blurt out the happenings of the past two hours. "I'm not stupid," she hissed.

Nic shook his head. "I know. I'm sorry." He reached across the table and took her hand. "Are you okay?" he mouthed the words.

Julie blew out her breath and nodded. "Just not hungry for pie a-la-mode."

Nic smiled and pulled his hand away as the waitress delivered steaming cherry pie with a generous scoop of vanilla ice cream on top. "I don't understand that," he told Julie.

"What?"

"That there's ever a time that a person _wouldn't_ want pie a-la-mode. Wanna bite?" Nic speared a bit of pie, scooping ice cream onto the fork as well. He held it out to her, the look in his eyes suddenly becoming sultry.

It wasn't about pie at that moment. It was about adrenaline and life and sex and...

She leaned forward and slowly took the food from the fork, their eyes locked. Nic laughed.

"See?"

Julie just laughed in reply. She glanced at her watch. Fifteen more minutes. Finally she whispered, "Are we going to discuss our plans?" She was careful how she asked.

Nic smiled again, differently, probably just for show. "Not here, we aren't."

Cruz answered on the first ring. His voice was tight. Unusual for him. That made Nic uneasy.

"How bad?"

"I don't know," Cruz answered. "Just not quite right, I guess. Your Doug Davis did grow up in Susanville, did go to school with Julie. His most recent employment is as a deputy on the Lassen County Sheriff's Department."

Nic's gut twisted. "Oh, that can't be good."

"Odd, too, because the guy had a juvie record as long as my arm. He's been with the department for a year and a half. Before that, he lived in Southern Florida, spending truckloads of money. Like I said, it just doesn't sound right."

As Cruz rattled off Davis' address, Nic wrote it on a napkin. "Anything else?"

"Not yet. I'll keep digging. Hey, D, do you want me to come out there?"

Nic laughed. "No, buddy. At least, not yet. But thanks."

"Okay. Call me if you need me, man."

"I will."

"Watch your back, _esé_."

Nic hung up the phone, looked up the address of the Plumas County Sheriff's Department and steered Julie to the car.

It was another thirty minutes to Quincy, the county seat of Plumas County. Nic hoped it would work to their advantage that they weren't in Lassen County, where Doug was a deputy. As they drove, Nic filled in Julie on what Cruz had told him.

"So did you hear Doug say he didn't kill my folks?"

"Yeah, I did. There's no telling if he was lying."

"I'd like to think he was lying."

"Why?"

"'Cause it would mean this was over."

Roger that. But they couldn't be so lucky as to have tied things up so neatly. If Davis had murdered her family, he wouldn't have hesitated to kill her. Wouldn't have offed himself.

As they parked the car in front of the sheriff's department, Nic reached over and squeezed Julie's hand. At best, the next few hours could be hairy.

She looked scared. "What do we tell them?"

"We tell them the truth, babe."

### Chapter Thirteen

Once inside the sheriff's department, Nic ran out of gas. He was accustomed to tapping into his internal resources when faced with fatigue. There had been times on the side of a mountain when he'd run out of steam. But, he'd always been able to close his eyes for two minutes and summon the strength to get the job done. Now, if he closed his eyes, he'd never open them. His chest and shoulder throbbed with every beat of his heart, and for a second he forgot where he was.

Julie had moved ahead of him and walked to the front desk. She started to speak, "We need to report a..." then turned to look uncertainly at Nic.

He stepped forward, leaning heavily on the counter, "A suicide."

They spent the next half hour explaining the day's events to the Undersheriff Bill Brogan; Sheriff Graff was on vacation in the Bahamas.

"So, why was this Davis guy going to kill you, Miss Galloway?" Brogan raised an eyebrow as he spoke.

Julie smiled patiently. "I told you, sir, he thought I saw the killer."

"Of your family?"

"Yes."

Nic interrupted. "Look, officer, if we're going to get back to the cabin before the marmots eat the body, we ought to get going."

Brogan cleared his throat and stood. "Of course, come with me. We'll take a ride on out there."

The room spun as Nic stood. He had to put both hands on the table to keep from pitching forward. He gulped air in an attempt to keep the curtain of darkness from descending.

"Nic!" Julie's voice, far away. Another gulp of air.

"Do I need to call an ambulance, Mr. D'Onofrio?"

Nic shook his head. "No, just give me a minute." The dizziness was subsiding.

"He was injured. He's still weak," Julie explained.

Nic just wished she'd shut up. Damn it, this was not the time to be less than a hundred percent.

Brogan led the way to the Blazer parked out back. Julie volunteered to sit up front and give directions, urging Nic to rest in the back seat. Nic didn't have the strength to argue, though he had no intention of sleeping. His body, however, suddenly had other plans.

Another question from Brogan had Julie launching into the whole story of the past week. Nic couldn't have spoken up if he'd tried. But before his eyes closed, he couldn't stop the regret he felt from urging Julie to tell the truth. Keep your mouth shut and stay out of trouble might have been better advice.

Julie's voice and hand on his good shoulder dragged him from sleep. "We're here, Nic."

Nic pulled himself from the car and tried to wake up. The cold air helped, but not much. Funny. Nic—every member of the special forces for that matter—was trained to take combat naps. It was a useful ability to put yourself into deep sleep for ten or fifteen minutes at a time and come out the other side rested and fully awake. And now, he'd been asleep for almost forty-five minutes, and he struggled to pull out of it.

Brogan approached the mound that still lay, thank God, covered by a blanket at the edge of the road leading to the cabin. The truck's headlights illuminated, draining color from the scene. The car that Davis had arrived in was parked on the other side of the road. Brogan lifted the blanket and shined his flashlight on Davis's waxy face. Stark black and white. Blood on ashen skin.

Nic and Julie had been leaning on the front of the Blazer, between the headlights. When Brogan lifted the blanket, Julie made a squeaking noise and looked away. Nic reached over and pulled her closer, leaning to whisper in her ear. But she withdrew before he could say anything, walking around to the back of the car. Nic followed.

She stopped, looking into the darkness, her arms crossed, shivering. Nic came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her. She laid her head back.

Pain tore through his shoulder, but Nic did his best not to flinch. He just hugged her tighter and buried his face in the soft, sweet scent of her hair. He closed his eyes, wishing all of this were over.

And then what? The police would find the bad guy, and Julie and Nic would live happily ever after? Nic's eyes flew open at the thought. His mind traveling down the two-of-them-together road wasn't the problem. The disturbing thing was that he'd actually used the phrase happily ever after.

Happily ever after was fine in and of itself. How many times had he and Joey talked about having a lady to share their lives with? Someone who would long for them when they were gone. Someone to long for. But happily-ever-afters came slow, after months or years. Not after just over a week, especially after a week in which the lady in question didn't even know her name. There was easiness between them, yes. And intimacy like he'd never felt before. Nic smiled.

"Are they going to arrest us, Nic?"

Julie's words interrupted his thoughts.

"I don't know why they would."

"The sheriff from Lassen County is coming to meet with us."

"He is?"

"Yeah, Brogan called him on the way here. It sounded like he's been looking for me. I didn't want to sound paranoid so I just didn't ask."

"C'mon. Let's get back in the car. It's freezing out here. Get in back with me and I'll keep you warm."

Nic could feel her relax as she laughed. "In the back of the sheriff's car?" Julie turned in his arms and fixed him with a suggestive look.

"The _under_ sheriff's car, baby. Only the undersheriff."

Another deputy showed up a few minutes later. Brogan spoke quickly with him before getting into the car and starting the engine. "We'll head back. My deputy will wait for DOJ."

"DOJ?" Julie asked.

"Department of Justice. They help with local investigations." Nic answered.

Julie sat up abruptly, looking from the undersheriff up front to Nic beside her. "I know what they do. I just didn't realize..."

"Just protocol, Miss Galloway." Brogan looked in his rear-view mirror, his eyes warm, compassionate.

"Oh." Julie sat back again.

"Julie," Nic whispered. "Close your eyes and relax. I'm going to sleep for a few minutes and you should, too."

Julie started to argue, but Nic tightened his arm around her and, closing his eyes, shut her out.

He woke when they pulled into the sheriff's department lot.

Brogan led them inside. On his way past the front desk he grabbed a clipboard and two report forms.

"I'm going to need you to fill out reports stating all that you told me earlier." He led them down a short hallway and opened a door into a small room. "Miss Galloway, why don't you go in here and get started? Mr. D'Onofrio can sit out here in the hallway."

"Is that so we don't cheat?" Julie's voice oozed sarcasm.

"Exactly." Brogan pulled the door shut behind Julie and pointed to the chairs in the hall. He handed Nic the clipboard and a pen. "If you need anything, just see the person at the front desk." With that, he turned and walked a few doors down to an office on the other side of the hall.

If Nic could have switched to his left hand to write, he would have. Will Pitkin was ambidextrous. He'd often seen Will switch hands in mid-report when the first hand got tired. The throbbing in Nic's chest and shoulder had developed into an ache that made his hand shake. He rubbed his shoulder and hand absently as he watched the front door to the sheriff's department open.

A uniformed man strode through the doorway. He wore a white cowboy hat which he yanked off his head as he entered. The man was tall—probably not as tall as Nic—likely in his late fifties, and slim. His black cowboy boots echoed through the room as he walked.

Nic couldn't see the woman at the front desk but he heard her greeting. "Good evening, Sheriff Raines. How are you tonight?"

The man didn't slow his entrance, didn't return the greeting. "Bill in his office?" His face set in a grim line. So, this was the guy who dead Doug had worked for, the guy who was apparently looking for Julie. That was enough to set off alarms within Nic. But there was something else about this man—something he couldn't quite put his finger on—that made Nic want to stand guard at the door where Julie was.

The sheriff slammed into Brogan's office. Before the door banged shut, Nic heard just enough of the conversation to know that the good sheriff wasn't particularly thrilled that Brogan called the DOJ. Nic took a deep breath, exhaling slowly, trying to quell the instinct to grab Julie and run.

Nic managed to finish his report before the door to Brogan's office opened. He rubbed his shoulder, watching the sheriff and Brogan emerge. Brogan was all business as he led Raines, hat in hand, to Nic and introduced them. Nic stood and reached out to shake the man's hand, flinching a bit when he did so.

"Mr. D'Onofrio." Raines eyed Nic as he spoke. "Are you injured?" The sheriff's grip tightened.

Nic refused to give him the satisfaction. "No. Why?"

The man smiled. "No reason. Glad it's nothing."

This guy was smooth. On the surface he was all concern, but his eyes held a sinister darkness. He watched Nic with the wariness of an enemy. He certainly seemed to have Brogan kissing his ass. The man nearly tripped over his own feet making way for a sheriff from another county.

Brogan's words broke into Nic's thoughts.

"Speaking of injuries, sir, how did you hurt your leg?" Brogan opened the door into the interrogation room, then stepped back to allow the sheriff to enter first.

Raines looked appalled at the question. "Old war wound," he answered and swept past Brogan.

"Oh, I guess I never noticed before," Brogan muttered as Nic, too, pushed past him to go stand beside Julie. She must have been pacing before they came in. Her report lay neatly on the table and her chair was pushed in.

"This is..." Brogan started.

"I know who this is." Raines beamed at Julie. "Julie, I am so very glad that you're safe. You have my condolences on the deaths in your family. I just wish we'd seen how distraught poor Patrick was when Jess died. Maybe we could have prevented... Well, enough of that. I'm so relieved that you are fine."

The man was gushing. Nic expected him to burst into a chorus of _Jesus Loves the Little Children_.

"I do hope you'll allow me to help you sort through all this. You're welcome to ride back to town with me as well." He turned to Brogan. "She _is_ free to go, isn't she, Brogan?"

That's when it all came together. Raines' questions about Nic's injury, his limp, the way he schmoozed Julie. What had Davis said before shooting himself? That Julie had nearly broken the murderer's knee with a kick? Yeah, Raines had been looking for Julie. No doubt about that. But it wasn't so he could help her in her time of need. No, Nic knew without question what Raines wanted.

Julie...dead.

### Chapter Fourteen

"Undersheriff Brogan, I need to change my testimony." Nic purposely raised his voice as if he were a bit panicked. He turned to Julie. "Julie, sweetie, I just can't do it. I know we agreed, but I'm really not a very good liar."

Julie looked at him like he'd just been beamed from another planet.

Nic turned back to the men. "I can't lie anymore. I need to tell you the truth about what happened at the cabin."

Back to Julie. "I'm so sorry. I just don't know you well enough to risk my life or career like this."

The color fled Julie's face.

"Sir, I'm sure Julie thought she was doing the right thing. Maybe she even felt threatened by that Doug guy. But he didn't shoot himself, sir. She shot him. Then she got me to help her make it look like suicide."

Brogan was positively salivating as Nic spoke. But, if Julie's face was pale, then Raines' was ghostly.

"Nic." Julie's voice came out in a whisper. "Why are you saying this?"

Raines cleared his throat and puffed up his chest. "Yes, _Nic_ , why _are_ you saying this."

"Because it's the truth, Sheriff."

Brogan tried to take over. "And why did you lie before?"

Nic lowered his gaze to the floor and stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets, shifting from one foot to the other.

"Well..."

"Go on, Mr. D'Onofrio."

Nic hesitated, then, as if just blurting it out, he said, "The sex was good."

It was like a bad dream. First Brogan had stepped behind her and cuffed her. She could barely see for the tears stinging her eyes. And now one of the deputies, courteously enough, was fingerprinting her. Nic hadn't even looked at her when Brogan led her from the room. At least Sheriff Raines had been on her side, protesting loudly that there was some mistake. Then, when that argument hadn't worked, he insisted on taking Julie to Lassen County. Brogan just shook his head and muttered something about Davis having been killed in _his_ county and that he was just doing his job.

What had Nic done to her? He'd actually told Brogan that they'd had sex. The way he said it was, well, awful. Had she so misjudged this man? Misjudged his character? His feelings for her?

Maybe she had.

Nic wanted to get rid of her from the moment he'd found her. Well, he was definitely rid of her now.

For the moment, Julie was as safe as she could be—in the Plumas County Jail. Nic cringed at the thought. The look she'd given him as he'd blurted out his lies nearly broke his heart. But Raines would have insisted on taking Julie with him back to Lassen County. And Nic would not have been invited. Then, no doubt, some terrible accident—a tragedy—would have taken place. And tomorrow, on TV, Nic would have seen the good sheriff relate the sad news of Julie Galloway's death.

Nic found a motel not too far away and checked in. He tucked the 9mm in his waistband and grabbed the clothes they'd brought from the cabin. It was almost eleven o'clock. All Nic could think of was sleeping. As he crawled into the bed, distinctly aware that he was alone, he steadfastly ignored the images of Julie in a jail cell.

It wasn't at all what Julie had expected. The holding cells they showed on TV were mostly big rooms with groups of women that looked like they could easily suck your brains out your nose. An innocent woman was bait. At least on TV. But this wasn't so bad. Well, if you ignored the fact that you were under arrest for something you didn't do, because someone you were in love with had told authorities that you'd done it. The room was small, with a cot, a sink, and a toilet. More like a prison cell. Panic seized Julie, and she sank down on the cot, pulling the blanket around her.

Wait a minute. Backup. Someone you were in love with? _That_ was certainly a big mistake. No way was she going to think of Nic like that. He was the reason she was here in jail, after all. Again with the prison thoughts. Find something else to think about. But the only picture that she could get into her head, that wasn't filled with fear and blood, was lying in Nic's arms. That would just have to do.

Nic slept like the dead, and when he woke up at nine-thirty on Saturday morning, he felt better than he had in days. He slowly peeled the bandage back and looked at his chest and arm in the mirror. The wounds weren't the ugly red they had been, but were only pink. He tentatively flexed his pecs and let out his breath when it felt okay. Not great, but okay.

After a nice, long, hot shower, he slipped into clean clothes and went out in search of food. Not that he didn't like oatmeal—which Julie had insisted was super nutritious and would help him heal—he actually liked it fine. But what he wanted at this moment was steak and eggs, hash browns with onions and green peppers and maybe even a short stack on the side. He grinned at the thought and tried not to picture a tray of iffy food being shoved through a slot in a cell door.

Over breakfast, Nic mapped out a strategy. Well, he tried. But all he ended up with was a number of questions scribbled on a napkin that he needed answers for. He'd need Cruz to do some more investigating. He needed to find out all he could about Sheriff Frank Raines. He also wanted to know what would make Raines kill an entire family.

After breakfast, Nic called Cruz. He briefed Eric on the latest developments.

"You turned her in?" If Cruz was trying to cover up his laughter, he wasn't doing a very good job of it. "Geez, with friends like you, who needs enemies."

"Bite me."

"You wish. What you going to do next?"

"Well, it occurs to me that Julie thought her father would have left her some information. It's possible that he only had it on his computer, which was wiped clean, but maybe he sent something to her in Redding, and she came home before getting it. I thought about going there to take a look at her mail."

Nic went back to the motel room, but not having any better ideas by early evening, decided to jump in the car and drive to Redding. If he'd been independently wealthy—like Cruz—he'd have flown. If he were Cruz, he'd just rent a plane and fly himself. Note to self: Take Cruz up on his offer to give flying lessons—oh, and check to see if Cruz's folks need another kid. The prospect of an almost three hour drive, alone, wasn't one he relished.

He found a decent radio station, and when he outdrove it, found another one. Music was the only thing that kept him from thinking about Julie. Hell, who was he kidding? He thought about her every mile along the way.

Visions of her sitting, helpless, in her car. Visions of her bravely walking into the house where her family had been murdered. Even unwelcome visions of her joining him in the shower. But the one he couldn't quite shake, the picture of Brogan leading her away in cuffs.

Nic tried to push away the feeling that he'd abandoned her. Yeah, like that was going to happen.

Julie had never felt so alone in her whole life. It wasn't just the solitary confinement of the cell. She didn't have anyone to call, anyone to come and help her, anyone to tell her it would be okay. She'd thought Nic was that person. In the worst moments of the last few days, when despair threatened to swallow her whole, Nic had been there. At the cabin, even when he slept for hours at a time, she never felt alone. And now he was gone, probably back to his vacation, to his life, leaving her to fend for herself. Things might not be what they seemed. True enough. But there was little use in hoping for something that clearly wasn't going to happen.

Near midnight, the lights of Redding appeared on the horizon. If the end hadn't been in sight, Nic would have had to pull over in a rest stop and do just that. He was acutely aware that fatigue caused a person to make poor decisions. He cracked the window, allowing the cold winter air to stir his senses. Maybe that would keep him awake for the last twenty miles. At the first fleabag motel he came across, he paid for a room and collapsed on the bed, not bothering to turn down the covers.

Nic forced himself to get up as soon as he woke up, just after eight. He found a pancake place about a mile down the street and stopped to eat. While he waited for his food, he called Cruz again, getting Julie's address from him.

Cruz sounded different.

"You okay?"

"Yeah, fine."

Nic couldn't put his finger on the difference and it sounded like Eric wasn't about to explain. "So, anything new?"

"Well, your buddy, the sheriff, is quite popular in his county."

"Really?"

"Yup. He writes cowboy poetry and makes the rounds at all the county functions doing recitations and selling his books and CDs. He's one of the few county officials that isn't subject to term limits. Apparently, there have never been any threats to his job. A local guy, former L.A. cop, ran against him last November and didn't even get thirty percent of the vote."

"Well, I might not be popular in that county very soon."

"You don't know the half of it, _amigo_. Our sheriff is a Distinguished Service Cross recipient and is considered the most eligible bachelor in those parts. Very charming."

"Not the guy I met. He's a snake."

"Well, on paper, he's not."

### Chapter Fifteen

What the hell was he thinking? Now that he sat in the parking lot of Julie's apartment complex, Nic couldn't even fathom what kind of plan he had for when he got here. Yeah, like he'd just walk up to her door, try the knob, open it, and there would sit her mail and...

What an idiot!

Nic banged his head against the steering wheel. Julie's keys, both to her apartment and to her mailbox were likely sitting in her backpack on the floor of the bedroom in her parent's house. Damn it.

Nic wasn't a criminal, had never picked a lock in his life. And he wasn't a cop. He was a paramedic that jumped out of perfectly good airplanes.

He needed Cruz. Cruz was a juvie in an adult body.

Attempting to jimmy the lock in the complex hallway, or even taking off the doorknob, would attract all kinds of attention. But what kind of story could he use to get the super to open her door? "Excuse me, sir. I'm Julie Galloway's boyfriend from Boston. Julie is in a coma in the hospital, and I came to get her favorite fuzzy slippers ..."

Great.

He found the right apartment on the second floor. Just for kicks, he tried the doorknob.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph. It _was_ unlocked.

Nic retreated enough to recheck the apartment number. Affirmative. It was the one Cruz gave him.

Remembering the door to the cabin, he stood with his back to the wall, and ever so gently pushed until the door stood all the way open. Then he peered around the corner into the apartment.

Completely trashed. The furniture was in place but drawers lay helter skelter and there were papers strewn from one side of the room to the other. Nic walked slowly inside and pushed the door closed with his elbow.

Mental note: wipe off the outside doorknob.

The couch pillows tipped at interesting angles. Her books lay on the floor. Nic walked to the desk and turned the computer on. Dollars to donuts, there'd be nothing there. Finding the mailbox key would be a major undertaking.

While the computer booted, he looked in her bedroom. The bedding had been stripped from the bed, and the drawers emptied. Nic pushed certain thoughts from his mind as he passed a pile of lacy underwear in assorted colors. So many colors. He brought his focus back to the task at hand, walking out of the bedroom.

A glance through Julie's email confirmed his expectations. Nothing there.

He surveyed the disaster area before him. Where would Julie keep the key to the mailbox? With her car keys, which, no doubt were in her backpack. In a kitchen drawer?

As he looked for conspicuous places, he wandered through the living room, nudging things out of the way with his foot. Catalogs, everything from _Victoria's Secret_ —holy crap—he'd better not go there—to _Cabela's_ were scattered on the floor.

That's when he saw the key rack. Right there by the door. The most logical place. Duh. Nic snagged the keys from the ring, stuck his head out the door to make sure the coast was clear, and went in search of the mailboxes.

He found them at the end of the hallway just past the stairs. If he'd seen them on the way to Julie's apartment, they hadn't registered in his brain. The stress of playing spy must have stricken him blind. Again checking for unwanted company in the hallway, Nic stuck the key in and opened the door. So much mail was crammed in the box there wasn't any breathing room left. As if mail needed breathing room. Nic shook his head at the thought while he tugged out the mail, spilling half of it on the floor.

He scooped it up and headed outside. He'd had quite enough of this cloak and dagger stuff and just wanted to get the hell out of there. As an afterthought, though, he did concede to going back and locking Julie's door, knowing without the key, he likely couldn't get back in. The hardware store didn't sell lock-picking sets that he could remember. He walked back to the car, his arms full of what was mostly junk mail.

"Get your mind out of the gutter," he muttered thinking again of the catalog he'd seen upstairs.

Credit card applications and more catalogs, several supermarket ads and whatnot, but no letters from Julie's dad. There was a card indicating there was more mail at the post office, but Nic was certain that they'd require ID to prove he was Julie Galloway before allowing him to pick it up.

Nic looked at his watch and headed out of the parking lot. Eleven ten. Too early for lunch? Never too early to eat. He breathed a sigh of relief as city blocks clicked by with no flashing lights in his rear view mirror. He'd driven for four freakin' hours to get here for nothing.

Jesus, Mary and Joseph.

There could be a letter from Julie's dad being held hostage at the damned at the post office—a letter revealing all the secrets.

He pulled the car into the lot at another pancake place. Not the same one as this morning. This one had more than just pancakes. He could eat a big burger. Cheese, extra onions, no mayo. Double fries. It started to sleet as the waitress brought his food.

Dipping a fry in ketchup, Nic's heart gave a lurch, thinking of Julie. He just wanted to get back to her. Even if he couldn't go see her, at least not without some good excuse, he would at least be close. That was enough reason for him to wolf down his food and get on the road again.

Nic was past tired, by a long shot, when he pulled up to his motel room. The light was on in his room. It wasn't until the door was half open that he realized the maid probably hadn't left it on. And it was completely careless to be walking in like he was.

The TV was on too.

He reached for the 9MM at his back. Damn it. It was still in the car. Another poor decision. He was losing it.

Nic slowed his entrance, throwing the door open and backing around the corner. Without a weapon, he could only peek around and into the room quickly, hoping the intruder wouldn't cap him. What kind of intruder would be watching TV while lying in wait?

Applause? Someone was clapping. He took the peek, still cautious.

"Nicely done, D."

Cruz. What the hell was he doing here? There he sat, though, on the bed, pillows stacked behind him, legs stretched out before him. He stopped clapping, but his electric grin remained.

"What are you doing here?"

"Watching TV."

"In my room."

"It was paid for. I told the manager I was your cousin from Hollywood and would have told him the story I'd concocted but he didn't give a rat's ass and handed me the key. Took all the fun out of it."

" _Why_ are you here?"

Cruz snorted. "I'm here to see Julie, of course."

Nic was too bushed to make sense of this. He waved off any further conversation.

"Tell me in the morning," he said before crashing on the vacant bed. Fully clothed, he succumbed to sleep.

Light filtered in from mesh-covered slits high up where the wall met the ceiling. Julie had survived her third night in Hotel California. It was Sunday—visiting day. Oh boy. Who would come to visit?

At this point, she found herself almost wishing for another cellmate. The "female pod" as her new home was called, consisted of a cinder block room that measured about twenty feet by fifteen, that is if Julie's measured steps were a foot apiece. One wall was taken up by two sets of metal bunk beds, hers the only one with a mattress. There was a round concrete table with concrete chairs attached to the floor. A shower and a small door-less room with a toilet and sink completed the accommodations.

A television hung from the wall almost at ceiling height. If you watched too much TV while sitting on the bed, you got an awful crick in your neck. The best position for watching TV was lying on the bunk.

The jailers, on the whole, were a friendly bunch. It was about half and half male and female. In conversation with one of them, Julie learned there were six men in the "male pod." One of the jailers, a girl named Liz, often pulled up a chair outside the wire mesh gate and kept Julie company. She made sure that Julie had all the books she wanted, even bringing one of her favorites from home.

The clock, like everything else in the room that wasn't nailed down, high up on the wall, said it was seven fifteen. Julie could get up and do nothing or stay in bed and do nothing. The only thing on TV on a Sunday would be preachers or cartoons, maybe an infomercial telling you that you, too, can earn a bazillion dollars in buying and selling real estate. Someone would be bringing breakfast about eight. She'd stay in bed till then.

When Nic woke up at eight, Cruz was gone. If the other bed hadn't been slept in, he would have thought he had hallucinated his friend last night. Not only that, but you could almost always tell when Cruz was around because of the obscenely expensive cologne he wore, a lifestyle-of-the-rich-and-famous leftover from his youth. There was no sign of Eric at the moment, so Nic threw off the covers, swung his feet to the floor and, peeling off the clothes he'd worn to bed, headed for the shower.

The intercom crackled to life, making Julie jump. "Miss Galloway," a male voice said, "you have a visitor."

"A visitor?" Julie replied to the voice, even though she wasn't at the box, pushing the button. She launched off the cot and did just that.

"Yes, ma'am."

Whoever it was on the other end was certainly polite.

"Who is it?" Who, indeed? The only person that knew she was here was Nic, and he'd put her here. Surely he wouldn't be visiting now, would he? The idea both infuriated and warmed her.

"Your fiancé, ma'am."

### Chapter Sixteen

"My... fee ..." Julie snapped her mouth shut on the rest of the word. Either this visitor was lying, or she had a fiancé she hadn't gotten around to remembering. That was an unpleasant thought in light of having entertained the idea of falling in love with Nic. Nic, the one who'd left her here. She pushed the button. "Okay, give me a minute."

Julie smoothed the wrinkles from her orange jumpsuit, wondering why she bothered. Well, whoever this guy was, he would definitely not be seeing her at her best. Then, she pulled the rubber band from her hair and finger combed as best she could. She shrugged, pushed the button again, and told the jailer she was ready.

The jailer accompanied her to the visitation room and opened the door. "He's inside, ma'am."

_He_ was most assuredly inside. The room was small, with a window from which the staff could keep an eye on them, not that they bothered. _He_ turned as she entered and a 200-watt smile spread across his handsome face. Handsome was an understatement. The idea that this man was her fiancé sent a shiver down her spine. He wore charcoal grey slacks and a forest-green V-neck sweater that accentuated his light green-blue eyes. He looked like he'd stepped out of the centerfold of GQ's beach-boy edition, if GQ even had a centerfold. Or a beach-boy edition.

"Hi, doll." He strode toward her, swept her into his arms, winked, and nailed her with a hot, devouring kiss. His lips moved down her neck until she felt his breath in her ear. "I'm Cruz. I work with Nic. You can call me Eric. I'm going to kiss you again, so kiss me back, then we can talk."

Julie's head spun as he kissed her. She didn't exactly return the kiss but at least she didn't pull away. Cruz? This was Cruz? This was definitely not how she'd pictured Eric Cruz. She'd expected him to have the dark, Latin looks his name implied. And she certainly hadn't expected him to be her visitor. What the hell was going on?

He drew back and held her at arm's length. "Let me look at you." Then he gathered her into his arms again, whispering, "D said you were beautiful. He was right."

She took the opportunity of being so close to him to whisper back, "What are you doing here?"

Cruz held her tight, not allowing her to back away. "I'm here to help Nic get you out of this mess."

"He put me here," Julie hissed. She tried unsuccessfully to pull away.

"Only to keep you safe. I don't know how much I can tell you. Places like this have ears." He moved her again to arm's length. "I'm so glad you're okay, sweetheart."

Again, he smiled and again, she shook herself to match this surfer with the identity of Nic's best friend.

"We only have half an hour," Cruz said, pulling her hand to his lips. He led her to the table in the middle of the room and moved her purposefully to a particular chair. Then, he sat down beside her, with his back to the window. "You are _so_ beautiful," he said again, pulling her hands over and holding them gently. His voice became little more than a whisper. "I can see why D loves you."

Julie frowned and Cruz laughed.

"What can you tell me about the guy in the ski mask?"

"Um, not much."

Eric squeezed her hands reassuringly.

"I walked into my parent's room. He had his back to me. My parents..." Her throat closed on the words.

"It's okay. Just think about the man."

"He had his back to me. Then he turned around, not like he'd heard me, like he was going to turn around anyway." Julie looked at Cruz. His eyes were soft with compassion. But somehow, having Nic's best friend here, only made her miss Nic more. She looked back down at her hands, wrapped in his. She tried to focus on the scene in her head. "He saw me and our eyes met. He looked surprised and he raised the gun."

The scene that had stopped there in her memory now continued. She didn't speak, not wanting to break the vision in her head, but clung to Eric's hands as she watched.

The man raised the gun to kill her. There was no doubting the look in those eyes. Julie reacted. Without even thinking, she kicked the man's hands, and the gun went flying. She kicked him again just above the knee.

His breath came out in a _whoosh_ and she ran. Down the hall, through the kitchen, and grabbed her folks' car keys from the nail by the door, before racing to their car.

As she pulled the door open, something thudded against the car. One look at the house explained the sound. There, on the front porch, the man stood, gun aimed at her. She launched into the car, got it started, and ducking as best she could, pulled out of the driveway into the street.

She never looked back.

That was all she remembered until Nic found her, still in her pajamas.

The warmth of Eric's hands on hers brought her back.

"I kicked the gun out of his hand. I kicked him again, I think in the knee. I ran, got in my parents' car and drove away. Then, Nic found me."

Cruz didn't speak for a minute. "Do you remember what color eyes the man had?"

Julie thought for a moment. It had been so dark. Maybe brown, but there was no way of knowing for sure. She spoke the thought out loud.

"How about his height. Tall, short?"

Julie pulled away and stood. "Stand up."

He did and she moved him against the wall of the small room. She backed up, looking him up and down, focusing on his eyes. "Maybe six inches shorter than you."

A rap at the door made them both turn. "Two minutes, Miss Galloway," the voice said.

"Okay, thank you."

Cruz moved to where she stood and pulled her close again. "They'll only allow visitors on Sunday and Wednesday. But you can write letters any time. Address them to me and I'll give them to Nic. Be careful what you write. They can read them. We're staying at the Sleepy Z Motel. I'll come back Wednesday." That said, he lifted her chin and kissed her goodbye.

Nic looked up when the door opened.

" _Amigo_! Let's go to breakfast. I'm buying."

Nic was not amused. "Where the hell have you been?"

"Kissing your girlfriend." Cruz smirked, walked over, and slapped Nic's boots, "Didn't your mother ever teach you not to put your shoes on the bed? C'mon, let's go eat."

The grin never left Cruz's face, even when Nic leapt off the bed, grabbed him by the shoulders and slammed him into the wall.

"You're going to ruin my sweater, man."

Nic shoved him again, then let go and stalked away. He trusted Cruz with his life, had on many occasions. The question never arose between them whether one would encroach on the other's action.

Oh, yeah. Cruz was definitely a player. Wherever he went, women followed. He could get them without even a second glance. He was the most charismatic person Nic had ever seen. His body language, the way he wore his clothes, his incessant smile. But when all was said and done, Eric Cruz was loyal to his very core.

But that damned smile.

Eric waited at the door, his stance saying he knew Nic would come around.

Son of a bitch.

"So what happened to your arm?" Eric asked.

"Run-in with a booby trap." At Cruz's questioning look, Nic continued, "Nails. Spring loaded."

Cruz moved to block the doorway.

"Let me see."

"Nah, I'm fine."

"Nic. Let me see."

That tone said _do what I say right now_. Most of the time, it wasn't worth a fight. Nic pulled his shirt off.

" _Dios mio_ ," Cruz pulled his sunglasses up and stared at the ugly marks on his chest, leaning in to get a better look. "You coulda been killed, punctured a lung."

"They just grazed me."

"Yeah, right, if by grazed, you mean filleted." He shrugged and put his shades back on. "They look okay now though."

"Some herb or something Julie put on 'em. I'm driving," Nic said, pulling his shirt back over his head. Cruz opened the door and stepped back, allowing Nic to lead the way. Nic could hear him chuckle under his breath.

Nothing was said on the drive, and once seated at a table, the usual thing happened. The waitress fell over herself attending Cruz's every need. Nic was used to being invisible when Hollywood was around. Cruz wasn't exactly from Hollywood but that's what the team called him.

Technically, Eric Cruz was from Beverly Hills. His father was one of the top plastic surgeons to the stars. Joey used to say Hollywood had grown up with a silver carabineer in his mouth. The image never worked, but it always made Cruz curse a blue streak in Spanish and was good for a laugh. His habit of slipping into Spanish was the only evidence Cruz was stressed.

When the waitress finally left after taking their order, Nic spoke. "How is she?" The question came out in a croak and felt like it was wrenched from his guts.

"She misses you."

"Did she say that?" Nic couldn't imagine that, after what he'd done to her.

"No." At Nic's unspoken question, Cruz answered, "She didn't kiss me back."

Again, that loyalty question darted through Nic's mind. Cruz would never betray him, but the question remained: What the hell was he doing kissing Julie? Like usual, Cruz read Nic's mind.

"I'm posing as her fiancé," Cruz said matter-of-factly leaning back with a cat-swallowed-the-canary look.

"I hope you have a good reason for that."

Cruz raised an eyebrow and grinned. "She's a very beautiful woman."

"And that's why you're posing as her fiancé? Because she's a beautiful woman?"

Now Cruz laughed. "It was the best I could think of on short notice. Sorry, man."

The waitress came with a tray of food. She smiled seductively at Eric and slipped a small piece of paper into his hand. He smiled back in a friendly manner, slipped the piece of paper into his pocket, and picked up his fork.

They ate in silence for a few minutes before Nic spoke. "So, what did you find out?"

"In general, or from Julie?"

"From Julie." This game was getting tiresome. Or maybe Nic was just irritated because Cruz had seen Julie more recently than he had.

Cruz thought for a minute and lay down his fork. "You didn't tell me Julie had a black belt."

"Does she?"

"She managed to defend herself against a man who pulled a gun on her. Either you didn't tell me that part, or she hadn't remembered yet."

Nic shook his head. "I don't know that part. Fill me in."

"Well, after she walked into her parents' room and saw the man standing with his back to her, he turned and was apparently surprised to see her. He raised his pistol, and Julie kicked it out of his hand, kicked him in the knee, and ran for her life. He managed to get off a few shots at the car but didn't hit her, thank God."

This was news to Nic. While Julie had told him what she remembered, her memory had stopped after Ski-Mask Dude turned around. But dead Doug had mentioned the kick that left the bad guy limping.

"Is that all she said?"

"No. I asked her how tall the guy was and she said about six inches shorter than me," Cruz picked up his fork. After a few bites, he continued, "She didn't see the guy's eyes well enough to tell me what color they were."

Nic had to think. He twirled his fork in what used to be a stack of pancakes, now mush. Eric was maybe two inches taller than Nic. The good sheriff was, if Nic remembered correctly, only an inch or so shorter than Nic. Maybe Julie just didn't have time to see how tall the murderer was.

Maybe he hadn't had his cowboy boots on that night.

When they got back to the motel, Cruz dragged out his laptop, opened it, and turned it on.

"I brought your cell and charger," he said, tossing a bag to Nic.

"Thanks."

Together, they spent the next hour going over the facts they had. It would take a lot more before they could go to the authorities with anything that remotely resembled proof. Even if Julie had been completely accurate in her description of Ski-Mask Dude, that alone was not enough. They still needed to figure out a motive for the sheriff of a small town to murder an entire family.

An idea struck Nic. It must have shown on his face because Cruz looked at him, a sense of foreboding written on _his_ face.

"Spill it, D."

"Well, I was just thinking about Julie's dad's computer."

Cruz shook his head even before Nic had finished his thought. But even so he was smiling.

Nic continued. "Well, that computer was wiped clean when we got to the house. I was just thinking..."

"You were just thinking I could maybe use my mad skills and find something on it, right?"

"Yeah, I guess so. There is one small problem, though."

"Does it involves breaking and entering?"

"Kind of."

"Cool!" Cruz checked his watch. "You want to go now or would you feel better waiting until dark?"

"Scalpel." Cruz snapped the latex gloves as he pulled them on, a wicked grin settling on his face. The room was still dark except for the glow from the patient. Nic paced the room, not nearly as comfortable with breaking and entering as Cruz was. You'd have thought he'd grown up on the streets of South Central L.A. rather than on the boulevards surrounding Rodeo Drive.

"C'mon, baby," Eric crooned in a sing-song voice to the computer. It was almost embarrassing, listening to him seduce the computer. But that was Cruz.

"Could you put a move on?" Nic continued to look out the window, standing back so he wouldn't be seen from the street. "The good sheriff and his minions could arrive any minute, guns a-blazing, to take us away in chains."

"Dude, if the cops have guns, why would they need chains?"

### Chapter Seventeen

"A _hí está_ " Cruz laughed under his breath and stroked the monitor lovingly.

Nic turned and looked at the screen where file directory after file directory rolled by. He moved over to the desk and pulled up a chair.

They spent the next half hour searching through file names for anything even closely resembling sheriff, Raines, or deputy. Nic was getting frustrated, but Cruz continued to patiently scroll through the files. The dude had endurance and was wicked good at this stuff. This stuff drove Nic up a wall.

"Maybe this guy didn't write anything down." Nic jumped up, pacing again.

"I think you may be right," Cruz said. "He certainly didn't have many documents stored on this computer, and those I've looked at have nothing to do with Raines or anything else that might get him killed."

"Where else would he put it, if not in the documents?"

Cruz didn't answer until after looking through the rest of the document files. "We can check the financial files and see what's there. We can check the history on his browser. Beyond that, I don't know."

It took another fifteen minutes to go through the financial files. No surprises there. Patrick Galloway still earned retirement pay from the Army and had income from investments. All in all, he and the wife had done quite well and lived comfortably. But there was nothing that looked suspicious or would explain murder.

Nic froze as a police cruiser slowly approached the house. Cruz stopped tapping on the keyboard. When the cruiser went on by, Nic let out his breath, and the tapping continued.

"Well this guy certainly kept his cookies cleaned up, damn it. That really only leaves his favorites."

Nic again sat down beside Eric as he clicked through the sites Galloway had considered important enough to keep.

"Well, this is interesting."

Stars and stripes and all things patriotic filled the screen. Cruz scrolled through the list of Distinguished Service Cross winners obviously looking for one name.

"There he is."

The cursor came to rest on the name Frank Raines.

"Son of a bitch!" Nic whispered.

Right there, on the screen in front of them, was motive for murder.

Frank Raines—Staff Sergeant Frank Raines—had indeed received his country's second highest honor. However, there was one small detail that turned on the light for Nic and Eric.

Frank Raines had been awarded that honor posthumously.

"So, if Frank Raines died before he could see his medal," Cruz smiled ruefully, "then who the hell is the Sheriff of Lassen County?"

Nic hummed a sinister tune.

"No kidding."

The hair on the back of Nic's neck bristled at the thought. "And what would make a guy want, or need, to do that?"

Eric continued to scroll through the few favorites Patrick and Ellen had left. "Well, he'd have to not want to be who he was pretty badly. Another question is whether he'd want that identity bad enough to kill for it, even back then."

When there was nothing more to look at on the computer, Cruz re-deleted what he had found and turned it off. He then pulled off the latex gloves and stuffed them in his pocket.

Neither man spoke until they were in the car and on the road to Quincy. It was fairly obvious the Galloway family and maybe Uncle Jess, were all killed because they knew about the medal. Nic and Eric had no way to prove it, though. And the information they did have just led to more questions. Was it simply an old secret that Raines was protecting or were there other shady activities an investigation would uncover?

It really didn't matter. Raines was willing to kill people and it was only a matter of time until he would find a way to get to Julie and, by extension, Nic as well. They needed enough information to force the authorities to take action against one of their own.

"So, what do you think of Sheriff Raines?" Julie asked Liz as they talked. The sheriff had visited Julie twice in two days. He'd been friendly, solicitous, assuring her that he believed her innocence. He was very charming in an aw-shucks way, but there was something about him that made her uncomfortable.

Liz wrinkled her nose in response.

"Really? How come?"

"I don't know. I hate the way he uses my name in every other sentence. I mean, it's a little over the top."

"I noticed that, too. Did he go to salesmanship for law enforcement or something? It's creepy. But at least he thinks I'm innocent. That's more than I can say for your undersheriff."

Liz pushed back her chair as she stood. "Things aren't always as they seem, Julie. I gotta get back to work. Talk to you later."

What could that mean? That Brogan thought she was innocent? Couldn't be that, 'cause he had the keys. So, Raines was not what he appeared to be? Maybe Julie could press Liz for more on her next visit.

Nic spent most of Monday in Susanville, looking through the archives of the local paper. Raines had been sheriff in the sleepy community for the past sixteen years, having just won re-election again last November. Before that he'd lived in Tennessee. Nothing Nic dug up gave him any idea when or where the new Frank Raines had come into being but it was definitely before he came to California. To find out which person had that identity in Tennessee would take a lot more digging.

Raines was well liked in town. That is, by the white-collar population. Those that hung out at the local bar were of another opinion entirely. They weren't in the least impressed by cowboy poetry or cowboy antics. The sheriff never reined in his loose-cannon deputies and a person could only get a fair hearing if he wasn't riffraff.

Cruz was into the third level of records for the 9th Infantry Division and, so far, the pictures all matched. Eric had been through the first twelve years of Raines' military career. There weren't a lot of pictures, but so far they showed the smiling face of someone entirely different than the man who now resided in that identity.

A knock at the door snapped Cruz from his work. He glanced at his watch. Three thirty-five.

"Julie! _Madre_!" Eric snatched her into the room, glanced outside to see if they had other company, and shut the door. "What are you doing here?"

"They let me go." She tugged her arm loose from his grasp. "Is Nic here?"

"Not at the moment. What do you mean they let you go?"

"It's not a hard concept. Apparently, they didn't believe Nic's accusation, believed my story instead, and let me go."

While she talked, Eric packed. They needed to _vamos_. It wouldn't take long for Raines to find out, if he didn't know already, that Julie was out of jail. And in a town this size, it wouldn't be hard to find out that she'd come here.

Damn, if only Nic had his phone. He'd left it charging in the room.

Cruz went into the bathroom and turned on the hot water, closing the door behind him when he came out.

"Does Raines know that you're out?"

"I don't know. Why?"

"We need to load up and get out of here." Cruz handed Julie the laptop case. He grabbed his duffle bag and led the way to the door. Before he got there, though, she moved around in front of him.

"Look, Cruz, I don't even know you. You may be Nic's friend, but I don't even know Nic that well. No way I'm going anywhere unless you explain."

At the shake of his head, Julie put down the case and crossed her arms.

Exasperated, Cruz pulled up in Julie's face. "Julie, Nic and I will fill you in later, I promise. But right now, we have to go."

Julie watched Eric's smile vanish—replaced with intensity. She'd seen Nic make the same transition, but it was much more pronounced with Cruz. His flirty, cheerful optimism was now tempered with the edge that likely made him a kick-ass warrior.

Julie was convinced.

"What about Nic?" Julie asked as they threw the gear in the back of the green sedan in the parking lot.

"We'll leave him a message."

Julie followed Cruz back into the room.

"Grab a pair of Nic's shorts," he said, pointing to Nic's bag and going again into the bathroom. Instead, Julie followed him.

On the steam-fogged mirror, Cruz wrote three, three, three, nine, nine, zero, seven. Then, he reached into the shower and turned off the water.

"Did you get the shorts?" Eric barked.

His voice sent a tingle of fear down Julie's back, like when a cop asked to see your driver's license and proof of insurance. He looked at Nic's bag and back to her, raising an eyebrow.

"Sorry." Julie scurried to do as he'd asked. She felt creepy digging through Nic's clothes and even creepier pulling out his underwear.

"Throw them over the lamp and let's go."

Eric managed a typical wicked grin at the look she gave him.

"Some sort of code?"

"PJ-speak. Nic'll get the message."

First things first. Cruz took the opportunity to swing through a fast-food joint. When he took the airport turnoff, Julie came to life. She hadn't been paying attention.

"Where are we going?"

"Gansner Field."

"I thought..."

He smiled at her confusion. " _We're_ flying."

"Flying?"

"Geez, _chica_ , you can't think I'd drive this far, even for Nic?"

### Chapter Eighteen

Nic did indeed get the warning. Underwear on the lamp meant look for a message. Steam the bathroom and read the mirror. Then wipe it clean. Three, three, three: SOS. Nine, nine, zero, seven: the last four of Eric's cell number.

Nic grabbed his phone.

"Cruz."

"What's up?"

"Julie's with me. She showed up at the motel. You weren't very convincing, Batman. They let her go."

"And Raines?" Nic looked up and down the street, as if the sheriff would appear at any moment.

"We don't know. If he doesn't know she's out by now, he will soon. It was better to get out of there while we could. You might want to do the same."

"Where are you?"

"We're about thirty minutes out of Quincy."

"Headed where?"

"Home. Here, _amigo_ , the lady wants to talk to you."

Cruz took the phone back from Julie and tossed it on the floor. "Well?"

"Nic said he'd meet us at home," she said, a slight quiver in her voice.

Cruz didn't look at her, giving her the space she needed to get her emotions under control. If Nic and Julie didn't end up together...

Eric's plane cruised south on autopilot and the smell of the food made his stomach growl. "Let's eat."

Julie popped the last of the French fries into her mouth and laid her head back as she chewed. "So Eric, how long have you worked with Nic?"

"About four years."

"Nic speaks very highly of you."

"It's mutual."

The way these two men felt about each other brought tears to Julie's eyes. She blinked them away as she watched the distant lights dance on the horizon. They were an hour out of Quincy before she spoke again.

"Tell me about Nic."

What she really wanted to do was pick this man's brain about Nic D'Onofrio. She wasn't sure she wanted to tip her hand that way, but she really wanted to know.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything." Hand. Tipped.

That brought a smile to Cruz's face. He took a sip from his drink. "Did Nic tell you about Joey?"

"No."

"Well, if you want to know about Nic, we'll start with Joey Amonte. Nic and Joey grew up together in Boston. Old Italian families. They joined the Navy together as well."

"The Navy?"

"Yeah, they thought they wanted to be Boston firefighters, so they went into the Navy and were on Crash together."

"Crash?"

"Crash and Salvage. Navy firefighters. On a carrier. Those guys clean up the mess when the jets crash. Anyway, things are so controlled on a ship, that it's rare when the Crash guys get any action. So, Nic and Joey remustered, uh, changed services, from Navy to Air Force, and signed on as pararescue."

It seemed a bit odd that Cruz knew so much about Nic's past. That wasn't really normal for guys...

Cruz continued. "Nic and Joey came to Merced—that's where we're stationed—just after I did. They used to call us the Three Amigos."

Now, Eric's voice got husky. Julie couldn't pull her gaze from his face. It took a bit before he went on.

"Joey's Blackhawk went down four weeks ago near Kabul. Nic flew to Germany and accompanied his body home. He stayed for the funeral, then went to Tahoe where he met you."

Nic had never let on. How much had he been holding in? He'd stood at the window, very quiet, sometimes. But he'd said nothing.

Cruz must have read her mind. "He doesn't like to bother other people with his problems. He'll tell you about it once he's past it. He holds things close. But on the outside, he's the steadiest person I know. We've been on the team together long enough, that I can usually tell what he's thinking, but I'm the exception. He told me a lot about his past on the side of a mountain once, as we tried not to freeze to death." Again, Cruz smiled.

Julie smiled back. If Nic was the steadiest person Cruz had ever met, Cruz was the most upbeat guy Julie had ever met. Even when he was serious, that smile was lying in wait for an opportunity to spring to his lips.

"So what kind of stuff does your unit do?" Julie asked, trying to lighten up the conversation a bit.

"At the moment, mostly we do civilian rescue, stranded and injured climbers, plane crashes, some water rescue. We're in six-man teams. Ours is Bravo Squad. Alpha thinks they're bad asses, but Bravo is so much better that we don't have to brag." At her skeptical look, Eric just laughed. "Nic's the best rock climber in the squadron. Joey was the best navigator to ever jump out of a plane."

Cruz's voice caught on the last words. He didn't say more, but Julie could imagine what he was thinking. Her own throat closed with emotion. The guy-relationship thing had always been fascinating to her. And in a profession like rescue, the bonding must be even stronger. Depending on teammates for your very existence would do that.

She wanted to ask more, but what Eric told her was obviously still pretty raw, so she let it rest. Instead, she reached into the back seat and pulled a bag of Cheese Twists up front. "Still Hungry?"

"Always," Cruz replied, reaching into the bag.

After calling Cruz, Nic took time to gather his clothes and other belongings. He still had things in Tahoe and at the cabin. He needed what was here. And if he didn't check out, the charges would keep racking up until his credit card was denied. He couldn't afford that.

But he was careful. As far as he could tell, no one was around. How long it would stay that way was anybody's guess. He'd need to get a move on. Leaving this late, it would be after midnight when he got into Merced. After hearing Julie's voice, Nic's need to be with her got stronger. Before he could get out of there, someone knocked on the door.

Crap.

Nic walked to the window, trying to see out without disturbing the curtains. The angle wasn't good and he couldn't tell who it was. He reached for the weapon snugged at his back. Before he got to the door, a voice on the other side broke the quiet.

"Miss Galloway, are you there?"

He was trying to sound polite but the edge was recognizable. The good sheriff was on the other side of the door. Nic cleared his throat, left the gun where it rested, and opened the door.

"Can I help you?"

"Ahh, yes, Mr. Duh, Duh..."

Nic didn't give the guy the satisfaction of pronouncing his name. "What can I do for you, _Deputy_ Raines?" He really shouldn't bait the guy but it was hard to resist.

"I'm looking for Julie Galloway."

"And you think she's here?"

Raines tapped his foot, but that was the only outward sign of his irritation.

Nic continued. "I haven't seen her since she was bagged." That was the truth. Besides, this guy might be a sheriff, but he was also a murderer. It was okay to lie. "She's not still in jail?"

Raines pushed past Nic, and Nic let him. If he could get out of there without incident, it would be better. Right now, the bad guy held all the cards.

"So, where is she?"

"I'm sorry, I don't know. Like I said, I haven't seen her. I'd help you if I could."

"Hmmph."

Nic was tempted to remind the guy that he'd forgotten to look under the bed. He had looked in both the bathroom and the closet. Instead, he offered to help.

"If you'll give me your number, I'd be glad to call if I see her. I have no plans to do so, though. We only had a fleeting, um, relationship."

"Where are you headed?"

"Well, I really want to get some skiing in. I'm not sure where I'm headed. Have you heard the ski conditions today?"

"No, I haven't."

Nic walked to the door, opening it for Raines. "If I see her or hear from her, I'll let you know."

"I'm sure you will." Raines handed Nic his business card and walked out. Nic closed the door behind him. He'd need to be careful when he left.

To make sure he wasn't followed.

Cruz pulled his Jeep into the driveway of a small bungalow that occupied the center position in a small cul-de-sac. The mailbox out front said Cruz/D'Onofrio/Amonte.

"Either it's bigger than it looks, or you guys gave new meaning to three amigos." Julie forced a cheerful tone; the melancholy of Joey's absence still hung around.

Cruz laughed. "Triple bunk beds. You can have the middle." He leered at her good-naturedly. "Maybe not." He snapped his fingers before lifting the back hatch. He threw Julie the house keys, then reached for the luggage.

"Go on in, I'll get the bags."

It really was bigger on the inside than it looked from the driveway. The front door led right into the living room. Overstuffed chairs and couch all aimed at the big-screen television. Obviously a guy's living room. Monster speakers dominated each corner of the room. No lack of testosterone here. But, even so, everything was fairly neat. No socks or underwear to be seen. No underwear over the lamp, either.

The small, spotless kitchen, with older appliances, was off one side of the living room. Either they never ate here or someone was picky about housekeeping. Nic. Neat-Nic. She smiled inwardly at the play on words.

A door from the kitchen led to the garage. A Batman sign hung there. Cruz must have followed her into the kitchen because now he, again, answered her question before she asked it.

"The Batmobile's out there." At her look of confusion, he stepped around her, opened the door and flipped on the light. "Batman's car." There, in the dim light of the garage sat a gleaming black truck.

"Wow, it's beautiful. Yours?"

Cruz shook his head. "Batman's. Nic."

"Nic? Batman?"

"Yeah, he lives to rescue. He could no more pass by someone needing help than he could fly. But you already knew that, didn't you?"

Julie just looked at him. Batman, huh? And she was just a helpless victim he couldn't pass by? God, the last thing she wanted to be was some helpless female who always needed rescuing.

But, he _had_ rescued her. He'd taken wounds that would have killed her. But still. The idea that she continued to need rescuing left her feeling cooped up in an odd sort of way. She didn't like the idea or the feeling.

Cruz was talking again and leading the way out of the kitchen. "You can either take Joey's room or..." Now he stammered, suddenly embarrassed.

Julie laughed at his discomfort. "Or what, Eric? I can sleep in Nic's bed?" She patted him on the shoulder as she walked by and picked up her bag. "Which one's Joey's?"

Cruz cleared his throat and pointed down the hallway. "Last on the left," he said.

The longer she thought about it the madder she got. She was not a victim, by God. And if Nic thought he could just move in on her, because she'd been in trouble, he was wrong. And yet, being with Nic, having him hold her, felt like home.

But that wasn't the point. What was the point?

Oh, yeah. The point was that she didn't appreciate being treated...

Julie flopped down on the bed. The truth was that, with Nic, she felt safe and loved and secure. If that was just obligation on his part, then she was way past the point of getting out of this unscathed. She was falling in love with him. Tears sprang to her eyes at the thought that he might not feel the same way.

She swiped at a tear with the heel of her hand, bouncing off the bed. Needing a distraction from her current thoughts, she set about reading the plaques that, along with framed pictures, covered the walls of the bedroom. Joey's room.

There were plaques of appreciation from SAR units, of recognition from the Air Force. All very impressive. But the pictures. My God, the pictures. Joey looked even more Italian than Nic did. In one picture, Joey and a younger looking Nic stood in front of an ambulance, marked with a very recognizable FDNY, both with paramedic patches on their uniforms. They wore stethoscopes around their necks, had their arms crossed, and smiled wearily.

More recent photos showed the Three Amigos in a variety of endeavors, from holding parachutes to rappelling on a wall. One even showed them in mid-skydive, with arrows pointing out which was which. A team shot, seven men in all. Clearly from the insignias on their uniforms this was Bravo Squad and their commanding officer, Colonel McIntyre, Cruz had called him.

Julie didn't realize she was crying until the tears spilled down her cheek. This Joey was gone, leaving Nic, Cruz, and an entire team, grieving his loss. Still, Batman had found her, and had let her into his life, at a time when he'd just wanted to be alone to recover. What that said about him made the tears come harder until she sat on the bed and just let them flow.

### Chapter Nineteen

The lights were on in the living room when Nic pulled his rental car into the driveway. The last hour had been tough. He'd never wanted to get home so badly in his life. That was no light statement, either. There'd been times when, pulling into the cul-de-sac, he, Joey, and Cruz had doubted that they had the strength to even move from the car to the house. Simple rescues turned into three-day affairs ending with seven-hour flights and debriefings that they'd taken turns sleeping through. But now there was more than just his bed waiting for him here.

Way more, truth be told.

The sweetest, softest, most attractive woman in the world was here, having been kept safe by his best friend. Nic was a lucky guy. Good friends and a woman to die for. Course, that soft, sexy woman might be pissed as hell at him for what he'd pulled in Quincy. She might not have forgiven him for making her spend three days in jail. On the other hand, she was even more beautiful when she was mad.

He got all the way to the door, key in hand, when he stalled. His gut heaved and his throat closed. He squeezed his eyes shut and let the anguish hit him like a Mack truck.

God. It hurt so bad.

Minutes ticked by before he could slide his key into the lock and push the door open.

Cruz sprawled on the couch, watching a soccer game, his legs stretched out, feet propped on the coffee table. He nodded a distracted hello when Nic came in.

Nic put down his bag and cleared his throat. "Who's winning?"

"Scotland."

"Is that good?" Nic had tried to get into soccer at the insistence by Cruz that it was _the_ sport. It was okay, it might be a sport, but no way was it _the_ sport. That would be hockey. Nic and Joey had gotten Cruz on the ice a few times, even stuck a stick in his hand, but the boy had no passion for it. He was hell on wheels on roller blades, but somehow the hockey gene was sorely missing in the beach bum. He would watch games with them, if forced to by the inaccessibility of the remote.

Before Cruz could answer, the door to Joey's room opened. It gave Nic an odd jolt before Julie stepped into view, dressed as he'd found her—in Christmas pajamas.

She'd been crying, her eyes red and puffy. Before he could speak, she flew into his arms, holding onto him for all she was worth, sobbing. Without a second thought, Nic tipped her face to his and kissed her. He vaguely heard Cruz get up and leave the room.

He pulled back and looked at her. Her lower lip trembled. "Hi, baby."

"Hi," she answered, barely a whisper. "I'm so sorry."

" _You're_ sorry? For what?"

"About Joey, about intruding when you needed to be alone." She started crying again.

"Shh." Nic encircled her in his arms again, and tangled his hands in her hair. "I'm sorry for sticking you in jail. I thought you'd be mad."

"I am." Now she smiled tremulously, pulling back. "Why didn't you tell me about Joey? I'm so sorry, Nic. The pictures..."

Her voice quivered but she held off another round of tears. Again, her arms went around him and she tucked her head against his chest, right under his chin. It felt so damn good.

"I love you, Nic," she whispered.

Holy moley! Did he hear her right? She loved him? Holy moley! Before he could process his reaction, Julie pulled away, turning her back on him.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

For a moment, Nic was stuck. There she stood, her heart on her sleeve, even more vulnerable than the night he found her. His gut clenched. He moved behind her, sliding his arms around her. "You shouldn't have said it because it's not true, or because it is?"

She didn't speak. Maybe she couldn't. Instead she just hugged his arms closer and shook her head. Nic smiled to himself. Christ, she smelled good. He shook free of the thoughts that sent lightning bolts through him. At least he tried to. There was no doubt about what she'd meant. There was also no doubt he loved her, too.

Maybe he'd loved her since the moment she'd turned her terrified, brown eyes to him as she sat in the car. Maybe since she'd curled up on the floor beside him to sleep. Or maybe it was just this moment. It didn't matter.

"I love you, too, Julie."

There. He'd said it.

Julie laid her head back on his shoulder. She pulled his hands from her waist, and kissed them.

They sat on the couch, not watching the soccer game, just snuggled together, holding onto each other for dear life.

If there was any better feeling in the world, Nic sure as hell didn't know what it might be. Yeah, making love to her one day might top this, but for now, it was damn-near perfect. But that wasn't the all of it. She'd cried for Joey, for Nic's loss. When she smiled, he was totally lost. And he didn't want to be found.

Holy moley, she loved him. The thought tightened his arms around her, making her sigh in response.

Julie snuggled closer, her breathing regular and deep. Nic smiled ruefully at his body's reaction. It was okay. He could wait.

Nic woke near dawn, rearranging Julie so she could lay down, and covered her with a blanket. He moved to the recliner and stretched out. Sleep they did, not waking up until nearly ten o'clock.

Julie came out from under the blanket only after Nic assured her that Cruz was gone, embarrassed by her Santa pajamas. She hadn't given it another thought last night, but now she was suddenly shy.

She followed Nic to the kitchen.

"Coffee?"

"Sure, once it's ready. You've completely corrupted me." Julie jumped up to sit on the kitchen counter. "I saw the Batmobile last night. Nice truck."

Nic actually blushed. The embarrassed smile he wore made her press on.

"Batman, huh? So that's why you rescued me?"

Nic crossed to her. His hands cupped her face, fingers in her hair. "Maybe why I rescued you, but not why I stuck around."

His dark eyes twinkled as he searched hers.

"Those eyes," he kissed her, softly, "are why I stayed." His lips found hers again and she slipped off the counter into his arms.

The front door opened, interrupting.

Cruz walked through the door, followed by another man. He, too, was not hard on the eyes, though not as tall as the other two. Dark hair and eyes, stockier build but still lean, probably just under six feet tall. He wore jeans and a grey t-shirt.

And there Julie stood in pajamas.

Geez. It wasn't like they were indecent or anything like that. But they were Christmas jammies. Ugh. Too late now.

This newcomer's eyes barely stopped as they took her in, then he smiled as he approached Nic.

The two shook hands, then Nic stepped back and guided Julie forward. "Sir, this is Julie Galloway. Julie, Lieutenant David Quillen, Bravo team leader."

David didn't smile as he had with Nic, but he shook her hand cordially. "Miss Galloway. Nice to meet you." His voice was deep, rich. Was every PJ as gorgeous as these three? Julie smiled, remembering Cindy's suggestion that PJs were the best in bed. Butterflies dive-bombed in her stomach.

"Nice to meet you, too." Julie turned to Nic. "If you'll excuse me, I need to get dressed."

"So, you want to tell me about it?" Quillen—Yoda to his men—spoke in a quiet but firm voice. Though couched as a question, it wasn't. D.Q. was a good team leader. He was new at being a lieutenant, but not new to being a PJ. He never gave his team crap about things that didn't matter and he always gave a guy a chance to explain. But excuses didn't cut it with him. Reasons, okay, but give him empty excuses, and your ass was his.

Nic looked to Cruz, who shrugged. "I don't know how much he told you." He nodded to Cruz.

"Just that you were in some trouble and he needed to be gone a couple days to help you out. I'm assuming it has something to do with the girl?"

By the time the LT left, he had the full story and had taken the opportunity to encourage Nic to be very careful, to watch his six. He intimated that, if needed, Cruz could be at Nic's disposal and, if that wasn't enough, it might be possible to schedule some field training for Bravo Squad. His parting shot, though, was to announce the imminent arrival of Joey's replacement.

At that point, Nic stopped listening.

Julie heard the front door close, but still she sat. It was hard to get dressed in here. It was like changing clothes in a church or something. Nic had called it Joey's _I love me_ wall. He'd said it with a smile but Julie wondered how long it would take Nic and Eric to clean out this room, the shrine. Maybe she could do that for them. Save them the pain.

When she came out of the room, finally dressed, Eric and Nic were in the kitchen. Nic slurped coffee and Eric just stood, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. They both smiled when she came in.

"Can I ask you guys a question?"

"Shoot," Cruz answered.

"Well, I don't mean to be presumptuous, and, if I'm out of line, please say no..."

At Nic's look of encouragement, she went on. "Do you guys want me to clean out Joey's room?" Julie resisted the urge to say more, to explain. Instead she watched both men for their reactions. She nearly had to bite the inside of her cheeks, though. Each of them looked at her as if she'd asked if she could call her family on Mars.

Finally, Nic spoke. "Um, I hadn't thought about it. But it does need to be done." He looked at Eric. "Any objections?"

"None here, and I _have_ thought about it. There might be some empty boxes in the garage."

Nic cleared his throat, the only obvious sign the discussion bothered him. Julie hadn't expected tears, not from these macho guys, but she'd watched for pain in their eyes and saw nothing.

Never play poker with these two.

"Great."

Eric pushed away from the counter. "C'mon you two, I'll take you to breakfast." He looked at his watch. "Or lunch." He grinned and slapped Nic on the back, propelling him toward the door.

### Chapter Twenty

Suzie's Kitchen must have been their usual hangout because, from the cook to the waitresses, everyone said hello as the threesome entered. They didn't bother waiting to be seated. Just claimed their usual booth, way in the back, where two cups of coffee waited.

"I saw you pull in," the brunette waitress twinkled as she laid down their menus. "Coffee?" she asked Julie with a little less twinkle.

"Um, just water, please." If she drank another cup of coffee, she'd vibrate right off the bench—like Wiley Coyote with a jackhammer.

" _Milkshake_ with breakfast, Nic?" the waitress asked before leaving.

"Please."

Before she could ask, Eric leaned across the table and cleared up her confusion. "Milkshake in Boston-speak is chocolate milk for the rest of the world. Standing joke around he-ah." He grinned at Nic and waggled his eyebrows.

"Wicked. Frickin'. Funny." Nic shot back.

Laughing, she bumped Nic with her shoulder. "I think your accent is cute."

Now Cruz moved in for the kill.

"Yu-ah cute, Nicky D. Killah cute. Say it for us, Nic. Listen my children and you shall hear..."

"Na-ah." Nic shook his head.

"Sorry," she whispered to him.

"What-evah," he said with a shrug.

Once their orders were placed, the conversation became serious.

"So what do we know at this point?" Cruz asked.

Julie sighed.

After a bit, Nic spoke. "Julie's family was murdered by someone who wasn't the deputy. The deputy blew himself away rather than kill Julie. The sheriff's department figured out pretty quick that Julie didn't kill Deputy Dog. And they let her go."

Cruz nodded at each point Nic listed. He'd calmly summed up the last two weeks as if it were a movie he'd seen last night.

When she pulled herself from her thoughts, Cruz was speaking.

"... _isn't_ who he pretends to be and we're pretty sure that he _is_ the murderer."

"What? Who?" Nice of them to bring her up to date.

Before he could answer, their food arrived. Both men dug in, as she suspected they would. If she hadn't been so perturbed that they hadn't answered her, she'd have smiled. Apparently mediocre food trumped even the most important conversation.

Julie tapped her water glass with her fork, stopping both Cruz and Nic in mid-chew.

"Attention. Hello. Please could you answer my question?"

Twin looks of alarm from both men for her calling attention to them. She put down the fork, and offered feeble apologies. Nic patted her leg under the table and swallowed. He leaned close and whispered in her ear. "Sheriff Raines."

Shock shot down her spine, like lightning. "What? No way," she said, trying not to shriek.

Cruz just raised his eyebrows in response.

"But... he was so nice to me. Liz and I talked about it. He was sorta creepy. But..."

Nic waited until she finished sputtering. Then he again patted her leg and encouraged her to eat. They'd explain as they ate.

"It's stolen valor," Cruz said, "at the very least."

"What's that?"

"It's where someone pretends to have military honors that he didn't earn," Nic said. "Raines has taken over another man's identity, a man that earned the Distinguished Service Cross."

"It's possible that he killed the guy to get that identity," Cruz added. "We don't know. But the deal is that he's built this whole big sheriff persona and your dad knew about it. Raines has a lot to lose."

Over the next fifteen minutes, it became obvious that not only was the good sheriff not what he seemed, but he was a big-time deceiver. Probably a murderer.

With the help of a contact that Cruz had made, a fake-SEAL hunter in Colorado, they'd put together an entire picture of the man who pretended to be the golly-gosh Ex-Green Beret, now sheriff of Lassen County. They'd even found a photo of Raines in full dress greens with an array of medals, not the least of which was the Distinguished Service Cross. Wearing that uniform and those medals is a federal offense and Raines' career in law enforcement would be over if it came out.

The problem was they couldn't prove murder.

"No kidding. The D.A. would laugh you right out of his office, even if he isn't buds with the guy."

Julie hadn't seen him coming. The man who spoke did so as he slid in beside Cruz. He was tall and lean, with dark, shortly cropped hair and silvery eyes that crinkled when he smiled—a let's-be-friends-you-can-count-on-me smile. On this man, it seemed to be second nature. No doubt, another member of Bravo Squad—the best looking team in the Air Force.

"You must be Julie. I'm Chris Gabriel."

With a tip of his head, Cruz gestured across the table. "Gabe's our resident legal adviser."

"Oh, so not a member of the team?"

"No, he is."

Of course, he is.

"But he was a JAG officer in his former life."

Julie looked from man to man. "And does everyone on the team know the intimate details of my life?"

At that question, Nic promptly blew milk out his nose, grabbed frantically for his napkin, and excused himself from the table.

"You okay?" Gabe asked as Nic slid back into the booth.

"I'll live."

"Gives new meaning to drowning on dairy."

"So how'd you find us?" Julie asked Chris. "Batsignal?"

"Nah. It's very scientific." Chris stopped the waitress and ordered an iced tea. He pointed, indicating Nic and Cruz, "If they aren't at home and aren't at work, then they're either here or at the Oasis." He looked at his watch, then smiled over at Julie. "And it's too early for them to be there."

Cruz glanced at Gabe, his eyebrows drawn together. "And why aren't you at work?"

"Night training. Check your phone, Hollywood. We're not due in until 4:30. You _will_ be there?"

"Well, since I'm not on leave like Batman," Cruz nodded at Nic, "I guess I will be. You gonna eat?"

"No, I just came by to look in your car for some papers I may have left in there."

With that, Cruz tossed Gabe the keys and he finished his tea in one slurp. Then, he left. In minutes he tossed the keys back, from nearly across the room, and left again.

With the previous conversation summed up—they didn't know enough and didn't have any proof of what they did know—the rest of the meal was spent in idle chit chat.

As they walked out to the car, both Nic and Cruz began beeping. In unison they reached for their pagers. It was like a quick draw competition to see who could get it from the clip fastest.

"You're on leave," Cruz said as he fished his phone out of his pocket and dialed. "This is Cruz, D'Onofrio is with me, but he's on leave." He paused and they continued walking. "Yes. All right. I'll be there in fifteen."

Cruz slid his phone back into his pocket and pointed his keychain at his car. "Plane crash. At least one survivor hanging on the edge of a cliff just northeast of Half Dome."

"Cool."

As Julie watched, she again saw a transformation, like she had at the cabin. From Clark Kent to Superman. This time, she saw it times two.

"Too bad you can't go." Cruz grinned at Nic.

"Yeah, I'm really upset that I won't get to spend the night clinging to the side of a mountain in the dead of winter."

The words didn't match the look on his face, though. And as they drove to the base, Cruz continued to rev up while Nic just became more and more quiet.

The quiet was a bit intimidating, but Julie spoke up anyway. "Can I ask a question?"

"Course," Cruz replied.

"Pagers? Aren't they way old technology? I don't think I've seen one since I was like three."

"They may be old," Nic said, "but they're reliable. A huge percent of the places we go don't have cell service. Or it's wicked bad cell service. So we use both."

"Makes sense."

Another long silence followed.

As the guard waved them through the gate, Nic asked, "Who's going?"

"Me, Gabe and Clancy I guess. Luck of the draw who goes down and who stays on the bird. Mac's flying."

"Good. Maybe they'll let us listen in."

There were no signs pointing the way to the PJ section on base. But once there, it was unmistakable. Not only was the building tagged with the PJ logo—a huge angel with outstretched wings holding the globe in her hands—but the parking lot was painted with Jolly Green Giant feet that led to the front door.

A number of SUVs were scattered through the parking lot and two Harleys were parked just outside the front door. Testosterone on display. In spades.

Julie thought she saw a fleeting shadow cross Nic's face as he walked inside.

Warm obscenities greeted Nic—until they noticed Julie with him. He returned the reception with a one-finger salute and a smile.

As they got further back in the building, Julie noticed the unmistakable smell of musty military gear. A mild rush of emotion filled her as she thought of her dad.

Gabe looked up from where he crouched on the floor, his gear arrayed around him. He wore a one-piece flight suit that fit him like a glove and his baseball cap was backwards. His nametag said _Angel_.

"Hello again, Julie." He smiled. Another guy approached and deposited his gear nearby. "Julie, this is Will. Will, Julie."

Will was short compared to the others. His dark-blond hair was wavy and he wasn't spectacular. Finally, a PJ that was only mildly attractive. Well, that is until he looked over at her and smiled. He had a beautiful, sincere smile that lit his light-blue eyes with merriment.

"Hi, Julie." He stepped forward and shook her hand. "Will Pitkin."

"Clancy," Cruz corrected as he returned in flight suit, tagged _Hollywood_ , and also dumped gear in a pile. They were sorting and packing as they talked, with remarkable speed.

"Nice to meet you, Will."

"So what's the deal?" Nic asked.

Gabe answered. "Cessna Stationair down, slammed into Cloud's Rest just before dawn. SAR found 'em an hour ago. They've got one team above and one below. The plane's perched on a ledge. Daniel's on the team just above them. He reports at least one alive. We'll go in and triage and see if we can lift out the survivors."

Julie, now seemingly forgotten, found a nearby seat where she wouldn't feel in the way.

"And the plane? Is it secure?" As he spoke, Nic reached for some piece of equipment that Julie'd never seen, and checked the power.

"Are they ever?" Cruz laughed. "It'll be sporty."

"Make sure you take enough rope to tie it off."

"Yes, Mother."

Nic muttered something under his breath as he went down the hall, returning shortly with radio equipment overflowing from his hands. Each member of the team that was going up was finished stowing their gear and now stood, putting on a radio chest pack.

Nic handed them each a radio, connected to an earbud. Only Will waved off the radio Nic offered, saying he preferred the older set with the boom mic, if it was okay.

"Okay with me," Nic shrugged.

The others each put their radio in the chest-pack pocket, clipped the VOX box on and put their earbuds in. At Nic's word, they each tested their radio, giving a thumbs up.

A nearby office door opened, and the man she'd met this morning at the house came toward them. Yoda. Julie tried to recall his real name but could only come up with David. He'd been very serious when they met, but now, he was even more so. The others she met were so ready with a smile. Their squad leader was not.

"Gabriel, you're lead. The colonel's ready, pre-flight's done. You can take off any time."

Obviously, though, that was not the case. David motioned them to the table near Julie and spread out a topo map. Then, he began speaking "rescue" language interspersed with English and tapping on the map in different spots. At last, he straightened, folded the map, and walked back to his office. Before closing the door, he turned. "Make good decisions."

Nic and Julie walked out with the threesome, who threw their packs in a Jeep nearby and climbed in. Nic again grew quiet. Julie thought it was more than him not going. Maybe he was afraid he'd lose another team member by not being there to help. When his face visibly paled as Cruz cranked the Jeep to life, Julie knew she was right. Almost as a blessing, Nic patted the front of the Jeep and stepped back.

When the Jeep was out of sight, he turned to her. Concern still showed in his eyes, but now he smiled. Still, when she reached for his hand, it was cool and clammy.

"Where to now?" she asked, squeezing his hand.

"Well, we can hear as much or more if we go hang out at the SAR building."

### Chapter Twenty One

Twenty minutes later they pulled into the parking lot of the nondescript building that housed Search and Rescue. If a person missed the small sign and arrow pointing the way from the main drag, they likely wouldn't find it. Nic had filled Julie in on the way.

Most of the rescues in Yosemite were IC'd—commanded—by Daniel Fraser, the ranking forest ranger for the park. He must have needed the exercise because he'd actually gone on this one. Daniel worked with the PJs often enough that, on occasion, they even drank together.

"He's way too serious. A shot or two of tequila does the guy good from time to time."

Daniel—not ever to be called Dan and God-forbid if you called him Danny—led the team that perched a few ledges above the crash site. Nic explained that though he and Julie could have listened in on the mission from the Air Force comm center on base, they'd miss the finer points because the guys in comm wouldn't be monitoring the SAR frequency. Here, they'd monitor both the SAR frequency and the helicopter. Besides, they had better food here.

Nic led Julie around back, not bothering with the front door. The room they entered was huge, but taken up mostly with a conference table the size of Texas. White boards, with clips at the top for maps, covered the walls. In the corner, another table held the equally large coffee pot and an open donut box.

A man and a woman stood at the conference table poring over maps. They didn't look up when Nic and Julie entered. When Nic helped himself to a donut and offered one to Julie, they finally acknowledged their presence.

"Nic!" The man shot out his hand to shake Nic's. "How the hell are you? I didn't know you were back. God, man, so sorry about Joey, you know."

Julie stood aside watching the lack of emotions play across Nic's face. This guy, whoever he was, was positively buzzing. Julie's guess was way too much caffeine. The woman looked up as the men spoke and smiled sadly. She wore a loose-fitting flowered jumper with a light-blue silk blouse. She looked a little out of place here in this sparse, testosterone-colored building.

"Thanks. Stan, Lily, I'd like you to meet Julie Galloway. Julie, Stan Michaels and Lily... I don't know that I've ever heard your last name Lily."

Lily smiled. She was a lovely girl, in a flower child sort of way. Her long auburn hair was pulled back in a clip at the base of her neck. She nodded to Julie. "Lily Atherton. Nice to meet you, Julie." With that, she hugged her legal pad to her chest, turned and floated into a room off the far end of the room where they were.

"Lily's a volunteer so she has to take off from work to come in," Nic said as if in answer to the unspoken question of the way Lily was dressed. "She usually runs the radio here. Well, actually, she runs the entire show. Just don't tell Daniel," he finished with a wink then turned to Stan. "So where are we?"

Stan lifted the map from the table and stuck it in the clip on the wall. "Daniel's got Team One up above the crash site. They can get down there if need be but it's pretty technical." He pointed at a spot on the map that meant absolutely nothing to Julie.

Nic nodded. "Yeah, it is."

"And Team Two is way down here. They can't see the wreckage from where they are but are hanging out until we know how the evac is going. If your guys can get in and out with the survivors, it'll be good. With everyone, even better. It burns me up to risk life for bodies." Before Nic could answer, he continued. "Yeah, I know, regulations. I guess I should be grateful when you _do_ haul out body bags."

Julie noticed a tightening of Nic's jaw. Apparently, Stan didn't. He babbled on and on. Nic finally disengaged and led Julie back to the radio room. There were desks for several people to work but, at this point, only Lily was there. She wore a headset and gazed at a computer screen that showed another topo map with arrows and notes attached. She wrote on the legal pad as the voice on the radio gave his current status.

"That's Daniel," Nic whispered.

"Got it, Team One. Thanks. Mission base clear." Lily finished her note and turned to them. "The wind has died down. The helo should have a better time of it."

"Good. Okay if we hang out?"

"Sure." Lily pulled off the headset and stood. "Since you're here anyway, can you listen for a sec? I so have to make a pit stop."

Nic laughed and took the headset from her. Instead of putting it on, though, he simply held the earpiece in the general vicinity of his ear so they both could listen. The radio crackled at either end of the message. The helo carrying Cruz and the others had just lifted off.

For the next three hours, Julie watched and listened, mesmerized by all the activity, even if she didn't quite catch it all.

Lily, on the other hand, calmly spoke on the radio, never showed any stress, and seemed to breeze through whatever came up. Julie couldn't help but think of Tolkein's elves when she watched Lily, though she couldn't figure out why. Her coloring was different, and she wasn't wispy at all. If anything, she was curvy, not exactly overweight, but definitely not elfish in that way. Her voice, her tranquility, the way she moved, so graceful, all made Julie a bit envious.

If anything defined Julie, it was frenzy. She found it difficult to sit still, always had. Doing nothing made her fidget. Waiting sucked. As her mind swirled around the comparisons, she realized that was exactly what she'd been doing the last days—waiting, doing nothing. Ignoring reality. Come to think of it, it was easy to do when Nic made her feel so... complete. But it couldn't last, could it? She couldn't hide here forever. For now, though, there was more than enough going on to keep her mind busy.

"Mission Base, this is High Bird. I have coordinates on that plane for you." It was a female voice.

Julie looked to Nic.

"Daniel's wife, Karen. She's playing spotter from the fixed wing. She's on the SAR team as well."

"Oh."

Will Pitkin was first to be lowered to the ledge where the small plane rested precariously. Will's boom mic was voice-activated so even his heavy breathing, as he scrambled to reach the survivor, came across loud and clear. It was creepy.

The survivor, a woman who appeared to be in her mid-forties, was unconscious, but breathing. Will reported she had obvious deformity of her lower left leg, no doubt a tib-fib fracture, and had a significant laceration on her forehead. He recommended lowering another man so that one could package this patient quickly, and the other could see if there were more survivors. The flight record had suggested there were three people on board. Will, simply scanning the perimeter, didn't see anyone else.

Instead of just one more lowered, both Cruz and Gabriel joined Will on the ledge. Cruz and Will stabilized the woman's leg and got her backboarded and loaded in the Stokes basket. Will was lifted out with the basket and the helicopter left the scene headed for the nearest trauma center.

Cruz and Gabe proceeded to search the area for others. They found the pilot, still strapped in his seat.

"His condition?" Lily asked.

"He's not responsive, might be Elpenor,"

"Dead," Nic translated. At her look of confusion, he added, "Some ghost who visited Ulysses. You'd have to ask Daniel. We'd rather not broadcast 'dead guy.'"

"Wreckage is too wobbly to just step out there. I'll get rigged up and go check." It wasn't Cruz's voice, so it must have been Gabe. He didn't sound at all stressed, though. He sounded like it was just another day on the job.

It probably _was_.

In the meantime, Cruz had located the third person near one wing that had been ripped from the plane. He was most assuredly _Elpenor_.

Since nothing could be done for him, Cruz rejoined Gabe and coached him out onto the teetering wreckage. Now, there was definitely a change in Cruz and Gabe's voices. Serious, but not yet actually tense.

Nic paced, grumbling admonitions to his teammates. The only evidence that Lily was at all affected was her nervously tapping her pencil on the table. Her voice never changed, always sounding completely serene.

Julie held her breath.

Each ragged breath that Gabe took was transmitted. Each muffled curse.

"Elpenor?" Cruz asked.

"Hang on, Hollywood, I can't quite reach him yet."

"Slowly."

"No kidding." Now, the fear was palpable in Gabe's voice.

"Okay." Gabe audibly struggled to reach the pilot. "Damn, no pulse... CRAP."

The last was a shout and Cruz cursed loudly.

### Chapter Twenty Two

"Plane's going, Gabe!"

Nic stopped pacing.

Lily froze.

"Jump free. I gotcha."

A huge grunt preceded a yelp. "Ow, crap," followed by the sound of scraping metal.

"Lookout below!" Cruz yelled. Then silence. Silence that stretched out unbearably.

Finally, Cruz's voice again. "Plane's gone, Gabe's okay..."

"I think I broke my freakin' knee."

"Correction, Gabe's a wuss."

A click on the radio. Julie looked to Nic.

"He turned off his mic."

No one was privy to Gabe's answer to Cruz.

"Team Two, status?"

"We're okay, Base. Plane missed us. It is now resting in the trees, making for interesting evac of the pilot. I assume he's still in there."

Lily took a deep breath, let it out slowly.

"Team Two okay. Team One, status?"

"We'll be heading back the way we came. Lily, touch base with the FCC and update them. Break. Team Two, let's wait on that evac until the suits give us the okay. You guys head back, too. Nothing is going anywhere tonight."

"Okay, will do. Base, you copy, we'll be headed back to the vehicles?"

"Base copies."

"Team One, Leroy Zero Eight. If you guys can get to a decent LZ in the next fifteen, we'll come by and pluck you out of there."

"We'd appreciate that greatly, Mac."

The rest of the mission was uneventful. The helo returned to pick up Cruz and Gabe, along with the body bag off the ledge. Then they stopped long enough to lift Team One off the mountain.

"Thank you, Colonel," Lily said when the helo reported the pick-up.

Nic pulled out his cell phone and called Will. He and Julie would pick him up at the hospital. Then they'd meet the rest of the team at the bar.

Nic, Julie, and Will were the first to arrive at the Oasis. They captured a huge table, pulled another one up and sat at one end, dwarfed by the empty space.

"Drinks?" Will asked.

"Just get a pitcher. What do you want, babe?"

Nic felt a nudge inside his chest as he asked. Julie had been so quiet today but even so, it was nice to have her here. If the mission today had gone to hell, he could rely on her to catch him if he fell.

"Um, beer is fine."

She was definitely distracted. Nic tugged her to him, her hair smooth against his face. "You okay?"

"Sure," she said, but she pulled back a bit.

Within a few minutes, Cruz and Gabe joined them. Gabe limped as he approached.

"How's the knee?"

"I'll live," he replied, with no hint of a smile.

"Got a bit sporty up there?"

"For a minute, it did." Now Gabe grinned and laughed the whole thing off. "Just a good damn thing the pilot was already dead."

Nic waved over the SAR group when they came through the door. Daniel, a guy named Sam and two Nic didn't know. Lily had even joined them. Cool.

"Everyone, this is Julie Galloway..." He paused, not quite knowing how to explain her. "...dance with me?" he finished.

She said yes way too fast and nearly jumped out of her seat.

When he pulled her into his arms, Julie softened to the slow and languorous music. Their bodies molded to each other. God, she smelled good. And felt good. And looked good. When _had_ he lost his soul to this girl? Who knew? But right here, right now, nothing could compare to the way he felt with her so close.

The song ended, and a faster one began. Julie turned away and headed for the table. On their way, they crossed paths with Lily and one of the unknown SAR guys heading to the dance floor. She slowed as she met Julie and gave her a brief hug, telling her she was glad to see her again. As they got to the table, Julie's brown eyes glittered with tears.

"Do you want to leave?" Nic squeezed Julie's shoulder and leaned down, waiting for an answer.

All he got was a quick shake of her head no.

"Let me know if you change your mind."

Just a nod, so he slid into the seat beside her.

The guys were replaying the day's events. Even more SAR guys had joined the table while they'd been dancing. Nic pointed out those he knew and briefed Julie on which team they'd been on earlier.

"Thanks for lowering that plane to us, Air Force," one of the guys from Team Two said, lifting his glass to Gabe.

"You're quite welcome, though it almost cost me my life to do it."

Cruz snorted.

Another guy spoke up. "Of course, we'll have to climb a freakin' tree to get the poor bastard out of there."

Nic felt Julie stiffen ever so slightly. Apparently, Daniel noticed from across the table because he sat forward and shot the offender a killer look. To no avail.

"I scoped him from below," the idiot continued. "He had one hell of a skull fracture."

"Drop it," Daniel said. "Not everyone is as twisted as you are, Bob."

"Oh, come on, Professor, lighten up. You know you love an impressive injury as well as the next guy." At the look Daniel gave him, he blanched and looked around. "Oh, sorry," he said to Julie, who even now was pushing away from the table, her face devoid of color.

"Excuse me," she said fleeing toward the door.

"Good job, Bob." Nic followed.

When he got to her in the parking lot, Julie leaned hard against the car, taking in huge gulps of cold air. He apologized even as he reached her.

"We're a warped group. I'm so sorry, sweetie."

The look she gave him scared the hell out of him. It was the look of panic she'd had in the beginning. "Let me guess," her voice pitched hysterically, "if they'd been at the house that night, they'd have compared which of my family members had more _impressive_ headshots?"

He locked her in an embrace, partly out of self-defense, partly because she sounded like she was breaking apart. He crushed her to him as if doing so would prevent her from disintegrating.

"Oh, baby. Shh, baby."

She shoved hard against his chest, freeing herself.

"Don't shush me, Nic. Don't _baby_ me, either. My entire family is dead, waiting at the morgue, not even buried yet." Every word came out more frenzied than the last. "No funerals have been planned, no God-damned graves dug."

Tears now escaped and coursed down her face. "And what have I been doing? I've been playing house with you."

She stopped speaking abruptly, seemingly frozen in place. When Nic reached for her, she allowed herself to be held, though she was stiff.

"I... have... to go... home." The words came out on choked sobs. And then the floodgates opened.

Nic held her as she shook, her own anguish a stab in his heart. When he finally got her home, she said nothing, went to Joey's room and closed the door for the night.

### Chapter Twenty Three

Julie's eyes hurt, felt like her lids scraped at every blink. She poured a cup of coffee and collapsed at the kitchen table. If she slept an hour, she'd be surprised. Tossing and turning, trying to think of some way to stay here. To be with him.

She came up empty.

Watching Nic stew over his teammates on the side of that mountain had thrown her. Danger was a part of him, and he wanted to be in the middle of it. How must wives of these guys feel, even if they weren't at war in far parts of the world? Even stateside, what they did cheated death. If all went well.

Obviously, it didn't always go well. Joey's family now dealt with the gaping void left by his loss. Julie wasn't sure she could do that. Besides she had her life mapped out.

And Nic wasn't what she'd planned. He was way out of her league. Guys like Nic didn't want wives, did they? Her experience with guys like Nic was limited, by her own choice.

Jenn was much more likely to catch guys like that.

In high school, Jenn was the pretty one, Julie was the smart one. Jenn was the cheerleader, Julie worked backstage for the theater group, was president of the French club, and worked on the yearbook.

Julie knew Jenn loved her but still Jenn treated her as something of a project. Jenn wanted to give Julie makeovers, wanted to fix her up with the fabulous friend of her latest boyfriend. Jenn could never understand how Julie could settle for something or someone blah, blah, blah.

Underneath it all, though, Julie hadn't wanted to settle. She felt the pull toward the jocks, toward the quarterback of the football team. She just knew her limitations. Better to be content than to ache for something you couldn't have.

Nic was like that.

Besides, she'd played Jenn's game once. That was enough. Jenn had convinced her, in her junior year to pick out a hunky guy and go after him. Julie agreed, but refused to reveal her choice. And so it began. She picked the gorgeous wide receiver for the football team, bad and gorgeous. His name was BJ.

Julie started saying hello to him in the hallway, would take the route to class that led past his locker, drove by his house whenever she could justify it.

He'd even said hello back. Once, he actually conversed with her. She was shaken for the rest of the day. It was working. Months passed and BJ was more and more friendly. One day he stopped at her locker. Oh, my God! He pulled up close and whispered that he wanted to talk to her after school. Would she meet him at the gym door before practice?

Her stomach lurched with his closeness. He smelled heavenly. She'd never felt that way before. Her hands were sweaty and her voice trembled as she told him she'd meet him. When the fateful meeting happened, lo and behold, he asked her if she would fix him up with her sister Jenn. Sure, she was a senior, and he was a junior. But you only lived once. You never won if you didn't play.

Julie indeed fixed him up with Jenn and never told a soul about her feelings. BJ and Jenn called it quits before summer of the same year.

But the lesson didn't stick. She'd spent two years with Brad-of-the-Aussie-accent, never asking why, when he'd come home from a trip, he wasn't as desperate for her as she was for him. Julie had then resolved to stay away from jocks.

And her resolve had lasted.

Up until the moment Nic had tapped on her car window.

But it had to stop. There was no way she was willing to give up a job she loved to come here and be the little woman waiting for bad news. Even if Nic wanted her to, which was doubtful in the light of day.

Besides, she had work to do before she could go home. It was time to get on with her life.

When Nic got to the kitchen, Julie sat at the table, both hands hugging a mug of coffee. She didn't even look up when he came in.

"I'm going home." Her voice was flat.

"Julie..."

Her shoulders hunched as if she were digging in for battle. He switched gears.

"Which home? Yours or theirs?"

"Theirs first. I need to make arrangements."

"He'll kill you if he can."

"If he can." Her voice was still flat, but now held something of a challenge. She pushed away from the table and deposited her mug in the sink. "And, for the record, you can't stop me."

Nic bit back a reply that would have reminded Julie that she didn't have money or a car and was completely dependent, at this point, on him. Likely, this wasn't the best time for that reminder.

As she left the kitchen, she nearly ran over Cruz on his way in.

"Eric. I'd like to hire your services."

He smiled smoothly before he saw the look on her face, then sobered and glanced to Nic, then back to Julie. "Go on."

"I want you to fly me to Susanville. I'll pay you when we get there."

Hell. She'd obviously found a way around the obstacles. Cruz glanced over at Nic with a what-the-hell-is-going-on look. Nic shrugged.

"Do I have time to shower?"

"Yup." With that, she stalked to Joey's room and closed the door. Both Nic and Cruz watched her go.

"Nicky," Cruz crooned in his perfect Hispanic accent as he poured himself a cup of coffee, "you have some 'splainin' to do."

"Well, she's apparently tired of hangin' with me." Nic rinsed out her cup and stuck it in the dishwasher.

Jackpot. He'd finally taken Uncle Mickey's advice—dropped his guard and waded into the longer-than-a-quick-date-and-done pool. Wicked frickin' perfect.

"What did he say?" Nic asked as Cruz hung up from his call to Quillen.

"He said I could take the rest of the week but if I wasn't back on Monday morning, there'd be hell to pay."

"Anything else?"

Cruz smiled. "Yeah. He said to call if we needed the cavalry."

Julie made her entrance to the living room, with two handfuls of grocery bags, which still held her things. She wouldn't look at Nic.

"You ready?" she asked Cruz.

"I have a suitcase you could use," Nic said, pulling close to her.

"I don't need a suitcase, thank you."

"Fine." He turned toward his room. "I'll get my stuff."

"Don't bother, Nic. You aren't going."

He stopped and pivoted in one smooth movement. "The hell I'm not."

"Eric, I'm paying you to take me to Susanville. If you plan on taking Nic with us, the deal is off."

Cruz threw his hands up and shook his head. "I'm not stepping in the middle of this one. You guys duke it out and let me know when you're ready to leave."

Nic strode toward her in a slow burn. He took her arm and, turning her around, marched her into Joey's room and slammed the door.

"If you think I'm going to let you go there alone and get yourself killed, think again, Julie."

"Nic, here's the reality: your life is here and mine is in Redding. You saved my life. And for that, I'm so very grateful. But we'd be fools to think that what we've been through is the foundation for a real relationship."

Julie turned away, unable to look at him. His look had moved from alarm to pain, making a brief stop at complete disbelief.

"So, let me see if I've got this straight," Nic's voice was low, soft. "Thanks, Batman, for rescuing me from the evil sheriff, but I'm just not up to sharing my life with you." He paused. "Is that about it?"

When the lump in her throat precluded an answer, he continued.

"Oh, that's right. You're the girl who wouldn't, under any circumstances, become involved with a military guy."

The way he spit out the last words stabbed her. He'd twisted it all, and she'd let him. But the result was the same. The sooner they parted ways, the easier it would be in the long run.

Nic was all wound up in a rescue mission. When the adrenaline ended and the victim was safe, it wouldn't take him long to realize Julie wasn't his type. Then it would be him closing the door. Besides, he needed to be in the good sheriff's cross hairs like he needed a hole in his head. The irony of the cliché wasn't lost on her.

Bile rose in Nic's throat. What the hell had just happened? Julie turned her back to him and wasn't moving. Fine. If goodbye was that easy to say.

Fine.

Cruz sat at the kitchen table with a map in front of him. He looked up when Nic walked in.

"She's all yours, pal."

Nic continued walking through the kitchen, into the garage. The Batmobile's wheels screeched as he pulled out of the driveway.

### Chapter Twenty Four

When her throat stopped aching and the pain in her chest eased, she turned.

Nic was gone.

Julie hadn't heard him leave. Just as well. She gathered her things, left Joey's room without looking back and found Cruz sitting in the kitchen. He didn't look up when she entered.

"I think I'm ready, Eric."

"Okay." Still he didn't look at her. He merely pushed back from the table and stood. "The Jeep's out front."

Nic drove to his favorite spot in Yosemite, a place Joey used to swear had more brookies, or whatever the hell they were, than any place on Earth. A place where you could turn nearly three hundred sixty degrees and never lose sight of towering peaks.

The last time he was here they were the amigos, three of them, out killing a perfectly good day doing absolutely nothing. Together, with a twelve pack of beer.

Joey drowned worms. Hollywood lay out in the sun, perfecting his tan, and Nic leafed through a stack of tactical gear catalogs.

And right here, right now, Nic could almost hear Joey laugh. "Fine," he'd say, "you guys waste time doing nothing. I'll catch us some supper."

Nic's throat jerked shut on the thought. The past weeks shoved against his chest. Hunched over, he swiped a rock from near his feet and, straightening, hurled it into the distance.

Hell had opened up and swallowed him—the very moment Yoda and Mac had pulled him aside to tell him Amonte was dead. Brimstone had licked at him all through the trip to Germany to pick up the flag-draped casket. But he'd been too numb to feel it.

In Boston, he'd been strong for everyone. Joey's folks had spoken of true valor. The words echoed with hollowness. Joey's loss was a waste. Nothing more, nothing less. What the hell good did it do to give your life for your country? The whole point was to make the other poor bastard give his life for his country. And PJs? They were supposed to rescue people, not die in some stupid training accident.

And finally, after what seemed months in Boston, Nic had been free. Time to move on, to forget. Visions of skiing all day and partying all night had taken him to Tahoe. But hell had followed him.

And then he'd seen her. An angel sent to pull _him_ from the fire. And she'd done just that. Helping her had healed him. Hadn't it? Yet here he stood, staring at El Cap, the pain so overwhelming he couldn't breathe. And it all crashed in on him, sucker punching him in the gut, doubling him over.

The flight may have been about the same length of time as the last one, but it took an eternity. Cruz said little.

Who could blame him? There was no question where his loyalty lay. Nor should there be. He and Nic were friends, teammates, closer than family. Betraying Nic was betraying them all.

Before leaving her at the airport in Susanville, though, he took her hand and closed it around two crisp hundred-dollar bills and a business card. Was it strange that PJs had business cards? It had the unit insignia embossed in silver and contained the office number as well as Eric's cell phone and pager numbers.

"Call if you need help."

Cash in hand, Julie hailed a cab to her folks' house. How she'd have gotten there without Cruz's donation to the cause, she didn't know. And she said she'd pay him when they got there. Who was she kidding?

As the taxi lurched away from the curb, Julie had an insane desire to jump from the moving vehicle and run to the closest friend she had, provided his plane hadn't left already. But that would have only delayed the inevitable. Besides, there was work to be done.

A plan began forming in her brain even as the taxi hummed down the road. Once she had access to her savings account, she'd find her folks' car and get it home. Then, there were funeral arrangements to be made. She'd also have to find someone to come in and clean the bedrooms. _That_ she definitely wasn't up to. Through it all, no doubt, she'd be under the watchful eyes of the man who would sooner kill her than look at her. The only thing to do about that was to face it head on.

Actually, facing a murderer held less fear than facing Nic had. And she'd gotten through that somehow. Having her thoughts take that direction so suddenly brought tears that blurred her vision. When they pulled up in front of her folks' house, she could barely see to get out of the cab.

With sheer force of will, she took hold of her plastic bags, walked up to the front door, found the spare key she'd only remembered while in jail, and opened the door.

Once inside, she closed the door behind her and locked it. Then, after cleaning up her mom's broken vase, she proceeded to come undone.

With snowflakes falling faster by the minute, Nic needed to either move or freeze to death. Crappy options. But, with a gut deep sigh, he got to his feet.

His truck nearly drove itself to the Section. It was late afternoon when he wandered into the office. He followed the sound of voices to the day room, where the majority of Bravo Squad lounged in front of the TV watching volleyball on ESPN.

Gabe and Will stretched out in the two recliners. Will was asleep. DQ sprawled on the couch with his legs propped on the coffee table. Beside him was a kid Nic hadn't met. Right now he wasn't sure he wanted to.

Gabe looked over when Nic walked into the room. "What's up, D?"

"Nothin'."

Quillen pushed off the couch. "Nic. How's it going?"

"Fine, LT."

"Feeling particularly chatty, I see." Gabe laughed.

DQ pointed to the kid. "Nic D'Onofrio. Matt Wiley."

The kid stood and reached to shake Nic's hand. "Nice to meet you, Nic."

"Matt."

A Back Street Boy in a flight suit. He had light brown hair and teen idol looks, except his nose. A slight crook to it confirmed he'd broken it. He belonged on the high school track team, not an elite team like Bravo Squad. Nic caught himself before completely passing judgment on the kid.

Nic expected two stripes—fresh out of the pipeline—but instead the kid wore the stripes of a staff sergeant. Evidently older than he looked. And since this assignment was, next to Alaska, one of the more coveted assignments, he probably was good at what he did.

That he was taking Joey's place wasn't his fault.

The only sound in the room was the obnoxious blare of the TV. Everyone seemed to hold their breath, waiting for his reaction. Well, except for Will, who still slept.

"Welcome. Where're you from?"

The room exhaled, and everyone resumed their previous relaxed attitude.

"Froze Creek, Colorado. High mountain ranching country."

"Yeehaw!" Gabe hooted. "Ride em, cowboy."

Will woke with a start.

The kid grinned at the barb and shook his head.

"For some reason, these guys," the kid tipped his head in Gabe's direction, "don't think it's important to know how to ride bulls."

"Imagine that." Nic finally relaxed. The kid had such a disarming smile it was hard to not like him. "That how you broke your nose? Riding bulls?"

"Three times."

"Glutton for punishment?"

"He's here, isn't he?" Will finally put in his two cents.

"Is Cruz back?" Quillen asked as he recommenced his sprawl.

Nic looked at his watch. "Probably not."

"You ready to get back to work?"

Obviously, Yoda knew. Yoda always knew everything.

Nic didn't have time to formulate a response.

"Good. Be in uniform when you come in tomorrow."

"Hoo-yah, Sir."

If Julie put this off until later, it would be dark. No use feeding the paranoia. No, now was as good a time as any.

Once she'd stopped sobbing and dragged herself off the floor of the living room, Julie took a deep ragged breath and walked down the hallway. She forced her gaze to the floor and paused long enough at her folks' and then Jenn's rooms to pull the doors closed. No need to torture herself any more than necessary. Then, she continued to her room, scooped up her backpack and keys, and returned to the kitchen.

The drive to the sheriff's office took all of three minutes. Had it taken longer, Julie might have backed out.

As luck would have it, the sheriff stood in the reception area looking over paperwork with one of the deputies. Julie bypassed the girl at the front desk.

"Sheriff Raines."

He turned and smiled, tight lipped. "Miss Galloway. Nice to see you."

"Sheriff, I need a word with you, please."

He ambled to the counter, the deputy close behind.

"Sure, what do you need?"

"I think you might prefer to have this conversation in private."

"Really?"

If there was any question whether there was a difference between a smile and a smirk, Julie had the answer.

"Really."

He buzzed her back to the offices and led the way. When he didn't close the door behind her, Julie did.

"Now, what is it, Miss Galloway?"

Julie moved forward, purposely backing him up a bit.

"I know the truth. I know who you are and who you aren't. I know what you've done."

If her words were having any effect, she couldn't see it on his face. Maybe his eyes had gotten colder.

"People know I'm here and will be checking in with me regularly. I won't be committing suicide, and I won't be having any tragic accidents." A bit of a bluff, but who was counting?

"I don't..."

Julie didn't let him launch into denial. She took another step forward.

"Got it?"

When he didn't answer, she turned on her heel and walked out, smiling sweetly to both the deputy and the receptionist.

"Have a lovely evening," she added on her way out the door.

The colonel was walking in as Nic was leaving.

"Good to see you back, Nic."

"Thank you, Sir."

Mac's smile faded. "Did things go smoothly back East?"

"As well as could be expected. Joey's family is pretty torn up, Sir."

"No doubt. He was a good man. You ready to hop and pop on Friday?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Knock off the _sir_ stuff, Nic, for the moment. Are you really okay?"

"Yeah, I think so."

Mac slapped him on the shoulder. "Good. See you soon."

Nic lowered the garage door just as Cruz pulled into the driveway. He pushed the button to open it again.

"Mission accomplished?"

"Yup."

"Thanks, I guess."

"You're welcome." Cruz slowed, like he was going to say something. The look on his face said it was serious. But then, he grinned. "Let's go get a beer and pick up chicks."

### Chapter Twenty Five

A perfect day to jump. Hop and pops—quickies, so to speak. Jumping from three thousand feet and immediately engaging your parachute.

Before taking off, Nic was officially welcomed back by a locker that exploded with packing peanuts and a dousing of IV fluid.

If anyone was nervous, it wasn't evident. Matt was first to egress the plane, designated navigator today.

The rest of Bravo Squad followed. Looked into the wind, stepped off, and pulled his rip cord. There was very little talk as they descended.

Nic broke the silence. "Hey kid, find us a soft place to land."

Others cleared their throats.

DQ chimed in. "You better navigate better than you ride bulls, Rodeo."

The kid laughed. "I ride bulls real good, sir."

"As evidenced by your face?"

"What's wrong with my face, Sir?"

The jump went well, except for the freakin' snow they had to deal with, both in the air and on the ground. Mac flew the Pavehawk to pick them up, and they spent the early hours of the evening drinking coffee to warm up and spreading gear out to dry.

The triple funeral was planned for late afternoon Monday. Julie wanted it in the morning, but there were scheduling conflicts. A few friends of her folks had stopped by the house and offered to take care of the food and the phone calls. Julie graciously accepted their help.

She tried hard to not look over her shoulder, but wasn't entirely successful. Double and triple checking the locks on the doors had become a ritual and she retrieved her dad's "house gun" from the top shelf of the hall closet. She stuck it in her pack whenever she went out.

Her cell phone was programmed with all the numbers on Cruz's card, just in case. Yeah, right, like Nic and Eric could just beam here if she needed help. Batman was good but he wasn't faster than a speeding bullet.

"Mixing up your superheroes, again, Jules." Sorrow lodged in her chest. When had she ever felt so weary? Maybe it was just grief. Still, it sucked to not be able to concentrate. It sucked that all she could think about was...him.

His arms around her. The twinkle in his dark eyes before he kissed her. That damnable smile. But there was more. The way they'd danced. How he teased her about putting mustard on her fries. His firm grip on reality. The way he'd explained everything at SAR HQ. The way he cared about his team.

_If only's_ occupied her every thought. She'd picked up the card Cruz had left her at least three times a day, wondering if Nic would answer the phone if she called the Section.

What idiocy.

Once this was all over, she'd get back to Redding and get on with her life. By God, she would never have to learn this lesson again.

Nic spent the weekend thinking about anything but Julie. And while he was not thinking about Julie, he was snapping everyone's head off and offending even strangers. Cruz had apparently given up the ship, 'cause he had said a few choice words and left the house. Batman had been suckered by a sweet face and frightened eyes. And, at the moment he felt stuck in quicksand.

Sinking slow.

The funeral of Patrick, Ellen and Jennifer Galloway was well attended by the residents of Lassen County. Julie managed to get through it without a complete meltdown, but walked through fog. The reception following the funeral was held in the basement of the Methodist church, even though the Galloway family had never been members. But it was the biggest place in town.

Julie felt stiff as she moved slowly through the crowd, thanking people for coming, accepting their condolences. Her mind hitched, though, when she overheard the words _sheriff_ and _headlines_ in the same sentence. She paused to listen.

"Yes, apparently he never was a Green Beret and, if you can believe it, he lied when he said he was a POW. It's all in this morning's paper."

Julie let out her breath on a sigh. Maybe the guy would get away with murder. She certainly hoped not. But at least he'd get a bit of what was coming to him. She'd stop and pick up a paper on the way home.

Her plan was to spend another day or so tying up loose ends before going back to Redding. A meeting with her folks' attorney was scheduled for early tomorrow morning.

In the parking lot of the gas station, where she'd stopped to get a paper, she read the entire article occupying the bottom half of the front page, just below the picture of the smiling sheriff wearing his Army uniform. The headline read "Stolen Valor."

Not only was Sheriff Raines not a Green Beret in Vietnam, not only was he never held captive there, but the Distinguished Service Cross that graced his uniform was not authentic. Though the investigation was ongoing, there was, at this point, no evidence that Raines had ever been in the military. The reporter speculated that he might have bought the medal in a pawn shop somewhere.

Smiling, Julie fished the cell phone from her purse and dialed. Her mouth went dry when Cruz answered. It took a moment to realize she'd gotten the answering machine.

"You've reached Batman and Hollywood. Please leave a message, and if we're not too busy saving the world, we'll get back to you."

She almost hung up. But maybe the answering machine was better, anyway.

"Nic, Eric. Just wanted you to know that your fake-SEAL tracker came through. It's all over the front page of the paper. Thanks for all your help." She quickly disconnected before "I miss you," or "I love you," tumbled from her mouth.

For the rest of the drive home, Julie continued to glance over at the paper, her attention drawn to the smiling face featured there. It might have been her imagination—hindsight is twenty twenty—but there sure looked to be mocking in his eyes. As she pulled up in front of the house, she wondered how he would react to his change of fortune.

And when she twisted the dead bolt after shutting the door, the soft laughter behind her made her wish she'd thought about that question a bit more seriously.

Nic tugged off his maroon beret and tossed it, along with his keys, onto the kitchen counter. It was good to be back to his life. He pulled a bottle of water from the fridge, twisted off the cap and drained it. Then, he shot the bottle across the room to the trash and turned toward the living room.

If he'd stayed late at work, like Cruz did, he wouldn't be home now. If he'd sipped the water, he'd still be in the kitchen and wouldn't have come into the living room to see the blink of the answering machine. And if he hadn't seen that blink, he wouldn't now be standing here mutely, stung by the voice on the tape and suddenly panicked by the message.

Before the message ended, he fished his cell from the thigh pocket of his flight suit and dialed Cruz.

"Pick up, damn it."

An eternity later, he did. "Cruz."

"Where are you?"

"Just about to leave the section."

"Well, book it. We got big problems."

"What's up?"

"As of this morning, Raines has nothing to lose."

The soft click of a revolver being cocked. Warm breath on her neck. Julie froze. Then the whisper, hot in her ear.

"Last time we met in this house, you kicked the shit out of me, Julie. I won't let you do that again." A deep guttural laugh.

"Put your hands behind your back, sweetheart."

She pushed back against him. But there was little room for leverage. He shoved her hard into the door, his shoulder in the middle of her back.

"Put your hands behind your back." He slid the gun up to her neck.

When she did so, he slapped cuffs on her.

Damn. She pushed against the wall with her legs, desperate.

But he simply stepped aside and she landed hard on the floor, scraping her cheek on the off-white carpet.

An unwanted groan escaped her lips before he leaned down and slapped duct tape over her mouth. Raines crouched beside her, a nicely printed piece of paper dangling from his hand.

RESTING—PLEASE DO NOT DISTURB—JULIE

Again, he laughed with a low rumble. He pushed to his feet, opened the front door a crack and taped the note to the door. Then closed it quietly as he spoke.

"Poor Julie. She's just buried her entire family. And now, she's resting. We won't disturb her today."

He reached down, manhandled Julie to her feet. Pain screamed through her shoulders and she bit down on a cry.

Holding her from behind, he whispered in her ear.

"Sweet Julie. Taekwondo Julie. We're going to hang out here until later tonight. Then we're going to the cabin. You know...where you killed my deputy."

Julie shook her head violently. That earned her a blow to the back of the head that staggered her.

"Shall we go into your parents' room? Hmmm?"

Again, she shook her head, this time pushing back with her feet.

"Don't wanna go in there, sweet Julie?"

He turned her to face him. "I know the cleaning crew's been here. Surely, all the blood is gone?" The light went on in his eyes. "Oh, it's not that, is it? You just don't want to get down and dirty in the bedroom, huh? Well..."

He put his hands on her butt and pulled her close, grinding his groin into her. "Now that you mention it."

Her stomach roiled with panic. Please, God. No. If she'd had even an inch...

But her eyes must have shown what she was thinking. This time, he hauled his fist back and cold-cocked her. The world went black on her way down.

When Cruz burst into the house, Nic had already pulled up the newspaper article on the computer. He'd called DQ and gotten permission to fly to Susanville, taking Cruz and any volunteers from Bravo Squad he could find. They'd call it a training mission. But the LT warned that nobody better get hurt or arrested. Heads would roll.

At Cruz's questions, Nic simply pointed him in the direction of the computer. While Cruz read, Nic dialed information and got the Galloways' home number. He'd already tried calling the number from which Julie had left the message. There was no answer. Dread squeezed hard in his gut.

The phone rang. It was completely dark. The mammoth headache, though, brought Julie back to the present, even though it took a minute to figure out where she was.

And the phone continued to ring.

She was in the tub. The bathroom door was closed and there was no window to let in light. Her hands were still cuffed behind her back, and the duct tape was still on her mouth. But now, her feet were taped as well. If there'd been water in the tub, she'd have drowned.

Her heart raced and she struggled to catch her breath. Calm down. You know how to do this. Calm the heck down.

Finally, the ringing stopped and Julie moaned behind the gag.

They were all at the house. Well, all but Quillen. They'd heard the details of the past few weeks and had an update on the current situation. Cruz and Nic were flying up north. No one else was obligated to do so.

Hell, the whole thing might be a false alarm.

"Yeah, right." Chris Gabriel leaned against the kitchen counter, his arms crossed. He'd come from work and still wore his flight suit. So did Will.

Matt was first to jump in. "Well, hell, I'm in. Action is action."

When all was said and done, none of them were willing to be left behind. Once Cruz made a few calls—his plane wouldn't safely carry them all—he would have a meeting time and place. Meanwhile, Nic made arrangements to rent a vehicle big enough to carry them and their gear at the other end.

If Raines was still in the house, there was no evidence of it. The phone rang again and again, torturing her. What was even worse was laying completely helpless. Nothing didn't hurt. There just wasn't enough room to maneuver to a standing position. On top of that, the ceramic that surrounded her was cold. By the time the phone began ringing for the third time, Julie couldn't stop shivering.

An eternity passed. But then, she heard him coming. The door opened and Raines paused, silhouetted in the doorway. Julie blinked when he flipped on the bathroom light.

He no longer wore his uniform, but was dressed instead for the cold. He looked bigger than Julie remembered. His face was drawn, lines etched in stone. There was no light left in the man. It was truly frightening.

He roughly dragged her to her feet and pulled her out of the tub.

"Time to go, Julie."

It was full-on dark as Raines hauled Julie to his car parked in the alley. She mentally calculated. It had to be at least five o'clock. What was the latest Nic or Cruz would get her message? It could be days. Nic's life wasn't lived by the clock.

And what if they did get the message? She hadn't been alarmed when she'd left it. Why would they be? Her parting words to Nic wouldn't encourage him to play Batman again.

Even if they did come, would they be in time? Would they die trying to save her?

For the next hour, Julie lay on the back floor of Raines' Bronco. The man droned on and on. He'd done it first to make his mother proud. His older brother had died in 'Nam—a war hero. And he'd been invisible.

What was the big deal, anyway? Those bastards got all the glory. They weren't that special.

Julie couldn't help but wonder at his logic. Let's face it, Vietnam veterans didn't get all that much glory.

And on he prattled. The story had just grown in time. He hadn't meant to embellish it. He wasn't taking money from the government, so why the uproar? He'd been a good sheriff. And the town had fired him.

Well, he'd show them. Tomorrow was his birthday. He'd go out in style.

Julie's breath came out in a _whoosh_ , as if she'd been punched. She had 'til morning.

### Chapter Twenty Six

Cruz slammed the phone down.

"We can't do anything until morning. The Archer won't carry us all and I can't get a plane rented until 0700." He paced the length of the living room.

Nic checked his watch. Just past one a.m. The rest of the team would be back to the house shortly unless he called them off. It was a five hour drive, maybe more; an hour and a half to fly. If they left here by two, they'd get to Galloway's by 0900. If they could take off shortly after seven, then, by plane, they'd get there the same time. But, if she were there, she'd answer the phone.

What if Raines did have her? Where would he take her? Could they count on him going back to the cabin? That was the only idea Nic had. Even though it was a bit closer, the times would be likely about the same.

Stand the guys down for now. At least they could get a bit of sleep then. They'd meet at the Merced Airport at oh-seven-hundred. Between now and then, they needed a plan of attack.

Julie'd never been very good at waiting. Waiting to be killed should have been an exception. But the night dragged by, tied in one of the kitchen chairs, listening to Raines snore.

How could the guy be sleeping, anyway?

Before he crashed on the bed, he joked about the little present he'd left for Julie and Nic weeks before. The best-laid plans.

"If I'd known your guy would come through the door first...well, I'da gone with the shotgun. Or maybe rigged the whole place to explode, blown you both to smithereens."

Then he'd crossed to the bed and noticed the bloodstains. Again he laughed. Then he threw the covers over the blood and lay back, asleep almost immediately.

That bed. "Her guy." Nic's pain. His warmth. Tears coursed down her cheeks.

You only go around once, Jenn used to say. Carpe diem and all that. And yet, when Julie found something worth grabbing, she chickened out, let go. If she could tell him, what would she say? That from the moment he found her, she'd been home. She lost everyone she loved and found someone to love forever. Forever wasn't long enough.

She was torn. Torn between hoping that Nic and Cruz would show up just in time and fearing they would. Without a doubt Raines would kill anyone who got in his way. If she had a final wish, it would be that she could at least tell Nic that she loved him.

How much she loved him.

At oh-seven-thirty-two, the sun cleared the horizon, and Nic watched his teammates, all dressed in winter camo, board the Piper Seneca. The lieutenant had shown up after all claiming that they needed supervision. But Nic was pretty sure Quillen just didn't want to miss out on the fun. If things went south, the LT would hang anyway, so why not have a little fun?

Even though Cruz was as concerned as Nic, he still couldn't hold back the grin and whistle as they'd entered the hangar. That was a fine looking plane. Even Nic knew that.

After spending the night contemplating their options, Nic had run the whole thing by Cruz. Between them, the decision was made. They'd try the cabin first. If that failed, they'd drive to Susanville. At that point, they'd have to punt. At oh-seven-forty, the Seneca lifted off for Quincy, California. From there, it was a forty-six minute drive to the cabin.

Nic spent the next half hour filling in his crew on the mission. He'd drawn a map of the area surrounding the cabin. The road up to the cabin. The layout of the cabin itself. The fishing pond behind. Julie's chapel. He'd poured over road maps during the night. They could drive up an adjacent road and hike through the thick woods to the cabin. If Raines had Julie there, they'd have the element of surprise.

Light trickled in past the edges of the blankets Raines had thrown over the windows. Julie's eyes hurt. Her stomach grumbled. One would think her brain would have warned her stomach that they were in grave danger. But, she hadn't eaten since the night before last, and she guessed she'd cut the traitor a break. Even if the sound woke Raines.

If it didn't, then something else did.

"Wish me happy birthday, Julie."

At her go-to-hell reply, obscured by the duct tape, he just laughed and stretched. Then he bounced to his feet, as if great sleep had left him totally refreshed.

"What shall we have for breakfast, Julie? We ought to have something wonderful for our last meal, don't you think?"

He rummaged through the cupboards, pulling out canned goods and placing them on the counter.

"Should have stopped for groceries."

At last, he found several cans of roast beef hash. Nodding briefly, he hunted up the can opener and whistled as he cooked.

The snow was deeper than it had been when Nic was last here. They were prepared for that. As they approached the cabin from the south, they caught sight of the Bronco.

Bingo.

Raines was here.

Please, God, let Julie be here as well. And alive.

Nic absently checked under his collar for the St. Michael medal he wore on missions. Joey had given it to him.

As they moved closer, the smell of wood smoke tickled Nic's senses. Raines still had a fire going. About a hundred yards from the cabin, they split up.

Nic and Cruz went around back. GQ and Gabe to the north side, Will would stay on this side, Matt would cover the front. The north side was likely the best approach to get close enough to see or hear what was going on inside. Gabe had the equipment in his pack to listen in. GQ had the sniper rifle. Each had their pistol.

Nic and Cruz inched toward the back of the house just as the snow began falling in big, heavy, stick-on-your-tongue flakes. Everything was blanketed in fresh snow, up to Nic's calves. He watched the cabin intently as he moved through the trees.

"Movement by the rocks out back." Gabe's voice in Nic's ear.

Nic had been so focused on the cabin, he'd missed it. He swung around to face the rocks, Julie's chapel. Raines stood at the top of the highest rock, twenty feet or so from the ground. Before him, Julie knelt, Raines' pistol at the base of her skull.

A cry tore from his throat as he ran full-on for the rocks.

At the sound, Raines turned and pulled Julie to her feet, shielding himself behind her.

One second, Julie was squeezing her eyes shut waiting for the end. The next, she stood watching Nic charge across the frozen pond toward them. The barrel of Raines' gun pressed hard into her neck.

Nic wore his aviator glasses, his black hat turned backwards and was dressed in white camouflage. His face was covered with camo paint, but even so, he was a sight to behold.

Tears stung Julie's eyes as she watched him run.

"He's coming to save you, Julie. Look at all that testosterone. Does it make you hot, Princess?"

It was hard to breathe. Raines tightened his arm around her ribs even more, making it almost impossible.

"Superman's comin'. Will he be able to save you? Tune in next time..." His words trailed off and he laughed.

"Shall I kill him, Julie?" Raines whispered, his breath hot on her cheek.

"No, please."

Nic plowed through the snow on the pond.

He knew he was a sitting duck. No way in hell could he stop. Each step brought him closer to Julie. Closer to a chance to save her.

He wouldn't let her go again. If she wouldn't stay with him forever, he'd leave the team and go with her. He'd find something to do.

And on he ran.

Almost half way across.

Almost half way. The view of the pond from the porch. Julie beside him, holding his hand. She'd told him about her chapel, how much she'd loved it here.

Almost half way. Damn. That day the pond hadn't been covered with new snow. And, in the middle, the ice was different, wet. It hadn't mattered then. It did now. Before his foot again hit the ice, he knew he'd blown it big time.

With a loud crack, he was through the ice in an instant. On the way down, he saw the horror on Julie's face, and wished...

He knew the water would be cold, but, dang, it felt like someone had slammed him in the chest. Light didn't play down here. Had Julie said there were fish? Dumb thought. Reach for the light.

Nic willed his muscles to work, willed his brain to stay with him. Anticipation of pain is worse than pain itself.

Yeah, sure it is. Dang.

Left fist up. Let 'em know you're all right.

Let who know? Joey liked to ice fish.

### Chapter Twenty Seven

Julie tried to make sense of what she was seeing.

"Looky, Superman fell through the ice," Raines hissed. "Ooh, poor Superman." He pulled the gun away from Julie and aimed at Nic as he came up for air.

"It's Batman, you bastard."

Julie's heel came down on Raines' foot. Then she shoved back with her whole body as hard as she could. Raines' gun flew from his hand and skittered down the slippery rock. With a curse, he lunged for it. Julie kicked him again, hard enough that he lost his footing and went over the edge.

Everything was in slow motion. Was he gone? Dead? Still a threat? If she leaned over the edge to see...

Without her hands to balance her, Julie turned and sat down, afraid she too would fall. She looked out to the pond, to the hole through which Nic had disappeared. There was no movement. But as she watched, what had just been scenery before, came to life.

Bravo Squad.

And even as she uttered a prayer, there in her chapel, hoping God was listening, the six foot four angel Gabriel tied a rope to his waist and made his way toward the hole. Another camo dressed squad member, one she'd never met, took up the other end of the rope. Cruz emerged from the trees and charged toward her along the edge of the pond.

"Stay put. Don't move," he shouted.

Once at the rocks, he scrambled up effortlessly and moved to her side. After releasing the cuffs, he sat next to her, pulling her close.

"You okay, Julie?"

Julie couldn't answer, she could only stare at the silent hole in the ice, at Gabe making his way toward it. Couldn't he go any faster? Why didn't Nic come up for air? He was a PJ. They trained for this stuff, didn't they?

How could one train for his body's reaction to that kind of cold?

"Hurry, Gabe."

"Julie, look at me." Cruz's voice broke through to her but she couldn't pull her eyes away.

"Julie!" He took her arm, shaking her slightly. "Julie!"

"Shut up, Eric." Julie pulled her arm away and stood up. "C'mon, Nic," she whispered. "Please."

Cruz stood beside her, his hands again on her shoulders.

It was too much. She had to get down, had to get closer, had to reach out to him.

She started to move toward the edge.

"Julie, no." He tightened his grip on her.

Quickly she looked at him, afraid to take her eyes from the ice for long. "Let me go, Cruz." It came out between clenched teeth.

"It's slick. At least, let me help you down."

"I don't need any help," she spat and headed down. She'd been up here a bazillion times, even when it was slick. Her dad had called her a mountain goat. She'd called Jenn a chicken.

She found the spot she needed. It brought her down on the other side of the rock outcropping, the side away from the pond. She stepped over Raines' broken body and ran around front.

By the time she made it around the rocks, Gabe was to the hole. He was reaching into the water. The others gathered around the edge of the pond, as much willing Nic up as she was. The lieutenant stood behind the kid holding the rope. Both men's eyes riveted to the drama on the ice.

"Got him." Gabe had only spoken but the quiet amplified his words.

Cruz stepped up behind her.

"Julie. Go stoke up the fire. Get all the blankets you can find."

At her hesitation, he turned her.

"Just do it, Julie. Now."

Julie paused on the porch to look back.

The rope crew hauled Nic's limp form, hooked directly to Gabe's rope, across the ice.

She raced to do what she could.

If she'd expected shouting and chaos when they got inside, she'd been wrong. They were quiet. They laid Nic, dripping wet, on the floor, as if he might break.

Someone asked for towels.

Nic's eyes were open. He looked around slowly, dazed.

Will left the cabin and came back shortly with a ruck sack which he laid on the kitchen table. He began pulling things out, a stethoscope and B/P cuff, hot packs.

The others stripped Nic and dried him with the same gentle touch. By the time they moved him to the bed, Nic was mumbling through teeth gritted with shivering.

The kid, the one she hadn't met, came to stand beside her.

"He's shivering. That's a good sign."

"It is?"

"Yes."

Nic was soon bundled to the chin. They'd put hot packs under his arms and on his pelvis. Each of the men had pulled an IV bag from somewhere under their parkas, warmed and ready to start the drip.

Someone made tea. Julie hadn't noticed who. When Will set a cup in front of her at the table, she pulled her eyes from the bed. Across the table Gabe sat, wrapped in a blanket himself, hovering over his own steaming mug. He, too, shivered. But a smile lit up his face when he caught her eye.

"He's tough,"--Gabe winked--"even though he doesn't look it. Besides, look at all his mothers."

Julie nodded and tried to smile back. Her lip trembled though. Chris Gabriel was the most genuinely carefree person she'd ever met. Not in the devil-may-care way Cruz was. Nonetheless, he'd forever be her angel.

"I saw the Wizard," Nic's voice. Just a whisper.

Was he hallucinating?

Gabe laughed out loud. Then, he turned back to Julie.

"The Wonderful Wizard of Wig. When we drown-proof in training, the Wiz is the guy you see right before you pass out. Not to worry."

Before she could make sense of what he'd said, Nic croaked her name.

The crowd parted for her when she approached. His dark eyes were now clear, his face more relaxed. He still shivered but not violently.

"You scared me," he said hoarsely.

"I scared you! Jesus, Mary and Joseph, Nic. What on earth possessed you to run across the pond? Are you nuts?" Her voice began to shake. "You and your Batman complex! Look where it got you."

He just smiled.

"She loves me," he said to the men hovering nearby.

"That's beside the point."

"No, baby, that _is_ the point." Again, he turned to his friends. "On top of that, she's going to marry me."

What did he just say? Marry him? Elation. Knees all weak. Marry him?

Cruz blew out his breath, rolled his eyes, "Seriously, D? That's how you ask? Geez."

He turned to leave, pulling the others with his look. Even Gabe tugged his blanket up and stepped outside, taking his tea with him.

Nic was suddenly tired. So tired. But he'd just blurted out the most important thing in his life. He needed to get his mouth to work again.

Julie had watched the others leave. Now she watched him, her eyes wide.

"You will, won't you?"

It came out nearly slurred. He had to hang on for an answer. Minutes passed, hours. Trying to keep his eyes open.

Finally, she smiled. The smiled that saved his life.

"Yes, Batman, I'll marry you."

"Wicked good. I need to sleep. Will you kiss me, please? I can't move."

### Epilogue

After putting in a call to Colonel McIntire, the LT took command of the entire situation, calling the authorities, reporting the incident. By the time the sheriff arrived, every man wore flannel shirts and jeans and no war paint. Just a bunch of normal, everyday, guys.

Uh-huh.

Quillen did most of the talking. When questions arose which only Julie could answer, he was quiet.

Hard to believe that Nic could sleep through the commotion of the next few hours. But he did. Even as Sheriff Graff interviewed her, her gaze drifted more than once to the bed, to make sure he was still alive. She wasn't the only one.

Cruz stood guard over Nic, daring anyone to wake him. She, too, had a guardian. Gabe loomed behind her, a constant reminder that she was safe.

It was three hours before all the questions were answered to Graff's satisfaction and the coroner left with Raines' body. Nic slept the whole time. If the others had not been there, Julie would have crawled up and lay beside him. She was totally wrung out.

Will and Matt, the kid she hadn't met before today, asked quietly if they could scrounge up food for everyone. When she offered to do it herself, they shooed her away. With her blessing, they began sorting through cupboards, and she escaped to the back porch.

It wasn't until she sucked in the frosty air that she realized how stuffy it had gotten inside. Warming up their patient, no doubt. But it felt so good outside. Julie lowered herself to the top step, intent on not moving for a while.

When the door opened and closed behind her, she half expected Chris to insist she come inside.

It wasn't Chris.

"Scoot down one step." Nic lowered himself onto the step right behind her. His arms, along with the blanket came around her, pulling her close between his knees.

They sat quietly for a time, Julie drinking in his presence.

Finally, he cleared his throat. "Um, did I fall asleep before you answered my question?"

"No, you didn't." Julie laid her cheek against his arm. "Seems like you'd remember that," she added, teasing.

He was quiet for a long moment. She felt bad about teasing him.

"What was your answer?"

"What was the question?" She laughed.

He squeezed her tight. "Something about us getting married, I think."

"And never was there a more romantic proposal."

"What was the answer?"

"Something like yes, I think."

Nic leaned down and kissed her cheek, trailing his lips down her neck.

When he spoke, his voice was intense. "I'll quit the team if you want to keep your job."

Wow. What that must have taken! He was willing to put Batman away in order to be with her. But without Batman, Nic wouldn't be Nic, would he?

"I can probably find something to do in Merced," she said.

Tension drained from his arms.

"But," his arms tightened again at the _but_ , "I'm not living in the cul-de-sac."

Nic laughed and kissed the top of her head.

As the sun set behind the chapel of rocks, Nic smiled. He was so bushed he could barely form thoughts. He wanted to talk about their future. He couldn't wait to bring their children here, to teach them to climb, to swim.

Maybe even to fish.

Joey would like that.

Shrugging, he pushed to his feet and held his hand out for hers.

Their future could start in the morning.

Look for Book Two in the

_True Heroes_ series...

True Courage

Even if you're ready for everything, sometimes the rescuer needs rescuing...

In a blinding blizzard, wise-cracking Air Force Colonel Rick MacIntyre crashes his Blackhawk. As he waits for his own rescue in the frigid dark, his lifeline is the voice of Lily Atherton.

Rick is dying on the side of the mountain. He's alone, except for the precious voice of a woman he's never met. If he gets out of this alive, he wants to meet. Thank her. Fall in love with her. Marry her.

Lily wants that too. But life has taught her that fairy tales don't happen. Rick is old enough to be her father--well, almost. And he's so far out of her league as to be laughable. Convincing her heart though. . .

Can the connection they formed on the edge of crisis hold up to the overwhelming obstacles of everyday life? Is there enough courage?

_True Courage_ is the second installment in the five-book _True Heroes_ military romance series. If you like heart-wrenching, wholesome love stories, then you'll adore this book and the entire series.

###

### _True Courage_ Excerpt

### PROLOGUE

The first commandment of aviation: Thou shalt maintain thy airspeed, lest the ground rise up and smite thee.

Lieutenant Colonel Rick McIntyre's PJs often attributed a sinister motivation to the mountain. Sometimes they even kept score—Yosemite, 3, Humans, 0.

But he'd never really bought into it. Now, as he watched the Black Hawk tumble down Mount Hood, he was beginning to reconsider.

Retirement—fishing to be exact—was looking pretty good right about now.

He didn't know who the pilot was, but he felt for him.

Rick had been in midsentence, leaning over the map-strewn table that took up over half of David Quillen's office. He still wore his coat, not having gotten warm yet from the walk inside. If he wanted to be this cold, he'd live in Colorado or go home to Minnesota.

It was the tone of the voice, rather than the words, that reached in from the outer room and silenced him. Made him listen.

"Sirs, get out here," someone hollered again.

On cue, both David and Rick moved. Fast.

Not ten minutes earlier, Rick had passed the dayroom, saying hello to members of Bravo Element who lounged around the room, eating a late lunch and watching Fox News. Their lack of movement when he passed by made him smile. Yet, he fervently hoped—not for the first time—that had a general walked in, the boys would have shown a bit more respect.

It had taken him years to instill their casual disregard for his rank, and when it came right down to it, they never balked when he gave an order.

Now, as he entered the dayroom, there was no lounging. Nic D'Onofrio and Eric Cruz sat forward on the couch. Chris Gabriel stood behind them. Joey Amonte and Will Pitkin flanked the television in raggedy, mismatched recliners, fully engaged with the drama playing out on the nineteen-inch screen.

"The chopper was hovering when it just seemed to dip its nose into the mountain and then it just dropped and rolled," said the stunned commentator. "This Air Force rescue helicopter is part of the 304th Rescue Squadron based in Portland..."

"Holy shit," Quillen whispered in a most un-Quillen-like way.

Rick's stomach clenched as the ten-ton Jolly Green nosed into the snow and pitched obscenely—almost in slow motion—down the side of Mt. Hood. Its rotors splintered as it tumbled, and about the third time they showed it, he could make out one of the crew members being ejected before the chopper rolled over him.

Every commander's nightmare—endangering the lives of your guys. Every pilot's nightmare—getting your crew, your patient or yourself killed. At least, the crew had the foresight to release the hoist cable to the Stokes litter that held the patient, dropping him to safety before the tumble.

Never mind the high-dollar frown on the faces of the pencil pushers.

And, in this case, never mind the complete humiliation of crashing your bird as the cameras rolled.

For the next few weeks, every time he flew, that image played in his head. God only knew how the crew, several of which having been rolled over by the helo on its slow descent, lived. The others, initially enmeshed in the wreckage, miraculously made it as well.

Wild ride.

Lucky bastards. It wasn't their day to die.

### CHAPTER ONE

Sixteen Months Later

"I don't think we're in Kansas anymore, Toto," Rick whispered into the swirling snow. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused on breathing in and breathing out.

So much to sort out.

Friday the 13th. Good grief. It wasn't even noon yet, and this made it official. The mountain was closed for business. No one was going anywhere.

They'd gotten word of stranded climbers about nine last night. Daniel Fraser, the Search and Rescue commander for Yosemite, had scrambled a hasty team up in the dark. This morning, they waited for the helo for extraction. Weather was moving in fast, providing only a brief window to get PJs in there and get everyone out again.

Sgt. Bell had done a hurry-up preflight. Lt. Morrisett was waiting when Rick got to the bird. The kid would co-pilot. He was damn good for his age and flight time.

Rick circled his gloved finger in the air as he jogged to the bird, and the kid fired up the engines.

D'Onofrio and Wiley threw their packs in back and hopped on board. If he didn't know the way each man moved, he'd have not been able to differentiate between them—they were covered completely.

Rick's radio crackled. "Sir, you need to shave fifteen off this deal. Your weather is moving faster than we thought."

"Dandy. Head 'em up, move 'em out."

Minutes later, they'd hoisted Nic and Matt, along with the Stokes litter down to Daniel and his crew. The report was that one of the climbers had a broken ankle and the other was in good shape.

Rick let the lieutenant find a place to put down to wait for the ground crew to be ready for extraction. Everything seemed okay. Yeah, the snow was falling harder by the minute, but this wasn't some wimpy whirlybird used by the Flight for Life guys. The Hawk could handle anything.

Within reason.

Glen Morrisett lowered the collective and started the descent to the large flat spot he'd picked. Upslope, a wisp of snow swirled down the hill on fickle mountain wind.

"Watch your rate of descent, Lieutenant. Looks like we have a downslope."

The lieutenant was on course. Angle looked right, but the rate of descent was a little high. Rick's shoulders tensed and his gut tightened. Something didn't feel right, didn't sound right.

Rick looked quickly at the power. It was taking too much to hold the approach. His ear picked up another ominous warning: the rotors were slowing down. Something was wrong and getting worse. Bad. But not too bad. . . yet.

"I have the aircraft," Rick said, glancing to his left, smiling to reassure the kid. "Nothing personal."

"Yes, sir. You got it."

Rick needed to arrest the descent. He eased the nose down slightly, trying to trade a little of the remaining altitude for air speed. The lieutenant continued to call out the rate of descent every fifty feet.

Landing was the only option now. They were too low, too slow for another go around.

"Sink eight, we're too fast," Glen reported, his voice tense.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Normal descent rate at one hundred feet above the ground should be three hundred. That made their current eight hundred a shitload too fast.

Fifty feet above the ground, Rick tried to flare the helicopter and pick up any ground cushion, but it just wasn't there today. What else could he do? His mind scrambled for options.

Fuck, fuck.

"Everyone, brace."

Slow motion...

The right main landing gear buckled under the initial impact, driving the nose deep into the powdery snow.

Wracked by spasms, the helicopter's frame bowed beneath his feet.

The fuselage twisted violently to the right as the rotors bit into the snow pack. Instinctively, Rick ducked his head to avoid the rotors' mad flex slicing through the cockpit.

Shattering glass was overwhelmed by the scream of metal on metal.

The entire aircraft wrenched savagely as the engines shattered from catastrophic failure of the high-speed compressor.

Red-hot shards of metal shot through the air and sizzled in the snow on impact.

The grinding of each small part gave way eventually to silence.

Fuck.

True Courage – Book 2 in the True Heroes Series

