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Love Takes No Advice

By

Maarika Polikarpus

SMASHWORDS EDITION

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Maarika Polikarpus on Smashwords

Love Takes No Advice

By

Maarika Polikarpus

Copyright © 2011 by Maarika Polikarpus

Smashwords Edition License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

Chapter One

Sheriff Ian Caldwell shook the snow from his dark curls as he slammed the door of his cruiser. He looked up the embankment where the car had wedged itself into the snow, choosing his footing carefully in the icy crust as he made his way up.

"Ma'am, you need a hand?" he called out.

The woman kicked the side of the car and let out a stream of curses that would put a sailor to shame.

"Not unless you got a tow truck." She turned around, her face falling as she caught sight of his uniform. "Great, just great," she said, giving the tire another kick.

"I don't think you're going to get that car out until the storm blows over. I can give you a ride into town, there's motel there."

"Just leave me alone," she snapped, snuggling deeper into the collar of her jacket. "I'll be fine."

Ian looked up at the night sky; the clouds hung low to the ground, heavy and swollen thick with frozen moisture. "I'm not sure about that," he said, with pointed look at front end of the car. "How'd you get all the way up here anyway?"

"I said I'd be fine, okay?"

"You want to tell me why you're so unhappy to see me?" He cocked a hip out and rested his hand on the butt of his gun. She whipped her head around, a wool hat was pulled low over her face and a long scarf was wrapped around her throat. He saw her eyes dart to his cruiser, parked with the engine running on the shoulder, and then back to his, as if gauging him. In an instant she was skidding down the embankment, running through the ankle deep snow towards the police car.

Ian took off after her, grabbing a hold of the back of her jacket and bringing her down with him in a tumble of fabric and limbs. She clawed at him, wriggling beneath him like a tomcat.

"Stop it!" he shouted.

She kicked him in the shin and he let out a yelp, but he didn't let go of her, wrestling her onto her back and pinning her beneath him. He rose up on his hands, looking down at her. Her hat had come off in the scuffle and her hair was spread out around her in long auburn waves streaked with red highlights that glittered in the headlights of the cruiser. She stared up at him with dark eyes, her expression defiant and the look in her eyes feral. He reached for his belt, gripping her small wrists together in his left hand while he unhooked the handcuffs and then snapped them into place. She let out another string of unholy curses as he hauled her up from the ground. She bucked against him and dragged her feet in the snow, struggling against him with everything she had.

"I'm going to put you into the back of the car," he said, his voice short with tension. "Are you going to tell me your name?"

She glared at him as he opened the back door of the cruiser.

"I'm going to search your car."

Her eyes turned cold as he shoved her into the cruiser.

"Anything I should know?"

She kicked the back of the front seat by way of answer, giving him a glare that could turn lava to ice.

He made sure she was secured in the back of the patrol car before he made his way back up the embankment. The car was still running and he turned the engine off. There was an overnight bag in the back seat and a leather shoulder bag on the front seat. He emptied the contents of the shoulder bag onto the front seat and a nine millimeter pistol tumbled out with the rest of the usual contents. Ian opened the chamber; it was loaded. He emptied the cartridge and then flipped open the wallet, tucked into the pocket was a New York State driver's license with the name Carrie McKenna. He grabbed the two bags and the gun and trudged back down to the car.

"You being so feisty have anything to do with his?" he asked as he slid into the front seat. He held up the gun and from the kick to the back of his seat he guessed that it did.

"Are you Carrie McKenna?" he asked.

There was no point in lying."Yeah," her voice was flat, defeated.

"Is this weapon registered to you?"

"No."

"Whose is it?"

She shrugged. "Stolen, probably. I bought it out of the back of a Lexus in Times Square."

"You have any arrest warrants outstanding?"

She shrugged again, sinking lower into the seat. "No. Can we just get out of here?"

"I'm arresting you for attempted car theft, possession of an illegal firearm and resisting arrest. You have the right to remain silent..."

Carrie could see him watching her in the rearview mirror. Jesus, Mary and Joseph, the luck she had. Now they would run her through the system and she would be turned over to the FBI and God knows what would happen to her. She let out a frustrated sigh and kicked the back of the seat again, earning her another glare in the mirror. God, he was really gorgeous. She didn't want to admit it because she was mad as hell, but it was hard not to notice. His eyes had a sort of warmth, tinged with humor and kindness. His features were clean, clearly cut and defined, smooth skin pulled taut over a strong jaw and high cheekbones. He was tall, wide shoulders that tapered to slim hips and she had felt the strength in his arms when he had pinned her to the ground. She had been surprised by the rush of heat that had blushed her flesh where he had touched her. She blamed it on the cold, on the trip she had, the past three days.

"Hey," she said suddenly, sitting forward. "Where am I? Am I still in Minnesota?"

"Yeah." His eyes caught hers in the mirror. "Stone Church Falls. Where are you headed?"

"Nowhere now," she grumbled, sitting back against the seat. "And probably not for a long time." She sealed herself against the icy fear that was sliding up her spine.

The Stone Church Falls police station consisted of one large room; two desks occupied one side, while a holding cell was centered against the back wall, looking like it had been left over from the wild west days. There was a small folding table on the other side and a counter with a coffee machine and a microwave. She paced the cell.

"Nice place you got here," she commented dryly. The cement floor was freezing and the snow on the back of her jeans had started to melt and the denim was cold and clammy against the backs of her thighs. She shivered; the stress of the past few days was slowly settling into her frozen bones and she was suddenly tired, so tired that she sank onto the thin mattress on the cot that was bolted to the brick wall. A puff of dust escaped from beneath her, she coughed, waving her hand in front of her face. "How long since this cell's been used?"

Ian glanced up from the paperwork he was filling out. "Six years. And that was when Jake Jerviscous got drunk and drove into the front of his house. We let him sleep it off."

"Nice and cozy." She patted the mattress again, earning herself another lung full of dust.

"You want to tell me anything?" Ian asked. He had moved to the computer and had sat back, rubbing his smooth chin with his big hand. "Like why the FBI wants you for questioning?"

She slumped back against the wall and rolled her eyes. "Jesus Christ, this can't get any worse."

"I'm going to have to turn you over to them before you face the charges here."

She didn't say anything, just got up and started pacing. Should she tell him? Was it worth the risk? She looked over at him, gauging him. His eyes were kind, but he struck her as a by-the-book kind of guy. That was the worst part of all of this; she didn't know who she could trust anymore. The cold face of Mario Viggianni flashed before her eyes and she shivered again.

"Cold?"

She glanced up at him, surprised. He had gotten up and was pouring a mug of coffee. His hair was a tangle of coarse dark curls that had looped themselves into a tousled mess; giving him a sort of rumpled sexiness that, paired with his warm brown eyes, hit her in the chest and made her stomach flutter.

"Yeah, a little." _Get a hold of yourself, Carrie, he just arrested you._ Maybe it was just because she hadn't had any human communication in three days, she'd been stuck all alone in the car with her own thoughts.

"Coffee?" he asked, setting his mug down and pouring another cup before she even answered. "Sugar, milk?"

"Just cream," she answered, shivering again and wrapping her arms around her chest to keep warm. "Do you think I could have my bag? My jeans are soaked."

He paused, holding her cup and she could see his mind working.

"I don't have a cyanide pill or anything in them, I'm just really cold." She rubbed her arms, and walked a little closer towards the cell bars.

"Yeah, I'll get them out," he handed her the mug and walked back to the desk where her overnight bag lay against the desk. He pulled out the pants and patted them down, checking the pockets before handing her the garment through the bars.

"You mind?" she asked demurely. He turned his back to her as she peeled the wet denim from her clammy skin. "Why do they call it Stone Church Falls?" she asked, pulling the dry jeans up and buttoning them.

He shrugged, his back still to her. "I don't know, might have something to do with the Stone Church next to the waterfall."

"Creative bunch, aren't you?" she snorted. She draped her wet jeans on a nail in the bricks.

He turned to glance at her and she could swear a smile was teasing his lips. "We pride ourselves on creativity in these here parts," he said in the best Minnesota accent she'd heard since the movie Fargo.

"I bet you do." She picked up her mug from the floor and took a sip of coffee and settled back onto the dingy mattress.

"You maybe want to tell me what you are doing with an unregistered firearm? Or why you tried to steal my car?"

She scowled. "No." The look in her eyes was of pure defeat. Her long hair hung in soft, smooth ripples, and her eyes were the color of warm caramel. She had a subtle beauty, hovering on the edge of ordinary. Her features, dissected, taken one by one were plain in an attractive simplicity, but the whole of her face was soft and appealing with a sort of ethereal beauty that could only be noticed if you took the time to look. He pulled a metal chair from the card table and sat down facing the cell. He didn't want to admit that she was beautiful, no, that there was something that drew him to her. A sadness in her eyes, a need that he knew she was too proud to ever ask to have filled. When he was young he brought home every stray cat and dog in the neighborhood and his mother had always said that was why he had become a cop. He had always been drawn to whoever needed his help, whether they were human or animal. He had a protective instinct that ran a mile wide. It was why he had stayed in Stone Church Falls despite being over qualified for the job, because he really didn't want to deal with crime, he didn't want to deal with the appalling things that people could do to each other. There was no crime in Stone Church, the occasional petty theft, and minor drug busts, but the biggest threat facing the department seemed to be drunk and disorderly and driving under the influence. But he knew these people, they were good people and he was in charge of protecting him from people like Carrie McKenna.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said softly. She impatiently brushed her hair back behind her ear and chewed on her lip.

"Is someone after you?" he asked gently. He'd learned pretty early on that you could catch more flies with honey. She looked like she needed a friend, and he wanted to know what she was running from.

Her eyes darted to him, and the look of surprise in them gave her away. "Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"Because you look scared, and chased."

She was biting her lower lip so hard that he was afraid she would puncture the tender flesh. Her eyes were an odd blend of emotions, fear, uncertainty, distrust, and a residual strength that seemed to hover just below the surface.

"I don't need any help," she said suddenly. Her eyes were suddenly blank and he could see her shut down, pull away from him. "Just leave me alone."

"I can't help you if you won't let me," he said softly.

"What makes you think I deserve it?" she said, her eyes were empty, her voice hoarse. "I just tried to steal your car."

"You look like you could use some help."

"I don't look like anything and I don't need help. Especially not yours."

He got up and dragged the metal chair across the cement floor back to the table and then crossed back to his desk. "Suit yourself."

She floundered, she wanted his attention back, she wanted some form of comfort, some thought. The room seemed colder as he sat in the swivel chair, his eyes flickering across the papers that lay scattered on his desk. She felt isolated, like she had stepped out of the warmth of the sunshine and into the shade. It was as if she no longer existed and she found herself struggling to find something to say. "It's damn cold in here."

He made a noise in his throat but didn't even look at her. She wanted to scream.

"Ian? I can't believe you're still up here!" The voice came from the bundle of fur that pushed its way through the front door, covered in a light dusting of snow. "I brought some soup." The woman flung the hood back on her jacket, revealing her blond French twist and delicate Nordic features. She looked a little too perfect, perfect hair, perfect make-up; she looked like she belonged to a church and wore pearls. Carrie wanted to throw up. It was probably his wife. But he barely glanced up at her, too busy straightening the papers on his desk.

"Hi Patty," he said absently.

She set the thermos on the desk before she noticed Carrie. "Oh! I didn't realize you had a prisoner!" she said, her tone full of pride and awe. She looked ready to jump up and down and clap her hands. Carrie glared at her from the filthy mattress.

"What did she do?" she asked, cautiously approaching the cell like Carrie was a caged animal at the zoo. She resisted the urge to bare her teeth and growl.

"Nothing major," Ian said with an impatient sigh, he banged the edge of a stack of papers on the desk top and looked up at her, obviously annoyed.

"I had a stolen gun and I tried to steal a police car," Carrie said, flashing a sick smile. It was worth it the way that Patty's neck colored and the surprise in her eyes.

"Ian! You could have been hurt."

He snorted. "I doubt it."

"I kicked you," Carrie said venomously.

"Didn't hurt," he countered.

"You screamed like a girl," she snapped, mostly to egg him on.

Patty's blonde head was swiveling back and forth like she was watching a tennis match. "Ian! Do you think this is appropriate?"

Carrie couldn't help but smirk at the pained face he made. "I didn't scream. I yelped," he said darkly. "And it barely hurt."

"I feel as though I'm interrupting something," Patty said awkwardly, her blue eyes burning as she looked at Ian.

"No, Patty. It's fine. You shouldn't have driven all the way up here in the snow."

Patty's cheeks flushed a little and Carrie couldn't tell if it was from what she perceived as concern or the big fat lie she was about to tell. "Oh, I was just in the area; I didn't go out of my way or anything."

Carrie couldn't hide her smile at the predictability. "I'm sure you didn't," she muttered under her breath. Patty shot her an evil look.

"You want some soup?" She opened the top of the thermos and the delicious scent of fresh herbs and vegetables filled the chilly air, almost warming it.

"No, I'm okay." Ian sank into his chair and looked up at her expectantly. He rubbed his hand over his eyes and sighed. "Leave it though; maybe I'll eat some later."

Patty seemed to fret, not wanting to leave but having no reason to stay, craving Ian's attention as much as Carrie had earlier and Carrie wanted to kick herself. Why did she even care? She had much bigger problems than whether or not the local sheriff was paying enough attention to her. The really, hot, local sheriff, she added.

"You should head home; the roads are getting worse."

Patty twisted her hands and shot a territorial glance at Carrie.

"You don't have to worry about me, I don't want him," Carrie said with lazy insolence.

Patty's face turned bright red and she looked like she wanted to rip Carrie's head off with her bare hands. "Well, I guess I'll be going then, don't want to keep you." She struggled to keep her voice at a normal pitch; she yanked the hood up and pulled on her gloves.

"Bye, Patty," Ian called as she hurried out the door. He turned his shining eyes to Carrie and couldn't help but chuckle. "I can't believe you said that."

"She was annoying me." Carrie sat up. "Can I have that soup? I'm starving."

"Yeah, sure." He passed the thermos through the bars. "For all of Patty's faults she's a hell of a cook. She's just taking this 'way to a man's heart is through his stomach' thing a little too far."

Carrie poured the chicken soup into the plastic lid and accepted the spoon Ian passed her. It was delicious; she didn't think she had ever eaten real, homemade, chicken noodle soup. It made her feel warmer, like she was wrapped in a comforter in her apartment in New York and not stuck in a jail cell in some godforsaken part of Minnesota. The thought made her stomach feel hollow and her heart was empty. She was suddenly so sad she couldn't choke down another spoonful of soup. She set the thermos on the floor and drew her feet up against her chest. She knew she shouldn't be feeling sorry for herself; she should be formulating a plan to get out of here. Somehow. She surveyed the bars mournfully. Not only was she stuck in jail, but even if she somehow managed to get out, she mentally emphasized the _somehow_ , just to make sure she knew exactly how unlikely it was, she still had to figure out how to get back to her car, get her car out of the snow bank and _then_ , she had to get un-lost and get to Las Vegas undetected. Yeah, right. The enormity of all of it hit her bluntly in her chest and she wanted to scream out, to cry and bang her head against the cement floor. How did all of this happen? How could her life have spiraled so out of control? Her brother's face appeared in her mind and her heart squeezed. His life had spiraled out of control and taken hers with it. He had made foolish decisions, stupid choices that she had somehow been left to clean up. Granted she might not have gone about cleaning them up the right way. Her attempt to lose the tail that had been inconspicuously following her since she had left New York had worked, but in the process, she had managed to get herself pretty lost too. And arrested. _Good Job, Carrie,_ she thought. She let out a deep sigh.

"You all right? You look like you're about to wear yourself out with all that thinking. I thought you were starving."

"I'm not hungry anymore." She got up and started pacing again, she was bone tired, she hadn't eaten in two days, her muscles ached and she still couldn't sit still. She was too aggravated, too angry at herself for making such an enormous mess of things. She had gone about this all wrong, she had been flying blind, going about things half-cocked. She needed time to think, time that she didn't have. And if she had time to think she would have to deal with her brother's death. And she couldn't do that. Not until the disk was in Robert Kelly's hands.

"You should eat something."

She glanced up from her pacing, having almost forgotten that Ian was there, she was so consumed with self-loathing. "I said I'm not hungry."

The door opened again, but the wind had picked up and a deputy blew in with the swirl of snow.

"Hey, Charlie," Ian said. He was standing in the middle of the room with his hands on his hips, looking irritated that she wasn't eating. She had to admit she didn't really mind him fretting. No one had ever fretted over her. She shook her head. It was a dumb thought and she shouldn't be wasting her time. She had better things to worry about.

The deputy shook the snow from his sandy hair, giving a loud _brrrr!_ and stomping the snow from his boots.

"Goddamn it's cold out there!" he exclaimed. He had bright blue eyes that honed in on Carrie almost immediately. "We got ourselves a visitor, huh?" He shot Carrie a mega watt smile that lit up his face. Damn, if this town wasn't crawling with gorgeous men. Just her luck to get stuck here when she hadn't showered in three days.

Ian shot him a wary glance. "This is Carrie McKenna, Carrie, this is Charlie. He's Stone Church Fall's one and only deputy."

Charlie gave her a theatrical bow. "Pleased to meet you, my dear. And what would a nice girl like you be doing in a jail cell?"

She sauntered up to the bars. "Maybe I'm not such a nice girl," she said huskily.

"My kind of woman." He tossed his jacket onto the coat rack. He was tall and lean like Ian, but he looked younger, lankier, his torso didn't quite fill out the uniform the way Ian did. She noticed how broad Ian's shoulders were, how the muscles in his chest bunched under the tan uniform. How big he was. He had long, sinewy muscles that moved under the fine dusting of dark hair on his arms. It was coarse; it looked like it would be crisp under her fingers if she ran her hands up his arms up to his chest... She mentally shook herself, physically shook herself. Jesus, what was wrong with her? She wanted to throttle herself but she didn't think it was physically possible so she just sat back down. This cell was getting really small.

"What'd you do, Patty Hearst?" Charlie asked, pouring himself a mug of coffee.

"Unregistered weapon, resisting arrest-" Ian started, ticking off the counts on his fingers.

"I didn't resist arrest!"

"You ran away and tried to steal my car."

She glared at him, she didn't know why she couldn't stop egging him on. "I wasn't arrested yet, it was a preventative measure."

"Well, I think an unregistered, concealed weapon is enough to hold you anyway, darlin'." She could see the smile he was trying to hide in his eyes, and she didn't know why that made her happy. Who the hell was she kidding? She had been arrested and was sitting in a jail cell and she was _flirting_. What was she thinking? She had never reacted this way to someone. Ever.

"A gun? What do you need with a gun?" Charlie leaned against the counter, sipping his coffee.

Ian shook his head. "She's wanted by the FBI."

Charlie spun around and looked at Ian, nearly choking on his coffee. "You mean she's a _real_ criminal?"

Ian smiled at Carrie. "What'd you think she was, my sex slave?"

"I don't know," Charlie said, shrugging. "We've never had a real criminal in here."

Ian raised his eyebrows and nodded in agreement. "Well, we got one now."

"How did you catch her?" Charlie asked, wide eyed.

Ian winced. "I didn't really catch her; I sort of stumbled upon her."

"I drove my stupid car into a snow bank," Carrie explained. "And then I tried to steal his car. That's when he arrested me."

"So what do we do with her?"

Ian ran a hand through his hair, leaving the curls sticking up at haphazard angles.

"As soon as this snow stops I'm going to run her down to the State Police barracks. We aren't equipped to hold any prisoners."

"The snow worse up there?"

"I talked to the dispatcher and she says the roads are pretty bad. She said the storm is supposed to be moving down this way so I don't know what we'll do with her until then."

"Just let me freeze to death in this stupid little cell," Carrie muttered. She was trying to swallow the anger that had worked its way up her throat so that she wouldn't blurt out something that she would regret. She didn't know why the thought of the State Police barracks frightened her so much. Here, the familiar camaraderie between everyone made it seem a little more bearable, the inadequate facility made it almost laughable. She couldn't imagine being shuffled in with a group of hardened criminals and processed in a sterile environment. She didn't realize how much worse off she could be until Ian had said that. Damn.

"I have a few errands to run before the snow gets worse, you want anything?" Ian asked Carrie. "Some food?

She looked at him mournfully. She felt betrayed, and she felt stupid that she felt that way. There was something in him that made her feel protected, made her feel like whatever happened, she would be okay. And now he was going to abandon her, just like everyone else in her life had. Maybe she should have trusted him, maybe she should tell him the truth.

"No." She turned her head to the side, letting a curtain of auburn hair fall across her face, shielding the sheen of moisture that she could feel in her eyes.

"I'll be back, Charlie, you need anything?"

Carrie sneezed. Three times. "Can I have a tissue?" she asked, her voice thick with mucous.

Ian watched her, concern tugging at his mouth. "You getting sick?"

She shook her head. "It's just all the dust in this stupid cell." She blew her nose into the tissue that Charlie had passed her.

"Maybe you should get under the blanket," Ian said.

His only response was a glare. He shrugged into his jacket and wrapped a scarf around his neck. "I'll be back in a half hour, Charlie. Then you can head home."

Carrie watched Ian leave, a cold despair filling her lungs. This was her only chance, she had to take it. She couldn't let her brother's death go without reason. She couldn't risk Jesse Ross being the FBI agent that came to Minnesota to get her. She had to get to Robert Kelly herself. One way or another. Muttering a prayer for forgiveness, she stood up.

"Charlie?" She clamped her legs together. "I really have to pee."

He looked over at her. "There's a toilet in there."

"There's no paper. Anyway, I don't think I can go in a cell. Someone could just walk in and see me."

"I'll lock the door." He was regarding her with suspicion. Damn, this had to work. He was her only chance.

"But you'll still be in here, and you'll hear me. I'm shy."

"What do you want me to do?" he asked, curiosity getting the better of him.

"Can't I use the bathroom over there?" She motioned towards the tiny closet sized bathroom next to the cell. "You have a gun and everything. I couldn't do anything." She widened her eyes, trying to look as innocent as possible. "I'd like to wash my face too. There's no sink in here."

"Can you do it handcuffed?" he asked. She could see him weighing the pros and cons in his head.

Damn, damn, damn. "Yeah, I think so."

"Okay, stick your hands through the bars so I can cuff you." She obeyed, feeling the cold metal snap around her wrists for the second time that night. "What did you do anyway? Wasn't murder was it?"

"No, I actually didn't really do anything. It's all just a misunderstanding."

He disappeared inside the bathroom, and she could hear him rattling through things, probably looking for a weapon she could use. Satisfied, he came and unlocked the cell. "Now, don't tell Ian 'bout this, I could get in a heap of trouble. It's just that you look like such a nice lady and all, I figured-"

She sprang forward, grabbing the phone off the edge of the desk and spinning, catching Charlie on the side of the head. With a sickening thump the phone made contact with his temple and he stumbled backwards, his eyes glazed before he slumped into a pile, propped up against the desk. Hastily, she grabbed the ring of keys, sorting through them looking for a key small enough to fit the cuffs. She didn't have time, she realized, shoving the key ring into her jacket pocket and picking up the car key that Charlie had tossed onto the desk when he arrived. Her purse was on the desk too and she felt along the seam where she had sewn the disk into place, relief flooding through her at the familiar shape. She was out the door in a flash. The snow was blinding, coming down in such fat flakes it made a white curtain against the black sky. She was free; she allowed herself one breath of icy clean air before she climbed into the cruiser. It was difficult starting the engine with her hands cuffed together, but after a struggle she turned it over and spun out of the tiny parking lot. Now all she had to do was figure out where the hell she was.

Chapter Two

Ian stood in the cold and flu aisle at Westley's drugs. Damn it, he was too nice. For all he knew Carrie McKenna was a drug lord or a mass murderer and here he was buying her decongestants and cough syrup. Oh, and those tissues with lotion so her nose wouldn't get sore. He wanted to kick himself. He tossed a bottle of Vicks vaporub into his basket and proceeded to the check out.

"Evenin', sheriff," John Westley said. He was the only employee in the store at the moment. "Bad out there, huh?"

"Pretty nasty." John lived in the apartment above the drug store and would stay open even if he sent home all the other employees.

"You heading home?"

Ian just nodded. He didn't want the whole town coming and gawking at Carrie like she was the elephant man. In fact, he was hoping the snow would keep it pretty well concealed until she was safely out of his custody. He didn't know why that bothered him. There was so much sadness in her eyes, so much pain. She was running from something, from someone. It was made clear by her reaction when he asked. He wanted to know who, what it was that had her so frightened. And as much as he hated to think it, he wanted to make sure whatever it was never got to her. He opened the door to the cruiser, tossing the bag onto the seat and headed back up to the station.

As soon as he pulled into the lot he knew something was wrong. Charlie's cruiser was gone and the door was flung open. He got out of the car cautiously, moving like a cat. He peaked around the door, his hand on the butt of his gun. The cell door was wide open and empty. Damn. He muttered another curse under his breath when he came around the door and caught sight of the phone, off the hook and on the floor, and a pair of legs clad in the same tan uniform he wore. He held his breath, hating himself. He had underestimated her. Badly. He broke the first rule of being a cop. Don't be fooled by appearances. He eased into the room slowly, scanning it for other occupants. Satisfied they were alone, he moved quickly to the younger man's side. He checked the vein in his neck, finding his pulse even and strong. There was an egg shaped knot on the side of his head.

"Charlie?" Ian said, giving him a rough shake.

Charlie made a sort of grunting noise and opened one eye. "Oh Jesus, I was hoping it was a nightmare." The words made him wince and he gingerly raised a hand to his skull.

"What happened?"

"She hit me with a phone."

Ian blew out a patient sigh. "How did she get out of the cell?"

"She had to pee." Charlie looked so disappointed with himself Ian almost felt bad for him. Almost. "I handcuffed her." He swallowed thickly. "Where is she?"

Ian gave him a humorless smile. "Damn if I know. She took your car though."

Charlie muttered a string of curses and let his head fall back against the army issue desk. There was a hollow thump as his head made contact with the sheet metal.

There it was again. She caught sight of it when she drove down Main Street. The dark blue Ford that had followed her from New York. She felt sick. She drove by slowly, trying not too bring to much attention to herself and doing her best to drive like a policeman, despite her hands being cuffed together. She couldn't stop and get directions back to the highway like this. The Ford was parked in front of the drugstore. A single, dark figure in the driver's seat. She couldn't see his face, couldn't make out anything more than his silhouette. But she knew who he was and what he was doing. Mario Viggianni. She tried to keep her eyes straight ahead while she passed his car, fear filling her body like icy cold water. Her eyes flickered to the rearview mirror as soon as she passed. His headlight flickered on and the car pulled forward, her heart leapt into her throat and she thought the frantic beating would kill her. And then he turned the wheel and made an illegal u-turn in the middle of the snowy road. She held her breath, his red brake lights glowing eerily in the night. He was testing her; the thought was sudden and frightening. Could he have seen her face in the light from the drugstore? Did he know it was her? She was in a police car for christsake. If she was a real cop she should pull him over. Instead, she pressed harder on the gas pedal and sped away from the taillights that were watching her like evil red eyes in the night.

She couldn't stop looking in the rearview mirror. She hadn't seen any lights following her in the fifteen agonizing minutes since she had sped away from the blue Ford. But it didn't stop the paranoia that was eating away at her. There were no signs for the highway anywhere and panic was starting to settle in. What exactly did she think she was doing? She stole a police car and was driving through a snow storm with handcuffs on. She had hit a police officer in the head with a phone. She had never been so panicked in her life. Escaping had seemed like a good idea when she was in jail, but now she was re-thinking all of it. She could go to prison for this, the thought was inky blank and horrible. She wanted to bang her head against the steering wheel, she wanted to go back five days and change everything that had started this. She wanted to tell her brother she couldn't help him. She didn't want anything to do with all of this. She didn't want the stupid disk. But the truth was she hadn't believed him when he had told her his story. She thought it sounded like a movie, some elaborate plot thought up to cover his own tracks, to make him look good, now she saw how wrong she was. And she was going to die because of it. Or spend the rest of her life in prison.

Headlights appeared in the rearview mirror and Carrie panicked, her heart thundered in her chest as she sped up, the tires skidded on the slippery road and the car spun wildly out of control. It jackknifed across the road into the other lane and slid down into the embankment, landing in a ditch. The curses were so automatic at this point she barely even heard herself. All she was thinking was she had to get out of the car, she had to get away. The headlights shone across a white field, the snow sparkled with ice crystals. It looked like there was a strip of forest beyond the field; if she could make it there she could lose him. But running across the open lot would make her a perfect target. Before she could think anymore the car door was jerked open.

"Jesus, woman! Either you need to stop running or learn how to drive in the goddamn snow."

Ian.

She had never been so happy to see anyone in her life. Her heart flooded with relief and she lunged at him, hitting him square in the chest. "Oh my god, thank god it's you."

"Don't try to play tricks with me," he growled, grabbing a hold of her handcuffs and starting to drag her up the embankment.

"My purse!" she shrieked. "I need my purse!"

He didn't answer, just kept pulling her behind him. His anger was so hot it almost steamed in the frigid air.

"I need my purse, Ian! Please! It's really important!"

His car was on, the headlights shooting two beams of bright light into the night sky and illuminating the fat snowflakes. He wasn't listening to her. Damn it! Before she could think about the consequences she blurted it out. "There's someone after me! I have a computer disk they want and it's sewn into the lining of my purse!"

He didn't react, just stuffed her into the back seat of the patrol car, slammed the door a little too hard, and then stood out in the snow with his hands on his hips, scowling. She could tell he was angry, really, really angry, but it didn't matter, she hadn't ever been happier to see a cop in all of her life.

Without a word he started back down the embankment and when he returned he was jangling the keys in one hand and her purse in the other. She let out a sigh of relief.

He slid into the front seat of the car. Without turning he spoke. "Who's after you?"

"I can't get-"

He cut her off, anger rolling off him in waves. "Who is after you? Don't mess around with me, Carrie."

"Mario Viggianni. He's a hit man."

"What's on this disk?"

"I don't know." The lie rolled off her tongue easily, but she held her breath as she watched him chew on his lower lip in the rearview mirror. "Is Charlie okay?" she asked softly.

"No, you hit him in the head with the phone. He has a lump the size of a grapefruit on his forehead."

She winced. "Sorry."

"Don't tell me, tell him," he growled, pulling out into the road and making a slow u-turn on the snowy road. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you're in?"

It seemed like a rhetorical question so she didn't answer, just sat back and closed her eyes. She wasn't sure how much trouble she was in, but she did know how much trouble she would have been in if it hadn't been Ian behind her.

He didn't speak another word until they got back to the station.

Charlie was sitting at the desk with his head in his hands when Ian dragged Carrie in behind him. She had looked small and meek and surprisingly happy to see him, but Ian wasn't going to let her fool him again. He was so angry at himself that the muscles in his neck and shoulders ached from the tension they held. He roughly shoved Carrie into the cell, leaving her handcuffed and slammed the old door. He gnawed on his lower lip and watched as Charlie struggled to lift his head and look at him.

"You got her," he said thickly. He licked his lips and winced.

"You need to go to the hospital?" Ian asked shortly. He was pissed off at everyone, mostly himself, but now that Carrie was back in custody he needed Charlie to understand what he did. He cocked his hip out and waited impatiently.

"No." Charlie struggled to sit up straight in his chair. "I'll be okay."

"You might have a concussion," Ian said warily, his eyeballs had stared hurting from glaring at everyone.

"Won't be the first time, and I lived through all the others."

"I'm sorry, Charlie," Carrie's voice came from inside the cell, it was soft and wary.

He waved her off. "It's okay, darlin', I learned my lesson." He gave his boss a timid look. "Maybe Ian will go easy on me."

"I didn't want to do it-" she started.

"I don't want to hear a word out of you," Ian snapped. "I'm taking Charlie home and when I get back we are going to have a little chat," he said meaningfully.

"You're leaving me here?" she leapt off the bed, shrieking. Her face was a mask of panic; her honey-colored skin seemed to pale to porcelain and her eyes seemed so big they would swallow him.

"Damn right I'm leaving you here," he growled.

"Alone?" She gripped the bars and stared out at him.

He gave her a humorless smile. "Come on, Charlie."

"You can't leave me here!"

"Watch me."

Charlie got up slowly, giving her an apologetic smile as he pulled on his coat.

"What if there's a fire!" she yelled as Ian opened the door.

He shrugged. "I guess we'll be having Barbeque."

"Don't leave me!" was the last thing he heard as he shut the door. He felt like a bastard, hell, he was a bastard. But he wasn't going to risk it again, he had proven he wasn't the cop he thought he was, and that was enough for one night. He was already worrying about her, what if there was a fire? What if whoever was after her knew she was there? She was a sitting duck. Guilt started gnawing at him like an ulcer as he slid into the car.

"What's this?" Charlie asked, holding up the pharmacy bag.

Ian snatched it away and stuffed it under the seat. "Nothing."

Charlie had the good sense to shut up and not smirk. "What are you going to do with her tonight?"

The thought was giving Ian a migraine. "I don't know." The roads were almost impossible, the snow was coming down in heavy sheets so dense it was difficult to see more than a few feet in front of the car. The plows had stopped running and the roads were covered with almost four inches of icy slush. He had planned on checking the local roads and then heading home, looking forward to having a day or so to himself, snowed in. His house was fairly secluded and it generally took a day or so for the plows to get there. Because the Stone Church Falls Police Department was more of a figurehead than anything else, when he was snowed in, the State Police took over. He remembered all the times he had cursed because there was nothing to do in Stone Church Falls, and he wished he could take them all back. All he wanted was to go home, but now he had to figure out what to do with Carrie McKenna.

Charlie groaned beside him. He was slumped against the window, his eyes closed.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Ian asked, his voice tinged with sympathy.

"No worse than any of my old football injuries." Charlie sat up a little straighter. "She's pretty strong, for a girl."

Ian chuckled without humor, testing the brakes as he reached Charlie's driveway. "I'll keep that in mind."

Carrie paced the cell. She hated this, she hated being so helpless, so trapped. She hated this stupid cell and all she could think was that Mario Viggianni had seen everything that had gone on and was just sitting, watching her squirm. Waiting to kill her. It would be just like the bastard.

The disk.

Her heart skipped a beat. Ian had the disk. He had tucked it into the front pocket of his jacket. Maybe she had some leverage; maybe she had some bargaining power. She took a shaky breath. Unless he shot first and asked questions later. It hadn't mattered that she had the disk when Mario killed her brother. Maybe she didn't have any leverage after all. She sank down on the edge of the cot. She wanted to kick something; she was so frustrated she was almost crying. She had been so happy to see Ian, but now she wondered if she really was any better off. He had been really mad, she didn't know him all that well but she didn't think he was the kind of person who got angry a lot. He seemed easy going, kind. Who was she kidding? If she told him the whole story he wasn't going to let her go. She was getting turned over to the State Police tomorrow and then the FBI was coming to pick her up so she could tell the whole terrible story to them. She shivered. The air was damp and clammy and climbed up her spine, she couldn't get warm and she didn't know whether it was really the cold, or if it was fear. Jesse Ross was an FBI agent. He could come to pick her up for her interview and then she would just disappear. Ten years later a fisherman would find her skeleton washed up on shore. She shivered again. She had to stop scaring herself, it wasn't productive. Oh Christ, she thought. She hadn't been productive all week, she kept thinking she was _productive_ but all she was doing was making it worse. Maybe she had to stop worrying about getting the disk to Robert Kelly and start worry about getting herself out of trouble. She sank down on the cot and buried her hands between her thighs to try to warm them. What could she tell the FBI? The regurgitations of her brother? She still didn't know if she knew the whole story, maybe he was still lying. All she knew was that she couldn't trust anyone. An image of Ian's face flashed in her mind and she didn't know why. She couldn't trust him either. It made her sad for some reason, everything was making her sad, she rushed to assure herself. The past five days had been the worst of her life, and it hadn't been an easy life up until that point. But now it was just exhaustingly terrible. She just wanted all of this to end. She was going to tell Ian the whole story when he got back. She would tell him and maybe he would know what to do. Doubt began eating at her again. Could she trust him? What did she really know about him? Nothing. He was just handsome. She rolled her eyes. She couldn't believe how shallow she was. This was a life and death situation and she wanted to trust him because he was gorgeous? Because maybe he would feel sorry for her? She mentally shrugged; she deserved someone to feel sorry for her. She was tired of feeling sorry for herself all the time. She got up again, pacing, watching the seconds tick by agonizingly slowly on the clock across from the cell. How far was he going? How long would he be gone? She couldn't stand this. Why wasn't he back? It had been twenty excruciating minutes. She didn't think she could bear another one.

And then the lights went out.

She instinctively dropped to the cold cement, holding her breath. The silence was deafening, the air inky black. There was no light, no moonlight filtering through the windows. Just pure blackness. Her heart was thundering against her ribs so loud she was frightened that whoever had cut the power could hear it. She held her breath, waiting.

Ian swore again as the cruiser crawled through the snow. He had helped Charlie into bed and in the time that took there was an inch and a half of snow on the roof of the car. The tires skidded sideways and the car slid slowly into a snow bank. He let out an impatient sigh. This was the third car that had gotten stuck in the snow tonight, this was ridiculous. He threw the car into reverse and gritted his teeth as the tires spun, shooting dirty snow out behind the car. He slumped against the steering wheel, banging his head against it. This was just about the worst night of his life. It had to snow. If it hadn't been snowing Carrie McKenna would be in central booking of the State Police and he would be at home in bed. He got out of the car, grabbed the pharmacy bag from under the seat, cursing himself as he did it and slammed the door.

The streetlights flickered and then went out. Great, just great. He pulled the flashlight from the car, took the keys and started up the hill towards the police station.

It seemed like it was forever. The only noise the click of the clock, counting off the last seconds of her life. She had to force herself to breath, to hold her hands still so that the cold metal of the handcuffs couldn't click. She was sitting on the floor, her back pressed against the wall. It didn't matter if her eyes were open or closed and she just closed them, they were sore from the strain of trying to see in the blackness.

The door blew open and she shrank back, balling herself as tightly as she could, dropping her head against her knees.

"Carrie?"

Oh sweet Jesus, it was Ian. The beam of a flashlight cut through the darkness and focused on her face, blinding her.

"You okay?" His voice was thick with concern.

She just nodded, shielding her face with her hand. She didn't want to talk, couldn't talk. She was too rattled, so relieved she wanted to cry.

"I have to go around back and turn on the generator. I'll be right back."

It was dark again. She was shaking, the cuffs were rattling. A moment later the lights flickered on with a hum and the electric heat kicked on. Ian flung open the door. His hat was covered with snow and his jacket was coated with a thick layer. He stomped to get the snow off his boots. "Looks like were in for the night," he said, unwrapping a scarf and tossing it onto the rack. He turned back to face her. "Jesus, woman, you alright?"He walked towards the cell and squatted in front of her. "Something happen?"

She was crying. She didn't even realize until he said something, and she struggled to remember when she had started. "No, I'm okay." She tried to keep her voice even but she couldn't. She wanted to sob.

"I can uncuff you if you want. There aren't anymore cars for you to steal; they're all in various snow banks."

She moved towards the cell and held her hands out. He unlocked the handcuffs and slipped them off. She rubbed her wrists where the metal had dug into her skin.

He shrugged out of his jacket, but she had the strange impression that he never took his eyes off her. "I'm gonna make some coffee you want some?" He measured out the coffee grounds and dumped them into the filter.

"Yes, please." She sat on her hands.

"Are you still cold?" he asked.

She shivered. "A little."

Concern tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You have a fever?"

She shrugged, touched by his subtle concern. She liked how he didn't push her. "I don't think so."

"Come here." He walked to the bars and held out his hand. She obediently met him, offering her forehead. His palm felt cold against her skin.

"You're burning up," he said with worry.

"I'm okay."

He walked back to the desk and opened a small white paper bag. "Before you pulled your little Harry Houdini number I stopped at the Pharmacy in case you were coming down with something." He thrust the bag through the bars and into her hands.

She opened the bag and her heart felt like it was breaking. Inside there was a packet of tissues, a box of cold and flu medicine, some Vicks vaporub and a bottle of cough syrup. "Why are you being so nice to me?" she wished she didn't sound so hopeless.

"You're my prisoner; I can't have you dying on me." He handed her a glass of water to take her pills with.

She bit her lip. "I'm sorry for everything that I did."

"Then you shouldn't have done it." He stood next to the coffee maker, waiting for it to finish before he poured two mugs.

"What happened to your car?" she asked belatedly.

"Slid off the road."

A smug smile overtook her face. "See, it's not just me."

"They were still plowing when you crashed." He sipped his coffee. "You don't have a good excuse."

She wrapped her fingers around the mug, trying to warm them. He watched her with concern. She didn't look well, her cheeks were flushed pink, her eyes bright, and her voice had taken on a huskiness that in any other situation would have been sexy as hell. She was distracted, going over in her head something that had happened, something that he was going to find out. But he wouldn't push her, they were here all night and he would get it out of her.

"You from New York originally?" he asked, dropping into the swivel chair behind his desk.

"No, all over." She looked so frail, vulnerable, sitting with her legs curled under her on that flimsy mattress. He wanted to get her more blankets but he didn't think there were any. He wanted to do something for her, something to ease the tension that reverberated in the air around her.

"Army brat?"

She shook her head, distracted. "Foster kid."

He stilled. "What happened to your parents?"

She looked up at him with lucid eyes. "They died."

"How?"

"Hearts stopped beating," she said, dropping her eyes back to the surface of her coffee.

He gritted his teeth, the cop in him wanting to keep probing, to get the answers to all the questions he wanted to ask, but the man in him clamped his mouth shut, knowing if he pushed her, she would shut down.

"How old were you?"

"A year and a half, too young to remember." Her eyes drifted to some far away place, some time, lost.

"That's too bad," he said. "I'm sorry."

She shrugged. "Shit happens."

She was silent and Ian felt himself remembering back to his own childhood. Looking back it had seemed so normal, only now did he see how lucky he was. He had grown up here, with a mother and father and a sister and brother and a three-legged dog he had found eating out of the dumpster, named Jack. They had lived in a big house with a white picket fence which had seemed to hold all the demons and disasters at bay, protecting them, shielding them. It had given him a firm sense of family, of belonging, of knowing there was always someplace he could call home where everyone knew him. He couldn't imagine not having that spine to depend on. He had always thought of himself as a strong person, but he wondered now how much of that he owed to ignorance. He had never been tested.

He hadn't known why he felt so protective of her until then. He had liked her spunk, her attitude, but there had been something stronger that had pulled him to her. Something that he couldn't put a name to, something he wouldn't put a name to. It didn't matter how he felt about her, tomorrow she was going to be transferred to the State Police and then it would be out of his hands. It wouldn't be his problem anymore.

"Is Charlie going to be okay?" she asked.

"Yeah, he used to play college football, I don't think it's the worst hit he's ever had. I put him to bed."

"He's probably going to have an awful headache."

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself." He sat back in his chair and tapped his pencil on his desk.

She sneezed. "I feel bad."

"Then you shouldn't have hit him in the head with the phone."

She sat her coffee cup on the floor and wrapped the old army issue blanket around her shoulders. She looked so tired.

"Maybe you should try to get some sleep."

She closed her eyes and rested her head against the wall. "Don't you want to know the whole story?"

"It can wait."

Tenderness had hit him square in the chest when he saw her face. The anger that he had initially felt when he had returned her to the station had slowly been eaten by the guilt he felt leaving her while he brought Charlie home. When the flashlight caught her face he had seen pure, raw fear. Fear like he had never seen. And now she just looked sad, so sad he could barely stand it.

She was beautiful. He could see the dilemma, the pull of exhaustion and the stubbornness not to show any weakness, any vulnerability to him. Her long lashes spread like fans across her cheeks, cheeks that were stained high across the delicate bone with fuchsia. Lips that were full, pulled together in a plump little knot as if she were pursing them. She was tired and sick and he was getting... he cut the thought off as quickly as it formed. He gritted his teeth at the tightening in his groin, furious with himself that he could be so selfish. She was sick, for christsake, and he was horny.

He took his coffee cup and walked to the cell, watching her. Her breathing had deepened; some of the tension seemed to be melting away from her. She was curled into a loose ball, her long legs tucked against her chest, and she looked almost peaceful. He chewed on his lower lip, wondering what would happen to her, what kind of trouble she was in. She was desperate, he could see that. He wanted to know what it was that had her so frightened. The disk, he had it in the front of his jacket pocket. He looked at her for a long time, watching to make sure she was asleep before he got it out and popped it into his computer. There was one file that was marked with only a date. He double clicked on the icon and a password prompt appeared. He copied the entire document to his computer and made a back-up before replacing the disk in his pocket.

Carrie had shifted so that she was lying on the cot with the blanket tangled around her shoulders. He wanted to go smooth it over her, to check her temperature. He had been a fool earlier when he had left her with Charlie, and he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. He walked to the window and watched the snow filter down in heavy, fat flakes. It showed no sign of letting up. How long would they be here? How long until he turned her over to the State Police? Maybe he should contact the FBI field office directly and they could come and get her without getting the State Police involved. He didn't know why the thought of her leaving made him feel the way it did. He didn't know why he wanted to protect her, why he wanted to smooth back the thick rippling curtain of her hair, why he wanted to feel the velvet of her skin. He turned so he could watch her, again struck by how badly he wanted to cover her with the blanket. He sat back at his desk, holding his head and wondering how he had gotten into this mess.

Carrie woke up slowly. She felt strange, like she was floating. She could hear every laborious breath she took, feel it throughout her body. She felt hot, weak. She sat up, disoriented and it took her a minute to piece together the events that had landed her in a jail cell.

"You feel better?"

She sat up straighter; the room was dark, lit only by a small desk lamp on Ian's desk that cast a cool white circle of light. He was looking up from a book, watching her carefully.

"What time is it?" she asked, her voice was hoarse, weak.

"A little after four." He set the book face down and leaned back in his chair.

She yawned and stretched her back. "Is it still snowing?"

He nodded his head. "How do you feel?"

"Better."

"Let me check your head." He got up and walked to the bars. She wrapped herself in the blanket and got off the bed slowly. "You're still warm, but I think the medicine brought your fever down."

Her eyes shone in the scant light, the high color in her cheeks had faded and her skin looked like gold. His hand trailed from her forehead and turned so that his fingers brushed across her cheekbone to her jaw. He wanted to trace the line of her lower lip, brush his thumb across the bud of her mouth, but instead he dropped his hand to his side.

"Do you want to know?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"Yeah, if you're up to it." God he wanted to touch her again. He gritted his teeth and balled his fists, hating himself and his lack of willpower.

She smiled. "I sort of owe it to you after all the trouble I put you through."

_Just let me trace your lips with my finger and you won't owe me anything_ , his mind whispered. He turned back to his desk. "If you're up to it," he repeated.

There was a folding chair in the corner and he set it next to the cell. She sat down in the corner, her back pressed against the bars, her head resting, her eyes glazed, wrapped in the old blanket.

"I have a brother-" she paused, an incredible wave of sadness washing over her, swallowing her, engulfing her. "Had a brother," she forced the words from her lips as if they tasted bad, her tongue seemed thick, her lips dry and she struggled to free the words from the prison of her mouth. "We got separated when we were in Foster care. We didn't have much contact, we tried to stay in touch but it was hard. After I was eighteen we tried to spend more time together, we were both living in New York and we tried to be a family. He called me a few months ago; he wanted to know if I wanted a bartending job at the restaurant he was working at. He was keeping the books. I didn't even know how he got a job like that, but I didn't ask. I worked there for a month or so with no problems, it was an okay job. Then I was offered a gig at this club in the Village and I quit. I didn't talk to Jason for a few months. Five days ago my brother came by my apartment, he was all freaked out. He said that the restaurant was laundering money for the mafia; he said he had heard talk about getting rid of him and he realized what a vulnerable position he was in. He contacted the New York Organized Crime unit of the FBI, particularly a guy named Jesse Ross. Ross was really interested in the information my brother had, but something freaked him out about the whole encounter so all he gave him was a blank disk. The next day he went into work and they had replaced his computer, said that the system had crashed. At this point he's pretty certain that Ross is on the take.

"Anyway, Jason gets freaked out by all of this, so he comes to me, tells me this whole story, which I don't believe, and then he gave me a disk. He tells me if anything happens to him, I'm supposed to bring the disk to a Nevada prosecutor named Robert Kelly. I guess he's putting together some case against some of the guys in Nevada and Jason said there were connections. My brother made me sew the disk into the lining of my shoulder bag so that I could keep it with me. He made a big fuss about it, I just thought he was trying to cover his own ass that he did something stupid and made up this whole story so he wouldn't be responsible for whatever bonehead thing he's in trouble for. He said the disk had information about the money laundering and tax evasion." She paused and her eyes dropped to her hands. When she continued her voice was strained. "Two days later the police found his body in an alley, he was shot in the back of the head. The police came while I was at work; when I got home the whole apartment had been torn apart, the couch cushions ripped open, and every book had been rifled through and dumped into a big pile. I guess before he died my brother told them I had the disk." A tear welled up in her eye and Ian cursed the spineless bastard of a brother that dragged her into this and then ratted her out, putting her in more danger just to save his hide.

She swallowed hard and chewed on her lip. "I didn't even stick around to find out if they were still there. I turned and walked out the door. I called a bouncer I knew and asked if he could get me a gun, he met me in midtown and helped me get that." She nodded towards the nine millimeter on his desk. "I didn't even stop to buy a toothbrush, I just started driving. It was the only thing I could think of, I didn't want to go to the police, I didn't know who I could trust. I was going straight to Nevada, but I started noticing this blue Ford sedan, it was always a few car lengths behind me, but it was there. I caught a look at the guy at a rest stop, his name is Mario Viggianni, he used to hang around the bar when I worked there. He was always a little creepy. I tried to lose him and I ended up getting lost, I was so scared that I just started taking turns and not even paying attention to where I was going and suddenly I'm entering the state of Minnesota. I was trying to get back to I-90 when my car slid up that embankment. Then you came along. After I hit Charlie in the head with the phone I was driving through town. I saw the blue Ford in front of the drugstore."

"Did he see you?" Ian didn't know why he believed her, but he did. It was a fantastic story, in any other situation he would have laughed in the person's face, but the emotions that ran through her face were too flawless, too honest. She was too frightened to think clearly, which explained why she kept doing stupid things.

She ducked her head. "I think so."

"So what now?" he asked. "The FBI wants to get the disk from you, that's why they want you for questioning."

She nodded slowly, there were tears running silently down her face. He hadn't noticed she was crying. His heart felt like it was breaking, he wanted to kiss away her tears, wanted to hold her against him, crush her against him and wipe away all the pain and damage the last five days had done. Before he knew what he was doing, his hand reached out between the bars and cupped her cheek. Her eyes drifted closed and she tilted her face into his fingers. He smoothed the stain of tears with his thumb, letting his head fall forward against the bars so that he was near enough to smell her, to feel her breath in great shuddering bursts. Near enough to absorb some of her pain. His eyes drifted closed against the wall of despair that filled him. He wanted her. Her small hand covered his, trapping it against the smoothness of her cheek, his thumb flickered over the bottom of her lip, running the pad across the ragged flesh. He wanted to taste her; he should have known touching her would never be enough. He wanted to claim her mouth; he wanted to feel the slickness of her tongue against his. Tears streamed down her cheeks in a hot flood and suddenly he felt like he would do anything in the world to stop them.

"You have to go to the FBI," he said softly against her cheek. He couldn't bring himself to release her, she felt so good he wanted to feel every inch of her body pressed against his. But he would settle for his hand framing her face. _And that's it,_ a stern voice in his head demanded. What if she was lying, what if she were Meryl Streep and she just laid the biggest lie of her life on him and he was drinking it up like a sucker? He pulled his hand free from hers and got up from the uncomfortable metal chair. He started pacing in front of the cell. She sat watching him with huge eyes the color of toffee. He hated himself, hated the situation.

"I can contact the FBI field office here in St. Paul; I don't think there will be too much corruption there."

"Will they transport me back to New York?"

He shook his head. "You're not under arrest. Just give them the disk and tell them what you told me, they can't keep you. And you have the right to choose who you want to talk to as a witness. The New York FBI might be a little ticked off, but there's not much they can do."

"I can stay here until the FBI comes?"

"Yeah, if you don't mind the-" he gave a wave, pausing before he finished, "accommodations."

"Thank you," she looked so relieved she was almost glowing.

"We still have the snow to deal with; we have to wait for that to clear up. They aren't going to hustle out to get you, you're only a witness and you're secured. If I didn't think you would do something stupid I'd let you drive yourself."

"What about what I did?" she asked, her eyes wide with fear.

"You mean the gun and Charlie?" He stopped pacing and wrapped his arms around his chest. "If the rest of your story checks out you don't have to worry about them."

She seemed to chew on that for a minute. "I think I should have to do something, for Charlie at least." She gnawed on her lip, she was driving him crazy, he could barely suck in a breath. He looked away. "I really hit him hard."

"Make him some brownies."

"Can't bake."

Ian shrugged. "Don't worry about Charlie, think of it like a lesson he needed to learn. You taught him something that no matter how many times I tell him not to be fooled by appearances he would never have learned."

"What about you?" Her voice was rough, sensual. "Are you fooled by appearances?"

He stopped pacing, turning to look at her. He couldn't make his mouth work. He wanted to say very firmly, _no, I'm not_ , but for some reason his jaw had locked. But he was lying, of course he was fooled by appearances, she had fooled him. Or had she?

"I would say that maybe I'm not the cop I thought I was," he said slowly.

Her eyes held him captive. "Why's that?"

"Because I want to kiss you," the words escaped from his lips before he thought through the consequences. He couldn't do this, it was illegal, immoral and... And he would have given his right arm to brush his lips across hers.

Carrie felt every hair on her body stand on end; her arms were covered with goose bumps at his words. She had never felt so inexplicably drawn to someone. When his hand had touched her face it was more comforting than anything she had ever felt, there was something about him that made her feel protected, safe. There was something that made it okay to be frightened, when before she had always had to be strong because there was no one else to be strong for her. She could feel the battle inside him, and she already knew what his decision would be. He was too good, too honorable, too strong to give into lust. No matter that it was eating her alive like fire ants. No matter all she wanted was his hands back on her skin. That his eyes were burning into her, scorching her with raw desire and the incredible strength that reined it in. Her fingers itched in anticipation of what would never happen. She wanted to brush back the wild mane of curls, wanted to feel the rough stubble on his cheek. Wanted to taste him.

"I'm going out in the snow," he said gruffly, obviously upset with himself, tearing his eyes away from her. "I'll be right back."

He slammed the door behind him and she was left alone. She felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She had told him and she had the strangest feeling that she would be alright.

Ian paced the front of the building, he was so angry at himself. He felt like he didn't know himself anymore, he didn't act like this. He could have any single woman in the town he wanted, hell, Patty Miller was practically camped out on his doorstep, but he didn't want any of them. Never had. He wanted Carrie McKenna, who at this moment was locked in his jail cell. Wanted her worse than he had ever wanted anyone and there was no reason why. She was beautiful, but not in a striking way. Her vulnerability and resilience gave him a one-two punch he couldn't handle. He wanted to protect her, but more than that he wanted to throw her over his shoulder and carry her home. He could see her laid out on his bed, her smooth hair rippling out like a cascading waterfall around her, her naked flesh the color of honey and just as sweet as he tasted every inch of her. Jesus, this wasn't helping. He groaned, he needed a cold shower, he needed to go back in time, and he needed to stop caring so much about everything and everyone. He let out a sigh, it was damned cold outside, his breath came out like the exhaust pipe, in great white puffs. He had to go back inside before his nose fell off. But he couldn't go inside yet, all the fantasizing in his head had put him in a condition that was all too apparent in his tan uniform pants. He leaned against the wall of the building and thought about his grandmother.

When Ian came back inside, Carrie was asleep on the mattress. She looked peaceful, content almost, a delicate smile playing on those gorgeous lips. He stood for a long time watching her, memorizing every curve of her face, the line of her body beneath the blanket. She would be gone tomorrow. He was going to make sure of it.

Chapter Three

When Carrie woke up it was daylight. The mattress had to have been left over from some medieval torture device, but nonetheless she had never slept so well. She had been up for almost three days, living on coffee and she felt as though she could have had slept for a year. She yawned and stretched, sitting up straighter and wrapping the blanket around her shoulders. Her eyes felt a little puffy from crying the night before. Ian was sitting at his desk, he looked gruff and a little like a grizzly bear with the dark stubble that had taken over the lower part of his face. His eyes were red rimmed and he didn't look happy.

"I can offer you coffee, but there's no food here."

She smiled. "I don't eat breakfast anyway."

He got up from his chair slowly. "Most important meal of the day," he said darkly.

"Is that why you're so grumpy?"

"Nope," he said pouring her coffee.

She got up to accept the coffee, wondering if he was still beating himself up over last night. She wanted to say something to him, to show him that she had felt the same way, that she didn't blame him and that she almost wished that he had kissed her, that he had opened the cell and... She cut off the thought as a blush rose up into her cheeks. She sat back down on the cot and sipped her coffee.

"I called the field office in St. Paul; they are going to send someone around noon. It's about an hour drive."

"And then?" she hoped she didn't sound as hopeless as she felt.

"And then you can do whatever you want." He cracked his neck. His coldness surprised her; the nonchalant attitude was such a contradiction from the tenderness of the night before.

She blistered, sitting up a little straighter, setting her jaw. "Fine."

He rolled his neck to look at her, study her. His eyes seemed bored, as if taking her in were a chore. He gritted his teeth. "I wouldn't suggest going back to New York."

"And what would you suggest I do?" she snapped back.

He pressed his lips together. "You don't have anywhere to go?"

"Forget it." She got up from the bed and folded the blanket, straightened her clothes. She hated this cell again, hated this situation. Hated herself for getting the wrong idea from whatever intimacy she thought there had been last night. She was stupid, and mad at herself for being stupid. What would he want with her anyway? She wasn't the kind of person that people were ever struck with; she was too plain, too ordinary for him to notice. She was in jail for godssake, and the Mafia was after her. She wanted to kick herself for being so naïve.

"You feel better?" he asked, his tone softening a little.

"Yeah, fine," she said distantly. She didn't want to talk anymore, she was anxious to get out of here now that she felt so humiliated. She hoped her cheeks weren't flushed and that the odd disorientation was the residue of her fever. She sniffled again and then sneezed, twice.

He looked over at her; concern peppered with annoyance filled his eyes. Maybe he did care and he just didn't want her to know. Oh for godssake, she thought. Snap out of it.

"You sure you're okay?"

"I said I was fine!" she snapped, her voice louder than she had expected, more forceful than she had meant it.

He looked at her, a muscle in his jaw twitching. He looked like he wanted to say something, but instead he went back to the paperwork on his desk.

She looked up at that clock. It was a little after eleven. She wondered if she could bear it until the FBI agents came.

As soon as she was gone, he missed her. He kept telling himself he didn't; but the station felt strangely empty without her. Her presence had been imprinted everywhere and he couldn't get her out from under his skin. She had kept quiet until the two agents arrived to pick her up. She had taken her things from him without so much as a word and marched out of the station without looking back. He knew he'd been a jerk but he couldn't let himself get too involved. He didn't know why he cared so much about what happened to her, but he knew he shouldn't. He had to pull away before he got too tangled up in her web, it was easy for him. He was too quick to jump into things and to be truthful, the reaction he had had to her had frightened him. He had never been so drawn to someone, he had never felt the overwhelming rush of pleasure he had felt just from touching her cheek. He was afraid if he started to care he would be pulled under and when he realized where he was, the current might be too strong for him to escape.

He gritted his teeth, locking his jaw, he didn't feel like himself, his face was covered in stubble; he'd spent the night awake, staring at her, willing himself not to care about her and her sad story. What if it was all lies? He couldn't afford that. Not after the night he had last night. He wanted to believe her, just about as much as he wanted to take her home and make love to her over and over until he was drunk on the feel of her, the taste of her. So drunk he wouldn't be able to stand the look of her. Then he would be rid of her and it would be over. But that wasn't going to happen, he reminded himself. She was gone. He was going to go home, shave, take a shower and get some sleep. Something about that didn't make him feel the way it should, it made him feel empty, like he could see every day of the rest of his boring, lonely life spread out in front of him. He let his head fall back against the chair and wondered why he felt so confused. He never got confused. He had always felt like every part of his life was planned, everything fit into its place and ultimately, he was in control over everything.

Control; it was hard for him to let go of it. Even harder when he had no choice. That was what scared him the most, that he had no control, no will power when he was near her. And he couldn't let that happen. He had to put her out of his head. She was gone and there was nothing he could do even if he wanted her back.

At that moment the door opened and a short, stocky man entered the station. He was built like a prizefighter, wide shoulders and a barrel chest. His dark, olive skin was scarred with pock marks and his deep set eyes glowed an eerie pale blue. He flashed a smile; his teeth seemed too bright, too white. They were big, filling his mouth.

"Sheriff Caldwell?" His voice was New York Street; Ian's senses went on high alert.

"Yeah?" He sat forward, studying the man. He wore an expensive suit, a long dark coat hung to his shins. His shoes were wingtips, shiny and seemed to have made their way through the snow unscathed.

"I'm Special Agent Jesse Ross; I'm here to pick up Carrie McKenna?" He flashed his mouth full of caps again, but the smile didn't extend to his cold eyes.

"Carrie McKenna?" Ian asked nonchalantly, sitting back and locking his fingers and resting them on his head.

"I was notified she was here." He looked up at the empty cell and then back to Ian expectantly, never losing his smile.

"Notified by whom, exactly?"

For a moment he appeared flustered. "You, I assume. You contacted the field office."

"She left about an hour ago."

"Left? With who?"

"I thought she was only wanted for questioning, so I let her go with directions to the nearest field office."

Ross's smile faltered. "That wasn't a good idea, Mr. Caldwell."

"Sheriff Caldwell, Mr. Ross. In this county I make the decisions. And according to procedure I can't detain a witness."

"But surely you can detain her for an illegal-" Ross stopped abruptly.

"Careful, Agent Ross. Don't let the cat out of the bag," Ian warned. He felt dangerous, angry.

Ross's gaze darkened, intensified. "I don't know what you mean, Sheriff."

"All you need to know, Ross, is she's gone."

"I am the agent on the case and she is a witness. I need to talk to her." Tension hummed in the air, waiting, as if it were holding its breath.

"Nearest field office is in Minneapolis."

"Minneapolis?"

Ian stared at him, holding his gaze. "Yup, Minneapolis. You need directions Agent Ross?"

"I think I'll find it alright. Thank you for your time, Sheriff."

"Not at all. Sorry I couldn't be of more assistance."

"You've been more helpful than you know," Ross said cryptically. He was halfway to the door before he turned. "She didn't say anything to you, about..." he let the words trail off.

Ian lifted his eyebrows innocently. "About?"

Ross smiled again. "Anything." He gave a short shrug, all innocence and charm.

"No, she was pretty quiet all night. Sure didn't like being cooped up."

"I'm sure she didn't. You have a nice afternoon, sheriff. Thank you again for your time."

"No problem." He counted thirty seconds before he sprung out of his chair and looked out the window. The car was just disappearing from sight down the road. It was too far from sight to get the license number, but he got the make and model and color. He was gambling on a huge long shot, that Ross thought the same way he did. He was hoping Ross caught onto him and thought he was telling him Minneapolis because it was Minneapolis but Ian was trying to make him think it was St. Paul. Whatever happened he didn't have very much time. He called Charlie as he shrugged into his jacket and told him he was going to be gone for a few hours. He activated the call forwarding system that they used when no one was at the station so that calls went directly to the State Police dispatcher and he locked up behind him. He left the Cruiser and got into his Jeep Cherokee, spinning the tires in the deep snow as he backed out of the driveway and sped off towards St. Paul.

Carrie stood on the platform of the bus station. She was freezing. She hated Minnesota more than she had ever hated anything in the whole world. It was so unbelievably cold it had seeped into her bones and she doubted she could ever get rid of it. She kicked her bags closer together at her feet and balled her hands, pulling them up into her jacket sleeves. The FBI agents had been pleasant, a little wary of her, but they had accepted the disk and now it was out of her hands. Maybe. They had said that she needed to go back to New York, to turn herself over to the FBI Organized Crime unit in case they needed her to testify. She had gone over her story what seemed like a thousand times, and they just kept asking her the same questions that she didn't know the answers to. She was tired and alone and she didn't know what to do. She sure as hell wasn't going to go back to New York, it was too dangerous. But she didn't know where else to go. She _had_ no where else to go. She was running out of money and she didn't know what she was doing. She couldn't go to Nevada because she didn't have the disk anymore, but they had promised to send it to Robert Kelly immediately. She didn't care what happened anymore, she was just tired. Tired of everything. She was going to get out of this godforsaken city and then she was going to find a hotel and sleep for a week straight. Then she would get her car back and drive home and try to piece together the shards of her life. She let out a sigh that turned into a white puff when it touched the air, she didn't want to go back to Stone Church Falls and get her car because she didn't want to see Ian. Well, she did want to see him, which was the problem. He said he'd have the car towed to the shop as soon as the truck could get there and she could go pick it up, but just the thought of being close to him made her spine tingle.

She jumped up and down and peered down the road again looking for the bus which was already six minutes late. No sign of it. She let out another sigh.

A Jeep Cherokee pulled up to the stop and the passenger door flung open. "Get in!" Ian ordered. He was still unshaven and his eyes were burning.

She was so startled she stumbled backwards, staring at him. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Just get in the car." He was impatient, aggravated.

"I'm not getting in the car with you after the way you treated me this morning. I said I would be fine without you-"

"Jesus Christ, Carrie! Get in!" His eyes changed, he was worried about her. Something happened. Her head cleared of all her insecurities and she grabbed her bag and tossed it onto the floor, climbing into the passenger seat. He reached across her to slam the door.

"Are you okay?" he asked breathlessly. He looked her over, his eyes taking her in, searching for any signs of injury, hurt. It touched her.

"Fine, what happened?"

He didn't answer her right away. His brow creased as he scanned the road in front of him and checked the rearview mirror. He pulled out into traffic, his eyes taking in everything around them. "Duck down," he said tensely.

She obeyed, her heart thudding so loud that it blocked out all the traffic noise. He slid a pair of sunglasses on. "Just stay down there until we get out of the city."

"What happened?" she asked again.

"Your buddy Jesse Ross stopped by, looking for you." He was distracted; his eyes never stopped scrutinizing the road around him.

She popped up, but his hand shot out and pressed her head back down. "What?" she shrieked. "He's here?"

He left his hand on her hair, his fingers spreading out, threading through the long strands. It sent a shiver through her.

"He's not working for the FBI," he said. "That much is for sure. You gave them the disk?"

She felt dizzy from the contact, his fingers were pressed into her scal, she focused on breathing, drawing ragged gasping breaths through her lips. "Yes," she hissed. She wanted him to stop so she could focus, so she could think, but she couldn't bring herself to pull away. Instead, she asked, "What's going to happen to me?"

She turned her head so she could look up at him. His mouth was a grim line, his teeth clenched.

He swallowed, taking his time before he answered. "I don't know."

And he didn't. He had acted on instinct; he had to get to her before Jesse Ross. On the drive to St. Paul he had made a pact with himself, he was going to bring her to his house until this blew over, but only on the condition he promised himself he kept his hands, and everything else, to himself. He was doing this for her, not himself. He wasn't going to be a selfish bastard. He had to prove to himself he was strong enough to resist her. He looked down at her, noticing his hand tangled in her hair, and he pulled his hand away quickly, as if it had been scalded, cursing himself.

As soon as they were outside of the city he let her sit up. Because the roads were still slippery and the snow drifts continued to blow across the asphalt, there weren't many cars on the road and he was confident he would see Jesse Ross's car.

"Where are we going?" she asked. She had shrunk against the door of the car, looking small and frightened.

"My house." He glanced in the rearview mirror again. The road was empty behind him. He looked back over at her, tenderness tugging at his heart. Her eyes met his, big and scared and helpless, he held her gaze for a second before she looked away.

"Your house?" she asked, her voice husky. She licked her lips and looked down at her hands.

"Do you have somewhere else to go?" he asked.

"No." She looked out the window, knotting her hands in her lap. "I'm scared," she said softly. She glanced over at him, waiting for his answer, gauging his reaction. He knew an admission like that was hard for her; it surprised him that she had made it.

"I won't let anything happen to you, I promise."

She didn't know why she believed him, but she did.

She immediately liked Ian's house. It was made of wood that looked like it had been painted with caramel and the afternoon sunlight; it seemed to glow with warmth. It was set back a ways from the road, with a long porch than ran the front of it and a wide staircase in the middle. It was two stories, with clusters of tall windows that reflected the snowy landscape like paintings hanging on the wall. He led the way up the stairs; he had been quiet the rest of the ride, pulled in by his own thoughts, his eyes locked on the road like two laser beams. He unlocked the door and motioned her ahead of him.

She was hit by a blast of warm air; it felt so good she sighed.

"It's a little warm in here. When I'm at the station I have to keep the heat up so the pipes don't freeze."

"It feels wonderful," she said, untangling the long scarf from her neck and looking around. The house was beautiful, the interior the same wood as the outside, one large room dissected by wooden posts. The kitchen was to her right, and Ian ducked inside to turn off the slow run of water from the faucet. There was an old 1950's enameled stove and the sink was white enamel with ridges and groves on the built in counter. The wall behind the sink and stove was dotted with Old Dutch tiles interspersed with plain white ones. There was a small table and two chairs that held a potted plant and a stack of mail. Ian dropped his keys on the table. The area she stood in now had a high ceiling and lots of light, with no furniture, only a long bench that doubled as a storage cabinet and a row of wooden pegs above it on which she hung her coat. She kicked her boots off into a pile of winter shoes, relishing the feel of warm wood beneath her heavy wool socks. In front of her was the living room, two thick, overstuffed couches, and a handmade rag rug filled the floor in front of them and there were clusters of pictures on the walls, old pictures, sepia, daguerreotypes of stern looking Irish people. The house had the feel of home like no other place she had ever been. Its warmth, its comforts seemed to radiate outwards to anyone who stopped in. The second floor had a railing that could look down on the entryway, lending to the open, spacious feel of the house.

"Hungry?" he asked. He had been watching her, his eyes were smiling at her, amused at her awe. She smiled out of nervousness, she felt like she had snuck into a part of his soul and was terrified at being caught. She wondered if anyone had ever felt that way in her apartment. Probably not.

"Mmm, yes. Starved. I got this crappy bagel in St. Paul, couldn't eat it. It was like chewing on a tire."

"Can't compete with a New York bagel, huh?"

"Nope, not a chance," she said with a wolfish smile. "Do you think I could take a shower?" she asked quietly. Could it be almost four days? She grimaced. She hadn't even looked in the mirror, what did she look like? She wanted to curl up and die.

"Yeah, sure. Upstairs, first door to your left. I'll make you something to eat." He glanced up at her, catching the desolate face. "What's wrong?"

She wasn't going to tell him she thought she looked like crap and probably didn't smell much better so she sniffled a little. "My pajama's, I forgot I don't have anything comfortable to wear. I always put on my pajamas after a shower."

He looked down at her, brushing his knuckles across her cheekbone. "I might have something you could wear."

Maybe she didn't look that bad, she thought, warmth spreading outwards from his touch.

She started up the spiral staircase in the right hand corner of the living room with him on her heels. She opened the door to the bathroom while he disappeared into what she thought was his bedroom and returned a minute later with a pair of flannel drawstring pants and a T-shirt. She thanked him and retreated into the bathroom. She realized suddenly it was the first time she had been alone in two days. She let her head fall against the wooden door and let out a sigh. The shower felt incredible, she turned the hot water on full blast and washed her hair twice. She recognized the spicy scent of bergamot in the shampoo, the same scent she smelled on Ian, it was comforting.

She was finally forced to get out when the hot water ran out. She dried herself with a rich, navy colored terrycloth towel and combed out her hair before twisting it into a knot at the nape of her neck. She slipped into Ian's pants, pulling the drawstring tight so they wouldn't fall down and slid the shirt over her head, finding it hung to almost to her knees. She balled up the rest of her clothes and carried them downstairs.

He realized he had never seen her without her jacket on, had never seen her wide shoulders, long muscles. She had an athletic body, defiantly feminine, but lean with proud shoulders that tapered to a tiny waist and slim hips. His pants hung off of her, pooling at her feet so that they completely covered them. Her hair was damp, pulled back from her face. She looked cute. He never thought she would look cute, but she did.

She offered him a smile that took up her whole face.

"Feel better?" he asked. He was sitting at the table with a cup of coffee, sorting through mail.

"Way better, now I'm starving."

"I didn't make you anything because I didn't know what you wanted, but there's turkey and-" he started to get up, but she shooed him back down.

"Sit. I can make it. Between being in jail and that stupid car I haven't had much movement in the past few days."

He sat back in his chair. "Everything's in the fridge, breads in the box."

She turned to look at him. "You have a bread box?" she asked incredulously.

"Yeah, so?"

She shook her head, a faint smile on her lips as she pulled out turkey, lettuce and mayonnaise. She separated two slices of bread from the loaf and smoothed a thick layer of mayo on each slice before piling it with meat, lettuce and onion.

"Not worried about heart disease," he commented, watching her.

Just to spite him she slapped on another coating of mayonnaise before dropping the knife into the sink. "Considering my current life expectancy, I think heart disease is the least of my problems." She pressed the sandwich closed and took a big bite.

She took two more bites before she got a plate and a can of Diet Pepsi from the fridge.

"You want a glass?" he asked.

"No, I like cans." She took a long drink before she sat across from him and finished her sandwich. He liked watching her, liked that she drank out of a can, liked that she didn't eat like a bird.

"I'm still hungry," she said.

He tried not to smile. "Look in the cabinets."

She got up and rooted around before she came up with a bag of chips and sat back down with the bag. She tucked her legs up against the table. "Happy now."

He smiled. "If only most women were so easy to please," he muttered under his breath.

"You have a beautiful house," she commented, rolling the top of the chip bag closed.

"Thanks," he said absently. "I built it."

She stared at him. God, he really was perfect. "You built it?"

He glanced up. "Yeah, me and my brother."

She looked around, trying to find a gaping hole in a wall or a missing plank in the flooring. Nothing, it was perfect, just like the man who built it. Jeeze, he deserved Patty. They could have little perfect children together who took all the extracurricular activities at school and did volunteer work at nursing homes.

"I wanted to be an Architect for about two semesters. Then it was art history, I wanted to be a Dutch art historian, I actually did my minor in that after I switched to Criminal Justice."

She wrinkled up her nose. "I hated school, barely made it through high school."

"Really?" he asked, surprised.

"I think I might have ADD." She reopened the bag of chips and ate a few more.

"So what do you do?" he asked.

"I'm a bartender." She closed the chips again even though she really wanted more.

"What else?" he sat back. "You have hobbies?"

She looked around the house, the afternoon light spilling like gold through the tall windows. "Nothing like this."

He smiled absently at her. "Doesn't matter, I just want to know what you like to do."

She shrugged. "I don't know. I always liked sports when I was in high school, but now I don't do that. I like hiking." She looked at him expectantly.

"I like hiking."

"I like kayaking, too. I like outside stuff."

"It took me three years," he said suddenly, as if he was admitting something. "It was only supposed to take one."

She smiled. "Well, it doesn't matter because I couldn't build a house in thirty years."

"Where do you work?" he asked. "Is it a nice place?"

"No," she said. "Anyway, I probably don't work there anymore. I've been gone for week without calling." She grinned. "It's a hell of a place though, a punk club in downtown Manhattan. Live music four nights a week."

"Sounds great."

She nodded, bobbing her head with pride. "It is, was." She let out a deep sigh.

"They'll take you back."

"You don't know big Joe."

He smiled at her again, that subtle, enigmatic smile. "I know you."

She was silent for a minute, looking down at her hands. "Why did you come to St. Paul?"

He set down the stack of mail and pushed it to the side of the table and then rested his elbows on the wood. "Because you were in danger."

She nodded; she couldn't look him in the eye. She wanted it to be something else, something more... personal. She shook off the feeling, standing and gathering her plate and soda can and walking to the sink.

"Well, I appreciate it. I really didn't know where I was going to go."

It seemed so strange to him, not to have anyone. He could always depend on his parents, his brother and sister. He had a network of friends from college scattered across the country. She didn't have any of that.

"There isn't anywhere you could go?"

She shrugged, rinsing the plate. "I guess there are places, just most of them are in New York. Others..." she paused and then shrugged. "I wouldn't want to go back to."

He wondered if she was talking about foster parents, but he didn't ask. He got up and poured himself another cup of coffee. Standing beside her he was struck by how small she was, there was something about her presence that made her seem stronger, taller. He looked over at her. She was swallowed up by his clothes, making her look even smaller.

"What?" she said.

"You're cute."

She stopped, looking up at him in shock. "Cute?"

He nodded and smiled. "Yeah, you're cute."

She smiled a little. "No one's ever said I was cute before."

"Well, you are." He flicked her nose with his finger; it turned up ever so slightly and was dusted lightly with freckles he hadn't noticed before.

"Thanks," she said. "You drink too much coffee."

He laughed. "And here I thought I was getting a compliment."

"You don't need any compliments," she muttered.

"Well, I do need to stop drinking so much coffee. I didn't get any sleep last night."

"I guess desperate times call for desperate means."

"I have to go shower and shave but you used all the hot water."

She had the grace to look sheepish. "Sorry, I was making up for lost time."

"It's fine, I don't mind." He rubbed his hand across the stubble on his jaw. "Should be hot by now, anyway.

He left his mug in the sink and she rinsed it and placed it in the rack. She heard him moving around upstairs and took the time to look around the house. There were books everywhere; two large bookcases were situated in the living room, filled with books on every subject. There were more books in the office off the living room along with a computer. She sat down on the couch, sighing as she sank into the plush cushions. She loved this house, loved it even more now that she knew he had built it. It was comfortable and beautiful without being presumptuous, everything fit so perfectly together it was like music, each note was where it should be, everything had its place. She leaned forward to look at the book on the coffee table. Vermeer, it said in thick letters. It was a thin book, tall and wide. She ran her finger over the glossy cover. It was a scene of a city, an old city, looking out over the water. The light gleamed off the houses with the same warmth that it came in Ian's windows. There were two tiny women in the foreground and she pulled the book closer to her. She had never liked art, but there was something so beautiful in the painting, the detail, the brush strokes. She lifted the book so she could see it better and before she knew what she was doing it was an inch away from her face.

"I could get you a magnifying glass."

She jumped, she hadn't heard him come up behind her and she dropped the book, embarrassed.

He sat on the back of the couch and looked over her shoulder at the book. "You like it?"

"The painting?" she asked stupidly. "Uh, yeah. I do."

"It's Johannes Vermeer. He was always my favorite."

"What is it?" She wished she had gone to college or read a book once in a while.

"It's Delft, the city he lived in. Beautiful, isn't it? He wasn't a very fast painter; he completed only thirty-five works. Look through the book, you'll like it."

He moved away from her, into the office, but the clean scent of him lingered, cloaking her. She opened the book, entranced with the paintings, for the first time noticing the rich textures of the fabrics, the subtle light, the details whose complexity would be missed if you didn't look close enough. There was text, describing the circumstances of each painting, aspects of Vermeer's life.

When she finally closed the book and looked up she realized how late it was, the sunlight pouring through the windows was long and a rich amber color like whiskey. She studied the light, how it changed the way things look, how it brightened and deepened the colors at the same time.

"Makes you look at things differently, doesn't it?" he asked from the doorway to his office.

"I never noticed light before." She was suddenly tired. She stretched like a cat, arching her back and yawning. "I've tuckered myself out with all that thinking."

"You can take my bedroom."

"I'm fine down here." She patted the sofa.

"My mama raised me a gentlemen. You take the bed."

"No, I've already been enough trouble. I can't put you out of your bed."

"Then shove over, because I'm sleeping down here too."

A smile played on her lips. "Okay, I'll take the bed, tonight."

His expression sobered. "Tomorrow we talk. About what we're going to do."

She nodded; in that case she was defiantly taking the bed. This wasn't a conversation she was looking forward to having and if she had to, she wanted to have it on a good night's sleep. She was scared, and she _hated_ being scared. It made her feel helpless, helpless and small, like when she was a little girl.

She followed him upstairs. He found a toothbrush for her in the bathroom, it had DR. WAINWRIGHT GATSBY, DDS written on the side. It was hot pink.

"Couldn't bring myself to use it," he said, holding it up for her.

"Wainwright Gatsby? What kind of name is that?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, I think he made it up."

She snorted.

His bedroom glowed, the color spilling from the windows was glorious and she suddenly realized it was how he meant it to be, that he had built it to capture the most beautiful light of the day. So that it looked like the paintings he loved so much.

His bed was low to the ground, a wooden frame. She pulled back the comforter, it was soft down and dark blue, the sheets crisp cotton, and then slid between them. And before she could test the comfort of the foam she was asleep, more tired than she had ever

been.

Chapter Four

Ian woke up early. Despite not sleeping at all the night before, his sleep had been restless. He couldn't stop thinking about the way she had looked at those paintings, how wide her eyes gotten, how close she would hold the book so that she could take in every detail as if she were devouring it. The way that she had gotten it, the way that she understood the beauty of light and how it could change things so dramatically; there were very few people that understood that. But she had. He had work to do, but he had still stood in the doorway, her attention so rapt on the book that she didn't notice him, just watching her absorb it. He had always loved Vermeer, he had been the artist who had most influenced him, and he loved watching her look at the painting for the first time that he had seen a million times. It was as if he could see them with her eyes, pure, unaffected by dry lectures and lessons on technique.

She was a curious creature, he couldn't place her, couldn't put his finger on what it was that made her so... unique. She was complex, a bundle of emotions so tangled and interwoven they could not be separated. It had taken everything in him to hold back from touching her, and when he had it had been so automatic and natural that he couldn't have helped it if he tried. He wanted her, God knew that. But there was something else, something more than just wanting, he liked being near her.

He got up and poured himself a glass of juice, remembering Carrie's words the night before. He stuck two pieces of bread into the toaster and stood watching them brown while he tried to figure out what he was going to do. He needed to go down to the station, but first he wanted to make sure Carrie would be safe. That had been one of the main reasons he had wanted to sleep downstairs, but he didn't want to tell her that, didn't want to scare her anymore than she was. He planned on walking around the perimeter of the property; the house was located in half a bowl, with hills rolling up around it. He would be able to see the tracks in the snow if someone had been watching them yesterday. The air was crisp and cold, biting. He trudged through the icy crust, up the hill, his eyes scanning the snow for signs of footprints, tire tracks. There were none, but the cold air soothed his frayed nerves and served as a better wake-up than coffee. He stomped off the snow from his boots on the porch.

He walked quietly up the stairs, pushing open his bedroom door. She was fast asleep; her hair had come loose and framed her face. He stood watching her for a few minutes; he liked the way she looked in his bed...would have liked it better if he could climb in next to her. She would be warm and soft, fit perfectly against him. It almost hurt to leave her.

He scrawled her a note and then set the alarm, feeling guilty to leave, but he needed to. He drove the cruiser to the station and parked it next to the shiny silver Lincoln. He drew in a sharp breath and took a minute before he pushed through the door.

"'Morning, Sheriff," Jesse Ross said from the wooden bench that ran along the wall.

Ian's eyes flickered to Charlie who was sitting behind his desk. The swelling had gone down, but he still looked pretty rough.

"Agent Ross," he said, pulling off his hat and coat and hanging them on the coat rack.

Charlie looked up at him. "Ian," he said as a greeting.

"'Morning, Charlie." But he didn't take his eyes off Ross. "Take it you didn't find her," he stated.

"Nope, imagine that. Boys in Minneapolis didn't hear nothing about her."

"And what office did you say you were with?"

"New York," Ross said, smoothing his tie.

"Got out here awful fast."

Ross shut his mouth quickly. His eyes turned icy. "Charlie here was just telling me how he got that bump on his head."

Ian went cold inside, but struggled to keep a cool exterior. "Was he?"

Ross's face fell a few notches.

"Yeah, damn ice. Fell right on my face," Charlie muttered. Ian wanted to kiss him. He instantly forgave him for letting Carrie escape.

"Well, I thought maybe you might have an idea where she was."

Charlie rubbed a hand over his face, impatient. "I don't think he's going to tell you anything I didn't."

Ian glanced at him, reading his eyes. "I haven't seen her since she drove out of town."

The car. His mind started spinning. Did Ross know that Carrie's car was still stuck in a snow bank? He had meant to get Harry Carlson to pull the car out but he hadn't gotten to it. Was that why Ross was hanging around?

"Uh, just thought I might ask." Ross got up and unfolded the long black dress coat from his arm and pulled it on. "If you hear anything, I'll be at that little motel out on Route 41."

"We'll give you a call," Charlie said.

"Bye, Sheriff, Deputy." He gave them each a nod and then disappeared.

Ian let out a sigh. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing." Charlie sat back. "Showed up yesterday, after you had left. I started to get suspicious 'cause he was hanging around, and he was so insistent. There was something that was just off about him. I called the New York field office after he was gone; they said Agent Ross was on Vacation, in Bermuda. So I called Harry Carlson. He pulled Carrie's car out of the snow bank and I had him put it in the back of his garage. I told Ross I was out the day you brought Carrie in and I had never seen her. Said I fell on the ice," he motioned to the deflated lump on his head. "I figured the way she was trying to get away from here somebody was after her. After you called to tell me you were going to St. Paul I started thinking something was going on so I just played dumb till I could get a hold of you."

"I could kiss you, Charlie."

"Uh, I'd rather you didn't. Make up for letting Carrie escape on me anyway."

"How's your head?"

"It feels less...squished." Charlie got up and got an ice pack from the fridge. "Well, since I did so good by throwing off Jesse Ross, maybe you can fill me in."

Ian took a few minutes to tell Charlie the story. Charlie listened, an ice pack on his head.

"Sounds like a movie."

"Yeah, it does."

"What are you going to do?" Charlie moved the pack so that he could see Ian.

Ian shrugged. "I don't know. I'll call the New York field office and tell them about Ross, as far as Viggianni, I'm not sure."

"Ross's not going to get into trouble for lying about where he is."

"Yeah, but maybe they can do something. Damn," he said, sinking into his chair. "I hate this."

Charlie grinned. "Sure beats sitting here and twiddling our thumbs, huh?"

Ian groaned. "Don't say that."

Charlie chuckled. "Don't you worry about it. With your fancy college degree and my dumb luck, we'll figure it out."

"That's what I'm afraid of."

Carrie woke up at noon. She didn't want to move, the bed was so comfortable. She felt better, more like her old self. When she finally crawled out of bed and took a shower and made her way downstairs it was nearly one. She found Ian's note on the counter and made herself breakfast, eating standing up at the counter. She curled up on the couch, settling in to wait for Ian so they could talk. She picked up the remote for the TV, but paused before she turned it on, holding it for a long minute, weighing it. And then she set it back down on the coffee table and went to the bookshelf and pulled a book down.

She was so engrossed in the story she lost track of time and barely looked up from the book when Ian came through the front door. After he had kicked off his boots and outerwear he came up behind her. His presence soothed and unsettled her at the same time.

"What'cha reading?"

She looked up at him. His cheeks were flushed from the cold and his eyes sparkled. He looked worried and she could see he was distracted. "The Great Gatsby. Your dentist inspired me."

He just nodded and then sank onto the loveseat across from her.

She closed the book. "What happened?"

He sank back into the cushions, and she suddenly had the urge to go to him, to wrap her arms around him, bury her face in his chest. Instead she bit her lip.

"Nothing." He let out a deep sigh, and then raised his fingers to his temples, rubbing them gingerly.

"Are you hungry? Thirsty? Can I get you something?"

He smiled at her weakly. "No, I'm fine."

She looked at him for a long time. She was grateful to him, more than he would ever know. He was a good man, better than she deserved.

"Carrie?" Her name came out in a great puff, like he had been holding it in. He stood up abruptly, walked to the wood burning stove and then turned back to face her.

She looked at him expectantly, afraid of what he would say. But he didn't say anything, just stared at her, devouring her with his eyes. Something had shifted in him. He was looking at her differently. She got up slowly, her book forgotten, transfixed. It was that same heated stare, hot with something restraining it, holding it back.

"What is it?" she whispered, coming close to him. She wanted to touch him.

His fists balled, his jaw tensed, he looked... dangerous. Her fingers came up slowly, brushing against his jaw. His eyes closed, his jaw clenched, a muscle ticked.

"Don't." His voice was a warning. But she didn't obey; she traced the line of his cheekbone, the line of his lips.

"Carrie," his voice was filled with desperation, with need, it dragged on her like gravel. "I want to touch you."

His admission surprised her. Since the night in jail he hadn't looked at her with anything more than mild amusement, the few times he had touched her, it had been casual and brief. She thought that she had been the only one who felt the heat pulsing between them. She felt dizzy at his admittance, desire rippled through her. She wanted to ask him why he didn't, but she couldn't make her mouth work. He answered her question soon enough.

"I promised myself I wouldn't," he said softly, his hand had come up, cupped her cheek.

"Why?" she asked, her voice cracking.

"I don't want to be selfish; I told myself I was helping you-"

"Oh for godssake," she said, letting out a breath. Her hand dropped to her side. "That's ridiculous."

"Why?" He looked surprised.

"People are selfish, that's just the way it is. You don't have to be so goddamn noble all the time."

He stared at her, his mouth hanging open. "Noble? I'm not trying to be noble."

"Then what the hell are you trying to do? You just have to be perfect don't you?" She rolled her eyes.

"I'm trying to be a good guy, I don't want to..."

"What?" she snapped, her eyes blazing. "Stain my dignity? Ruin my honor? It's not the twelfth century. I'm not some little white virgin you have to protect."

"Why are you so mad at me?"

"Because you think you know what's best for me and you don't." She jutted out her chin defiantly. "What if I wanted you to kiss me?"

His mouth was on hers in a second. Not soft and pliant, but hard, voracious, insatiable. She stumbled back, but he caught her under her arms and hauled her up against him, crushing her against the rock solid muscle of his chest. He forced her mouth open, his tongue claimed her, ravaged her. It was like nothing she had ever felt, fire poured through her like she was drinking it, burning through her lungs to her toes. Her stomach flip-flopped and spun until it was twisted so tightly the tension and anticipation almost killed her. She clung to him, afraid to let go, afraid he would let her go. Thoughts evaporated in the searing heat and left her feeling like she was drunk, her head felt heavy, her chest burned, and she thought if he released her she would crumple into a pile at his feet, her bones melted into jelly. She could feel his arousal against her stomach, hard and long and thick and he pulled her against it, making her tremble.

"Is this what you want?" he rasped against her ear.

She sucked in air, struggling to breathe. "Yes," she managed to gasp. His hands tangled in her hair, his fingers tilted her head back so that he could deepen the kiss. She was pliable in his hands and he molded her to him, sliding a hand down her back and lifting her to her toes. He slid his leg between hers, his thigh ground against her and every muscle in her body shook with anticipation.

And then he let her go. He stumbled back a step, staring at her in horror, as if she had cast a spell on him that had just been broken. His breathing was ragged, his chest heaving, his eyes wild. He spun around and strode towards the door where he grabbed his jacket and shrugged into it while he stepped outside and slammed the door behind him.

Carrie sucked in air. She had never given in so completely to someone; she had never lost control of herself like that. She was shaking, she realized belatedly, noticing her hands trembling and her legs felt like they wouldn't support her. She sank onto the couch.

Ian leaned back against the door, the icy air hitting him like the cold shower he needed. He shut his eyes, resisting the urge to bang his head against the wood. He had promised himself he wasn't going to touch her and he couldn't go two days with his hands to himself. It shook him to see her so comfortable in his house, it shook him because it seemed right; it felt like she belonged there. He liked coming home to her on the couch reading, he liked how she looked in his clothes, how she smelled, how she was so fascinated with everything. But it was more than that, he just liked being close to her, and when he was, he wanted to touch her, kiss her. Her words ran through his head, was he being stupid? Why did he feel like he had to be so noble? Because he didn't think he could live with himself if the only reason he was helping her was to get in her pants. He had to prove to himself that he wasn't that kind of person, even if it was going to kill him.

He saw Patty's car turn into the driveway and let out a deep sigh, just what he needed. He prayed Carrie would have the good sense to stay in the house, but good sense seemed to be somewhat lacking in the household.

"Are you sick?" Patty called, climbing out of the car. "Charlie said you went home and it's only two-thirty."

"At least put on a goddamn hat if you're going to sulk out here, it's thirty degrees below zero." Carrie chose that moment to make her grand entrance. She was holding his wool hat.

"What's _she_ doing here?" Patty accused, glaring at Carrie.

Ian took a deep breath and rolled his eyes skyward. "I can't get into it, Patty."

Carrie stood there with her arms crossed, looking smug and pretending she was trying to hide it.

"You little bitch," Patty hissed, moving to the side of the porch so that she had a clear shot at Carrie. She pointed an accusatory finger at her. "Who the hell do you think you are?"

Ian moved in front of her instinctively. "Patty," he warned.

"It's not fair." Her voice was rising. "What does she have that I don't?" she shrieked.

"A personality," Carrie shot from behind Ian. He wanted to smack her.

"And you little white trash whore, you have the personality that he wants?" Patty's voice was trembling with bitterness, her face splotchy with color; tears were starting to well up in her eyes. "Is that what you want? A common criminal?" She turned her accusing eyes on Ian.

"Excuse me?" Carrie said, stepping out from behind him.

"Is that what this is? Slumming?" she shouted at Ian, she wouldn't look at Carrie, she was crying, tears streaming down her cheeks and taking her mascara with them.

"Hey, bug off Tammy Faye; it's none of your goddamn business what he does."

Ian wanted to tranquilize both of them before they got into a full-fledged catfight on his front porch.

"I am not going to let this happen to me!" Patty screamed, she was turning so red Ian was afraid she was going to have a coronary.

"Both of you calm down!" he shouted.

"Don't talk to me! Why would you want _her_ , instead of me? What the hell does she have?" She spat the words like acid.

Protectiveness flared up in Ian, he pointed at Patty. "Don't do this Patty, don't piss me off."

He felt Carrie's fingers curl into the fabric of the back of his jacket and something about it made him sad.

"You don't know her and you shouldn't run around judging people you don't know. I thought you were smarter than that."

"I guess I'm not that smart after all, I thought I knew you and I obviously don't."

Ian brought his hand up to his face, rubbing it over his eyes. "Patty, you don't know what's going on-"

She snorted. "I'm not an idiot."

He drew his lower lip into his mouth and chewed on it before answering her, using the time to count to ten so he wouldn't jump off the porch and throttle her. "I don't care what you believe, Patty. Just keep your goddamn mouth shut."

She squinted at him. "Oh don't worry, I don't want to admit I was ever interested in someone who would want that!" she spat venomously. She spun on her heel and slammed the car door hard and then floored the gas as the car shot out of the driveway. Ian watched her drive off before he turned back to face Carrie. She looked small and fragile. She stood there holding his hat, and she looked like she was going to cry. He couldn't stand it.

"You okay?"

She looked up at him like she had forgotten he was there. "Yeah, fine." She turned and walked back inside. He followed her, watching as she sank onto the bottom step of the staircase. "I'm sorry."

"Are you kidding? You just did me a favor. Maybe now she'll leave me alone."

She didn't smile, just looked miserable. She twisted his hat into a ball, her eyes far away and lost.

"Carrie," he said. He knelt down beside her, taking his hat from her hands before she wrung the last vestiges of life from it. "She doesn't know you, she was just upset and-"

"I know, stupid, huh?" she dashed at her eyes with the back of her hand. "I'm okay, really."

But she wasn't. All that toughness was a fragile outer shell that could easily be broken. He flicked her nose with his fingertip and earned himself a weak smile.

He got up. "Jesse Ross is supposed to be on vacation in Bermuda."

She sniffled. "But he's still here, isn't he?"

He leaned against the kitchen counter and crossed his ankles. "Yeah, he's still here."

"So what do we do?"

"You stay put." He pushed off the counter and filled the coffee pot with water and measured out two scoops of grounds. "Charlie and I are working on it. I'm going to try to make sense of the stuff on that disk. Maybe if I can find something on Ross it will solve that problem."

"And Mario Viggianni?"

"I ran him through the system; he's on parole, so he shouldn't be out of the state of New York without permission, which he doesn't have. I called his Parole Officer; she issued an arrest warrant for a parole violation. I sent out copies of his mug shot to the area police, so if we get lucky someone will pick him up."

She let her hands hang between her legs. "I don't want to be a burden."

"Sweetheart, you're definitely not a burden." A cock-tease maybe, he thought. But that was his albatross to bear because she had no control over his libido. Or rather he had no control over his libido when she was around, but he couldn't blame her.

She tried not to smile at the endearment. "I don't want to mess up your whole life."

"Forget her," he ordered in a stern voice. "Patty's been a goddamn pain in my ass since eighth grade when I took her to a school dance and she's been determined to marry me ever since."

"You weren't-" she waved her hand around. "You know."

"No."

"What about in eighth grade?"

"She threatened me with her father's shotgun. I had to say yes."

"So she's always been..." she struggled for the right word. "Unbalanced?"

He couldn't help but smile. "Yeah, she's always been a little, um, determined. Especially when it comes to me."

As much as she hated to admit it, Carrie could see why. He was beautiful and strong and capable, and good. A very rare combination. Patty's words burned into her. Why did he want her? She was a street kid from New York, she hated school, she worked at a bar, and she couldn't think of a single hobby she liked. What had she done with the past twenty-six years of her life? The thought made her feel even more depressed and insecure.

"Well, maybe it would be easier to take if a mafia hit man and a corrupt FBI agent weren't after me, too."

"Well, the good news is they say bad things happen in threes, so once the corrupt FBI agent and the mafia hit man are taken care of, all you'll have left to deal with is crazy Patty."

The whole thing was so absurd she had to laugh. "It's so ridiculous sounding."

Ian laughed. "I bet we can make a million bucks off the movie rights when it's all over."

She didn't know why she felt warm when he said _we_ , but she did. "And what about what just happened?" she asked softly.

He dragged his hands through his hair and chewed on his lip. "I don't know." He pushed off the counter; turned so that he faced away from her with his hands on his hips, then he turned back around and looked at her. "But I can promise you I'm gonna do my damn best to keep my hands to myself."

She was too tired to argue with him and she felt too vulnerable anyway. She felt raw, exposed. Patty's words circled in her head, serrated; dragging across the tender flesh of her self-esteem. She had heard them all before, but it didn't make it any easier to take.

"I'm going upstairs." Her voice sounded timid in her own ears, weak and hollow. She got up slowly and she felt his eyes on her but he didn't say a word.

She went upstairs and turned on the shower and then sat on the bathroom floor and cried.

Ian rearranged the pillow under his head for the umpteenth time that night. He was going to be sleep deprived to the point of insanity by the time this was over. He couldn't get her out of his head, the wounded look in her eyes after the episode with Patty, the way she had withdrawn into herself. He knew that there were so many things she hadn't told him and he wondered why he wished she would. He didn't want to get involved, but he couldn't live like this. He wanted her. Wanted her like he had never wanted anyone. When he kissed her, it had seared him to his bones, left him craving her, needing her. The feeling was so intense it had frightened him, and when he pulled back it had felt like his spleen had been ripped out of his body. He couldn't think clearly when he was near her, his brain got all muddled and the only thing that could permeate it was desire.

He had made dinner and they had eaten in silence. After dinner she had done the dishes and then took her book and went upstairs. He had gone into his office and looked through the files on the disk, hoping to find a clue as to how to break the code. After an hour of staring at the screen he had finally shut down the computer and turned on the Timberwolves' game. He couldn't focus on anything, all he could think about was how close she was, that she was near enough that he could climb the stairs, kiss away all the old bruises that scarred her eyes, the tears that hung unshed, suspended in her eyes, shimmering like diamonds. But something kept him glued to the couch, some nobility, as Carrie called it. He didn't want to be noble, he wanted to be...gallant, self-sacrificing, and damn it, noble. Why did he have to be so noble? From the reaction to his kiss he knew she wanted him as much as he wanted her. What was so wrong with that? They were both adults, they could decide to have an affair that ended when this situation ended. But he knew what stopped him from climbing the stairs, from pushing open his bedroom door and sliding into bed next to her, it was that wounded look in her eyes. He couldn't bear to think that he would be the cause of that pain. She was more fragile than she looked; the tough front was only that, a front. She was fragile and vulnerable and sad. And he could barely stand it; it hurt his chest, made him feel wretched. He wanted to go down to Patty's house and strangle her for the things she said. He had never thought Patty's insistence and perseverance had been dangerous but today he had to rethink that. He had always assumed that someday she would realize that he wasn't interested and move on, but maybe she wouldn't. He didn't want to frighten Carrie anymore than he had to, but Patty had worried him. He had never seen her like that, she always kept her cool, her perfectly coiffed hair, her color. Today it had all gone to hell. He wanted to believe that this was the end of it that she would let it go and leave him alone, but he didn't think it would be that easy. The past few days nothing had been easy. There was one hell of a storm brewing and Carrie seemed to be right smack in the middle.

He rolled off the couch and went to the kitchen and found a bottle of water in the fridge. He was exhausted; he felt like his bones had fused together and soon he would be as stiff as a little metal GI Joe. He had to get a good night sleep and he had to get it soon.

"Oh, I didn't know you were up." She was halfway down the stairs, her dark, auburn waves hung like a heavy curtain around her shoulders. She was swallowed up by his oversized shirt, which hung to her knees. Bare knees. His breath hitched, as he noticed her naked legs. The only thing she was wearing was his oversized t-shirt. And she looked good. Really, really good. He couldn't stand much more of this.

"I just wanted some water." She was still standing there, staring at him. He realized suddenly he wasn't wearing a shirt, only his flannel drawstring pants.

"Come down here," he growled. Forget nobility, forget chivalry. He wanted her, and he wasn't going to get any damn sleep until he had her.

As if she was in a dream she came down the spiral staircase; her eyes never strayed from him. She stopped a foot from him, transfixed. He lifted his hand to her face, curved it around her cheekbone, brushing his thumb across her lower lip.

"You're beautiful," he whispered.

She shook her head slightly and lowered her eyes so that her long lashes shielded them from his gaze. "No, not beautiful."

He tipped her jaw with his finger so that he could look at her. "Beautiful." He reached out to her hair, caught a few locks and threaded them through his fingers. "Your hair is like silk."

Her eyes seemed impossibly huge in the darkness. She stood there silently, unmoving, like a statue.

He stepped closer, so that only a few inches separated them. He let his hands slide from her face down her neck to her shoulders; he dropped his mouth to the exposed flesh at the crook of her neck. It smelled sweet and was as soft as velvet against his lips. He feathered kisses along her jaw, the shell of her ear, the delicate lobe. Her head fell back and a small sigh escaped her lips. His fingers threaded into her hair and held her head, letting his mouth explore her collar bone and the V at the base of her throat. The fabric of her shirt brushed against his over-sensitive flesh, taunting him, the only barrier that lay between them was the flimsy cotton t-shirt. His other hand found the outside of her thigh and slid upwards towards her hip, and she pressed herself against him.

"Kiss me," she whispered.

He held her head in both hands, framing her face. His lips lowered to hers, his eyes never straying, and he kissed her softly, gently. His lips clung to hers as he drew back slowly, her lips were slightly parted in an invitation, her chest heaving against his bare skin, he could feel the beads of her nipples through the fabric, pressing against him and he wanted to release her mouth so that he could dip his lower, take her hardened nipples in his mouth through the fabric, taste her, savor her. But he couldn't take his eyes off her lips, tiny like a rosebud, they quivered in anticipation and he slowly lowered his mouth again to hers. He drew her lower lip into his mouth, sucking it gently; his fingertips traced the shell of her ear, the curve of her jaw.

Her hands were small and soft when she pressed them against his chest. They explored the contours of his muscles, traced the hardened lines of his torso. He had never kissed so slowly, so sensually. It was as intimate as making love; he drew her lip into his mouth again, and then released it. Her tongue slid across his lips, daring him to retaliate. Her tongue was slick and wet against his and the fist in his groin tightened to an iron hold.

"You're driving me crazy," he whispered against her lips. His hands fell to her thighs and they moved upward to her hips, pushing the thin fabric up to expose the bottom of her lacy underwear. She arched into him and his hands cupped her bottom, lifting her so that she could feel his arousal, crushing her against it. "I want you."

He gripped her waist, lifting her so that she was on her tip toes and he kissed her savagely, dangerously. He wanted to get lost inside of her, wanted to forget all the promises he was breaking, wanted to forget the consequences.

"Wait," she cried out, her voice hoarse and rough with need.

He pulled back, looking down at her face. Her eyes were wide and filled with a jumble of emotions.

"We shouldn't do this."

It was all it took. He let go of her and walked away a few steps, needing to put distance between himself and the shame of his lack of willpower. Not eight hours had gone by since he had stood in this very spot and promised her that he would keep his hands to himself. His hands balled into fists.

"Ian," she said softly. He didn't turn to look at her, couldn't bear to face his inadequacies. "I- I wanted to," she stumbled over the admission. "But I don't want you to be sorry, later."

He closed his eyes. No matter what he tried to do he hurt her more. He didn't know what to say, how to make it better. He needed to show her that she was the one he was protecting.

"Carrie," he said her name and it tasted familiar, sweet. But when he turned, she was gone.

Chapter Five

Carrie woke up slowly. Light spilled in through the skylight above the bed. She knew she was alone from the way the house felt, the stillness. She didn't want to get out of bed; she didn't want to face Ian, she didn't want to face herself. She rolled out of bed and brushed the hair back from her face, remembering how his fingers had felt tangled in it last night. She could still feel the brand of his hands where he had touched her; still feel the tingle of desire in her belly. God, she hoped he was gone all day.

The house was quiet when she padded downstairs. There was a coffee cup on the counter and next to it was a note from Ian. She didn't like being stuck here, she didn't like being in his house. She felt trapped. And scared. She knew it was just that she was embarrassed to face him after last night and it was making her restless, but it didn't make it any easier to deal with. She was stuck in the middle of nowhere, without her car, without anyone except Ian. And there was only so long she could be dependent on him before the autonomous part of her reared its head. She hated being dependent and she hated being scared and she hated being trapped and at that moment she was all three. And on top of that she had made a complete fool out of herself the night before.

The phone rang and she froze. She counted five rings before the answering machine picked up.

"Ian? It's your mother."

Carrie let out the breath she was holding and even smiled.

"I made some beef stew for dinner; I hope you're planning on coming. I'll try you at the station, if I don't talk to you, I'll just set a place for you."

Carrie felt a pang, thinking about her own mother. She rarely did because there wasn't much to think about. Carrie had no memories of her, but sometimes she would wonder what she would have been like if she had lived to raise her children. From what she did know about her mother she knew she wouldn't be calling her to dinner.

She couldn't think about her mother right now, it would just depress her even more, remind her of where she came from, of who she was and just how true Patty's words were.

Ian snatched up the phone on the first ring. "Stone Church Falls Police Department," he said, his voice crisp and curt although he felt far from it. He felt restless, unsettled, unfinished. He wasn't used to not getting what he wanted, and what he wanted was Carrie McKenna. What he also wanted was to stop wanting her.

"Ian?"

He held the phone between his shoulder and ear. "Hey Mom."

"I made a nice beef stew with dumplings for dinner. I hope you didn't forget you were coming tonight."

He had forgotten. Damn. "No, I've just been sort of busy. I was going to call you."

"Your sister is going to be there."

"I know, is she bringing that guy?"

He could hear his mother smile at the other end. "Her fiancé?"

"Yeah, whatever."

"Yes, I believe Kevin is coming too."

"He's so boring, Mom." He flipped through a stack of paper on his desk, looking for a traffic report.

"I know honey, but Shannon loves him so we have to listen to him."

"I can't stay late."

"Why, do you have a date with Patty?"

He let out a sigh. He couldn't get into this with his mother right now. He had been arguing with her about Patty for what seemed like most of his life. He knew his mother didn't care about Patty; she just wanted him to settle down and get married. To anyone. It didn't matter who. "No, I don't have a date with Patty. Mom, you have to let go of this Patty thing."

"Ian, I just want you to be happy."

He thought of Carrie, in his house at this very moment. In his clothes, and how right she looked there, how right she felt. His eyes turned to the cell and he remembered how right she looked there too. He rubbed his hand over his face. "I know, Mom."

"I'll expect you at six tonight, honey."

He let out a sigh as he dropped the phone back into the cradle.

"You gonna bring me leftovers?" Charlie asked.

"You don't even know what she's making."

"I know your mother's cooking, and that's all I need to know." Charlie handed Ian the file he was looking for.

"I'll see if I can pilfer some for you."

Charlie wiggled his eyebrows. "Your sister's going to be there?"

Ian glared at him. "Don't think about my sister like that."

"Why? She's hot."

"She's my sister. And she's getting married to that entomologist guy."

"Kevin? God, I don't know what she sees in him. He puts me right to sleep."

"He puts everyone to sleep, except Shannon. She thinks he's _interesting_."

Charlie leaned back in his chair. "Soon enough she'll realize she wants a _real_ man."

Ian snorted. "Yeah, right. I'd love to see the day."

"You might as well start calling me brother."

Ian rolled his eyes at Charlie.

"How's Carrie?" he asked.

He gritted his teeth at the mention of her name, he didn't want to talk about her, and he hated to think about last night. His gut twisted at the memory. "She's fine."

Charlie's mouth kicked up in a knowing grin. "I bet she is fine."

Ian shot him a dark look. "Stop it. I'm helping her. I would have done it for anyone."

"So if she were a three-hundred pound Italian guy named Tony you would have taken him home."

Ian glared at him. "Of course I would have." He let out a deep breath through his nostrils with annoyance.

"What are you going to do with her tonight?"

He leaned back in his chair. "I don't know, I guess I'll call her and tell her I won't be home until later. There's plenty of food at the house."

Charlie sniggered. "How very domestic." His face sobered slightly. "Is it safe up there? It's pretty isolated."

"I walked around the perimeter the other day and I didn't see any tracks. I've had the alarm on. I don't know what else I can do. I don't want to draw attention to myself or the house."

"You want me to go up there tonight and keep an eye on her while you're at your parents?"

Ian scowled. He didn't know why the thought of Charlie spending time alone with Carrie bothered him so much, but it did. "No, I'm not going to be gone long."

"What? You think I'm going to plunder another man's booty? I only have eyes for one Shannon Caldwell." He placed his hand over his left pectoral. "Be still my heart."

"Oh, Jesus Christ."

"What? I'm dedicated."

"You're crazy. And Carrie will be fine."

Charlie squinted at him. "You like her, don't you?"

"No, I don't like her. I just..." he trailed off because he didn't know what he was trying to say and he didn't want to stick his foot in his mouth. "Patty came by yesterday."

Charlie whistled. "Bet that went over well."

Ian ran his tongue over his lower lip. "She freaked me out. She was really upset."

Charlie raised his eyebrows, concern tugging at his features. "Patty was upset? Like how upset?"

"She turned red and she started yelling at Carrie and I thought I was going to have to hose them down in my front yard."

Charlie chewed his lip. "Patty Miller? Our Patty turned red?" He smoothed his hand over his lower face. "She's always been a little weird, but I didn't think little Miss Patty Miller could turn red."

"I'm just worried about her running her mouth with Jesse Ross lurking around."

"Are you sure you don't want me to go over there to sit with her?"

"Maybe I should call and cancel."

"I don't think you should draw attention like that. You should do things the way you always do."

"Maybe you could just watch the house."

Charlie looked at him blankly. "Ian, it's thirty degrees below zero. I'm not going to sit in the driveway and watch the house."

Ian got up and went to the refrigerator and got out a bottle of water. He hated the whole situation. He was still angry at himself for the night before. She deserved better. If she hadn't stopped him he would have taken her in the kitchen, against the counter. What kind of person was he? He just couldn't help himself around her. And he had to get himself together. And he had to figure out what he was going to do tonight.

"Alright, you come over and baby-sit while I'm at my parents."

"And you'll bring me leftovers."

"And I'll bring you leftovers."

"Well, the tobacco beetle got its name from the damage it did to the tobacco store rooms. They are generally found in dry stored products such as spices, seeds, grains and dried plant material. Now the interesting thing is that we've just found several samples from..."

Ian felt his eyes glazing over as he stared at Kevin McDonald across the table. Everyone at the table looked ready to gouge out their ear drums with their forks except Shannon who was looking at him with her green eyes shining in rapt attention. Ian would never understand what she saw in him. He was the single most boring person that Ian had ever met.

"Pie, anyone?" his mother asked abruptly, interrupting Kevin's dissertation with her overly bright words. He had never seen his mother so frazzled; she looked as if she had to listen to another word, her head would explode. She stood up, a big phony smile on her face. There was a collective sigh at the table.

"I'll help you." Ian practically leapt out of his chair and started gathering plates.

"Dear God, if she marries that man I swear to you I'm going to invest in a ten year supply of ear plugs." His mother announced when they were safely in the kitchen.

Ian leaned against the door frame. "Shannon loves him, so we have to listen to him," he said, lavishing in throwing her words back at her.

Maggie Caldwell slammed the drawers looking for the pie wedge. "Every time I know he's coming I think to myself it's not as bad as I remember, and it isn't. It's worse."

"I warned you."

"Cigarette beetles, who in the hell cares about cigarette beetles?" Maggie tucked a few strands of grey hair back into her bun.

Ian chewed on his thumbnail. "Are they really going to move to Iowa?"

"If he gets the job at the State University." His mother scored the pie and then cut it into eight pieces.

"It'll be weird with Shannon so far away."

"Well, if that's what it takes to get rid of that man, I'll sacrifice my only daughter."

"You guys need help?" Shannon appeared in the doorway behind Ian. She was smiling. Shannon was soft, everything about her was warm and kind and friendly to a fault and her smile spread easier than butter in August. Her only fault seemed to be a pension for the dramatic, which at times could turn the smallest of mole hills into Mount Everest.

"I think we're alright, dear," Maggie said as she plated the pie.

"How are you, big brother?" She rested her hand on Ian's shoulder. "Catch any criminals lately?"

Ian snorted. "Me and Charlie just sit around and play cards and twiddle out thumbs, waiting for our big bust." He wished. He wanted to tell his parents, wanted to talk to his father about what was going on. But he wanted to do it privately. "Speaking of which, Charlie wants me to bring him leftovers."

"How is Charlie?" Shannon asked.

"Oh, he's alright. He asked about you."

"He did?" her voice went up a whole octave and a blush crept up into her cheeks.

Ian and Maggie stared at her while she floundered.

"Well," she cleared her throat and started over again. "Well, tell him I said hi." She spun around on her heel and scurried back towards the dining room.

"Did what I think just happened, happen?" Maggie said finally.

"I think my little sister might have a little crush on my deputy."

His mother grabbed his arm, hard. "We've got to get them together."

"What about Kevin?"

"For godssake, forget Kevin. He's the dullest person on the planet. Charlie is a nice boy who doesn't know anything about bugs."

Ian followed his mother into the dining room with a handful of plates, trying to hide his smile. His father's eye caught his and held.

"There's not a real significant difference between the cigarette beetle and the pharmacy beetle. They're reddish brown and about an eighth of an inch long, oval-"

"A FBI agent stopped by the farm today," Thomas Caldwell said, interrupting Kevin again. The room went dead silent and the pie in Ian's mouth suddenly tasted horrible. He finished chewing, swallowed and wiped his mouth with his cloth napkin before he answered.

"Jesse Ross?"

"Yup, that's the one. He's looking for a Carrie McKenna. He said he's afraid you might be mixed up in something."

"Dad, Kevin was talking about the cigarette Beetle," Shannon said with annoyance.

"Oh for godssake, nobody cares about the damn cigarette beetle," Maggie said.

"Mother!" Shannon shrieked. "How dare you!"

"I- I didn't realize that you weren't interested," Kevin started to say, looking around the table.

"Well, I was trying not to be rude."

"And that wasn't rude?" Shannon stared at her mother, aghast.

"Kevin, darling, not everyone finds insects quite as fascinating as you do." Maggie let out a deep sigh, and patted Kevin's hand.

"Come on Kevin! We're leaving!" Shannon got up so quickly the table shuddered, the flatware clanked against the glasses.

"Wait, I want to hear about the FBI agent," Kevin protested, shoving his glasses up on his nose.

"I am not going to sit here after my parents were so disrespectful to you."

"You can go sit in the car," Kevin said sheepishly. Thomas glanced over at him and Ian could have sworn he gave him an approving smile.

Shannon sat down in a huff and the room was silent again.

"Well?" Thomas prompted after a moment.

"I can't talk about it."

His father seemed to draw back into himself, he seemed to grow a little and his eye brow arched. "Can't talk about it? We're your family."

Ian shot Kevin a disgruntled look. "It's a long story."

"Are you involved in something you shouldn't be?" Thomas's voice was like thunder, big and booming and everyone seemed to shrink away except Maggie.

"Nonsense, Tom. You ought to know Ian better than that." She glared at her husband.

"I know him well enough to know that you can never really know anyone."

She rolled her eyes at him. "Don't be so damn dramatic. Ian is not caught up in anything he shouldn't be. I know my own son, even if you don't."

"Do you know where she is?"

Ian drew his lower lip into his mouth. "She needed help."

"Help running away from the FBI?" Thomas asked, his eye brow arched again.

Ian let out a long breath and looked away. "You don't know the whole story, dad."

His father looked like he had made his decision about what he knew. "I believe that is answer enough, Ian."

Maggie looked like she wanted to whack Thomas in the head with the pie wedge. "I don't know what's wrong with you, Thomas Caldwell! Just because some swarthy man comes along and waves a badge in your face, you suddenly don't know your own son? If Ian says she needed help, then she needed help. He wouldn't have helped her if she was some kind of criminal."

"Is she still in the area?" Thomas said, his eyes still boring into Ian.

He kept his eyes averted, knowing his father would know he was lying. At the last moment he looked up at him; their eyes collided. "She's long gone."

_Long gone, my ass_ , Ian thought as he pulled into his driveway. There was music pouring out of the house. He unlocked the door and let it swing open, and froze. Carrie was standing on the kitchen counter, her eyes closed, singing as loud as she could in a horribly off-key voice to an old Led Zepplin song while Charlie played air guitar and head banged. Every bottle of alcohol he owned was on the kitchen table along with an open box of Pizza.

"What the hell is going on here?" he shouted. He strode across the room and flicked off the stereo and two sets of eyes popped open and stared at him in horror.

Carrie tried to climb off the counter but lost her balance and fell into Charlie who caught her, both of them trying to suppress hysterical laughter. "I'm a little tipsy," she announced.

"I can see that," Ian said darkly. "Charlie? Can I talk to you outside?"

"Charlie, I told you we would get in trouble." Carrie swayed a little.

Ian grabbed Charlie by the back of his shirt. "What the hell do you think you are doing?" he snapped, dragging him behind him.

"We were having fun, no harm done. She was showing me her bartending skills."

"You were supposed to be watching her." Raw anger pulsated off of him. He wanted to choke Charlie. The man had no sense. "First you let her escape from jail and now you get drunk with her while-"

"Christ, Ian. I'm not drunk. I had a drink and that's it. What kind of person do you think I am?" His eyes shone in the darkness of the porch.

Ian shoved him towards the jeep. "Just get in the goddamn car and I'll drive you home."

When he got back Carrie was curled up on the couch eating a bowl of cereal and watching South Park. The kitchen had been cleaned up and there was no sign of the alcohol or the pizza. By that point he had started to feel a little stupid for overreacting. She looked over her shoulder at him when he came up behind her, and then she turned the TV off.

"You don't have to turn it off."

"You hate South Park," she said, keeping her eyes glued on her cereal.

"I don't hate South Park. Why would you think I hate South Park?" He loathed South Park.

"I know you hate South Park." She spooned another bite into her mouth and stared at the blank TV screen. "You're that kind of person."

He let out a sigh. "So what if I hate South Park. It's a badly drawn cartoon about four obnoxious kids."

"So you do hate it?"

"Yes, I hate it. Does that make me a bad person?" he asked antagonistically.

"No, it doesn't make you a bad person." She finished the last of her cereal and got up. "It just means that you're no fun."

"No fun?" He was almost shaking with anger. No, not anger, jealousy. He hated Charlie. "Charlie's fun, though."

"Charlie's more fun than you are," she said absently, running water into her cereal bowl.

"Charlie is not more fun than I am." He ground his teeth. "And you do a horrible Robert Plant!" he added for a good measure.

"Aren't we mature," she snapped.

"I'm a lot more mature than you are," he said before he realized how juvenile it sounded. He felt like he should stick his tongue out at her.

"Is that why you came in here and yelled at us like I'm your thirteen year old daughter?"

"I like fun just as much as the next guy, but I don't think that this is a particularly appropriate time to be having fun considering that someone is trying to kill you!" he yelled a little too loud.

She turned around so she could look at him. "Oh, Jeeze, I must have forgotten. Silly me." She slammed the bowl into the sink. "Why don't I go upstairs and brood? That might be a little more appropriate," she spat.

He watched her storm up the stairs, her words boring into him like one of Kevin's bugs. The next time he saw him he'd have to ask which kind of bugs bored.

"Carrie," he called after her, but the only answer was the door slamming.

He stood there for a minute, going over the past hour in his head and feeling more and more like an idiot. Charlie wasn't drunk, he could tell as soon as they were alone in the car. Despite that he knew Charlie; he knew he was better than that. And he trusted him; otherwise he would never have left Carrie alone with him. And God knew she needed a little fun. It wasn't what they were doing that had upset him, it had been the fact that it was with Charlie and not him. He wasn't the most fun person in the world, he knew that. He could even be a stick in the mud, but he didn't want her having fun with anyone else. He didn't want her doing _anything_ with anyone else. He'd never been jealous before, but with Carrie he was downright territorial. And look where it got him. The doghouse.

He mounted the stairs; he wanted to say he was sorry. He was annoyed with himself for acting like such an idiot, and she wasn't his daughter, she wasn't even his girlfriend. He had no right to behave like that.

"Carrie?" he called. The bathroom door was open a few inches and when he knocked the door swung open.

She was standing at the sink, brushing her hair. The towel she wore wrapped around her chest barely covered her. Her legs extended from below the thick fabric, her skin the color of warmth, her legs toned and smooth. He forgot what he wanted to say, he could only stare at her, take in the freshly scrubbed face, the caramel eyes that turned to watch him, wary. Her hair was mahogany silk, hanging heavy with moisture, rippling down to the middle of her back. Her lips parted slightly, her breath hitched and the cleft of her breasts visible above the towel trembled.

She was naked beneath it. The thought made him wild, beneath the terrycloth there was nothing but warm, soft skin. Skin the color of gold. He wanted to feel it, wanted to feel every inch of it pressed against him.

"What are you doing?" she asked quietly, as if she were afraid to break the tension that hung between them.

"I came up here to say I was sorry." But he didn't feel sorry anymore. He felt...he felt like if he had to go another minute without her he would die. He felt like every pore of his being needed to be buried inside her or he would crumble into a million pieces.

She turned to face him. "You said it."

Her eyes burned into his with such intensity he had to look away. To her mouth. He wanted to kiss her, needed to kiss her. Her lips quivered and she slicked a layer of moisture across the bottom one with her tongue, sending him over the edge. "I'm going to kiss you," he whispered. "But this time you can't push me away. I won't be able to take it."

She didn't move, just stared at him with those world weary eyes, her lips parted ever so slightly, the rise and fall of her breasts tempting him that if he hooked his fingers through the fabric it would slide easily to the floor. He stepped towards her. The air in the small room was thick with moisture, it felt heavy and hot and damp. He couldn't take his eyes off her lips, he wanted to taste them. His mouth touched hers lightly, hesitantly. His eyes rose to hers and held them; he teased her lips with his tongue, opening them slowly so that he could deepen the kiss. He pressed her back against the sink, his hands finding her thighs and sliding up under the towel. His boldness seemed to shock her, encourage her. Her hands came up and tangled in his hair, caught the loops and curls in her fingers. She angled her head so that it fell back, his mouth roamed to her throat, the sensitive skin behind her ear. His hands came up to her breasts, molding their shape through the fabric of the towel, tempting himself, driving him crazy. He lowered his mouth to the top of the plump swell of flesh, sliding a hand between the folds of the cloth so that he could touch her stomach, the flare of her hip, the underside of her breast. He let his hand slide lower, to the tangle of curls at the apex of her thighs. They were still damp from the shower, his middle finger slid into the fold of skin, she was slick and wet and her body arched into him at his bold touch.

"I want you," he whispered into her ear. He pressed his finger deeper into her and she shuddered again, collapsing against him. He let his other hand catch in her hair, twist the curls. He set his fingers against her shoulder to steady her, and he froze.

She pulled away from him, her eyes locked onto his. His finger was still buried inside of her, but something had happened, some connection had been lost. He smoothed his thumb across the scarred flesh. There were six of them, two rows of pale white dots of scar tissue along the top of her shoulder.

"What happened?" he asked softly. He eased his hand from under the towel, and held her gently at the hip.

She turned her face away from him, her eyes seemed hollow and empty and at the same time it was as if they were overflowing with pain. Like she might drown in that pain. "Nothing."

She pushed away from him, yanking the bathrobe off the back of the door as she walked out. He heard her soft footsteps on the staircase and fell against the wall. He let his head drop back, eyes closed. He measured his breaths; he had to clear his head. He had to get himself under control.

Chapter Six

When he came down the stairs the room was dark. She wore his bathrobe and had curled up on the couch with her legs tucked up beneath her. Moonlight spilled into the room from the tall windows, pure white light reflected off the snow, turning her skin as pale as porcelain and her hair raven black. Her eyes were strangely empty and when she began to speak, her voice was strong and flat, devoid of emotion.

"My mother was a drug addict. I never knew my father; I guess he was married to another women, although he was my brother's father also, so at least they had some kind of relationship. When I was a year and a half she was murdered by her drug dealer. My brother and I were in the apartment with her body for three days before a neighbor called the police. We were placed in temporary foster care because no one came forward to claim us." She licked her lips and spoke carefully as if it hurt. "The first time I was taken to the hospital, the foster family said I fell down the stairs; I was covered in bruises and I had three broken ribs. I was two. My brother was four then, he told the social services worker that our foster father had beaten me because I wouldn't stop crying. So they took us out of that house and we were in an orphanage for a few months. I don't remember much of that, I guess I was too young. My brother said there were so many people there that no one could keep track of any of us, but my brother always looked after me. We were finally placed with a family in New Jersey, we stayed with them for six years, but then the husband got a job offer in California and the wife found out she was pregnant, and I guess they just felt like it would be too much trouble to drag us along." There was no bitterness in her tone, but her chin jutted out defensively. "So we went back to New York and then we went a few other places before we ended up with another family. My brother started to get into a lot of trouble and so they decided to separate us. He went off to an institution for problem kids and I got shuffled around a little more.

"I was twelve when I ended up at Johnny McGuiness' house. He only had two rules and if you followed them you would be fine. Go to bed at nine and don't talk back. I had a nasty habit of talking back. If you didn't obey his rules, he would put his cigarette out on your arm, teach you a lesson. I was too stubborn to keep my mouth shut, too defiant to know what was good for me." She rubbed her hands over her upper arms as if she were cold at the memory. "I ran away when I was fourteen. At that time, in New York there were a lot of homes for runaways, so it wasn't that bad. I just sort of floated around. This girl I met at one of the homes got me a fake ID and some working papers and I stopped going to school, started working. When my brother got out of the reform school, he got an apartment and let me crash there, but it had been a long time since we had seen each other and I think we just didn't know each other anymore. I think he always felt guilty he couldn't be there to protect me and he felt bad about everything that had happened, he always blamed himself. He started to get mixed up with some shady people and we just sort of drifted apart again." She stopped talking. She was staring out the window, her eyes carefully blank, and her face scrubbed clean of any emotions. "I don't want you to have any regrets," she said softly, suddenly.

The force of her vulnerability hit him square in the chest. She was afraid he wouldn't want her after she told him her past.

"It's not your fault, Carrie," he whispered. He touched her face with his fingers and she turned to look at him, her big eyes swollen with tears. "You are who you are in spite of them, not because of them."

"But who am I?" Her voice cracked, her lips trembled. "What kind of person are you when you have nothing to base yourself on? I didn't have parents, I don't have a history. I don't know if I'm like my mother because I never knew her."

"You are not like your mother. Carrie, your brother gave you that disk because he trusted that you would do the right thing. And you did. You're more honorable and noble than I am."

She made a sound that was almost a laugh. "Nobody can be more noble than you."

"You're a stronger person than I will ever be. It's easy for me to be strong because I never had to be resistant. You had no choice, but you held up against that resistance." His chest ached as if someone were squeezing his ribs. He couldn't bear the thought of what she had been through. Anger bit into him at every foster parent that she had ever had, that had ever hurt her, physically or emotionally. How could someone take a child into their home and treat them with such cruelty? He wanted to soothe away every harsh word, every injury; he wanted to make her forget the apathy, the indifference that she had suffered through. And what hurt him the most was the feeling of impotence that he would never be able to erase it for her, he could never give her a clean slate.

"That doesn't change how I feel," he said.

Her head tilted to the side when she looked at him, surprise tinged with something deeper touched her eyes, lightened them. The faintest sad smile played on her lips, and he held his breath.

"Come upstairs."

He took her hand and led her up the stairs. In the bedroom she turned to look at him. Her eyes were bottomless pits that swallowed him, ate him alive. She loosened the belt on the robe; let it slide from her shoulders, down over her arms and legs until it fell to her feet. She had a dancers body, small breasts that sat high on her chest, a flat stomach that flared out slightly to her slim, boyish hips. The curls that sat at the top of her thighs were dark and crisp, and her slender legs extended down, long, and gorgeous. He had never before been struck by the beauty of a woman's body the way he was now. Each line, each curve seemed to be drawn exactly, perfectly. Her skin was flawless, the way it hugged her collarbone, her hipbones. This time there would be no turning back, he wouldn't be able to bear it. He stepped towards her, his heart hammering in his chest, his lungs burning, his breath caught somewhere. His finger tips skimmed along her shoulders, her throat.

"You're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen," his voice was a mere whisper. He placed his finger to her lips so she wouldn't argue, and she kissed it lightly. He had to touch her everywhere, had to feel her skin, taste it, smell it. She was fluid in his hands; she swayed and moved against him as he explored her, touching her legs, her hands, her stomach. His breath caught at the incredible need that filled him, it was more than physical, he wanted to possess her, he wanted to absorb her into him so that he could protect her, so that nothing could ever hurt her again. She slid her hands under his shirt, and her fingers seared his bare flesh. He pulled his shirt over his head and then pressed his chest to hers, feeling their skin fuse together in the impenetrable heat. His hands slid lower, pressing her against him so that she could feel how badly he wanted her.

She fumbled with his zipper, finally pushing the denim down his thighs to where he could kick them off. And then he was naked. She couldn't breathe; the sight of him filled her with such awe. Everything about him was powerful, thick muscles corded through his broad shoulders, lay flat against the slabs of his chest. Dark hair dusted his chest and then tapered to his flat stomach and widened again at his manhood. His thighs were strong and extended into strong calves. He turned her so that she faced the window, so that her back was pressed against his chest. He pulled her hair to one side so that he could kiss the crook of her neck. She could see their reflection in the glass, and his eyes met hers. His hands came around her body to clasp her breasts, his fingers held their weight while his index and thumb wrapped around her nipples, tugging on them, rolling them until they were as tight as a tiny bead. His right hand slid lower, into the V at her thighs, and she arched into his touch. His finger scraped against the tight button inside the folds of her moist flesh, and every muscle in her body twitched in anticipation, with need.

He led her to the bed, lay her down on top of the cover and then hovered above her, studying her. His mouth dropped to her nipple and she shuddered at the touch on her sensitive flesh. He trailed kisses down her belly until he reached her most intimate place.

Her legs clamped closed automatically, and tears bit into her eyes. She had made herself too vulnerable tonight, she couldn't bear to be any more so.

He looked up at her, seeing the pain in her eyes. "Carrie," he whispered. "Let me."

"No, I can't. No one has ever..."

"Shhh." He kissed her stomach again. "I want to taste you." He didn't want to push her, so he scrolled lazy circles on the inside of her thigh, moving slowly upwards. He took one breast in his mouth and then the next. He kissed her. He let his fingers touch her first, rubbing across her, feeling the slick moisture, the wet heat. Again he trailed kisses lower, deeper, until he closed his mouth around her. She went perfectly still; he suckled her gently, slowly. She moved against him hesitantly at first, then as his kisses grew deeper, bolder, she moved against him wantonly, arching into his mouth, lifting her hips to him.

"Oh God," she whimpered. Her body tensed, every muscle seemed to shrink in anticipation throughout her whole body. It was almost unbearable, she couldn't breath, couldn't think, all she could feel was the exquisite torture of waiting for a release. And when it came her eyes clenched shut, her body spasmed in the onslaught of pleasure that rippled through her.

Looking down at her he couldn't stand it, every muscle in his body ached for release. He needed her like he had never needed anyone before; needed to empty himself into her, fill her with the essence of what made him male. He lifted himself above her, guided himself into her with devastating control. He had to close his eyes against the onslaught of pleasure; she was tight and wet against him, holding him inside of her with the pressure of her muscles. Her hips tilted up to meet his and she wrapped her legs around him, anchoring herself to him, clinging to him. He moved against her rhythmically, driving into her with such force the bed shook beneath them.

They came together; he cried out, her body lifted off the mattress to meet his, her arms tightened around him. And he collapsed against her, their skin crushed, fused together. He looked down at her; her still damp hair clung to her forehead, her eyes open, staring back at him, and her lips quivering. He lay down beside her, gathering her against him, holding her in his arms. She fit so perfectly against him, felt so right in the crook of his shoulder. He brushed back her hair and feathered a kiss on her forehead. And for the first time in his life, he felt content.

The sound of a car door slamming woke Ian. He could tell from the way the light filtered in, grey and dull, that it was early. Carrie lay in the crook of his arm, her hand tangled in his hair, her long lashes spilling across her cheeks. He brushed back a few locks of hair from her bare shoulder and then eased himself away from her. She made a small sound of protest, then bunched the pillow up under her head and went back to sleep. He yanked on the jeans he had worn last night and went out into the hallway where he could see into the driveway. A big black pickup truck was parked behind his Jeep.

He started down the stairs, just as he heard the key in the lock. The alarm went off and Ian sprinted across the floor just as the door opened. He punched in the code, praying that it hadn't woken Carrie, and then turned to glare at his older brother.

"What the hell do you have that thing on for?" Aidan Caldwell asked. He was freshly shaved and dressed for work in heavy boots and Carharts. He shrugged out of his jacket and tossed it onto a peg.

"What the hell are you doing here?" Ian asked, already knowing the answer.

"Dad thinks your housing a fugitive." Aidan toed out of his boots and headed for the kitchen. "You want some coffee?"

More than anything, Ian thought. Well, almost anything. He really wanted to go back upstairs and climb back into bed with Carrie so he could ravish her all over again, but he'd have to settle for coffee. He leaned against the counter, rubbing his hand over his stubble while Aidan measured out the granules.

"So are you?"

"Am I what?"

Aidan shot him a patient look. "Are you housing a fugitive?"

Ian scowled. "No."

Aidan grinned. "I didn't think so."

"Yeah, well I can see how much Dad trusts me."

"Dad doesn't trust anyone he knows, but he trusts the government, crazy huh?"

"He trusts you," Ian grumbled. The coffee seemed to be dripping much slower than usual.

"If an FBI agent came looking for me he wouldn't trust me either."

Ian let out a sigh. "You didn't come to dinner last night; we had a fascinating lecture on the cigarette beetle."

"Yeah, I had meningitis last night, Mom didn't tell you?"

"Mom said you had projectile diarrhea."

Aidan reached up into the cabinet for two mugs. "Yeah, same thing."

"What are you doing today?" Ian asked with a yawn. He snuck a glance at the clock and groaned at the early hour.

"Barn needs some repairs, I'm gonna get an early jump on it because the vet's coming at nine to stick the old cows full of antibiotics." Aidan filled the two cups and handed one to Ian. "So what is the story with this Carrie McKenna?"

"Nothing, okay? Don't worry about it. You were very sick last night and I don't want to burden you."

"What are you doing up so early?" Carrie called from the balcony. Ian could feel his face turning red as she leaned over the railing, her hair spilling like liquid silk. "Come back to bed."

"Carrie?" Aidan called, giving Ian a knowing grin.

There was silence.

"It's okay, it's my brother."

Carrie felt her stomach flutter with nervousness as she tied Ian's robe around her waist and ran her hands over her hair to smooth it. She came down the stairs, keeping her head low. Aidan was a bigger version of Ian. His coloring was lighter; his eyes green and his hair redder than Ian's. He was built wider and taller, and he was smiling at her. He had a disarming smile that eased some of the anxiety that was knotted in her gut.

"Dad didn't mention that this particular fugitive was so attractive," Aidan said, wiggling his eyebrows at Ian.

She looked at Ian, she didn't know what he had said and didn't want to contradict him.

"She's not a fugitive," Ian said warily. He didn't take his eyes off her, she felt like he was evaluating her, studying her to try to see how she felt. She wished him luck; she didn't know how she felt herself. He was leaning against the counter, lazily, his unbuttoned jeans hanging off his hips. There was a certain rugged, dangerous quality to the way he stood there, his chest bare, wide and ribbed with muscle. He was unshaven and his hair was bed-rumpled, his eyes were blurry with sleep, but were honed onto her with uncanny awareness. She felt like a bug in a microscope. She was nervous under his gaze, nervous about what he was thinking, or worse regretting. But his eyes betrayed nothing of what he felt.

"Jesse Ross is on vacation in Bermuda, according to the FBI."

Aidan looked confused. "But that's the agent that came to see Dad."

"Yeah, he is. But he's not working for the FBI."

"Who's he work for?" Aidan looked a little skeptical. "If this has anything to do with conspiracies and aliens I'm taking away your X-file privileges."

"My brother was involved in the mob in New York," Carrie said, ignoring Aidan's joke. "He had information on the money laundering that was going on in the restaurant he worked at. He went to Jesse Ross and gave him the computer disk that was blank; he also gave me a disk that had the real information on it. He was killed the next day and the New York field office has no record of receiving the blank disk. I think Jesse Ross has been protecting the Rosetti family in New York. He's trying to get the real disk back."

Aidan rubbed a big hand across his chin. "Where's it now?"

"I turned it over to the St. Paul field office."

"But I made a copy." Ian said. "Only it's in a code I can't break."

"Code?" she asked. Something was tugging at the corner of her memory, something that she couldn't quite place.

"Why didn't you tell dad?"

"Kevin wouldn't stop talking about the cigarette beetle!"

"What's a cigarette beetle?" Carrie asked.

"It used to destroy tobacco store houses. I learned all about it last night while you were getting drunk with Charlie."

Aidan grinned. "You got drunk with Charlie? Shannon is going to be jealous."

Carrie looked confused.

"Shannon was there and I didn't want her to get all worked up, you know how she is," Ian explained.

"Who's Shannon?"

"My sister," they both said at the same time.

"You want to tell Dad or should I?" Aidan asked.

"I'll tell him later, don't worry about it." Ian took a long drink from his coffee.

"So what's the plan of action?" Aidan said, refilling his coffee and offering Carrie a cup.

"Well, I'm going to contact the internal affairs department in New York, see if they have a file on Ross. There's also a hit man after her."

"A hit man?" Aidan shook his head. "Wow, you sure know how to pick them."

"I'm keeping her here until we figure everything out."

Aidan wiggled his eyebrows and grinned at Carrie. "I see."

She felt a blush rise in her cheeks. She didn't know what to say so she just sipped her coffee.

"Anything else?" Ian asked with annoyance.

Aidan finished his coffee and left the mug in the sink. "Naw, I'll be on my way."

"It was nice to meet you," Carrie said.

He gave her a big smile that extended to his eyes. "You too." He winked at his brother. "Ian." He gave his younger brother a particularly rough slap on the back that almost spilled his coffee.

When he was gone, Ian focused his attention on her. He caught the belt of the robe and pulled her closer, studying her intently. "What's up?"

She looked up at his eyes, struck suddenly by how tall he was, how big and powerful. She had made love to him; the memory sent a shiver up her spine. "Nothing."

"And last night?"

She couldn't help but smile. "I've never," she stumbled over what she was trying to say. "It's never been that way for me."

A slow smile spread across his face. "Then you're ready for round two?"

"I called New York. Internal Affairs has a file on Jesse Ross," Charlie said. He was stuffing a donut into his mouth. The lump on his head had faded to a dark bruise that made him look edgy, dark. He took a drink of coffee before he continued. "He was under investigation for accepting bribes, but they couldn't get enough evidence. The agent I talked to said they would be interested in picking him up if we could come up with something. Two of them are flying out here, but there isn't much we can do to him unless we have some more evidence."

"What are they going to do out here?" Ian asked.

"They're going to set up a wire tap on the phone at the motel. Because of his record and connection to the Rosetti crime family, and the fact that he's out here, where Carrie is, they had enough to get a warrant for the tap."

"What about Viggianni?"

"They don't care about Viggianni; if they pick him up they'll turn him over to us, but their main concern is Ross. The state police and all the local police in the area have his rap sheet and mug shot, everyone is looking for him."

"So what do we do now?"

Charlie shrugged. "I thought you were the boss."

Ian shot him a dark look. He was bone tired and he felt gritty. He had hoped that making love to Carrie would take the edge off his desire, but it hadn't, it had only deepened it, intensified it. It scared the hell out of him, but he was too far in now, he didn't know how to detangle himself from the situation.

Charlie shot him a satisfactory grin. "I forgot that you were busy _protecting_ Carrie."

"Shut the hell up, Charlie."

Charlie couldn't stop smiling while he finished his donut.

Ian picked up the phone and dialed his parents' number. His mother picked up on the third ring, she sounded out of breath.

"Mom? It's me. Is dad there?"

"No he's not. He's going over to your house; I was just about to call you."

Ian stilled, his blood icy. "Why?"

"That FBI agent called again and your father went off half cocked about you being in trouble and he was going to fix it. Damn man is so stubborn."

Ian cursed. "When did he leave?"

"About five minute ago, I was arguing with him-"

Ian didn't even wait for her to finish, he dropped the phone into the cradle and was out of his seat and into the car.

Carrie was on the couch when she heard the key in the door; she didn't even bother to look up.

"Are you Carrie McKenna?" The deep rumble of the voice jolted her off the couch and she stood staring at the doorway in horror. The man looked massive. He seemed to take up the whole doorframe, a huge, powerful presence and she could feel herself shrinking away from him. He was looking at her oddly, as if she were a specimen. Something that he could study.

"Who are you?" She eased back behind the kitchen table, thankful she had changed into her own jeans and sweater and she wasn't wearing Ian's oversized pajamas.

"I'm Thomas Caldwell; I thought I might find you here." He closed the door behind him, he moved deliberately, with a haunting measure of control and restraint. His eyes never moved from her.

"You're Ian's father?" she said, her voice was failing, not quite as loud as it should be.

"Yes," his voice was like a deep rumble. "And I don't know what you and my son are involved in, but I want you to know I don't approve. I'm going to turn you over to the FBI."

Shit, she thought. "Ian was going to call you and explain. Aidan was here this morning; call him and ask him," she said, struggling to make sense.

Thomas didn't look deterred. "I think you ought to come with me and maybe we can sort out all of this." He was an impressive man, and although his tone was not threatening there was something powerful and looming in his presence.

"I didn't do anything wrong." She bumped into the counter, the edge bit into her back. She was trapped. He took a few steps closer to her. She cursed under her breath. "Look, can't you call Ian and ask him?"

"I don't want my son to get into any trouble. That's why I'm doing this. We'll call him from my house."

"He won't be in any trouble. I talked to the police in St. Paul..." His hands encircled her wrists and she acted on pure instinct, her knee shot up into his groin and made contact, he instantly let her go and dropped to his knees, his hands clutching his stomach and a loud grunt escaping from his lips. She lunged for the counter so she could get to her jacket, but he caught her ankle and she fell against the table, sending the chair flying across the floor. She struggled to get her leg free, jerking it, but he held on, pulling her back towards him.

"Let go!" she shrieked, bucking against him. He had gotten a hold of her arm and pulled her up against him. He wrestled her down and before she knew what was happening he had her pinned beneath him.

"Are you gonna come easy or are you gonna make it hard?"

Chapter Seven

Ian spun into the empty driveway, cursing under his breath. He jogged up the steps as his cell phone rang.

"Ian! Your father has the poor girl hogtied!"

He heard his father yelling in the background over his mother's voice.

"You'd better get over here quick."

"Call Aidan," he said, turning on his heel and climbing back into the car.

When he got to his parents' house his brother's truck was parked behind his father's. He found his father sitting in the kitchen next to Carrie, who was tied to a chair with rough twine from the barn. Aidan was leaning against the counter with his arms crossed and Maggie was beside him, glaring at Thomas.

Carrie did not look very happy.

"Are you okay?" he asked her.

She just glared at him.

"He won't listen to me," Aidan said. "He's lost his mind."

"Dad! You can't tie people up!" Ian started towards Carrie.

Shannon burst through the kitchen door. "Mom! I've been thinking about- Why is there a woman tied to a chair?" She looked from Ian to her father.

"Shannon, I told you it was fine," Kevin came crashing through the door behind Shannon, bumping into her back and sending her sprawling. The room erupted in chaos, Maggie jumped forward to help Shannon up, and Kevin's glasses flew off his face and onto the floor where Aidan kicked them under the kitchen table. Ian tried to get past his father to get to Carrie, but he blocked him.

"What the hell is going on here?" Thomas shouted. Everyone froze.

"Dad, you have to untie her," Aidan said.

Shannon had righted herself. "Is that the woman the FBI agent was looking for?" she asked, studying her like she should have a stamp on her head that said _criminal_.

Carrie hadn't said anything, her eyes had fixed on a point on the floor and he could feel hot anger scalding him as it radiated outwards from her. He pushed passed his father, feeling a swell of protective instinct. "You okay?"

She didn't say anything, didn't even look at him. Her eyes were empty, as if she had retreated into herself, as if she had curled into a ball, leaving only the shell of her body.

"Jesus Christ, Dad, what the hell is wrong with you? I don't believe this." He untied the rope and let it fall to the floor.

"Dad, why don't you listen to Ian? Let him tell you what's going on." Aidan pushed off the counter, trying not to smirk at Kevin who was crawling around on the floor feeling for his glasses.

"Mom, Dad, you have to apologize to Kevin for last night."

"Shannon honey, can't you see we are in the middle of a crisis?"

"This is the man I'm going to marry! You think this woman is more important? Kevin is going to be the father of your grandchildren!" She stomped on Kevin's hand with her boot to make the point.

"I told you it isn't a big deal," Kevin said, wincing and drawing his hand protectively to his chest.

"Shannon, stop being such a drama queen," Maggie ordered. "If you care so much about him why don't you help him find his damn glasses?"

Ian felt Carrie behind him, she didn't touch him and he wished she would. He wanted to get her out of here.

"Everyone be quiet or I'm calling that FBI agent." Thomas stood with his arms across his chest.

The room was quiet again. Aidan pushed off the counter. "Dad, just drop this whole thing. You don't know the whole story."

Thomas's eyes grew darker. "And you do?"

"Yeah, I do," Aidan shook his head. "You have to stop thinking you know what's best for all of us. We're all grown up now. Ian's a good guy. He wouldn't do anything wrong."

Ian felt Carrie's hand on the small of his back.

"That's what I told him," Maggie said, throwing her hands up in disgust. "Damn stubborn man won't listen to anyone!"

"So what exactly is this story?" Thomas said.

Ian told them the whole thing, from start to finish, omitting everything that had happened the night before. Carrie never uttered a word, just stood behind him, shielded by his body. When he was finished his father looked at the floor.

"Why didn't you tell me immediately?"

"I'm thirty, dad. I didn't know I had to report to you," he said with more than a little annoyance. "Besides which, it's sensitive information, I didn't want the whole town knowing." He shot a meaningful glance at Shannon who was leaning against the counter with her arms crossed.

"You could have told me last night."

Ian shook his head. "I didn't want to get into it. I was going to call you today."

"So now what?"

Maggie swatted him with her dishtowel. "Now we invite everyone to dinner. Including Carrie. It's nice to meet you dear; I'm Ian's mother, Maggie."

"Mom," Ian said, his tone laced with a warning.

"Now sweetheart, come out so we can see you," Maggie said, peaking around Ian.

"It's nice to meet you, Mrs. Caldwell," Carrie said, offering her hand. He was surprised by her demeanor, how calm and collected she was.

"I'm Shannon; this is my fiancé, Kevin."

Carrie smiled at Kevin and shook Shannon's hand.

"Hey Carrie," Aidan said, trying his best to hide his knowing smile at the memory of their earlier meeting.

"You have the most incredible eyes," Kevin said suddenly, stepping forward to see them better. "They look like the back of an Amazon dung beetle. Look at the monotone gradations. That's amazing," he shoved his glasses up on his nose and leaned closer.

Carrie shot Ian a terrified look.

"How come you never said my eyes looked like a dung beetle?" Shannon wailed.

"You have green eyes, Shannon. There are no green dung beetles."

Maggie rolled her eyes. "Dear Lord in heaven."

"How can you talk about her eyes? She's a criminal mastermind, I am your fiancé!" She stomped her foot.

"Shannon, I can't help it if there are no green dung beetles," Kevin said helplessly. "I've told you other things."

"Yeah, but they didn't have anything to do with bugs!" Shannon screamed.

"I didn't know you wanted eyes that looked like a bug!"

Shannon re-crossed her arms over her chest and glared at him. "I don't think this is working out. I think we should postpone the wedding, you obviously aren't ready to commit."

Kevin's eyes looked like they were going to pop out of his head. "What?" His voice got as high pitched and squeaky as a twelve-year old's.

At that moment, there was a knock at the back door, and Charlie walked in. The whole room got quiet.

"Hey, am I interrupting?"

"Not at all dear," Maggie said, a devilish gleam in her eyes. "Come in."

"Charlie!" Shannon said, her voice honey. "Oh god, what happened to you?" She hurried to him, placing her hand over the ugly bruise on the side of his head.

He smiled sheepishly. "Carrie hit me in the head with the phone."

Thomas snorted. "She kicked me in the balls."

Ian spun around to face her. "You kicked my father in the balls?"

"It was an accident," she said indignantly. "I thought he was going to kidnap me." She kicked the coil of rope on the floor. "Turned out I wasn't that far from the truth."

"Is everyone clear now, on what's going on?" Ian said, letting out a frustrated sigh.

"You told everyone?" Charlie said.

Ian shrugged. "I had to, my dad had her tied to a chair."

"You knew too?" Shannon asked Charlie.

"Of course I knew."

"Then why did she hit you in the head with the phone?"

Charlie blushed a little. "Well, that was before I knew. Then Carrie got me drunk and all's forgiven."

Shannon stomped her foot again. "You got drunk with her?" she demanded.

"You're marrying what's his name, what the hell do you care?" he replied antagonistically.

She jammed her hands at her waist, searing him with a glare. "Ohhhh, you...." But she was so angry she didn't know what to say.

"Shannon," Kevin said helplessly. Ian almost felt bad for him as he stood there, his glasses too far down on his nose, his arms hanging limp and useless at his side.

"Alright everyone, Charlie you stay for dinner. No more bickering or fighting," Maggie snapped.

"I think Carrie and I should get out of here." Ian leaned against the stove. Carrie was sticking by him. He wanted to put a possessive arm around her, but he didn't need anymore badgering.

"Nonsense! Everyone is staying to eat. We have plenty of food. How many are there?" She silently counted off the tops of the heads. "Eight, right? Oh that's fine. It will just take me a minute to get everything organized. Dear, do you cook?" And then Carrie was in his mother's clutches and he knew he'd lost her; any attempts to leave would be futile. Maggie had her by the elbow and herded her off to the pantry, carrying on about lamb prices.

Aidan appeared at his side and handed him a beer. "Take a walk?"

Ian followed his older brother into the study, where they were alone. Ian knew what he was going to say, and he wished he could answer, for his own sake more than anything else.

"What's going on with you two?"

Ian shrugged his shoulders. "I don't know."

"It's been a long time since you had a girlfriend."

Ian narrowed his eyes at his brother. "She's not my girlfriend."

"Sure looked like it this morning," Aidan took a long pull from his beer and settled his big frame in the doorway.

"It just happened. It wasn't supposed to. Now I don't know what to do."

Aidan grinned. "It just happened? That's not the brother I know. You always know what's going to happen, right? You're always in control?"

Ian dropped his head into his hands. "Shut up."

"You want to know what I think?"

Ian scowled. "No."

Aidan continued, unfazed. "I think that you really like her and that scares you."

"Thank you, Doctor Freud. Can we drop it now?"

"I think that after Genevieve all that hogwash about the women around here was just because you never wanted to feel like that again. Like you couldn't control the situation."

Ian supported his head with his hands. "I don't want to talk about any of this. Really."

Aidan's face lost some of the humor. "I think it's good. I think you need to give it another shot."

Ian jerked up, he was suddenly uncomfortable. "Look, Aidan, you're reading way too much into this. Why couldn't I just be having an affair? It's over when she leaves?"

Aidan regarded his brother with lazy eyes. "Because I know you, because I know you couldn't do that."

Damn it, he was right. Ian knew it in his gut, he couldn't stand not knowing, he couldn't bear the ambiguity of their relationship. It was eating him alive.

"The dining room is the original building, isn't that amazing, that a whole family lived in just this room?" Maggie Caldwell asked. She was giving Carrie a tour of the house. "Everything else was added on. The kitchen was added in 1869, and then the two other rooms were built in 1912. The upstairs was put on about that time also." It was a beautiful house. It was a long rectangle, four downstairs rooms lined up one after the other. A wide staircase was situated between the informal and the formal living rooms, and a narrow stairwell was tucked next to the pantry in the kitchen. The walls were covered with beautiful paintings and there seemed to be antiques everywhere, as well as books and family photographs. "Come upstairs, I'll show you Ian's old room."

Carrie followed her up the stairs. She didn't know what to say so she stayed silent, quietly awed by the beauty of the old farm house and the passionate and resilient spirit of the older woman.

"So when we're done the only thing we'll need to do for dinner is mashing the potatoes and dress the salad. I'm so glad to have you here, dear. I love my daughter, but bless her soul she couldn't cook spaghetti to save her life."

"I'm really not a very good cook," Carrie started.

"Nonsense! You have a good sense with food. Some people need cook books and all that, and then other people have a feeling about it. With a little practice I think you would be a fine cook."

"I worked at some restaurants, it's probably just that."

Maggie shook her head. "Shannon did some waitressing, just about the only thing she learned was how to plump up her cleavage to get good tips!"

"I hope I didn't cause any problems between her and her fiancé," Carrie said carefully.

Maggie smirked. "Now dear, don't worry about that. It's not your fault that your eyes looked like a dung beetle."

"Amazing, isn't it? That I've made it this long in my life without anyone ever telling me that before."

Maggie laughed. "I've never met a sweeter man than Kevin, but lord does the sun rise and set with bugs in his mind. I just can't see what Shannon sees in him. Ian and I are hoping she and Charlie will get together."

"Charlie? Really?"

"Well, Shannon has always had a bit of a crush on Charlie. You see she's four years younger than Ian, and Charlie, well, let's see, Charlie must have been two years a head of Shannon in school. He was quite a good football player, he was even given a scholarship to Minnesota, to play on the Gophers, isn't that a horrible name for a football team? So I think that he must be two years older than Shannon. They went to the junior prom together when Shannon was a freshman. Ian and Charlie got into a terrible fight over it; both of my boys are very protective of her. I think that might be why she's a little high maintenance. She's gotten used to not having to worry about anything. I love the girl but sometimes she's so spoiled..." Maggie paused to take a breath. "Here we are; this was Ian's room when he was a little boy."

It was exactly as Carrie had pictured it. A single bed between two windows fringed with plaid curtains that looked to be hand sewn. There were more books, and a small desk in one corner. There wasn't much left over from his childhood, it looked to be more of a guest room now. But she did see a few drawings on the walls that he might have done. There was also a framed picture of him as a child on the night stand. Maggie picked it up.

"He was such a serious child. He wasn't unhappy; it was just that he carried the weight of the world on those shoulders. From a very young age Ian took on all the injustices of the world."

Carrie looked over her shoulder. He looked to be about eight, his dark hair the same unruly mess, the same kindness in his features. He had a crooked grin, pale gold freckles dusted across his nose. "He's a beautiful little boy," she commented without thinking.

Maggie couldn't hide her smile. "And what do you think of him all grown up?"

Carrie felt like she had stumbled into a trap. "I think he is the last of a dying breed. I've never met someone with such principles."

Maggie looked at her knowingly. "You don't let those one's get away."

Carrie smiled weakly. "It's not like that, Mrs. Caldwell."

"You think I'm blind? I know my little boy and he is about as possessive of you as a mama tiger is with her cubs."

"He's like that with everyone."

Maggie shook her head. "Not the same way. You'll see, sooner or later."

Carrie tried to ignore the warmth that the words brought to her.

Carrie watched the strange transformation throughout dinner. Ian was drifting farther and farther away from her, he sat at the dinner table, he ate, every once in a while his eyes would meet hers and they were sad. It scared her. Dinner seemed to drag on forever. Maggie and Aidan were sitting next to her and both kept her busy talking. When dinner and desert were finished and Maggie had waved off repeated offers of help for cleaning up, Carrie followed Ian out to the Jeep. It was snowing lightly, like a dusting of confectioner's sugar across the landscape.

Ian got into the car without a word. She slid into the passenger seat as quietly as she could. They hadn't spoken about what had happened the night before. They had made love again in the pale light of dawn, and she had fallen back asleep. When she awoke he was gone. She was more frightened than she had ever been, felt more alone than she ever had, and she was suddenly terrified. If she could feel this distance between them so strongly, then what would happen when she went back to New York? He had gotten in below her defenses, slipped through the radar and had somehow infiltrated her heart. She felt so fragile, like her shell had been broken open, stripped away, leaving only her tender flesh, the nerves exposed. Her emotions went into overdrive near him, every word; every touch took on a new meaning. She had never let anyone so close to her heart and now that she realized she had involuntarily let him in, she was angry. Angry at him for being so damn handsome and charming and valiant. And angry at herself for being stupid enough to think it was because of her.

He didn't start the engine; instead he sat with his arms wrapped around the steering wheel, his chin resting on his hands, staring blankly at the front of his parents' farm house. She wanted to know what he was thinking, but in the same vein, she was terrified that he would open his mouth, terrified of the damage his words could do to her. Ashamed that she had given him that power over her.

"You want to grab some coffee?" he asked suddenly. He didn't look at her.

"You think that's a good idea?"

He was so distracted for a minute she didn't think he had heard her. "I won't let anything happen to you."

His words didn't comfort her, because it wasn't exactly what she was afraid of. Anxiety pooled in her stomach and started twisting into itself, radiating outwards into her arms and legs, the heat of shame burning through her skin, leaving her vulnerable, unprotected. In one second she realized with a flash it wasn't Mario Viggianni or Jesse Ross that frightened her most, it was the thought that she might love Ian Caldwell. She closed her eyes, regulated her breathing, struggled to keep her exterior cool and collected while her heart and her mind battled inside of her for the upper hand. One wanted to protect her, but she was having a hard time figuring out which one it was.

The diner was almost empty when they got there. It was a small, family-owned business. A long, red Formica countertop ran the length of the diner; the other walls were all lined with booths. They were old and worn, some of the vinyl seats sported jagged cuts with bits of stuffing peaking out.

Ian hadn't spoken another word, just retreated into himself; moving farther and farther away from her and she could feel his withdrawal and it left her feeling cold and alone. He slid into a booth and she sat down across from him. She didn't take off her jacket or hat. He motioned to the waitress for coffee and waited while she brought it.

"Sheriff, how ya been?" the waitress asked. She was an older woman, bottle blond with too much make-up and too much breast; they seemed to be stretching the polyester shirt within an inch of its life. Her voice had a tinge of Minnesota in it and there was a pencil stuck in her bun.

"I'm pretty good, Marilee. How are the kids?"

"They're good, Deena's got a birthday next week, gonna be sixteen."

"They grow up so fast," Ian commented.

The waitress shot a final, curious look at Carrie before she moved back to the counter and the Virginia Slim she had left smoking in the ashtray.

The seconds seemed to stretch on forever while she waited for him to speak.

"I don't know what I'm doing." It was all he said for a moment and the words hung, weighted in the air between them. When he spoke again his voice was low and husky. "I've never said that before. I always know what I'm doing. I always say, 'don't worry about it,' 'I'll take care of it', 'everything's under control.'"

He wouldn't meet her eyes, and she settled her gaze on the smooth tabletop. It was fire engine red with gold flecks, and she traced the seam with her thumbnail.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked.

He looked away and then ran his hands through his hair, leaving tufts of it sticking up at haphazard angles in the wake of his fingers. "I don't want to hurt you."

The ball dropped. An inky, gelatinous mass of blackness hit her in the chest with such force it knocked the wind out of her. It blossomed outwards, like an oil spill it spread throughout her body. She felt empty, but at the same time like she was choking on something, something that was rapidly filling her body, something horrible and dark and foul. She didn't look at him, keeping her voice low and neutral.

"What makes you think you can hurt me?"

He couldn't meet her eyes, he chewed his lip. "I can't say anything; whatever it is, it'll be wrong. Every time I try to protect you, I end up hurting you more."

She stared at the surface of her coffee. Her heart hurt. She had never felt it so strongly before. It had been easy to seal herself against the endless parade of foster parents, against rejections and apathy. But not him. He could inflict more pain in her with a few words than a knife. She loved him. It was ironic, she thought, that the only time she had ever loved someone, it was wrought with as much pain as every other aspect of her life. It was never easy for her, and she was suddenly so angry the heat of it evaporated all the last vestiges of fear and helplessness. She leaned forward, fueled by some hidden resource, some untapped defense mechanism. "I don't need you to protect me. You actually think that I think something is going on between us? Because I told you that little sob story last night? We've only know each other a week. I don't have any ideas about this going any further. It'll be fun while it lasts and then I'm going back to New York as soon as this blows over. I didn't make it this far in the world using other people as crutches. I don't just attach myself to anyone who's nice to me because I'm so lonely in this big wide world. I'm pretty damn used to relying on myself and just because you had to come along and play hero doesn't mean that you owe me anything. I don't need you. Especially like that."

He didn't look mad or upset, he looked tired. He slacked a sheen of moisture over his lip with his tongue. "Don't do that."

She sat back against the padded booth, her arms crossed protectively over her chest. "You think you're so irresistible, don't you?"

He shook his head faintly. "Don't do this, Carrie," he said again, almost warily. As if it were funny. It made her even angrier.

"I need to get my car. I can't go on like this. I can't depend on you like this. It's ridiculous."

"Carrie," his voice was a low warning.

"Just forget it. I want to go back to New York. I don't know why I stayed in this stupid town to begin with. I need to do something, I'm going crazy pacing around your house, I need to be active, I need to have something to do." Oh God, she was rambling. She forced herself to clamp her mouth closed, forced herself to take a deep breath. "I can't stand this, okay? I have to get out of here, I have to go back to the city, and I have to get my job back. I'm just wasting time sitting here. Whatever is going to happen to me will happen no matter what, so why even try to fight it."

He looked at her expectantly. "Are you done?" he asked with annoyance.

She didn't feel like answering him so she slid lower into her seat and glared at him.

He took a deep, calming breath and before he started to speak. "I'm not trying to drive you away; I'm just trying to figure out where we stand."

She felt like she was a pouty eight-year old, but she couldn't help herself, she slid a few inches lower and jutted out her chin. "Why?"

"Why, what?"

"Why do you have to put a label on everything?"

He leaned forward so she could hear him. "Because you are so damn scared of being vulnerable."

She could feel the edges of her mask hardening on her face; she could feel her body start to shut him out. "You are making way too big a deal out of this," she muttered. "All we did was have sex." The best, most passionate, most intimate sex she had ever had. The only time she had felt it as a joining of two bodies, the only time she had felt it through every pore of her body. The only time she felt as though she had captured a part of someone's soul. The only time she felt that she had given part of her soul.

He looked at her blankly. "That's all?"

She just sat back, the flush of humiliation rising up her neck into her cheeks. She wished she could take back last night, every horrible minute of it. She couldn't believe how open she had been with him about everything and now it was all coming back to bite her in the ass. Way to go, Carrie, she thought.

"Jesus Christ, I'm not trying to start a fight. All I wanted to say was that..." he trailed off and looked at the counter. "I don't know what I was trying to say."

She looked down at her coffee. She hadn't drunk any of it and it had grown cold.

"You can't go back to New York."

She knew that, but she leveled the most evil look at him that she could muster. "The hell I can't."

"Carrie, cut it out. You are in real danger, and whatever else happens between us, I told you that nothing was going to happen to you, and I intend to keep that promise."

"I'm not a child."

"You're behaving like one."

She knew he was right, but she would be damned before she admitted it. She hated being stuck in this position, so dependent on him, so helpless.

"Can we go?"

He got up and threw a five onto the table. She followed him out to the car, climbing in lost in thought.

"Why?" she asked. "Why are you doing all of this?"

He looked at her, but didn't answer her.

"Because you feel sorry for me? Because I need you? Because it makes you feel like your doing something good for someone not quite as fortunate as you?" she spat.

He shook his head. "Just stop it." He jerked the Jeep into gear and spun the tires in the snow as he backed out. He was angry, but it was an anger she had never seen in someone before. It hummed just below the surface, calm, collected, and frightening. She wished she had kept her mouth shut; she didn't know what it was that he wanted to tell her, and she automatically jumped down his throat and pissed him off. Who knew, maybe for once it was something good.

Chapter Eight

Ian sat on the couch, watching a basketball game, although he wasn't paying any attention to it. No matter what he said, no matter what he tried to do, it always drove her away. He wanted to figure out where they stood, where she stood, he needed to figure out what they were doing because he was starting to slip in over his head. He couldn't control his feelings anymore and he couldn't let go of them completely until he knew where she stood. She had withdrawn with frightening quickness; it had surprised him, although he knew it shouldn't have. She had a hell of a day. He knew she was feeling vulnerable enough after the way she had opened up to him last night, what he hadn't counted on was having to deal with his father tying her to a chair and Aidan's incessant muddling. He didn't want to think about Genevieve or girlfriends or anything else in that vein. He didn't want to have to think. He dropped his head back against the couch; he just wanted his simple, easy life back. It was so uncomplicated. Now, in one moment everything had been turned upside down. And he still wanted her. That was the worst part. When she pulled away from him, it only seemed to drag him closer, no matter how unwilling he dragged his feet. He couldn't shake the feelings that were knocking around behind his ribs, couldn't forget the look on her face after they had made love, couldn't forget the feeling he had of contentment. He had never felt it so deeply, so that it swelled in his heart, so that it eroded the trepidation that past relationships had inflicted.

She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen, and at some point the thought of being without her had turned into something unbearably excruciating. He didn't know when it had happened; maybe when she had told him about her childhood, maybe when they made love, maybe when he could see how much it hurt to push him away. She had stronger defenses than he had thought; hell, he was deluding himself if he thought she had gotten through her life with anything less. He just didn't like to think that she needed to use them with him. He wanted her to feel safe with him, protected.

A noise outside startled him. He sat bolt upright, all of his senses on high alert. He heard it again, the soft crunch of snow under a shoe. He slid off the couch, moving as silently as he could to the wall next to the window. The only light was the eerie blue glow from the television flickering, and he eased out to try to look out the window. The sky was glowing pale with moonlight that reflected off the smooth surface of the snow, the bare trees were like ink etchings against the pale moonlit sky, intricate and detailed. He heard it again, close, right outside where he stood. He held his breath, trying to hear over the frantic beat of his pulse. A twig snapped.

"What's going on?" Carrie stood on the spiral staircase, her hair tangled in a loose knot, her eyes sleepy.

"Shhh," he put his finger to his lips and motioned her to come towards him.

"What?" she hissed when she was at his side.

"I think there's someone outside."

Her eyes were huge in the dark, staring up at him. Her hand tangled in the fabric of the front of his shirt. "Who is it?"

"I don't know, be quiet."

They stood in silence for a full minute before they heard the footsteps, they were moving away to the right. Ian pulled Carrie closer, but she twisted around in his arms so that her back was against him.

"What's going to happen?" she whispered.

But he wasn't paying attention anymore; he was now focused on her delectable little bottom tucked against his thighs. God, she was distracting. His thoughts had done a nose dive from trying to figure out who was lurking around outside, right into the gutter. His arms were around her and he tightened his hold so that she was pressed flush against him and he could feel every curve, every gorgeous inch of her body. He inhaled the gentle scent of her hair, she was using his shampoo, but somehow it smelled different, like wildflowers, with a spicy undertone. It smelled like heaven on earth. He set his chin on top of her head, trying to ignore the tightening in his belly, the heat in his groin.

"Ian?" she twisted her head around to face him. "What's going on?"

He tightened his jaw. "Nothing."

"Do you hear anything?"

Damn it, he couldn't hear anything, see anything. All he could do was feel her against him, smell her, taste her. "No, I think it was just an animal."

"Are you sure?"

She didn't feel anything? He was going crazy behind her and she was thinking about the noise outside. Damn it, he should be thinking about the person outside, if it was a person. He had to get his head on straight, for Christ sake.

"Ian?" she asked again, this time the tone of her voice had changed slightly, it had deepened. "Is that your gun digging into my hip?"

He couldn't help but smile. "Nope."

She wiggled that amazing little ass against him. "I didn't think so."

His hands opened across her belly, fingers splayed. His mouth brushed against the shell of her ear, the tender skin behind it, her neck. She arched into him, her head falling back against his shoulder, a sigh escaping her lips.

She turned in his arms, her hands smoothed across his t-shirt, slid beneath the hem and then her fingers were touching his skin, they felt hot, soft.

"I think I'm mad at you," she whispered, drawing lazy circles across his abdomen.

"That's okay, you can still be mad at me. Just don't stop."

A slow smile spread on her lips. "You're taking advantage of me in my compromised position."

His hands cupped her bottom, lifting her against his erection. "Darlin', I'd take advantage of you..."

She stood on her tip toes so she could silence him with a kiss. Her lips were smooth and her tongue slid between his lips in a silent invitation, in surrender, in the only way she could show him what he meant to her. Before he could deepen it she leaned back, her eyes big and dark.

"I'm sorry," she said softly. "About before."

He shook his head slightly. "No apologies."

"But-"

He put his finger to her lips, and she was quiet. Instead of pressing the point, she slumped against him, her mouth fused to his. Heat was swelling inside of him, eating him alive, passion boiled inside of him, threatening to consume him. He wanted her, he needed her. Needed to feel her wrapped around him, needed to be buried inside of her.

"Upstairs," he growled. He didn't want to let her go. "I'll be up in a minute."

"What are you going to do?" she whispered.

"I gotta go outside and check it out, it'll bother me otherwise."

She sank onto the step, pulling her oversized shirt over her knees. "I'll wait here."

"Go upstairs."

"Don't make me get mad at you again."

He gave her a patient look. "Fine, stay right there."

She held up her hand. "Scout's honor."

"You were never a girl scout."

She scowled. "Shut up."

He shoved his feet into his boots and pulled on his coat. He got his flashlight and gun from his utility belt.

"Don't go," she said softly, her face filled with worry.

"I'll be fine." He grabbed his keys and then stepped outside; making sure the door was locked behind him. The night air was frigid and still. It seemed to burn his nose and throat with a crispness that reminded him of a menthol cough drop. The snow had an icy crust that cracked when he stepped. He went along the side of the building, sweeping his flashlight across the snow. Against the western side of the house the ice had been broken. And not by an animal. By a size twelve boot. He shone the flashlight on the footprint, kneeling down to examine it closer.

"What is it?"

He nearly jumped out of his skin. Carrie was peering over his shoulder. She pulled on jeans under her night shirt and was wearing a pair of his shearing lined boots that were about eight sizes to big for her.

"What the hell are you doing out here?" he snapped.

She looked at him indignantly. "I was worried about you," she said like it was the most reasonable answer in the world.

"I have a gun."

"So?"

He sank back on his heels. "So, if I found someone I could shoot them. What could you do, kick them to death?"

She looked down at her feet. "I had a hard enough time walking out here; I don't think I'm strong enough to lift my foot high enough to kick someone."

"You're defenseless. And, I think I told you to stay put."

She ignored him and refocused her attention on the perfectly outlined foot print. "What do you make of it?"

He snorted. "Who are we, Nick and Nora Charles?"

She gave him a weird look. "Who's that?"

"Never mind. What I make of it is that we had a visitor who wears a size twelve Timberland boot."

She scrunched her nose up. "How can you tell all of that?"

"Well, it says Timberland right there, and below it in that little circle, is the twelve."

"Oh." She got on her knees so that she could look closer. "Guess that's why you're the cop."

He stood up and brushed the snow off his knees. "Follow me, and for godssake listen to me this time."

She crept along behind him as he followed the tracks until they came to the road. There were tire tracks in the snow on the shoulder. Ian looked up and down the road. It was empty.

"Now what?" she asked, putting her hands on her hips and mimicking the path of his gaze.

"Now, we go back inside, Nancy Drew."

"Shouldn't we do something?" She rubbed her hands together and jumped up and down to try to stay warm.

"We should go back inside. Whoever it was is long gone."

She was obviously cold so she agreed, but he could tell that she needed to do something. Sitting around waiting for things to happen was hard for her, and he knew these last few days had been a struggle. He followed her back inside, trying to hide his smile as she struggled to climb the steps in his boots.

She kicked them off as soon as she was inside. It took them both a minute to untangle the scarves and pull off gloves and hats and coats. Ian went to the kitchen.

"Hot chocolate?"

She was standing over the floor vent, shivering. "I don't know how you people can live like this; it's damn cold out there."

"Ah, it's not so bad." He measured out enough cocoa powder and sugar for two mugs of chocolate and then doused it with some vanilla extract.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Making hot chocolate." He mixed in the milk slowly so the powder wouldn't clump. The heat from the stove warmed his fingers. When he turned around she was pulling out a chair at the table and pulling her legs up to her chest.

"Out of what?"

"Cocoa and sugar..." he started.

"I just tear open a swiss miss package," she said, shivering. "It gets cold in New York, but not cold like this. This cold, it's like it gets embedded in your bones."

He shot her a wary look over his shoulders. "It's worse in January."

She rolled her eyes. "My toes are going to fall off just thinking about it. I had to wear your boots because I'm wearing six pairs of socks."

"I think your exaggerating just a tiny bit." He set a mug down in front of her and then pulled out another chair. He wanted to talk, but not now.

"Who do you think it was?" she asked. She took a sip of her hot chocolate. "Ummmm, this is really good. It almost makes up for having to go outside."

"I believe I told you to stay inside." He took a drink from his mug. "And I think it was probably Jesse Ross or Mario Viggianni, or it could have been James Martinson." At the look she gave him he explained. "He's our resident peeping tom."

She looked at him with forced patience. "Was it Viggianni or Ross?"

Ian shrugged. "I'd put money on Viggianni."

"Why?"

"Because I think Ross knows where you are. I don't know why he hasn't tried to get to you, but he's hanging around for a reason."

Her golden eyes were quizzical. "And if it was Viggianni?"

"Then we should be careful."

Carrie finished her hot chocolate and then stood up to put her mug in the sink, instead of sitting she leaned against the counter. "I don't want you in any danger-"

He cut her off before she could finish. "I'm not doing anything I don't want to."

She held up a hand. "I know you have some misguided sense of duty towards me, God knows why, but I couldn't live with myself-"

"Carrie, shut up."

She crossed her arms over her chest and did her best to look formidable, but it only made him want to kiss her. "This is serious."

"Carrie, I'm not the noble one right now. You're doing a pretty good job of being noble yourself."

She rolled her eyes. "Well, don't get used to it."

"I'm in this until it's over. Whether you like it or not."

She looked at him sideways. "I don't think I'll ever understand why."

He looked at her for a long minute. "You deserve it. You've had to rely on yourself for a long time, let me take care of it for a while."

Her eyes were sad. "I don't know how I'll ever thank you."

He got up and put his mug next to hers in the sink and then tweaked her nose with his thumb. "Cut it out."

She looked down at the floor.

"Hey, kiddo. You don't have to thank me, you don't owe me anything."

She tried to smile, but it ended up crooked and a little sad. "I do. I know I do."

"Brownies, woman. Learn how to bake and make me brownies."

This time her smile made it to her eyes. He looped his arms around her waist and pulled her close against him. He brushed his lips across her forehead, there was an automatic familiarity in the way he handled her, the way she responded to him. He liked the way she felt in his arms, like she belonged there. She looked up at him, her big doe eyes were oceans, deeper than anything he had ever seen, fuller, as if they might burst and send a sea of emotions spilling over him.

"Thank you," she whispered. And that was all the thanks he would ever need.

Carrie woke up at dawn. Ian was sleeping beside her and it occurred to her suddenly that she had never seen him sleep before; he was always awake before she was. He seemed peaceful, his lashes spread out across his cheeks, his lips parted slightly. She used her finger to trace along the lines of his mouth, trying to remember every angle, every bone. She wanted to map him out so that at night when she was alone she could feel him, she could imagine him. This place had become so familiar, the feel of the sheets, the scent of him, the colors of the wood. She loved him for opening up another world for her, she loved him for showing her what a good person was, what an honest person was. She loved him for helping her when she could see no reason why, she loved him for making her realize her own worth. And that was why she was leaving, because she loved him. And she couldn't live another minute if she knew he had been hurt because of her.

His eyes opened slowly. "What time is it?"

"Eight."

He traced the line of her jaw with his fingers. "I have to stop at the office. We have court tonight and I have to get all my paperwork in order."

She nodded.

"You should come."

"I want to try to work on that password for the disk. I think I might know what it is."

Ian's eyebrows rose. "I almost forgot the disk."

"You're not a very good cop," she said as playfully as she could around the lump in her throat.

"You are a very distracting woman."

She had to figure out where she was going, what she was going to do, but it was too much to think about. She wanted the last moments with him to be pure, memories that she could unwrap like an old treasure kept in tissue paper, tucking it away, protecting it.

"What time do you think you'll be back?" she asked, nearly choking on the words.

"I think you should come, after last night."

She shook her head. "I'd be bored, besides, it's cold there."

"I don't want to leave you alone, I'll worry."

"How long will you be gone?"

"An hour, maybe."

"I'll be okay. Don't worry, if anyone tries anything I'll kick them in the balls."

He didn't smile, just looked at her for a long time. "Are you sure?"

She couldn't help the way her voice sounded when she spoke, hollow, empty. "I'll be fine."

"Lunch?" he asked. "I can pick something up."

"No, I can make something." It was too hard to talk anymore about a future they didn't have.

She watched him drive away two hours later. For the last time. She wondered if he would ever know how much she appreciated him. How no one had ever treated her with such kindness, no one had ever protected her with the same intense loyalty. She had always thought men like him were fables, fairy tales. He had blindly taken her under his wing, vowed to protect her, opened his home to her. And she had nothing to give him. Except her heart. But she knew he deserved more, but he would never tell her that. She knew what she had to do.

She called the garage that Ian had told her had towed her car and asked for them to pull it out. They promised to have it ready when she arrived an hour later.

She knew what the password was; it had come to her last night, it was an old nickname that her brother had used for her when they were young. She flipped on the computer. He had saved the file onto his desktop and she double clicked on the icon. The password prompt appeared. Her fingers trembled slightly when she went to type it in, she hadn't thought about her brother's death, she had pushed it so far beneath everything else that she was feeling that she had almost forgotten. She had almost forgotten the depth of her memories, how he had so valiantly fought for her when they were young, how he would have died trying to defend her from a harmless schoolyard prank. He had been her protector. And he had lost that as he grew older, he had turned inside out, all of the darkness that had hidden inside of him, festering like an old, open wound, had slowly eaten through the shining armor that had blinded her for so long. And that was what she saw now, the man who hung out with the wrong crowd; who was always mixed up in something, the man who bore so little resemblance to the boy who had once been her hero. But that little boy had been the one who had nicknamed her monkey, and it was the loss of that little boy that brought tears into her eyes when she typed in the word. She now knew why her brother had given her the disk, not because he was selfish or wanted her in danger, but because she was the only person he could trust, and she was the only one who could unlock its secret.

"I see you figured it out."

She jumped, spinning around in horror to find a man standing in the doorway. He was short, built wide with dark skin and bright blue eyes. He wore a crisp white cotton shirt and a grey wool suit.

"Who are you, how did you get in here?" she stammered, her eyes scanning the desk for a weapon. There was a stapler; maybe she could staple him to death.

She had seen Ian set the alarm off when he left; she had locked the door behind him.

"I'm special agent Jesse Ross."

And her heart stopped.

Chapter Nine

Ian shuffled through the mess of papers in front of him. Court was every Friday night; usually he had everything in order because he had nothing else to do, but this past week he had been so distracted and preoccupied that he had just shoved everything into stacks onto his desk. There were usually only a few tickets handed out each week, but it seemed that this week there were a hundred times more things to do than any other week. He established four piles and started systematically filing traffic infractions into one, driving under the influence into another and saving the others for reports and other miscellaneous papers. He came across the arrest report he had filled out for Carrie that first night. It seemed as though it were a lifetime ago, but it was only a few days. He remembered how little he knew about her, remembered how even then his desire threatened to consume him. He thought about his brother's words yesterday. He had loved Genevieve, and she had broken his heart when she had left, but it was nothing compared to the feelings that were blossoming in him now. And they scared him half to death, she wasn't someone who was easy, she pushed him away every chance she got. But he couldn't let her get away, wouldn't let her get away. He just had to figure out a way to convince her of that without sending her running for the hills.

And damn it on top of everything else he was scared. He had told her he would be back in an hour, but the work in front of him seemed monumental.

He heard the bell above the door jingle and Patty Miller walked in, her blond hair perfectly coiffed. She looked like the old Patty, all neatly put together and packaged with a bow.

"You alone?" she asked.

He sat back in his chair, threading his fingers together and setting them on top of his head. "Yeah."

Patty pressed her lips together and knotted her hands. "I may have been a little, um..." she made some uncertain noises, waiting for Ian to jump in to save her, but he stayed quiet. "Maybe I was a little inappropriate the other day."

Ian didn't take his eyes off her and he didn't say anything.

"I wanted to apologize." She shifted awkwardly from one foot to the next. "I just always thought that..."

This time he spoke. "I know what you thought."

"I would make a good wife."

The way she said it struck a chord; she was a good woman, and there was a part of him that wanted to want her. He could see how easy his life would be with her. But his heart wouldn't allow it, couldn't allow it. It felt too empty, there was no bright light that shone through her the way it did Carrie.

"You'll make a good wife for someone, Patty. Just not me."

She nodded, pursing her lips together. "You really care for her, don't you?"

He looked down at the desktop. "I guess I do."

She nodded again, this time more of an acceptance of her fate than an agreement. "Why?"

He shrugged. "I don't know why, I just do."

"What is it that you don't like..." she paused awkwardly, shifting her eyes. "Don't like about me?"

"Patty, it's not you."

She snorted. "I've never heard that before."

"Patty, I wish I could marry you, I just can't. I wouldn't make you happy."

" _You_ wouldn't be happy, Ian. Don't treat me like a child."

He sat forward, looked down at his desk. "It doesn't matter."

"So then, that's it?" She laughed but there was no humor in it. "I always thought eventually you'd give in."

"You had my mother on your side."

She smiled wistfully. "But that wasn't enough. Besides, she'd root for Elvira if she thought you'd marry her."

"I'm sorry, Patty. I don't want to hurt you."

She looked like she was on the verge of tears, her eyes shone, but she ducked her head. "I hope you're happy with her. That's all I want."

He smiled. "You'll find someone. And he'll be a lucky man."

She turned to leave and then paused at the door. "If you ever change your mind..."

He bit into his bottom lip. "I won't."

She nodded and then was gone. Ian sat back in his chair, he felt like he had been through a war the past week. Everything seemed to settle in and he was exhausted, there were too many emotions that were running too high in his system. It was like he had been amped up on adrenaline for six days and he was about to crash. He looked down at the paperwork on his desk and let out a groan.

"What do you want?" Carrie backed up until her back hit the bookcase.

Jesse Ross watched her with his haunting blue eyes, but he made no move towards her. His hands were empty, and hung limp at his side. "I'm not going to hurt you."

She swallowed painfully. "Yeah, right. I know who you're working for."

"Do you?" he didn't sound as leering as she thought he would, he sounded tired.

"The field office in New York said that you were on vacation in Bermuda."

He let out a sigh. "I wish." He looked away, distracted, and then he looked sharply up at her. "I work for the IRS. I've been an undercover agent for six years, working as a corrupt FBI agent in the organized crime unit of the New York field office. Your brother helped to develop a new chapter in money laundering. It wasn't just the restaurant anymore, they had put together a new prototype; the linen company, the food suppliers, the banks; they created a whole fictionalized economy complete with a paper trail that would make your head spin. It was perfect, a way to launder hundreds of millions of dollars every year and no way of catching them. It was brilliant. But unfortunately for Jason, once the prototype was complete he became more of a liability than an assist, especially after he gave me that disk. Your brother was a good kid; he didn't deserve what happened to him. When I found out that bastard Viggianni killed him, I wanted to nail him so bad I could taste it. I followed him after he took off after you. I ran your plates through the system and figured out that you were Jason's sister. I guessed you probably had a copy of the disk, and I thought maybe you knew the password. I knew Viggianni would kill you if he got to you, and I already have enough blood on my hands. I followed you out here."

"You knew where I was this whole time?"

"Yeah, but I couldn't let Viggianni find you. I lost track of him last night. That's why I'm here; you need to get out of here."

"Why should I trust you?"

"I don't know, there is no good reason. Except why would I make all of this up? I have a gun, if I wanted to kill you I could."

"Maybe you want to deliver me to some mob boss you can put my head in a vice."

He looked skeptical. "You have an overactive imagination."

"It happens."

"In the movies. You don't know anything that warrants torture."

"I know the password."

"So do I. I just saw you type it in."

She didn't know why, but she believed him. "Where would we go?"

"There are two FBI agents in the motel that I'm staying in. They're registered under assumed names and they can take care of everything for you. In exchange for testifying against Gian Rosetti and Mario Viggianni, we'll offer you witness protection."

"I don't want to go into the witness protection program." She didn't have much, but what little she did have she didn't want to give up; her life, her friends, her identity.

"We can talk about it later; we just need to get you out of here. I can't risk it if I don't know where Viggianni is."

"I should call Ian, he'll worry." He'd worry, who the hell was she kidding? She'd worry; she wasn't going off with this guy unless Ian knew that she was gone. She might believe him, but God knew she didn't have the best track record for decision making.

"You can call him from the car, I have a cell phone."

"I'm just..."

He shifted on his feet, annoyed. "We really need to get going. I don't like this."

God, she didn't know what to do. If he was right then she needed to go with him, but if he was lying she needed to get away from him. She felt the pull of indecision in her stomach, and she was scared again damn it. She was so tired of being scared. Of being scared and not knowing what to do. She realized suddenly how easy it would have been for her to have ended up dead. If Ian hadn't come to her rescue. Through out this whole ordeal she hadn't made one good decision and now she had to make another.

"I'll go with you," her voice sounded foreign in her own ears, it was wrought with such fear.

"Too late." There was another voice. Mario Viggianni stood just behind Jesse Ross, a gun in his hand.

Her heart stopped. She couldn't breath, couldn't think. She wanted to somehow turn back time, somehow make all of this different. She didn't want to die. She was too young; she hadn't done anything with her life. It was a waste, and now, for the first time in her life she felt like she had a purpose, a goal. She didn't know what it was, but damn it she felt different somehow. And now she was going to die. Just her luck. She wanted to kick something but she was afraid if she did, she'd get shot.

"You little rat," Mario Viggianni growled, his voice low. "I always knew there was something off about you," he said to Ross.

"You're going to jail for a long time, Viggianni."

He chuckled at that, a sick smile stretched over his lips. "Is that so?"

Carrie found herself instinctively moving towards the wall. Ross was blocking the doorway and she knew she needed to figure out a way to get of this room.

Jesse Ross turned slightly so that he faced Viggianni and his back was to Carrie. She eased to the side of the doorframe. She saw Ross's hand move to his belt, under his suit jacket.

Viggianni made a noise in his throat. He had a sharp face, all hardened angles with a hawkish nose. He was tall, medium build, with coarse salt and pepper hair that stood up straight on the top of his head. His eyes were a dark brown, cold, empty. "Don't go for your gun, Agent. I wouldn't want to have to shoot you."

Ross's hand dropped back to his side, empty. "I think you're going to shoot me anyway."

"You're too smart for me, Ross."

"Mario," Carrie said. "Please don't do this."

He flashed her a smile. "Sorry kid, no can do."

"You won't get away with this," Ross said.

"Of course I will. I always do."

She could feel her breath; it seemed labored, like she was a fish out of water. This waiting was going to kill her faster than Viggianni's gun.

"You threw me off, Ross. Impressive," Viggianni said. "I really thought she was gone. But then I started thinking. And I thought maybe you weren't being entirely honest with me. I paid the love birds a little visit last night and all my suspicions were confirmed."

"Jason McKenna didn't deserve to die."

"I don't make judgments like that. I just follow orders."

She held her breath, waiting. For something, anything. And then Ross stepped forward, his right hand going to his belt. And then he was out of the doorway, she eased forward so that she could see into the living room. At that moment Ross pulled a gun from his waistband, but not fast enough. The sound of a gunshot crashed through the air and the slug slammed into the wood of the doorframe. Before she even knew what she was doing she sprang through the doorway. Viggianni was blocking her way to the front door, so on instinct she flew up the stairs, taking them two at a time. She was almost to the top when another gunshot rang out and a sharp cry of pain echoed in the air. She turned her head just in time to see Jesse Ross crumple to the ground, holding his shoulder. She forced herself to keep moving, forced herself to keep breathing even though the harsh air was burning her lungs. Adrenaline pulsed through her, driving her forward, guiding her. She slammed Ian's bedroom door, discovering too late that it didn't have a lock. She could hear footsteps on the stairs as she frantically searched for something to wedge the door closed, a weapon of some kind. She yanked open the bedside table, spilling the contents of the drawer on to the floor. Nothing. She spun around. His footsteps stopped, he was on the second floor, on the carpeting. She threw open the closet door, pulling boxes down onto her, searching desperately for something, anything.

The door knob turned. She froze, fear solidified in her extremities, paralyzing her. The door swung open and he stood there looking like something that had crawled out of the deepest part of hell.

"Mario," she started, her voice quivering. "Please don't do this, you know me. I promise I won't say anything..." she stammered.

He let out a patient sigh. "Don't make this worse for yourself."

"Please," she begged.

He cocked the hammer back. "Before I do anything, we need to have ourselves a little chat. Who else knows the password?"

Chapter Ten

Ian knew there was something wrong as soon as he rounded the bend and caught the glimmer of silver in his driveway. Parked behind Jesse Ross's silver Lincoln was a non-descript blue Ford sedan. His heart kicked into overdrive, it hammered against his chest like a caged beast. He slid into the driveway and was out of the car before the engine quit, moving fast, too fast. His head was telling him to slow down, to call for backup, call Charlie, but his heart was chanting one thing that drowned out everything else; Carrie was in trouble.

He bounded up the steps, taking three at a time. The front door was slightly open, a bobby pin jammed in the lock. He pushed it open slowly, the better part of his senses taking over. Jesse Ross was propped up against the door to his office, a bloodstain blossoming just below his right shoulder. He winced, catching sight of Ian. He held a finger to his lips. Ian eased into the room, doing a quick visual survey to make sure they were alone.

"I'm working undercover," Ross gasped between labored breaths. "I never wanted to hurt Carrie, I swear. She's upstairs with Viggianni. He has a gun."

"Have you heard..." he couldn't bear to finish the sentence. He couldn't bear to think that anything had happened to her.

"No, no gunshots. She knows the password, I think that's the only thing keeping her alive." The way he was breathing made Ian think he had a punctured lung.

"Call 911," he instructed, dropping his cell phone into Ross's lap.

"Already called for back-up," he managed; he was fading out of consciousness as Ian reached the stairs.

He was up the stairs in an instant; as his feet hit the carpeted hallway, he could hear voices in his bedroom, a man's voice, demanding and loud, and then Carrie's voice, whisper soft.

His gun felt heavy, his thumb pressed against the side, flipping off the safety. The door was not quite all the way closed and he pushed it open another inch, but still couldn't see anything. Holding his breath he pushed it open far enough that he could slide through it, listening for any indication that Viggianni had seen him. He edged into the room. Carrie stood facing him, her face stony although she obviously saw him. An ugly purple bruise marred her right cheekbone and there was blood in the corner of her lip, but she was standing by herself and there didn't appear to be any other injuries.

"You're a heartless bastard," she hissed.

Viggianni moved forward with deadly speed and accuracy, slapping her across the face so that her head snapped back. Ian flinched, he stepping forward involuntarily, but her eyes caught his for a second and he froze. She shook her head imperceptibly.

"If you don't tell me, I'll kill you." Viggianni's voice was coated with a heavy dose of Brooklyn. He stepped forward and shook a finger in her face.

"You're going to kill me anyway," she replied. Her eyes seemed painfully old and world weary, the faintest residue of a smile on her lips, a smile of resigned acceptance. But as Viggianni stepped forward this time, Carrie brought her knee up hard, hitting him in the groin. Ian leapt forward, grabbing his right hand, the hand that held the gun. Viggianni crumpled to the floor, but his grip stayed strong on the gun, and he dragged Ian down to the ground with him. Ian kept his hand over the gun, at the same time trying to wrestle Viggianni beneath him so that he could pin him. But Viggianni was stronger than Ian had expected; it took all of his strength to extract the weapon from the viselike grip he had on it. The pistol skittered across the floor and Ian saw Carrie drop to the ground to grab it. The big gun looked awkward in her hand as she lifted it. Viggianni jerked his leg out and caught her behind the knees, sending her sprawling on top of them. The gun clattered from Carrie's hands and chaos ensued as everyone grappled to get to the weapon. Ian felt a sharp elbow in his rib cage and Viggianni reared up, Carrie spilled onto the floor and then suddenly the loud crack of a gunshot shattered the air. In the tangle of limbs Ian didn't know who had gotten to the gun first and his heart was aching as he lifted himself onto his arms. Two men in suits stood in the door way in FBI windbreakers with guns drawn.

Mario Viggianni was writhing in pain, his knee shattered by a well-aimed bullet. His leg hung limp and lifeless from the destroyed joint. Ian's eyes found Carrie, she had pulled herself into a sitting position, and she was cradling her left arm, her eyes heavy and downcast. As if sensing his gaze, she lifted her eyes to meet his.

"Mario Viggianni, you are under arrest for the murder of Jason McKenna, the attempted murder of a federal agent and the attempted murder of Carrie McKenna. You have the right to remain silent. You have the right to an attorney..." The two FBI agents cuffed him and then hauled him up; his leg dangled from his knee, blood had soaked through his pants and was smeared across the carpet.

Ian moved towards Carrie. "Are you okay?"

She managed a weak smile. "You always seem to ask me that."

His hand cradled her face, she seemed hesitant to meet his gaze, and when her toffee colored eyes finally lifted to meet his, he was hit suddenly with the terrifying fact that he loved this woman more than he had ever loved anything. His heart ached with the knowledge because he knew she wouldn't be easy to love. He traced the lines of her face with his fingertips, the ugly bruise on her cheek, the cut on the corner of her mouth.

"I hurt," she said, her voice feather-soft, painful. "My arm."

He moved his attention to her shoulder; it was most likely dislocated in the struggle. An EMT came into the room and knelt next to her.

"Can you look at her shoulder?" Ian asked, hating to have anyone else touch her. He wanted to be the one to heal her wounds, kiss away her injuries. Another medic pushed him out of the way, tilting her face to study the bruise while his partner manipulated her shoulder. She winced, biting back a cry as he rotated her arm.

"Sheriff, could I have a moment?" An agent appeared at his side, offering his hand. Ian got up and with a last, wistful glance at Carrie followed the FBI agent downstairs.

By the time everyone was gone it was almost seven o'clock in the evening. They had collected the gun, as well as the disk. Carrie had been taken to the hospital for X-rays and to have her shoulder put back in the socket; two FBI agents accompanied her so they could take her statement. Ian had to stay behind until the last of the technicians and agents were gone, but he had called Aidan and asked him to go to the hospital. He didn't want to admit to himself that by the time he got there she might be gone. He was almost thankful for the time to sort out his emotions. In the aftermath of the struggle so many feelings had been exposed that were still raw, that needed to become acclimated to the light. He needed time to think about what he wanted to say to her. He needed to say things in a way that wouldn't scare her, wouldn't push her away. But at the same time he knew he needed to tell her how he felt, before she got the half-cocked idea she should leave.

Aidan Caldwell hadn't moved. He stood with his shoulder propped against the wall, and his ankles crossed. He had arrived immediately after the ambulance and hovered over her through all of her X-rays, the consultation with the ER radiologists and her statement to the police. They had reset her shoulder, put it into a sling and now she was sitting in a stupid gown waiting for her pain pills, staring at Aidan who was staring right back.

"You can go," she said for the umpteenth time.

He shook his head. "I told Ian I'd bring you home."

"I'll just call him when I'm done."

"Nope."

"Why don't you trust me?" she demanded.

"Why do you want me to leave so badly?" he fired back.

She leveled another glare at him as the nurse came in.

"Now just take two of these, hon." She held out a tiny paper cup with yellow-coated pills in it and a cup of water. Carrie swallowed the pills obediently.

"Can I go now?" she asked.

The nurse flipped through the chart attached to the wall. "I think you're all set. Your discharge papers will be at the desk. I'll get the doctor to write up a prescription for some Tylenol with codeine."

"Thanks, that'd be great," Carrie said dryly. She hopped off the gurney and gave a pointed look at Aidan. "Can I change by myself?"

"Suit yourself," he said, pulling the cloth curtain closed with a snap of his wrist. She pulled on her jeans and tugged on her undershirt and a long sleeved shirt and then topped it off with a wool sweater, carefully guiding her injured arm through the sleeves. The pain had dulled after it had been put back into the socket, but it still ached. She shoved her feet into her boots, realizing suddenly she couldn't lace them up.

"Aidan?" she called through the fabric. "Can you help me?"

"With what, darlin'?" he said, poking his head around the curtain. His face fell when he saw she was fully dressed. "How'd you get your shirt on?" he said with disappointment.

"My shoes," she said with exaggeration, lifting her feet up to emphasize her point. "I can't tie them."

He knelt in front of her and laced up the boots. She felt uncomfortable asking him for help, and even more so sitting with him kneeling at her feet. "You're all set." He stood and brushed off his jeans. He wore a thermal shirt that looked like it had seen better days and an open flannel shirt with a brown Carthart jacket.

"Were you at work?" she asked suddenly.

"Yeah, why?"

"You dropped everything just to come over here?"

He looked perplexed. "Yeah."

"Why?"

He smiled at her, confused. "Because Ian asked me to. Because you were in the hospital."

She shook her head, pulling on her jacket with one hand. Aidan reached up to set the shoulders into place. "I don't understand your family. You're so," she wrinkled her nose, "perfect."

"That's bad?"

"It's just weird."

"Well, you better get used to it," Aidan said enigmatically.

She gave him a dark look as she signed the paperwork at the front desk and tucked the prescription into her back pocket. "Can you tell me how Jesse Ross is doing?"

The nurse behind the desk typed a few things into the computer. "He's still in surgery. You can call later to check on him."

"Thank you." She followed Aidan outside, her thoughts pre-occupied. "What did you mean? By what you said before."

The front doors of the hospital opened with a silent whoosh and the cold air hit her like an ice wall. She shivered.

"I mean, my brother likes you."

She trotted behind him through the parking lot until they came to a Dodge Ram supercharged pickup. It had to be the biggest truck she had ever seen. Aidan unlocked the doors with his keychain and helped her climb into the cab before sliding into the driver's seat. "If you can't tell he likes you, you're blind, deaf and dumb." He saw her struggling with the seatbelt and clasped it for her.

She rolled her eyes. "I know he _likes_ me."

Aidan shot her a look as they pulled out of the parking lot. "No, I mean he _really_ likes you. I've never seen him like this."

"That's ridiculous."

It was Aidan's turn to shake his head and roll his eyes. "It's not ridiculous."

"Ian is, like, the perfect man. He's probably had a million girlfriends." She didn't know why the thought had never occurred to her before, but now that she had thought about it she wished she hadn't.

"Ian is sensitive. He had this girlfriend a while back, Genevieve. She was a city girl..."

"I'm a city girl."

"You're different. She was snotty, but he really went for her. Nobody could figure out why. Sort of like this whole Shannon/Kevin thing. Isn't he boring?"

"Yeah, he's really boring."

"Anyway, so I think he was more enamored with the idea that she liked him. She was the sort of girl that most guys think are beyond their reach, but in the end they are so high maintenance and uncaring..." he trailed off. "She decided that she wanted to go back to Los Angeles and she just left one day. She told him that she didn't really love him, and that she was tired of living here."

"I don't blame her for that; it's freezing in this stupid state."

His mouth kicked up in a smile as he turned up the heat. "It hurt him, I think the rejection stung more than her actually leaving."

"How long ago was this?"

"About two, three years ago."

"And he hasn't had a girlfriend since then?" she asked incredulously.

"Nope. Patty had new life breathed into her nuptial plans, she was pretty crushed when Genevieve and Ian started going out."

"She called me white trash."

He chuckled. "She called Gen a snobby rich bitch, and said she was frigid in bed."

"At least white trash girls aren't frigid in bed."

"Don't hurt him, Carrie. I think you probably have better sense than he does, that's why I'm talking to you."

She felt a weight in her stomach. She wasn't more sensible, she didn't have a clue what she was doing. She didn't know what to say, a lump had formed in her mouth. She swallowed hard before she spoke. "I have to go back to New York."

There was an uncomfortable silence that stretched for a minute before Aidan spoke again. "I see."

"I can't stay here." Her gaze flickered to the window, but she was met with her own reflection and she looked away. "It's too goddamn cold for one thing."

Aidan nodded, as if he understood, but there was something else. "So that's it?"

She looked down at her sling. "I don't know what to do."

"Stay for a few days, just see what happens."

She pursed her lips. "I'll see."

"Look, I know my dad is crazy and my sister's fiancé is boring as hell, but for the most part..."

"There's nothing wrong with your family. It's the kind of family that I always dreamed of. I just have my whole life in New York."

"Yeah, I know. I was sort of expecting you to say that. I just want Ian to be happy, you know?"

"I wouldn't make him happy." The words escaped her lips and she instantly regretted them.

"You'll never know unless you try."

She smiled vaguely. "This is a stupid conversation." She sat back in the seat and propped her foot up on the dashboard.

"I don't want to see either of you get hurt, that's all."

She didn't answer him. She didn't want to talk anymore. It was over, she kept thinking. The whole goddamn mess was over. But she was tired, her shoulder ached and on top of everything, her heart was broken. Aidan's words hadn't made her feel any better, in fact, she felt worse. She didn't like thinking about Ian and another women, she didn't like thinking about Ian and a snob from LA. She just sounded too much the opposite of her. It just reinforced her belief that she wasn't good enough for him. She wrapped her good arm around the sling and let her head fall back against the seat. The truck was silent for the rest of the ride.

Ian was standing on the porch like a worried mother when they pulled up in front of the house. He hurried down the steps and opened the door for her, helped her out of he car.

"How does it feel?" he asked.

"Fine," she said shortly. She squirmed out of his grasp and headed up the stairs.

She could feel his eyes on her as she went inside, but he lingered outside for a few minutes talking to his brother. When he came in he stood in the entry way for a few minutes, watching her. They had dug the bullet out of the doorframe and it had left a jagged hole in the wood. It made her so sad she couldn't stand it. It was like everything beautiful that she touched was ruined. Everything good that she touched turned bad.

She felt hot tears spilling across her cheeks, uncontrollably. He was next to her in an instant, holding her, wiping her tears, whispering to her. He led her to the couch and gathered her into his lap.

"Shhh, sweetheart. Don't cry, it's over now," he whispered. But it wasn't, it was just the beginning. She had almost died; the thought was sudden and horrifying. She looked around the mess of Ian's house, and her stomach knotted. This was her fault; everything that was ruined was because of her. Someone had tried to clean up Jesse Ross's blood from where it had pooled just outside the office.

"How's Ross?" she asked, wiping at her eyes and sitting up a little straighter.

"I'll call, last time I checked he was still in the OR."

He got up off the couch and went to the phone, and punched in the number for the hospital. While he spoke to the nurse, Carrie went to get a tissue from the dispenser. She stood there waiting for him to hang up. She felt strangely distant from him, part of her wanting to hold these last moments close to her heart, but another, more protective part of her, couldn't stand being so close to him because it knew how lonely she would be when she was gone.

"He's out of surgery. The bullet passed through his lung, but it looks like he's going to be alright," Ian told her. "We could go see him tomorrow if you'd like."

She nodded. She wouldn't be here tomorrow, but she couldn't tell him that.

"Are you going to testify?"

"If they need me to."

"Agent Foster said he was hopeful that they could get Mario Viggianni to turn states evidence for a plea bargain."

She shivered. "I'd hate to think of him walking the streets again."

"You don't shoot an IRS agent and get away with it. Those bastards are notorious," Ian said, trying to make her smile.

"So, Agent Ross works for the IRS?" she asked, scrunching her face up in confusion.

"Yeah, the IRS knew that the Rosetti family was putting together a team to create this new system. It allowed them to process huge amounts of money with a very minimum amount of overhead, leaving the majority of their assets liquid and therefore, mobile. It used to be that to launder money you had to have some kind of establishment, a casino, a restaurant, hotel; this software would allow you to create associations with fictionalized businesses. But the real genius behind it was the loops of paperwork that would tangle up any investigators, it would be virtually impossible to trace. Agent Foster explained some of it to me, but I don't really understand it yet."

"I didn't know the IRS did stuff like this, I thought they just did audits and generally made life miserable for people. I guess I'm a rarity; I can say the IRS saved my life."

He laughed. "The IRS actually has a lot more power than most people think; they have a lot of freedom. The country has to protect its money."

"Scary, kind of..." She sniffled a little. She was exhausted, she was tired and she ached.

He touched her face, gingerly fingering the bruise on her cheek. "Are you alright?"

She nodded; she couldn't focus on what he was saying anymore, she was looking into such an uncertain future. A lonely, uncertain future.

He let out a deep sigh. "We should talk."

He must have been able to gauge her reaction because he said. "Tomorrow, we need to talk tomorrow. You've been through a lot today."

Relief flooded through her, she didn't think she could bear what she knew he would say, if it was good he would have said it already. If he felt the way she did, then he wouldn't be able to hold the words in. They were making her chest ache.

"Are you hungry?" he asked. He wanted to do something for her, to comfort her. She looked so sad standing there, holding her injured arm. The cut at her mouth was now invisible, but the bruise had darkened it an ugly purple yellow. Her eyes looked hollow, dull; they lacked the luster that usually shown through them.

She shook her head. He wanted to go to her, to hold her, but there was something in the set of her shoulders that told him she would push him away. His fingers curled, and he gripped the counter so that he would stay put.

"You should eat something," he said.

She sank into a chair gingerly. "Why are you always force feeding me?"

He smiled warily, taking a few cautious steps towards her. He framed her face with his hand, brushed her hair back with his thumb. It had been tied back with a rubber band and he slid the elastic from the tangle of silk, letting the auburn strands slide through his fingers. She didn't respond, her eyes were distant, her expression soft and dreary like a rainy day, as if she were so worn out she couldn't bear to react, as if she were merely pliable clay that he could mold. He wanted her to react, he wanted to feel some emotion towards him, anything, but it was as if she had shrunken into herself. She turned her head slightly in his hand, tilting it down so that her lashes shaded her eyes.

"Carrie," he whispered. _I love you._ But he couldn't tell her yet, she had enough to deal with today. He would wait. Tomorrow, tomorrow he would tell her.

She looked up at him slowly, through her lashes; her eyes were like tigers eye stone, golden, gleaming. She looked at him as if she had forgotten he was there, despite the fact that he was touching her. She reached up and touched his jaw, her eyes taking him in slowly, as if she were studying him, savoring him.

He'd always thought he was happy the way things were; he'd always been okay on his own. He'd never thought about marriage, not even with Genevieve. But something had stirred inside of him, something was changing inside of him as he knelt there watching her. He couldn't imagine her not there. It had happened so suddenly, but the thought of her leaving left a gaping hole in his chest. But what could he expect? After a week she would drop her life in New York for him? He didn't know what he wanted anymore; he didn't know what he expected. He loved her so much, but at the same time he was filled with an awful sense of impotence. He didn't know how to show her what he felt for her, that it ran deeper than he could put into words. But he knew she wouldn't believe him, that her insecurities wouldn't let her trust him.

The phone rang and Ian got up to answer it, not taking his eyes off Carrie.

"Ian? Thank God! I tried to call Aidan and I couldn't get a hold of him! I don't know where he is!"

He squinted into the phone. "Shannon?"

"They're fighting and I don't know what to do!"

"Take a deep breath, Shan."

"What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Calm down, who's fighting?"

"Kevin and Charlie!" she said as if it were the most logical thing ever.

Ian rolled his eyes and let out a sigh, keeping his eyes on Carrie. "Shannon, they're both adults, I'm sure you don't need me to-"

"No, they're fighting!" Shannon yelled. "And Charlie is winning."

Ian looked at the phone. "Physically fighting?"

"Jesus Christ, Ian! What did you think I was talking about, a debate?"

"Why are they fighting?"

"Me, of course!" Shannon was starting to sound annoyed. "Are you coming over or what?"

"Shannon," he started. He didn't want to leave Carrie.

"Kevin!" she screamed. It was followed by a loud crash and then the phone went dead.

"What is it?" Carrie asked.

"I guess Kevin and Charlie are having a fist fight."

She looked at him in disbelief. "Over what?"

He shrugged. "My sister, I assume. I have to run over there and pull Charlie off of Kevin before he kills him. Why don't you come along? It'll only take a minute."

She shook her head. "I think I've had enough violence for today."

He let out a breath. "I should only be gone about half an hour."

She swallowed hard. "Okay."

He snagged his jacket off the peg. "I'll be right back." He didn't want to leave her. He stood watching her for a long moment before pulling up his collar and heading out into the cold.

She stood there, _tell me you love me and I won't go_ , she thought. _Tell me you need me, that you want me to stay_.

But he didn't. He turned to glance at her over his shoulder, his eyes sad. She wanted to touch him, one last time. But she didn't, instead she just watched him walk out the door.

She watched him drive away from the window. Her heart was heavy, her eyes stung with unshed tears. She couldn't cry. Later, she told herself. She found the number for a Taxi service in the telephone book, holding the phone in her hands for a long time before she could dial. She gathered what little she had and stuffed it into her bag, and then she sat down to write the hardest letter that she had ever written.

Ian stood in the doorway of his sister's apartment with his arms stuck in the back pockets of his jeans. Charlie was sitting in the armchair, his head tilted back and a dishtowel pressed against his nose to stop the flow of blood. Kevin was sitting on the floor, looking like he had lost. His glasses were crushed and his nose looked like it was broken and his eye was swollen and bruised. There was a shoe print on the center of his shirt.

Ian let out a sigh. "You want to tell me what the hell you were thinking?" He looked at Charlie expectantly.

"It's his fault," Charlie answered, shooting a dangerous look at Kevin. "He started it."

Ian looked up at Shannon who was standing in the kitchen door. She nodded.

"Kevin?" Ian asked, crouching down next to him.

Kevin took the ice pack away from his nose. "She's my fiancé." His voice was thick with blood and mucus.

"Will somebody tell me what's going on?"

Shannon muttered a curse under her breath and looked away. "Charlie came by, just to see how I was and then Kevin storms in all half-cocked and starts swinging."

"You were kissing him!" Kevin shouted, spraying bloody saliva from his nose and mouth.

"Kevin, I think we might need to get you to the hospital," Ian said, shooting Charlie a disgruntled look.

Shannon wrapped her arms around her waist and shifted from foot to foot uncomfortably.

Ian helped Kevin up. "Go get in the car, I'll drive you."

Ian waited until he shuffled out, sniveling and wiping his nose on his sleeve. He spun around and glared at Charlie. "You kissed my sister?"

Charlie looked at him incredulously. "I didn't mean to!"

"Ian," Shannon said, taking his arm.

"I'm going to deal with you a little later, missy," he snapped, yanking free of her grip. "Do you know what was going on while you were making out with my little sister?"

Charlie's brow furrowed.

"Viggianni tried to kill Carrie. Who I had to leave alone to come pull you off Kevin McDonald!"

Charlie's mouth dropped. "What happened?"

"Jesse Ross is in the hospital recovering from a punctured lung and Carrie is at my house. Viggianni is in jail."

"Damn!" Charlie looked a little disappointed. "When was this?"

"Around eleven."

"Why didn't you call me?"

"It was on the radio, if you were listening you would have caught it." Ian shrugged. "There was a lot going on, I didn't even think of it. Why don't you come to the hospital with me and I'll tell you all about it."

Charlie shot Shannon a look. He looked like he was caught between a rock and a hard place. "I guess I'll go."

She nodded. She was surprisingly reserved considering her usual flair. "That's probably best."

The drive to the hospital was deafeningly silent. All Ian could think about was Carrie, sitting, waiting for him. He was going to call her as soon as he was alone. He was going to tell her how he felt, to hell with scaring her off.

They sat in the hallway while Kevin got his nose x-rayed. He had told Charlie most of what had happened, explained Ross's position in the whole ordeal. The two FBI agents that Charlie had picked up at the airport the day before had been Foster and Gibbons, working with Ross. Charlie had listened intently, but didn't comment. Ian wanted to get to a phone, but he didn't know how long they would be alone and he thought he should finish with his big brother duties before Charlie had a chance to escape.

"What happened with Shannon?"

Charlie held his hands out helplessly. "I don't know. I really didn't mean for anything to happen."

Ian shot him a dark look. "Nothing else happened, right?" his voice was low and steely, threaded with warning.

Charlie looked a little scared, remembering the last time he had kissed Shannon Caldwell, at the prom. Ian had broken his nose with a locker door the next day at school. "I swear, that was it. I didn't mean for it to happen. I stopped by because I was worried about last night, I didn't want to cause any problems between them. And then it just sort of happened."

Ian couldn't blame him. He had the same reaction to Carrie. But Carrie wasn't his sister. He let out a measured sigh. He wanted to go call her, needed to hear her voice. "I'm going to check on Jesse Ross."

Chapter Eleven

Carrie hurried through the doors of the hospital.

"Jesse Ross?" she asked the woman at the front desk.

She looked at her over her half-glasses. "I'm sorry, he can't see anyone."

"Please, I just need to see him for a minute."

She tapped her pencil against her lips. "Well, he's on the second floor. There are some FBI agents outside the door, you can try your luck with them, but I wouldn't be too optimistic."

Carrie waited impatiently for the elevator. She had gotten to the garage to pick up her car just as the owner was leaving. She asked him for directions to the hospital, and then the easiest route back to the highway. She was trying to keep her mind empty, at least until she made it to the highway. She didn't want to think about it, couldn't bear to think about. The elevator doors slid open and she got on, punching the button for the second floor.

Agent Foster was seated in a folding chair outside the doorway. He had taken off his suit coat and it hung on the back of the chair, his shirt was a pristine white, his gun holster black, his tie was red. He stood up when he saw her.

"Hey, Ms. McKenna," he said.

"How is he?" she asked. "Do you think I could see him? I'm on my way back to New York, I just wanted to say goodbye."

"Sure, of course. Go right in."

Ross looked remarkably pale. His eyes were closed, but when the door clicked closed behind her, they opened.

"Hi," she whispered, moving carefully to his bedside. "I'm on my way back to New York. I just wanted to say goodbye. And thank you."

He shook his head slightly. "No thank you," he managed. "For your brother."

She bit her lip to keep from crying. "You saved my life," her voice cracked.

The eyes that regarded her were sad. "Wish I could have saved him."

She took his hand. "Just let me thank you, please."

He nodded and smiled weakly. "Welcome."

His eyes drifted closed, but she didn't move. Her life had always been difficult; she had always had to scrape for everything that she had. And she had never known people who could be so giving without ever expecting anything in return. Jesse Ross would have, and almost did, give his life to protect her without ever having met her before. And Ian...she cut the thought off where it started. She couldn't think about him now.

Ian left Charlie in the hallway and took the elevator up to the second floor. He caught sight of Foster pacing the hallway.

"Hey, you come with Carrie?" he asked.

Ian stilled. "What do you mean?"

"She was just here, wanted to see Ross."

Ian felt like he couldn't breathe. "How long ago?"

Foster shook his head, frowning. "Few minutes ago, maybe five. She said she was heading back to New York. She wanted to say goodbye."

"She left five minutes ago?"

Foster was staring at him. "Yeah."

He spun around, catching the elevator just as the door started to close. He sprinted from the elevator to the front desk. "There was a woman asking about Jesse Ross? Dark hair. Did you see her?"

The woman looked at him. "She just left."

"Did you see what direction she went? Her car? Anything?" Damnit, why had he left her alone? Why did he let Shannon's stupid drama pull him away from her?

The woman shook her head. "Sorry, hon. I just saw her walk out the door."

He ran out into the cold, looking right to left, for anything. But she was gone. He could feel it in his heart.

He jogged out to his car, not even feeling the bite of the cold. Not even thinking about Kevin or Charlie. Maybe she was still at his house, maybe he could catch her. He drove too fast for the slick roads, but he didn't care, he needed to see her, to touch her, to make himself believe that she wouldn't leave him. Not like this.

The house was dark. He pushed his key into the lock, let the door swing open. The house was felt cold, empty. A weight seemed to hang from his ribs, heavy, so heavy that it might break his heart.

On the counter was a folded piece of paper. He lifted it carefully, not wanting to read it, not wanting to see the reality that was staring him in the face.

Ian,

I don't think you will ever know how much you have come to mean to me. You are a rare breed; kind, loving and honorable in the truest sense of each word. And you deserve someone who is not burdened with leftover baggage. You deserve someone who is whole and complete, someone who can give themselves completely to you, not someone who is too frightened to open even a tiny part of their heart.

I hope that your life will be filled with more joy and happiness than you could ever bear, and I hope that you find someone to share that life with. I could never thank you enough to express the appreciation that I feel, it runs much too deep. But know that I will always love you, and hold you in my heart,

Carrie

She was gone.

Carrie pushed open the door of her apartment. It was trashed, just the way it had been when she had left. It seemed so strange that it had only been a little over a week since she had left. So much had changed in such a small amount of time. She had cried most of the drive home. She had been running on such a high mix of emotions for so long that the inevitable crash had spiraled her into the ground. She felt weak and tired, stiff from the long drive and drained from the flow of tears that seemed like they might never stop. She had left a note for him, one which had taken every ounce of strength for her to write. It was not often that she had the honesty to open herself and examine her feelings in that way. But she had meant every word. She did love him; she loved him enough that she knew she could never give him what he deserved. God knew that she wanted to. She would give her right arm to be able to look him square in the face and tell him that she loved him. But it was too hard. Something inside of her wouldn't let the words come out. Something inside of her was so afraid of being rejected by him, that it allowed her she to leave in such a cowardly way. But that something was too strong for her to battle. Especially after everything else, there was too much that had happened to her in too short a time, too much of her soul had been exposed. She felt raw, beaten.

She hit play on her answering machine. There were eight messages from her former boss, big Joe. They started out wondering where she was and by the end he was screaming at the top of his lungs that she would never work in this town again. She shook her head, she didn't want to deal with it, she wouldn't go back there, she decided. She needed a change. The part of her that she had left in this doorway eight days ago was dead. She was going to change, she was going to learn how to open up, she was going to try to fix whatever it was that was wrong with her, she was going to try to heal those scars from so long ago. And then maybe, maybe someday... she let the thought trail off without completing it. Maybe someday she would still be alone.

Ian sat on the back stairwell of his parents' house, a forgotten bottle of beer between his feet. He missed her more than he ever thought possible. Everywhere he looked there were memories of her. It had been two weeks since she left. In his head he kept telling himself that it would get better, it had to get better. That time heals old wounds, but it didn't seem like it was doing a very good job. It felt like it was concentrating it. Everything felt dull and empty and horribly bleak.

"Ian?" Aidan popped his head into the stairwell. "Shannon and Butthead are leaving; you want to come say goodbye?"

"Yeah," he said, but he didn't move.

Aidan sank onto the bottom step. "You are one miserable bastard, you know that?"

Ian tried to roll his eyes, finding out halfway through that he didn't have the energy. "Leave me alone."

"Jesus, everybody is unhappy, Charlie is moping around because Shannon is going with Kevin to Iowa and you..." Aidan rolled his eyes. "You need to get your ass on a plane to New York."

Ian licked his lower lip. "What if she doesn't want me? Why would she leave like that?"

Aidan glared at him. "Even if she doesn't, will you really be any worse off? But if she does..."

"This is ridiculous; I'm taking love advice from you."

"What's wrong with me?"

"Have you ever had a relationship that lasted longer than a week?"

"No, but if you add them all up it's like a fifteen year marriage. And anyway, someday I'll meet the right girl and settle down and have a whole herd of kids."

Ian barely smiled.

Aidan sobered a little. "Go to New York. Go get her. I think she'll come back."

Chapter Twelve

He checked the address again. He was nervous, more nervous than he had ever been. It hadn't been hard to track her down, the New York field office had been more than happy to help him after a call from Agent Jesse Ross, who was now recovering under an assumed name in the Florida Keys. The physical evidence had been enough to make Mario Viggianni sign a confession, which led to him plea bargaining his way out of a lifetime in jail by ratting out Gian Rosetti and the rest of the family. The names of potential buyers and participants in the creation of the program were rolling off everyone's lips in an attempt at self-preservation and the DA's office was busy putting together an indictment. Carrie's part in the whole fiasco seemed to have been pushed to the back burner in light of the much splashier mafia stories that decorated all the front pages. Agent Foster had told him that they would do everything that they could to keep her from having to testify and it looked like she mostly likely wouldn't need to.

He pushed through the door; it was dark compared to the bright sunshine outside and it took his eyes a second to adjust. She was standing behind the bar, wearing faded carpenter jeans that hung off her hips, a white tank top and a red hooded zip up sweatshirt, one foot was on a Smirnoff box. The bruise had healed and the sling was gone. There was only one patron, an old man sitting at the far end of the bar watching a TV mounted in the corner, it was tuned to horse races. The old man had softly worn skin that looked like pizza dough and his eyes, glued to the television, were glassy and vacant.

She turned her head to look at him, she didn't look surprised to see him, instead; she regarded him wearily.

"Carrie," he said softly.

Her eyes took him in, they saddened slightly. "What are you doing here?"

"That's it?"

"You don't write a letter like that when you're going to see the person in three weeks."

He didn't know what to say to that, so he said the only thing that he knew. The thing that had haunted him from the minute she had left. "I miss you."

She just looked at him blankly.

"I miss you more than I ever thought was possible. I came to get you." He didn't move, just watched her, trying to gauge her reaction.

She shook her head. "I gave you an easy out."

"I don't want out. I love you."

Her eyes didn't change. "No, you don't."

He stared at her incredulously. "I don't?"

She moved towards the small sink, rinsing out a few glasses. "You deserve better."

"I want you."

"Ian," for the first time her eyes betrayed some emotion. "Don't make this hard."

"I love you. And I'm not leaving until you agree to come home with me."

She turned off the faucet and dried her hands on a dishtowel, tipping her head to the side. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you love me?"

"That's a stupid question," he said.

"Answer it anyway," she said defensively, her chin jutting out.

He felt himself soften. "Because when you smile it makes my heart skip a beat. Because I like the way you smell and the way you taste, because since you've been gone I can't stop thinking about you, and how much I miss you. Because you are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, I want to have children that have your eyes and your smile. Because I don't think I can stand here for another minute without kissing you."

Tears had welled up in her eyes, but they stayed there, hovering. "Do you mean that?" her voice cracked.

He nodded. "Yeah, I do. I want you to marry me."

Two fat teardrops slid down her cheeks and her plump little lips trembled. He waited for her to speak, and it felt like the longest seconds of his life.

"I love you," she whispered finally. "You are the most honorable man that I have ever known."

"Then say yes, and make me the happiest."

She drew her trembling lip into her mouth, and wiped away the tears. "Yes. Yes with all my heart."

She looked up at him, tears gleaming like diamonds, her lips parted slightly, and she looked more beautiful than ever, so beautiful he could barely stand it. And he folded her into his arms, knowing that he would never let her go again.

Epilogue

"She's really small," Carrie said.

Ian knelt beside his wife and wiped a few damp strands of hair from her forehead. "She'll get bigger."

Carrie looked at him, a little worried. "Is she supposed to look like this? Her head is sort of misshapen."

He couldn't help but smile. "It's normal."

She licked her lips, furrowing her brow. "I don't know how to do this, Ian."

He looked down at the baby wrapped in the pale pink blanket. "Nobody knows how, it's just natural. You'll do fine, don't worry."

"Yeah, but I don't have anything to work from. Most people have an example."

He gave her a long, patient look. "I'm not worried."

"Carrie?" Maggie Caldwell poked her head in the door. "May we come in?"

Carrie smiled and nodded. She shifted the tiny baby so that Maggie could see her, pushing back the folds of soft cloth to expose her face.

"She's beautiful," Maggie said, her voice low, her eyes shining with proud tears. "Do you know what you're going to call her?"

Carrie touched the baby's tiny lips. "Kate, after my mother."

Maggie laughed, wiping at her eyes. "A good Irish name. She's perfect."

"Her head's a little pointy," Aidan said.

Maggie shot him a look. "Don't say that!"

Thomas draped an arm around Maggie's shoulder. "It's not as pointy as your head when you were born," he commented to Aidan. His face softened as he looked at the child.

"She's pretty damn cute though," Aidan said. "I'm an uncle," he puffed his chest out with pride.

"I wish Shannon was here to see her, she sent flowers and she says she will be here for Christmas so she will see her then," Maggie said.

"She looks like a Caldwell," Thomas said proudly.

Charlie eased in at the bottom of the bed. "She's gorgeous, Carrie. Congratulations, Ian."

Carrie looked around at the faces of the people who had become her family, people who had opened their hearts to her, and then she looked down at the baby. Her child. Her heart swelled as she realized that her role had forever changed, that she would never be alone again, that she would always be surrounded by people that she loved and that loved her in return. Ian knelt down beside the bed, and the gold band that gleamed on his left ring finger caught the light. This was her family; this was her husband and this was their child. She swallowed hard, trying not to cry, but finding her cheeks damp with tears.

"I love you," Ian whispered.

She turned to look at him, joy spilling from her eyes, pride swelling her chest, her heart brimming with happiness. And for the first time in her life, she felt complete.
