

Books by Pamela Aares

The Tavonesi Series:

Love Bats Last (Book #1, Alex and Jackie)

Thrown By Love (Book #2, Chloe and Scotty)

Fielder's Choice (Book #3, Alana and Matt)

Love on the Line (Book #4, Cara and Ryan)

Aim For Love (Book #5, Sabrina and Kaz)

The Heart of the Game (Book #6, Cody and Zoe)

_Love in the Vineyard_ (Natasha and Adrian, September 2015)

_Any Day for Love_ (December 2015)

Find all of The Tavonesi Series Books on Smashwords

also available:

Jane Austen and the Archangel

LOVE BATS LAST

Book One in the Tavonesi Series

Jackie and Alex

© 2013 Pamela Aares

Pamela@PamelaAares.com

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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 recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

A note from Pamela:

What a journey it has been writing about All-Star Alex Tavonesi and the emotion-packed love stories of his teammates and family! I'm so lucky to have the most wonderful readers in the world--your emails and tweets asking for more of the Tavonesi clan and their captivating friends keep my fingers flying.

Stay tuned, as the next books in the series will bring Alex's sister Sabrina's story and the unexpected arrival of the Tavonesi clan from Italy. With their passion for wine and polo and their exuberant love of life, the wine country of California will never be the same.

If this is your first time reading a book in the Tavonesi Series, each book can be read as a standalone--and I hope each story carries you away!

Thanks to all of you who've written to tell me how much you love the whole series--it means so much to know that the happy-ever-afters of the Tavonesi Series are as much fun to read as they are to write! Strong women determined to follow their dreams and sexy heroes fighting to open their hearts make for some sizzling romance!

Pamela Aares

The baseball diamond isn't the only field for all-star player Alex Tavonesi; he also runs his family's prestigious vineyard. What he can't seem to run is his love life. He's closing in on the perfect vintage and the perfect game, but so far the perfect woman has eluded him.

Veterinarian Jackie Brandon is eluding her aristocratic past and memories of a soccer star who jilted her just before their wedding. She devotes herself to a marine mammal rescue center on the northern California coast, where hundreds of seals and sea lions are washing up dead.

A chance meeting in a midnight storm brings Alex and Jackie together to rescue a stranded whale. Watching her work, he realizes she's the passionate, courageous woman he thought he'd never find--he just has to overcome her deep distrust of jocks. Jackie's passion and courage lead her to discover what's killing the sea mammals. The culprits want to silence her, and Alex is the only one standing in their way.

For my husband Bruce—

for trusting the power of love and story,

and for sharing the breakfast table with

an ever-changing cast of invisible characters!

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

Thank You

Other Books by Pamela

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Chapter One

She should've asked for help.

Jackie gunned the motor and ran the inflatable Zodiac up onto the muddy riverbank. At eight that morning, putting in downriver to collect soil and water samples had been a good idea. At two in the afternoon, the work was grueling. She should've listened to Gage and brought an intern. Somebody. _Any_ body.

With a quick flip of her arm she tossed the stern line of the Zodiac to an overhanging willow branch. A startled kingfisher squawked at her and flew upriver. She tied off the stern line and then looped the strap of her backpack over her arm and slid over the side of the boat. Her feet sank deep into the mud. Cold water seeped over the top of her boots, and she grabbed at the willow branch and fought to keep her balance.

She dragged her feet out of the mud and stomped up onto a crescent of beach, muttering under her breath. She'd take climbing a solid wall of granite over mincing about on slippery riverbeds any day.

Stepping carefully, she inched along to where a narrow trail led up from the river. Thick willows lined the riverbank and hid everything above them. Deer tracks in the mud told her this was a place where animals came for an evening drink.

Shielding her face with her hand, she squinted upriver. If she worked fast, she could cover another mile, maybe two, before dark, gathering water samples along this stretch of river. She'd still have time to get back to her truck, winch the Zodiac onto its trailer and drive the samples back to the lab.

Nothing she'd discovered in the past two weeks added up. Someone had dumped a massive amount of fertilizer near the mouth of the river where it met the San Francisco Bay. The fertilizer had caused the worst diatom bloom ever recorded in the North Bay, and the bloom was killing harbor seals in the area. But fertilizer was expensive. Dumping that much fertilizer made no sense.

It was more than a puzzle to solve.

They'd rescued twenty seals in just the past week and however the stuff was getting into the water, she was determined to stop whoever was responsible. Seals and whales, all the marine animals, had enough problems without adding dumped chemicals into the mix.

She shrugged her backpack off her shoulders and pulled out her GPS and map. The map showed two vineyards just above where she'd landed, the first of several north of where the Susul River met the San Francisco Bay. She pulled her notebook and a sample jar from the backpack. Water lapped at her feet as she squatted to scoop some of the muddy soil into the jar. She snapped on the lid and wrote the coordinates on the front label.

She stuffed the sample jar and map into her knapsack and tossed it over the side of the Zodiac. With a flick of her hand, she freed the line from the willow branch and turned to push the boat from the tiny beach. It didn't budge.

Bracing herself in the mud, she put her shoulder against the pontoon and shoved hard. It didn't move even a fraction of an inch.

Great.

She was two miles from where she'd parked her truck downriver and didn't relish the idea of trying to find a vineyard hand to help her. There'd be questions. Questions she wasn't prepared to answer, not yet.

She walked to the bow of the Zodiac. It jutted up, maybe just enough for her to hang her weight from the front and pop up the midsection. She stepped into the river and sucked in her breath as she sank neck deep into an eddy pool. Feeling with her feet, she found a flat rock that gave her solid footing. She reached up and wrapped the bowline around her hands and tugged her full weight against it. Her hands slipped and she splashed back into the chilly water.

"It's a bit early in the season for a swim."

Adrenaline shot through her as she scrambled to her feet. A tall and ridiculously handsome man stood blocking the trail. He looked like he'd been airlifted out of a men's fashion magazine. He squatted, bringing him to her eye level. She froze, unprepared for the intensity of his gaze. He had deep blue eyes, the color of the sea before a storm. Those eyes crinkled as a slow, easy smile curved his lips.

"Just testing the water," she said with a bravado she didn't feel.

Goose bumps rose along her arms as she sloshed out of the water and stepped onto the riverbank. She wished they were just from the cold. To give her hands something to do, she brushed ineffectively at the mud on her jeans.

"Can I give you a hand?"

He held a half-eaten sandwich, one of those piled-high deli sandwiches that Americans loved. Her stomach grumbled; she'd forgotten her own lunch. But this was no time to be thinking about food.

He didn't look dangerous. But the expensive-looking slacks and perfectly tailored shirt he wore were out of place. She was from England—she knew a custom-tailored shirt from a Savile row tailor when she saw one. Why anyone would be wearing a three-hundred-dollar shirt and Prada loafers in river brambles was anybody's guess.

"No," she said, backing up a step. "I was just leaving."

His assessing gaze sent a shiver down her spine, pushed it deep. She tugged at her shirt. Wet and plastered against her skin, it was almost transparent. She didn't have to look down to know he could see her nipples puckered from the chilled water. She wished she'd taken the time to put on a bra.

She glanced up, and he quickly averted his eyes. Every cell in her body suddenly said _flee_.

She leaned over the pontoon and grabbed her backpack, rummaged to the bottom, found her jacket and pulled it on. She felt his eyes on her once again as she tugged up the zipper. At least she didn't feel naked anymore.

She put a hand on the Zodiac, wishing that her touch would magically free it.

"What brings you up here? I don't see many people boating in this stretch of river—just the occasional kayaker doing some bird watching. It's mighty shallow."

He gave her the perfect answer.

"I was looking for nesting clapper rails."

"That shouldn't take long," he said. "There've only been a few sightings in this area since I've lived here. They're endangered, you know."

The man knew something about birds. And he was local. Could be good. Could be bad.

"I know."

He quirked his brow. "And you'd be more likely to find clapper rails in the fields, wouldn't you?"

He thought she was a clueless bird watcher. She should've chosen a different bird, but she really didn't know the birds of the region all that well, except for the marine birds.

The man smiled again.

A smile shouldn't send a zip of unnerving energy straight into her, but it did. She'd sunk herself in her work for so long, studiously avoiding exactly that kind of smile. He had the ease of a man who knew the effect he had on women. An ease she knew only too well, having once fallen prey to it at the hands of another man who knew how to wield his charm and allure.

She looked away from his face and down to his hands.

"Nice-looking Zodiac," he said. "But you couldn't have come up from the bay. It'd take you half a day with that small motor. You put in somewhere south of here?"

An observant man. Usually she liked that type. She tried not to be dazzled by his near perfect physique and a face that was more handsome than any man should be allowed. It was distracting. And dangerous. That she also knew from experience.

"I might ask what you're doing here," she said, deflecting. She eyed the Zodiac, assessing another approach to freeing it from the mud.

"Eating," he said with the same dazzling smile.

A wise guy. From his polished American accent and fine clothing, obviously a very wealthy and well-educated wise guy. But he didn't have the body of a businessman.

He grinned and waved the sandwich at her.

"There's a great deli about two hundred feet from here. Can I buy you a sandwich? You look like you could use one."

She dragged her hair away from her face. She'd love a sandwich. But there was a mile of river to sample between here and the vineyard properties to the north. And she didn't want to answer questions. He looked like the type to ask plenty of them.

"Thanks, but I have to get back."

"Back where?"

Right. Not the cleverest of responses on her part.

"Back to, um..."

Jeez. Tracking down water samples had made her feel like she was in some sort of cheesy spy novel or something. This guy was just a guy having lunch near his local deli. _Right. Dressed in expensive clothes and eating a sandwich by a really crummy spot in the river_. She might be good at chasing down the mysteries of marine mammals, their lives, their health and the way the bigger picture affected them, but she was never much good at figuring out people.

"Back to work," she said flatly.

"Where do you work? Can't be around here."

It was a simple question, a question she'd answered hundreds, maybe thousands of times. She hated to lie, usually didn't have any reason to, but it was hard to ignore the small voice telling her to do just that. Maybe the sun had addled her brain. _And_ she hadn't been sleeping well. She'd read that lack of sleep could make you paranoid, make you read things into situations that weren't there. She really should get more sleep.

"I work at the California Marine Mammal Center," she said as she pulled her foot from the muck and edged closer to the Zodiac.

"The seal hospital near the Golden Gate Bridge?"

The Center was known for their quick response in rescuing injured marine mammals, doctoring them up and returning them to the ocean, but the work went far beyond that. Yet right now she didn't feel like explaining.

She nodded.

"I've been meaning to get over there. For about ten years," he said with a laugh.

"Evidently not a priority," she said, trying not to like the sound of his laugh. "Or if it is, maybe you're direction challenged?" She hadn't meant to engage him, but his smooth manner was like oil on a hillside, and she just kept sliding along.

He sprang up from his crouch with a catlike, almost effortless, motion and took a couple steps down the path toward her. She stepped back and nearly lost her balance as her foot sank into the mud.

She fisted her hands against her hips, and he stopped walking.

"I heard you're having a rash of seal deaths," he said, suddenly serious. "Any clues as to what's causing the diatom bloom?"

Her breath hitched in her chest. People in the Bay Area knew about the seal strandings; reports been all over the news. But most didn't know about the diatom bloom or if they did, they didn't get the connection. Maybe he was a scientist. But he didn't look like a scientist. Scientists never had muscles like his.

"It's too early to tell." At least it wasn't a complete lie. It _was_ too early to tell. "I really have to be going."

She turned and pushed her shoulder against the pontoon. Color crept into her face. She was stuck, in more ways than one.

"Here," he said as he closed the distance between them. He bent down and put the sandwich on a rock. "Hop in. I'll shove you off."

She tilted her head and shaded her eyes. Maybe he could do it; he looked incredibly strong. His shoulders reached beyond those of most normal men. Only movie thugs and athletes had shoulders like that.

God, she was being ridiculous. Letting him shove her off was the best solution. Maybe the only one.

"Okay," she said.

Their gazes locked, and she felt both trapped and held.

"I don't bite," he said.

There it was again, that easy, wide smile. She was really losing it if she could let herself be charmed by a stranger standing on a riverbank.

Before she could move away, he closed his hands around her waist and lifted her over the side of the boat.

"Straddle the pontoon on the opposite side," he said as he released her. "Lean into it."

The confidence of his tone told her he was used to giving orders.

He walked to the bow of the boat and stepped into the water. She noticed that _he_ didn't fall into the eddy pool. Maybe he knew this stretch of river very, very well.

She hung her weight against the pontoon and watched his arm muscles work as he gripped the bow line and levered his shoulder against the boat. With perfect control he tipped the bow down. The bottom of the boat sucked up off the riverbed with a sigh and a slurp, and with a firm, steady motion, he pushed the boat into the river.

"You might need this." He grinned and tossed the bow line over the side. She caught it with one hand.

"Nice catch," he said as he stepped out of the water.

Mud covered his expensive shoes and stained up his pant legs. He apparently didn't notice or didn't care.

Her hands shook as she started the engine. Only then did she remember she hadn't thanked him. She waved and shouted thanks over the buzz of the motor.

"My name's Alex," he said as he waved and stared after her. "Maybe I'll see you around these parts again."

Not if she could help it. Maybe he wouldn't notice that she was headed north, upriver to the vineyards. Besides, why would he care?

"There aren't any marine mammals up that way," he shouted with a puzzled smile. "No clapper rails either."

She shrugged and looked resolutely upriver.

So much for not noticing.

Chapter Two

Some sounds go straight to your heart.

The crack of his bat told Alex his hit was going over the wall. Way over. He ran toward first base and watched the ball track a perfect arc into a throng of cheering fans in the center field bleachers. He kept his pace around the bases, lifted by the roar of 40,000 voices.

Some days that sound was an elixir, at least this year. Last year the crowd response had been mixed—his game had been off. This year would be different. He was focused. He was on.

His foot barely touched home plate before his teammates leaped out of the dugout and mobbed him. The team had trailed by a run for two innings. This win put them five games out in front of LA, right where they liked to be.

"Hey, Tavonesi," a woman's voice called out of the crowd, "you made us wait long enough for _that_."

He glanced up. A beautiful young woman stood in the seats behind the dugout. He recognized her; he'd spent an evening with her that he probably shouldn't have. Now she was dating their rookie right fielder, and Alex was out of her sights. At least he hoped he was.

He smiled and tipped his hat to the cheering crowd, then ducked into the dugout.

"You saved our asses, Tavonesi," Scotty Donovan, the Giants' young starting pitcher, said as he clapped him on the back. "Can't say the same for my pitching record."

Alex took off his batting helmet and tossed it into the cubby. "Batista was looking for your fastball. He just got lucky connecting to your slider."

"Two runs' worth of lucky," Scotty groused.

"Lucky all the same."

"It was lousy pitching."

Alex knew better than to argue with him.

"Show time, Tavonesi," the Giants' press liaison said as she tugged on Alex's sleeve. "Time to feed the beast."

He didn't resist as she herded him back up onto to the field. His body was still zinging from the hit and the rush, so it was easy to smile. He fielded the usual questions from the network and then turned to a young reporter wielding a mike like a lance.

"You've got your swing back. Feeling good?" the reporter asked.

"We're a team. We just get out there and do our best, one game at a time, back each other up."

"Duarte's already slugged twelve home runs," the reporter said with a glinting challenge.

Alex wouldn't take the bait. It was every hitter's dream to lead the league in the three categories that made up the Triple Crown. Racking up the highest batting average, hitting the most home runs _and_ blasting hits that brought the greatest number of base runners across home plate was nearly impossible. Only three players had earned the title in the past forty-seven years. This year Duarte was everybody's favorite to do it. Alex intended to prove them wrong. But it was far too early in the season to be talking about winning batting titles.

"Duarte's one of the best in the game," Alex said with a smile. Then he turned and walked down the tunnel to the clubhouse.

He stripped off his uniform and tossed it into the bin in the center of the locker room. He wrapped a towel around his waist and headed for the showers.

The buzz of the win sizzled through the steaming bodies and raucous laughter. The clubhouse was a sacrosanct haven; there was no substitute for the flow of energy that powered through it. Where else could you gather thirty alpha males, all at the top of their game, all happy to be there and do what they loved? Some guys found it so hard to leave behind, they manufactured reasons to hang out even after they'd retired. Not many succeeded; the clubhouse was a place for men active in the game.

When Alex's father had died of a heart attack two years before, Alex had shocked everyone by taking a year off baseball and busting ass to get the hang of managing Trovare, the family vineyard he'd inherited.

Most would say he'd succeeded.

But the truth was, he'd nearly gone mad.

Not from the pressures of running the business—that he could handle. It'd been the gnawing feeling of having a gaping hole in his life, of missing something the way he imagined an amputee would miss an arm or a leg. Carrying on his father's dream hadn't been enough. Trovare hadn't been enough. Sometimes he wished it were, but it wasn't.

Some claimed baseball was just a game, but to Alex it was like oxygen—he couldn't imagine life without it.

And as much as he'd missed the game during the year he'd taken off, he'd also missed the camaraderie. He was at his best, physically and mentally, when he was in his place, doing his part for the team.

He let hot water flow over him and lost himself in the chorus of voices lacing through the steam. He rotated his wrist behind his back; the way it was acting up, this could be his last season for a run at the title.

When he'd returned to the team last year, he'd made mistakes. He'd tried to keep Trovare going, to keep his game going, had tried to be all and everything to too many.

In baseball, numbers never lie.

He'd played so poorly for the first four months that management had made noises about sending him down to the minors. He wasn't ready for that sort of ending and never would be. Only his hitting had kept _that_ nightmare from happening.

He'd lost track of what was important.

Baseball was important.

Trovare was something he'd been born to, but baseball was _his_. And this year, he'd vowed, nothing was going to get in the way of his game.

But in spite of his resolve, he couldn't let go. Trovare was all that was left of his connection with his father, a living bridge that death hadn't destroyed. If he were to be honest, he loved Trovare. Maybe not the castle—that had been an obsession of his dad's, he could see that now—but everything else about the vineyard, the gardens, and especially the older vines he'd helped his father plant near the south slope. The feel of the soil, the sugared, heady scent of the ripening grapes, the vital interplay of sun and water and earth, it was in his blood, always would be.

A sharp zing to his left flank brought him out from under the steaming stream of the shower.

He grabbed the towel that Scotty had _thwhapped_ him with and tossed it aside. "Courting a shorter life span?"

Scotty grinned and turned his face under the flow of the adjoining shower. "Are we still going to have a look at those team videos, old man?"

Alex ignored the old-man barb. Scotty was all of twenty-three. And already he was the best starting pitcher on the team. Anyone over twenty-five was ancient to him. Alex had just hit thirty-one.

"Not today," he said as Scotty trailed him to his locker. "I checked out that marine mammal center I told you about. I'm running over to have a look. Then I have to head up to Sonoma; there's a party at the vineyard."

"How about I come with you and we look at the videos up there after?"

Alex chuckled to himself. Scotty said _up there_ as if the wine region to the north of San Francisco was a foreign country. What with the hyperfocus on the grapes and the odd mix of country and city, it might as well be.

"Can't," Alex said. "I'm meeting with my farm manager in the morning." He slipped a sweater over his head and grabbed his jacket. "I plan to stay over."

"My fridge's empty." Scotty protested. "And I love parties."

"Pretty insistent for a heartlander, aren't you?"

"Afraid you might not show up back here." A grin curved across Scotty's face. "You're my career insurance, so I like to keep you close."

Scotty hardly needed that. He'd already racked up a brilliant rookie season with the Giants, and this year he was likely to do even better. But he was right about one thing—Alex's glove-work in the infield kept runners off base.

"I'll have to loan you a tux," Alex said, conceding to his enthusiasm. "One party at Trovare should cure you of snarking invitations forever."

Alex's cell rang as he and Scotty drove out of the stadium parking lot. He knew the ringtone; it was Sabrina.

"Answer that, would you?" He nodded to Scotty. "It's my sister."

"Sea World Express," Scotty said. He pushed the speaker button.

"Alex, _tell_ me you're coming up for this party. I can't bear another round of _Where's Alex_ tonight."

"On my way. Scotty's coming with me. I have a stop to make and then we'll be up. Kiss the gargoyle for me."

Scotty clicked off the phone. "Gargoyle?"

"My father bought it at an auction before he died." He shot Scotty a grin. "It's supposed to ward off dugout dollies."

He was only half kidding. The women who tracked players, often developing elaborate plans to make contact, kept Scotty well in their sights. They tracked Alex too. Though he'd dated a few, he kept to his rule to keep it casual. He'd learned better than to drag a woman into his life. He'd done it once, when he was in the minors. Another mistake he was determined not to repeat.

He'd been young and foolish that summer, and he'd fallen hard—he hadn't been reading the signs. Not that anyone liked life in the minors. The long bus rides, cramped motels, terrible food... it wore the best of them down.

But it'd turned out that the woman he'd loved was in love with Trovare, in love with the flash. She was interested in Alex in his role as vineyard heir. Being dragged around from one small town to another during the minor league season, into a life without the glamor or the swirl of San Francisco, was of no interest to her.

He'd been foolish to think she loved the game, that she'd loved him.

At one point she'd even tried to talk him out of playing, and into returning to the city. But worse than that, she'd ridiculed one of his friends, a young outfielder from Tennessee. One thing the game held sacred was respect for anyone's honest effort.

When she'd put down Tom's life and his dreams, Alex had finally realized he'd been fooling himself all along. He wouldn't do that ever again.

He should thank Tom.

"You're losing your touch, Tavonesi. You don't need a gargoyle. Just handle the lovely ladies like grounders. A moment in the hands"—he whirled his hands in the space between them—"and then a gentle and mutual toss-off."

"Thanks, Yoda," Alex said. "Remind me to ask you for hitting advice as well."

_That_ wasn't going to happen. Nobody expected a pitcher to hit, and Scotty met that expectation handily by hitting well below .100. He managed to put down a good sacrifice bunt on occasion, but that was about it. Alex couldn't imagine life without the challenge of hitting. Reading the pitchers and learning their patterns, watching the seams, tuning his body to the pace and the arc, the ritual and the focus, it ran in his blood.

The last light of day glowed a dim line under fast-moving clouds along the horizon as Alex and Scotty crossed the Golden Gate Bridge. Whitecaps peaked on the waves in the bay, and the wind had picked up in the past half hour. The city and the hills of the Marin Headlands were shrouded in clouds by the time they turned off at the first exit at the end of the bridge.

"Maybe it's not such a great time to head to the coast. Looks like a mighty storm headed this way," Scotty said, pointing to the northwestern horizon. "I thought we'd get hammered before the end of the seventh inning."

Alex shrugged. "If I waited for a break in the odd weather patterns we're having, I'd never get anything done."

He fired off the strange weather events in his mind: earliest frost, hottest summer days, longest stretch of winter with no rain and now rain, warm rain, that just wouldn't let up. If late rains kept up into May, they could affect the fruit set at his vineyard for the second year in a row. _El Niño_ , they called the storm pattern that brought these rains and winds. But there was nothing child-sized about its effects.

The rain and wind intensified as he nosed the car over the last ridge separating the headlands from the sea. In the distance, a side road snaked down toward the Point Bonita lighthouse.

"Wouldn't want to be out there in waves like this," Scotty said. "How far is it to this seal hospital?"

"Rescue center. It's about a half mile from here. The whole place looked pretty ramshackle on the website. I was surprised to read that they're doing some first-class science out of such a small place."

"Is this science or a woman piquing your interest?" Scotty gave him a sidelong glance. "Rescuing river maidens might be your new calling."

"Just curious."

"I know about curious. Not exactly what we need right now."

Scotty was right; chasing about the coast was the last thing he should be doing. He needed to rest up and stay in the zone. He'd set a high bar for the season and even on his best days he wondered if he'd overreached. He'd seen what overreaching had done to McQuinn last season, watched the guy wind himself so tight that he'd started making mistakes. But unlike McQuinn, Alex knew how to keep his perspective. At least he hoped he did.

His car hugged the curves as he eased it down the hill to Rodeo Beach. It'd been a favorite haunt, yet how many years had passed since he'd been there?

He turned onto a road that edged a small lagoon just past the beach. The hills of the headlands jutted down to steep cliffs and pitching waves. He opened his window, breathing in the salty marine air.

Driving to Trovare and donning a tux, smiling at people he barely knew, lost all its appeal.

"Mind if we skip Trovare tonight?" Alex asked.

Scotty shot him a look. "I was looking forward to meeting some of those society babes up at your place."

Alex shook his head. "They eat boys from Nebraska for breakfast."

"Sounds intriguing," Scotty said. "I might like being someone's breakfast."

"Trust me on this one," he said as he punched at his cellphone.

"Alex, it's storming up here," Sabrina said when she answered. "It came in fast, and Mother's furious. She still doesn't believe she can't command the heavens."

Alex laughed. "I'm going to skip the party. Forgive me?"

"I always do. I'll find a way for you to make it up to me."

He knew that playful tone. "No dates or set-ups, Sabrina. None. Zero."

"You left out infinity."

"That too." He took in a breath. "And would you tell Emilio that I'll meet with him when the team gets back from the road trip? The new irrigation for the vineyard can wait until then."

"Aye, Captain."

_Captain_. It was Sabrina's favorite nickname for him. As a child, he'd wanted to go to sea. Years later, when he'd rebelled at being handed his life on a platter, he'd lost himself in the mysteries of marine biology. He'd majored in it at USC, but he'd quickly discovered that he had to choose between his love for the sea and baseball. Baseball had won out. When he'd been called up to the majors, everything else dropped away. After his dad died and left him to handle Trovare, any dreams he'd harbored for pursuing his passion for the sea dissolved into the added responsibilities. Tonight, those early, carefree days were a past he barely remembered.

The rain morphed into a light mist. A hundred yards down the rutted road, a chain-link fence surrounded a cluster of buildings lit by floodlights on poles.

The gate was open, and he pulled into a parking area gutted with potholes. Several large, round blue tanks stood next to the buildings, and a square of fenced pens ran along one side. Every pen held animals. Alex pulled a raincoat from behind his seat and tossed it across Scotty's lap.

"Dress for battle."

Scotty laughed. "I'd rather dress for breakfast."

Alex stepped out, donned his overcoat and walked over to a pen where a big man in yellow slickers stooped over a sea lion laid out at his feet. The slickers made him look like a giant who had stepped out of a children's cartoon. He held a board against the animal, pinning it into the corner of the pen. The sea lion easily weighed 300 pounds, Alex estimated, but unlike the animals he'd seen when he was out sailing, this one wasn't frisky.

"Hey there!" the man called, without looking up. "Push that IV tower over here, would you?" The flat vowels of his accent marked him as Canadian.

Alex took hold of the metal pole that held the bag of fluid and rolled it to him. Without taking his eyes off the sea lion, the man felt his way down the tubing with his other hand, found the needle and pulled it. With a flick of his wrist, he inserted the needle at the back of the animal's neck.

"Hand me those towels," he ordered.

Alex grabbed the bundle and handed them over just as the man glanced up. Even in the dim light and at the late hour, the man's eyes danced with merriment.

"Oh, sorry," he said, still pressing the board against the sea lion. "I thought you were a volunteer." A smirk crept across his face as he scanned Alex's attire. "I told them we needed another pair of hands, but you don't look the type." He looked over at Scotty. "Neither of you do."

The man paused, his eyes scanning Alex's face. Alex stiffened and prepared himself for the usual questions and comments about baseball, but the man didn't say anything. He just turned back to finish taping the IV to the sea lion.

Alex let out the breath he'd caged. "Never mind what I'm wearing. I'm willing to offer a hand."

The man looked up again, nodded and then rubbed a blue stripe of paint across the animal's forehead. He stood. To Alex's surprise, they were eye to eye. Not many men reached six four.

"The name's Gage," the man said. "I won't offer to shake your hand." Like his slickers, his gloves were streaked with blood and muck. "I'm the assistant vet," he said with a wry smile.

"Alex. And this is my buddy Scotty."

"These guys are way bigger up close," Scotty said as he walked over and acknowledged Gage.

A roaring bark sounded from the pen next to them, and Scotty jumped.

"Teeth. Lots of teeth," Scotty said, shaking his head.

"The man needs a hand," Alex said.

Scotty pulled Alex aside.

"If you're going to hang around here," he said in a low voice, "I'd rather rustle up a date back in the city." He looked over his shoulder. "Those things could bite." He made a snapping motion against his arm. "I'm pitching in four days."

"Living up to your reputation as a precious pitcher," Alex chided. He fished his car keys from his overcoat pocket. "Take my car; I'll find a way back."

" _Bad_ idea, Tavonesi. Leave your number and have the mystery woman call you." He glanced over to where Gage stood at a distance, watching them. "Where is she, anyway?"

"It looks pretty tame," Alex said, looking out at the pens and ignoring Scotty's question. He'd find the woman from the river, if not tonight, then next week. She'd left more than an impression. She'd haunted his dreams.

"Should've kissed the gargoyle," Scotty said with a knowing smile. "This mystery woman must be awful pretty." He took the keys Alex held out. "Maybe she's having a beer at O'Doul's." His grin stretched even wider. "I'll call you if I see anyone matching her description."

Scotty nodded to Gage and headed for the car. Within moments he was driving down the hill.

Gage jerked his head in the direction of the car's receding tail lights. "Your friend know his way back?"

Alex nodded.

Gage raised a brow, then turned and wrote something on a chalkboard-like poster that hung between the pens. A wail from an enclosure farther down the line had Gage bolting. He pulled a pair of gloves from where they were wedged in the fencing and tossed them to Alex.

"You'll be useful for this one," he said.

_This one_ was a 600-pound behemoth, maybe heavier, and he was not docile like the first. Though large, the sea lion was obviously starving; its ribs showed and its skin hung loose.

Alex took the board Gage pushed toward him, grabbed the two handles at its front and helped to herd the creature into a corner of the enclosure. Gage was strong, and he worked with a deft confidence.

The animal bucked and tried to rear up.

"Lean into it," Gage instructed, gesturing with his hip. Alex leveraged his weight on the board and felt a pull along his ribs as he did. He ignored the pain and held the board steady. In less than a minute Gage had inserted an IV and started the drip. He pushed a piece of fencing up to the animal.

"Hand me those bungees," he said, pointing at strips of rubber hanging on the pen. He fastened the fencing into a makeshift restraint pen and turned to remove the wooden herding board.

"Where's the rest of your crew?" Alex asked as he followed Gage to the back of the pen.

"Out on rescues. We had no idea it'd be this busy—hadn't counted on another storm so soon." He shook the water from his hair and wiped his forehead with the back of his glove. "Two El Niño years in a row and a new batch of animals coming down from the North Bay, harbor seals, mostly."

He tugged on the IV. Evidently confident it would hold, he motioned to Alex and together they backed out of the pen.

A truck roared into the lot, its headlights flooding the pen and path, temporarily blinding Alex.

"Damn!" Gage swore under his breath. "They should yank her green card _and_ her license."

Alex's eyes adjusted, and he saw the woman from the river hop out of the truck, calling out orders to the two men unloading crates from the back. Even at a distance there was no mistaking her English accent or the confidence and strength woven through the lush tones of her voice.

"Take these two down to the hospital," she said, pointing to the heavy crates the men were hefting from the back of the truck. "And set up the X-ray; that one's been shot." She nodded toward a smaller crate still in the truck.

She whirled to face them and froze when she saw Alex. The wariness in her eyes surprised him.

Wet auburn curls fell loose and tangled around her face, framing her beautiful and honeyed hazel eyes. She was even lovelier than he remembered.

"You do turn up in the oddest places."

Without a glance back, she headed toward the building she'd called the hospital.

"You know her?" Gage asked.

"Not really. Ran into her up in Sonoma last week. We weren't introduced."

"That's Jackie," Gage said, tilting his head toward the departing woman. "She's the boss. And that's her at her most suave. She might be wanting in bedside manners, but she's the best marine mammal vet in the world. She's why I'm here." He handed Alex the IV bag he'd lifted from its hook. "Watch to see that this drains properly."

He walked to the truck and lifted the smaller crate from it and headed toward the hospital.

Standing in the misting drizzle, holding an IV bag hooked up to a very sad-looking sea lion, Alex calculated how ridiculous he must appear. His shoes were coated in mud, and he was soaked through. A loud snort sounded behind him, and he turned just in time for the sea lion to sneeze snot all over his overcoat. The smell had a stink like no other. Even so, as he snagged a towel off the fencing with his free hand and began to wipe down his coat, an odd elation flooded him, like hitting a grand slam in the bottom of the ninth. It made no sense.

But he smiled anyway.

Then he hung the towel back on the fencing and watched the last of the IV fluid drain from the bag. When Gage didn't return, he hooked the empty bag to the fence and started across the parking lot. Whether he was headed for his car or to the lighted hospital, he wasn't sure. Then he remembered he'd let Scotty take his car. Not a very clever move. He'd have to call a cab. The promise of a hefty tip was the only hope he had to entice a driver out into the headlands on a night like this.

Before he reached the dimly lit building, the door swung open and Gage and Jackie stormed toward him. Well, she was storming. Gage was shuffling along beside her, his long strides easily keeping up with her shorter ones. She marched right up to Alex.

"We've got a stranded whale—the fisherman who reported it said it's about nine feet. Has to be either a newborn or a juvenile minke. The rescue crew has to deal with the animals they brought in," she said, nodding toward the hospital. She took a breath and tilted her head toward Gage. "Genius here says you offered to help."

She flicked her eyes over Alex. He felt he was being sized up for auction. He'd been sized up many times—by scouts, by owners, by managers deciding how much they would pay for his services—but he'd never felt the awkwardness that ran through him as she looked him up and down.

"He doesn't have any _training_ ," Gage muttered, as if he was trying to let Alex off the hook.

"He has muscles," she said. "Right now, that will do."

"Be happy to help," Alex said.

He thought he saw the hint of a smile flicker behind her scrutiny. She had a strong, beautiful face that would've been lovelier without the frown. She turned away and fished in her pocket, pulling out a fistful of keys. She gave him a last, long scan and shrugged.

"Get in the back." She nodded toward the truck. "And try not to fall out. I'm fresh out of Band-Aids tonight."

Gage shot him a look that said, _You don't have to do this_.

It would take a team of bulls to hold him back.

Gage motioned for Alex to jump over the tailgate.

"She smashed it in last week; it won't open," he said apologetically.

"If _you_ hadn't distracted me with all your budget woes and lists of things you desperately needed, I would've seen the bloody hydrant." She turned to Alex. "I'm a fine driver."

If her driving matched her boating skills, he was in for it.

Chapter Three

The truck lurched down the pitted road. The rain had let up, but the wind was still whipping. Through gaps in the clouds, shafts of moonlight lit the headlands hills with an eerie glow. Alex grabbed a rope attached to a large winch bolted to the truck bed and held tight. The truck reeked; it smelled remarkably like, well, like what he'd imagine stale seal urine might smell like. The truck swayed, and a pool of foul-smelling liquid sloshed over his shoes.

Inside the truck cab, Gage appeared to be arguing with Jackie, but Alex couldn't make out the words. From the look of it, she was winning.

The truck bounced wildly on the rough road. If it had shocks, they were shot. Jackie dodged the deepest ruts, but her maneuvers wouldn't do much to reduce the number of bruises Alex would be cursing in the morning.

To his amazement they headed toward the high cliffs near the Point Bonita lighthouse. Jackie eased the truck to a stop just short of a wooden bridge. On the far side of the bridge a set of stairs led out to the lighthouse that crowned the jutting headland cliff. Its beam pierced the patches of low-hanging fog and cast a wavering finger of light toward the horizon.

Gage hopped out, then gave Alex a hand out of the back. Jackie bounded out and slammed the door behind her. She walked to the bridge and peered over the side, then returned to the truck and pulled a bulky trash bag out of a box in the back.

"It's a juvenile minke—must've got washed in by a sneaker wave," she said to neither of them in particular. "Could've beached itself chasing a school of herring. It's not skinny, so I think it'll survive." She turned to Gage. "We'll have to rope it and pull it along the tideline to that deeper spot in the cove—it'll never be able to get off the bottom on its own."

Gage walked to the edge of the bridge and stared down. He rubbed his hand across his chin, then turned to Jackie. "I know they used a Toyota pickup to tow the space shuttle, but that whale down there must weigh four thousand pounds at least. We'll have to drag it ten feet, that is _if_ we manage to rope it." He looked back down to the beached whale. "You really think your truck can drag it ten feet?"

"That whale's hoping we can." Her face softened. "And I'm hoping we can. We'll just have to hope for a strong surge to help us along."

"Then we gear up," Gage said.

When he moved to stand beside her, Alex recognized that Jackie was taller than he'd calculated and looked strong. The woman had biceps, and right now the arms sporting those biceps were lifting a massive coil of rope from the trash bag she'd dropped to the wet ground. As she straightened, she slipped on a slick spot in the road and the rope teetered in her arms.

"Let me help you with that," Alex offered, reaching to take the coil from her.

"No thanks." She found her balance and backed up a step, clutching the rope tighter to her chest. "Nobody touches my lines." She shot Gage a challenging glare. " _Nobody_."

Gage shrugged, then reached into the bag and pulled out a second mass of rope.

Jackie hefted the rope, looped the coil over her arm and headed for the edge of the cliff. "We'll have to secure a pulley from the bridge," she said over her shoulder to Gage. "He can anchor the rope for the whale and operate the winch."

"His name's Alex," Gage muttered.

Jackie stopped midmotion, then turned to Alex.

"Forgive me," she said. "I have a soft spot for whales, one that makes me forget my manners." She held out her hand. "Jackie."

When his hand touched hers, he felt sparks and warmth and all the things that one hears about in tall tales—the same surge of interest he'd felt the day he'd helped her with her boat. He held her hand and a puzzled smile curved into her lips, but her eyes weren't smiling. She pulled her hand away.

"Right," she said, turning from him and staring at her hand. "Do tell me you can hold a rope and take instructions at the same time."

"Depends on the instructions," Alex said with a laugh, chasing off the strange tension that gripped him. He was starting to appreciate the pitch and roll of her barbs. But when he joined her at the cliff edge, his smile faded fast. It was at least a hundred feet down to the small crescent of beach where the whale was stranded. _One hundred feet straight down._ She was crazy.

"Don't worry," Gage said as he strapped on his climbing harness and then secured the pulley to the bridge railing. "She does this all the time. She once held the women's record for rappelling down El Capitan in Yosemite. Piece of cake." He peered over the cliff. "Wish I could say the same."

Jackie bent down and stepped into her harness. Alex sucked in his breath as she pulled the dangling straps up over the legs of her jeans and snugged them around her thighs. Her hair fell free of the band she'd stuffed it into and cascaded in a ripple of moonlit color. She stood, flicked her hair out of her way and pulled the belt of her harness around her waist.

The click Alex heard as he watched her wasn't from the carabiners she snapped onto her harness; it came from deep inside him. The deep awareness of a woman wasn't something he was used to. But he couldn't deny the rapid reaction in his groin that signaled a very physical interest.

Jackie glanced up. He averted his eyes and busied himself with flicking a spot of mud off his overcoat.

She hopped into the truck and pulled it up to the guardrail abutting the bridge. Gage walked to the back and secured a line through the pulley to the winch. Jackie pulled on it and, apparently satisfied, tossed the rope over the railing of the bridge. It was a perfect toss. Alex watched as the rope uncoiled and landed on the mud-ringed beach near the whale.

"If you power up the winch when we signal and pull it just so"—she motioned with her arms, indicating an angle for the ropes—"I think it'll work." She turned to Gage. "It'll have to be a release knot. I can pull it through the other way once we've dragged him to the water. I don't want him swimming off with my truck."

Alex thought she was kidding, but as he calculated the size of the whale and considered the possibilities, he wasn't so sure.

He considered offering to call in a helicopter but before he could, she'd pulled on a pair of gloves, swung up onto the bridge rail and dropped over and down, out of sight. Gage eased over to the cliff edge. Looking down, he said, " _I_ could use a hand, maybe two." He pulled on his gloves and appeared less than confident. "I'm hooking in here."

He showed Alex where he'd secured his rope to the bridge.

"If you'll steady me," he said, his lips pressed into a firm line, "I can drop down along the truss of the bridge—it's safer." He shot Alex a smirk and scuttled on his rump along the slope at the end of the bridge. "I like to think of myself as safety minded rather than a coward."

He signaled to Alex to take up the slack and then slowly began his trip down the face of the cliff.

Alex braced himself against the bridge and held the rope secure and steady against the still-gusting winds. Rocks clattered loose and tumbled to the cove as Gage dropped down to the beach. He signaled a brief okay when he got his footing on the rock-strewn beach and tugged at the rope. Alex gave him a few feet, noting that Gage kept the rope fastened to his harness. It seemed like a smart move.

Jackie, on the other hand, unclipped hers, walked to within ten feet of the whale and was readying what looked like a lasso. How she'd get it around the creature's tail without it thrashing her was beyond him. She threw and the rope glanced off the tail. A blasting bellow sounded, followed by a clicking rasp. Alex was sure neither had come from Jackie. She pulled the rope from the water, crept closer, coiled it and prepared to throw again. Without any twitch or sound of warning, the whale thrashed and the sweep of its tail knocked her into the waves. Gage bolted toward her, but she surfaced and threw up her hands, signaling for him to stop. Adrenaline lit Alex as he watched her drag herself out of the surf. The rip of terror that had flashed through him when Jackie went under subsided, but the memories of his younger sister, Grace, drowning before he or his father could reach her did not. Twenty years had passed since that day. Twenty years and still he felt the icy chill of guilt. There'd been nothing he could've done, he'd come to know the truth of it. But the fact brought him no comfort.

"I've got this handled," Jackie shouted, still sputtering and clutching at her arm as she hauled the makeshift lasso back to her. He shoved down his urge to slide to the beach and help them. Instead, he crouched on the cliff face, holding the winch line in his clenched fist and feeling worse than useless.

The beam of light from the lighthouse beacon swept the roiling waves, and Alex whispered a silent prayer that the waters would calm. He held his breath as Jackie coiled the line and threw again. The loop dropped perfectly around the whale's tail. She tugged it tight and jogged over to the rope she'd thrown down from the bridge. She tied the two together, tested her knot and signaled up to Alex.

"Now, Alex," she shouted and motioned for him to start the winch. "Now would be good."

Using all his strength, he secured the line in the winch and tightened until it was as taut as he thought it would bear. He leaped into the truck and started the engine. The truck groaned with the weight of each foot he gained—he could only hope it had power enough to tug the young whale. After going only a few feet, the tires started to spin and Jackie motioned at him to stop.

He jumped back out and watched in disbelief as Jackie dove into the surf. At least the whale had stopped thrashing. Jackie swam up to it and released the rope from around its tail. She dove, then crawled out of the waves twenty feet away, flashing an elated grin.

"Behind you!" he shouted as a sneaker wave rolled toward her. She ran up the beach out of its reach, then whirled to watch the whale catch the wave's back draw.

Gage let out a whoop of delight as the whale swam off into the bay, grunting and making thudding clicks. Jackie sprinted to where Gage stood and strapped her ropes to her harness. The two appeared to be arguing over who would go up first. Alex whistled out his relief when Jackie strapped in and began to climb. But something wasn't right. Face turned away from Gage, she grimaced and then slipped several feet, cursing.

"Come down and let me go up beside you," Gage shouted up at her.

She didn't answer, just kept climbing slowly. She was favoring her right arm and beginning to struggle. Alex reached down for her as she neared the top.

"Give me your hand," he shouted into the wind.

She shook her head no.

Ignoring her, he reached over the face of the cliff and grabbed her under the armpits and hefted her up onto the muddy road. He clutched her to him, his heart thumping hard against her and the water from her soaked clothes oozing through his coat.

"Are you crazy?" she sputtered, pushing away from him. "You weren't tied in. You could've killed us both."

"That's her way of saying thanks," Gage shouted as he levered himself up and onto flat ground. "You'll get used to it."

Alex woke the next morning to bright sun streaming into the bedroom of his Nob Hill apartment. The storm had passed, and it was a clear day in San Francisco. He ran a hand over the stubble on his face and then slid his legs over the side of the bed. Already he ached in muscles he'd forgotten he had, muscles evidently specialized for wrangling sea lions and not accustomed to use otherwise. He rubbed his elbow where he'd jammed it while operating the winch.

He took in a breath and rotated his wrist. At least he hadn't torqued it.

Winching whales was not an exclusion clause in his contract, but if the front office heard about it, they'd probably try to add one in next year. The thought of them working on the language made him laugh. As he did, he felt the pull along his ribs. Not good.

What he needed was a strong cup of coffee and a couple of ibuprofen—the time-tested breakfast of champions. He tugged on his jeans and pulled on a favorite T-shirt. Sabrina kept him in T-shirts from her favorite causes. He'd once calculated that given the extent of his sister's donations, each shirt cost about $8,000. This one was from a 10K run for endangered frogs. The cartoon on the front made him smile.

When he reached the kitchen, the stench caught him off guard.

His crumpled overcoat sat heaped on the floor like a deflated balloon, right where he'd peeled it off in the wee hours before dawn. Gage had driven him home. God knows how long he would've had to wait for a cab to find its way out to the headlands _if_ any cabbie had been willing to go out at all. He grabbed a trash bag from a drawer in the kitchen island and stuffed the stinking coat into it. The image of the big sea lion hauling its head back and sneezing on him was too fresh to be funny. At the time, he wasn't sure which one of them was the more surprised. He stared at his shoes, then chucked them in with the coat and tied off the bag. At least they were evidence that he hadn't dreamed the whole adventure.

Though he _had_ dreamed, he remembered. Multiple times. And Jackie had wound through all of them. He had the very unnerving feeling that the images of the night before, the images of her, just might haunt his day.

His body stirred as he remembered the feel of her in his arms. He'd liked her laugh, a laugh that opened up the space before it as if carving out territory of its own. She'd treated him like a normal person, no conniving or bowing and scraping. It'd been too long since he'd felt that from a woman.

The strange ache that stirred in him as he poured his coffee was more than bruised ribs. Something new prowled in him, something that had been sleeping, something he'd kept stuffed down for a very long time.

He downed the coffee and tried to ignore the tension in his belly. But the coffee didn't help put the images of one feisty marine mammal vet out of his mind. He cursed against the rim of the mug.

He rummaged in his gear bag and found his phone. Before he thought, he'd pulled up the website for the California Marine Mammal Center and found Gage's phone number.

Gage answered on the second ring.

"It's Alex."

"Man, you saved our butts last night."

"I thought we saved a whale."

Gage laughed. "Well, that too."

"How's the good doctor Jackie doing?" He tried to sound casual. He was just testing the waters, after all. It should've felt easier.

"She's on her way to the Farallons. I avoid all rescues that involve breeding grounds of great white sharks. It's in my contract," he added with a laugh. "Besides, I wouldn't want to be on that boat. It may only be a couple hours, but Jackie barfs the whole way."

"Does she ever take time off?"

Gage guffawed.

"I take it that's a no."

"She's all work except for when she's rock climbing. _That's_ a crazy sport if you ask me." He paused. "Made an impression, did she?"

Leave it to a Canadian to get bluntly to the point.

"If you want to get anywhere near her," Gage said, "you'll have to volunteer."

"Do you get a finder's fee for recruiting?"

"Only if the guy is healthy and over six feet. Saves my back when I have to wrestle bull sea lions."

Alex heard him take in a breath.

"Think about it. We could use a guy like you."

His earnestness caught Alex off guard. There was an awkward pause as he tried to think of a response.

"Look, Jackie's not a crackable nut. Not that I've seen. But I meant what I said. We could use your help."

Alex made some lame excuse about being too busy to volunteer and ended the call. It was actually true, but it still sounded lame.

He checked the clock on his phone. Barely enough time to call Emilio and sort out irrigation plans for the vines they'd grafted and get to the ballpark on time.

He decided not to mention his reasons for missing their meeting that morning. Rescuing a whale and chasing down a woman were likely not equal in Emilio's eyes to caring for one's crops. Emilio was old fashioned. He'd argue that Alex had to see the layout of the vines to have a true sense of what was needed. And he'd be right. But for now, a phone call would have to do.

By the time the call was done, a familiar guilt had chewed a knot into Alex's gut.

It'd been a fight, but Alex had persuaded Emilio to bring in an irrigation consultant and two more crews to handle the bulk of the spring work. But even with expert help, there were details to running a place like Trovare that required Alex's attention—details he was determined to handle efficiently and not let get in the way of his game. Not again.

Some days he wondered what he was scrambling to prove.

With nine years on the All-Star team as proof, he'd had a good run at the game. But he wanted to win the batting title, wanted it more than he'd remembered wanting anything, wanted it in a way that secretly embarrassed him. Winning the Triple Crown was something he had to prove to himself. Just the thought of failure made the knot in his gut cinch tighter. If he was going to go out, he wanted to go out on top.

He took in a deep breath, released it slowly, grabbed his gear bag and headed out. Hitting a few over the wall would clear his head. It always did.

Chapter Four

You sure do know how to treat the help, Jack," Gage said as Jackie walked into the necropsy lab.

The tomboy in Jackie rather liked it when Gage called her Jack, but his tone warned that a lecture was brewing. After hours of retching on the trip out to the Farallons and a difficult rescue, she wasn't in any mood for a lecture.

"We'd never have gotten that whale off the beach without Alex," he said as he opened the freezer that held the animal serum and tissue samples. "You didn't have to bite the guy's head off."

"He tried to _overhand_ me up the cliff." She laid her scalpels out onto a steel tray, lining them up according to blade size, largest to smallest. "Only an idiot would try that. He wasn't roped in—we could've both gone over."

"He's no rock climber—he couldn't have known it was a dangerous move." Gage huffed out an exasperated breath. "He _saw_ you go down when the whale thrashed you. You scared the bejeezus out of me, and I _know_ you." When she didn't reply, he took the tray from her and thumped it down on the necropsy table. "We _need_ more help. He called this morning. I think he's interested in volunteering."

Deal now or deal later, that's how it always went with Gage. She pulled her tray back and began to re-sort her scalpels.

"He's another rich dilettante—you saw how he was dressed." Gage lifted his hand as if to protest, but she cut him off. "He'll hang around for a week or maybe two. We don't have time for that, not again. At least _I_ don't."

The truth was, both times she'd been near the man he'd triggered feelings she'd worked three long years to forget, feelings she didn't need to deal with right now. Maybe never. And she felt deep suspicion at his turning up out of the blue twice in less than two weeks. The first time could've been innocent, but the second surely wasn't coincidence.

Gage shot her a glare that she was sure stopped his hockey buddies mid-ice. She didn't see it often.

"Someday you're going to have to rethink your knee-jerk wariness to men, boss. Alex is a good guy."

She wished she were as optimistic about people as Gage was, but she wasn't. And he was right—she was leery of men, especially men who made her pulse jump in ways she couldn't control.

Gage stood there with that look, the big-eyed, near-pleading look that'd made her hire him in the first place. Well, that and the fact that he'd had the best credentials she'd seen in ten years.

She shook her head. "That'd be _my_ version of a polite no-thank-you," she said, ignoring his crossed arms and puffed-up stance. "Or is it too early in the morning for such subtle information to register in your brain?"

Gage cracked a lopsided grin. "I see we did our joy and happiness meditation this morning."

Turning away, she opened the steel cabinet beside her and drew out a saw.

"Was it something I said?" Gage smiled, pointing to the sharp blade she brandished.

"It's _always_ something you say." Ignoring his attempt at levity, she turned to the first sea lion on the table. She hated when it was a pup, hated to see life snuffed out so early.

She lifted the saw. Pain laced through her arm and she doubled over.

"You should have that X-rayed," Gage said. He picked up the saw that she'd dropped to the floor.

"I'm fine. Just a bruise."

"Information is better than guessing," he said, feeding one of her pat lines back to her.

She didn't want to know. She should've known better than to lasso a live whale. She smiled to herself. She _had_ known better; she just hadn't been ready to let the whale die. A banged-up arm was a small price to pay. But she shouldn't have made the trip to the Farallons today. The rope sling that hauled her from the boat up to the cliff on the island hadn't done her arm any favors. But they'd pulled in the fur seal the Coast Guard had called about. If her estimate was right, the stitches would heal and the animal would be back in the ocean within a week.

"I can finish up here," Gage offered. "Take a break. But before you go out there"—he nodded toward the volunteers feeding animals in the pens across the lot—"you should know that they're upset that you put Scrappy down."

"Heads-up duly noted and appreciated," she said, shaking her head.

Euthanizing animals was the toughest part of her job. If she let herself feel too much, she'd have a hard time doing it, making the right decisions. Feelings and facts didn't always coincide; she'd stick with the facts.

She'd given Scrappy his best chance, had rewired his jaw. It didn't take. She'd rather have put down the fisherman who shot the little sea lion—it was a good thing they hadn't found out who'd done it.

She took the saw from him and replaced it in the cabinet. They both could use a break from the heavier work. She pulled a glass slide off the stack on the windowsill and motioned to the jar of fixative. "Let's finish up six more tissue samples and then we can regroup."

Gage let out a frustrated breath.

"Hey, the day crew's making pizza for lunch," she said, giving him a smile that she wished wasn't wavering. "That prospect alone should cheer you."

Jackie was shocked when she returned to her office and read the email from Bradley Hanson, head of the lab up at UC Davis. He rarely marked his emails urgent.

She'd sent the water and tissue samples from her river trip to him to analyze. He knew the Center couldn't afford to run all the necessary tests, and Bradley loved a challenge. But she also knew he was doing it partially as a special favor for her. Asking for favors was part of running a struggling nonprofit, but she'd never been comfortable asking for help.

Earlier that afternoon Gage had teased her about taking advantage of Bradley. She liked Bradley and to anyone's eyes, they were a good match. He ran one of the best pathology labs in the country, he had a far-ranging mind and he was a renowned scientist. And he was handsome, she had to admit. He had one of those faces you'd see in an L.L.Bean catalogue, the guy with the Christmas tree slung over his shoulder and a casual grin lighting his wide-set eyes.

But he didn't light any fire in her. Thank goodness. Right now she needed a colleague, not a boyfriend. But he'd asked her out a couple times and though she'd always managed to have a good excuse to refuse, his interest made her uneasy.

She took in a breath and punched in his number.

"And how's my favorite seal doctor today?" Bradley's voice didn't have its usual cheery tone.

"I'm well, thank you. But I'll be better when I know what you've found out."

"In that case, I wish I had better news. You were right—the tests on the water samples from the mouth of the river showed nitrates, the sort of thing you'd see from fertilizer runoff. But it's a very high concentration. It'd kill a crop if you treated it with that much nitrogen-based fertilizer."

"But it explains the diatom bloom," Jackie said. "It's rare to find domoic acid poisoning in harbor seals, especially in that part of the bay."

"These levels could easily cause a bloom. And it's different from the bloom down in Monterey. Same effect though." He paused. "But we found something else in your samples that is very, very strange. Thompson, my lab manager, discovered it by accident. The guy's a nut for Geiger counters, antique ones. He was tinkering with an old one, over lunch, and the water samples you sent set it off."

"No way. Who ever heard of radioactivity showing up in a fertilizer?"

"Way. It's there. All the samples from where the Susul River meets the bay showed traces of radioactivity, radon to be precise. Nothing showed up in the Monterey Bay samples."

She jotted the word _radon_ into her notebook and stared at it.

"The fertilizer could've been manufactured somewhere near an old mine site that's still contaminated " he said, breaking the silence. "Or in an area near some sort of incident, like Chernobyl. It could've come in from the Ukraine; fertilizers are a major export in that region. It'd have to be a radiostrontium or a radionuclide, something with a longer half-life that turns into radon."

He paused. She was still taking in what he said. Her work often uncovered unusual findings, but this was absurd.

"This means the molecule of the fertilizer has a _distinct_ fingerprint," he went on. "So it's not far-fetched to think that you could trace its source. At least you could narrow down the area it's coming from, maybe even track it to a particular vineyard."

His voice had quickened with the eager sound of the chase.

"What about the samples I sent from upriver?"

"I don't have those results back yet. But if I were to guess, I'd say it's coming from a source upstream."

"You never guess, Bradley."

"I make exceptions for you."

" _Never_ a good idea," she said with a forced laugh. "What about the harbor seal tissue samples I sent?"

"You were right. Pseudo-nitzschia is your culprit for the domoic acid. I'll need to run more enzyme assays to see which strain, but any of them would cause the symptoms you're seeing in the seals. I'm sending the water samples over to my buddy at Livermore. He'll know exactly what radioactivity the Geiger counter picked up; it's his specialty."

"I'm grateful you're doing this, Bradley. Very grateful."

"I'm coming down to the headlands next week. How about setting aside time for lunch?"

She really couldn't say no.

But she didn't smile as she hung up the phone.

Before she headed home, she typed out an email to Michael Albright. He was the chairman of the board for the Center, and he had a right to know what Bradley had told her. It wouldn't be welcome news. Cheery seal faces were much better PR than radioactive contaminants in the bay.

Discovering radon kicked the whole venture into another realm, a realm she wasn't sure the Center could handle. It was the worst possible time for scrutiny. The Center needed critical upgrades and they didn't have enough funds to tackle all of them. This discovery could bring the licensing authorities down on them and trigger inspections, inspections they might not pass. If the Center got shut down, even for a few months, hundreds of seals and sea lions from all along the coast and bay wouldn't be rescued, wouldn't get treatment and would die. _That_ was an unacceptable outcome.

But so was letting whoever was dumping chemicals keep on doing it.

She stared at her computer screen, her mind searching the facts. _Expensive_. The word kept rising, blocking her thoughts. Why would anyone dispose of something as expensive as high-grade fertilizer and in such quantities? What could possibly be worth the risk of getting caught? Normally she loved chasing down a good puzzle, fitting facts together, finding the story below the surface, but a quiet voice whispered inside her, telling her there were forces at work with darker motivations than she could imagine.

She shook off the unsettled feeling and pulled out her notebook. Her list of critical improvements and repairs covered two single-spaced pages. She starred the items that were most likely to get them shut down. The kitchen where the volunteers prepped the seal food had to be rewired; there was no way around that. And plumbing in the new sea lion feeding tank really couldn't wait. The others she'd think about in the morning. She snapped the notebook shut and finished off the email to Michael, reminding him to keep the findings under wraps until they had better data. She could only hope he would temper his lord-of-the-universe personality and take her warning seriously.

The next afternoon, Jackie stepped out of the hospital and into the press conference that Michael had insisted they hold. The Center's board of directors was determined to leverage the increased number of animal rescues into payoff media attention for the Center.

Michael was brusque, and without trying succeeded in pushing most of her buttons. But she needed him, they all did. He knew how to charm funds out of people and how to develop the relationships that guaranteed the future of the Center. On days like this, she wished they'd hired an Executive Director—someone else to put on the public face—but like so many things, that too would have to wait.

"Nice outfit," Michael said. "Yellow's such a becoming color."

She brushed her hands down her slickers. Normally she changed out of them, but there'd been an emergency surgery and she hadn't had time.

"My favorite," she said. "Right up there with puce."

Michael brushed a speck of lint off of his perfectly tailored suit. "I meant to tell you—the board approved Bertelli as a board member last night. He runs a shipping line. He's got deep pockets and deeper connections."

"Sounds like an extra from the Godfather," Jackie said. "Does he have any idea what we do?"

"I had breakfast with him," Michael said as they walked over to the makeshift press podium. "He likes seals."

One of the reporters zeroed in on her. "Dr. Brandon, what's the prognosis on Othello?"

"And what would make an animal do such a nutty thing?" the reporter beside him asked.

Othello had made the morning news. The big sea lion had crawled up out of the bay and across the freeway. When the highway patrol showed up, he'd crawled onto the hood of their cruiser. It'd taken two rescue crews to subdue him and bring him in.

"We think a diatom bloom along the coast is causing the strandings in Monterey. The diatom becomes concentrated in the seals' bodies as they feed on infected anchovies and sardines and causes lesions in the hippocampal region of their brains." She watched the reporter's eyes glaze over. "You'd act nutty too if it happened to you."

She shouldn't have added that last bit, but her tolerance for the press was low; science didn't mesh well with twenty-second sound bites.

She took a breath and calmed herself, then fielded questions from the reporters about the hospital. Emergency rescues and surgeries made for better press than scientific facts and the intricacies of ecosystems.

As she turned to leave, a perky blonde shoved a microphone at her.

"Heard you had Tavonesi out here," the reporter said, tossing her mane of hair and locking gazes with Jackie. "What's he like?"

Jackie took a step back and stared blankly.

"Alex Tavonesi," Michael whispered in her ear. "You know, of Trovare Vineyards."

She hadn't known. Being a vineyard scion explained Alex's privileged manner, his style of dress and maybe the reason he'd been up at the river. But it didn't explain him showing up at the Center.

"I mentioned that he helped you with that whale," Michael added.

The reporter had the triumphant look of one waiting for a public-pleasing bit of gossip. Jackie swallowed down a lump of distaste and cleared her throat.

"What we _have_ out here," she said, holding a steady gaze into the camera, "are sick and emaciated sea lions from Monterey Bay. We've sent tissue samples to UC Davis and are investigating with the Academy of Sciences."

She didn't mention the harbor seal deaths in the North Bay or the radon they'd found in the water. Those announcements would have to wait until she had more evidence.

"What about the harbor seals you've admitted from the North Bay?" The reporter gave a knowing smile to Michael, flicked her hair again and shoved the microphone closer. "Mr. Albright told me you'd discovered some radioactive substance in the water samples from up there."

Jackie glared at Michael and pressed her lips into a firm line. No matter how she coached him, he never seemed to get that research took time and that facts were important. He also didn't seem to get that leaching chemicals was bad enough, but radioactivity shot them into a whole new game. If the second round of samples tested positive for radon, they'd need a very carefully planned press strategy, not wild headlines that alarmed people before they had the facts. But now it'd be all over the nightly news.

The reporter waited, holding her microphone in one hand and with the other smoothing her dress that clung like skin. The elegant garment was a stark contrast to Jackie's yellow slickers and hoodie.

Jackie leaned over to Michael. "I think I'll leave this one to you," she whispered. "You're well-matched." She patted him on the arm. "And no more discussion of the North Bay situation, not yet."

Disregarding Michael's groan, she slipped away and walked toward her truck, ignoring the cameramen shooting B-roll in the pens.

_Reporters_.

Some of them meant well, but most were looking for blood. Well, they'd get plenty of that. She'd arranged for Gage to take them on a tour of the labs and hospital, with a last stop in necropsy. That usually sobered them up.

In her mind's eye she saw the perky blonde teetering in her stilettos across the pitted floor of the necropsy lab, but the image didn't make her smile.

She considered driving home but when she reached the top of the hill, she decided to head down to the beach.

The only cars in the lot were those of a few hearty surfers enjoying the waves still rolling in after yesterday's storm. She leaned against her truck and watched one catch a near-shore break. He crouched, adeptly pumping his board and turning a tight 180 degrees. He skimmed the face of the wave and then slid skillfully down the backside and paddled out to wait for the next one.

Cory would've approved. Her brother was a world champion surfer, but even he took the waves at Rodeo seriously. Northern California surfing was for the skilled or the foolish, and the foolish did not last long. She liked a longer break, preferred to have the odds in her favor if the waves had the force of three thousand miles of open water rolling in behind.

She toed off her shoes and walked to the secluded cove at the far end of the beach. Inhaling deeply, she pulled the crisp scent of the salty breeze into her lungs.

Here she could breathe.

Here she could think.

She laughed at herself. Recover was more like it. Facing the press always drained her. She was a private person, maybe too private, and the work at the Center required lots of interface with the public. The limelight was useful for showcasing the mission and raising funds, but standing in it wasn't one of her strengths. It exhausted her, and afterwards she always needed downtime. Gage thrived on the limelight; he never took it too seriously. She'd rather be peering into a microscope, performing a surgery or left to the quiet solitude of her research.

She knelt to examine a sea star clinging to a ball of kelp that had washed in with the tide. The star would die on the beach, blanched by the hot afternoon sun. She scooped it up, rolled up her trouser legs and waded into the surf.

The water that surged around her calves wasn't nearly as cold as it usually was at this time of year. Not as cold as it should be. Not cold enough. Normally this stretch of California coast boasted one of the finest cold-water upwellings on the planet. Cold water meant nutrients and lots of them. Cold water meant deep-water fish and plankton and life.

But nothing was normal this year. Already they'd had more than a dozen animals admitted from the woefully inadequate satellite center up the coast in Albion Bay. Add to that the unusually high number of sick harbor seals coming in from the North Bay and the animals still coming in from Monterey—the Center would be swamped. Was already. All they needed was radioactive seals. That'd top off the season just great.

She pulled the long tail of the kelp along the beach and looked out over the surging waves, scanning her memory for contractors she knew who might help build emergency pens and plumb them in for free. For the first time in her life, she dreaded the work ahead.

She buried her nose in the kelp before tossing it and the sea star back into the waves. The receding tide would carry them both out to the offshore rocks. The sea star would find its own new home.

_Home_.

She scanned the cove.

_This_ was home.

The sea was home.

Which roof spanned the space over her head at night really didn't matter.

She and Cory had grown up on the Cornish coast of England with the sea as their backyard. It was there that Cory had cut his teeth surfing, had honed his skill and become a champion.

She'd followed a different fascination.

Their father had been a fisheries biologist, one of England's most admired scientists. The kind of scientist that mattered. His passion was bivalves, not much money there, but he was convinced they were sentinels of the health of the planet, convinced that studying the life cycle of the shelled creatures would lead to better ocean practices.

He'd introduced her to the world of the sea, a world that had captured her imagination and fed her spirit. She'd spent her childhood pattering about beaches with him, listening to his stories, soaking up every detail he'd shared about the secrets of ocean life. Sometimes she'd get to go out on the research boats. Those were stellar days. He would patiently answer her questions, sometimes stopping and saying, with a twinkle she'd loved, "Now that, Jackie, _that's_ a mystery."

Those mysteries had absorbed her, drawn her on and lured her into the life of a scientist. She could still see his smile, even though he'd been gone over a decade. No, not just gone. He'd drowned when his small research boat capsized in a freak storm, died doing what he loved. At quiet times like these, Jackie missed him as if he'd just died.

A sneaker wave almost caught her off guard. The water might not be as cold as it should be, but it was still bracing. With a leap, she skittered back up the beach. As she did, the beacon from the lighthouse caught her eye.

And immediately she was reminded of the night rescue of the whale.

And of Alex Tavonesi.

Like a soft glove slipping across her skin, the memory of Alex's touch rippled through her.

It'd been over a week, but the feelings he'd evoked hadn't faded.

She could still feel the touch of his hands on her body. When he'd pulled her over the cliff, he'd held her, just long enough to set her down gently. In that brief moment, she'd felt safe.

But as he'd held her, he'd also set in motion a wave of long-submerged feelings that made her feel vulnerable in the worst way.

How could a few moments in a stranger's arms open a gap that yawned so wide and called to her with such an insistent voice? And how could being touched by him open a wound she'd fled England to forget?

It'd been three years already. How many more would it take before she'd trust again— _if_ she could trust again?

She shook off the memory and eyed the high cliff bordering the cove.

It'd be an easy climb, lots of toe- and finger-holds. Climbing always helped her conquer her fears, helped her focus—with a wall of rock eight inches from her face and a good drop below, there was no other choice. Every move was deliberate and controlled. Every move was in her own hands.

She walked toward the cliff face.

The comfort of being in control was another reason she liked facts better than instincts. Facts could be logged, analyzed and examined; they followed the rules of logic. Instincts could rise up, unbidden, and had unfathomable rules of their own.

She squinted in the light, the little muscles of her neck contracting as she tried to neatly fit Alex and the feelings he'd roused into some sort of logical pattern. Gage was right: Alex had been strong enough to hold her, to haul her to safety, and he hadn't known the risk. A normal person couldn't have done it—he was remarkably strong for a rich boy. He probably didn't navigate by the rules of logic, at least not any rules she knew.

A rock fell from above her and landed near her feet. She studied the cliff: the rains had soaked into the clay, softening the surface. It wouldn't be a safe climb. Besides, her arm still hurt worse than she'd let on.

She stared at the patterns in the rock.

She'd have to find another way to sort herself out.

Chapter Five

A week later Jackie stood before a roomful of expectant faces, this season's crop of would-be volunteers. The group would be much smaller before the training sessions ended.

She surveyed them as they sat in folding chairs and chatted nervously. Even after a decade of training volunteers, she still couldn't predict which the rigorous training and physical challenges would weed out and which would make it through.

She dimmed the lights and flicked on her computer. The projected image of a mother harbor seal and a newly born pup lit the screen, and a chorus of _awwws_ sounded through the room. She ran through a quick overview of the volunteer positions, explaining the duties of the water rescue team, the shore rescue team and the day and night crews. She flashed through the slides of the satellite centers, Albion Bay to the north and Monterey and Morro Bay to the south. The photos reminded her of the improvements needed at each center, improvements she'd put on the back burner until they had more funds to tackle them.

As she reached to click to the next slide and began to introduce the more graphic work performed in the hospital, the door in the back of the room creaked open.

In the dim light she saw Alex slip in and sit in one of the empty seats in the last row.

Why having him there made her nervous, she couldn't say. But she knew why it sparked her ire. Michael had asked her to encourage Alex's interest in the Center if he showed up again, knowing full well that she'd had enough of dabblers and dilettantes. More than enough. They sucked up her time and Gage's time and tried the patience of even the most seasoned crew supervisors.

Yet in spite of her careful rationalizations, something about him riveted her attention. She'd buried Jackie Brandon, _woman,_ under thick layers of work and busyness—of accomplishment—for so long that the unbidden tingle of awakening felt more like panic. She tried to ignore the sensuous feeling sneaking through her, but as she wrapped up her lecture, she was aware of his every move.

"These animals are sentinels," she said, dragging her focus back. "They tell us about the health of the oceans with their bodies and their lives. When they go down, we know there's a problem in the system—and too often it's a problem _people_ cause. But we'll cover that next week."

She turned off the projector and signaled to Gage to bring up the lights.

"Just make sure you really want to do this," she said, scanning the group but avoiding Alex. She crossed her arms and widened her stance. "There's a lot at stake."

Gage grimaced at her as he joined her at the microphone.

"If you like teamwork," he said, leaning close to the microphone, "and you want to make a difference, it's a good gig."

He paused and smiled at Jackie.

"And we do have fun," he added. "That'll be _my_ lecture next week." Over the laughter he said, "For now, let's dig into the chow that the Wednesday crew brought. All this work talk makes me hungry."

As the volunteers filtered toward the refreshments, Jackie wound the projector cord into a neat _S_ and then zipped the expensive machine into its case.

"Wouldn't hurt if you lightened up a bit," Gage said as he helped her fold up the projector table. "You make us sound like boot camp."

"If I let _you_ run the intro, you'd make it sound like a spa for lost souls."

But she had to smile. He was right. They needed more help, lots more help, and they just might have to smile to get it. When had she stopped smiling? Maybe it was the lack of sleep. For weeks now there had been too many emergencies. She should call in a vet from Davis, take a weekend off.

_Right_. Like she'd be able to do that.

"The food's better at spas," Alex said as he reached to help Gage fold the table. His arm brushed past Jackie's, and pinpricks of nerves raced through her.

"I wouldn't know," she said, moving away. "I haven't been to a spa in years."

"That's easily remedied."

He'd said it with a breezy, confident tone, the tone that people use when they think they have all the answers and that whatever one needs can be easily summoned. And behind the tone lurked something more dangerous, almost inviting. She was in no mood to be summoned.

"Chow," Gage said, nodding toward the group clustered around the food table. Alex helped him heft the projector table and lean it against the wall and then he followed Gage to the table.

Jackie nestled the projector in its spot in the equipment closet.

"Brought you a plate," a voice said from behind her.

She turned to face Bev, the Wednesday crew chief.

"Food. Remember what that is?" Bev's eyes crinkled with her smile. She tilted her head toward the back of the room. "Join me?"

Jackie took the plate Bev offered and followed her to a table near the door. The aroma of rice and beans and herbs made her stomach growl.

"He's quite a looker." Bev chuckled, pointing in Alex's direction with her fork. "Should be great for morale."

"Don't get used to him. I give him ten days."

"You're a hard one, Jackie Brandon."

No titles were necessary between them; Bev was a retired surgeon and they'd worked side by side for three years. More than that, they were friends.

"Your resistance makes me think your night rescue caper shook you in more ways than one." Bev glinted her challenge at Jackie. "You should _hear_ the tales being told in the fish prep room."

"Not interested," Jackie said, ignoring the ripple of energy that insisted on rising under her ribs.

Gage bounded over to their table with Alex in his wake.

"Ladies, I have brought you _the_ most delicious indulgence on the planet," Gage said, placing a plate of cheesecake slices in front of them.

Bev smiled at Gage, then tracked her gaze to Alex. "I like the cake you brought too," she teased.

"The protocol brush-up session is next week." Gage grinned. "Jackie's got a ten-hour slide show and it's all text."

" _Twelve_ hours now, smart-ass, and you're giving it," Jackie parried.

Alex laughed as he sat down at the head of the table. Jackie slid her gaze away, but not before seeing the sparkle of amusement lighting his eyes. When she realized she'd absent-mindedly twisted a strand of hair around her fingers, she undid it and helped herself to a slice of cheesecake. She eased a bite onto her fork, studying it carefully and concentrating so she wouldn't meet his gaze.

But as she savored the silky sweet texture, she looked up. It was a mistake. The man had a gaze that could charm a cobra. The slow smile that curved into his lips and lit those snake-charming eyes made her dart her focus back to her fork.

"I think we need more cheesecake," Bev said, twinkling a challenging glint at Jackie as she stood.

"A woman after my own heart," Gage said, following Bev across the room.

"Gage told me about Scrappy," Alex said as he slipped into the seat vacated by Bev. "I'm sorry. It must've been hard for you."

She shifted a few inches to the side and away from him. Bodies had electromagnetic charges that stretched out about ten feet; she'd written a paper about the effect. Right now his charge was entirely too strong and it was messing with her brain. She slid another inch away.

"Part of the job." She'd tried for a matter-of-fact tone, but her eyes teared up. She couldn't believe it. The guy said one nice thing and she went teary-eyed? She glanced down at her lap.

He nudged her. She lifted her head and took the tissue he held.

"Must be the cheesecake," she said.

"Might be the stress," he said.

He reached into the pocket of his jeans and handed her another tissue. She felt the heat of his hand as he passed it to her and the light brush of his fingers against hers. She registered everything about him—his scent, the crinkles at the corners of his eyes, his laser-like focus. The one currently aimed at her.

And his concern.

She was losing her mind.

"Do you walk around with these sorts of things?" she said, waving the tissues. "I mean as part of some Galahad rescue kit or something?"

"You're welcome. And no, rescuing creatures in distress is your department."

He smiled then, and it was all she could do to keep from tearing up once again. She was definitely, definitely losing it.

"Gage told me you went out to the Farallons. I've always wanted to go out there."

"Did he tell you that I upchucked for four straight hours?"

"Five."

She managed a smile, even though her stomach did a little flip as their eyes met. "That's why we don't let him do PR."

That she'd cried in front of him was bad enough; she could well do without the jitters that being near him sent skittering through her, jitters that in the face of his charm and ease told her that the energy crackling between them was likely more routine for him than it was for her.

"I have hit the mother lode," Gage said as he dropped into the seat beside Jackie with a plate piled with lasagna, tacos and spaghetti. Nestled next to the lasagna were two pieces of rather lopsided cheesecake. "Want another one?"

Gage looked into her eyes, then flushed and shot a questioning glance to Alex. Gage had never seen her cry. No one at the Center had.

"There's um..." Gage fidgeted with his plate. "Well, there's blueberry and chocolate chip. Thought you'd like the chocolate chip." He reached over and pushed one of the wobbly slices onto her plate.

Bev returned with her own loaded plate, and Jackie was grateful when the attention turned away from her. Alex rose from his seat and held a chair for Bev.

"No," Gage said. "Do _not_ do that." He gave Jackie a tentative smile. "We don't need any raising of the _gentleman_ bar around here." He plopped the slice of blueberry cheesecake onto Alex's plate. "You'll make us manly men look bad."

Jackie was grateful for Gage's deflection. Sometimes he did just the right thing.

"It'd take more than poor manners to make either of you look bad." Bev chuckled as she rose to talk to a volunteer calling to her from the next table.

"You look like you could use a break," Alex said. "I can get you tickets to the Giants game next week."

A ballgame was the last thing she needed.

" _Giants_ game?" Gage said as he forked in a mouthful of lasagna "You're on!" He looked from Alex to Jackie. "That is, if I'm invited?" He shot Jackie a pleading look. "The Giants are in the running for the pennant, boss, but of course you wouldn't know that."

"You're both invited," Alex said.

"Boss?"

She looked back to Gage. The yearning in his face was almost boyish. What was it about sports that turned men to mush?

But Alex was right—they did need a break. Against her better instincts, she nodded.

Gage let out a whoop of delight.

"But I'm _not_ eating any of that food you come back here talking about," she said. "Hot dogs and cheese on corn chips and the like."

"Nachos," Gage said, still grinning. "They're called nachos." He shot a sheepish grin to Alex. "Never had a player invite me to a game before. It'll be great to see you in action."

She stopped chewing. Surely she hadn't heard right. Michael had told her Alex was a vintner.

"The game looks pretty much the same no matter where you get the tickets," Alex said with a light laugh. "My tickets are just closer to the field."

He looked from Gage to her. Her confusion must've shown because he looked quickly back to Gage.

"Thought you knew, boss."

Heat flamed up her neck and into her face. "You knew?"

" _Everybody_ in San Francisco knows." His brow wrinkled. "I assumed you did."

"Dr. Brandon!" one of their volunteers called out to her as he rushed up to the table. "I was out checking on Charley in pen six, and I saw the door to the necropsy lab was hanging open. It looks an awful mess in there, Dr. Brandon."

"It's usually an awful mess in there," Gage said as he forked in an enormous bite of cheesecake.

" _Your_ mess," Jackie said as she stood, grateful for the diversion.

"Women never seem to appreciate the nuanced elegance of my style," Gage said with a shrug. "Want me to come with you?"

"You're doing what you do best," she said, nodding toward his piled-high plate of food. "I'll page you if I need help. It's probably just the wind."

Without looking back at Alex, she headed for the door.

"She has her good moments," she heard Gage say behind her. "But if you blink, you'll miss them."

As she stepped into the cool, dark night, Jackie wondered if those moments really were all that rare.

It hadn't been the wind.

Jackie stood at the door to the necropsy lab and blinked. Cabinets gaped open and her scalpels and saws were strewn across the floor. She opened the freezer and gasped. The top shelf was empty. The tissue samples she'd so carefully collected from the North Bay harbor seals were gone. So were the water samples.

"We should call the cops," Gage said as he came up behind her.

"No." She swallowed hard, but it didn't ease the lump of tension in her throat. "An investigation will alert the Department of Agriculture. Though _we_ know we're up to snuff and good enough for the animals, the USDA inspectors might not think so."

She'd sweet-talked her way around the regulations for the fish kitchen and had ramped up the filtration system for the pools, but they needed more time and money to address the other items on the USDA's list and the necropsy lab was at the top of it. Just because she thought their complaints were nitpicky didn't mean the Feds wouldn't shut them down.

Gage walked toward the cabinet where they kept the drugs locked up. It too gaped open, and the contents were strewn across the floor. He sorted through the cabinet, then turned and scanned the vials and bottles on the floor. Shards of glass surrounded wet spots where some of the vials had shattered.

"The lock's been forced, but it doesn't look like they came here for the drugs," Gage said.

She turned and shut the door to the freezer.

"North Bay samples gone?" He wasn't asking.

"All of them." She leaned against the steel table next to the freezer and put her head in her hands. The darkness and pressure helped calm her.

"Want to tell me exactly why anyone would be hot to get at those particular tissue and water samples?"

She pulled her hands from her eyes. He had a right to know, but there was still so much that was just conjecture. "I'm not sure."

She lowered her hands to the cold steel of the table, pressed into it, and then met his stare. "It's a nitrogen-based fertilizer causing the diatom bloom."

"Last I checked, agricultural runoff isn't a punishable offense."

"At the levels our samples tested, it would be. It's not runoff, it's dumping. Or maybe it's both. I don't know."

She leaned away from him and took a mustering breath. "It's what I asked Bradley to help with. There's not much to go on, not yet. But the water samples tested positive for radioactivity."

Gage stared at her, his eyes growing wide.

"This tells me we might be onto something."

" _This_ ," he said, nodding to the mess on the floor, "is out of our league. Radioactive _anything_ is out of our league."

"Bradley's not sure. He's having the samples retested."

She knelt and began to sort through her scattered instruments.

Gage knelt beside her and sorted through the drug vials that hadn't broken. He stopped and leaned back on his heels.

"The cops, Jackie. This is serious."

"I— _we_ —need a few more months," she said firmly, "to get this place into shape. With all the animals pouring in, we can't afford to get shut down on a technicality." She felt his protest coming and grabbed his arm. "They'll all die, Gage. We're all they've got."

The solemn look on his face wasn't one she was used to; she needed an argument to forestall his good sense.

"Whoever they are, they wouldn't try this again. They got what they came for." The declaration didn't come out with the confidence she'd intended.

"You don't have a criminal mind," he told her. "You don't know what they'll try next."

He had her. Evidently the press conference had caught someone's attention. No matter how concerned she was about the USDA shutting the Center down, it wasn't fair to endanger the volunteers. She looked out the lab window and over to the main building, heard the laughter coming from it as the crews and newbies enjoyed their meal.

"I'll hire a night watchman," she said. "We can say it's support for maintenance. There's no need to spook everybody."

She grabbed a steel tray and started stacking her scalpels onto it.

"And, Gage, I see that you like him, but if Alex Tavonesi misses more than three shifts, he's out of here."

"Got through to the impervious Dr. Brandon, did he?"

"He gets the same treatment as everybody else. If you don't tell him, I will."

Chapter Six

You're in for a treat," Gage said to Jackie as they made their way to their seats in the ballpark.

The stadium wasn't as she'd imagined. Built so that it edged the San Francisco Bay, it had sweeping views of the water, and the light reflecting from the bay was amplified by a wide-open, clear-blue sky.

A few children clustered near the row of seats bordering the field, grinning and boasting as they compared player autographs.

"How do you get an autograph?" Jackie asked Gage. "I mean, when?"

"A perk of arriving early. The players sign before and after batting practice."

One little boy had a glove so big it nearly covered his whole arm. She watched as the boy clutched the autographed glove to his chest as if it were a precious talisman. The stadium might have surpassed her expectations, but the look of rapture in the boy's eyes she'd seen before, in a different stadium hosting a different game. She wished it was a time she liked to remember.

"Here, hold this." Gage handed her a cardboard tray of the foulest-looking food she had seen in weeks. Some of the food that passed through the volunteer kitchen was close, but the plate of sticky orange cheese with triangles of chips floating in it won the prize. She couldn't smell it though. The tray Gage held in his other hand reeked so strongly of garlic that it overpowered any other scent within ten feet. He balanced the tray of fries and a plastic cup of beer and pulled the stadium seat down with his free hand.

"Finally a realm that services your taste in food," she said, handing him the tray.

"We missed the top of the first," he said, not bothering to conceal his disappointment.

"I understand there are nine innings."

They'd tried for an earlier start, but a fresh wave of rescues had thwarted their plans. Gage needed this break as much as she did, maybe more.

"You never know. But with no rain in sight, we'll see eight and a half at least." He waved a French fry at her. "Hey, nice shirt. Don't think I've ever seen you in real clothes."

She tugged absently on her shirt. It unnerved her that she'd spent time that morning sorting through her closet. It was just a sports event with her assistant, but she'd chosen the shirt carefully all the same.

"Speaking of shirts"—he waved his beer toward the field—"see the guys in gray, those shirts that say _Braves_? That's the other team." He took a big swallow of beer and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "The guy in the middle of the infield, on the mound, he's the pitcher. The guy in the white shirt preparing to bat—he's on the home team." He took a swig of his beer. "The home team always gets to bat last. It's their last chance to win if they're behind."

He held out the tray of nachos, offering them to her. She started to refuse, but then lifted one out of the cardboard container, scraping off some of the cheese. It was delicious. She helped herself to another as Gage told her the rules of the game.

"What's really amazing," he said, pointing toward the guy standing ready to bat, "is how the best of these guys can react to a visual stimulus in two hundred milliseconds. They've got half the time it takes an eye to blink to see the ball after the pitcher releases it. The remaining time—three hundred milliseconds—is the time they have to react, to physically adjust to what they know about the ball's path and hit it. For the best players, it's a decision, but it's a fast one."

She reached over Gage, grabbed his beer and took a swig. The crowd booed and she lifted her head to see the man who'd been standing in the batter's box now walking back toward the stands.

"Called strike. Bummer way to go down," Gage said, as if she understood. "You need three things to be great at this game," he lectured in a tone that was suddenly serious. "Fast hands, fast feet and fast eyes, but it's eyes that are probably most important. Fast eyes means a hitter can focus on the ball and then transform that focus into an attack."

He scooped up some of the cheese from the nachos with a couple of the garlic fries and popped them in his mouth, swallowing in a gulp.

"My theory," he continued, "is that the hitter, when he stands facing the pitcher, is tapping into the most primal parts of his nervous system. It mimics a fight to the death, like two lions poised to launch at each other's necks—one watches the other move, then instantly reacts. It happens below the level of conscious awareness. A millisecond can mean the difference between whiffing a strike or blasting the ball over the center field wall." He grinned at her. "See, it's more than a game. It's _science_."

She ignored his lighthearted jab at her seriousness and watched one of the hitters swing and miss a pitch. "How often do they manage to hit it?" she asked.

"Depends on the player. The guy batting right now usually hits and gets on base in one out of three at-bats."

"That's good?"

"Better than good." He munched down a handful of chips. "Few sports demand reactions as quick as what a guy needs to hit a major league fastball. Well, there's tennis, and fencing, but that's about it. Football, basketball, soccer—they're fast but they can be played in seconds. Nope, when it comes to speed, baseball's right there at the top."

She squinted out at the field. The players were standing, unmoving. She tried to get a sense of the speed Gage was talking about.

The afternoon was warming; the fog had burned off and it was a beautiful day. She peeled off her jacket and dropped it onto the empty seat next to her and settled back. Theirs might be a world-class stadium, but the seats were rigid and uncomfortable. She grabbed her jacket, folded it and put it under her, cushioning her backside.

"Where's Alex?" She tried to sound casual. But just being in a stadium once again made her nerves jump.

"He's right there."

Gage pointed and she followed the direction of his finger. Standing in a circle, Alex was studying the pitcher and the field.

"Hey, I know you have a whacko aversion to ballplayers. I thought it was why you didn't take him seriously." He downed a fist full of fries. "That and the fact that he's a hunky guy. You always avoid them." His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Except me, of course."

"You should've stuck to hockey. It would've saved me the trouble of dealing with you." She took another big swig of his beer. "And it's not whacko. I have my reasons."

"You always do," Gage said with a tinge of resignation.

She definitely did not like ballplayers, but she couldn't take her eyes off Alex.

She watched him grip the bat, watched his forearms flex as he lifted it and took a swing through the air. Gage was right—he crouched in his stance, moved through his swing—in a way that was every inch primal.

A responding heat jolted deep inside her. Also primal. But so _not_ good. Not now. And _not_ for a jock, never again.

She'd fallen hard for a football player when she was finishing up vet school. An audacious striker, he could score a goal from seventy yards out. But it wasn't his passes on the field that lured her in. She'd been naïve then, young, and so enthralled and distracted by his charm that she'd nearly lost out on an important fellowship. When Brett had asked her to marry him, she'd moved heaven and earth to get back from her fieldwork in Africa in time to put the final details together for the wedding. Not that she'd needed to; her mother had hired not one but three wedding planners. You'd have thought they were planning a coronation, not a country wedding in Cornwall.

The morning of the wedding, Brett sent a two-line letter by messenger saying he couldn't go through with it. There'd been no call, no explanation—he just jilted her, just like that. He turned up on the telly a week later, all smiles, with a lingerie model on his arm. In the end a friend told her he'd admitted he'd thought it might've been a good lark to marry an aristocrat's daughter, but she'd proven too serious. And Brett was a man who liked booty and fun in one package.

His uncaring words had hurt more than anything else. Even more than having to face their guests that morning.

After that, the long faces of her friends and the wry glances from her mother's aristocratic acquaintances were more than she could bear. She'd been more than humiliated—she'd been broken. She'd accepted the job at the Center and moved to California a month later.

Nope. She did _not_ need a jock in her life.

The Center might, but she didn't.

It'd be a replay of her younger self getting crushed, and she'd barely begun to crawl out of that hole.

She turned her attention back to the field. The hitter before Alex had made it to base while she daydreamed, though she wasn't sure how.

"Watch how the pitcher hides his hands until the last moment," Gage said, elbowing her so he wouldn't have to put down his beer. "The great ones know how to disguise their release. That's Taylor pitching now. He's good, but he's no match for Alex. Alex is one of those hitters who's not just gifted, he's trained up, and the more trained up a hitter is, the longer they can wait. It gives them just that extra fraction of time to read the pitch."

Gage passed her the beer. "The sports press says he's going for the Triple Crown this year. He could do it."

His admiration of Alex was impossible to miss.

She took a big breath, followed by a big swallow of beer. "Sounds like a horse race," she said as she handed the cup back.

A ballplayer, she thought, gritting her teeth. Great. Just great.

A roar sounded as the crowd leapt to their feet and booed wildly. Alex waved his hand and backed out of the box.

"Did you see that?" Gage shouted. "Taylor nearly drilled Alex. There could be blood yet."

" _There's_ the hockey player," Jackie said, laughing.

But as she watched the replay on the massive screen that towered above center field, she realized just how dangerous it was to stand in front of a ball heading straight at you at ninety-five miles an hour.

People around them began to sit back in their seats, most of them still muttering and shouting at the field.

"This'll either be a sweet, sweet pitch or we'll have a brawl," Gage said.

She watched as Alex tapped his shoe with the bat, then flexed his arms and brought the bat up near his shoulder. It seemed that not only his eyes but his whole body was focused on the pitcher. A hawk watching prey couldn't have had a steadier stare.

Alex swung on the next pitch, hitting the ball between two players, neither of whom could get it. He ran to the first base.

The crowd cheered, and Gage jumped up, punching a fist into the air.

"That's the way, Alex."

Jackie stood too, feeling odd about it, and then felt odder when everyone else sat before she did.

By the time she sat and got comfortable again, the crowd was groaning. She looked to the field. The players were jogging off.

"What happened?"

"Double play," Gage said. "We're out."

Jackie tried to absorb all the rules Gage threw at her in the next inning, but some seemed downright nonsensical. A player could get on base if he hit the ball, but he didn't have to hit the ball to get on base. She sipped more of Gage's beer, joking that obviously drinking helped with comprehension.

The second inning went quickly, with no one for either team getting on base, though a couple of the players managed to hit the ball fairly far. But there was always another player directly where the ball came down.

"Why don't they hit where the other players aren't?" she asked.

"I've often wondered the very same thing," Gage said.

She guessed he was laughing at her, but he was straight-faced when he asked if she could handle another beer.

"Why not?"

When Alex's team was up for the third time, their first batter got on right away. But the next batter, the pitcher, swung three times without even touching the ball.

"He's not very good, is he?" Jackie said.

"Not at hitting. But he has a wicked fastball."

She'd have to take his word for it. Every pitch looked the same to her—they went rushing toward the batter somewhere around chest high.

The next hitter got on base when he got there faster than the ball did. And then the next hitter got on when one of the other players had trouble getting the ball out of his glove.

The crowd roared.

"Hot damn! Bases are loaded for Alex," Gage said, thrusting the tray of nachos at Jackie and once again jumping to his feet. He clapped and whistled, joining in with the rest of the crowd.

The catcher ran out to talk to the pitcher, and the crowd settled back in their seats. Gage took back both his nachos and his beer.

Jackie leaned forward, eyes intent on Alex. What did he think about when he stood there, waiting for a ball to hurl past? Was he in a position of power or did that belong to the pitcher?

He missed with his first swing, but the crowd didn't seem to mind. They called out encouragement.

Jackie released a long breath. The pitcher and Alex both took their positions again.

The pitcher released the ball, and Alex stepped toward its path, lowered the bat and swung. The bat connected with a crack, and the ball soared into the air and then into the stadium seats. Gage leapt to his feet, spilling what was left of his nachos.

"That's it! That's it! Way to go!" Gage roared. He hugged Jackie, smearing her shirt with crumbs and cheese. "Grand slam! I've been coming here for years and I've never seen one!"

She wasn't sure how to respond. The crowd was screaming all around her. Alex was running around the bases and as he reached the one where he'd batted, the men who'd run in before him and the man waiting to bat all high-fived him. The crowd was cheering and calling his name.

"Watch." Gage beamed. "He'll come out of the dugout."

Dugout. Sounded like a canoe. But she watched as Alex stepped up out of the enclosure and tipped his hat to the crowd. They roared. Then he looked over to where she and Gage were standing and smiled.

His smile melted a trail through her that felt like melted butter, yet what followed immediately was the slow sinking feeling that never presaged a good ending.

She needed to get a grip.

She glanced over at Gage; he was transfixed. _And_ he got along with Alex. She should hand the wooing of Alex off to Gage. It'd be a better match. And she wouldn't care if the board screamed about it.

The next two hitters both popped out—Gage's words—and just like that, the players changed places on the field again.

Gage leaned across her to signal one of the vendors. The man handed her a warm bag, and she gave him the money Gage pressed into her hand.

"Peanut?" Gage offered. "You'll have to shell them. Part of the fun."

"If I eat one more oddity, you'll have to carry me out of here," she said. She couldn't believe _he_ could eat anything else.

Her cellphone vibrated in her pocket and she pulled it out.

"It's the rescue line." She took the call, putting her finger in her other ear so she could hear. She looked up to see Alex glance her way. Great. He's just done something heroic and she was talking on the phone. She slipped her gaze to her lap and told the rescue supervisor she'd be there in half an hour.

"I have to go."

"You need me?" He said it in a tone that meant he hoped not.

"I don't think so. You okay catching a cab back to the Center?"

He nodded. As she stood to leave, she saw Alex glance her way again. Color rose in her cheeks. She hoped he couldn't see it from so far away.

Back at the Center, Jackie examined the X-rays of the sea lion the rescue crew had called her about. Luckily for him, the bullet was lodged in his shoulder tissue and had missed a main artery. She had Bev help her anesthetize him, wishing Gage was there. But Bev was a skilled surgeon, and working together they removed the bullet and stitched the wound.

She hadn't yet removed her gloves when the rescue crew brought in four more harbor seals from the North Bay. From the look of them, they had the same symptoms as the others. She settled them onto heated pads and tucked a towel under each.

"We're going to get to the bottom of what's taking you little guys out," she said softly as she scoped the last little female and then took a final blood sample.

She was breaking her rule of never talking to the animals, but it didn't matter; these little ones weren't likely to make it through the night. She glanced up to see the crew chief peering, bug-eyed, over the gate. She didn't bother to explain.

Her heart was still heavy three hours later as she gathered her notes and samples and headed home.

Once there, she put the tissue samples in her home fridge. Tomorrow she'd give them to Bradley. Already she dreaded their lunch. She longed for the days when they were just colleagues helping with one another's work. There had to be a kind way to tell him she wasn't interested in him romantically, but she couldn't think of one. And she liked him way too much to hurt his feelings. Aside from Gage, he was her most trusted colleague.

She got out her map and marked each spot where the rescue crews had found dead or ailing seals. Most had been picked up near the mouth of the river she'd sampled. It made sense since there were thousands of acres of agricultural land upriver from there. She needed to go farther upriver and gather more water samples.

She clicked through her files and sent the data off to Bradley to review before he headed down to the Center. It felt good to be able to share her findings with someone, better than she'd expected.

She finished her notes and reveled in the quiet of her house. With little left to distract her, her thoughts circled back to the ball game. Watching Alex in his element had stirred raw feelings that were a far cry from comfortable.

She'd thought she'd grown out of such rushing, tumbling emotions. Maybe she'd just been carried away by the novelty of the game, or maybe she'd been drawn into Gage's enthusiasm more than she'd realized. Maybe it was being in a stadium once again, watching a man who could command his body to perform remarkable feats and knowing what it felt like to have his body close to hers, touching hers and arousing responses that she didn't fully control.

Or maybe she was just plain tired. Merely thinking the word had her rubbing a hand over her eyes and contemplating stretching out for a few minutes. When she was tired, everything loomed out of proportion.

But whatever stirred her feelings, she still felt bad about walking out. He'd gone to all the effort of getting them tickets, and she'd left before the game was half over. A niggling sense of discomfort squirmed in her chest. She'd apologize; there was simply nothing else to be done.

She pulled up the volunteer roster on her phone and punched in his number. When his recording answered, she nearly hung up. But she'd come this far.

"It's Dr. Brandon," she said.

That part was easy. Sort of.

"I'm sorry I missed the rest of the game; there was an emergency at the Center. Although I have to admit that most of what I did see baffled me."

_That_ wasn't what she'd called to say. She cleared her throat.

"Yet I did get a feeling for why it's such a beloved game."

Better.

"And I understand that what you did, getting a home run with all those other players on base, was pretty rare. So congratulations."

Even better.

"I was hoping you might be interested in going to Santa Cruz two weeks from today."

She stopped. Where had that come from?

"Um..." She took a long breath.

She really hadn't thought this through. But she couldn't exactly disinvite him now.

"There's a seal release that Thursday morning and my brother is in the World Surfing Expo later in the afternoon. I thought you might find either—or both—interesting. I mean, seeing seals released is always so fulfilling and the surfing... Well, it's a sport. And you, being a ballplayer, you obviously like sports."

She was stammering!

"That is..." She was backpedaling now. "I don't even know if you have time off. Well, anyway, you're invited. There's a party after—you can bring a date. I'll email you the details. And, like I said, sorry I missed the rest of the game."

She clicked off the phone and stared at it.

What was she thinking, inviting him to her brother's surf expo? Why would he even be interested? And why in the world did she add that bit about the date? He'd think she'd gone mad.

She rubbed her eyes again, harder this time.

Maybe she had.

Chapter Seven

Aieeeeee!"

Jackie looked up from the harbor seal pool to see Jan, the crew supervisor, collapse under a charging, angry sea lion. Jan wasn't even five feet tall, and the sea lion easily outweighed her.

Before Jackie could get to her feet, Alex leapt over the fence of the adjacent pen, grabbed the IV bag that Jan had abandoned and threw it. It smacked the sea lion squarely along the back of the neck. The startled animal turned, giving Alex enough time to throw a towel over its head. He hauled back on the towel and Jan wriggled safely away. She grabbed her herding board and braced, but Alex signaled her to leave the pen.

Jackie, brushing her hands off on her slickers, rushed to them.

"That was stupid of me," Jan said as she backed out of the pen. Her hands were trembling, and one of her gloves was ripped where the sea lion had gotten a piece of it.

"You didn't see it coming," Alex said as he whipped the towel off the sea lion and then slipped through the gate. "It could've happened to anybody."

When Jan just shook her head, he took the herding board from her and leaned it against the gate. "Hey, that's why they call them wild animals. It's their nature."

"Look at it this way," Jackie said in a soothing tone that didn't match the spike of adrenaline still surging in her, "you just got rescued by the Galahad of the headlands."

"Do _not_ be expecting me to do that," Gage said as he jogged up to them. He took Jan's arm in his hand, but he shook his head at Alex. "You're making us normal guys look bad again."

"Let's see your hand," Jackie said.

"It's okay," Jan said. "She just nipped me."

"You don't want to risk seal finger," Jackie said firmly. "It can lead to gangrene, remember? Let's have a look."

She peeled off her glove. The animal's teeth hadn't broken the skin.

"Whew," Gage said with a mocking smile. "Thought I'd have to find another Tuesday crew supervisor who could make cookies."

Jan gave him a playful kick. "I'll go wash up." She turned to Alex. "Thank you. I never saw anyone move that fast."

"My pleasure," Alex said as she walked away.

"You haven't seen _me_ on the ice." Gage made a sweeping hockey move with the broom he held.

"Speaking of moves," Jackie said, ignoring Gage's display, "can you two give me a hand with the harbor seal in pen six?"

"Felt the earth stop just then, did you, Alex? The good Dr. Brandon is requesting help."

Jackie shot him a glare.

Alex walked beside her to pen six.

"Sorry about missing your game."

Her cheeks flamed as he looked at her. After her ridiculous message the day before, she'd run several lines over in her mind, but there wasn't any better way to say it.

Alex shrugged and smiled. "There'll be plenty more."

"I always wanted to see a grand slam," Gage said. "Almost as impressive as a hat trick."

"Never saw a hat trick," Alex said.

"Yeah," Gage said with a grin, "you usually have to stay for a whole game to see that." He crooked his thumb at Jackie. "She's walked out on three of my games, so don't feel slighted."

"You see why I keep him around," Jackie said in her finest ironic tone. "He's our key diplomat."

"Your _only_ diplomat," Gage said with a smug smile.

In pen six Jackie rolled a towel around the little harbor seal, pinning its flippers to its sides. Gage and Alex held it while she slipped a dental wedge into its mouth. "It's too weak to anesthetize," she explained, "but we have to get this hook out. Hand me those pliers, Gage. I'll cut the barb off."

With one swift stroke she clipped the barb and then removed the fishing hook. It was three inches long.

"Get that stitched up straight away." She looked up for a split second. "Please."

Gage laughed and nudged Alex. "Don't you love the way Brits give orders?"

"Don't you love the way Canadians have trouble taking them?" she muttered.

"That little one will be ready for release soon," she said to Alex as she walked out of the pen. "If you do come down for the release, you'll get to see your handiwork happily swim off into the ocean."

"I'd like that," Alex said.

And he looked like he meant it. She'd planned to grill him about the river, about his vineyard, but decided to wait until she had Bradley's report. It was always better to have facts lined up before asking questions. If Alex was like most rich landholders, he probably wouldn't know much about the details anyway.

Bradley pulled into the parking lot near the pen. He waved at her, then jumped out of his truck and leaned against it. With a brimmed hat shading him from the sun and a pair of aviator sunglasses, he looked like he'd just walked off the set of an adventure film. It really was too bad they had no chemistry. But she wasn't ready for that anyway.

"You're _welcome_ ," Gage called to her from the pen as she walked away.

She turned. "Yes. Thank you. Thank you both. I meant to say that."

"Fine English manners aren't what they used to be," she heard Gage joke to Alex as she walked away.

Alex watched Jackie move toward the truck and the guy. And he kept watching as they walked off toward the building that housed her office, laughing and talking in animated tones.

"I thought you said she was a hard nut to crack," Alex said to Gage.

Gage offered a smile that bordered on a smirk. "That's Bradley," he said, as if the name explained their relationship in a word. "He's got her number—you know, science, data, saving the world. Little things like that."

_Bradley._ With his looks, the guy could've carried off any name. But still, Bradley? His mother must've known he'd be a scientist.

Alex watched until they were inside the building. Maybe he was wasting his time. But just being around Jackie and helping with her work made him feel worthy in a way he'd never felt before, had never known he'd wanted to feel. He stared at the door to her office and gritted back the jealousy flaring in him. He had no right to be jealous.

Gage elbowed him but didn't laugh. And _that_ was even worse, the speculative narrowing of Gage's eyes without the man's natural humor behind it. Alex couldn't come out and say he wasn't jealous, because then it would sound like he _was_ jealous. And jealousy had never been part of his game plan.

Chapter Eight

Alex threw his gear bag into his locker, slammed it shut and headed down the tunnel to the field. The aroma of hot dogs and roasting peanuts already wafted in the air. Fans were filtering into the stadium, laughing and shouting. He loved the sound of the ballpark before a game. It was the sound of anticipation, the sound of people leaning into their yearnings. They put their troubles aside and entered the thrall of the game, settled into the flow of time that it, and not their busy schedules, dictated, if only for nine innings. He needed to do the same, to lean into that groove, but lately he hadn't succeeded.

"You're late," Scotty said as Alex reached across him to grab his helmet. "You missed my Spades tournament in the locker room. Andres won." Scotty's smile froze when he focused on Alex. "You look terrific—bags that puffy are usually on bases."

Alex didn't need Scotty to tell him how bad his eyes looked. He'd barely slept. Though he'd sworn not to spend time dealing with the vineyard, Emilio had needed his help. He'd also taken on extra shifts at the Center; both had eaten into his schedule and his sleep. But his restless nights had more to do with his inability to get one feisty lady vet out of his mind than with any worries about Trovare.

"Time to warm up that arm," Alex said. He ignored Scotty's probing stare and jogged up and onto the field.

During batting practice Alex smacked ball after ball deep over the wall, but his mind wasn't tracking what his body was doing. Jackie's face kept rising in his mind's eye, and the fantasies that followed weren't ones he was used to. The sensual fantasies tugged at him with a new power but it was his imagining a life, a future, with her that had him stumped. Meeting her had cracked open some place in him that he hadn't known existed, in territory he'd thought he'd known well. Evidently he'd been wrong. The woman had roused a force that wasn't entirely under his control.

Zack walked up beside him, ready to take his practice hits. He ran a hand along Alex's bat. "Scotty said all that vineyard work was magic." He shot Alex a wry smile. "Sign me up."

The guy was twenty pounds overweight and ate donuts for breakfast. But he had an eye for the ball and the power to send it out of the park. He didn't need magic.

"There's a waiting list," Alex joked as he tucked his batting gloves in his pocket.

He grabbed his game glove and headed out to first to field ground balls. For a moment he scanned the faces in the stands. What puzzled him most was that no matter how many times he ran the images of Jackie in his mind, he couldn't get a bead on any of them. And he'd hardly spent any time around her, so none of his reactions made any sense.

Sharp pain shot through his right leg. Cursing, he ran after the ball that had glanced off his shin.

"Yo!" Laughton, their shortstop, shouted from the batter's box. "Thought you saw that coming."

Half an hour later, his leg still twinged as he jogged toward the clubhouse. A routine grounder had hit him; he couldn't remember the last time that happened.

"Laughton rang your bell," Scotty said, tapping Alex's head as they strode into the clubhouse to change into their game uniforms. "Anybody home?"

Alex cuffed him, making sure to go for his left arm. If they were to reach the playoffs, they needed his right one. _When they reached the playoffs_ , Alex said, under his breath.

Scotty eyed him. "I told Walsh that you're still depressed that they downgraded Pluto to an ice ball."

"Ice balls are your department," Alex said. The last thing he needed was their manager, Hal Walsh, hovering over him.

"Your locker's over here, man." Scotty banged on the one next to his. "What's got you?"

Pitcher's eyes—they missed very little.

"I keep thinking about all those animals," Alex said absently as he moved to his locker.

"You mean about _her_ ," Scotty said. He straightened, all trace of humor gone. "What'd you tell me last week—don't bring it to the park?" He stuffed his glove into his gear bag. "Breaking your own rules, man."

Alex pulled his shirt up and over his head, wishing he hadn't told Scotty about the night he'd helped Jackie and Gage save the whale. Scotty had the wrong idea.

Scotty wagged a finger. "You once gave me a great piece of advice—"

Alex groaned, cutting him off. "Hold the bat with both hands?"

"Yes, very helpful, that," Scotty said with the boyish grin he was famous for, the grin that had half the women in San Francisco swooning. "But it was another useful tip that you seem to have forgotten. You told me never to start any kind of real relationship during the season, that there's no time to work it out, et cetera and blah, blah, _blah_."

"That wasn't me. Should've been, but I think you're going senile."

" _That's_ your department," Scotty volleyed.

After the game, Alex was just settling down to a salad and a slice of broiled salmon when the phone rang and flashed Sabrina's number on caller ID.

"I can't drive down with you to the seal release next week," she said. "I have a board meeting at the donkey rescue center. I'll try to meet you at the surf contest, though, since my meeting's only a couple of miles from Santa Cruz. But, Alex, I'm calling in my credit for covering for when you skipped out on Mother's party."

He knew from her tone he was in for it.

"Take Trish Bentley."

Yeah, she'd gone for the jugular right off.

"C'mon, Alex," she said emphatically when he didn't respond. "You sat next to her at Alana's birthday party and danced with her after. Remember?"

He didn't.

"I think she'd be good company," Sabrina insisted.

"I don't need help finding dates."

" _Appropriate_ dates, Alex. And I say you do."

What she meant was a prospect for a sister-in-law.

"Sounds like Mother's been working you over." He didn't try to cover the bite in his voice.

Since his father died, it seemed his mother's only purpose in life was to see him married. It was as if she had some driving instinct for continuing the family. He'd pointed out that Sabrina could do that just fine, but she persisted nonetheless. Evidently she'd roped Sabrina into her net.

Besides, he'd yet to meet a woman who didn't see the vineyard or the ballplayer first. Maybe he needed to get out more, go places where he wasn't known. Try one of those science expeditions that doubled as a vacation. He'd always wanted to visit the Galapagos, see the animals, hang with the scientists.

"You have _no_ idea," Sabrina said with a laugh. "You owe me, bro. Take Trish. Give her a chance. She likes a good party."

"Sabrina... "

"Wait—you're not seeing Claire again, are you?"

Claire was a longtime family friend. He wished people would stop pairing them, even in their imaginations. Sure, he and Claire still got together sometimes and fooled around, but anything serious between them had been over years ago.

"I'm not seeing Claire," he told Sabrina.

"Great. Then Trish it is."

He relented but knew he'd regret it. He couldn't picture Trish in the Galapagos. In fact, he couldn't picture her at all.

Two days later Alex drove down from the vineyard and pulled into the Center parking lot just after dawn. He slid his car into the spot next to Jackie's beat-up Toyota. But spotting a fresh dent on her driver's side door had him reconsidering. He backed up and parked at the end of the row.

He leaned into the steering wheel and stretched his shoulder down toward the dash, pulling on the muscles until he felt them relax. He rotated his wrist and gave a nod to the heavens that it felt better than it had in a week. He grabbed his mug of coffee, tipped it to his lips, and then realized he'd already gulped it down. Damn. It would take more than caffeine to dissolve the fatigue that circled in his bones.

The pens bustled with activity. It wasn't yet six thirty but the volunteer crew was already in full motion, feeding fish to animals well enough to chase them down in the pools and tube-feeding those not yet ready. The crew supervisor saw him get out of his car and waved.

He grabbed his set of yellow slickers from the back seat, tucked them under his arm and ambled toward the pens. What had he been thinking, signing up to volunteer? He couldn't afford the energy and time it took, or the distraction. He knew he shouldn't keep it up, couldn't.

He'd do his shift at the Center today and then throw in the towel.

Volunteering would have to wait for the off-season.

He didn't like backing out, but he'd miscalculated the time and energy it took to do the job well. He also didn't like miscalculating. And try as he might, he couldn't decipher the powerful desire that kept drawing him back to the Center.

"Hey, Alex!" Gage called to him from across the lot. "You're just in time. How about giving us a hand with this baby?"

It was no baby. A full-size male sea lion bucked against the walls of the extra-large dog kennel he'd been herded into. It took four of them to carry it to the pen Gage indicated. When they put the kennel down and opened the front gate, the animal reared and swung around, teeth snapping. Gage dodged out of the way and motioned for Alex and the other volunteers to back out of the pen. He clanged the gate shut, then leaned against it, his breath heaving.

"The diatom that's taking these guys down is making them crazy aggressive." Gage nodded to the volunteers. "Go get yourselves some coffee. I made it, so it should be good." He caught Alex's eye and pointed to two unmoving harbor seals in the next pen. "That'll make four more dead since yesterday if you count the two we brought in last night."

Alex stared at the dead seals. "Any clue as to what's taking them out?"

"Jackie has a pretty good idea, but she's waiting for more test results." He opened the pen and motioned Alex into it. "Give me a hand getting this big one to the necropsy lab."

Alex hefted the tail of the animal onto the wheeled gurney and steadied it as they rolled it up the ramp and into the squat building. A sign over the door said "So That Others May Live."

"Not much of a lab," he said, looking around.

The steel lockers looked like they'd been pried out of a high school gym, the walls were discolored and one of the windows had a full-length crack. Two rivulets of rusty water had stained their way down to a drain in the center of the room. The massive steel table along one side was the one quality item in the building.

"Don't tell Jackie that—she spent her salary converting this shed," Gage said as Alex helped him lift the lifeless animal onto the steel table, positioning it next to two others already there.

Alex glanced out the lab window and watched Jackie march across the parking lot, clutching a stack of papers to her chest, dodging potholes and cursing as coffee spilled down the front of her sweater. She breezed in the door and plunked the mug on the steel table, dropping several of the papers.

"Good morning," she said as she bent down to retrieve the fallen papers. "There's no food in sight," she said with a wavering smile as she stood, "so I cannot imagine what you might have that's holding Gage's attention."

The sound of crumbling wood drowned out Gage's reply, and Jackie tottered as her right foot sank through the floor. She flung out her arm and the papers she still held flew from her grasp. Alex lunged for her. He caught her under the arms, but not before her leg had sunk knee-deep through the flooring.

"Easy," Alex said as he steadied her. "Hold still."

Ignoring him, she tried to pull her foot free, but a sharp splinter of wood pierced through her slickers. She winced and Alex fell to his knees.

"Don't take suggestions very well, do you?" He steadied her with one arm and pressed against the rotted board with the other. "Can you relax your leg?"

"Sure. And I'll just sip a martini and pretend that the USDA isn't coming in less than five hours." She waved at the papers. "No problem." She looked up at Gage. "Surprise visit, just what we needed. I was coming to tell you."

Learning what had her riled didn't make Alex breathe any easier.

"Hold steady," he said. He felt her hand against his shoulder, felt her lean into him. He pulled the board away from her leg and held the splintered flooring back. He wrapped his other hand around her calf, freed her ankle and then eased her foot up and out of the hole.

She teetered and her fingers dug into his shoulders. She steadied herself and then pulled away. Her slickers were shredded, and under them the leg of her jeans was shoved up to her knee. Red lines of blood streaked down her shin.

He reached toward her. "Your leg—"

"It's not my blood," she said in the gentlest tone he'd heard from her. She nodded to the harbor seal bodies arranged on the table. "It's theirs. It was in the floor drain." She turned to Gage. "Since we gave Tony the week off to visit his fiancée, we'll just have to deal. Get a board—anything—we've got to fix this. They'll condemn us if they see it."

Gage didn't move, just stared at the gaping hole.

"Now." She let out a breath. "Now would be good, Gage."

She rolled her pant leg down and then lifted her instrument tray out of a cabinet. "I'll just get these samples fixed and ready to send and then I'll help. We've got four hours max."

"We'll handle it, boss," Gage said, nodding at Alex to follow him.

"You sure you're okay?" Alex asked as he turned to leave.

She glanced up from her scalpels. "I have to be."

Before she looked away, he noted the bluish, dark circles under her eyes. She looked as tired as he felt. But beyond tiredness, the tautness in her shoulders indicated anxiety and strain, a strain he suspected had a deeper cause than the impending USDA inspection and a busted floor. He felt the urge to soothe her, but one glance at her profile and the set of her jaw told him to let her be.

Alex helped Gage choose a board from a pile of wood behind the fish kitchen; it was the only useable piece they could find. They shouldered it into the lab.

Jackie was bent over her work and didn't look up. She'd donned a vinyl apron, but one glance wouldn't tell anyone what color it had been just minutes before.

"Be easier if you moved," Gage growled when she didn't move away from the necropsy table.

"I have to get these samples to UC Davis."

Gage shook his head. "I'll grab some nails. Jackie has the best saw in here." He walked toward the cabinets.

"You are _not_ using my necropsy saw for wood. Don't even consider it."

"A jigsaw would work," Alex said. Gage gave him a high sign, then handed him a hammer that had been resting on the window ledge and went out the door.

Alex crouched on his haunches and inspected the floor.

"We could cut a patch and recut the drain hole," he said, framing the area with his arms. "Then it might be possible to pull this piece of flooring over it." He ran his hand along the floor, tapping his knuckles against it. The hollow sound indicated dry rot, not a good sign. "I wouldn't count on it holding for long though," he said as he stood. "You'd be better off pulling the whole thing up and replacing it."

"Yeah, we could do that. And then _not_ finish off the feeding tanks out front."

She stared out the window and across the parking lot. He hadn't studied her up close in the daylight, but he did now. She hadn't rubbed in her sunscreen. The white streaks made her look like she was painted for a Norwegian tribal battle. And the face those streaks covered was that of a goddess. Hers was not a beauty that shouted to be noticed. Her quiet elegance spoke through the mud, the blood-stained slickers, the worry and the weariness and called to him as strongly as if it had been the most finely tuned siren. It was damn unnerving. She turned and caught him staring. The lines around her eyes softened for the briefest instant. Then she shot an assessing glance at the gaping hole.

"A quick fix for the visit from the authorities will have to do," she said. "We'll just have to deal with the long term later."

He raised a brow. Fixing things later always carried a bigger price, but she wasn't in any mood for carpentry wisdom, certainly not from him. He knelt and began to wedge out the worst of the rotten sections with the claw of the hammer.

"Gage told me to be nice to you," she said over the squeaking of the hammer against the floorboards. She said it with a tone that was almost an apology.

Alex whistled and squinted. "This is you being nice?" he teased.

To his surprise, she blushed and fiddled with a couple of slides. "I need to finish up with these samples," she said.

"Then you should move," he suggested, bending down to pull up more of the floor near her feet.

"Just because you have money and privilege doesn't mean you can come in here and start telling us what to do."

The resignation in her tone hurt more than her clipped words.

"You should still move." He made sure she could hear the humor in his voice. He knew the feeling of being pushed around by people with money. The owners tried it on him every season. And he also knew too well the frustration of trying to do more than seemed possible with the resources you had. Hell, trying to achieve the near impossible made everybody cranky.

She huffed a breath, grabbed her instrument tray and some slides, and stomped out.

Chapter Nine

As Jackie crossed to the pens, she wished she hadn't unloaded on Alex. He didn't know the limitations she faced at the Center. And he didn't seem to be a guy with a rabid ego who threw his weight around. Just that morning Michael Albright had asked her to consider that Alex might want to take more than a passing interest in the Center. Maybe he was one of those philanthropists who gave quietly, Michael had said, one of those who stayed in the background and took pleasure in seeing missions succeed.

If true, that would be refreshing.

She had little patience for donors who threw their weight around. Lately they'd attracted far too many of those. To them, the Center's work was an entertainment, an amusing diversion that provided clever conversation to spice up their dinner parties and events. More than once, halfway across the planet, they'd shown up at research sites, loaded with thousands of dollars of gear, and embarked on photographic safaris with fashion models on their arms. If it'd been allowed, they'd have been shooting more than photos. Though she tried to steer clear of those sorts, Jackie had had to do her share of bowing and scraping to make sure the money flow didn't dry up.

She let out the breath she'd been holding.

The reality was, she needed to be civil to them all.

But it wasn't Alex as volunteer or potential big donor that stymied her. It was the visceral reaction the man called up in her. Just as sprinkling water on a magical marsh moss transformed it instantly from brown to green, parts of her sprang alive whenever he was near. She couldn't deny that it happened. That she felt it. That she _liked_ feeling alive.

What was it Gage had said about baseball and the primal stance of poised lions? That the response below the level of conscious awareness was primal? Well, the reactions Alex triggered would qualify. What she _didn't_ like was liking them so much. And knowing that her mind had little to say about her response.

Tired of her circling thoughts, she stopped to inspect the progress on the new feeding pool. It wasn't large enough for the big sea lions, but it would work for most of the smaller ones. Fish could be tossed in from above and the animals could chase them down on their own.

She was determined that the Center would have adequate pools so that the animals could be fed in them directly, with as little human contact as possible. Proper feeding pools meant that their charges wouldn't become accustomed to taking food from human hands. If that happened, they'd go swimming up to a frustrated fisherman and come face to face with a very unfriendly shotgun. The new protocols she'd developed would prevent that, at least. The volunteers had grumbled at first, but the crew chiefs got it. Now the crews vied to see which team could feed with the least human interaction. But if they were to truly succeed, they needed more feeding tanks and bigger tanks for the older sea lions.

Some days she wished her family were wealthy enough to fund it all. But since her father's death, her mother had struggled to keep the family estate in Cornwall afloat. Jackie and Cory had tried to persuade her to sell Trethewen Hall and move to the States, but she wouldn't hear of it. Trethewen was their home. Someday they might want one, she'd said.

And though she wouldn't come right out and say it, her mother wanted Cory to move back to England and take on the responsibilities of his title. She was old fashioned that way, still thought that because Trethewen had been handed down in the family for five hundred years, it should stay in the family. And, bless her, she still thought titles meant something. Once she'd even tried to persuade Jackie to use her title to help with fundraising for the Center.

Jackie frowned. _That_ had been an unnecessary fight. It wasn't her mother's fault that she and Cory eschewed their titles and followed their dreams.

"Hey, Dr. Brandon," one of the volunteers shouted. "Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle in pen eight is seizing."

Even as she took off at a run, hearing the name made her cringe. They allowed those who called in the rescues to name the animals. If they didn't, the crew members chose a name. There were simply too many animals to keep track of them with numbers. The Thursday day crew supervisor—a woman with a penchant for children's stories—had likely named Mrs. Tiggy-Winkle.

Jackie set her instruments aside, examined the harbor seal, then read the chart the volunteer handed her. From the look on the volunteer's face, she didn't have to ask what he was thinking. Volunteers hated when an animal had to be euthanized. They never seemed to understand that sometimes there was nothing left to try, and she had to put the animal out of its misery. Their ignorance made her job that much harder.

"Isolate her in pen three," she said. The volunteer eyed her warily. He couldn't know what she suspected; it was still too early to confirm anything. And if what the facts were indicating turned out to be true, what could they do about it? It was something she'd have to think about when the time came.

"Pen three already has four harbor seals in it; they came in an hour ago," he reported.

She signaled to the crew supervisor to help her hold the seal so she could get a blood sample. It was hardly necessary; the little seal barely moved. She pocketed the vial of blood and walked the aisle, scanning for a better pen. They were too crowded, particularly the pens with pools.

She'd just have to work with what they had and trust that Michael Albright and his cronies would eventually come up with the funds to make the most critical improvements.

"You'll have to use pen three," Jackie said. "We can move her later."

She pulled off the latex exam gloves and tossed them in the med-waste receptacle, then she picked up her instrument tray and headed to the tool shed next to the necropsy lab.

The light in the shed was too dim for her to work efficiently and the makeshift table was too low. She leaned against it and did a quick tally of all the animals they'd so recently treated.

No doubt they were losing many more animals than those that made it to the Center. And she still had no idea why anyone would do such a thing. Surely hurting the marine mammals wasn't the intent.

So what was the reason for dumping chemicals and contaminating the water? And why steal her samples?

The lab break-in worried her more than she'd admitted to Gage. She'd decided to take duplicate samples and ask Bradley to store them at the UC Davis lab. She wasn't taking any chances.

She'd considered telling the board about the missing samples but had thought better of it. Any time she'd suggested that an activity could result in anything remotely dangerous, there'd been weeks of reviews and legal queries and board members faffing about, worried about liability. Michael had already proven that he couldn't keep her discoveries under wraps. Best to forge ahead and stay under their radar. Once she had conclusive evidence, she could lay it all out and let them have at it, let them inform the appropriate agencies if need be.

The banging coming from the necropsy lab did not bode well for getting back in there and fixing the final tissue samples onto slides. Nor did it bode well for the USDA inspection in less than three hours. She couldn't have dreamt up a more impossible situation.

She washed her hands, picked up her tray and walked to the lab. Gage could work around her.

"Nearly finished?" she asked as she stepped into the doorway. To her surprise it was Alex kneeling on the lab floor. Gage was nowhere in sight.

"Be easier if you weren't standing in my light," he said, looking up from his hammer just long enough to flash her a grin but not break his rhythm.

It was impossible to ignore the ease with which the man handled a hammer. His forearm muscles rippled sinuously as he worked. She remembered the feeling of his arms when he'd lifted her into the Zodiac and the ease with which he'd pulled her up the cliff on the night they'd saved the whale. He was muscular in ways she hadn't imagined a man could be.

And she'd be lying to herself if she didn't admit she more than imagined him. Sometimes in the night she'd wake, astonished at the clarity of her dreams. Lately he'd featured in them in sensual, almost embarrassing roles.

She stepped aside and as she did, he caught her staring.

"Where's Gage?" she asked, hoping her embarrassment didn't show.

"He's not handy, in case you didn't know. He's gone off to tend an animal in the hospital, said he'll be back."

His shirt was soaked through with sweat. Even over the usual odors of the lab, she detected a spicy, subtle, citrus-laced scent and under that, the smell of man, a scent that made her core tingle.

He smoothed glue onto a patch of linoleum and laid it over the boards he'd sawed out and replaced with a rough square of plywood. As he pressed the linoleum into place, her eyes followed the muscles of his back that rippled against his damp shirt. She backed up a step, but didn't look away.

"That should hold," he said as he stood.

"Thank you," she said, not liking the way her voice went all wobbly.

"My pleasure."

He wiped his sleeve across his face, tracking a black streak along his chin. He slid his gaze to her and gave a shrug that shouldn't have sent a melting pulse throbbing through her. But did.

"You look like you could use more than a day off."

"Unlikely," she said, trying to ignore how near he stood and the arousing heat emanating from his body. But she couldn't bring herself to ignore the swath of grime he'd swiped across his cheek.

She pulled a cloth off a hook on the exam table and reached toward him, then stopped.

"You have, um, a streak." She motioned in the air with the towel. "Right about here," she said pointing to her own cheek. The flush she felt was already spreading into territory that spelled trouble.

He smiled as he tugged the towel from her grip.

"Then how about just an afternoon?" he said, swiping the towel across the planes of his face. His skin glistened with perspiration but instead of looking ragged, he looked as if someone had misted him for a shaving commercial.

Just that fast, Jackie was back in one of her dreams from last night. Alex had stood in her shower, beckoning her with a crooked finger and a devilish smile. Steam had filled the bathroom and heated her blood.

Or maybe it was the look in Alex's eyes that had heated her. His look had promised pleasure and ecstasy and lots of it.

She felt her face flame when she thought of how he'd delivered on his promises, of how she'd groaned her satisfaction. God, she hoped he wouldn't ask why her cheeks were red. What could she say? _I was just thinking about all the great sex we had last night and wished we could try it out for real_?

While he might be intrigued and tempted, he'd certainly think her nuts.

And she'd have to agree.

She relaxed when he glanced down and appeared to debate whether or not to hang the towel back on the hook.

She reached to take it from him, and her fingers brushed his. A buzzing, uncomfortable shiver rose in her, like bees dancing in her chest. Definitely territory she didn't need to visit right now. Maybe never.

"I can't." She turned away and hung the towel on the hook, but not before she saw the clouding in his eyes. Though she didn't owe him an explanation, part of her wanted to tell him that it wasn't him, it was her. But as he walked out of the lab, she knew that wasn't true. It _was_ him. She wasn't ready to cross into Alex Tavonesi's world, no matter how diligently her heart and her body argued for her to give him a chance.

Chapter Ten

Alex opened the sliding door to his hotel balcony and stepped out into a panoramic view of the Pacific Ocean. Rafts of sea otters floated in the kelp not 200 yards from where he stood. Several of them had pups nestled against their stomachs and were vigorously grooming them. He dropped into the chaise near the door and watched.

"Alex, would you call room service and ask them to send up some more of that divine fresh orange juice?" The shower in the bathroom shut off and a blow dryer _whirred_ into action. "Oh, and a croissant—ask them to send up a couple of those. Sabrina told me they make _the_ best croissants here."

Trish Bentley was living up to her reputation as a pampered party girl.

He certainly hadn't lived up to his.

After the long drive the night before, he hadn't been remotely interested in the sensual evening that Trish had counted on. She could put a solid dent in his reputation as a freewheeling stud if she chose to. So be it. He deserved it.

A heavy, thick feeling spread in his chest, pinning him hard. He hated himself for landing in a situation like this. He didn't like to let anyone down, never had. He liked to look at options, to see possibilities, not point out dead ends. It made him feel like the bad guy who tells kids there's no Santa Claus.

But Trish was courting a very dead end. He simply wasn't interested.

He watched the antics outside the balcony, pretending to read the paper until the food arrived, then he tipped room service before putting on his swim gear. Trish was chatting on her cellphone. He signaled to her that he was going down to the beach.

Sunlight sliced through the lifting fog and danced on the water in the fountains of the hotel courtyard. He found his way to the boardwalk and jogged to where the Surf Expo was taking place later in the day. No dancing light there, just crashing waves.

There were only a few surfers toward the north end of the beach. He watched as two of them rode in easily on a breaker. He'd always admired surfers, in the way that some people admired gymnasts for their mix of skills and artistry, but he'd never really given much thought to the specifics of the sport.

He walked down the stairs to the beach, still kicking himself for bringing Trish. Worse than a miserable evening for him, the whole fiasco hadn't been fair to her. He knew the rules of the game and hadn't followed them. She had every right to be disappointed.

When it came to attraction, apparently Jackie Brandon had usurped his psyche. And maybe even his body. Somehow she'd commandeered both, and he couldn't pinpoint how or when.

He fisted his hands against his hips and stared out at the waves.

_Timing and focus_ , those were his strengths.

At least they had been until he'd met Jackie. What had happened to that focus? It was as though a hole had been punched in his carefully constructed timeline and everything he'd thought he had stashed away, waiting for its proper time and place—thoughts about his future and a woman to share it with—came roaring out, heedless of any concerns of his.

He kicked at the sand at his feet. He'd become preoccupied, that was what happened. Scotty was right. Now was no time for distractions. He had a team to support and a title to win.

He swore into the salt-laced breeze.

No more dating until the season was over—it was the only solution. And no more daydreaming about prickly vets. There'd be plenty of time in the off-season to chase after other dreams. Hell, he could volunteer at the Center every day if he wanted to. And no more extraneous social events, no matter how Sabrina pleaded. For right now, he'd have to hold firm, finish up the events he'd already calendared—those he couldn't cancel—and focus.

It'd be better for everybody.

"You must be Alex," a voice called from behind him. From the accent, he guessed it was Jackie's brother.

"I'm Cory," the man said, reaching to shake Alex's hand. "Jackie said to tell you she'd be here in a while. She's meeting with one of the sea otter docs at the aquarium." He nodded toward the waves. "Perfect waves for your intro lesson. Want to give it a go?"

Alex hadn't planned on trying the waves, but the opportunity to get pointers from a master of the sport was irresistible. He grinned and said, "Did your sister happen to mention I know absolutely nothing about surfing?"

"She tends to leave out anything that doesn't suit her plans," Cory said with a laugh, evading the question. He handed Alex a surfboard. "Lesson one: try to stay on the board." His grin stayed in place as they zipped into wetsuits.

"Hey, Alex!" They both turned to the boardwalk above them. Trish stood at the railing. "I was going to do some shopping, but maybe I can stay and watch. The boutique down the street doesn't open until eleven."

She stood there as if waiting for Alex to materialize miraculously beside her and carry her down to the beach.

"The stairs are over there," he said, pointing to the far end of the boardwalk.

"Girlfriend?" Cory said with a smile that made Alex feel uncomfortable.

"Not really."

Alex put the board down. He spread out his towel and watched Trish pick her way across the sand.

"My, ah, friend Trish," Alex said, feeling even more awkward. "This is Cory Brandon."

Trish seemed charmed by the way Cory took her offered hand and bowed over it. She dropped her purse to the towel with a huge sigh.

"Manolo Blahnik has _obviously_ never walked on a beach," Trish said to Cory as she leaned against Alex's arm and slipped off her high-heeled designer sandals.

"No, but those are great for the after-parties," Cory said with a wink.

Trish tossed her perfect golden curls and peeked up at Cory from under her lashes. The sultry look made Alex feel a whole lot better. She dropped down and settled herself on the towel.

"Want to hit it?" Cory asked, turning to Alex.

"More than you know." Alex picked up his board and followed Cory into the surf.

"Lesson two." Cory waved Alex to paddle up beside him. "Duck dive. _Very_ important. That is"—he shot Alex another playful grin—" _if_ you plan to stay on the board." He grabbed the sides of his board and pressed the tip of it into the waves. "Like this."

Alex mimicked his moves and successfully pushed the nose of his board down and through the rolling waves. The cool water on his face felt like a blessing, and the salty taste of the sea on his tongue tasted like an elixir.

He popped out on the other side of the waves to see Cory still grinning at him.

"From what Jackie did tell me, I knew you'd be a quick study," he said.

The fact that Jackie had talked about him with her brother shouldn't have made him feel good, but it did. Alex paddled alongside Cory out into deeper water. The tight muscles in his shoulders relaxed with the gentle, repetitive motion. A pelican swooped by and in the cove not far from them, sea otters bobbed, wrapped in kelp.

"Lesson three: the pop-up," Cory said. He showed Alex how to spring from the board into a balanced crouching stand.

Alex tried it and fell splashing into the water. A wave rolled by them, and Cory stroked over to Alex and jumped off his board.

"It's easier when you have the force of the wave beneath you." He gripped Alex's board, ignoring his own board tethered with a leash and floating beside them. "I'm going to steady your board. Try it again."

After several attempts, Alex found his legs and was able to pop up and keep his balance. Cory showed him the best paddle strokes and gave him some quick pointers on how to read a wave.

Cory watched the incoming waves for a few moments before he hopped on his board and paddled toward one. "Watch me on this one. Then you try."

He had a spectacular ride in to the beach. The man was a wizard on the water.

"Your turn," Cory said when he paddled back to Alex. "Just remember, turn into the force of the water and use your core." He gestured to his midsection. "All your control comes from here."

A set of waves rolled toward them.

"Not this one," Cory said, holding up his hand. "Wait for the third one; they usually come in threes. I find I like best the ones I wait for."

Alex paddled and caught the third wave.

Nothing could describe the feeling of elation when he balanced on the board and felt the surge of power that came as he, the board and the wave flew toward the shore. He leaned right, as Cory had shown him, cut down the face of the wave and held his position. Just before reaching the shore, he hopped into the water, and then he grabbed the board, ducked back through the breakers and paddled back out to Cory.

"I don't have to ask how that was." Cory smiled. "You're a natural."

"Beginner's luck," Alex demurred. "And a great teacher."

Cory scanned the horizon. "There's buildup out there. We'll have what we hoped for this afternoon." A far bigger wave rolled through. Cory gave Alex an assessing glance.

"Just one more. These are getting serious. I don't want my sister complaining that I screwed up one of her precious volunteers." He tilted his head toward an approaching roller. "I'll ride in with you on this one."

It was bigger than any Alex had seen that morning.

He paddled beside Cory, and the wave surged and caught his board. Alex popped up and maneuvered along the lip of the wave, but something was off. As the wave took over, lifting him higher toward the lip, he fought to keep his balance. Then the water went out from under his board. For a moment he was suspended in midair. He felt the sensation of dropping and then the impact when he hit the churning water. It was the last thing he remembered until he felt Cory's hands pulling him up out of the waves breaking onto the sandy beach.

"You went over the falls, man," Cory said. "You okay?"

Alex spit sand out of his mouth. His sputtered attempt at a reply was swallowed by a fit of hacking coughs.

Cory bent down and unstrapped the leash from Alex's ankle, then grabbed the board before the waves could catch it and stacked it under his arm against his own. He steadied Alex and walked with him up the beach.

Still coughing up the water he'd snorted, Alex unzipped his wetsuit. A bucketful of sand fell out as he peeled it down to his waist. The sting from a raw abrasion burned along his jaw; he must've planted face-first when the wave bottomed out. He laughed to himself; this was another no-no that the front office might try to add to the list of forbidden activities for players.

He shook the water out of his hair and looked up into aimed lenses. Great. The press. He stood unmoving and was relieved when he realized the lenses were pointed toward Cory. The reporters couldn't care less about him. Here he was just another guy. It was a delicious feeling.

With a wave of his hand, Cory backed them off.

"Later guys," Cory said with the congenial smile Alex guessed he was rarely without. "I'll be back at one for the Expo. I promise all your questions will be answered." With only a few grumbles, they headed back toward the judging stand.

Apparently the surfing press was more genteel than the baseball press.

They walked to where Trish sat on the towel, sorting through her purse.

"I think I'll stick to shopping. It's easier on the spine." Trish laughed and shot another of her best looks at Cory.

"Cory!"

Cory cringed at the sound of Jackie's irritation.

"You _promised_ , you rat," she said as she marched up and dropped the wetsuit she carried. She shaded her face from the sun and put her other hand on Alex's arm. "You okay?"

Her hand was warm against his skin. Where each of her fingers touched him, jolts of energy streamed through his body. Their eyes locked for the briefest of moments, and he had to take a quick breath. She brushed sand off his shoulder, then pulled her hand away.

Just feeling her touch made him feel like a kid at a prom—both awkward and excited. Her swimsuit clung to her body and did nothing to hide the sensuous curve of her breasts and hips.

"You okay?" she repeated.

"Couldn't be better," Alex said. He might be spitting sand for the next week, but he felt oddly exhilarated. He felt wonderful.

He wasn't sure if the wave of embarrassment that shot through him was from his ridiculous reply or the fact that just looking at her hair flying in the breeze and the sun lighting her face, the way she stood with her feet planted in the sand, made his body respond in a way he hoped wasn't obvious.

"He's _fine_." Trisha's voice had the unmistakable tone of a woman geared up for battle. She stood and brushed her hand down her skin-hugging jeans. "But the saltwater has dissolved his manners. I'm Trish," she said, extending her hand.

"This is Jackie," Alex said, sucking in a breath.

Jackie shook Trisha's outstretched hand. A frown creased her face as she whipped around to her brother.

"You _are_ a rat, you know that?"

She tilted her head and squinted at Alex. The spark of temper and concern in her eyes made him want to kiss her.

"He promised not to run you," she said with a toss of her head. "I apologize for both of us."

At least she was steamed at someone else rather than him.

"Some experiences are worth the pain," Alex said with what he wished wasn't a silly grin.

Cory handed him a towel, and Alex wrapped it around his waist, over the dangling wetsuit. He made sure to keep it loose. He glanced up as he secured it and met the stirring look in Jackie's eyes. How was it that she managed to make him feel loopy?

"You had a brilliant first wave," Jackie said.

He looked into her eyes, really looked, and sensed something come alive, something familiar yet foreign, like when you yearned for a taste of something but weren't quite sure what it was you wanted.

"Amazing balance."

"Balance is usually my strong suit," Alex said. It was true, but the rush of energy that surged in him when she smiled shot that balance all to hell.

Jackie leaned down and picked up her wetsuit. "My turn," she said, smacking Cory in his belly.

Cory checked his dive watch. "Three runs. Then I have to meditate."

Alex thought they were kidding, but as he watched Jackie shimmy into her wetsuit, he realized they weren't. His gut tightened. He started to say something about the buildup of the waves that Cory had cautioned him about, but bit back his words.

"I'm going shopping," Trish said, putting her hand on Alex's arm and glaring at Jackie. "This is way too much sun for me." She gave Alex her sultriest look. "Pick me up at three at the hotel?"

Alex nodded.

Trish bent and gathered her purse, giving everyone a long look at the sleek curves of her backside. She stood and smiled at Cory. "I've always wanted to learn to meditate."

Cory grinned.

Jackie shot Trish a look that would've vaporized Alex on the spot, but Trish was evidently made of steelier stuff. She pivoted and tromped barefoot up the hill, swinging her sandals almost as much as her hips.

"Meditation is for the wise," Jackie said over her shoulder to Alex as she followed Cory into the surf.

Alex dropped to the sand and spat, more out of frustration than from the salty water and sand still in his mouth.

"My, my, my..." Sabrina purred as she walked up beside him. " _That_ was quite a show, big bro. I think you ate half the ocean." She leaned down and brushed a kiss to his cheek. "I got your message. I snuck out of my board meeting for lunch." She thumbed his chin near the abrasion. "Where's Trish going?"

"Shopping."

"Hey, I tried. She's been mooning over you for months."

She patted him on the arm. He hated it when she did that. It always meant she was right.

"Maybe you helped her get over it."

"Something like that." He pointed to the ocean. "They are going out in this."

"Yup." She studied his face. "And he's a six-time world champion, Alex. He knows what he's doing."

"But _she_ doesn't."

"How do you know?" She knelt on the sand beside him. "Maybe she does."

Jackie and Cory caught a wave. Alex's breath hitched in his chest as they rode in side by side. Cory's footwork moved his board over the face of the wave, and Jackie held her own, riding midcurl. At the end of the ride, they dropped down to their boards, and Cory paddled next to his sister. They laughed and high-fived and paddled out again. Alex felt the muscles of his jaw relax, and he let out the breath he'd been holding.

"See?" Sabrina said.

Alex hadn't taken his eyes off Jackie. He saw her glance in at him just as Sabrina hugged him and kissed his cheek again. Jackie turned away and paddled farther out.

"She should be watching the waves," Alex muttered.

"You worry too much," Sabrina said. She tilted up her watch. "I have to go back. I'm chairing the next session. We're going to shelter all the donkeys the Humane Society rescued from Utah last week. I told them they can host a fundraiser at Trovare."

"I can see the T-shirts now," Alex said.

She stood and tousled his hair. "Love you."

"You too," he muttered, his whole being focused on one woman floating out in the ocean.

Cory was right; the swells were much bigger now. The first two waves of a set rolled through. The third wave rose at least ten feet above the horizon as it rolled toward Jackie and Cory.

He saw Jackie turn and start to paddle furiously. Cory signaled to her to hold off, but she didn't. She paddled with a speed and finesse that Alex might've admired if he hadn't seen what she was about to do. She was paddling in front of an enormous wall of water. Cory paddled hard, trying to stop her. Before he reached her, the wave caught her board. With a last shove of strength, she glided into the force of it and stood. She teetered as the tip of the board dipped into the wave.

The fist in his stomach tightened when he saw her tumble off the board and disappear, engulfed in the churning power of the ocean. He leaped up and ran into the breakers. The horror of his sister's drowning ripped through him. She'd died in waves much smaller than these. He fought down terror as he thrashed deeper into the surf.

For a moment all he could see was Cory coming in on a following wave and shouting, but Alex couldn't hear what he said. Alex scanned the whitewater. Then Jackie and the board popped out of the foam about ten yards from him.

He fought through the surf and pulled her to her feet, then picked her up and carried her to the shore, her board dangling behind them like a macabre tail. He hugged her close and felt her heaving for air against his chest. Once clear of the water, he dropped to his knees, still holding her, and set her on the sand. He held her as fits of coughing racked her body. He wasn't sure what to do. All he knew was that he wanted her to be okay. And that it felt like a miracle to have her safe in his arms.

A lifeguard ran up and dropped down beside them, signaling to Alex to back away. The lifeguard leaned over Jackie and checked her pulse, peered into her eyes.

"She was under for a long time," Alex said, feeling useless as Jackie continued to hack and gasp.

"I saw it," the lifeguard said.

"She should never have taken that wave," Alex said, shaking his head. "She didn't see how massive it was."

"I _saw_ fine," Jackie said weakly, between hacks. With a violent shudder she heaved out of the lifeguard's hold, leaned to the side and threw up on the sand. Then she straightened and wiped her mouth with the sleeve of her wetsuit.

"Bit of a daredevil stunt, don't you think?" He hadn't meant for his words to sound chastising. Or maybe he had. It'd been a crazy, foolish risk. "The ocean isn't some friendly benevolent force."

She gawked at Alex through matted strands of hair. "Safety lessons from a guy who stands in front of ninety-mile-an-hour fastballs? That's ripe."

"She's in shock," the lifeguard said. "It happens—lack of oxygen. But her vitals are stable, so she's lucky." He tugged the Velcro closure at the neck of her wetsuit open and began to peel the sandy suit down Jackie's still shaking body. "It's good she got that water up."

"I am _not_ in shock," she said as she batted the lifeguard's hands away. She shuddered and hung her head between her knees. "I'm fine, really. Go catch up with your girlfriend." She peered up. "Or should I say _girlfriends_."

"I rather think it's shock as well," Cory said, dropping to his knees beside the three of them. "Starting with the boneheaded move of taking that wave." He grabbed the shoulders of her wetsuit and stripped it down to her waist. "Breathe."

Cory took the towel the lifeguard offered and wrapped it around her shoulders. "See if you can stand," he said as he leaned back and held out his hands.

She took Cory's hands and struggled to her feet. The fist in Alex's stomach eased as he saw her take a few stable steps with Cory's help.

"I'm going to take her in," Cory said over his shoulder to Alex. "Nothing a warm bath and a cup of tea can't take care of."

Cory wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her tighter to his side.

"I can _walk_ ," she said as she tried to tug away from her brother. "I don't need your help."

Alex wasn't so sure.

From the perspective of the crowd of tourists and onlookers on the beach, the seal release in Monterey was a spectacular success. The volunteers from the Center lined up the kennels containing the seals along the tideline of a tiny crescent of bay. At the signal of their crew chief, they opened the crates in unison. The harbor seals used their small flippers to inch out of the crates and across the pebbled beach. Their unswerving progress made it clear that they were made for the sea. The seal farthest from Alex and Trish peered out, as if unsure whether to leave the safety of its crate. Then it lifted its head, sniffed the air and wriggled toward the water. The crowd burst into applause as the first seal nosed into the lapping waves. One lady gave a donation on the spot to one of the surprised volunteers.

"Look," Trish said to Alex with an excited grin. "They're staring back at us."

Four heads telescoped up above the surface and peered back with their huge, round eyes. Then, as if someone had choreographed it, they dove and swam out of sight.

An unfamiliar warmth spread in Alex's chest as he watched the seal he'd helped Jackie stitch up, the one he'd helped feed and keep warm, watched it swim and dive, once again in its element. Seeing the seal swim free felt like accomplishment and it stunned him. He searched the faces of the volunteers and the watching crowd and knew that they felt it too.

He looked up the beach again, hoping that Jackie had arrived, but she hadn't. His elation over the seal instantly deflated. He tried to bite back his worry and enjoy the celebration, but his heart wasn't in it.

Still feeling off-kilter, Alex drove Trish back up to Santa Cruz for the Surf Expo later that afternoon. Cory took a few spectacular waves during the first set and thrilled Trish and the photographers. Alex kept scanning for Jackie, but again she didn't show.

While Trish pelted one of the surfers with questions and her best flirtatious looks, Alex walked down the beach and grabbed Cory between sets.

"How's Jackie?" He tried not to sound anxious.

"She's still shaky," Cory said. "But she said to thank you for pulling her out. She's sleeping it off right now." He wrapped a towel around his waist and waved off a photographer headed toward them. "And she's sorry she missed the release. She told me you helped her with one of the seals."

"Held it down is more like it."

"The tale I heard is you leapt over a ten-foot wall and saved a volunteer."

Alex laughed. "Thank God for tall tales or I'd have to do something to earn a reputation."

A voice on the loudspeaker barked out Cory's name.

"Show time." Cory must've seen the concern in Alex's face, because he added, "Don't worry about Jackie, she'll be fine." He grabbed his board and jogged toward the water. "She's survived much worse."

That was exactly what Alex was afraid of.

Chapter Eleven

Alex tossed his keys onto the dining room table of his apartment. They skidded up against a stack of mail that had grown about a foot since he'd left for the road trip.

It'd been a good trip; he'd racked up six home runs and had managed to get on base nearly every at-bat.

But he'd been preoccupied, absentminded. He'd left his watch in the hotel room after the All Star game. He'd never done that before. And he'd forgotten his mother's birthday. He'd only done that _once_ before and after the repercussions, he'd been determined it would never happen again.

And it was all because he'd been thinking about Jackie.

She'd gotten to him in a way that he couldn't deny, and all his naysaying only made it more impossible to put her out of his mind. He'd called the Center a couple of times from the road, but hadn't left messages when her machine picked up.

Now that he was back home, the tug to get back to her started again in earnest. He wanted to see her. He'd palmed his cell more than once wanting to call again, but thought better of it every time.

He checked his emails and canceled hooking up with a lovely young widow whom Scotty had introduced him to after the previous homestand. Though his body strained for the release of a good night's pleasure, casual sex didn't hold the appeal that it once had. The women he'd shared hot nights with in the past always claimed they were fine with the no-strings-attached, purely sexual encounters, but he wasn't sure he was, not anymore. The night with Trish in Santa Cruz had told him more than he wanted to know. And it both puzzled and irritated him that the brief time he'd spent with Jackie could make him want to walk into territory he'd sworn to avoid.

Wiped out, he moved to the living room and dropped to the couch, slouching against the cushions. The silence was soothing.

He closed his eyes.

And immediately an image of Jackie—fit and lithe and luscious—filled his mind.

He might have canceled a meet-up with Scotty's friend, but he wouldn't have passed up a night with Jackie. And he wouldn't have to. She'd been in his dreams, waking and sleeping, for days. He guessed that tonight would be no different.

He pictured her as he'd first seen her, struggling with the Zodiac. Then he pictured her fearlessly going over a cliff, more concerned about a whale than about her own safety. And then he imagined her as he'd not yet seen her, peeling off her clothes and smiling, tempting him, accepting him. Wanting him.

He pressed his head back and groaned.

This was where fatigue and thoughts of Jackie always led, to him getting hard, with no means of relief beyond his own hand. And he was tired of it. Tired of acting like some callow teenager. Just because he hadn't had sex for a few weeks didn't mean thoughts of Jackie should set him off.

But hell, she appealed on so many levels. He dragged a hand over his face, hoping to clear his mind. But why couldn't he imagine what might happen one day? He'd trained himself to imagine hitting pitches, working through every possible pitch and his responses step by step. Why would his approach be any different with a woman he wanted?

And why was he arguing with himself?

He jumped up and stepped back into the kitchen. He grabbed an apple from the refrigerator, then returned to the mail, determined to shake his mind free of naked veterinarians. He flipped through the stack, tossing most of the envelopes aside to be recycled.

Near the bottom of the pile he came to a blue-edged envelope with the bright logo of The California Marine Mammal Center.

He'd nearly thrown it away before he'd left.

He fingered the envelope, then grabbed his letter opener and sliced it open. _An Invitation to an Evening with Dr. Brandon_ spread across the page in finely engraved script. He laid the invitation on the table and tilted back in his chair.

He hadn't seen Jackie since the day of the surf contest, but he could still feel her touch on his skin. He'd replayed that day in his mind a hundred times and it never came out with a better ending, though he'd long since realized her comment about his _girlfriends_ meant she'd thought Sabrina had come down with him and Trish. He'd never been one for threesomes, but she didn't know that. That it mattered to her had surprised him. He'd also been surprised to discover her irritation satisfied something in him. That seemed too... juvenile, but it was true.

He clicked on his phone and checked his schedule.

Before he knew it, he'd tapped out an RSVP and pressed Send.

He'd take Sabrina and introduce her to Jackie, put out that fire. Maybe they'd like each other. And Sabrina loved anything to do with animals.

It was a good plan.

He imagined Jackie nodding, maybe smiling, when she discovered he wasn't interested in a three-way. And then he imagined that she might tilt her head back, press her hands to her hips and ask what he _was_ interested in. And with that image, he was instantly hard again.

Giving in to the inevitable, he tossed what was left of his apple in the trash and headed toward his bedroom. He was fooling himself if he thought he'd distracted his body; it was primed and ready to go off. And he intended to put out that fire as well. He stripped as he walked, dropping clothing as he aimed for the shower.

He'd think better if his body wasn't screaming at him, wasn't demanding sex at every moment. He'd practice some of his finely honed visualization under the pounding showerheads. Yeah, that too was a good plan.

The party for the Center was held in one of the National Park buildings in the headlands, just down the hill from the Center. Alex pulled into the parking lot and circled the car to open the door for Sabrina.

"I'll thank you to stop chasing off my boyfriends," she said, continuing their discussion as she eased out.

Her tone was teasing, but the look in her eyes said she still hadn't forgiven him.

Sabrina had visited him in New York. She'd come out to a game with Grayson Benning, a rich East Coast entrepreneur. Alex didn't like him, didn't trust him. Never had. He and Benning had gone to prep school together. He was one of those men who couldn't look you in the eye. And while maybe no one would be good enough for Sabrina, Alex still didn't like him. Alex had a nose for shams and for people who hid behind slick façades. Benning's façade was one of the slickest. Highly slimy, as a matter of fact.

"The guy is a snake," Alex said.

"I like snakes."

"You know what I mean."

"Stick to wine and baseball. Romance is not your strong suit," she said as she smoothed her dress. "I'm headed to the ladies room. Too much green tea."

He walked into the low-ceilinged building. The striking photos of seals, whales and otters placed on easels around the room and the cheery lights strung around the ceiling gave a lighthearted feel to the converted barracks. A TV hung next to the bar, and Alex was relieved to see the game of the week was on. He ordered a beer and sipped it as he watched the Yankees' veteran left-hander throw a perfect fastball. The rookie facing him had no time to react.

"Glued to the game, I see."

"Busted," Alex said as he turned to Jackie. "He's the next pitcher I'll face," he added as half apology, half explanation.

She slid into the seat next to him. The dress she wore didn't fit well, he noticed, but it didn't matter—nothing could hide the sleek, athletic curves of her body. Just looking at her made his blood rush.

"Well, then," she said, fidgeting with the dress, "I imagine our speeches and whatnot stand no chance." She tugged at a pleat that ran down the front of her dress. Then she leaned out of her seat to snag a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. "Gage tells me you're headed for a title."

"Long way to go," Alex said. A warm feeling spread through him at knowing she'd noticed.

"I wasn't very gracious after you helped me in Santa Cruz," she said with a toss of her head. "I'm not very good at accepting help."

"Something we have in common."

"At least _I_ can blame it on shock," she said with a smile. The woman had a dazzling smile; it dawned across her face and lit her. She took a long pull on her champagne and then waved the glass in front of her. "He's here somewhere." She must've read the puzzlement in Alex's face. "Gage, I mean. He's dying to talk about your base run."

"Home run."

Color crept into her face. As she pressed her lips together, he regretted correcting her. The game took on a whole new cadence when described with her lilting English accent and funny phrases. He rather liked it.

"I'm better with mammals that swim," she said, looking down at her shoes.

He followed her gaze. She wore leather sandals with sensible soles. Sabrina would call them clunky.

He leaned forward and lowered his voice. "Jackie, I reacted badly; I'm sorry. My youngest sister drowned. I... I sometimes forget she _was_ young, that others know how to handle themselves in the water." He didn't often talk about Grace, but he wanted Jackie to know.

She straightened, a stricken look on her face. "Alex, I'm so sorry." She grasped his hand.

"It was a long time ago, but some circumstances bring it back quite vividly."

"I'm sorry." She squeezed his hand. "Sorry my actions brought up bad memories."

He shook his head, chuckling. "I think we've apologized enough. Surely there's another topic that can have us butting heads."

She started to smile, but her attention was pulled by someone behind him, and her body stiffened.

Perhaps no one else would've noticed, but Alex did. Her reaction was like the twitch of a pitcher when he knew you had his number, when he considered himself defeated in the at-bat even before he threw the first pitch.

He turned to follow her gaze.

Sabrina glided toward them in her sparkly stilettos and posh designer dress.

"You must be the amazing Dr. Brandon," she said, extending her hand with a warm smile. "I can't believe I'm finally meeting you." She held Jackie's hand in hers. "I admire what you do here, always have."

"Thank you," Jackie responded coolly with a wavering smile.

"This is my _sister_ , Sabrina," Alex said. "Considering the amount of time she spends at parties, introductions should be her strong suit, but aren't."

Sabrina poked him in the ribs. "Back down, Alex, or I'll ask to have you thrown into one of those pens I saw up on the opposite hill."

"He knows his way out, I'm afraid," Jackie said, her smile genuine this time. "And please call me Jackie."

Alex hauled in a long breath.

Jackie caught the eye of a waiter and accepted a second glass of champagne.

"Good thing Feronne Vineyards gave us this," she said with a nod to her glass, "or we'd be drinking Three Buck Chuck."

She knocked the champagne back in three deep swallows. Evidently he wasn't the only one who was nervous.

"The company that makes those wines buys grapes from all over," he said, swallowing down the telltale heat firing in him. "Sometimes you get lucky."

"I've never been a fan of luck," Jackie said. "I prefer to be prepared and make my own way."

She ran her fingers along the collar of her dress, fingering it near her throat. His eyes traced the graceful curve of her neck and roved down to where creamy skin showed in the vee just below it.

"Something else we have in common," he said, determinedly stopping himself from delving further into the fantasies she conjured in him. "Luck doesn't go very far in baseball."

Sabrina cleared her throat and when he raised a brow, she glanced from Jackie to him and grinned. A very calculating, sisterly grin.

"I'm going to look at the exhibits," she said, waving toward an educational display set up at the back of the room. "Wonderful to meet you, Jackie."

A high-pitched squeal from the PA system pierced through the room.

"Speech time," Jackie said. "You'll have to forgive us. Our board chair tends to go on and on. If it gets too bad, I'll yank the cord."

Alex settled in where he could see both the game and the podium on the stage. But what caught his attention were two men in very expensive-looking suits with their backs to him. One turned, surveyed the room with a narrow gaze and then walked out the side door. The other sidled up to Jackie. He whispered something to her, and Alex watched her respond with a shallow smile.

Alex forgot about the game and the speeches as he watched the man move even closer to Jackie. She backed away a step and turned her attention to the man droning on at the microphone.

When the board chairman finally ended his speech, Jackie stepped up onto the small stage and adjusted the height of the mike.

Alex split his attention between Jackie and the man watching her. For decades he'd trained himself to observe the nuances of movement, spent hours studying videos of the pitchers he'd faced or was about to. He'd committed to memory every twitch, every tic, every pause. Sometimes he was sure he knew which pitch they were going to throw before they did. He studied the man, tracking the patterns of his movements.

Something about the guy didn't fit. Something in his movements didn't match his smooth facial expressions and practiced smiles. The big guy who'd gone out the door looked out of place as well.

He heard Jackie thank everyone for coming, and he snapped his attention back to her. She stepped down from the stage, acknowledging the applause with a smile.

The man stepped over to Jackie and reached to shake her hand. Even at a distance, Alex could see her discomfort as her smile faded and she tugged her hand away.

The Center's chairman bounded over to her, said something, and the two of them headed toward Alex.

"Michael Albright," the man said as he stepped up to Alex and offered his hand. "I saw your grand slam last month. Impressive."

Alex didn't tell him that it had been a particularly easy hit. Sometimes it happened that way, but it was too complicated to explain.

"Jackie might have told you," Michael went on, "about the discovery she's made regarding the unusual strandings in the North Bay."

She hadn't, but Alex suspected that Albright was about to pitch him. Alex was never adept at fielding these sorts of pitches, but he was interested in Jackie's work and what she needed to do it. And though he'd intended to quit volunteering the day Jackie had gone through the floor of the necropsy lab, he'd found he couldn't muster an outright _no_ , hadn't really wanted to. He suspected that Michael was about to make his future choices that much harder.

Alex shook his head in response to Albright just as the man he'd been observing earlier inserted himself into their circle.

"Dr. Brandon takes too little credit for her discoveries," the man said, as if he had a right to answer for Jackie. He stepped to her side and gave her a look that made Alex want to punch him.

"Mark Volkov," Albright said by way of introduction. "I was just about to tell Mr. Tavonesi here about Jackie's excellent sleuthing." He motioned to Alex. "Alex is one of our newest volunteers," he added with a smug smile.

"Good to meet you," Volkov said, nodding cordially.

A nerve in Alex's jaw twitched as he shook Volkov's outstretched hand and met his placid gaze. He felt the color rise in his face; the man was evidently more of an expert at controlling his expressions than Alex was.

Albright turned back to Jackie. "Our Dr. Brandon could do a damn sight more if she had a better lab," he said in a baldly promotional tone. "But what she's managed to discover with such limited resources is groundbreaking."

Jackie flinched, almost imperceptibly, but Alex saw it.

"The Center will be in the news when her findings are published," Albright droned on, oblivious to Jackie's discomfort. "She's been gathering data near the mouth of the Susul River and discovered radioactive contamination, possibly coming in with fertilizers. We know it can be traced. We have to send things up to UC Davis, takes more time, but if we had a good lab here, we could—"

"Michael often makes too much of my initial findings," Jackie said, cutting him off.

"They do sound intriguing," Volkov said.

"We need more data," she said sharply. "It's much too early to speculate about such a thing."

Alex saw from her stance that she was hiding something. But it was her work and she had a right to do it as she pleased. Volkov, on the other hand, looked mighty interested, but with the way his eyes flicked over Jackie, Alex doubted it was her discoveries that inspired his attention.

"I need to check on the education team," she said, taking a step back. She crossed the room to a group of volunteers gathered near a table of hors d'oeuvres. Alex turned back to Albright and Volkov when an elderly woman excused herself to them, linked arms with Albright and drew him away, pelting him with questions all the while.

Volkov stayed put.

Alex ordered another beer and passively watched the game while he considered how to get a few moments alone with Jackie.

"I read that your Cabernet won the gold at the Decanter World Wine Competition last year," Volkov said as he eased into the seat next to Alex. A look of raw rivalry flashed in his eyes. It made no sense, but Alex knew the look. There'd been rowdies in the minor leagues, in bars and parking lots, men who hadn't made much of themselves and just wanted a shot at plastering someone who was working at getting ahead. He'd learned early to avoid those sorts of places and those men.

"Yup," Alex said. He sipped his beer.

Discussing wine was another of those mistakes he'd learned to avoid. He didn't have the patience for discussing it tonight. He glanced at Volkov. The man was clearly successful. Yet success didn't always fill the gaps in a man's life. Alex was beginning to get a taste of that himself.

"We have mutual interests," Volkov said, filling the silence. He nodded to where Jackie stood with the volunteers. "Dr. Brandon, for example. Seems you know her pretty well."

"Not really," Alex said flatly. It was true.

"I bet she takes _particular_ interest in some of her volunteers," he said.

There was no mistaking the man's goading challenge.

"I wouldn't know," Alex said, turning his body fully toward the TV screen and biting back his urge to deck the guy.

"I'll have what he's having," Volkov told the bartender. He swiveled to face Alex full on. "Well, then, that clears the way, doesn't it?" He stared across the room at Jackie. "She does have a great ass."

"If you value your face," Alex said in a low, measured tone, "you'll leave Dr. Brandon's work and person alone."

A slow smile spread across Volkov's face as he raised his beer and took a long draw from it.

It was all Alex could do to spin around and walk away.

He headed to where Sabrina stood peering at the exhibits and questioning a couple of the crew supervisors. Her smile froze when she saw Alex. She said a couple of quick goodbyes and joined him.

"Pumpkin time," she said as they walked toward the door. "I know that sign."

He nodded. "Early game tomorrow."

"I'm thinking of volunteering," she said, waving her hand around the room. "I love all this."

"You'll have them all in designer slickers by the end of the month," he said, but the hint of humor in his voice didn't cover his anger.

Sabrina shot him a questioning glance.

"Exit strategy," he said.

Jackie intercepted them as they reached the door.

"Great," she said as she fisted her hands on her hips. "Just great. We've been courting that guy, Volkov, for months and you've managed to piss him off in a matter of minutes. A _million_ dollars, Tavonesi. You may have just blown a million dollars." She glanced at Sabrina. "Sorry, not you. I'm rather sure pissing off major donors is not a _genetic_ trait."

"Volkov's playing you," Alex said.

For a heartbeat, she appeared to take in what he'd said. Then she crossed her arms over her chest and let out a breath. "You don't know what you're talking about—he's a scientist, for God's sake! He's interested in our _mission_."

"He's interested in your ass."

Both Jackie and Sabrina stiffened, but he didn't feel like backpedaling.

"I see what I see," he said. The man had practically drooled over Jackie; science and missions had nothing to do with his interest. "You could use a better dose of _discernment_ ," he added, knowing full well he shouldn't have. Jackie wasn't his. But he sure as hell didn't want her having to put up with a guy like Volkov.

"You see what you want. Maybe you're paranoid." She looked at Sabrina, made a gesture he couldn't read, one Sabrina obviously understood. "I have work to do." She spun around and aimed for a gaggle of donors. " _More_ work to do after this," she added over her shoulder as she stalked away.

Sabrina let out a puff of breath, took him by the arm and led him out to the parking lot.

"You certainly have a way with women, Alex."

Chapter Twelve

Jackie tossed her backpack onto her kitchen chair, pulled her computer case off her shoulder and placed it carefully on the table.

The Marine Mammal Commission meeting in Hawaii had gone well. It'd been a quick trip, and she wished she'd had more than two days there, at least time to surf for an hour or two, but most of the time she'd been locked in an air-conditioned conference room.

Still, the commission had agreed to allow the Center to set up a study on Laysan Island. It was a good first step. They'd be able to get better numbers on the endangered monk seals there. But where the Center would get the money for a remote operation she had no idea. Michael was sure to tell her she was spreading resources too thin. And though she'd celebrated the step forward with a walk on Waikiki, she'd itched to get back to her work here.

She'd succeeded in putting Alex out of her mind while she was gone. Or at least she pretended to. But on the way home from the airport she'd stopped at a light, glanced around and then blinked at a four-story image of Alex, an almost naked Alex, smiling down at her. In an instant, all the confusion she felt when she thought of him returned full force. It didn't matter that it was an ad painted on the side of a building—every muscle of his torso rippled with raw power. The car behind her had to honk twice before she'd realized the light had changed.

She opened the backpack and pulled out the water samples she'd gathered earlier in the afternoon up along the Susul River, further north where vineyards flanked both banks. She'd flown in on the red-eye and driven directly up to the river. No one knew she was home, so no one knew she'd taken the samples. She inspected the lids, made sure each was tight and snapped the plastic box closed.

While she was in Hawaii, crews at the Center had rescued fifteen more harbor seals from where the river met the bay, and she was determined to stop the poisoning before any more animals were stricken.

She shoved the box into her fridge and then dialed Bradley. A click on the phone line had her hanging up and redialing. When the click sounded again, she shook her head. Telecommunications in the headlands were still catching up with the twenty-first century.

"How's the weather at Davis?" she asked Bradley when he answered.

"Jackie, only the English talk about the weather. Did you get the next batch of samples?"

"I want you to get them as soon as possible, so I'm driving them up in the morning."

"Anyone ever tell you you're paranoid? You probably have them under lock and key, don't you?"

Her skin heated, but she admitted, "They're in my fridge; I don't trust leaving them at the Center."

"No one cares that much about seals."

"I do."

"Yeah, well you could send them up with the vols," he suggested.

"I'm driving them. I'll get to see your shining face."

"You slay me with your flattery," he said with a chuckle. "Thompson ran the new samples you sent last week. Definitely radon. In small amounts it shouldn't cause human health problems, but it's still traceable."

"I took samples every half mile along the river all the way up past the town. If the tests show a high concentration from any of them, we'll likely have our culprit. We'll have enough data to call in the USDA to follow up and do the broad-scale testing and nail the bastards. With this amount of data, the Feds won't be able to push us aside. The radon findings should help our case."

"Never thought I'd hear you talking so sweetly about the USDA."

"We all have our weak moments."

"The tissue samples take longer, maybe a couple of weeks," he added apologetically.

"Then I'll just have to wait. See you tomorrow. Gage is sending a box of his favorite donuts up with me."

"Didn't know he cared. How was Hawaii?"

"The monk seal project's a go. _If_ we can find the money."

"I'm putting in for a transfer. Palm trees and Mai Tai's are my forte."

"You'd better train up; umbrella drinks are Gage's specialty."

After she hung up, Jackie grabbed a tall glass of water, glugged down half of it, headed into her living room and switched on the TV. She flipped idly through the channels but stopped when she saw Alex facing a pitcher.

The camera zoomed in, and she recognized his keen concentration as he waited for the throw. He didn't swing and the umpire called it a ball. She'd watched a few games since that first day at the ballpark. It still baffled her how in a split second batters could discern a good pitch from a bad one.

_Discernment_.

The night of the donor party, when Alex had pissed her off, he'd said she lacked it. She could still feel the deep sting. She'd mulled over the accusation more than a few times.

Maybe he was right.

But facts had always been her mainstay and her armor. She'd always thought and rethought, examined and then examined again.

She couldn't afford to lack discernment. Hunches and instincts that weren't backed up by facts could mislead and derail her. They had in the past.

The sound of the bat thwacking the ball dragged her attention back to the TV. But Alex wasn't running. He took his batting stance again and waited. The announcer said something about the ball just missing the foul pole.

She stared at Alex crouched in his stance. The man excelled. It was a weakness of hers, men who had talent and the discipline to excel.

Gage had told her that Alex ran a cutting-edge vineyard—green and solar. That he used owls rather than poisons to control rodents. He probably saved homeless kids in Uganda in his spare time too, she muttered, and then chastised herself for being cynical.

And who was she kidding?

It wasn't just his excellence.

He roused feelings in her that she'd convinced herself she didn't want to feel. Just the memory of being touched by him called her out of her carefully woven cocoon. She couldn't deny the uncomfortable feeling of being deeply, amazingly alive around him, something she normally only felt when climbing or when she was on the track of a new discovery.

It was as though he had invaded her very being, infusing her with vitality. And she liked it. Rather thought she'd like even more of what being close to him promised. But still... She shook her head. She wasn't sure she wanted it.

The guy was famous, a star. He probably had dozens of women waiting in line to feel the touches she remembered so vividly. The woman she'd met in Santa Cruz was likely one of many.

She didn't want to be one out of a dozen. Never again.

But she'd liked the way Alex had tackled the wave in Santa Cruz and the natural grace and strength with which he'd handled the board and faced a new experience. Even his tumble in the curl had been spectacular, though she certainly wasn't going to tell him that. What she hadn't liked was the way he'd chastised her when she'd eaten a wave, for doing the same thing he'd done just minutes before. But she hadn't known about his sister. She couldn't imagine the sadness of losing a sibling. He'd been trying to help her, she appreciated that now, even if she hadn't at the time.

Alex's words of caution had translated to action. She'd found herself being vigilant earlier in the afternoon when she'd eased the Zodiac into the murky water. She'd made sure to stay near the tule grass lining the near shore shallows and avoid the muddy bank as she'd collected more water samples.

She flicked her eyes back to the TV. Alex hit the ball and the cameras tracked it as it zoomed into the stands. The announcer said Alex was within reach of a batting title if he kept it up. The irony struck her: he was fighting to win a title and she was just as determined to leave one behind.

She watched as two players ran around the bases ahead of him. Alex jogged from base to base, headed toward the batter's base. _Home plate_ , she corrected herself. It was an odd name for a sports destination; it sounded more like what you'd be served at an American diner.

When he stepped on home plate, Alex's teammates piled out onto the field and mobbed him. He smiled. Even though the camera and the game were miles away and being broadcast to hundreds of thousands of people, a lightness warmed her belly as she watched him smile.

He'd smiled that smile at her.

The disappointment she felt when the network cut to another game surprised her. She'd tried hard not to admit she missed him. A different crew of announcers spoke rapidly about the new game in the jargon she was beginning to recognize but couldn't follow. She flicked off the TV and went into the kitchen.

Rummaging through her fridge, she found a bottle of chardonnay and poured herself a splash. Glass in hand, she wandered around the little house the Center provided—one for her and one for Gage. His was homey in a lived-in way, but it smelled like the stale hockey gear he piled in a corner after his Sunday games.

Her house was, well... She scanned the living room. Spartan. There just wasn't a nicer word. She simply had to muster the effort to make it more of a home. Get some pillows. She'd read somewhere that the right pillow could solve most any décor problem. She dropped onto the rumpled futon that served as her couch. Well, maybe pillows _and_ a proper couch. Didn't one of the volunteers tell her that the sign of becoming an adult was having a proper couch? Clearly, she'd yet to arrive.

Alex's sister, Sabrina, probably had a fab couch in one of those classy Nob Hill apartments. She likely had a closet that refrigerated sweaters and kept the moths off them too. And she probably had pillows. Lots of pillows.

She returned to the kitchen, dug around in the crisper and threw together a rather wilted-looking salad. Perched at her little table, she stared at her meal. She swirled the wine in her glass, then walked back into the kitchen and pulled the bottle out of the fridge. She poured a whole glass, tossed the salad in the compost and defiantly grabbed a bag of popcorn from the cupboard. At least it was organic. Settling onto the futon, she popped in a DVD.

A muffled sound outside the window caught her attention. Raccoons. She'd secured her waste can, but evidently not tightly enough.

She paused the DVD and grabbed a flashlight. From her tiny porch, she stared out into the night. The only sounds were the call of a great horned owl looking for its mate and the breeze sifting through the pines. She walked around to the window, flashed her light and saw footprints in the mud below it. Not a raccoon's—the tread said man-sized boot. Probably the groundskeeper. He'd been in to cut the high weeds that morning. She tugged her sweater close against the chill of the evening air and walked back inside. She started toward her futon but motion outside the living room window caught her eye. A car sped down the road in front of her house with only its parking lights on. She frowned. Teenagers parking again. The National Recreation area that housed the Center was a favorite spot for late-night trysts. The park police were constantly breaking up parties and booting revelers off park property.

She flicked on the DVD and settled in to watch the movie. She'd fallen asleep twice before trying to watch it—maybe this time she'd see how the adventure ended.

Alex poured himself a second cup of coffee and stared out the window of his apartment. Eleven stories below, the water of the bay was a field of steely blue-gray. A lip of gold spread across the hills to the east, announcing sunrise. A wedge of pelicans flew between his building and the Golden Gate Bridge in the distance, gliding along in the formation that allowed them each to fly with the least effort. He stared toward the headlands across the mouth of the bay, toward the Center.

He'd managed to pull a couple night shifts at the Center after day games at home. Gage had designated him as an extra pair of hands and no one seemed to mind that his schedule was irregular. Jackie hadn't been around. She'd flown to Hawaii, so he'd had no chance to make any sort of apology for his actions at the donor event. He wasn't even sure what he'd apologize for; he just knew he had the urge to salve the unease nagging him.

Sabrina had given him a sisterly lecture as they'd driven home that night, and her words still ran in his mind. Jackie had won over Sabrina, that much was clear. Sabrina always put relationships first; _he'd_ always considered that a female thing. But when he searched his heart, he knew that he too valued the people in his life. There'd just never been a love interest in that inner circle. He walked to the floor-to-ceiling window in his living room and watched a sailing yacht maneuver around Alcatraz, skimming the choppy waters.

_Love_.

This was no time for love. He glugged down his coffee and willed himself awake. He wasn't sleeping well. Worse, he wasn't seeing the ball like he wanted. And he wasn't focused. That bothered him most of all.

Some nights as he lay awake in the darkness and played the events of the past months in his mind, he felt he was coming unseamed. He'd run the math over and over in his mind. If he didn't snap to and rack up more hits, he'd blow his chance at the title and, perhaps worse, he'd let down his team. No matter how he crunched the numbers or considered the probabilities, it always came out the same: he needed to focus on baseball.

That couldn't be so hard.

The dull gnawing in his gut told him it just might be.

The ring of his cellphone pulled him back from his puzzling thoughts. It was Gage.

"It's six thirty," Alex said.

"Thanks," Gage said. "That's exactly why I called. What a relief. I thought my watch might be off by a couple minutes and I thought I'd check yours." Cell static garbled his chuckle. "What time do you have to be at the ballpark today?"

"You making me breakfast?"

"Water rescue," Gage said through the static. "Bit of an emergency. I'm on my way to J dock at Pier 39. I need a big guy. You're my nominee."

"I can be there in fifteen minutes." Action was always a good antidote for confusing feelings. So what if he used up some energy? At least he'd have a clearer head.

"You rock, Alex."

And so what that once again he was putting something else before baseball? He could handle it. He couldn't let the Center down.

Hell, he didn't want to let Jackie down.

Alex walked down the wooden plank leading to J Dock at Pier 39. A couple of fishermen moored there were readying their boats for the day, and a few early-bird tourists stood gaping at the one hundred or so sea lions on K Dock. With the noise of the barking sea lions, he wouldn't call it quiet. No one knew why the sea lions chose to haul out there every year, but they'd become a big draw for tourists. Where else could you sip a latte and watch wild marine mammals up close?

Gage was waiting for him on the dock beside the Center's inflatable Zodiac.

_My hero_ , Gage pantomimed before saying, "Jump down there and strap this baby in."

Alex grabbed the hooped net that Gage held out and jumped into the Zodiac.

"Just tell me it's not a whale this time," Alex said. He strapped the net against the side of the boat near the front. "I'd need more coffee if it's a whale."

"It's a bull Steller sea lion."

Alex whistled. Steller sea lions were an endangered species, not often seen around the area. And they were big.

"The Coast Guard spotted it on the rocks north of Muir Beach," Gage said. He threw a coil of rope down to Alex. "The cliffs there are too crumbly to rappel, so going in by water's the only way to get at it." He handed down three life vests. "The packing strap he got caught in will choke him if we can't remove it. He may have had it for years, but now he's grown and it's slicing into his neck."

Alex caught the wetsuit Gage tossed down.

"Put this on. You might need it, but I hope not. There's a restroom at the end of the dock to the right."

Alex hopped up to the dock.

"The bull's about ten feet long," Gage added in warning.

"I should've had the extra coffee."

"Yeah. Well, you can have my last donut." Gage held out a crumpled bag.

"I'm not that desperate." Alex grinned. "Not yet."

He suited up in the restroom stall, rolled his jeans and T-shirt into a tight ball and headed back to J dock.

He hopped into the Zodiac just as Jackie walked up.

"Hey, boss," Gage said. "What're you doing here? Thought you were still in Hawaii."

"It's your lucky day—I got in yesterday." She looked at Alex. "Hello, Alex. I hope you can swim," she said with a hint of a smile.

"I can do the one hundred meters in less than a minute and a half," Alex said.

Gage whistled.

Jackie crossed her arms and leveled her gaze. "This is the _ocean_ we're talking here."

"It's a Steller," Gage said.

"I got that," she said. "You should have two more crew for this."

Gage looked up from where he was fiddling with the motor. "Eric's in Cabo, and Jim didn't answer."

Jackie shook her head.

"It's beached, Jack. If all goes well, none of us will be swimming."

"I'll be back in a minute," Jackie said, pivoting and then striding down the dock.

Alex watched her walk away and hoped Gage was right. It was far too early for swimming in the bracing waters of the Pacific.

The boat trip around Point Bonita and through the rough water known as the Potato Patch didn't serve Jackie well. For most of the journey she sat slumped, her head between her knees. Alex felt sorry for her, but knew better than to say anything. A wave hit them broadside and sloshed cold water over the side of the tossing boat. Instinctively he moved to steady Jackie, but she fisted her hands in the pontoon rope and didn't look up. He crouched down, near enough to grab her if she lost her grip.

"Times like this I do wonder why I didn't take the job with dolphins in the Florida Keys," Gage said as another wave smacked the boat and soaked them good. Alex admired his skill as he navigated the troughs of the waves and maneuvered away from the point toward the crescent of rocky shore just north of Muir Beach. "Warm water. Piña coladas. Babes."

Jackie tipped up her head. A wavering smile showed briefly. "No hockey?"

Not only was she pale, she looked tired. But even wet and fighting seasickness, she was beautiful. Yet it was more than just her physical beauty. The woman had a presence that seemed to trumpet into his soul.

"For a man who loves skating on ice, your tropical fantasies surprise me," Alex said.

"Let's _not_ get into Gage's fantasies," Jackie muttered. "I'm not sure I could take it."

The boat lurched in a near shore wave and tossed Jackie into Alex's lap. He closed his hands around her ribs and kept her from slipping into the bottom of the boat. Even through the neoprene of her wetsuit, he could feel the gentle curve of her hips. A discussion of fantasies was not a safe topic, never would be with her around.

She blinked up at him as he righted her. For a flashing instant, he saw her eyes widen, felt her relax in his hands. Then she stiffened and the look in her eyes was all _Dr. Brandon_ once again.

Nope. No time for fantasies.

"When we pull in"—Gage pointed to the shore—"Alex, you hop out and take the net with you, then pull the boat up. I'll hop out and net the guy, and you and I will hold the net over him while Jackie clips the strap and pulls it free. Then we push off."

"I saw the Coast Guard photos this morning," Jackie said. "He'll need a shot of antibiotics."

"Too close for too long, Jack."

She pressed her lips together and shook her head. If Alex were a betting man, he'd say the sea lion would get its drug.

At Gage's signal, Alex unstrapped the net.

Gage motored the Zodiac closer to the beach. Alex saw the red gash on the sea lion's neck. The animal, perhaps startled by the sound of the motor, reared up. Gage cut the engine, but not before the sea lion charged into the breakers.

"Plan B," Jackie said. Before he or Gage could move, she jumped over the side.

"Damn her!" Gage leaned over the side of the boat.

Stronger words rose in Alex's mind as he readied to jump in after her. As he slung a leg over the side, Jackie surfaced.

"Come on in, Alex. The water's delightful."

Gage knelt at the side of the boat and wedged his foot into the stabilizing ropes. "Give me your hand." He reached for Jackie. "This is insane."

"It's an _endangered species_." Jackie sputtered as a wave caught her. "You just net him, Gage, and I can clip the strap." She held up her knife. "Alex can handle the boat."

"She's serious," Alex said.

"She's crazy, that's what she is."

"If you two are finished discussing my state of mind"—she glanced over her shoulder as she treaded the rolling waves—"I think our guest of honor has decided our next move for us."

The sea lion was not six feet from the boat.

Gage motioned and Alex took his place at the motor.

"Steer at an angle. If you have to, run it up onto the beach."

Gage readied the net and threw. The sea lion bucked into it.

"Give me a hand," he shouted to Alex. "Jackie, back off. Get out of the way!"

Alex cut the motor and slid to the front of the boat. Jackie was not moving away, she was swimming straight for the net and the big bull. The bull reared again and the net caught her arm. Both she and the sea lion plunged below the surface. Alex dove over the side. The water was murky, but he was able to see enough to pull the net away and free her arm. They surfaced, sputtering.

"Just hold it," she said, nodding to the handle of the net. "It's working."

He wanted to grab Jackie and throw her into the boat—then maybe sit on her for good measure—but he swallowed back his fear and grabbed the handle of the net. The slope of the tideline was shallow enough that the sea lion couldn't dive and escape the net. Jackie dove under the water and swam straight into the side of the net, pressing up against the bull.

Alex counted off twenty seconds.

"Get her up," Gage said.

"I'll give her thirty seconds, total," Alex said, swallowing his panic and counting in his head. Then the jig was up—he'd haul her in no matter what.

He counted off six more seconds and prepared to dive. At seven seconds she surfaced, brandishing the severed packing strap.

"Got it!" she shouted with a smile. "Gage, hand me the syringe wrapped in my towel."

"No deal," Gage said. "Get in the boat. He'll be fine."

"I'll fire you."

"Miami beckons." He leaned over the boat. "Hand her up." He motioned to Alex. "We'll pull the net off once you're both in." He tied the rope of the net handle to the boat.

"I am _not_ going in," Jackie protested. "Hand me my syringe."

"But you are," Alex said. He grabbed her by the waist and hauled her to the boat. "You most definitely are. You can't fire _me_."

Alex reached under her butt and pushed her up over the side of the boat. Gage grabbed her under her arms and hauled her into the Zodiac. Alex levered his foot in the rope and Gage hauled him up over the side as well.

He landed face-first in a foot of water that had washed into the boat. He fell against Jackie when he scrambled to his knees.

Gage tugged the line holding the net and the thrashing sea lion to the side of the boat.

"Lever the net handle under you," Gage instructed. Working together, they pulled the net free of the sea lion.

The three of them balanced in the pitching boat and watched as the big animal appeared to debate whether to swim out to sea or back up to the beach. It eyed the boat and then hauled up onto the beach. It sat, erect, staring at them.

"It'll need to recover after all that," Gage said as he bound the net to the side of the boat.

"Mutiny," Jackie huffed. "No other word for it."

"You can shoot us at dawn," Alex said. He'd only had his hands on her butt for a few brief seconds, but it had been enough to tell him he wanted more. That he even entertained such a thought at a time like this probably did warrant being shot at dawn.

Jackie was seasick all the way back to Pier 39. If anyone had told him that watching a woman struggling to keep from getting seasick could be rousing, he'd have considered them nuts. But as he watched her try to hide her misery, his admiration for her grew by the minute. When the boat lurched in a wave and he ended up with her hips in his hands to steady her, his admiration wasn't the only thing that grew in response. He shifted his position and looked away, tried to call up some stats and ignore the effect she had on him, but for the rest of the ride he was aware of her every move. The woman could torment him without even trying.

Gage tied off the Zodiac, and Alex gave Jackie a hand up onto the dock.

"Breakfast." Gage beamed. "We get twenty percent off at Captain Drake's."

"Food is not anything I can consider right now," Jackie said weakly.

Alex looked at his dive watch. "I have an hour to get to the stadium. I'll have to pass." He turned to Jackie. "You okay to drive?"

"She's never okay to drive," Gage quipped.

"You are _officially_ fired," Jackie said with a weak smile.

"When she's fired me a hundred times, that's when it's official. I think we're at forty-seven." He looked at Alex. "Thanks. From both of us."

"I can say my own thanks," Jackie said as she peeled her wetsuit down to her waist. The thin rash guard under it did nothing to hide her taut nipples or the lush roundness of her breasts. He looked to her face and felt heat rise up his neck; she'd caught him staring. He was almost glad she didn't peel the damn thing the rest of the way off, although he couldn't help but wonder what she had on underneath it.

"I was thanking him for me and the _sea lion_ ," Gage said with a wink before walking off down the dock.

Jackie was still pale and shaky. Alex wanted to wrap his arms around her. Hell, he wanted to kiss her. But instead he stepped back.

"I could take you to the stadium and drive you home after," he offered.

"Thanks, but I have a lunch appointment. That is, if I can even think about food by then. But Bradley's got some new restaurant in mind. Maybe it'll spark my appetite."

_Bradley_. Just the way she said the guy's name made Alex growl inside.

He couldn't deny that helping with the work meant a lot, made him feel in a small but significant way he was contributing to a greater good, but when it came to Jackie personally, it might be time to admit that he really was wasting his time. In his mind he'd tried out several scenarios for asking her out, but clearly he was too late. She liked the science guy; Gage had said as much.

She grabbed her gear bag from the edge of the dock. "You and Gage shouldn't be allowed to cook these sorts of excursions up," she said with a smile. A real one. She pulled a sweatshirt out of the bag and shimmied it over her head. "But I am grateful for the help," she said as her head popped out. She pivoted and snatched up the bag. "See you at the Center."

Her stride was slower than usual, but the way her hips moved as she strolled along the dock made him crazy. He was pretty sure she didn't know she moved like that. If she did, she'd button it up in no time.

Chapter Thirteen

Scotty was on the mound.

Alex watched him from first base. It was unusual for a pitcher and a hitter to be friends, but he'd liked Scotty from the first day the kid had joined the team. Besides, there were few players he could talk science with.

Who was he kidding? Scotty was the _only_ one.

Scotty bent down and grabbed the resin bag, bounced it in his hand and dropped it at the back of the mound. He glanced up into the third tier and then pulled his hands to his chest. After all these years, and all the pitchers he'd seen, the gesture still struck Alex as prayer-like. Some days pitchers relied on everything they could. Scotty had done some pretty sweet talking and even prettier pitching to get Walsh to let him pitch in the ninth. It was his first complete game. Well, it would be if the Giants won in the bottom of the ninth. Scotty wasn't the only pitcher in the park keeping the hitters off the bags. Alex was ready to get something going.

Scotty looked in at Aderro, their catcher, for the sign and nodded. He and the veteran catcher were like points on a wave; on their good days they rarely disagreed. Aderro had a lockdown mind; no batter's pattern or statistics went unregistered. Alex liked to pick his brain.

Scotty wound up and released the ball. It looked to Alex as if Scotty moved the seams around on the ball, as if his hand was at one with it and his whole body surged with the power of the pitch. There were few things in life as impressive as watching a pitcher in the zone.

The thump of the ball hitting Aderro's mitt was nearly eclipsed by the cheers of the crowd.

Alex didn't move for a moment, just watched as Scotty fisted his hand, pulled it into his chest and did a little hop. Bolton cursed and walked back to the dugout. Scotty shot Alex a smile as he strode off the mound.

As Scotty bounded into the dugout, Alex high-fived him, then grabbed his batting helmet and headed back up to the on-deck circle.

Zack stood ready in the batter's box. Alex had calculated that he'd need to bat in at least 140 guys to make the Triple Crown, and that meant the hitters ahead of him getting on base. He had faith in Zack. Nope, not just faith—the man was a solid hitter. Give him a few more years in the majors, and he'd be chasing all of Alex's records.

Alex watched him swing and heard the crack of the bat. Not the cosmic crack that signaled a ball going over the wall, but the sound of a good, blasting double. Zack slid into second. The game-winning run was on base.

Alex stepped into the batter's box. He grooved a bit of a hole with his back foot, getting set, digging in. All they needed was a single from him to end the game. He took a timing swing and then crouched in his stance. He saw the ball coming and barely had time to twist away. It slammed into the back of his left shoulder. He glared at the pitcher but as he jogged to first, all he could think was that he hadn't moved in time. Whether anybody could have wasn't the point. _He_ hadn't.

He could see that Campion, now batting, was fired up. Sometimes a pitcher clipping a hitter intimidated the batter that followed. But this pitcher didn't know Campion. He connected to the first pitch and blasted it through the gap in left center. Zack crossed the plate as Campion ran to first and tagged the bag. Alex tagged second and rounded third. He veered across the infield grass and went through the motions of the celebratory handshakes and back pats, but his heart wasn't in it.

After the game, Alex stood under the shower, running his at-bat over and over in his mind and rubbing out his shoulder. He'd let his focus slip—not much, but enough. He walked to his locker, still kicking himself as he tugged on his street clothes.

"Target practice doesn't suit you." Scotty laughed. But then he glanced at Alex and his face sobered. "I know that look," he said with a shake of his head. "Bro going down, sound the alarm."

Alex glared at him. "You do _not_ want to hear the line that just went through my head."

Taking the hint, Scotty shuffled off to the celebration still resounding in the clubhouse.

"Hey, congrats, man," Alex called after him. Scotty deserved to celebrate his achievement, no matter how Alex felt about his own playing.

Scotty threw a wave over his shoulder.

Alex grabbed his bag and slammed his locker. He turned to see Hal Walsh making straight for him.

"Thought we could catch up a bit," Walsh said, motioning with his head toward the back corner of the clubhouse where his office was. "Catching up" was manager-speak for being called on the carpet. Alex followed him to his office.

"Want to tell me what's going on?" Walsh asked as he sat behind his desk.

"My game's a bit off."

"Tavonesi, tell me something I don't know." Walsh scraped a hand through his hair. "You're showing up late, the trainers tell me you're a mess and you've got bruises in places you shouldn't."

He gave Alex his eagle eye, the eye that had taken the team to the World Series two years in a row.

"You're one of two men who have a real chance at the Triple Crown and you're blowing it." Walsh leaned his elbows on his desk. "You'll be an old man for this game in two years. Whatever's inspiring all this funny business can wait until the end of the season. You'd better buck up if you want that title."

It was the longest speech he'd ever heard Walsh give. From anyone else it would've been a reproach. But from Hal, those words were a compliment.

"Right," Alex said. "Got it."

"Right. Get some sleep."

Alex made his way slowly to his car and then sat in the stadium lot, staring through the window at nothing in particular. He let the heat of the car bake him for a few moments and then opened the windows. The voices of his teammates drifted in.

He grabbed his phone from the glove compartment and called Gage.

"Bummer shot you took today," Gage said. "Looked like he was aiming at you. Probably my fault for dragging you out this morning."

"It happens," Alex said, and then he paused. _Just say it_. "I have to stop volunteering."

"Yeah."

"I don't like abandoning commitments."

"I get that," Gage said. There was a moment of silence. "Well, we'll always have Paris." His Casablanca reference landed flat, didn't cover the disappointment in his voice.

"Yeah," Alex said. "I'll send you some tickets." He clicked off the phone.

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, then hauled in a breath and turned the key. _Why was it that good decisions could feel so rotten?_

Chapter Fourteen

The sounds of crickets woke Jackie.

She closed her eyes to shut out the morning and bring back the night.

Dreams. She'd had some delicious dreams. She pressed her palms to her eyes, and they began to coil back into her consciousness.

Alex had reached for her repeatedly. But that hadn't been his first move. He'd studied her first, watching her watching him. And any time she quivered or sighed or reached for him, he'd grinned, as if he knew exactly what his attention did to her. But then, when she burned for him, he'd reached out his hands and stroked her, heating her skin to a fevered pitch, setting her heart racing.

And she'd touched him. God, had she touched him.

Her hands tingled, even though every caress had been only in her mind. But her body didn't accept that truth. It felt Alex. And if she felt this way after only dreaming of him, what would happen if they touched in truth? If he ran his hands down her body, if he cupped her breasts? Tasted her skin? Pushed between her legs?

Her eyes flashed open, and she cupped her very hot cheeks.

In her dreams she hadn't waited for him—she'd done what she'd wanted. She'd pushed his shirt off, demanded that he kick off his pants. And then they rolled around on a massive bed topped with richly thick bedding.

They'd kissed, mouth to mouth, bodies pressing slick and warm against one another, and then Alex had kissed his way down her body.

Jackie groaned. She'd groaned in the dream too.

His mouth had been magic.

"This is ridiculous."

She rubbed at her eyes, then her neck. The kink in it reminded her she'd fallen asleep on the futon.

Alex had no magic mouth. Or maybe he did, but she knew nothing about it. She'd just been caught up in a dream version of the man. She had no idea how the real Alex kissed, if he even liked tasting a woman, liked pleasing her until she screamed...

But she wanted to know. She wanted to know everything about him.

No! She slammed a pillow against her face. Why was she giving any time to thoughts of him? He was a volunteer. Even worse, a ball-playing volunteer. Allowing him to traipse naked through her dreams was one thing—she knew the subconscious worked out all sorts of issues, sex included, in dreams. But her purposeful thoughts? She could control those. She _would_ control those.

"Damn, damn, damn."

She banished the image with thoughts of the two surgeries she had scheduled for that day. She would control her thoughts. And her libido.

The crickets sounded again, louder and more insistent.

At first she lay listening. But there weren't any crickets around at this time of year. When she woke properly, she realized the crickets were singing in her purse. Which meant that Gage had been toying with her ringtones again. She snatched up the phone. Only he would call her this early.

"You are _not_ going to live," she barked into the phone. "Not another day. I'm going to feed you very slowly to the great white sharks and th—"

"Uh, Dr. Brandon? It's Tanya. Monday morning crew."

"Oh. Tanya. Right." Toeing into her shoes, she glanced at the clock. Six thirty.

"There's a man outside. Says he's got to get into the necropsy lab pronto. Should I let him in?"

"Who is it, Tanya?"

She heard commotion in the background and the slamming of a door.

"Sorry, Dr. Brandon, I didn't ask. The fish delivery came just before he did. They got our order wrong. Again." She paused. "I can run out and ask him."

"Have him wait. I'll be right there."

Less than five minutes later, Jackie pulled into the lot next to a big blue van nearly as dinged up as her truck. Painted across the side was a very expensive-looking logo: Thomas and Sons Floor Solutions.

She walked to the necropsy lab. Gage stood in the doorway, arms crossed, talking to a man in coveralls crouched on the floor beside him. That she'd somehow been expecting Alex, even though he'd quit almost a week ago, had put her on edge.

"Would you be wanting the curved edge at the bottom, like this?" the man said, looking up at her. He held a tile sample up against the wall and bent a curve into it. "From what I was told about your work here, you'll need it like this for cleaning. Maybe we should take it up sixteen inches, to right about here?"

"We are not taking anything up, anywhere." She motioned to Gage to step outside. "We can't afford it."

"Look, ma'am," the flooring guy said as he stood, "it's paid for, like I told _him_." He nodded toward Gage. "And I gotta get this in today. I have a big job in Tiburon starting tomorrow. I worked this job in as a favor." He pushed the sample toward her. "Hope you like the color. The gentleman told me to pick it out."

She did not have to ask which gentleman. And she wasn't sure if she was steamed or relieved. Or maybe even touched.

The man removed the paper covering the flooring sample and held it out to her. She turned it over, fingered it. It was high-grade industrial, top of the line. Even a small piece would cost a week's worth of seal food. At least Alex's donation kept her from having to prioritize funds. Likely she'd have lived with the floor as it was, but the USDA could come down on them. Alex's sturdy and functional patch job had barely passed their inspection the first time. But still, he could've told her about his plan. She'd check her emails; maybe he'd sent one that she missed.

She handed the sample back.

"Sixteen inches should be fine," she said, giving him a nod and trying to smile. He had a job to do, so no need to bust his chops, even if she needed to get in there and work.

In the past week, with Bradley's help, she'd come close, real close, to identifying the source of the runoff. She could feel it. But feelings weren't enough. She still needed the test results before she could take any next steps. She'd just have to wait until later that afternoon to prep the rest of the samples.

She decided to check on the juvenile sea otter that had been rescued the week before. The little rascal was clever; he'd already figured out how to undo the double latches on the special enclosure they reserved for otters. Gage had come in one morning to find him scooting around on the kitchen floor.

She found the otter floating on his back with one of Gage's hockey pucks tucked onto his tummy.

"I wondered where that was," Gage said as he came up beside her.

"Recruiting him already?"

"He must've stolen it from my gear bag on his last visit to the kitchen. Won't give it up. He uses it to crack clams."

"I hope that's regulation equipment," Michael Albright chided when he joined them. "That'd make a good press story: Clever otter signs with the San Jose Sharks."

" _No_ , Michael," Jackie said. "Don't even think about it. We are trying to reduce human interaction with marine mammals, not encourage it, remember? Mission point number one?"

Michael started to protest, but evidently thought better of it. "I came by on my way to the city to see our latest star." He nodded at the otter. "Even I can't resist them. "

Jackie showed Michael how to separate the frozen lobster and shrimp pieces and toss them in the water from behind the screen at the end of the pool. They didn't want the otter associating food with humans. Already kayakers in Monterey Bay had complained of sixty-five-pound otters crawling up onto their boats. Otters were cute at a distance, but it was best to keep them there.

"He eats better than I do," Gage said.

"He's cuter than you are," Michael said with a grin. He pulled Jackie aside.

"I heard about Alex Tavonesi's growing interest in the Center's work," he said smoothly.

" _Ipso facto_ our floor." She jerked her head back toward the necropsy lab. "But maybe you haven't heard that he quit volunteering."

"Minor detail. We'd like him to be honorary chair of the gala."

She hadn't forgotten about the formal party that Michael insisted they throw each year; she'd just tried to put it out of her mind. Fussing over menus and music and guest lists just wasn't her thing. And asking Alex to chair such an event was overreaching, even for Michael's loose standards.

She took in a breath to protest.

"We don't have any other draw," he added before she could respond, "at least not like him. He's baseball's golden boy right now and we need a star."

"He does Nike ads, Michael. We're nothing to him."

"He gives the money from those ads to charity, my dear." He leveled his businessman-of-the-galaxy stare at her. "We need this, Jackie. The Center needs this."

She held her face impassive, considering.

"The _animals_ need this," he added.

"That's low, Michael."

"Do I have to grovel?"

"For God's sake, pull out all the stops, why don't you?" She had to smile. He was devoted to moving the Center and its mission forward, and he did what it took. "All right. But _you_ ask him."

When Michael raised a brow, she just stood there. She wasn't about to try to explain to him what she couldn't explain to herself.

"No deal," Michael said. "He couldn't care less about me. _You_ ask him. Today would be good—and since it didn't make the printed invite, we'll have to use my publicity people to get the word out."

He nudged her on the shoulder as if she were a child reluctant to enter a game. "Here's his cell number. You can do it."

Michael headed for his Porsche, then turned back. "By the way, I got you a great printing deal for the membership brochures. A business associate of Volkov's, some friend of his from Russia who has a print business, among others. He's doing it for free." He saluted her and stepped into his car. "You know, Volkov might make a great board member."

She hadn't imagined a man like Volkov having business associates in Russia. In fact, she knew little about him and wondered how much any of the board knew. Next time she spoke with Michael, she'd ask.

She spent the next three hours on a report for the Marine Mammal Commission on the Hawaii project. She sent it off and walked to the door of the lab.

"Just finishing up," the flooring guy said as he held out a clipboard. "Sign here."

The number at the bottom of the page shocked her. The floor had been ten times more expensive than she'd imagined.

"My name's Barry." He handed her his card. "Call me if there are any problems." He glanced around the lab. "But if you ask me, this floor will outlast the building."

The vapors from the floor adhesive mixed with the pungent smells of the lab, and Jackie knew better than to work in there until the vapors had dissipated. She went to the hospital instead and found Gage finishing up an arthroscopic surgery, expertly repairing a torn shoulder tendon on a female harbor seal that had been hit by a boat.

"Nice work," she said as she helped him load the still groggy animal onto a gurney.

"High praise. Don't think you're going to get _me_ to make that call." He pulled his surgical mask off his face. "Michael mentioned it yesterday. It's a good idea, Jackie."

"I rescind my praise."

"Too late," Gage said with a lopsided grin. "It already registered with my ego."

Later that afternoon Jackie sat in her tiny office, unable to focus. She stared out her window and watched the dusk creep along the headland cliffs and the last of the surfers paddle in and head home.

She'd read the same lines in the report that Bradley had sent from UC Davis four times. Even in her fuzzy state it was pretty clear that the results of the water sample tests showed there had to be more than one source for the fertilizer runoff. The highest concentrations were at the mouth of the river, but the samples she took in the north stretch showed the same radioactive fingerprint.

Yet there was little or none in the samples she'd taken in between. Someone must be using the fertilizer heavily upstream and someone, probably the same someone, must be dumping the remainder in the bay. But why? She rubbed at her eyes. Conjecture wasn't helping her or the seals.

In the face of such important findings, why it bothered her to call Alex about the gala stumped her. She'd called senators to get them to support marine mammal protection measures, called stubborn scientists to enlist their help investigating diseases, made calls to prickly fishermen to get help with rescues. The prospect of calling Alex for a very legitimate reason shouldn't shake her.

Perhaps it was because she would be asking him to put himself on the line for the Center, asking him to be a show pony. _She_ never liked being a show pony, but sometimes the work required it. And sometimes to reach the public you had to have a star. Right now, Alex was that star. Yet it was one thing to put yourself on the line, entirely another to ask somebody else to do it.

But the feeling that squeezed into her chest told her that it wasn't just that. The morning of the water rescue, when she'd really gotten the measure of him, she knew in her heart that he was the kind of man she could imagine loving. Well, except for the ladies' man, ballplayer part. And the knowledge that she was even thinking about needing a man at all shocked her. Shocked her so much that she was gazing out a window, mooning about the man, rather than working.

She gave up.

She loaded an armful of books and her laptop into her truck and headed home. Maybe she could concentrate better there.

When she reached the house, neither the hummingbirds hurrying to gather sips of nectar from her overgrown garden nor the soft breeze drifting across her patio and out to the rolling hills eased her.

She grabbed a pint of Ben & Jerry's from the freezer and paced the perimeter of her tiny patio, waving her spoon in the air as she ran possible scripts in her mind and cursed Michael Albright under her breath.

Frustrated, she picked up the portable phone from her patio table and punched in Alex's number. Feedback and an echo said she had a bad connection—she kept meaning to call the phone company—so she hung up and dialed again. The echo didn't go away, but it wasn't as bad.

With the first ring it occurred to her that she'd probably end up talking to an answering service. That would be just fine. She'd leave a detailed message and tell him to call Michael.

"Tavonesi here."

No such luck.

She took in a breath.

"Hello. It's Jackie Brandon. From the California Marine Mammal Center."

He laughed. "I do recognize your voice and I happen to remember where you work. My basic brain skills are still operative."

He wasn't going to make this easy. She realized she had no idea what time zone he was in. She glanced at her watch. Four thirty.

"You're not at a game, are you? I wouldn't want to interrupt."

He laughed again. "I can assure you we don't take calls during games. We had a day game today. We won."

"Oh." She paused. She'd rehearsed this, but it wasn't going as planned. "That's wonderful." Another pause. Butterflies danced in her stomach. Something about his voice made her traitorous body override her mind, as if the sound went directly into her skin and skipped her brain entirely.

"I imagine you didn't call to check on the final score," he prompted.

Perhaps she should ask about the game. Likely that's what one did in a situation like this.

"What was it?"

"Five to two," he said.

She heard the playful tone in his voice.

She could talk about the weather. One could always rely on it as an icebreaker. Then she could quickly ask him to chair the gala and hang up.

"We've had another freak storm here," she said. "What's the weather like there?" Where _there_ was, she had no idea. Worse, he probably knew she had no idea where he was. She should've Googled the team's schedule. She hadn't been thinking.

"It's always a steam bath in Atlanta at this time of year," he said. "I think even the bats sweat, it's so hot." He paused, then added, "Sorry to hear about the storm. More casualties?"

Ah, something she could talk about.

"Not yet. Likely we'll see more toward the end of the week. It's going to be a warm weekend, so there'll be many more people on the beaches. We'll have lots of stranding calls." She paused, sorting out what to say next.

"Sorry I can't be there to help."

He sounded like he meant it. It was the perfect segue.

"There is something you could do." She stopped. Should she put it on Michael or leverage her relationship with Alex? She settled on telling him the truth.

"Michael Albright asked me to call and ask if you'd be Honorary Chair for the gala on September fourteenth. You wouldn't have to do anything. Well, except show up. And talk to people. And—"

"Okay."

"Okay?" she repeated. She sounded like a parrot. She'd expected to have to pitch him.

"Yup. Hold on." There was a moment of silence. "It's now on my calendar. It happens to be a night when I'll be around. We fly in that afternoon. But I do have one stipulation—have a glass of champagne with me after?"

Harmless enough, but the idea—and the images running through her head—sent the butterflies in her stomach leaping once again.

"Okay," she said.

"Seems to be the word of the night," he said with a light tone. She heard commotion in the background, a man's voice calling out to him.

"I have to go," he said. "I promised my winning pitcher I'd buy him dinner and a cheesecake. See you on the fourteenth. I'm looking forward to it. Hold on—"

His voice was muffled, as though he'd covered the phone.

"My buddy Scotty wants to come, would that be okay? You can charge him double."

"It's fine, well, yes, of course." Heat rose in her cheeks—she was stammering like a schoolgirl. It was ridiculous. "Okay. See you then."

She pressed the button and ended the call, then sat staring at the phone.

There. That wasn't so hard. Not if she didn't count the jitters, the pint of ice cream she'd eaten while she rehearsed what she'd say and the pacing as she'd practiced.

Then it dawned on her—she'd meant to ask him questions about the vineyards along the river. Likely he'd know the habits of some of them. _And_ she hadn't thanked him for the floor, hadn't properly thanked him for his help when he'd volunteered. He must think her an ingrate. She considered calling back, but the jitters she was fighting to ignore made that option unappealing. She'd send a note and have the board members do the same. She pulled up her calendar. September 14 was only two weeks away.

She went into her bedroom, pawed through her closet and pulled out a rumpled evening gown she'd shoved to the back. She'd worn it to the past three galas. Eyeing the wrinkles across the bodice, she tossed it on her bed and headed for the freezer. Empty. She'd finished the last of the ice cream.

No dress and no ice cream. In Alex's vernacular, she was about to strike out.

A muffled scraping sounded along the west wall of her house. She froze. Swallowing down her nerves, she tiptoed to the living room window. All she saw was the wind swaying the clumped grasses between the oak trees. She was jumpy, being ridiculous for no reason.

She returned to her bedroom and pulled the gown from her bed. She held it up against her and pivoted to peer at her reflection in the tiny mirror across the room. Even she could see the gown had seen better days.

It was time for something new.

She stared into her reflection, at her wide eyes and the hands holding tight to the gown.

_Something new_. If the jitter of nerves flooding her chest was any indication, she wasn't ready for what the feeling heralded. But deep in her heart she wished she was.

Chapter Fifteen

Bev and Jackie stepped out of a cab and into Neiman Marcus. It was the week before the gala, and Union Square glittered with the heat of an Indian summer afternoon.

"You are going to _love_ this," Bev assured her.

"Don't count on it," Jackie said, shaking her head. "I am perhaps the world's worst shopper."

"Then since _I_ am a practiced devotee," Bev said, her eyes twinkling, "we stand a chance."

Bev had insisted that Neiman's was absolutely the best place to buy an evening gown. And, she'd added, they were having their annual sale. Somehow she'd also managed to talk Jackie into inviting her along.

Jackie flipped through the racks of exquisite gowns and pulled out three that caught her eye. When she saw the original prices, she found herself calculating how much seal food the same money would buy or how many samples she could send out for testing.

"No, no and no," Bev said, pulling the gowns from her hands. "Those are definitely not your colors. Way too drab." She lifted out a copper silk dress and a gold one, and hung the darker gowns Jackie had chosen back on the rack.

"May I take those to a dressing room for you?" asked a well-dressed woman around Bev's age. Bev handed her the two gowns. "I'm Lauren." The woman smiled. "I'll be your stylist. Follow me, please."

"Stylist?" Jackie mouthed to Bev as they tromped off behind Lauren.

"Trust me," Bev whispered.

Moments later, Jackie stood in an elegant dressing room, eyeing herself in the floor-to-ceiling three-way mirror. After she'd told her about the gala, her mother had wired money, delighted that Jackie was finally going to dress like a lady. As Jackie fingered the price tags, she remembered the Thoreau quote warning one to be wary of any occasion that required new clothes. She was beginning to think he was right.

But as she surveyed her faded jeans and oversize sweatshirt, she realized that it had been a very, very long time since she'd fussed over her appearance. Except the day she'd dressed for the ball game. _For him_ , a little voice niggled. She'd felt uncomfortable that day too.

"Let's start with this one, shall we?" Lauren said, dragging Jackie back from her thoughts.

Lauren helped her slip the copper silk dress over her head, then motioned for Jackie to step up onto the pedestal in front of the mirror.

"It's perfect," Bev announced from her perch near the door.

Jackie pivoted on the pedestal. She looked into the mirror and saw her reflection framed by the soft light filtering down from the chandelier. Her stomach tightened. In her work clothes she felt safe, in control of her world and most everything in it.

But as she pivoted again and watched the graceful lines of the silk follow the contours of her body, she felt... _vulnerable_.

There was no other word for the ripple of tension that swept her. And the awed look on Bev's face did nothing to make her any more comfortable. The last time she'd fussed over a gown, it had been her wedding dress. She stared into the mirror and wasn't sure the person staring back was as ready to step into life as she'd hoped.

"Nice shoes," the stylist said.

Jackie admired the woman's tact. They were her _good_ shoes, thick-strapped sandals with a bit of a heel that she wore only for special occasions, but they looked tawdry in this setting.

"But I believe we have just the shoes for that gown," Lauren said with a practiced smile.

Before Jackie could protest, Lauren picked up the phone near the door and instructed someone to bring up the "evening flight" in size nine. The description sounded like something out of a fairy tale.

"I'll be right back," Lauren said and scooted out the heavy door. A moment later she came in with a tray that held a half bottle of champagne and two glasses. She handed one to Bev and one to Jackie.

"You'll have to have your hair done," Bev said, tapping her manicured nails against her glass. How the woman managed to feed whole fish to elephant seals and sea lions, perform intricate surgeries and maintain a manicure was beyond Jackie.

"No way," she protested. There were limits to what one could bear. She took a sip of the champagne. It was crisp and cold, but it didn't loosen the grip of the odd anxiety drumming in her chest.

"And I have a very good hairdresser," Bev persisted, sipping her champagne. "I promise it'll be painless." She put her glass on a small table, then stepped around Jackie and lifted her hair up off her neck. With her other hand she pulled the clip from her own chignon and clipped Jackie's hair into a graceful swirl atop her head.

Jackie studied herself in the mirror. The style made her neck look graceful, made her look taller and sleeker. When Lauren nodded her approval, the vulnerable feeling wound its way a little deeper into her body.

A quiet knock called Lauren to the door. She took a stack of shoeboxes from an assistant and clicked the door shut once again. Jackie watched as she opened first one box, then another. With a little shake of her head she replaced the lids then opened the third box and smiled.

"These," she said with an approving nod, "these are the ones. Perfect." She pulled out a pair of heeled gold sandals with thin, jeweled straps. "The gown is so simple, these accent it perfectly. Of course you'll need a shrug."

"She'll need more than a shrug." Bev laughed. "A Kevlar cape is more like it." She turned to Jackie. "You look stunning. Donors had better check their wallets at the door."

Jackie couldn't laugh. She took a breath and balanced as Lauren strapped on the jeweled sandals. Then she turned to the mirror. The woman who smiled back did indeed look like a creature from a fairy tale. She moved her hand just to make sure the image was really her, that she wasn't hallucinating under some spell induced by champagne and soft lighting. She turned away from the mirror and back to the two women watching her.

"Do they spray some sort of pheromone in here that makes people go mush-brained and lose their sense of reality?" she asked with a tentative smile.

"I detect a sense of humor, Dr. Brandon." Bev grinned. She took hold of Jackie's wrist and pretended to check her pulse. "Your vitals are returning to normal—a very good sign. Whew"—she swiped the back of her hand across her forehead in mock alarm—"I thought we'd lost you."

Jackie stepped through the security line and into the rotunda of City Hall in San Francisco. And then she stopped, stunned. The marbled walls and columns danced with images of whales and seals and dolphins. She turned slowly, so very slowly, knowing she was gawking. The effect from the dozen or more projectors was magical. Simply breathtaking. She advanced into the room.

The space was already crowded with guests in gowns and tuxes. Michael's publicity team had spread the word that Alex would be there, and the gala had sold out in the last few days. The Giants had pulled ten games out in front of every team in the division, securing their spot in the playoffs, and the city buzzed with excitement.

Michael saw her and strode across the floor.

"To say you clean up well would be an understatement," he said with an approving nod.

"I had an immense amount of help," she confessed as the shaky feeling slithered up her spine. This was not her arena, never would be. "Has Alex arrived?"

"Haven't seen him." He glanced at his watch. "It's still early." He offered his arm. "I have someone I want you to meet."

They approached a group of men near the center of the room. With the exception of Mark Volkov, she knew none of them. Volkov glanced up and stared. The look he gave her sent prickles of warning through her chest. Already she was wishing she was back in her home, or her lab, or in a seal pen, anywhere but where she was. But she had a job to do tonight and she would do it with a smile.

"Dr. Brandon," Volkov said, offering his hand. She took it and then wriggled her fingers away when he didn't let go.

"Mr. Volkov," she said coolly. "How good of you to come."

He pointed to a man standing at the bar. "Your benefactor."

The man raised his glass. Jackie had no idea who he was.

"He printed the membership brochures. For free."

"As well as the gala invitations," Michael added.

The crawling feeling in her gut told her that a dear price had been paid, and she wasn't sure she wanted to know what it was. "That was generous of him."

"A small matter." Volkov's eyes roved her body. "This is my colleague, Darron Bennett." He turned to a man, about six foot seven, who made even Michael appear diminutive.

"I study your work very closely, Dr. Brandon," Mr. Bennett said. "It's of great interest to all of us."

A scar ran along the side of his face. It hadn't been well stitched, had healed poorly, and Jackie tried not to let it color her impression of the man. But his odd monotone and the way he slid his eyes to stare at her breasts made it hard to believe he was sincere.

Michael stood smiling, apparently oblivious to the men's leering gazes. She had the sudden thought that Alex wouldn't be fooled by the men's faux manners.

The musicians began playing a jazz piece, and the conversations of the crowd buzzed with its rhythm. She sighed with relief when Michael excused them from the group and guided her to a clutch of colorfully gowned ladies gathered near the wine bar.

"I'll leave you to it," he whispered. "Alice Ellsworth is the lady in green. She likes your work. As in fifty thousand dollars' worth of like." He glanced at his watch again. "Speeches in twenty minutes. You're up first, then Alex. I'll wrap up."

Talking to the women was easier. Though it was evident they assessed her—in a way she remembered quite well from her mother's society friends—their questions were politely confined to queries about the Center. The little muscles in her neck relaxed as she told them about the rescue centers along the coast and about the educational efforts to see the animals as sentinels of ocean health.

At one point she shot a quick glance toward Volkov's group. To her dismay, he left them and joined her.

"A word, Dr. Brandon," he said, taking her by the arm. At his touch, her body stiffened. Flight was impossible, so she'd have to stay and deal. He flashed a well-practiced smile at the ladies. "Please excuse us."

Once again she tugged her arm free of his hold, and she walked with him to the near side of the rotunda.

"I've been thinking about the research you've been doing," he said. "I'd like to fund the lab." He slipped an envelope into her hand. "And I'm thinking that those North Bay strandings are being caused by river dredging, not fertilizer. After all, there aren't any vineyards close by, are there? Dredging always stirs things up. And there's probably radon in all of those hills; they _were_ volcanic. It'll settle down once they stop." He tapped the check in her hand. "Wouldn't the Center be better served if its finances were put to use directly on the animals rather than spent on chasing down some baseless theory?"

She bristled at his coercive tone. He could've heard about the radon in the water samples—thanks to Michael's loose lips it had been all over the press. But he couldn't have known about the connection between fertilizer and the radon. Questions shot through her as she fingered the envelope. Why would a man like Volkov even care about her samples or about the bay?

She batted down the frisson of warning. It was ridiculous. She was truly being paranoid now. Michael had undoubtedly told Volkov more than he should have, forgetting yet again that the initial reports weren't to be shared with the public. And surely she'd misread the man's tone; he was relaxed and smiling and polite. Likely she was just off balance in this setting and nervous because Alex had yet to show up. Volkov was a scientist; of course he'd be interested and curious. Though she realized, as she watched him watching her, that she'd never made time to check the man's credentials as she'd intended.

"Thank you," she said, deciding to take his words at face value.

"I was hoping we might have dinner together." He'd already pulled out his phone and was tapping on the screen.

Just then, the music stopped and Michael announced her.

She nodded to Volkov. "I'm up," she said.

She couldn't conjure a smile.

As she walked to the microphone, she scanned the room. Hundreds of faces, smiling up at her. But no Alex.

She kept her speech brief, stuck to a couple of heartwarming stories of recent successes and tried not to be distracted by the fact that Alex was still nowhere to be seen.

When she finished speaking, the applause of the crowd felt wonderful. Glasses were raised and enthusiastic whistles and cheers gave her hope that maybe, just maybe, some of the attendees would remember the importance of the Center's work after the buzz of the party wore off. She nodded her thanks and stepped away from the microphone.

"Been practicing?" Gage said with a jolly smile. "That's the shortest speech you've ever given."

"I'll take that as a compliment." She still held the envelope that Volkov had given her.

Michael stepped past her and to the microphone.

"I regret to announce that Alex Tavonesi cannot join us this evening." A wave of disappointed murmurs swept through the crowd. "But there's a gourmet dinner awaiting you and I hope to see you back here for dessert and dancing afterwards."

Jackie, hollow-hearted, stared at him.

A flush of heat burned in her cheeks. Her ribs squeezed in, and a dizzying numbness began to spread through her. She looked down at her hands—she'd crushed Volkov's envelope into her sweating palms. She tried to shake off the empty, bottomless ache crawling into her. Standing there, in the gown, in the shoes, all she'd felt when Brett had jilted her came rushing back. Though she'd talked herself out of the thought too many times to count, underneath it all, Alex was just another ballplayer who didn't keep his promises.

But this wasn't a wedding, this was work. And she wasn't on display. No one knew the depth of feeling she had for Alex. Even she hadn't known. Not until she heard Michael's words. She hadn't let herself know. Or feel. Or expect. She never guessed she'd be tempted to rely on a man again. To love again.

Not that she loved him. She didn't. But she had been imagining...

She'd been imagining a lot. And none of it had been real. She stared down at her dress, at the new shoes. She should have known better.

A couple of women passed her, smiling. Congratulating her on the evening. The event was a success even without him; Jackie should be celebrating. Instead all she wanted to do was flee.

She tugged the strap of her gown up her shoulder, feeling every bit the fool. Why had she even bothered to dress up?

She found her table and took her seat. Though she listened to the stories of the people seated there, her spirit wasn't present. When dessert was finally served and the caterers cleared the plates, couples made their way to the dance floor. But dancing held no appeal for Jackie. She slipped to the far side of the rotunda, grateful for the cool breeze drifting in from the open door.

Bradley stepped out of the crowd and over to her.

"Good party," he said. "I think you charmed some of these folks into caring about marine life." He smiled. He had a charming smile. It lit his eyes and made her feel worse for not returning his interest. Maybe she only liked men who didn't show up, men who were out of reach. _Impossible_ men.

"And you look beautiful," he added.

"Thank you," she said. "I mean, thanks for coming."

"Can I take you out for a nightcap? There's a full moon. We could go down to the wharf."

"I'm tired, Bradley. It's been a long week." She wished she didn't see the disappointment in his eyes. "Maybe some other time."

"At least let me drive you home. I'm staying at Gage's."

She couldn't refuse. She didn't give a damn that she was fleeing. All she wanted was to get out of there before her emotions escaped the strongbox she'd locked them inside.

Chapter Sixteen

Belted into the narrow seat of the plane, Alex fidgeted with his cellphone. He'd already beat his head against the seatback; he didn't know what else to do. The flight attendant watched all the players with a keen eye; Alex wasn't the only one chafing to make a call as they circled SFO for a third time.

He was living through the travel day from Hell.

The day before, they'd gone fourteen innings in New York and had two rain delays. The storm had blasted through the night, disrupting air traffic up and down the East Coast and delaying their flight out until this morning. Rain had pelted the team bus on the way to JFK and even after postponing their departure until ten, they'd had to sit in the terminal for more than an hour and then on the runway for two hours, jockeying for a slot in the departure queue. So much for their day off.

With the time change and a driver meeting him at SFO, he'd been sure he'd make the gala in plenty of time, no matter what kind of delay they might run into. His tux was laid out on his bed, ready to be pulled on. He'd arranged everything.

But his careful plans hadn't included bad weather and mechanical problems.

Some issue with the team plane—an issue no one was explaining to them—had forced them to divert to Detroit. And of course they'd tried to fix the unnamed problem, unsuccessfully, for almost two damned hours before even trying to secure another plane.

A couple of the guys had slept in Detroit, but he hadn't been one of them.

He banged his head against the seatback again. He'd texted Michael Albright before they took off and informed him of the situation, but there'd been no reply. Now he wished he'd called Jackie too, and kicked himself for not doing so. He hadn't wanted to worry her. From the tone of her voice when she'd called to ask him to chair the gala, he guessed big parties weren't a favorite activity of hers.

The flight attendant made a last pass through the cabin in preparation for landing at SFO.

Fifteen minutes later, he checked his watch. After nine.

_Come on, come on_.

As soon as the plane touched down, he called Jackie's cell. The mechanized voice informing him that the cellular customer he was calling was unavailable only fueled his irritation. He sent a text, hoped she'd get it.

His driver got him home quickly, where he showered, shaved and changed into his tux with none of his usual care. He ran back out to the car, and they headed for the gala. Being more than two hours late was bad enough, but he hoped it was better than not showing at all.

The driver pulled into the yellow zone in front of the brightly lit city hall.

"I can wait here," he said as Alex jumped out.

A handful of people departing the building and making their way down the red-carpeted steps had him sinking into a deep gloom. It didn't help that the clock in the tower looming above showed ten thirty.

He looked up and saw Jackie pause at the top of the steps.

His breath caught in his chest. The light pouring from the hall behind her reflected off the flowing copper of her gown, framing her in a shimmering halo. She looked otherworldly, like an angel. She hesitated on the first of the wide marble steps and tugged a shawl around her shoulders. Even from a distance he saw the weariness in her posture. When she lifted her head and saw him standing near the limo, she froze.

He raced up the steps, two at a time.

"Thank God you haven't left. I nearly broke the land speed record getting here."

Up close she looked more beautiful than any living creature he'd ever imagined. He wanted to pull her to him, to kiss her, to lift her in his arms and carry her off somewhere, anywhere, but the tiny lines of weariness around her eyes made him curb his desire.

"Volkov—you remember him—wrote a big check." She patted the bag that dangled from her arm. "And your buddy Scotty arrived early."

The hurt in her tone told him that she thought he too had had an option to get there on time.

"Scotty's starting tomorrow," he answered, nearly stumbling on his words. "We always send starting pitchers back a day early if we can." Explaining seemed trivial, inadequate. He put his hands on her shoulders, gently. "I'm so sorry, Jackie."

She tilted her head, studying his eyes. "Forgive me. When I saw Scotty, I thought... Well, it doesn't matter what I thought. I see now that you couldn't help being late."

She straightened and plastered one of those emotionally barren smiles on her face, a smile he hated to see on anybody.

"Just the promise of your being here drew quite a crowd." She nodded to the lively gathering in the vestibule behind her. "Everybody's grateful."

He wasn't sure if she included herself in the _everybody_ and he sure didn't feel like he deserved any gratitude right now.

She walked to the edge of the steps. Instinctively he reached to take her arm to help her navigate the narrow stone steps, but she tugged it back and fidgeted with the shawl, pulling it closer to her.

"Is it too late to take you back in for a drink?"

She turned and looked at the party. For a moment he thought she'd say yes.

"I need to get home," she said, letting out a long breath.

"I can take you home in the limo."

He'd do anything to buy time, time to salve the hurt, time to... to what? Likely the last thing she needed right now was to deal with him.

"Bradley's driving me home," she said, lowering her eyes to her hands. Then she peered at him through her lashes, and he could've sworn he saw her eyes widen in a subtle flicker of invitation, the kind that escaped one's tightest-drawn boundaries. But then it vanished and she drew her gaze away. "But thank you."

She tugged her shawl closer. He started to remove his jacket to wrap it around her, but she put her hand on his arm, stopping him.

"At least let me walk you down these steps." He held out his arm, offering.

"They do look mighty dangerous."

Her voice was steadier now, but he couldn't tell if she was teasing or chastising him.

She laced her arm through his. They descended the steps and walked to the valet stand. The silence between them made the few moments feel like an age. But before he could think of something to say, Bradley pulled up in her truck and hopped out.

"Hello, Alex," Bradley said as he rounded the back of the truck. "Saw your game yesterday. Back in the zone, huh?"

Bradley's confident, almost cocky stance told Alex that he didn't consider Alex any sort of competition for Jackie's attention or affection. He and Jackie shared a love of science, shared a mission. Alex was a mere athletic entertainer in the man's eyes.

"This is Bradley," Jackie said as she pulled her arm free of Alex's. "He's a colleague of mine."

Alex muttered a greeting. _Colleague, my ass._

"Your coach, madame." Bradley swept a ridiculous bow to Jackie.

"I'm sure you'll understand that I need to go now," she said with a gentle look that cut into him deeper than any blade ever could.

He did understand. But... he didn't. He didn't understand why he was drawn to her—why they were drawn to one another—but couldn't seem to do anything about the attraction.

All he knew was that he wanted to take her in his arms, hold her, kiss her. . . love her. If only he could.

At dawn the next morning, Alex pulled on his boots and trudged out to the north vineyard. He'd driven up late in the night, hadn't felt like wasting another night in town. Emilio had been evasive when Alex had called him from New York. Only a face-to-face talk would get to the heart of what troubled the man. Alex would talk to him, take care of things at Trovare, and start the week with a clear conscience. If he left by midmorning, he'd have no problem getting to the stadium before batting practice later that afternoon.

The air in the vineyard was crisp and cold—too cold for September. Songbirds sang in the cypress trees that lined the graveled path. He drew in a breath of the air, still moist with dew and laced with the scent of ripening grapes. Sunlight glinted on the old vines. They'd been the first that his father had planted; he'd put them in even before the foundation had been laid for the castle.

A flash of movement drew Alex's eye. He looked closer and saw his mother standing between the rows of vines.

"I've never seen you up and about this early," he teased, walking toward her.

"There are many things you've never seen, Alex," she said as she hugged him. "It's a lovely morning. I love the mornings out here."

"It's too cold, Mother."

She nodded. She was a vintner's wife; she knew the hazards that weather could bring. She fingered the leaves on one of the gnarled vines.

"He loved it here," she said.

"Yes." He took her hand and closed his fingers around hers. "I miss him too."

She smiled up at him. Though there were many things they didn't understand about each other, he'd never doubted her love. She had a capacity for loving life that he hoped he'd inherited.

She rested a hand on his arm. "Sabrina told me about the woman from the California Marine Mammal Center. I'd like to meet her."

"That's over," he said, wishing it weren't true. Over before it had begun. "You shouldn't listen to Sabrina's version of anything. She's an optimist."

" _All_ Tavonesis are optimists, darling." She patted his arm. "Love can pass you by, Alex," she said with her most piercing gaze. "You can't give your whole heart to a game."

He swallowed down his practiced retort. He won no prizes for not admitting she was right.

"Sabrina and I are going to Paris," she said as she turned to leave. "She has a three-week break before she starts shooting her next film. You know how I love Paris."

He did. And Sabrina needed a vacation. The indie film she'd starred in last year had become a runaway success. Even Sabrina, for all her confidence, hadn't been ready for the onslaught of publicity.

"I'll be back before the playoffs," she added, turning back and reaching to once again pat his arm.

"They have televisions in Paris," he chided.

"I want to see you win your title in person. I'm your _mother_ , Alex."

"Hadn't considered I was any competition for Paris." He winked.

Emilio tromped down the path toward them. From the look of him, he'd already been up and out for a good long while.

"I'll leave you to your meeting," his mother said as she headed up the path.

Emilio clasped him in one of his bear hugs, then pushed him away and held him at arm's length. "You look terrible."

"I thought we were talking about the vines," Alex said as he stepped back.

Emilio raised a brow.

"I haven't been sleeping right," Alex said. "Just about back on track though. No worries." He kicked at a stone in the path, then lifted his gaze to Emilio. "Out with it," he prompted.

"This weather isn't going to hold." He slowly turned, his jaw tight as he studied the vines. As he checked out the sky. "But I'm not sure about the timing. The question is whether to bring the grapes in early or risk a freeze." He pointed at Alex. "You have to decide."

" _We_ , Emilio. We decide." Alex palmed a cluster of grapes, fingered them gently. He lifted them and inhaled. The musky scent of the ripening grapes was like a tether through time—he could travel its length as it stirred memories of autumns past, autumns when life was simpler, decisions easier. "What did the sugar tests show?"

"Enough to convince me we shouldn't harvest for at least another three weeks, maybe more. The grapes haven't set, at least not to my liking." Emilio plucked a grape hanging from the vine next to him and rolled it in his palm. "It's a risk. We could lose more than last year. But if we harvest now, it won't be a wine we'll be proud of."

Alex's father had worked hard to keep the wines they made top-notch. And at Trovare, they used only organic methods. Emilio was a wizard at working with the soil and the beneficial insects, and fine-tuning the irrigation to create a symbiotic system sustainable for the long haul.

"Di Salvo's crews are harvesting today," Emilio said with a nod toward the neighboring vineyard that bordered the river.

The Di Salvo vineyard had twice the acreage of Trovare, but neither Alex nor Emilio knew how they'd managed a bumper crop last year. Evidently they were taking no chances this year. But the Di Salvo wines weren't winning gold medals like Trovare did.

"It's not Di Salvo's anymore," Alex said. "I have to remind myself of that—old man Di Salvo would never have pulled his crop this early."

He'd have liked to compare notes with Di Salvo, but the man was ninety and was rarely in the area anymore. He'd leased his land to a large conglomerate three years before, claiming that the warmer weather in San Diego suited him better in his old age. The reps that came to the growers and vintner's meetings kept their distance from the locals. The growers were a tight-knit community, and the newcomers' odd behavior raised brows.

Alex nestled the cluster of grapes back into the vine and stared out over the vineyard. Timing the harvest was a risky business. Even with the heaters and blowers, a hard freeze could ruin them. And if it rained and then warmed up, they'd lose the crop to mold as they had last year. Growers tried to beat the weather; vintners plied for more time on the vine. Alex was both. It was like having the devil on one shoulder and an angel on the other.

He closed his eyes and inhaled. He pictured the grapes as he'd just seen them and the way they'd look at the perfect moment.

"We wait," Alex said, opening his eyes.

Emilio, his shoulders relaxing, nodded. He picked up a rock on the path, tossed it to Alex. "I saw the interleague game against the Yankees. You're hitting better than two weeks ago."

"If Duarte keeps up his hitting streak, it's gonna be a fight till the last game of the season. And Randy Hamilton is no slouch this year. His RBI numbers are tracking right with ours, so he could knock us both out. Maybe neither Duarte nor I get the big one." He didn't mention the couple of hitters who had a shot at passing both him and Duarte with home runs. He didn't think any of them had the staying power he and Duarte had.

Emilio rapped him on the forearm. "You'll do it."

The Triple Crown was elusive, and with the way hitters specialized these days, it was growing even more so. But it had been a goal Alex had chased, had wanted, since he'd begun playing. He'd either do it this year or never get close again. Unfortunately, Duarte was having a hell of a year as well.

"Wouldn't be happening without you," Alex said, tossing the rock back to Emilio.

Emilio snatched it from the air. "My wife says you'll do it."

"Francesca still thinks the game is played with goal posts."

"Well, I have base motives for wanting you to succeed," Emilio said. "I want bragging rights. And a division champ's cap for my sister's boy. I'm practicing being considered a hero."

Alex laughed. Securing hero-worship for Emilio was a first-rate motivation.

Although he'd left Trovare an hour early, the traffic on the Embarcadero had backed up and Alex was nearly late for batting practice. At least he missed the press interviews in the locker room. Not so the press on the field.

"Hey, Tavonesi! What's the prognosis for Sunday?"

"I never make predictions," he said to the network reporter. "You know that."

"Yeah, well, what about Cincinnati?" the reporter asked, holding out the mike. "Hitting territory?"

"Cincinnati has Cepedes. He's throwing sharp. I can't bat anybody in unless they get on the bag."

"How's the wrist holding up?"

Alex met the reporter's stare.

"Just glad to be part of the team," he said as he turned away and headed for the clubhouse.

There was no way he was going to announce to the pitchers he'd be facing that his wrist was giving him trouble. He'd already doubled up on physical therapy and tripled up on ibuprofen. He didn't like taking anything stronger; it made him fuzzy and affected his sight. And he didn't want to resort to cortisone, not in his wrist; too risky. What he was doing would just have to work.

He peeled off his practice uniform and tossed it in the bin, then reached into his locker for his game uniform. He started to suit up, but decided to shower first. He hadn't taken time to wash off the vineyard dust.

When he returned to his locker, Scotty was already suited up and sitting on the bench next to it.

"I made the gala," Scotty said. "Danced with Sabrina."

"I heard," Alex said, his tone icier than he'd intended.

Scotty whistled. "Guess I don't have to ask how the lovely Dr. Jackie took your absence."

"She's steamed. She tried to cover it, but she's steamed." Alex buttoned his jersey. "I made it there just as she was leaving."

"Aw, just make it up to her. It's not like you could've done anything." He swatted Alex with his towel. "You could send flowers."

"She's not the type."

They didn't talk any more about Jackie—though Alex did grill Scotty about dancing with Sabrina—but when he took the field, Alex pivoted in the dirt near first base and quickly scanned the stands. He'd sent tickets to the Center, to Gage. Two sets. He saw Gage sitting behind the dugout and waved.

No Jackie. Not that he'd expected her.

The game started well. The Giants leaped to a four-run lead and held it. Scotty pitched six great innings before Walsh called in the bullpen. At his next at-bat, Alex whiffed at a curve ball and struck out, leaving two guys on base. He hated stranding base runners.

In the bottom of the eighth, he struck out again and didn't like the feeling in his gut. His wrist was acting up, but that wasn't his problem. He'd lost his focus. He should've seen the changeup coming. He'd tried to visualize and run his sequences in his head, but his mind seized on the image of Jackie's face the night of the gala. He'd fought to keep _her_ out of his head, but he knew why he was failing now. He cursed whatever power had made him so damn sensitive to letting people down. It wasn't helping him or anybody else right now.

As Romaro, their closer, threw warm-up pitches, Alex glanced up into the seats near the visitors' dugout. The Giants' mascot was jiggling around in his seal suit, playing to the families, lighting up the kids. And reminding Alex of Jackie and the Center. But seeing the grins on the kids' faces planted an idea in his mind. A terrific idea. It would be perfect if he could work it out. But that's what the team had assistants and PR people for, to work stuff out. He felt lighter just picturing his idea. Jackie wouldn't want flowers as an apology, but she'd love this.

After the game, the locker room was livelier than usual, especially with a win like tonight's. Even Romaro managed to crack a smile.

"Saw you talking to the brass," Scotty said as they walked back from the showers.

"I wrangled a day at the ballpark for the Center. There was one slot open on the twenty-third."

Scotty let out his low whistle. "What'd that cost you?"

"I asked them to trade you to Kentucky Triple A," Alex said with a grin. "Told them you'd like the food better."

"Remind me not to be nice to you, Alex. It goes to your head."

When he got back to his apartment, Alex called Michael Albright and told him about his plan. The man sounded genuinely grateful.

"It might be best to let a couple days go by before you tell Jackie," Alex suggested. "I think she's pretty pissed that I missed the gala."

"She's good at that," Michael said. "But why do I think you see her good side?"

"I'll need the Center's logo sent over to marketing." Alex ignored Michael's probing. "They want it tomorrow. Something about short notice and all that."

"Done. Anything else?"

Alex wanted to say _yes, sweet-talk your ace vet for me_ , but he'd seen enough of the two of them interacting to know that wouldn't do any good.

"Nope." He paused, then added, "At least you know I'll make this one."

Chapter Seventeen

The sound of Beethoven's Ninth blasted Jackie's ears. She reached over and smashed the snooze button. Didn't public radio _know_ it was seven in the morning and that there were gentler sounds to wake up to? She snuggled back under the covers. Then it hit her. _Seven_! She must've hit the snooze button more than once. She'd called a crew supervisors meeting for seven thirty.

Her coffee spilled a streak down her jeans as she leapt into her truck. She put the dripping mug on the dash and backed out of the drive, flipping on the radio to catch a weather report.

"And for those of you lucky enough to have tickets, there's that special California Marine Mammal Center Day at the ballpark," the announcer chirped. "The first ten thousand Giants fans will receive a special tote bag with the Center's logo on it."

She wasn't sure she'd heard right, but of course they didn't repeat the announcement. She drained her mug in two gulps and accelerated.

Loose gravel skidded in her wake as she pulled in next to Gage's truck. She nodded to the volunteers and crew members as she hustled toward his office.

She pushed open his door and kicked a crumpled bag of Cheetos out of her way.

"You need a _vaccination_ to come into this room," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Knocking," Gage said, waving a glazed donut at her before using it to point to the door. "It's called knocking. Surely it's still a practice in jolly old England?"

He leaned over the pink cardboard box balanced on his knees and took an enormous bite.

"Want one?" he mumbled, sugar glistening on his chin. "Compliments of Tuesday day crew."

She waved off the donut box he shoved at her. "Living Ocean Day at the _ballpark_? I suppose that was your idea?"

"A great one, but can't claim it," Gage said as he took another bite. "You seem to have made an impression on one of their players. Somebody with influence who doesn't mind throwing it around."

She ignored the dig. Even Gage had tried to get her to use her family's status to lure donors for the Center. Canadians and Americans had an unfathomable soft spot for the English aristocracy. It baffled her.

"Alex came by yesterday afternoon while I was in Sausalito. Bev told me. Guess he was looking for you."

"I was with Bradley, at my house. He brought some preliminary reports."

"Never got why you didn't go for Bradley," Gage teased.

"Not your business," she said, trying not to snap.

"I've got some really nice T-shirts you can borrow for game day," Gage said. The grin on his face told her he was more than pleased with the prospect of a day at the ballpark. "Got one with Alex's number on it."

She let out an exasperated breath. "You are _impossible_ to dislike, do you know that?"

"Job security." He laughed.

She reached into the box and took out a donut, spun around and headed to the door.

"They've got Charley ready in the hospital," Gage said.

"I'll handle the crew supes," she said as she took a bite of the donut. "See you in ten."

In the hospital surgery suite, Charley, the volunteers' current beloved cause, lay strapped to a steel surgical table. Jackie had already performed three grafts on the young sea lion born with a malformed palate. She donned her gloves and tilted the specialized lights so that they shone in perfect circles on the little sea lion. Then she helped Gage settle the nose cone over Charley's snout. The sea lion's body went limp as the gas eased into him. Anesthetizing an animal that could hold its breath for twenty minutes was tricky. Gage was one of the best at it. Once she was sure Charley was under, Jackie motioned to the volunteers who'd been restraining the animal to back away.

She eased a rubber dental wedge into the sea lion's mouth and peered in. "It's not taking." She tried to hide her disappointment, but it bled through into her voice. In a situation like this, it was often best to put the animal down.

She felt the tension rise in the room. Normally she'd ignore it, not let it influence her decision. But today, she couldn't.

She peered back into Charley's mouth.

"Let's try to stitch the graft at the back, put a plaster on it," she said to Gage. "We can keep him on liquids for another week."

She turned to the volunteers watching from the back of the room.

"No one is to be in his pen, except for feeding. _No one_ ," she repeated.

She turned to their newest volunteer.

"If Charley becomes accustomed to people, you'll be signing his death warrant. He'll swim up to some fisherman expecting room service, and we'll have him back in here with a bullet through his skull. Got it?"

He nodded. The expressions of the two veteran vols told her they were surprised that she was showing so much emotion. Hell, she was surprised herself.

She used a second rubber wedge to prop Charley's mouth open even wider and went to work. She didn't look up until every stitch of the graft was perfect. Then she nodded to Gage. He reached over and twisted the knob to the gas canister, easing it off and watching Charley's vitals on the computer screen.

"Well done, boss."

His smile was all the thanks she needed.

"Second Chance Charley," she heard one of the volunteers whisper to Gage as she walked out into the sunshine.

She believed in second chances. Most of the time. Maybe Alex deserved one.

She shook her head as she walked. _Of course_ he deserved one; he hadn't been to blame for being late to the gala. When had she become so hard, so unforgiving?

He'd proven he cared about what she cared about—having the floor fixed without any fuss and arranging Living Ocean Day at the ballpark. She grinned. _And_ he had agreed to chair the gala, even if he, unlike her, had found a legitimate out. He'd done more to please her than Brett ever had.

She stopped walking, turned and looked over the Center, at the place that held her heart. Everything he'd done had been deliberately chosen to please her, to help her. She quivered. He _knew_ what was important to her, had chosen to discover who she was and what moved her. No one had ever seen into her so deeply. No one had ever cared enough to look.

She wrapped her arms around herself.

Yes, Alex deserved a second chance.

And so did she.

Chapter Eighteen

Living Ocean Day at the ballpark was so successful that Jackie's cheeks hurt from smiling—all the kids getting into it, all the people toting around bags with the Center's _Live Well with Ocean Life_ motto printed on them, all the buzz about their mission. Maybe awareness about the sea animals would encourage people to care about the ocean. Children loved the seals and the otters. Maybe they'd get their parents involved and parents could get their communities involved and—she stopped herself. She was becoming mush-brained. Must be the sun.

The Center's volunteers had set up a series of educational booths in strategic spots around the ballpark and as she wandered through the massive stadium, she saw that they were crowded with curious fans. And they weren't the only ones surrounded by fans—just before batting practice began, she saw Alex and several other players down on the field signing caps, balls, even hands.

As the Giants began drills on the field, she and Gage settled into their seats a few rows behind the dugout.

"Garlic fry?" Gage said, offering the tray. She took one and savored it. The garlic gave the fries a sharp, pungent taste. She took another, then looked over to where Alex stood at first base. He turned and flashed her a smile, then spun around as a ball hit by one of the coaches bounced up and smacked him in the thigh.

"He's smitten," Gage teased. "Didn't even see that ball. You may just bring down the whole sport, Jack."

She wrinkled her nose and grabbed a beer from his tray. Her body relaxed as she sipped it.

After the Giants finished their practice, Michael Albright waved out at the crowd from the top of the Giants' dugout and made a short speech about the Center's work. The man loved attention. The Giants' mascot—how perfect that he was a seal—cavorted beside him, to the glee of the families seated nearby. The screen above center field flashed a short video showcasing the Center's work, and the crowd cheered at the footage of sea lions charging back into the ocean, porpoising and touching noses as they swam off into the waves.

Jackie's smile faded when she saw Volkov and his Russian colleague high-five Michael as he stepped down from the dugout. Why she hadn't expected to see them, she wasn't sure.

Michael made his way over to where Jackie and Gage sat, a smug look of accomplishment playing on his face.

"See you at the tailgate party," he said with his usual ease of command.

"Sure, chief." Though she was still put out that he hadn't consulted her about the event, she couldn't be angry about the result.

He leaned close to her. "Better hope they win," he said with a laugh. "I've got money on the game with Volkov. Could fund that new pool. He's foolish enough to bet against the Giants."

She started to tell him that she'd not found Volkov's name on the alumni roster of the Ivy League school he'd claimed to have attended, but thought better of it. Michael deserved a good day; he'd done so much for her, for all of them. Questions about Volkov could wait.

She settled in to watch the game and was thankful to have Gage's move-by-move analysis. So much of the game still escaped her. One thing that didn't escape her was the fuzzy feeling that ran through her whenever she focused on Alex.

"Do they always miss the ball this much?" she asked Gage. Eight innings had gone by and neither team had scored. Worse, Alex had struck out twice.

"These are the two best pitchers in the league," Gage told her. "But they'll likely pull Scotty. He rarely pitches more than seven innings."

The Giants manager came out of the dugout and tapped two fingers to his arm. Though the terms for the game were becoming familiar, the signs and arm movements continued to bemuse her. Scotty scowled at him as he walked to the mound. He patted Scotty on the bum, and Scotty shrugged and walked to the dugout.

"See, told you," Gage said, as if he'd been responsible for the manager's decision.

She checked out the fans surrounding them while the new pitcher warmed up.

"Top of the ninth," Gage said when the opposing team's hitter stepped up to bat. "If neither team scores, it'll go to extra innings. One time a game went to nineteen innings, and they had to finish it the next day. It's a cool thing about baseball, that it doesn't kowtow to time." He pointed to the player preparing to bat. "But that's Duarte. It's not like him to go a whole game without a hit."

A sharp crack pulled her attention back to the field just in time to watch the ball soar high, arching toward the far side of the stadium. Duarte ran toward Alex, at first base, then, as he watched the ball fly into the stands, he gave Alex an almost imperceptible pat on the butt and slowed his steps, merely jogging now, and touching all the bases.

"Bummer," Gage yelled. He turned to Jackie. "That's the guy chasing Alex for the Triple Crown. It helps that there weren't any men on base, but it's still a bummer." Gage leaned his elbows on his knees and held his face in his hands, riveted to the field. The next hitter smacked a ball so fast toward first that it hit Alex's glove before she could track its path. He spun and threw to second base.

"There wasn't anyone on that base," Jackie said.

"It's routine after catching an infield shot like that. Keeps everybody sharp."

She watched as the umpire signaled strikes and balls thrown by the new pitcher. The next hitter smacked a ball that sailed over their heads and into the stands a few rows behind them.

"Should've brought my glove," Gage groused. "I could've had that."

She reached for her beer cup. Empty. "Can we get another beer?"

"Nervous?" Gage said with a twinkle. "Welcome to the ball game." He offered her a sip of his. "No beer sold after the seventh inning," he said. "You'll have to wait for the tailgate party."

A fly ball ended the inning, and Jackie sat back in her seat unclenching her hands and taking in a long, slow breath.

After another few minutes of seemingly needless delay—necessary for TV commercials, Gage had assured her when she complained—the chanting in the stadium was near deafening when one of the Giants' hitters stood ready to bat. Alex stood off to one side, swinging a bat as he waited his turn. The muscles of his arms rippled, sinewy, as he swung. She knew those arms and for a moment could feel them against her. He didn't look around; his eyes were trained on the pitcher. She could almost see the concentrated energy shooting out from him. The catcher jumped up and threw the ball back to the pitcher, snapping her attention back to the game.

"They changed pitchers," she observed.

"He's their closer. The guy can throw ninety-eight miles an hour. Not for long, but long enough. Alex can hit this guy. I've seen him do it. But Cardera, at the plate, he's not so good against him."

The lump of tension in her throat rose higher. She glanced around the stadium. The energy of the sell-out crowd was funneled to the man preparing to hit. He whiffed at the first throw.

"No one can hit _that_ slider. Not even Alex," Gage said, draining the remaining beer from his cup.

The batter watched the second throw go by him. The pitcher drew back and threw again. This time the hitter swung, and Gage jumped out of his seat before she could see where the ball went.

"Yeah! That's it, that's it!" Gage shouted and punched her in the shoulder. She watched as the ball skidded through the space between first and second base, spinning and curving. Two players dove for it and finally one of the outfielders got his hands on it and threw it to second base.

"Seeing-eye ball. Perfect," Gage said. "That's enough of a table set for Alex."

Gage was so focused on the game that she could've yelled "fire" and he wouldn't have flinched. She leaned forward. The muscle in her jaw stiffened as she watched Alex swing his bat a couple of times and then take the stance that she recognized. The whole stadium seemed to suck in a breath as he stood, ready to hit.

He watched the first ball go by him, and the umpire signaled a strike.

"Why do they let those first balls just go by if they're so good?" Jackie asked.

"Shhh," Gage said, using his hand to hush her.

Alex swung, connecting to the second pitch. It sailed into the stands behind the opposing team's dugout.

"Late," Gage muttered. "C'mon, Alex. C'mon."

The pitcher looked in at his catcher, shook his head, and then shook it again. The catcher waved his hand. Alex stepped back, and the catcher trotted out to the mound.

"Jeez," Gage said, disgusted. "At least they're afraid of him. That's good for us."

_Us_. For a moment Jackie envied his use of the word. For some people, their fascinations brought them a sense of belonging. She looked around at the fans, dressed in black and orange, holding signs with hand-lettered slogans, waving rally towels and shouting. She swallowed down the empty feeling that plagued her, that of not being part of the crowd, and snapped her eyes back to the field.

She pointed toward the pitcher and catcher conferring on the mound. "Why do they hold their gloves in front of their mouths like that?" she asked, more to ease the tightness in her throat than to know.

"So no one can read their lips and know what they're saying. God only knows what he can throw now. I think Alex has his number."

When the catcher squatted in place behind the plate, Alex stared at the pitcher. She could've traced the line his eyes made to the pitcher, it was so direct and strong. The pitcher nodded at the catcher, wrapped his hand around the ball in his glove, then hauled his arm back and threw. Alex pivoted out of the way, and Jackie flinched to see the ball fly so close to his face.

The crowd roared with anger.

"That was intentional." Gage huffed.

A burly man—Gage had called him the team manager—came charging out of the Giants' dugout. Alex held a hand up and signaled to him, but the manager marched over to the umpire anyway, unswayed. The umpire kept a placid face as he stood in the face of the manager's spitting ire. Then he made a rolling motion with his hands. The manager looked back at Alex and ambled to the dugout.

Alex tapped his bat against first one foot, then the other, and she watched as red dirt clumped to the ground from his cleats.

He shook out his shoulders, then took his stance in the batter's box. The pitcher eyed him, then looked to the catcher. Even at a distance she could see a tendon in Alex's neck twitch. He slitted his eyes. He looked like a gunslinger from movies when the good guy and the bad guy had a showdown at high noon, and the bad guy knew even before he drew his gun that he'd lost. She hoped Alex was the good guy.

The pitcher threw to first and the runner dove back to the base just in time. Gage moaned beside her, but she didn't take her eyes off the field.

The pitcher looked in to the catcher, shook his head, shook it again, then nodded. What happened next felt like slow motion. The ball seemed to hang over the plate. Alex's bat connected with a crack that shot through the noise of the stadium. The crowd roared and leapt to their feet. Jackie sprang up and held her breath as Alex sprinted toward first. She glanced at the ball as it arced over the center field wall and into the stands, then snapped her eyes right back to Alex. He pumped his hand into a fist and drew it into his chest in a universal sign that anyone would read as _yes_!

Gage screamed something at the field, at her, it didn't matter. Then he grabbed her in a crushing bear hug. She wriggled out and watched as the other runner crossed home plate and the Giants leapt out of the dugout, shouting and celebrating. The pitcher stood on the mound as if stunned, watching it all unfold. She looked back at Alex and followed him with her eyes as he jogged the bases, grinning. She felt the lift of his elation in her own heart and cheered, her voice melding with the jubilation of the crowd.

Jackie and Gage passed through the security checkpoint and into a roped-off section of the stadium parking lot. The tailgate party for the Center was in full swing, and Gage aimed straight for the beer tent. Jackie watched as Alex signed a few programs and balls, admiring his ease with the fans. He grinned when he spotted her over the heads of a trio of excited boys.

He told them something that had them doubling over in laughter, and then he walked in her direction, stopping on the way to pull two beers from a cooler.

"Hi, boss." He smiled and handed her a beer.

"I should say thanks," she said. "I mean, I am saying thanks."

"Planet definitely stopped moving," he said with an easy laugh. "Did you feel it just then?"

What was it about the man that made her composure flee?

"It was great, what you did." She gestured toward the stadium. "The kids and all."

"Let's hope it turns into some real money for your work." He turned away, searching the crowd, and when he caught Scotty's attention, he signaled with his hands and Scotty sidled toward them.

"Teach me how to do that." Jackie laughed. "It'd be handy for corralling volunteers."

"Dr. Brandon, this is Scotty Donovan. We wouldn't be celebrating in such fine spirits if it weren't for his pitching."

"Loved the gala," Scotty said with a tilt of his cap and a jaunty smile.

Though she'd seen Scotty in the crowd at the gala and on the mound pitching, seeing him up close, she immediately understood why _Charmer_ was his nickname.

"Jackie will do," she said, feeling awkward. "I find it hard to believe you can do what you do out there," she added. It was true; the physical challenges of the game were beginning to amaze her.

"Sometimes I do too," Scotty said.

Alex looked at his friend. "Take over for me, would you?"

"Making time with the lovely doctor?"

Alex slugged him.

"Ow, not the pitching arm! You're gonna lose me my bonus, man."

"Can the drama. Jackie sees right through that stuff."

Scotty straightened, wiping the humor from his face. "Apologies, Doctor. No drama here."

When Alex slitted his eyes, Scotty pretended to double-punch him in the stomach before backing away.

"I know, you want me to entertain the kids while _you_ make time with the doctor. I can do that." He grinned at Jackie, who felt she was watching a TV comedy sketch or a loony tennis match. "As long as I don't have to kiss any babies." Scotty smirked. "That _and_ you give me a signed bat for my nephew—you're his current favorite. The little rat likes hitters." He threw up his hands in a do-you-believe-it gesture. "I have no idea why."

Alex turned to her. "Have a beer with me. I know a truly classy place." He looked over his shoulder when Scotty hollered and went running toward a group of young fans. "I need one."

The classy place was an old bar near the waterfront. The scruffy owner lit up when Alex walked through the door.

"Beer's on me," the man said. "But you have to pay for the pool table."

"Red, meet Dr. Brandon."

"I heard about her and the show today." He gave Jackie a calculating stare, but the corners of his mouth tipped up a bit. "I like sea lions just fine if they stay in the water," he said, nodding at her, then looking at Alex. "Never like chasing them off my boat."

"They know you have good beer on board." Alex winked.

Jackie was grateful to Alex for stepping in, happy to leave work behind if only for a few hours. She liked fishermen, but they didn't quite get the big picture.

Alex accepted the pints that Red drew from the tap and handed one to Jackie.

"Game of pool?" Alex asked. "Loser pays for dinner."

"I should know better than to play an aiming game with someone who's been paid to aim for years," she said. But she took the cue he offered and settled in to break.

Her break was good and she sank the first two balls. "I'm solids," she said when she sank two more. Alex likely didn't know that nearly every old manor house in England had a billiard table. He probably didn't even know she'd grown up in an old manor house; they hadn't talked too much about their pasts.

But that would be to her benefit here. She'd grown up with the game.

The look he gave her as she chalked her cue stick sent a ripple of heat through her. She sashayed over to the cone of compressed white hand talc that hung on a peg and ran her palms and fingers over the cool surface. It wasn't the pool game that was making her palms sweat.

"I'm already wishing I could rescind my bet," Alex chided. "You didn't tell me you were a shark."

"You didn't ask."

She leaned across the table to make a corner shot and felt his eyes rove over her. It was a different feeling than she normally had when men looked at her. Instead of wanting to flee, she wanted to curl up into the caress of his gaze. Her body heated.

She missed her shot.

"My turn."

He chalked his stick, and she found herself spellbound by the muscles rippling in his arms. Only athletes and hardworking men had muscles like that, lean and powerful, made to move and to grab on to life. To distract herself from the warmth flooding her body, she began to recite the names of the muscles from her anatomy studies, but found she couldn't remember more than five before the sound of balls clunking into the pockets brought her back.

"We didn't say where that dinner was to take place," she said. "Looks like I might be buying."

"My place." He grinned. "The price is right."

He said it casually, almost offhand. She wasn't sure which was more daunting, the practiced feel of his tone—a tone that told her he was accustomed to inviting women back to his place—or her nerves waking up in the face of what those words meant. She picked up the small square of blue chalk and began studiously grinding it into the tip of her pool cue.

It should've bothered her that he didn't ask.

But she'd accepted the bet and wasn't backing out.

And it didn't bother her that he didn't ask. She rather liked that he hadn't.

He sank the rest of his balls before she had another shot.

"Just putting a little English on them," Alex said with a triumphant glint.

The eight ball slid easily into the corner pocket after he banked it.

"I always make good on my bets," she said, sounding more confident than she felt. "But don't expect me to cook—you'd regret it."

"Lucky for you cooking is one of my passions."

This he said with a casual matter-of-factness. He was talking about cooking, for goodness sake, but the way he said the word _passion_ sent her alarm bells ringing.

"Hey!" Red called from the bar. "Beer's still on me."

They slipped onto the worn bar seats and sipped the cold draughts that Red served up. The other patrons eyed them; Jackie was grateful they left Alex alone. He didn't seem like the kind of man who craved living in the public eye. _She_ couldn't live like that.

Through the bar's large windows, they watched the masts of boats gliding along the moonlit bay.

Alex tilted his head at the boats. "Hired for ambience," he said, deadpan.

She laughed and ran her fingers through her hair, twisting a strand around and around.

"My turn," he said, dabbing a white paper napkin into his beer and leaning toward her.

When he got close, she felt the room had warmed ten degrees. She blinked.

"You've got blue chalk streaked along your cheek," he said as he reached closer.

Though he touched her through the beer-soaked napkin, she could feel the heat of his fingers. He didn't pull his hand away, just stared into her eyes as his own softened and then crinkled with his slow smile. The smile lit his eyes, and she knew from the flutter in her heart that whether she went home with him or not, her heart had already thrown in its ante.

He dropped the napkin on the bar and took her hand in his, lacing his fingers through hers.

"Let's walk," he said, tugging her off the barstool.

She studied his hand. It still bore smudges of blue chalk. Hers looked tiny, unreal, in his. Though he held only her hand, she felt enveloped by unfamiliar power—raw, masculine, confident. She'd been such a loner, such a determined, independent woman. She wasn't supposed to be susceptible to all that, not to strength and attraction that burrowed beyond the surface and aimed straight for her core. Apparently she was wrong. But she'd guarded her heart for so long, she wasn't sure it was up for an adventure. Especially when she knew that the waters she'd be swimming in were dangerous.

They walked along the waterfront. Skaters rolled by and couples strolled hand in hand, savoring the balmy Indian summer night. He slipped his arm around her shoulders. She braced herself at first, then relaxed and let the rhythm of their footsteps carry her along.

A harbor seal telescoped its head above the water.

"He's watching you," Alex said. "I think he's saying thanks."

The sweetness of his remark charmed her. She smiled up at him and relaxed into the warmth of his body against her, enjoying the spell that held them in the still, warm night.

He gripped her shoulder and pulled her to the edge of the sidewalk. A skateboarder shot by them from between two wharf buildings.

She hadn't heard him coming.

Alex gazed down at her, pushed her hair away from her face. They stared a long time, the sounds around them fading into the background. Jackie's heart was talking, however. It was telling her to love this man.

She hadn't seen that coming either.

Chapter Nineteen

When they reached his apartment, Alex settled Jackie on a stool at the granite counter in the kitchen.

"You have quite a view," she said.

"We've had this place for years. Sabrina helped me fix it up. She had the walls knocked out to open it up and convinced me to put in the floor-to-ceiling windows. It's my favorite thing about the place. I feel like I'm on a perch high above the city."

He washed his hands at the sink, hoping she liked his place. Hoping bringing her was the right thing to do.

The apartment had the bones of a grand old building, but Sabrina had been clever to have it redone, to open the smaller rooms into a more modern, open floor plan and furnish it sparely. He only had to keep it neat for it to look good.

He dragged an onion and some basil from the crisper and set them on the counter next to a bowl of tomatoes.

Jackie leaned her elbows onto the massive granite counter and smiled. "I feel like I'm on one of those chef shows on the telly."

"Don't get your hopes up. I said cooking was a passion. I didn't say I was any good at it." He stared at the vegetables, checked the fridge again, and even pulled open the freezer to stare in it. "I know it's a cliché, but all I have are the makings of a pasta sauce and some salad."

"Sounds like heaven," she said. "I missed lunch." She tapped at the countertop, drawing his attention. "That is, it sounds heavenly if you've got pasta to go with that sauce."

"Straight from the box. Bowties, I think."

"My favorite."

He drew a bottle of champagne from the wine fridge and popped it open. Jackie raised a brow as she read the label.

"There are still some things the French do better than we do," he said. "Champagne is one of them." He clinked his glass against hers. "To the Center."

She took a long draw from her glass. Maybe she was as nervous as he was.

And damn, he felt foolish for feeling nervous.

"There's a telescope in the corner; Scotty gave it to me. You can see Jupiter."

He watched her walk to the telescope and peer into it. He loved the way she moved. She had a physical confidence that he more than admired. Like the best ballplayers, she had command of her body. But unlike ballplayers, she had a body that called out to his.

"It's strange," she said. "I'm used to looking at such small things under the microscope, and yet they look so much bigger than any stars or planets."

"Can you see Jupiter's moons?" Alex asked as he set two plates on his dining table.

She bumped the scope with her shoulder. "Ummm..." she said, catching her balance and looking over at him. "I might not be looking at the right thing now."

He walked to the scope, and she stepped aside. He adjusted a knob and brought Jupiter into focus. "There, have a look now."

She peered in and as she did, her hair tumbled across his sleeve. Her scent wafted up to him, a scent laced with the hint of tuberoses and lemon blossoms and... woman.

"Oh my," she whispered. Then she swirled around abruptly, nearly knocking him off his feet. For a moment they stood there, breathing hard. Hardly breathing. All he knew was that he wanted to kiss her, just as he'd wanted to do as they'd strolled the waterfront. Wanted to feel her lips beneath his more than he'd wanted anything in a very long time.

He reached his hand to her face and then slowly, watching for any sign of objection, bent down and found her lips.

At first she didn't move. Though her lips were warm against his, he didn't want to force her. He started to pull away, but she lifted her hand to the nape of his neck and pressed her body close, opening her lips and welcoming his with a gentle tremor that went straight to his heart. And everywhere else. He felt himself go hard against her hip. She wrapped her free hand around his waist, and the tender pressure of her fingers lit an astonishing passion deep in him. He parted her lips, savoring the taste of her, lost in the pulsing energy and the heated tangle of their tongues. He tracked his hands up the curve of her back and pulled her tighter, wanting to feel her body against his. He'd wanted to feel her like this since the day he'd seen her step up out of the river.

The rush of heat as her breasts pressed against his chest, as her hands pulled him even closer, set off a primal roaring in him, a physical—an _emotional_ —reaction beyond any he'd ever known. It was all he could do to contain the guttural moan that threatened to escape his chest. He pulled away and, as her eyes fluttered open, he looked into them, really looked. He saw arousal—that didn't surprise him. But what he saw behind the arousal nearly stopped his heart. He saw fear. A fear that came from wanting, from wanting to be met, from wanting to feel strength against strength, passion meeting equal passion, and from imagining that such a meeting, such a match, would never be found. He knew that fear. God, he'd fought that dragon. And he'd stuffed any hope for finding his match deep so that the power of unrequited wanting wouldn't swamp him. Suddenly she became more than he'd ever expected. They were cut from the same cloth.

She lifted her hand and traced her fingers along his jaw. Her unblinking stare told him that she was in as deep as he was.

"Don't stop," she said, brushing her lips against his. "Please don't stop." She flicked her tongue against the seam of his lips, teasing them apart.

The roar he'd leashed morphed into a crushing kiss as he backed her against the bookcase and pressed the ridge of his erection against her. He glided his hands down and cupped her in his palms, lifting her against his leg so she straddled his thigh.

She gasped against his lips. Her breath hitched and her kiss deepened with a fierceness that shot fire to his core. He brushed his hand across her budded nipple, and the shiver that answered made him mad with desire.

He lifted her and carried her to the couch, watching her face, reading her signals. He wanted her to want this, to want him, at every turn, with every move, every breath.

She tugged at his shirt, and he pulled it over his head. She ran her palms along his chest, and his muscles tingled under her touch. She smiled as she ran her hands along his ribs and pulled him down to her.

As he bent to kiss her, every cell of his body screamed for him to dive down, undress her, savor her, ravish her.

The ringing of his phone jolted him.

"The world beckons," she whispered.

He shook his head ever so slightly, ignored the ringing and brought his lips back to hers.

"Hi, Alex, it's Claire."

Jackie froze at the sound of Claire's voice. He should've switched the answering machine to mute. He'd meant to.

"I have _great_ news for us," Claire continued with a giggle of triumph. "Since you don't have any days off until November"—her words were interrupted only by the crackling of a bad cell connection—"Dad was kind enough to rent the villa in Tuscany for the _entire_ month."

Jackie scooted herself upright on the couch. She tugged the neck of her blouse into place and wrapped her arms around herself. No suit of armor could've sent any clearer message. Alex rose from the couch and strode toward the answering machine.

"He thinks we just need more time together," Claire continued. "And I thought about it and, well, he's usually right about most things. I think we could—"

Alex clicked the mute button and watched as Jackie rose from the couch and headed for the kitchen.

Claire's father knew one thing well, and that one thing had nothing to do with human relationships. He was a venture capitalist and if something didn't have dollars or numbers attached, it didn't matter to him. He probably thought that if he threw enough money at Claire and him, they'd conform to a perfect match. But he couldn't be more wrong. He and Claire had known one another since they were young. They'd been friends, but they didn't fit. She wasn't his match, didn't want what he wanted. Not what the man inside him wanted and needed. And _he_ wasn't what she needed.

Alex made a mental note to ask Sabrina to find a nice, reliable, loyal guy for Claire. But Claire's future wasn't foremost in his mind.

The evening he'd hoped for was rapidly disintegrating.

The pained look in Jackie's eyes as he walked into his kitchen didn't make the moment any easier. Her posture told him she was trying to hide her feelings, but he'd seen the look in her eyes before she turned away.

"I apologize," he said. There was no tone he could conjure that would help. "That was a childhood friend," he added.

"You don't owe me an explanation," she said.

There were some things he was sure an English accent was perfect for, and subtly putting a man in his place was evidently one of them. She took a sip from the champagne glass she'd left on the counter, set it down and stared at it for a moment.

When she looked up and met his gaze, he saw the fire that burned at her core, a fire he'd noted right from the start. She held her eyes to his, steady, almost challenging.

"There is one thing you should know before you invite me anywhere again."

Only the flutter of her pulse in her throat betrayed her distress. It skewered into him deeper than any words could.

"I'm not interested in being one of your many women."

And he knew in that moment that he didn't want her to be one of his women. He wanted her to be _the_ woman, his woman, the only woman. He'd wanted few things in his life with the intensity he felt now—to be the best baseball player he could be, to keep Trovare running to the standard his father had set, to see to the welfare of his family and crew—and he'd worked to achieve all of them. But he'd never wanted anything like he wanted Jackie.

The images of her with Bradley shot through him. He didn't want to be one of her men either. And though he wanted to know what the guy meant to her, after Claire's call it'd be worse than bad timing to ask.

He busied his hands with draining the pasta, knowing there was nothing he could say. The pasta was way past al dente and the tomato sauce had simmered far too long. He scooped the thickened sauce onto the pasta. The fact that she hadn't said outright that she never wanted to see him again gave him some hope, but not much.

"Hungry?" he said, breaking the awkward silence.

"Starving." Her forced cheerfulness made him feel worse. "Garlic fries do not constitute a meal."

"Some people think they're one of the primary food groups."

To his surprise, she laughed. She scooped a huge portion of pasta onto her plate, then forked a mound of pasta and blew on it. The steam rose in tendrils toward her face. She studied the steam and then looked over at him.

"The rescue crew is throwing a party tomorrow afternoon. They made me promise to invite you."

He took a long draw of breath. Though he couldn't read the emotion on her face, he felt as though a door had cracked open, a door that just moments before he'd feared had been shut to him forever.

"I have a day game," he said, not hiding his disappointment. "But I'd love a rain check."

"You've got one."

She put her fork down and leaned her elbows on the table. "Why baseball, Alex?"

He'd been asked plenty of questions about the game, but it had been a long time since someone asked why. "Sometimes I think it chose me." He didn't feel like talking about baseball.

She smiled then, a half smile, but the look in her eyes told him she understood.

"Why science?" he asked, diverting the conversation back to her.

"My dad was a scientist." She chased her bowties around her plate. "I grew up with it. Science suited me; I love the big story, the development of life, the intrigue of the universe. I love the facts and the details."

From what he'd seen, she pulled facts tight around her like a fortress. He knew more than he wanted to about that feeling.

"But it was animals that called to me most strongly. I've wanted to be a vet since I was six. Pestered my parents almost every day; it's a wonder they didn't lose their patience. I was forever dragging strays home. If I couldn't doctor them from the medicine cabinet, my parents had to foot the vet bills."

She chuckled and the light returned to her eyes.

"I finished my postdoc work in the Okavango Delta. Botswana. I fell in love with the animals there, especially the cheetahs. But after doing some fieldwork in Alaska, marine mammals got under my skin."

She nodded yes to the salad he offered.

"Not exactly garden fresh," he said.

"It's food, Alex." She nailed him with her gaze. "You don't need to apologize."

She wasn't talking about the salad. His shoulders eased.

"How's the floor holding up in the lab?"

"God! I meant to thank you for that," she said between bites.

He waved off her thanks. "Tell me more about the research you've been conducting. Michael Albright said you're onto something big in the North Bay."

Her fork stopped in midair. And she hesitated for the briefest second. He'd hit a nerve he hadn't been aiming at.

"It's going well," she said, evading the topic by taking another forkful of salad.

Jackie didn't say much as Alex drove her home. He'd managed to skim over the rough spot he'd hit when he'd asked about her work, but a lingering guardedness infused the evening. Oddly, she seemed more disturbed by his question about her work than she'd been by Claire's call. He knew scientists could be tetchy about their investigations, but her reaction told him something about it scared her. He'd also thought it odd that she'd been nearly as evasive about her life growing up in England. But there were plenty of subjects he didn't like talking about either.

Trust took time, something they hadn't yet had much of. You had to know most people before you could trust them. There'd been exceptions, people he knew he could trust the minute he'd met them. Emilio was one. Scotty was another. He looked over at Jackie. He'd have to earn her trust. It was a challenge he was up for.

He walked her to the door of her little house.

She didn't invite him in. He hadn't expected her to. But the animal part of him growled and paced inside him and wished she had.

She turned to go inside. He tapped her arm.

"I'd like to have a proper date," he said, unwilling to let her go. "How about kayaking?"

"Kayaking?" She said the word like she'd never heard it before.

"You know, boats, paddles." He motioned with his hands. "Skimming across the water?"

She cracked the faintest of smiles at his pantomime.

He pulled his phone from his pocket. "How about the... the twenty-sixth? There's no game that day. Let's meet at OceanTrek at sunset, say five p.m.? The bay is beautiful at night."

"I'm an excellent kayaker," she said with a wavering smile that told him she still wasn't sure of his intentions. "You're not the only one with a body that works."

She was certainly right there. He couldn't resist leaning down and kissing her on the cheek. "A date it is, then."

As he walked to his car, he was glad for the coat that hid the evidence of his body working.

Chapter Twenty

On the evening they'd agreed to kayak, Jackie wore a thick sweater and pulled a winter hat from her bedroom closet. She'd received an email from Alex confirming their date a few days before, but when she'd tapped out her reply, she'd never expected such chilling weather. Twice she'd drafted emails to cancel, but her fingers obeyed her heart and not her brain. Besides, what harm was there in a simple kayak outing?

Heavy winds earlier in the day had blown down the tent covering the dolphin tank at the Center and had caused damage throughout the headlands and in other parts of the park bordering the coast. But now the sky was clear, almost harshly bright, the winds had calmed, and the temperature was dropping rapidly as the sun neared the horizon.

She stopped in her living room and flicked off the baseball game she'd been studying. She imagined it might take years before she really understood the sport.

What she'd learned only increased her respect for the players. For one player in particular. It turned out that the batting title Alex was chasing was almost impossible to achieve. Even the diehard baseball fans among her colleagues remarked about how hard he was pushing. Being an All Star nine years in a row was pretty damn good, they'd agreed. But she was beginning to think she understood what Alex was after. He'd set a goal and was determined to achieve it; she would've done the same.

But it wasn't just his drive for achievement and excellence that called out to her; those drives she understood. It was the unfamiliar drives that he'd roused that nearly obsessed her, that tore her mind from her work and haunted her dreams.

She tossed her parka onto the seat of her truck and jumped in, then lifted up to pull out the scraper she'd used that morning to clear ice from her windshield.

She drove the main street of Sausalito as it curved along the west side of San Francisco Bay. Gulls circled overhead, dark slashes against rosy fingers of sunset-streaked clouds. The tourist shops selling T-shirts and hats were just closing. A few tourists straggled by licking at ice cream cones and laughing. How they could eat ice cream in such cold weather was beyond her.

She reached the little cove that was home to OceanTrek Kayaks and walked down to the small crescent of beach. Two kayaks were lined up and waiting at the shore. One of the OceanTrek employees walked down the sloping beach toward her.

"If you decide not to go out in this, we can give you a rain check," he said.

"I'll check in with my friend and let you know," she said.

"No need. Just leave the boats on the beach if you change your mind." He gave her an assessing look. "You both know how to handle these?"

She nodded.

Apparently satisfied, he turned and walked up the sandy slope and back to his office.

She blew on her hands. The wind might have died down, but the chill was enough to make her pull the hood of her parka over her wool cap and snug it tight around her neck. She paced the beach as she waited, as much from nerves as to keep warm. At five thirty she called Alex's cellphone. A machine-generated voice told her stiffly that the customer was out of reach.

She headed for her truck and closed the door against the cold. Drumming her fingers on the steering wheel, she considered her options. Alex wouldn't be late, not this time. She might not have much experience with men, but she felt in her bones that their date was as significant to him as it was to her. Something had kept him away.

She typed _Tavonesi_ into her phone and pulled up the name of the vineyard Alex's family owned. When she punched the coordinates for Trovare Vineyard into the weather page, a killer-frost warning flashed orange across the screen.

It made sense. Cloudless, windless nights were the likeliest to bring hard frosts.

She pulled her phone closer and checked the weather map. Trovare Vineyard was only a short distance from the last batch of samples she'd taken. Samples that had shown the highest volume of radon and nitrates.

She squinted at the screen. It looked like the property was maybe half a mile from the river. She'd check the location against the map the Grower's Association had sent her.

Suddenly she felt stupid for not having asked him about the fertilizers before. Of course he'd know the area. She'd just assumed that their place was in Napa. Gage had given her a bottle of Trovare wine. It had a Napa address, not Sonoma. Or had it? Maybe she'd read it wrong. Maybe she'd just wished that Alex's vineyard was in Napa.

What else had she missed? The fact that she hadn't asked him before this only told her how deep she'd fallen. It was time to climb out. She'd meant to talk to him after the day at the ballpark, but then Claire had called and her brains had scrambled.

She started her truck and pulled out of the lot, turning south toward the tunnel leading to the headlands, heading toward home.

But then she swerved, made a U-turn in the turnout and headed north, toward Trovare.

What she expected to find, what she thought she'd do when she arrived, she didn't know. But she'd made a commitment to go after what she wanted and though it frightened her to her boots to admit it, she wanted Alex. The questions about the farming practices in the region seemed like a simple issue compared to what she was really risking.

She hadn't dreamed she'd ever again let a man get so close to her heart. But her dreams and fantasies proved that he'd breached her defenses, and she was going to deal. The man had her attention. He was gorgeous, driven, dedicated. And he had her number. She didn't know if she should be pleased that he was interested enough to try to understand her or afraid that he'd been so successful at it. And didn't _that_ say something about her mixed-up, defensive heart.

As she'd lain awake, unable to sleep because thoughts and images of him were so vivid, she'd cursed him for his perception, for challenging her rather than running off when she pushed back at him. But she was also excited; along with the deep yearning he'd awakened had come an undeniable desire for wholeness. A hope for love.

Her life had seemed simple before he'd shown up at the Center on that stormy night—had it only been five months ago? She knew how to analyze data, how to study what was and wasn't true. And burying herself in her work hadn't succeeded in healing anything. If she didn't explore the fire he'd ignited and face the fierce force of wanting he'd unleashed, she was sure the effort to ignore them would continue to derail her. She might as well face the fire he'd lit straight on and see if she could handle the heat. Heat was a transformative power, after all.

Asking him questions about crops and fertilizers would be the easy part.

Forty minutes later, she exited the freeway and headed northeast. Darkness fell swiftly, and she was grateful for the moonlight that helped light the way. It struck her as odd that the few streetlights that did exist weren't lit. At the side of the narrow road, a deer raised its head, startled, and she slowed to a safer speed.

She tried Alex's cell again and got the same recording. At a bend in the road, she saw why. One of the cell towers was down; it must've been blown over by the high winds that morning. The winds hadn't brought the rain everyone had expected. Dry, cold conditions and a hard frost did not bode well for farmers who hadn't yet brought in vulnerable crops.

About five miles farther along, the beam of her headlights lit the sign for Trovare Vineyards. She turned up the drive and swerved around branches that had blown onto the road.

At the crest of a hill she saw the outlines of a building in the distance. No, not a building. A castle. She squinted, unsure of her eyes. When she pulled onto the circular cobbled drive in front of it, she sat in her truck and stared. Not that she hadn't seen a few castles in her day—several of her friends lived in them back in England. But in California? It astounded her.

The structure was dark except for moonlight reflecting off a window in a distant tower. The rest of the vast building was just a shadowed silhouette against the night sky.

A wavering light to the east of the castle caught her eye. She pulled out her binoculars. It looked like a fire, flanked by men who appeared to be dancing around it. She grabbed a flashlight and headed toward the flames.

As she maneuvered along the rows of grapes, she saw the profile of huge fans among the rows of vines much further toward the horizon. Their spinning blades made them look like airplane motors fallen from an errant jet. But there weren't any fans in the section of the vineyard where she walked.

She ducked through a gap in the vines and blinked. About a hundred yards away, two men waved huge winglike devices strapped to their arms. If she hadn't known better, she might've thought they were oversized fairies.

She turned and saw Alex digging near a trench of fire.

Drenched in sweat and smudged with soot, he looked like a blacksmith manning some mythical forge. His shirt clung to him, accentuating his muscles and the rhythm of his movements. Gnarled vines flanked him, lit by the firelight licking across them and casting macabre shadows onto the path. Rough, with thick, knobbed trunks, the vines here were older than those she'd passed nearer the castle.

He looked up and stopped moving. Shadows flickered across his face. Her pulse beat hard and fast in her throat. Time stopped. Then Alex squinted and wiped the back of his glove across his brow as he shook his head.

"Jackie?"

"Expecting anyone else?" she said, sounding more composed than she felt.

"The phones are out," he said. "The cell tower blew down."

"I noticed. And I do know how to read a weather report." She tried to keep her tone casual, measured, but the emotions rushing through her made her voice waver. She opened her arms toward the fire and the vines. "When I saw the frost alert, I thought you might be rather busy tonight." She stepped closer and lifted a shovel that lay near the trenched fire. "Let me help _you_ this time."

He didn't move, only stared at her. "You _knew_ about the vineyard?"

She leaned against the handle of the shovel. "Was it a secret? Michael Albright told me."

A spark landed on Alex's hand. He batted it away and looked back to her. She knew he was watching for a sign. For a signal. It thrilled her more than she wanted to admit.

"And Gage gave me a bottle of wine—another of his not-so-subtle hints for me to be nicer to you. It had a map on the label." She nodded her head in the direction of the castle. "But you could've told me about _that_."

"Do most guys go around describing their houses to you?"

"Most guys don't live in a castle," she said, hefting the shovel.

"Wait." He pulled a pair of stained gloves from his back pocket. "Use these."

The gloves were loose, but she was grateful to have them.

One of the men with the wings shouted at Alex in Spanish.

" _A la derecha,_ " Alex answered and pointed down the row of vines.

"Gage tells me I don't pay enough attention to the world outside the Center," she said when he turned back to her. She bent and speared the shovel into the dirt, scooped some up and mounded it along the side of the trench.

"Easy," he cautioned. "Eight or ten inches should do it. We're taking the fire trench to the end of this row." He wiped his sleeve across his brow again. "I just want to contain it." As he levered up an enormous shovelful of dirt, he caught her eye. "I don't want to save a few grapes and burn down the rest of the vineyard."

"So practical," she teased. "Hadn't expected it. But where's your crew?"

"We hire as a cooperative. We scheduled them for next week. It was a mistake. It happens. This freeze caught us all off guard."

She averted her eyes and shoveled another mound of dirt. He stepped close and they dug side by side. The rhythm of her movements matched his, but she couldn't scoop out nearly as much of the heavy soil as he could.

They worked in near silence, moving smoothly in the night, until a sharp crack sounded, followed by the snap of a burning branch as it collapsed in the center of the trench. Sparks crackled and swirled around them. Alex leapt to her and pulled her head to his chest, rubbing his gloves roughly across her hair. As his body enveloped her, the acrid smell of burnt hair mixed with the unmistakable scent of man. He backed away and pulled the band from her ponytail.

"Shake it out," he directed. "I don't want the help burning up either."

Bending at the waist she shook out her hair, running her hands through it as she did.

"I'm not on fire," she said as she straightened.

He smiled, but she saw the fatigue and worry in his eyes. And something else. Something that in the dancing firelight looked more than primal. If she hadn't known him, it would've scared her. It was hunger, a hunger she knew in herself and had tried hard to ignore. But in him... Seeing it through his eyes, focused on her, it stole her breath.

She gained it back when he looked away.

He scanned the vines near them and, apparently certain they weren't going to burst into flames, he toed along the trench they'd extended to the end of the row.

"It's deep enough. Take a break." He took a step away, then turned back to her. "Thanks." He put his hand gently on her arm. "I mean... thank you. For coming."

"A date's a date," she said, smiling. He put his other hand on her arm and turned her to him. Her smile faded when she saw the look in his eyes.

"I took your conditions for a date to heart," he said. "I want you to know that."

"If I'd thought you hadn't, I wouldn't be here."

He leaned down and kissed her forehead. She took in a breath and shut her eyes. No kiss had ever meant as much.

A shout from one of the men fanning with the wing devices farther down the row shook her back to reality. If the language was Spanish, she didn't recognize the dialect. Alex shouted back in the same dialect, then turned to her. She thought he was going to say something, but instead he brushed a vine leaf from her hair, smiled and then walked down the row. She watched as one of the men helped him strap on a pair of the wings. He hadn't invited her to join him, but she followed anyway. She took off her gloves and picked up one of the wings.

They were much heavier than the men made them look.

"Don't," he said, reaching to take it from her.

"I'm stronger than I appear."

He shrugged and helped her lift the wing onto her back. She felt the wetness of his sweat along his forearms as he brushed past her cheek and the hot, hard muscle of his chest as he leaned into her to lever the wing up and tug the straps snugly against her. For a moment, his body once again enveloped hers. Some part of her opened then, the part she'd kept guarded for so long.

He strapped on the second wing and then backed away and waved his arms up and down in a gliding motion. She mimicked his movement and fought for balance.

"Please," he said, riveting her with a look that was nearly a glare, "tell me if your shoulders tire. You can hurt yourself with these."

_There were so many things one could hurt oneself with,_ she thought _._ Right now, as she watched him and copied his movements, she knew that wings were the least of her worries.

He caught the look in her eye before she could disguise it. He stared, without saying anything, then returned to fanning the vines, pushing the warm air toward them.

"This was my father's first line of vines," he said. He was winded and his words came slowly. "He hand-carried them from Bordeaux." He waved toward the fans spinning in the distance. "Can't get those in here, the rows are too tight together." He reached the wing over the vine nearest him and fingered a cluster of grapes. "If I don't save any others, I'm saving these. He never missed a vintage from them. I don't intend to break his streak." He shot her a look from under his lashes and flashed a grin. "Maybe I'm superstitious."

The heat of the rising air drove away the bracing cold, but taking part in Alex's fight to save the harvest, to save his father's legacy, blazed a path deep within her, warming her more than any fire ever could. And the very real welcome in his eyes, in his attitude, heated her even more.

She struggled to keep pace with him, but soon the weight of the wings winded her. She had to stop and catch her breath, and she dropped the tips of the wings to rest on the ground next to her feet. As she did, her scientist's curiosity kicked in.

"Why not just pick the grapes and bring them in from the cold?" she asked breathlessly. She knew immediately from his look that the answer was something basic, but winemaking was something she knew little about.

"The sugar's not right. If we bring them in now, they'll be useless."

A man trotted up the row toward them.

"I think we're good here, Alex." He stepped over and motioned for Alex to unstrap the wings. He looked at Jackie. "Her too." It was a gentle but firm command. "I'll leave Manuel and Clavo to watch the fire. We got the south fans working. There's enough fuel to last." He gazed toward the dark horizon, eyes narrowed, and then turned back to Alex. "You look terrible."

"Always the bluebird of good news," Alex scoffed.

" _Happiness_ , Alex," Jackie said. "Bluebird of happiness." As he regarded her in the shimmering light, she thought that maybe, just maybe, happiness would do.

"Emilio, this is Dr. Brandon," Alex said.

"Jackie," she mumbled as Alex lifted the wings from her back. She couldn't help rubbing her shoulders and upper arms.

"Emilio keeps me sane," Alex said, wiping at the rivulets of sweat that rolled down his face.

"You're doing a mighty poor job," she said, trying for a light tone. But when she saw worry etching deeper in the older man's face, nothing about the situation seemed light anymore.

"I think this is the worst of the cold," Emilio said as he helped Alex unstrap the wings he still wore. "It's stabilizing."

She couldn't help but feel that he was trying to ease Alex's worry, get him to take a break. The look in Alex's eyes told her he didn't believe Emilio's assurances either.

"Let us finish," Emilio said in a firmer voice to Alex. "We have this covered."

Alex stoked the fire in the trench and then walked to the men fanning farther down the length of it. Two more men had joined them, and Jackie could feel the cloud of warmth they generated. The old vines surrounding them, and their precious fruits, would make it through this night, at least.

Alex returned to where she stood.

"How about a very early breakfast?"

"You cooking? Like I told you, you wouldn't want to eat mine," she said.

"I'll cook."

He put his arm around her shoulders, and she leaned into him as if it were something they both were used to doing. They walked up to the castle in the beam cast by her flashlight. As they stepped onto the drawbridge—a real drawbridge—the electricity flashed on and the castle came alive. In the gleam of the strategically designed lighting, it really did look like something out of a fairy tale.

"Tell me you didn't arrange that for effect," she teased.

"I wish I could have," he said with a chuckle.

She stared at the lit castle for a long moment before curiosity got the best of her. She started to ask a question, but he must've seen it coming.

"Can we talk about it later?" He waved his fingers toward the looming building.

"Sure. You must get tired of explaining."

"You have no idea."

But she did. Bringing friends from school home to Trethewen Hall hadn't ever been easy. Though it wasn't a castle, it might as well have been. It took time before some of her friends came to feel comfortable in her massive home. Some never did. Crossing boundaries between worlds, whether natural or cultural, was never for the faint of heart.

As Alex escorted her across the drawbridge, she shivered. She'd sweated, and the night air had swept up under her parka, chilling her.

"You're cold," he said, taking off the jacket he'd donned when they'd left the fires. With a gentle move, he draped it across her shoulders and tugged it close to her body.

His tender gesture undid her. She reached one hand, then the other, up to his neck. His pulse beat under her fingertips, its pace matching her own. She pulled him to her and stood on her tiptoes to touch her lips to his. His lips tasted of salt and soot. As he opened to her kiss, the deeper, honeyed flavor of him transported her. She drank deep.

She circled her arms around his neck and pulled him even closer. He groaned and crushed her lips. A bolt of power from the heavens couldn't have shaken her more. She wanted him inside her, wanted to be inside him. Wanted him... Wanted... She simply wanted.

When his hands slid up under the layers of her clothing, heat spanned her ribs. He glided his fingers up her torso, his touch lighting a fire in its path. His hand gently molded the curve of her breast, and she gasped against his lips.

She slipped her hands to the back of his waist and tugged his sweat-soaked shirt out of his jeans, slid her palms up the taut planes of his back. Through the fabric of her jeans, she felt him hard against her thigh. She moved one hand down and ran it between them, along the length of him. The rough cloth of his jeans did nothing to disguise his arousal. His breath rumbled low, guttural and warm. As if in answer, her breath caught and she stiffened. He pulled away, scanning her face, then a half smile curved into his lips. He bent and trailed his lips along the curve of her ear, along her chin and to where her pulse pounded in her throat.

She dropped her head to the side and gave herself to him as he tasted her, as he branded her. As he staked his claim.

The breeze blew against her face, but it felt good against the heat there. Wanting to taste him in return, she eventually opened her eyes.

"I hope you don't mind not walking," he said as he lifted her. Her cheek pressed against his chest and his heart pulsed hard against it. He maneuvered to twist the knob of a massive door, then kicked it open. Held in his arms, she saw the rough stones of the arching ceilings and the glittering chandeliers that cast a warm light across his face as they passed under them. He didn't look down. He balanced her against his hip and bent to lever the iron handle of another wooden door.

"As promised," he said between heavy breaths as he pressed the door open with his shoulder. "The kitchen."

She'd forgotten all about food.

He used his elbow to sweep something aside on an enormous stone counter, then lowered her onto the polished slab. He kept his eyes on hers as he dragged his jacket from her shoulders and then stripped off her parka. She lifted her arms so he could tug her sweater over her head. He spanned the base of her throat with his hand and then tipped her face to his. The crush of his kiss was like a tiger gorging on prey. Her own hunger met his with an answering, plundering kiss. His hands tugged at her shirt, and she helped him unbutton it. He peeled it away and cupped her breasts. His hands were callused, but warm. And she loved the way he touched her, as if her body was the answer to his need.

He tracked his lips to her already hard nipple and laved it with his tongue. His thumb and forefinger rolled her other nipple, gently, then harder, then gently again. Beyond pleasure, beyond pain, the sensations he aroused flayed her open, firing searing passages along paths of their own making. She gripped his hair, tipped her head and buried her face in the tousled mass of it. The smoky scent of the fire clung there still. Inhaling, she curved her fingers around his skull. Pressed her lips to where his pulse throbbed at his temples. He slipped his hand down and fingered her through her jeans. A moan she tried to temper escaped her. Any moment she would simply melt through the stone and into the earth below.

He leaned away from her.

"Take these off," he said. More than an order, it was a command, though his eyes met hers and searched for any objection. When she offered none, he flipped open the button at her waist. She arched and let him wriggle her jeans and underwear down her legs. When he straightened, she could see his heart pounding a rhythm against the thin, wet fabric of his shirt.

"You too," was all she could utter. God, she wanted to see him. Touch him. Taste his skin.

He undid two buttons and tugged his shirt over his head.

Then he crouched and traced a trail of kisses from her nipple to her thighs. She screamed when he used his tongue to draw a hot, direct path between her legs.

He rose and kissed her mouth. She felt rather than saw him undo the button of his jeans, kick his shoes off and shimmy his jeans below his hips.

"Now," she said as she reached out and closed her hand around his erection. He was full and hard and hot against her fingers. She stroked him and squeezed and stroked again, loving the way his breathing sped up, loving the feel of him. She shifted her hand and traced the curve of his balls, looked up to see the flash of pleasure in his eyes. Any more preliminaries would undo her. She traced back up the length of him, tightened her fingers and drew him toward her. "In me, Alex. Please."

He pulled back a step, searched her face, and then dragged his mouth across hers in a shuddering kiss.

Heat blazed as he pressed her thighs apart and entered her. He paused for a moment, then withdrew, watched her face and drove in deeper. She bucked against him, closing her eyes, gone now to a place beyond anything she'd ever known. Her blood beat a roaring rhythm and light poured in behind her eyes and yet everything was soft, dark, and hot. When she couldn't stand it, when she needed to not only feel him but see him, she opened her eyes and watched his face as he thrust into her again. She felt dizzy, light and hot, as if stars had entered her bloodstream and tracked fire to her every cell. She cried out and arched back against the cool stone slab. He pulled her closer to the edge and drove deeper, his fingers circling her exactly where she needed him to touch as he rocked in and out. She was dimly aware of a bowl of lemons beside her head as she arched back against the stone. He wasn't teasing; he was driving her beyond her capacity to breathe.

"Alex—"

He thrust again, slowly, watching her face. She arched and bucked against him, meeting his thrust and driving him into her core.

"Now," she gasped. "Please."

He slid his hand under her bum and pulled her tighter to him. She went breathless.

He thrust, rocking her in a rhythm that was at once tender and fierce. She closed her eyes, lost in the vastness they'd entered, lost in the power their bodies had conjured. A cry broke free as her orgasm engulfed her, and she was truly lost. Then found. Adrift, yet anchored.

Everything went still and hushed, and she simply surrendered.

But Alex wasn't done.

He eased out of her and pressed against her belly, and she felt the spreading warmth as he shuddered and released against her. He bent and rested his head on her shoulder, the ragged draws of his breath warm against her ear. A moment later, he kissed her, and their lips beat a matched rhythm to the pounding of his heart against hers.

He lifted away, and a clouding came into his eyes.

"I meant to go slow," he said. "I meant to—"

She pressed a shaking finger against his lips.

"If you had, I might've lost my mind," she said. The answering look in his eyes told her he'd felt the same.

She felt faint, needed to gain her bearings. Never had any experience, any man, rocked her as he had. And though she felt the bottomless, vulnerable feeling starting to slip into her, her body zinged with life. She put her palms against the edge of the counter and leaned back. He had the most astonishing body she'd ever seen. Muscle layered upon muscle, as if motion itself resided deep within, waiting for an opportunity to spring to life. He took a breath, watching her watching him, and the hunger in his eyes sent a shiver along her spine.

When he saw the shiver that racked her, he reached to drag her shirt from where it had landed on the stone island. "You're cold," he said.

There was nothing cold about her. She ran a hand along the muscles of his chest, felt the heat there, and the power, and shook her head.

"This is wet," he said, fingering her shirt. "Wool is better. Best to just have the sweater."

Her heart did a little flip as he gently pulled her to him and helped her tug her sweater over her head. When she popped her head out, he smiled.

"Better?" he asked as he pulled it down to her waist.

She nodded and wriggled to the edge of the counter, savoring the tenderness of his touch as he leaned down and gently kissed her throat before finding her lips again. He went hard against her thigh, and the power she'd felt just moments before bolted through her and sent a spasm deep into her belly.

"Want to try a softer surface?" he asked as he slid his hands up the bare skin under her sweater.

She nodded. She wanted to try everything.

He took her hand and led her wordlessly from the kitchen and up a curving stone staircase.

Chapter Twenty-one

After making love again, they slept. Jackie woke to find Alex curved around her, his arm draped over her. It was still pitch dark out, but her growling stomach told her that dawn couldn't be far off. She inched toward the edge of the bed with the hope of getting out without waking him.

He grabbed her wrist. "Not so fast," he murmured. "You don't have a map of the castle."

She tugged free, stood and began to pull on her sweater.

He rolled out of the bed, stalked to her and began to tug it back off.

She wriggled away. "I do think I'd like that breakfast you promised."

"Breakfast," he said, almost blankly. "I think I can handle that."

She watched him pull up his jeans and do up the zipper. It was all she could do to not pull it down again.

She bent over, and their heads banged when they both reached for her jeans. He rubbed her forehead where they'd collided.

"Mustn't injure your help." She smiled as she pulled away and then bent down again, eyeing him the whole way.

He stepped back and watched, unblinking, as she pulled her underwear and jeans up her legs.

"You're beautiful," he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face when she straightened.

She felt more than beautiful. An exquisite radiance flooded her with near frightening power. And the gaze he held her in was perhaps the kindest, gentlest... _sexiest_ that she'd ever experienced.

"Breakfast?" she said, feeling self-conscious as she tucked the sweater into her jeans.

"Or something like it."

They reached the kitchen and he lifted her onto the granite cook's island.

"I _am_ capable of jumping up onto a counter," she said, pulling her legs up into a cross-legged position.

"Just watch," he said, a smile curving into his face. "You've done enough for one night."

More than enough, she thought. She'd leapt into territory for which she had no map.

He opened the wood-paneled fridge and selected ingredients from its shelves.

"I could store a lot of samples in such a massive appliance," she said, fishing around for something familiar.

"Always the scientist." He broke eggs into a bowl. Then he grabbed an onion, tossed it in the air and caught it with a jaunty smile.

"Always the ballplayer," she said, matching his smile.

They ate like two refugees who hadn't seen food for weeks. Jackie took her last bite of the frittata he'd made her, pressed her napkin to her mouth and sat back with a sigh.

"If I'd known you could cook like that, I wouldn't have let you waste a moment in the seal pens. I'd have made you my kitchen slave."

"You'd find my repertoire limited. You'd be bored rather quickly."

"I think not," she said. She studied his face—the clear eyes, the firm lips, the unbending jaw. She'd never tire of looking at him. "You have other talents."

She pushed back from the table, pulled her legs up under her and wrapped her arms around her knees. "You live here alone?"

"Sabrina comes out sometimes, in between film gigs, and sometimes my mother comes out to throw a party, but mostly I have the place to myself. Right now the two of them are in Paris."

"Sabrina's an actress?"

"It was a fluke. She acted in an indie film for a friend and it won Sundance. Turns out she's a natural. The camera loves her."

"I'm way behind on my film list." She scanned the massive kitchen. "It must get lonely out here."

"Normally the crew and staff are around—the winery is out back. And yeah, since Sabrina's on the road so much these days, it can be lonely. I still love this place though. I only wish it were closer to the coast."

"Gage told me there are activities concerning the vineyard that keep you sharp for the game, things that give you an edge."

"He should've been an athlete; he has a mind for it."

"Oh no, you don't," she said playfully. "I need him."

She hugged her knees closer and looked into Alex's eyes. She thought she'd known passion, known how it felt to love, but as she locked gazes with him, she knew that before now, she'd been clueless.

She was unable to look away, noting that he didn't turn away either, and her mind registered what her heart already knew. She wanted a man in her life who could meet her, match her, love her—someone who wasn't afraid of being loved back. It was too late to deny the truth. The floor that had buoyed her for so long had dropped away and she was falling, allowing herself to slip into the deep, vulnerable feeling she'd fought for years to keep at bay.

She pulled her eyes away.

"He said there were _three_ things in particular," she said, trying to steady her breath. "I'd like to know."

It was true. She wanted to know more, to know all, needed to fathom the depths of him. And it seemed a gentle enough lead-in to her questions about the fertilizer.

"Just the facts?" he said. His smile dissolved some of the tension filling her.

"Facts are good," she said, knowing that the force pulling her to him was far beyond anything factual. Their connection might be true, but it wasn't fact and truth that linked them. Theirs was a more fundamental bond—heart to heart and man to woman. And her woman's heart wanted to know what made his man's heart tick.

He leaned his elbows onto the granite counter. His lips curved into an almost boyish smile.

"Pruning requires a precise cut that leaves little room for error." He twisted his wrist and showed the move, his smile broadening as he repeated it a couple of times. Her pulse picked up its beat just watching his mouth, and she had to concentrate to hear his words.

"It hones hand-eye coordination," he continued. "If the angle isn't right, the sap from the cuts will run down and ruin the buds. You can tell a vineyard that's been pruned properly without even seeing it—you can taste it in the wine."

"I've clearly been drinking the wrong wines," she said, trying to keep her voice from wavering. She held up a finger. "That's one."

"Are you always this tenacious?"

"Always. Cory once threatened to have me stuffed and exhibited as _Older Sister Who Asked One Too Many Questions_."

"I'd like his number." He lifted her plate from the counter and balanced it on one finger. "Vine work is better than bodybuilding; it requires balance, core strength, constant movement. Some days we're out there for eight hours. No one would stay in the gym that long, not even me."

He searched her face. "You can't possibly find this interesting."

Oh, but she did. "The third thing, Alex."

He put down the plate and pulled a towel from the counter. With a deft motion, he twisted it into a silly-looking hat on his head. "Observation, my dear Watson," he said, pantomiming. "Surveying for birds, watching for subtle changes in the soil and the plants, keeping an eye out for tiny, glassy-winged sharpshooters, insects that can do damage to the crop. I developed keen eyes. Sometimes I see events, actions, as they begin to happen—"

He stopped. "I'm beginning to sound like I've lived in Northern California way too long."

He smiled then, one of those smiles that went straight to the heart. She was perilously close to losing herself in it, maybe already had.

He laid the towel on the counter and drew two tall glasses of water from the faucet.

"Hydration is the key to life," he said with a flourish as he set one glass in front of her. "Drink up."

She took a few sips. As she looked over at Alex, at the gentle crinkle of lines framing his eyes, she found she wanted to tell him about her findings, to trust him with her facts, all of them. To ask the many questions she'd avoided for too long.

"I've discovered something rather disturbing about the water near here," she said, turning the glass in her hand.

A brush of warning sailed into her, gentle, like the wing of a butterfly against her cheek, but insistent nonetheless.

"Someone," she began, not sure how to put it all together, "someone has been using a chemical, a _fertilizer_ , that's tainted with radon. It's leaching into the river. And we've found greater concentrations where the river meets the bay. I'm nearly certain it's causing the diatom bloom responsible for the harbor seal deaths."

He didn't say anything, just watched her face. She ignored the tension fingering through her and pressed on.

"Bradley, my colleague, thinks the fertilizer might've come from Russia—the Ukraine, maybe." She sipped her water. "Whoever's using it is using it in massive quantities. Or dumping the excess for reasons I have yet to figure out."

She set the glass next to her empty plate. "I need to run more tests, but the data indicates it's draining from agricultural land near here, near these vineyards."

Alex put his glass on the counter and paced to the stove. He fidgeted with the knobs, then turned back to her. He looked nervous, something she hadn't expected.

"That's quite a theory."

He'd said the word _theory_ in a way that told her he didn't believe her.

The room flooded with one of those silences that screams to be broken, one of those silences that tells you more than you want to know.

"It's more than a theory," she said, her face heating. "The radon allowed us to track it. We tracked it to this valley. It's coming from _here_."

Alex fisted his hand against the waist of his jeans. The little nerve at the side of his jaw tensed.

"One of my father's greatest achievements was that he persuaded every local grower to go organic. It benefits all of us." He dragged a hand through his hair. "We're a pretty tight community." He picked up a knife next to the stove and held it up, appearing to study it. "I'd have heard if something like that were going on," he added as he dropped the knife into the sink.

He might as well have said, _Don't you worry, little lady, you're hallucinating_ or something worse. It reminded her of the way the game warden in Botswana had talked to her when she'd told him she'd discovered that poachers were breaching the boundaries of the wildlife refuge and killing elephants. It'd turned out the warden had known all along. He'd been fired soon after for colluding with the poachers, but his dismissal couldn't bring the dead animals back to life.

"Your father's not here," she said, barely controlling her voice. She hadn't meant to sound accusing, but anger won out over humiliation. "Evidently he failed to convince someone."

She stood and started to fold her napkin, but her hands were shaking and she lowered them to her sides. The fist tightening in her stomach was more than anger; a sense of betrayal crept in with it.

She'd trusted him, and he'd just batted her facts away without even considering them.

Then it hit her.

Maybe he had good reason.

She didn't know anything about his operations. And though she'd used GPS maps to narrow the source of the runoff, until tonight she hadn't known the Tavonesi property was so close to the river. And was it a coincidence that he'd shown up at the Center, out of the blue, before the lab break-in?

Though every cell of her body said Alex had nothing to do with the radon, her mind was insinuating something else.

She needed to get out of there. She needed to think.

"Look," he said as he dried his hands. "I didn't mean any offense. I only meant that Emilio would've alerted me if—"

"I have to get back," she said, grabbing her flashlight from the counter and heading for the door.

He caught up to her and grasped her arm.

"It's late. You could stay. I'd like it if you'd stay."

She pulled her arm free.

He pressed his lips into a firm line. "You could talk to Emilio in the morning."

"I need to get back," she said.

"We both need more sleep," he said.

His tone was so gentle, so genuine, she hesitated. He was right—she was tired; she never thought straight when she was tired. Maybe she was blowing his response all out of proportion. She'd think it through in the morning. But she'd think it through in her own bed. _Alone_.

"Jackie." The pain in his voice made her turn to him. "At least let me drive you home."

"I think better when I'm alone."

She grabbed her parka from the floor by the door. "Goodbye, Alex," she said over her shoulder as she walked out.

Out into darkness and disorientation.

It took her a moment to find her way out of the stone-paved courtyard. She ran across the drawbridge and down to her truck. She climbed in, turned the key in the ignition and slid it into gear.

Only then did she let the hot tears spill.

She wished she didn't care if he believed her. She tried not to. But she did care. His attitude shook her.

Wiping at her face with her sleeve, she talked back the tears as thoughts screamed into her head. Maybe he was in on it. Maybe his crew was using the chemicals. Hell, maybe they _all_ were. She'd heard enough about the prices of wines in the region to know that it'd be tempting to try to bump up the yields.

But as she careened down the drive, her instincts told her Alex wasn't involved, couldn't be. She might not be the best judge of character, but she had a pretty good sense that Alex wasn't the sort of man who'd lie.

And since when did she care about belief, about instinct? This was about facts. It didn't matter that she'd told him—what harm could it do at this point? He couldn't mess with her data, no one could. It was safe.

But she couldn't say the same about her heart.

She wiped her face clear of tears again and tried to focus on her driving.

Where the drive to Trovare met the neighboring road, she stopped to pull a tissue from her glove compartment. Perhaps she should turn around and return to the castle. Surely she'd overreacted. Since the lab break-in, she'd been edgy. He'd offered to let her talk to Emilio—that was a good idea. He'd know what was going on in the area.

But more than that, she wanted to talk to Alex. She'd reacted before she'd thought. She'd _over_ reacted. She'd had time to think about what was going on, months of time. And she expected him to catch on in an instant? Making love with him had obviously shaken her up. She'd go back and apologize. Talk it through. There had to be an explanation. But more than questions and answers, what she wanted was to close the aching gap she felt so deep inside that it threatened to engulf her. It was a very inconvenient time to discover the full-on power of her instincts, but right now, those instincts were screaming at her to get to Alex.

She snapped the glove compartment closed and sat up, dabbing the tissue against her face. Lights flashed into the cab of her truck as a huge van pulled across the road, blocking her way out of the drive.

A man leapt out, waving at her in the beam of her headlights. She peered at his silhouette and reached to put her truck in reverse. Before she could, the man opened her door, slashed her seat belt with a knife and dragged her from the truck.

It was Volkov's colleague, Darron Bennett.

She blinked. What the hell did he want? And what was he doing with a knife?

"This is no place for a lovely lady like you," he said in a smooth voice.

He pinned her arm behind her back. She groaned as pain shot through her. He clamped his other hand around her mouth so hard she could barely breathe. With a heaving effort, she kicked at his foot, aiming for his instep.

"Such a _tedious_ move," he said in an odd, almost velvet tone. "I expected more finesse from you, Doctor." He wrenched her arm hard. She gagged against his hand and fought to keep from throwing up.

"Just come along with me," he whispered close to her ear, "and you'll be fine."

She adjusted her steps to his to protect her arm as he marched her around to the passenger door of her truck. Her hat fell to the ground, but he jerked her up when she leaned to catch it.

The engine of the van started up. Panic flooded her as it drove away. She bucked back against Darron. He chuckled as he torqued her arm harder and pulled her back, wedging her between him and the passenger door. She felt him reach under his coat with his free hand and wrestle a hard object into his hand _No_. _Impossible_. He was going to _shoot_ her. She bucked, not intending to go easily or quietly.

He jerked her around to face him and she had only a moment to recognize the shape of the stun gun before she blacked out.

Chapter Twenty-two

Alex stood in the kitchen, staring at the plates he'd cleared from the table and running the events of the night through his mind. Maybe he'd overreacted, but what Jackie had said about radon had seemed far-fetched.

He shoved the plates into the sink. The look she'd given him had stung far worse than her words. He should've just listened. He could've asked questions. He could've at least asked to look at her data. Numbers didn't lie.

He'd been a jerk.

And the feeling roiling up in his gut told him he shouldn't have let her go. He looked at his watch. She'd been gone twenty minutes.

He ran up to his room and stuffed a few things into his gear bag. Checked his watch again. Batting practice started in five hours. He might as well drive into town, shower and head to the ballpark. He'd call her from the road and apologize.

As he pulled away from Trovare, he ran the script of what he'd say. Nothing he came up with was likely to smooth his rejection of her theory, so he'd just have to give it his best.

He sped down the drive and considered what she'd told him. He'd known that the record harvests of the Di Salvo vineyard made no sense. Emilio had asked questions, but turned nothing up. Yet the workers had been evasive, even those Emilio knew well.

At the end of his drive he stopped to look toward Di Salvo's. Were they doing something criminal? He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. In the beam of his headlights he saw tire marks across his drive. He shook his head—they hadn't been there the night before. Then he saw something—Jackie's cap?—at the side of the drive. He jumped out to make sure. Damn, how the hell'd it end up in the drive?

He imagined her tossing it in a moment of temper, but dismissed the thought.

He sped onto the road, tires screeching. It took thirty minutes to reach the freeway. Two miles beyond that point he picked up a cell signal. He called Jackie. When he heard her voicemail message, he drove faster. Maybe she was just obeying the law and not picking up while driving. But she was close to thirty minutes ahead of him, so she should be home by now.

He called Gage.

"Is Jackie home?"

"Alex?" Gage's voice was fogged with sleep.

"Is Jackie _home_?" Alex repeated.

"She doesn't live _here_ , Alex. Jeez, I thought you were the rescue line calling. What time is it?"

"I don't have her home number, and I can't reach her. Is her truck there?"

"Umm. Hold on." He heard Gage shuffling across the floor, heard the creak of a door.

"I don't see it. What's up?"

"Go into her house, see if she's there," Alex ordered.

"Rather bossy, aren't we, for such an early hour?" When Alex didn't respond he added, "I have to get my shoes on and find the spare key. What're you so flashed about?"

"I think she's in trouble," Alex said. "Maybe more than just trouble."

He told Gage about the tire marks and finding her cap. And about what she'd told him of her discovery.

"I knew about some of that, but... I hadn't expected she could get hurt."

The phone went silent, then Gage, voice tight and flatly sober, said, "Look, I'll call you back from inside her house."

Alex didn't wait for the second ring when Gage called back.

"No Jackie," Gage said. "But her climbing gear's not here by the door. Maybe she went for a climb."

The silence on the phone said neither of them believed that.

"She could be anywhere. I'll run to the Center," Gage offered. "If she doesn't show up in a couple hours, I'll call you."

"I'm headed into town," Alex said, trying to swallow the tightness in his throat. "I'll call you from there."

As he drove, what she'd said gnawed in his mind. He'd call Emilio before the game and have him check into it. But still, his thoughts kept circling. To calm himself, he started playing pitching sequences in his mind, tried to recall everything he knew about the starting pitcher he'd face in a few hours. There were two games left in the season and he'd have to play extremely well to clinch the Crown.

But he couldn't keep his mind on the sequences or the looming game.

He called Gage back.

"She's not at the Center," Gage reported. "No one has seen her." He paused. "When I looked through her house, her computer was gone and it looked like someone had rummaged through her desk. It isn't like her to leave papers strewn all over the place. But maybe she was in a hurry. Did she tell you about the lab break-in?"

"No."

Gage told him the details.

"Call the sheriff," Alex said, trying to keep his voice steady. "And the Coast Guard."

"And tell them what? I mean, I can tell them what you told me and I can tell them about the break-in, but they usually wait a while to start searches. Besides, we're guessing. And if she's in the park, it'd be the park police's call."

"Then call them," Alex said. "They're more likely to listen to you than me. I'll call you back from the stadium."

Usually Alex took the time to look out at the water when he crossed the Golden Gate Bridge, but today everything around him was a blur of unimportant details. He searched his mind for the best possible move.

There was one person who might be able to help him find Jackie.

"Berenson here."

Vince Berenson was the helicopter pilot his mother kept on retainer. For once Alex was glad for his mother's extravagance.

He filled the pilot in on the details.

"It's just a hunch, Vince, and maybe I'm making too much of all this. But make a run up the coast anyway. Focus on the headlands and the area north of them. Look for a silver Toyota. I'll keep my cell on when I get to the ballpark."

He punched in Gage's number and got his recorded message, then realized he'd likely already gone down to the Center. He punched in that number.

"California Marine Mammal Center," the volunteer answered. "How can I help you?"

"I'd like to speak with Gage," Alex said. Hell, he didn't even know Gage's last name.

"Are you reporting a stranded animal? I can put you through to the rescue line," she said with the polite voice of one trying to direct the public along established channels.

If only that would make any difference, Alex thought.

"Put me through to Gage—it's an emergency," he added.

"I'm sorry, sir, but emergency calls are handled by the rescue line," the volunteer said more firmly this time.

If nothing was wrong, Alex didn't want to embarrass Jackie or create unnecessary anxiety. But something _was_ wrong and he knew it.

"Look, put me through. I have a prearranged conference call with him." It wasn't exactly a lie.

By the time he got Gage on the line, he'd nearly lost his cool, what was left of it.

"Gage, call the cops, the Coast Guard, anybody you can muster. Tell them anything you can come up with to get them going. Use my name, though I doubt it will help."

"I'm on it."

Alex hadn't yet reached Bay Street when Gage called back.

"I called both the park police and the Coast Guard. As I thought, they both said she has to be missing for a while, at least six hours. We have to show strong probable cause for them to break protocol. They didn't seem to think a lab break-in, a dropped cap and a missing computer added up to much."

Alex honked at an SUV that swung into his lane. He'd come close to hitting it.

"We had a disagreement earlier this morning," Alex admitted. "She left in a huff."

"She's good at huffs. If it makes you feel better, I'll go out and check her usual climbing spots. There are a couple close by. Sometimes she climbs to clear her head."

"Yeah. Great. Call me if you find her. I'll be at the ballpark. Like I said, I'll leave my cell on."

He knew Gage wouldn't find her; a gnawing instinct told him that Jackie had not gone off on a climb.

He'd stuff his phone into his pocket with his batting gloves. So what if management gave him hell? They'd all be worked up about the playoff games coming up. With any luck, no one would notice.

Alex pressed a button on his steering wheel and ended the call.

He'd let her go.

He shouldn't have.

Six hours.

Anything could happen in six hours.

He made a screeching U-turn on the Embarcadero. She was in danger, and he wasn't going to wait for reluctant cops to figure it out.

He pressed on the steering wheel again. The Giants' front office assistant answered in her usual, courteous voice.

"Tavonesi here, Beth. Tell Walsh I won't be making the game."

There was a moment of stunned silence. He ended the call. He didn't need to explain; they'd know he'd had to have a good reason.

An all-Hell's-broken-loose reason.

Without another thought, Alex sped toward the headlands. He tried to calm his growing alarm by running scenarios in his mind. She could be anywhere. She could've gone climbing. She could've gone for a drive. Hell, maybe she'd decided to visit a friend—Sabrina often did that when she needed to sort something out.

He glanced at his watch.

Maybe she'd turn up and he'd make it back in time for the game. Although the Giants had already clinched the National League playoff spot, Alex was only seven RBIs in front of Duarte. He needed every possible at-bat to hold his lead.

But as he drove down the hill toward the Center, the feeling gripping his chest told him that making the game wasn't likely. In that moment, it wasn't even important.

If anything happened to Jackie, he'd lose more than a batting title.

He'd lose the one woman he'd found to love.

He wasn't sure which shocked him more; he'd never missed a game by choice and he'd sure never spent much time thinking about love.

Somehow it had stolen up on him.

Alex drove past the hospital and pulled up next to a green and white police car parked near the sea lion pens. _Park police_. A uniformed deputy was speaking with Gage. Alex could see from Gage's stance that it wasn't going well.

The deputy waved to Alex.

"Great game last week. You've got Garrett's number."

Alex nodded.

"I told Dr. Esmond here that Dr. Brandon might've just gone off somewhere."

"She always tells me when she's off-site—we split on-call," Gage said.

"Well," the deputy said, eyeing Gage, "maybe you're just not as important as you think you are." He turned to Alex. "We'll check back later today, Mr. Tavonesi. Even six hours isn't long enough to start a formal search, not without something to go on. I'm sure you understand."

He didn't. To Alex, six hours seemed like a lifetime.

"Did Dr. Esmond tell you the circumstances?"

Gage nodded.

"I think those facts are enough to start a search," Alex insisted, trying to temper the impatience in his voice.

"Those aren't what we'd call facts, Mr. Tavonesi. We can't go running after hearsay. But we can put a bulletin out about her truck." He eyed Gage, then Alex. "She's not going to be a happy woman if the highway patrol pulls her over."

The officer smiled, apparently pleased with his joke. "As I said, it's nothing to be concerned about. No one's going to do anything drastic because of a few dead seals. And nobody chases down scientists, at least not in my thirty years on the force."

"I _am_ concerned," Alex said. He moved to stand between the deputy and the patrol car. "We're talking radon here. _Radioactivity_. Possible illegal dumping. The people involved might know she's onto something."

The deputy was unmoved.

"They could be acting irrationally," Alex said, running his hand through his hair, trying a different tack. "Her life could be in jeopardy—can't you cut around protocol?"

The deputy stepped around Alex and into his patrol car. "We have our orders," he said out the open window. "Like I said, we'll put out a bulletin about the truck."

The radio in the car barked out a message that sounded like gibberish.

"Copy," the deputy answered into his hand-held mike. "Be there in ten." He laid the microphone onto the seat beside him, grabbed his sunglasses from the dash and slid them on.

"Look, I understand that you're worried, Mr. Tavonesi. But if I had a dollar for every guy concerned about a girlfriend who's not where she's supposed to be, I'd be a very rich man." He tapped his fingers on the dash and tilted his head. "Don't you have a pivotal game today?"

It wasn't a pivotal game. Not for the team. But it was for Alex, a fact that the man smiling at him probably didn't know. After all these years, it still irritated him when members of the public acted like they knew more than the players.

"You take care of your business"—Alex tried to keep the irritation out of his voice—"and I'll do mine."

The deputy smiled, but not a friendly one this time. Hell, no badge liked to have his authority challenged.

But Alex would challenge any man and any badge if it meant seeing Jackie safe.

Chapter Twenty-three

Jackie came to and squinted into the bright light bouncing off the ocean. It didn't take her more than a few seconds to recognize the bunker tunnel and its position on the coast. This was her favorite place to climb. It was remote, challenging, and in several areas the cliffs dropped down to beautiful secluded beaches at low tide. Hardly anyone came here. The irony struck her: she was only about five miles from home as the crow flies.

To her amazement, she saw that she was roped into her climbing harness.

Her hands ached. The ropes slowed her circulation. Tape clamped over her mouth stung, and the bindings chafed her wrists and ankles.

She shook her head, tried to clear it. She remembered the man—Darron Bennett—pulling her from her truck. He'd tossed her over his shoulder with an ease that made her heart sink. When she'd bucked and tried to ram him in the head with her shoulder, he'd dumped her to the ground, pulled out the stun gun and shocked her with it again.

She wriggled her hands to see if she could reach her feet by arching back. All she managed was a rough fall to her side.

Frustrated, she lay there a moment, and the events of the past hours came into focus. Oddly, more than anything, she felt a driving desire to apologize to Alex. Though his response to her revelation had shaken her, she shouldn't have doubted him. Skepticism was part of her nature; she couldn't help it. But her skepticism had been ill placed. And though this was a hell of a time to admit it, in the deep place that she'd sworn to never again visit, that place beyond the force of will, beyond any ability to deny, she knew she loved him. Her heart had already laid out its cards, and rational thought and argument had proven very poor trump against its flush.

Footsteps echoed in the tunnel. She tried again to reach her feet and undo the ropes. As she struggled, a pair of boots came into view inches from her face. They were very expensive-looking boots.

"Getting some exercise?" The toying timbre of Bennett's voice made her skin crawl.

He hauled her upright and propped her back against the bunker wall. He stroked her cheek and then sat back on his haunches. The hard look in his eyes spoiled what could've been a handsome face with its creepy stare. His scar now looked not only poorly stitched, but sinister.

He stood. She watched him pull something out of a bag. Climbing ropes. _Her_ ropes.

"You've probably guessed that this isn't about seals or even grapes." He said it like he was reading a bedtime story. "You called too much attention to a project that has been running along sweetly."

He looped one of her ropes over his hand.

"Money like ours doesn't like being messed with." He slowed his fingers to focus on her face. "Heroin's the game you walked into, Doctor," he said. "Volkov's little project at the vineyard is just a cover."

_Heroin_. _Volkov_. The revelations sank in.

She should've known. She'd looked into what Volkov had said about the dredging—there hadn't been any dredging in the river, not in the previous two years. He'd been trying to pull her off course. Right now she was wishing she'd believed his misdirection.

Bennett leaned forward and ran his fingers along the rope that stretched the length of her body.

"Volkov's crazy, you know. Got a thing about you. You got under his collar good when you started seeing that ballplayer. But I told him he'd just have to forget about you."

He appeared to be enjoying telling his story, almost boasting. He clipped on a carabiner and grunted as he executed a knot with a deft move. His eyes narrowed.

"I took care of the rest of the samples you stashed at your house; they're in good hands."

He was definitely boasting, and nausea soaked through her. She was part of his twisted game.

She wasn't sure if they knew about the samples she'd driven up to Davis. It was a small consolation, but a true one. The study could be finished, the results made public. These people could be stopped.

But every cell in her body was on alert to preserve her life, not her work. It was a peculiar feeling, like floating between two worlds, with each calling to her, but one screaming so loudly that it commandeered her every breath.

He traced his fingers along her collarbone. She tried to pull away, but only drove the wall harder against her already aching back.

"I followed you last night from your place. Thought you'd spotted me when you went down to the kayaks, but you seemed to have other things on your mind. I rather liked watching you."

He kicked back onto his heels and watched her eyes. He seemed pleased by the reaction he saw in them.

"I'll miss that part. I didn't particularly like listening to you yak on your phone—who the hell cares about seals—but watching you undress? Yeah, that I liked."

He grinned, and nausea roiled in Jackie's belly.

"A strip show for me every night, gettin' me off—what could be better than that?"

Jackie's nausea took an instant back seat to fear.

He kneeled at her side and snapped a carabiner to her harness. She watched his every move, hoping for inspiration.

"When you ended next door to the Di Salvo place last night, you got too close. You see, wine barrels are a great place to store smack until we can move it. I nearly froze my ass off waiting for you to leave that damn castle."

A steely look came into his eyes.

"While I waited, I decided that arranging a little accident would be the best thing. But have to do it on my own. Volkov's soft; he doesn't like snuffing women. It's a weakness of his."

She recoiled at his words. He looked at his watch and made a clicking sound of disapproval.

"Too bad there's no time for me to have a taste of what that ballplayer got."

He didn't smile, only stared into her eyes again. She hoped that her urge to vomit didn't show.

She swallowed hard, concentrating on not letting revulsion and fear cloud her mind.

She'd seen sequences like this play out in movies, never believed them to be realistic. She'd always thought the victims could've done more to save themselves, to turn the tide, to escape. But hunched and roped and taped, she now understood the odds. And she didn't like them.

There was scarce affect in Bennett's voice, but Jackie knew he was enjoying himself. Something told her that as long as he enjoyed taunting her, got a thrill from her torment, he wouldn't rush to his next step.

Right now, delay seemed like a very good thing.

She searched her memory for anything she knew about captors and captives and what gave the latter the best chance. Not much came to mind. Then she remembered that in the wild, some prey animals could entrance predators, confuse them and escape being eaten.

Sometimes they could. But only some animals.

And she'd heard stories of kidnapping victims wooing their captors and gaining release. She decided to try a gaze of interest, of engagement, to lure his energy, even though every bit of her screamed not to.

She looked up at him from under her lashes and held his gaze, saw it engage.

"Ah, so we're going to play that game? Okay, I'll play."

He wrapped one hand around her jaw, squeezed her breast with the other. She recoiled.

And he laughed.

"Giving in already, Doctor? Too bad."

She wanted to curse him, but the tape across her mouth kept the words unspoken.

He slid both hands down her body and loosened the waist belt of her harness, releasing the clips securing it to her legs. But that wasn't right; climbers wanted the waist belt snug. It was... She stopped midthought.

_Safer_.

But he wasn't interested in safe.

He grabbed her by the harness and hauled her to her feet. He smiled again, the curve of his mouth just as much a scar as was the physical blemish that ran alongside it.

She wished she'd never seen that smile. If she lived through this, the memory of it would haunt her, she was sure.

"You see," he said as he ran his hand between her thighs. "We could've had such fun."

He used his hand to grab her bottom and then half hauled, half dragged her out of the bunker and toward the cliff. Resisting him was all she could think of, so she dropped her weight and fell to the ground.

" _Such_ an effort," he said. "You might as well enjoy these next few minutes. Just a little rope slip, a harness not quite secured—it'll look like you were distracted."

He tugged the harness loose and rewound the end of her rappelling rope into a shape she knew too well—she'd tied many a quick-release knot. It would fail as soon as her body weight bore down on it.

"Since you're known as a lady of daredevil risks, no one will question what you were doing out here, climbing alone. That is, if anyone finds you. I myself have a bet on the sharks having a good dinner."

He studied the tape covering her mouth, then leaned down and pulled a cloth from the bag. He used the string attached to it to fasten the cloth to the rope that ran along the length of her body.

With a flash move he ripped the tape from her face. She screamed with the pain. He winced and smiled at her at the same time. Before she could move, he gagged her with the cloth, stuffing it into her mouth so tight that her tongue started to numb and the stinging around her lips built to a frenzy. He stared at her lips and ran his fingers over his own. His eyes dilated, and Jackie recognized the signs of arousal. Just the thought of him being turned on made her feel sick.

"Wouldn't want the sharks to get indigestion," he said, tossing the tape aside.

He was serious. He'd rigged the gag to pull out of her mouth when the weight of her body pulled the knots loose. In his perverse way he was worried about the sharks, concerned that when they consumed her, they might also swallow gaffer's tape. The man's priorities were warped.

From the way he spoke, she knew he was well educated. From the way he acted, she was sure he was crazy. Despair hit her—she didn't have much experience with crazy. Or drug gangs and Russian gangsters. She pushed against the gag. Despair wouldn't get her out of this.

He was back to business now, checking his knots, arranging her ropes, as if the previous interlude hadn't occurred. He propped her on her side near the edge of the cliff. Rocks jabbed into her ribs. She heard him walk back to the bunker.

Below her, sunlight danced on the sea and diamond tents of light scattered across the water. The bright sparkles rose and fell with the surge of the waves and wind. It was beautiful. And it was more than two hundred feet down.

She angled her head and watched him pull a pistol from his bag.

"Just in case my knots don't work as planned," he said. He raised the gun and aimed it at her. "Bang."

She tried to wriggle away from the edge of the cliff. He walked to her, tossed the gun a few yards away and used the knot of ropes he'd wrapped her in to jerk her to her back. Then he slid his leg over hers and pinned her to the ground with his knee.

To her surprise, he leaned down and undid her left hand. Then he forced it under her and pinned it tight with the weight of his body. He tied her right hand to the rope running the length of her torso. He was clever. Each of the release knots was tied so that when the line snapped taut, her weight would pull them free.

She bucked hard and with all the strength she could muster.

A smile of pleasure and power curved into his face.

He kneed her in the belly. She doubled up with pain.

When he leaned close, his breath was hot on her throat.

"The tide'll be high for another hour," he said, glancing at his watch. He pulled her a few feet back from the cliff and leaned down, his gaze moving down her body. "I believe I'll have a sample after all."

His tone had changed. It had the singsong, crooning sound that men used when they talked to small children or pets that they liked. Only it was really creepy. The game had shifted, but she didn't know how that helped her. She couldn't talk, could barely move. She had no idea what to do.

She wriggled her hand free, waited for him to dip down to her again. Then she fisted her hand and slammed it into his jaw.

It was the wrong move. She felt him go hard against her belly as he laughed. He flipped her onto her back, pinning her arm under her again. He fiddled with the rope and then leaned onto his side, wedging his hand between her body and his. His knuckles pressed into her stomach as he undid the buckle of his belt.

Chapter Twenty-four

Alex's car bottomed out on a pothole in Jackie's driveway. He cursed. He should've brought his Jeep. He ran up to her door, knocked and stood there, surveying the row of potted geraniums and hyssops lined up along the walk. What was he expecting? That she'd materialize with a mug of hot coffee and a smile?

He ran to his car and headed out of the park. At the turn for the northern beaches, he hesitated. On a hunch, he turned up the fire road that led west toward the ocean. He wasn't supposed to be driving on a fire road, but it didn't matter. He'd pay the fine if someone tried to stop him.

His cell rang.

"It's Vince. I tried calling half an hour ago, but you must've been out of range. I've spotted the truck you described. It's near an old World War Two bunker in the headlands." He gave Alex the coordinates.

"I'm nearly there." Alex swallowed the lump growing in his throat. "Call the Sheriff's office. Is there any chance you can land near the truck?"

"It's rocky coastline and hills. I could put down about a half mile from there."

"It's wooded up ahead—does that end before the bunker?"

"No."

"Do what you can. And tell Dr. Esmond at the Center to alert the park police. It's their jurisdiction. And, Vince—"

He lost the cell signal.

Alex picked up a weak signal a quarter mile down the road and pulled over. He tapped the coordinates Vince had given him into his GPS; he was close. When he reached a fork in the road, he turned north and banged down the dirt road the map indicated. After a tenth of a mile, he saw Jackie's truck parked near the old bunker.

He peered inside the truck. The keys were still in the ignition. He debated for a moment whether to pocket them, then reasoned that if she returned before he did, it'd be best to leave them. The passenger's side door was ajar and the grass was smashed below it.

He breathed easier when he saw that only one track of footprints led to the bunker.

He followed the track and ducked into the darkness of the bunker. If he hadn't known the old bunker tunnels led out to the ocean at the opposite side, he'd have thought he was heading into the depths of the earth itself. A vapor of sea air wafted along the chilled stone walls and reminded him of the night he met Jackie. That the smell of wet rock and salted air could conjure the vivid image of a beautiful woman amazed him.

He shook his head.

Just like her to go for a climb and scare the hell out of everybody.

The tunnel seemed endless.

Alex jogged through it in the dim light, stumbling more than once on debris littering the floor. As he neared the arched opening at the other end, the light filtering in made it easier to keep his footing.

He couldn't wait for her to lay into him for assuming the worst. Hell, her anger would be a hundred times better than everything else he'd been imagining. And then he'd do his thing, laying into her for scaring him half to death.

He reached the mouth of the tunnel and froze.

She wasn't alone.

A man was humped on top of her. And she was fighting.

For a millisecond his brain scanned for the move most likely to get her to safety. That was all the time he needed.

He lashed out his hand, grabbed a rock near his foot and threw with all his force at the man's head. The man twisted, and the rock glanced off the back of his head.

Alex launched out of the tunnel. The man lunged for something and jumped up, holding a pistol pointed directly at Jackie. He was no novice; he used both hands and held it steady, at her eye level.

"How tragic," the man said, watching Alex.

Alex saw Jackie drag her arm from under her and inch her hand toward a rock.

"I had good money on you winning the Triple Crown today." He nodded toward the bunker wall. "On your knees at the wall, Tavonesi, with your back to me and your hands clasped behind you. Or"—he shot a wide grin—"well, you're a clever man. I needn't resort to clichés."

Jackie grabbed the rock and threw it at her assailant. It hit his knuckles and knocked the gun free of his grip. The gun spun to the ground near the cliff edge.

Alex lunged for it, but the man reached it first. He stood and trained it again at Jackie's head, moving to pin her free arm behind her back at the same time.

"To the wall, Tavonesi. She's too pretty to shoot point-blank, don't you think?"

Alex backed to the wall, never taking his eyes off the other man. He nodded when he recognized him. He'd seen him with Volkov at the donor party.

"Kneel."

Alex knelt. He didn't dare speak for fear that anything he might say would set the guy off.

"Hands in front of you where I can see them," the man directed with a sick smile. "I understand if you want to watch."

The man dragged Jackie to the cliff edge, ignoring the pounding of her fist against his legs. He dropped her to the ground and pinned her flailing arm under a labyrinth of rope. He held her in place with his knee and the full weight of his body. He hooked another rope through a piton by feel, holding the gun to Jackie's head and holding Alex in his sights. Without a word or a glance, he put his boot to Jackie's waist and pushed her toward the edge of the cliff.

The raw scream that roared from Alex as he dove for her was matched by the crack of the gun as it fired.

Alex hit the man with the full force of his body and ripped the rope from his grasp, twisting as he did to put his body between the gun and Jackie. But the man was stronger than Alex had estimated. He kicked Alex to the side, then stomped his full weight on Alex's wrist, attempting to dislodge the rope. Alex ignored the stab of pain and grabbed for Jackie, but too late—the man stepped over him and shoved her off the cliff. Alex instinctively grabbed the rope sliding down with her. He yanked it taut against the piton. It caught the man's ankle, unbalancing him.

Alex had only a moment to register the astonished look in the man's eyes as he lost his balance and plummeted over the cliff, screaming. His scream was swallowed by the sound of the ocean waves.

The rope went slack in Alex's hands.

"Jackie!"

He fell to his stomach, wrapped the end of the rope through the piton and triple-fisted it around his hand. He pushed his head over the cliff.

Jackie hung against the cliff face. Unmoving. She'd wedged her bound feet in a crevice and with her free arm clung so tightly to the cliff that there was no space between her and the rocks.

Two hundred feet below her, the man's body churned face down in the surf.

Alex flashed his eyes back to Jackie. She made a motion with hers. He saw the rope dangling below her. It didn't look right, but he didn't know what was wrong. He looked back at Jackie, and she blinked at him a couple of times, as if trying to tell him something.

Heart racing, he studied the dangling rope. Then he pictured the knot he'd seen her tie around the whale. Rage jerked through him as he realized what the man had planned. But the bastard hadn't counted on Jackie. Not on her strength and certainly not on her experience.

Alex wound the rope he held through the piton one more time and tugged it. It held firm. He threw the secured end over the cliff and down to her. It landed in the crook of her arm.

"Can you wrap it around you?" He indicated the secure line by tugging on it. "Maybe twist into it?"

He'd seen her do something like that on that first night, the night they'd rescued the whale. But she'd had both hands free then.

She nodded slightly.

He watched her inch her unbound hand, rock hold by rock hold, over to where she could twist the rope around it and grab tight. His heart pounded and he didn't dare breathe. She clamped her elbow against the rope and then, like a caterpillar winding into a cocoon, slowly twisted her body into it without losing her foothold. He thought of encouraging her, but as he watched her excruciating performance, he knew silence was best.

She looked up and nodded her signal. He could only hope she could hold on.

He reached his leg back and wound it into the rope stretching from the piton so that as he hauled her up, they wouldn't both be pulled over by her weight. Then, hand over hand, he pulled her up the cliff, ignoring the pain in his left wrist, forcing it to support his hand and grip the rope.

When she was close enough that he could reach her, he grabbed her and hauled her up and over. He clamped her to him, their hearts pounding against one another, their breaths ragged and short. She began to convulse as tremors shook her body. He leaned away, released his leg from the rope, then lifted her and carried her a few yards from the cliff. He dropped to his knees and lowered her to the ground. His hands shook as he gripped the gag in her mouth and gently eased it out.

"It's okay," he murmured again and again. He pulled her close and stroked her hair.

Only then did he register the extent of the pain throbbing through his arm and wrist. The force of the man's foot had torn something, maybe broken his wrist, but right now none of that mattered.

Jackie tried to speak, but couldn't get anything out.

"Shhhh," he murmured, stroking her with a rhythm he hoped was soothing. "Let your tongue get some blood back. Try to relax."

She muttered something that he guessed to be "Easy for you to say."

If only it were.

He wished he had water. He looked at the ropes binding her right hand to her chest and knotting her feet together. He wished he had a knife.

He could tell by the way she shook in his arms that she was in shock. Hell, so was he. He needed to get her to his car to get her warm.

He shifted her in his arms and reached down to tackle the knots binding her feet. They didn't budge. He shifted her more so he could use his right hand as well: the left hand was already swelling and he couldn't get it to do his bidding. He tugged on the cord that ran through the knots. To his surprise, they slid apart with ease.

"He planned it," she whispered, her words blurred and slurred. "To look like an accident." She hesitated. "Release knots."

He'd been right. And she'd known all along what he'd planned, what would happen when she fell.

His heart thundered in his chest as he imagined...

One quick jerk on the rope secured to the piton and she'd have dropped straight into the surf. It would've looked like she'd slipped, like she'd made a mistake. Even the gag had been looped into the release line, rigged to drop into the ocean. There would've been no evidence of foul play.

He started to shake.

If he hadn't held on to her lead line, she'd be down there floating lifeless.

He shifted her in his lap so she couldn't see his face. She didn't need to see his rage. Or his horror.

"Shhh." He leaned forward to work at the knot on her right hand. It too slipped away. "You're safe now."

"He could've shot you," she rasped.

He pulled her head to his chest and cradled her gently.

"I saw how he held the gun," he said, brushing his lips to the top of her head. "I know something about aim, remember?"

She buried her face against his chest and let out a sob. Wave after wave of sobs followed, coursing through her with astonishing force. He'd never held a sobbing woman, but his instincts told him to just rock her, whisper to her, hold her.

When her sobs eventually subsided, she drew a long shaky breath and focused on his face. He saw concern, but below that he saw what he'd never seen before, what she hadn't said and what he wished he could have.

"I saw him fall," she whispered, wiping at the wetness on her cheek.

Alex nodded. "The rope caught his ankle. I'll have another look, before we go."

"No, I _saw_ him. Looking won't do any good."

She pulled away from him.

"Heroin, Alex."

"Fresh out," he said, not knowing what she was talking about.

"They're smuggling heroin, Bennett and Volkov. He told me."

Alex tried to fight back the rage building in him, fought to keep the terror of what could've happened out of his mind. She tipped her face to his.

"The vineyard's just a cover. Bennett said—"

The sound of a chopper approaching, low and close along the cliff, cut her off.

Vince leaned out of the chopper and shot him a sign. Alex responded with raised thumb and forefinger and mouthed _okay_.

"You know him?" Jackie asked, her eyes wide.

"He works for me. On our way back to your place, when we get in cell range, I'll have him call the FBI. They can deal with Volkov. I'm sure Vince has already radioed the Coast Guard."

"I don't want to go home. I need to go to the Center. I need to talk to Gage, to Michael. Who knows what Volkov might do?"

She looked into his eyes and shook her head. "I was wrong about everything." She shuddered.

"Not everything." He wriggled out of his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"I'm the one who should be apologizing," Alex said. "I should've listened to you." She put a hand to his lips, stopping him. He grasped her hand, lowered it. "Can you walk?"

She nodded.

She staggered as he helped her to stand.

"I can walk now," she said, her voice froggy and hoarse.

"I'm liking the voice," he said, trying to cut through her tension. "Might lead to a new career."

She leaned on him and took a couple of steps, then stopped.

"My samples..." Her voice had taken on a strange, almost forlorn tone, as if she were speaking to him in a dream. "They have them."

He took her by the shoulders and examined her eyes. He'd seen pupils like that when a hitter got beaned by a ball. He'd been a fool to let her walk.

"You're still in shock, Jackie. Try to clear your mind—you can think about all that later. Right now we need to get you to my car, get you some water."

"I am _fine_ ," she said, resisting his diagnosis. "Just get me to my truck. I can drive."

She pulled her hand off his arm, then stumbled and nearly fell.

He reached one arm under her shoulders and the other under her legs and lifted her, clasping her against his chest. When she didn't protest, he knew she was in worse shape than she let on. That she thought she could drive just confirmed his concern about her being in shock. He carried her through the bunker and to her truck. He balanced her in his arms and opened the passenger door. She wriggled into the seat and surprised him with a sly smirk as she tugged his jacket around her shoulders.

"Don't like my driving?" She peered up at him from under her lashes. She had long, beautiful lashes that framed her hazel eyes. Right now those eyes were taunting him.

"No one likes your driving, Jackie."

He wasn't ready for her punch.

He caught her hand when she tried a second blow.

She giggled. Another bad sign. He imagined that Dr. Jackie Brandon hadn't giggled in the past ten years. Perhaps best to go with it.

"By the way, nice throw back there," he said, mustering a smile. "Maybe you should coach Scotty."

She giggled again. "I never saw anyone move like you did, not that fast. Not up close," she said.

"Let's hope you never see it again."

"And what you did with the ropes...throwing me that secure line... " She tipped her head up to him. "Have you been practicing?"

"Not since that first night," he said, ignoring his urge to kiss her.

"Lucky me that you're a quick study."

He didn't like the shakiness in her voice. She sounded like she might crack any minute.

"Lucky me that you know how to hug a cliff."

He leaned across her and buckled her into the seat. When he brushed against her, desire seared through him. Desire and love. He ignored the desire, savoring the love, and pulled away, but she wrapped her fingers in his shirt and tugged him back.

"Hey," he said. He closed his hand around hers and tugged it from his shirt. He lifted her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss along the back of it. "We need to get you into some warm clothes. Get some food into _you_."

"You're always feeding me," she said "I'm beginning to think it's a ploy."

He ignored his racing pulse and shoved down his urge to tell her that he loved her. She'd had enough drama for one day.

He backed up a step and eased the truck door closed.

Chapter Twenty-five

The park police and sheriff's deputies were already at the Center when Alex and Jackie pulled into the lot. He helped her from the truck and tucked her close.

"Water," she said. She was trembling. Hell, so was he.

"Yup." He slipped his arm around her waist and walked her toward the hospital.

Gage ran up to them just as a van with a satellite dish roared into the parking lot. Great. The press. They must've been monitoring the police radios. Word of his involvement would spread fast. A dead body and a woman and a ballplayer—that was real ratings material.

"Let's get her inside," Alex said.

Two deputies met them at the door.

"Dr. Brandon needs a few minutes." Alex signaled the deputies to join them inside the hospital, then closed and bolted the door.

While Gage took Jackie into the surgery suite to get her some water, Alex told the deputies what he knew.

Someone banged at the bolted door.

"I'll take care of it," the taller deputy said, motioning for Alex to stay seated. "Looks like you could use some tending yourself."

Alex flexed his left wrist. It had already swollen to twice its normal size.

"Ice," Alex said. "Ice would be good."

The door to the surgery swung open. Jackie, already looking stronger and brandishing an ice compress, walked directly to him.

"I may be twaddle-minded with post-trauma shock, but I _am_ a doctor." She knelt beside him and took hold of his injured wrist. "I think it's worse than you're letting on." She curved the ice pack around his wrist and then wound an elastic bandage around the ice pack. "Gage, we'll need one for his elbow."

"My elbow's fine," Alex said. But as she closed the Velcro on the bandage, the pressure made him wince with pain. "Okay, maybe some ice."

She ran her hand up his arm and examined the swelling at his elbow. "Your game—"

"No worries," the deputy said. "The Giants are winning, six to four."

"I meant tomorrow," Jackie said.

Alex flexed his fingers. "We'll see about tomorrow when it comes. For now I think we have some explaining to do to these fine gentlemen."

They told the deputies every detail either of them remembered.

"You'll both have to talk to the FBI. They'll investigate what the dead man told Dr. Brandon. If there's sufficient evidence, they can bring Mr. Volkov in for questioning."

" _Sufficient_ evidence?" Jackie said, crossing her arms.

"Facts, ma'am. We want as many facts as possible before we drag the guy in."

"And you'll have to fill out some paperwork," the other deputy said. He looked at Jackie, then glanced at Alex's bandaged wrist. "Likely it can wait a day."

"She's exhausted," Alex said. "I'd like to get her home." He signaled to Gage. "Would you take someone out to pick up my car?"

"There'll be a line of people wanting to drive it," Gage said with a half-hearted attempt at a smile. "No problem."

"We'll be dusting her place for prints," the officer said. "It's probably not the best place to take her."

"I need some clothes," she said, tugging at her torn sweater.

Alex heard the catch in her voice. She needed more than clothes.

He nodded, then tilted his head toward the window. The press had gathered in a knot of buzzing energy just beyond it. "Maybe you could give us a hand getting through them?"

The officers escorted them out the door, but proved to be no match for the reporters. They surrounded Alex and Jackie on the steps of the hospital. Alex saw Jackie frown at one woman in particular, a pert blonde, who was intent on shoving a microphone in her face. Alex stretched out his arm, but the reporter ducked under.

" _Lady_ Jacqueline," the reporter said, making sure her cameraman had them framed in her shot, "why do you think the attacker chose you as a target?"

Jackie grimaced.

" _Doctor_ Brandon," Alex said as he took Jackie's arm and attempted to maneuver around the reporters.

"Oh no, it's most definitely _Lady_ Jacqueline," the reporter said, relishing the surprise on Alex's face. "I did my research. She's the late Lord Brandon's only daughter." She stepped aside so her cameraman could fully focus on Alex's reaction.

"Just go blank and walk on," Gage said from behind them. "I've got the rear."

The pert reporter persisted, jutting her microphone closer to Jackie's face with a smug smile. "When did your romance with Alex Tavonesi begin? What's baseball's most private guy like behind the scenes?"

A dead man, a would-be killer, floated in the sea and they wanted dirt on him? _Typical_.

A man with an even larger mike shoved toward Alex. "What's your relationship to the dead guy?"

Not to be outdone, the perky blonde shoved him out of her way. "Are you engaged?" She tossed her hair and nailed Alex with her best smile. "Was that man some sort of competition? Was it a love triangle?"

Alex knew something about handling the press. He'd had plenty of practice swallowing down his anger and he knew better than to react. The press was necessary, but some of them overstepped decent boundaries. The eager young lady had just stepped across his.

He gave the offending reporter his coolest smile.

"Miss... ?" He peered at the press badge dangling from a clip at her waist, reached for it, then fingered it.

"Drakely," she said, with the broad and practiced smile of the media. "Mara Drakely. KNRX News." She edged to the side to allow her cameraman closer, ready for her scoop.

" _Miss_ Drakely..." Alex dropped the press badge and took a breath to keep the edge of anger out of his voice. "Although we'd love to answer all your intelligent questions, _Doctor_ Brandon is exhausted." He smiled again, but shot out his hand and covered the lens of the camera. "That's all for now."

He wrapped his arm around Jackie and steered her away from the door.

Four of the volunteer crew members had come up behind them. They used herding boards to clear a path through the surprised reporters. The officers closed in the rear.

"Don't look back," Alex said as he ushered Jackie to her truck.

"Wouldn't dream of it," she said with a relieved smile.

The trip to Jackie's home was quick, and they discovered that the deputies had been right: two satellite news trucks and several police cars were parked in front of it.

"My building has security guards," he said as he slowed the truck. "If you stay here, you'll be hounded."

"Tell me that you have a very big, very deep, bathtub."

"Affirmative."

"Then your place it is."

She pointed to a side road leading up over the hills. "Turn here. We can avoid an ambush at the tunnel."

"You might get good at this," he said as he steered up and over the hills.

"I don't plan to. I'll take a quiet lab or fieldwork in a remote spot any day."

Alex tossed her truck keys to the valet waiting in front of his building and held Jackie's arm as they stepped into the foyer. He stopped and gave the guards a heads-up. By the way they snapped-to, she could tell they were fond of him.

"They like you," she said, glancing back at the grinning guards.

"More likely they're bored and relish the adventure of dealing with the press."

"Deflecting a compliment. You're mighty good at that."

He ushered her into the elevator and pulled a magnetic key card from his wallet, then passed it in front of a sensor.

He captured her hand and lifted it to his lips.

"Okay, I accept," he said. "Thank you."

The look he gave her began to melt what little composure she'd mustered.

"It's not the first time you've had to do this," she said.

"You mean the press?"

She nodded.

"No." He released her hand. "And with you around, it's likely to not be the last."

The elevator opened directly into Alex's penthouse. She'd forgotten the incomparable view. A wall of glass was all that was between her and the sparkling waters of the bay and the soaring buildings of San Francisco.

"I sometimes forget how exquisite this city is," she said as she stepped to the window.

Alex slipped up behind her, slid his arms around her waist and pulled her against him. He traced his lips along the curve of her neck. Goose bumps rose along her skin.

"You're cold," he said as he brushed his lips against the curve of her ear.

"Not exactly." She smiled to herself. She might be sore, she might be hungry, but with the fire his touch lit in her, she definitely was not cold.

"Well, you must be hungry."

To her dismay, he released her. She turned and followed him to his kitchen. He frowned as he rummaged through the refrigerator.

"Do you ever buy groceries?" she asked.

"Looks like it'll be ramen noodles and champagne."

She couldn't help but smile. "As long as they're not in the same bowl."

He opened the freezer and grabbed a container of ice. With his uninjured hand he began wrestling ice cubes into a plastic bag.

She couldn't bear to see him struggling with a flimsy plastic bag.

"Let me help you."

He offered up his wrist and she unwound the elastic bandage from around it. She knew he was watching her face and tried not to react as she peeled away the now lukewarm ice pack and noted the severe bruising and swelling. Both indicated a possible fracture, but without an X-ray, it was hard to tell. She knew something about joint injuries—there was a good chance he wouldn't be holding a bat anytime soon.

"You need a doctor," she said in the most noncommittal voice she could muster.

"I have one." He grinned.

"I warn you, I'm better with seal flippers."

She sealed the ice in the bag, and he held out his arm. She wound the elastic bandage around the makeshift compress and bound it to his wrist.

"A forty-million-dollar wrist and a five-cent ice bag," she said with a cluck of disapproval and an undertone of guilt. "Don't you have any proper ice packs?"

"Jackie." He turned her into his arms, cradled her face in his hands. "I _chose_ to come after you." He pushed his forehead to hers. "I chose."

A shiver ran through her. It was not from the chill of the ice bag against her cheek.

"I know," he whispered as he leaned her back against the counter and brushed his lips to hers. "You're not cold."

He kissed her then, gently at first, but as she opened to him, all gentleness dissolved in the force of her passion meeting his. Everything melted away—the day, the past months, her fears—and she lost herself in his plundering kiss.

Her stomach growled, and he pulled back.

"Ramen?" he said, his eyes dark with arousal. "I know it's tempting beyond words."

What was tempting was him. But one look at his wrist told her that anything more strenuous than kisses should wait.

"I'd like to have that bath first," she said, giving them both an out. "And a cup of tea."

"If you insist." He stepped back but didn't release her. She dragged in a breath and slid away.

"Through that door," he said with a nod. "There's a robe hanging behind it."

She walked through the door, the thrill of his lips and hands on her body coursing through her.

She ran water into the elegantly tiled tub, stripped off her torn clothing and dropped it to the floor. She spied a bottle of amber liquid at the side of the tub and opened it. Yum... fresh. She tipped its contents into the steaming water. Citrus-scented bubbles sprang to life. As she slid into the embrace of the warm, fragrant water, a moan escaped her.

She sank below the surface, letting the water envelop her with heat and scent. She surfaced, brushing bubbles and strands of hair from her face. She leaned back and let the water swirl around her, let it dissolve some of the fear and shock she'd kept penned in. She closed her eyes, took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, resting her head back against the cool tile as the tension in her chest eased.

A gentle tap sounded on the door.

She felt ridiculous saying come in, but loved him for knocking.

He'd removed his grimy shirt and was bare to the waist. He held a small tray in his unbandaged hand.

"This Jacuzzi is big enough for a water polo team," she said. It wasn't the first thought that came to her mind as she stared at the muscles that planed his torso and cut to a distinct vee that dipped into his jeans.

"Hadn't thought of that," he said, still holding the tray but tracing his gaze over her. "Where do you think the net should go?" His eyes glittered challenge.

She fired a handful of bubbles and splashed him square across his chest.

He set the tray on the marble counter and grabbed her hand before she could fire again. She thought he might kiss her, but he dropped her hand and reached toward the tray.

"Truce?" he said as he leaned over her in the tub and handed her a glass mug. "At least long enough for tea?"

"Tea," she murmured as she took the cup from him. She sipped and the heat slid into her.

He laughed. "Tea seems to be the English antidote to everything," he said.

"It's a scientifically proven _fact_." She grinned.

He knelt at the side of the tub and ran his hand along her shoulder. Neither the deliciously hot bath nor the steaming tea could compete with the heat kindled by his touch. And not only did it heat her, but it countered every memory of Bennett's hands on her. She wouldn't forget what Bennett had done, what he'd wanted to do, but Alex's touch was a healing balm.

He held her in his gaze. They'd talked on the way to his place. Mostly he'd listened and let her find her way through the shock and the pain. As they'd cruised across the Golden Gate Bridge, she'd asked if they could put all talk of the ordeal aside for a few hours, not churn it all up over and over. Talking to the police the next day would be hard enough. But there was one thing he couldn't let slide, one she knew he wouldn't be able to let go.

"You know, you could've told me about _Lady_ Jacqueline."

She moaned her protest. There were a lot of things she could've done, things she _should've_ done.

"I have a sense of what you're running from," he added.

"Maybe not," she said, setting the mug on the marble-tiled ledge circling the tub. She knelt in the tub, careful to keep her breasts below the bubbles. This discussion had to happen sometime; it might as well be now.

"Being a woman in science, overcoming prejudice, it's still real... it's still hard. Having a title, being an aristocrat, I had to shed both to have my work taken seriously."

"Heirs aren't exactly welcome in the dugout."

He had her there. She'd never considered what he'd had to overcome to find his place in the game.

"But baseball's only a hundred years old," she said, knowing that she wasn't making sense. "The English aristocracy goes back centuries. Some people are _still_ moored way back when—"

He smothered her words with a kiss. Fire slid into her as he parted her lips and slipped his tongue in to taste. She met his coaxing kiss with the power of pent-up passion she'd held back for so long. Then he pulled away. She felt like she'd been unplugged from the source of life itself. Was he trying to torture her?

He reached past her and picked up a cloth from the stack at the end of the tub, dipped it into the water, and then stroked it across a bar of soap, making it froth.

"Athletic competition goes back to the Olympics, to Greece." He smiled and drew the cloth along her shoulders with his unbandaged hand. "I think I have you trumped by about two thousand years."

He stroked the cloth down her arm, and her breath caught as he drew it to the front of her chest and brushed along the curves of her breasts.

"But I can see the headlines now." He chuckled. "Lady Jacqueline Makes Heroic Effort: Takes Down Villain Who Could've Destroyed Wine Country. The _Daily News_ will love it."

"Stop now," she said as she rose out of water and the bubbles slid down her body, "or I'll know you have pulp for brains."

"I hate to tell you," he said, also standing, "but brains are the last thing on my mind right now."

Ignoring the bag of ice strapped to his arm, he stepped into the swirling water and drew her to him, soaking his jeans and melding their bodies in bubbles and heat. He pulled her against him and lowered his lips to hers. His hand cradled her breast with a gentleness that shocked through her more than any fierce display of passion could have. He trailed a path of kisses down the nape of her neck. She tracked her hand up his chest and felt him shudder under her palm. Then she curved her face to his, found his lips and kissed him, the force of her racing emotions pouring through her and into the heat of him. His tongue danced over hers and probed. Warmth flooded her—dizzying, releasing, delicious—and she wavered, unsteady, her only mooring the touch of his lips. He put his hands firmly around her waist and tugged her down into the billowing bubbles. She slipped, then slid below the water. Laughing, she leaned onto her elbows and righted herself, brushing bubbles from her face.

She stopped laughing when she saw that the ice pack had come undone from his wrist and was now bobbing in the Jacuzzi.

"You shouldn't be doing this," she said. Though her heart pounded harder than the jets of water frothing the bubbles, she moved away from him.

"I know _exactly_ what I should be doing." He stood in the center of the swirling water, slithered out of his wet jeans and then tossed them across the room.

She put out her hand and braced it between them. "Heat, right now, is likely not a good thing." She wrapped her other hand around his forearm and lifted his injured hand.

He wriggled his arm free and pulled her through the churning water and up against him. She gasped as he reached under her bottom and dropped back onto the tub's seat, pulling her squarely onto his lap.

"Heat, Dr. Brandon, is _precisely_ the thing."

Before she could protest, he entered her. Coherent thought dissolved with the force of pulsing, ancient instincts. As his hand slid between her thighs and circled her most sensitive flesh, the cry that broke from her had nothing rational about it.

The jets of the Jacuzzi had stopped and it was quiet except for the sound of their breathing, though Jackie was sure she could hear the beating of his heart against hers. She rested her chin on Alex's chest and tried to slow her breaths. Wrapped in his arms, she realized that never had she felt so blissful, so met, so alive.

As she glanced around the bath, everything had the soft focus that passion leaves in its wake. Her eyes rested on a photo on the opposite wall—rays of sunshine playing on vines heavy with fruit, with Trovare's castle perched on a distant hill, a tiny silhouette above the vineyard.

"It looks like something out of a dream," she said.

"It was a dream. In some ways, it still is." He stroked a wet curl away from her eyes and traced his fingers along the nape of her neck. "But dreams cut deep."

"Don't they." She slid her eyes to his swelling wrist.

He tipped her face up. "Welcome to mine." He cradled her chin with his other hand and ran his finger gently along her jaw. "I hope you know I love you, Dr. Lady."

His straightforward admission stunned her, and the look in his eyes was a blazing, healing miracle. She felt as if she were looking at him across a sacred fire, as if she'd been transported into a mythic tale and met the man who made her whole, the man who could stand beside her and who wouldn't fear her living in her true power—living life as her calling and dreams demanded—the man she'd nearly stopped daring to dream existed.

Certainty flowed through her. She didn't care how long the moment lasted. What mattered was that she'd felt it and knew she'd never forget.

She started to reply, but he put a finger to her lips and then drew it slowly, ever so slowly, away and dipped his lips to hers.

His kiss was the last thing her mind registered. Everything after that was feeling. And just when she thought she could bear no more, his fingers were between her thighs, stroking her, stoking a fire beyond bliss, beyond words, beyond facts, beyond mind.

When she returned to reality, the water in the Jacuzzi had cooled. Jackie was grateful for the warm towel Alex wrapped around her as he helped her from the tub.

"At least we managed to get out of the kitchen," she teased as she bent at the waist and ruffled a second towel though her hair.

He wrapped his fingers around her hips and pulled her against his thighs. "I have plans for the kitchen," he murmured. "Perhaps you've forgotten my promise of ramen noodles." Mischief sounded in his voice. "But first"—he turned her and lifted her to the marble counter, then snatched away her towel—"I think we've yet to finish exploring in here."

She reached and pulled him toward her. "Exploring's my weakness," she said as she met his heat with her own.

Chapter Twenty-six

Searing pain woke Alex the next morning. He tried to nudge his arm free without waking Jackie, but she woke with his movement. She sighed and turned into him, but then jolted up and frowned after she opened her eyes and saw his swollen wrist.

"You should get an X-ray." She crossed her arms. The look on her face was all _Doctor_ Brandon.

"Maybe later. I have a job to do today."

She let out a resigned breath. "At least let me wrap it."

"Later," he said, dropping back to the bed and pulling her to him.

"Not this time, Alex Tavonesi. I won't be part of further injury. I have my wits back about me."

"What a pity," he said with a grin.

She extracted herself from his hands and stood beside the bed. "Breakfast," she said firmly. "First order of business today."

"Now who's forcing whom to the kitchen?" he said. But the half smile on his face disappeared when he tried to press himself out of the bed and couldn't.

Three hours later, Alex gritted his teeth as the Giants' trainer shot cortisone into his wrist.

"All fixed up, Tavonesi?" Walsh's voice as he walked up to Alex wasn't as gruff as usual.

"If I survive Dave's needles, I will be."

Walsh had managed enough players to know as well as Alex did that it was foolish to play on such an injury so soon. But the man also knew that a good swing of Alex's bat would not only give the team what it needed to win, it could also lock in the Triple Crown for Alex. Duarte had struck out twice in New York the previous day, then pulled a walk and hit a double with no one on base. Molino and Hamilton, the two players on their heels for the RBI record, had both pulled ahead by one RBI in great at-bats during last night's games. If Alex hit a homer and managed to bat in two runs, he'd best Duarte, Molino and Hamilton, and the title would be his. But even for a healthy player, it was a tall order.

"Skip batting practice," Walsh said.

"You're all heart," Alex grimaced. But he accepted the favor.

Walsh's break was the only one Alex got.

Nothing went as planned. Certainly not the game.

In the bottom of the fifth, Alex struck out for the third time. To their credit, the Dodgers' pitchers hadn't walked him intentionally, but the heat of their starter's fastball was escaping his bat. He, along with the rest of the guys, watched as one batter after another struck out in the sixth and seventh. With the game tied two all after the seventh and the Giants unable to even get on base, they needed more than a good swing.

In the top of the eighth, the Dodgers batted in a run. The Giants' manager brought in Romaro, and he managed to hold them to that one run and end the inning.

In the bottom of the eighth, Felipe doubled and then Zack was up. Madden, the Dodgers' pitcher, threw a wild pitch and Felipe stole third, jolting the crowd and the dugout into wild cheers. Then Zack drew a walk. With runners on first and third, the table was set for Alex.

The crowd, so sure of a Giants victory, roared as Alex approached the plate.

Before he stepped into the batter's box, he paused and ran the pitch sequence in his mind. A double would do it for the team—Zack was fast enough to make it home on a double.

But as Alex closed his eyes and ran the sequence again, he knew what he wanted. To get it, he'd have to ignore the waves of nausea seeping through him at every move of his wrist. And he'd have to keep the pain out of his eyes; the Dodgers' pitcher would exploit it. It was the guy's job, after all. If the Dodgers lost today, they'd be hanging their jerseys up for the season. This game was their last shot at a wild card spot in the playoffs. In some ways Madden had more at stake than he did.

Alex stepped up to the plate. Madden was a first-pitch fastball pitcher. Alex saw it coming and swung, even and hard. The ball tipped foul into the stands. He doubled over with blistering pain. Walsh started out of the dugout, but Alex waved him off, nodding that he was okay. And he was. As long as the nausea stayed down.

Walsh stared at him, reading what he could, then shook his head and stepped back into the dugout.

Alex tapped the dirt from his cleats, dug his back foot in and took his stance. He stared out at the pitcher and registered the answering look in the young pitcher's eyes—the boy thought he had him. That look was all Alex needed to see. There were times when experience trumped talent and this was one of them. He'd be throwing one over the plate.

Madden started into his stretch, then pivoted and fired the ball to first. Zack dove back to the base, barely beating the throw.

Alex called time and stepped out of the box. He ran the pitch sequence and visualization again. Satisfied, he stepped back into the box.

Madden looked to the catcher, shook him off, then nodded.

Alex locked him in his gaze.

When Madden released the ball, Alex saw it come toward him as if it moved in slow motion; he saw the seams, saw the curve. He adjusted his body and slammed into the ball with the heart of his bat. When he made contact, he wasn't sure if the sound he heard was the ball on the wood or the splitting of his wrist. He ignored the jolt of excruciating pain, dropped the bat and jogged toward first, watching the arc of the ball as he ran. When it dropped five rows into the center field bleachers, the crowd leaped to their feet. He felt, more than heard, their roar.

It wasn't until he rounded third base and slowed his jog toward home that he realized they were screaming "Triple Crown! Triple Crown!" He looked over his shoulder at the scoreboard, where the words were flashing, big as trucks. Five of his teammates rushed up the steps of the dugout and high-fived him. More guys poured out and mobbed him and then lifted him onto their shoulders and carried him down into the dugout. Embarrassment flooded through his elation—the game still had an inning to go.

The crowd roared and clapped, stamping their feet and calling his name. He stepped up onto the field and tipped his cap. As he did, he scanned the seats for Jackie. He found her standing near the stairs at the side of the dugout. He smiled, feeling as if all the pieces of his life were snugly joined together. She shot him an _okay_ sign.

Then she pressed her fingers to her heart.

He tipped his cap at her and turned. The emotion washing through him was too powerful to show in public, too precious. He knew the cameras were zoomed in on him and did his best to pull up his game face. He stepped down into the dugout and collapsed on the bench. Walsh prodded him to head to the clubhouse but knew even before he made the effort that Alex wasn't going to budge.

After the game, Jackie made her way through the stadium to the friends and family room where she'd agreed to wait for Alex. She showed her ID at the door and waited, feeling uncomfortable, as the guard searched his list. He gave her the nod and she slipped in. The room was packed with women making halfhearted attempts to corral excited children and clusters of men showing each other shots on their phones and talking in the animated way that people on the fringe of exciting action often did. A group of stylishly dressed younger women stood in one corner, eyeing her.

She walked over to a table spread with drinks and food. The fare was a step up from the food in the stadium, but she wasn't interested in any of it. She'd seen the look on Alex's face as he'd reentered the dugout.

She couldn't stand around waiting any longer.

She walked back to the guard.

"I'd like to see Alex Tavonesi, if I may." She used her most charming English accent; it usually smoothed the way.

"You and a thousand other people." The guard grinned. "Sorry." He looked at his watch. "He's not one to dally with the press." He looked up and a sly smile crawled across his face. "Won't be long at all."

A hand grabbed her waist from behind and turned her.

"Carl is on _my_ side," Alex said with a grin. "Carl, this is the esteemed Dr. Brandon. She keeps the sea lions healthy so they can have a bite or two out of your best salmon catch."

Carl cracked a smile and then turned to stop three teenagers from crowding into the room.

"Let's get out of here," Alex said against her ear. He trotted her down a tunnel and out a side door. She pointed to where she'd parked her truck.

"I'm driving," she said as she opened the passenger door for him. "I'm not risking my life on _that_." She nodded toward his bandaged wrist.

"It's not broken, if that's what you're worried about. Nothing another shot of cortisone and"—he leaned down and kissed her—" _this_ won't handle."

He pressed his lips to hers and all the emotions she'd held in check as she'd watched him struggle at the plate, as she'd waited to hear if he was okay, as she'd struggled to keep the events of the past days at bay, poured into her kiss.

After a moment, after a lifetime, she eased back. She wanted to say it, needed to say it. He'd said he loved her. She never thought she'd believe a man again, but she believed him. And she needed to declare her love in return.

"I love you," she said. It came out almost brusque, but from the answering look in his eyes, her tone didn't matter.

"I know," he said as he squeezed her hand and kissed her. "You stayed for the whole game."

"You're a beast," she said, pulling away. "And I'm still not letting you drive." She nudged him into the passenger seat and pulled the seat belt across his lap.

As she slid behind the wheel, a group of raucous fans entered the lot a few yards away. Alex shut his door and pulled his hood up over his head.

"Drive," he said, slinking down into the seat. He grinned over at her. "Incognito."

"I knew my battered sealmobile would impress you someday," she said.

"I'm more interested in the wench driving than the winch in the back."

Jackie moaned. "Did the trainers make a mistake and shoot the cortisone directly into your brain?"

He laughed.

"We English hold a high standard for humor," she said as she honked at a car that was clearly in her way and hadn't changed lanes properly. "So it's a good thing you can cook."

"No, it's a good thing this truck has airbags," he said, dodging her punch.

Epilogue

Sabrina had outdone herself. She'd insisted on throwing an engagement party for Alex and Jackie and had lit Trovare from one end to the other with lanterns and candles and strings of colored lights. The February rains had held off; the weather patterns had shifted once again.

Jackie's mother, an elegant and gracious woman, had flown in from England. Even Cory had made the party—he'd stopped in on his way to the world championship finals in Australia. Scotty had driven up from the city and though Alex winced to see him and Cory laughing and talking with his cousin Alana, at least they'd been warned. Her beauty drew men in, but her heart was wild territory that even the most sophisticated man had yet to crack.

A crowd of friends and family had already gathered in the great room. What caught Alex's eye was Emilio standing off to one side. The tuxedo he wore set off his rugged, handsome features, but he looked uncomfortable. Uniforms were useful, but they couldn't hide when a man felt out of his element.

Emilio had been shocked by the news of Jackie's kidnapping. He'd blamed himself for not knowing what had been going on at the neighboring vineyard. The news of the heroin smuggling had stunned him; he simply wasn't one to consider bad things about others. When the FBI confirmed that Volkov and Bennett had smuggled in the heroin by hiding it in barrels of fertilizer, he was outraged. When they'd found out that old farmer Di Salvo hadn't known what had been happening after he'd leased out his vineyard, it hadn't been much consolation to any of them.

The FBI pulled in six men involved in the smuggling ring. Emilio stood by Alex and Jackie's side during the ordeal of the investigations and trials. Alex thought Emilio had been more relieved than he was when the death of Darron Bennett had been ruled accidental and Alex and Jackie were cleared of any wrongdoing.

Volkov, however, had disappeared. He probably had the money for a south-of-the-border face-change operation and would pop up somewhere else, still plying his trade. It made Alex sleep easier knowing that the guy was too smart to try anything else in California.

"Champagne, sir?" A waiter held out a tray lined with crystal glasses. Alex took one and sipped. An expectant hum washed over the room, and goose bumps shivered through him. Alex looked toward the door.

Jackie stood there wearing a simple silver gown that did nothing to hide the sensuous, athletic beauty of her body. She wore the pearl necklace that Alex's mother had given her as an engagement present. Though she far outshone any other woman in the room, she, like Emilio, appeared uncomfortable. He rushed to her side.

"I'd say you look like a goddess, but that would be a cliché," Alex said, brushing a kiss to her cheek. "And not nearly enough of a compliment."

"My mother brought _trunk-_ loads of these for me," she said, fidgeting with the bodice of her gown. "I think she's happier that I'm wearing this gown than she was about my discoveries or us breaking up an international smuggling ring or you achieving the batting title."

Alex nuzzled her. "I like you best in your slimy slickers."

"Is it too late for me to question your taste?"

" _Way_ too late," he said as he led her to their place at the head of a glittering, opulently set table.

Though dinner was a warm-hearted affair, Alex chafed to escape. Jackie had been away for a week at a conference in Seattle, and he'd missed her. The sizzle that her every glance sent through him told him where he'd rather be. He relaxed as they left the table and gathered in the ballroom for celebratory toasts. Jackie glanced over at her mother, standing tête-à-tête with his near the musicians on the dais.

"They look like two wizardesses plotting the future of the world," she said. "Or like two queens in a castle."

"Likely they could plot the overthrow of a galactic enterprise." He traced his fingers along the curve of her back. "Want to get out of here and leave them to their scheming?"

"Could be dangerous," she said, brushing a kiss to his lips.

He took her by the hand and they slipped out into the night.

Alex had the car packed and waiting in the paved courtyard. The voices and music of the party filtered down with the light breeze. He walked around to open Jackie's door. At first she looked like she was going to protest, but then she smiled and let him hold the door and tuck in the folds of her gown so they wouldn't catch when he closed it.

"Thank you," she said with a smile. "Is it too late to say thank you for everything?"

"Never."

Her light laugh was music to him.

"Did you see your brother flirting with my cousin Alana?" Alex asked as they pulled away from Trovare.

"I rather think it was the other way around. Cory does _not_ flirt."

"That's what _he_ said about you," he said with a wink. He dodged her playful punch—he was ready for it.

"I bet _you_ noticed Bradley dancing with Sabrina," Jackie teased.

"Sabrina has a good heart, so he's in good hands. But she's a wicked matchmaker. He'd better be ready to meet the woman of his dreams."

"That'd be good," Jackie said, covering a yawn. "He deserves a special woman."

Alex turned off on the road leading to Albion Bay. The cottage they'd renovated wasn't ready, but it'd do for a night away. And they'd have it to themselves.

Jackie dozed part of the way. He brushed a curl from her face. Looking at her peaceful beauty, no one would ever know there was a daredevil living deep inside. At least he'd persuaded her to consider the concept of caution. But he'd learned long ago it was a mistake to try to change anyone's basic nature. Baseball had taught him that.

As they neared the coast, the fog swept fingers of mist across the road and sent trails of moonlight sweeping into the trees.

"Hey," he said, shaking her arm. "Coastal highway—waking you as requested."

She rolled down her window and let in the fresh, salted air.

About a quarter mile up the road they passed a small construction site. Jackie leaned to the window and peered at it in the moonlight.

"Peterson's right on schedule," Alex announced. "Or would be if a certain _lady_ didn't keep giving him change orders." He shot her a grin.

The design and construction of the little satellite rescue center and field lab in Albion Bay had been a challenge. The local volunteers had very explicit ideas for their new facility and Jackie had stuck by them. The five-hundred-square-foot project had taken longer than building the new lab, the seal pools _and_ the dolphin tanks in the headlands.

"He's fed up with all of us." She gave him a quick, sidelong glance and laughed. "You might have to stay in the game—if the volunteers ask for any more changes to the plans up here, we'll need a star."

He squeezed her hand. " _We_ already have one."

She wrinkled her nose. "Gage was wrong, you know." She slid close and kissed his cheek. "Turns out, it's love that gets to bat last."

He put an arm around her shoulders and tugged her tight against him. "Then it's a good thing I'm on the home team."

THE END

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# Thank you!

Thanks for reading _Love Bats Last_ , the first book in the _Tavonesi Series_. I hope you enjoyed Jackie and Alex's love story!

  * **Would** you like to know when my next books are available? You can sign up for my new release newsletter at <http://www.pamelaaares.com/newsletter-signup/>.

  * The other books in the _Tavonesi_ _Series_ are:

_Thrown By Love (_ Book #2, Chloe and Scotty)

_Fielder's Choice_ (Book #3, Alana and Matt)

_Love on the Line_ (Book #4, Cara and Ryan)

_Aim For Love_ (Book #5, Sabrina and Kaz)

_The Heart of the Game_ (Book #6, Cody and Zoe)

_Love in the Vineyard_ (Natasha and Adrian, September 2015)

_Any Day for Love_ (December 2015)

Find all of The Tavonesi Series Books on Smashwords

**If you enjoyed reading** _Love Bats Last_ **, I would appreciate it if you would help others enjoy the series, too.**

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  * **Recommend the books.** Please help other readers to find out about the Tavonesi clan by recommending the books in the _Tavonesi Series_ to friends, readers' groups, Goodreads, and discussion boards.

I write so that readers may enjoy the experience of reading my books. I hope you enjoy every one!

_Thank you_ so much for reading and for spending time with me.

In gratitude,

Pamela Aares

Another winner in Pamela Aares' The Tavonesi Series. Get ready to enter the fast-paced world of alpha male, All-Star athletes and the top-of-their-game women they come to love.

Aares deftly weaves together the desires and strategies of world-class sports with the equally charged realm of the heart to create a fast-moving tale you'll wish would never end.

Mary Beath, award-winning author of

Refuge of Whirling Light

And don't miss...

# Other Books By Pamela

Book Two in The Tavonesi Series

A kiss in a dark alcove triggers the greatest challenge of their lives...

Ace pitcher Scotty Donovan has been traded from his longtime team—and hates it. But to his surprise, he now finds himself in the sweetest game of his life: winning the heart of smart, sexy physics professor Chloe McNalley.

Chloe loves teaching, but she's never fit into academia. When she falls for Scotty, she discovers his arms and heart are where she belongs. They share a passion for the game, a fascination for the mysteries of the universe and an increasing love for one another.

Then Chloe inherits Scotty's new team. As player and team owner, they shouldn't be dating. They try to hide their passion, until a blackmailer threatens them personally and professionally. Exposure could be the end of everything--Scotty's career, Chloe's team ownership, and their new love—unless they find a way to transcend the taboo standing between them.

Click here to buy Thrown By Love

Book Three in The Tavonesi Series

When love's the game, you can't play it safe...

All-Star shortstop Matt Darrington has more than a problem. His wife died, and now he's juggling a too-smart-for-her-britches six-year-old and the grueling pace of professional baseball. Worse, his daughter is mom shopping. When they explore a local ranch, she decides the beautiful, free-spirited tour guide is premium mom material. Matt thinks the sexy guide looks like Grade-A trouble.

Alana Tavonesi loves her cosmopolitan life in Paris. But when she inherits the renowned Tavonesi Olive Ranch, she has to return to California and face obligations she never wanted. Selling the place is her first instinct, but life at the ranch begins to crack her open, exposing the dreams hidden inside her heart.

On a lark she leads a ranch tour, where she meets Matt Darrington. His physical power and a captivating sensual appeal fire her in a way no man ever has, but he has a kid—and being a stepmom is a responsibility Alana will never be ready for. Still . . . she can't keep her mind or her hands off him.

When Matt's daughter goes missing from a kid's camp at the ranch, Alana organizes the search effort, knowing from experience the areas a bright child would be drawn to explore. As she and Matt work together to search for the little girl, Alana discovers that father and daughter have won her heart. Yet it may be too late for love...

Click here to buy Fielder's Choice

Book Four in The Tavonesi Series

Hiding her identity was a small price to pay for freedom . . .

Heiress Cara Barrington fled the opulent world of her rich and famous family to carve out an idyllic existence on the California Coast. In the sleepy town of Albion Bay, she's embraced the simple way of living she's always craved. No one knows her identity, and she's free from the pressures of wealth . . . until her sexy new neighbor threatens the unpretentious world she's worked so hard to build.

All-Star athlete Ryan Rea enjoys his high-profile status. He's used to charming his way into the heart and bed of any woman he desires while keeping his own heart secure behind a steel wall. When he meets Cara, she throws him a curveball—she's unlike any woman he's ever met, and he has to have her.

Cara's growing attraction to Ryan endangers her hard-won anonymity, and when she inherits the family business, she must choose between the world she left behind and her new life in the community she's come to cherish. But facing up to her responsibilities could destroy her freedom and cost her the greatest love she's ever known.

Click here to buy Love on the Line

Book Five in The Tavonesi Series

In AIM FOR LOVE, rising movie star Sabrina Tavonesi has only three weeks to heal her shoulder before shooting her next film. Sexy baseball pitching phenom Kaz Tokugawa has a solution—a mysterious Japanese healing method she's too desperate to turn down. Soon, they're not just working on her shoulder; they're falling in love.

But Kaz has made a promise he's not sure he can keep, and Sabrina faces inner demons that threaten to overwhelm her. When violence strikes, their secrets may destroy their dreams, their love...and their lives.

Click here to buy Aim for Love

# ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

I owe oceans of gratitude to the many people who helped transform this story from an inspiration into a published work. The talented writers at the San Francisco Area chapter of Romance Writers of America shared wisdom and encouragement, and I am especially grateful to Tina Folsom, Bella Andre, Monica McCarty and Carolyn Jewel for their advice and help. My editor, Beth Hill at A Novel Edit, made sure that every word served the story, and cover designer Jane Dixon-Smith created covers for the entire The Tavonesi Series that sizzle with life.

I learned about the dedicated work being done to improve the lives of wild marine mammals from the staff of The Marine Mammal Center in Sausalito, California. Dennis DeDomenico and Sandi Brod of Rock Wren Wines provided timely advice about viniculture and vine pruning. Any deviation from their collective wisdom is in service to the story or an embellishment of my imagination.

My dear friend Cornelia has the best ear for story of anyone I know, and I thank her for her patience and clarity. I am also blessed to have friends and family who respect a writer's need for time to get words onto the page—if only my cats were as understanding when I shooed them from the keyboard!

I am deeply grateful to my husband, Bruce, who was willing to talk fastballs and stolen bases before his first cup of coffee and whose love and encouragement from the very beginning made it possible to bring these characters to life.

And many, many thanks to my readers, whose enthusiasm for my stories is like honey to the soul.

About the Author

When **PAMELA AARES** released her first romance novel – _Jane Austen and the Archangel_ , critics and readers raved and fans clamored for a contemporary romance series. Love Bats Last is the first book in the sensual, empowering and fast-paced contemporary series, The Tavonesi Series, featuring alpha-male All-Stars and the strong women they come to love.

Before becoming a romance author, Pamela produced and wrote award winning films and radio shows. She knows without a doubt that romance powers stories that empower, transport, entertain and blaze a path to wholeness. Pamela holds a master's degree from Harvard and lives in the wine country of California with her husband and two curious cats. If not behind her computer you can find her reading her favorite romances, hiking the beaches or savoring life with friends.

You can visit Pamela on the web at www.PamelaAares.com. She'd love to hear from you!

LOVE BATS LAST

Copyright 2013 Pamela Aares

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles or reviews. For information address SeaStar Press P.O. Box 750924, Petaluma, CA 94975-0924.

http://www.PamelaAares.com

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Cover design by www.jdsmith-design.com

Interior Layout by www.formatting4U.com

This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental

