Rachael smiled. "Not at all. Since I can't remember anything, maybe you could help me learn a little about myself. Do you have time to sit for a minute?"

"Sure."

As Rick sat down in the chair next to Rachael, Amy eased back toward the house, leaving them alone. Though Amy couldn't hear what he said, when Vega started talking, for the first time since they had come to the house, Rachael laughed. The sound was so sweet it made Amy's heart hurt.

Her mother came up beside where she stood watching her sister with the handsome detective. "Rachael's doing better every day," her mother said.

"This morning she remembered something about Daddy. A trip we went on to the lake. She said the memory only lasted a couple of seconds, but I think it gave her hope."

Her mother's eyes strayed to where Rachael sat on the deck. "It's hard to look at her and know she doesn't have the faintest idea who I am."

"I know it is, but if a memory of Daddy came back, I think in time she'll remember everything. I really think she's going to be all right."

Her mother's blue gaze swung to Amy. "What about you, honey, are you going to be all right?"

Amy looked up at her. "What do you mean?"

"You and Johnnie. It's clear you have feelings for him. It's also clear he isn't the man for you, and I think you know it."

Amy ignored a stab of pain. "I love him, Mom. He's the most incredible man I've ever met. If I thought I could make him happy, there's nothing that could keep me away from him. But you're right. His life is just too different from mine. And there's no way I would want him to change."

Her mother squeezed her shoulder. "You've always been the sensible one. I'm glad you're willing to see the truth."

Amy made no reply. The truth was glaringly there for anyone to see. He wasn't for her and she wasn't for him. It didn't make her love him any less.

Rick spoke quietly to Rachael. She was even more beautiful than her pictures, with the color returning to her cheeks and her dark hair gleaming in the sun. And softer, more vulnerable. He couldn't imagine the woman in front of him dancing onstage at the Kitty Cat Club.

From beneath thick-fringed lashes, she looked up at him. "Amy said I worked as an exotic dancer." Words that mirrored his thoughts. "She says my mother doesn't know. But you do, don't you?"

"I've seen you dance. To tell you the truth, I was there on police business. At the time, I didn't pay that much attention."

She seemed somehow relieved. Her shoulders relaxed and her pretty lips curved into a smile. "Wasn't I any good?"

His mouth edged up in return. "There were other things about you I found more interesting-not that you don't look great in a silver G-string."

Rachael laughed. She let her head tip back against the chaise she was resting in. "So what was it you found interesting about me?"

"Well, you're involved in charity work at the Dennison Children's Shelter. You often went to see a little boy named Jimmy whose mother wasn't around very much. You were a very good actress-or so Marvin Bixler, the director I talked to, told me."

"Amy said you told her I would have gotten the part in LAPD Blue if I hadn't...hadn't...if I hadn't..."

Rick reached over and gently caught her hand. "Take it easy. You've locked away the memories of what happened, but they're still in there, rolling around inside your head. In time, I think you'll remember. When you do, it's going to be painful. On some level, I think you know that."

She swallowed. "Amy told me some of it...how they found me in that...that house on the island. I know I went to Belize with a man, a drug dealer. What kind of a woman would a.s.sociate with a man like that?"

"Not the one I know. I don't think you went willingly, Rachael. I think he forced you."

Her eyes teared up and she glanced away. "I guess somehow that makes it better."

"We'll figure it out, Rachael. I promise you. Once you remember, you'll be able to tell us how you ended up with Ortega."

Her gaze swung back to his. "You won't say anything about the rescue? I don't want to get Johnnie and the men who saved me in trouble."

"John Riggs is a very good friend. He's a bit of a renegade, but he's one of the best men I've ever known. What he tells me stays between him and me. It's the same with you, Rachael. You can say whatever you want and you don't have to worry."

Rachael squeezed his hand. "Thank you, Detective."

"It's Rick, okay?"

She smiled. "Rick." He noticed she was beginning to perspire, the withdrawal hitting her again.

"I think I'd better go in," she said. "All of a sudden, I'm not feeling so well."

"Here, let me help you." He eased her up from the chaise then helped her cross the deck to the big gla.s.s doors. What possessed him to bend down and kiss her cheek as they stepped inside the house he would never know. "You take care of yourself, all right?"

"I will. Thank you for coming."

"If it's all right with you, I'll stop by again."

Her eyes met his. "I'd like that," she said softly. "I'd like that very much."

Looking into that arresting face, Rick felt something he had never felt before. Something that made his chest feel tight and scared him half to death.

Still, he'd be back. There wasn't a chance in h.e.l.l he could stay away.

Thirty.

He sat in his wood-paneled office, the walls lined with gold-embossed diplomas and certificates. The door was closed, giving him the privacy he needed.

His fingers tightened around the disposable phone he used for calls like these. "I can't believe this."

"You shouldn't have let your conscience get in the way," said the voice on the other end of the line. "You should have done what Ortega told you. You should have let him kill her."

"He was supposed to get her out of the country, take her someplace safe and keep her there."

"Well, now she's back. What are you going to do about it?"

He licked his lips, which suddenly felt bone-dry. "You said she's lost her memory. If she doesn't remember anything, how can she be a threat?"

"The doctors think it's only temporary, just a matter of time till it all comes back."

He took a deep breath, steadied himself, slowly released the air trapped in his lungs. "Can you handle it?"

A moment of silence on the line. "I know someone who can."

He'd weakened before. He had feelings for Rachael Brewer. If she hadn't been a G.o.dd.a.m.ned stripper they might have had a future together.

If she'd stayed in the bedroom that night, instead of walking into his study when he was in the middle of an important meeting, she wouldn't need to die.

But life had a way of changing the best laid plans. Dan clenched his jaw. "Do it," he said.

The following night Johnnie sat at a table at the back of the Kitty Cat Club, sipping a bottle of Bud. Tate Watters spotted him and took a seat beside him.

"Haven't heard from you or Angel for a while. What's going on?"

Johnnie set his beer down. "We found Rachael. I can't give you the details. The important thing is she's back and the doctors think she'll be okay."

Relief and then worry flickered in Tate's eyes. "How bad is she?"

"She's in pretty rough shape, Tate. Until she's well enough to handle visitors, I need you to keep the news under your hat. Not even Babs can know."

"Understood."

"It's DEA business so how it actually came down isn't going to be in the papers."

"Even if it was, running off at the mouth has never been my style."

Johnnie picked up his beer, took a long swallow. "Another thing.... Angel's finished. She's nursing her sister. You'll have to find a replacement."

Tate eyed him with speculation. "You don't have to look so d.a.m.ned happy about it. She was one of the customers' favorites. Maybe I should talk to her, offer her more money."

Johnnie set his bottle down a little too hard on the table. "Bulls.h.i.t, it's over. Consider this her official resignation. She's out and that's the end of it."

Tate laughed. "I was kidding, all right?"

Embarra.s.sment burned the back of his neck. He was glad it was dark in the club. "Sorry."

"No problem. She's a really nice girl. If I were you, I'd-"

"Don't say it. She's going back to Grand Rapids as soon as this is over."

"That's too bad."

Johnnie looked over Tate's head. Honeybee was on the stage, jiggling her oversize b.r.e.a.s.t.s and tossing her mane of red hair.

"Listen, I stopped by to fill you in, but there's something else. We still haven't figured the link between Rachael and Ortega. We know his men took her the night she disappeared, but we can't figure the why. You hear anything...anything at all, you let me know."

"I'll keep my ears open."

Leaving his beer half finished, Johnnie rose from the table and picked his way through the crowded club, and out to the parking lot. He'd make his usual rounds, see if anything new turned up. Then he'd go home and climb into his empty bed.

And do his d.a.m.nedest not to think of Amy, knowing she was in the house next door and he couldn't touch her. Do his best to convince himself it was better to end things now, just stay friends.

Tell himself he didn't want her just as much as he had the first night he had seen her onstage, dancing as Angel Fontaine.

Amy couldn't sleep. For a while, she lay beneath the sheets staring up at the ceiling, thinking of Johnnie, missing him, wishing things could be different.

Wishing she was in his bed and they were making love.

With a sigh, she finally gave up and tossed back the covers, hoping a gla.s.s of milk would help. Pulling on her robe, she tied the sash and padded down the hall toward the kitchen. She pa.s.sed her mother's room and paused at Rachael's door, thinking maybe she should pop in for a quick check on her sister to be sure she was sleeping all right.

Quietly turning the k.n.o.b, she eased open the door and her breath caught. A man dressed completely in black slid open the gla.s.s door leading out to the deck and stepped into the bedroom. As he moved toward the bed, a sliver of moonlight glinted off the pistol in his hand, the barrel pointed at Rachael, soundly sleeping beneath the covers.

Amy let out an ear-piercing scream and bolted toward the attacker, praying she could sidetrack the man long enough for her sister to get out of the way.

Johnnie pulled his Mustang into the garage and turned off the engine. As he cracked open the car door and reached beneath the seat to retrieve the 9 mm Beretta he carried on nights like these, a shrill scream cut through the air. Cold fear washed over him. A rush of adrenaline had his instincts kicking in. Gripping the pistol in his hand, Johnnie started running toward Ellie's house.

He knew where that scream had come from, knew it had to be an a.s.sault on Rachael, d.a.m.ned himself for thinking the danger was over. Scanning the grounds for any additional threat lurking in the darkness, he raced toward the back of the house, bolted up the steps leading onto the deck and ran for the guest wing.

One of the sliders was open. Inside the room, he saw Amy struggling with a man in black, a ski mask over his face, fighting to wrench the gun out of his hand. She kicked a leg out from under him and they landed hard on the carpet, the pistol going off with a deafening roar.

"Hold it right there!" Johnnie's pistol pointed directly at the gunman, but there was no way he could pull the trigger, not with Amy tangled up with his target.

The gunman swung the barrel of his pistol up to Amy's head. "Back off-unless you want her to die."

Johnnie's fingers tightened around the grip of his weapon. If he'd had a clear shot, the guy would be dead. "Let her go," he said softly. "Let her go and I won't kill you."

The intruder hauled Amy to her feet, his gun pressed hard against her temple, an arm locked around her neck. "You're not the one in charge here."

From the corner of his eye, Johnnie saw Rachael backed against the wall, tears streaming down her face. Even without looking their way, he knew Ellie and Hannah Brewer were standing in the open doorway.

A s.h.i.tload of women and a shooter in the mix.

He wondered if things could get worse.

Hannah gave a soft sob and he thought, Oh, yeah, a whole lot worse.

"Step away from the door," the gunman warned. Johnnie did as he was told, easing backward out to the deck, opening what appeared to be a path of escape.

"Look, just let her go and get out of here," he said. "By the time the cops get here, you'll be long gone."

"Put down the weapon."

Johnnie shook his head. "Not gonna happen." If he did, people would be dead. He took another step backward, but kept the intruder in his line of fire. "All I care about is the woman. Just let her go and you'll have a chance to get away." Not much of one but he didn't say that.

The gunman made the mistake of turning his pistol away from Amy and pointing it at Johnnie. Her eyes locked with his an instant before her hands shot out to the side and she slapped her palms hard over the gunman's ears.

"f.u.c.k!" The man staggered and nearly fell. The women screamed as Amy dropped to the carpet and rolled out of the way. The gunman fired wildly and Johnnie fired back.

One, two, three shots, dead center in the shooter's chest. The guy crashed backward onto the bedroom floor, twitched a couple of times, then lay still.

s.h.i.t. He needed the b.a.s.t.a.r.d alive but the guy hadn't left him any choice.