'Please,' JD said simply, now understanding the power of that one word.

She was startled, then resigned, as if he'd peeled away one of the layers she'd held onto for dear life. She fitted the violin under her chin and played the first piece again. Once again Mr Pugh's cheeks were wet. This time JD's were too.

For a long moment she held his gaze and JD could hear every beat of his own heart. Then she looked away and put the violin in its case.

'Will he be all right now?' JD asked Barb as Lucy knelt at the old man's feet and took off his shoes. Barb shook her head.

'No. He'll have another few episodes today, but that was probably the worst one.'

'You know what you're going to have to do,' JD murmured and Barb nodded.

'I know.' Suddenly she looked so weary. 'I know.'

'I'm sorry. I know the expense is-'

'Not a factor,' Barb interrupted. 'Lucy's taken care of it. She started putting money away as soon as I called to tell her Jerry had been diagnosed. She quit her job and came right back, no questions asked.'

'Where was she before?'

'California. She's a good person, our Lucy.' Who had persuaded Mr Pugh to lie down and was covering him with an afghan. 'She's got a nice place picked out. She's just waiting on me to . . .' Barb swallowed hard. 'To be ready to lose him. But she doesn't push, not hard anyway. She knows what it's like to be put somewhere against her will.' She pressed her lips together. 'And I've said too much.'

'No, ma'am. You've said just enough.' He gave her one of his cards. 'If you need anything, just call.'

Barb took the card. 'Why did this killer do this?' she asked, her voice low and urgent. 'Set up a dead man to look like my Jerry?'

'To frighten Lucy,' JD said. 'If you have any reason to be afraid, do not hesitate to call 911. Don't call one of us first. Call 911, and then call me.'

Barb paled. 'I understand. You'll take care of her, won't you?'

'Yes,' he said without hesitation. 'Can you answer one more question?'

'Maybe.'

'Did her parents come to her final recital, when she played the Adagio?'

Barb frowned, anger flashing in her eyes. 'No, they never came. Not once. It was like they threw her away. It broke our hearts.' She drew a breath. 'And hers.'

Tuesday, May 4, 11.25 A.M.

Fitzpatrick was uncharacteristically quiet as he opened the door to her apartment. CSU had put their own lock on the door, so Lucy's key no longer worked.

'Maybe that's why he put the heart in Gwyn's place,' she murmured. 'He doesn't have the key to my place anymore.'

'Maybe. But I don't think so any more than you do. He knew you were there, Lucy. And whether you want to admit it or not, the people who knew were there in your club.'

'I know.' He was right on both counts. The club's staff had known. And she didn't want to admit it. She went to her bedroom, thinking about the last piece she'd played for Mr Pugh.

Fitzpatrick had cried. Mr Pugh had cried, of course. But he always had, even before the Alzheimer's. He'd cried the first time she'd played the piece in high school. But Mr Pugh's tears were different he'd been an artist. A musician.

And more of a father than the one who'd borne her.

But Fitzpatrick . . . his tears had given her a jolt, just as they had that day in the autopsy suite. And the way he looked at me. Like he'd been trying to see . . . me.

She opened her bedroom door tentatively, but her room looked exactly as she'd left it. 'I'll be quick,' she said, proceeding to pack yet another suitcase.

Fitzpatrick's gaze roamed the room, coming to rest on Lucy for a long moment before sliding toward the bed against the wall. It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room and her heart suddenly pounded in her throat.

'I didn't expect pink . . . or lace,' he said gruffly.

Her bedspread was frothy, lacy and very girly. It was the bed she'd always dreamed of having all those nights she'd slept in a plain dorm bed.

'Not everything can be black leather,' she said, intending for the words to come out light and airy. Instead they were as deep and gruff as Fitzpatrick's had been. His dark eyes flashed dangerously, his hands flexing before curling into fists at his sides.

With a great effort she made herself turn around and march into the closet.

Her closet was nearly empty. 'I can't have any more clothes become part of a crime scene,' she grumbled. She gathered the few work outfits she had left and stood staring at the black dresses that remained. 'How long will our club will stay closed?' she called.

'Another day at least,' he said from right behind her.

Startled, she spun around. He stood inches away in the closet doorway. His face had taken on a sharp edge. Stubble already dusted his jaw. He looked like a pirate eyeing his booty. Which would be me. She should tell him to step back. I should.

'Maybe more than a day,' he added, leaning closer until the lapels of his coat brushed her breasts. He stretched, reaching his arm over her head to her closet shelf and she had to concentrate on not ducking. But she stood her ground and when he straightened, he held a pair of stiletto heels in his hand. 'Better take a dress or two,' he said. 'Just to be sure.'

She closed her eyes, her body pulsing in all the places it shouldn't. 'You are so bad for me,' she whispered.

His chuckle was dark, sending shivers down her back. 'I think you were bad long before I arrived.' Reaching over her shoulder, he pushed at hangers. 'Hm. A shame.'

When she opened her eyes, he had several leather dresses hanging from his crooked finger. 'What's a shame?'

He grinned wickedly, his dimple coming into full view, making her want to reach up and touch it. 'No outfits like the one Gwyn had on last night.'

Gwyn's bustiers were the stuff of legend. 'There's only so far my bad goes.'

His brows rose. 'And how far is that?'

She looked away, remembering his motorcycle helmet. And the alley. Can't forget about that. As if. 'Let me change my clothes. I'll meet you in the living room.'

With a frown he laid the black dresses and the shoes across her bed. 'All right.'

She changed from the scrubs into a plain navy sheath and jacket, then packed the rest of the clothes into a suitcase. Pausing, she stared at the black dresses on the bed and swore before putting them on top. 'Just in case,' she muttered. In case of what, she wasn't sure.

Tuesday, May 4, 11.40 A.M.

He looked up from the photo he'd been studying when Lucy dragged her suitcase into her living room, the duffle that he now knew held her violin over one shoulder. She'd changed into a dress with another skinny skirt. He eyed the suitcase, hoping she'd packed the black dresses.

Her eyes narrowed slightly at the frame in his hand. She was annoyed that he'd intruded into her personal life, but he didn't care. This case revolved around Lucy. The more he understood about her and the faster he understood it, the better. They needed to catch a killer before he could burn letters into any more backs or slit any more throats.

Especially Lucy's. The very thought made his blood run cold.

He turned the frame so she could see. 'It's you and Mr Pugh.'

She took it, brushing at non-existent dust. In the photo was a young Lucy wearing a school uniform. She sat in a chair, a violin under her chin, her bow at her side. Her very serious eyes were fixed on Mr Pugh who was playing his own violin, his expression one of great joy.

'I remember this day,' she said wistfully. 'It's hard to remember him like he was, then see him like he is today.'

'You love him.'

Her eyes flashed up to his, filled with pain. 'He's been . . . like a father to me.'

While hers peeked at her from behind window blinds. 'You were young in this picture.'

'Fifteen.'

'Barb said it was a residential school.'

Lucy's cheeks flushed. 'Barb sometimes talks too much.'

'Why were you in a residential school?' he asked intently. 'Please tell me.'

She lifted her chin. 'You could ask Mrs Westcott. She'd be happy to tell you.'

'I'm not asking Mrs Westcott. I'm asking you.'

'Fine.' She squared her shoulders, as if facing a firing squad. 'I got into trouble and got sent to a home for "troubled girls".'

His brows crunched slightly. 'How did you get into trouble?'

'I broke into Mrs Westcott's house. Then she accused me of stealing from her.'

His brows crunched more. 'Why did you break into her house?'

'There was something there I wanted.'

He closed his eyes. 'Lucy, are you going to tell me the whole story or do I have to dig it out of you with a grapefruit spoon?'

She put the frame back on the shelf with a weary sigh. 'Westcott's got a son.'

JD rocked back on his heels, crossing his arms over his chest. 'Let me guess. He knew your brother and Edwards and Bennett and Agar.'

She frowned. 'Yes. Sonny's the same age, played on the team with my brother.'

'Linus.'

One side of her mouth lifted sadly. 'He hated that name. My mother's maiden name is Buckland, and that was his middle name. Everyone called him Buck.'

'You loved your brother.'

'Yes. Buck was . . . bigger than life. My parents' living room is filled with his trophies, all sports. I sat in the bleachers for every game. He got all the cheers. Everyone loved Buck.'

'But?' he asked.

'When he was gone, everything . . . stopped.'

'What stopped?'

'My m-' She caught herself and shrugged. 'Life. My parents worked their important jobs and when they came home, it was all about Buck. My father watched videos of his games and my mother polished his trophies. His room became a shrine. Nobody was allowed in there.'

'Even you?'

She let out a breath. 'Especially me.'

'Why?'

'Because my mother said so. But I'd go in his room when my mother was . . . not home. I missed him, so much. I'd sneak into his room to be near his things. Weeks became months and suddenly a year had passed. His funeral had been a few days before my fourteenth birthday, so it was my birthday again and I snuck into his room and found this.' She jangled the bracelet on her arm. 'It was in a cigar box under some baseball cards. He must have gotten it for my birthday right before the accident.'

JD lifted her hand so that he could read the charm. ' "Number one sister".' When he lowered her hand, he held it loosely so she could pull away. Instead she held on tighter.

'Buck probably got it out of a Cracker Jack box, but for a girl missing her brother, it was like a gift sent down from heaven. I never took it off except to shower.'

'What did your parents say?'

'Nothing. They didn't notice it. They weren't noticing much of anything by then.'

'So what did Mrs Westcott have that you wanted back?'

Her smile was sardonic. 'I knew you'd come back to that. My bracelet disappeared, just a few days after I'd found it. I'd taken a shower and came back to my room to find it missing and a boy climbing out of my window.'

'Mrs Westcott's son?' he asked and she nodded.

'I threw on clothes and went to the Westcotts' to get it back. Old lady Westcott wasn't home, so I opened the door and went in. Sonny was there along with Russ Bennett. I demanded my bracelet back and Sonny bald-faced lied and said he didn't have it. I got so angry.'

JD lifted his brows. 'You broke his nose?'

Lucy winced. 'More like I bruised it. But it bled an awful lot. Russ was dragging me off him and that's when Mrs Westcott came home, saw her baby bleeding and went ballistic. Called the cops and everything. My father was very unhappy.'

'But Westcott's "baby" was your brother's age.'

'Nineteen by then. And none too happy that a girl had bloodied his face.'

'He was a football player,' JD said incredulously.

'Yes, he was. Which, I imagine, made it worse. The boys taunted him. I heard that even after he went back to college the story followed him and he was always getting into fights because people called him a wuss.'

'How did you get your bracelet back?'

'Like I said, I broke into Mrs Westcott's house. The time before the door was unlocked and I walked in. After the bloody nose brouhaha died down, I broke Sonny's window and snuck in after Westcott had gone to sleep. By this point Sonny had gone back to college, so I figured it was safe. I found the bracelet under his skin magazine collection. Unfortunately, Mrs Westcott caught me climbing out of the window and called the cops again. I dropped the bracelet behind a bush. If the cops caught me with it they'd have taken it.'

'What did you do?'