ARAH AWOKE AT TEN TO THE SMELL OF FRESH COFFEE. SHE rolled over, stretching and yawning. She hadn’t been sleeping all that well since moving into the bungalow, but she always slept like a rock at Cahill’s... for what time he let her sleep, that is.

She’d missed him, both mentally and physically. It wasn’t just the sex, though there was no “just” to sex with him; it was too raw and exciting. But more than that, she missed his physical presence beside her in bed, the heat and weight and comfort. As often as not she had slept with her head pillowed on his shoulder, or pressed against his back. If she wasn’t touching him, then he was touching her, a subconscious signal even in sleep that they weren’t alone.

He came into the bedroom wearing only jeans and carrying a cup of coffee. She sat up and pushed her hair out of her face. “If that’s for me, I’ll be your sex slave forever.”

“It’s yours, so I guess we need to talk terms of servitude.” He handed her the cup, and she sipped, half-closing her eyes in delight at the first taste. The mattress dipped as he sat down beside her.

She took another sip. “For starters, I don’t get time off for good behavior.”

“Definitely not,” he agreed, stroking her arm. “No parole, though I guess you could get... special privileges for sucking up to the warden.”

“In more ways than one,” she murmured, rubbing one finger over the bulge in his jeans. “When do I start?”

The corners of his mouth were kicking up at her boldness. “I think you already have. And if you don’t stop that and get your butt out of bed, your breakfast will get cold.”

“You have breakfast ready? Great, I’m starving.” Dropping the sex-kitten act, she balanced the coffee cup as she climbed out of the nest of covers and headed for the bathroom. “What am I having?”

“Cereal.”

“You jerk! That’s already cold!” she called after him. She could hear him laughing softly as he went toward the kitchen.

Her reflection in the bathroom mirror wasn’t that of a woman who had worked most of the night and was still a few hours short of the recommended eight hours of sleep. Her hair was tousled, her eyelids a little swollen, but she looked rested... and glowing. Sex with Cahill could do that for a woman, she thought, smiling as she brushed her hair.

Cahill had brought in her overnight bag and purse. She washed her face, brushed her teeth and got dressed. Dressed much as he had been, barefoot and in jeans—though she did pull on a shirt—she and her coffee cup made their way to the kitchen.

Breakfast was cereal, but he had also sliced some fresh peaches and put a cup of her favorite vanilla yogurt beside the bowl. He’d prepared the same thing for himself, but doubled the amounts. “Yum,” she said, sitting down. “But it’s so late, you shouldn’t have waited for me, you could have already eaten. You must be even hungrier than I am.”

“I had a bagel about eight o’clock.”

“What time did you get up?”

“Almost seven. I went for a run, ate the bagel, read the paper, twiddled my thumbs.”

“Poor baby.” She picked up her spoon and dug in. “What else did you do?”

“You still weren’t awake, so I had sex with your unconscious body—”

“Did not.”

“Did, too.”

“Okay, so you dozed off and were dreaming. What time did you wake up?”

“Nine-thirty.” He forked a slice of juicy peach into his mouth. “I was tired. My sleep got interrupted last night.”

“How are you feeling now?”

“Rarin’ to go.”

“Good, because I feel great.” She stopped eating to stretch, raising her arms high over her head. Cahill’s gaze followed the movement of her breasts. “After breakfast settles, I think I’ll go for a run, too. Are you up for another one?”

“I’m up for several things. I think I can fit in another run.”

She eyed him appreciatively as they finished breakfast. He’d told her he’d started working out a lot when he and his wife split up; physical exercise was a great stress-reliever. He’d been in good shape before, but not like he was now. His abs and pecs were like rocks. He was a big man, but he hadn’t bulked up all that much, just hardened and defined. Touching him was a tactile marvel—smooth, warm skin covering muscles so hard there was almost no give to his flesh.

He got up to carry his empty dishes to the sink. Sarah propped her chin on her hand to watch him, her eyes half closed and a tiny smile on her face. “Your ex-wife has to be the biggest idiot walking the earth.”

He gave her a startled look, then shrugged. “Make that a two-timing, vindictive idiot. What made you think of her?”

“You. You’re neat, domesticated, intelligent—”

“Keep going,” he said.

“—good-looking, sense of humor, sexy—”

“And yours.”

She stopped, her stomach suddenly flip-flopping. “Are you?” she whispered.

He put the milk in the refrigerator and gave her a wry smile. “Oh, yeah.”

She took a deep breath. “Wow.”

“That’s kind of the way it takes me, too.” He refilled their coffee cups and sat down. “So that’s what we need to talk about. I want more than what we have now. If you do, too, then we need to figure out how to work this.”

She nodded.

“Sarah. Let me hear you say it.”

“I want more,” she managed. She couldn’t believe this was happening, so fast, and at the breakfast table on a sunny Sunday morning.

“Okay. Your job—for now—requires you to live on-site. My hours right now are longer than usual. If weekends are all we can manage, then we’ll deal with that, but... how long are you on duty at night?”

“Until they’re ready to go to bed or tell me they won’t need me for anything else that night. So far, they usually tell me to call it a day right after dinner. I think they like to have their evenings alone, unless they’re entertaining.”

“Are you allowed to have visitors? God, this sounds like Victorian England.”

She laughed. “Of course I can have visitors during my own time. I wouldn’t feel comfortable with you sleeping over—”

He waved that away. “Sex is secondary. Well, almost secondary. The point is we need to see more of each other than we have since you started work there. It’s been driving me crazy, not seeing you. Let’s just handle this right now, and later on we’ll handle your world tour. Somehow. I won’t ask you to give it up, because you really want to do it. I’ll just whine a lot.”

She did really want to have her year of travel, but she really wanted Cahill, too. “I’m a reasonable woman,” she said. “I know how to compromise.” She had always remained heart-whole and free because she’d never before met anyone who was important enough to her to get in the way of her plans. Cahill was that important. She would travel some, but a whole year away from him? No way. She wasn’t willing to do that.

He cleared his throat. “We—uh... we’ll probably get married.”

“Ya think?” she asked, then started laughing. She couldn’t help it. If the man got any more unromantic, the people in charge of Valentine’s Day would put a bounty on him.

He grabbed her and hauled her into his lap. “Is that a yes or a no?”

“You haven’t asked a question. You stated a probability.”

“Well, then, do you agree with the probability?”

She might never hear the question, she thought, amused. She’d have to work on him. She intended to be married only once in her life, so she wanted to hear that question. “I agree with the probability.” She gave him a serene smile and kissed him on the cheek. “When you’re thinking in more black-and-white terms, we’ll talk about it again.”

He groaned and dropped his head onto her shoulder. “You’re going to put me through the wringer, aren’t you?”

“Of course, sweetheart. That’s what women are for.”

He didn’t know where Sarah was. When he’d checked early Sunday morning, her SUV was gone, and she hadn’t been back to the Lankfords’ house since. At the party, casual questions had elicited the information from Merilyn that Sarah’s weekends were normally free, but when they entertained on the weekend, she would take a different day off. In this case, when the party ended, she wouldn’t be back on duty until Tuesday morning.

Thinking she might go somewhere, he’d gotten up early and driven by the monstrosity; having already checked, he knew her usual parking spot was visible from the street—just the rear quarter panel, but enough to tell the vehicle was hers. But she must have gotten a very early start, because when he drove by right after dawn, she had already left.

Did she have family in the area? He kicked himself for not asking. Of course, her family didn’t have to be in the area; she could have flown to visit them, and taken the first flight of the morning.

For a brief moment he entertained the unpleasant idea that she might have a boyfriend—juvenile term—but, no, Sarah had too much class to spend the weekend with some local yokel. The times he’d followed her before, she had shopped and run errands, but never had she met a man anywhere. The problem was, there had been long stretches when he hadn’t been able to find her, so he didn’t know whom she might know in the area. She was likely visiting family or friends, but he would have liked to have known exactly where;he hated not knowing.

After he took care of Roberts, for instance, he hadn’t stayed to watch the excitement because he knew criminals often couldn’t resist watching the show and police these days routinely filmed the spectators. When he had driven by the next morning, after the hullabaloo had died down, the driveway had been barricaded and the house sealed off with yellow tape. He had no idea where she had gone. A friend’s house, a hotel? The Wynfrey was the most likely hotel, so he’d gone straight there but hadn’t seen her SUV. It had been raining, anyway, and he disliked driving in the rain, so he’d gone home.

After the funeral, she had gone back to the house. She had then stayed there almost all day, every day, so he had relaxed and stopped driving by so often. According to the grapevine, she was getting the house ready to close, packing everything up for the family. Then one night he happened to check, and she wasn’t there; there were no lights on at the house. Where had she gone?

The problem was, there was no place in the neighborhood where he could park and watch for her. If an unfamiliar car stopped, it was immediately noticed. Nor could he continually drive by; he had business to attend to, meetings, phone calls. He had to do all the monitoring himself to avoid the risk of bringing in a stranger who might talk, so he eventually had to accept that he simply wouldn’t be able to keep track of her all the time. He didn’t like it, but he was a reasonable, patient man; he could wait.

The most important thing was that he knew she wasn’t supposed to be back until Tuesday morning.

The other time had worked like a charm, so Sunday night he followed the same routine. He drove to the Galleria in the dark blue Ford he had bought only a little over a month before; after all, the Jaguar was so noticeable. The Ford was so ordinary as to be almost invisible. It didn’t compare to the Jaguar, of course, but it was perfect for its purpose. But when he called there was no answer. Frustrated, he tried several more times before giving up in disgust.

The next night, though, he knew the Lankfords were at home, because he’d checked, and there weren’t any extra cars in the driveway, either. They were alone. He made the call, and of course Sonny was glad to see him. Sonny was always willing to talk business, and when one owned a bank... well, people liked to see him. Sonny was too stupid to see anything unusual in his coming to him, rather than the other way around. The fool was probably flattered.

The silenced pistol was tucked in his waistband at the small of his back, covered by his jacket, when Sonny let him into the house. The man hadn’t even bothered to put on a jacket, he saw with contempt. He was dressed in slacks and pullover knit shirt, and he was wearing house slippers, for God’s sake. Totally classless.

“Where’s Merilyn?” he asked easily. People talked to him, told him things. They trusted him. Why shouldn’t they?

“Upstairs. She’ll be down in a minute. You said you wanted to talk to both of us?”

“Yes. Thank you for seeing me tonight. I won’t take up much of your time.” Sonny still didn’t see the ludicrousness of that statement.

“Nonsense, it’s a pleasure. Would you like something to drink? We have hard, soft, and everything in between.” Sonny led the way into the den; thank God he hadn’t taken him into that horrible room with the gargantuan television. There was a television in the den, of course, but it was normal-sized.

“A glass of wine would be nice.” He had no intention of drinking it, but the pretense of accepting his hospitality would keep Sonny relaxed.

They made small talk, and still Merilyn didn’t appear. He began to get a little concerned. He didn’t want to spend a lot of time here; the longer he waited, the more likely it was someone would notice the car, as bland as it was, or the phone would ring and Sonny—or Merilyn—would say, sorry, we can’t talk, our banker is visiting. Wouldn’t that be just lovely.

He glanced at his watch, and Sonny said, “I don’t know what’s keeping Merilyn. I’ll go check—”

“No, don’t bother,” he said, getting to his feet. In a smooth motion he reached behind his back, took out the pistol, and pointed it at Sonny’s head. He was so close that Sonny could have reached out and swatted it away—if he’d had time, but he was slow to react. Pity.

Calmly he pulled the trigger.

The bullet entered Sonny’s head just above his left eyebrow, angling back and to the right, taking out both hemispheres of his brain. He was always amazed at how small and neat the entry wound was; when the bullet exited, however, it had flattened, and it took a huge chunk of skull and brain with it. Amazing.

The sound of the shot was just a little cough; it wouldn’t even have been heard in the next room.

He turned to go in search of Merilyn, and froze. She stood just outside the doorway, her face drained of color, her eyes wide and horrified. He lifted the pistol once more, and she ran.

He didn’t have time to get off another shot. Grimly he ran after her; he couldn’t afford to let her escape, even briefly. She might run screaming from the house, which would attract attention. But, no, the dear ran into another room and slammed the door; he heard the lock click.

He shook his head and put a bullet in the lock; the door swung uselessly open. Merilyn whirled, the phone in her hand. He shook his head again. “Bad girl,” he said softly, and pulled the trigger.

She slumped to the carpet, eyes popped out from the force of the bullet that had entered right between them. He stepped over to her and removed the cordless phone from her hand. He listened, but there was no one on the line; either she hadn’t had time to dial 911 or she’d been too flustered to think. He calmly wiped the phone with his handkerchief and replaced it on the charger.

Merilyn’s hand lay outstretched, as if she were reaching for him. The canary diamond glittered at him, and he had an idea—a brilliant one, if he did say so himself. If he took the ring, it would look as if a burglary had occurred. The ring had to be worth a small fortune; he had investigated the cost of jewelry more closely today and discovered that a good stone was hideously expensive. This ring, for instance, had probably set Sonny back close to a quarter of a million dollars. Really.

He was embarrassed that he’d given Sarah such a small token in comparison. This was a particularly fine stone, and the color would look wonderful on her, with her warm skin tones. Not in this setting, of course; she wouldn’t like such gaudiness. But after a certain amount of time had passed, when the police weren’t actively looking for a large yellow diamond ring, he could remove the stone from the setting and take it to a jeweler in, say, Atlanta, and have a wonderful piece fashioned for her, with the canary diamond as the center stone. Yes, he could just see it now.

He leaned down and tugged the ring from Merilyn’s finger. It was a tight fit; the dear must have gained a little weight. He’d saved her from having to have the ring resized.

Pleased with himself, he carefully retraced his steps through the house and wiped everything he might have touched. After he let himself out the front door, he wiped the door handle and the doorbell button. As he drove away, he smiled.

That had gone very nicely.