"We don't have a couple weeks."

"I know that." She had spoken without thinking. The last few days had been amazingly tranquil. It was as if they were caught in a time warp. Maybe it was being surrounded by all this beauty and serenity. Or maybe it was that she wanted to run away from all the turmoil her life had become. "Galen's not coming through for us, is he?"

"It'll happen. I told you, he said Ralph Scott was on his way to Texas yesterday. He gave him copies of the sketches of the two men at the dam. Galen should hear something from him by tonight."

"Do you know anything about Scott?"

"Only that Galen chose him. That's enough for me." He glanced at her. "But I'm not going to sit on my ass and hope everything's going to break if we don't hear from him. We've been here too long already."

"I didn't think you would. You don't impress me as a pa tient man. I'm surprised you haven't been more restless." "Oh, I've been restless." He looked away from her. "And very impatient." Dammit. She felt a wave of heat move through her. It wasn't the first remark he'd made that she recognized as boldly sexual. The sexual tension had been there, ebbing and flowing, ignored but always present.

Morgan wasn't ignoring it now. He wanted her to know, to bring it out in the open. "It's okay." Morgan's gaze was once more on her face. "Don't panic. I'm not going to jump you. It's just… I need it. And I think you do too." "You don't always take what you need."

"I do. These days I live every day as if it were my last. You never can tell." "No, I guess you can't." She moistened her lips. "But that isn't how I want to live my life. It's a gift and I intend to cherish it."

"Cherish it. I'm not into making memories. Just come to bed with me. You'll like it, I'll like it, and that will be the end of it. You won't find me hanging on when you walk away." He climbed the porch steps and unlocked the door. "That's all I wanted to say. What do you want for supper?"

"What?"

He smiled. "Food isn't nearly as satisfying as sex, but it is a necessity. What about an omelette? I'll cook it, but you have to chop up the onions. They make my eyes tear in a most unmanly fashion."

He was backing away as he always had during the last few days, but it was too late. The words were said, and she wouldn't be able to forget them. He probably didn't want her to forget them. He wanted her to think, to envision them in bed together.

And she would, blast him.

She drew a deep breath and went past him into the house.

"You have to chop onions under cold tap water. I'll show you." He followed her and hung up his coat in the closet. "Al ways glad to profit from someone with experience. Teach me." "I don't think you need anyone to teach you anything."

"Then share the experience." He headed for the kitchen.

"That's always more fun anyway."

Morgan's phone rang when he was breaking the eggs for the omelette.

"Scott just called," Galen said. "He struck pay dirt at the hotel in Fairfax. The desk clerk recognized both men in the sketches. The shooter is Thomas Powers and the other man is Calvin Decker."

"He's certain?"

"About eighteen months ago Powers and Decker were in and out of town almost every week for an extended period. They told everyone they were designers for the textile company. The townspeople doubted that was true, but the money was good so they turned a blind eye."

"They thought they were into drugs?"

"There were all kinds of stories about what was going on at the plant. Fairfax is very close to the border. Drug running is rampant in South Texas,"

"Had the clerk seen Powers any time lately?" "Negative," Galen said. "But the last two weeks of his stay, he paid for the room rent by credit card. Scott bribed the clerk to look up the records and give him the credit-card number. I'm checking it out now. Scott's going out to the plant tonight to look around."

"There's a hell of a lot of security there."

"Not anymore. The plant closed down six months ago. It's deserted except for a night watchman. Scott said he'd call me from the plant."

"Call me when you hear from him."

"I'll do that. How's Alex? Putting up with you?"

"Barely. I've got to hang up. I'm making an omelette."

"You?"

Morgan looked at Alex. "I'm discovering all manner of skills and qualities I never knew existed. Let me know as soon as you do." He hung up. "The shooter's name is Thomas Powers. The other man is Calvin Decker. Galen is checking out one of Powers's credit-card receipts right now."

Alex's expression lit with excitement. "Hot dog." Then she frowned. "It could be an alias. It probably is."

"Or it might not be. Anyway, it's a lead."

"Yes, it is. At last something's going our way. I was getting discouraged."

"I'm still discouraged."

She tensed. "Why?"

He smiled. "You haven't chopped those onions for me. I'm afraid you're going to make me do it."

"I'll make coffee, you turn on the television," Morgan said after supper. "We need to see what the opposition is up to."

"I can hardly wait." She went into the living room and flipped on the television set. "Just what I need for indigestion." She glanced up when Morgan came into the room carrying a tray with coffee cups and a carafe. "They're still searching Colorado for us. They're having trouble identifying the helicopter because the numbers on the aircraft were phony."

He poured her coffee. "Imagine that. Anything else?" "Not about us. There's been another embassy bombing.

This time it was in Quito. Same MO as the last one in Mexico City. The Matanza terrorist group. Same threats to President

Andreas." She shook her head wearily. "Won't it ever stop? I used to feel so safe, and now I'm looking over my shoulder all the time. Hell, I wonder how Andreas feels. His neck is on the line twenty-four/seven."

"He's got a tough job." Judd sat down opposite her. "But he can handle it. I'd bet he's got guts to spare."

"I remember you said you liked him."

"I think he's honest. That elevates any politician to automatic sainthood." He took a swallow of his coffee. "We may have to have Logan try to get to him. I don't know who else we can trust."

Her eyes widened. "The President?"

"Galen says Logan has some pull with him these days." She shook her head. "Without evidence we wouldn't have a shot." "You may be right." He took the remote from her and turned off the TV. "That's enough news. You're getting depressed. Lean back in the chair. I'll get my sketchbook." "Lord, you must have dozens of sketches of me now."

"I like your face." He sat back down and started to sketch.

"It's a very special face."

"You like wimps?"

"That's what you saw, not what I drew." He stopped sketching and looked at her. "Why are you so afraid that I see you as a weakling?" "I'm not. You just drew me as-" She was silent a moment. "I suppose I'm afraid that deep down I'm like that. I try not to be. But what if-"

"Bull."

"A person never knows how they're going to react. I fell apart once. I could again."

"The World Trade Center?"

"I was helpless. There was nothing I could do. He wasn't there. He wasn't anywhere. I went to the hospitals. I posted his picture everywhere." She could feel the tears sting her eyes. "I couldn't find him. No one has ever found him. I wailed and sobbed like a madwoman." She swallowed. "Yes, I'm afraid of being that helpless again. I won't be that helpless."

"So you overcompensate."

"The hell I do." She cleared her throat. "And you'd better not have made me look like that woman I was all that time ago. You had some excuse after I was injured, but not now." "Would you like to see this one?"

"You're damn right."

She watched him come toward her. She shouldn't have confided in Morgan. She didn't feel more vulnerable, but she felt closer to him. Heaven knew, she didn't need to feel closer to Morgan.