What had she seen at Arapahoe Dam?

Oh, what the hell. He opened the envelope and drew out the dossier and three photos. He wouldn't look at the photos. He had found as long as he didn't look at the faces he could keep himself remote and unemotional.

He scanned the opening paragraphs, which described the events that had led to Logan's offer, and then the dossier itself.

Alex Graham, age twenty-nine. Born and raised in Westacre, New Jersey, of middle-class parents who divorced when she was thirteen. Her mother, Ellen, was a computer information-systems specialist with IBM and her father, Michael, a fireman with the Newark fire department. A civil enough divorce. Though her mother retained custody, she'd spent every other weekend with her father. She won a photo contest sponsored by National Geographic at sixteen and was awarded a journalism scholarship to Columbia University when she graduated from high school. She'd quit college in her junior year and gone to photograph the horrendous earthquake in Tibet. The resulting photos had earned her acclaim and a place on the staff of Newsweek. From that point on it had been a steady climb upward in her chosen profession.

She was now a freelance photojournalist and contributed principally to World Life.

Her mother had died of emphysema three years after Alex left school, and her father was killed at the World Trade Center a few years later. She had been engaged once but never married.

All cut and dried, Judd thought. It read like an obituary. Which it might turn out to be if Alex Graham wasn't very careful.

Not his problem. He tossed the dossier back on the table.

Let Galen get someone else for the job.

But Galen hadn't said that when Judd was in trouble. He had stepped in and yanked him out from under the threat and kept him safe for months.

Forget it. This was the last job he should get near. They could very well be waiting for him. He couldn't afford to be soft when it might put everything he valued in jeopardy. He picked up the photos and started to jam them back into the envelope. He wouldn't look at them. He wouldn't let Alex Graham become a real person to him. Judd wasn't Galen, and he wouldn't be a quixotic ass and pretend that he was anything but what life had made him. He would do what was best for himself and screw

Oh, shit.

The photo of Alex Graham was faceup, staring at him.

My God, what a remarkable face. She was not a beautiful woman, unless you considered strength beauty. Her short brown hair was clean and shining, pushed back and styled simply. Her high cheekbones were clean cut and her mouth wide and sensitive. Deep-set brown eyes sparkled with vitality and intensity. The snapshot had been taken somewhere in the mountains, and she was gazing out of the picture with a touch of defiance.

Why?

He glanced at the other photos. One was obviously a pass port photo, but the other one was at a disaster site and she looked exhausted and heartsick. Yet her eyes… Defiance and wariness. What was behind those barriers she was putting up?

It was just a face. Don't let curiosity influence cool judgment. Don't let her become a person to you. It was always a mistake to

Dammit, it was already too late.

Okay, she was alive for him. Then bend the situation to suit yourself. He knew how to make himself invisible. He could do the job and no one, not even Alex Graham, would be aware he was around. He could still stay apart and in full control.

His phone rang. "Hello."

"Galen. Have you finished the painting?"

"Yes. Is that why you're calling me at four in the morning?"

"Not exactly. But I didn't want you to have any distrac tions getting in the way of the job."

"I told you I wasn't-"

"I thought you might have second thoughts."

Judd stared down at the photograph of Alex Graham.

"Judd?"

"Maybe."

Galen was silent for a moment. "How do I turn the maybe into a yes?"

"You and Logan let me do anything I have to do. If I have to take the gloves off, I don't want anyone getting in my way. You see that I have a clear playing field."

"He's not going to agree to get the sanction taken off you yet."

"I'm not talking about the past, only the present."

"What are you thinking about?"

"You don't want to know. It might jar you out of that cozy little cocoon you're sharing with Elena. Just be ready to jump in case I need you."

"Okay. I'll call Logan. If there's any problem, I'll let you know."

"Tonight. If I'm going to do this, it's got to be right away. If this is a professional job, Graham is on borrowed time. I don't want to waste any planning on a dead woman."

"She's not dead yet. If you don't hear from me in an hour, it's a go." He hung up.

Jesus, he should have his head examined, Judd thought wearily. Why had he committed himself? Alex Graham meant nothing to him.

Because he was tired and angry and sick of being a target? Because lately he'd been tempted to just stay and wait for Runne to find him?

Judd leaned his head back on the couch, his gaze returning to the mocking face of the assassin in the painting. "Okay, so it's not the brightest decision I've ever made…"

Denver, Colorado

"None of them is here." Alex wearily leaned back in the chair and gazed at Leopold across the desk. "Do you have any more mug shots?"

"None that meet your description. That's why we have databases. You'd have been sitting in that chair for the next year if we'd let you do a random check."

"They've got to have records. People who do things like this don't go through life without stumbling over the law."

"I agree. That's why I've set up an appointment for you at the local FBI field office tomorrow morning. They have a much more extensive database." Leopold poured a cup of coffee and handed it to her. "If you're up to it."

"I'm up to it." She took a sip of coffee. "I've got to be up to it. They can't get away with this."

"Then we'll find them. If the databases don't pan out, we'll call in a police artist and you can give us a description to work with."

"Jesus, why didn't I take their damn pictures that night? I didn't even think of it. I saw Ken blow up and I-" She drew a shaky breath. "I screamed. Isn't that pathetic? Instead of doing something useful. I screamed."

"Even if you'd taken their pictures, your equipment is buried beneath that landslide."

She made a face. "I can't see you letting that stop you if you were convinced the dam was sabotaged. You'd bring in the cranes and every federal security organization in the country. Right?"

"Right." Leopold smiled. "But you didn't take their pictures, and all the experts are still saying there was no sabotage. We've never found proof that Nader's helicopter was brought down. So all we have is an attempt on your life." He held up his hand. "I don't want to minimize the seriousness of that, you understand."

"I know." Leopold was a good guy and he had been as sympathetic and helpful as he could during the last few days. "The proof's got to be there."

"Then maybe the FBI can find it." The phone rang and he answered it. A moment later he handed the phone to her. "Speak of the devil. Bob Jurgens. He wants to talk to you. Remember him? I introduced you to him at the hospitaL"

"Why shouldn't I remember him? I wasn't that banged up." She remembered Jurgens very well. Smooth, polite, and very disapproving.

Jurgens's voice was just as disapproving when she took the phone from Leopold. "I understand you're not having much luck with identifying the men who attacked you. I think you'd better reconsider our offer to put you in protective custody. A safe house is the obvious solution. I have just the place that-"

"No. Not only no, but hell, no." Her hand tightened on the phone. Why wouldn't. he leave her alone? "Maybe I didn't make myself clear. Arapahoe Junction isn't that much different than what happened at WTC. You give in to people like this and let them change your life and they win. I won't let them win."