Joe spent the afternoon pacing the rooms of his too-big house. By evening, he knew he had to get out of there or lose his mind.

All had been revealed in that short conversation with Charlotte-words exchanged while he had to watch a single rivulet of sweat roll down Charlotte's smooth, soft, bare belly and into her shorts. And what Joe now knew made him nervous as hell.

Charlotte remembered him all right. What happened between them so long ago meant as much to her as it did to him. Meeting up again in Minton had left Charlotte just as unhinged as he was, as confused and conflicted. He'd seen it in her eyes that afternoon-desire, need, and grief, the same jumble of emotions roiling around in his own heart

What a recipe for disaster.

Joe closed the automatic garage door and backed down the sloped drive. It was a gorgeous evening for a ride with the top down, but he didn't want to call that much attention to himself on his first leisurely cruise around town. He needed to bide his time for twelve more days. Maybe he'd check out the local cinema. Or see if there was a driving range nearby-he hadn't picked up his clubs in years. Or maybe he'd just see where the road took him.

He passed through the small downtown along Main Street, amazed that many of these sturdy nineteenth-century brick storefronts managed to stay in business as florists and hardware stores and restaurants. He passed by Garson's Glass and made a mental note to check on the new window tomorrow. He shuddered a bit at the sign for Basketful O' Gifts, noting that it was conveniently located next door to Sell-More Real Estate, and chuckled to himself about Charlotte's jealousy over blueberry muffin mix and scented room spray.

God, he would miss her. He would miss Charlotte the rest of his life.

Joe headed west of town past a few developments nearly identical to Hayden Heights, then past the high school campus, a couple of strip malls, and a handful of gas stations before it returned to countryside.

It was certainly pretty enough around here. The land that made up the north bank of the Ohio River rolled and swayed, the freshly paved road curling like a black velvet ribbon through the gentle hills. Not a bad place to live, as far as he could tell, if you had to live somewhere like this. Probably not a serious drug problem, but he knew well enough that the ugliness of tide international drug trade didn't spare pretty little towns like Minton, Ohio-or their elementary schools, businesses, or families.

He'd asked himself a thousand times over the years why he chose the life he had. He could have done so many things with his criminal justice degree and his Special Forces background, but he'd picked the DEA. He knew the seed had been planted with Nick's overdose and the realization that his brother was just a tiny piece of a global enterprise of slavery and death. He came to see that the production, distribution, and consumption of drugs was at the heart of much of the world's violent crime, and if you were a cop who wanted to get to the root of what was wrong, the DEA was the place to be.

Joe stopped at a red light at the intersection of two county roads and sat patiently, letting his mind wander. Of course the Administration wasn't perfect. No huge government bureaucracy was, especially one at the whim of shifting politics. But he'd known a lot of good people who worked ungodly hours in awful situations, all in the name of saving people. And he'd always been proud to be one of them.

Joe watched the parade of minivan moms drive by and smiled. He could have chosen to live life like Ned Preston, come to think about it A big fish in a small pond. The law in these parts. He could have been Minton police chief Joe Bellacera-a man who knew more about stolen bikes than bloodshed.

Joe chuckled, about ready to pull out from the light, when he saw the Minton Little League complex down the road to his left. He blinked. The place was huge! Cars spilled out of the lot and lined up along the roadside bumper-to-bumper. The night lights flicked on, sending a white glow over what looked to be a half-dozen fields. He heard the sound of cheering on the breeze.

Before he even realized what he intended, Joe pulled into an empty spot on the grassy shoulder of the road and walked across two lanes to get to the ballpark. His feet crunched on the gravel parking lot as he read the large blue sign at the entrance: minton little league, where

DEDICATION, TEAMWORK, AND SPORTSMANSHIP MEET.

He scanned row after row of pickups, SUVs, minivans, and the occasional luxury sedan. Curiously, the first two rows outside the park entrance remained empty. He heard a chorus of "heads-up!" as a foul ball landed smack in the middle of one of die spots.

Good thing the Mustang was across the road.

A little kid with yellow hair ran out to retrieve the foul ball, smiling at him as he hustled back toward the stands.

God knew it was probably not a good idea to wander in here, but he was drawn by the sounds, the lights, the smell of baseball. He'd played in a Little Italy neighborhood league as a kid, in a grungy, weed-riddled lot that made this place look like Camden Yards. The people around here obviously took their baseball seriously.

"Evening," said a fat guy in overalls and a Minton Feed amp; Seed cap.

"Good evening," Joe replied.

He walked past the first field-the big boys obviously- and he could hear the sharp crack when a thrown ball hit the pocket of a glove. Next was a T-ball field, and he watched the batter just barely graze the stationary baseball, causing it to dribble onto the ground. The parents screamed as if the kid had hit a triple.

He released a startled laugh as he looked to his right, directly into the sharp blue eyes of a redheaded third baseman.

The girl put her hands on her hips, then broke out in a big smile. "Mr. Mills!" She waved her glove into the air. "I'm up next! Stay and watch me hit!"

Hank's coach yelled for her to pay attention to the game, and Joe watched her smack the sweet spot in her glove with confidence as she winked at him. It was.the last thing he planned on doing, but he found himself wandering along the side of the field to the stands, where he found a spot on the aisle about halfway up.

A few faces frowned, most smiled politely, but Joe knew good and well this group of upstanding citizens was trying to decide if he was just another mystery weekend dad or a child molester.

He nodded politely and kept his eye on the action.

Hank scooped up a grounder at third and shot it to second for the last out of the inning. She ran back to the dugout like a woman with a mission. It dawned on Joe that Charlotte could be close by-and he winced at his own stupidity. He wasn't thinking things through. It was like his brain was on vacation.

The last thing he wanted to do was see her again today, because, more than anything, he wanted to see her again.

Joe did everything but stand up and scan the benches, but a casual look around told him Charlotte wasn't there. He was about to sigh with relief when a pair of sober gray eyes met his from under a maroon ball cap and Matt Tasker stood up and made his way through the crowd to him.

He sat down right next to Joe. "You got a kid that plays?"

Joe observed Hank smacking the top of her batting helmet to adjust the fit, then taking a couple practice swings outside the batter's box. From the way she wielded that bat, he thought maybe she was named after Hank Aaron. "I don't have any kids," he said. "Just driving around and stopped in."

"I saw Hank speak to you through the fence, but we're really not allowed to talk to you. My mom says you're unstable."

Joe looked at Matt in surprise. Man, kids just gave it to you straight, didn't they? It was kind of refreshing. "I'm plenty stable," he said, hoping he didn't sound like he was defending himself.