At the fifteenth hole, the par three loop-to-loop space rocket, Matt curled his arm around Charlotte's waist and said, "Remember how Dad used to nail this one?"

What amazed Charlotte was that her son said it with a smile.

Both Hank and Matt fell asleep on the fifteen-minute drive home, which she felt like doing herself. The combination of lack of sleep the night before, the sun, and the heavy food was making her eyelids droop. She rolled down her window all the way for fresh air, then adjusted the mirror so she could see her children's faces* sated in sleep. They were such beautiful creatures. They were her whole life. She'd been blessed.

As the headlights arced past her in the twilight, she did the math. Hank had just turned eight. In ten years she'd be looking forward to starting her freshman year at college and Matt would be a junior. In ten years Charlotte would be forty-five.

And alone.

They arrived home late, and she had to drag the kids up to their beds, where they fell on top of their covers in their T-shirts and shorts, with sandy feet.

Charlotte took a quick shower, then went downstairs to let Hoover out for a tinkle. When she opened the double doors off the family room, she saw a piece of paper taped to the glass. She read it by the porch light:

Hope you all had a good day. I really missed you. -Joe.

The DEA field office was on Third Street in downtown Cincinnati, a city Joe had never seen firsthand and one he'd never really desired to see. It was surprisingly pretty, with hilly streets $nd restored vintage buildings tucked right next to modern steel and glass. The downtown was nestled against the Ohio River, surrounded by hills.

He spent the morning in meetings with Supervisor Rich Baum and his staff, his thoughts equally divided between Charlotte and the job at hand. The Cincinnati office did indeed have a mounting crystal meth problem and Joe was surprised by the numbers-six major busts in the last four months, three dead dealers, and two fatal overdoses in one area high school that had politicians and parents demanding answers. Joe was happy to help and gave them the benefit of his expertise, and by lunch he seemed to have told them everything he could.

Also by lunch, he'd relived Saturday at least three times in his head. He remembered each of Charlotte's touches. Her kisses. The sound of her laughter. The way she'd peeked around Hank's curls to smile at him across the campfire.

That's when it had hit him. He was nearly thirty-eight and had never been in love. It had never bothered him, up until that moment, seeing Charlotte with a child in her lap. Because that's when he realized that if he'd done things differently that day so long ago, if he'd only gotten the Miata's license glate number, he might have been looking at his own child cradled in her arms.

He hadn't been able to shake the thought since.

Rich Baum stayed behind as the conference room cleared out of agents, and chatted with Joe for a few minutes. Rich seemed nice enough and had a good reputation in the Administration.

"How's Dermont County treating you, Joe?"

Joe leaned back in the swivel chair and shrugged. "The hectic pace is killing me."

Rich laughed loudly. "I heard we could have a hell of a pool party at your digs-mind if a few of us single guys borrow the place one night?"

"Have at it."

Rich chuckled some more and cleared his throat, then fiddled with his pen. "Listen, Joe." He wasn't looking him in the eye. "I was talking with Roger the other day-"

"Uh-oh."

"And he wants me to send a couple agents into your neck of the woods a few times a week, just to put extra eyeballs on the situation."

He didn't like the sound of that. "What's up?"

"I'm sure you're fine, but-" Rich frowned. "Did Roger tell you Jay Mauk was murdered Friday?"

Jay Mauk had worked on the Guzman case with Joe and Steve out of the Albuquerque field office. He'd been a civilian computer engineer. Extremely bright. Jay was only twenty-three years old.

"No."

"Here. I printed this out for you."

Joe took the sheets of paper, incensed that Roger would keep this from him, feeling the black hole grow bigger in his chest as his hands began to shake. Jay Mauk had been a fucking kid. And by the looks of the report, the way he'd been murdered was pure Guzman-a drive-by in broad daylight, AK-47s out the car window, in front of a popular steak house. Albuquerque Police found a stolen Chevy a few blocks away and no sign of the suspects.

Joe folded the report and stuck it in his pants pocket.

"I'm right here if you should need anything," Rich said.

Joe left the offices and headed toward the parking garage, stopping at a newsstand on the way for a pack of bubble gum, pulling the brim of his Reds cap down over his sunglasses as he walked.

He felt the familiar nervous hum through his body, the cold fingers on the nape of his neck. And what amazed him most was the realization that he'd been living without this for a few weeks. He'd forgotten how the baseline fear coiled inside him, ate at him, emptied him of everything but a sharp awareness of his surroundings.

It had been nice while it lasted.

On the drive back to Minton, he thought of Jay Mauk and the million-dollar price on his own head. He told himself again that there was no way Guzman would ever link Special Agent Joe Bellacera of the Albuquerque DEA to the reclusive Joseph Mills of Minton, Ohio.

He told himself that it was still possible to get to know Charlotte and her kids without putting them in danger. It could be done. It had to be done, because he'd already told them he was staying.

Joe was still trying to convince himself of this when he arrived in Minton and saw the Kroger grocery store to his left. Since he'd found nothing in his refrigerator for breakfast that morning, he pulled into the parking lot.

For the time being he was still alive. And a man had to eat to live.

By one in the afternoon Charlotte had done everything listed on her Palm Pilot-picked up three separate dry-cleaning orders, dropped off a chair cushion at the upholstery repair shop, taken a cat to the vet, and finished the weekly grocery shopping and meal planning for three families.

She still had to stop at the grocery for her own family and figured she had just enough time to get a few things and get home by two, leaving an hour to do her Tae Bo tape before she had to pick up the kids.

Then the evening rush would begin. On tonight's agenda: ballet class and Matt's game.

Charlotte was in the frozen food aisle when she felt it-someone was watching her. She glanced around, saw no one, and tried to shrug off the uncomfortable buzz that coursed through her. She didn't often feel unsafe in her life-harried and exhausted, yes, but not in any danger. But right then, goose bumps covered her arms, and she didn't think they were from the freezers.

Charlotte rounded the corner and locked wheels with Joe.

He'd obviously been absorbed in thought, his brow deeply furrowed and his eyes lowered. The instant she smashed into him, his face lightened, his eyes widened, and his goatee spread with the force of his broad, chipped, impossibly sexy smile.

"Hey, Charlotte."

How strange-it was like he really didn't expect to see her. But if it hadn't been Joe watching her, then who was?

"Hey, Joe."

But Joe's gaze had never once caused her that feeling of discomfort. When Joe looked at her, she felt hot and soft and sexy-and guilty, of course-but never scared.

Charlotte told herself she'd worry about it later and went on to more important matters, like scrutinizing the contents of Joe's shopping cart. She had to admit it could have been worse-a lot worse. Nothing too heinous that she could see, just fresh fruits and vegetables, a frozen cheese pizza, yogurt, a taco dinner kit, coffee, bagels, cereal, chicken breasts. Not bad for a guy living by himself.