The silence was shocking after the noise of the weapon.

  Sam lay where he was, the killer’s limp figure half atop him. As his concentration receded, he began to hear sounds. Sirens, people sobbing, several people moaning and screaming. The kid nearby was softly crying for his mother.

  The woman who’d been crouching in the doorway ran to the boy’s side. “Lie still,” she said. “You’re going to be okay.”

  “I’m a nurse,” shouted an unfamiliar voice as footsteps ran toward him. “We need to identify all the wounded and prioritize them by who’s most critical.”

  The shopkeeper said, “I can put pressure on this boy’s leg. He didn’t hit a major blood vessel. But that guy over there—the one who stopped him—he might need help. He got shot when they were fighting.”

  The footsteps came closer. He shoved at the gunman’s dead weight, rolling the body ignominiously to one side in a careless heap. The movement sent a nauseating wave of red-hot pain ripping through his abdomen, rippling out to every cell in him.

  Gritting his teeth against the agony, he raised his head and looked down at himself. The second bullet had hit him in the lower left torso. Blood darkened his shirt and his jeans and was beginning to pool on the sidewalk around him.

  He tried to gather himself, but his legs weren’t cooperating. The woman who’d said she was a nurse knelt at his side. “Hang in there,” she said. “Help’s on the way.”

  And it was. Sam could hear the sirens drawing to a screaming halt, doors slamming and gurneys clattering as medics rushed toward the injured.

  “This one first,” his comforter yelled.

  Sam caught her eye. “That bad, huh?” It came out a hoarse whisper.

  She shrugged, but she met his eyes and he saw the truth there. “Not so good,” she said, “but you can’t die on us, you’re a hero.”

  Six

  Two weeks later, they had settled into a comfortable routine. Since the night they’d made love for the first time, they had been together nearly every minute. They worked together and then came home, usually to her place, together. They ate together and slept together, although neither one of them was getting nearly as much sleep as they needed. Sam had gradually moved darn near every important piece of clothing he owned—as well as a few books and all his toiletries—into her apartment.

  They were sitting on the couch watching television on a Sunday evening when he finally decided to get it over with. He’d been wanting to talk to her all weekend about their living arrangements and had been putting it off like a big sissy.

  “Del?”

  He had his arm around her and she lazily turned her head against his shoulder until she could see his face. “What?”

  “Do you like it here?”

  He got The Eyebrow. “Here, as in Northern Virginia, or here as in on this couch this very minute?”

  Trust Del to pick apart the semantics.

  “Here as in this town house,” he said.

  “Well, yeah, or I wouldn’t be living here.” She sat up and looked at him questioningly. There seemed to be a hint of suspicion in her voice, or maybe that was just his own paranoia kicking in. “Why?”

  He shrugged. “We seem to be spending all our time away from work together, and it seems kind of a waste to have two places to live.” He stopped and held his breath.

  She searched his eyes. “You mean you want me to move in with you?” She sounded sincerely stunned.

  “Or I could move in with you,” he said hastily.

  She was silent for so long he was already steeling himself for a refusal when she said, “It took me a while to find a place I like. How attached are you to your apartment?”

  He felt a surge of hope. She’d been to his apartment and she knew it was nothing but a basic box with a kitchen and bathroom. “Not at all,” he said. “If you’d like to keep this place, I could give up my apartment and move in here with you.”

  She was silent again, and he caught himself nervously jiggling his leg, a habit he’d outgrown in about the eighth grade. Was she going to say no?

  He cleared his throat. “Is it such an awful suggestion that you don’t know what to say?”

  She didn’t laugh, as he’d hoped. “It’s a big step,” she said seriously. “May I have some time to think about it?”

  “Sure.” He swallowed the urge to insist that she let him move his recliner in tonight. He made a production out of checking his watch, waited five seconds. “Was that long enough?”

  “Very funny.” She wrinkled her nose at him, hesitated, then spoke again. “Sam, it’s not that I don’t want you—”

  “I’m aware of that,” he said dryly.

  She couldn’t hide her smile, but she kept speaking. “—but you’re talking about something that’s sort of permanent.”

  And marriage would be even more permanent.

  Marriage? The idea had lain just beneath the surface of his thoughts for a while now, he realized. If he and Del were going to be together long-term, he wanted her to marry him. Wanted to know she’d be his forever. He was a little surprised at the rush of satisfaction the notion gave him. Del. His. Forever.

  Yeah, he liked it. But apparently, she wasn’t feeling quite the same way, judging from her reaction to his suggestion of merely moving into a place together. He hated to think of how she’d have reacted if he’d asked her to marry him. “What if we did it on a trial basis?” he said. Mentally, he said goodbye to the notion of moving his furniture anytime soon.

  “That might work,” she said. “Like a month and then see if we still think it’s working?”

  He shrugged, feigning indifference. “A month would be a good start.”

  “And you wouldn’t give up your place until then, at least,” she added.

  He didn’t like the sound of that, but figured he’d worry about his lease in a month. By then, maybe he could convince her that living together—forever—was a good idea.

  Monday morning had been underway for exactly two hours when the thing he’d been dreading for years occurred.

  The phone rang in the outer office. He barely noticed it. The phone rang all the time, but Peggy took the calls, routing them to whoever they were meant for.

  A moment later, though, her voice came over his intercom. “Sam, line one is for you. She wouldn’t give her name, just said she was a potential client.”

  “Thanks, Peg.” He pushed away from his keyboard and punched the button on the phone system, taking a moment to stretch. “Sam Deering, may I help you?”

  “Don’t you mean Sam Pender?” It was a woman’s brassy tone. “I’m calling for PEOPLE magazine. Are you the Sam Pender who stopped that gunman in San Diego?”

  It shook him. How in the hell had they found him? He’d been so damn careful, had sealed the records of his name change and even changed his social-security information. “Wrong last name,” he said, reaching for brisk cheerfulness. “Sorry.”

  “We want to do a piece on you,” the woman said in a rush. “A sort of where-are-they-now kind of thing. We’d need to—”

  “Sorry,” he said again, firmly. “I’m not Sam Pender.” Anymore. “If you require the firm’s services, please call again.”

  He punched the button to end the call. Then he clasped his hands before him on his desk, noting only distantly that they were actually shaking, for God’s sake. Publicity. He’d evaded it for seven years. How had they found him? Or had the journalist been fishing, adding a few facts and hoping they equaled the right answer? Maybe that was all it was.

  He drew a breath and spun around again to face his monitor. The company had just gotten a kidnapping case that was going to require coordination from several of PSI’s departments, since it involved European travel and recovery of an American national in another country. Not to mention getting the child safely away from the noncustodial parent.

  He shook his head briskly to clear it. He had other things to worry about. That phone call probably had just been a fishing expedition. No way could they be sure it was him.

  After work, he had to go by his apartment to pick up clothes and a few other things he thought he’d need next week. Del went straight to her town house because, she said, she wanted to wash her hair and let it dry by itself. If she used a hair dryer it would get too frizzy.

  He’d never noticed Del’s hair looking frizzy in seven years. It must be a woman thing, he thought as he unlocked his door. Either that, or in seven years she’d never used a hair dryer a single time.

  His apartment had a faint air of disuse. It should. He had hardly been here except to pick up his mail and occasionally grab some clothes since he’d been with Del the first time. And it was going to stay that way if he had anything to say about it.

  The answering machine was blinking and he crossed the room to press the button and play the messages. The first one was from his mother in Nebraska. He’d call her tomorrow and give her Del’s number. He imagined his mother would jump up and down at the thought that he was living with a woman. She’d be dreaming of more grandchildren with no encouragement at all. While he was at it, he’d better caution her about the reporter who’d called. His family protected his identity but it was best not to be blindsided.

  The second was from his sister, reminding him of his niece’s fourth birthday. Thank God she also had some suggestions for gift ideas because he didn’t know squat about little girls.

  His dentist’s office had left the third message. It was time to schedule his six-month checkup.

  The fourth was from Robert Lyon. He stood in shock as the cool, elegant, masculine voice floated into the room. He hadn’t seen Robert in over a year. What were the odds of the man calling mere weeks after Sam and Del, the two people he’d introduced, had become lovers? Uneasily, he wondered if the man had ESP as he listened to the message.

  “Hello, Sam. It’s Robert Lyon. I’m in town for a few days and thought you might have time for dinner.” He named the hotel where he was staying and left his number. Sam stood staring at the phone, then picked up the handset and punched the callback button. He knew from the little Del had spoken of Robert that she was fond of him. It would be a pleasant surprise for her if he took her out to dinner with Robert.

  Del agreed to go out on Wednesday evening for dinner as easily as he’d anticipated. But he didn’t tell her they’d be meeting Robert.

  That night, she wore the little black dress that had changed their relationship. He’d finished dressing ahead of her and gone out to the living room to check his e-mail on the laptop he’d brought over. He was just closing the program when Del walked into the room.

  “Whoa,” he said. “I like it even better the second time around.”

  Del smiled, tossing her long, unbound hair back from her shoulders. “I thought you might.”

  “Come here.” He beckoned but she shook her head.

  She knew what he wanted; he could see the heated awareness in her eyes. “No. We’ll be late.”

  “So?” He stood, beginning to walk slowly across the room.

  She backed away, putting the table between them. “Sam, we have reservations for seven!” The sentence ended in a shriek as he feinted left, then moved right when she dodged. He caught her by one elbow and whirled her to him, clasping her against him and running his hands over the silky fabric of the little dress and her curves beneath it. “I wanted to do this that night in the bar.”

  “You did?” There was amusement in her voice, but beneath it he detected a hint of vulnerability. Del had hidden herself away for so long she honestly didn’t know how appealing she was.

  “I did.” Dropping his head, he sought her mouth and her resistance died as he plunged his tongue deep, finding her breast with one hand and covering the plump mound with one hand. He rotated his palm, the rising peak beneath his hand fueling his growing arousal. Her arms wound around his neck and her fingers speared into his hair, holding him to her. “Mmm,” she murmured. “I guess we can have a quick appetizer.”

  He wanted her again. Badly. Tugging the hem of the dress up one smooth thigh inch by inch, he could feel himself growing harder and readier by the second. As he slipped his fingers beneath the little dress and around her thigh, he ground himself against her soft mound. Pulling her one leg high around his waist, he pressed himself even more intimately against her. He thought he might just die of pure pleasure. He trailed his fingers along the rounded globes of her bottom and the sweet crease he found until he touched her there in the heated V he’d exposed.

  And holy heaven, she wasn’t wearing any underwear!

  “What…?”

  “I wanted to surprise you.” She tore her mouth from his and nipped his earlobe, then sucked hard on the tiny sting. The small sensation shot straight through his throbbing body, making his pants uncomfortably tight.

  “Consider me surprised.” He could barely get the words out. He released her for a moment and shoved his hands between them, opening his pants and pushing them and his briefs out of the way.

  She was making tiny mewling sounds, trying to climb his body, and he obligingly lifted her, breath surging in and out of his lungs like a winded marathoner as her legs clasped his hips and her moist, heated female flesh caressed him.

  “Inside you,” he managed. “I need to be inside you.”

  She suckled his ear again. At the same time, her small hand burrowed down between them and she wrapped her fingers around him, sliding up and down gently as her thumb whisked over the ultra-sensitive tip.

  He almost lost it right there as she continued to caress him. Gritting his teeth against the urge to simply let himself relax and go with it, he gripped her soft buttocks in his big hands and lifted her higher, rubbing her over him.

  She made a small sound of delight, her hand faltering in its task as he angled her against him so that she would feel as crazy as she was making him.

  She moaned and clutched at his shoulders as he turned and braced her against the wall. He was almost ready to enter her when he realized he hadn’t used protection, and he swore.

  “Wait! We can’t—”

  Del made a shocked sound as he set her down and fumbled in the pile of clothes around his ankles until he came up with the small package he sought. He covered himself with frantic haste and then, with one slick, swift motion, he lifted her and positioned himself again, then thrust inside her. She was hot and wet and smooth and tight; he was out of control, pounding toward the pinnacle of his pleasure. She made a small noise with each motion of his hips, her body impaled by him, and he realized she was as close as he was. “Come to me, baby,” he said hoarsely. “Let go and come to me.”

  “Sam,” she said, her voice trembling. Her fingers dug into his skin as he felt sweet internal contractions begin to ripple through her. Her body arched; her heels dug into him. He threw his head back, shuddering as he felt his own body gathering, and then he couldn’t think at all, could only feel as her body gripped him like a hot, tight glove, squeezing an earthshaking response from him that left his knees trembling and his entire body drained. Slowly, he dropped to his knees on the floor, still holding her.

  “Wow,” she said. “I’m not sure I’ll be hungry for the main course.”

  He laughed, savoring the sweet intimacy of their position. “It’s possible the main course will be delayed for a while after that.” He lifted her off him, then staggered to his feet. “I’m not sure I can walk.”

  “I’m the one who should be saying that,” she pointed out, reaching for the box of tissues on the counter. “Let me,” she said when he reached for one.

  Her fingers were soft and gentle as she cleaned him. By all rights he shouldn’t be able to get hard again for a week after that. But amazingly, he felt a renewed stirring of desire beneath her hands.

  “We really do have to go,” she said, smiling.

  “I know.” He began to restore his clothing to order. “But I can’t seem to tell him that.”

  She laughed aloud. “I’ll be ready in a minute,” she said as she walked toward the bathroom. “I’ll hurry.”

  He glanced at his watch. “We’re not late. You even have time to put on some underwear.” He couldn’t wipe the silly grin off his face as she rolled her eyes at him, then disappeared through the door. Satisfaction invaded his every pore. He’d needed that, to bond her to him, to make her his again. At least, he was sure of one thing: she still wanted him as badly as he wanted her.

  So badly that you almost forgot something important, pal.

  The voice in his head snapped him back to reality with a jarring thud. Holy hell. Birth control. The thought hadn’t entered his head until he’d been poised and ready to take her. Unbelievable. If he’d ever known such a total loss of… He’d always thought he’d have kids someday, but after Ilsa had informed him she couldn’t live with a man in a wheelchair for the rest of her life, he’d put that dream away. The fact that he wasn’t wheelchair-bound was inconsequential; he simply hadn’t wanted to get involved with anyone again.

  Now, though, the thought of seeing Del with a baby—a baby they’d made together—was unexpectedly appealing. Apparently he hadn’t buried those dreams as deeply as he’d assumed.

  The moment they entered the restaurant, a tall, silver-haired man rose from a table where he’d been waiting and waved at them.

  “Robert!” Del’s voice held delight and amazement. “What are you doing here?”

  Robert smiled as he embraced her, then shook Sam’s hand. “I’m in town for a few days and when I called Sam, we thought it might be fun to surprise you.”

  “You were right.” She smiled at Sam. Then she appeared to realize that Robert didn’t know about them, and her whole face pinkened.

  “Sam tells me you two are dating or something,” Robert said as he held her chair and smoothly seated her.

  “Or something,” Sam said as the men sat.

  Robert grinned. “So how’s business?” he asked.

  The meal was pleasant. They spent most of it discussing PSI in generalities, since confidentiality was a hallmark of the business. Robert knew a few of their clients because he had recommended them, but he was equally interested in some of the other work the firm had begun to do.