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"Just Antonio."
"Tell me what turned up."
"Another body, in Mississippi. The other man and your father knew each other, and they were probably killed at the same time. The other man was in a car in the hot sun, so the coroner can't pin his time of death down as accurately as we could with your father, but it's close enough."
"What was the other man's name?"
"Rick Medina. Your father knew him in Vietnam. Did you ever hear of him?"
She shook her head.
"He worked for the CIA."
Startled, she said, "Dad wasn't CIA."
"I know, but they knew each other anyway. At first, when I found out about Medina, I thought maybe he had been the primary target and your father got in the way. But now…"
Now, with the attacks on her, it seemed likely the situation was reversed.
She rubbed her forehead. "Why come after me? I don't know anything about what he did."
"Someone evidently thinks otherwise."
"Do you think this has anything to do with the CIA?"
He shook his head. "They seem to be as much in the dark as we are. Medina did occasional work for them, but he wasn't in their employ at the time. No one knows why he was here."
"Another dead end."
"Or a lead. Whoever dumped Medina's body did it across the state line, probably thinking we wouldn't link the two murders. Medina's murder looked like a robbery, except they left the car, which was worth a lot of money if that was what they were after. It was as if they wanted him to be identified without any trouble."
"Why would they want him identified?"
"Because they wanted someone to know he was dead. Who and why?"
"We keep saying they."
"I don't think one person could have managed both murders so cleanly, with no witnesses."
So what were they dealing with? she wondered. An army of assassins? People she wouldn't recognize, who could walk up to her door at any time, perhaps wearing a police officer's uniform, and kill her when she opened the door? Would she ever feel free to cross a street again without wondering if one of the cars waiting at the traffic light was going to make an early start and run her down?
Now she was being paranoid, but where did it end?
She stirred, realizing they had been silent for some time and were almost in New Orleans. "If you don't mind, take me to a nice, quiet motel that's within walking distance of a supermarket. I'm paying for everything with cash, so if I check in under an assumed name, I should be safe enough."
His jaw tightened. "I'm taking you to my house," he said evenly.
His house. Her stomach clenched in a rush of mingled desire and terror. "I can't stay with you. If the
y find me, you'll be in danger, too."
"And if they find you, you'll be a hell of a lot safer with me than you would alone in some motel room."
It was blind instinct that had sent her back to New Orleans, a panicked need to be near Marc, but now that she was here, she knew she couldn't live with herself if anything happened to him because of her. "I can't take that chance. Once they trace me to New Orleans, wouldn't your house be the first place they would look?"
"Why would they? Contrary to what you seem to think, no one except the two of us knows we spent the last night you were here screwing all night long like a couple of minks."
He said it so smoothly, the rich, dark tones of his voice shaping the words almost into a caress. If he meant to shock her, he succeeded. If he meant to forcibly remind her of the intimacy they had shared, he succeeded in that, too. She felt her face get hot as a blush spread from her breasts upward.
