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her greatest weapon against him. He’d almost given in then and married her anyway. Almost. Except for the teeny tiny fact that the baby wasn’t his.
    That was a little over a year ago, and Lucas was just now repaying that great favor by protecting a woman who harbored more secrets than the Pentagon.
    Lucas shrugged out of his jacket. He wanted a shower, but knew he wouldn’t get one until after the police left. He sat on the edge of the bed. It dipped ominously, and he pulled out the envelope of photos Mi had given him at the TV station. He filed through until he found the one he wanted, the one of Mi and the older woman. Who was she? He might have thought them mother and daughter, but there was no real resemblance. Mi was dark haired and dark eyed. The woman was blond with light eyes. She was taller than Mi by at least a head, but there was something about her that reminded him of Mi. Maybe a relative?
    Looking closely at the photo, he could just make out a small figure under a blue blanket in the baby stroller. He glanced at the baby bed, then scanned the room. There was a small grouping of framed photos on one of the nightstands. He told himself he shouldn’t pry, but that ship had sailed with his phone call to an old Navy buddy, now a private investigator.
    The first picture was of a younger Mi and a blond-haired boy wearing a baseball uniform. They had their arms around each other, smiling. The background was a ball field with other players and people milling about. Lucas put it back and reached for the larger photo tucked behind the others. A newborn baby, red-faced and alert, stared back at him. The dark-haired infant was wrapped in a blue blanket. He flipped the frame over and pried the picture loose. The words—Ethan Derek, seven pounds, eight ounces, twenty and one half inches—were written on the back in a loose, loopy scrawl. No date.
    He put the picture back in its frame and placed it with the others. A smaller photo caught his eye. Mi was holding a baby surrounded by the blond haired boy, now a man, and the older blond woman. Mi’s smile wasn’t the same as the other photo. This one was tense, forced. Her body language was off. She looked defiant, almost angry and tired. Very, very tired, like a new mother would. A sick feeling settled in his gut. He put the picture back, not wanting to look at the others, and hung his head in his hands.
    *****
    Mi scooped out the last of the fried potatoes from the skillet and put them with the others to drain on the paper towel covered baking sheet. The burgers were just about done so she added the skillet and baking pan to the oven to keep warm. Lucas had been in the bedroom a long time. Every minute that passed seemed an eternity. She kept an eye on the hallway, afraid he’d sneak up on her like he had in Crosby’s office. The man moved on cat-feet, an odd talent for someone so large.
    The doorbell rang, making Mi jump and clap a hand to her heart. She moved to answer it, but Lucas came out of the bedroom and stopped her.
    “I get the door,” he growled, pulling his gun from the back of his waistband.
    Mi stepped back. Not because of the gun—she lived in Texas after all—but because of the way Lucas had glared at her before turning his attention to whoever was at the door. What had made him so angry?
    He checked the peephole, then put his gun back in his waistband, covering it with his black t-shirt. A very form fitting t-shirt that wrapped around muscles, accentuating every carved angle and plane.
    Lucas opened the door to a couple of policemen. They took statements and photos, but there wasn’t a whole lot they could do. The incident with the rock might not be connected to the threats and photos Mi had been getting, but they promised to add it to the case file.
    Afterward Mi and Lucas had dinner in silence at the small table in the kitchen. He ate everything she put in front of him without looking at her. When they finished he did the dishes, then sat