washed, and fell into bed. Stacking his hands behind his head, he
thought about the women's answers to their questions. One thought led
to another, and he was suddenly thinking about Jessica. Damn but she
was a tempting woman.
He fell asleep hoping to God she hadn't been hiding under that desk.
Daniel didn't go to sleep right away. He spent a good hour pacing
around his shoe box of a room, feeling like a caged animal. He tried
to concentrate on the investigation, but Grace Winthrop kept getting in
his way.
He'd been stunned by the impact she'd made on him, and honest to God,
he didn't know how to handle it. Until tonight, he hadn't so much as
glanced at another woman, and he sure as certain hadn't physically
wanted any of them. Grace had gotten to him, though, and it seemed so
damned disloyal of him to have such unbridled thoughts about her.
He couldn't figure out why he was attracted to her. Granted, she was
pretty and her face was about the loveliest he'd seen in a long, long
time. She had a nice shape too. No doubt about it, she was well put
together, but she still wasn't anything like his sweet Kathleen. No
other woman could ever measure up to her. The unspoiled daughter of a
farmer, his wife had simple tastes and a passionate zest for life.
He'd been drawn to her robust laugh and her generous nature, and he had
immediately and completely fallen head over heels in love with her.
How he had marveled at the great gift God had given him, and he often
would quietly observe her as she went about her daily chores. Her
strong, sturdy hands worked tirelessly through the day, but at night
they were gentle and soft as they stroked his brow.
Grace was a dainty, petite woman. The top of her head barely reached
his shoulders. She came from wealth and status and had obviously moved
about in a world that was totally foreign to him. Yet there was a
naivete and gentleness in her that made him want to move close.
But she wasn't Kathleen. Oh, God, how he missed his wife. He ached to
take her into his arms and make love to her once again. He longed to
listen to her sing a lullaby to their little girl, to hear their
laughter, to touch . . . He forced himself to stop thinking about the
past. His life had ended when his wife and baby were taken from him,
gunned down like animals, but he had to keep going . . . had to keep
pushing and searching until he had gotten every one of the demons
responsible. Only then could he stop.
With a weary sigh, he got ready for bed and methodically went through
his notes again. He wanted to find something he'd missed before, but
that didn't happen. In frustration, he hurled the notepad across the
