realized Nick must have paid her to set Jared up for a fall.

Nick hadn't let a moment pass before he'd moved in on a vulnerable Margo. She'd refused to listen to Jared's explanations, which angered him enough to allow his pride to get in the way. Big mistake.

'Easy enough to say now.' With a sigh, he shook his head in disgust.

Swallowing the bitter bile frying his throat, he trudged to the lumpy full-sized bed and flopped down on top of the tattered bedspread. He had a job to do — an important one. Margo would keep his secret once he explained why he was here. But Nick…

Jared rolled to his side and stared at the flashing sign, hypnotized by its rhythmic display.

When he'd seen Margo sitting in the audience tonight, his initial reaction had been embarrassment, then joy. He'd never forgotten her gray eyes, her honey-brown hair, her lithe young body, or the passion she'd shown so openly during their college years. No other woman had insinuated herself into his heart since Margo, and he wasn't sure if it was because he wouldn't allow it or because no other woman could take her place.

Or both.

And how could he forget Nick? The rich kid whose real estate tycoon father had owned or held the mortgage on everything and everybody in his small town. Except for Carson's Garage. Jared's uncle and guardian had been an independent cuss who never borrowed or loaned a dime his entire life. Everything they'd ever owned had been paid for with hard-earned cash.

A cold draft seeped in around the cheap, aluminum-framed window, and he shivered. Taking refuge under the blankets, he continued to stare at the flashing sign. What a sorry excuse for a bed. The floor would probably be more comfortable, but colder, too.

And no amount of physical discomfort could blot out his memories. Not tonight.

If Nick had gone to some posh private college instead of the state university, so many things would be different. By now, Jared would be married to Margo. He knew that without a doubt. They'd probably have a baby, or one on the way.

And he definitely wouldn't have taken this cruddy job-not a chance. He would have gone home and worked as a deputy until Sheriff Bob was ready to retire, then he would've run for the office himself.

But Fred and Nick Riley's obsession with winning and Jared's own stupid sense of pride had ruined it all.

Ah, Margo. He squeezed his eyes shut and remembered that night in the woods behind her sorority house, when she'd given herself to him completely. The night they'd both declared their love for each other…

No other woman had ever touched him or drained him so completely — physically or emotionally. Sure, he'd had sex with more than a few women in his life, but he'd only made love with one. Margo. Sweet Margo.

Forget it, chump.

She was a married woman, and the last person she needed messing up her life was the likes of Jared Carson. He'd had his chance. It was over.

He punched his pillow and sat up in bed. Between worrying about this case and strolling down memory lane, he'd be up all night. Since he couldn't sleep, maybe he'd get some answers instead.

Grumbling, he reached for the phone and dialed his contact's number. Jared's body tensed, thoughts of Margo pushed aside by duty.

'This better be important,' a sleep-roughened voice said after one ring.

'What the hell's going on? Is there a leak?'

'Beats the hell outta me.' Charlie sighed into the phone.

'And my cover?' Silence. That did nothing to bolster Jared's confidence. 'Charlie, is my cover blown?'

'Nah, I'm sure it's fine.'

Jared stood and paced. 'We'll continue as planned for now, but you let me know in advance if anything else crops up. Got it? I don't like surprises.'

'Sure. Get some shut-eye.'

Jared disconnected the call and dropped the receiver into its cradle. No, he didn't like surprises one iota. Like seeing Margo again.

4

Margo winced as her alarm clock blasted through her brain. No, not her alarm clock — the phone. What had she done to deserve a wake-up call this morning?

Steph is a dead woman.

Without opening her eyes, she fumbled for the receiver. Anything to keep it from ringing again. Some party animal. Three — four? — tropical drinks had given her a hangover.

'Meet me for breakfast,' a woman — definitely not Steph — said before Margo uttered a syllable.

'What? Who is this?' She shoved a pillow behind her head and opened one eye. Her tongue was glued to the roof of her mouth with something resembling wallpaper paste. 'Breakfast?' Her stomach threatened immediate mutiny.

'Yeah, how about the Little Diner?'

She and Nick had eaten dozens of breakfasts in that downtown restaurant during their marriage. 'Who is this?'

'Raquel. Raquel Eastwood.'

No longer groggy, Margo opened the other eye and scooted herself into a partial sitting position. 'Why?' Suspicion slithered through her. Was there a complication from last night's trip to the police station? 'Am I in some kind of trouble?'

A nervous laugh sounded through the phone. 'No, I just thought we'd chat over breakfast. How about it?'

Margo rubbed her forehead and nodded, then remembered that wasn't terribly effective over the phone. 'Sure, I suppose.' She swallowed and grimaced. 'It'll take me at least an hour to get my act together.'

'Too much Silver Oaks?'

The mere thought of anything alcoholic made Margo's stomach lurch. 'No, I wish that was—' She swung her legs over the edge of the bed. 'Wait a minute. How did you know my favorite wine?'

'Uh, you must have told me last night.' Another nervous laugh. 'Tell you what, bring Steph, too. I'll meet you there in about an hour. Later.'

She had not mentioned Silver Oaks last night. Margo shook her head, immediately regretting the sudden movement. Someone at the law firm must have mentioned Margo to Raquel. How else could the woman know so much?

Dismissing it, for now, she called Steph and tried to sound semicoherent. Her sister was disgustingly alert and cheerful. Fortunately, the call lasted only a minute or two, and she dropped the phone.

'Shower,' she muttered, pushing to her feet while holding her aching head. 'Coffee.'

She froze in midstep, suddenly remembering what — rather, who — had plagued her dreams. Jared. She would find him today, interview him, then forget him.

Forget him? The lie of the century.

Exactly seventy minutes later, she slid into an old-fashioned booth at the Little Diner. Amazing what hot water, hot coffee, and aspirin could accomplish in so little time.

Steph looked as if she hadn't been out last night at all, and Raquel Eastwood still had bombshell written all over her. Not only did she boast a mane of curls Nicole Kidman would've envied, but she had a body that wouldn't quit. Margo's short-cropped light brown hair and small breasts suddenly seemed more inadequate than usual.

She'd had more than her share of coffee already this morning, so she ordered tea and toast. 'So, you're Warren's new law partner.' And why the chummy breakfast invitation?

'Uh, yeah.' Raquel took a sip of coffee and looked from Margo to Steph. 'Warren's out of town.'

'I know.' Steph shuddered dramatically. 'When the answering service told me, I was afraid we'd be stuck in

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