This Side of Heaven

and looked around, searching for Dundee. He parked and got out of his car. Dear God, how could her life have changed so drastically in so short a period of time? Although vio­lence had marred her safe existence when Evan had been brutally murdered, Cyn lived her daily life on a fairly nor­mal, safe routine. Violence had lain on the outskirts of her civilized life.

But Nate Hodges had changed all that. Loving a warrior had thrown her into harm's way. Filled with all of man­kind's imperfections, this earth fell far short of paradise, but Cyn wanted this life and the love of the man her heart and soul had been waiting to find. Eternity's perfection could wait. All she had ever wanted was within her grasp. The man of her dreams was here with her in this imperfect world—here, this side of heaven. * * *

Morning sunlight brightened Nate's den, shimmering on the wall-mounted swords and reflecting off the numerous glass cases. Nate snapped the lid on the suede-lined case and placed his prized Gurkha hunting dagger alongside several other cases containing many precious treasures. A loner by choice, Nate was attached to few people and even fewer things. But his extensive knife collection meant a great deal to him.

He would never forget Cyn's reaction to this room filled with the acquisitions of a lifetime. She hated knives as much as Nate loved them. For he did, indeed, love knives. He loved the look and feel of them. And he loved their capa­bilities. In the right hands, a knife was a tool of endless di­versity.

But Cyn's husband had been stabbed to death, and erro­neously, she blamed the weapon as well as its user. Damn, how had this happened to him? How had he allowed him­self to become involved with a woman as gentle and loving as Cynthia Porter? She offered him her heart and her body, freely, but he knew loving her could cost him dearly. He had found with Cyn something he'd only dreamed about, something he didn't believe existed. She had given his soul the sanctuary it craved. Her pure, sweet goodness had en­veloped the cold darkness within him, bringing him warmth. She filled his world with light. But he would have to keep his past from destroying her before he could accept what she offered.

The loud pounding noise aroused Nate from his thoughts. When he opened the front door, Nick Romero rushed in­side.

'What the hell are you doing here?' Nate asked. 'If you've got a man to cover Cyn, you could have called.'

'I'm still working on that.' Nick ran his fingers through his curly black hair. 'Dammit, man, why did you have to pick now to finally get seriously involved with a woman?'

'What the hell's the matter with you?' Nate knew something was bothering Romero, more than having to twist a few arms and call in some favors to get protection from the agency for Cyn.

'I could use a cup of coffee. I haven't had time for even a taste this morning.' Romero didn't look directly at Nate.

'In the kitchen. Come on.'

Nate led Romero into his makeshift kitchen, poured him a cup of hot coffee and led him outside to the patio. A sky filled with soft clouds and morning sunshine promised the warmth of an early spring day.

'So, what's up?' Nate asked.

Romero took several hefty swigs from the coffee, then, looking out at the overgrown garden, he said, 'John is all right, but there was an explosion aboard one of your cruis­ers early this morning.'

Cold fear chilled Nate's body and coated his mouth with a metallic flavor. 'Where's John?'

'He's been with the police all morning, trying to answer questions without telling them the complete truth.' Rom­ero took another deep swallow of coffee. 'There's nothing left of the boat, and one of your employees, a guy named Wickman, got hit with some of the debris. He was on the pier.'

'How is he?'

'Emergency room's already released him.'

'I need to see John,' Nate said.

'No, you don't.' Romero finished the last sips of his coffee, and, clutching the empty cup in one hand, he placed his other hand on Nate's shoulder. 'John is taking his wife and son home to Alabama to stay with her family until this thing with Ryker is settled. He wanted me to tell you. He said you'd understand.'

'Hell, yes, I understand.' Nate shrugged off Romero's hand as he paced up and down the long archway that led from the patio to the wraparound porch. 'His first prior­ity is to protect the woman he loves and their child.'

'Ryker is in St. Augustine,' Romero said. 'The bomb explosion was just his way of announcing his arrival. We both know that.'

'Looks like my time has just about run out.'' * * *

Cyn flipped through the television channels, hoping to find something interesting enough to grab her attention. Alone and restless after a full day's work at Tomorrow House, she longed to forget that a hired bodyguard stood watch outside her apartment, that miles away Nate might be engaged in battle with his enemy, that she was powerless to change the inevitable.

'National Geographic' was on the educational channel, and under normal circumstances, the program would have piqued her curiosity about the subject, but tonight she didn't care about the plight of any species. All she could think about was Nate, alone and in danger.

Rational thought told her that he was better off without her, that her presence would have harmed him far more than it would have helped him. But her irrational heart told her that he needed her, that a woman should stand by her man and face the enemy with him. She was beginning to under­stand that there were times in one's life when turning the other cheek meant certain death. When violence is thrust upon you...

She flipped off the television, dropping the remote con­trol on the plaid colonial sofa. Well, what was she going to do? She had already eaten a late dinner, cleaned the kitchen, done a load of laundry and taken a bubble bath. She had tried reading, doing a crossword puzzle and watching TV. Nothing worked. Nothing had taken her mind off Nate. They had been apart less than twenty-four hours, and al­ready she was miserable without him. If only he were safe. If only this nightmare would end. If only he would come to her and stay with her forever.

Cyn went into her compact kitchen and opened the re­frigerator. Resisting the urge to devour a quart of choco­late ice cream, she reached for the diet cola and poured herself a tall glass.

Maybe she could play solitaire until she got sleepy. Where had she put that deck of playing cards? she wondered. Re­membering that she and Mimi had played poker several months ago right here at the kitchen table, Cyn figured she had put the cards in one of the nearby cabinets. Before she had a chance to search for the missing deck, the telephone rang.

She removed the receiver from the wall phone. 'Hello.'

'Cynthia Porter.' The voice on the other end was dis­tinctly male, deeply baritone.

'Yes.' She felt an irrational uncertainty creep through her like a slowly spreading plague.

'You have made a fatal mistake,' he said, enunciating each word with precise deliberation.

'Who is this?' She knew, dammit, she knew. If he had found her, he had found Nate.

'You signed your own death warrant when you became the Conquistador's woman.'

'What?' Cyn cried out. The dial tone sang in her ear.

She dropped the phone. It hit the floor with a resound­ing clatter. Stepping back, she stared at the dangling cord, her mind reeling with panic. Taking several deep breaths, Cyn hunched over and covered her face with her hands. Stay calm, she told herself. Think. Think.

Reaching down, she picked up the telephone and dialed Nate's number. The phone rang and rang and rang. Where are you? Answer, please answer. I need you.

'Hello,' Nate said.

'Oh, thank God, Nate.'

'Cyn, what's wrong?'

'Please, tell me that you're all right.' She leaned against the wall, clutching the phone tightly in both hands.

'I'm fine. Do you hear me? I'm all right. Tell me what's wrong. What happened?'

'He... he called.'

'Who called?'

'Ryker.'

'Did he tell you who he was?' Nate asked.