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"Hello, Tate."

At the sound of her voice, he registered even more surprise.

Her heart lurched.He knew!

Had she made another blunder? Did Carole have a pet name she always addressed him by? She held her breath, waiting for him to point an accusing finger at her and shout, "You lying impostor!"

Instead, he cleared his throat uneasily and returned her greeting. "Hello, Carole."

Through her finely fashioned nose, she exhaled thin little wisps of air, not wanting to give away her relief by expelling the deep breath she'd been holding for so long it had made her chest ache.

He came farther into the room, and absently laid a bunch of flowers and a package on the nightstand. "You look great.''

"Thank you."

"You can talk," he said with an awkward laugh.

"Yes. Finally."

"Your voice sounds different."

"We were warned of that, remember?" she said quickly.

"Yeah, but I didn't expect the. . ." He made a motion with his fingers across his throat. "The hoarseness."

"It might eventually fade."

"I like it."

He couldn't take his eyes off her. If things between them had been what they should have been, he would be kneeling in front of her, skimming her new face with his fingertips like a blind man, marveling over its smoothness, and telegraphing his love. To her disappointment, he maintained a careful distance.

As usual, he was wearing jeans. They were pressed and creased, but old and soft enough to glove his lower body. Avery didn't want to be trapped by her own feminine curiosity, so she resolutely kept her eyes above the lapel of his sports jacket.

The view from there was very good, too. Her gaze was almost as penetrating as his.

She nervously raised her hand to her chest. "You're staring."

His head dropped forward, but only for a split second before he raised it again. "I'm sorry. I guess I really didn't expect you to ever look like yourself again. And. . . and you do. Except for the hair."

She gave a little shiver of joy because her ruse had worked.

"Are you cold?"

"What? Cold? No." She recklessly groped for something to divert him. "What's that?"

He followed her nod to the package he had carried in with him. "Oh, it's your jewelry."

"Jewelry?" Her bubble of happiness burst. She swallowed with difficulty.

"What you were wearing the day of the plane crash. The hospital called the law office today to remind me it was still in their safe. I stopped there on my way here to pick it up. I kept forgetting about it." He extended the envelope to her. Avery stared at it as though it were a poisonous snake and was just as loath to touch it. Seeing no way to avoid it, however, she took it from him. "I didn't take the time to inventory the contents," he said, "but maybe you should now."

She laid the envelope in her lap. "I will later."

"I thought you'd want your things back."

"Oh, I do. It's just not very comfortable to wear jewelry right now." She formed a fist, then slowly opened it, extending her fingers. "My hands are almost back to normal, but they still get sore. I think I'd have trouble slipping my rings on and off."

"That would be a first, wouldn't it? For your wedding ring, anyway."

The harsh words took her aback. He wasn't wearing a wedding ring, either, she noted, and was tempted to point that out in Carole's defense, but she curbed the impulse. If Carole had removed her wedding ring for illicit purposes, as he'd insinuated, the subject was best avoided—for now.

Tate sat down on the edge of the bed. The hostile silence stretched out. Avery was the first to break it. "Did the trip go as well as you had hoped?"

"Yeah, it was fine. Tiring as hell."

"I saw you on television nearly every night. The crowds seemed enthusiastic."

"Everybody was pleased with the response I got."

"All the political analysts are predicting that you'll win the primary by a landslide."

"I hope so."

They lapsed into another silence while each tried, without much success, to keep from staring at the other. "How is Mandy?"

He gave a dismissive shrug. "She's fine." Avery frowned doubtfully.

"Okay, not so fine." He stood again and began pacing the length of the bed, his boot heels making crescent impressions in the carpeting. "Mom says she's still having nightmares. She wakes up screaming nearly every night, sometimes even during her nap. She moves around the house like a little ghost." He extended his hands as though reaching for something, then closed them around nothingness. "Not quite there, you know? Nobody's getting through—not me, not the psychologist."

"I asked Zee to bring her to see me. She said you had told her not to."

"That's right."

"Why?"

"I didn't think it would be a good idea for her to come when I wasn't here."

She didn't press her luck by asking why. It might spark another argument she wasn't yet equipped to handle. "I miss her. Once I'm at home, she'll do better."

His skepticism was plain. "Maybe."

"Does she ever ask for me?"

"No."

Avery lowered her gaze to her lap. "I see."

"Well, what do you expect, Carole? You only get back what you give."

For a moment their eyes clashed, then her hand came up to her forehead. Tears filled her eyes. She cried for the child who hadn't had enough of her mother's love. Poor little Mandy. Avery knew how it felt to be deprived of a parent's attention. That's why she justified pretending to be Mandy's mother when, initially, she had felt Mandy would profit from being told of Carole's demise immediately.

"Aw, shit," Tate said beneath his breath. He crossed the room and lightly rested his hand on the top of her head. His fingers worked their way through her stubby hair until the pads were gently massaging her scalp. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you cry. Mandy's going to get better—much better." After a moment, he said, "Maybe I should go."

"No!" Her head snapped up. Tears still drenched her eyes. "I wish you wouldn't."

"It's time I did."

"Please stay a while longer."

"I'm tired and cranky from the trip—not good company."

"I don't mind."

He shook his head.

Valiantly, she masked her immense disappointment. "I'll see you out then."

She reached for her cane and placed her weight on it as she stood up. But her nervously perspiring hand slipped on the crook and caused her to lose her balance.

"Christ, be careful."

Tate's arms went around her. The manila envelope fell from her lap onto the floor, but neither noticed. His arm supported her back, and his strong fingers aligned with her ribs beneath the soft weight of her breast.

As he inched her toward the bed, Avery clung to him, curling her fingers into the cloth of his jacket. She deeply inhaled his scent-—clean but outdoorsy, fragrant but masculine, with a trace of citrus. His strength permeated her and she imbibed it like an elixir.

She acknowledged then what she had avoided acknowledging during the long, torturous days he had been away. She wanted to become Mrs. Rutledge so she could be close to Tate. Based on the misery she'd felt during his absence and the joy she'd experienced when he had entered her room, that was no less valid a reason than the others. At least, it was just as strong.

He eased her onto the side of the bed, and gingerly touched the thigh of her injured leg. "That was a multiple fracture. The bone's still not as strong as you'd like to think."

"I guess not."

"We were right to decide you should stay here until after the primary. All that activity would be too much for you."

"Probably."

Her reply was qualified, because when Zee had told her that had been the decision reached without her consent or consultation, she had felt abandoned, like a family embarrassment that had been hidden away, out of the public eye.

"I can't wait to come home, Tate."

Their heads were close. She could see her new face reflected in the pupils of his eyes. His breath wafted over it. She wanted to be held. She wanted to hold him.

Touch me, Tate. Hold me. Kiss me,she wanted to say.

For several heartbeats he seemed to be considering it, then he pulled back.

"I'll go now," he said gruffly, "so you can rest."

She reached for his hand and clasped it as tightly as she was able to. "Thank you."

"For what?"

"For. . .for the flowers and. . .and for helping me back to bed."

"That's nothing," he said dismissively, pulling his hand free.

She made a wounded sound. "Why do you always refuse my thanks?"

"Don't play dumb, Carole," he whispered testily. "Your thanks don't mean anything to me and you know why." He said a curt good-bye and left.

Avery was crushed. She had hoped for so much more out of their reunion. Her fantasies of it hadn't been anything like the grim reality. But what could she expect from a husband who obviously didn't care a great deal about his wife?

At least he hadn't detected her lie. From a professional standpoint, she was still on firm ground.

She returned to the chair and picked up the envelope, pried open the metal brad, lifted the flap, and shook the contents into her hand. Her wristwatch was no longer ticking—the crystal had been shattered. A gold earring was missing, but it was no great loss. The item that was most important to her wasn't there. Where was her locket?

Then she remembered. She hadn't been wearing her locket when the accident had occurred. Carole Rutledge had had it.

Avery slumped against the chair, lamenting the loss of that treasured piece of jewelry, but she roused herself immediately. She would mourn the loss later. Right now, she had to act.

A few minutes later, a nurse at the central station glanced up from the keyboard of her computer terminal. "Good evening, Mrs. Rutledge. Did you enjoy your visit with your husband?"

"Very much, thank you." She handed the nurse the envelope. "I have a favor to ask. Would you please mail this for me tomorrow?" The nurse read the address Avery had printed on it. "Please," Avery pressed, before the nurse could ask any questions.

"I'd be glad to," she said, though she obviously found it a strange request. "It'll go out in the morning's mail."

"I would rather you not mention this to anyone. My husband accuses me of being too sentimental as it is." "All right."

Avery handed her several folded bills, pilfered from the generous allowance Tate had left with her before his trip. "That's enough money to cover the postage, I believe. Thank you."

That represented another severance with Avery Daniels. She returned to the room assigned to Mrs. Carole Rutledge.

TWELVE

In stocking feet, Irish McCabe went to his refrigerator for another beer. He pulled off the tab and, as he sipped the malty foam from the top of the can, inspected his freezer for dinner possibilities. Finding nothing there that was a better option than hunger, he decided to do without food and fill up on beer.

On his way back into the living room, he picked up the stack of mail he'd dropped on the table when he had come in earlier. While idly watching a TV game show, he sorted through the correspondence, culling junk mail and setting aside bills.

"Humph." A puzzled frown pulled together salt-and-pepper eyebrows when he came across the manila envelope. There was no return address, but it bore a local postmark. He unfastened the brad and wedged his index finger beneath the flap. He upended the envelope and dumped the contents into his lap.

He sucked in a quick breath and recoiled, as though something foul had landed on him. He stared at the damaged jewelry while his lungs struggled for air and his heart labored in his chest.

It was several moments before he calmed down enough to reach out and touch the shattered wristwatch. He had immediately recognized it as Avery's. Gingerly he picked it up and tentatively investigated the gold earring he'd last seen decorating Avery's ear.

Quickly coming to his feet, he rushed across the room to a desk that he rarely used, except as a catchall. He pulled open the lap drawer and took out the envelope he'd been given at the morgue the day he had identified Avery's body. "Her things," the forensic assistant had told him apologetically.

He remembered dropping her locket into the envelope without even looking inside. Up till now he hadn't had the heart to open it and touch her personal effects. He was superstitious. To paw through Avery's belongings would be as distasteful to him as grave robbing.

He'd had to empty her apartment because her landlady had insisted on it. He hadn't kept a single thing, except a few photographs. Her clothes and all other usable items had been donated to various charities.

The only thing that Irish had deemed worth keeping was the locket that had identified her body. Her daddy had given it to her when she was just a kid, and Irish had never seen Avery without it.

He opened the envelope that had been in his desk all this time and dumped the contents onto the desk's littered surface. Along with Avery's locket, there was a pair of diamond earrings, a gold bracelet watch, two bangle bracelets, and three rings, two of which comprised a wedding set. The third ring was a cluster of sapphires and diamonds. Together it added up to a hell of a lot more than Avery's jewelry, but it wasn't worth a plug nickel to Irish McCabe.

Obviously, the pieces belonged to one of the other crash victims, possibly to one of the survivors. Was somebody grieving its misplacement? Or had it even been missed?

He would have to check on that and try to get it back to the rightful owner. Now, all he could think about was Avery's jewelry—the watch and earring that had been delivered today to his post office box. Who had sent them? Why now? Where had they been all this time?

He studied the envelope, searching for possible clues as to its sender. There were none. It didn't look like it had come from a municipal office. The printed lettering was rickety and uneven, almost childish.

"Who the hell?" he asked his empty apartment.

The pain of his grief over Avery should have been blunted by now, but it wasn't. He dropped heavily into his easy chair and stared at the locket with misty eyes. He rubbed it between his finger and thumb like a talisman that might make her miraculously materialize.