The Pirate & The Adventurer & The Cowboy

possibility."

    "Someone gave him the information."

    "Maybe."

    "Yeah, maybe." Rafe watched the last set of taillights disappear down his long drive. "I thought we had this airtight, Hatcher."

    "I thought we did, too."

    "When I find out who's selling me out, I'll do a little bloodletting. Hope whoever it is realizes what he's risking."

    "We don't know for sure yet, Rafe," Hatcher said quickly. "It really could be a genuine coincidence. But regardless of how it happened, there's no getting around the fact that we've got to counter Moorcroft's last move and fast. Thought you'd want to run the numbers yourself."

    "I'll do it tonight and have an answer in the morning. Nothing gets in the way of this Ellington thing, understand? It has to go through on schedule."

    "Right, well, guess I'd better be off." Hatcher nodded once more and dug his keys out of his pocket. "I'll talk to you tomorrow."

    Rafe stood for a while in the balmy darkness watching Hatcher's car vanish in the distance.

    Vengeance was a curious thing, he acknowledged. It had the same ability to obsess a man's soul as love did.

    "Rafe?"

    He turned toward the sound of Maggie's soft, questioning voice. She looked so beautiful standing there in the doorway with the lights of the house behind her. His beautiful, proud Maggie. He needed her more than the desert needed the fierce storms of late summer. Without her, he was an empty man.

    And if she ever realized what he was going to do to Moorcroft, she'd be furious. There was even a possibility she'd try to run from him again. He had to be careful, Rafe told himself. This was between him and Moorcroft, anyway. A little matter of vengeance and honor that had to be settled properly.

    "I'm coming, Maggie, love." He started toward the doorway. "Mom and Dad still out waltzing by the pool?"

    Margaret laughed. "Without a band? No, I think they gave up the waltzing in favor of getting some sleep before leaving for Sedona in the morning."

    "Not a bad idea," Rafe said.

    "What?"

    "Sleep. I could use some myself and so could you. Good night, Maggie, love." He pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

    Forty minutes later he watched from the other side of the patio as Margaret's light went out. For a short time he toyed with the idea of going to her room.

    But the file waiting in his office was too important to ignore. He'd told Hatcher he'd have an answer by tomorrow morning.

7

    « ^ »

    M argaret found sleep impossible. She tossed and turned, listening to the small night sounds that drifted through her window. Her mind was not cluttered with the bright images of the successful party or thoughts of her father and his new love. She wasn't thinking about any of the many things that could have been keeping her awake.

    All she could think about was Julie Cassidy's remark concerning Rafe having overcome his hawklike pride in order to find a way to get Margaret back.

    The notion of Rafe Cassidy lowering his pride for a woman was literally stunning.

    Margaret stared up at the ceiling and realized she had never considered the events of the past few days in those terms. She had felt manipulated at first and there was no denying that to a great extent she had been.

    But what had it cost Rafe to admit to himself and everyone else that he wanted her back?

    She thought of all the times during those first few months after the disaster when she had almost picked up the phone and called him. Her own pride had stood in her way every time. She had nothing for which to apologize, she kept telling herself. She had done nothing wrong. She had tried to explain her side of the situation to Rafe and he had flatly refused to listen.

    And then he had said terrible things to her, things that still had the power to make her weep if she summoned them to the surface of her consciousness.

    No, she could never have made the call begging him to take her back and give her another chance. It would have meant sacrificing all of her pride and her sense of self-worth. Any man who required such an act of contrition was not worth having.

    But it was a novelty to think that in some fashion Rafe's apparently high-handed actions lately bespoke a lowering of his own pride. Margaret realized she had never thought of it in that light.

    It was true he had not actually admitted that he had been wrong last year. Other than to apologize grudgingly for his rough treatment of her, he had basically stuck to his belief that she was the one who was