I’m driving a blue Kia SUV. Be in front of the Crescent Hotel at six p.m.

He nodded and tore off the piece of paper and stuck it in his pocket. She showed him back to the waiting room, asking about his folks and saying that hers were doing well.

Back in her cubicle Marcia realized that she was shaking. Either Joe Brammer had gone crazy or something was terribly wrong. And she would have to wait almost seven hours to find out what the hell was going on with her old boyfriend, whom she had never quite gotten over-even though she had been the one who finally ended things between them. But only because she realized that she was beating a dead horse. She saw herself living in New York City, and Joe planned to practice law in Texas-as a public defender, of all things. They had argued endlessly about whether the Lone Star State should adopt a kinder, gentler criminal-justice system. But oh, when they finally stopped arguing, they had been damned good together. In bed, on sofas, in dark hallways, in public restrooms, and even once with her bent over the back of the Harley. The sex she had had with Joe had become her gold standard, and it had never quite measured up since, though Lord knows she had tried.

But it definitely wasn’t sex that Joe wanted from her now. Although it was hard for her to comprehend what sort of major trouble someone as smart as Joe had gotten himself into, she knew that he had come to her for help.

She was accustomed to people coming to her with their problems. She had handled all the consumer-watchdog stuff before she got the noon anchor job. The station had a reputation for looking out for the little guy-helping people who had been swindled or had unfortunate run-ins with city hall. Nothing cloak-and-dagger, though. Now, with her promotion, she could concentrate more on hard news, which was more compatible with her immediate goal of becoming an evening anchorperson either here in Dallas or in some other major market, which she hoped would be a stepping-stone to a network position or a cable job that provided nationwide exposure. After all, some of the big-time broadcast divas were getting a little long in the tooth, and Marcia wanted to be experienced enough and have proven herself to be aggressive enough to be next in line. It was only a matter of time, and she wanted sooner instead of later.

But she also wanted a husband and kids. A normal side to her life. And Joe Brammer was the only man with whom she had ever imagined herself growing old.

Don’t go there, she warned herself. Just see what he wants. And hope it leads to a good story.

Still, she found herself wondering if he was with someone now. What if he wasn’t in trouble at all but some woman was? His lover, or his wife?

Whatever the story was, it had better be a good one. She didn’t have time to waste on dead ends or small stuff.

She forced herself to return to the story she had been working on before Joe’s visit.

Somehow, she got through the rest of the afternoon. At a quarter of five, she was heading for the parking lot. She stopped by her apartment to freshen up and change into her best-fitting jeans and race around picking up clothes and shoes and tidying up a bit-just in case. Then she headed down the North Dallas Toll Road. The traffic was heavy. She was going to be late.

When she pulled up in front of the elegant Crescent, Joe was waiting.

As Joe got into the car, he handed her a piece of paper with the word “Denton” written on it. Once again he put his finger to his lips.

Marcia wanted to erupt. Was the man nuts? Did he actually think that someone might have bugged her car? She rolled her eyes at him then pulled away from the curb.

Marcia headed back up the toll road and found a pop-music station on the radio to end the stifling silence that hung over the interior of the car. She took the George Bush to I-35, and twenty minutes later, following Joe’s unspoken directions, she took the second Denton exit. She pulled into the drive-through lane of a Mexican restaurant and ordered two meals and two large iced teas. Then she drove until she saw a school playground and pulled into the parking lot.

She grabbed one of the food sacks and an iced tea and headed for a bench near the swings. “Are you crazy?” she demanded as Joe approached.

“Maybe,” he said with a shrug.

They sat on a bench. “You care if I eat something before we talk?” he asked.

“Suit yourself,” she said.

She watched him practically inhale a burrito and decided that she was hungry herself. They ate in silence. Finally Joe said, “My grandparents lived in Mesquite while I was growing up. I spent a lot of time there…”

Marcia listened while Joe explained the special feelings he’d always had for an orphaned little girl named Jamie who lived with her grandmother in a house just over the back fence from his grandparents’ house. As Jamie got older he could never quite decide how to classify his feelings for her.

At first Marcia listened through veils of anger. If she’d known that she had competition, maybe she wouldn’t have let herself fall in love with the guy. But as his story got ever more intriguing, she felt her reporter’s instincts kick in. It was like listening to the plot line of a far-fetched movie with shadowy government agents tracking down innocent people who knew too much. She came to understand his paranoia and wondered if indeed her phones and office and car might be bugged because she was Joe’s former girlfriend.

But as she listened to Joe relate what he wanted her to do and explain what little hard information he had on Gus Hartmann, she wondered if she really wanted to know more. “I’m sorry that you and your lady are in someone’s crosshairs,” she told Joe, “but I don’t want to join you there.”

“All I want for you to do is cover the event just as you normally would,” Joe said.

“A religious service is not a news event,” she protested. “You need to talk to someone from the Christian channel.”

“It is a political event, Marcia. Amanda Hartmann’s organization raises many millions of dollars to assist candidates who supposedly support their worldview but also just happen to be pro big business, especially the energy business.”

Gus couldn’t sleep. He took a midnight walk then went upstairs to make an unprecedented middle-of-the-night visit to see Buck. Randi’s mother was flustered at first but then realized that he wasn’t checking up on her, he was just looking for solace. She disappeared into the sitting room, leaving him to gaze down at Buck’s innocent sleeping face and gently touch his achingly beautiful and exquisitely soft cheeks.

More and more he wished that he could simply end the quest for Sonny’s baby. He could be satisfied for the rest of his life with little Buck. But things had gone too far. There was no way to back out of the chase. Too many laws had been broken. Jamie Long and her boyfriend had to be silenced. And Amanda would have the baby she wanted.

Not that he expected his sister to be a great mother. She would swoop in and out of the boy’s life as she had with Sonny, as Mary Millicent had with them. Gus closed his eyes, remembering how he had lived for those times with his mother. When they were together, she couldn’t hug and kiss him enough and would question him about every facet of his life and listen attentively to his answers. When Mary Millicent was with her children, especially at the ranch, she belonged just to them, but those times were separated by long, lonely weeks and sometimes by months. She would call on the phone, of course, but she always seemed to be giving instructions to her secretary or some other subordinate while she talked to him.

And that was the way Amanda had been with Sonny, overwhelming him with love when she was with him but leaving him to be raised by his uncle Gus or Ann Montgomery or the staff of some boarding school the rest of the time.