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"It
might have. My job isn't exactly nine to five, and you'll be the one stuck at
home with a kid. I've seen the workload you bring home at night,
remember?"

"Actually,
I've put out some feelers to enter private practice, which would allow me more
free time in the evenings and on weekends."

"Sounds
like you've been planning this for quite a while. I'm just not sure where I fit
into this plan."

Cate
stood next to me and put her arm around me. "I love you, Jo. I know you
weren't expecting this, but I've always wanted a family. I was hoping you'd be
as excited about it as I am."

I
hugged Cate and held her tightly. "I love you, too, baby," I said,
even though I had to rate my excitement level at less than zero.

I
loved Cate but had to admit that I wasn't much of a parent. Kyle Eric Hammond
had faced life's obstacles since his birth. Now, at twenty-seven, he was still
finding the world a difficult place to live in.

Chapter
Eight

I
WAS BROUGHT back to reality by Pauli whipping into a parking slot of the
Holiday Inn. As I got out of his Chrysler, I saw Cate standing next to her
metallic blue Cadillac Seville. Handing Pauli the key card to my room, I went
toward her.

"Did
you find anything?" she asked.

"Not
much. I have to develop some film and see if I can figure out his
hieroglyphics. There was one CD that might have had something on it, but it was
protected, and we were hesitant to take it."

Cate
handed me a business card with her name embossed on the front.

"Bradley
and Hammond," I read aloud. "Very elegant."

"My
home number is on the back along with the private number to my office and my
cell phone number."

"How
come you let Susan get top billing?" I smiled.

"Alphabetical
order. And since she invited me to join her firm, I'm really the junior
partner."

"I'll
let you know if anything exciting happens. Otherwise, don't hold your
breath."

"Let
me have your cell number in case I need to contact you," Cate said as she
fished a pen from her purse.

"Never
use 'em."

She
looked at me in disbelief. "You're not kidding, are you?"

"Nope.
I had to use one for a couple of years while I was on assignments in the
States, but I never remembered to charge the fuckin' thing or wasn't close
enough to a tower to pick up reception. Besides, now that I'm retired, there
isn't anyone I either want or need to talk to."

Cate
nodded and got back into her car. I watched as she drove out of the parking lot
before joining Pauli in my room.

Pauli
and I spent the remainder of the morning and early afternoon trying to figure
out what Kyle had written, without having much luck, and were both frustrated
by the time we decided to give up.

"This
James Bond shit is gettin' you nowhere," Pauli said. "You need
someone on the inside to get close to the kid."

"You
mean at the newspaper?"

"Yeah.
At least to find out what the fuck this story is about besides illegals."

"I
might know someone....if I can talk her into it."

"Who's
that?" Pauli asked, stretching his huge frame.

"Stevie
Leonard," I said.

"I
thought she dropped off the radar screen after she got shot up in Mexico."

"She
did. Last I heard she was living in a cabin somewhere along the
Guadalupe."

"Weren't
you two an item once upon a time?"

"Yeah."
I frowned. "Once upon a time."

Stevie
Leonard had been a moderately experienced photojournalist when she accompanied
me to cover the Indian revolt in the Chiapas area of Mexico in 1994. We had
been on two other assignments together prior to Chiapas and had found enough
attractive about each other to entertain ourselves during our downtime. The
situation in Chiapas had escalated faster than anyone anticipated, leaving us
vulnerable. The Mexican government and army regulars hadn't wasted much of
their time attempting to peacefully quell the revolt.

It
had been a relatively peaceful afternoon when the quiet was shattered by the
sound of sporadic gunfire and screaming. Reacting instinctively, we both
grabbed our cameras and ran toward the action. Stevie was almost fifteen years
younger and an exercise addict in good physical condition. When I made it over
the top of a small rise close to the sounds of the gunfire, a few seconds
behind Stevie, I was immediately knocked to the ground. My left leg burned and
blood spread rapidly down my jeans. Glancing around without getting up, I
spotted Stevie on the ground about ten yards in front of me. I couldn't tell if
she was alive or dead, but she had obviously been shot. I lay as still as
possible for what seemed like an eternity before the firing ceased and the
afternoon was quiet again.

By
the time I reached her body, Stevie was unconscious and her skin was white and
cool from blood loss. As I said her name over and over, I saw that she had been
hit at least three times. A military helicopter came into view and hovered near
us as I tried to shield Stevie's body with mine. I barely remembered being
evacuated to a hospital.

Two
days later I was released from the hospital and preparing to return home.
Stevie had been taken to Mexico City and then flown to Houston. The doctor
wasn't sure whether she had survived or not, but even if she did, he was
certain she would be paralyzed.

When
I drove up to her cabin, I wasn't sure what to expect. Years had passed and I
hadn't seen Stevie since her release from a Houston rehabilitation center. Her
experience in Chiapas had changed her, and I had no idea what she was doing now
or how she would greet me. As I looked around, everything seemed peaceful and
very far removed from violence and the fast life.

The
door to the cabin swung open and Stevie walked onto the porch. Now about forty,
she still looked physically fit. She smiled when she saw me and stepped forward
to hug me. As we embraced, I was glad to see that the doctors in Mexico had
been wrong concerning her "certain" paralysis.

"It's
good to see you again, Jo," she said.

"Been
a while," I said.

"Well,
come on in and take a load off," she said as she backed into her home.

The
front hallway of her home was covered with pictures I knew she had taken on
assignments. As we went down the hallway, I stopped and looked at a few of her
pictures. She had a gift for capturing the emotion of the moment on people's
faces.

"Remember
this one?" she asked, pointing to a black and white.

I
laughed when I saw it. "Was this in Chiapas?" I asked.

"Yeah,
remarkably I got that camera back and this was on the last roll I shot. Cute,
huh?"

There
I was, frozen in time, aviator sunglasses pushed up on my head, smiling and
holding an Indian child, both of us waving at the camera. It had been taken the
morning of the military attack on the village, and I wondered what had happened
to that child.

"I've
looked better." I frowned.

"You
were very cute," she said with a wink. "And happy."

"Long
time ago."

I
followed her into the living room and sat down on the couch.

"So
what can I do for you, Jo?" Stevie asked as she sat in a recliner. "I
know you don't make social visits."

"What
are you up to these days, Stevie?"

"Not
much. Teaching a few photography classes at the local community college. Pretty
boring stuff. And you?"

"Retired."

"You?
Never!" she exclaimed.

"Yep.
Living back on my folks' ranch outside of Kerrville. For almost eighteen months
now."

"I
didn't think you'd ever leave the field."

"Well,
sometimes Mother Nature takes care of that for us."

"I
read that you were shot again at Kosovo." She frowned.

I
smiled at her. "Yeah. After that I caught a break and did about three
years of Stateside assignments. But then George W. decided to search for
weapons of mass destruction. I was tapped to be embedded with a front-line unit
in Iraq and decided that this old body couldn't handle much more lead, and it
was time to do a walk-away. Besides, photojournalism is a young person's
game."

"So
what brings you to the boonies today then?"

"Do
you remember me telling you about my son?"

"The
one you adopted with your ex?"

"Yeah.
He's gotten himself into a little trouble. He was working on a story and
someone tried to kill him. I promised my ex that I would try to find out who
might have been responsible. But the kid hates my guts because his mother and I
separated, and I can't get close to him personally."

"And
you need someone to get close and ask a few questions?"

"I'm
not really sure what the story is. Seems like nothing, but there has to be
something someone doesn't want found out. I need someone on the inside,
Stevie."

"Is
he a reporter?"

"In
San Antonio." I nodded. "For the Light. Sammy Gomez is one of their
photographers. I've talked him into taking a vacation for a couple of
weeks."

"And
you want me to poke around a little and see if anything turns up," Stevie
said with a smile. "Why not? Getting a touch of cabin fever anyway."

Chapter
Nine

FOUR
DAYS LATER, Stevie began working as a temporary employee of the San Antonio
Light covering crime, which there would never be a shortage of. I booked
adjoining rooms for us at the Marriott near the Riverwalk, figuring we might as
well relax and enjoy ourselves as much as possible. There were plenty of good
restaurants and bars along the Riverwalk, and even though Stevie was
technically working, I hoped that getting out a little would help her reenter
society. Every night she gave me a brief report on any information she thought
might be useful. Admittedly, placing her at the Light was a long shot, but I
was nearly at the end of my list of options without confronting Kyle directly.
Stevie had been on the job nearly a week before Kyle returned to work.

"I
can't believe I ever found this kind of work exciting," Stevie said after
our waiter had taken our order for two thick steaks, medium rare. "I feel
like a photographer for the coroner's office. I'm ready to see someone alive
and kicking."

"Thinking
of giving up photography?" I chuckled.

"Actually
I've been thinking about moving over to outdoor photography. I've put out a few
feelers to nature magazines," she said as she munched on a breadstick.

"Not
very exciting, but there's money in it." I smiled. "Anything new
today?"

"Kyle's
back at work. I went on a gang shooting call with him this afternoon near the
Old Market."

"How's
he doing?" I asked as our waiter placed salads in front of us.

"Seems
to be recovering pretty good," Stevie said, stabbing at her lettuce.
"From what I could tell he does a thorough interview."

"Did
you mention his story?"

"Not
in so many words." Stevie shook her head. "I told him I heard he had
been shot covering a story, but he clammed up."

"Anyone
else in the newsroom talk about it?"

"Just
that he was shot. Apparently they have no idea what he was working on, and as
far as I can tell, no one is associating his shooting with any story. They're
all convinced it was a random incident."

"It
could have been," I said. "I'm thinking this is all a waste of
time."

"Well,
I've got one more week to go. I'll do what I can,
Jo."

"I
know you will, Stevie."

"How
is your ex anyway?"

The
question surprised me and I shrugged. "Okay, I guess. I hadn't seen or
talked to either of them for nearly fifteen years until Cate showed up on my
doorstep a couple of weeks ago."

"You
still carrying that torch?" She smiled.

"Well,
she does look pretty damn good," I laughed. "Surprised the hell out
of me that she contacted me."

"Thinking
about rekindling your relationship?"

"No.
No interest there anymore," I said even though I knew I was lying.
"Besides, how do you know I don't already have someone at home?" I
grinned.

"I
know you, Jo."

"Yeah,
well, I'm getting too old to be chasing after women."

"Bullshit!"
Stevie exclaimed. "You're a damn fine-looking woman yourself, Jo. And
remember, I've seen you in action."

BY
WEDNESDAY OF Stevie's second week at the paper, we were no closer to Kyle's
story than when we started. I had decided that if something didn't drop in our
laps within the next day, we would pack it in. Late Wednesday afternoon, Stevie
called and asked me to meet her at a bar named Jeri's, a few blocks from the
newspaper.