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  "And what?"

  "He has a cleft palate that has never been repaired. That's why he's malnourished."

  "I see," I said.

  "Surgery can correct his palate, but it will be a lengthy process. The state removed him from his home and will pay for most of the medical expenses."

  "What else do you know about his parents?"

  "I know his mother is Hispanic, but the agency knows virtually nothing about his father except that he's Caucasian."

  "That's a lot of baggage for a kid to carry around, Cate."

  "But a good home now while he's still so young can give him the chance to live a good life."

  Cate had hit the ball into my court, and I wasn't sure how to return it. I loved Cate, but children hadn't been in my immediate, or even distant, plans.

  "I've never heard you mention wanting to becoming a mother before."

  "I've been thinking about it for a few years. Adoption seemed the only logical option, considering my lifestyle."

  "Then I guess the choice is yours, sweetheart." I shrugged.

  "It involves you, too, Jo. Having a child in the house will change a lot of things."

  I wasn't sure what Cate expected me to say. I stood up and looked down at her. "You know I'd do anything in the world for you, baby, but I've never even considered being a parent. I wish you'd mentioned this a little sooner."

  "Would it have made a difference?" She frowned slightly, her eyes betraying her disappointment to my reaction.

  "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 ti
me, 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.

  Four or five Spanish tiled steps led down to the entrance of Jeri's Bar and Grill. Refined wasn't the right word, but Jeri's wasn't what I had expected. Jim Beam tasted the same poured out of a brown paper bag or delivered in Waterford crystal. Jeri's seemed to pay quite a lot of attention to that intangible thing called ambiance. The minute I entered, I was met by an exquisite woman in her mid-forties —the kind anyone would like to see at the end of a rough day. She wore more makeup than I personally liked, but some things could be overlooked if other incentives were strong enough. I had always been attracted to taller than average women, and Jeri, who was barely half a head shorter than my own five-ten frame, certainly filled the bill.

  "Hello," the woman said warmly in a husky voice. "I'm Jeri. Tell me what can I do for you today, sugar."

  The greeting left itself open to a number of possible interpretations, and I wondered what Jeri's response would have been if she knew what was in my mind.

  "I'm supposed to be meeting someone from the Light, darlin'," I finally said with a smile.

  Jeri wrapped her arm around mine and led me away from the door. "You don't look like a reporter," she said, walking very closely next to me.

  "Photographer." I smiled.

  "Fascinating!" Jeri drawled. "Perhaps we can arrange for you to take a few pictures of me sometime. Privately, of course."

  "I'm afraid I don't do portrait photography," I said.

  "That's a pity. I'll bet you're really good at getting people to relax and act naturally for you," Jeri said, as she squeezed my arm.

  Tiffany-style lamps were hung strategically around the room, casting a stained-glass glow onto the rich, wood-paneled walls. I noticed that there were a number of equally attractive women mingling with customers throughout the bar and was beginning to think a practical joke was being played on me when I saw Stevie at a candlelit table.

  As I pulled out a chair and sat down, Jeri stood behind me. Placing her hands on my shoulders, she said, "What can I get you, sweet thing?"

  "A beer. Imported if you have it."

  Jeri massaged my shoulders as she asked Stevie whether she was ready for a refill.

  Stevie leaned across the table after Jeri left. "Nice stuff, huh," she said. />
  I turned to watch Jeri walk away. "Not bad."

  "They're all like her in here. Service with a smile."

  "College students?" I asked.

  "More like prostitutes," Stevie said over her glass. "But they can actually carry on an intelligent conversation about current events, and nothing ever goes on between the customers and the greeters."

  "That's hard to believe. They're very attractive women," I observed.

  "Therein lies the problem," Stevie grinned. "They're not women."

  I had no idea what my expression must have looked like, but whatever it was seemed to make Stevie's day.

  "No shit," I said, looking around again.

  Jeri returned with our drinks, and after setting them down, she rested a slender, well-manicured hand on my shoulder again. Whatever thoughts I might have been harboring about Jeri earlier were now completely flushed from my mind. That was what I got for lusting after another woman even if it was only in my mind. I had obviously been living alone too damn long and needed to take up dating again...soon.

  After Jeri walked away, I said, "Hope that made your day, Stevie. That why you invited me to join you today?"

  "It reminded me of that club we went to in Hamburg where all the women were transsexuals, but it's the first one I've seen around here," Stevie said.

  "How'd you find this place?" I asked, still incredulous.

  "The guys from the Light come here sometimes after work," she said. "In fact, they were here today. I thought you'd enjoy Jeri's and called you after they all left."

  "Was Kyle here?"

  "Yeah." Stevie chuckled. "Seems that once upon a time he almost had an intimate moment with one of the 'girls.'"

  "Well, if they fooled a man, then I don't feel too bad about my reaction." I laughed as I took a drink.

  "Your name came up," Stevie said.

  "Oh, really."

  "We were discussing overseas work, and when he found out I had been to Africa and Central America, he asked if I'd ever worked with you."

  "And..." I prompted, leaning forward onto my elbows.

  "And I told him you were a great journalist and the best lay I'd ever had." She shrugged.

  "You what?" I choked out.