1

Six Months Later

Lucy Baker shoved her tennis racquet into its case, waved to her tennis partner, and proceeded to jog across the high school field to the track where she would run her daily five miles. A roll of thunder caused her to pick up her feet and sprint. When she reached the track, she tossed her canvas bag onto the bleachers and took off running.

Tennis, and a five-mile run every day regardless of the weather, had became a routine for her in the six months since she'd stopped practicing law.

Lucy kept one eye on the threatening thunderclouds overhead and the other on the track. She picked up her speed, not wanting to get caught in a thunderstorm. Off in the distance she could hear hard, rolling thunder, which seemed to be getting closer. One more lap to go. If she pushed it into high gear, she could pass the other runners, who looked like they were dragging. It was always this way on the last lap, she thought smugly.

She loved passing the muscle boys, shouting out words of encouragement. They were slugs compared to her. In all fairness, not that they needed to know, she'd run track in high school as well as college. She'd hurdled, too. Best on her team. She had the medals to prove it. Of course, they were locked away in one of her trunks. One didn't show off medals. At least she didn't. It was enough for her that she'd earned them, had them, and could look at them anytime she wanted to. Sometimes she needed to remind herself that at one time she'd been the best of the best.

Her coaches had said she was good enough to go to the Olympics. She had thought so, too. But life got in the way, and she'd had to bow out. She didn't have any regrets. Taking care of her mother during the last two years of her life had been more important than bringing home the gold.

Lucy whizzed past the bleachers at the south end of the track. She couldn't help but notice two men in dark suits, their arms crossed over their chests. She wondered which one of the guys on the track they were waiting for.

Sweat dripped down Lucy's face, soaking the tank top she was wearing. Her muscular arms glistened. She was hurting. She'd pushed too hard, too fast on her last lap. "No pain, no gain," she muttered over and over as she flew down the track. She saw the bleachers beckoning her. For one wild moment she thought she was at the wrong end of the track when she saw the two men approaching the north side bleachers. They must have run at her own speed to get there at the exact moment she came to a stop, bent over, with the palms of her sweaty hands on her knees as she took deep breaths. They looked as if they were in great physical shape under their dark suits. She wondered again who they were waiting for.

When her breathing was almost normal, she walked over to the end of the bleachers away from the men and did leg stretches. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see them approaching her. Lucy looked around to see if anyone was paying attention. Her heart kicked up a beat. This was suburbia, nothing happened in suburbia.

Lucy was about to reach up to the second row of seats for her gym bag when one of the men handed it to her. "Lucy Baker?"

"Yes. I'm Lucy Baker." She waited. They could have passed for twins. Frick and Frack. Yin and Yang.

"Special Agent Harry Conover. This is my partner, Larry Smith."

"What does that mean? Special agents of what?" She could feel an itch settle between her shoulder blades.

"We're from the Federal Bureau of Investigation." Two badges were suddenly shoved under her nose. Lucy backed up a half step and reached for the men's credentials. She read them carefully before she handed them back. She waited, her heart thumping inside her chest.

"We'd like to talk to you for a minute."

Lucy looked up at the darkening sky. She could still hear the thunder, now directly overhead. It sounded more ominous for some reason. "Why? I haven't done anything wrong. I pay my taxes on time and never cheat. I never even got a parking ticket. It's going to pour in another minute. Like I said, why?"

"We could sit in our car and talk."

Lucy snorted. "I-don't-think-so!" No sooner were the words out of her mouth than the sky opened up. Within seconds she was soaked to the skin. "As you can see, I'm already drenched. If you want to get those nice suits all wet, oh, well," she said with false bravado. Why did the FBI want to talk to her?

The agent named Harry said, "We'd like to talk to you about your fiancé."

Lucy gaped at the two men. "Jonathan? Why? Oh, God, did something happen to him?"

"Not yet," Larry said. "We'd like you to tell us about your relationship with Mr. St. Clair."

Copyright © 2005 by MRK Productions, Inc