"I don't think so. You're crowding me, Cameron."

"Ah, we're back to formalities." He cupped her face, wishing those eyes didn't hold so many secrets, wishing she didn't resist him so. He didn't like how pale she seemed, how fragile she felt under him. Or how weary she looked. "Is your stomach better?"

"There's nothing wrong with my stomach."

Every muscle tightened. "I thought you said you weren't a liar."

She pushed at him, stiff with anger, embarrassment, and who knew what else. "Move. Just move."

Frustration purled from deep within, and for once, he couldn't find his patience, his gentleness, his innate kindness. "Damn it, Haley. How can you let yourself go like this?" He gripped her shoulders tightly. "You shudder in fear when you think no one is watching and you jump if someone so much as walks up behind you. I know you're frightened and you won't let me help. Now, I've agreed not to push, even though you admit you're on the run, but you've been clutching at your stomach like you're going to die. I can't just stand by while you're in pain. Don't ask me to."

Since he still lay over her, he was well aware of the fact that she'd gone rigid with tension. Her eyes closed, and she inhaled deeply. He felt her slowly relax, then her eyes opened on his. "I'm sorry. I've not been very fair, have I?"

He shook his head, waiting. The day had fully disappeared into night, but he had no trouble reading the misgivings in her expression. "Do you need a doctor for the ulcer?"

"No, it's better." Her smile seemed bright-too bright, as if, once again, she associated her pain with weakness. "Much better."

He just looked at her.

"It is," she insisted. "I haven't had any trouble in days. You set your food down. I thought you were hungry."

"Now who's changing the subject?" He kissed her once because he couldn't help himself, then because she seemed so uncomfortable with him plastered to her, he sat and pulled her up next to him. Immediately he felt the loss of her soft, warm body. "Now tell me why you're mad at me."

She crossed her arms and gave him that sassy look he was so fond of. "I thought you said you already knew."

"I do. I just want to hear you admit it." Idly, he pushed his foot to the ground and set them into a gentle rocking motion. He tugged her hair. "I want to hear you admit you're mad because you can't stop thinking about me."

She sputtered with that, then finally tipped her head back and laughed. "You're something."

"I thought I was impossible."

"That, too." She tilted her head and studied him. "I've never known anyone like you, Cameron Reeves."

"I'm not sure that's a compliment."

Her smile had a touch of wistfulness in it. "It's not. Your ego's big enough without my help."

"A little confidence never hurt anyone."

She shook her head. "You've got more than a little confidence. All of you Reeveses do."

"And that's a bad thing?"

She looked at him and inhaled deeply. "No, actually. I find yours unsettlingly comforting sometimes."

He gave her a quick squeeze, touched. But she stiffened on him.

"I've got to go."

With his arm around her, the beautiful night making soft sounds all around them, and swinging in his favorite hammock. Cam was hard-pressed to think of anything more important to do. "Do you now? How come?"

"I've got-"

"Work." he finished for her, at the same time she said the word. "You always have work. Haven't you learned yet?" He was absolutely earnest about this, desperate for her to understand. "Work will wait. Life won't."

Before his eyes, her face changed. Her sorrow became a weight even he could feel burdened under.

"You're right," she said softly. "Life is precious. It won't wait and it should never be taken for granted." She rose. "Excuse me," she whispered. And then, without another word, she ran off.

He watched her go, wondering, worrying, at the glint of tears he'd seen.


* * *

He didn't wonder long. Early the next morning, rising before everyone else, Cam picked up the morning paper, needing a distraction from the woman he couldn't stop thinking about. He'd promised himself he'd stay clear of her, he'd get over whatever strange, unaccountable sense of lust he felt.

It hadn't happened. Even his suspicion of all her lies and secrets had dissipated in the face of her fear. He'd convinced himself-nearly-that Haley was fiercely protecting someone by keeping her troubles to herself, and he had the uneasy feeling that someone was him.

It got to him, as little else could have. He felt something for her, something deep and abiding, and he had come to the realization it wasn't going to go away. Hell, if he was going to be honest, he had to admit he'd never felt like this before.

Mentally skipping away from that thought, he skimmed his eyes over the paper. His heart stopped when he saw the headline. Fear and fury raced with equal strength through his veins but he forced himself to read the report, even though every word was like a knife to his chest.

When he was done, he folded the newspaper.

Haley had told him the truth. She was a geologist, and undoubtedly on the run. But she had left out several critical little facts. Like her real last name. And the fact that the South American authorities wanted her for questioning in association with several bombings, the missing uranium and several murders.

She was a criminal.

God, she wasn't like Lorraine; she was far worse.


* * *

Cooking breakfast, Haley couldn't get the night before out of her head. The way Cam had looked at her with warmth, affection and hunger; the way his body had felt strong and hard over hers in the hammock. She crashed a pot down on the stove, taking pleasure in the loud, satisfying noise.

He had no right to remind her how wonderful life should be. How precious. She knew that. Just as she knew that she'd always feel partially to blame for the uncountable number of deaths her undersea system had caused.

But, dammit, it had been someone else who had killed and destroyed-not her. Someone had used her, and with the discovery of uranium, that person was going to be very wealthy.

She knew Cam's computer had on-line capabilities, but she didn't want to risk being caught or traced. She wondered about the library in town. Would it be updated regularly with newspapers? Trade magazines? Certainly, there would have been a story about Bob. Maybe it would have more info. She had to do something, take some action.

She yawned. It had been a long night. Even writing in her journal hadn't given her the release it had before. Now her words sounded pathetic and full of self-pity. She'd written about how she wanted to ease the strange, unbearable ache Cam caused, how she'd seduce him if necessary. But when she'd reread what she'd written, she'd had to burst out laughing. She couldn't do it. She'd thrown the tablet across the room into the trash, vowing to give up writing if she couldn't come up with something better than fantasizing about her boss.

Nellie popped her head into the kitchen, a big, warm smile on her face. "Hey, Haley. I dreamed about pancakes. Big, thick, mouthwatering, delicious pancakes. Do you think you could… Oh, never mind." She cut herself off, obviously glimpsing Haley's horrified expression. "It's too much trouble, I'm sure."

She looked so hungry, Haley thought, with rising compassion for anyone who had to waddle rather than walk. She managed a smile. "You want pancakes, you got pancakes. Just give me a few minutes, all right?"

"Really?"

"Really," Haley promised, wondering what in the hell pancakes were made of. "They're easy to make."

The second Nellie had disappeared, Haley whipped out the thick cookbook, opened it to the pancake page and started memorizing. Formulas, she reminded herself. It was all formulas.

"Whatcha doing?"

Haley jumped, then turned around and forced a smile for Zach. "Just looking something up."

"Nellie said something about pancakes." He looked around hopefully.

"They're not ready yet," she said between clenched teeth forced into a smile. "But I'll let you know as soon as they are."

"Well, since I'm here, I'll help." He looked over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. "Don't tell anyone, but I cook great pancakes."

"Why wouldn't you want anyone to know?" she asked desperately, with a last, longing look at her cookbook.

He grinned that bone-melting, Reeves smile. "Because then I'd have to make them. Nellie would hound me day and night."

"Oh," she said, torn between wanting his help and wanting him to leave so he wouldn't guess how helpless she was. "Don't you have work to do? The horses-"

"Can wait a few minutes. It's early yet."

Great, she thought, beginning to panic. He took out a bowl, went to the cupboard and pulled out a container.

"What's that?"

He looked at her strangely. "The pancake mix." Then, because she didn't move or make any effort to stop him, he measured some out. "Am I stepping on your toes?"

She knew he was asking if she wanted him to leave. But if he could really come up with pancakes, she sure as hell didn't. "No. With bacon or sausage?"

Flashing that killer smile, he licked his lips. "Both."

Relieved, she left the pancakes to him and started the meat. She had it sizzling in the skillet when she realized Zach was staring at her.

"What?" she asked, self-conscious. She looked around. "Why are you staring at me?"

"It's nothing." He turned back to the pancakes, flipping them high into the air and catching them in the pan with an ease that surprised her.

"Okay." But before she'd turned back to her pan, he was looking at her again. She set down her fork and put her hands on her hips. "Zach. What?"

"You don't know how to cook, do you?"

Oh, God. What had she done to give herself away? "What- What do you mean?"

"Haley," he said in a gentle voice that made her want to cry. "You have to separate the bacon before you put it in the pan."

She glanced at the pan, then back at Zach. "Oh."

He raised his eyebrows, obviously expecting a better answer.

She sighed and busied herself separating the bacon. "So I don't know how to cook bacon. Maybe I don't like it."

"Maybe," he conceded. "But I think there's probably another reason."

What would she do if they demanded the truth? These people she'd grown to care about in such a short time would never stay idle if they knew the truth. They could never understand the danger-Zach and Cam would butt in and get hurt. Or killed.

"What other reason would there be?" she asked in a tone of defiance she didn't feel.

Zach's eyes were calm and quiet, as was his voice. There wasn't any accusation when he said, "Such as maybe you're not really a housekeeper."

"I thought you weren't a cop anymore. You sure sound like one."

"Do I?" he asked in that same mild voice. "Hmm. It's just natural to me, I guess. So… are you a housekeeper?"

She laughed weakly and rubbed her temples. "Did I mention your one-track mind?"

A corner of his mouth turned up. He deftly flipped the next batch of pancakes with a skill she could never have faked. "That goes along with the lawyer thing. It's a requirement. Are you, Haley? A housekeeper?"

"You doubt it. Have I done a poor job, then?"

"Of course not." With a small sound of dismay, he turned back to his pancakes and lifted an edge of one. Sighing with obvious relief that he hadn't burned them, he scooped them out and poured more batter. "But that's not the point."

She hated liars and she'd become one. The thought of what that would do to Cam killed her. "What is your point?"

"I think something's wrong."

"You've been talking to Cameron," she stated flatly. She should have guessed; they were family, after all.

"No," Zach said. "I haven't been talking to Cam about you." He searched through the cabinets, slamming things around until he found the syrup, which he plopped down on the table. "Listen, Haley, I care about him and his feelings. I also care about yours. All I'm trying to say is that if there's trouble, or you need something, maybe I can help."

The meat sizzled in the pans. So did her pride. "Maybe I don't need help."

Cam came in at that moment, and found them that way. His brother and the woman he couldn't decide whether to strangle or kiss, facing off with cooking utensils in their hands as though preparing to do battle. "Problem?"