He felt like he'd been sucker punched.

Slowly she turned back to him, her head high, silvery tracks running down her bright blue cheeks. "I'm claiming my introduction."

He heard what she was saying, but the words made no sense.

"You promised Annabelle and me one last introduction. Annabelle used hers up with Delaney Lightfield. Now it's my turn."

"You want to introduce me to someone? Now? After you've just told me I'm in love with Annabelle?"

"We have a deal." She swiped at her nose with the sleeve of her trench coat. "You're the one who outlined the terms, and I have a lovely young woman who's just what you need. She's high-spirited and intelligent. She's also impulsive and a little temperamental, which will keep you interested. Attractive, of course, like all Power Matches candidates. She has this amazing red hair…"

He wasn't usually so slow on the uptake, and he finally understood. "You want to introduce me to Annabelle?"

"Not want. I will," she said fiercely. "We have a deal. Your contract doesn't run out until midnight Tuesday."

"But-"

"You can't go any further by yourself. It's time for a professional to take over." Just like that, she ran out of steam, and a fresh tear rolled down her cheek. "Annabelle has… She has the breadth of character you lack. She's the woman who'll… keep you human. She won't put up■with anything less." Her chest rose as she drew a long, unsteady breath. "Unfortunately, you'll have to find her first. I made inquiries. She's not home."

The news jolted him. He wanted her tucked safely away in her grandmother's house. Waiting for him.

The pink seam of Portia's lips tightened below her damp blue cheeks. "Listen to me, Heath. As soon as you find her, call me. Don't try to handle this yourself. You need help. Do you understand me? This is my introduction."

Right now, the only thing he understood was the depth of his own foolishness. He loved Annabelle. Of course he loved her. This explained all these feelings he'd been too frightened to label.

He needed to be alone to think this through. Portia seemed to understand, because she tugged her trench coat closed and left the room. He felt like he'd been hit in the head with a fly ball. He sagged down in the chair and buried his head in his hands.

Portia's heels clicked on the marble floor in the foyer. He heard her open the front door, and then, unexpectedly, Bodie's voice.

"Fuck!"

Chapter Twenty-Three

Portia fell into Bodie's arms. Just fell. He wasn't expecting it, and he stumbled backward. She went with him, wrapped her arms around him, and wouldn't let him go. Not ever again. This man was solid as a rock.

"Portia?" He gripped her shoulders and pushed her a few inches away so he could study her face.

She gazed up into his horrified eyes. "Everything you said about me was right."

"I know that, but…" He ran his thumb over her papery blue cheek. "Did you lose a bet or something?"

She rested her head against his chest. "It's been a really bad couple of months. Could you just hold me?"

"I could do that." He pulled her close, and they stood like that for a while, surrounded by a pool of light from the copper porch fixtures. "A paintball game gone bad?" he finally asked.

She gripped him tighter. "An acid treatment. It burned so bad. I thought maybe I could… peel away the old me."

He rubbed the back of her neck. "Let's sit over there so you can tell me all about it."

She snuggled closer. "Okay. But don't let me go."

"I won't." True to his word, he kept his arm around her as he drew her across the street to the tiny neighborhood park with its single green iron bench. Even before they reached it, she began to talk, and as the dry leaves blew over their shoes, she told him everything: about the marshmallow chicks, about her acid peel, about Heath and Annabelle. She told him about getting fired as a mentor and about her fear.

"I'm scared all the time, Bodie. All the time."

He stroked her matted hair. "I know, babe. I know."

"I love you. Do you know that, too?"

"That I didn't know." He kissed the top of her head. "But I'm glad to hear it."

The tail of her scarf blew across her cheek. "Do you love me?"

"I'm afraid so."

She smiled. "Will you marry me?"

"Let me see if I can make it through the next few months without killing you first."

"Okay." She cuddled closer. "You might have noticed I'm not the most nurturing person."

"In your own odd way, you are." He pushed her scarf aside. "I still can't believe you had the guts to come out looking like this."

"I had ajob to do."

"I love a woman who's willing to take one for the team."

She heard only awe in his voice, and it made her love him even more. "I have to make this match, Bodie."

"Haven't you learned enough yet about the perils of ruthless ambition?"

"It's not exactly what you're thinking. The best part of me wants to do this for Heath. But I want to go out on a high note, too. One last match-this match-and then I'm selling my business."

"Really?"

"I need a new challenge."

"Lord, help us."

"I mean it, Bodie. I want to run free. Be wild. I want to go where my passion leads me. I want to work hard at something that only the strongest woman in the world can do."

"Okay, now I'm scared."

"I want to eat. Really eat. And to be kinder and more generous. Real generosity, without expecting anything in return. I want to have great skin when I'm eighty. And I don't ever again want to care what anybody thinks. Except you."

"Oh, God, I'm so turned on right now I'm going to explode." Abruptly, he pulled her from the bench. "Let's go back to my place. Now."

"Only if you promise not to tell me any of those bag-over-the-head sex jokes."

"I'll cut an airhole in it."

She smiled. "You know I have no sense of humor."

"We'll work on it." And then he kissed her, blue lips and all.

Even before he hit the shower on Monday morning, Heath started working the phones. He was hung over, nauseated, scared, and exuberant. Portia's shock therapy had made him face what his subconscious had known for a long time but his fear had kept him from acknowledging, that he loved Annabelle with all his heart. Everything Portia said had struck home. Fear had been his enemy, not love. If he hadn't been so busy measuring his character with a crooked ruler, he might have understood what was missing from inside him. He'd taken pride in his work ethic and his intellectual dexterity, in his incisiveness and his high tolerance for risk, but he'd failed to acknowledge that his crapped-up childhood had left him an emotional coward. As a result, he'd been living half a life. Maybe having Annabelle at his side would finally let him relax into becoming the man he'd never quite had the courage to be. But before that could happen, he had to find her.

She wasn't answering either her home phone or her cell, and he soon discovered her friends wouldn't talk to him either. After a quick shower, he got hold of Kate. First she reamed his ass, then she acknowledged that Annabelle had called on Sunday morning to say she was okay, but she hadn't been willing to tell her mother where she was.

"I'm personally blaming you for this," Kate said. "Annabelle is extremely sensitive. You should have realized that."

"Yes, ma'am. And as soon as I find her, I promise I'll set this right."

That softened her up enough to divulge that the Granger brothers were gunning for him, so he'd better watch himself. He loved those guys.

He set off for Wicker Park. Messages were coming in fast and furiously from his office, but he ignored them. For the first time in his career, he hadn't contacted a single client to talk about yesterday's game. He didn't intend to either, not until he'd found Annabelle.

Wind whistled off the lake, and the cloudy October morning held a chill. He pulled into the alley behind Annabelle's house and found the sporty new silver Audi TT Roadster he'd ordered for her birthday, but not her Crown Vic. Mr. Bronicki spotted him right away and came over to see what Heath was up to, but other than passing on the information that Annabelle had driven off like a crazy person Saturday night, he had nothing more to add. He did, however, want to know about the Audi, and when he learned it was a birthday gift, he told Heath he'd better not be expecting any "relations" with her in exchange for the fancy wheels.

"Just because her grammie's not around don't mean people aren't 'watching out for her."

"Tell me about it," Heath muttered.

"What's that you say?"

"I said, I'm in love with her." He liked the way the words sounded, and he said them again. "I love Annabelle, and I plan to marry her." If he could find her. And if she'd still have him.

Mr. Bronicki scowled. "Just make sure she don't raise her rates. A lot of people are on a fixed income, you know."

"I'll do my best."

After Mr. Bronicki had parked the Audi in his garage for safekeeping, Heath circled the house and pounded on the front door, but it was closed up tighter than a drum. He pulled out his phone and decided to try Gwen again, but got her husband instead. "No, Annabelle didn't spend the night here," Ian said. "Dude, you'd better watch your back. She talked to somebody in the book club yesterday, and the women are pissed. Here's a word of advice, chump. Most women aren't too anxious to marry a guy who's not in love with them, no matter how much hair he's got."

"I am in love with her!"

"Tell her, not me."

"I'm trying to, damn it. And I can't tell you how comforting it is to know that everybody in the city is in on my private business."

"You brought it on yourself. The price of stupidity."

Heath hung up and tried to think, but until he could get somebody to talk to him, he was screwed. As he stood on Annabelle's porch, he flicked through his messages. None of them were from her. Why the hell couldn't everybody leave him alone? He rubbed his jaw and realized he'd forgotten to shave for the second day in a row, and with the way he was dressed, he'd be lucky if he didn't get arrested for vagrancy, but he'd pulled on the first things he grabbed: designer navy slacks, a ripped black-and-orange Bengals T-shirt, and a paint-smeared red Cardinals windbreaker Bodie had picked up somewhere and left in his closet.

Finally, he got hold of Kevin. "It's Heath. Have you-"

"All I'm saying is this… For a supposedly bright guy, you re-

"I know, I know. Did Annabelle spend the night at your house?"

"No, and I don't think she was with any of the other women either."

Heath sank down on Annabelle's front step. "You've got to find out where she went."

"You think they'd tell me? The girls have a big no boys allowed sign plastered all over their little pink clubhouse."

"You're my best shot. Come on, Kev."

"All I know is that the book club is meeting at one o'clock today. Phoebe takes Mondays off during the season, and it's at her house. Molly's been making leis, so they've got some kind of Hawaiian theme going."

Annabelle loved the book club. Of course, she'd be there. She'd run to those women for comfort and support as fast as those small feet would carry her. They'd give her what she wasn't getting from him.

"One more thing," Kevin said. "Robillard's been calling everybody trying to get hold of you."

"He can wait."

"Did I hear you right?" Kevin said. "This is Dean Robil-lard we're talking about. Apparently, after months of screwing around, he's developed an urgent need for an agent."

"I'll get to him later." Heath headed for the street and his car.

"Would that be about the same time you get around to congratulating me on yesterday's game, arguably the best of my career?"

"Yeah, congratulations. You're the best. I've got to go."

"Okay, slimeball, I don't know who you are or what you're up to, but put my agent back on the phone right now."

Heath hung up. And then it hit him. He'd seen Dean's number on his phone log, but he'd been ignoring the calls. What if Annabelle hadn't spent the last two nights with one of her girlfriends? What if she'd gone running to her pet quarterback?

Dean picked up his phone on the second ring. "Daffy Dan's Porno Palace."

"Is Annabelle with you?"

"Heathcliff? Damn, man, you really screwed her over."

"I know that, but how do you know it?"

"Phoebe's secretary."

"Are you sure it wasn't Annabelle who told you? Has she been with you?"