"Unhand me, sir!" Lady Anne Devereaux struggled to sound shocked, then succumbed to delighted laughter.

"Do you have any idea how wonderful it is to see you?" he whispered as he obliged the love of his life. His eyes continued to caress what his lips had not touched. Feeling a welcoming clap on the back, he turned to Anne's older brother, Charles. As the men shook hands, Jarrod sobered. "All quiet on this front?"

"Quieter than Stockton, apparently," replied Charles, concern in his eyes as he looked as his friend.

"We received your wire, yesterday. How is she?" Anne asked, taking Jarrod's arm as the trio walked toward the Devereaux carriage.

"Audra will recover. Blessedly, she remembers nothing of what happened." Jarrod paused, nodding at the Deveraux driver who held the door for them. "Josh." He waited for the door to close, a solid muffled sound that reflected the elegance and substance of the clarence. Jarrod drilled the Devereaux's with pained eyes. "They beat her. No question about it. Eugene thought she might have sustained her injuries in a fall from her horse. But Audra's last memory was near a pond while her mount drank water. She had a knot on the back of her head. They knocked her out and then - - "

Anne reached out to rest a hand on his arm. "The important thing is, she'll be all right." You're certain it was . . . them?"

Jarrod handed her a crumpled piece of paper. He watched her face pale as her eyes scanned the words, then hand the note over to her brother.

"God in heaven! This is an outrage!" Charles snapped. He paused for a moment. "You mentioned slaughtered cattle in your wire. What was that all about?" "They want me to know they can hurt my family on more than one level. At least, that's my guess."

Anne said, "Have you . . . did you . . .?"

"Tell my family who was behind it? No. Not yet. And I won't - - if we can clean up this ring once and for all." Jarrod sighed, and took a ragged breath. "I've dealt with the matter in Stockton, for now. My men rounded up the fools who attacked Audra. They were two-bit thugs hired by an intermediary for the Confederates. I've turned them over to Jonathan's people."

"No court trial, counselor?" asked Charles.

Jarrod shook his head. "Too risky. Too public. I hated handling it that way, but I didn't feel I had a choice and stand a chance of protecting my family. Speaking of which, I have a phalanx of men around the ranch with strict orders to remain invisible unless they're forced to be otherwise." He turned to Anne. "Thank you for the use of Chase."

"Invisibility is his specialty," Anne replied. "If anyone can keep your family out of harm's way, he can." She paused, then added softly, "You're openly flouting them, you know. Proceeding as you are."

Jarrod met her scrutiny with a nod. "I know. And I've taken their threats very seriously, believe me. But I've secured my family's safety for the time being. I'll match our men against them any day. Besides which, I don't believe the Confederates will leave them alone, even if I do stop working for Dark Watch. They're bullies. The only solution is to destroy them, not attempt to placate them." He turned to Charles. "How go the arrangements with Hamilton Fish?"

"Everything's set up." Charles' deep voice filled the carriage. "The Secretary of State is as secure as is possible."

"He will cooperate?"

"Absolutely," Anne replied. "Jonathan gave us permission to explain the . . . situation to him. He's quite shocked by the notion that a Confederate ring still exists in this country years after the war. Not to mention the threat they pose."

"We're surveilling his staff within the State Department," Charles added. "Now that we know the Secretary is the ring's target, it doesn't hurt to be too careful. Since we're hunting for a highly placed traitor within Grant's administration, we might as well start with Fish's office."

"Makes sense." Jarrod looked from one Deveraux to the other with piercing eyes. "You know, I just spent four hours on the train thinking about nothing else but the identity of the traitor. My instincts tell me we're close to finding our man. I'm not certain why I feel this so strongly but -"

Anne reached out and gently rested her hand on his knee. "I'd trust your instincts against tangible evidence any time."

The next evening, Anne watched Jarrod pace the drawing room at Nob House, his movements tense like a coiled spring. "Any inspiration striking you?"

Jarrod stopped in mid-stride and swung around, confusion scrolling across his face. "Excuse me?"

Anne smiled and rose to tuck her arms around his waist. "Got you! Now perhaps you'll stand in one place for more than a few seconds. You were beginning to make me dizzy just looking at you."

"Sorry. I just can't seem to relax. It's as if the missing piece to the puzzle of the Confederate insider is so close and I just can't seem to - - " Anne grabbed the hand Jarrod was chopping through the air to emphasize his words. She kissed it softly, then released him.

He turned to her, cupping her chin and planting a soft kiss on her lips. "That bad?" he whispered, inches from her mouth.

"It's getting better."

He pulled back and ran his eyes over her, his gaze loving and appreciative. "We always aim to please."

She raised her face to him, and felt the exquisite pressure of his second kiss send ripples of passion shooting through the depth of her. She wrapped herself in the sensation, vaguely aware that her parted lips had issued an invitation he had accepted. His tongue explored her mouth, caressing, challenging her to respond in kind. She did. For the first time in seven years, she allowed her passion to break the prison shackles of Jamesville Landing. Emotions, long dormant, flooded through her and she sought to connect with the core of Jarrod. She felt him stir and press against her as his lips traveled from her mouth to her chin, to the small of her neck.

She took a ragged breath and clung to him, her legs trembling, weakening. He began to lower her to the floor. As she melted into him, a sharp rap at the drawing room door knifed between them, shredding their joy, consigning it to a lost moment.

"Damn!" Jarrod breathed the word into her ear, a ragged echo of her own thought. Gently, he brought her to her feet. The pair smiled mischievously as they straightened their clothes.

Anne called, "Come in." She looked up to see her butler enter the room as she ran a hand down her sea green silk gown, adjusting a ruffled flounce.

"My lady." Justin bowed. "Pardon the intrusion, but Peters is here. He says he must speak to you and Mr. Jarrod. Apparently, it's a matter of some urgency, my lady."

"Show him in," she murmured looking over to where Jarrod was settling himself into a chair by the fireplace.

The agitated stride of Jarrod's operative sliced through the room sending ripples of nervous excitement pooling in his wake. "Got something for you." He flung himself into the chair Anne held for him, perching on the edge of the silky embroidered seat.

"We're ready for something." Anne smiled as she acknowledged Jarrod's amusement. It was unusual to see Peters anything but calm and in control.

"This may be it. I mean, the key to the insider. Just a few hours ago, I met with my informer inside the Confederate ring. He told me he'd overheard a conversation between one of his cohorts -- a man by the name of O'Doole --"

"We know O'Doole," Jarrod said in a tight voice.

"Yeah, well O'Doole was talking to someone about Fish's itinerary while the Secretary's here in San Francisco. The whole thing. Every minute accounted for and passed on to O'Doole."

"That itinerary has been kept strictly confidential!" Anne exploded. "Only a select few of Fish's staff know - - " She broke off as the magnitude of her words reached her. "Oh, my God! Who was this man feeding the information to O'Doole?"

Peters shook his head. "Don't know. But, I'll bet you that person is the one we're seeking."

"Looks like we need to bring in O'Doole," said Anne.

"That's going to be a problem, Lady Anne," replied Peters. "O'Doole's disappeared."

Jarrod looked over at Anne, his expression grim. "I think it's time we paid a social call to the Secretary of State."

Jarrod closed the door to the hotel suite behind him, a solid click from the other side of the mahogany telling him that the Secretary of State's aide had heeded their orders to maintain tight security.

"I'm going to have that lock replaced." Anne's soft voice swirled from the hall's shadows. "Bloody thing wouldn't stop a child from entering those rooms."

As Jarrod took her arm and the pair headed for the Palace Hotel's exit, she went on, "That was a waste of time. I don't think Fish is willing to acknowledge that one of his people could betray him. Until he does that, he's not going to be able to help us."

"I think we may have helped ourselves by our visit."

Anne nodded, looking up at Jarrod. "I agree. You did a brilliant job of implying we know far more than we actually do. And the glares directed at his staff were master strokes."

"Tricks of the legal profession, my dear. Strengthening our strategy. We'd already gotten their attention - - showing up at Fish's door at this late hour is obvious odd behavior. More than enough to spark curiosity among the innocent, and concern among the guilty. Assuming the person we're tracking is a bit paranoid. And the guilty usually are."

Anne smiled. "Is that an observation from years in the courtroom?"

"Absolutely." Jarrod returned her smile. "It's my hope that our unorthodox activities this night will goad our quarry into taking a risk."

As they approached the lobby, Jarrod stopped abruptly and looked at Anne.

"I know," she responded. "You want to go out the back way."

"You are a mind reader."

"Which is why you love me so much."

"Only one of many reasons, lovely lady." As the pair neared the back of the facility, Jarrod grabbed Anne's arm, drawing her in toward him. She followed his piercing look to see a familiar figure exit the hotel and disappear into the deep shadows enshrouding the back alley. "Isn't that Undersecretary Baker?"

"He's heading for the buggy at the end of the alley. Let's keep up with him." As Anne signaled for their carriage, Jarrod turned to two of his men who waited by the side of the hotel. At his sign, they approached. "Bill, post two men out here. They're to keep their eyes open for Baker's return. They're not to accost him. Just watch where he goes. Peters, I want you and the other men to follow us at a distance. I want you to keep your eyes on Lady Anne and me. If either of us signal to you, send the others in."

Through the gloomy byways of San Francisco, the Dark Watch agents followed Baker's conveyance at a discreet distance. The empty streets posed a challenge, forcing them to lengthen the gap between the two carriages and the horsemen in order to remain undetected by the Undersecretary. Dreary moonlight washed into lonely corners, swept across shuttered storefronts, hovered over still trees. Faded before the stabbing lights of street lamps.

At the threshold of Golden Gate Park, Baker's carriage stopped. The door opened, and the Undersecretary burst out of the conveyance, distress evident in his frantic strides. He raced down the macadamized roadway, plunging into the heart of the greenbelt.

Anne and Jarrod paused inside the park, watching Baker stop before a gazebo nestled into the heart of a semicircle of oak trees. He froze in place, a black outline in sharp relief against the white gingerbread that glistened in the moonlight. From the depth of the ornate structure stepped O'Doole.

"That's enough for me!" whispered Jarrod as the pair from Dark Watch observed Baker handing a sheath of papers to O'Doole. Anne gestured to Peters for reinforcements. It was time to close down the Confederate operation.

O'Doole and Baker were taken into Dark Watch custody. Confidential papers were found on both men. In O'Doole's possession were a diagram of Fish's suite of rooms at the Palace Hotel, and the combination for the safe in the Secretary of State's bedroom.

Charles conducted the interrogations for Dark Watch.

"The organization's toppling like a house of cards," said Charles to Anne and Jarrod two days later in the library at Nob House. "Baker appears to be the key to the Confederate's operation. Just as Peters suspected."

"Without the inside track, the Confederates have lost their source of information," said Anne. "I can understand why that would . . . inhibit them. But, do you really think the organization will fold?" She walked over to a Sheraton sidetable and poured sherry into three glasses. "What's to prevent them from reorganizing after the dust settles?" she handed glasses to Charles and Jarrod. "We've rounded up a number of them on the strength of Baker's testimony, but you know as well as I do, there will always be treasonous operatives crawling into cracks and crevices, lying low until attention is off them." She settled back into her chair next to her brother, sipping her sherry.

"It will take them time to find another insider," said Jarrod. "Until they do, or if they do, they've lost their teeth. And their ability to threaten."

Anne looked at him. "So you think your family's out of danger?"

"Yes, I do."

Charles' voice rang with sadness as he said, "I can't believe our fathers lost their lives over that scum. What a bloody awful waste."

Anne leaned over and placed a hand on his arm. "I know," she whispered, then continued in a stronger voice. "But if it hadn't been for the suspicious circumstances of their deaths, we never would have pressed forward as we did. Indirectly, they led us to Baker. We have to seek comfort in the knowledge that we saved countless other lives by shutting him down. And all thanks to our fathers."

Charles rose and faced Anne and Jarrod. He raised his glass in a toast. "To our fathers!"

A comfortable silence settled in the room, the three lost in their individual thoughts until Jarrod spoke. "Well, I can think of a magnificent way to honor their memories."

"Go on," speculation edging Anne's words.

Jarrod fixed his clear blue eyes on her, love radiating from them. "A wedding. Our wedding. But first, young lady, you are long past due for a visit to the ranch. I have some family members who are bursting at the seams in their curiosity over you. Audra's on the mend. The crisis is over. It's time they got to know you."

"No one around the Barkley ranch but the family and their regular hands." The diminutive figure bobbed his head, his shock of white hair catching a stray ray of sunlight that reflected in her eyes. "Oh, and Jarrod Barkleys' special guest is on her way, there. `Course, you knew all about that visit, I'm betting."

Julia edged away from the glare, keeping her eyes trained on her lackey. Harley was one of the few she could still trust, now that her organization was in disarray. Dark Watch might have thrown her into prison and destroyed her Confederacy ring, but she still had enough loyal followers to play one more card. One more operation. This time, it was foolproof. And it was personal. When it was over, she would see Jarrod Barkley and his aristocratic lady-love, broken.

"You have your instructions."

"Yes, ma'am."

"See to it, Harley. Don't come back until it's over."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Eugene, if you're going to hold onto that dish much longer, the rest of us're going to starve! And we would like our dinner some time this evening." Nick winked at Anne, who sat across the dining room table.

"Important to choose the right cut of this beef, older brother. Cut makes all the difference in how it goes down. `Course I realize taste buds get lazy with advanced years." Eugene turned to Anne as he thrust the china platter into his older brother's face, a broad grin cutting across his sunburned face. "Those of us in the younger generation don't have to worry about such things. Lady Anne, wouldn't you agree?"

Anne smiled. She'd only arrived at the Barkley ranch that morning; but, already she enjoyed her visit with Jarrod's family. The intelligent warmth and keen sense of humor flowing from one person to the next, was delicious and refreshing to her. "That's a loaded question I'd do well to avoid! And please . . . stop calling me `Lady Anne!'" She turned to Eugene, ignoring Nick's mock glower.

Eugene's grin changed to a sheepish smile. "Not use to royalty. Sorry . . . Anne."

"And it's not royalty, my boy," chimed in Jarrod. He bowed to her. "A member of British nobility, of course. But not royalty."

"Well, I don't see the difference," Eugene muttered, throwing Audra a sidelong glance that nearly set the young woman into gales of laughter.

"It's a distinction that doesn't matter in this country. Not one bit." Anne smiled at Audra and Eugene.

"But it's different in England, isn't it, Anne?" Audra's voice contained a hint of awe and worship that caused Anne to broaden her smile.

"That it is."

Audra sighed. "It must be so romantic to attend court functions. And royal balls! When I was in London, last year, I saw the Queen's carriage and entourage pass by, and I thought I'd faint from excitement." Audra leaned toward Anne, and winced.

"Your ribs are still tender, aren't they, dear?" Anne watched the young woman straighten and wrap one arm around her middle.

"They don't bother me until I move a certain way." Audra shook her head in an impatient gesture. "I want to hear about the Queen. You know her, don't you?"

"I've spent a fair amount of my life at Court. When I'm not here, in the States, of course."

"Queen Victoria is . . . " Jarrod paused, as if searching for words. He turned to Anne. "What it be accurate to call her a friend of the family?"

"Really!" Audra breathed as she stared at Anne wide-eyed.

"The Queen and my mother were close friends. I'm afraid Her Majesty and I haven't always seen eye to eye." Anne paused, wondering how much she should tell the Barkleys about her volatile relationship with the monarch. "I'm afraid my views are . . . " she exchanged an amused glance with Jarrod. ". . . too American."

"Sounds like it's the Queen's problem," muttered Nick.

Anne laughed. "I quite agree."

"'Too American.'" Victoria's tone was thoughtful. "That's an indictment, I take it."

"Meant to be, yes," responded Anne. She could feel Victoria's sharp eyes assessing her.

"And does it bother you? . . . this veiled criticism?"

Anne met the older woman's gaze. "At times. Never enough to sway my actions. As persuasive as the Queen can be - - " Anne stopped and laughed. "I was going to say that she doesn't rule me. But, she does, doesn't she?" She sobered. "Charles tells me I take shameless advantage of her good will. I suppose I do." She flashed a brilliant smile at the Barkleys. "It's the American in me!"

"Anne, do tell me all about her!" said Audra.

"Let's not bore the rest of your family with my stories. Why don't I answer your questions after dinner."

"Wonderful!"

Later that evening, Anne left the drawing room to enjoy the fresh air on the verandah. Behind her, she could hear good-natured arguing bounce between Eugene and Nick as they engaged in a raucous game of cards. The gentle murmur of words floating beneath the brothers' repartee told her that Audra and Victoria were deep in conversation. She inhaled deeply, feeling the spring air curl down her throat, soaking her lungs with balmy warmth. I'm almost relaxed, she thought. I can feel the tension melt away, here, in this wonderful place.

She felt his hands on her shoulders, light and easy, radiating heat and passion. "Could you be any more wonderful?" Jarrod whispered into her ear. He lightly massaged her neck and she groaned with pleasure.

"I'll be any way you want me to be, if you continue."

Jarrod chuckled. "If that's not an invitation . . ."

"Easy, Counselor. Your family is just a few steps away."

He turned her to face him. "They love you, you know. In just a few hours, you've won their hearts."

"They're delightful, Jarrod. I didn't have to exert effort to be pleasant." She glanced toward the French doors leading into the drawing room. "They're so curious, though. I'd hoped we'd said enough to your mother when we were in San Francisco. Apparently not. " She sighed. "I have some explaining to do, I think."

"Do you mind?"

"How could I? It's only fair. She's being a responsible, loving mother." She stroked Jarrod's cheek playfully. "After all, I have set my sights on one of her sons."

"Set your sights, eh?" Jarrod grinned, leaning down to whisper in her ear, "Ever the consummate huntress . . . . have you tracked me down, yet?"

Anne laughed. "You'll only be tracked when you wish it, sir. I've learned that after spending years in the field with you!"

"So, what are you going to say to Mother?"

"I'll be as honest as I - - "

Victoria's voice cut across Anne's words. "Jarrod, your presence is requested in the drawing room. Your brothers have need of a referee. Their card game has become a fight to the death, it would appear. Besides, you wouldn't want to monopolize Anne, would you?"

Jarrod turned to his mother with a slight bow. "Wouldn't dream of it, Mother. I'll turn this lovely lady over to your keeping."

Victoria arched an eyebrow, regarding her son's retreating back with a look of amusement. "Somehow, I don't think you need a keeper," she said, turning to Anne.

Anne returned the older woman's smile. "I think there are times when we could all use a little help." She looked away, feeling Victoria's scrutiny sweep over her.

"Has my son helped you in the past?"

Anne laughed softly and turned to face the older woman. "Oh, yes. Many times."

"Anne, I don't mean to be overly inquisitive - - "

Anne reached out to a carved railing, grasping the satiny wood with cold fingers, leaning against the sturdy decorative structure. "What do you want to know, Victoria?" Her voice was even, steady.

"You love him very much, don't you?"

"Yes."

Jarrod's mother nodded slightly, scanning her intently.

Anne stood quietly, allowing the older woman's eyes to wash over her. She'd been grilled by Confederate officers, enemy agents, foreign officials. But never, had she felt such astute assessment as she experienced under the watchful gaze of Victoria Barkley. She looked into the older woman's face, watching a small smile flicker across Victoria's lips.

"It's obvious to the most casual observer that Jarrod shares your deep emotions. I've never seen him so . . . happy . . . peaceful . . . . as when he's with you. And, it's obvious, even if Jarrod hadn't said anything, that you share history. Yet, he's never mentioned you. In all the years . . . during and after the war . . . he didn't tell us a thing about you."

"And you'd like to know why."

"I would."

Anne's eyes moved past Victoria to focus in the middle distance. "We fell in love the minute we laid eyes on each other."

"And where was that?"

"In Maryland - - the drawing room at Devereaux Hall." She took a deep breath. "He was standing in the middle of the room, erect and tall in his military uniform, staring at a portrait of my mother that hangs over the fireplace. He had his back to me, and didn't seem to notice I'd entered the room. He must have sensed my presence, because he turned suddenly, and saw me. He paled, and I heard him whisper, `My God, she lives!'" "You do resemble your mother," said Victoria.

Anne nodded. "And the resemblance was striking in that instance because I was the same age as my mother had been when the portrait was painted. But it was more than that - - his reaction, I mean." She paused, and smiled, feeling self-mockery sweep over her. "This is going to sound like one of those awful pulp novels, but when we looked at each other that first time, we knew." She stopped abruptly.

"Knew?"

"Recognized each other. As if over the years, decades . . even centuries . . . we'd always known each other. And completed each other." Anne ran a finger over the silky, polished wood railing. "Standing in the drawing room, we acknowledged this, and somehow, it didn't seem strange or frightening. Just . . . the way it should be." Anne glanced at Victoria, who was smiling at her. She plunged on. "Our fathers introduced us. It was in the early days of the War. Tom had been staying with us - - he was on one of his business trips to Washington. Jarrod awaited his officer's commission, and planned to spend time with his father and us, before he joined the fighting. In those few short weeks, Jarrod and I fell in love. We courted when the war allowed us to. And then - - " Anne felt as if her words were swallowed by a darkness so profound and all- encompassing, it threatened to consume her. She struggled for perspective, searching for an anchor to hold her in the moment; to keep her from plunging into her past.

"What happened, Anne?"

The older woman's voice pierced the outer shell of her fear; sure and steady. Comforting. "It was the last year of the war." Anne fought to hold her voice level. "We had planned a trip to Stockton. So that I could meet all of you. We were going to announce our engagement, then. But, I - - " Anne braced herself against the decorative railing. "I . . . fell ill. I almost died." She turned away from Victoria. "It . . . didn't appear as if I'd ever recover. At least so that I could live a normal life." Anne's voice broke. "I didn't want Jarrod committed to a woman who could never be a proper wife for him."

"You asked him to leave you."

"Yes. He . . . didn't want to. It turned quite ugly, actually."

"But he did go."

"Eventually. Although he never stopped corresponding with Father and Charles." Anne could see tears welling in Victoria's eyes.

"So painful . . .for both of you," she whispered. "I'm so sorry you had to endure that." She cleared her throat. "I knew something had happened, of course. At first, I thought Jarrod's behavior was due to his battle experiences. So many men were scarred by the horror they endured fighting."

"His behavior?"

"Oh, he put up a brave front for us. But, he seemed remote after he returned from the war. His sadness was almost palpable. At unguarded moments - - well, I could see the pain in his eyes."

Anne closed her eyes, feeling her own waves of pain swirl around her heart.

"In the last year or so, I've seen life in his eyes, a lightness to his step I hadn't seen in a very long time." Victoria nodded toward Anne. "Now, I understand why he changed. It was because you returned to him. And your health, my dear? Would I be presumptuous to ask if you've recovered?"

Anne dropped her eyes. "I carry scars from the experience. I've learned to live with them. Otherwise, I'm fine." She looked up and met Victoria's sympathetic eyes. "You have a most persistent son. He never lost faith in realizing our future, even when I was sure no hope existed. Now . . . we have another chance. Jarrod has made certain of that."

Victoria reached out a hand and rested it gently on Anne's arm. "I'm so glad, my dear. Forgive my prying. You needn't say more. I'm just thankful you're back in his life."

Anne stiffened under the woman's touch. She saw a questioning look cross Victoria's eyes. "I just pray I can be all that Jarrod deserves." She dropped her eyes. "Some men would not be nearly as understanding."

"You love each other, Anne. When everything else is stripped away, that's all that matters."

Anne felt strength and warmth radiating from the older woman's touch. She soaked in the sensation as a parched man opens his mouth to receive drops of cool water. She covered Victoria's hand with her own and whispered, "Thank you."

"Blast it all!" boomed a voice behind them. "Mother, are you going to keep our guest out here all night?"

Anne and Victoria exchanged smiles as the older woman turned to her son. "Nicholas. Is it possible for you to speak in softer tones?"

"Possible, but not likely." Nick grinned, his hazel eyes twinkling. Stepping between the women, he bowed and offered each an arm. "The rest of the family would like to spend a bit of time with Her Ladyship, if that's all right with you, Mother dear."

Audra looked up as the trio entered the drawing room, and patted the sofa cushion next to her. "Anne, you were going to tell me about Queen Victoria!"

Anne glanced over to see Jarrod lounging by the fireplace mantel, cigar in hand. He winked at her as she joined Audra on the sofa.

"What would you like to know, dear?"

"Well, I've always wondered - - " Over Audra's shoulder, Anne saw a flash of movement outside the closed French doors leading to the verandah. In the very spot where she'd stood seconds before. A cold wash of alarm swept over her, instincts screaming that something was amiss.

Jarrod put down his cigar and walk toward the doors, his hand grazing the coat pocket holding his pistol. Anne rose to follow him, vaguely aware of the surprised expression on Audra's face.

Shattering glass shredded the still air. Black shadows burst through windows and French doors. Anne pulled her gun from its holster strapped to her calf and pivoted, seeking Jarrod's position.

"Everyone, get down!" she heard him bark. "Down on the floor. NOW!"

Shots careened through the air. Anne and Jarrod returned fire. Nick lunged toward a masked figure swathed in black, yelling, "What's going on here? Who are - - " His words ended in a groan as his target whirled into his face, back-handing him with lightening ferocity. Nick's neck snapped back and he lost balance, jamming his head into the corner of the card table. He fell to the floor, unconscious.

Wailing erupted behind Anne. She turned to see Audra huddled in the corner of the sofa. She grabbed the young woman by her shoulders and forced her to the floor, hissing, "Audra, are you hurt? No? Then, stay down. Don't move."

She looked up in time to see Jarrod head for Victoria. Three assailants surrounded the older woman. Eugene pummeled a fourth figure behind the group.

Movement in her peripheral vision prompted Anne to turn in time to see two of the masked men level their guns in Jarrod's direction. As if on cue, Jarrod pivoted and fired, hitting one of them. Anne fired at the other. The man dropped to the carpeted floor without a sound. Jarrod silently saluted her with his gun, then turned back to his mother.

One of the trio surrounding Victoria had stepped forward, intercepting him. The lawyer never reached his mother as the man lunged toward him swinging a bludgeon. Jarrod ducked and then reached out to the man's arm. As Anne began to move toward the action, the click of a cocking gun resounded in her ear. She froze as she heard a harsh voice hiss, "That's right, Lady Anne. Don't move a muscle or you will have lead traveling through your head. You're not the target. Not this time. Now, drop your gun like a good girl." She leaned down, slowly lowering the weapon to the floor, appearing to fumble with the long sleeve of her dinner gown. As she straightened, she whisked a small stiletto from her sleeve, whirled, and sunk the gleaming metal into the man's chest.

His eyes bulged with pain and a howl erupted as Anne withdrew the knife. She faced him, cradling the weapon in her hand. He grabbed for the blade and she raked its sharp edge across his palms. He backed up, holding his blood-soaked hands in a gesture of surrender, turned on his heels and dove through one of the shattered windows into the night.

Anne turned to see Eugene deal his attacker a final blow just as two of the dark-swathed figures carried Victoria through the French doors. The woman was unconscious in their arms. Jarrod had secured the bludgeon, using the short club to land a solid blow on the side of his assailant's head. The man gasped in pain, and curled up in a ball on the floor cradling his head. The lawyer threw the bludgeon across the room and rushed to the French doors. Eugene joined him at the doors, and together the pair ran into the darkness in Victoria's wake.

"Mother!" Audra shrieked, rising from the floor to run across the room toward the doors. "They have Mother!" Anne dropped her stiletto and hurried to the young woman, grabbing her arm and pulling her back into the room.

"Let Jarrod and Eugene handle it," Anne snapped. "You can't help the situation out there."

"Where are they taking her?" Audra sank onto the couch.

Anne murmured, "I don't know, honey. I don't know." She looked across the room to see Nick struggling to his feet.

"What the - - ?" Nick stopped short, staring behind Anne.

She followed his sight line. The man she'd shot, swayed toward her on wobbly legs. Even though blood coursed from his wound, he managed to clasp a gun in one shaking hand, waving it ominously in her direction. She feinted to one side, and with a deft motion, kicked the gun out of the injured man's hand. He continued to stagger toward her. She lashed out once again to jab at the back of his knees with a well-aimed evening shoe. He buckled, then crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

"I must be slipping," Anne said, softly. "Thought I got him with that shot, earlier."

Nick's stunned voice caused her to turn back to him. "You shot him, Anne? Is that what you said?"

"Yes." Anne's voice was grim.

"I've never seen a woman move like you just - - " He stopped, staring at the blood smeared across her gown. "My God! Are you - - "

"Fine. I'm fine," Anne rapped out. "It's not my blood." She steadied him as he swayed, rubbing his head with one hand. "You need to sit down, Nick. Before you fall down again."

"What happened here?" Nick stared at the four bodies on the drawing room floor. "What's going on?"

"I wish I knew." Jarrod's penetrating voice cut through the air as he and Eugene stepped back into the room, their faces grim and pale.

Audra rushed toward them. "Where's Mother? Jarrod, who are those men?"

Jarrod shook his head, his blue eyes stabbing the room with pain and worry. "We couldn't get to them before they mounted their horses. They're gone. And they took Mother with them."