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  As Hank went down, all hell broke loose.

  "Police! Freeze!" a voice rang out, as the cops hiding in the bushes surrounded Findlay. When he saw he was outnumbered, he dropped his gun and raised his hands in the air.

  At the edge of her vision, M.J. saw Jackson cuff the reporter. She'd hated working with him, but she hadn't wanted to believe he was a spy planted at the Star by the mob.

  Rushing past him, she knelt beside Hank and took his hand.

  "I'm glad I was in time," Hank wheezed. "I suspected he was up to something. So I followed him down the hall to the men's room, and I heard him talking on his cell phone..."

  "Oh, Hank. You shouldn't have put yourself at risk. I'm so sorry you got hurt."

  As she spoke, an ambulance roared up. Paramedics brushed her aside. In minutes she knew that Hank's wound was not life-threatening.

  "Findlay's already talking," Jackson told them. "He's willing to give us information in exchange for protection. I expect it's only going to be a matter of hours before we find out who ordered your murder."

  "Good." Daniel nodded in satisfaction.

  They spent the next few hours at police headquarters — first with the anti-crime squad, then with reporters from the Star, who were given an exclusive story that would make headlines the next morning.

  Finally Daniel bundled M.J. into a cab, where she promptly fell asleep. She was vaguely aware that he carried her into a house, then into a comfortable bedroom. But she was too out of it to ask where they were.

  Hours later, she woke up to find herself in a strange bed — lying beside Daniel, who was wearing only a pair of jeans and sitting propped against the pillows.

  She was still dressed in the borrowed shirt from yesterday, although she realized that Daniel had removed her slacks and shoes.

  "Where are we?" she asked.

  "My bed."

  "What are we doing here?"

  "I'm holding you captive until you agree to marry me."

  She blinked and sat up. "Did I hear that right?"

  "Yeah. Because I'm not going to let you make the wrong decision. I want you for my wife. And I know all the arguments you're going to make."

  "Such as?"

  "Such as — you think our backgrounds are too different. You think I'm like that fool in Berkeley who didn't know what he was giving up."

  "You know about Julian?"

  "Yeah. Finding out everything I could about you was an obsession for me. I'm not proud of that. But I couldn't help myself. I wanted you from the first moment I laid eyes on you. And don't lie to me and tell me you didn't feel the same way."

  She swallowed. "Okay. I won't lie about that."

  "And as soon as we were out of the pressure cooker, I had the luxury to figure out that it's not just lust. I love you."

  Her eyes widened.

  "I'm hoping you can come to love me, too."

  Her answer was instantaneous. "Oh, Lord, Daniel, I do! I knew when I saw a thug pointing a gun at you in the garage that I loved you. I couldn't admit it to myself then. But it's true."

  "Well, that's a relief." He folded her close, hung on to her, and she held on just as tightly.

  "Sweetheart, there are so many things I want to say to you. I know you hated me for not giving you the dangerous assignments. But I just couldn't. I told myself it was because of what happened in Afghanistan. But it was really because I couldn't bear putting you in danger."

  She drew back, sought his eyes. "And now?"

  "Now I know you're steady as a rock. There's no reporter I trust more."

  "And...uh...what if I wanted to work part-time and..."

  "Raise a family?"

  She nodded.

  "Yeah. That will work, too. In fact, I was going to suggest it. But I didn't want to cramp your style. I'll never do that again."

  "Oh, Daniel. I never thought I'd be so happy."

  "M.J., I've gone from hell to heaven," he murmured lowering her to the bed and covering her mouth with a long, passionate kiss that sealed the bargain they'd made. Love, commitment, marriage, children. Everything she'd always wanted.

  The End