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the photographs to confirm that he wasn't in them?
    A shiver ran down her spine at that thought.
    Michael had surprised her in the park, scared her a little with his hooded appearance, but as they'd spoken about Liliana, there had been so much pain in his voice that she just couldn't believe he was guilty of harming the woman he'd grown up with.
    Did that make her highly intuitive—or a fool?
    Whichever it was, she knew that one reason she'd agreed to meet with him was that she wanted more information. The detective had made it clear that her part in the investigation was over. Since they weren't interested in sharing information with her, she'd have to get it from another source.
    She straightened as the café door opened, and Michael walked in.
    He still wore jeans, but he'd traded in the hooded sweatshirt for a short-sleeved polo shirt. He'd also shaved and showered and seeing him in the light of day, her gut tightened for an entirely different reason than it had earlier.
    The man was more than a little good-looking with his black hair, olive skin and light blue eyes that seemed to see straight through her. As his gaze met hers, nervous anticipation made her stomach flutter and her palms sweat. It had been a long time since she'd felt such an intense physical and emotional attraction to a man.
    That was both a good and a bad thing. While she'd often lamented the fact that it was difficult to find a man she could really connect with, she didn't want to connect with this man in this situation.
    Michael pulled out the chair opposite hers and sat down. "I wasn't sure you'd come."
    "I said I would. Do you want to grab a coffee first?"
    He glanced back at the counter where a long line had formed. "I'll wait. I'm more interested in looking at the photographs." His gaze moved to the large envelope on the table. "May I?"
    "Yes." She pushed the envelope across the table.
    As he opened it, he said, "I'm surprised the police didn't ask you for these."
    "They did. I'm going to drop them off at the station later." She still had the negatives so she could print out additional copies for her display at the gallery. Some of the photos were definitely worth framing.
    Michael pulled out the photos and began to look through them, his expression changing as he went through the stack.
    He lifted his gaze to hers. There was a gleam of admiration in his eyes. "These are amazing, Alicia. You got so close to the lightning. I know you said it was right there, but I didn't imagine it like this. You could have been killed."
    "I wasn't."
    "But you took a big risk."
    "Sometimes that's what it takes to make something incredible happen."
    His gaze bored into hers and she saw what looked like understanding. "That's true. So this is your job? You chase lightning? I've heard of storm chasers, but I've never met one before. I have to say, I pictured some crazy-eyed guy in a van with a lot of weather equipment."
    "I've been in a van like that with those crazy-eyed guys," she admitted. "But I chase storms on my own time. In my day job I'm a photojournalist with the Miami Chronicle where I spend most of my time taking photographs of ribbon cuttings, car accidents, fires and local community events."
    "Interesting."
    "Not really," she said with a little laugh. "But it pays the bills so I can do what I really want to do. Florida is a hotbed of lightning strikes. It's been a busy summer."
    "I'll bet. You must be fearless to do what you do."
    "Or crazy," she said lightly. "Many people have questioned my sanity. But while I do push the envelope, I also respect the power of the lightning. I know there is danger behind the magnificent beauty. I never forget that."
    "When did you start chasing storms?"
    "Eight or nine years ago."
    "What got you started?"
    She hesitated, not sure how the conversation had turned to her, but maybe her explanation would help him to understand why she sometimes risked her life. "My father was a pilot. About ten years ago, his plane went down