Hearts Awakened

eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 577 Mulberry Street, Suite 1520 Macon GA 31201 Hearts Awakened Copyright © 2008 by Linda Winfree ISBN: 1-60504-186-6 Edited by Anne Scott Cover by Anne Cain All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: September 2008 www.samhainpublishing.com

Hearts Awakened Linda Winfree

Dedication

In Loving Memory of Mable Wilson Potts Quarles (1937-2008)

Special thanks to Tami Palmer, for your enthusiasm and expertise, and for helping with the realistic aspects of Tori’s story. I couldn’t have done this without you.

Hearts Awakened

Chapter One

“I told you what happened. Why won’t you believe me?” The fear in the tremulous voice tugged at Tori Calvert’s heart. She leaned forward, careful not to touch Maggie Stinson’s hand. Maggie would only pull away. Tori clasped her hands in her lap. Not long ago, she’d been unable to bear a casual touch too. “I want to help you, but I can’t do that if you won’t talk to me.” In the silence between them, the hospital’s PA system dinged and paged Dr. Mackey. Behind the curtain separating the emergency cubicles, another patient moaned and a female voice whispered reassurances. The lingering scent of disinfectant and Betadine hung in the air. Maggie’s swollen mouth trembled and firmed into a thin line. She winced. “It’s like Jed told you. I opened the cabinet, and the cans tumbled out. One of them caught me in the face and busted my lip. That’s all.” Must’ve been a pretty big can. Tori eyed the red bruise that extended from the left corner of Maggie’s mouth to her eye. A big can with a right-handed fist and a nasty temper. “I want to see my wife!” Jed Stinson’s voice boomed through the small ER area. Maggie jumped, a visible shiver traveling over her frame. This time, Tori did take her hand, and for just a moment, Maggie clung to her before letting go. With a shaky sigh, she pushed her thin brown hair away from her face, hooking the strands behind her ears. www.samhainpublishing.com

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“Hold your horses, Jed.” That resolute no-nonsense tone belonged to sheriff’s investigator Mark Cook, and Tori relaxed. As long as Cookie was outside the curtain, Jed wouldn’t get in until they were ready. “We have to finish your statement and Layla’s waiting for the local to take effect before she puts in Maggie’s stitches. Now tell me again what happened? I didn’t get it all last time.” Jed repeated the story Tori had already heard three times. She’d give the Stinsons one thing—they always had their version of the facts straight. The only problem was their version never jived with the physical evidence. And Maggie Stinson would never sign a complaint against her husband. At the other end of the cubicle, a slender hand swept the curtain aside and Layla Jackson stepped inside. Turquoise surgical scrubs highlighted flawless skin like dark honey. Pulling on a fresh pair of gloves, she smiled at Maggie. “Well, let’s see if we’re ready for those stitches.” During the few minutes it took her to deftly close the wound at the corner of Maggie’s lip, Layla kept up a light, comforting monologue. Under Layla’s smooth voice, the tension gradually drained from Maggie’s posture. The male voices outside the curtain drifted away. Once Layla finished, Maggie fidgeted, clutching her prescription for antibiotics. “Can I go home now?” Tori glanced up and met Layla’s resigned gaze, her large eyes like liquid ebony. Layla nodded. “Sure.” As Maggie slid from the table and straightened her oversized, blood-spattered T-shirt, Tori stood. “I’ll walk out with you.” “No!” Maggie shook her head and slid the crumpled prescription in her pocket. “That’s okay. I’m just going to find Jed and go home.” “Wait.” Tori dug in the pocket of her jeans and came up with a card bearing the phone number of the women’s crisis center. She smoothed out one bent corner against her thigh and snagged Layla’s pen to scribble her cell number on the back. “Take this. Call if you need anything.” Maggie crammed the vellum rectangle into her pocket without looking at it. “Thanks.” She slipped out between the curtains and was gone. Tori sighed and turned to Layla. “This is, what? The third time since May?”

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Layla nodded, clearing away her supplies. She pulled off her gloves and dropped them in the wastebasket. “Broken wrist in May. The burns to her hands in August. Now, this busted lip. And those are just the ‘accidents’ that bring her here. No telling what she handles at home by herself.” Tori swallowed a frustrated growl. More than the administrative duties of her position as the crisis center’s director, she hated this part of her job—knowing someone needed help, but meeting resistance when offering assistance. “We’ve got to do something. I’m going to talk to Cookie.” “I’ll come with you. Jay’s getting the toothache in cubicle two and I’m due a break.” For a Friday night, the emergency room remained relatively deserted. Only a couple of people sat in the waiting room—a young man dozing in front of the television and a woman with a short skirt and too-blonde hair. She leafed through an old Cosmopolitan, her expression bored. Jed and Maggie were gone and Cookie was nowhere to be seen. Tori lifted her hands and let them fall against her jeans. “Where is he?” The automatic door slid open, admitting a brisk gust of wind and Mark Cook. His green sheriff’s department windbreaker topped jeans and a Florida State T-shirt, and with them, he wore an expression of extreme disgust. Tori’s stomach lifted and fell with the odd little flutter it had developed whenever she saw him lately. She started to tunnel a hand through her hair, remembered she’d pulled it into a messy ponytail earlier, and stopped. “Hey,” she said, tucking her hands in her back pockets. “Did you get anywhere?” Cookie’s mouth tightened and he passed a hand over his close-cropped brown hair. “No. She swears it was a can falling out of the cabinet and he sure as hell isn’t going to say otherwise.” “Can’t you do anything?” Frustration curled in her chest, making breathing difficult. She glanced at the other occupants of the waiting room and forced her voice to a low tone. “Come on, Cookie. This is the third time she’s been in here in five months. He’s hurting her and if we don’t do something about it, she could end up dead.” Unwrapping a piece of gum, he didn’t rise to her agitation, not that she expected him to. In the past couple of years, she’d worked countless assault and domestic abuse cases with him, and he always remained utterly cool, completely unruffled. “What do you want me to do? I can’t

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arrest him unless she files a complaint or we get called out to the house on a domestic. And there aren’t any neighbors out there to complain.” Then their intervention plan meant nothing? When she’d developed the idea and written the grant for it during her domestic-violence course, her professor had raved. No one had pointed out how cold, hard reality would grind her idealism into the dust. She sighed. “Thanks for coming anyway. I know it’s your night off.” “No problem.” The corner of his mouth quirked up in a grin and her stomach performed its silly little somersault again. He glanced over at the blonde. “Angel, you ready to go?” Angel tossed the magazine on the chair beside hers and rose. She smoothed the snug denim skirt and sashayed to Cookie’s side. Her breasts, obviously not bound by a bra, bounced inside the skinny tank top she wore under a corduroy jacket. “More than ready, baby.” Her blonde head barely reached his broad shoulders. Tori hunched a little bit. Petite women always made her feel like a huge, clunky Amazon. Cookie stood a couple inches taller than she did, but in her low-heeled boots, they were eye to eye. Catching his cynical gray gaze, she looked away before he saw the insecurity in hers. Glancing away might have been a mistake. Now her gaze lay on his hand patting Angel’s hip. Tori bit her lip. Geez, this was ridiculous. She wasn’t twelve and this wasn’t middle school. She shouldn’t be getting her feelings hurt because Cookie was interested in someone else. It wasn’t like he’d even think of looking twice at her. Angel was his type—blonde, lushly endowed, overtly sensual. Everything Tori wasn’t. “Well, I’m outta here.” He sounded relieved, and with his smile, the slight slashes by his mouth deepened. Tori pulled her attention from the angles of his face—the serious set of his brow, strong jaw, the cleft chin. His observant gray eyes saw too much and the last thing she wanted was to be caught staring at him. “Call if you need anything else.” “Sure. Have fun.” The words hurt her throat, but she watched until he and Angel crossed the street and he helped her climb into his ancient Blazer. “Huh.” Layla snorted. “Only one kind of fun they’ll be having. Did you see that skirt?” “Layla, that’s mean.” She didn’t have to ask what kind of fun Layla meant. Heck, that kind of fun Cookie was famous for. “She was cute.”

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“Tori, please. The woman was wearing pink glitter on her eyelids. She looked like a third grader’s art project.” “Boy, am I glad you’re my friend. I’d hate to have you talking behind my back.” Layla tugged at the sleeve of Tori’s long-sleeved T-shirt. “I could start on your fashion sense, but I won’t. Come on. I only have ten minutes and I need a caffeine fix.” They grabbed sodas from the vending machines and took them outside. The insistent breeze picked up leaves from the gutter and tossed them across the parking lot. Bright light spilled from halogen security lights and kept the shadows at bay. Tori leaned against the wall, not sure which one she didn’t want to think about more: Maggie Stinson going home with Jed or Cookie having “fun” with his Angel. She set her soda on the brick ledge by the steps, depression settling on her. “There’s that look again.” Layla took a long sip of her own drink. “Like the weight of the whole world is on those skinny little shoulders of yours.” Skinny? Tori shot her a look and refrained from asking when was the last time Layla had an eye exam. She was too curvy up top and too fond of her mama’s homemade biscuits, which went straight to her butt, to qualify as skinny. “I’m afraid next time Maggie won’t turn up in the ER.” “Honey, I know you want to save the world, and I admire you for it.” Layla rolled her soda can between her hands. “But someone has to want to be saved before you can help them. And right now, Maggie wants Jed more than she wants help.” “I don’t get it. Why would she want him? He hurts her and this is going on with the kids in the house.” “You’re the one with the psych degree. You tell me.” Tori shook her head. Oh, she held a master’s degree in psychology, was working on her doctorate and could rattle off the textbook reasons why some women remained in abusive relationships, but that didn’t mean she understood it. Maggie’s insistence on protecting Jed, on staying in the marriage, just didn’t make sense. Layla gripped the ends of her stethoscope, looped around her neck. “So are you hanging out here or going home?”

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Smothering a yawn, Tori stretched. She retrieved her almost-full soda and tossed it in the waste can by the steps. “I’m going home to take a hot bath and read twenty pages on Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.” “Sounds like fun.” Layla made a face. “I’ll trade you a chapter on infectious diseases.” “No, thanks.” Laughing, Tori tugged her keys from her pocket and moved toward the parking lot. “Want me to walk with you?” Layla called after her, concern wrapping around the words. Tori did, but the desire to appear normal was stronger than the fear and weakness. She shook her head. “That’s okay. I’ll see you later.” Forcing herself to walk, she headed for her Miata, its silver paint gleaming under the bright lights. She kept her gaze moving in a constant scan of the parking lot until she was in the driver’s seat. Once the doors were locked, the painful stress in her stomach let up some. She flexed her fingers on the wheel and took a deep breath before starting the engine. During the short drive home, she focused on the pools of light cast by streetlights, unable to look at the shadows waiting beyond the sidewalks. Driving at night remained one of her greatest obstacles, and even though she refused to let it cripple her life, it always made her feel sick before, during and after. She slowed to take the left into the parking lot of her apartment complex. The three buildings stood away from the road in a horseshoe shape around a sparkling heated pool. Although it was October, a handful of her neighbors sat around the water and a couple were swimming. She pulled into her parking space, directly in front of the stairs and looked around. No one on the sidewalk. Nobody under or at the top of the stairs. Her living room lights remained lit. The dark beyond those lights pressed in on her, suffocating in its heaviness. The sense of panic twisted in her throat and she shoved it away. She wasn’t alone. The Bolingers and Braswells were at the pool, a scream away. No one waited for her in the dark. Not tonight. Keys ready, she swung out of the car. “Hey, Tori!” She jerked at the male voice calling across the lot. Her fingers tightened on her keys, attached to a small karate bo, and adrenaline surged through her body in an uncomfortable

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rush. She forced herself to breathe at a normal rate—in, out, in, out. She knew the voice. It was only Randy Braswell, calling from the pool area. She turned, schooling her expression into a polite mask. “Hi, Randy.” He gestured toward the pool area and his wife waved. “Why don’t you come join us? It’s a real nice night.” Sit outside at night? In the dark? Uh, no. She shook her head. “Thanks anyway. I have a lot of studying to do.” “Maybe next time,” Patty Braswell called. “Don’t study too hard.” With a wave, Tori jogged up the stairs to her apartment door. The lock turned smoothly and she was inside, the door closed and locked. Still grasping the wooden finger bo on her key ring, she moved through each room of the small apartment, opening closet doors and checking every possible hiding space. The lack of a dust ruffle on her bed let her see beneath the bed from any angle in her room. Sheer drapes over vinyl blinds eliminated another opportunity for camouflage. Her shower curtain was a sheet of clear plastic. The apartment was empty. Afterwards, she dropped her keys on the counter next to the phone and laughed at herself, a harsh sound of self-derision. Would she ever get beyond the ritual? Probably not, since she performed it every time she entered the apartment and had since she’d moved in three years before. Silence hung in the air, broken only by the occasional voice from outside. She slipped to the window and peeked between the slats of her blinds. Sarah Bolinger arched in a dive, splashing into the water. The middle building was dark. Across the parking lot, in the third building, a light burned in the living room that mirrored hers. Cookie’s Blazer wasn’t in his spot, though. He’d left his light on, but he wasn’t home. She didn’t have to imagine where he was or what he was doing. Hatred burned in her throat like bile. She hated him because she cared, hated herself for the same reason. This whole thing—every breathless, stomach-fluttering moment of it—was pointless. She wasn’t the type of woman Mark Cook would be interested in. And she never would be.

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Mark Cook tugged his jeans into place and zipped them. A Mel Gibson movie blared from the motel television and Angel sat against the headboard, wearing her panties and tank top and eating French fries from a McDonald’s bag. He reached for his T-shirt. A burger and motel cable weren’t what he’d had in mind when he’d offered her dinner and a movie, but he hadn’t expected to end up at the hospital dealing with Jed Stinson again either. Not that Angel seemed to care one way or the other, since she’d gotten what she’d really gone out with him for. He brushed pink glitter from his chest and tugged the T-shirt over his head. Angel glanced up from the television and pointed a crisp, golden fry in his direction. “You have lost weight since the last time I saw you, baby. How much?” “About twenty pounds.” And twelve to go to make Jay Mackey, physician from hell, happy. Retrieving his socks, he looked around for his shoes. “They’re by the door.” Angel spoke around a mouthful of French fries. “Thanks.” He grabbed them and settled on the edge of the bed. Glancing at the television, he pulled on his socks. Mel kissed a very pregnant Rene Russo and Mark looked away. He stomped a foot into a tennis shoe. “Baby, you don’t have to go yet.” Angel wrapped her arms around his neck, the rounded softness of her breasts pressed to his back. A French fry rested near his collarbone, its salty aroma filling his nose. She nuzzled the side of his neck. “We could still have a little more fun.” “I have to work tomorrow.” If they weren’t old friends and he didn’t know better, he’d think she kept calling him baby because she didn’t remember his name. Hell, he’d used the ruse often enough in the past. She bit the lobe of his ear, one hand wandering down his chest. With the other, she trailed the French fry across his lips. “You could spend the night here, with me.” If he did, he wouldn’t get any sleep. The lifestyle had definitely lost its appeal when he wanted the French fry and a few uninterrupted hours of rest instead of the warm, willing woman trying to entice him. With a sigh, he turned his head and captured the fry with his teeth. Salt and

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grease exploded on his tongue. God, that was good. Surely one wouldn’t kill him. How many calories and fat grams in one little fry? He caught her hand before it slid below his belt. “Angel, baby.” He brushed his mouth against her palm. “You wore me out, honey. I have to be up early in the morning. But feel free to hang out.” She traced his jaw with her finger. “Well, you know I prefer you to Mel any day, but if you’re sure…” He was. Actually, after dealing with Jed’s stubborn ass earlier, he wouldn’t have minded simply dinner and a movie, a hot kiss goodnight and his own bed, but Angel’s sweet persuasion and the need to dodge his own disquiet had led him down the same old path. He stood, her arms falling away, and leaned over to kiss her forehead. “I’m sure. Enjoy your movie.” Her attention already diverted, she eyed the television and waved at him. “Sweet dreams.” “Yeah. You too.” “Hey, before you go…the brunette at the hospital, the tall one? Was that Tick’s little sister?” He didn’t want Tori’s image mixed up in the sordidness of this motel room. “Yeah.” Angel tilted her head to one side, munching again. “I thought so. She looks like him. She’d be real cute too, if she’d fix herself up a little.” “Night, Angel.” He stepped outside and made sure the door latched. The damp air wrapped around him, mist moving beneath the lights in the parking lot. Truck engines rumbled out on the highway and he dragged in deep breaths, trying to clear Angel’s perfume from his nose. The Blazer’s door creaked when he opened it and the cracked leather driver’s seat hugged him like a glove when he slid behind the wheel. He stuck the key in the ignition and rested his head on the steering wheel. Tori—Tori— would be real cute if she’d fix herself up a little? He laughed. Tori Calvert had to be the most genuine, naturally gorgeous woman he’d ever seen. Her brand of beauty came from deep inside, a softness that glowed in her dark eyes and transformed her face when she smiled. Fixing up that face with pink glitter, red lipstick and too much black mascara would be a travesty. Lifting his head, he started the truck. He wasn’t going to think about her. Tori was purity and goodness and everything wonderful.

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Not to mention the fact Tick would kill him for looking twice at her. A slow, painful and creative death, for sure. When it came to his baby sister, Tick Calvert didn’t play. Mark threw the truck in reverse and backed out. Headlights swept the parking lot and a white patrol car turned the corner. Its searchlight played across his windshield, blinding him a moment. He cursed and threw up a hand to protect his eyes. The patrol unit idled to a slow stop next to his truck. Mark rolled down his window and, through the green spots blurring his vision, eyed the young deputy in the driver’s seat. “Troy Lee, what are you doing?” “Patrolling.” Troy Lee’s white teeth flashed in the grin that had half of Chandler County’s young women speeding, just on the chance the department’s youngest deputy would pull them over. “What are you doing?” “Going home.” Troy Lee draped a hand on the steering wheel, his gaze resting on Angel’s bright yellow Mustang. “Ever notice how many local tags there are in this parking lot on a Friday night?” Yeah. The Mercedes parked at the end room belonged to the chairman of the county commission. The SUV next to it did not belong to the chairman’s wife. Probably half the cars had local owners. However, if anybody’s name got tossed around the gossip circles after church Sunday, it would be his. Chandler County had a pecking order and he was still an outsider, still at the bottom. He fixed Troy Lee with a hard stare. “Yeah, but I don’t want to hear anything out in the county tomorrow about whose car was where. It’s none of our business. Got that?” Troy Lee’s grin disappeared into a little boy pout. “Sure. I got it.” “Good.” Just because the chairman’s wife knew about her husband’s philandering didn’t mean having the local gossips throw it in her face wasn’t painful. The old-biddy committee didn’t need any fresh ammo. They made up enough on their own. Mark gunned his engine a little and shifted into drive. “Be careful.” “Yes, sir.”

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He turned left out of the parking lot, Troy Lee heading off to the right. This late, the empty streets lay quiet. The fast-food joints stood closed and dark, a few cars in front of the all-night diner on the main drag. Inside, waitresses in bright orange dresses moved under the harsh lights. His stomach growled and he wavered. The diner served the best patty melts in town. The single French fry he’d eaten earlier called to him, beckoning him to abandon the self-discipline he’d built over the last four months. Shaking his head, he drove on. Twelve pounds. Avoiding that patty melt, and the apple pie he’d surely order with it, would get him that much closer to his goal. When he pulled into his apartment complex, nothing moved except lacy crape-myrtle branches. The security lights illuminated the stairways and parking lot. The pool area lay silent and empty. Of the twelve apartments, lights shone in only two. His and Tori’s. He stepped out of the truck and stared across at her windows. Her living room lights burned all the time, so he had no way of knowing whether she slept beyond that pool of brightness. A lot of nights, the nights when the dreams and the memories were too strong, she didn’t sleep, but roamed her apartment. She hadn’t shared that and he’d never been beyond her front door. He knew because he saw her silhouette move against the blinds and because when Tick worried about her, he talked. That was how Mark had learned his presence in the complex made her feel safe. Secure. Not as alone. The knowledge warmed him too much for comfort. Getting hung up on Tori Calvert was a dead-end street. The fact he was halfway there and had been for the last two years or so didn’t help. Turning away, he jogged up the stairs to his place. If she was awake, he didn’t want her to see him watching her apartment, didn’t want her to feel the moment’s panic that would cause until she figured out it was him. He’d promised Tick he’d look out for her, keep her safe. So as long as she needed him, he’d be here. Watching over her.

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Tori opened the bag of microwave popcorn, careful to keep her fingers clear of the poof of escaping steam. She poured the fluffy kernels into a bowl and popped a few in her mouth. Hot against her tongue, the salty snack seemed to melt. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste. She carried the bowl into the living room. Her abandoned textbook rested on the coffee table and she settled on the couch, legs crossed lotus-style. On the television, a pair of clothing designers helped a college student find a new, more professional style. Tori eyed the pointy-toed stiletto heels the girl picked out. She wiggled her own toes. Those had to hurt. The phone rang and she swallowed a mouthful of popcorn without chewing. Lord, please not another trip to the ER tonight. She reached for the cordless phone and a quick glance at the caller ID sent a rush of relief through her. Not the hospital, but the only other person who would call her at eleven-thirty at night. “Yes, Tick?” His deep chuckle filled her ear. “How did you know it was me?” She rolled her eyes and muted the television. “Who else would it be? What if I’d been asleep?” “Were you?” He managed to sound contrite for maybe half a second. She sighed. Some things never changed and autocratic, overprotective big brothers were one of them. “No.” She looked at her textbook and suppressed a spurt of guilt. That chapter on posttraumatic stress didn’t contain any information she didn’t already know firsthand. “What do you want?” “Holy hell, you’re a brat. I can’t just call and check on you?” How many times had she told him she didn’t need a keeper? “I’m fine. Now, what do you want?” “I hear Maggie was in the ER again tonight. Jed didn’t give you a hard time, did he?” A familiar edge entered his voice. “No, Cookie handled him.” She set the popcorn aside, her appetite gone. “Cookie? He was off tonight.” “Yeah, well, your deputies were tied up with some wild party out at the Butler farm. Obviously, they called Cookie instead of you.” She wished Tick had been available. Then she wouldn’t be stuck with movie-sharp images of Mark Cook wrapped up with blonde, pretty,

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glittery Angel. This was ridiculous. Twenty-seven years old, a virgin—mentally if not technically—and obsessed with her brother’s best friend’s sex life. Lord, she needed a few cats to complete the cliché. She cleared her throat against a sudden lump. “Anyway, I’m fine. Jed and Maggie went home and I’ve got some studying to do before my class Monday night. Stop worrying and get some rest.” “You too. Night, Tor.” “Good night.” She killed the connection and tossed the phone on the couch. Unfolding from the couch, she crossed to the window. Cookie’s Blazer sat in its spot. His apartment was dark. Her lights remained the only ones in the complex. She wrapped her arms around her midriff, trying to hug away the ache there. She was alone.

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Chapter Two

Sweat trickled down Mark’s face and he brushed it away. His chest hurt with each breath, but that was nothing to the stitch pulling in his lower right side. He was all right with exercise— swimming, walking, weight lifting, bike riding, the fifteen million sit-ups he’d done since starting this damn diet. Running? He hated it. He glared at the back of Troy Lee’s head. The kid made the training run look like nothing. Most of the guys out here did, all of them younger and in a heck of a lot better shape than Mark was. He’d keep pace with them, even if it killed him. They passed the ballpark, a handful of teens playing soccer on the baseball field. Only two more blocks. He could make two more. Dry leaves, set swirling by their feet, skittered across the street. Above them stretched a blue sky, crisp and cloudless. Troy Lee picked up his speed. “You ever hate that kid?” Tick fell into step beside him, not the least bit winded. “Yeah.” The monosyllabic reply didn’t sound too breathless. Man, Tick better not want to talk too much. His pride couldn’t stand it. “You’re making this look almost easy,” Tick said, a hint of a grin lingering in his voice. “That diet of yours is paying off, huh?”

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Mark nodded and concentrated on breathing. The steel shell of the new courthouse loomed and relief spurted through him. A few more yards. Shade enveloped them as they jogged into the parking lot behind the sheriff’s department. Slowing to a stop, Mark bent at the waist for a moment to catch his breath, then straightened to walk out the stitch and let his pulse return to normal. Troy Lee and Chris Parker, the K-9 officer, laughed and carried on a conversation as if they hadn’t just run five miles. Chris opened the cooler sitting on the department’s back steps and pulled out a bottle of water. Tick retrieved his clipboard and jotted notes. Finally able to breathe at a normal rate again, Mark grabbed a water from the cooler. The icy liquid hitting his tongue was pure heaven. That had to be what kissing Tori Calvert would be like. Crap. Where had that come from? He had to stop thinking about her and the perfect shape of her full bottom lip. Taking another long pull from the bottle, he shook off the thoughts. He glanced at Tick, who dropped the clipboard on the steps and took his own water. “How’s Falconetti?” Twisting the cap off his bottle, Tick grimaced and Mark grinned. Married more than two years and it still bothered Tick that Caitlin hadn’t taken his last name. “Hugely pregnant and confined to bed rest. How do you think she is?” “Hell to live with.” “I wish.” His face somber, Tick shook his head. “Holding everything in, huh?” Jenny hadn’t done that. She’d figured if she was miserable, he should be too. The stray memory stung and he carefully shoved it back in with the others locked away. Tick lifted the bottle to his lips and drained half of it. “Yeah. She’s so damned afraid this pregnancy will go wrong too. You know, sometimes I lie beside her at night and I can feel her willing everything to be okay.” “Probably because you’re doing the same thing.” A sheepish smile played around Tick’s mouth. “Probably.”

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He wanted to tell Tick everything would be all right, that this pregnancy wouldn’t end in a miscarriage the way the three previous ones had, but the words stuck in his throat. Life didn’t work that way. Sometimes it bit a guy on the ass when he was least expecting it. Sometimes it outright tried to eat him whole. “Hey!” Troy Lee’s eager voice broke between them. “Chris and I are going to do another couple of miles. Y’all want to come?” “You two go ahead.” Tick finished his water and tossed the bottle in the recycling bin by the steps. He grabbed the clipboard again and moved up the steps. Mark followed. How could anyone be that enthusiastic about running? If it had been swimming, he could understand. When he and Tick stepped through the back door, a tidal wave of jail noise washed over them—shouts, the cacophony of thirty voices talking at once, four televisions going at the same time, jailers issuing commands. His ears cringed. Nineteen years in law enforcement and he’d never grown used to the noise of a jail. Upstairs, blessed quiet hung in the squad room. Tick dropped the training report in Sheriff Stanton Reed’s inbox. “The lab results from the King case are in. They’re in my office.” “Great.” Mark walked with him to the tiny room off the main hall. Tick rummaged through a stack of folders in his own inbox. Mark dropped into the chair in front of the desk. An acrylic picture frame leaned against Tick’s wedding photo and Mark picked it up, studying the three-dimensional sonogram image. Even in grainy black and white, the baby’s face was perfectly detailed. “Amazing, isn’t he?” Tick pulled a file free. He laid it on the desk in front of Mark and pointed at the sonogram photo. “I swear it looks like he has Cait’s mouth.” “What do you mean, he? I thought Falconetti didn’t want to know the sex.” “She doesn’t, but I didn’t take my eyes off the screen during the whole scan and some things are hard to miss.” Tick chuckled. “Trust me, it’s a he.” Mark studied the image again. “Are y’all talking about names yet?” “No.” Tick’s voice turned sober and tight, and Mark glanced up at him. “Cait…she doesn’t want to make any plans. Won’t pick out paint colors for the nursery, won’t look at any of the

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baby clothes Mama keeps buying and stashing, won’t talk about names. I think she’s scared if she does, she’ll jinx everything.” “Man, you’re going to have to do something before this kid gets here.” Mark placed the picture frame back on the desk. He wanted to pick up the other snapshot next to the wedding photo, a candid shot of Caitlin and Tori, her head tilted to one side, dark hair pulled away from her face, a shy half-smile parting her lips. Instead he rested his hands on his knees. “Yeah.” Tick ran a hand through his hair. “We still haven’t even bought a crib. Watch me end up putting it together the day before we bring the baby home. Do you know how hard it is to assemble one of those things?” As a rule, Mark tried not to think about anything baby-related at all. However, the guy in front of him was his best friend. He couldn’t ignore what went on in Tick’s life. “So who’s with her today while you’re here?” “Tori.” Tick flipped through a small stack of pink message slips. “Cait’s helping her with some paper she has due next week. You should come for supper. I’m going to toss some steaks on the grill.” “No thanks.” He liked Caitlin, but that rounded stomach of hers made him think of things he’d been trying to forget for almost two decades. Besides, spending the evening with the woman he was infatuated with and couldn’t have wasn’t his idea of a good time. “Maybe another night.” “Hot date?” Only if running out to the farmer’s market for fresh produce counted. Angel had used up his hot-date quota for the week. Probably for the entire month. Funny how what he used to look forward to most left a bad taste in his mouth now. Mark shrugged. “Something like that.” “Well, I’m out of here.” Grimacing, Tick twisted sideways, rubbing at his back. “Is that still bothering you?” For the last couple of weeks, Tick had complained about lower back pain. “See a doctor, man.” “Probably pulled a muscle trying to fight Johnny Waldman into the car.”

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“Probably pulled a muscle lifting your hugely pregnant wife,” Mark muttered and grinned at Tick’s outraged expression. “Don’t let her hear you say that. She’ll kill you and me both.” “See a doctor about your back and I won’t tell her you said it first.” “Some friend you are.” Mark laughed and pushed up from the chair. The backs of his legs protested. He’d be feeling this run for days. “Later. And I mean it. Call Mackey and make an appointment, or I tell your wife everything.”

Tori’s fingers tapped on the laptop keyboard in a regular rhythm. Finally, she was getting into the flow of her paper. If starting this short analysis was so difficult, what would her doctoral thesis be like? She sighed, stretching her fingers. Another couple of pages plus the literature review and she’d be finished. She glanced at Caitlin dozing on the couch, hands folded over the mound of her stomach, while calm music wafted from the CD player. The kitchen door opened and Tori looked up from her notes. Clad in a T-shirt and shorts, Tick dropped his keys on the island. His gaze fell on Caitlin and his expression softened. “Hey,” he said, his voice quiet. “Has she been asleep long?” “About twenty minutes.” Tori kept her own tone low. “I’m not asleep,” Caitlin murmured, eyes still closed. “Someone’s jabbing me in the ribs.” Tick laughed and crossed to crouch beside the sofa. He spread his hand over the bottom of her stomach. “Doing flips, isn’t he?” He dropped a kiss on her mouth, both hands sliding up to embrace the roundness of her belly. Caitlin’s eyes fluttered open and she smiled at him. Even across the room, Tori could see love glowing in Caitlin’s dark green gaze. Tori swallowed hard and looked away. Envy twisted through her. That’s what she wanted, someone to make her feel. Remembering Cookie’s hand resting on Angel’s hip, she twined her fingers together. What would that be like, to have a man’s hands, to have Cookie’s hands, on her in a soft intimacy? Her chest tightened and she closed her eyes. Okay, she needed to let this go now. Other men existed in the world. Of course, the last one she’d picked had been…God, no. She wasn’t going there.

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“Hey, Tor.” Tick’s voice pulled her back to reality from hopeless rumination. “Can you hang around while I take a shower?” “Sure thing.” She stretched, popping her spine. “Great.” He nuzzled Caitlin’s jaw with his nose. “I’m sure I smell to high heaven.” “You do.” Caitlin struggled to a more upright position with his help. He kissed her again. “Be right back.” Tori pulled her gaze from Caitlin’s face and the way she watched Tick walk away. She’d wanted this for her brother forever—a woman who loved him, a family of his own. Only she hadn’t realized how alone it would make her feel. “Tori? What’s wrong?” “Nothing.” Tori leaned forward, letting her hair hide her face while she shut down her laptop. She schooled her features before she looked up. “Why?” “Because you looked like you’d just lost your last friend.” She tried to laugh it off. “I’m worried about this stupid paper.” “You’re sure?” “I’m sure.” She rose and dusted off her jeans. “Is there anything you need me to do? Start a load of laundry?” Caitlin shook her head, the frustration of being dependent on others plain on her face. “Your mom did it yesterday, but thanks. Sit down and talk to me awhile.” By the time Tori had her books and laptop packed away, Tick emerged from the bedroom, showered and dressed. He tousled Tori’s hair. “You want to stay for supper? I’m grilling.” She ducked out from under his hand and slung her backpack over her shoulder. “Not tonight. I’ve still got a lot of studying to do before Monday, plus I need to finish this paper.” Not to mention she was tired of having the lonely state of her life thrown in her face by his happy marriage. Lord, he was right—she was a brat, with her self-centered moping and whining. Time to dry it up. He nodded. “Be careful going home. Want me to walk you out?” “I’m fine.” She leaned down to kiss Caitlin’s cheek. “Take care.”

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“You too.” Her gaze intent and serious, Caitlin studied her face and Tori turned away quickly to hug her brother. Outside, her breath whooshed out in a relieved sigh, but the depression hung over her despite her determination to perk up. She settled her backpack on the passenger seat and started the engine, but stared at the pine trees surrounding the house for a minute without really seeing them. Why was she letting this bother her so much? Her life was full—the crisis center, graduate school, her friends and family. Yet, the nagging sense of something missing remained. She hadn’t had a date in over two years, mainly because her last relationship had been such a disaster it didn’t bear thinking about. She shuddered. Good heaven, she’d been such a fool not to see through him, to see him for what he really was. No wonder Tick thought she needed a keeper. Maybe she really did. Maybe arranged marriages weren’t a bad deal after all. Only she could just imagine what kind of marriage Tick would arrange for her. One in name only. Probably with a chastity belt involved. She sighed and shifted into reverse, backing down the long driveway. Yeah, all this whiny introspection was helping her pull herself out of the dumps. The little Miata zipped along the back road, deep green woods and wide flat fields flying past. Cotton, waiting for harvest, glowed white on defoliated plants, and on the other side of the road a tractor plowed rows of peanuts. Tori let her window down, allowing the rich scent of freshly turned peanuts to roll in. She took a deep breath of the much-loved smell, trying to relax. The wind massaged her scalp, running mischievous fingers through her hair. She passed the farmer’s market and waved at old Mr. Townsend, who was taking in his signs for the evening, his ancient truck waiting in the drive. If she actually knew how to cook, she’d consider stopping for squash, Vidalia onions and other goodies from the final bounty of local summer gardens. She probably should have taken Tick up on his offer of dinner. Instead, she’d end up with takeout or a frozen dinner. How appetizing. Slowing for a stop sign, she eyed the gray Blazer sitting in the grass along the road on the other side of the intersection. She knew the aging SUV as well as she knew her own Miata. The

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Blazer’s hood was up, the lower half of a male form visible on the driver’s side. Tori sighed. Cookie’s twenty-year-old truck had finally given up the ghost. Still stopped, she picked up her cell phone. No signal, which wasn’t unusual in this part of the county. She could turn around, run back to the farmer’s market, try to catch Mr. Townsend, or return to Tick’s, send him out to help Cookie. Or you could help him yourself. For heaven’s sake, Tori, you live in the same building. That meant allowing him into her car. Being alone with him. A shiver ran down her spine, although she couldn’t pinpoint fear or anticipation as the source. It’s Cookie. He’d never hurt you. She laughed off the thought. Like she was a judge of male character. Maybe the truck wasn’t disabled at all. Maybe it was all a ruse, designed to get someone to stop and— No. Not Cookie. She couldn’t believe that of him. She wouldn’t. The first step in getting past the fear is taking control of it. How often had she offered that little nugget of wisdom in a counseling session? Maybe it was time she embraced her own advice. Dread slithered through her, and on the steering wheel her hands grew damp. She could do this. She could be normal or at least look like it. Glancing both ways, she took her foot off the brake. Pressed the accelerator. Crossed the intersection. The lump in her stomach doubled in size. She eased her car in behind the Blazer, sucked in a deep breath and shut off her ignition. Inhaling again, she glanced at herself in the rearview mirror. Her wind-ruffled hair framed her face, her eyes wide and dark against the unusual pallor of her skin. She smoothed a hand over her hair. She could do this. She swung out of the car and walked toward the Blazer’s front end. Dressed in athletic shorts and a T-shirt, Cookie remained bent under the hood. Dark hair covered tight, muscular calves and her stomach performed its shivery little flip. Metal banged on metal and a muffled curse filled the air. Tori rested a hand on the sun-warmed side panel. “Having trouble?” He glanced up at her, his eyes irritated. “The crankshaft broke.” She had absolutely no clue what that meant, but it didn’t sound good. “Anything I can do?”

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Another sidelong glance at her. He opened his mouth, closed it and shook his head. “Not much anyone can do. I’ll have to buy a new engine.” She looked at the Blazer with its faded paint, cracked dashboard and forlorn air. Why not buy a new car? She didn’t understand the irrational attachment men formed to their vehicles. Sure, she liked her Miata, but she didn’t plan an until-death-did-them-part commitment to it. His fingers clenched around the wrench he held and she eyed the muscles playing in his forearms. His arms were as tight and toned as his legs. Her fingertips itched with a sudden urge to explore the texture of his skin and the indentations of muscles and tendons. Instead, she pushed them through her hair, sure it looked like a bird’s nest by now. A memory of Angel’s perfectly coiffed and perfectly huge blonde hair flashed through her mind. “How about a ride home then?” He lifted his head and fixed her with a measuring gaze. That look made her want to squirm like a misbehaving child under a parent’s chiding expression. What was she doing, acting normal with Mark Cook? He’d seen her at her absolute worst, exposed, bruised, hysterical, violated. He knew everything and he had to know what the request had cost her. “No need.” He dropped his gaze to the wrench again. “I’ll just walk back to the farmer’s market and—” “Mr. Townsend’s already gone. He was leaving when I passed by.” He shrugged, an easy roll of broad shoulders. “Then I’ll hike over to Tick’s and call a tow truck.” “That’s almost five miles and it’s in the opposite direction.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “Why not let me give you a ride and you can call from home.” “Because.” He straightened and turned those sharp gray eyes on her again. “I’d rather not put you through the stress of having me in the car with you.” A wave of humiliation stiffened her spine and she met his gaze full on. “For your information, I have been in a car with other men in the last seven years.” His mouth twitched. “Your brothers don’t count.” “I didn’t mean them. I’ve dated. You don’t think I’ve ridden in a car with those guys?”

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One dark eyebrow rose and she cringed, waiting for him to bring up Jeff Schaefer and what had happened to the girls foolish enough to get in a car with him. Oh, she’d walked into that one. Cookie folded his arms over his chest, and again she was drawn to the delineation of muscle in his forearm. “Tell me your stomach’s not all knotted up, thinking about being in that tin can of yours with me.” It was, but not totally for the reason he believed. She tossed her hair back. “I’m fine with it.” Her voice didn’t even tremble with the outright lie, giving her courage. He continued to watch her. She resisted the urge to shift under that steady gaze. Finally, he nodded. “All right.” Relief surged through her, followed by another wave of dread. “Great. Have anything you need to take with you?” “Yeah.” He slammed the hood and moved to the back of the SUV. After tossing the wrench into an open toolbox, he lifted a handful of plastic grocery bags from the hatch. “Will these fit in your trunk?” “Of course.” She glared at him. Her poor car suffered more potshots from him and her brothers, simply because it was small and defenseless. Her scowl shifted into a smirk. At least her vehicle was running. Retrieving her backpack, she met him at the rear of the car and popped the trunk. The giltedged mirror she’d picked up at a little antique shop in Parrot the weekend before still lay on the gray carpet, and she caught a glimpse of the two of them reflected in the blurry surface. He wasn’t much taller, only three or four inches, but his broad shoulders and chest made her feel dainty, feminine. An ache flitted through her lower belly. Cheeks burning, she leaned down to flip the mirror over and spread a flamingo-pink beach towel over it for protection. She set her backpack in the corner of the trunk and turned for his bags. He was staring at her, at the strip of skin bared when she’d leaned over and her snug T-shirt rode up above her oft-washed jeans. The twinge in her stomach spread, became sharper, and he lifted his gaze to hers quickly. A flush darkened his cheekbones. Striving to keep her voice level, she reached for the bags. “Let me have those.”

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“Thanks.” Remote again, he handed over the bags without touching her fingers. The warm scent of fresh produce drifted to her nose, and she peeked in the bags—rosy tomatoes, fresh squash, Vidalia onions. Her mouth watered. Why hadn’t she let Mama teach her how to cook? She arranged the bags in the trunk and closed the lid. He hadn’t moved away yet and his warmth suffused her. She shut her eyes, that weird tingle pricking her belly and between her thighs again. She remembered this. High school, Steve Wilson meeting her at her locker to walk her to class. He’d placed his arm against the locker next to hers and leaned close, his body heat and a trace of aftershave floating over her. And this same awareness quivering through her. The sweet memory of a time when she’d felt innocent, untainted, brought a lump to her throat. The infatuation with Steve hadn’t lasted long, but she hadn’t felt the sensation since. Until now, with Cookie close to her. The lump grew. Why him? Angry because her hands shook, she snatched the key from the lock and turned to face him, her chin tilted with defiance. “Ready?” He stepped back. “When you are.” Why didn’t he smile? His stoic expression tautened her nerves and she took deep, even breaths, focusing as she walked to her door and slid behind the wheel. He settled beside her and the oxygen level in the car shrank to nothing. A mere breath separated their shoulders. She swallowed. “Seatbelt, please.” He twisted in the seat for it, his T-shirt rustling against her fabric upholstery. His knee bumped the dash. Her own belt fastened, she turned the key, the engine purring to life. He crooked his knee, keeping his leg clear of the dashboard. Glancing over her shoulder, she reached for the gearshift. Her wrist brushed his thigh. He jerked and heat flushed her face. She yanked the car into drive. Her window remained open and she released a relieved sigh. He smelled warm and male, a little sweaty, and she kept her gaze on the road, both hands on the wheel. She didn’t have to look at him to be aware of every move he made or didn’t make. For the most part, he remained still, hands on his knees. Cripes, she could feel him breathing. She couldn’t think of anything to say to break the silence, and the urge to cry gripped her. Instead, she dug her fingernails into the steering wheel.

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The countryside faded into the suburbs around town, low brick ranch houses mixed with a hodgepodge of Spanish and Colonial styles. The Winn-Dixie and an auto-parts store signaled the real beginnings of town. As she drove deeper into the small city, the silence hung around them. Two left turns later, she pulled into their parking lot and zipped to a stop in front of his apartment. She pushed the door open, the silence unnerving her. When she attempted to step from the low-slung car, the seatbelt jerked her back. Oh Lord, she hadn’t just done that. Her face flaming, she fumbled with the clasp, finally released the belt and stumbled from the car. It took three tries before she got the key in the trunk lock. Thankfully, she didn’t think he saw that, since he’d taken his time unfolding himself from the car. Popping the lid, she grabbed his bags and thrust them at him. At this point, a smile was beyond her. She couldn’t even look him in the face. “Here you go.” “Thanks.” He twisted the plastic handles around his hand. “Have you eaten?” “What?” She jerked her head up. His face remained expressionless. Shaking her head, she ran a hand through her hair. “Uh, no. Not yet.” “Why don’t you come over for dinner?” The words sounded harsh and strangled, and he cleared his throat. “I owe you for the ride…I mean, let me cook for you. As a thank-you.” Dinner? With him? She cast a wistful glance toward his front window. To see what Mark Cook’s inner sanctum looked like. Temptation twisted its wicked way through her. Say no, Tori. Don’t do this. This could hurt, really, really bad. She took a deep breath. What could a simple dinner hurt? She’d survived being alone in a car with him. Barely, but she’d survived. She smiled and didn’t have to force it. “I’d like that.” “Great.” He cleared his throat again and tugged at his T-shirt. “I need a shower. An hour?” A laugh bubbled in her and she bit her lip to keep from grinning. “I can’t wait.”

What the hell had he been thinking? Mark attacked the cupboards in his kitchen, searching for something, anything, to put together a decent meal. Asking Tori over here for dinner. He hadn’t been thinking. Obviously, his brain, strained by the physical effort of running five miles, had temporarily left the building.

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Pasta. He grabbed the box and tossed it on the counter behind him. With fresh tomatoes, anybody could throw together a great pasta. Tick was going to kill him. Hell, he might kill himself first. Emotional suicide, that’s what this was. Inviting her over, offering to cook, building impossible fantasies in his mind. All because she’d been so damned strong about getting in that car with him. She’d been sick with nerves; he’d seen it in her face and the way her hands trembled. But she’d done it anyway. He’d been so proud of her he’d thought he’d burst, until he remembered he didn’t have the right. He opened the fridge. Chicken. He could toss that on the grill. At least the place was clean, not that there was much to get messed up. Salad. He’d throw together a fresh vinaigrette, add more of those tomatoes, some peppers, toss in some croutons. He set a pot of water to boil, his chest tight the way it was whenever he approached a suspect. Worse. This was the way he’d felt as a rookie, walking up to his first traffic stop, sure the seventy-year-old granny in the big ol’ Caddy would pull out a massive .45 and blow him away. With a sigh, he wiped a hand across his damp forehead. He had to get a grip. One meal. That’s all it was, and for one night he could resist the urge to kiss her, to find out if that strip of skin between her T-shirt and jeans was as soft as it looked. While he cooked and set the bar with plates and cutlery, he kept telling himself that. He rummaged in a drawer and came up with utility candles. Holding them in one hand, he reached into a cabinet for the cheap goblets, a holdover from his days with Jenny, and stopped. What was he doing? Candles? Goblets? Like this dinner meant more than it did. Muttering a disgusted curse, he grabbed two of the plastic tumblers he used every day. The candles went back in the drawer. He arranged the food on the bar with a minimum of fuss. As long as he didn’t build this into more than just a simple thank-you, he’d be fine. After tonight, Tori would go back to her life and he to his. To watching over her until she didn’t need him anymore. Yeah. A plain simple dinner between two friends. No, less than that. Acquaintances, one of whom needed to pay back a favor. He was simply making dinner for his best friend’s sister, who’d done him an ordinary kindness. That was all.

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The doorbell rang. The scared-he-was-going-to-get-shot feeling in his chest got worse. He ran a hand over his face. “Just a simple, ordinary dinner, right, Cook?” Taking a deep breath, he opened the door. Tori faced him and he took a long look at her, from her sleek ponytail to the little pink T-shirt with its bubblegum logo, jeans that hugged her hips and thighs, and finally her pink-tipped toes wiggling in beaded flip-flops. The oxygen whooshed from his lungs. Oh yeah, he was a dead man.

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Chapter Three

Caught under Cookie’s steady gaze, Tori refused to shift from foot to foot like a nervous schoolgirl. Although she’d wanted to change, to dress up a little, she’d settled for simply combing her hair and pulling it into a ponytail. She couldn’t compete with the Angels of the world, and she’d gain nothing from getting her hopes up about this dinner invitation. She waved a hand between them. “So do I get to come in?” “Oh, yeah.” He stepped back, holding the door wider. Inside, she fidgeted with the hem of her T-shirt. “I know a good guest is supposed to bring dessert or something, but I didn’t think you’d be really impressed with the half-carton of Ben and Jerry’s in my freezer.” “I didn’t expect you to bring anything.” He didn’t smile. Where was the easy grin he always wore? Why couldn’t he smile at her the way he did everyone else? “Dinner’s ready if you are. Hungry?” She had been and the wonderful aromas beckoned to her. Now, she didn’t think she could eat anything, her stomach tied in nervous knots again. She nodded and glanced around. His apartment was neat, tidy…and bare. A leather couch, an entertainment center holding a television and stereo, a couple of tables. No pictures, no knickknacks, nothing to personalize the room. 32

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“Your place is nice.” Fingering the edges of her ponytail, she looked around at him. “Just not what I expected.” He moved away, to the bar, and began placing salad on two plates. “What did you expect?” A love nest. She’d expected…what? A cushy couch, black velvet floor pillows, scented candles and every romantic cliché her naïve mind could devise. Except for the plush sofa, this Spartan place was as far removed from that as possible. She laughed, trailing her fingers across the smooth leather of his couch. “What?” He glanced over his shoulder at her. “What did you expect?” The leather warmed under her touch and she slanted a look at him, using her lashes for cover. “I don’t know. A swinging bachelor pad where you bring all your women.” “I don’t bring anyone here.” “Not even Angel?” His shoulders stiffened and she cringed. Now, why had she asked that? He straightened and turned to face her, his practiced smirk in place. “Nope. You’re the first.” Any pleasure at being the first dissipated with that leering grin. She knew that expression too well, knew that when it was in evidence, a woman shouldn’t believe anything he said. Being the first implied being special, and she’d been around Cookie long enough to know no one could hope for that. She crossed her arms over her midriff. His bedroom was probably equipped with a revolving door for convenience. Just being here, she was out of her league. “Hungry?” he asked once more. She lifted her gaze to his. Somehow, she’d find a way to choke down what he’d cooked, but any appetite she’d had was gone. “Can’t wait.” Clearing his throat, he pulled out a stool from the bar. “Well, come on and let’s get started.” Let’s get this over. He might as well have muttered the words, they hung that plainly between them. Her battered Calvert pride lifted its head. “You know what, Cookie, forget this. I offered you a ride home. Big deal. You don’t owe me anything.” She spun and stalked to the door, as much as the flip-flops would allow. When she reached for the knob, he pressed a hand against the door. She jumped. Did he always move that quickly, that quietly?

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“Tori.” His voice held layers of confusion, but no anger. “What the hell?” He was too close. Heat seared her back, and with his arm over her shoulder, holding the door, the spicy scent of a sport soap filled her nose. Her stomach muscles clenched, loosened and tightened up again. Taking a deep breath, she concentrated on fitting her body into the smallest possible space and turned to face him. Her gaze, level with his chin, fixed on the cleft there. She couldn’t get a word out. He swallowed, the muscles in his throat moving. A smattering of dark hair showed at the open collar of his shirt. “Tori, what’s going on?” “Why did you ask me here?” His thick brows, a shade darker brown than his hair, angled downward. He glanced between them, his gaze measuring, and jerked away, dropping his arm. “You can’t think I brought you up here expecting—” “Oh, please.” She pushed all the scorn and anger into her voice. Hating him for not wanting to be near her, she heaved a contrary sigh of relief to have her personal space back. “Of course I don’t think that. Who would? We’re talking about me and it’s not like everyone doesn’t know why you wouldn’t…” She swallowed the remaining words and they stared at each other. Mark shook his head. “Why wouldn’t I?” Her ears buzzed with a rush of blood and her vision blurred. For a moment, the fury took her breath. “You…you’re unbelievable.” The anger and humiliation wouldn’t let her stay in his presence, not one more second. “Thanks for the invitation.” Spinning, she yanked the door open. Tears burned her eyes, and she blinked them away. With her luck, she’d fall, blinded by stupid tears. She rubbed her fingers across her eyes and bounded down the stairs. What had she been thinking? She’d known better. The best thing would have been for her to stay in her own little world, surrounded by her books and her work. She sucked in a shaky breath, her nose stopped up. Her chest hurt, but she refused to give in to the sobs. No crying. Her flip-flops slapped against the asphalt with an angry rhythm. A gentle hand on her shoulder stopped her headlong rush. She froze, brain shutting down, nothing but pure adrenaline fueling her movements. Hands going into a defensive posture, she

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rotated away from that touch. She faced Mark and he stared at her, his face set, his gray eyes serious. “You didn’t answer my question,” he said, his voice a low rasp. “Why wouldn’t I?” “Why are you doing this?” The words came out as a wild tremble. “Why are you running?” He took one step closer. “Why wouldn’t I?” How could he ask that? “Because of who I am. Because of what…happened.” He shook his head. “What does that have to do with anything?” “What does that have to do…” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Everything. It affects everything. How I view the world, how people view me. It’s a small town. I might as well have ‘rape victim’ tattooed on my forehead.” He laughed, the sound harsh and a little rusty. “Trust me. I don’t see that when I look at you.” “Right. Then what was all that mess about walking rather than getting in the car with me? Would you have acted like that with anyone else?” “So I’m a jerk because I considered your feelings.” Another slow shake of his head. “Man, that’s a new one. Freakin’ priceless.” “Maybe I get tired of everyone being so considerate. Maybe I just want someone to treat me like a normal human being.” “Then come back upstairs with me. Give me—” “Tori?” Sarah Bolinger’s voice broke between them. She stood a few feet away, arms laden with groceries, her features pinched with concern. She glanced from Tori to Mark and back again. “Is everything okay?” Tori shoved her hands in her back pockets. “Everything’s fine, thanks. I was just going home.” She wasn’t looking at Mark now, but his frustrated sigh filled her ears. Ignoring him, she smiled at Sarah. “Thanks for checking, though.” “Okay.” Sarah still sounded dubious and she focused a hard look on Mark. “If you’re sure.” “I’m sure.” Tori struggled to keep an irritated edge from her voice. “Good night.”

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Sarah shifted her grocery bags. “See you later.” She walked to her building, her blonde hair bouncing against her shoulders. She cast a couple of backward glances at them before disappearing. Tori edged away from Mark. “Thanks again for the invitation. I’m going home, though.” “Tori, come on.” She shook her head, throat tight and painful once more. “There’s no point. Good night.” She hurried across the parking lot. He called her name once, but she didn’t look back. She didn’t want him to see the tears she could no longer blink away. Inside her apartment, she locked the door and leaned against it. She wanted nothing more than to slide to the floor, bury her face against her knees and have a good cry, but closets and hiding places waited to be checked. Holding back a sob, she moved slowly to begin her ritual. The tears could wait until later. The need to satisfy the demons of fear couldn’t.

Damn it all. Mark scraped chicken and pasta into a plastic container and tossed it in the fridge. He couldn’t have screwed that up any better if he’d set out to do it. Stacking plates in the dishwasher, he shook his head. She actually believed no man would look beyond the rape to see her, to desire her. A harsh laugh escaped him and his mouth twisted. If she only knew. Before he’d thought about what he was doing, when he’d put his hand against the door, the heat of her body had hit him hard, his senses filled with a blend of citrus and warm skin, pure Tori. All he’d wanted to do was get closer, find out if she tasted as sweet as she smelled, and she couldn’t stand having him near her. With the dishwasher running, he stalked down the short hall to his bedroom. Staying here, surrounded by quiet, would drive him crazy. He tugged his T-shirt over his head and tossed it in the hamper. A few hours in a patrol car, his mind in cop mode, would give him perspective. He donned a department polo and tucked it in, pulled off his belt to attach his holster, radio and handcuffs case. Outside, the late-October evening remained warm and balmy. He glanced up at the dark sky. Maybe winter would actually get here by January. On the sidewalk, he stopped and stared at his

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empty parking space. A curse trembled on his lips. His truck. Tori had his mind in so many knots he’d forgotten about the disabled truck. He sighed and pulled the radio from his belt. It squawked as he adjusted the squelch. “C-3 to C-5.” “Go ahead, C-3.” Chris Parker’s smooth drawl crackled over the radio. “You busy?” “Oh yeah. I’m watching Miss Jeanette close up the Tank and Tummy. Much more excitement and I won’t be able to stand it.” Mark ran a hand over his hair. “Can you swing by and pick me up when you’re done?” “Sure thing.” The radio fell silent. Mark leaned against the stair railing, his gaze drawn to the lit windows across the parking lot. What was she doing, behind those blinds, surrounded by light? He passed a hand over his face. He didn’t need to think about that, about her. Especially, he didn’t need to think about showing her how desirable she was. A picture flashed through his head, her mouth under his, his hands shaping the full, rounded breasts outlined by that damnably cute bubblegum T-shirt. Like she’d ever want his touch on her. Like Tick wouldn’t shoot him where he stood just for thinking about it. The best thing he could do, for both of them, was forget about her. She was the kind of woman a guy built forever around and he’d already had one forever. Anything less would hurt her and another one would kill him. Moot point, definite catch twenty-two. He was done. Because he had to, he’d work with her, be polite when they were together, but nothing more than that. No more dinners, no more “favors”. And absolutely no desire or thinking about how to prove to her that any man would have to be crazy not to want her. Headlights swept the lot and the department’s K-9 unit cruised to a stop before Mark. The tinted window lowered and Chris Parker jerked his chin toward the empty parking slot. “Hey, where’s the Blazer?” “It died.” Mark ambled around to the passenger side and sank into the dark interior. A black nose snuffled around the cage between the front and back. The German Shepherd’s tail thumped

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against the seat and he whined, long and low. Mark eased his fingers between the openings in the cage, rubbing the dog’s snout. “Hey, Hound.” Chris shifted into drive and circled around the pool. Mark glanced up at Tori’s window once more. It glowed with artificial brightness. Chris pulled onto the deserted street. “You’re off tonight. Nothing better to do than hang out with me? Figured you had a hot date or something, since Angel Henderson’s been calling the station looking for you.” Mark groaned and dropped his head against the seat. “How many times?” “Two. Steve Monroe wrote her a ticket this morning. Bet she wants you to fix it.” Driving with one hand, Chris dug in his shirt pocket. He passed Mark a trio of message slips. “And Tick called a little while ago. Said you weren’t answering.” Probably because he’d been in the parking lot, making Tori cry. Mark slumped in the seat, the memory of those chocolate eyes glinting with unshed tears haunting him. Maybe he deserved to have Tick come after him. He held the message slip to the window and read it in the dim illumination flitting in from the streetlights. Call cell, ASAP. He flipped open his phone and punched in Tick’s number. It rang twice before the other man answered. “Calvert.” “What do you need?” Mark watched the sleeping business district crawl by outside. Chris shined the spotlight into each doorway and alley. “A favor.” Rustling paper filtered over the line. “I messed up big time.” Under the spotlight beam, a stray cat froze then darted behind a trashcan. “What?” “That conference by the St. Johns County Coalition Against Sexual Assault?” “Yeah?” Foreboding gripped Mark’s gut. Oh, man. Don’t let this be headed where he thought it was. St. Johns County? No way. “There’s a handful of seminars for law-enforcement personnel. I was supposed to go with Tori so she didn’t have to travel alone. I forgot about it.” Mark squeezed his eyes shut, temples pounding. Don’t say it, Tick. Please don’t say it. You don’t know what you’re asking. “There’s no way I can go. I can’t leave Cait. The department’s already paid the registration fee and there’s a no-refund policy. I need you to take my place.”

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“How does Tori feel about this?” Mark pinched the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t ask, but she won’t care. She likes you.” The enormous irony in that simple statement struck him as funny and a harsh laugh rumbled from his throat. “You sound awful damn confident about that.” Tick’s exasperated sigh filled the line between them. “Cookie, come on, I need you to do this. She’s determined to go and I don’t want her traveling by herself—” “Get somebody else to go. What about her friend from the hospital, Layla Whatever-hername-is?” “What good would it do us to have a physician’s assistant sit through law-enforcement classes? I want you to take notes, come back and redeliver on our next training day. And I can’t see Tori getting in a car with Chris or, God forbid, Troy Lee for a four-hour drive. She trusts you. Besides, I’ve already changed the registration from my name to yours.” When he could see straight again, the first thing Mark planned to do was kick Tick’s stubborn ass. Desperation crawled along his nerves. He wasn’t going to be able to get out of this. So much for staying away from temptation. Facing it was supposed to be good for a guy, right? He could do this. Three days with Tori in Florida. Alone. Heaven help him. Three days in St. Augustine, surrounded by everything he’d been trying to forget for almost twenty-freaking-years and trapped with a woman who’d made it her life’s mission to heal others. Shit, shit, shit— “Cookie? You there?” “Yeah. I’m here.” “So you’ll do it?” Like he had a choice. “Yeah, I’ll do it.” “Great. I’ll get you all of the paperwork and let Tori know. Later.” “Bye.” Muttering his full repertoire of curse words, he disconnected and flung the cell phone on the dash. Hound whined. “Damn it.” Easing into a right turn on to Bacon Street, Chris slanted a look his way. “What was that about?” “Tick wants me to go to that flippin’ sexual-assault conference in St. Augustine.”

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Chris shrugged. “So?” “With Tori.” “And the problem with that is? Not like spending three days with her would be a hardship.” Chris faked an exaggerated shudder. “Tick would be a bitch to deal with afterwards, though.” “Yeah.” The conference would take up eight hours of each day, but what of the remaining time? He couldn’t leave Tori on her own. St. Augustine and the surrounding area were his old stomping grounds; he’d grown up in a small town between the Oldest City and Jacksonville. He could show her all the things the tourists usually missed and watch the pleasure light her face, a wide smile curving that utterly kissable full mouth of hers. Distance. He was supposed to be thinking about putting distance between them, not getting further involved. If he was smart, he’d go to the conference workshops then park her in a hotel room all night long. Wrong thing to think about. That painted other pictures in his mind—kissing her, exploring those long legs and the curves under her jeans and T-shirt. He groaned. The worst thing was the fantasy didn’t even include sex. Just finding out what it would be like to kiss her. He was losing it. Chris laughed. “What’s with you tonight? You’re in another world.” “I’m obsessed.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “And not with sex either. Just with kissing her.” “Her who?” “Tori Calvert.” Saying it aloud actually felt pretty good and he could trust Chris to keep his mouth shut. The car swerved slightly and Chris stared at him. “You have a death wish or what?” “Guess so.” Chris shone the spotlight over the lot at Uncle Robert’s Used Cars. “Well, maybe in a couple months when that baby gets here, Tick’ll have too much to do to worry about killing you for going after her.” “Who said anything about going after her? I just said I wanted to kiss her.” Swinging into a U-turn, Chris passed the light over the gas station across the street. “Why wouldn’t you? She’s smart, funny, absolutely gorgeous.”

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Mark narrowed his eyes at him, a streak of possessiveness flaring. “Why don’t you ask her out, then?” “Because.” A streetlight illuminated Chris’s impassive expression. “She just doesn’t float my boat. Why don’t you ask her out?” The disastrous dinner didn’t count as a date. Mark turned away, staring at the low ranch houses that filled the residential district just behind the main business drag. Lights remained on in some, the blue lights of televisions flickering. He could envision what went on behind those curtains—dinner conversation, people gathered in front of a favorite movie, Monopoly boards spread out on kitchen tables, parents helping with homework assignments. Families going on with the business of being families. That’s what Tori deserved, a guy who could give her that kind of life. “I’m all wrong for her. She needs the kind of guy who wants the house-and-minivan thing, trips to Disney World and all that. I’m not that guy. I don’t do forever.”

*** “He wants his wife back. He wants a normal life and I don’t know when that’s going to happen again.” Nicole King wrapped her arms around her knees and rocked back and forth. Bright fall sunlight filtered through the pine trees, picking out the highlights in Nicole’s red hair. “Or even if it’s going to.” Tori stared beyond the small group of women to the river below the park. She was such a fraud. Her job was to help them regain their lives, to build intimacy once more. What did she know? Maybe she should take the grief-counselor position open at the hospital. “We haven’t…made love in seven months. Since a couple of days before the rape,” Nicole whispered. The words emerged as if from a raw throat. “I can’t. I don’t even want him to hug me. It’s too much.” Forcing herself to pull everything together, Tori looped her own arms around her knees and smiled at Nicole. At least she could spout the textbook advice. “There’s no deadline, Nicole. Recovery is an intensely personal experience. For some, it takes longer than others. Have you tried counseling as a couple?” www.samhainpublishing.com

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Nicole blinked, her clear blue eyes glittering. “Joey won’t. He says he doesn’t need to talk about it. He just wants to forget it ever happened. He wants me to forget it too.” Red flags flew at full staff in Tori’s brain, but she kept her face composed. “Nic, why don’t you try to get him to come with you for your personal session next week? Maybe if I talk to him—” “I’ll try.” Nicole didn’t sound as if she held out much hope and anger flitted through Tori. Didn’t the guy realize how much Nicole needed him right now? Silence descended on the group for long seconds. Lisa Davidson picked at tufts of grass, her pretty face set in tight lines. “At least he stayed with you,” she said, her voice quiet. “My boyfriend dumped me afterwards. I was used goods to him. Jerk.” “All guys are jerks.” Patty Bennet lay on her back, one knee bent over the other, her gaze on the cloudless sky. The textbook from her college English course rested on her stomach. Tori slanted a look at the nineteen-year-old, a seething mass of insecurity and resentment. “Why do you say that?” “Because it’s true. My old man who smacked me around when he was drunk and pissed off. The guy who raped me. The pricks at school who think I must be an easy lay because of it.” “Oh, Patty.” Nicole reached for her hand, but Patty jerked away. “That’s only three examples. Not all guys are like that.” Sitting up, Patty tossed her golden hair over her shoulder. “Well, your precious Joey makes number four. He wants you to forget it ever happened. Like that’s possible.” Lisa glanced up. “Tori? What do you think?” “I think Patty’s entitled to her anger.” Tori smoothed her hair behind her ear. “I also think there are many great guys out there. Joey’s going through a lot of his own. Men with a partner who’s suffered a rape have a whole set of issues involving recovery.” Patty narrowed her eyes. “Name one. One of those great guys. And your brother doesn’t count.” Mark Cook. Tori swallowed. He was decent. She fiddled with her watchband. Funny how her mind went there first. “Investigator Cook with the sheriff’s department.” Face drawn in a suspicious frown, Patty watched her for several moments. “For real?”

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“Yeah. For real. He’s a good guy.” Patty reached for her discarded English book and bag. “I’ve got a class. I need to go.” Squinting against the sun, Tori tilted her face up to look at her. “Same time next week. And call me if you need to talk.” “Yeah. Sure. Later.” “I should be going too.” Nicole rose in a fluid motion. “I’m supposed to meet Joey for lunch. Want a ride back to work, Lisa?” “Please.” Smiling, Lisa wrapped Tori in a quick hug. “Have a good day, okay? You look sad.” Tori returned the hug. She’d learned a while ago that Lisa craved affection from her female acquaintances, something she was still unable to accept from any male she knew, father and brother included. “Thanks. Take care.” With the others gone, she stared down at the river. The brown water moved with deceptive slowness. Under the muddy surface lurked wicked currents, just waiting to pull someone under. A lot like life. A lot like those jerks Patty kept pointing out. She rested her chin on her knees, doubts crowding in. How could she help Nicole rebuild intimacy in her relationship when she’d never even had a genuine relationship of her own? She couldn’t really be helping any of them, especially if underneath it all she was afraid to step out and take a chance on a relationship. Mark had tried to call her back Saturday night and she’d run from him. He’d asked why he wouldn’t want her. He couldn’t seriously be interested in her, could he? No. Not with women like Angel around, women who could meet his normal needs. Even if he was attracted to her, she couldn’t risk getting involved with him. Sooner or later, the issues would be too much for him and she’d end up hurt. She’d definitely done the right thing by walking away. Her cell phone chirped and she dug it out of her purse. “Hello?” “Hey. Are you busy?” Tick asked. She brushed an ant off her ankle. “Nope. Just finished a group session. How’s Cait?”

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“Not so good. She’s really nauseous today.” He cleared his throat. “Listen, about the conference in St. Augustine—” “You’re bailing on me, aren’t you? Tick, it’s okay. I understand.” “Cookie’s taking my place.” Her ability to think or breathe dissipated. Surely he hadn’t just said that. “What?” “I meant to call you last night and forgot, but I talked to Cookie and set it up. He’s going to Florida with you.” She lowered the phone and stared at the screen. Oh Lord. Now what was she supposed to do?

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Chapter Four

He had to get out of this car. Mark gripped the armrest on the Miata’s door. Tori hadn’t spoken since lunch in Lake City, more than two hours ago, and the silence made his nerves crawl. As if that wasn’t enough, she was the worst driver he’d ever seen. Every trucker between here and Tallahassee had to be cussing her for all he was worth. “Tori,” he said, keeping his voice casual, “who taught you to drive?” The wind, rushing in her open window, tousled her hair. “Tick. Why?” “Just wondering.” Well, that explained it. He checked his watch. “We should be there soon.” She nodded. “I love the way the landscape changes the closer you get to the ocean.” An ancient and abandoned roadside diner flashed by. Cookie turned his gaze the other way. The place had once served the best pancakes in the area. Jenny had been crazy about them smothered with blueberry syrup. That last morning, she’d eaten two helpings of them. He hadn’t wanted a pancake since. “Oh, my gosh!” Tori’s excited squeal jolted him seconds before she swerved into the lefthand turn lane. Heart pounding, he threw out a hand and braced against the dash. He glanced behind them, expecting to see a multi-car pileup in progress. “What?” “I have to stop here.” www.samhainpublishing.com

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“Where? Why?” The car sounded okay. What was with the sudden need to stop? And there was nothing here to stop for. They were fifteen miles outside of St. Augustine and at least five miles from Preston. “Look at this place. It’s incredible.” He glanced up, his stomach still jumping with the suddenness of her turn. A chill swept over him. The antique mall. He stared at the long low building with the massive double-decker bus in front. No way. He couldn’t go in there. Her wheels crunched on the white limestone and she pulled to a stop near the front door. “This is so great.” One look at her face and he sighed. Her eyes sparkled with glee and a wide smile curved her mouth and showed off white teeth. For that smile, he’d go anywhere, even his own personal hell. She swung out of the car, her wind-tossed hair bouncing around her shoulders. The faded jeans hugged her cute little rear end. Yeah, he’d follow that anywhere too. He pushed the door open and stepped out. She perused the items piled along the building front. The rounded fullness of her breasts pushed against her snug white T-shirt. Slamming the car door, he leaned an arm on the roof. How could she look like that and think no guy would want her? Hell, looking at her made his teeth hurt. Still smiling, she looked at him over her shoulder. “Let’s go inside.” He filled his lungs with moist, salt-laden air and complied, holding the screen door open for her. He caught a whiff of her sweet scent as she passed him. Three days. He’d never survive. Either the memories or her torturous presence, one or the other, would do him in. Inside, the smell of old furniture hit him. Brighter than he remembered, the interior was crowded, jammed with every conceivable item. With clean white paint covering the plank walls and the windowpanes cleared of grime, sunlight flooded the long, low room. Hard to believe this was the same place he’d spent so many of his breaks, dropping by for ten minutes just to see Jenny and be with her, sometimes bringing her an RC and a MoonPie merely to see her pleasure in the small surprise. He could almost smile at the remembrance, maybe because it felt like he was standing on neutral ground now, somewhere removed from that faraway time and place.

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Tori aahed over a stack of old windows. She leaned over, flipping through them. At the waistband of her jeans, just below the small of her back, a flash of red and black winked at him. A tattoo? Victoria Calvert possessed a tattoo? A tickle ran over his fingers. More than anything, he wanted to reach forward, inch the waistband on her jeans down and find out. Who’d have thought it? A hundred bucks said Tick didn’t know about it either. “Why are you smiling at me like that?” Tori looked at him, her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “Like what?” he asked, striving for an innocent “who me?” air. She rested a hand on one hip, emphasizing the smooth nip of her waist. She shook back her hair, the tangled fall of dark silk a gorgeous mess any supermodel would be proud of. “Like you know something I don’t.” More like he knew something Tick would pitch a fit over. His grin widened and he leaned against the old produce table behind him, arms crossed over his chest. “I’m just…” Enjoying the view. He swallowed the words. Indulging in a flirtation with her wasn’t in his plans. A gazillion reminders and maybe he’d get that idea through his head. “I’m just wondering where you think you’re going to put anything you buy.” “Oh.” She waved off the concern. “I’ll pay extra to have it shipped home.” “You folks finding everything okay?” The woman’s pleasant voice had the distinct accent of a coastal Florida small town. She greeted them from the end of the aisle, her tall figure clad in jeans and a linen blouse tied at her waist. Her red hair kicked out in a short, trendy cut. She moved toward them. “I know it’s a little crowded. I just bought new inventory and haven’t sorted everything out yet.” “This place is wonderful. I could plunder all day. Oh my gosh, this is beautiful.” Tori rubbed her palm over a salvaged porch column. Mark sighed. He was jealous of a piece of freaking wood. “Isn’t it? I had eight of them. That’s the last one.” Tori curved her hand around the strong pillar and looked over her shoulder at Mark. “This would be great in your living room.”

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Why would he need a porch column in his living room? He shook his head. “Not my style.” Her expression turned impish. “Your style? What is that? Barren bachelor pad?” The store owner’s smile widened. “I’ll just leave you two to browse, then. Let me know if you need anything.” “Thanks,” Tori said, already eyeing the rows of items waiting to be discovered. Frowning, Mark watched the woman walk away. Close to his age, she triggered some sense of familiarity. Heck, he’d probably gone to high school with her. “Mark, come on. Let’s see what else is hiding in here.” Tori tugged him away from the table. The warmth of her hand on his upper arm jolted through him. When had she started calling him Mark? Oh man, he liked the sound of his name on her lips way too much. Carefully, he removed his arm from her easy hold. He kept his face blank, going for a bored air. “You plunder all you want and have a blast, but this isn’t my thing.” Her enthusiasm dimmed and her hands fluttered a moment before she stuck them in the back pockets of her jeans. “Oh. Okay. We can go if you like.” Wonderful. She looked at him like he’d just kicked her cat or something. No wonder she had Tick and her other brothers wrapped around her pretty little fingers. Buying time to gather his words, he freed a piece of gum from its foil and stuck it in his mouth, the first burst of wintergreen tingling over his tongue. “Take your time. We don’t have anywhere to be. It’s not going to kill me to hang around while you browse.” He glanced around at the clutter, his gaze falling on a stack of faded CocaCola crates. He shook his head. People paid money for this? “I’m just not into…stuff.” “I figured that out by looking at your apartment.” She moved down the narrow aisle, peering into glass display cases and plastic milk crates full of miscellaneous items. She picked up a glass telephone-pole insulator, turned it over to scrutinize the bottom and put it down again before she touched a finger to an old metal toy tractor. Mark sighed. They’d be here all day, but if she kept smiling like that, all of the shadows gone from her eyes, the time would be worth it. He followed her.

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A pie safe with punched tin doors caught his attention. Jenny had wanted one like it and he’d spent the weekend before her birthday building a replica. He’d cut his fingers all to hell punching crooked hearts and flowers in sheets of tin, and in the lower left door, he’d entwined their initials in the design. Just like this one— Heart pounding, he leaned closer. A thin layer of rust hid the tin’s shine, but sure enough, the door held a stylized M intersecting with a J. He stood too quickly, blood rushing to his head, his vision blurring, a dull roar taking over his ears. It couldn’t be. He’d hauled the damn thing off to Goodwill, along with Jenny’s books, their cheap dinette set and all the baby stuff they’d never used. The rough letters mocked him, and for a moment, he was standing on the front porch of the tiny row house again and Jenny smiled at him over the top of the safe, eyes sparkling, fingers caressing the wood. He swallowed, his throat tight and painful. Shaking off the sensation, he looked around for Tori. Oblivious to him, she stood a couple of rows over, searching through a stack of old linens. He turned away from her rapt expression and passed a hand over his damp face. “Hey, Tor.” His voice emerged choked, a little shaky, and he cleared his throat. “Hmmm?” She didn’t look at him, but held an embroidered tablecloth up to the light. “I’m stepping outside. You take your time.” “Sure.” She laid the cloth aside and resumed her quest. If he’d ever wondered about his role in her life, there was his answer. He ranked somewhere below a pile of old napkins and things. Pushing his now flavorless gum to the other cheek, he chewed harder. Near the front door, the redhead was tagging items. “Find anything you like?” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “She’s still browsing.” “Great.” She smiled, her gaze trained on the tag before her. As he passed, Mark studied her. He knew her. Something about the shape of her blue eyes. He stopped, hand on the door. “Have you had this place long?”

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She glanced up, her expression open and friendly. “A couple of years. I’ve lived just a few miles up the road, in Preston, all my life though. I used to work summers here when I was younger and I always loved it.” Worked here. So had Jenny, her second part-time job. Blue eyes, red hair. He swallowed his gum, choking. Laurie. Oh, hell. “Are you okay?” She reached for him, but he backed out the door before she could touch him. “Fine. Just swallowed my gum.” He stepped into the harsh sunlight, dragging in gulps of damp sea air. Laurie. A rough laugh escaped him. He’d grieved with her, cried with her, slept with her, and she didn’t remember him. God, he was glad she didn’t remember him. The last thing he wanted was a “hey, how’ve you been, let’s dredge up the past” conversation. He didn’t need to dredge up the past. He carried it around with him every damned second of every damned day.

Filled with a giddy lightness, Tori hurried into the parking lot. Finding the perfect pieces always made her feel like she’d completed a fantastic treasure hunt. However, if she kept this up, she’d need a bigger apartment. Either that or she’d have to start passing things off to her friends and family. Poor Mark. She’d lost track of time, left him standing around far too long while she spent far too much money. He leaned against the trunk of her car and she put on her brightest smile as she joined him. “I’m so sorry. I get wound up in…” The words died on her lips. He stared across the highway, but his eyes seemed blank and unseeing, the sharp focus they always had gone. Concern flared. “Mark?” She laid a gentle hand on his arm and he flinched. He straightened away from her touch, the clearing of his throat a rough and uncomfortable sound. “Ready to go?” “Sure.” Tori eyed the pallor of his face, the tiny beads of perspiration above his lip. “Are you feeling all right?” “Fine. Let’s go.” He stalked to the passenger side, opened the door and sank into the seat.

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As she settled behind the wheel, she glanced at him. He stared straight ahead, chewing his gum so hard it looked like he was tearing into a tough steak. After starting the engine, she adjusted the air conditioner, but didn’t shift into gear. “What’s wrong?” He chewed harder. “Nothing.” She frowned. If he was angry, why not just say so? She’d never suspected he harbored a passive-aggressive streak. “Mark, if you’re mad because you had to wait, I already apologized.” “I’m not mad.” “Then what’s wrong?” “Nothing.” “Come on, something’s obviously bothering you—” “Tori!” His voice exploded in the confines of the car and she jumped. His hands clenched on his knees. “Leave it the hell alone, okay?” For a long moment, she couldn’t breathe. She held on to the steering wheel, a lifebuoy in suddenly treacherous seas. Oh, sweet Jesus, she was alone with him. He could do anything and there was pitifully little she could do to stop him. “Don’t look at me like that.” The skin around his mouth glowed white with tension. He stared at her, his torso heaving. “L-like what?” She tucked her hair behind her ears. Her fingers shook and the sick rush of adrenaline continued to pulse in her gut and chest. “Like you’re afraid of me.” His hands clenched into fists, but remained on his thighs. “I’m sorry I yelled, but I wouldn’t hurt you, Tori. Ever.” She’d believed that once, but the loss of control left her shaky, tears pricking at her lids. She blinked them away. Damn if she was going to cry in front of him. She reached for the gearshift. “We should get going. I wasted enough time—” “Wait.” His hand covered hers and she stared at his tanned fingers. The warmth of his touch should have been comforting, but every nerve in her body was crawling, screaming for space. “Tori, I—” “Please don’t touch me.” She pushed the words out between numb lips. He released her immediately, returning his hand to his lap. “Tor, listen to me.”

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“Don’t call me Tor.” Her voice trembled, but she straightened in her seat, stiffening her spine. Face the fear. The first step in recovery was facing the fear. “You don’t get to call me that.” “Okay.” He subsided into the seat, staring out the window again, jaw working over his gum. With a deep breath, Tori shifted into gear, careful not to touch him. Three days. She had to get through three more days in his company. A shudder traveled along her skin. She didn’t want to. She wanted to go home, cry on Tick’s shoulder…no, not Tick. Not while he was caring for Caitlin. Her mother. She wanted to curl up under a quilt and cry on Mama’s shoulder. Yeah well, you’re not going to. Frightened little girls ran home to Mama and she wasn’t a little girl anymore. She’d handled worse than this. A tear slid down her cheek and she sucked in a harsh breath. Nerves continued jumping in her chest and fine tremors shook her. She blinked away a blur of tears and tried to focus on the road. Her concentration was shot and she needed to stop and get herself together before she got them killed. Just ahead on the right sat a sad-looking convenience store. Without speaking, she pulled into the parking lot and scrambled from the car. Fighting against sobs already burning her lungs, she hurried inside. “Do you have a restroom?” she asked the teenager working the register. “Through there.” Popping her gum, the girl pointed toward an archway at the back of the store. “Thanks.” Brushing away tears, Tori found the tiny room and locked herself in. Avoiding the mirror, she leaned against the wall, wrapped her arms around her midriff and gave in to the sobs. She cried until the postadrenaline crash passed, until the heaving lessened to harsh breaths and finally to sniffles. Pulling toilet tissue from the roll, she blew her nose and dared to look at herself in the mirror. Her eyes were red and swollen in her blotchy face and the little mascara she’d worn now streaked her cheeks. She grabbed a handful of paper towels, dampened them and scrubbed. The water kissed her skin with coolness, offering relief from the hot tracks of her tears. A light tap at the door stiffened her body. “Tori, are you all right?”

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All right? Suppressing a hysterical bubble of laughter, she pressed the back of her wrist to her forehead. She swallowed hard. “I’m fine.” Fabric whispered against the cheap wooden door and an image of him leaning close to the door flickered in her mind. Humiliation burned her throat, heat flushing her face. She’d acted completely insane, going off the deep end because he raised his voice. Maybe she should have just left his “nothing” alone. She blew out a long breath. Some psychologist she was turning out to be. She’d seen the signs something was bothering him, and she’d stomped all over his personal boundaries. She rested her forehead against the cool mirror. He had to think she was an unstable flake. Oh, time to face facts—unstable flake was right. She gulped back a fresh wave of tears. “Tori?” Another soft tap. She sighed, a shaky exhalation of breath. “Yes?” “I’m sorry I lost my temper, sorry I raised my voice at you.” He cleared his throat. “I shouldn’t have—” She jerked the door open, stopping the words. Sure enough, he stood close to the doorway, his face drawn, eyes a darker, stormier shade of gray. She clutched her damp paper towels tighter. “I’m the one who needs to apologize. I pushed past your personal boundaries and then I acted like a…like a…” “Someone who got yelled at?” he offered, a hint of humor tugging at his mouth, although his eyes remained serious and concerned. “Although Tick would use the term ‘spoiled brat’.” Glad he was back to normal, she gave his upper arm a light smack. The muscle didn’t give under her touch. “Be nice.” “Listen, I…this town makes me tense. I shouldn’t take that out on you and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” “If we keep this up, we’ll never get to St. Augustine.” She brushed her tangled hair away from her face. “No more apologizing. We’re both guilty and we’re both sorry it happened. So we move forward. Deal?” She stuck out her right hand. He looked down at it a moment and nodded. “Deal.”

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His hand engulfed hers. A rough palm slid along hers, warm fingers moving across her skin. The contact set off a tingle that traveled from her hand into the deepest part of her. She wanted more. She wanted that hand on her upper arm, her shoulder, her nape, pulling her in. She looked up at him. In his somber gaze, the concern shifted into an emotion she didn’t recognize. Her mouth went dry, stomach taking a slow somersaulting fall. He was still holding her hand and she didn’t want him to let go. Instead, she wished he’d draw her closer. After a long moment, he dropped her hand. “Come on, let’s get something to drink and hit the road.”

Silence coated the trip into St. Augustine, but at least the awful tension had receded. Mark slumped in the seat. He was low, lower than Jed Stinson. Knowing she didn’t react well to sudden loud noises—he’d been at Tick’s one day when a ladder had crashed to the ground and scared her close to tears—he’d yelled at her. Wanting time to come to grips with an overload of memories wasn’t an excuse either. As they entered the nation’s oldest city, Tori rested her elbow on the open window, head on her hand, her eyes round as she eyed the scenery. Mark tried to see everything with her fresh insight: the mishmash of styles, Spanish-inspired homes, ornate Victorians in vivid colors, ultramodern hotels. Moss hung from massive live oaks like the bushy beards of ancient old men. Tourists in bright clothing roamed the sidewalks. She slowed behind a red tourist train. He tapped his fingers against his knee, a half-empty bottle of water resting on his thigh. The quiet crawled around them. He needed to break that silence, but she’d already told him she didn’t want another apology. “The woman at the antique mall was really nice,” she said, the suddenness of her words startling him. He didn’t look at her. Her voice was too bright, like she was trying hard to make things normal. “Yeah?” “She gave me a ton of brochures for the sites and tours here.” She patted her purse.

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“There’s a load of them.” Brilliant. She was sure to be impressed by his conversational skills. A light turned red ahead, slowing traffic further. In the park next to the intersection, children played on swings and rode an elaborate merry-go-round. “I bet it would take days to do everything here.” “Probably.” Sighing, she ruffled her hair. “The only thing that didn’t sound interesting was the ghost tour. Walking in the dark, waiting to be frightened to death, isn’t my idea of a good time.” His, either, although he could get into the idea of a nice moonlit stroll with her on the bay front. Whoa. He reined in that stray. Traffic crawled forward. “Do you believe in ghosts?” Hard not to, when he had enough of them to last a lifetime. Down here, they lay around every corner. He shrugged. “Never thought much about it.” “Why does this area make you tense?” The soft question jolted through him, and he straightened. Damn, this was like being in the interrogation room with Tick—a series of smooth, idle questions lulling a suspect until the deadly inquiry came out of nowhere. He crossed his arms over his chest. So she wanted to play twenty questions. He could do that. “When did you get a tattoo?” Lips parted, she stared at him. “How did you—” “Do you plan to take out that car full of little old ladies on vacation or would you like to hit the brakes?” He pressed the invisible brake on his side of the car. It didn’t work. Muttering a word he didn’t know she knew, she jerked her attention back to the road and slammed a foot on the brake pedal. The seatbelt pulled tight across his chest, and he gave into an irresistible grin. He was right; it was a tattoo. She eased around a curve and the Castillo de San Marco loomed on their left. She glanced at the centuries-old fort. Brushing her tangled hair back, she flexed her fingers on the steering wheel. “You didn’t answer the question.” Surely she didn’t think he’d fall for that. “You’re right. I didn’t.” Her pretty lips lifted at the corners. “Mark, come on. I’m curious.”

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That flash of red and black on her smooth skin flickered in his mind again. “So am I.” A horse-drawn carriage clopped by in the opposite direction. Her gaze scanned the street signs as they neared the Bridge of Lions. “Then we’ll trade. For every one of your questions I answer, you have to answer one of mine.” Red flags tried to wave in his mind, but all he could think of was uncovering her secrets, getting to the real Tori under all the protective layers. “All right. I get to go first.” She didn’t like that. He could tell because of the way her mouth firmed, but finally she nodded. “Okay. First question.” An irresistible smirk stretched his mouth. “Does your brother know about that tattoo?” She sighed. “No. And you don’t have to tell him either.” Tell Tick? No way. Not when he could relish the sweetness of knowing something his partner didn’t. “Your turn.” Eyes narrowed, she tapped her short nails on the wheel. “Give me a second. I’m thinking.” Nerves jerked in his gut. She was smart, too smart for his good and there was no telling what question she’d come up with. He swallowed a groan. No matter what she asked, honor would bind him to answer.

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Chapter Five

Tori eased the Miata into the motel parking lot and stopped in front of the office. She slanted a glance at Mark, sure she’d come up with the perfect question. “Okay. Ready?” “And waiting.” Boredom laced the words. She twisted in the seat, better to see his face. “What did you lose down here?” He stilled, the line of his body stiffening, but after a moment, he relaxed, a practiced smirk playing around his mouth. “My virginity.” Irritation crawled through her, followed by a tendril of disappointment. “Mark, come on. Answer the question.” He chuckled. “I did.” “With a serious answer.” “How much more serious can I get? You asked what I lost and I told you.” She wrapped her fingers around the steering wheel. Too bad it wasn’t his neck. “You knew what I meant.” “No, you asked a question and I merely made an interpretation.” A completely wrong one. She narrowed her eyes at him. “All right, fine. Ask me another one.”

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Admiration flared in his gray gaze, but she refused to squirm under his long, slow assessment. “Are we checking in?” She pushed her door open. “You’re impossible.” “Yeah, but I’m fun.” His low laugh slid over her as they walked to the office. When he held the door, she caught a whiff of that spicy soap he used as she passed. Lord, he smelled good—clean and warm, no overload of aftershave. Her stomach flipflopped and she sighed. She was hopeless. Outdated shades of country blue and mauve decorated the small office, but the area gleamed, the scent of cleaning solution hanging in the air. “Welcome to the Bayview.” The dark-haired young man behind the front desk smiled. His black tie contrasted with a stiffly starched white shirt. “May I help you?” “We have a reservation.” Tori dug in her purse for the slip of paper with the confirmation number scribbled on it. She had to stop throwing all her grocery-store and gas receipts in this thing. Triumphant, she grinned and slid the paper across the desk to him. He looked at it and turned to the computer, sliding glances her way as he did so. His assessment made her uncomfortable and she shifted, pulling out her wallet and extracting her credit card. The guy was staring now, probably because her hair looked like it hadn’t seen a brush in days. Lord, did she have something in her teeth? She ran her tongue over them, hoping to dislodge whatever it was. Cheeks burning, she laid her credit card on the desk. “Both rooms on this, please.” “Right.” He swiped the card, still eyeing her. Sheesh, she couldn’t look that bad. Tucking errant strands behind her ear, she cast a surreptitious glance at the large round mirror hanging behind a huge fake flower arrangement. She swallowed a groan. She did look that bad. Actually, she looked worse, her hair a tangled mess, her skin pink from wind, sun and crying. Afraid to see anymore, she turned away. Paperwork in hand, the clerk continued staring. Her cheeks burned. No telling what Mark thought about her, appearing in public like this. Bet Angel’s hair never looked like a bird’s nest. Behind her, Mark sighed, the sound heavy with exasperation. “Hey, buddy, just check us in, would you? It’s been a long drive.”

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To Tori’s intense relief, the younger man pulled his gaze from her face and laid the registration on the desk. “Sign here, please.” She scrawled her signature and passed the pen back to him. He handed her two key cards in tiny folders and pointed to the laminated map on the desktop. “You’re in room 112, Ms. Calvert. Mr. Cook’s in 114. Let me, er, us know if you need anything.” “Thanks.” She picked up the folders and offered Mark the one marked 114. The hard lines of his face and the coldness of his eyes made her falter, her fingers trembling a little as he took the card from her. She clutched her own tighter. “Ready?” “Yeah.” He pushed the door open with a tight, frustrated movement and waited for her to precede him. Her face still hot, she walked to the driver’s side and sank into the seat. Mark folded himself into the passenger seat. She stuck the key in the ignition, but didn’t start the car. Instead she flipped the vanity mirror down and bared her teeth. Nothing. “What are you doing?” Irritation lingered in Mark’s voice. “Checking my teeth.” She glanced at him. He frowned at her, his eyes a stormy gray, his jaw taut. “That guy was staring and I thought maybe I had something from lunch caught between them.” His barking laugh filled the tiny interior. “You can’t be that clueless.” “What?” She looked at her reflection again. Did he see something she didn’t? “He wasn’t looking at you because you had something in your teeth.” With a sigh, she snapped the mirror closed. “Probably my hair. It’s a mess.” Mark reached for the mirror and opened it. Cupping his hand under her chin, he tipped her face up so she confronted her reflection. “He was looking at that.” Trying to ignore the little shockwaves his gentle touch sent over her skin, she looked at herself. Eyes, nose, lips. Nothing remarkable, the eyes a little red-rimmed from crying. She shrugged, displacing her chin from his hand. “Why?” His index finger skimmed over the curve of her cheek, a soft brush that left a trail of fire. “Because you’re flippin’ gorgeous.”

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This time she laughed, to cover the hard lump in her throat. She couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn’t stand to see the mockery she was sure would be there. “Right. Be serious, Mark.” “I am.” With tender pressure, he forced her gaze up to his. No mockery glinted in his. Instead, a steady glow burned there, kicking off an answering fire in the pit of her stomach. She swallowed, unable to look away. No one had ever looked at her like that, and heaven help her, she was glad it was him doing so now. “Listen to me,” he said, fingers moving against her skin in a slow caress. The already small interior seemed to grow even smaller, the air disappearing, until there was only him and his warm touch. “You’re so beautiful it hurts and any man would be crazy not to want you.” Even him? The question scorched her tongue, but she couldn’t get the words out. His answer would mean too much, could hurt too much. One strong finger tilted her chin up. He leaned closer, the cotton of his shirt whispering against the car’s cloth interior. Her heart pounded out a painful rhythm and the fiery ache in her stomach grew hotter, more intense. A slow smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Any man,” he whispered and lowered his head. At the first tentative touch of his mouth on hers, every nerve in her body jumped. He kissed her, a feathery brush. His firm mouth was warm and smooth, and elusive traces of wintergreen and spice filled her nose. Her eyes drifted shut and he lifted his head, nose grazing hers before he met her lips again. This second kiss was different, his mouth molding to hers, coaxing her to respond. Fire danced through her and she sighed. High school hadn’t been like this, and when she’d dated after her rape, she’d avoided anything other than a peck to her cheek. But, oh, kissing Mark was different, like eating her mama’s cheese straws straight from the oven, hot and spicy and melting all at once. She shifted closer, relishing the feel of his mouth on hers, wanting more. Her hands settled on his biceps, hard and firm under her touch, his polo shirt soft against her palms. A strangled groan vibrated through him and he pulled back. Filled with instantaneous loss, she stared into gray eyes brimming with stormy desire. Desire. Chilling awareness filtered through her and she dropped her hands. This was Mark. She

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was sure the women he usually dated took desire a lot further than simple kisses and they probably didn’t feel sick at the mere idea of going beyond that. She was so out of her league with him. “We’re in a public parking lot.” He rubbed his palms over his thighs and a rough laugh escaped him as he jerked a thumb over his shoulder toward the office. “We probably just made that guy’s day.” She couldn’t speak, so she swallowed hard, reached for the key and fired the engine. A couple of deep breaths and she cleared her throat. “We should clean up and go get something to eat.” “Yeah.” His voice remained a little rough around the edges and his gaze lay like a weight on her. “There are some great places on the bay. We can walk and I’ll show you the sights.” The idea of walking with him, being alone with him, set flutters off in her stomach again. Besides, if they were sightseeing, she didn’t have to worry about disappointing him. Shifting into drive, she cast him a sidelong look. Maybe the desire didn’t mean anything. He’d been with lots of women. Most likely, he felt the same thing with all of them. The flutters sank like stones tossed off the dock into Mama’s pond. He didn’t want her. He’d just been trying to prove a point. She angled the Miata into the parking spot in front of room 112. Beautiful. He’d called her gorgeous. The flutters tried to lift again and she squashed them. No telling how many times he’d said the same thing to some other woman. It didn’t mean anything. “Let’s unload the trunk.” She swung out of the car, trying to shrug off the silly depression pressing in on her. Lord, Tick was right. She needed to grow up. With shaky hands, she unlocked the trunk and reached for her bag. “I’ve got it,” Mark said and lifted both overnight bags. His arm brushed hers, the brief contact jolting her. Slamming the trunk a little harder than necessary, she walked to her door and slid the card through the electronic lock. She glanced down the walkway, assessing possible threats. No trees, no shrubbery for anyone to hide in.

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She pushed the door open and stepped inside, swamped by the institutional smell of the hotel room. A table and two chairs sat in front of the large window, and a pair of beds rested beneath cheap ocean prints. Across from the beds, a television and clock radio took up the top of the dresser. Tori moved into the room, using her foot to see if the beds were on a platform or frame. A platform. No way anyone could hide under them. The bathroom sink was in an anteroom outside the actual bath, and she glanced into the tiny room. Glass shower door. No shower curtain for concealment. No window to be used for entry. A connecting door with deadbolt stood outside the anteroom. If Tick had been with her, they’d have left the connecting doors open, the way they always did when they traveled together. He complained about her leaving the lights on, but his presence was always a comfort. Somehow, she didn’t see herself leaving that door open with Mark in the other room. She glanced over her shoulder at him, still standing in the open doorway, watching her assess the room. Heat swept her face. He had to think she was crazy. She lifted her chin with a hint of defiance. So what if she was? At least she was safety conscious. “Thanks.” She crossed to take her bag from his easy grasp. She wrapped a hand around the door’s edge. “What time do you want to meet for dinner?” He shrugged, his gaze dark and a little cool. “Take your time. Call me when you’re ready.” He stepped outside then turned back to her. “And remember, I’m just next door if you need anything.” “Sure.” He thought she was paranoid. And why not? She was. He walked away and she closed the door, throwing the deadbolt and sliding the chain. Making sure the curtains were shut, she laid her bag on the bed. She should have asked him where he intended to take her to dinner, whether she should dress up or not. Not that it mattered. She’d brought a suit to wear for her presentation, but everything else was casual wear. Jeans and a shirt. Nothing fancy. Nothing to make him think she was trying to impress him. Her lips tingled and she ran a finger over them. Who was she kidding? He’d said she was beautiful and now she did want to impress him. “You’re crazy,” she chided, shaking out a white buttondown shirt. “He was being nice. It didn’t mean anything, Victoria Jean. Remember that.”

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Remembering the warning was hard, though, when the sound of his voice and the feel of his lips occupied all of her memories.

Mark fell back on the hard motel bed, an arm over his eyes. Sensations from that kiss continued to strum through his body and a rough sigh shook him. Damn, he’d lost his mind. Letting temptation get the better of him, then getting more satisfaction from that one kiss than he ever had from a night of sex with some woman he wouldn’t see again. The reality of kissing her far surpassed what he’d imagined. Her mouth had been full, hot and moist, and her tentative touch on his arms had set him on fire. Great. He groaned around a harsh laugh. The semi caused by that kiss had finally receded while he’d watched her check that room, and now simply thinking about her had him halfway-to-hard and bothered again. He’d offered to take her to dinner and on a personal sightseeing tour. This place wasn’t a honeymoon Mecca for nothing. Around every corner, it seemed, lurked romantic little spots begging to be used for stolen kisses and hidden caresses. He was freakin’ nuts. Through the wall came the sound of her shower running. Oh, hell. Mere feet away, she was naked, water sluicing over those curves, maybe beading on that tattoo he hadn’t seen yet. More blood and fire rushed south of his belt. At least she’d have plenty of hot water. For the next three days, he’d only need the cold. His cell phone’s shrill shriek pierced the air, and he jerked. He pulled it from his belt and flipped it open, not looking at the screen. “Cook.” “Hey, it’s Tick. Y’all there yet?” “Yeah. We just checked in.” He rubbed a hand over his eyes. He was supposed to be watching out for Tick’s little sister, not kissing her. With his luck, Tick would hear the guilt in his voice. “Good.” A pause hovered on the line. “Tori okay?” Okay? She was unreal. Mark cleared his throat. “She’s fine. We stopped at an antique mall on the way down.” “Lord help you.” Tick laughed, but the sound seemed artificial. “You got a minute to talk?”

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Mark frowned. “Sure. We’re going to grab a bite in a little while, but we both needed to clean up first. What’s going on?” Foreboding gripped his gut. Oh, hell. Maybe something had gone wrong with Falconetti’s pregnancy. “It’s not Falconetti, is it? Or the baby?” “No. She’s actually sleeping right now. I just…I need to talk to somebody, Mark.” Mark. Tick calling him Mark was not a good thing. The other man had only done so a handful of times in the years they’d known each other—the day a fellow officer had died, the horrific night when Mark had had to inform Tick about Tori’s attack, a couple of times teasing and once that awful day when Tick thought he’d lost Falconetti for good. “You can’t tell Cait about this either. I need you to swear it.” “What’s wrong?” Suspicion nipped at him. “God, Tick, tell me you didn’t cheat on Falconetti. If that’s what it is, I don’t want to know. I like her and I’d have to kick your ass.” “What? No! Hell no.” Tick’s sigh carried over the long-distance connection with crystal clarity. So did the tension and irritation in his voice. “Why would you think that, anyway?” “I don’t know. Maybe because you haven’t had sex in forever and lots of guys cheat on their pregnant wives?” He never had. He’d been too wrapped up in Jenny and his awe at their baby growing inside her to even look at another girl. “Yeah well, I’m not one of them. So swear this is between us.” “Okay, I swear.” Mark rolled his eyes. “What’s up?” Another long pause passed. Tick cleared his throat. “I saw Jay Mackey this morning about my back.” “About time. What did he say?” “He, uh, he sent me over to have a sonogram done. Then I spent the afternoon at Dr. Gurley’s office.” Gurley? Mark didn’t know the name, but other than the extra weight he was working on peeling off, Jay Mackey had always declared him disgustingly healthy. He hadn’t seen a specialist since he’d broken his wrist wrestling a suspect down and that had been almost three years ago. The tension and banked fear in Tick’s voice was raising the hair on Mark’s neck, though. “Tick, man, just spit it out. What did they say?”

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“I…Mark, it’s cancer.” Mark’s breath whooshed out and his lungs refused to pull in new oxygen. Son of a…the cigarettes. Damn Tick and the pack-a-day habit he’d finally kicked a year ago. “What? Are they sure?” “Yeah. They’re sure.” “Your lungs?” “No. Kidney. A tumor.” Tick’s voice thickened, and he coughed. “I’ve got to have surgery to remove it and they’ll make any decisions on chemo and radiation from there. Depends on if it’s spread.” Mark rolled to sit on the side of the bed and rubbed a hand over his face. “Okay. I’ll get Tori and we’ll head back—” “No.” Ah, hell. Stubborn son of a gun. “Want to explain to me why you’re not telling your wife this?” “Damn it, why do you think? We need a couple more weeks. Babies delivered at this time have problems. His lungs aren’t developed yet. Her obstetrician said no stress. None. What do you think is going to happen if I tell her this?” “When does this Gurley guy want to operate?” “Tomorrow. I told him no. This tumor’s obviously been there awhile. What difference can two weeks make?” The words shook with uncertainty. A lot. Mark rested his forehead in his palm. When they’d found his old man’s cancer, it had spread so far it’d killed him in less than a month. “You have to tell her and you have to have that surgery, as soon as possible.” “Don’t you get it? We’re talking about Cait and my child here. I can’t risk her. Or him. Do you understand what losing this baby would do to her? Two weeks. I just need two weeks.” “How about if Tori and I come home anyway?” Maybe Tori could talk some sense into him. “No. She’s worked hard to get ready for this presentation. I don’t want her to know yet.” “Have you told anybody?” “You’re it. Swear you won’t tell, Mark.”

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And make him a partner in this slow suicide? No way. “I’m not swearing anything. You’re not thinking clearly—” “I know exactly what I’m doing.” The angry words sounded as if Tick spoke through clenched teeth. “Protecting my family. I just needed to get it out and I thought I could count on you.” “Tick, come on. Don’t ask me to do this.” “Two weeks, Mark. Swear it.” “You have to—” “Swear. Damn it, Mark, I’m trying to put the safety of my wife and our baby first. I figured you of all people would understand. Now swear.” Anger exploded in Mark’s chest. If Tick wanted to kill himself slowly, that was his problem. Selfish bastard. “Fine,” he snapped, the words emerging on a snarl. “I swear, okay? I won’t tell.” But he’d sure as hell find a way to make Tick do it. And soon. “Look,” he said, still cradling his head in his hand. “I need to grab a shower. Think about this, Tick. Falconetti’s going to need you around a lot longer than the next two weeks. This kid is going to need a daddy. You can’t do that if you’re dead.” “Thanks a lot, Cookie. I knew I could count on you for support.” The sarcastic rejoinder held more weariness than humor. “But I’ll think about it.” “You do that.” The line went dead and with slow movements Mark flipped the phone closed and dropped it on the nightstand. “Stupid,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. And not just Tick. Him too, for agreeing to keep the damn secret. The hotel phone jangled, red message light flashing wildly. He reached for it. “Hello?” “Hey.” Tori’s voice bubbled into his ear. He closed his eyes, envisioning her bright smile and sparkling eyes. If anything happened to Tick, it would kill her. “I’m ready when you are.” “Yeah. Okay.” He rubbed his eyes again. “I, uh, haven’t made it in the shower yet. Give me fifteen minutes.” “All right. Just come get me when you’re ready.” Any other time, that “come get me” would have fantasies going off in his head. Now, he was painfully aware that keeping his promise to Tick already had him lying to her. He straightened. It

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wasn’t like he had a future with her to jeopardize anyway. However, he had a past with Tick that demanded his loyalty. A guy always kept his partner’s back. He swallowed. “Fifteen minutes. Be ready.”

Tick let himself in the house and replaced the cordless phone in the charging cradle. The fear and anger roiled through him in a seething mass. The silence pressed in on him and he ran both hands through his hair, needing relief from the awful tension. Why was this happening? He was supposed to be strong, someone for Caitlin to lean on. He didn’t feel strong. Strong was doing the right thing, putting Caitlin’s needs, the baby’s needs above his own. Instead, one corner of his mind screamed in panic, wanted to be on the operating table now, wanted the intruder out before it killed him. His heart whispered differently. He eased toward the bedroom, keeping his footsteps quiet on the wooden floors. In the big iron bed, Caitlin slept on her side, one hand curved over the top of her swollen stomach. Against the pallor of her skin, her hair seemed even blacker. Dark circles under her eyes spoke of the strain this pregnancy was putting on her. They were so close. A couple of weeks, and the baby resting under her hand would have a greater chance at survival. What harm could two weeks do? You can’t do that if you’re dead. Damn Cookie’s pessimistic attitude anyway. Everything would be all right. He just had to keep telling himself that, keep reminding himself of the one-in-a-million miracle he already had. Caitlin bearing his child wasn’t supposed to happen at all. He simply had to hold on to her, to them, and everything would be all right. Compelled by a need he couldn’t deny, Tick stretched out beside Caitlin, careful not to jostle her. He rested his cheek and hand against the bulge of their baby, his feet dangling off the side of the bed. A slow, rolling movement greeted his touch. “Hey, in there,” he whispered, his chest aching. Crazy how he could love someone he’d never met this much already. “It’s Daddy.”

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A flurry of motion under his palm brought a half-smile to his mouth. How did she sleep with all that going on inside her? The smile died. Life growing in Caitlin’s body, death brewing in his. He pressed a kiss to her stomach. “Stay right there a little bit longer and get big and strong. You hear Daddy? That’s an order.” “You’re absolutely demented, Lamar Eugene.” Caitlin’s fingers sifted through his hair and his body hummed under her touch. He closed his eyes. Dear God in heaven, he loved her. “But I love you anyway.” “Like you don’t talk to him.” He rubbed his cheek against her, enjoying the rhythmic caress of her fingers on his scalp. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” “You didn’t. You keep saying ‘he’ and ‘him’. Do you know something I don’t?” “If I did, I wouldn’t tell. You said you didn’t want to know.” She tightened her fingers on his hair in retaliation for his teasing before resuming the slow stroking caresses. “We’re actually going to make it this time, aren’t we?” For the first time since they’d confirmed this unexpected pregnancy, hope wavered in her voice. Over the past months, he’d heard fear, stress, pain, all engendered by the losses before this baby, but never this quavering optimism. He closed his eyes for a second on a swift prayer of thanks before he lifted his head to meet her dark green gaze, washed with a crystalline glaze of tears. “Yeah, we are. He’s going to fine. Beautiful and healthy and strong and just fine.” “You really believe that.” He reached for her hand and placed a kiss in her palm. “I do.” She stretched her fingers along his jaw in a sweet caress. “You said ‘he’ again. You peeked at that part of the sonogram, didn’t you?” A quiet laugh rumbled up from his chest, squeezing past the lump in his throat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He rested his cheek on her belly again, in time to feel the soft sigh that shivered through her. “We can name him Lamar Eugene III, but we are not calling him Lamar because then everyone will refer to him as Little Lamar and you know why I would have issues with that.” Damn it. One stupid late-night conversation in a squad car as a rookie and a guy was never allowed to live it down. He managed to hold in the shudder that tried to work over him with the

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idea of how little time he might have to live anything down. His throat worked in a painful swallow. “Cookie has a big mouth.” She ignored him. “And you are not gifting this child with a weird nickname.” “Deal.” Peace settled deep in him and he let his lids fall once more as her soothing touch returned to his hair and nape. Silence stretched between them and Tick relaxed further. “What did Jay say about your back?” The idle question slammed into the quiet. Every muscle in his body tensed and he forced them into looseness before she noticed. “Pulled muscle. Nothing to worry about.” “You’re sure?” “I’m sure.” “Not getting too old for the job, are you?” A teasing note suffused her husky voice. “No.” He was going to get a lot older, watch his son grow up, give Caitlin the seventy years or so he’d promised her. Under his cheek, a knee or foot or elbow poked at him. He shifted closer to her. All he was doing was protecting his wife and child. Cookie of all people should understand that.

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Chapter Six

Multiple personality disorder. Maybe an evil twin. Or alien abduction. Whatever the case, Mark Cook was two completely different people. Tori scuffed a foot against the brick pavers of St. George’s Row, a street closed to vehicle traffic and lined with shops of every size and description. Lighting kept the darkness at bay, and music and laughter spilled from the restaurant next to a huge mill wheel. None of the usual nervousness brought on by the night tugged at her, although she’d figured out it had less to do with the soft suffusing of light than with Mark’s presence. He made her feel safe. He stood a few feet away, cell phone pressed to his ear. He’d excused himself politely to take the call, and the interlude gave her a welcome opportunity to pull her confused emotions together. She spent a lot of time reading people, well, reading other women, but she couldn’t get a handle on Mark to save her life. Which one was real? Surely not the man hiding behind a string of women and a stinging dry wit. Maybe the one who’d told her she was gorgeous, who’d touched her and kissed her as if she were precious, priceless, desirable. Please not the polite, withdrawn stranger who’d shared her dinner table and who was now showing her the sights of St. Augustine’s historic district as if he’d rather be anywhere but with her.

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Water splashed behind her and a mournful guitar solo drifted down. A couple passed, heads close together in conversation. Dragging in a deep breath of salty air, she watched them until they disappeared into the jewelry shop a few feet ahead. Disappointment twisted through her. She’d expected something tonight, like when she was seven and had wanted an Easy Bake oven for Christmas. Santa had brought her a Barbie doll instead and she’d been crushed. No wonder she refused to learn how to cook. All the time she was dressing for dinner, anticipation had been building within her, a kind of breathless waiting to see if he’d be different with her after that kiss. He was, but it wasn’t the kind of change she’d wanted. Obviously kissing her was like popping a fresh piece of gum in his mouth—no different from the last one and without significance. Tori tilted her head back and stared up at the sky, dark purple, the stars obscured by the city lights and low cloud cover. So she was the equivalent of discarded, flavorless gum. Her eyes burned and she blinked, striving for the positive. “At least I’m not stuck on the bottom of his shoe.” “What?” Mark’s voice interrupted her misery and she jumped. He was close, cell phone clipped to his belt again, his face a polite mask. She tossed her hair back. “Nothing.” He hitched his thumbs in his belt. “Anything in particular you want to look at? There’s just about any kind of shop you can imagine along here.” What did she want to look at? Her hotel room, but that was the same as running home to Mama. She met his shuttered gaze head-on. “It’s my turn to ask a question.” A frown jerked at his brows. “What? Ah hell, Tori, are you still wanting to play that game?” She pushed away from the wooden railing. “Hey, it’s not my fault you wasted your last opportunity.” He sighed and reached for his gum. “Go ahead and ask.” Swallowing, she turned toward the row of shops and rubbed her damp hands down her outer thighs. Maybe she shouldn’t ask. Maybe she should come up with some lighthearted, pointless question. She should, but she wasn’t going to. No, she wanted, needed, to know this.

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She looked at him again. He’d crossed his arms over his chest and regarded her with a longsuffering expression. Hands clenched into loose fists, she wet her lips and jumped in. “Why are you acting so weird? Does it have to do with kissing me?” His eyes widened and he stopped in mid-chew. “I’m not acting weird.” “Yes, you are. Now answer the question.” “Technically, you asked two.” “Mark.” “I told you why I kissed you,” he mumbled. She rolled her eyes. He sounded like a sulky little boy having to admit he’d busted a rare vase. “Then what’s with you tonight?” Why was she pushing this anyway? Most likely she was reading too much into that kiss. Probably because she wanted it to mean something. Oh heck, she didn’t want to be flavorless gum. “I’m tired. Can we drop this?” She opened her mouth, remembered his temper flaring when she’d pushed this afternoon and closed it. Shrugging, she moved away to look in the window of a clothing store. “Sure. Consider it dropped.” The tense silence descended between them once more. Miserable and fidgety, Tori ran her hand over the whitewashed wall enclosing a lush courtyard behind another restaurant. A fountain sparkled and tinkled among the greenery. Part of the plaster had chipped away to reveal blocks of building material full of layers of tiny seashells. “I’ve never seen anything like this before,” Tori said, the contrast of rough and smooth tingling across her fingertips. Mark glanced at the wall. “It’s coquina. A kind of limestone with layers of shells in it. The stuff’s practically indestructible. The Spanish built the fort out of it, and when the British fired on it, the walls just absorbed the cannonballs. There’s a reason that fort never fell.” “How do you know that?” He shrugged and glanced down the alley beside them. “I grew up down here. Find me a kid from this area that doesn’t know that.” Another layer. She couldn’t resist peeling them away. “This is your hometown?”

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“Preston. Small town just north.” She looked at him quickly, but he continued staring down the alley. “The place with the antique mall.” “Yeah.” He rubbed a hand over his nape. Across the street, bubbles and New Age music wafted from the two-story building. Tori let one of the sparkling spheres land on her fingers. The rounded surface glinted a moment and disappeared with a pop, leaving a kiss of moisture on her skin. “You know, if you have family to visit, you don’t have to babysit me.” He shrugged. “No family left.” Her spirits dived because he didn’t deny the babysitting charge. Surely he didn’t still see her as Tick’s little sister, not after that afternoon. She eyed him. They’d stopped at a T-shirt shop and he was studying the humorous shirts displayed on a rack outside. A lonely air of aloofness surrounded him, drawing her closer. “None at all?” she asked, keeping her voice quiet in the still evening air. Shaking his head, he held up a Jimmy Buffet shirt and squinted at the parrot and bottle of rum on the front. “Nope. None.” No family. She couldn’t get her mind around it. Her father was a hazy memory, but her mother centered her life. And even though she rarely saw her sister, she couldn’t imagine not being surrounded by her brothers, even when Tick drove her crazy. She shook her hair back, her chest tight. “I’m sorry.” He glanced at her, a smile quirking at his mouth. The T-shirt went back on the rack. “Don’t be. I’ve been on my own for a long time.” She glanced at him from beneath her lashes and lifted a shirt from the medium section. A big red lipstick mouth on the front accented a slogan about having a love affair with Florida. “How long?” “Almost twenty years. My dad died my senior year of high school, my mom a couple years later.” “Daddy’s been dead eighteen years and we still miss him.” She flicked a glance at the price tag.

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“My old man was gone before he died.” Mark stepped away from the rack, clearly ready to move on. “He was too busy for much of anything, even seeing a doctor, and that’s what killed him.” She fell into step beside him. “Heart attack?” “Cancer. Waited until it was too late to do anything about it. My mom had the heart attack.” The words were too cool, too smooth and practiced. She touched his arm, his heat seeping through his cotton polo. “Mark, you know it’s okay to hurt. It’s okay to admit that.” He laughed. “Are you analyzing me?” “No, I just—” “Yeah, you are.” Without warning, he stopped, staring down at her. An audience of pigeons congregated around a nearby bench, cooing. The straggling tourists ignored them. “Do you admit all your hurts?” Hers were common knowledge. “Everyone already knows. What’s to hide?” He wasn’t smiling, his eyes dark and intent. “I don’t know. How about the woman you really are? Or the one you want to be.” She didn’t know how to be that woman. “I could ask you the same thing. Being with you is like waiting for the real Mark Cook to stand up.” The smirk appeared. “What you see is what you get, baby.” Frustration gripped her, a buzzing taking over her ears. He did not just call her baby, like she was one of his playmates. And she did not just get a tiny thrill from that single word. “Right. Tell it to someone who’ll believe that. Angel, maybe.” She walked away, sending a sea of pigeons into flight. Why did she keep throwing that name up at him? She might as well wear a sign proclaiming her a jealous, insecure person. Aware he’d joined her, she shook her head. “You’ve turned avoidance into an art form, you know that? All those snappy one-liners, the devil-may-care attitude. Anything to keep from having a real conversation.” “Me? What about you?” She darted a quick look at him. “What about me?”

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“You’ve been creating your own avoidance art. Tick’s a great excuse for you not to step into the big, bad world.” He chuckled, but the sound lacked any real humor. “Only problem is that he went and fell for Falconetti, made his own life, and suddenly he’s not running quite as much interference, is he?” “You have no idea what you’re talking about.” Anger simmered, her voice trembling with it. “You think? You’re afraid of picking the wrong guy again. The last one was a doozy of a mistake, wasn’t he? Tick won’t let you forget that and you can’t let him down, so there’s your excuse not to pick one at all.” All of her shook now, slight tremors running through her, and she clenched her fists to steady her hands. “At least I’m selective.” His eyes narrowed to slits of molten silver. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “It means the only qualifications you look for in a woman are willing and available. What are you afraid of? Why are you hiding behind meaningless sex?” He took one step closer. “I think you forgot whose turn it was to ask a question.” The anger lent her bravery and loosened her tongue. “You never really answered mine, but ask away.” “Why did you let me kiss you?” “Because I wanted you to.” The bald honesty of her answer slammed into her and left him looking as stunned as she felt. Her chest rose and fell with rapid breaths and aggravated nerves jumped under her skin. Long moments stretched between them, their gazes locked. Finally, he stepped back, rubbing a hand over his nape. “It’s getting late. We should get back—” “Don’t.” She swallowed, hating the note of pleading in her voice. “Don’t walk away from this yet.” “I have to.” Urgency filled her. She couldn’t let go, not now. The desperation with which she wanted this settled between them scared her. “Why?” “Because there’s no point. I’d be the worst mistake you could ever make.” “It would be my mistake to make.”

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“Well, I’m saving you the trouble. You don’t want me anywhere near you, not really. Trust me.” He believed it. The knowledge was in the tight line of his jaw, the blank desolation filling his gray gaze. Great. She finally got a handle on what she might want and he wanted to play hero. The urge to chew on her nails hit her and she crammed both hands in her back pockets. She’d given that up a year after the rape. She wasn’t going to start again now. She stared at him, her chin tilted. She wasn’t on the same playing field as Angel or any of his other women. He had her on a plane above that and he really, honestly believed he didn’t belong there with her. Lord, men were stupid sometimes. He thought she was too good for a one-night stand. That was fine. She didn’t want to be. But she had to show him…so was he. Fear sent a shudder over her. He deserved someone whole, someone who could come to him without fear and all of her hang-ups. Could she be that someone? Maybe. She wanted to be that someone. That meant she had to start putting the pieces together again, form a whole woman out of the one she should have been and the shattered one Billy Reese had left behind.

She’d driven him to jogging. With one hand, Mark cradled the stitch in his side and slowed to a walk along the bay front. Low cloud cover shrouded the horizon, but the sun peeked through in pink and golden rays. A soft breeze ruffled the palms lining the bay. He dragged in deep breaths of damp, salty air and rubbed at his gritty eyes with his free hand. For most of the night, he’d stared at the ceiling, imagining he could hear the rustle of her sheets next door. Finally, before dawn, his crawling nerves had forced him out of bed, seeking an outlet. In his head, her voice echoed, pushing and enticing him all at once. She’d let him kiss her because she wanted it. Once she’d said that, all his willpower had ended up focused on not pulling her into his arms and doing it again. He’d wanted her close, mouth under his, hands on him.

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Oh man, she was dangerous to a guy’s sanity. She made him think about the stuff that scared him to death—trying to please her, getting close, making promises that involved forever. Maybe even doing the whole marriage and fatherhood route. Hell, no. Never. No way would he go through that loss once more. Look at Tick. Willing to risk his life because he couldn’t stand the thought of endangering Falconetti, because he knew without her life was nothing. Mark had ended up with nothing and he couldn’t chance that again. No matter how much Tori’s smile and the feel of her mouth under his made him want to.

Mark tried to straighten the knot in his tie. The lack of sleep lingered, making him feel like he slogged through mud. Biting back a frustrated growl, he tugged the tie loose and started over. He hated wearing a suit. Even moving to the next hole in his belt didn’t make up for this. The buzz of a hair dryer next door filtered through the wall and he closed his eyes, gripping the ends of the tie. Wonder if she had one of those silky little robes? Or maybe did the hair and makeup thing in her undies. Oh God. He didn’t need this. Opening his eyes, he attacked the tie again and finally subdued it into a neat knot. After securing his tie tack, he rapped on the connecting door. The dryer stopped. “Yes?” He cleared his throat. “I’m going to walk over to the office and get some coffee. When do you want me to meet you back here?” “Um…I’m almost ready. I’ll just pick you up there. Okay?” A sleepy note husked her voice. “You’re sure?” “I can cross a parking lot by myself. I do it at Winn Dixie at least once a week, you know. Sheesh.” Irritation cleared the throaty tone. He swallowed a laugh. “Sure. See you in a few.” Outside, the morning remained still. San Marco Avenue held little traffic this early, foot or vehicle. A housekeeper pushed a cleaning cart along the second-story balcony. Mark eyed the sailboats bobbing in the bay. Now, that was the way to go. Tick could keep his bass boat. If he lived long enough.

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Mark shrugged off the thought. When he got home, he fully intended to knock some sense into Tick’s stubborn ass. He wasn’t waiting two weeks. A different clerk manned the front desk this morning, a young blonde who smiled at him while she checked out an elderly couple. What the motel called a continental breakfast was laid out on a small table in the corner, next to a television playing the local morning news. He surveyed the selection of doughnuts, cinnamon rolls and mini-bagels. Shaking his head, he filled a foam cup with coffee and added artificial sweetener. He missed his creamer too. Taking a cautious sip of the steaming liquid, he reached for a tiny whole-wheat bagel. A dry, probably stale bagel, with no cream cheese. Maybe he could pretend it was a breakfast sandwich from the Tank and Tummy, full of eggs, cheese, bacon and an artery-clogging amount of cholesterol. “Is there any juice?” Tori asked behind him. He clenched the bagel between his teeth and grabbed a sealed container of orange juice for her. When he turned to hand it to her, only his grip on the bagel kept his jaw from dropping. Oh, man. “Thanks.” Tori took the plastic juice cup from his hand while he tried to catch his breath. He’d seen her dressed up before, for Tick’s wedding, but somehow the sea blue bridesmaid’s dress hadn’t done what this slim little black suit did. She’d pulled her hair up in a sleek knot and done something different to her eyes—a subtle makeup trick that made them bigger and darker. Tiny diamonds sparkled at her ears and the silvery white of her blouse shone against her skin. Forget bagels and bacon sandwiches. She looked good enough to eat and he wanted her for breakfast. She flicked a glance over the pastries and peeled the aluminum top off her juice. One bite of the bagel had been enough. Mark wrapped the remainder in a napkin and dropped it in the trashcan, all the while trying to stop staring. Her mouth glistened with a lush berry color, bottom lip looking a little fuller than usual. He glanced away and resisted the urge to loosen his tie. Her soft laugh shivered over him. “This is worse than the first day of school. My stomach’s all in knots.”

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He looked at her. Mouth pursed, she sipped her juice, tongue darting out to catch a stray drop at the corner of her lips. He cleared his throat. “You’ll do fine.” “I’m addressing a roomful of cynical, bored cops. They’re gonna eat me alive.” Probably every one of them would want to. “Trust me. They’ll hang on your every word.” “Right.” She met his gaze and lifted her juice. “Ready?” If she only knew. “When you are.” He waved her ahead of him, as much from courtesy as to enjoy the view of her sweet rear end under the snug skirt. The bridesmaid’s dress hadn’t looked like that, either. Settled in the passenger seat of the tiny car, he fastened his seatbelt and fought down the compulsion to brace against the dash. They were only going a few blocks. How dangerous could that be? “What’s your presentation about?” He caught a whiff of her perfume, a blend of florals with some kind of spice, as she latched her own seatbelt. She fired the engine. “The psychological importance of the first officer responding to a victim.” Her voice didn’t change with the words. His chest tight, he darted a look at her. He’d been the first responding officer the night of her attack. It had been bad enough when he didn’t recognize her at first, even worse when he realized who the battered, bloody young woman was. She’d been hysterical and hyperventilating and his presence had made things worse. Finally, he’d called in a female officer. She swung the Miata into the light morning traffic trickling down San Marco Avenue. Mark stared out the window, the sailboats and Bridge of Lions passing in a blur. He’d been no good for her then and the same was true now. So he needed to quit thinking about how she looked in that suit, how she smelled, how incredibly sweet it had been to kiss her. “I never forgot that, you know,” she said, her voice soft and a little shaky. “You being there.” He couldn’t look at her. Nothing about that memory could be good, and right now, he wasn’t sure he was capable of handling her pain, not when he was tied to it, however indirectly. He didn’t want to be associated with that night in her head.

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They remained wrapped in silence until they reached the conference center. “Okay, this is it.” She fussed with her keys and purse as she spoke, the words too bright. “Yeah.” Mark unfolded himself from the car. She glanced at the contemporary building, adjusted her suit and smiled at him, the corners of her mouth trembling. “You sure you want to do this?” She shook her head, but the tremulous smile remained in place. “I have to, though.” Damn, she was brave. He followed her up the brick walkway and around a fountain into the conference center. She touched his arm briefly. “I’m going to see the director. You probably need to check in.” He watched her walk away, muscles flexing in her calves above stylish heels. A couple of young uniformed officers glanced her way and exchanged male looks. He turned away. Yeah, once that particular sleeping beauty woke up, she wouldn’t have any trouble finding a real prince. Bothered more by that thought than he wanted to admit, he headed for the registration table. It shouldn’t get to him—he was a frog, plain and simple, and that one kiss sure hadn’t transformed him into prince material. He checked in, collected a name tag and packet of brochures, and wandered into the main conference room. Half the tables were full already, but he managed to claim a seat near the back, almost hidden in a corner. During the next fifteen minutes, the rest of the seats filled. He doodled on the corner of his conference folder, drawing three-dimensional cubes and placing his initials inside. The lights dimmed once and brightened again, the chatter in the room dying. The conference director took center stage and the microphone to offer a welcome and opening remarks. Mark tossed his pen down and leaned back in his chair, trying to quell the nerves jumping under his skin. He didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to hear Tori delve into the demons of her past in front of a room full of strangers. “Our first presenter is Victoria Calvert, director of the Chandler County Women’s Crisis Center in Coney, Georgia.”

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Polite applause greeted Tori’s presence at the microphone. She smiled, appearing poised and serene. “Thank you. Studies have shown that the initial handling of a rape case directly impacts the victim’s recovery…” With that opening, she launched into a review of statistics and research. The guy next to Mark yawned and several people in his vicinity shifted. Mark frowned. She’d done her homework and God knew her topic was important. But she was losing them. “C’mon, Tori,” he whispered. She was capable of so much more than this dry recitation of facts. In the middle of a sentence, she paused, glanced down at the note cards she held and shook her head. “You know what? Let’s get rid of these.” The cards landed with a small thud on the front table. The officers there sat up a little straighter. Tori shrugged out of her suit jacket, laying it across the back of a vacant chair onstage. “That’s better.” She removed the microphone from the stand. “I’m just going to start over. I’m Tori Calvert and seven years ago I was raped.” The room rippled with murmurs and the shifting of people coming to attention. Mark’s gut clenched. “Let me tell you what I remember. I remember the dark and the mud. I remember my rapist’s sweat hitting my face, and his knife slipping and cutting me.” She ran a finger over the slight scar below her jaw. Mark wanted to look away, but he was as drawn in as everyone else in the suddenly silent room. “I remember the pain and the terror, being afraid to die and wanting to die so it would be over, all at the same time.” Head bent, she paused. Nobody moved. She lifted her head and scanned the room in a slow movement. Her gaze caught Mark’s and held. “I remember the first cop on scene, the one who did everything he could to help me.” His eyes burned, but he couldn’t look away for anything. She moistened her lips and a swallow moved the muscles in her throat. “A rape victim has had everything—her control, her safety, her privacy—ripped away. If you’re the first officer on scene, you become the first one to help her begin regaining those precious things. Your actions and demeanor are crucial to her recovery. As I said earlier, studies have shown…”

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Her voice washed over him, and for the next hour, every person in the room hung on her every word. The question-and-answer session lasted another forty-five minutes, and when that was over, individual officers waited to speak with her. Mark leaned against the wall at the back of the room. He felt exposed and raw, as if every nerve in his body had been laid bare. Finally, she made her way toward him. She didn’t smile, her gaze clinging to his. Pride tightened his chest and he wanted to wrap her close, whisper against her hair how wonderful she’d been. Whoa, hold up, Cook. That’s not your place. It won’t ever be. Remember that. She is not for you. He didn’t push away from the wall, kept his hands in his pockets as she reached him. “Great job up there.” She faltered, confusion darkening her eyes. “Thank you.” He glanced at his watch. “We’ve got a few minutes before the next session begins. You want a drink or something?” Still bearing that lost expression, she shook her head. “No, but—” “Mark? Is that you?” The gruff voice was too familiar. Mark stiffened. No, not now. Deal with this after listening to Tori’s account? She glanced to his left, polite expectancy replacing the confusion. He was trapped; there would be no getting out of this. Straightening, Mark turned to face the demons of his own past.

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Chapter Seven

As the silver-haired man pumped Mark’s hand, Tori took a deep breath, grateful for the interruption. At the moment, she was one big, exposed nerve. For an insane second, she’d wanted to throw herself into Mark’s arms and bawl. She’d awakened the demons and they were hungry, her skin jumping with the memories. Standing up there, in front of an ocean of unknown faces, and exposing her personal horror had been worse than peeling away layers of skin from a healing sore. Mark didn’t look any more comfortable—his eyes glinting with an inner tempest, the skin around the tight line of his mouth white. Tori frowned as the older man stepped back. Her recollections wouldn’t have given Mark that haunted look. “It sure is good to see you, son.” The man slapped Mark on the back. “I know I haven’t called this year, but—” “There’s nothing new to say,” Mark finished for him with a too-nonchalant shrug. Discomfort flashed over the distinguished features. “Afraid so.” He glanced in Tori’s direction. “Young lady, that was a fine presentation. Gutsy too.” “Thank you.” She fiddled with the opal ring gracing her right hand and flicked a glance at Mark. He stared over her shoulder, his face a pale mask. She extended her hand to the older man. “Tori Calvert.” www.samhainpublishing.com

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His tanned fingers, with neatly trimmed nails, engulfed hers. “Glenn Rigsby, Preston PD.” Mark cleared his throat, seeming to regain his senses. His eyes resumed their sharp focus, but the line of his mouth remained tight. “I worked for Glenn when I first went into law enforcement. He’s the chief.” “Really?” She smiled. “I bet you could tell some interesting stories, Chief Rigsby.” “Call me Glenn. Everyone does.” His grin widened, a mischievous twinkle lighting his blue eyes. “Except my wife when she’s put out with me.” Tori laughed. “I bet that’s not often, sir.” “I like her, Mark. You should keep this one.” Her breath caught and her gaze tangled with Mark’s. He shook his head. “She’s not mine, Chief. I’m just standing in for her brother.” She looked away. Glenn harrumphed. “Anyway, you should come out to the house tonight. Myra wants to cook up a low country boil and she’d love to see you.” Arms folded over her waist, Tori eyed the milling officers rather than look at Mark’s face as he tried to dodge the invitation. He was so closed to her, to any thoughts of them together. Who could blame him? She’d just laid bare all the baggage she came with. Every time he looked at her, he had to see her as she’d been that night, huddling under a rough blanket, unable to control the sobbing screams. No matter how hard she tried, she wasn’t normal anymore. She had formed some sense of normalcy in her life, but she simply couldn’t approach a relationship the way Layla or Autry or any of her other friends did. What man wanted to take that on? She’d better start looking for that cat. “Well, at least come for a drink, then. I swear, son, if Myra finds out you were down here and you don’t come by, it’ll break her heart.” Genuine affection lit Mark’s eyes. “We’ll see.” “I’m not taking no for an answer. Six o’clock tonight. Don’t be late.” Glenn nodded at Tori once more. “Nice to meet you, Miss Calvert.”

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“You too.” After Glenn had disappeared into the crowd, she dared a glance at Mark. A frown darkened his face and her fake smile disappeared completely. “Don’t feel you have to not go on my account. I can hang out at the motel, order pizza and watch a movie or something.” Her words seemed to shake him out of some faraway world. He looked at her, his gaze sharp. “It’s not you. Myra would love you.” “Then what’s the problem?” She bit her lip. Again, she was pushing. She couldn’t seem to leave well enough alone with him—she wanted to know everything. More than anything, she wanted that haunted look out of his eyes, wanted the same, old easygoing Mark back. “No problem.” Yes, she’d aggravated him again, his voice short and terse. She fidgeted with the hem of her jacket. Obviously, she couldn’t do anything right where he was concerned. She glanced at her watch. “If you change your mind about going, just say so. I’ve got to get moving, though. The workshop I’m attending starts in a couple of minutes. Oh, and go to lunch without me. I want to talk to the director here and I’ll grab some crackers or something.” Without waiting for a reply, she hurried away.

Eyes closed, Tori lay on the hard motel bed. The hot shower hadn’t eased the tension any. The memories lurked beneath the surface, pulsing, alive. Tears clogged her throat. Usually, she could face the remembrance of what had happened head-on, but this evening, she just wanted it all to go away. You ever had one like that? One that big? Huh? You like it, don’t you? Billy Reese’s voice, harsh and grunting, echoed in her head, his words underscored with her own torn whimpers. Her stomach pitched and she clapped her hands over her ears, one part of her mind cringing at the childish gesture. Nothing could make that voice disappear. Sometimes it went away for days at a time, but it always came back. Even locked up for life, Reese still spoke to her. The bars at the state prison in Reidsville couldn’t keep him out of her head. The tears spilled over. She pulled the edges of her terry cloth robe closer and cried. With a pillow muffling her sobs, she struggled against the searing hurt in her chest. She’d tried so hard to rebuild her life, to

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be normal again, and with a handful of sentences that afternoon, she was right back where she’d started. A soft knock on the connecting door broke into her misery. “Tori?” Gulping in air, she sat up and fought for an ordinary voice. “Yes?” A long pause stretched. “Glenn called. He and Myra are pretty insistent about us coming to dinner. How do you feel about low country boil?” She rubbed at her wet, burning eyes. Let anyone see her like this? With her stomach trembling, she pulled her knees to her chest. “You go. I have a headache and I think I’ll stay in.” “Tori, open the door please. I feel stupid talking through a slab of wood.” His voice gentled and took on a soothing note. He didn’t have to. They’d left the darn thing unlocked, but obviously he wouldn’t open it without permission. After a weary moment of indecision, she dragged herself from the bed and pushed damp hair away from her face. Clutching the lapels of her robe closed, she swung the door open and stared up at him, biting her bottom lip to stop its trembling. He did a double take, but his gaze never left her face. His own features softened. He lifted one hand, as if to stroke her cheek, but gripped the doorframe instead. When he didn’t touch her, an achy disappointment settled in her. “Some fresh air would probably do you good,” he said, his voice quiet. “And some food. You didn’t eat lunch, did you?” She’d tried, but hadn’t been able to touch the chicken salad sandwich. Clutching the lapels tighter, she shook her head. “Listen, you’ll like Myra and Glenn. If you stay here, the memories will drive you nuts. Come on. Toss something on and come with me.” “I don’t—” “Tori.” He tapped his fingers against the doorframe in a fluid motion. “You don’t need to hide tonight. Come with me.” She stared at him a long time. Really, how much worse could it be? He was right. If she stayed in, she’d spend the evening wrapped in memories that would only hurt her. She tunneled a hand through her hair. “Okay. Just give me a few minutes to pull myself together.”

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This whole idea had probably been a major mistake. Mark slanted a surreptitious look at Tori in the driver’s seat. The entire drive out to Glenn and Myra’s, she’d clutched the steering wheel in an unyielding grip, her shoulders shaken by tremulous, intermittent exhales. Maybe he should have let her stay in, after all. Except the idea of leaving her alone with the recollections he knew were stampeding through her head didn’t sit well. With her face wet with pained tears, he couldn’t abandon her to the past like that. Her cell phone rang, for the third time since they’d left the hotel, and her body went even tighter. The first two calls had been from Falconetti and Layla, respectively, checking in on her after the day’s presentation. Their intentions were good, Mark was sure, but they were only making things worse. She didn’t need concern. She needed to forget for a while. On a hitching sigh, she lifted the phone to her ear. “Hello?” He cringed as she swerved. Man, she shouldn’t be allowed to have a cell in her car at all. “It went okay.” She drifted a little over the center line as they went into the curve. “I’m fine. Really. Autry, I said I was fine. Mark and I are…what? Yes. To dinner with some friends of his. Listen, I’ll talk to you later. Kiss Gabby for me. Bye.” She dropped the phone in the console and resumed her silent, double-handed death grip on the wheel. Less than a mile later, the pink rectangle rang again. “Good Lord.” She fished it out of the console, glanced at it and let it drop once more. She didn’t glance in Mark’s direction. “Tick. I can’t talk to him right now.” He got that. As close as the siblings were, faced with Tick’s gentle concern, she’d probably fall apart within seconds. Clearing his throat, he pointed at the familiar turnoff with the brick mailbox. “This is it, on the left.” On something that sounded suspiciously like a sniffle, she swung into the concrete drive. The weathered Cracker-style house with its cedar siding and tin roof sat back from the road, sheltered by moss-laden oaks. Beyond the dwelling, he caught glimpses of the salt marshes and

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on the deck, he could see Glenn tending a huge pot atop the outdoor stove. A sense of coming home flooded him and lodged a knot of emotion in his throat. Damn, he’d missed this place, missed Glenn and Myra. Funny how he hadn’t realized it until now. Tori parked and killed the engine. She flexed her fingers on the wheel. “Great house.” “Yeah. Glenn built it himself.” “Wow.” She tugged the keys from the ignition and tossed them in her bag. “He seems like a nice man.” “The best.” There it was again, the melancholy impression that he’d lied when he told Tori he didn’t have family here anymore. She puffed out a breath and smoothed her hair from her face with both hands, still edgy and rattled. He hooked his hand around her nape and pulled her slightly toward him. He rubbed soothing circles over the silky skin under her hair. “Hey, relax.” He met her startled gaze, and realization of what he was doing set in. Even so, he didn’t move his hand but continued trying to relieve the strain tautening her neck. “Myra and Glenn are the most easygoing people you’d ever want to meet. It’ll be all right, I promise.” “You said the same thing, that night.” The words seemed torn from her. Her throat moved in a hard swallow. “I didn’t have anything else to hold on to, I couldn’t get myself together, so I kept replaying those words in my head, that you’d promised me it would be all right.” “Hell, Tori.” He let his hand fall away, gripped his knees hard. Being tied up with that night in her head made him sick. “I didn’t mean to—” “No, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything. It’s me…it’s talking about it today.” She touched her forehead with a pair of fingers. “I’m having partial flashbacks and all the details are in my head. I can deal. I just need some time to compartmentalize it again.” Damn it all, what was he supposed to say? To do? There existed absolutely no words to make this better for her. She lowered her hand. “We should go up to the house. Sitting here in the driveway probably looks kind of weird.” “Yeah.” Her voice had been small, uncertain, and it ate at him. He caught her chin in a gentle grip. “Tori, I’m sorry.”

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It was the best he could come up with and it was woefully inadequate. Sorry for what? Reese’s brutality? Her pain today? His own inefficacy? Hell if he even knew anymore. “I know.” She wrapped her fingers around his wrist in a light circle. “Thank you.” She stared at him and the air thickened around them. Intense awareness spread out from the feathery contact of her fingertips on his skin. His gaze fell to her mouth, the bottom lip quivering almost imperceptibly. Her hold on his arm tightened; he leaned forward, his heart thundering into his throat. Movement and color flashed beyond the windshield and Tori startled with a muffled yelp. She pressed against the door, a palm spread over her heart, her face pale. “Oh, sweet Jesus.” “No, it’s just Myra.” In a bright pink sweater, she hurried across the yard, her face lit with welcome and joy. His own heart lifted, but he shot a concerned look at Tori’s pallor and wide eyes. A sound that was more snort than laugh emerged from her lips. He squeezed her hand and released her. “Come on. Let’s go.” He opened his door and unfolded from the car, intending to get Tori’s door as well. Instead, he found himself catching Myra close as she launched herself at him. “Oh, Mark. We’ve missed you.” She hugged him hard, her face pressed to his shoulder. The lump was back in his throat, whether from the sweetness of this reunion, his exchange with Tori, or both, he wasn’t sure. He tightened his arms. “You too.” “Let me look at you.” She leaned back, not breaking the circle of his arms, but framing his face with her palms. “It’s so good to see you. You’ve stayed away too long.” His eyes prickled and he blinked. He couldn’t have gotten words out now if his life depended on it. With a soft laugh, Myra patted his chest and stepped back, her sparkling gaze falling on Tori, who’d stopped at the hood and watched them with something approaching indulgence. Myra held out her hands. “And you must be Tori.” “Yes, ma’am. Thank you for inviting me.” “Honey, I’ve been dying to meet you.” Myra slipped an arm about Tori’s waist and hugged her close. “Glenn has been raving about you ever since he got home. Well, y’all come on back to

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the deck.” Releasing Tori, she waved them toward the house. “Glenn’s cooking and y’all need something cold to drink.” Under Myra’s soothing attention, Tori’s brittle tension faded until she was relaxed and smiling, even laughing at Glenn’s bad jokes. Soon she and Myra discovered a shared love of all things antique and Myra was giving her the rundown on the best shops to hit in the historic district. “Why do I see more junk browsing in my future?” he whispered as Myra hustled them to the table, where Glenn spilled the low country boil into a large pottery bowl. She slipped into the chair next to his, her dark eyes glowing, all shadows gone for the moment. “Hey, we’re going to need something fun to do tomorrow after all those workshops.” “I can think of plenty of fun things for us to do that don’t involve antiques, Tor.” She fixed him with a startled look, her lips parted on a rejoinder, but Myra’s passing of plates and silverware forestalled her. “Shoot, I forgot the bread.” Myra tapped Glenn’s arm. “Honey, come with me. We need the malt vinegar and you put it on that top pantry shelf again. Y’all serve yourselves; we’ll be right back.” Tori spooned a generous helping of sausage, shrimp, corn and potatoes onto Mark’s plate, then her own. “What, exactly, is your idea of ‘fun’?” The emphasis she placed on fun sounded almost sarcastic. He shrugged. “I don’t know. Something other than hitting every antique shop in town, maybe?” “Mark. If I’m not going antiquing, I need options. You’re not exactly selling any here.” He cast about for an idea. “I’m thinking.” “This should not be that hard. What do you do for fun at home?” Fun? When he wasn’t working, he hung out, sort of, with Tick. Which usually meant hanging out, sort of, with Tick and Falconetti, but since her pregnancy, there’d not been much of that. Every so often, he’d have a beer with Chris or one of his former colleagues from DCPD. He could get into a good football game, if FSU was playing. And he… Well, hell.

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“This is sad.” Turned sideways in her chair, Tori regarded him, her gaze incredulous. He flinched from the sympathy in those big eyes. “Are you telling me you don’t have anything outside of work?” “I like my job.” “So do I, but I also have a life.” He lifted his brows and she clapped a hand over her mouth. “I’m sorry.” Her palm muffled the apology. “I did not mean that the way it came out.” A laugh vibrated in his chest. Hot damn, she was cute when she was embarrassed. “Yes, you did.” She lowered her hand, still watching him, and he chafed under that intent, watchful look. He rested his hands upon his knees. “Look, Tori, just because I’m not constantly running around when I’m not working doesn’t mean I don’t have a life. I lead a quiet life. I like it that way.” “You lead a quiet existence. It’s not the same thing.” “Sure it—” “Here we are.” Myra swept back to the porch, Glenn on her heels. She placed a basket of steaming rolls on the table and settled into her seat. “I’m sorry we kept you waiting. Tori, while you’re here, you should visit Uptown San Marco. There are some great antique shops through there. Mark, you’d have no trouble finding it. They’re in those blocks before you get to the Mission.” “Oh, I can find them, Myra.” He peeled a shrimp. “The question is whether or not I want to. You haven’t seen her turned loose in an antique store. We might never make it back to Georgia.” “Behave.” Tori dug her elbow into his ribs. “I’m not that bad.” “Of course you’re not.” He waited a second. “And your brother doesn’t like to fish.” Laughter swelled around the table. They tucked into the casual feast, Myra continuing to draw Tori out as the meal progressed. “So what have you done while you’ve been here?” Myra asked after she’d set her empty plate aside.

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Mark caught the glance Tori cast at him beneath her lashes before she leaned forward to answer Myra’s question. “Last night we had dinner at O.C. White’s then walked St. George Street. That was fun.” He draped his arm along the back of her chair, his fingers dangling just above the smooth skin of her arm. “Even without antiques.” “Yes.” Her soft laugh tickled his ears and warmed him. “Even without antiques.” Myra watched them with indulgence. “Make sure he takes you out to climb the lighthouse. The view is a must-see, but be prepared…your legs will feel like spaghetti afterward.” “Now that sounds great.” Tori turned an eager look on him. “Do you think we could put that on tomorrow’s agenda after the seminars?” “Yeah.” He managed to get the syllable out in an ordinary-enough voice as the conversation turned around him. Sudden memories tumbled through his head. Climbing the circular iron stairs in the lighthouse as the last patrons of the day, Jenny’s youthful laughter echoing off the plastered walls. Their second date…no, their third. They’d been kids, still in high school, his senior year, her sophomore one. He’d been so lost in her already then, and he’d loved how her eyes glowed at him. Atop the structure, she’d turned into his arms and he’d kissed her for the first time, a chaste mingling of warm lips. Weird how here, not just in town, but at Glenn and Myra’s, Jenny had been so far from his thoughts for the afternoon and evening. Hell, most of the day. He’d felt lighter, freer, somehow. Normal. That’s what it was. Sitting at the old plank table on the Rigsbys’ screened porch, surrounded by laughter and conversation, with Tori at his side, he felt normal again. Normal wasn’t in his vocabulary anymore. It hadn’t been since Jenny. For a while tonight, he’d forgotten that, forgotten Jenny. The tines of his fork ripped into the sausage, which definitely wasn’t on his diet. Usually, he only found that forgetfulness when he was buried deep inside some fairly anonymous woman and it never lasted longer than a few minutes. The hurt and the guilt always came crashing back in. Tonight, though, it wafted over him in soft wavelets, washing in and out, but not lingering.

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Heaven help him, forgetting felt good, like losing the extra weight he’d carried the last few years. He didn’t want to pick up the pain and anguish again. What did that say about him, that desire to forget? Jenny deserved better than that. Tori’s sweet laugh drifted over him and he pushed his plate away. This had been a lousy idea, coming here, bringing her with him. They weren’t going to be together, he didn’t need to get any more wound up in her and he sure as hell didn’t need to let himself forget the past. Her easy touch on his arm dragged him from his miserable reverie. “You didn’t really?” He looked into the sparkling depths of her dark eyes and his chest tightened. “Didn’t what?” She rolled those pretty eyes and gave him a “duh” look. “Ask the desk clerk to make the naked guy a pot of coffee.” The memory returned and his lips twitched. “Yeah, I did.” He looked at Glenn, the remembrance passing between them. “What else was I supposed to do? The guy had already told me he was invisible.” “Well, at least you did throw a blanket on him,” Glenn drawled. Laugher rippled around the table again, but he couldn’t relax. Everything he’d eaten seemed like cold lead in his gut and each of Tori’s movements filled his nostrils with her light floral perfume. The meal couldn’t end soon enough for him. Finally, Myra began clearing the table. “Let me help you.” Tori stood and reached for Mark’s plate as well as her own. Her arm pressed his shoulder and he froze. Then the whispery contact was gone and he could breathe. Glenn pushed to his feet and picked up the nearly empty serving platter. “Come on, Mark. Let’s get this stuff in the kitchen. I think Myra’s planning one of her marathon Scrabble games.” She might be, but he wasn’t planning on staying. Mark kept the thought to himself and gathered the breadbasket and cloth napkins. Inside, the warmth of Myra’s chicken-decorated kitchen engulfed him. He settled his items on the tile countertop. Tori stood across the long, narrow room, perusing the array of photos on the wall. Myra dropped a handful of cutlery in the dishwasher and gave him a gentle push. “Go tell her who everyone is.”

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He stopped behind Tori and she smiled at him over her shoulder, pointing at one of the photos, taken on the deck of Glenn’s pontoon boat one sunny afternoon not long after Mark had joined the force. “You were so young.” “Yeah.” He studied his younger self, one hand holding a fishing rod, the other arm wrapped around Jenny’s still-narrow waist. Man, he’d been just a kid and Jenny looked like a baby herself. That had been only a couple of days before they’d learned she was pregnant. The bright sun glinted off her blonde spiral-permed hair and a brighter smile crinkled her face as she looked up at him. The devotion in that expression made him ache. Tori looked closer. “She’s really pretty. Old girlfriend?” He didn’t want to have this conversation, but he couldn’t deny the girl who’d loved him so fully. He swallowed, throat raw like he’d downed shards of glass. “My wife.” “Your…” Tori stared at him, her mouth a surprised “O”. “I didn’t know you’d been married.” “It was a long time ago.” Tori tilted her head to one side, her gaze straying to the photo once more. “You’ve been divorced awhile, then.” “I’m not divorced.” The words emerged with painful harshness and she looked at him again, her eyes wide. “Like I said, it was a long time ago.” “But sometimes it feels like yesterday,” she said, her voice a soft comfort. A wry expression twisted her mouth. “That feeling I can understand.” He rubbed a hand over his nape. “Are you ready to go? We’ve got another early morning ahead of us.” She studied him for a long moment, her expression astute and assessing. Analyzing. He chafed under that look, but finally she shrugged. “Sure. I’m just going to thank Myra and Glenn.” He nodded. She moved away and he started to follow, but Jenny drew his attention. The love shining on her face felt like an accusation of betrayal. The weight descended on him again. Forgetting wasn’t an option.

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Disentangling from Myra’s protests took a few minutes, but finally, they were outside, in the damp evening air. At the car, Tori pulled in a deep breath, the pain and tension that had visibly blanketed her gone. “This was wonderful and just what I needed. Thank you for bringing me.” “You’re welcome.” He waited for her to unlock the car, the memories clawing at him, his emotions raw and bleeding. Damn it, coming here had been the worst freaking thing he could have done. He needed a couple of drinks and a hard, wild lay, not necessarily in that order. Anything to appease the ghosts, make them go away. He needed to bury himself for a little while. “Do you mind driving?” Another sweet smile and she held out the keys. “I hate night driving anyway and you know these roads better than I do.” “No problem.” She pressed the keys into his palm, her fingers brushing his skin, and he recoiled from the warm sensation. Her smile faltered and she stepped away. Good. He didn’t want to contaminate her and tonight he would. Tonight, he was surely the foulest thing on earth—a husband who grieved his wife and child by screwing women he didn’t know, didn’t want to know. In the Miata, he slid the seat back and adjusted the mirrors. The quiet click of her seatbelt filled the silence. The weight of her gaze lay on him like a physical touch as he backed down the Rigsbys’ driveway. Moonlight turned the road to a ribbon of silver. “Mark?” Her quiet voice wrapped around him. The soothing note grated, made him itch. “Do you want to talk about it?” “No.” “It might—” “Don’t tell me it’ll help. It doesn’t.” Deep woods rose on either side of the rural road, and he shuddered. Was this where Jenny waited for him? He’d screamed her name out here until he was hoarse, the cries of the volunteer searchers ringing in his ears. For the longest time, he’d felt her the strongest in this area, as if she called to him, wanting him to find her, to bring her home. He’d failed her. God, he’d let her down so bad. It didn’t matter what else he did in his life; he could never make up for how miserably he’d failed Jenny and their baby.

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Thankfully, Tori didn’t push the matter. She pulled a knee up on the seat and propped her chin on it, her gaze turned out to the darkness beyond the window. He put the little car through its paces, trying to place as much distance between himself and the memories as possible. Try as he might, though, he couldn’t outrun the past, not for long. When he’d first moved to Georgia, gone to work for the Dougherty County PD, leaving everything behind had been his motive, but it hadn’t taken him long to figure out he would never leave it behind, not really. Once they were back at the motel, he handed Tori the keys, careful not to touch her in any way. She watched him with big, dark eyes and fiddled with her electronic card key. “I’m really not sleepy yet. I don’t suppose you want to take a walk or something?” Or something. His skin was crawling, a thousand insects tearing at him with skittering claws, and she wanted to take a nice, little walk. Yeah. He could stand that, like he was going to be able to take Tick’s proud fatherhood when that baby arrived. He jerked his head toward the bay area. “I’m going to go get a couple of beers.” She pushed her hair back, the tousled mass falling about her shoulders. “Want some company?” Hooking his thumbs in his belt, he eyed her, a slow appraisal, and she shifted under his gaze. “Not the kind you’re offering.” He might as well have slapped her—he saw it in the widening of her eyes, the way her teeth tore at her bottom lip, the half step she took away from him. Remorse crashed through him, followed by a flow of self-hatred. Still, it was better she saw him for what he really was, rather than the shining knight she’d started painting him as. She wasn’t going to be his princess and he wasn’t the one to rescue her. “I’ll see you later.” He lifted a hand in a half-wave and walked toward the street. He didn’t look back.

Smoke, chatter and loud music made the tiny pub with its hunter green walls and brass wall sconces seem even smaller. Mark leaned against the bar and rolled his longneck between his palms. Images tumbled through his head—sunlight sparkling on water as a pontoon boat

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skimmed over it, Jenny’s smile and jaunty wave when she walked away that last day, hurt flaring in Tori’s eyes, pain he’d caused with his cruel words. He really was a first-class son of a bitch. Weariness dragged at him. He was so damned tired of fighting against what was. Why he’d ever looked at Tori Calvert and thought…hell, he was lower than pond scum, not in her league at all. “Excuse me.” Smiling, a little redhead slipped in beside him and tried to get the bartender’s attention. Her breasts, pushed high by some miraculous bra and exposed by a scoop-neck T-shirt, pressed against his arm. He closed his eyes for a second. The moves didn’t change, just the place. “You’re new here.” She had to shout above the music and he opened his eyes. His part in the game demanded that. She rested an arm on the bar, her upper body angled toward him for his optimal viewing pleasure. In the past, that would have given him a thrill. The game might have been fun, once upon a time. Now, all that mattered was the final score, the few minutes of blessed mental blankness he’d get out of the deal. He nodded, a knot settling in his gut. Didn’t she get how dangerous it could be to approach a stranger? He could be anybody—the next Ted Bundy. He lifted his bottle, a stream of lukewarm beer trickling over his tongue. “Don’t you know you shouldn’t talk to strangers?” With a self-confident air, she held out a hand, silver bangles dancing up her arm. “I’m Annie.” He took the proffered hand. The dampness of her palm slid against his. “Mark.” A pink-tipped finger glided over his wrist and she smiled, a slow, knowing bow of her glossy lips. “So we’re not strangers anymore.” “Practically old friends,” he said. She shifted closer and he caught a glimpse of a rose tattoo on the upper curve of her breast, just inside the edge of her shirt. He had absolutely no urge to discover the little drawing, not the way he’d wanted to with Tori. Stiffening, he straightened. He wasn’t going there. Not ever. Annie moved an inch or so closer. “So what brings you to St. Augustine?” “Work. Attending a conference.”

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“What do you do?” “I’m a cop.” “Really? How interesting.” Her blue gaze swept over him, measuring. She expected a similar show of interest. He toyed with the loose wrapper on his beer. “What about you? What do you do?” A big grin displayed her white teeth. “I’m a kindergarten teacher.” His kindergarten teacher had been a spindly, graying woman. Annie didn’t look like any teacher he’d ever had. But closeted all day with a roomful of five-year-olds? He shuddered. He’d rather break up a bar fight with no backup. “Bet that’s really interesting.” Her cheerful laugh was pretty, lyrical. “You have no idea.” The bartender finally stopped in front of them. “What’ll you have?” Beneath her lashes, Annie slanted a flirtatious glance at Mark. “A Screaming Orgasm.” Figured, but at least she knew what she wanted. Mark reached for his wallet. “I’ve got it.” “You want another beer?” “Yeah. Thanks.” The drinks arrived shortly and Annie clinked her glass against his longneck. “To new friends.”

Outside the bar, Annie stumbled, and with an arm at her waist, Mark steadied her. She clutched at his biceps and giggled. She smoothed her hair with her free hand and glanced up at him. Her eyes drooping a little, she turned into him, breasts flattened against his chest. She pushed him against the wall and walked a finger down his throat and chest, stopping just above the point where their bodies meshed. “I really, really like you.” The slurred words emerged on a high giggle. Shadows darkened the alley behind the pub, but enough moonlight filtered through the cloud cover above to pick out strands of gold in her hair. “Yeah?” He slid his hands to her waist and pulled her closer. The excitement he’d expected didn’t materialize; the cold, hard knot remained in his chest.

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“Yeah.” She pressed even tighter against him and circled his neck with her arms. Her mouth, wet and a little clumsy, sought his. He fought the instant recoil at the touch of her lips. Her tongue flicked at the corner of his mouth, probed inside. She tasted of alcohol and salt, a remnant of peanuts from the bar. This kiss was neither sweet nor tentative, nothing like kissing Tori had been. No sense in thinking about her or that kiss, no point in remembering how fresh she’d tasted. Instead, he eased his fingers beneath the hem of Annie’s shirt and up to the curve of her breasts, his movements rough and unsteady. She moaned her approval and hooked her leg over his, thigh over thigh, her foot tucked around his knee. A little kissing, a little petting, and she’d let him have her right here, public alleyway or not. He kissed her harder, not wanting to think about being almost forty and about to screw a stranger against a bar wall. A tattooed, actually-kind-of-nice, plastered kindergarten teacher, but a stranger all the same. She was drunk and he was convenient. He was hurting and she didn’t matter. There was absolutely nothing right about this. He was in the wrong place, doing the wrong thing, with the wrong woman, for the worst reasons in the world. And knowing that, he was going to do it anyway. Annie pulled her mouth from his with a trilling, though shaky, laugh. She rubbed at his arms and tilted her head back. “My place is a couple of blocks from here. Let’s go there.” Her place. He’d always preferred the anonymity and neutrality of a motel room, but he could hardly take her back to the Bayview, not with Tori next door. Just thinking about it made him cringe. Closing his mind to memories of kissing Tori, to images of her big, dark eyes, he trailed his fingers over the ridge of Annie’s spine, beneath her shirt. “Sounds good.”

Tori stepped into her loose pajama pants, the cotton fabric catching a little on her damp skin. She jerked a camisole over her head.

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“Not the kind you’re offering.” She mimicked Mark’s earlier tone, hurt anger making her throat tight. Eyeing herself in the mirror, she twisted her still-damp hair into a loose knot. Between the hem of her camisole and the waistband of her low-riding pants, the rhinestone dangle on her bellybutton ring winked in the fluorescent light. He was such a jerk, taking her to the Rigsbys’ for dinner, giving her glimpses of himself, making her want to comfort him. She turned away from the mirror and padded into the main room. “He doesn’t want your brand of comfort.” Frustration gripped her again. He was dwelling in anger and denial, probably hopelessness, not moving through the necessary stages of grief, and she could help him, if only he would let her. He wouldn’t, though. Instead, he was seeking comfort with some available woman. Tori flopped onto her bed and stared at the ceiling. What was he doing, right now? Kissing that other woman? Touching her? More? Eyes burning, Tori blinked. She didn’t want to cry over him again. She closed her eyes and conjured up the memory of him standing before her earlier, his face bearing the lines and ravages of intense grief. And survivor’s guilt. She’d wanted him to walk with her, to talk about his wife and whatever had happened to her. She’d wanted to offer him surcease. What if she’d offered him the kind of company he’d gone looking for? Her stomach lifted, fluttered. If she’d stepped forward and touched him, made herself available, they might right now be together, perhaps on this same bed. She could be exploring the tight muscles she’d felt under her palms when she’d grabbed his arms. His mouth could be on hers, he could be touching her, his body covering— Face hot, she opened her eyes. “Like that’s going to happen. Get real, Victoria Jean.” Her body tingled, her breasts seeming heavy and full, the trembling in her stomach settling to a dull ache. The reality would be her entire body stiffening, freezing when he tried to touch her. In her head, the man taking her wouldn’t be Mark. He would be Billy Reese. She sat up, knees to her chest, hands holding her ankles in a light grasp. In the years since Reese had raped her, she’d tried moving forward, had dated a total of three men. She’d not been

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able to get past simple good-night kisses, hadn’t wanted their hands on her. None of the three had awakened any genuine hint of desire in her. Even worse, the horrifying lack of judgment she’d made with the last one had frightened her off the idea of dating for two years. She’d been completely taken in by his smooth exterior, had thoroughly failed to see the twisted evil that lurked inside. Mark made her feel, but deep down, she knew she wouldn’t be able to follow through. “Face it,” she whispered, resting her cheek against her knees. “You don’t have anything to offer him.” And he didn’t have anything to offer her, not really. Obviously, he’d locked his heart and his emotions away long ago. He wasn’t the man for her. The best thing for her to do was put Mark Cook right out of her mind and try to get some sleep. “Sure,” she murmured against her arm. Already, the images of him intertwined with another woman poked at the edges of her brain. “As if.”

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Chapter Eight

Annie’s place turned out to be a small Victorian, just off San Marco near the Mission. Vivid colors highlighted the elaborate architecture—pinks, lavenders, blues on gingerbread trim and a cupola. In the front yard, a couple of whirligigs in abstract shapes and bright colors turned in lazy circles under lantern lights strung between the trees. Following her up the stoop, Mark fingered a frond on a huge, lacy fern. His stomach muscles were tight, a weird tension hovering over him. What was he doing? He shouldn’t be here. This was wrong, on so many levels. His steps faltered. The walk and moist air seemed to have sobered Annie somewhat, but her hand trembled when she tried to unlock the front door. Mark reached for the keychain with its whimsical palm tree. “Let me.” She surrendered the keys and turned her face up to look at him. Her teeth worried her bottom lip. “I don’t…I don’t do this very often. I want you to know that.” He pushed the door inward and took a step back. A heavy scent of lilacs wafted out the door and over him. “You don’t have to explain anything to me.” Her fingers closed around the keys he pressed into her hand. She wrapped her arms around her midriff and leaned against the doorframe. Her gaze dropped from his. “It’s just, well, it’s 102

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been a horrible week for me. I needed…someone.” She glanced up at him, her blue eyes luminous in the dim light from the cut-glass lantern hanging above her head. “You seemed like a really nice guy.” A nice guy? If she only knew. He paused. Did he really want this? The brief forgetfulness the interlude offered didn’t seem worth it. The pain and guilt would only come rushing in again. And this time, it would be worse because he’d changed things with Tori earlier. Hell, why did he feel committed to her? It didn’t make sense. He rubbed a hand over his nape. “You know, it’s getting late and I’ve got an early morning. I appreciate the offer—” “Mark, just say you changed your mind. It’s okay. I’m not going to jump you.” A flush colored her cheekbones. “Although the way I behaved earlier, I can understand why you’d think I would.” He spread his hands. “I’m sorry.” “It’s okay. You’re right though. It is late. I think I’m going to try to get some sleep.” She pressed her fingers to her temples. “Something tells me I’ll have a whopper of a headache in the morning.” Mark turned for the steps. “Good night.” The top tread creaked under his foot. “Mark?” Her soft voice blended with the whisper of a breeze through the tree branches above. He glanced at her over his shoulder. “Thanks for seeing me home. You really are a nice guy.” “Sure, anytime. Night.” The gentle wind flipped dried leaves along the deserted street. The air held a slight chill, raising gooseflesh on his bare forearms. Bright spotlights cast pools of yellow light around the silent, brooding Castillo de San Marco. Water splashed against the bay wall, and music and laughter flowed from one of the nightspots facing the avenue. Palm trees tossed and waved in the breeze. He stopped. Over the trees on the opposite shore, the lighthouse’s beam flashed. Everything here was familiar, peaceful, but he couldn’t find any appreciation for it. Memories crowded in on

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him—sharing these same sights with Jenny, sitting on a bench and stealing light kisses, taking her to the middle of the Bridge of Lions to propose with a ridiculously small diamond. He could smile at those, but the others—his first night in their empty bed, her due date coming and going with no news, packing up her clothes and the baby things. Those stabbed at him. With the recollections swirling in his head, he’d never sleep, not unless he was exhausted. He hadn’t indulged in the usual sexual release and his body hummed with tension. He’d walk for a while and maybe his body would give in to weariness. If he was lucky. More likely, he was in for a long, sleepless night.

With the bathroom light offering slight illumination, Tori lay awake and stared at the ceiling. Outside her window, car doors slammed and disembodied voices moved along the sidewalk. Another car cruised through the parking lot, a spotlight flashing briefly against the heavy drapes. In the room on her east side, the television droned. She hadn’t heard Mark’s door or his moving around in his room. Restless, she flopped over in the bed. The blanket pulled at her belly button ring and she winced, rubbing the spot. Above her, a deep voice rumbled, followed by a roll of male laughter. The red numerals on the clock radio glowed. After one in the morning. Where was he? Like she had to ask. The idea caused a painful clench in her chest and she rubbed at her gritty eyes. Pushing the covers aside, she padded to the window and perched on the ledge to peek between the drapes. Nothing moved in the parking lot. No vehicles traveled on the street. A figure stood silhouetted on the sidewalk facing the bay. A familiar male build, arms at his sides, head slightly bent. The ache in her chest increased and she clutched the edge of the drape. Everything in the line of his body spoke of intense pain and misery. Go to him. “I can’t,” she whispered. He didn’t want her comfort or help. What he wanted was easy, anonymous sex. He was right—he wanted the one thing she couldn’t offer him. As she watched, he lifted his head and turned toward the motel. She froze, not wanting him to see her watching. Soft footsteps shuffled on the walkway. His door opened and closed, and

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she breathed a slow sigh of relief. At least he’d come back alone. He hadn’t brought the other woman, whoever she was, with him. The other woman. Tori shook her head. For there to be another woman, a relationship had to exist, and it definitely didn’t. His television clicked on and the volume dropped quickly. She leaned against the wall, eyes closed. He was on the other side of that partition, getting ready for bed. “Stop thinking about that. He’s back, and he’s alone. You can go to bed now. He obviously is.” She slid from her perch on the window ledge. She’d grab a glass of water and go back to bed, try to get some sleep. As she passed the second bed, her right foot caught the corner of the platform, under the bedspread. Pain exploded in her toes. She yelped, bent over with the force of the agony moving up her leg in waves. Clutching her injured toes, she hopped on one foot and bit back a moan. Lord, that hurt. “Tori?” Mark knocked on the connecting door, his voice sharp with concern. “Are you all right?” She couldn’t speak, tears blurring her vision, her energy focused on breathing and fighting off the burning pain. Blood leaked between her fingers. Biting her lip, she dropped on the end of the bed, rocking back and forth. “Tori?” If anything, his voice was sharper, a note of alarm creeping in around the edges. “Tori, I’m coming in.” Whatever. He could walk to Timbuktu if he wanted. All she wanted was for the throbbing in her entire foot to stop. “What’s wrong?” He knelt in front of her, his hands running over her. Checking for injuries. She recognized that much. “Tori, what happened?” His voice wavered. She shook her head, still clutching her foot. “My toes.” The sharp gray gaze dropped to her foot and he swore. He cradled her heel in his palm. “Let me see.”

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“Hit them on the bed.” She forced her fingers to let go. Blood dripped on the carpet. He lifted her foot. “Oh, honey.” One strong finger probed at the side of her toe and she sucked in a breath. “Ouch!” “I’m going to get a towel and some ice. Hang on a sec.” Gently, he set her foot down and rose to return to his room. In seconds, he was back, carrying two towels and his ice bucket. “Here.” He lifted her foot again, wrapped one towel underneath and placed the second, filled with ice, along the top of her toes. She flinched. “I know,” he said, his voice soothing. His fingers moved over her ankle in a comforting caress. “It’ll feel better in a sec.” Under the numbing cold, the pain receded slightly and she stared at him. Barefoot and resting on his haunches, he still wore his khakis, but he’d shed his polo shirt. A fine layer of dark hair covered his chest and formed an arrow down the line of his stomach. A small tattoo lurked between his pecs, an infinity swirl angled to the left, over his heart. He rested her foot against his thigh, muscles rippling beneath her heel. Her breath stopped, but this time it had nothing to do with pain. Her fingers tingled. What would it feel like if she traced the tattoo, ran her hands over his chest? Were those muscles as hard as the ones in his arms? “Wiggle your toes for me.” She did, her gaze on his hands touching her. Deft and gentle, his fingers moved over her foot and shivers trickled through her, almost making her forget the burning pulsing. “I don’t think anything’s broken. You have a cut, but it’s not very deep. We can clean it up and put a bandage on it.” “Thanks.” Warmth traveled out from his touch, an odd contrast to the numbing cold at her toes. He glanced up at her and all the warmth died. Deep pink lipstick smudged the corner of his mouth. Leaning forward, she swiped it away with her thumb. “Did she make you forget?” He froze, staring at her. Slowly, he shook his head. “No. I mean, I didn’t…” A hard swallow moved his throat. “I couldn’t.” A trickle of icy water dripped down the side of her foot. Tori moistened dry lips. “Why not?”

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“Because it didn’t feel right. Because it’s not working anymore. She probably could have made me forget Jenny for a little while…” Another swallow, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “But she couldn’t make me forget you.” She blinked. “Mark—” “Let’s get this cleaned up.” His voice turned brisk and he lowered her foot again. Pushing to his feet, he strode into his room and came back with a small first aid kit. “This might sting a little bit.” It stung a lot. She sucked in a harsh breath and he looked up at her, his mouth quirked. “Sorry.” “It’s…it’s all right.” The soothing warmth of his touch on her skin was intoxicating. She took a deep breath. “Jenny was your wife?” The line of his jaw tightened. His fingers hesitated in their gentle ministrations, but he recovered quickly. “Yes. Jenny was my wife.” She wanted to know more, but the awful pain in his words stopped her questions. He smoothed a piece of tape along the edge of the gauze bandage wrapping her big toe. “I guess we were high school sweethearts,” he said, his voice quiet and matter-of-fact. Tori brushed her tangled hair back, her gaze focused on his face. “She was really smart, but she didn’t want college, even though we all tried to talk her into it. She wanted marriage and a family, what her mother had.” “There’s nothing wrong with that,” Tori whispered and held her breath. She was afraid to speak, afraid he’d stop talking, when that was what he needed most. “Not if it made her happy.” “She worked, though. A couple of part-time jobs while I was going to the academy and getting started with the department.” He returned the makeshift ice pack to her bruised toes. “Man, we were young. We got married when she was still seventeen, right out of her senior year. I was nineteen.” “You’re right. You were young.” With experimental caution, she wiggled her toes. Dull agony tore across them and she bit her lip. She hated pain and didn’t deal well with it. Somehow, she expected she’d used up her pain-tolerance quota healing from her rape injuries.

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“Too young.” He laid her foot on his thigh again, his fingertips doing magic to her ankle. The sudden urge to find out what else those fingers could do to her set off the fluttery twinge in her stomach again. “We’d only been married about a year when she got pregnant.” The breath she’d just managed to catch whooshed out again. He was a father? “I know it sounds strange, but sometimes it’s the baby I wonder about the most. What he would have grown up to be, that kind of thing. He’d be almost nineteen now.” She closed her eyes. No, not a father. At least, not one who’d gotten the chance to hold his child. Horrible scenarios clicked through her mind. She opened her eyes to find him rubbing his thumb across the top of her foot. “What happened?” “I failed them.” His whisper was so low she barely caught the words. “I was supposed to protect them and I failed.” Her throat tight, she leaned forward and cradled his face. His stubble pricked her palms. “Mark, I’m sure it wasn’t—” “Yeah, it was.” He took hold of her wrists and pulled her hands away. “I could have walked with her. I could have gone looking for her sooner. There’s so many things I could have done differently and any one of them might have saved her. But I didn’t do any of them. I screwed up.” Did he realize he still held her wrists, his thumbs moving in slow circles on her skin? “Like I could have taken a different route home or not enrolled in the night class in the first place? Maybe carpooled with someone else so I wasn’t alone? Or I could have stayed in the car, not gotten out to move that branch.” Fingers tightened and his head jerked up, shadowed eyes meeting hers. “What Reese did wasn’t your fault in any way.” “You’re right. It wasn’t.” She kept her voice soft. “Just like whatever happened to Jenny and your baby wasn’t yours.” He harrumphed in disagreement and she twisted her hands so she could take his. Holding his gaze, she smiled, although her lips trembled. “You were a victim too. It wasn’t your fault.” “How can you say that? You don’t even know what happened, and you’re so sure—”

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“Because.” She moved the pads of her fingers against his palms. They weren’t callused, not like Tick’s were and her father’s had been, but they weren’t pampered and smooth either. His hands were strong, experienced, a little rough around the edges. “I know you.” “Awful damn trusting, aren’t you?” “Actually, no. Like I said, I know you.” He dropped his head, the line of his shoulders defeated. “You think you do,” he muttered. Looking at the vulnerability of his nape juxtaposed with the strength of his broad shoulders, she hurt for him. She wanted to wrap him close like one of her nephews and stroke his hair, while whispering that everything would be all right. That worked for a skinned knee; maybe it would work for a broken heart too. She didn’t think he’d accept it from her, though. A deep breath shook his sturdy frame. “I looked for them, even after the volunteers gave up. Every weekend for months. I didn’t give up.” Tugging one hand free of her gentle grip, he rubbed at his eyes. “Not until her due date. I knew if she’d been able to come home, she would have before then. That’s when I knew she was probably dead.” The slight throbbing pain in her toes was nothing to the squeezing around her heart. Her movements awkward, she slid from the bed to sit with him. With the injured foot canted to one side, her knees brushed his. She touched his jaw, stubble abrading her fingertips. “I’m so sorry.” “Yeah, me too.” One hand pinching the bridge of his nose, he laughed, a rough, humorless sound. “Know how sorry I am? The night I finally let myself believe she wasn’t coming back, I slept with her best friend. For all of fifteen minutes or so, I forgot about her and our baby and how much I hurt—” “And you’ve been doing it ever since.” So much made sense now—the apartment that wasn’t a home, the dry, stinging wit that kept everyone at arm’s length, the nearly anonymous Angels of his life. The guilt at surviving was so heavy he’d punished himself by refusing to live at all. He existed in some dark hell of his own making. She wanted to dig her heels in and drag him back into the sunlight, wanted to experience that warmth and light with him. Her toe pulsed with a sudden surge of pain and she winced, shifting her foot. He shrugged off her easy touch and looked at her leg. “We need to get you some painkillers. I think there’s some ibuprofen in that kit—”

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“It can wait. You can’t.” She reached for him again, but he levered his head back, avoiding her. “I’m not one of your clients, Tori. I don’t need to be fixed.” A hint of anger hovered in his voice. She laid her hands in her lap. “I know you’re not one of my clients. I couldn’t treat you anyway. There are rules about personal involvement.” Eyes narrowed, he shot her a look. “We’re not involved.” “Aren’t we?” “No.” She lifted her eyebrows. “Sure about that?” “Tori. Stop.” The anger had retreated into defensiveness. She rested her back against the bed, stretching out her right leg and placing her left foot flush against her thigh. The injured foot protested the movement, little darts of pain shooting up her leg. “You’ve turned denial into an art form for real, haven’t you?” He scowled, confusion darkening his eyes. She could almost see the thoughts flickering behind that gaze as he tried to get a handle on her. “What are you talking about?” She wagged a finger at him. “My turn to ask a question. How many people have you shared your past with?” “Just Tick, which means Falconetti probably knows.” Color washed his cheekbones and he glanced away with a muttered curse. “And you.” She brushed his knee with a single fingertip and the line of his body tensed. “You know more about me than any other man. You’ve made…” She closed her eyes, the words catching in her throat. The first step was confronting the fear. If she wanted this, she’d have to fight for it. She’d have to fight for him. “You’re the first man to make me feel anything physical since the rape.” He darted a look at her, and she swallowed hard. “Tell me we’re not involved, Mark. Make me believe it, because from where I’m sitting, it sure feels like we are.” “You deserve better.” The words emerged on a strangled whisper.

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“So do you.” She held his gaze, her mouth dry, stomach lifting and falling in wild quivers. “Do you think Jenny would want you living like this?” “I…” He closed his mouth, jaw tight. Dropping his gaze, he shook his head. “No.” “What would she want for you?” Head lowered, he didn’t reply and she took his hand. “A normal life? For you to move on?” He nodded, still not looking at her. “Mark, what do you want?” “You.” He lifted his head then. Torment lingered in his eyes and tension cut deep lines beside his mouth. “Damn it, Tori, I want you, and I can’t…I don’t want to hurt you.” “Life doesn’t give us any guarantees. Everything has a risk. Yeah, you might hurt me. I might hurt you. But we might be able to make it work. If I’m willing to take that risk, why can’t you?” He tugged his hand free and reached for the first aid kit. “You need to take a couple of these ibuprofen tablets.” Frustration spread out from her chest. “Mark—” Pushing to his feet, he held out a twin pack of painkillers. “I’m sorry. I just can’t.”

Mark tucked the kit back into his suitcase. Damn it, his hands were shaking. Actually, all of him felt shaky, muscles tense from fighting off the urge to reach for her, tug her close and hold on for dear life. “Can’t or won’t?” Behind him, Tori’s voice held a distinct challenge. On a harsh breath, he closed his eyes. He should have known she wouldn’t make this easy. There had to be a Calvert gene that coded them all to do things the hard way. He didn’t turn around. “Go to bed, Tori.” “No.” A hint of strain colored her voice. “Not until we’ve talked about this.” “Fine.” He strode to the bed nearest the window, farthest from her, and flung the covers back. “You talk. I’ll go to bed.” The sound she made fell somewhere between a growl and a sigh. “Mark, be reasonable.”

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“I am. It’s late and I’m beat. You’re the one acting like a two-year-old who doesn’t want to go to bed.” He unfastened his watchband to lay it on the nightstand. The skin on his back prickled under her gaze. “Does that make it easier?” The words dropped between them with deadly precision. “Treating me like a child, I mean? Like I don’t have the common sense to know what I’m doing?” He closed his eyes again. Child wasn’t the word that came to mind. Shaking off the thought, he reached for his belt buckle. “All I want to do is get some rest. You should do the same.” “Right. Go to bed, stare at the ceiling, pretend all this never happened. That’s the routine, isn’t it? I’ve been there. I fought like hell to face what happened to me and move on. Yes, I backslide and I have a long way to go still, but at least I’m trying.” Meaning, of course, that he wasn’t. With irritation making his movements jerky, he unbuttoned his khakis and slid the zipper down, finally letting the pants fall and stepping out of them. He scooped them up, tossed them on the second bed and settled beneath the covers. Arms crossed over his chest, he stared at her. Flushed, she stared back, her narrowed eyes glinting with anger. Weight shifted off her injured foot, she stood with hands on her hips. The camisole and low-slung pajama pants left a couple inches of skin exposed and the glittering belly button ring had to be the cutest thing he’d ever seen. A body piercing and a tattoo. What other little secrets was she hiding? God, he wanted to find out and he’d sell his soul to peel away her layers and defenses, discover the true Tori beneath the pain and the bravado. If he still had one to sell. He pointed at the open doorway behind her. “Good night.” She limped farther into the room. The rhinestone dangle sparkled. She shook her head, a wry smile twisting her pretty mouth. “You know, I never pegged you as a coward, but that’s it, isn’t it? You’re afraid.” “You need to go.” He fisted handfuls of the blanket. Another slow, painful step. “You said you didn’t want to hurt me, but you’re more afraid of getting hurt again, aren’t you?”

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He wasn’t going to lose his temper. She could push all she wanted, but he wasn’t giving in, wouldn’t let her or the irritation have its way. The memory of her crying when he’d raised his voice after their visit to the antique mall was too fresh. His whole aim was to not hurt her—no way would he make her cry again. Folding his arms behind his head, he eyed her, his gaze trailing over her with practiced ease. “You really need to go to bed, honey.” Limping forward, she stopped at the foot of his bed and crossed her arms over her chest. “So this is the way it’s going to be?” “This is the way it’s going to be.” The way it had to be. For a long, tense moment, she stared at him. She nodded, a short, terse movement. “Then I guess there’s nothing more to say. Good night.” Turning her back on him, she limped back to her room. She closed the connecting doors behind her. She never looked back. Mark closed his eyes. Relief should have been coursing through him. He’d finally made her see things as they were. Instead, a cold lump filled his stomach. He recognized that lump and the icy emptiness it brought to his chest. Loneliness. She was gone, and he was alone again. This was best. He was doing the right thing for her. Maybe, if he kept telling himself that, sooner or later he’d believe it.

Tori leaned against the connecting door. Frustrated anger simmered in her body, mingling with the pain emanating from her toes. “Stubborn ass.” They needed each other. Why couldn’t he see that? She’d just have to find a way to show him. Maybe this was her catalyst—what she’d needed to jolt her out of her comfort zone. To convince him, she had to find a way over her fear of intimacy. She could do that. Oh, who was she kidding?

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This wasn’t going to be like finding the perfect outfit for a party. She’d watched other women struggle with the same issue, had done everything she could to help them. She blew out a laughing snort. “Talk about the blind leading the blind.” What had she been thinking? All the textbook answers hadn’t given her a clue. Now, faced with the same battle, none of those answers seemed to apply. Most of the women she’d counseled in terms of regaining sexual intimacy had the support of a loving partner. The man she wanted had just thrown her out of his bedroom. And she’d let him. Calverts didn’t quit. She wouldn’t give up on them, would do whatever it took. Facing the fear was the first step. She could do that. She flattened a palm against the door. Only silence came from his room, but somehow she knew he wasn’t sleeping. She pictured him, lying bare-chested against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. Hurting. Afraid. She refused to leave him like that. “This isn’t over, Mark,” she whispered. “Not by a long shot.” Eyes closed, she wrapped her fingers around the doorknob. “Just turn it, Victoria. Get in there and go after what you want.” With a deep, shaky breath, she opened the door once more. The lamp by the bed didn’t burn, but light spilled through from her bathroom and silvered his room. He lay against the pillow, an arm thrown over his eyes. She limped into the room, pain darting across her toes with each movement. He exhaled a rough breath but didn’t lower his arm. “What do you want now, Tori?” Nervous fear grabbed her throat. She folded her arms over her chest, a tight, protective gesture, and swallowed hard. “You.” He lowered his arm and sat up to stare at her, his eyes glittering in the dim light. “It’s late and I’m not in the mood to play games with you.” She took a painful step forward. “I’m not playing. I’m tired of being alone, Mark. I want a chance with you. I can’t tell you it’ll be easy, any of it.” She rushed into the words, desperate to convince him before he could reject her. She lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. “Inside, I’m still

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a mess. When we…when we make love, I don’t know what’s going to happen in my head, what it’s going to trigger. I can’t even tell you when I’ll be ready to try.” “Tori.” His voice emerged strangled. “You don’t—” “Just a chance, Mark,” she whispered, as raw and exposed as she’d been that morning before seventy strangers. “Aren’t you tired of being alone too?” Silence stretched between them and the tension in her body tightened until she wanted to scream. She’d offered him everything, including her pride. Why didn’t he say anything? He reached for the lamp, and with a click, light flooded the room. Tori blinked in the artificial brightness. Mark stared at her, his eyes stormy. She swallowed again. He opened his arms.

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Chapter Nine

Tori’s pent-up breath whooshed from her body. She stared at Mark’s open arms and all her bravado disappeared. He’d picked up her gauntlet and now she didn’t know what to do. She fiddled with the rhinestone dangle at her navel. “Mark, I…” Her laugh came out shaky and hoarse. “I don’t know what to do next.” “What do you want?” The possibilities in his soft question danced through her head. “I-I want you to kiss me again.” His lashes dipped. For a second, his head dropped then he pushed up from the bed. His gaze, darkened to the steely gray of a summer thundercloud, clung to hers. As he approached, her stomach shivered with anticipation while tiny tendrils of panic slid along her nerves. He stopped, close but not touching, still holding her gaze. “Are you sure?” She hesitated. Was she? What if this kiss led them somewhere she wasn’t ready to go yet? Cold fear tugged her stomach down and tied it in a huge knot. He reached out to brush a strand of hair from her face. His hand lingered and he curled a stray lock around his forefinger. “What else do you want?” Lord, she felt so stupid. She’d wanted a chance, and now that she had one, she had no clue what to do. She shifted her weight, renewed soreness pulsing in her injured foot. “I don’t know.”

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She tousled the back of her hair and gave him a lopsided smile despite the tears pricking at her eyelids. “How stupid is that? Maybe you were right. I can’t give you what—” “Hush.” He stepped closer and wrapped her in a loose embrace. His chin brushed her temple. “You have no idea what you’ve already given me.” One of his hands moved down her back in a slow, easy caress. She studied the texture of the skin at his shoulder, but kept her hands at her sides. Her mind and body needed time to adjust to being this close to a man wearing only black boxer briefs. Through her thin camisole, his fingers warmed her skin and that same heat emanated from the line of his body. A faint hint of cigarette smoke clung to his skin, mixing with his cleaner scent. An urge to move closer, press her lips to his shoulder, flitted through her. She settled for putting her arms around him, palms flat against his back. He exhaled, a long, deep breath that stirred the hair at her brow. The sound held peace and relief, emotions mirrored within her, and she smiled. This was intimacy, being this close, alone in the night, the past banished for a little while. A finger skimmed the hem of her camisole, stroked her spine, and with a cautious movement, she rested her cheek against his shoulder. He tightened his hold, but didn’t pull her closer. She flexed her hands on his back, experimenting with the feel of skin and muscles beneath her palms. The sense of panic had receded and a wary well-being trickled in to take its place. She sighed. “This feels wonderful.” “Yeah, it does,” he murmured, his mouth moving against her temple. “Are you staying?” She stiffened. “Mark, I’m not ready. I mean…” He cradled her face and pulled back. “To sleep, Tori. I’m worn out and you have to be exhausted. Your choice, but I’m going to bed. I’d like you with me, but I understand if you want to go back to your room.” When he walked away to flip the covers back, the loss of his warmth was stark and intense. Tori gripped her elbows and eyed the expanse of the bed. For the first year after her father’s death, she’d been unable to sleep alone—she’d shared a bed with her sister or climbed in with her mama. This was a whole different matter—she’d never shared a man’s bed before. She wanted to share Mark’s, even if only in a literal sense.

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He lifted an eyebrow at her. “I’m not going to bite you.” A roguish smile twisted his lips. “Not tonight, anyway.” A laugh bubbled in her throat, even as the words sent a shiver of sensation over her. She gestured over her shoulder. “I probably should go back to my room.” He regarded her with a suddenly solemn expression, his eyes dark and serious. “Aren’t you tired of being alone, Tor?” With her stomach on a wild rollercoaster, she nodded. “I just want to be close to you,” he said, his voice quiet. “No strings, no expectations. Just you and me, together.” Tucking her hair behind her ears, she smiled. “I want that too.” “Come on, then.” He tugged the pillows from the other bed and tossed them against the cheap headboard. He turned his back to arrange them and a spurt of gratitude warmed Tori’s chest. She’d never have been able to crawl into that bed with him watching her. On her side, she huddled beneath the covers, intensely aware of the mattress shifting under his body. The lamp clicked off, leaving the room in shadows highlighted by the glow from her bathroom light. He moved, adjusting covers and pillows, the cotton sheets whispering with each movement. Her stomach churned and she closed her eyes, blowing out a deep, calming breath. This was Mark; she wanted to be here with him. His thumb brushed her shoulder. “Do you want me to hold you?” Her eyes burned and she blinked, staring into the semi-darkness. She wanted it more than anything, but his proximity already had nerves jumping beneath her skin. “I-I would, but I don’t think it’s a good idea. I need to get used to this first.” “All right.” He smoothed a hand down her arm and pulled away. “Good night.” “Good night.” She folded her fingers around the edge of the mattress, digging into the fabric. Pain gripped her chest and she pressed her other hand over her heart, seeking to soothe the anger and hatred brewing there. This wasn’t supposed to be so hard. Sleeping next to a man she cared for should be the most natural thing in the world. Damn Billy Reese. He’d taken more than her body that long-ago night.

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Behind her, Mark shifted positions and his breathing settled into a deep, even rhythm. She blinked away another wave of tears. At least one of them would get some sleep.

*** Arms behind his head, Tick stared into the shadows. At the small of his back, the nagging soreness twisted and snarled despite the acetaminophen tablets he’d taken earlier. Knowing what it was, wondering what the rogue cells were doing, only made it worse. You can’t do that if you’re dead. He closed his eyes and released a harsh breath. He’d gone so far as to see a second specialist, one who’d insisted on more blood tests and an MRI, then made the same diagnosis as Dr. Gurley. He dragged a hand over his mouth, his fingers picking up the cold sweat beading above his upper lip. Waiting wasn’t a smart option, unless he wanted to leave Caitlin in the same position his mother had been after his father’s death—raising their child alone. Beside him, she shifted with a muffled sigh of discomfort. She’d been restless most of the night and he rolled to his side and propped on one elbow. Muted agony screamed across his back with the movement and he bit off a groan. “Cait?” In the gray semidarkness, he brushed her hair from one cheek, attuned to her enough to know that she wasn’t sleeping. “You all right?” “I feel odd.” A hint of irritability colored her voice. “Like he’s moved or something.” He laid his palm against the lower swell of her belly. “Do you hurt?” “No. Just pressure here.” She moved his hand to the top of her abdomen. “And I think he’s pushing his feet against my lungs.” He waited, rubbing slow circles. “He’s moving, right?” “Yes. Eight times in the last half hour.” An unseen body part bumped against his hand, her stomach rising and falling. Beneath his touch, the muscles went tight. She sucked in a shallow inhale. He stilled. “Has that been going on all night?” “The last hour or so.” www.samhainpublishing.com

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Holy hell. Frowning, he sat up, turned on the light and grabbed his watch. “What are you doing?” She blinked at him in the sudden brightness. “That felt like a contraction. If they’re sporadic, they’re probably not the real thing. They get closer together or sharper in intensity and we’re going to the hospital.” She laughed as he settled his palm on her belly once more. “And how do you know what a contraction feels like, Lamar Eugene?” “Helping my papa deliver calves.” “Calves?” She rolled her eyes, but he didn’t miss the trace of nervousness beneath the words. “Tick, I’m not in labor. It’s too—” “Hush.” He made another small circle with his fingers. The baby nudged at him. On a deep inhale, he closed his eyes. “Cait, I need to tell you something.” “Would this be the something that’s been making you edgy for two days?” Damn, she knew him too well. “Yeah, that something.” “How bad is it?” “Pretty damn bad.” Under his touch, he sensed her preparing. “Out with it, Tick, whatever it is.” “My back? It’s not muscle pain.” He swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat. “It’s a tumor on my kidney. A cancerous tumor.” Silence stretched and he opened his eyes to watch the rise and fall of her torso under his hand. The muscles tightened and he cast a quick glance at his watch. Four minutes. “Did that hurt? Was it stronger than the last one?” “You have a tumor on your kidney, a cancerous tumor, that you’ve known about for two days?” Her husky voice trembled with a mixture of anger and fear. “You waited two days to tell me?” “I got a second opinion, to make sure—” “Is it treatable?” She was shaking, small palpable tremors moving through her body. “Yeah, probably. Surgery to remove the tumor and see if it’s spread, chemo or radiation if it has—”

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“Oh, my God. Men. You’re all so asinine.” She shook her head. “My grandfather won’t stick to his heart-healthy diet, my brother insists on climbing mountains alone, and you’ve waited two days to have surgery on what sounds like aggressive—” “Cait, precious, don’t.” He leaned down to press his mouth to hers, picking up the saltiness of tears on her lips as he did so. “Calm down, please. It’ll be all right, I swear.” “I am calm. And don’t make promises to me you can’t keep.” She folded her hand around his nape, short nails biting into his skin. “I am so damn angry with you, Tick. Once I have this baby, I’m going to kick your ass.” She hissed in a breath and under his palm, pressure rippled over her abdomen. He lifted his head to check his watch. Three minutes, forty-five seconds. He caught her chin and brushed a quick kiss over her mouth. “You can bitch me out later and I fully intend to be around after you give birth, so you can kick my ass if it makes you feel better. But right now? Precious, I’m calling Dr. Astin and we’re going to the ER because I’m ninety-nine percent sure you’re in labor.”

*** He couldn’t move his arm. The fingers tingled with the pins and needles of a sleeping appendage. Trying to tug his arm free from the weight holding it down, Mark opened his eyes. Morning sunlight peeked in around the edges of the heavy drapes and highlighted the curve of Tori’s sleeping face. He stilled. A decorous distance remained between them, but she’d rolled closer during the night, facing him. Her face smooth and peaceful, she slept with his arm beneath her neck. One hand curved around his biceps. He could get used to this, waking up with her beside him. He could, but he wasn’t going to. Letting himself get too attached wasn’t a good idea. Male voices rumbled outside the room and a car door slammed. Tori frowned in her sleep, murmuring. Mark glanced at the clock on the dresser across the room. Fifteen minutes until their wake-up calls. If things were different, he’d kiss her awake and spend those minutes discovering the wonders of her body.

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He wasn’t rushing. By some miracle, she wanted him in her life and he’d take things as slowly as she needed, be here as long as she wanted him. He didn’t hold the illusion that whatever this was between them would last. In her mind, he was someone safe, someone she could spread her wings with a little. She’d said he was the first man to make her feel. Somewhere out there was the guy who’d give her forever. He closed his eyes, soaking in the sensation of having her close, her fingers on him. She shifted in a slow stretch, a tiny frown pulling her brows together. Her grasp on his arm tightened and she stiffened. Not sure if waking up with him would frighten her, he touched her wrist, keeping the contact light. “Tori, it’s Mark. You’re with me, remember?” Her eyelids flickered open, the brown depths drowsy. “Hey.” Ignoring the desire pulsing to life in him, he brushed disheveled hair away from her face. “Hey yourself, gorgeous.” “What time is it?” She smothered a yawn and pushed up to sit against the pillows. Grimacing, she clutched her foot. Brown spots of dried blood dotted the gauze. “My toes hurt like the devil.” “Almost six. Let me take a look.” Sitting up, he reached for her ankle. When he unwound the bandage, she flinched. He grimaced. “Sorry.” “It’s okay. You’re really gentle.” She touched his bare shoulder, and the simple contact shivered all the way to his toes. Every muscle in his abdomen contracted. “I’m just a baby about physical pain.” He cleared his throat and kept his gaze trained on the injured toes. Her trim ankle and toned calf begged for him to wrap his palm around them and stroke upwards, and if he did that, he’d scare her to death. Ugly purple bruises colored two of her toes, slightly swollen, but the little gash had already started to heal. He eased a finger across the top of her foot. “After you shower, we’ll bandage these up again.” He tried to block the images of water pouring over her, wet hair clinging to her back, face turned up for his kiss. Desire settled in him, low and heavy.

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“It looks awful, doesn’t it?” She scooted closer, her bent knee brushing his arm. The warm scent of her filled the air around him, sucking up his oxygen supply. He stared at her bruises, struggling to ignore that if he turned his head, he’d be at eyelevel with firm breasts under a flimsy camisole. He closed his eyes, but the picture of him nuzzling her through the pink cotton before stripping it away didn’t disappear. He swallowed a groan and opened his eyes. “It’ll be better in a couple of days.” “I want it better now.” A pouting note entered her voice and she leaned forward to touch the gash. Her breast pressed into his arm and her hair feathered his skin. He clenched a handful of the sheet, anything to keep his hands off her. “I don’t even know if I brought shoes I can wear with them like that.” “Tori, why don’t you go take a shower? We’ll worry about the shoes later.” His voice came out as strangled as he’d feared. She touched his jaw. “What’s wrong?” A shudder worked its way through him. She’d grown up with four brothers, and somewhere during all her college classes, there had to have been one on anatomy or physiology. With a deep breath, he looked at her. “It’s early in the morning, I’m incredibly attracted to you and we’re close enough that it’s driving me a little crazy. Okay?” “Oh.” A flush colored her cheekbones and she flicked a glance at his lap. He felt the weight of that look like a physical touch, the sensation zinging over him. She met his gaze again, slender fingers covering her mouth. “Should I be sorry?” He laughed, although it sounded a little strained. “No. Definitely not.” Still wide-eyed, she nodded. A giggle erupted from her, bubbling around her fingers. He narrowed his eyes at her and she lowered her hand, grinning. The carefree expression transformed her face, chasing all the shadows from her eyes and the embarrassed color from her cheeks. “I’m sorry, I’m not laughing at you, I swear.” Sweet laughter laced the words. “I just had this flash of Tick’s face if he knew I was sitting in your bed, having this conversation with you.”

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Yeah, Mark could picture that too. Talk about a desire killer. He rubbed a hand over his face. Being together here, where it was just the two of them, was one thing. Back home, the situation was bound to get sticky. She giggled again, full of evil little-sister glee. “He would die.” Mark stiffened. He could have gone all day without hearing that word connected in any way with Tick’s name. Oh, man. Already, the situation was taking on all the qualities of Super Glue. When she found out what he knew about her brother… And that was only one of the issues. The other he meant to address here and now. He cleared his throat. “Look, Tori, if this whole thing with me is about getting back at Tick for being an overprotective ass, I don’t want any part of it.” “Oh no.” She shook her head, all mirth gone. With a tentative smile, she laid a hand on his arm. “Not at all. I…I really like you, Mark. Please believe me, this is about us.” He studied her for a long moment. She sounded sincere, and he knew her well enough to know she wasn’t a manipulative person. He nodded and allowed himself to touch her cheek. “Okay. Because I really like you too.” Like. There was a hell of a weak word for the way he was beginning to feel about her. He was so in over his head already. An impish grin lit her face. “But it’s okay if aggravating Tick by being with you is a fringe benefit, right?” Aggravation wouldn’t be the word for it. When Tick learned about this, the guy would stroke out. Guilt prickled over Mark’s skin. Like Tick needed anything else going on in his life right now. Mark stood. “We need to get moving. I’m going to—” The simultaneous ringing of the phones in both rooms cut him off. A wake-up call. Mark shook his head. Bringing reality, in the form of Tori’s oldest brother and his best friend, into their little fantasy world was definitely one of those. Why had he thought this could ever work, even short term? He lifted the receiver from the base and let it fall again. “You’d better get yours. I’m going to hit the shower.” He wouldn’t even need a cold one. All desire had drained out of him.

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“All right. See you in a bit.” Tori slid from the bed and hobbled to her room. A minute later, the ringing stopped there as well. The sounds of her moving around, the rasp of her bag unzipping and water running in the sink, followed. Mark crossed the room and closed the door between them.

Humming off-key, Tori twisted her hair into a loose knot. Suffused with a warm sense of well-being, she leaned forward to color her lips. Last night had been a big step forward, for both of them. Talking about his loss seemed to have loosened something inside Mark, made room for her in his life. And she’d spent the night in his bed. She’d made a stand for herself, for them. She wanted to do a Rocky-style victory dance. Today, she was one step closer to normal. Turning away from the mirror, she limped to the connecting door and tapped. “Mark?” “Yeah.” His voice, muffled by the wood, sent a little thrill through her. He wanted her too and he was willing to wait for her. What more could she ask for? “Do you mind bandaging my toe again?” “Be right there.” She sank onto the end of the bed to wait. Wrapping her arms over her midriff, she relived the sensation of waking to his strong arm under her, his deep voice in her ear. Happiness bubbled in her. The door opened and he entered, carrying the small first aid kit. She drank in every detail of his appearance, from the starched dress shirt, the French blue turning his eyes to silver, to the bare feet below his charcoal slacks. His short, neat hair framed a freshly shaven face. Oh, she so didn’t want to attend a day’s worth of conference workshops. She wanted to play hooky, spend the day with him, explore the possibilities opening before her. He sat on the other bed and laid the kit beside him. “Give me your foot.” She placed her heel in his hand, relishing the sensation of his touch. If he made her feel safe and cherished with such a simple caress, what would going further feel like? Maybe this whole intimacy and making-love thing wouldn’t be so hard after all. Maybe she’d just needed to wait for the right man.

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He smoothed an antibiotic ointment over the cut and wrapped gauze around her toe. She watched his hands move, aware she was acting like a high school girl with a first crush. Next she’d be writing their names together all over her conference folders. At the thought, a smile tugged at her lips. So she was a little lovesick and smitten. Maybe she deserved it. Maybe he did too. His touch gentle, he taped the gauze into place. “There you go.” The matter-of-fact tone in his voice stopped her mental meanderings cold. He wasn’t looking at her, packing the gauze, ointment and tape back in the kit. She twisted her hands together in her lap. “Mark? Is everything all right?” He flicked a glance her way. “Yeah. Why?” “I don’t know.” She shook her head, the giddy self-confidence dimming a little. “You seemed a little…distant.” A brief smile hitched the corners of his mouth but didn’t brighten his eyes any. “Just not looking forward to sitting through all those meetings today.” She nodded, biting her lip. “We could do something afterwards, couldn’t we?” The smile reappeared, more genuine this time. “Yeah, we could. No antiques, though. And I think climbing the lighthouse is out. How about a walk on the beach?” He glanced at her foot. “Or a movie if you’re not up to that.” “The beach sounds great.” Was that breathless voice hers? Oh Lord, he’d think she was hopelessly infatuated. Think? She was. “The beach it is, then.” He leaned forward to brush his mouth over hers in a quick, careful caress. “I’ve got to get my shoes on. And a tie.” His mouth had tasted of mint toothpaste and she wanted to pull his lips back to hers. Quick had been good, though. She hadn’t had time to be afraid or nervous. “I need to finish up too.” Kit in hand, he returned to his room. She sat a moment, hugging the warmth of his kiss to her. Finally, she dragged herself off the bed and put on chandelier earrings with amber stones. The most comfortable shoes she could find were a pair of low-heeled sandals she’d borrowed from Autry, with an adjustable strap across her toes.

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She touched perfume to her wrists and throat. As she picked up her purse, her cell phone launched into song. She fished it out and glanced at the display. Her mother. “Hello?” “Tori, it’s Mama.” The strain in her mother’s voice, like she was near tears, sent a frisson of foreboding down Tori’s spine. “Mama, you sound upset. What’s wrong?” Tori fumbled for the bed behind her and sank onto the end. Her strong mother sounding like this couldn’t be a good thing. “I just got off the phone with Lamar,” Mama said and Tori closed her eyes, stomach dropping. Oh, Lord. Caitlin and the baby. “He’s at the hospital with Caitlin. She went into labor late last night, but they stopped that, gave her steroids to help the baby’s lungs mature just in case.” “Then what’s wrong?” “She started bleeding a little while ago.” “Oh, no,” Tori whispered, covering her mouth. They couldn’t lose this baby now, not after coming so far with this pregnancy. And Caitlin…she had to be all right too. Tick had waited so long for her, the right woman, to come into his life. “I’m leaving now for the hospital, but I wanted you to know what was going on.” The hint of tears had receded and the steel was back. “Mama? Do you want me to come home?” Now her own voice quivered, fearful thoughts and little prayers tumbling over in her mind. “Honey, I can’t tell you what to do. This might turn out to be nothing. You do what you think is best, all right? I need to go now. Love you.” “Love you too. Bye.” With the feeling she was slogging through mud, Tori pushed the end button. Do what she thought best? Stay here and sit through two more days of seminars or go home to be with her brother while his family hung in the balance. There was no question. Clutching the phone, she jumped up. A surge of pain at her toes slowed her pace, but she hurried as much as she could to the other room. “Mark?” He stood in front of the mirror, knotting his tie. His hands paused at the task when he looked at her. “What’s wrong?”

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Swallowing against the fear pushing into her throat, she held her phone aloft. “Mama just called. Caitlin went into premature labor and she’s bleeding. Mama’s on her way to the hospital now.” “Damn.” The tie hung loose and he ran a hand over his nape. “Any idea what’s wrong? How serious it is?” “No.” She shook her head, tightening her hold on her phone. “Mark—” “You want to be there, don’t you?” She nodded. “I know that means you’ll miss the rest of the seminar—” “I’ve already heard the best presenter.” He stripped off the tie. “Thank you.” Relief coursed through her and she moved forward to hug him. “You don’t know what this means.” “I know what Falconetti means to you.” He cupped the back of her head and touched his mouth to hers in a quick, easy kiss. “Get your things and we’ll hit the road.”

*** “I hate this.” Tori tossed her cell phone in her purse and slumped in the passenger seat. “The hospital won’t tell me anything except she’s been admitted and Mama’s not answering her cell phone.” Mark pulled his attention from the crowded interstate for a second. Her lower lip jutted out in a pout, but real anxiety darkened her eyes. “We’ll be there in a little over an hour.” She glanced at him. “Mark, what if something went really wrong? I mean, what if Cait—” “Don’t think like that.” His gaze on the road again, he reached for her hand, passing his thumb over her knuckles. The same possibilities were turning over in his head, but he didn’t tell her that. “Falconetti’s tough. She’ll be fine and so will that baby.” She tightened her fingers around his. “You sound so sure.” Probably because she was worried enough for both of them. She needed reassurance and he’d give her what he could. The casual touches didn’t seem to bother her, although he’d kept his focus solely on her hand. Once, he’d stopped himself from rubbing her knee. The action seemed too intimate, like he was moving too fast, and he didn’t want to frighten her. Hell, he might as 128

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well face facts. Somehow, she’d gotten under his defenses and the worst part was how good that made him feel. In his experience, happiness, however small, was always followed by mindnumbing pain. He eyed the upcoming exit signs and the amenities listed. “Are you hungry?” “I couldn’t eat anything.” She bit her bottom lip. “I just want to get there.” He squeezed her fingers. “I’m driving as fast as I can, honey.” Honey? Where had that come from? He shook his head, watching the idiot weaving between big trucks a couple lengths ahead of them. He’d called her the same thing last night, when she’d been hurt. He hadn’t even called Jenny honey. He was in danger of losing control. Control? Who was he kidding? He’d given that up last night when he’d opened his arms to her. The sporty little car gobbled the miles and before noon they pulled into the parking lot at Chandler County General. Mark angled the car into the closest spot he could find to the building. Tori scrambled from the car. “Come on.” The woman working the reception desk greeted them. “May I help you?” Tori clutched the edge of the desk. “What room is Caitlin Falconetti in?” “Let me check.” The blonde tapped on her keyboard. “I’m sorry, she isn’t in a room yet. Try the Labor and Delivery waiting area, fourth floor.” “Thank you.” Tori’s tone was strained. She glanced at Mark as they hurried across the lobby to the elevators. “Labor and Delivery? That can’t be good.” “It doesn’t mean they’re delivering the baby.” Mark kept his voice soothing and punched the call button at the elevator bank. It didn’t sound good to him, either, but he didn’t want her more upset than she already was, her lip trembling intermittently as she blinked away tears. “They might be trying to stop the bleeding or something.” Her chest rose and fell with a deep breath. “Dr. Astin wanted her to have at least another week before delivery, if not two. Mark, what if it’s too early?” The elevator arrived with a soft ding and the doors slid open. He held a hand over the door and let her precede him. She leaned against the wall, arms crossed over her midriff, while he selected the fourth-floor button.

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He wanted to pull her into his arms but settled for a comforting pat on her shoulder. “Let’s get upstairs and find out what’s going on, then you can worry, all right?” Despite watery eyes, she smiled and pushed behind her ear a lock of hair that had escaped from her loose knot. “You’re great, did you know that?” If she only knew. He was keeping a major secret from her, one that would screw everything to hell once she found out. At least Tick wouldn’t have an excuse anymore not to have the damned surgery if the baby was being delivered. “All I did was drive the car.” Her gaze serious, she shook her head. “You’ve done more than that.” That praise slammed him with another dose of guilt. She trusted him and keeping his loyalty to Tick meant blowing this chance with her. The elevator shuddered to a stop and the doors slid open. The waiting room lay before the elevators. Tori stopped, her gaze scanning the groups of people in the large room. “There’s Mama.” Lenora Calvert stood by the bank of floor-to-ceiling windows. Tori limped across the large room and Mark followed close behind. “Mama?” “Oh, Tori.” Lenora turned. Sunlight streamed in the window, its harsh brightness making the worried lines around her mouth more pronounced. She enveloped Tori in a swift hug. “I’m glad you came.” Tori pulled back, smoothing her mother’s hair. “I’ve been trying to call you.” “I left my cell phone downstairs in the car. I wasn’t sure if they’d let me have it up here,” Lenora explained, her arm still around Tori’s waist. She graced Mark with a smile, the expression strained. “Hello, Mark.” Mark nodded. His sense of guilt deepened. He liked Lenora Calvert, always had, and now he was not only helping Tick keep a deadly secret from his mother, he’d spent the night in bed with her baby daughter. “Mrs. Lenora.” “Mama, do you know anything?” Lenora nodded, stroking her hand down Tori’s arm. “The nurse was out earlier. Her uterus ruptured. They’ve stabilized her and they’re going to deliver the baby by Caesarean.”

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“Oh, Mama.” Tori covered her mouth with her hand, a sheen glittering in her eyes. Mark took a step forward and stopped. He didn’t have the right to offer her comfort here, not really. “It’s too early.” “Dr. Astin has a neonatal team standing by.” Lenora smiled, although it didn’t lessen the worry in her eyes. “They’ll do everything they can. We just have to have faith.” Time crept by. Mark flipped through outdated magazines and watched Tori fret. She paced to the window, talked to her mother and finally dropped into the chair next to Mark’s. She sighed. “I wonder how long this will take. It feels like forever.” He tossed the magazine on the table before them. “I’m sure they’ll let you know something as soon as they can.” Shifting sideways in her chair, she took his hand. “I’m so glad you’re here.” His gaze dropped to their entwined fingers. The warmth of her palm next to his, just being here with her, felt right. The connection was one he hadn’t experienced, or wanted, in what seemed like forever. He squeezed her hand and swallowed hard. “Me too.” The automatic doors at the end of the room slid open and Tori jumped up. Mark rose as well. Unsmiling, his eyes shining with unshed tears, Tick stepped into the waiting area.

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Chapter Ten

Clinging to her mother’s hand, Tori held her breath. Tick, clad in disposable scrubs, pulled the surgical cap from his dark hair. He passed a wrist over his damp eyes and grinned. “Hey, Grandma.” Their mother’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh.” He stepped forward to envelop her in a hug. His shoulders shook with relieved laughter. “It’s a boy, Mama. A little small, just over four pounds but healthy. Cait’s in recovery.” His voice cracked and he took a deep breath. “They put her under, but she’s good. She’s going to be fine.” Smiling, her own tears spilling over, Tori glanced back at Mark. “Isn’t that wonderful?” Thumbs tucked in his belt, he nodded. “It’s great.” Mama held Tick’s face in her hands and kissed his cheek. “I’m so glad, Lamar. So very glad.” Tori touched Tick’s arm and embraced him when he released their mother. Relieved joy spread through her, and she hugged him tighter. “Congratulations. Can we see him?” He pulled back and scraped a hand through his already disheveled hair. “In a minute. He’s going to the NICU, but one of the nurses said they’d come this way so Mama could see him.” He chucked her under the chin. “Hey, you’re supposed to be in Florida.” 132

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She laughed, but her gaze lingered on his face. He looked more than tired—fatigue dragged at his pale features and dark circles under his eyes spoke of several sleepless nights. “I think this takes precedence over a conference any day.” “Yeah.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and extended his right hand to Mark. “Good to see you, Cookie. Thanks for taking care of her.” “Anytime, man. Although she really didn’t need me. She’s more capable than you give her credit for.” Mark glanced at Tori before the men shook hands and she suppressed a smile, warmed by his words. “Congratulations.” Tori jabbed her elbow into Tick’s ribs, hard. “Would you please not make me sound like a brainless nitwit who needs a babysitter?” Wincing, Tick rubbed at his side. “I never said you were a brainless nitwit.” Irritated, she shrugged from under his arm. “No, just implied that I can’t go anywhere or do anything alone.” The opening of the doors behind them forestalled his reply. A pair of nurses accompanied a mobile warming table which held a squalling baby, legs and arms thrown wide, froglike. Tori glanced up at Tick, his proud grin dispelling some of the weariness. Their mother stepped closer and caressed the top of the baby’s tiny head, covered in swirls of wispy dark hair. A card taped to the radiant light identified the infant as Baby Boy Calvert. A nurse held an oxygen mask over the baby’s mouth and nose, so his cries sounded muffled and tinny. She glanced up, kind reassurance lighting her face. “It’s just a precaution.” Tori brushed a fingertip along the back of one tiny hand. Minuscule blue veins showed beneath the red, wrinkled skin. She looked at Tick. “Does he have a name?” He shook his head, the weariness descending again. “Not really, not yet. I guess we’ll decide once Cait wakes up.” “Mr. Calvert?” Apology hovered in the lead nurse’s tone. “We need to get him to the NICU. You can visit him there in a little while.” “Thanks.” He palmed his son’s little head before the procession moved down the hall. Tori eyed him again. His cheekbones stood out and the scrubs hung on him. He’d always been long and lean, but today he looked gaunt. “Have you lost weight? You look awful.”

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“Thanks a lot.” He shot her a wry look before his gaze dropped to her foot. “What happened to you?” “Just a cut. Stubbed my toes on the bed last night.” Unable to resist pushing his buttons, she waved a hand over her shoulder. “Mark took care of me.” “Really.” Eyebrows lifted, Tick glanced beyond her. “I’m glad you’re here, Cookie. We need to talk.” He leaned over to kiss their mother’s cheek. “I’m going to step out for a minute, Mama. I’ll be right back.”

A brisk breeze ruffled the potted evergreens surrounding the patio just off the maternity ward waiting room. Leaning on the railing, Mark eyed Tick. Tori was right—he did look bad. Tick tugged a hand through his hair, already standing out at weird angles. A crooked grin shaped his mouth. “I have a son, Cookie.” Mark couldn’t suppress an answering grin. “I heard.” He cleared his throat. “There’s no reason for you to wait on that surgery now, Tick. Hell, you can’t wait. That baby needs you. Falconetti sure as hell is going to need you. I know what you’re thinking, that you’ve got to be the strong, stand-up guy while she recovers, while the kid’s in the NICU, but you need to do this now. Your family will help; you know the department will pitch in. You have to do this, man. Now.” Tick arched an eyebrow. “You done?” “No.” Mark pushed away from the railing. A surge of indignant anger washed through him, and he pushed a finger into Tick’s chest. “Trying to make me swear not to tell before I knew what was going on was dirty, Calvert. You’ve had a couple of days to be irrational, to let it sink in, but damn it, I’m not going to let you commit slow suicide—” “You sound like my doctor.” Tired laughter lurked in Tick’s voice. The anger pulsed under Mark’s skin. “Maybe you should listen to one of us, then. I swear, man, I’m not keeping quiet about this. Set up the surgery.” “Or what?” “I’ll tell your mother.” “Done now?”

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“Yeah.” “Thanks for caring.” Tick shook his head, still grinning, although the humor didn’t carry to his red-rimmed eyes. “For your information, I saw another doctor, got a second opinion.” “And?” “Same diagnosis. Same suggested treatment—immediate surgery to remove the tumor and see if the cancer has spread. Only she called me an irrational idiot for waiting two days.” “So what are you going to do?” “What can I do?” Tick shrugged. “I’m having the surgery. Tomorrow morning. Cait’s brother is flying in to be with her.” Mark rubbed a hand over his nape. “Told your mom yet?” “Not yet. I didn’t know y’all were coming back and was going to wait until Del and Chuck got here. Telling Cait last night was hard enough. Telling Mama while Tori’s with her is probably a good idea.” “Yeah.” He wanted to be with Tori when Tick told her, wanted to offer the comfort she’d surely need. Glancing away, he squashed the image his mind provided of the horror and pain Tori would experience when she learned of Tick’s diagnosis. Man, he was sure turning into the emotional equivalent of Speedy Gonzales—from pushing her away to protective male in two days. “Anyway, I’m glad y’all came back today. Obviously, I’m taking a leave of absence. I talked to Stanton this morning. While I’m gone, we want you to step into my position and Chris will move up to investigations temporarily. That work for you?” Mark shrugged. “Sure.” Tick leaned against the wall, some of the tension seeming to drain from his body. “Great. I spent part of last night getting files ready to turn over to you.” “Quit worrying about that.” Mark waved a hand in dismissal. “I’ve got your back. Now get in there and talk to your family.” “Yeah.” Tick grimaced. “I can’t wait.”

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“Might as well get it over with.” Mark reached for the door and held it for him. Thoughts of Tori’s reaction trickled through his mind again and his gut clenched. He’d protect her from the hurt if he could. Protect. He swallowed a bitter laugh. He hadn’t protected Jenny from real danger. What made him think he could shield Tori from anything? In the hallway, Tick ran a hand over his hair, smoothing it the best he could. He glanced at Mark, his expression serious. “What did Tori mean, you took care of her?” Mark’s nape prickled. He shrugged. “I bandaged her foot.” Tick cleared his throat, the sound rough and uncomfortable. “Is there something going on I should know about?” Basically, there was nothing going on. Nothing that would last anyway. He looked sideways at Tick. “In her eyes, I’m safe. She’s spreading her wings a little. Nothing to worry about.” A frown pulled Tick’s brows down. “She’s vulnerable, Cookie. She’s not…she doesn’t have the experience other women her age have.” No, she had something far worse. Mark tucked his thumbs in his belt. “I wouldn’t hurt her, Tick. You know that.” “You might not mean to, but it wouldn’t take much. I want you to leave her alone.” Mark sucked in a deep breath. “You realize she’s an adult, right?” “Look, I really don’t want to have this conversation right now, when I’ve got to tell my mother I have a freakin’ cancerous tumor. Just leave her the hell alone.” Go screw yourself. Mark swallowed the words. Not the time or the place to have this out. Besides, with enough time, Tori would come to her senses and maybe there wouldn’t be any need to have it out at all. She’d get tired of playing at making a relationship with him and move on to better things. The thought hurt so bad it scared him. Tick had to have seen the anger flash across his face, though. He straightened, his features tightening. “I mean it, Cookie. She’s not one of your playmates and she deserves better than to be treated the way you do your women.” Mark clenched his teeth until his jaw hurt. He forced his muscles to relax and loosened his fists. “Go talk to your mama, Tick.”

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“Remember what I said.” Tick fixed him with a hard stare. Chin tilted, Mark nodded. “Yeah, I’ll remember.” Anger brewing in him, he watched Tick walk away. He rubbed a hand over his face. So the guy he considered his best friend actually thought he’d do the whole love-her-and-leave-her thing with Tori. Nice. Sure, he deserved his reputation, but treat Tori like that? Not in a million years. Tick should know him well enough to realize he’d never intentionally hurt her. He wouldn’t fall for her, but he’d be around as long as she needed him.

Clad in a sterile paper gown, arms and hands scrubbed to surgeon cleanliness, Tori stood beside Tick in the NICU and gazed down at her hours-old nephew in the incubator. One long finger stroking his son’s arm, Tick was quiet, his posture slumped, his face showing the ravages of stress and exhaustion. Tori felt as ravaged as he looked—the shock of his revelation was wearing off, allowing the fear and horror to crowd in. Cancer? How could her strong, invincible brother, the man who’d taken a father’s role in her life after their daddy died, have cancer? It had to be a mistake. This surely wasn’t happening, not now, when he had a new family who needed him. She glanced again at Tick’s firstborn son. Awake, he blinked at his surroundings and a tiny frown wrinkled his face. He looked a little like Tick already, around his chin and eyes. She clenched her fists, nails biting her palms. Tick had to be all right. They all needed him too much, loved him too much, for anything to happen. Fighting back a wave of fresh fear, she touched the baby’s cheek, his skin incredibly soft under her finger. His mouth pursed in a yawn. Swallowing against a lump in her throat, Tori looked up at Tick. He watched his son with an awed expression that had tears pushing at her eyelids again. “What time do you have to be here in the morning?” she asked and he glanced at her. “I’m supposed to be downstairs around seven.” He lifted one tiny hand. “I’m staying here tonight, though. I want to be with Cait.” “Is there anything you need?” Under her touch, the baby startled, limbs flailing, and settled again. “Clothes or anything from home? Errands run?”

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He shook his head. “Everything’s covered.” Carefully, she withdrew her hand from the incubator. The baby’s eyes drifted closed. “I’ll go so Mama can come in, then. I need to find Mark too. He’s probably thinking I’ve abandoned him.” “When did you start calling him Mark?” Tick’s gaze sharpened. “What exactly is going on between you two?” His voice was cool and Tori stiffened, forcing a light laugh. “Don’t you have enough to worry about—” “He’s not the guy for you.” A tiny spurt of indignation heated her chest, but she injected a gentle note into her voice. “I think that’s for me to decide, Tick.” “I don’t want to see you hurt.” Frustration joined the indignation. “You don’t know that will happen.” He frowned. “Tori, don’t get wrapped up in him, please. He’s…the guy’s got commitment issues, and you—” “I know about his issues, Tick.” She kept her tone quiet. “I know about Jenny.” That got his attention. He froze, eyebrows lifted. “He told you about her?” Not the whole story, but her brother didn’t have to know that. She lifted her chin. “Yes, he told me. Look, seriously, it’s time for you to deal with your life and let me worry about mine.” “So I’m supposed to just stand back and let you make the biggest mistake of your life?” Fear shivered over her. It wouldn’t be a mistake. Mark wouldn’t hurt her. “Yes. It’s my mistake to make. You have to accept that.”

Nursing a cup of coffee laced with artificial sweetener, Mark studied the folded newspaper propped on his knee. A half-eaten chicken wrap rested on a Styrofoam plate before him. He’d been hungry, stomach grumbling and gnawing at his spine, but thinking about Tori, her reaction to Tick’s news, had stolen his ability to eat. His cell phone buzzed, vibrating on the table where he’d tossed it earlier. He flipped it open, a text message flashing on the display. Where r u?

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Shaking his head, he punched the option to reply. Why didn’t she just call him? He keyed in Cafe and hit send. Replacing the phone on the table, he laid the newspaper aside and watched the cafeteria doors for Tori’s entrance. A couple of minutes passed before she strolled in. Catching his gaze, she waved. Her earrings swung against her neck and sparkled in the sunshine pouring in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. His heart lifted and squeezed tight. Damn, she was beautiful and her presence made him feel more alive, his skin tingling. He didn’t want her to move on. What he really wanted was to convince her they could have something together. He scrutinized her face as she approached. Her eyes were red-rimmed, the dark depths shadowy, mascara smudged. She reached the table and he rose to pull out a chair. With a tight movement, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks.” The faintly spicy floral scent she wore wafted over him. He took his seat again, still watching her. “Hungry? If you want something, I’ll go—” “No.” She shook her head and rubbed at her eyes. “I don’t think I can eat anything right now.” He reached for her hand, but stopped, rubbing his palm over his knee. He shifted his chair nearer to hers. “Want to talk about it?” She closed her eyes, a deep breath shaking her. “Tick…Tick has…oh, Mark, he’s sick. He has a tumor on his kidney and they think…it’s probably cancerous.” Her voice cracked and she covered her mouth. Mark cleared his throat. He wasn’t going to lie to her, not about this. Hell, not about anything. “I know.” She lifted her head to look at him. Tears washed her eyes in a crystalline sheen. “What? You can’t…what do you mean, you know?” He swallowed, linking his hands between his knees and studying the scar along his left thumb. “He called me the first day we were in Florida. He’d just had the diagnosis and he needed to talk.” Her harsh indrawn breath hurt his ears. “And you didn’t say anything?”

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“I swore I wouldn’t.” He looked up, desperation biting at him. She watched him with those big dark eyes, resignation and disappointment on her face. “He’s my partner, Tori. You don’t know what that means and I’d promised him—” “Men.” She laughed, a short sound missing all humor. “No, cops. Cait would probably get it completely.” This time, he did take her hands in his. He leaned forward, a sense of urgency making his heart thud harder. “I’m sorry, Tori. I tried to talk him into having the surgery immediately. Hell, today I threatened to tell your mother if—” “It’s okay.” A sad expression flitted over her face. “I don’t get it, but I understand. He’d have done the same thing for you. You’re both stubborn asses without the sense God gave a grasshopper.” “Gee, thanks.” He rubbed his thumb over the back of her hand. “Sure you don’t want something? A soda or some tea?” Her fingers tightened on his for a second. “I just want to get out of here for a while.” She pulled her hand free and smoothed her hair with trembling fingers. “I’m tired, my foot hurts and Tick’s an ass.” He smiled. “You already said that. Come on.” Gathering his phone, he rose and held out his hand. She stared at his palm for a moment before taking his hand and standing. She winced, resting her weight on the heel of her injured foot. “I think my painkillers wore off.” With his free hand, he fished her keys from his pocket. “Let’s get you home.” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “I’m glad you’re here.” “You already said that too.” He let himself brush his mouth across her temple. “But I’m glad to be here.” Their hands remained linked on the walk to the car. Mark held the passenger door for her and she sank into the seat with a grateful sigh. He walked around to the driver’s side and folded himself into the car. Late afternoon sun slanted across the parking lot, glaring off windshields and chrome.

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Traffic was light and he maneuvered onto the street. The hospital sat mere blocks from their apartment complex. A tiny noise, a cross between a cough and a sob, caught his attention and he glanced at her. Tears trickled down her face, glinting in the sunlight, and she had trembling fingers pressed to her mouth. His chest tightened. A couple of minutes later, he pulled into her parking space before her apartment. Her face averted, she stared out the window, tears still running down her cheeks. “Tori,” he whispered, “I’m sorry, honey.” She darted a look at him and her face crumpled. “Oh, Mark, what if he—” “He won’t.” The fierceness of the words surprised him. Her shoulders shook with near-silent sobs and he pulled her as close as the console allowed. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tucked her damp face into the space between his neck and shoulder. She cried while he held her, rubbing her back and whispering calming reassurances. Finally, the weeping lessened, and with an embarrassed laugh, she pulled back. Sniffling, she reached for a tissue. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually fall apart like that.” Not in front of anyone anyway. Twisted sideways in the seat, Mark eyed her. He was pretty sure there were plenty of tears shed in the lonely privacy of her apartment, with its alwaysshining lights. He reached out to caress a stray tear from her cheek. “You don’t have to be sorry with me.” Her hair was escaping its knot and she pushed errant tresses away from her face. “I just can’t believe this is happening. He’s only thirty-seven and he’s been through so much already. Why this? Why now?” “I don’t know.” He ran a finger along the line of her jaw. Her questions and shock were familiar. The same disbelief and search for why had filled the days after Jenny’s disappearance. Nineteen years later, he still didn’t have any answers. Could he move on without them? Tori turned her face into his caress. Her humming sigh, full of weary contentment, carried through his arm, spreading a tingling warmth throughout his body. The trust implied in the gesture slammed into him, followed by a trickle of arousal. Would she make that same little sound when he touched her?

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A shuddery breath traveled through her and fierce protectiveness rose in him, tinged with a hint of possessiveness. He wanted to take the hurt and fear away, wanted to leave comfort and peace in their place. He hadn’t wanted to do that for anyone since Jenny. Doing so with Tori seemed right, the most natural thing in the world. That should have scared him to death. It didn’t. He cradled her cheek. Her eyes were closed, lashes dark against her skin. He rubbed a thumb over her cheekbone. “Tired?” She nodded, eyes still closed. Her earring brushed his hand. He stroked his fingers through her hair. “You should lie down for a little while, maybe take a nap. We could go get something to eat later, if you want.” “That sounds wonderful.” Her lashes lifted in a languid movement and she straightened. His hand fell away, leaving him with a piercing sense of loss. She smiled. “Especially the nap part.” “You need the rest.” She fiddled with the hem of her sweater. “Do you want to come up with me?” Her gaze darted to his and away. “To lie down, I mean. You have to be tired too.” His lungs stopped and he struggled to catch his breath. Did he want to come up, to lie down with her, in her bed? She had to ask? “Is that what you want?” The shadows fled her eyes for a moment. “Turning the question back on me, huh? What is that, a cop thing? Yes, I want you with me. Happy now?” More than she knew. “Yeah, I am. Come on.” He pulled the key from the ignition. Maybe this whole thing between them didn’t have to end with her leaving him. Maybe, just maybe, he could become the man she deserved. Maybe she could teach him to start living again. Guilt slithered through him with the thought and he squashed it. He didn’t want that between them right now. She limped up the stairs and he followed. The cream-colored slacks she wore skimmed over the perfect roundness of her rear end. Man, she had the cutest ass he’d ever seen. A vivid image flashed through his head—kissing her, his hands molding the delectable curves and pulling her into him.

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“We could stay in for supper.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I probably have something in the…what are you doing?” He lifted his gaze to hers, unable to resist a grin. “Enjoying the view.” “You…” Her mouth snapped shut. “You’re impossible.” He leaned a shoulder against the wall by her door and handed her the keys. “I’m not supposed to like looking at you?” Color flaring in her cheeks, she flicked a sideways peek at him and pushed the door inward. “I…I don’t know. I’m new at this. I don’t know the rules.” “What rules?” He followed her inside. Warm, spicy scents washed over him—cinnamon, cloves, a little citrus. He stopped, staring. The living room had one color, white. White couch, white shutters, white sheers, white pillows. But the room overflowed with textures, and warm pine tables and scarred antique pieces enlivened the area. The layout of the apartment mirrored his, but the two dwellings couldn’t be more different. He’d never seen so many things in one room in his entire life. And she’d bought more while they were in St. Augustine. Where the heck did she plan to put the stuff? Tori threw the deadbolt and dropped her keys on a tiny table. She opened the foyer closet door and closed it. Mark eyed the living room scheme. Even with items covering every inch of space, the room felt restful, comforting. “Busy, isn’t it?” Tori walked by him and peeped into the kitchen. She opened the utility room door and closed it. When she crossed the hall to her bedroom, he frowned and followed. She opened the closet door and wandered to the bathroom to peer inside. His stomach clenched. He’d watched her check the motel room in Florida the same way, but her actions here had the unconscious routine of a ritual. This was proof of the fear Reese had stamped on her life. Anger burned in his gut. Billy Reese better hope the parole board kept him locked up in Reidsville for a long, long time. She closed the closet door and glanced at him. Color flushed her cheeks and she shrugged, a tight, uncomfortable gesture. “I can’t help it. It’s a compulsion and I can’t close my eyes unless I do it.”

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“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” he said, his voice quiet. Silence pulsed around them and she shifted her weight, favoring her foot. She dropped her gaze. He looked at her bent head. Probably the reality of him in her bedroom was far removed from the idea of asking him up. He glanced at the four-poster bed with its thin, polished columns. Everything here was white too, the deep cherry wood a dark contrast to the lush, snowy coverlet. “Tori,” he said and she lifted her gaze to his. “I don’t have to stay. You can always change your mind.” A smile played over her pretty mouth. “No, I want you here with me. It’s just…the reality gets a little overwhelming.” That he could understand. Last night, his finding something to do while she climbed into bed had helped bridge the awkwardness. He’d try the same thing again. Turning away, he toed out of his polished loafers and aligned them by the door. “I’m beat.” His attempt at a light laugh sounded artificial, even to him. “You might have to wake me up for supper.” Behind him, metal skittered on wood. Unbuttoning his shirt, he glanced in the large oak mirror by the door. She’d laid her earrings on the dresser and released her hair from its knot, the dark mass tumbling about her shoulders. With a hand on the dresser for balance, she tugged off the sandals. Barely breathing, he froze and watched her. He’d watched Jenny get ready for bed, hundreds of times, but it had never punched him in the gut like this. At twenty, being with Jenny had been familiar, something he hadn’t treasured because losing her had never occurred to him until she was gone. The rare intimacy he was sharing with Tori, the simple act of preparing for a nap, took his breath. She tugged off her turtleneck, ruffling her dark hair even more. A silk camisole over her bra fluttered back into place. Mark closed his eyes and compelled clumsy fingers back to his shirt buttons. He shrugged out of the dress shirt and pulled his undershirt free. He looked at the mirror again. In its reflection, Tori shook out a thin blanket and folded it over the foot of the bed.

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He watched, giving her time to curl up on one side of the bed before he approached. She stiffened a little when the mattress dipped under him. On his back, he folded his hands behind his head and stared at the ceiling. The inches between them stretched, an insurmountable gulf. She rolled to her back. “Mark?” “Hmmm?” She lifted up to an elbow. “Would you hold me?” Throat aching, he closed his eyes for a second. “Whatever you want, Tor.” He shifted up on the pillow and held out his arms. Slowly, she scooted closer, lying next to him, a couple of inches between her front and his side. Mark wrapped an arm around her shoulders in a loose embrace and her scent enveloped him. With his free hand, he smoothed the hair from her face. “Better?” She nodded, her cheek rubbing against his chest. He tightened his arm for a moment. “Good. Get some sleep.” “You too.” She rested a hand on his chest, the imprint of her fingers burning through the thin cotton of his undershirt. He rubbed a hand down her arm. Sleep, with her this close to him. Yeah. Right. That was going to happen.

*** Caitlin stirred, her slight murmur drawing Tick from his uneasy doze at her bedside. He leaned forward to take her hand. “Cait?” Twin tears leaked from beneath her lashes and he brushed them away with his thumb. The last nurse who’d come in to take her vitals had warned him that female patients sometimes wept upon wakening from general anesthesia, even after they’d been out of recovery. “Precious?” He nuzzled her temple, pressed his cheek to hers. Her eyelids fluttered then lifted heavily, revealing green eyes clouded with pain, drugs and uncertainty. “Tick?”

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“I’m right here.” He framed her jaw with fingers that shook, just a little. “Everything’s okay.” Her lashes dipped then came up rapidly, a hint of panic invading her gaze. “The baby?” “He’s fine.” His own eyes burned. “Four pounds, two ounces. Absolutely, perfectly healthy, other than being a little early. He’s in the NICU.” The door whispered open behind them. Caitlin wrapped her fingers around his wrist. “I want to see him.” “I know, but you probably need to rest—” “Actually, the sooner we get you up and walking, the better.” The nurse gave them a wink and a smile as she placed a blood pressure cuff around Caitlin’s upper arm. “The NICU is on this floor, so taking a little walk to see your baby should be no problem at all.” With the nurse’s help, they made the slow, shaky and, Tick figured, painful journey to the NICU. There, another nurse stepped in to assist, settling Caitlin in a rocker and easing the baby into her arms, keeping Caitlin’s IV line free of their son’s own IV and oxygen tubing and monitor wires. Once finished, she stepped back. “I’ll be just over there if you need me.” Tick crouched by the chair, throat tightening at the awe on Caitlin’s face as she stroked trembling fingers over the baby’s wispy hair. “My God, Tick,” she whispered, a tear slipping down her face. “He’s here. He’s real.” “I know.” Joy bubbled through him, overriding the fear and anxiety. He aligned one thumb with his son’s small foot, tracing the lines on the tiny sole. Amazing how something so little could be so damn perfect. “Incredible, isn’t he?” “Absolutely.” She outlined tiny features with one fingertip. The baby gave a slight startle and settled back into sleep. “He has your chin.” He pressed his nose against her temple. “And your mouth.” Her tears spilled over and she turned her head to press a kiss to his jaw. “You have to be okay, Calvert. Do you hear me? You have to be. Not just for me.” “I know, precious.” He folded his arms about them, holding on to everything that mattered. “I will be. I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

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Chapter Eleven

Tori drifted into awareness. The light from the hallway shone into her eyes, and she squinted and yawned. A blue dress shirt was draped over the edge of her mirror. A pair of men’s loafers sat by the door. The owner of those shoes slept behind her, one hard arm draped over her waist. His hand curved around her ribcage, scant inches from her breast. And that wasn’t his belt buckle poking her in the backside. Her stomach twisted and her heart thudded in an irregular rhythm. She shrank away from the arm holding her, colliding with the solid chest behind her. Her heart shifted from its thudding to a frightened flutter. The hand tightened and a murmured protest sent warm breath along her bare shoulder. Mark. Her heartbeat slowed somewhat. She was in bed with Mark, that was his hand wrapped around her, his chest along her back. His erection against her bottom. She concentrated on breathing, slow, relaxed breaths. She was in bed with Mark, because this was where she’d wanted to be. Closing her eyes, she absorbed the sensations of being this close to him. He smelled of clean male. Being wrapped in his loose embrace made her feel sheltered, protected. He slept on, snoring lightly, his breath a warm rhythm on her skin. The hot outline of his hand through silk enticed her. An inch or so upward and he’d be molding the underside of her

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breast. She pictured that hand sliding up, fingers curving around her, arms tightening, that hard ridge pushing more insistently against her. A liquid ache pooled in the pit of her stomach and she shifted, filled with restlessness. Her breasts tingled, feeling heavier, fuller, and she laid a hand over her abdomen. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear she could feel her pulse between her thighs. All this, just from being in his arms, from thinking about his touching her? She released a long, measured exhale. What would it feel like when he did touch her? If he was to shift those strong fingers down instead of up, slipping beneath the waistband of her slacks? The pulse at the apex of her thighs throbbed and she pressed her legs together. The movement brought her bottom into closer contact with his groin. He jerked, a sudden stillness an indication he was awake now. On her ribcage, his fingers tightened and relaxed but didn’t move. He kissed her shoulder, a soft murmur on her skin. “You awake?” Awake? Her entire body vibrated with awareness of him. All vestiges of sleep had evaporated. “Yes.” He traced the line of one rib with his thumb. “Feel better?” “I guess.” She lifted her shoulder in a small shrug, his lips touching her again. He kissed the side of her neck. “I could get used to waking up with you.” “Me too.” The rigid line of his arousal still lay between them and curiosity got the better of her. She covered his wrist with her fingers. “Do you always wake up like this?” “Hard? Not always, no.” His quiet words sent heat rushing over her skin. “I was dreaming about you.” Her breath caught. His drowsy voice had dropped with the admission. Could men purr? No, not a purr. More of a throaty, husky growl. He’d dreamed of her. The achy pulsing spread. “Tell me about your dream,” she whispered. “We were together, like this.” He shifted closer, mouth near her ear. “Only without so many clothes. You let me touch you.” She burned, fire licking through her veins. “How?” She swallowed, her tongue darting out to wet her dry lips. “I mean, how did you touch me?”

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With his lips, he traced the curve of her ear. “We were lying together like this and I slid my hands up. Your breasts filled my palms. Your skin was so hot, honey. Hot and smooth, except around your nipples. They were hard and you wanted my mouth on them. You let me taste you.” The pictures he painted flickered in her mind. She wanted to take his wrists, pull his hands up, let him do the things he described. Only the fact she wasn’t the woman in his dream, not really, stopped her. That woman was his fantasy. The reality would be her freezing in fear somewhere along the way. The first step in conquering the fear was facing it. She stroked his arm. Under her touch, his skin was warm, sprinkled with dark, coarse hair. She swallowed. “Is that all?” He nuzzled her neck. “Not by a long shot. You touched me, your nails on my back, my shoulders. I slid my hands down, over that flat stomach of yours. I could feel the muscles trembling. I was still kissing your breasts, licking and sucking, and you were holding my head there, your nails scratching me a little. I couldn’t get enough of you.” Even with the fear, the beat of attraction between her legs grew stronger. She resisted the urge to squirm. The edge of his hand brushed the underside of her breast. “You opened your thighs to me.” His dark voice wrapped around her, doing wicked things to her senses. “I stroked you and slipped a finger inside, then another.” He tilted his pelvis, the solid ridge of his erection nudging her. His groan shivered over her ear. “Honey, you were so hot. Wet. Tight. You moaned. My name, over and over. I loved that, loved knowing I could make you feel like that.” She wanted to roll over, to beg him to make the fantasy come true. She wanted to believe it could. His nose brushed her cheek and he feathered his palm across her stomach. “I wanted to be inside you so bad, Tor, and you wanted it too. I wanted us moving together, until you came all over me. Until I was coming inside you.” “Is that what it would be like?” Her voice emerged shaky and broken. “If we made love?” He rubbed his face against her shoulder. “Oh honey, I think we’d be better.” She turned her head to look at him. His eyes had gone a burning, smoky gray. “I want to,” she whispered. “But I’m frightened. I don’t know—”

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“Shh.” Leaning in, he kissed her, his mouth firm and warm on hers. He framed her face. “We’re not going to do anything until you’re ready.” He kissed her again, nibbling and teasing at her lips. Tori shifted to her back, holding his jaw with trembling fingers. Levering up on an elbow, he massaged a hand down her bare arm and she shivered. His tongue probed at her mouth in a teasing flickering before he brushed a more sedate caress across her bottom lip. “Open your mouth, Tori.” The rough whisper set her nerves on fire. Gripping his shoulders, she opened to him. He slanted his lips over hers, tongue meeting hers in short, easy thrusts. She moaned, the restless wanting alive once more. Her stomach growled, its rumbling loud in the silence broken only by their breathing. Mark pulled back, laughter glinting in his eyes a second before a deep chuckle escaped him. He levered to a sitting position and ran a hand over his hair. “Come on. Let’s get you something to eat.” The loss of him sank in immediately. Sitting up, Tori pushed back her tangled hair. The mirror reflected them and she stared at herself—passion-dark eyes, swollen lips, hardened nipples pushing at her camisole. She looked wanton. Well kissed. The thought brought a smile to her face. What would she look like if she let him make love to her? “Sexy as hell.” Startled, Tori glanced at him. He knelt behind her, his hands at her shoulders. Surely she hadn’t spoken aloud. He rubbed her arms. “You are, you know that, don’t you? Look at you. No wonder you drive me crazy just by walking in the room.” Pleasure tipped the corners of her lips higher. He nudged her toward the edge of the bed. “Get moving. You haven’t eaten since last night. You’ve got to be starving.” Feeling languid and inordinately pleased with herself, she padded before him to the kitchen, the hem of her slacks swishing across the tops of her feet. She opened the refrigerator and peered inside. A quart of milk, a pack of cheese slices, a wilted head of lettuce, assorted condiments. Maybe the freezer. A couple of chicken potpies rested beside a half-eaten pint of Ben and Jerry’s.

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“You have to be kidding me.” Mark stood at her pantry and she peeked over his shoulder. A box of Cheerios, a couple of cans of soup, two envelopes of microwave popcorn and a packet of cookie mix. He glanced back at her. “What do you eat?” She shrugged. “Whatever I can nuke.” One dark eyebrow quirked. “You don’t cook?” “Why would I?” He shook his head. “I don’t know. I just thought…your mom is the best cook I know.” “Which would explain why I don’t cook. Why should I, if I can go to her house?” “And what do you do the nights you don’t eat there?” “Takeout.” He turned his wrist to check his watch. “Too late for that. Think your toes could handle a walk through Winn Dixie?” “Sure. Why?” “Because if I’m going to cook in this kitchen, it’s got to be stocked. Do you even own a set of cookware?” Only if her soup pan and skillet counted. She grinned. “No. Plan on cooking here often?” “I might.” He turned her toward the hallway and popped her lightly on the butt. “Get ready.” In her bedroom, she tugged her sweater back on and slipped into a pair of flexible ballet flats. Mark shrugged into his dress shirt and stepped into his shoes. She watched him button the shirt and tuck it in, and a giddy warmth settled in her chest. She wanted this, wanted the everyday ordinariness of being with him this way. And one day, she wanted to be back in her bed with him, making love, doing all of the things he’d described earlier. And more.

The Winn Dixie parking lot sat nearly deserted in the cool night air. Mark jockeyed the Blazer, resurrected thanks to a new engine, into a parking slot near the doors. Tori slid from the passenger seat, loose pieces of asphalt shifting under her shoes. The automatic door at the

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entrance whispered open for them and Mark grabbed a shopping cart at the front of the store and steered them toward the produce section. Quiet lay over the store, broken only by piped-in classical music and two teenage clerks giggling at the front service desk. Mark picked up a couple of bell peppers and an onion. Tori watched him, giddiness bubbling in her again. They could be any couple out for a little late-night grocery shopping, avoiding the crowds. She peeked at the mirrored wall backing the produce shelves. That’s what they looked like to others. She dared to tuck her arm through his. He glanced down at her hand on his forearm. “What kind of fruit do you like?” She wrinkled her nose. “Bananas.” His left eyebrow quirked. “Apples? Pineapple? Oranges?” “I can take them or leave them.” “You know you’re supposed to eat two to three servings of fruit a day, right?” He reached for a group of bananas and added a couple of oranges to the basket. A pair of kiwi followed. “Who are you, the nutrition police?” “You have a smart mouth.” The happiness made her brave. “Oh, you like it and you know it.” “That mouth?” He passed his thumb over her bottom lip and the pulse stirred low in her again. “I like it a lot.” He tossed a packet of baby spinach in the cart, followed by a small bag of baking potatoes. Tori stroked her fingers along his wrist. “Did you cook with Jenny?” His hand hesitated over a display of broccoli and cauliflower. “Yeah. All the time.” A crooked grin quirked at his mouth. “We didn’t have a lot of money, so we learned how to stretch things. She was really good at that.” Tori tucked her hair behind her ear. “She sounds very special.” “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “She was.” “Does it bother you to talk about her with me?” She fingered a line of high-priced salad dressings. He reached around her and selected a bunch of vine-ripened tomatoes.

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“I don’t know. I’m not used to talking about her with anyone.” He shrugged and steered them out of the produce area. “I guess it’s kind of like pulling off a bandage. It stings like hell, but feels better after, you know?” She smiled at his succinct summarization of the values of discussing a trauma. “Do you know how many years of therapy it took for me to figure that out? I fought it.” “You were a psych major. Figured you would have jumped in with both feet.” Her gaze on the variety of breads in the bakery area, she shook her head. “Talking about it hurt too badly. I spent the first year telling Rachel about my relationship with Tick.” “I could see that taking a year. Or two. Maybe three.” She threw a light punch at his arm. “Stop.” He rubbed at his biceps. “Hey, you brought it up.” Forcing a nonchalance she was far from feeling, she picked up a loaf of artisan bread. “Has there been anyone since Jenny?” Clear and sharp, his gray gaze locked on hers. “No. Not until now.” She was someone. With those three little words, not until now, he’d set her apart from the Angels and other near-anonymous women in his life. The realization took her breath, sent happiness fizzing along her veins to every inch of her body. The light glowing in the dark depths of her eyes tightened Mark’s chest. Simply being with her this way made him feel good, and when she looked at him like that…the level of contentment was scary. She settled the loaf of bread on top of the bananas. With the movement, her other arm tightened around his, her breast pressed against his biceps. A flash of energy zapped through him with the contact and images from his dream filled his head. He sucked in a breath and she looked at him, the same electricity reflected in her gaze. Time slowed around them. Mark released a pent-up breath. At that second, he wanted only to leave the shopping cart where it was, hustle her out of here and go back to her place, seduce her into bed with him, make his dream come to fruition. He wanted to show her how good it really could be, between the right two people. Her lips parted and the tip of her tongue darted out to dampen her lips. A spurt of desire hit him hard and he swallowed a groan. She was trying to kill him.

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A police radio squawked behind him. Close behind him. At the familiar, distinctive sound, he stiffened. Tori blinked, her eyes a little dazed. She glanced over his shoulder and flushed. A little garbled by the radio, Roger Gentry rattled off a call to Steve Monroe. Mark removed his arm from Tori’s loose hold and turned to see which Chandler County deputy had walked up on him tangled up with Tick Calvert’s baby sister. Oh, hell. Not one deputy, but two. Mere feet away, Troy Lee and Chris grinned at him, although only Troy Lee’s grin held a lascivious shade that sent anger simmering under Mark’s skin. Chris, tossing a pack of dog biscuits into the air and catching them one-handed, simply looked pleased. This wasn’t good. Chris could be trusted to keep his mouth shut, but Troy Lee? He made the gossipy old-biddy committee look positively close-mouthed. Tick would know of this little grocery-store trip before morning. Heck, probably before midnight. Mark straightened and shifted away from Tori. Troy Lee’s knowing male grin widened. Mark narrowed his eyes at him. “Is there a reason both of you are in the same place while on duty?” Troy Lee’s eyebrows lifted. “My unit’s in the shop. We’re riding together.” Chris held the package of dog treats aloft. “Hound was hungry and I was out of dog snacks. We figured we’d raid the deli while we’re here.” Just his luck. Mark ran a hand over his nape and nodded at Chris. “I’m glad you’re here. Did Stanton or Tick talk to you yet?” “This morning.” Chris glanced at Tori. “I’m really sorry to hear Tick’s sick.” She smiled, the expression not quite reaching her eyes. “Thank you.” Mark shifted, uncomfortably aware of his colleagues’ continued interest. He looked down at her. “I want to talk to Chris for a minute. You mind grabbing anything else you need? I’ll meet you at the checkout line.” Her posture stiffened, but she nodded. “Sure. Five minutes or so?” “Sounds great. Thanks.”

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She disappeared into canned goods with the cart. Troy Lee punched Mark’s arm and laughed, a just-between-us-guys sound that grated on Mark’s one remaining nerve. “Way to go, Cookie.” Mark glared at him. “We’re grocery shopping.” “Yeah. Now.” Troy Lee grinned. “It’s pretty obvious that’s not all you’ve been doing.” Anger buzzed in Mark’s ears. He took a deep breath. He wouldn’t grab the kid. Grabbing him might lead to hurting him. Instead, he took one step forward. “Farr,” he said, keeping his voice deliberately quiet. “Go somewhere. Now.” Troy Lee’s Adam’s apple bobbed. “Yes, sir. I’ll just…” He glanced at Chris and motioned toward the deli. “I’m going to grab a sandwich.” As the kid walked away, Mark rubbed a hand over his eyes. Chris laughed quietly. “One day we’ll actually turn him into a real cop.” “I’ll be gray and retired by then.” Chris stuck the dog treats under his arm, leather gun belt creaking with the movement. “He’s just a kid. He’ll grow up. And she does look a little rumpled, Cookie. Does Tick know about this?” “Yeah.” Chris grimaced. “I take it he’s not happy.” “At all.” Mark rolled his tense shoulders. The last thing he wanted to get into now was Tick’s blatant disapproval. “Listen, about this investigative move for you…” They talked for a few minutes more before Chris went in search of Troy Lee. Mark glanced toward the checkout area. No Tori. He walked through the nearby aisles, picking up a few items as he went. He found her in the frozen-food section, loading Lean Cuisine meals in the cart. She didn’t acknowledge him, her movements jerky and tight. Great. A pissed-off woman. His favorite thing to handle. He added his spices, olive oil and gourmet vinegar to her items and picked up one of the frozen meals, glancing at the nutrition facts. She leaned over, took it from his hand and replaced it on the short stack of boxes. He sighed. “What’s wrong?”

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She shot him a narrow-eyed glance. “What was that all about?” Oh man, she’d heard Troy Lee. “Tor, he’s—” “Don’t Tor me. Tell me why I turned into a leper as soon as your buddies walked in. Are you ashamed to be seen with me?” “What?” He laughed. Wrong thing to do. Her eyes narrowed further, to fiery slits, and angry color flushed her cheeks. He propped against the cart. “Why on earth would I be ashamed to be seen with you?” “I don’t know, but you couldn’t get far enough away from me when Troy Lee Farr and Chris Parker appeared.” She clutched the other end of the cart, her fingers so tight the knuckles were bloodless. “What’s the deal, Mark? Are we going to be one way in private and another in public? Is it the victim status? You know, a lot of guys would consider me used goods—” “Are you done?” He leaned forward, his gaze locked on hers. “I don’t look at you and see a rape victim. I see you and you already know I like what I see. I backed off because Troy Lee has a big mouth and I didn’t want him to have anything else to take back to your brother, who’s already being an ass about the whole thing.” She closed her eyes, fingers gripping the cart in a stranglehold. “I get so tired of being just his little sister. Even you see me that way—” “Far from it. Earlier, do you think I was thinking about Tick at all, with you in my arms?” He pitched his voice lower and she opened her eyes, dark with confusion. “No way, honey. I wasn’t thinking of you as Tick’s baby sister or Billy Reese’s victim, just the hot, sweet woman in bed with me, driving me out of my mind.” Doubt flashed in her espresso eyes. “Really?” “Uh-huh.” He released his hold on the cart and stepped back. “I swear.” She didn’t let go of the cart. “Prove it.” He laughed. “What?” “Make love to me.” He couldn’t have heard her right. It had to be the stress, the hunger, the aftereffects of a near-wet dream. No way had Tori Calvert just stood in the frozen foods section of Winn Dixie and told him to make love to her. “Excuse me?”

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She shifted her weight and bit her lip. “I want you to make love to me.” She dragged a hand through already tousled hair. “I mean, I can’t promise you I won’t freak out at some point, but I’m ready to try—” “No.” God, he must be crazy. She told him she wanted to make love and he told her no. What was he thinking? “Not tonight. Not like this.” “What do you mean?” “I want it to be because you’re ready to be with me. Not because you’ve had a rough day and you’re mad at Tick. I don’t want you regretting it the next morning.” “I wouldn’t.” “Sure you would. So would I. It’s too soon.” These words were not coming out of his mouth. He wasn’t blowing this opportunity with heroic idealism. “Let’s get out of here, and I’ll fix us something to eat.” As they unloaded the cart at the checkout, she grinned. “You’re going to regret saying no tomorrow.” He reached for his wallet. “I’m regretting it now.” She tucked her hair behind her ears. “Me too.”

A chilly wind whipped a hamburger wrapper across the parking lot. Tori shivered and Mark passed her his keys after he unlocked the hatch window. “Get in and start the engine, let the heater get to work.” Grateful, she climbed into the passenger seat and did as he said. Plastic bags rustled as he filled the cargo area. Warmth flowed from the vents and she rested her head against the seat. He was right. It had been a rough day. Her emotions had been on a wild carnival ride—happiness, fear, pain, anger. She could add disappointment to the mix now, although she understood his reasons for refusing to make love with her. Later, she might even appreciate his reserve. This second, she wanted to kiss him, persuade him to do all the things he’d talked about earlier. Her cell phone launched into its musical tones and she pulled it from her purse to find Tick’s cell number on the display. Closing her eyes on a sigh, she pushed the call button. “Yes?”

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“Hey. I tried you at home, but you didn’t answer.” His voice sounded lighter, happier. “Where are you?” “Winn Dixie.” She sank lower in the seat. “There wasn’t any food in my place.” “Like you’re going to cook anyway.” His words resonated with affection, but it didn’t warm her. She rubbed at her temple. “I thought you’d want to know Cait’s awake.” “That’s great. Does your son have a name yet?” “Actually, he does. Lamar Eugene III and we’ll call him Lee.” “Sounds wonderful.” Behind her the hatch closed with a solid thump. “How’s Cait?” “Groggy since they upped her meds and sore, but feeling pretty good, considering. I’ll tell her you asked.” He paused. “Are you okay? You sound strange.” “I’m just tired.” The driver’s door opened and Mark slid into the seat. “Pasta and a salad sound…sorry, didn’t know you were on the phone.” Silence stretched over the phone connection, followed by Tick’s indrawn breath. He swore. “Is that who I think it is?” “Yes.” She closed her eyes, fingers pressing harder against the ache starting at her temple. She couldn’t fight with him, didn’t want to fight with him, now. He was going into surgery in a few hours and they didn’t know what awaited him afterwards. “Tick, can we please not get into this again tonight?” “We don’t have to get into it all, if you’ll just listen. Tori, the guy’s no good for you.” “Tick—” “Damn it, I told him to stay away from you.” Anger trembled through her, but she swallowed her furious retort. She sat up straighter in the seat and opened her eyes. Mark watched her from the driver’s seat, his hand propped on the wheel, brows drawn into a frown. “I’m tired. Tell Cait I asked about her and I’ll see you in the morning.” “Tori—” She killed the connection, cutting off his urgent voice. Tears burned her eyes. Why did this have to be so complicated?

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Mark shifted in his seat. “Everything okay?” Blinking, she nodded. “Sure. Everything’s going to be fine.”

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Chapter Twelve

Lazy waves washed onto the shore. Mark dug his toes into damp, gritty sand. The horizon looked strange, a looming sunrise cast in shades of purple and blue, dark clouds hanging over the water. Icy water hit his feet and he shivered. A glance around told him he was alone on the familiar beach, not even a seagull accompanying him. He frowned. There should be a house to his left, a huge white contemporary that loomed over this section of the beach. Instead the dunes rose, sea grass stirring under the chilly breeze. A whitecap crashed into a huge piece of driftwood half-buried in the shore. Seaweed slithered to the sand. A raindrop splashed on his shoulder and trickled down his spine, like an icy finger. He shuddered. Nothing felt right—not the light, the near silence, the deserted beach. He didn’t feel right. Turning, he froze. The sand stretched on forever behind him. This wasn’t any beach he knew, despite its familiarity. Fear fluttered in his chest and he lifted a hand to rub at his eyes. He stared at his hand, heart kicking into overdrive. His wedding ring. In the dimness of dawn, the cheap circle of gold gleamed on his ring finger. No way. He hadn’t worn that ring in forever, although he knew exactly where it was,

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tucked in a wooden box in his top dresser drawer. When had he taken it out and put it on? And when had he arrived here? Hell, he couldn’t remember. Maybe he’d had one of those stress-induced breakdowns. Surely he hadn’t pitched a drunk and ended up here. The unease tried to edge toward panic, but he tamped it down. Getting upset never got anybody anywhere but deeper in trouble. He reached for his keys. No pockets. Glancing down, he discovered bare feet, no shirt, and a pair of white cotton trousers without pockets, something men wore on tropical beaches, something he didn’t own. Where the hell were his keys? What was going on? A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped, afraid to turn and see who stood behind him. He stared at the waves of endless white sand. The fingers pressed into his skin. “Mark.” Oh, God. He recoiled from the voice, once sweet and almost musical, and now gritty, choked as if she spoke around the dirt of a grave. He squeezed his eyes closed. “Jenny?” “I’ve missed you, Mark.” She stroked his back and he cringed at the grimy trail her fingers left behind. She rubbed her knuckles into the small of his back, a caress that long ago had melted him every time. Nausea pushed into his throat. This wasn’t happening. It had to be a dream, a nightmare and God please let him wake up soon… Other sounds filtered into his consciousness—the raspy sound of her breathing, and something more, the snuffling sounds an infant made as it awoke. His lungs shut down, cramps attacking his stomach. A baby’s cry rose, as strangled as Jenny’s voice. Her touch left his skin and she whispered soothing words, the horror wrapping tentacles around him. “You have a son, Mark,” she said, and water washed onto his feet, seaweed tangling about his ankles with cold, slithery fingers. “He’s beautiful. Don’t you want to see him?” No. He wanted to run, to be as far from this as he could. He took a step, stopped. What kind of father, husband, was he? She touched him again and he suppressed the shudder of revulsion. She deserved better from him. “We need you to find us,” she whispered and his heart twisted. “Don’t leave us out here alone. Find us.”

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He opened his eyes, the eerie white sand undulating before him, as far as he could see. Jenny pressed her cheek to his bare shoulder, the touch moist, slimy. “Bring us home.” Tears burned his eyes, clogged his throat, and he nodded. Sucking in a deep breath, he turned around.

Heart thudding in a mad rhythm, Mark sat straight up, a harsh gasp wrung from him. The covers tangled about his legs and he kicked them off, struggling to catch his breath. Sweat dripped down his face and onto his chest. Still panting for oxygen, he leaned forward, resting his forehead on his up-drawn knees. The dream had been too real. He expected to find sand in the bed, seaweed caught around his ankles. Jenny’s voice echoed around him. And the baby. The cries pounded in his head, wrapped up with Jenny’s pleas that he find them, bring them home. Just a dream. He pulled in a shallow breath, chest aching. Probably brought on by seeing Tick’s son yesterday, by the intensity of his growing feelings for Tori. He’d been congratulating himself on handling Tick’s fatherhood, thinking it was easier than he’d expected, and now this— dreaming of a baby long dead. A baby never born. “Damn it,” he muttered and shifted to sit on the edge of the bed. The numerals on his bedside clock glowed red. A little after four in the morning. He rubbed both hands down his face and pushed up from the bed. After that dream, he wouldn’t be able to sleep again. Didn’t want to sleep again. In the kitchen, he started a pot of coffee. Once a dark stream of aromatic liquid began pouring into the carafe, he wandered into the living room. A peek between the blinds showed him a quiet parking lot. Lights glowed in Tori’s apartment across the way. He hoped she was sleeping. Whatever Tick had said on the phone last night had really topped her day. Mark had glimpsed a glitter of tears in her eyes before she regained her composure. During the drive home, she’d been quiet, even more so when they’d returned to her place. He’d thrown together a quick meal for them, but she’d done more pushing around of food than eating. For a moment at her door, after they’d shared a sweet kiss, he’d thought she was going to invite him to stay, to hold her through the night. Maybe it had been a good thing she hadn’t. He

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didn’t believe Jenny was visiting him from beyond the grave, any more than he believed Santa Claus would deliver a custom motorcycle for Christmas, but something had triggered that dream. We need you to find us. Don’t leave us out here alone. Legally, he was free. A widower. In the same box where his wedding ring rested lay Jenny’s official death certificate, issued seven years after her disappearance. But inside, where it counted? He was still tied to her on some level, as surely as if he wore that ring, and he would be until he’d done everything possible to bring them home.

Tori rushed through her minimal makeup and pulled her hair up in a hasty knot. She’d overslept, and between the need to hurry and her sleep-deprived state, she felt awful. Darn Mark Cook and his deep voice whispering fantasies anyway. She’d spent half the night dreaming of him, of the acts he’d described, waking up each time with her body hovering on the brink of something wild and wonderful and out of reach. No wonder she’d slept through her alarm. She eased her aching foot into a leather clog, trying to put her earrings in at the same time. She grabbed her purse and keys, making sure the door locked behind her. Squinting against the bright, crisp sunlight, she scrambled into the Miata. She wasn’t going to make it in time to see Tick before he went to surgery. Her mama was going to have a fit, and rightly so. Mark’s Blazer was gone from the parking lot. If she’d gotten up on time, maybe she could have seen him before he left for work. The night before, he’d told her he needed to be in the office with Chris Parker, but would check in on Tick. Strain had laced his voice and she frowned. This whole thing was such a mess and they couldn’t even begin sorting it out until Tick was through surgery and on the road to recovery. If there was a road to recovery. Her throat closed. Her focus should be on him, not on the possibilities being with Mark offered. Tick had always been there when she needed him. Always. Now it was her turn. “Sure, Victoria,” she muttered, turning onto Broad Avenue. “Practically hanging up on him was really being there for him.” Please don’t let it be too late. Let me get there in time. Let me have a chance to apologize.

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Even this early, the hospital parking lot was full and she had to circle three times before she found a vacant spot. Nerves jerked in her stomach as she hobbled across the asphalt. Tick would be all right. She just needed to keep telling herself that. Everything would turn out okay. The surgical waiting room held several small groups, people settling in for tense vigils. Her family was one of those groups, her mama in a chair by the window, her brother Del sitting next to her. Even Tori’s aunts Ella and Maureen sat nearby, looking as put together as they would for Sunday morning church—suits, pearls, matching purses. Tori fingered the side seam on her jeans. Obviously, she came from a different part of the gene pool. With a deep breath, she stepped forward, an apology on her lips. “Mama, I’m sorry I’m late. I overslept and—” “It’s all right, baby.” Mama held out a hand. Del, a year younger than Tick, rose to let Tori have his chair, wrapping her in an affectionate hug before she sat. “They put things off for a little while. He’s downstairs in the NICU.” Tori tucked her purse under the chair, nervousness making her movements jerky. “Is something wrong?” Her mama patted her knee. “Lee’s having a little trouble breathing, so they were assessing him before making a decision about the ventilator this morning. Dr. Gurley said they could wait long enough for Lamar to be with him and Caitlin if they decide to put in the breathing tube.” Relieved she hadn’t missed seeing Tick, Tori subsided into her chair, hid behind an outdated Cosmopolitan and let her mother’s conversation with her aunts about the baby wash over her. She flipped pages, skimming fashion articles and glancing at advertisements with no real interest. The next page strangled the breath in her throat. Seven Must-Try Positions for Sensational Sex. Her gaze darted from the title to the accompanying photo that had snagged her attention. Against white sheets, a dark-haired man leaned over a brunette, arched backward on her elbows, sensuality all over her face. The pair oozed sex. She wanted that to be her and Mark. Trying to quell the little stab of desire low in her stomach, she skimmed the first paragraph, then took a deep breath and read it again. That was possible? Oh. She definitely wanted that to be

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her and Mark. Her own imagination kicked in, a montage of Mark’s descriptions, the magazine article and her dreams. She glanced up, her face hot. What was she thinking, fantasizing while her brother awaited major surgery? The photo drew her gaze again. Like that would ever be her. She wanted it, but there was no way she’d be able to approach making love with that unconscious sensuality. Dreams and fantasies were one thing, reality quite another. She didn’t know when the memories would kick in, pulling her out of whatever spell Mark might be able to cast. And now she knew what he wanted—the fantasy woman who wanted him. The woman without hang-ups. Why would he settle for the fearful mess she really was? She couldn’t expect to be anything but a disappointment to him. Even if she managed to actually get through the act of making love once, what about all the other times? They stretched before her like a heavy chain keeping her locked in isolation. Another pat on her knee dragged her from the confused musings. Her mother smiled, worry lines deepened around her eyes. “There’s your brother.” Tori laid the magazine aside and stood as their mother embraced Tick. “How’s the baby?” “Good.” Tick straightened and rubbed at his eyes. “The respirator’s on its lowest setting and his pulse oxygen level is up already.” Del clapped him on the shoulder. “You ready?” Tick grimaced. “As I’ll ever be.” “We’ll be here when you come out.” Their mama patted his arm and leaned up to kiss his cheek. Tori moved forward to hug him. “Good luck. I love you,” she whispered near his ear. She swallowed hard. “And I’m sorry about last night.” His arms tightened around her. “Still mad at me?” She pulled back and smiled, the skin around her mouth feeling painfully stretched. “Of course not. Now get in there and let them take care of you.” He held her gaze for a long moment, deep concern glinting in his eyes, the same dark shade of chocolate as her own. “I just want what’s best for you, Tor. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

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“I know.” He really did want that. The one thing she could always count on was his looking out for her best interest. He glanced over his shoulder at their mother and brother a few feet away. “Tori, listen,” he said, his voice low. “I like him, you know that. He’s a damn good cop and most of the time he’s a good guy. Just not the guy for you. Not the kind who’s going to stick around once the initial challenge wears off. Do you understand what I’m saying?” “Sure.” Her mouth trembled. Is that all she was? A challenge? “Go on. Get moving.” With a crooked grin and another hug for their mother, he disappeared into the patient area behind the desk. The door closed with a quiet click. Oh, Lord. This was really happening. Her stomach dropped and Tori turned, the bright smile pasted on her face. “Come on, Mama. Let’s get you some coffee.” They settled in to wait.

Radio noise drifted out of the dispatch office on the sheriff’s department lower level. At the front desk, Lydia Fowler clacked away at her keyboard. Mark picked up the stack of open-case files from the corner of his desk and settled into his chair. The string of burglaries in the north end of the county had gone cold—nothing had shown up in the local pawn shops or at the flea market. The one lead he’d had, a white Buick seen in the area, had turned out to be a new paper carrier, according to a terse notation in Tick’s handwriting. Laying the folder aside, Mark glanced at Tick’s office door, slightly ajar. It was a little after ten in the morning, so Tick had been in surgery a couple of hours. According to Tori, the doctors had told them to expect at least six hours on the operating table—the area around the kidney was rich in blood vessels, and as the kidney was removed, each vein would be cauterized. The threat of bleeding and complications was high. Mark wanted to be there, as much for Tick as for Tori. He didn’t belong, though. He wasn’t family and right now he was probably off Tick’s list of friends. Instead, he’d settle for going by at lunch to check on Tori. Until then, he had plenty of paperwork to keep his mind off the jangle of his nerves.

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The new-mail chime dinged on his laptop and he straightened, anxious excitement pulsing through him. An email from Glenn Rigsby. Mark ran the mouse over the link, clicking to open the message. A reply to his request for Jenny’s case file. He skimmed. He wouldn’t have to wait days for the file to arrive. Glenn had an officer driving to Alabama to visit family; a copy of the dossier would be in Mark’s hands by that afternoon. The thought was intimidating. What could he find that Glenn hadn’t? “Hey.” Chris dropped into the chair at the empty desk butted to Mark’s. Clad in jeans, his polo shirt untucked, he looked casual and rested, especially considering his shift had ended at three in the morning. He rubbed a hand over his shadowed jaw. Definitely Chris Parker on his day off. “Morning.” Mark pushed a couple of files across the desk in the younger man’s direction. Chris picked up a folder and flipped it open. “Heard anything about Tick yet?” “Stanton came back from the hospital a little while ago. Last report was everything was going well.” Now if their luck just held. Nodding, Chris didn’t look up from the folder. “Thought you might be over there.” Mark darted a look at him. “I’m going by later.” Another nod. Mark cleared his throat. “Listen, how’d you like to sink your teeth into a cold case?” Intrigue glinted in Chris’s blue eyes. “We have anything like that?” “Not one of ours, although we’ve got a couple we’re going to delve into.” Mark ran his thumbnail along the edge of his desk calendar. “This one’s from Florida.” He glanced up, meeting Chris’s gaze. “This one’s personal.” A slow grin spread across Chris’s face. “I’m in.”

Tori perched on the windowsill and stared out at the parking lot below. Her stomach grumbled, a reminder that not only had she skipped breakfast, but she’d barely touched dinner the night before. An hour ago, when her third brother Chuck arrived at the hospital, Del had gone down to the cafeteria. He’d tried to talk her into going too, but she’d known eating was impossible. Guilt sat in her stomach, a hard, leaden knot. Even with her hunger, it left no room for food.

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I just want what’s best for you, Tor. Of course he did. So what did she go and do? Throw his intentions back in his face. She cringed, remembering again how she’d cut him off. She touched a finger to the window, chilled by the cool breeze outside. Tick was so convinced Mark wasn’t the guy for her. She wanted to laugh off his concerns, his warnings, to blindly forge ahead and do what she wanted. What was she thinking? She couldn’t do it. Tick knew so much more about Mark than she did and his warnings were surely based in her best interests. “It’s not like you’re an excellent judge of male character,” she muttered, resting her forehead against the window. “So he makes you feel good. Big deal. It’s just physical.” Only it wasn’t, not really. Yes, she’d felt more in his arms than with any of the other men she’d dated, before or after the rape. But it was more than that—he made her feel capable, beautiful, sure of herself. Being with him felt so right, like she was on the brink of some wonderful future. She’d been wrong before. The thought sent a chill shivering over her skin. Her mind insisted on circling back to his relationship with Tick. They’d known each other forever, and doubtless, a bond existed there. Her involvement with Mark was already straining that friendship. The guy has commitment issues. She knew that. The question was whether or not his issues, combined with her own, were too much. Maybe Tick was just looking ahead, seeing the pitfalls she didn’t in her inexperience. Lord, it was all so complicated. She had absolutely no idea what to do. Or maybe she did and just didn’t want to face it. Not the kind who’s going to stick around once the initial challenge wears off. A challenge. The thought turned her stomach. Surely that wasn’t all she was to him. There’d been something real in his kiss the night before. She’d felt the connection between them. But what did she know? Maybe the easy scores had gotten old. Maybe she meant absolutely nothing.

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Two hours later the arguments continued swirling in her mind, but she was nearer to an answer. The surgical assistant keeping them updated had come out earlier to report that the surgeon was closing now. Tick had come through wonderfully and would be on his way to recovery soon. The doctor would visit them then. A tiny thread of relief tried to worm its way through Tori’s chest, but she squashed it. Not until she heard it from Dr. Gurley himself. At the window again, she eyed the vehicles coming and going below. A familiar unmarked unit turned into the lot and parked in a far row. Tori’s throat tightened when an equally familiar figure climbed from the driver’s seat. Head bent against the wind, Mark walked across the parking lot. The lump in her throat grew. She knew what she had to do. She had to trust the man she knew cared for her.

Eyes closed, Mark leaned against the elevator wall. A tension knot sat between his shoulders, probably courtesy of the fat file folder sitting on the passenger seat of his unit. He hadn’t drummed up the courage to open it yet. First, he needed to check on Tick, make sure Tori was all right. He relaxed into the wall. Just thinking about her made the weight of stress a little lighter. With a soft ping, the elevator doors slid open. Straightening, Mark pushed away from the wall and stepped into the hallway leading to the surgical-unit waiting room. The first sight that greeted him was Tori walking toward him and his smile widened. How could she feel like home so soon? “Hey.” Man, he was glad to see her and he couldn’t stop grinning like a jackass. He wanted to wrap his arms around her, gather her up in a tight hug, sweep her off her feet. He was such a goner. “How’s Tick? I tried to get by earlier, but Chris and I caught a call out at Mrs. Coker’s. It took forever. You know how she—” “He’s good.” She wrapped her arms across her midriff, hands supporting her elbows. “Dr. Gurley was just out. He said the surgery went really well, no sign the cancer had spread. Tick’s in recovery now. Mama’s with him.”

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“That’s great.” Relief swept through him. Maybe God sometimes still did hear the prayers of a guy like him. “How about you? Hungry? You look a little tired.” Smooth. Very smooth. He shook his head. Unable to resist touching her, he reached out and stroked a hand down her arm. She took a half step back, looking everywhere but at him. His gut tightened. “Mark, we need to talk.” Not good. That particular phrase was never a good thing coming from a woman. He swallowed. “Sure. You want to go—” “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking today. About us.” Her fingernails dug so hard into her arms that the skin around them whitened. Another phrase of death. Man, the karma was coming back to get him today. He tucked his thumbs in his belt. “Yeah?” “Everything is moving so fast and there’s all this stuff going on with Tick right now. I can’t be sure I’m making the right decisions.” She looked distressed, brows drawn downward, a sheen of sudden tears glittering in her eyes. God help him, he still wanted to comfort her. “I-I don’t think we should see each other anymore. I don’t know what else to say except that it’s—” “I get it.” The words came out colder than he’d intended and she bit her lip. But, damn it, he really didn’t want to hear her say, It’s not you, it’s me. That left only one more phrase to endure. “Mark, I’m sorry.” The tears trembled on her dark lashes. “We can still be friends, right?” He swallowed the first retort that came to mind. Her friend? Yeah, he could be her friend. Just like he could forget Jenny had existed. But right now, he’d do whatever it took to get that awful wounded expression and tremulous fear off her face. Even lie and pretend this didn’t hurt like hell. “Yeah, we can be friends.” He waited for lightning to strike him. Really no reason to draw this out. No reason for him to hang around. Tick was all right and she’d made the choice Mark had known all along she would. Not her fault he’d let himself hope. He cleared his throat and dragged a hand down the back of his neck. The knot there throbbed. “Listen, I’m glad to hear Tick’s good. Tell him I asked, would you? I’ve got to go. I’m supposed to meet Chris—” “Mark—”

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“Tori, let it be, okay? It’s fine.” With a tight smile, he turned back to the elevators. Blessedly, one awaited, the doors sliding open immediately. He didn’t look at her as he punched the button for the lobby. If he looked at her, he’d start asking for explanations and he wasn’t sure he really wanted them. The doors whispered closed. Mark leaned his head against the wall and stared up at the mirrored ceiling. Haunted eyes looked back at him and his heart thumped in his chest like a scared rabbit. Damn it, he’d known better. Why hadn’t he listened to his gut instinct? He rubbed a hand down his face. “Shit.” The elevator shimmied to a stop on the fourth floor and opened to allow a middle-aged couple to board. He nodded at them, but before the doors swept shut, he reached out to catch one side and stepped free of the car. He’d faced the reality of Jenny’s file, he’d faced Tori’s rejection…hell, he might as well face this too. His chest and belly tied in perfect Boy Scout knots, he strode to the nurse’s station opposite the glass-enclosed nursery. He tapped his fingers on the laminate counter in a jittery tattoo. “I’m looking for Caitlin Falconetti’s room.” The redhead flicked a glance at the six-pointed star embroidered on his polo shirt. “422.” “Thanks.” He rapped his knuckles on the surface and turned away. “But she’s not there.” The nurse’s voice brought him up short. “Try the NICU, end of the hall on your left.” He nodded, heart insisting on maintaining its erratic Mexican-jumping-bean rhythm. Finding the NICU proved to be no problem. Making himself buzz for the nurse? Something else entirely. He stared at the bell. What the hell was he thinking, anyway? Sure enough, beyond the glass, he spotted Caitlin standing beside one of the clear plastic isolettes. She looked around, catching his eye, and warm affection lit her face. She spoke to the nurse at her side, and moments later, unable to get a protest beyond his lips, he found himself scrubbed, garbed in a sterile gown and being led across the minefield of too-small babies to Caitlin’s side. “Cookie.” She caught his hand, genuine pleasure softening her voice. “I’m so glad you came.”

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Oddly enough, so was he, now that he stood close enough to see the strain and still-wet tears marring her features. “Me too, Falconetti. How are you?” “Better.” With a small ironic laugh, she used one knuckle to wipe the dampness from under her eyes. “You’ve been upstairs, right? You know they got it all and don’t think it’s spread?” “I heard.” “He’s going to be all right.” She needn’t have bothered clearing the tears as new ones spilled over to replace them. “He is.” He wrapped his fingers around her hand, still clinging to his, and drew her into a tight hug. “Of course he is. Hell, Falconetti, cut it out. You know I don’t do crying women.” “I know.” She rested her forehead against his shoulder, breathless, hitching sobs shaking her shoulders. Remembrance flashed in his mind, of holding Tori close in the small intimacy of her car while she wept. He closed his eyes, pain pulsing over him. Had that been only yesterday? Another memory, waking with her in his arms, her quiet voice saturated with curiosity and longing as he talked about his dream, and the hurt did more than pulse, instead digging in with spiked claws of loss. He patted Caitlin’s back in awkward comfort. She calmed under the easy touch, blowing out a long shuddery breath. “I’m angry with you.” She mumbled the even statement against the middle of his chest. He smiled. “Yeah? Why?” “Because there’s no doubt in my mind that he told you before he told me.” No way he was touching that one. After another long moment, she stepped back, sniffling. She grabbed a couple of tissues from a box on a low table next to a rocking chair. “I’m sorry.” She sent him a rueful glance from beneath damp, spiky lashes. “I’ve been this way all day. I can’t seem to stop.” One corner of his mouth quirked up. “Gee, I wonder why?” She rolled her eyes and blew her nose. He took the opportunity to look beyond her at the skinny newborn with wisps of dark hair kicking out around his head. “So this is the rugrat, huh?” Stepping closer to the isolette, she pinned him with a look. “His name is Lee. Don’t you dare saddle him with some odd moniker.”

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“Lee?” He tilted his head to one side and studied Tick’s son. The thin little chest moved with the mechanical rhythm of the hushed respirator. With tape holding the ventilator tube in place, looking for resemblances in his tiny face was impossible, although the way he wrinkled his forehead was pretty reminiscent of Falconetti’s expression when she was thinking through a challenging case. IV tubes invaded his body and various monitor wires marched over his torso. “As in Troy?” “What are you…?” Shocked horror widened Caitlin’s eyes. “Oh my God, don’t say that to Tick. He’ll want to change his name.” A spurt of welcome humor rumbled up from Mark’s chest. Caitlin looked less than amused and he felt like someone had taken a sledgehammer to his emotions, so he let the laughter die a quick death. He rested a palm atop the plastic box. “He’s something, Falconetti.” “Isn’t he?” She slid a hand inside one of the circular openings to caress a wrinkled knee. “Two miracles in as many days. He’s here and Tick’s going to be all right.” “Yeah.” Some of the pressure holding his lungs hostage evaporated. Seeing her with Tick’s baby, witnessing her unabashed elation in this child…that made facing the demon of his own thwarted fatherhood easier. She’d survived the loss and pain in her own history; she’d moved beyond that to life and joy. Just like Tori was moving beyond her past, even if it was without him. She’d be okay, she’d find that life and joy. In going forward, she’d dragged him out of the hell of his own past. And going back wasn’t an option. Now he simply had to figure out how to move on without her.

*** Mark tilted the bottle back, the beer’s icy bitterness trickling down his throat. He and Chris had commandeered the back corner booth at the Cue Club and Chris was hunched over Jenny’s file, twirling his longneck in a slow circle on the tabletop. A handful of twenty-something girls laughed through a line dance on the tiny dance floor, their backdrop a mournful George Strait song. At the other end of the building, the pool tables were full and couples took up most of the

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booths and smaller tables dotting the long, narrow room. Cigarette smoke and chatter rose in a hazy cloud. Mark took another swallow. This was just what he needed tonight, something to keep his mind off Tori. “Wow.” Chris looked up, a frown wrinkling his brow. “Well, this explains a lot.” That assessing semi-scowl left Mark feeling like a bug under a microscope. He shifted in the seat and set his beer aside, next to his uneaten half of the Cue Club’s signature sandwich, a massive chili-cheese dog known as a Big Cheesy. “Yeah?” “Yeah.” Chris rested an arm along the seatback. “Nineteen years is a heck of a long time to carry something like that around.” The sympathy in the words and lurking in Chris’s blue eyes made him more uncomfortable. He shrugged. “Everybody has something they carry around.” Chris’s gaze dropped to the reports again. “Yeah. They do.” He cleared his throat. “So why are we looking at this again? I mean, it appears this Rigsby guy was pretty thorough.” “He was.” Mark lifted the witness list and scanned it. “But a cold case can always benefit from a fresh pair of eyes looking at it.” He glanced up at Chris. “That’s you. And experience can make a difference, too.” He pointed to his own chest. “That’s me. I know a lot more now about investigative technique than I did back then.” Chris reached for his longneck. “Why now? Seems like you and Tick would have already tackled this.” Because he hadn’t been ready before now. Mark rubbed a hand over his jaw. This wasn’t even about Tori, although she’d definitely been a catalyst. He needed to know. He needed to be able to say he’d done everything he could. He needed this so he could live again. For what, he wasn’t sure. The emptiness of his life outside of work stretched before him. He met Chris’s serious gaze. “It’s just time.” Nodding, Chris regarded the stacks of photocopied reports and statements with the expression of someone faced with a particularly appetizing and hearty meal. “So where do we start?”

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“At the beginning. Rule of twenty-fours. The twenty-four hours before death, the twentyfour hours after.” Chris shot him a look, an eyebrow quirked. “But we don’t know for sure she’s dead.” The words sucker punched him. Mark took a deep breath. “I know for sure.” “You can’t. Come on, you’re the one who wanted to get to the bottom of this. Are you going to ignore a line of investigation because you don’t like the possibility? Face it. She might not be dead. We have to explore that.” Mark dragged a hand over his face. “All right, but we still start with those twenty-fours.” “Then what?” “Identify and interview witnesses. Identify possible suspects.” Chris nodded. “Under different circumstances, you’d be at the top of that list.” “Yeah.” Mark crossed his arms over his chest. Chris was right. If Mark was starting this same investigation cold, he’d put the husband at the top of the list too. “Thanks for the vote of confidence, though.” “What confidence? Rigsby verified your story.” “Funny. How many night shifts did you say you wanted to work next week?” Unperturbed, Chris tilted his beer for a long pull. “So you said you wanted to start at the beginning. The twenty-four hours before she disappeared. Do you remember that?” “Yeah.” Mark lifted a photo of Jenny from the file, sun glinting off her golden hair, her smile wide and happy. “I remember. Like yesterday.”

Restlessness dogged him once he and Chris parted ways. Town was quiet and making two rounds of the blocks adjacent to the sheriff’s department did little to settle him. Finally, he took the right onto the one-way street that ran alongside the hospital. Inside, he retrieved a guest pass and caught an elevator up to the surgical-care unit. To his surprise, no family member sat in the vinyl chair by Tick’s bed. Mark pushed the door closed behind him. The room’s only illumination came from the fluorescent light over the bed, the blinds closed against the bright halogen lamps in the parking lot. However, the dim glow

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was enough to illustrate the pallor of Tick’s face, the way pain seemed to stretch his skin too tight over his features. At the bedside, Mark paused and studied the monitors. None of it made sense except the steady blip of Tick’s pulse. That soothing rhythm let him relax. The guy might be a stubborn ass, but they were still partners. Falconetti was right; he was going to be okay. Mark had simply needed to see that for himself. He straightened, ready to leave, but Tick’s eyelids flicked, lifting for a second, dipping and coming back up again. His dark gaze, dulled with pain and medication, tracked over the ceiling to land on Mark’s face. The corners of Tick’s mouth hitched. “Hey.” The monosyllable emerged slurred and garbled. Mark rested his forearms on the bedrail. “Hey. How do you feel?” “Like hell. Worse than getting shot.” With a heavy hand, Tick gestured across his chest, right to left, from his pecs almost to his hipbone, the movement loopy and uncoordinated. “Cut me here…to here.” Mark nodded. “I saw the kid earlier.” Awed pride lit the murky depths of Tick’s eyes. “He’s…great.” Fingers laced together, Mark twirled his thumbs, following the slow circle with his eyes. He cleared his throat of the lump that seemed to have wedged itself there most of the day. “I’m glad for you, Tick.” “Thanks.” Tick’s eyes closed, a pained grimace twisting his mouth. After a moment, his lids rose. “Need to talk…about Tori.” “No, we don’t.” To his relief, his voice came out steady and even. “You don’t need to get worked up and she came to her senses today, just like I told you she would.” Disbelief twisted Tick’s eyebrows into a crooked line. Mark shrugged before Tick could speak. He didn’t want to indulge in a postmortem. He made himself put on the old devil-maycare grin. “You should be proud. She dumped my ass cold.” Tick’s frown didn’t clear, his clouded gaze fixed on Mark’s. He rolled his head in a slow side-to-side motion. “Nothing ’gainst you. Can’t let her…be hurt—”

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“She’s fine.” Mark eyed the spike on the heart monitor. Coming here had probably been a bad idea. “Calm down and stop worrying. I told you she’d wise up and she did. She’s fine.” Behind him, the door opened with a soft swish. “Tick, are you…” Tori’s quiet voice trailed away. Mark stiffened, realized Tick still watched him and forced his muscles into relaxation. He inclined his head in Tick’s direction. “I’m going to get out of here and let you rest. Just wanted to make sure you were okay.” He darted a quick glance in Tori’s direction where she hovered just inside the door; she looked everywhere but at him, her expression tight and miserable. Again, he found himself wanting to do whatever necessary to get that look off her face. If his being around made her unhappy, he’d remove himself from the equation. He cleared his throat once more. “Good night, y’all.” Outside in the hallway, he dragged both hands down his face and exhaled sharply. God help him. He almost wished she’d left him mired in the past. At least there, he knew how to cope. She would move on, find someone Tick considered suitable. With that thought, Mark’s chest tightened further. She’d be happy and he wanted that for her, even if it meant seeing her with another man. If he kept telling himself that, maybe sooner or later, he’d believe it.

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Chapter Thirteen

Tori tossed her keys on the table by the door and dropped the bag containing her research materials. Leaving it where it landed, she locked the door and moved through the apartment, checking closets and the bathroom. Weariness pulled at her muscles and her stomach grumbled, the candy bar she’d grabbed for lunch long gone. The sickly sweet smell hit her as soon as she stepped into the kitchen. She wrinkled her nose. What on earth… The fruit. She froze, staring at the stoneware bowl on her counter, holding the bananas Mark had bought for her days ago. Black areas marred the yellow skin and a couple of fruit flies danced above the bunch. A wave of ridiculous tears pricked her eyes and she tunneled a hand through her hair, nails raking her scalp. Stupid, to get so wound up over a handful of rotten bananas. Blinking back the moisture, she strode to the counter, grabbed the bowl and carried it to the trashcan in the pantry. She dumped the contents and stopped. Hugging the empty bowl, she gazed at the items Mark had added to her pantry—extra-virgin olive oil, rice vinegar, an array of spices. She was never going to use any of this stuff. If she had any sense at all, she’d pack it up and take it to her mama or Caitlin. Someone who cooked. Someone who would use it. Why she insisted on hanging on like this was beyond her. 178

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Holding the bowl with one hand, she snatched a packet of microwave popcorn and backed up, closing the pantry door with more force than necessary. “Get over it, Victoria.” Her shaky voice was loud in the small kitchen. “You did the right thing.” Hadn’t she? It was never going to work. Breaking it off, whatever it was, had been the best thing, the only thing. Mark wasn’t any the worse for wear. He’d accepted her dictate more easily than she’d expected. Tick seemed relieved the flirtation was over. She was safe from getting hurt. So why did she feel so lousy? She needed to forget the whole thing. Thinking about it, chasing the what-ifs around in her head, would get her nowhere. She had plenty to focus on right now—research for her dissertation, the ever-present budget concerns at the center, helping out with Caitlin and Tick. She didn’t have time to worry about what might have been with Mark Cook. Buoyed by her self-talk, she tossed the popcorn packet in the microwave. While the kernels fluffed and popped, she changed from her slacks and sweater into yoga pants and a T-shirt. She avoided looking at the bed. Memories of lying with Mark came too easily and sleeping, or trying to, had become a chore. The phone rang and she picked up the cordless unit on the way to retrieve her popcorn. “Hello?” “I hope you haven’t gotten comfortable,” Layla said, her tone harried and completely unapologetic. Tori closed her eyes. Lord, not a rape victim. Not tonight. She couldn’t deal with it tonight. With a deep breath, she opened them again. If she had to deal with it, she would. End of story. “What’s up?” “I’ve got Maggie Stinson in the ER again.” “Bad?” “Unfortunately, yes. She asked for you.” “Okay.” She left the popcorn in the microwave and hurried to her bedroom. “I’m on my way.”

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She scrambled back into her office clothes, grabbed her keys and jogged downstairs to her car. Maggie, asking for her. The other woman might finally be ready for help, ready to begin the process of escaping the hell of her life with Jed Stinson. They might even be able to persuade her to press charges this time. Charges. Which Chandler County deputy would be on hand? Tori couldn’t remember if it was Mark’s night to work—his Blazer had been gone from the lot when she left, so maybe. The idea of seeing him sent a thrill through her and she flattened it. That was over. Cars crowded the small parking lot outside the emergency center. Tori squeezed the Miata into a space that really wasn’t a space and hurried toward the ER. Three Chandler County patrol cars, including the K-9 unit, lined one side of the one-way street. Tori frowned. That was really unusual. Inside, people milled about the waiting room, a low hum of irritation building. Troy Lee stood at one end, scribbling on a clipboard while a woman talked, waving her hands. Tori went to the reception window. “Hey, Lorraine. Layla called me about a patient. Can you buzz me in?” A smile split Lorraine’s round face. “Sure thing, sweetie.” She waved a hand toward the waiting area. “It’s been wild around here tonight.” Tori could see that. The woman talking to Troy Lee raised her voice and he motioned to a nearby chair, his voice dropping to a calming tone. At the deep buzz, Tori swung the door open. Once inside the ER area, she glanced at Lorraine again. “What’s going on?” “Car accident on the highway, and a brawl out at that dive bar on Route Three.” She cast another disgusted look at the waiting room. “And everyone wants to be seen first.” Tori shoved her keys in her pocket. “Layla said Maggie Stinson wanted to see me. Where can I find her?” Lorraine lifted her Mega-Gulp cup, ice rattling, and pointed over her shoulder with the other hand. “Curtain three.” “Thanks.” Tori stopped outside the pastel plaid curtain. “Layla? Maggie? It’s Tori Calvert. Is it okay if I come in?” “You can come in. It’s okay.” Pain congested Maggie’s voice.

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Making sure no one could see in with her entrance, Tori ducked into the cubicle and stopped short. Mark was here, seated on the rolling stool, clipboard balanced on his knee. With his left hand, he held a bloodstained handkerchief to his forehead. Her chest tightened. He was hurt. His shuttered gaze flickered over her and back to the clipboard. When his expression didn’t change, Tori pulled her attention from him and directed it where it should be—the woman who’d asked for her help. Maggie hunched over on the exam table, her face a bruised, battered mess. Tori’s heart thudded once, hard, against her ribcage. If she’d tried harder to help Maggie, maybe it wouldn’t have come to this. Tori stepped forward and laid her hand across Maggie’s thin fingers. “Hi, Maggie. Layla said you wanted to see me.” “Yeah.” With her other hand, Maggie tugged her hair forward, hiding behind her bangs. Her chest heaved with a deep breath and tears glittered in her right eye, the one not swollen shut. “I should have called you before now.” “You called me now. That’s what’s important.” She glanced at Mark, her stomach lifting and dropping in a rapid swoop. “Did I interrupt your statement to Investigator Cook?” Maggie pulled her fingers away from Tori’s. She picked at the hem of her sparkly shirt, the silver material dotted with blood. “I don’t know why I have to give a statement. I’m not pressing charges.” Tori nodded, although she really wanted to beg the other woman to file a complaint. What Maggie needed most was safety and a sense of control. “That’s your choice, but please think—” “You don’t have to press charges,” Mark said. Cloth rustled and the stool squeaked, but Tori didn’t look back, aware simply by the tingling of her nerve endings that he’d risen and now stood behind her. “Jed’s going to jail anyway. There were witnesses this time, but I’d really like to have your story, Maggie.” “I can’t tell you. Jed’ll find out and…” Maggie pressed a hand over her stomach. “I think I’m going to be sick.” Tori spun, seeking a bedpan, trashcan, something. Mark opened the cabinet over the sink and pulled down a plastic tub.

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“Oh God,” Maggie moaned, her voice weak and strangled. Tori snatched the tub from Mark’s easy grasp, meeting his sharp gaze for the briefest of moments. The icy lack of emotion there chilled her. “All right, Maggie—” Violent retching stopped the words cold in her throat. Tori held the tub steady while Maggie hunched over it, emptying her stomach. The other woman’s hair fell forward. Juggling the container with one hand, Tori tried unsuccessfully to pull Maggie’s hair back with the other. Mark’s clipboard clattered on the counter. “I’ve got it.” His hands steadied the tub, and Tori flashed him a grateful smile. “Thanks.” She smoothed Maggie’s hair back as more heaves wracked her thin frame. Blood-tinged mucous poured from Maggie’s nose. Tori glanced up at Mark again. He’d dropped the handkerchief and blood oozed from a cut bisecting his eyebrow. “Where’s Layla anyway?” He shrugged, not looking at her. “I think she and Jay are still tied up with the kids from the accident.” Maggie’s retches faded into rough coughing and she straightened, tears flowing down her face to mix with the blood and mucous. Tori stroked her hair once. “Let me get something to wipe your face, okay? And maybe some water to rinse your mouth.” A tiny nod served as Maggie’s reply. Unable to find a towel, Tori pulled a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and dampened them with warm water. About to smooth them over Maggie’s features, Tori checked the movement and held them out instead. “Here you go.” With a grateful nod, Maggie wiped her face. Mark cleared his throat. “I’m going to get rid of this. Be right back.” The curtain swished closed behind him. Maggie crumpled, holding the paper towels to her face. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m just…I’m sorry.” Tori eased the sodden paper towels from her, dropped them in the large flip-top waste bin and offered fresh ones along with a plastic cup of water. “You have nothing to apologize for.” “I feel so stupid,” Maggie whispered, twisting the towels around her hand. She rubbed the back of her hand over her nose and winced and Tori gave her the box of tissues from the counter. “This is all my fault. Lord, my heart is racing.”

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“Take a deep breath.” Tori smoothed Maggie’s hair back once more. “What’s all your fault?” “This whole mess.” Maggie waved a hand in the air. “I knew better than to let that guy talk to me. He just wanted directions, but I shouldn’t have stopped to give them to him. I knew it would make Jed jealous if he saw me talking to someone else, but I didn’t think…” A shuddery sigh ran through her body. “I tried to tell him it wasn’t nothing, but he kept calling me a stupid whore, and then…and then he hit me. He’s never done that before, not in public, and he just kept hitting, over and over.” The tears spilled and she took a deep breath, fisting a handful of tissues. Tori clenched her hands together, heart aching for the woman before her. “Maggie, listen. I need you to hear me, okay?” Maggie lifted her pain-filled gaze and Tori smiled. “None of this is your fault. You didn’t do anything wrong.” “No.” Maggie shook her head, a wild side-to-side motion that sent her hair flying out to cling to her face. “I knew better—” “Maggie.” Tori dared to reach out for the thin, trembling hands. “You did nothing wrong. All you did was give someone directions. You tried to help someone. That’s not wrong. Jed was wrong. Do you hear me? Jed was wrong. Not you.” Maggie’s shoulders heaved, her gaze filled with a desperate need to believe. Fresh tears welled. “I don’t want him to go to jail. I just want to go home and have everything the way it was when we first got married.” “Jed needs help, and we need to make sure you and the children are safe. That’s our first priority—your safety.” “She’s right.” Mark ducked through the curtain again. Maggie tensed, slowly relaxing as he didn’t move forward but remained just inside the plaid fabric. “You deserve to feel safe, Maggie. Your kids deserve that too.” “Safe.” Maggie’s small laugh reeked of bitterness. “You’re putting Jed in jail and I’m supposed to feel safe. Do you know what he’ll do when he gets out? He’ll blame me and if I try to leave, that’ll only make it worse. You don’t know what he’s like, how mad he gets.”

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“Maggie?” Tori kept her voice firm yet gentle. “Let’s worry about tonight. We have ways to ensure your safety once Jed is released from jail, but he’ll probably spend the night there.” She looked to Mark for confirmation and he nodded. “Do you want to go home tonight or stay somewhere else?” Maggie darted a look at Mark. “He’ll be there all night? You’re sure?” “I’m sure.” Easing into the cubicle, Mark picked up his handkerchief and pressed it to his cut again. “He won’t be arraigned until tomorrow morning at least.” “If you want to go home tonight, I can call you in the morning before his arraignment begins,” Tori said. “Then if you wanted to stay somewhere else, I could help arrange that.” “Okay.” Maggie nodded, her hands twisting the tissues into a crumpled mass. “I can handle that.” “Great.” Tori tugged a card from her pocket and glanced around for a pen. Mark extended his and she reached for it. Their gazes met and clung for a second before he looked away. Tori scribbled her cell and home numbers on the back of the card. “Here are my numbers. You need anything, you call. Do you want me to stay while Layla checks you out?” Maggie took the card, her fingers clutching it with white knuckles. “Do you mind?” “Not at all.” Tori flicked a glance at Mark’s impassive face. “Do you think you could give Investigator Cook a statement now?” A harsh intake of breath moved Maggie’s thin shoulders. “I can do that.” “Knock, knock.” Jay Mackey’s voice preceded him through the plaid curtain. Layla followed. He held Maggie’s intake folder and flipped through the information before examining her face with a gentle gaze and touch, his tone soft while he talked to her. “Layla, X-rays to make sure nothing’s broken. You know what to do from there.” “Right.” She took the file he proffered. Jay glanced sideways at Mark. “Drop the handkerchief.” Mark frowned, winced with the movement and lowered his hand. Jay’s eyes narrowed. “Lift your arm.” Rolling his eyes heavenward, Mark complied. Tori caught a glimpse of the raw patch on the back of his biceps and flinched. Jay nodded, making a noncommittal sound in his throat. “Layla?

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I’m going to check out the possible broken arm in four. While Mrs. Stinson is in X-ray, would you stitch up Mark’s eyebrow and irrigate that gravel rash on his arm?” Layla grinned, an evil glint in her dark gaze. “Sure thing.” “I don’t need stitches.” Jay slapped him on the back. “You won’t feel a thing and she does beautiful work. The best stitches you’ll ever see. Hey, Layla, have him hit the scales too, would you?” Mark scowled. “That’s cold, Jay.” With a laugh, Jay ducked out of the cubicle again. While Layla retrieved a wheel chair and escorted Maggie to the radiology department, Tori watched Mark fill out a report. The silence stretched, as did Tori’s nerves. She fidgeted, slipping a finger beneath the hem of her sweater to twist her navel ring. “What happened to you…to your eye?” she asked, unable to bear the quiet anymore. He didn’t look up. “Jed didn’t want to go to jail.” She shivered at the images his bald statement conjured. “You’re okay?” His pen scratched across the paper. “Why do you ask?” “Because you’re bleeding and I care what happens to you. Why wouldn’t I ask?” With a muttered curse, he ripped the report from his clipboard, crumpled it and tossed it in the trash. He pulled a fresh form and snapped it on the board. “Fine, you care. I’m okay. We’re both happy.” The bitterness made her stomach ache. She wrapped her arms around her midriff. She hadn’t wanted it this way. They’d agreed to be friends, but obviously, it was impossible to go back there from where they’d been. She couldn’t leave things the way they were, though. “You were great with Maggie earlier,” she said. With a rough sigh, Mark laid down his pen and finally looked up at her. “What do you want from me, Tori?” She opened her mouth and closed it. What did she want from him? What did she want, period? She stared into his stormy gray eyes and the anxious pain in her abdomen intensified. Had letting him go been the worst mistake she’d ever made? She missed him, missed the way he made her feel. Maybe she’d been wrong. She swallowed hard.

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“I—” “Okay, Investigator, let’s take a look at that laceration.” Layla breezed into the cubicle. Tori ran a hand over her eyes, not sure if she was irritated or relieved by Layla’s appearance. Humming, Layla snapped on a pair of gloves and laid out her supplies. “Tilt your head back, please.” Mark didn’t move. “This isn’t necessary. It’s not that—” “Are you a doctor? I didn’t think so.” Layla put her hand under his chin and pushed. “Now, tilt.” Jaw tight, he complied. With economic movements, Layla cleaned the cut and applied a local anesthetic. When she pierced Mark’s skin with the needle, Tori averted her gaze. Once, he gave an audible gasp and Layla snickered. “Oh come on, Cook, that didn’t hurt.” “Easy for you to say,” he grumbled. “You’re not on the receiving end.” Tori glanced back as Layla tied off the final stitch. With deft movements, Layla cleaned and irrigated the raw patch on Mark’s arm. “Okay,” she said, clearing away the supplies and stripping off her gloves, “I’m going to see if Maggie’s finished in radiology.” She swept out. A pained grimace twisting his face, Mark reached for his clipboard and pen again. Tension gripped the line of his shoulders and Tori wanted to reach out, stroke soothing fingers over those taut muscles. She wrapped her hands into tight fists. He wouldn’t welcome her touch. A memory of them together, his arms around her, flickered through her mind. He’d been so patient, so ready to wait. She’d thrown all that away out of fear and guilt. She darted a look at his face, set in lines of concentration while he filled out the standardized report form. Maybe it didn’t have to be too late. Surely if she talked to him, explained how her insecurities and her worry over Tick had twined together in her mind, leading to a rash decision, surely he’d listen. He’d understand. Rubbing her hands together, she moistened her lips. “Mark?” “What?” “I was wondering if—” “Here we go.” Layla wheeled Maggie back into the cubicle. “No broken bones.” Tori dredged up a smile. “That’s great.”

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Filled with a sense of loss, she glanced away from Mark and stepped forward to do her job.

Mark leaned against the patrol car and ran his hands over his face. “Man, I’m beat.” “It’s been a long night.” His clipboard braced on the car’s roof, Chris finished filling out his report on the fight at Spirits, where Jed and Maggie’s evening had gone haywire as well. “A long shitty night.” Actually, it had been a long shitty week, filled with double shifts, a populace that seemed determined to perform every asinine action possible, and mostly sleepless nights disturbed by weird dreams of Jenny and Tori both leaving him. Chris tilted his wrist to glance at his watch. “Hey, it’s after eleven. Call us in.” Stretching sore muscles, Mark twisted to pick up the radio handset. “C-3, Chandler.” The radio crackled. “Go ahead, C-3.” “C-3 and C-5, ten-seven, ten-forty-two.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this ready to call in out of service, ending tour of duty. A couple of hours in that tiny cubicle with Tori and her big eyes had him ready to jump out of his skin. He supposed that whole mess with her checking on him had to do with their being friends. Her friend was the last thing he wanted to be. It was damned depressing. “Oh, yeah. I called FDLE this morning.” Mark perked up at mention of the Florida Department of Law Enforcement. “And?” “They’re sending us a listing of all unidentified female remains found in Florida since the year Jenny disappeared.” Chris shrugged, recapped his pen and stuck it in his pocket. “I figure we can check those out, eliminate any in the wrong age range.” He slanted a sideways glance at Mark. “I don’t suppose you have anything we could pull a DNA sample from?” Mark shook his head, unwrapping a piece of gum. “Her mama might though.” His motherin-law had turned Jenny’s old room into a virtual shrine. More than likely, she still had a hairbrush or one of Jenny’s baby teeth. “I’ll call her tomorrow morning.” “Good deal.” Chris tossed his clipboard on the dash. “They can pull DNA from skeletal remains.”

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A shudder worked its way through Mark. Skeletal remains. It was one thing to accept Jenny’s death when he still remembered her as a pretty, vivacious blonde, quite another to have his last image of her a pile of scattered bones. “There’s a couple of witnesses on Rigsby’s list he didn’t have interview reports for too.” Chris removed a hard caramel candy from his pocket, the cellophane crinkling as he pulled it free. “We’ll want to follow up on those.” “Yeah.” Mark squinted up at the sky. The city’s lights obliterated the stars. “We could run down this weekend, see her mama and those witnesses for interviews.” The automatic doors to the ER slid open and Tori emerged. Mark’s chest tightened and he chewed harder, wintergreen exploding in his mouth. Weariness colored each of her movements, her shoulders slumped. She pulled her keys from her pocket and scanned the area, her gaze falling on him. She straightened. Don’t come over here. Please. He wasn’t up to dealing with more of her friendship tonight. Her steps light and graceful, she moved down the stoop and walked toward him. He swallowed a groan. He should have known this wouldn’t be easy. “You don’t look happy to see her,” Chris muttered, lips barely moving. “I thought y’all had something going on.” “You thought wrong.” Mark crossed his arms over his chest. Her snug sweater curved around her full breasts and he glanced away, tamping down a memory of holding her, those silkcovered breasts brushing his arm. When she reached them, she smiled, although the corners of her lips trembled. “Hi, Chris.” Chris tipped his hat. “Hey, Tori.” Mark watched her eyes dim as she turned to him. She rotated her keys in her fingers. “Mark? Are you off duty yet?” He opened his mouth but Chris cut him off. “We just signed out.” Eyes narrowed, Mark glanced at Chris. Some temporary partner he’d turned out to be. Partners were supposed to watch your back, not stab it. Tori still watched him, her smile gone, fingers nervously spinning those keys. “I was wondering if you wanted to go for coffee or something?”

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“You don’t drink coffee.” Her mouth thinned and a tiny frown appeared between her brows. “Then you have coffee, and I’ll get a Coke. I was hoping we could talk.” Like they had anything to say, really. “I don’t think so. Chris and I have to gas up the unit— ” “I can do that.” Chris opened the car door and rested a hand atop it. “Tori could drop you back at the station after your coffee.” Anger flooded Mark’s veins. His partner, temporary or not, better worry about his own back. “That’s out of her way.” “I don’t mind,” Tori said, a pleased expression chasing away her frown. “It sounds like a great idea.” Oh yeah. A freaking fantastic idea. He clapped a hand on Chris’s shoulder. “Thanks, Parker.” “Anytime.” Chris tapped the brim of his hat and climbed into the driver’s seat. With a wave, he pulled off. Tori clutched the keys so hard her fingers whitened. “Don’t be angry with him.” She was telling him what to feel now? “What do you want, Tori?” Shaking her head, she bit her bottom lip. “Just to talk.” “It’s been a hell of a week and I’m wiped out. I’m not up for this tonight.” “Mark, please.” She stepped forward, too close, and laid a hand on his forearm. He stared at her fingers on his skin, the surface burning under the soft touch. “Don’t.” Encircling her wrist, he lifted her hand free of his arm. Dark eyes wide and filled with hurt, she stared at him. He clenched his teeth. He wasn’t going to feel guilty and she could stop looking at him like he’d kicked her cat or something. He ran a hand over his nape. “What do you want from me?” “I just…” She closed her eyes and took a shaky breath. When she opened them, a fierce fire burned in the dark depths. “I want you to listen to me.” “Fine,” he snapped and waved a hand between them. “Talk away.”

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She swallowed, the graceful line of her throat moving. “The other day…I was wrong. I was scared and worried about Tick, nervous about us, about failing you and getting hurt, and I let it get bigger and bigger in my head until the easiest thing to do was run. To tell you—” “To dump me, you mean.” “I guess.” She twisted the key ring around her fingers. “I’m sorry, Mark, if I hurt you.” If. Damn it, he’d left himself open to her, had let himself believe in them. “Is that all?” She bit her lip again. “Please give me another chance.” He was hearing things. Had to be. Lay his heart out there for her to stomp again? No, thanks. “Let me get this straight—you asked me for a chance in St. Augustine and then dumped me two days later because your brother didn’t approve, and you want me to give you another chance?” “I know it’s asking a lot and I’ll have to prove myself to you, but—” “No.” She jerked back a half step, eyes wide. Her mouth trembled. “W-what?” He shook his head. “No.” “Oh.” She was trying not to cry. He could tell by the stiff way she nodded, the fingers clenching the keys, the deep breath she dragged in, the shimmering eyes. “I understand. I should have…” She blinked rapidly. “Do you still want a ride?” “No thanks. I’ll walk.” “Okay.” She flicked a glance up at him and looked away, teeth tearing at her bottom lip. “Good night.” She walked away. The ache in his chest made it hard to breathe and he rubbed a hand over burning eyes. Staring up at a streetlight, he bit down hard on his gum. “Blew that, didn’t you, Cook?” he muttered. Yeah, he’d acted like her friend. He’d acted just like what he was, a proud, half-in-love-with-her male crushed by her rejection. A guy who’d tried to salvage his pride and keep his heart safe by hurting her. Man, he was low. Low and stupid. What was he thinking, letting her just walk away? Hadn’t he just spent a week wanting her back? He jogged across the street, keys and cuffs jingling. She was halfway to her car, her head slightly bent but still moving with the motions of someone scanning for signs of imminent danger.

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“Tori, wait up.” She stopped, shoulders straightening, a visible shudder moving through her body before she turned to face him. She lifted her chin to a defiant angle, tears glittering on her face under the bluish lights. Guilt slammed him. “I’m sorry. I was an ass.” Sucking in a trembling breath, she firmed her lips and he could feel the control she was trying to exert over her emotions. He hooked his thumbs in his gun belt, cast a glance across the parking lot and then focused on her again. “Coffee, huh?” She nodded, a spark of hope lighting her eyes. Her fingers shaking with fine tremors, she held out her keys. “Would you drive?” He stared at the little pink flamingo dangling from the key ring and slowly shook his head. “No, I think you need to be in the driver’s seat. Starting tonight.”

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Chapter Fourteen

Nervousness twisted in Tori’s belly. Having Mark come after her, agree to talk, was everything she’d wanted, but his silent presence in the passenger seat aroused a shivery foreboding. She slowed and slipped the Miata into a spot before the coffee house. She killed the engine and rubbed damp palms over her denim-clad knees. “Here we are.” “Yeah.” He didn’t look at her, his gaze trained on the neon sign casting a blue and pink glow on the sidewalk. Her anxiety deepened. She hadn’t thought this would be easy, but hope had sprung to life strong and true when he’d given in to her desire to talk. Now a wall lay between them, as surely as it had when they’d been in separate hotel rooms in Florida. She passed the tip of her tongue over her upper lip. “Mark—” “Come on.” He touched her hand briefly. “Let’s go get comfortable.” If anything, her apprehension kicked up a level. He pushed the door open and came around to open hers, while she sat mired in a thick web of unease and fretfulness. He didn’t touch her again as they walked across the sidewalk and entered the coffee shop. Inside, a small group of high school students sat on plush sofas, sipping lattes and cappuccinos while studying. At the counter, Mark ordered plain coffee and Tori asked for peppermint tea she was positive she wouldn’t drink. His gray gaze scanned the high-ceilinged room. “Where do you want to sit?” 192

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Clutching the pasteboard cup, she nodded toward the far corner where a pair of armchairs and a low table created a cozy retreat and an air of privacy. “How about there?” He let her precede him and she perched on the chair closest to the plate glass windows that looked out over the street. He was quiet a moment, rubbing the pad of his thumb around and around the rim of his cup, staring into the dark liquid as if it held the answers to life’s puzzles. Finally, he lifted his head. “Hell, Tori, I want you.” The breath whooshed from her lungs. Thank the good Lord she hadn’t taken a sip of tea yet, or it would be spewed all over the glass-topped table. Self-deprecation twisted his mouth. “I don’t mean just sexually. I care about you and I want you as part of my life.” She held the breath she’d managed to suck in. Knowing how long he’d avoided having a woman as an integral part of his life, she couldn’t ask for much more than his quiet statement. She swallowed and smoothed her hair from her face with a finger. “I want that too.” “But I’m not sure I can live with the yo-yo that comes with you right now.” “So you’re saying it’s over?” The words emerged shaky and on the verge of breaking. Her stomach folded in on itself. And what did he mean—the yo-yo that came with her? He leaned forward, his gaze steady and serious on hers. “I’m saying I don’t see how we can make a successful future until you take control of your life.” “What?” Fury danced through her. “I’ll have you know I am in control. I run that darn center. I live on my own. How dare you say I’m not in control?” He didn’t respond, lifting his coffee for a long sip, yet never taking his eyes off hers. Tori set her tea aside. Her fingers shook with the virulent anger coursing through her body. “If this is about me breaking up with you, I told you—I wasn’t thinking straight. Surely you can understand that? And I resent the implication that I let Tick run my life—” “Tori.” With a deliberate motion, he placed his cup next to hers. “How can you make this kind of an ultimatum? Because basically it sounds like you want me to cut him out of my life and—” “Tori. Hush.” He fastened a hand, palm warmed by the heat of his coffee, around her nape and tugged her toward him. His lips covered hers, effectively stopping any further protest with a

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soft, barely-there kiss. He pulled back, eyes level with hers and so close she could see the flecks of silver in the darker slate of his irises. He rested his other hand on her knee. “Will you listen to me, please?” Mouth pursed, she nodded. “Honey, I am not questioning how strong you are. And I never said you let Tick run your life.” His lashes fell, a curse escaping his lips. “I’m completely messing this up.” On a rough sigh, he opened his eyes. “All right. Two and a half years ago, when I left Dougherty County’s PD and came to work for the sheriff’s department, there was this day… I was unpacking my stuff and you walked in with Tick. You were mad as hell at him and—” “Ethan Moore had asked me out and Tick warned him off.” The memory sparked in her mind, clicking into focus like an old home movie. She’d been furious at her brother’s highhanded overprotection and had been halfway into a harangue telling him so before they’d noticed Mark’s presence. “I remember.” One corner of his mouth lifted. “You didn’t hesitate to tell him that he wasn’t going to dictate who you did or did not date—” “Mark, he’s sick. I can’t just—” “Tori, let me finish. That day…I hadn’t seen you in a while before that, but it was obvious you were…better. Stronger. Healing. Anybody could see you were going to be okay.” She reached for her tea and buried her nose in the fragrant steam. She had an idea of where this was going and so didn’t want to turn in that direction. “I was, um, interested then.” His quiet, steady declaration fell between them and she sputtered on a sip of tea, managing to choke down the warm liquid rather than send it over the glass table. He didn’t look away, his gaze open and serious. “I wasn’t used to being interested in any woman the way I was in you. I used every excuse in the book to make myself stay away— Tick, the difference in our ages, your past, my past, the fact you were oblivious to my existence. Then Stanton and Tick hired Jeff Schaefer. You started dating him and I had him to use as an excuse as well.” “I don’t want to talk about him.” She shrank back, withdrawing into the chair with her cup, removing herself as far as she could. A shudder raked over her.

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“I don’t blame you.” He didn’t lean toward her, but neither did he pull away. “But I think we need to, don’t you?” “No.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “What does he have to do with anything? What does he have to do with us? Lord, would you want to take out your biggest mistake and dissect it?” “I already have.” He didn’t back down from her animosity. “First, in that hotel room with you and then all this week, with Chris, going over every little detail of Jenny’s disappearance, of how I failed to keep her safe. I’m facing the past and putting it in perspective. You have to do the same.” “This is ridiculous.” She unfolded from the plush chair, almost tripping over her feet in her haste. “I’m going home. You can walk to the station from here, right?” Pushing the door open, she stepped into the cool night, dragging in deep breaths of damp air. Residual anger and shame pumped through her body and she grabbed onto the fury like a life preserver. Where did he get off, anyway? “Tori, stop.” She ignored his voice behind her. “I told you, I’ve had enough. I’m going home.” Warm fingers closed about her wrist and pulled her around to face him. “We’re not finished.” “Let go of me.” She tugged against his hold. “Now.” “Tor—” “I said let go.” “Do you think I’d hurt you?” Their words tumbled over one another. He didn’t give way as she tried to yank her wrist from his easy grasp. Instead he used the leverage to haul her toward him, his gaze steady on hers. “Do you honestly think I’d hurt you?” She stilled, staring into those sharp gray eyes. “I know you wouldn’t.” “The fear standing between us…it doesn’t have anything to do with the rape, does it?” “I don’t know what—” “Tori, don’t lie, to either of us. The anxiety when we’re together intimately, that comes from the rape. I get that. But the other fear, the reason you dumped me last week…that has everything to do with Jeff Schaefer and your fear of making another mistake in judging a man. That’s the

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fear driving you, letting you hide behind Tick, and until you come to grips with it, I don’t see how we can go anywhere. I’ll always be waiting for the other shoe to drop.” “So this is an ultimatum.” She blinked against a wave of scalding tears. “Pick apart the fact I dated a murderer and my brother was right about him all along, or lose you.” “No.” He shook his head, sadness invading his eyes. “No ultimatum. Simply the reality that until you can face what happened with Schaefer, you’re never going to let yourself have me, not really. You’ll always be pulling back, wondering if you really know me, if what we have is real.” She closed her eyes, sucking back the urge to bawl, holding in the burning tears. If her life depended on it, she couldn’t have gotten words past the lump holding her throat hostage. He released her wrist and closed his arms around her. “I don’t know if I can.” The words hurt her throat. She pressed her face into his shoulder, shutting out everything. Face the past. Face the fear. Face how utterly, absolutely wrong she’d been about the last man she’d thought might hold the key to her future. “Yes, you can. I know it. Because you deserve better,” he whispered next to her ear. “We deserve better.” He stroked a palm down her spine. “And I’m not rushing you, Tor. However much time you need, I’ll wait for you.”

*** Smothering a yawn with one hand, Tori stepped out of the Miata. Her brothers’ SUVs sat behind Tick’s truck and Caitlin’s Volvo. A breeze ruffled the pine trees surrounding Tick’s home, and as she walked up the brick walkway to the back porch, the river murmured in its banks on the other side of the tree line. She took a deep breath of the moist air, trying to still the shaky sobs still wanting to be set free. Her eyes burned, a reminder of the tears she’d shed during the night. Fighting off a wave of fresh melancholy, she let herself in the back door. The rich aroma of fresh coffee hung in the air and Tori sighed. Tick drank the stuff like it was the essence of life, but she’d never developed a taste for it, even loaded with sugar and cream. Lord, even the smell of coffee made her think of Mark.

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And thinking about him brought her full circle, back to where she knew he was right and at the same time didn’t want to peek into the past. The large room with its dining and living area was empty. Male voices drifted down the stairs, mingled with a hint of paint fumes. Tori dropped her keys on the kitchen island. As she approached the stairs, the door to Tick and Cait’s bedroom off the living room opened. Caitlin, dressed in black leggings and tunic sweater, emerged. “Good morning.” “Hey.” Tori tucked her hands in her back pockets. “You look great.” Moving toward the kitchen, Caitlin shot her a look. “Right.” “You do. Still pale but good.” Tori returned to the island and perched on a stool. Caitlin pulled the milk from the refrigerator and held it aloft in silent inquiry. Tori shook her head. With a grimace, Caitlin eased onto the other stool, glass of milk in hand. Tori waved a hand toward the stairs. “What’s going on up there?” “Del and Chuck are painting the nursery. Tick’s supervising.” “Oh, that should be fun.” Sliding from the stool, Tori crossed to the refrigerator and pulled out a bottled water. “Do you guys want me to drive you to the hospital later?” Caitlin sipped her milk. “Your mom offered, but we’d love to have you go with us. I bet he’s grown just in the couple of days since you’ve seen him. We’re hoping we can bring him home before Thanksgiving, but we think it will probably be closer to Christmas.” “Sounds great.” Tori twisted the top off her water. Maybe spending time with her family would get her mind off last night’s conversation with Mark. Cringing, she remembered walking out on him then weeping in his arms. Why did this have to be so hard? Except maybe it didn’t have to be. He’d said he’d wait for her, even after she’d hurt him. He seemed to be everything she needed—patient, tender, affectionate—and she was blowing it. “H-ello, Victoria,” Caitlin said, a teasing note in her voice. Tori glanced at her, frowning. “Sorry, I was thinking.” Caitlin laughed. “Honey, that was obvious. What about?” Tori’s breath strangled in her throat. Tears flooded her eyes, and she blinked them back. Caitlin reached out and covered Tori’s hand with her own. “Tori? What’s wrong?”

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Her throat aching, Tori shook her head. She couldn’t catch her breath yet, all of the pain and disappointment centered in her chest. To her absolute horror, the tears spilled over, and a sob escaped her lips. “Oh, Tori.” Caitlin put an arm around her shoulders and hugged her close. “I didn’t mean to upset you.” “Y-you didn’t.” Tori swallowed hard. “I just didn’t sleep well last night and I can’t get my mind straight today.” With gentle fingers, Caitlin smoothed Tori’s hair behind her ears. “Is there anything I can do to help? Do you want to talk about it?” The sobs were huge, gulping things now. Tori dashed tears from her cheeks, humiliation joining the hurt. “Nothing to talk about. I-I’m the one who made the mess and now I can’t figure out how to deal with it.” “Okay, slow down and back up,” Caitlin said, still stroking Tori’s hair in a soothing motion. Concern laced her husky voice. “Tell me from the beginning. Maybe it’s not as bad as it seems.” No, it was worse. Hopeless. Resting an elbow on the island, Tori covered her eyes and blew out a shaky breath. Tears continued to stream down her face and her nose was running. She reached for a paper towel and wiped her nose, sniffling. “Last night… Last night I asked him for another chance. He s-said I needed to deal with the past before we could go forward.” The rough surface of the towel stung her nose, already raw from repeated blowing. “Him? Another chance? You mean you’re dating?” Absolute delight colored Caitlin’s words. She covered Tori’s hand, squeezing. “So you’ve been seeing him for a while?” “N-not really.” Tori’s breathing hitched in her throat. “We got closer when we were in Florida.” “Florida…wait a minute. You’re dating Cookie? Oh, that is wonderful.” “But I told him last week that I didn’t think we should see each other anymore.” “But you obviously care for him. Why would you…last week?” Caitlin frowned. “Tori, does this have anything to do with Tick?” “I—”

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“Does what have anything to do with me?” At Tick’s deep drawl, still holding traces of pained discomfort, Tori closed her eyes. Oh Lord, could this get any worse? She didn’t want to get into this with him. Not now, with her emotions so close to the surface. Clad in jeans, his T-shirt untucked, Tick crossed to the coffeemaker with the cautious movements of someone who’d learned sudden movements brought swift pain. A smudge of white paint highlighted one cheekbone. Caitlin eyed the back of his head. “Have you been painting?” He didn’t look up from filling his cup. “You told me not to.” “That’s not an answer. Have you or have you not been painting?” He sighed, a long-suffering sound. “I cut in one corner.” He ran a hand along his right side. “Believe me, I won’t do it again.” “God, you’re so stubborn.” Caitlin clenched her hands together until her knuckles glowed white. “Yeah, but you love me.” He took an appreciative sniff of coffee before sipping. He zeroed in on Tori’s face. “Have you been crying?” “No.” Clutching her damp paper towel, Tori crossed her arms in a defensive gesture. Caitlin glanced between them. “Tori was just telling me she informed Cookie last week she didn’t want to see him anymore.” “Thank the good Lord for small favors,” Tick muttered, lifting his cup again. Tori glared at him. She’d done what he wanted, but did he have to be so damned obnoxious about it? “Oh, that’s nice,” Caitlin said, eyes narrowed to glittering green slits. “He’s your friend and basically your partner—” “And she’s my sister and he’s all wrong for her.” “That’s interesting.” With a saccharine smile, Caitlin held her glass aloft. “That’s the exact statement my brother made about you.” Tick choked on a mouthful of coffee. He reached for a napkin and brushed at his mouth. “He did not.” “Whatever. He spent three days trying to talk me out of marrying you. Something about two control freaks not being able to live together.”

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Tori blew her nose. At least his attention was off her for a moment. Frowning, Tick shrugged, a short, tight roll of his shoulders. “It’s not the same thing.” “Really?” One of Caitlin’s perfect eyebrows winged upward. “Did you or did you not interfere in her relationship with him?” With a disgusted snort, Tick threw out a hand. “What relationship? C’mon, Cait. Think about it. We’re talking about Cookie here. The guy’s only out for one thing—” “That’s not true.” Tori straightened, clenching the paper towel in her fist. If he’d been out for sex alone, he’d have given up on her long ago. Instead, she was the one who’d given up on him, because of her stupid fears and insecurities. Tick had offered her the perfect excuse not to face the fear and she’d taken it. She was such a coward and she’d hurt Mark because of it. Shame burned her. “Tori, you don’t know him like I do.” Tick’s voice gentled, but the patronization in his words sent anger racing through her. She wasn’t really sure which Mark he knew, but obviously, it wasn’t the man who’d kissed her, made her feel feminine and beautiful at a level she’d never experienced. The man who’d held her and told her he’d wait for her, as long as it took for her to trump her fears. The man who sent giddiness zinging through her every time she saw him. The man she’d fallen in love with. She loved him. And she’d walked away, nearly ruined everything, because she hadn’t been able to believe in him beyond the disapproval of the man in front of her, the one who claimed he knew Mark better. The brother who loved her and wanted what was best for her, the one who’d struggled with his own guilt at not protecting her first from Billy Reese’s brutality and later from Jeff Schaefer’s machinations. But also the brother who couldn’t see past his own fear for her, just as she hadn’t been able to see beyond her own awful mistake in judgment. She could do that. She could face it, simply because she had to. Because Mark Cook deserved so much better than her fear. She clutched the edge of the island, knuckles aching. “No, I think you don’t know him like I do.” “Oh Lord, here we go.”

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“Tick, sweet thing, shut up for once, would you?” True affection lightened the harshness of Caitlin’s words. She grinned at Tori, admiration glinting in her dark green gaze. “I’ve waited more than two years for her to stand up to you and take her life back.” Staring at his wife, Tick laughed, a short disbelieving sound. “Cait.” “Well, I have. She’s an adult, Tick.” Caitlin’s tone softened. “It’s time to let go.” “And what if he is out for just one thing?” Tick lifted his chin, a familiar stubborn angle to Tori. “What then?” “He’s not. But if he was, I’d deal. I’ve dealt with worse.” Tick ran a hand through his hair and focused a pleading expression on her. “I just don’t want to see you—” “Hurt. I know.” Tori swallowed. “I already am. I care about him, and since I walked away, the last week has been the worst of my life.” She fixed him with a pointed stare. “The worst. And do you really think, as much as he respects you, that he’d use me? Deliberately hurt me?” Tick opened his mouth, closed it and exhaled sharply. “Are you sure? I mean, you’re sure this is what you want.” “Absolutely.” Tori tried to smile, her mouth trembling. She was certain about what she wanted—Mark back in her life. “So why do you still look like you’re going to bawl?” Tick set his empty coffee cup aside. “Because I have to do something huge and it scares me spitless.” Tori ran a fingernail along the grout between the tiles. “I have to find a way to show him that the past doesn’t matter anymore.” Caitlin’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Seduce him.” Tick groaned. “Holy hell, Cait.” She shot him a look before turning to Tori. “I didn’t mean literally. Entice him. Show him how important he is.” “I’m going back upstairs,” Tick said. “My skin is crawling.” “Don’t pick up a paintbrush,” Caitlin called after him. He stopped at the head of the stairs. “And you can tell Cookie if he breaks your heart, I’m going to kick his ass.”

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After he disappeared into the upstairs hallway, Tori slumped on the stool. “Cait, I can’t do that.” “Why not?” “Because I don’t know where to start!” Caitlin wrapped her fingers around her half-full glass of milk. The early morning sunlight filtering in through the window sparkled off her wedding rings. “So you’re saying Cookie’s done all the seducing so far.” Tori shrugged. Where was Caitlin going with this? “I guess.” “Then think about what he’s done—what did he do to draw you closer?” The memory of lying in his arms, his voice whispering of a sexy dream, suffused her. He’d enticed her with words, with what could be. Her face burned. She couldn’t do that. Could she? “Getting an idea?” Caitlin slid from the stool and carried her tumbler to the sink. She added Tick’s empty cup. Sure. An idea she couldn’t possibly follow through on. She could tell him what she wanted, a verbal seduction. Oh, she could just envision that—she’d freeze halfway into the first sentence and die of humiliation when he laughed. He wouldn’t laugh at you, Victoria. She had plenty of confidence and security in him. The problem lay within herself. So how did she go about fixing that?

*** He’d created a monster. Mark relaxed into Chris’s leather recliner and eyed the white board leaned against the den wall. A timeline of the twenty-four hours before and after Jenny’s disappearance took up most of the space. He’d given Chris carte blanche with Jenny’s case, hoping a fresh viewpoint would turn up a new angle, and the younger man had run with it. His den looked like an investigative war room. Mark tapped a pencil on the legal pad balanced on his knee, still eyeing Chris’s notes. He didn’t see anything new. Maybe there was nothing to see. Probably, he was destined to never know what had happened, to always live with the uncertainty. 202

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Chris paced before the board, beating a dry-erase marker against his thigh. He stopped and rapped a timeline item. “What about this? The grocery store before the festival. Did you go with her?” “No.” Mark sketched a cube in the pad’s margin. “I was finishing a split shift.” “So she could have stopped somewhere else and you wouldn’t know about it?” “Yeah.” Tossing the pad and pencil aside, Mark leaned forward, hands between his knees. Seeing the last hours before Jenny’s disappearance in a black-and-white list felt weird, like it had all happened to someone else. Mark rubbed a hand over his face. It had happened to someone else—the inexperienced boy he’d been. He wasn’t that boy anymore, but the totality of the little incidents on that board had shaped the man he’d become. Chris added a question mark next to the goes to grocery store entry. “All right. So there it is.” Mark nodded, staring at the board. There it was. The last normal day of Jenny’s life. Breakfast at the roadside diner, a visit to her mom’s, lunch with a friend at home, a trip for groceries, an afternoon at the town festival with him. She’d needed to go to the restroom, had joked about the baby sitting on her bladder. With a smile and a wave, she’d walked to the old town hall. He’d gone to get her a candy apple, her favorite fall treat. He’d never seen her again. After fifteen minutes, he’d gone looking for her, thinking they’d missed each other. She wasn’t at the town hall or even at the old elementary school, its exterior bathrooms open for the hundreds of festival goers. Or at any of the booths, where he pulled her photo from his wallet and asked each and every vendor. She wasn’t there all that evening, when he and the other local cops searched the area and the surrounding woods, calling her name until he was hoarse. She wasn’t there each weekend when he came back for three months, until the trips came with fewer and fewer frequency, his hope getting smaller and smaller. Even though she wasn’t ever there, he wouldn’t let himself admit she was dead.

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Until the night of their baby’s due date, when her best friend came seeking and offering comfort. Then he believed they were dead. He knew he was. Because in those few seconds with Laurie writhing beneath him, panting in pleasure, scoring his back with her nails, with an orgasm barreling through him, he’d forgotten Jenny, forgotten the pain. Jenny was dead, their future was dead, and he’d never wanted to live again. Until Tori. Nobody got in that deep in a few days, but he damn sure had. She’d made him want to live again, to believe in the future. Laying things on the line with her the night before had been hard. He hadn’t slept most of the night, second-guessing himself, going to the window to look at the light in hers, wanting to show up at her door and give her what she’d wanted, whether she was ready to face her fears or not. “Cookie?” Chris’s quizzical voice jerked him out of the musings. “Did you hear me?” Mark ran a hand over his nape. “No, sorry. I was thinking.” “I asked if you knew a Harold McNeely.” The name nudged at his memory. “Yeah. I mean, kind of. He was one of our neighbors. He’d be close to fifty now.” Chris picked up a file from the stack on the coffee table. “He pay a lot of attention to Jenny?” Mark shrugged. “Not really. I mean, no more than most. She was a pretty girl. Guys looked. Why?” “He’s serving six years in Reidsville.” A chill shivered down Mark’s spine. “For what?” “Aggravated sexual assault and sodomy.” Chris tapped a finger on the file. “Attacked a woman in Berrien County. She was seven months pregnant. Lost the baby.” “Damn.” Mark repressed a shudder. Son of a bitch.

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“Want to talk irony? He’s on the same cellblock as Billy Reese.” Chris laid the folder aside. “We could go over there this weekend, too. Talk to him.” “Yeah.” Mark rubbed his hands down his face, avoiding the stitched area at his eyebrow. Too bad he couldn’t have five minutes alone with Billy Reese while he was there. Just five minutes. That was all he’d need. “That’s not a bad idea.” Chris slumped into the other recliner. “Rigsby did a hell of a job with this.” “He liked Jenny. She used to babysit their kids. He took the case personal.” Nodding, Chris reached for his soda. “It shows, but you can see where it went cold, got pushed to the back burner. There were thirteen Jane Doe remains he never checked out.” Mark quirked an eyebrow. “And how many have you checked out?” “Eight so far. None of them fit.” A sheepish expression flitted across the angles of Chris’s face. “I admit it. I’m obsessed. It’s like a huge jigsaw puzzle. I lie awake at night, trying to put it together in my head.” The kid was a born investigator. Why the hell had Tick and Stanton put him in a patrol car? He was good with the dog, yeah, but that bulldog attitude and enthusiasm would go a lot further in investigations. Mark should have that level of enthusiasm for this case. He should be the one out checking out Jane Doe reports, instead of leaving them to Chris. His lying-awake-at-night hours should be dedicated to finding Jenny. Lately, those hours had belonged to Tori. “There you go again,” Chris said, and Mark shot a glance at him. “Off in La-La Land.” “Sorry. Can’t concentrate today.” “Too busy thinking about Tori Calvert, huh?” “Too busy thinking about putting you on nights for a solid month because of that stupid stunt you pulled last night.” The irritation crawled into his voice. “Hey, she wanted to talk to you and you were going to bail on her.” Chris held up his hands. “I thought I was doing you a favor.” “Yeah, well, don’t do me any more,” Mark muttered. Chris’s soda can hit the table with a soft thunk. “She’s hot for you.”

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“Can it, Parker.” With tight movements, Mark tugged his gum from his shirt pocket. Damn. Empty. He shoved the package back in its place and ran his hands over his knees. “Seriously. If you didn’t see the way she was looking at you last night, you’re freakin’ blind.” He slanted an irritable glance in Chris’s direction. “What look?” “That was one hungry woman, Cook. Starvation hungry and she wanted you on her menu.” He didn’t need the mental images that kicked off in his head. He was supposed to be patient, give her time and space, not think about ways to show her what they could have together, if she’d just step out from the shadows of her fear. His skin two sizes too small, Mark shoved to his feet. “You don’t know what you’re talking about, man.” A deep laugh rumbled over Mark’s ears. Chris folded his arms behind his head. “I’m talking full-course meal hungry. Double-helping hungry. She wants you.” “Shut up, Parker.” He didn’t need this. He really didn’t need this. The hope was hard enough to control without Chris’s good-natured ribbing. “Just calling it like I see it.” “How many night shifts did you want to work?” Chris pushed the chair to its reclined position and crossed one ankle over the other. “Hey, I like working nights. You’ll have to find another threat.” “Can we talk about something else?” Mark waved a hand at the board, the Preston map pinned to the smaller bulletin board, the stacks of reports. “It’s not like we don’t have enough to keep us busy.” Chris settled deeper into the recliner, leather creaking beneath him. “Letting the past take your mind off the now, huh?” Damn bulldog tendencies. The kid needed to apply them to the information in front of them, not Mark’s personal life. Mark narrowed his eyes at him. “Drop it, Parker.” “Consider it dropped.” Pushing against the footrest, Chris brought the chair to an upright position. He reached for a file, eagerness lighting his features. “Know what else I did? Searched

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the Internet for similar cases in the same time period. Came up with two. One in Georgia, one in Alabama. I’ve got the information here somewhere.” Mark accepted the sheaf of papers Chris proffered. He skimmed the first one, a tiny protest beating at the back of his mind. He wasn’t hiding behind the past. He merely needed answers. That was all. No need to hide from the fear that Tori would decide he wasn’t worth it and leave his future stretching before him, a vast empty wasteland.

*** Tori opened her eyes. Despite the nap, she didn’t feel rested. After a day with her family, visiting Caitlin and Tick’s baby, getting roped into painting, she’d needed some time to decompress. With that in mind, she’d put on soft instrumental music and lain down. Sleep had taken her quickly, but weird, half-remembered dreams disturbed her slumber. Arms folded over her stomach, she stared up at the ceiling. Seduce him, Caitlin said. She made it sound so easy and for her it probably was. Tick was absolutely besotted with her, had been forever. With Mark, Tori didn’t have that luxury. Right now, she wasn’t sure what she had, except a man who thought she was worth waiting for. With a disgusted sigh, she rolled to sit on the edge of the bed. “Get on with it, Victoria. Get up, get moving, find a way to deal.” The first step in dealing would be a shower. Then…well, when she was clean and felt more like herself, she’d figure out where to start. In the bathroom, she tugged her T-shirt over her head, shed her jeans and dropped everything in the hamper. Soon, hot water sent up clouds of steam, and she stepped into the shower and pulled the clear curtain closed. The pulsating jets caressed her head, moved like massaging fingers over her back and shoulders. She rotated her neck, letting the tension drop away. Show him how important he is. He was important. She could trust him. At this point, no doubt lingered about that. Last night had been as good as a commitment. She was the one locked into not moving forward. So how to go about showing him what she was beginning to realize? Lord, she was so out of her element. www.samhainpublishing.com

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She changed the showerhead setting to a slower, rainlike fall and reached for her soap and sponge. Luxurious suds filled the steam with the scent of oranges and spices. Eyes closed, she soaped, sliding the sponge over her skin. Water flowed along the line of her body, between her breasts, down her stomach, over her thighs. Suds followed more slowly, like leisurely hands, shaping and caressing. Mark’s hands, holding her breasts, teasing hardened nipples, smoothing down to her stomach, and lower. She followed his phantom path with the sponge. A tingly ache pierced her stomach, throbbed between her thighs and sent liquid fire along her veins. A soft moan escaped her lips and her eyes flew open. The sponge dropped to the tub floor. Her body pulsed with an unfamiliar, irresistible need. She pushed her wet hair back with both hands, nails digging into her scalp. She loved him. She wanted him, her entire body filled with sexual desire just from thinking about him. But she wanted more than fulfillment of her desire. She wanted him—the tender and caring man under the droll façade. She knew he dreamed of her. Could this woman, the one aching with need, be the one from his fantasy? She wanted to be. Seduce him. Entice him. Show him how important he is. Could she really? The idea sent a shiver over her already too-sensitive skin. Her confidence lifted a scant inch or so. She turned the water off, pushed the curtain back and reached for a towel. At the mirror, she wiped away the steam and stared at herself. Excitement glinted in her eyes. What was the absolute worst that could happen? “He could say no.” Her voice emerged wry but a little breathy. He’d already said no, that they weren’t ready, that night in Winn Dixie. The worst had already happened. She’d lived. He’d lived. So, even if he said no again, she really had nothing more to lose. And everything to gain.

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Chapter Fifteen

Barefoot, hair damp from a hot shower that had done little to relieve the tension hovering at his nape, Mark perused the contents of his fridge. He had plenty of food; he simply didn’t want anything. The apartment lay quiet and still around him. So silent the refrigerator’s hum and the click of his thermostat were audible. That stillness had never bothered him before, but this evening it was eating his nerves alive. Had Tori’s place been this quiet? There’d been no radio or television on, but her presence had livened the apartment. He missed her laugh, her voice, the whisper of her sigh. With an oath, he grabbed a bottled water and slammed the refrigerator door. Waiting this out was going to be a bitch. He lifted the bottle, icy water trickling down his throat. The rest of the night stretched before him, empty. Nothing appealed—television, reading, looking over the files he’d brought with him from Chris’s. A quick rap at the door echoed in the silence and he jerked, coughing as water tried to come out his nose. Who the hell? Setting the water aside, he headed for the door. Probably Chris, with more theories and ideas and questions. The tension attacked his neck again. “You know, when I gave you this case…” The words died in his throat. Standing outside his door was the last person he’d expected. Not Chris Parker, laden with file folders and bulldog www.samhainpublishing.com

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eagerness. Standing outside his door was Tori Calvert, dark hair gathered in a loose, messy knot that made his fingers itch to take it down. She had one denim-clad hip cocked to the side, a graceful hand splayed on it. “Hey, I know you weren’t expecting me.” She gave him a breezy smile while he tried to gather his wits. Between her low, hip-clinging jeans and a thin baby blue T-shirt, the rhinestone dangle in her navel sparkled at him. She’d done that smoky-eye-makeup thing too, making her eyes bigger and darker, deep enough for a guy to lose himself in. “I hope you don’t mind that I didn’t call first.” She patted the center of his chest and brushed by him with a whiff of something spicy and citrusy. “I wanted to see you and your truck was out front.” Under that snug shirt, she wasn’t wearing a bra. The thin material clung to the rounded fullness of her breasts and outlined the subtle jut of her nipples. His mouth went dry. “I’ve been thinking today but I still don’t really know how to tell you where my mind’s been.” Her bright chatter filled his home and she shot him a sweet, sassy look. “You can close the door, Mark. I’m not going to bite you.” Oh man, but he wanted her to. He narrowed his eyes and closed the door. She was up to something, and heaven help him, he couldn’t wait to find out what. She leaned over to tug out a stool at the kitchen bar and he averted his gaze from the shift of her breasts. Her jeans slipped with the stretch and from this angle he could just make out the red, rounded edge of her tattoo. A heart. Either that, or she had “Supergirl” tattooed on her delicious little ass. He wouldn’t put it past her. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Tori, what kind of game are you playing?” She settled on the stool, hands in her lap, and when she looked up at him, all playfulness had disappeared from her eyes. “It’s not a game. Not to me.” Deciding to take a different route, one that would maybe keep him from grabbing her or groveling at her feet, he rubbed a hand over his nape and crossed to sit on the other stool. “How was your day?” “Good.” A smile playing over her pretty mouth, she ran her palms down her thighs. The soft movement of her breasts beneath the shirt was a constant temptation, his palms tingling with the

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need to touch her. “I went over to Cait and Tick’s, and we visited the baby. He’s doing really well. Cait’s almost back to her old self and Tick’s stubborn as always.” She glanced up at him. “I had a serious talk with him today.” He rested a hand on the counter. Man, she smelled good, warm and spicy and feminine, all at the same time. “Yeah? What about?” “You,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “About how miserable I am without you. About how sure I am about you.” “God, Tori, don’t do this.” He closed his eyes. How was a guy supposed to resist this—the way she looked, her scent, the things she said. “It’s the truth. I finally decided you’re worth fighting for, worth doing whatever it takes for us to work. You’re worth facing the fears, all of them.” Hands framed his face and her fragrance surrounded him as she stepped between his legs. Soft breasts pressed to his chest and he opened his eyes. She held his gaze, the dark depths of hers serious and pleading. Her finger feathered across his lips and need punched him in the gut. He didn’t simply desire her, he needed her, and he wasn’t strong enough to keep holding back. “And since you’ve been asking all the questions tonight, this one’s mine.” He swallowed hard, fists clenched so he wouldn’t touch, wouldn’t pull her closer and do what he really wanted to do—devour her. “Thought you weren’t playing games.” “I’m not. I’ve never been more serious in my life.” She moved closer and tilted her head back, still holding his gaze. She trailed a finger from his lips, down his chin and chest. “So the question tonight is…do you want me?” He stared at her and Tori shivered, despite the warmth of his body this close to hers. Inside, she was shaking, her stomach hollow and jumpy. She’d been scared to death since he opened the door, ready to drop the confident air and scurry back to the safety of her apartment. Now, pressed to him, a thin layer of cotton separating the wall of his chest from her bare breasts, she was ready to melt into a puddle at his feet. When he didn’t speak, her nerves stretched. His heart thudded against her finger. She took that as encouragement. Nothing to lose. Everything to gain.

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She ran her other hand up his nape, fingernails sifting through the short hair. If he would just touch her, say something, so she wouldn’t feel like she was making the biggest fool ever of herself. She tilted her face up to his. “So what about it, Mark? Do you want me?” A slow smile spread across his face and her stomach performed a leisurely, spinning somersault. “Honey, I’d be crazy not to,” he said, his hands settling at her hips. His thumbs brushed the exposed skin above her jeans and her skin burned. “I think the real question is whether or not this is really what you want.” “Absolutely,” she whispered. His eyes flared, grew smoky. He tightened his easy grip on her hips and lowered his head. An ache fluttered low in her stomach, her legs weakening. His mouth touched hers, a feathery mingling of lips. The sensation from the simple kiss shivered through her, warmth licking at her veins. He angled his head, tongue teasing at her lips, seeking entrance. Holding his head still, she opened her mouth to him. He came to his feet and pulled her closer, deepening their kiss, his tongue moving against hers in gentle strokes. He tasted of wintergreen, a blend of icy mint and fiery passion, and she wanted more, everything he could give her. Desperately, she wanted to give it back, to make him feel everything he was awakening in her. She slipped her fingers beneath his collar, loving the heat and texture of his skin. Holding on to him because her legs trembled, she experimented with flicking her tongue against his. Mark groaned, his arms tightened, hands easing beneath the hem of her T-shirt. The imprint of his fingers burned into her skin. He lifted his mouth from hers, his breathing ragged. “Tori,” he whispered, kissing the corner of her mouth, “you’re incredible, honey.” Being with him like this was incredible. The tip of his tongue traced her mouth, tangled with hers. She caressed his shoulders and biceps, a heated restlessness brewing in her. There was no fear, simply the heat and the ache pooling in her stomach and Mark kissing her, his fingers stroking her spine. She wrapped her arms around his neck and clung, breasts tingling, the painful desire spilling over and flowing through her. They were pressed together now from chest to knee, the thick ridge of his arousal nestled between her thighs and stomach. The urge to rub

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against him, to center that hardness where she needed it most and seek relief from the pressure building in her, made her face burn. She’d never acted this way before, but she’d never loved anyone like this before either. He rubbed her back, long, sweeping caresses that pulled her into him. His mouth left hers again, and he pressed kisses along the line of her jaw. Tori let her head fall back, welcoming the exquisite sensation of his lips moving over her throat. A small moan escaped her and he chuckled, the deep, hoarse sound vibrating against her. She wanted to touch him, to discover the planes and angles of his body. Shuddering as his mouth found the hollows of her collarbone, she slid her arms around his waist and let her hands explore beneath his shirt. He was solid, real, everything she needed. “Mark,” she said, surprised by the breathiness of her voice, “I want to please you.” She traced the line of his ribs, delighting in the shift of muscle and skin beneath her hands. “But I need you…” The words trailed off as he cupped the sides of her breasts beneath her thin T-shirt. The roughness of his palms intoxicated her, nipples hardening, breasts aching. With his thumbs, he eased the shirt’s hem up, baring her to his hungry gaze. Her stomach clenched, knees weakening. His hands moved to cradle her back. He nuzzled one nipple, a light caress that sent a shock through her. “Oh honey, you please me. Believe me. And I need you too.” “No, that’s…” His tongue danced around one tight crest and she gasped, digging her nails into his ribs. He laughed against her skin, hot breath setting her nerves on fire. The desire to press her pulsing center against his hardness pounded in her again. “I need you to tell me what to do.” “Anything.” He closed his mouth over her nipple, a strong sucking that rocketed sensation straight to her center. A dampness flowed between her thighs and she pressed them together, a vain attempt to assuage the throbbing there. “Honey, you can do anything you want to me. Whatever feels right.” He took her other breast in his mouth, drawing the aching flesh in, soothing it with his tongue. One hand moved around to cover her other breast, thumb flicking against the nipple. She

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clutched at him, her knees ready to give out. Rubbing her chin against his hair, she arched into the magic his mouth worked on her. “Mark…I’m going to fall.” “I want you to,” he whispered. Hands sliding to cup her rear, he lifted his head and kissed her, mouth teasing hers again. His tongue coaxed her, until her arms were around his neck, her hands running over his hair, bare breasts pressed to his chest. “But I’ll be right here to catch you, Tor. I promise.” Fingers and arms flexing, he picked her up, holding her easily. “Wrap your legs around me.” She obeyed, linking her ankles at the small of his back. The movement brought their bodies into intimate contact, his hardness rubbing against her, and he groaned, eyes sliding closed for a second. With implicit trust that he wouldn’t let her fall, she cradled his face and kissed him, mimicking his earlier teasing. His hands tightened on her buttocks, grinding her into him before he stepped into the hall. “Where are we going?” she murmured, loving the taste of him. “My bed.” The raspy words sounded dragged from him. “Before you drive me crazy and I forget about not wanting to take you on the counter or against the wall your first time.” Her first time. Her eyes prickled. Over the years, she’d had too many people say she wasn’t a virgin because of the attack, but here was Mark, tempering passion with consideration. Warmth and tenderness flowed through her and she blinked the tears away. Holding his face, she leaned back, absolutely certain he wouldn’t drop her. Her gaze locked with his, desire clouding his gray eyes, making them the color of a stormy sea. Her mouth trembling, she stroked her thumbs over his cheeks, a hint of stubble abrading her skin. I love you hovered on her lips, but she stopped, taking a deep breath. She couldn’t say the words—it was too soon and he wouldn’t believe her. After tracing his mouth with a finger, she leaned forward to kiss him. “Thank you.” His lashes dipped and he hugged her close. Tori buried her face against his neck, the clean scent of him swirling around her. In his bedroom, he lowered her to the floor. She couldn’t resist a glance around. A lamp burned atop a mission-style dresser with a large mirror, and a plump comforter in shades of gold and brown covered his bed. The room was neat, everything in its place, but like his living room, no photos, no personal touches adorned the area.

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Arms around his neck, she cast him a teasing glance. “You need some stuff.” He traced her mouth with his tongue. “I need you.” Hands slipping to her waist, he backed them toward the bed. Requiring air, Tori pulled her mouth away. Her hair had come loose, falling from the knot, and she lifted both hands to push it back, releasing the tiny clips. Riveted on her, his eyes darkened, and the planes of his face hardened. Tori froze. “What? What did I do wrong?” “Wrong?” He laughed, the sound harsh and strained. “Honey, you’re not doing anything wrong. Look.” With gentle fingers, he grasped her chin and turned her gaze toward the mirror. The woman gazing back looked wanton—mouth swollen, hair tumbling around her shoulders, T-shirt pushed up above her breasts, the hardened nipples thrust upward by uplifted arms. With an embarrassed laugh, Tori reached for her shirt. “Oh my gosh. I look—” “Like the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.” His hands stopped her from tugging the shirt into place. “Really?” she whispered, staring at him. “Really.” He kissed her, a quick, soft caress, and lifted the T-shirt higher, stripping it over her head in one smooth movement. “Yours too.” She gripped the hem of his shirt and tugged upward. Laughing, he helped her, the maroon T-shirt hitting the floor next to hers. The breath stopped in her throat. She’d seen him shirtless, in St. Augustine, but this was different. Tonight he was hers. Stepping closer, she ran her hands over the hard muscles under a layer of warm skin and dark hair. The tattoo over his heart drew her attention. She traced the infinity swirl. Forever. It wasn’t a symbol a guy chose without some meaning behind it, and she probably wouldn’t have to look far. Forever, Jenny. The name might as well be tattooed below the swirl. She closed her eyes, pain settling around her heart. He palmed her neck, his thumb brushing the scar below her jaw. She didn’t have to look in the mirror. He stroked the thin white line marking the point where Reese’s knife had slipped. His

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tattoo, her scar. Signs of the past. She was moving beyond hers, simply by being here with him. Was he ready to move beyond his? Some of her pleasure dimmed. Her first time, but she was far from the first for him. It shouldn’t matter but it did, and she needed something that said she was different from the others, special. “Tori.” He spoke near her ear, his mouth caressing the sensitive skin. “What’s wrong? Too fast?” She opened her eyes, catching a glimpse of them in the mirror. The light gilded their skin, shadows highlighting the curve of her breasts against the solid wall of his chest. With a sigh, she rested her mouth against his shoulder, turned her face into his neck. “I’m not like any of the others you’ve brought home, am I? I don’t know what I’m doing, and—” “No, you’re not like any of the others,” he said, her heart jerking despite the gentleness of his voice. “I don’t want you to be. I told you, I’ve never brought anyone here. Just you. You’re the first, honey.” She lifted her head to meet his gaze. Honesty lurked in his stormy gaze and she smiled, touching his face. The urge to say she loved him gripped her throat again and she swallowed against it. She was too insecure of him still. He wanted her, said he cared for her, but it didn’t mean he loved her too. He caressed her sides, from waist to ribcage. “Are you sure this is what you want?” Was it? She hesitated. He’d stop now if she wanted. There was no going back from this. Making love with him would change everything, but she wanted it to. She’d hidden from this for far too long. No more. She pulled his mouth down to hers. “I’m sure.” Silence descended on the room, punctuated by sighs and whispers, her soft moans, his strangled groan as with hands and lips, they discovered each other. Her stomach jumped when he kissed her abdomen, nuzzling her navel ring. His fingertips brushed just inside her waistband, the warmth of his touch setting off fires all along her nerves.

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He unfastened her button, slid the zipper down, and denim whispered as he peeled the jeans away, cool air kissing her skin. His lips followed, touching above her hot pink panties, brushing her thigh, the inside of her knee. She squirmed, delicious shivers racing down her spine. While he shed his own jeans, Tori watched the ripple of muscle under skin. Heat built in her and she bit her lip. White boxer briefs hugged his hips and thighs, clung to the thick line of his erection. Her mouth dried, but tiny tendrils of fear unfurled in her stomach. Telling herself she could do this and facing the reality of it were two completely different things. She let her eyes slide closed, trying to pull the anxiety under control. He stepped behind her, arms still sheltering her, the line of his chest heated against her bare back. “Open your eyes.” His voice rasped next to her ear, for a moment conjuring the memory of another voice, one associated with unbelievable pain. She shoved the haunting sensation away, struggling to hold onto the fire he was building within her. “Tori.” His mouth caressed her shoulder, his fingers stroking magic to life along her nerve endings as he slid a palm down her stomach and lower, fingers hovering but not quite touching. “Open your eyes, sweetheart.” She lifted heavy lids with an effort. The sight before her wrung a moan from her throat. The mirror reflected everything—the strength of his thighs behind hers, the width of his hand covering her most intimate secrets. It showed everything and she wanted more. “Look how beautiful you are.” His rough murmur rumbled at her ear once more and this time there was no fear. His sturdy body supported hers, deepening her sense of safety and security. As she watched, his other hand came up to curve around one breast. Sensation burned in his wake, the muscles jumping and clenching beneath her skin, the restless wanting between her thighs growing stronger. Under his worshipful touch, she did feel beautiful. She spun in his arms, cradling his face, lifting her mouth to his. He eased her down, the comforter smooth and cool on her back. Breaking the kiss, he placed a knee on the bed and she tensed. His gaze on her face, he merely lifted her foot, massaging the sole, stroking her ankle. His palm embraced her calf, caressing up to the hollow behind her knee. “Relax,” he murmured, kissing the tender area of her arch. “All you have to do is say ‘stop’, and it’s over right then. I promise. We’re not going to do anything you don’t want to.”

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“I’m sorry.” She closed her eyes on the torn whisper. Tears pricked her eyelids again. She wanted to come to him whole, without the fears and hang-ups. Giving herself to him should be the most natural thing in the world and it wasn’t. “You don’t have anything to be sorry for.” Roughened fingers left trails of fire along the inside of her thigh. With her eyes closed, nothing existed but sensation—the rhythmic circles he traced on her skin, the smooth cotton beneath her, the hot humidity of his breath on her ankle. Against the sensitive skin there, his mouth was a little damp, tongue teasing her. “Trust me?” “Of course.” She opened her eyes, finding his gaze heavy on her. The words came without hesitation, as simple as breathing. He leaned forward, leaving open-mouthed kisses up her leg, and slid a finger along the edge of her panties. His knuckle nudged her and a sharp stab of desire hit, firing through her. With his lips and tongue, he explored the bend of her knee. “Then relax and let me love you.” Oh, she wanted him to, in more ways than one. “Mark—” “Hush,” he whispered against her thigh, the sight of his dark hair touching her skin sending that achy flutter piercing her stomach again. His hand rested against her now, not moving, but allowing her to grow accustomed to the intimate weight. With his other hand, he kneaded her hip and thigh, warm, sweeping strokes that soothed and aroused. Shifting upward, he kissed the jut of her hipbone above her panties, but didn’t move his hand from between her thighs. The scratch of his chest hair added to the sensations surrounding her. He rubbed his cheek against her abdomen and Tori stroked his short hair, loving the springy feel of it. She tingled and itched all over, her breasts heavy and stinging, almost as if they craved his touch. The warm weight of his hand at the juncture of her thighs made her restless, filled with the urge to press into his touch. She raked her fingernails over his nape in a light sweep and he moaned, his shudder vibrating through her body too. His hand tightened on her upper thigh, finger rubbing against her with the movement. Delicious tremors slid through her. Her hips tilted, as if out of her control, an attempt to duplicate the sensation. “Mark,” she whispered, sliding her palms over his shoulders, “I want you to touch me.”

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With a low laugh, he nuzzled the underside of her breast and edged his fingers beneath the thin satin covering her. “Like that?” The slow circling of his fingers took her breath and she dug her nails into him. “Oh, yes.” “So beautiful.” He framed her breast with his palm, mouth taking in the hardened nipple. The soft tugging of his teeth and tongue seemed to zing straight to the tension he was building between her legs. “Hot.” He raked his tongue over the very tip of her nipple. “Wet.” Her other breast received the same attention before his mouth closed over that nipple in a strong sucking. Moaning, she arched, wanting more, wanting everything. “Perfect.” She couldn’t keep her hands still, wanted to chart every inch she could reach—neck, shoulders, arms, back. Meanwhile, with his mouth and hands, he drove her closer to something wild and wonderful she couldn’t yet see. With the edgy desire pounding in her, she moved against his hand, seeking, needing more. He kissed down her stomach and hooked his fingers in her panties, easing them away. “Mark,” she moaned as his fingers left her, “please.” More cloth rustled, the bed dipping with his weight. “I will, honey, I will.” He touched her, the pressure in her growing with the one simple caress. He nuzzled her thigh, nipping softly, before kissing his way back to her breasts. Wanting his mouth on hers, Tori linked her fingers behind his head and pulled him up. His tongue entered her mouth in a gentle invasion and she welcomed him, even as he slid an experimental finger into her body. “All right?” he whispered against her lips. Eyes locked on his, Tori nodded. He nuzzled her ear and neck, thumb moving against her in intimate circles. She put her arms around him, never wanting to let go. “Oh, that’s…wonderful.” Low in her belly, the aching heaviness grew, flowing into the liquid fire between her thighs. She pushed into him, reaching for whatever he offered. She closed her eyes, breathing in soft pants. “That’s it, honey,” he murmured, his deep voice rushing over her ear. Sensations shivered through her and her body tightened more. “Relax. Let it happen.” “Mark.” She shook her head, the pressure unbearable now, almost painful in its intensity. He caught her mouth, a firm, deep kiss, fingers upping their tempo. The sensations exploded within

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her, tremors that spread up and out through her entire body, waves of feeling that flowed over and over, until she thought she’d scream, until she thought she’d shatter. She tore her mouth from his, gasping for air, aware he was caressing her thigh, kissing her throat. The incredible pleasure continued in tiny shockwaves. Still trying to catch her breath, she pressed the back of her hand to her damp forehead. “Oh. My.” He laughed and slid his hand up to the side of her breast. “Good?” She turned her head to look at him. “Good? That was…incredible.” Propped on his other elbow, he grinned down at her. “I’m glad.” He nipped at her earlobe. “And we’re not finished yet.” “Really?” She chafed her hands over his shoulders. Now that she was aware of something other than the sensations in her own body, other impressions filtered in. His skin was damp as well and his eyes smoldered a smoky gray. With his free hand roving her body, her nerves tingled with reawakening desire. Against her thigh, his naked body was hard, aroused. And she felt normal. Beautiful. Special. She blinked away a film of sudden tears. He’d done that for her. She rolled to her side, wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed close. Hot and heavy, his erection nudged her stomach. Trailing her mouth over his neck in light kisses, she tasted the salt on his skin, felt the tremors running through him. “Mark,” she whispered, “I want you inside me.” His hand tightened on her hip. “You sure?” She took his face in her hands, traced his mouth with her tongue. He shuddered. “Quit asking me that. I’m sure.” He plundered her mouth in a quick, hard kiss. “Be right back.” Rolling away, he disappeared into the bathroom. Once he returned to sit on the side of the bed, Tori ran a teasing finger down his side to his hip, loving this freedom to touch him, reveling in the intimacy between them. Plastic crinkled, and the muscles in his back and shoulders rippled as he sheathed himself. He turned back to her, rose on his knees, hands caressing her thighs. Leaning over, he kissed her and eased her legs apart. His weight settled between her thighs and his arousal nudged her. A tiny bead of sweat dropped from his neck and hit her collarbone. Tori tensed, darkness hovering at the edges of her mind. Suddenly, it wasn’t Mark looming over

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her, Mark’s chest rubbing hers, Mark’s hair-roughened thigh brushing her leg. She closed her eyes, fighting off the panicky memories. She flattened her hands on his chest. “Wait.” He was gone instantly, pulling away, and when she opened her eyes, he looked down at her, concern darkening his eyes to slate. “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice shaky, caressing her side with a hesitant hand as he knelt beside her. “We’ll stop—” “No.” Sitting up, she pushed her hair back and took a deep, steadying breath. “I just…I can’t…with you on top of me.” Memories of the Cosmo article she’d perused in the hospital waiting room rose in her mind and she shot him a shy look. “There are other ways, right?” A slow, very male grin curved his mouth. “Oh, yeah.” She was sure her slow smile was very female. “So show me.” He crooked a finger at her. “C’mere.” Rising to her knees, she edged closer and he reached out, pulling her in for a long, sexy, tongue-tangling kiss. He found her breasts, shaping, teasing, until she was moaning his name, the desire spiking once more. He eased back to sit on his haunches and took her with him, legs draped over his thighs. Erection nudging her, he cradled her face, his gaze locked on hers. “That okay?” Experimenting, she lowered slightly. He entered her with excruciating care and she could feel her body adjusting, stretching around him. The fullness of having him inside her was exquisite. “More than okay.” She settled more fully onto him and he groaned, surging into her. “Ah, Tor, you’re perfect.” She’d have rather heard “Tori, I love you,” but then he kissed her, his tongue a warm temptation as he gripped her hips and set a rhythm of thrusts that soon had her writhing against him. Seeking. Wanting. She wrapped her arms around him and held on. Loving him. Mark’s hold on her hips tightened and he pulled her harder into him, his breath coming in harsh pants. Tori scored his back lightly with her nails and dropped her head, kissing his shoulder. Pleasure hovered in her body, but didn’t approach the explosive level his direct touch

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had given her earlier. He gasped, body tensing, pushing higher. She felt him tremble within her and exulted in the broken way he murmured her name. He held her close, whispering her name over and over, hands stroking down her spine. Tori snuggled in, unable to remember anything in her life that felt this right. This perfect. This downright, who-cared-what-anyone-thought wonderful. She giggled. Mark sighed. “Tori, don’t you dare. Do not mention his name.” The giggling grew, blooming into a full-blown chortle that bubbled from her throat, filled with all her giddiness. He laughed with her, a deep rumbling that vibrated all through her. Tori hugged him, face buried against his neck. She sighed, suffused with a glow of absolute joy. He was wonderful and he’d just given her the greatest gift she could ask for. Tears burned her eyes and she blinked them away. Her past held enough tears. “You didn’t, um, that is, you…” His voice trailed away in a discomfited cough. She smiled into his throat. “No, I didn’t, but that’s actually pretty normal, I think, from what I’ve read and heard from my clients. Climaxing from actual intercourse can take time and, er, practice.” She was rambling and, to stop herself, kissed the side of his neck, a light nip. “So let’s do it again.” “It doesn’t work that way, Tor. I’m almost forty, remember? It takes a little while to recuperate.” Pulling back, she traced the cleft in his chin. “I’ll wait for you.” “Good.” He pressed a hard kiss to the corner of her lips. “Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.” Disentangling, he tipped her onto the bed. Tori watched him go into the bathroom, happiness bubbling in her again. Yes, she’d wait for him. How long, Victoria? Long enough. Forever, if she had to. She’d already waited years for him. Her stomach growled and she covered it with a hand. Earlier, passing time until he arrived home, she’d been too nervous to eat. Sitting up, she looked around for her clothes. She would

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convince him to cook them something while he recuperated. An irresistible grin tugging at her lips, she slid from the bed and started gathering scattered clothing. “So that’s what it is.” Mark’s gleeful voice startled her and she spun, clutching her jeans and T-shirt to her chest. He leaned in the doorway, wearing nothing but a wicked grin. “What?” “Your tattoo.” He walked toward her and she glanced over her shoulder, craning her neck to see the inked area. His hands settled at her waist, turning her back to him. A finger traced the picture and she drew a deep breath, knowing what he saw—a broken heart with a diamond emerging. She shook her head. His and hers tattoos, his eternity and her unbreakable strength. She’d survived Billy Reese and Jeff Schaefer. He’d survived the unthinkable. Somehow, she finally believed they’d put together a future from those pieces. Right now, she felt like she could do anything. Like they could do anything. “Mark,” she whispered, his mouth brushing against the tattoo, sending shivers up and down her spine. “What, honey?” His thumbs pressed into the dimples above her buttocks. “I’m hungry.” His forehead dropped against the small of her back and he sighed. “Okay.” “You can cook and recuperate at the same time.” “Get your clothes on before I show you how quick you make me recuperate.” He swatted her rear end. Whistling, he tugged on his jeans and pulled his T-shirt over his head. In the kitchen, he retrieved vegetables from the fridge and Tori perched on a stool at the bar. “Is it supposed to be like this?” He stopped rooting around in the cabinet under the counter and glanced up at her. “Like what?” She tilted her head to the side and lifted a shoulder in a small shrug. “This much fun. The laughter and everything.” His slow, gentle smile warmed her. Rising, he laid a cutting board on the counter and leaned over to kiss her. “Yeah. It’s supposed to be like this.”

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Was it like this with you and Jenny? She bit back the question. It would have been different for him then. He’d loved Jenny. He still did. He had to, to have clung to her memory as long as he had. Did that leave room for her? “Tori?” She looked up. He watched her with a quizzical expression. “Everything okay?” “Sure.” She forced a laugh and pushed her hair back. “I was just thinking.” He made short work of a red bell pepper. “About?” “That this would explain why my parents had six children.” Hoping her doubts didn’t show, she shot him an impish grin. “And maybe why Tick always loses his train of thought when Cait walks into the room.” He chuckled. “Yeah.” She watched his hands move, the doubts stirring deep within her. She wanted them gone, banished. In his arms, there wouldn’t be room for the uncertainty anymore. She rested her chin on her hand. “Mark?” “What?” “Exactly how long does that whole recuperation thing take?” He sighed and laid the knife aside, hands gripping the counter’s edge. She didn’t miss his easy smile though. “With you around, not that long. Why?” She bit her lip and glanced at him beneath her lashes. “Because we’re in the kitchen. And it’s not my first time anymore.”

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Chapter Sixteen

Pounding. Tori burrowed deeper into Mark’s side, trying to escape the noise permeating the silent apartment. Cradled in his arm, a leg thrown over his thighs, she didn’t want to move, didn’t want anything to disturb the cocoon of contentment surrounding them. Eyes closed against the light filtering in, she stretched, a very feminine, very pleasurable soreness between her thighs. Insistent pounding. Mark murmured in his sleep and ran a hand down her hip. Tori reached for the comforter and pulled it higher, over her shoulders, pressed to her ear to block out the clamor. “Cookie, wake up!” The front door and the distance down the hallway muffled the male voice. Mark startled, groaning. His fingers tightened on her hip. Tori opened her eyes, pushing back her hair. “What time is it? And who is that?” Blinking, Mark glanced at the clock. “A little after eight. Sounds like Chris…oh, hell!” “What?” She sat up, holding the comforter to her bare chest, as Mark rolled from the bed, naked. “I never locked the front door. Where are my damn jeans?”

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“In the kitchen.” Where her own clothes remained, scattered on the floor with his. The realization sank in at the same time the front door opened down the hall. Mark jerked open a drawer and snagged a pair of jeans. Running footsteps clattered in the hall. “Cookie, you’re not going to believe what I have—” “Chris, hang on a sec…” Mark tugged the pants into place and tossed a white T-shirt in Tori’s direction before he moved to catch the inward-swinging door. “Hey, man, don’t you know how to knock?” Face burning, Tori dove into the T-shirt. Mark held the door at an angle, hiding her from Chris’s view, but still… “I did.” Chris’s voice held a breathless excitement. “You didn’t answer.” “Maybe because I was asleep.” “I’ve got a lead.” “What?” Mark’s body stiffened and Tori, edging toward the side of the bed, stilled. “Our guy at the FDLE called this morning. He got curious after we talked the other day. Anyway, he remembered a cold Jane Doe case from the same time period and pulled the file.” Mark dropped his head. “Is it a match?” What was going on? Tori clutched the comforter tighter. This was more than a regular case they discussed. Mark’s tension made that clear. Foreboding shivered down her spine, dissipating the warm well-being in her body. “Could be, but get this—the Jane Doe is alive.” Mark’s shoulders jerked and Tori stopped breathing. His hand tightened on the door, fingers digging into the wood. “What?” The rough whisper seemed torn from him. “Alive, Cookie. This woman was found alive, alongside I-75, near Gainesville, about a month after Jenny disappeared. Doctors said she’d recently given birth.” Chris cleared his throat. “The baby wasn’t found though.” “Oh my God.” Mark rested his forehead on his hand. Tori, throat aching, swallowed hard. Jenny, alive. Warring emotions tangled in her, her heart pounding out a nervous rhythm.

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“Here’s the information I have.” Paper rustled and Mark, with the slow movements of an elderly man, took the sheet. “She’s in Chattahoochee. We can be there in a couple of hours.” “A couple of hours.” Mark’s harsh laugh shook. “Florida State Hospital? The psychiatric hospital?” A hesitation lingered and Tori closed her eyes. This wasn’t happening. Chris Parker wasn’t standing in the hallway, telling Mark Jenny might be alive. “Yeah,” Chris said, his voice quieter. “I don’t know why. This was all the information he could give me.” Mark clutched the paper and it crumpled under the force of his grip. “Okay. Listen, I…we need to get dressed. Then I can figure out…think about what I need to do.” “We? Hey, I didn’t know you had someone with you. I’m sorry—” “It’s all right,” Mark said, his words slow and clumsy. “Just give me twenty minutes or so.” “Yeah. I’ll go get coffee or something. About eight-thirty?” “Sounds good. Thanks, man.” Stepping back, Mark closed the door. A moment later, the sound of the front door shutting vibrated through the apartment. Mark remained, hand splayed on the wood slab, head bent. Tori clutched the comforter, her heart pulsing at an uncomfortable rate. “Mark?” Her whisper trembled. He straightened, his movements sluggish and jerky, and turned to face her. Shock dulled his eyes. “I need to get dressed. Chris…we have to go to Chattahoochee.” “To see Jenny.” Tori brushed back her tangled hair. “To see if it is Jenny.” He rubbed a hand over his face. “We…after you and I started getting closer, I had to find out what happened, to know I’d done everything to find her. Chris has been helping me.” He lifted the crumpled paper, confusion still plain on his face. “We have a lead.” He shook his head. “She might be alive.” Tori hugged the comforter close. She wanted to go to him, but was unsure of her reception. “Then you have to go.” He jerked a hand over his hair. “Tori, honey, I’m sorry. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have… God, what a mess.”

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Her entire body went cold. She tangled her fingers, still hugging the comforter as some kind of shield against the pain twisting through her. “You should probably take a shower.” “Yeah.” He passed a hand over his eyes. “I…we’ll talk later.” “Sure.” She pointed at the bathroom. “Shower, Mark. Chris’ll be back soon.” Still wearing that shell-shocked expression, he nodded and disappeared into the bathroom. Moments later, the sound of running water filtered through the door. Tori pulled up her knees and buried her face in her arms, rocking slightly. The tears pushed up in her throat and she willed them down. She understood his need to know. The psychology major in her even recognized it for what it was—a sign of healing, readiness to move forward. A tiny, minuscule part of her held happiness for him that he might finally have his answers. The newly awakened woman in her, the one who loved him, was scared to death, quivering deep inside. She lifted her head and rubbed her eyes, feeling like a selfish witch for being so upset. She slipped from the bed and to the kitchen, gathering her clothes. She dressed quickly and folded his T-shirt and jeans. Placing them on the bed, she glanced around the room. Memories of pleasure and laughter wrapped around her, deepening the sense of loss. The bathroom door opened, a burst of steam surrounding Mark as he stepped into the room. A towel wrapped around his waist, he looked a little less shell-shocked, although his face remained grim. While he pulled clothing from his dresser and closet, Tori perched on the foot of the bed, nervous tension coiling in her stomach. He stepped into khaki slacks and dragged a navy polo over his head. Tori watched him and a tiny curl of warmth unfurled in her aching chest. If nothing else, he’d shown her capable of loving, physically, emotionally, fully. An “I love you” pushed up in her throat, wanting freedom, and she closed her eyes. She couldn’t. Not now. But she could be a source of support, of comfort. He sat on the edge of the bed to put on his shoes. Tori reached out a hand, but pulled back before touching him. She tangled her fingers in her lap. “Mark?” He stilled, head bent. “What, honey?”

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The distance between them tore at her heart. She swallowed. “No matter what, I’ll be here for you. As a friend, as…whatever you need me to be.” He lifted his head to look at her then, the anguish in his stormy gaze an indication of the emotions he struggled with. Reaching out, he cupped the back of her head and pulled her close, his mouth taking hers. Tori tasted the desperation in his kiss and her eyes stung. She pulled her mouth away, but wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his neck. A rough sigh shook his body and she held him tighter. A knock on the door separated them. Mark ran a hand over his hair. “That’s probably Chris. I have to go.” She released him. “I know you do.” He stood, but after a brief hesitation, leaned down to kiss her again, if anything the desperation more intense. He pulled away, holding her gaze. “I’ll call you once I know something.” Turning, he walked down the hallway. Moments later, the door opened and closed behind him. Tori touched her mouth, still able to feel the warmth of his kiss. “I’ll be here.”

The closer they got to Chattahoochee, the tighter Mark gripped the steering wheel. The shock of Chris’s announcement continued rebounding through him. Could this be Jenny? Alive after two decades. Doubt pounded in his head. It couldn’t be her. Glenn would have found her. And wouldn’t Mark have felt her if she’d been alive all this time? He’d accepted her death. He had and he’d lived with the guilt. Hell, he’d stopped living himself as penance. Until Tori. Eyeing the semi in front of him, he rubbed his damp forehead. More than anything, he wanted to swing around, head back to Chandler County, return to Tori. He couldn’t. He owed Jenny. What about Tori? What did he owe her for rescuing him from the abyss? She had too. With her sweet smile, big eyes and mischievous personality, she’d drawn him out of the past and made him feel alive again. He owed Jenny his loyalty. He owed Tori his life. “Hell,” he muttered. How was he supposed to mesh those two realities?

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Chris, leg bouncing, thumb tapping on the door panel, looked at him askance. “What?” Mark shot him a glower. The fidgeting was driving him nuts. “Can you be still? You’re making me crazy over there.” The leg froze and a sheepish grin crossed Chris’s face. “Sorry. This is like waiting for Santa Claus. Or losing your virginity.” “You’re weird, Parker.” He was glad one of them was excited. Mark glared at the red Mustang that shot into his comfort zone between the Blazer and the semi. Tori was a better driver. Ah hell, what was he going to do about her? “Guess it’s not the same for you, huh?” Apology laced Chris’s quiet voice. “No. It’s not the same.” He wasn’t sure anything would ever be the same again. “Was Tori upset?” His arms jerked and the Blazer swerved. Chris braced on the dashboard. Cursing, Mark settled back into his lane and glanced at Chris. He’d made damn sure he and the door blocked Chris’s line of sight that morning. “How did you—” “You had a woman in your bedroom. If it had been one of the Bimbo Squad, you’d have been at the motel.” Chris shrugged like it was the most obvious answer in the world. “It wasn’t that hard to figure out who was with you.” “The Bimbo Squad?” Why did that sound like office gossip? He scowled. Cops were worse than the old-biddy committee. Chris’s thumb took up tapping again. “The ones that don’t mean anything. Tori’s different and it shows. The way you feel about her is all over your face when she’s around. Heck, even when you talk about her.” The way he felt about her. Chris’s observation silenced any reply Mark might have made. What did he feel? He slowed to make the right onto US 90, to take them into Chattahoochee. Already, he knew Tori made him feel alive again. Last night, what had been between them, the laughter and pleasure and sheer joy, had taken his breath a couple of times. After they’d made love the third time, a slow, languorous exploration, she’d lain in his arms and they’d talked in drowsy intervals about the future, everything in general terms. He’d seen opportunities opening before him—a new life, with Tori to share it with him.

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He was three miles from facing the ghost of his past. He’d left his future, everything he wanted, in Georgia. With a muttered curse, he glanced in the rearview mirror and slowed, pulling onto the shoulder. Chris straightened, leg and thumb still again. “What’s wrong?” Mark stared at Chattahoochee looming, its downtown a little battered in the bright sunlight. He switched off the engine. “I need a minute.” A confused frown twisting his eyebrows, Chris nodded. Mark pushed open the door, the ancient hinges squeaking. Loose gravel crunched under his feet and he walked to the back of the Blazer, staring up the highway. A car rushed past, leaving a gust of exhaust in its wake. He wanted to turn around, go back the way he’d come, and he couldn’t. He had to keep going, find the point where his past melded with his future. The past was important, Jenny was important. He closed his eyes against the sun’s glare bouncing off the white highway. Against his lids, images played—light playing off blonde hair as a boat skimmed across sparkling water, a bright loving smile over the top of a handmade pie safe, a cheerful wave as she walked away with her other hand resting atop the swell of their baby. Behind him, another door squeaked. “Cookie, are you gonna stand here all day or are we going?” Mark opened his eyes. The road shimmered before him, heat mirages flowing under the latemorning sun. “Yeah, we’re going.”

Nervous tension sat in Tori’s stomach all day, a huge, writhing ball of striking snakes. Desperate to relieve some of the energy roiling through her, she cleaned Mark’s apartment, not that there was much to do. The man was extraordinarily neat. Later, she tackled her own place, dusting, scrubbing, worrying. If she’d thought she could stand company, she’d have headed over to Tick’s or her mama’s next and cleaned bathrooms there too, but the idea of friendly chatter or Tick’s all-seeing gaze was untenable. Finally, she settled down with her research materials and her laptop, but her mind refused to concentrate. She picked up her cell phone four times to check the battery, the signal, the ringtone volume, and even lifted her landline to listen for a dial tone. Why didn’t he call?

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Somehow the time stretching between his departure and now seemed ominous. If he’d arrived in Chattahoochee and Jane Doe wasn’t Jenny Cook, he’d have called immediately. Wouldn’t he? The building hours and his lack of contact could only mean one thing—Jenny really was alive. Oh, Lord. Closing her eyes, she hated herself for wishing Chris had never turned up this lead. What kind of person was she? Of course she wanted him to have the key to his past. It was just that she wanted to be the key to his future. “Stop it, Victoria.” She pushed to her feet. “Stop being a selfish brat and think about Mark. Think about what he needs.” If Jenny was alive, he’d need support. He’d mentioned Florida State Hospital. If Jenny were there, it meant long-term psychiatric care and of course Jenny would need him. He’d need a friend, a sounding board. Could she settle for that? Could she handle it now? She would. She’d deal, just as she had in the past, and she’d find a way to bury her feelings and be his friend. She’d find a way to watch him be another woman’s husband. Her stomach clenched, and a sob clawed at her throat. Dry it up, Tori. Tick’s favorite expression when she was a little girl and had a splinter or a scraped knee, or her brothers had teased her to tears. She wrapped her arms around her waist and hugged tight, blinking hard. She’d dry it up because Mark would need her. A familiar engine rumbled outside and her every nerve tautened. Oh Lord, he was here. He hadn’t called, but had driven back to tell her. That had to mean one thing—Jane Doe was Jenny. Footsteps rang on the concrete and metal stairs outside, and a firm rap echoed in her entryway. She didn’t want to move, didn’t want to open that door, didn’t want to hear him say it. With a deep breath, she crept to the door and peeked through the peephole. He stood outside, his back to the door. Closing her eyes on a swift prayer for strength, she threw the lock and opened the door. Mark spun to face her and her heart stuttered at the clear gray of his eyes. The awful tension that had gripped him earlier was gone. It was true. “Hey.” She clutched the doorknob, her knees trembling. “You said you’d call.”

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He jerked a hand over his hair. “Yeah, I know. I’m sorry. I just…I thought I should say this in person.” Her chest tightened further with his words and he gestured toward her living room. “Can I come in?” His friend. She’d do this if it killed her and it surely felt like it would. She stepped back. “Of course.” Once inside, he shoved the door closed behind him and reached for her, holding her in a tight embrace. Her hands fluttered before settling on his back. She could feel the fine tremors running through him and her heart ached. He turned his face into her neck and exhaled. “I’m so glad to see you. It’s been a hell of a day.” She tightened her hold on him. Another woman’s husband. She had to remember that. But friends offered hugs and comfort, didn’t they? “Wh-what happened?” Still holding her, he backed her toward the living room. He lifted his head and slid his hands to her cheeks, brushing her hair away from her face. “It wasn’t her.” Tori’s breath whooshed out in a soft “oh”. A crooked smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “The docs are going to run a DNA test once we get a sample from her mom—mitochondrial DNA and all that—but I knew as soon as I saw her eyes. It’s not Jenny.” She nodded, holding on to him now because her knees felt like water. “I’m sorry,” she murmured before the tears spilled over. His thumbs brushed the tears away. “Oh, honey, don’t do that. I’m sorry I didn’t call, sorry I let you worry, but I needed to tell you…” His voice trailed away and he lowered his head, mouth taking hers in a warm kiss. Pulling away, he held her face and the emotion surging in the stormgray of his eyes made her heart stutter for a different reason. “Tor, I love you.” Crying harder now, she shook her head and drew his mouth back to hers, kissing him with a desperate need that made her clumsy. “I love you too,” she whispered against his lips, and his shaky sigh rumbled through her body. “I wanted to tell you, last night, this morning, but I just couldn’t—”

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He kissed her again, crushing her body against his. After a long time, he levered away, gasping. His gentle hands roved her face, hair, throat, as though he couldn’t touch her enough. He laughed, a sound so full of wonder it sent tears rushing to her eyes again. “I stood on that highway down there and all I could think about was you, that even as much as I needed to know what happened to Jenny, I needed you more.” She stroked his jaw, caressed his temple, reveling in the pure, sweet emotion unfolding between them. “I could kill you for not calling me. I’ve spent the last hour telling myself you were someone else’s husband, that I had to find a way to just be your friend—” “I’m not,” he whispered, catching her hand and kissing the palm. “I haven’t been for a long time.” He pressed her hand over his heart, the spot she knew was marked with the symbol of forever. “Not legally. Not where it counts, either. I just didn’t see it. Not until you.” “Oh, Mark.” She leaned up to kiss him again, loving the taste and feel of his mouth, loving him. He hooked a hand behind her head and angled his, deepening the kiss. Drowsing desire jumped to life in her, and she pressed closer. When he pulled away, they were both breathing hard. His eyes serious, he gazed down at her, running his hands up and down her arms. “Tori…I have to keep looking. I have to know, as much as I can anyway.” She curled her hands around his biceps. “I know. I understand, Mark, I really do.” “It doesn’t matter what I find, honey, though. You’ll always be the woman in my future.” He lowered his head again and Tori sighed into his mouth. And he would always be the man in hers.

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Epilogue

Little boy voices singing an off-key version of “Jingle Bells” rang through the house. The plaintive wail of a baby awakened too suddenly rose, followed by Tick’s voice murmuring soothing nonsense. Tori lifted sugar cookies from the cooling rack to sheets of aluminum foil so the herd of grandchildren could decorate them later. She had the kitchen to herself, the semiquiet a blessing after the chaos in the living room, with three of her four siblings, their spouses and children surrounding her mother there. With the level of chatter and the kids’ excitement running high, she was surprised Lee, with his touchy temperament, hadn’t woken before now. Depositing the last cookie on the foil, she glanced out the window. Where was Mark? He’d promised to be on time, between kisses at her door, as he complained she was making him late for his split shift. As if in answer, tires crunched on pea gravel and excitement leapt in her stomach. Grinning, she laid the spatula aside and slipped out the back door. Still wearing his department polo and khakis, Mark slid from his unmarked unit. The giddiness he always inspired bubbled in her chest and she ran down the back steps from the patio with a light stride. He smiled and held out his arms, and face tilted for his kiss, she went into his embrace.

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“I’m sorry I’m late,” he murmured into her hair after finally breaking the kiss. “Had to back up Troy Lee on a traffic stop. Man, you smell sweet.” “Sugar cookies.” She sighed against his shoulder, loving the solid feel of him against her. Her stomach lifted and fluttered. “Mmm, I missed you.” “I’ve only been gone five hours or so.” With his thumbs, he rubbed the small of her back. “But I missed you too.” “So kiss me and make it count.” He did, very thoroughly and to her great satisfaction. Taking his hands, she backed them toward the house. Once they’d passed the corner, she spun, pushing him against the brick wall, the one spot on the whole house not visible from a window. Arms around his waist, she pressed into him and he grinned down at her. “Did you have fun with shopping with Falconetti this morning?” “I did.” She walked her finger up his chest and cast a look at him beneath her lashes. “I bought a new bed. Well, an old bed, but new.” He quirked one eyebrow. “Really?” “Really. Big iron headboard with lots of scrollwork. Very romantic, especially if I add a gauzy canopy.” She smiled, hooking her fingers into the vee of his collar. “I could just imagine lying in it on a Saturday morning, watching the sun come up over the lake…” His arms tightened. “You’re serious about that house, aren’t you?” “I need more room for my stuff.” “Maybe you just need less stuff.” She leaned up to kiss him, tongue darting between his lips, making him groan. “Think about it. Three bedrooms. The smaller one would make a great study.” He brought her mouth back to his. “And the other one?” “Well, I have to admit after spending the last few days with Lee since he came home… I want a baby, Mark.” His quiet laugh vibrated under her hand. “Sorry, honey, but that one’s taken and I don’t think Falconetti’s going to give him up, even for you.” She swatted his arm. “I’m serious. I want a baby. Your baby.”

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His eyes gleamed like newly polished gunmetal. “You need a wedding ring first, or Tick’ll be after me with a shotgun.” Nestling closer, she kissed his throat. “So marry me and make it forever.” He nuzzled her ear. “Victoria Jean Calvert, is that a proposal?” She sobered, shivering under his caress. Her head fell back, giving him greater access to her neck. “Yes. I want to marry you, buy that house on the lake, have a baby with you.” She dug her fingers into his short hair. “I love you, Mark.” The sound he made against her collarbone was half sigh, half laugh. “Oh, all right.” He straightened, a wide grin lighting his face. “Man, you’re spoiled. You weren’t supposed to get this until Christmas morning.” The breath stilled in her throat as he reached in his pocket and came up with a small gray jeweler’s box. Shocked, she glanced from the box to his gleeful expression. “Mark…” He turned the box in his hand. “I should point out that not only am I way too old for you, but my job drives you crazy, we’ve only been dating two months and your brother is still giving me dirty looks.” She couldn’t pull her gaze from the box. Hodges Jewelers. And she’d tried so hard not to be obvious about looking at solitaires when they’d gone to get his watch battery replaced. “That’s your fault for leaving the hickey on my neck where he could see it. You knew it would make him crazy.” “Why do you think I put it there?” He tossed the box in the air and caught it one-handed, his expression smug. “But your mama likes me.” “My mama loves you.” And her mama’s open approval of the relationship drove Tick crazy too. He was learning to give in and accept the inevitable gracefully, though. “So do I get to see what’s in the box or not?” “Maybe I should make you wait. I mean, you’ve been a really naughty girl lately and—” “Just give me the box, Mark.” She gave him a mischievous look. “And you like me naughty. Besides, if I am, it’s all your fault.” “Honey, I love you naughty.” He feathered his mouth over hers. “I love you, Tor. Marry me?”

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She traced a finger over his jaw. “Of course I will.” Smiling, he flipped the lid on the box. She gasped, fingers pressed to her mouth. He pulled the square-cut solitaire on a platinum band from the box. “Like it?” She laughed, a little shakily. “It’s gorgeous.” With a suddenly reverent expression, he slid the ring onto her finger. “Then it really does fit you.” She threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, Mark, I love you. Thank you.” “I’m glad you—” The shrill ring of his cell phone cut him off, the rectangle buzzing against Tori’s stomach. She stepped back to let him pull the phone free. “If that’s dispatch, tell them to call Chris. It’s his rotation—” “It’s not dispatch.” He stared at the display, an odd expression on his face. Unease shivered over Tori. “Who is it?” “Glenn.” Her breath stopped and she stepped closer, sheltered by his arm as he answered the call. “Hello?” He rubbed a hand down her back, and as she looked up at him, his lashes dipped, a tired expression settling over his face. A shudder worked its way through him. “Where?” His hold tightened and Tori wrapped her arms around his waist, trying to absorb his pain. She had no doubt why Glenn was calling—the look on Mark’s face told her everything. Someone had found Jenny and she wasn’t coming home alive. Mark cleared his throat. “Yeah. I understand. I appreciate it, Glenn. I can be there by six or so.” Aching for him, Tori rested her forehead against his shoulder. He pressed his cheek to her head. “Yeah, sure. Thanks, Glenn. I’ll see you there.” Ending the call, he wrapped his arms around her, rocking in a slow side-to-side motion. Tori held him, her eyes stinging. “Jenny?” she whispered. “Yes,” he murmured against her hair. “Jenny.”

***

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Patrol cars and the coroner’s vehicle sat alongside the muddy dirt road. Deep pine woods rose on either side, and Mark parked the Blazer behind Glenn’s unmarked unit. He sucked in a breath, staring out at the woods in the twilight, and Tori reached over to squeeze his hand. He wrapped his fingers through hers and lifted their entwined hands, kissing her knuckles, his ring glimmering on her hand. “Let’s go.” Glancing up at the sheltering trees, he couldn’t believe she’d been right here all this time. Less than a two-hour drive from Chandler County, deep in the swampy pine forests of Echols County, slightly north of the Georgia-Florida line. Glenn broke away from a small group of officers, sympathy all over his face. “Mark, son, I’m sorry. Hell of a thing at Christmastime too.” His gaze sharpened on Tori’s face. “Miss Calvert, a pleasure to see you again. I wish it were under happier circumstances.” “Same here.” With a glance at Mark, Tori squeezed his hand again. Glenn’s gesture drew them forward. “Crime scene unit’s just finishing up. Couple of kids out here playing army with paintball guns stumbled on her remains.” He covered an uncomfortable cough. “The GBI agent in charge says it looks like she’d been in a shallow grave, and animals…well, the remains were scattered after they were unearthed.” “It’s all right, Glenn.” Mark didn’t need to be protected from a reality that couldn’t be any worse than what his imagination had conjured for the past twenty years. “I understand.” “Agent Bennett,” Glenn called, and on the other side of the yellow crime scene tape, a tall, dark-haired man straightened from a crouch. “This is Mark Cook. He was Jenny’s husband and the best rookie I ever trained.” Bennett moved forward, stripping off his gloves to shake Mark’s hand. “Rob Bennett. You’re one of the investigators over in Chandler County, right? I’ve heard Will Botine mention you.” “Yeah.” Mark glanced beyond Bennett’s shoulder to the area surrounded by spotlights. Numbered yellow flags marked the evidence-collection scene. “What have you got?” “Partial skeletal remains. Female, from the pelvic bone we found. I can’t tell you anything about age or race, the ME would have to do that, but Chief Rigsby seems sure it’s your wife.” Glenn scratched his temple. “Show him the rings, Bennett.”

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Bennett extended a plastic evidence bag, the label neatly filled out. Mark took the bag and turned it over, examining the thin gold bands inside. One held an incredibly small diamond, the other had an inscribed triangular design. His stomach pitched once before settling. He possessed the matching band, still tucked away in a small wooden box. “What’s your middle initial?” Bennett asked, his expression as sympathetic as Glenn’s. “T.” Mark’s voice emerged a hoarse croak. He knew what was coming, what Bennett would hand him next, and sure enough, the other man proffered another evidence bag, this one containing a thin herringbone chain, stained by dirt and weather, linked through a class ring. His class ring. The one Jenny had worn around her neck on that very same chain. Dimmed by dirt and time, the blue stone glimmered at him, mocking. Tori put her arm about his waist and he was glad for her warmth and stability. He felt like he was wading in mud. “Do you recognize that?” Through the plastic, he ran his thumb over the raised surface. “Yeah, it’s mine. She was wearing it the day…the day she disappeared. The rings are hers too.” He glanced at Glenn. “It’s her.” Bennett cleared his throat. “There are some smaller bone chips, might be part of a fetal skull. The ME can tell us that too.” Mark nodded, still staring down at the rings in the evidence bags. His eyes burned and he blinked rapidly. A weird sense of unreality ate at him, his mind trying to put together the day’s events, from love and laughter in Tori’s arms when he proposed to death and grief as he looked at the proof that Jenny and his baby really were dead. “Mark.” Tori’s gentle voice, a lifebuoy in the emotions swirling around him, pulled his attention from the rings. She gazed up at him, rubbing her fingers over his wrist in soothing circles. “Do you want to go? You don’t have to stay here now.” She was right. He wasn’t the cop this time. He didn’t have to stay until the last piece of evidence was bagged and tagged, until the family had been notified. He was the next of kin this time. He’d done his duty. A shuddery sigh escaped him and he nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

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He exchanged goodbyes with Bennett and Glenn, although the words really didn’t penetrate, and walked with Tori back to the Blazer. Her warm hand in his seemed the only genuine part of this surreal experience. The static of radio transmissions surrounded them and at the truck she turned, cradling his face in her hands. She brushed at his cheeks, and disconnected, he realized he was crying, tears slipping down his face. She leaned up to kiss him, her lips warm on his skin. “Mark, baby, it’s okay,” she whispered and wrapped her arms around him. He clung to her, dimly aware he was shaking in her embrace. “It’s over. She’s home. Jenny’s home now.” He held her tighter, face buried in the curve of her neck. She was right. Jenny was home. And so was he.

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About the Author

How does a high school English teacher end up plotting murders? She uses her experiences as a cop’s wife to become a writer of romantic suspense! Linda Winfree lives in a quintessential small Georgia town with her husband and two children. By day, she teaches American Literature, advises the student government and coaches the drama team; by night she pens sultry books full of murder and mayhem. To learn more about Linda and her books, visit her website at http://www.lindawinfree.com or join her Yahoo newsletter group at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/linda_winfree. Linda loves hearing from readers. Feel free to drop her an email at [email protected].

Look for these titles by Linda Winfree

Now Available: What Mattered Most Truth and Consequences His Ordinary Life Hold On to Me Anything But Mine Memories of Us

Coming Soon: Something More

Will her need to do the right thing cost them everything?

Anything But Mine © 2008 Linda Winfree Book Four of the Hearts of the South series.

Public Defender Autry Holton, honor-bound to defend an accused serial killer, is in a “shunned if she does, disbarred if she doesn’t” position. To complicate matters, she’s pregnant and hasn’t yet told her ex-lover he’s the father. The reason? She’s pretty sure he won’t want the baby. After raising one family and suffering a failed marriage, Sheriff Stanton Reed never believed he was the right man for Autry. Then an attempted break-in at Autry’s home highlights the real danger she faces, and all he can think of is protecting her. When she tells him the truth about their baby, the past doesn’t matter. He wants both her and their child in his life. But just as Autry dares to hope there’s a future for them, an act of homegrown terrorism shatters her trust—and threatens their lives.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Anything But Mine: This had to stop. Autry put her lotion away and wrapped a towel around her body. Irritation and unfulfilled desire had her nerves jumping and the worst part was she had herself to blame even more than Stanton. Sure, he was clueless about other people’s emotions, let alone his own. She’d known that going in. Now suddenly, she wanted him to change into Mr. Perfectly-in-touch-with-his-feelings? So being pregnant had made her emotional and now completely irrational. Instead of sitting around whining about how blind he was, maybe she needed to show him where to go. He’d asked for more time. That had to mean something. They were having a baby together. She wanted to forge a relationship with him. He said the same thing.

What was she accomplishing by holding him away? Sleeping in the spare room wasn’t getting her any closer to him, wasn’t in any way binding him to her. So what are you going to do? Taking a deep breath, she knotted the towel at her breasts. Before her spurt of courage and resolution could desert her, she marched into the bedroom and gathered her things. Her hands full, she slipped down the hall to Stanton’s bedroom. The door stood slightly ajar and the fresh smell of his soap hung in the air. Her stomach turning slow rolls, she nudged the door open with her knee. The bedside lamp shed soft light in the room. Stanton lay on the bed, arms under his head, clad only in his khaki slacks. At her entrance, he glanced her way, his eyes dark and shuttered. Her simmering level of irritation, with him and herself, flashed into anger. She tossed her overnight bag on the floor. “Just tell me one thing. What the hell is your problem?” Surprise flared on his face and he levered up to lean on his elbows. “Which problem are we talking about?” “What do you really want? Is this all about the baby and your so-called duty? Or do you want me at all?” He moved to a sitting position, throwing his legs over the side of the bed. He kept his gaze trained on hers. “Of course I want you.” She clutched the knot between her breasts. “If there were no baby, would we be together?” He opened his mouth, closed it, swallowed hard enough his Adam’s apple bobbed. “I don’t know.” Irrationally hurt, she laughed. “What am I saying? The only reason we’re together now is because I got pregnant.” “Autry…” “It doesn’t really matter how much time I give you.” How could this hurt so much? “Nothing changes the fact that you didn’t really want me.”

His head jerked up. “That’s not true.” “You dumped me. If that doesn’t say ‘I don’t want you’, I don’t know what does.” Why was she doing this? Hell, why was she even here? What she should do was march back to her room, get dressed and demand he take her to her parents’ house. Shaking her head, she spun and stalked to the door. “I was afraid, all right?” The words emerged in a near-hiss, as though he pushed them out between clenched teeth. “What I felt for you scared the hell out of me, and I got as far away as fast as I could. Happy now?” “Afraid.” She couldn’t quite catch her breath, couldn’t quite believe what he was saying. Holding her breath, she turned. “Yeah.” He ran both hands through his hair, leaving the short brown strands disheveled. “Why?” she whispered, still clutching at her towel. He shook his head. “I’d already failed with Renee, hell, to the point she had an affair. I was scared of screwing everything up with you too, and it just seemed easier to get out, let you find somebody who could be what you needed.” Renee had cheated on him? He’d never revealed that before, and as badly as she wanted to explore that, see how it related to their relationship, she needed more to make him understand what was most important. She took a step forward. “I needed you.” “Oh, yeah, I’m a real prize. An emotionally unavailable ass, as Renee says.” Unavailable? She wouldn’t say that. Reserved, yes, until she’d managed to get under the layers of professionalism and seriousness. Then she’d glimpsed the real man underneath—honest, compassionate, intuitive, blessed with a wry sense of humor. She took another step toward him. “I think I’d say more confused than unavailable. Whenever I’ve needed you, you’ve always been there.” “Autry, you don’t get it.” The words were rough, torn from him. “If I failed again and lost you…”

She closed her eyes, his words thrumming through her. He did care; there was hope. She simply had to reach out and take it, show him the way. They could have so much more than she’d dared dream. If only one of them took the first step. Opening her eyes, she caught his ravenous gaze. Those eyes whispered of starvation, of a wanting that went far beyond the physical. She reached for the knot and let the towel fall to the floor. Cool air rushed over her bare skin. She stood before Stanton’s hungry eyes, nervous, exposed, titillated. He gripped his knees, staring at her. Resisting the urge to cover herself, she stepped closer. “You can’t lose me, Stanton. I’m yours.” She reached for his hand, splaying his fingers across her naked abdomen. “We both are.” With a muffled groan, he wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face against her. “God help me, Autry, I’ve been lost without you.” His mouth caressed the skin above her navel. Strong fingers stroked her back. The titillation slid into full-blown desire, painful pleasure pricking low in her belly. The ache spread lower, unfurling between her thighs. He pressed open-mouthed kisses down her stomach and she buried her hands in his hair. The contrast of his skin against hers, the strength of his arms about her, weakened her knees. She could fall, though, and be assured he’d catch her. With his size—tall and broad and just big all over—he made her feel dainty, feminine, ultimately desirable. “Our baby,” he murmured against her belly, sliding his hands lower to cup her buttocks. “My baby.” “Take me to bed, Stan.” She ran her fingers over his nape and shoulders, loving the warmth and texture of his skin. Loving him. “I want you.” “Oh, I’ll take you.” His chuckle vibrated on her skin. He nipped at the jut of her hipbone and a shiver raced over her. Strong fingers dipped between her thighs, a tantalizing sweep of sensation. The muscles in her legs quivered. He eased to the floor, kneeling before her, his mouth dancing along her thigh. The intimate ache intensified, her body feeling loose and open. He swept his hands up her

sides, palms warm and a little rough. He cupped her breasts, thumbs rubbing over her hardened nipples. “Like that?” he murmured, nuzzling the curls at her mons. “Oh, yes.” She arched into his touch, breasts tingling and aching. He nudged her legs apart, kissing the inside of her thigh. Anticipation sizzled through her. The first touch of his tongue almost sent her over the edge. She moaned, fingers tangling in his hair, as he laved and caressed, tortured and soothed. While his mouth pushed her higher, his hands kneaded and teased her sensitized breasts. He was everywhere, his lips on her, fingers pressing into her flesh, male scent invading her senses. Pressure and pleasure radiated within, building between her legs, flowing into her belly, surging through her whole body. Her legs trembled and she tugged at his hair, seeking to assuage the unbearable tension. “Stanton…please…”

Just when things are looking up, she falls for the man of her dreams.

Felicity Stripped Bare © 2008 Vanessa Jaye It’s been ten years since Felicity skipped out of high school, leaving behind the taunts of “retard”. Things have hardly improved since then. Her job waitressing at a strip club is just one more tick in the “sucks” column of her life. Now she’s signed up for tutoring and her future looks bright…until her hunky new landlord starts wreaking havoc on her libido. And did he just say, “Evicted”? Not so fast, buddy. She may be dyslexic, but she’s not stupid. Daniel MacKenzie is this close to achieving his dream of setting up his own renovation company, so he’s not interested in more demands on his time. Not even if one of those demands is a tenant wearing skintight jeans, teetering on four-inch heels and complaining a blue streak with the most kissable mouth on the planet. Despite his resolve not to mix business with pleasure, Daniel not only teeters, he tumbles head-first into the scorching sexual tension between them. He’s a man who’s used to getting what he wants, and he’s not above pulling every trick in the book to get—and keep—Felicity in his life. But she’s holding something back. And he’s afraid it’s her heart. Warning: Smart women outwitting gorgeous men, hot explicit monkey-lovin’ and some graphic language.

Enjoy the following excerpt for Felicity Stripped Bare: Still…in the minutes that had followed, holding her close, feeling their heartbeats slow to one synchronized beat, there had been a quiet fulfillment in that. It was unexpected, and that was warning enough to stay the hell away, but the memory of her little sighs and the way her body fit against his, teased at Daniel and he knew he wouldn’t.

Which was how he ended up driving to Home Depot with her two days later. When he’d shown up at her door, her body language had been a billboard of rejection. He’d reexamined the showerhead and looked for signs of water damage in the immediate area then checked the pipes in the other units. She’d kept her distance and her silence, curled up on that ratty sofa in the main room of the flat, her head buried in a book. Finally he’d walked up to her, ignoring the hostility that rolled off her as she slapped the book shut and hugged it to her chest. “Was it so bad?” he’d asked. “When we kissed? Was it so damn bad?” He watched her blush deepen and his need grew, to hear her say the kiss had affected her also. That the memory, the hunger for more, also kept her up late at night. She’d stared back at him with those large gray eyes, her thoughts well hidden beneath their silvery depths. He wanted to know those secrets she kept hidden away. “It was just a kiss.” He shook his head. “It was more than that. Could be more. Sometimes life gives us opportunities, Felicity. Why not take them?” Now if that wasn’t the lamest speech he’d ever uttered. A couple nights of tossing and turning, and stroking himself to release, this is what he came up with? Yet what else he could have said? Certainly not anything that might even hint at the feelings congealed in his throat. Not that there was emotion involved here except attraction. He watched as she gave his words some thought, then a slow, tentative smile came across her face, and she hugged the book closer. That smile curled up in his chest. Nested there. Daniel had a sudden urge to sprint for the door.

During the drive Felicity was silent, content to stare out the window at the old buildings that lined St. Clair Ave. West. She loved the vibrancy of the neighborhood with its mix of trendy bars, boutiques and old-fashioned fruit stands and butcher shops. It was home. She’d put down roots here. Finally.

Besides, window-shopping gave her something to do, since Daniel didn’t seem inclined to make conversation over the music spilling from the radio. Instead he nodded his head and tapped the steering wheel to the selection of songs, while singing snatches off-key. And under his breath, thankfully. She was supposedly tagging along to pick out a showerhead of preference. But it felt like a date. Felicity started nibbling on her hangnail collection. “Why not?” he’d asked. And her belly had slithered down to her ankles and wrapped itself around them, while her next heartbeat played hide and seek. He was the candy in the jar that had been moved down to eye-level and he was telling her to reach right in and grab a handful…of his licorice. Felicity had never grabbed for anything in her life. It had always been a struggle just to keep up. Yet things had changed in the last year—she’d finally found the strength to leave Stuart and then the tutoring had come through. So… She glanced sideways at Daniel’s profile, softened by the sensuality of his mouth and thick sweep of lashes and thought, why not, indeed? Then she started thinking about his gumballs.

When they arrived at Home Depot, Daniel parked the truck before hopping out and quickly making his way to her side of the cab to see her out. Felicity took his hand and was rewarded with a current of awareness that shot up her spine and smacked her in the back of her head. After that, she kept some distance between them as they walked towards the store. So much for gumballs. Jawbreakers was more like it. Once inside the store, she looked around the cavernous warehouse with avid curiosity. She was probably the only person on the face of the planet who hadn’t set foot in a Home Depot, but there was never any need to before. She followed Daniel down the aisle, past displays of every gadget, tool and material needed to build, fix, decorate or destroy, and a jumble of ideas raced through her mind. Excitement slowed her step as she took it all in, then she took a deep breath of the lumber-scented air…and fell in love. Now this, this was a candy store.

Felicity hurried to catch up as Daniel disappeared around a corner. Luckily his tall, broad-shouldered physique made him stand out amongst the Saturday-morning crowd milling around. As she came up beside him, she tugged on his sleeve. “Can we see what they’re doing over there?” Daniel glanced over at the demonstration taking place. “Sure.” Indulgence curved his mouth and she felt an answering warmth flutter in her stomach. Felicity turned away from that look, that smile, but she couldn’t get away from his hand that landed lightly on her back, guiding her forward. Heat radiated from his touch, spreading outward along her limbs. It was almost impossible to concentrate on the expert’s instructions with Daniel standing behind her. She moved slightly to the right, his hand moved to her hip. She stepped forward, his hand came to rest on her shoulder. She kept fidgeting until Daniel leaned forward and spoke low in her ear, “If you’re really interested in this, we’re doing some tile work at one of the job sites. I could pick you up one day and bring you by.” Felicity swung her head around. This close to him, she noticed the gold-dusted tips of his darker lashes. “Really?” “Really.” She watched his lips, inches from her own, shape the word and felt his breath like a kiss. Abruptly, Felicity faced front again and took a deep calming breath. But images of a bare-chested, tool-belted Daniel kept dancing through her head. Will you get real! Felicity could almost hear Cheryl’s no-nonsense voice. She blinked, and the vision of some fat guy with plumber’s bum—oily pimples, hairs and all—lumbered into her imagination. Her pulse slowed some. “That would be great, if it’s not too much trouble.” “Do I look like a guy who’s looking for trouble?” he asked dryly. To her relief he straightened and moved back to guide her through the crush of bodies. “Let’s go find that showerhead.”

They came to the selection of bathroom accessories and Daniel picked a box from the shelf. “Master Stroke 2000, flexible spray nozzle, three-way adjustable head.” He paused, looking up with a decidedly wicked glint in his eyes. “How about it, you interested in a three way?” “No thank you.” Blushing, she pointed to another model. “This one looks fine.” He moved closer and the faint scent of citrus that emanated from him became stronger. “Hmmm…adjustable spray prohibits calcium buildup.” He shook his head. “Naw”, then his interest shifted to a different package. “Maybe…The Invigorator?” Bending forward he noted the various features. “‘You never dreamed water could do this before. Enjoy the total satisfaction of phenomenal power at work.’” He glanced at her and her nipples power-constricted into two tingling vortexes of phenomenal pleasure. Felicity mouth-breathed as Daniel continued. “‘Your body will be revitalized by the warm, sensual, pulsating spray—’” “I don’t need my body revitalized, thank you. Just clean. Here, I’ll take this one.” She grabbed another model. It didn’t matter which one. Daniel didn’t even touch the box. “‘Eco-friendly, low-flow ceramic valving’,” he read the specs off in a monotone. “Borrring.” “Look, I like boring, and energy efficient and-and…” “Liar.” His voice dipped. “You don’t like boring. Not with that mouth,” he said baldly, barbecuing her on the spot with the heat in his gaze. Before she could catch her breath he switched gears on her again, his mouth curling in mischief. “So you wouldn’t—” he looked down at the package he held, “‘—enjoy a deep, throbbing, fully satisfying massage to all the key areas of your body’?” “Throbbing?” she sputtered, very aware of the parts of her that fit that description right now. He raised his eyebrows innocently. “The head is extra large.” “Okay, fine! I’ll take it!” Felicity shoved the package into his arms. He was obviously determined to continue along this vein.

As they went around to pick up a few other items, she found herself smiling. She liked his teasing, almost as much as she liked him intense and bent on seduction. Although “like” seemed a wishy-washy way to describe what she felt when he focused his molten green gaze on her. Her smile disappeared. Suddenly she was crazy with awareness of his large presence beside her, brushing against her with every other step and the peek-a-boo whiffs of his cologne that tantalized her. She had to get away. As they neared the cash registers the rich aroma of coffee wafting through the air offered her perfect excuse. “I’ll be back in a second.” She didn’t wait for his answer before beating a hasty retreat for the snack bar. While Daniel paid for the purchases, she bought two coffees, then met up with him at the exit. She offered him one of the cups. “Black?” “Thanks. How did you know?” “I didn’t.” She pulled some sugar packets and creamers from her pocket with an impish grin. Deep down inside, though, she had a glow of satisfaction. How could she explain the odd times she’d found herself thinking he would like a certain type of food, or music or that his favorite color was— “Blue?” “Blue?” “Your favorite color. You look like a blue type of guy.” His smiled hitched her heartbeat. “That’s my second favorite.” He started walking. Feeling a little disappointed and foolish, she couldn’t help asking, “So what is your first?” “Gray. Silvery, like lake-water on a cloudy day.” She made a face. Color me shades of depression. Oh please.

The drive back home was a repeat of the drive over, only this time with Billie Holiday singing variations on his second favorite color all the way.

They turned onto Southview Blvd. As they drove under the leafy canopy of mature trees a sense of security softly cloaked her. That it was all the sweeter because she was with Daniel didn’t bear closer inspection. He pulled into the driveway, parked, then reached into the back seat. Without thinking, she turned also, coffee in hand. He swung around again with the shopping bag. “Oh! Oh! Oh!” Pure reflex made her jerk back against the door, extending her arm as far away from her own body as possible. Which, coincidentally, happened to be in the vicinity of right-smack-damn over Daniel’s body. The cup came to life in her hand, bouncing off each finger in mid-air, then coffee— —black, two sugars——splashed down in a steaming waterfall. “Son of a bitch!” Daniel reared back, dropping the bag, hands in the air. “Awh, fuck!” She watched in horror as the dark brown stains blossomed on his shirt and khakis. “Daniel, I’m so sorry.” Felicity fumbled in her pocket for some napkins she’d taken from the coffee kiosk. The two crumpled specimens she pulled out were pathetic, but she attempted to sop up some of the damage anyway. Daniel clamped her wrist in an iron grip. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he ground out between clenched teeth. She froze under his glare. “The coffee stain—I was just trying to help.” “Don’t. Help.” He shifted gingerly in his seat, grimacing. “Jesus,” he said in an almost tortured whisper. Felicity looked down at his lap and comprehension dawned. “Oh.”

Tracking her was easy. Staying out of her bed—that’s the hard part.

Dance of Seduction © 2008 Elle Kennedy On the run from her past and her overprotective brother, Ellie has had a taste of freedom—and likes it. Nothing can make her go home. Not even when the man she’s always longed for shows up to drag her there. His wicked grins and irresistible dimples won’t work. But she knows something else about Luke: He doesn’t give up easily. Luckily, Ellie’s not above resorting to naughty tactics. Seduction, she’s certain, will make him so uncomfortable he won’t be able to flee fast enough. And boy, is it going to be fun. The last thing Luke expects is for his best friend’s sister to launch an erotic assault. He’ll go along with her sexy games, but he’s sure that when things get too hot, she’ll come to her senses and come home. Except resisting her isn’t as easy as he thought it’d be. And suddenly he’s wondering if maybe there can be more than one winner in this dance of seduction…

Enjoy the following excerpt for Dance of Seduction: Luke stood up and unbuttoned his shirt, then dropped it on the chair. As he took a step forward, Ellie’s voice stopped him. “Would you rub some suntan lotion on my back first?” she said, her big eyes focusing on his. “I burn easily.” His throat went dry. “Uh…” “Please, Luke? You don’t want me to get a sunburn, do you?” He found his voice. “Of course I don’t.” “Good.”

He thought he saw a whisper of a smile—a satisfied smile—sweep over her mouth, but he must have imagined it, because when he looked at her again her lush lips were closed in a straight line. “Is that what you’re wearing in the water?” he asked, gesturing to her shorts and halter. This time she did smile. “I’ve got my suit underneath.” She jumped up from the chair and reached for the tie that held her halter together. Quickly, she undid the knot and pulled the top over her head. The second she did that, not only did thick cotton fill his entire mouth, but a rush of heat pooled in his groin. A string bikini. She wore a fucking string bikini. He tried not to stare, but his foolish eyes kept darting toward her chest. Small, perky breasts barely covered by the tiny green triangles of her bikini top. He was pleased to see that he’d been right—the corset had made her breasts appear larger. But those small luscious mounds still looked just as inviting. “Here.” He unglued his gaze from her, wondering if she’d caught him staring. If she had, she didn’t comment on it, just handed him a tube of sunscreen and flopped down on the chair, offering her back to him. He stared at the flimsy string at her back and noted that he could probably tear it off with his teeth with no trouble. Josh’s sister. “That’s the only thing I hate about living on the beach,” she said. “My skin is far too sensitive. Two minutes in the sun and I turn into a tomato.” The sensitive comment stayed in his head. He wondered which parts of her were most sensitive. Her lips? Her nipples? “Luke? The sunscreen?” He forced his mind out of his swim trunks and unscrewed the cap of the tube. Squirting a glob of sunscreen into his hands, he rubbed his palms together and stared at her golden skin. He took a breath.

Then he touched her. The second he made contact with her delicate shoulder blades, a jolt of electricity coursed through his body and settled in his crotch. Damn, her skin felt like silk. “So, are you still with the same bodyguards-to-the-rich-and-famous agency?” It was impossible to hold a normal conversation while his hands rubbed sunscreen on her back. He managed a short, “Uh-huh.” Ellie suddenly leaned back, filling his palms with more of that soft skin. “Mmmm, that feels good. You should give up life as a bodyguard for a career as a masseur.” Josh’s sister. Josh’s sister. The mantra grew louder in his head, desperate, as he fought back a barrage of sensual thoughts. You think this feels good? Well, come to bed with me. You’ll feel even better. He swiftly dropped his hands from her back and wiped the excess sunscreen on his own chest. Okay, this was bad. Normally he exercised a hefty dose of restraint, yet in the past few seconds, he’d lost every bit of control he’d ever managed to maintain around Ellie. “Okay, all done.” His voice sounded too high to his ears, and he cleared his throat. “Let’s go for that swim.” Cold water. That’s what he needed. Being submerged in cold water would shoot some sense into him. Ellie stood up and flashed him another endearing smile. “Thanks for doing my back. Let me just get my legs before we go in.” She wiggled out of her denim cut-offs, revealing a pair of green bikini bottoms. He almost sighed with relief. High-cut, but modest. He could handle these bottoms, no problem. He watched as she slathered sunscreen on her bare legs, and then tossed the tube on the sand. “I’ll race you,” she said with a grin. He was about to accept the challenge and start dashing down the sand, but the second she took a step forward, all the breath sucked out of his lungs with one swift whoosh.

She was wearing a thong. “Are you coming?” She broke into a slow jog, smiling at him over her shoulder. All he could do was stand there, stare at her ass and will away his erection. This was really bad.

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