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Colder Than Ice
Maggie Shayne
Seventeen years ago, government agent Joshua Kendall was part of the raid on the cultlike Young Believers compound.His own bullet killed an innocent girl, and he has lived with the guilt ever since. But a new assignment will reveal that the most shattering incident of Josh's life was nothing more than a lie. Elizabeth Marcum was that girl. She survived the bullet from the botched raid and now lives under a new identity in rural Vermont, hiding from the cult leader who has managed to elude capture all these years.But she's tired of running, tired of hiding. If Mordecai Young tracks her down, so be it. When Josh is sent to protect Elizabeth–and realizes who she is–he will do anything to keep her alive, including lying about who he is. But as Mordecai descends back into their lives they become targets in a deadly battle that threatens to shatter their last chance at life and love.



Praise for the novels of
MAGGIE SHAYNE
“A tasty, tension-packed read.”
—Publishers Weekly on Thicker Than Water
“Maggie Shayne demonstrates an absolutely superb touch, blending fantasy and romance into an outstanding reading experience.”
—Romantic Times on Embrace the Twilight
“Maggie Shayne is better than chocolate. She satisfies every wicked craving.”
—Bestselling author Suzanne Forster
“Maggie Shayne delivers sheer delight, and fans new and old of her vampire series can rejoice.”
—Romantic Times on Twilight Hunger
“Shayne’s haunting tale is intricately woven…. A moving mix of high suspense and romance, this haunting Halloween thriller will propel readers to bolt their doors at night!”
—Publishers Weekly on The Gingerbread Man
“Shayne’s talent knows no bounds!”
—Rendezvous
“Maggie Shayne delivers romance with sweeping intensity and bewitching passion.”
—Bestselling author Jayne Ann Krentz
“Shayne’s gift has made her one of the preeminent voices in paranormal romance today!”
—Romantic Times

MAGGIE SHAYNE
COLDER THAN ICE



COLDER THAN ICE

Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Epilogue

Prologue
Arthur Stanton stood in the middle of the narrow, deserted road while the rain poured down on him. In the distance, sirens wailed. Bloodhounds bayed, their unmistakable yowk-yowk-yowks rubbing his nerves raw. Every few seconds a helicopter passed overhead, its searchlight sweeping the ground. Men’s voices rose from far away. Too far away, though. Right now, it was just the two of them: Arthur Stanton and the man in prison grays who’d come stumbling out of the tree line only to stop in his tracks, thirty feet away.
The convict met his eyes; then his glance slid lower, toward the gun Arthur held. He didn’t move, just held his breath, waiting.
Arthur’s hand trembled, not with fear, nor with the symptoms of his age, but with the weight of the decision tearing at his soul. David Quentin Gray, Jr., white-collar criminal and former attorney to a madman, wasn’t the offender Arthur lived to apprehend. But he could be the key to that criminal. If he were free. Imprisoned, he was useless.
Swallowing against the bile that rose in his throat, Arthur lowered his weapon.
The convict frowned at him, jerking convulsively in an almost-lunge, before going motionless again.
He thinks I’ll shoot him in the back if he runs. Hell, maybe I should.
But Arthur didn’t. Instead, he turned and trudged back to his car. It waited on the muddy shoulder, where he’d skidded to a halt when he’d spotted the scarecrow silhouette among the trees, picked out by his headlights as he rounded a curve.
After three steps, Arthur stopped and squeezed his eyes tight. I can’t, I can’t just let him walk. He’s a criminal. I’ve spent the past forty years working against his kind.
He raised his gun as he turned again, unable, unwilling, to do something so contrary to everything he believed.
But David Quentin Gray, Jr. was gone. The decision was made.
Headlights found Arthur, as if to illuminate this newest stain on his soul. Tires skidded, and a car door slammed. It was done. He couldn’t undo it. And now, he thought, the lies begin.
“Stanton? What’s going on? Did you see something?”
Arthur recognized the voice and turned. “Thought I did. It was just a deer, though.”
Assistant Warden Martin Phillips sighed deeply, came closer and clapped a hand to Arthur’s shoulder. “Dammit, I’m sorry. I know what this prisoner meant to you, Stanton.”
“We’ll get him. He can’t get far.”
“Still…” Phillips sighed, looked around just in case, lowered his voice. “You’ll probably have to move her now, right?”
Arthur lifted his head.
“Hell, only a handful of people even know she’s alive,” the assistant warden went on. “Much less where she’s hiding out.”
“You shouldn’t even know.”
“I wouldn’t—if Gray’s cellmate hadn’t been so eager to earn a few brownie points. He was coming up for parole and thought telling me what he knew would help his case.” He grinned. “By running his mouth, all he really did was force us to keep him inside, where he couldn’t spread what he knew about Elizabeth Marcum. Poor stupid shit.”
Arthur reacted instantly, gripping the man by his lapels and drawing him up onto his toes. “She’s dead. As far as the world is concerned, she’s dead. I hear you say her name again, I’ll have to put you someplace where you can’t spread it around.”
“All right, all right. Damn.” Arthur released the man, and Phillips smoothed his lapels. “You act like it’s my fault Gray saw that news clipping of some small-town Blackberry Festival with her in the background. Hell, if it were up to me, they wouldn’t have access to television, newspapers or anything else from the outside.”
Arthur unclenched his fists. He was angry with himself, not Phillips. He’d fucked up. Again.
“So will you move her?” Phillips asked, apparently too stupid to know when to let it drop.
“No.” He’d come this far, Arthur thought. He might as well see this through.
“But—”
“But nothing. You’ve been keeping the prisoner under surveillance since you found out what he knew. Haven’t you?”
“Well, yeah. We’ve watched him like a striptease.”
“And he hasn’t tried to get word out to anyone about the woman’s whereabouts, has he?”
“No. But…all due respect, Arthur, that doesn’t mean he won’t run straight to Mordecai Young now that he’s free.”
I’m counting on it, Arthur thought. But aloud, he only said, “How about you do your own job, Phillips, and let me worry about mine?”
“Jesus, Arthur, if Young finds her, he’ll kill her.”
“I’m not going to let that happen.” He couldn’t let that happen. He couldn’t have the blood of one more innocent staining his hands. He would see to it that Elizabeth Marcum—Beth Slocum, as she was currently known—remained safe. Not by moving her, but by being ready for the madman to strike. And then he could finally catch Mordecai Young and redeem himself. God knew he didn’t have a lot more time to make amends. He was on the far side of sixty, and facing mandatory retirement.
He was using an innocent woman as bait to capture a madman. He knew that. And it was wrong. He knew that, too. He’d had to make a snap decision, and he’d made the wrong one. But it was made. Now he had to follow through. He could make it work out right; he knew he could. The key was in seeing to it that “Beth Slocum” had the best protection he could give her. Someone who would lay down his life before letting any more harm come to the woman.
And he knew there was only one man he could count on to do that.
A man who, like the rest of the world, believed she was dead. A man who had spent the past eighteen years convinced he was the one who had killed her.

Mordecai Young sat in his car with the wipers set on intermittent and the headlights turned off. An observer, had there been one, would have said he was alone in the car, yet Mordecai was never truly alone. He waited right where he had said he would. He could wait all night. But he wouldn’t have to. He had it on pretty good authority that his old friend and former attorney, David Quentin Gray, Jr., would make it here unscathed.
It would be good to see David again. It had been a long time.
He really had picked the perfect spot—or rather, his guides had: a pull-off near a railroad crossing where no trains ran anymore. Back roads, no one around.
Oh, there would be roadblocks, but that didn’t matter. He didn’t know why yet, but he knew they were not going to be a problem. He knew it with a certainty that told him it was “given” knowledge. It came from beyond him.
Mordecai sat a little straighter in his seat when he spotted the man, hunched and shivering, near the edge of the woods. Gray was peering through the rain at the car, as if too wary to come any closer. Smiling to himself, Mordecai flashed his headlights on, then off, then on again. He left them on, because he couldn’t believe his one-time attorney looked the way he did. Prison had apparently forced him to overcome his obsession with Italian suits and flawless grooming. David could have passed for a scrawny, half-drowned alley cat.
When he drew closer, Mordecai reached across the car and opened the passenger door.
David peered in at him, his face drawn and pinched, even when he smiled—a smile that never reached his eyes. “Mordecai. Damn, it’s good to see you.” He started to get in.
“Wait.” Mordecai reached into the back seat for the red flannel blanket that lay folded there, pulled it into the front and draped it as best he could over the upholstery. “You’re a mess, David. What did you do? Crawl out through the prison sewers?”
David scowled at him but got in. As soon as he’d closed the door, he pulled the loose ends of the blanket around him. “I’m frozen half to death.”
“No wonder. You’re skin and bone. You don’t look well, David.”
“Prison will do that to you.” He glanced at Mordecai. “You look good, though. You never change.”
It was true. Mordecai hadn’t changed. His head was still clean shaven, his eyes still his most distinctive feature. He would have to change, though, once he found out where Lizzie was hiding. It wouldn’t do to have her recognize him too soon.
He started the engine and turned up the heat. “I was glad to receive your letter, David. I have to say, it surprised me.”
“It should have,” David said, using a corner of the blanket to wipe the rain water from his face. “They’ve been watching everything I do—listening in on every conversation, every phone call, reading my mail both coming and going. My own fault, blabbing to my cellmate about what I knew. I know the little bastard ratted me out.”
“It wasn’t smart to tell him anything. It’s never smart to give away too much. You taught me that yourself.”
David frowned, but didn’t ask what Mordecai meant by that. Maybe because he knew where the conversation was going. Or maybe the reference to his disloyalty of a year ago had sailed right over his head.
“I had to smuggle your letter out with another prisoner on work release.”
“I didn’t mean I was surprised you could get a letter out. What I meant, David, was that I was surprised your loyalty to me had lasted so long.” He tipped his head slightly.
Bull. He wanted you to get him out of prison, and that’s the only reason he told you a damn thing.
Don’t trust him. He could be trying to trick you, the way she did.
Ask him where she is. Stop wasting time!
Mordecai closed his eyes briefly, slowly. The voices had multiplied. Where there used to be one or two, there were now too many to count. Though it had occurred to him that there were likely twelve. That would make the most sense, wouldn’t it? Twelve.
And perhaps, he thought, one of them might be his Judas.
He didn’t know them all. Some were more accurate than others, and he’d been struggling to learn which ones he should heed and which he would do better to ignore, or whether it was the flaw of his own human condition that twisted their messages so that they were not always quite right—a far more likely possibility. The voices came from Spirit. Spirit couldn’t be wrong. His guides had taught him many things over the years. A deeper understanding of scripture. The importance of faith without question. The intricacies of poisons, and everything there was to know about explosives. The true depth of his twofold mission: to bring Lizzie to her knees, and to find his rightful heir.
He lifted his chin, tried to will the voices to be quiet. They chose to obey this time. They didn’t always.
“I’d still like to know how you managed to get me out,” David said. “I know some of the guards had to look the other way, let it happen.”
Mordecai smiled softly. “It wasn’t hard. My guides told me which guards would be open to bribery. Most men have their price, David.”
David lowered his eyes. “Still with the voices, huh?”
“Of course. They’re spirit guides. They don’t just go away.”
He could tell David would have liked to argue with that, but he had the good sense not to.
“So how are you going to get us out of here without being caught? Did your guides tell you that?”
“They will, when the time comes. But first, David, you have to keep your promise. Tell me what you know about my Lizzie. Where is she hiding?”
David licked his lips, looked out the rain-streaked windows into the darkness. Then he shook his head. “Not here. It’s not safe, sitting here like this. How about you get me out of here, past the roadblocks and shit first? Then I’ll fulfill my end of the bargain.”
Mordecai didn’t like that.
He’s an ungrateful bastard, this one.
Put him in the trunk!
Mordecai nodded, rubbing his forehead a little. “All right. You’re going to have to ride in the trunk, David. In case they do stop us.”
“The trunk?” David looked horrified at the thought.
The man’s soaking wet and frozen to the bone. Have mercy for God’s sake.
God, how he hated it, Mordecai thought, when the voices disagreed.
He was your friend once.
That much was true. David had been his friend. Once. “Just get in the back, then. Lie on the floor and keep yourself hidden under the blanket. All right?”
David nodded, smiling a little. “Thanks, Mordecai.” Then he climbed into the back seat and curled up on the floor, a skinny, wet blanket-bundle.
Mordecai drove the car. He drove where the voices told him to drive, even though he didn’t understand why. Faith, he reminded himself, wasn’t about understanding why. It was about believing, about acting without hesitation to obey the dictates of Spirit. He drove for ten minutes, then twenty. And then he pulled off and stopped the car.
He leaned over the back seat. “We’re clear, David. All clear.”
“God, you didn’t even get stopped,” David said, pulling the blanket from over his head and staring up at Mordecai from the floor. “Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. You know how ineffective the police can be.”
David smiled and started to get up.
“Wait,” Mordecai said. “I’ve been very patient with you, David. Very patient. But my patience is wearing thin. Tell me what you know about Lizzie.”
David was sitting up now, but still on the floor. He nodded, sighing. “There was this picture in the newspaper, some kind of festival, late last fall. She was in the background of the shot, standing in the crowd watching a parade go by.” He shook his head. “I couldn’t believe the coincidence.”
“Oh, it was no coincidence. It was the hand of Spirit. You were meant to see that photo, and I was meant to find my Lizzie.”
David nodded, licking his lips and looking a little nervous. “The town was some rural place in Vermont. Blackberry.”
“Blackberry, Vermont. God, it’s almost too quaint.” He pictured her, the way she had been, long ago. Lost and alone, and so very needy. He’d been her hero, her savior, then. “I presume she’s using an alias.”
“I don’t know. I would imagine so. The government probably set her up with a whole new identity after—after what happened last year.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe she actually shot you. If it wasn’t for that vest—”
“We don’t discuss that, David.”
David’s eyes shot to Mordecai’s, then lowered. “All right.”
“That’s all you know? You’ve told me everything?”
He nodded. “That’s all. I don’t know if she’s living in that town or was only there visiting. But I know it was her. I’m sure it was her. I saved the clipping for you.” He dug into a pocket as he spoke, tugged out a folded scrap of paper and held it up.
Mordecai took it. It was damp and worn. He unfolded it carefully, then turned on the overhead light so he could see it. The headline read “Harvest Time in Smalltown, USA.” The photo was three columns wide, and in color. Floats with giant pumpkins and small children. A high school marching band. A crowd of spectators. A backdrop of crimson and gold foliage. Despite the wet blotches and creased folds, Mordecai spotted her right away. She stood in the crowd, and yet alone. She wore blue jeans and a suede jacket. Her long blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail. He was irrationally glad she hadn’t cut it.
“You’re right,” he said to David. “It’s her. It’s Lizzie.”
“I knew it. Anyway, the article doesn’t say anything about her. But it’s something. It’s more than you had before.”
Mordecai nodded. “Then I guess I’m finished with you now. You can get out.”
Blinking, frowning in confusion, David said, “You…want me to just…go? You’re just going to leave me out here like a stray dog? Mordecai, I need a place to crash, some dry clothes, maybe a few dollars in my pocket. I’ve got to survive. After what I’ve done for you, I thought—”
Mordecai sighed. “You’re right. I mustn’t forget what I owe you, after all. I’m going to take care of you, David, the way you took care of me. Come on, get up now. Come with me.”
Mordecai opened his door and got out; then he opened the back door and took David’s arm to help him out of the car. “You have taken good care of me, after all, haven’t you, David?”
“I knew you’d want to know.”
“Oh, I don’t mean this,” Mordecai said, shoving the clipping into his pocket. “This…this was good, David, but we both know it was self-serving. You did this for yourself, not for me.”
“No—”
“Yes. You wanted me to get you out of prison. You knew this information would ensure I did so. After all, you could have just enclosed the clipping with the letter.”
David broke the hold of Mordecai’s eyes to look around. He was getting very nervous. “I could have. But I didn’t want to risk losing it. It could have been found.”
Mordecai shrugged. “And what about last year, when you told them where to find me after I’d reclaimed my daughter from that bitch Julie Jones? Was that all for me, as well?”
David’s gaze snapped back to Mordecai’s. “I didn’t—”
“David, David, don’t lie to me. I know it was you. You were the only one, besides Lizzie and I, who knew about the mansion in Virginia. And even if you weren’t, my guides told me who played Judas to my Christ.”
“Jesus, the guides again. Mordecai, you can’t always trust those voices in your head. They aren’t—”
“Aren’t what? Aren’t real? How have I survived, then? I could have been killed at the raid on my compound eighteen years ago. I could have been killed in Virginia last year, when the woman who claimed to love me fired a bullet into my chest. Or later, when the police descended on me. But I wasn’t. My daughter could have been killed, as well, by those bastards claiming to have come to rescue her. From her own father. They called it a kidnapping. Can you imagine?” He shook his head. “I survived. I always survive. The guides see to that. And they tell me all I need to know. Admit it, David. You betrayed me.”
David blinked. He was shaking again, but not from the cold this time. “You’re right, I did tell someone about the Virginia house. Not the authorities. Another prisoner. I had no choice in that, Mordecai. He had clout, a lot of respect. You don’t know what it’s like in prison. They would have killed me if I hadn’t talked.”
“So again, your self-interests outweighed your concern for me.” Mordecai shrugged. “I suppose it’s part of the human condition. Selfishness. Disloyalty.”
David couldn’t hold his eyes, so he looked past him. And then the worry returned. “Mordecai, this looks like the same place where you picked me up. Isn’t this right where we started?”
“Right where you started, perhaps. I’m miles ahead of where I was a short while ago. Goodbye, David.”
Mordecai lifted the gun, as the voices had been screaming at him to do for countless minutes now. It had come to him very clearly why the roadblocks would not be a problem tonight. It was because David wouldn’t be cowering in the back seat when Mordecai’s car was searched. David wasn’t going anywhere—nowhere on this plane, at least. He pointed the gun’s barrel at David’s head, and even as the man flinched and cried out, Mordecai calmly squeezed the trigger.
David’s body collapsed downward like a building when well-placed demolition charges go off. He sank fast, landing in a heap at Mordecai’s feet.
“I promised to free you from your prison, David. And now I have.”
Mordecai left the blanket where it was, twisted around David’s body. It was wet, muddy now, and tainted with blood. He got back into the car, sliding the gun into the holder he had mounted under the driver’s seat, and drove away.
It was time to find Lizzie. It was time to right the wrongs she had done, wash clean the sins she had committed—against him, against their daughter.
Against God.

Chapter One
Thursday
Elizabeth Marcum was running again.
She was always running, it seemed.
One after the other, her powder-blue Nike cross trainers hit the winding road’s soft shoulder, her steps cushioned by a thick, fragrant carpet of leaves. She sucked in the aroma of them with every harsh breath she drew. Sugar maples lined the roadsides, arching overhead like a vivid circus canopy of scarlet and purple and pumpkin orange. It crossed her mind that she loved it here, but she brushed the thought aside. There were a hundred other small towns with country lanes and breathtaking foliage where she could be just as comfortable. Comfort wasn’t love. She could take Blackberry, Vermont, or leave it.
She hit the three-mile mark just as she rounded the curve that brought the old Bickham place into view. The once stately Victorian’s white paint was peeling. A few of the black shutters were crooked, others missing, like neglected teeth in an old man’s mouth. On the porch, Maude waved from her wicker rocking chair. Elizabeth slowed to a walk, her heart rate slowing naturally as she veered off the road and onto the overgrown flagstone path. She preferred it to the driveway, despite its cracks and weeds. The sidewalk started at the tilting signpost, with its weather-worn sign and fading letters—you could hardly make out “The Blackberry Inn” anymore—and wound its way to the porch, forking off in one spot to twist around the old house to what had once been a garden in the back.
At the bottom of the porch steps, Beth leaned over, braced her hands on her knees and took a few breaths.
“Gettin’ older, girl,” Maude called. “You might better walk, like you used to.”
Beth smiled. Every day, Maude began their morning visit with the same remarks. When Beth had first come here—God, had it really been a year ago?—she had started this ritual with a daily walk. It had scared the hell out of her to even leave her house, but that daily walk had been an act of defiance, a way of thumbing her nose at her own fears. It had evolved into a run.
“I like to run, Maude. It makes me strong.”
“And what does a thirty-five-year-old woman need with muscles, anyway?”
Beth grinned and trotted up the steps. “Thirty-six. And I need ’em to fight off all my suitors.”
Maude slapped her knee, chuckling to herself, and rose from the chair. “Tea is just off the burner. Still piping hot. You made good time this morning.” She leaned over the rickety tray table to pour from a china teapot into two matching cups. Antiques, white with pink rosebuds and gold edges. There was an old silver tray with a cover, and an empty hypodermic needle beside it.
“God, Maude, why don’t you get an insulin pump so you can stop sticking yourself three times a day like your body’s a pin cushion?”
Maude waved a hand at her. “I don’t trust machines. And if you could see what they charge for one of those gadgets…”
“You have insurance.”
“That’s no reason to throw good money away on nonsense. ‘The frivolous can waste more by the teaspoon than the frugal can bring home by the wheelbarrow.’”
“Is that one of your originals?”
She shrugged. “You’d have called the original sexist. So I put my own twist on it, just for you.”
“And I’ll bet you’ve been waiting for the opportunity to use it.”
Maude sent her a wink. Then she reached to the tray table and poured from a dewy pitcher into a tall glass. “Here’s a nice glass of cold water. Cool you down after all that ridiculous running.”
“Perfect.” Beth took the glass from the table and tipped it up, drinking half the refreshing, sweet water down before lowering herself into her customary seat, a second wicker chair that matched the first in age and wear, if not color or design.
“Cookie?” Maude offered.
“Chocolate chip?” Beth asked, leaning over the table to lift the tarnished silver lid from its platter.
“How did you know before you even looked?”
“I could smell them baking in my dreams last night.”
Maude chuckled, but then her smile died, and she shook her head. “A young woman ought to have something to dream about besides cookies.”
Taking a big bite, Beth said, “What else is there?”
But Maude didn’t join her in her teasing. “I’m serious, Beth. Life without friends is like pie without ice cream. You’ve lived in Blackberry for a year now, and yet you’ve barely made any friends at all.”
Beth tipped her head to one side, reminding herself that the old woman needed something to occupy her mind, and if worrying about her was the thing to do it, then fine. She would indulge her. Reaching across the table, she patted Maude’s hand. “I’ve made one friend, Maude. One very good friend.”
That got a smile out of Maude. She actually had to blink a little moisture from her eyes. “Oh, you. Now you’ve gone and made me misty.”
“Well, I mean it. I’m so glad you called me over here that first time.”
“Saw you walking by, then running by, day after day. Any fool could see you were lonely. Besides, I was curious to ask what it was you were running away from.” She took a sip of her tea. “Not that I’ve managed to get an answer to that question.”
“‘A woman without secrets has led far too boring a life,’” Beth said, repeating one of Maude’s own pearls of wisdom back to her.
“Score one for you.” Maude sighed, settling back in her chair. “You know, there are some nice people in Blackberry. You’re missing out on a lot by keeping so much to yourself.”
Here it comes, Beth thought.
“Take Jeffrey Manheim. Owns the coffee shop down on Main Street. Nicest unmarried man you could ever want to—”
She broke off there, looking up as a shiny white pickup truck pulled into her driveway. Beth shielded her eyes to try to make out who was inside, but already she was on guard. She didn’t recognize the man who got out of the truck and glanced their way. A younger man—maybe eighteen—got out from the passenger side and came around the truck to join him. Strangers. New in town.
This couldn’t be good.
Maude rose to her feet and stumbled a little as she started forward, so Beth got up as well, and grabbed hold of her forearm to steady her.
“Joshua?”
The man flashed a smile. “It’s me, Gram. It’s been way too long.” By the time he finished the sentence, he was mounting the steps, and then he swept Maude into his arms for a hug. Maude hesitated only slightly before returning it.
The man released her and stood back just a little to look her over. “You look wonderful, Gram. Just as pretty as ever.”
She smiled at him, and Beth could have sworn her cheeks went pink. “Well, I don’t know about that.”
“Bryan, get up here and say hello to your great-grandma.”
The boy joined them on the porch. It was obvious now he was the man’s son. He had the same milk-chocolate hair and the same jawline—as if it were etched in stone. But there was a brooding quality about him. He didn’t stand quite straight, didn’t meet his father’s eyes—or Maude’s, either, for that matter—and he didn’t look happy to be there. He kept slanting sideways glances at Beth.
She really should leave, she thought, as the boy took his hands from his jeans pockets long enough to give the old woman a halfhearted hug. “Hello, Grandma.”
“My, my,” Maude said. “What a fine young man you have here, Joshua.”
“He sure is,” Joshua said. “Gram, aren’t you going to introduce us to your friend?”
“Oh, of course. Where are my manners? Beth, this is my grandson, Joshua, and his boy Bryan. Boys, this is Beth Slocum. She’s a good, good friend to me. You be sure you treat her right.”
Joshua turned to face her fully for the first time, extending a hand to close it around hers. He met her eyes, and then something changed in his face. The smile seemed to freeze in place, and he looked into her eyes so intently it made her squirm. He looked stunned, shocked, and maybe there was a hint of recognition amid all the other things swimming in his eyes. It worried her.
Swallowing hard, she tugged her hand, but he didn’t let it go. “Um…It’s nice to meet you,” she said, wishing like hell that she could read his mind as she tugged her hand a little harder.
He blinked, glanced down at their hands, and let go quickly. “Sorry about that. You…remind me of someone.”
“Really? Who?”
His eyes were still dancing over her face. My God, she thought they might even be dampening. What the hell was with this guy? “Never mind,” he said. “It’s not important.” He tore his gaze from hers and looked at his son. “Bryan, say hello to Miss Slocum.”
Bryan looked at her. “Hi.” Then he turned to his father. “I’m going to get my MP3 player out of the truck.” He turned on his heel and marched back down the steps to the truck, where he took a few suitcases and duffels from the back.
“He’s not happy to be here,” Beth said.
“He’s had a tough year,” the stranger explained. “His mother and stepfather were killed over the summer. Plane crash. Then I had to uproot him from the West Coast and move him to Manhattan. He’s not dealing well.”
Those words wrapped themselves around Beth’s heart and squeezed. “His entire life has been stripped away from him,” she said, her throat tightening. “There’s no way to deal well with something like that.”
Josh was looking at her again. “Sounds like the voice of experience.”
She shrugged and lowered her eyes. His were too intense. Too filled with something she couldn’t name, and too intent on probing, on digging into her soul.
To change the subject, she said, “Maude, I always assumed you and Sam didn’t have any children.”
“Now why would you assume that?” Maude asked, fussing with the sleeve of her blouse.
“I don’t know. You never mentioned any kids, and there were no pictures around the house.”
“I really do need to get some photos put up,” she said, as if that explained everything perfectly.
Beth glanced at Josh, saw the way he was watching Maude, watching her responses to Maude’s explanations. He looked a little nervous.
“There was a death in your family over the summer, and you never said a word?” Beth asked.
Maude blinked. “Well, the family’s so estranged, you know, I never even heard about Bryan’s mother until a week ago, when Josh phoned me.”
“Kathy kind of cut my side of the family off after the divorce,” Joshua said.
Beth nodded as if it made perfect sense, when in fact it made none.
“Honestly, none of that matters,” Maude said. “All that matters is that they’re here now. Come from Manhattan to spend some time with me.”
“That’s nice, Maude.” Beth watched the boy, felt the pain coming off him in waves. She loved kids and felt an empathy for this one. Maybe because she, too, had been stripped of everything in her life. “Is he still in high school?” she asked.
“This is his senior year.” Joshua looked guilty now. “But I could barely get him to go when the semester started. He hated everything about Manhattan, but especially going to school there.”
“So what are you going to do?”
He shrugged, then faced her. “This parenting thing is like rocket science to me. I’m damned if I know what to do with him.”
“Beth can help with that,” Maude said. “She’s a teacher. You two sit down and chat. I’m going to get more cookies.” She went through the door and into the house without another word. The screen door banged.
Josh said, “So you’re a teacher?”
“I used to be.”
Josh sat in one of the wicker chairs, waving her to the other one. She glanced toward the young man, but he was sitting on the tailgate now, with headphones on.
“So why did you stop?”
She sent him a quick look. Was he a little too interested in her past? Or just being polite? “Needed a break. I still tutor, though.”
“Really?”
She nodded. “So how long are you going to be here?” she asked, turning the tables by asking questions rather than answering them. It was a skill she’d perfected over the past year.
“To be honest, I don’t know. It depends on a lot of things.”
He had a way of answering a question without revealing a thing. She recognized the tactic, because it was another one she’d grown deft at employing.
“Why is it Maude’s never mentioned you?”
He shrugged. “There’s been a rift in the family.” Then he met her eyes. “It’s kind of personal.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s not a problem.” He looked toward his son again. “I wish I knew what to do about Bryan.”
“I could talk to him…if you want.”
He looked at her as if surprised. “Do you have kids, Beth?”
Jesus. The innocent question knocked the wind out of her. She tried not to let it show in her face, turning away quickly, just as Maude called for Joshua to come help her for a minute.
“Did I say something wrong?”
“Why don’t you go help Maude with those cookies? And tell her I’ll see her in the morning.”
Beth walked down the steps, but she didn’t take the flagstone path. She went out the driveway, pausing by the pickup to tie her shoe and pull herself together. It wasn’t Joshua’s fault, she told herself. He couldn’t possibly know her chance to raise her only child had been stolen from her because of some toy soldier with an itchy trigger finger eighteen years ago.
When she rose it was to see Bryan staring at her. She glanced back toward the porch. Joshua had gone inside. The porch was empty.
Bryan had stacked suitcases on the pickup’s tailgate, though it was completely unnecessary. “Don’t worry, my father has that effect on a lot of people,” he said.
She looked at him, then allowed a smile as she realized he’d witnessed her reaction to Joshua’s question, though he probably hadn’t heard the dialogue. “Then it’s not just me?” she asked.
“Nope.”
“That’s good to know.” She rolled her eyes and saw Bryan’s smile turn from polite to amused. “Your dad tells me you’re in your senior year.”
“Yeah. But I’m taking a semester off.”
She nodded. “What do you still need to graduate?”
“History, Spanish Four, English Twelve.”
Beth smiled a little. “I used to teach English Eleven and Twelve.”
“Used to? What, you don’t anymore?”
“I’m taking a semester off.”
He smiled at her, his eyes, and interest, sincere.
“Actually, more like a few semesters. I still tutor, though. Let me know if you want to get those English credits out of the way while you’re in town. Give me an hour a day and I’ll have you ready for the final by Christmas.”
“I doubt we’ll be here that long.”
“Then give me two hours a day and make it Thanksgiving.”
He looked at her. “You know, it’s actually not all that bad an idea.”
She liked Bryan, she decided. She liked him a lot. Dawn would like him, too, if she were here. “Well, it’s up to you. I’m not pushing. And it would be tough on limited time. You’d have to be up for a challenge.”
“English is my best subject. How much do you charge?”
“What are you, kidding? You’re Maude’s great-grandson.”
“I don’t want a free ride.”
“Well, we can work something out, then. Maybe you could help me with a few chores?”
He nodded. “Okay. Sounds good.”
She smiled, pleasantly surprised. “You mean we’re on?”
“We’re on,” he said, extending a hand.
She shook on it, feeling buoyant and knowing why. She could help this kid. And he was going to let her. “We can start tomorrow. My place at noon. Maude can tell you where.”
“Great. See you then.”
“You’ll see me sooner.” She jogged down the driveway, turned left onto the lane, and fell into an easy rhythm.
She didn’t think she liked the man. Then again, she didn’t like any man. She didn’t trust them. But she liked his son. Maybe that was because looking at all the grief and loss in the boy’s eyes was like looking into a mirror. Or maybe it was because she knew that no matter how much the people in his life would like him to “get over it” there was no such thing. He could deny it, defy it, or learn to live with it. But he couldn’t get over it.
God knew she never had.

Mordecai had set himself up in one of the seven perfect Victorian homes situated in a neighborhood halfway between the towns of Blackberry and Pinedale. The houses had been purchased by some brilliant entrepreneur twenty-odd years ago, according to Mordecai’s research—he didn’t believe in going anywhere without all the information. The houses were rented out to wealthy families as vacation homes in the summer and to foliage-seeking tourists in the fall. In the winter, the skiing enthusiasts took over, and from February through March, they were inhabited by folks in town for the maple syrup season, and all the festivals and events it brought. In April the houses were closed for upkeep.
The others were all occupied. This one should have been, too—by Oliver Abercrombie, who’d made his reservations six months in advance. Unfortunately for the late Mr. Abercrombie, he was the only tenant without an immediate family, or anyone else close enough to miss him right away.
Mordecai had also learned that the school districts of the two tiny towns had merged a decade back, when the population of students had outgrown their buildings and the cost of educating them had outgrown the towns’ respective tax bases. Now the Pinedale-Blackberry Central School System had its elementary building in Pinedale and its high school in Blackberry. The towns were eight miles apart, and this hamlet—which wasn’t a town at all, but was called Bonnie Brook by the locals—was halfway between the two.
Lizzie was a teacher. He expected to find her working in one of the schools. So getting into the school system would be his first order of business.
This town was too quiet, he thought as he drove. It gave the voices too much silence in which to operate. When Mordecai was surrounded by noise and activity and people, they mostly kept quiet. But here, where the only sounds at night were the creaking of the old house and the gentle rustling of the October wind in the drying leaves…here they almost never went silent.
They were whispering now, in the background of his thoughts as he drove slowly along the winding, narrow roads, among the Day-Glo yellow of the poplar trees. Whispering…
She’s here, somewhere.
You’re close, Mordecai. You’re very close.
She was supposed to burn in the fire, you know. Eighteen years ago, when the government raided your compound and all those young women died. She was supposed to die with them.
He frowned, and said aloud, “Maybe I was supposed to die with them, too.”
You know you can’t die without leaving an heir, Mordecai.
You need a child, someone to carry on your gifts, your work.
He sighed, disappointed anew that his own biological daughter, his and Lizzie’s, had not turned out to be the one. Spirit had rejected her. Still, he loved her, in his way. He had set her free because of that love. But he yearned for another, his heir. Perhaps he would find that heir here.
He turned the car’s steering wheel, leaving the poplar-lined lane for one that wound and twisted between rolling meadows, dotted by fat, slow-chewing Holsteins with swollen udders and huge eyes.
He saw a woman running, jogging, along the road’s shoulder.
She wore maroon warmup pants with a thin white stripe up the sides, and a white tank top that fit her like a second skin. The jacket that matched the pants was knotted around her waist, and her blond ponytail bounced with every step she took.
That hair…
“Lizzie?” he whispered, slowing the car to a crawl so he could get a good look at her when he drove by. But there was something decidedly un-Lizzie-like about this woman. The squared shoulders. The pumping of her clenched fists. The way she held her head, chin high. Her stride was powerful, almost aggressive.
Slowly, he eased the car past her, then looked into the side mirror so he could see her face. But she’d stopped, was bending now, tying her shoe.
Go on, Mordecai. Keep driving. You have a date to keep. This one can wait.
The guides were right, he thought with a sigh. Besides, this wasn’t his Lizzie. His Lizzie was insecure, cowering and needy. And he was here for more than just Lizzie. He was here, he suspected, because this was where the heir would be found.
He drove the rest of the way to the high school, and waved to the woman who was waiting outside as he pulled into a vacant parking slot. Then he tipped the rearview mirror down to check his appearance.
Coke-bottle-thick glasses made his eyes appear huge, and emphasized the green of the colored contacts. The toupee looked real enough, mostly because few people would wear a hairpiece that was thick, black and mussed. He’d had it custom made. His new jet-black goatee was trimmed to a point at his chin and accompanied by a matching moustache that connected to it, bracketing his mouth. The new Oliver Abercrombie didn’t resemble the Mordecai Young of eighteen years ago, with his long mink hair and thin layer of stubble. Back then he had looked the way most westerners imagined Jesus Christ had looked. He didn’t resemble his more recent persona, Nathan Z, who’d been utterly bald, with striking brown eyes and a clean shaven face, either. He didn’t think Beth herself would have recognized him today, even had she bumped into him on the streets of Blackberry.
That was the way he wanted it. For now. She mustn’t know he had found her, not until he was ready.
He got out of his car, and Nancy Stillwater came limping toward him from the school’s main entrance, smiling. The smile put creases into her plump face. “Hello, Oliver,” she said, pushing dull brown hair, with a few gray strands, behind her ears.
“Ahh, Nancy. You are a vision. How is your day going?”
“Not too badly, so far. The new textbooks I’ve been waiting for finally came in.”
“Wonderful. Are they as good as you’d expected them to be?”
“Better. Even my students approve. So where are we having lunch?” she asked, lifting the basket she had, no doubt, taken great pains to fill.
“Anywhere you like,” he said, taking the basket from her. “It’s such a nice day for a picnic.”
“It really is. We won’t have too many more like this.”
“No, we won’t.”
“There are picnic tables this way.” She actually took his arm as she led him around the building, either because she was attracted to him and wanted to touch him, or because her bad leg was bothering her. The limp was considerably worse today than it had been yesterday, when he’d met her while applying for a job as a substitute teacher at the high school.
His false credentials had impressed the office staff, and by the time they got around to checking them out, his work here would be done. After all, his claims put him far above what was required of substitute teachers.
His résumé ought to put him at the top of the list, if they even had a list.
List or no list, you will be the one they call. We’ll see to that.
You have to stop doubting us, Mordecai.
Yes, stop doubting us. All is in place. All we need now is for one of the regular teachers to get too sick to come in to work.
“Here we are,” Nancy said, as they walked into a courtyard with round concrete tables, benches and planters situated every where. “This spot’s reserved for staff and seniors. And the staff know when the seniors have their lunch period,” she added with a smile. “It’s nice, don’t you think?”
“Particularly without the seniors present.” He laughed softly, setting her picnic basket on the nearest table, lifting the lid and beginning to unload dishes.
She sat down beside him. “I was surprised when you asked me to join you for lunch today, Oliver.”
“Now why should that surprise you?” He pulled out the bottle of sparkling grape juice, removed the cork with a flourish and poured juice into stemmed, plastic wineglasses.
“Well, I’m not exactly used to the attention of men.”
“Then the men around here must be stupider than I imagined.” He handed her a glass. “To the beginning of a lovely friendship, and the promise that, next time, the wine will be real.” He held his glass toward her.
She tapped hers against it, took a sip and smiled.
Mordecai smiled back, glancing down at the sectioned plates with their air-lock plastic lids, specially designed for packing picnic lunches. He removed the lid from the first one, and with his hands still hidden inside the basket, twisted the cap off the vial he’d palmed and emptied its contents onto the salad. Then he picked up the plate and set it gently in front of her. “Ah, this looks wonderful, my dear.”
“It’s my special ambrosia salad, chicken coq au vin—albeit cold—antipasto, and a homemade double chocolate brownie for dessert.”
“My goodness! You’re a goddess.”
She smiled as he passed her a napkin-wrapped set of silverware. “I don’t eat like this every day, mind you. But I thought today it would be all right to forget about my diet.”
“Diet? Please, you’re perfect. A Botticelli nude.”
“Oh, my.” She averted her eyes as her cheeks went pink.
Mordecai pocketed the empty vial and casually cleaned his hands with an antibacterial wipe he’d brought along. Then he removed the lid from his own plate, set the basket on the ground and dug into his meal with relish.
She dug into hers, as well. Poor stupid woman.

Chapter Two
Joshua Kendall walked into Maude Bickham’s house in a state of shock. The woman, Beth Slocum, the resemblance…No, no, it was more than a resemblance. She was identical to the girl his bullet had torn apart eighteen years ago. The girl who’d lain in a deep coma as he sat by her bed, wishing he could change places with her. The girl he’d been told had no chance of surviving.
She was older, of course. The eyes he’d only seen closed in mindless slumber had a few lines at their corners that hadn’t been there before. God, how he’d longed to see them open, to know their color.
He knew it now. Emerald green, like the Gulf of Mexico at midsummer.
The round cheeks of youth had been replaced by sharper angles, but there was no question she was the same person.
He stumbled into the house, barely seeing where he was going, so many questions were whirling through his mind.
“Well, there you are. My goodness, I almost lost it out there. I have to tell you, son, I’m not used to telling lies.”
“You, uh…you did fine, Maude.”
“Well, it’s well worth it, if it’s to help protect Beth from whatever shadows she’s been running from. Like I always say, ‘You have to crush some tomatoes to get any sauce.’ This won’t wash for long, though. There are folks in this town have known me far longer than Beth has. Oh, I can put ’em off for a while. Sam and I were old enough when we bought this place that any kids we might have had would have been grown. Most folks don’t know we never had any. All but Frankie, anyway. She won’t be so easily—what is it, Joshua? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I…” He gave his head a shake and forced himself to pay attention to the woman. “It was a long drive. I guess I’m tired out.”
“Well, then, go on up to your room. I’ve put you in the blue room, and your boy in the one beside you. Go left at the top of the stairs. It’s the second door on the right.”
“Thanks.”
He took her advice and sought out the privacy of his bedroom. And the first thing he did was to make a phone call to Arthur Stanton, his longtime mentor, former superior officer, and the man who’d hired him for this job. Arthur was out. His machine told Josh to leave a message.
Josh held the phone to his ear, staring out the bedroom window. Down there on the scraggly lawn, a ghost was talking to his son. A woman who was supposed to be dead. He should know, he thought. He’d killed her himself.
“Arthur, it’s Joshua. Call me back and tell me what the hell is going on. Is this woman—is she—Jesus, Art, what are you doing to me here?”
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. Not even when the image of the girl she had been when he’d seen her last overlaid the scene below in his mind. He saw her as she had been: pale, far too thin, barely seventeen. Wires taped to her temples and forehead, and running from underneath her clothes. Tubes in her wrists and mouth. White sheets, white hospital gown, white skin. The damned incessant beeping of the heart monitor that sounded sluggish and slow.
A lot of kids had been caught in the cross fire when federal agents raided the Young Believers’ Compound eighteen years ago. But most of the bodies burned in the holocaust that followed.
Hers hadn’t.
Josh had been an ATF agent then, overzealous and eager to be a hero. And maybe a little too quick to fire back at the muzzle flashes coming from the compound. Ballistics matched the bullet that took her out with Joshua’s own rifle. When Josh had gone to the hospital to see her, they’d told him she wouldn’t live out the week.
She’d been haunting him ever since.
It couldn’t be her. It couldn’t be. Not like this, strong, older…alive, running now down the tree-lined lane, her strides powerful and confident. It couldn’t be her.
There was a knock on his door. “Dad?”
He shook himself, opened it. Bryan stood there with a large red-white-and-blue envelope in his hands. “Mailman was just here. Left this for you. It came express, so I figured it was important.”
He took it, eyed the return address.
“It’s from that guy who hired you—Arthur Stanton.”
The man who was like a father to him. The man he trusted, had always trusted, even after the raid.
“He was your boss when you were in the ATF, you said.”
Josh nodded. He’d been fired, because the nation needed a scapegoat. Not that he hadn’t been guilty—just no guiltier than every other man on the strike team that day. Art had been too well respected to be fired; he’d been moved, instead. Lost his command, gotten stuck behind a desk pushing papers for the rest of his career. Put to work for the Federal Witness Protection Program. If she was who Josh thought she was, she must have been one of Arthur’s first cases.
Jesus.
“So what was really going on down there?” Bryan asked.
Josh tried to focus on his son. “What do you mean?”
“With that woman. First you looked at her like you were seeing a ghost, and then you tried to cover—lamely.”
Josh pursed his lips. “I wasn’t trying to cover. She really does remind me of someone.”
“Yeah, so much you nearly lost your lunch.”
He averted his eyes.
“I mean it, Dad. I thought you were going to blow it out there. I mean, you’re the one who’s supposed to know what you’re doing here, the one who spent three straight days lecturing me on not blowing our cover. So I figure this is something major.”
He forced himself to meet his son’s gaze. “You might be right.”
“Then you know Beth Slocum from somewhere?”
“I don’t know yet.”
“But you think you might?”
He didn’t say anything, his gaze dragged as if by force to the envelope again.
“Right,” Bryan said. “It’s none of my damn business, anyway. You should have just said so. I’m going out.”
The tone jerked Josh back to the present. “Going out where?”
“Hell, Dad, I don’t know. I’m not sure what my options are around here, so I can hardly answer that one. Around, I guess. I’m taking the pickup.”
“Just be careful. And call if you’re going to be late.”
Bryan didn’t answer, just headed out of the bedroom. He didn’t quite slam the door, but he didn’t shut it any too gently, either.
Josh sighed, wishing to hell he knew how to be a decent father to his son. He probably shouldn’t have let him go, but hell, the boy was almost eighteen. It wasn’t like he needed baby-sitting.
He didn’t know what to do. He knew his son was in pain and acting out in anger, but he didn’t have the first clue what to do about it. And frankly, given the shock he’d just suffered, he was in no state to figure out the answer today.
He sat down on his bed and tore open the envelope. It contained a complete dossier on Elizabeth Marcum, aka Beth Slocum, beginning when she’d awakened from a coma eighteen years ago. When he read the hell she’d been through because of his bullet, he wondered if it might have been better if he had killed her after all.
She’d awakened with no memory, no life, facing years of rehabilitation and physical therapy. She’d lost all of it…because of him.
He was sure of only one thing: he owed her. And this assignment hadn’t come out of the blue. Arthur had chosen him deliberately, knowing he would protect Beth Slocum better than anyone else ever could, because of that debt.

Bryan thought he probably shouldn’t hate his father for keeping secrets from him when secrets were a part of his job. He did hate it, though. He hated just about everything his old man did these days. Every word out of his mouth seemed unreasonably irritating and made Bryan want to snap back, even when it wasn’t altogether warranted.
Bryan wasn’t stupid. It made sense to resent his father for not giving a damn about his mother’s death. Josh hadn’t shed a single tear. And it made sense to hate him for dragging Bryan out of his school, away from his friends, his home, and making him live in an apartment the size of a closet in Manhattan.
He thought maybe Joshua was starting to get that. He thought maybe that was why, when his dad’s former boss from his days in the ATF, days before Bryan was even born, contacted him about this job, he’d accepted so fast. He knew Bryan detested the city. He probably thought this middle-of-nowhere town in Vermont would be better for him.
But Bryan didn’t want to be here, either. He just wanted to go home.
He drove the pickup, which he secretly loved, into the tiny town of Blackberry, which was all of two miles from the old woman’s run-down house. He spent the entire drive trying to locate an alternative or punk station on the radio, with no luck at all. Nothing out here but easy listening, country and talk radio.
God, he was going to die of boredom inside a week. He pulled off when he found a park, walked the entire thing, and found a fountain, a basketball court, a hot-dog stand. He bought a dog and continued on. The town was packed, way more people than could possibly live in a place this small. Must be the tourists his dad had told him were liable to be around. God, there were a lot of them, walking around with cameras, or driving with their heads sticking out the windows, pointing at the trees.
It was pretty here. He had to give it that.
Just at the edge of town there was a library, and he spent a couple of hours there, using their Internet connection and playing video games.
He’d killed the rest of the morning and was working on the afternoon when he pulled into the blacktop square beyond the ornate little sign that read Blackberry Public Parking. It was smack in the middle of a strip of road that was lined on either side with businesses. They all had awnings, and all the awnings were color coordinated—green or white, or green-and-white stripes. The stores—shops, really—had old-fashioned lettering on the windows, and they all looked like something out of one of the Norman Rockwell prints his mother used to have hanging all over their house. If not for the tourists, Bryan would have felt as if he’d walked right into one of them. The barbershop had an actual barber pole.
He pocketed his keys and took to the sidewalk. It was clean, unbroken, no weeds springing up in between the blocks. Oak trees grew from circular holes in the concrete, with red mulch covering their bases. Almost every building had a flag on display—not all of them American flags, though. Some were Canadian, some Italian, and some bore peace signs or rainbows.
He scanned the shop windows. Drugstore, grocery, ice cream “shoppe,” hardware, electronics…“Now we’re getting somewhere,” he said.
He went through the swinging doors of the tiny electronics store, nodded hello to the woman behind the counter and started perusing the shelves. There was only one other customer in the place, an absentminded professor type in a baggy suit.
The woman behind the counter said, “Can I help you find something, young man?”
“Yeah, I’m looking for a set of headphones for my MP3 player.” He pulled the tiny device out of his pocket as he spoke and held it up, but as he did, the other customer placed his purchases—a video camera and several tapes—on the counter.
“They’re right over there, son,” she said, pointing at a pegboard right beside the counter, where about twenty different sets of headphones hung.
Bryan went over and began looking for one that would fit his player.
He noticed the guy at the counter taking his purchases and turning to go. A twenty lay on the floor at his feet. As the man walked toward the door, Bryan hurried to grab it. “Excuse me, mister, I think you dropped this.”
The man turned as if surprised, saw Bryan holding out the twenty and smiled. He had thick, unevenly cut black hair that looked as if he’d combed it with an egg beater, thick-lensed glasses with black plastic frames, and the kind of pointy beard you’d expect to see on the villain in an old movie.
His smile was warm, though. He quickly pulled out his wallet and checked his cash. “You’re right, I did drop it. Thank you, young man. That was very thoughtful of you.”
“No prob.”
The guy took the twenty, tucked it into his wallet and tugged out a five. “Here, for your honesty.”
“No, really. It’s okay,” Bryan said, holding up a hand.
“You’re sure?”
He nodded. “My mother was always telling me if you can’t be honest for the sake of honesty, you’re not really being honest at all.”
The man tipped his head to one side. “Your mother sounds like a very wise woman.”
“She was,” Bryan said. He turned back to the rack of headphones beside the counter.
The stranger cleared his throat, and Bryan turned again, surprised to see him still there. “I don’t mean to pry, but, uh…do you go to school around here?”
Bryan shook his head. “I’m taking a semester off, but I have a private tutor so I won’t fall behind.”
“Ah. A private tutor, is it? That’s very wise. One of the teachers, I assume?”
“No, she’s not teaching right—” He bit back the rest of the sentence, as his father’s coaching and warnings came whispering through his brain. He was talking about Beth Slocum, the woman they were here to protect. A woman in hiding. “I mean, I don’t really know what else she might do. I’m brand-new in town.”
“I only ask because I’m a teacher myself.” The man dug a card from his pocket and handed it to Bryan.
“You teach here in Blackberry?” Bryan asked.
“Well, it’s not official yet, but I expect to be hired any day now. What subjects are you taking with this tutor? Maybe I can offer to cover the ones she doesn’t?”
“No, thanks,” Bryan said, deciding to err on the side of caution. “I don’t want to take on too much at once. But, uh, I’ll keep you in mind if I need another tutor.”
“You do that. And thank you again for your honesty. Your mother would be proud.”
Bryan had to swallow past the lump in his throat as he watched the man go. Then he looked at the card. Oliver Abercrombie. There was a telephone number, but no address. What an odd man.

Mordecai got into his car—a car far below his standards, but one that would stand out far less than his former one would have done. It was a nondescript brown sedan, five years old and nothing fancy. Nothing noticeable or memorable. He was dying to get back to searching for Lizzie.
No, not yet. You have to stay.
You have to watch the boy. We sent you into that shop for a reason, Mordecai. When will you learn to trust us?
“But Lizzie—”
She’s not going anywhere, Mordecai. And finding the heir to your powers and your gifts is just as important as finding Lizzie.
He blinked. “The boy is the heir?”
He could be. Only you can decide that, Mordecai, and that is the primary mission right now.
Maybe it should be, he thought. It wasn’t, though. To him, nothing was more important than finding Lizzie, reclaiming her, purifying and redeeming her. He supposed that was yet another symptom of his flawed human form. It was selfish. The will of Spirit must always come first.
That’s right, Mordecai. You’re a tool. A messenger. A servant. So stay and watch the boy.
He bowed his head. “I’m sorry. Forgive me my sins. I surrender all, Father. Not my will, but thine, be done. I’m sorry. Forgive me.” His throat felt tight, and his eyes hot and damp.
Here he comes!
Mordecai looked up, brushing the moisture from his eyes so he could see as the boy came out of the shop. He went into a couple of others but didn’t stay long anywhere, and finally, with a few bags in his hands, headed to a white pickup truck in the town parking lot. He started it up. Mordecai started his own vehicle, as well, and followed the boy home.
He lived, apparently, in a Victorian house two miles past Blackberry. The style of the place was similar to the one Mordecai was renting in Bonnie Brook, six miles in the other direction, except that it wasn’t as well kept. It showed signs of neglect, needed paint, and the lawn was a weed patch.
Mordecai did everything he could to ensure he wouldn’t lose track of the boy. He pulled over and memorized the address, the directions, the license plate number of the pickup truck. It was nearly noon. He whispered, “Can I go and search for Lizzie now?”
No.
He swallowed, lowering his head. “The school might have phoned for me. God knows Nancy Stillwater has to be quite ill by now.”
You have your cell phone.
“They may have left a message on the machine. If I don’t return the call, they’ll hire someone else.”
Your lack of faith will be punished, Mordecai!
Pain—splitting, racking, blinding pain—blazed through his skull. Mordecai slammed his palms to either side of his head, squeezed his eyes shut tight and grated his teeth. Pressure built inside his head as if it were being inflated, until finally it felt as if it would surely burst.
And then it was gone.
He lay limp against the seat of the car, panting, trembling, his cheeks damp with tears. “All right. All right. I’ll stay.”’
Use the cell to check your messages, and keep your eyes on the boy.
“Yes, yes. I’ll obey.”

Chapter Three
Friday
“No, Bryan, you cannot stay home. I let you slide in the city, but that’s over. You’re going to school. You’re going to register, and you’re going to take classes. This is your senior year. It’s important.”
Beth couldn’t help but hear Joshua’s raised voice as she stepped up onto the porch to join Maude for their morning tea. The front door was open. The screen door was closed, but sound traveled right through that. Maude looked up, shaking her head sadly. She was in the middle of her morning injection—one before every meal was the routine—and she pulled the hypodermic from her arm and set it on the tray table.
“Important to you, maybe,” Bryan said. He wasn’t shouting, but he wasn’t quiet, either.
“No, Bry, it’s important to you. To your future. I told you before we left Manhattan, you’d have to register at the high school here.”
“And I told you to forget about it.”
“If you keep letting school slide, Bryan, you’ll never get into a good college.”
“I don’t give a damn about college.”
“Since when?”
“Just leave me alone, okay?”
Beth went slowly to her chair as Maude poured their tea. “Doesn’t sound like they’re doing too well, Maude.”
“They aren’t. But it will get better.”
“Maybe we should, uh, close the door. Give ’em a little privacy?” Beth suggested, with a nod toward the still-open front door.
“Well now, if I close the door, how are we gonna know how to help those two?”
“What do you mean, ‘we’?”
Maude just shushed her as the voices rose again.
“Bryan, you had a ninety-eight average your junior year. You were talking about applying to Ivy League schools, for God’s sake. What happened to that?”
“Gee, I don’t know, Dad. I can’t imagine what could have happened between then and now, can you?”
Beth winced. “Ouch. That was a bull’s-eye.”
For a moment, Josh didn’t reply. Probably reeling from the blow his son had just landed. Then, his tone gentler than before, he said, “All right, I know what happened. Your mom died. And that’s the most horrible thing that could ever happen to a kid. But, Bryan, you can’t die with her. She wouldn’t want that, and you know it. If she were here right now, she’d be telling you to knock it the hell off. You have to find a way to pick up the pieces and move on with your life.”
“Like you have, you mean?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
No reply.
“Bry, don’t think for one minute that I didn’t care about your mother. I loved her once. We created a son together.”
“You wouldn’t know it to look at you, though. Her dying hasn’t made one ripple in your life, has it, Dad?”
There was a loud bang, the slamming of a door, and it made Beth jerk in reaction. Moments later, footsteps came down the stairs. Through the open door, Beth saw Joshua stop at the bottom of the stairway, push a hand through his hair and close his eyes briefly. He looked haggard. She felt sorry for him. Not as much as she did for his son, though.
“Good morning, Josh,” Maude called.
Josh looked their way, his glance sliding from Maude to land on Beth. Sighing, he came out to join them on the porch.
“I’m sorry about all that,” he said. “Not a very pleasant way to start the day for you.”
“For you, either,” Maude said.
“Or for Bryan,” Beth said. Josh shot her a look, his lips thin.
“Join us for a cup of tea, Joshua. One of my homemade medicinals. Just the right blend to sooth your nerves.” Maude was pouring before she finished speaking, and Beth noticed for the first time that she had set three cups on the tray table, where there were usually only two. And there was a white plastic lawn chair against the wall.
Josh sank into it and accepted the cup Maude handed him. “If I can’t even get the kid to go to school…” He sighed, sipping the tea, not finishing the thought. “This is good, Maude. How did you know I’d need my nerves soothed this morning?”
“Made it for Beth—chamomile and honey. I thought she seemed a little edgy yesterday.”
“I was not edgy.”
Maude shrugged. “You’re always edgy when there’s a male of the species within twenty feet of you, girl.” She winked at Josh. “Thinks you’re all up to no good, I guess.”
“Most of us are.” He smiled a little, his eyes actually teasing her as he took another sip of his tea. “This is really hitting the spot.”
“Maude has a tea and a platitude for just about every imaginable occasion,” Beth said. “But I imagine you already knew that.”
“You’d be surprised how little I know about her,” he said.
“No, I wouldn’t.” She dropped the statement, then let it hang there while he tried to figure out what it meant. Bryan’s footsteps came tromping down the stairs, across the floor and into the kitchen. Joshua sighed, his eyes clouding with real worry, and Beth took pity. “I do some private tutoring, you know.”
“Do you?” He looked her in the eyes, and she got the feeling he had already known that. Probably Maude had filled him in. “If that’s an offer, Beth, I accept. Assuming I can convince Bryan to go along with it.”
“He seemed willing enough yesterday, when I spoke to him about it.”
His brows bent together. “He talked to you about tutoring him?”
She nodded. “Yeah. Agreed to start at noon today.”
“Well, why the hell didn’t he just say so, instead of arguing with me?”
Beth tipped her head to one side. “Maybe because you didn’t ask.”
His face darkened. “So this is all my fault?”
“Not all, Joshua. But of the two of you, he’s the one who just lost his mother. And you’re the adult. The only one in the world who can swoop in and pick up the pieces of his broken life for him.”
“Don’t you think that’s what I’ve been trying to do?”
He stopped himself there, literally seemed to bite off the rest of his tirade before it could spill out, held up a hand, closed his eyes. “I’m sorry. It’s stress, and I’ve got no business taking it out on you. Are you all right?”
He was searching her face now, his expression remorseful and almost…tender. As if he thought she were so fragile an angry word or two from him could reduce her to tears. “Of course I’m all right. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“I don’t know.” He dragged his gaze away from hers. “Listen, if you have suggestions, advice, I’d be more than happy to hear it.”
“I don’t know a damn thing about being a parent.” She looked away, thinking of Dawny, the hole in her heart yawning wider. “But I know a little about teenagers. I taught in a public school for seven years.”
“I didn’t know that,” he said.
She frowned at him. “Funny, I had the feeling you did.”
“No. I don’t think Maude mentioned it. What did you teach?”
“English Eleven and Twelve, mostly. I offered to tutor Bryan in English Twelve, so he would only have History and Spanish to catch up on. He’ll be fine, if he does the work.”
Josh settled back into his chair, seeming to relax a little. “So you think I should let him take the semester off, so long as he sticks with the tutoring?”
“I think you should consider agreeing to that, yes.” She sipped her tea. “But don’t count on it lasting. Once he meets some of the local kids, makes a few friends and has time to get bored out of his mind, he’s going to decide to go back to school. If you let me tutor him until then, he won’t be behind when he does.”
He nodded slowly. “For someone who doesn’t know much about parenting, you’re pretty good.” She shrugged, and he went on. “Seriously, you’re light-years ahead of me. Okay. Let’s do it—the tutoring thing, I mean.”
“Okay.”
The screen door creaked open, and Bryan stepped out onto the porch with a toaster pastry in one hand and a glass of chocolate milk in the other. Both had to have been in the pickup, because neither would have been within a mile of Maude’s kitchen.
“Good morning, Bryan,” Maude called, sounding as cheerful as if she hadn’t noticed a thing out of the ordinary this morning, much less overheard his fight with his father. “Did you sleep well?”
He offered her a halfhearted smile, his dark hair falling over his forehead before he pushed it back. It was so much like the way Josh had pushed his hand through his hair earlier that Beth almost smiled.
Bryan avoided his father’s eyes. “Slept better than I do in the city, that’s for sure.”
“Well, now that you’re up, I’ll get your breakfast out of the oven.”
“Oh, that’s okay, I made my own.”
Maude looked at his pastry and rolled her eyes. “That is not a breakfast. It’s a future health crisis. Now, I’ve had a real meal staying warm in the oven for you for the past hour.” She glanced at Beth. “Join us, dear?”
“No way, Maude. I eat one of your meals, I’ll be crawling home instead of running.”
“Oh…you’re going home?” Bryan asked. He sounded a little…off.
“That’s the plan, Bry.”
He shot his father a look, and Beth got the feeling their earlier argument was suddenly the furthest thing from the young man’s mind. “Well, why don’t you stay? You can, uh, talk to my dad about that tutoring thing.”
Something had certainly snapped Bryan out of his petulant state. “I already did that,” she said. “Was kind of surprised you hadn’t done it yourself by now.”
He nodded, all but admitting he probably should have clued his old man in.
“I gotta go. See you at noon, Bryan?” She reached for her tea to finish the cup.
“Uh, yeah, about that…” Bryan began. He sent his father another quick look, as if uncertain whether to speak.
“What is it, Bry?” Josh asked.
“It’s probably nothing. I mean, one summer in the city and all of the sudden, I’m paranoid, you know?” He offered a half smile and shrugged. “Can’t help it, though.”
Beth frowned at him. “Paranoid about what?”
“It’s just…there’s been a car parked up the road a little ways for a while now. I can just see it from my bedroom window.”
Beth’s hand jerked, and the still-hot tea sloshed onto her bare legs. She sucked air through her teeth and wiped it away with her hand.
Maude handed her a napkin. “Oh, it’s probably someone bird-watching or checking on the progress of the foliage,” she said. “We have a lot of nature lovers living in these parts, and this time of year every leaf-peeper in the country seems to show up. Was it a red Blazer, Bryan? That would be my nearest neighbor Frankie Parker. Loves to watch the birds, that one.”
“No, it’s a brown sedan. Chrysler, I think.”
“Brown Chrysler,” Maude repeated to herself. “Maybe I should give Frankie a call.”
When they all looked at her oddly, Beth clarified for them. “Frankie’s the police chief.”
“Oh.” Bryan nodded. “Right next door, that’s handy.”
“Well, right next door is a half mile, but still…” Maude said.
Beth dabbed the tea from her thighs and tried not to notice Josh’s scrutiny, until he forced it. “Call me a paranoid city slicker, if you want, but, um…why don’t you let me take you home, Beth? Just to be on the safe side.”
She looked up at him, crushed the damp napkin in her hand and shook her head. “I may not look like much, Joshua, but trust me, I can handle myself.” She glanced at Bryan. “Oh, and I almost forgot.” She dug into her shorts pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper. “You’ll need these books for our session today. You can pick them up at Books Ink, in town.”
“Cool. I can pick them up right now and drop you off on my way,” Bryan said.
What was with these two? You’d think she was made of glass, the way they were acting. “And miss out on the great breakfast your grandmother made you?” Beth asked. “No, I don’t think so. Besides, I live in the opposite direction. And I run for a reason. I’m not messing up my daily routine by taking the lazy way home.”
Bryan looked at his father. Joshua sighed and glanced at Maude.
Maude frowned. Then she lifted her chin. “Joshua, go change your clothes. She won’t let you drive her, so you can run with her. And, Beth, don’t even begin to argue with me. I’ll worry myself sick if you go off alone.”
“Since when is there anything in Blackberry scary enough to worry you, Maude Bickham?”
“Since you got so scared you spilled tea on yourself at the mention of a strange car, young lady. Now, my word is law, and I have spoken. Finish your tea while Josh changes his clothes.”
“Fine. Fine, he can run with me.” She looked at Josh as he rushed into the house and added, “If he can keep up!”

Beth was running faster than her normal pace in honor of his presence; Josh was sure of it. He broke a sweat ten minutes in, but he wasn’t complaining. It felt good to run. It had been too long. He watched the lengthening and flexing of her calf muscles and her thighs with every stride, and he thought it was too damn cold to wear shorts, and yet he was irrationally glad she had. She was probably as strong as she claimed she was. She certainly ran like she meant it. Not that it would matter much if some maniac came after her.
She wasn’t happy about Maude’s insistence that he come along. Her jaw was tight, her eyes serious. She hadn’t spoken a word or cracked a smile since they left. God, it was difficult for him to believe this was the same pale, weak, comatose girl he’d visited in the hospital so long ago. She wasn’t pale. Her skin was sun-kissed, and her cheeks pink right now with exertion. Steady, powerful breaths rushed in and out of her lungs, not the steady mechanical rasp of a respirator. Heat rose from her body in spite of the autumn chill.
When she slowed to a walk for the final quarter mile and he caught his breath again, he wanted to talk to her, ask her what her life had been like since coming out of that coma eighteen years ago. He wanted to hear every detail, in her own words, rather than the dry accounts in the typed pages Arthur had sent him. He’d been up most of the night reading those. They’d given him nightmares.
But he couldn’t very well ask about her past, and even if he did, she wouldn’t tell him. So he made conversation about the one topic he thought would interest her in talking to him: Bryan.
“I think Bryan must like you already,” he said.
“He doesn’t even know me. But yeah, the way he reacted to seeing a strange car—I suppose after losing his mom, it makes sense he might feel a little protective of me. I’m probably around her age. Maybe I remind him of her in some way.”
It made perfect sense, except that she was nothing like his ex-wife, Josh thought. Kathy had been confident, demanding, had known exactly what she wanted and would settle for nothing less. Beth was…nervous. Skittish. Strong, but he got the feeling she was never quite sure which path she would choose at the crossroads of Fight and Flight. “He likes you better than he seems to like me, at the moment,” he said. “That’s worth something.”
“He thinks you don’t care about his mother’s death.”
“He acts as if I caused it.”
“Did you?”
He looked at her sharply.
“I mean, in his mind? Is there any way he might blame you?”
“I don’t see how. It was a weekend getaway with her second husband. The plane went down in the mountains.” He shook his head. “Bryan would have been with them, but he got sick at the last minute. Some stomach bug.”
“Oh. Well, no wonder.”
He lifted his brows.
“He feels guilty,” she explained. “Wishes he had been with them, wonders why they had to die when he was spared. Survivor’s guilt. Surely you’ve heard of it.”
“You don’t know the half.” She looked at him, a question in her eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “I’ve heard of it.”
“So that’s part of it, then. I mean, it might be.” She shrugged. “Maybe I can get him talking.”
He looked up as a car passed. A brown sedan. The windows were tinted, so he couldn’t see inside. Only one person, though, he thought. The driver. The license plates were too coated in dirt to read.
“I suppose you’ve tried that already, though.”
He glanced her way again. “Tried what?”
“To get him to talk to you. About his feelings.”
“I’ve asked him to talk to me. It hasn’t worked.”
She licked her lips, then pressed them tight.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“No, you were going to say something just now.”
“I’m butting in, and that’s not my way. It’s none of my business.”
“If I’m asking, you aren’t butting in.” He waited. Then, “Please, Beth. I need all the help I can get here.”
She sighed. “I don’t know Bryan very well, so this could be way off base. But what I’ve found in other kids his age is that the best way to get them to open up to you is to open up to them first. Maybe he needs to see your feelings before he’ll feel safe showing you his own. It’s hard to admit to weakness and confusion to a man you see as always strong, in control, perfect.”
“You were right in the first place. You don’t know Bryan very well. He doesn’t think I’m anything close to perfect.”
“You’re his dad. You might be surprised. Even my…”
He studied her face. “Even your what?”
She shrugged and stopped walking. “This is my place.”
Her place was a little square cottage with siding designed to make it look like a log cabin, though it wasn’t. “Thanks for seeing me home, even though it was far from necessary.”
He looked beyond her, seeing no sign of the car that had driven past them. Not at the moment, anyway. But her house was in the middle of a stretch of empty road. A thorny hedgerow marked the boundaries of the open field behind it. A stream meandered through. The water caught the morning sun and changed it into diamonds. Across the street there was a woodlot bordered by scrub brush. Cover. Not another house in sight in either direction.
“I don’t suppose I could hit you up for a glass of water before I head back? I’m not as used to running as you are. Out of shape.”
“Liar.” She led the way to her front door.
He followed her inside, even though she hadn’t really invited him, and took everything in. The front door led into a small living room, where a settee and overstuffed chair sat on a brown area rug in front of a television set. A large punching bag dangled from a hook in the ceiling, near one corner.
“I’ll get your water.” She walked through, into what he presumed was the kitchen. He heard ice rattling into a glass, took a few steps farther inside and peeked into the only other room he saw—her bedroom. There were a twin bed with rumpled covers and a weight bench with a bar balanced in its holder. He thought it had fifty pounds on each end.
“Snoop much?”
He spun around fast, almost bumping into her. “Sorry.”
“So what are you looking for?” She shoved the icy, dewy glass into his hand.
He took a long pull, mostly to give himself time to come up with a convincing answer. Then he lowered the glass, licked his lips. “Just looking. You spend a lot of time with my grandmother, after all.”
“Oh. And you think I might be some sort of a con-artist, out to fleece her? Maybe offer to reshingle her roof and then vanish with her money, something like that?”
“I didn’t say that. I’m just…curious about a woman who lives in a small town like this for a whole year and only makes one friend. One elderly, vulnerable friend.”
“Maude Bickham is far from vulnerable. And who said she was my only friend?”
“She did.”
She lowered her head. “You done with that water or what?”
“No.” He took another drink, a slow one. He could see it was pissing her off. She wanted him out of there—now. When he swallowed, he nodded toward the punching bag. “So you box?”
“You want a demonstration?”
He blinked in surprise.
“Look, I know what you’re doing. I saw that brown car go by. It was nothing, okay? I’m fine. Perfectly safe all by myself. Have been for over a year now. No bogeymen have come calling. And if you knew your grandmother at all you’d know what she was up to with all this make-believe worry about me walking the streets alone.”
“She’s up to something?”
“Of course she’s up to something. You’re single, I’m single. She’s probably hoping you won’t even come back home tonight.”
“Oh,” he said. Then he lifted his brows. “Oh. Well, there’s no danger of that happening.”
She blinked, clearly not sure whether she’d just been insulted.
He let it hang there for a moment, then added, “Your bed is way too small for both of us.”
She snatched the water glass from his hand, turned and marched to the front door. “Very funny. Tell your son I’ll see him at noon.”
“I will,” he said following her. “And, Beth?”
She stood there, holding the door open, his glass in one hand. He was glad he’d drained it, or he thought he might be wearing it.
“What?”
“Thanks. For offering to tutor Bryan, and for the advice. I mean it.”
Her bristles softened almost visibly. “Like I said, Josh, I’m no expert.”
“That’s ten times the expert I am.”
Smiling just slightly, she nodded, and he thought he was forgiven for intruding and even for snooping. She didn’t like people looking out for her. He’d been warned about that, he thought, studying her eyes, how green they were, and the stubborn set of her jaw. Arthur had sent federal agents to protect her, but she always spotted them and sent them packing. That was why, he’d said, he wanted someone else, a civilian, and Josh had been the logical choice. Josh and his former partner had a very successful private security firm; they’d gone into business together after leaving the ATF. After the raid. After he’d shot Beth.
A wave of nausea rose and receded with the thought as he stared at her, the curve of her neck, the little pulse he could see beating there after their run. Alive. God, it was a miracle.
In truth, he thought, Arthur Stanton must have had a whole other set of reasons for sending Josh, of all people, on this mission—reasons Josh still wasn’t certain he understood.
“Do I pass inspection?”
He shook free of his thoughts and realized he’d been staring at her. Her cheeks were a little pinker than they had been just from the run. Embarrassed? Flattered, maybe?
“Sorry. You’re…you’re a beautiful woman, Beth. I got distracted there for a minute.” And he still was. Did she look this good to him because she really was as beautiful as she seemed? Or did she only look that way to him because he was so God damn glad to see her alive?
“Thanks,” she said. “I think. Goodbye, Josh.”
It was his cue to leave. Sighing, he stepped outside, and Beth closed the door.
He didn’t leave right away, though. He walked down the road a short distance, then stopped and looked back. He wasn’t used to cases where the client didn’t want to be protected, much less those where she wasn’t even supposed to be aware of her bodyguard’s presence.
Much less those where you don’t particularly want to leave the client’s side, his inner voice scolded.
He ignored it. He liked being able to have someone watching his clients 24/7. And though it was doubtful, there was always a chance that brown car might come back. Its driver could just be waiting for him to leave.
So he would spend a few minutes doing surveillance, just in case.
The brown car didn’t return. But Beth did step out onto the porch. She looked around carefully, up and down the road. And he thought maybe she was looking for the brown car, too, but he couldn’t be sure.
He could be sure, though, of the item she held in her hands. He figured any man who’d worked in law enforcement could spot a gun from three hundred yards away, just by the way a person held it, the shape of the thing, its weight. Identifying firearms in the hands of suspects was something he’d had drilled into him during his training. You didn’t want your agents shooting people for pulling out wallets or cell phones, after all.
He hadn’t lost the skill.
Beth had a gun in her hands. A large caliber semiautomatic handgun. Black, not silver. From here it looked like a .45; a damn big gun, and the scope on the top made it look even bigger. You didn’t see scopes on handguns very often. Avid hunters seldom had them, because avid hunters had much better luck with shotguns. Militarily trained snipers rarely used them, because rifles were so much more accurate. Professional killers used them, because, though huge, they were easier to conceal than a shotgun or rifle would be.
Beth Slocum meant business. She could probably take down a small elephant with that thing.
She held the gun two-fisted, in front of her body, muzzle to the ground, arms extended. She handled the weapon as if she knew how to use it.
She was nervous, he thought. But she was ready, too. Or thought she was.
Whether that readiness would make her safer or put her at greater risk remained to be seen.

Beth looked up and down the street, waiting, watching, listening. She didn’t see anyone. Probably, she told herself, the brown car had been nothing more than a sightseer or nature lover. Probably her blood pressure was going through the roof over nothing.
After several minutes she went back inside, hit the release and let the fully loaded clip drop from the hollow butt into her waiting palm. Then she locked the gun in its assigned drawer, next to the tiny derringer. The key was on a chain around her ankle. She returned the clip to the top of a bookshelf, where she could grab it fast but no one else would ever notice it.
Her telephone was ringing. She snatched it up and whispered hello, half-afraid the man she’d been thinking about—Mordecai, not Joshua—would somehow start whispering to her from the other end.
“Hey, Beth. It’s Julie.”
“And Dawn!” Dawn called from somewhere in the background. Not on an extension, though.
Beth closed her eyes against the rush of sheer pleasure hearing her daughter’s voice brought welling up inside her. God, it was heaven to hear her voice. Warm, sweet heaven. The night of that horrible raid, Dawn had been only a baby. Beth had been shot, certain she was dying, when she’d given her daughter to her best friend, begged her to take Dawn out of that place. And Jewel—Julie now—had done it. She’d raised Dawn as her own, believing, as the rest of the world had, that Beth had died in the raid. By the time Beth found them again, Dawn had been happy, thriving, and calling Julie “Mom.”
And yet…. “Are we private?”
“Yeah. Pay phone, outside a convenience store. Nowhere near us. It’s clean, don’t worry. I’ll put Dawny on after we talk.” Her next words were muffled. “Dawny, go grab us a couple of Diet Vanilla Cokes, will you?”
“Sure, Mom. Be right back. Don’t you dare hang up.”
Beth sighed, ignoring the blade she felt twisting in her heart every time she heard her daughter call her best friend “Mom.” She swallowed the pain, kept it hidden from her voice. “It’s not like it matters. Sooner or later, he’s going to find me.”
“Not necessarily,” Julie told her, just as she always did. “Beth, you have a new name, new town—”
“It won’t matter. His gift is genuine, Jewel. Even if his mind is broken, his gift is for real. He’ll track me down.”
“You have some reason to feel like he’s getting close? You sound…shaky.”
Beth swallowed. “I don’t know. It’s probably nothing. I’m probably overreacting.”
“I have never known you to overreact. Maybe it’s time you accept some of the help the government is always offering—the bodyguards, I mean.”
Beth shook her head. “I don’t trust anyone who works for the government. Hell, it was a government man who shot me.” Her and thirty other teenagers, she thought silently, in a riot that should have been avoided. She’d lost everything because of it. Her soul, for a time, as she lingered in a coma. Her memory for years afterward. Her daughter, the only one she would ever have. Her identity, her entire life. Gone, all of it, because of one gung ho soldier with an itchy trigger finger and a lousy aim. “I don’t want another one like him protecting me.”
“Then maybe you should get out of there.”
She pursed her lips. “No, Jewel. Like I said, it’s probably nothing. I’m just paranoid. Besides, I’m sick of running and hiding.”
“Yeah, and when did you decide that?”
“I don’t know. It’s been a long time coming.” She licked her lips. “When he comes, I’ll be ready. Maybe I should just face him. Only one of us would walk away, but at least the running would be over.”
“You’re scaring me, Beth.”
Beth swallowed hard. “I’m being melodramatic. I’m lonesome. I miss you guys. I miss Dawny.”
“I know. She misses you, too. She’s been begging me to let her come up there for a visit.”
Beth closed her eyes. It was strictly against the government’s rules for her to see her daughter. Then again, according to Arthur Stanton, she wasn’t supposed to communicate with Dawn by phone or e-mail, either. It hadn’t stopped her from doing so. Still…
“It may not be the best time to risk it, Jewel. Try to put her off until I can be sure it’s safe.” She didn’t think Mordecai would harm Dawn, and he probably wouldn’t try to abduct her again now that he’d surrendered his parental rights to her. But given his state of mind, there was no point putting her within his reach.
“Will do. Listen, Beth, I got wind of something at the newsroom. I don’t know if it means anything. In fact it probably doesn’t, but…David Quentin Gray—Mordecai’s ex-lawyer—escaped from Attica last week. They found him dead, shot once in the head, the next day.”
Beth got a chill that didn’t make a hell of a lot of sense. “Who shot him?”
“They don’t know.”
Beth sighed. “It’s probably nothing,” she said. “He didn’t know anything about me. I mean, how could he?”
“No. It’s nothing. I’m sure of it. I just thought you should know.”
“Thanks, Julie.”
“Here’s your drink,” Dawn said. “Can I talk now?”
“Just a sec, hon. Beth, if you need us, let us know. Sean and I can be there in no time. We love you, you know. And we owe you a hell of a lot.”
“I’m the one who owes you, Jewel. Now put the brat on the phone before she has a fit.”
She heard the telephone move, then Dawn’s voice came on the line, and Beth let it wash over her like rain over a dying flower. Dawn talked about her senior year of high school, her teachers, her classes, her plans for graduation and where she might go to college. She was driving now. Her Jeep had gotten a dent from a kid in the school parking lot, and she was mortified about it, and so on and on and on.
Beth listened, commenting in all the right places, and she somehow managed to keep the tears that were sliding down her cheeks from being evident in her voice.

Chapter Four
It was Lizzie. This was her!
Mordecai’s heart had pounded, and he’d barely been able to catch his breath as he watched her running along the winding country lane. Running. Hands clenched into fists pumping at her sides. As if she were fighting.
And then she slowed and walked right up to the front porch of the very house he’d been watching: the fading, former Blackberry Inn. All night, he’d been parked in his car, keeping the boy under surveillance, just as the guides had told him to do. It had made no sense. He’d been frustrated, thinking it stupid and senseless to sit there, cold and uncomfortable, overnight. He knew where the boy lived now, so what was the point? Even if he was to be Mordecai’s heir…
Now he understood. This was the point. The boy was a beacon, pointing the way to Lizzie. Already he was connected to Mordecai, already aiding him in his work. He had led Mordecai to Lizzie. Obviously he was the one. The boy, Bryan, was the one he’d been waiting for. He should have trusted, had more faith. The guides always had a reason for everything they told him to do.
Mordecai took out his binoculars and watched every move Lizzie made. He watched her sit on the porch, sipping tea with an old woman, watched the looks, the smiles, they exchanged.
They were close. The old woman was important to her.
Then the man came out to join them, and Mordecai’s body went stiff and his nerve endings prickled. The man had to be Bryan’s father—the resemblance between the two had told him that much. But what was he doing with Lizzie?
A short while later, she was running again. But this time the man ran with her. The bastard had no business there, Mordecai thought. Lizzie was his. Always had been, always would be. Dead or alive, she belonged to Mordecai.
He let them get a good distance away before starting his car and driving a little closer. He was careful not to get too close, and he never let them spot him.
God, how different she seemed…felt. The energy he sensed surrounding her was not the same as it had been before.
She’d changed.
She thinks she’s escaped you, Mordecai. Thinks she’s above you now.
Look at her, running. Trying to grow strong. She’ll fight you this time.
“She fought me last time,” he muttered. “Isn’t shooting me in the chest fighting me?” His chest ached a little at the memory, even though the Kevlar vest had ensured he only suffered a pair of broken ribs from the bullet she had fired at his heart…even as she kissed his lips.
She was weak, back then. And she still loved you, in some desperate, dependent way. She wept when she thought she had killed you.
But she’s not weak anymore. She won’t shed a tear for you now.
Mordecai decided to ignore the voices for a while, just the way he was ignoring the presence of the man, the interloper, and simply bask in Lizzie’s presence. In being able to see her, watch her. In being this close to her. God, how he’d loved her once. Still. As he should.
Jesus had loved Judas, even after his kiss of betrayal.
Mordecai followed her to where she lived, in a cottage just at the edge of Blackberry. He knew it when they slowed to a walk, entered the house. He even saw her opening the door with her set of keys.
They’ve seen the car, Mordecai.
“Yes. I know.”
You know now. You know where to find her. You can come back.
Nodding slowly, Mordecai drove past the two this time. He had to return to his rented home away from home, because there were things that needed doing. He’d begun the preparations, but he had to finish them. So he went to his temporary home. He took time to shower, to change clothes, to get a bite to eat, take his messages off the machine. The school had called. He phoned back and agreed to come in on Monday. Then he rechecked the cord he had run throughout every room of the house, along the baseboards, and the batteries in his remote control. Finally he drove out of town and got himself a different car.
A few hours later he was back at Lizzie’s house, in a dark blue, late model sedan almost as unremarkable as the first car had been. He’d transferred all his supplies into this one. The trunk was filled with various controlled substances, some of them too powerful even to be carried by the average pharmacy—like the vial of salmonella, a bit of which he’d used on poor Nancy Stillwater’s picnic lunch. Cruel, but effective. It wouldn’t kill her, though she would be terribly sick for a week, maybe longer. That was all he needed.
Mordecai didn’t kill unless Spirit dictated it. He wasn’t a murderer. He was a tool of God. Besides, Nancy wasn’t an evil woman. She’d even phoned him to see if he, too, had become sick. When he said he hadn’t, she ruled out her picnic lunch as the source of the food poisoning and wondered aloud where she could have picked it up.
He parked the car in a pull-off, where autumn foliage concealed it from view. Then he walked back to Lizzie’s house and took up a position on a tree stump just inside the edge of the woods across the street. This time he had a video camera, a digital camera and a pair of high-powered binoculars.
He never let her out of his sight for the rest of the day.
A woman delivered groceries around eleven. Beth ate an early lunch, alone at a small table in her kitchen. Yogurt and a banana. After lunch, a teenage boy showed up, and Mordecai recognized him even before he raised the binoculars for a closer look. It was young Bryan.
He and Lizzie worked over textbooks in the living room.
I have a private tutor. The boy’s voice repeated the words in Mordecai’s memory. He closed his eyes, thanked his guides for putting the boy into his path, apologizing again for doubting them earlier. The boy was more than just an honest young man and heir to Mordecai’s gift. And more than a signpost, pointing the way to Lizzie. He was connected to her in some way. Connected to him, too. He marveled anew at the intricate web of the universe and the complex machinations of almighty God. The brilliance of linking Mordecai to Lizzie through this new child. The son.
“No wonder I couldn’t find her right away,” he whispered. “She barely goes out. She’s entirely self-contained. Except for that run in the morning.”
When Bryan left, Lizzie worked out with a punching bag that hung from the ceiling in a corner of her living room, shocking him with the power and fury of her blows. Then she showered. Later she made herself a solitary dinner and went to bed. Alone.
Always alone, Mordecai. She’s changed. Like a lone wolf now, she thinks she’s independent, thinks she’s strong.
And you know why, don’t you, Mordecai? She’s waiting. She knows you’ll come for her, and she thinks she’s preparing. Thinks she’s going to be ready.
Thinks she can defeat you.
Defeat God.
Mordecai lowered his binoculars and closed his eyes. “Oh, Lizzie, Lizzie. Don’t you know you’ve only made matters worse by adding the sin of pride to the list of things for which you must be punished?”
He drew a breath. He didn’t want her proud and independent and strong. Before he revealed himself, Mordecai wanted Lizzie reduced to the needy child she had been once; the lost, confused runaway who saw him as a savior.
She has to die, Mordecai. It’s her fate. You need to correct a terrible flaw in history. She’s supposed to be dead.
He tightened his jaw. “She has to be taught. She has to be stripped of every ounce of pride and rebelliousness, and returned to a state of purity and humility. She’ll come to me on her knees then. She’ll beg me to take her back.”
Are you questioning us yet again? Haven’t you learned better? She has to die!
“Stop!” Mordecai pressed his hands to his ears, awaiting the pain that inevitably came when he questioned his guides.
The voices went silent, and the pain didn’t come. Not this time. But he was worried. If Spirit insisted, he would have no choice but to obey. Oh, if only there could be another way. Maybe, if Lizzie suffered enough, Spirit would be satisfied that she had found redemption. Maybe, if he could bring her down low enough, she could still be saved.
Impossible.
“I have to try.” He licked his dry lips and wondered why he hadn’t thought to bring along some food or water. But he knew why. The voices hadn’t told him to get those things. Maybe it was fitting that he fast while he watched Lizzie. Maybe there was a reason for it.
Lifting the binoculars again, he resumed watching her. He could see her clearly through the sheer curtains, from her blond hair spread on the pillows to the outline of her body beneath the sheets of her small bed.
She slept with the light on.
He knew now where Beth went when she went running in the morning. To that house, where the boy was living, with an old woman and a handsome man. The man who had accompanied Lizzie back to her house.
A dark flame burned in his belly. He didn’t like the man.
It’s the old woman she’s closest to, Mordecai. It was obvious from their interactions this morning.
Again he nodded. He was making progress, he thought. He was identifying the underpinnings that supported her in her fraudulent new life. She had students. She had friends. A home and a job. All of those would have to go. One by one, they would have to go.
“Whatever happens, from here on, Lizzie, it’s your own fault. And everything I do is for your own good.”
You’ve watched her enough for now, Mordecai. Tonight you’ve got other work to do.

Bryan sank down onto the sofa, took up the remote control and began flipping channels on the television. Josh came in from the kitchen, a coffee mug in one hand.
“I’m glad you came down,” Josh said. “I was going to come up.”
“To lecture me about school again?”
“No. Just to talk.”
Bryan shot him a skeptical look. Then he dropped the remote and leaned back. “Why not? There’s nothing better to do.”
“Beth predicted you’d get bored out here in short order.”
Bryan nodded. “I’ve listened to every music file I’ve ever downloaded, ten times each.”
“What would make it better?” Joshua asked.
His son looked surprised. “An Internet connection would help. My laptop’s set up for cable, but Maude says there’s no cable here.”
“Done. I’ll get on it tomorrow.”
“Really?”
Josh flinched inwardly. Had he been so self-absorbed that his son was surprised he would want to do something nice for him? “Sure. I’ll find out what the local dial-up service is and get you signed up. I’ll have to clear it with Maude first—it’s her phone.”
“I should have wireless.”
“We’re not going to be here that long, Bry. Dial-up will do.”
Bryan nodded. “Where is Maude, anyway? Gone to bed?”
“Out at the movies with her next-door neighbor.”
“Frankie the cop?”
“Frankie Parker.” Josh smiled. “I know, a police chief named Frankie doesn’t inspire much confidence.”
Bryan looked at him more closely. “You’re…different today.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know. Less tense. More laid-back.”
Josh nodded. “It’s a laid-back kind of a town. Hell, I don’t know, Bryan, maybe I’ve needed to take some time off for a while now. Or maybe it’s…that I’ve been sitting behind a desk too long. You know, when Kevin and I first started our own private security business, we did all the work ourselves.”
“Bodyguards-R-Us,” Bryan quipped.
“Yeah. Now, I don’t know. We’ve got three offices, dozens of men working for us, high-profile clients, and it’s all about paperwork.”
“It’s not fun anymore,” Bryan said.
Josh looked him in the eye. “You know what? You’re right. You nailed it. It’s not fun anymore.”
Bryan nodded. “So quit.”
“It’s not that simple, Bryan.”
“Sure it is. You don’t like what you’re doing, so stop doing it.”
Josh sighed, sensed himself getting impatient with Bryan, and Bryan getting impatient with him, and decided to change the subject. “How’d the tutoring go?”
“Fine.” Bryan reached to the coffee table for a magazine and began flipping pages. It was a copy of Vermont Dairy Monthly—a field full of fat cows on the cover.
“Any sign of that brown car lurking around?” Joshua asked.
“Nope, not that I saw.”
Josh sat down on the sofa beside his son. “Meant to tell you, that was a good call this morning. Spotting the strange car, telling me about it.”
Bryan shrugged, but at least he looked up from the magazine he wasn’t really reading. “I wasn’t sure whether to say something in front of Beth or not. It made her nervous, didn’t it?”
“Seemed to.”
“Guess she has reason to be.”
Josh nodded. “Yeah. I wanted to talk to you about that.”
“About what?”
“About me. About…Beth Slocum. And why I reacted the way I did when I first saw her.”
Bryan lifted his brows. They disappeared beneath the shock of brown hair that slanted across his forehead. “I thought that was none of my business.”
“You said that, Bry. I didn’t. I just…had to make sure she was who I thought she was before I said anything.”
“And now you’re sure?”
“Yeah.” Josh took a breath, telling himself that Beth’s advice had sounded great at the time. Carrying it out was another matter. “This goes back a ways, so bear with me. Before you were born, I worked for the ATF. It was one of the things that came between your mother and me. She hated it.”
“I know all about that.”
Josh blinked. “You do?”
“Yeah. Mom told me.” Bryan set his magazine back on the coffee table.
Josh nodded. “Okay. But she probably didn’t tell you why I was fired from that job. There was a cult leader, keeping underage kids, mostly girls, on a fenced compound, with armed guards and dogs. He was dealing drugs and stockpiling weapons, and no one was sure the girls who were there were free to leave.”
“The Young Believers,” Bryan said.
Josh lost his entire train of thought. “You know about them, too?”
“Sure I know. Mom told me about the raid that went bad. She told me about the girl you accidentally shot, how you lost your job over it. And she told me never to bring it up with you. She said it was the worst time of your life and probably the main reason you two broke up. She said the guilt ruined you.”
Josh just sat there for a moment, absorbing his son’s words. “I had no idea she’d told you all that.”
Bryan tipped his head to one side. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear your version of it. Besides, what does all that have to do with Beth Slocum?”
“Everything,” Joshua said softly. He looked his son in the eyes. “It turns out she’s the girl I shot.”
Bryan bobbed his head forward, eyes widening. “But I thought the girl you shot was dead.”
“So did everyone else. Nearly everyone, I mean. For all these years, I believed it. When I went to see her in the hospital after the raid, she was in a coma. They told me she wouldn’t live, and the way she looked, I had no trouble believing it. She was…hell, she was your age.”
“And they let you think you’d killed her? I can’t believe no one ever told you. You recognized her when we first saw her, didn’t you?”
“I did. It had been a while—she was eighteen years younger and at death’s door when I last saw her, after all. But yeah, it’s not like that face hasn’t haunted me ever since. I just couldn’t believe it could really be her.”
Bryan nodded slowly, his eyes holding his father’s, almost probing them. “That’s what’s different, then.”
Josh looked at him, unsure what his son meant.
“The guilt you’ve been carrying around, Dad. Jeez, finding out you didn’t kill her after all must have been like having a lead weight taken off your shoulders.”
He nodded slowly. “You know, that’s probably it.” Then he frowned. “You ought to look into a future as a shrink, you know that?”
“Doesn’t take a shrink to nail that one.” He paused, studying his father’s face so closely that Josh wondered what his son saw there. Then he said, “Tell me the rest, Dad.”
He really wanted to know, Josh realized. He organized his thoughts and continued his story. “The cult leader, Mordecai Young, didn’t die in the raid, either, though for a long while everyone believed he had.”
“So that’s who they think might come after Beth?”
Josh nodded. “A year ago they crossed paths. She was a teacher—he’d kidnapped one of her students. She bluffed her way into the house were Mordecai was holding the girl, and then she tried to kill him.”
“No way.”
Josh nodded. “Shot him point-blank, right in the chest. But he’d vested up ahead of time. The Feds figured the most she’d done was piss him off, and that if he could ever find her, he’d return the favor. So she was relocated.”
“You think it might have been him—Mordecai Young—in that brown car earlier?”
“I don’t know. We should probably err on the side of caution, though.” He closed his eyes. “I don’t like her being in that cottage alone. It makes protecting her nearly impossible.”
Bryan opened his mouth, then closed it again and leaned back on the couch, looking stunned by all his father had revealed.
“What?” Josh asked.
“Nothing. Hell, I’m blown away by this. I can imagine how you must feel, but—no. Nothing.”
“Bry, come on. I wouldn’t have told you all this if I didn’t trust you. So if there’s something you want to say, spit it out.”
Bryan shrugged. “Just…I don’t know. Lying to her to protect her was one thing. Not telling her you’re the guy who shot her…It’s way worse. It feels wrong.”
“I know. But…she’d send us packing if she knew. And that would leave her unprotected.”
“I guess. But shouldn’t that be up to her? I mean, it’s her life, Dad.”
Josh sighed. “I know. And you’re right. I hate this, Bry. But Jesus, if I make the wrong move and she ends up dead…”
“You figure this is your chance to make up for the past.”
“It’s more than that. This isn’t about me. It’s about protecting Beth.”
“I don’t blame you, Dad. I mean, I disagree with you, but I don’t blame you. I guess I might do the same thing.”
No anger, no accusations. Josh couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t told his son the worst of what he’d learned by reading Beth’s dossier, though. That she’d had a child, a daughter who’d been adopted while she’d lingered in a coma, fighting for her life. And raised by someone else while she’d been putting that life back together again.
A daughter. A little girl she had lost because of him. And if there was one tragedy Joshua understood, it was the loss of a child.
Bryan didn’t need to know all that. That was Beth’s private hell—and his own.
“I just wish I could come up with an excuse to get into Beth’s house long enough to check the place out, make sure her locks are secure, things like that.”
The screen door creaked open, and Maude walked in, accompanied by another woman, one who wore baggy jeans and a sweatshirt with a one-horned moose on the front. Printed beneath the moose were the words, Is That Your Final Antler?
Bryan grinned at the sweatshirt as he got up, to relieve the women of the shopping bags they carried. “A movie and shopping in one night?” Bryan asked.
“It was a long movie. We got hungry,” the newcomer said. She had short copper-red hair, in tight kinky curls, and was younger than Maude. Late fifties, Joshua guessed.
“Boys, this is my good friend, Frankie Parker.”
Joshua was on his feet, as well. “Police Chief Frankie Parker?”
“The one and only,” she said, extending a hand.
“Frankie, this is my grandson Joshua and his boy Bryan.”
Frankie was smiling, but her smile died. “Don’t play with me, Maude. You don’t have any grandson.”
“As far as you or anyone else in this town is concerned, Frankie, I most certainly do.”
Frankie frowned at her.
“Trust me. It’s important. And it’s between us, Frankie. I knew you would hear about this and start snooping sooner or later. How much Josh does or does not want to tell you is up to him. All you need to know is that he’s here for a good reason. And that I trust him.”
“I don’t like this, Maude.”
“You don’t have to, Frankie.”
Frankie moved her gaze to Josh’s. “Good to meet you.”
“Same here,” Josh said, but he wasn’t happy about the situation. Clearly this woman knew more than she should.
“If you’re up to no good, I’ll find out.”
“I’ve got no doubt about that. But I’m not.”
Bryan looked worried, and when the old woman’s eyes fell on him, he said, “I’ll, uh, put these away for you.” He carried the groceries into the kitchen.
“Leave the dry goods right in the bags, Bryan,” Maude called. Then she turned to Frankie. “Thanks for helping me in with the bags, hon.”
“Anytime, Maudie. You…give me a call if you need anything.” She sent a lingering look at Josh, and he had no doubt she would be on the horn tomorrow, checking him out with every contact she had.
“Like I’m gonna need anything with these two strapping men around the house,” Maude said. She walked her friend to the door, waved as the other woman left, then turned to face Josh. “Don’t look like that,” she said. “What else could I say? She’s known me for thirty years. And unlike most folks in town, she knows I never had children.” She shrugged. “Besides, I trust her. She’s not going to blow your cover.”
“Are you sure?”
“Of course I’m sure. I’ve know her for thirty years, too. And you might want to think about confiding in Frankie—God knows she’s not going to let this go until one of us does. She’s good at her job, even though she’s far from your typical law enforcement type.”
“You can say that again.”
She smiled. “Now, did I hear you saying you needed a chance to snoop around Beth’s house?”
He lifted his brows. “Why, you have an idea?”
“Well, since my range is on the fritz, I thought we could all have dinner at Beth’s place tomorrow night.”
“I didn’t know there was anything wrong with your range.”
She smiled, adding wrinkles to her wrinkles. “There’s not.”
“You oughtta work for the government, Maude.”
“Isn’t that what I’m doing?”
“I guess you are.”
Maude knew nothing about his reasons for being there, other than what he had told her: that her good friend Beth had some enemies from her past who might be a threat to her, and that he needed her help to make sure Beth would be safe.
That was all he’d needed to tell her.
“I’ll clear it all with Beth when she stops by on her run tomorrow morning,” she said.
Josh got the feeling Beth wasn’t going to have much choice in the matter. She was hosting them for dinner tomorrow night. Because what Maude Bickham wanted, Maude Bickham got.

Chapter Five
Saturday (wee hours)
Beth was dreaming. She knew she was dreaming, and she wanted to wake up, but just like before, she was unable to.
Her dream self lay in a hospital bed. She could tell by the antiseptic smell, the steady beeping of her monitors and the tubes she could feel at her nostrils, gently blowing cool, ultra-dry oxygen, and the one in her throat that she kept thinking would choke her.
She was asleep in that hospital. She didn’t think she was dead, but it wasn’t a normal sleep. She couldn’t wake up. She didn’t know where she was, and when she tried to think about who she was, or what had happened to her, a yawning black hole opened up in her mind. She felt close to panic at that gaping hole in her mind. It felt as if she were teetering on its edge, as if she might fall in and be swallowed up by its darkness, so she chose not to look there anymore. Instead, she focused on the sensation of a warm, strong hand that surrounded one of hers.
And from that point her senses opened wider, to admit the soft, tormented voice that spoke to her.
I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry.
She wondered what he was so sorry about. Was he somehow responsible for whatever had happened to her? But he held her hand, and he sounded so kind….
I don’t even know your name. No one does.
Not even me, she thought.
But believe me, I’d switch places with you if I could. I’d rather it were me in that bed than you.
She liked the man who held her hand. She wished she could find a way to tell him that it was all right. That she was all right. And then she realized—she wasn’t. She couldn’t wake up. Maybe she never would.
I’d give anything in the world if you would just open your eyes. I want to see them. Their color—I want to see that more than anything. He squeezed her hand a little tighter. Come on. Open your eyes for me. Open them.
Then there was a woman’s voice. She told him he had to leave. And on the way out, she said, “It wasn’t your fault, we all know that. She was in the line of fire. Any one of the agents could have been the one whose bullet hit her.”
And then she went on. “There’s really no point in your coming back here, you know. She doesn’t know you’re here. And besides, she’s not going to last out the week.”
Then I’m not sure how the hell I’m supposed to.
God, his voice was so familiar. And so filled with regret!
A telephone rang, shrill and sharp. It cut through the dream, and Beth sat up, looked at her bedroom around her and sagged in relief when knowledge filled her mind. She knew who she was. She knew where she was. She was all right after all.
But that dream—it had been a long time since she’d had that particular dream. She’d all but forgotten about the man who had come to sit with her while she wasted away, a comatose Jane Doe in a hospital bed.
The phone rang again. She turned toward the nightstand, reached out for the telephone, the night-light making it easier. Then she brought it to her ear.
“Hello?” No one was there. “Hello? Who is this?”
When no one answered, a chill slid up her spine like an icy finger. The memory of Mordecai crossed her mind, and she reminded herself that she had always known he would find her sooner or later. Maybe tonight was the night.
Then she frowned, because she could hear voices. She pressed the volume button on the side of her phone, clicking it up as many notches as it would go. It sounded like…it sounded like Maude, speaking to someone else. It was muted, distant.
Beth flung back her covers and got out of bed, going into the living room, where the caller ID box was, and looking at the digital readout. Maude’s phone number showed on the screen. She listened, heard nothing more, then depressed the cutoff and dialed it back.
A harsh busy signal was her only reply.
“Hell.” Something was wrong over there. She didn’t know Joshua Kendall well at all—and the fact that he’d stirred some kind of insane attraction in her should probably be taken as a bad sign rather than a good one. The last man she’d been attracted to had turned out to be an insane mass murderer.
Beth shoved her feet into her running shoes, simply because they were near the door. She yanked a coat off one hook and her car keys off another as she went out the door and into the brisk chill of an autumn night in Vermont.

Joshua had been dreaming about hot, wet, frantic sex with Beth Slocum when something woke him up—and at the worst possible moment.
He groaned, wondering when the hell he’d started having dreams worthy of a seventeen-year-old, then rolled over and glanced at the clock. The time—5:06 a.m.—glowed at him in neon green. Then he heard footsteps and was on his feet and pulling his gun out of the holster on the bedpost before another thought had time to cross his mind.
He yanked a bathrobe—one Maude had laid out for him that was not his own—from the footboard and jerked it on, then headed barefoot into the hallway, the gun in his hand, his hand in the robe’s pocket.
At Maude’s room, he paused, because her door was opening. He stepped back a little. She poked her head out. “Is that you, Joshua?”
“Yeah, it’s me. Something woke me.”
“Me, too.” She swung her door wider and turned around, shaking her head. “I could have sworn I heard someone in the kitchen.”
“Why don’t you stay right here and let me go check?”
“My goodness. Yet another benefit to having a young man around the house, I guess. All right, I’ll force myself to let you wait on me. After all, ‘A woman who says she dislikes chivalry is both dishonest and a fool.’”
“That’s a good one. I’m gonna write that down.” He gave her shoulder a squeeze, then took hold of her door and told her to get back inside. She did, and he pulled it closed. Then he closed his hand around the grips of his .38, tiptoed to the stairway and down it.
There was someone in the kitchen. Even now, he heard movement. Soft, barely audible, but there.
He crept through the house, through the dining room and into the kitchen. Reaching inside, he flipped the light switch and raised the gun.
A large black cat sat on the counter, glaring at him with eyes that seemed more irritated than startled.
Sighing, he lowered the gun.
“Well, I’ll be…” Maude said from behind him.
He frowned, turning to face her. “I thought I told you to stay upstairs.”
“Oh, Joshua, don’t be silly. I’ve never obeyed a man’s orders yet, and I don’t intend to start now, chivalry or not.” She nodded at the cat. “That’s Frankie’s beast. Comes in here any time I leave a window open more than a quarter inch, looking for a snack. I swear he’s made of rubber. Aren’t you, Siegfried?”
“Siegfried?” He shook his head. “Don’t tell me—Frankie has another cat named Roy?”
“Dog. Bluetick. Dumb as a rock, but twice as friendly.” She moved to the fridge, pulled it open and reached in to straighten the row of tiny brown vials of insulin before grabbing a small carton of cream. As she poured some into a bowl for the cat—who weighed fifteen pounds if he weighed an ounce—headlights invaded the house from the front, and then footsteps raced across the porch and someone pounded on the door.
Maude paid no attention. She was looking at the cordless phone that lay on the counter beside the feasting cat, bringing it to her ear and frowning at it.
Joshua went to the door and, after a cursory look outside, opened it.
“What is going on?” Beth asked. “Where’s Maude?”
“Um…” His brain was not processing her questions, because she was standing there in an unbuttoned denim jacket with fake fur at the neck and sleeves, and a T-shirt. Aside from the sneakers on her feet and the goosebumps on her legs, he wasn’t sure she was wearing anything else, and that idea sort of lodged in his brain and wouldn’t let go. “Uh…”
She snapped her fingers in front of her chest, then raised them to point at her eyes. “Up here, Josh. Hello? You with me now?”
He nodded. His gaze faltered, started to slide lower again. She had great legs. Kind of funny to see them with sockless feet and running shoes at the bottom and a T-shirt hem at the top, but still…Must be all that running that made them so slender and firm and—
She hooked a finger under his chin and lifted his head. “Hey, caveman. Me Beth, you Josh. Where Maude?”
“Kitchen.”
“Ugh.” She rolled her eyes and walked past him into the house. He followed as if she’d slipped a leash around his neck, barely remembering to close and lock the front door before he did.
“Beth! Well, my goodness, what are you doing out here at this hour?”
“My phone rang. When I answered, no one was there, but the call came from here.”
Maude thinned her lips and sent the cat a glare. “Siegfried! Did you do that?”
“You think the cat called me?”
“I have you on speed dial, dear. Siggy had knocked the phone off the charger stand and more than likely stepped on a button or two while he was scavenging the kitchen for a free meal.”
Beth heaved a sigh and sank into a kitchen chair. “Well, that’s a relief. I thought something had happened.”
“You don’t need to worry about me, hon. Not with Joshua and Bryan here.”
Beth slid a glance Josh’s way, and he knew it had been his presence she’d been worried about. She didn’t trust him.
He turned to Maude. “The question remains, though. How did Siggy here get into the house? I thought it was locked up tight.”
“Oh, I probably left a window cracked. My bathroom, more than likely. I’m always leaving that one open. Or the basement, maybe.”
He nodded slowly. “I’ll check them. It’s probably a good idea to try to break that habit.”
“Hell, Josh, Maude’s got nothing to worry about. Everyone in town adores her, and it’s not like we get any random crime in Blackberry.”
“Well, you never know,” Maude said. “You feel free to check, Joshua, and I’ll do my best not to forget again.”
“Kiss-up,” Beth accused.
Maude sent her a wink. “I’m goin’ back to bed. You two put that cat outdoors when he finishes his cream. He’ll go right on back to Frankie’s. Always does.” With that, Maude left them in the kitchen and headed up to bed.
Beth sighed. “You may as well go back to bed, too. I’ll head home.”
“Hell, it’s heading for five-thirty. No point going back to bed now.” He turned to the counter, started running water into a carafe. “I’m making coffee. Stay for a cup?”
“Sure. Why not?”
He measured ground roast, poured in the water, turned on the switch. “So you were worried I had done something to Maude and came rushing over here to save her.”
She frowned at him. “I was afraid something had happened to her. She could have fallen, broken a hip or something.”
“If she had, didn’t you think I would have taken care of her?”
“She’s in her seventies, Joshua. Almost eighty. She has to shoot insulin into her veins before every meal, and I know her balance is getting pretty shaky, though she’d rather be shot than admit it. I was worried. She’s my friend.”
He nodded. “And I’m a stranger.”
She pursed her lips. “It wouldn’t matter if you were a stranger or not. I…don’t trust men.”
“None of us?” He made his eyes wide and lifted his brows as he searched her face. “Not even the good ones?”
“You telling me you’re one of the good ones?”
“Lady, I am the best one.”
“You’re full of yourself, too.”
He let his teasing smile die. “You’ve been burned by my gender before, I take it.”
She met his eyes, and he saw swirling depths of emotion—whirlpools that threatened to suck him right in. “Burned. Yeah. I’ve been burned. Fell for the bad guy, then was damn near destroyed by the rescuing heroes.”
He winced inwardly at that, had to avert his eyes briefly.
“I’ve got horrible taste in men, Joshua.”
“Then it’s a good sign that you don’t like me, right?”
“That’s just it. I do like you.” She slid out of her chair and got to her feet. “I’ll take a rain check on that coffee, okay?”
Without waiting for an answer, she walked to the door. Without waiting for an invitation, he followed her. He reached past her for the door, opened it for her. She turned to look up at him, smiled just a little. “Don’t try to kiss me, okay?”
He’d been thinking about doing just that, and her frankness surprised him. “How am I supposed to resist? Huh? You show up at the crack of dawn with your hair practically standing on end, wearing a baggy T-shirt and the most god-awful jacket I’ve ever seen—and sneakers. Damn, woman, I’d have to be a saint to resist that.”
She smiled broadly and turned to step outside.
Then she stopped and turned back again. She gripped the lapels of his bathrobe, jerked him forward and planted a brief, platonic kiss on his cheek. “Thanks for looking after Maude. It’s sweet, the way you are with her. And with Bryan.”
“That’s me. Sweet as apple pie.”
“See you later—on my run?”
He was suddenly looking forward to it. He glanced down at his own attire, a bathrobe over boxer shorts, and said, “I’ll even wear clothes.”
“Me, too.”
“Crying shame.”
She grinned at him and hurried to her car. Joshua watched until she was out of the driveway and out of sight down the road. Then he put the cat out, poured a cup of coffee and began checking the house for open windows.

Beth spent more time looking into the mirror than she usually did before a morning run, her hands a little too concerned about getting her higher than usual ponytail perfectly centered.
The moment she realized what she was doing, she scowled at her reflection. “What’s the matter with you? He’s a stranger.”
She pursed her lips, shrugged. “Well, he’s Maude’s grandson. That’s not exactly a stranger.”
Sighing, she brushed her teeth, then rinsed her mouth with mouthwash. Twice. And she used a triple coat of roll-on, because God forbid she should run into Joshua Kendall smelling of sweat.
“You’re pathetic,” she told her reflection. Then she tucked her itty-bitty derringer into the pocket of her maroon-and-white warm-up jacket, zipped it up to keep it there, and stepped out her front door into the brilliant autumn sunshine.
She could see her breath this morning. It was getting awfully cold for running. She was a diehard, though. She would push it until the snowbanks along the roadside made it too dangerous. Then she would haul her treadmill out of the storage space under her rented cottage, assemble it, oil it up and plug it in.
She started out slowly, building up to a stronger pace as her body warmed and her muscles limbered. She felt good today. Not in the usual way that running made her feel good, but in a new way—a way she hadn’t felt in a long time.
It was because of him. She wasn’t so naive that she didn’t know that. It was because a great-looking man with no apparent mental defects found her attractive. Imagine feeling so buoyant over something so juvenile.
Not that she was going to let it cloud her judgment or weaken her caution. If anything, the feeling made her even more wary. Not only didn’t she trust him, she was going to have to be very careful about trusting herself.
Still, the closer she got to Maude’s house, the more she had to fight to keep the smile from her face. And when she arrived there, and saw that both Maude and Joshua were waiting for her on the front porch, the smile was impossible to suppress.
She walked up the sidewalk, taking deep, lung-bursting breaths and blowing them out slowly, so she wouldn’t be panting when she got to them.
Joshua was on his feet, glancing at his watch. “Ten minutes early.”
“I didn’t know anyone was keeping track,” she said, mounting the steps.
He shrugged. “I was getting ready to worry in case you were late.”
“Don’t,” she told him. “Worrying about me is a waste of time.” She noted his clothes. “And you’re not running home with me again.”
“I’m not?”
She shook her head firmly. “No, you’re not.”
“And why not?”
“Because I have the feeling you’re trying to be protective of me for some reason. And I don’t like that. I resent it, in fact.”
“You do?”
She nodded. “Good morning, Maude.” She leaned over Maude and planted a kiss on her cheek.
“Morning, dear. Don’t be angry with Joshua for wanting to watch over you. I was the one who put him up to it.”
“And since when do you think I need watching over?”
She shrugged. “That car yesterday spooked me, I guess.” She reached for a pot and poured tea. “Today’s brew is for energy and heat, er, warmth, I mean. It’s going to be too cold for our outdoor tea parties soon,” she said, setting the pot down and rubbing her arms. She wore a heavy fleece sweater and a knit hat.
Beth sank into her chair and lifted the beautiful china cup, bringing it to her nose and sniffing. “Mmm…cinnamon?”
“Yes. And ginseng and cloves, with just a hint of vanilla.”
“It’s really delicious,” Joshua said.
Beth took a sip. “Mmm, it is. You’re brilliant, Maude.”
“You may not think so much longer,” Maude said.
“Why’s that?” Beth was curious, frowning from Maude to Joshua and back again.
“Well, my kitchen range is on the fritz. Now, I can get by with the hotplate and microwave for breakfast and lunch, but I had such a special dinner planned.”
Beth set her cup down. “I’ll take a look at it for you.”
“Don’t bother, Beth,” Joshua said. “I already looked it over. I’m afraid it’s gonna require professional help.”
“Really?”
He nodded. Maude nodded, too, very enthusiastically. “I’ve got a call in to Milt Rogers, in town, but he’s working on a furnace over in Pinedale today. Said he could come out first thing tomorrow. Which still brings me back to tonight’s dinner.” She smiled her sweetest smile. “I thought I’d just bring all the groceries over and cook dinner at your place,” she said with a firm nod. “That wouldn’t be any trouble for you, would it, Beth?”
Beth blinked and knew better than to argue. She couldn’t say she had plans to go out, because she never went out and Maude knew it. She couldn’t say she didn’t feel well, because if she were ill, she wouldn’t be running. And saying no for no reason at all would just be rude. So she smiled right back at Maude and said, “Of course it wouldn’t be any trouble.”
“I didn’t think so,” Maude told her. “Drink your tea, dear. It’s getting cold.”
The screen door creaked, and Bryan stepped out onto the porch. He wore sweatpants, a T-shirt, and his feet were bare. He wasn’t skinny like a lot of boys his age, she thought. The tight T-shirt revealed a physique that probably drove the girls his age wild. Not quite as nice as his father’s, but…
“Morning, Bryan,” Beth called, dragging her unruly thoughts to a halt.
He frowned at her. “Are you all crazy? It’s freezing out here.”
“Oh, I like to enjoy the outdoors while I can,” Maude said. “Soon enough it’ll be winter, and I’ll be cooped up in the house till spring. When I think about the snow to come, this autumn chill seems like nothing.”
“Winters pretty bad up here, are they, Maude?” Joshua asked.
Bryan reached back through the door and reemerged with a jacket in hand, one he pulled on quickly.
“We get hammered with snow and frozen with cold,” she said. “If you call that bad, then I guess they are. I think it keeps life interesting. Why, you never know when the first blizzard of the season is going to hit. It’s happened as early as mid-October and as late as mid-December. But it always happens.”
“Is there a betting pool?” Bryan asked with a grin.
“There are several,” Maude told him with a sly wink.
He laughed softly and came out farther, reached for an empty cup and then the teapot.
“Oh, you don’t want that, Bryan—” Maude began.
But he was already pouring. “Sure I do. I heard you say it makes you warm. I’m frozen.”
“Well, the tea might help,” Beth said, “but maybe some shoes and socks would help more.”
He grinned at her, curling his toes and sipping his tea. He seemed better this morning than he had before, Beth thought. Definitely not as sulky and brooding as he had been. Then again, he hadn’t been sulky or brooding at her place yesterday, either. Only around his father.
Maybe things were better between them today.
Beth finished her tea in a single gulp. It burned down her gullet.
“Well, I’d better go.”
“Yeah, me, too.” Josh drained his cup and put it down, getting to his feet.
Beth scowled at him. “Where are you going?”
“My morning jog.”
“Josh, I told you, I don’t want you coming back with me.”
“I’m not running with you. I’m running by myself. It’s a free country, and you don’t own the road.”
“But—”
“But nothing. If my morning jog happens to follow the same route as yours, that’s hardly deliberate.”
“You’re really pushing it, you know that?”
He smiled and winked at her. Beth hugged Maude goodbye and jogged down the steps, along the sidewalk and out to the road. Josh came right behind her.
He’d followed her, single file, for about fifty yards, when she finally rolled her eyes and looked over her shoulder. “For God’s sake, you might as well come up beside me.”
He picked up the pace, drew up beside her. “If you insist. I was enjoying the view from back there, though.”
“Very funny.” She sighed, glanced sideways at him. “Why are you doing this, Josh?”
“Look, I care about Maude. And she cares about you. She’s worried, Beth. I mean, it’s not like her to hear noises in the middle of the night and get all nerved up like she did last night, is it?”
“No. At least, it’s never happened since I’ve known her.”
“It’s because of that car yesterday. I know it doesn’t make any sense, but that made her nervous. She’s got it in her head that whoever it was, was up to no good, and you know how she is when she gets something in her head.”
She nodded, her lips thinning. She did know. Arguing with Maude was about as practical as arguing with a bulldozer.
“So if it makes her feel a little better to have me watching out for you, then I’m willing to do it. Aren’t you?”
She narrowed her eyes on him. “And that’s all this is? You’re humoring Maude?”
“If I say it’s not, are you going to send me packing?”
She pursed her lips, thinking that over. “No. Not yet, anyway.”
“Okay. Maude isn’t the only reason I’m tagging along after you like a lonely pup. The truth is, I like you, Beth.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay? Just okay? Not even an ‘I like you, too, Josh’?”
She looked sideways at him. “You can tag along until we get to my house. Then you turn right around and jog your butt right back to Maude’s. Agreed?”
“Fine.”
She nodded. “My place is around the next bend. You want to race?”
Before he could reply, she took off at a sprint.

Chapter Six
Beth looked across her coffee table at Josh, who sat in an easy chair. Maude was in the kitchen, whipping up something that smelled wonderful. Beth caught glimpses of her beyond the archway in the kitchen and kept offering to help. Maude flat out refused. Bryan was at the small desk on the far side of the living room, using Beth’s computer to catch up with his e-mail.
“Thanks for letting Bry use your PC,” Joshua said. “He’s been bored out of his mind.”
“It’s not a problem. I certainly don’t mind him using my computer if he doesn’t mind using my screen name. Did you ever get hold of the local ISP?”
“Phoned them today. They’re ‘processing our application.’ But they said he should be able to log on by morning.”
“That’ll make him happy.”
Josh shrugged. “He thinks I should have upgraded him to wireless service.”
She smiled. “Typical teenager.”
“How’s he doing? With the tutoring, I mean?”
“We had a great session today. I assigned him Hamlet last night, and he’s already halfway through it. He’s smart, Josh. And he’s a good kid.”
“Thanks.”
She was quiet for a moment. The silence stretched, and it was awkward. She looked toward the kitchen. “I wish Maude would let us help.”
“I think she’s enjoying having people to take care of,” he said.
Beth nodded, knowing he was right about that. “So is there really anything wrong with her stove?”
Joshua looked alarmed. “What do you mean?”
“Come on, Josh, isn’t it obvious?” She shook her head at his puzzled look. “She’s been trying to fix me up with some ‘eligible young man’ ever since I met her. I’m afraid I was right in my earlier assumption. You are the newest candidate.”
“Oh, that.” He smiled as if to cover it, but she didn’t miss the look of relief that crossed his face. “So you still think she’s matchmaking.”
She shrugged. “I’m sure of it.”
“Do you mind?”
She shrugged. “I keep telling her I’m not in the market for a man.”
“Ouch.”
She looked up quickly. “I didn’t mean—”
He held up a hand, stopping her. “It’s okay. I’m not easily offended. Or dissuaded.”
She shrugged, not sure what to say to that. “Things seemed better between you and Bryan, this morning.”
“Changing the subject, huh?”
She raised her eyebrows, waiting.
“Actually, yeah, I think things are better. And I have you to thank for it.”
“Me? What did I do?”
“I tried what you suggested, talked to him about what was going on with me.”
“And it worked?”
He shrugged. “He didn’t respond in kind. Then again, he didn’t stomp away and slam a door on me, either. I call that progress.”
“It’s a start.”
The dull bleat of a cell phone came from Beth’s purse, which was hanging from a hook in the tiny foyer, near the door. She crossed the living room, dug it out and answered.
“Hey, Beth? It’s me. Is everything okay there?”

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