Stranger in paradise [070-4.5]

By: amanda stevens
Synopsis:

there's a stranger in paradise again. just like 15 years ago when a
young woman is murdered and her murderer disappears.

Coming back to paradise after 7 years and a failed marriage, Emily
opens a bed and breakfast in the very house where the murder took
place.

Following an article in the local paper where emily vows to investigate
and solve the 15-year-old murder, sinister happenings take place. And
who is the grey-eyed stranger on the motorcycle who seems as eager to
find wade drury and discover the truth about the murder as Emily is?

are the townspeople themselves what they seem?

He was lonely and vulnerable  ...
and it would be very tempting to forget the past in a woman's arms. To
block out the nightmares with a woman's kiss. A woman like Emily
Townsend. But Mat thew had already hurt too many people as it was. He
didn't need a new notch in his belt, and instinctively, he knew Emily
Townsend had had enough pain to last her a lifetime. He wondered if
the faint shadow of hurt in her brown eyes had something to do with the
subtle white circle around the third finger of her left hand.

None of his business, he thought with an inward curse as he stared at
Jenny's grave. He had business to attend to. Old scorns to settle. He
didn't need a distraction right now. Couldn't afford one. Because
this might be his last chance to put things right. And maybe then,
after fifteen years, they could all finally rest in peace.

For Lucas and Lean ne-the closest things to perfection I've ever
created.

Chapter One.

"Emily! Did you hear what happened? It's terrible! Just awful!"

"What?"

The sight of her sister-in-law marching up the sidewalk--a
stroller preceding her and a four-year-old trailing her--Emily Townsend
groaned inwardly. Good grief, she thought. What did I do now?

She'd been sweeping the leaves from her front porch, but-now she
stopped and leaned the broom against the wall, taking an extra moment
to gather her patience. Then, squaring her shoulders, she turned to
face Caroline Townsend, who had come to an abrupt halt at the bottom of
the porch steps.

"What's wrong?" Emily asked.

"What's wrong?" Caroline repeated, adjusting the top of the stroller
to shade baby Moira's face. Sunlight glistened like a halo off
Caroline's long golden hair as she straightened and glared up at
Emily.

"Then you haven't heard!"

Emily was almost afraid to ask what Caroline was talking about, certain
that her sister-in-law's dramatics had something to do with either
Emily or the house Emily had just bought, or both.

Her purchase of the old Talbot place had caused quite a stir in
Paradise. She sighed in resignation.

"I haven't heard anything, so just tell me."

"The sign out on the highway has been vandalized," Caroline said,
obviously still shaken by the news. nephew, climbed the porch steps and
hand.

"They wrote a bad word," he said, and wrote H-e-l-I in offered.

"Charles! Where on a word?" four-year-old told his mother telephone."
imagining what her staid older brother hear his son now. Her grin broad-
eined as she visualized the sign out on the highway proclaiming Welcome
to Hell in big red letters. She'd have to make a special trip out there,
just to see it. Maybe even take a picture or two.

But she was smart enough not to say as much to her sister-in-law.

Caroline and Stuart Townsend were very prominent and very proud citizens
of Paradise. They took Stuart's position on the town council very
seriously. So seriously, in fact, that he'd decided to run for the state
legislature this year.

As if he weren't stuffy enough, Emily thought. She couldn't resist
pointing to the shingle hanging from her porch and asking innocently,
"Does this mean I'll have to change the name of my bed-and-breakfast to
the Other Side of Hell Inn?"

Caroline's mouth thinned into one long line of disapproval.

"This is not a laughing matter, Emily Townsend.

You know good and well Paradise depends on its tourism. How's that sign
going to look to folks who're just driving into town?

What kind of impression will it make? They'll think we're a bunch of
hooligans around here." At twenty-eight, Caroline was only two years
older than Emily, but Emily had always thought her sister-in-law dressed
and acted much older. Emily supposed Caroline's manner and appearance
were a result of Stuart's careful tutoring. He was twelve years older,
having married Caroline when she was just out of college, then he'd set
about molding her into his idea of the perfect wife.

"I would assume Mayor Henley will have someone out there working on the
sign today," Emily said, although it had taken her nearly two months to
get the proper permit from his office to open her bed-and-breakfast. It
seemed no one in town approved of her buying the Talbot house. Caroline
was not mollified.

"You know why this happened, don't you? Stuart says it's because of that
article Mike Durbin wrote about this house." She waved a scornful hand
at Emily's front porch.

"Why you insisted on using the last of your trust fund to buy this  ...
this monstrosity, I'll never know. Your poor parents would turn over in
their graves if they knew about this. You've made us all a
laughingstock, using such an  ...  unfortunate incident in the town's
past to promote a bed-and-breakfast." Emily raised an incredulous brow.

"Unfortunate incident? It was a murder, Caroline. A murder that has gone
unsolved for fifteen years."

"That's nonsense. Everyone in town knows that stranger did it.

That Wade Somebody-or-Other. He killed that poor girl in cold blood.

In your house!"

"He was never found guilty."

"Because he Skipped town before he could be arrested. Just up and
disappeared. If that didn't prove his guilt, I

don't know what would. How you could drag up all that old business now,
after all these years--" Emily folded her arms and rolled her eyes,
waiting for Caroline's tirade to come to a conclusion. Not that Caroline
had anything new to offer. Both she and Stuart had made their opinions
of Emily's decision to buy the house perfectly clear from the start.

Are you crazy? Stuart had shouted. You 7l be throwing good money after
bad, trying to fix up that old place. Who'd want to stay there anyway?

The Talbot house had been vacant off and on, mostly off, ever since
Jenny Wilcox had been murdered in one of the upstairs bedrooms, fifteen
years ago, and rumors of a haunting still occasionally surfaced, usually
around the anniversary of the murder.

Details of the old tragedy had recently been rehashed in Mike Durbin's
article for the Paradise Herald. The article had been picked up by
several other papers, and interest in the Other Side of Paradise Inn had
skyrocketed, which, of course, was exactly what Emily had intended.

She'd gotten calls from as far away as Nashville, and she wasn't even
officially open for business yet.

And they said she'd never be a businesswoman, she thought with a
satisfied smile.

Caroline saw the look on Emily's face and shook a thin finger at her.

"Don't look so smug," she said, assuming the tone Stuart always used
with his sister.

"This whole venture could still blow up in your face, just like
everything else--" Caroline stopped short, as if realizing she might
have gone too far, even for her.

Neither Stuart nor Caroline ever missed an opportunity to remind Emily
of what a failure she'd been at most of the career choices she'd
made--and she'd made quite a few over the years, she had to admit--or of
the mess she'd made of her life.

After all, it was Stuart who had adamantly opposed Emily's engagement to
Eugene Sprague all those years ago. She'd eloped with Eugene when she
was only nineteen years old. Now, seven years and a lot of heartache
later, here she was, back in Paradise.

It was so easy to read Caroline's mind, Emily thought, giving her
sister-in-law a surreptitious glance. You should have stayed in Paradise
and married Trey when you had the chance, Emily. Then you'd be living in
the Huntington mansion, instead of trying to fix up a broken-down old
house with a sordid past.

But that was one of the reasons Emily liked the Talbot place so much.

She felt a certain kinship with the house. They both seemed unable to
live down their reputations.

"Auntie Em?" Charles said, calling her by her nickname.

Emily looked down into her nephew's sweet little face and felt a rush of
affection.

"What's up, Charley Horse?"

"Can I see the bloodstains now? You promised." Caroline gasped in
outrage.

"Charles Townsend, where on earth--"

"Auntie Em said--" Emily quickly clapped a hand over the child's mouth
and smiled.

"Kids say the darnedest things, don't they?"

"Emily, please don't be putting ideas into the boy's head. Children are
impressionable enough. It's certainly a good thing you don't have little
ones of your own," Caroline said, smoothing a hand down her cotton print
skirt. She gazed critically at Emily's porch, as if seeing the fresh
paint job for the first time.

"Oh, Emily. Red shutters?"

"I like red," Emily said, lifting her chin a notch and trying to smother
the flash of pain Caroline's careless

comment about children had caused.

"I think it gives the house pizzazz."

"Makes it look like a bordello, if you ask me," Caroline said, wrinkling
her nose.

"So when exactly is the grand opening?" She bent to pop a pacifier into
Moira's mouth the moment the baby awakened and whimpered. Emily would
have liked to pick up the fretting child, but she knew Caroline wouldn't
approve. She said it spoiled a baby to always pick it up the minute it
cried.

Unable to resist, Emily walked down the steps and peered into the
stroller. Five-month-old Moira immediately spit out the pacifier and
gave her aunt a wide, hopeful grin.

"I'll officially open for business two weeks from today, on October
twenty-third," Emily said, tickling Moira's adorable chin.

"The fall leaves should be at their peak by then, and, of course, the
Fall Folk Festival starts the week after."

"October twenty-third," Caroline mused.

"Why does that date sound familiar to me?" A light. dawned, and
Caroline's light blue eyes widened in horror.

"Isn't that the anniversary of the murder?

Why, that's positively ghoulish, Emily!"

And positively brilliant, Emily thought. With Mike Durbin's help, the
publicity for her opening could be phenomenal.

As soon as Moira realized her aunt wasn't going to pick her up, she
started to howl. Emily glanced expectantly at Caroline, but she was
gazing down the street.

"What is that infernal noise?"

At first, Emily thought Caroline was referring to Moira's sobs, but
then, over the sound of the baby's cries, came a low thrum that steadily
grew louder.

"I think it's a motorcycle," Emily said.

"A motorcycle? In Paradise?"

The words were barely out of Caroline's mouth when ~a big black Harley
came into view. Both Caroline and Emily stood with open mouths as the
powerful machine glided to a stop at the curb, the engine was killed and
the rider got off.

And what a rider!

Dressed in jeans, boots and a black leather jacket, the stranger
striding up her walkway had longish dark hair, a tall, athletic build,
and--when he took off his mirrored sunglasses--eyes 'that were the most
striking shade of light gray Emily had ever looked into.

"Oh, my  ...  "she heard someone whisper. Caroline poked her in the
ribs, and Emily realized the words had come from her own mouth.

"I'm looking for a place to stay," the man said, gazing at her with
those beautiful gray eyes. His voice was low and dark, infinitely sexy.
Emily felt a delicious shiver along her backbone.

Caroline, who had been silent for at least one full minute--a record for
her--said primly, "Emily isn't open for business yet."

"Oh, yes, I am," Emily put in, almost before Caroline had stopped
speaking. Emily wasn't about to lose a potential customer, especially
when Cora Mac Hicks, who operated the This Side of Paradise Inn across
the street, was probably watching out her window at that very moment,
ready to pounce on anyone Emily might turn away. The bed-and-breakfast
business in Paradise was fiercely competitive, and Cora Mac had ruled at
the top of the heap for nearly twenty-five years. But Emily planned to
change all that.

"Would you like to see the rooms?" she asked eagerly.

"I have some business to attend to first," the stranger said.

"But I'll be back at six." He turned to leave. At the sight of his
retreating back, Emily had the almost overpowering urge to somehow make
him stay. If he left now, he might never return. She might never see him
again, and for some reason she couldn't have begun to explain, Emily
desperately wanted to see this man again.

"Wait!"

He turned.

"What's your name? I  ...  need it for the register." He paused for a
split second, and their gazes collided. Emily felt the impact all the
way to her toes.

"Just call me John," he said mysteriously, slipping on his mirrored
glasses.

"John what?"

"Doe." Then he mounted his bike, started the engine and roared off.

They watched him in silence until he was out of sight, until only a
faint hum could be heard from a distance, then Caroline turned to Emily
and exclaimed in disbelief, "Did he just say his name was John Doe?
Isn't that what they call a corpse?"

Emily shivered at Caroline's words. Still, dead or alive, the stranger
who'd just ridden away on his motorcycle was the best-looking man she'd
seen in years. Finally, something interesting had happened in Paradise.

"TELL ME AGAIN who we're going to see," Mike Durbin, a reporter--the
only reporter, in fact--for the Paradise Herald, instructed as Emily
climbed into his ancient Plymouth. He glanced down at her legs, and
Emily blushed, tugging at the hem of her short denim skirt.

"Her name's Miss Rosa bel Talbot. She owned my house at the time of the
murder." Emily settled back against the shabby upholstery and gazed out
the side window at the Talbot house. The Townsend house now, she
reminded herself.

Oh, it did look good, she thought proudly, gazing at the sparkling white
paint, the new latticework and, yes, even the red trim.

Emily loved everything about her new home, including the wide wraparound
porch on the first floor and the tree- shaded balcony on the second, the
diamond-paned bay window in the dining room and the stained-glass front
door, which had cost her a small fortune to have restored. She loved the
gardens in back and the maples in front, which were now turning the yard
into a cornucopia of fall color.

The house was Emily's first real home in years. She and Eugene had moved
around so much when they were married that no place had ever seemed like
home to her. And before that, staying first with her grandmother, then
with Stuart after her parents died, Emily had felt more like an
unwelcome guest than anything else.

Now, for the first time since she was eleven years old, Emily finally
had a place to call her own.

"I hope this isn't going to be a complete waste of time," Mike said,
drawing her attention reluctantly back to him.

"Supposing the old girl doesn't remember anything about the murder?

She's in a nursing home, isn't she?

Mind's likely not what it used to be."

"She sounded sharp enough on the phone when she agreed to see us," Emily
said.

"Let's go. I have to be back by six."

Mike lifted his eyebrows.

"Hot date tonight?"

Emily thought about the stranger, quickly conjuring up an image of his
dark hair and light gray eyes. Excitement tingled through her.

"Something like that," she murmured.

"I didn't know you dated."

Emily didn't like the speculative gleam in his eyes. Mike Durbin was not
at all the kind of man she wanted to get mixed up with.

For one thing, he had a kind of lean and hungry look about him that
Emily didn't trust. For another, he reminded her too much of her
ex-husband, and God knew that was reason enough to stay away from him.

"I don't date," she said impatiently.

"My appointment this evening is strictly business. Now, shall we go?"

"You're the boss," Mike said, shifting the car into drive. The Plymouth
hesitated, shimmied for a moment, then took off in a cloud of exhaust
down the street. Emily would have offered to take her car, but her old
VW didn't run much better, and besides, the heater was on the blink
again, and after a sunny morning, the day had suddenly turned cold and
drizzly.

Emily thought about the stranger on his motorcycle. Did he get cold,
racing along the streets? Or did he feel exhilarated, with the wind
blowing through his hair and the feel of the powerful bike between his
thighs.9 Emily felt a little surge of adrenaline, just thinking about
it. She'd never in her life ridden on a motorcycle, but she'd always
wanted to. Especially now.

"I have to get back early myself," Mike was saying as he maneuvered the
car through Paradise's narrow streets.

"Gotta make a run out to the highway, check out that defaced sign. No
doubt that'll be our lead story tomorrow," he said with open contempt.

In the short time Emily had known Mike, he'd never bothered to disguise
his disdain for the small town in which

he found himself living, or for the small-town paper for which he found
himself working.

He'd once been an award-winning investigative reporter for the Arkansas
Democrat, having lived in both Little Rock and Washington, D.C. But
after his fall from grace seven years ago, no one in the print media
would touch him. The only job he'd been able to get was working for his
uncle at the Herald.

Emily supposed the ensuing years of struggle and frustration explained
the flashes of desperation she occasionally glimpsed in Mike's eyes.

She said now, "I really appreciate the time you're spending on this
story."

He shrugged.

"I have to admit, I wasn't too keen on the idea when you first brought
it up, but I'm starting to think you may be on to something. We've
already had quite a few complaints at the paper about that article.

Even a couple of anonymous threats."

"What kind of threats?" Emily asked in alarm.

"The usual crackpot stuff. People letting off steam. But it does appear
that some folks in Paradise get mighty touchy at the very mention of the
Wilcox murder."

"I hope your uncle hasn't changed his mind about the series," Emily
worried. She knew how important advertisers were to a newspaper. If too
many people complained, Roy Travers, the owner of the Herald, might warg
to kill the rest of the articles she and Mike had planned.

"You let me worry about Uncle Roy. I know how to handle him. Besides, do
you know how long it's been since I've written about anything other than
who bought what at the latest craft show, or which house received first
place for the best yard display at Christmas?" He glanced at her, giving
her an enigmatic wink.

"I should be thanking you for putting me on the right track, Emily. A
good murder is exactly what I need right now."

His tone was light, but something in his eyes--that look of hunger, that
flash of desperation--made Emily uneasy, and she couldn't help
remembering why Mike had been fired from the Democrat seven years ago.

According to town gossip, he'd fabricated a story that won him all kinds
of industry accolades and awards. When the truth eventually came out,
his career had been in ruins. Emily stared at Mike's profile, wondering
what a man like him might be willing to do to recapture all that he'd
lost.

The thought left Emily unsettled, and both she and Mike fell silent.

Neither of them spoke again until they pulled into the parking lot at
the Shady Oaks Nursing Home in Batesville, over an hour later.

"Let me do the talking," Emily said as they walked through the front
door.

"I've known Miss Rosa bel for years, but she might be a little nervous
around you." Mike looked around, wary.

"Fine by me," he said, fiddling with the collar of his shirt.

Funny how some people got nervous around old people, Emily thought.

She'd once worked in a nursing home while she was still married to
Eugene. She'd gotten along fine with the residents. It had been the
management and their medieval policies she couldn't handle.

,. At least Shady Oaks had a nice homey quality to it, Emily noticed
with relief, taking in the beautiful needlepoint wall hangings and lush
potted plants decorating the lobby.

Miss Rosa bel was sitting in a rocking chair by the window when they
walked into her room. She wore an intricately crocheted shawl of sky
blue that highlighted her gray hair and her brilliant blue eyes. She had
once been Emily's piano teacher, and even though Emily hadn't seen her
in years, she would have recognized Miss Rosa bel anywhere.

"Miss Rosa bel,", she said, hurrying across the room to kneel beside the
old lady's chair.

"You haven't changed a bit ."

"You have," Miss Rosa bel said bluntly.

"What have you done to your hair?"

Emily fingered the short curls at her nape.

"I got it cut a few months ago. I figured it was time for a change," she
said, offering an explanation where none was needed. Stuart had almost
had apoplexy when he first saw her. A woman's crowning glory is her
hair, he'd said disdainfully. And you've just cut all yours off.

"You had the most beautiful long hair when you were a little girl. Dark
and glossy as a raven's wing," Miss Rosa- bel reminisced. She ran a
critical eye over Emily, until Emily began to fidget, just as she had
years ago. Finally, Miss Rosa bel nodded and said, "This style suits
you, though. You always were an original. And I imagine all that long
hair. was a tangled mess in the mornings."

"It was," E/nily agreed, surprised by the old woman's perceptiveness.

"But I wish you'd explain that to Stuart."

"And how is your dear brother?" Miss Rosa bel asked the question mildly,
but her voice was tinged with sarcasm. Emily remembered that while she
was staying with Stuart, he and Miss Rosa bel had had one or two run-ins
over Emily's lack of discipline in her music. Emily had wanted to play
her own compositions, with Miss Rosa- bel's enthusiastic approval, while
Stuart had wanted her to learn the classics. She'd never become an
accomplished pianist by pecking out that racket, he'd said.

Emily smiled a little at the memory now, even though Stuart's words had
hurt at the time.

"He's running for the state legislature this year," she told Miss.
Rosahel.

"I suppose he and Trey Huntington are still thick as thieves." Miss.
Rosa bel's gaze sharpened on Emily, making her wonder uneasily just how
much the old woman remembered about Emily's relationship with the
illustrious Trey Huntington. She wondered if Miss Rosa bel held the same
opinion everyone else in town seemed to have--that Emily had been out of
her mind to turn down a man like Trey.

"They're still friends," Emily said carefully.

"In fact, Trey's handling Stuart's political campaign." Miss Rosa bel
raised her eyebrows at that, but said nothing. Emily kept. quiet, too,
letting the brief silence make the transition from idle chitchat to
business matters. Then she said, "Look, Miss Rosa bel, the reason we're
here--"

"You want to know about the murder." The blue eyes moved from Emily to
Mike, who had been standing surprisingly patient through their small
talk.

"You must be that reporter fellow Emily told me about. The one who faked
a story and got himself fired off the Gazette a few years ago."

Two bright spots of color ignited Mike's cheeks.

"It was the Democrat," he said, stepping forward.

"Well, they're one and the same nowadays," Miss Ro- sabel pointed out.

"So they are. I hope you won't hold my past transgressions against me,"
Mike said with false levity.

"I've learned from my mistakes."

"Have you?" Miss Rosa bel made it seem doubtful as she gave him a
thorough once-over, then returned her gaze

to Emily.

"What is it you want to know about that poor girl's death?"

"Everything," Emily said.

"Mike wants to do a series of articles about the house to coincide with
the anniversary of the murder.

It'll be terrific publicity for the grand opening of my
bed-and-breakfast. You know how people love a mystery."

"Except for the good citizens of Paradise," Miss Rosa- bel said dryly.

"They won't like having their dirty laundry aired in. public, and they
won't be happy about me talking to you two."

"Why not?" Emily asked, even though, judging by Caroline and Stuart's
reaction to Mike's first article and by what Mike had said about the
complaints and threats the paper had received, she knew that what Miss.
R0sabel said was true.

"I imagine they have their reasons," Miss Rosa bel evaded. She gazed out
the window for a moment, as if gathering her thoughts, then said, "It
happened such a long time ago. I don't know if I can remember
everything."

"Tell us what you do remember," Emily offered encouragingly, settling
herself on the throw rug at Miss Ro- sabel's feet.

Mike sat on a footstool and brought out his recorder.

"What's that thing?" Miss Rosa bel asked suspiciously.

"A tape recorder, to make sure I quote you accurately."

"Tve never seen one that small," Miss Rosahel said, her disdain obvious
in her tone. Then her sharp eyes lifted to Mike's.

"Are you sure it works?"

"Oh, it works, all right. Trust me," Mike said, with an odd little smile
that sent a sudden, unexplainable chill down Emily's spine.

Chapter Two.

"She was a beautiful girl." Miss Rosa bel's eyes looked dreamy and far
away, and Emily knew that the old woman had transported herself back in
time, to fifteen years ago, when she'd first met Jenny Wilcox, the young
woman who had been murdered in Miss Rosa bel's bed-and-breakfast.

Emily's bed-and-breakfast now.

"She came to Paradise as a substitute for one of the high school
teachers, who'd broken her leg. Since she didn't know how long she'd be
needed, she rented a room from me rather than trying to find a house. It
was off-season, so I gave her a good price. My niece, Nella, was also
staying with me, and the two of them hit it off right away, even though
Nella was a few years younger, just seventeen that summer.

"I remember feeling relieved, because Nella never had any friends, and
we were all so very worried about her. She was always shy and withdrawn,
especially after her mother died so suddenly  ...

"Miss Rosa bel drifted off, but then, with an effort, seemed to regroup
her thoughts.

"Anyway, that's why her father had sent her to me, hoping a new town, a
new school, would bring her around. But nothing I did helped until Jenny
came along. Jenny had this way about her, you see. People were drawn to
her.

All the men in town were half in love with her before that first week
was out. Trey Huntington and your brother, Stuart, both came around the
inn to see her, but Tony Vincent fell the hardest for her. And because
the other two men were his friends, they backed off."

Emily remembered Tony Vincent. He was about Stuart's age, and she
vaguely recalled that the two of them had been friends of a sort.

Unlikely friends, because Tony had been a real jock back then, and
Stuart had always considered himself an intellectual, a part of Trey
Huntington's elite group.

But even though he came from a poor background, Tony~s feats on the
football field had earned him a place of honor in Paradise.

He'd been captain of his high school football team and had later
attended the University of Arkansas on a full football scholarship.

After that, he'd been drafted by the St. Louis Cardinals, but his
professional career had been somewhat of a disappointment. He'd suffered
a lot of injuries to his knees, and there'd been rumors of a serious
drinking problem, Emily recalled.

"Well," Miss Rosa bel continued, drawing Emily's attention back to the
story.

"The September that Jenny Wilcox came to Paradise, Tony had just been
released from his contract with that professional football team.

Knowing that he was down on his luck, Jenny went out of her way to be
nice to him. That's the way she was. Well, Tony was so smitten that he
proposed to her just a week 'after they'd met, right there in the inn,
in front of Nella and myself and a number of other guests. Oh, it was
very romantic," Miss Rosa bel said, her eyes sparkling.

"What did Jenny do?" Emily asked, getting caught up in the woman's
excitement.

"She turned him down, of course, but in such a charming manner that Tony
fell for her even harder. He was determined to win her over, and he and
Jenny began spending a great deal of time together. I remember how I
used to hear her slipping out of the inn in the middle of the night
sometimes, and I was sure she was going to meet Tony. Nella and I both
thought a wedding would be imminent by the end of October.

Then, a few weeks after Jenny arrived, a stranger came to Paradise, and
everything changed." Miss Rosa bel's eyes darkened. The hand clutching
her shawl trembled.

"What was this stranger's name?" Mike asked.

"Wade Drury. He was handsome as the very devil, but you only had to look
into his eyes, those beautiful gray eyes, to know he meant trouble.
Nella was quite taken with him. He rode this big black motorcycle, you
see, and--" Emily's head jerked to attention.

"Did you say motorcycle?" ' Miss Rosa bel nodded.

"Yes, and the minute he saw Jenny, he was just as enamored as everyone
else in town was, though he tried not to show it. But you could tell how
he felt by the way he looked at her when he thought no one was around.
She was the only reason he hung around Paradise for as long as he did,"
Miss Rosa bel said.

"He didn't have family in town, no job that I ever knew about. What
other reason could there be?"

He rode a motorcycle, Emily thought. Wade Drury, the man who killed
Jenny Wilcox, had ridden a big black motorcycle. And he'd had gray eyes.
Beautiful gray eyes. Emily shuddered.

"What happened after Wade came to town?"

"Tony became insanely jealous. He hated the idea of Jenny staying in the
same house with Wade Drury, even though Nella's room was between Wade's
and Jenny's. One night Tony saw Jenny and Wade talking, and Tony's
temper got the better of him. He'd been drinking, and he

and Wade fought bitterly. Nella and I tried to help Jenny break them
apart, but it didn't do any good. All we could do was watch helplessly
while the two men tried to kill each other over Jenny.

I finally had to call the sheriff to come stop the fight."

Miss Rosa bel paused. and took a deep, shuddering breath.

"The next day, Jenny's body was found in her room, covered in blood.

She'd been stabbed to death with a butcher knife."

Even though Emily had heard bits and pieces of the story for years, she
still felt the sickening shock of Miss Rosa bel's words.

"Who found the body?" Mike asked.

Miss Rosa bel's eyes closed.

"I did."

"It must have been awful for you," Emily said softly.

"I've never seen anything like it. I still dream about all that blood
...  " Emily took the old woman's hand and held it between hers.

Mike said, "What happened after you found the body?"

"The sheriff came. We were all questioned, but Wade Drury was nowhere to
be found. Tony swore that Jenny had told him Wade was making unwanted
advances toward her, that Wade had even tried to break into her room one
night. Jenny was terrified of the man, according to Tony.

"It was easy to believe Wade was guilty. No one knew anything about him,
you see. He'd just shown up in town one day and stayed on. He was a
drifter, a stranger in Paradise, and Tony was one of our own.

Everyone assumed he was telling the truth."

"Even you?" Emily couldn't resist asking. Her gaze met Miss Rosa bel's,
and Emily thought she saw a faint glimmer of doubt reflected in the
depths of the old woman's eyes.

"I didn't know what to think," Miss Rosa bel finally admitted.

"The whole town was outraged that a brutal murder could occur in our
peaceful little community. The citizens were incited to almost a mob
frenzy by Trey Huntington, who demanded justice.

Wade Drury was guilty, Trey insisted, and had to be punished. But the
night after the murder, someone claimed they saw Wade leaving town on
his motorcycle, and he was never heard from again."

"Didn't the investigation continue?" Mike asked.

"The sheriff asked a few more questions, some outsiders came to town and
made a few inquiries, but nothing ever came of it. When no family came
forward to claim Jenny's body, the town buried her, and both she and
Wade Drury were soon forgotten. Until you two came along and started
stirring things up," Miss Rosa bel finished. Emily glanced at Mike.
She'd never seen him look so animated, so excited. His pale blue eyes
were almost glowing with anticipation, but there was still something
about him that disturbed Emily. That hunger  ...  She had a sudden sick
feeling in the pit of her stomach that perhaps she'd started something
she wouldn't want to see finished.

"What happened to your bed-and-breakfast after that?" Mike asked,
seemingly oblivious of Emily's misgiving.

"It was doomed." Miss Rosa bel shrugged her frail shoulders.

"Nothing I Could do to stop all that talk. I remember the day I left the
house for the last time. Cora Mae Hicks was standing on her front porch,
gloating, as I walked down the street. I actually heard her laugh. Can
you imagine?"

A vision of Cora Mae's cold black eyes and her thin, unsmiling mouth
formed in Emily's head, and it wasn't too terribly difficult to picture
the woman's glee over her rival's misfortune.

Miss Rosa bel sat up suddenly, her eyes snapping with anger.

"I've thought about this a lot over the years, made a lot of notes about
the murder and such, and there is only one person I can come up with who
actually benefited from that murder. My bed-and-breakfast was giving the
This Side of Paradise Inn a run for its money. I wouldn't he a bit
surprised to learn Cora Mae Hicks killed that poor girl herself, just to
drive me out of business." Emily looked at Miss Rosa bel, in shock.

"Surely you don't think--" Miss Rosa bel glared at Emily.

"In my opinion, Cora Mae has always been one brick shy of a load, and
she's ferociously protective where that bed-and-breakfast of hers is
concerned. You be careful, Emily. You're the competition now, and in
Cora Mae's eyes, that makes you the enemy."

ALL DURING THE Drove back to Paradise, Emily couldn't get Miss Rosa
bel's story out of her mind. Emily had known about the murder, of
course, but she'd been only eleven at the time, and she hadn't given it
much thought over the years. But somehow, hearing the tragedy in such
detail from Miss Rosa bel made it seem more immediate. Poor Jenny. No
one had come forward to claim her body. The town had buried her, then
forgotten her. It was the saddest thing Emily had' ever heard. Had
Jenny's family even been notified? Or, fifteen years later, were they
still wondering about her, waiting for her to come home? After Mike
dropped her off at the inn, Emily went out back to cut some
chrysanthemums from the garden and gather fall leaves from the maples to
make an arrangement for the table in the foyer. But, on impulse, she
cam- fully laid the flowers and leaves in the front seat of her car and
headed out to the cemetery. She had the strangest urge to see Jenny
Wilcox's grave, to pay her respects and maybe even to grieve for a
moment for the young woman who'd had no one come forward when she died.

Emily parked the car near the wrought-iron gate and got out. She hadn't
been to the cemetery in years, not since the day her parents were
buried. That day had been overcast, too, with a misty rain blowing down
from the mountains, making the whole scene seem surreal.

Emily had stood between Smart and her grandmother and watched as her
parents' coffins were simultaneously lowered into the frozen ground.

Emily tried. to shake the memory as she walked through the gate.

Still, a cemetery was a natural place for gloomy thoughts, she decided.

The wind kicked up, blowing dead leaves across the graves as she made
her way to the section in which she vaguely remembered Jenny Wilcox had
been buried. The grave was marked by a flat, nondescript headstone that
Emily might easily have missed, except for one thing. A man was standing
over Jenny's grave.

Emily hesitated, not quite sure what to do. The man's head was bowed, as
if he were deep in contemplation, and even though she couldn't see his
face, Emily recognized the dark hair and the leather jacket. The man
standing next to Jenny Wilcox's grave was the stranger who called
himself John Doe.

A shiver of apprehension coursed down Emily's spine. Suddenly, though
she couldn't have said why, exactly, she didn't want him to see her
there. Didn't want him to know that she'd seen him.

She started to turn away, but before she could, _the stranger looked up
and Emily found herself trapped by his stare, found herself left
breathless once again by the intensity of his beautiful gray eyes.

"So we meet again," he said.

Emily managed to shrug, even though her heart was pounding inside her
chest. Keep it light, she told herself, and forced a smile.

"I brought flowers," she said, looking down at Jenny's grave.

"For her."

"Did you know her?"

His question was casually spoken, but Emily sensed something in his
voice. A hint of the same intensity that simmered in his eyes.

"No, I didn't know her," Emily admitted.

"But I  ...  feel sorry for her."

"Because she was murdered?"

"Yes. And because she died all alone."

Her answer seemed to surprise him. Something moved in his eyes, a flash
of pain that was gone in an instant. He let his gaze fall back to
Jenny's grave.

Emily stood silently by, unable to keep her own gaze from straying to
the stranger's face. He had such striking features--high cheekbones,
dark brows and lashes that were in dramatic contrast to the lightness of
his eyes, and lips that were neither thin nor thick, but somehow
sensuous nonetheless.

Emily took a deep, shaky breath.

"Did you know her?" Droplets of mist glistened on his leather coat and
in his hair as he moved a step or two away from the grave, as if
distancing himself from a memory.

"I like old mysteries," he said with a shrug.

"You might say I have a fascination with unsolved crimes. I read Mike
Durbin's article in a Memphis newspaper--it must have been picked up on
the wire--and decided to come here, out of curiosity."

"You're from Memphis?" Emily asked, out of her own curiosity.

He looked up, and his gaze held hers just long enough to start her heart
pounding again. Then he glanced away.

"I'm originally from Memphis, but I've lived here and there." ' "Where
do you call home now?"

"Wherever I happen to be at the moment."

"You just roam around the countryside on your motorcycle, looking for
old crimes to solve?" Emily asked skeptically.

A faint smiled touched those sensuous lips.

"Sometimes."

Emily looked around.

"Speaking of your~ motorcycle, I didn't see it when I drove up."

"I parked it over there," he said, indicating the side of the cemetery
next to the road.

Emily saw the big bike parked at the curb, near the iron fence.

"What did you do, climb the fence?" Again, the hint of a smile.

"Something like that." His evasiveness was beginning to disturb her.

Emily huddled inside her denim jacket as the wind rattled leaves across
Jenny's grave and a deep silence fell between them.

She suddenly became aware of how alone the two of them were, how
isolated the cemetery was. It was growing colder, too, colder and
foggier, and she was starting to have that feeling again that the entire
scene was somehow unreal.

A chill seeped through her jacket, and she shivered as she bent to lay
the flowers on Jenny's grave. Her fingers shook slightly as she
straightened the arrangement to her satisfaction, then stood.

"I should be getting back," she said, shoving her hands into her
pockets.

For one brief moment, Emily could have sworn the stranger's gaze
lingered on her lips, making her feel warm and trembly all over.

Then his eyes darkened, and her stomach clenched.

"See you at six," he finally said.

"See you," Emily eg. hoed, then turned to leave. She could feel the
stranger's gaze on her as she made her way back to the car, and by the
time she climbed inside, her hands were shaking so badly she could
hardly turn the ignition.

HE WATCHED HER climb into her battered Volkswagen, admiring the long
legs beneath the short skirt, the slender waist and hips beneath the
denim jacket. Emily Townsend was a very attractive woman. Not drop-dead
gorgeous, as Jenny had been, but undeniably appealing in an offbeat sort
of way, with that funny little haircut and those big brown eyes that
looked as if they could peer right into a man's soul.

He shifted uncomfortably, making himself look down at Jenny's grave
again.

A woman like Emily Townsend could be a dangerous thing for a man like
him.

For one thing, he'd gone a long time without female companionship. A
very long time. He was lonely and vulnerable, and it would be very
tempting to forget the past in a woman's arms. To block out the
nightmares with a woman's kisses.

A woman like Emily Townsend.

But he'd already hurt too many people as it was. He didn't need a new
notch in his belt, and instinctively he knew Emily Townsend had had
enough pain to last her a lifetime. He wondered if the faint shadow of
hurt in her

brown eyes had something to do with the subtle white circle around the
third finger of her left hand. His guess would be that she was recently
divorced, and judging by the wounded looked in her eyes, it hadn't been
her idea. Funny how that notion filled him with regret and maybe just a
little bit of jealousy. What kind of jerk had let her go?

None of your business, he thought with an inward curse as he stared at
Jenny's grave. He had business to attend to. Old scores to settle. He
didn't need a distraction right now. Couldn't afford one. Because this
might be his last chance to put things right.

And maybe then, after fifteen years, they could all finally rest in
peace.

Chapter Three.

As Emily pulled into her driveway and parked, her thoughts were still on
the stranger she'd seen at the cemetery. She couldn't get over the shock
she'd felt, finding him standing over Jenny Wilcox's grave.

And she still wasn't quite convinced that his. presence there had been
due solely to curiosity, his interest in old mysteries, as he'd claimed.

His eyes were what gave him away, Emily thought. They were too intense.
Too deep and dark and full of secrets. She shivered now, just thinking
about him, thinking about the way he'd looked at her. The way those eyes
had lingered on. her lips  ... Stop it, Emily told herself firmly as she
got out of the car and walked across the yard to her porch. She couldn't
afford to let her imagination get the better of her, or to think things
that just weren't so. The man was a stranger. He had no interest in her
except as the owner of the bed-and- breakfast where he was about to
spend his first night in Paradise.

Assuming, of course, that he came back.

Emily started up her porch steps, but as she did so, something--a
feeling of being watched--m~de her glance quickly over her shoulder.

Her gaze was caught by a movement across the street, at the This Side of
paradise Inn. A curtain at an upstairs window in Cora Mac's house
fluttered, and Emily knew without a doubt that the old woman was up
there, watching her.

Cora Mae had been watching every move Emily made ever since she'd moved
into the Talbot House. Cora Mae had even threatened to sue when Emily
named her bed- and-breakffist the Other Side of Paradise Inn. Before
today, Emily hadn't paid much mind to the old woman's threats or to her
open hostility, but now Emily couldn't help shuddering as she remembered
Miss Rosa- bel's parting words. I wouldn't be a bit surprised to learn
Cora Mae Hicks killed that poor girl herself, just to drive me out of
business.

PROMPTLY AT SIX, Emily heard the motorcycle pull up out front.

Even though she'd been listening for it for the better part of an hour,
the sound still startled her, and in her nervousness, she dropped the
bowl of rose-scented potpourri she'd been carrying. Luckily, the crystal
bowl didn't break, but the potpourri flew in every direction.

Emily was down on her hands and knees, scooping up dried rose petals and
throwing them back into the bowl when the front door opened and the
stranger walked in. From her~ vantage, she saw his boots first, then his
jeans, then the leather jacket, and finally his face as her gaze
traveled slowly upward. He stared down at her for a moment, then
squatted, putting their eyes on a more even keel.

"Have an accident?" he asked in that deep, liquid voice of his.

"As usual," Emily admitted, feeling the butterflies in her stomach start
to flutter. She'd never been this close to him--close enough to smell
the leather of his coat and the wind in his hair and the faint,
irresistible scent of aftershave. His eyes, striking from a distance,
were positively magnetic up close.

Emily found herself unable to look away.

Or was it simply because she didn't want to? The view, after all, was
pretty spectacular.

"Let me help you," he said, reaching down to scoop a handful of
potpourri from the floor.

"Oh, don't bother," Emily said, putting her own hand down to stop him.

Their fingers touched', then jerked apart.

"I'll  ...  get the vacuum," she finished.

"I'm sure you're anxious to get settled in." She got awkwardly to her
feet, and he followed her, rising in one smooth movement that left Emily
marveling at his grace.

"Did you get to see much of the town this afternoon?" she asked, walking
over to the antique mahogany desk she'd placed near the foyer.

What she really wanted to know, of course, was how long he'd stayed at
the cemetery after she left, and how long he'd been there before she
arrived. And what he'd been doing out there in the first place.

"I saw enough," he said, gazing around with obvious interest.

The large, airy front room, with its hardwood floors and French doors,
made a wonderful first impression, Emily thought. She'd placed a small
grouping of furniture near a cozy window alcove, another in front of the
fireplace, and yet another overlooking the gardens. Here, guests could
come and read the paper in relative solitude, or chat with fellow
travelers, or simply sit quietly and stare at the magnificent scenery of
the Ozarks.

"This is nice," he said.

"Very impressive.-Somehow I hadn't pictured it as quite so--"

"Normal? Homey?" Emily smiled.

"That's exactly why I wanted Mike Durbin to do the article. I wanted
people to know that the Other Side of Paradise Inn is a far cry from the
dark, sinister murder scene written about in the past. Well," she said
briskly, trying to ignore the commotion of. her heart as she looked at
him.

"If you'll just sign the register, I'll show you up to your room."

She pushed the book across the desk and waited for him to sign.

He hesitated for a moment, then picked up the gold pen and scrawled his
name across the blue line. Emily almost expected to see John Doe written
across the page, but when she turned the book around, she saw that he'd
signed the register as Mat thew Steele.

She looked up at him.

"I thought you said your name was Doe."

"I said you could call me that."

"Why would you want me to call you that, if it's not your name?" she
asked in confusion. Mat thew shrugged.

"It's a private joke.

You wouldn't understand." What was it Caroline had said? Isn't that what
they call a corpse?

"You're not a ghost, are you, Mr. Steele?" He leaned against the desk.

"Do I look like a ghost, Emily?" His gray eyes stared deeply into hers.
Too deeply for such an ordinary conversation.

But nothing seemed ordinary about this stranger, Emily realized.

Quite the contrary.

"How did you know my name?" she asked breathlessly.

"I read it in Durbin's article."

"Oh, yes. I'd forgotten. Well, shall I show you to your room?"

Emily led the way up the stairs and opened the first door off the
landing. In her opinion, it was the best room in the house, with a south
window that allowed plenty of light, and a spectacular view of the
gardens in back and the mountains in the distance.

Mat thew stepped inside and looked around, taking in the handmade quilt
on the bed, the lace curtains at the window and the framed watercolors
hanging on the walls. Emily hadn't noticed what an undeniably feminine
room it was before she saw how undeniably masculine Mat thew Steele
looked standing inside.

He said, "It's very nice, but do you have anything facing the street?"

"Facing the street?" Emily echoed with a frown.

"Well, there's the blue room, but the view isn't nearly as good--"

"That sounds fine."

Dutifully Emily led the way down the hallway, but before they reached
the blue room, Mat thew stopped at the room across the corridor. The
door was open, Emily noticed. She could have sworn she'd closed it when
she finished hanging the curtains that morning.

"What about this room?" Mat thew asked, shoving the door open wider.

"I'm  ...  not really finished in there." Mat thew stepped inside.

"It looks fine to me."

"But I--"

"Is this where it happened?" He turned to face her, his gray eyes
capturing her~ in a gaze so intense, Emily felt her breath leave her in
a rush.

She managed to nod as she followed him into the room. Though Emily.
didn't believe in ghosts, she always had a strange feeling when she
entered this room, a rush of conflicting emotions she couldn't have
begun to explain.

"The furniture has all been changed, of course," she said quietly.

"The wallpaper's new, and the floors have been sanded and refinished.

There's nothing left of that terrible tragedy in this room."

"Do you really believe that?" He was looking at her again, staring at
her in that most disturbing way he had. Emily found herself growing even
more nervous.

"They say houses have personalities," he said.

"They take on the emotions and feelings of those who have lived in them.
The more violent the emotion, the longer it lingers, until the-house
itself becomes almost a living, breathing entity."

"A house is wood and brick and mortar," Emily said, not quite as
convincingly as she would have wished.

"Nothing more, nothing less."

Mat thew walked over to the bed and stood staring down at it, as if he
could see something Emily couldn't. She shivered at the dark, absorbed
look on his face.

"This house has secrets," he said softly, so softly Emily wasn't sure
she'd heard him correctly. Then, as he lifted his gaze to hers, he said,
"I intend to find out what they are. If it's the last thing I do."

EMILY TRIED to put the conversation out of her mind as she drove to the
town council meeting that night, but something about Mat thew Steele,
about the way he'd looked in that tragic room, wouldn't let her forget
him. Or was it what he'd said that disturbed her so much? This house has
secrets. I intend to find out what they are. If it's the last thing I
do.

Emily shivered, just thinking about Mat thew Steele. Who was he, she
wondered, and why had he come to Paradise?

"Why do you care, Emily?" she muttered as she pulled into a parking
space in front of the town hall. Mat thew was a customer, her first one,
and her only one at the moment, and he should have no more significance
to her than that.

But why had he been standing over Jenny Wilcox's grave? Why had he
looked so sad, so intense? May he for the same reason Emily herself had
felt compelled to take flowers to Jenny's grave.

Maybe the story had touched them both.

But whatever Mat thew Steele's reason for being here, Emily couldn't
afford to waste time worrying about it now. She had other, more pressing
concerns at the moment, and she knew she'd better clear her mind of
everything else before facing her brother and the rest of the town
council. Not to mention Trey Huntington.

At the mere thought of Trey's name, Emily squirmed. During the time
she'd been back in Paradise, she'd made a point of avoiding him. Their
parting had not been an amicable one, and she dreaded seeing him again.

Emily sighed as she stared out the window of her car. The Hunting tons
were practically worshiped in these parts, and no one, least of all
Trey, could understand how Emily Townsend, who had never accomplished
anything in her life, could have turned down his marriage proposal. So
what if she'd only been nineteen at the time and he'd been thirty-three?
She'd obviously needed someone to take care of her.

So what if she and Trey had hardly seen eye-to-eye on anything?

Trey would bring her around in no time. With the Huntington and Townsend
history, theirs would be a match made in heaven.

So said everyone in town, and then Emily had up and eloped with Eugene
Sprague, a wanna be country-and

western singer who'd known about as much success in his life as Emily
had in hers.

She'd realized the marriage was a mistake from the first, but she'd hung
in there, through Eugene's refusal to hold down a steady job and his
string of infidelities, until she was forced to admit defeat. The last
straw had come when he finally made it abundantly clear to Emily that he
had no intention of ever giving her the children she so desperately
wanted.

So here she was back in Paradise, Emily thought as she got out of the
car and headed up the sidewalk toward city hall. Maybe she was foolish
to come back to a town where she had never really felt she belonged, but
at this point in her life, Emily had badly wanted to put down roots
somewhere. The only family she had lived here, and though she and Stuart
might disagree on just about everything, she still loved him and knew
deep down that he loved her. The door to the meeting room opened
directly from the outside of the building. Emily slipped into the room
and took a seat at the back near an open window.

A breeze blew in, but rather than close the window, Emily pulled her
jacket more tightly around her. She liked the feel of the wind on her
face and hoped that the chill would keep her alert through Stuart's
long-winded opening speech.

A shadow passed by the window, but before Emily had time to wonder who
might be out there in the darkness, her brother called the meeting to
order and a hush fell over the' room.

As Emily had expected, the meeting was less than ten minutes old when
someone brought up the subject of Mike Durbin's article.

Just as predictable was the identity of the person voicing the
complaint--Cora Mac Hicks.

"As we're heading into the fall tourist season, we certainly don't want
a reminder of an  ...  unfortunate incident in the town's past to keep
people away."

It seemed that unfortunate incident had become a euphemism in Paradise
for murder. Emily raised her hand to speak. When Stuart ignored her, she
jumped to her feet.

"I'd like to be allowed to speak on this subject," she called. Every
head in the room turned in her direction. Stuart had no choice but to
recognize her, though he did so with obvious reluctance and a look on
his face that clearly said, Don't you dare embarrass me.

Emily took a deep breath and said, "I'm sure most of you will agree that
Mike's article was tastefully done. He didn't dwell on the more gruesome
aspects of the murder, nor did he sensationalize the few details that
are known about the case.

What he did was write a human-interest piece about a crime that has gone
unsolved for fifteen years, and he did so in a way that has piqued
people's curiosity for miles around. That article has generated a whole
new interest in Paradise."

"We don't want that kind of interest, Emily," a deep voice said from the
front of the room. Trey Huntington slowly stood, and for the first time
in seven years, Emily stood face-to-face with the man she'd once
rejected. Her first thought was that he'd aged well. At forty, he was
still ext?emely handsome, in a GQ sort of way, but on closer inspection,
Emily saw the gray wings at his temple, the deep lines around his mouth
and eyes. His dark eyes were still just as piercing, still just as
relentless, but there was a coldness in them now, an icy scorn for
anyone who didn't happen to share his opinion.

He had once intimidated Emily with that stare. She realized now that he
still did, but thankfully, she'd had a lot

of experience in hiding her true emotions in the past few years.

She lifted her chin just a fraction and glared right back at him.

"Interest is interest," she said.

"What do you cam what brings people to town, as long as they come and
spend money? I'm not even open for business yet, and because of that
article, I already have bookings. Doesn't that prove my point?"

"We've always prided ourselves on being a peaceful little community
here. We don't even have to lock our doors at night.

Using a murder to publicize a business could destroy that image, and
will more than likely bring the sort of people into town that we don't
want," Troy argued. He stopped short of saying "undesirables," even
though Emily had heard him use that term before.

"I disagree," she rap lied.

"The pictures Mike ran with the article showed what a beautiful,
charming home the Talbot house is. It went a long way to dispel the
rumors that have run rampant about that place for years, just as talking
in public about what happened fifteen years ago will help quiet the
whispers of a cover-up in Paradise." There was more than one gasp from
the audience, and ~'then everyone started talking--some shouting--at
once. Emily ignored the outraged exclamations. She concentrated instead
on putting Trey Huntington in his place for once.

Actually, this would be twice, she thought in amusement as Stuart
brought the meeting back to order. Troy, however, did not sham her
humor. If it was possible, his eyes grew even frostier.

"That's a dangerous word to be tossing about so carelessly, Emily. Them
was no cover-up. Everyone knew Wade Drury committed the crime. He fled
town before he could be arrested."

"If it was all so cut-and-dried," Emily said, "then no one should cam if
I do a little investigating on my own."

Troy raised an incredulous brow.

"To what end, Emily? Don't tell me you're actually planning to try and
solve the murder yourself?"

Emily felt her face grow hot as snickers erupted around her. She knew
exactly what Trey was implying, and so did everyone else.

She'd never been able to accomplish anything in her life, let alone
solve a murder. Emily's face burned with humiliation. She turned her
gaze to Stuart, hoping that just once he would take up for her. But he
wouldn't even look at her. There was no doubt in Emily's or anyone
else's mind who was now in charge of the meeting.

That was the way it had always been, she thought bitterly. Trey
Huntington ran Paradise, just as his father had run the town before him.
That was why her own parents had died on an icy road coming home on
Huntington business. Because William Huntington had insisted that her
father--Huntington's attorney--return that night, despite the dreadful
weather conditions.

As the old memories crowded around her, Emily became even more
determined not to back down. If her father had stood his ground, he and
Emily's mother might still be alive.

Emily trained her gaze on Troy.

"I'll tell you exactly why I want to investigate that murder," she said.

"To find out what really happened back then. To lay old ghosts to rest.
No matter how much you and everyone else in here might wish to believe
otherwise, that murder has always hung like a dark cloud over this town.
For everyone's sake, it's time to find out the complete truth about that
night fifteen years ago, and for the life Of me, I can't understand why
anyone in this room would have an objection."

'

Emily paused, letting her gaze scan the crowd, before adding in an
ominous tone, "Unless, of course, someone here has something to hide."

A stunned silence fell over the room. Emily took a moment to enjoy the
deep scowl creasing Trey Huntington's brow, the thunderstruck expression
on her brother's face. Then she turned and walked out of the room.
Outside, the night was cold and clear, with a waxing moon glowing palely
against the sky and the stars so low they seemed to hang just above the
purple silhouette of the distant mountains. The clock in the town square
struck ten, the chimes thin and plaintive in the deep stillness of
night.

Mat thew Steele drifted out of the shadows. He didn't make a sound, just
slipped from the darkness like a spirit in the night.

Emily felt her heart start to pound when she saw him.

"What are you doing here?"

He was standing perhaps six feet away. Moonlight fell between them,
throwing angled shadows across his face that made his expression
difficult to read. He looked ghostly in the moonglow, a haunting figure
from the netherworld.

When he spoke, his tone was light, but his voice still had the power to
send chills up and down Emily's spine.

"I saw the lights, heard the shouting, and my curiosity got the better
of me."

Emily thought about the shadow she'd seen pass by the window earlier and
wondered if it had been him. Had he followed her here?

She cast a glance toward the open window, speculating about whether or
not anyone could see them out here. She doubted they could be overheard.
The meeting was still in an uproar. No one would hear anything. Not even
a scream, Emily thought, as Miss Rosa bel's words came back to haunt
her. You only had to look into his eyes, those beautiful gray eyes, to
know he meant trouble. As if reading her thoughts, Mat thew stepped
forward, more fully into the light, and Emily thought she saw his gray
eyes flash with amusement.

"Congratulations," he said.

"If your intention was to cause a sensation, you certainly succeeded.

Makes you wonder what they're all so afraid of, doesn't it?"

For a moment, it was all Emily could do not to retreat. Her heart
hammered painfully inside her chest as he stared down at her, the
amusement in his eyes turning to something darker and deeper.

Something that frightened her.

"You'd best be careful, Emily," he said in a low, menacing tone that
chilled her to the bone.

"Solving an old murder can be a deadly business."

"Wh-what do you mean?"

"Some people don't take kindly to having old secrets dug up." He took
another step toward her. Emily's heart thundered inside her.

Her breath was coming in jerks, and she knew, suddenly, from the way he
was looking at her, that he was going to kiss her. Right out here, with
her brother and Trey Huntington and the whole blessed town only a few
feet away, Mat thew Steele was going to kiss her.

Excitement spiraled through her. Her blood heated and her senses spun.

She'd always liked living on the edge, and somehow Emily knew that
kissing Mat thew Steele would definitely be embracing danger. Courting
disaster. She swayed toward him.

Everything about her tensed and waited.

"Quite a little ruckus you caused in there." The voice definitely did
not belong to Mat thew Steele. Emily opened her eyes and spun around,
searching the darkness. Mat thew was nowhere in sight. It was as if he'd
vanished into thin air.

Without kissing her.

And Mike Durbin stood them, staring at her as if she'd taken leave of
her senses.

"Emily? You okay?" She shrugged, feeling like a fool.

"I guess so." A gust of wind blew through the trees, sounding like rain
as it stirred the dying leaves. Feeling chilled, she folded her arms
across her chest, hugging herself tightly against the cold. A dog barked
in the distance, the sound eerily mournful in the silence that fell
around her.

"What's wrong?" Mike asked.

"You look as if you've seen a ghost."

"I'm fine," Emily insisted, but in truth, she wasn't sum how far off the
mark Mike Durbin might~ be. If not a ghost, Mat thew Steele was
certainly a mystery.

"I'm glad you came out here," she said, taking a few steps away from the
spot where Mat thew had been standing.

"I want to talk to you. I guess you heard what I said in there."

"About solving the murder?" Mike shook his head and chuckled.

"Wish I'd had a video camera. The expression on Trey Huntington's face
was priceless. Obviously, you hit a nerve."

"Obviously, I opened my big mouth when I should have kept it shut,"
Emily said.

"Mike, you know I never had any intention of trying to solve the Wilcox
murder. All I wanted was some free publicity from your articles. I don't
know what came over me. I don't know the first thing about solving a
crime."

"Well, luckily, I do, because I think we're on to something big here,
Emily. I have a feeling--" He broke off when someone called his name.

Trey Huntington stepped out of the building's shadow, making Emily
wonder whether he'd been there all along, eavesdropping. Somehow, she
doubted it, but not he- cause she thought Troy wouldn't stoop to
something that low. She knew he would, but he'd more than likely hire
someone to do it for him.

"Durbin," he said as he came to stand between them. Mike and Emily
stepped back, allowing Troy to take center stage, as always.

"I'~d like to have a word with you," he said to the reporter.

"Seems I'm a popular guy tonight," Mike quipped, but he shot Emily a
look that told her he wasn't nearly as confident as his words sounded.

"What can I do for you, Mr. Huntington?"

"I trust you'll use discretion in your reporting of this meeting."

"I'11 be fair and accurate," Mike said.

"Beyond that, I make no promises. Maybe you'd be willing to give me an
interview. You could tell me everything you remember about Jenny
Wilcox's murder. From your own per spec- five, of course. As I
understand it, you were one of the first ones to demand Wade Drury's
arrest."

Even in the darkness, Emily could see Trey's face harden in anger, and
she caught her breath. Mike Durbin, whether he realized it or not, was
playing with fire. Trey Huntington was a powerful man in Paradise. If he
wanted a story killed, all he had to do was make one phone call to Roy
Travers. Mike had to know that. He had as much to lose here as she did."
but he wasn't backing down, and Emily couldn't help but admire him for
that.

Trey said, "You're making a serious mistake, Durbin." '~"It won't be the
first one," Mike said, and suddenly Emily understood the game he was
playing.

He was willing to risk everything, because he didn't have anything to
lose.

Emily remembered the desperation she'd glimpsed in Mike's eyes on
occasion, and wondered again just how far he'd be willing to go to get
his story. He'd already made a very powerful enemy.

Trey turned to her, and Emily had a sinking feeling that she might not
be able to hold up under his scrutiny as well as Mike had. She'd done
fine in the meeting, but that had been in front of a crowd. Alone,
one-on-one, she wasn't nearly as sure of herself with Trey. She knew
firsthand what he was capable of, and the memory of their final parting
still had the strength to frighten her. Trey Huntington could be a very
dangerous man when crossed.. He took Emily's arm and propelled her away
from Durbin.

In spite of her fear, Emily jerked her ann free and glared up at him.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"What do you think you're doing, Emily?"

"Trying to run a business the best way I know how," she retorted.

She could almost see Trey's smirk in the darkness. The faint scent of
his cologne--~goiste, she thought--drifted to her.

"You're hurting your brother again, that's what you're doing. How could
you do this to him, Emily? After everything you've put him through in
the past." It was a low blow, bringing her past indiscretions into the
argument, but when had Trey Huntington ever played fair?

"I'm not doing anything to Stuart," Emily said defensively.

"All I want to do is make a success of my bed-and- breakfast. How can
that possibly hurt Stuart?"

"It can't have escaped your notice that your brother is in the midst of
a hotly contested campaign for the state legislature. Publicity about
the Wilcox murder could kill his chances."

Now wasn't the time to point out the irony of Trey's words, Emily
decided. She said instead, "How? What does a fifteen-year-old murder
have to do with Stuart's election to the legislature?

They're two separate issues, aren't they?" She stared up at Trey,
waiting for an answer. When he didn't respond, she said slowly, "You
know, Trey, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were afraid of what I
might find out in this investigation."

He moved very close, watching her face in the dim light spilling from
the windows of the building behind them. His -eyes were like bits of
black stone, and his voice was like ice.

"You don't frighten me in the least, Emily." The look in his eyes, the
coldness--so incongruous with the casual way he spoke--brought a spasm
of fear to Emily. She forced herself to smile up at him.

"Well, maybe I should frighten you," she told him challeng'mgly.

"Maybe everyone else in this town is afraid of me; because of what I
might find out. Maybe that's why they're all so against me. What do you
think?"

For a moment, he didn't say anything. Even the wind seemed to still, as
if the night were holding its breath. Then Trey said, in a deceptively
soft voice, "I think you should forget all this nonsense about the
murder, Emily, before you make yourself--and your brother--look even
more foolish than you already have."

Emily managed a small laugh, and was quite proud of herself for the way
it came out, with just the right mix of humor and incredulity and even a
hint of disgust.

"You can't tell me what to do like you do everyone else in this town.

I'm my own person, Trey. You, of all people, should know that by now."

She didn't want to use her rejection of Trey to hurt him, but turnabout
was fair play. With Trey Huntington, she

had to use any measures available to defend herself. She knew he would
do the same.

His voice was carefully controlled, as if he were having to struggle
very hard to keep his temper at bay.

"You may not be as independent as you think." His frigid gaze claimed
hers in the darkness. Emily felt an unpleasant chill wash over her.

"You're back in Paradise now. This is my town."

"You may own the buildings and the land and everything else, but you
can't own people."

He lifted his hand and took her chin, caressing her at first.

Then his fingers tightened, trapping her.

"You are so naive, Emily. I'm glad to see you haven't changed."

"Oh, but I have," she said, moving away from his cold touch.

"You have no idea."

She saw his smile in the darkness, the sardonic twisting of his lips,
but before he could deny her words, the sound of a motorcycle blasted
through the night. The powerful bike, hardly more than a blur, raced
down Main Street, and neither Emily nor Trey nor anyone who had come out
of the building behind them said a word until the sound had long since
faded in the distance. Then an excited murmur drifted through the crowd.

Emily's heart pounded against her ribs. She'd had hardly more than a
glimpse of the stranger, but that was all it had taken.

All that she'd needed to reassure herself that Mat thew Steele was
indeed real, and that he was still here in Paradise.

And tonight he would be sleeping in her house. They would be completely
alone.

Anything could happen with a stranger.

Emily glanced up, absorbing Trey's features. He was handsome, powerful
and wealthy. An irresistible combination, some might think, but to Emily
he'd never seemed less attractive, less appealing. She could muster up
no feelings for him whatsoever, not even regret, and yet just one
glimpse of a stranger on a motorcycle had set her pulse to pounding like
the pistons of a runaway locomotive. The sound was so loud in her ears,
Emily thought Trey must surely hear it.

But she needn't have worried. Trey had forgotten all about her.

His gaze remained focused on the street, where the powerful bike had
passed only seconds before. The look in his eyes, the expression on his
face, startled Emily. She'd seen it once before, when she'd told him in
no uncertain terms that she wouldn't marry him if he was the last man on
earth.

It was a mixture of disbelief, fear, and cold black rage.

Chapter Four.

Emily stared at the newspaper the next morning, unable to believe what
she was reading. A shaft of sunlight streamed in through the bay window
in the kitchen, highlighting the headline that read Bed-and-breakfast
owner vows to solve fifteen-year-old murder.

She groaned, cradling her head in her hands Mike Durbin had certainly
wasted no time in moving the story to the front page, and Emily had no
doubt that he would do whatever was necessary to keep it there, in spite
of Trey's warning last evening And now, if she didn't at least make some
token attempt to solve the murder, she'd look like a complete fool,
which was exactly why Trey had goaded her into that ridiculous position
in the first place. All the publicity and interest Mike's initial
article had generated in the Other Side of Paradise Inn would, die down
if people thought Emily was just another crackpot.

Of course, everyone in Paradise would naturally assume that this was
just another of her harebrained schemes, anyway, and that sooner or
later she would fall flat on her face, just like all the other times
when she'd tried to dazzle them with her cleverness.

Emily could hear Smart and Caroline's endless tirades now, and her head
ached, just from thinking about it. She wished with all her heart that
for once in her life she could be the one to look her brother straight
in the eye and shout, I told you so! ! told you so!

But there was only one way she could do that now. She had to prove
Stuart was wrong about her. She had to prove to him and to the whole
closed-minded town that Emily Townsend could succeed at something when
she set her mind to it.

Sighing, she got up to start a fresh pot of coffee. It was early, and
she had no idea what time Mat thew would appear for his breakfast, but
she was determined to be ready. Publicity was all well and good, but the
final proof of her success would be in her ability to keep guests coming
back once she had attracted them.

Mat thew was her first customer and she wanted to make a good
impression. For more reasons than one. The thought fleeted across her
mind as she pulled a pan of freshly baked cinnamon buns from the oven.

Emily slid the pan onto a cooling rack and flung off the oven mitt,
annoyed with herself for the direction of her thoughts.

Didn't she have enough to worry about without making a fool of herself
over a stranger? Wasn't it enough that she'd made a fool of herself over
this murder business? The "unfortunate incident" in Paradise's past?

"Good morning."

Emily whirled at the sound of Mat thew's deep voice. He'd managed to
startle her, even though he'd been on her mind all morning.

"Good morning."

Emily ran a quick assessment of herself through her mind. Had she
forgotten anything important when she'd dressed this morning?

Decent jeans, soft leather boots, flannel shirt with a pink camisole
peeking through the neckline. So far, so good "Beautiful day, isn't it?"
she asked as Mat thew walked into the room. She couldn't help noticing
the way he was dressed, also. The faded jeans that molded his long legs,
the black T-shirt that hugged his muscular arms and chest, the way his
own dark hair glistened with moisture, as though he'd just stepped from
the shower.

A tantalizing image, that.

He was undeniably attractive, undeniably masculine, ~

and undeniably powerful, ~n a way Trey Huntington would never be, and he
affected Emily as Trey--with all his money and prestige--never had and
never would Mat thew Steele's appeal was far more subtle, more in
definable, and Emily had the feeling that, to her at least, it could be
far more dangerous.

His gaze dropped to the paper lying open on the table.

"I see you've made the front page."

Emily grimaced.

"Don't remind me."

"Having second thoughts about solving the murder?"

"Try third and fourth thoughts." Emily poured Mat thew a cup of coffee
and offered him cream and sugar, which he declined.

"If you'd like to go into the dining room, I'll bring in your
breakfast."

"What's wrong with in here?" Mat thew asked, indicating the breakfast
alcove in the kitchen.

"The paper's al ready here, the sun's shining in, and something smells

delicious."

"Cinnamon rolls. You can eat in here, if you want."

Though his nearness would probably make her so nervous she'd break half
the dishes in the kitchen.

Mat thew sat down in the sunshine, and Emily bustled about, setting the
table, replenishing his cup, and when they'd cooled sufficiently, she
brought him a plate of rolls.

Mat thew sampled one.

"My grandmother used to make c'mnamon rolls like this," he said.

"I haven't tasted anything so good in years."

His warm gaze rested on Emily, and she blushed just like a kid with her
first crush. Good grief, it wasn't as if she hadn't been around the
block a time or two. Or three. While Mat thew read the paper and savored
his coffee and rolls, Emily savored the moment.

There was something so exquisitely intimate about serving a man
breakfast in the kitchen.

She thought about all the mornings she'd eaten alone during her
marriage. Eugene had never gotten out of bed before two in the
afternoon, and when he did get up, it had only been to stumble into the
kitchen for a cup of coffee that he immediately carried back to the
shower with him. He'd never sat and read the paper with her, never even
kissed her good-morning. Sometimes a careless wave of his hand had been
the only indication Emily had that he even knew she was there.

Eugene had hated her cinnamon rolls. Mat thew's plate was already empty.
Emily gave him seconds, and he smiled his appreciation.

"Don't know why I'm so hungry," he muttered.

"It's the mountain air," Emily said.

"It always affects appetites that way."

"I think you may be right." His dark gaze held hers, then moved downward
and over her, in a manner so smooth and covert, Emily might have thought
she'd imagined it, except for the delicious tingle running up and down
her spine.

The attraction between them was almost a tangible thing. Emily thought
that if she could capture and market this feeling, she'd be an overnight
millionaire. As it was, all she could do was fumble with the top ~outton
of her flannel shirt and shift from one foot to the other.

"Why don't you sit down," Mat thew said, indicating the chair opposite
his, '~and tell me how you plan to solve this murder?"

His words were like a splash of ice water. For a few moments, Emily had
managed to put that predicament out of her mind while she contemplated
this new and more exciting predicament. Now she had to turn her thoughts
to murder again.

She sighed heavily and dropped into the wicker-backed chair.

"I haven't a clue," she said morosely.

"I don't even know where to start."

Mat thew pushed back his empty plate.

"Why don't you start at the library? Look up all the old newspaper
accounts of the murder.

Maybe something will click and give you a lead."

Emily snapped her fingers. His suggestion made so much sense.

"Now, why didn't I think of that?"

"I'm experienced," Mat thew said. Then he added, "Like I told you
yesterday, mysteries are somewhat of a hobby of mine.

I like solving them. That's why I came to Paradise."

"Then you want to solve the Wilcox murder, too?"

"I'm interested in the story," Mat thew said, his tone noncommittal.

Then he shrugged.

"I might be able to help you. Why don't you tell me what you know?"
Emily hesitated. Could she trust him? Should she trust him? But what
harm could there possibly be in telling him the story that Rosa bel
Talbot had told her? Besides, he'd soon be reading all about it in
Mike's articles, anyway. And if he could help, so much the better.

Emily needed all the assistance she could get.

told him about her and Mike's conversation with Miss Rosa bel, all about
Jenny Wilcox and Wade Drury and Tony Vincent, and when she'd finished,
she sat back and folded her arms across her chest.

"So you see, everyone in town believed the stranger was guilty.

There were no other suspects, and the fact that he just up and
disappeared like that made him look even more guilty. The way I see it,
all we really have to do is find out what happened to Wade Drury.

Then the case will be solved."

Mat thew's expression remained the same, one of polite, casual interest,
but something flashed behind his eyes, a look that made Emily's heart
jolt as he said softly, almost indifferently, "But what if Drury didn't
do it?" Emily faltered for a moment, taken aback by the look in Mat
thew's gray eyes. Then she said, "But  ...  he had to have done it. If
he didn't, that would mean that the murderer might still be alive and
well and  ...  living  ...

here  ...  in  ...  Paradise." Her voice trailed off as the very air
between them became electric with awareness. Not sexual tension this
time, but something far more dark and deadly. Their eyes measured each
other for a long, silent moment. Suddenly, for the first time since she
and Mike Durbin had started digging into the past, the impact of what
she was doing hit Emily. She was looking for a murderer, someone who had
viciously stabbed a young woman to death. Someone who had covered up the
brutal crime for fifteen years.

Someone, possibly, that Emily had known all of her life. Or someone,
possibly, that she had just met.

So NOW SHE KNEW it wasn't a game.

Murder was never amusing, Mat thew thought as he Watched Emily from the
front window of her house. She got into her dusty blue Volkswagen,
shifted into reverse and backed the little car out of the driveway.

Then, shifting again, she headed down the street toward town and the
Piggly Wiggly store where she'd said she did all her grocery shopping.

Don't bother locking up if you go out, she'd added. Nothing ever happens
in Paradise.

Nothing except murder.

Mat thew started to turn away from the window. Now that Emily was safely
out of the house, he had some investigating of his own to do.

But a movement caught his eye, and he stilled. A curtain fluttered at an
upstairs window in the house across the street, then fell back into
place, as if someone had turned away from the window the moment Emily
was out of sight.

Mat thew frowned. There was something ominous about the house across the
street. The turrets and towers and lacy scrollwork were all pleasant
enough, but the massive oaks surrounding the yard cast huge shadows over
the house, giving the place an air of perpetual gloom, even in midday.
Perhaps in the heat of summer the shady yard would offer welcome
respite, but in October, with the promise of the first snowfall not so
very far away, the house looked cold and bleak and empty. Soulless.

As he continued to watch, the front door opened and a woman stepped out
on the wide wraparound veranda. Her gaze settled on the Other Side of
Paradise Inn. She walked down the porch steps, never taking her eyes off
the front of Emily's house. As if lured by some strange, irresistible
force, the woman crossed the street and came to a standstill on the
sidewalk in front of the inn.

Mat thew drew hack from the window, but he continued to watch the Woman.
She was sixty at least, thin and wiry, with scraped-back hair, a narrow
face and piercing black eyes. The term battle-ax came to mind, but Mat
thew knew looks were often deceiving. However, in this case, he very
much doubted that his immediate impression of the woman was far off the
mark.

There was something about the absorbed expression on her deeply creviced
face as she stared at Emily's house that brought an uneasiness to Mat
thew. He didn't ignore the feeling. In his line of work, he'd been
trained, and had learned fromm his own experiences, to discount nothing,
especially his own instincts.

There was something about this woman he didn't trust.

AS he continued to watch her, her gaze lifted, and Mat thew thought she
must be looking at the window of his bedroom. The window of the room in
which Jenny Wilcox had been murdered. She raised her hand--it was her
only movement--to absently caress the wrinkled skin at her neck, and
Mike Durbin's account of the murder suddenly came rushing back to Mat
thew. Jenny Wilcox had been brutally stabbed fifteen times. The fatal
wound was the one to her throat  ...

Mat thew crossed the room, opened the door and stepped onto the porch
before the woman had time to leave. She glanced at him and visibly
started. The color drained from her face, leaving the unattractive
features, the bulging eyes, the hawk like nose and the lipless mouth, to
stand out starkly. The hand at her throat moved to her heart. For a
moment, Mat thew thought she might actually pass out.

He walked down the steps into the sunlight, her gaze following his every
move.

"It's Cora Mae, isn't it?" he asked softly.

"Cora Mae Hicks?"

Her eyes narrowed on him.

"Do I know you?" Mat thew smiled.

"I thought you looked as if you recognized me."

"I was mistaken," she said quickly.

"You couldn't Never you mind.

How do you know my name? Her dark eyes flashed with an emotion Mat thew
was hard put to define.

He said truthfully, "When I was looking for a place to stay in Paradise,
your name was mentioned. You own a bed-and-breakfast, don't you? "The
one across the street. The This Side of Paradise Inn, isn't it?"

As if connected by a common string that had suddenly been yanked, their
gazes moved to the shingle hanging from Emily's front porch. The Other
Side of Paradise Inn. Clever girl, Mat thew thought approvingly. Cora
Mae obviously didn't share his opinion.

"I could sue her for that," she snapped.

"She has no right using that name, capitalizing on all my hard work.

I've operated the This Side of Paradise Inn for over a quarter of a
century. It's the best one in town. In the whole County. Everyone knows
that.

Now here she comes along with all her highfalutin ideas, trying to steal
away my customers by stealing the name of my inn. Well, I won't stand
for, I tell you. I won't let her get away with this." Mat thew couldn't
believe the venom in the old woman's voice. He wondered if Emily had any
idea of the extent of Cora Mae's resentment. He tried to make his tone
sound only mildly interested when he said, "So you've operated your
bed-and-breakfast for over twenty-five years.

That means you were right there across the street when Jenny Wilcox was
murdered."

Cora Mae's lips thinned to nothing more than a jagged line.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Mat thew Steele."

She considered the name for a moment.

"Used to be some Steeles lived down in Newport, but I heard tell they
moved away years ago. Worthless lot, best I recollect. You any kin to
Delbert and Fannie Steele?"

"I don't think so."

"I don't think so, neither," she said. Her words seemed So have a double
meafiing.

"What brings you to Paradise?"

"I read Mike Durbin's article in a newspaper, and it grabbed my
attention. I decided to come see for myself where the murder occurred."

"Why?" Cora Mae demanded, her eyes glinting with cold suspicion.

Mat thew shrugged.

"Call it curiosity." Or revenge. Cora Mae's gaze went back to the
upstairs window. Her eyes took on a sort of feverish glee.

"That girl was stabbed, you know. Fourteen times in the heart and in the
face." Her gaze darted back to Mat thew's.

"And once in the throat. A crime of passion, they called it."

"So I read." Mat thew felt a chill creep over him as the old woman
continued her unblinking regard.

"Rosa bel Talbot owned this place then. Tried to make a go of her
bed-and-breakfast, but she weren't no competition for me, and after the
killing, her business was finished anyhow. The bloodstains wouldn't come
up.

They never do. Don't matter what you use on them. No one wanted to stay
in the house after that."

"I guess that was a lucky break for you, wasn't it?" Mat thew murmured.

But Cora Mae was staring up at the wind w again.

"This place should have been burned to the ground a long time ago.

Emily Townsend is doing the devil's work, opening it up again. She's
inviting evil back into Paradise." Cora Mae paused for a moment, her
gaze flashing back to Mat thew.

"Unless someone does something to stop her."

Demented, Mat thew thought. Undoubtedly certifiable. But that did
nothing to alleviate his unease about Cora Mae Hicks. If anything, she
was even more dangerous than he'd first thought.

Mat thew would have given a lot to know her exact whereabouts on the
night Jenny was killed. He watched Cora Mae turn and make her way across
the street. When she reached the safety of her own porch, she looked
back and made the sign of the cross in the air, as if to ward off evil
spirits.

Mat thew wasn't sure whether the gesture had been directed toward
Emily's house, or at him.

As EMILY DROVE through the tree-shrouded streets of Paradise that
afternoon, she couldn't help but admire the beauty of the town.

The fall foliage was nearing its peak, and the maples lining Main Street
were on fire in the sunlight.

Quaint little houses--pained pink or country blue or white--had been
turned into art galleries, craft stores and restaurants with window
boxes spilling over with purple pansies, red geraniums, and showy bronze
chrysanthemums.

But beneath the sunlight and beyond the charming pastel houses and the
windswept hillsides," a darkness simmered. Paradise wasn't at all what
it seemed, Emily thought bitterly, remembering her unhappy childhood.

The people here were sheltered, secluded from the rest of the world,
which sometimes bred narrow-mindedness and intolerance. Oh, they put on
a good show for the tourists, but if one of their own stepped out of
line, they could be mean-spirited and sometimes merciless.

And one of them, Emily thought grimly, might even have committed murder.

In spite of the sunshine streaming in through her windshield, she
shuddered. It was a day to go berry-picking and cloud-watching. Not a
day to have murder on one's mind, but, unfortunately, Emily couldn't
seem to think of much else.

Especially since her conversation with Mat thew that morning.

She pulled her car into the parking lot of the Paradise Town Library,
which was situated two blocks over from Main Street and near the park.

The library was housed in a charming little redbrick building that had
once served as a one-room schoolhouse.

An old-fashioned bell still hung near the entrance to the building, and
the trees sprawling across the spacious lawn still bore the scars from
dozens of initials painstakingly carved into their bark. Inside,
however, the library was surprisingly modern, even computerized, and
Nella Talbot, the librarian, was more than eager to help. She stood over
Emily's shoulder as Emily scrolled through screen after screen of
fifteen- year-old newspaper articles.

"What exactly are you looking for?" Nella asked.

"I wish I knew."

Emily looked up and smiled. She hadn't seen Nella in years, but the
woman hadn't changed much. She was still extremely thin, with the quiet,
athletic grace of a ballet dancer, and her fair hair was pulled back
from her face and secured with a plain silver barrette. She wore
glasses, which Emily didn't remember, but instead of detracting from her
appearance, the lenses seemed to magnify the violet-blue of her eyes,
giving them a dreamy quality.

Everything about the woman was soft and quiet and understated--exactly
the attributes one would desire in a librarian.

Nella said shyly, "I wondered when you'd come by." She shifted the heavy
reference book she carried from one arm to the other and gave a sheepish
little shrug.

"I happened to be at the meeting last night. I heard what you said about
solving the Wilcox murder."

"I suppose you've read the paper this morning, as well," Emily said
dryly.

A smile hovered at the corner of Nella's lips.

"It was hard to miss," she admitted. She set the book on the table
beside her, then, hesitating for only a moment, sat down beside Emily at
the computer.

"I think it's great what you're doing. Solving an old murder. It's so
exciting." Nella Talbot was full of surprises.

She was the first person in town to show Emily the least bit of support,
and that made her instantly warm to the librarian.

"Not many people in Paradise share your opinion," Emily replied.

"I think a few would even like to string me up for causing so much
trouble."

"But that's the way you've always been," Nella said. Emily glanced at
her, but from the placid expression on Nella's face, Emily could tell
the comment wasn't meant to be mean.

"I guess I have always been a bit of a rabble-rouser," Emily agreed.

Nella's eyes gleamed.

"I remember hearing about some of the things you used to do in high
school, organizing sit- ins and walkouts and what have you. I could
never do anything like that."

"All it takes is a lack of good judgment." Nella laughed quietly as she
adjusted the skirt of her blue shirtwaist, then crossed her legs primly,
as if she were settling in for a nice long chat.

It came to Emily suddenly that the woman must be lonely. There probably
wasn't much traffic at the Paradise Town Library, and as best Emily
could remember, Nella had always been something of a loner anyway. An
outsider who never quite fit in. Emily felt a certain kinship with her
for that. Nella said, "What made you come back to Paradise, anyway? I
mean, there aren't exactly a lot of opportunities around here."

"No," Emily agreed, "but it is home."

Nella nodded vaguely. Her eyes were trained on the computer monitor, and
Emily turned. The screen had stopped on an article about the Wilcox
murder. The picture above the text was of Miss Rosa bel Talbot, and the
young woman beside her was Nella.

"You were there, weren't you?" Emily asked. Nella's blue eyes took on a
faraway look, much as Miss Rosa bel's had the day before, when she
related the details of the murder to Emily and Mike Durbin.

"It was terrible," Nella said, in a soft, anxious voice.

"Horrible. It's something I'll never forget. All that blood  ..."

"Your aunt said the same thing," Emily told her.

"I drove down to Batesville to visit with her yesterday." Nella looked
surprised.

"You did? But  ...  why?"

"She seemed the obvious person to talk to first." Emily paused for a
moment, then said, "Were you with Miss Rosa bel when she discovered the
body?"

Nella shook her head.

"I'd already left for school. I didn't hear about the murder until later
that day, but I  ...  I helped Aunt Rosa bel clean the room once the ...
investigation was over."

Emily grimaced, imagining what it must have been like for a
seventeen-year-old to have to deal with something so grisly.

Jenny Wilcox had been stabbed fifteen times. The walls and floors must
have been splattered with blood.

"Your aunt said you two witnessed a fight between Tony Vincent and Wade
Drury the night before Jenny Wilcox's body was found.

Do you remember much about it?" Nella pushed her glasses up her nose
with one slim finger.

"I remember that Tony had been drinking. He was drunk, in fact, and when
Tony drank he became  ...  unreasonable."

"Violent?"

Nella shrugged.

"I'd heard so, but that night was the first time I'd ever seen his
temper firsthand. I really thought he was going to kill Wade Drury. He
probably would have, if it had been anyone else, but Wade knew how to
handle himself. He wasn't as strong as Tony, but he was smarter. Tony
had worked himself into a drunken rage, and he let his emotions get in
the way. But Wade was so cool. Like ice water. He could have killed Tony
if he'd wanted to."

"But he didn't."

"No. When he knew Tony had had enough, Wade just got up and walked
away."

"Doesn't sound like the actions of a cold-blooded killer," Emily mused.

"But then, no one knows exactly how a killer acts, do they? Until he
murders someone, I mean." Nella stood and brushed the wrinkles from her
cotton skirt.

"Well, I'd better get back to work. If you need anything else, just
holier." She picked up the reference book from the table, and started to
turn away. Then she said hesitantly, "I wonder  ...  that is  ...  would
you mind if I dropped by your inn sometime? I haven't been in that old
house in years, and I'd love to see how you've fixed it up. With your
flair, I'm sure it must look wonderful."

Emily couldn't help being flattered. It was the first time anyone in
town had shown the least bit of interest in her renovations to the
Talbot house. She smiled warmly.

"I'd love to have you drop by. Come anytime. Maybe we can have coffee or
something."

Nella's own smile seemed shy and almost pathetically grateful.

"I'd like that," she said.

"Well, back to work." She patted the encyclopedia in her arms, then
turned and disappeared into the rows and rows of books. Emily went back
to her own work. Absorbed in the articles, she hardly noticed the shadow
that fell across the computer screen a few minutes later. The deep voice
that spoke behind her, however, could not be ignored. He said, "Any
luck?"

Emily turned and found Mat thew lounging against the desk Behind her.

A little thrill raced through her as she took in his appearance--the
leather jacket, the jeans and the boots. The half smile playing at the
corners of his tempting, tantalizing mouth.

Be still, my heart, she thought as she tried to remain outwardly calm.

"Not much," she told him.

"The local newspaper accounts were pretty sparse."

He straightened and moved toward her. Emily could smell the wind on his
clothes as he bent over her shoulder and scanned the article she had
pulled up on the screen.

"What about the Little Rock papers?"

His breath was warm on her neck. Emily thought the hairs at her nape
must be curling. Not to mention her toes.

"The major papers only go back ten years."

"Too bad. We'll have to look elsewhere for a lead, then."

Emily turned her head just a fraction. It was thrilling how close they
suddenly were. So close, Emily could see the tiny lines that fanned out
around his eyes and mouth, and the faint masculine shadow of his beard.
So close, she could look deep into his eyes and see the hint of secrets
that lurked somewhere in those intriguing gray depths. So close,
everything stilled within her.

"We?" she breathed.

As if the proximity were getting to him, too, Mat thew straightened and
backed away. He sat down in the chair Nella had vacated, sprawling his
long legs in front of him.

"I told you this morning I might be able to help you."

"Yes, you did," Emily said.

"But I've been wondering since then why. Are you a reporter?"

"No."

"A cop?"

"I just like mysteries."

"And you came all the way from Memphis to Paradise, Arkansas, just
because you read about an old murder in the paper?"

"Well," he said, "there was a picture of you with the article." Emily
said, "Oh," and quite literally felt as if the breath had been knocked
clean out of her. Mat thew's smile deepened, and she thought, Please, no
more. I can't take a killer smile on top of so much charm. The
combination was positively lethal, and Emily had no doubt that at any
moment she'd say or do something to make a complete idiot of herself.

So she said nothing at all. Did nothing at all. And meanwhile, her heart
raced inside her chest. Mat thew cocked his head slightly.

"Did I say something wrong?"

"No, it's just--"

"You still don't trust me."

"Well--"

"I understand. I'm a stranger, and from what I've seen, strangers aren't
exactly welcomed with open arms in Paradise. At least not all
strangers."

"You have to look like a tourist," Emily explained.

"And you don't."

"Should I be hitting all the art galleries? Browsing the craft shows?
Taking long walks in the woods and gathering wildflowers?" It was an
incongruous picture. Emily said bluntly, "It wouldn't help. You'd never
pass for a tourist."

"Why not?"

"Because you look too--"

One dark brow arched.

"Too what?"

She searched for the right word.

"Intense. Brooding.

You don't look like you're on vacation. You look like a man with a
mission."

The amusement in his eyes vanished. His feat ires seemed to harden
before Emily's eyes, and she shivered, glimpsing a darkness inside him
that she had no wish to see. Mat thew Steele had seen things, done
things. It frightened Emily to think of what sins his immortal soul
might harbor.

"You look like a man with a definite purpose in life," she said softly,
mesmerized in spite of herself by the very qualities inside him that
frightened her.

He shook his head.

"I might have once," he said, with what sounded like regret to Emily.

"But not anymore. I'm free to do whatever I want, and right now, all I
want is to help you solve a fifteen-year-old murder."

"Which brings us back to my original question," Emily answered.

"Why?"

"Why not?"

Because she didn't know anything about him, Emily told herself. She
didn't even know whether Mat thew Steele was his real name, or what his
real purpose for coming to Paradise was.

Stuart would have a conniption if he knew she was contemplating spending
time alone with this tall, dark, handsome stranger who might or might
not be a murderer.

And, after all, Stuart had been right about Eugene Sprague all those
years ago. He'd warned Emily that Eugene was no good, and his assessment
couldn't have been more on target. If Emily had listened to her brother
back then, she might have saved herself a lot of grief.

Emily knew what Stuart would say to her if he was here right now. He'd
tell her to run as far and as fast as she could from a man like Mat thew
Steele. He'd tell her to use her brain instead of her heart for once in
her life. He'd tell her she'd be a fool to be taken in a second time by
a good- looking man who practically oozed sensuality.

Emily's gaze met Mat thew's.

Her mind was made up. She knew what she had to do. She took a deep
breath and said, "I think we should go talk to Miss Rosa bel Talbot
again. She may have remembered something else since Mike and I were
there yesterday."

"Let's go, then," Mat thew said, standing.

"Just let me clean up a little here first." Emily turned back to the
computer. A loud bang at the front of the library startled her, and her
fingers slid off the keyboard. Both she and Mat thew whirled toward the
noise. Nella Talbot stood in the doorway of her office, wearing an
expression Emily could remember having seen only once before in her
life, when a deer had been caught and paralyzed by the headlights of her
car.

Like that deer, Nella remained motionless, mesmerized, staring straight
at Mat thew Steele.

Lying at her feet was the stack of books that had tumbled from her arms.

Chapter Five.

"What in the world was that all about?" Emily asked as she and Mat thew
left the library.

"Did you see the way she was staring at you?" Granted, Emily liked
looking at Mat thew herself--who wouldn't?--but Nella's stunned
expression had hardly been one of admiration. Mat thew stopped beside
his motorcycle and turned to her.

"Maybe she didn't hear me come in. She was probably just startled to see
someone else in the library." Emily wasn't convinced. She shook her
head.

"I don't think so. I mean, she was surprised, all right, but she was
staring at you as if she recognized you." Mat thew shrugged.

"I have the kind of face that always reminds people of someone they
know." Emily started to contradict him. Mat thew Steele reminded her of
no one but himself. She'd never met anyone even remotely like him.

But he was handing her a helmet. Emily gazed down at it.

"What's this for?"

"We're going to see Miss Rosa bel, aren't we?"

"On your motorcycle?"

"Why not?"

Emily stared at the Harley. She'd always wanted to ride on the back of a
bike, but now that she was actually confronted with the opportunity, the
thing looked huge and powerful, and Emily realized she had no idea what
kept it from toppling over.

Mat thew straddled the bike.

"Ready?" He sat there waiting for her, his black leather jacket gleaming
dully in the late-afternoon sunlight and his mirrored sunglasses
revealing only a distorted image of herself. Emily had no idea what he
might be thinking.

She took the helmet--she noticed he didn't have one-and tugged it on her
head.

"As ready as I'll ever be, I guess." She climbed on the back of the
Harley, fumbled for the correct place to put her feet, then slipped her
arms around Mat thew's waist.

"Hang on."

He didn't have to tell her twice. Emily clung to him for dear life as he
gunned the engine and put the bike into gear. Then, with a jerk and a
roar, they were off. Nella stood watching them from the front window of
the library, and Emily wanted to wave, but she didn't dare release her
death grip on Mat thew. Nella didn't wave, either, merely stared after
them as they left, and Emily wondered again about the librarian's
strange reaction to Mat thew.

Actually, Emily was having a pretty strange reaction to him herself.

She found she liked being this close to him and having her arms around
him. She liked the way his body felt against hers. It was a nice place
to be, she decided. A very nice place to be.

As they rode down Main Street, Emily glanced up at the window of her
brother's office, wondering what he would think if he could see her now.
He wouldn't be surprised. Nothing she did would surprise him anymore,
just as nothing she did would ever please him.

She felt a pang of sadness at the thought. Stuart was the only family
she had left, and the distance between them

hurt her. She wished things could be different, but, unfortunately, the
fourteen years separating their ages made Stuart seem more like her
father than her brother. It was his nature to try to tell her what to
do, just as it was Emily's nature to rebel against his advice.

The houses thinned as they neared the highway, the Pastel colors and
flower boxes giving way to graying wood, peeling paint and ragged yards
strewn with bicycles, tire swings and dirty toddlers grubbing about in
sandboxes. In a-way, Emily had always liked this section of Paradise
better than the picture perfect image of downtown. It was more honest.

More real.

Within moments, they were out on the highway, passing the sign that
still bore the graffiti message Welcome to Hell. Mat thew turned his
head and shouted something to her, but over the roar of engine and wind,
Emily couldn't hear him. She shrugged, and Mat thew turned his attention
back to the road.

Chiseled through the rocky hillside, twisting and turning, the road was
buttressed on the right by soaring, jagged limestone bluffs, while on
the left it fell away to a steep embankment jutted with boulders and
tree trunks. The highway had recently been paved, so the surface was
smooth and unblemished.

Mat thew drove fast, handling the Harley with what seemed to Emily
terrifying competence, leaning into the curves, opening the throttle on
the tiny stretches of straight road, barely slowing for the breathtaking
roller-coaster plunges downhill.

The stunning fall scenery passed by in a red, gold and apricot blur.

Emily's heart stayed in her throat, but she still loved the sensation.

It felt as if they were soaring through time and space, riding the waves
of some vast and invisible sea. The feel of the wind in her hair and the
vibrating ~

speed of the powerful bike were both terrifying and exhilarating.

Emily laid her head against Mat thew's leather-clad back, shielding
herself from the sharp sting of wind against her face as they roared
downhill. In spite of the speed and the cold and the death-defying road,
she felt warm and oddly protected so near him. A part of her wished she
knew more about him, and a part of her was glad she knew nothing at all.
She didn't want anything to diminish the thrill of the moment.

But by the time they arrived in Batesville, the thrill had diminished a
little on its own. Emily was frozen, and when she got off the bike her
legs were stiff and her butt was numb. It wasn't quite the sensation
she'd been expecting. Mat thew got off the motorcycle and reached down
to remove her helmet. He laid it on the seat behind him. When Emily took
a few hobbling steps away from him, he said sympathetically, "It takes a
little getting used to. You have to be somewhat of an aficionado to
appreciate riding a bike--even a Harley--in this kind of weather. Or
maybe you just have to be plain crazy," he added with an ironic smile.

"Next time, we'll take your car, if you want."

"That takes a little getting used to, too," Emily said, trying without
much success to fluff her flattened hair with her fingers.

"Especially when you have to push it uphill." They walked up the steps
of the nursing home, and Mat thew held the door for her. Emily stepped
through, relishing the warmth. The thermostat was set high, and by the
time they'd been ushered down the long hallway to Miss Rosa bel's room,
Emily had removed her coat and slung it over her arm. Mat thew did the
same. The attendant who accompanied them pushed open Miss Rosa bel's
door and stuck her head inside. She called gaily, "Miss Rosa bel, you
have visitors. That nice young woman from Paradise is back. And she's
brought another young man to see you."

The attendant, who had to be fifty if she was a day, slanted an admiring
look up at Mat thew as she turned away from the doorway and disappeared
down the hallway.

Maybe Nella had been reacting to Mat thew's looks, Emily thought, but
when they went inside Miss Rosa bel's room and the old woman's gaze fell
on Mat thew, the same expression of astonishment crossed her features.
What in the world is going on? Emily wondered. Miss Rosa bel was sitting
by the window again, and as if suddenly chilled, she pulled her blue
shawl around her shoulders.

Emily, made uneasy by Miss Rosa bel's reaction, said hesitantly, "May we
come in and talk to you for a few minutes?"

Miss Rosa bel motioned for them both to enter, but her eyes never left
Mat thew. She watched him cross the floor, and when he and Emily were
standing in front of her, the old woman's hand fluttered to her heart.

Her voice shook when she said, "I don't believe my eyes." Emily knelt
beside her. The look on the old woman's face alarmed her.

"What's wrong, Miss Rosa bel?"

"He's the spitting image," she muttered. The hand clasping her shawl
trembled.

"Spitting image of whom?" Emily asked. When Miss Rosa bel still didn't
answer, Emily touched her arm, and the woman visibly started.

Emily said, "Are you all right, Miss Rosa bel? Can I get you something?"

Miss Rosa bel batted Emily's hand away.

"I'm fine," she snapped.

"I'm not the one you should be concerned about."

Mat thew knelt beside them.

"My name is Mat thew Steele," he said in a soft, reassuring voice.

"Mat thew Steele," Miss Rosa bel repeated. She 19oked at once relieved
and doubtful.

"For a minute there, I thought you were someone else," she murmured.

"He has the kind of face that always reminds people of someone they
know," Emily repeated dryly, giving Mat thew a look that clearly said,
Just what is going on around here?

"Yes, that must be it," Miss Rosa bel agreed, but her gaze never left
Mat thew's face.

Emily was beginning to feel as though she'd stepped into the "Twilight
Zone." Why was everyone acting so strangely? Was it because Mat thew was
so devastatingly attractive and so obviously appealing? Or was it
something else? Something more sinister?

Was it because he rode a motorcycle and had gray eyes? Did he remind
everyone of Wade Drury, the man accused of a brutal murder?

Did everyone in town know something Emily didn't? Your paranoia is
showing, Emily scolded herself. She said briskly, "Mat thew read Mike
Durbin's article in a Memphis paper and became interested in the murder.
We'd like to talk to you about it, if you don't mind."

"I don't mind. I'm glad to have the company."

Miss Rosa bel finally tore her gaze away from Mat thew and looked at
Emily.

"I don't know what more I can tell you, though."

"Sometimes, the more you talk about an incident, the. more you
remember." Emily paused for a moment, then continued, "I went to the
library this morning to do some research, and I spoke with your niece."

Miss Rosa bel's eyes seemed to sharpen on Emily.

"You saw Nella?"

Emily nodded.

"We talked about the night Wade Drury and Tony Vincent had their fight."

Miss Rosa bel's lips thinned almost imperceptibly. "lqella said Wade
Drury could easily have killed Tony that night, if he'd been of a mind
to. She said Tony started the fight, but Wade was the one who walked
away. You told Mike Durbin and me yesterday that the sheriff had to come
in and break up the fight, remember?"

"Did I?" Miss Rosa bel frowned, evidently trying to recall. Her eyes
clouded a bit.

"The sheriff did come. I remember that plainly, but I think Nella's
right. Wade had ended the fight before Willis ever got there. At any
rate, lqella would remember more about that night than I," she murmured.

"Why?" There was a long silence, then Miss Rosa bel said, "Well, she's
younger, of course. Her memory's bound to be clearer." Her logic made
perfect sense, but for some reason, Emily didn't think that easy
explanation was what Miss Rosa bel had been thinking at all.

Emily, wondering why Mat thew was being so quiet, decided to try another
tactic.

"I got the impression from something you said yesterday that Nella had a
crush on Wade Drury. Did she?"

Miss Rosa bel turned to stare out the window. Her frail shoulders lifted
and dropped as she gave a long, weary sigh.

"I guess you were bound to find out sooner or later," she said softly.

Her gaze met Emily's again, and there was something in the older woman's
eyes that Emily couldn't quite discern.

"You have to understand how it was for Nella," Miss Rosa bel explained.

"She was new in town and didn't have many friends.

Wade was kind to her. He was handsome and mysterious, and more than a
little wild, I suspect." Her gaze drifted back to Mat thew.

"Those qualities are devastating to any teenager, but to someone like
Nella, well  ...  She felt things more deeply than most girls her age.

She'd had  ...  infatuations before, you see, one rather serious. That's
why her father had sent her to me that year.

She'd fallen madly in love with one of her teachers, and there was some
trouble, because the man was married. There was a lot of talk, and,
well, we decided-my brother and I--that it would be best for everyone if
Nella came to stay with me until all the fuss blew over."

Emily couldn't have been more shocked. She would never have guessed that
quiet, unassuming Nella Talbot was a woman with a sordid past. But still
waters ran deep, and far be it for Emily, with her own
less-than-sterling past, to cast stones at, anyone else.

Mat thew said grimly, "Did Wade know how she felt?"

"He'd have had to be blind not to. But he was never anything but kind to
Nella.

She was just a child, and he never led her on. Truth be told, I don't
think Nella ever expected, or even wanted, anything else from him. It
was so obvious which direction the wind was a-blowing as far as his own
affections were concerned, and Nella adored Jenny. In spite of the
differences in their ages, Jenny was the' first real friend Nella ever
had."

The plot thickens, Emily thought, glancing at Mat thew. A romantic
triangle had certainly been motive for murder before, and if you added
the volatile angle that was Tony Vincent, who knew what might have
happened that night?

Mat thew stood and moved to the window, staring out with a brooding
frown. Emily studied his profile--the strong, chiseled jawline, the bold
slash of dark brows over 7:

beguiling gray eyes, and she thought, as she'd thought '. dozen times
since she'd first laid eyes on him, Who ar, you, Mat thew Steele? Who
are you really?

Miss Rosa bel was obviously still affected by him, toc Her faded blue
eyes, bright with an emotion Emil couldn't quite decipher, watched Mat
thew with an absorbed, unblinking regard, and Emily tried to tell
herself Well, why not? The woman was old, not dead.

She could appreciate a good-looking man the same as anyone els~ But
Emily had the impression that Miss Rosa bel's intere~ in Mat thew was
more than just admiration for an attractive man. She seemed fascinated,
intrigued, and mayk just a little bit frightened by him.

And so had Nella.

Mat thew turned from the window, and Emily though she saw Miss Rosa bel
catch her breath as he trained his gray eyes upon her.

"Did you ever hear of a group that called themselves the Avengers?"

There was no mistaking the fear that flashed in Mi" Rosa bel's eyes.

"Oh, no," she said.

"Don't tell me they'~ at it again."

"Not that I know of," Mat thew said.

"I just wondere what you could tell me about them."

Again Emily had the distinct and unpleasant feeling that she was on the
outside looking in. She said, frowning5 "The Avengers' was an old TV
show, wasn't it?"

"Would that that were true, child," Miss Rosa bel sai cryptically. Then,
to Mat thew: "How in the world do yo know about them, unless-- ?"

Mat thew cut her off.

"I've done some research." He glanced down at Emily, and she glared up
at him, Obviously, he'd been holding out on her. Emily didn't s~
anything, but she knew the look on her face told Mat the'

plainly enough that when they left here, he had a lot of explaining to
do.

Miss Rosa bel, unaware of the silent tension between her two visitors,
said, "I haven't heard anything about the Avengers in years. Hadn't even
thought about them. No one talks about them, you know. We never did."

"Who were they?" Emily asked.

"No one really knew. It was a secret society. All the members dressed in
black clothing and wore ski masks to cover their faces. They called
themselves vigilantes, but they were little better than thugs," she said
in disgust.

"What did they do?"

"What didn't they do? They roamed the streets of Paradise one whole
summer, upholding law and order, they claimed, but it got so innocent
folks were afraid to go out at night. Afraid the Avengers might accuse
them of some crime for which they'd Lave no defense. Those few months
when they prowled the streets at night were a terrible time. People
afraid in their own homes. Young boys beaten up because they'd had the
misfortune to be caught out on the streets after midnight. Property
vandalized. One poor family run clean out of town." Miss Rosa bel
shuddered.

"There was nothing they wouldn't do."

"Were they operating in Paradise at the time of Jenny Wilcox's murder?"
Mat thew asked.

"The summer before Jenny came to town they were. Their activities had
let up some by fall, but I've often wondered  ...  "Miss Rosa bel
faltered. She tugged her shawl around her again, then, lifting her chin,
said, "I've often wondered if they didn't have something to do with Wade
Drury's disappearance."

Emily gasped.

"You mean  ...  you think they did something to him?"

"I'm not saying they hurt him," Miss Rosa bel rushed to ca plain.

"Not physically. But I wouldn't put it past them to have threatened him
in some way. I think Wade was afraid to hang around town to try and
clear his name. He knew the Avengers--not to mention the sheriff--would
have railroaded him into a conviction."

"Then you don't think he killed Jenny?" Mat thew asked.

Something flickered in the old woman's eyes.

"There was a darkness inside him. Make no mistake about that. I saw it
when he went after Tony that night. But Wade knew how to control it. He
knew when to walk away. I never could bring myself to believe he was a
killer."

"But  ...  if he didn't kill Jenny Wilcox," Emily said slowly, "haven't
you wondered all these years who did?"

"Every night of my life."

"Then why didn't you ever say anything to anybody?" Emily asked in
amazement.

Miss Rosa bel shrugged.

"Nobody ever asked until now. And besides, who was I supposed to tell?

The sheriff? I always suspected he was in up to his eyebrows with the
Avengers. Everyone in town wanted to believe Wade Drury was guilty. It
was easier that way."

Emily let out a long breath.

"My God," she said.

"I can't believe this. I can't believe that Jenny's murder has gone
unsolved all these years. And I can't believe a bunch of thugs dressed
up in Halloween costumes used to roam the streets of Paradise,
frightening people half out of their wits. And no one knew who they
were? Forgive me, Miss Rosa bel, but in a town the s'tze of Paradise, I
find that very hard to believe."

"Oh, we had our suspicions," Miss Rosa bel allowed.

"But we kept them to ourselves. We didn't dare do oth "This is unreal,"
Emily said, rising from the stool. She dragged her fingers through her
hair.

"How come I never knew anything about this group? I lived in Paradise
until I was out of high school. There was never any talk about a
vigilante group, or any other kind of group, that I remember."

"They were only active for a short time, that one year, and like I said,
the whole thing was kept hush: hush. If word had gotten out, it could
have hurt the tourist trade, and I don't have to tell you, Emily, that
other than Huntington Industries, tourism is about the only thing
Paradise has going for it."

"So this group of turkeys got away with murder, more or less, because
the good citizens of Paradise were afraid of bad publicity." The more
things changed, the more they stayed the same, Emily thought bitterly.

"Groups like this were hardly unique to Paradise," Mat thew said.

"Fifteen, twenty years ago, just like now, there were a rash of
paramilitary groups cropping up all over the country, usually in small
communities and rural areas. Among them were survivalist groups and
militias, but the vigilante groups like the Avengers were the most
dangerous, because they didn't have a cause. They didn't believe in
anything. Their actions weren't motivated by fear of big government or
anything else. They were power- hungry, pure and simple. They wanted
absolute control over the people who lived in their communities, and
they used violence and fear to get it."

"How could I not have known about this?" Emily demanded.

"How could I have been so blind?"

"You were only a child," Miss Rosa bel reminded her.

"And you'd lost your parents that same year. Your brother would have
naturally wanted to protect you from anything else that might have been
distressing to you."

"Distressing? I would have been outraged. I am outraged. No wonder I
never fit in in that town," Emily said, whipping her hand through her
hair again.

"I should never have come back."

"But the Avengers aren't around anymore," Miss Ro- sabel pointed out
kindly.

"Maybe not as a group," Emily said.

"But the people who hid behind those black ski masks and terrorized
innocent people are still living in that town, just as  ...  "She
paused, taking a deep breath as her gaze met Mat thew's. She didn?t
bother saying the rest. She didn't have to, because she knew they were
both thinking the same thing. Just as Jenny Wilcox's murderer might
still be living in Paradise.

"How COULD I not have known?"

It was late afternoon, and the sun was setting, as Mat thew and Emily
strolled around the manicured yard at Shady Oaks, talking over what they
had just learned. Mat thew took Emily's arm, steering her toward a
wooden bench that had been placed beneath the gnarled branches of one of
the old trees from which the nursing home had taken its name.

They both sat down, and Mat thew rested one arm along the back of the
bench, barely touching Emily's hair. She felt his touch, though. Felt it
all the way to her toes. She concentrated very hard on a verdigris
sundial situated in the center of the garden. A gray squirrel, foraging
for acorns, scattered the red and gold leaves blanketing the flower
beds.

Mat thew said softly, "Don't beat yourself up over this, Emily.

You were just a kid. There was nothing you could have done about it."

"Except close my eyes and pretend nothing was wrong." like everyone else
in town did." Emily shook her head.

"I can understand why some people would have been too afraid to step in
or speak up, but my God, the sheriff, of all people, should have done
something."

"Miss Rosa bel seems to think he might have been involved."

"Comforting thought, that, isn't it?"

Mat thew shifted his arm, and his hand brushed her hair again.

Emily wanted to lean back and rest her head against his arm. She wanted
to close her eyes and forget all about the murder and the Avengers and
everything else that had gone on in Paradise fifteen years ago.

She wanted to concentrate on the here and now, this very moment, to
savor the new and exciting emotions Mat thew Steele had awakened inside
her. She wanted to turn her head and look at him for as long as she
desired, to drink in every nuance of his masculine countenance and
explore every line and angle of his handsome face.

She wanted badly to kiss him, and the yearning became an almost physical
ache inside her. They were sitting so close, and Emily knew that if she
gave the slightest signal, showed him even a hint of what was in her
heart, he would probably grant her wish.

But if Emily had learned anything in the past few years, it was that her
impulses could be, and often were, dangerous. She'd gotten herself into
trouble more times than she cared to remember by following her heart
instead of her head, and after her disastrous marriage to Eugene, she no
longer trusted her own instincts. She didn't dare give away her heart
again, because she was tired of having it broken. So she kept her eyes
straight ahead and said, "What I can't understand is how people like my
brother could have let something like that go on. In many ways, Stuart
is the

typical Southern redneck. He's always had an almost fierce devotion to
truth, justice and the American way, and a group like the Avengers, who
took the law into their own hands, would have been abhorrent to him.

The only thing I can think is that he must not have known about them,
either."

"I suppose that's possible," Mat thew said slowly. He gazed at Emily for
a very long time, wondering if he could trust her.

Could she really not have known what was going on back then?

Was she really as guileless as she seemed? After all that Mat thew had
lived through, all that he'd seen, it was hard to believe that anyone
could be so artless.

But sitting there in that dying garden, with the wind ruffling her dark
hair and her huge brown eyes full of warmth and sincerity and just a
hint of wariness, Mat thew found himself drowning in the possibilities.

In her jeans, cotton flannel shirt and denim jacket, she looked soft and
petite, but there was nothing girlish about her. Emily Townsend was all
woman, and Mat thew found himself responding to her in a very masculine
way.

He wanted, suddenly, to kiss those full, lush lips of hers, to pull her
close and hold her against him for a very long time. He wanted to
unbutton her jacket, slip his hands inside her shirt and feel the
smoothness of her pale skin. He Wanted to hear her moan beneath him,
then have her reach for him again  ... But there was something else.
Something far more disturbing than the desire.

In the fading light, she looked young and innocent and strangely
vulnerable, and Mat thew realized, almost too late, that what he wanted
to do more than anything was to protect her. Shield her from his
suspicions. Spirit her away before she could learn any more distressing
revelations.

That there would be more disclosures, perhaps even more disturbing than
what they had uncovered today, Mat thew had no doubt. Paradise was full
of secrets, and he wouldn't rest until he'd exposed every single one of
them.

And Emily, he very much feared, would be caught in the cross fire.

There was no help for that. He had sworn to do everything he could to
find out what had really happened in Paradise fifteen years ago, and if
Emily Townsend got hurt, if she lost her innocence in the process, well,
that was just too damned bad.

TWILIGHT FELL as they snaked their way back up the road to Paradise.

Without the sunshine, the wind was merciless, and a fine mist had
descended from the mountains. Emily huddled against Mat thew's back,
wondering miserably how he stood the sharp lashing his face must be
taking. He was still bareheaded, and now, with dusk settling all around
them, he didn't even have sunglasses to protect his face from the cold.

But if he suffered, he suffered in silence. Emily had no indication that
he was even aware of the nasty weather. Or of the road conditions. He
still drove fast, even though the misty dampness made the pavement slick
and treacherous.

Emily wanted to call out to him to please slow down, but for some
reason, she didn't dare. After they left the nursing home, he'd grown
silent and moody, and Emily had the distinct impression that there were
times when some internal demon drove him.

Tonight was one of those times. And so she kept her silence and clung to
him, and every once in a while she would glance toward the edge of the
road, where the steep embankment plunged headlong into the deeper
darkness of the valley below. The other side, the i. cliff side, was
even darker, a sheer black wall where rank upon rank of cedars charged
up the looming side of the mountain.

A car came around one of the hairpin curves, taking it fast, crowding
the motorcycle to the far outside. The rear fire touched gravel, spun,
then gripped the pavement. Mat thew slowed, regaining control of the
Harley. Emily couldn't hear anything over the roar of the engine, but
she could imagine the stones that had been loosened tumbling down the
embankment, rolling over and over into the blackness. She shivered,
wishing they were home, wishing for a fire and dry clothes and a
steaming cup of hot chocolate.

Mat thew turned his head and shouted over his shoulder, something that
sounded like

"You okay?" but the wind tore his words away.

Emily nodded and clutched him tighter. He seemed satisfied with that as
an answer, for he opened the throttle and they were once again plunging
through darkness, sailing without a care up that steep and winding
hillside. What made her look up, Emily never knew. It wasn't a sound
that drew her attention, for the roar of the motorcycle obliterated all
else. It wasn't a movement, for in the darkness, with only a hint of
moonlight glimmering sporadically off rock, visibility was limited. But
something caught Emily's attention. Something made her glance up, and as
she stared up the sheer face of the cliff, her heart leaped into her
throat. i There were signs all along the road warning of rockslides, but
in all the time Emily had lived in Paradise, she'd ~;," never actually
seen one. Until now.

It looked as if a huge piece of the mountain had broken away and was now
hurtling toward the bottom, gaining

momentum with every rotation and loosening a treacherous shower of
smaller stones and gravel.

Emily clutched Mat thew's arm. She pointed toward the mountain.

The boulder was rolling faster now, and it was almost upon them.

There was no way they could out run it, nothing else Mat thew could do.

He released the throttle and hit the brakes. The tires screamed in
protest and slid sickeningly on the wet pavement. The motorcycle lurched
sideways, still sliding. Emily screamed and clung to Mat thew for all
she was worth as he fought valiantly for control of the bike.

The boulder, like a giant bowling ball, rolled over everything in its
path, soared off a jagged precipice and struck the pavement mere inches
in front of them, bouncing like a rubber ball over the side of the
embankment. The motorcycle careened out of control toward the edge, as
if following in the wake of the boulder. Mat thew threw his weight
against the momentum and put a leg down to balance the bike. Finally,
after heart-stopping seconds of madness, everything came to a swift and
silent standstill. By some miracle, they were still upright. The rear of
the bike was precariously close to the steep slope, and as Emily looked
down, she grew dizzy, just thinking about what could have happened. They
had come within inches of either being smashed to bits by the boulder or
being sent crashing down the side of the embankment.

Even now, Emily imagined that she could hear the sound of the boulder
rolling over and over as it raced toward the bottom.

But when Mat thew killed the engine, there was nothing but eerie
silence.

They both got off the bike, and Mat thew pushed it back up on the
pavement. The center of the highway, where the boulder had struck,
looked like the shell of a cracked Easter egg. Emily shuddered, looking
at it.

Feeling light-headed and slightly nauseous, She reached up and jerked
the helmet off her head. She gulped in the cold mountain air, trying to
steady her nerves.

"We could have been killed," she gasped.

Mat thew was staring up the side of the cliff. In the distance, Emily
heard the sound of a car engine and thought fleetingly that they should
probably move off the road. After narrowly avoiding one disaster, she
certainly didn't want to get hit head-on by another one. However, the
sound faded, and she guessed the car was traveling in the opposite
direction.

Mat thew turned to her suddenly, as if he'd just remembered she was with
him.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine," she said.

"Peachy."

"That was too damned close."

"I've heard of rockslides before," Emily said.

"I even had a friend in third grade whose uncle was killed by one, but
that's the first time I've ever seen it firsthand. What do you suppose
could have loosened a boulder that large?"

"Good question."

Mat thew's gaze moved back up the side of the mountain.

Shock was beginning to set in for Emily, and she started to tremble.

Her teeth were chattering, too, and in a moment, she knew, she'd
probably burst into tears. She wasn't good with disasters, she'd
discovered. Narrowly missed or otherwise.

Mat thew saw her shaking and put his arm around her shoulder.

"Sure you're okay?"

"I've never been so frightened in my life," she admitted. He tightened
his arm around her, and Emily clung to his warmth. He felt solid and
strong, and she buried her face in his shoulder.

His other arm came around her, pulling her even closer.

"Hey, it's okay," he murmured.

"We made it. We're safe."

"I know, but  ...  we could have been killed," Emily said. Her breath
caught on a sob, and she thought, What a time to lose my nerve.

She would have liked to impress Mat thew with her bravery and her
careless disregard for life and limb, but she'd just had the daylights
scared out of her, and there was no way she could pretend she was having
fun.

"I want to go home," she whispered against Mat thew's shoulder.

"I'll get you there," he promised. He wove his hands through her hair
and lifted her face, saying softly, "Emily, I'm really sorry."

"For what? You didn't send that boulder crashing down the mountainside.
It was just a  ...  a freak accident. These things happen."

"Maybe." But he didn't sound convinced. He pulled her to him, and
Emily's breath caught again--not from fear this time, but from his
closeness. From the way he held her. From the way his voice sounded when
he whispered her name.

They stood gazing at each other in the darkness, awareness a tangible
thing between them. The silence seemed to stretch forever. Finally,
without taking the time to consider the consequences, Emily lifted her
hand to Mat thew's cheek.

He closed his eyes, as if relishing her touch, and drew a ragged breath.

"Emily."

"Yes?"

"This thing between us." He drew another breath and looked away.

Emily let her hand drop from his cheek, feeling a little knot of dread
settle in the pit of her stomach. He forced his eyes to meet hers.

"It can't happen."

Emily felt as if he had just slapped her. Her pride stung from the blow,
and she took a step or two backward, reeling from shock and humiliation.

"You're married," she blurted.

"No. It's not that."

"Involved, then."

"There's no one else. It's just--" Mat thew broke off, shoving his
fingers through his hair.

"Please," Emily said.

"Say no more. I understand, and it doesn't matter. I'm not exactly in
the market for a relationship, either. I haven't even been divorced a
year, and God knows I don't need another complication in my life right
now--" She broke off, realizing she was babbling to cover her
embarrassment. She turned away.

"Emily, it's not you."

Of course it was her. Why else would an unattached man reject a woman
who was practically throwing herself at him? It had to be her. But Emily
managed to shrug nonchalantly.

"I know."

"No, you don't know, but it's the truth." She had her back to him. His
hands closed over her arms, but he didn't try to turn her. Instead, he
pulled her back gently against his chest and rested his chin on the top
of her head.

"It's not you," he repeated, his voice a deep, rumbling vibration in his
chest as Emily tried to relax against him.

"It's me. I can't get involved with anyone right now. There are too many
things in my past that have to be resolved first. I've done some
terrible things, Emily." Emily's heart began a slow, painful dance
inside her chest. Now that the desire between them had been diluted by
his rejection, the immediate situation in which she found herself became
crystal-clear. She was standing on a dark and lonely road, miles from
anywhere, with a hand some stranger she knew nothing about. A stranger
that others seemed to fear.

She shuddered.

"What kind of things?"

"Things someone like you wouldn't understand."

"Does it have anything to do with why Nella and Miss Rosa bel had such
strange reactions to you?" His hands tightened on her arms for a moment.

"I've never been to Paradise before," he told her.

"I've never met any of these people. If they react to me, it's probably
because I'm a stranger."

A gray-eyed stranger who rode a motorcycle. Perhaps that was all it was,
Emily thought. But deep in her heart she knew there was more to Mat thew
Steele than he had told her. So much more.

She thought she felt his lips against her hair, and the
movement--imagined or not--made her want to turn in his arms and stare
up at him. But she was afraid to. Afraid of what she might see in those
beautiful gray eyes. As if he sensed her doubts, his hands dropped from
her arms. He said abruptly, "We'd better head back." Emily felt bereft.
A part of her wanted to stay there on that lonely mountainside with Mat
thew forever, and another part of her--the wiser part, perhaps--wanted
to run. She turned slowly to face him.

"Mat thew?"

He was walking toward the Harley, and he didn't turn. Emily got the
message. Enough had been said for one night. She followed him, and he
wordlessly handed her the helmet. She put it on, then climbed on the
bike behind him. Her arms went around him, and for the briefest moment,
he laid his hands over hers. It was a tender, reassuring gesture that
for some insane reason made Emily want to cry.

Chapter Six.

Emily tried to avoid Mat thew's eyes when they walked into the brightly
lit kitchen at the inn, but it was difficult in the close confines.

They kept bumping into each other, setting off little explosions of
awareness inside Emily. Finally, in exasperation, she took the coffeepot
from his hands and said, "Here, let me do that. You're a paying guest."

"We're also partners," Mat thew said, but he relinquished the coffeepot
and the sack of coffee beans as if he, too, were bothered by the
constant contact. Emily's heart took a bounce at his words, but she
managed to say calmly, "Partners, are we?

Then how come I feel as if you're the one with all the answers?"

"That's only an illusion," Mat thew assured her. He opened a cupboard,
searching for cups.

"Next one," Emily directed him as she placed the beans in the grinder.

For a moment, the noise silenced their conversation, but once she was
finished, Emily picked right up where they'd left off.

"You knew exactly what you wanted to ask Miss Rosa bel before we went to
see her, didn't YOU?"

"I told you I was interested in the case," Mat thew said.

"I did some research before I came here."

Why did she not believe him? Emily wondered. Or, at the very least, why
did she think there was more to his story than he was telling her?

"Tonight proves we're on the right track," he said grimly.

Emily glanced up.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm talking about the boulder. That was no accident, Emily."

Emily gasped.

"What are you saying?"

"Tm saying someone was on that mountain, waiting for us. I'm saying they
deliberately sent that boulder crashing down on us."

Emily stared at him in astonishment.

"You mean you think  ... someone tried to kill us? Why, for God's sake?"

"To stop us from asking questions."

Emily felt stunned. When she'd first approached Mike Durbin about doing
a series of articles on the murder, she'd had no idea how quickly things
could get out of hand.

"My God," she breathed.

"Do you actually think someone tried to kill us?"

"I don't know." Mat thew gestured impatiently with his hand.

"Maybe they just intended to frighten us and the boulder came closer
than they meant. Didn't you hear a car start up?"

"Yes, but I just thought--" Mat thew broke in.

"I don't think it was a coincidence. I think.

they were up there waiting for us, and when the trap was sprung, they
drove off in a big hurry."

"But how could they have known when we would be coming back along that
particular stretch of road? It doesn't make sense."

"It does if they followed us down. They knew we'd be coming back
sometime today. They could have rigged up

some kind of trigger or lever under the boulder while we were talking to
Miss Rosa bel. Then all they had to do was sit tight and wait for us.
How many motorcycles did you see out on the road today?" Good point.
Emily said, "who do you think it was?"

"I have no idea, But I do know one thing. Someone is getting nervous
about our little investigation."

"which means someone in town has something to hide."

"Exactly."

Emily poured the coffee and brought the two steaming mugs over to the
table. She pulled out a chair and sat down.

"Do you think we should go to the sheriff?" Mat thew shrugged.

"I don't think it would do much good. We don't have any proof, and
besides, you heard what Miss Rosa bel said. She thinks the sheriff was
involved with the Avengers. And if the Avengers were somehow involved in
Jenny's murder or Wade's disappearance, I don't think we can look to the
sheriff for help." Emily shivered as his words sunk in.

"Do you really think someone tried to kill us tonight, Mat thew?" He
gave her a long, measured look.

"I honestly don't know. But if you want to pull out of this thing,
Emily, no one's going to blame you."

No one but herself. Emily thought about the warnings she'd gotten, first
from Trey Huntington, then from her brother. It made her angry to think
of the way they were still treating her, like a not-too-bright child who
needed to be told what to do.

Well, Emily wasn't a child. She was a grown woman, and if she'd had any
doubts about that before, she sure didn't now. Not after her reaction to
Mat thew earlier, out there on the highway.

But he'd made it perfectly clear there could never he a romantic
partnership between them, and now that the initial sting of his
rejection had faded, Emily had to admit his decision was probably a wise
one. She'd made too many mistakes in the past, too, and she certainly
didn't want Mat thew Steele to be another.

She was attracted to him. No doubt about that. But Emily had always been
drawn to a walk on the wild side, and as she gazed at Mat thew now, she
had the feeling that was exactly where a relationship with him would
take her. With her track record, she was definitely better off keeping
her distance. At least as much as their new partnership would allow.

Partners Emily couldn't help admiring the way the word sounded, and all
that it entailed. Respect. Sharing. Equal in every way.

She liked that. Liked it very much.

She said to Mat thew, "I don't want to back out now. We've only just
started."

"It could get dangerous, Emily."

"Do you trust me to be your partner, Mat thew?"

"Implicitly." He smiled, but there was a hint of darkness in his eyes.

A faint suggestion of regret. Emily chose to ignore it. She took a deep
breath and reached for her cup.

"Let's get on with it, then."

"So WHERE EXACN'l did you read about the Avengers? According to Miss.
Rosa bel, everyone around here was afraid to utter a word about them."

It was half an hour later, and they were still sitting at the kitchen
table, the remains of their evening meal littering the surface as they
rehashed everything they knew about the fifteen-year-old murder. The
microwave dinged, and Emily got up to remove the leftover cinnamon rolls
they ~ having for dessert after hastily prepared ham sand withes.

Mat thew hesitated.

"I don't remember exactly where."

Emily sat down at the table.. She stared at him reproachfully sensing
his evasiveness.

"Emily," he said softly.

"Does it matter how I know? I ran across a reference to them somewhere,
and I took the chance that Miss Rosahel might know more about them."

"And she did."

"And she did."

"How lucky for you," Emily said sardonically.

"How lucky for you that you have such a clever part her." He grinned and
helped himself to a cinnamon roll.

"Yeah, right." Emily had the feeling that luck had very little to do
with it. She also had the feeling that they weren't exactly equal
partners. Not yet, anyway. Mat thew was still a man with secrets. Emily
wondered if he would ever feel he could share them with her. Or, for
that matter, if she even wanted him to.

I've done some terrible things, Emily.

Her appetite suddenly gone, Emily pushed her plate away.

"Tell you what," she said.

"Why don't we make a list of our suspects and jot down everything we
know about them?"

"I've never been big on lists," Mat thew said.

"But why not? You write and I'll eat."

"What a deal." Emily rose. and searched for paper and laeacil in her
catchall drawer. She sat down at the table again and stared at the blank
sheet.

"Who's first?"

"Wade Drury, of course."

Emily looked up in surprise.

"But Miss Rosa bel said she didn't think Wade was guilty."

"That's only her opinion," Mat thew reminded her.

"True. All right, Wade Drury, then. What do we know about him?"

"He was a stranger," Mat thew supplied.

"No one in town knew anything about him."

Except that he had gray eyes and rode a motorcycle, Emily thought, but
she said instead, "And he was in love with Jenny Wilcox."

"Again, according to Miss Rosa bel."

"It seems we're hinging a lot of our leads on her, doesn't it?" Emily
said with a frown.

"I think I should go talk to Nella again,"

"All right, but meanwhile, why don't you put Nella down as suspect
number two?" Mat thew finished his roll and pushed away his plate.

"Nella?" Emily stared at him in astonishment.

"You don't honestly think she had anything to do with Jenny's death?"

"If she was in love with Wade, and Wade was in love with Jenny  ..."

"I know, but she's--"

"A woman?" Mat thew arched an amused brow.

"You don't think a woman is capable of murder?"

"Well, yes, I guess so, but Nella is so  ...  fragile. I can't imagine
her hurting a fly."

"Can you imagine her involved with a married man when she was only a
teenager?"

"Touche," Emily said. She wrote Nella's name down, then scribbled a few
pertinent facts beside it.

"Suspect number three has to be Tony Vincent. Although, for my money, I
think he should be suspect number one."

"What do you know about Vincent?" Mat thew asked, getting up to pour
himself another cup of coffee. He leaned against the counter and crossed
his feet as he re- g from across the room.

"Well," Emily said, "he was a friend of my brother's back in high school
and college. He was a major football jock, and from what I remember,
half the girls in town were in love with him."

"So he wasn't used to getting rejected by women."

"None of them were. That whole group--Tony, Stuart, Trey--all of them
had their pick of girls. Of course, I was only a kid then. But I do
remember how Tony always drove around town in this really cool Mustang
convertible and how he always had at least one girl with him.

Come to think of it, though, I don't know how he was able to afford a
car like that. His family was dirt-poor. He went to college on a full
football scholarship."

"Schools have been known to pay for play. What did he do after college?"
Mat thew asked, sipping his coffee.

"He Was drafted by a pro team, but that didn't last long.

He never quite measured up to the big boys, and rumor had it his
drinking eventually got the better of him. Last I heard, he owns a
garage here in town. Works on cars for a living. That's what his dad
used to do, too."

"Maybe we need to pay Mr. Vincent a little visit," Mat thew said,
setting down his cup and strolling back over to the table. He stood
behind Emily, reading over her shoulder.

"Better put Cora Mae Hicks on that list."

Emily gaped up at him.

"But she's a--"

"Woman?"

"Not only that, she's got to be sixty if she's a day."

"Which would have made her around forty-five at the time of the murder.
And from what I saw today, she's still ~got plenty of spunk left in her.
Not to mention anger."

"You met Cora Mae today?"

Mat thew gave a sober little laugh. He rested his hands ~ on the back of
Emily's chair, making her acutely con ~cious of his presence.

"Oh yeah. Thank God it was day light. I don't think I'd want to meet up
with her after dark."

"She is pretty scary," Emily conceded.

"All of us kids used to avoid her house like the plague on Halloween.

Chucky Freed swore she put a razor blade in an apple she gave him once.

Of course, that was after he heard of a similar incident on '60
Minutes."

"Were you aware she regards you as an enemy?" Mat thew asked.

Emily nodded.

"Because of the name thing. The Other Side of Paradise Inn. I probably
shouldn't have done that, but it seemed so perfect."

"You could have named the place Heartbreak Hotel and it wouldn't have
mattered. The fact that you opened a bed- and-breakfast in Paradise at
all is reason enough for her to hate you. I got the definite impression
that Cora Mae takes a very dim view of competition."

"That's what Miss Rosahel said the first time Mike Durbin and I went to
talk to her," Emily admitted.

"In fact, she went so far as to say she wouldn't put it past Cora Mae to
have murdered Jenny herself, just to run Miss Rosahel out of business."

"Well, there you are--suspect number four." Mat thew straightened and
moved away.

Emily tried not to notice. Tried not to think about how very much she
liked having him so near, or about the way he'd held her earlier, out on
the mountain, when she was so scared. She tried not to think about how
much she'd wanted him to kiss her. How much she still wanted him to. She
gave a nervous little laugh.

"I'm running out of room." ' "So start a new page." Mat thew was
standing by the sink, staring out the window. Emily had the feeling that
another dark mood was descending over him. Amazing how already she was
beginning to interpret his temperament.

She tried to lighten his mood again by saying, "At this rate, we could
have a book in the making. And we haven't even started on the Avengers
yet."

"No," he said grimly, "we haven't even started on the Avengers."

He turned away from the sink, and the look in his eyes made Emily's
breath rush out of her. For one split second, she had a glimpse--just a
hint--of the terrible things he had done. Then the shutters came down,
and his expression once again became inscrutable.

"I think we've done enough for one day," he said.

"Tm beat. What do you say we call it a night?"

"Emily felt too keyed up to sleep, but she shrugged, gathered up her
paper and pencil and said, "Sure, why not? Tomorrow's a new day, right?"

M~Trhew DR,V. AMED about Jenny that night. He saw her so clearly, the
way she'd looked the last time he saw her, with her crystal-blue eyes,
her shimmering blond hair and her radiant smile. A smile like sunshine
after a rainstorm. When Mat thew awakened, he tried to hold on to the
image, even considered for a moment trying to force himself back to
sleep. But if he closed his eyes now, he knew the nightmares would come.
Jenny's fragile image would be replaced by the screams. The blood. The
horrible guilt. No, he wouldn't go back to sleep. Not now. Mat thew got
up and slipped on his jeans. He crossed the room to the window and stood
staring out at the darkened streets of Paradise.

He thought about Emily Townsend.

Was she asleep? he wondered. He pictured the way she would look, her
dark hair against a white pillow, her sweet face even more peaceful and
serene in repose. Something Amanda Steven~

stirred inside Mat thew, and he tried to block the image of Emily, but
he couldn't. Not after tonight.

Out there on the mountain, he'd known the exact moment when her fear
turned to desire. Her soft brown eyes had deepened soulfully and her
lips--those luscious, perfect lips--had parted ever so slightly. And in
that instant, a powerful longing had swept through Mat thew. A need so
great it had taken every ounce of his strength, every shred of whatever
decency remained within him, not to haul her up against him and kiss
that sexy, innocent mouth of hers until neither of them could think
straight. But that would have been a mistake, Mat thew thought.

A terrible, tragic mistake that he'd made once before. There had been
another woman who had looked at him the way Emily Townsend had looked at
him tonight. Desire mingling with caution. Trust warring with fear.

Mat thew had wanted that woman, too, so much so that he'd let his
emotions ruin his judgment, and the Consequences had been disastrous.

Mat thew wouldn't make that same mistake with Emily. He wouldn't let her
fall in l Ve with him. Because every woman who had ever loved him had
ended up dead.

EMILY AWOKE with a start. She'd been dreaming about a loud noise, like
shattering glass, but as she lay there in the darkness, she heard
another sound, muffled and distant, like footsteps running down the
street. She sprang upright, realizing that the shattering noise had been
just as real as the footsteps.

Her first thought was that Mat thew was up and had perhaps dropped a
glass. But he wouldn't have been running outside, would he?

There was something distinctly sinister about footsteps running away in
the night, and as Emily sat there in bed, huddled beneath her covers,
she began to tremble with dread.

Don't panic, she scolded herself. And don't let your imagination run
away with you.

After all, she was the owner of the inn, and the welfare of her guests
rested upon her shoulders. If anything was amiss at the Other Side of
Paradise Inn, she was the one who had to investigate.

Her heart hammering in her throat, Emily got up and padded across the
room, drew back her door and crept through it. Her bedroom was
downstairs, at the end of a longish hallway that led directly into the
large front living area. As silent as mist, Emily slipped down the
darkened corridor, letting the faint moonlight glimmering through the
French doors guide her.

As she emerged from the hallway, the French doors were across the room,
directly in front of her. To her right was the foyer, and to her left,
the staircase. She took a few steps into the room, and then
something--someone--touched her arm.

Emily screamed and tried to bolt, but the hand tightened around her arm,
holding her fast. In the next instant, Emily's breath rushed out in
relief as she recognized Mat thew's towering silhouette in the darkness.

"Mat thew," she said, her hand flying to her heart.

"You scared me half to death."

He put a finger to his lips, commanding her silence as he moved around
her.

"Stay here," he whispered.

"I'm going to have a look around."

And it was then, as he moved away from her, that Era- fly saw the gun in
his hand, glinting in the moonlight. She gasped again.

"Mat thew!" But it was too late. He'd disappeared through the archway
into the dining room, and then Emily heard the telltale squeak of the
swinging door that led into the kitchen.

She stood there in the darkness, hugging her arms around herself and
shivering. She gazed around the room, her eyes traversing the familiar
nooks and crannies that were somehow made foreboding in moonlight.

Taking a few more steps into the room, she saw at last what had caused
the shattering noise. The stained-glass panel from the front door lay in
glistening jewel-tone fragments on the herringbone-patterned wood floor.
Emily gasped in outrage. That door had cost her a small fortune to have
restored.

She hurried across the room, now oblivious of the lurking shadows.

Barely suppressing her tears, Emily dropped to the floor and began
picking up the pieces. After a few moments, Mat thew came back into the
room. His shadow fell across the floor in front of her, and Emily looked
up.

"Did you see anything?"

He shook his head, walked over to turn on the light, then came back to
kneel beside her. Emily noticed that he'd put the gun away.

"Whoever did this is long gone by now. I didn't find so much as a
footprint." Emily stared at him for a moment, trying to decipher his
expression. Finally she said, "This may seem a strange question,
considering what just happened, but  ...  do you have a permit for that
gun?"

"Yes. It's nothing for you to be concerned about."

"But it is.

This is my home, Mat thew. I don't like guns being brought in here
without my knowledge." Her challenging gaze met his.

"I don't like guns, either," he said softly.

"But considering everything that's going on around here, I don't think
we can be too careful."

"But  ...  did you bring it with you when you came here, or did you go
out and buy it?" Somehow the distinction was important to Emily, though
she couldn't have said why.

"I brought it with me. It's just for protection, because I'm on the road
a lot. But if it makes you feel better, I'll get rid of it.

Okay?"

She nodded, not sure anything would make her feel better after tonight.

Gazing down at the glistening fragments of colored glass scattered on
the floor, she said miserably, "Why would someone do this? I don't even
know if I have enough money to have the glass repaired again. That door
is antique. It's irreplaceable." Leaning over, Mat thew retrieved a rock
the size of a baseball from a corner of the foyer. In her distress over
the door, Emily hadn't even noticed it. Something white was fastened to
the stone, a piece of paper, and Mat thew carefully removed it.

"What does it say?" Emily demanded. Wordlessly, Mat thew handed her the
note. The words-cut from magazines and newspapers--jumped out at her.
Let the past rest in peace. Or else you won't. As Emily gripped the
paper, a smear of blood appeared on the side, and she lifted her hand,
palm up, and peered at her finger. She'd nicked herself on one of the
stained glass fragments, and the streak of blood on the note made "it
seem more threatening somehow. More portentous. Mat thew removed the
note from her fingers and laid the paper aside. He held her hand in his.

"Here. What have you done to yourself?"

The blood trickled down Emily's finger. She felt weak, but whether from
the cut or the note, or even Mat thew's ~ nearness, she wasn't quite
sure. She said in a tremulous voice, "It's just a nick."

"Let's get it cleaned up and make sure." Mat thew stood and, still
holding her hand in his, pulled her up. He led her down the hallway to
the bathroom and flipped on the light. Emily, distressed and more than a
little confused from all that had happened, sat down on the edge of the
bathtub and numbly directed Mat thew to the first-aid kit.

"I guess we've had our second warning," she said.

"Do you suppose whoever loosened the boulder earlier threw that rock
through my door?"

"I'd say that's a pretty good bet."

"So what do we do now?"

"Keep shaking things up until something breaks loose," Mat thew said.

"And in the meantime, we keep up our own guard."

Emily thought about his gun.

"You certainly seem to take all this in stride," she said, her tone
suspicious. Mat thew shrugged as he closed the medicine cabineg and
turned toward her.

"I've traveled around a lot. I've learned it pays to be careful."

He knelt in front of her and took her hand. Emily winced as he swabbed
away the blood, then applied antiseptic.

"Ouch!" She tried to jerk her hand away, but he held it fast.

"Luckily, it's not deep. You'll live," he predicted, glancing up.

He smiled, and Emily's heart fluttered inside her.

Whether it was from fear or adrenaline or just plain old fashioned
hormones, she didn't know exactly, but suddenly a deep shiver ran
through her as she became acutely aware of the fact that she was sitting
before Mat thew Steele, clad only in a pair of white satin pajamas, and
he was wearing nothing but a pair of jeans.

Her gaze unwillingly dropped, taking in the broadness Of his shoulders,
the deepness of his chest, the hardness of his muscles. And something
stilled inside her. A kind of breathless waiting came over her. In spite
of herself, Emily felt her hand tremble in his, giving away her
emotions. His gaze slowly lifted to meet hers, and she could tell by the
dark, knowing look in his eyes that he was feeling the attraction, too.
Feeling it as strongly as she. As Emily watched helplessly, he brought
her hand up to brush his. lips across her wounded finger. His tongue
flicked across her palm, and Emily drew a sharp breath.

"This can't happen," she whispered.

"I know," he said, his eyes on her.

"What are we going to do?"

"I don't know about you," Mat thew said, "but I think I'm going to kiss
you."

"I think I'll die if you don't--" Emily's words were lost as his arms
came around her and he drew her to him. His mouth sought and found hers
as his hands moved over her, every inch of her. She felt their hardness
against the soft folds of her satin pajamas, and the sensation was
extraordinary, exquisite. Trembling from head to toe, Emily wrapped her
arms around Mat thew's neck and pressed herself against him, and they
tumbled backward, letting the thick bathroom carpet cushion their fall.

Emily landed on top, and she pulled back to stare down at Mat thew.

His eyes were deep and dark and full of mystery, full of promise. She
shuddered to think what it all meant, but in the next instant, she
wasn't thinking at all. With his hand on the back of her neck, he drew
her back down for another soul-shattering kiss. Emily's heart pounded
against Mat thew's.

She had never felt so overwhelmed, so overcome. When at last he broke
the kiss, she buried her face in his neck, marveling at the way her body
had blossomed at his touch. He tangled his hands in her hair.

"Emily."

"I know." She sighed deeply.

"This can't happen."

"It can't. Not again."

Emily straightened up so that she could look down at him.

"Mat thew, why not? And please don't tell me I wouldn't understand."

"All right, I won't." He lifted her so that he could slip out from
beneath her and sit. Then he leaned back against the tub and drew his
knees up, resting his arms across them. Emily knelt beside him.

His eyes had grown dark and bleak, and he wiped the back of his hand
across them, as if he could erase the painful images he saw.

"There was a woman." His voice was wooden, emotionless.

Emily's heart pounded in desperation. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear
any more, but she couldn't seem to stop herself from asking, "Were you
in love with her?" He rubbed his hand across his eyes again.

"I thought I was. I'm not sure anymore. It was  ... a relationship that
never should have happened. It ended in disaster."

"What happened?"

His eyes met hers. Emily thought she had never seen such darkness.

Such guilt and agony. But his voice still betrayed nothing when he said,
"She died." And Emily felt the world as she knew it come crashing down
around her.

She put a tentative hand on his arm, and he flinched, as if he could no
longer bear her touch. Emily drew her hand back, hurt.

"I can't afford to get involved with anyone, Emily. I don't trust
myself. Especially not with s someone like you."

Emily knew she should ask no more questions. Knew that she should get
out of that room while the getting was good. But she couldn't move.

She was mesmefiz~xt, rooted to the spot by a kind of sick fascination
that made her ask, "Because you still love her?"

"No." His gaze bored into hers. If it was possible, his eyes grew even
darker.

"Because I killed her," he said.

Chapter Seven.

dear.t This place is positively vibrating with psychic emanations!"

Emily could only gape at the woman who was walking-no, sailing--through
the inn's front door. Large, rawboned, with unlikely wisps of red hair
peeking from beneath the wide brim of a lavish hat, the woman reminded
Emily of nothing so much as a large purple bat- tie ship plowing full
speed ahead as she steamed into the Other Side of Paradise Inn.

With a flourish, she presented Emily her card, then turned and gazed
around the room. Beneath the purple knit suit the woman wore, her
generous bosom jutted to attention as she flung her arms wide and dosed
her eyes in ecstasy.

Emily, unable to do anything but stare wide-eyed at such an
awe-inspiring sight, finally tore her gaze away and glanced down at the
pale lavender card that proclaimed in dark purple ink:

Mrs. Grace Devere Pine Bluff Psychics League "Why have I not heard of
this place before?" the woman demanded, opening her eyes to glare an
accusation at Emily.

"Well, I  ..."

"If my dear cousin Fayetta hadn't had the good fortune to run across the
article in the Bald Knob Banner, and if she hadn't had the presence of
mind to dip the story and send it to me, I would have remained in the
dark about this house for the rest of my natural born days."

"How fortunate that didn't happen," Emily said doubtfully.

"What can I do for you, Mrs." uh, Devere?" Grace Devere had stepped away
from the desk to once again gaze in rapture around the room, but now she
spun back.

"What can you do for me? Young woman, a better question to ask is what
can I do for you?" Oookay, Emily thought.

"Exactly Why are you here, Mrs. Devere?"

"To help you contact the spirits who inhabit your home," Mrs. Devere
said matter-of-factly.

"Tell me, have you experienced any unusual psychic phenomena since you
moved in?"

Emily wasn't sure she would know a psychic phenomenon if she met one,
unusual or otherwise, but she said gamely, "Not that I know of."

"No cold spots? No levitation? No unexplained noises in the middle of
the night?"

Emily thought about the noise the rock had made last night, when it
crashed through her front door. The cause of that had hardly been
supernatural, but she almost wished it had been. It would certainly be
no less of a mystery.

"I haven't experienced any of those things," Emily said. Mrs. Devere
looked crestfallen, but then she perked up.

"Well," she said, "we're obviously dealing with a shy spirit, one
reluctant to make contact. It may take a few days to break through the
barrier."

"Barrier?"

"That separates the known world from the unknown one. Now, if you would
be so good as to show me to my room, the quicker I settle in, the
quicker the spirits will become accustomed to my presence." Emily said,
"Mrs. Devere, I'm afraid' there's been some mistake.

I'm not yet open for business."

Mrs. Devere, obviously not one to be daunted by such a minor detail,
said, "The article mentioned something about a grand opening on October
twenty-third. That's only a few days away.

Surely an allowance can be made." Actually, allowances had already been
made. Emily hadn't exactly turned Mat thew away, now had she?

And after last night, after what he had told her, she wasn't so sure her
decision had been a wise one.

Emily made a few mental calculations. If she let Mrs. Devere stay, she
could put the extra money toward the repair of her front door, which had
been taken down this morning and was en route to Bradford, where a
stained- glass maker Emily knew had agreed to start work on it
immediately. A plain wooden door had been temporarily installed in its
place.

"You do understand there may be some inconveniences," Emily explained.

"I'm still working on some of the rooms."

"I understand, and don't worry, my dear. You won't' even know I'm here."

Emily very much doubted that. Mrs. Grace Devere wasn't exactly the
type--or of the stature--to fade into the woodwork. However, Emily
forced herself to say cheerfully, "If you'll just sign the register,
I'll take you up now, and someone will bring up your bags in a few
minutes."

Someone like her, but Emily didn't mention that fact to Mrs. Devere.

Using her own pen, Mrs. Devere scrawled her name across the register in
purple ink, then followed Emily up the stairs to the room at the top of
the landing. Mrs. Devere entered, gazed around for a moment, then
staled, "This will do nicely. Now show me to the murder room."

"I'm sorry, but that room is occupied at the moment."

"Of course it is. Restless spirits always return to the scene of the
crime. That's why I'm here, my dear." Emily strained for patience.

"I don't mean that. I have a real flesh-and-blood guest in that room
right now." Mrs. Devere smiled mysteriously.

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that? If the vibrations are as
strong as. I suspect they will be, I know at least two or three other
psychics who will come at once to join me." Emily hesitated. The last
thing an innkeeper should do was violate a guest's privacy, but to have
the bed-and- breakfast at full occupancy so early in the season would be
a real coup. The fall foliage wasn't even at its peak yet, and the Fall
Folk Festival wouldn't start until the weekend of the twenty-fifth, two
days after Emily's grand opening. Cora Mae Hicks would be pea green with
envy. And, besides, Mat thew was gone. He'd been gone ever since last
night, when he'd walked out on her after their disturbing conversation
in the bathroom. Emily wasn't sure he was ever coming back, and she
thought, with more than a flicker of regret, that perhaps it would he
for the best if he didn't. How could she trust him now, after what he'd
told her? After what he hadn't told her?

"Well?" Mrs. Devere demanded, drawing Emily's attention back to the
present.

"Are you going to show me the murder room or not?"

Emily shrugged.

"Why not?" she said, and led Grace Devere down the hallway.

Emily opened the door and glanced inside. The room was just as she'd
left it earlier that morning, when she'd been in to change the linens on
the bed and leave fresh towels.

Mrs. Devere looked positively ecstatic as she stepped inside. She sought
the center of the room, closed her eyes, and went very still. A tiny
humming sound emanated from the back of her throat.

After a moment or two, Emily began to get the creeps.

Mrs. Devere reached out with one hand, groping like a blind woman.

"She's here. The young woman who was violently murdered. I feel her all
around me. Her spirit roams restlessly, searching for peace." The
clutching hand stilled and her breathing became shallow. She splayed her
other hand across her ample bosom.

"I feel another presence here, as well. An evilness  ..."

The dramatics were straight out of Poltergeist, Emily thought, but a
sudden movement in the hallway caught her attention, and she jumped in
spite of herself. Mat thew stood in the doorway. The sunlight spilling
in through the window at the end of the hallway surrounded him with a
golden aura. For a moment, his form seemed to waver in the light. He
looked misty, ethereal, not quite of this earth.

Then he stepped into the room, and the illusion shattered. The look in
his eyes told Emily that he was a flesh- and-blood man, all right, and a
damned angry one at the moment.

"I'm REALLY, really, really sorry," Emily said again, for perhaps the
tenth time.

"I know it was inexcusable of me to invade your privacy that way, and I
don't blame you for

being angry, but it was just that  ...  she wanted to see the room,
to--"

"Experience the psychic vibrations. I know," Mat thew said dryly.

They were in Emily's little Volkswagen, headed toward Tony Vincent's
garage.

"And I told you, I'm not mad."

"But you were. I could tell."

He sighed.

"All right, I was. But I'm not now. Let's just get on with our business,
okay?"

And pretend last night never happened. Though he hadn't said it, Emily
sensed that was what he meant. But she wasn't at all sure she could do
that. Like it or not, Mat thew Steele had gotten to her. Big-time.

The kiss last night had proven to her just how much she had come to care
for him in such a short period of time.

Was there such a thing as love at first sight? Destiny? Emily had never
really believed in any of those things before, but from the moment she
laid eyes on Mat thew, she had felt something.

Something  ...  significant. Something more than just physical
attraction. Something that frightened her a little. Especially after
what he'd told her last night. She glanced at him. His head was turned,
and he was staring out the side window. Emily wondered whether he was
thinking about last night, too, and what he had told her.

Because I killed her.

The unspoken words seemed to hang in the air. Emily took a deep breath.

"Mat thew."

He turned his head and looked at her.

She bit her lip.

"We have to talk about last night." One brow rose slightly.

"About the kiss, or the confession?"

"Both, I guess." Emily was feeling miserable and was suddenly wishing
she hadn't even brought up the conversation. But when a man told you
he'd killed someone, and when that man was staying in your home, when
he'd kissed you-Well, Emily didn't see that she had a choice. For her
own peace of mind, she had to know the truth.

"About the kiss," Mat thew said slowly.

"You and I both know it should never have happened, but I can't honestly
say I'm sorry it did."

"And the confession?" Emily managed to ask, her heart fluttering inside
her chest like the wings of a caged bird.

"Do you regret that?"

There was a long pause, and then Mat thew said, "You're still here,
aren't you?"

"Yes. I'm still here." For better or for worse. Emily swallowed.

"The woman you told me about last night  ..."

"What about her?"

Mat thew's tone was flat, expressionless, giving away nothing of what he
might he feeling. They might have been talking about a social event or a
football game instead of  ...

Emily couldn't even bring herself to think the M word. She took another
deep breath.

"Did you really  ...  I mean  ...  you know  ...  "' "Kill her?" Mat
thew seemed to have no such compunctions. He said the words bluntly,
without hesitation.

"I won' the to you, Emily. I was very much responsible for her death."

"But being responsible  ...  that's not the same thing as  ...  I mean,
the implication was that  ...  you  ...  you..,." Emily lifted one hand
from the steering wheel and gestured helplessly.

Mat thew said nothing.

"What I mean is  ...  her death was an accident, wasn't it?" she asked
softly, braking for a stop sign. She turned and looked at him.

Something flickered in Mat thew's expression, a denial. Then he said
with a weary sigh, "Okay. It was an accident. But that didn't make me
any less to blame," he said harshly.

"I was careless, irresponsible, and someone died." He glanced away for a
second.

"There are a lot of things about my past I can't explain.

That I don't want to explain. But I will tell you this." His eyes were
dark and mysterious, oddly seductive for the conversation they were
having. He said, almost reluctantly, "You have nothing to fear from me,
Emily. I would never hurt you."

-Their gazes clung for a moment. Emily!s eyes dropped to his lips,
searching their contours as she remembered the way his mouth had felt on
hers, the way his body had molded against hers.

If Mat thew hadn't stopped the kiss. If he hadn't pushed her away-Emily
lifted her gaze to his. His eyes were deep and knowing. A shiver raced
through her, because she knew he was thinking exactly what she was
thinking. Forcing herself to look away, Emily checked both ways, then
drove through the intersection.

"Well," she said, trying to keep her tone light.

"I guess I just have one more question, then."

"What?"

"Are you wearing  ...  do you have your gun with you today?"

"No. Does that make you feel better?"

"I'm not sure," she admitted.

"I guess I'm worried about what's going to happen when we talk to Tony
Vincent. I mean, we can hardly just waltz in and ask him if he killed
Jenny Wilcox."

"Why can't we? You just asked me."

Emily blushed.

"That was different. I mean  ...  well, it just was.

But I don't think Tony's likely to admit to anything, do you?"

"Maybe not overtly."

"What does that mean?"

"It means we watch his expression, study his actions," Mat thew
explained.

"We let him do all the work and hope that he gives himself away."

"Well, I, for one, haven't a clue as to how to do that," Emily assured
him.

"So I hope you're up on your Ellery Queen routine."

"I'll t~y to muddle through."

She didn't doubt it for a minute. Mat thew Steele seemed quite capable
of anything. She tried to ignore the little voice inside her that
demanded, Even murder? as she pulled into the gravel parking lot of
Vincent's Auto Repair and killed the engine.

When she and Mat thew got out of the car, she could hear a loud banging
noise coming from the interior of the garage.

"Sounds like Tony's hard at work on something."

"Yeah, but what?" Mat thew took her elbow and steered her to the open
bay and the noise.

A man with greasy orange coveralls was bent over a table scattered with
an assortment of parts and wires and springs that, connected, might once
have been an engine. He looked up when Emily and Mat thew entered the
garage, and the hammer he'd been using to straighten a metal pipe
dropped to the table with a clang.

He stared at Mat thew.

By now, Emily was used to the reaction. She called out, "Hello, Tony. I
don't know if you remember me or not, but you and my brother used to be
friends. I'm Stuart Townsend's sister, Emily."

"I know who you are." Tony picked up the metal pipe as he came around
the worktable and walked over to meet them at the doorway.

He limped slightly, favoring his left leg.

He was a big man, tall and broad-shouldered, and even though there were
telltale signs of his drinking etched into his face, his body, beneath
the coveralls, looked hard and muscular, the still-powerful physique of
a man who had once been an all-collegiate running back. Feet planted
apart, a scowl creasing an already deeply lined forehead, he swung the
pipe up and slapped it against the palm of his other hand.

"What do you want?" His voice was coarse and gravelly, the voice of a
man driven to excess.

"We just want to talk to you," Emily said.

"We're hoping you can answer some questions for us. This is Mat thew
Steele."

Tony glanced at Mat thew.

"That name supposed to mean something to me?"

"I don't know," Mat thew said.

"Does it?"

At just over six feet, with the lean, conditioned body of a runner, Mat
thew had neither the height nor the bulk that Tony did, but as Emily
stared at the two men confronting each other, it was Tony who seemed
diminished. He might have felt it, too, for he smacked the pipe against
his palm again, harder this time.

The resounding thud created by metal hitting flesh made Emily wince.

Tony moved his gaze from Mat thew to Emily.

"Your brother know you're here?"

"I don't report to my brother," Emily assured him. i~Look, all we want
to do is ask you a few questions about the night Jenny Wilcox was
murdered. You were with her earlier in the evening, weren't you?"

"I don't have anything to say about Jenny," he said sullenly.

"To you or to anyone else."

"What about Wade Drury?" Mat thew asked.

"Do you have anything to say about him?"

Tony's expression changed rapidly from surly impatience to outright
hostility. The metamorphosis was astounding.

"What do you want to know about that murdering bastard?" Mat thew said
calmly, "I take it the two of you were hardly friends. Word has it, you
were jealous of Drury. You even picked a fight with him that night. Was
it be, cause you thought Jenny preferred Wade to you?"

"You're crazier than you look if you think that," Tony said hotly, and
Emily thought that Mat thew had probably gotten the kind of reaction
he'd been talking about. How to decipher it, though, she had no idea.

"Jenny had no more use for that no-good drifter than I did. She was
afraid of him. He even tried to break into her room once, after she told
him to get lost. She told me so herself."

"Did she? I wonder," Mat thew mused.

"Yeah, well, you go do your wondering someplace else," Tony snarled.

"I've got work to do. And unless you have some repairs you want done on
that rattletrap you drove up in, I'll thank you to vacate my premises.
Now."

"But wouldn't you like the chance to tell us more about Jenny?" Emily
asked.

"Give us your thoughts on the murder?"

"My thoughts are on the record," he said.

"I talked to the police plenty after that night. They knew, right along
with the rest of us, that Drury killed her in cold blood. Killed her
because he couldn't have her." Tony paused for a moment, shoving a lock
of dark hair from his forehead.

Then, like a chameleon, his expression underwent another rapid change.

His features seemed to crumple, and his eyes grew misty.

He was either a consummate actor or a raging psychopath, Emily thought,
not at all comforted by the notion.

His voice softened as he said, "I won't talk about Jenny. I won't
tarnish her memory like that. She ought to be allowed to rest in peace."

Let the past rest in peace. Or else you won't. The message taped to the
rock thrown through her window came back vividly to Emily as Tony
Vincent stared down at her, his eyes brimming with tears.

"So WHAT DID YOU THINK?" Emily asked as they got into her car and drove
away.

Mat thew shrugged.

"The man's definitely got problems ." ' "Yes, and he definitely still
has a thing for Jenny. Did you see the way he looked when he talked
about her? I thought he was actually going to cry. He's still in love
with her, Mat thew."

"Obsessed might he a better word," Mat thew said, his expression dour.

"People with obsessions have been known to commit murder, usually in the
name of love." Emily shuddered, thinking about a love like that. A love
that would make someone want to kill. For some reason, Trey Huntington's
image materialized in her mind.

She r, hook her head, wanting the vision to disappear. She didn't like
thinking about Trey. Didn't like remembering what he had almost done to
her once. In the name of love. She said, "Did you happen to notice all
those empty :t~mr bottles lined upon the counter near the refrigerator?
: Several of them were recently emptied, like in the last hour Mat thew
turned to her, amusement glinting in his gray eyes.

"And just how did you deduce that, Miss Marple?" Emily smiled, grateful
that he had decided to lighten the moment. Her thoughts had grown way
too dark for such a beautiful day.

"Elementary, my dear Watson. The bottles were still sweating."

"Very good, Emily. I'm impressed."

"Thank you," she said, glowing a little at his words of praise.

She turned down her street.

"So what do we do now? We didn't get anything out of Tony. Not really."

"We got a reaction--actually, several--and at this point~ that's about
all we can expect."

"So we just keep talking to people? Making general nuisances of
ourselves?" Emily asked skeptically.

"You got it." Mat thew fell silent for a moment, then said, "I may be
away some for the next few days, Emily. Something's come up."

Pulling into the driveway of the Other Side of Paradise Inn, Emily
turned off the engine and faced him, trying to keep her tone one of mild
interest.

"Where are you going?"

Mat thew shrugged.

"It's just some business I have to attend to.

But while I'm gone, I want you to promise me something."

"What?"

The way he was looking at her made Emily's heart start to pound.

His eyes always had such a profound effect on her. Emily tried to remind
herself that the man was virtually a stranger and, by all indications,
was emotionally unavailable to her. He'd pushed her away more times than
Emily cared to remember.

But even with all that, she couldn't seem to keep her pulse from racing,
her heart from skipping a beat, when he reached over and took her hand
in his.

Emily's fingers trembled inside his. Their gazes met, and for just a
split second she saw her own emotions, her own desire, ruff toted in the
gray depths of his eyes.

"I want you to be careful while I'm gone, Emily. I have a feeling things
are really going to heat up around here from now on, and I don't want
you to put yourself in danger." He paused for a moment, then said
softly, "I don't want anything to happen to you." There was an edge of
regret in his voice that Emily didn't understand. She wanted to ask him
why he cared what happened to her, but she didn't dare. She'd learned a
long time ag9, when she asked her ex-husband point-blank if he was
having an affair, that unless you really wanted to know the answer,
unless you were willing to deal with the consequences, you'd better not
ask the question.

So all Emily said was "I'11 be careful, Mat thew."

Chapter Eight.

"The Other Side of Paradise Inn," Emily said brightly into the
telephone. It was the next day, and she was alone in the inn.

"I'd like to speak to Emily Townsend, please."

"This is she."

"Miss Townsend, this is Thelma Dickerson. I'm the director of the Shady
Oaks Nursing Home, down here in Batesville."

"Yes, Miss Dickerson. What can I do for you?"

"Well, I hate to be the one to break this to you, especially over the
phone and all, but Miss Rosa bel Talbot passed away last night."

"Oh, no! How did it happen?" Emily asked, sudden tears stinging her
eyes.

"Heart attack, most likely." One of the aides found her this morning.

The reason I'm calling you is, well, we didn't exactly know who else to
notify, and we found your name and phone number in her room."

"I don't understand," Emily said, frowning.

"I know this is going to. sound strange, but Miss Rosa- bel had one of
our orderlies fetch a box of her personal belongings out of storage last
evening and bring it over to the nursing home. Fred said she told him it
was urgent. He said she seemed quite anxious to have the box in her
possession."

"That does seem odd," Emily agreed.

"Do you know what was in the box?"

"I'm getting to that," Ms. Dickerson assured her.

"Fred was worried about Miss Rosa bel's agitated state, so he agreed to
go get the box for her when he went off duty. He said she was still up
and waiting for him when he got back, around ten or so, and she
immediately wrote your name on the lid, without even looking at the
contents. Then she told him to make sure the box got to you if anything
happened to her."

Alarm bells sounded inside Emily's head.

"If anything happened to her? Was she sick?"

"I suspect that at her age and in her frail health, Miss Rosa bel knew
she could go at any time. I've seen this sort of thing happen before.

They sense the end is near and begin to make their preparations, poor
things." Emily still wasn't satisfied.

"I'm afraid I don't understand. If the box contains Miss Rosa bel's
personal belongings, shouldn't her next of kin have it?"

"She didn't have any relatives," Ms. Dickerson said.

"Miss Rosa bel was all alone in the world."

"No, but, she does  ...  did have relatives," Emily told her.

"She has a niece who lives right here in Paradise. Surely you have her
name and number somewhere in Miss Rosa- bel's file. Nella Talbot?"

There was a long pause, then the woman said, "I don't know anything
about a niece, or anyone else in Miss Rosabel's life.

Until you came to see her a few days ago, she hadn't had a visitor in
years."

WHE~ MA~rnmw CAM~ IN shortly afterward, Emily anxiously filled him in on
all the details of the phone call.

"I suppose I should go see Nella," she said.

Emily was seated behind her desk, and Mat thew was perched on the
corner. As she gazed up at him, she tried not to think about how sexy he
looked in his black leather jacket and black jeans. His dark hair was
tousled, as if someone had recently spent a lot of time running her
fingers through it.

Emily's palms itched to do exactly that, but after last night, when she
heard his motorcycle start up and drive off just before dawn, she'd
resolved to keep her emotional distance from Mat thew.

He obviously didn't trust her enough to tell her where he was going, and
Emily had to protect herself. She was already feeling more for him than
was wise.

Mat thew glanced at his watch.

"It's after six. I doubt the library is still open. Do you know where
she lives?"

"No, but I can find out," Emily said. She opened a desk drawer and took
out Paradise's sparse phone book. Leafing through the pages, she located
Nella's number and dialed. Before anyone picked up, Emily palmed the
mouthpiece and said, "I don't want to tell her over the phone. I'll just
ask her if I can drop by--" Nella's answering machine clicked on.

Under the circumstances, Emily didn't feel she should leave a message.

She hung up, frowning. "! guess I'll try again later."

"Meanwhile, why don't we drive down to Batesville and pick up that box?"
Mat thew suggested.

"If Miss Rosa bel went to so much trouble to have it brought over to the
nursing home, and then made sure someone got it to you if anything
happened to her, there might be something important inside."

"It's that 'if anything happened to her' part that's bothering me so
much," Emily confessed.

"You don't think someone  ...  you know  ...  did something to Miss Rosa
bel, do you? Because she talked to us?" Mat thew's grave expression was
hardly reassuring.

"I can't say the same thought hasn't crossed my mind. I'd like to talk
to the nursing home director, if she's still around tonight.

Then, tomorrow, I'll try to see the coroner, though I doubt there'll be
an autopsy. If it appears Miss Rosa bel died of natural causes, there
wouldn't be a reason for one."

"Not even if we tell them our suspicions?"

"Who'd believe us? We don't have any proof. And mayb~ she did die of a
heart attack. It wouldn't be that unusual. Not for someone her age."

"I guess you're right," Emily said, worrying her bottom lip with her
teeth. She looked up at Mat thew. His eyes were studying her intently,
as if he had something more on his mind than what they were discussing.

Almost imperceptibly, his gaze moved to her lips. Emily's heart jolted
inside her. She had a hard time gathering her thoughts and keeping them
focused on murder.

"Don't  ...  you find it strange' that the nursing home didn't know
anything about Nella?" she forced herself to ask.

"Since she was the next of kin, you'd think they'd have her name and
number in Miss Rosa bel's file."

"Not if Miss Rosa bel didn't supply them. Maybe she and Nella had some
kind of falling-out."

"I guess that's possible," Emily r~used.

"But why didn't either one of them say anything about it to us?"

"Sometimes it's difficult to talk about family problems," Mat thew said,
and Emily could see his point. She certainly didn't relish discussing
her and Stuart's disagreements with anyone else.

"Come on," Mat thew said.

"Let's go find out what Miss Rosa bel wanted you to know."

"WHAT IS IT?" Emily asked. She stared at the box on her kitchen table as
Mat thew cut the twine and pulled the flaps loose.

"What's in there?"

Mat thew withdrew a handful of old letters, receipts, and bills, and
Emily reached for the stack, sorting through it as Mat thew plowed
through the rest of the box.

"Good grief," _Emily said, holding up an electric bill dated May 17,
1975.

"I'd say Miss Rosa bel gave new meaning to the term pack rat! What's
left in the box?"

"Looks like books and ledgers of some sort."

"Well, this stuff is just a bunch of junk," Emily said, disappointed.

"Not necessarily." Mat thew had been riffling through the stack of
papers on the table in silence for a moment, but now he withdrew a
newspaper clipping and held it out to Emily.

"Take a look at this."

Emily scanned the clipping. It was all about Jenny Wilcox's murder and
how the police had questioned Miss Rosa bel, Nella and Tony Xrmcent, all
three of whom had. seen the victim and the suspect, Wade Drury, the
night of the murder.

Mat thew handed Emily another clipping about the murder, and then
another. She began to make a stack. Most of the clippings she'd already
seen on her trip to' the library, but the last clipping Mat thew handed
her wasn't about the murder at all.

It was about a family who had lived on the outskirts of Paradise and who
had left town abruptly after the man was accused of stealing from his
employer, Huntington Industries. The bank had had to foreclose on the
property, and

Huntington had generously agreed to pay off the mortgage and settle the
back taxes.

The article was dated fifteen years ago, and Miss Rosa- bel, or someone,
had scribbled in the margin one word: Avengers.

Emily looked up.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

Mat thew nodded. "what was it Miss Rosa bel told us? Young boys beaten
up? Property vandalized? One poor family run out of town?"

Emily frowned.

"Do you think she was talking about this family?"

"It's a definite possibility."

"why do you think Miss Rosa bel kept all this stuff?" Mat thew shrugged.

"It appears she had a lingering interest in the murder. And in the
Avengers. Possibly she was trying to find a connection between the two."

"And the reason she left all this to me?" Mat thew picked up an
envelope, glanced at the front of it, then tossed it back on the stack.

"Maybe she thought you could find what she couldn't."

"She always did have more faith in me than most people in this town,"
Emily said, with a pang of sadness. She stared gloomily at the untidy
pile of papers on her table.

"It'll take forever and a day to sort through all this stuff."

"Well, maybe not quite that long."

Emily heard the smile in Mat thew's voice, and when she' looked up, her
heart tumbled inside her. She knew there could be nothing between them.
She'd told herself that a hundred times, and Mat thew had made it
perfectly clear. : But  ...  he could be so devastating when he wanted
to be. Emily hadn't yet found a way to protect herself from his dmnn.

Take deep breaths, she told herself. And pretend he's someone else.

Someone like Trey Huntington. That should take the edge off.

But it didn't work. Couldn't work. Because there was no way Emily could
ever pretend that Mat thew Steele was anyone other than himself.

With gritty determination, she got out her list of suspects and went
over the details they'd jotted down before. At the bottom of the list,
she wrote ^VE~GEGS all in caps, then drew a big question mark beside the
word. Emily stared down at the question mark.

"If 'the Avengers did have something to do with Jenny's deathl what
could their motive have been? She-was a substitute schoolteacher who
wasn't even going to be in town that long. Why would a vigilante group
want to kill her?"

"Maybe she stumbled onto something."

Emily looked up.

"Like what?"

"Like their identities. Or some of their dirty little deeds."

Emily let out a long breath, ruffling her bangs.

"We've gone from a crime of passion to something completely different
here. This is hardly a simple homicide, is it?"

"Murder is rarely simple," Mat thew said.

"Let's just do a little supposing." He sat back and steepled his fingers
beneath his chin.

"Let's suppose for a minute that the Avengers, whoever they were, didn't
have anything to do with Jenny's death. Miss Rosa bel said everyone in
town believed Wade Drury was guilty. What if the Avengers believed that,
too, and decided to take the law into their own hands, just like they'd
done many times before? What if they killed Wade Drury, all in the name
of truth, justice and the American way?"

Emily grew pensive.

"Then we'd be looking for more than one killer. We'd have to solve two
murders instead of

o~,". She looked up and caught Mat thew's intense gaze on -!~r.

"What's wrong?"

He seemed at a loss for a moment. Then he said, "The way you accepted my
theory so readily. There would have .b~m those in this town who would
have been outraged by my suggestion."

"I'm not like most people in this town."

"-So I've noticed." And Without so much as a warning, he leaned across
the table, took her face in his hands and kissed her tenderly on the
lips.

Emily, dazed and more than a little confused, said breathlessly, "what
was that for?"

"For not being like most people in this town." His hands still cupping
her face, he leaned down and kissed her again, harder, more urgently,
this time. HIS tongue slipped bel ween her lips, and Emily began to
tremble. She raised a tentative hand to his arm, felt the flex and bunch
of powerful muscles beneath his flannel shirt, and she thought, Oh,
Lord, I'm a goner.

And then she didn't think at all, because the kiss deepened,
intensified." and everything in Emily's head flew out the window.

Mat thew groaned--it was a low, intimate sound of _no~l~_--as he pulled
Emily into his arms. He squeezed his eyes tightly shut as the tension
inside him heightened. God, row he wanted her, he thought. She was so
soft. So in~xh'bly feminine.

And she could be his. He knew that. Sensed it in the way ~.~ished
against his mouth, in the way her body strained ~ his. He could go on
kissing her until this heat, this fka'~, melting hunger, made them both
desperately ready. : ~qthout breaking the kiss, Mat thew traced his hand
up her blouse, unfastened the top two buttons and inside. He found her
breast, stroked, and

her body instantly responded. She moaned into his mouth, and Mat thew
thought that nothing had ever excited him as much.

She was incredible, so sexy and sweet. It was all Mat thew could do not
to sweep her up into his arms and carry her off to the bedroom, strip
off their clothes and make savage love to her all night long.

But Emily deserved more than that. She deserved more than a dishonest,
dangerous man who could give her nothing more than a night or two of
ecstasy. Oh, but what ecstasy it would be, he thought, shuddering with
regret as he moved his hands upward to wind through her hair. He lifted
his lips from hers to skim kisses along the smooth, delectable line of
her jaw. Emily pulled back, thoroughly shaken. She gazed at him in
rapture.

"Mat thew," she whispered, lifting her hand to touch his.

"What was that for?"

"That one  ...  "he said, in a deep, husky drawl that thrilled her all
the way to her toes.

"That one, my sweet Emily, was just for me."

"Oh," she said, and after that singularly expressive comment could think
of nothing else to say.

"There you are!" said a voice from the kitchen doorway.

"I've been looking all over for you!"

Like guilty conspirators, Mat thew and Emily jumped apart as Mrs. Devere
sailed into the kitchen. In her purple chenille bathrobe and green hair
curlers, she reminded Emily of some weird eggplant experiment gone awry.
Emily had to control an almost hysterical urge to laugh. Or cry.

As unobtrusively as she could, Emily reached up to fasten her blouse.

If Mrs. Devere noticed, she gave no indication. She planted herself
beside the table and stared

down at Emily, seemingly oblivious of the mess on the table and the
telltale blush on Emfiy's cheeks. Emily said weakly, "My goodness,
you're up late."

"My dear, I never doze more than two or three hours a night. The spirits
are most active while the rest of us sleep, and so I've made it a point
to adapt my schedule to theirs. But that's not why I've been looking for
you," she said.

"I've had the most wonderful idea, and I'm sure you will concur. We
simply must hold a seance, here in this very house, to try and summon
that poor murdered girl's lost spirit."

"A seance?" Emily repeated.

"I don't know--"

"We simply must.

There is no question about it."

"Well  ...  "Emily glanced at Mat thew, expecting to find him amused and
perhaps a little annoyed at the interruption, but what she saw on his
face made her catch her breath. It was as if, in the space of seconds,
he had donned a mask--a cold, hard, fearsome-looking mask. He pushed
back his chair and stood.

"Mat thew?"

"I'll say good-night," he said.

"It appears you two ladies have something to discuss."

"But--" He had already disappeared through the swinging door of the
kitchen before Emily could voice her prot~t.

She shrugged and smiled lamely at Mrs. Devere, but Emily couldn't help
feeling that something precious had ]just beea lost to her.

Something precious and wonderful and all too elusive.

OPENED the throttle on his motorcycle, letting wind tear through his
hair and sting his face into He only wished the rest of him was numb,
but the adrenaline pumping through him brought his every nerve ending
vitally alive.

Emily had done that to him.

With just one kiss, she'd made him realize how vulnerable he was. How
weak he was. How very much he wanted her.

It was dangerous to want a woman that badly. Mat thew opened the
throttle wider, sending the bike plunging through the darkness.

He wanted the speed and the noise and the danger to drive the images of
Emily Townsend from his mind, but her scent was all over him. The subtle
fragrance seemed to embody her sweetness, her sexy innocence, reminding
him all too vividly of what he might have been doing with her at this
very instant if he hadn't stopped them.

What a mess, he thought grimly, barely slowing for a curve. The tires
screamed in protest as Mat thew leaned into the turn. Wind roared past
his ears.

When he first came to Paradise and sought out Emily Townsend and her
inn, he'd been perfectly willing to use her. Gaining her trust had been
part of the plan. He'd had no idea he'd end up desiring more than just a
room. More than just her help.

Everything had changed. Their relationship had been elevated to a new
level. Deeper emotions were coming into play, and Mat thew hated to
think how hurt Emily would be when she learned the truth about him.

There was still so much she didn't know.

But it couldn't be allowed to matter, Mat thew resolved. He couldn't let
anything get in his way. He'd come to Paradise for justice. For revenge.
Emily was a means to that end.

Nothing more.

He didn't know how long he'd been on the road when he discovered he had
been driving steadily eastward. The foothills of the Ozarks were giving
way to flat, monotonous bottomland. Soon he would he crossing the
Memphis-Arkansas bi'idge.

There was someone he had to see in the city. Someone from his past.

Someone who would remind him why he couldn't get involved with Emily
Townsend.

Chapter Nine.

"Is Earl Grey okay?"

"Perfect," Emily said, accepting the cup of tea Nella handed her.

The library had just opened the following morning, and they were sitting
in Nella's office. Emily gazed around curiously, noting how neat and
orderly everything seemed. Just like Nella herself. Nella took a seat
behind her desk and smiled.

"I'm so glad you came back. I did so enjoy our talk."

"I did, too. I don't know why I haven't made it a point to become
acquainted with you sooner." Emily sipped her tea, then set the cup
aside.

She looked at Nella, taking in the trim gray wool skirt and sweater, the
dainty pearl earrings--the librarian's only adornment--and wondered how
to tell Nella about her aunt.

Finally Emily took a deep breath and said, "Have you been in contact
with your Aunt Rosa bel's nursing home lately?"

Nella's blue eyes clouded. A look of distress passed across her delicate
features. She tucked a nonexistent strand of hair behind one ear.

"No, I'm sorry to say I haven't. Aunt Rosa bel and I had a  ...  well, a
disagreement  ...  a few years ago. It was a silly thing, really, but it
just seemed to escalate, and before I knew it, we were ~x~npletely  ...
estranged. You don't know how badly I've 'felt about the situation all
these years, Emily, but I simply have not known how to fix it." She
paused for a moment, then said, "That must seem strange to you. I know
how close you are to your brother."

If you only knew, Emily thought. She understood exactly how fragile
familial relationships could be. The animosity between her and Stuart
had grown all out of proportion over the years, but neither of them
seemed willing to meet the other halfway.

She said sympathetically, "It doesn't seem strange at all. I know how
easy it is to drift apart from someone you care about. But I'm afraid it
doesn't make what I have to tell you any easier." She hesitated for a
moment, then said in a rush, "Nella, someone from Shady Oaks called me
last evening. Your aunt Rosa bel died the night before last." Nella
stared at her in shock.

"Died? Aunt Rosa bel's dead."?"

' Emily nodded.

"They think it was a heart attack. I'm sorry I couldn't tell you sooner.
I tried to reach you last night, right after I found out, but you were
out."

"I had a meeting," Nella murmured. Her cup clattered against her saucer
as she set her tea down. The liquid sloshed over the rim, onto her hand,
but she seemed not to notice.

"I  ...  don't understand. Why did the nursing home call you?"

"Evidently I was the last' one who had been in to see Miss Rosa bel.

And  ...  well, they didn't seem to have your ~ and number."

7..~ Nella put trembling fingers to her lips, seemingly trying ~ quell
her emotions. After a moment, she said, Aunt Rosa bel say anything about
me when you she mention me at all?"

~dmanda Stevens Nella was obviously stricken with guilt and needed
something, anything, for reassurance that her aunt had forgiven her.
Emily's heart went out to her. She said softly, "Miss Rosa bel mentioned
you once or twice. I  ...  never got the impression she harbored any ill
feelings toward you." Relief flooded Nella's eyes.

"I suppose  ...  there are arrangements to be made. And I'll need to
pick up her personal belongings from the nursing home."

"Actually," Emily said, "that was another thing I wanted to tell you.

Miss Rosa bel left a box for me. I picked it up last night, after, I got
the news. It's just a bunch of old letters and newspaper clippings, some
books, that sort of thing, but if you'd like to come by and look through
the stuff yourself, you're welcome to."

Nella was gazing at her in surprise.

"I didn't know you and my aunt were that close."

"We weren't. But, as I said, I'd been to see her recently, and I think
she thought there might be some things among those letters and clippings
that might help me with the investigation."

"Did you find anything?"

"Not really. There were some newspaper clippings about Jenny's murder,
about you and Miss Rosa bel being questioned by the police." Emily took
a sip of her tea, then said tentatively, "This is probably not the right
time to ask you, and if you don't want to answer, just say so.

But you know how involved I am in the investigation of the murder and
all, and I've been wondering something--just how well did you know Wade
Drury?"

Nella picked up her teacup, but didn't drink. Her hand trembled
slightly.

"We were friends," she said.

"You weren't  ...  in love with him?"

Nella's eyes; behind her glasses, rounded in shock.

"In love with him? Wherever did you get that idea? I hardly and what I
did know--" She broke off, shud- delicately.

Emily said quickly, "I'm sorry. I don't mean to pry, but your aunt said
something that lead. me to believe you might have  ...

had feelings for Wade."

"I had feelings, but not the kind you mean," Nella said.

"Wade Drury frightened me. I never said anything to Aunt Rosa bel,
because she was so obviously taken with him, but there was a darkness
inside that man. He had secrets--" Again she stopped short, her gaze
meeting Emily's meaningfully.

"He had secrets, and a man with secrets can be a dangerous thing,
Emily."

A chill raced up Emily's spine. Just what was Nella trying to tell her?
Was she talking about Wade Drury or Mat thew Steele? Was she referring
to her own past experiences or warning Emily?

Uncomfortable with her thoughts, Emily stood.

"Well, thanks for the tea. I have to be going. If there's anything I ~
do  ..."

Nella waved aside her offer.

"Thank you, but you've done enough already. Your kindness to my aunt in
her last days  ...  well, that means everything to me." She walked Emily
to the door, then said, "There is just one more :: Emily turned
expectantly.

"Name it." 'i~ "You mentioned something about some books. My aunt a
family Bible in her possession. It was mine, actu- ~a!!y, left to me
by'my mother.

It was the only thing I had and somehow, when Aunt Rosahel and I  ...
went Our separate ways, the Bible got misplaced. If you run ~ no more,"
Emily said.

"It's yours."

Gratitude filled Nella's eyes. She clutched Emily's hand.

"Thank you, Emily. You've been such a good friend. I don't know how I
can ever repay you."

"Do You KNOW what this has cost me?" Stuart threw the latest edition of
the Herald across his desk. Emily winced. She'd already seen the
headline: Innkeeper brings in psychic to help solve murder. Mike Durbin
had really outdone himself this time, though how he'd found out about
Grace Devere, Emily had no idea.

Mike was no longer asking for Emily's help with his articles.

He now seemed to have his own agenda. Emily shuddered to think what that
agenda entailed. Or what Mike might be willing to do to achieve it.
Jumping up, Stuart began to pace his office.

"Do you have any idea the damage you've done?"

Emily brushed her fingers through her short hair as she watched her
brother's distraught movements.

"You're making too much of this, Stuart. No one takes this kind of thing
seriously."

"Apsychic, for God's sake. What are you going to do, set up a
fortune-telling booth at your grand opening?" His voice was heavy with
sarcasm as he spun around to face her.

"Just what the hell were you thinking, Emily?"

"I didn't invite her here," Emily said, annoyed with herself for
sounding so defensive.

"She just showed up. And I didn't tell Mike Durbin about her, either.

I don't. know how he got the information." It made her a little uneasy
to think of Mike--as unscrupulous as she knew he could be--skulking
about the inn without her knowledge.

"That man is a menace," Stuart muttered.

"Someone ought to put a stop to this kind of garbage."

"Look," Emily said, trying to soothe him, "I'm as upset by this as you
are. I'm hardly presented in a favorable

light in that article. I sound like some kind of New Age slut, which is
not at all the type of publicity I'd originally envisioned for the Other
Side of Paradise Inn. But there is such a thing as freedom of the press,
Stuart, like it or not. There's nothing you can do to stop Mike Durbin,
so I don't see the point in getting yourself so worked up by all this."

"Don't you?"

Stuart glared at her.

"Well, I don't see the point of your running around town with that
stranger, making a spectacle of yourself on the back of his motorcycle."

Emily just shook her head.

"Why do I even bother?"

"Because you know your brother is right," said a voice from" Stuart's
doorway.

Emily froze at those smooth, liquid tones. The skin at the back of her
neck crawled.

"And I'd [rice to know, too--just what are you doing with that stranger,
Emily?"

There was a nasty insinuation in Trey Huntington's voice that Emily
didn't like. He walked across the room to her, then bent and brushed his
cool lips against her cheek. It was all Emily could do not to jerk away
from him. ~ensing her distress, he laughed--it was a low, ugly
~ound--and straightened.

"Is our girl here giving you a hard time again, Stu?"

;: Smart looked uncomfortable with the exchange that had just taken
place. He glanced from Emily to Trey, and for a moment, it seemed to
Emily that he was about to spring -~her defense. Then he muttered, "Some
things never . I:ilange," as he sat down in his chair. Trey rested one
hip corner of Stuart's desk, folding his arms, and they at Emily. have
smelled an ambush when you called me she said.

"What's this all about, Stuart?" and I feel you've gotten way out of
line thing, Emily. All the area papers, not to

mention the local radio stations, am in a feeding frenzy, and there am
bound to be repercussions, come election day. For everyone's sake, we
want you to back off." In spite of Trey's easy tone, Emily knew the
statement wasn't a request, but a command. She lifted her chin.

"I have no intention of backing off. Mat thew and I--"

"Mat thew?" Trey's elegant brows rose, and he managed to imply a slyness
with that one word that irritated Emily no end.

She snapped, "Mat thew and I have come up with some very promising
leads. I expect we're very close to solving this whole thing."

Stuart yanked at his tie.

"Why do you insist on wasting your time with this nonsense? Everyone
knows Wade Drury killed Jenny."

"Maybe because that's what everyone was led to believe." Emily paused
for a moment, then said, "I understand you both got to know Jenny pretty
well." Stuart gaped at her.

"Who told you that?"

"Miss Rosa bel, who, by the way, died night before last. I thought you
might like to know."

".I'm sorry to hear it," Stuart murmured, but Trey said nothing at all.

After all the years she'd known him, his coldness still astounded Emily.

"Miss Rosa bel told me that you two used to come by the inn to see Jenny
until Tony Vincent laid his claim on her. Then you backed off." Trey
said in a bored tone, "Jenny Wilcox was a schoolteacher.

What possible interest could either of us have had in her?"

Emily didn't want to point out that she'd been a college dropout when
Trey asked her to marry him. Instead, she said, "From what I understand,
she was a strikingly ,41~mutiful woman who could have had her choice of
suit.o~. Did either of you ever ask her out?"

Stuart looked decidedly uncomfortable. He said irritably, "Where's this
all leading, Emily?"

~ "I just want to make sure I understand the situation back then
correctly."

"There was no situation," Trey said calmly.

"Obviously, someone's been telling tales out of school."

"Okay," Emily said.

"So neither of you had a thing for Jenny Wilcox. Let me ask you this.

Have either of you ever heard of a group who called themselves the
Avengers?" The Mont Blanc pen Stuart had been holding fell to thefloor
and landed silently on the plush carpet. He bent to retrieve it as Trey
said, "The Avengers'? I believe that was an old TV show, wasn't it,
Emily? I forget who the stars were."

Emily shook her head, not fooled by his innocent tone.

"They were a group of modern-day vigilantes who operated right here in
Paradise fifteen years ago. They vandalized property, beat people up,
and word has it they even ran one poor family out of town."

"And just whose word would that be, Emily?" ..

"I happened across an old newspaper article about the family in a box of
papers and letters Miss Rosa bel left to ~me. You must have known them,
Trey.

The man worked f~r Huntington Industries, and HI. acquired his prop~ by
paying off the mortgage and settling his back taxes ,:~am' he left town.
As I recall, Huntington expanded its about fifteen years ago.

That property, located on the highway and all, must have come in real
Emily was taking a stab in the dark, but from the she knew she'd hit a
nerve. you and I need to have a little talk, Emily." tone remained even,
Trey's words were frost

coated and his eyes were like glaciers. All at once, Emily wondered
whether she might have gone a little too far. No one knew better than
she how dangerous Trey could be when pushed.

She stood.

"I'd love to chat with you, Trey, but I have to be going." To Stuart,
she said, "I trust you won't call me down here again concerning this
matter. This has been a real waste of my time."

"I'll walk you out," Trey said.

"No need--"

"Oh, but there is." His hand was on her elbow, and though Emily made a
point of moving away from him, he remained steadfastly by her side as
they left the building and walked across the parking lot.

"Thanks for seeing me to my car," Emily said, her tone brimming with
sarcasm.

"You've always been such a gentleman."

Trey laughed.

"You're not still holding that little incident in our past against me,
are you, Emily?"

"Little incident?" Emily stared at him in open disgust.

"You hit me, Trey. You hurt me. I thought you were going to kill me, you
were so angry. I told you then I would never forgive you, and I meant
it. You stay away from me, or I might just have Mike Durbin write up a
little expos~ on you. And he'd do it, too. Mike's very ambitious. He's
one of the few people in this town who isn't afraid of you."

"The more fool he," Trey said, smiling slightly.

"What do you think the people in Paradise, not to mention Stuart's
supporters, would think if they knew about that 'little incident' in
your past?"

"Why, Emily." Trey's hand slid up her arm.

"That almost sounds like a threat."

"That's because it is one," she said.

"Take your hands off me, and don't you ever touch me again."?

~'m-y's smile broadened into a malicious grin as his grip tighltmed on
her arms. He held her still as his head moved ~toward her, and for a
terrible moment, Emily thought he was going to try to kiss her.

Everything inside her re ' "She said take your hands off her."

~ At the sound of Mat thew's voice, Trey froze. For one split second, he
stared down at Emily, as if defying her to make a move. Then, slowly,
deliberately, still holding her, he turned to face Mat thew.

MAT THEW Treed to control the murderous rage descending over him. He
wanted to smash in Huntington's face for touching Emily.

The strength of his emotion astounded him.

~ Trey said slowly, "I don't think you realize what you've just done. No
one, I mean no one, in this town talks to me that way?"

"I know exactly what I've done," Mat thew assured him, trying to control
the violent impulses surging through him.

"I'll give you two seconds to get your hands off her. One."

"Your boyfriend's got a lot to learn about how things operate around
here, Emily."

"That's two," Mat thew said, slowly walking toward Troy. Mat thew
thought that it would give him the utmost ~ ~re to connect one of his
fists with Huntington's nose. almost hoped Trey wouldn't back down.

~ But that was asking too much. Trey let his hands drop "s arms as he
stared at Mat thew with undis- hatred.

"You just made the biggest mistake of your that very seriously," Mat
thew said.

"Now why hell out of here, before I do something regret?"

"This isn't over, Emily," Trey said over his shoulder as he stalked
toward his car.

"Not by a long shot." Mat thew turned to Emily.

"What did he mean by that?" he demanded.

"He acts as if he has some kind of claim on you."

Emily laughed nervously.

"I assure you, he doesn't," she said, but Mat thew thought there was the
slightest hint of fear in her eyes as she watched Huntington's Mercedes
tear out of the parking lot.

What the hell kind of past did the two of them have? Mat thew wondered,
surprised by the fierce possessiveness he felt toward Emily.

The urge to protect her had never been stronger.

Even though the afternoon was warm, he saw her shiver. Before he could
stop himself, he reached up and tucked a strand of her dark, silky hair
behind her ear. His voice softened.

"Hey, you okay?"

She smiled.

"I'm fine. Thanks for coming to my rescue, Mat thew.

I don't believe anyone's ever done that for me before."

The look in her soft brown eyes as she gazed up at him took Mat thew's
breath away. He'd never felt more heroic. Or more humble.

He said gruffly, "You need to be more careful about the company you
keep."

"I didn't know Trey would be here," she said.

"I came to see Stuart." She waved a hand toward the office building
behind them.

Mat thew couldn't keep his eyes off her, and he was having a hard time
keeping his hands away. She looked so vulnerable today. So sweet and
inviting.

She was dressed in one of the flowing print dresses she seemed to favor.
This one buttoned all the way up the front, but several of the buttons
at the bottom had been left undone, giving Mat thew tantalizing glimpses
of her slender legs every time a breeze caught the hem. The denim jacket
she wore for warmth did little to hide the tiny indentation of her
waist, the soft swell of her breasts. Desire tightened inside Mat thew.
At that moment, he thought her the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen.
No one else even came close.

Not even Jenny.

HE WAS STARING AT HER SO strangely, Emily thought, as if she were a
delectable morsel and he a starving man. The image made her blush. She
put a nervous hand to her throat.

"So what are you doing here, Mat thew?" He shrugged, and the intensity
in his eyes began to fade.

"Looking for you. I just came from the coroner's office. The cause of
Miss Rosa bel's death is being listed officially as a heart attack.

The funeral's tomorrow."

"Did you tell him our suspicions?"

"Her. The coroner was a her," Mat thew said.

"There wasn't any evidence of foul play, and at Miss Rosa bel's age, no
reason to order an autopsy."

"So we may never know for sure what happened to her."

"I guess not."

Emily leaned back against her car, pulling her denim jacket around her
as a brisk breeze blew through the trees. She saw Mat thew's gaze drop
to her legs, and she shivered.

"I can't help feeling responsible," she said.

"There was nothing you could have done for her."

"I know. But if I' hadn't gone to see her, if I'd never asked her all
those questions, then no one would have had any reason for wanting her
dead." Emily bit her lip, feeling tears sting behind her eyes. The day
had been emotionally trying, to say the least. The conversation with
Nella, the fight with Stuart, the scene with Trey and then Mat thew's
unexpected rescue--all were conspiring against Emily's composure. She
wiped the corner of her eye as unobtrusively as she could.

"For all we know, she did die of a heart attack," Mat thew said softly.

"Just like the coroner said. You can't start second-guessing yourself,
Emily. Believe me, that road leads nowhere fast."

The bitterness in his-voice drew her gaze, and as Emily .stared up him,
she somehow knew that he was thinking about the woman he'd told her
about. The woman who'd died because of him.

Mat thew's eyes were bleak as he gazed at the distant mountains, and
Emily wondered whether she would ever find out what had really happened
to that woman. And whether she would ever get to know the real Mat thew
Steele.

And as she studied his stark profile, searching for answers, something
Nella told her earlier came back to her. A man with secrets can be a
dangerous thing, Emily.

THAT NIGHT, Emily was again startled awake by the sound of shattering
glass, this time followed by a small explosion. Her first thought as she
jumped up in bed was Oh, no, not again.

Fearing the worst, she hurried down the hallway.

Just as she entered the living area, the smoke alarms began to blare.

Across the room, a small blaze ignited a rug on the floor, and as Emily
watched, the fire spread rapidly, racing along the floor to snare the
lace curtains hanging at the broken window.

Heart pounding, Emily grabbed the nearest fire extinguisher and screamed
at Mrs. Devere, who was now standing petrified at the top of the stairs,
"Get out! Hurry!"

Emily's command seemed to spur the older woman to action. She hurried
down the stairs, her purple robe billowing out behind her.

"TII call 911."

"We don't have 911. Just get yourself out."

"Aren't you coming--?"

"Just go!"

For what seemed like minutes, but must have been only a second or two,
Emily struggled with the release on the fire extinguisher.

She cursed, pleaded, sobbed--and then, suddenly, the extinguisher was
ripped from her hands. Mat thew shouted, "Get the hell out of here!"

"Let me help you--"

"Go, Emily!" he Commanded, just as she had with Mrs. Devere.

Knowing that they were wasting precious seconds arguing, Emily turned
and ran. There was another extinguisher in the kitchen.

She got it and ran back, and together she and Mat thew doused the
flames. Everything was over in less than five minutes, but the
adrenaline rush was still incredible. When they knew the blaze was out
completely, Mat thew took her ann and led her outside. The crisp night
air felt wonderful on her face, and she breathed deeply, trying to calm
her racing pulse. Then she collapsed to the ground, ignoring the cold.

Mat thew was wearing his leather jacket, as if he'd just come in, and he
took it off and wrapped it around Emily's shoulders. She shivered, not
from the cold, but from the warmth that clung to the jacket. She could
almost pretend it was Mat thew himself holding her.

"Are you okay?"

"You seem to be asking me that a lot," she said, her smile weak.

She pushed back her hair from her face.

"I'm fine, but I can't even bear to go back inside and survey the
damage."

!51

"What happened?" Mat thew asked.

"I was driving up when I saw the blaze."

Emily shivered, huddling inside her cotton nightgown. Her feet were
bare, and she knew her hair was a total mess. But right now, all she
could think was how very glad she was that Mat thew had come back when
he did. She didn't even stop to question where he had been at this late
hour.

"I'd already gone to bed," she explained, "when I heard the window
break. And then some kind of explosion. I came out and found the fire,
and  ...  "She trailed off, her teeth chattering, more from shock than
cold.

"I'm going back in to check around," Mat thew said.

"You stay out here."

"But, Mat thew--"

"You have a guest to attend to," he reminded her, nodding toward Mrs.
Devere, who stood wringing her hands in the middle of the street.

Mat thew was right. Emily had some reassuring to do. This was her job,
and she rose, literally and figuratively, to the occasion.

By the time she reached Mrs. Devere, Mat thew had already disappeared
inside the inn. Emily laid a hand on Mrs. Devere's arm.

"I'm so sorry this happened," she said.

"Are you all right?"

Mrs. Devere had been looking at the house, but now she turned toward
Emily, her eyes bright with excitement.

"This is thrilling," she said.

"Absolutely thrilling. Wait until I tell the others."

It wasn't quite the response Emily had been expecting. She said
hesitantly, "If you would like me to find you another place to stay for
the night, I'll certainly understand."

"Another place to stay?" Mrs. Devere looked aghast.

"Surely you realize this is the first contact we've made. I wouldn't
dream of leaving now."

"But you don't think a  ...  a spirit caused the fire. Mrs. Devere--"

"My dear." Mrs. Devere placed a calming hand on Emily's arm.

"A spirit can manifest its displeasure in many ways--cracked mirrors,
shattered glass, even spontaneous combustion. You have a very angry
ghost living in your house. The seance is more important than ever. We
must proceed at once with our plans."

Emily started to protest, but just then Mat thew came out on the porch
and motioned them inside. Emily wanted to cry when she saw the damage
wrought by the fire. Having been given the all clear by Mat thew, Mrs.
Devere went straight up to her room, but Emily couldn't move. She stood
staring at the ruined rug and curtains, and all she could think about
was her dwindling bank account.

The grand opening was less than a week away. She had dozens of people
coming for the open house. How in the world would she ever get this mess
cleaned up in time? The thought of having to cancel the open house and
the other plans she'd made was more than Emily could bear.

"I'll drag the rug and curtains outside," Mat thew said, still poking
through the rubble.

"That'll help with the smell."

"Can you tell what happened?"

Mat thew glanced up.

"Do you know what a Molotov cocktail is?"

"No, but I think I could use one right now," Emily said dryly.

"You just had one," he informed her.

"A Molotov cocktail is a sort of homemade hand grenade." Emily stared at
him for a moment.

"You mean like in the movies, where they put gasoline in a bottle and
stuff a rag in the top for a fuse? That's what happened here?" At

this point, Emily didn't think she could take another shock.

Mat thew kicked aside a shard of glass with his toe.

"Either we just got another warning, or someone wants to run you out of
business," he said, his tone forbidding.

"But who?" Emily asked desperately.

"Who would do something like this?"

"That's what we have to find out. When I pulled up, I thought I saw
someone skulking about in Cora Mae's yard."

"Could you tell who it was?" The thought crossed Emily's mind that it
might have been Mike Durbin. The reporter seemed to have an uncanny
ability to be at the right place at the right time.

But, of course, if you created your own story, it would be easy to be on
the scene, Emily thought with a shiver. Mat thew shook his head.

"I don't know who it was. I didn't get a good look, because I wanted to
get inside and make sure you were all right."

He gazed about the room, seemingly unaware of what he'd just said. Or of
the impact his simple statement had on Emily. Her heart thumped against
her chest. He'd wanted to make sure she was all right. Emily tried not
to read too much into it, but it was hard not to, especially when she
wanted to so badly.

"If it was Cora Mae out there, then I think she has some explaining to
do," Mat thew was saying.

"You don't think she's responsible for this, do you? I mean, I know she
has it in for me and all, but this--" Emily gazed at the damage in
despair.

"Someone really sick has to be behind this."

"I'm not accusing Cora Mae," Mat thew said.

"Though after having met her the other day, there's very little I'd put
past her. But if she was the one in her yard tonight, she

might have seen something, and I'd like to know why she doesn't appear
to be coming forward on her own."

"Why don't we just go over and ask her?" Emily said impatiently.

"Right now. Tonight."

"Because it's after midnight," Mat thew pointed out.

"And if it wasn't Cora Mae I saw, then she's probably fast asleep by
now.

We'll talk to her tomorrow. Meanwhile, we'd better make a call to the
sheriff."

"For all the good that will do," Emily muttered. She sighed.

"Okay. We'll go talk to Cora Mae first thing in the morning."

Mat thew was kneeling again, examining something on the floor.

"The afternoon would be better," he said, without looking up.

"I think we should go to Miss Rosa- bel's funeral in the morning, and
then after that, there's someplace I have to go. I probably won't make
it back before four."

"Four! But I don't want to wait that long. I thought we were partners,
Mat thew," Emily blurted out, then blushed fiercely when she heard the
way she sounded--like a nagging wife who didn't trust her husband. Mat
thew stood up. His eyes softened.

"We are partners, Emily. This has nothing to do with the investigation.
Or you."

"Okay," she said, but it wasn't okay. Not even when he walked over and
put his arm around her, drawing her close. Not even when he gazed down
at her tenderly and murmured, "You've had a hard day, Emily. Why don't
you go back to bed?"

It wasn't okay, because all Emily could think about, wonder about, was
this mysterious business of his. If it didn't have anything to do with
her or the investigation, what did it have to do with? Another woman?

Was that where Mat thew went when he disappeared from the inn?

Well, what did you think? Emily asked herself furiously as she strode
down the hallway to her room. That he was a monk?

Mat thew Steele was an attractive, sexy man, and there were bound to be
women in his life. Lots of women. It was stupid to feel jealous.

Stupid and childish and Emily had no right. No right whatsoever. What
was wrong with her anyway? She was acting as if  ...  as if  ...  oh,
Lord.

She was acting as if she were in love with the man.

Chapter Ten.

She couldn't be in love with him, Emily decided as she and Mat thew
drove into Batesville the next day and located the funeral home where
the memorial service for Miss Rosa- bel would be held.

She couldn't be in love with him because she hardly knew him. It was a
ridiculous notion.

She couldn't be in love with him because if she were, she wouldn't be
able to sit here beside him so coolly and calmly and rationalize her
feelings for him. Not Emily. She knew herself too well. If she were in
love with him, she would probably be 'doing something stupid, like
begging him to elope with her.

No, she wasn't in love with him, Emily thought as she studied Mat thew's
silent profile. He was dressed in a dark double-breasted suit, white
cotton shirt and a dignified striped tie. She almost hadn't recognized
him when he'd come down the stairs earlier, and then she'd tried to tell
herself it was impossible that he looked even more handsome in a suit.
She'd decided the first moment she laid eyes on him that he was at least
a ten in his leather jacket and jeans. How could he look any better?

Mat thew pulled her VW into the parking lot, killed the engine, and
turned to her. His light gray eyes swept her

with a smoldering look of approval. She was wearing a short black dress,
complete with black stockings and black pumps. Emily had never thought
black was her color, but Mat thew's eyes told her otherwise.

She saw his gaze linger on her legs, and her heart thudded against her
chest. Her mouth went dry and her stomach fluttered with awareness.

So much for cool and calm.

"Ready to go in?" he asked, lifting his gaze to meet hers. There was
something warm and dark in his eyes. Something that looked like desire.

Emily tried to remind herself they were here for a funeral. She should
conduct herself accordingly. But her hands were trembling as she fumbled
with the door handle.

Mat thew reached across her and opened the door. His arm skimmed her
breast, and something like an electrical shock passed through Emily.

She longed to have him touch her again, ached for more than a brief,
accidental contact.

She wanted him to pull her into his arms and kiss her as he'd kissed her
that night in the kitchen, when her whole being had been turned inside
out. She wanted him to touch her all over, make he~ burn with desire for
him. She wanted-"Emily? You okay?"

His words broke into her fantasy, shattering the titillating images her
mind had conjured up. Her face flamed with color as she glanced at him.

"I'm fine," she said curtly, slipping from the car. But the moment he
took her arm to usher her into the building, the images began to build
again. His very nearness became an exquisite torment.

The funeral, however, brought her crashing back to earth, and made Emily
realize, as funerals usually did, how fleeting life can be. Even though
Miss Rosa bel had lived a long and seemingly content life, Emily
couldn't help wondering if the old woman had been ready to die. If her
time had really come, or if someone had cruelly snuffed out what
remaining months or years she might have had. The only people Emily
recognized at the somber gathering-other than Mat thew--were Thelma
Dickerson from the nursing home and Nella.

Nella, also dressed in black, sat in the front row with her head bowed,
obviously overcome by grief. She looked up when Mat thew and Emily
walked in, nodded, then dropped her gaze back to her lap. Emily couldn't
help wondering what Nella must be feeling, considering her estrangement
from her aunt. The guilt must be unbearable, and it made Emily think
about her own situation with Stuart. Would she one day be filled with
bitter regrets? After the short ceremony, she and Mat thew walked out
into the brilliant fall sunshine. He tugged at his tie, loosening the
knot and unbuttoning the top button of his shirt.

"I wanted to talk to Nella," Emily said, gazing around.

"But I don't see her anywhere."

"She made a beeline out of the chapel as soon as the service was over,"
Mat thew said.

"I wonder what her hurry was."

"I think she was just overcome with grief," Emily said.

"And guilt. I told you about her relationship with Miss Rosa bel."

Mat thew nodded.

"Well," he said.

"I don't suppose we accomplished much today other than paying our last
respects."

"I'm glad we came, though," Emily said.

"It's always better to say goodbye."

There was a haunted look in Mat thew's gray eyes that tore at Emily's
heart. She wondered what he was thinking. Wondered if there had been
someone in his life he hadn't been able to say goodbye to.

Because I killed her.

The memory of his tormented words was like cold water to Emily's senses,
reminding her once again how very little she knew about the man who
stood beside her. He turned to her, his gaze sweeping over her again,
making her shiver.

"I have to go now," he said.

"I'll drop you back at the inn and get my bike."

"Fine."

"I'll try to be back before four. But if I'm not, I want you to wait for
me."

"Why? Cora Mae's an old woman, Mat thew. Surely you can't think she'd do
me any harm. All I want to do is ask her a few questions."

"Just promise me you won't do anything impulsive, Emily. Promise you'll
wait for me. We'll go see her together."

Emily bristled at his imperious tone. If he really cared, he'd go with
her right now, she thought. Or at the very least, he'd tell her
where--or who--he was hurrying off to. She lifted her chin, annoyed with
herself for her feelings of possessiveness.

Feelings she had no right to be feeling.

"I promise I won't do anything impulsive," she said.

BUT PATIENCE HAD never been one of Emily's virtues, and as the hour hand
on her mantel clock crept past three and edged toward four, she became
more and more edgy. Where in the world was Mat thew? Did he think she
had nothing better to do than sit around and wait for him?

Which was exactly what she had been doing ever since they'd returned
from the funeral and Mat thew had hopped on his bike and driven off.

Emily's imagination had gone wild, conjuring up all sorts of
possibilities. He was with a woman. A beautiful, thin, irresistible
woman. Emily just knew it.

And as the day wore on, she became even more certain. If Mat thew hadn't
been going to see a woman, then why was he keeping his whereabouts a
secret?

Her visit to the sheriff's office right after Mat thew left had been
just as frustrating. She'd gone to report the fire last night, but
Sheriff Willis had been his usual helpful self, inviting Emily to file a
report which she was sure he would toss in the trash as soon as she left
his office. She hadn't even bothered, remembering Miss Rosa bel's
assertion that the sheriff had been in "up to his eyebrows" with the
Avengers.

When the clock chimed four, Emily decided she'd waited long enough. She
was not going to wait one minute longer for Mat thew.

Why should she? She was a grown woman, perfectly capable of asking Cora
Mae Hicks a few questions. What harm could there be in that?

Emily left the inn and marched across the street to knock on Cora Mae's
door, which stood ajar and swung inward when Emily gave it a little
push. She stuck her head inside and called, "Cora Mae? You here?"

No response, but somewhere in the house Emily heard a television.

She stepped across the threshold. It wasn't like she was trespassing in
a private home or' anything, she reasoned. Cora Mae ran a business, same
as Emily did. She never locked the front door of the Other Side of
Paradise Inn. There'd never been a reason to. Until now.

"Cora Mae?"

Emily gazed around, her curiosity getting the better of her. The house
was larger than hers and surprisingly charming. The perpetual air of
gloom the house wore outside had been subdued within by the clever use
of rugs and throw pillows, baskets of chrysanthemums and beautiful
hand-painted pottery.

Cora Mac certainly had the touch, Emily noted in surprise, taking in the
smallest detail with an innkeeper's critical eye.

No wonder the This Side of Paradise Inn had been the premier
bed-and-breakfast in town for over twenty-five years. But as Emily
walked slowly through the house, she began to get a funny feeling that
something was wrong. In the offseason, Cora Mae was completely alone in
her big old house. And she was getting on in years. What if something
had happened to her, a heart attack or a stroke or something?

As she went out into the kitchen, Emily's fears seemed justified when
she saw that a plate of food and a glass of milk, still cold, sat
waiting on the dinette and the cellar door was standing open. She called
down into the darkness, but there was still no answer.

Everything was ominously Silent.

By now, Emily was almost sure something bad had happened. Cora Mae might
have fallen down the cellar stairs and been badly injured. She might be
lying down there now, bleeding and unconscious. As Emily considered her
options, she decided the best thing to do was go down and investigate
the situation herself. Finding a string pull," Emily turned on the
light, then made her way down the steps. The bare bulb dimly illuminated
the cellar, and there was just one small window that let in only a
glimmer of faded sunlight. One wall contained shelves of tools and
equipment, but the rest of the space was crowded with shelves of canned
fruits and vegetables, household solvents and gardening chemicals-some
of which had been stored in jars and cans with handwritten labels.

A fire marshal would have a field day in here, Emily thought, gazing at
the assortment of flammable products. If Cora Mac had wanted to make a
homemade hand grenade herself, she certainly had the ingredients readily
available.

The stairs creaked behind her, and Emily whirled toward the sound just
as the light in the basement went out, plunging her into darkness.

"Cora Mae?"

No answer.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs.

Fear froze Emily's blood.

"Who's there?" she called out.

Emily backed away, searching for a place to hide. She stumbled over
something lying on the floor--a shovel, she thought--and before she
could regain her balance, a figure flew down the steps and shoved her
backward. The momentum knocked Emily off her feet, and she fell with a
bang against a shelf of cleaning solvents. Glass shattered against the
concrete floor. Then footsteps clattered back up the stairs, and the
door at the top slammed shut. Instantly, a noxious odor permeated the
air, tearing Emily's eyes. She had no idea what kind of chemicals Cora
Mae had kept stored in the containers, but Emily suspected they could be
dangerous. Maybe even deadly. Coughing and trying to quiet her racing
heart, she pulled the ruffle at the neck of her cotton dress up over her
mouth and nose and, using the window to guide her, made her way back up
the stairs. The door at the top gvas locked from the outside. Panic
exploded inside her as she rattled the knob and banged her fist against
the door.

"Cora Mae! Open the door! It's me, Emily!" There was no answer, and the
fumes inside the tightly closed cellar were growing thicker, stronger,
deadlier. Emily struggled for breath. She stumbled back down the stairs,
looking about frantically for another way out.

"Help!"

she tried to scream up at the window, but it only came out as a hoarse
croak.

"Someone help me!" Still coughing and gagging, Emily began to push with
all her might on one of the shelves.

Fruit jars crashed to the floor, but she paid them no mind.

Finally, she managed to get the shelf positioned under the window.

Forcing herself to remain calm, she located the shovel on the floor and
hurried back to the window.

By that time, less than a minute or two had passed, but it felt like
hours. Emily's head was spinning even more crazily, and for a moment she
doubted her ability to haul the shovel up onto the shelf. Trying to will
away the dizziness, she managed to climb the shelf and bang the blade
against the window. The glass shattered, and a rush of cold air poured
in.

With a cry of triumph, Emily threw down the shovel. Gulping the sweet,
clean air, unmindful of the cuts and scraps she re4~'lved on her hands,
she pulled herself up and shimmied through the small opening to collapse
on the ground.

Blue sky and sunshine had never looked so good. Emily took one long
look, one deep breath, and then everything around her faded to black.

ALMOST BY INSTINCT Mat thew found Emily, lying unconscious near the
broken basement window. The print dress she wore was splotched with
blood from the cuts on her hands, and her face looked deathly pale. Mat
thew knelt and felt for her pulse, then listened to her heart, prepared
to give CPR if necessary. But she was breathing. Thank God, he hadn't
found her too late.

He remembered what Emily had said the night before, during the fire,
about the town not having 911 emergency service. He had no idea whether
there was even a doctor in this godforsaken place.

Not knowing what else to do, Mat thew picked Emily up--she was so
light!--and strode around Cora Mae's house, across the street and up the
steps to the Other Side of Paradise Inn.

Mrs. Devere was sitting in the garden alcove, all alone, when Mat thew
burst through the front door carrying Emily. The psychic jumped up and
hurried across the room toward him, the lavender caftan she wore
billowing around her legs like a parachute.

"What happened?" she asked.

"I don't know," Mat thew told her.

"She's unconscious. We need to get a doctor over here right away."

"TII go next door," Mrs. Devere said, heading for the front door.

"They'll know how to get hold of the town doctor."

Mat thew laid Emily on the sofa and covered her with the crocheted
afghan draped across the back. Then he elevated her legs and monitored
her breathing and pulse, treating her for possible shock. The cuts on
her hand were minor, the least of his worries right now. Where the hell
was the doctor?

This was all Mat thew's fault. He shouldn't have been late. He should
have known it was just like Emily to throw caution to the winds and go
without him. Her impulsiveness was one of the things he found so
endearing about

her. But there were other things, so many things he couldn't have begun
to count them.

He gazed down at her, and a wave of tenderness washed over him.

Gently, he smoothed away the dark hair from her forehead, then ran his
finger along the contour of her jawline. He hadn't expected to ever feel
this way again. He wasn't sure he'd ever felt precisely this way.

Emily was like no woman he'd ever known before. She was so sweet andwarm
and trusting  ... And he'd let her down. The last time he'd failed
someone the result had been tragic. He couldn't let that happen again.
Not with Emily.

Because if anything happened to her, Mat thew knew he would never be
able to live with himself.

EMILY SIGHED IMPATIENTLY as Dr. Sheldon took his time listening to her
heart. Finally he removed the stethoscope from his ears and made his
pronouncement.

"She'll be fine. All her vital signs are stable. In a day or two, she'll
be good as new."

Stuart had come in shortly after the doctor arrived, and now he and Mat
thew stood at opposite ends of the couch, gazing down at Emily
worriedly.

Mat thew said, "Are you sure she shouldn't go to the hospital?"

"Nothing more we could do for her there," Dr. Sheldon assured him.

"Just make sure she gets plenty of rest."

"She'll come and stay with Caroline and me," Stuart said.

"We'll keep a dose eye on her."

"That might not be a bad idea," the doctor agreed. Emily hated the way
they were all talking about her as if she weren't even there. She'd been
unconsciousness for only a minute or two, but they were all acting as if
she had been at death's door.

She pushed the afghan away and sat up on the couch.

"I have no intention of going home with you, Stuart," she said. Then,
turning to Mat thew, she went on, "Or of going to the hospital with you.
There's nothing wrong with me.

I'm perfectly fine."

"You're not fine," Mat thew said.

"When I think what might have happened--"

"Don't." Emily reached for his hand. His fingers closed around hers,
warmly, protectively, making Emily's heart race.

"This wasn't your fault," she said.

"I don't want you blaming yourself."

"I'm finding it hard not to," he said, his eyes dark and fathomless,
regarding her with an intensity that stole Emily's breath away. She
couldn't stop looking at him. Was this what being at death's door did to
one's senses? Emily thought in wonder. If so, perhaps the risk had been
worthwhile.

Stuart, who was standing at the end of the couch, frowned, his gaze
going from Emily to Mat thew and then back again, clearly not liking
what he was seeing. Or hearing. His voice sounded strained when he said,
"How do you really feel, Emily?"

"My head hurts," she admitted, finally able to tear her gaze away from
Mat thew's.

"I'll give you something for that," Dr. Sheldon said. He placed a small
vial of capsules on the coffee table.

"Just follow the directions. You'll feel better in a few hours." He got
up, packed his bag and started for the door. Stuart said, almost
reluctantly, "I'll see you out." When they'd disappeared out the front
door, Emily turned back to Mat thew.

"I didn't want to say anything in front of them, or in front of Mrs.
Devere before the doctor got here, but I think it was Cora Mae who
pushed me

into that shelf and locked me in her basement. She knew those chemicals
were there. Who else could it have been?"

"That's what I've been wondering," Mat thew said, his expression grave.

"That old woman tried to fumigate me, Mat thew. She's got enough
chemicals and cleaning solvents in her basement to blow up half of
Paradise. You should see what all she's got down there." Their eyes met
again, and she knew Mat thew was thinking, just as she was, about the
Molotov cocktail someone had thrown through her window last evening.

But neither of them said anything, because just then Stuart came back
into the room.

"What the hell's been going on around here?"

he demanded, loosening his tie.

"I dropped by here to invite you to dinner tonight, and I find the place
looking like a war zone and you out cold on the couch." His gaze shot to
Mat thew.

"Would one of you mind filling me in on a few details?"

"Someone threw a Molotov cocktail through Emily's window last night,"
Mat thew said bluntly.

"They deliberately set the place on fire."

"What?" Stuart's voice sounded shocked. Frightened.

"Is that true, Emily?"

"Of course it's true. You can see for yourself." She motioned wearily
toward the broken window and the remains of the fire.

The acrid smell of smoke still clung to the air, in spite of Emily's
best efforts.

"And then today, when I went over to ask Cora Mae if she might have seen
anything last night, someone locked me in her basement after pushing me
into a shelf of chemicals. The fumes could have killed me." All the
color drained from Stuart's face. He said hoarsely, "My God, Emily. I
had no idea things had gone this far."

Emily folded her arms and glared at him.

"Now do you believe me, Stuart? Now do you believe that something
sinister is going on in this town? Someone is going to extreme measures
to try to get me to drop my investigation into Jenny Wilcox's murder,
which only proves that Mat thew and I are on the right track.

We're dose to solving the murder."

Stuart looked downright sick. He dropped down in a chair and said
weakly, "Emily, you've got to stop this nonsense. You could have been
seriously hurt--"

"I could have been killed, Stuart, which is exactly my point. If someone
didn't have something to hide, then he-or she--wouldn't care how much I
investigated the murder. Don't you see?" she asked, her tone growing a
little desperate.

"There's something wrong in this town, Stuart. Very, very wrong. I
always thought it was just me, but now I know wh~ I never fit in here.

I can't hide things. I can't keep all those dirty little secrets like
everyone else does. Who were the Avengers, and why will no one in town
talk about them, still, to this day? It's almost as if everyone's trying
to protect them," she finished in disgust.

"If the townspeople still try to protect the Avengers," Stuart said,
"maybe it's because the Avengers tried to protect this town." Mat thew
said, "So you admit to knowing about a group of vigilantes operating in
Paradise who called themselves the Avengers."

Stuart, ever the lawyer, responded, "I admit to nothing."

"But you just said--" Emily began.

Stuart exploded.

"Drop it, Emily! For God's sake, what are you trying to do to me? To
this town? Do you hate us all that much?"

Emily gaped at her brother in shock.

"This has nothing to do with my feelings for you or for Paradise."

"Of course it does! That's why you bought this house in the first place.
So you could flaunt it before the whole town. Rub our noses in a past
we'd all like to forget. Well, you've made your point, Emily.

We know you don't give a damn what the rest of us think. Now it's time
to forget all this nonsense about the murder, before you do something
we'll all live to regret." Without another word, he got up and stomped
out of the room.

Emily didn't quite know what to say. Or to think. Why was Stuart acting
so defensive? She'd never seen her brother so agitated.

What in the world was going on in this town? And exactly where did
Stuart fit into the picture? Emily glanced up, only to catch Mat thew
staring down at her. There was a look in his eyes, a strange little
glimmer of something that almost seemed like pity.

1V[ATFHEW STAYED WITH EMILY until Caroline Townsend, who had no doubt
been sent by Stuart to try to talk some sense into Emily, arrived, and
then Mat thew excused himself from the two women and went outside.

He didn't tell Emily where he was going, but he wanted to have a look
around Cora Mac's basement before the sheriff got there.

Avoiding Cora Mac's front door, Mat thew went around back to the
basement window and let himself in.

The fresh air from the broken window had diluted the fumes by this time,
but the harsh smell still lingered. Using his flashlight to guide him,
Mat thew located the containers of chemicals Emily had told him about.
The glass jars had been smashed against the concrete, but the cans were
still intact.

Mat thew sifted through the debris, reading the handwritten labels.

Toluol, zylene, methylene chloride. What in the world was Cora Mae doing
with such strong chemicals? They were hardly typical household products,
and any one of them could prove deadly in the wrong hands.

Mat thew reached for another container, then froze. The door opened at
the top of the stairs. The light came on. Silently he doused his
flashlight and turned from the shelves, slipping into the shadows near
the stairwell as he listened to the telltale creak of the wood as
someone slowly descended the steps.

When the footfalls stilled at the bottom, Mat thew stepped out of his
hiding place to confront the intruder. Almost too late he saw the gleam
of a knife blade arc through the air toward him.

Chapter Eleven.

Mat thew reacted instinctivelj. He grabbed her arm and wrenched the
knife away. Cora Mae howled in pain.

"You broke my wrist!"

she screamed, holding her arm as she backed away from him.

"It's not broken," Mat thew said, putting the butcher knife on one of
the top shelves. Cora Mae would have to stand on something to retrieve
it, but Mat thew didn't care. He felt safer with the blade out of the
woman's reach.

"You've got a little explaining to do, Cora Mae. You tried to kill Emily
earlier, and now me. You want to tell me what's going on, or shall we
wait for the sheriff?" Cora Mae glowered right back at him.

"I don't feel like talking to nobody. I just got back from the post
office, and I saw you climbing through my window, busting into my house.
I was trying to protect myself. I didn't try to kill nobody."

"Then why did you lock Emily in your basement earlier?" He pointed
toward the broken jars and metal cans on the floor.

"She could have died down here. In case you didn't know it--but I'm
guessing you do--those fumes could have been lethal."

Cora Mae's chin shot up.

"I don't know what you're talking about.

Are you telling me Emily Townsend was over here, prowling around in my
basement? Is she the one who made this mess?" Cora Mae's eyes narrowed
as she glared at Mat thew.

"What are you two trying to pull here?"

"Nice try," Mat thew said.

"But attempted murder is a very serious crime, Cora Mae."

"Now see here--"

"You see here. I might be willing to buy your story that you thought I
was an intruder, and I might be able to persuade Emily to forget what
happened earlier  ...  in exchange for a little infornfation."

Cora Mae wasn't persuaded. Her black eyes gleamed like marbles in the
murky light.

"I got no information," she said.

"And I got nothing to hide. You and Emily Townsend trespassed on my
property. I could have you both arrested if I wanted to." She folded her
arms over her shriveled bosom and stared at Mat thew in triumph.

"Go ahead and call the sheriff."

Mat thew had to hand it to her. She was a tough old bird, and he knew
when he'd been outmaneuvered. Sensing her advantage, Cora Mae shook a
bony finger at him.

"If you ask me, the two of you are just begging for trouble, snooping.
around people's private property, asking a bunch of questions that are
none of your concern. You best be careful. You could end up like those
other two." ' "What other two?"

"Jenny Wilcox, and that Drury fellow. They asked a bunch of questions,
too, and look what happened to them."

"Jenny was murdered," Mat thew said.

"But no one knows what happened to Wade. Are you implying that he was
murdered, too?"

Cora Mae pressed her thin lips together. She looked as if she'd said a
good deal more than she meant to.

"I've said all I'm going to say. Now you git!"

"Now, am you sum you'll be all right?" Caroline asked sweetly as she
shot Mat thew a cool, appraising glance. She picked up her sweater and
purse and made ready to leave. Emily reclined against the headboard of
her bed. She'd changed from the blood-streaked dress to a pair of jeans
and a T-shirt emblazoned with the slogan Another Day in Paradise, but
Caroline had still insisted that she rest in bed. Emily found it easier
not to argue. She waved an impatient hand at her sister-in-law.

"I'm fine, Caroline. All this clucking about is making me nervous. Go on
home to the kids."

Again Caroline threw Mat thew, who was standing in the doorway of
Emily's bedroom, a less-than-friendly glance.

"Well, all right, if you insist. I do have to make some treats for
Charles's preschool class tomorrow."

"Go on, then," Emily said tiredly, relief washing over her as she
watched Caroline disappear through the doorway. Mat thew stepped aside
to let Caroline pass, then folded his arms and leaned against the frame.
He smiled at Emily.

Emily smiled at him.

"Hey," she said.

"Where'd you disappear to?"

"I went over to check out Cora Mae's basement," he said.

"I wanted to get there before the sheriff did. The old bat actually
tried to attack me with a butcher knife." Emily stared at him in horror.

"Mat thew!

Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, but you're lucky you got out of there alive."

Emily's hand went to her heart.

"I can't believe this is happening," she said.

"Do you think Cora Mae was behind it?"

Mat thew shook his ahead.

"Not really. I know all the signs point to her, but unless we have more
than one culprit operating here, I don't see her being able to rig up
that boulder to roll down the cliff toward us, no matter how feisty she
still is."

"Then someone else must have followed me over them," Emily said.

"Someone was watching me." A chill crept down her spine at the thought
that someone had deliberately stalked her with the intent to kill. Mat
thew straightened and w~ilked into the room.

He sat down on the edge of Emily's bed and took one of her hands in his.

"I'm really sorry I wasn't there, Emily. I feel responsible for this."

Emily squeezed his hand.

"Remember what you told me yesterday?

Second-guessing yourself gets you nowhere fast. You're not responsible
for me, Mat thew. I'm a grown woman."

He smiled, his eyes flickering over her in a way that mad~ her heart
leap.

"Believe me, I'm aware of that. But we are partners, and partners should
be able to count on one another. From now on, I think we should stick
together. No more going off on our own."

"That's fine by me," Emily said, but she couldn't help wondering whether
what he said meant he intended to curtail his own disappearing acts from
now on. She gazed up at him, then glanced quickly away, afraid her heart
might be in her eyes.

She took a deep breath and said, "Even if Cora Mae wasn't the one who
locked me in the basement, she still tried to stab you.

That's pretty serious business, Mat thew."

"She claims she thought I was an intruder, that she was only protecting
herself."

"Do you believe her?"

Mat thew shrugged.

"I don't know. But she thinks fast on her feet, I'll give her that."

Emily sat up in bed suddenly.

"Do you remember the warning Miss Rosa bel gave me about Cora Mae? She
said she wouldn't have been surprised to learn that Cora Mae was the one
who killed Jenny, just to drive Miss Rosa bel out of business."

"Right," Mat thew agreed.

"I've seen Cora Mae's bitterness, and that almost obsessive
competitiveness of hers, firsthand. Just because I think it highly
unlikely she's behind everything that's happened, doesn't mean I'm ready
to discount her altogether."

Emily sank back against the pillows.

"It's really scary, you know? To think that someone in this town--maybe
someone I've known all my life--is capable of murder. In a way, I can
almost understand why the townspeople were so willing to believe Wade
Drury was guilty. It's easier to accdpt that kind of darkness in a
perfect stranger than it is in one of your neighbors." She paused for a
moment, her mood pensive.

"Mat thew, do you suppose there's a chance that we're simply on a
wild-goose chase with this investigation? What if Wade really did kill
Jenny?"

"He didn't."

The adamant denial in his voice made Emily glance up. A shiver ran down
her spine, raising goose bumps along her arms.

"How do you know? How can you be so sure?" He remained silent for a
moment, just sat there staring at her. Then, finally, he said, "Because
Jenny was Wade's wife. He was crazy about her."

It was Emily's turn to stare at him.

"His wife?"

Mat thew got up and paced to the window. He sto d gazing out with a
brooding frown as Emily watched him from her bed, stunned.

"Wade and Jenny were married? How do you know this?" Mat thew said
nothing for a moment. Then, slowly, as if feeling his way along, he
began to talk.

"Wade Drury was my brother, Emily. When he disappeared, I was sixteen
years old. I vowed I would someday come here and find out what really
happened to him and to Jenny." Emily could hardly believe what she was
hearing.

"That's why everyone acted so strangely when they first saw you.

Miss Rosa bel and Nella and the others. They saw Wade when they looked
at you."

Mat thew nodded.

"I deliberately fed the illusion by coming here on a motorcycle, just
like the one Wade rode, and wearing clothes similar to the way I
remember he used to dress. I wanted to shake people up. I wanted to look
them in the eye and see what they saw when they thought they were
looking at Wade."

"Is your real name Drury?"

"No. My real name is Steele. Drury was my mother's maiden name.

Wade used it a lot when he was working undercover."

The word sent a shiver up Emily's spine.

"Undercover?"

Mat thew turned to face her. His eyes looked grim, and the expression on
his face told Emily that in a lot of ways, the fifteen-year-old tragedy
was still fresh to him.

"Jenny and Wade were both FBI agents."

"FBI agents?" Emily knew she sounded like a parrot, but she couldn't
help it. Everything Mat thew was telling her was such a shock. She drew
a long breath and released it.

"I can't believe any of this. FBI agents in Paradise? What were they
here fort'

"Jenny's assignment was to infiltrate the Avengers. According to
eyewitness accounts, some of the members of the group were heavily
arming themselves with military-type weaponry, and the FBI is always
concerned about any secret organization that appears to be stockpiling
weapons, because of the threat it might pose to national security.

There were several similar operations all over the country back then,
and Jenny's assignment was coordinated with the others, so that none of
the target groups would become prematurely suspicious."

"This is crazy," Emily said.

"Like something you see on TV. It's not the sort of thing you associate
with your own hometown."

The silence that fell between them was disturbed only by a car passing
on the street. It was still daylight outside, but just barely. The
fading light slanted through the window, casting deep shadows on Mat
thew's face where he stood staring out. It was hard to tell what he was
thinking. What he might be feeling.

After a few seconds, Emily said, "You said coming to Paradise was
Jenny's assignment. Why did Wade come down here?"

Mat thew threw her a quick glance and shifted, so that he could lean his
shoulder against the window frame.

"He was worried about her. He'd had a similar assignment some months
before, and he knew how dangerous it could be. Jenny was down here on
her own, working without backup. That was the way it had to be. Alone,
she had a much better chance of infiltrating the group. She was young,
beautiful, and seemingly unattached. As far as the FBI knew, the
Avengers were all men. I'm sure you can see the reasoning behind sending
Jenny," he said dryly. She could also see why Jenny's husband would have
been worried.

"Wade disregarded direct orders from his superior and followed Jenny
down here on his own. By the time he hooked up with her, Tony Vincent
was already sniffing around and sensed something was going on between
Wade and Jenny. Vincent became insanely jealous, and he and Wade
eventually came to blows." Mat thew's eyes were on the falling twilight
outside the window.

Emily was mesmerized.

"Keep going," she said.

"Tell me everything." The story itself was fascinating, but now that the
initial shock was over, she also had an idea that she might gain some
valuable insight into the man who was telling the tale.

Perhaps more than she bargained for, she thought with a shiver, gazing
at his dark countenance. But that was a chance she had to take.

"There's not a lot more to tell," Mat thew said.

"After Jenny's body was discovered, Wade called home, almost beside
himself with grief. He said he'd written down everything and was sending
us a letter, detailing all the events that had occurred since he and
Jenny arrived in Paradise. If anything happened to him, we were to take
that letter to his section chief at the Bureau. He also told Mom that he
wasn't going to leave Paradise until he found out who killed Jenny." He
paused.

"We never heard from him again."

Mat thew's story was so compelling, the images he evoked so vivid, that
Wade Drury and Jenny Wilcox were almost living, breathing entities in
the room with them. The sensation was so pow~erful that Emily found
herself glancing around, and she ~'ondered if Mat thew felt it, too.

Wondered if he was remembering, as she was, that Wade and Jenny had last
seen each other alive in this very house. Emily got up from the bed and
walked across the room to stand behind Mat thew. She put out a tentative
hand to

touch his arm, needing to connect with him. He didn't turn to look at
her, but his hand closed over hers.

"Tin sorry," she said gently.

"It must have been awful for you."

"My mother was devastated," he said simply.

"I guess we both were, but kids arc resilient. I got over it, but I
don't think she ever did."

"A mother never gets over the death of a child," Emily said, thinking of
the children she'd once planned to have, and feeling the loss.

"I suppose not," Mat thew said.

"My father died when I was nine, and my mother and I had both looked to
Wade as the man of the house. He was always there for us. And Jenny  ...
Jenny was an angel. We all adored her. Her death was such a waste."
There was no grief in his voice, no sense of tragedy, but in some
strange way, that almost made it seem worse. The casual way he retold
the story made Emily wonder how many times he'd gone over it in his
head. How many times he'd thought about it over the years. After a
moment, she said, "What happened to the letter ? ' "When my mother and I
took it to the FBI and tried to convince them to conduct an
investigation into Jenny's murder and Wade's disappearance, we were
informed that Wade had acted in an improper and dangerous manner. His
reckless and irresponsible disobedience of a direct order had resulted
in the death of an agent.

As far as the Bureau was concerned, Wade Drury was considered a
fugitive."

"You've got to be kidding!" Emily cried, outraged.

"But they had his letter!"

"Which they kept. We never saw it again, but my mother had had the
foresight to make a copy. We had that, and the first time I ever saw her
crying over that letter was when I vowed to come here someday and find
out what really happened.

For her."

Emily's heart went out to him, and to the woman--to the mother--whom
she'd never even met.

"How could they do that?" she asked helpl~sly.

"How could the FBI just sweep it under the rug like that?"

"They were afraid a full-scale investigation into Jenny's murder would
have threatened not only the operation in Paradise, but all the other
ones around the country, as well..

They had to keep it a secret in order to protect the lives of the agents
who'd infiltrated the other groups." Darkness had gathered outside, and
the first star twinkled out. The distant shimmer of '][;-light seemed
like an omen, but whether it was good or bad, Emily couldn't have said.

She looked up at Mat thew.

"And so, after all these years, you've come here--for what?" she asked
him softly.

"Revenge?"

He shrugged.

"Maybe, in a way. My mother died two years ago, never knowing what
happened to her oldest son. Wade's disappearance and Jenny's death had a
profound effect on both of us. I guess I just decided it was time for
the truth to come out."

"But why now?" Emily couldn't help asking.

"Why fifteen years later?"

A brief smile touched his lips. He lifted his hand and stroked her cheek
in a butterfly caress that seemed infinitely tender.

"That, my sweet Emily, is the' sixty-four- thousand-dollar question,
isn't it?"

A QUESTION he wasn't sure he was prepared to answer. The gentle warmth
and compassion in Emily's eyes drew Mat thew like a magnet, but he knew
he had to be careful. There was still so much he hadn't told her,
couldn't tell her, and the last thing he wanted was to play fast and
loose with her feelings.

With a measure of regret, he let his hand fall away from her.

"I could use some air," he said.

"Why don't we take a walk in the garden?"

He saw the flicker of confusion in her eyes, but she shrugged.

"Okay. Sure."

Emily grabbed her denim jacket from the closet and slipped on her shoes,
and then they went down the hallway and out into the garden, through the
French doors in the living area. Darkness had fallen, but just over the
mountains the sky still glowed with red and gold streaks of fire,
remnants of what had probably been a spectacular sunset. A current of
air drifted through the trees, carrying the nostalgic scent of autumn
and the darker, deeper hint of winter.

Together they sat down on a wrought iron bench, and Emily seemed content
to sit in the deepening twilight and watch the stars twinkle out one by
one. After a while she said, "I love this time of year here. The fall
was what I missed most when I left Paradise. I don't believe there's
anywhere in the world that smells quite like the Ozarks in autumn."

"Why did you leave?" Mat thew asked, partly because he wanted to delay
the rest of his story, but mostly because, suddenly, he wanted to know
everything there was to know about Emily Townsend.

She shrugged her thin shoulders, her eyes fixed on the moon just rising
over a mountaintop.

"I was young, and like a lot of teenagers, I couldn't wait to get out of
my hometown, see the world. The summer I turned nineteen, I was very
unhappy. I'd dropped out of college, couldn't find a job, and there were
a lot of  ...  other pressures on me.

When Eugene--my ex-husband--came through here, I guess I saw him as my
way out."

"Was it love at first sight?" Funny how disturbing that notion was, Mat
thew thought.

But Emily was shaking her head.

"Hardly. Lust at first sight, maybe." She laughed in self-derision.

"And that didn't last long, believe me, but by the time I'd goren over
it, it was too late.

We were married. It didn't take either one of us long to realize we had
absolutely nothing in common, except  ...  I guess we were both running
away from our families. Eugene's father had kicked him out of the house
a few months before, and Stuart  ...  Stuart wanted me to marry Trey
Huntington. In fact, both he and Trey were  ...  adamant about it."

She was still staring at the moon, never glancing his way, but Mat thew
thought that she had grown quite tense. It seemed he wasn't the only one
with secrets. Emily wasn't telling him everything, either.

"What happened?"

She gave him an ironic smile.

"In a nutshell? I turned Trey down, and let's just say he wasn't happy
about it. Trey doesn't like rejection,. and rather than have to face
him--and Stuart--I left town with Eugene. I stayed away for seven years,
and then--I don't know--I guess, like you, I thought it was time for the
truth to' come out."

"The truth?"

She hesitated only fractionally.

"The truth about myself. I'd made a mistake. My marriage was a failure,
and it was time to come home and take my medicine."

"Lots of people make mistakes, Emily," Mat thew said.

"Lots of people get divorced. You shouldn't be punished for it."

She laughed. It was a brittle little sound that had nothing to do with
mirth.

"Eugene was hardly my first mis take. I seem to have a talent for making
the wrong choices." She turned to him in the moonlight, saying softly,
"I just hope I'm not about to make another." And what was he supposed to
say to that? Mat thew asked himself miserably. Was he supposed to rush
to reassure her?

He couldn't do that. There was no way he could promise Emily she
wouldn't be hurt by him, because when this mess was over, when all was
said and done, she would probably look back on her time with him and
wonder if it wasn't perhaps the biggest mistake of her life. He felt her
eyes on him in the darkness.

"Mat thew?

May I ask you something?"

"What?"

"Did your decision to come here now have anything to do with the woman
who died?"

"In a roundabout way." He turned his head and stared at her.

"There's still a lot you don't know about me, Emily."

"I haven't exactly shared all my deep, dark secrets with you, either.

Maybe some things are best left unsaid. You don't have to tell me
anything you don't want to." And that simple statement suddenly made Mat
thew want to tell her everything. Reveal every last one of his secrets.
His. suspicions. Everything he had to hide. But subterfuge had been too
deeply ingrained in him for far too long. There was only so much he was
prepared to disclose.

He drew a deep breath and then expelled it.

"When I told you that solving mysteries is a hobby of mine  ...  that
wasn't exactly the truth. I'm a federal marshal, Emily." Even though he
wasn't looking at her, he could sense her startled reaction. Still, she
said nothing.

He ran his hand through his hair, wondering how to proceed.

"I guess law enforcement runs in our family. For years, I was drawn to
that type of life, probably because of Wade. I got caught up in the
excitement and challenge of my own career, and over the years, my
memories of Wade and Jenny faded. I hardly ever thought about them.

"Then, a few months ago, I was assigned to guard a federal witness, a
woman who had agreed to testify against her husband about his
involvement in organized crime. We had Christine--that was her name--and
her five-year-old daughter, Rachel, sequestered in a safe house, just
outside of Memphis.

There was a leak somewhere. The husband found out where we were keeping
her, and he had his thugs attack the house. Christine was killed
instantly, and Rachel--" He broke off, closing his eyes briefly as he
relived the horror of that night. The blood. The screams. The terrible
guilt.

Mat thew rubbed his hands over his eyes, trying to banish the images,
but they were indelibly marked on his memory.

He felt Emily's hand on his arm, and her voice, gentle and soothing,
said, "You don't have to go on if you don't want to."

He shook his head.

"No, it's okay. Rachel was hit twice, once in the shoulder and once in
the lower back. She's undergone three surgeries in the past several
months, and for a while the doctors weren't sure she would ever walk
again."

"And now?"

"She's been undergoing intensive physical therapy, and she was making
remarkable progress until just a few weeks ago. She had a setback--more
mental than physical, her doctors said. For some reason, though God
knows why, she seems to be comforted by my presence, and so I've been
trying to go see her as often as I can."

"So that's where you go," Emily murmured, almost to herself. Then, "None
of this is your fault, Mat thew. Surely you know that?"

"It was my fault," he said harshly.

"Christine and I--" He stared at the ground. This was the part that was
hardest to admit.

Especially to Emily. He glanced up at her.

"We never stepped over the line. I want you to know that. Nothing ever
really happened between us, but it  ...  could have. A life-and-death
situation is always emotionally charged, and when you're sequestered
with someone night and day  ...  "He trailed off and sighed.

"Anyway, when I came to in the hospital, I had a lot of time to think,
and I couldn't help wondering if my attraction to Christine had somehow
made me let my guard down. If it had made me careless. It was my duty to
protect her and Rachel, and I let them both down. I failed them."

Emily's first instinct was to rush to reassure him again, but something
he'd said made her ask instead, "What did you mean, when you came to in
the hospital? You were injured, too?"

He nodded, his expression grim.

"I was a lot luckier than Christine or Rachel. I was out of the hospital
in a few weeks, but I couldn't.go back to my job. I didn't trust myself
anymore, and so I took a leave of absence, bummed around the country for
a while. Then, a week or so ago, I saw Mike Durbin's article in the
paper. I don't know why, maybe because of everything I'd just been
through, but it seemed the right time to come here. To resolve the past,
once and for all. Does that make any sense?"

Emily sighed.

"It makes perfect sense to me. You have to lay the old ghosts to rest
before you can deal with the new ones. I think that's why I came back
here, too." Their gazes met in the darkness, and it came to Emily that
she had never felt so connected to anyone in her life. Never had anyone
shared with her something that was so personal, so profound. She was
deeply moved.

"Thank you for telling me," she said softly.

"It means a lot to me."

"There's no need to thank me. I wanted you to know."

Mat thew's hand closed over hers on the bench, and though Emily couldn't
see his face clearly, she knew that his eyes, on her, were intense,
darkly seductive.

She caught her breath as he said her name, very softly, in the darkness.
His voice was like a caress, like a whisper of air against her neck, and
a thrill of excitement 'shot up her spine.

"Mat thew, I--" Emily hadn't a clue as to what she was about to say, but
it didn't matter, because the words were no sooner out of her mouth than
Mat thew gave a little tug on her hand and suddenly, somehow, she was in
his arms.

His touch was electric. Emily's breath rushed out of her as her every
nerve ending sprang alive, waiting for his kiss. But for a moment, for
an eternity, all he did was stare deeply into her eyes, searching her
face in the darkness. Emily didn't know what answers he hoped to find,
didn't take time to consider what might happen if he found them. She
slid her hand around the back of his neck and pulled him toward her,
until his lips were only a breath away from hers.

"Emily."

"Don't say it," she whispered.

"Don't say it can't happen."

She saw him smile in the moonlight.

"I was going to say I think it's time to go in now."

THEY TOOK THEIR TIME undressing. The slanting moonlight in Emily's
bedroom cast interesting patterns of light and dark on Mat thew's face
as he gazed down at her, watching her every movement with a passion that
captured her breath. They weren't even touching each other, and yet the
buildup was incredible, the tension deliciously prolonged.

Emily shivered as she shed the last of her clothing, and then, drawing a
long breath, she stepped into Mat thew's arms. He held her for a long
time, skimming his hands along her back, whispering his lips through her
hair, letting their bodies become accustomed to each other before he
kissed her. And when he did kiss her, it was a long, slow, deliberately
unhurried exploration that made Emily's heart pound frantically inside
her. He buried his hands in her hair, holding her face still as his lips
worked their sinful magic.

"Are you sure this is what you want?" he murmured, raining kisses along
her jawline and down her neck until Emily could hardly think at all.

She pressed herself against him, wanting more of him. Needing all of
him.

"Yes," she whispered, letting her head fall wantonly back so that the
column of her neck was completely exposed to his kisses.

"I've never been so sure of anything."

"Thank God," Mat thew muttered, just before his mouth claimed hers again
in a kiss that dissolved any lingering hesitation.

Emily gave herself completely to the sensation. Thrill after thrill
raced through her as Mat thew picked her up, wrapped her legs around him
and carried her to the bed.

EMILY AWAKENED. She couldn't seem to move, and for a moment, panic
swamped her. Then she realized the weight holding her down was Mat
thew's arm. Her back was to him, and he was holding her close, as if he
would never let her go.

Emily snuggled 'closer, and his arm tightened around her.

"This is nice," she murmured.

His breath was hot against her cheek as he bent to skim the shell of her
ear with his tongue.

"I've been lying here dying for you to wake up," he said in a low,
intimate tone. Emily laughed. The low, throaty, sexy sound of it
surprised her.

"Why didn't you wake me up?"

"I thought you might need your rest," Mat thew said, his hand applying
the lightest, most exquisite pressure to her breast.

Emily shuddered in delight, and Mat thew drew her closer, letting her
feel the evidence of his urgency. A thrill of desire shot through Emily.
She turned in his arms so that she could gaze into his eyes.

"Mat thew," she said, "rest is the last thing I want right now."

1VLEKTI'HEW AWAKENED, startled to find Emily staring down at him.

He was lying on his back, and she was propped on her elbow, tracing lazy
patterns on his bare chest with her finger: She smiled when she saw that
he was awake.

"I've been lying here," she said, "dying for you to wake up."

Her hand skimmed lower, disappearing beneath the sheet, and Mat thew's
body instantly responded. Emily's brown eyes deepened knowingly.

"Why didn't you wake me up?" he asked hoarsely as her hand continued to
explore.

"I thought you might want to sleep."

Mat thew kicked off the sheet and lifted her on top of him, letting
their bodies become reacquainted all over again.

"Emily," he said, his' breath coming out in a gasp as she began to move
against him, "sleep is the last thing I want right now."

Chapter Twelve.

"What does one do at a seance?" Emily asked as she tit candles and
placed them strategically around the parlor.

"There are no hard-and-fast rules," Mrs. Devere said as she made her
final preparations for the evening. She glanced up at Emily, her eyes
dark and mysterious in the candlelight.

"I'm so glad you agreed to hold the seance this evening. I feel sure
we'll make contact.

I can already feel the vibrations."

Emily could feel the vibrations, too, but she didn't think hers had
anything to do with spirits. She was still basking in the afterglow of
her and Mat thew's lovemaking the night before. Every time she thought
about it, shivers of delight raced all through her.

"I'm sure tonight will be an evening to remember," she said, pretending
more interest than she actually felt. Nella Talbot was the first guest
to arrive. Dressed in a subdued navy wool dress, with her blond hair
pulled back into a bun, the librarian looked quietly pretty, as always.

But her deep blue eyes, behind her wire-rimmed glasses, appeared
anxious.

"My," she said, glancing around, "it's dark in here."

"All for effect, I assure you," Emily said.

"Come on into the parlor. It's a little bit light or in there."

"I didn't quite know  ...  Am I dressed okay?" Nella stammered shyly.

"Lord only knows," Emily said, glancing down at her own broomstick
skirt, long black sweater and lace up boots. She hadn't exactly known
how to dress for the spirit world, either.

"You look great," she assured Nella.

"Let me introduce you to Mrs. Devere, our guide to the netherworld this
evening."

"I brought you this." Nella held out a loaf of homemade pumpkin bread.

"Why, Nella, you didn't have to do that." Emily was touched by Nella's
thoughtfulness. She started to take the bread, but just then the
doorbell rang.

"Shall I put it in the kitchen for you?" Nella asked.

"Can you find your way in the candlelight? Be careful," Emily called as
Nella turned away.

Mike Durbin was at the door, and he, too, was bearing gifts.

"I don't know if a bottle of wine is appropriate for a seance or not,"
he said.

"But I brought red." No one, including the hostess, seemed quite sure of
the proper etiquette for a seance.

Emily took the wine from Mike as he strolled into the parlor.

She'd had grave reservations about inviting him tonight, but at the last
minute she'd decided she could keep a closer eye on him this way.

Maybe she could steer the article he was certain to write about the
night's events in a more flattering direction. By the time Emily
returned to the candlelit parlor with a tray of wineglasses and Mike's
wine, Stuart and Caroline. had arrived.

She'd been hesitant about-inviting them, also, but Mrs. Devere had
insisted they needed at least five people, besides herself, and Emily
hadn't known who else to coerce into coming.

Actually, she was a little surprised that Stuart and Caroline had
agreed. She suspected curiosity had gotten the

better of them. It wasn't every day a seance was held in Paradise.

Stuart, looking even more sober than usual, and extremely put out, said,
"For God's sake, can't we have some lights on in here?"

"That would spoil the ambience," Emily assured him, offering both him
and Caroline a glass of wine.

"Got anything stronger?" he muttered, yanking at his tie.

"I'm sorry, I don't."

"I'd rather just have tea," Caroline said, gazing around the room in
obvious disapproval. She seemed at a loss for anything else to say.

Emily said, "I'll go make you some. Be right back."

"No, don't bother," Stuart said.

"I'll go."

"I've got candles lit in the kitchen," Emily informed him.

"Please don't turn on the lights.

Mrs. Devere said--" He cut Emily off with a look, muttering a word under
his breath that Emily was sure he rarely used in front of his wife. And,
indeed, Caroline did look quite shocked. Her eyes rounded, and her mouth
thinned in distress. She turned on Emily.

"What is he doing here?" Emily glanced over her shoulder, almost
expecting--and hoping--to see Mat thew, but it was Mike Durbin who had
garnered Caroline's attention. Across the room, he raised his wineglass
in a salute.

Caroline said scathingly, "Do you know what that man is trying to do to
Stuart? He's trying to ruin him, that's what. I can't believe you'd have
him in your home."

"He's just a reporter," Emily said, trying to curb her exasperation.

"You and Stuart are making too much of Mike's influence on the voters."

"That's easy enough for you to say," Caroline rap lied primly.

"You've never cared one whit what anyone thinks about you, Who else in
Paradise would hold a s~ance in her own home?"

"Would you rather I have it in yours?" Emily couldn't resist asking.

"Excuse me," she said.

"I need to talk to Mrs. Devere for a moment."

Emily headed across the room, away from Caroline. As far away from
Caroline as she could get. Mike Durbin drifted up to her.

"Interesting little gathering, Emily: So that's your psychic."

He stood with one hand in his pocket, the other hand nursing his
wineglass, as he gazed across the room at Mrs. Devere, who looked quite
regal in a flowing purple caftan and turban. Mike turned backed to
Emily.

"A little on the flamboyant side, wouldn't you say?"

"She's very charming," Emily said curtly. Then, after a moment's
hesitation, she added, "How are you going to handle this story in the
paper tomorrow?"

"What makes you think this little event is worthy of an article?" There
was a smirk of amusement in Mike's eyes~ probably because he already had
the story written, Emily decided.

"I hope you'll at least keep an open mind."

"I always keep an open mind," Mike assured her.

"And I fully expect this to be a night of surprises. We might even learn
who the real killer is this evening." He tipped his glass to his lips
and drained the contents. Emily scowled.

"You don't really believe Mrs. Devere can tell us that, do you?"

"We don't need a psychic to tell us anything," Mike said. He crooked a
finger and chucked her under the chin.

"I'm one hell of an investigative reporter, Emily. Pretty soon, the
whole damn state is going to remember just how good I am." ~ "What do
you mean?" A strange feeling of foreboding crept over Emily.

Mike was up to something, and she was fairly certain she wouldn't like
whatever it was. He hesitated for a moment, drawing out the
anticipation. Then he grinned.

"I know who the killer is."

"What?" She stared at him, in shock, not knowing whether to believe him
or not.

"Who is it? How do you know? What are you--?"

Mike's grin disappeared as he put up a hand to calm her storm of
questions, casting an uneasy gaze around to see who might have overheard
them.

"Not so loud," he warned. Then, lowering his own voice mysteriously, he
said, "You'll find out everything, all in good time. Why do you think I
agreed to come to this sideshow tonight? I fully expect to have all my
facts corroborated before the evening is over. Tomorrow, I'll be able to
write my own ticket to any newspaper in the state. Hell, the country."

"Who's going to corroborate your story?"

"A good reporter always protects his sources, Emily."

"Are you telling me that you're meeting your  ...  source here at the
dance?"

"According to the note I received today."

"What note?"

Mike patted his jacket pocket.

"As I told you earlier, I have a feeling tonight will be full of
surprises.. Let's just wait and see what happens."

"But--" He held up his empty wineglass.

"I need a refill before the fun starts."

Emily stared after Mike as he drifted out of the room, wondering how
much of what he'd told her was the truth

and how much was just empty boasting. He seemed to have an ego that
rivaled his ambition.

But had someone really sent him a note about the murder? Did someone
here tonight really know who the killer was?

Emily started to follow Mike out, to ask him point-blank just how much
he knew about Jenny Wilcox's murder, but another man had come into the
room, and Emily frowned in displeasure.

Trey Huntington was the last person she'd expected to see here.

Since the confrontation with Mat thew in the parking lot outside
Stuart's office, Trey had kept a surprisingly low profile. But Emily
wasn't fooled. She knew he hadn't forgotten or forgiven. He was simply
biding his time.

The thought filled Emily with unease as she watched him stroll across
the room to join Caroline. He bent and kissed her cheek, and in the
candlelight Caroline's eyes glowed with pleasure.

They chatted for several minutes, until Stuart came back in. He handed
Caroline her tea, then promptly turned his back on her as he and Trey
became embroiled in a heated discussion. Some political intrigue, no
doubt, Emily thought acerbically.

She walked up behind them.

"What are you doing here, Trey? You weren't invited," she told him
rudely. Stuart said, "Emily," in a warning tone, but she ignored him.

Trey turned and stared down at Emily. He wore a charcoal double-breasted
suit, a white shirt and a silver-and-red silk tie. His appearance, as
always, was polished perfection, and his smile was carefully calculated
to charm. Emily despised the sight of him.

"I was sure my invitation had gotten lost in the mail," he said.

"And I certainly didn't want to disappoint you."

"Always considerate," Emily said dryly. Stuart said, with obvious
irritation, "I invited him, Emily. I didn't think you'd mind. He and I
have business to discuss later, and I thought it would be convenient to
meet here. Is there a problem?" His tone implied that, if there was a
problem, it was Emily's..

For two cents, I'd tell them all to get lost. But she had no desire to
create a scene in front of Mike Durbin--and have it all end up in the
paper tomorrow--so she gritted her teeth and shrugged.

"I guess you can stay."

"How can I turn down such a gracious invitation?" Trey said, his eyes
mocking her. Before Emily could move away, his hand reached out and
snared her arm.

His fingers tightened, but to anyone looking on, the two of them would
appear to be immersed in an intimate little chat. Trey knew all about
appearances.

He bent low and whispered in her ear, "Where's your boyfriend? He hasn't
walked out on you, has he? First your husband, and now your new
boyfriend. What is it about you, Emily?"

She wanted to slap him so badly her palm itched, but she deliberately
turned away, and Trey was forced to release her. She couldn't wait to
get away from him. As Emily walked away, she saw Nella wandering around
the room alone. She seemed nervous, anxious, running her fingertips over
a table surface here, the back of.a chair there. Emily wondered whether
Nella's inexperience with social gatherings was what made her so uneasy,
or whether it was returning to this house. Being here was bound to stir
up memories.

Emily stepped up beside her.

"So what do you think of the place?"

Nella turned and stared blankly at Emily for a moment, then seemed to
catch herself.

"I'd almost forgotten what a wonderful old house this is. You've done a
beautiful job, Emily. It looks so romantic by candlelight. I just
wish--" She cast her eyes downward.

"I wish Aunt Rosa bel could have seen it one last time before she died."

"I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to talk to you at her funeral," Emily
said.

"But the service was lovely."

"Thank you. It still seems hard to believe she's gone." Nella paused for
a moment, as if gathering her courage to broach an unpleasant subject.
Then she said hesitantly, "Did you ever have a chance to look for the
Bible I mentioned? I don't mean to pester you about it, but it does mean
a lot to me."

"I'm sorry, Nella, I haven't looked through all the books yet. It may
still be in the box. I'll give you a call if I run across it."

Nella looked relieved.

"Thank you. I do appreciate it." She smiled and drifted away again.

By nine o'clock, Emily had to conclude that Mat thew was a no-show.

She tried to' curb her disappointment as she doused all the candles in
the parlor except the one Mrs. Devere placed in the center of a
drop-leaf table.

Earlier, Emily had pulled the drapes at all the windows, also per Mrs.
Devere's instructions, and now, with the lights out and only one candle,
the room--so charming in sunlight--took on a forbidding air.

The purple candle dancing in its holder in the center of the table sent
long shadows creeping up the walls. A thin, pungent trail of smoke
curled upward from the brass incense burner Mrs. Devere had also placed
on the table, along with a notebook, a silver pen and a crystal hand
mirror.

"Shall we begin?" Mrs. Devere said.

"Please sit anywhere you feel comfortable." She sat down at the table,
and the flickering candlelight made her face look ghostly pale, even a
little demonic.

Mike Durbin came up beside Emily and hummed the "Twilight Zone" theme
beneath his breath.

"May we please have silence?" Mrs. Devere commanded. Her ex~pression was
stern as she glared at Mike and Emily. Emily felt as if she'd just been
caught passing a note in class. A flush crept up her cheeks, but Mike
just chuckled. Emily cringed to think what she would find in the paper
tomorrow about this entire proceeding. But if Mike was right and the
identity of the killer was revealed tonight, the seance would surely not
be a priority item in his article. There was a bit of shuffling about as
everyone found seats.

Caroline and Stuart sat on the couch, Nella pulled out the piano bench,
Mike Durbin took the wing chair Mrs. Devere had vacated and Trey stood
at the fireplace, his arm draped over the mantel as he viewed the whole
gathering with an air of amused disdain.

Mrs. Devere motioned Emily to sit at the table with her.

Satisfied that she had everyone situated and their undivided attention,
Mrs. Devere said, "I would like for each of you to close your eyes and
concentrate on clearing your mind of any negative thoughts. If you need
help, try thinking about a person or an event or a specific time in your
life that brought you great happiness. Open your mind to the positive
energy that abounds all around us." Emily, feeling a little foolish but
nonetheless game, closed her eyes and thought of Mat thew, and how happy
she'd been last night, when he told her about Jenny and Wade, and later
about his own tragic experience. She'd been happy because she knew his
openness meant that he trusted her. He'd wanted her to know everything
about him before they grew any closer. Before they made love. Emily felt
a warm little glow just thinking about later that night, after their
talk had concluded.

Mat thew had been an incredible lover, both generous and demanding,
tender and possessive. He'd been everything she'd ever dreamed a lover
should be, and afterward, when he held her in his arms while she drifted
into sleep, Emily had thought drowsily that at last, at long last, she
knew what real love was all about.

She wished he was here right now. She wished-Somewhere deep in the
house, a floorboard creaked. Emily's eyes flew open. The stealthy sound
would have gone unnoticed at any other time, but now, in the silent
darkness, it seemed ominous.

The candle in the center of the table danced wildly, as if caught in a
draft. Emily started to get up to go investigate, but Mrs. Devere, her
eyes still closed, whispered sternly, "Do not let your concentration be
broken. No matter what."

Emily wilted in her chair. She gazed around the room. Mike Durbin's face
was cast in shadows, his expression unreadable.

Nella's eyes were tightly shut, but whether in concentration or in fear,
Emily didn't know. Surprisingly, both Stuart and Caroline had closed
their eyes, as well, but Trey's eyes were wide-open. The candlelight
reflected in those dark depths seemed sinister. He held Emily's gaze for
a long moment, then turned his head toward the door, as if he, too, had
heard the noise. As if he'd somehow been expecting it.

Emily felt the draft on her face now. A door had definitely been opened
somewhere in the house. Her first thought, that Mat thew had come back,
was followed by a little niggling suspicion that perhaps Mrs. Devere was
setting them up.

Then, suddenly, the psychic stiffened, her head rolled back, and she
moaned. The low,. plaintive sound sent a chill racing down Emily's back.

Mrs. Devere said nothing, but for several seconds the moaning continued
until Mike Durbin whispered loudly, "I can't tell whether the old
broad's in agony or ecstasy." Emily opened her mouth to scold him for
his irreverence, but then, all of a sudden, the candle on the table went
out. With the lights extinguished and the drapes drawn at the window,
the room lay in pitch blackness.

Someohe--it sounded like Caroline--screamed.

Stuart said, "What the hell?" and Emily jumped up as Mrs. Devere
commanded, in a booming voice, "Don't break the concentration !"

"I think we should turn on the lights," Emily said.

"I don't like this. Someone's in the house." There was a flurry of
activity around the room as everyone stood or shifted in their seats.

Someone coughed. It was strange to hear every nuance of sound but not be
able to see anything.

Then Caroline screamed again. It was a hair-raising sound that brought
gooseflesh to Emily's neck.

"What's wrong?" she called out in alarm.

"Someone touched me," Caroline said.

"Brushed right by me.

Stuart? Stuart, where are you?" Stuart said, "I'm over here." His voice
sounded muffled, strained. He didn't say anything else. Emily didn't
like any of this.

"I'm going to turn on the lights." She didn't care what Mrs. Devere had
to say about it. She turned to ask Mike Durbin to open the drapes.

"Mike?"

When he. didn't answer, Emily felt a ripple of panic inside her.

She turned and felt her way in the darkness until she reached the wall
switch. She flipped it, but nothing happened. She flipped it several
more times, "The lights are out," she said, trying to control a
deepening sense of danger.

Mrs. Devere said in the darkness, "She's here. That's her sign.

Please. Don't anyone move."

"I'm going to check the breaker," Emily said, ignoring the psychic's
plea. Enough was enough. Emily was no longer amused. In fact, she was
becoming increasingly alarmed. Except for Mrs. Devere, everyone else had
grown strangely silent.

"Don't worry," she told them.

"I'll have the lights on in a minute."

Some of the candles in other parts of the house had gone out, as well.

As Emily passed through the living area, there was a noise on the stairs
that set her heart to pounding. She told herself it was just the house
settling, showing its age. But the hair at the back of her neck prickled
as she felt her way through the dining room and kitchen and out the back
door, to the screened porch where the breaker box was located. After
several minutes of fumbling about in the dark, Emily discovered that the
main switch had been thrown.

She was gone no more than seven or eight minutes, but it seemed longer
by the time she returned to the parlor. Everyone was still sitting in
the dark. No one had thought to flip the switch.

Emily turned on the light as she came back into the room, and she
couldn't help noticing the different reactions. Nella blinked her eyes
several times, Caroline gave a little squeal, Smart cursed under his
breath, and Trey-still standing at the fireplace--smoothed back his
immaculately styled hair, then straightened his tie.

Only Mrs. Devere seemed unfazed by the sudden harsh glare of light.

She sat behind the table staring straight ahead, as if still deeply
ensconced in her trance. Emily walked over to the table.

"Mrs. Devere, are you all right?"

Emily's voice seemed to bring the psychic around. She raised her eyes
and stared at Emily.

"You shouldn't have turned on the lights," she said accusingly.

"Now we'll never know what Jenny had to tell us." Suddenly weary of the
whole thing, Emily said, "I'm sorry. I guess I panicked. I thought I
heard someone moving about in the house."

"It was probably just Mat thew," Mrs. Devere said.

"I don't know why the dear boy didn't come down and join US."

"Perhaps he was afraid," Trey said dryly.

"You are a psychic of formidable talent, I understand. Maybe he didn't
want you exposing his secrets." Emily said coolly, "I don't think Mat
thew has anything to hide.

He simply isn't here."

"Don't be naive, Emily." Trey smiled.

"We all have something to hide."

Emily started to retort, but then decided against it. Trey had no way of
knowing that Mat thew had confided in her, and Emily hugged her
knowledge to herself. She and Mat thew had shared something so
wonderful, so special, so profound, that a man like Trey
Huntington--with all his secrets and lies--could never possibly
understand it. Stuart rose from the couch.

"This is all just a bunch of nonsense, if you ask me. I don't know how I
let you talk me into this, Emily." He turned to his wife.

"Get your coat, Caroline."

"I left it upstairs," she murmured, then quickly left the room.

Across the parlor, Nella rose reluctantly from the piano bench.

"Perhaps I should be going, too."

"You don't have to," Emily said.

"Stay and have a cup of tea." With both Nella and Mrs. Devere present,
Emily was certain Trey would leave.

And, sure enough, he undraped himself gracefully from the mantel,
remarking slyly, "I must say, it was a thoroughly Emily Townsend
evening. I wouldn't have missed it for the world."

Emily just shrugged, refusing to rise to his bait.

"I can't imagine what you all did for entertainment before I moved back
here."

Trey grinned.

"Oh, it was deadly boring, I assure you." Behind her, Stuart grumbled,
"What the hell is keeping Caroline?" Glad of an excuse to leave, Emily
said, "I'll go see about her."

She started out of the room, but a piercing scream, echoing eerily
through the house, stopped her in her tracks. Her heart started to pound
with fright.

"Caroline," she said.

"My God!" Stuart exclaimed.

"What the hell--?" Trey muttered as he brushed past Emily and started up
the stairs. Stuart was right behind him, followed on his heels by Emily
and then Nella and Mrs. Devere, bringing up the rear. Caroline was
standing in the hallway, her hand clapped to her mouth as if to stifle
another scream. The door to Mat thew's room was open, and her eyes were
fixed on something inside. The moment Stuart reached her side, she began
sobbing and turned her face into his shoulder. Stuart's arms came around
her, holding her gently and more protectively than Emily had ever seen
him. But he, too, was staring at something inside Mat thew's room.

Staring in horror.

Emily hurried past them, then stopped dead. A scream rose in her throat,
and like Caroline's, Emily's hand flew to her mouth, as if she could
physically hold back the sound.

Trey stood just inside the room, but beyond him, Mike Durbin lay
sprawled on the floor, his clothes covered in blood, his eyes open and
staring. And kneeling over the body, his hands bloody and his expression
grim, was Mat thew Steele.

Chapter Thirteen.

A dark cloud hung over Paradise. A cloud that could not be so easily
dispelled this time. Two murders, fifteen years apart but undeniably
linked, had been committed, and both remained unsolved. Paradise's image
would never be the same.

But, as if to show they had nothing to hide, the whole town turned out
for Mike Durbin's funeral. Emily stood beside Mat thew at the graveside
service and thought about everything that had happened in the three days
following Mike's murder.

Her life had turned into a nightmare. She'd been staying with Stuart and
Caroline, because not only was the Other Side of Paradise Inn a crime
scene, it had also been besieged by the media and by the gruesomely
curious. It was hard to believe now that Emily had ever wanted to tap
into that morbid curiosity for the sake of publicity, but she also knew
that her perspective on the fifteen-year- old murder of a stranger had
been far different from her feelings about the slaying three days ago of
someone she knew. Mike Durbin had certainly had his faults, but he
hadn't deserved to be stabbed to death with a butcher knife from Emily's
kitchen. No one did.

It was the knife that had seemed to interest Sheriff Willis the most
that night, when he finally arrived on the scene.

"Do you have any idea how long that knife has been missing from the
kitchen?" he'd ask Emily.

"Could someone have taken it before tonight?"

"It's possible," Emily had to admit.

"I didn't use that particular knife very often."

"So in other words, anyone who had access to your kitchen could have
come in and taken it--say a week ago-and you might not have missed it.

Someone--let's just say for the sake of argument--who was staying at
your inn." Emily knew what Willis was driving at. Someone like Mat thew
Steele. He had found the body. There had been blood on his hands, and
just as his brother had been fifteen years ago, Mat thew was a . No one
knew anything about him. Who better to point the finger at than him?

As she thought about the night of Mike's murder, Emily's gaze traveled
over the people standing around Mike's grave, studying this one,
lingering on that one, and she couldn't help but wonder if she was
staring into the face of a murderer.

Everyone who had been at the seance was present today except Mrs.
Devere, who had packed her bags that night and left the inn, muttering
something about negative vibrations as she beat her hasty retreat.

And so the Other Side of Paradise Inn was completely deserted. No one
was allowed inside the inn until the sheriff had finished his
investigation. Mat thew had moved temporarily into a motel on the
outskirts of town, and Emily had hardly seen him at all in the past
three days. She'd missed him terribly.

After the service, Mat thew took Emily's arm and steered her toward her
car, trying to avoid the crush of reporters, but Sheriff Willis waylaid
them.

"I need a word with you, son." He put his hand on Mat thew's shoulder.

"I've been in twice to talk to you in the last three days," Mat thew
said, and Emily shuddered, remembering how Willis had taken Mat thew
into custody the, night of the murder. She'd been frantic, not knowing
what to do to help him, but Mat thew had been released a few hours
later.

"There's nothing more I can tell you," Mat thew said now.

"Why don't you let me be the judge of that?" Willis's hand rested
heavily on Mat thew's shoulder, as if he were afraid Mat thew might try
to make a run for it.

"I got a real interesting fax this morning from the state capital. I
think you might like to take a look at it. In fact, I think I'm going to
have to insist."

"All right," Mat thew said, with an edge of exasperation.

"Give me a minute, will you?"

"A minute's about all I got, boy. Make it snappy." Mat thew took Emily's
arm and guided her away from Willis. Emily stared up at him, her eyes
full of concern.

"What's going on? Why does he want to talk to you again?"

Mat thew shrugged.

"He said something about a fax from Little Rock. I'll go along with him
and see what he's found out."

Emily bit her lip.

"Mat thew, I think it's time we called in a lawyer. May he I should talk
to Stuart about it."

"Don't worry about me," Mat thew assured her.

"I'm not about to be railroaded into anything."

"Yes, but Wade probably thought that, too, and look what happened to
him."

"Wade misjudged what and who He was up against in this town. I won't
make that same mistake."

"Mat thew--" Emily broke off, unable to voice her fears. The thought of
something happening to Mat thew, of her never seeing him again, was
almost unbearable. As if sensing her deep emotion, Mat thew gazed down
at her tenderly.

He took her hand and lifted it to his lips, skimming her fingers with a
kiss so soft, so gentle, Emily's eyes teared.

"Nothing's going to happen to me," he said.

"I've got too much to live for. Now."

Emily's breath caught in her throat. What was he saying? Was he talking
about  ...  her? Emily hardly dared believe it. Hardly dared hope that
he could feel for her what she felt for him.

"I'll be back as soon as I can." He bent and brushed his lips against
hers.

Such a light kiss, Emily thought, to cause such explosions of excitement
inside her.

As Mat thew walked away, Stuart and Caroline came up to Emily in the
parking lot.

"I'm glad you're here, Stuart," she said.

"I need your advi~e."

Stuart looked stunned.

"Do you feel okay?" Emily barely registered his sarcasm.

"I really do need to talk to you."

Stuart shrugged and turned to Caroline, handing her the keys to his BMW.

"Why don't you go ahead and start the car? I'll be right there."

Caroline tossed Emily a curious look, but took the keys and did as she
was told. Stuart turned back to Emily.

"I expect this has something to do with Steele and Willis leaving
together?"

Emily nodded.

"This is the third time W'dlis has had him come in for questioning. How
long does Mat thew have to put up with this harassment?"

"It's not harassment," Stuart told her.

"Mat thew Steele is a suspect in a murder investigation." When Emily
started to protest, he held up his hand.

"We all are. Everyone who was present that night. But Steele even more
so, because he was found with the body."

"His fingerprints weren't on the knife," Emily pointed out.

"No one's were. The knife had been wiped clean."

"But that doesn't prove anything. Mat thew didn't kill Mike. In fact, he
tried to revive him."

"So he says. But for all we know, he could have gotten that blood on his
hands when he stabbed Durbin." Emily stared at Stuart for a moment.

"Mat thew's not a killer, Stuart."

"How do you know that? How much do you really know about this guy?"

"I know I trust him." She lifted her chin, gazing at her brother in
defiance.

"And love him?"

"Maybe  ...  Yes  ...  I don't know!" Emily finished in a burst of
frustration. The days since the murder had been agony without him.

"I think I do."

"For God's sake, Emily." Stuart ran a hand through his thinning hair as
he released a long, weary breath.

"This is just like your Eugene Sprague debacle all over again. You
didn't know anything about that guy, either, and look what happened."

"Mat thew isn't anything like Eugene," Emily said defensively.

"If you knew him at all, you'd realize that. And besides, I'm not
nineteen anymore. I've learned a few

things along the way. I learned them the hard way," she finished, with a
touch of uncharacteristic bitterness.

"I know." Stuart's smile was sad.

"I could see it in your eyes, when you first came back to town. It hurt
me to see what that man had done to you, Emily."

His words surprised her. They were so unusually perceptive, so tender,
for Stuart. Emily's eyes smarted with sudden tears, and for the first
time in years, she wanted her brother to take her in his arms and hold
her, as he'd done years ago, when he told her their parents were dead.

But open displays of affection were as out of character for Stuart as
spontaneous bursts of devotion were perfectly natural for Emily. And
besides, there'd been too many years of estrangement. One hug wouldn't
fix everything that had gone wrong between them.

But, for the first time in a long time, Emily felt a glimmer of hope
that someday, just maybe, she and her brother could be close again.

Stuart cleared his throat awkwardly, as if the moment had affected him,
too.

"I'11 talk to Willis, see if I can get him to back off a little. I can't
make you any promises, though."

Emily felt a rush of gratitude. She reached out and touched her
brother's sleeve.

"Thank you, Stuart. I just don't want Mat thew to be railroaded like his
...  like Wade Drury was."

"I'11 see what I can do," Stuart said. He hesitated, as if there were
something else he wanted to say. Then, with a shrug, he turned and
strode across the parking area to join Caroline in the car, calling over
his shoulder, "I'll see you back at the house."

By the time Emily had climbed inside her own car, most everyone else had
already left the cemetery. Though it was only about four o'clock, the
overcast day made it seem much later. Emily turned on her lights as she
pulled out on the highway and headed back toward town.

Fog, rolling down from the mountains, curled like smoke in the beams
from her headlights. The heater in the Volkswagen was still on the
blink, so the defroster didn't work. Emily leaned forward and wiped her
hand across the windshield, trying to improve her visibility. It didn't
help much, and neither did the wipers.

The car picked up speed going downhill, and Emily applied light pressure
to the brakes, to slow in time for the turn she knew was coming up. The
car didn't respond. Emily pressed the brakes harder.

The Volkswagen continued to gain speed.

In a full blown panic now, Emily pumped the brakes furiously, but to no
avail. To her right was the limestone face of the cliff. To her left,
the steep drop-off. She was approaching a hairpin turn, and she knew she
couldn't make the curve at this rate of speed.

Trying to calm herself, Emily gripped the steering wheel. Maybe if she
could somehow bounce the right front fender off the cliff, just graze
it, the car would slow enot/gh for her to make the turn.

Emily eased the wheel to the right, a little more, until she heard the
scrape of metal against rock. The jolt snalsped her head back, then
forward, but for a moment Emily thought her plan hail worked. The car
slowed.

But as the tires once again connected with the wet pavement, they went
into a spin. The steering wheel whirled in her hands.

Emily valiantly fought for control, but the car skidded sideways on the
slick road, spun completely around, and then took a nosedive off the
embankment. For what seemed like an eternity, the car plunged down the
hillside at a dizzying speed, bouncing over rocks and tree stumps,
careening wildly first one way, then the other.

A tree loomed before her, and Emily screamed, throwing her arm up to
protect her face as the Volkswagen slammed into the trunk.

She heard the awful sound of crunching metal and shattering glass, and
then, as the cat's engine sputtered out, all was silent.

The impact had knocked the breath out of Emily, and for a moment she
couldn't move. All she could do was sit there and wonder how badly she
was hurt. Strangely, she didn't feel much pain.

Gingerly she moved her arms and legs. She felt a few twinges here and
there, but nothing major. No broken bones, she was fairly certain. It
came to her suddenly that she needed to get out of the car. She'd seen
enough action movies to know that crashed cars sometimes exploded. The
door was stuck, but, using her shoulder, she finally managed to free it
and tumble out onto the slippery hillside.

The fog was even thicker down here. Emily could barely see the road
above. Slipping and sliding, sometimes having to use tree roots for
leverage, she managed to climb up the embankment to stand on the side of
the road. She swiped her hair back with a muddy hand. Surely someone
would be coming by in a moment. At the very least, the men who'd stayed
behind to cover the grave would be along shortly.

Sure enough, Emily had been on the side of the road no more than three
or four minutes before she heard the sound of an engine.

From the position of the headlights as the vehicle came around the
curve, Emily thought it must be a truck. She stationed herself on the
side of the road and began to wave and shout frantically, fearing that
she might not be seen in the fog. But as the truck lumbered around the
curve, she heard the driver downshift and apply pressure to the brakes.

The vehicle was a tow truck with heavily tinted windows. Emily couldn't
see anyone inside, and for a long moment, the driver remained obscured.

A shiver skittered down Emily's back as the window rolled down slowly
and a familiar voice said, "Have a little accident?"

Emily's heart pounded in terror as she gazed at Tony Vincent, but she
tried to hide her fear. Tried not to think about how very vulnerable she
was at the moment.

"What happened?" he asked.

"The brakes went out on my car. I--I lost control," she stammered.

"It went over the embankment." She pointed downhill, shivering.

"Wow," Tony said as he got out of his truck. He peered down the
embankment, where Emily's car was barely visible in the fog.

"You could have been seriously hurt." He turned to her, and though Emily
couldn't see his expression clearly in the misty twilight, she could
hear the frustration in his voice.

"How many lives have you got, anyway?"

Her fear gave way to panic. Emily began to back away from him.

"Wh-what do you mean?"

Tony took a step toward her.

"I mean, anyone else would have been dead right now. But not you.

You're like a cat." ' "You did that to my car," she said hoarsely.

"Why?"

"Because you ask too many questions. You just have to keep prying into
affairs that are none of your concern, don't you? I guess there's only
one way to shut you up for good."

Emily whirled and tried to make a run for it, but Tony, in spite of what
his drinking had done to his body, was still quick and strong, still
very much an athlete. He caught her easily, pinning her hands behind her
back as he jerked her toward his track.

Emily struggled, tried to break free, but his hands on her wrists were
like vises. He dragged her toward the truck, and Emily held back, making
it as difficult as possible for him.

Releasing her with one hand, he opened the truck door, and as he did so,
Emily turned and kicked him as hard as she could. She'd been aiming for
his groin, but the slippery pavement gave her very little purchase. She
connected with his knee instead, but Tony howled in pain, screaming over
and over, "My knee! My knee, you bitch!" And Emily suddenly remembered
that the injury that finally ended Tony's football career had been a
shattered kneecap. Purely by accident, she'd found his Achilles' heel.
He fell to the ground, clutching his knee, and Emily didn't waste time.
She jumped over him and headed down the highway, hoping the mist would
swallow her up before Tony was able to pull himself together. But she'd
gone only a few yards when she heard him running behind her. If he
caught her this time, Emily knew he wouldn't let down his guard.

She'd wouldn't stand a chance. She had to get away from him now. Heart
hammering in her chest, she abandoned the road for the embankment,
slip-sliding her way downhill, using the fog for cover. She heard Tony
up on the highway, cursing her, but she knew he wouldn't be fooled for
long. A tree root snagged her foot, and Emily pitched forward.

She lay frozen on the ground, catching her breath as she listened for
any sound of pursuit. All was silent for a moment, but then she heard
it--the telltale snap of a twig as Tony made his way down the embankment
toward her. Even with a bum knee, he would catch her. Emily looked
around desperately, searching the murky hillside for a place to hide. A
dead tree, split by lightning, lay a few feet away, and she scrambled
toward it, drawing herself up into the small cave created by the cleaved
trunk. She lay there shivering, watching the mist swirl around her. Tony
ran past her, breathing heavily. The flight down the embankment had
taken its toll on him. He was limping badly, and Emily thought
desperately that{ if she could make it back up to the highway, she could
drive away in his truck. Out here, she didn't stand much of a chance
against him. Even with darkness coming fast and the fog like a heaw
blanket around her, the embankment offered very little cover. He would
find her, and soon. Slipping from her hiding place, Emily began the long
climb uphill. Earlier, after the accident, it had been difficult enough,
but now she was terrified and exhausted, and the misty darkness tangled
around her like a web. The highway was in sight now, and there, rising
out of the fog, stood Tony's truck. Freedom. Emily tried not to gasp for
breath as she pulled every ounce of her energy and courage together. She
could make it. Only a few more feet. Another few seconds-And then a hand
grabbed her foot, and Emily lurched forward.

Clawing at the ground, she screamed as Tony pulled her toward him.

Emily fought him like a wildcat. He tried to pin her to the ground, but
she lashed out with her arms and legs, making it as difficult as she
could for him to get a hold on her. Finally, he grabbed her wrists and
straddled her. Beneath his weight, Emily was helpless.

"Bitch," he muttered, staring down at her in the darkness.

"No one would ever have known if you hadn't started asking all those
questions. I won't go to prison," he said through gritted teeth.

"My old man died in the joint. I'm not following in his footsteps."

He dragged Emily to her feet, pulling her arms painfully behind her
back. He pushed her forward, up the embankment, toward the highway.

Emily stumbled once, and he jerked her upright.

White-hot pain shot up her arms. He was going to kill her. Emily knew
that. But as she frantically cast her eyes about for a means of escape,
a sound came-to her. A low thrum that steadily grew louder. A
motorcycle. A motorcycle in Paradise. Mat thew.t Tony heard it, too.

He pulled her to a stop, cursing under his breath as he listened to the
sound, which was growing stronger by the second. It was right above
them, and for a moment, Emily was afraid Mat thew would ride by them.

But as he reached Tony's truck, the Harley came to an abrupt halt and
the motor was killed. In the screaming silence, Emily heard the sound of
her heart beating wildly in her ears.

Tony yanked her behind a stand of cedar trees, whispering against her
ear, "Don't make a sound; bitch." And then she felt the cool metal edge
of a knife thrust against her throat.

Emily dared not even swallow. She could feel 'the blade biting into her
skin, and knew that Tony would have no compunctions about using it.

He was a desperate man. A killer.

"Emily?" It was Mat thew's voice, calling to her from the highway.

Emily wanted to sob out his name. He was so close! So close, and yet she
could do nothing to bring him to her.

Emily heard him scramble down the embankment toward her car, heard the
sound of the door being wrenched open and then slammed shut again. For a
moment, for an eternity, everything was silent.

The knife bit into her neck, warning her. Emily closed her eyes tightly,
willing Mat

thew toward her. But she could hear him moving back up the hillside,
toward the truck.

"Damn," Tony muttered. He hesitated, as if trying to decide the best
course of action.

"We're going down," he said, jerking his head toward the valley.

"Don't try anything stupid."

Emily nodded as they began their awkward sliding shuffle downhill.

Tony, still limping badly, lowered the knife from her throat to her
side, making the trek a little easier for both of them. They'd gone
perhaps a hundred yards or so when Emily slipped on the wet ground. As
she fell, her weight put added pressure on Tony's already weakened knee
as he grabbed for her, and they both lost their balance.

Tony hit the ground with a thud, and his grip on Emily loosened.

She scrambled away from him, screaming Mat thew's name as she got to her
feet.

"Emily!" His answering call was so close, Emily wondered how she had not
heard his pursuit. Tony got to his feet, head lowered, shoulders
forward, ready to charge. The knife glistened in his hand as he eyed
Emily for a long moment, ready to spring.

Mat thew came out of the mist behind her. She saw Tony's head lift, and
his body went still. Emily thought she heard him mutter, "Drury," in a
voice edged with fear and anger and maybe just a hint of wonder.

For the longest moment, no one moved a muscle. Emily strained to see Mat
thew's face in the darkness, but his expression was veiled by the mist.
He might have been nothing more than a ghost.

The illusion must have held for Tony, too, for he said thickly, "Why did
you come back? Why couldn't you let her rest in peace?" Mat thew said
calmly, "You killed her, didn't you, Tony?"

"Why did you have to come back?" Tony's voice was a hoarse plea that
sent a shiver scurrying down Emily's back. It was eerie, those
disembodied voices, those dark silhouettes facing off in the misty
night.

Then, like a flash of lightning, Tony lunged forward. He tried to grab
Emily, but she stepped backward, stumbling over a boulder.

Mat thew came at him like a freight train. The collision knocked the
khife from Tony's hand, and the momentum carried them both several feet
away before they crashed to the ground, rolling over and over in their
deadly embrace. A cold feeling went through Emily as she heard fists
connect with flesh, grunts of pain, the sharp intake of someone's
breath--her own, perhaps.

And then Tony screamed in pain, and Emily thought Mat thew had probably
found the injured knee. She staggered forward, trying to see what was
happening, to see whether she could somehow help Mat thew, but as she
drew near the two men, she saw that the fight was all but over. One of
them lay doubled up on the ground, clutching his knee to his chest,
while the other, gun gleaming dully in his hand, stood over him.

Emily gave a little gasping sob as she ran forward. Mat thew said, "Are
you all right?"

But all she could muster was a weak little nod that she wasn't even sure
he could discern in the darkness. Tony was still alive, but all the
fight had' drained out of him. He lay on the wet ground, groaning in
agony. Both men were breathing heavily.

Mat thew's arm came around Emily and he drew her close as they stared
down at Tony.

"What do we do now?" she finally managed to ask.

"Now we let Tony tell us everything we want to know. Right, Tony?"

The beaten man glared up at him.

"You might as well come clean," Mat thew said conversationally.

"They'll let you take the rap for everything. First murder, and now
attempted murder. You're in big trouble, Tony, but if you cooperate, I
might be willing to help you."

"How can you help me?" Tony said sullenly. He sat up on the wet ground,
still grasping his knee. With his left hand, Mat thew dug in his back
pocket for his wallet. He brought it out, flipped it open and handed it
to Tony.

"Tm a federal marshal."

Emily saw Tony's shock. He brought the wallet close to his face,
squinting.

"I can't see anything."

"You'll have to trust me, then," Mat thew said.

"I can do you a lot of hurt or a lot of good. It's your call."

"If you're a federal marshal," Tony said suspiciously, "what the hell
are you doing in Paradise?" Mat thew flipped his wallet closed, then
stuffed it back in his pocket.

His arm came back around Emily, and she shivered.

"I think the answer to that question is obvious. I came here to solve a
fifteen-year-old murder. Jenny Wilcox was an FBI agent."

"You're lying," Tony said desperately.

"She was a schoolteacher.

I knew her. I knew her better than anyone."

Mat thew shook his head.

"She came here to infiltrate a group of vigilantes calling themselves
the Avengers. I see that name means something to you," he said when Tony
visibly reacted.

"I thought it might. I imagine Jenny did, too. That's why she struck up
a  ...

friendship with you."

"She was in love with me."

Mat thew just shook his head.

"She used you, Tony, because that was her job. She was in love with her
husband."

"Husband?" The word was almost a whisper.

"Wade Drury."

Tony tried to get up, but Mat thew took a warning step toward him,
motioning with the gun.

"No, I think I like you there just fine."

Tony slumped back to the ground.

"I need a drink, man."

"Not yet," Mat thew said, in a tone that was oddly soothing.

"Just a few more questions, and then we'll get you that drink." Mat thew
began to move around a bit, as if he were a lawyer questioning a witness
on the stand. The effect was at once lulling and intimidating.

Emily had to admire his technique.

"You knew about Wade and Jenny, didn't you, Tony?"

"No! I thought she was in love with me. I thought she wanted me--" Again
Mat thew shook his head.

"You never thought that. You wanted it to be true, but you never really
believed it, did you? Is that why you killed her?" Though the bluntness
of the question shocked Emily, she had to marvel at the calmness in Mat
thew's voice. Nothing in his tone gave away what he had to be feeling.

Tony's voice trembled.

"I loved her! She was the only woman I ever loved! There's been no one
else since her. I dream about her every night. Every time I close my
eyes, I see all that blood on my hands--" He stopped suddenly, as if
realizing what he'd just said. Then he drew a shaky breath.

"I didn't mean to do it," he whispered in despair.

"You gotta believe me. I was drunk. I didn't know what I was doing--"

"Who were the other members of the Avengers?"

Tony balked on that question. Emily could sense his hesitation, his
almost palpable fear. She peered through the darkness, trying to read
his expression. He said, "I can't tell you that. We were sworn to
secrecy." ' "By whom?"

Again he faltered.

"They can't help you now, Tony. I'm probably the only one who can help
you."

Tony stared up at Mat thew.

"You know who they were, man. Everyone knows."

"Was Sheriff Willis involved?"

"Trey Huntington?"

Emily caught her breath. Trey, an Avenger? But why should that notion
shock her? It made so much sense. He'd always thought he owned Paradise.
Using violence to coerce the townspeople into doing what he wanted them
to, accepting what he wanted them to accept-Somewhere deep inside her,
Emily realized she had always suspected the truth.

"Was Trey Huntington involved?" Mat thew asked again.

"Yeah. He was involved," Tony said at last.

"The whole thing was his idea."

"Did he know you killed Jenny?"

"He knew. He agreed to help me, because we were brothers, Avengers. We
always had to stick together, that's what Trey said.

He said he would take care of everything, and he did. He gave me an
alibi for that night, and then he came up with the idea of framing Wade
Drury for Jenny's. murder."

"What happened to Wade?" No one but Emily would have noticed the catch
in Mat thew's voice.

Tony said, "I don't know what happened to him, and that's the God's
truth. They went out to find him the night after the murder. Someone
told them he'd been seen down by the river and--"

"Wait a minute," Mat thew said, interrupting him.

"You said they.

Are you talking about Huntington and Willis?"

"Yeah. And Stuart Townsend."

The name was like a physical blow to Emily. She felt Mat thew's body
tense. His arm tightened around her.

"You're lying," she said, glaring down at Tony.

"Stuart would never have condoned a group like the Avengers. He abhors
violence, and to even suggest he might have had something to do with
Wade's disappearance is utterly ridiculous." She turned to face Mat thew
in the darkness.

"How can we believe anything he's said now? He's obviously lying to
cover his own tracks."

"Emily." That was all Mat thew said, just her name, but there was
something in his voice that reminded her of the day she'd been locked in
Cora Mae's basement, and afterward, when Stuart had left so abruptly.

Mat thew had been looking at her with pity in his eyes then, and she
heard that same sentiment in his voice now.

Emily spun back around to face Tony.

"You're lying about Stuart!"

she cried.

"Tell him. Tell him the truth. Stuart wasn't involved.

He couldn't have been  ...  " She saw Tony shrug in the darkness.

"He was one of us. I don't know what he and Trey and Willis did to Drury
that night. We never talked about it again." Emily put both hands to her
mouth.

She couldn't believe it, couldn't accept what the man was saying. He was
a murderer, after all. He'd just owned up to killing Jenny Wilcox.

How could they believe anything he said?

And why. was Mat thew still listening to him? Acting as if what Tony
said had credence?

Mat thew said quietly, "You tried to kill us, too, didn't you, Tony?
That night out on the highway. You loosened that boulder.

Was it your idea, or Huntington's?"

"He said we had to find a way to stop you two. You were asking too many
questions. If the truth came out, we'd all

"So you followed us out of town, rigged the boulder somehow, then waited
for us to come back." Tony's voice took on a whining note.

"We just wanted to scare you. Then."

"Then?"

"Trey got the idea that if we ran Emily out of business, she'd give up
the investigation. Forget all about the murder. And if she didn't have
her business, no means of support  ...  "He trailed off on a shrug.

Mat thew swore.

"If she had no way to support herself, then she would be forced to turn
to Trey, is that it?"

"He didn't like anyone rejecting him," Tony explained.

"He said Emily  ...  needed to be taught a lesson."

"So you threw the rock through her door and the Molotov cocktail through
her window. Then you locked her in Cora Mae's basement. Only you went a
little too far that time, didn't you? Emily almost died.

And then there was Mike Durbin. What happened, Tony? Did he find you
out?" Tony said incredulously, "I didn't kill Durbin, and I didn't lock
Emily in any basement. I don't even know what you're talking about."

"Don't stall on me now, Tony. We've come too far," Mat thew warned.

"I'm telling you the truth!" Tony all but shouted.

"I've admitted what I've done, but I won't take the rap for something I
didn't do."

"Why is it I find myself not believing you?"

"It's the truth! I swear to God!"

There was a tremor in Emily's voice when she spoke.

"You said Trey wanted to frighten me out of business so I'd drop the
investigation. Did  ...  did Stuart know about that, too?"

Tony didn't say anything, but his silence said it all. Emily covered her
face with her hands. She felt like weeping. She'd never felt so
betrayed.

"Emily, I'm sorry," Mat thew said softly. She raised her head and stared
at him, suddenly realizing why he had looked at her with pity that day
at the inn, why his voice now held so much remorse.

"You knew, didn't you?"

Mat thew let out a breath.

"I suspected."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

He made a helpless gesture with the hand that held the gun.

"I couldn't. I had no proof, just a gut feeling."

"And how long had you had this gut feeling?" Don't ask the question
unless you want to know the answer, Emily thought fatalistically, but it
was too late. Mat thew was already gazing at her with a mixture of pity,
regret, and guilt. Guilt.

"You knew all along, didn't you?" Emily whispered.

"Even before you came here?"

Mat thew nodded.

"I'd done a lot of research. I had my suspicions."

"And that's why you came to me. You thought  ...  what? That I would
somehow lead you to Stuart? Inadvertently give you the proof you needed?
Is that why you--?" She stopped herself before saying more in front of
Tony Vincent than she would ever be able to forget. She had to somehow
save whatever shreds of pride might still be intact.

She turned away from him.

"What happens now?"

"I think it's time to call the state police," Mat thew said, his voice
heavy with regret.

AFTER Mat thew had filled in the two state troopers who responded to his
call and Tony Vincent had been carted away, Mat thew took Emily down the
mountain, back to Stuart's house.

"What a mess this has all turned out to be," he said as they stood on
the front porch.

"There'll be a dozen state troopers in Paradise within the hour. All
hell is going to break loose."

"What will happen to them?" Emily asked, hugging herself against the
chill in her heart.

"Willis will be formally relieved of his duties, pending a hearing, and
both Huntington and  ...  your brother will eventually have to face
charges of conspiracy, obstruction of justice, perhaps even murder. The
list is pretty long. I'm sorry, Emily."

"Why? You got what you came for, didn't you?" He drew his hand through
his hair, gazing down at her in the dim light from the street lamp.

"I never wanted you to get hurt."

"How could I not be hurt?" Emily asked in anguish. With her fingertips,
she wiped away a tear spilling down her cheek.

"You used me to get to my brother. You were willing to do whatever it
took to find out the truth, and that included sleeping with me.

Didn't it? Didn't it?" she almost screamed.

"It wasn't that way--"

"Then why didn't you tell me the truth before we made love? You told me
so many things that night, Mat thew. You shared so much of yourself with
me. I thought it was because you trusted me. I thought you  ... cared
about me. I thought we had something special, but I was wrong, wasn't I?
It was all just a part of your plan for revenge."

"Emily, no  ...  "He reached for her, but she backed away from him, not
daring to let him touch her. If he touched her, she knew, her resolve
would melt, and where would she be then?

"What we have is special," Mat thew said softly.

"It means everything to me. For the first time in a very long time, I
feel as if I can go on again. Like my life has purpose. Don't diminish
what we have, what we've shared. Please."

Emily closed her eyes, steeling herself against the traitorous emotions
raging through her. Even now, she still wanted him. What kind of fool
was she? Mat thew said, "I'm moving back into the inn tonight. Willis
has given his okay. If you need me, call me there. I'll come right
over."

Emily opened her eyes and stared up at him.

"Don't hold your breath," she said coldly.

"I'm going in to see Stuart now. Don't try to stop me."

"I NEED to talk to Stuart alone, Caroline." Caroline started to protest.
Then, glancing again at Emily's ravaged face, she shrugged.

"He's in the study." She turned on her heel and disappeared back into
the kitchen.

Emily walked down the hall to Stuart's office and knocked on the door.

Without waiting for an answer, she opened the door and stepped into the
darkly paneled room.

Stuart, leafing through a folder, looked up in surprise. Then, seeing
her face, her muddy clothes, he set the folder aside.

"What's wrong? Has something else happened?"

"Like what, Stuart?"

"I don't know. Another accident?"

"What makes you think there'd be another accident?" Emily couldn't
believe how cool she sounded, when her insides felt as if they were
coming apart. When her heart had just been smashed into a million tiny
pieces and then stomped on.

Stuart came around the desk and faced her. "Emily, what's this all
about? What happened to you?"

"What happened to Wade Drury?"

she blurted out. A dozen emotions flashed through Stuart's eyes before
he turned away from her.

"How should I knc~w?"

"Because you and Trey and Sheriff Willis went to see him down by the
river the night he disappeared. What happened, Stuart? Did you find him?
Did you kill him?" The calmness in Emily's voice fled. She sounded
almost hysterical, even to her own ears.

Stuart looked at her in shock.

"What the hell are you talking about? Are you crazy?"

"No, I'm not crazy," Emily said, striving for a measure of control
before she picked up something, anything, and hurled it across the room.

"I'm shocked. I'm disillusioned. I'm more hurt than you could ever
possibly know. But I'm not crazy, Stuart."

"You're not making any sense. Let me have Caroline make you a cup of
tea. Something to calm your nerves. Let's sit down and talk about what's
gotten you so upset ." ' "I don't want to sit down." Emily began to
pace, glaring at him through tearstained eyes.

"But I'll tell you why I'm so upset.

Mat thew and I have just had a conversation with Tony Xrtncent. He tried
to kill me tonight. I'm hoping, I'm praying, you didn't know anything
about it, Stuart."

Stuart looked speechless. Sick and speechless.

"Emily, my God, it can't be true."

"It's true. And tonight wasn't the first time he tried to do me in. He
says you and Trey knew all about the other times. How could you, Stuart?
I'm your sister, for God's sake." Her voice broke, and Emily put her
hand to her mouth, trying to quash the emotions rushing through her. She
wanted to slap Stuart. She wanted him to put his arms around her and
deny everything. She wanted this night n~ver to have happened.

"Tony told us everything," she said, her voice quavering with suppressed
emotion.

"The state police have arrested him, and I imagine they'll be here soon
to talk to you."

Stuart let out a long breath as he sat down behind his desk. He looked
like a man who had just had the wind knocked from his sails.

"I never dreamed it would go this far. We just wanted to scare some
sense into you. Make you stop asking so many questions."

"How could you?" Emily whispered again.

"You knew how much the inn meant to me. You knew how much I wanted to
succeed. Needed to succeed. How could you try' to drive me out of
business like that?"

"I thought it was for the best," he said desperately.

"I was thinking about your future. Trey said--"

"Trey said! Trey said!

Do you know why I left town seven years ago?" She flung the question at
him.

"Because Trey hit me when I told him I wouldn't marry him. I thought he
was going to kill me. I had to get away from Paradise because I was
terrified of the man you wanted me to marry."

Stuart's face was completely white now, his pallor intensifying the raw
emotion in his eyes.

"You never said anything. Why didn't you come to me?"

"Because I was afraid to," Emily told him.

"I was afraid you wouldn't do anything about it. It was Trey Huntington,
after all."

Stuart's eyes closed in agony. He put a trembling hand to his temple.

"My God, Emily. I didn't know. I swear to you--" He took a deep breath
and looked up at her.

"I'm truly sorry. For everything."

"Tell that to Jenny Wilcox's family," she said coldly.

"And Wade Drury's."

"I didn't have anything to do with their deaths. You have to believe
that."

"Their deaths? Then Wade is dead?"

Stuart nodded miserably, his gaze distant. For a long moment, he didn't
say anything, and then he began to talk, quickly, as if the contents of
his conscience had been under pressure for too long, and once the
stopper was released, it all came out in a rush.

"Tony killed Jenny, or at least that's what Trey told me.

He said we had to help Tony, because if we didn't, we could be in for a
lot of scrutiny. The identities of the Avengers could be uncovered, and
then we'd all be in a lot of trouble. Our careers would be ruined.

I was just out of law school, Emily. I had to think of my future."

"How did you get talked into joining a group like that in the first
place?" Then she said in derision, "Trey, of course." ' "It started when
we were all in college," Stuart said.

"It seemed harmless enough at first, a sort of fraternity pledge. We
patrolled the campus, made students feel safe. We did some good."

"Go on."

"Then, when we graduated, we all moved back here-Trey and I right away,
and then Tony a couple of years later. Trey came to us one day with the
idea of resurrecting the Avengers. I didn't want to at first, but he,
well, he convinced me it would be for the best. Later, I found out that
what he really wanted was a piece of land out on the highway for
Huntington Industries' expansion. The Avengers was a cover to get that
property." Emily narrowed her eyes.

"The property belonged to the family that was driven out of town by the
Avengers because the man was accused of stealing. That was all just a
ruse?"

Stuart nodded.

"When I found out, I felt terrible about it, but by then, there wasn't
anything I could do. Trey had too much on me. And it just kept getting
worse. Pretty soon, there wasn't a way out."

Emily could hardly believe her ears.

"You mean Trey Huntington has been blackmailing you all these years?

That's the control he's had over you? Why in the world did you ever want
me to marry a man like that, Stuart?"

"I'm finding that a little hard to understand myself right now." He
looked at her beseechingly, found no sympathy, then sighed.

"I know how all this must sound to you."

"Do you? I don't think so." Emily could hardly stand to look at him, but
she wouldn't let herself turn away. She wanted him to have to face her,
to look her in the eye and admit what he'd done. All of it.

"I don't think you have any idea how I feel right now. All these years
you've sat in judgment of me, Stuart.

You've made me feel worthless, like a failure, when all along you were
doing Trey Huntington's dirty work--not the least of which was shielding
a murderer."

Stuart winced, as if he had never quite let himself think of his actions
in those terms.

Emily was relentless.

"What happened when you went to see Wade Drury that night?"

SMART rubbed his temples.

"Trey had gotten a call from someone, I don't know who--I don't think he
knew--that said we could find Drury hiding out down by the river. I
think Trey had some vague notion of coercing Drury into leaving town,
but when we got there, when we found him, he was dead. He'd been stabbed
in the back. I swear, Emily, we had nothing to do with Drury's death."

In spite of herself, Emily found herself thinking of Mat thew and how
this news would affect him. He'd always known, of course, that the
chances of Wade being alive after all these years were very slim, but to
know for sure, to hear how his brother had died, was bound to have a
profound effect on him.

And to think that her brother--her brother--had known all along.

"What did you do?" she asked in a wooden voice.

"We buried him," Stuart said.

"Trey said it was meant to be. Everyone would think Drury skipped town
because he was guilty, and Tony would  ...  go free."

"And you never wondered who murdered Wade?"

"We assumed it was Tony."

Emily scrubbed back her hair.

"My God, you're an of- ricer of the court, Stuart. How could you justify
that?"

"As I said, I didn't have much of a choice by then. I was in too deep.

We all had to help each other and keep our mouths shut."

Emily closed her eyes briefly.

"How do you sleep at night? How have you lived with yourself all these
years?"

Stuart looked unutterably weary, and ten years older than when Emily had
first stepped through his door.

"I haven't had a good night's sleep in years," he said.

"Believe it or not, I feel almost relieved that the truth has finally
come out."

Chapter Fourteen.

Emily walked the few short blocks from Stuart's house to the inn,
wishing she felt relief. She didn't. The truth had at last come out, and
the mystery of Jenny Wilcox's death and Wade Drury's disappearance had
been solved, but all Emily felt was betrayed, first by Mat thew and now
by Stuart. She wondered if her life would ever be normal again, if she
would ever be able to trust anyone. As hard as it would be to face Mat
thew again, she knew she had to see him, to tell him what she'd learned
about Wade. He had a right to know the truth about his brother. Emily
just wished she didn't have to tell him about her own brother's
involvement.

But then, Mat thew already knew about Stuart. Or at least he suspected.
That was why he'd gotten close to her. That was why he'd led her to
believe he cared about her. So that he could find out more about Stuart.
Impatiently Emily wiped at the dampness on her face.

She wasn't sure whether it was mist or tears. She felt too numb to cry.
Too dazed to do anything more than go home, crawl into bed and pull the
covers up over her head. The yellow crime-scene tape had been removed
from her door when Emily arrived, and the lights were on in the inn. Mat
thew must already be there, she decided as she bent to pick up a package
that had been left by her front door. Then she let herself in and sighed
deeply as she gazed around the room that had once given her so much
pride. How everything had changed in just the space of a few short
hours.

Emily glanced down at the package. It didn't have a return address, and
she couldn't imagine what was inside. She didn't remember ordering
anything.

Normally she loved surprises, but today she'd had just a few too many.

She carried the package with her to her bedroom, avoiding looking at the
stairs and the door beyond the landing as she made her way down the
hall. First she'd change out of her damp clothes, and then she'd go find
Mat thew. As much as she wanted to postpone their meeting, she knew she
couldn't. Better to just get it over with now.

Changing into jeans and a sweatshirt and pulling on warm white socks,
Emily once again picked up the package. Maybe just a peek wouldn't hurt
before she talked to Mat thew.

Ripping open the brown paper, Emily stared at the Bible she'd revealed,
recognizing instantly that it must be the one Nella had asked her about.
Emily flipped the paper over arid noted that the postmark was from
several days ago, before Miss Rosa bel died. Had she mailed Emily the
Bible from the nursing home? Or had someone else mailed it for her?

Well, Emily thought, this was just another detail she'd have to take
care of. She'd call Nella first thing in the morning.

Tonight, however, she didn't feel like talking to anyone. Her pride had
taken too much of a beating. As Emily leafed through the old Bible, a
newspaper clipping fell out and drifted to the floor. She stooped to
pick it up, then scanned the headline and first few lines of the
article.. The clipping was about a science teacher in a small Louisiana
town who had been embroiled in some scandal with a student, and had
subsequently been found stabbed to death. His wife was the chief
suspect. There wasn't a date on the paper.

Emily had no idea how old the article was or why Miss Rosa bel had felt
it significant enough to keep in the Bible, but something about the
article touched a memory inside Emily. There was something she should
remember. Something Miss Rosa bel had told her.

Emily struggled to grasp the elusive memory, but she couldn't quite put
her finger on it. Couldn't quite remember what it was she should
remember-And then, without warning, the lights in the inn went out.

Emily stood in complete darkness, the newspaper article about a murder
clutched in her hand.

]~IA'UFHEW BRUSHED past a surprised Caroline, not waiting for her to
invite him inside.

"Is Emily here? I have to talk to her."

"Just who do you think you are, bursting in here like this?"

Caroline demanded.

A weary voice from the hallway said, "It's okay, Caroline. Let him in."

"He's already in," she grumbled as she made a sweeping gesture with her
hand, motioning Mat thew toward the hallway.

"I'd like for someone to please tell me what on earth is going on around
here."

Mat thew strode down the hallway to the open doorway. Stuart had already
gone back 'inside his office, and Mat thew followed him in, dosing the
door behind them.

"Where is she?"

Stuart didn't try to pretend ignorance.

"She's gone. Left about fifteen minutes ago. I was hoping she was with
you."

Mat thew raised his brows at that, but let the comment pass.

"What happened?"

"We had a  ...  fight of sorts," Stuart said.

"She stormed out of here. I wanted to go find her myself, but I've  ...
Well, Caroline and I have to talk."

"Do you have any idea where she was going when she left here?"

Stuart shook his head, his expression uneasy.

"I thought she might have gone back to the inn, but I've been calling
ever since she left. There's no answer. I think you'd better get over
there, Steele. She shouldn't be alone right now." Mat thew knew he was
the last person Emily wanted to see, but he didn't mention that fact to
Stuart. He said instead, "The state police have Tony Vincent in custody.
He's admitted everything."

Stuart nodded.

"Emily told me. But I still don't think she should be alone.

Especially not now." There was an odd note of urgency in Stuart's voice.
For the first time, Mat thew felt a small prickle of panic inside him.

"What aren't you saying?" he demanded. Stuart closed his eyes briefly.

"Trey," he said simply.

"When he finds out--" Mat thew didn't wait for the rest. He spun on his
heel and strode out of the room.

"MA~EW? Is that you?" Emily stood at the bottom of the darkened stairway
and gazed upward, to the landing. She'd heard a noise a few minutes
earlier and, locating a candle and matches, she'd made her way out of
her bedroom, first to the breaker box on the back porch and now to the
stairway.

The noise had sounded as if it came from upstairs. She wondered whether
Mat thew might be looking for a candle, too.

"Mat thew, are you all right? I've tried the breaker, but that didn't
work. I guess a transformer blew or something. I'll call the power
company." But when Emily picked up the phone, the line was dead. The
fear that she had been keeping at bay since the lights went out a few
minutes ago mushroomed inside her.

Her gaze lifted again to the stairway, and this time she gasped.

In the flickering light of her candle, she could see someone standing on
the landing, staring down at her. Dressed all in black, with a black ski
mask pulled over the face, the figure looked like a demon, some dark
specter spawned by the night.

The figure didn't say a word, just stood there looking down at her.

Slowly, painfully, Emily's heart began to pound inside her chest. She
was paralyzed by fear, rooted to the spot for what seemed like an
eternity, but when the figure started down the stairs toward her, Emily
sprang into action. She whirled and rushed for the door. Footsteps
clamored down the stairway behind her as Emily ran through the living
area into the foyer. The door wouldn't open, and she realized someone
had locked it. Her shaking fingers closed on the bolt, but before she
could release it, something hit her. Hit her hard, on the back of the
head.

Pain knifed through her, and as Emily lifted her hand to her head, her
fingers found something warm and sticky. And then the darkness around
her deepened as her knees buckled and she slipped to the floor.

EMILY HAD no way of knowing how long she'd been out, but when she came
to, she found herself in bed, in a candlelit room that looked vaguely
familiar. She tried to sit up, but the room spun out of control.

Collapsing back against the pillow, she moaned and closed her eyes.

When she opened them again, she tried to concentrate on a small area of
the room at a time.

The lace curtains at the window directly in front of her. The patchwork
quilt on the bed. The pine armoire to her left.

Then Fanily knew. She was in Mat thew's room. Jenny Wilcox's room.

The murder room.

And as her eyes became even more accustomed to the dim candle glow, she
saw something else. The figure was standing in a corner, watching her
through the eerie slits in the ski mask.

Seeing that Emily was awake, the figure glided across the floor toward
her. Something flashed in one of the gloved hands.

Something bright and metal and  ...  sharp. Deadly- looking. A knife.

A long-bladed butcher knife. Slowly, ever so carefully, the other gloved
hand came up and tugged off the ski mask. The woolen fabric slipped over
the head and a tumble of blond hair spilled out.

"Nella!" Emily gasped.

"I found the Bible," she said.

"And the clipping. You had it all along, didn't you? You knew about me."
Emily shook her head in desperation.

"No! I received the Bible in the mail today. The clipping fell out, but
I didn't know what it meant. I didn't know it was you  ...  "She trailed
off, remembering suddenly what she had been trying to recall earlier.
Miss Rosa bel's words came rushing back to her.

She'd had  ...  infatuations before, you see, one rather serious.

That's why her father had sent her to me that year. She'd fallen madly
in love with one of her teachers, and there was some trouble, because
the man was married. There was a lot of talk, and, well, we decided--my
brother and I--that it would be best for everyone if Nelia came to stay
with me until all the fuss blew over.

"He didn't love me, so I killed him," Nella said, so calmly her words
were even more chilling.

"I had to, don't you see? It was all meant to be. I had to get rid of
him so I'd be sent here and meet Wade. He was the one. The real one.

The others  ...  "She shook her head.

"I knew it the moment I first laid eyes on Wade, but she tried to come
between us. She tried to take him away from me."

"Who?" Emily's mind was working frantically. She had to get out of here,
but her head was still pounding, and every time she moved a wave of
dizziness swept over her. And Nella had a knife.

In her weakened state, Emily would never be able to overpower her. The
best she could do was to keep Nella talking until  ...

until  ...  Oh, God. Until what?

Mat thew, Emily silently cried. Where are you? I need you.t Nella was
staring down at her strangely.

"Who?" she repeated incredulously.

"Why, Jenny, of course. She pretended to be my friend, but she wasn't.

She just wanted to get me out of the way so she could have Wade all to
herself."

"So you killed her," Emily whispered in horror.

"I had to."

"And Tony Vincent? How did you manage to convince him he'd killed
Jenny?" Think.t Emily commanded herself desperately. How was she going
to get herself out of this mess?

Nella smiled a little half smile that made Emily's blood run cold.

"I don't mind telling you. That's why I waited for you to wake up. So I
could explain it all to you, and then you'd understand why you have to
die. I owe you that much, since we're friends." Nella's eyes glowed with
madness in the candlelight, and Emily gasped. Any hope of talking
rationally to the woman evaporated, and fear exploded inside Emily
again.

"Tony was in a drunken stupor that night," Nella went on
conversationally, staring down at Emily.

"It was easy to plant Jenny's blood all over him, put the knife in his
hand and, when he awakened, tell him that I'd seen him leaving Jenny's
room. He couldn't remember anything, and his temper had gotten the
better of him before. He believed everything I told him."

"You had it all planned out, didn't you? Every last detail."

Emily forced a note of admiration into her tone.

"And Wade? What happened to him?"

Nella's blue eyes grew dreamy in the candlelight.

"We were free to be together. I'd removed every last obstacle.

Everyone thought he'd killed Jenny, but I told him I'd help clear his
name. That could have brought us even closer, if he had just told me he
loved me. But he wouldn't. Even after everything I'd done for him, for
us, he wouldn't say it." There was a note of wonder in her voice, as if,
after all these years, she still couldn't quite believe it.

Emily took a deep breath, mustering her courage. She eased herself up
against the pillows.

"So you lured hitm to the river that night and waited for him. You were
the one who stabbed him in the back."

Nella shrugged.

"He wasn't expecting anything like that from me.

I took him by surprise. That's always the key, you know.

Surprise. I surprised you tonight, didn't I?" She seemed like a child
eager for approval. Her vivid blue eyes gleamed in the candlelight.

Emily nodded, swallowing past the knot in her throat. Slowly, inch by
inch, she drew up her knees.

"Yes," she murmured.

"You really surprised me. So you just left Wade's body there for the
Avengers to find. You were the one who called Trey about Wade, weren't
you?"

"Everyone suspected Trey Huntington was behind the Avengers, but no one
would ever come right out and say so. I decided to find out for sure.

I called him, then waited for him to find Wade's body. Trey and the
sheriff  ...  and your brother." Again her eyes shimmered with
satisfaction as she waited for Emily's reaction.

When the desired result wasn't forthcoming, Nella frowned in
displeasure.

"You knew!"

"I'm still surprised," Emily said quickly, tensing her muscles.

"Especially at how you managed to pull everything off. You killed Wade
and Jenny, and no one ever suspected. You killed Mike Durbin, too,
didn't you?"

"He'd dug up all that stuff about my past, before I came here. He even
found out my father had committed me to a mental hospital for a while.

My own father! Can you imagine that, Emily? Can you imagine what that
betrayal did to me?"

Emily was imagining it, all right, and the visions were anything but
reassuring.

"I knew Mike had gone to talk to Aunt Rosa bel. She never trusted me,
you know. Never really liked me. She was always watching me like a hawk.
I knew she suspected something when I found that clipping in her Bible.
But then she hid it, the old battle-ax, and I could never find it
again."

Emily gazed at Nella in horror.

"You didn't  ...  kill Miss Rosa bel?"

Nella smiled.

"Didn't I?"

"But how?"

"It was easy," Nella said, with a complacent shrug that sent a cold
chill along Emily's spine.

"She was old. She couldn't fight me. A pillow to her face, and it was
all over. You can see why I had to get rid of her, can't you? She was
talking to people, saying too much. I couldn't have that, could I?"

Fear rushed through Emily as she realized how truly demented Nella was.

How cold-blooded.

"You were the one who locked me in Cora Mae's basement, weren't you?"

"I heard you talking after the funeral," Nella admitted.

"I knew you planned to go see Cora Mae, so I got her out of the house.

Then all I had to do was wait for you. I knew the first time I saw the
two of you together that I would have to get rid of you, so that he
could see how much he loves me."

"Mat thew?"

"Not Mat thew. Wade. Wade. He's come back. He's come back to me.

And now," she said, taking a menacing step toward the bed, "now you have
to die." As Nella lifted the knife, Emily grabbed the candle from the
bedside table and threw it as hard as she could into Nella's face.

It caught her by surprise more than anything else, but that was what
Emily had been counting on. Surprise was always the key.

MAT THEW PULLED to a stop in front of the inn and climbed off the
Harley. He stood gazing at the darkened house for a moment, sensing that
something was terribly wrong. He looked up at his bedroom, and a shadow
passed in front of the window. Emily?

The shadow had been too tall for her. Someone was in the house with her.
Someone who wanted her dead  ...  In less than half a dozen strides, Mat
thew was up the walkway and on the front porch.

He pushed on the door, but it was locked. Emily never locked her front
door. Mat thew didn't take time to check the French doors or even for an
open window. He picked up one of the wicker rockers and hurled it toward
the stained-glass door Emily had just had reinstalled. The glass
shattered into a million pieces.

Mat thew reached inside, unlocked the door and pushed it open. He
stepped inside the foyer, and drew his gun as he cautiously made his way
through the darkened house.

AT THE SOUND of shattering glass, Emily jumped. She put - a hand to her
mouth to hold back a scream as she huddled in the linen closet at the
end of the hallway, watching the flicker of candlelight through the
louvered door. The light alternately grew brighter and dimmer as Nella
methodically searched the hallway and the other bedrooms, slowly making
her way down the corridor to where Emily hid in the dark.

The breaking glass meant that someone else was in the house now.

Mat thew? Did she dare call out to him? Did she dare not? Emily wondered
frantically. She needed to warn him about Nella. Mat thew had no idea
who the real murderer was, or that somewhere in the darkened house she
was stalking them both, with a knife she had used before.

But if Emily called out to Mat thew, her hiding place would be given
away. Nella was only a few feet away, and Emily was still weak from the
blow to her head. She might not be able to get away this time.

Mat thew, she silently screamed. Be careful  ... SLOWLY, his every
muscle tense and ready, Mat thew climbed the stairs.

The house was silent and dark. And waiting, he thought.

Waiting for him. He had the eerie sensation that with every step he
took, he was walking toward his destiny.

At the top of the stairs, he paused, getting his bearings, listening to
the silence for a moment before making his way down the hallway. He
wished he'd thought to bring along a flashlight, but it was too late to
go back for one now. His every instinct was warning him that Emily was
up here somewhere, and he had no intention of leaving without her.

The door to his bedroom was open, and he walked inside. Like the rest of
the house, the room lay in darkness, and the mist outside partially
obscured the moon. He could make out nothing more than hazy shadows.

The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and as Mat thew started to
walk back toward the door, a shadow moved in the hallway.

"Mat thew, watch out! She has a knife!"

"Emily!"

Something rushed out of the darkness toward him. Mat thew 'barely had
time to brace himself before that something crashed into him and knocked
him to the floor. His gun went flying out of his hand, and he cursed. He
tried to spring up, ready himself for another onslaught, but the
assailant, fast as lightning, was on him. Mat thew had just a glimpse of
her face in the darkness, just a hint of blond hair and demented eyes
that caught him off guard.

"Nella?" he whispered, just before he felt the sharp sting of a blade as
it ripped through his side. Dazed, Mat thew fell to the floor, his hand
automatically going to the deep wound. Blood gushed through his fingers
as he tried to roll away from Nella and the bloodstained knife she held
in her hand. A wave of darkness swept over him, but he tried to fight
it. He couldn't lose consciousness now. Emily still needed him. Emily
...

Nella was standing over him. A drop of blood fell from the point of the
knife and landed on Mat thew's face.

"Say it," she whispered.

"Say you love me, Wade. That's all I want."

Mat thew lunged upward and, with his last ounce of strength, grabbed
Nella's arm. The knife went flying. It crashed to the wooden floor and
skidded through the open French door, onto the balcony. Nella gasped and
tore herself away from Mat thew. She scrambled across the room, toward
the knife, and picked it up, standing silhouetted in the open doorway.

The blackness was rushing up to meet him, but Mat thew tried to fight
it. He steadied himself as best he could for Nella's attack, but it
never came. Another shadow flew past him. It was Nella who was caught
off guard this time, and the momentum of the impact as the two bodies
collided sent her flying through the French doors. She crashed into the
balcony railing, and for no more than a second or two, she hovered
against the splintered wood, the knife still grasped in her hand.

Then the wood gave way, and without a sound Nella fell backward into the
darkness.

Chapter Fifteen.

Emily knelt in the hospital chapel and closed her eyes. She wanted to
pray, wanted to beg God to spare Mat thew's life, but all she could
think was that she'd made a mess of everything again, and this time the
results had been tragic. Nella was dead, Mike Durbin was dead, Mat thew
was in surgery, fighting for his life, and Stuart's life was in ruins.
If Emily had never come back to Paradise, none of these terrible things
would have happened.

"Emily?"

At the sound of her brother's voice, Emily raised her tearstained face.

"I thought I might find you in here," he said. He knelt beside her.

"How's Mat thew?"

"He's still in surgery," Emily said numbly.

"The doctors won't tell me anything."

Stuart patted her hand, as if at a loss to know what to do for her.

"He's strong, and I've never met a man so determined. I'm sure he'll be
all right."

"Well, I'm not," Emily said bitterly.

"You were right about me, Stuart. I've always been a failure. I always
screw things up, and now Mat thew might die because of me." Stuart
looked at her in genuine astonishment.

"If anyone's to blame, it's me. I'm the one who screwed up, big time.
But you--" He spread his hands.

"You saved a man's life, Emily. Nella killed Jenny and Wade all those
years ago, and then she killed Mike Durbin when he dug up too much about
her past in Louisiana. She even killed her own aunt. Do you think she
would have hesitated to finish off Mat thew? You're anything but a
failure, in my book."

"I  ...  I can't believe I'm actually hearing you say that," Emily said,
feeling a glimmer of hope ignite somewhere in the bottom of her heart.

"I'm finding it hard to believe a lot of things these days," Stuart said
gravely.

"Mostly things about myself. I've been such a pompous bastard, Emily.

Holding myself up as a role model to you, when all along--" He broke
off, glancing away. He shook his head.

"You always stood up for what you believed in, while I  ...  I took the
easy way out ." ' "What's going to happen to you?" Emily asked, feeling
a genuine sorrow for her brother and for the fragile closeness between
them that had come too late.

"I'm sure I'll face disbarment. Beyond that, I don't know. I haven't
formally been charged with anything yet, but the investigation has just
begun. Trey, of course, is denying everything, but I'm through lying for
him." A ghost of a smile touched his lips.

"I think it's about time I become my own man, don't you?"

Emily touched his cheek with her hand.

"I think you already have," she whispered.

"MATTHEW?"

The voice, as soft as a butterfly's wing, fluttered through his mind,
teasing him awake. Mat thew struggled to rise from the darkness.

Slowly, he opened his eyes.

"Mat thew, it's me. Emily.

Can you hear me?"

Emily? He had to be dreaming. Emily wanted nothing to do with him.

He'd lied to her. Deceived her. She was the last person who would be
sitting by his bedside. But it was such a wonderful dream, having her so
near, that he didn't want to wake up. He closed his eyes and let the
darkness take him. When he woke up again--several hours later, he was
told--Emily was gazing down at him.

"Are you real?" he whispered through dry lips. Tears filled her eyes.

"I used to wonder that same thing about you," she said.

She wiped away a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand.

Mat thew couldn't stop looking at her. Her warm brown eyes. Her sweet
smile. Her funny little haircut. He adored everything about her.

"I didn't think you'd come," he said at last.

"I didn't think you'd ever want to see me again."

She glanced away from his face, her gaze drifting downward, to where a
thick white bandage wrapped around his middle. She bit her lip as her
eyes met his again.

"I made a deal with God," she said, her voice trembling. Mat thew wished
he could take her in his arms, kiss away her fears, but all he could do
was ask hopefully, "What did you bargain for?"

Emily stared at her hands.

"That if he'd make you okay, if he'd let you live  ...  I wouldn't let
my pride stand in the way of telling you how I felt."

Mat thew didn't think it would be possible for his heart to beat any
harder.

"How do you feel, Emily?" Her eyes grew soft, misty.

She put her fingertips to her lips, trying to quell their trembling.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I have from the first moment I met you. I came back to Paradise looking
for something that was right here all along." She touched her heart with
her hand.

"You helped me find what I was looking for, Mat thew. Faith in myself."

Mat thew closed his eyes as a wave of joy swept over him. He didn't
deserve this. He'd tied to her. Deceived her. Almost gotten her killed.
He didn't deserve her love, but, dear God, he wanted it.

Wanted it more than anything. He took her hand and brought her fingers
to his lips.

"I love you, too, Emily. More than I ever thought possible. I came to
Paradise looking for something, too. I was looko ing for a reason to go
on, trying to justify why I'd been allowed to live and Christine hadn't.
And I found that reason. In you."

"Oh, Mat thew!" Emily threw her arms around him and kissed him soundly
on the lips. Ignoring the jagged edge of pain that shot through him as
she pressed a little too hard against him, Mat thew wrapped his arms
around her and held her close, not wanting to let her go. Ever. When
Emily pulled away, he said, "I had a dream earlier. I was dreaming about
you and Rachel. We were all together, healthy and happy. It was so
peaceful, I didn't want to wake up."

Emily smiled down at him.

"Perhaps the dream was prophetic," she said.

"Rachel's doctor called earlier, to let you know how much better she is.
Dr. Klein thought it might help your own recovery to know. He let me
talk to Rachel. She's a remarkable little girl."

"Yes, she is. She has a very special place in my life, Emily. I'd like
for her to have a place in yours, as well."

"You mean--"

"When I get out of here, I'd like to see about making my dream come
true. I'd like us all to be together. I know that's asking a lot. You've
never even met her."

"Oh, Mat thew." Emily's beautiful eyes were liquid with emotion.

"Do you know how long I've been praying for a family of my own? It's all
I've ever wanted." Tears spilled over and ran down her cheeks.

"Will you marry me, Mat thew?"

He grinned, reaching up to run his fingers through her dark hair.

"How like you to go about this unconventionally," he said.

"But if you're willing to take a chance on a decrepit federal marshal
with an uncertain future, then my answer is yes. I'll marry you, Emily
Townsend. You just say when." ' "When," she murmured, before she bent
and kissed him again.