Chapter 1
"Come on, we all know who did it."
At the accusation a ramble of sound swirled among the gathering, punctuated by a couple of nods of agreement.
"Did what?"
The sharp query earned Jodi Campion some sidelong looks, then silence. She ran a hand through her short, already tousled cap of red hair. No one wanted to put into words, she guessed, what they were all thinking. They had no indication anything had happened except that an already restless little boy had missed dinner, but Mayor Reed Keating's son Garrett was missing, and fairly half of this group was convinced the nine-year-old had met with some awful fate.
"You want to find that boy, you just head on out to Trager's place," the piercing voice of Branch Elliot shrilled on. "Lord only knows what he's up to out there."
"Last I heard, he was minding his own business," Jodi said tartly.
She couldn't help her irritation. The ones who thought Garrett had met with disaster were also, despite the small problem of absolutely no evidence, convinced they knew exactly who was involved. Whenever anything happened, the vocal minority tried to make J. T. Trager the fall guy. From noises in the night to what was obviously juvenile vandalism, Trager's name came up. She'd even thought it herself, when she'd thought she'd heard a prowler around the house a couple of times lately.
And all the poor guy had done was move into the Mayfair place last year. It was as if old man Mayfair's reputation for oddness had attached itself to the isolated old cabin, and consequently to anyone who lived in it.
"I still think he was behind that break-in at Frances's store."
Jodi recognized that voice, and it spun her around to face Colleen Harris. "I'm sure you do," she said pointedly; there wasn't a person there who didn't know who had really been behind the burglary, Colleen's incorrigible seventeen-year-old son, Danny. The boy had returned last year after several months over in Seattle at, Colleen said, an exclusive school for gifted children. The consensus was that it was exclusive, all right; you had to get sentenced to it.
Colleen flushed, but went on the attack. "I'm surprised at you. I'd think you'd be more worried about Garrett, since you and Reed are such ... friends."
Jodi had also grown up around Colleen's tactics, and refused to be baited.
"What worries me," Jodi said, indicating the group with a sweep of her hand, "is that instead of looking for Garrett, you're all standing here, ready to lynch a man you barely know for something you don't know has even happened!"
Many of them had the grace to look embarrassed. Jodi knew she had a certain amount of respect here, if not for herself then for the memory of her father, who had been both highly regarded and loved in Keating's Port. She was glad of it now.
"We were getting ready to start looking," Frances Higgens said. "We're just waiting for Reed."
"Well, let's at least get organized, so we can start immediately if he hasn't found him," Jodi suggested. "We've only got a few hours of light left. Sam, you want to set it up?"
Sam Flynn was not only the local volunteer fire captain, he was the scout leader as well, and Jodi figured he had as much experience as anyone in searching. And more in getting along in the outdoors; if they didn't find Garrett close in, they might need that knowledge. Keating's Port was a quiet, safe place, but its population of five thousand or so was scattered through woods full of fascinating things, and children younger than Garrett ranged far in their summer play and often lost track of time. That's all this was, she knew that, just as she knew her own imaginings of noises in the night and prowlers were just that, an imagination overactive now that she was alone in the house.
"Of course," Sam said, sounding pleased at her suggestion. "There are, let's see, twenty-three of us—"
"Twenty-four when Reed gets here. We can't start without him. He's the mayor, after all." Something in Colleen's tone reminded Jodi that the four-times-divorced woman had had her eye on Reed for a long time.
"We'll wait for him," Jodi acknowledged, hoping that when he did arrive, it would be to say this could all be called off, that Garrett had returned. "But it can't hurt to have Sam set up a search pattern."
Sam started in, dividing up the surrounding area neatly in a rough grid, and assigning people to search each section in teams. When he got to the area where J.T. Trager's isolated cabin was, and began by assigning Branch Elliot and his brother, Jodi found herself volunteering for that team; she didn't want Branch confronting Trager without a witness to keep him in check, not with his attitude and—
Before she could complete the thought, Reed arrived. And arrived was the word, she thought; even now he managed to do it with a flourish. It must be hereditary, she thought, realizing his sister Regina had the same knack, of sweeping into a room or gathering so that all heads turned.
"Hello, everyone. Thank you for coming to help."
He strode through the parting group, coming straight toward her. To her surprise he pulled her into an embrace and dropped a light, dry kiss on her lips. Jodi stiffened involuntarily; she liked Reed, but she wasn't ready for such a public display.
As soon as she thought it she felt guilty; he was worried about his son, and was simply distracted.
"No sign of Garrett?" she asked, setting her own concerns aside.
"No," he said. "I've called all the numbers I have, and no one's seen him since this morning."
He sounded more exasperated than worried, which relieved Jodi slightly. "Sam's got a search grid planned out, and we're ready to start whenever you are."
He turned to Sam with a wide, appreciative smile. "Thanks, Sam. I knew I could count on you."
The older man beamed at this praise from the most important man in Keating's Port, and Jodi saw again why Reed was where he was; he had the knack of making people feel pleased and grateful at the same time. An ability, many had said, that could take him well beyond the mayorship of small Keating's Port.
"I'm sure he just lost track of time," Jodi said to Reed as they walked somewhat apart from the other four people assigned to their search team.
"Maybe," Reed conceded. "But you'd think he'd be hungry by now."
"Not if he found a nice, late-season berry patch somewhere," Jodi said, trying to lighten the mood.
"In which case he'll be sick for two days," Reed muttered.
"We going to Trager's first?"
The question came from behind them, and Jodi sighed. Branch—no one remembered what his real first name was, it had been lost forever when as a child he'd run his bike under a low-hanging branch and had forgotten to duck— was the most vocal in the "lynch Trager" camp. Jodi had the feeling it was because the man was afraid his own reputation was in danger. Branch was proud of his standing in Keating's Port, proud of being the town's highest profile odd character.
"We'll get there," Reed said diplomatically. He gave Jodi a sideways glance, seeming to read her expression. "You're not still defending that nut to the world, are you?" he asked, low enough that Branch couldn't hear.
They'd had this discussion before, and neither appeared ready to budge. Reed had told her not to bother about the man, who was at best eccentric, more likely crazy, and at worst some kind of criminal. Jodi had accused him of thinking like the rest of that small, vocal group who had turned an innocent newcomer into the town bogeyman.
"You're not succumbing to that mob mentality, are you?" she retorted, also quietly. "I know it's easier to believe the worst of a stranger rather than our neighbors, but—"
"That he's still a stranger after all these months, in a town like Keating's Port, is rather suspicious, don't you think?"
"Not necessarily. Maybe he just wants to be left alone."
Reed shook his head. Jodi knew he had trouble with that concept; Reed was a social animal to the bone. But Jodi understood it. She'd learned a lot about being alone when her mother had been ill. Her father had been consumed with taking care of her, leaving his young daughter to fend for herself much of the time. At first it had been painful, but eventually she'd come to see the attraction of solitariness, the appeal of being alone with your thoughts, and to this day there were times when she sought out a quiet, lonesome place to simply sit and absorb the solitude.
"I just don't like the tone of some people," she said, eyeing Branch, who was striding along as if "we'll get there" had meant right now. His younger brother trailed in his wake; Chuck Elliot was as quiet as Branch was boisterous, always there observing, never speaking, usually a few steps back, but always watching. He'd left Keating's Port for a while, wanting to see some of the world, Branch had said, but had returned several months ago, and kept a low profile since. Of course, next to his brother, everyone kept a low profile.
The other two in the group seemed to have separated themselves from the brothers; Frances, who ran the town's single drugstore, didn't care for Branch and so tended to align herself against him irregardless of her own feelings. Dean Walsh, the man walking with her, was enamored of Frances and never missed a chance to be with her.
"They seem to be going from distrust to anger, and that's dangerous," Jodi said.
"Trager may be dangerous," Reed returned bluntly.
"Don't forget Carol Wright saw him watching those kids at the park."
"It was a baseball game, anybody might stop to watch," Jodi protested. "And even Carol said he was only there for a few minutes."
She didn't add that she herself had seen Trager once, watching a group of kids flying a kite. She'd caught a glimpse of his face, and his expression had been so horribly bleak she doubted he had room in his mind for anything except whatever memories had caused that look. She had almost gone to him, full of an instinctive need to comfort. But she'd hesitated, and then he was gone.
"Then how about what Carol said about him showing up at the Reporter office, poking through the archives and then asking questions about the personal lives of the Keatings?"
Jodi smothered a wry smile at the way he said "the Keatings" as if it were "the Windsors," or some other royal family. But she did vaguely recall hearing about Trager's visit. "I don't think that's so odd, for somebody who's fairly new to a place, to try and learn something about it. Maybe now that he's settled in, he wants to know. What better place than the local paper? And since the Keatings are Keating's Port..."
Her voice trailed off as she heard a car turning onto the gravel road behind them. Reed didn't seem to hear it.
"So, did you volunteer for this team just to look out for the guy?" he asked.
He sounded faintly snappish, as if he were jealous, and Jodi was torn between feeling flattered and defensive.
"Partly," she admitted, not about to lie. "I wanted to be there to keep Branch from stringing him up on the spot, whether he'd done anything or not. But I also used to live out here, so I know the area."
 The car was nearing now, and when she looked back and saw a county sheriff's marked unit, Jodi breathed a silent sigh of relief. No lynching today; it was Chet Holland. The deputy was sharp, he'd grown up here, he knew Keating's Port and its people—including those who were absurdly suspicious of a man who'd done nothing but keep to himself. She should have guessed Chet would realize what could happen here, and head straight for Trager's place.
The car slowed as it pulled even with them, then stopped. They came to a halt beside it.
"Jodi, Reed," the deputy said as he got out of the unit. He nodded an acknowledgment to the others who were approaching.
Reed nodded in turn as Jodi asked, "How's Tracy?" "Large," Chet said dryly, but the glint in his eyes belied the teasing tone; the man adored his wife, Jodi knew, and even more now that she was about to deliver their first child. "And feeling it, no doubt," Jodi said. "Give her my best." "I will," Chet looked at Reed. "Any sign of your son?" "Not yet. We're starting a door-to-door search now." "We're on out way out to Trager's," Branch put in as he arrived and stepped around the front of Chet's unit. Jodi saw Chet's mouth quirk, and knew she'd been right, that he'd come precisely to keep the ones like Branch under control.
"And skipping everything in between?" Chet asked, his tone merely inquiring, although Jodi guessed it was with an effort.
"No, we're going to check the houses on Spruce," Frances said. "We can handle it quick, since there's only the Jacksons' and the Weidergrens'." She looked at Branch and his silent, watching brother. 'They can do Orca Lane at the same time. One more house, but closer together so it's less ground to cover."
Branch opened his mouth to protest, either at the diversion from his goal or at taking orders from a female, but Chet smoothed it over before he could speak.
"Good idea. Branch knows this patch like the back of his hand."
Mollified, the man nodded.
"I trust nobody brought a rope?" Chet asked.
"Not Jodi, that's for sure. She's the guy's biggest defender," Reed said dryly.
"I just think he's getting a raw deal around here, that's all," Jodi said, hating how defensive she sounded when all she was doing was trying to be fair. "He seems like a nice guy to me. Just quiet, maybe a little shy. Kind of sad, even."
"I didn't realize you knew him," Chet said.
"He brought in an injured raccoon once," she explained, aware of the stares she was getting. Reed knew the story; when she'd told him, it had brought on his first urging to her to stay away from the man. But the others didn't know, and they were clearly curious. Even Chuck showed a spark of interest, although he still never spoke, just looked at her with those unreadable dark eyes. "He was really worried about it. He cared."
"So that makes him all right?" Branch asked, his tone sour once more.
"No," Jodi admitted, adding silently, But the rest did.
Trager hadn't known when he'd come into the veterinary clinic that her father had just died a month before. When he had found out he'd been wonderfully, although awkwardly sensitive about it. Understanding without being cloying. Sympathetic without being pitying. He'd said little, but he'd somehow made her feel an empathy she'd not gotten from anyone else. And she'd never forgotten that day.
"You ever see those reports on serial killers?" Branch asked. "They always find somebody who says, 'He seemed like such a nice guy.'"
Jodi flushed. But before she could think of a thing to say, Chet handled it. "That's hardly an appropriate analogy here," he said firmly. "Let's get going."
Branch didn't look happy, but he subsided. He and the
others started off, leaving Jodi, Reed, and Chet to the trek
out to the end of the road, and the cabin where J. T. Trager
lived.	>
"He's got about four acres here, as I recall," Chet said. "We might as well ride up, since this could take some searching on foot. Assuming he allows it, of course," Chet added.
"Why wouldn't he, given the circumstances?" Jodi asked.
Chet shrugged. "Way he's been treated around here, who knows?"
"It hasn't been that bad," Reed said. "Besides, he probably doesn't know half of what people say about him anyway."
"I hope," Jodi muttered.
"What if he's not there?" Reed asked. "Can't we just do it?"
"It'd be better with his permission, unless there's some reason to really suspect the boy might be here," Chet said.
Reed didn't seem happy about it, but he said nothing more as they rode with Chet up to the driveway at the end of the road.
"Seems he's here," Chet said, looking down the drive toward the leveled area where a green extended-cab pickup truck sat, backed in under a carport that was listing slightly.
The barred gate to the driveway was closed, so Chet parked to one side. There was enough space to the side of the gate for a person to squeeze through, which they all did. The gravel drive was partially overgrown, muffling their steps as they made their way through summer-thick trees and brush.
From the end of the drive near the parked truck a stone stairway tumbled down the fairly steep hill, appearing to vanish into the thick trees. The carefully set steps were the only suggestion that there was anything below. But as they made their way down the trees thinned out, and they could see the cabin.
The little home built into the side of the hill was a contrast to the slightly overgrown surroundings; despite its age it was tidy and well kept. It was also shuttered and quiet. And oddly; Jodi noticed, there was smoke rising from the river rock chimney. It had been a warm day, and while some forest-bound cabins were in perpetual shade, this one sat in a clearing that gave it full benefit of the summer sun. It should have been plenty warm enough without a fire.
Chet went up on the small front porch and knocked on the solid-looking wood door. Moments passed. He knocked again. The place wasn't big enough for it to take that long for an able-bodied person to get to the door, and from what she'd seen, J. T. Trager was able-bodied and then some.
As Chet and Reed began to walk around the cabin, checking windows and other doors, Jodi was drawn to the edge of the clearing. It was so incredibly quiet here, she thought. Down the hill like this, and with all the growth to absorb sound, she'd bet that a fleet of logging trucks could drive by up on the road and you'd never know it.
She wandered slowly, past the small well house and a couple of huge rhododendrons, one late-season bloomer ripe with red flowers, one done for the year. Something caught the corner of her eye, and she turned to look. A little way into the woods, along a narrow path, was a small garden gazebo.
Curious, she walked toward it, her footsteps inaudible on the soft bark and evergreen needles strewn along the way, more aware of the heat of the afternoon sun in the clearing now mat she was in the cool of the thick woods.
The gazebo was closed in on the sides to about waist height. The roof was sharply pitched, but some pine needles and leaves still decorated it. There was no moss, however, and once she noticed that, Jodi realized this building was new. Relatively, anyway; she didn't think it had been here when she had lived out this way. She wondered if Trager had built it.
Trager, who was, she realized with a little shock, asleep on the floor of the gazebo. Clad only in a faded blue T-shirt and jeans, barefoot. There was a blanket beneath him, but no pad, nor any pillow but his folded arm under his head.
For a moment she just looked at him. Lying down he didn't look as tall as she knew he was, over six feet. He was solidly built, muscular but not bulky, but enough so mat she had been impressed by the gentleness with which he'd handled the injured raccoon that day. And by the genuine concern that showed in eyes that were a startlingly bright shade of green.
But right now he looked almost fragile. Not simply because he was asleep, and unguarded, but because of the dark shadows beneath his eyes, the hollowness of his cheeks. His hair, longish and sandy brown, was tousled; his jaw stubbled with a day's growth of beard. He looked weary, beaten, and hardly dangerous. 
But then, he was asleep, Jodi reminded herself, wondering if she wasn't being as foolish as Reed had suggested.
He stirred, one long leg shifting. Jodi nearly jumped, and only then realized how intently she'd been staring at him.
Say something, she ordered herself, or get caught gaping at him like a landed dogfish.
"Mr. Trager?" That didn't sound right. And he'd told her that day, over the raccoon, that he went by J.T. "J.T.?" she tried again.
He went very still. One eye opened. Focused.
He erupted into motion, scrambling to his knees, staring at her as if stunned.
"I'm sorry," she said quickly. "I didn't mean to disturb you, but..." She stopped when his expression didn't change. Did he not remember her? Was there really something genuinely wrong with him? "I'm Jodi Campion, you were at my father's clinic—"
"I know." He shook his head sharply. "I... guess I was asleep. Dreaming."
"Yes, you were. Asleep, I mean," she amended, flushing slightly without knowing why.
He rubbed at his eyes—they really were that green, she thought—and looked at her again. "I don't usually— I wasn't—" He shrugged. "I didn't sleep well last night."
"Then again, I'm sorry to disturb you." Jodi was surprised by his effort to explain, as if he didn't want her thinking he slept his days away. And she wondered if his sleep had been disturbed by the memories that had made him look so bleak that day she'd seen him watching the children.
The children. For a moment she'd forgotten why they were here. She refocused quickly, telling him, "We needed to talk to you." 
He looked suddenly wary. "We?"
"Sort of a search party," she explained.
He looked around as if expecting to see any number of people tromping through his woods. "Searching for... what? And why here?"
"A little boy. Reed Keating's son."
"Keating?" He seemed suddenly awake and intent. "The mayor?"
Jodi smiled. "Yes."
"His son is missing?"
"Yes—"
"Jodi?" Reed's voice came from behind her, and she looked back over her shoulder. She heard a rustling as Trager got to his feet. "Has he seen Garrett?"
"I was just getting to that," she said.
"Garrett?" Trager said.
"My son," Reed said, eyeing Trager not quite suspiciously, but certainly as warily as Trager had looked at the news that a relative crowd had arrived.
Jodi saw Trager's gaze shift to a point over her shoulder, and glanced behind her once more to see Chet approaching. She turned back just in time to see Trager's expression change, just slightly, saw some of the wariness fade. It was a small thing, but the fact that he welcomed the deputy reassured her. Then it struck her that he might be completely aware of the gossip about him, and how easily that could lead to the kind of thing she'd witnessed earlier.
"Mr. Trager," Chet said politely. "We have a child missing, so we're doing a door-to-door in the area. He's nine, about four and a half feet tall, thin build, brown hair, and brown eyes. He was last seen wearing..." He hesitated, glancing at Reed.
"According to my sister, jeans and a yellow T-shirt with some kind of animal on it."
"Probably his wolf shirt," Jodi put in. "That's his favorite." Reed smiled at her, so warmly she couldn't help smiling back.
"Does he go by Gary?" Everyone turned at Trager's first words to them.
"No," Reed said.
"Yes," Jodi said.
Chet blinked, looking from one to the other. Reed frowned. "He never goes by Gary. Regina doesn't allow it."
"I'm afraid that's why he does it," Jodi admitted, looking at Trager. And remembering suddenly that Trager had mentioned that day that a local boy had told him about her, and that she could fix the raccoon. Garrett. It had to be.
"I got the feeling it was something like that," Trager said quietly.
"So you do know the boy?" Chet asked.
"I think so. If he's the boy I know as Gary. I never heard his last name."
"Where did you meet my son? And what did you mean by you had a feeling about his name?"
Reed sounded faintly accusatory, but Trager held his gaze.
"Easy, Reed," Chet said.
"This is my only child we're talking about," Reed said, with a barely discernible note of apology. "And if we have to, we'll search every inch of this place for him."
"Well, it's about time!"
Jodi's heart sank; Branch had apparently rushed through his part of the search so he could join the party here. Chet grimaced, and she knew he was aware this was where the real problem could start, not with Reed, who was understandably worried about his missing child.
"Just rein it in, Elliot," Chet said.
"Like hell!" Branch jabbed a finger toward Trager, who still didn't move. "Bet he's got that boy stashed somewhere."
Anger spurted through Jodi. "There's no reason to think—"
"No reason? Your daddy may have been a good man, little miss Jodilyn, but he sure had a silly daughter."
"Branch," Reed said warningly, apparently deciding the man had crossed the line.
"After Darlene, I'd figure you'd feel that way, too." Jodi felt Reed tense at this mention of his wife. "After all, we all know Trager killed her." 
Chapter 2
Jodi's breath caught at Branch's bald statement. She'd forgotten. Had completely forgotten the rumors that had flown at the time of Darlene Keating's drowning. Suspicions had ran rampant about the then newcomer, for no better reason than that it had happened just days after J. T. Trager's arrival.
She glanced at Trager, who looked slightly pale, as if he felt ill. She could understand why. But he said nothing, merely stood there as the uncouth man accused him of murder. Said nothing in his own defense. And Jodi couldn't quite restrain herself.
"We all know," she said, purposely using Branch's own words, "that it was an accident. There's no evidence he even knew her!"
Something flickered in Trager's eyes at her instant defense, and Jodi didn't think it was gratitude. Something closer to irritation, which puzzled her.
"So he says," Branch countered. Then, suddenly seeming to realize that he was insinuating some kind of illicit connection between them in front of Darlene's husband, he muttered, "Sorry, Reed."
"Just be quiet, Branch," Reed said, clearly furious. Jodi couldn't blame him; Branch was enough to drive anyone to irritation. Still, his rage made her remember that Reed himself had been questioned at length during the investigation of Darlene Keating's death. Even Chuck seemed to edge back, away from the tension. She imagined he did a lot of that around his brother.
"Good advice," Chet agreed, eyeing Branch. "Or I might have to be giving Mr. Trager here the name of a good defamation lawyer."
That shut the man up. And by now Trager's expression was unreadable.
"Let's get on with it," Reed said sharply.
Chet then turned to Trager. "You said you know the boy?"
"I last saw him ... two days ago, I think it was. He was fine. How long has he been missing?"
He sounded genuinely concerned, and even Reed seemed to realize it, for when he spoke again his voice was much calmer. "Since this morning."
"You don't mind if we look around your property, do you?" Chet said, in that way he had that made it clear the request was merely a nicety.
"Of course not," Trager said.
His immediate and easy assent seemed to ease the tension further, and Chet quickly organized the group and sent them off to search the acreage—with Branch assigned the area farthest away, Jodi noted thankfully. Trager said he knew of a couple of places that might attract a kid, and after pulling on some socks and work boots that were on the porch, set off to look himself.
As the others strode off, Jodi hung back for a moment. Chet looked at her questioningly, guessing she had something to say. She didn't waste any time in preliminaries.
"He's wrong about Darlene, isn't he?"
"It was ruled an accident," Chet said.
She knew that. And she also knew Chet well enough to hear what he wasn't saying. "But you don't think it was?"
He shrugged. "It most likely was. It was a rainy night, the ground was treacherous, she probably slipped and went over the bank in front of the house. But any evidence to the contrary could have been washed away."
"But... if she was killed before the fall, wouldn't there have been ... signs? On ... her, I mean? With all those new kinds of tests and things ..."
Her voice trailed off. Chet looked at her for a moment, concern in his eyes. "You sure you want to hear this?"
She wasn't at all sure. But she wanted to know. Had to know, although she had no idea why. "Yes."
Chet let out a breath. "She went into the sound, Jodi. You know she wasn't found for days. There was no ... definitive evidence they could find on... what was left of her. Nothing that couldn't have been caused by her hitting the rocks, either as she fell or after she was in the water."
Jodi stifled her grimace; she'd asked for this, after all. And in this country where so much of the waterfront was what they called high bank, where the drop to the water could be steep and deadly, fatalities were not unheard of. "But?"
"But... it might not have taken much to send her over. Might not have left marks even if... they'd been there to find. But the official cause of death was drowning. She was alive and breathing when she went in. But even if she was conscious, hypothermia wouldn't take long in that cold water. And after that..."
He explained it gently, carefully, almost sanitarily, but the image was still gruesome; to the ecosystem of the sound, Darlene had become a food source. Jodi took a deep breath to steady herself.
"But... there was nothing else to suggest it wasn't an accident, was there?"
"Not really. There was no apparent reason for her to have jumped. The ground was chewed up a bit, but that could have been her, trying to save herself from going over."
Jodi stifled a wince; she'd asked for this, she repeated silently. "So there was nothing to ... connect anyone to her death."
"Nothing concrete. Our first line of inquiry is always the family, but other than an occasional disagreement between Darlene and Regina, there was nothing much there. Nobody really seemed to believe the rumors that Darlene was—"
He broke off suddenly, his eyes dodging away from Jodi's as he obviously recalled Jodi was semi-involved with Darlene's former husband. "It's all right," she assured him, touched by his embarrassment. "I know there were rumors Darlene had been having an affair."
"Reed denied it," Chet said hastily. "And Regina laughed at the idea."
"Regina would laugh," was all Jodi said. She knew Reed's sister thought the sun rose and set on her brother.
She knew no one had believed it, that Darlene—or anyone—would cheat on Reed. Reed was the town's fair-haired boy, descended from the founders, the boy who had become a college football hero with a golden future but had come home because, he'd said publicly and repeatedly, there was no better place to live.
"Guess she would. She's more like his mother than a sister."
"Only natural," Jodi said. "She did raise him since he was three." 
There was a great deal Jodi admired about Regina Keating; she was a tough, capable, determined woman with a heartwarming soft spot for her little brother. She had taken the large estate and sizable amount of insurance money left after their parents were killed, and handled it so wisely neither of them really had to work unless they wanted to, except to manage the wealth.
And her unwavering love for her brother, the close bond between them, made Jodi yearn for something she'd never really had, a complete family unit, the kind that would circle the wagon against all comers from outside.
"There just wasn't anything to go on," Chet said.
He sounded as if he were trying to convince himself, and Jodi wondered if Chet suspected something else but just hadn't been able to prove it. Before she could pursue the idea—if she even would have—she heard Reed calling and realized she needed to join the search.
It took a while, and was heavy going. Most of the property was heavily wooded with hemlock, blue spruce, an occasional madrona, and stands of white-trunked alder where there was water close to the surface. And the underbrush was formidable, between nettles and thorny berry bushes. But eventually they all—minus Trager—began to gather back at the cabin, no one having found a sign of Garrett.
Reed and Jodi arrived just in time to hear Chet ask with some irritation, "Branch, what do you think you're doing?"
The thin, almost gangly man paused on Trager's front porch, his hand already reaching for the front doorknob. "Whaddya mean? I'm going in to look for the kid."
"We don't have permission to do that, yet. We only had permission to search the property."
"And this is on the property," Branch said with the kind of certainty that spoke of utter close-mindedness.
"He does have a point," Reed said. Jodi was a bit startled, but realized Reed was probably anxious to get this over with and move on, to continue the search for his son.
"That's not how a court would see it," Chet said. "We'll wait."
"What if he doesn't come back?" Branch whined.
"He lives here, why wouldn't he?" Jodi asked.
Branch gave her a pitying look as he gestured toward the door Chet had stopped him from opening. "Because of what we might find in there."
Reed went very still beside her, and Jodi knew he'd not let himself think about the grimmest of possibilities. Neither had she. And she wasn't about to start now.
"I'll thank you to keep your lurid speculations to yourself," Chet said firmly. "We don't need you stirring up everybody's imagination. I doubt Mr. Trager would have been so willing to let us search if he had anything to hide."
"Unless he wanted to get a head start to get away," Branch muttered, but low enough that Chet apparently chose not to hear him. Especially since Trager had just appeared out of the woods on the south side of the cabin and was headed toward them.
He moved easily, with a grace unexpected in a man his size. It wasn't that Reed was at all clumsy, Jodi thought, comparing the two men without thinking, but Trager walked like a dancer, or like those men who strode the high iron of skyscrapers; without effort yet in perfect balance. Jodi found herself watching the motion as if hypnotized, and only when he spoke did she come back to herself with a start.
"Nothing?" Chest asked as Trager came up to the group.
The man shook his head, then reached up and shoved back a thick, straight lock of hair that had fallen over his forehead. She found the untamed, longish look of it surprisingly attractive, and wondered what it felt like, if it was as silky as it looked, unlike Reed's carefully styled and sometimes stiff curls.
What are you doing, she asked herself sharply, comparing them like they are different breeds of show dogs or something? As if what J. T. Trager looks or feels like is any of your business?
The last thought made her blush, and she coughed and bent her head, covering as much of her face as she could, to hide it. By the time she recovered and felt composed enough to look up, Chet had apparently secured Trager's permission to go inside the cabin.
To Branch's obvious disappointment, Chet ordered the rest of them to stay outside. And Jodi felt a bit guilty when she caught herself peering, trying to see past the open front door. She caught herself before blushing again, and looked away.
But not before she'd seen the small cabin's fireplace, ablaze as if it were midwinter and not the end of a warm summer season. She'd forgotten about the smoke she'd seen rising from the chimney when they'd arrived, but now she found herself curious all over again.
Chet's search took about as long as she'd expected, given the size of the cabin; she guessed that beyond the living area and kitchen and bath, it didn't hold much more; maybe a bedroom or more likely just a sleeping alcove.
"All right," Chet said, glancing at his watch as he came out of the cabin, "let's go. We'll meet up with the others and see if they've found anything."
Chet closed the door solidly behind him. J.T. Trager didn't come back outside.
"I can't believe Branch is still riding that tired old horse," I Jodi said as they drove back to the center of town to search J again. "You said yourself Darlene's death was an accident."
"And I can't believe you're so worried about Trager," Reed said. "You leap to his defense like he was one of your wounded animals."
Maybe because that's the way he makes me feel, Jodi thought. "I just don't like to see an innocent person railroaded for no reason."
"And how do you know he's so innocent?"
"There's never been any sign he's not."
"Nor that he is."
She gave Reed a sideways glance at the sharpness of his tone. "Provincial of me, I know, but I really buy that innocent until proven guilty idea."
"Sorry," he muttered, looking suitably abashed.
"It's all right," she said quickly. "I know you're worried about Garrett. So am I."
"I know you are." He gave her a halfhearted smile. "We'll find him." She saw his hands tighten on the steering wheel. "We have to find him."
But they didn't.
Hours later, well past midnight, they wearily pulled into the Keating driveway. Lights still blazed in me house, and Jodi doubted Regina had gone to bed. Not with her nephew missing and her precious brother out searching.
They'd checked in with Regina on Reed's cell phone every hour, so she knew they hadn't found the boy. It had taken all of Jodi's and Regina's persuasive powers to get Reed to come home for even a little rest, and some food, which Regina said she would have ready.
She was waiting for them at the door. Regina Keating was an imposing woman, a couple of inches taller than Jodi, almost as tall as her brother. She was forty-eight to Reed's thirty-three, but she was strong and healthy and very fit; Jodi knew she maintained her physical condition with strenuous workouts that women half her age would find demanding. And despite the age difference, there was nevertheless a striking resemblance between brother and sister.
Some of it was physical, the blond hair, the arched brows, the pale blue, deep-set eyes. But it was mainly less tangible things; that regal bearing they shared, that demeanor that the wealthy sometimes had, self-important and self-assured.
Reed always said he had no idea what she was talking about, but Jodi knew she was right. Perhaps because she didn't have that manner herself; despite her father's comfortable income as a vet, they'd never lived high. After her mother's death he'd lost interest in most outside things, and he'd put most of what he made away for her, the rest back into the clinic, and often let bills slide for those who couldn't afford to pay for the treatment of a beloved pet. She would never have to worry, but she wasn't in the Keating class.
"Come in," Regina said at the door, "I have a hot meal waiting."
And there was another difference, Jodi thought, although she said nothing beyond "Thank you." In Jodi's world, that would mean Regina had prepared the food. In Regina's world, it meant that she'd ordered it up from the cook and housekeeper, Marie Warner.
They ate silently, and Jodi guessed Reed felt as she did, that this was not a meal to be enjoyed but merely fuel so they could continue. She was no longer as casual about Garrett's absence as she had been earlier; the boy had never been gone this long, not since the day of his mother's funeral.
"You're sure nothing was wrong with Garrett today?" she asked Regina.
Wrong, she realized even as she said it, was a relative term. The boy had been worse than restless in the year since his mother had died. While Jodi seemed to have some luck relating to him—the boy loved animals and so was drawn to her, spending hours with her that she'd found surprisingly enjoyable—Reed couldn't get through to him most of the time. And the boy's antipathy to his aunt was worse, although perhaps more understandable. Regina had tried to step into Darlene's shoes, in the boy's mind usurping his mother's place, and he naturally resented it.
"What could be wrong?" Regina answered, sounding genuinely puzzled.
"I just wondered if there was anything bothering him."
"Enough to make him run away?" Regina asked. "What could? He's only a child."
Who lost his mother tragically, Jodi thought. Sometimes Regina didn't seem to credit Garrett with real feelings, as if they were something only adults were entitled to.
But while the woman didn't hide the fact that she didn't miss Darlene much, she at least was discreet around Garrett. Although Garrett was a very bright boy, and Jodi was fairly sure he knew his aunt hadn't liked his mother. And if she had to guess, she'd say that was the reason the boy rebelled. Or at least part of the reason; she supposed any child would occasionally mutiny against Regina's rather strict rules.
But none of that helped at the moment. Now that it was long past dark—which came late this time of year anyway—she was seriously worried. Garrett might be unhappy and rebellious at the moment, but he was also nine years old and had never been away from home alone all night.
When they'd finished eating, Regina came around to her brother's chair at the head of the table and laid a hand on his shoulder. "You must take a nap, at least."
"I can't, not while Garrett's out there somewhere."
"But you can't keep going without rest," Regina protested.
"She's right," Jodi said, putting her hand gently on his arm. Reed looked haggard, with dark circles beneath his eyes and lines of strain creasing his handsome face. "Just rest on the couch for a while. You won't go too deeply asleep, and can hear if the phone rings."
He protested, but not too strongly. Jodi knew he kept a very full schedule, here and in the office in what passed as Keating's Port's city hall. The small room downtown served double duty as the mayor's office and the place where he ran the various interests of Keating Properties. The family company owned several small shopping centers in Keating's Port and neighboring towns, a couple of apartment buildings, two office buildings, and large percentages of several other solid companies. The management duties kept him fairly busy and he was grateful, Jodi knew, that Regina was willing to be her nephew's surrogate mother.
Jodi watched Regina get him a blanket and pillow and settle him on the couch in the living room. It clearly gave Regina pleasure to fuss over her little brother, even now, and Jodi didn't feel it was her place to intrude. She also knew that Reed would have preferred she feel it was her place, but she was in no hurry to advance their relationship that next step.
The couch was an ornate Victorian-looking affair, trimmed with carved, dark wood, and privately Jodi doubted anybody could really sleep on the thing. Her choices ran more to comfort than decor, but Regina's taste was, she'd been told, impeccable.
Guess that means I have none, she thought with a rueful, inward smile as she retreated to the kitchen, the only room in this huge house that she really liked. Well, the kitchen and Garrett's bedroom, which, despite Regina's efforts, had the warmth and chaos of any nine-year-old's room. Clothes were picked up promptly on Regina's order, but the other usual debris adorned the floor. Piles of books— including several on wild animals mat Jodi herself had given him—and various toys cluttered the shelves, with, she'd often been secretly pleased to notice, the more expensive ones shoved to the back.
The only real bone of contention was the walls; Garrett wanted them covered with posters, Regina insisted on no holes or tape. Years ago she had carefully selected some expensive prints for the room, prints that Garrett now found painfully babyish, but Regina was adamant that they were fine, and the boy had to learn the difference between quality and tacky.
Jodi wondered if Regina would have a change of heart now, after this scare. If she would bend her rules a bit, once Garrett was home safe.
Which he would be, soon, Jodi said to herself fervently. Any other option was unthinkable. But she couldn't help wondering how many others had said mat about their missing children, and had ended up facing tragedy. 
Chapter 3
John Taylor Trager's hand tightened around the telephone receiver. He'd debated over having a phone installed at all when he'd first moved in, and had decided for it only because of his parents; now he wished he'd gone the other way. His father had given the number to Matt, and now J.T. was in a dilemma.
Stop it, he told himself sharply. You owe Matt Hall your life, miserable one that it is. He's in that wheelchair because of you.
He knew Matt would never say it, would probably never even think it; he'd just been doing his job. But J.T. thought it. Often.
And only now had Matt ever asked for anything in return. At first it had just been to wonder if Debbie had contacted him when she'd been in Keating's Port. The inquiry had surprised J.T.; he barely knew Debbie, and didn't figure she'd have any desire to contact him. He said so, and explained he didn't answer the phone much anyway, or even have an answering machine. He'd been the same way before he'd left home, so he knew Matt would understand. Then Matt had switched tacks, had asked for help in finding his loving but impulsive little sister. 
And instead of jumping at the chance to pay Matt back a little, J.T. thought, he'd been hiding in the woods, making only an occasional token effort at fulfilling a small enough request from the one man who had the right to ask the world from him.
"J.T.?"
"I... Yeah, Matt, I'm here. Sorry. And I'm sorry I don't have any news yet."
"I wouldn't push, I know you're having a tough time, but..."
"I understand. Time's passing." Now there was a philosophical truth, J.T. thought wryly.
"Without anything," Matt said, and J.T. couldn't miss the worry in his old friend's voice. "We last heard from her right before she supposedly left there, over two months ago. I know she's an adult, she has her own life, and she's a bit ... careless, but there's something wrong. I can feel it."
"I'll get on it hard," he promised. "I'll call you. Soon."
He meant it when he said it, J.T. thought as he hung up. But he had absolutely no idea if he could follow through. He knew it would be stirring up a hornet's nest, and he wasn't sure he could deal with that. He seemed to have lost the ability to do anything beyond the simplest of tasks. He was a damn basket case, unable to even try to help one of the few friends he still had.
When it comes right down to it, I’m better off than you are.
Matt's words echoed in his head with a frightening volume and clarity. And he knew Matt believed it; he might be in a wheelchair, paralyzed from the waist down, but he wouldn't trade his lot for J. T.'s.
If you could see me now, Matt, you'd know just how right you are, J.T. thought wearily. Pitiful. So pitiful even a nine-year-old kid can see it, and feel sorry for me.
Slowly, he got to his feet, He stared out into the darkness. He might not be able to do anything about Matt's problem right now, but he could at least make an effort for a missing child.
He picked up the phone again, and put in a quick call to the number on Chet Holland's card. Someone else answered, and he was told the Keating boy was, sadly, still missing.
He pulled on his heavy socks and boots, grabbed his anorak from the peg by the door, and stepped out into the night.
Regina felt a twinge of unease when she realized she'd lose track of Jodi. She started to leave the parlor—no matter what anyone else called it, she always called it that, because her mother had—but stopped in the doorway to cast a last glance at her sleeping brother, feeling the warmth that always flooded her when she looked at him.
Reed had fulfilled her every dream for him, had come so far even from the bright, handsome boy he'd been. She had done everything she could to help him through the horror of their parents' deaths, and he had rewarded her with the kind of devotion she'd always longed for. They had achieved the perfect balance of love and respect, and every day she awoke to take pleasure in the world she'd created for them.
He'd learned literally at her knee, and while she kept her position as CEO, it was Reed who now handled the daily operations of all the Keating interests. She was delighted at his success; it proved her love for him had been fruitful, and her faith in him well founded. She was proud, very proud, of both her brother and her own work in producing the man he was today. The future rolled out ahead of them, perfect and unchanging.
His son was a little slower to come around, but Regina was certain he would fall into line. When he got a little older she would teach him just as she had Reed, and he would learn.
Perhaps, she thought as she turned out the light, she would start as soon as the boy came home. He would come home, she was sure of that; he was just trying to get attention. He was a smart child, perhaps she'd waited too long, let him run wild too long. Once she started to teach him, he wouldn't have time to think up such mischief as disappearing and leaving them all to worry. And they would go on just as she had planned.
She walked back to the dining room to see if the cook had cleared the table, and found Jodi picking up the last of the glasses. She frowned.
"Where's Mrs. Warner?"
"She's washing, I'm carrying."
Regina sighed. Jodi had never learned how to deal with servants. Regina doubted she'd ever had any; her father had been a spendthrift in his early days, letting clients get by with not paying his bills, or spending money recklessly on extravagant gifts for his wife, who had repaid him by dying young.
"You should let Mrs. Warner do that," Regina told Jodi. "It's her job, after all."
Jodi shrugged. "I needed the distraction."
Regina couldn't doubt the girl was genuinely concerned about Garrett. The two had become fast friends, something Regina hadn't been sure about at first. But the hours the boy spent helping her look after injured animals had seemed harmless enough. Regina had looked upon it as a sort of free baby-sitting, an advantage not lost on her since it liberated her to tend to other business. But sometimes she wondered if some of the boy's stubbornness and foolish ideas hadn't come from Jodi Campion.
"Perhaps you should go home and get some rest yourself, dear," Regina said. "You've been searching as long as Reed has, you must be tired."
"I doubt I could sleep," Jodi said. "I'm truly worried now. Thinking of Garrett all alone, maybe scared, or even—"
"Let's not think about that." Her voice had sharpened, but she couldn't help it.
"I'm sorry," Jodi said quickly, and satisfyingly contrite. "I didn't mean to make things worse."
"That's all right, dear. We're all under a lot of stress at the moment. You just run along and take care of yourself."
"But I—"
"We'll call you if anything happens, of course."
Jodi acquiesced at last, and within moments was out the door and on her way home. She declined Regina's offer to have their driver, Harvey, take her home, saying the half-mile walk would clear her head. Regina didn't press and simply escorted her out.
Regina closed the door the moment the girl was out of sight. She took in a deep breath. This was better, but the house still felt out of balance. She was a little surprised, she wouldn't have thought the boy's absence would leave such a hole, but it did. This was significant, she thought. And she was not one to miss such signs when they were presented to her.
Yes, as soon as he returned, she would begin Garrett's instruction. It was time he learned what it meant to be a Keating.
Jodi woke up with a start. She blinked rapidly at the unexpected light pouring in through her bedroom window. Slowly she sat up, yawning as she glanced at the bedside clock. Surprised to see that it was after six, she stretched, frowning at the restriction of her twisted sweatshirt.
She'd lain down in her clothes, not expecting to sleep, but obviously she had. She vaguely recalled checking her answering machine in the hopes there had been a development during her walk home, and then sitting down on her bed to pull off her shoes. That was the last she remembered. There had not been a recurrence of the nighttime noises and sensation of someone lurking that had been bothering her of late, but neither had there been the hoped-for jangle of the phone to tell her Garrett had been found.
Perhaps Regina had simply not called, not wanting to disturb her. If it were anything less than this, she herself would hesitate to call and disrupt Reed's much needed sleep.
But it wasn't anything less, and if Garrett indeed had not returned or been found by now, she was going to slip right over from worry into panic.
Regina answered on the second ring, sounding cool, composed, and in control as usual. And wide awake, Jodi thought, hoping it was because there had been good news, but fearing it was because the woman never slept.
"It's Jodi, Regina. Is there any news?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Oh, God," Jodi murmured, the sinking feeling near her heart making her almost dizzy. "How is Reed?"
"Upset, of course. He'll be leaving shortly to begin to search again. He's going to—"
She broke off, and Jodi heard her say something to someone else in the room. She could tell by the woman's tone it was Reed; nobody else got that loving resonance from her. That pang of envy returned; an only child, she'd never known such a thing. She was sure there would have been times she would have hated a sibling, but she'd have put up with it just to have one.
"Jodi?"
Reed sounded beyond Regina's description of upset. He sounded nearly distraught, and she made herself speak calmly. "Yes, Reed. What can I do?"
"Come over," he said simply. "I need you here."
She hesitated for an instant. She wasn't comfortable with being needed like that, not when she wasn't sure where this relationship was going. They'd been drawn into it mainly through Garrett; Reed had known the boy was spending time with her, so had checked her out. A reasonable response from a responsible parent, she'd thought, and she'd liked him for it. And then, a few weeks ago, they'd slid into a casual dating situation. Casual to her, anyway. But Reed...
She quickly quashed her reservations; this was not the time to worry about such things. Not when there was a little boy out there who needed help.
"I'll be there as soon as I can," she said.
She hung up and began to move. She tried to distract herself by concentrating on the tasks of hurriedly showering and washing her hair, thankful her short, casual cut allowed her to dry it with a minimum of time with a blow dryer. She dressed quickly in clean jeans and a cotton blouse in deference to what she'd heard would be another sunny day. She clipped on the beeper she always wore in case of some kind of wildlife emergency.
But nothing could really distract her from the now grim knowledge that this was not simply a case of a late child, that Garrett was really missing. She'd been kidding herself before. Or been in complete denial, sure that nothing could ever happen to Garrett here in Keating's Port. And while that might be true as far as human actions went, at least from the locals, there was always the possibility of some twisted stranger passing through. Not to mention that there were a myriad of natural dangers about, from animals to the kind of incident that had killed his mother.
And she was furious with herself for being such a fool.
She looked in the mirror, decided on only a brush of blush and a touch of mascara, and was out the door in twenty-five minutes. She ran to the clinic, did a quick check of the current tenants, fed and watered them.
Another day, she muttered to herself as she hurried through the tasks, she would really, truly get around to sorting through her father's business papers, and all his files. He'd had a habit of setting them down wherever he was, and it had always been up to her to gather them up and put them back in the file cabinets, personal ones at the house, patient ones here, and a few important papers in the safe in his office. But it was going to be a painful job, and one she'd postponed and postponed and postponed. She knew she would have to do it soon. But not today.
She dashed back to the house for her car, thinking she might need it later, once they'd decided what to do. Stifling a yawn, she eased the red Jeep out onto the street. There was some traffic even at this early hour, she could see it down on the main highway that ran through town; Washingtonians rose early on clear late-summer days, wanting to make the most of that rare commodity of sunshine while it was still around.
But as she made the turn at the corner, she realized immediately that there was something more going on; in front of the small post office there was a crowd gathering. Curious, she slowed as she passed.
And then she hit the brakes; that was J. T. Trager's battered truck stopped on the street. Not parked, but stopped, pulled into the curb at a strange angle. As if he'd had to dodge the long, big-finned car that sat in front of him, facing the wrong way.
Branch Elliott's car. Or boat, as some called it.
Jodi felt a queasiness in her stomach, and swiftly pulled off the road into the parking lot. She jumped out of her car and started toward the knot of noisy people.
"Jodi! Jodi, help!"
Her pulse leapt at the familiar voice. Garrett. He was all right!
She began to run. Garrett was all right, and would soon be home safe. He'd be back at the clinic, helping her fuss over the wounded wild ones, asking his myriad questions. And she would welcome it, even more than before. She would—
She skidded to a halt as she reached the tumultuous group. Her eyes widened when she saw Trager, backed up against the outside wall of the small post office. His expression was unreadable until he saw her, and a flicker of recognition and something else she couldn't name showed in his face. There were at least a half-dozen people crowded around, including Branch and, behind him as always, his watchful brother.
And in the center, in Branch's tight grasp, was Garrett.
"Jodi!" the boy yelled again, wrestling against the heavy hands on his shoulders. She had her mouth open to snap at Branch to let the boy go when he either decided on his own it would be best or Garrett twisted free. The boy ran to her, throwing his arms around her waist. She hugged him tightly, startled at the fierceness of the emotion that flooded her. She put her hand on his soft brown hair, than cupped his cheeks and tilted his head back. Wide doe-brown eyes looked up at her with a relief that made her feel oddly warm inside. Although dirty, he was apparently unharmed, but she felt compelled to make sure.
"You're all right?"
"Sure I am," he said without hesitation.
His immediate response and the living warmth beneath her hands quieted the last vestiges of panic within her.
"But, Jodi, you gotta help. They're all mad at J.T.!"
She lifted her head then, and looked at the man leaning against the wall. If being the target of what was beginning to feel like a small mob bothered him, it didn't show. He simply stood there, his face impassive.
"Take the boy on home," Branch said. "We'll handle this."
"Jodi," Garrett said urgently.
"It's okay, Garrett. Branch doesn't run everything around here, although he'd like to."
She heard Branch mutter something under his breath, felt rather than saw Chuck's intent gaze narrowing on her, but she ignored them and concentrated on Garrett, soothing the boy with a gentle hand on his shoulder. He didn't pull away from her, which gave her a small bit of satisfaction.
"But they're saying awful things, and it's not true! J.T. didn't hurt me! I tried to tell them but they wouldn't listen."
"It's not that we don't listen," Carol Wright, who had been hanging back but now stepped forward, said kindly. "But sometimes grown-ups see things you're too young to understand." She glanced at Jodi. "Chet's on his way."
"You don't listen," Garrett insisted. "Nobody listens to me except J.T. And you," he added quickly, hugging Jodi again. "He would never hurt me, he's my friend."
"Yeah," Branch sneered, "and we all know what it means when a grown man makes 'friends' with a little boy!"
Jodi went still at the nasty insinuation. Her gaze flicked on Trager. His face was no longer impassive; he wore an expression of pure horror.
"I'll bet we interrupted him yesterday," Branch went on. "Probably had to stash the boy in a hurry—"
"I don't know what stash means, but J.T. didn't do it. He found me in the woods this morning, fixed me breakfast, and was bringing me home." Garrett was sounding angry now, and Jodi recognized the stubborn set of his chin. "Until you almost made us crash," he added, glaring at Branch.
There were some rumblings from the others. Whether it was because there was normally so little excitement in Keating's Port, or because they were still so suspicious of the reclusive Trager that they imagined he'd been up to something nefarious she didn't know, but she'd had about enough. It had taken only a glimpse of that look in the man's eyes to convince her he would never, ever harm a child.
"I'm ashamed of the bunch of you," she said sharply. "You should be grateful Garrett's here and safe, but all you can do is stand here and make up wild theories about the man who brought him home. You need to get a life!"
Some of them had the grace to look abashed, except Branch, of course, who only looked mulish, and Chuck, who only looked.
"Frances, I would think you'd know better," Jodi said, singling out the woman who looked the most uneasy. "You've been on the receiving end of this kind of thing, after all." 
The woman flushed; it had been years ago, but when her daughter had been arrested at school for possession of drugs, the rumors had flown about where she'd gotten them, and some of the wilder ones had accused Frances of supplying them from her own stock at the store. Sanity had eventually prevailed, and her daughter had confessed she'd bought them from another student—Colleen's precious Danny, in fact—but it had been a rough couple of days for the woman.
"And you all have no more grounds to accuse Mr. Trager of anything man there was grounds to accuse Frances. Just because he keeps to himself, you—"
"I don't need you to defend me, and I don't need your pity!"
Jodi stopped at the unexpected interruption as Trager spoke for the first time. It wasn't that he'd spoken or even so much what he'd said that startled her, but rather the fierce vehemence with which he'd said it. And the glint of an equally fierce anger in his eyes only deepened her unease.
She was grateful when a sheriff's unit pulled up before she could respond to Trager's furious declaration. Chet got out and, ignoring the clamor, went straight to Jodi and Garrett. She told him what she knew, and then Chet leaned down to the boy.
"Why don't you come over to my car and tell me what happened, Garrett."
The boy looked up at Jodi. "It's all right, Garrett," she assured him. "Chet will listen to you."
The gibe didn't miss its mark with the others, and when Chet led the boy away they all stayed put.
"Has anyone called Reed?" Jodi asked. She should have thought of it sooner, but at the time calming Garrett down had seemed more important. That, and diverting them from doing Trager bodily harm. Although she wasn't at all sure right now that she'd judged the man accurately, not after that flash of pure anger.
"I did," Dean Walsh said. "His sister said he was already out looking again, but she'd get him on his cell phone."
"If he doesn't get here by the time Chet's through, then I'll just take Garrett home."
By the time Chet led the boy back, the rumblings had subsided, and only Branch continued to glare at Trager; the others had fallen back on surreptitious glances that seemed more curious than suspicious.
"Garrett's fine, aren't you?" Chet said, and the boy nodded. "Just had some things to think about, and walked a little too far, didn't you?"
Garrett nodded again. Jodi guessed there was more to it than that, but she wasn't going to pursue it here.
"And J.T. found me and brought me home," the boy added rather intensely, eyeing the gathered people balefully. And Jodi smothered a smile at the way they shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny of a nine-year-old child.
"It's just a formality, but Garrett and I are going to head over to Doc Marten's, make sure he didn't run into anything nasty out in the woods, then I'll take him home," Chet said.
Stan Marten, who took endless ribbing about being Doc Marten in the land were the shoes of the same name were so ubiquitous, was the only physician in town. He was also a consultant for the sheriff's office when necessary, which they all knew. And it didn't take much of a jump to guess that Chet would be taking the boy there for more than simply a check for poison ivy.
Including, it seemed, Trager; an echo of that horrified look flashed in his eyes again at the hint that he might have molested the boy in some twisted way. She saw him swallow tightly, and suddenly the memory of his anger didn't seem quite so strong.
"You mean you're not even going to take him in?" Branch sounded incredulous. "For questioning or something?"
"I have no cause now, and unless the Doc comes up with something, which I don't expect, I'll have no cause later."
For a quiet, unassuming man, Chet Holland could project a great deal of presence, Jodi thought. He shut Branch up, in any case. She decided to take advantage of it.
"I'll let Reed know," she said. "Shall I have him meet you at Doc Marten's?"
"Fine," Chet said. "Ready, Garrett?"
"He's not gonna do anything that hurts, is he?" the boy asked warily.
"I don't know," Chet said. Then, with a pluck at the boy's grimy shirt, he added teasingly, "Peeling those clothes off might hurt a bit."
Garrett laughed. Jodi smiled. "You know, Mr. Holland, you're going to make one heck of a father."
The deputy blushed, but his smile betrayed mat his pleasure in her words was greater than his embarrassment.
"Thanks," he said. "I hope you're right."
He didn't let her praise make him forget his responsibilities, and turned to eye the gathered group for a moment. Then he turned his attention to Trager.
"Thanks for bringing the boy in, Mr. Trager."
Jodi didn't think she was imagining the tone of respect in Chet's voice. She wondered if it was genuine, or a tactic to let the others know he wouldn't stand for any further harassment. Whichever it was, it worked. And as Chet held his gaze for a moment, Trager seemed to read something there. With a short nod he pushed away from the wall. The others parted for him, reluctantly, but he didn't even look at them.
He did glance at Jodi, but his face was once again unreadable. If she hadn't seen it herself, she would never have suspected him capable of the kind of anger she'd seen there.
"Thank you." His words were both gruff and unexpected. And so grudging it irked her.
"I don't need your thanks," she said, echoing his earlier words without really thinking about it. "I'm just interested in fairness."
For a long moment he just looked at her. Then he said, "Don't bother. I gave up on fairness a long time ago."
Her irritation vanished. It didn't matter that he'd said it utterly without emotion. In fact, that made it worse, made her unable to doubt that he meant exactly what he said. He had given up, and she suspected on more than just fairness. She couldn't stop the compassion, distress, and sympathy that flooded her.
But this was the same man who had turned that furious glare on her. Was she being a fool? Was there indeed the capacity for violence in this man?
In that instant, when she'd felt the heat in his glare, she'd found she could almost picture him pushing someone aside in a fit of anger. Or maybe, just maybe, over a cliff. 
Chapter 4
He'd known better. He'd known better, but he'd gone ahead and done it anyway. Opened the door to a world that had wasted no time in flooding in.
J.T. ran his hands through his hair and rubbed at his scalp, as if massaging the outside of his head would ease the confusion inside. He hadn't gotten to sleep until just before dawn, but he knew what little sleep he'd managed was going to be it; while he was still tired, his mind had leapt into high gear the moment he'd opened his eyes.
When he'd come here, he had almost reached a state of... not peace, but at least calm. He didn't expect peace, but the isolation here had let him at least get close to some kind of equilibrium. At least he'd finally beaten down the rage.
Most of it, anyway.
But then his isolation had been broken.
The boy didn't really look at all like the child who lived in his memory and haunted his dreams. And Gary—or Garrett, he reminded himself—had seemed so oddly melancholy and angry combined, it would have taken more cruelty than he had in him to turn away his tentative, shy overtures of friendship.
And now he finds out the kid is, of all people, Keating's son...
J.T. rolled out of the alcove that was nearly filled by the large, built-in bed he'd added when he realized he was simply too tall for the old, smaller one. Not that it had helped him sleep any, he thought as he tugged on a pair of sweats and blearily made his way out into the main room. He saw that the fire in the fireplace had dwindled to embers, and tended to that first. It wasn't necessary, in fact would make the house uncomfortably warm later, but that didn't matter. He didn't think about it, he just did it, as he did every day.
He sat on his heels watching as it caught and flared. It seemed so inviting and tame here. Even the occasional pop as the resin in the logs heated up and exploded wasn't threatening, not confined here by the stone. Fire under control. Giving little hint of what it could do if cut loose.
He fought the urge to look upward, fought the temptation to torture himself further by looking at the photograph, the mantel's sole ornament. He didn't often allow himself to dodge looking into the eyes of the portrait, the eyes that were so like his own, but today he needed that small mercy.
He rose quickly, turning his back on the growing heat. Thoroughly awake now, he walked to the kitchen that lined the opposite wall. It was, as was the rest of the cabin, painfully tidy; it helped kill time to keep it that way. And it was a bit of a challenge; the place was old in the first place, and it had sat empty and neglected after the owner— who had apparently been the town eccentric—had died.
So now I'm the town eccentric, he thought as he set up the coffeemaker.
He'd heard enough, even before yesterday, to know that he was regarded with suspicion by many. It had surprised him, since all he'd ever done was keep to himself. It was nothing unusual where he'd come from, and he hadn't realized how it would stand out here. And that it would make people used to the everybody knows everybody kind of rapport uneasy.
He guessed it made sense; he'd never seen a more peaceful place. Perhaps that was the problem; maybe it was too peaceful, so they grabbed at any bit of excitement that came along.
Or maybe, as Jodi Campion had said, they simply needed to get a life.
Jodi Campion.
Even if that group had lost control, he had a feeling that she would have stopped them; she certainly seemed to be determined to save him.
He had no idea why; he'd barely spoken to her except for that day he'd found the injured raccoon. Reluctantly unable to just let it die, and remembering Gary—Garrett— talking about his friend who helped wild animals, he had taken the animal to the clinic, only to find it closed. But she had been there.
When he'd realized it was closed because her father had died just a few weeks before, he'd almost changed his mind. But she'd assured him that while she wasn't a vet, she was the wildlife rehabilitator. And she could help his furry friend.
He hadn't explained that his concern had been for her, not for her ability to treat the creature. Her blue eyes were red-rimmed and slightly swollen, as if she'd been crying, and he knew that feeling of grief too well to want to say anything that might upset what was likely a delicate balance.
She'd been gentle with the raccoon, friendly to him, and it hadn't been until after she was through and the little masked bandit was resting comfortably with his left foreleg in a splint that he'd realized he'd passed an entire afternoon rather pleasantly. He hadn't been sure how that made him feel, and he'd made a quick—and probably rude, he admitted—exit.
Now, tired of waiting for the caffeine hit he needed so badly, he pulled the pot out from under the stream of coffee, filled his mug, then switched them back. The missed drops hissed on the hot plate beneath, but he'd done it quickly enough to keep the splash to a minimum, and wiped it clean easily. His mother had always teased him about his tidiness, calling it an occupational hazard, which he supposed it was. Rebecca had said it was the main reason she'd married him—
He veered away from that memory, and with his mug in hand he went out to the front porch.
It was a beautiful morning, the sun already filtering through the trees. It was no doubt one of the few remaining days like this they would have; he'd only been here a year, but he knew soon the gloom would set in for weeks, even months on end. But it was the price for such beauty, and since it matched his mood most days, he didn't care much.
He sipped at the hot liquid. Straight coffee, not espresso, no flavors, no exotic ingredients, none of the things so prevalent these days, especially here in the Northwest. It wasn't so much that he was a traditionalist as that he didn't have the energy to learn anything new, even about something as basic as coffee. He'd gotten his life down to a numbing routine that required little thought. He had liked it that way.
And then Garrett had come along.
And up until yesterday, he hadn't guessed that Garrett was starved for someone to simply listen.
The faint sound of a vehicle on the gravel above pulled him out of his reverie. He wouldn't have heard it at all if he'd been inside. He rarely had visitors, and never by car, so he guessed that this had to be the deputy sheriff he'd seen so much of lately. He didn't mind; the man clearly knew his job, and he seemed to be fair-minded The man had even stopped by last night to pass along the verdict from Doc Marten, that Garrett indeed was unharmed and in need of nothing more than a good scrubbing.
After he'd gone J.T. had not bothered hiking up to lock the gate, which had apparently netted him this return visit.
He heard the footsteps coming down the rocky steps.
When he saw who it was, he went very still.
She negotiated the steep steps carefully, but with grace. At the bottom she stopped dead, looking at him as if she'd only now realized he was standing there on the covered porch.
She was smaller than he remembered. Or perhaps it was just that she'd looked bigger, charging through that crowd yesterday like a lithe red fox, turned suddenly fierce because her kits were threatened.
He hadn't wanted her help. Hadn't wanted her to defend him. But he'd only been able to watch. Watch the temper flare in her vivid blue eyes, watch her cow the others with sheer presence.
The sun coming through the trees lit up her tousled, cropped hair, turning it to a gleaming cap of spun silk fire. He could see a scattering of freckles across the nose that turned up slightly at the tip. From where he stood, all he could see behind her was the rich green of the woods, and the contrast in colors made her look for all the world like some kind of elf who'd wandered into his small clearing by mistake.
She seemed suddenly shy, a stark contrast to the indomitable woman he'd seen yesterday, or even the competent, compassionate healer he'd seen working on the injured creature he'd brought to her. But once she started to move toward him again, her head came up and her stride was confident, as if she'd fought off doubt and was determined to do ... whatever it was she was here for.
"Hello," she said as she reached the porch steps.
He nodded without speaking, not sure he dared say anything. Half convinced something ridiculous would come out, something that was floating too close to the surface and that he didn't really mean.
"I wanted to thank you," she said.
Thank him? For what? Jumping down her throat when she reined in the angry crowd who wanted to string him up from the post office flagpole?
"I suppose no one else bothered. They're not usually that way, really, but a missing child brings out both the worst and the best in people, I guess. And with Branch around, the worst tends to win."
He'd heard someone call the ringleader by that name. He supposed he should be relieved that the man apparently had a reputation. He'd certainly seen people like that before, and had seen the damage they could do.
She was looking at him, waiting, and he realized he had yet to say a word. With an effort, he managed to say, "There's one in every crowd."
She seemed relieved, as if she'd expected him not to answer at all. And he had to admit the thought had occurred to him. But he felt just badly enough about being so sharp with her that he'd felt compelled to, just as he'd felt compelled to thank her yesterday.
He didn't like it in either case.
"Reed will come by to thank you soon, I'm sure, but right now he's focused on Garrett being home and safe."
"Tell him not to bother."
She looked at him for a moment, her gaze level and more discerning than was comfortable. "Like you don't bother looking for fairness?"
He flinched inwardly. He hadn't meant to say that yesterday, hadn't meant to reveal even that much of his battered soul. He'd been right to keep his mouth shut around her; she wasn't the type to miss much.
"Do you?" he countered, trying to divert her.
She gave it more thought than it deserved. "I think people notice unfairness more. Because fairness is the way things should be, we don't pay that much attention when it's there."
"Some people," he said, "don't notice unfairness at all."
"Usually," she said, "they're the ones who benefit somehow from that unfairness."
He was surprised by the cynicism of her words. It must have shown, because her mouth quirked at one corner.
"Why do I get the feeling you've gotten a Pollyanna impression of me?"
You don't want to know the impression I've gotten of you, he said to himself.
Even as the words formed in his mind he recoiled from them. Recoiled because of the words that went with them, the words that named the impression he had of her. Words like smart, clever, compassionate, courageous, generous. Concepts like integrity, kindness, and yes, fairness.
And beauty. Oh, yes, there was that, too. No denying it.
"—grown up here, but I'm not blind."
He made himself focus, skittering away from that dangerous territory like those drops of coffee had skittered on the hot plate.
"We have our share of sheep who follow whoever leads, as anyplace does," she went on, "but most of Keating's Port isn't like that."
"I wouldn't know." He sounded a little stiff, but he was still a little shaken by his earlier thoughts.
"No, I suppose you wouldn't. You don't... get out much, do you?" The question seemed a little blunt, from her, and she seemed to realize it just as he did. And spoke hurriedly. "Look, I didn't... That wasn't... I mean, you have every right..."
She stopped, floundering. He looked at her steadily, feeling composed now. "Yes, I do. Every right."
She sighed. "I'm sorry. I guess I was just thinking that if people knew you, they might not..."
"Suspect me of some particularly odious felonies?" he supplied when her voice trailed off. Then, unable to stop himself, he asked, "Tell me, Miss Campion, why are you so sure I'm innocent?"
"Because there's no evidence that you're not," she said, so immediately he had the feeling she'd had to explain herself before. "And Garrett says you're his friend."
"Your Branch has a point, about grown men who make friends with little boys," he said, not sure what was making him poke at this like a sore tooth.
"He's not my Branch," she shot back. Then, with a curious look, she added, "You really see it that way, though, don't you? You and us? You've been here for year, but you're not part of Keating's Port."
"No." He hesitated, then added, "As you said, my right."
"Yes. But it does explain people being ... suspicious."
"But you're not."
"I know you would never hurt a child," she said, with a certainty that surprised him. "I saw—" She stopped, and he wondered what she'd been about to say, what she'd seen that had convinced her so thoroughly.
But suddenly it occurred to him what she was not saying.
"And murder?" he asked softly. "Are you sure I'm not capable of that?"
For the first time, doubt flickered in her eyes. As if she'd actually said it, he was certain she was remembering his anger yesterday.
And he knew that while Jodi Campion was somehow certain he'd never molest a child, she was still wary. And she wasn't completely certain he wasn't capable of murder.
She was, he thought, a very sharp lady. 
Chapter 5
Jodi was still feeling the effects of the chill that had rippled through her at J. T. Trager's words as she stopped at the clinic to check on her charges.
And murder? Are you sure I'm not capable of that?
No, she wasn't. She, who usually assumed everyone was good at heart, wasn't sure at all. Trager was unlike anybody she'd known, with his secretive ways and haunted eyes. He looked, she thought as she parked, as caged as some of her wounded creatures. And she wondered if the cage was of his own making, or—
She stopped midmotion, staring at the front door of the clinic. Or rather at what had been the front door; it was shattered now, the safety window her father had ordered for the protection of his patients thankfully holding together what could have been hideously dangerous shards of razor-sharp glass.
For a moment she just sat there, shocked. Vandalism wasn't unheard of in Keating's Port, but it was rare, and she had certainly never been the victim before.
Maybe it had just been an accident, she thought as she at last got out of her vehicle and headed toward the damaged door. Her first concern was for the animals, but it didn't appear that anyone had gotten inside; the door itself was still locked.
It was when she reached for the handle to test it that she spotted a piece of paper tucked into the door handle. Her faith in those good-hearted people returned; obviously it had been just that, and the person had left a note.
She stepped carefully around the few small pieces of glass that had fallen to the ground, and reached for the note, already thinking about who she would have to call to get the door fixed, and wondering if the bill would be high enough for the insurance to kick in, or if it would be less than the deductible, in which case she would have to—
"BITCH!"
She stared at the unexpected word. The letters were big, all capitals, and written in broad, dark marker with a heavy hand. Anger seemed to radiate from the paper, she could almost feel it.
Her mind shot immediately to J. T. Trager. He'd been irascible, true, and he'd seemed determined to make her as suspicious of him as Branch was. But would he stoop to this?
Don't be silly, she told herself. He couldn't have beaten you here to do this, you came almost straight from his place.
Almost. She had stopped at the feed store to pick up a couple of small animal waterers she needed. But that had only taken her ten minutes, thanks to Mr. Olafson haying them ready and waiting for her.
She shook her head, almost to herself. This was too childish, she thought. She just couldn't picture Trager racing to beat her and bashing in her front window, just because she'd intruded on his privacy.
Of course, she admitted honestly, she couldn't see anybody she knew doing it. This seemed even beneath Branch, who was only too happy to confront people face-to-face.
But somebody had done it. This note was too pointed, too clearly aimed at her personally to believe it was some stranger just passing by and having the sudden urge to smash in a window in the quiet little town. She thought briefly of her prowler, of the noises she'd almost convinced herself were her imagination. But that had always been at home. Of course, he could have been here, too, and she just didn't know it. But this had happened in broad daylight; her prowler stuck to the cover of darkness.
She didn't quite know what to do. She should call the sheriff, she supposed, but what could they do? It was a sheet of simple copier paper, and she doubted the plain block letters would give anything away.
But she also knew Chet would chew her out if she didn't tell him, so she made the call. When he arrived, Chet was sympathetic, reassuring, and suitably perturbed. Especially when she told him about the prowling noises, although she felt a little silly since she'd never actually seen even a shadow.
He inspected the door, noted that the lock appeared intact, and then checked all other points of possible entry. She always locked up carefully, because there was still drugs her father had used inside—something she was going to have to address soon. The windows were secure, and the dead-bolted back door still tightly locked.
"If whoever it was was trying to get in, it doesn't seem they had much luck. Or they got scared off before they could finish," Chet said.
He took a report, but he confirmed Jodi's guess that there wasn't much to do about it. But he also took the note, saying he'd preserve it just in case. Jodi was sure it was an isolated incident, and after she'd called her insurance company, and arranged to have the broken door boarded up until the glass company could get there, she determined not to worry about it.
She hoped she had better luck putting this out of her mind than she'd had with J. T. Trager.
"You did what?"
"I went to thank him," Jodi explained again patiently, "since nobody else seemed about to. He did bring Garrett home, after all."
"Well, yes," Reed said, "but—"
"It seemed the gracious thing to do," Jodi said, knowing Regina had raised him to be very aware of such things. She didn't like pushing his buttons like this, but he was unreasonably touchy about Trager.
Reed stood up, coming out from behind his rosewood desk and crossing his luxurious home office in three long strides. He reached out and grasped her shoulders, but didn't speak. He didn't exert too much pressure, but she felt oddly trapped, and as soon as she could, she freed herself.
She moved over to the window and looked out at the perfectly manicured stretch of lawn that rolled down to the fifty-foot bank at the edge of the waters of Puget Sound, glittering now in the summer sun. She heard a distant, unseen boat's whistle give a blast, followed by two shorter blasts. Straight out she saw a large freighter, loaded with containers, headed into the port of Seattle.
An odd feeling welled up inside her, a feeling of love for this unique place she'd grown up in, an aching sadness that her father was no longer here to look at the vistas he'd so loved, and a touch of fear mat it might not last, that encroaching civilization would change life here irrevocably and forever.
They'd both agreed the less change here, the better. She didn't regret staying even though it had cost her; most of the young people her age had moved away, even her best friends. Besides Tracy, Chet's wife, there weren't many left she felt particularly close to, so she had to work harder at staying in touch with those who had left.
And then life had taken an unexpected turn, and her father was gone. Her chest tightened, and she blinked rapidly to fight the brimming of her eyes. And she almost welcomed Reed's intrusion on her thoughts.
"I suppose you were right to thank him," Reed finally agreed, coming up behind her. Then, with a rueful honesty that made Jodi feel even worse about pushing that button, he added, "I just wish you wouldn't spend so much time worrying about him."
"I'm not worried about him," she said, knowing even as she said it that it wasn't strictly true. "I'm worried about Keating's Port turning into a place where I don't want to live."
She hadn't intended it as a way to divert him this time, but it did just the same.
"That won't happen," he promised. "I'll see to that."
She told him then about the broken door and the note. He was outraged, and so solicitous of her feelings that she couldn't help but feel flattered. He did care, she was sure of that. It was her own feelings she was confused about.
"I won't let Keating's Port become a place where that kind of thing is commonplace or accepted," he said after she assured him she wasn't going to have a breakdown over it.
 "I know you won't," she said. "I'm sure it was just a fluke, somebody in a bad mood, or something like that."
Reed's brow furrowed. "You don't suppose it was Branch?"
She'd thought more about that on the way over here. She's stood up to him in a very public manner a lot in the past few days, and while he'd never been particularly nasty to her—at least, no more to her than anyone else—she doubted she'd endeared herself to him in the process.
"I don't know. Branch is a pain, but he's also not usually a sneak. Even when he's being an idiot, he does it in the open."
Reed chuckled. "He does that, whenever the opportunity arises. I think the time's come to rein him in. I'll keep him in line, even if I have to give him a job in the mayor's office just to keep an eye on him."
Jodi blinked, then smiled at him. Yes, Reed did care, and he understood more than she sometimes gave him credit for. "I wouldn't wish that on you," she said. "Maybe just a job in the town hall basement?"
Reed laughed, his demeanor considerably lighter than when she'd first arrived. She knew how much strain he'd been under when Garrett was missing, and yet he'd responded to her situation with immediate concern. Although nothing seemed to shake the unruffled exterior that she supposed came from years of practice; losing his parents so young must have taught him a lot about keeping his pain hidden, and Regina had taught him the polish.
"Thank you for taking care of expressing my ... appreciation to Trager," he said. "I promise I'll tell him myself, when I get a moment."
"I know you will," she said.
"And now that you've saved him from the unruly mob, he can go back to his isolation, since that seems to be what he wants."
There was no reason his simple—and quite true—statement should make her feel a sudden lurch. Of course it was what she should do. And it was clearly what Trager wanted, to be left alone. And with the doubts she had about him, she should be glad to do just that.
Shouldn't she?
"And we," Reed said, slipping his arms around her from behind, "can get on with our lives. Together."
Jodi went very still. She kept her gaze on the view, but she was focused entirely on his closeness. She'd always felt he was a step or two ahead of her in their short relationship, although he never pushed her too hard. He was a scrupulous gentleman, with a kind of courtly manner that appealed to her—and made her sometimes wonder why she was still so wary.
The sound of the door opening made her feel both relief and a new tension when she tried to pull away and Reed hung on. Regina stepped into the office, and Jodi could feel her gaze as if it were a physical thing. She turned her head, just in time to catch an odd expression flit across Regina's face at the sight of Jodi in her brother's arms.
It wasn't surprise, wasn't perturbation, or embarrassment, in fact wasn't anything Jodi could really name. The only thing that came to mind was that Regina looked like somebody who thought they'd made some kind of mistake.
Sorry she'd walked in on this, no doubt, Jodi thought. And this time when she stepped back, Reed let her go.
"Will you be joining us for dinner, Jodi?" Regina asked, her voice gracious, her expression cordial.
"Of course she will," Reed said. Jodi's natural instinct was to say "Of course she won't," but before she could Reed quickly asked, "Won't you?"
Mollified, she assented. Reed had quickly learned such high-handedness didn't sit well with her, and she had to credit him with trying hard to rein in the tendency that seemed to come with being a Keating in the town named after them. She appreciated his efforts, and she always warmed to their shared vision of the place they both loved.
"I'll tell Mrs. Warner to set another place," Regina said, sweeping out with all the regalness of her name.
But Jodi still found herself stepping away before Reed could put his arm around her again.
"So tell me, Jodi," Regina Keating said over her last cup of coffee, after Garrett had been pointedly excused to his room and Reed had gone to take a phone call, "what are your plans now that you're free?"
Jodi blinked. "Free?"
"Of course when your father, rest his soul, was alive, you stayed here to help him. Admirable. But now you can do as you wish."
It had, in fact, occurred to her one day several weeks after her father had died so unexpectedly of that virulent respiratory infection that she could leave Keating's Port if she wanted to. That there was no one to hold her here any longer. It had brought with it a sadness that was almost unbearable, and she'd cried for hours, for the first time since he'd died.
Her father had always wanted her to go to veterinary school herself, but she hadn't wanted to leave him, had insisted he needed her to handle the wild animals. But now, if she sold the clinic and the small house behind it, added it to what he'd left her, she would have a nest egg that would take her to just about any school she wanted to go to.
It had occurred to her, but she didn't think she could bear to leave for that long again. She loved this town—people like Branch aside—and she knew if she ever left she would spend most of her time wanting to return. Where others lamented the pacific Northwest's weather, Jodi welcomed it, savored it, and thought of it as a joy, not a price to pay for the evergreen world that surrounded them. It wasn't just that the comparison made the sunny days more precious, more spectacular, she truly loved all phases of life here, and couldn't imagine leaving it, especially for as long as it would take her to get through vet school. Besides, she liked what she did, and wanted to continue.
"I suppose I could," Jodi said, "but—"
"Keating's Port is such a small place, most young people can't wait to get out."
Jodi never quite got used to how Regina spoke as if she were of an older generation entirely, rather than just an older sister. True, there were fifteen years between her and Reed, but she acted as if it were twice that.
"It's only natural that they're restless," Jodi agreed mildly. "And most of my friends have gone to the city. But I had my time away, at school. And I couldn't wait to get back home."
It was true. Her father had insisted she needed to experience college life at its fullest, so she'd reluctantly gone to a distant California state university. She'd enjoyed her years in San Diego, had made some good friends among her classmates, had enjoyed the sun and sand and surf, but she'd too often longed for the rich, green coolness of home.
Regina sipped at her coffee before asking, "So you're not going to sell out and move?"
Jodi set down her cup; she had the oddest feeling she was being gently interrogated. Regina was unswayable when she was focused on something; it was easy to see how she'd managed to build the considerable holdings their parents had left into a small empire.
"No, I don't think so," Jodi said.
She'd given up on making unqualified assumptions the night her father had died when she'd been so certain he would get well; he'd been relatively young, and very healthy and fit, and his death in such a way had seemed an affront to any logic or reason. Moisture brimmed behind her lids, as it still tended to do when she thought about it, and she fought back the tears.
"No urge to live in a big city, or start a new career somewhere else?"
For a moment Jodi wondered if Regina's pointed questions were suggestions in disguise, if perhaps she thought Jodie should do something beyond what she'd been doing. And she had to admit, she wasn't going to be able to manage it much longer; keeping the entire clinic open for the occasional injured wild animal wasn't practical. And while she was a certified wildlife rehabilitator, and had the necessary federal and state permits, they had been granted under different circumstances and didn't necessarily guarantee she could continue; when they'd been issued, her father had been there to oversee things. She knew she was going to have to make a decision soon, before it was made for her, by some regulatory agency.
But leave here?
"No," she said simply. "This is home."
"Hmm."
Jodi studied the woman across the table for a moment. Regina usually displayed only a casual interest in her, and she wondered what had changed. The only thing she could think of was that moment when she had walked in on them in Reed's office. But why would that have sparked these particular questions? What did—
Her contemplation was interrupted by a sudden recollection, of the young woman Reed had briefly dated three or four months ago. It had been around the time her father had taken ill, so her recollection of that time was a little confused, but after a moment it began to come back to her. She couldn't remember her name, but the woman had come for a lengthy visit to Keating's Port, and everyone in town had been abuzz with speculation on how serious the relationship must be for her to come so far and stay so long. It had been the consensus that she was here to decide if she could live in the little town.
No one had been surprised when the answer was no. She'd been polished, sophisticated—shallow some said— along with California sun and city bred to the bone, and Keating's Port was not for her. She'd decamped swiftly and silently at the end of a month, headed for the bright lights. In fact, she'd hied herself directly off to New York City; apparently even California wasn't enough to help her recoup from her visit to the woods.
"So that's it," Jodi thought as Regina indicated the meal was finished and they should adjourn to the parlor, as she called it, to await Reed's return. She must be afraid I'll want to leave, and abandon Reed like that woman did.
Regina's concern warmed her. Even before her mother had become ill she'd been very aware that Henry and Margaret Campion had been more absorbed with each other than their daughter. There had never been any question of him remarrying; he mourned his wife until his own death, so Jodi had never even been close to having a sibling. Again she found herself envying Reed and Regina's strong bond.
It would be nice, she thought wistfully as she took a seat in a chair by the window, to be part of that bond. The Keatings were strong and united, even despite Garrett's current phase of minor troublemaking. Not for the first time she thought of what might happen if she started to encourage Reed's eagerness to advance their relationship. What it might be like to be part of this family unit.
The fact that a most attractive part of the idea was to be a parent of sorts to Garrett was something she didn't deny, although she knew that wouldn't be enough to make it work. But she liked Reed, was even proud of him on occasion. That she wasn't madly in love with him wasn't necessarily a drawback in her view. Her father had been passionately, completely in love with her mother, and where had it gotten him? When she'd died, she had taken the heart of him with her forever, leaving merely a shell for the daughter she'd left behind. Jodi didn't ever want to give that much of herself to anyone, so much that if he died or left her, she might as well die herself.
And Reed was just as acquainted with death as she was, first his parents, then Darlene. The familiarity with loss had been another common bond between them; it was a natural thing, she supposed, to find comfort in that. In fact, she'd wondered more than once if that wasn't a bigger part of the attraction than she realized; she knew she had a strong caretaker instinct, it was what had made her such a help to her father.
It might also explain why she couldn't get J. T. Trager off her mind. She'd never seen a man more haunted, wounded. Or more fascinating, she admitted ruefully. He was—
"Jodi, Jodi!"
Garrett's voice broke in on her musings. She was thankful; it didn't seem quite right to be standing here in Reed's home thinking about another man being fascinating.
She turned as the boy ran into the room. He was already clad in his pajamas, bright blue and populated with several varieties of dinosaurs.
"Well, you're ready for bed early," she said, returning the child's enthusiastic hug.
'"Cuz I'm still in trouble for not coming home," he said with an oddly adult resignation. "I have to go to bed early 'til Saturday."
"I see," Jodi said neutrally. She was careful not to insert herself into matters like this one between Garrett and his father and aunt. But this didn't seem too severe anyway, given the trouble the boy's actions had caused. "People do have to pay a price when they don't think."
Garrett grimaced, but didn't seem to take offense. Regina glanced at Jodi, a spark of respect in her gaze, before she turned back to her nephew.
"And you're supposed to be in bed now," Regina said sternly.
"I know, but Jodi's here." After a quick glance at Jodi, he looked at Regina. "Could Jodi tuck me in? Please?"
Jodi wasn't sure why she was certain Regina's first instinct was to say no. And again she stayed silent; she wasn't comfortable intruding into whatever disciplinary plan Regina and Reed had decided upon.
"Miss Campion stayed for dinner, not to take care of you," Regina said.
"I don't mind," Jodi said, then carefully added, "but it's up to you, of course."
"I'll go right to sleep, I promise," Garrett urged.
Regina was either tacitly thanking Jodi for her support, or she apparently wasn't as angry as Jodi had thought over Garrett's actions, because his wheedling worked.
"No more than ten minutes," she warned.
Jodi was gratified by Garrett's yelp of glee. She looked back at Regina as they headed for the stairs. "Ten minutes," she said, and Regina nodded, giving her a smile that was both charming and approving.
Feeling a bit like a student who'd managed to please a tough teacher, Jodi followed the boy upstairs. Garrett's room was, as usual, an oasis of clutter amid the perfectly kept house. Jodi wondered if Reed was required to keep his room as neat as the rest of the house, then realized he probably would anyway. Her own casual approach, clean, fairly tidy, but far from immaculate, seemed to make Reed a bit edgy. As did her car; she kept mats and cages in the back, for when she had to transport an injured animal, and no matter how she tried the inside of the Jeep always seemed to hold the faint scent of wet fur. It didn't bother her, but she was used to it. Reed preferred to take his pristine BMW if they went somewhere together.
Garrett jumped into bed so readily that Jodi was suspicious; Garrett was always fighting to stay up later, and she wouldn't have thought he'd have been quite so willing to go along with his punishment.
"You're being awfully ... good about this going to bed early punishment," she said as she sat down on the edge of the bed.
"That's not the bad part," Garrett said.
"Oh?"
"The bad part is that I can't go anywhere without a grown-up for a whole week."
"Ah. Grounded, huh?"
"That's what Dad called it." He tugged at the expensive down comforter. "Aunt Regina doesn't really care where I go, as long as I'm out of her hair."
Jodi couldn't argue with that; she'd always had the feeling that most of the time Regina spent with him was to discipline or instruct. But Garrett had given everyone a scare this time, so she didn't want to lessen the effect of the punishment by sympathizing too much with him.
"Being grounded's no fun," she said neutrally.
"It sucks."
Jodi stifled a smile at the boy's succinct and rather adult assessment. "I suppose it would. But it wouldn't be punishment if it didn't, would it?"
"Guess not. But a whole week!"
"Probably wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't summer," Jodi said, trying to empathize without undermining the effect of the discipline.
He lowered his eyes. Jodi watched him, noticing how different the thick, brown lashes were from Reed's blond ones. The boy had Darlene's coloring, with those big brown eyes. They were enough to soften anybody's heart, and she didn't know how Regina and Reed managed to stick to any kind of correction.
"It wouldn't be so bad if I didn't... need to go somewhere," Garrett said finally.
"And where might that be?"
"J. T.’s."
"I see. She kept it noncommittal, a difficult feat given the unexpected little jump her heart gave.
"He's my friend," Garrett said, as fiercely as if she'd challenged him.
"I know." She kept her voice quiet, nonjudgmental, and the defiance faded.
"He had a little boy, once. I think he misses him."
This piece of information startled her. "He has a son?"
"Not anymore. He died, like my mom."
Jodi's breath caught. Lord, no wonder he'd seemed haunted. Losing a child. Could there be anything worse?
"He... told you this?"
Garrett nodded. "I don't think he meant to. It just sorta came out. When he was telling me I shouldn't have worried my dad like that."
She'd been right, she thought. There was no way J. T. Trager would hurt a child. She only wished she could be as certain he could leash that anger she sensed in him.
"I have to tell him I'm sorry. All those people got mad at him, because of me."
"Well, that's admirable enough," Jodi said.
He gave her a sideways glance. "Aunt Regina doesn't think so. She doesn't like him."
Jodi didn't know what to say to that, so she kept silent. The boy seemed to hesitate, glancing at her again. Ah, she thought. Here it comes. She waited.
"You like J.T., don't you? You helped him, when they were all mad."
"And you were thinking I might be the grown-up you have to be with?"
A big grin spread across his face as he let out a huge breath. "Yeah." Then, hopefully, "Would you?"
"If it were up to me. But it's not, Garrett. You know that."
"Aunt Regina would never let me, but maybe if you asked Dad, he'd—"
"Whoa." Jodi held up a hand. "Don't even go there."
"Huh?"
"There are some things that aren't playing fair, Garrett. Manipulation is one of them."
"Man—what?"
"Using my friendship with your father to try and maneuver around your aunt."
"Oh." She wasn't sure he understood, but he knew she was saying no, and his expression crumbled. "I just wanted to go see J.T."
"I know, honey. But that's not the way to do it."
"But she'll say no, I know she will."
"Then ask your father."
"But you said—"
"I said not to use me to ask him because you think he might say yes to me, but not to you."
Garrett considered that for a moment. "That's what's not playing fair?"
She nodded.
"Oh."
He'd gotten it that time, she knew. And his next words, although a bit confused, made her feel a kind of satisfaction she'd never really known before.
"I'm sorry, then. I don't want to not play fair with you."
She couldn't help herself; she reached out and hugged him. He hugged her back, his wiry little body warm and vital, his hair smelling of soap, and his skin little boy soft. When she released him, he looked at her again with those big eyes.
"Do you think my dad might say yes?"
"I don't know, Garrett." He was looking at her so hopefully she couldn't help but add, "Maybe if you tell him you wouldn't want anybody to think you hadn't learned your manners."
And you're lecturing him about manipulation? she chided herself.
"Aunt Regina would like that," he said, his eyes brightening. "She's always talkin' about manners. So if I do ask my dad, and if he says yes, and if Aunt Regina doesn't say no, would you take me? Dad'll be too busy."
Jodi winced inwardly at the boy's assumption, as if he were long used to his father being too busy for him. She'd broached this with Reed before, that he should spend more time with Garrett, but he'd always deflected her, saying he'd rather spend more time with her.
In a way, she thought as she met the boy's earnest gaze, Garrett was like she had been as a child, longing for more attention from a parent who wouldn't give it. Or gave it elsewhere. The pang that realization gave her pushed her into a promise she knew she shouldn't make even as she made it.
"That's an awful lot of ifs, but yes, if and if and if, I will."
Great, she muttered to herself as the boy threw his arms around her again and she knew she was utterly committed. You just got yourself talked into going back to see a man you half seriously suspect could commit murder.
Chapter 6
J.T. sat in the big old recliner that was the only piece he'd been able to salvage from the dubious original furnishings in the cabin; the rest had been beyond even his lack of caring about his surroundings. But the recliner had been fairly new, and surprisingly comfortable. Often he slept—when he slept—in it.
But now, he was simply thinking. Purposely, and very, very carefully, allowing his mind to proceed back through the minefield of his memory. Trying to remember what he'd known of Matt's sister.
She had been the youngest of the three Halls. And the only girl. He remembered her when she was a teenager as pretty, in a flashy sort of way. Rebecca had said it was the kind of flash that could turn to tacky or glamorous, depending on how the girl grew up, and that with Debbie she'd bet on the glamour.
With a steady determination he fought back the memories that wanted to rise as he thought of his wife's words, and went on.
He had seen only photographs of Debbie since then; Matt had said more than once and rather ruefully that the girl had a social calendar that would clog a six-inch fire hose. But the last one he'd seen had seemed to bear out Rebecca's prediction; the girl looked as if she had become a sophisticated and indeed glamorous woman.
Which fit perfectly with his perception of Reed Keating. Wealthy, good-looking, destined for great things ... just the kind of man Debbie belonged with. And, from what Matt had admitted, just the kind of man Debbie was looking for; she had big plans for herself as well.
But J.T. could see perfectly why those big plans wouldn't have included a quiet little place like Keating's Port. Used to the fast pace of southern California, especially where they lived, close to the population centers of both San Diego and L.A., Debbie could easily have found life here too pastoral for her taste. And perhaps didn't find it quite worth waiting for the bigger and better that was surely awaiting Keating.
He shifted in the chair, letting out a long, compressed breath that stirred the lock of hair that fell over his forehead. He made himself go over in his mind once more the notes he'd made, the day he'd gone to the office of the small, local newspaper and dug through the archives. It hadn't been easy; the name Keating appeared more than any other, for obvious reasons. Even in the short period he had to check, the month she'd been here and a few weeks after, he'd encountered the Keating name countless times in various news stories. None of which had been of any help. The only mention of Debbie had been in the gossipy social column, where she was referred to by various appellations from her name to "the Keatings' California guest" whenever she and Reed had attended some sort of function in town.
And that, he was sure, had been yet another shock to Debbie; here, a gathering was considered huge if fifty people attended. According to Matt, his sister was more used to parties with the guest list numbering in three figures.
All in all, J.T. could see a lot of reasons why Debbie would have done exactly what they said she had. And not many reasons—
A sound from outside, faint enough to be unheard if he'd had the door closed, finally penetrated. He knew, somehow, when he realized it was someone coming down his stairs, that it would be Jodi Campion again. He couldn't say he recognized the sound of her footsteps, or that he'd been expecting her, he just knew. He seriously considered locking the door and just not answering when she knocked. If it hadn't felt so childish, he would have done it. Not that he was above being childish, but for some reason he didn't care to be in front of her.
"I thought I locked that gate this time," he muttered as he headed for the door; maybe if he was outside he could at least keep her out of the house. Somehow that seemed important. As if she were some kind of invasive creature who would move in and take over given the slightest chance. He pulled the front door closed behind him, making sure it latched.
The moment he saw the boy he understood; Garrett knew where the key to the gate was, hidden in a hollow fallen log just past the gap where a pedestrian could squeeze through. But right now Garrett was chattering away to his companion, his hands gesturing somewhat wildly, a smile on his face.
The boy really does like her, J.T. thought. But then, what's not to like? he added wryly to himself. The fact that she looks at you like you were one of her wounded critters? The fact that she sees too damn much? Or the fact that she seems determined to save you from... everything?
"Hi, J.T.!"
Garrett started running toward the porch the instant he spotted J.T. Then, at the foot of the steps, he skidded to a stop. He looked up, suddenly hesitant.
"You aren't... mad at me, are you?"
J.T. blinked. "What?"
"For making all those folks mad at you," Garrett explained.
J.T. was aware of Jodi's quiet approach, more aware than he should be, given that he wasn't even looking at her. But he concentrated on Garrett, quickly kneeling so he was just above eye level with the boy, who was still at the bottom of the three steps. "You didn't have anything to do with them being mad at me, Gary—Garrett."
The boy grimaced at his use of his correct name, but let it pass. He was clearly more concerned about J.T. being angry with him. "But they said—"
"They said a lot of things. Not because you made them mad at me, but because they were worried about you."
The child cast a sideways glance at Jodi. She smiled at him. And J.T. felt a sudden rush of a sensation he didn't recognize. Then Jodi looked at him, and for the first time since he'd met her, he saw her expression go cool and neutral. It stung him, which in turn startled him, and he drew back slightly.
But then Garrett turned back to him, and he made himself hold the boy's gaze.
"Jodi said that, too. That they were worried, and when people are worried, they sometimes say things they don't really mean."
J.T. wasn't at all convinced they hadn't meant every word of it, but he wasn't about to debate that with an anxious nine-year-old. Nor was he about to point out to Jodi Campion that she'd as much as said she thought him capable of murder herself.
Garrett's worried expression hadn't abated, and he made himself try to soothe the boy. "People do say all kinds of things when they're angry or upset or feeling cornered." He looked at Jodi as he added, "I've done it myself."
He saw the memory flash in her eyes, of that moment when he'd snapped at her like a cornered wolf when she'd tried to help him.
"And do you always mean it?" she asked, speaking for the first time, and in a tone that was as neutral as her gaze.
"Sometimes, at the time," he said. And he hoped she wouldn't ask him if he still meant it now, because he had no idea. Just as he had no idea why she was looking at him so intently, so coolly, and why it was so unsettling.
"But sometimes you're sorry you said it later, huh?" Garrett asked, his silky brows furrowing as he tried to grasp the concept. "Sometimes I do that. I told my dad once I hated him, because he let my mom die. But I felt real bad after I said it."
"That's what happens when you talk before you think," Jodi said quietly. Her voice was different for the boy, not at all the tone of one delivering a moral lecture, but in the voice of someone who understood. "We all do it, Garrett. Sometimes you can't help it. But sometimes, if you think about how it might hurt someone you care about, you might decide you don't really want to say it after all."
"My dad was mad, when I said it," Garrett said. "I thought maybe he was glad my mom was gone."
A sudden image swamped J.T. with the old emotions, the old shock, the old disbelief, the old horror when the unavoidable and gruesome truth had finally struck home. He fought it off, but it took a moment. At one time he'd been better at it, had beaten back the nightmarish visions with the relative ease of long practice. But sometimes when his guard was down, like now, they caught him as fiercely as if they were fresh.
"No," he said shakily, "he couldn't have been glad."
The boy frowned, sensing something was wrong. "Are you okay?"
"I..." He couldn't trust his voice, so he stopped. He felt Jodi's gaze on him, but didn't dare meet her eyes, not with all the terrors of his past upon him. Then she was speaking. Softly.
"Garrett, why don't you go get Mr. Trager some water?"
"Sure," the boy said, dashing up the stairs and around J.T., as if glad to have something to do to help. The moment he was inside, she spoke again.
"You'd better sit down."
It registered in J. T.’s mind that she wasn't doing what he expected, wasn't prying at him, wanting to know what was wrong. And, vaguely, he realized that the neutrality was gone, and the warmth he'd gotten so quickly accustomed to had returned.
And only after he'd done it, when he felt the wood of the porch post behind his back, did he realize he'd followed her suggestion to sit without thought.
"I'm ... all right," he said, as if she'd asked.
"Sure," she agreed easily as she knelt beside him. "You're fine, for a guy who just got hit with a memory like a sledgehammer."
He drew back from her, the corner of the newel post digging into his spine. "How ... ?"
"I know because sometimes, when I'm not even thinking about him, something will bring my father's memory back so vividly that it rips my heart out all over again when I remember he's gone."
He swallowed, wondering how on earth she'd managed to guess. But before he could ask—if indeed he could have managed to form words—she told him.
"When that happens, what I see in the mirror is what I just saw in your face. Some memories are too powerful to keep inside, they spill over no matter how you try to stop them."
"Here, J.T.!"
Garrett was back with a large, blue plastic glass, streaming rather than dripping water down the sides. With an effort J.T. steadied himself, took the glass, and thanked the boy. He was pleased to hear his voice sound nearly normal, and knew he was back in control. For now.
"I really am sorry for causing all that trouble, and worryin' people."
"Now, that's the right apology." J.T. took a big drink from the glass, while Garrett beamed.
"Can I show Jodi the fire engine?" the boy asked, as if the awkward moments had never happened.
"I... if you think she'd want to see it," J.T. said, doubtful that she'd have much interest.
"Course she does, don't you?"
"Fine, but remember you have to be back home in"— she glanced at her simple, utilitarian watch; no platinum and diamonds for her—"twenty minutes."
Garrett's mouth twisted unhappily. "I know. But I'll hurry." He didn't really wait for an answer. Instead he dashed off toward the small outbuilding about the size of a single-car garage that J.T. used as a shop.
"I don't remember ever having that much energy," Jodi said as she watched him go, and the rueful undertone in her voice almost made him smile. Then she turned back to him. "I hope you don't mind. He was so set on coming to apologize, and Reed's tied up all day, getting ready for a business trip."
The chill he'd felt earlier seemed to have vanished from her voice and her face. "I don't mind. He didn't have to. He's a... good kid."
"Yes, he is. He's just not very happy. Although he's happier right now than I've seen him in a long time."
J.T. turned his gaze back to the shop. It kept him from looking at her, something he distinctly thought he was better off not doing. "He has reason to be unhappy," was all he said.
"Yes. Reed tries," she explained, "but he is awfully busy." Busy trying to stake a claim on you, J.T. thought, then wondered what abandoned well in his mind that had floated up from. "And Regina ... she's not exactly the warm and fuzzy kind of aunt."
"I got the impression Garrett doesn't like her much."
"Only since she's taken on the mothering role. Before, Reed says they got along well enough. But maybe it's changing. She let him come here to apologize, even though he's grounded."
"Grounded? A nine-year-old?"
"Well, he's not supposed to go anywhere without an adult. What else would you call it?"
He eyed her for a moment. "So that's why you're here?"
She seemed to stiffen. "I didn't come to invade your privacy. Garrett wanted to see you, and I was the only one who could bring him."
"Or would?" He was being surly again, but he couldn't seem to help himself.
"Not necessarily," she retorted, and he knew by her voice that she'd picked up on the edge in the question. "1 suppose Regina could have, since she's the one who said he could come. But Garrett wouldn't have liked that, and I had the funny idea that you wouldn't, either."
He'd never seen the regal Regina, only heard of her from Garrett, but he thought Jodi's "not warm and fuzzy" was probably an understatement.
But he wasn't sure it wouldn't have been better if it had been Regina Keating who had brought the boy. Better for him, anyway, if not Garrett.
He was saved from having to answer by Garrett's return. The boy was cradling the large object he carried with tender care.
"See?" He held it out for Jodi to look at. "J. T.’s doing most of the cutting, and the carving, but I did all the gluing," he said proudly. "And I get to do the sanding, J.T. said."
She studied it for a moment, and J.T. appreciated that she didn't answer right away; he knew Garrett saw through adult platitudes quickly. Not that any would be needed for this; the hand-carved wood replica of an old-fashioned fire engine was a nice piece of work, even he had to admit that.
"It's wonderful," she said, quite seriously. "All that detail, the headlights, and even the steering wheel..." She glanced at J.T., who merely shrugged.
"We're not done yet, but we will be soon, won't we?" Garrett asked J.T. "We just got to put the hoses on, and the ladders, finish the wheels, then we can do the final sanding, and paint it, right?"
"If you stay out of trouble so you can work on it," J.T. said sternly.
"I will," Garrett said, so meekly J.T. had to smother a half smile. He glanced at Jodi, and saw her look of surprise; Garrett was many things, but meek wasn't one of them.
"Better put it back so we can go," Jodi said. Garrett's face fell. "You promised your aunt," she reminded him.
Muttering something J.T. figured they were both better off not hearing, Garrett carried the fire engine back to the shop.
"He's been spending a lot of time here, hasn't he?" Jodi asked.
"Now and then."
"It's nice of you to let him come around. And that model's really something. Reed never has time for that kind of thing."
"He should make time," J.T. said, more sharply than he'd intended.
"Yes, he should."
He was surprised at her solemn agreement; he hadn't expected that. Maybe she wasn't blinded by the Keating looks and wealth, like most of Keating's Port seemed to be. Not that there was anything really wrong with Reed Keating, it was just that he was treated a little too much like royalty for J. T.’s taste.
"It's still nice of you. Most men wouldn't."
His eyes narrowed as he assessed her words for any hidden meanings, her voice for any trace of the ugly accusations that had been made by the others. He found neither, but before he could answer she quietly blasted him.
"Does he remind you of your little boy?"
For the second time since she'd been here, J.T. actually felt himself pale. He scrambled to his feet. He was suddenly breathing hard and fast, as if he'd had the wind knocked out of him. Which in a way he had.
"Garrett told me. I didn't mean—"
"Take him and get out."
It came out harshly, almost threateningly, but he couldn't help it and didn't even try.
"Mr. Trager, I—"
"Get out."
She studied him for a moment. He took a step toward her. Warily she backed up. Only then did he realize his fists were clenched. Muttering a curse, he turned on his heel and walked back into the cabin. He slammed the door behind him. Then he sagged against it, shivering on this warm summer day.
After a moment he went to unnecessarily stoke the fire, which was already burning high. For a long time he looked at the photograph on the mantel. Then he sank to the floor and stared into the leaping flames.
"Why didn't J.T. say good-bye?"
Jodi restrained herself from calling the boy's idol a rude, ungracious jerk. It took some effort, especially when she was so angry at herself.
"I don't know, Garrett. Perhaps we interrupted something."
What was with her? she wondered, only vaguely listening to the boy's chatter. She'd never been a... a masochist before. Why did she keep trying to deal with this man? She wasn't paranoid enough to believe it was her in particular he didn't want around, he obviously didn't want any human contact at all.
Except Garrett. He'd made an exception for the boy. She supposed it was because of his own lost child. And she could hardly blame him for not wanting to talk about such an awful thing, but he could have been a little more polite about it.
She nearly groaned aloud at her own thoughts. He's lost a child, for God's sake, and you're expecting him to be polite?
And just like that she was back to where she'd been before, hurting for him as she would for anyone who had suffered such a loss. She knew it was a part of her she couldn't deny, this caretaker part that was touched by his pain, and concerned by the desperation she sensed in him.
Yet he'd been so angry, so hostile, that he also frightened her a little. He wouldn't hurt a child, of that she was more positive than ever. But an adult was something else. J. T. Trager had a lot of anger bottled up inside.
She wondered what it would take to make that anger break loose. She doubted it would be much. And right now, if there was a shred of proof, she'd have little trouble believing that he'd smashed in the front door of the clinic and left that nasty, one-word assessment of her.
"—always stops what he's doing, or else lets me help him."
Tuning back in suddenly she asked the boy, "How long have you been ... visiting Mr. Trager?"
"J.T.," Garrett said. "He said to call him J.T."
"All right," Jodi said, wondering anew what the J.T. stood for. "How long?"
"I don't know. A long time."
Which, in child time, could mean anything, Jodi knew. "Do you remember the first time you met him?"
"Sure," Garrett said. "It was right after Christmas. Dad got me those bi... binoc ..."
"Binoculars?" Jodi supplied, remembering that she'd seen the boy with a pair.
"Yeah, that's it. Anyway, I was out in the woods, looking for stuff to watch, and I guess I kinda ended up on his property."
"And he found you?" At Garrett's nod, she asked, "What did he do?"
"I thought he was gonna chase me away. All the kids said he was crazy. But when I told him what I was doing, he showed me where there was an eagle in a tree, with a nest and everything." The boy's excitement bubbled over. "It was so cool, and he said I could come watch anytime as long as I didn't bother the eagles, and he's really nice, not mean or crazy like some people say."
"He's certainly been nice to you," Jodi agreed. "That fire engine is very special."
"It's cool, isn't it? I wish Dad could do stuff like that."
"Maybe he can. Did you ever ask?"
"Dad?" The boy's surprise at the idea tugged again at that place in her that wasn't happy with Reed's relationship with his son. "Nah. He never has time, anyway."
It was true. From what she'd seen in the short time they'd been dating, he saw the boy in the evenings, quizzed him on his day, then sent him off to bed. If he was working late, which was often, he didn't see Garrett at all. And didn't seem to know what he was missing; Garrett was a smart boy, bright and quick and rough and tumble as most nine-year-olds, yet he was kind and gentle, too, she'd seen it when he'd visited her at the clinic.
He was also troubled, and it didn't take any guesswork to figure out why. Darlene's death had been front-page news across the state, so Jodi had known who Garrett was when she'd met him. And not long after that first meeting, he'd brought an injured bird, a cormorant, into the clinic. He'd been inordinately pleased by her praise of how he'd carefully nested the bird in a box with newspaper and soft rags, been fascinated by how she took care of the creature, and seemingly surprised at her willingness to talk to him, to explain each step.
When he'd shyly asked if he could come back, even after the bird got well, Jodi couldn't say no. Not that she would have; she knew her father wouldn't mind, he didn't notice much beyond his own patients; the rest of the clinic's operation had been her job anyway. And how could she deny him when she knew the boy had just lost his mother, when she could see the pain and confusion and hurt in his face and in the occasionally moody silences that overtook him? She'd been there herself, at almost the same age, and she remembered too well, too vividly, how much it hurt. Even though her own parent had been wife first and mother second, it had hurt beyond anything she'd ever known in her young life, and her empathy for Garrett had been instant and deep.
Little had she known that soon she would be dealing with that kind of grief all over again herself. And after her father's death, the boy had been amazingly perceptive, giving her hugs and often bringing her little gifts meant to lighten her spirit, even though he'd still been haunted by his own loss.
He and J.T. had a lot in common, she thought suddenly. Perhaps that's why the man had befriended Garrett; he understood loss, and the boy's pain.
"Jodi? Would you bring me back tomorrow?"
Jodi looked at the boy. She already knew the answer, but she figured Garrett needed to figure it out himself. "Do you think your aunt would let you?"
His face fell and he let out a big sigh. "No. She's mean."
Oops, Jodi thought. That wasn't what I wanted to hear. With an inward reminder to herself mat Garrett had a mind of his own she said carefully, "She's strict. There's a difference. And she's only that way because she loves you and wants you to be safe and grow up right."
"Like she wants, you mean," Garrett said, with that sometimes devastating acumen of the young. Jodi couldn't really dispute it, so tried to focus on her other point.
"Maybe. But if she didn't love you, she wouldn't care what you did. You only care about people who matter to you."
Her own words echoed in her head, and she wondered if she had just answered her own question about why she couldn't seem to get J. T. Trager out of her head.
It was time, J.T. told himself, to get up off his ass. He'd let inertia overtake him here in this peaceful place where no one seemed in a rush to do anything, where the kind of images that haunted him seemed distant and impossible, happenings in another kind of world, far from this wooded paradise.
And he would have been happy to keep on this way, endlessly. He wasn't sure if it was Garrett, Matt's request, or the shock of being accused of the most hideous crime he could think of that had destroyed his apathy.
Or perhaps it was something more basic, like his unexpected reaction to Jodi Campion. That would have been enough to rattle a dead man. So he wasn't dead. Which he already knew. He just wasn't sure he was living. A fine line, but a line nevertheless.
But Jodi could convince him he was doing more than just breathing. He sensed that on some instinctive level he hadn't been in touch with in a very long time. And he wasn't at all sure he wanted that proved to him.
So, he chided himself, quit thinking about it and get busy. Matt's depending on you.
He knew his friend was rapidly heading for panic. J.T. wasn't sure it was justified, but he also understood that part of the problem was Matt's feeling of helplessness. Travel itself wasn't prohibitively difficult for him, but managing it alone wasn't an easy prospect. Normally his wife, Terry, would go with him, but she was eight months pregnant, which also meant Matt didn't want to leave her alone.
J.T. had wanted to suggest he hire a pro, but Terry had explained that for Matt, that would be acknowledging something bad truly had happened to Debbie. He had filed a missing persons report, but J.T. guessed Matt knew as well as he did that given the circumstances, the police wouldn't have it way up on their priority list. They'd probably only taken the report because they were required to; even he would have walked away thinking Matt was just a brother who didn't want to admit his flighty, changeable sister had wanted yet another change.
And since J.T. was already here ...
His research at the local community paper archives had yielded nothing beyond what they already knew, as had the few questions he'd been able to ask before the town closed ranks against the stranger asking impertinent questions about their favorite son. Which, he realized now, had probably done just as much as his reclusiveness to put Keating's Port on guard against him.
There was one obvious place to start again on Matt's request. He didn't much like the idea, though. Using a child went against the grain. Problem was, he wasn't sure if, for him, there was any other way. He'd managed to isolate himself so well that nobody in town would really talk to him. Especially, he imagined, about this. They wouldn't care for the implications, or whether he himself believed they were true or not.
So that left Garrett. His only connection to the information he needed. The only one who—
Or maybe not, he thought suddenly.
Maybe Garrett wasn't the only person who both would speak to him and had the connection he needed. But he found to his surprise he didn't like the idea of using Jodi any better.
But he suspected it was for very different reasons.
Chapter 7
"I hope you've learned a good lesson from this," Regina said.
"Yes, Aunt Regina."
It was said mechanically, and the boy wasn't looking at her, but since she was driving and he was looking around, she let that pass. She negotiated the ramp off the freeway and began to head toward the ferry landings. They'd dropped Reed off at SeaTac Airport for his trip to Los Angeles, where he was meeting with some people he hoped to convince to invest with Keating Properties. They were looking to expand, and Regina knew he would be successful. She'd taught him to be nothing less.
At a stoplight, she glanced at her nephew. "You do understand that if anything like that happens again, you'll be staying in your room for much longer than a week?"
"Yes, Aunt Regina."
He was, she decided, suitably convinced. She'd wondered, when he'd asked to go visit that Trager again, if perhaps she'd been too lenient in letting him go the first time. But after she'd refused a repeat visit in no uncertain terms, the boy had become very silent, and had been a model of decorum for the remainder of his punishment. Quiet and polite, if a bit sullen at times.
But she did try to make allowances for his age; as Reed kept saying—although she suspected it was coming from Jodi—he was only nine. She thought her brother sometimes too lenient with the boy, but she would never say so; Reed was such a joy to her, and she felt guilty even thinking he was lacking in any area. He was the son she would never have, and she looked upon Garrett much as a grandson. And while she loved the boy in her own way, she also expected him to live up to the Keating standards.
If only the boy would get over his lamenting for his mother. Fortunately Garrett took after Reed, with his intelligence and quickness, and had only inherited his coloring from Darlene, her mousy hair and brown eyes, vapid beside the Keating blue. Crystal blue, her mother had called them; they were a family trait passed down over generations.
"I don't like you spending time with that Trager man," she said.
Garrett's head came up then. "But he's my friend!"
"He's an adult. Adults aren't friends with little boys."
"Jodi is."
"That's different. She's a friend of your father's."
"But she was my friend before she was Dad's."
Regina had her own opinion about that; Jodi wouldn't be the first woman who had used Reed's son to try to get close to him. Reed was without doubt a very desirable catch, and Regina couldn't really blame any woman for setting her cap for him. She'd known all along she was going to have to deal with women chasing him.
"That is still different," she told the boy.
Although Jodi didn't seem to be chasing him, she admitted silently. But perhaps Jodi was simply more clever about it. And she had been born here, and clearly had no intention of leaving, something Reed would require in anyone he became serious about.
This could be more significant than she'd thought. Especially since Jodi apparently had Garrett entranced. Reed would naturally be interested in anyone his son liked. He was a good father, after all.
Regina pulled into the line for the ferry, mentally calculating by the number ahead of them that they would make this boat. She hated waiting, especially on the Seattle side. Seattle was a big city, there were too many people. She felt uncomfortably anonymous there, and she much preferred her familiar world.
"If I can be friends with Jodi, why not J.T.?" Garrett asked rather militantly as she put the car into park in the third line.
Regina began to answer, then stopped herself. She needed to know if Jodi indeed had long-term plans involving Reed. And it occurred to her suddenly that perhaps there was a way to kill two birds with a single stone. And that Garrett might just be the way to do it.
"We'll talk about that tomorrow, when your punishment is over."
She gave Garrett a smile; she truly did love the boy, it was just that he was so different from Reed. Reed had been an angel, had been biddable and amenable to her wishes. But Garrett had inherited his mother's stubbornness in addition to her looks. It had been Darlene's stubbornness that had caused all the trouble in the first place; she just hadn't been willing to go along with the way things had to be.
But Garrett would. He would learn, and he would continue the tradition begun by their great-grandparents. Garrett's great-great-grandparents. It was his destiny, and she would teach him that.
And he would make her proud, just as his father had.
"No, really, it's okay," Garrett said urgently. "She said it's okay if I see J.T. as long as you are with me."
"She said me, specifically?" Jodi asked.
The boy nodded quickly, following her as she stepped out of what had been her father's office at the back of the infirmary. She yawned as she went; her prowler had not returned, but she still wasn't sleeping particularly well.
"She never said I couldn't go," Garrett insisted, "just that she didn't like it. But now she said it's okay. You can call and ask her, really."
That clinched it. It wasn't that she had thought Garrett was lying. He might fudge the truth a little, or omit all the details now and then, but he'd never lied to her, and she didn't think he was now. But still she wondered.
"What made her change her mind?"
"I don't know," Garrett said. And, with that sometimes uncanny wisdom, added, "And I didn't ask."
Jodi grinned at him. "Don't look a gift horse in the mouth, huh?"
Garrett's brows furrowed in that way mat was so like his father. "Why would you look in a horse's mouth?"
Oh, Lord, she'd gotten herself into explaining another idiom, Jodi thought. "Looking in a horse's mouth, at his teeth, can tell you how old he is, and sometimes if he's sick or not. But if someone gives you a horse for free ..."
She let her voice trail off, and waited. And watched as he worked it out.
"You mean," he said finally, "that if somebody gives you a horse you should just take it and not be picky?"
"Especially if you really want that horse. Like you want to go see J.T."
Understanding lit his eyes. "Oh! Okay, I get it."
"Smart boy," she said, ruffling his hair. He grimaced and smoothed it down, but she noticed he didn't pull away.
"So can we go? Now?"
It would be, she thought, very hard to say no to him. And she really had no good reason. The glass repairman had been and gone already, and things were back to normal. There were only a couple of animals at the clinic at the moment, and none that needed constant watching. And she'd finished the calls she'd been making to find out about the possibility of some kind of official sanction for a full wildlife facility, even if it did mean she'd have to scare up a vet to at least be on call. She had nothing pressing left to do today. There was absolutely no reason she couldn't take the boy.
No reason except that J. T. Trager made her nervous. And that she was probably the last person he'd want to see, after she'd trespassed on what was clearly private territory the last time she'd seen him.
"Maybe you should call him, first. Make sure he wants company."
She was stalling, she knew, but she didn't want to have to try to explain why she didn't want to spend the afternoon with the man Garrett liked so much. It wouldn't be anywhere near as easy as explaining a simple old adage about gift horses. She hadn't told the boy that the clinic's broken door hadn't been an accident, had barely admitted to herself that she wasn't one hundred percent certain J.T. hadn't had something to do with it.
"Nah, he said I could come anytime," the boy assured her.
Well, at least somebody felt welcome at the Trager stronghold. "You, yes," Jodi said. "But he may not want anybody else around."
Garrett looked at her, puzzled. "But it'd be you."
Jodi nearly blushed at the boy's genuine consternation at the idea that anyone could possibly not want her around. She was unable to resist the sudden urge to hug him. At first he resisted with a boy's instinctive reaction to being hugged, since there were no extenuating circumstances to justify it this time.
But suddenly it changed, and he was hugging her back, fiercely. Almost desperately. And for a moment she was back to the first time she'd met the boy, the evening she'd found him huddling under the big rhododendron at the back door of the clinic.
He'd been dirty, skinny, and shivering, He was dressed in what she guessed had once been a child-sized suit, but without an outer jacket in the winter chill and rain. Streaks of skin showed through the mud on his face, and it hadn't taken much guesswork to know he'd been crying. She didn't recognize him, at least not with his coating of grime, but that didn't matter. The sight of him triggered that protective instinct that was never too far from the surface in her.
She sensed how close the child—he looked about seven or a small eight—was to shattering, so she kept her distance. And kept her tone carefully casual.
"Well, I don't quite know whether to invite you into the house or into the clinic."
The boy pulled back, as if he wanted to disappear into the shrubbery.
"If it's the house, I'm afraid I'd feel compelled to give you a bath, so I guess it should be the clinic, huh? Come on in." Then, thinking it might intrigue the boy, added, "I have to feed the iguana."
It worked. "Iguana?"
Jodi knew that if she'd managed to distract him from whatever he'd been hiding from, he was hooked. "Yep. Want to help?"
She'd been careful not to push, and it hadn't taken long that night before she realized who he was. And understood why he'd been hiding in her rhodies; she couldn't imagine anything that would shake an eight-year-old's world more than losing a parent. Darlene's funeral had been that afternoon, which also explained his clothes.
And that had been the beginning. A week later, he'd brought her the injured cormorant, and after that the boy had become a regular visitor, until her father had joked that he was going to have to start paying him. And even her father had been moved by Garrett's solemn statement that he didn't want any money, just to be allowed to keep coming.
"That's not a happy child," her father had said over dinner one night.
She knew all about Garrett's brand of misery. "He's still hurting badly. He misses his mother."
Little had she known that in less than six months she'd be missing her father in the same way. She and Garrett had drawn much closer during that time, until finally Reed Keating had shown up to investigate this woman his son was spending so much time with.
Reed had asked her out the next day. She'd declined, some part of her thinking it was too soon after his wife's death. Not that Reed agreed; he'd begun dating considerably less than a year after Darlene's funeral.
She told herself everyone had to grieve at their own pace.
And he'd persisted, charmingly, coming up with increasingly more outrageous suggestions, from dinner in New York to lunch in Hawaii. When he finally gave up on the extravagance and asked if she would simply go for an ice cream and a walk along the waterfront in town, she'd agreed. That had been just over a month ago.
He was likable. He was gentlemanly. He was bright. He was handsome. Not to mention rich. All the requirements for Prince Charming. Which was probably why, perversely, she wasn't swept away. Prince Charming had never been her ideal. She'd never wanted anyone to ride in and magically solve all her problems.
Might take the white horse, though, she thought with a grin.
"What's so funny?" Garrett asked.
She gave him another squeeze. "Just thinking about horses."
"You mean that mouth tiling? Or," he said, lighting up, "are you gonna get a horse?"
She laughed. "No, not right now. I was just thinking about..."
She stopped, running out of words to explain her silly thoughts. And running out of reasons to not take Garrett to see J.T. Perhaps it was a good idea; Reed didn't have time to really get to know the man, and if Garrett was going to be spending time with him, it would be best if somebody else was around. Just in case.
"Shall we go?" she said.
Garrett's sudden flashing smile warmed her; this was the right thing to do, she thought. She could watch the two of them together, make sure J. T. Trager was the kind of man the boy should be hanging around.
"I wish I could have a horse," he said as they walked out to her car. "Or even a dog. But Aunt Regina says they're dirty."
"They can be," Jodi said, then with another grin, "but that's part of the fun."
Garrett scrambled into the front seat, dutifully fastening his seat belt, and was settled in by the time she did the same.
"My friend Toph has a really cool dog," the boy went on as she started the Jeep. "He lets me play with him. We go out in the woods, and Fang finds stuff for us."
Jodi smiled, mentally placing young Christopher Nieto and his casually noble yellow Lab from their occasional visits to her father. "Well, that's almost as good, isn't it?"
"Sort of," Garrett said. "But it's not the same. I want a dog of my own, but just like Fang."
"Maybe someday your aunt will change her mind." Garrett gave her a sideways look that spoke volumes. "She did about you going to see J.T., didn't she?"
Garrett thought about that. "Well... maybe," he finally said, but he still sounded doubtful. Jodi couldn't blame him; she was doubtful, too. She couldn't quite imagine Regina allowing a dog on her immaculately manicured grounds, and certainly not into her even more immaculate, expensively decorated house. So it would be best if she didn't give the boy any false hopes, she thought, and kept silent.
The gate was locked, as usual, making Jodi doubtful yet again about her welcome. But Garrett scrambled out and got the key before she could speak, and she supposed if Trager hadn't wanted the boy to come, he would have kept the key a secret.
When they got down the hill to the cabin, J.T. was outside stacking firewood. He looked up, and after a moment of seeming hesitation, he waved. As she watched the boy greet the man, Jodi's feeling of relief was tinged with surprise. She'd been hopeful he wouldn't be irritated; open welcome had never occurred to her to expect. Of course, it was for Garrett, but still...
He seemed to be watching her, looking her way often as the boy ran back and forth, gathering all the gear to work on the fire engine. Even when they began to work, he glanced at her regularly. She found herself smiling each time he did, just because she wasn't sure what else to do.
It had nothing to do, she told herself, with the fact that the T-shirt he wore was nicely snug over a broad chest and flat abdomen, and was tucked into jeans that made her certain they'd been designed by an appreciative woman. And nothing to do with the odd hyper-alertness that seemed to come over her whenever she was within ten yards of the man.
After about fifteen minutes, J.T. set Garrett to work sanding the sides of the fire engine. Then he came over and sat down beside her on the porch steps. For someone who hadn't wanted anyone around mere days ago, he'd certainly changed, she thought. But she wasn't going to question his change of attitude, not when it was making things ... if not comfortable, men at least less strained. And making her doubt her earlier suspicions that the man had something personal against her, enough to result in anonymous notes and vandalism.
She watched the boy as he sanded, working intently at the makeshift workbench J.T. had set up in the sun a dozen or so feet away. Garrett was paying no attention at all to the two adults who sat on the porch.
"He's so excited about this," she said. "He can't wait to paint it."
J.T. nodded. "He's doing a good job." Then, after a moment he said, "He seems ... calmer."
Jodi gave the boy a quick look. "Yes, for now. The restlessness comes and goes, it seems."
"He's had a tough time."
There was a world of empathy in his voice, and Jodi thought she'd been right, it was their mutual pain that drew them together, or that had made J.T. unbend enough to let the boy hang around. And again she doubted that anyone with that much empathy for a child would do something so silly as that mischief at the clinic, or go prowling quiet neighborhoods at night.
"Yes, he has," she agreed. "He loved his mother a great deal. From what he's told me they were very close."
She didn't mention that the same hadn't been true of Reed and Darlene; there had been problems long before her tragic death, Reed had never denied that. Jodi had appreciated his honesty, especially since it had caused him some problems; given an unhappy marriage and the death by mishap of one of the parties, the investigators had looked at him rather carefully. But as Chet had said, there was no evidence it had been anything other than an accident. And Reed had had an ironclad alibi; he'd been making a speech at the Keating's Port Preservation Society meeting that night, and those meetings went on forever, as everyone in town knew.
"What about his father?" J.T. asked.
Jodi sighed. But she knew J. T.’s interest was genuine, and he was becoming a big part of Garrett's life, so she supposed he deserved an answer.
"Reed's very busy," she began. "He's in L.A. right now."
"Too busy for his own son? He'll regret that someday."
"Yes," she said slowly, caught by the undertone in his voice. Had he once been too busy for his own child, and was he regretting it now mat it was too late to make it up to the boy? Was this part of what haunted him?
J.T. rubbed absently at the back of his right hand, the movement drawing Jodi's attention. She noticed a faint crisscrossing of marks, scars, as if he'd been cut or burned by a grid of some sort. And for the first time she wondered what he did for a living. Not that it would take much to support this place; taxes on the land were probably more than payments on the cabin, as old as it was. If he'd bought it outright, he could live on a pittance. Still, she was curious. But before she could open her mouth to ask he startled her with a question of his own.
"So," he said casually, but lowly, as if to make sure Garrett couldn't hear, "how long have you and his dad been seeing each other?"
"Not long," she answered, wondering why he wanted to know.
Nodding toward Garrett but still speaking too quietly for the boy to hear, he said, "His father didn't wait too long to ... start socializing, did he?"
Jodi stiffened. "And what is mat supposed to mean?"
J.T. flushed. "I didn't mean you," he said quickly. "I just meant... I mean, I heard he started seeing someone barely six months after... Garrett's mother died."
"It was closer to eight months," Jodi knew she sounded defensive, and knew it was because she had felt the same way at first. "Only four months ago," she added for emphasis.
And only after she'd said it did she think to wonder where he'd heard; it wasn't like he showed up at the latte stand, where the local grapevine began, for coffee every morning. 
"Didn't last long, then?"
She was truly puzzled now. And not entirely comfortable discussing Reed with him. And she wasn't sure that if she really analyzed her reasons for her unease, that she'd like them.
As if he sensed her discomfiture, he shrugged. "I was just wondering. Garrett mentioned her, and I wondered how many he'd ... had to meet. It has to be tough on a kid."
"Debbie," Jodi said, suddenly remembering her name, "was the only one. Reed did not install a revolving door, if that's what you mean."
He gave her a sideways look. "I didn't think you would be with him if he had."
Jodi blinked. "I... thank you." Lord, was she blushing? And how would he know that about her anyway? Or did he? Perhaps he was just flattering her for some reason.
"I think my sandpaper's worn out," Garrett called out.
"You know where it is," J.T. called back. "Go ahead and get a new sheet. Make sure it's number four hundred or better."
The boy sped off at a run, quickly disappearing into the shed. Jodi smiled at his enthusiasm, then turned to see J.T. looking at her speculatively.
"From what he's said, Garrett likes you a lot better than he did her," he said.
She smiled wryly. "That's not necessarily saying much. I doubt he had any time to get to know her. She didn't care for life in the woods, and was gone within a month."
"Gone?"
"Off to New York." She grimaced. "Even used Reed's credit card for the ticket. Didn't shop for a bargain fare, either."
"Generous of him, if she was leaving him."
"He didn't know. She left without even saying goodbye."
"They have a fight or something?"
"No. She just didn't like it here. A lot of city people don't. And he didn't even know she'd used the card until the bill showed up." Reed was well out of that, Jodi thought. It had been an expensive lesson, even for a Keating.
"How'd she pull that off?"
She shrugged. "Reed's a generous guy. Since she came all that way, he gave her the card to use while she was here."
"All that way?"
"From Southern California. Ever been there?" She knew it was obvious, her abrupt change of subject, but she didn't want to discuss Reed's personal life with a man who was in essence a total stranger, no matter his sincere concern about Reed's son. Besides, Reed's short-lived relationship with a woman who'd used him to finance her flight to New York was hardly her business, let alone J. T. Trager's.
"Yes," he said.
The shortness of his reply only made Jodi more aware of how she'd been yammering on. Reed had told her he'd never heard from Debbie again, and never thought about her anymore. Garrett had said she was pretty but "del'cate, like Aunt Regina's plates"—which he was always ordered not to go near—and not much to his interest. And that was the end of it; she thought Reed had been exceedingly generous to just pay the bill and leave it at that, and was sorry that one of her gender had added yet another layer to the sheen on the gold digger stereotype.
"So the mysterious Debbie was never heard from again?"
He could have at least changed to a new subject if he was so gun-shy about talking about himself, Jodi thought.
"No," she said, as shortly as he had answered. She thought he winced slightly, but she'd only caught the movement out of the corner of her eye and couldn't be sure. "But I'd hardly call her mysterious," she added, her tone still a bit sharp.
J.T. shrugged, as if he were just making conversation of little import to him. "Just thought she'd at least send a postcard from New York, since he paid for her ticket."
"I didn't meet her, but I doubt she was that cold," Jodi said, sounding chilled herself. This man had a knack for getting under her skin, she thought. He set her nerves on edge in more ways than one. And she wasn't sure she liked any of them.
J.T. sighed. "I'm no good at this," he muttered.
"I big your pardon?"
He looked startled for an instant, as if he hadn't been aware of speaking out loud. Then, almost wearily, he said, "I was just... talking. I guess I'm not very good at it anymore."
As an apology it wasn't much, but it was more than she'd expected. She watched as Garrett came back, waving a pristine piece of sandpaper she presumed was the designated number four hundred. The boy went back to work happily, the look on his face both enraptured and intent. As a small boy should look.
"This is good for him," she said softly, feeling suddenly as if J. T.’s fumbling apology was more than enough. "Thank you."
"It's nothing."
"But it is. I've been worried about him. He's been getting more and more changeable lately, in a good mood one minute, a horrible one the next. He won't even talk about her death."
"Can you blame him?"
"No," she admitted, "but he's just not recovering well. It's like that night never happened, in Garrett's mind."
"Lucky him," J.T. muttered.
Jodi's brows lowered. "Surely you don't think denying what happened is healthy?"
"No. Just less painful."
He said it in the dull, flat voice of one who had been there, one who knew all too much about that kind of pain. He had buried a child, and Jodi knew there wasn't a thing she could do or say that would change that.
Sometimes, all the caring in the world couldn't help. 
Chapter 8
Jodi shifted the grocery bag to rest more comfortably on her hip as she wrestled her keys out of the front pocket of her jeans. She stifled a yawn as she opened the door to the Jeep. She hadn't slept well last night, but that was becoming a habit. She hadn't really slept well since her father's death, but she'd been making progress when she'd started hearing those noises in the night. Then Garrett's vanishing act on top of that had only made it worse. She hadn't been able to recapture the calm she'd worked so hard for after her father's death. She supposed it would take more time. That's what everyone kept telling her, anyway. Time heals. Time will tell. Time, time, time ... and no way to hurry it up.
Careful, girl, she told herself. Don't be wishing time away, because there'll come a time when you want it back.
Her father had told her that as a child, often, with that melancholy expression that told her he was thinking of her mother, reminding her once more that she wasn't enough, would never be enough for him. That no matter what she did—
A figure jumped out from behind the car parked next to her. Her thoughts jolted to a halt and she let out a yelp.
"Oh!"
"Scare you?"
Danny Harris's expression was as smug as his voice.
"No, you just startled me," she said, managing to keep the truth of his assessment from showing on her face. The teenager slouched against the side of her Jeep, and Jodi wondered idly if he flapped in the breeze, with all the excess material there was in his pants.
"Same diff," Danny said, shoving his backward baseball cap even farther back on his head. His sandy hair stuck out from underneath; when he'd come home from the "special school" his mother kept talking about, he'd had a shaved head that had made everyone certain the place had been run by the state. Now it was a couple of inches long and stood up in several different directions.
"Not quite," Jodi said, even as she realized he would hardly appreciate the distinction that had popped into her mind, the difference between stepping over a log and finding a snake, and finding a snake that rattled. "Something I can do for you?"
"Yeah." The boy straightened up suddenly. His brows lowered and something came into his eyes that made her wonder if she wasn't hearing a rattle after all. "You can stop talkin' like I did that thing at the drugstore."
"Oh."
He seemed disconcerted by her noncommittal answer, but he persisted. "You'll be sorry if you don't stop."
"I didn't start," she said, eyeing him warily but hoping it didn't show. Was this the answer to the note and smashed window? It certainly seemed more the boy's style. But she said nothing; so far he was merely hovering threateningly, and she didn't want to tip him over into any kind of action she would regret. There were people out and about, but she wasn't sure witnesses would stop the boy at this point. She glanced around, seeing that the closest witness was Chuck Elliot, who had apparently been walking behind her, and for once without Branch. Now he was standing a few yards away and looking on with an intensity that reminded her of people who watched races waiting for a crash. She wondered if he would help, or just watch with that fascinated gaze if Danny attacked her.
"That's not what my mother says," Danny said, his lip curled upward.
Thank you, Colleen, Jodi thought as the lanky teen took a menacing step forward. He wasn't much taller than she, but he was muscular, as if he'd been working out. Not at all the almost skinny kid she remembered from before his jaunt to the other side. It took considerable effort to stay where she was.
"You'd like to see me get in trouble again, wouldn't you?" Danny said, his lip curling nastily. "You and that stuck-up prick you're screwing."
Jodi wasn't sure how she was supposed to answer that. She didn't bother trying to change his mind about her relationship with Reed. It was none of his business anyway— even if she ruefully had to admit the "stuck-up" sometimes applied. Neither did she react to his crudity, realizing that was exactly what the boy wanted. Instead, she looked at him consideringly before speaking.
"In truth, Danny," she said slowly, "it means very little to me if you get in trouble again, except that I hate waste. But it's your life to waste, if that's what you insist on doing."
"Damn right it's my life. I don't have to do what anybody else says."
"Then why are you?"
The boy blinked. "Huh?" 
Jodi shrugged. "People say you're a troublemaker, so you make trouble. They say you're a failure, so you flunk school. They say you're a thief, so you steal. Sounds to me like you're doing exactly what everybody says."
He stared at her, brows furrowed. He was thinking, and that was something, Jodi thought.
"Maybe you should really mess with their minds. Surprise all of them," she said. "Do something good and watch them all flounder around trying to figure out what you're up to."
"Yeah, right," the boy muttered. "What the hell do you know?"
Not much, Jodi thought, breathing again as the boy walked away, still muttering. Then she heard the "You shut up about me or I'll make you sorry, bitch," that floated back toward her.
Bitch.
Coincidence that he used that word? It was certainly common enough among angry young men his age. She probably shouldn't read anything into it... not that what had just happened wasn't upsetting enough. But it wasn't enough to make her call Chet, she thought as she got into her Jeep, with only a sideways glance at the departing form of what was probably a disappointed Chuck. She'd just mention it the next time she saw him.
Besides, she suspected the boy would have gloated about or at least alluded to the damage he'd already done, if he had indeed done it.
But then again, her faith in her own judgment wasn't the best these days, not the way she kept wavering back and forth on J.T. Her mouth twisted wryly, and she batted those divergent thoughts around yet again as she drove home. By the time she arrived, she was weary of it all once more, and yawning again.
She took one step inside the house and dropped the bag.
The place looked like a tornado had blown through. Everything, even the sofa, was upside down. Her desk was trashed, every drawer opened, the contents strewn about. Magazines were strewn about, tables upended, lamps on the floor, one of them broken. Her first reaction was, oddly, relief. She hadn't imagined the prowler. This had to be his work.
Her second was to think of Danny Harris, and the rage that glinted in his young eyes.
And at last she realized that she should stop standing here gaping, in case it hadn't been Danny and the person behind this was still here.
She turned back to the door. And noticed then that the mirror that had hung beside the door was cracked, with a large chunk missing, baring the wood backing of the frame. And just above the missing section, scrawled in that same black marker as in the note, were the letters "BITC," as if he'd smashed the mirror at the last minute, marring his own work.
She back out the door, and ran back to the Jeep. She grabbed the cell phone and dialed hastily. Then sat there waiting, staring at the home that had been violated.
It had to be Danny. He must have come right from here to confront her downtown.
And she couldn't deny her own relief at the thought that this cleared J. T. Trager.
J.T. was used to not sleeping. Used to being tired, like he was tonight. He was even used to fighting his own mind, his own imagination. 
What he wasn't used to was losing that fight.
What he hated most was that he was losing it to a delicate-looking redhead with a sassy chin and eyes the color of the sound on a sunny, blue-sky day.
All this time he'd been concentrating on just getting through each day... how the hell had it happened? How had she sneaked through the defenses he'd thought so insurmountable that he didn't even have to maintain them? He'd thought they were permanent and impassable, the walls around him. He thought he'd spend the rest of his life in this limbo, unable to go back and not wanting to go forward.
And now, for the first time in nearly three years, he wasn't sure he wanted to stay there.
You're still here. Alive. So live.
Matt's oft-repeated words echoed in his head. Living or existing, he drought. Maybe Matt was right. It was time to make a choice. And since he didn't have it in him to kill himself now, hadn't since the first urge to add one more to the death toll had passed, mere was only one choice left to him. To climb out of this limbo and... what?
The problem was, he had no idea where he wanted to go. He felt as confused as a teenager trying to decide what the rest of his life was going to be about.
He'd once drought about becoming a cop. The past couple of days had convinced him he would have been lousy at it. Not only had he not learned a single new tiling about Debbie's departure, he'd managed to make Jodi even more suspicious of him than she already was. And that really bothered him. That it bothered him almost as much as being unable to find out anything about Debbie only added to his agitation.
He'd put it off as long as he could, he thought, looking at the old windup clock on the mantel that told him it was nearly ten. He had to call Matt.
He grabbed the phone—an old rotary model that brought back memories of a similar one on the desk in his grandfather's house—and dialed the number.
Matt answered on the first ring. And after J.T. said hello, he simply waited.
"Matt, I..." His voice trailed away.
"Bad news, good news, or no news?"
J.T. sighed. "None, really. Which is bad, I guess. There's not a thing to indicate Debbie did anything other than buy herself a ticket on Keating's credit card and get on a plane to New York. No fight between them, at least that anybody knows about. The consensus is that she just didn't like it here. Maybe New York was just... overreaction. It is awfully quiet around here."
"I'm not denying that. Never was. Her going to New York makes perfect sense. I just need a reason why she'd cut herself off completely from her family, when a week hasn't gone by without a call since Jessica was born."
J.T. understood too well about needing reasons. "I'll keep trying, Matt. I thought I might get somebody to slip up and say something we didn't already know, but now I think trying to hide what I'm after may only be making people clam up more. I even tried talking to the local gossip columnist, and the minute she started to sense which way the wind was blowing, she wouldn't give me the time of day. I may have to go public."
"Do what you have to. I trust you."
J.T. winced, and barely managed to keep from saying Don't. "You want me to corner the man himself? See how he reacts?"
"You don't sound like you think that's a good idea."
"Only because there's no turning back, he'll be on guard after that."
"Do you think he has something to be on guard about? That he might know more than he's telling?"
J. T.’s mouth quirked. "The only thing I'm sure of is that if it's possible for someone to get away with just about anything in this town, this is the man."
"Then what are the chances he'd let something slip accidentally, without any pressure?"
"Probably minimal," J.T. admitted. "He's a pretty smooth guy."
"Then what have we got to lose?"
J.T. took a deep, quiet breath. "Nothing," he said resignedly.
Nothing, he repeated silently. Except that Jodi would probably be furious if she thought he was accusing Keating of something. Not to mention Garrett. And he realized with a little shock how much he would miss the boy if he didn't see him anymore.
And with a bigger shock realized he would miss Jodi, too, would miss the talk, the warmth of her caring spirit. He knew it wasn't for him, that it was Garrett she was concerned about, but some of that glow seemed to overflow onto him when she was around, warming places in him that had been cold for so long that he thought they were beyond thawing.
"J.T.?" He'd been quiet too long, J.T. realized as Matt spoke, sounding worried. "You okay?"
"I don't know."
And as he hung up he shivered, despite the heat from the ever-present fire.
The fire engine was progressing nicely, Jodi thought; today's project was sanding the wheels smooth, the final step before painting. Garrett was happy. J.T. seemed, if not sociable, at least not standoffish as he had been at first. But just as she should have been feeling relieved that she knew it hadn't been J.T. harassing her, Jodi found herself getting progressively more edgy around him.
Chet had responded quickly, done a quick check of the premises, and called in an investigator for fingerprints. Then he'd searched the whole house thoroughly, finding nothing that Jodi could tell him with certainty didn't belong. He'd told her he would make sure her house was heavily patrolled, on all shifts. Then he'd helped her straighten up, and suggested she spend the night elsewhere, just to be sure.
She'd been reluctant, but when Reed had called while her house was still looking like a crime scene, and she'd told him what had happened, he'd insisted she come stay at the house. He and Regina both had been gracious and heartwarmingly concerned, and Jodi had spent a comfortable, if relatively restless night in the room next to Garrett's. She'd been moved by their consideration, and in the dark as she lay awake, once more the idea of what a life under this roof, as part of this solid unit, might be like crept into her mind.
But now the sun was out and Garrett was smiling, as he had been since he'd awakened to find Jodi at his breakfast table, and the world seemed a warm and happy place, the chaos of her home unreal.
But right now, it wasn't the memory of last night that was bothering her, it was that J. T.’s idea of conversation appeared to be asking her questions. She realized it was only natural that he'd be interested in Garrett's father, and tried to remember that he'd said he was out of practice with small talk, but she was getting tired of talking about Reed, and J.T. kept asking things she couldn't or wouldn't answer.
And, she thought, refusing to answer questions about himself. Or answering so vaguely it was like no answer at all. She had the feeling he wasn't really hiding anything, rather that there were things he didn't want to look at himself.
But what unnerved her most were those moments when she caught him studying her with an oddly wistful expression on his face, an expression that always vanished the instant he realized she had noticed. It was those moments that made her realize how very much she was aware of him as a man. She kept telling herself it was just that darned caretaker's instinct of hers, that she could sense he was hurting deeply somewhere inside and wanted to fix it as she fixed her wild animals. On some level she knew it was more than that, but her mind refused to deal with it, skittering away every time the urge came upon her to analyze exactly what it was that was driving her toward him.
"—always heard little towns are friendly places," he said rather sourly, jerking her out of her dangerous thoughts.
"Keating's Port is ... if you give it half a chance." And if you don't upset the local delinquent, she added to herself; she hadn't said anything about the problems she'd had, not in front of Garrett. But that had nothing to do with Keating's Port as a whole; one bad apple couldn't spoil this place. "But if you don't give it that chance, they'll return the favor."
"Is that what happened to Debbie?"
Jodi frowned. "I'm afraid I don't know. I heard she didn't make much effort to get along, but I wasn't... paying much attention to things in town then."
J.T. looked a bit chagrined, as if he'd just remembered that was shortly after her father had died. "Sorry." He hesitated, then asked, "What will you do now? About the clinic, I mean?"
Odd, Jodi thought. His tone was completely different, almost tentative, not like when he was asking her about Reed's past history.
"I'm not sure," she said honestly. "I want to keep it open for wild animals, but I need to find a vet who's willing to be on call to help with the things that are too much for me. And there's a lot of changes I'd want to make."
"Like?"
"Flying cages, incubators. A pen for the occasional deer. A computer so I can network with other rehabilitators." She smiled somewhat wanly. "My father was a serious technophobe. He didn't even want a computer to handle billing."
"A lot of those are around still," he said. "But I have to ask... a flying cage?"
"A big cage for birds, especially raptors. They need to fly, to use their wings, or they'll be too weak when they're turned loose. And in a small cage they kind of freak, beating their wings against the sides, and end up hurting themselves even worse, maybe break their feathers."
"Sounds like quite a project."
"I can use a couple of the dog runs for the smaller birds, but it's not the same as outdoors. Anything bigger than a kestrel's going to need more room. There's a little area behind the building, but I don't know if in town is the best place."
"Not unless you want to run a petting zoo," he said dryly.
Surprised, she turned to look at him. "That's exactly part of the problem."
Reacting to her look, he shrugged. "It only seems logical that the less contact wild animals have with even benevolent humans, the more able they'll be to take care of themselves around the other kind."
She smiled. Warmly. "I wish more people realized that. I know they want to help, but so often they go wrong, try and turn a wild thing into a pet. It's a natural urge, but it can be devastating, even fatal for the animal."
He was staring at her as if she'd said something startling. His lips parted as if he needed more air. And Jodi found herself staring at his mouth, almost as blatantly as he was staring at her.
The moment she realized it, she jerked her gaze away, for the moment staring blindly, focused on nothing.
"I'm sorry," he said softly. "Nobody's ... smiled at me like that in a long time."
Jodi's head came up sharply. Smiled? He'd reacted like that because she'd smiled at him?
"You've been alone too long," she said.
"I think," he answered slowly, still looking at her intently, "you may be right."
She had suddenly slipped from edgy into downright jittery. "You were married?" She blurted it out without thought.
He went still, and she wondered if he was going to erupt again. But after a moment he said merely, "Once."
Feeling slightly encouraged she asked, "Divorced?"
"No."
Something in his tone brought Garrett's words about J. T.’s son back to her. He died. Like my mom.
It hit her then. "She ... died, too?"
This time she was sure he would erupt, as he had before when she'd mentioned his son. But he didn't. Not that he didn't react; she could feel him tense, heard him suck in a deep breath She tried to think of something, anything to say, to ease the strain. Then stopped; she didn't want to walk on eggshells around this man any longer.
"Together."
It came out as if through clenched teeth, forced, yet not angrily. Not like before.
"I'm so very sorry," she said softly. "I can't imagine what that must have been like. Losing just my father was awful enough."
He made a short, jerky movement with one shoulder that could have meant anything, but was at least better than getting her head bitten off, or having her sympathy tossed back in her face. She decided to risk another question; he'd never been this forthcoming before, and she felt an eagerness to take advantage of it that she didn't quite understand.
"How long has it been?"
Again there was silence, but again, after a moment, he answered. "Three years." And then, unexpectedly, his head turned and he gave her a look that was rather endearingly wry. "You're doing a lot better than I am, in a lot less time."
Her breath caught at that look, and the fellow feeling in his voice. "Don't you believe it," she said quietly. "I just have other creatures depending on me, so I'm forced to keep going."
For a long moment their gazes locked, and this time Jodi didn't look away. Neither did J.T. And after a moment something shifted, changed, some new tension in the silence between them. She saw something spark in his eyes, something that lit the green for a moment, just long enough so that she could imagine what he'd once been like, before the shadows had taken over.
"What's been bothering you today?" he asked.
The unexpected question, and the perception that had prompted it, caught her off guard, and she very nearly blurted out the answer, nearly told him about Danny's attempts to terrorize her. But she closed her mouth sharply, and her jaw tightened as she spotted something she'd missed until now. Something not unexpected here, but something that now had a significance that made her stomach clench.
There, on J. T.’s shoulder, was a small curl of wood shaving. And as clearly as if it were happening in front of her now, she remembered Chet asking her if she'd had to plane anything lately, like the door. Because in his search he'd found a wood shaving on the floor near the front threshold.
She'd assumed at the time that she'd carried it there herself, since she sometimes used wood shavings as bedding for the animals. That stuff clung to anything, and she thought she must have just missed seeing it before Chet had found it.
But now she stared at J. T.’s shoulder, barely able to breathe.
It didn't mean anything. It was much more likely she had tracked the thing into the house herself. He wasn't the one, he—
"Jodi? Are you all right?"
Almost numbly, she made a gesture that was half nod, half shake of her head.
"What does that mean?" J.T. asked, sounding concerned. "You look—"
An odd, strangled sound shattered the sudden tension. Simultaneously they turned to look at the source. Garrett was staring down at the fire engine with an anguished expression.
"No!"
It broke from the child in a voice that matched the expression. Both Jodi and J.T. rose in unison and headed toward the boy. The protest turned to a wail that rose, suddenly and frighteningly, to the edge of hysteria.
J.T. saw it first, the oddly canted angle of the last wheel Garrett had been sanding. Jodi watched as he picked up the little engine and turned it over; the wooden axle had apparently given way under the boy's eager pressure with the sandpaper.
The wail rose even higher, an almost eerie sound that seemed too disconsolate to be coming from so young a child.
"It's all right, Gary," J.T. said, reverting to the name he'd said he used for the boy before he'd learned who he was. "It can be fixed, easy. We'll make another axle, it'll be good as new ..."
His voice faded away as Garrett backed away from them both. The wail stopped at last. "No." It was low, barely a whisper, but it held the same despair the keening cry had. "No, it won't. It won't be the same. It won't ever be the same."
The boy's voice was rising again, and Jodi took a step toward him. "Garrett, listen—"
He backed away, even from her.
"It'll be fine," J.T. repeated gently. "Just like it was. Just like if it was real, and it broke, you'd fix it, right?"
For an instant hope seemed to flicker in the boy's eyes, then it vanished. "It can't be, it can't ever be fixed, it'll never be right!"
Garrett threw down the crumpled piece of fine sandpaper, turned, and ran into the woods. 
Chapter 9
"Why, I assumed you knew, of course. You mean she didn't tell you?"
"No," Reed said to his sister.
He wasn't happy. He'd come home from L.A. early, deciding he would surprise Jodi and Garrett by taking them both out to dinner. Jodi was always telling him he didn't spend enough time with his son, and while he wasn't quite sure what he was supposed to do with the boy—he could hardly carry on an intelligent conversation with a nine-year-old after all—he was willing to try if it would make her happy.
They'd never done that before; for all her encouraging him to spend more time with the boy, Jodi had been oddly reluctant about them all going places together. He was going to change that, starting now. Jodi needed to see that it was time to move to the next step in their relationship.
Regina hadn't liked the idea of the joint dinner either, but then, she had some pretty set ideas about activities for children. Sometimes he thought she was too hard on Garrett. He didn't remember her being that tough with him, but she'd been the only family he had left then, perhaps he'd been too terrified of being totally alone to notice. Besides, he knew she loved the boy, and right now a bit of strictness was just what Garrett needed; he was getting far too rebellious.
"—only allowed it because I presumed you knew," Regina said, sounding distressed. "Why do you suppose she'd keep it secret from you, that she was going out there to see Trager?"
He didn't like the way she'd put that at all. Jodi was taking Garrett, of course, that was all. It wasn't like she was going to see the man herself. Was it?
"I know she's always been ... soft-hearted about the man." This time Regina sounded more thoughtful.
"I know," Reed said, his voice tight. Jodi was very quick to come to the man's defense. But she was like that, always defending the underdog. She always had been. Everybody knew that about Dr. Campion's daughter; it was part of the fabric of life in Keating's Port.
Growing up, Jodi had been a few years younger, and thus behind him in school. He had only a vague memory of a wiry, intense young girl with a fiery red ponytail. Then he'd gone off to college, and when he'd come back she'd gone off to do the same. When she had returned, he'd been startled by the change; the youngster had become a woman. A lovely woman. But he'd been married to Darlene, and even though the frayed edges of the marriage were beginning to show, he hadn't acted on the flicker of interest. A Keating simply didn't indulge in behavior that might cause public censure or embarrassment.
That's why he never dated casually, but only with serious intent. He had thought Debbie had long-term potential, she'd certainly been attractive enough, but she'd hated Keating's Port, and that would never, ever do. His life was here, and always would be.
But Jodi was different. She'd been born here, she loved it here, in most ways she felt just as he did about Keating's Port. And she had standing here, her father had been liked and respected. She was a bit strong-headed, but that would change, he was sure. They were the perfect couple, could have a wonderful life together, and she would realize that soon.
"Are you going to go out there and see what she's up to?"
"I'm sure she's not up to anything," he said, irritated that his sister kept harping on it.
"Yes, dear, you're probably right," Regina said soothingly. "It's probably best you don't go."
"When is she due back here?" They, he told himself. He'd meant to say they, not she.
"She said by three, so she's already late. That's the only reason I mentioned it at all, Reed, really."
He glanced at her then, saw the crease in her forehead as she watched him with concern. She'd always been so good to him. He felt a stab of guilt for his irritation; it wasn't her fault that Jodi wasn't back yet. Or that she'd been spending afternoons with that man in the first place. If anything it was Garrett's fault; he'd have to have a talk with the boy about unsuitable friends.
At five minutes to four, he heard the sound of a car. He glanced out his office window to see that execrable vehicle of hers coming down the long drive. Garrett was in the passenger seat, but instead of chattering volubly as he usually was when he was with her he was sitting silently, the top of his head barely visible. He had no idea what they talked about, but she seemed genuinely interested in the boy's prattle.
He finished making the entry on the computer spreadsheet he'd been working on, then got to his feet. That was another reason he'd wanted to spend some time with the two of them together, to try to figure out how on earth she did it, actually conversed with a child. It was a good sign, and boded well for their future, that she got along so well with the boy.
He smiled with some amusement as he walked toward the kitchen; Jodi always—to Regina's irritation—came in the side door, saying the main entry via the formal garden was far too grand for her. The only time they ever used that kitchen door was on Harvey's days off, when they needed to get a car from the garage themselves.
He heard their voices before he opened the door. They were oddly restrained, and his brows furrowed as he stepped into the room. They were standing just inside the outer door, next to Mrs. Warner's gleaming baker's rack. Jodi was bent over Garrett, helping him slip off his jacket. There was something odd about her posture, and odder still about her expression when she realized he was there and lifted her head to look at him.
Only then did he see his son's face, grubby and streaked with tears. He crossed the room to them in two long strides.
"Garrett? Jodi? What's happened?"
"Something broke, and it upset him a bit," Jodi said, giving the boy a hug. "He's going to go take a shower and change, aren't you, Garrett?"
The boy nodded, giving his father a sideways, expectant look. Reed wasn't sure what he was expecting—he wasn't sure of much of anything about his son anymore—but when it didn't come the boy scampered out of the room.
"How was L.A.?" Jodi asked.
"Fine," he said briefly, watching Garrett until he disappeared up the stairs. Then he turned back to Jodi. "Is that really all it was? Some silly toy or something broke?"
"Technically, yes," Jodi said. "But I think you know there's more to it. He's still very tense, Reed."
"He seemed better lately," he said, still looking toward the doorway where Garrett had disappeared.
"It's still there, under the surface. What happened today was not enough to cause this kind of reaction. I'm worried about him, Reed."
"He likes to be with you."
"And he likes going to see J.T. But mat's not a fix."
Reminded of his sister's earlier words, Reed turned back to Jodi. "And what about you?"
"Me?"
"Do you like going to see him, too?"
He hadn't meant to ask, but the words had escaped before he could halt them. And now Jodi stood there, not answering, her fair skin betraying her as two spots of color appeared in her cheeks. And suddenly he wasn't sure what to believe.
"You can't seriously say you like the man!"
Her head came up, taking on that stubborn tilt he recognized. "There's nothing wrong with him that controlling the gossip around here wouldn't fix."
He smothered a sigh; he didn't have time for her tilting at windmills right now. "It won't do, Jodi. It simply won't do."
The chin came up even more. "Excuse me?"
"Now, I'm only thinking of that gossip you spoke of. I worry about you, too."
The chin went down just a bit.
He looked at her more closely. The thick fringe of her bangs only emphasized the beauty of her vivid blue eyes.
He had liked having her under his roof last night, although he would have preferred her in his bed. But she had fit in beautifully, had added a fillip of interest to his hours at home, made even breakfast more interesting. And Garrett responded to her, so happily that even Regina had taken notice, watching the two with great interest. Jodi was good for all of them, and Reed was more determined than ever that they would take the next step. And he was confident enough that they would take it that he could be patient.
"Thank you," he said softly, reaching out and pulling her into his arms. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"Reed," she began."
"Hush," he said gently. "Just let me thank you, please? It means so much to me that you care for Garrett."
"Of course I care for him."
"I know. It will make the adjustment so much easier for all of us."
"Adjustment?"
"I'm sure you'll be glad to get out of that tiny, old place you're living in. And there will be no more of that vandalism you've been having, once you're here, and certainly no one would dare prowl the Keating house."
Jodi leaned back and stared up at him. He almost laughed with pleasure at her confusion; sweet girl, she was such an innocent. But it was right, he knew it was, this time. No more disasters like Debbie; Jodi had no need for bright lights, she loved Keating's Port, she would get along with Regina—
As if his thoughts had summoned her, his sister's voice sounded from the other side of the opening door.
"Reed? Whatever happened? Garrett is upstairs looking like—"
She stopped the instant she stepped into the room. Her eyes narrowed as she looked at the two of them.
"Congratulate us," Reed said happily.
"What?" Regina and Jodi said it simultaneously, and he laughed aloud.
"We're about to become engaged!"
"I'm sorry, Matt, I'm trying, but it still seems like she just... left."
"Damn it, J.T., there's been no word, not a call, nothing. It's just not like her!"
"Okay, okay. Tell me, would she be the type who, if she was pissed at a guy, would charge her escape to his credit card?"
There was a pause. "Maybe," Matt said, sounding reluctant to admit it. "I won't deny Debbie's a bit spoiled. She was the only girl, after all, and the youngest, and we all doted on her. She might think he owed her that. But she would have contacted us, eventually. She missed Jessica's birthday yesterday, J.T. Not even a card. She just wouldn't do that."
J.T. knew he was right. Matt's little girl adored her beautiful aunt, and he knew just from having listened to Jessica that they were very close.
"Do you want me to talk to the local sheriff? He seems like a decent enough guy."
"Is that Holland? I talked to him once already. He was nice, but he said there was no evidence that she didn't simply leave of her own free will."
J.T. changed tacks. "Nothing new from the police in New York?"
"As far as they know, she got on the plane in Seattle, and got off in New York. And vanished. But the police there, they don't care much. Said she was an adult, not a runaway. They sort of implied she's young, beautiful, and in the biggest, most exciting city in the country, of course she'll be out of touch."
J.T. thought they were probably right, but didn't say it. Matt was frustrated enough; if it hadn't been for the baby on the way J.T. knew he'd be here doing this himself, wheelchair or not.
"Did you talk to the airline?" There was a pause, and J.T. knew he'd done it again. Smothering a sigh, he resorted to blunt honesty. "Look, Matt, I'm sorry, but I wasn't completely with it the first time you called. I missed half of what you said. But I'm here now."
"I know, buddy."
The sympathy in his old friend's voice made J.T. cringe. He'd known people pitied him, felt sorry for him, and he hated it, but he hadn't had the energy to do anything about it. But he had to try now. For Matt, he had to try. Besides, he couldn't be in that stupid haze with Jodi around. He wasn't sure why he was so convinced of that, only that he needed to be alert and aware when she was around.
He nearly laughed at himself. Aware? Awareness was half the problem. He was all too aware when she was around. Aware of her, of everything about her, the way her sleek, short hair moved, baring her slender neck, the fresh, faintly floral scent of a woman who relied on soap, not perfume, even the way her chin came up when she reacted to something.
The other half of the problem was that when she was around, he was suddenly aware of himself, that he was a man, and alive and kicking.
"—wouldn't tell me, so I had Bob Mayfair check. He felt bad enough that one of the reasons Debbie and this Keating guy connected in the first place was because he was from there, where Bob's uncle lived. And you, of course."
J.T. yanked himself out of his reverie. Bob Mayfair was the L.A.P.D. officer who lived next door to Matt, and it was that uncle who had owned the cabin J.T. was living in. When the old man had died and Bob had been looking for something to do with his place, J.T. had impulsively grabbed at it.
"Me?" he asked.
"Well, she knew you were up there, I'd told her that. So when they were introduced, her and Keating, and she heard where he was from, she mentioned how she knew people from there, and they got to talking."
Great, J.T. muttered silently. Just what I needed to hear.
"What did Bob find out?" he asked.
"They said she checked in, and got on the plane Tuesday night. He also checked the credit card company, and they confirmed for him that it was purchased over the phone on Keating's card. He'd notified them she'd be using it, so they didn't question it."
Something occurred to J.T. then. "Do you know if it was a round-trip ticket?"
There was a moment of silence that gave the answer before Matt spoke. "One way," his friend finally said reluctantly.
"Matt," J.T. said slowly, "didn't Debbie always talk about how she wanted to go live in New York someday?"
"Don't you think I know what you're thinking? What everybody's thinking? She's a grown woman, she got burned in a relationship, she grabbed the chance to go to New York to lick her wounds ... I've thought of all of it, J.T. And I'd buy it, if we'd gotten so much as a postcard. But it just doesn't fit. She'd never scare us all like this."
"If she's hurting ... people do crazy things."
Another pause. "And who would know better than you?"
"Yeah," J.T. said dryly. "Who would?"
"Hey, I didn't mean you were crazy. Although when you first moved up there, I wondered."
J.T. knew he'd startled a lot of people. But he'd seen the photos Bob had taken, getting ready to sell the place, something about the little cabin deep in the trees had called to J.T., and he'd offered to rent it sight unseen. Bob Mayfair had warned him it was probably a bit rough, that his uncle had been a bit eccentric, but J.T. hadn't cared. He'd wanted as far away as he could get from the familiar places. And six months after he'd moved in, he'd bought it.
"I never figured you for the backwoods type," Matt said.
"I'm learning fast."
And that was an understatement, J.T. thought. He'd grown up in Southern California, had gone to college and worked there, had never known anything else. The shock of transplanting himself to a place that actually had seasons, of living in a place where you had to take the weather into account beyond the occasional cloudburst or spate of Santa Ana winds, had distracted him just as he'd hoped. Not completely, but there had been times when he'd had to deal with it on a rather elemental level, times when he literally hadn't been able to think of anything else. Not for long, but a lot longer than he'd been able to manage before.
"It's been three years, J.T. You've been up there in the trees for a year. Aren't you ready to come home?"
"No." The answer came so quickly it surprised even him. And for the first time he wondered if he would ever be ready. If he would ever again think of the place he'd spent most of his life as home.
"Damn it, buddy, you can't go on like this. It was awful, a tragedy, but you're still here. You think Rebecca would want you to stop living?"
"I am living."
"You're existing. Different thing altogether."
"I'll talk to Holland again," J.T. said, changing the subject abruptly. "And see if I can push for a little more from the Keating camp."
He heard a whisper of a sigh as Matt accepted the swerve in the conversation. "Can't you just ask the guy?"
J.T. grimaced. Maybe I could, he thought, if I wasn't so well established as the town eccentric.
"I'll try that, too," he said, not sure how he'd manage, but knowing he had to try. And what could possibly make him seem any more suspicious than he already did?
"She's my sister, J.T.," Matt said quietly.
"I know," J.T. said softly. She was Mart's sister, and he owed Matt his life. The fact that he didn't value that life overmuch made no difference. He had to keep trying. Push if he had to.
And if he didn't like the idea of using Jodi or Garrett to do it, he liked even less the idea of letting his best friend down.
'There you go, honey," Jodi said, "a nice, juicy grasshopper for dessert."
The small, female sparrow hawk hesitated, then took the insect from the end of the small stick Jodi held out. While the dark gray bird worked on dinner—fresh out of the freezer this morning—Jodi inspected her handiwork. The heavy cardboard splint she'd carefully taped on the bird's broken foot was holding.
"Another week," she told the bird, "and that can come off. A day or two of therapy and you'll be free, back where you belong."
The kestrel was one of her favorite birds. They had the spirit and courage of an eagle packed into their diminutive size; even this one, just over a foot in wingspan, was a tough little girl. To have a talon immobilized had to be horribly stressful, worse even than the pain the break had caused. Yet she was hanging in, perched on the rod Jodi had provided with one foot, the wounded one curled up against her body, tolerating her awkwardness as if she understood it was temporary.
As she thought about setting the bird free, of watching her soar into the wild as she was meant to do, Jodi felt a pang of urgency. She was just going to have to find a way to keep this place going. It was the only thing she wanted to do, help the wild ones who were damaged by man's intrusion into their world. And it was such a complex process; besides those who didn't realize the dangers of conditioning the animals to trust humans, there were those who became too emotionally involved, and couldn't accept the low success rate of saving injured wild creatures. They had no real perception of the mercilessness of nature; even in the wild, almost two out of three birds didn't survive their first year.
But trying to do what she could was the only thing that interested her, the only thing she could see herself doing.
"Some nice bone meal and vitamins for you next," Jodi said, "and then a good night's rest."
She finished up quickly, trying not to dwell on her unsettled vision of her future. She would go home, get something hot to eat, and curl up with a good book until she was too sleepy to keep her eyes open.
She yawned as she headed for the door, as if the thought of all that warmth and comfort had brought on the sleepiness already. It had been an emotionally exhausting day, and it was catching up with her. She wished yet again they'd gotten around to putting a gate in the fence behind the clinic, so she could simply go out the back and cross the small lawn to the house, instead of having to walk all the way around and through the parking lot. But her father had had other priorities. And his daughter had come in about third, after the animals under his care, and mourning his dead wife.
She knew it had affected her, causing her fear of loving too deeply, as her father had. She knew it had probably crippled the few romantic relationships she'd had in her life; she'd called one off the day she'd been supposed to order her wedding dress. Not that she doubted it would have been a mistake; it would have been, and what she'd done had been best for her and for Drew. He'd gone on to marry one of their other friends from college, and last she'd heard, was happily settled with three kids.
While Jodi stayed alone.
Geesh, she thought as she turned out the lights and picked up her keys, you must be tired, you've started whining.
With a sigh she pulled her jacket closer around her; the promise of fall was in the air tonight. She was going to have to dig out her insulated boots before long. In fact, she thought she might just build a fire tonight. Maybe it would help. She needed to be home, where she could think.
Of course, if she went home, she'd have to deal with the remainder of the damage that had been done. It had been, luckily, mostly just things tossed around, only a few things had been broken, but that didn't help much. Not when the memory of that small curl of shaved wood on J. T.’s shoulder kept haunting her.
She shoved the thought out of her mind. She had enough other things unsettling her, she thought. This place, and what she would do with it, the huge hole her father's absence still left in her life, Garrett's restlessness, Reed's audacity...
She grimaced as she locked the outer door and pulled it closed behind her, automatically checking to make sure it had latched. Her shock at Reed's unexpected—and undiscussed—announcement to his sister that they were about to be engaged had turned to annoyance the moment Regina had, after smiling and offering her best wishes, left the room. She hadn't been very gracious about it, either, she admitted ruefully. She wondered if the illustrious mayor of Keating's Port had ever been called a presumptuous, arrogant bozo before.
He'd been angry at first, but then seemed almost amused by her reaction, which had only added to her irritation. And while perhaps he had some grounds—everybody in town considered him the catch of the entire county, if not the state—Jodi had never been much for following the crowd. So she'd left him there, with the beginnings of an apology on his lips. That he'd made such an announcement—even if only to his sister—without even asking her ...
She found herself stomping toward the dirt parking lot, where she would cut across the corner toward home. The world seemed deserted, not even a car passing on the street; this time of year it got dark so late that when it did, things seemed to come to a complete halt. She usually wasn't at the clinic at this hour, but her foundling hawk needed this last feeding to get through the night peacefully. Quiet, peaceful. Unlike her life had been of late.
She supposed she would have to give Reed a chance to apologize; at least he'd realized immediately what he'd done wrong. Perhaps it was the pitfall of being a Keating in Keating's Port, you tended to forget that not everyone saw things exactly your way. But she wouldn't agree to any kind of engagement; it was much too early for that, in her view. She liked Reed—except for times like this, when his privileged background outweighed his sensitivity—and she couldn't deny the appeal of becoming part of a close-knit family group, especially including Garrett, but she wasn't ready for any kind of permanent declaration. Besides, she couldn't help wondering if her greatest qualification in Reed's mind was her love for Keating's Port, and her willingness to stay, unlike the quickly forgotten Debbie.
She frowned as she made the turn into the darkened parking area. Quickly forgotten by everyone except J.T., that is, who seemed to be awfully curious about Reed's past romances. He—
The dark shape came out of the shadows with a swiftness that froze her muscles and her throat; she couldn't even scream.
The shape became a figure, a more solid black mass against the shadows. Slightly taller than she was. Unrelieved black, arms, legs, hands, feet. Even the head was black, with some vague, circular, lighter shapes. It took her a moment to realize it was a ski mask with holes for mouth, nose, and eyes.
She couldn't see anything more. The figure's arm came up, began an odd downward motion. Jodi's brain finally kicked in. She couldn't see it, but knew there had to be a weapon of some kind in the hand at the end of that arm. Instinctively she turned. Ducked. Protected her head with her arms. Felt the heavy thud across her shoulders. The power of it drove her to her knees. She cried out as pain shot through her. The figure came closer. Loomed over her. The arm moved again.
Desperately she kicked out. Toward the legs of her attacker. The lug sole of her shoe connected, hard. She heard a grunt of pain. The figure stumbled. Jodi yelled with as much force as she could manage. Tried to get to her feet. To run.
A light came on in the house across the street from hers. She yelled again. A male voice boomed out.
"What's going on out there?"
The black shape froze. Turned. Ran.
Jodi sagged back onto the dirt, relief flooding her. The figure disappeared back the way Jodi had come, around the front of the clinic. More lights came on, more voices called out, and Jodi knew she was safe. Bless this town anyway; nobody was afraid to get involved.
She got shakily to her feet. She could see people coming outside, saw Mr. Raymond, her neighbor across the street, looking her way. He was an older man, but still big and burly. He would have scared off most anyone. And her attacker had been much smaller than the former longshoreman, although taller and heavier than she herself. About the size of... she tried to think, to remember. About the size of...
Danny Harris.
The memory of the rage in the boy's eyes came back to her once more with vivid clarity. She thought she'd made him think that day on the street, and he'd walked away leaving her unharmed ... but perhaps he regretted that—
"Gertie, call the cops!" Mr. Raymond yelled out as he charged down the steps of his house and started her way.
The sound of a revving motor turned her head. Then tires squealed. She hastily took a step back into the shadows, wondering if her attacker had had a car handy for a quick escape. Only moments had really passed, it could be...
She watched the street, then, when she realized the car was heading the other way, leaned forward to look around the corner. She saw taillights. Heard the revving sound again. And then, as it passed under the halo of the block's single streetlight, she saw the vehicle.
It was J. T.’s truck. 
Chapter 10
"Can't I stay up a little longer?"
"It's already past your bedtime," Reed said.
He wanted the boy gone; he was antsy and wanted to be alone to think. He had to determine how to mollify Jodi; he'd been a bit taken aback by her reaction to his announcement. Although he was willing to admit it had been a mistake to blurt it out without telling her first; women set store by things like that. But he'd been so filled with plans, so convinced she was perfect for him, that together they would forge an unbeatable combination. And besides, Regina wasn't just anyone, she had the right to know as soon as he did. Jodi simply didn't understand that yet. But she would. She—
"Please?" Garrett said, sounding on the verge of whining.
"Your aunt will be home anytime, and if you're still up you know what will happen." Darn Regina anyway for running late at the Preservation Society meeting.
"But you're here now," Garrett pleaded.
Somewhat placated by his son's obvious desire to be with him, Reed suppressed his annoyance. He supposed it wasn't the boy's fault that Regina was late, even if it did leave him to look after the child, which made him uncomfortable. He'd simply never learned, that was all. Darlene had always taken complete care of Garrett. She'd been good at that, at least. Perhaps he should have considered that more before he'd written her off as a lost cause.
But it was too late now. That was over and done. Now it was Regina's job to care for the boy. He would step in later, when his son was old enough to understand the world he was going to be part of someday. When the boy could communicate in an adult manner, then they would become close, he was sure of that. There was no point in trying now, they had nothing in common to talk about.
Or did they?
"Maybe for a few minutes," he said, thinking quickly. "Let's... talk." Garrett's eyes widened. "So tell me what you've been doing out at... Trager's place."
He could barely keep up with the boy's excited words as he chattered on about some wooden toy they were making. It sounded childish and an utter waste of time to him; how could a grown man have any interest in such a thing?
He finally cut off the stream of babble. "And what does Jodi do while this is going on?"
"Oh, she's with J.T."
Anger surged in him. "Doing what? Isn't he helping you?"
"I don't need help," the boy said, sounding stung. "I can do it, I just need him to tell me how."
"Then what do they do?"
Garrett looked thoughtful, then shrugged. "I dunno. They sit on the porch. I work on the workbench J.T. made for me, out in the yard."
Reed wasn't sure what was irritating him more, the boy's deliberate obtuseness, or the confirmation that when they were there, Jodi was spending her time not with Garrett but with that half-loony recluse.
"What," he said through clenched teeth, "do they do while they're sitting on the porch?"
Garrett looked suddenly wary, as if he'd finally sensed his father's anger. "Talk mostly, I guess."
"They stay on the porch? Outside?"
"Sure. There's not much to do inside. J.T. doesn't even have a TV."
Reed's ire ebbed slightly. But he was still going to call a halt to this. He could hardly let it get out that his fiancee spent so much time with another man, even with a child around. He didn't know why Regina had allowed Garrett to fraternize with that character anyway. But perhaps she hadn't known. But he knew, now, and it would stop.
Besides, Jodi and Regina would soon have enough to keep them both busy. As soon as he got this straightened out and Jodi forgave him, they would have a wedding to plan. And a Keating wedding at that.
He smiled. He should tell the boy. He'd be delighted, no doubt. He opened his mouth to do it.
But the memory of Jodi's upset forestalled him. Perhaps, he thought, he would wait. She was such a softy when it came to Garrett. It might be just the kind of sentimental thing that would salve her temper if he suggested they tell the boy together.
His smile widened. Yes, that would be just the ticket. Maybe he'd reactivate his plan for the three of them to go to dinner. That would be even better; she couldn't get in a snit in a public place, and she'd never do it in front of Garrett.
She would forgive him; Jodi was unfailingly generous and never held a grudge. And eventually, he'd forgive her for having called him a presumptuous, arrogant bozo.
"You should see Doc Marten," Chet said again. And again Jodi shook her head. She was very aware that a small group had gathered, drawn by the unaccustomed disturbance in their tranquil little neighborhood. It had taken Chet's arrival to quiet the chatter that consisted mainly of increasingly unlikely speculation on who would do such an awful thing.
"I'm okay. I'll be sore and bruised, but nothing's broken. Nothing to bother him about."
Chest hesitated, watching her with concern, but finally nodded. "All right. You're lucky you saw him in time to react, protect your head."
Jodi grinned crookedly, still a little shaky. "Yeah, even my hard head wouldn't have helped against... whatever it was."
"You're sure it was metal?"
She nodded. "When I kicked him, he kind of stumbled, and it hit the pavement. And clanked."
"Okay, good," Chet said, making another entry on his notepad. "And he never made a grab for your purse, or your keys?"
She shook her head. "It didn't feel like that," she said, knowing she sounded vague, "like a theft, I mean. It felt more..."
"Personal?" Chet suggested. "Like the vandalism and the break-in?"
She nodded. It made it so much scarier, but she couldn't deny the feeling. And that Chet had understood so quickly didn't alleviate her unease.
But what had her most shaken of all was that image, replaying over and over in her mind, of J. T.’s truck speeding away.
It couldn't be. It just couldn't.
Even as she thought it, she knew she was being naive, that she had no idea what he might be capable of. All the times when she'd had second thoughts, when she'd wondered if she was wrong about him, if the anger she'd sensed in him could erupt into something worse, the moment she'd seen that wood shaving on his shoulder, had come back to her in a rush when she'd seen that truck.
"You need me anymore, Chet?" Mr. Raymond asked, derailing her racing thoughts. "It's coolin' down out here."
The deputy turned to look at the man who had probably saved her life. "No, Fred, go on in. And thank you for your help."
"For all your help," Jodi added, and the big man smiled at her.
The rest of the group seemed undecided as Mr. Raymond walked away; this was more excitement than they were used to.
"Don't have much to go on, do you, Sheriff?" someone said from the sidelines. "Some guy dressed all in black, black ski mask and gloves? What are you going to do?"
Chet smiled; he never let people get to him, and Jodi admired that. "Guess I'll just have to do some extra clever police work."
"You do that, Chet Holland! We don't need these kinds of goings-on here." Elderly Mae Merrick gestured with an arthritic finger at Jodi. "Poor girl has enough on her plate."
"I'll take care of it, Mrs. Merrick," Chet said with his unfailing politeness.
The rest of the group began anew, making suggestions on just how Chet should go about "taking care of it." Jodi was edgy with what she hadn't yet told the deputy, but knew she couldn't—wouldn't—tell him in front of this group, no matter how helpful they'd been.
"Chet?" He turned back to her. "I think I would like to sit down. May I use your car? I do feel kind of cold."
"Of course," he said, stepping close and taking her elbow. She looked up at him, made a slight nodding gesture. He didn't react, but after he'd settled her in the front seat he said, loud enough for the others to hear, "I'll get the heater on for you," and Jodi knew he'd understood, since it wasn't really that cold anyway. At least she hadn't thought it was. But now a shiver went through her, and she thought she just might take that heater.
Chet shut the door and walked around to the driver's side. He opened the door, then looked across the roof, with the spinning amber light throwing flashes across his face, and spoke to the still hovering group.
"You folks better get inside, too. You don't have jackets, and we're about done here anyway."
As was usual with Chet, even though he'd spoken in the friendliest of tones, no one thought to disobey the order implicit in his words. They began to shuffle away, first casting glances back over their shoulders, then picking up the pace as they became convinced Chet was right and they needed the warmth of their homes.
Jodi watched them go, a small smile curving her lips despite what had happened; her neighbors had charged outside to her defense, and had generally raged at her attacker and comforted her until help had arrived. They might have been a pain for Chet afterward, but when she'd needed them, they'd turned out in force, without hesitation.
"There's been more activity in this town in the past month than I've seen in years," Chet said conversationally as he got into the car and pulled the door shut. He reached down and nudged the heater knob, then up and flipped on the overhead light. Then he turned to face her. "And too much of it has been centered around you."
"Don't I know it," Jodi muttered, flexing her shoulders, already feeling the ache that she knew would become worse—and suffer—by morning.
"First you have a prowler, then the clinic, then your house, now this. What's going on?"
"I wish I knew," Jodi said; she'd told Chet the night her house had been trashed about the feeling she'd had a couple of nights before that someone was lurking about.
She shivered.
"You really cold?"
"A little. But I shouldn't be, it's not that cold. So why am I shivering?"
"Probably reaction. A touch of shock. Leaves you shaky," Chet said. "You change your mind about the doctor?"
"No."
"I didn't think so. So what is it?"
She turned to look at him, but hesitated.
"Do you think it was Danny Harris again?"
"I..." She took a breath and tried again. "I thought it might be ... he was pretty threatening when I had that run-in with him the other day." She'd also told Chet about that, the night of the break-in. That, and the boy's proclivity for calling women a particular name.
Chet's mouth twisted wryly. "Well, it wouldn't be a surprise. That boy's a powder keg looking for a match."
"And this guy was about the right height."
"Anything else to make you think it might have been him? See any hair sticking out from under the mask or anything?" 
She shook her head. Did he say anything?"
'No. Nothing."
'Well, he's a good place to start. I've been waiting for detectives to get around to him since I listed him as a suspect, but maybe I'll have to take a little trip out to the Harrises myself. Other than Danny, anybody mad at you? Hard though that is to believe," Chet amended quickly.
Jodi managed a weak smile. "Mad? Probably." Colleen, for reminding her of her son's history, and casting suspicion on him again. Branch, for embarrassing him in front of the crowd that day at the post office. Chuck, for embarrassing his brother. Reed, for her lack of instant joy at his unexpected announcement.
"Any of them mad enough to do this?" Chet asked.
"I... wouldn't think so."
"And you didn't see anything else?"
Jodi looked away. She stared at the console in front of her, at the complex-looking radio system, and at the more ominous shotgun held in a locked rack just to the left of her knees.
"Jodi?" Chet prodded.
She let out a long, compressed breath. "I saw a truck. Heading up toward the highway. Right after."
Chet came to attention. "A truck? Why didn't you tell me sooner?"
"I can't be sure it was involved. I didn't see who was in it."
"But the timing was right? He would have had time to get to it?"
She nodded. "It pulled out of the alley on the other side of the clinic." 
"And went north?" She nodded again, still not looking at him. "Did you see what kind of truck? What color?"
"It went right through the streetlight in front of the feed store."
"Good, a break."
Chet waited, and when she didn't speak—he must be used to dealing with people under stress—he gently asked, "What kind, Jodi? Full-sized, or a mini-truck?"
She sighed. Lifted her head. And at last met Chet's gaze full on. She saw his brows furrow, then saw realization dawn in his face. She held up a hand to forestall the importuning.
And at last she told him. "It was J. T.’s truck."
She saw his eyes change, saw him considering all the ramifications. "Damn," he muttered. "You're sure?"
"Yes. But I don't think it was him, Chet."
She expected him to ask how she could possibly know mat, given the disguise, but he didn't. He just asked simply, "Why?"
She tried to give logical, police-type reasons. "I don't think he was tall enough. Big enough. And he... didn't move right. I know that sounds—"
Chet stopped her with a shake of his head. "Judgments like that are valid," he said, then added pointedly, "if you're familiar enough with him to make them."
Jodi was grateful for the low wattage of the dome light in the car, because she knew she was blushing. "I've... spent some time with him lately. With Garrett," she added quickly, as if it were necessary to explain.
But Chet, as usual, merely absorbed. "All right. Anything else?"
She hesitated, wondering if she should tell him about the wood shaving. But it was absolutely true that she could have carried that home herself. And it made a lot more sense that it was Danny's anger behind all this.
She gave a helpless little half shrug. "He has no reason," was all she could think to say.
Chet grimaced. "Most folks think him being crazy's his reason for anything."
"He's not!" It came out much more heated than she'd wanted, and again she felt herself color.
"I don't think he is, either," Chet said quietly.
Appeased, Jodi sank back in the seat.
"But I'm going to go talk to him. So why don't you go inside? Take a hot bath, soak that bruise you're going to have."
"I want to go with you."
"No, Jodi."
"But I'm the victim."
"Exactly. And he's a possible suspect. Go home, Jodi. I'll talk to you after."
She wasn't sure why it was so imperative, but she knew she had to be there, had to see J. T's face when Chet told him what had happened.
"I have to go," she said, thinking swiftly. "So I can be sure it really was his truck I saw."
Chet frowned. "You said you were sure."
"I only saw it for a few seconds in the light. And I haven't paid much attention to it. I could be wrong, every other person around here drives a truck."
Chet's mouth tightened. "Don't try and manipulate me, Jodi."
Jodi felt a pang of shame, but persisted. "I don't mean to, but I have to be there, Chet. I... may be able to read him." He wasn't convinced, she could see that. "I... need to know," she said, the distress she was feeling creeping into her voice.
Chet said nothing for a long moment, just studied her, and Jodi wondered what he was seeing in her face.
"Is this another one of your wounded critters, Jodi? Or something more?"
God, was it so obvious? "I don't know," she answered honestly. But I might, after this.
As if she'd said it aloud, Chet decided abruptly. "All right. I suppose if I find any evidence, like the mask or gloves, I'll need you to take a look, see if you can identify it. But you do exactly what I say."
"Yes, sir," Jodi said meekly. Chet rolled his eyes. That was another thing about growing up in a small town; everybody knew you too well. But he put the car in gear.
"Hmm," Chet murmured as they reached the end of the gravel road and found the gate to J. T.’s place open. "Interesting."
"He hasn't been locking it anymore," Jodi said quickly.
"Feeling sociable these days, is he?"
"He hasn't locked it since I've been bringing Garrett out every day."
Chet gave her a sideways glance. "I'll bet it's open for more than just Garrett."
Lord, would she never stop blushing? Jodi wondered. But she kept her mouth shut as they drove through the open gate. Chet drove with slow care, as if he were striving for quiet.
The truck was there. Nosed into the carport, Jodi realized; J.T. usually backed it in. Chet pulled up behind it, so close that he was blocking it; J.T. wouldn't be able to get out unless he moved his unit. And Jodi realized with a qualm that that was exactly why he had done it.
Chet rolled down his window and sat silently for a moment. The only sound was a rustle of a breeze through the trees, and the occasional creak of cooling metal.
Even as she thought it she heard Chet murmur, "Bet my badge it's still warm."
He got out, leaving his door open. Again it was a moment before Jodi realized it was to avoid any noise. She also got out, and Chet gestured to her to wait. She watched as he moved silently over to the truck, laid a hand on the hood, and came back. She could tell from his face he'd been right.
"Keys are still in it, even," he said.
She wasn't sure it was worth much, but she tried anyway. "He doesn't usually park that way," she said, explaining that every time she'd been here the truck had been backed in.
"Hmm," Chet said again, unhelpfully. "Wait here."
"Chet—"
"We had a deal, Jodi," he reminded her.
She subsided, unhappily. She heard his footsteps fade away as he made his way down the stone stairs. She put her arms on top of the car and rested her head on them, wondering how on earth she'd ended up here, riding around in a police car looking for the guy who'd tried to bash her head in.
And wondering if she was a fool because she couldn't quite believe that J.T. was that guy.
It seemed like forever before she heard sounds from the stairway. She turned to look, and saw J.T. coming up into view, Chet just a few steps behind him. The headlights of the patrol car gave them some light, and she was standing on the stairway side, so as soon as he hit the top he saw her. She saw him hesitate for a moment, his gaze flicking up and down over her. Then he kept coming.
When he got to her he reached out and touched her arm. "Are you all right?"
That those were his first words warmed her absurdly. That he'd felt the need to touch her did things that she didn't want to analyze right now. And the very bottom line was that she truly could not believe he'd been the one who attacked her.
"Fine."
"You're sure?"
His urgency fed the unnamed, dangerous feeling growing inside her. "Yes," she said, looking away, afraid he'd read something in her eyes that she wasn't ready for him to see.
"Chet said you've been having trouble before this. You didn't tell me."
She shrugged, unsure of what to say. She was vaguely aware that Chet had hung back slightly; she should have known she could count on him to give them a moment alone.
What she hadn't counted on was that J.T. would misread her intent when she avoided his gaze.
"It wasn't me, Jodi," he said, his voice taut, urgent. "I didn't... I would never—"
He stopped as Chet closed the distance between them. "He says he's been here all evening. Doesn't know why his truck's warm."
Only then did J.T. turn to look at the carport. His brows lowered. "I didn't park it that way. I never do."
Jodi glanced at Chet, who gave a minute nod as J. T.’s words corroborated what she'd said. "You loan it to somebody?"
"Intentionally? No." He walked to the driver's side, leaned into the cab, then pulled back and looked at Chet. "I can't be sure, but I think there's about twenty more miles on it."
Jodi quickly did the math; from here to the clinic was about five miles, so that left ten. Which could have been put on it anywhere. Including, she thought with a chill, looking for her.
"You saying somebody stole it?" Chet asked.
Something in Chet's tone made J.T. suck in a breath. "I know what you're thinking. It's the most common story in the world, but I swear, I didn't drive it tonight. Haven't in days."
"It is the favored allegation when a car's involved in a crime," Chet said, while Jodi was wondering how J.T. would be so sure of that. "So how did they manage to get your keys?"
"They were in it. They usually are."
"You leave your keys in the ignition?"
"It's on my property," J.T. said. "Rumor had it this was a crime-free area. I don't even have a door key."
"You know he's right, Chet," Jodi put in. "When we finally sold our place out here, we had to have new keys made, because we hadn't used ours in years and couldn't find them."
Chet stayed zeroed in on J.T. "You're saying it was taken and brought back and you never heard a thing?"
J.T. began to take on a resigned expression, but he gestured down the hill. "Not down there. I don't hear much from up on the road anyway, and with the cabin door shut..."
 "That's true, too," Jodi said. "You can't hear anything down there."
J.T. switched his gaze back to her, watching her intently. She wasn't sure what he was looking for, or why. All she'd done was tell the truth.
"Who might know you leave the keys in it?"
J.T. considered that. "Nobody, really," he finally said, in the tone of a man who knew what he was saying wasn't going to help him much. "Garrett knows, I guess, but that's about all."
"It's visible from the street," Jodi pointed out. "Maybe somebody saw it and just decided to take a look."
Chet turned to her then. "Somebody 'borrows' a truck, attacks you, and then puts it back? And just happens to borrow it from the guy you've been spending your afternoons with lately? Quite a coincidence, wouldn't you say?"
Jodi blushed furiously then, and was fervently thankful it was too dark to tell.
"Keating's Port is a small town," she managed to say. "You're going to have a certain amount of coincidence."
"Hmm," Chet said. Funny she'd never noticed what an annoying habit that was before.
"Seems you've only got a few alternatives," J.T. said. His voice was suddenly cool, uninvolved, as if he'd gone from resigned to numb. Or as if he'd slipped back to being the man she'd first encountered, in so much pain he simply couldn't feel anymore. She hated that thought, and tried to quash it.
"Such as?" Chet said, sounding curious.
"Somebody borrowed my truck, specifically or randomly, and went after Jodi, also either specifically or randomly. Or it was me." He grimaced slightly. "In your shoes, I'd vote for the latter. It makes a lot more sense. But I didn't do it."
For a long, silent moment Chet stood looking at J.T., measuringly. J.T. simply stood there, silent, meeting the deputy's gaze, not challengingly but levelly.
Finally Jodi couldn't stand it any longer and said, "There's a third possibility. That the truck isn't related at all, that whoever borrowed it just happened to be in the area, and maybe got scared off when they realized somebody was calling you and they might get caught joyriding. Maybe that's why they brought it back, they just got scared."
"I still like the simple explanation," Chet said dryly. "But somehow I don't think I'm going to get it." He tossed his notebook into the front seat of his car. "Since the suspect wore gloves there's no point in checking for fingerprints. So I guess there's also no point in impounding the truck as evidence. But I'd like to search it."
"Go ahead," J.T. said.
It didn't take long, although Chet was thorough, even removing the floor mats and the carpeting. He found nothing J.T. didn't claim, and not much of that; some nails in a ripped box, an old, brightly colored blanket that looked to her like a Mexican serape, a jug of water, and a coffee mug. The bed of the truck held only a few odd lengths of lumber and a couple of bungee cords.
"You got a tool kit?"
J.T. nodded. "It's in the box under the back bench seat."
"Crowbar in there?"
"Should be, I've never—"
J.T. stopped abruptly. He looked at Chet, then turned to stare at Jodi with horror-filled eyes. "My God," he whispered. "A crowbar? That bastard came after you with a crowbar?"
"Maybe," Jodi said cautiously as Chet dug around under the small backseat of the extended cab truck. "I didn't really see it that well, and—"
"It's here," Chet said, holding it up.
Jodi looked. "No," she said quickly. "It wasn't silver. It was black, too."
"You're sure?"
She nodded. "And it was ... longer. And I think it was straight, not bent at the end like that."
Chet nodded, and put the tool back. Then he straightened up, backed away from the truck, and gestured Jodi over to his car, out of J. T.’s hearing. Taking the hint gracefully, J.T. stayed at the truck and began to put things back in.
"There's no real evidence here," Chet said. "Certainly not enough for an arrest."
Jodi let out a sigh of relief, realizing even as she did so that most people would think her on the wrong side of this, that she should be looking to see the person who attacked her in custody. But she just couldn't believe it was J.T., whether it was the simplest answer or not.
"But be careful, Jodi," Chet said, glancing back at J.T.
"What do you mean?"
Chet hesitated, then said, "I did a little checking on him, after Darlene Keating died. He was a firefighter, down in California. Hired on at the Orange County Fire Authority right after graduating from U.C.L.A. Had a trunkful of commendations for bravery, saved about a dozen lives as a firefighter. Helped set up the U.S.A.R. team after that last big earthquake. Er, that's Urban Search and Rescue," he said at her puzzled look. "They pull people out of collapsed buildings, tunnels, that kind of thing." He hesitated before going on. "He ended up a senior Fire Safety Specialist."
The tone of Chet's voice had changed, and Jodi didn't dare look over at J.T. "That's a sterling set of references," she said. "Hardly a warning. So?"
"His wife and son were killed in a house fire. Some kind of hidden wiring problem. It caught in the middle of the night. They never had a chance."
Jodi's breath caught. "Oh, God ..."
"It gets worse. He was working overtime at the closest station when they got the call, so he was at the scene. Nearly died of smoke inhalation himself, trying to get to them. He went a little crazy after that. They covered for him, but after a year he ended up suspended for recklessness. And then he quit. A year after that, he ended up here."
Jodi couldn't help herself then; she looked at J.T. He was sliding the carpeting back into the front of the truck. In some part of her mind, beneath the horror of what Chet had told her, she was feeling vindicated for her defense of this man; he wasn't eccentric, he wasn't even the oddball they called him. He was a hero who'd suffered a terrible loss and was probably dealing with it the only way he knew how.
I gave up on fairness a long time ago...
His words came back to her, and her stomach knotted; dear God, no wonder he felt that way.
"I don't know what kind of shape he's in now," Chet said. "But he was pretty out there, from what I heard. Less than what happened to him has made men snap. Made them dangerous to be around."
"Are you saying he could still be the one?"
"I'm just saying somebody who's been through mat could seem perfectly normal one minute, and snap the next. I'm just saying be careful," Chet repeated.
"Why didn't you tell me this before?"
Chet shrugged. "It wasn't really .. . germane until now. And when I talked to him about it, he told me then he didn't want this known, which is his right."
He did have a right to his privacy, she admitted.
"And," Chet added, "I didn't want to influence you, on whether he might be the one who attacked you."
Jodi absorbed what he'd said for a moment. "It seems," she finally said, "that his instinct would be to save, not hurt."
"Maybe normally," Chet agreed. "But if he was out of control enough to get himself suspended, despite a stellar record..."
His voice trailed off, and he shrugged again. And Jodi couldn't argue with what he said. If he truly were ... unbalanced, she had no idea why he might have fixated on her, but she supposed that didn't matter, that madness had its own logic those outside couldn't understand.
She couldn't quite convince herself that it had been J.T.
But neither could she still the little voice in her mind telling her that if she was wrong, she could end up paying a heavy price. In more ways than one. 
Chapter 11
He hadn't realized she was still here. He'd thought she'd gone with the deputy, without saying good-bye. No reason for her to say anything, he told himself. And no reason for him to expect her to.
And then, no sooner had he finished restoring his truck to its not exactly pristine condition, he'd straightened up and there she stood.
"What are you still doing here?" he said, then wished he hadn't said it quite so sharply.
She didn't even flinch. "Chet had ... somebody else to talk to. Somebody who might have ... done this. And the other stuff."
"Oh." What else could he say?
"Besides, I wanted to ask you something."
He shut the truck door—pocketing the keys this time— and turned to face her.
"It wasn't me, Jodi. Any of it."
She smiled at him. Surely she wouldn't look at him like that if she'd thought it had been him, would she? His heart gave a fierce kick, and he lowered his eyes. He had to, he just couldn't look at her.
"What I wanted to ask was if you still had any of that cocoa you made Garrett the other day."
His head came up sharply. "What?"
"I'm a little cold, after standing out here. I think it's reaction."
He felt suddenly as awkward as a schoolboy with a crush on his first-grade teacher. "I... sure. I think so. I... come down and get warm."
He turned abruptly and started toward the steps, afraid every thought that had rushed through his mind at his own words about getting her warm must be showing on his face. For someone who'd thought his libido dead and not just buried but cremated, he was certainly having some unruly ideas lately, he thought.
"Careful," he said, his voice at least a bit steadier, "it's dark until you get down through the trees a little."
She made it, although he noticed her wince as she came down the last three steps in a rush. The image that had leapt to vivid life in his mind when the deputy had asked him about the crowbar came back to him, and he stifled a shudder.
"Are you sure you're all right?"
"I'm going to be stiff tomorrow," she admitted. "But I'll be fine."
He held the cabin door for her. "Maybe you should just relax, stay at home for a couple of days."
"Can't. I've got a kestrel counting on me."
"A what?"
"A sparrow hawk, with a broken foot. A lady and her little girl brought her in. She'll be okay, but she has to be fed regularly."
She was inside and standing in his small living area, looking around curiously, before he realized she'd never really been inside before. When she came with Garrett, the boy was working outside so they usually sat on the porch, within call if he needed anything. He wondered what she was thinking as she looked at his rather spartan abode. Then he decided he was probably better off not knowing.
"What else happened before tonight?" he asked.
She gave him what he was sure was a very condensed version, and he wondered if it was because she still suspected him, despite his protestations of innocence. But to his surprise that didn't seem as important as her being in danger; she could have been badly hurt tonight, or worse.
She walked over to the fire and sat down on the stone hearth. Heading for the small galley kitchen, he watched as she looked at the fire. He saw her look up at the photograph, then back at the fire. Then she looked at him. And an expression of understanding spread across her face.
"The fire. That's why it's always burning, even in the day when you don't need it..."
He froze midstride. "What?"
"The fire, it's... what, to remind you? Torture you? Haunt you with the fact that you couldn't save them?"
He swore, low and harsh under his breath, then again, louder. He felt a slow boil of anger begin. "How the hell... Holland. It had to be him. He went poking around, didn't he?"
"It's his job—"
He turned on her, his concern for her seared to ash as his fury rose higher and hotter than the flames on the hearth. "I told him all he needed to know, he didn't have to go digging for the rest. And it's not his job to blab private information to the world!"
It was scorching him, his fury at his pitiful life made public. He had to move, had to do something. Had to slow this down or he was going to explode. He didn't even realize he'd moved until his hand hit an empty glass that sat on the counter next to the small stove, and sent it flying. The glass shattered. Silence reigned for a long moment.
"He only told me."
Jodi's words were low and quiet, but seemed to echo like thunder in the aftermath of the breaking glass. He spun back to look at her. She was watching him warily, almost fearfully. As if...
As if she was no longer sure he hadn't been the one to hurt her. As if she was thinking all over again that he might be capable of it, and worse. Maybe she was even wondering about Keating's wife again, and whether those rumors were more than just rumors. Wondering if he could be a murderer.
And he knew, deep in his gut, the answer to that. He had only to remember how many times he'd wanted to kill someone simply because they were alive, and the people he loved most were dead. He had little doubt he was capable of just that, if the circumstances were right.
But the look on her face shocked him. Not the wariness, he'd almost become used to that. But the fear. No woman had ever been afraid of him before.
He realized suddenly that he was cold. Shaking. Despite the heat from the fire. He tried to speak. Couldn't. Tried to move. Couldn't. Felt his knees giving way and tried to stiffen them. Couldn't.
He felt the rough wall behind his back as he went down, sliding to the floor like a drunk who could no longer stand. He could hear his own breathing, quickened and harsh. And he was afraid that if he looked at his hands, they'd be trembling.
And then Jodi was there, beside him. Despite the fear he'd seen in her face, her first instinct was to comfort. As if he were one of her wounded animals.
"Don't. Want. Your. Pity." It came out in chunks of sound, but was the best he could manage.
"Pity has nothing to do with it," she whispered.
And then she touched him, the merest brush of her fingers over his forehead as she pushed back his hair. He shivered, tensing himself uselessly against the response. How could she want to even be near him, after he'd frightened her like that?
He shivered again, and this time it seemed to use up what little energy he had left, and his muscles relaxed. He dragged in a deep breath. Then another. Calmer now, he risked a look at her. There truly was no pity in her expression, simply a quiet understanding of pain nearly too great to be borne.
"I... sorry I scared you," he muttered, lowering his gaze to the floor, realizing only now that he'd barely escaped slicing himself up with a large shard of the glass he'd broken.
"You were angry." He couldn't argue with that, so said nothing. "And I don't think you were angry at me."
"No." It wasn't her fault Holland had gone digging, and then opened his big mouth.
"I don't think you're even really angry at Chet," she said softly. His head came up again. "I think you're angry at life. Fate. God. Whoever. Just like I was when my father died too young, from something it doesn't seem possible in this day and age could be fatal."
He felt a quiver deep within him, as if his muscles were feeling the chill again, getting ready to shiver. But it faded. He stared at nothing, eyes unfocused, as she settled down on the floor beside him. And he simply sat there, listening to her voice, that gentle, soft voice.
"And it was worse for you, wasn't it? Much worse, because your loss was ... so big. And because ... of how it happened. The feeling you could have saved them, if only you'd tried harder."
He met her eyes then, startled by the painful accuracy of her perception. "I should have," he said, only vaguely aware that his voice was barely above a whisper. "I've saved others. Lots of them. Even when they said it was too late. I got them out, so why not... damn it, I should have!"
His whisper had become a shout, and he fought down the rising emotion, afraid if he let it loose he truly would explode.
"How?" Jodi asked simply.
"I should have found a way!"
"Was there any hope when you got there?"
"That doesn't matter."
"Did you risk your life to go in anyway?"
"Doesn't matter," he repeated dully, not even wondering any longer just how much she knew.
"Would dying have done them any good?"
He sighed. He'd heard all this before, they'd told him over and over it wasn't his fault, there was nothing he could have done. And they all conveniently overlooked the one thing that made it all untrue.
Jodi just sat there, silently, looking at him with that incredible warmth and understanding in her eyes. But it would fade if he told her, he thought. If he told her, she'd understand why he didn't deserve her understanding, didn't even deserve her pity.
He couldn't tell her. He couldn't tell anyone, but especially her.
And then he couldn't stop himself from telling her. The words simply came, as if they'd been in a pot that he couldn't keep from boiling over.
"I was a firefighter. A fire safety specialist to be exact. I had a degree in fire science, damn it. It was my job to make buildings fire safe. It's what I did, and I did it for everyone. Everyone but the people I loved most."
"But Chet said it was some hidden wiring thing that caused it."
The guy said too damn much, J.T. thought. And so did whoever he talked to back home.
"It was an older house. An old classic, Rebecca called it." He barely cringed when he said her name aloud; the pressure of all the things he carried inside, silently, lived with every day, was growing, until he could feel little else. "I knew there could be some wiring problems. Knew we should have waited to move in until I could check it out."
"Why didn't you?"
He did cringe then. He'd let his good judgment be overpowered, and he'd paid for it every day of his life since.
"We'd been living in a little apartment. Barely enough room to turn around. Then we found this house. It was going to need some work, but Rebecca loved it, couldn't wait to get into it, to get started fixing it up. And Adam..." He stumbled on the name. He hadn't spoken it aloud in a long time. Jodi waited silently. And after a moment he went on. "Adam was crazy to have a yard to play in."
He couldn't go on. And as it turned out, he didn't have to.
"They wanted to move right away," she said softly, "and you ... gave in."
Somehow not having to say it didn't help. The pressure was still there, tightening his chest, making it hard to breathe, pushing so hard it seemed to force the words out, the bottom line he'd tried futilely to bury, the sum total of his existence for the past three years.
"I... wanted to make them happy. And I ended up ... killing them."
She looked at the mantel, at the photograph that had once adorned his desk, the photograph he'd taken out of the frame, unwilling to allow himself even that much of the life he'd left behind. The image in that picture was carved permanently, deeply into his mind, the image of a bright, happy, five-year-old towheaded boy, full of joy, of life.
"That's all I have left," he whispered.
Silence stretched taut between them. She understood now, he thought wearily. She knew he wasn't worth her concern or her defense or even her pity. She wouldn't even bother to tell him it was an accident, a fluke, that it could have happened to anyone, none of the platitudes others had tried to sell him. Jodi was too honest for that. He sensed that with what little bit of his own judgment that he still had any faith in.
"It would have been easier if you'd died with them, wouldn't it?"
Her quiet words shocked him. His head came up sharply. She was looking at him with complete understanding of what he'd thought, what he'd even wished for, so many times.
"It couldn't possibly be worse," she said. "You're a firefighter, and a specialist in preventing fires on top of it. And yet this happened. It has to be your worst nightmare come to life."
Her words stabbed like a probe at an infected wound. Yet she went on, digging deeper with an understanding that seemed uncanny to him. As if she'd been living in his head. He shivered again, the involuntary ripple of his muscles doing little to warm him, any more than the constant fire had been able to reach that frozen place deep inside him.
"And I'll bet you can provide all the special effects to turn your dreams into real horror films, can't you?" Jodi laid a gentle hand on his arm. "You know intimately what fire can do."
He shuddered. Jodi moved closer, slipping an arm around his shoulders. He didn't know how, but she had reached into the darkest corner of his mind, the depths of his nightmare, and understood it. And she hadn't pulled away. Hadn't disappeared in disgust. Hadn't left him to wallow in his guilt.
Instead she tightened her arm around him.
Pull away. He thought it, but couldn't make himself do it. Instead he found himself leaning against her, Savoring her warmth, the gentleness of her touch. Telling himself he could rest, just for now, just for a moment.
Wearily, he let his head sag against her shoulder. Felt the brush of her hand over his face as she again pushed his hair back. It seemed like forever since he'd really felt the touch of another person. It seemed like forever since he'd let himself really rest.
But the most remarkable thing of all was the release of that crushing, inward pressure. He was sure it was only temporary, but for the moment, for now, he was free.
His eyes closed, and for the first time in a very long time he didn't worry about what would come if he slept.
"Are you certain about this?"
Regina waited, afraid she already knew the answer, feeling as if things were slipping out of control. 
"Of course I'm sure," her brother said, sipping at his morning coffee. "Jodi is the one."
"You thought that about Darlene," she pointed out.
"That was different. I was young," Reed said, brushing off his marriage as if it meant nothing.
She couldn't disagree; in the end it had meant nothing, beyond providing the next generation for the Keating family in Garrett. Except for the lingering influence on the boy, there was little left of Darlene in their lives. Gradually she had removed all traces of the woman, except for the photograph in Garrett's room. She had left that, for now, but eventually it would vanish as well.
"And that California woman?" Regina let a touch of scorn show in her voice. She'd despised the woman, and she still couldn't quite hide it. As soon as the words were out, she lowered her gaze. She concentrated on her tea, stirring it, even knowing it would cool it below the temperature she preferred.
Reed frowned. "That's over and done. Let's not drag it out again."
"Very well."
"You're not dressed for your exercise this morning," he observed, blatantly changing the subject. She didn't argue.
"No. I got home too late. You know how Sam Flynn is once he gets started on one of his slide shows. People doze off sitting there in the dark."
Reed laughed, relaxing now. "I know. I think people even sneak out and come back before he turns the lights back on. But he means well. He's genuinely concerned about preserving the essence of Keating's Port."
"Yes. That's why we put up with it."
She hesitated, not sure she should bring up what she wanted to ask, but also needing to change the subject. And she didn't like that she wasn't sure; she'd had very few doubts in her life about how to handle Reed. But this time seemed different. Or perhaps it was Jodi who was different; she had none of the drawbacks the others had had. She wasn't simple, as Darlene had been; indeed, she was quite intelligent. Nor was she overly sophisticated, as the predatory blonde had been; Jodi was almost guileless. Nor was she overly impressed with the Keating name and position. Which was both a good thing and bad, Regina thought.
Jodi was also honest and loyal; if she made a vow, she would keep to it. Regina chose her next words carefully, something she'd always been good at.
"Reed?"
"What?"
"You're not... doing this for me? Getting married, I mean. Because I certainly don't mind taking care of your son. You know I don't."
He focused on her then. "I know that. But you've twice now had the burden of children not your own."
She dropped her spoon in her teacup. "Burden? You were no burden!"
He smiled, that charming smile that she so loved to see, that she had loved since he'd been a child clinging to her skirts. "You never made me feel like one."
She reached across the table and laid her hand over his. He curled his fingers around hers, as he always did.
"And neither is your son a burden. He's part of you. And he's going to be a big part of Keating some day, and he has to be trained to it, just as you were. I'm looking forward to it. There's no need to bring someone else in. I'm all the mother he needs."
"I never thought otherwise. I never would have made it without you. No one could ever replace you. But you don't have to do it all. And he already likes Jodi."
"I prefer seeing to his upbringing myself," she said firmly. "It's not a trouble to me. Just as you weren't."
"But now you'll have help," Reed said, and the placating tone in his voice only exacerbated her stirring emotions. "I'm going to go see her this morning," he continued, standing up. "She was ... a little upset with me, for making that announcement without consulting her first, and I need to make it up to her."
"She should have been delighted," Regina said fiercely, even more certain that her brother was making a mistake; Jodi was not at all appreciative enough of what she was being offered.
Reed laughed, then leaned over and dropped a kiss on her forehead. "Thank you, sister mine. I can always count on you to salve my wounds."
After he'd gone Regina sat there for a long time, stirring, and when she sipped her tea barely realized it was lukewarm.
Jodi was well aware of the irony of it; here she sat in the very truck that had raced away after the attack on her just the night before. She'd offered to call Tracy to pick her up and take her home, she knew her friend would come, even as pregnant and unwieldy as she was these days, but J.T. had quietly insisted he would take her.
It had been awkward, waking up on his floor alone, with a blanket over her that he must have put there. He'd silently offered her coffee, which she'd accepted gratefully, as much for something to do as for wanting it. He hadn't seemed uncomfortable, but rather... withdrawn. As if he greatly regretted what he'd let her see last night.
She supposed she couldn't blame him. She doubted any man ever wanted to break down like that in front of someone. That was when she'd suggested she call Tracy.
But instead here she was, sitting in his truck, waiting for a construction track to make a turn onto the two-lane road in front of them. It seemed to be taking forever, and finally Jodi broke the long silence.
"Why did you come to Keating's Port?"
He gave her a sideways look. Then turned his attention back to the front, watching the slowly maneuvering truck. She thought he wasn't going to answer at all, but at last he did.
"It was as far as I could get from home and stay on the West Coast."
"How did you end up in old man Mayfair's place?"
Again a pause, but no look this time, before he said, "His nephew lives next door to a good friend of mine." He took in an audible breath. Then, unexpectedly, he went on. "I came here because it seemed a good place to ... hide. I didn't care then if I lived or died, and I didn't want friends around trying to pull me out of it."
She supposed there was a warning for her in what he said. And realized with a sinking little sensation that it just might not matter if there was. What she and this man had could hardly even be called a relationship, might not ever be more than what it was now, but already she felt more intensely about it than she did about her connection with Reed. She had nothing but his word—and her own gut feeling—that he wasn't responsible for any of the things that had happened to her. Naive, no doubt. Foolish, probably. And quite likely stupid into the bargain.
But there it was. Whatever that mysterious thing was, whose lack made her hold back with Reed, was present in large amounts when she was with J. T. Trager. And whatever it was, it played havoc with her equilibrium. And her pulse.
She was still ruefully acknowledging that fact when he made the turn and headed toward the clinic. She should have him drop her there, she thought; she'd need to feed the kestrel soon anyway. But she also needed a shower and a change of clothes.
She was still pondering the decision when J.T. interrupted her thoughts. "I know your back must be sore. Is there anything you need to do that I can help with?"
"No. Nothing heavier than a grasshopper to lift." She smiled at him. "But thanks."
"Take a hot bath. It'll help."
"As soon as I check on my patient."
"Do you have to—" He stopped, and gave her a ruefully crooked smile. "Never mind. Of course you do."
She smiled back at him; he knew her better than she realized, if he'd guessed that her patient came first, no matter how she might be feeling.
For a moment he just stared at her. Then she saw him swallow, and he looked away.
"Do you really feed it grasshoppers?"
"Well, not for breakfast. Breakfast is mealworms and some vitamins."
"Yum."
She blinked. Had he actually made a joke? The grimly reticent J. T. Trager? Something inside her seemed to loosen, some tightness she hadn't really been aware of until it had eased.
"Sorry, I don't have enough for two," she said.
He blinked in turn. And slowly, a grin curved his mouth. It was devastating. "Shucks," he drawled.
Reeling from the effects of that grin, she said, "I do have enough eggs for breakfast, though. If you're interested."
He hesitated. For a long, silent moment. Jodi waited. Somehow she sensed this was much more important than a simple yes to breakfast. She wondered what kind of battle was going on in his mind, wondered if he'd taken a simple invitation to breakfast and transmuted it into a much bigger choice.
He still hadn't answered by the time he pulled the track to a halt in front of the clinic. She reached for the door handle, pulled it, then looked at him once more.
"Yes," he said suddenly.
It came out as if he'd rushed it, as if he wanted to say it before he could change his mind.
Or perhaps, she thought, it had come out in spite of himself.
"You can make the toast," she said, sliding out of the truck. "You're welcome to come in, although perhaps watching this breakfast might make you lose your appetite for yours."
"I've seen worse," he said.
She considered that, considered what he'd told her, and what Chet had told her. "Yes, I suppose you have."
"Besides, I'd like to watch you work."
That warmed her in a way she'd never quite known before, and it was she who was rattled as they went inside. The little hawk greeted her with a cry and a flapping of wings.
"Right away, sweetie," she said, and hastened to prepare the meal for the bird. Her upper back was definitely sore, and she knew she was moving rather gingerly.
"You really are hurting," J.T. said, brows furrowed.
She couldn't deny that; she would bet her back would be a rainbow of color before long. "I'll be all right," she said. "And I'll take that hot soak later."
He watched her feed her patient. "You really love this, don't you?"
"Yes. I always have."
"Then you have to keep doing it. Don't give it up, Jodi."
She felt an odd little shiver; he'd never used her name like that before, not to her directly. It was strange how it made her feel. Then the feeling behind his words registered.
"You miss it, don't you? Being a firefighter?"
His mouth tightened slightly, but then relaxed. "It was all I ever wanted to do," he said.
"Every little boy's dream?"
"In California it must be," he said wryly. "I don't know what it's like elsewhere, but when I went for it, there were three hundred applicants for every position. I knew my degree gave me an edge, they prefer that. But the tests were tough, and they could pick and choose. It was the longest wait of my life."
The kestrel finished and subsided into satisfied silence. Jodi washed up while she responded. "But you made it. One of the select few."
"I'd never been that happy before in my life." He stopped, and Jodi sensed he was thinking of how horribly things had changed.
"Your wife ... how did she feel about your work?"
He hesitated, and she thought he wouldn't answer, almost wished she hadn't asked.
"She was ... proud," he said at last. "She had her own work—she was a teacher—but she got really involved, especially with the local burn center. She used to say when you're married to a firefighter, and the burn center says jump, you only ask how high."
Jodi smiled. "Sounds like she was quite a woman."
"Yes." He took in a breath and said it again. "Yes, she was."
She wondered how long it had been since he'd talked about Rebecca to anyone. Not since he'd left California, she'd bet. She hoped this was progress. What she didn't want to think about was why it mattered to her so much.
"All done," she said. "Let's go feed ourselves."
She caught a glimpse of herself in the window glass of his truck as they neared it, and groaned inwardly. She looked awful, like she'd spent the night in her clothes, as she indeed had. And they'd already been the worse for wear after her tumble to the ground last night. Her hair was tousled, what little makeup she'd worn gone. J.T. certainly hadn't been smiling at her because of her appearance, she thought ruefully.
She got into the passenger side; normally she would have walked the short distance, but she was sore enough to gratefully accept the ride.
"I'm sorry," he said as they settled in. It came out tightly, as if he'd had to work up to it.
Startled, she looked over at him. "For what?"
"You were the one who was hurt and scared last night. I should have been... comforting you, but instead you ended up listening to my sorry story."
Jodi was touched, so much that moisture pooled in her eyes. But she sensed this hadn't been easy for him, any of it, so she kept her response more reasonable than emotional.
"It took my mind off it," she said. "And that helped me." That seemed to ease his edginess, and she went on casually, as if the subject were behind them. "You can pull around and into the driveway. My car's in the garage."
He nodded, and as he made the turn into the drive Jodi leaned over—slowly—and put the clinic keys back in the side pocket of her purse, which sat on the floorboard. She was sore, and she knew she wasn't going to be her old self for a few days.
The truck came to a halt. She closed her purse. She heard the driver's door open.
"Damn you!"
She jerked upright, despite the sharp protest from her back. She looked toward the sound, just in time to see J.T. half sliding, half being pulled out of the cab.
And in the next second he was down, blood beginning to well at the corner of his mouth.
And over him stood Reed Keating. 
Chapter 12
Jodi scrambled across the seat of the truck, the tightness in her back seeming to vanish with the rush of adrenaline. J.T. was up now. Reed came at him again, swinging. Rage contorted his handsome face into ugliness. J.T. backed up a step, but Jodi saw him set himself for the onslaught.
"Stop it!" Jodi yelled. Her foot entangled with the stick shift and the console, slowing her down. She twisted to free herself.
By the time she got loose and looked up again, it was over. Reed was the one down now, with J.T. on top of him. He had Reed's right arm bent behind him, and seemed to be holding him easily despite the fact that Reed was just as big as he was. It occurred to her that for all Reed's working out in a gym, he was no match for a firefighter who had to carry the dead weight of unconscious bodies, or perhaps wrestle with uncooperative or frightened, injured people who didn't realize what they were doing. And that fact showed in how quickly—and nonviolently—he had subdued the furious Reed.
"You ready to calm down now, Mr. Mayor?"
J.T. drawled it, in a tone Jodi had never heard from him before. A tone Reed no doubt had never heard in his life; patronizing, condescending, and nearly insulting. That it came from J.T. seemed to antagonize Reed even more, and he cursed and tried to wrest free of J. T.’s grip.
It was futile. J.T. was immovable. But when he spoke again, he sounded simply puzzled. "You want to tell me what brought this on?"
Reed merely swore again, so Jodi added her own query. "I'd like to hear what brought this on, too."
Reed twisted his head around to look up at her, his expression incredulous. "You can ask that?"
Jodi blinked. "Me?"
"You come rolling in with him at eight in the morning, looking like ... like that, and you have to ask that?"
Jodi blushed. She felt the color rise in her cheeks as she remembered that glimpse she'd caught of herself earlier; she supposed she could look like she'd spent the night... Her thoughts stopped abruptly as she realized her next words would have been "in J. T.’s bed," and that just the thought made her totally breathless. She supposed, if she approved of such things, she'd be flattered by Reed's jealousy, but at the moment she couldn't think of anything but the images conjured up by her own thoughts.
Reed shifted his angry gaze back to J.T. "I don't know what you've done to beguile my fiancee, but I warn you, you'll regret it."
Jodi's blush was replaced by a chill. J.T. went very still. "Your... fiancee?" He looked up at Jodi, something beyond surprise in his eyes, something that was oddly gratifying even as it turned her chill to anger.
"Well, soon to be," Reed admitted. He looked up at Jodi, glanced back at J.T., hesitated, then shifted his gaze back to her. "I know you were just angry, and I don't blame you, I shouldn't have done it that way. I'm sorry, Jodi."
She had to give him credit for apologizing, and more for doing it in front of someone else; she knew that didn't come easily for him. Especially under current circumstances.
"Accepted," she said, unable to just leave his words dangling.
J.T. moved back then, easing his hold. When Reed didn't come at him again, he released him altogether. Reed rolled over and sat up, rubbing at his arm while he glared at J.T. before turning an earnest look on Jodi.
"We'll talk about it later," he said.
She knew he meant in private, and she couldn't blame him for that. She was a bit embarrassed by this whole thing herself.
"All right," she said. She knew his presumptuousness was nothing personal, merely the way he'd been brought up. And at least he had the grace to realize he sometimes got out of line.
Like now. Now there was something else to add to her mixed emotions; the shocked realization that the polished, suave man who prided himself on his breeding and refinement was indeed capable of violence. And beneath that was the looming question; had he been this angry—or even angrier—with Darlene when she'd been suspected of having an affair?
She couldn't help but remember what Chet had told her, that a frightening percentage of murders were committed by someone close to the victim, including family members.
"If you want to be her fiancee," J.T. said casually, "tell me something. Where were you last night, when she was attacked?"
"Attacked? What are you talking about?"
"Nothing," Jodi said hastily, wishing J.T. hadn't brought that up just now. But J.T. didn't look at her. He kept his eyes on Reed, watching, waiting.
"Jodi? What happened?" Reed demanded.
She sighed. "There was an ... incident outside the clinic last night."
"An incident?"
She gave him the bare essentials, leaving out J. T.’s truck and her conviction he hadn't been driving it; she doubted Reed would accept her gut feeling. She wasn't sure why she accepted it herself.
"What were you doing there at night?" Reed asked, still sounding edgy.
"I had an injured bird to feed."
"You should have been at home, inside, not out walking the streets in the middle of the night."
Jodi drew back sharply. He made it should as if she were a hooker, out trolling, and knowing he was speaking out of bruised male pride didn't make her like it any more.
"What happened to Jodi wasn't her fault," J.T. said, his voice dangerously low. Jodi wasn't sure why that was the word that came to her, dangerous, but it was. "And you'd better stop suggesting it was."
"Or you'll what?" Reed said with a glare at J.T.
"Or I'll slap you silly," Jodi snapped; she'd had about enough of this male posturing, on both sides.
"I know it wasn't really your fault," Reed said contritely.
"Generous of you," J.T. said, drawling again now. "And I'm sure Jodi appreciates all your concern about whether she was hurt or not."
Reed flushed. Jodi hadn't realized until that moment that Reed had not even asked if she was all right. True, she was upright with no visible injuries, but that hadn't mattered to J.T. last night; his first words had been concern for her. And she had to admit, now that the surge of adrenaline had worn off, her back and shoulders were beginning to ache.
And her thoughts were whirling. Up until now, she would never have imagined Reed capable of the kind of anger that ended in murder.
"Go home, Reed," she said wearily.
He stiffened. "I'm still waiting for an answer."
And you still haven't asked if I'm really all right, Jodi thought. She hesitated, knowing that if she told Reed the entire truth he would seize on the possibility of J. T.’s involvement.
"He helped me last night after Chet was through," she said finally, "and I was still shaky."
"And I'm supposed to believe that's all, he just helped you ... until eight a.m.?"
"If you can't," J.T. put in softly, looking at Jodi rather than Reed this time, "then you don't know her very well."
Jodi blushed, absurdly pleased by what he said and the implications. Reed glared at J.T. again. Jodi sighed.
Odd, when they were alone together, everything seemed fine, Reed was a perfect gentleman, attentive, generous, and amusing. It was only when he interacted with others that he got on her nerves. She'd have to think about that, and what it meant. And what she would do about it.
It had nothing to do with J.T., she told herself. It was simply that she was beginning to see there was a downside
to Reed she wasn't at all sure she could live with.

"Just do it, Regina!"
Reed continued his rapid pacing. He had to keep moving, otherwise the anger would rise again. He had to keep it under control; he'd seen the way Jodi had looked at him. He couldn't have that. 
"But, Reed—"
"Please, Regina. Just start planning. When she says yes, I want things to go in a hurry." He didn't dare give Jodi time to reconsider, once she said yes. Which she would, he was sure, once he got her alone again. After all, she'd accepted his apology. As well she should, he thought with distaste as he recalled having to humble himself in front of that half-crazy man, Trager.
Regina's voice sounded strained to him. "I don't understand, Reed. If she didn't accept your proposal—"
"I didn't really propose," Reed admitted, seeing now that it had been a bigger mistake than he'd thought. "That's why she's upset. She wants all the trappings, I'm sure. So I'll give them to her."
"But if she doesn't want—"
"She'll come around. Women change their minds like their shoes." He gave Regina his most persuasive smile. "You're the only woman who's different, who has always known what she wanted and how to get it."
Yes, he would do it up right, all the romance any woman could want, champagne, dinner at an exclusive restaurant, an expensive ring ... he'd even go down on one knee if he had to.
"I wish you were happy with things as they are," Regina said, sounding rather forlorn. It was such an unusual tone for her to take that it caught Reed's attention.
"I am happy," he assured her. "But I can't stay a widower forever. And this morning Jodi was just shaken up," Reed added, waving a hand in dismissal. "I told you what happened."
"Yes. How awful."
"Hard to believe something like that could happen here. Obviously Chet Holland isn't as effective as some people seem to think. I'll have to do something about that."
"If you want to get rid of him, you'll have a hard time," Regina said. "He's popular with a lot of people, and with the sheriff."
Reed smiled; this was the Regina he knew and loved, turning her mind to a problem she could attack and resolve with her usual efficiency.
"I know. I wouldn't actually try for that, but simply to bring in someone else as well. A superior, someone he would have to answer to. Someone more aware of who's in charge in Keating's Port."
Regina nodded. "That could work. It wouldn't take—"
She stopped as a knock came at the front door. Reed grimaced. "We need to get someone to replace Harvey." The man who had served as their butler and chauffeur had unexpectedly quit, rudely, and with no notice. It seemed to happen often; people just weren't as reliable as they used to be.
"I'll get it," Regina said, beginning to rise.
"Never mind. You just get planning," Reed said, and strode out of his office.
When he pulled open the door, shock immobilized him. It was a moment before he could speak.
"What are you doing here?"
J.T. Trager leaned against the doorjamb insolently. Anger sparked anew in Reed, and only the swollen, bruised spot on Trager's jaw improved his mood. He flexed his right hand, savoring the soreness as he remembered the satisfaction of clobbering the man.
"Oh," Trager said with a nonchalance that irritated Reed even more, "I just came by to see if you'd broken a knuckle."
So that was it. The man was planning a lawsuit. It figured. That was all his kind knew to do, come after money they were to lazy or stupid to make themselves.
"You won't get a dime out of me," he said firmly.
"A dime?" For a moment Trager looked puzzled. Then, "Oh. You figure I'm here after money for that little pop in the jaw you gave me, that it?"
"Aren't you? Sue away, Trager. Nobody will believe you didn't start it. It will be your word against mine, and around here, the word of a Keating is worth ten times that of a..."
"You might want to think a bit before you finish that sentence. Besides, you're overlooking one important detail," Trager said, looking interested.
"Which is?"
"There was a witness."
Anger rose in Reed anew, pushing away the shock he'd felt when he'd found this man on his porch. "If you think Jodi would side with you, you're very mistaken. She'll be my wife soon, and there's no question of who she'll support."
"Tell me," Trager said casually, "were you this arbitrary and condescending with Debbie?"
Reed drew back a little. "What?"
"You remember. Debbie Hall. Pretty little blonde, good dresser, elegant? Just the kind of woman an up-and-coming political type like you needs on his arm?"
Reed stared at the man, startled yet again by the turn this conversation had taken, and not liking it. Suspicious, he said, "What do you know about her?"
Trager seemed to consider the question. "Enough to know that she wouldn't vanish without a word."
"That's just what she did." Reed didn't like this at all, but his brain was telling him he couldn't stop it until he found out what Trager was up to. "What's it to you?" 
"So your story is she just disappeared?"
"It's not my story, it's what happened! And this is none of your business."
"It is if she didn't just leave because she got sick of your arrogance, Keating. What did you do to her?"
Reed hung on to his temper, barely, at the insult. Trager was baiting him, hoping he would let something slip. He'd seen the technique too often to fall for it. He managed to keep his voice almost level. "What are you talking about?"
"How did you make her drop out of sight, not even calling the family she never missed talking to every week?"
"What do you know about her family? Are you related to her?"
"No. I'm just a ... very curious—and determined—bystander. What really happened, Keating? Where is she?"
"As far as I know, New York." Reed snapped it out, hating the way Trager was looking at him, as if he knew much more than he was saying. "And I should know," he added angrily. "I paid for the damn ticket."
"Why?"
"What?"
"Why did you pay for it? Guilt?"
"I paid for it," Reed said tightly, "because she was already gone before I found out, and there wasn't a damn thing else to do. Now I've had about enough of this."
"Are you afraid of somebody looking too closely at her disappearance?"
"Disappearance? The woman wanted bright lights and big city streets, and that's what she got. On me. So go find her in New York, and quit bothering me!"
"Just one more thing," Trager said as Reed reached for the door. Reed began to shut it anyway, but Trager put his booted foot in the way. 
"How dare you! I'll have you arrested for trespassing if you don't get out of here right now."
"You do that. The cops might be interested in this answer, too."
"What answer?"
"Is Debbie alive?"
Reed swore, low and harsh, and tried to slam the door in Trager's face. The door bounced back off his foot. "Get out!"
"A warning, Keating," Trager said softly. "Debbie has family who won't give up. They'll find her. One way or another. If you've harmed her in any way—"
"I did not, and I resent this unwarranted attack. Why, I was going to marry her!" Reed's indignation made his voice shrill, and he stopped to get himself under control.
"Guess Jodi's strike three for you, then, huh?" Trager said in that annoying drawl he'd used before.
"Jodi will be my wife," Reed repeated, meaning it now more than ever; he would never let this man have her, as he was sure he wanted.
"I don't think so," Trager said softly.
"Go to hell," Reed snapped, his temper beyond frayed now.
An odd expression crossed Trager's face, as if Reed's words had somehow been knowledgeable. But he removed his foot from the doorjamb, and Reed wasted no time in slamming it at last.
He turned on his heel, intending to go back to his office and continue with his directions to his sister.
But Regina was there, just behind him, staring at the door he had just slammed. Great, Reed thought, now he'd have to calm her down. She'd been upset enough when Holland had come out and asked all those questions after Debbie had decamped; now it was being dragged out again.
And he still didn't know why. He didn't believe what Trager had said about only being a curious bystander for a minute. Had he known Debbie? Was he another boyfriend? Had she been playing him false even while he spent money on her by the bucket?
The bitch, he muttered to himself. He was well rid of her. He never should have brought her here. He was glad she was no longer around to remind him of another mistake.
He couldn't deal with it now. He pushed past his sister and walked back to his office, leaving her still staring at the front door.
"Jodi Campion, I want to talk to you!"
Jodi smothered a groan; she was still wrestling with the high emotions of J.T. and Reed's encounter yesterday, and the last thing she wanted right now was to deal with Colleen Harris. Especially if Chet had already contacted Danny with their suspicions about his recent activities.
But she could hardly run to her Jeep and make her escape here on Main Street in full view of the whole town. So she stopped, reluctantly, and turned to face the woman. "I want to know what you think you're doing!"
Jodi sighed. "I suppose," she said, lifting her shopping bag, "that buying eggs and bread is not the answer you want?"
"Don't be a smart mouth with me, I want an answer!"
If Colleen had taken this kind of determined stance with her son more often, she wouldn't have to be covering for him all the time, Jodi thought.
But she was not going to make this easy for the woman. "In that case, you'll have to rephrase the question."
"You know exactly what I mean. How dare you accuse my Danny of something like this?"
"I didn't accuse anyone," Jodi said. "I was asked if anyone was angry with me, and I answered."
"Danny's just a child!"
"He's seventeen, and he didn't seem like a child when he cornered me on the street the other day."
Colleen's already thin-lipped mouth tightened. "You're lying. Danny told me that never happened. And he told the deputy, so he knows you're lying, too."
Jodi shook her head; she'd known Danny was out of control, but she hadn't thought he was stupid. And the claim was so absurd Jodi felt sorry for the woman. "He did it right here on Main Street, Colleen," she said gently. "In the middle of the afternoon. There were witnesses all over."
That took Colleen aback. But she quickly changed tactics. "Never mind that. He was home with me that night. We were watching television."
"Really? I thought you didn't watch television." It had been one of Colleen's sanctimonious declarations on numerous occasions that she was too cultured to indulge in the electronic opiate of the masses.
Colleen flushed, but ignored the gibe. "I'm telling you it couldn't have been Danny who attacked you." She looked Jodi up and down. "If anybody really did."
Jodi had run out of patience. "Leash it, Colleen. There were a half-dozen witnesses to that, too."
She thought about mentioning the break-in, and the vandalism at the clinic, but decided things were volatile enough already. Colleen had been voted "quickest temper" in highschool, and even Jodi, three years behind her, had known it.
Colleen's nose went up. "You act like you think you're already a Keating."
Jodi's gaze narrowed. Had Reed been jumping the gun again? "Where did you get the idea that I would ever be one?"
Colleen gave her a look that fairly bristled with jealousy. "Don't bother to deny it. I overheard Reed this afternoon."
Ah. She'd been snooping again, eavesdropping, Jodi thought. Typical Colleen. Her irritation at Reed ebbed, but curiosity remained. "Heard what?"
"Heard him with Reverend Jennings. They were discussing the church schedule, so he could pick the wedding day."
Jodi went very still. "What?"
"Just an hour ago, over at the Port Cafe." Colleen sniffed. "You're not good enough for him, you know."
What I'm not, Jodi thought, is meek enough.
She'd had about enough of Reed's high-handedness. Yes, he was a great catch for a marriage-minded or wealth-and-position-minded woman, but she was neither of those. And it was about time she made that clear. 
Chapter 13
Jodi turned on her heel and walked quickly to her car. She tossed her bag on the passenger seat and climbed in, shutting the door with more force than was necessary.
She took several deep breaths to calm herself before she started the engine. She drove past the cafe, but Reed's BMW was not in the small parking lot. She turned around and went back by the town hall, but it wasn't there, either. She sat for a moment, considering. She would prefer not to do this at his home, especially if Garrett was there, but she would if she had to; this had gone on long enough.
She supposed there were women who would be flattered by Reed's determination. She wasn't one of them. She supposed there were even women who would have enjoyed two men fighting over her, as Reed and J.T. had, but she wasn't one of them, either. Or was she? she wondered as she remembered the warmth that had filled her when J.T. had stood up for her, when he had pointed out Reed's seeming lack of concern about her.
Not that J.T. had really been fighting over her, she reminded herself. He'd just had the misfortune to get inadvertently involved. Therefore there was no reason for her to feel that embarrassing pleasure at how he'd handled the situation, how he'd stood up to Reed for her. But it was a rare enough thing in Keating's Port that she appreciated it, even if it wasn't for the reasons she'd like to believe.
Why she would like to believe them wasn't something she cared to dwell on right now.
She pulled away from the cafe, heading toward the Keating estate, pondering the pros and cons of doing something she wasn't looking forward to anyway on Reed's home turf. And more importantly, in Garrett's home.
That gave her pause. What would Reed do when she told him once and for all, in unarguable terms that even a Keating couldn't misunderstand, that not only were they not going to be engaged to be married, they weren't even going to be engaged in a relationship anymore? Would he keep Garrett away? Would she end up isolating the already lonely little boy even further?
She slowed, uncertain now. If she went to Reed's and Garrett was there, it was almost inevitable that the boy would find out. And a dispute like this between two adults he cared about was not something she would want any child to overhear, but especially one as fragile as Garrett was right now. She didn't want him to know—
Assuming, she thought suddenly, he didn't already know.
Lord, could Reed have gone that far? Could he have told his son, hoping to use the boy as a tool against her? As leverage? Thinking while she might turn him down, she would never refuse Garrett?
She slowed even further, became aware of it, and edged to the side of the road. She needed to think about this. She didn't really think Reed would sink that low, but she hadn't expected him to leap into talk of marriage so soon, either. But there were ramifications to this she hadn't realized, and she was going to have to figure out what to do. And that was going to take some time.
She sighed, and pulled back onto the road. She was close now, so she would go home, have some lunch, and check her patient while she tried to decide. She made the turn at the clinic, headed for the house.
J. T.’s truck was in her driveway.
She wasn't quite sure how she felt, only that her pulse had sped up and she suddenly needed more air. And somewhere, in the back of her dazed mind, in that part that watched her father fall apart because he cared too much, the part that had made her swear she was never going to let that happen to her, a warning was clamoring to be heard.
She pulled in behind the truck.
He was sitting in the driver's seat, but the moment he saw her the door opened and he slid out, long, jean-clad legs first. He was wearing a sunny yellow, heavy knit T-shirt, the color at odds with the shadows he seemed to carry with him. And with the still visible swelling of his mouth where Reed had hit him.
But today, there was something different about him. Something in his eyes. The shadows were still there, but there was a hint of something else. Curiosity? Anticipation? Hope?
She chided herself for being fanciful as she got out of her Jeep and walked toward him. He hesitated, then closed the remaining gap between them himself. His hands came up and gently gripped her shoulders as he looked down into her face.
"Are you all right? You look upset."
Jodi stared up at him, wondering how he'd learned to read her so well so fast. Reed never picked up on her mood the way J.T. did. Or if he did, he ignored it, which was even worse.
"I'm fine," she said. "Just having a little problem with somebody who won't take no for an answer."
"Keating," J.T. said, and it wasn't a question.
"I'm going to tell him in no uncertain terms," she assured him, then wondered why it seemed so important to do so. But looking up into his concerned eyes, it was all she could do to speak, let alone analyze what she was saying and why. "But I have Garrett to worry about, too."
He lifted one hand to brush his fingers over her cheek. It was the slightest of touches, but it sent ripples of sensation through her. She leaned into him without even realizing what she was doing until his arms came around her. He held her with exquisite care, and she'd never felt so sheltered in her life.
She let out a long breath. She didn't care if anybody saw them, standing out here; this felt too good to pull away.
"Garrett will be all right," J.T. said gently. "He may be young, but I think he already knows his father's not... the most giving guy around."
Jodi laughed wryly, snuggling against that bright yellow, soft fabric, savoring the heat of the man beneath it. "Unless it's money. He's generous with that."
"Money's easy to give," J.T. said. "But what a kid needs is your time."
She looked up at him. "You must have been quite a father."
He went still. She'd jumped the gun, she thought. He wasn't ready to talk about his son. But then, surprisingly, he answered.
"I tried. I missed some things because of my work, but I made up for it where I could, since my time was a little more flexible than some parents. I'd been to his first junior soccer game the day before... it happened. We spent all day together."
"Thank God," Jodi murmured. J. T.’s gaze narrowed slightly as he looked down at her, and she guessed he'd thought that more than once himself. "Not a day goes by that I'm not grateful my father and I worked together every day of his last few years. He may not have been the perfect father, but I loved him, and it would have been so much worse if we'd not had that time."
His gaze softened. "You still miss him, don't you?"
"Every day," she admitted. The tears that threatened whenever she dwelt on it started, and she blinked them back.
J.T. didn't say anything more, but his arms tightened slightly, comfortingly. Then, changing the subject, he asked, "How's your back? Sore?"
"Very," she admitted frankly. And realized then that for all that he was holding her so close, he'd never even come close to touching the area that was hurting.
"I brought something for you."
He released her then, to reach back into the truck. She felt bereft as the close contact was lost, then felt uneasy as she realized just how far gone she was with this man. She barely knew him. Time-wise, anyway. But was that really the best way to judge? She'd known Reed a lot longer, but was only now finding out how bullheaded and arrogant he could be. And she had the feeling she'd seen more of the real J.T. than most, the night he'd broken down, the night he'd spent in her arms.
He handed her an odd looking and feeling package. It unrolled into a heavy, flat shape encased in a white knit cover. Her brows furrowed as she looked at him.
"It's a gel-pac," he explained. "You heat it in the microwave—you have one, right?" At her nod he continued. "Then you put it over the sore area. It's moist heat, the best thing for bruised muscles. We used to use them all the time."
Jodi felt her throat tighten almost unbearably. "Thank you. I'll try it."
"The instructions are printed on the gel bag inside."
She nodded. He fell silent. It spun out.
"I... guess I should go home," he said at last.
She realized then that a small miracle had occurred here; J.T. had of his own volition left his hideout, as she'd come to think of the cabin. She imagined he could count the number of times he'd done it for other than food on his fingers. And suddenly it seemed very important that she not let him retreat.
"No, please... come in. I'll fix some coffee, if you want."
He hesitated. She wondered if it was her specifically that made him wary, or simply being out. Or maybe, she thought, it was something bigger. Maybe it was the choice between existing and living that was being forced upon him.
"I won't bite," she said, with a smile she was afraid was a bit lopsided.
After a moment he smiled back, even more crookedly. "Too bad," he said.
Jodi drew back slightly, her eyes widening as she stared at him. Slowly, she felt heat climb in her face; he'd really made the suggestive joke. And he looked ... not like he regretted saying it, but like he was afraid of her reaction. And feeling suddenly reckless, she answered him.
"I said I won't, not that I don't. Given the right circumstances."
Not quite able to believe she'd said it, she turned and headed for the side door of the house, leaving him to decide whether to follow. She had a feeling his decision would be more significant than he realized right now. And when she heard his footsteps behind her, she felt an odd sense of exultation.
She reached for the doorknob, remembered it was locked now, and dug in her purse for her key.
"I'm glad you're locking the door," he said.
Jodi paused for just a moment; he wouldn't have said that if it had been him, would he? Hating that she could still doubt him, she answered quickly, "Yes, but I hate having to change the way I live."
"No choice for the moment. You think it was that kid? The one who stopped you on the street that day?"
"Danny Harris? That's my bet. I ran into his mother today, and she's making up alibis for him."
"Suspicious in itself."
She nodded as she found the key and went to work on a lock a bit recalcitrant from lack of use. "I'm surprised he had the nerve to attack me directly, but I guess he worked up to it, from breaking the clinic window to trashing my house, then trying to trash me. Or maybe hiding behind a ski mask and that black ninja outfit made him feel brave."
She got it open and stepped inside. He followed her in, closing the door quietly behind him. "As long as you know it wasn't me."
She turned to face him. "You said it wasn't. I believe you."
He looked at her silently, after a moment shaking his head. "Why? I mean, you saw my truck, and the only defense I had was some lame story about it being taken without my knowledge."
"Where are your keys?"
"What?"
 "Where are your truck keys?"
His brow furrowed. "In the truck. I haven't quite broken the habit of. .."
"Leaving them in the ignition," she finished for him, when he trailed off.
His mouth quirked. "That's pretty skimpy evidence."
"Maybe. But I don't think who you are is skimpy."
"Who I was, you mean."
"No," she said, and left it at that. "Coffee?"
"Fine." He looked around the red and white kitchen, with every evidence of real interest. "This is nice. Cheerful."
"Thanks," she said, gesturing him to a seat at the table with the red and white plaid runner and a holder of red and white napkins. "It was kind of dark and dreary, so I redid it when I came home from college."
"It's sure not dark now," he said. "You did a nice job."
Her mouth quirked up at one corner. "Not according to my father."
"He didn't like red and white?"
"No, if it was up to him, nothing in this house would have changed in twenty years, since my mother died. I mean if it had been up to him," she amended, her voice catching in spite of herself.
He stood up, and before she realized what was happening, his arms were around her again. He cradled her gently against him, threading his fingers through her hair as he pressed her head to his chest.
"You were young to lose her."
"Yes," she said, a little shocked at how easily she leaned into him again. "But I got through it."
"What about your father?"
"He didn't."
J.T. kept his hold on her, but leaned back to look down at her. "What do you mean?"
"He never got over it. He loved her so much that he couldn't let go. He was like half a man, and it was all he could manage to do his work."
"So there wasn't much left for a grieving little girl," J.T. said softly.
She stared up at him through eyes that were moister than she would have liked. He'd done it again. He'd seen so much more than she'd said, understood so much more. Was it something he did with everyone, or just her? she wondered.
And she wondered just how big a fool she was for hoping it was just for her.
"I... think the hardest part was realizing it was over, that I would never, ever be able to mean as much to him as my mother had. It's not that he was ... cruel, or anything, he did love me, but... he ever and always loved her more."
Something changed, warmed in his eyes then. They seemed so vividly green she couldn't help but stare, even as he slowly began to lower his head.
Then he stopped. "Jodi?"
He said it softly, barely above a whisper, and she couldn't miss all the questions that were unspoken in that simple murmur of her name. Neither could she answer; she didn't have the breath.
But she must have answered, somehow, because he did exactly as she'd wished. Slowly, giving her every chance to pull away, he moved toward her. At the first touch of his lips against hers, something inside her gave an odd little leap. His kiss was hesitant at first, tentative, but that warmed her even more.
And then she couldn't think of anything except the feeling that she'd been waiting for this all her life. Waiting for the touch that could send her flying, the kiss that could sear her to the core, that could make her pulse pound and her hands shake.
J.T. Trager's kiss did all of that and more. And when he probed her lips with his tongue, the sensation that shivered through her was unlike anything she'd ever known, and everything like what she'd dreamed.
Parting her lips for him, she moaned, only knowing when she heard it that the sound had escaped. J.T. probed further, tasting her, lightly, delicately, as if she were some fragile but delicious thing he was both hungry for and afraid of.
Her phone rang.
He wrenched his mouth away, and stepped back from her. His chest was rising and falling rapidly, and she could hear the sound of his quickened breathing. He licked his lips, and Jodi realized that the swollen one must hurt, but he didn't seem to notice.
Shaken by the intensity of her own response, Jodi tried to draw in a deep breath of her own, and failed.
J.T. muttered something under his breath, something she couldn't quite understand. It didn't matter. His tone, tinged with awe and not a little apprehension, matched her own feelings exactly.
She felt oddly wobbly in the knees, and sank down into one of the red kitchen chairs.
"Damn," J.T. said.
She understood him that time. "Indeed," she muttered.
The phone call went to the answering machine. She let it. It was a voice unknown to her, female, saying she was bringing in an injured owl, and would be there in half an hour. The machine clicked off.
Jodi looked up at him. He had backed up until he hit the kitchen counter. She waited. Silence spun out between them. Finally he shook his head.
"I know it's been a long time," he said, "but..."
A curiosity she was sure was distinctly female kicked through her. "A long time?"
"Since ... Rebecca died."
He said it flatly, and the sudden change in his voice chilled her, as did the distant look in his eyes. She wished she had kept her mouth shut. His reaction had definitely taken the shine off what, for her, had been a rather shattering experience.
"So this was ... what? An experiment?"
He seemed to snap back to the present. "What?"
"Did you want to find out if... a kiss still meant anything to you? If you'd feel anything?"
"No!" It was startled enough to mollify her. "Feeling anything was the last thing I wanted. But I didn't seem to have any choice." He shoved a hand, fingers spread, through his hair. Then, wryly, he added, "But if that had been what I wanted, I sure as hell found out."
"I'd say it's been a long time for me, too," she said quietly, "but it wouldn't be true. Because I've never been kissed like that."
For an instant J.T. looked disconcerted. Then his expression shifted, and he gave her a smile that was half shy, half pleased. "You sure? Because if you're not, we could... try again."
Jodi blushed. "Well, I thought I was sure. But maybe a little ... further research is in order."
"Research. That takes a long time."
"Usually," she agreed, more than a little breathless. "But it can be done in bits. Like half an hour." "Good," he said, reaching for her.
"I don't want to hear any more about it," Reed said. "You can't have your bike back."
Garrett's eyes began to well up with tears. "But I want to see Jodi—"
"You can see her when she comes here, if you behave." The tears didn't move but only annoyed him. It seemed like all their conversations these days ended with his son crying or yelling. "Now I've heard enough about it. Go upstairs to your room."
Garrett's eyes brimmed over, and he swiped at them. "I hate you!"
He turned and ran then, while Reed suppressed the urge to go after the boy and slap him for such insolence to his father. But the moment he thought it Jodi's voice echoed in his head, telling him expecting a child to behave like an adult was a futile exercise that only damaged the child.
Jodi. Sometimes she seemed to act like a child, too. He understood that it was probably reaction, that she was still upset over her father's unexpected death, but it was time for her to let that go. Once they were married, he would make sure her life was so full and busy that she had no time to dwell on it. She would learn to handle social functions and political events as well as Regina did, and she would be an impressive addition to his political arsenal. She could, when she chose to, be utterly charming, and he'd teach her how to turn that charm on the people who could do them some good.
And, he admitted, she could teach him how to deal with Garrett. For the first time he'd begun to doubt that he would ever establish the kind of relationship he wanted with his son. He'd read articles that said if you waited too long, it would be too late. But he had no idea how to reach the boy now, certainly not in the way Jodi had.
"I gather you told him he's still restricted?"
Reed turned to see Regina coming in from the parlor, tugging on her gloves. She was off to the city for one of her museum board meetings; he'd lost track of which one.
"Yes," he said. "As you can see, he didn't take it well."
"He has to learn," Regina said with a shrug.
"Yes."
She was tugging at her gloves repeatedly, standing in the foyer, in an indecisive way that was unlike her. Reed could tell something was bothering her. And after a moment he crossed over to her.
"What is it, Regina?"
She looked up at him. And slowly smiled. "I remember," she said softly, "when it was you who looked up at me."
He smiled back. "So do I. And I still look up to you."
His sister blushed, pleasing him; it was no easy task to make her show her emotions. She'd had to be tough, hard even sometimes, but her tender spot for him had never faltered. He felt the old warmth he always felt when he thought of those times, of what a struggle it had to have been for her.
"I'd be nothing without you, Regina. You never failed me."
"And I never will," she said. "I always have your best interests at heart."
Reed smiled at her; he knew her too well. "And which particular interest do you have at heart now?"
"I wish you would reconsider this ... fixation on marrying Jodi Campion."
"She's just having last-minute reservations." He wasn't about to tell her part of his determination stemmed from Trager's intrusion into Jodi's life. She'd been so upset at the implied insult of Debbie's defection that it had taken her days to settle down.
Regina studied him, looking as if she was having a hard time deciding whether to say something or not. It was so unlike her that it held his attention. After a moment she spoke again.
"You could have any woman you want. Why her?"
"Because I finally realized I must marry a local girl, and there's no one in Keating's Port better suited. She's attractive, intelligent, has a good background, and even her connection with that animal thing is good press. Most importantly, she feels as we do about Keating's Port."
"I'll grant you all that. But why the rush? Why so soon?"
"Because right now she's still reeling from her father's death. She's more ... malleable than she's ever been. She may not be later."
He thought he saw a spark of appreciation in his sister's eyes, so he went on quickly, knowing if he could make her understand, life would be so much easier.
"She'll adapt, and once we're married, she will never leave. Jodi is utterly loyal." He smiled at his sister. "She'll be an asset, Regina. She can help with the books, she kept them for her father. And she can help plan some of the social events. It will take some of the load off you."
Regina looked up at him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. "You're truly determined, aren't you?"
He smiled. "I am. And you always told me there was nothing I couldn't do or get if I set my mind to it." 
"Yes, I always did, didn't I?"
When she at last took her leave, she looked back over her shoulder at him, and he could have sworn there was a touch of sadness in her eyes. 
Chapter 14
When Jodi arrived a half hour later she parked in front, which made Reed lift a brow in curiosity. When he opened the door for her and leaned toward her for a kiss, she turned her head so it landed on her temple. That made him frown.
"Jodi?"
Garrett's voice came from the stairway, and she turned to look that way. But Reed cut off any answer before she could speak to the boy.
"Get back upstairs. I'll tell you when you can come down."
No further sound came from the stairs, and Reed gestured Jodi into the parlor. She went, but gave him a sour look as she passed that made him frown again.
"What did he do now?" she asked with a tone that matched the look.
"He's angry that he couldn't have his bike back yet."
"Oh."
He didn't like her tone. "I just want his ... range limited. I don't want him going out to Trager's anymore, but if I tell him that, he'll just sneak out and go anyway. Hence the bike restriction."
Jodi seemed to go very still. "Why?" 
Reed hesitated for a moment. He wasn't about to tell Jodi about the insinuations Trager had made about Debbie, even though the man hadn't an ounce of proof. He wanted the subject dead and buried. But he knew he had to tread carefully with her here.
"I don't want my son associating with him," he finally said.
"I see. And what Garrett wants is... irrelevant?"
"In this case, yes." He hesitated, and then decided now was as good a time as any. Better to get it out of the way so they could get on with their lives. "I accept what you told me, that he was only .. .helping you the other night. But I don't want you associating with him anymore, either."
Jodi looked at him for a long, silent moment. Long enough so that he began to feel uneasy.
"I'm sure," she said at last, in a voice so low and calm that it increased his wariness, "that you're quite used to always getting what you want. And to running things. So this may come as a shock to you, but you have no say in who I see or what I do."
"Now, Jodi," he began placatingly.
"Don't patronize me, Reed. I'm not a Keating subject."
"No, of course not. But you'll be a Keating, and then you'll understand what it entails. We are this town, and before I'm through we'll have a place in the history of this state."
Jodi blinked. "I see. I knew you were ambitious, but I guess I didn't realize how ambitious."
"And you'll be right there, by my side, all the way!" He was feeling enthused again now; now that she knew how far his plans ranged, she couldn't help but approve, and want to be part of them. "I should have told you sooner, and we could have avoided all this ... upset." 
Again she looked at him for a very long time, silently, consideringly. He smiled at her, certain that he'd found the right tack to take with her. He hadn't expected this to be the key, but now that he knew it was, he was delighted. She'd be even more of a help, more supportive—
"It really, genuinely never occurs to you that anyone could think differently than you, does it? I never realized it until I started seeing you interact with other people. You can be charming, and generous when it suits you, but your entire outlook is based on the assumption that everyone must agree with you, because of course, you're right."
He frowned, like a man who has suddenly heard a very flat note amid his carefully orchestrated symphony. "But you agree with me," he said, puzzled. "You agree with me on the future of Keating's Port, and what it should be. And that we'll have to fight to keep it that way."
Jodi sighed. "It's not what you think, it's that high-handed presumption that everybody else thinks the same way. While I have this funny idea that everybody has a right to their own opinion. For you, people who disagree are either ignored or run over."
"Would you prefer I lower myself to their level? Fight with them?" he asked, his puzzlement deepening.
"Lower yourself? Is that how you see it, that anybody with a different opinion is beneath you?"
"That's not what I meant," he said, definitely uncomfortable now. "I only meant arguing with them is beneath my dignity."
Her mouth quirked at one corner. "You forget. I've seen your dignity rolling around in the gravel of my driveway."
He flushed. "That was different. I was angry. And I had a right to be."
"Did you?" 
"I told you how I feel about that man, and then to find you with him, like that—what else was I supposed to do?"
She shook her head slowly, almost sadly. "You see, there's the difference between us, Reed. I would never tell you what to do, or not to do. Nor would I expect you to... obey if I did."
"Well, when we're married, I'll take your opinion into account, of course—"
"Stop." Jodi drew herself up and faced him squarely. "This is what I really came here for, Reed. This has gone far enough. I'm going to spell this out carefully. Not only are we not getting married, we won't be seeing each other on a dating basis any longer. It's over."
Reed stared at her. "You can't be serious."
"I most certainly am. I appreciate your feelings, Reed, but I can't pretend any longer that I will ever be ready to go where you obviously want this relationship to go."
"I admit, I've been in a bit of a hurry, but—"
"Don't, Reed. Don't embarrass either of us any more. I'm sorry. I'm sure there's a string of women who would be delighted to step into ... whatever role you have laid out for your wife. I wish you the best."
There was only one reason he could see for this mutiny. "It's Trager, isn't it?" he snapped. "I told you, I just lost my temper. I didn't really hurt him."
Nor did he hurt you, when he had every right, Jodi thought. "That has nothing to do with this."
"No? What then?" A possibility, a distressing one, came to him then. "He's filled your head with those fairy tales about Debbie, hasn't he? I knew that man was trouble."
He saw puzzlement on her face for a moment, but after a moment she shook her head. "No, Reed. This one you can't blame on anyone else. The only thing I would ask of you is that you don't take my decision out on Garrett. I hope that you'll still let him come to the clinic."
"This is absurd," Reed said, wondering what kind of manipulations she was up to, what she expected him to do. If she wanted him to crawl, to pour out some gush of emotion, she'd come to the wrong place.
"He's a bright, wonderful child. And if you're wise, you'll take some time and spend it with him, or you're going to lose him, too."
"I haven't lost anything," he declared. "And I always win in the end."
"Well, at least you finally recognize this is the end," Jodi said softly.
And before he could stop her, she was gone.
He stood there in shock for a moment. Then, slowly, he came out of it. This was impossible, he thought. Ridiculous.
He began to pace the room. With each step his umbrage grew, until he was nearly shaking with his anger. He wouldn't stand for this. No one, no one said no to him. Not and got away with it.
Jodi Campion was not going to be an exception.
God, he hated this.
Pacing, J.T. rammed his fingers through his hair, vowing to get a haircut. Soon. Maybe today. Despite years of department regulation hair, he'd not cared much what he looked like since he'd left. But lately he was noticing his own scraggliness.
He didn't know what he was going to say to Matt. What could he say? That Keating had denied everything? Of course he had; what else would he do?
Matt wasn't going to be happy to hear it, but J.T. didn't quite know where else to turn. This was hardly his bailiwick. He would talk to Chet Holland again, he thought. Maybe he'd have some suggestions, or some ideas of his own. He seemed sharp. If nothing else, maybe he could aim J.T. at the best source for gossip, the person most likely to repeat whatever rumors had been abounding at the time. He had no doubt there had been rumors; the Keatings were the primary focus of news in this town. The inches of print in one issue of the local paper would fill a page of any newspaper in the country.
Maybe he should go back to the Reporter office, dig through the archives some more. When he'd gone before, he'd looked only for references to Debbie. Perhaps he should go back further. If nothing else, he would learn all he could about Keating before he tried to face the man again. And he had little doubt it would come to that. He wasn't going to give up until he found something, or Matt told him to quit.
Feeling he at least had a plan of action, however fruitless it might be, he let down his guard for a moment. Long enough for his mind to flit to the subject he'd been trying to dodge.
Jodi.
She'd told him she was going to see Keating today. He knew why. He knew it was to make it clear to the man that she meant no. J.T. had been unhappy about that, and told her it was because he was afraid of what the man might do. She had insisted that for all that he'd clobbered J.T., he wasn't normally violent, and he wouldn't hurt her. He hadn't been sure he believed that, but she'd given him little choice but to let her go; it wasn't his place to horn in on what would obviously be a very personal and unpleasant encounter. 
He suppressed a shiver. He didn't know how to feel about any of this. She had told him it was a decision she would have reached anyway, but he couldn't help wondering if it had something to do with him. And that scared him. He didn't want to be responsible for that. If she was thinking he'd take Keating's place in her life ...
He couldn't deny that something happened between them, couldn't deny that kissing her had been ... shattering. But he wasn't sure of anything else. He knew he was taking some shaky steps back into life, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to finish the journey. Or even if he wanted to.
On the other hand, he knew if Jodi wasn't enough to lure him back, he might as well get it over with and take a flyer off the Space Needle.
He admired her gentleness, her enthusiasm, her spirit, her quickness to defend the underdog. Even when it was him. He smiled at the memory that had once been so negative, of the day she had stormed the mob—well, the group—in front of the post office to save him. He admired her ability to endure the things that had been happening to her with such strength, and determination not to become afraid, or to blame everyone for the actions of one. He admired what she'd chosen to do with her life, to carry on her beloved father's legacy in her own way.
And he wondered if part of the reason he'd been so angry at her was because he suspected even then that she might be the one to drag him back into the world.
He ran his hand over his hair again. Maybe he'd get that haircut today. Maybe now. At least he wouldn't be sitting here thinking of her confronting Keating.
He got up, picked up the keys he'd finally begun to remember to bring in, and headed for the door. He still didn't bother locking it; there wasn't anything much worth stealing inside, unless you were looking for a stockpile of kindling.
He got to the end of the gravel road and hesitated. If he went south, he could make a circle that would take in the Keating place. At least he'd know if she was still there. He wasn't sure what he'd do if she was. Or wasn't.
He sat there, thinking. If he made a slightly bigger loop in the opposite direction, he could go by the clinic and her house first, see if she was there. If she was, maybe he'd stop, make sure everything was okay. If she'd been as blunt as he figured she'd have to be, who knows how Keating would have reacted?
He made the turn, knowing he could sit there all day pondering it if he let himself. By the time he was nearing the clinic he was having second thoughts, and nearly drove right past. But then he saw a red Jeep approaching from the other direction. He slowed until it was close enough for him to see it was Jodi, and he knew he couldn't keep going now.
She saw him then. He saw her head move as she edged to the right to make the turn, then snap back as she spotted him. There was a moment when her expression didn't change, but then she smiled, and he wondered how he could ever have hesitated. He followed her around the corner and into her driveway.
She looked calm enough as she slid out of the Jeep. "Hi," she said, sounding all right as well. "What are you doing out this way?"
He stepped out of the truck, resisting the urge to rub at his almost healed jaw as he remembered the greeting Keating had given him here.
"I was heading for a haircut and thought I'd swing by," he said. "Make sure you were ... all right." 
She sighed, lowering her eyes, and he knew the calm wasn't bone deep. "It wasn't enjoyable, but it had to be done."
"He didn't... take it well?"
"About as well as you'd expect Reed Keating to take anyone saying no to him," she said ruefully. "I told him exactly why it would never work, and I'm not sure he understood any of it. He's just too convinced no one would ever say no to him and mean it. I doubt anyone ever has, not really."
"I'm ... sorry. I mean, that you had to go through it."
She shrugged. "I just hope I got through to him this time. And," she added, looking much more serious, "that he doesn't punish Garrett for what I've done."
J.T. frowned. "You think he would?"
"At least, he probably won't let him come to the clinic anymore." She gave him a worried look. "And I'm afraid he'll forbid Garrett to see you, too." She looked away then. "He's still... blaming you. Partly, at least."
He studied her for a moment, looking down at the silken cap of red hair, the determined chin, lowered now, and the twin soft sweeps of thick lashes hiding her eyes.
"He thinks one of the reasons you broke it off with him is ... me?" She nodded wordlessly. "Am I?" he asked before he could stop himself.
Her head came up quickly. He saw her eyes flick rapidly as she searched his face. "Would you ... run if you were?"
He let out a long breath. Opened his mouth to speak; no words came. He swallowed and tried again. All he could manage was, "Not yet."
Her gaze never left his face, and after a moment she nodded. "All right. Then you were. You were because you've shown me what was missing." 
"Oh." He wanted to add "Is that all?" but wasn't sure he could deal with the answer, either yes or no, so instead he asked, "But you're all right?"
"I'm fine. Just glad it's done." She gave a short nod as if she was done with both Reed and the subject. "So you're on your way to Don's?"
His forehead creased until he remembered the name on the barbershop next to the post office. "No," he said. "I was going to head over to Poulsbo." He smiled wryly. "I don't think I want to trust my throat to anybody here who has access to razors."
Jodi smiled, but it was halfhearted. "Right now I can't blame you."
His mouth tightened; she looked like she needed a break. And before he thought about it, he was saying, "Want to come with me?" She looked a bit startled, and he added quickly, "We could get something to eat, maybe? Go for a walk with the tourists?"
"I'd like that," she said softly, so softly it seemed like the words had escaped on a breath of relief.
He found himself grinning. "Let's go."
"I have to check on my new patient first, though."
"The owl?"
She nodded. She'd told him that the bird who had interrupted their ... practice yesterday hadn't really been injured, just caught in some fishing line; she had disentangled him, checked for any injury, and kept him overnight only to be sure nothing developed that she hadn't seen.
"If he's okay, he can be turned loose. It's close enough to dusk, he should be okay. Want to go with me? It'll only take about fifteen minutes."
"I'd like that," he said, echoing her earlier words.
She got the small owl into a large cage—he was surprisingly docile—and J.T. loaded him into the back of the Jeep.
"I got the information about where he was found from the lady who brought him in," she said as she shut the tailgate. "It's best to release the bird on its home ground, if possible."
They climbed into the Jeep.
"Sorry about the smell," she, said.
"Smell?"
"I've been told my car reeks of wet fur."
"Reeks?" J.T. sniffed. "It's barely noticeable. Besides it's not a bad smell."
She gave him a smile he wasn't sure what he'd done to earn as she drove to the area, about two miles north of town, where her patient had been picked up. She found an unpopulated stretch she seemed happy with, and drove a ways off the main road. When she opened the back of the Jeep the young owl was alert, looking around, as if he recognized home.
J.T. carried the cage for her without comment, up to the top of the slight rise she indicated. She knelt down and opened the cage door. The owl hesitated, as if uncertain, and she gently reached in and urged him out. He scuttled a few feet away on the ground, seemed to look back at her.
"Go, little one," she said, waving both hands in a shooing motion.
He took off in a flurry of wings. Jodi watched him go with a slight smile. "You're a lucky bird," she said, almost under her breath, as the young owl headed for the trees. She turned to J.T. "Most of mine aren't in such good shape. But pretty soon my little kestrel will be on her way, too, and there'll be a little more balance restored in this part of the world." 
J.T. watched, not the owl as it disappeared into the woods, but Jodi, saw the joy tinged with sadness as her charge went back to the wild.
"You're really something, Jodi Campion," he said softly.
Startled, she looked up at him. Then she shrugged, as if embarrassed.
"Don't belittle what you do," he said. "It's important."
"I know it is," she said. Then, rather hastily, added, "Come on, I'm hungry."
Soon they were on the road again, in his truck this time, headed toward the tidy little Norwegian town on Liberty Bay. The farther they got from Keating's Port, the more Jodi relaxed, and soon she was her usual self. More so, in fact; she was acting like she'd had a burden lifted.
She was cheerfully telling him about the antics of the baby raccoon he'd brought her all those months ago; it seemed the critter had learned to unlatch his cage and was waiting to greet her every morning amid the debris of his night's mischief. She didn't comment on the fact that he'd never gone back to see how the animal was doing, but he guessed she knew that he hadn't gone out much then.
Hell, you don't go out much now, he thought. Or at least, he hadn't.
"I even tried wiring the cage shut," she said, chuckling. "It took him a couple of days, but he figured it out. Those little hands are quite adept. He—"
She broke off in the instant he hit the brakes. Ahead of them, strewn across the two-lane road, was the aftermath of a wreck. A black pickup, similar to J. T.’s, sat wedged against the left rear of a small blue sedan, which in turn was pushed hard against a power pole. Several other cars had halted by the side of the road, and people were clustered around the sedan. Beneath the shouting he could hear what sounded like a woman moaning.
"We'd better stop," Jodi said. "Maybe we can help."
Although it was the last thing he wanted to do, J.T. knew better than to argue with her over something like this. So he pulled the truck to the side, angling it so it served as a barrier protecting the scene, set the brake, and flipped on the emergency flashers.
"Oh, my God," Jodi said. "It's Tracy."
J.T. had been getting out, but stopped at her cry of recognition. "You know her?"
"Tracy Holland. Chet's wife."
"The deputy?" Suddenly he was involved, personally; he owed a bit to the man who could have made his life miserable and hadn't. "We'd better go see if we can help, then."
"Yes," Jodi said swiftly, then stopped him again. "J.T.?"
He looked back at her. "What?"
"She's pregnant. She's due in a couple of weeks. Their first."
J.T. swore under his breath. Hurrying now, he shouldered his way to the car, Jodi on his heels. Oddly, no one tried to stop him, and they moved aside for him as if he were wearing the uniform he had once had a right to.
Once he was at the car, he let Jodi slip in front of him, knowing a familiar face would help.
"Jodi? Oh, thank God, it's you. Ohh!"
The woman's cry was short and sharp with pain. She was sitting sideways in the driver's seat, hanging on to the steering wheel and the side of the seat. But now she reached for Jodi, who took her right hand and held it tightly.
"What hurts, Tracy?"
"I think ... ankle's broken. But... not me ... worried about."
"I know, I know," Jodi soothed.
"I'm having contractions."
Jodi looked over her shoulder at the onlookers. "Did somebody call 911?"
"I did," a man said, gesturing with his cell phone; he was draped with a point and shoot camera that marked him as probably a tourist, but at least he'd called. "Ambulance is coming. And the cops, too, for this punk."
The man gestured at a sullen-looking teenager who was slumped against the side of the black truck, looking warily at the group surrounding him. J.T. saw Jodi focus on the boy for an instant, saw her eyes widen.
"Danny," she said under her breath.
Tracy Holland moaned again, and Jodi turned back to her. "Chet," she said through clenched teeth. "Please."
"We'll find him," Jodi assured her.
But J.T. looked more closely at the boy now that he knew this was the kid who had likely attacked Jodi. Danny looked away muttering something as his lip curled into a surly snarl.
"Shut up, kid," the man with the phone said. "I saw you playing your stupid game."
"Game?" J.T. said.
The man gestured toward the crumpled sedan. "He ran her right off the road."
"Intentionally," somebody else chimed in.
"Fuck you," was the boy's sole contribution.
"Oh, God, Jodi... the baby," Tracy gasped. "It's coming."
"Help's on the way, Tracy, just hang on."
"No time. It's coming now."
Jodi looked up at him. "J.T.?"
He read her unspoken question and drew back, shaking his head. "It's been too long."
Tracy cried out sharply again. J.T. took a deep breath and steadied himself. He glanced at his watch, then took a closer look at the woman. Her ankle did look swollen, and she was possibly right about it being broken. But it also appeared her water had broken. It could be just from the shock of the accident, and labor could be delayed with drugs, but if she was due in two weeks, it might do more harm than good, even if they could get her to help in time.
She cried out again. J.T. checked his watch. Less than two minutes. It was party time.
Jodi was right. Whether he liked it or not, he was the best chance Chet Holland's wife and baby had. He knew it, and so did Jodi. And yet she hadn't betrayed him, hadn't said a thing that wouldn't let him refuse without anyone but her knowing he had the training to help.
"J.T.," Jodi said again, pleading.
He looked down at her. And knew there was no way in hell—even the hell he'd been living in—that he could say no to her.
He let out that long breath. He summoned everything he could remember of how to reassure, and then he crouched down beside the car, and took Tracy Holland's other hand.
"Okay, Mrs. Holland. My name's John. I used to be a firefighter, and an EMT, so I've done this a time or two. Everything's going to be fine."
"Thank God," the woman said.
"Thank God," Jodi echoed.
J.T. doubted he was anything to be thankful to God for, but he knew he would never, ever forget Jodi's expression as she looked at him, tears tracing down her cheeks.
 Chapter 15
"John?"
J.T. sighed. "Yes."
"Is J.T. what they called you growing up?"
"No. Johnny. J.T. came at the fire department."
"What's the middle T for?"
'Taylor."
"That's nice." He grimaced. Jodi made a face of her own. "It's better man Jodilyn."
"All one word?"
"Bless my mother, yes. Named after her mother Jodine and sister Lynette."
J.T. smiled at her then. For once he seemed perfectly willing to answer questions, was even doing it cheerfully, so she kept going. "So you've delivered a baby before?"
He gave her a crooked grin. "That little doll was number four."
Jodi snuggled closer to him on the sofa in the waiting room of the small medical center. "You were ... amazing."
"You kept her calm, talked her through it. All I did was catch."
Jodi giggled. They were both feeling rather smug. And deservedly so, she thought. Between them, they'd delivered a squalling, healthy baby girl, with all the requisite fingers and toes and one incredible set of lungs. She was so proud of J.T. she wanted to cheer out loud, and she didn't even care about the warning bell going off in her head, telling her she was well down a road she'd sworn never to travel.
The ambulance—Keating's Port had yet to rate paramedics any closer than twenty miles away, so the single local ambulance got a lot of work—had arrived just in time to provide the bassinet.
Jodi frowned then. On their heels had been a sheriff's car; not Chet, he was in court this morning Tracy had told them, but his relief officer. And after taking down witness statements, he'd wasted no time in handcuffing the still surly Danny Harris and impounding his damaged truck.
Once cuffed, the boy had looked at Jodi. "I thought you might be different. I even listened to what you said, thought about it. Then you sicced that cop on me, for stuff I didn't even do." His lip had curled into that sullen snarl agin. "You'da been next," had been his parting words.
Jodi let out a sigh.
"You're thinking about that boy, aren't you?" J.T. asked.
"He's so young to have so much hate in him."
"You have more sympathy for him than I do. He tried to make this your fault."
"He gets that from his mother," Jodi said dryly. "She—"
She broke off as the outer door slammed open. In a sport coat for court, his tie askew, Chet rushed in, looking both windblown and panicked. Jodi leapt to her feet; J.T. stood up more slowly.
"Where is she? Is she all right?"
Jodi's thoughts were suddenly in a whirl and she didn't know what to say first. Then J.T. stepped in and did it, calmly, coolly, in the right order, and she realized he'd probably done this many times.
"She's going to be fine. They're moving her into a room, her ankle's hurt but she's going to be fine." J.T. reached out and grasped Chet's shoulder. "Both your girls are going to be fine."
Suddenly Chet was grinning, almost sillily.
"I think you better sit down," Jodi said, finally finding her voice. "They're going to come tell us when Tracy's settled, and you can see her."
"The baby?"
"She's in their version of neonatal ICU since she was born in the field," J.T. said, "but it's only a precaution. It's pretty standard procedure. Her vitals are good, and she'll be out of there soon."
Chet sat down then, closing his eyes for a moment. They sat down beside him, giving him the silence he needed and deserved. After a long moment, he opened his eyes and looked at them.
"I talked to Wayne, the deputy who responded. He told me what you did. Both of you."
"J.T. did it," Jodi said quickly. "He had all the experience, I just held her hand."
"Thank you, both of you. It could have been so much worse, if you hadn't been there."
"Timing," J.T. said. "We were lucky."
"No," Chet said softly, "I was lucky."
"They book the kid?" J.T. asked, as if uncomfortable with the deeply felt thanks.
"Yes," Chet said, looking suddenly grim. "At least now I've got something we can hold him on, instead of just suspicions." He shook his head. "Even though I've chased that boy down for speeding over half the county, I never figured he'd pull something like this. And if he did the rest, we'll find out, and he'll pay for that, too."
"He said this wouldn't have happened if I hadn't sicced you on him—"
"Stop it," J.T. said, cutting her off sharply. "This wasn't your fault."
"He's right," Chet said, in his most stern cop voice. "Danny made the decision he made out there on the road all by himself. He's the one who couldn't control his anger."
"But—"
Chet shook his head. "Uh-uh. All I did was question him about that night. I admit, I might have pushed a little hard, because you were the victim, but I didn't arrest him, or even take him in for further questioning, although I could have. No, he pulled this stunt all on his own."
"You can't take care of the world, Jodi," J.T. said softly. "No mater how much you might want to."
Jodi turned to look at him. Was there something more in his words? Was he telling her she couldn't take care of him, either? She knew she couldn't fix the memories that haunted him, but she thought she had helped, that night when he'd given in to them.
He held her gaze steadily. Jodi wasn't at all sure what she saw there. "I don't want to take care of the world," she said at last. "Just... the parts I care about."
"That's the problem, when you care too much about too many."
Jodi drew back; the warning seemed unmistakable. Here she'd been reveling in the new closeness that dealing with a crisis had brought them, and all the time he'd been backpedaling like mad. Something shrank up inside her, recoiling from the sting.
"And where would you suggest I cut?" she asked, a bit of her roiling emotions creeping into her voice despite her efforts.
Chet, for all his distractions, quickly picked up on the shift in mood and mumbled something about letting the staff know he was here, and escaped. Jodi spared him a nod, but never looked away from J.T.
"Well?" she persisted. "What—or who—should I stop caring about?"
J.T. shifted his feet. His head dropped, and he rubbed at the back of his neck as if it were aching. He expelled a compressed breath. And at last he looked at her.
"I know what I should say, but I can't seem to say it. But... you care so much, Jodi. It spreads a person thin."
Something in his tone caught her attention. She studied him for a moment. "That's the voice of experience, isn't it?"
He hesitated, then answered her. "I started out that way. Every call was personal, every fire happened to somebody I worried about, every medical aid. They looked at us and saw the help, sometimes even the miracle they'd been praying for. And it tore me apart when we failed, when we were too late."
Jodi stared at him. Something had changed today, something had brought out this caring, articulate man she'd never seen before. Just as she'd never seen the man who had delivered Chet's baby girl with a soothing calmness and sure, steady hands.
"It took me a long time to find some kind of balance," he said. "You just can't keep paying that kind of price and still do the job right. You have to care... but you can't carry the world on your shoulders on every call."
"I don't know how anybody does that job," she said softly when he didn't say any more. 
He seemed to come back to the present with a start. "I... didn't mean to ramble on about me. I just meant that... you can't do it either. It's not your fault that kid made the choice he made. It's not your fault Tracy got hurt."
She considered his words, and remembered his story. And finally said what she couldn't help thinking. "But it was your fault some faulty wiring you didn't know about started a fire?"
He stiffened. "That's different."
It came so quickly she knew it was reflex, so deeply ingrained in his mind it was automatic and instant.
"Why?"
"You did what you had to do. I neglected what I should have done. I had the training to know that place could have had problems. It was my job, damn it."
Before she could answer, Chet was back. She wondered if he'd heard the escalation and decided to play peacekeeper.
He glanced at Jodi. "Guess that puts the seal on who came after you that night."
"Maybe," Jodi said.
"Maybe?" J.T. lifted a brow at her.
"He said he didn't do it."
"Of course he said he didn't."
"But what did he have to lose at that point?" she asked. "He was already in worse trouble, admitting to forcing Tracy off the road like that."
"And if she'd been hurt worse," Chet began, then clenched his jaw against whatever else he'd been going to say.
"But she wasn't," Jodi said soothingly. "She's going to be fine. But she's going to need help, with her ankle messed up."
"She's got her sister coming in tomorrow. And I've already talked to my boss, and I've got off until she gets here."
"Oh, good," Jodi said. "She'll need you. You be sure and pamper her, now, and—"
"Mr. Holland?" The woman in nurse's whites stood in the doorway, and Chet spun around to look at her. She smiled. "You can see your wife now. Then I'll take you to see your daughter."
Chet grinned. And the tension that had built vanished in the face of such joy. Jodi hugged him. J.T. gave him a thumbs-up. And then he disappeared through the swinging double doors.
J.T. walked into the library, which was housed in the lower back section of the building that served as the town hall. It seemed rather fitting to try to find something on Keating in the same building as the mayor's office.
He hadn't thought of the library before, although he knew he should have.
You just weren't thinking, period, he told himself. If he had been, he would have realized a town as aware of its past as Keating's Port would have a section in its library dedicated to that past, even if the library was small.
It only took him a minute to find it; of course, the whole place was only about twenty feet square. But it had a full section of books dedicated to the Pacific Northwest, and an entire shelf—albeit not full—of volumes about the town. Some were duplicates, many were small, obviously self-published volumes, including a dog-eared copy of what was rather grandiosely titled Keating's Port: Golden Past, Endless Future. He picked it up.
J.T. retreated to the uncomfortable-looking wooden chair that was the only seating close by. He skimmed the history of the founding; it was no surprise that the place had begun as a logging town, that was the history of a large part of the Puget Sound. A hundred and ten years ago, Cornelius Keating had set about founding a town he hoped would be the cornerstone of his empire. And married a woman from Seattle, one Agatha Dawson, who he hoped would be the cornerstone of his dynasty.
He skipped forward, only to find that the book ended with the birth of Reed Keating, who along with his sister was heir to the business and the fortune. But he'd already found most of the more recent history on his return this morning to the Reporter archives. Darlene Keating's disappearance had been front-page news for days, and the discovery of her body had sent shock waves through the small town that had reverberated for weeks. Reed had been described in the articles as "bearing his grief well," and holding up in "typical Keating style."
And all J.T. had been able to think of was a small boy, devastated by the loss of his mother, yet ordered to behave like a Keating, to keep his head up and his tears hidden.
What had surprised him on this second trip to the newspaper was that he wasn't looked upon with the dislike and distrust that had met him on his first visit. He gathered word of his role in the birth of Chet's baby had already made the rounds, and it seemed it was earning him, if not liking, at least an absence of open antagonism. He'd even passed Branch Elliot on his way here, and while not friendly, the man was silent, while his brother merely gave J.T. the distrustful, watching look the man gave everyone.
Finished now, he got up and put the book back on the shelf. He looked through the rest, but there didn't seem to be anything more recent among the books. He moved over to a cardboard holder full of pamphlets and brochures. One was a promo piece on the attractions of the new pier shops for tourists, one a flyer for a new bed and breakfast over on the Hood Canal, one an ad for whale-watching tours. The last was a Chamber of Commerce brochure. And inside the front cover was a photograph of Mayor Keating.
J.T. studied it for a moment. Even in the photo he could see it in the man's face, in his carriage. He'd run into the type before; for a while he'd been at a fire station serving one of the high-end communities in Orange County, and the wealthiest of the wealthy there had that same air of privilege, of being born to rule, whatever their kingdom might be.
He scanned the brochure and found several other photographs, some taken around town, the same shot of the pier area that was in the other brochure, and one of what was labeled as the annual Keating's Port Anniversary Ball.
He was about to flip it closed and put it back when something caught his eye. He looked once more at the photo of the annual function. There, to one side, was Mr. Mayor, looking faintly annoyed. And on his arm, clinging, was Garrett's mother. The resemblance was unmistakable.
Over the years, by necessity, he'd learned a bit about body language. Enough to sometimes tell when a distraught home or business owner was lying about the fire that had destroyed his building, to sense when the woman with the bruised face had not really walked into something. And to him, the body language in that photo spoke volumes. Darlene Keating, a petite, pretty woman who came up only to Reed's chest, was hanging on desperately, while her husband wanted nothing more than to be rid of her.
He would have written it off as simply marital tension, were it not for the fact that Darlene Keating was now dead.
He studied the photo a moment longer. He was surprised Keating hadn't ordered the thing redone after her death. Garrett had said his father didn't allow him to even speak of her, and never mentioned her himself. And since it was obviously not because the man was pining away for his dead wife, J.T. had to assume it was because this photo told the truth.
Pining away for his dead wife.
J.T. shoved the brochure back into the holder. He was a fine one to talk. And for the first time he looked at himself as Rebecca might have. She'd been so alive, so vital...
And he had to admit, she would have hated to see what he'd become.
Funny, before they'd gotten married, they'd talked about what she would do if something happened to him, since it was much more likely. And he'd always told her jokingly to just cremate him and put him in the garage. Gallows humor, he supposed; it was something you learned in his line of work, or go mad.
But Rebecca had taken it seriously, saying she would do what she would want him to do for her. "I wouldn't want you to forget me," she said, "but life goes on, and it's too precious to waste. And it wouldn't be a very good testament to the happiness we've had if you never tried again, would it?"
J.T. sat back down on the chair that had lived up to its uncomfortable promise. He'd completely forgotten this conversation until now. He'd brought the subject up himself, feeling it only fair to acknowledge that there was a certain amount of risk in his work before she committed to marrying him.
Yet he'd buried it, so deep that it had taken three years to surface again.
Why? Because it would have interfered with his wallowing in his grief? And in his guilt?
He stood up quickly, shaking off the weird mood. This was not what he'd come here for. He headed for the door, was almost there when something came to him, and he turned around. He walked back to the desk where a young woman whose hair had a decidedly purple cast sat, typing on an electric typewriter, and muttering something under her breath about the dark ages.
"No computer, huh?" he said.
She looked up, her forehead creased. For a moment her frown deepened; he wondered if it was because she didn't recognize him, or because she did. But after a moment a serviceable smile replaced the frown.
"No. They say they can't afford it, but personally I think some of the people who run things around here just don't want to give in and progress to the twentieth—or twenty-first—century. I can't believe I left Portland for this."
Ah, so she wasn't a local. Maybe that accounted for the lack of chill in his reception. "At least it's not a manual typewriter." He smiled, and her smile became more genuine.
"I'm surprised," she joked. "Can I help you with something?"
"I was wondering ... they have meetings, don't they? Those people who run things?"
She looked puzzled. "You mean, like the town council?" At his nod, she gave him a wry smile. "Sometimes that's all they do. But yes,* every other Tuesday. Like there's enough going on in this place to warrant it. But it makes them feel important."
J.T. couldn't help but grin. "Are there minutes or something?"
 "Sure." Her look turned curious then. "You want them?"
So they were here, J.T. thought. "Yes," he said, "please." He wasn't sure what he expected to find, but it was worth looking into, and he certainly had ran out of other ideas.
She led him to a shelf behind her desk, where large stacks of typed pages were held in simple report folders. She explained they were filed chronologically by year, most recent on top, going back five years; older than that was in the back and she hoped he didn't want those because they were a pain to get to.
"No, this is fine," he told her.
"Can I help you find something?"
"No, thanks. I'm not exactly sure what I'm looking for."
She gave him an odd look, which he supposed the comment deserved, and left him to it.
He hadn't been just putting her off when he'd said he wasn't sure what he was after. Maybe it was just curiosity about the man who had so much time for his town and so little for his son. With no clear idea of what he expected to find, he picked a couple of dates and pulled out the books.
A few minutes later, he had more information, but no idea what it meant, if anything.
Reed Keating had shown up as usual on the Tuesday meeting following his wife's death. In fact, J.T. thought, pulling the small notebook he'd been using out of his pocket to check the dates he'd scribbled down, she had still been missing, her body not yet found. She'd been found washed ashore two days later, on Wednesday. Keating hadn't missed the next meeting either, which had been, thanks to the investigation and autopsy, barely more than a week after her funeral. So, he hadn't been upset. Or he'd been so upset he'd needed the anodyne of work.
J.T. knew which one he'd bet on.
But what had really caught his eye was the minutes for the Tuesday night Debbie had supposedly boarded her plane for New York. Keating had been there, conducting the meeting as usual. Present and accounted for. And he guessed that if she truly had just departed, she'd picked the time intentionally, to avoid any confrontation with the man who was unknowingly going to get stuck with the tab for her flight.
But there was one little detail that was almost hidden among the several pages of nattering on about whether or not a developer should be allowed to put in a strip mall along the highway—Mayor Keating had called a half-hour-long cooling-off recess, while he did some more "research" on the question. Not suspicious in itself, but from what J.T. could see, when he had returned the discussion continued just as it had before the break, with no new information introduced, by Keating or anyone else. And in the end his had been the swing vote that nixed the proposal—exactly the position he'd taken from the beginning.
It was five minutes, no more, from the town hall to the Keating house. Ten minutes max driving time there and back. That left him twenty minutes there to... do what? Murder Debbie and dispose of her body? Had she taken the same trip Darlene had, and just not been found?
It was crazy, it made no sense, but then neither did Debbie cutting off all contact with the family she loved. But in the end, that was really the only real evidence that she hadn't done exactly what the Keatings said she had. And that, he knew, wasn't evidence at all. Neither was the fact that Keating had called a recess. For all he knew, the man could have been doing some backroom finagling, looking for a cut on the shopping center. Or simply called a break for food or some other necessity.
It could be innocent. It probably was innocent. But it was a blip on the screen, and J.T. added it to his sparse list.
He left with a nod and wave of thanks to the purple-haired woman, who was on the phone. He got in his truck and sat there for a moment, pondering. He thought about trying again for a haircut, but it didn't seem very important now.
Maybe he'd drive over to the medical center, see how Tracy Holland was doing this first day after her accident and early arrival of her daughter. He had sort of a vested interest, after all. Besides, he had a feeling that's where he'd find Jodi.
And then he'd see if he could find Mayor Keating.
It occurred to him that he should take some flowers or something to the new mother, so J.T. stopped at Keating's Port's single gift shop, where the back corner of the store also served as florist. Exiting a while later, with a small vase of bright red and white carnations in his hand, he held the door when he saw a woman approaching.
She was striking, tall, blond, and very elegant. She looked vaguely familiar, but he couldn't place her, and he couldn't imagine having met her and forgotten it. She didn't hurry when she saw him holding the door for her, she merely nodded, as if such courtesy was only to be expected.
And then, just as she came up to the doorway she actually looked at him. And stopped dead.
"You!"
J.T. was startled at his own reaction; he winced. Had he lost his thick skin so quickly? He thought he'd become used to such things, from people he didn't even know. Perhaps not quite so accusatory, but—
"How dare you!"
He sighed. "Which particular offense of mine has you in a snit, whoever you might be?"
The woman's nose went up another notch. As if he should know who she was. As if everybody should know who she was. Suspicion stirred in his mind.
"If you think you can throw around wild accusations about a Keating in this town and get away with it, you're mistaken."
He'd been right. The regal bearing, the nose in the air... she looked familiar because she looked—and acted—like her brother.   
J.T. let the door fall closed. This, he thought, might work out even better than if he'd found Keating himself. He put a smile on his face that he knew was just insolent enough to irritate the likes of Regina Keating.
"Wild accusations? I just asked some questions. Which the mayor refused to answer."
"He doesn't have to answer to the likes of you."
J.T. studied the woman in the elegant black suit, complete with high-heeled pumps that made her almost his height, an outfit that stood out amid the casual atmosphere of the Northwest. He was certain that was her intent; she just had that look.
He thought of Matt, sitting at home, worried sick about his only sister. And felt the urge to smash that regalness to bits.
"Like he doesn't have to account for the likes of Debbie?" he asked, staring at her.
Something flickered in her eyes. Her free hand went to the clasp of her purse, and she gripped it tightly for an instant, then she let it go. It was a definite reaction, which interested him. She recovered quickly, and her nose went up a fraction more.
"I have no idea what you're talking about. And I assure you that if you continue to slander my brother, we will take action."
He fastened his gaze on her again. He admired the way she stood up for her brother, but Mart's haunted voice drove him to push even harder.
"Is that the way the Keatings deal with anyone who crosses them? They 'take action'?" Again something flickered in her eyes, but again too quickly for him to name it. "Just where did your precious brother go when he called a recess of the town council meeting the night Debbie disappeared?"
This time he recognized the emotion that crossed her face; it was shock. That he knew, or simply that she hadn't known? But whatever else she was, Regina Keating was a cool character, and she once more quickly recovered.
"I've warned you. Continue with this, and you will find out what it means to cross a Keating."
"Oh, I'll continue, all right. Until I find out what happened to Debbie Hall."
"Nothing happened," Regina Keating said with disdain. "She did just what one would expect from such a shallow, frivolous woman. We're all better off without her."
"The little girl who's been crying because she misses her favorite aunt wouldn't agree with you."
Regina sniffed. "Children. They have no judgment." Her gaze narrowed, and more than a hint of warning came into her voice. "My nephew proved that when he took up with you. But that, I promise you, has come to an end."
J.T. felt a tug of remorse; Jodi was right, Garrett was going to get caught in the middle of all these "adult matters." The world had already dealt him a harsh blow, and he didn't seem to be getting much help handling it.
"You're going to lose that boy," he said, unable to stop the words even though he knew they were useless.
"How dare you!"
And there they were, back to where they had begun. "You know," he said, intentionally sounding amused, knowing that nothing would incense a woman like this more, "there's a whole big world out there, the real world, that's never heard of the Keatings. Better stay out of it, Miss Regina. You wouldn't like the way it treats you."
Then he grinned, and walked away without a backward glance. 
Chapter 16
J.T. got back in his truck, treasuring for a moment the shocked rage that had contorted Regina Keating's aristocratic face. Odd, he thought, he didn't usually get any thrill out of antagonizing people, but the Keatings seemed to bring out the worst in him.
As he pulled out onto the highway toward the medical center, he wondered if he was picking up on something that he wasn't consciously aware of. Both brother and sister were obviously touchy about the subject of Debbie, but was that enough to push him beyond being on the offensive to simply being offensive? Or was it something else? He told himself he was simply pushing, to help Matt, but he couldn't help feeling there was more to it.
He slowed as he passed the lumber yard, and turned into the parking lot of the small but modern building next door. He headed for the section marked visitors and the empty stall he saw at the end of the first row.
And pulled in right next to Jodi's red Jeep.
He stared at it for a moment. He knew it was hers, not simply because of the cages and blankets in the back, but because of the way his stomach suddenly knotted. She was here, there was no doubt why, and if he followed his plan he would be seeing her in a few minutes.
His pulse took a leap, and he wondered if he'd just discovered the reason the Keatings, especially the possessive Reed, set him off.
No, he told himself firmly as he got out of the truck and headed for the doors, refusing to look at the Jeep again. He was nowhere near ready for anything like what he was thinking. He didn't have it to give.
He reached the doorway of Tracy Holland's room, took one look, and nearly turned and ran. If there was a more perfect picture of family bliss, he'd never seen it. But he'd lived it, once. Once he had stood as Chet was standing, one hand on his wife's hair, the other protectively over the tiny bundle she held. Once he'd known what Chet was feeling, that sense of wonderment, of awe as you looked down at the life you'd helped create. That worry that you weren't up to it, that you didn't have what it would take to get this child safely through life.
And then he saw Jodi, standing slightly back, simply watching, with a smile that was generously delighted, and a tiny bit wistful.
Don't wish for it, he silently warned her. It hurts too damn much to lose it...
And then Tracy looked up and saw him, and the smile that spread across her face startled him.
"I'm so glad you're here," she exclaimed. "Come, meet your namesake."
J.T. blinked. "What?"
"We couldn't think of a good variation of John for a girl, so we named her Taylor. Jodi told us that was your middle name."
J. T.’s gaze flicked to Jodi, who smiled at him as if he should be pleased. He looked back at the slightly delirious new parents. "But... you must have had a name picked out..."
Chet laughed. "We never did agree on a girl's name. We were going to argue again this week. So you ended a family dispute."
He stared at them, at the tableau that was so full of the future, and for him so painfully reminiscent of the past. He took a step back, helplessly, his gut ordering his muscles to get him out of here, his mind arguing that he couldn't just ran. He'd recognized the sense of connection to the mother he'd helped and the child whose first touch in life had been his; he'd felt it before, in that other life when such things had made him smile for hours after. But he'd cut himself off from all that, and he didn't know how to deal with it anymore.
Almost in desperation he turned to Jodi. She looked back at him steadily, her face full of warmth and sympathy, as if she understood exactly what he was thinking, what he was feeling.
And as if she realized the decision he made now was much bigger than to simply go or stay in this room.
Suddenly the small room seemed vast, almost endless, with him at one end and Jodi and the newly created family at the other, out of reach. There was nothing between him and them, nothing but that empty expanse, nothing to stop him from crossing over. Nothing to stop him from rejoining life, in its purest form. But he couldn't move.
And then Jodi moved. She took a single step toward him, and held out her hand.
He felt the muscles of his arm tense. Trying to move, or stop from moving? he wondered with an odd sense of detachment. He heard a tiny sound that sent a shiver down his spine. The baby, he realized. The baby they were naming after him. Life, pure and simple, calling out.
"It's time, Johnny," Jodi said, and even though she'd never used it, the old nickname sounded right, from her.
And slowly, as if the air had thickened just to make it harder, he lifted his arm and took her hand. He wasn't sure if she pulled him, or if he went of his own accord, but a moment later he was next to her, close, and her arm had slipped around his waist. He suppressed a shiver, and the odd weakness in his knees, as if he'd just taken a much, much bigger step.
An instant later, the beeper Chet wore went off. He looked at it, frowned, then picked up the phone beside his wife's bed. J.T. didn't really hear the conversation; he was trying to steady himself, to fight off the waves of odd sensation that were swamping him.
But when Chet hung up and turned to look at them, he heard.
"It's Garrett Keating. He's missing again."
Jodi leaned back against the porch railing, savoring the last few minutes of sunlight. She felt a slight twinge from the sore spot on her back, but it was fading rapidly, and soon would be gone. Before long the days would be getting shorter as summer wound down to its final hours. It always seemed to her to happen so fast; one week it would be light until ten at night, the next it was getting dark by six. She could hardly wait for the snap of colder weather, and the frosty mornings when snuggling into a warm bed was one of the greatest pleasures possible.
She found herself flushing at her thoughts of warm beds and pleasures when J.T. was sitting barely inches away.
After Chet received the call they had checked her house and the clinic, then returned to J. T.’s cabin, thinking that Garrett might have gone there. There had been no sign of the boy, but they had decided to wait here just in case. That had been a couple of hours ago, and without Garrett as a focal point, they were left with nothing to do but be together. Alone.
"Jodi?" Her head snapped up. "Should I check the grove again?"
When they'd first arrived a couple of hours ago he'd shown her the place where he'd found the boy before, a thick grove of trees where two large ones had toppled, forming a small, nearly hidden cavern that was just the right size for a boy who wanted to retreat from the world. There was no sign Garrett had been back there since the day J.T. had found him there.
Odd, she thought, how long ago that seemed, when in fact it had been less than a month. Now she couldn't imagine her life without the sense of anticipation J.T. gave her. It was foolish, perhaps, but there it was. And the moment in the hospital room when, after the agonizing battle that had shown on his face, he had come to her, had done nothing to help her fight the feeling.
"It has been a while since we looked there," she said, determinedly turning her mind back to business. "It can't hurt. Let's go."
She was on her feet before she remembered he'd asked if he should go. Embarrassed, she stammered, "I didn't mean ... If you want to go alone ..."
For an instant he hesitated, but then he shook his head. He stood up and, taking her elbow in an almost courtly manner, started to walk. Jodi felt her embarrassment fade, although she couldn't help wondering at mat moment of indecision.
They made their way through the trees, and the small, level meadow that was a few yards down the hill, to the spot just inside the trees on the other side of the clearing where Garrett had found refuge before. Jodi crouched down to look; the little hiding space was still empty.
Jodi smothered a sigh. She didn't really think this time that something had happened to him, but she was still worried.
"He's getting worse, not better," she whispered.
"I know." J.T. knelt beside her, staring into the leafy cave. "I wonder if I was doing more damage than good."
"No," Jodi said quickly. "He needs what you give him. He still needs it, but..."
J. T.’s mouth quirked. "He needs what you give him more."
"But he won't get it." She stood, guilt spiking through her.
J.T. straightened up beside her. "It's not your fault that Reed Keating is a jerk who would take out his own frustrations on a child. His own child."
"He doesn't mean to—" She stopped abruptly. Then, wryly, "I should have realized when I had to keep saying that, to justify his actions, that there was a problem. I'm ashamed it took me so long."
"You know what your problem is, Jodi Campion? You're too generous. You give people a lot more credit than they deserve."
She knew somehow that they were no longer talking about Reed. She looked at him intently. "Sometimes," she said slowly, "people need that. People who don't give themselves enough credit."
For a long moment he just stood there. She made herself return his look, refused to let her eyes lower, to dodge this.
"Jodi," he said.
It was question, request, and warning all in one, and she knew it. But she held her ground and his gaze steadily.
"Jodi," he said again, and this time it was pure plea. Whether to stop or go on, she couldn't be sure. She was only sure of what she wanted, and if she was to later regret the single-minded certainty of this moment, so be it.
Slowly, but with full sureness, she lifted one hand to cup his face. He closed his eyes, drew in an audible and visible breath, and let his head loll slightly against her palm.
And then, so swiftly she was barely aware of his movement, he pulled her to him. His mouth came down on hers hungrily, almost fiercely, seeking, tasting, demanding.
It hadn't been a fluke.
It was the only coherent thought she could manage. But it was an important one; the knowledge that the fiery heat of those first kisses hadn't been simply some weird convergence of need and desire and loneliness. For she had felt alone, she realized that now; Reed had never filled this place inside her.
A twinge of wariness jabbed her; was it too much, too intense? Was she opening herself up to the kind of feeling that left you desperate, needy, unable to live without? The kind of feeling her father had had for her mother, the kind of passion that left him an empty shell after her death? Wasn't that really why she had been seriously considering a relationship with Reed, because she knew she would never, could never love him like that?
Instinctively she started to pull back. But J. T.’s arms tightened around her, and he made a small sound of protest, a sound tinged with something sounding like resignation.
 As if he'd expected this, expected her to pull away. That sound stopped her cold. She doubted he had truly wanted anything for himself since his family had died, and now he wanted her, enough to allow himself this closeness. That told her more about his desire than any words could have.
If he could risk this, after what had happened, how could she be such a coward? His loss had been so much more horrible than hers. Yes, she'd lost her father too young, but he had never really been hers to lose, not like J. T.’s family had been.
And yet here he was, holding her, kissing her as if she were a dream come true for him. and the flames were leaping along her nerves, spreading, consuming. She wondered if the Campions were doomed to love this way, at full speed, or not at all.
And then it didn't matter anymore. Nothing mattered anymore except the heat of his mouth on hers, the shivery stroking of his tongue as he probed deeper, seeking, then groaning low in his throat as if he'd found treasure.
Nothing mattered except that this man was rousing sensations in her that she'd no idea she was capable of. And somewhere in her hazed mind it occurred to her that perhaps she'd learned the wrong lesson from her father. That maybe the lesson should have been simply that life was too short to waste chances like this, that you never really knew how much time you had. That was her last coherent thought before she was lost in the taste and feel of him.
He pulled her hard against him. His hands slid down her back, slowly, pressing, as if he wanted to imprint every inch of her body on his. And she found herself wanting to do the same, savoring the solidness of him, the latent power in the long muscles, the heat from him that seemed to seep into places that had been colder than she'd ever realized.
His hands reached her hips and tightened convulsively. He moved slightly, into her, and she felt the unmistakable pressure of a fully aroused male body. Instinctively she moved in turn, increasing the pressure, rubbing caressingly. He groaned, and she felt it rumbling up from deep in his chest.
And then his hands shot up to her shoulders, and pushed her back just far enough so he could look down at her. His eyes held a heat she'd never seen there before, and it sent a darting flash of sensation through her that made her body clench fiercely.
"You've got until we get back to the house to change   . your mind," he said, his voice thick.
Jodi's breath caught. He wasn't going to let her be swept away, wasn't going to give her the option to say later she hadn't really known what she was doing. And she realized that this was the very core of the man; no seduction, no overpowering of reservations with the momentum of passion, but honesty, pure and simple. She must have known this, somehow, must have sensed this was who he really was.
He let her go then, his arms dropping to his sides. But she saw that his hands were curled into clenched fists. He turned and started back toward the house.
He kept going.
"Johnny?"
He froze midstride in his stalk across the room; the childhood nickname was suddenly erotic, in her voice. He didn't turn around, didn't have to; he could feel her standing in the doorway, looking at him. He realized he was holding his breath, but his throat was too tight for words anyway.
He waited. She was going to apologize, or say some other inane thing to explain that she hadn't meant what had happened down the hill, that she'd been caught off guard, hadn't meant to be so ...
So what? Sweet? Giving? So damned hot his blood was still boiling? So willing that he—
"I didn't change my mind."
He went very still. Very straight. Tried to think beyond the sudden surging response of his body to her words. Slowly, very slowly, he turned around.
The last bit of daylight was coming from behind her, limning her shape and turning her hair to fire. His body cramped with fierce need, and it was all he could do not to let out a groan.
"Be sure," he said through teeth clenched against the sound, "because if we start again, stopping's going to kill me."
She stepped inside, pulled the door shut behind her, and walked toward him, never taking her gaze from his face. She came to a halt barely inches away. He could literally feel her closeness, could smell the sweet, warm scent of her. He could feel the silken strands of her hair as if his hands were buried in it. And he could taste her as if he were still kissing her.
"I'm sure," she said.
He told himself to just shut up and take what she was offering, but he couldn't quite make the jump. "Jodi, I'm not... I can't... give you any promises."
"I only want one." She lifted her hands and rested them on his chest. His heart began to, slam in his chest. "Make me feel like you just did again."
And then she reached up and kissed him, shyly at first, then with more heat. He suppressed a shudder, then cupped her face and let himself taste her once more. She opened for him the moment his tongue touched her lips, and he probed into her honeyed warmth. She was bolder this time, returning the favor until he thought he was going to erupt right here.
He was thankful the cabin was small and it was only steps to the bed. He was thankful it was a high bed, not a long fall. He was thankful most of all that his legs held out until they got mere.
He took her down to the bed with as much gentleness as he could manage. He wasn't sure it was enough; he was already running on a very thin leash. At the same time he was aware it had been a very long time, and he was having to think about what to do next. Undressing her was both the most urgent tiling in his life and the most difficult, especially since he didn't want to stop kissing her. He fumbled, but she didn't seem to mind. She helped him, squirming out of her own clothing and tugging at his at the same time. She got his shirt free and he pulled it over his head, but for some reason his fingers couldn't deal with the tiny buttons of her blouse.
It was too much. He rolled away from her, yanking at his jeans. They got tangled with his boots and he had to stand to kick them off. Naked, he turned back to her, ready to tackle the buttons again, anything to end this burning frustration.
She'd done it for him. She'd done it, and was lying there waiting, more beautiful than he could have imagined. He felt like he had when he'd once taken a fall off a roof, the wind knocked out of him and not sure he remembered how to breathe.
"God, Jodi, you're ... you ..."
There were no words, at least none he could find, and he wondered if he'd forgotten all the right things to say. Maybe he'd never known them, at least not any that were sufficient to describe how he felt looking at her.
She was staring at him with an expression he wasn't sure how to interpret. He was harder than he could ever remember being, so hard he felt like he'd die if he had to stop now, but he didn't think that could account for that look. Unless ...
"Jodi?" He sat down suddenly, unable to stand. "I know you said you and Keating never... but... there has been somebody, hasn't there?"
She colored, and he saw for the first time that her blushes covered more than her face. "Yes," she said softly. "But looking at him never made me feel like this. You're beautiful."
It was his turn to blush, which surprised him; he'd thought himself long past that kind of feeling. He fought it down, knowing there was one more thing to deal with.
"Are you ... do ... I don't have anything," he finished lamely.
"Anything?"
God, had he once been at all smooth about this? "I mean ... to protect you."
"Oh." She bit her lip, as if suddenly as embarrassed as he. "I... er, do. Tracy sort of... cleaned out her cabinet when she got pregnant. I inherited a box of... well, you know."
He didn't question his luck, or even why she had come prepared; it didn't matter. She was just too smart to get into trouble, that's all, he thought. And they'd been heading for this particular trouble since the first time he'd laid eyes on her.
Then she held out her arms, and he went down to her without hesitation, without question. The feel of her, silken and alive against him, drove him to the brink and it was all he could do to slow himself enough to make sure she was with him.
But she quickly convinced him; she was touching him as if she were feeling the same urgency he was, the same need to learn every curve and hollow, every sensitive spot, every place that made him moan or made his breath catch. And when he at last did what he'd been longing to do and lowered his mouth to her breasts, she cried out in such pleasure that the last of his doubts vanished; for whatever reason, she wanted him. And he wasn't anywhere near noble enough to resist that.
She ran her hands through his hair, unexpectedly making him shiver. When she locked her fingers behind his head and pressed him to her breast he shivered again. Her nipple hardened against his tongue, and when he flicked it she moaned, arching beneath him, her hands sliding down to clutch at him and pull him closer. The simple eagerness of it drove him beyond urgency.
"God, Jodi, I can't wait," he said against her flesh.
'Then don't," she whispered, nudging him with her hips.
He took her at her word because he had no choice; his body's demands had become imperative. He tried to go slowly, but the moment he began to ease into her slick heat he lost all control. He drove hard and deep, only able to hope that her gasp hadn't been from pain. And after a moment she was moving with him, rising to meet each thrust, crying out as he groaned.
He was out of control and he knew it, but he didn't, couldn't care. He knew only the woman in his arms, and that she was searing the pain out of the deepest, darkest places in his soul. And when the moment came and he could not hold back any longer, he let go of his aloneness and joined her in a way he never had with anyone else, because he'd never been so alone before or needed this so badly.
And in the final instant, when light and heat and glory began pouring through him into her and he couldn't stop himself from crying out, he felt it begin for her, felt her deep muscles clench around him, heard her let out his name on a stunned breath. He gave up any effort at holding back, and let her coaxing body send him soaring into the light.
On some level Jodi was aware she was still asleep when she heard the noise. It came again, and she tried harder to swim up out of the depths, but she hadn't slept like this in months, so deeply and so soundly. Even before her father's death she had slept lightly, waking at the slightest noise. She sleepily wondered what had changed, what had—
Something—someone—moved beside her.
J.T.
He was what had happened to her.
Color flooded her face, and she was suddenly, totally awake. She sat up with a jerk, just as he swung out of bed. She instinctively grabbed at the sheet to cover herself, although it seemed absurd after the past few hours. Feeling a little stunned, she watched him walk across the room, unable to quite believe she had held that tough, hard, naked body in her arms, had let it invade her—no, had welcomed it—in a way she'd never known before. Time and again she had welcomed it, gloried in it, her own body soaring as she'd never thought possible.
J.T. passed through a shaft of moonlight from the window, and the silver glow painted him like a statue. And he was fit to be one, she thought; all lean planes and muscle, all grace and power, all male.
A shiver went through her, and she wrapped her arms around herself. Not because of a chill; he'd stoked the fire well enough that the little cabin was still warm. She shivered at the memories, incredible memories of the things he'd done to her, asked her to do to him, and most amazing, that she'd participated joyously. She could feel it all as if he were still right here, touching her in those ways she'd never been touched, filling her with his body in a way she'd never imagined.
It wasn't until he detoured to grab a towel from the rack just inside the small bathroom, and wrap it around his waist, that she realized she'd been so intent on watching the nude beauty of him that it hadn't really registered that the noise she'd heard had been a knock on the door.
She had the sudden thought that she should think about covering her own nudity before he opened the door to... whoever was on the other side.
She came abruptly out of the fog she'd been in. She looked at her watch, pushing the button to light the dial. It was only midnight, which surprised her, since she felt like she'd slept for hours. But it was late enough to make the knock at J. T.’s door worrisome.
She scrambled for her clothes and began to pull them on, vaguely aware that at least she was to be spared the awkwardness of fumbling for what to say after ... well, after. Even now she was still blushing; she would have thought that capability would have been seared away by now.
By forgoing underwear she had the essentials on by the time he reached the door. He opened it cautiously, wary of who might come knocking at this hour.
A subtle change in his posture, in the stance of that straight, balanced body told her that whoever it was, they weren't a threat. She started barefoot across the room toward the door. And slowed when she got close enough to hear the voice from outside. She'd heard it sad, heard it excited, heard it angry, heard it too wise for his years, but she'd never heard Garrett's voice sound like this, nearly hysterical, and tinged with fear.
"—out with Toph and Fang, we were just walking and Fang found it, dug it up. I swear, J.T., we saw it, we really did!"
Jodi heard the boy gulp. She took the last few steps to stand beside J.T. in the doorway. Garrett looked relieved to see her, which was saying something considering how upset he looked.
"Jodi! Tell him I wouldn't lie, not about this!"
"I never thought you were lying," J.T. said gently. "I just need you to slow down a bit, and tell me from the beginning."
The boy struggled for calm. Jodi looked at J.T., who wore an expression so grim it made the sweet, hot hours they'd just spent seem impossible. She switched her gaze to the boy.
"What did you find?" she asked softly.
Garrett swallowed. "A hand," he said. 
Chapter 17
Jodi watched as Chet leaned his head back, rubbing at the nape of his neck wearily.
"I'm sorry, Chet," she said. "I know you were due to go off duty, and you want to be home with Tracy and the baby, but I wanted you to be the one to..."
Her voice trailed off as the deputy shook his head. "No problem. I... we owe you," he said.
He glanced to where J.T. was crouched looking at the small patch of disturbed dirt, where Chet had dug just deep enough to confirm the boys' find before ordering everyone to back off and calling for help, a crime-scene investigator and detectives. Chet had been out on the search for the again missing Garrett, so he also asked dispatch to call the parents and tell them both boys had been found safe. The two thoroughly chastened children now sat huddled in the back of Chet's unit, the worried yellow Lab beside them, whimpering occasionally at his young master's distress.
She had been surprised at J. T.’s reaction. He'd kept the boys back, which she'd expected, but once he'd seen the grim find the dog had made, he'd become efficient and businesslike. He told her to watch the boys, and the boys to keep hold of the dog. He'd gone back to his cabin and returned with a roll of twine and marked off the path they'd already walked leading to what apparently was a grave; he'd said it appeared the rest of the body was there.
"Nobody walk anywhere else," he had ordered, in a voice she'd never heard from him before. And she had a sudden vision of him on the job, at a scene like this one, taking charge.
Chet spoke then, looking back at Jodi, pulling her out of her reverie. "Let me guess. You figured a dead body, probably a murder victim, on his property would have anybody else convinced he did it?"
She sighed. "Something like that. I know most people wouldn't assume, but the ones who would, like Branch, have the biggest mouths in town."
Chet grimaced. "Don't I know it. That man is a walking nightmare."
"J.T. didn't have anything to do with this. I'm sure he was as shocked as I was."
Chet glanced at J.T. again. "I hope you're right."
"You're not going to ... arrest him, are you?" she asked in alarm.
"Not at the moment."
She breathed a silent sigh of relief. "He didn't, Chet. He wouldn't. I know he wouldn't."
"Unfortunately, that's a gut feeling, not evidence."
He looked at her again. He was silent for a long moment, and Jodi wondered what he was seeing. Chet was observant by nature, part of what made him good at what he did.
"He's got you on his side," he said at last. "That will help. Most people in this town really set store by you." Jodi smiled, pleased, but before she could speak Chet added, "Of course even if he's innocent, if he ends up hurting you, they aren't going to like it much."
Jodi blinked. And read in Chet's warm brown eyes that he had a pretty good idea of why she'd been with J.T. when the panicked Garrett had come knocking. She wondered if it showed in her face somehow, or in J. T.’s, or if Chet was just that perceptive.
"I won't like it much either," he said. "Even if I do owe him."
Jodi gave up any idea of denying it; Chet was the soul of discretion anyway. "If he ever does," she said quietly, "it won't be intentionally. He'd slit his throat first." Or go back into his cave, she added silently.
After a moment Chet nodded. "Happens that way sometimes, with people who've been hurt too much themselves." And then, as if he'd heard her thought, went on. "They cut themselves off, so they can't be hurt, or hurt anyone else. Not to heal but to just not feel."
"He ... blames himself," she said. "For his family. He knows what it is to... feel pain. That's why I know he'd never intentionally hurt anyone."
Chet lifted a brow, glanced over at J.T. once more, then back to her. "I wondered if it was something like that. Guilt can really send a man over the edge."
"But it wasn't his fault. It was just a fluke, that what happened was ... his specialty."
"Sort of like the cardiac specialist whose wife has a fatal heart attack?"
She nodded, biting her lip as she watched J.T. straighten up at last. She wondered how he could do it, stare down at what had once been a human like that. But then she realized he'd probably seen worse; he'd been a front-line firefighter before he'd been promoted. So she was left to simply wonder why, wonder what was in his mind, what he was thinking, what memories might be stirring.
He turned and walked back toward them. When he came to a halt, Jodi could sense the tension in him. It was natural, she told herself; she was feeling it herself. You could hardly find a body buried on your property and not be rattled. But it seemed as if there was something else, something more. She wondered if it had occurred to him, too, that this was going to put him in a spotlight she was sure he'd rather avoid.
As if he'd read her thoughts again, Chet looked at J.T. and said, "It's going to be tough to keep this under wraps for long."
"Yes."
"I can keep the lid on for a while, but..." Chet nodded slightly toward the boys.
J.T. looked at the other man for a moment. "Afraid of a lynch mob?" he asked.
Jodi drew back slightly at his harsh words, but Chet was cooler, giving J.T. a rueful grin. "The thought did cross my mind."
She saw J.T. swallow, as if his throat were tight. And his voice was just as tight when he said, "Chet, I had nothing to do with this."
Chet raised a brow. "I don't recall asking if you had."
J.T. let out a compressed breath. "So did I just convict myself by jumping the gun?"
"I wouldn't say that."
"What would you say?"
"I'd say you're a tad nervous, and with reason," Chet said. "But thanks, by the way, for preserving my crime scene. Glad you're not one of those firefighters cops hate, tramping all over the evidence."
Jodi's breath caught. Of course, she thought. She should have realized that was what the whole path thing had been about, not simply marking the spot.
J.T. glanced over toward Chet's car, where Garrett had slid out of the backseat, as if he'd only been waiting for J.T. to leave the ugly scene before approaching him.
"You're not going to cart me off in handcuffs then?"
"I wouldn't do that in front of a boy who idolizes you even if I was certain you'd buried that body."
"Remind me," J.T. said softly as Garrett started to walk hesitantly toward them, "to slug the next person I hear making a cops-at-the-donut-shop joke."
Chet registered the compliment and smiled slightly. "Thanks. Hope you don't change your mind when I tell you not to go anywhere without telling me."
"Is that a step above don't leave town?"
"Guess so." Chet's smile widened for a moment, but faded with his next words. "But it's a few steps below free and clear."
"J.T.? I'm sorry."
Garrett's nervous query from three feet away made them all turn to look at the boy.
"Sorry?"
"I got you in a mess again."
J.T. held out a hand to the boy. "You've got an overdeveloped sense of responsibility there."
"No wonder you two get along," Jodi murmured just loud enough for J.T. to hear as the boy gratefully took his hand. J.T. flicked a quick, startled glance at her, but then turned back to the child.
"Who is it?" Garrett said, looking warily over his shoulder at the grave.
"I'm not sure," J.T. said.
Chet came suddenly to attention, sudden suspicion wiping the geniality out of his face. "You're not sure? Meaning you have a guess?"
J.T. looked like a man who had just realized he'd made a sizable mistake. "No, not really."
Chet clearly wasn't buying it, and from his glance at Garrett Jodi guessed it was only the boy's presence that was keeping him from pressing right now. But if J.T. thought he would forget it, he was very wrong, she thought.
And she didn't think she would forget it, either. Was it possible that he did have some idea, that he had knowledge about this horrible discovery that he was hiding? She stared up at him, unable to believe it, but unable to quite dismiss it out of hand, either, not after his reaction, not after that look on his face that had said so clearly he felt caught.
He looked her way, saw her face. And his expression went suddenly blank, cold, frozen. As if there had been accusation in her eyes instead of merely a flicker of doubt. He let go of Garrett's hand, and took a step back.
The boy looked up at them both, from Jodi to J.T. and back. If he was aware of the sudden tension between them, it didn't show. "It's ... it's not my mother, is it?"
Startled, Jodi's attention snapped back to the boy. "What?" Realizing the turn the boy's mind had taken, she knelt beside him and took his hands, which were icy cold. She put her arms around him, and he clung to her. "Of course it's not, Garrett. I promise you it's not."
He shivered, but huddled close against her, accepting. She heard Chet explaining softly to J.T. that Garrett had never seen his mother's body, even at the funeral, not after several days in Puget Sound.
"Jodi," Chet said, "you want to take Garrett home?"
"No!" Garrett jerked around hastily, almost knocking Jodi over. Then he turned and threw his arms around her again. "No."
Jodi put her swirling emotions on hold for the moment and leaned back to look into the boy's face. "But your father will be worried—"
"No," Garrett repeated, cutting her off. "He'll just be mad. And so will my aunt. That's all they ever are."
He said it so furiously that Jodi couldn't help saying, "Sounds like you're the one who's mad. Is that why you ran away again?"
"I didn't run away. I just didn't go home."
Despite everything, Jodi had to suppress a rueful quirk of her mouth at the distinction. "Why?" she asked gently.
The boy's gaze went to the stiffly silent man beside Chet. "Because they wouldn't let me go see J.T. anymore. Ever."
Something flickered in J. T.’s face, and for a moment his eyes closed. Then the sound of a car approaching along the narrow gravel track that ran along the boundary of J. T.’s land made them all turn, and Jodi could just make out the logo on the side that told them it was the investigator Chet had called for. And Chet was suddenly all business.
"I don't want those boys around when they start uncovering what's there."
"I won't go home," Garrett said stubbornly.
Jodi sighed. "Garrett, you have to."
His mutinous expression crumpled, replaced by something far too close to utter despair for a child his age. "Don't make me. Please?"
Chet, who had turned his powerful flashlight toward the oncoming vehicle to guide it in, glanced back over his shoulder.
"I'll have somebody take them to the station, if that's what it takes, but I want them out of here."
Garrett said nothing, but his expression showed clearly he found that idea less objectionable then going home. He glanced at J.T., pleading without words. J.T. let out an audible breath, and Jodi had the sense he was forcing aside whatever he was feeling to deal with the boy who needed him right now.
"Let's go up to the house and let them do their job," he said. "We'll figure out what to do there. Garrett, why don't you and Jodi go round up your buddies and head up. I'll be there in a minute."
Garrett nodded, glad at any delay to his return home, took off toward the sheriff's car to gather up his friend Toph and the big yellow Labrador, who sat with his head on the boy's knee; it was questionable, Jodi thought, as to who was consoling whom.
Jodi hung back, watching J.T. as he turned toward Chet, wondering why he'd so obviously wanted them out of the way.
Or out of earshot, she thought as some of J. T.’s low words drifted back toward her.
"... me know if you find ... it's ... woman?"
She saw Chet study him out of the corner of her eye. And Chet, whether intentionally or not, made no effort to keep his voice down.
"Oh, I'll be talking to you again. And you'll be answering me."
As a warning, it was rather mild, but Jodi knew anyone who took Chet lightly would regret it.
They went back to the house in silence. They sent the grubby boys into the bathroom to clean up. Fang wandered the perimeter of the cabin, inspecting, chose the warmest spot in front of the fire, and lay down with a weary canine sigh. 
Jodi knew exactly how he felt; she wished she could sleep for a week. There had been far too many emotional ups and downs for her lately.
The moment she thought it she felt a stab of shame; here she was whining when there was someone whose life had ended in such an ugly way just down the hill. It didn't matter who it was, it had once been a person with emotions and hopes and dreams.
Who is it?
I'm not sure.
The exchange between Garrett and J.T. echoed in her head, followed closely by Chet's quick reaction.
You're not sure? Meaning you have a guess?
Did he? Did he have some idea who that poor person might be? Or, she thought, remembering the bit she'd heard him ask Chet, did he only have an idea if it was indeed a woman?
"Who do you think it is?"
He stopped in the middle of pulling off his jacket. Then he yanked it off in a single sharp motion before he turned to face her.
"I don't know."
"I didn't ask if you knew."
For a long, silent moment he looked at her. She wondered what he was thinking. Why he was so hesitant to tell her. Was it simply that he wasn't used to sharing? Was he thinking the night they'd spent together didn't give her the right to ask?
That drought was painful enough, but it was better than the alternative that occurred to her, that she'd been very, very wrong about him, that he knew or had something to do with this.
A chill skittered down her spine. And before she could stop herself, the words came out.
"Just tell me you weren't lying to Chet when you said you had nothing to do with it."
His expression went unreadable again. "If I'd lie to him, why do you think I wouldn't lie to you? Because we had sex?"
She winced at the coldness of it, even as she had to admit he was right. God, she was so naive, thinking that the kind of intimacy they'd shared meant he wouldn't lie to her.
Tears began to sting her eyelids and she turned away from him. "Never mind," she said, managing to keep her voice steadier then she felt. "I'll ask Chet. After he talks to you again."
"You think he'll tell you?"
Her head came up, and she looked back at him. "If he thinks it will keep me from being hurt any more, he will."
She had the satisfaction of seeing him wince that time. How had they managed this? How could they have gone from being as close as two people could be to sniping at each other like this, in such a short time?
Simple, she answered herself. A dead body.
She walked over to the fire and sat on the floor beside Fang. The Lab lifted an ear and gave his tail a single wag in greeting, but didn't stir beyond that; she wondered just how long the boys had been rambling around tonight. She could hear them in the bathroom, the sound of water stopped now and replaced by some odd thumps as they did whatever their version of cleaning up was. She hoped they had a lot of the resilience children were supposed to have; they were going to need it.
She scratched behind the dog's ear. For a long moment J.T. didn't move, but finally he came over and sat on the edge of the raised hearth. He ran a hand through his hair, and Jodi tried not to think of the last time she had done that with her own hands.
She concentrated on the fire and the dog's smooth fur, grateful for the ever-present fire that would hide her blush. She could feel J.T. looking at her, but she kept her gaze on the flames. She'd leave, she thought, if it wasn't for the boys. They had to be seen to first. She couldn't—
"I think... It might..." J. T.’s stumbling words drew her attention, but she still didn't look at him. "I'm afraid it might be Debbie," he finished in a rush.
Jodi's head snapped up. "What?"
"I hope to God I'm wrong, but..."
"Debbie?" She stared at him. "You mean ... Reed's Debbie?"
"You talkin' about her again?" Garrett's voice came from the bathroom, where he'd opened the door in time to hear her words. Both boys trailed out, looking at least partially cleaner. "My dad was mad all day after J.T. came over to ask about her."
Jodi went stock-still. "After he what?" she asked Garrett.
"After he was asking about her the other day. I heard it from upstairs." Garrett looked at J.T. "I was going to come down and see you, but he was already so mad ..."
She got to her knees. Fang lifted his head, no doubt roused by the sudden tension. She looked at J.T. as intently now as she had avoided looking at him before.
J.T. looked at the boy. "That's all right," he said quietly. "Why don't you go show your friend the fire engine?"
Garrett looked at the dark-haired boy beside him, who said, "Cool."
Jodi calmed the natural instinct to keep the boys close; Chet had said the body had been there for some time, so the murderer wasn't still hanging around. Unless, of course, she was standing here with him...
The clatter as the boys ran out, accompanied by the loyal dog, died away. Jodi never took her eyes off of J.T. When she was sure they were gone, she spoke.
"Why?"
It was all she said, but even she could hear that her voice was cold and harsh. And perhaps because of that, he didn't pretend not to understand.
"Debbie ... is my best friend's sister."
Jodi absorbed it, but her already numbed mind wasn't certain what to do with the unexpected admission. The only thing she was sure of was that there seemed to be an ominous chill in the air despite the fire. The silence spun out, tight and strained, until J.T. finally went on.
"He hasn't heard from her since she supposedly left here. That's highly unlike her. So he called me. Asked me to ... ask around."
She seized on the only thing that she could think of right now, amid her roiling emotions. "When?"
"What?"
"When did he call you?"
J.T. frowned, looking genuinely puzzled. "I... About a month ago."
The chill descended on her. A month ago. About the time J.T. had become part of her life.
"Jodi?"
She remembered all the questions he'd asked about Reed and Debbie, and how it had bothered her. Apparently her instincts had been true. To him she was a pipeline to Reed, and he must have thought she'd known something.
Had he played her so cleverly, knowing what to do to intrigue her, to make her think it was her own idea to keep coming back? Was she that transparent? Or was she simply that foolish, to have thought he'd been genuinely interested in her when he clearly hadn't been interested in anyone at all ever since he'd come here?
That is, until he'd needed someone to question, to probe for information. And she'd fallen right in with his plan. She'd let him ask things he had no business asking, and she'd answered him far too easily, told him far too much.
So she was a fool. Or maybe just stupid, not to have seen through him. She didn't know. All she knew was that she felt used in a way she never had before.
She stood up.
"What's wrong?" he asked.
"I'll get the boys and take them to my house and handle it from there. You don't need to bother with them."
"Jodi," he began again, sounding so genuinely bewildered she almost wavered. But she needed time, alone, to think... and to find out what Chet suspected.
"Or me," she added. "I can't help you with your... investigation, so I'll be on my way."
She walked out before he could stop her. 
Chapter 18
Regina paced her bedroom furiously, as she had been doing for nearly an hour, despite the fact that it was nearly one in the morning. Normally she would have gone down to the workout room and exercised off her tension, but she didn't want to leave this room. She had too much to think about.
She made the turn at the elegant, gilt-trimmed fireplace and stalked back toward the window. When she got there she paused. It was her favorite view, and even now, lit only by the landscaping lights she'd specially chosen, she thought it perfect. It was why she had chosen this room for her own, among all of them in the house. It looked out, not on the stretch of wild, unconstrained waters of the sound, but on the regimented, perfectly aligned formal gardens of the estate. She didn't need to be able to see it, she could remember every inch, picture it perfectly in her mind. Darkness was no hindrance. This was the way the world should be, she thought. Ordered, everything in its proper place. If it could just be kept that way, there would be so much less chaos, everyone would know who they were and what was expected of them.
Their parents had understood, she thought. And had imparted the certainty to her before they'd died so tragically young. She'd been barely more than a girl, but she had understood. It was nothing to be taken lightly, the history of the Keatings. And if Cornelius Keating, the founder of the town and the dynasty, had been as rough-hewn as many of the loggers who made their fortunes in that era, that was a fact that was glossed over by his descendants. She'd even paid for the Chamber of Commerce brochure to be reprinted several years ago, with the references to brothels, saloons, and other disreputable business that had flourished—and been owned by Cornelius—carefully deleted.
But by the time this house had been built, after the turn of the century, the Keatings were the cream of society. And there they would stay, she thought determinedly. Reed didn't worry about it quite as much as he should, but he was young yet. Perhaps you only truly appreciated your place in history when you had a bit more history of your own. There was time. And Reed always made things right, somehow.
She turned away, even her beloved gardens unable to give her peace now. This phone call was simply one more straw; she hadn't wanted to let Garrett stay overnight with Jodi, but it was so late already, and she had so much else on her plate it hadn't been worth it to argue. At least the child was found, and she didn't really want the boy around at the moment anyway, she was too angry.
Think. She needed to think. To plan.
A firm knock came on her door. She hurried, knowing it had to be Reed. The moment she opened the door she felt a surge of concern; he looked exhausted.
"I just stopped to say I'm going back out as soon as I—"
"No, Reed," she said quickly. "He's been found."
He let out a sigh of relief and sagged against the door-jamb. He shook his head. "God, Regina, what are we going to do? We can't keep going through this."
She put her hand on his shoulder. "I know. It's got to stop."
Reed rubbed at his eyes. "Did you find out how he got out?"
"The window."
He looked up. "His bedroom window? On this floor?"
She nodded. "I found a sheet tied to the corner of the pergola underneath his window. He must have used it to get down."
He looked troubled, and Regina wished she could comfort him as she had when he'd been a child. "He's so... determined, for a nine-year-old," he said, rubbing his eyes again.
"That can be channeled," Regina said. "It's my fault. I should have started with him sooner. I didn't realize quite how strong-willed he is. But that will change. We'll keep him so busy he has no time to get into trouble."
"It's not your fault, Regina. If anything, it's mine." he sighed. "Maybe Jodi's right. If I spent more time with him—"
"She's not a parent, what does she know? You're busy, Reed," Regina assured him. "You have business to attend to, and your civic duties. You can only do so much."
He gave her a smile, but it wasn't particularly convincing. Then he straightened up. "Where is he?"
Regina hesitated; he wasn't going to be happy about this.
"Actually ... he's with Jodi," she finally told him.
He stiffened. "What? Why?"
"He insisted on staying with her. I hated to give in to him, but I thought it might be best if we had time alone to discuss what we're going to do, so I said he could stay. She'll bring him back tomorrow." She let a note of concern creep into her voice. "You do still trust her with the boy, don't you?"
Reed blinked, as if startled. "Jodi? Of course. She'd never... she's very fond of him."
"If you're sure," Regina said somewhat fretfully. "She said he was very upset, and that she was afraid if she brought him home, he would just try to leave again."
"Upset about what?"
"She didn't say. Perhaps he hasn't told her." She frowned slightly. "Actually, she didn't say much at all, even where she found him. Or if he came to her." She hesitated again. "This afternoon I did as you wished, and told him he would no longer be allowed to see Trager, under any circumstances."
"You think that set him off?"
"It must have. He's becoming so defiant. We must do something."
"I know. We will. What else did Jodi say?"
"Just that... she was sorry, and hoped you weren't too angry."
He straightened up slowly. "Sorry? Angry? About what?"
"She wasn't... specific, but I would assume she meant Garrett running away to her."
"Maybe," he said thoughtfully. "Or maybe she's regretting her overreaction earlier." He nodded as if to himself, looking pleased. "That has to be it. She's afraid I'm angry, that she's lost me. I should go over there and talk to her."
Regina couldn't doubt that he was talking about the girl's rejection of their engagement. Anxiety shot through her; she had thought this resolved. "You're being too generous." Then, realizing she'd sounded too sharp, she added more gently, "You always are, Reed."
He smiled. "You're always my best defender, sister mine."
"And I always will be," she assured him with a sense of urgency she tried to hide.
Her mind was racing. She chose the only tactic she could think of at the moment, vaguely aware as she did so that this alone was indicative of her mental state—she almost always had several options in mind, no matter what the situation.
"What are we going to do about Garrett? I just hate to see you so worried, so exhausted."
He sighed. "I don't know. Maybe Jodi's right, maybe he needs to see a counselor."
Regina stiffened. She didn't like the sound of that. "That wouldn't help your political career, Reed. We should handle our own problems."
"Well, something certainly has to be done to stop this behavior, this chronic disobedience."
"I think it may be," Regina said carefully, "all the changes. After Darlene"— she'd always refused to call the woman your wife—"and the new people in his life since then, Jodi, that Trager... perhaps he just needs some stability. Perhaps we need to be sure there are no more changes until he settles down."
"Perhaps. But I am going to talk to Jodi. I'm certain that's what she meant, that she's reconsidered and realized she made a huge mistake."
So he hadn't missed her intent. "Of course," she said soothingly. "But perhaps not quite so fast? After all, it might... help if you made her wait now, kept her just a teeny bit uncertain. Give her time to realize how lucky she is that you'll take her back."
That appealed to him, she could see it in his expression. "You may be right."
Encouraged, she went on. "And perhaps Garrett will help. If she's truly fond of the boy, spending some time alone with him might... strengthen the bond."
Or solidify her rejection completely, the way the boy's been acting, Regina thought after Reed had left.
She got up, picked up her purse, then crossed the room and placed it gently on her desk. Whatever happened, she would make it right for Reed. She would protect him, as she always had.
"It'll probably hit the papers by tomorrow," Chet said.
J.T. nodded; he'd been surprised it hadn't already. Not that he'd know. Or maybe he would. Maybe there would have been that lynch mob crowding around his gate this morning if it had. Instead, he'd been quietly sitting here, trying not to think. Trying not to remember. But for once it wasn't the old memories that haunted him, but the new ones. Memories of last night with Jodi. Memories of the sweetness, the heat, the peace, the first peace he'd known since his world had been turned to cooling ashes.
And memories of her face when she'd learned about his connection to Debbie.
Once he'd stopped to think, it hadn't taken a great leap to realize what she'd thought. The timing couldn't have been worse, he realized, that he'd had to start asking questions just when they'd begun spending time together. Chaperoned by Garrett, of course.
Until last night. Which only made it worse, that she'd found out right on the heels of that passionate, hot night. It must have made the sense of deception even stronger.
And he couldn't blame her. He should have told her. He wasn't sure at exactly what point she had crossed from casual acquaintance to someone too close to be used in that way, but it had been long ago. He should have told her.
And he sure as hell should have told her before they'd gone to bed together.
"—can't keep something like finding a body secret for long in a little town like this," Chet was saying, and J.T. made himself tune back in.
Chet was looking at him in a way that reminded J.T. that despite the casual jeans and knit shirt he wore this morning, Chet Holland was the law. And J.T. couldn't help feeling uneasy.
"Any word on ... the body?"
"I'll get to that," Chet said, and J. T.’s uneasiness grew. "I've got another problem to deal with first. You're an isolationist in a town where everybody knows everybody. That aside, your truck was used in an attack on one of Keating's Port's favorite citizens. Then we find a corpse buried on your property. Right now I'd like to be able to explain why I haven't tossed you in the slammer on general principle."
J.T. looked at him for a long moment. "Hell if I know."
"That's not," Chet said, "a helpful answer."
"Sorry. How about because you're a good judge of character?"
Chet smiled faintly, as if he didn't want to, but couldn't quite help it. "I am. Usually. But I've been known to make mistakes."
"Not often, I'd guess."
"I hope this isn't one of those times." 
"I wasn't driving my truck that night, and I didn't murder and bury anyone."
"I believe that, I think. You wouldn't have been so careful about the crime scene if you'd done it."
"Thanks."
J.T. opened his mouth to tell him he would never hurt Jodi, either, but stopped when he remembered that he already had. So instead he just waited. Silently. Chet considered. And finally spoke.
"It was confirmed a female. Caucasian. About five foot two. Between twenty and forty is their best guess right now. No cause of death until the autopsy is completed, although there don't appear to be any visible major injuries."
J.T. grimaced, trying not to think about the implications of mat age spread, what state the body must have been in. "How long do they think... she was there?"
"No confirmation on time of death or interment yet. It's going to take some more detailed examination by a forensic entomologist of... never mind. But given the weather we've had this summer, and the preservation of the body, the guess is a couple of months, maybe more."
J.T. swallowed, glad Chet had forgone the more gruesome details. "Was she ... blond?"
Chet looked suddenly like a hunting dog who had caught a scent. "I might answer that, if you tell me why you need to know."
He didn't really hesitate; he'd realized he had to come clean with Chet now. The man was fair, and played it straight. He almost wished he'd done it sooner.
He sure as hell wished he'd done it sooner with Jodi.
"Debbie Hall is blond. Thirty-one. Just over five foot two. And she hasn't been heard from since she... supposedly left here two months ago."
Chet studied him for a moment. "And your connection to her would be ... ?"
He explained about Matt, this time in a little more organized fashion than he had with Jodi.
"He's a buddy of yours, her brother?"
"He's ... or he was my best friend. I owe him."
Something in his voice must have registered with Chet. "That sounds like a big debt."
"My life," J.T. said simply. "He's in a wheelchair because he wouldn't let me die when the roof on an engulfed warehouse went. He came in after me, and got nailed by a beam himself."
Chet nodded slowly, as if he understood. And perhaps he did, J.T. thought. Perhaps there was a cop somewhere who had done the same for him.
"I think I talked to him, a while back," the deputy said.
J.T. nodded. "He said he'd spoken to you. It's not that he thinks you're not doing your job," J.T. added quickly. "It's just that it's personal to him, and he knows that she wouldn't just drop out of sight like that, without any contact with her family."
Chet was silent, as if considering his next words. "I did a little checking, you know, after he called me. I don't mean to insult your friend, but the impression I got was that his sister is a bit... careless."
"Matt doesn't argue that. It's just that the one place where she was never careless was her family. They didn't always understand her, and she didn't always please them, but they never stopped loving her or vice versa."
"I don't much like the implications of what you're hinting at, Trager."
J.T. knew what he meant; Chet was too good, too quick not to realize all the implications involved. And having the former girlfriend of the town's leading citizen turn up murdered did not bode for a peaceful, quiet autumn in Keating's Port. It would be a mess, beyond just being a high-profile, under-the-microscope case, and Chet would be in the middle of it.
"I don't either," he said. "I'd much rather tell Matt that his sister is gallivanting wildly around New York City, alive and healthy and frivolous."
"There's no motive. Why would Reed Keating kill one woman when he could have as many as he wanted with a snap of his fingers?" Chet asked.
Except Jodi, J.T. said to himself. But then he wondered if that was still true. Maybe she'd go back to him, decide she was better off with Keating than with a man she thought had used her.
"Unless," Chet was saying thoughtfully, "you're thinking he couldn't stand to have her leave him."
J.T. snapped out of his melancholy reverie. "Because nobody ever did?"
Except Jodi. His own thought came back in a rush, this time in a context grimly different. If it was true, if that body was Debbie, and that was the reason ...
Jodi had turned him down. Had, in essence, left him just as Debbie had. A chill crept up his spine.
"We're stringing a lot of ifs together without much glue," Chet said, as if he'd followed J. T.’s line of thought. "There's not a thing to do until we know who it is. Or isn't. And I'd appreciate it if you'd keep your... theory to yourself until we do."
J.T. hesitated; he didn't like the idea of Jodi being on Keating's bad side. But Chet was right, until they knew if it was Debbie or not, there was no proof he even had a bad side, beyond being arrogant and somewhat pompous.
"I'll keep it to myself," he said at last, "If you'll let me know the minute you find out."
He didn't know what decided Chet, but he thought it more likely the man's innate goodness than his own persuasive powers. "All right. It's the coroner's case now, but I can give them a nudge. You got a photo of your buddy's sister?"
J.T. nodded, and got it from the drawer where it still sat in the envelope Matt had sent him. "I... had him send dental records, too. Just in case."
"That'll help." Chet reached out to take the envelope.
"Thanks," J.T. said. "I owe you."
Chet glanced at the photo, but if the image of the pretty blonde struck any chord, it didn't show in his face. And after a moment he looked back at J.T.
"I owe you, if anything. For my family." he tapped the envelope a couple of times on his other hand, all the time watching J.T. "But that isn't going to stop me from asking what you've done to Jodi Campion."
J.T. went very still. He hadn't expected this zinger out of the blue, but he saw now he should have. The man was good, very good.
"She's a good friend, Trager. So I'll ask again. What did you do?"
He knew Chet was only concerned about Jodi. He couldn't blame the man. But he felt so damn rotten about it all. . .
"I can wait as long as you want to stall," Chet said warningly.
J.T. let out a compressed breath. "She found out my connection to Debbie's brother."
Chet frowned. "And?"
"I'd already asked Jodi about her, kind of... pushed. And now she knows ... Matt called me about the time she ... that we ..." He trailed off miserably. But it was enough for Chet.
"You mean she thinks you were using her, quizzing her for information because she was seeing Reed socially?"
Glumly, he nodded. "I think so."
Chet considered this for a moment. "Were you?"
J.T. looked at the man he'd come to like and admire. And he couldn't lie. "Yes," he said. "At first. I mean, I didn't like it, but I didn't see any other way."
"Maybe you should have just told her the truth."
"Back then I didn't think she'd tell me a thing if I had. She didn't know me, and I thought she was going to marry Keating."
"Word around town is that she still is."
J.T. kept his expression neutral with an effort. Last thing he needed was for this dear friend of Jodi's to figure out just how far things had gone. And besides, for all he knew, he'd been right, she would go back and marry the guy. And live happily ever after, he muttered to himself.
"I can see where a woman like Jodi wouldn't take kindly to being used by a friend," Chet said. "But when I spoke to her, she sounded as if it was worse than that. She was acting as if... she'd been betrayed by a lover."
Shit.
J.T. dodged the other man's gaze; he'd made a mistake and should have known better—he'd thought he could fool Chet Holland.
"That's what I thought," Chet said softly, and J.T. realized he'd been even more of a fool; Chet had only been guessing, and he'd just given away the game. "No wonder she was looking like her world had caved in all over again.
She's been through a lot of crap lately, Trager. And now you've put her through more."
"I never meant to hurt her. If Matt had called after I'd gotten to know her, I wouldn't have done it. I would have found another way, I swear it."
"I think you need to tell her that."
J.T. grimaced. "What makes you think she'd listen?"
"I've known Jodi most of my life. If she's anything, it's generous. And forgiving."
J.T. couldn't argue with something he already knew was true, so he said nothing. And after a moment, Chet tucked the envelope J.T. had given him into his shirt to carry back to his car, and turned to go. J.T. kept his head down, unable to meet Jodi's friend's eyes.
But a few feet away Chet stopped and looked back.
"Trager?"
He looked up.
"She was blond. I'll be pushing."
J.T. felt a shiver of certainty, and wondered how the hell he was going to explain to Matt that his little sister was not only dead, but had been buried practically in his own backyard and he hadn't known a damn thing. 
Chapter 19
"You'd better get a shower and get dressed. Are you ready to go home?" Jodi asked.
Garrett gave her a sideways look from the kitchen stool he was perched on. He looked small and defenseless in one of her father's old T-shirts and a pair of shorts that she carefully hadn't told him was hers.
After they had dropped Toph off at his house—where he and the dog had both appeared headed for the doghouse for sneaking out, until a worried mother heard what had happened—Garrett had immediately become quiet and withdrawn, as if he'd been keeping up a brave front just for his friend. He'd probably already had it drilled into him that a Keating didn't show fear in front of outsiders, she thought with a sad smile at the child now sitting silently at her breakfast bar.
He had barely spoken since they'd come here last night, and then only when asked a direct question. And he seemed to be retreating more and more by the minute. Even now he didn't speak, and Jodi had the oddest feeling it was taking time for her words to penetrate to the deep place he'd withdrawn to.
"I set out towels and a washcloth for you," she said. 
Finally he reacted, shaking his head.
Jodi sighed. "I know it's rough, honey, but you have to go home eventually."
The boy refused to answer. He picked at the waffle she'd fixed him for breakfast. More like lunch, Jodi thought, stifling a yawn as she glanced at the clock. It had been a long, strained night. She hadn't slept well, as much from her own disturbing dreams as from awakening regularly to check on Garrett.
When he voluntarily spoke for the first time, what he said startled her.
"You're not gonna marry my dad, are you?"
She had no idea where he'd gotten the idea she might in the first place, but she couldn't—wouldn't—lie to him.
"No, Garrett. I'm not."
He looked away then, fiddling with the glass of chocolate milk before him as if it was a new toy. Her chest tightened at his downcast look, and she could almost feel him retreating even further.
"I'll tell you something, though," she said softly. "I thought about it, long and hard. Because there's nobody I'd rather have as my little boy than you."
His head came up. "But that's not enough, is it."
It wasn't a question, and it was said with that wisdom that seemed far too old for him. Jodi knew she was on the verge of tears, and swallowed heavily.
"No, Garrett, it's not," she whispered. "Not enough to marry someone, no matter how much you might care for their child. It wouldn't be fair to anybody. A marriage requires a very strong love between two people, that makes those two people like one. Otherwise somebody ends up cheated."
Garrett looked back at his glass. Her own words echoed in Jodi's mind. When had she started thinking this way? She'd always told herself that kind of love was the last thing she wanted. That after watching her father spend too many years limping along in life like half a man, she would never be fool enough to love that way. A nice, affectionate but noncrucial relationship was what she had always had in mind for herself.
So why had this idea come from her mouth as if it had been her philosophy all her life? And why did it ring so true in her ears? What had changed her mind?
Not what, she thought. Who.
She couldn't deny it. No matter how she felt about him now, J. T. Trager had been the moving force in this change of outlook, in this realization that what she had always thought she didn't want was in fact what she wanted most of all.
"Do you love J.T.?"
The boy's abrupt and all-too-perceptive query rattled her. "I... maybe." It was a ridiculous answer, but the only one she could give him right now. The doubts were too strong and too many. There were too many things, too many coincidences, things she'd been able to brush off before, but that had come roaring back when her basic perception of J.T. Trager had been rattled to the core.
She tried to turn her thoughts away, but then the image of that dismal grave flashed through her mind. No, she thought, almost desperately, not J.T., not after what he'd been through. He couldn't have. Besides, he'd helped, Chet had said so. He wouldn't have, if he'd had anything to do with it. And if it should turn out to be his friend's sister, she'd know it wasn't him.
Fine thing, she thought with a touch of nausea, when you almost have to hope someone's sister is dead. But that still didn't change the fact that J.T. had used her to pry into Reed's private business.
And then another aspect struck her; if by some chance J.T. was right, and that poor person the boys had found was Debbie ... then nobody had private business if it involved murder, did they?
Her emotions were building into an uproar, and she suppressed a shiver. She didn't want to press Garrett when he was so troubled—and rightfully so—but perhaps it would be better coming from her now than from somebody... more official later. Someone who might not be nearly as careful as she would be with him.
"Garrett? Did anyone talk to you, after Debbie ... went away?"
Again, it seemed to take him a moment to react. As if he were fighting his way through an enveloping fog. Finally, he frowned. "Just Aunt Regina. She told me Debbie left and wouldn't be coming back."
"That's all she said?"
When he nodded, Jodi hesitated to go any further. But Garrett clearly knew more of what went on in his house than people realized—he'd known about Reed's marriage plans, and he'd heard J.T. asking Reed about Debbie—and no one had ever even thought to ask, had overlooked him because he was just a child...
"Did you ever hear... your dad and Debbie fighting?"
Again the delay, as if he were disconnected somehow. "No. She just didn't like it here."
"But... nothing more than that?"
"No. But they didn't like me around them much."
Jodi dropped it; she couldn't bear to hear any more how Garrett had played such a second fiddle to his father's concerns. And right then she determined to help the boy however she could, no matter what Reed said.
"I know ... it's hard. But running away isn't the answer."
Garrett didn't respond, didn't even look at her.
So what is the answer? Jodi wondered.
She answered her own question wryly. Thumping Reed upside the head comes to mind.
"You'd better get ready. Your clothes are on the dryer." Garrett's shoulders slumped. She walked over and put her hands on his shoulders. She could only hope that she could defuse the situation and keep Garrett from spending the rest of his natural life locked in his room. "I know, honey, I'll try and talk to your father."
"Don't bother. I don't."
With that startling adult and bitter sentiment that was an echo of J. T.’s words, Garrett slid off the stool and left the room. A moment later she heard the bathroom door close. She'd half expected him to slam it, and that he didn't worried her even more.
He was utterly silent, vacantly staring, from the moment he came out of the bathroom. It wasn't that he was tense, she thought as she drove. More that he was... not really there. Once, when she glanced over at him, she saw he had drawn up into an almost fetal position, his feet up on the seat of the Jeep, his knees drawn up tight to his chest, his arms wrapped around them, his head down, and turned away from her. Her heart ached for him, but she didn't know what to do about it.
When they reached the long driveway of the Keating estate, he lifted his head and looked up at her, still not speaking, but the absent look replaced by a world of beseeching in his eyes.
"I'm sorry, Garrett," she whispered. "But I have to take you home. If I don't, they'll just come get you. I don't have any rights."
The pleading in his young face faded away. It was replaced by a blankness, an emptiness that should be impossible in a child that age. She was seized with a feeling of helplessness. She hated feeling that way, and at the same time knew what she was feeling couldn't be a tenth of what was smothering Garrett.
She didn't know whether to be glad or sorry that it was Regina who answered the door. But after a moment she realized it made little difference; both of them would have reacted pretty much the same.
"It's about time," the woman snapped. "You get to your room. I'll deal with you later, young man."
Garrett didn't even look at her. He didn't even look back at Jodi, just walked into the house and up the stairs. Regina stood and watched him go, as if to be sure he was truly cowed. All Jodi could think of was someone going back to a cell for the rest of his life.
She knew Regina just didn't realize what the boy had been through. And she couldn't tell her, not until it went public. Even now, the urge to protect J.T. was strong. But she had to try to protect Garrett as well.
"Regina, please, don't be too hard on him."
Regina turned rather sharply. "He's my problem, not yours."
Jodi drew herself up. It needed to be said, and she guessed it was up to her. "You're not going to be able to order him around much longer. You're going to lose that boy, you and Reed, if you don't take a long, hard look at what you're doing to him."
"We will get him straightened out, Reed and I," she said confidently.
She had to make one last try, for Garrett's sake. "Just listen to him, please? That's all he wants, just to feel like what he thinks matters."
"What he thinks will matter, of course. Eventually. He's going to inherit this, after all." She gestured grandly at the house. "But he has a lot to learn, first. It takes a special kind of person to handle it."
It meaning, Jodi supposed, being a Keating. And she couldn't help feeling there Was some subtext there, telling her that in Regina's eyes, she wasn't that special kind of person.
Which was, she realized with finality, fine with her.
And she turned to go, glad she hadn't had to see Reed at all, but feeling a painful stab of guilt as she left Garrett to the not-so-tender mercies of his family.
As she drove home Jodi felt a sense of relief and escape now that she was free of Reed. But she was also feeling as if she'd turned a puppy in to be euthanized. Garrett had so much to deal with. More than he could be expected to handle alone, despite Reed's insistence that his son did not need any outside help.
That Keating pride of yours is going to cost you, Reed, she muttered inwardly as she pulled into her drive. But it's going to cost your son a lot more.
She dropped her purse on the table inside the door, then stood in her living room, feeling rather aimless, oddly drifting. She made fresh coffee, not so much because she wanted it as to just be doing something. But it wasn't enough, she wasn't quite able to beat the feeling that she'd failed Garrett somehow, that she should have found a way to ...
To what? Rescue him? She wasn't his mother, and every time she tried to talk to his father, Reed seemed to misinterpret her concern for Garrett as a sign she'd changed her mind about him.
She sighed, and tried to pull herself together. But there was only one topic left strong enough to distract her from thinking about Garrett, and that was J.T., and she wasn't ready to deal with that, either.
Get moving, she muttered to herself. She could put on the appearance of industry, she thought as she abandoned the unwanted coffee, and maybe it would become fact. Maybe she could focus on her work and forget about the rest.
Maybe.
She was just about to walk out her door when, to her surprise, Chet pulled up in front of the house.
"Jodi," he said as he walked toward her. He was in civilian clothes, so apparently this wasn't an official call. But she doubted it was completely social, either. Not after last night.
"Want some coffee? I just made it," she suggested, glad she'd bothered now.
"I'd love some, thanks."
"How's Tracy?" Jodi asked as he stepped inside.
"Fine. Tired, but fine." He smiled. "We're both tired, but it's worth it."
"I'll have to come see her, and the little one."
"She'd love to see you." His mouth quirked. "Both 'shes' would."
Jodi smiled at the new father, and wondered how he was going to keep his balance, going from the joy of his home life to the too often nastiness of his work.
She poured Chet a mug of coffee, black as he requested, poured one for herself and added a bit of sugar, then gestured toward the sofa in the living room.
"Is this a social call, Chet? Or... business?"
"Mainly I wanted to see how you were doing. It was a ... rough night."
"I think it was tougher on Garrett than anyone."
He nodded. "You took him home?"
"Just a while ago." She hesitated, then went on. "I felt terrible doing it, he didn't want to go."
"I got that feeling last night."
She nodded. "I know it was awful for him, especially after his mother, but he's taking it exceptionally hard. It's like he's ... shutting down. Withdrawing into some place in his head where nobody can follow. I'm very worried about him."
"If it makes you feel any better," Chet said, drawing her attention back, "I'm going to have a talk with child services."
She blinked. "You are?"
"That's what I needed to ask you about."
"So this is the nonsocial part of your visit?"
He nodded. "I need... your opinion."
"About?"
"Reed Keating. You know him as well as anyone outside of his sister, and you have good instincts about people."
She'd argue that last one with him. She was still feeling a bit raw at finding out J.T. had kept such a secret from her. But she also knew that feeling would ease, so she didn't say anything she might regret later.
"What did you want to ask?"
"First... I presume you told them last night that Garrett was here?"
She nodded. "I only spoke to his sister, though. Reed was still out looking for Garrett. Regina said she'd get the message to him."
"Did you mention the body?"
She hesitated before saying frankly, "No. Last night I thought it might make her insist I bring him home immediately, and he was already acting so oddly, and this morning ... no, I didn't."
Chet nodded in understanding. "Good. I'm glad."
She sensed it wasn't solely Garrett's well-being he was concerned with. Or even J. T.’s. And belatedly, it dawned on her what he must mean.
"What is it, Chet? Was it... Debbie?"
"We don't know yet. But it's definitely a possibility. I'm really pushing, and we already have the dental records from J.T., so we could have at least a preliminary ID by late this afternoon. And if it is ..."
"Reed could be a suspect," she whispered, stifling the shiver the businesslike reference to dental records gave her.
"Yes, he could."
He is filled your head with those fairy tales about Debbie, hasn't he?
Reed's words, that had made no sense to her at the time, suddenly did. Ugly sense. She swallowed, steadied herself, and asked, "What did you want... my opinion on?"
"Do you think, under any circumstances, he would hurt his son?"
She must have known on some level this was coming, because she wasn't surprised. And she didn't answer immediately, without thought; too much was at stake. "I... don't think so," she said at last. "Reed is impatient with him, doesn't really listen to him, but... intentionally hurt him? No, I don't think so."
Chet nodded, as if she'd confirmed his own assessment. And then he asked quietly, "What about hurting somebody else?"
Jodi bit her lip. She knew what he meant. If she had not seen those flashes of rage in Reed, she would have told Chet the idea was ridiculous. But she had, and while it had seemed at the time just the actions of a man who had been spoiled all his life, she couldn't deny it could well be something worse.
"I... that's more possible."
Chet nodded again. "If it is her... the boy may know something."
"He ... doesn't seem to." At Chet's sharp look she colored, then explained, telling him what the boy had said. "I know I probably shouldn't have asked, but he trusts me, and I thought it might be better for him coming from me. But I didn't push him."
"No, that's fine. It's not admissible, but I wouldn't want to go to court on a nine-year-old's testimony anyway. It's too hard on the kid,"
You have more consideration for him than his own father, Jodi thought. "But... if it is Debbie?"
"If it is, child protective services may take temporary custody."
She nodded, blinking as her eyes brimmed at the possible grim future of a little boy who'd already dealt with more than any child should have to.
"Most boys his age," Chet said slowly, "I'd figure would tell their parents everything that happened last night the minute they walked in the door."
Jodi shook her head. "I wouldn't be surprised if Garrett didn't say a word. He's given up on trying to talk to his father. And besides, the way he's retreating ... it's like he's not even there. He barely spoke at all after we dropped his friend off."
"In this case, I have to hope he stays that way, for a while at least," Chet said.
Jodi turned troubled eyes on her old friend. "Will you let me know? When you find out if it's... her?"
"Yes. If it comes to that, I may need you to look out for Garrett, until child services can get out here."
"Of course."
"But the less said now, the better. We need to try and keep the lid on. Everything's on hold until we have an ID and know what we're dealing with."
She nodded, biting her already sore lip. She didn't want to ask, but couldn't help herself. "Is ... J.T. also a suspect?"
"He's not cleared," Chet said. "But with the kind of record he had as a firefighter... Although people change, and he's sure had trauma enough to cause major change. But I wouldn't consider him our prime suspect at the moment. I can't speak for the detectives, though."
Jodi felt relieved despite her determination that she was still angry at him.
"I just came from there, in fact," Chet said casually.
"You did?"
He nodded. "He's ... feeling pretty lousy."
She said nothing; she'd been feeling pretty lousy herself when she'd left last night. And the thoughts that seemed to possess her, memories of that passionate night, didn't help.
"I'm sure the possibility of having to tell the guy who once saved his life that his little sister is dead, and probably murdered, is bothering him."
That got her attention. "Saved his life? He said it was his best friend, but..."
"Told me the guy pulled him out of an engulfed warehouse. And wound up paralyzed for his trouble."
Jodi took a deep breath; she knew fire fighting was dangerous, but this made it... more personal somehow. And somehow hearing it now, when the hurt wasn't quite as fresh, made it all more real, and she began to see the position J.T. had been in. How could he have said no to a friend like mat?
"But I don't think that was bothering him any more than you were." She froze in the act of taking a sip of coffee. "He knows he hurt you. He swears he didn't mean to, and that if his buddy had called after he'd gotten to know you, he never would have done it."
"Did he tell you to tell me that?"
"No. He didn't tell me he feels damn guilty about it either, but I knew it. I told him he needed to tell you, not me."
Her mouth twisted wryly. "I don't notice him knocking on my door."
"He doesn't think you'll listen. Like I said, he feels too guilty."
"You believe him?"
Chet took another swallow of coffee. "I believe him." His mouth lifted at one corner. "And if I'm wrong, I'm going to be really pissed at myself. Not to mention in a lot of trouble with my bosses if I'm wrong about him not knowing anything more about that body."
After Chet left, as Jodi rinsed the cups they'd used, she thought about what he'd said. Her mind was roiling, bouncing from Garrett to Reed to J.T., and not finding any of them very comfortable to think about.
"Get to work," she ordered herself. "That has to come first."
She meant it, she had animals depending on her. The kestrel was doing well, in fact was almost ready to be released. And she needed to do some cleaning up in the infirmary; there had been so much going on of late that she'd fallen behind.
She began to itemize her list of things to do, things she had to deal with before she could turn to anything else, as she walked over to the clinic.
She slid the key in the lock, but to her surprise the door swung open before she turned it; the latch must not have caught the last time she'd closed up.
"Lord," she muttered to herself, "you better start paying attention, girl."
She stepped inside, dodging the mail on the floor beneath the mail slot. She bent to gather it up, carried it over to the reception window counter, adding it to her mental list of things to do. She hoped it would be distraction enough; she just didn't have the energy at the moment to deal with any more of this, in particular what Chet had told her about J.T.
She nearly jumped when the door opened behind her. She dropped the envelope in her hand and whirled around.
J.T. stood there, with an expression on his face she couldn't read at all.
"Hi," he finally said, sounding as if he knew how silly it sounded after the high drama of their parting. "Can I... come in?"
"You're already in," she pointed out. He winced, and she relented. "All right, but I have things to do."
"I'll try to stay out of your way," he said, rather meekly.
She went into the infirmary. He followed, but maintained a respectful distance as she tended the kestrel, as if he sensed his presence might upset the little hawk even more.
"How is she doing?" he asked.
"Good. She's about ready for release."
'That must be ... both happy and sad for you."
They'd talked about this before, so she knew he was just making conversation. She wondered if he felt as strained as she did.
"Yes. But it's what I'm about."
He didn't say anything more. Finished for the moment, Jodi walked over to the sink and washed and dried her hands. She stood there for a moment pondering. Then something at the edge of her vision brought her out of her reverie. She turned slightly, and realized what she was seeing was a reflection of a reflection, the window in her father's office door reflected in the window at the back of the infirmary.
Her breath caught as, that puzzle solved, she grasped exactly what was being reflected.
"My God," she whispered, and hurried around the corner to look directly into the office.
It was a bigger disaster than her home had been. Every drawer was dumped, the desk lay on its side, the file cabinets were tilted at crazy angles. Her father's prized tennis trophy, won when he was in college, lay bent near the door. The diplomas and certificates that had been on the wall lay scattered, glass shattered, on the floor.
She heard someone mutter "Damn!" close to her ear, and knew J.T. had come up behind her.
"The front door," she said, her voice sounding tiny and shocked even to her own ears. "I thought I'd just forgotten to lock it, but..."
J.T. spun on his heel and was gone. In a few moments he was back. "Looks like somebody taped over the latch so it wouldn't catch. Duct tape, so it wouldn't stand out against the silver of the door frame."
"I never noticed," Jodi said. She'd had so much on her mind lately she doubted she would have noticed if they'd used neon pink tape. Jodi just stared at the wreckage. It was hard to believe anybody hated her this much.
As she thought it, J. T.’s hands came up to her shoulders, bracing her. She leaned into him slightly, forgetting for the moment anything except that she needed the sense of support.
"I... I'd better call somebody ..."
"I'll do it," J.T. said.
"Chet was just at the house, but he's not working. They'll send somebody else."
She realized she wasn't making much sense, but she couldn't get past the destruction she was looking at. Or the question that had risen unavoidably in her mind; was it merely coincidence that J.T. was here, at the proverbial scene of the crime?
She heard J.T. on the phone, giving the location. In a few moments, he was back. "They asked if there was anything of material value in here?"
She shook her head. Then stopped. "The safe. My father had some things in the safe. Business papers, I think. The deeds to the clinic and the house, that kind of thing. Some of my mother's jewelry, maybe. I haven't been in there since... he died."
"It's in here?"
She nodded. "In the floor, under the credenza."
J.T. made his way through the chaos, and gingerly she followed. He nudged the credenza away from the wall with his knee, to avoid smudging possible fingerprints, Jodi supposed. The safe appeared untouched. 
"After they get here, they'll probably want you to open it."
"Why, if it hasn't been touched?"
"That doesn't mean he wasn't looking for it."
"He? Who? Danny is still in custody."
J.T. looked startled, as if he hadn't thought of that. And then he shifted his gaze to her face, something dark and troubled in his eyes. "Jodi, you don't think... I know you're angry, but you can't believe I'd do this to you."
"I don't know what I believe," she said wearily.
She shivered. J.T. slipped an arm around her. "Come on, let's go out into the waiting room and sit down. We shouldn't be back here anyway, the cops will want it as is."
She nodded, not sorry to turn her back on the mess. Back in the waiting room, she sank down into one of the comfortable chairs her father had demanded for his clients. J.T. knelt beside her, one hand on the arm of her chair, the other on her knee.
"Are you okay?"
"No," she answered shortly, staring at his hand, not sure how she felt about even this casual touch. "I'm tired of this. All of it."
"I know. Damn it, you're being terrorized. You—"
He stopped so short she lifted her gaze to him. He had his head tilted slightly, as if listening. And then she heard it, too, a faint scraping noise from the back of the building.
He was still here.
J.T. was moving. Without an instant's hesitation he headed toward the noise. Jodi cried out to stop him. Only when she recognized the spurt of hot emotion that shot through her as fear did she realize that whatever he'd done, she still cared about J. T. Trager.
She ran for the phone, luckily got the same dispatcher J.T. had talked to, so only had to say the intruder was still here, that he'd been hiding until they'd gone back into the waiting room. She heard a shout, a thud, then another thud. She heard someone swear. It didn't sound like J.T.
She rounded the corner at a run, and saw two figures grappling at the end of the hall, outside the door of the storage room behind her father's office.
Desperately Jodi looked around for some kind of weapon. A heavy thud echoed down the hall again as one of the men hit the wall. J.T., his head snapping back. She couldn't see the other man's face, but there was something familiar about him, even as he scrambled toward the back door.
He didn't get far. He had to fumble with the rarely opened lock on the back door, and that was all J.T. needed. With a flying tackle, J.T. took him down. She ran down the hall, the damaged trophy from the office, the only thing resembling a weapon she could find, clutched in her hand. But J.T. was having to wrestle to hold the man down, and she couldn't risk hitting him by mistake.
"Jodi?"
She gave a relieved cry. "Chet! Here, in back!"
The intruder apparently realized it was too late, and gave up the battle. As Chet came running back, J.T. got up on one knee. And with utter bewilderment, Jodi recognized the man beneath him.
Chuck Elliot. 
Chapter 20
When the crime-scene team—people she was coming to know far too well—had finished, she did as J.T. had predicted Chet would request, and opened the safe. But the only contents were the things she'd expected, plus a couple of file folders. The latter made her eyes well up all over again; it was so like her father, to stuff whatever he had in hand wherever was handy at the moment. She was lucky she hadn't needed the files since; she would have gone crazy trying to find them. They'd returned it all—minus the file folders—and relocked the safe, after Chet was sure there was nothing of value missing.
She was grateful to Chet for staying, especially when she knew he was anxious to get back to his new family. But she was more than a little rattled, especially with this new development.
"What on earth was Chuck after?" she asked Chet.
"I don't know, Jodi. He's not talking. He didn't go after the drugs in the infirmary, and I assume there's something there that might interest people as well as animals?"
She nodded, running a finger along the edge of the top file folder from the safe; she could hardly put them away now, with her careful files in a jumble. "A couple of things I haven't cleared out yet. That's why I'm usually careful to lock up."
"And if he was looking for cash, hard to believe he'd have left what was in the box."
Jodi nodded again, still toying with the folder. She kept a small amount of cash in the petty cash box, to pay for COD deliveries, and it was all still there. But she could barely think coherently; she'd been so convinced it had been Danny who had been terrorizing her, so relieved that he was in custody and she could begin to feel safe again.
And she knew perfectly well she'd convinced herself of that because it took J.T. off this particular suspect list.
J.T. If he hadn't been here, if she'd had to deal with Chuck alone ...
With a sigh, she stopped herself from further mangling the tab of the folder. She stuffed the files into her purse. She'd deal with them later. She'd deal with cleaning up later. She'd deal with everything later.
"Jodi?"
J.T. was there, his hands on her shoulders. "Would you like to get away from here?"
She didn't look at him, but at Chet, who nodded. "I'll make sure they close up when they're done."
The idea was so instantly appealing she couldn't stop herself from saying yes. J.T. didn't give her time to change her mind, but ushered her quickly outside to where his truck was parked in front.
She couldn't think of a thing to say, and was grateful J.T. let her simply unwind in silence. She didn't speak even when she realized they were heading for his house. It wasn't until he pulled the truck to a halt at the end of his driveway that she finally looked over at him.
"Why did you come?"
He hesitated. Then, "I... was just... I meant to ..."
He stopped, drawing her gaze to his face. Only now did she really notice how haggard he looked, his eyes showing the same lack of sleep her own had in the mirror this morning. She didn't know if that was a good sign.
"I... I wanted to ... I was ..." He stopped. Let out a short, sharp breath. Swallowed. Closed his eyes in apparent frustration. "I worked it all out on the way to your place, what to say, but now ..."
"I'll settle for the truth."
He winced, then shook his head. He took in an audible breath. "Will you ... come in? Sit down?"
His tension relieved her, oddly. And then it struck her; if he'd been cool and calm, she would have known what he'd done meant nothing to him.
"All right," she said at last.
She went inside, let him guide her to the single chair by the fireplace, and turned down an offer of coffee. He stayed on his feet, as if he couldn't sit and say what he wanted to. Jodi stayed silent, waiting, figuring his pacing was the equivalent of his thinking while driving.
She looked around, wondering what seemed different. Her gaze lingered for a moment on the unframed photograph propped on the mantel, on the bright, smiling face of the child.
That's all I have left.
His words came back to her, hauntingly. And suddenly she lost her hold on her own anger; how could she be angry?
She almost spoke then, told him he didn't have to say a word. But she held it back, knowing they both needed this, perhaps J.T. most of all.
And finally he began again.
"Jodi, I never meant... I didn't..." He stopped again, let out a disgusted sigh. "The bottom line is I'm sorry."
Not a bad start, she thought. But stayed quiet.
"I never meant to hurt you. But I didn't realize, when I... was asking you about Debbie, that I'd end up ... that you'd become ..."
"Become what?" she prompted when he trailed off yet again.
His jaw clenched. "So damned important to me."
Jodi's breath caught. He'd said it explosively, as if he'd fought every word, as if he'd fought the feeling that made him say them. And in that instant she realized what it had cost him, what he had had to overcome, all the barriers he'd built after his horrible loss, to let her in. And suddenly her own fears, her own reservations about caring too much, seemed trivial.
"I'm sorry," he repeated. "When Matt called me, I barely knew you. I didn't like it, but it didn't seem like a... betrayal to ask you. Sneaky, maybe, but not... hurtful."
Jodi opened her mouth but he held up a hand pleadingly. Apparently the words that had burst from him had ruptured whatever dam had been holding things back, and now that he'd gotten started, he wanted to finish. Maybe he was afraid he wouldn't get it done if he stopped.
"I needed to find out all I could, for Matt. I... I owe him my life, Jodi. He just wouldn't let me die."
"I know," she said softly. "Chet told me what he did. And what happened."
He looked relieved not to have to explain. Relieved enough to sit down, on the edge of the hearth. "I told him he needed a pro, but his wife said he wouldn't do that, because it would be ... like admitting she really was in serious trouble, or worse. And Matt's got enough to deal with already."
It made a certain kind of sense, she supposed, although if it had been her she would have hired somebody in a heartbeat.
"I'd already taken too long," J.T. said ruefully. "I... wasn't functioning too well when he first called. So I felt a little pressured, too, because I hadn't turned up anything."
She could understand that. If he had been— She interrupted her thought with another as a possibility struck her; she wondered if Matt, being the kind of friend J.T. said he was, had done this intentionally, if he'd called in a favor as much to rattle J. T.’s cage as to hope he could really find out something about his absent sister.
"I understand," she told him, "that you had to try and help him. Friends like that are ... too rare."
He nodded, seeming to relax a little more. "And I couldn't just. .. ask. I mean, you and Keating were .. . you know. There was no reason to think you'd tell me anything if I explained. I'd already found out he's the fair-haired boy in town."
Jodi's mouth quirked. "Isn't he, though? And he'll be the first to tell you."
He looked at her sharply, as if startled by her words. She shook her head; she didn't want to get into her terminated relationship with Reed, not now.
"I can understand all that," she told him. "What I don't understand is why you didn't tell me ... later."
He lowered his gaze. "I... don't know. I should have. But I just... didn't. Couldn't. It was all... so new, it was so long since I'd really ... talked to anyone, let alone anything else."
He stopped, running a hand through his hair, then sliding it down to the back of his neck as if it ached. Then, finally, he lifted his head and looked at her straight on. In his eyes she saw confusion, pain, but most of all heat and urgency.
"I couldn't think, Jodi. You were making me crazy, and I didn't want it. I didn't ever want to feel the way ... you made me feel."
In that moment she knew as clearly as if he'd said it that he was thinking of last evening, of the fire they'd lit between them. And in the heat of those memories, the last of her hurt slipped away. He'd come such a long way; she couldn't blame him if he'd stumbled a time or two. All that really mattered was ...
"And now?"
"Now?" He looked away again, as if he didn't want to see her face when he answered. "Now I want to feel that way again. And again. And that scares the hell out of me."
Jodi stared at him. And suddenly, almost irrelevantly, she realized that for the first time since she'd known him, there was no fire in the fireplace.
No, not irrelevantly, she thought. In fact, it was very, very relevant. He'd let go of at least this part of the past, which meant he could, in time, let go of the rest.
The last of her doubts followed her hurt, vanishing in a flood of new certainty. She believed him. And if she was a fool, then so be it.
"We must do something," Reed exclaimed. He gestured toward his briefcase. "How am I supposed to carry on with my duties, run this town, the business, with such constant chaos?"
"I know," Regina said, her voice so full of love and concern that his anger eased up slightly. Regina would help.
They would deal with this as they'd dealt with everything. The Keatings standing together were unbeatable.
"Is he still in his room?"
"Yes, as he has been all day. I think he's finally given up these pranks. He's been properly humbled. He hasn't spoken at all, to anyone. Not even to ask to come out."
While he paced, Regina waited patiently, her mere presence calming. If not for her, Reed was sure he'd lose his patience altogether. But she'd always taught him to stay calm and plan, to look at all the options, even the extreme ones, before making a decision. And he'd had the proof that her methods worked all around him, they'd been there all his life.
"What should we do with him, then?" he asked.
"I'm not sure yet, but we'll think of something."
His anger ebbed a little further. Regina was always so cool, so rational. She was the only one he could really trust to see things his way. He stopped pacing suddenly.
"You know," he said, looking at her, "I don't think I've ever thanked you enough for... everything."
Regina looked so startled that he couldn't help feeling she'd just proven his words. "You don't have to—"
He held up a hand, cutting her off, knowing even as he did it that he was one of the few people who could do it with impunity.
"But I do. You've always been there for me, Regina. Whatever else has happened, you've been on my side."
"Where else would I be?" she said simply. "You're my life, Reed. And you've made me so proud."
Reed smiled. It would all work out. He was willing to admit that his rather barbaric approach to Trager when he'd caught him with Jodi had been ill-advised. But he'd been furious, and his reaction quite understandable.
As for Jodi... perhaps she was simply testing him, trying, to make him jealous by pretending to be attracted to another man. Others had tried that. Including Darlene, for all the good it had done her; he'd stopped loving her long before she had ever realized it. Fortunately that had been resolved, and he'd been able to go on with his life without her dragging him down like an anchor.
"I know you have reservations about her," he said to Regina, "but Jodi will make a good Keating in time."
"Reed, surely you're not still set on marrying that woman? Why, she had the nerve to imply we were driving Garrett away, that this was all our fault. And she was quite rude about it, too."
Reed frowned as he leaned back against his desk, folding his arms across his chest. "That doesn't sound like Jodi. She's never rude."
"I wonder why she was, then," Regina mused aloud.
"Perhaps she was upset that I didn't come out to see her when she brought him home. She does love me, you know."
"Of course, who wouldn't," Regina said quickly.
"She's just having last-minute doubts. Perfectly normal. Marrying a Keating is quite a step." He warmed to the subject. "She's a little touchy about Garrett, but that's because she cares for the boy."
He understood now. Jodi had just needed reassurance, so she had used Trager to try to get it. He should have realized it sooner. It had been a minor miscalculation on his part, that was all. One he would rectify as soon as possible. He certainly wasn't about to change course now. He knew he was right. And he would win in the end. He always did, one way or another.
He crossed the room and patted Regina's arm comfortingly. "You'll see, I promise."
Jodi had never made love in the daylight before. But it seemed she was about to; J.T. had kissed her breathless, undressed her slowly, caressing every inch of skin he revealed, then pulled back long enough to hastily shed his own clothes. And it was then she decided she could understand the appeal of it; John Taylor Trager had been beautiful by moonlight, but in the full sun streaming in the window he was golden, as if still burnished by the California sun even after all this time.
And then he was touching her, his hands cupping her breasts, fingers stroking her nipples until she cried out at the ache building inside her. He responded to her cry not by stopping, but by lowering his head and taking her nipples with his mouth and tongue, first one, then the other, until she was twisting helplessly, clinging to him.
"God, Johnny," she gasped out, barely aware that she'd used that name.
But he was aware. He lifted his head and looked at her, the heat he was generating in her matched by the heat in his eyes. "I like that," he said, his voice taut, "from you. Now."
He swept her up then, carrying her as if her weight was nothing, as for him, perhaps, it wasn't. He laid her down on his bed with exquisite care, then came down beside her. She reached for him, hungrily. This betrayal of her eagerness seemed to undo him, because he pulled her into a fierce embrace.
"God, I thought I'd driven you away, and I didn't even realize what I'd lost until you were gone."
"I'm here," she whispered.
"I didn't want to care. But I never had a chance. From the minute I woke up that morning in the gazebo and saw you, I never had a chance."
The fevered admission made Jodi's heart take a tiny leap. She pressed her lips to his ear, his jaw, his neck. He groaned, letting his head loll back to invite more of the hot little kisses. She obliged, trailing her mouth down to the hollow of his throat. He moved restlessly beneath her mouth, and she moved lower, kissing, tasting, savoring the broad, hard chest. She hesitated, then swiped her tongue over one flat male nipple. He groaned, and she did it again. Then again, then she nipped at him ever so slightly.
Her name burst from him, in a tone that sent a sharp little thrill through her. And then he was moving, dragging her back up to take her mouth with his, and urging her to straddle him at the same time.
He was hot and hard beneath her, and suddenly the urge to have him inside her was irresistible. A little to her shock she found herself reaching for him. He gasped as her fingers curled around him, his hips lifting, pushing himself into her hand. For a moment she simply savored the feel of him, the heavy, smooth length of him, and wondered slightly that it worked, that she was able to take him at all.
"Jodi, God, please," he panted out, his hips pushing against her again.
"Yes," she whispered, and quickly, eagerly guided him home.
She took him hard and deep, barely aware of the moan that escaped her as he stretched her, filled her. But she heard him, heard the low sound he made as she rocked on him, driving him deeper, felt the desperate grip of his hands at her hips.
Wilder and wilder, the ride went on. She heard her name break from him, and his hands slid to the spot where their bodies joined. He probed, stroked, and the ripples of molten heat began to well up inside her.
She looked down at him, at the taut leanness of his body, the power in his clenched jaw, the cords of his neck. As if sensing her stare, he raised his own, up her body to her face. For an instant their gazes locked, in one of the most intimate moments Jodi had ever known. And as if it were some kind of mutual signal, the explosion began for both of them.
She didn't have to wonder if he was soaring as high as she was. He told her with the cry that ripped from his throat and the look of awe on his face.
And then the world fell away, and they tumbled after it.
Jodi yawned and stretched luxuriously. She'd never spent a day like this in her life. But she could learn to love it, she thought lazily. She watched J.T. as he stood at the stove, making more of the hot chocolate she loved, in the way he'd told her he'd learned from a fellow firefighter. She already loved watching him, she thought.
She stretched again, and ran one hand through her tangled hair. Remembering how it got that way made her blush—or overheat, she admitted—and she got up and walked to her purse for her hairbrush. She had to remove the now bent file folders she'd stuffed away to get to it. And for the first time, she saw the folder that had been behind the one she'd nearly worried to death while staring at the wreckage of her father's office.
She went very still. Her brow furrowed as she opened it, finding not the medical charts she would have expected, but several pages full of her father's bold, scrawling handwriting. She scanned the first page, then sucked in a breath.
Held it as she read on, smothering shivers as the short, too descriptive phrases brought horror to vivid life in her mind.
"Jodi? What's wrong?" J.T. was there, and she could only imagine how her face must have looked as she read the terrible narrative. "Is that the file from your father's office?"
She nodded, then swallowed, fighting down nausea. "I thought it was just the quirky way he had of leaving files all over, but he had this one in the safe on purpose. Because of what's in it."
He sat down beside her. "What is it?"
"It's a log he was keeping. About some... very ugly cruelty to animals. Repeated incidents, involving neighborhood pets."
J.T. grimaced. "Nasty stuff." Then she saw it hit him. "Chuck?"
She nodded. "This has to be what he was after."
J.T. shook his head. "You'd think Branch would be the one for that kind of thing."
"Yes, you would. You know, my father warned me once about Chuck, to stay away from him, but I never really knew why." A shiver rippled through her. "I... remember some of these animals coming in. It was awful. Dad never told me what had happened. But he began to keep detailed records, the minute he suspected a pattern."
"Was he going to go to the police?"
"He must have been. Maybe that's why Chuck left town, maybe my father confronted him. He was still transferring his notes into a written statement when he became ill."
"And Chuck thought now that your father was ... gone, it was safe to come back?"
"Maybe. But he knew about the file, and didn't want to risk it surfacing."
J.T. frowned. "What about the attack on you? You think that was Chuck, too? What would he gain by that?"
"I don't know. But I'd better call Chet."
J.T. got up and got her the phone. Chet, she was told, was still interviewing Chuck, but when she said she had something important, relevant to that interview, to tell him, they agreed to get him. He was there in less than two minutes. She explained rapidly, then hung up.
"He's going to call back," she said.
They waited, mostly in silence, as the minutes ticked away. J.T. read the file, shaking his head periodically at the evil it contained. And at last the phone rang.
When she hung up this time, Jodi felt as if a world of weight had been lifted from her weary shoulders. J.T. was watching her intently.
"It's over," she said. "It's finally, really over."
J.T. let out an audible breath of relief, as if it were his own load being lifted. Warmed by his reaction, Jodi explained.
"Chuck admitted he was after the file when Chet confronted him. He's denying the attack on me that night, but Chet thinks he may just be afraid to admit to that."
"He's about the right size," J.T. said.
Jodi nodded. "Chet's still pressing him. Hard, because people who hurt animals often turn into... something worse."
"Killers, for instance," J.T. said sourly. Then, hearing his own words, he went still. Jodi knew he was thinking of Debbie.
"Chet thought of that. He'll be investigating." She looked thoughtful.
"At least our nightmare is over," J.T. said. "That's the most important thing."
It was important. She felt a flooding sense of relief that nearly swamped her. But it was followed by a glorious, rising sensation it took her a moment to recognize. Freedom. Freedom to go on with her life, freedom to leave the fear behind ... freedom to follow her heart.
"No," she said softly.
He blinked. "No?"
"The most important thing," she said softly, "is right here."
She reached for him, and thrilled as she saw him suck in a quick breath the moment she touched him. For the first time she went to him with nothing hanging over her, no feeling of threat or menace. She wondered if it would make a difference. If it would make her... wilder, this sudden feeling of liberation.
It did. And when she made J.T. cry out, she relished his pleasure as much as her own.
Reed climbed the stairs deep in thought. He walked past the open door to a guest room, another to a bathroom, then past his son's closed door. He paused, then went back. He lifted his hand to knock, then caught himself. He didn't have to knock, this was his house, and his son. He shoved the door open.
The room appeared empty. He drew up straight. The boy hadn't been in the bath next door. If he had dared to run away again ...
Fury rose in Reed as he stepped into the room. He looked toward the window where Garrett had gone out before; it was closed. He doubted the boy could manage that, balanced outside on the crossbeam of the pergola.
"Garrett!"
His voice boomed out in the room. He felt a little silly yelling at an empty room, but—
He caught sight of the sliding closet door, edged partially open at one end.
Surely not, he thought as he walked over to it. But he slid it open, and found Garrett cowering in the corner in the dark closet. His knees were drawn up and he was holding them, as if in an upright fetal position. He was rocking himself slightly, back and forth.
Reed gaped at his son. "What are you doing?"
Garrett didn't respond, didn't even look at him.
"Come out of there, right now."
For all his rebelliousness, Garrett had never disobeyed a face-to-face order before. But now he just sat there, the rocking motion continuing.
Fear struck through Reed then. God, was his son going crazy? Had all this disobedience been a symptom of madness?
It couldn't be. Keatings did not lose their minds.
He leaned over, reached into the closet, and grabbed Garrett by the arms. He pulled him forcibly out into the room. The boy whimpered slightly, and Reed had to smother his annoyance at the sound. He sat him on the edge of the bed.
"I suppose you realize how much trouble you're in, and that's why you're acting this way," he said.
Garrett looked at him then, but didn't speak. Satisfied that he at least had his son's attention, he spoke sternly.
"It has to stop, Garrett. Your aunt and I are fed up with this behavior. Do you want to end up in some boarding school far away and all alone?"
Something shifted in the boy's eyes, and Reed had the oddest feeling it wasn't at all the horror he'd expected at the idea. He tried another tack, knowing one of the boy's vulnerable points.
"Your aunt even seems to think Jodi and I should delay getting married until you decide to change your ways."
Ah, Reed thought as a strong reaction showed in Garrett's face. And at last the boy spoke. But his words were not what Reed had expected.
"Jodi's not gonna marry you."
"You have no idea what you're talking about—"
"Do so. She told me. She loves J.T."
"That's ridiculous! It's just an act to make me jealous!"
Garrett shook his head. With a mutinous look he said, "They're gonna get married, and then I'll run away and live with them!"
Reed's hand moved before he thought. He backhanded his son across the face.
The slap echoed in the room. Reed stared down, not quite able to believe he'd done it, even though the boy deserved to be punished severely.
But what truly shocked him was that the boy didn't cry. He didn't even put a hand to his reddened cheek. He simply laid down on his bed and went back into that curled-up position, his eyes going blank and unfocused once more.
Reed backed out of the room. Fury was rising in him, and he needed some sort of release.
Could it be true? Had Jodi been playing him for a fool? Had she been holding him off for weeks like some coy virgin and then sleeping with that half-lunatic Trager? Had her protestations of innocence been lies? Had he been acting the perfect gentleman, suppressing his needs, while she played him for a fool? Him, Reed Emerson Keating?
He slammed the bedroom door, then strode hastily down the elegant hallway to his own room. The room he'd tried to seduce Jodi into at least a half-dozen times, always failing. And he finally realized that she hadn't been playing hard to get, she had meant everything she'd said to him.
His anger turned to rage. He should have shown her who was boss. He'd wanted her, he should have taken her. Images of her with Trager, that crazy, that nobody, played in his head, taunting, mocking him.
"Damn them," he whispered as he pulled his own door shut behind him. "Damn them both."
J.T. woke from a sweet, erotic dream to find it wasn't a dream at all. Jodi was here, beside him, wearing his shirt and tucked safely into the curve of his body. He let out a quiet breath as he realized it had been real, all of it. The entire evening, Jodi's new wildness, now that she was free of the fear Elliot's campaign had instilled in her, their final weary tumble into his bed again last night, only to find they weren't nearly as tired as they thought, were all real. It had all happened.
And when he'd finally slept, for the first time in years the nightmares didn't come. The nightmares that had haunted him for so long didn't come. He'd slept for hours in blissful, blessed peace—
J.T. went suddenly rigid. He drew in a deep breath, nostrils flaring. Every long-buried instinct that had been trained into him but later buried leapt back to life.
Smoke.
His eyes snapped open. He jerked upright. Stared across the small cabin to the kitchen wall. It was engulfed in flames.
His nightmares hadn't gone away.
They'd come true. 
Chapter 21
In some small part of his mind that wasn't paralyzed, J.T. knew this was what had awakened him. Some deeply ingrained instinct that had never died had warned him. People weren't always that lucky, often they were overcome with smoke before they could save themselves.
Like Rebecca and Adam.
He stared at the fire, watched it creep closer, felt the heat build, smelled the smoke as it thickened. As if the dancing flames were a movie screen he saw it all, the moment he'd heard the address come across the radio and realized the fully engulfed house they were responding to was his, the moment when Matt had tackled him to stop him from going in after they'd given it up, to the moment when the coroner had brought out the body bags, one of them so small not even the most seasoned of the firefighters there could watch it go by.
He'd fought other fires after that, more than a year's worth after he'd come back from his forced leave, and before they'd finally suspended him. None of them had done this to him.
He realized he was shaking, but he couldn't stop. He knew only seconds had passed, but it seemed like eons. 
He heard a tiny cough, and Jodi stirred beside him.
Jodi.
That was the real difference; for the first time since the fire that had destroyed his life, and despite all his determination to never be in this position again, he once more had something to lose.
Move, he ordered himself. Move!
Jodi coughed again, harder. And this time, sleepily, she murmured his name.
It was the spur he needed. He reached for her and pulled her upright.
"Jodi, wake up. Fast."
She blinked, opening her eyes. But she merely looked at him dreamily. Lovingly. "Hi."
"Honey, you've got to move. Now."
He scrambled to the floor, tossed her her boots, then grabbed his own. She blinked again. And he saw awareness come into her eyes, saw her look toward the flames, now even closer, and gasp.
"We've got to get out. If it goes back up the propane line and hits the tank outside, it's going to be ugly. Get those on your feet, you're going to need to run."
She didn't hesitate, but he heard her coughing as she quickly pulled on the boots. She didn't quibble about her lack of clothing, which told him she realized the seriousness of the situation.
He yanked on his sweats and boots, knowing some cover from spark and embers was worth the ten seconds, then stood to test the air. It was already unbreathable anywhere higher than his chest, and he dropped back down. His eyes were protesting, and he dropped to his knees, urging Jodi down beside him.
He peered up through the smoke, and saw the flames licking along the main center beam of the roof. It would be on this side of the cabin in minutes, and the propane tank might be academic if they didn't get out of here damn fast. And they were going to have to get to the front door; the side door was already inaccessible.
"Get down, as low as you can and still move fast," he ordered.
Jodi nodded, coughed. He started moving, fixing in his mind the relative positions of everything in the room; his lack of furniture was now an advantage.
He made his way past the fireplace, ironically full of nothing but cold ashes at the moment. He paused only when he was able to make out the front door through the smoke. The flames were getting closer, and he knew they were going to have to run. He reached back for Jodi.
She was gone.
Panic kicked through him. He dropped down to his knees, thinking that the smoke had gotten so thick he simply couldn't see her. But she was gone.
"Jodi!"
He went into a paroxysm of coughing seconds after he took in enough smoky air to yell her name. And the fire was leaping now, swirling, sending dragon's tongues of flame toward him as if it were alive and sensing his fear.
And then she was there, crawling out of the smoke, coughing violently as the poisons were sucked into her lungs. He snapped back into urgency and started moving again, reached back and took her wrist again, this time so tightly he couldn't lose her.
Because he couldn't lose her. If he did, then he'd lose himself, forever this time, and there would be no hope of ever finding his way back.
She stayed close this time, never more than a half step behind him. He heard the whoosh of flames, and the crack of the dragon's whip. Beneath the roar he heard Jodi cough, knew he himself was coughing even louder.
He heard an ominous, all-too-familiar creak. He yanked Jodi in front of him, shoved her down on the floor, and threw himself over her. A split second later it happened; one of the rafters, burned through, crashed down from the roof. It landed with a horrific crash a bare foot away.
He heard a small, stifled sound, felt Jodi tremble. But she didn't cry out, didn't scream, and when he got to his knees she got up right behind him.
"All... right?" he gasped out.
"Go." Her voice was hoarse, sounding like he felt. He went. He was blind now, his lungs screaming. The fire seemed to switch sides, or the room spun, and he knew he was losing it. But he couldn't. He had to get Jodi out. Even as he thought it he felt her go down.
He would get her out. Even if he dropped dead in the next instant. He would not let his nemesis win this time.
Door. The knob. Grab. Twist. Pull.
The door swung open. The fresh air rushed in. It cleared his head slightly, but it also fed the fire. He recognized the sudden roar of renewed voraciousness.
He grabbed Jodi and fairly slung her over his shoulder. It had been a long time, but the old training came back. He started out, stumbled, then felt small but strong hands clutching at him as she roused slightly. He half ran, half fell down the steps.
He wanted more than anything to collapse, but something nagged at him. Some reason they needed to be away, farther away ...
Propane.
He kept moving. They were five feet away, then ten, then fifteen...
The explosion knocked them flat.
The moment he lifted it, J. T.’s head started to spin. He lowered it. Sucked in a breath. Got mostly soil. Coughed, spit, tried again. More air this time. Coughed again, vaguely aware of the taste of dirt.
He heard, under rather than over the ringing in his ears, a small sound.
Jodi.
His head came up again, and this time he ignored the dizziness.
She was lying beside him. Very still. And for an instant his heart nearly stopped. Until she moved, and he realized what he'd heard was her also trying to breathe through a face full of earth.
"Jo—" He coughed and tried again. "Jodi? Are you all right?"
"I... think so."
She pushed up to her elbows. She looked at him. Her face was dirty, her hair tangled, her eyes wide with shock. She was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen.
He pulled her into his arms, then froze as he realized he should have made sure she wasn't hurt first. But she didn't pull away or cry out. In fact, her arms went around him as if she needed to touch him as much as he'd needed to touch her.
"I guess," she mumbled against his chest, "the propane tank went?"
"Must have. It's fifteen feet from the house, but if the fire hit the line from the tank to the house ..."
She sat up, slowly, staring back at the cabin, which was now fully engulfed. He stifled a shudder; they'd barely made it out. Another minute and they could easily have been overcome by smoke or trapped by the roof falling in.
"God, J.T., I'm so sorry. You're losing everything."
He shrugged. "I didn't have much."
"But you—" She stopped suddenly. "Oh!" She wrestled around under her—his—soot-stained T-shirt. His shirt. "Here."
She held something out to him, a piece of paper that was slightly curled. Puzzled, he reached for it, and the moment he touched it, realization hit him. The panicked minute when he hadn't been able to find her, when she'd been out of sight in the smoke.
She'd gone back for the photograph of his son.
He stared at her. "Are you crazy?" he said, his voice harsh, made harsher by the smoky rasp.
"It was this or the files. This was more important. I only had to go back a couple of feet."
"Do you have any idea," he said tightly, "how many bodies I've found in burnt houses, a couple of feet from the door? God, Jodi, you could have died."
For an instant she looked hurt, and he wished he hadn't snapped at her. She'd only done it for him, to keep him from losing the only thing he had left of his child. He was about to apologize, to try to explain, when the oddest expression crossed her face. An expression of dawning realization, of wonder.
And then she smiled. A smile that shook him to the soul, and he didn't know why. He only knew that there was something vast about that smile, as if it encompassed much more than just their narrow escape, as if it were all wrapped up in their survival far beyond this moment.
He looked away, telling himself it wasn't because what he saw in her face was too much, too powerful. He looked down at the photograph, at the face he knew so well. He knew his eyes were still watering from the smoke and ash, but also knew the moisture brimming over was more than that. He'd cried before, looking at his lost child, but this time it seemed different, as if there was something healing about the tears, rather than a simple release of wasted, useless, helpless emotion.
After what seemed like an eternity, he looked at Jodi again. And he realized that it really was she who'd done it, who'd dragged him back into life, when it had been the last thing he thought he'd wanted.
And he realized something else, when he thought of the risk she'd taken simply because she didn't want him to lose this last bit of his son. Only one thing could have made him react with such terror when he'd found her gone, such relief when she'd gotten out safely. And such anger, putting her welfare above this last tiny shred of his old life.
Only one tiling could explain the impossible tightness in his chest that had nothing to do with smoke inhalation, and everything to do with the woman beside him.
His world had exploded in more ways than one.
He was in love with Jodi Campion.
And judging by the way her face had changed after she'd thought about his reaction, she knew it.
It was all so damn familiar.
The sounds, the shouts, the men clad in yellow slickers and turnout boots. Volunteers or not, they looked the part.
Too bad they were too late.
The cabin was gone.
All that was left standing was the chimney, about five feet of the wall on the far side of it, and here and there a piece of floor or a jagged tooth of wall. The rest was a still smoking pile of charred wood and ash.
Wet ash. They may have been late, but the volunteer fire department had been enthusiastic in getting water on the fire, at least until J.T. had told them to give it up and just keep the trees from catching and giving them a full-on forest fire to fight. It had been difficult anyway, with the cabin being so far below the roadway, requiring full length of hose—and probably all of the water—from the pumper truck.
It had been hard not to take over when he'd realized that for all their energy, and the training they had, they were a bit lacking in experience. And telling himself it wasn't his life anymore hadn't helped much. He'd ended up pitching in anyway, trying to make suggestions rather than shout orders and directions as he once had.
With the large flashlight he'd borrowed from one of the volunteers, he circled the blackened rectangle that had been his home for the past year. It was nearly dawn, but still too dark here amid the trees they'd saved to see anything without help.
Despite how long it had been since he'd had to think about such things, this, too, came back to him. As everything had. It didn't take him long to narrow it down and be sure that his guess about the spot where it must have started was right.
He crouched down, angling the light, until he spotted a small space of floor that wasn't quite charcoal. He studied it, kneeling down amid the ashes to get a closer look. He swept the light around, looked at the small, short piece of wall still standing beside him. Gently he reached out and brushed away some ash and a piece of what had been the small wooden enclosure that had housed the outside water tap. He lifted the light again, and looked at the oddly shaped burn it revealed.
"Jodi says you know about fire fighting."
J.T. looked back over his shoulder at the man in the white helmet labeled captain. Jodi had introduced him as Sam Flynn, and J.T. vaguely remembered seeing him on his occasional forays into town. He had also seen the man notice Jodi's scanty attire and his own shirtless state, had seen him reach the inevitable conclusion, and had half expected the older man to turn on him with a fire ax.
But he hadn't, he'd merely gone about his business.
"I've done it," he agreed.
Sam nodded. "Figured that, the way you stepped right in."
J.T. eyed the man. "Didn't mean to step on any toes."
Sam shook his head. "Hey, we all know we're amateurs. It was ... educational to watch you work. Even Branch admits it, and that's saying something."
Flattered, J.T. wasn't quite sure what to say, so he settled for a sincere, "Thanks." Then, curious, he asked, "How'd you get the call?"
Sam gestured with a thumb over his left shoulder. "Mrs. Cobb, down the hill. She was up with her grandson. Most colicky kid you'll ever see. Anyway, she saw the fire from her kitchen window."
J.T. nodded. "Thanks."
Sam smiled, nodded, and put his fingers to his helmet in a salute before he walked back to where the other men were recoiling hose and lugging equipment, most of which they hadn't used since the place was practically gone by the time they'd gotten here, back up the steps.
It was an odd feeling, seeing the familiar work going on after all this time. And he found, for the first time since he'd walked away, that he missed it. For the entire year that he'd tried to keep working after Adam and Rebecca had died, he'd seen them in every fire scene, had envisioned them in every charred house, imagined them in every grim body bag carried out of the ashes of a life. It had haunted him, crippled him, driven him, until they'd had to stop him before he got someone else hurt.
But now, when it had struck closest, all he could feel was rage at what he was looking at.
He sensed Jodi's presence before he saw her, before she knelt down beside him.
"I'm sorry, J.T."
"I'm not," he muttered. "I'm angry. Very."
Jodi went still. "Angry?"
He gestured at the burn marks he'd uncovered. "See that mark? And that one? How regular they are? It's called a flash pattern."
"And?"
He looked at her then. "I don't know what it was, it'd take a distillation test to be sure, but I'm damn sure it was an accelerant of some kind."
Her eyes widened. "An accelerant? You mean ... like gasoline or something?" At his nod, she stared at the distinctive burn patterns. "It was ... set?"
He nodded again. "Arson. No question."
Her eyes went back to his face. "If you hadn't woken up..."
"And I might not have, if the smell of smoke wasn't an alarm clock to my subconscious."
"We'd be ..."
"Yes," he said harshly, "we would. And that would make it murder."
He saw Jodi shiver, despite the fact that one of the men had given her a yellow slicker to wrap around her. J.T. stood, pulling her up with him and into his arms.
"But. . . Danny and Chuck are still in jail, who would—"
She wobbled, and he tightened his arms around her. His heart ached for her; she'd been so joyous last night, so light-hearted, certain the campaign of terror was over.
And maybe it was. Against her, anyway. Maybe this was for him. Or maybe it was somebody else who'd found out about the file, somebody who had reason to want it kept secret.
"Branch," he murmured.
Jodi looked up. "Do you think he'd do this? To ... destroy the evidence against his brother?"
"If so, I'd say he accomplished that," J.T. said tightly.
"But Sam said he's here, that he fought the fire."
"Alibi?" J.T. suggested, scanning the group of men. When he spotted the hulking Branch, he let go of Jodi and headed that way. She immediately started after him. He hesitated, but then decided she'd be safe enough amid this crowd. Besides, she deserved to hear this.
To his surprise, Branch didn't run as he approached. Instead, he stood still, pulled off his volunteer fire helmet, and looked down at his muddy boots as they came to a halt in front of him. With an effort, J.T. kept quiet; he wanted to hear what the man would say. And after a long, silent moment, Branch looked up.
Guilt was written all over his face.
"I'm sorry, Jodi," he said.
"Sorry?" Jodi nearly yelped. "You burn down a man's house, and all you can—"
"What? I didn't do this!"
To his own surprise, J.T. believed him. The man simply looked too utterly astonished to be lying. "Then what are you apologizing for?" he asked.
Branch grimaced, lifted a shoulder toward Jodi. "My brother. What he did, scaring her, and breaking in and all. He wanted her to think it was something personal, not that he was looking for... what your father had."
"The file?"
Branch nodded. "About... the animals."
Jodi stared at the man. "You knew?"
Branch nodded again, an expression of pure shame on his face. "I tried to stop him. Even when we were kids. But he'd sneak off, and I wouldn't find out until after. He's ... not quite right, Chuck isn't. I tried to control him..."
"And when you couldn't, you covered for him?" J.T. suggested gently.
Branch looked miserable. "I figured if I made everybody pay attention to me, they wouldn't look at him." He shifted his gaze to Jodi. "He's my brother," he said pleadingly.
"My God," Jodi breathed. And J.T. knew from the tone of it that she'd already shifted gears, that her incredible, unfailing empathy had kicked in, even for this brash, insulting man. Who had, apparently, created his own ill-mannered persona to protect his brother.
J.T. heard a sudden rise in volume of the voices up the hill and looked up.
"Chet's here," he said.
The deputy paused to talk to Sam Flynn, who gestured toward them. Chet nodded and headed their way. Branch muttered another "Sorry" and backed away.
J.T. saw Chet's gaze flick to the ruins of the cabin, then back to them, looking them up and down.
"You're both all right?"
J.T. nodded.
"Then you're damn lucky," he said.
"I know," Jodi said softly. "If it wasn't for J.T...."
He hushed her with a shake of his head. "You're spending a lot of time out here lately," he told Chet.
"Don't I know it." He looked at the smoking rubble again. Then he looked at Jodi, and confirmed her earlier statement. "Chuck's still in custody, and so's Danny."
She shook her head, and J.T. saw her shiver. He put an arm around her as Chet looked at him.
"Any ideas?"
"Some."
"Want to share them?"
J.T. hesitated. When he didn't speak right away, Jodi eyed the deputy and said, "I gather you don't think it was an accident?"
"Given what's been going on around here lately," Chet said, "that stretches my imagination a bit too far."
Something in his voice, some undertone, caught J. T.’s full attention. He'd heard it before. Hell, he'd heard it before in his own voice, when he'd ended up with the unenviable and unpleasant job of giving bad news to someone.
"Chet?" he asked softly.
The other man met his gaze, then let out a long breath. He didn't quibble, didn't dance around it. "I heard from the coroner's office about an hour ago."
J.T. felt Jodi go very still.
"It's not official," Chet said. "But it's pretty definite."
J.T. took a shuddering breath. He felt Jodi's arms tighten around him, felt the strength of her embrace. The sun cleared the trees, flooding the clearing with a sweet morning light that seemed almost indecent under the circumstances. It was the start of a spectacular Northwest Saturday, and the world would soon be out to play in the golden light that was so precious here.
And the woman in that grave would never again feel the sun on her face. He tried to speak, to ask, although he already knew the answer in his gut.
And then Jodi did it for him. "It's Debbie?" she asked softly.
"It's Debbie." 
Chapter 22
"Fifteen minutes," Jodi said to Chet. "Just give us that long to try."
Chet rubbed a hand over his stubbled jaw. She knew it had been a long, hard night for all of them. Chet had followed them to her place, where she and J.T. had showered and Jodi had fixed them all a quick meal of eggs and toast. He'd told them his next step would be to bring Reed in for questioning by the detectives. He'd been on his way there when he'd heard the radio traffic about the fire and explosion.
"Please," she said. "Just long enough for us to get Garrett out of there. Chet, if you'd just seen him yesterday. It was like he'd gone away somewhere inside himself. I'm afraid he might never come back. Somebody's got to help him."
Chet shook his head, although it appeared reluctant. "You can't just kidnap him."
"No, I know, but if we can get Reed to let him come with us under some pretext—"
"I don't want Reed warned, if at all possible," Chet said. "That first reaction of a suspect to being questioned can be crucial."
"And it's something no child should have to see, his father accused of murder," J.T. said.
"I had no intention of accusing him of anything, especially in front of the boy," Chet said mildly. "I'm just transporting him for questioning, that's all."
J.T. and Jodi exchanged glances; she knew he knew a forced transporting of a Keating in Keating's Port was not something to be taken lightly. And she knew Chet knew it, too.
"He's been through so much, Chet. Maybe we can think of another way to get him out of the house."
She looked at J.T, who shook his head. "You know they're not going to let me near him."
"They might let me. Or at least Reed might." She grimaced as she looked at Chet. "I don't think it's gotten through to him yet that becoming the future Mrs. Keating is not in my life plan."
"I'm glad to hear that," J.T. said.
A grin flashed across Chet's face. Startled, Jodi looked at J.T. His expression was wry, almost rueful. And she knew that she'd been right in those moments outside the house.
"I'm not sure I want you confronting him alone," Chet said.
"Well, I'm sure," J.T. said. "You're not confronting him alone."
There was an edge in his voice, a tight, harsh edge, and she knew he was thinking about Debbie, and the man who had likely put her in that hole in the ground. She could hardly blame him, and she wasn't sure she wanted to face Reed anyway.
"Maybe there's another way," she said, thinking quickly. "I could go to the side door, on foot, and if Marie is in the kitchen, she'll answer. She likes me, I think, and she just might help."
Chet looked thoughtful. "Do you think you can do it without Keating knowing?"
"I can try," she said. "But even if he finds out... I mean, if he's still set on me marrying him, I don't think he'd do anything to me."
Chet's mouth tightened. "Did it occur to you that he might have done something already? Like set that fire?"
"No," Jodi said.
"Yes," J.T. said grimly.
Jodi looked at J.T., startled. "What? You think Reed did this?"
"It occurred to me. If he's already a murderer, what's a little arson?"
She couldn't argue with that. "But... why?"
J.T. didn't answer. Chet coughed discreetly. And it suddenly struck her. "You mean ... because I... because we ... ?"
She was too embarrassed to go on.
"You've said yourself he doesn't take 'no' gracefully," J.T. said. "And anybody driving by could have seen your Jeep here all night. Or if Garrett said something ..."
"But what if..." She swallowed, then voiced her greatest fear. "If Reed is guilty, of either thing, what if you coming sets him off somehow, and ... Garrett gets hurt?"
Chet hesitated.
"That," J.T. said quietly, "is not something you want to live with."
Chet met J. T.’s gaze, then, slowly, nodded. "You're right. Nothing's worth risking that boy getting hurt. All right. Fifteen minutes, then I'm coming in whether you have him or not, for his sake and yours. And you take your cell phone and call me either when you have him out or if something goes sour. I'll be waiting just out of sight outside the gate." Jodi let out a sigh of relief. "Thank you." Chet grimaced. "I hope I don't regret this." Jodi had no answer for that. She only knew that right now it seemed they were the only ones who cared enough for Garrett to try to help. They were all he had, and she refused to let him down.
Jodi knew he didn't like it, but J.T. stayed in the car as she got out and went to the kitchen door. He'd insisted on coming, not wanting her to be alone if she ran into Reed, but he'd reluctantly agreed to hang back until she got the lay of things.
She'd driven past the front and around to the kitchen, as planned. She knew they got deliveries often enough that unless someone happened to be looking out and saw her Jeep, they were likely to assume it was just another of those.
"Jodi!" Mrs. Warner exclaimed in surprise as she opened the side door.
"Hi, Marie," Jodi said, trying to gauge if there was anything beyond surprise in the woman's voice. "I'm sorry to bother you—"
"You're no bother, child. You never were."
Jodi let out a breath she hadn't really been aware of holding; the woman would help, she was sure of it. "Mrs. W, I need to see Garrett."
"Oh, that poor boy! He's just been up in his room ever since you brought him home, won't talk, won't eat. He just lies there, with that awful empty look in his eyes. And they"— she didn't elaborate on who "they" were, as if she knew Jodi would know—"just discuss how to punish the child, instead of realizing that he's hurting, and—"
Jodi held up a hand. "I know. Believe me. That's why I want to see him. And I don't want to put you in an awkward position here. Is there something else you can be doing, so you can say you didn't see me come in?"
"Bless you, dear. I suppose I could be cleaning the silver in the dining room."
"Good. Go."
She nodded and walked away. At the doorway she looked back. "I'm glad that boy has someone who truly cares," she said, and was gone. Jodi waited until she was sure the woman was truly gone, then went back to the doorway and waved an "okay" sign at J.T.
"What the hell?"
Jodi whirled, barely smothering a gasp as Reed walked into the room. He was frozen in the act of rubbing his hands with a towel, and for a moment just stood there, staring at her as if she'd dropped from the sky.
Or had come back from the dead, she thought with a shiver.
Vaguely, Jodi heard sounds behind her; J.T. must have seen her swift, startled movement, and he was coming in. Reed must have heard him, too; his head came up and he looked past her. Reed's eyes widened—more shock at seeing someone alive he'd thought dead?—as J.T. charged through the door. He came to a halt beside her, his arm coming around her protectively.
Reed swore, a crude word she'd never heard from him before. "So it's true."
Jodi felt J.T. stiffen beside her. She thought he was bracing for a verbal attack from Reed about them being together, until he leaned forward, drawing a deep breath.
She didn't realize until he'd done it that she smelled it, too.
Gasoline.
"You bastard," J.T. hissed. "It was you."
Reed seemed taken aback by the man he'd classified as a loser, and half-crazy, on the offensive. And J.T. was most definitely on the offensive; Jodi had never seen such fury.
"What are you talking about?" Reed said, backing up a step.
"That innocent act would go over a lot better if you didn't stink of gasoline," J.T. said.
Reed put on a credible look of puzzlement. "I found a spill out in the garage when I went to get Regina's car for her. I just cleaned it up, since our chauffeur quit unexpectedly." Then, as if he'd suddenly realized what he'd done, he added with almost a snarl, "Not that I have to explain myself to you."
"No, save the explanation for a judge," J.T. snapped.
"What the hell do you mean?"
"You know what I mean. You didn't expect us to get out, did you? That old place went up like a dry Christmas tree. Did you plan the propane tank, or was it just a lucky break for you?"
Reed's gaze flicked to Jodi. "Will you explain what he's talking about?"
"Arson and attempted murder, as I think you know perfectly well," she said coldly.
"That's preposterous!"
He started toward them. Jodi felt J.T. tense beside her, then take a step toward Reed. She tried to hold him back, but he was so focused on Reed he kept going.
Her gaze flicked to the clock on the far wall. It seemed impossible that only four minutes had passed since they'd left Chet up on the road. So they had eleven minutes to go, unless she called him right now and told him to come. God, if they came to blows, she'd have to, and this whole thing could turn very ugly. She reached into her back pocket for the phone she had set up with Chet's cell number predialed and ready to send.
"Reed? Are you ready yet? We're—"
Jodi breathed a sigh of relief as Regina entered the room and brought both men to a halt. She was dressed for town, gloves, heels, handbag over one arm and a cashmere sweater over her shoulders.
And with Garrett in tow.
Jodi's relief faded; she didn't want the boy to witness this, the whole point had been to get him out of here. He looked up at her and J.T., hope dawning in those blank, vacant eyes.
"What are you doing in this house?" Regina exclaimed, glaring at both of them.
"Jodi," J.T. said, "why don't you take Garrett out of here?"
She hesitated, not wanting to leave J.T. alone here, but knowing it had to be done, for Garrett's sake. But before she could even agree, Regina forestalled her.
"The boy isn't going anywhere with you. Ever again. In fact, he's going straight off to a private boarding school in Seattle, one known for its discipline."
"My God, is that all you can think of? Discipline? Can't you see he needs help?"
"He's a Keating, he doesn't—"
"Nobody," Jodi said sharply, "needs help more than the damn Keatings."
"That's enough!" Reed shouted. He looked at his sister and, as usual, ignored the presence of his son. "Can you believe this? They have the nerve to come into our home and accuse me of... it's too ridiculous to even repeat!"
Regina seemed to go very still. "Accuse you? Of what?"
"Regina, not in front of Garrett, please," Jodi said.
"The Keatings always present a united front," she said. It sounded so odd, as if she were quoting some old axiom amid chaos. "And the boy is still a Keating. What ridiculous accusation has been made?"
She was going to force it, Jodi realized, and there was no way to save Garrett from hearing it. They should have left it to Chet, since it appeared the result was going to be the same. She looked at the child, who was staring at his aunt as if he'd never seen her before. The blank expression was gone, replaced by one of intense concentration.
"What accusation?" Regina repeated.
"Arson," J.T. said, his voice deadly quiet, his gaze fixed on Reed. "For starters."
For a moment Regina was oddly quiet. Then, "Reed? That's absurd."
"He still smells of the gasoline he used," J.T. pointed out.
"You don't know what you're talking about!" Reed looked furious, putting on a very believable show of righteous indignation, Jodi thought. And wished she could rattle that infernal Keating arrogance. There was little that could make this worse for Garrett anyway.
"On the contrary," Jodi said softly. "He's an expert. You didn't know he was a firefighter, and a fire prevention and escape specialist, did you? If it hadn't been for that, you might have succeeded in murdering both of us."
Out of the corner of her eye Jodi saw Regina move sharply, and she looked over at the woman.
"So this is the woman you wanted to marry, Reed? A woman who could suspect you of such a thing?"
Reed didn't look at his sister, he was looking at her, very oddly, Jodi thought. Almost confused, as if he truly couldn't believe she would suspect him. Even as he stood there, smelling of the gasoline he had used to accelerate the fire that had nearly killed them.
"Did you?" Garrett asked, his voice horribly hollow as he looked at his father. "Did you try to hurt Jodi and J.T.?"
"Of course not," Reed said, even now brushing his son off as if his emotions were meaningless, his part in this negligible. But then, unknowingly but with shattering effectiveness, Garrett finally made his father pay attention.
"Did you hurt that dead lady?"
Reed went still. "What?"
"Garrett," Jodi said warningly; she'd been glad to hear the boy speak at all, but now she was wishing he hadn't.
"Ouch," the boy said, twisting back to look at the aunt who held him, and whose grip on his arm must have tightened suddenly.
"What are you talking about?" Reed asked, for once his full attention fastened on his son.
Garrett didn't answer, he was focused on pulling free of his aunt. He got loose and ran to Jodi, who put her hands on his shoulders. The moment he was safely with Jodi, J.T. looked at Reed and unleashed all the venom he'd been holding back.
"It's over, Keating. They found Debbie."
Reed's brows lowered. Jodi heard a small sound that could have been a gasp if Regina allowed herself such reactions.
"All your money isn't going to save you from this one," J.T. said. "You're going to pay . It's all going to come out, and the world will see what you really are."
"Why, Reed?" Jodi asked. "Was it truly just because she ... said no to you? And is that why I was next? Because I dared to say no?"
"That's not going to go over well with a jury," J.T. said.
"A jury?" Reed looked so blank that doubt spiked through Jodi. "What are you talking about?"
J.T. looked at him steadily. "I found the hole in your alibi, Keating. That recess you called during the council meeting the night Debbie disappeared, a recess just long enough for you to get back here and"—he hesitated, Jodi knew because of Garrett, and changed his words—"do it, then go back and act as if nothing had happened."
Jodi's doubts vanished. J.T. hadn't told her he'd found that, but it seemed to prove Reed's puzzled act was a fraud.
"That night? I... had to take a phone call I was told was urgent."
"Nice try. Tell it to the sheriff. Who will be here soon," J.T. added. "You did it, just like you torched my place last night. And who knows what else you've gotten away with because of who you are. But nobody will give a damn that you're a Keating when you're in jail."
"No!" Regina's voice was high, tight, and strained, unlike anything Jodi had ever heard from her before.
"But... Debbie's in New York," Reed said. He switched his gaze to Jodi. "And I never tried to hurt you. I wouldn't. I love you!"
Jodi winced. "The sad part is, I believe you. It's your idea of love that's ... twisted. I feel sorry for you."
Reed's confused expression suddenly shifted to one of utter shock as he looked past them. "Regina?" he whispered.
Jodi and J.T. turned to look at her.
Regina's face was pale. She was trembling. The imperturbable facade was shattered.
And she was holding a gun.
Her purse hung open, still over her arm, answering the question of where the small, silver automatic had come from. That didn't comfort Jodi much, since the weapon was aimed at her and J.T. and, by default, Garrett. Her hands tightened on the boy's shoulders, expecting to find him trembling. He was not. He was utterly still, staring at his aunt, that look of intense concentration back on his face, as if he wasn't hearing anything that was being said, but was desperately trying to figure something out.
"Regina?" Reed said again, sounding and looking as astonished as Jodi had ever seen anyone look. His sister shifted her gaze to him.
"It was all for you, don't you see? Haven't I always done what was best for you?"
"Of course you have," Reed answered, but it was more automatic than sincere; his gaze was fastened on the gun she held.
Jodi glanced at J.T. He seemed to be edging toward Regina, which distracted her for a moment, until Regina spoke again. She was still focused on her brother, her voice urgent.
"You didn't need her, she would have ruined everything. We're better off, just the way things are, you, me, and the boy. I'll take care of you both, just as I always have."
Reed gaped, all his suave charm vanished now. "What have you done?" he whispered.
Jodi reached back, slowly, feeling for her cell phone. Without taking it out or looking at it, and having to pray she had the right button, she pushed send.
"It would never be right, they weren't worthy, you know that," Regina said, her tone one of oddly gentle persuasion.

"We don't need anyone else, we never did. Anyone else is just in the way."
A rising wail from Garrett stopped them all.
"In the way! That's what you said to her, that she was in the way! And then you pushed her down the steps!"
Jodi stared at the boy, whose eyes were wide in his pale face as long-suppressed memories raged to the surface.
"She ran away from you, but she was hurt and slipped on the cliff. She was screaming, hanging on, and you threw that rock at her, you made her fall! You killed her, my mom, you killed her!"
"My God," Reed said, barely audibly.
Regina stared at her nephew, for once apparently speechless. And oblivious. J.T. edged closer to her. The gun she held wavered dangerously, and her white-knuckled grip terrified Jodi; she could pull the trigger by accident any second.
"I hate you!" Garrett yelled. "I always did, but I didn't know why!"
"Shut up!" Regina screamed, her elegant face contorted.
Jodi forgot all about the gun. She knelt beside the boy, looked into his eyes, and saw the horror there, saw the rage.
"Garrett," she whispered. He looked at her.
"I saw it, Jodi, I saw it," he said, sounding desperate. "I heard them fighting, and I went downstairs to help my mom, and I couldn't remember, but now I do, and I hate her!"
"Shut up," Regina repeated, her voice rising even higher. "You weren't there, you didn't see it."
"Didn't you tell anyone?" Jodi asked softly. "Your father?"
"I knew he wouldn't listen. Not to anything bad about her. He never listens."
Reed moaned. His son subsided into hiccuping sobs. Jodi felt her heart would break at the sound of it. She had to get him out of here. Heedless of the possibility that Regina would lose her fragile grip and shoot, she ushered the boy to the door that led to the dining room. Mrs. Warner was mere, a piece of ornate silver in her hand, but shock on her face, telling Jodi she'd heard.
"Go to her. Please," she said to Garrett.
He went, Mrs. Warner already reaching for him, the look on her face telling Jodi the boy would be taken care of.
Gun still clutched in her shaking hand, Regina was staring at Reed, and Jodi doubted she even realized Garrett was gone.
"It was for you, Reed. It was always for you," she said pleadingly. "You understand. You must understand!"
Reed stared at his sister, his face pale with shock as he slowly shook his head.
"Reed!" Regina cried.
There was a sound at the door. Regina's head turned toward it. J.T. lunged, grabbing for her arm. The gun fired. Chet Holland burst through the door. It took him barely a second to assess, and go to J. T.’s aid. In a moment Regina was disarmed.
And Reed was sinking to the floor, a hand clutched to his upper right chest, blood welling up between his fingers.
"No!" Regina cried out, twisting, pulling, trying to get free. "Reed, no!"
"Chet?" J.T. said.
"I've got her," the deputy said.
Nodding, J.T. moved quickly to Reed. Jodi sat down on the floor herself, taking Reed's hand, urging him to hang on.
"Better call for an ambulance," J.T. told Chet, who nodded and reached for his radio. "Code three," J.T. added, and Jodi recognized the urgency in the request for full speed, lights and siren response.
So did Regina. The knowledge that she had shot her own beloved brother was etched in her face. The formidable Keating matriarch was no more. She sagged against Chet, tears spilling down her cheeks as she stared at Reed's unconscious body. The threat had vanished, the woman who had murdered two people and attempted to murder two more was broken.
But Jodi knew they'd be living with what had happened here for a long time.
"I've been thinking," Chet said thoughtfully, "if Regina had known who and what you were, she might never have tried fire. And if she had tried something else, you might not have survived. It was your training and instincts for fire that got you and Jodi out of there."
J.T. eyed the man who had become his friend. "Your point?"
Chet shrugged in turn. "Maybe that it was a good thing you kept such a low profile, in this case. Or maybe just... karma."
J.T. knew what he was saying, that he'd saved Jodi, balancing if not making up for losing Rebecca. He didn't believe it, one life couldn't make up for another, but he had to admit he felt a lot less ... tortured. The ache was there, and always would be, but it wasn't the core of his existence any longer.
"And if things go well in there..." Chet began.
J.T. shook his head, suddenly afraid, not wanting to talk about it. He got up and walked across to the window. There was nothing to look at but the parking lot, but he didn't care. He tried not to think about what was going on behind those closed doors, where Jodi was. Tried to think about anything else.
"Hard to believe," Chet said as he strolled up beside J.T., "how a woman like Regina Keating got so messed up."
"Obsession." J.T. shrugged. "She didn't want anything to change in her perfect world, I guess." J.T. looked at the man who had become his friend. "Do you think Garrett's mother was maybe an accident, and she just panicked?"
"At least I know we didn't miss any drag marks, there weren't any." Chet's mouth quirked up at one corner. "But to answer your other question, I don't think Regina Keating ever panicked in her life."
J.T. couldn't argue with that assessment. Not after the details of Debbie's death had come out. Her murder had been intentional, deliberate, and coolly calculated by Regina, complete with purchasing an airline ticket with her brother's credit card, searching out someone who resembled Debbie enough to use her ID and who was willing to do it and keep silent, in return for the free trip to New York. And then slipping Debbie a fatal overdose of barbiturates and burying her body in the middle of the night on J. T.’s land.
"She gets away with Garrett's mother," Chet mused aloud, "so she gets bolder, figures she can do it again. Directly this time, not just taking advantage of an accident."
"And did. Debbie never had a chance."
"And if Jodi wasn't such a wildcat, she might have succeeded there, too, that night she went after her with the crowbar. She must have decided the vandalism and the break-in at the house were the perfect cover."
J.T. shuddered. At the time, it had been frightening enough, when they'd thought it just a wild teenager out of control. But now, knowing it was a cold-blooded murderer ...
 "Yeah," Chet said, in response to J. T.’s silent reaction. "I know. And she nearly hung it on you, using your truck like that. And all because her brother was determined to marry Jodi."
"Because she was too close to usurping Regina's self-designed throne," J.T. whispered, staring blindly out the window.
And once J.T. had started asking questions about Debbie, Regina had grabbed at the chance to solve two of her problems at once, and kill them both.
"You know, I almost feel sorry for Keating," J.T. said. "The guy's not only looking at a long time in the hospital, and at the fact that his beloved sister is a stone-cold killer, but he has to deal with the fact that he's been manipulated and maneuvered his entire life. And that his own son wouldn't tell him what had happened to his mother because he knew he wouldn't believe it."
Chet nodded. "At least, with her full confession, there won't be a long, drawn-out, high-profile trial to go through. Crazy. After all she's done, she's still got some twisted sort of loyalty, to something she's already destroyed."
J.T. sighed. "At least this time her devotion to the Keating name will help Garrett. He's been through so much already."
"He's a tough little guy, though. He'll be—"
Chet broke off as the doors swung open behind them. J.T. didn't turn, didn't have to; he knew it was Jodi. He was attuned to her in a way that excited him even as it scared him a little.
"They're ready for you, Chet," she said. The deputy nodded, gave a parting salute of encouragement to J.T., and walked through the double doors into the hearing room.
Jodi came up behind J.T. She slipped her arms around him. He leaned back into her, still caught by the novelty of being held, of wanting it, needing it. He nearly shivered under the force of it, and any doubts he had left vanished.
He turned to face her.
"I think it went—"
She stopped when he held up his hand and shook his head, giving him a puzzled look.
"I... need to talk to you first. Before we talk about that. Because I don't want whatever happens in there to ... be a factor."
"A factor in what?"
He took a deep breath. Searched for words that weren't there. He lifted his head and stared back out the window. She waited, with that quietness that always seemed to nudge him in a way no prodding words could.
Finally, stumblingly, he said, "You turned down Keating, and he could give you everything."
Jodi went very still. "I didn't love Reed," she said softly.
He looked at her then. He had no choice. "I don't even have a roof anymore."
"You already saved my life. What more can anyone offer?"
"I... I've still got some things to work out," he said.
"Everybody comes with baggage," she said simply. "You've already dumped about all of it that anyone can."
His mouth quirked. "Got an answer for everything, don't you?"
She smiled, one of those smiles that turned his knees to water. "I even," she said, her voice soft, "have an answer for the question you're afraid to ask."
His breath caught. He stared down at her, and in the vivid blue eyes he saw that answer. All he had to do was ask the question. All he had to do was turn his back on the past and take the shining future she was holding out to him.
But something else had to come first, something he had to tell her.
"I love you," he said. And remembering what she'd said about her father, added, "Ever and always."
She smiled, so warmly he knew she'd gotten the reference. "I know," she said. "You told me rather clearly after the fire."
"I... was thinking. Maybe we could build a new house, a bigger one ... on the property. And down the hill, away from everybody, maybe we could build a rehab facility for your animals. And the flying cage you want, and the deer pen—"
"John Taylor Trager," Jodi said in an exasperated tone, stopping him midsentence. "Would you please define that 'we'?"
He took a deep breath, then the plunge. "That we is Mr. and Mrs. John Taylor Trager. If... you will."
He saw the light flare in her eyes. "Aren't you going to ask me if I love you?"
"Honey," he said a little thickly, "you must, or you would have written me off a long time ago."
Her smile was joyous. "Well, you're a slow learner, but you do learn. I do love you, J.T. And—"
She stopped and they both turned as the doors opened again. Chet came out, and he was smiling. Widely.
"Was it yes?" Jodi asked, a little breathlessly.
"It was," Chet confirmed. "Your standing in town and my recommendation would have done it, but... Reed sent a letter."
J.T. drew back slightly, startled. "He did?"
Chet nodded. "He said he's had a lot of time to think. And he said that he would pick Jodi over a stranger."
J.T. and Jodi exchanged glances; maybe there was hope for the man after all.
"Before I forget," Chet said to J.T., "Sam Flynn wants to talk to you. Something about it being time Keating's Port had a real fire department, and he knows just who should run it."
J.T. stared at the deputy. He heard Jodi murmur, "That takes care of the job part."
"Shall I tell him you'll come by?"
It took him a moment, but finally J.T. nodded. "Yeah. Yes, tell him I will."
The doors opened again. A uniformed woman held them open. And a moment later, a small boy came through. He was dressed impeccably in a suit and tie, and looked far more solemn than seemed right.
Then he spotted them. He seemed to hesitate. As one, Jodi and J.T. moved, striding toward him, reaching out. The boy ran the last few steps, and J.T. swept him up in his arms. Jodi's arms came around both of them in a fierce hug.
At last Garrett leaned back and looked at Jodi.
"Do I really get to stay with you?"
Jodi nodded. "For a while. At least until your father gets better. But you still have to see that counselor twice a week."
"That's okay. Dr. McGee's not bad."
"And you'll be visiting your father once a week, too."
Garrett grimaced, but nodded.
It was going to take some doing for Reed to win back his son's trust, J.T. thought. But for now, the boy would be all right. The future they'd deal with when he was more stable, when the horror wasn't so fresh. Then Garrett looked up at him. "Will you be there, too?"
J.T. glanced from Garrett to Jodi, and for the first time this morning he grinned. "Oh, yes. Yes indeed."
Garrett let out a little sigh. He let his head sag on J. T.’s shoulder. And he never let go of Jodi's hand, clinging to her as if she were the only sane thing in an insane world.
J.T. knew exactly how he felt.

Epilogue
Jodi and J.T. sat on the front porch of their new home, watching Garrett carefully feed the fawn with the cast on her foreleg. The boy was exquisitely careful, looked entranced, and Jodi knew it was going to be time for a rerun of her "we have to let them go" speech soon; Garrett got attached rather easily to the animals. It was people he still had a problem trusting. But he was making steady progress.
"He's doing well," J.T. said.
Jodi nodded. "Dr. McGee says he's come a long way in four months. That he'll be ready for school in the spring."
"He even seems to be getting along with his father."
"He doesn't protest going to see him, at least," Jodi agreed. "I'm still surprised Reed consented to counseling."
J. T.’s mouth quirked wryly. "I'm more surprised he agreed to Garrett staying with us until he wants to come home."
"I guess Reed's come a long way, too."
"A bullet to the chest is a pretty healthy dose of reality, even for a Keating."
They watched the boy put down the bottle and lead the now sated little deer into the pen J.T. had built. The tops of the flying cages Jodi had wanted were visible behind the pen, although they were empty now. She'd gotten her permits renewed, with some help from a former colleague of her father's who had agreed to be her consulting vet, she had a list of volunteers to help now, and her rehab program was in full swing.
J.T. hadn't liked it when she'd wanted to hire Danny Harris to help out with the building, but she insisted she owed the boy for assuming he'd been behind all the damage done. The juvenile authorities had agreed to allow him to work on a supervised basis, and J.T. had finally gone along, but he was careful not to leave the boy alone for long. Surprisingly, he'd turned out to be a hard worker, and almost civil when out from under his mother's influence. J.T. had told her he'd even caught him cuddling one of the injured rabbits.
Jodi leaned back against her husband and sniffed the crisp air. It hadn't snowed yet, but soon, she thought.
"I'm glad your folks are coming up for Christmas," she said. "I want to meet them."
"They want to meet you more," J.T. said. Then he hugged her tightly. "I know you're going to miss your dad."
"Yes," she said, "but I'll be all right." She looked up at him. "What about Matt?"
J.T. sighed. "He's still angry. He's afraid Regina will get off easy, spend her time in some cushy mental hospital instead of jail. It's going to take him a while."
"It happens. It may happen with her. But at least... he knows. About Debbie, I mean."
"Yeah."
Neither of them looked down the hill toward the spot where Debbie Hall had been found. At the end of summer Jodi had planted a couple of rhododendrons there, one early bloomer and one late, so there would be flowers for months on end. J.T. hadn't said much, but the look in his eyes had been acknowledgment enough.
And later, when he was ready, she was going to have a sudden urge to revisit her old college haunts in San Diego. By way of J. T.’s old haunts. He had things he still needed to put to rest, people he needed to see and who needed to see him, and she was going to do whatever she could to see that both happened.
That was her plan. She smiled inwardly, the soft, contented smile of a woman who knew her man loved her enough to let her get away with it.