Amy blinked. The grapefruit spoon trembled slightly in her hand. "No one important. Just a man I was seeing casually the last time I went to the island. I invited him to go with me."

"You still seeing him?" Jed appeared only vaguely interested.

"No." She hesitated painfully. "There was an accident."

"What kind of accident?"

"A diving accident. Bob was killed diving in some caves near my family's home. He didn't like the fact mat my father had put the caves off limits to all visitors as well as the family. He went down on his own one night. I was the, one who found his body in the cave entrance pool the next day."

"Jesus."

"Yes. It was a shock, to say the least." She carefully spooned up a piece of her grapefruit. "My father owns the land where the underwater caves are located. He's never allowed any diving in them. He doesn't even like members of the family showing the entrance to our guests. I doubt if many of the people in Orleana's one town even know where it is. If they do, they've always respected my father's wish to keep tourists away from the caves. Dad thinks its better if people don't know where they are. Some dumb tourist might be tempted to dive. Cave diving is very hazardous."

"I know. I've done a little."

She looked up in surprise. "Have you?"

"It's been a while. Not my idea of a fun hobby."

"No. I don't think it would be."

"Amy, I can imagine what it was like for you finding the guy's body..."

Amy managed a shrug. "It's been eight months. It all seems like a dream now." A nightmare.

"Were you in love with the guy? Was he more than just a casual friend?"

"Bob LePage was not my lover," she replied stonily. "He was an acquaintance with whom I had something in common: Diving. That's all."

"All right, calm down. I didn't mean to get too personal." He reached for more sugar and groaned. When Amy glanced at him in alarm he said, "I feel like I've been used for a football."

Amy seized the opportunity to change the topic. "Speaking of your diminished capacity..."

Jed winced. "I can think of better ways to describe my current condition."

"I'm a writer. I value accuracy. What I was about to say is that I think you should stop by Dr. Mullaney's office this morning and have him take a look at that leg."

"The leg's okay. The company doctor got all the gla.s.s out and told me how to take care of it. I changed the dressing after my shower this morning. It's almost healed. A few more days and I can stop wearing a bandage."

"I still think you should have Mullaney look at it," Amy said stubbornly.

He turned his head to look at her. "You're a bossy little thing, you know that?" he asked almost indulgently. "I'm only just beginning to realize it."

Amy flushed and speared her spoon back into the grapefruit. "Sorry. Your leg is your own business."

"I agree."

"I may be bossy, but there's a real streak of stubborn macho arrogance in you, you know that?"

Jed grinned, one of his quick, fleeting smiles that temporarily ruined the Calvinist minister image. "I've lived alone for so long I've never really learned to handle a woman's nagging."

"I've never believed it was too late to teach an old dog new tricks."

"Your faith in my adaptability and intelligence humbles me. Actually, I don't think you're nagging, exactly.

More like fussing."

"I'll call Mullaney's office after breakfast and make an appointment."

"You do that and you can d.a.m.n well keep the appointment yourself."

Amy sighed. "Jed, be reasonable. You were ill last night. You had a fever. Who knows what kind of infection you might have picked up in the Middle East?"

"I overdid things yesterday, that's all," Jed stated in a reasonable tone. "The doctors told me it was too soon to head back to the States, but I insisted. I got a little worn out and ran a slight fever. Nothing serious. I'm fine this morning."

"I hadn't realized what an incredibly bullheaded man you are."

"You never see a person's worst flaws until you've lived with him or her," Jed explained philosophically.

"Until this morning, for example, I had no idea you squeezed your toothpaste from the middle of the tube instead of from the bottom."

Amy surrendered. "All right, all right, I give up. It's none of my business whether you see the doctor.

And don't feel obliged to force yourself to eat the oatmeal. You can pick up a bag of doughnuts on the way back to your place."

Jed looked startled. "Kicking me out just because I resist a little of your advice, Nurse Amy?"

She smiled wryly. "Let's face it. Neither one of us is used to having a live-in mate. In a few more hours we'll probably be peeling long, painful strips off each other. Best to part while we're still on speaking terms." She hesitated, and then added impulsively, "You can come over for dinner this evening if you like."

"You've got a deal."

She saw the flickering trace of heat in his eyes and knew that this time it wasn't caused by fever. Some of the familiar, high-strung excitement she had learned to expect around Jed when he looked at her like that erupted in her bloodstream. The man did things to her senses she still couldn't quite understand.

The problem was that they hadn't spent enough time together, Amy rationalized. Jed's frequent, extended trips had chopped up the relationship so much that each time he returned she felt as if they were meeting for the first time again. The primitive, very feminine uncertainty and wariness always returned in full force each time she saw him after one of his business journeys. But so did the compelling, indescribable attraction. Telling herself that this wasn't really the kind of man to whom she should feel physically attracted didn't help.

Amy drove Jed back to his small, weathered house after breakfast. She watched a bit anxiously as he fumbled with the keys, flight bag and cane. Leaning against the car and having every intention of keeping her mouth shut, she heard herself ask, "Do you think you should spend tonight alone?"

He glanced at her quickly and then focused on the front door. "I wasn't going to spend it alone. I'm having dinner at your place, remember?" He hauled himself up the steps and shoved the key into the lock.

"I meant after dinner," Amy said stolidly. "I'm worried your fever might return."

"I can't throw you out of your bed two nights in a row, Amy." He pushed open the door and limped into the plainly furnished front room. "Come on in and I'll make you a cup of coffee. It's the least I can do after all the hospitality you've shown me."

Amy trailed after him, glancing around the familiar interior. Jed's house was the same ancient vintage as her own and the furniture had a similar seaside Salvation Army look. But Jed's home looked unlived in to Amy. There were no pictures on the walls, no plants, no cat.

The only intriguing elements were the two bird cages that stood empty on one shelf. One was a fanciful Victorian design with looping gingerbread trim and a flight of wire steps. The other was another Baroque piece, this one, according to Jed, in the French style. Both cages were charming, but a little lifeless without either birds or plants to fill them. They looked as barren as bis house.

By the time Amy had finished her coffee she sensed things between herself and Jed had returned to their familiar, careful equilibrium. She knew that she, for one, would chew a hole in her tongue before she nagged him about seeing Dr. Mullaney again. To be accused of nagging when she had always taken such pains to keep her distance annoyed her.

On the way home Amy stopped at the small grocery store in Caliph's Bay, where she lucked out and found a supply of fresh clams and shrimp. Adding a sack of rice and some chorizo sausage to the rickety cart she was pushing, she mentally ticked off the items she needed to complete the paella. She still had a packet of saffron left from the last time she had prepares the dish for Jed. He had a weakness for it, she'd learned.

On the way out to the car she eyed the health food store across the street and wondered if she could get her money back on the tryptophane. Probably not. Besides, in all honesty, she couldn't swear it hadn't worked. She had slept a little better than usual last night, even if she had found herself glancing at the clock on the wall every few hours. In contrast, the herbal tea she'd been using the week before tadn't helped a bit. She decided she would give the tryptophane another try before making up her mind about its effectiveness.

Working out a logistics problem in chapter ten of Private Demons kept Amy busy for the rest of the afternoon. By the time she switched off the word processor for the day she was reasonably satisfied with her solution to the heroine's dilemma. The nightmare Amy had created in the book had substance, but there was a way to contain it.

A good therapist, Amy knew, would undoubtedly figure out right away that she was using the novel to try and work through the things she couldn't seem to work through in her head. Nightmares could be handled in a book such as Private Demons; real life was proving to be another matter.

She had finished scrubbing clams and sh.e.l.ling shrimp and was opening a bottle of Chardonnay when Jed's familiar knock sounded on the door. A small frisson of antic.i.p.ation trickled through her nerves.

Wiping her hands on the red kitchen towel, Amy went to answer the door, not quite certain what to expect from Jed.

She opened the door, took one glance at the weary way he was leaning on the cane, and knew that Jed Glaze wasn't going to be launching any a.s.saults on her that evening. A sense of relief went through Amy.

She firmly ignored the equally disturbing sense of disappointment she felt.

"You look like warmed over oatmeal," Amy declared as he moved slowly over the threshold.

"That's a fairly accurate description of how I feel. I hate to admit this, but I took your advice and went to Mullaney's this afternoon. Don't gloat. I can't take gloating just now."

"I'm not gloating, I'm relieved. What did he say?" She closed the door and watched with concern as Jed lowered himself carefully into one of the deep, badly sprung armchairs.

"He said," Jed announced, "that everything's healing okay, but that I'm pushing myself too fast. I need," he shot a grim look at Amy's questioning face, "tender loving care. Rest. Good food. Someone to keep an eye on me for a few days. Someone, in short, to fuss over me. Did you by any chance phone Mullaney and prompt him?"

"Not me. I swore off fussing at eleven this morning. I decided I lack experience and skill in that art. But I'll admit I'm glad you had Mullaney look at the leg. I've got some very nice, very expensive painkiller here." Amy walked back into the kitchen to pick up the bottle of Chardonnay. "Want some?"

"An excellent idea. I'll use it instead of pills this evening." He leaned back in the chair as she poured the wine. When she returned to the living room he accepted the gla.s.s with obvious grat.i.tude. Then he said baldly, "I figure I could take the couch tonight."

Amy raised her eyebrows. "You're serious? You want to spend another night here?"

Jed contemplated the wine in his gla.s.s. "I think Mullaney's a little nervous about that fever I had last night.

He wants me to have someone within yelling distance in case it comes back tonight."

Amy smiled. "What am I supposed to do for you if you yell?"

"Feed me some pills he gave me." Jed touched the side pocket of his slacks. "Just what I need. More pills. I'm sorry to impose, Amy. If you'd rather I didn't stay another night, just say so. I'll be fine on my own."

"I've already told you, you're welcome to stay another night," she said softly. "And you can have the bed."

"Couch."

"You won't fit on the couch. Don't argue with me, Jed. This is my house, remember?"

"And you're bossy by nature."

"Think you can stand another night of my nagging?"

He grinned. "I brought some earplugs."

Several hours later Jed wished he hadn't been joking about the earplugs. The scream that woke him was the kind that taught a man the meaning of cold chills down the spine.

He rose from the bed in an instinctive movement that sent a shaft of pain through his ribs. Then he was through the bedroom door and into the living room, prepared for anything from an intruder to a manifestation of one of the creative horrors that abounded in Amy's books.

What he found was Amy huddled on her knees on the couch, her arms wrapped protectively around herself as she stared blindly at the red glow of the dying fire. Her fading scream was still echoing eerily in the room.

Chapter Three.

She knew she was drowning; she also knew she couldn't be drowning because she could still breathe.

Air flowed into her lungs on command. How much more proof did she need? She longed to claw her way back to fresh air, but that was impossible. There was something important that had to be done first.

So she continued to swim forward into the darkness, clutching her unwieldy burden.

The dark walls of the watery grave closed in around her, threatening to trap her forever. The water seemed to thicken and grow opaque, defying the frail beam of her light. Evidence of an old underwater slide of gravel and mud flashed into view as she swam past the hideously black entrance of a tunnel.

It would be all too easy to touch off another such slide, one that would seal the pa.s.sage through which she was swimming. Then she would never get back out. She would be trapped forever with the body and the locked box.

Trapped forever in an endless underwater labyrinth...

Amy awoke with the scream fading on her lips, jerking to her knees in an instinctive effort to rise to the surface of the flooded cave. She fought desperately to free herself of the burden that threatened to drag her down to the depths, but she knew she couldn't let go of the box.

Even as her mind latched onto reality she was aware of Jed appearing in the doorway. For an instant she couldn't speak. The effort to separate the dream from reality was too demanding. It took every ounce of her strength. But she was getting good at that part, even if she wasn't having much success stopping the dreams themselves. The tense silence didn't last long.

"Amy?" His voice was rough with concern.

"I'm sorry, Jed." She barely heard her own voice. It was just a thin whisper of sound. She shook her head, trying to inject some energy into her words. "A bad dream. An occupational hazard of writing science fiction and fantasy." Amy managed a weak smile as she turned to glance at him.

He looked very large and rea.s.suring standing there in the shadows. He hadn't taken time to grab his cane and he was bracing himself with one large, strong hand on the doorframe. In the dim light she could see the speculative, a.s.sessing quality of his expression. There was a primitive, vibrating alertness in him that some part of her identified instinctively: Jed had appeared in the doorway ready to do battle.

Even as she watched, Jed seemed to quietly sink back into himself. It was as though he turned a key somewhere inside that switched off the battle-ready tension. Slowly he moved toward her, walking a little awkwardly without the cane.

"That's quite a mouth you've got, lady." As he neared the couch, the glow from the hearth briefly caught and highlighted the wry amus.e.m.e.nt in his eyes. "Must have been some dream."

Amy huddled on the couch, drawing her knees up under the flannel nightgown and wrapping her arms around them. "It was."

"Want to talk about it?"

She shook her head. "No, I just want to forget it."

He nodded understandingly as he sat down beside her. His weight put a large dent in the cushions.