"Please." Gage smirked at the idea. "Some ditz, of the female and very hot variety, pulled out in front of me. Not another car on the road, and she pulls out in this ancient Karmann Ghia-nice wheels, actually-then she jumps out and goes at me like it was my fault."

"Women," Fox said, "are an endless source of every damn thing."

"And then some. So she's tipped down in the little runoff," Gage went on, gesturing with his free hand. "No big deal, but she's popped a flat. No big deal either, except her spare's a pancake. Turns out she's heading into the Hollow, so I manage to load her two-ton suitcase into my car. Then she's rattling off an address and asking me, like I'm MapQuest, how long it'll take to get there."

He took a slow sip of whiskey. "Lucky for her I grew up here and could tell her I'd have her there in five. She snaps out her phone, calls somebody she calls Q, like James freaking Bond, tells her, as it turns out from the look I got of Q in the doorway-very nice, by the way-to wake up, she'll be there in five minutes. Then-"

Cal rattled off an address. "That the one?"

Gage lowered his glass. "As a matter of fact."

"Something in the wind," Cal murmured. "I guess it was you, and Quinn's Cybil."

"Cybil Kinski," Gage confirmed. "Looks like a gypsy by way of Park Avenue. Well, well." He downed the rest of the whiskey in his glass. "Isn't this a kick in the ass?"

"HE CAME OUT OF NOWHERE." THERE WAS Aglass of red wine on the dresser Quinn had picked up in anticipation of Cybil's arrival.

As that arrival had woken Layla, Quinn sat beside her on what would be Cybil's bed while the woman in question swirled around the room, hanging clothes, tucking them in drawers, taking the occasional sip of wine.

"I thought that was it, just it, even though I've never seen any death by car in my future. I swear, I don't know how we missed being bloody pulps tangled in burning metal. I'm a good driver," Cybil said to Quinn.

"You are."

"But I must be better than I thought, and so-fortunately-was he. I know I'm lucky all I got was a scare and a flat tire out of it, but damn Rissa for, well, being Rissa."

"Rissa?" Layla looked blank.

"Cyb's sister, Marissa," Quinn explained. "You loaned her your car again."

"I know, I know. Iknow ," she said, puffing out a breath that blew curls off her forehead. "I don't know how she manages to talk me into these things. My spare was flat, thanks to Rissa."

"Which explains why you were dropped off from a really sexy sports car."

"He could hardly leave me there, though he looked like the type who'd consider it. All scruffy, gorgeous, and dangerous looking."

"Last time I had a flat," Quinn remembered, "the very nice guy who stopped to help had a paunch over his belt the size of a sack of cement, and ass crack reveal."

"No paunch on this one, and though his coat prevented me from a good look, I'm betting Gage Turner has a superior ass."

"Gage Turner." Layla put a hand on Quinn's thigh. "Quinn."

"Yeah." Quinn let out a breath. "Okay, I guess it's hail, hail, the gang's all here."

IN THE MORNING, QUINN LEFT HER HOUSEMATESsleeping while she jogged over to the community center. She already knew she'd regret jogging over, because that meant she'd have to jog back-after her workout. But it seemed a cheat on the lifestyle change to drive three blocks to the gym.

And she wanted the thinking time.

There was no buying, for any price, Cybil and Gage Turner had run into each other-almost literally-in the middle of the night just outside of town as a coincidence.

One more thing to add to the list of oddities, Quinn thought as she puffed out air in frosty vapors.

Another addition would be the fact that Cybil had a very sharp sense of direction, but had apparently made wrong turn after wrong turn to end up on that side road at the exact moment Gage was coming up the main.

One more, Quinn decided as she approached the back entrance of the community center, would be Cybil saying "he came out of nowhere." Quinn was willing to take that literally. If Cybil didn't see him, then maybe-in her reality, for just those vital moments-hehadn't been there.

So why had it been important for them to meet separately, outside the group? Wasn't it strange enough that they'd both arrived on the same night, at the same time?

She dug out her membership key-thanks, Cal-to open the door to the fitness area, pressed her guest pass number on the keypad.

The lights were still off, which was a surprise. Normally when she arrived, they were already on, and at least one of the trio of swivel TVs was tuned to CNN or ESPN or one of the morning talk shows. Very often there was somebody on one of the treadmills or bikes, or pumping weights.

She flipped on the lights, called out. And her voice echoed hollowly. Curious, she walked through, pushed open the door, and saw the lights were also off in the tiny attendant's office, and in the locker room.

Maybe somebody had a late date the night before, she decided. She helped herself to a locker key, stripped down to her workout gear, then grabbed a towel. Opting to start her session with cardio, she switched on theToday show before climbing onto the single elliptical trainer the club boasted.

She programmed it, resisting the urge to cheat a few pounds off her weight. As if it mattered, Quinn reminded herself. (Of course, it mattered.)

She started her warm-up pleased with her discipline, and her solitude. Still, she expected the door to slam open any minute, for Matt or Tina, who switched off as attendants, to rush in. By the time she was ten minutes in, she'd kicked up the resistance and was focused on the TV screen to help her get through the workout.

When she hit the first mile, Quinn took a long gulp of water from the sports bottle she'd brought with her. As she started on mile two, she let her mind drift to what she hoped to accomplish that day. Research, the foundation of any project. And she wanted to draft what she thought would be the opening of her book. Writing it out might spark some idea. At some point, she wanted to walk around the town again, with Cybil- and Layla if she was up for it.

A visit to the cemetery was in order with Cybil in tow. Time to pay a call on Ann Hawkins.

Maybe Cal would have time to go with them. Needed to talk to him anyway, discuss how he felt, what he thought, about Gage-whom she wanted to get a look at-and Cybil's arrival. Mostly, she admitted, she just wanted to see him again. Show him off to Cybil.

Look! Isn't he cute? Maybe it was completely high school, but it didn't seem to matter. She wanted to touch him again, even if it was just a quick squeeze of hands. And she was looking forward to a hello kiss, and finding a way to turn that worried look in his eyes into a glint of amusement. Sheloved the way his eyes laughed before the rest of him did, and the way he...

Well. Well, well, well. She was absolutely gone over him, she realized. Seriously hooked on the hometown boy. That was kind of cute, too, she decided, except it made her stomach jitter. Still, the jitter wasn't altogether a bad thing. It was a combination ofoh-oh andoh boy! , and wasn't that interesting?

Quinn's falling in love, she thought, and hit mile two with a dopey smile on her face. She might've been puffing, sweat might have been dribbling down her temples, but she felt just as fresh and cheerful as a spring daisy.

Then the lights went out.

The machine stopped; the TV went blank and silent.

"Oh, shit." Her first reaction wasn't alarm as much as, what now? The dark was absolute, and though she could draw a reasonable picture in her mind where she was in relation to the outside door-and what was between her and the door-she was wary about making her way to it blind.

And then what? she wondered as she waited for her breathing to level. She couldn't possibly fumble her way to the locker room, to her locker and retrieve her clothes. So she'd have to go out in a damn sports bra and bike pants.

She heard the first thud; the chill washed over her skin. And she understood she had much bigger problems than skimpy attire.

She wasn't alone. As her pulse began to bang, she hoped desperately whatever was in the dark with her was human. But the sounds, that unholy thudding that shook the walls, the floor, the awfulscuttling sounds creeping under it weren't those of a man. Gooseflesh pricked her skin, partly from fear, partly from the sudden and intense cold.

Keep your head, she ordered herself. For God's sake, keep your head. She gripped the water bottle-pitiful weapon, but all she had-and started to ease off the foot pads on the machine to the floor.