"Won't it make things worse?"

She smiled. "You let me worry about that. You worry about what you're going to make me do."

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN.

RACHEL AND ETHAN arrived at the gate to the Arboretum at one-thirty. It was closed, so they parked in the lot just outside it. They might get a ticket, but it was unlikely that Rachel's car would be towed before morning.

The huge preserve-1,200 acres of forest and carefully restored prairie in the middle of the city-was popular with hikers, joggers, and bicyclists. In the winter, the trails were given over to cross-country skiers. Ethan didn't know how often it was patrolled, but Marty had mentioned several times that the place needed a greater police presence. He hoped that meant they wouldn't get busted for trespassing.

Both of them were exhausted, running on adrenaline and tension. For Ethan it was the same uncertainty he'd experienced in the army, when he was unsure where the danger would come from, or what form it would take. His eyes adjusted to the darkness and scanned the shadows for movement-a task made more difficult by the wind that made everything in the darkness move. It also made the air cooler than it had been in weeks.

"Her car's not here," he observed.

"Maybe she parked somewhere else."

"There aren't that many places to park, and the other end of the Arboretum is much farther from the place we're supposed to meet. You think she stood us up?"

"She has as much reason to be here as I do," Rachel said.

"There's something weird about her, Rachel. I can't put my finger on it, but I don't trust her."

"Neither do I," she admitted, "but I have to see this through."

Ethan pulled Rachel's gun from the glove box. It was a short-barreled .45 revolver, and he spun the cylinder to make sure the action was clean. When Rachel had suggested bringing it, he insisted on being the one to use it. She protested, but he pointed out the obvious: He'd shot people before. She hadn't.

He stuck the gun in the waistband of his jeans and let his T-shirt hang over it. Then they went around the gate and followed the two-lane road through the preserve. City noises surrounded them, yet with the trees and wind it was impossible to see anything except the next pinkish streetlight ahead. Their footsteps were loud against the pavement.

Ethan looked back over his shoulder. He had the sense of being watched and followed-something he was unerringly accurate about. It had saved his life more than once, and he felt it now almost like a physical hand on his back. No one was on the road behind them, and nothing was visible in the thick woods. He knew that on the right was thick forest, while across the road to their left stretched a marshy area crisscrossed with walkways for tourists and nature lovers. Hiding would be a cinch; following them, either through the swamp or undergrowth, almost impossible. And yet he was certain someone was.

"We're being followed," he said softly to Rachel.

He was impressed that she didn't look around. "By whom?"

"I don't know. But I'm sure of it."

She sighed. "Not much to do about it, is there?"

"Not really."

THEY REACHED THE trail that led down to the observation deck where they were to meet Betty. The woods were dark and impenetrable-so thick that even the moonlight didn't penetrate.

"Spooky," he said quietly.

Rachel took his hand. They had made love for almost an hour back at her place. She'd teased him and held him back as long as possible. She never imagined she'd hear a man like him beg for anything, but he had, and at last she'd allowed it. He'd clung to her so tightly that she worried he was having a breakdown, but he'd merely been overwhelmed by the sensation. They both dissolved into laughter and kisses when it passed.

"Don't worry, big guy," she said now. "I'll protect you."

He grinned. "If anyone can, it's you."

Rachel picked her way down the trail. It was tricky enough during the day, when you could see the mud and exposed roots that tried to trip the unwary. At night it was even more dangerous, and a turned ankle would leave her helpless in a way she definitely didn't want. A flashlight was out of the question, since technically they were trespassing. Her lithe runner's body was more suited to this than Ethan's bulkier form, so she led the way. His grip on her hand was firm but not crushing, and she sensed the trust in it.

She stopped. He did as well, remaining a step behind her. She heard water lapping at the shore ahead of them. There was a break in the trees, and beyond it they saw the waters of Lake Wingra. Its odor rode the wind, different in subtle ways from the friendlier lakes Monona and Mendota. She'd avoided this lake for most of her life; one swim in it had convinced her that it was fundamentally different from its fellows. It hadn't felt dangerous exactly, just disorienting and out of synch. Now she understood why.

"This place gives me the willies," Ethan whispered. "I can believe an evil spirit would come out of it."

I just hope we can put him back in it, Rachel thought.

They continued on until they saw a small concrete platform with a solid metal railing imbedded in it, looking out over a shallow channel. To one side rose a tall, ancient oak tree. Beneath it, as if emerging from it, a spring bubbled up and flowed down the channel to the lake.

Rachel leaned against the rail and looked out at the quietly churning water. She saw no sign of Betty. "What time is it?" she whispered.

Ethan checked his watch. "Exactly two o'clock."

"Don't worry, I'm here," Betty said.

Rachel jumped and let out an involuntary yelp. She felt Ethan start as well.

Betty emerged from the darkness dressed in a long black sundress and carrying a satchel. She clicked on a flashlight beneath her chin. It made her face look long and angular. "Boo," she said. Then she turned off the light.

Rachel fought to control her surge of anger at the woman's cavalier tone. "We're here. So what do we need to do now?"

Betty looked down at the water streaming from beneath the tree. "You know this is the spot, don't you? Where the spirits all originated? That's the spirit spring."

"I thought they were the spirits of good men and women granted immortality," Rachel said as casually as she could.

Betty frowned. "Now where did you hear that?"

"I think I read it somewhere."

Betty shrugged. "Anyway, let's get to work. Take off your clothes."

Rachel's eyebrows rose. "What, just ... like that?"

"Are you shy all of a sudden? I assume he's seen you naked, and I'm another woman."

Who's also seen me naked, Rachel thought, because you were spying on me.

Betty continued, her tone mocking, "Plus, we all know Kyle Stillwater has seen you without your clothes on, right?"

"Why don't you just explain the overall strategy here?" Ethan said quietly.

"They won't come to her unless she's naked," Betty said in exasperation. To Rachel she added, "You know that as well as I do."

"It's okay," Rachel said to Ethan. She glanced back at him, but his face was hidden in the darkness. Taking a deep breath, she quickly undressed, leaving her clothes in a pile beside her. She felt a rush of embarrassment at her nudity, and shivered as the wind suddenly gusted over her skin. Goose bumps rose, and her nipples tightened painfully.

"Nice," Betty said admiringly. "Even by moonlight."

"Get on with it," Rachel said, crossing her arms.

Betty knelt by the satchel and opened it. There was a smell from it that Rachel couldn't identify, but it nauseated her, and she stepped back involuntarily. She winced as a twig poked into the sole of her bare foot.

Betty stood with a long feather in her hand. "We have to ritually cleanse you before you set out. It'll make your allure more powerful. Follow me," she said, and nodded for Rachel to step around the railing, down to the spring tree.

Rachel picked her way over the rocks, wincing when a sharp edge dug into her tender feet. In her lake everything was soft grass and gentle mud; even the stones were smooth and easy to traverse. It seemed like everything in Lake Wingra was out to inflict pain.

Betty impatiently waited for her beside the tangle of roots. The sound of the spring was loud, and the water looked like quicksilver in the moonlight filtering through the overhang.

"Hold up your hands," the woman said, and Rachel raised her arms as if she was being robbed. "Clear your mind of everything but what you want. What you really want."

Betty whispered something in a language Rachel didn't understand, then began to caress her with the feather. Its touch was so delicate and insubstantial that Rachel began to tremble. Betty started at Rachel's forehead, then moved down her cheeks and neck. The strokes touched the tips of her already erect nipples, the soft undersides of her breasts, the gentle slope of her belly. As it threatened to go lower she thought she might burst.

She felt rather than saw Betty's lascivious smile as the feather brushed her nether hair. "Oh," Rachel sighed. By the time the feather stroked her shins and the tops of her feet, she was weak-kneed with arousal.

"I think you're ready," Betty said.

Rachel glanced up at Ethan, standing silently at the railing. Did he know how she felt? Could he sense it on the wind still coming off Lake Wingra? Did he understand that this might be her life, caught at this feverish level of desire with no chance for either lessening or resolution?

WHAT IS IT about this woman? Ethan thought as Betty wafted the feather over Rachel. There was something erotic in the two women's actions but not in the usual way. Like most men, he didn't necessarily mind the idea of two women together, but Betty set off all his interior alarms.

The wind shifted a little, and he froze. A strange, vaguely familiar smell reached him, but he couldn't quite place it. He concentrated to find the source. It seemed to come from the satchel Betty had left on the concrete. He edged discreetly toward it, glad for the comfort of the gun tucked into his pants.

BETTY STOOD BEHIND Rachel, her hands on Rachel's shoulders. She could also feel the other woman's body against her own. It felt strange and uncomfortable. "Call him," Betty said softly, so close to her ear that Rachel jumped.

"Should I tell him to bring the heart?"

"What?"

"The dead man's heart, where the spirits are kept."

"Oh. No, that's for later. We have to get him here first."

Rachel had to lick her dry lips and swallow hard. "Kyle," she said.

Betty pushed her lightly forward. "Not that way, honey. He won't hear you. You have to be in the water."

Rachel turned and stepped down into the stream coming from beneath the tree. It was barely ankle-deep, but it would be enough. If the spirits wanted her, they could find her. The waters were all connected, especially here at the source.

She looked out at the lake. The dark waters of Wingra seemed more like a gulf that would pull her in than a welcoming place where spirits might dwell. She felt a rush of terror, and her physical exposure only added to it.

"Kyle," she said again. "Kyle Stillwater."

"Keep going," Betty said.

Rachel swallowed hard and continued out toward the open water. Each step across the rocky channel bottom seemed to grow more difficult.

When the water reached her waist and touched her intimately, she froze in fear and revulsion. The wind increased, and she hugged herself for warmth.

ETHAN SLOWLY KNELT beside the satchel, his eyes never leaving Betty. He knew how to move in silence and how to keep his movements slow and steady to avoid drawing attention from the corner of someone's eye. He seemed to still have the knack. She was oblivious to him, focused entirely on Rachel's form easing out into the darkness.

The wind gusted in the treetops. The weather said nothing about a storm, but the air seemed charged nonetheless.

Rachel was a slender, feminine silhouette moving down the channel toward open water. She looked small and vulnerable, her narrow waist and broad shoulders emphasizing her femininity. He felt all the intangible warnings of danger, and he wanted more than anything to scoop up Rachel and carry her to safety. But he also knew that a warrior had to fight his, or her, own battles. And in her way, Rachel was a formidable warrior.

The satchel was halfway unzipped, enough for his hand to slip inside. He went slowly, feeling for anything sharp; he didn't want to cut open a finger on a knife. First he encountered what felt like a plastic grocery bag. As he pressed harder, it crinkled, and he froze. But the wind masked the sound, and Betty had not noticed him.

Rachel, the water now to the middle of her back, was almost to the open lake. His heart thudded with anxiety.

He pushed harder. Whatever was inside the bag was solid yet spongy. His fingers slid over it, establishing its shape as vaguely round and about the size of his fist. He reached the bottom of the bag and felt something wet and sticky.

Suddenly the smell resolved in his mind. Blood. Not fresh but definitely blood. He continued to explore, working his hand into the bag and feeling the wet, tough, sticky object it contained. With a shock, he comprehended what was in the bag.

A human heart. Garrett Bloom's heart.

But Betty had said the evil spirit, Kyle Stillwater, killed Bloom and used his heart to trap Rachel's spirits. If that was true, then why did she have it?

And if it wasn't true ...

RACHEL WAS CHIN-DEEP in the water now, and so scared tears ran freely down her cheeks. How could she have let this happen? Whatever lived in this lake, whatever she was approaching at her most open and vulnerable, it was not the kind, loving spirits she'd known in the other lakes. She felt them swirling around her, malicious and cruel, biding their time. But for what?

Then she froze. Hands touched her waist. A presence loomed up behind her, no spirit but flesh and blood. Definitely flesh and blood; she felt his erection press against the small of her back.

"Hello, Rachel," Kyle Stillwater said.

The words shot through her, and she would've fallen if he hadn't caught her under the arms and turned her to face him. She was weak with a surge of unwanted desire, limp in his hands, and the water lifted her feet from the bottom. Her legs drifted apart on their own, and she could hardly breathe.

She looked up at him, silhouetted against the starry sky overhead. She didn't want him rationally, but the primal need swelling in her with every second could not be controlled much longer. He was right there; all she had to do was guide him where she wanted him to be....

She could not see his face, but his voice purred with confidence. "We never did finish what we started the other night, did we? Is that what you're here to do?"

Yes, she wanted to scream. Yes, take me, fuck me, end this awful sense of hovering and send me over the edge! She had to grit her teeth against the words.

"Just say it," he murmured. "Say what you want." She could feel him hard and ready, bobbing in the water. He lifted her slightly and eased her forward, ready to claim his prize.

And then Ethan's voice rang out from shore. "Rachel, don't! It's a trap!"

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT.