He took the stairs two at a time. "Are you all right?"

She whispered yes, but clearly she wasn't. She was trembling and looking beyond his shoulder with dismay, watching as her house filled up with armed men.

Her eyes were wide with shock and bewilderment when they reconnected with Dawson's. He placed his hands on her shoulders. "Jeremy's fingerprint was found on the rain slicker."

She nodded her head slowly, as though resigned to acknowledging what she had so persistently denied. Then she gripped his arms. "The boys?"

"Safe. Guards have been posted around the Metcalfs' house."

"They'll be frightened."

"They won't know. The Metcalfs have been informed, but Headly gave the order for the officers to remain invisible. No marked cars, or light bars, nothing like that."

"This is all so..." It seemed she couldn't find a word that adequately described the circumstances. With her misery apparent, she said, "I didn't want to believe it. Any of it. But it's all true, isn't it?" Tears spilled over her lower eyelids.

Dawson placed his hand on the back of her head and tucked it between his neck and shoulder. Sliding his fingers up through her hair, he whispered into it, "If I could make it untrue, I would."

Deputies were dispatched to patrol the beach and surrounding area on foot.

Tucker and Wills, the FBI agents, Amelia, Headly, and Dawson gathered in Amelia's living room. To bring everyone up to speed, Headly summarized Carl and Flora's criminal career and disclosed Jeremy's relationship to them. He shared the theory that Jeremy had killed Stef, mistaking her for Amelia.

He explained to Tucker why they'd been interested in seeing Dirk Arneson. "We thought perhaps Jeremy had assumed another identity and was using the girl to get information on Amelia and his sons."

"Instead of doing that song and dance, why didn't you just tell me?"

Headly threw him a bone. "In hindsight, I probably should have." Tucker looked mollified.

Cecil Knutz was as agreeable a guy as Headly had described him. He was a few years younger than Headly, but wore the aging process more visibly. He was paunchy and balding, but savvy and senior enough to be the RANC.

Dawson admired his gentle and respectful attitude toward Amelia as he questioned her. She gave him an overview of her marriage and divorce, but, unfortunately, had nothing new or enlightening to tell him.

"To me, Jeremy died more than a year ago. If he's alive, I have no idea where he's been or where he is. Although, lately, I've felt a presence, like someone was watching me. I blamed my uneasiness on Willard Strong's trial and having to talk openly about things I'd rather forget."

She told the group about the beach ball mystery and about a set of photographs of her and the children that had disappeared without explanation. "A friend delivered them when no one was at home, but they weren't where they'd been left." Dawson appreciated that she didn't cite him as the "friend."

She also told them about a boat she'd noticed. "It remained anchored offshore for several days. Other than that, nothing's been out of the ordinary." But as she said that, she'd glanced at Dawson.

The team debated whether she and her sons should be moved into a safe house until Jeremy was captured. Headly nixed the idea. "At this point, he thinks he's in the clear. If she's placed in protective custody, we'd just as well go on loudspeakers throughout the Deep South and tell Jeremy that we're on to him."

Tucker said, "All this is assuming he is alive. That hasn't been firmly established."

"What do you need to firmly establish it?" Dawson demanded.

"Something more than a latent fingerprint lifted from a wet raincoat. It could have been there for years."

"Unlikely," one of the FBI agents said. "On a nonporous surface like that? Most likely it would have been wiped off or badly smudged by now."

"It hasn't been digitally enhanced yet," Tucker argued. "I'm not going to accept with one-hundred-percent certainty that Wesson is alive until-"

"He whacks Amelia like he did her nanny?" Dawson said.

"Why are you so eager for me to buy into this? So I won't arrest you?"

Deputy Wills stepped in. "Considering all the unexplained things that have happened to Ms. Nolan lately, plus the fingerprint, which I grant needs further analysis," he said to his partner, "plus the fact that we never located Jeremy Wesson's body, I think we should proceed as though he is alive.

"If we err on the side of caution, the worst that can happen is that we'll look like a bunch of bozos for supposing even for a moment that a dead man killed Miss DeMarco. But the alternative, which is to ignore the possibility, comes with considerably more risks to Ms. Nolan and her children."

Even Tucker agreed that taking safety precautions was warranted.

Headly submitted a plan. "Actually this house is as easy to guard as any. This is the tip of the island. On an open stretch of beach there aren't that many good hiding places. Jeremy can't get here by water-either the sound or the ocean-that we won't see. He can't drive on without coming over on the ferry."

"And he can't walk on water, even though he can rise from the dead." Wills's joke eased lingering tension, but his statement was a further indication that he believed their quarry was Jeremy Wesson, alive and well.

Before they dispersed, Tucker got in one last potshot. He said to Dawson, "If I need you, do I look for you here first?"

The question and its embarrassing implication toward Amelia caused everyone else to go still and silent. Dawson saw red and wanted to knock the deputy on his fat ass. But Headly, sensing his fury, clamped a hand on his forearm and said blandly, "If you need to locate Dawson, you can always go through me."

Everyone left except for the deputies who were to guard the house. Personnel from the sheriff's office in Savannah were dispatched to pick up Hunter and Grant and bring them to the island. Amelia requested that the Metcalfs be allowed to accompany them. "They'll be afraid of strangers."

They were delivered about an hour later by two deputies, one a young woman. The Metcalfs were mild-mannered people, who seemed a bit overawed to find themselves in such a situation.

The boys knew no such restraint. After the two-day separation from their mother, they were excited to see her, talking over each other to gain her attention. Dawson stood back and watched as she hugged them tightly, kissing their faces when they let her, running her hands over them as though to reassure herself that they were well and safe.

The kids' joy over finding Dawson there was almost as exuberant. Amelia introduced him to the Metcalfs by name only. They probably took him for a plainclothes policeman assigned to guard the family. In any case, they hadn't questioned his staying behind when they and the two deputies left.

The boys then conducted him on a tour of the house that included everything from their Playstation to the empty bowl where their goldfish had met his demise at the beginning of the summer.

The tour concluded in their bedroom, where Amelia announced that it was time for bed. They put up an argument. A compromise was reached only after Dawson agreed to read them their bedtime story.

That had been nearly an hour ago. It had taken him that long to get them settled. Now as he entered the kitchen, he said to Amelia, "Ah, alone at last."

Her smile was grim. "Except for all the guards outside."

"A necessary evil."

"The boys finally went to sleep?"

"Took two stories."

"Thanks for doing that."

"My pleasure."

"Did they ask why Stef isn't here?"

"Grant mentioned her in passing, but nothing more was said."

"I'm surprised they're not more curious."

"They're kids." He shrugged philosophically. "To them, two days is a long time. They've been distracted."

"By you being here."

"I filled a gap."

"And then some."

As she plugged in an electric kettle, she gave him a sidelong glance, possibly noting how ill at ease he felt in the homey kitchen. There was a bear-shaped cookie jar on the counter. The boys' artwork was stuck to the refrigerator door with Disney-character magnets. The cookbooks lined up on the open shelf looked well used, not for show.

By comparison, his apartment's galley was sterile.

She motioned him toward the dining table. "Have a seat. I cleared out the pantry today, but I found tea bags and cocoa mix in a canister. That's all I have to offer."

"No apology necessary. My cupboard in Alexandria stays as bare as Old Mother Hubbard's."

"You know nursery rhymes?"

"My mom recited them all the time. I remember that one."

"Do your parents live in Virginia?"

He told her about the fatal accident. "You know parents, always telling you to be careful anytime you get the behind the wheel. More than anything, mine worried about me being in a car wreck. Which turned out to be ironic, since that's what killed them. They were driving home from a movie, on a weeknight, on a street they'd driven a million times. The driver of an oncoming car swerved to miss a squirrel crossing the street, lost control, hit them head-on."

"I'm sorry," she said softly.

"The driver of the other car walked away from it. Devastated, of course. The Headlys took the loss of my parents almost as hard as I did. Headly and my dad had been friends since grade school."

"So it wasn't just a figure of speech. He really is your godfather?"

"He is. He held me at my baptism, which he often says didn't take."

She gave a soft laugh. "You're obviously very close."

"He's a pain in the ass."

"My dad could be one, too, but his admonitions usually proved to be wise."

Seeing the recurring sadness creep over her, he said, "Hey," and reached behind him for the jacket he'd hung on the back of the stool earlier. He pulled a Hershey's bar from the pocket and produced it with a flourish. "I got this out of the minibar in my hotel room earlier today. Forgot about it till now. Want to flip for it?"

"No thanks. I'm not hungry."

"When did you last eat?" When she had to stop and think about it, he said, "That's what I thought. This is good energy. I'll split it with you."

The kettle began to whistle. He chose cocoa over tea. When she set it down in front of him, she said, "I'm sorry I don't have anything stronger. Not even a bottle of wine."

"Doesn't matter. You jinxed it for me."

"Drinking?"

He tilted his head up and met her eyes. "You told me the booze and pills wouldn't help my problem. After that, they stopped working for me."

"I don't think it was anything I said. You came to your senses."

"Maybe. Or maybe the night spent in jail turned me around. But don't expect me to send Tucker a thank-you bouquet."

"What is it between you two?"

"He hated me on sight. Don't know why."

"You're a head and a half taller."

"Ohhh. Is that it?" Seriously, he added, "I wanted to deck him for embarrassing you."

"Doesn't matter. Around the sheriff's office I'm sure it's well known by now that we were together in your house at dawn when they notified me about Stef."

She went back to the counter for her tea, then sat down across from him. He unwrapped the candy bar, broke it in two, and passed a half to her.

She nibbled at it as she thoughtfully regarded him. "Dawson, what are you doing here?"

"Having some cocoa."

She gave him a look.

Unsure how to answer, he rolled his shoulders uncomfortably. Finally, in a quiet voice, he asked, "Do you want me to go?"

She dunked her tea bag in the hot water several times, but left it steeping. "We've known each other for less than a week. I'm in a crisis situation. I don't get why you're hanging around, or why..." She looked at him wryly. "Or why I'm comfortable with it."

"Beats the hell out of me, too." He could tell that his response surprised her. "Believe me, I didn't plan on this."

"This...?"

"You, Hunter and Grant, bedtime stories." He glanced toward the smiling-bear face on the cookie jar. "It's a far cry from a war zone, but damn near as nerve-racking for a man like me."

"Then why are you here?"

Because it was too late now for him to pull back without feeling that he was abandoning them. He should have kept them at arm's length. He hadn't. He was sunk in deep, good and involved, and there was no backing out without looking like a heel. Besides, he didn't want to leave them. He couldn't explain it to her, because he had no explanation for it himself. Except that he wanted her.

There was that. But to become romantically involved would bugger up both their lives. Hers was already in upheaval, and his was a mess. It was neither wise nor honorable even to fantasize about making love to her.

But he did. Constantly.

He cleared his throat. "You need a friend right now. It's as simple as that." He was lying, because it wasn't simple at all.

She studied him for several seconds, then lowered her gaze. "I need a friend, and you need a story."

"That's not why I'm here."