"Do you hurt?"

"All over."

"Good."

"Why didn't they kill me?"

"Because I ordered them not to."

"I wonder why?" Again, another sly smile, then he focused on Dawson. "Tell me, boy, how does it feel?"

Dawson had been following their exchange, but also studying the nest of plastic tubing at Carl's bedside. Now he looked at the man. "How does what feel?"

"Fucking your dead brother's wife."

It took incredible control for him not to lunge at the man and wrap his fingers around his throat. Instead, he leaned down until his face was within inches of Carl's. "You left me to die."

"Well, I sure as hell didn't want you. You were an ugly little monkey, and I'd been up all night trying to squeeze you out of her. I hated you before I ever laid eyes on you. Flora was carrying on like a madwoman."

"You took her newborn from her."

"Wrong. I told her you were born dead, told her it would be better if she never even saw you. I just scooped you up like so much fish guts and dumped you down that hole in the floor, hoping to hell you wouldn't take a breath and start crying."

Even now, knowing everything he did about this man, it was inconceivable to Dawson how any human being could be that cold and heartless. "How could you do that?"

"How could I?" His low chuckle was rife with menace. "You said today that Headly would get the last laugh on me, but you're wrong. The last laugh is on you." He looked Dawson up and down with scorn. "You're no kid of mine."

Dawson stopped breathing for several seconds, then he wheezed, "What?"

"You heard me. You came from someone else's slime. Don't know whose. Could've been any number of men."

"You're lying," Headly said. "I studied Flora as thoroughly as I studied you. For whatever warped reason, she loved you and would have followed you into hell. She would never have slept with another man."

"Not unless I told her to."

The two of them stared at him, stunned by the flippant statement and its significance. "Jesus," Headly hissed.

Dawson had no words. Reeling from the shock, he wasn't sure if he should feel elation or revulsion, if he should shout with joy or weep over the misery and humiliation that the woman who'd borne him had been forced to endure.

"Sometimes I let guys use her to blow off steam. Or as a reward. She got pregnant with you on just such an occasion when three or four of them-"

"Shut up."

Dawson's wrath seemed only to amuse him. "Maybe Flora knew which one took, but I doubt it. If she did, maybe she wrote his name down in that diary of hers."

Dawson flinched. "Diary?"

"The sneaky bitch," he snarled. "I guess she'd been writing in it for years. She died with it clutched to her bosom. You're digging her up, right?" he asked of Headly. "I tossed the book in with her. Should be a real entertaining read. Or maybe not. She was so damned ignorant."

It was obvious that Carl was enjoying himself. He was deliberately goading them, watching closely and hoping for a volatile reaction. Dawson refused to gratify him.

Instead, he looked down at Headly. "I've heard all I can stomach. You?"

"He was too much for me to stomach at Golden Branch."

Dawson had been fiddling with the network of tubes and had isolated one from the rest. "You have enough control to do it?"

"Left hand. Thumb and index finger."

Dawson carefully looped a section of the tube around those fingers twice, so that Headly could get a good grip.

Rather than being alarmed, Carl cackled. "Headly, you always did play right into my plan."

"How's that, Carl?"

"I knew you wouldn't rest until you saw me dead. I knew you'd come to finish me off yourself. And here you are." Carl raised his head as far as his bandaged shoulder would allow and blew Headly a kiss. "Thank you."

"My pleasure."

Just as Headly gave the tube a yank that snapped it free of a machine, the door burst open. The marshals were the first into the room. One shouted Headly's name. Amelia rushed in behind them, her gaze wild and fearful. "Dawson, don't!"

The three drew up short and took in the scene.

Carl was gaping at the end of the tube dangling from Headly's hand, his lips working wordlessly. Finally he said stupidly, "Nothing happened."

"Of course not." Dawson took the tube from Headly's left hand and, slowly winding it around his fist, pulled the other end free from the tangle of tubes on the floor. "It's not attached to anything. See?" He dangled the two loose ends inches away from Carl's face. "They really should remove these once they're no longer in use. What if somebody pulled out your chest tube by mistake?"

Carl looked in stunned horror at Headly, who smiled. "Carl, Carl, did you actually think I came in here to kill you? And by doing so deny myself the pleasure of watching you rot in chains for the rest of your goddamned life?" Headly shook his head. "No way in hell, Carl. No way in hell."

Epilogue.

He drove with the car windows down. The salt air was soft, the surf calm as it sometimes was just after daybreak. As he neared Amelia's beach house, his eyes were inexorably drawn to the one where Carl Wingert had spent summers as Bernie.

That was the only thought Dawson gave the man, and it was more consideration than the reprobate deserved.

He didn't expect Amelia or the boys to be up yet, but as he alighted, he spotted her on the beach. She was walking near the waterline, a pair of flip-flops dangling from her fingers. She was dressed in roomy, thin cotton pants and a tank top, which she'd probably slept in. Her hair was in a messy topknot. She'd never looked so good to him.

He had covered over half the distance between them before she saw him. She dropped her sandals and met him at a full run. He caught her against him and they kissed hungrily. They didn't come up for air for several minutes, and when they did, they continued to hold each other as though to assure themselves that they were together again after a ten-day separation.

She leaned back into the firm circle of his arms so she could look up into his face. "How was it?"

"North Dakota can be cold even in September. Around freezing one morning I was there."

She brushed a windblown strand of hair off his scruffy cheek, then laid both palms on his chest. In a softer voice, she asked, "How was it?"

"It was good," he replied, matching her serious tone. "They're wonderful people. Salt of the earth. American flag flying proudly from the eaves of the house. Pot roast for dinner. There were pictures of Hawkins all over the house. They wanted to hear everything."

Shortly after Dawson's return from Afghanistan, he'd received a letter from Corporal Hawkins's parents, asking him to please call them. They expressed an earnest wish to talk to him about their son and his last few days. They repeated the request in voice mails, e-mails, and additional letters. "He thought so highly of you, Mr. Scott. Please call us."

He hadn't been able to bring himself to make that call.

But talking through the incident with Amelia had been the catharsis he'd needed. Once the ban on the topic of Hawkins had been lifted, he could think about him without cringing inside. As soon as he had accompanied Headly home to DC, he booked a flight to North Dakota.

"They told me everything about him. I met his brother, two sisters, six nieces and nephews. I was shown his baseball trophies and high school prom pictures. Our talks were heartrending, but healing for them as well as for me."

"I want to hear all about it whenever you're ready to tell me." She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. "Sleeping better?"

"Two nights in a row without the nightmare."

"Definite progress."

"Thanks to you."

Several sessions with a therapist in DC had helped enormously, too, although he still gave more credit to Amelia than to the man with all the framed degrees on his office wall.

"How are Headly and Eva?" she asked.

"He gets better every day. The Bureau urged him to reactivate until Carl's case is closed. But that'll take a while, so he declined."

"I'm surprised by that."

"I was, too. But he explained that nothing could top that dramatic ending in the hospital, with Carl screaming invectives and begging for somebody to kill him."

She dropped her forehead against his chest. "When I woke up, and you weren't there, I thought-"

"Carl thought so, too. That was the point. But no such luck for him. Headly wanted a face-off. I helped because I knew how important it was for him to confront his enemy. He would never have been satisfied with less."

"Nor would you."

"You know me well."

She pressed a kiss to his throat, and when she pulled away, she said, "So, it was easy for Headly to turn down the Bureau's request that he stay on?"

"Made much easier by Eva. She told him if he returned to work, she was going to grind up Viagra in his food and then withhold sexual favors."

"She'd do it, too."

"You bet your life. By the way, she invited us up for Thanksgiving." He stroked her hair. "How was your trip to Kansas?"

"Quick, but I didn't want to leave the boys with the Metcalfs for more than one night. The memorial service was terribly sad."

"I'm sure Stef's parents were touched that you went."

"They said as much. At least they were relieved of having to go through a trial. Jeremy's dying spared them that." She hesitated for a moment, then added, "I saw to his cremation."

He held her face between his hands and searched her eyes. "We've got a lot of forgetting to do, Amelia."

"I know."

"I can't wait to get started."

"Me, either." And for a long moment they just looked at each other with full understanding.

After a time, she nodded toward the house that Bernie had occupied. "I'm happy to report that it's been sold. The realtor who brokered the deal was out here yesterday with a contractor. The new owner is having it torn down and plans to replace it with a larger, more contemporary house that he'll rent long-term.

"It can't be razed fast enough, as far as I'm concerned," she continued. "Every time I glance in that direction..." She trailed off and tilted her head in puzzlement. "You don't seem at all surprised by this news." She stared at him for seconds more, then realization dawned in her eyes. "You bought it."

"You could never sell this house. It means too much to you. The only solution was to get rid of that one."

"I can't let you do that," she exclaimed.

"I have a trust from my folks that I've never touched. It seemed fitting to do this with some of the money. Carl didn't sire me, but he tortured my mother and left me to die. I don't want any reminders of him around when we're here." She was about to protest further, but he stopped her. "It's done."

She relented, asking quietly, "Did they find Flora's diary?"

"Yes. Mostly intact. Headly's read some of it. He's having the contents transcribed for me."

She looked at him expectantly.

He raised one shoulder. "I don't know that I'll ever read it. Maybe. Right now, I need a break from all that."

"Will you ever want to know who your father was?"

"No. It's enough-more than enough-to know it wasn't Carl. My quarrel with him wasn't fathering me, it was abandoning me. My DNA ruled out that any of the men who died in Golden Branch had sired me. I don't see the point of continuing the saga."

Her arms tightened around his waist. She rested her cheek on his chest. "Will you write the story?"

"Harriet's bugging me to, but I've told her no. I couldn't write it without including you and the boys. I won't do that." He pushed his hand under her tank top and stroked her back, marveling over how familiar and wonderful the feel of her skin was, shuddering to think how close he came to foolishly denying himself this woman.

"I've considered writing about Hawkins. His parents endorsed the idea. Military suicides are at an all-time high. It speaks volumes that a young man with a background as solid as his could sink to that depth of despair. The theme would be the effects of combat even on those with the strongest fiber. It could be a worthwhile piece."

"Written by the best."

"Awww," he drawled and eased her cheek off his chest so he could whisk a kiss across it. But when he tried to kiss her in earnest, she resisted. "What?"

"You said of this house 'when we're here,' and that Eva had invited us for Thanksgiving. Come Thanksgiving, will we still be an us?"

"I'm counting on it. You're not?"

"Yes. Yes. Definitely."