"I don't know, but you did. If you hadn't, I'd be writhing on the floor, temporarily blinded and choking. At the very least, you would have called the police and reported me as a stalker."

"You are a stalker."

"I know for certain that I'd never seen you until Wednesday afternoon when you took the witness stand. I was seated in the corner of the courtroom, back row. You never so much as glanced in that direction."

"I didn't see you there."

"But...?"

"I saw you after court was adjourned," she admitted reluctantly. "To avoid the media storm, Mr. Jackson put me in an office on the third floor that overlooks the front of the courthouse. I was watching from the window while he addressed the reporters. You were standing at a distance, leaning against a signpost."

"You noticed me? From three stories up?"

He shot her that grin again, and it was even more aggravating this time. "I took you for a homeless person. Unshaven. Shaggy hair. That's why I recognized you when you stepped out of the bathroom. I almost wish I'd gone ahead and sprayed you. It would have served you right for tracking me here." She looked at the canister of spray, then lowered her hand. "As it is, I'll leave you with a warning. Do not approach me or my children. If you do, I'll call the police after all."

When she turned to go, he said, "As long as you're here, can I ask you a few questions?"

"Didn't you hear what I just said? No interviews. Ever."

"Strictly background stuff."

"No."

"The girl. Kin to you?" He hitched his chin toward the window, through which Stef and the boys could be seen playing a game with paddles and a ball.

Amelia hesitated, but didn't see a problem with answering him. "No relation. I hired her as a nanny for the summer."

"And the old man who was flying the kite?"

"Family friend. He rents the house next door every summer. And that's all you're going to get from me."

She turned to go, but again he stopped her with a question. "What would be the harm in us having a nice, neighborly chat?"

"During which you hope I'll forget myself, let down my guard, and pour out my deepest, darkest secrets?"

He arched one sun-bleached eyebrow. "You have deep, dark secrets?"

"Good-bye."

Moving quickly, he planted himself between her and the door, but he also raised his hands again. "Look, I understand why you might not trust me."

"Oh, well, thanks for your understanding. Not that I care whether you understand me or not." With disgust, she glanced at the photos. "Do you plan to publish those? Sell them to a tabloid?"

He looked offended. "Of course not."

"Then why did you take them?"

"So I could..."

When he couldn't come up with an explanation, she sidestepped him. Or tried. He moved to block her path. "Would you have talked to me if I'd walked up to you, looking like a homeless person, and introduced myself as a writer for NewsFront?" He gave her only half a second to answer. "Exactly. So, rather than scare you off-"

"You simply scared me."

"You were scared?"

"Of course I was scared," she exclaimed.

"Of what?"

"Of...I don't know. I sensed-"

"What?"

"Something. I thought-"

"What?"

"I was afraid that-"

"That what?"

"I don't know! Stop asking me questions."

"That's what I do."

They did another two-step dance, and again he blocked her path to the door.

"Get out of my way."

"One more question? Just one. Please?" Taking her silent glare for consent, he asked, "How did you discover that I was here?"

"I saw the sun reflecting off something in the window."

"Must've been the lenses of the binoculars."

"Remember to guard against that the next time you spy on someone."

"When did you sense someone watching you?"

"That's two questions."

"Have you sensed it only since I moved in, or before?"

She opened her mouth to speak, but paused. Looking beyond him toward the beach, she recalled the eerie feeling that had swept over her last night. Speaking to herself, she murmured, "The sensation was strong enough to raise goose bumps."

After a moment, her eyes moved back to his. They were light brown, flecked with gold. Tiger eyes. And the intensity of that amber gaze shocked her out of her momentary fog. "I've got to go. They'll wonder where I am."

He let her pass, but said to her back, "I apologize for frightening you. You've been put through hell. I don't want to contribute to your troubles."

"Then don't," she said without turning around. "Stay away from me and my children."

Eva Headly barely allowed her husband through the back door before demanding to know where he'd been.

"Nowhere." He brushed past her and continued down the hallway and into his den.

She followed. "You've been gone for hours, Gary. You didn't answer your cell phone."

"You're keeping track? I can't go out now without asking your permission?"

"Don't take that tone with me."

Headly knew better than anyone that Eva, who had the face and disposition of a saint most of the time, was no shrinking violet when riled.

"Are you seeing another woman?"

He gave her a look.

"Well, it happens, you know. Men your age-"

"My age? Now I'm a classification? What, sixty-five to death?"

"Don't change the subject."

She stared him down. He was the first to relent. "I didn't tell you where I was going because I didn't want an argument."

She sat down on the upholstered arm of the sofa and looked up at him expectantly, with a listening aspect. He muttered beneath his breath and turned toward the bar. "Want a drink?"

"No. And you're not having one until you tell me what's going on. Where did you go?"

He sat down heavily in his chair and rubbed his hand over his face. "I went to Dawson's place."

"He's not there."

"That's why I went." He waited for her to erupt and call him on invasion of privacy, but she surprised him.

"I'm sure you had a good reason for going, knowing full well that he's in Savannah."

"Is he?"

"Isn't he?"

He sighed. "I don't know. He's supposed to be, but he's lying to me, Eva. To us. To everybody, I think."

"About what?"

"I'm not sure. Something. Everything. I talked to him earlier this afternoon, and he sounded okay, but the conversation was off. When I thought back on it, I realized that his answers didn't quite fit the questions I asked."

"You felt he wasn't being straight with you?"

"I didn't feel it, I know it."

"Why would he lie?"

"It might have something to do with this." From his pants pocket, he withdrew the brown plastic bottle and passed it to her. "Antianxiety drug."

She uncapped the bottle and shook out a few of the tablets. "I knew something was wrong. First he avoids us for two weeks. Then he shows up looking like a scarecrow. These pills explain it. He's being treated for anxiety and doesn't want us to know."

"I agree with everything you said except the last part. He admitted to me that he's not sleeping. But he's not seeing a doctor for the anxiety. Notice there's no label on the bottle. He's getting his 'medication' from some other source."

The implication distressed her as much as it had him. "Did you find anything else in his apartment that we should worry about?"

"No. And I felt guilty for being there and pawing through his stuff."

"Only because you care. Seeing the horrors he saw in Afghanistan affected him more than he wants to admit, even to himself. Should we confront him about it, insist that he see a therapist?"

"He'd just get defensive and deny that he needs one. You know how he is. Mr. Self-sufficient."

"Which, of course, is something you know nothing about."

He looked over at her and smiled sheepishly. "I've been a grump recently, haven't I?"

"No, you've been a regular son of a bitch. But I don't know what I'd do without you." She got up and moved to the arm of his chair, leaned over, and kissed the top of his head. "As for Dawson, he knows that we're always here for him, and how much we care, and that anything we do or say, it's for his own good."

"That's the hell of it, Eva. That's what's eating at me. Knowing that he's barely hanging on, instead of helping him through it, I sent him to look for Carl Wingert and Flora Stimel."

Chapter 6.

There's a hot, hot, hot guy sitting at the bar who keeps staring at you."

Amelia turned her head in the direction Stef had indicated and met Dawson Scott's steady gaze. Quickly, she came back around, only to notice that everyone else at her table had also turned to look.

"Boys." She patted the tabletop, bringing their attention back to her. "Finish your dinner, please. It's getting late."

Stef fluffed her hair and said, "I'll be right back."

Before Amelia could stop her, the younger woman slid from her chair and struck off in the direction of the bar.

"Where's she going, Mom?"