"Sixteen going on twelve," Pescoli muttered.

"Give her a break," Jeremy said, opening the refrigerator again and finding some deli meat. He sniffed it, deigned it good enough to eat, and slapped it on a slice of bread that he'd left on the counter. "It's not easy, you know."

"I know. It's not easy for me, either, but it's going to happen. I want it to happen."

"Okay." Jeremy dug deeper into the fridge and pulled out ajar of mayo. He quickly slathered one slice of bread, then squirted a thick dollop of some kind of hot sauce onto the meat. "It'll be cool."

She eyed her son as he grabbed a butcher knife from the block near the stove and sliced his sandwich into two thick halves. "Yeah?"

"Uh-huh."

"Wish I could believe you," she said on a sigh.

"You can."

"What, are you suddenly clair voyant?"

"Yeah, me and what's her name? The nutcase who talks to ghosts."

"Grace Perchant, and we don't call her a nutcase."

"Since when?" He eyed his mother, almost daring her to argue.

"Plate!" she yelled and he rolled his eyes, but pulled a plate from the already-opened cupboard and transferred the sloppy sandwich onto it. "What about some vegetables on that."

"Mom . . ."

She lifted her hands in surrender. She knew she was one of the worst offenders when it came to nutrition, although that was going to have to change, too.

"Give Bianca some s.p.a.ce. Y'know? She'll come around." He picked up a thick, dripping half. "If she doesn't and moves in with Lucky and Mich.e.l.le, who cares? It's not the end of the world. Isn't that what you always say?" He smiled as he threw her words back at her, then took an impossibly large bite.

She didn't argue, because he was right, even though it burned her to think of Mich.e.l.le parenting her daughter. But she'd given her kids a lot to swallow, so she bit her tongue. She figured it was time to let the news of her impending marriage settle in and Jeremy and Bianca find a way to deal with it.

Jessica's feet throbbed, her back ached, and she was fighting the pounding in her head as she drove along the mountain road to her newfound home. Working a double shift was well worth it in tips, but her body was rebelling. She envisioned a magnolia scented bath, thick towels, luxurious shampoo, and the open doors to a shaded veranda where a pitcher of iced tea was waiting.

In another lifetime.

She checked the rearview of her Tahoe, but the street was empty aside from the ever-falling snow. Would it never let up? Enough of the icy flakes had fallen and piled by her drive that it was nearly impossible to see her tracks and she almost missed the turn-off. Again.

One last look in the mirror, then she cranked on the wheel and guided her Chevy through the trees to the clearing and the little ramshackle cabin. Wearily, she locked the SUV and unlocked the house that was dark and nearly as cold inside as out. Closing the door behind her, she stood in the living room for a second, listening. She left the rooms in darkness for a second, hearing the drip of a faucet and the whistle of the outside air as it swirled down the chimney and rattled the window panes. Normal sounds. Noises she'd gotten used to.

She snapped on the lights, one room after another, checking to see that the house was still secure, a.s.suring herself that she was, at least for the moment, safe.

So why did she have the nagging feeling that something wasn't right? That there was a disturbance in the air?

Because nothing is right. Nothing has been for a long time. Why else would you be on the run, hiding out in this isolated cabin? How long are you going to keep running?

As she'd dragged herself from the banks of that muddy river months before, she'd told herself that she just needed a little time to pull herself together, to go back and face the music, to end this.

Before he found her.

G.o.d, what a mess. Yanking off the wig, she dropped it onto the couch, then clicked her dental appliance from her mouth. Stretching the muscles of her face, she unpinned her hair and shook it free, then started working on the dress and padding. When she was naked, her clothes folded, she took a quick shower, never really getting rid of the chill as the water was lukewarm at best.

She toweled off and pulled on fresh underwear and sweats. Tomorrow, in between her shifts, she'd need to drive into town to the Laundromat she'd used once before to clean her uniforms and to take care of other errands.

Then, she determined, she would finally look up Cade Grayson. From the gossip in the restaurant she'd pieced together that the sheriff's funeral was still a week in the future and she couldn't wait any longer. Not when she felt as if she still wasn't safe.

You're paranoid.

He won't find you here. He can't. . . .

But she wasn't convinced. There were still rumors about the corpse of the woman found on the O'Halleran farm, a woman named Sheree Cantnor, being mutilated in some way. That in and of itself wasn't enough to convince her that he'd found her, but then she knew him and also knew what he was capable of. For the love of G.o.d, she'd fancied herself in love with him once upon a time. Even gone so far as to marry him.

Naive fool. He'd never loved her, had only been after her money, but still believed he'd possessed her. That she had no longer wanted him, had no longer wanted to be one of his possessions, had brought out his rage, the depth of his depravity and cruelty.

Her stomach quivered at the thought.

She had trouble believing that he would go so far as to murder an innocent woman. The idea was beyond far-fetched. Surely he wouldn't kill someone else just to terrorize her. No no no. That didn't make any sense.

It's not about you. That woman, Sheree Cantnor, is the one who suffered. Don't turn this around.

Still, Jessica's skin crawled and she felt unseen eyes upon her, as if he were watching her. She double-checked the locks and latches, making certain any possible way into the cabin was secure. She adjusted the shades and curtains, blocking out the chance that anyone could see into the small rooms.

You can't keep running. You can't go on hiding. You have to go to the police.

And tell them what? They'll only think you're crazy. Even you doubt your own sanity at times. They will not keep you safe. No one can.

Disgusted, she flopped back onto the poor excuse of a couch.

Somehow, someway, the madness had to stop.

This place is no-d.a.m.n-where.

Calypso Pope drove through the frigid streets of Grizzly Falls and wished she'd never taken the detour off the freeway. On her way to Missoula, her coffee had kicked in and not only was she a little hyped up on caffeine, her bladder was stretched to its fullest, which was such a pain. She drove past the brick courthouse and noted that the buildings along the waterfront were at least a hundred years old and the parking s.p.a.ces weren't only narrow, but nearly nonexistent. It seemed everyone in the hick town must be out for the night.

"Come on, come on, come on!" she muttered, shutting off the radio in irritation as the song she'd been listening to faded out into a cl.u.s.ter of static. She considered heading back to the main artery into town when she spied a neon sign for a restaurant called, oh so quaintly, Wild Will's. "Ugh."

She saw a parking spot on the street. Unfortunately, so did the driver of a huge Hummer or whatever they were called, some long-a.s.s rig that hung out into the street and nearly swiped the cars on either side of him.

"b.a.s.t.a.r.d," she muttered under her breath, circling the block to come upon a street that led to the edge of the river, an alley almost, and two blocks down found an area under a bridge that was posted NO PARKING.

Oh, h.e.l.l. Who cares? She'd just run into the d.a.m.n restaurant, use the bathroom, and get something to go, if that. Maybe another coffee.

She nearly slipped getting out of her Mercedes and had to catch herself. Swearing silently, she tucked her purse under her arm, remotely locked the car, and hurried carefully along the dimly lit alley to Wild Will's.

Once inside, she nearly peed herself when she came face-to-face with a huge grizzly bear, standing upright, its long teeth pulled back in a snarl, its gla.s.s eyes glittering angrily. It was stuffed and dressed in a ridiculous Cupid outfit complete with glittery wings and a quiver filled with arrows that had red hearts rather than feathers stuck into the shafts. Worse yet, the huge creature was swaddled in a pink diaper and a bow had been propped into one clawed paw.

Whose dim idea was that? "Your bathroom?" she asked a tall girl with a ponytail and a sour expression who was standing at the hostess station.

"It's just for customers."

"I plan on being one. And, if you don't want me to pee all over your floor in front of that ridiculous creature"-Calypso jabbed a long finger at the bear- "you'll point me in the direction." At that moment, she saw the sign with the little cut-out woman in the dress indicating the women's room. She didn't bother explaining further and barreled down the short hallway, with the p.i.s.sy-faced hostess calling after her.

"Hey! Wait!"

Calypso ignored her. Please don't let it be occupied, she thought, pushing against the broad panels. She breathed a sigh of relief as the door swung inward and, just in time, she dashed into one of the two empty stalls. "Thank you, G.o.d," she whispered as she yanked down her jeans and thong in one swift movement, then relieved herself.

She almost sighed in ecstasy as the sensation was as close to o.r.g.a.s.mic as she'd ever want to feel in a public restroom.

Once she'd cleaned up and regained some of her dignity, she walked back into the foyer where the d.a.m.n bear seemed to be leering at her.

"As I said before, I'm a customer, and now I'd like dinner," she said with a haughty lift of her chin.

"Right this way." The hostess led her to a table in a cavernous room where stuffed animals abounded. A moose head and a stalking puma graced one wall; antelope and deer faces glared down at her from another. A porcupine was balanced on a shelf to her right, while wagon wheel chandeliers and paddle fans hung from the wide expanse of ceiling.

"This place is beyond rustic and weird as h.e.l.l," she observed, sliding into a booth. She was relieved to see that no family with a raft of little children was seated anywhere near her. "I mean, seriously, dead, dusty stuffed animals don't exactly spark one's appet.i.te."

"People seem to like them," the hostess said as she slid a menu onto the table.

"No one from PETA, I bet."

The girl looked lost. "From where?"

"Never mind."

"Would you like to hear the specials?"

"Sure," Calypso said and slid her reading gla.s.ses out of her purse to scan the menu quickly while half-listening as the girl mentioned something about monkfish and wild trout and . . . G.o.d, did she actually say reindeer? A shiver ran through Calypso.

Scowling as she read the menu, she was about to say something about the taxidermy and putting dead animals on display being so nineteenth century and totally un-PC, but the hostess had disappeared. "How rude," she muttered under her breath, then checked her cell phone, searching for a message from that jerk Reggie.

Another girl, one with a smile plastered to her young face which indicated she, at least, had learned the valuable lesson about customers and tips, slid a water gla.s.s onto her table. "Did Tiffany tell you about the specials?" she asked.

"If Tiffany was that sour-faced hostess, then, yes, she did, but I'm not interested in reindeer for G.o.d's sake. What's wrong with you people?" Calypso asked, setting her phone down after one last peek. "And this," she indicated the menu with a flip of her wrist to point at the plastic-covered sheets. "You're a little heavy here on the meat, aren't you?" She gazed over the half lenses of her gla.s.ses. "I mean, do you have anything remotely vegetarian or whole grain or healthy? Or gluten-free? Something that won't send my cholesterol into the stratosphere?"

The girl opened her mouth, closed it, and finally said, "All . . . all of our entrees are-"

"Oh, forget it. Just get me a cup of coffee. Black. Wait. Is it Starbucks?"

"No. I'm sorry, we use-"

"Doesn't matter," Calypso said, sighing through her nose. "Just bring me some skim milk with it. None of that powdered shi-stuff, okay? That's nothing but chemicals, and I won't drink it. I'm talking real milk. Make sure it's not one percent!" She thought about ordering her usual, a house salad with balsamic vinegar dressing, but it didn't sound appealing in the least, despite her need to always diet. Oh, what she wouldn't do for a slight case of bulimia, slight being the operative word.

She glanced around the room at the stuffed beasts again, noticing a long-whiskered bobcat posed on a ledge as if ready to pounce on a ring-necked pheasant. Oh, G.o.d, soooo barbaric! Then she saw the slowly spinning pie case located on the counter and her stomach nearly rumbled. Chocolate. Strawberry. Key lime. She couldn't resist. "And a piece of the lemon meringue pie." She needed to indulge. Just a little. "Oh. Wait. Is it fresh? Made with real lemons?"

"Baked this morning," the smiling waitress said. Her name tag read TERI with one R.

"Organic, though? Yes?"

"I-I don't know."

Well, at least the twit was honest. Calypso pursed her lips, then reminded herself not to, that she was just begging for those nasty little wrinkles around her mouth. That was the main reason she'd given up smoking. G.o.d, she missed that guilty little pleasure. She caught the waitress staring at her. "Oh, okay. The pie will do, I suppose."

"Nothing else?"

"Just the coffee. With skim? Remember?" Then Calypso pointed at her watch. "And I'm in a bit of a hurry."

The girl hurried off and Calypso leaned against the back of the booth to close her eyes for a second. She was fighting a headache again and knew she should eat something more substantial, but really, was that even possible in this den of death? The weird meats that were on the menu, rabbit and pheasant and bison, were probably laced with salmonella or E. coli or G.o.d knew what else. She probably shouldn't have any more coffee considering that it was the overwhelming urge to relieve herself that had brought her to this place. Usually, though, she had a bladder of steel and she needed to stay awake for the rest of the drive. It was already pushing eleven. That's why the dining area was shutting down, she realized, though there were still a few straggling customers scattered within the restaurant, most of them lingering over a drink or a cup of coffee and the remains of their meals.

She probably should find a room for the night. She'd been driving for hours as it was and it really didn't matter if she landed in Spokane later tonight or early in the morning, but the thought of searching out a decent, clean, safe hotel in this little burg was daunting. She checked her cell phone for local hotels. Decent hotels. Or even d.a.m.n motels. Maybe she could make it as far as Missoula and then- "Here ya go." The waitress was back with a cup of coffee, tiny pitcher of milk, and a thick wedge of lemon pie topped with three inches of meringue that Calypso would have loved to plunge her face into as she was suddenly starving.

"Anything else?"

"Not right now," Calypso said and the girl, grin intact, stepped backward, leaving her with a few minutes of heaven as she poured the skim milk slowly into her cup, took a sip and then dug into the scrumptious dessert. "Mmm." She couldn't help sighing, then caught herself as a text message came in. Reggie.

She felt a warming jolt of satisfaction, but thought, No thanks.

Reginald Larue didn't know it yet, but they were o-v-e-r.

His text, a sloppy apology for standing her up twice in one week, p.i.s.sed her off, so she deleted it and turned her phone off so that she could concentrate on the pie. "Sorry, my a.s.s," she said under her breath then put Reggie-oh, excuse me. Reginald A. Larue III-where he belonged. Completely out of her mind.

Well, almost.

There was a part of her that wanted to see him grovel, to twist and turn in utter despair over losing her, crawl on his knees to beg her forgiveness. Not that she'd give him another chance. No-effin'-way. She was thirty-six for Christ's sake and though she ignored the tick, tick, tick of her biological clock, she still wanted to get married and have someone else take care of her. She couldn't keep up this pace forever. Yes, she was a corporate attorney and a d.a.m.n good one, but smart as she was, she wasn't into working sixteen hours out of twenty-four. She'd hoped, actually planned, to find Mr. Right in law school or in the firm she joined in Seattle, but so far it hadn't worked out that way.

She glanced down at her left hand where her grandmother's engagement ring with its huge diamond glittered under the cheesy wagon-wheel lights. She always wore the ring when she was out and, the funny thing was, it didn't appear to discourage men from hitting on her in bars. In fact, sometimes it seemed as if she posed a challenge.

That's how she'd met stupid, two-timing Reggie. Figured. He was probably stepping out on someone else when he'd tried to pick her up. She'd played hard to get until she'd checked him out and found that he was set to inherit a fortune from oil wells. But she knew he would never settle down with one woman, and when she got married, that lucky son of a b.i.t.c.h who claimed her as his bride had G.o.dd.a.m.n better be faithful. Or she'd have to cut off his b.a.l.l.s.

She blinked and realized that she'd been daydreaming again. She'd nearly finished her pie without even savoring every bite. All because of Reggie. She studied the last morsel but pushed her plate aside, then finished her coffee in one gulp. She lifted her hand and signed to the smiley-faced waitress that she wanted her check, then sent a lingering look at the last bit of pie. But no. She always left at least one bite on her plate, no matter how hungry she thought she was. It was a matter of mind over matter.

"Would you like anything else?" Teri asked.

"No. Just the check. I think I mentioned I'm in a hurry."

The girl whipped out the folder with a piece of paper and a pen inside and Calypso handed her a credit card with a mere glance at the bill.

Two minutes later the transaction was finished, and Calypso was heading outside to the wintry streets of Grizzly Falls once more. Pathetic town, she thought, winding her scarf more tightly around her neck as the snow fell. She headed back the way she'd come and for the first time since parking illegally hoped beyond hope that her car hadn't been towed. The sidewalk was uneven, her boots slipping a little as she walked, head bent against an icy wind that chilled her to the bone.

Maybe a hotel wasn't such a bad idea after all. Cinching the belt of her wool coat a little tighter, she tried not to notice that the trail of mashed down snow was a little eerie, the back side of the ancient buildings dark, the loading bays empty. Only a few lights from apartments on the upper stories were visible. One streetlight hadn't illuminated and another was fading slowly in and out as if it were soon to die. No other pedestrians were out at this time of night, not even some idiot walking his dog in the d.a.m.n snow.

Jesus, it's cold.

Following a wrought-iron fence that separated the pedestrian path and the sheer drop-off to the river below, she shivered against a wind that drove icy snow pellets right into her face, stinging her cheeks.

That decided it. She would find a place to stay, a motel close to the freeway. Hadn't she seen one on the way into this funky little town? A Holiday Inn or Motel 6? She'd backtrack in her car, follow the route she'd taken into town, find that motel, grab a room, then take off early in the morning after a hot shower, a few hours rest, and a cup of c.r.a.ppy motel coffee. That would be the smart thing to do.

Another bitter gust.