"I got some asshole on the phone who didn't want to be bothered. He said that following the crash, things were so chaotic just about anything was possible."

Like mixing up bodies?Van wondered.

He wanted to ask that question, but didn't. Irish was coping as best he could with Avery's death, and he still wasn't doing very well. He didn't need to hear Van's harebrained hypothesis. Besides, even if it were possible, it made no sense. If Avery were alive, she'd be living her life, not somebody else's.

So he hadn't broached the possibility with Irish. His imagination had run amok, that's all. He'd compiled a bunch of creepy coincidences and shaped them into an outlandish, illogical theory.

Irish would probably have said that his brains were fried from doing too much dope, which was probably the truth. He was nothing but a bumaa washout. A reprobate. What the fuck did he know?

But he loaded another of the Rutledge tapes into the VCR anyway.

The first scream woke her. The second registered. The third prompted her to throw off the covers and scramble out of bed.

Avery grabbed a robe, flung open the door to her bedroom, and charged down the hall toward Mandy's room. Within seconds of leaving her bed, she was bending over the child's. Mandy was thrashing her limbs and screaming.

"Mandy, darling, wake up." Avery dodged a flailing fist.

"Mandy?"

Tate materialized on the other side of the bed. He dropped to his knees on the rug and tried to restrain his daughter. Once he had captured her small hands, her body bucked and twisted while her head thrashed on the pillow and her heels pummeled the mattress. She continued to scream.

Avery placed her hands on Mandy's cheeks and pressed hard. "Mandy, wake up. Wake up, darling. Tate, what should we do?"

"Keep trying to wake her up."

"Is she having another nightmare?" Zee asked as she and Nelson rushed in. Zee moved behind Tate. Nelson stood at the foot of his granddaughter's bed.

"We could hear her screams all the way in our wing," he said. "Poor little thing."

Avery slapped Mandy's cheeks lightly. "It's Mommy. Mommy and Daddy are here. You're safe, darling. You're safe."

Eventually, the screams subsided. As soon as she opened her eyes, she launched herself into Avery's waiting arms. Avery gathered her close and cupped the back of her head, pressing the tear-drenched face into her neck. Mandy's shoulders shook; her whole body heaved with sobs.

"My God, I had no idea it was this bad."

"She had them nearly every night while you were still in the hospital," Tate told her. "Then they started tapering off. She hasn't had one for several weeks. I was hoping that once you got home they would stop altogether." His face was drawn with concern.

"Is there anything you want us to do?"

Tate glanced at Nelson. "No. I think she'll calm down now and go back to sleep, Dad, but thanks."

"You two need to put a stop to this. Immediately." He took Zee's arm and propelled her toward the door. She seemed reluctant to leave and looked at Avery anxiously.

"She'll be all right," Avery said, rubbing Mandy's back She was still hiccuping sobs, but the worst was over.

"Sometimes they come back," Zee said uneasily.

"I'll stay with her for the rest of the night." When she and Tate were left alone with the child, Avery said, "Why didn't you tell me her nightmares were this severe?"

He sat down in the rocking chair near the bed. "You had your own problems to deal with. The dreams stopped happening with such regularity, just like the psychologist predicted they would. I thought she was getting over them."

"I still should have known."

Avery continued to hold Mandy tight against her, rocking back and forth and murmuring reassurances. She wouldn't let go until Mandy indicated that she was ready. Eventually, she raised her head.

"Better now?" Tate asked her. Mandy nodded.

"I'm sorry you had such a bad dream," Avery whispered, wiping Mandy's damp cheeks with the pads of her thumbs. "Do you want to tell Mommy about it?"

"It's going to get me," she stammered on choppy little breaths.

"What is, darling?"

"The fire."

Avery shuddered with her own terrifying recollections. They seized her sometimes unexpectedly and it often took several minutes to recover from them. As an adult, she found it hard to deal with her memories of the crash. What must it be like for a child?

"I got you out of the fire, remember?" Avery asked softly. "It's not there anymore. But it's still scary to think about, isn't it?" Mandy nodded.

Avery had once done a news story with a renowned child psychologist. During the interview she recalled him saying that denying the authenticity of a child's fears was the worst thing a parent could do. Fears had to be acknowledged before they could be dealt with and, hopefully, overcome.

"Maybe a cool, damp cloth would feel good on her face," Avery suggested to Tate. He left the rocker, and returned shortly with a washcloth. "Thank you."

He sat down beside her as she bathed Mandy's face. In a move that endeared him to Avery, he picked up the Pooh Bear and pressed it into Mandy's arms. She clutched it to her chest.

"Ready to lie back down?" Avery asked her gently.

"No." Apprehensively, her eyes darted around the room. "Mommy's not going to leave you. I'll lie down with you."

She eased Mandy back, then lay down beside her, facing her as their heads shared the pillow. Tate pulled the covers over both of them, then bridged then pillow with his arms and leaned down to kiss Mandy.

He was wearing nothing but a pair of briefs. His body looked exceptionally strong and beautiful in the soft glow of the night-light. As he started to stand up, his eyes locked with Avery's. Acting on impulse, she laid her hand on his furry chest and raised her head to lightly kiss his lips, "Good night, Tate."

He straightened up slowly. As he did, her hand slid down his chest; over the hard, curved muscles; across the nipple; through the dense, crisp hair; to the smoother plane of his belly; until her fingertips brushed against the elastic waistband of his briefs before falling away.

"I'll be right back," he mumbled.

He was gone only a few minutes, but by the time he returned, Mandy was sleeping peacefully. He had pulled on a lightweight robe, but had left it unbelted. As he lowered himself into the rocking chair, he noticed that Avery's eyes were still open. "That bed's not meant for two. Are you comfortable?"

"I'm fine."

"I don't think Mandy would know if you got up now and went to your own room."

"I would know. And I told her I'd stay with her the rest of the night." She stroked Mandy's flushed cheek with the back of her finger. "What are we going to do, Tate?"

Resting his elbows on his knees, he sat forward and dug his thumbs into his eye sockets. A tousled lock of hair fell over his forehead. With stubble surrounding it, the vertical cleft at the edge of his chin seemed more pronounced. He sighed, expanding his bare chest beneath the open robe. "I don't know."

"Do you think the psychologist is doing her any good?"

He raised his head. "Don't you?"

"I shouldn't second-guess the choice you and your parents made while I was indisposed."

She knew she shouldn't get involved at all. This was a personal problem and Avery Daniels had no right to poke her nose into it. But she couldn't just stand by and let a child's emotional stability deteriorate.

"If you have an opinion, be my guest and say so," Tate urged. "This is our child we're talking about. I'm not going to get petty about who had the best idea."

"I know of a doctor in Houston," she began. One of his eyebrows arched inquisitively. "He. . .I saw him on a talk show once and was very impressed with what he had to say and how he conducted himself. He wasn't pompous. He was very straightforward and practical. Since the current doctor isn't making much progress, maybe we should take Mandy to see him."

"We haven't got anything to lose. Make an appointment."

"I'll call tomorrow." Her head sank deeper into the pillow, but she kept her eyes on him. He sat back in the rocking chair and rested his head against the stuffed pink cushion. "You don't have to sit there all night, Tate," she said softly.

Their eyes met and held. "Yes, I do."

She fell asleep watching him watch her.

TWENTY-ONE.

Avery woke up first. It was very early, and the room was dim, although the night-light still burned. She smiled wistfully when she realized that Mandy's small hand was resting on her cheek. Her muscles were cramped from lying so long in one position; otherwise, she probably would have gone back to sleep. Needing to stretch, she eased Mandy's hand off her face and laid it on the pillow. Taking agonizing care not to awaken the child, she got up.

Tate was asleep in the rocker. His head was lying at such an angle to one side that it was almost resting on his shoulder. It looked like a very uncomfortable position, but his abdomen was rising and falling rhythmically, and she could hear his even breathing in the quiet room.

His robe lay parted, revealing his torso and thighs. His right leg was bent at the knee; the left was stretched out in front of him. His calves and feet were well-shaped. His hands were heavily veined and sprinkled with hair. One was dangling from the arm of the chair, the other lay against his stomach.

Sleep had erased the furrow of concern from between his brows. His lashes formed sooty crescents against his cheeks. Relaxed, his mouth looked sensual, capable of giving a woman enormous pleasure. Avery imagined that he would make love intently, passionately, and well, just as he did everything. Emotion brimmed inside Avery's chest until it ached. She wanted badly to cry.

She loved him.

As much as she wanted to make recompense for her professional failures, she realized now that she had also assumed the role of his wife because she had fallen in love with him before she could even speak his name. She had loved him when she had had to look at him through a veil of bandages and rely only on the sound of his voice to inspire her to fight for her life.

She was playing his wife because she wanted tobehis wife. She wanted to protect him. She wanted to heal the hurts inflicted on him by a selfish, spiteful woman. She wanted to sleep with him.

If he claimed his conjugal rights, she would gladly oblige him. That would be her greatest lie yetaone he wouldn't be able to forgive when her true identity was revealed. He would despise her more than he had Carole because he would think she had tricked him. He would never believe her love was genuine. But it was.

He stirred. When he brought his head upright, he winced. His eyelids fluttered, came open with a start, then focused on her. She was standing within touching distance.

"What time is it?" he asked with sleepy huskiness.

"Idon't know. Early. Does your neck hurt?" She ran her hand through his tousled hair, then curved her hand around his neck.

"A little."

She squeezed the cords of his neck, working the kinks out.

"Hmm."

After a moment, he yanked his robe together, folding one side over the other. He drew in his extended leg and sat up straighter. She wondered if her tender massage had given him an early morning erection he didn't want her to see.

"Mandy's still asleep," he commented rhetorically.

"Want some breakfast?"

"Coffee's fine."

"I'll make breakfast."

Dawn was just breaking. Mona wasn't even up yet and the kitchen was dark. Tate began spooning coffee into the disposable paper filter of a coffeemaker. Avery went to the refrigerator.

"Don't bother," he said.

"Aren't you hungry?"

"I can wait for Mona to get up."

"I'd like to cook you something."

Turning his back, he said nonchalantly, "All right. A couple of eggs,Iguess."

She was familiar enough with the kitchen by now to assemble the makings for breakfast. Everything went fine until she started whisking eggs in a bowl.

"What are you doing?"

"Making scrambled eggs. F. . .for me," she bluffed when he gave her a puzzled look. She had no idea how he liked his eggs. "Here. You finish this and let me get the toast started."

She busied herself with buttering the slices of toast as they popped from the toaster while covertly watching him fry two eggs for himself. He slid them onto a plate andbrought it to the table, along with her serving of scrambled eggs.

"We haven't had breakfast together in a long time." She bit into a slice of toast, scooped a bite of egg into her mouth, and reached for her glass of orange juice before she realized that she was the only one eating. Tate was sitting across from her with his chin propped in his hands, elbows on the table.

"We've never eaten breakfast together, Carole. You hate breakfast."

It was difficult for her to swallow. Her hand clenched the glass of juice "They made me eat breakfast while I was in the hospital. You know, after I got the dental implants and could eat solid food. I had to gain my weight back."

His gaze hadn't wavered. He wasn't buying it.

"I. . .I got used to eating it and now I miss it when I don't." Defensively, she added, "Why are you making such a big deal of it?"

Tate picked up his fork and began to eat. His movements were too controlled to be automatic. He was angry. "Save yourself the trouble."

She was afraid he meant the trouble of lying to him. "What trouble?"

"Cooking my breakfast is just another of your machinations to worm your way back into my good graces."

Her appetite deserted her. The smell of the food now made her nauseated. "Machinations?"

Apparently he, too, had lost his appetite. He shoved his plate away. "Breakfast. Domesticity. Those displays of affection like touching my hair, rubbing my neck."

"You seemed to enjoy them."