"I promise," she whispered. "I do."

"Thank G.o.d."

He lowered his forehead to hers. After a moment, he drew a deep breath, as if preparing himself for

something difficult. He drew away, met her eyes. "He asked me if I killed Elle."

The words landed heavily between them.

The rag was off the bush.

How could this be happening?

"I called my attorney. I didn't know what else to do."

Jane took him in her arms and held him. She cupped his face, brought his mouth to hers. She kissed him,

softly at first as a way to comfort, connect. Prove her unshakable love.

He responded and within moments, comfort led to pa.s.sion. They stumbled to the bedroom and fell onto

the bed. Urgently, as if time was running out, they came together.

"Hold me, Ian," she said fiercely, locking her legs around his. "Don't let me go."

"I won't, sweetheart. Not ever."

They made love, an edge of desperation in their mating. Of uncertainty.

At what the future held. About when they would be together like this again.

They climaxed in unison. Afterward, Jane realized that she was crying. She pressed her face to Ian's

shoulder, not wanting him to see, knowing her tears would upset him.

The beat of his heart melded with the frenzied thunder of her thoughts. The question Jane asked her subjects drummed in her head, this time directed at herself.

Tell me what you're afraid of, Jane. When you 're alone with your thoughts, who's the monster?

"I don't know why this is happening," Ian said softly, interrupting her punishing thoughts. "I feel like I'm in

this nightmare I can't awake from."

She understood; she felt the same. "Stacy was here this afternoon. She asked me a lot of questions, too."

He stilled. Looked at her. "What kind of questions?"

"About the night Elle Vanmeer was killed. Weirdly, whether you were a Braves fan."

"The baseball team? Why?"

"I don't know." She lowered her eyes, then met his once more. "She asked if I believed you had been

faithful to me."

He looked shocked. "She asked you that? What did you tell her?"

"What do you think I told her? That you had been. Absolutely."

"Thank you." He trailed a finger across her eyebrow, down the curve of her cheek. "I wondered why

Stacy wasn't with the posse that came to the office. Now I know."

"She told me she'd come as my sister," Jane said bitterly. "To help us."

"Maybe she did."

"You're so forgiving. More like, divide and conquer."

And she had fallen for it, even called and begged her forgiveness. Talk about naive.

"What else did she ask you?"

Are you absolutely certain Ian was home Sunday night? All night?

The cold clinging to him.

She looked him dead in the eyes. "I have to ask you something, Ian. It's important."

He drew slightly away from her. "You're my wife. You can ask me anything."

"The night of Elle Vanmeer's murder, the night I awakened from the nightmare...you'd been outside.

Why?"

He looked as if she had slapped him. He sat up, dragged a hand across his face. "It's happening already, isn't it? They're making you doubt me. Driving a wedge between us."

"That's not true! Ian, please-" She scrambled into a sitting position, pressed herself to his side. "I had to

ask."

"I was walking Ranger." He looked at her, expression accusing. "Same as I always do before bed. Feel better?"

A sound squeezed past the lump in her throat. Of relief. Grat.i.tude.

"What's next, Jane? Going to grill me about mistaking the time that night?"

Reading her expression, he laughed, the sound anything but amused. "My watch stopped. The battery

had gone dead." He paused. "I bought a replacement at De Boulle the next morning. Call them and

verify, if you'd like. I charged it on my credit card."

The Highland Park jeweler he'd bought her engagement ring from. Tears stung her eyes. How betrayed he must feel. How alone.

What kind of wife was she?

"Please forgive me," she whispered. "Please. I'm just so scared."

He angled toward her. Took her in his arms. "No, I'm sorry. You were right to ask. It's just...I'm scared, too."

The front buzzer sounded. Ranger began to bark. Jane froze. She looked at Ian. "Don't answer that."

"I've got to, Jane."

"No." She wrapped her arms around him. "Don't."

It sounded again. Then again.

Ian loosened her arms. "I have to. They're not going to go away."

Heart in her throat, she watched as he climbed out of bed and crossed to the intercom. "Yes?"

It was the police. They insisted on speaking with Ian.

"Give me a minute. I'll ring you in."

He turned to her. He knew she had heard.

"It's going to be all right," he said softly. "I'm an innocent man."

She climbed out of bed. They dressed. He headed out front; she took a moment to run a brush through her hair and check her face. The pale woman gazing back at her didn't look scared-she looked white-rabbit terrified.

Dragging her gaze from her image, she headed for the foyer. She reached it just as Stacy's partner

snapped handcuffs on Ian.

"What are you doing!" she cried. Three men stood in her en-tryway-Detective McPherson, another detective and a uniformed officer.

Detective McPherson looked apologetically at her, then returned his gaze to Ian. "Dr. Ian Westbrook, you're under arrest for the murders of Elle Vanmeer and Marsha Tanner. You have the right to remain silent, the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford one a-"

In a daze, Jane listened to Ian's rights, mind whirling. What did she do now? What happened next?