"It's a good thing it was you who was hurt-Grandmother wouldn't have helped pay to restore my face."

"Of course she would have. She wasn't a monster, Stacy."

"No? That would be a matter of perspective. The unvarnished truth is, that woman wouldn't have given

me a crumb of bread if I had been starving."

Jane held out a hand. It trembled. "How can I make this right?"

"You can't. Because-" Her throat closed over the words; she cleared it and went on. "Because this isn't

about you. It's not your fault. It's about me. My problem."

Both their lives changed that day, Jane realized. How could she not have seen it before? No wonder her

sister was angry. Resentful. None of them had worried about how she was handling what had happened.

None of them had worried about her feelings. Her life.

"I was so blind," she said softly, taking a step forward. Her voice quivered. "Forgive me?"

"Forgive you? There's nothing to... It's not your fault. And I feel so...guilty. All these years...resenting

you. I knew it was wrong, but I couldn't seem to stop." She took a deep breath. "Will you forgive me?"

Jane's eyes welled with tears. "Are you kidding? There's nothing to forgive. All I ever wanted was my big sister's love." They moved into each other's arms in unison. They held each another tightly. Jane felt the years of hurt and misunderstandings falling away from them, leaving her feeling almost giddy.

Stacy did, too. She saw it in her eyes.

They talked some more, then cleaned away the remnants of their meal and rinsed the few dishes. Jane

was reminded of the way they had been as children, of how comfortable it had been between them.

She had missed that. She was so happy to have her sister back.

Stacy tossed the dish towel on the counter. "It's getting pretty late. Think you can sleep?"

"Not yet. I-" She took a deep breath. "I want to talk about Ted. What you told me about him."

She saw her sister stiffen; she plowed on, anyway. "He may not have been honest about his past, but he

would never have hurt me."

"He lied about his past," Stacy corrected. "He was an ex-con. That's a big lie, Jane." Jane opened her mouth to argue; Stacy held up a hand, stopping her. "You didn't see those letters. Or the photographs.

His feelings for you were inappropriate and obsessive."

Jane recalled the times she had caught him staring at her. How uncomfortable the intensity of his gaze had made her. She had shrugged it off as being his way. Now she knew better.

She rubbed at goose b.u.mps on her arms. She couldn't think of him that way. She wouldn't.

"In his journal," Stacy continued, "he wrote of hating Ian. For taking you away from him."

Jane frowned. Neither man had been overly fond of the other, but hate? She shook her head. "Ted wasn't the one sending the letters. The person writing the letters hates me, Stacy. Not Ian. He wants to hurt me. Ted didn't. He loved me. And he was killed."

"By your stalker? The boater from sixteen years ago?"

"Yes."

"And you still believe Ian's innocent?"

"Absolutely."

"When you went to his office, you found evidence that made him look guilty, didn't you? That's why you

didn't tell anyone about being there."

"I found things that made me doubt him," Jane corrected. "His fidelity. I couldn't bear to say them aloud.

They made me feel a traitor to him. My marriage."

"You and Ian fought about it the last time you visited."

"Yes. How did you know? Did Dave-"

"Ian told me." Stacy looked away, then back. "He made his excuses. Wanted me to pa.s.s them along."

"And you waited until now?" Jane heard the hurt in her voice. The hint of betrayal.

"I didn't know if I believed him."

"I don't think that was for you to decide. He's my husband-"

"And he's in jail, awaiting trial for capital murder. I'm a cop, Jane. And big sister."

"You can't protect me, Stacy. Because you can't stop me from loving him."

Stacy gazed at her for a long moment, then nodded. "He claimed Marsha blocked out two hours twice a

month for paperwork. By his account, Marsha had transferred every number in his address book onto his PalmPilot address book. Many of them dated from before your marriage."

Jane digested that. It made sense. It could be the truth.

"He begged me to tell you he loved you. That he was sorry for arguing. He never cheated on you, he said. You're everything to him."

"Thank you," Jane murmured thickly, wishing she could blindly believe those words, the way she once had.

"Your turn."

Jane detailed the things she had found in Ian's PalmPilot: the long, unspecified lunches, both Elle Vanmeer's phone number and La Plaza's. That those discoveries had come on the heels of learning from Ian's files that three of her art subjects had become his patients after she had introduced them.

"Who besides Lisette Gregory?"

"Gretchen Cole and Sharon Smith."

"The call you made to Lisette wasn't about your show opening."

"No." Jane explained why she had called all three and what Gretchen and Sharon had said about Ian's

integrity and professionalism. Lisette, of course, she had never reached.

Because she'd been dead. Murdered.

"Jane," Stacy said gently, interrupting her thoughts, "Elle Van-meer's ex-husband claimed she and Ian had

an affair. He claimed she spent more time in Ian's bed than in his. If that's true, Ian lied. To you. And to

us. Why?"

Jane curved her arms around her middle. The question was d.a.m.ning. It hurt. Almost more than she could bear.

"I know I asked you before, but I have to ask you again. Are you still certain that Ian's been faithful to you?"

Jane couldn't meet her sister's eyes. "I was, before. I would have died before doubting him. But now-" She bit the words back, scrambling to organize her thoughts. Her feelings. "Everywhere I turn," she said finally, "I'm presented with evidence against him. His ex-wife told me he'd married me for my money. That he was a s.e.x addict who didn't know the meaning of monogamy. The numbers in his PalmPilot, the things you've told me."

She clasped her hands together. "But when I see him, I believe in him. His love and total fidelity."

She looked down at her hands. "I always wondered...what he saw in me. I always thought his love too

good to be true. And now I-" She returned her gaze to her sister, vision blurred with tears. "I have to ask myself if I didn't think that because it was too good."

"I see why he fell in love with you, Jane. Good G.o.d, every man who crosses your path falls in love with

you. And I know why. You're strong-but it's a gentle strength that draws people in. You don't judge.

You're generous and empathetic. Vulnerable. And beautiful."

Jane began to deny it; Stacy cut her off. "You're the only one who sees you as a disfigured, traumatized girl. Everyone else sees a beautiful, successful and confident woman. One who has beaten the worst-"

She bit the words back, swore softly.

"What?"

"That's it," she said. "The why, Jane. You've won. You've beaten this b.a.s.t.a.r.d. That's why he's come back."

Stacy brought the heels of her hands to her forehead. "You were brought to his attention by one of the