"Okay," she said and bookmarked her spot. "Sorry, I'll be just a sec." When she made motions to get up, he spun around and returned to his younger visiting daughter, whispering, "Bookworm..." or something similar under his breath.

It wasn't that Makedde didn't love her sister. She did. It was just that Theresa had the knack of irritating her at times-and Mak didn't have much tolerance for any kind of irritation these days. She wasn't sure if it was more from lack of sleep or overload of premenstrual hormones. It could be risky to have a visit from Theresa when she was like this. She didn't want to react badly.

Andy's mysterious call hadn't exactly helped Makedde's mood, or her sleeping either. That man was trouble, and she knew it. She wondered for a moment whether her problem was lack of s.e.x. No, that was the kind of ridiculous statement that her friend Jaqui Reeves would make.

You're fine. You've just got PMS and a thesis to complete.

She shook any thoughts of Andy out of her head and walked down the carpeted hallway.

At five foot ten, Theresa was a couple of inches shorter than Mak, exactly the height their mother had been. Theresa was twenty-three, the younger daughter by three years. Her pretty face was a slightly paler, rounder version of Makedde's, and it rarely saw make-up. Her dark-blonde hair was naturally straight, and she had it cut in a neat bob just above her shoulders.

Theresa was always conservatively groomed and though no one in their family was particularly religious, she always looked ready for the pews. Mak rather thought she enjoyed being prissy. She wore a cotton shirt b.u.t.toned up one from the top, and a pair of Eddie Bauer slacks. She was the one who bought their father the pair he wore.

Her husband Ben was a nice-guy accountant who was born on the island and would die on the island. No threat of unpredictability. He was the same height as his wife, and his unlined face looked even younger than his twenty-six years. He wore a baby-blue plaid shirt, the kind that Makedde imagined yuppie lumberjacks would wear. It was also from Eddie Bauer. His hair was brown. She suspected he used Brylcreem to make it so smooth. Mak wanted to mess it up. Just a few strands would do.

Yikes. What's got into me?

Hugs all round. Mak felt stiff and formal. She was worried about being so negative. What exactly was her problem? Was it that her sister seemed so d.a.m.n rational and perfect in their father's eyes? Married, with child. More often than not their father was worried about Mak, not happy for her, whereas Theresa was always the stable one. Predictable. Makedde was what one might politely refer to as "feisty". Always flying off somewhere. Always getting into trouble.

Theresa and her family made their way into the living room with Dad at their heels. Mak followed a fair distance behind, still trying to psyche herself up for the visit.

Would she ever find herself wandering into that living room with her own baby and husband, and her father smiling like a schoolboy at the sight of it all? Not anytime soon, it seemed.

Back when Mak was twenty, the family had encouraged her to marry a local boy named George Purdy. When she found out he had cheated on her, Mak dumped him and flipped his engagement ring into a bagful of milk cartons and baked beans in the Safeway supermarket checkout.

They were forty-five minutes into baby pictures before Theresa started in. That was almost forty-five minutes longer than usual.

"Dad tells me you aren't doing too well," she said.

Mak blinked and looked up from a stack of photos of Breanna with a polka-dotted pink and yellow bow in her hair, just to check. Yes, the comment was directed at her. "Excuse me?" she said.

"Apparently you were up all last night, pacing."

"Insomnia," Les muttered under his breath from the safety of his easychair on the other side of the room. He had the alb.u.m of Breanna playing with an orange ball.

"Dad, I don't have insomnia," Mak said. "I just have a little trouble sleeping sometimes. It's no big deal." If he brought up the thing about the shrink, she'd strangle him.

Theresa had Breanna on her knee and was bouncing her gently. Her adorable little face turned to Mak and broke into a two-hundred-watt smile. It was contagious and Mak couldn't help but smile back. Breanna was very cute; there was no denying it. The toddler had soft white curls crowning her head, and ears that stuck out a little. Breanna's mouth was like a plump cherry, and her inquisitive eyes were the optimistic colour of blue skies, and just as wide.

"Doesn't 'having trouble sleeping' mean that you have insomnia?" Theresa asked.

Makedde's smile dropped. She looked back to her sister, who, incredibly, was just getting started.

"I just can't understand why you would still want your d.a.m.n PhD after that whole nightmare in Sydney. Not to mention the incident with Stanley. I mean, Forensic Psychology? No wonder you're not sleeping. Always reading about psychos and rapists..."

Low b.l.o.o.d.y blow, sis.

The tiny hairs on the back of Makedde's neck bristled. The incident with Stanley was years before and he was in jail now. It had nothing to do with her PhD. It was totally irrelevant. And what the h.e.l.l did "d.a.m.n PhD" mean, anyway? She never bugged Theresa about her aspirations to be a house mom. If it wasn't about modelling not being "intellectual" enough, it was about Forensic Psychology not being "nice" enough. It seemed that Theresa just had to be negative about whatever her older sister was doing.

"It's not safe at university these days, you know. Especially a big campus like UBC." Theresa aimed her comment to the whole room as if it were an important public service announcement. "What did I hear the other day? One in three female students have been s.e.xually a.s.saulted or hara.s.sed there! I mean, one in three!"

"I think that particular report said one in six, which is shocking enough without your exaggeration," Mak said softly. "And those figures have since been disputed."

"One in six. Whatever." Theresa took a deep breath.

Oh no, she's not finished c.r.a.pping on yet.

"And that missing girl...What is it? Walker? Susan Walker? She was a student at UBC, you know. Lived on campus. I saw her fiance on the news the other day, pleading for information on her whereabouts. Her mother was crying. They figure she's been abducted. I don't know how you can feel safe there-"

Don't say it.

"Especially with what you've been through."

She said it.

Ben kept quiet. Theresa did not. "And the druggings. They've got girls waking up in strange men's beds and not even remembering how they got there. Ropnol, they use on them. It's an epidemic."

"Rohypnol," Mak corrected her gently. As a tranquilliser the drug was legal in sixty-four countries to treat sleeplessness, anxiety, convulsions and muscle tension, and although illegal in Canada and America, it had naturally found its way in the back door somehow. She was well aware of the reports.

"The kind of men who roam those campuses these days..."

Mak stared at the plain white wall beside her. If she looked really closely, she could make out her mother's brushstrokes. She managed to completely block out the familiar voice as her sister continued to make p.r.o.nouncements on the perils of Vancouver, the UBC campus and Makedde's life in general. Mak wanted to tell her to stop encouraging their father to worry even more than he already did, but she held her tongue. Insomnia was sapping her strength, and she was too tired to argue.

Mak looked to Breanna for wisdom. The little girl was searching the room with wide eyes, her gaze moving from her mother's lips to her grandfather's, then back to her mother's, finally resting on the collar of her mom's shirt, which she then decided to yank. Theresa gently removed the tiny hand, still continuing to talk. Makedde watched her sister's lips move, hearing nothing.

Suffering from what felt like a loud steam train chugging around in her head, Mak excused herself to the study, citing deadlines on her thesis. She opened the textbook to her book-marked section on Personality Disorders but couldn't keep her eyes open long enough to read anything. Before long, she lay her weary head on the textbook and slipped into a restless nap.

She emerged at dinnertime and walked down the hallway, rubbing her eyes and taking in the smells of cooking. She turned into the dining room, looked at the dinner table and...

Whoa.

There was a stranger at the table-a woman-and she was chatting with her father. The woman made eye contact and said, "Hi, Makedde," then pushed her chair out and stood, offering a handshake. "I'm Ann."

My G.o.d, the shrink.

Her face was warm and intelligent, framed by short, stylishly cropped wavy auburn hair. She was a compact-looking woman who Mak guessed was in her mid-forties. Not very tall. She was dressed in slacks and a loose blouse, smart casual, with little pearl stud earrings as her only jewellery. She was even-featured and pleasant-looking, with large brown eyes and a magnetic, Julia Roberts' smile.

Mak shook her hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," she said. "I've heard lots about you."

I bet you have.

Ann read her expression and added, "All good things. I hear you're a brilliant student and quite an accomplished model."

Mak didn't know what to say. She couldn't say that she'd heard lots about Ann, because she hadn't. Last night her father had obviously been hinting subtly that this woman was important to him, and Mak had been too paranoid and wrapped up in her own misery to make much of it. She had so quickly gone on the defensive.

How stupid of me.

Mak settled in at the table. Everything was already prepared. The food ready, the table set, the guests seated...

"I'm sorry I didn't help with anything. I pa.s.sed out." Mak let out a nervous laugh when she realised she may have inadvertently opened herself up to that unwanted topic again. "I'm in charge of clean-up," she said.

She watched as her father served his new friend some rice and chicken and an a.s.sortment of vegetables. Ann flashed him a smile when she thanked him, and Mak thought she caught a slightly gooey look on her father's face.

Wow.

Is this...are they...interested in each other?

She stole a glance at Ann's ring finger. Nothing. Wow, again. "Was married to Sergeant Morgan," he'd said the night before. Was. Obviously she'd kept her married name. When did all this happen?

"So, you're visiting the island?" Mak asked casually.

"Yes. I have some friends here, but I live in Vancouver. You do as well, I hear?"

"Yup. Kitsilano."

"I'm not too far from there. Not quite as cool an area though, I'm afraid. Kits is nice."

"I like it."

"I still prefer Victoria," Theresa interjected over a fork loaded with rice.

"Yes, it's very pretty here," Ann said. "The 'Garden City'. We're not far from Butchart Gardens, are we? I haven't been for ages."

Les looked up. "Umm...Perhaps we could make a day of it when you come to the island next?" The words came out a little awkwardly.

Bold, Dad. Very bold, Mak thought. Go for it.

"That would be nice."

I can't believe I am witnessing my dad setting up a date.

"This chicken's great, Dad," Theresa said, oblivious to the conversation. "I just taught him the recipe," she added proudly.

He smiled good-naturedly.

"Well, my son Connor has just mastered toast," Ann said, and everyone laughed. "I can tell when he's sick of junk food because he shows up unannounced and cleans out my fridge-"

The pealing of the telephone broke the moment.

Oh no. Not now.

"I'm not answering the phone," Mak blurted out.

The call echoed through the house, its sound amplified in a chorus through several rooms. There were three phones in the Vanderwall home, and each person at the dining-room table looked up from their meal to stare at the nearest one, which was mounted on the wall in the kitchen. Everyone that is, except Les Vanderwall. He was looking right at Makedde.

"I'm not answering it," she said. "We're in the middle of dinner." Mak was sitting closest to the phone. Unfortunately her quick nap had not relieved her of her headache, which seemed to flare up further with each consecutive ring.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, I'll get it," Theresa said and pushed her chair back. She tossed her hair to one side as she stood, and her blonde bob slid back into place perfectly when she straightened her head again.

"No, don't get it," Mak said, half standing now. "We're eating."

But Theresa was already a mere arm's length from the phone, saying something about how Breanna would wake up crying.

She s.n.a.t.c.hed up the receiver and answered with, "Vanderwall residence, h.e.l.lo?"

Mak waited. Her heart was beating way too fast. If it was Andy, she didn't want to speak to him. Not now. Not with the whole family nearby...especially her sister, and her father's guest.

"No, this isn't Makedde. This is her sister, Theresa. Who is this?" Pause. "Andrew Flynn? Oh, really? I've heard a lot about you, Detective. Are you calling from Australia?"

Mak vaulted from her chair.

"The FBI Academy? Reeeeeally?" Theresa went on, her eyes bright with curiosity. She shifted her weight to one leg and put a hand on her hip, turning her back to the dining room.

Mak reached the kitchen and slid across the linoleum waving her hands to get her sister's attention and mouthing the words, "I'm not here...I'm not here!"

"Oh, really? How fascinating..." Theresa heard her approach and shifted her weight back to the other leg, looking over her shoulder and ignoring her sister's frantic sign language. "Uh-huh." When Mak was close, Theresa said, "Oh, here she is now-"

She was smiling as she extended the phone. Mak thought it looked like a "f.u.c.k you" smile.

Mak stood back and shook her head.

After the receiver was suspended in the air for a while, Theresa brought the phone back to her lips and repeated, "Yup, Makedde's right here, I'll put her on." She extended the phone again. The smile was really big now.

Smart a.s.s.

"Uh, hi."

"Makedde?" That familiar voice.

"Hi, Andy. How are you?"

The line wasn't very clear.

"Good. How ya goin'?" The simple Aussie-ism pulled at her heartstrings.

"Fine, thanks." Well, not really.

Mak looked through the kitchen doorway into the dining room. Ann was the only one who was polite enough not to watch, everyone else was staring and Theresa was still standing in the kitchen, only a couple of feet away, watching intently.

"Just a second. I'll switch phones," she told Andy. "Can you hang this up for me when I get on the other phone?" she asked her sister, handing the receiver over. "I'll just be a sec."

Mak jogged down the hall to her father's study and closed the door behind her. She took the call standing up, the cord twisted and stretched taut. She didn't want to get too comfortable. By the time she picked it up, her sister was already having another conversation on the line.

"...Really? So how long are you there-" Theresa was saying.

"Thanks," Mak said loudly. "I've got it now, thank you."