And a bang a the sensation of flying.

Leslie told her to relax and stop moving her eyes. 'Tell me what comes to mind. Any thoughts?'

Harper bit her lip. 'I should have prevented it. It was my job. They all died because I fucked up.'

'Tell me what was new. What do you notice about the memory?'

'The car. I should have seen it.' She was holding her stomach.

Leslie pointed to Harper's hands. 'What's with your tummy?'

'Oh. I had cramps that morning. Bad ones. I've never remembered that before.'

Leslie beamed. 'See that? You recalled things that your mind never processed. New details.'

'So this is working?' Harper let go of her belly. 'Remembering cramps will stop my flashbacks?'

'It's a start.' Leslie finished her tea. 'Let's begin again.'

Again, Leslie directed Harper's eye movement, asking her to focus on the approaching car. Harper saw it in the periphery of her vision. She stood beside Marvin, nodded 'good morning' to the boy and to Sameh. The car approached, trailing a cloud of dust. Leslie asked who was driving the car. Were there passengers?

Harper stood on the corner, peering at the car, trying to make out the person inside. Her eyes darted rapidly from side to side. Who was driving? A man? Yes, a man. But there was a second person beside him. So, two young men? And an arm hanging out the open back window. Three?

Leslie told her to relax, stopped directing her eyes. 'What do you think?'

'There were three. At least three in the car.'

'Good. Anything else?'

Harper thought. The car full of suicide bombers was coming straight down the road. Headed for the soldiers at the checkpoint, Sameh, the boy a all of them unaware that in seconds they'd be dead. Because Harper had been too distracted to stop the car.

For the rest of the session, they repeated the pattern: half a minute of rapid eye movement with memory, then a short discussion about it.

Again and again, Harper faced the unbearable fact that she was responsible for the carnage that morning. She had seen the car, should have stopped it. Again and again, she saw the boy with no face and felt her body soar on to the top of a parked car, covered with bits of Marvin. But, at the end of the session, even though she tried, she still couldn't locate the remains of the other soldiers, and she had no idea what had happened to Sameh.

Leslie was excited by Harper's progress and made an appointment for the next day, urging her to jot down any related thoughts or memories that might arise. As Harper was leaving, she touched her arm. 'One more thing, Harper. Remember: an affair doesn't have to mean the end of a marriage.'

Really? It didn't? Harper walked out of Leslie's office, unable to imagine trusting Hank ever again. Or any man. Or woman. Did she trust Leslie? Who knew? Harper felt drained. Except for her skull, which felt full of goose down, fuzzy and soft, unable to function. Her limbs ached, sore to the touch. She needed sleep; thought of her room, her bed, her home. She wondered if she could go back. Even if the police were done with it, could she go back there? Could she sleep where Monique had been murdered, where Larry had sucked his last breath with a nail file stuck in his larynx? There would be blood on the porch, on the bathroom floor.

Still, she'd have to go back some time; ought to call Detective Rivers and find out when she'd be allowed. She pulled her phone out of her bag, saw that she had missed calls. Two from her mother, wanting Harper to call. Two from Vicki, explaining that Harper had been asleep when she'd left that morning and she wanted to know how she was; would she please call. One from Detective Rivers, reporting that her house was no longer a crime scene, so Harper could go home. And one from Ron, asking how she was.

Ron had called. Just to ask how she was.

Harper got on to her Ninja, thinking about Ron. About their dinner the night before. And about going back to Vicki's, turning down his invitation to stay with him. She'd been unable to sleep afterwards, imagining it. Not just staying there, but actually sleeping with him. Having sex with him. She hadn't done it, of course, but she'd thought about it. So, how different was that from Hank?

Very different. Because, even if she'd considered it, she hadn't done it. She had spurned the offer and lain awake, feeling lonely, needy, guilty and cranky, staring at the television, turning, pacing and, eventually, going through Hank's computer. To find out that he had slept with Vicki.

If only she hadn't logged on to that damned computer. Everything would be different. She wouldn't be furious with Hank, wouldn't want to tear out Vicki's hair. The affair, the cheating and lying still would have happened, but at least she'd be blissfully unaware.

In her head, Leslie repeated, 'An affair doesn't have to mean the end of a marriage.'

Really? What did Leslie know about it? Had Leslie's husband ever cheated? With her friend? Harper doubted it. She'd only seen him once, from a distance. His shorts had been too short; his legs pale and skinny, his knees knobby. Not a cheater.

Starting the Ninja, she stopped to make sure her bag was secured behind her seat. Man the thing was bulky. She carried too much stuff with her a all that junk she'd dumped on to Vicki's guest bed, looking for that missing paper. And what about that missing paper? She took her bag out again, peeked inside, half expected to see it lying right on top. No luck.

She poked around, but it simply wasn't there. So where the hell was it? She'd promised to give it to Ron. Now she'd have to tell him she'd lost it. Embarrassing. Even so, she picked up her phone, returned his call. And minutes later pulled into the Ithaca Bakery's parking lot, feeling flushed.

Ron was waiting at a table with her iced chai and some banana walnut bread. When Harper approached, he stood, brushed her cheek with a kiss. A kiss? Just a peck, Harper told herself. A greeting, nothing more. In France, she'd have gotten two of them. She took a seat, her cheek tickling from the bristles of his chin.

The place was empty. Two o'clock: quiet time. Ron reached over and took her hand. His grasp was confident. Entitled.

'I'm glad you called.' His eyes glowed, golden. 'I've got to say it even if it offends you: I thought about you all night.'

He had? Harper looked away. Then she looked back. 'You didn't need to worry. I was fine-'

'I wasn't worrying.' Ron grinned, his teeth white against his tan. 'The fact is, you were on my mind.'

Harper's free hand tightened around her drink, a smile pasted on her face. Awkward.

'You're not offended?'

She laughed nervously, dared to meet his eyes. 'No. You were on mine, too.'

'Seriously?' He grinned, leaned forward. 'Harper, I don't know what's happening here. And I shouldn't say this. But . . . honestly, I'm kind of smitten.' He watched her. 'I should be at work now, but I had to see you.'

Harper watched his lips move. He had to see her?

'I know it's bizarre. Fact is, aside from the Center, we barely know each other. And you're married, for Christ's sake. And the circumstances. Murders and drug thefts? Not exactly a good prognosis for a relationship.' His eyes gleamed. 'But here I am. Here we are. I mean, are we?'

Were they?

Harper stalled, crushed a napkin. 'We are.' Well, they were. What to do about it was a different issue. But, for the moment, she didn't need to do anything. It felt good just to be there.

They left together, in his car. Going to her house, presumably so she wouldn't have to face the mess alone. As he drove, he held her hand with a comfortable grip. She thought only sporadically of Hank.

There were no police cars at the house, but yellow police tape still draped the porch. She dreaded going inside. Her belongings would be scattered. Blood would have crusted on the bathroom floor. When Ron parked the car, she turned to thank him; silently, gently, he lowered his mouth to hers.

The kiss was softer than she'd imagined. Like mousse. Or meringue. She lingered, making it last, wanting to sink into it.

'I'll be right beside you.' His voice was gravelly. Not like the kiss.

Was he hoping to have sex? Another kiss. His tongue flicked across her lips. Harper's chest throbbed, and her body awoke, remembering it was female. Parts she'd tried to forget about began to demand attention. It had been too long. And remembering that too-long-ago time, she thought of Hank. Her Hank. Her lying, cheating, vow-breaking, deceitful Hank.

Ron whispered. His breath tickled her face. 'What's wrong?'

Not for the first time, he responded to her feelings before she'd said a word.

'Is it about your husband? Because, if it is, I understand. But a' he caressed her face with a finger a 'your husband isn't here now.' His lips brushed her forehead. 'And you shouldn't have to be alone.' Her cheek. 'And you've been through a lot.' Her neck. 'And you're so damned adorable.' And settled on her mouth.

This is wrong, Harper thought. Even so, she returned Ron's kisses. His smell was intriguing and new, like his taste. And his touch. But being touched kept reminding her of Hank and his familiar, much more substantial, more solid body. Which she pictured humping Vicki. And she silently cursed him, telling herself that Hank, with all his secrets and deceits, had no right to expect his wife to be faithful.

'Want to move this inside?' Ron whispered.

Inside? Oh. To her bedroom? Hank's bedroom? Their bed? Harper hesitated, pulled away. Oh God.

'Harper?'

'This isn't . . . I can't do this, at least not here.' She held herself rigid.

'Someplace else then?'

When she didn't respond, Ron took a deep breath. 'Are you sure?'

No, Harper wasn't, but she nodded, yes. She pictured ripping his clothes off, wondered what his chest would look like. Was it rippled? Skinny? Freckled? Sprinkled with soft hairs?

Ron leaned against the window, an arm on the steering wheel, instantly composed. 'OK.' Harper thought she heard a trace of annoyance in his voice. 'Let's just go check the place out.'

They got out of the car, Harper wondering why he'd given up so easily. He could have suggested going to his house. Or a motel. But he hadn't; he'd just given up. Which left her and her body feeling rejected. Maybe, she thought, Ron felt rejected, too. After all, she'd been the one who'd called the halt, and she hadn't done it gently. She thought of his kiss, its tenderness, the way he'd anticipated her thoughts. Oh God, what was she doing?

Together, they walked to the porch where the puddle of blood had long since congealed and dried. Harper didn't look at it. Instead, she stood tall, bracing herself to face the mess inside, and realized that she really should a no, really had to a deal with the house alone. This wasn't just her home; it was also Hank's. Just as Ron didn't belong in their bed, he didn't belong inside their cabinets or dresser drawers. She shouldn't have let him come over. Her lips still pulsed from the pressure of his, and she could smell him on her skin. Dammit, why had he just given up? Why hadn't he asked her to his place? Why had the panting and petting stopped and everything fallen apart?

Ron stood in the foyer, looking around. In the dining room, drop cloths lay in bunches, the contents of the hutch scattered on top. The living room furniture was upside down, cushions thrown every which way.

'Cool house.'

Was he serious? 'It is. We think so, anyhow.'

'You're renovating.'

'We were.' Harper didn't want to talk about that. 'Anyhow, I can manage from here. Thanks for . . . you know.'

Ron's stared at the mess. 'Don't be ridiculous. At least let me pick up the heavy stuff-'

'No. I can manage. Really.'

He didn't move. Didn't seem to know what to say.

'I kind of need to do this alone.'

'But you shouldn't. Be alone, I mean.'

'I'll be fine. The police keep driving by.'

Ron moved close, kissed her again briefly. 'I'll call you tomorrow.'

Harper nodded, ready for him to go. Wanting him to stay. She watched through the dining-room window as he walked to his car. Even if Hank had cheated on her, she was better than that. She was angry, but she wasn't going to have sex with Ron just to get revenge. She wasn't.

Bracing herself, Harper walked into the living room, turned over a chair. Replaced a cushion. Bent over for another when, suddenly, she dropped it, turned and ran to the door, hoping she wasn't too late to catch Ron.

Grabbing her bag, she flew out the front door, calling to Ron, catching him before he drove off, reminding him that her Ninja was still parked at the bakery. They laughed foolishly, and Harper got back in the car.

For several miles, they were silent.

'I hope you don't-'

'Look, I don't want to-'

They both began at once. And stopped at once. And laughed again, uncomfortably.

'Go on. What were you going to say?'

'No, nothing. You go ahead.'

Ron drove. 'I like you, Harper. That's all.'

'I like you, too. Really.'

Ron smiled. 'Good.'

Harper wasn't sure. 'Is it?'

'Yes. It is.'

Silence. Only, this time, it wasn't uncomfortable; something had been understood.

After a while, Ron sighed.

'What?'

'Nothing. Well, not nothing. Fact is, I don't want to go back to work. Wyatt's been a pain. He's obsessed about the drugs, putting pressure on me because he doesn't know what to do.' Ron stopped at a red light, turned to look at her. 'The problem's serious, but he's so freaking uptight. He's making it worse.'

'Dr Wyatt has always seemed . . . strung tight.'

Ron nodded, smirking. 'He's a genius; geniuses tend to be quirky.' He watched the road. 'Wyatt thinks you're involved in all this, Harper.'

Harper tensed. 'What? Why?'

'Think about it. You knew the murdered kids, the suicide, even the waitress.'

Detective Rivers had said the same thing.

'So far, you're the common thread. Plus, you've been mugged, your house has been tossed. It's obvious Wyatt's not the only one who thinks you're connected.'

'But how, Ron? How could I be connected? Does he think I masterminded the theft? I never even knew those pills existed-'

'No, no. He thinks you're an unwitting participant. That you fell into it by accident. That you must have something, maybe something you don't know you have. Or you know something you don't consider significant.' Ron stopped at a red light, turned to face her.

'But I've already told you-' Harper stopped mid-sentence, remembering that she hadn't told him about the paper. She'd met him for coffee to tell him, but they'd gotten sidetracked by their flirtation. 'Could it be that piece of paper? With the numbers?'