He started down the driveway. He reached the front walkway, went to climb the porch steps, and then reconsidered.

On a clear, sunny day such as today, Rachel would not be inside. She would be on the balcony, taking in the view of the sea.

He walked around the side of the house, brushing drooping palmetto leaves out of his face.

At the rear corner, he looked up. He saw the moss-braided balcony that he knew would be there.

Rachel was up there, too. Waiting for him.

Chapter 58.

Leaving Eddie twitching and moaning on the basement floor, Dexter rushed out through the back door. He didn't want to get hemmed in by the cops, though he was increasingly confident that, with his growing invincibility, a squad of armed police officers would have failed to stop him. He hurried mostly because he finally knew where his wife had gone, and he couldn't wait to get her.

Outdoors, racing across the back yard, Dexter invoked the cloak of invisibility as easily as a man wriggling a finger. Exercising the talent no longer required an intense act of will.

He leaped over the fence at the perimeter of the yard, which placed him on the fringe of a neighborhood park. He had left his car, the Mustang he'd taken from Tanisha, parked around the corner on a quiet, elm-lined residential street. News of her murder had probably gotten out by then, so he'd taken care to switch her license plate with a tag he'd found from another vehicle.

Back behind the wheel, Dexter dug Eddie's Blackberry out of his jacket pocket. He'd kept the PDA after he'd swiped it from the punk, knowing that it would come in handy later.

Before he'd been incarcerated, he'd used a Blackberry that the firm had loaned to him. But that had been an earlier model, and didn't have all the bells and whistles that this gadget boasted. This one had email capabilities, Bluetooth, web surfing, the works.

Using his thumbs, he opened the web browser and did a Google search on "Hyde Island."

Several hundred results appeared on the small display. Several of them referenced the state of Georgia, and in a few he saw a phrase that mentioned a barrier island.

He remembered the beach photo he'd seen hanging on a wall in his wife's house. It had meant nothing to him at the time, and he'd overlooked it.

Now, he realized that it had meant everything.

"Very clever, girl," Dexter said. "For once, you surprised me."

He clicked on a page that included the barrier island phrase, and was rewarded with a tourism site for Hyde Island, a barrier island off the southeastern coast of Georgia. The comprehensive site included a ferry schedule and driving directions from Atlanta. The trip would take four-and-a-half hours.

The clock in the lower right-hand corner of the display indicated that it was a few minutes past noon. A ferry had left for the island a short while ago, and the last boat for the day would leave the mainland at four-thirty in the afternoon.

Dexter smiled at the serendipity of his situation.

If he drove fast, he had just enough time to catch the day's last boat.

Chapter 59.

His heart banging, Joshua mounted the balcony steps.

He dreaded this confrontation with Rachel. But he was pulled inexorably toward it, as if by the force of gravity.

He climbed the stairs.

Rachel stood in the far corner, arms folded on the railing, contemplating the ocean. She wore a white velour jogging suit and sneakers. Her hair was pulled back into a bun.

Joshua noticed a bulge on her hip, concealed by her jacket. He was certain that it was a gun. Although she had retreated to her hideaway, she was still afraid Bates would find her. He couldn't say that he blamed her.

She didn't turn to look at him. She continued to gaze at the water. She was so beautiful that his heartbeat stuttered, but in many ways, she was as mysterious as the vast sea that claimed her attention.

He set his bag on the floor, cleared his throat. He had thought about his opening line for this conversation over a hundred times, and now, when the moment had finally arrived, he didn't know what to say.

Rachel spoke first, without looking at him: "So you found me. I knew you would."

"It wasn't easy."

At last, she turned. Her face was unreadable. But when she looked him up and down, a hint of anguish sparked in her eyes.

"You're hurt," she said. "How badly?"

"It's not as bad as it looks. I'll live. Believe it or not, he's worse off than I am."

Rachel nervously tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I-I never thought you could deal with him, Joshua. That's why I ran away. I was afraid of what might happen to you if you had to face him."

"That's not why you left, and both of us know it."

She dropped her gaze, pursed her lips. "Maybe you're right."

"You were running from me. You didn't want to tell me the truth about your past."

She raised her face to him, eyes desperate. "Do you hate me? I would understand if you do. After what I did to you . . . I deserve your hate."

"I don't hate you." Joshua propped his back against the railing. Although only a few feet separated them, in the geography of their relationship, they were miles apart. "I found out a little bit about what Dexter did to you when you were married, and I've learned a lot about what he's been doing since he got out of prison. The guy's a certified psycho. Your leaving Illinois, changing your identity, is probably the only reason you're still alive."

"It was a living hell," Rachel said. Tears wove down her cheeks, and she wiped them away with the heel of her hand. "Leaving behind my family, my friends, my life. All because of him. When I first moved to Atlanta, I would cry myself to sleep every night. Giving up everything . . . it didn't seem worth it. But all that changed when I found you." Through her tears, she managed a slight smile.

Emotion tightened Joshua's throat. He had to restrain the urge to hold her, to stop her tears. He couldn't do that yet. There was much left to discuss.

"If you felt that way about me, why didn't you tell me the truth?" he asked.

"Because I was scared! I was scared to tell anyone I met in Atlanta about Dexter. Dexter was well connected . . . he knew people everywhere, and you know how folks talk. I slip up and tell someone, and word begins to travel, and the next thing you know, as soon as he gets out of prison, he's coming to Atlanta and showing up at my front door. I couldn't risk telling anyone."

"But I'm your husband. I pledged my life to you, Rachel. I deserved to know."

"Yes, you did." She shook her head sadly, sniffled. "But I was scared to tell you, most of all."

"Why?"

"Come on, baby. What would you have thought of me, knowing that I'd been married to a terrible, abusive asshole who was in prison because he'd tried to kill me? Would I have been as attractive to you? Would you have wanted to be with me, knowing that when Dexter was released, he was going to track me down and try to finish what he'd failed to do the first time?"

"It wouldn't have changed anything with me. I would've wanted to be with you, regardless."

"Now don't you start lying to me." She laughed hollowly. "Think if I'd shared all of these things with you after we'd been dating for a couple of months. You would've run for the hills."

"No, I wouldn't have," he said, but his voice lacked conviction. She knew him. Learning the truth of her past during the early stages of their courtship would have planted doubts, concerns. He would have asked himself if he really wanted to get involved with a woman who one day would probably be stalked by her psychotic ex-husband. The romance would have died before it had ample time to bloom.

"And then you would've told your mother," Rachel said. "She would've talked so bad about me to you that the crap she says about me now would've been no comparison. She would've made it her mission to drive you away from me, and you might have given in and ended it."

"Maybe," Joshua said. "Or maybe not. You were assuming a lot."

"But more than all of that, you were so . . . nice, so damned decent." Her eyes were tearing up again, and she wiped them. "I was coming out of a situation where I'd been married to the devil incarnate, and I mostly blamed myself for getting involved with him, for letting him do the things to me that he did. I honestly didn't believe that I deserved to meet a good man. But there you were." She smiled wanly. "I guess I wanted to be a woman who was worthy of you."

"You wanted to be worthy of me?"

"Yes. I wanted to be worthy of you-not some scared woman on the run coming into your life with all this crazy-ass baggage."

It was perhaps the most revealing answer he'd ever received from her, and it startled him. She wanted to be worthy of him? With her beauty, intelligence, and charm, he'd lain awake many nights worried that he didn't deserve her, that her professed love for him was only a passing fad, that she would wake up one day and realize how thoroughly unremarkable he was-and would want out.

"We never see ourselves as others see us, baby," she said. "You're a good man, Joshua. Honest to a fault. Considerate. Gentle. Hard-working. Dependable. And need I say, fine." She laughed lightly. "I almost couldn't believe that we had a chance to build something together. I was scared to let my skeletons out of the closet and risk screwing it up."

"So you lied," he said. "About everything."

She cringed as if slapped. "Not everything."

He folded his arms across his chest and watched her, silent.

"But far too much, I admit."

He turned away from her. He'd expected to be angrier. He'd been expecting a shouting match, an argument so emotionally charged that it might have left their marriage in tatters. But being with her again, and finally hearing her honest responses to his questions, only left him exhausted. She had suffered so much, and so had he, that he was tired of it all, wanting only to get back to his regular life-which he wasn't sure included her.

Rachel crossed the balcony and touched his arm. Her hand was warm, electric.

"But like I said before, I never lied about loving you." Tears glimmered in her eyes. "I'm sorry for everything. I hope . . . I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me."

Joshua's heart felt as if it were on the verge of imploding.

"Leave me alone out here for a little while," he said. "Okay?"

"Of course." She squeezed his arm. "I'll be waiting downstairs."

She went inside the house through a sliding glass door, her figure folding into the shadows within.

Joshua remained on the balcony. He watched the waves crashing on the beach, the seagulls screeching overhead, the fleet of clouds gathering on the horizon. The timeless patterns of nature that would continue long after he and Rachel were gone and forgotten.

Their time on this world, together, was precious. He knew she loved him, and he loved her more than he'd ever dreamed of loving another person. Her dishonesty had wounded his heart, and it would take him time for their marriage to recover from the emotional damage, but his feelings for her, in light of the suffering he had undergone to find her again, had only deepened many fathoms. Like the sea before him.

This was what commitment was all about, he realized. Braving heartache and disappointment, in order to keep a union intact. It wasn't easy, wasn't painless, wasn't convenient. Commitment was work.

And staying committed was a conscious choice.

He remained on the balcony for perhaps a half hour. Then, he picked up his bag, and went inside.

Chapter 60.

Entering the house via the balcony door placed Joshua in a bedroom. A large, cleanly-swept space, it was sparsely furnished with only a queen-size bed, dresser, and a small bookcase packed with several old Bibles, as if Rachel had come there to do penance. Her suitcase lay open beside the bed, clothes with the tags still on them lying inside.

In the hallway outside the room, Joshua found a black-and-white photo hanging on the wall: two attractive young black women wearing church dresses and big hats, and a girl of perhaps four standing between them, also in a formal dress, her hair done in Afro puffs. Both of the women bore a strong resemblance to Rachel, and the child had Rachel's eyes.

There were other old family photographs displayed in the hallway, some of which he recognized as copies of pictures she kept in their house in Atlanta. Other photos featured people he had never seen before.

Although there were three more doors off the hall, he didn't feel right snooping through the rooms. He went downstairs, where Rachel had said she would be waiting.

He found her in the kitchen. She sat at a dinette table, drinking coffee and reading a newspaper. From the strands of hair that had escaped her bun, Joshua knew she had been scratching her scalp, one of her nervous habits.

She looked up from the paper, smiled hesitantly. "Coffee?"

He nodded.

She went to the counter. As she was opening a cabinet to retrieve a cup, he came behind her and rested his hands on her shoulders. She flinched at his touch, as if expecting a blow, and then she relaxed, her body becoming pliable in his hands.

He gently turned her around. She looked up at him. Hope and anxiety wavered alternately on her face.

"I forgive you," he said.

She closed her eyes and released a sigh that seemed to come from the depths of her soul. "Thank you."

"There's no way I'm leaving you. You're my wife, the mother of my unborn child. I pledged to stay with you till death do us part, and I'm not changing my mind now. I don't like what you did, but I love you."

She opened her eyes. Tears streamed out of them, rolled down her cheeks. "I love you, too."

He flicked away her tears with his finger.

"No more secrets between us," he said.

"No more." She shook her head.

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close. She slid her hands across his back and nuzzled against his chest.