And then she did laugh. "Thanks, Dash. I would appreciate that."

Matty woke with a start and bolted upright. She paused and blinked, letting the hazy daytime sleep clear from her head. Next to her, Bob raised his head and looked at her, as did Isis who was sleeping in her usual spot in the corner of the room on her dog bed. The other dogs were scattered around the house and, judging by the silence, sleeping, too.

She took a few deep breaths trying to recall what had woken her so suddenly. Fragments of thoughts floated in and out of her mind but nothing took hold. She glanced out the window then down at her clock. The late-afternoon sun was muted and a stream of light shone through the back window of the bedroom.

Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, her eyes caught on the book shed left on the bedside table. A book. She stared at it for a long moment, before picking it up and opening the cover. And then it clicked.

Thumbing through the first few pages, she found the copyright notice and below it, the ISBN number. Ten digits.

Putting the book down, she climbed out of bed in her t-shirt, tugged on a pair of yoga pants, jogged downstairs, and booted up her computer. Pulling up a search engine, she plugged in the numbers Vivi had given her followed by "ISBN." And when the results came up, her stomach shrank to the size of a pea.

The book was one of hers.

She should have known. The main character was blind. Matty had even spent several days with blind "guides," men and women gracious enough to share their time with her to help her experience what it was like to live in DC as a blind person.

But why would Brad make a point of leaving her a trail to one of her own books? Or was it even a trail at all? Maybe the form, and the numbers, hadnt been left for her, but was just something Brad had laying around for another reason altogether.

She had no idea what to think, other than that it was just strange. And something she couldnt dismiss or drop. Pursing her lips, she opened her file manager and scrolled through the list. She didnt have that particular book on her hard drive so she got up to have a look at Brads bookshelves. He had several in the office, but she had noticed that he also kept books on the shelves in the formal living room and in one of the guest rooms upstairs.

The guest room, the thought clicked into her head. Where she was supposed to have slept. Deciding to start there rather than the living room, she headed back upstairs and entered the large guest suite. Approaching the shelves, she began to run her eyes systematically back and forth. And then, there, on the fourth shelf down, nestled amongst other genre fiction books, was the book she was looking for. As she pulled it off the shelf, the cover flapped opened and several pictures fell from between the pages.

She was definitely getting a bad feeling about all of this. She thought about calling Brad, but for the first time since her arrival, it crossed her mind that perhaps the reason he wasnt calling back was because he couldnt. Yes, they had talked the day before she had arrived, but the fact that he had left some sort of trail of clues for her to follow and had been, for all intents and purposes, unreachable, just wasnt feeling right.

Taking a seat on the floor, she spread the photos out. There were eleven of them, but it became apparent very quickly that there were only three subjects being covered by the collection. The most recognizable pictures were taken in the aftermath of hurricane Katrina, judging from the architecture and destruction. But they were pictures unlike anything Matty had seen on television. Most were of bodies, some bloated and distended, others battered and tangled in fences or against walls. There were pictures of houses and FEMA shelters. And pictures of supplies, presumably flown in to provide relief. There was also a picture of two men she didnt recognize but would peg as either government or big business, judging by their dark suits and ties.

Placing that set of pictures aside, she gathered up the most graphic of the three sets. In these were pictures of children, dead or dying, mostly lying on cots, but some in the street. And it was the street photos that gave her a clue as to what she was looking at. She couldnt say for certain, but if she had to guess, she would wager the photos were from Haiti, taken after the earthquake. And, like the Katrina pictures, one stood out; it was a picture of three people, two men and a woman, dressed in western clothing, khakis and dark t-shirts. They were white but there was no indication of their nationality.

The last set of pictures didnt seem to fit with the other two. The first photo was of a pretty, young woman. She looked petite and had long, blonde hair pulled back out of her face and she was wearing a big smile. It was a posed photo with a generic cloth background that gave Matty no clue as to who she was or where the photo was taken.

The other picture in the set was primarily of two older white men shaking hands. The only indication Matty had that it belonged with the other photo was the blurry image of the same young woman standing some distance behind the two men.

There were a number of other people in the background of the photo and, judging by the concrete structures she could make out, she would place them at some sort of sporting event. But what kind or where, she hadnt a clue. Then again, as she fingered the picture and thought about how Brad had set things up so she would find all of the photos, maybe the racing form itself, not just the braille, was a clue. She frowned as she looked at the picture. Shed never been to the track up near Albany so nothing in the photo looked familiar. But it would be easy enough to check, if she felt so inclined.

But even if she confirmed that the photo was shot at the track, that wouldnt explain why it was included in a stack of photos with the other, more graphic, images. More confused than before, she flipped through the pictures again. And then again. On the back of the picture of the two men in New Orleans were names, and she found the same on the back of the picture of the three people in Haiti. But there was nothing written on the picture of the woman or the picture of the two men with the same woman.

She sat on the floor for a long time trying to figure out not only what the pictures meant but what it meant that Brad appeared to have hidden them for her to find. So intent on the photos, Matty just about jumped out of her skin when her cell rang. But with a glance at the number, she hit ignore and put it back down. She had no interest in talking to Chen at this particular moment.

But the phone must have alerted the dogs to where she was; suddenly they were all standing in the doorway. Even Bob, with this bandaged paw and cone of shame. Looking at the clock on the bedside table, she realized it was doggy dinnertime.

Debating about what to do with the pictures, she finally opted to slide them into a different book, an unused journal with a picture of Venice on the cover. She didnt have a rational reason for doing so, but she felt, in some small way, that she was acknowledging Brads message by moving the photos somewhere that was her secret. Even if she didnt know what his message was yet.

She fed the dogs then decided to jump in the shower and wash the remains of her afternoon nap off, as well as some of the ickiness she felt after looking at the photos. Refreshed, she pulled on a sundress, brushed on a little makeup and mascara, and headed down the lane to drop off the gift shed purchased for her neighbor earlier that day.

When Elise didnt answer her door, Matty realized that, yes, shed wanted to drop the gift off, but that shed also been hoping the woman would be home to offer her a distraction. With a sigh, she left the package and card on the porch of the house-a house much more traditional than she would have expected given the owners mailbox-and continued down the driveway toward Andersons. She wasnt really hungry and hadnt intended to carry on down the road, but it was better than going back to Brads and sitting alone all night. Thinking about the pictures.

She was just about to cross the street to the restaurant when she heard the rumble of an old engine. Pausing to see where it was coming from, a smile spread across her face when it came into view. A classic red Cadillac convertible-fins and all-pulled to a stop. And perched in the white leather drivers seat was Elise. Wearing more than just a bathing suit this time, she sported a white sundress, a white scarf around her head, and a pair of big Jackie O. sunglasses.

Matty crossed the street and leaned over the passenger door, grinning. "This is quite a car you have, Elise. Shes got some attitude, doesnt she?"

"Life is boring without attitude, darling. This is Greta. Ive had her for thirty years. More reliable than most people I know."

"More sturdy, too, would be my guess," Matty said, resting her elbows on the open window frame. "I just left you a little package on your porch to say thank you for your help yesterday."

Elise beamed. "Thank you, darling. Its so nice to meet a young person with manners. Youre welcome, by the way-and how is the little guy?"

As she was giving Elise a brief report on Bob, the sound of a familiar truck could be heard coming up behind her. Stopping her narrative, she turned to watch it over her shoulder. Dash stopped at the stop sign, paused a little longer than necessary, then turned right. She thought he might be headed out on a call, but then she heard him pull his truck into the back part of Andersons parking lot, turn the engine off, and, a few seconds later, open and close his truck door. She and Elise were quiet, still listening. After a minute, they saw Dash standing on the roadside, clearly waiting for her.

She turned back to Elise, who was smiling. "The rumors say hes quite a handful, Matty dear."

Matty laughed. "Is that a warning or a challenge, Elise?"

"That, my dear, is up to you."

Matty straightened as Elise pulled back onto the road. She watched the Caddy drive away, then crossed the street and stopped in front of Dash.

"Youre a traffic hazard, Matty Brooks," he said.

"You here to cash in on that rain check?" She gestured toward Andersons with her head. "If I recall, I offered you a drink," she said, harkening back to their conversation the first day she arrived.

He let out a little chuckle. "You can keep the rain check. Ill buy."

They entered and took a seat at the same table by the window where theyd watched the storm a few nights earlier. There was some sort of huge party going on in the back of the restaurant, which accounted for the number of cars in the parking lot, but the front of the restaurant, which was mostly the bar, was fairly empty.

"You look like you got some sleep this afternoon," Dash commented, picking up the menu.

She nodded. "Yes, Bob and I both took your advice. We needed it. How was the rest of your day?"

They spent the next few minutes talking about his day. She didnt know any large animal vets, and being a writer and a naturally inquisitive person, she took the opportunity to learn a little bit about his job. Amy came and took their orders about ten minutes after theyd sat down and explained that, because there was a wedding rehearsal dinner going on in the back, dinner might take a little longer than usual. Matty had no desire to rush back to Brads house and be alone for the rest of the evening, so she didnt mind at all. She still wasnt certain what to think about the whole thing with Dash-whether she wanted to pursue something or not, or, if she did, whether he would be interested or still freaked out by his crazy family tradition. The only thing she did know was that she didnt want to go back to the house until she was good and tired enough to fall straight into bed.

Dinner came and went while she asked Dash about his family, growing up in Windsor, and his time in the military-the conversation they should have had the first time they were in Andersons, before Marcus and Carly joined them. Before Dash fled the scene.

And so, for a few hours, she was able to forget the pictures, Bobs toe, and even the looming deadline for her book.

And then the bride and groom walked by. Maybe it was guilt playing in her mind, but when Matty saw the bride, a young woman who so closely resembled the main female character Matty pictured in her head when writing her new book, for a moment, she was speechless.

"Matty? Is everything alright?" Dash asked. "Matty?" he repeated.

She gave herself a little shake as the couple exited the restaurant, followed by several others in the wedding party. "Sorry, I just got distracted. Im close to being done with my next book, but just a little behind schedule, and that woman reminded me of something."

"Do you really have a schedule?" he asked.

She wagged her head. "I do, and while it isnt set in stone, I do like to stick to it as much as possible."

"So whats causing the delay? Other than all the shit thats been going on, of course," he added with a smile.

"Strangely enough, its not that. I tend to find that when I have a lot going on, I actually write more, and even better. But this time its-well, its hard to explain."

"Try me," he prompted.

She took a moment to gather her thoughts, then leaned forward and ran her fingers over her beer glass as she spoke. "I dont write sex into my books, but there are definitely elements of romance or potential romance in them. Its something that helps a thriller appeal across genders. And I kind of like the idea of people getting a happy ending," she added with a sheepish smile.

"Sounds good to me," he said.

"But the problem is, I havent been able to figure out that connection between my two main characters. Like I said, I dont include the sex scenes in my books, but I do like to write them out so that its in my head when I write their interactions. I find that it brings a sense of realism to their relationship."

"You write sex scenes?"

He was getting that glazed look again. She shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Yes, I do, and no, you cannot read them. And no, they generally arent based on experience. Besides, what I write is fictional, its not real sex."

"How can something be 'not real sex?"

"Because I write what I write to create and capture a feeling, rather than an act. There arent any awkward moments, there arent any jeans getting stuck on feet, or unplanned bodily noises. Condoms appear out of nowhere and everything is perfect the first time around. And the second time. Its planned and orchestrated and helps me focus on what my characters feel, emotionally, so I can leverage that throughout the book. Real sex isnt so constructed."

"And why dont you write real sex?"

"Because people have real sex. Like I said, writing fictional sex lets me explore and discover emotions that translate into an intimacy between the main characters. And Ive found, from talking to readers, that when they read my books, they tend to want to escape reality, to go into a world thats different than their own, both intellectually and emotionally. Fictional sex, if only as a backstory in my head, helps me give my readers what they want. If people want real sex, there are a number of ways to get it, including with a different kind of book or with an actual person."

"You make real sex sound so easy."

She arched a brow at him. "Youre not honestly going to tell me its that hard for you to find a partner? 'Cause thats not what Ive heard."

He opened his mouth then shut it. Smart man. "Okay, so then whats the problem with these two characters?" he said instead.

"I cant seem to put my finger on what it is that will tip them over the edge from where they are to what they can be, together."

"Meaning?"

"Theres a moment in every romantic relationship that gives the people involved a choice. To jump in or not? Im not saying there is only ever one moment, because I dont believe that, but there is always at least one moment when the parties have to make that decision."

"And," he said, leaning forward.

"And I cant quite seem to construct that moment for these two characters. I cant quite figure out what they need to be thinking or feeling, or what needs to be happening for that moment to even present itself."

"A plot issue?"

She lifted a shoulder. "Maybe, but I think its more of a feeling issue. The characters are both strong, but shes been lied to and betrayed by so many people shes not really sure she can trust herself anymore. The lies and betrayals are work related, not from former boyfriends or anything like that. But what has happened is shes been put in a position where shes starting to question her own judgment."

"Including what she might feel for the guy or might think she feels," Dash said.

Matty nodded. "So, when she questions her own judgment, what needs to happen to make her take that leap without making her seem like a helpless princess?"

Dash laughed a bit. "Ive read your books, you dont write helpless princesses."

She smiled at that.

"You want to know what I think?" he asked.

She nodded.

"I think he needs to overwhelm her with his certainty." As Dash spoke he leaned across the table and traced a finger up the back of her hand. Such a small touch.

"Reassure her?" she managed to say as her eyes fixed on his finger making its way back down her hand.

"No, not reassure her. If shes been betrayed, only time and consistency will reassure her. But if he wants the chance to have that time and the opportunity to be consistent, he needs to push her over that ledge once and then let her see that hes with her the whole time."

Matty swallowed and looked at Dash. His eyes were almost black. "You sound like youre speaking from experience?"

He shook his head. "In real life it isnt so thought out, is it?"

Her eyes held his for a long moment. "No, it isnt." It didnt escape her notice that what Dash was suggesting was almost the exact opposite of what he himself had been doing for the past few days.

But as his fingers moved up and circled her wrist bone, she wondered if that was about to change. "How did you hear about the family tradition?" he asked, changing the subject but keeping his voice low and intimate.

"People talk."

"More than they should, apparently. It bothers you, doesnt it?"

"That people talk? No, I live in DC, gossip spreads faster in my city than it does in a fifth-grade classroom."

"Dont be obtuse, Matty."

She let out a breath but held his gaze. "Honestly, Dash, Im not sure what to make of your family situation. I think its crazy, I really do. And so, in some sense, I dont think its worth thinking about. But then again, its not my family thats had this experience, is it?"

"And what if it isnt crazy?"

"Then I can understand why you flipped hot and cold on me faster than a politician in an election year, because if I thought it was remotely real, it would freak me out, too."

A small smile touched his lips. "So, if you dont think its real, does it bother you?" he pressed.

She looked at him and, for the first time, really wondered if it mattered whether the tradition was a real thing or not. She had said it didnt, but that had been more of a knee-jerk reaction. But now? Now that she really thought about it, she was more convinced than ever that no, it didnt matter to her if it was real or not. It didnt matter because she wanted Dash, and she knew he wanted her too. And it didnt matter because no one was going to force either one of them to get married if they didnt want to. She didnt foresee wanting to, but knew herself well enough to know that when she decided to take that step, if she decided to take that step, it was something she would only do after giving it a lot of thought-not on the notion of a family tradition.

She turned the hand hed been holding and curled her fingers around his. "Im not much of a fatalist, Dash, but the truth of it is, if it is real, then theres nothing we can do about it, right? And if its not, then theres no reason we cant enjoy each others company in the time Im here."

She saw Dash suck in a quick breath and his grip tightened on hers. Good lord, she wanted this man.

"So, youre saying it doesnt matter to you?" he clarified.

At the moment, very little mattered to her other than leaving this public place. She shook her head.

"Even knowing what it might mean?" he pressed.

She still didnt really believe in it, but if things worked out that way, she knew shed make the right decision based on what they felt for each other, not because of the tradition. "Even knowing," she said.

"Then lets get out of here," he said, pulling her up. The best words shed heard all night.

She let go of his hand just long enough for him to throw some money on the table, then he was reaching for her and they were out the door. He unlocked his truck as they approached and opened the passenger door for her. Rather than climb in, she turned, slipped her hand behind his neck, and pulled him down into a kiss. He braced one hand against the trucks door and the other, the one holding her hand, he wrapped around her back, arching her up into him as he deepened the connection.