“You need time from the memories, Megan,” Gerard said. “You need someone to listen. Help. Support.”

“And that would be you, of course.”

“Exactly. Have the nightmares stopped since you arrived here?”

Megan turned away. “Please, I’m not ready for this. I can’t—” She shoved away from the post. There was the sadness again, not only in her eyes, but in every inch of her body.

“Kirstie told me about her blackouts,” Gerard said. “Did she mention to you that she was afraid she was being poisoned?”

Megan’s expression froze, her eyes darkened with shock. “She told you that? Why didn’t she say something to me about it?”

“You refused to take her case.”

“Of course I did. She needs a neurologist.”

Gerard shook his head. “You still think that?”

Megan raised an elegantly arched brow. “What would you say if I told you she warned me recently that I could be in danger?”

Hannah

Alexander

Eye of the Storm

www.millsandboon.co.uk

He stilled the storm to a whisper;

the waves of the sea were hushed.

—Psalms 107:29

Eye of the Storm is dedicated to the Jolly Mill Park Foundation, a group of people who unselfishly give of their time, energy and finances to keep Jolly Mill Park active and remind us of its fascinating history. We very much appreciate the permission we were given to bring the tiny town of Jolly Mill alive and populate it with more buildings, more people, more suspense than typically takes place in this beautiful setting. Readers are wholeheartedly invited to come visit the real Jolly Mill and explore reminders of its long history. Prepare for a taste of the actual history of this town in upcoming historical titles about the Village of Jollification.

ONE

A silver blade sliced through the curtained exam room, its target the helpless patient of Dr. Megan Bradley. The hand that held the blade was crusted with grime, fingernails whitening as it squeezed the handle with the force of fury. Megan clutched the cold steel of a revolver in her hand, aimed it at the faceless attacker’s chest and pulled the trigger.

No burst came from the chamber. No sound touched her at all. She tried to scream. Silence. The blade reflected Megan’s contorted features as it plunged downward again. The pressure of her scream threatened to explode from her chest. She fought her way out of the silent nightmare of a Corpus Christi rescue mission clinic and into her soft bed in the darkness of her tiny cabin in the Missouri woods.

“No!” She battled the blankets and sat up, still seeing the sweet, dark-haired young homeless woman with the huge belly. “Oh, Joni, no.”

Megan squeezed her eyes shut at the hideous memory that repeated itself far too often at night…the killer ripping his way through the curtained cubicle…the blood…the screams mingling with the recoil of Megan’s weapon as the loud report deafened her. She watched the grimy killer hit the floor, splattering blood and ripping a section of the curtain from the ceiling. And then she slid through the blood to Joni’s side to find the young woman’s eyes staring into nothing.

Gerard Vance rushed into the ruined cubicle, his head brushing the rails that held the curtain, his shoulders framing him as he entered. At the sight of Joni, his face filled with grim pain. He dropped to his knees at Megan’s side without a glance at the dead man tangled in the fallen curtain. “I’ve got your back, Megan. Don’t look at him. Let’s get the baby out.”

With his aid, Megan held her tears and controlled her hands, performing a postmortem C-section, sickened by the desecration of her sweet young patient’s body. The cry of little Daria, Joni’s orphan, soon filled the clinic, the sound of life echoing past her young mother’s death.

Megan forced away the malignant memory, forced herself to breathe slowly, forced her eyes to open. She brushed the hair from her face and focused on her surroundings, anything but the reason she’d fled Corpus Christi. A slight breeze outside moved a tree branch across the window beside her bed—a lifeline to reality. A trickle of moisture drew her fingers to her neck; she touched the droplets of perspiration.

She blinked slowly and in that brief moment she was attacked once more by the memory of her own contorted features in the killer’s knife blade, like a misshapen mirror. The dregs of the nightmare mingled with reality.

She flung the blanket from her legs and leapt from the bed. “Wake up,” she muttered into the chilly one-room cabin. “Stop this. You’re doing it to yourself, Megan.”

Talking to herself, yes, but even the sound of her own voice helped break the spell. Inhaling deeply and then exhausting her lungs of air, as if she could cleanse her system of the weight of knowledge with the carbon dioxide, she kept her attention on the movement of that one branch outside the nearest window. Though gray in the night, she knew she would see the green color of life when the sun rose. Focus on the hope of dawn.

“It isn’t happening,” she whispered into the cool air. “Not now. It’s over.” The nightmare receded with great reluctance, but left behind emptiness. How long would she live with these terrors?

Distracted at last by the gray-and-black silk of nighttime in the forest, Megan sank back onto the bed. The softness of the mattress reproached her despite the good intentions of Kirstie and Lynley Marshal, the dear friends who had furnished this hideaway for her two weeks ago. Her patient, Joni Park, was relegated to the grave, separated from her baby forever. What had the surviving doctor done to deserve such luxury?

“I failed,” Megan whispered to the room. All those months she’d carried a weapon to protect the helpless, but when a knife ripped through that curtained enclosure, she’d been unable to do a thing. There’d simply been no warning.

The peeping of tree frogs drifted in through the mass of windows in the cottage’s front wall. Megan willed the sound to wash over her and clear away the hovering menace. These were safe Missouri sounds, not the setting of her recurrent dreams. It was a rent-free cottage just past the outskirts of the village of Jolly Mill, near the bank of Capps Creek. So why did she continue to dwell in that hot place of dread every night when she closed her eyes?

Cool air chilled the moisture of her skin; her shivering returned, this time as much from cold as from lingering memories. She stood up again, allowing her bare feet to conform to the ridges of the old wooden floor before she checked the lighted numbers of the alarm clock. It was five in the morning. Upon her return to her childhood hometown, she’d put an end to her practice of rising before the sun and studying her latest medical journals or a new textbook.

She’d put an end to several old habits, hoping the change would bring about at least the impression of healing. Nothing worked. Old habits didn’t like to be abandoned. Though her sleep aid had gotten her through the past two weeks, last night’s dose seemed to have developed a shorter half-life.

Her heart continued its tachycardic rhythm. She pulled on her warm terry robe, rubbing her arms with her hands as she stepped to the multi-paned window in the front door of the cottage. How many times since Joni’s murder had she considered getting therapy?

But shouldn’t she know the drill after working with so many patients at the Vance Rescue Mission? She wasn’t living on the street or battling psychosis or alcoholism or drug addiction. Couldn’t she work this out for herself?

Still, the foreboding persisted as every creak of the cottage, every odd sound outside, instead of comforting her, sent a fresh chill through her. Maybe resuming her habit of early-morning study would be a good distraction.

She stepped around the red antique room divider, tugging the collar of her robe more closely around her neck as she glanced around the room. The furnishings so generously provided to her by her tiny group of longtime girlfriends were barely outlined by the gentle glow of moonlight that drifted down through the treetops and through the windows.

She went to the kitchenette for a drink of water, her shadow faint against the sand-colored walls of the one-room cottage—a hue that reminded her too much of the place from which she’d fled.

Megan seldom concerned herself with the appearance of her surroundings. The recent flurry of decorating—the red divider, the Roman shades over the multiple windows across the front of the cottage—had been Kirstie Marshal’s idea. When thinking clearly, Kirstie was good with a hammer and screwdriver. The love seat in the tiny sitting area had come from Nora Thompson’s own home. This cottage was Thompson property.

As a teenager, Megan once dreamed of living in this very cottage, so deep in the woods, so isolated from the world…but of course, not far from Alec Thompson, the boy she’d had a crush on since fifth grade. Most times, she loved the peace of this place. Though Alec no longer lived in the family home with his mother, Megan took comfort in knowing that Nora was still barely two hundred yards through the woods in the big house on the cliff above the creek.

Five in the morning, however, wasn’t a good time to call Nora to come running down the hill with hot cocoa and a dozen of her famous black walnut–butterscotch cookies. Megan saw Jolly Mill as a place of comfort, but she also saw it as personal failure. She hadn’t even been able to face a full two years of real life in the trenches.

Here, everyone in town knew her by her first, middle and last names, and some could recall the subject of her valedictorian speech on graduation night. She had old friends and classmates who’d lingered in Jolly Mill to carry on the family businesses, to settle with their own families and continue a long tradition of farming. They weren’t hiding here—they were living here.

She was hiding.

The sleeping pill had made her thirsty during the night, and she swigged down the whole glass of water and poured another, listening to the music of the peepers and the breeze that gently rustled through the spring leaves outside. The faint sound of a small motor kicking on in the pump house to replace the water she’d poured. It kicked off just as quickly.

A quiet melody took its place and it took her a few seconds to recognize the tone of her new cell phone. It grew louder as she listened, shooting through the cottage. She stiffened. A phone call in the dark had always been her least favorite sound.

Her legs felt stiff as she rushed to the phone, then answered and peered out at the foggy, moonlit haven that surrounded the cottage.

“Lynley?”

“Thank goodness.” Her best friend’s voice, normally brisk and filled with energy, sounded tight and raspy through the receiver.

“What is it?”

“Mom’s disappeared again and this time I haven’t been able to find her.”

Megan turned from the window. No. Not again. Poor Kirstie. “How long has she been missing?”

“Maybe all night. I can’t believe I didn’t check on her, but she was doing so well the past few days and I was studying late. I remember laughing with her because she teased me about what she should call me when I got my doctorate in nursing. She named me Dr. Nurse Marshal. I was tired and I thought she’d gone to bed, and I fell asleep—”

“Lynley, calm down,” Megan said. “Call some neighbors and ask them to help search. She may have taken shelter in a barn again until it gets light enough for her to find her way home.”

“I’ve already called everyone whose land adjoins ours. No one’s found her. I know they’re getting tired of my calls, though Elmer Batschelet offered to use his dogs to track her. I’ll probably take him up on it if she doesn’t show up soon. Do you know how many times this has happened in the past month?”

Megan took her lower lip between her teeth. Now was not the time for recriminations, but couldn’t Lynley see the obvious? “This makes the second since I’ve arrived.” An average of once a week.

“It’s getting worse.”

“Have you called the sheriff?” Megan asked.

“He and his men are out searching. Again. Poor Sheriff Moritz. And poor Mom. She’s always so embarrassed when this happens.”

“We can help her deal with the embarrassment later. First get her safely home.” Megan stretched. “When she shows up, bring her by the clinic so we can check her out.”

“I’ll be in for work as soon as I find her.” There was a sigh. “If I do. If she’s okay. I doubt she’ll be in shape to even answer phones today.”

Megan allowed those statements to linger. Maybe Lynley would talk herself into doing the right thing and prevent a quarrel that neither of them wanted right now. Kirstie’s daughter needed to see reason before Kirstie got hurt.

“Megan?” The voice was tentative, almost as if Lynley could hear Megan’s thoughts. And she probably could. They’d known each other from the cradle. “What if she doesn’t come back this time?”

Instead of reassuring her friend as she had been doing since Kirstie’s mysterious episodes began last month, Megan pressed her lips together. It was a good question. Maybe Lynley needed to follow it to its logical conclusion and start dealing with the dangers of her state of denial.

“Megan?”

“I don’t know, but you can’t keep trying to do this alone.” Megan felt awful as she spoke the words, but as Kirstie herself had said, her daughter wouldn’t listen to reason. “You need help.”

“We just need to get through this until we figure out what’s really causing the problem.”

Megan forced a gentleness to her voice. “Then if you won’t accept help, place her into protection until we do get it figured out.”

“Protection?” There was a soft snort. “You mean imprison her, don’t you?”

“I mean arrange it so this doesn’t happen again.”

“Megan, she’s a vital, active, fifty-two-year-old woman, not someone accustomed to sitting in a rocking chair or being cooped up in a block of rooms. You think she deserves to be locked up in a nursing home?”

“I don’t think she deserves Alzheimer’s, but—”

“Don’t say that! I hate that word. You know as soon as that diagnosis is made and the patient is shoved into a lockdown ward, no one ever searches for other causes, they just treat the symptoms. I’m not giving up on her that easily.”

“I’m not telling you to give up.”

“This isn’t sundowner’s syndrome.”

Megan couldn’t miss the increasing tautness of Lynley’s voice. “It’s okay,” she told her friend. “You’re not alone in this. I’m here for you.”

There was a brief silence and then “How? You wouldn’t move in with us.”

Shame attacked Megan. She didn’t have the strength to explain yet. “I’ll do all I can to help you and Kirstie through it.”

“You mean help Dr. Kelsey convince us she really is losing her mind?” There was a plaintive sadness in Lynley’s words.

Megan closed her eyes. “I didn’t say that. I’m here as your friend.”

There was a quiet sigh. “Okay. Thanks. I’m glad you’re back in Jolly Mill even if we don’t agree about everything.”

“We’ve never agreed about everything.”

“This is different.”

“Can’t you just trust me for once? I am a doctor now.”

“And I’m a nurse. So is Mom.”

“So you’re saying two nurses trump a doctor?” Megan forced a smile so it would bleed into her voice. Anything to lighten the moment.

“Something like that. Megan, are you…” She paused, sighed. “Be honest with me. Why did you come back here?”

Megan closed her eyes. There it was. The question.

“Your family’s all in Cape Girardeau now,” Lynley continued. “Why didn’t you go there? Not that I didn’t want you to come here, because I did, but—”

“You should know why. This is still home to me.” Unlike being with her family. If she heard Mom tell her one more time how wonderful it was to have grandchildren, and that she wanted more, Megan would pledge lifelong celibacy. Let her big brother provide all the descendants for the Bradley family. Randy seemed happy to do it.

“Megan,” Lynley said, “did Mom ask you to come here and convince me to let her check into a nursing facility?”

Megan hesitated a second too long. “That’s not why I came.”

“But she did ask you.”

“She’s afraid you’ll waste the rest of your life taking care of—”

“Waste? Did you say waste?”

“She’s the one who said it, Lynley, not me.”

“Careful, or you’ll begin to sound like Dad.”

“Notice I actually came to Jolly Mill. I didn’t leave,” Megan snapped. Unlike your father, she wanted to say, but Lynley knew what she meant. Barry Marshal was a self-centered egotist who had split soon after Kirstie’s Alzheimer’s diagnosis. For everyone’s sake, he should have split long before that. Megan knew too many of that man’s secrets. Too many Jolly Mill secrets.

“Sorry,” Lynley said. “You’re right. I know.”

“Just bring Kirstie to the office when you find her,” Megan said.

“I will. Thanks.”

“I can come help you search.”

“No. You just be there for us when I find her.” That slender edge of tension lingered after Lynley disconnected. Megan knew her friend’s resentment wasn’t directed totally at her. She was just the punching bag for all Lynley was going through, for all Barry’s failures as a father. Megan wasn’t taking punches very well right now. Lynley didn’t know about Joni’s murder. No one here did.

Kirstie would be found again—or she would return herself home when she regained her senses, as she had done every time she’d gone missing. Everyone in the Jolly Mill community knew her and watched out for her.

Megan pushed her cell phone back into her deep purse and was turning back toward bed when a flash of light struck one of the panes. Brief. Barely there.

She frowned, staring out into the darkness. Had she actually seen that, or was it a side effect of her sleeping pill? The drug could do strange things to some people. She’d considered more than once the possibility that the drugs were causing the dreams, but she’d so craved sleep after the weeks of sleeplessness following Joni’s murder that she took them anyway.

A whisper of a different kind reached her from outside—not wind or frogs or the sound of the electric water pump. There was another flash. A newly familiar strum of panic restricted Megan’s feet to the woven mat by the front door.

She clenched her fists. Don’t allow the panic to control you. This wasn’t the mean streets of the city. This was tiny Jolly Mill, safe, quiet, secluded. She didn’t need a weapon here to protect herself.

Another sound reached her—tires crunching on rock?

Her fear quickened. When she entered her drive, her tires always met the gravel on the quarter-mile track that led to this cottage. What she’d just heard might be that gravel pop-snap in the distance. Maybe someone had turned around at the mailbox and was driving away. That had to be it.

The only sounds she typically heard here at night were the occasional bark of a farm dog, the lowing of a cow separated from her calf or the spine-tingling call of an owl that sounded more like mocking laughter at her plight. None of the wildlife in this area sounded like a car.

As she wavered, the soft rumble grew louder, followed by a flicker of shadows through the trees. A vehicle. An aura of stealth seemed to fill and then illuminate the darkness like a hunter stalking its prey.

The drive to this cottage was private. No one else around here had reason to be on it at this time of morning—except maybe a patient in trouble? She’d decided not to have a landline, despite the spotty cell coverage in Jolly Mill. If there was an urgent medical need, it was feasible someone could be coming for help, though there was a hospital in Monett less than twenty minutes away and in Cassville only a little farther in the other direction.

She checked the dead bolt lock on the front door. Of course she’d locked it. The past few years had taught her that. No one had ever locked the doors when she was growing up in Jolly Mill. Something else people seldom did was close the curtains, but right now lowering the Roman shades over all the windows seemed like a good idea.

The tight cords bit into her hands as she jerked them down, one by one. Her movements double-timed as lights crested the hill and shot through the tiny cracks in the woven material. The sharp, quick sound of her breath was harsh as it hit the matted shades. This was no dream. One set of cords tangled together, the shades tilting drunkenly as she worked a knot free and straightened the bottom edge. She rushed to the next window and then the next until she had a pseudo-barrier from the onslaught of light.

Megan’s suddenly overactive imagination transformed her little patch of wooded paradise into a battleground. Even as she castigated herself for her fear, she could do nothing to ease it.

Calm. Stay calm. Joni’s killer is dead. There’s no one after you. She wouldn’t call for help just because of a car approaching the house. She didn’t need anyone in town to think the doctor at the new clinic was unhinged. But who was coming here? Mom and Dad would have called if they were planning a trip across the state, and they wouldn’t have driven all night to get here.

Megan retreated into the shadows of the far corner of the sitting area. She curled into the love seat, clutching the throw pillow to her chest as she waited.

The holy scent reached her from the homemade sachet her former Sunday school teacher had sewn into the pillow. Martha Irene called it one of her “prayer pillows,” but Megan couldn’t pray. Who would hear her? She just squeezed the cushion hard against her chest and tried to slow her panicked imagination while the rhythm of her heart encroached on the chambers of her lungs.

She should definitely have sought treatment for PTSD.

The vehicle lights went off and the engine died, plunging her into dark silence for another few seconds before she heard a door opening and then footsteps brushing through unmown grass and last year’s leaves. There was a soft sound of someone stepping onto her wooden front porch and then a pause while she tried to still her panicked breathing, fingernails digging into her hands. This was crazy. If someone wanted to hurt her, they wouldn’t approach this way. And yet she hadn’t been totally rational since arriving here. Everything was still too fresh, and the dreams each night reminded her that the world was a dangerous place.

No one knocked. There was no doorbell. The pain in her hands distracted her.

A familiar voice reached her. One word, softly spoken. “Megan.”

She silently gulped in a great lungful of air. It couldn’t be.

“Megan? It’s me. Gerard.”

She stared through the darkness toward the door, and at once her fear metamorphosed into something even less manageable. How dare Gerard Vance follow her here?

TWO

Gerard didn’t want to knock. “Megan, please.” He could hear the cracking fatigue in his own voice. Could she hear it too?

According to his late-sleeping sister, Tess, who’d taken a couple of road trips with Megan last year, Megan had never slept this late when she lived in Corpus Christi. In fact, Tess complained that Megan never even allowed the sun to rise before her on a day off.

He knew she was here because as he’d driven up his headlights had flashed across her bright yellow Neo parked beneath the limbs of a huge oak tree around back—no missing that color. Megan was nothing if not safety-conscious. When he’d helped her pick out a replacement car last year after her old one breathed its last, her only requirement was a bright color. The front window of the car was illuminated by a few streaks of moonlight that filtered through the leaves.

“Megan, I’m not going away. I may camp out here until daylight, but I’m not leaving.”

He waited. Nothing. No movement inside at all.

Hadn’t he seen light coming through the windows a moment ago? It may have been a reflection, or imagination…though Gerard didn’t give in easily to imagination.

He pressed his forehead against the door frame of the tiny cottage. No one answered as he continued to wait. No light came on.

That didn’t mean Megan was asleep. It could just mean she was turning a deaf ear to his voice outside her front door, as she’d ignored the messages he’d left on her cell and at the clinic this past week…and with Kirstie Marshal, his source.

The energy that had kept him going for the past twenty-four hours—a full day at the mission followed by a long night of driving—began to wane. He was here. He couldn’t force Megan to open the door or to answer him, but he still had to find some way to breach the divide for her sake and, selfishly, for his. His clinic needed her, and though several local docs in the Corpus Christi area had volunteered to fill in during her absence, she’d developed a bond with her patients. She’d developed a bond with him, and he wasn’t about to let that be destroyed.

“Look,” he said, more softly still. “I’m not here to nag you about your work ethic, okay?” She still owed three months out of two years of work at the rescue mission clinic for her med school loans. She needed to complete those months. He was pretty sure she would be given some leeway by the loan officer, considering her trauma, he just didn’t know how much.

Unfortunately, he’d tried to point out that she could be jeopardizing her career if she left when she did. He’d learned the hard way that she didn’t respond to authority very well. Why had he made that stupid mistake after he’d known her for twenty-one months—appearing to pull rank on her as she’d walked away from the clinic? Demanding she fulfill her obligation? Sometimes he behaved like an inexperienced young buck. Desperation did that to him on occasion, especially when it came to a certain irresistible doctor with a mind of her own.

“Megan, are you studying?”

She’d often teased him about taking a detour past her apartment every morning on his way to the mission just to check up on her. How could he help it? He liked being near her, even if just in the neighborhood. The sight of her cheerful smile, the warmth in those golden-brown eyes, evident for all patients to see, had grabbed Gerard by the scruff of the heart as they had the rest of the staff.

It had taken his sister, Tess, to point out that Megan, with the long curtain of wavy hair the color of ginger, the delicate yet audaciously feminine lines of face and body—Tess’s description, not his—could win an international beauty contest. What he knew of Dr. Megan Bradley’s heart affected him more than any physical beauty.

And now, after nearly two years spent helping the neediest of patients, she was the one in need of help. Gerard held himself responsible for the tragedy at the clinic three weeks ago, and he couldn’t allow Megan to isolate herself out here in the woods because of it.

Of course, he was probably being egocentric to think that she belonged at the mission clinic permanently, that her life should revolve around his calling. He’d not been mistaken, however, about the look in her eyes these past few months as they met together about her patients. She loved them.

Had he been mistaken to think she was looking forward to his company with as much enthusiasm as he was to hers? Was he imagining that she cared for him? The shock of Joni Park’s murder had destroyed more than Joni’s life. It had shaken the foundations of everyone her life had touched, and though Joni’s sister was devastated, Megan had been the one to bear firsthand witness to the destruction of the young woman’s body.

The boards squeaked beneath his feet as he turned to gaze out into the dark morning and rested his head against the support post. It was possible Megan had changed her routine since leaving Corpus Christi. She may still be sleeping. It was possible.

His eyes closed of their own will. Such a long trip…but he’d made it for so many good reasons. Tess and Sean could run the mission until he returned. Gerard had things to attend to here in Jolly Mill.

Tree frogs slowed their croaking and fell silent. A tractor started up in the distance and a rooster crowed at the stars…or perhaps at the vague lightening of the darkness past the tree line. There was a rustle of brush nearby and a cottontail rabbit hopped across the overgrown lawn, sniffing for an early breakfast. Gerard stepped down from the porch and felt the soft cushion of grass beneath his shoes as he returned to the car. Once inside he closed the door quietly so he wouldn’t awaken Megan—if she truly was asleep and not just waiting for him to leave. He moved the back of his seat to nearly horizontal and closed his eyes.

Morning was here, though the sky had not yet turned blue, and the sun had not yet penetrated the forest. He would allow the gray darkness to hold him in sleep for a few moments, but Megan would not be able to leave this place without speaking to him.

Megan sat frozen on the love seat as rips tore through the protective emotional screen of forgetfulness and Gerard’s deep voice echoed in her mind. A new kind of fear controlled her thoughts. Why had he come when he must know how hard she was trying to forget?

How could the founder and director of a rescue mission be so demanding? He expected too much. Anger, her constant companion, thrummed through her. How dare he traipse up here after her? This was her home, her safe place. She needed this respite.

She inhaled the scent in her pillow, as she had so many times these past two weeks to counter the scent of blood that had fixed itself in her memory. Why had she tried to convince herself that it was even possible to forget? Gerard Vance would have to realize that she couldn’t match his psychological strength. This was what she got for trying. Nightmares.

Would he ever be able to understand that? The man had a vocation that was the passion of his life, and he would ride roughshod over anyone who stood in his way. He’d made that obvious when she left.

Megan’s fingers dug into the prayer pillow as images tumbled past her carefully set barriers: that wicked blade, Joni’s wide, frightened eyes, terror giving way to pain, the echo of screams that continued to pursue Megan through the dark passages of her dreams—and now Gerard Vance following behind her, making his demands like some kind of Viking warrior.

How could she return to work in that place that bore the permanent imprint of brutality, and why was he camped outside her house?

With a sigh, she got up and tiptoed to the front door. She peered through the wooden slats at the car in her drive. The front driver’s seat was not in evidence, which meant the blond-haired giant was most likely trying to sleep in a very cramped and uncomfortable position. A rush of unwanted tenderness swept through her before she could disengage from it. Imposing in size and appearance, Gerard Vance was an intimidating man, and he was a missionary. Incongruous. She’d grown up believing that missionaries and ministers had to be warm and gentle and tender with everyone all the time.

Typical for Gerard, he flew in the face of convention. He’d thrown many a troublemaker out onto the sidewalk for one false move in the shelter, and he’d done it single-handedly. He’d been nearly as tough on her when she’d left the mission to come here. Gerard didn’t have to call for police backup very often. An ex-cop knew how to handle himself.

As she watched, he rose from the seat, as if he had some supernatural way of knowing she was watching him. He looked straight toward her as if he knew she’d be peering at him from this very place. She stepped back, impatient with herself, a grown woman running back home to escape life, hiding to avoid a conversation she didn’t want to have.

But she’d tried to face this in Corpus Christi and the continuing despair had nearly destroyed her. She couldn’t go back there and didn’t have what it took to argue with him this morning. Strange how the thought of not returning to her patients felt like losing a piece of herself. Especially strange since the thought of returning terrified her so badly she couldn’t function.

She changed from her nightgown into jeans and her favorite green flannel shirt. Hearing Gerard’s voice had reminded her how much she missed her friends in Corpus Christi, but each time she thought of them her memories bore down on her with the thud of a bass drum. Were Tess and Sean still planning a wedding, or had they chucked it all and decided to elope? And Gerard…what was he doing for a full-time doctor in the clinic? Was he interviewing for prospective replacements, or was he waiting for her to return? Did he miss her?

It was impossible not to think about him—his piercing blue eyes, the short blond hair that spiked in the moist breeze from the shore, the firm chin and the gravel of his voice. Those were only the outer characteristics of a man with more of an inner-thought life than any minister or professor of philosophy she’d ever known. He had such a capacity to care for the unlovable. A woman couldn’t spend nearly two years working with a man like that and not have an impression of him left on her soul.

Gerard Vance was the kind of man who left an impression on everyone who met him, particularly those who had no homes, no livelihood, and depended on him for the very food they ate and the beds in which they slept.

Reluctantly summoning her courage, Megan stepped out onto the front porch and heard the sound of a car door closing. She looked up to see Gerard walking across the yard, wearing his typical jeans and T-shirt—today the shirt was tie-dyed blue and white. His hair appeared more blond, slightly longer, his skin more tanned than when she’d left him standing at the shelter two weeks ago.

She met his gaze and something inside her weakened as birdsong echoed from the treetops. At night, the whippoorwill called across the forest; in the morning, bluebirds and cardinals often fluttered from the front porch when she stepped out on her way to work. Now she knew how they felt.

Lines of weariness framed Gerard’s blue eyes. Something had changed. As she waited for him to reach her, she felt a new kind of tension.

Gerard allowed himself a few seconds to feast on the sight of Megan’s face. He realized in that short span how bleak the attitude at the mission had grown without her. His life too, come to think of it. The aftermath of the murder, of course, still lingered over the three-story, 25,000-square-foot building and among the employees and volunteers, but he knew the patients missed Megan’s unwavering and nonjudgmental compassion, her laughter, her ability to stop a child’s tears midstream with a gentle touch.

“Spending a lot of time outdoors lately?” Her voice, usually strong but gentle, with a musical lilt, strained with a transparent attempt to sound casual.

One of the first things that had attracted Gerard to Megan was her voice—since their first introduction was over the phone. The second attraction had been her straightforward honesty. She also had a sense of humor that arose at some of the most inconvenient times, but that helped her cope with the stress of her job. He even liked that about her.

He stepped onto the porch and heard that same creak of wood beneath his feet that had probably startled her earlier. “I’ve spent a lot of time walking and praying the past two weeks.”

“On the streets, no doubt.” She stepped backward as if to keep him from getting too close.

“It’s where we find our patients, Megan.”

“They aren’t mine. Not now.”

“You haven’t—”

“I know, I know. I haven’t fulfilled my obligation. You made that clear when I left. You think I don’t know how much I owe? But it isn’t going to happen in the near future, if at all, and I’m sorry, but I can’t do anything about—”

“I didn’t come here to argue with you.”

“No?” Her gaze met his briefly, then skimmed away.

“And I didn’t come here to coerce you back to Texas against your will. I have business in the area.”

Her golden-brown gaze met his with a hint of disbelief. “You think a town the size of Jolly Mill has a lot of homeless?”

“I didn’t say a mission. I said business.”

“Oh really? You make sales calls for your own company now? Times must be hard. No one needs a lot of go-green construction pieces in this part of the country.” She held her arms out. “Look around you, Gerard. No one’s building anything here. We even have a few businesses that have closed.”

He ignored the sarcasm in her voice. “Hans and I still need to expand.”

“But here?”

“We need a location for a second manufacturing plant, and we still plan to establish the rehab center.”

She blinked at him. He’d discussed his plans with her in detail, and he knew she shared his enthusiasm for those plans. He’d never told her he was considering her hometown, but hearing her talk about the community with such affection had drawn him to this place as much as her tender heart had drawn him to her.

“You don’t plan to do that in Texas?” she asked.

“We’re still looking, but Hans, Tess and I all feel attracted to this area for the rehab center.”

“Why?”

“You’ve often spoken of returning here, and you make this area of the country sound appealing. There’s also a depressed economy in many parts of southern Missouri, and more industry can only help. Besides, when people from the street come to rehab, we want to make sure they’ll be able to make a fresh start in a fresh place with no memories of failure to haunt them.”

“You can’t be doing this because of me, Gerard.”

“I didn’t say I was. I just thought it was time I came to take a look for myself. I’ve done some preliminary studies, and this region could be well suited to what we want in the expansion, including people in need of a job.”

“Your timing stinks. You know that, don’t you? I need a chance to heal, and your being here doesn’t help. Besides, we’re doing well in this area financially.”

He studied her features. “Your eyes are shadowed. Your skin’s pale. I knew you’d suffer in silence.”

She looked away.

He searched the surrounding woods for signs of another habitation, but the closest building he saw was several hundred feet away through the trees, and that appeared to be a barn.

“Probably no one’s heard you screaming during your nightmares.”

She shook her head.

“But you’re still having them.” It wasn’t a question. Those screams were part of her excuse—no, make that her reason—for leaving the mission. She’d explained that her neighbors were complaining, and that her lack of sleep could put patients at risk.

Gerard felt his gaze become a touchless caress and he knew she felt it too. He couldn’t help himself. After all she’d endured at the mission, until this last horrible experience, she’d been courageous and compassionate, helping all the patients she could simply because she cared. How could he not admire her?

She closed her eyes for a few seconds, and when she opened them again he saw sadness there as deep as a Texas oil well.

After losing a patient on the exam table at Christmastime from the results of a vicious poisoning by someone determined to destroy Tess, Megan had redoubled her efforts at target practice so she could better guard her patients. When with Tess, traveling or shopping, she’d carried a concealed weapon, as she had in the clinic. To lose Joni Park despite all her efforts to become a security guard as well as a physician was more than Megan could emotionally handle. Gerard continued to reproach himself since their final argument outside the mission.

His sister wasn’t too happy with him either. When Tess was forced to retreat to the mission in fear of her life last year, she and Megan had formed a tight bond. Megan was the sister Tess never had, and for the past several months, Tess had hinted to Gerard that he could make that sisterly relationship legal. After some long talks with Tess these past three weeks, Gerard understood Megan so much better than he had before.

What was it about women that made it so easy for them to connect with one another and be able to read each other’s minds? And why hadn’t he grasped the true depth of Megan’s heart sooner, without Tess’s help?

“Gerard, there are barely eight hundred people living here,” Megan said. “You bring Texas here and it won’t be Jolly Mill anymore.”

“This is strictly a fact-gathering trip. I arrived this morning and wanted to see you first.”

“You drove all night.”

He nodded.

“Looks like it.”

“Thanks.”

Something around her eyes seemed to relax. “You’re seriously considering this because of what I said about Jolly Mill?”

“Have you ever known me to lie?”

She held his gaze, and a glint of the gold seemed to lighten. “Not to me because you knew I’d make you suffer if I caught you at it.”

He felt his own tension settle, and he grinned at her.

“I have, however, known you to keep things from Tess,” she reminded him, “when you thought you were protecting her, and there have been times when you tended to take a more paternal attitude toward me.”

“You’re reminding me I’m bossy?”

“Well, yeah, there’s that.” Her voice was heavy with sarcasm, but the corners of her lips turned up.

The two-week fight that had hovered between them over the miles had ended, just like that. Now to keep it from returning. “I couldn’t let you deal with this alone,” he said. “It’s too big for one person to handle.”

“You seem to be handling it.”

“I didn’t take the brunt of it. You did. And I’m not handling it alone the way you are. Tess and Sean and the whole staff know what happened. Sean and I have had some long talks about it. Who can you talk to about it?”

She looked away.

“That’s what I thought,” he said. “Nobody. You shouldn’t be alone with the memories.”

“I want to be alone.”

“No, you don’t.”

She scowled. “You don’t listen very well.”

“Sometimes I have to listen to the tone of your voice instead of your words. I have to read your expression.”

Megan rolled her eyes. “Gerard, I don’t need to be rescued.”

“Yeah. You do. And what about your patients? You’re treating again, but you told me you feared for the well-being of your patients at the mission because you weren’t sleeping.” He reached forward and touched her cheek before she could stop him. She looked so drawn. Her skin was cold. He wanted to warm it. “You’re still not getting much sleep.”

“What part about my request for time didn’t you understand?”

“Time to do what? Go back to the same kind of job you were doing?”

She met his gaze. “It’s not the same kind of job at all. Everyone has a home and food to eat, and I don’t have to cut babies out of their dead mothers. There’s no comparison.”

He heard the angst in her voice and he wanted to reach out and hold her in his arms and heal all her pain. Tess accused him of trying to play God, but she was wrong. “You need time from the memories, Megan, but you’re not getting it, obviously. Therefore you need someone—”

“And that would be you, of course.”

“Exactly.”

“What would you be able to do for me?”

“Listen. Help. Support.”

She shook her head. “If I talk about it, the nightmares will just get worse.”

“Have they gotten any easier since you arrived here?”

She turned away, and the soft sound of her footsteps echoed across the wooden porch.

“I’ll take that as a no. You wouldn’t take my calls.” He followed her. “Did you even read those messages Kirstie passed along? I know she gave them to you because she told me she did. In fact, she even called me back one time and apologized for you.”

Megan bowed her head, and the long, ginger-colored strands of her hair glowed in the early-morning sunlight.

“That’s what I thought,” he said.

“Please, I’m not ready for this. I can’t—”

“You’re going to have to work through it because your mind isn’t letting it go.”

She turned, and her expression slowly hardened as her stare became a glare. “How I handle my emotional baggage is my own business.”

Okay, he had that coming. Note for next time: a guy didn’t just barge in on a woman before sunrise and expect a warm welcome. Why did he push so hard? Because he was right. At least this time. He knew from talking to Kirstie that Megan was struggling.

“How did you find me?” she asked.

“You left your address book behind in your apartment. Your landlord found it. You weren’t answering your cell so I called every one of your friends until I reached one who didn’t sound surprised when I asked about you.”

She leaned against a support post beside the steps and crossed her arms. “And you felt you had a right to page through my personal property?”

“Sure did. I was worried about you when you didn’t even call Tess.”

“And Kirstie was willing to trust a complete stranger?” Megan asked.

“Not until I chatted with her for a while.”

“Charmed her, you mean.”

He grinned. “I simply convinced her I was trust worthy. You’d paved the way, of course, but she’s also a good judge of character.”

“She wasn’t always.”

“You’re talking about her husband, the weakling who abandoned her after the diagnosis.”

Megan’s eyes widened. “She really did trust you.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? I’m a trustworthy man.”

Megan shoved away from the support post and gazed through the trees toward the barn Gerard had spotted earlier. There was the sadness again, not only in her eyes, but in every inch of her body, the way her shoulders slumped, the way her mouth turned down, the way she drew into herself as if trying to zip herself into a body bag.

“She told me about her blackouts,” Gerard said.

“The doctor who diagnosed her called it sundowner’s syndrome. How many times did you two talk?”

“Twice. I refuse to call it sundowner’s until someone can prove she has chronic Alzheimer’s or dementia.”

“You had extended conversations, no doubt.”

He nodded. “Not counting dozens of emails.”

“You didn’t tell her why I left the mission, did you?”

“I didn’t tell her about Joni. I did give her some explanation as to why you left.”

“Gerard.”

“I told her you’d lost a couple of patients in the past few months but that you didn’t like to talk about it. Did she mention to you that she was afraid she was being poisoned?”

Megan’s expression froze into the image of a porcelain figurine, all but the eyes, which darkened with shock. “She told you that?”

“Aha! And she didn’t tell you.”

As if by habit, Megan smacked him gently on the arm. “Don’t gloat. Poison? She said that word?”

“Those words exactly, and before you say anything about this to Lynley, don’t. She doesn’t know. Kirstie told only me.”

“Why didn’t she say something to me about it?”

“You refused to take her case.”

“Of course I did. She needs a neurologist.”

Gerard shook his head. “You still think that?”

Megan raised an elegantly arched brow. “What would you say if I told you she warned me recently that I could be in danger?”

He studied that carefully held expression. It was the one he’d seen often when Megan and Tess were playing a joke on him. Megan’s emotions were all over the place this morning. “Kirstie said that?”

“I think she was talking about you. So that means you told her you were coming.”

“I said I would be coming soon, but I didn’t make the decision to drive here last night until she told me about the poison theory. I didn’t want you to face that, along with everything else, all alone.” And Kirstie had given no hint that she was suspicious of him. Quite the contrary. “She said you were in danger from me?”

A wry smile crossed Megan’s lips as she slid her gaze away from him. “A certain kind of danger.”

He continued to watch her, relaxing enough to enjoy yet another break from the tension. “Ah. I see.” He couldn’t help returning the smile, and he did it in double quantity, though Megan still avoided his gaze. “She’s a perceptive lady. You’ve spoken to her of us then.” He knew she had. Kirstie had alluded to hearing his name mentioned quite a few times over the past year or so.

“Of you. Singular.”

He could tell by the light in Megan’s eyes that she was also enjoying the break in tension, temporary though it may be. “Well, that’s still good. She said you told her how strong I was, that I was an ex-cop.”

“Did you tell her you forced me to take classes to get a license to carry—”

“I did not force you to do that.”

Megan blinked up at him. “I hope you didn’t lie to her. She can see through lies these days, and she does not take kindly to them.”

“I didn’t force you to get the license. I strongly suggested it because of the section of town where we’re located.”

“You threatened me with my life.”

“I did not. I only suggested you might save a life in more ways than—”

He realized too late that he should have let it drop when Megan turned away, shoulders once again drooping, eyes closing in pain.

“Kirstie did share your description of me,” he said, gently resting a hand on her back. “Even I was impressed. I’m a tough, giant blond guy with strikingly beautiful blue eyes, and no woman should be able to resist me.”

Megan turned back. “I did not say that.”

Gerard chuckled. “No, wait. You said I was still a tough cop at heart.”

“Something like that.”

“Kirstie did agree with you that I tend to growl on occasion.”

“Well, here we are on your favorite subject again,” Megan drawled in the Texas twang she’d developed during her time in the town of Southern heat. “You.”

“Ouch.”

He watched the pain ease from around Megan’s eyes again as the discussion lightened. Something inside her was sealed up like a brand-new Deepfreeze. Maybe she truly couldn’t have this conversation with him yet. This argument. This call to return to the scene of the crime and work through the tangle of confusion and pain that left them both with open wounds.

She was needed here now, for Kirstie and Lynley. She finally realized she could help Kirstie. Though she didn’t realize it yet, Gerard too, needed to be here. In time, they’d get through the tangle and set things right again.

THREE

Megan studied Gerard’s profile as he gazed out into the forest. She was caught once again in the gale-force wind that was Gerard Vance, and she felt a desperate need to tell him everything that had happened since they’d last talked. Really talked. As in, sharing their thoughts, debating their gut feelings, even touching souls on occasion.

She’d missed that so much since the world flew apart. Now there was this huge black hole in the universe keeping her from Gerard and Tess and all her friends at the mission, because she couldn’t get past what happened and reconnect with them. She didn’t even have time, right now, to find her way back to sanity here in Jolly Mill because of Kirstie.

“Poison,” she said, drawing Gerard’s gaze back to her. “Drugging of some kind. Do you really think it’s possible? Here in Jolly Mill?” Megan felt the strength of Gerard’s presence encompass the wooden front porch, the yard, possibly even threaten to charm the fluttering and chirping birds from the trees.

“There’s evil everywhere,” he said. “Even here in paradise.”

“When did you first talk to Kirstie?”

“A week and a half ago. I thought I’d give you a little more time, warn you I’d be coming here so you wouldn’t be caught off guard. I left messages for you with Kirstie, and she, of course, recognized my name.”

The teasing lilt in his voice brought a surprising sting of tears to Megan’s eyes. She swallowed. So much had been lost. Not only had that heinous killer destroyed the life of a very pregnant young woman, but he’d destroyed a powerful relationship between two people falling in love…hadn’t he?

“So of course,” Megan said, swallowing again, “charming as Kirstie is, she drew you out, got more information from you about yourself.”

“About us, I think. That’s why she warned you of danger.” Still that hint of a tease in his voice. “Once I told her about how much we valued you at the clinic, she opened up and started to talk about your friendship with Lynley and how much you meant to her.”

Megan narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t start me on any guilt trips.”

“How’s that?”

“She wants me to take her case. She doesn’t believe she has Alzheimer’s.”

“Neither do you,” Gerard said.

Megan held his gaze. How did he read her mind so well? “I referred her to two of the best specialists in the region, and she didn’t want to go to them. She wants me or no one, but she never said a word to me about her suspicions of poison.”

“She knows you’ve been through some kind of trauma, and she’s willing to sacrifice her own health in order to walk on eggshells around you, keep you from being stressed.”

Megan was amazed by how easily she was suddenly coming to tears this morning. “I’m not a specialist.”

“But you are.” Gerard’s footsteps echoed across the porch as he drew closer to Megan. “You specialize in people. As you’ve told me more than once when treating patients at the mission, Alzheimer’s can be a trash-can diagnosis, and people with mental problems aren’t trash.”

Megan winced. He was using her words against her. “Speaking of Kirstie, I got a call about her before you so rudely arrived at my door before daybreak.” She glanced at her watch, then reached into her bag to check her cell phone. Either Lynley hadn’t tried to call or she was in an area without coverage and couldn’t call. “She’s missing.”

“Again?”

Megan nodded. She took a deep breath, and it wasn’t until that breath came back out as steam in the air that she suddenly realized it was chilly. She brushed by Gerard and went down the steps. “I told Lynley I’d check Kirstie out at the clinic.”

“I’ll come with you.”

Megan couldn’t resist a glance back up at Gerard, the firm jawline with an overnight shadow, the sudden cloud of worry in his blue eyes.

What was it about the man that made her feel stronger? Why did she suddenly feel capable of doing whatever she needed to for Kirstie? He gave her strength, and she had longed for that strength these past two weeks—had longed for it so much that she’d even tried to resort to prayer a couple of times. Gerard Vance reflected the strength of the God he served when he wasn’t coming across as the ultimate bossy alpha male.

“If you come with me, the whole town will be talking,” she said.

“Let ‘em talk.”

“Easy for you to say. You don’t have to live here.”

“Then I’ll drive myself and help search.”

Megan scowled at him. “You don’t know what she looks like.”

“Actually, I do. Hazel eyes, heart-shaped face, dimples, wavy blond hair. It is the computer age, you know.”

Megan pushed past a hibiscus as tall as she was. Droplets of dew sprinkled across her face. “We have plenty of people in town who know her and know where to look.”

“No one knows exactly where to look right now or she’d have been found.” Gerard fell into step beside her.

She brushed past moisture-drenched evergreen shrubs to keep from feeling the warmth of him beside her. She’d be dripping by the time she reached the clinic at this rate. But hadn’t she known she would react this way to his presence? It was why she hadn’t returned his calls. Yet how was she supposed to tell him that? Say, “Sorry, Gerard, but I can’t have you around because when you’re near me I can’t think straight”?

“You didn’t take enough time for closure so you’re avoiding me,” he said.

“I don’t need closure. I need time to reverse about three weeks.”

“So do I, but that’s not going to happen. I have to deal with today just as it is. So do you.”

“I can only deal with one thing at a time.”

“Understood. We’ll focus on Kirstie, but first, would you tell me why I didn’t receive a request for a reference from your new employer?”

Megan gritted her teeth and her footsteps slowed. She saw the glint of steel in Gerard’s gaze and braced herself for yet more arguing. Sometimes she felt there was nothing he liked better.

Gerard bit back a grin as he watched Megan’s eyes flash. By now Tess would’ve blown sky-high at his goading. Megan took a lot more from him.

“Alec didn’t need a reference.” Megan’s words were measured, her voice a little lower than usual. “We’ve known each other since kindergarten. This cottage belongs to his family.”

Now they were getting somewhere. Gerard didn’t like it, but at least it was out in the open. “Of course. Small town, no one’s a stranger. Alec Thompson’s his name, right?”

She pushed aside a branch of a juniper tree and allowed it to slap back into his face. “Don’t you dare tell me you called him about me too.”

“Nope, I just studied him.”

She turned a scowl on Gerard, then stepped ahead of him and continued toward her car. “How?”

“Internet. You really should try it sometime.”

“You’re not really a cop anymore, you know.”

“Megan, I didn’t gather the information to hurt the man.”

“So why were you checking him out?”

“The more a person knows, the better his chances of getting a job done.”

She stopped and turned so quickly he almost stumbled over her. “What job?”

“I have to be able to trust the people I work with. I may not be a cop any longer, but I’m still responsible for the safety of a lot of people who don’t have anyplace else to go. Unlike you, I can’t just quit my job and leave.”

Her grimace told him his words had plunged deeply enough to draw blood. Maybe she’d take the bait.

“You’re right.” Her gold-bronze eyes flashed a few sparks of lightning. “I’m nothing like you. Get used to it. I failed, okay?”

He held up a finger. “First of all, I checked Alec Thompson because it’s helpful for me to know that there’s been a layoff at the casket factory owned by the Thompson family, thus the need for new jobs in the area. Knowing that his father apparently abandoned the family and disappeared from the face of the earth when Alec was in high school tells me more about Alec and the Thompson businesses.”

“Why do you need to know that?”

“I need to know who handles the businesses and has the goodwill of the people.” Gerard held up a second finger. “It’s also nice to get to know the kind of people I might be working with, even hiring, if it comes to that, and knowing the kind of employees hired by the company will help with that.” Three fingers. “Medical care and supportive services, and room for expansion, are vital. I have my work cut out for me if this is where I plan to set up shop.”

Some of the fire left her eyes. Megan was always one to see reason, and though she could get cranky and had a sharp tongue when her patients were in danger, she wasn’t one to hold a grudge over the small things. “The casket factory did have a big layoff,” she mused. “I heard it around town.”

“But not from Alec? He didn’t tell you how hard the economy was hitting his pocketbook?” Gerard found it difficult to keep a thread of satisfaction from his voice. Jealousy didn’t become him. Not that he cared.

Alec Thompson had a clean record, had served four years total in the navy and was legally married, but since his wife had lived in California for at least the past year, he was likely living alone. Amazing how public a person’s life became online these days. The man was a handsome devil too, according to Gerard’s sister. Tess had discerning tastes, but the term devil had appealed more to Gerard.

“I read that he also runs the grocery in town,” Gerard said.

“His family owns it but he doesn’t manage it,” Megan said. “So I guess you can’t believe everything you find online, can you?” she taunted. “He took over the family businesses his parents established twenty-five years ago.” Megan opened her car door then turned to look up at Gerard. “His mother is an astute businesswoman, and the clinic was her idea. They’re nice people, Gerard.”

“I have no doubt of that.”

“They aren’t overworking me and I’m being well-reimbursed. Nora’s letting me stay at the cottage for free. Thanks to their generosity, I may be able to pay off my school loans, after all. You’ll like her. You’ll also like Alec, whether you want to or not.”

Tess might. Gerard definitely did not. “I will meet him, I’m sure.”

Megan slid behind the steering wheel of her Neo, but when she reached to close the door, he caught it.

“You’re out here in the middle of nowhere,” he said. “You wanted to be as far from the city as you could get—even as far from Jolly Mill as you could get.”

“I like the country. I always have.” She started the car. The engine still had that slight rattle Gerard had intended to fix for her.

He didn’t release the door. “What you’re doing isn’t healthy, Megan.”

“What I’m doing is helping a friend.” She gave him a pointed look then jerked her head toward the hand that held the door. “Do you mind?”

He didn’t move. “One of the reasons I kept trying to reach you was because tuberculosis has been making a recurrence on the street, and you worked closely with many patients.”

“Yet you didn’t tell Kirstie about that, or call my new boss?”

“I didn’t want another person to do my job for me.”

“I’m not your job.”

The tip of Gerard’s tongue scrubbed at his teeth. “It’s my job to see to the welfare of my employees, and you were my employee when you worked with the patients at the clinic.”

“I get my yearly TB test, I don’t have night sweats, unexplained weight loss or a dry cough—”

“You do need more time off.”

“Make up your mind. A few minutes ago you wanted me to be Kirstie’s physician.”

“One patient. That’s nothing like going back to work at a busy clinic.”

Megan put her hands on the steering wheel. “This isn’t helping.”

“I’m sorry.”

Megan’s cell phone rang, and she stiffened. Gerard could tell she hadn’t calmed down as well as she wanted to pretend she had. She took a breath and reached for the cell.

Gerard watched her expression as she took the call. Instant relief.

“They found Kirstie?” he asked.

Megan irritably motioned for him to shut up. He knew that gesture. She’d used it enough times at the mission.

“We’ll have to check to see if she inhaled any creek water,” Megan said. “Just get her to the clinic and I’ll meet you there.” She flipped the cell shut and reached for the door. “I have to go to Kirstie.”

“I’ll follow you there.”

“Gerard, they’ve found her, and you don’t need to be at the clinic.”

“It’s time I started meeting some of the people, checking out the town. You’re a big girl, you can handle a few rumors, can’t you?”

With a sigh, Megan started the engine and gunned it. “Fine, if you can keep up, but I warn you, I drive the way I always have.”

Gerard chuckled as he watched her burn a doughnut in the leaves and grass and miss his car by half a foot. Had it not occurred to her that he’d already studied the layout of Jolly Mill? He would take his time and enjoy the drive now that he knew Kirstie had been found.

FOUR

Kirstie Marshal no longer held out hope of regaining her dignity anytime soon, especially not in Jolly Mill. She had mud up her nose, silt between her teeth and fish eggs in her hair. When she caught a reflection of herself in the glass entryway to the clinic, a leaf appeared to be sticking out of her right ear—or was that part of her hair? If Lynley’s hands weren’t already trembling so badly she’d barely been able to steer the car to the clinic, Kirstie would have goosed her.

“I can’t believe you’d allow me to appear in public like this,” she muttered, fighting Lynley’s attempts to hold on to her arm from the car to the clinic.

“I want to make sure you’re okay.”

Kirstie pulled away long enough to tug the leaf from her hair. “I’m fine except for the public humiliation.”

“And bloody feet.” Lynley’s serious coal-brown eyes, lustrous from recent tears, narrowed slightly. She blinked as if seeing her mother’s face for the first time. Her hair, dark as twilight, the way Kirstie’s once was, stood out in odd directions, proving she’d plunged from bedclothes to search clothes without a glance in the mirror. No toothbrush had touched those pretty white teeth this morning, that was for sure.

“How did you discover I was gone?” Kirstie didn’t want her kid doing bed checks at thirty-minute intervals.

“Your bedroom door was open and the light was still on. The light woke me up.”

“You fell asleep studying again?”

Lynley nodded. “You sleep with the door closed, not to mention the lights out.”

Kirstie sighed. “Sorry again, sweetie. You’re not old enough to be part of the sandwich generation. You don’t even have kids. And I’m not an old moldy piece of bread.”

“No, you’re not, so stop expecting me to throw you away like one.”

“That isn’t what I’m doing.”

Carmen Delaney, clinic director and a stalwart member of Kirstie’s shrinking band of trusted friends, opened the inner door and held it for them, keys still jingling in her hands. She had her silvery-blond hair pulled straight back from her face in a severe ponytail.

Carmen was the only forty-eight-year-old Kirstie knew who had a face pretty enough—and taut enough—to support such severity. Kirstie knew, however, that Carmen kept that rubber band tight to smooth out the lines that had begun to form. Soon she’d be bald, what with the bleaching and the tugging. Then what would she use to keep those wrinkles stretched?

Oh, that’s right, menopause time. Soon the fat will fill those wrinkled places quite nicely. Poor Carmen was in for the shock of her life anytime now, if she hadn’t already learned something from Kirstie’s and Nora’s shared experiences.

“Kirstie, honey, you gave us all a scare and a half!” Carmen said. “Lynley, how’s she doing?”

“I can answer that question for myself, thank you very much.” Kirstie limped, barefoot and still dripping leaves and mud, onto the smooth wooden floor of the waiting room. “I’m not elderly yet. I can swim, apparently, even when I’m out of my mind.”

“You mean you found a place along Capps Creek deep enough for swimming in this drought?” Carmen asked.

“I found her at the edge of the mill pond,” Lynley said.

Kirstie held her arms out and looked at the mud. “Don’t ask me how it happened. I came to myself up on a cliff somewhere just before the ground gave way.”

“Did you get hurt?” Carmen asked.

“No. I’m fine. It’s just a little blood.”

“We’ll find out as soon as we get her into the exam room,” Lynley said. “I expect Megan’ll come racing up any moment.”

“Why bother Megan for a few cuts and bruises?” Kirstie said the words, feeling like a fraud. She wanted Megan here more than Lynley did, though at the same time, she hesitated to consider dragging Megan into this mess more deeply than she already was. Something was going on with her, and she didn’t seem able to talk about it to her closest friends. Although Megan was one of the strongest and most resilient young women Kirstie had ever known, this kind of pressure might overwhelm even her.

“I could just wander back to an exam room and take a look at these feet myself,” Kirstie said. “Then I can walk home if someone will loan me some shoes.” She knew that would never go over, even if it was only a few blocks away. “Then you can all get to work on the real patients.”

“No real patients for an hour,” Carmen said. “Megan won’t want you walking home. She may even decide to keep you here for observation.”

Kirstie grunted. Not if her plan panned out. Of course, in order for that to happen, one had to remain in one’s right mind.

“She’ll need to see if you inhaled any of that creek water,” Carmen said.

“More likely silt.” Lynley’s voice continued to tremble.

“Oh, sweetie,” Carmen said, wrapping an arm around Lynley—something Kirstie should’ve done. “She’s going to be just fine. This may be just what we need to convince Megan to run some tests of her own.”

“She turned us down, remember?”

Kirstie hated that tremor in her daughter’s voice. “She had her reasons, sweetie.”

“What reason could she possibly have had to turn down—”

“None of our business what the reason is.” Kirstie met Carmen’s gaze of understanding, then patted Lynley’s cold, moist cheek. “But I expect it has something to do with wanting me in more experienced hands. You want someone placing their whole life, their future, all their hopes in your hands when you aren’t a specialist in the field? You want to be responsible for that kind of burden?”

“But you’re not going to either of the other specialists.” Lynley’s voice no longer trembled, but there was a hint of rancor in place of the agitation.

It seemed that ever since Lynley arrived back in Jolly Mill, her emotions had swung from fear to anger to grief. She didn’t know how obvious it was to everyone that she had begun the grieving process. Kirstie wished she could swallow all that pain for her precious daughter, but her own emotions kept getting in the way.

“Don’t tell me you’re blaming Megan for that,” Carmen said. “Honey, if you ask me, our Megan’s barely hanging on as it is. Did you see her face when she caught sight of Forrest the other day?”

“Who?”

“You know, as in Gump. The man with the wild gray hair who walks all over the place.”

“You’re talking about Kendall Ross,” Lynley said. “He looks like a homeless man, but he has a house and three kids and a wife.”

“I know, plus he has three cats and two dogs, but he looks homeless. Smells it too, sometimes, and he talks to himself.”

“So do I,” Kirstie muttered.

“Recovering addict, you know,” Carmen said. “Last I heard he was under house arrest.”

Kirstie fingered her mud-stiff hair.

“Anyway, Megan’s face went white as my refrigerator when he walked past the clinic a couple of days ago,” Carmen continued as if she hadn’t been interrupted. “That long, bushy, gray hair of his was flying every which way. Megan’s eyes teared up and she had to get to the bathroom quick. If you ask me, our poor Megan worked with the homeless a little too long and her heart just broke. She’s burned out at the age of thirty-two.”

“Wish she wasn’t living alone,” Kirstie said.

“I told her she could stay in my guest room,” Carmen said. “And Nora has that whole huge house to herself and begged Megan to move in with her and keep her company. Nothing doing. The best she could do was give Megan that isolated cabin in the woods.”

“Megan always did love that place,” Lynley said. “She has what she wants.”

Kirstie glanced out the window and saw a bright yellow car flashing through the shadows of trees overhanging the road. Hmm. Maybe this wasn’t such a bad situation, after all. Quite a way behind the yellow Neo came another car, bright red, and Kirstie suppressed a smile. If she wasn’t mistaken, the cavalry had arrived. Thank you, Jesus!

“She’ll have to at least weigh in on your case now, won’t she?” Carmen asked, voicing Kirstie’s thoughts as she stepped up beside her at the window.

“Nope. Let’s lie low for a bit, okay? She doesn’t need that right now.” Such a hypocrite, Kirstie.

Carmen gave Kirstie a once-over. “Wouldn’t hurt you to get some street clothes on.”

“She’s not walking home, anyway,” Lynley said. “I’ll drive her.”

Kirstie looked down at her mud-caked nightgown. “I’ve decided to make a new fashion statement. I call it ‘Blackout Chic.’ I might as well capitalize on all the attention my loving daughter keeps sending my way.”

“Mom,” Lynley warned. “You want me to just let you wander out in the forest like a wild animal?”

“Wild animals should be caged to protect themselves.” Kirstie sucked on her tongue to corral further hurtful words.

“I can’t believe you said that.” Tears once more filled Lynley’s eyes.

“Girls,” Carmen said, “you could both use a little color, a little foundation, some eye-popping makeup. Want to borrow mine for the day?”

They ignored her, as she obviously expected them to, but she opened a case of her own wares at any rate and pulled out a tube of concealer. “At least prepare for patients. You can’t have them thinking someone died on the table this morning.”

Kirstie sighed. Perhaps insulating Lynley from so many of life’s trials when she was a child had hindered her emotional growth; she could still be easily wounded, at least by her mother’s sarcasm. She’d always been tenderhearted. With no siblings to be supportive of her—or to teach her how to better integrate—she had needed the extra attention, especially since she had a father who preferred reinforcing his delusions of manhood with as many women as he could unearth, rob from the cradle or lure away from other men.

Right now, Lynley was still too fragile after her divorce from Barry’s clone. Girls really did marry their daddies.

“Megan should be here any second. I hope she at least had time to put her face on,” Carmen said. “And it’s possible you’ll have the chance to convince Megan to give us another opinion. She’s a good diagnostician.”

“And as she’s said,” Kirstie reminded her friend, “she’s too close to the case herself. Of course, if she were to diagnose me with Alzheimer’s also, then maybe Lynley would give up and let me be placed in a lock-down unit and stop wasting her nights chasing after me.” Kirstie’s feet hurt, and this hard wooden floor didn’t help matters.

Lynley glanced at Carmen and then glared at Kirstie. “There’s that word again. Wasting? Really. You’re my mother.”

“You can’t watch me every second. You’ll ruin your own future.”

“It usually happens at night. We could set up an alarm—”

“No!” Kirstie took a slow breath. “What kind of mother would I be if I allowed you to give up your life for mine?”

“It’s not over yet. We’ll figure something out. And don’t even think about getting Megan to help you gang up on me again. She tried to this morning, you know. No nursing facility. Period.”

Carmen waved an arm between the two of them. “Excuse me? Would you two postpone this boxing match until I’m out of hearing range? And speaking of our doctor…” She gestured toward the parking lot, where Megan pulled in with her bright, eye-hurting Neo, followed closely by a red mini SUV. With a man inside.

Kirstie smiled. Wow. Was she finally going to meet, face-to-face, the unacknowledged man in her darling Megan’s life? He was some man. Not Megan’s type at all. Megan had always been attracted to the soft-spoken intellectual. This time, however, she might need to bend a little.

Megan jerked her car to a stop, had the door open less than a second later, and was hot-footing it toward the front door as she shoved her keys into her oversize purse.

She didn’t spare a glance for her stalker. She wasn’t wearing her usual scrubs and lab coat.

“That must be him,” Kirstie murmured.

“Who?” Carmen’s green eyes widened as the man got out of his car and stood up. “Wow.”

Kirstie smiled. The sun appeared to dazzle his face—but that could have been because his face was so close to the sun.

Kirstie reached for a tissue and blew her nose. “And here I am looking and smelling like a bed of dried fish eggs. Oh my goodness, he’s a hunk. Would you look at him?”

“Who is he?” Oh yeah, Carmen could be smitten. Six years was too much time to grieve even the best of men, and though Gil had been a better man than Barry, his idea of a romantic gesture had been taking out the trash every couple of weeks. Lack of exercise was why he’d succumbed early in life to a premature heart attack.

“Careful, Carmen,” Kirstie said. “He’s too young for either of us. I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure he’s Megan’s boss.”

“Alec Thompson is Megan’s boss,” Lynley said.

“I mean her boss in Corpus Christi.”

Carmen leaned closer to the window for a better look, and a bemused smile tipped her curvy pink lips. “That guy she couldn’t shut up about the day she flew up here for Lynley’s divorce party?”

“It wasn’t a party,” Lynley said. “It was commiseration.”

For Kirstie, it had been a party. “He fits her description, doesn’t he?”

“He still runs the rescue mission?” Carmen asked.

“He also matches the hunky photo his sister took for his online profile.”

Lynley cleared her throat as if to remind them she was still in the room. “Would you please stop talking about hunky men in front of your only child?”

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