“This place is a death trap,” Rachel said, standing in the middle of what should have been the living room, oblivious to the ancient bloodstain on the plywood beneath her.

Caleb stripped off his rain-soaked slicker and hung it on one of the nails, turning to her. “An interesting way of looking at things. Why do you say that?”

“I nearly fell through one of the steps.” She was making no effort to divest herself of her muddy clothes. “Are you going to drive me down to town?”

“I should have warned you about that one. Upkeep on this place isn’t a high priority.”

“I can see that.” She looked around her, and he could practically read her mind. The place was a disaster—a half-constructed architect’s dream that had suffered the indignities of rain, wind and abandonment for the last fifteen years. He’d tacked fresh tarps on the western side of the frame to keep the wind from blowing through, but he hadn’t gotten around to replacing the shredded blue fabric that covered the roof, and there were pools of rain water at regular intervals on the warped floor. “So why does this place look familiar?” she said suddenly pushing back the hood of her raincoat.

“Good eye. It was designed and built by the architect who did David’s house. And yours.”

He could see her shoulders relax slightly. A mistake on her part, but she didn’t realize the mess she’d gotten herself in. “Yes, I can see that now,” she said. “Why didn’t he finish it?”

Caleb shrugged. “He went bankrupt and killed himself. That’s his blood you’re standing on.”

She looked down at the dark stain, and to her credit she didn’t leap away with a squeal. “And you left it there?”

“It’s a helpful reminder of knowing your limitations. Hubris and all—you can’t reach too high or the gods will smite you.”

“In your case I’m not sure it sank in,” she said, moving past the stain to look out the framing that should have held a window. “You don’t seem particularly meek and humble.”

“No, that’s never been my particular character defect.” He moved closer to her, carefully, so as not to startle her. “You can see your house quite clearly if there’s no rain.”

“Which means never,” she said gloomily. “Why did you buy a house just like David’s?”

“Maybe you should ask him. Maybe the question is…why did he buy a house like mine.”

She turned her head to look at him. She was a tall woman, almost his height, and her eyes were clear and bright. “Why are you here?”

For one brief, crazy moment he considered telling her the truth. She wouldn’t believe him, of course. No one ever had, though his mother had suspected the truth. And he couldn’t risk her telling David.

So he lied. “I haven’t seen my father in years. I thought it was about time.”

“And David?”

“He’s visited me occasionally when I’ve been on assignment. He’s more sentimental than I am—he’s always made sure our brotherly connection remains strong. I last saw him in Tunisia.”

“I didn’t realize David traveled that much.” She unzipped her coat. He had a good fire going in the woodstove, and despite the gaping windows, the room was warm.

“There are a lot of things about David you don’t know. Why don’t I get you some clean clothes and you can change? If your daughter sees you like that she’s going to worry.”

She looked down at her muddy clothes, considering. “Mud dries.”

“During the rainy season? You’re more optimistic than I would have thought,” Caleb said.

“What do you mean, rainy season? Does the sun ever shine in this misbegotten place?”

“It’s been known to happen,” he said. “We’ve got four distinct seasons. Less rain. More rain. A lot more rain. And the deluge.”

“Nevertheless…”

He ignored her, disappearing into the far room, returning with his baggiest pair of jeans and an oversized flannel shirt. “Here.”

She made no move to take them, so he simply dumped them in her arms. “The bathroom’s behind that door. It even locks.”

“I really need to get back down to my car.”

“You have time.”

“Then I have time to get to my own house and change my clothes.”

“But again, I’m not putting you in my car in that condition,” he said, all breezy sweetness that he didn’t expect to fool her for one moment.

It didn’t. She made a low noise, somewhere between a snarl and a growl, and stomped off away from him, slamming the bathroom door behind her.

He found himself grinning. She was a firecracker, red hair and all, a fighter. This would be so much easier with a frail flower, but Rachel wasn’t the type to wilt.

Once more he considered telling her the truth. He could tell her what kind of danger she was in, but she wouldn’t believe him. For the moment she was safe. And what he had told her was the simple truth. The women had all been the same physical type—thin, average height, long, straight blond hair. A far cry from Rachel Middleton’s Amazonian proportions.

Sophie was a different matter, but she was way too young. In a couple of years or so she might be at risk, making him doubly grateful he’d finally chosen to face his worst fears. If he’d put it off, if she’d died, he’d never forgive himself.

In a way he was already at that point. He couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t had suspicions, doubts, but the truth of it was unacceptable even to a hard-core cynic like himself. But maybe, just maybe, the girl on the mountain wouldn’t have died if he’d come sooner. Maybe Libba, maybe even Sophie’s friend Tessa.

There were times when the real monsters were those who stood by and said nothing while evil erupted. And any silence would make him the monster everyone had always believed him to be.

He’d told Rachel to leave, warned her as best he could. He’d keep trying, if only to save the tattered remnants of his conscience, as ripped and shredded as the tarp that had once covered the roof of this haunted house. But if she wouldn’t leave, she could at least help him, willingly or not.

Taking David’s wife was the surest way of doing what he had to do.

The jeans barely fit, and she knew he’d chosen extra-baggy ones, not like the lean-fitting ones he wore. Asshole. She dumped her mud-encrusted pants and shirt on the floor, pulled his clothes on, grumbling beneath her breath. To her amazement he had warm water in the rust-stained sink. She washed some of the mud from her face, then paused, staring back at her reflection.

She could barely recognize herself. Her hair had gotten loose, and it was a tangled mess around her face. A kind soul might say it was sensual, David would have said it was messy. The last thing she wanted was for the black sheep to think she was sensual.

She was pretty damned safe on that account. He was a talker, nothing more. She hadn’t bothered with makeup, and her pale face looked oddly vulnerable, her eyes wary. But she was never vulnerble—she couldn’t afford to be. He’d given her a blue flannel shirt, by accident, of course, but it made the blue in her eyes stand out.

She didn’t look like the woman she was used to seeing in the mirror. No light sprinkling of freckles across her nose, no color in her cheeks, a sober expression on her face when she used to laugh, loud and often. What had happened to her? Had she started to mold in the dark, dank climate?

She should take Sophie and head for the sun. Just a vacation, a trip to see friends, she’d tell David. She’d stay away long enough to see things clearly, and if…make that when…she came back she’d have a better sense of who she was. She’d lost that over the last few months, and she couldn’t figure out why. It wasn’t as if David was an overbearing, macho pig like his adopted brother.

She pushed open the door, and he was standing with his back to her, staring out at the downpour. He turned, a couple of beers in his hands.

“I’m driving,” she said, but he put one in her hand anyway.

“So am I. One beer won’t hurt you. Unless you don’t like beer. I’m afraid I’m fresh out of chardonnay.”

“I like beer,” she said, and took a healthy slug.

“So, have a seat,” he said.

“Where?”

“I’ve got a bed in the other room….”

She slammed the half-empty beer bottle down on the broken table. “I’m out of here.”

“Calm down, princess. Just a suggestion. There’s always the floor.”

He meant for sitting, of course. But she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling that he was thinking more than that.

And it didn’t make sense. She had no illusions about herself—she wasn’t the kind of woman that men chased. Her relationships, after her first disastrous one, had been comfortable, friend-driven, with sex as almost an afterthought, which was why she’d gotten along so well with David when he’d showed up, solicitous and caring, while they were dealing with the aftermath of Tessa’s hideous murder.

She didn’t have the slightest doubt that Caleb’s interest had to do with his relationship with his brother and absolutely nothing to do with her.

And it was perfectly reasonable that she would find that annoying. It wasn’t that she was interested in him. She simply didn’t like being manipulated.

“The beer doesn’t taste that bad.”

She looked up. “What?”

“You’re making a face like you’re sucking on a lemon.”

She looked at him through the mottled light. He had electricity up there. A bare incandescent bulb hung from the ceiling, the light glaring, throwing strange shadows on everything. “You know, Caleb, that’s not exactly the right thing to say to a woman while you’re trying to come on like the big bad wolf,” she said, tipping the bottle back.

She’d managed to startle him enough, and he laughed. “If I’m the big bad wolf then who are you? Little Red Riding Hood?”

“No, honey. I’m the practical pig, and you sure as hell aren’t going to blow my house down.”

For a moment he didn’t move. And then suddenly he was closer, moving in on her in a way that was threatening, arousing, annoying. “I could try,” he said, his voice soft and low.

“Give it up, Caleb. You aren’t going to convince me you want me so you may as well stop it.” She moved away from him, dropping down to sit cross-legged on the floor. “So what have you got against your brother?”

He stayed where he was, looking down at her with an odd expression in his dark eyes. “Why do you find it hard to believe I’m attracted to you?”

“Why do you answer a question with another question.” She took another swig of the beer. She shouldn’t be sitting here, trading words with him, she should be in the car, being driven down the muddy road, or hightailing it down there on her own. She would, in just a couple of minutes. In the meantime this was a dangerous game, enticing after so many months of well-behaved safety.

He took a seat across from her, far enough away to give her a false sense of security. And she knew it was false. “Tell me about Tessa,” he said.

It took all the fun out of a risky encounter. “How do you know about Tessa. And why do you want to know?”

“I’m a reporter. I don’t betray my sources. Don’t you think it’s odd that there have been two similar murders in your vicinity in the last six months?”

Again that unsettling knowledge, that thought. “If you know Tessa was murdered six months ago, then I don’t really need to tell you anything,” she said, trying to hide her sudden panic.

“Sophie told me.”

She freaked. “Keep away from my daughter!”

“Oh, please!” he said, rolling his eyes. “I like women, not children. She’s a good kid, smart like her mother. Maybe smarter than her mother—she knows who she can trust.”

“God, don’t tell me she trusts you! I’m going to have to explain a few things to her once I get down from here.”

He didn’t rise to the bait. “Look me in the eye and tell me you really think I’m a danger to your daughter.”

She didn’t bother. He had hypnotic eyes—it was one of the dangers about him, along with his long, lean body and his sinful mouth. Not to mention his history.

“I suspect you’re a danger to everyone you come in contact with,” she said, draining the beer.

For a moment he looked startled. “Sometimes,” he said finally.

A stray shiver ran across her back. “I’m ready to go home now.”

“You still haven’t told me about Tessa.”

She rose, leaving her empty bottle behind. “She died. As far as the police could figure out she was the random victim of a serial killer, one who’s been active all over the Northwest. They grow the biggest crazies out here, you know. Ted Bundy and the Green River Killer and probably others. My theory is all this rain drives you crazy.”

“How did she die?”

“None of your fucking business!” She automatically clapped her hands over mouth. “Damn!”

“You don’t swear? What kind of Mormon are you?” He’d risen himself, taller than she was, dangerous though she wasn’t quite sure why.

“I promised I’d stop saying fuck,” she said. “It’s an ugly word.”

“It’s a great word in the right circumstances. It can, for instance, indicate a very enjoyable way to spend an afternoon. I suppose you promised my brother? He’s an English professor—he should understand.”

“It’s overused.”

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t have its place.”

“Jesus Fucking Christ!” Rachel exploded. “Are you always this much of a pain in the ass?”

“Why do you suppose they drove me out of town?” he replied. “Oh, sorry, that was answering a question with a question.” He moved closer, and she decided to stand her ground. A mistake.

“Yes,” he said, so close she could practically touch him. “Yes, I’m always such a pain in the ass, yes, I actually do want you, and as for what I’ve got against my brother, it would take too long to tell you and you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Try me,” she said. Big mistake.

“I was waiting for the offer.” He moved so fast she didn’t have time to react. He cupped her face, pulling her closer, and kissed her.

Her arms were free to fight him, and she punched him in the stomach, but he didn’t flinch, merely moved closer, one arm imprisoning her, trapping her hands between their bodies. “I’m just trying to prove my point,” he murmured, and kissed her again, his mouth hard on hers.

She clamped her jaw together, freezing, since he had her in too strong a hold to shove him away. His hand cupped her neck, his fingers brushing against the side of her face, a calming, gentle touch that slowly began to leach the fury from her body. She could feel his heart beat through the layers of clothing that separated them, and her own heart beat a counterpoint to his. He lifted his head, looking down at her stubborn face. “Kiss me back and I’ll let you go,” he said softly.

“Fuck off.”

He kissed her anyway, and she remained stonily still, as his other hand trailed up her back to the perfect, sensitive spot just beneath her shoulder blades, and she felt her treacherous body soften.

Oh, the hell with it. She kissed him back. She opened her mouth, slid her arms around his waist, pulling him closer still, and kissed him, with all the hunger and need that had been locked in her body for months, years. She kissed him because she couldn’t have him, kissed him because he showed up too late, kissed him until she felt his cock swell against her belly and the fierce need became his own as well.

And then she shoved him away, wiped her mouth with the sleeve of the flannel shirt, his flannel shirt, and said, “Ready to drive me home?”

He looked shocked, which was a triumph in itself. “Where did that come from?”

She wished she could come up with a snappy answer. From her inner Barbie, from her repressed romantic side, from her self-destructive nature. Instead she shrugged. “I just thought I’d give you a taste of what you’re missing.”

He was still staring at her like he was seeing her for the first time, which he probably was. Up until now she was part of some game-playing agenda, and an unsavory one at that. She had no idea what he was trying to prove, but she wasn’t about to play.

“You can drive me home or I’ll take your car,” she said in her most practical voice. He’d have no idea that beneath her blasé exterior her heart was pounding, her palms were damp and she was more turned on than she had been in fourteen years. Not since Sophie’s father. Of course he had ditched her once he found out she was pregnant and she’d been on her own. She ought to know better.

She crossed her arms, partly to hide the trembling, and arched an eyebrow. “Sooner rather than later would be good,” she said in an even tone.

He moved then, and for a moment she thought he was going to touch her again. She wasn’t sure what she’d do if he did, but at the last minute he seemed to think better of it. “I’ll get my keys,” he said, his voice equally expressionless.

They went down the outer steps in silence. The rain was coming down harder now, and the rough wood was slick enough that she held on to the rickety railing, being careful to avoid the weak step as she went. He moved past her, around the back of the foundation, and she followed him, only to come face-to-face with the most ramshackle, ancient Jeep she’d ever seen.

“I thought you had a rental car that you didn’t want to get muddy,” she said, glaring at him.

“I lied. The doors don’t work—you’ll have to climb in over the side.”

Great, she thought. His baggy pants were too tight on her generous butt, and she’d probably split them as she scrambled into the car. Tossing her own clothes in back, she reached for the top of the door, ready to hoist herself in, when she felt his hands on her waist, lifting her, swinging her over into the front seat of the Jeep.

It happened so fast she didn’t have time to pro test. She landed in a heap, righting herself before he climbed in the driver’s side with insulting ease.

“No seat belts,” he said. “If we start going off the road you’ll have to hold on to me.”

“Yeah, right.” She glanced at her watch. Twenty to three, and they were three-quarters of the way up Silver Mountain. “You wanna step on it? I don’t want to be late.”

The Jeep started forward with a leap, tossing her back against the seat. A moment later they were careening down the narrow dirt road at breakneck speeds and she was clutching the cracked leather of the seat, holding on for dear life and trying to remember some kind of prayer to ward off certain death.

They all escaped her—she was stuck with muttering “oh God oh God oh God” beneath her breath. Caleb was having too much fun, taking the switchback curves with abandon, and she wondered what the hell Sophie would do if she was left without a mother and no legal tie to David.

Caleb glanced at her every few moments, waiting to see her reaction, but she gritted her teeth and said nothing. By the time they reached her parked car, she was ready to scream, and when he slammed to a stop he turned and looked at her.

“Fast enough for you?”

Hitting him again wouldn’t be a good idea—it would give him an excuse to touch her and she still hadn’t recovered from their kiss. “Fine, thank you.” She slung one leg over the side of the door, planning to use the back of the seat for leverage, when he put his hands on her butt and shoved.

She landed on her feet, a good thing, because another car had just pulled up beside hers. A black BMW, with David behind the wheel.

“Oh, fuck,” Rachel whispered.

“Watch your language, Mrs. Middleton,” Caleb cautioned. “You don’t want him to know you feel guilty.”

She turned on him. “I don’t! I don’t have anything to feel guilty for.”

“Except kissing me.” He looked up. “Hey, David,” he said in a louder voice. “I’m returning your wife. Reluctantly, I must admit. She got caught up at the falls.”

She expected David’s usual look of sad disappointment as he climbed out of the car, but oddly enough he looked quite sunny. “What were you doing up there, Rachel? It’s a rotten day for hiking. Don’t tell me you’re as morbid as the rest of this town.”

“I’d never seen the falls, and I was hoping to get some pictures. But you’re right—a rotten day. I slipped in the mud and almost went over. Fortunately Caleb was there to catch me.”

“Fortunate indeed,” David said. “I was worried when you didn’t come home. Sophie’s school closed early and I thought I’d better make sure you got the message. Clearly you didn’t.”

All thought of Caleb and guilt vanished in her sudden panic. “Where is she? What happened? Is she all right?”

“Of course she is. She went home with Kristen—if she’s not safe in the home of the police chief I don’t know where she would be. I’m afraid they’ve found another body.”

The air around them suddenly seemed to freeze, like a slow-motion horror movie, and it felt like someone punched her in the chest, hard. “Who?” she managed to choke out.

“They don’t know—apparently she’d been dead for a while. They found her body downriver, but Chief Bannister says they’re thinking she may have gone over the falls as well.” He looked past at her at Caleb, an odd expression playing around his mouth. “Have you seen anyone up there the last day or so, Caleb? Anyone suspicious?”

“No.” The word was short, sharp, and she glanced back at Caleb. He looked stricken, guilty, an odd expression for him, a far cry from his usual mockery. A moment later that expression was gone, and he shrugged. “Not a safe town for young women, is it? I think your wife and her daughter should take a nice long vacation until Maggie Bannister finds out who’s doing this.”

David’s eyebrows snapped together. “Don’t be ridiculous, Caleb. There’s evil everywhere, and you, more than anyone, would know it. They stay here, where I can protect them.”

“I’ll be the one who decides where I stay!” Rachel snapped. “You two can argue all you want—I’m going to get my daughter.”

David moved in front of her. “Rachel, she’s fine—” he began, but she shoved past him, heading for her Volvo. He said something else, but she didn’t listen, she simply jumped in the car and sped off, one thing and one thing only on her mind. She had to find her baby and make certain she was safe. And then, if she had even an ounce of brain left her in head, they were getting the hell out of town.