The house was dark when Caleb drove into the driveway, David’s black BMW sitting in front of the garage like a silent reproach.

“Oh, shit,” Rachel muttered beneath her breath.

“What? He’s going to beat you?”

“Yeah, right. Your brother doesn’t even like to swat flies—you know that. He’s very Zen. No, he’ll just be disappointed.”

“Well, slip into bed and maybe he won’t notice what time you came in.”

“We don’t…No, you’re right, he probably won’t notice,” she said, hastily switching words.

“You don’t what? You don’t sleep together?”

Shit. “Of course we do.”

“No, you don’t. David has always slept lightly—the slightest sound would wake him up. If you shared a bed there’s no way you wouldn’t wake him up. He’s my brother, remember?”

She could try to bluff, but the thought that she’d be tempted to do so was annoying. Her blissed-out burger buzz had vanished, and she was back in the land of tofu and lemon water. The night was dark, and it had even started to rain again. “Exactly. My thrashing keeps him awake, so we have separate rooms. And in two days I’ve already figured out how your mind works. Yes, we have sex. All the time. We just go to his room or mine. Or the living-room floor. Or the kitchen countertops. Or the…”

“With Sophie in the house?” he said mildly enough.

Double shit. She’d been getting defensive again. “She goes out often enough.”

“So why were you going through your elaborate seduction routine tonight? Not that I wasn’t appreciative, but if your sex life is all that good how come you have to resort to candlelit dinners and low-cut shirts?”

“I’m thoughtful,” she snapped. “We’re newlyweds.”

Caleb’s soft laugh had to be the most annoying sound in the entire world. “And it’s such a love match.”

“Go fuck yourself.”

“I’d rather fuck you.”

The porch light came on, the front door opened to the rainy night, with David silhouetted in the darkness.

“I’m sorry we woke you up, darling,” she said as she reached the door.

David was in his pajamas, his blond hair mussed, his eyes sleepy. He looked like a little boy, and a rush of tenderness welled up in her. She stepped inside, her bare feet cold on the flagstone entry, and David leaned out and waved at his brother before he closed the door. Closing them in again.

“I’m so glad you took care of Caleb, darling,” he said, brushing her cheek with his soft lips. “I meant to tell you I’d invited him for dinner but then things got out of control on campus with the news of the body they found, and I just couldn’t leave.”

“Of course not,” she said, pulling off the colorful shawl and holding it in her arms. David never liked it—he said the bright colors assaulted his eyes and detracted from her pure beauty. Which was a ton of shit, but flattering anyway, and she did her best to accommodate him. “Sophie’s over at the Bannister’s.”

“I know—I saw Maggie on my way back to campus. I think that was an excellent idea as well. Dear Sophie pretends to be very strong, but these things can be devastating to young girls.”

Sophie didn’t pretend to be anything, but Rachel kept her mouth shut. “Do you want to come into the living room? We could turn on the fire, light a few candles, snuggle on the sofa?” And end up doing the wild thing on the ancient Persian rug in front of it, making up for the other night’s failure.

David shook his head. “I’m exhausted, and I’ve got an early class tomorrow.” He planted a soft, damp kiss on her lips. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Soft and damp. So different from Caleb’s kiss. Kisses. Hard and wet and…

“Would you like to join me tonight?” she said, wiping that erotic thought out of her mind. She needed something, she needed David to drive away the memory, the feel of Caleb. She needed to be held, to remember why she chose this man and this life. “I’m feeling a little shaky myself.”

“Oh, Rachel, I’d love to, but it’s just been too long a day,” he said, sounding genuinely regretful. “You don’t mind, do you? I find I have the need of solitude in order to regroup. You understand, don’t you?”

“Of course,” she lied. Caleb said he’d dream about her. Actually he’d said worse than that, the bastard. And without David beside her, she was going to have the same sort of dreams.

Better than dreaming about murdered young women, or thinking back to poor Tessa, only a few years older than Sophie. Gone, torn from a young life by a monster. And it was happening all over again.

But Tessa had been in San Francisco, a thousand miles away. There couldn’t be any connection with a local college student, and the less she heard about the second body the better.

“Good night, dear,” David said, his voice breaking through her abstraction. “You really don’t mind, do you?”

She summoned a bright smile. “Of course not. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I might be gone before you wake up. But I almost forgot—Stephen Henry has summoned you for lunch. I told him you could make it. One o’clock at his house.”

Shit. “I had other plans. Actually I was thinking of taking Sophie and going on a little trip. Just to get some fresh air, maybe some sunshine…” Her voice trailed off.

He gave her a dazzling smile. “I think that’s a wonderful idea. I know all this rain has been getting to you. We natives are used to it—we call it liquid sunshine—but I can understand that it might be a little hard for you two to grow accustomed to it. This business up at the falls must bring up some terrible memories.”

Rachel felt relief flood her. “It has. I just think it would be good for Sophie if I took her away for a few days.”

“And I agree. In another week she’ll have a break for Thanksgiving, and I’m sure I can get away myself. That’s one good thing about Caleb’s return—he can keep my father busy while you and I have some time away.” A faint look of anxiety darkened his eyes. “Unless…you didn’t specifically invite me. Maybe you wanted to go alone?”

“Of course not,” she lied. He’d been so sweet, so amenable, that she couldn’t possibly tell him the truth. “I was just thinking we might go a little sooner.”

“There’s no particular hurry, is there? You don’t want to give Sophie the impression that you’re running away, do you?”

“Of course not.” Her smile was brittle.

“That settles it, then. I’ll make arrangements for someone to cover my classes next week, and I’ll even call Sophie’s school for you and tell them she may be taking some extra time off. We can be gone for a week.”

“I can handle it,” she said.

“Of course you can.” His voice was soothing.

“But that’s what I’m here for—to make things easier on you. In the meantime, if you wouldn’t mind going to visit my father tomorrow I know he’d appreciate it. He’s an old man, darling. He needs the company, and you know how he thrives on gossip. I expect he’s going to grill you about Caleb, not to mention the recent murders.”

“Just how I wanted to spend my afternoon,” Rachel said. “I’ll need to leave by two-thirty to pick Sophie up—”

“I’ve already made arrangements. I’ll pick her up—you stay and entertain my father.”

She considered pointing out that Stephen Henry was a preening old bastard, and she preferred to take care of her daughter herself, but she was learning tact, slowly but surely. Besides, David was still pushing for the adoption, and Rachel had no intention of hurrying. She could put up with Stephen Henry’s nonstop monologue on his favorite subject, himself, for the sake of family harmony. At least David wasn’t objecting to her leaving, even if he wanted her to wait. She could do that much.

“Thanks anyway, but I’d rather pick her up,” she said. “I’ll have plenty of time to visit with Stephen Henry and then make it to the school. I wouldn’t want to put you to any extra trouble.”

“It wouldn’t be—”

“I’ll take care of it.” She couldn’t keep the slight edge out of her voice.

“Of course,” he murmured, and once more she felt guilty. He’d only been trying to help. “Good night, dear,” he murmured.

She resisted the impulse to slam her bedroom door behind her. The bed was neatly made, the hundred pillows she liked tossed on top of it. She was exhausted, but her feet were dirty, and a hot shower would probably help her sleep. She stripped off her clothes, leaving them lying on the spotless hardwood, simply because she knew she could, knew that David wouldn’t come in and start scooping them up and hanging them in her neatly organized closet.

The hot water beat down on her skin, and the room filled with steam. She turned her face up to the showerhead, closing her eyes and breathing deeply.

And all she could think about was Caleb.

“The door’s unlocked!” Stephen Henry’s deep voice came from the old house, and, steeling herself, Rachel pushed it open, stepping inside. He was sitting in the living room, his books, his coffee, everything he needed at hand, a cashmere throw over his useless legs.

“Come and give an old man a kiss,” he said.

She bent down and clinked cheeks with him, both sides, European style, as he demanded, and with-drew before he could prolong it. “Where’s Dylan?”

“I gave him the day off. He’s already made lunch for us, and I told him you could serve us.”

Of course you did, Rachel thought. “Happy to,” she lied, taking a seat far enough away so he couldn’t grab her knee. He liked to touch women, which was one strong reason why she didn’t make any effort to get Sophie to like him any better. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust him.

She just didn’t trust him.

“What’s up?” she said.

“Ah, this younger generation,” Stephen Henry said, blithely ignoring the fact that he was the forefront of the baby boom. “Always in such a hurry. Why can’t we be civilized, talk about art and literature for a bit?” He always pronounced it “litrachur” in particularly affected tones, which annoyed her to no end. Particularly since David had picked it up.

“S.H., I’ve got film to develop,” she said in her sweetest possible voice. “Much as I adore spending time with you, it’s sometimes difficult. Weekends are usually better, but David said this was a royal summons, so here I am, your loyal subject.” She kept her voice light, giving Stephen Henry exactly what he wanted. An audience and a cue.

He chuckled. “Royal summons, eh? I certainly wish my sons were even half as obedient as you are.”

That rankled enough to make her speak. “No one has ever called me obedient in my entire life.”

“Ah, but you’ve changed. In the four months you’ve been a part of our small family I’ve seen you mature, blossom. Your wardrobe, your jewelry, your entire manner. When David first brought you back I was, frankly, appalled. You were too energetic, too wild for a sleepy little backwater like Silver Falls. But clearly I underestimated my son—he saw through the gaudy clothes and unconventional behavior to the sweet, reasonable woman beneath all that. You’ve curbed your impulsive nature as well. And your daughter is exquisite.”

“Glad to know we pass muster,” she muttered. Stephen Henry was partly deaf, and much too vain to wear a hearing aid, and she’d been docile for long enough.

“I beg your pardon, love. You were mumbling. You have to learn to enunciate. It’s a sign of a bad education when people mumble.”

Rachel’s smile grew strained. “You know me, S.H. I’m street smart. I learn from books that I choose—that way I don’t have to waste my time on anything that doesn’t interest me.” Like self-indulgent poet snobs.

“Oh, I know you, my dear. You’re too smart not to further your education. If it weren’t for your unfortunate illegitimate pregnancy…”

Oh, she really was going to have to hit him. “But then I wouldn’t have Sophie.”

An indulgent smile wreathed Stephen Henry’s soft pink face that never saw the sun. Then again, if he wanted sun he sure as hell wasn’t going to find any in Silver Falls. “Very true. And not everyone is cut out for higher education.”

“S.H., I know you didn’t invite me over to talk about my educational deficiencies.” Stephen Henry was oblivious to the tone creeping into her voice.

“After lunch, my dear. Dylan has made us a delicious shrimp salad and chosen an excellent wine.”

Oh, yeah, that was why she hadn’t made some phony excuse. Stephen Henry did eat well. And after last night’s forbidden carb fest she was finding twigs and tofu even less appealing.

She had to wait through Stephen Henry’s tedious monologue over heavenly shrimp salad and a crisp chardonnay, paying him only the slightest bit of attention. He was lecturing her about how sensitive David was, but right then she wasn’t in the mood to be lectured, and she resisted the impulse to ask about Caleb’s childhood, something that seemed to have slipped Stephen Henry’s memory completely. Fortunately all she had to do was give him the right cue and he’d start off again, prattling on with his fork filled with food, hovering hopelessly near his constantly moving mouth.

Finally he was done. She cleared the dishes, dumping them in the sink for Stephen Henry’s caregiver with only a trace of guilt. Anyone who had to put up with Stephen Henry full-time deserved to have the dishes done, but the sooner she got out of this airless, stuffy house the better.

Stephen Henry had moved from the dining room to the laughably labeled sunroom. The seats in there were even less comfortable, and somehow either Stephen Henry or his handsome aide had managed to find huge plants that thrived in darkness, making the room feel like an unpleasant version of a rainforest. At least she wasn’t staying long. She perched on the edge of an antique wicker chair made for sylphs, propped her hands on her knees and waited.

“I wanted to talk to you about my sons. One thing about you, Rachel. You never beat around the bush—you’re almost excessively direct. So I know you’ll tell me the truth.”

Crap. She should have known. Shrimp salad wasn’t worth this. She’d hoped his monologue about David’s childhood would have been enough. “Okay,” she said, wary.

“My son is very attractive to women, you know.”

It wouldn’t do her any good to deny it. Stephen Henry, for his self-absorption, could be frighteningly acute. “I know he is,” she said. “Freaking gorgeous. He’s got that whole bad-boy thing going for him, and women just fall for it. Even Sophie isn’t immune.”

Stephen Henry looked at her in silence for a moment. “I was talking about David, my dear.”

Shit. But she was nothing if not a quick thinker. “Oh, well, he has all that golden-boy charm. Both your sons are chick magnets, S.H.” Not precisely true. David was charming, sweet, thoughtful and half his students had a crush on him, but he was nowhere near the draw that Caleb was. His very name sounded biblically sinful. Goddammit.

“A chick magnet?” Stephen Henry gave an exaggerated shudder which would have been seen in the third balcony if he were the Shakespearian actor he sometimes channeled. “English is such a glorious language—why must you descend to slang?”

“Because slang is a glorious part of a living language, Stephen Henry,” she shot back. “The truth is, women like your sons. For different reasons, but we’re agreed, they like them. That’s not a bad thing, you know. But you’re asking me about David. Are you trying to tell me David is having an affair?”

Odd, how the thought didn’t bother her. It would explain so much—his distance, his odd disappearances, the faint unease she felt that she kept trying to ignore. Even his lack of sexual interest. It might almost be a relief—she wouldn’t have to pretend anymore.

Impulsive as always, she’d jumped into this marriage, this life, without stopping to think it through. She just wanted to get Sophie away from San Francisco, and David seemed the perfect answer. She had a bad history of jumping into things without thinking, but usually the consequences weren’t quite that dire.

“Having an affair? Of course not!” he said, affronted. “And you would hardly be the one I’d be talking to if he was. David has a great deal of respect for you and for the institution of marriage. Apart from that, he wouldn’t think of hurting you. David’s far too sensitive to ever want to bring pain to anyone.”

Jesus, she was disappointed. She gave Stephen Henry the same kind of exaggerated sigh of relief that would play to the third balcony as well. “That’s good to know,” she said. “So what’s going on?”

“I’m worried about the two of you, what with Caleb’s advent on the scene. You were quite right in saying he was attractive to women. He has also tended to have a penchant for David’s women. They flock to him. I don’t want to see my son hurt.”

“Which son?”

“Either of them.” Stephen Henry looked past her, past the ominous foliage that crowded out the windows. “David lost his mother at an impressionable age, and his older brother disappeared a week later. There are times when I think none of us have healed from that hideous period in our lives. I had hopes when he brought you and Sophie back here, but now that Caleb’s home and planning to stay for a while I begin to worry again.”

“If you’re worried that Caleb is going to steal me away from my husband I think you can relax, S.H.,” she said. “It’s not like I’m some irresistible cover model or femme fatale. Men don’t tend to fall at my feet.”

“True enough,” he agreed with his lack of tact. “But that might not make a difference with Caleb. The appeal would be that you belong to David, not your desirable attributes or lack of them.”

And she wondered why she always left Stephen Henry’s presence feeling edgy and depressed. She gave him a wry smile. “Such a flatterer. In fact, I think you’re worried about nothing. David’s too busy with the crisis on campus to pay attention to whatever games Caleb might be playing, and I’m immune.” She looked at him, unblinking. Willing it true.

“If you say so.”

“In fact, he’s told me I’m not his type.”

“How interesting. And why did that come up?”

Crap. “I’m not an idiot, S.H. I could see there was a healthy case of sibling rivalry going on and I wanted to make my position clear.” That was only a slight fudging of the truth, and Stephen Henry appeared to accept it.

“I lost my wife too young,” he said, and for once there was real pain in his voice. “I don’t want any more losses. You be careful, my dear. And keep an eye on your daughter. I don’t know what’s going on with these awful killings, but it never hurts to be vigilant.”

She blinked, startled by the change of subject, then realized that Stephen Henry was giving her his royal dismissal. “You know me—I watch Sophie like a hawk. And as you’ve already mentioned, I don’t fit the victims’ profiles. Women like me don’t get murdered.”

“Anyone can be killed, Rachel,” he said, his voice eerily sober. “Just keep your eyes open, and don’t trust anyone.”

“Not even my husband?” she said with a laugh.

But Stephen Henry didn’t smile. “Not anyone.”