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  Megan nodded. “She, Lynley and I went through everything that goes into her mouth and checked for any possible drug or supplement interactions. She even stopped eating at local restaurants and started eating an organic, noninflammatory diet. We didn’t find a thing.”

  “Contact lenses, toothpaste—”

  Megan shook her head. “Kirstie wears glasses for reading. No contacts.”

  “Did you check for unexpected contaminants around the house she might be allergic to? Bug spray, termite treatment?”

  “You mean something that would also poison Lynley and the cats? We’ve gone over all that. Everything we can think of.” She sniffed and turned to look into the backseat. “Gerard, what are we going to eat? I don’t see anything.”

  “I bought some salad and gluten-free pizza at a health food store Kirstie likes. It’s in the back.”

  “Good. Forget the hot stuff. I’m starved.”

  He nodded and glanced at her. “Wait a minute. You already mentioned hot stuff. Is there a Mexican restaurant somewhere nearby? Because honestly, gluten-free pizza sounds like it should be against the law.”

  “Not if you’re gluten intolerant.”

  “Which I’m not, and neither are you.”

  “But it’s healthy food. The crust Kirstie gets is usually made out of cheese and cauliflower.”

  He grimaced. “I wish I’d asked before I bought it.”

  “Alec knew I liked hot stuff, and he told me about a Cajun restaurant in Monett. When we were dating he constantly tried to find something too hot for me to eat. I didn’t meet my match until I went to Corpus Christi.”

  Gerard gently placed his tongue between his upper and lower teeth and concentrated on not biting down. How long had it been since he’d engaged in this type of imbecile emotional reaction—before today? Yes, he’d already betrayed his jealousy earlier this morning, but to be jealous about the simple fact that she had spoken with Alec about food? Unmanly.

  Maybe it was because now that he’d met the guy, and because Kirstie had told him about how heartbroken Megan was after their post-graduation breakup—now, why had Kirstie thought it important to mention that?—he realized on several levels that despite a marriage contract, Alec may be interested in Megan as more than an employee. And right now Megan could be susceptible to the sweetheart of her youth, who didn’t remind her of a recent murder every time she looked at him.

  “Let me guess,” he said, “you had a long talk with Alec about me.”

  “Really, Gerard. It doesn’t always have to be about you.” She grinned as she said it, but that didn’t stop the sting of her words.

  “But it was.”

  “Only parts of it. And no, he didn’t get anything out of me about Kirstie or about why I’m here, though he tried. As did his mother. What on Earth prompted you to tell my friends how desperate I was to leave the mission?”

  “I’ve found the truth is always best.”

  “But it only led to more questions. I wasn’t lying, Gerard. I was keeping quiet about certain things. This was my secret and you violated it. All you’ve done is tempt my friends to pressure me harder to tell them something I don’t plan to tell.”

  “Sorry. I’d hoped they would realize you’ve been through more than they can imagine and that they needed to give you some breathing space.” Especially Alec. “But maybe it wouldn’t hurt to share it with one or two of your closest friends.”

  “Not your decision to make.”

  “I’m simply advising, not making decisions.”

  “Well, stop talking to my friends about me, okay?”

  “Fine.” Gerard tapped the brake and made another left turn onto a farm road.

  “Alec’s willing to at least continue a discussion about your plans for Jolly Mill,” Megan said.

  “So you did talk to him about them?”

  “I had the opportunity. I’m not sure he’s ready to be your biggest ally in this venture, and if my friends find out why I’m really here and how dangerous that mission is, I could be your only ally in town, so it wouldn’t hurt you to keep your mouth shut about the subject of Megan Bradley.”

  Gerard felt a lash of shame, not because of her words, but because right now he found himself caring less about the project than he did about Alec’s proximity to Megan. Being here and meeting the man, seeing his resistance to the rehab plan, seeing Megan here on her home turf made Gerard feel like an outsider, when he had come here to help Megan through her PTSD and make inroads into helping the homeless who could be rehabilitated. He hadn’t come here for a boxing match with her old boyfriend.

  Megan pulled a wrapped cookie from her purse and held it out for him. “Nora made these, and I guarantee they’re the best you’ve ever tasted.” She unwrapped it, broke off a piece and held it to his lips. “Try it?”

  He opened his mouth and allowed her to place it on his tongue, and the intimacy of that small act nearly made him miss the curve in the road. The combination of nuts and butter with a biscotti crunch nearly crossed his eyes. He groaned.

  “Good, isn’t it?” There was a grin in Megan’s voice.

  “Kind of heady for a starving man.”

  “Didn’t you eat today?”

  “Kirstie made me take her to a fancy teahouse south of Springfield for lunch.”

  “Uh-oh. Not enough food for a rancher, huh?”

  “Let’s just say my taste buds haven’t been challenged enough.”

  “Then why not put the pizza in the freezer and head to The Bayou?” She rewrapped the cookie and put it back in her purse. “This’ll be good for dessert. Alec implied the food at The Bayou will burn holes in our tongues if you request it hot.”

  Alec again. “He lives in Missouri. He doesn’t know hot.”

  She dug into her pocket and pulled out a cell phone. “I’ll call him for directions to the restaurant.”

  Gerard tapped the brake when he saw the end of her quarter-mile driveway. The next time he heard that man’s name on Megan’s lips, his head might explode. “You know what? That pizza’s smelling better to me all the time. We can nuke that sucker and be chowing down in a few minutes. Why not just have a picnic on your porch swing?”

  In the periphery of his vision he could see Megan studying him. “You seem just a tad grouchy.”

  No kidding. “Was it something I said?”

  “The way you said it.”

  He turned onto the drive to her cabin in the woods. The Thompson cabin. “If you’ll remember, I drove all night last night, I drove and walked and talked all day today, and I’ve had probably an hour of sleep tops since I got up yesterday morning.”

  “Who asked you to drive all night?”

  “If you had answered my phone calls or replied to my messages I wouldn’t have felt the need to—”

  “Really?” She leaned forward to catch his gaze. “You’re blaming me?”

  “No, I’m just saying—”

  “Somebody needs a nap.” There was a hint of amusement in her voice.

  He parked in front of the cabin and frowned at her. “You find that funny?” There was definitely a glimmer of suppressed humor in her eyes. Maybe even a glint of cheerfulness.

  “I’ve never seen you jealous before.”

  He would not allow a blush to rise to his face. She was one woman who could undercut his confidence in a way no other woman had ever been able to do. He felt his frown turn to a scowl and he couldn’t do anything about it. He couldn’t argue with her because she was spot on. But if she was cheerful about it, that was a good thing, right?

  Or maybe the thought of it was just laughable.

  Nope. That couldn’t be it. He knew better.

  “I think you should go straight to bed as soon as you’
ve eaten,” she said.

  “Yes, Mother. But what about Kirstie?”

  Megan ignored him. “In fact, there’s a luxuriously comfortable bed just inside those doors, and I can take a nice, long walk while you rest.”

  “If I go to sleep I could be out for ten hours. I’ve already unpacked my suitcase at Kirstie’s.” And there was no way he would chance compromising Megan’s reputation by staying inside her cabin too long.

  He got out of the car and opened the back hatch for the food. His eyes burned. Megan was right—he desperately needed rest, but he needed this time with Megan more.

  “If you keep abusing your body like this,” Megan said as she sprang from the car, “you won’t be able to continue using brute force to keep the troublemakers out of the mission.” She took the bag from him and preceded him up the porch steps and into the cottage. She didn’t use a key.

  “You didn’t lock?” He did not believe this woman. After all she’d gone through, she didn’t even consider the consequences of her lack of security?

  She stopped and turned to give him a sheepish smile. “You had me distracted this morning.”

  “So you’re blaming me?”

  She shrugged. “You know that old saying? Turnabout’s fair play. If you’re going to blame me because you’re sleepy—”

  “Okay, got it.” He reluctantly returned the smile and resisted the urge to tangle his fingers in her thick, ginger-colored hair and kiss her. It was something he’d wanted to do since he’d first seen her and spoken with her, heard her soft voice and seen the authentic compassion she showed to her patients, no matter how drunk or high they might be, how dirty, how smelly.

  “Megan, we stopped by to visit Lawson Barnes.”

  “He’s great, isn’t he? Kirstie and her brother, Eugene, spent a lot of time with him when they were growing up. How was he?”

  “If I didn’t know he was sick, I wouldn’t have guessed.”

  “I hate that all this happened to him.” She unwrapped the food and opened cabinets and drawers for eating plates and utensils. “He had a knack for people, and it wasn’t a fake friendliness—it was genuine.”

  “I think that’s why he was interested in the rehab project. If we do get it going here in Jolly Mill,” Gerard continued, “the people who come here will be capable of learning new skills and contributing to the workforce. They will be upstanding members of society with families to feed and children to educate. They will not be killers.”

  Megan put ice in two tumblers, watching him askance. “But one out of every twenty-five people is a sociopath. You said so yourself. Do you have a foolproof test to cull out the bad ones?”

  “Hans has a psychological screening that he uses for all upper management.”

  “That’s not foolproof.”

  “Nothing in this life is foolproof. We can only do the best we know how to do.”

  “I know the rest of the line. We’re supposed to trust God for the results.”

  “I didn’t say that.”

  “You didn’t have to.”

  He wanted to take her in his arms and promise her everything would be all right, but he’d learned long ago that was an empty promise. “You’re still scared to death, aren’t you?”

  Her movements slowed as she stacked dinnerware on her tiny dining table. She looked up at him and swallowed. “What if you’re bringing more danger here?”

  “Trust me when I say that this won’t be anything like the mission.” He knew as he said the words that she wouldn’t believe him because deep down, though she wouldn’t even admit it to herself, she blamed him for the killer coming through the door.

  She took a sharp breath and resumed setting the table. “Kirstie, of course, loves the whole idea.”

  He nodded.

  Megan leaned over the pizza and inhaled. “Jalapeños!”

  He eyed the room divider, behind which must be the bed. “Hottest I could find.”

  “I think this food needs to be heated the right way. Why don’t you rest while I turn on the stove and get the cheese sizzling?”

  He didn’t need to be told twice. He stepped behind the red room divider, pulled off his shoes and sank onto the mattress. And he slept.

  When he awakened it was dark outside. The faint fragrance of pizza continued to linger in the air. He got up and realized he was alone, that he was now ready to eat not only a healthy pizza, but also anything that came with it, including the grease-soaked cardboard box. He found more than half a pizza and a healthy helping of chopped salad waiting for him on Megan’s tiny kitchenette table with a note telling him to rest as long as he wanted. She’d walked back to town to get her car and check on Kirstie.

  Of course. Megan couldn’t stop worrying about Kirstie. No matter how traumatized she was, how terrified she might be by what was taking place in Kirstie’s life, Megan would not let Kirstie down. That was the reason she continued to blame herself for Joni’s death. She’d have rather died herself than allow the life of another innocent to slip away. Megan Bradley was a true heroine.

  ELEVEN

  The first thing Kirstie Marshal noticed when she came to herself in the darkness was that something cold squished between her bare toes. She wiggled them. Mud?

  The second thing she noticed was the fragrance of water, the whisper of it rushing through the night, the feel of moist air on her skin. She inhaled deeply the spring bouquet she loved so much.

  She was standing barefoot outside, shivering, and she shouldn’t be, not after the long nap she’d had this afternoon…or was that yesterday? What time was it? No watch. She’d taken it off when she took her nap so it wouldn’t snag on the lace of her comforter.

  As her eyes focused, she saw stars above and the moon near a horizon—though she couldn’t tell which horizon.

  A breeze kicked up, and her shivering increased. And then she panicked. Was she outside naked again? She reached for her thighs. No. Her fingers brushed against soft, thin material. Her nightgown. No robe, but at least this time maybe she wasn’t going to give someone a free show the way she had a couple of weeks ago. If she recalled correctly, she was wearing the pink cotton gown last night…or tonight…or whenever she was last in her right mind.

  “Hello?” she called out. “Anybody out there? Lynley?”

  She listened for an answer, but heard only soft splashes nearby. The water she heard and smelled had to be from a large source; the drought had hit southwest Missouri hard this spring. Many of the creeks were drying up. The only water source large enough to be heard was Capps Creek. Her feet ached as she recalled waking with pain in her feet and then falling.

  She’d obviously wandered away from home again, though her memory once again failed her. This time, she at least had her slippers on to keep the bandages from getting dirty. The last thing she remembered was sitting on the front porch watching the sun lower into the lace of the treetops as she settled her mind for bed.

  Lynley wouldn’t be home until late, and despite her misgivings, Kirstie had promised Gerard she would be fine alone. She never had these attacks like this, one right after the other. This was new. It frightened her.

  “Lynley! Someone! Help me, please!”

  She couldn’t stop thinking about last night…or the night before—blast it all, what time was it?—when she’d sat outside stroking Data’s silken fur and watching as Prissy and Poppy suddenly seemed interested in joining Data on her lap…

  If I can remember that so clearly, I can’t have Alzheimer’s. How long have I been out here?

  Kirstie examined the skyline and noted, as she watched the stars, that they seemed to be appearing one by one. The moon inched upward, not downward. At least she hadn’t been up all night, judging by her lack of hunger or thirst.

  A cat calle
d to her from the darkness. As usual, they’d followed her. I have to find a phone and call Gerard and Megan. Too bad Kirstie’s crazy half hadn’t thought to at least leave a trail of breadcrumbs in her wake so she could figure out where she was. Maybe if she had dogs instead of cats, who might be trained to lead her back home…or maybe if she did as everyone suggested and used a cell phone…

  Poor Lynley carried far too much weight on her shoulders. At thirty-two, she should be making a life for herself, not babysitting her mother with a questionable diagnosis of early-onset Alzheimer’s, but at the same time, knowing Lynley loved her this much—to sacrifice everything for her—that gave her such a feeling of sweet peace and pride. The thought of actually being placed in a nursing facility terrified her.

  Kirstie took a tentative step forward and realized her feet still hurt. Badly.

  “Okay, Marshal, how far have you wandered this time?” For some crazy reason, the sound of her own firm voice comforted her. She didn’t sound crazy. “Thank goodness for the slippers…and the gown.”

  She stretched her arms out wide to better explore her surroundings and did a more complete study of what horizons she could see through the trees.

  There. West. The palest shading changed the dark gray to black as the sun moved farther from the horizon.

  It was only going to get darker, and despite this clearing in the forest she wouldn’t be able to depend on the moon to illumine her way; no reflection of that light reached this deeply into the shadow of the hillside. Unaccustomed to waiting, Kirstie crept slowly through the woods, making her way east because the last time she’d gone west and had fallen into the mill pond. A cat brushed against her legs, and then another.

  Twigs crunched beneath the soles of her slippers, hurting her feet. A flash of light startled her. For a moment, she was convinced the light was simply a new symptom of her illness—her poisoning—and she would need to have her eyes checked. But as she turned to glance up the hillside, she saw the round glow of a flashlight and the bare, familiar outline of Uncle Lawson’s resort in the reflection of that light.