BODY AND SOUL
by
Susan Krinard

Praise for the romances of Susan Krinard

BANTAM BOOKS

TWICE A HERO

"The reading world would be a happier place if more paranormal romance
writers wrote as well as Krinard."

Contra Costa Sunday Times

PRINCE OF WOLVES

"Written with tremendous energy, it exhilarates the senses and
intoxicates the soul."

Affaire de Coeur

PRINCE OF SHADOWS

"Rising superstar Susan Krinard dishes up yet another mind-blowing
reading experience in this explosive spin-off of her already classic
Prince of Wolves This daring innovator and extraordinary storyteller..
creates another towering landmark in imaginative fiction" Romantic
Times "Five-star Rating] One of the greatest supernatural romances of
our times.  Susan Krinard .  . . is the yardstick against which all
other supernatural romances should be judged."

Affaire de Coeur

STAR-CROSSED

"Ms.  Krinard has gifted us with a masterpiece of writing."
Rendezvous

PRINCE OF DREAMS

"Two thumbs up to the stratosphere for the dazzling second romantic
fantasy from the pen of one of the genre's next superstars.  .

Ms.  Krinard takes a giant leap forward in what promises to be a
spectacular career.  Brava!

Romantic Times He didn't consciously plan to take her in his arms.  He
didn't even know she was crying until she was against him and he heard
the catch of her breath and felt the moisture of her tears.  She
pressed her face into the collar of his uniform and clutched at his
back, making no sound other than the soft gasps of her weeping.

Once, perhaps, he'd known what love was.  But he'd chosen to let the
ability die out of him.  It was too much work, too confining, too deman
ding of what he was not strong or wise or good enough to give.

Jesse lifted her head.  "I'm sorry," she said, scrubbing at her face
with her knuckles.  "I don't usually do this."

No.  She wouldn't.  An unbearable tenderness washed through David.  "Do
you think I begrudge you, Jesse?"

He bent his head and kissed the high curve of her cheekbone, catching
the salt of a tear on the tip of his tongue.  He found another tear
trapped in the lashes of her left eye, two at the edge of her jaw and
one more nestled in the corner of her lips.

One by one he disposed of her tears, entranced by the velvet texture of
her skin and the scent of her hair and the subtle alteration in her
breathing from distress to excitement.

This closeness was what they both wanted.  Mutual solace, a forgetting
of sadness and pain.  Would it be so terrible to surrender?  Would he
be risking too much?

He touched his mouth to hers.  Her fingers dug into the
back of his jacket, and her lips parted.  Also by Susan Krinard

TWICE A HERO

PRINCE OF SHADOWS

PRINCE OF WOLVES

PRINCE OF DREAMS

STAR-CROSSED

BODY

AND

SOUL

SUSAN

KRINARD

BANTAM BOOKS

NEW YORK TORONTO LONDON

SYDNEY AUCKLAND

BODY AND SOUL

BODY AND SOUL

A Bantam Book August 1998 All rights reserved.

Copyright C 1998 by Susan Krinard.

Cover art copyright C 1998 by Franco Accornero No part of this book may
be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or
mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information
storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the
publisher.

For information address: Bantam Books.

If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that
this book is stolen property.  It was reported as "unsold and
destroyed" to the publisher and neither the author nor the publisher
has received any payment for this "stripped book."

ISBN 0-553-56919-8

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PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

OPM 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 CHAPTER ONE

IT WAS TOO beautiful to be real.

Jesse Copeland knew that, knew it even as she dreamed, felt a joy so
deep that she had no name for it.

And no name for the place in which she found herself.

The garden was filled with roses, lush and not quite tame, as if the
hand that pruned and cared for them gave them the freedom to test the
limits of their captivity.

Birds sang in green trees.  A fountain played the melody of running
water, and the sky was as blue as an artist's vision of heaven.

But that was not the truest beauty of the dream.  The miracle of it lay
in the child cradled in Jesse's arms-a child with blue eyes and dark
hair, laughing up at her from the security of boundless love.  Love
that filled the garden, overflowed Jesse's heart.

She sang to the child, this child of her own body, born of pain become
happiness.  The pain had been worth it.  The fear, the separation, all
was behind them now.

A gate creaked, and Jesse looked up.  Her heart, already so full, made
room for another.  He walked into the garden and smiled at her, smiled
as he'd smiled that day when they'd lain in the long grass and made
this child.

Oh, how she loved him.  She had known he would come back because of the
child, and now she had everything she'd ever wanted.  He was husband,
father, master of the estate.  And she was his lady.

Jesse handed his daughter to him, watching the wonder in his eyes.

Yes, surely this would be enough.  He would never want to go away
again.  He would be hers forever.  He would never leave her.  Never.

He met her gaze.  She yearned for him with everything inside her,
imprinting him on her heart, memorizing his soul.

"You will not leave me," she said.  He only continued to smile, un
answering, and it wasn't for several heart-beats that she saw the
sadness in his eyes.

Sadness she could not bear.  She shaped her lips to speak his name. Her
mind refused to give it up.  She could not remember, no matter how hard
she tried.  And without his name all about Jesse the garden began to
dissolve.  She reached for her love, and her hands passed through his
body.  He was leaving her.  Leaving her alone, abandoned, as he always
did.

In a flash the scene changed, and she was on the edge of a cliff, with
the river raging below.  The cliff where someone else had died, fallen
among the vicious rocks and seething water.  And her love was hanging
there on the narrow ledge below, little more than a wraith, reaching up
to her.  Begging her to save him.

Her love.  His fate lay in her hands.  She hesitated.  She had failed
before.  Another had died here, only a boy, and she was afraid.  But
she gathered her courage and extended her hand, straining until it
seemed her arm would stretch no farther.  His fingers brushed hers.
They touched for an instant.  And then he slipped free, and was falling
. . . falling endlessly, into the river, to dash among the rocks in
absolute darkness.

He was dead, gone forever, lost.  She was alone.  She railed against
that fearful solitude, beating at the darkness with her fists.

The darkness gave way and Jesse woke with a start to the bright light
of morning.

She rolled to face the digital clock on her bedside table, grateful to
dismiss the dream with something so mundane as the time.  She stared at
the numbers until the minute changed, until she remembered.

Bobby Moran's funeral was two hours away.  Only a small number of the
residents of Manzanita turned out for the service.  Jesse stood with a
cluster of search and rescue volunteers, men and women from the team
that had tried to save Bobby from the river.

It had been Tri-Mountain Search and Rescue's first failure in a long
time.  Jesse's as well.  She hadn't known Bobby except by reputation.
But as she listened to the minister's solemn words, she remembered her
dream of joy and sorrow and utter aloneness.  Bobby Moran hadn't been
in the dream, but the nameless man she'd tried to help had died in the
very same way.

She hadn't been able to save him.  Just like Bobby.

Bobby's mother was at the graveside, her eyes hidden behind dark
lenses, her hand clutching the fingers of Bobby's younger brother.
Bobby's friends-the "bad boys" of Manzanita, whom Jesse had seen
shivering and pale and anything but tough-formed their own tense knot
off to the side.  There were a few others who might have had genuine
regrets at the untimely end of a druggy kid the gossips had always said
would come to no good.

The gossips had been right.

Snatches of conversation reached Jesse, muffled behind hands as if the
bereaved mother wouldn't notice.  The consensus was obvious.

"I hear they found so many drugs in his bloodstream afterwards that he
probably would have died of an overdose anyway,"

Mrs.  Sandoval said to Mrs.  Van de Castle, pulling a long face of
spurious sympathy.  "Dale Braden told me that he virtually jumped right
off that ledge-he was that far gone."

Jesse shivered and held her body rigid against the inner chill.  She
still saw it in her mind-oh, so vividly-the darkness before dawn and
Bobby perched on the edge of the narrow ledge along the river, giggling
at his own cleverness as he swayed over the chasm.  He'd seemed unaware
of whatever injuries he'd sustained in the initial fall from the cliff
above, where his stone-sober friends huddled and watched the rescue.

Jesse had been the one chosen to go down after him.

She was small enough to fit with Bobby on the ledge, unthreatening
enough to talk him into cooperation.  She was as fit and expert as any
member of the Tri-Mountain Search and rescue team.  She'd worked a
whole year to prove herself worthy.

But she'd failed.

"He wasn't much use to anyone around here anyway,"

Mrs.  Sandoval continued, edging past Jesse with a narrowed glance.

- "His poor mother will probably be better off."

"What did you ever do to help him?"  Jesse interrupted.

Mrs.  Sandoval and Mrs.  Van de Castle stopped and stared.  Mrs.  Van
de Castle turned very red.  She made an abortive gesture toward Jesse,
let her hand fall to her side.  "Everyone knows you tried," she
stammered.  "It wasn't-" "No one could have helped him," Mrs.  Sandoval
said.

Her lips narrowed to a thin line.  "Some kids are bad from the day
they're born, and nothing will ever change that."

Jesse's fists ached at her sides.  "Maybe the problem was that no one
believed in him," she said evenly.

"Maybe that's all he ever needed."

With a snort Mrs.  Sandoval grabbed Mrs.  Van de Castle's arm and
dragged her away.  "Bad blood," she said.

"It always tells."  Jesse could hear her begin a new story for her
captive audience as the two women left the false serenity of the
cemetery-a story about another woman, long dead, and her crazy
daughter.

Bad blood.  Jesse looked across the neatly tended green lawn, beyond
the aspens clustered above weathered headstones.  Joan Copeland was
there, resting beneath a simple marker.  The flowers Jesse had left on
Saturday were withering, but no one else would care.

No one in Manzanita remembered Jesse's mother as anything but an
unstable drunk who'd drowned herself in the river seventeen years ago,
leaving her orphaned daughter behind.  They probably hadn't even
thought of Joan until the prodigal daughter had come home.

Jesse deliberately unclenched her hands.  She'd returned to Manzanita a
year and a half ago to make peace with herself, with her past, with the
unnamed fears that hovered at the very edge of her consciousness. She'd
thrown herself into the search and rescue team, honed her body into a
tool that wouldn't let her down.  She taught the city folk who came to
the Trinity Alps how to respect the wilderness and meet it on its own
terms.

As she met her fears on her own terms.  She'd led countless hiking and
kayaking tours, joined in difficult rescue operations that saved lives
nearly taken by the mountains and the chill waters of the river.

Bobby Moran was the exception.  And that one exception was a hard, cold
knot in Jesse's heart.

Mrs.  Moran was the last to leave the graveside, and Jesse walked
across the lawn to meet her.  The words of condolence she intended
seemed grossly inadequate in the face of so much pain.  But she had to
try, to let Mrs.  Moran know she wasn't alone.

"Mrs.  Moran?"

The woman looked up, her sunglasses an anonymous mask, her body
drawing back as if from something fearful.

"Mrs.  Moran, I wanted to say-" Bobby's mother thrust out her hand,
palm out and fingers spread.  Her son shrank behind her.  "Leave us
alone," she cried hoarsely.  "Please go away."

The command was biting with panic and anger, and Jesse withdrew
immediately.  Mrs.  Moran almost ran across the lawn toward the road,
ignoring those few people who tried to offer sympathy.  Jesse stared
after her, the knot in her heart more bitter than before.

"Jesse?"

Kim Mayhew, the Tri-Mountain Search and Rescue Ops leader, looked at
Jesse with concern in her eyes.  "I can see what you're going through,"
she said.  "Everyone on the team knows how it is."

It was the truth, of course.  Kim had been in local search and rescue
for ten years, and she'd seen her share of deaths.  Maybe if she'd gone
down to the ledge, Bobby wouldn't have died.

"I'm all right," Jesse said with careful neutrality.

"Don't worry about me."

"We all did our best," Kim said, "but the one thing we can't control is
human nature."

"I know," Jesse said.  "We all did our best."

"But you don't believe it yet.  I know it's something you have to work
through."  She set a hand on Jesse's shoulder.  "Maybe you should take
it easy.  Bow out for a bit-" "No."  Jesse held Kim's gaze steadily.
"I'll be fine.  I'll be ready when the next call comes."

She prepared herself for Kim's answer, for her to say Jesse wasn't good
enough, strong enough, skilled enough, that she had screwed up too
badly to remain on the team.  But Kim only sighed and dropped her
hand.

"Just remember that you only have to give the word, and everyone will
understand."

Jesse nodded, waited for Kim to leave so she wouldn't have to hold on
so tight; but the other woman lingered, gazing across the cemetery.
Toward the grave of Joan Copeland.

The crowd was scattered now, everyone gone back to his or her daily
routine.  But there was someone stan ding over Joan's plot, someone
kneeling to lay fresh roses on top of Jesse's wilted daisies.

A man.  Tall and well built, dressed in a sober gray suit.

A man who didn't belong in Manzanita, bringing flowers to a woman no
one remembered except with pity and disdain.

An icy sense of recognition seized Jesse even before the man looked up.
Vaguely she heard Kim ask her a question, but the roaring in her ears
blocked the words.  Roaring, racing, like the turbulent waters of the
river sweeping her under and sucking her down.

The man at the grave stood up, brushing off the knees of his trousers,
and turned.  Slowly, deliberately, he raised his head and stared
directly at her.

And Jesse knew him.  No conscious thought put a name to his face.  She
knew him so utterly, so completely, that she felt it like a fist in her
stomach.

"Jesse?"  Kim reached for her again, but this time Jesse jerked away.
Her perception narrowed, excluding Kim, excluding the rest of the
world.

She remembered.  A blank spot she hadn't even known was in her mind
began to fill with visions too intense to be anything but genuine.

The man didn't move.  He didn't take a single step toward her, but
Jesse felt a terror so blinding that for a moment she lost even
herself.  Lost herself in the memories.... Another funeral.  Another
beautiful, sunny day seventeen years ago, and she was eleven years old,
watching the earth hit the casket as the minister intoned words of
peace and hope.  She was looking at Gary Emerson-so charismatic, so
handsome, so well liked by everyone in town.  Gary Emerson, who'd tried
to redeem Joan Copeland and failed, who'd been like a father to her
rebellious
daughter.  So everyone said.  But Jesse knew the truth.  Gary was bad.
 Evil.  He was a murderer.  They buried her mother in the ground, and
something broke inside Jesse.  As the few mourners began to pray, she
screamed.  She went at Gary with her hands, with her feet, with her
whole small body, as if some much vaster and more powerful soul had
possessed her own.  And she heard herself accusing him, crying out in a
voice she'd never heard before: "You killed her!  You killed her!  You
let her die!"

Then the others caught her and pulled her back, and she saw Gary's
startled face, bleeding from the rake of her small nails, that hated,
hated face.  Like a savage, she fought the ones who held her, and
nothing would calm her, not until Doc pricked her arm with a needle.
And she heard voices murmuring shocked words like crazy and "poor
child," saw Gary bending over her with pity in his eyes.

Poor, bereaved, crazy Jesse Copeland.  She wasn't right after that.
They had to send her to a hospital, and when she got out no one else
wanted her.  When she got out she'd erased from consciousness what had
happened that day at the ..... Some Some muted sound pulled Jesse out
of the past, and she found herself trembling with realization.

She'd forgotten.  She'd packed those memories away just as those who'd
sent her to the hospital had boxed up her mother's things and set aside
her childish belongings.

After all these years Gary had come back to Manzanita, and the images
raced through her like a flash flood, tearing at the moorings of her
reason.

The fear.  The hatred.  The rage and grief that possessed the mind
until nothing else was left.  They were coming awake within her,
spinning her down into chaos.

"You're white as a ghost," Kim's voice said beside her.

"You'd better sit down-" Sit down.  Sit down and wait for Gary to come
to her, with his easy smile and smooth voice.  Wait for the memories to
drown her as the river had drowned her mother.

But Gary wasn't coming.  He only stood and watched her fall apart.

She clamped down on her panic and glanced at Kim.

The older woman was concerned, yes, but Jesse hadn't revealed too much.
Not yet.

"Who is that guy you're staring at, Jesse?"

It was possible to answer Kim as if nothing were wrong.  "You wouldn't
know him.  He lived here .  . . a long time ago."

Kim shaded her eyes and whistled softly.  "Good-looking-not that Eric
would appreciate my saying so.  Sure doesn't look like a townie."  She
cocked a brow at Jesse.

"You knew him, huh?"

There wasn't any point in hiding it.  Kim would hear soon enough, once
people started talking.  And remembering.

"When I was a child," Jesse said.  "He .. knew my mother."

There would be more questions.  From Kim, and from others with personal
experience of that funeral seventeen years ago.

Why had Gary Emerson returned?

She looked at Kim and through her, floating above the fear.  "I have to
go.  Don't worry about me-I'll be okay."

"All right.  Take it easy now, you hear?"

Jesse nodded, turned and walked away.  She felt Gary Emerson's stare,
but she walked instead of ran; that much she could command.  She
walked, her legs nearly steady, down the narrow potholed lane, over the
bridge at Gooseberry Creek and across the empty cement lot behind
Manzanita Hardware.  She moved automatically, chasing the same thought
over and over until she was too numb to feel the terror or the
irrational rage.

Gary had come back, and with him the ghost of the child she'd been. The
child who had hated so powerfully, who had forgotten herself when they
put her mother in the earth.  Jesse had left that child behind long
ago, because the alternative meant a journey into shadowy places she
did not intend to revisit.

 Survival had been all that mattered after the hospital, climbing out
of the darkness and staying out for good.

Years in foster homes, working her way through college, proving her
strength and self-reliance.  Proving she didn't need anyone.  Not
needing made her free-free to meet every challenge she set herself and
to teach others to do the same.

She hadn't failed in that.  She hadn't failed when she'd returned to
Manzanita and made a place for herself here.

But Gary had come back, and the foundations of independence and
discipline she'd built began to crumble like ancient ruins.

Jesse found herself halfway across town with no recollection of the
journey.  Behind her was Marie Hudson's new restaurant, with stylish
cafe-style chairs and tables lined up along the outdoor porch.  The
library was directly across the highway; not so strange she'd wind up
here, where Al was working.

Al Aguilar, her best friend, who'd sold her the land on which she'd
built her cabin, just across the field from his own modest house.  The
one man she knew she could trust.  He was a librarian now, but once
he'd been a psychologist.

A doctor who worked with the mind.

There wouldn't be many people in the library at this hour.  It was
never crowded at the best of times.  But Jesse hesitated.  What could
she tell Al?  That she was afraid she was being sucked back into the
distorted memories of a grieving child?

Or that after seventeen years, despite all the evidence, all the
incontrovertible facts, she still felt in the deepest part of her soul
that Gary Emerson was responsible for Joan Copeland's death?

She turned to face the short strip of buildings that held the
restaurant and post office.  Someone was stan ding in front of the
tiny, vacant storefront at the end that had been up for lease well over
a year.  The gray-haired man was hammering a poster just above the
grimy window.

Gary Emerson, the poster said in bold red and blue letters.  Gary
Emerson for State Assembly.  The man stepped away from his handiwork
and called to someone inside the building.  The sounds of hanmering and
sawing drifted out the open door.

Jesse stared at the poster.  In the hospital she hadn't thought about
Gary, or wondered what had become of him when he left Manzanita.  His
part in her life had become the biggest blank in her memory.  Only
after her last stint in the Peace Corps had she determined to come
home, visit her mother's grave and face the sadness that had kept her
away so long.

But Gary had remained an unreal phantom, a shape her mind rebuffed
whenever she got too close.

Until today.  Strange how clearly Jesse could remember certain things
now: how Gary had been liked by nearly everyone in town, how he'd had
Mannanita eating out of his hand.  Before Joan died there'd been talk
of his running for mayor, other modest positions that meant a great
deal in a small town.

State assembly was something else.  In seventeen years Gary had
outgrown the meager rewards a place like Manzanita could provide.  He
had power; power and prestige and respect.

All Jesse had struggled to make of her life was here in Manzanita.  She
believed in her work for search and rescue, in spite of the doubts that
had come with Bobby's death.  She enjoyed her job at the Lodge.  But
Gary's return had unleashed the turbulent and unreliable fantasies of a
troubled child.  If there was the slightest chance that those fantasies
had a basis in...... Yes.  Jesse squeezed her eyes shut.  Damn it, yes.
She'd overcome that childhood breakdown.  What she felt and remembered
wasn't some symptom of mental illness.

There had to be a reason for what had happened today, and at that
funeral so long ago.

She only had to find it.

"Lookin' for something to do, young lady?"

The man who'd put up the Emerson sign was stan ding in front of Jesse,
smiling amiably as he swung his hammer.  "We
could sure use a bit of help set tin' up the new campaign office.  Let
me tell you, Gary Emerson's goin' to be the best thing that ever
happened to Manzanita."  He squinted at her, rubbing the bridge of his
nose.  "You are from around here, ain't you?"

The bizarre incongruity of his question almost startled a laugh from
Jesse.  She didn't have time to form an answer.  A second man emerged
from the shop and took the elder by the elbow.  Wayne Albright, who
knew her well enough.  He'd been at Joan's funeral.

"Come on, Fred," he muttered.  "Don't go bothering people.  I need your
help inside."  But the glance he cast at Jesse was wary, as if he
expected her to march after them and pull down the signs with the same
fury she'd once attacked Gary Emerson.

He remembered.

Jesse turned around and walked in the opposite direction.  Toward the
library, and Al.  There was little enough traffic to dodge on the
highway; even in the summer season Manzanita was a quiet town.

The library was quietest of all.  It was deserted except for a retiree
reading a magazine in one of the chairs clustered by the window.

Al was seated at the reference desk in the far corner, buried in a pile
of books.  "May I help you?"  he said without looking up.

"What can you tell me about memories?"

He closed the heavy volume he'd been reading.  "Jesse.

Sit down."

He didn't show any surprise that she'd come.  He was like that, Al
Aguilar, placid, calm, steady.  He reminded Jesse of a Buddha statue
she'd seen once in Asia, perched high above the turmoil of human
existence.  When she was a child, he'd been like a deeply rooted stone
in the middle of a raging river, someone who would listen to her
without judgment.

"Memories?"  he prompted, pushing the books aside.

"I saw Gary Emerson at the Moran funeral," she said.

"It was .  . . unexpected."

Al snorted-his version of an obscenity-and settled in his chair,
salt-and-pepper hair grazing his collar.  His dark eyes held a flicker
of emotion that didn't disturb the tranquillity of his features.  "I
saw the signs across the State Assembly.  He's come back the big man he
always wanted to be."

Al's scorn was no less cutting for its mildness.  He had been one of
the few people in Manzanita who'd held out against Gary's easy charm
and broad smile.  Along with a lonely eleven-year-old child.

"Yes," she said, grateful for the evenness of her voice.

"When I saw him today, I. . . remembered.  Al, I had flashes of things
that happened at my mother's funeral.

Things I'd completely pushed out of my mind."

"Such as?"

She ran her finger along the edge of Al's desk, letting the repetitive
motion work a calming rhythm as if she were san ding furniture in her
workshop.  "You were there.  You know."

He nodded.  "Memories don't always work the way we expect them to."

Jesse breathed out slowly.  She wouldn't have to explain.  "I didn't
ask for them," she said.  "I can hardly remember the hospital anymore,
except that I was there."

But she remembered the feelings.  How much she hated that place, hated
being crazy-though no one ever used that word.  The reasons for her
breakdown hadn't mattered after she'd begun to get well.  All she could
think of was escape.

"There was no purpose in dwelling on the past, Jesse,"

Al said.  "It wouldn't have made any difference."

So deftly he avoided the embarrassing questions, the too personal
observations.  He didn't care what she'd done back then, or how
disturbed she'd been.  They'd never demanded anything of each other,
she and Al, and that was why she could ask for his help.

"It makes a difference now," she said, meeting his gaze.  "I hadn't
thought of Gary in years, but when I saw
him today, something happened to me.  I was eleven years old again.
And I hated him.  I hated him so much that I thought I might be losing
my mind."

The very calmness of her words must have convinced Al of her urgency.
He leaned forward, resting his weight on his good arm, and studied her
face.  "Irrational feelings don't necessarily equate with mental
illness.  In this case, it's understandable-" "There's more to it than
that.  Everyone in town knew I didn't like Gary when he was with us.
But when my mother died" She swallowed.  "When she died, I was
convinced Gary killed her."

The library was very quiet for several heartbeats.  Al's brows drew
together in the faintest of frowns.  "You know that's not possible,
Jesse.  He wasn't in the area at the time of Joan's death.  He was
never even a suspect."

No.  Not upright, much-admired Gary Emerson.  He'd been innocuously
distant from the tragedy.

Just like Jesse.  She'd been somewhere out in the hills when Joan drank
herself into a stupor and plunged into a current too swift, too
strong.

"They ruled her death an accident," Jesse said tightly.

I wasn't in a state to question that when I was in the hospital.  Maybe
if Gary hadn't come back to Manzanita, I never would have."

"But you are now."

"I have to.  If he had nothing to do with her death, if there's no
reason I should hate him, then maybe I am losing it.  And I refuse to
believe that."  She braced her hands on the desk and tried to make Al
understand.  "I know there's something wrong about Emerson.  Something
dark.  I think I always knew it.  Either my instincts are right, or I
won't be able to trust them again."

Al looked out the window toward the new campaign office.  "You can't
bring back the dead."

"But I can bring back the rest of my memories.  The childhood I lost so
much of in the hospital.  All I get are fragments, and if I could just
remember the time with Gary, when he was with my mother .  . . I know
the answer is locked somewhere in my mind."

"And if the answer isn't what you want to see?"

"It can't be worse than not knowing."  She shook her head.  "You're a
psychologist.  There must be some way you can help me."

Al pushed his chair away from the desk and stood, grabbing his cane. He
paced toward the window, the cane beating out an uneven rhythm that
revealed what his voice and face did not.  "I'm not in practice.  I
haven't been in years."

"But you didn't leave it because you weren't good, Al.

You have the knowledge and the education.  There's no one else I can
trust."

His sigh was almost inaudible.  "Did you have some specific therapy in
mind?"

"I've heard that hypnosis can help with the recovery of memories.  Can
you do that, Al?"

"I've had some training-" He hesitated and stared out the window for
several seconds before he turned back to her.  "It's a controversial
therapy, particularly with regard to so-called repressed memories.  If
you want my opinion as a psychologist, I don't think you should rush
into this.  You have a stable life, Jesse, and Emerson will soon be
gone."

A stable life, where the only dangers were from the elements and
nature, not to her mind and heart.  That was what she'd fight to
keep.

She got up and joined Al by the window.  "I respect your opinion.  But
this is something I have to do."  She wondered how to explain so
illogical a feeling to Al, who had such firm control over his
emotions.

She'd thought her own control was securely intact.

How wrong she'd been.  One crack, and it could shatter into a million
pieces.  If she let that disintegration begin, she might find herself
back in the hospital.

Anything was better than that.  Anything.

"I want you to think about it, Jesse," Al said.  "Sleep on it, and if
you still feel this way tomorrow morning, we'll discuss it further."

She nodded, but she knew her resolve wouldn't waver.  Gary Emerson
could leave town in the next few minutes and it would make no
difference.

She looked across the street.  Wayne and his older friend were arguing
over the placement of another Emerson sign, and a small group from the
restaurant had gathered to watch and gesture over the new source of
activity.  Gary was already making waves in Manzanita.

Would she meet him again, today or tomorrow, at the post office or on
the way to her job at Blue Rock Lodge?

Would he do as he'd done this morning-merely stare at her, as if she
were still the little girl who'd gone at him tooth and nail, screaming
of betrayal?

Would she repeat the same performance, attack him like a deadly enemy?
Hatred was better than fear-the devastating, paralyzing fear that made
her turn tail and run.  But she couldn't seem to master either
emotion.

Somewhere in her memories she'd find the way to face what she didn't
understand.  Face and conquer Gary Emerson.

"I'd better get going," she said to Al.  "I have a hiking group at the
Lodge this afternoon."  She didn't let Al see any hesitation as she
walked out into the sunshine and crossed the highway.

People in the group observing the sign-hanging noticed her approach.
Heads turned and leaned together in a buzz of conversation.  Jesse
walked past them to the post office, emptied her box, and headed for
home.

Home was at the edge of town, hidden in a copse of trees near the back
of Al's three-acre lot.  The modest patch of ground with its tiny creek
and woods had provided welcome solitude when she'd come back to
Manzanita.  A hill rose directly behind the cabin, and every morning
Jesse could see the deer arrive to graze on the gentle slope.

The cabin was sanctuary; no one invaded her privacy here.  This was a
place she'd made for herself, and not even the malignant specter of
Gary could enter uninvited.

She pushed open the door and went into her small kitchen, set ting a
kettle on for herbal tea.  She thumbed through the junk mail and found
the letter from her father's lawyer; monthly, regular as clockwork, and
to be ignored, like the others.  She put it on the pile of like letters
on top of the refrigerator.  Even after his death, her father tried to
atone for abandoning his wife and child.

Jesse had inherited the money he'd accumulated after he'd left them.
The lawyer was constantly reminding her of that, sending her reports
and financial statements.  She could be wealthy.  All she had to do was
accept her inheritance.

Guilt money.  She wanted nothing to do with it.  She would have given
the world when she was seven years old to know that her absent dad
still loved her.

Now it was far too late.

She poured her tea and sat at the kitchen table.  An hour to get
herself together, and then it was off to Blue Rock for the hiking
group.  She couldn't turn up at the Lodge in less than top condition,
mentally or physically.

She wouldn't let them down.

She finished the tea, put the kettle away, and changed into her oldest
jeans.  The smell of wood shavings in the workshop was soothing and
safe.  In the rhythm of san ding and polishing, she found the
comfortable silence within herself that no one could touch.  And if, in
that silence, she remembered a dream of love and happiness, roses and a
laughing child and a man with blue eyes, she didn't for a moment let
herself believe it was real.

That night the dream was different.

Jesse had come home at eight, gratifyingly tired, and dropped into bed
soon after.  During the hike, herding her city folk over one of the
easier mountain trails, she'd almost managed to put thoughts of Gary
and the funeral behind her.  Her drive home from the Lodge had turned
up no sight of him, or of anything else that could trigger painful
memories.

Maybe Al was right; the past was dead and buried.  Digging it up again
was more dangerous than simply waiting for Gary to leave.  Surely this
unwanted mental turmoil would go away, sooner or later, and leave her
in peace.

She'd almost convinced herself when she went to bed, focused only on
the oblivion of sleep.

And then the first dream came, lancing through her brain like an
electric current.

She knew at once where she was.  The cabin at the resort she shared
with her mother-plain, cozy, the furniture worn but serviceable.  The
best accessories were saved for the guest rooms and lodge.  But now,
four years after Dad's disappearance, even the guest rooms were
becoming run-down, the resort steadily losing money.

Angry voices crackled in the air as Jesse crouched just outside the
open living room window.  Mom's voice and Gary's.  Mom's words were
slurred the way they often were when she'd been drinking.  Gary sounded
nasty and contemptuous and frightening.

"Do you think you can threaten me?"  he asked with dangerous softness.
"Do you believe there's anything you can do to hurt me, you bitch?"

A sob caught in Joan's throat.  "I .  . . took you in I can't pretend"
Her words ended abruptly.  Jesse grabbed the edge of the windowsill and
lifted herself with her arms, feet braced against the wall.

Gary had Joan by the shoulders, a grip that must have been painful.
Only Jesse's terror kept her from crying out.

Because she'd always hated Gary.  Always feared him.

Even though he gave her smiles and easy banter meant to be friendly
with smiles that barely hid the same contempt he showed her mother.  In
public he acted the perfect surrogate father.

In private they were enemies in an undeclared war.  A war Gary forever
seemed to be winning.

"I'm warning you," Gary said, shaking Joan again.

"Now you know what I can do.  You know what will happen if you push me
too far.  There's something that matters more to you than the pathetic
courage you've found in that bottle."

"No," Joan whispered.  She shuddered violently.  "You wouldn't.
Please."

"You should have thought about that before," he said.

"You'd better start thinking with whatever brain you've got left."  He
released her and she stumbled into the kitchen cabinet.  "In a few days
I'm going to Redding with Wayne and the boys.  When I come back you'd
better have forgotten all about this, Joan."  He reached over to the
counter and grabbed a bottle by the neck.  "Here.

Go find yourself some little hole in the wall and have a blast."

Joan clutched the bottle in both hands, her eyes dull with resignation.
It was then that Jesse noticed there was water on the cabin floor.  It
began as a trickle that made its way across the braided living room rug
and onto the kitchen linoleum, seemingly come out of the wall itself.

But then there were more trickles, rivulets that became streams,
streams that became rivers.  They joined together, and the floor was
covered in an inch of water, two inches, rising to lap about Joan's
ankles.

Gary watched, his face expressionless.  He walked to the front door and
paused there.  The water didn't so much as dampen his feet, even as it
rose higher and higher, to Joan's knees, her hips, her waist, tugged at
her body with increasing force.

The river.  The river had come into the cabin, and it was pulling Joan
under.  She held the bottle above the flood, then above her head, as if
it were something precious she couldn't let go even to save her life.
Her eyes were empty.

As if she were floating somewhere separate and apart, Jesse saw herself
frozen against the window, unable to move.  Shock was some great
invisible force pressing her shoulders, locking her throat.

"Mom," she croaked.

But Joan didn't hear.  She didn't even struggle as the water reached
her neck and then filled her mouth and covered her head.  Her hair
stirred at the eddying surface of the flood, and then that too was
gone.  The bottle, finally released, floated and bobbed in circles.

And Gary watched.  With no remorse he saw her drown and did nothing.

A scream tore from Jesse's throat.

Immediately the river vanished, the water and cabin and resort along
with it.  Between one moment and the next, Jesse found herself in the
cemetery.  It was dark, terrifying, sinister with its gravestones and
solemn attendants.

The aspens leaned over Joan's grave, rustling leaves like bones
rattling, whispering words no one dared say aloud.

Everyone knew Joan Copeland was a drunk.  She'd gone down to the river
and had a few too many, and she'd fallen in.  Gary had arrived too late
to save her.

Gary.

He looked at Jesse, smiling, wearing false sadness like a mask.  False,
fake, evil.  Now, stan ding beside the minister, dry-eyed and numb, she
felt the heat building up inside her.  Heat, crackling and snapping
like leaping flames along her nerves, searing her from within.

Flames.  Fire.  Panic and fear and rage.  She felt herself begin to
cough as black plumes of smoke wreathed around her, invisible fingers
squeezing her lungs and robbing her of oxygen.  No one saw her
struggling to suck in air, no one came to help her.

But Gary kept watching.  Watching and smiling, satisfaction in his
eyes.

Hate.  Hate moved Jesse then, propelled her across the burning grass
though her feet singed and cracked with every flying step.

He would pay.  By God, he would pay for what he'd done.  He'd killed
her.  He'd killed her and the child as well, poor innocent, who might
have been saved.  .

She screamed.  The words came out of her mouth as if another moved her
lips.  Her fingers curled to rake and tear at that loathed face.

A face that changed.  Blond hair became dark, and brown eyes blue.  Not
Gary.  Jesse stopped her headlong rush an instant before she struck
him.

Sorrow.  Sorrow in those eyes now, in an achingly handsome countenance
she knew as she knew her own soul.  He spoke her name without sound. He
offered his hand, and she reached out to take it.  Her own hand burst
into flame, grew charred and black and began to crumble.

Her body was collapsing, disintegrating, and even her will couldn't
keep her from falling into the fearful void.

He left her, as he always did.  She loved him, she hated him; with her
last breath she shrieked his name.

"David!"

CHAPTER TWO

"DAVID!"

The cry echoed in his mind as he crossed through the portals between
life and death and found himself in the world again.  Even before he
became aware of the faint shape of his own body, of the unfamiliar room
around him, he knew he was back.

Back from the limbo where he'd heard that desperate appeal.  The limbo
that had been his home for uncounted years, where he knew the passage
of time only from those souls who journeyed through his private
perdition on their way to the next existence.

He knew it wasn't 1815, nor even the century into which he'd been born.
He'd known it before his own name had summoned him to the earthly
plane.  But not one of his temporary visitors had made him feel how
long he'd been gone, or how much he'd lost.

She did.

She no longer cried out but tossed on her narrow bed, throwing the
sheets from her body.  Her back was turned to him, sweetly curved, the
bedclothes just brushing the swell of her hips.  In the morning light
he could see that her hair was nearly straight, falling a few inches
below her shoulders, cut simply and left uncovered to tangle about her
head as she slept.  It was golden in color; guinea-gold, begging a man
to touch the thick strands.

Her body, petite and compact, was clothed in something like a man's
nightshirt.  Fine-boned hands clutched at her pillow as if it were a
lifeline.

He moved closer to the bed.  He thought he could feel his booted feet
connect with the paneled wooden floor, but it might have been
imagination; imagination and longing for what he'd once taken for
granted.  The ordinary pleasure of walking on solid earth.

Or the pleasure of seeing a woman.  After so long in limbo, he would
have found her lovely had she been a crone of ninety years.

Her body was no crone's.  She pushed the sheets down around her legs
and kicked them loose.  Her calves were bare.  Bare and taut with the
smooth muscle of one who did much walking.  Her feet were small and
strong, each toe flawless.  David stared at her feet, reveling in the
sensuous perfection of them.  No mud, no blood, no cracked boots full
of holes.  Only feminine softness.

He might have thought he'd found his way to heaven at last.  But heaven
was not for David Ventris.  Never for him.

Unless .

The key to his salvation rolled over with a sigh, her arm flung above
her head on the pillow, and he saw her face.

He didn't know what he'd expected.  If she'd looked like Sophie it
would have been difficult.  But this woman was nothing like.  Her face
held none of Sophie's delicate, petulant prettiness.  It was stubborn
and firm jawed, handsome rather than
beautiful in its unadorned simplicity.  Yet in this body was the soul
of the woman he'd betrayed.

The woman to whom he must atone.  The woman who must grant him
forgiveness and set him free.

David caught his breath-if breath it was.  To win his freedom he'd do
anything.

But it all rested on her.

He knelt beside the bed.  Her lips were slightly parted, the lower
fuller than the upper, revealing the hint of straight white teeth.  Her
skin had seen much of the sun, but it was youthful and smooth, or so he
thought it would be should he dare to touch it.

Lashes darker than her hair shadowed her cheek.  He began to wonder
about the color of her eyes.  Would they be brown as Sophie's, or blue
as his own?

If she opened those eyes, would she see him?

He rocked back, wondering if he'd imagined the click of his boot heel
on the floor.  His hands, resting on the bed for support, seemed to
feel the coolness of cloth where the woman's body hadn't warmed it.

He touched his chest.  It felt solid.  He could put his finger through
the hole where the musket ball had pierced his jacket, though the wound
was long since gone.  He could see his fingers brush the braid at his
sleeve, the saber at his hip.

Air seemed to enter his lungs.  He heard the beat of his own heart.
With every passing moment it seemed that his form grew more solid, more
fully in this plane.

But he could still sense the cord that bound him to limbo, a chain he
could not break.  A chain he himself had forged.  It tugged at him,
unrelenting.  Reminding him what he had to lose.

They had told him little and promised him nothing, his silent and
invisible wardens.  They didn't speak in words at all, but he
understood the conditions that defined his presence here.  He'd waited
for this call, and they'd let him come.  But they wouldn't help him.
And if he failed ... I cannot fail, he told the woman.  I won't go
back.

She didn't wake.  He tried to see Sophie in her, tried to remember when
they'd been happy.  She'd loved him once.  And she'd died hating him.

He laughed, though the rough sound didn't make it past his throat.  He
was afraid.  He knew himself for the coward of cowards, all his
so-called heroism in battle a sham.

After countless years she'd called him, opened the door, and let him
return.  But she was no longer Sophie.

The girl he'd known was long dead, six years before he himself had
stopped a French ball at Waterloo.  There was no certainty that this
woman would remember anything of her former life, and a very good
probability that her call had been a fluke, the mere shade of a memory
that fixed on his name in the midst of a dream.

But if she did remember, she could hate him still.  She could refuse to
help him.  She had the power.  There was no running this time.

Except back to the anteroom of hell.

He heard bird song outside the window, smelled green grass and a hint
of pine, felt sunlight on his cheek.  The world called to him, summoned
him away to experience the joy of life again.

He had almost forgotten what joy was.  Those last few years on the
Peninsula had taught him to think of the world as sere brown hills,
ceaseless dust, the stink of unwashed bodies and blood.  In the very
struggle for survival, he'd put the past away where it couldn't touch
him, even as he sought the oblivion of death.

But death didn't bring peace.  He had been trapped in a prison worse
than any torment an earthly enemy could devise.

Endless nothingness.  Endless loneliness, with only the memory of
Sophie's fate to haunt him.  Waiting for another chance at life that
had finally been offered.

But without this woman's forgiveness there would be no life.

She murmured something in her sleep, some faint protest, and without
thinking he reached for her.  His fingers found her lips and connected
with warmth and sofrness.

He snatched his hand away when he realized what he had done.  He had
touched her.  He had felt her.

And then she opened her eyes.  They were hazel browns and grays and
greens all intermingled, shot with gold light that matched her hair.

They didn't see him, didn't focus or throw off the tranquil void of
sleep.

He looked for Sophie in those lovely eyes, for her sadness and
desperation and that terrible need for him.  A need he had not been
able to fulfill.

I can't give you what you want, he told her silently.

But you can release us both.

Her eyes were closed again, her breathing deep and regular.  David rose
and went to the window, pushing aside the thin curtains.  Mountains
rose up on every side of this narrow valley, mantled in green and
brown, brilliant with color and energy.  The scent and sound and feel
of life was in his nostrils and ears and mouth and eyes.

God.  He could get drunk on the world and forget everything else, no
matter how short his stay here.

The irony left him breathless, and he laughed once more.  He was not
truly alive, had no right to walk this earth except by dispensation.
The chain would always pull him back.

He'd thought to evade his guilt in death.  Now he knew there was no
escape.  Not as long as Sophie held him.

"Sophie," he said, and went to stand over her again.

She didn't hear him, didn't wake.

But he felt a more potent stirring of his newly recovered senses, the
leap of desire in his veins.  More bitter irony.  Sophie or not, she
moved him.  He could not be immune to the sweet feminine shape of her
body, the warmth that radiated from her like the essence of life
itself.  She was water to a man dying of thirst.

Thirst he could not assuage until he was allowed to pass on and live
again.  He could not, would not feel more than he must to achieve his
goal.  Everything he did must be to that one purpose.

He had learned discipline in the war.  He knew how to lead men on the
battlefield: how to inspire them, to lend them courage even when he was
drowning in his own terror; how to treat their wounds, how to help them
die.

This slip of a woman was a more daunting opponent than any he'd faced
on the battlefields of the Peninsula.

Recklessly he sat down on the edge of the bed, feeling it give under
his weight.  "Well, my lady?"  he whispered, his voice hoarse with long
disuse.  "We gamble for high stakes, you and I, and I don't know all
the rules of the game."  She'd called him; he knew she'd be able to see
him, that he could speak to her and be heard.  But how would she react
to the presence of a ghost?

He skimed his hand a hairs breadth above her hip.

"Who are you?"  he asked.  "Will you remember?"

But he willed her not to.  Not until he found the way to make her
believe in him, accept him, trust him as a benevolent visitor.  A
spirit, perhaps, come to help her in her earthly tribulations.  He
would learn what she most wanted to believe and use it to his
advantage.

And then, when the time was right, he would tell her the truth-just
enough to fulfill the conditions of his unearthly bargain.  Enough to
get what he wanted.

He smiled bitterly.  "I give you fair warning, my lady,"

he said.  "I haven't changed.  I never change."

He hadn't meant her to hear him, but she did.  And this time when she
opened her eyes they centered directly on him.

He acted on instinct, willing himself to insubstantiality.  He snapped
to his feet and retreated across the room.

The woman blinked and sat up, body rigid with shock.

Her gaze swept back and forth across the place where he stood,
searching for what she could no longer see.

"Oh my God," she said.  She put shaking hands to her mouth, then to her
cheeks.  She squeezed her eyes shut and massaged her temples
fiercely.

"Dreams," she muttered.  "That's all it is."  But her skin was very
pale, and her fingers trembled as she fumbled for a smooth, narrow
object on the table beside her bed.

David knew she'd seen him.  She'd seen him and was afraid, as anyone
would be afraid to find a ghost at her bedside.

Belatedly he moved toward her, hoping to ease her fear, but his second
thoughts were overdue.  Suddenly he felt his energy, his tentative life
drain from him, sucked back into the chain that bound him to his
immortal prison.

There was no way to fight it.  He hadn't the strength, not yet.  He'd
bent the laws that governed life and death, and there was a price for
that liberty.

But even as he lost his grasp on the earthly plane he knew it was but a
temporary defeat.  He would return.

The last he saw of the woman was her wild eyes as she spoke urgently
into the object she held in her hand, begging for help.  As she'd
unwittingly called him with the power of his name.

He carried the image of her troubled face into limbo, knowing it would
not leave him.

Until she set them both free.

"IT CAN'T WAIT, Al.  I need your help.  Tonight."

Jesse gripped the receiver in a white-knuckled fist, staring at the
wall where she'd seen him.

Him.  There was no one, nothing there now but a zebra-stripe pattern of
sunlight cast by the window blinds, and still her heart pounded as
though she'd been running a marathon straight up a mountain.

"What happened?"

Al's voice was calm and blessedly sane, but it didn't quiet the shaking
that ran in spasms through her body.

"Nightmares," she said, forcing her gaze to the comforting solidity of
her unremarkable table lamp.

"About Gary?"

"Yes."  That was the truth.  She had dreamed of Gary, but she wasn't
about to mention the incongruous end of the dream, the bizarre
hallucination that had brought her up out of sleep convinced someone
had been stan ding beside her bed.  Someone almost translucent, and yet
utterly real.

A vision of perfection who spoke to her in a rich, musical voice.  Not
Gary, but a man so authentic, so exquisitely detailed that for a moment
she had believed he existed.

David.  That was the name she'd called in her sleep.

His name.  She felt as if she'd spoken it a thousand times, and she had
never seen the man before in her life.

The man for whom her body, her heart, her entire soul yearned.  Whose
touch still burned her skin.  Who left her panting with need, wanting
what she'd never wanted, defenseless and afraid.

She had called that name expecting an answer.  She sat on the edge of
her bed, wide awake, longing for a dream, certain that she had missed
some vital message, that she'd given up a part of herself when he'd
vanished into thin air before her deluded eyes.

She knew who to blame for the delusion.  She'd never hallucinated like
this, not even during her worst periods in the hospital.

Gary was the source of the maelstrom that drove her to the edge of the
abyss, the catalyst that pushed her mind to create imaginary
apparitions who answered her frantic, unconscious cries for help.  This
was her warning, and she wouldn't ignore it.

"Jesse?"  Al's voice rumbled in the earphone.

"You told me to sleep on it, and I have.  Will you help me?"

Al's hesitation was weighted with reluctance.  "I don't know if I'm . .
. the right one for this job, Jesse.  Maybe you should-" "Go somewhere
else?  The next nearest shrink is probably in Redding-and I trust you,
Al."  She spoke with every ounce of persuasion she could muster.  "I
want to
try the hypnosis, as we discussed.  I have to do this."  If she hadn't
known Al Aguilar better, she'd have sworn he was uneasy.  True, he'd
left his career as a therapist, but Jesse had absolute faith in his
competence.  His composure wouldn't be shaken by anything she could
throw at him.  He wouldn't call her crazy.

But it was hard, so hard to ask for help.  It was only possible because
her need for Al didn't go beyond this, wouldn't consume her or make her
weak and vulnerable.

Not like the way she'd felt when she'd called out to the man of her
dreams.

Impossible.  Dangerous.  Crazy.

"What do you know about hypnotherapy?"  Al asked after a pause.  "It's
no magic cure, Jesse.  It's only a deep form of relaxation.  Guided
imagery.  There are no guarantees that-" "I don't need guarantees."
Jesse shifted the receiver to her left hand, flexing the cramped
muscles of her right.

"I'm beginning to remember more from my childhood, but it's not enough.
I'll take whatever we can get."

"You may not be .  . . comfortable with this kind of therapy.  It
requires giving up a certain amount of conscious control."

Oh, Al knew her.  "I realize that," she said.  "But I have to try."

A sigh reached her faintly over the line.  "Okay.  But we're going into
this slow and easy, Jesse.  If it doesn't feel right to either one of
us, we stop.  Agreed?"

"Agreed.  What about tonight?"

Papers rustled.  She heard the creak of Al's bedsprings as he got up.
"I have to drive out to Redding to pick up my niece early this
afternoon.  I've mentioned her-the one from boarding school."  He
coughed.  "Her grandmother-my brother's mother-in-law-died in March,
and she's coming to live with me for the summer.

Jesse vaguely remembered Al's referring to an orphaned niece, but he
hadn't hinted that she'd be coming to stay in Manzanita.  Jesse could
guess Al's feelings on that score; he valued his privacy and liked
living alone.

He wouldn't know what to do with a little girl.  Especially one who'd
lost her family.

"Megan should be .  . . settled in here by six," Al said.  "Meet me in
my study at seven.  Wear comfortable clothes and .  . ."  He sighed
again.  "Try not to expect too much."

"Tonight, then," she said, and set the receiver in its cradle with
hands that no longer shook.  Now that she was taking action, the fear
was passing.  It always did.

She looked at the wall-where he had been-and felt the full absurdity of
her fleeting belief in a mirage.

"You weren't really there," she told the air, "and I don't need you."

But she wondered why she'd chosen those words to warn off a figment of
her own imagination.

She got up and grabbed the terry cloth robe that hung over the bedpost.
Gary was no phantom in her dream, she'd seen him arguing with her
mother.  But had the dream revealed the truth of the past, events she'd
repressed over the years?  What did the argument mean?

And the imagery of Gary watching-watching as Joan ..... The only thing
she was sure of was that Gary was guilty.  Guilty of some terrible
crime.

And that he must pay.

"THAT'S THE BEST breakfast I've had in weeks," Gary said, patting his
stomach for emphasis.  He flashed a grin at his adoring audience and
slid his chair from the table.

"I think I can safely say your restaurant will be a rip-roaring
success, Miss Hudson."

Marie Hudson smiled from her position of anxious vigilance beside the
table, her gaze hooded as she murmured throaty thanks for the
compliment.  Bedroom eyes, that one had, and she'd been using them to
good effect during the meal; she was pretty enough, and hot for a
man from the looks of it.  No reason not to take full advantage of
what minimal pleasures this piddling backwater town had to offer.

Gary had moved beyond Manzanita and its petty concerns, but these
devoted Emerson supporters wouldn't have the brains to recognize that.
They saw him as a native-son-come-home-exactly what they wanted to see,
though Gary had first arrived in Manzanita when he was twenty-six and
left just two years later.

Two wasted years in the middle of nowhere.  But he wasn't about to
disoblige these innocents, who wanted so badly to help him.  Their
votes were worth as much as anyone else's.  And he didn't have to
expend any effort at all to win them over.

He made a grand gesture of pulling out his wallet.

"The tab's on me, folks.  You've all been good enough to help me with
my campaign, and it's the very least I can do to show my
appreciation."

Earnest applause rippled through the crowd.  Gary automatically noted
the ones who were most enthusiastic.

There were always a few who could be counted on to go above the call of
duty.  Wayne Albright was one of them; he probably didn't have anything
else to do but hang out in the bar and guzzle beer, just as he'd done
seventeen years ago.  Now he had a purpose, putting up signs and making
himself feel important as a grassroots supporter of Gary Emerson's
state assembly campaign.

Gary always knew which ones needed a purpose, which could be bought,
which seduced.

Especially the latter.  He managed to brush his arm across Marie's full
breasts as he stepped sideways from the table, felt the hum of contact
jolt through his body.

Marie didn't move away, and when he glanced casually at her snug
cashmere sweater, he saw the pucker of her nipples, bold and
prominent.

He'd have something to do tonight, anyway.  His business in town
wouldn't take more than a day or two.

He frowned, quickly masking the expression from his observers.
Business.  Surely it wouldn't amount to anything.

Gary shrugged off the moment of unease and shook hands all around,
nodding and laughing at jokes and comments he barely heard.  Every one
of his supporters felt that his attention was entirely for them; that
he liked them, that he admired them, that he needed them.  They were so
easy to play.  The politicos and seasoned campaigners in Sacramento
were different, but even they had their weaknesses.  And money could
open all the right doors.

Money wasn't a problem now that he had Heather.

She was waiting for him in Sacramento-with her nice, rich, influential
daddy-but he wasn't letting her lead him around by the balls.  After
they were married, she'd learn to get good at waiting.  And turning a
blind eye to his pleasures.

Gary winked at Marie as he walked out the door.  She simpered, tugging
at her sweater for a better display.  Yes, he'd definitely have some
entertainment tonight-after he'd taken care of business.

One by one his admirers dispersed, reluctant to return to whatever
dismal lives they led.  Only Wayne and Fred Sykes lingered, Fred
gibbering on about the signs he'd begun to put up around town.

"That's just great, my friend," Gary said, slapping the old man on the
shoulder.  "It's dedication from people like you that's going to win us
this campaign.  And I won't forget."

Fred grinned, nndding and pawing at Gary's sleeve.

Gary detached the old man's hand and took it between his own.  "You go
on, now.  I'm sure there's more that needs to be done to get our
campaign office running.

You're just the man to handle it."

He gave Fred a little push toward the office.  The old man went readily
enough, still nodding to himself.

"Needs a bit of fixing up," Albright said, jerking his chin toward the
storefront.  "But with all the folks interested in helping, I think
we-" "I hear Jesse Copeland came by."

Albright broke off, looking sideways at Gary.  He scratched his stub
bled chin.  "She did.  Fred .  . . he asked her if she wanted to help
with the campaign.  He wasn't here when it .  . . when that stuff
happened."

That stuff.  There had been a time, just afterward, when Gary had
actually dreamed about it.  But in the dreams Jesse Copeland hadn't
been a crazy little girl, pummeling at him with hands and feet that
couldn't do any real damage.  In the dreams she'd been an avenging
demon, intent on dragging him to hell.

But in time the nightmares had stopped.  He'd kept track of Jesse until
she'd been in the hospital for several months, and then had put her out
of his mind-her and her dead drunk of a mother and the incident he'd
hidden so well from the stupid, gullible townies.  The luck he'd always
pursued had finally turned up when he left Manzanita.

He charmed his way into a job with the right connections and began the
serious pursuit of delayed ambition, clawing his way up the ladder of
politics, first local, building a name, then moving up into the state
arena.

Until he had almost everything he wanted: money, admirers, the promise
of power.  The man he'd been seventeen years ago no longer existed.

Then he'd come across the article about the Tri-Mountain Search and
Rescue team and seen Jesse Copeland's name.  She was back in Manzanita,
hale and whole and all grown up, and suddenly his past wasn't so far
away anymore.  Not when the smallest indiscretions of youth could haunt
a man in high office.  And Gary intended to go much, much higher.

Jesse was the only link to a phase of his life he'd left behind.  There
was no good reason to believe she knew anything.  She'd been a kid when
Joan died.  She'd gone nuts and then disappeared.  In seventeen years
there'd been no hint that she even remembered him.

But the article had nagged at him.  He'd begun to see Jesse's face,
hear her voice accusing him as she'd done at the funeral.  And the
dream had come back.

The dream had driven him here, that and the fear that he might have
made a mistake.  No, not fear; caution.

And Manzanita was in his district, a town he'd visit eventually, one
more blip on the campaign trail.  It would be a simple matter to make
absolutely sure.

He sighed for Wayne's benefit and shook his head.

"I've never forgotten the day of Joan's funeral.  It was such a
tragedy."  He looked off above the buildings, toward the mountains that
cupped like sheltering arms about the narrow valley.  "It's .  . .
difficult."

"Yeah."  Wayne stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged.  "You
know, she only came back a year and a half ago.  Peace Corps or
something like that, before.

When she first showed up, no one knew what to expect.

But she .  . . well, she's different.  Quiet.  Joined search and rescue
and works up at the Lodge.  The new one, I mean, Blue Rock," he
clarified, as if he didn't expect Gary to know that the Copeland place
had been shut down after it was sold.

But Gary had made it his business to know.

"I'm glad she's found peace here," Gary said.  "She went through so
much, and there was a time when I thought she might not recover."

"It was bad," Wayne said with the enthusiasm of a man who'd made a
life's work out of prying into other people's business.  "She was in
that hospital for months, and then under some kind of special care for
a couple years after that.  Medication, shrinks, the whole works."

"Poor child."

Wayne circled his finger in the air next to his temple.

"Some folks still think she's a little strange.  Keeps to herself.
Can't figure what she's thinking."  He glanced up at Gary.  "People
haven't forgotten how you tried to help her mama.  Folks are watching
to see what she'll do now that you're in town."

Good old Wayne.  He was just as reliable a gossip as he'd been
seventeen years ago, when he and Gary had shared a beer or two at the
Manzanita Tavern.  Wayne thought that old acquaintance made him a
natural intimate of the Gary Emerson who'd come so far up in the
world.

Gary let his delusion continue.  "I hate to think that I might make
things worse for her."

"No one blames you."  Wayne was as earnest as an overgrown, overweight,
balding puppy.  "Seventeen years, Gary.  She's either over it or-" He
left the sentence unfinished, but his meaning was clear.  Jesse
Copeland might have come home, but she was on the fringe, not quite
accepted, not yet one of the citizens of Manzanita.

After a single day, Gary was sure of his own welcome.

The people in these small towns had long memories and minds that hung
on to old opinions like pit bulls.  Joan Copeland hadn't had a good
reputation.  Her daughter had been mentally ill.  Gary Emerson,
however, was the salt of the earth.  You could trust him with your
money or your wife or your life itself.

"She's never mentioned me, then," he asked casually, studying his
manicured fingernails.

"Hell, no."

Of course not.  If Jesse had ever expressed a suspicion, he would have
heard.  And no one would have believed her-just as they wouldn't have
believed her mother.

If she'd been exactly like her mother, he'd have dismissed her as he'd
done Joan's pathetic, drunken threats to expose him.  But when he'd
seen Jesse across the cemetery yesterday morning-He remembered the
shock he'd felt, as if he'd expected her to be exactly what she'd been
when he'd known her.

But Jesse had grown up.  She was no longer the knobby-kneed brat with
scraped hands and tangled hair.  She was striking, fit and tan and
pretty.  She didn't look remotely crazy.  And though they hadn't
spoken, he'd seen her face, watched it change as she recognized him.

Shock, like his.  Loathing.  And fear.  Fear that might have been the
remnant of her old dislike of him, or because she blamed him for her
illness.

Or it could be something more.  It could be because Joan had told Jesse
before she died.  Told her-or even passed on the evidence Joan claimed
to have hidden.

Gary snorted.  If there'd been any evidence, Joan had taken it into the
grave with her.  She'd never had the guts to use it, and she wouldn't
have endangered her precious child.  He'd searched the resort
thoroughly before and after her very convenient death.

But he was here in Manzanita now, and this time he'd leave no stone
unturned.  For whatever reason, Jesse was afraid of him.  He knew how
to use fear to his advantage.

If she had anything on him, if she even suspected, he'd find out.

No, it wouldn't take long at all.

"I have a few more people in town I need to talk to this afternoon," he
told Wayne.  "I'm dining with the mayor and his wife tonight.  Maybe
after that we can go grab a beer at the tavern-for old times' sake."

Wayne grinned.  "You betcha.  Just like old times."

Gary gave Wayne's shoulder an affectionate slap.  "You just keep things
going on this end, old buddy.  See that those flyers get out to
everyone in town.  I'll see you tonight."

He left Wayne headed back for the office, such as it was, and dropped
in at Marie's once more.  A few words, some expert fondling behind the
counter, and he'd set up his rendezvous with that nice little piece of
T&A.  By the end of this day he'd have more than earned his reward.

His rental car was parked at the Manzanita Inn, a motel made up of
utilitarian rooms overlooking the highway.  He stopped to change his
clothes-the innkeeper had insisted that he take the

"Honeymoon Suite," the only room that actually boasted a couch and
miniature refrigerator-and put his wire cutters and flashlight in the
trunk.

There weren't any signs to the old resort; they'd long been torn down.
Gary didn't need them.  He drove up the last few feet of pitted
driveway to the padlocked gate and
parked.  The current owners had put up a fence around the property and
obviously hadn't touched it since.

Maybe they thought the place was haunted.

Let them stay superstitious, the fine upstan ding people of
Manzanita.

Gary walked up to the gate, laced his fingers through the chain link,
and rattled it to test the lock.  It was rusted solid, but still
intact.  The heavy-duty wire cutters made short work of a small portion
of the fence.

He scooted through the opening and strode down the lane and through the
screen of trees toward the lodge.

The office and lodge looked more weathered but otherwise unaltered; one
cabin by the lake was partially collapsed.  The surface of Wagon Wheel
Lake was calm and still.  Deserted.

This was a waste of time.  He'd gone over the place seventeen years
ago.  If Joan's "evidence" hadn't turned up by now, it never would.

Four hours later Gary brushed the dirt and dust and pine needles from
his jeans and checked his watch.  He'd been over every building in the
resort; all the guest cabins had been stripped, and only Joan's cabin
remained as it had been the day he'd left.  Hatch's hidden grave in the
woods was untouched and invisible now, covered in years of branches and
rotten leaves.

Gary was more convinced than ever that Joan had been bluffing.  But if
there was the remotest possibility that she'd passed something on to
her daughter---.

He started back for the car, whistling under his breath.

He knew exactly who to call for a little break-in work.

Jesse lived in a small cabin at the edge of town; it shouldn't be
difficult to search.  Just for insurance.

Just in case that look in Jesse's eyes had been more than an old
childhood grudge.

He left the way he'd come, and pushed the cut portion of fence into
place.  A day or two more, and he'd be out of this town-and the
Copelands would be consigned to that dark corner of his mind he
carefully left alone.

There was no room for dark corners in the brilliant career of
up-and-coming Assemblyman Gary Emerson.

There were no limits, and nothing-no one-would hold him back.

**** JESSE WAS HER name.

It had come to David in limbo while he gathered the strength to return,
illumined in radiance amid the bleak barrenness of his eternal
prison.

Jesse.  Unusual, yet it suited the woman who bound him to the world. As
once she had called him from within her dreams, so now her name was a
beacon guiding him to her.

He found himself on a mountainside under a vast blue sky.

And she was there.

In the full sunlight her hair was true gold, her slender body clothed
in snug blue trousers and loose shirt that reminded him how far he'd
come from his former life on Earth.  She wore a pack and sturdy boots,
like an infantryman on campaign.

There the resemblance ended.  Framed by the mountains around her, she
was more beautiful than he remembered, as if she drew into herself the
vibrancy of earth and sky.  And when he looked beneath the surface of
her lovely form, he could sense the very burning of her soul.

Sophie's soul reborn.

He stood just downslope from her, yet she didn't see him.  And she
wasn't alone.  As he concentrated on keeping himself invisible, he took
the time to study the others gathered around her.

They were a motley group, most of them dressed like Jesse-male and
female, young and old alike.  He caught snatches of Jesse's voice
against the wind, speaking to her charges in the firm, persuasive tones
of a good commander spurring his troops to greater effort after a long
and weary march.  He moved closer to listen.

"All right," she said, hazel eyes sweeping the assembly, passing over
David with no glimmer of recognition.

"We've got this one final slope, and then there's a nice grove of
pines where we can stop for lunch.  You can see it from here-right
around that bend."  She smiled at an older couple stan ding closest to
her.  "This has been a toughie, I know, but I think you'll find it
worth the effort when we get to the top.  The view's spectacular."

"It's got to be better than my own feet," quipped the gray-haired man
of the couple.  "Haven't had the energy to look up for the past
mile."

There was a chorus of sympathetic chuckles.  The man's wife leaned
against him companionably and grinned.  "That's nothing to what I've
had to look at.  I've been behind you all the way!"

Laughter rippled among the hikers once more, but David noted the way
Jesse gazed at the couple with a shadow amid the shifting green and
gray and brown of her eyes.  "I'm not worried about you two," she
said.

"You're going to outlast us all."

"That's the nicest piece of malarkey I've heard in a long time," the
man said.  He glanced at his wife.  "Well, Dee?  Think we're too set in
our ways to adopt this young lady?"

Jesse made some appropriate jest in reply, but that sadness was still
there in her eyes.  She moved from one to another of her charges,
tightening a pack strap here and sharing a quiet word of encouragement
there.

At last the troop began to walk, moving up the hill in a staggered
line, Jesse lingering to help the elderly couple.

Then they too went ahead, and only David waited behind her.

The set of her shoulders betrayed her.  She sensed him, felt his
presence as surely as he'd felt her sadness.  But she refused to turn,
hitching up her pack and marching forward to join the others.

"Sophie," he whispered.

She came to a sudden halt.  The people ahead of her were just rounding
the bend and entering the stand of trees; as the last of them slipped
out of sight she turned slowly to face him.

He had yet to learn fine control of his spectral body, or how much it
could affect the world around him.  He had thought to remain invisible
to her in this place.  But it was as if her searching eyes found the
part of him in hiding, dragged him like some furtive night hunter into
the inevitable light of day.

"You" she said.  "Oh, God."

He might have offered up a prayer himself if he'd still believed that
anyone listened.  Instead he moved toward her-carefully-and smiled.  He
could see the mountain through the ethereal substance of his raised
hands.

"Jesse," he said.  "I mean you no harm."

Most society women he'd known would have swooned upon being presented
with a ghost.  Sophie certainly would have done so.  Jesse only planted
her feet more firmly on the brown earth and her hands on her hips,
though her legs were shaking and her mouth trembled.

"Go away," she said.  "I refuse to give in, so you might as well beat
it right now."

"You do see me, Jesse," he said softly.

"You're not real," she insisted, clamping her jaw against any telltale
quivering.  "I don't know how I conjured you up, or why, but there's
not a thing wrong with my sanity.  So-" She drew in a deep breath and
glanced over her shoulder at the copse of trees.  "Go away."

He expected her to spin on her booted foot and start back up the hill.
The need to escape was in every line of her supple body.  God, how well
he recognized that impulse.  But she stood very still and glared as if
she were waiting for him to defend his presence, explain himself, make
her believe.

"I am here, Jesse," he said.  "I'm real."  He flexed his fingers,
willing them to greater solidity.  They stayed un cooperatively
translucent.  "I fear I've become a bit rusty at this sort of thing.
I've been .  . . too long away."

Away, her lips formed.  She looked at his feet, up the length of his
legs, past the belt at his waist and the braided jacket with its high,
snug collar.  Her gaze came to rest on his chin, and he lifted his hand
to touch the
stubble he was sure would be there.  He couldn't recall the last time
he'd shaved.  One had no need for such mundane activities in limbo.

One never .  . . changed at all.

"Why?"  Jesse asked in a strained voice.  "Who are you?"

"You called me," he said.

"A dream," she muttered.  "Only a dream."

"You aren't asleep now, Jesse."  He smiled crookedly.

"I've botched it, haven't I?  Do you remember my name?"

Once again her lips formed the word, unwilling to give it voice.
David.

He snapped to attention.  "David Ventris, Captain Lord Ashthorpe, late
of His Majesty's Light Dragoons."

Very late, he almost added, but doubted that she was in any case to
appreciate his black humor.

"You-" She wet her lips.  "You're some kind of soldier."

"Yes," he said.  "I was a soldier.  In a war that I suspect was very
long ago."  He looked up at the mountains, too rough and thick with
trees to be the ones he'd known at the Lakes, yet so beautiful.  "This
is America, isn't it?  and it's been-" He met her gaze again.  "How
long since Waterloo, Jesse?"

"Waterloo?"  she repeated.  "The battle with Napoleon?  Why would I-"
She caught herself, closing her eyes and sucking in great lungfuls of
air.  "I'm not.  I can fight this.  I'm not going back-" Not going
back.  Oh, yes.  He understood that vow.

"I know about madness," he said.  He focused on a pebble near the toe
of his boot, gauged the amount of effort it might take to kick that
pebble.  "You have no reason to fear for your sanity.  Not that I blame
you."

She laughed, a brief and broken sound of sheer disbelief.  "You don't
blame me.  That's just great.  I have nothing to worry about now, do

I?"

But her bravado was all show.  David had seen that kind of performance
many times in war, when men were so terrified that they might commit
the rash est of acts to assuage the fear.

A miscalculation now could send her over the edge.  He crouched to
lessen the threat of his presence and hung his arms over his knees.
"Not from me, Jesse.  Didn't you ever believe that there might be
things in the world that can't be explained by mere logic?"

She looked at him-at him, not through him-with a fierce, suppressed
panic.  "You know what I think.  I made you.

"Did you?"  He couldn't laugh anymore, not past the knot in his throat.
She thought she'd made him, and yet it was the other way round.  If
Sophie's soul hadn't come into this new life shaped by what he'd done,
she couldn't have called him.

But if she didn't acknowledge his reality, he could go no further.  He
had to get through to her.  When he saw how much she despised her own
fear, he thought he knew the way.

"If you made me," he said, "then you must know why I'm here.  Or are
you afraid to find out?"

The challenge worked.  He felt her stare as a shaft of radiance,
blinding in its intensity, piercing all the way to his own restless
soul as surely as he had looked into hers.

There was a change in her expression, a stern and fixed concentration
that made him wonder if he had risked too much.

If she saw too far, if she could read his heart and know everything
he'd done-everything he must do-he was finished.

But she let him go, breaking free of any tentative binding between
them.  "No," she said coldly.  "No I won't let it happen."

There was no warning of her charge.  She strode directly at him, fists
clenched, and the impact of her touch stunned David into immobility. At
first there was a resistance, as if the very air had taken on solidity.
 Then the barrier was breached, and for a heartbeat two bodies shared
the same overlapping space.

It was ecstasy-beyond sexual, beyond anything physical.  The essence of
life itself poured from Jesse into him, a flow of warm light and
glorious sensation.  In that moment David held Jesse's heart in his
cupped hands.  Exaltation peaked and shuddered through him, shaking him
apart.

And then it was over.  Jesse stood behind him, her face white, her eyes
glazed with shock.

David stumbled, fighting the weakness in legs that possessed all the
frailty of human flesh and blood.  The realness Jesse had given him.

"Jesse," he croaked, and stretched his hand out to her, as if somehow
she could understand what he required and give it to him without pain,
or struggle, or any need of the dark and terrible truth.

She flinched from his hand and started away, jogging up the hill.  He
rose to follow, cursing a body that wouldn't obey him.

Between one instant and the next it betrayed him completely.  The brief
union with Jesse had been too much, drained the energy from him as
surely as a mortal wound had drained his life's blood into the earth.

"No," he shouted.  "Curse you, no."

But limbo tugged at him, the only enemy with the power to tear him
away.  His legs lost form, his hands became transparent, even the
beating of his heart went still.  His spirit had no anchor to the
world, no bridge to reach her.

He thought he saw Jesse turn to him, but his vision was fading.  The
sunlight, too, was dim, the mountains replaced by the grim, infinite
battlefield that was his personal Hell.  They mocked him, the merciless
wardens of that place, who remained mute and showed themselves only in
the reflection of his despair.

"David?"

As her name had called him back, so his name on her lips almost held
him, though she stood a hundred yards distant.  She lifted her hand,
slow and uncertain in her fear.  But her hesitant offer wasn't enough;
the winds of limbo swept him into their icy embrace, and his answer was
as lost as his soul.

CHAPTER THREE

THERE were times, when Al knew he'd detached just a little too much
from the world, that he could look at Jesse Copeland and remember he
was human.

Today was one of those times.

She'd swept into his study on a cool wind from the mountains, flushed
with exercise, vibrating with energy.

But there was a hectic color in her cheeks that signaled her distress.
She moved with stiff restraint, as if she were holding herself together
behind a brittle shell that might crack at the slightest provocation.

Al pointed her to the leather recliner and observed her with a faint
frown.  He couldn't erase her anxiety; he'd learned long ago the
dubious value of mouthing platitudes and reassurances that everything
would be all right.

Jesse would not have appreciated them.  She had always been so
self-reliant, so determined not to need anyone.  But she, unlike Al,
hadn't learned the peace of indifference, the inertia of resignation.
For all her efforts to become unmoved by the world, she was far too
much alive to adopt the dispassion Al had carefully cultivated for the
past twenty years.

And now she asked for his help.  As he watched her settle into the
recliner, he remembered her as a child: so vulnerable, so confused,
virtually abandoned by a mother who'd either been drinking or living to
fulfill Gary Emerson's every whim.  Gary had disliked Jesse, and the
feeling had been mutual-even if most of Manzanita was convinced that
Jesse was the one with the problem.

Gary Emerson was still Jesse's problem.

Al's fist clenched on the desk, and he was remotely interested to
observe his own anger.  He might damn Emerson to hell, but it wouldn't
help Jesse.  When all was said and done, she could only help herself.

"Make yourself comfortable," he told her.  Awkwardly he maneuvered his
desk chair closer to the side of the recliner.  "This is our first
session to explore your response to hypnotherapy.  Are you clear about
what we're going to do?"

She nodded against the padded headrest, but her jaw was set, her eyes
squeezed shut too tightly.  For Jesse to attempt this was a measure of
how profoundly Gary's return had affected her.  To need was to be
afraid.  To let go was to lose yourself.  She wasn't one to give up
control, or trust another person with her innermost thoughts.

Yet she trusted Al to guide her into the still, fathomless waters of
her unconscious mind.  He wondered if he trusted himself.

"Did you see Emerson today?"  he asked.

Her head jerked to the side.  "Not him," she said in a muffled voice.

Not him.  But the emphasis on the second word had meaning.  Al had
known from the minute she'd walked into his house that something new
had happened.  Something that had frightened her badly.

"Do you want to talk about it, before we begin?"  he prompted.

For a moment she seemed ready to say more, and then she clamped her
lips together.  "No.  I'm ready."

Al rubbed his palm on his knee.  Jesse was tense; a series of
relaxation and breathing exercises seemed the best method of induction.
Even that might not calm her enough.

It was a start.  "Jesse, I'd like you to relax as much as you can.
Listen to my voice and don't try to concentrate.

Be aware of your body's responses, but don't fight them."

She nodded again, brows drawn.  Al suppressed a sigh.

Jesse was bound to demand too much of herself in this first session.

"I want you take three deep, slow breaths," he said.

"Think of the air moving in and out of your lungs.  Let go of your
tension, let it flow out of you."

She obeyed with the earnest concentration of an Olympic athlete trying
for a world record.  He repeated the breathing exercises several times;
each time she relaxed a little more, until the knotting of her muscles
began to loosen.  By the end of the fourth exercise, the crease between
her brows was gone, and her lips parted gently.

He'd held no great hope that he would succeed this first attempt, and
he'd been prepared to try other methods if necessary.  But Jesse had
surprised him.

"How do you feel, Jesse?"  he asked.

"A little sleepy," she said, her words soft around the edges.  "My arms
are tingling."

"Good.  Everything is just fine."  He glanced at the clock on the wall.
"When you feel ready to begin, to explore the past, I want you to lift
your little finger."

Her finger twitched.  Jesse had confounded all his expectations and
was already in a medium trance.  In theory it could happen this way;
in fact such a rapid induction was rare.

Al felt a flash of excitement, a hunch that he was on the verge of
something he hadn't anticipated.  But he pulled himself back from the
precipice with the ease of habit and well-honed discipline.  There was
nothing remotely mystical in what he and Jesse were doing.  Solid
ground lay in the objectivity of the mind.  He was here to help Jesse
find that solid ground.

"As you journey into your past," he told her, "you'll experience only
as much as you feel comfortable with.  At any time, you have the power
to rise above your memories.  You always have control.  Your memories
are unable to hurt you."

"Hurt," she murmured.  "It .  . . hurts."

Al stared at her hand, relaxed against the armrest.  Her voice was
still distant, untroubled.  He had planned to guide her slowly, step by
easy step, into her own childhood, but it seemed she had already gone
ahead of him.

He could bring her out now.  It wasn't too late.  But Jesse wanted this
badly, and he couldn't let her down.

"Can you tell me what hurts, Jesse?"

Her eyelids trembled.  "Why did you leave me?"

She wasn't speaking to him.  He thought quickly of who she might mean:
her mother was the most logical contender, or her father, who'd left
Joan and Jesse when she was only seven.  He'd been unable or unwilling
to deal with Joan's severe mood swings and drinking"I love you," Jesse
said with sudden vehemence.  "If you leave me, I'll die."

With an eerie, thoroughly irrational sense of foreboding, Al heard in
her words not the cries of an abandoned child but something else
entirely.  "Jesse," he said.  "Can you tell me who you're talking to?
Who you love so much?"

Her throat worked.  "He won't listen.  He said he loved me.  Our
child-" She moaned.  "Gone.  I'm so alone."

The prickles along Al's spine redoubled.  "Jesse, can you tell me where
you are?  What year it is?"

"David," she whispered.  "Don't go back.  Please."  Her breath came
rapidly now, in short pants.  "I won't ever see you again.  I know.  I
know!"

She didn't hear Al, was so engrossed in whatever memory or delusion
she'd found that she couldn't or wouldn't answer his questions.  He
leaned over her, willing her to listen.

"Jesse, you are able to see yourself protected and separate from what
you're experiencing now.  You're safe.

You can-" "No!"  She tossed her head.  "I'm not safe!  He hates me.  I
can feel it!  When he comes into the room .  . ."  A long shudder
racked her body.  Her hand shot out to grasp at air.  "David!"

"Who hates you, Jesse?  Is it Gary you're afraid of?"

She lapsed into silence, as if she'd finally heard his instructions. Al
let her rest, considering how best to bring her out of trance.  This
was too much, too intense.  It wasn't her childhood she spoke of.

Another part of her life, perhaps.  When she'd been on her own, in
college or the Corps, before her return to Manzanita.

"There's nothing to live for," she said dully.

Al gripped the arm of his chair.  "Where are you now, Jesse?"

"In my bed.  I'm always in my bed.  It hurts to get up.  I don't care.
The roses are all dying."

"The roses.  Can you tell me about the roses?"

"In the garden.  I don't go there anymore."  Her lips stretched in a
thin, bitter smile.  "When he left I told the gardener to let them
die."

"Why are you in bed, Jesse?  Are you ill?"

Her hand lifted to touch her flat stomach.  "He didn't believe me.
Something is wrong.  But when the doctor comes-" She broke off, and Al
saw her eyes look sideways beneath her lids.  "You," she gasped.  "Go
away.  I don't want you here.  Get out!"

"Who do you see, Jesse?"

But she grasped her stomach, pressing down and wrapping her arms about
herself as if to protect it from attack.  "Send for the doctor. Please.
 It hurts."  She whimpered, the cry broken by a cough. "There's
something wrong with the air.  I .  . . can't breathe."  She coughed
again, a weak and strangled sound.  "There's smoke.  I can't get up.  I
know-I know he did this.  He did this."

Her face contracted in a grimace of rage.  "They both did it.  I hate
them.  I hate them!"

"Listen to me carefully, Jesse.  I want you to prepare yourself to
leave your memories now.  I'm going to begin counting backward from
five to one.  With each number, you'll feel yourself coming a little
closer to consciousness.  At the count of one you'll find yourself
fully aware, relaxed and able to-" Jesse screamed.

Al kept his voice sure and calm.  "You'll come back able to remember
everything that happened, without fear and in complete control of your
memories.  Five Four--" Jesse opened her eyes.  For a moment she
blinked at the ceiling, mouth working, and then she looked at Al with
complete awareness.  She'd brought herself out of trance as swiftly as
she'd gone in.

Al leaned forward.  "Are you all right?"

"I think so."  She sat up, massaging her forehead.  "Yes.

I'm all right now."  She gave him a lopsided smile.  "It wasn't exactly
what I expected."

That was one hell of an understatement.  Al stood up and pushed away
from his chair.  "It was a mistake to enter into this so quickly.  If
something had gone wrong-" Her touch on his arm brought him to a halt.
"It wasn't your fault.  I talked you into it."  She swayed, and Al
steadied her as best he could when he was none too sure of his own
balance.

He guided her to the chair and resumed his own.  "You weren't able to
describe much of what you experienced while you were under.  Do you
remember what happened?"

There was still a paleness to her face, a distance in her gaze.  "It's
fading quickly," she said, "like a dream after you wake up."  She
sighed.  "No.  Most of it is gone now.

Except- At the end I saw fire.  Fire and smoke.  I felt as if I were
dying."

"You screamed," he said.  "Do you remember any such incident in your
childhood?  A memory you may have suppressed?"

She shook her head.  "I was always .  . . afraid of fire.

I wouldn't go near the fireplace at home.  But nothing like that ever
happened."  Her clear hazel eyes focused on him.  "Nothing I felt-it
wasn't what I needed to remember."

Not her childhood, or her past with Gary.  "When you think of who you
were in those memories-were you ever a little girl?"

"No.  It was as if I were-" All at once the wariness was back, the same
guarded disquiet she'd shown when she first arrived.  "It wasn't home,"
she finished.  "My mother wasn't there.  And Gary-" Al had seen her
rage during the trance when she'd declared hatred to someone she
couldn't describe.  It flashed in her eyes now, and her fingers dug
into the leather of the chair.

"Gary," she repeated.  "I didn't see him.  I don't remember.  I don't
remember."

"The mind isn't easy to understand," he told her.

"Maybe this was your personal symbolism.  Roses, illness, fire .

. . the pain you felt.  Your answers may be there, if you still intend
to pursue this."

"I'm not about to quit now.  My dreams last night-" Leather protested
at the grip of her hands.  "I'm close.  I can feel it."

No.  Jesse Copeland would never give up, not even if it killed her.
"There was a man you spoke to," he said.

"David.  Can you tell me anything about him?"

Her body stiffened.  "I don't remember."

"You can tell me, Jesse.  There's something important to you about that
name."  I love you, she'd said.

Al couldn't forget the sound of her voice when she'd spoken those
words.  Or the look on her face, the silent anguish he saw now.

"Did you know him?"  he asked.  "Before you returned to Manzanita?"

She turned a wild glance on him.  "I don't know who he is."

But she did.  There was no doubt in Al's mind that the name meant more
to Jesse than she'd ever admit.  Love, and hate, and consuming need.

"You mentioned a child," he said.

"I .  . . don't remember."

Al looked down, from his good hand to his pinned-up sleeve, feeling the
gray walls of detachment close around him.  "We'd better give it a
rest, Jesse.  More may come back to you.  It can't be forced, and it
shouldn't be."

"No," she said.  The tension left her shoulders, as if he'd given her
the permission to relax that she could not allow herself.  "You're
right.  Thank you, Al.  I appreciate what you've done."

And what have I done?  he thought.  But he walked her to the door of
the study, watching her with a remote and clinical eye.  Her walk was
steady now, her expression self-contained.  She was the competent Jesse
Copeland most of the world witnessed every day.

The world hadn't been with her in his study tonight.

She walked down the hall and paused at a half-open door, the bedroom
farthest from the study.  Al didn't know how she'd guessed.

He stood back as Jesse opened the door a fraction wider and looked
in.

"Your niece," Jesse said.  "She must have been very tired to sleep
through this."

Through the scream, she meant.  But the child was a motionless lump in
her bed, bundled up in covers and apparently oblivious to their
presence.  Her small table lamp still burned on her nightstand.

"Megan," he said, by way of introduction.  "She was so tired when we
got back from the airport that she asked to go straight to bed."

He heard the relief in his own voice and wondered if Jesse could sense
how little he knew about meeting the needs of a child like Megan.  A
ten-year-old girl hadn't been part of his modest plans for a life with
no complications.

"She's afraid of the dark," Jesse murmured.

It was a simple remark, but Jesse made it as if she'd experienced that
fear herself.

"Not an unusual reaction," he said, "given her recent loss."

"Her grandmother," Jesse said.  "Were they very close?"

Al tried to remember when he'd ever seen warmth in his late brother's
mother-in-law.  They hadn't met often over the years.  "I doubt it," he
said.  "She spent a lot of time in boarding schools.  Until recently
she was with other relatives, but they couldn't keep her."

"Poor kid."  Jesse leaned her head against the doorjamb.  "I'm
sorry."

Of course Jesse would understand.  She'd been in foster homes, bounced
from one place to another.  She would know how Megan felt.  She would
know how to handle a little girl.  How to make a kid feel welcome, and
happy, as Al could not.

"I have a sitter coming in to look after her tomorrow, while I'm at the
library," he said.  "Megan is quite withdrawn.  I haven't been able to
reach her.  I think she needs someone else to .  . . talk to."

"You're her uncle," Jesse said.  "Family."

He clutched his empty sleeve with his good hand.

"That's not always enough."

"But you are a psychologist, Al.  You could-" "I know my limitations. A
woman might do better with her."

She backed away from the bedroom, averting her face.

"Maybe I can drop in tomorrow.  If you think it'll do any
good, considering .  . ."  She trailed off, but Al knew how she was
judging herself, finding herself inadequate.

Or worse.

"I have no doubts about your mental competence, Jesse," he said.

But she turned for the back door without another word, and as he
watched her start across the open field to her cabin, he was bemused to
find in himself an unanticipated insight that had very little to do
with intellect and nothing at all to do with logic.

Something new had awakened in Jesse Copeland.  He had witnessed a birth
there in his study, when she'd spoken to people she saw only in her
mind.  Or in her memory.  He had felt it in the shiver down his spine,
feeling he hadn~t experienced since Vietnam.

Al relied on facts, on what he could see and touch and analyze.  But
what Jesse had discovered was not so easily bound within those walls of
rationality.  She was no longer as safe as she wanted to be.

Perhaps she'd never be "safe" again.

Al closed the door and stared at the smooth wood.  For the first time
in decades he envied those who knew the comfort of blind faith.

**** SHE'D LIED TO Al.  It was a strange thing, to lie-to deliberately
withhold the truth from the one man she thought she trusted.

She'd lied to her hikers for the rest of their excursion earlier that
afternoon-lied by behaving as if nothing had happened, as if she
weren't desperately holding on until she could let herself react.  None
of her people guessed that she'd been shaken to the core.  If she was a
little quieter, a little more withdrawn, they hadn't noticed.

She'd given them the spectacular views they wanted, and led them back
to the Lodge without incident.

But he had been with her every step of the way.  Even his disappearance
hadn't brought relief.

She didn't whisper the name as she marched unseeing across the
calf-high lawn, though that single word dominated her thoughts like a
permanent lodger.

David.

Yes, she'd lied to Al.  She knew that name.  She had met its owner, a
creature of myth and fairy tales, a soldier in an antique uniform who
spoke as if he knew her, who began as misty illusion and crystallized
into sudden, terrifying reality the moment she touched him.  No, that
was too simple an expression for what had happened when she'd walked
through the being who called himself David Ventris.  There was no
language to describe that moment of union, when she'd felt another .  .
. life, consciousness, spirit .  . . join with her own.

And then the hypnosis, where she'd sought answers and found only more
questions: disjointed impressions of yearning and pain and fear
flooding through her, sweeping by too swiftly to grasp and hold.  Most
she could no longer recall, but she'd revealed only part of them to
Al.

She hadn't told him that the person she'd been in those waking dreams
wasn't herself.  That she'd worn clothing and existed in a place that
bore no resemblance to the world she knew.

And that, in some way she couldn't remember, David Ventris had been in
those visions with her.

Jesse closed her eyes and stumbled over a buried tree stump halfway to
her cabin.  The jarring didn't knock sense into her brain.  That sense
was long, long gone.

If David had been sent as a test of her rationality, the results were
inconclusive.  A few seconds of sharing the same physical space with a
ghost had almost convinced her that such supernatural entities actually
existed, in spite of every logical assumption to the contrary.  That
David Ventris was as vital and alive in his way as she was in hers-a
ghost possessing her dreams, her hypnotic memories, as if they'd shared
something inexplicable but very real.

In her visions he'd been as familiar to her-to the person she'd been-as
her own soul.

As if once .  . . sometime, somewhere .  . . she'd loved him.

Jesse shuddered and paused at her doorway.  "You called me," he had
said.  Called a man she'd hadn't "met" before a dream last night.

Did a ghost even qualify as a man?

She laughed weakly at her own absurdity and opened the door to her
cabin.  Sanctuary no longer, for he'd been there in her dreams, at her
bedside.

As he was here now.  Sitting at her table, sitting, solid as you
please, holding yesterday's Manzanita Herald in his hands.  Glancing up
with a quizzical look, as if he had discovered an interesting item in
the paper he was waiting to share with her.

He dropped the paper and rose, pushing back the chair.  "Jesse," he
said.  "I've been waiting for you."

She didn't doubt it.  There was something grotesquely appropriate in
finding him here, invading her home once again as he had her body and
her mind.

"Please forgive my informality," he continued, in the wake of her
silence.  "I didn't intend to leave you so abruptly before, but-" He
gazed at her with eyes of a dazzling and vivid blue.  "There are things
we must discuss."

Jesse stood frozen in the doorway, her hand still on the knob and a
frantic laugh stuck in her throat.  She could run the other way, as
she'd done on the hillside.  She could make one final pitch for reason
and sanity.

But the outrage at this further imposition bubbled over, and she
slammed the door shut and strode recklessly toward him, stopping just
short of any danger of accidental touch.  She couldn't see through him
now.

He was real.

"Tell me," she demanded, "can you just .  . . pop up anywhere you like?
Walk through walls, appear and disappear, with no regard for privacy?
Or are there rules wherever you come from?"

"Then you do believe in me."

His question startled her anew.  The way he said the words and his
lopsided smile implied that her belief was very important to him.  His
grin was surprisingly engaging.  It suggested goodwill and sincerity
and a desire, a need-to be accepted.

Acceptance was too much to ask, but Jesse felt herself sucked into
those eyes, seduced by that smile into an unwilling but undeniable
belief.  The fact that he was staggeringly handsome didn't help.  Not
Gary's slick good looks, but a devastating combination of boyish charm
and seasoned maturity.  His chin was firm, his brows thick and well
shaped.  His black hair was just a little too long, falling over his
forehead.  His face was darkly tanned, the eyes creased at the corners
with sun wrinkles.  He wore the same uniform he'd had on this
afternoon: short blue jacket with tarnished buttons and braid in
horizontal stripes across the chest, a long and slightly curved sword
that hung at his hip from a shoulder belt, snug light-colored trousers
that hugged distinctly muscular legs, black spurred boots coated with
dust.  There were holes in the jacket and a patch on his trousers, but
their raggedness made him seem more what he claimed to be.

A soldier.  A soldier as Al had been, but from a war nearly two hundred
years ago.  In a faraway and different land.

"I don't know what to believe," she said slowly.  "But after we-" No.
She wouldn't talk about that mystical communion.  She couldn't even
think about it without shaking.  If she treated this whole business as
if it were the most ordinary thing in the world, she'd be more likely
to get through it intact.  "You seem to be able to affect things.
Doesn't that make you real?"

"Ah.  The paper."  He picked it up.  It rustled in his hands.  "I've
been practicing.  It's something of a skill to become solid.  A chancy
business, at best."

"Then you are a ghost."  "For lack of a better definition," he
conceded with a wry twitch of his mouth.

She dared herself closer to the table.  "You're here to haunt me.  Is
that it?"

He set the paper down and ruffled the pages.  ""Haunt' is such an
unpleasant word."

"Unpleasant?"  She laughed shortly.  "What do you call this .  . .
barging into my life, invading my space, making me think I'm--" She
stopped herself.  Calm.  "Don't ghosts haunt specific locations?  I
built this cabin myself.

No one like you ever lived on this ground."

He refolded the paper and sat down again, his very tangible weight
shifting the chair on the floor.  "I've been reading about your
village," he said, dodging her question.  "It's rather discomposing to
realize how much has changed since I was last .  . . here.  Of course,
I didn't make it to the colonies."

"Before you .  . . died."

"Another unpleasant word."  He spread his hands flat on the table as if
to test their substantiality.  "But one with which I am somewhat
familiar."

Jesse looked at his hands.  Strong, long-fingered, scarred but elegant.
His hands alone convinced her that he was no concoction of some
personal psychosis.

"And where have you been all this time?"  she asked, reluctantly
fascinated.

His gaze met hers, its brilliance shadowed.  "Ah, Jesse.

There are places no mortal words can describe."  One hand lifted to
touch a hole in his blue coat.  "Have you ever seen a battlefield?"

In the echo of his question she could have sworn she heard the staccato
blasts of gunfire, the roar of cannon, the shrill whinny of a
frightened horse, the screams of a dying man.  She tasted dust in her
mouth, felt the scorching heat of fire and a brutal sun on her skin.

She felt for the nearest chair.  "I've seen death," she said.  "I've
seen places like battlefields, where the victims were innocent."

There was startlement in his eyes, as if he hadn't expected an answer.
He didn't read minds, then.  He didn't know of her past.  He could walk
through walls, in her dreams, through her body-but there were places
even he couldn't go.

Yet the awkward intimacy between them felt remarkably potent, as if he
were a long-lost lover turned up on her doorstep.

Jesse had no long lost lovers.

"You said I called you here," she said.

He recovered his poise quickly enough.  "You dreamed of me," he said
softly.

There was no disputing that, no lying to him as she had to Al.  "Yes.
But until two nights ago, I'd never seen you even in my dreams.  Why
now?"

"You don't know .  . . why you called my name," he said, watching her
face.

She couldn't admit how little she did know.  "Are you here to haunt me?
What do you want?"

"There is much to explain, Jesse.  Much even I don't understand-" "You
could start by telling me why the hell you've chosen the worst possible
time to complicate my life.

Why me, David Ventris?"

He looked toward the window and she saw the tension in his jaw, the
telltale body language of someone hiding a vital truth.  "If you would
trust me-" "Trust you?"  She slammed her open hand on the table, inches
from his.  "Who are you?  How does this work?

Are you some distant ancestor I haven't even heard of?

Or does everyone have their own personal ghost, and i'm the only one
who can see mine?"

There was an answering flash of anger in his eyes.  "I see that you
won't accept what you can't immediately comprehend."  He shook his
head, just as suddenly contrite.  "I'm not here to curse you.  You have
nothing to fear from me."

"Does that mean I have some control over this?  Can I send you back to
wherever you came from?"

"It isn't that simple."  "Are you telling me I need an exorcist or a
ghost buster to get rid of you?"

"I've no doubt that you could send me back to perdition, Jesse."

He trapped her with his eyes, holding her fast.  "You wanted to know
who I am?  I'm a lost soul, and you are the key to my salvation."  His
voice, so properly British, held a false lightness that mocked his own
words.  "If you refuse me, I'm quite simply damned."

Of course.  She'd envisioned a whole bizarre list of things a ghost
might include in his conversation, melodramatic Dickensian statements
that went hand in hand with popping in and out of thin air, perhaps
accompanied by a good dose of chain rattling.

David wore no chains, but he hadn't disappointed her.

"Damned," she repeated.  "But you didn't tell me where you go when
you're not on Earth.  Where you came from."

The planes of his handsome face took on a bleakness, a despair that
transformed him from a man of confident case to one whose gaze revealed
long intimacy with pain.

Jesse had seen that look too many times not to recognize it.

"I told you that there were no words," he said.  "The place .  . . is
beyond your comprehension, Jesse.  It is endless nothing less, eternal
loneliness.  I call it limbo, but it has no name.  Or hope."

Before, when they'd touched on the hillside, she'd sensed David's very
being.  Now his portrayal came to life within her imagination, and she
could see what he described.  Feel what he felt in that place.

He had mentioned a battlefield, but this was far worse.

Here there was no life or death, only unbearable isolation that went on
forever.

So hopeless.  So alone.  No way out.

She could drown in those emotions as she drowned in his gaze.  With a
firm grasp on her will, she pulled herself out of his illusion.

"What did you do in your life," she said, "so terrible as to earn that
kind of punishment?"

His gaze dropped to his clenched fists.  "That is the difficulty.  I
remember very little of my previous existence on Earth.  I know only
that when you called my name, I was able to return.  I was given
another chance."

"A chance .  . . to do what?"

"My memory doesn't tell me."  He looked at her again, as intently as
before.  "In .  . . that other place, I lost myself.  Now that I'm
here, I am just beginning to regain what I was.  And I am convinced
that you have my answers, Jesse."

It seemed both bizarre and appropriate that she should be haunted by a
ghost who claimed to have lost his memory, when she was in the process
of rebuilding her own.

But he actually thought she could provide answers for him.  A man who
called himself damned.

"I don't have any answers," she said.  "Not yours or anyone's.  I don't
know why this is happening, but I can't help you."  I have enough
troubles of my own.  she finished silently.

But he was staring at her, swallowing her up in that piercing blue.

"I don't believe that," he said.  "There's generosity in your soul. Too
much to refuse help to one who needs you."  He held out his hand in a
gesture of supplication, fingers cupped.  "You won't turn your back on
suffering.

Not even mine."

"How do you know?"  she asked with a touch of bitterness.

"I saw you on the hill with your troops," he said.

"They followed you as men follow a leader they trust with their lives.
One who cares for them, protects them."

She couldn't meet his gaze.  "You don't remember your own life on
Earth," she said, "but you're so sure of me."

"One must be sure of something, even when all else is gone.  Isn't that
true, Jesse?"

Oh, yes, he knew that need; he spoke as a man who had struggled against
all hope to find something to put his faith in.  As if suffering had
been his lot far longer
than human life could compass.  For years, working with the Corps,
Jesse had tried to relieve what misery she could, in countries where
such misery was as common as hunger and injustice.  She'd been careful
to keep a little of herself apart, because to do otherwise meant losing
the detachment that let her function.  As she'd lost it with Bobby
Moran.

Now, if she allowed it, she could slide right into the all too personal
pain of a man who wasn't even alive.

She closed her eyes.  "Why me?"

"Because we have a connection, you and I."  She heard the skidding
thump of the chair as he stood.  "I don't know what it is, but I feel
it.  As you do.  You couldn't have called me otherwise.  And what
happened on the hillside--" Oh, God.  "It's crazy," she said.  "Crazy-"
"No."  He moved closer to her, boots clicking on the floor.  She could
feel the flesh-and-blood nearness of his presence, his face inches from
hers.  "No, Jesse.  Don't."

Her heart pounded in her throat.  Don't, he told her, but she didn't
know what he commanded.  With an effort she shut off her emotions and
opened her eyes.  He was very close: his eyes, his mouth, his
formidable reality.  She could hear his breathing, as rapid as her
own.

"Don't deny it, Jesse," he said.  "Don't deny me."

Before she could think to pull away, he seized her wrist.  There was no
sharing of space now, no arcane overlapping.  His hand was warm and
firm and strong.

She felt the brush of scars and callused fingers.

Masculine.  Intimate.  His touch cut to the very quick of her, spiraled
in a wild electric dance through every nerve of her body.

It had never happened to her before.  Never.  She'd long ago accepted
that there was a part of herself no man could reach.

David reached it.  He reached it and grasped it and claimed it for his
own.

She snatched her hand free, but the tingles and pulses and sparks left
her too dizzy to stand.  She staggered, and David skirted the table to
catch her.  She dodged him and found refuge against the wall.

God help her.  She closed her eyes again, but the visions were waiting.
And David was always there.

Yet suddenly another name took shape in her mind, a name she'd heard
David speak on the mountainside but hadn't remembered until this
moment.  A name that meant something, that seemed to hold a hope of
understan ding.

"Who is Sophie?"  she whispered.

CHAPTER FOUR

So SHE HAD heard him.

He hadn't meant to speak that other name aloud.  It had been
carelessness to voice his thoughts when he'd realized, almost from the
beginning, that she must not know the truth.

Perhaps he'd gone too far, and too swiftly.  She'd broken away,
rejecting his frontal attack, yet the vibrant force of her life itself
still coursed through him from the simple touch they'd just shared.  It
pulsed in his heart and lungs and nerves and groin, as heady as an
overabundance of whiskey or a dangerous escapade taken a step beyond
recklessness.  He felt the pull of it long after he turned to the
window and hid his face from her searching gaze.

He'd nearly forgotten himself in that touch.  Her pointed question was
a warning that it was time for a strategic retreat.

"Sophie," he repeated, crafting the illusion of puzzled reflection. "It
sounds .  . . somewhat familiar to me."

Jesse's footsteps moved across the polished wooden floor behind him.
"You called me that on the hillside, as if you thought I were someone
else."

He had no intention of answering honestly.  "Someone else," he said,
staring out at the twilit darkness.  "It's possible .  . . the name is
one piece of that memory I must find."

"Someone in your previous life," she said.  "A woman.

And I reminded you of her.  The way you said it .

She was important to you."

She spoke with a still, grave certainty.  Was it her soul's memory,
unacknowledged?  Could she sense so much?

"You already guess far more than I do," he said, "but I believe you may
be right."  He turned away offering a crooked smile.  "You see?  You
can help, Jesse."

"Help you to remember your life?"  She laughed humorlessly.  "Maybe
you'll understand my skepticism when I tell you that there are parts of
my own life I can barely remember.  And I'm no ghost."

By God, no, she was not.  Jesse was life.  She was the symbol of what
he'd lost and what he must regain.  She was the plan and the battle and
the victory all in one stubborn body and soul.

Life.

"I do understand," he said.  He lowered his voice to a seductive
murmur.  "Another reason we've been drawn together.  We have a great
deal in common, and there's so much more to discover."  He moved back
to the table, noting the way she kept it between them to forestall any
further risk of a touch.

Afraid, but not of him.  And she hated being afraid as he hated the
fetters that tied him to limbo.

"You have power you don't even know you possess,"

he said with perfect candor.  "And it's not in you to run.

Is it, Jesse?"

She jerked her head in denial, mouth set.  "Whatever I .  . .
imagined, whatever you may believe, I'm not in the business of saving
souls."

"Not even your own?"

Her flinch spoke volumes.  It had been a shot in the dark, a blind
guess, but now he knew he was right.  Jesse was more than merely
afraid.  He'd been thrown on the mercy of a woman deeply
troubled-forced to win not only her acceptance, but her goodwill and
trust.  And there was no trust in her eyes.

Surely they were laughing at him, those grim guardians of his prison.
His punishment was far from over.

"Perhaps," he said, "we're meant to help each other."

For a moment, just a moment, he thought he saw a softening in her
gaze-as he'd seen on the hillside just before he'd left her, or when
he'd held her hand.  The fragile, trembling hope of a child offered
unexpected comfort, or a soldier given a second chance at survival
after a deadly skirmish.

But she shrugged, throwing off the fleeting vulnerability like an
overladen pack.  "What makes you think I need help?  I'm not the one
who's damned."  She strode across the room, vanishing into the small,
oddly equipped kitchen.  David heard the sound of running water and the
click of a glass.  When she returned, she was firmly entrenched behind
a shield of false nonchalance.

"Oh," she said,

"I might find you useful if I could send you out to haunt someone on
command.  That's the only practical function I can think of for a
ghost."

"Indeed," he said, watching her with narrowed eyes.

"And who would you send me to haunt?  Have you enemies, Jesse?"

He saw her answer in the stiffening of her shoulders and the rise of
her chin.  But she wasn't going to admit anything so personal to him.
Not yet.

"An army of ghosts would have been useful in the Peninsula," he said,
easing around the table.  "Boney's soldiers were as superstitious as
the next man.  We'd have won the war in half the time."

Jesse had fortified herself against a recessed shelf of books that
David had perused earlier.  Her collection included volumes on
carpentry and wilderness survival, odd choices for a woman.

But David already knew she was no ordinary woman.

What battle are you fighting, Jesse?  How do I make you put it aside
long enough to set me free?

"Did you die in the war?"  she asked.  "Or don't you remember that?"

The suddenness of her question made him pause, just long enough for her
to slip through the door into the next room.  He followed, smelling the
faint tang of sawdust and some spicier scent mingled with the
ubiquitous evergreen and grass and fresh air.  The main room of her
cottage was as compact and unadorned as the rest, furnished with a
small sofa, a rather plain armchair, more shelves and a few unfamiliar
objects he had yet to name.

Jesse didn't pause in the room, but walked through yet another door.
This was the source of the sawdust scent: a workshop filled with
furniture in various stages of completion, assorted pieces of wood and
tools for cutting and shaping.  Wide windows looked out over a cluster
of trees, barely visible as silhouettes on a background of indigo sky
and the first glimmer of stars.

"That is one event I can hardly forget," David said, stopping just
inside the door.  "You have heard of Waterloo?"

"I've heard of it."  She was sorting and stacking small sheets of rough
paper in rows along a worktable, compulsively precise in every
movement.  "Wasn't it the last engagement of your war?"

My war, he thought with dark irony.  If only it had ended there.  "I
didn't know it then," he said.  "It was a terrible battle.  I learned
only after my death that Wellington was victorious.  A French musket
ball made sure of that."

For the first time in many minutes she looked at him.

"Did you .  . . die a hero?"

He couldn't miss her tone of oddly innocent yearning.

Was it a hero she was after?  He was bound to disappoint her.  But she
didn't have to know how little heroism there'd been in throwing himself
in the path of certain death.

To make it stop.  To end the guilt and the meaningless ness of life,
only to realize too late what he'd traded for in exchange.

"I served my country," he said.  "I fought for many years.  That I
know."

She stared at him for several more heartbeats and then down at the
worktable.  He noticed that the nails on her small fingers were short,
practical, more suited for labor than for the social rounds Sophie had
once enjoyed.  But Jesse wouldn't worry for hours about the drape of
her gown or the arrangement of her hair or the perfect bon mot.

Sophie had wanted to please everyone with authority: the witches at
Almacks, the leading bucks of the ton, the peers with more rank and
power and money.  She'd fawned on anyone who could give her approval.

Jesse didn't want his approval.  He had to make her want it.  Want to
keep him with her as long as it took.

"I was good at leading men," he said, crouching to examine the legs of
a sturdy, unpainted chair.  "They trusted me.  They knew I wouldn't
take them anywhere I wouldn't go alone."

"So you remember your years as a soldier, but nothing before?"

Under the level tone of her question was the sharp thrust of a bayonet.
He rose, dusting his trousers.  He felt sawdust on his hands; he rubbed
the texture of it between his fingers, savoring the very fact that he
could.

"Not yet," he said.  "But it will come."  He met her gaze.  "I can see
from your window that the night is beautiful, Jesse.  Come walk with
me.  I find I have a dislike for walls."  With deliberate steps he
approached her, passed her by as she stood very still, opened the
workshop door and walked out.

She followed, as he'd known she would.  Her footsteps skimmed the long
grass with the hesitance of a doe's.  He didn't look back but continued
up the gentle slope of the hillside behind her cottage, toward the
cluster of pines.

The evening breeze was cool, and there was enough moonlight to mark his
path.  David remembered nights like these with Sophie, when they'd both
been foolish enough to believe in romance.  On such a hillside he'd
lain with her, had planted a seed in her body.

Elizabeth.  Elizabeth who'd lived but one short year.

"What will happen when you recover your memory?"

Jesse had come up behind him, and he sat down beside a thorny flowered
shrub, stretching his legs.  He could see the lights of the village,
scattered like embers and burning with the perpetual glow of some new
science.

He plucked a serrated leaf from the shrub.  "My answers will be there,"
he said.  "Just as yours are in the memories you've lost."

She stood over him, unmoving.  "You can't read my mind," she said at
last.  "You'd better understand right now that I didn't ask you to come
here.  You're the one who needs me."

The leaf tore under the pressure of his fingers.  "And there's a price
for your help."

"There are rules," she said.  "And I want to get them very clear.  You
said you didn't intend to leave me so abruptly before.  Does that mean
you don't have control over your coming and going?"

"I only know that after a time I .  . . lose my strength on this plane
and must return to the place I came from,"

he said, plucking a second leaf.  "There are rules, and I'm just
beginning to learn them myself."

"Then how do you come here?"

He looked up.  "You always bring me back."

Her profile was frosted in moonlight, and he felt rather than saw her
tension.  "And am I the only one who can see you?  My hikers didn't
notice you.  Yet you're .  .

almost solid."

"If I exert enough will, I can alter my form and give
myself substance.  I can do this"-he tore the leaf in half-"if I
concentrate.  But I suspect that it is my proximity to you that makes
so much possible."

Her gaze dropped to his fingers on the leaf.  "I don't want you showing
yourself to anyone else.  That has to be part of the deal."

The corner of his mouth twitched.  "I'm your ghost, Jesse.  I'd hazard
a guess that no one else could see me, even if I willed it so."

Slowly she sank into a crouch, poised on that knife edge between
acceptance and rejection, relaxation and flight.  "Even if you can walk
through walls, there is such a thing as common courtesy.  And privacy."
She stared at him, and he imagined a blush heating her tanned skin. "I
want some warning before you barge in out of nowhere.

And if you can make yourself invisible .  . . if you have any sense of
honor, you won't-" She broke off, flustered, and he grinned to himself.
Ah,but I've seen much of you already, he thought, remembering the way
she'd looked in that nightshirt the first time, all curves and
softness.

And he wanted to see more.  His smile faded.  She was wise to warn him,
and a fool to call upon his honor.

"Shall I scratch on your door and beg admittance?"  he asked.

"Knocking will be just fine.  Or rattling your chains, or whatever it
is ghosts do."

A joke?  David searched her face, but the light was too dim to be sure.
If she could unbend enough to make jests" The chains are invisible,
Jesse," he said.  "But you can break them."

She plunged her hands into the grass at her feet, curling her fingers
against the earth.  "Don't expect too much, Captain."

"David.  You did call me that."

"A ghost by any other name," she murmured, and gave a short laugh.  But
her voice dropped very low when she spoke again.  "David."

"It's been long since I've heard a woman speak my name," he said,
equally hushed.  "You do it well."

Her breath caught.  "Don't push me.  Don't .  . . repeat what you did
in the cabin."

Their touching, she meant.  That moment of intimacy that couldn't be
denied.  It must have affected her strongly indeed to compel such a
tacit admission.

Warnings.  He walked a fine knife's edge himself.

"You're all I have, Jesse," he said.

She turned her face away.  "Didn't you learn in your war that it's
dangerous to rely too much on anyone?  Or is that what got you
killed?"

"And what taught you never to trust?"

Handfuls of grass came up as she pushed to her feet.

"There's something else you'd better understand.  If you did something
so terrible that you deserved the punishment you're suffering, I won't
be the one to absolve you of it.  I believe that people pay for what
they do.  If there's any justice in the world-" She let the torn blades
fall to the ground.  "If there's any justice, evil is punished."

He rose with the speed of movement he'd learned in the war, still
remembered by his ghostly form.  "Look at me, Jesse.  Do you believe
I'm evil?"

Her glance brushed his face but refused to linger.  He would have
seized her had she run, despite her warnings, but she stood very still
and waited for the reassurances that would convince her of his worth.

Yes, his gaolers were laughing.  They'd assigned him a harsh judge
indeed.

"Whatever sins I may have committed," he said, "is not nearly two
centuries of prison punishment enough?"

"I don't know.  How can I?"

Her anguish touched something within him, slipping through his own
defenses, his own overwhelming need for what he must win from her.  She
suffered; he could offer comfort.  It was in his power.  Long after
Sophie's death, when he had no distraction from memory, he'd tormented
himself with thoughts of how he could have
comforted her when she'd begged for it.  But Sophie's need had
threatened to engulf him in a morass of despair.  He'd spent his life
staying one step ahead of that ravenous demon.  There was no greater
danger to him now than caring about this woman, becoming involved in
her pain beyond what he must understand to liberate himself.

"I'm not wrong about you, Jesse," he said.  "They weren't wrong when
they sent me to you."

"Who?"  Her fists tightened into knots at her sides.

"Who sent you?"

"I never see them.  They leave me alone in my punishment.  Except this
one time when they allowed me to return."

"Then it's not my forgiveness you require," she said.

"I'll do .  . . what I can.  That's all I can promise."

"I ask no more."

"And if I choose to send you back-" She met his gaze with a fierce
intensity.  "For whatever reason, you have to go.  Do you agree to my
terms?"

So it was in war, whether fought with words and wits or muskets and
swords.  Terms and feints and retreats.

Jesse sensed that they were adversaries, and yet she was willing to
risk helping him when she had no incentive to do so.

Except for that connection between them she couldn't possibly
understand.  A connection David could not afford to forget but must
never allow to weaken his resolve.  And he had no doubt that if she
commanded him to leave her, he would be forced to obey.

He must make sure she never gave that command.

"Very well," he said.  "I accept.  And in exchange .."

He looked at the shrub whose branches he'd been slowly denuding of
leaves.  He'd barely noted the pale blossoms; now he recognized them
for what they were.

Wild roses.  The blossoms were simple, but they were roses nonetheless.
Sophie had loved her roses.

Carefully David chose a slender flower stem and took it in his fingers.
He felt the cool life of it, exerted his will and snapped it clean.

"In exchange," he repeated softly,

"I offer you the only thing I have to give.  My friendship."

And before Jesse could move away, he closed the space between them,
offered the flower with a half bow and a warm look that belied that
small formality.

Jesse stared at the rose.  Her hand moved of its own accord, fingers
twitching at the last minute to avoid touching his as she took the
stem.

"Thank you," she said, with as much hesitation as if he'd asked her to
lie with him in the long grass.  The thought did not go unremarked by
his not-so-spectral body, but the proof of his desire was hidden by the
darkness.

"Roses," she said.  "I dreamed .  ."

"A garden," he said.  He picked a second rose for himself, raised it to
his nose.  "I remember roses in a garden.

Not wild like this, but grown with care.  And there was a fountain-"
Jesse gasped and dropped her blossom.  She put her finger to her mouth.
David was near enough to see the flick of her tongue, the white flash
of her teeth.

"A thorn?"  he asked.  She shook her head, but he ignored the unspoken
warning and came closer still, close enough to see the tiny dark bead
on her fingertip.

"Forgive me my carelessness," he said.  "Let me help you."

He took her stiff hand in his and turned it palm up.

Her fingers curled away from him.  But when he lifted her hand, she
didn't resist, not even when he brought it to his mouth.

His tongue tasted blood.  He knew blood so well.  He'd seen his fill of
it in war, envisioned Sophie's blood on his hands.

Jesse's was as exquisite as the finest claret.

"Don't," she whispered.  "It's nothing."

The urge was powerful, irresistible: to take her in his arms, master
her with passion so that she could deny him nothing.  Reckless,
hotheaded, irresponsible-all he'd
been in life and could resume so easily.  He folded her fingers close
to her palm and let her go.

"One forgets that roses have thorns."

"It's a good thing to remember," she said.  "Thank you for reminding
me."  She turned and started down the hill, crushing the fallen rose
under her foot.

"Can there be beauty without risk?"  he called after her.

"There is no risk if you know what you're doing."

"Then I'm in excellent hands."

She swung around, stepping out of his path.  "I think we've talked
enough for tonight.  You'd better go and recharge your batteries, or
whatever it is you have to do."

She was right.  He had to go back; already he could feel the toll of
his extended physicality, a pulling from that other place.  The fear
rose in him: fear of that nothingness, knowing it would become more and
more unbearable with every day spent on Earth.

"Then I'll return tomorrow," he said.  "In the morning-" "No.  I have
to work.  I'll call you when I'm ready."

He bowed.  "As you say.  But don't expect me to enjoy the separation.
If only you knew-" "Jesse?  Is that you?"

The voice was not one David recognized, but at the sound of it Jesse
threw him a look of panic and made a chopping gesture that couldn't be
misinterpreted.

It was easier now for David to alter his form.  He made himself fade,
though he knew the woman coming up the hill would not be able to see
him.

"Kim," Jesse said.  She cleared her throat and stepped squarely in
front of David.  "This is a surprise."

"Sorry it's so late."  Kim looked past Jesse up the hill, squinting
against the darkness.  She was taller than Jesse, bigger boned,
attractive in an earthy way that reminded David of the women who'd
followed the army in Spain and Portugal.

"I found your invitation to my engagement party buried under junk on my
desk," Kim said, "and I wanted to make sure you got it."  She held out
an envelope.  "It's tomorrow night, at Blue Rock.  I hope you can come
on such short notice."

Jesse took the envelope and held it in both hands.  "Tomorrow night?
I'm not sure."

"I know I screwed up, but it would mean a lot to me if you came."  Kim
grinned.  "Eric has never met you, and he's such a great guy.  I want
to show him off.  By this time you probably wonder if he even
exists."

Jesse almost looked over her shoulder and stopped herself, tensing with
the effort.  "I'd like to meet him.  I don't see why I can't come."

"Fantastic.  I've reserved the pool deck and the main room at the Lodge
for the evening; it should be fun."  She cast another glance behind
Jesse.  "Seven o'clock.  Let's hope no one calls for search and rescue
in the middle of the celebration."  Her pleasant mood grew serious.

"How are you doing with that, Jesse?  Are you okay?"

"Yes.  Fine."

"Good."  She scuffed her foot on the grass.  "Tell me if this is too
personal, but are you seeing someone?"

Jesse grew very still.  "Why do you ask?"

"I .  . . thought I heard you talking to someone up here.  I didn't
mean to eavesdrop."

"No," Jesse said sharply.  "There was no one."

"Sorry.  I didn't mean-" "It's nothing.  I talk to myself sometimes."
She smiled and waved vaguely toward the mountains.  "You know how it
is."

"Sure."  Kim wrapped her arms around herself and shivered.  "It's cold
up here.  You'd think I'd know enough to bring a jacket.  Well, I'd
better get going.  See you tomorrow night."

"Later.  And thanks for the invitation."  Jesse watched Kim pick her
way down the hillside, her own arms drawn across her chest.  Only after
Kim was safely out of sight did she turn.

"Are you still here?"  she asked.

David had the sudden insight that he'd be wiser to maintain his
invisibility.  There was no welcome for him now.

"They called me crazy once," Jesse said to the air.

"Did you know that, David Ventris?  It's not going to happen again."

And she marched the rest of the way down the hill, walked into her
cottage, and shut the door.

MARIE'S DAMNED LACY curtains let in the sunlight, but that wasn't what
woke Gary up.  His alarm was much more pleasant, and Marie's mouth
surprisingly expert.

Gary stretched and closed his eyes.  He was always hard and aching in
the morning; it wouldn't be difficult to let this go to its inevitable
conclusion.  He liked the idea of filling Marie's pretty mouth with
everything he could give her.

He opened one eye to glance at the clock beside the bed.  Damn.  Nearly
ten o'clock.  He could stay in bed and screw Marie all day as he'd done
all night, but his business in town still wasn't finished.

With a low grunt he grabbed Marie's shoulders.

"Sorry, baby.  Much as I'd like to oblige your appetites, I have other
things on the menu today."

Marie rocked back, straddling his thighs and giving him a very tempting
view of what she had so enthusiastically offered last night.  Her hand
wrapped around him possessively.  "You have somewhere important to
go?"

"Duty calls."  He sat up, giving Marie another moment or two.  Her long
peach nails were pale against the flush of his shaft.  "Don't you have
your restaurant to open up?"

"We're closed Wednesdays."

Gary almost reconsidered, but he hadn't gotten where he was by
indulging himself every time he got the urge.

Not for many years now.

"Why don't you be a good girl and make me some coffee," he said. "Seems
I was up all night."

She shrugged, though the look in her eyes was sharp.

"Your loss."  She dismounted and slipped from the bed, casually
retrieving her black lace negligee from the antique chair in the corner
of the bedroom.  Expensive tastes, Marie had; more Bloomingdale's than
backwater country.  And ambitions.  Too bad she didn't have Heather's
money.

Too bad he wasn't as generous as she probably thought he was.

He got up and pulled on his briefs and trousers.  The scent of strong
black coffee drifted in from Marie's kitchen.  He sat down at the table
and watched her move about, noting the exaggerated sway of her hips.

"You have any plans for tonight?"  she asked.

He sipped the coffee.  Just right.

Maybe he should consider making Marie a permanent addition to his
entourage.  It wouldn't be difficult to persuade her; her fancy
restaurant wouldn't last a year in this hick town.  Heather was frigid
as hell and couldn't make a good cup of coffee to save her life.  .

"I was just talking to my friend Kim," Marie said, draping herself
across the opposite chair.  "She's invited me to her engagement party
tonight.  I can bring a guest."

So Marie wanted to make her liaison with him public.  Already she had
expectations, even if they were only to draw attention to the
restaurant and glean a little reflected glory at the side of
Manzanita's new celebrity.

"Who's Kim?"  he asked.

"We both came to Manzanita around the same time, about three years ago.
She works up at the Lodge."  Her lids dropped over her eyes.  "You
know, with Jesse Copeland."

"Oh?"

"I heard you were asking about Jesse," Marie said, matching his
indifferent tone.  "News spreads fast, and you're big news."

"And what have you heard about me and Miss Copeland?"

If she noticed the edge in his words, she didn't let on.  "That you
have some kind of history together.  She was a kid when you knew her.
And you were with her mother.

She committed suicide, didn't she?"

"You've been a busy little girl."  Gary set down his cup and smiled at
her.  "It's no secret.  I came to Manzanita when I was in my twenties,
looking for work.  Jesse's mother was kind enough to give me a job at
her resort.

We became friends, and then .  . ."  He sighed.  "Joan was a drinker.
Impulsive, emotional.  She needed help, and I tried to help her.  She
didn't know how to manage the resort and it was losing money.  I did
what I could."

"And Jesse?"

"Strange, troubled kid.  Her father abandoned them several years
before.  I'm afraid she never did like me.  Or any man."  He gazed into
his empty mug.  "I tried to show Joan how she was hurting herself and
Jesse with her behavior, tried to help her make the resort profitable
again.

But she'd already chosen her path.  One day she got bad news from the
bank, and while I was away" She killed herself."  Marie shuddered.

"They called it an accidental death.  She drowned in the river.  Her
blood was full of alcohol.  It would have killed her if the river
hadn't."

Marie got up and made some busy work at the counter.  "I heard that
something happened between you and Jesse at her mother's funeral."

"Her attack on me, you mean.  I'm afraid the child was too
grief-stricken to be quite sane at the time.  I would have helped her,
but whenever I came near her she had hysterics.  I had to leave town,
for her sake, but I've never forgotten."

"And that's why you're so interested in her now."

Interested.  Gary coldly considered the word.  No.  He'd never been
interested in Jesse Copeland.  Or her mother, beyond what conveniences
she could provide at a time when he needed a place to hole up.

Jesse had been a hostile, angry child-always watching him, condemning,
as if she had the power to see through his pretense as no one else
could.

To hell with that.  The girl hadn't been psychic, only unbalanced.  She
meant nothing to him, except as an inconvenience to be dealt with.

And yet she remained lodged in his thoughts, bound to his inexplicably
rekindled fear of exposure.  As if a child he'd nearly forgotten, this
woman he didn't know, had some claim on him, had the power to make him
feel--He shook his head sharply and turned his attention back to
Marie.

"I didn't know Jesse was here until I arrived," he lied with the ease
of long practice.  "I'd hoped to speak to her, but if she still hates
me as she did then" "You'll get a chance to find out if you come to
Kim's party," Marie said.  She turned to lean back against the counter,
her expression deceptively cool.  "Then you can forget about her."

Gary pushed away from the table.  "Don't you worry, little girl.  One
Copeland was enough for me."  He strolled to Marie and caught her face
between his hands, kissed her hard the way she liked it.  After she was
gasping for breath, he released her and went to the bedroom for his
shirt and jacket.

She trailed after him.  "I don't think Kim knows about you and Jesse,
except that you knew each other once.  But she did mention she was
worried about how Jesse's acting lately, ever since the Moran kid's
funeral."

"Did she?"  Gary buttoned his shirt in front of Marie's ornate
full-length mirror and smoothed a wrinkle in his sleeve.  "And how is
Jesse acting?"

"Kim told me she heard Jesse talking to herself last night, up on the
hill behind her cabin.  As if she was having a conversation with
someone who wasn't there."

Gary closed his eyes.  "Just like her mother."

"So why waste your time worrying about her?  She's not your
responsibility."  Marie linked her arm through his, rubbing her breast
against his ribs.  "There's a lot better things you could be doing."

Jesus, yes.  This party Marie mentioned-it would be the perfect
opportunity to confront Jesse.  Test her.  Uncover anything she might
be hiding.  And then exorcise her from his thoughts forever.

"Oh, I'm not worried."  He cupped Marie's breast in his hand and
squeezed.  She bit her lip with a wince, but he knew she liked it
rough.  Just like Joan Copeland.

He let her go and shrugged into his jacket.  "I enjoyed our rendezvous,
Marie.  You're a very talented girl.  I hate to see you waste yourself
on this town."

"Maybe I won't have to."

"Anything's possible."  He looked into her eyes, hinting at promises as
potent as any aphrodisiac.  "You get your beauty sleep, babe.  We'll
have a nice private dinner at your restaurant tonight, and we'll go to
the party.  But don't tell Kim I'm coming.  Let's make it our
surprise."

She followed him to the door and watched him walk to his car, was still
waiting as he backed from the narrow gravel driveway.  By the time he
left the side street and pulled out onto the highway, he'd put her from
his mind.

But Jesse was there in Marie's place, ready to haunt him again.  Gary
gripped the steering wheel until his fingers went numb.

How would she react tonight?  What would she do when they stood face to
face after seventeen years?

It was a calculated risk.  He knew damned well that she hadn't seen
more than a glimpse of Hatch when he'd turned up at the resort
seventeen years ago, and certainly none of what happened afterward. But
if she did know something and blurted it out tonight .

Why, everyone knew she was crazy.

CHAPTER FIVE

JESSE ARRIVED AT Al's study an hour before their seven o'clock
appointment, another day's work behind her and a hundred unanswered
questions seething in her mind.

She paused at the door to organize her thoughts and count her
blessings.  At least she hadn't run into Gary.

Avoiding her, maybe, which could be good or bad news.

It could be proof that her gut feelings were right.

And David Ventris had been as good as his word.  He had left her alone.
Not that her solitude had been peaceful.  When she wasn't keeping
herself busy with the Lodge guests, her mind was constantly wandering
back to her conversation with David.  The way he looked.  The rich
timbre of his voice.  The seductive ness of his touch, that had
resonated through her body as no other man's touch had done.

He had too much effect on her, after only two meetings, when she'd
barely come to accept that he was real.  She both dreaded and
anticipated their next rendezvous, and her very ambivalence was
troubling in itself.  How could one be attracted to a ghost?  She had
to keep careful control over the situation, never let it get out of
hand, remember the bargain they'd struck.  She had to compartmentalize
David into a mental box where he couldn't interfere with her other
goals.

And tonight she'd insisted on this second hypnosis session in spite of
Al's better judgment.  This time she had to remember her childhood.

Focus.  Focus on my past.

Nevertheless, she'd come early to spend an hour or so with Al's
computer.  He had access to the Internet.  If there was any information
to be found about a man named David Ventris, or his family, it might be
somewhere in that vast and intimidating web of electronic data.

If she could figure out how to get to it.  Jesse walked through the
door and started for Al's vast desk.

The chair in front of it was already occupied.  On the seat was a
child-a ten-year-old girl with blunt-cut brown hair and glasses, legs
folded beneath her, who stared into the bright screen of the computer
with a concentration that admitted no intrusions.

Megan.  Jesse stopped to observe the girl, reluctant to interrupt.
Megan was small for her age, thin, barely level with the computer.  She
wore a loose T-shirt a size too large and baggy pants.  Her fingers
were nimble on the keyboard, an adult's sureness in their movements.
The glow from the screen reflected on her glasses, obscuring her
eyes.

A lump tightened Jesse's throat.  For a moment she imagined herself as
a child sitting in Megan's place, adrift in her own world, though she'd
never owned a computer.

She'd had the woods, the hills, a different kind of flight from
loneliness.

So much had been taken from Megan, but her loneliness could be eased;
Jesse could do something about it.

Maybe not much-maybe she wasn't wise enough to help a child in pain.
Not strong enough, haunted as she was by her past and a very persistent
ghost.  But she'd been handed a chance, here and now.

And she'd promised to try.

"Megan?"

The girl went still, hands suspended above the keys.

Jesse moved around behind her.  There were graphics of animals on the
screen: running wolves beneath explanatory boxes of text.

A flick of Megan's finger on the plastic mouse beside the keyboard and
the image disappeared, replaced by a list of what Jesse recognized as
Internet addresses.  Slowly Megan swiveled around in the chair.  Her
eyes were dark gray, but the too cumbersome tortoise shell glasses
swallowed them up.

Her small mouth was expressionless.  "Hello," Jesse said, squatting to
Megan's level.  "I'm Jesse.  Maybe Al's mentioned me.  I live" "I know
who you are," Megan said.  She looked Jesse over without a trace of
curiosity or welcome.  "Al's not here right now."

"I know."  Jesse straightened and looked at the screen.

"Actually, I came in here to try to use the computer.  You seem to know
how to do it pretty well."

Megan shrugged.  "It's easy.  What do you need it for?"

A trace of sharpness there, guarding her territory.  Jesse knew that
feeling too well.  when you were abandoned, when you'd lost a little
too much, you carved out your own space with ferocious determination
and held it against all odds.

"I only wanted to borrow it to get some information,"

Jesse said.  "About a person from the past.  Is that possible?"

"You can do anything on the Internet."

"I wish I knew more about it, but I'm an amateur.

How did you learn?"

"A little in class, and I did the rest on my own."

Megan swung back to the screen.  "I had to use the ones at school.
Grandma didn't have a computer.  She thought it was a waste of
money."

Jesse almost asked Megan about her grandma.  A child who'd recently
lost her caretaker of many years would need to talk about that loss,
and she doubted Al had made much progress.  He'd said he couldn't reach
Megan.

But something held Jesse back.  It was too soon.  She had to let Megan
get to know her first.  And it seemed very, very important that she
make that connection-a gut-level feeling, like the ones she'd had about
David.  Or Gary.

The difference was that Megan was a child, and Jesse could call the
shots.

"You know, I think I'm going to need some help with this," Jesse said.
"I'm a little intimidated."

The look Megan cast her was dubious at best-testing for condescension
or an adult's hidden agenda.  Incipient rebuff was in Megan's stiff
posture and pinched face.  She hesitated, biting her lower lip between
slightly crooked front teeth.  "Do you .  . . want me to show you?"

An opening.  A hint of trust.  Jesse nodded and came to stand beside
Megan.  "Thanks.  I'll watch you, and maybe I'll learn something."

"Who do you want to look up?"

"A man named David Ventris.  Lord .  . . Ashthorpe, I think.  He lived
in the early 1800s, in England.  He was a soldier who fought Napoleon,
but I don't think he was famous.  Is that something I can find?"

"Maybe.  It might take a lot of looking."  Megan frowned and clicked
the mouse.  The screen changed to a page with bands of color, playful
lettering, and the words "Net Search" at the top.

"You can type in the subject here," Megan said.  She moved the mouse
and positioned the blinking cursor in a blank space.  "The best kind of
site might be genealogy, since he lived a long time ago.  Is he someone
from your family?"

"No.  Just someone I was curious about."

Megan typed in the word "genealogy" and clicked the mouse.  A few
seconds later there was a new list of addresses.

Megan scrolled to the bottom of the screen and typed

"England" in another blank space.

"Eighty-eight entries on that subject you can check,"

Megan said, "but some of them are for specific names.

There's a genealogy home page, here.  Or you can e-mail one of these
people."  She indicated one of the addresses with a bitten fingernail.
"People who do research on stuff like that."

Jesse considered the screen dubiously.  Megan was right; it would
probably take a lot of looking, something she'd have to do in her spare
time.

And what would it prove in the end?  That David Ventris was real?

She'd already accepted that.  She had no reason to doubt his stories of
what little past he remembered.

"Thanks," she said.  "At least now I know where to start."  She
crouched again, taking note of Megan's sneakers.  They were hot pink-a
tiny shout of defiance amid the drab anonymity of Megan's other
clothing.

"How do you like Manzanita so far, Megan?"

Megan's shoulders rolled forward in a hunch, away from Jesse.  "How
should I know?  Al won't let me out of the house."

Al.  Not Uncle Al, or any indication of a feeling of closeness.  Or
family.

"He runs the library," Jesse said.  "There wouldn't be one in this town
without him.  He probably thought you needed to rest after coming
here."

"I know how busy he is," Megan said.  "He doesn't want me."

The bluntness of the words chilled Jesse.  "Why do you think that?"

"He likes to be alone.  He doesn't want a kid around."

Megan moved the cursor on the screen and clicked the mouse until the
monitor went dark.  "I didn't want to come.  I didn't ask him to let me
live here."

Jesse swallowed and kept her hands on her knees so that she wouldn't
reach out and hug Megan with all her strength.  Too soon.  She'd scare
the girl off for certain.

"He's your uncle," she said as evenly as she could.

"He cares about you.  He just doesn't know how to show it.  Maybe you
both need some time to get used to each other."

"When the summer's over I can go back to school,"

Megan said.  "Then we'll both be happy."

But there was no anticipation of happiness in Megan's eyes, only dull
resignation.  She didn't want to get to know Al, didn't want to open up
only to be hurt again.

"Well," Jesse said, "since you'll be here for the summer, I wonder if
you'd be interested in seeing some of the area with me.  How are you at
hiking?"

Megan slid from the chair.  "Where?"

"There are lots of good trails around here.  I take groups at the Lodge
up into the mountains, and I've found some really beautiful places.
Some of them no one else knows about but me."

She didn't imagine that renewed spark in Megan's glance.  "I can hike,"
Megan said.  She walked across the room, studying Al's bookshelves with
feigned concentration.  "But I don't need anyone to go with me.  I can
take care of myself."

Oh, God.  It was like looking in a mirror.  Jesse saw the reflection of
herself in Megan's bitter wariness.

"Maybe you can most places," she said, "but the thing about these
mountains is that you need to take time to get to know them.  Sort of
like people you can't figure out right away.  Even hikers with
experience don't go alone."

She moved cautiously around the desk.  "Did Al tell you I work for a
search and rescue team?  We go out to help people when they get lost or
into trouble."

Megan's jaw set.  "I don't get lost.  I went everywhere by myself at
Grandma's.  She didn't care."

And that was the problem, wasn't it?  Grandma didn't care.  How long
had it been since anyone had cared about Megan?

"But I would care if something happened to you,"

Jesse said.  Bobby Moran's pale, lifeless face flashed in her mind, and
she pushed the image aside.  Megan was not Bobby.  "Sometimes when
people out here get in trouble, they've just miscalculated how
dangerous a situation is, or forgotten to take enough water, or didn't
carry warm enough clothes.  I could show you how to avoid those kinds
of problems."

Megan stared at Jesse with that same calculating assessment, a
balancing act between a child's needs and self-protection.  "Why?"  she
asked.

Why do you care?  she meant.  How could Jesse answer that, when Megan
was so suspicious of anyone's interest?  "Because it helps to have
friends when you come to a new place," Jesse said.  "I had Al when I
came back to Manzanita.  Everyone needs someone."

"Oh," Megan said.  Her face closed like a door firmly shut.

"You're doing a favor for Al."

"That's not true, Megan.  I-" "What isn't true?"

Al walked into the room and stopped beside the desk, leaning heavily on
his cane.  "Hello, Jesse.  I see you've found Megan.  Have I
interrupted a philosophical discussion?"

"Not at all.  Megan was just showing me how to use the Internet."

"Good.  Good."  Al looked at Megan with the detachment Jesse had always
admired but which seemed so inappropriate now.  "I'm pleased to see
you're keeping yourself occupied, Megan.  Mrs.  Plummer said you've
been very quiet."

Megan folded her arms across her chest and hunched against the
bookcase, unresponsive.  Al cleared his throat.

"I also thought it would be good for you and Jesse to get to know each
other.  Jesse lives so close, and since I'm at the library almost every
day-" "I don't need another baby-sitter," Megan said.  She stared at
the carpet between her pink tennis shoes.  "I can do things by
myself."

"But I can't allow you to go out on your own."  He glanced at Jesse.
"I'm sure that Jesse would be happy to show you around town.  There's a
swimming pool at the Lodge, and probably other children to play
with."

Megan's head swung up.  "Playing is for little kids, and I don't like
to swim.  I have a book I want to read in my room.  Can I go?"

She didn't wait for Al's permission but strode for the door, fixed on
escape.  Al made no attempt to stop her.

A door banged shut down the hall.  Al raised his brows and closed the
study door with exaggerated care.

"You see what I mean," he said.  "Megan's defenses are very high."  He
gestured Jesse toward the recliner.

"What were you two discussing?"

"I was suggesting that she come hiking with me."  Jesse leaned back,
hand over her eyes.  "I'm afraid it didn't go too well."

"I had hoped .  . ."  Al sighed.  "She won't come out of her room most
of the time.  She isn't eating.  Mrs.  Plummer expressed some worry,
but all this could be a manifestation of grief.  If there were a child
psychologist closer than Redding-" "I don't think it's psychology she
needs," Jesse said.

"You said you didn't know how close she was to her grandmother."

Al pulled the desk chair to the side of the recliner.  "My brother's
mother-in-law came from a wealthy family.  She didn't approve of her
daughter's choice of husband, but she took Megan in after Cesar and
Helen were killed.  I wasn't in close contact with any of them."

"I have a hunch that your brother's mother-in-law didn't approve of
Megan, either," Jesse said.  But she couldn't put into words any of the
thoughts that crowded her mind, transform them into neat explanations
that Al could understand.  They weren't rational.

What Jesse saw in Megan's pain hit too close to home.

"I still believe you may reach her where I can't," Al said.  "Will you
keep trying?"

Jesse closed her eyes.  Keep trying.  Al cared enough about Megan to
want the best for her, and for some reason he thought Jesse could
provide what Megan needed.

"You're doing a favor for Al," Megan had said, with a too adult
cynicism.  It might have started that way, but after their brief
conversation Jesse knew it had become much more.  More, even, than
seeing herself in Megan.

A strange compulsion had awakened inside Jesse, every bit as
inexplicable as the appearance of a ghost and the return of Gary
Emerson.  As if, somehow, events had come into some bizarre
conjunction, and she was still too unenlightened to see the pattern
they formed.

But that was fantasy, an effort to regain some control by seeing
purpose where there was only coincidence.  The simple fact was that she
might be able to help Megan.  If she'd made it her business to know
Bobby Moran, to reach out before he'd become senseless with drugs and
hopelessness he might still be alive.

"I'll keep trying," she said.  "But it may take time."

"She wants to return to boarding school in September."

"No."  Jesse sat up, moved by the protest that came so instinctively.
"That's the last thing she should do.  We've got to convince her not to
run."

Al cocked his head.  "From what, Jesse?"

Without warning the image of David Ventris filled her, mind and body.
It was as if he made a crack in her heart, unexpected as a fissure torn
out of the earth by a sudden quake.

Such unstable ground made a poor foundation for reason.  Jesse lay
back, determined to clear her mind for Al's hypnotic suggestions.  Stay
away, David Ventris.  I don't want you here.

"It'll make more sense when I've answered my own questions," she said.
"If you're ready, I'd like to continue the hypnosis."

She heard skepticism in Al's silence, but he only settled more
comfortably into his chair and rested his cane against the recliner.

"You remember how we began last time," he said.  "We'll do it the same
way tonight, but we'll try to slow the process down, give you a greater
sense of control over your memories.  This can't be rushed, Jesse."

"I understand.  Just one thing, Al-if I start to scream again, bring me
out.  I don't want to upset Megan."

"I don't intend to let it go that far.  We'll take this very easy."

Al was as good as his word.  He seemed to understand that Jesse needed
time to unwind after her talk with Megan, and his voice took on a
soothing cadence both distant and enfolding.  Step by step he took her
through the induction.  The relaxation came on so gradually that Jesse
wasn't aware of the precise moment when she crossed the threshold
between full consciousness and that other state where her body was
floating and her thoughts were nearly still.

"Jesse?  Do you feel ready to go back into your past?"

She knew she answered, though she felt more than heard her reply. There
was something strange about her own voice-not quite right, higher in
pitch and oddly accented.

And the man who spoke to her seemed to be very far away, as if she were
hearing him from the opposite end of a long, dark tunnel.  She found
herself in an open space outside the gaping entrance .  . . in a garden
with a cobbled path at her feet and growing things all around her.

The tunnel seemed gloomy and forbidding, and she had no desire to
reenter it.

The man in the tunnel began to talk about numbers, and counting off on
a calendar.  Jesse listened to it all with annoyed disinterest.  He was
keeping her from going where she wanted to go, and it was most vexing.
She longed to explore the garden and find where the path might lead
her.

Then he was asking her about her childhood.  Her mother.  He gave a
name she didn't recognize.  "Your mother, Joan," he said.  And that was
quite ridiculous.

Mother's name had always been Letitia.

There were more suggestions about remembering when she was eleven, but
it was increasingly difficult to concentrate on the voice in the
tunnel.

She wandered away from the dark and crumbling entrance, answering the
voice only when she must to keep him appeased.  She knew how to make
people believe what she wanted them to believe, do what she wanted them
to do.

The garden was lovely, filled with every manner of blossom and
flowering shrub, but she soon reached the end of it.

A path that began as cobblestones disintegrated into smaller and
smaller pebbles until it turned to earth, a vague tracing through tall
green grass.  Cultivated roses quickly gave way to wild ones, tangled
about the weathered white fence that tilted and finally disappeared
into a wood.  What had seemed a flat and protected space was a small
valley, surrounded on all sides by hills.

She knew these hills.  She loved them.  They were green, bare along the
tops but graced near the valleys with a skirt of trees.  Often, when
she couldn't bear the boredom and commonness and restrictions of home,
the dull and unimaginative company of her shabby-genteel parents, she
roamed these rocky peaks.  And he would come.

He was waiting for her now.  . .

"Jesse?  If you can hear me, raise your finger."  Her finger obeyed
without any command from her mind.  The voice went on with questions
that made very little sense, asking her to remember.

Asking how old she was, what she was seeing.  And what she was seeing
was not right.  Why did she feel herself as two people) Yet it was
true, and the half of her the voice spoke to was a stranger here.

No.  Not a stranger.  She touched herself, the pale long-sleeved
walking dress and the white gloves and the bonnet on her brown hair.
Familiar and yet unfamiliar.

Frightening and ordinary.  She stripped off a glove and looked at a
hand that should be tanned from the sun rather than pale, strong and
capable rather than soft and
delicate.  "Jesse," the voice called, sharp with warning.  It wouldn't
leave her alone, unless She turned inward.  Her other self was there,
the one called Jesse, and she felt as though she might swoon with the
overwhelming fear.  She was divided as cruelly as a broken heart, and
she didn't like what she saw from the corner of her inner sight.  Pain,
and loss, and things she didn't dare think about.

But only Jesse could make the voice leave them alone.

Only Jesse could unshackle them to keep the rendezvous in the hills.

"I will show you," she coaxed her silent partner.  "I'll take you, if
you make him give us time."

Jesse didn't want to let go.  Jesse was also afraid, and Jesse was
searching for something that could not be found in this garden or among
these hills.  But at last the man's voice grew quieter and quieter, and
she knew Jesse had done as she asked.

Free.  With the freedom came a kind of forgetfulness, and as she
started for the nearest hill she remembered the division in herself and
the tunnel and voice as no more than a dream.

She knew where to go.  She knew he would be waiting.

He had asked her to come to their special place, to say his goodbyes.

Her walking boots slipped on rocky ground, propelling her with
desperate haste.  He was the one person she could not sway with her
games and strategems.  She had begged him not to go to the war, but it
was all he could speak of since his father died.  That he was now
viscount in his own right could not influence him; his mother's
objections made no difference.  No one's opinion mattered when set
against his will to do as he pleased.

If she could only convince him to wait.  If she could only make him see
how much she needed him, how she could not live without him.  But such
talk made him laugh, and the laughter always came before he walked
away.

"David," she said, breathless with her exertions.  His name was a
charm, but it was as fleeting as a fairy's promise.  She would give
anything to bind him, keep him by her side forever.

Anything.

"Sophie.  You've come."

He was there, perched on a rock beside a tiny brook and twirling a fern
between his fingers.  He dropped the fern as she approached, and she
saw how he'd stripped the frond nearly bare.

"David," she repeated, and went into his arms.  He was so handsome in
his expensive coat and snug breeches and polished boots, the finest
gentleman in the Lake District.

His eyes were brilliant blue and his black hair fell over his eyes,
resisting the taming touch of her fingers.

He made her feel so alive, so daring, so privileged.  He let her
dismiss her parents and their modest and mediocre ambitions.  She
wanted so much more.  When she was with David, climbing the fells or
racing in his phaeton, she escaped into another world of excitement and
delight.  His mouth caught hers, firm and possessive.  She submitted
gladly.

When he kissed her she was a fine lady, not just the squire's daughter,
and she knew in her heart he would marry her and give her the luxury
and security and high estate she had dreamed of.

But his kiss now had another effect.  It emptied her mind of the
arguments she'd planned to use to make him stay, sent her blood rushing
like a waterfall.  He had so much power over her.  In his arms she
forgot everything but how much she loved him.

David's nimble fingers made short work of the ribbons of her bonnet and
sent it tumbling to the grass.  "My lovely Sophie," he murmured into
her hair.  "Do you know how much I want you?"

The words had some significance that eluded Sophie as he bent his head
to kiss her neck above the collar of her walking dress.  All she heard
was "want," and want
meant that he valued her, that she was important.  He was a warm and
teasing wind that made her wish to lie down and loosen her clothing to
let him nearer her heart.

He knew her thoughts.  He found the fastenings of her gown and worked
at them gently, never ceasing his kisses.  Heat kindled within her.  He
had done this before, reached under her bodice to caress her skin, and
his touches had given her delight.

But this time he didn't stop at her bodice.  This time she could feel
the afternoon breeze on bare skin at her shoulders, then at her back,
with only David's skin as covering.

New sensations coursed through her body.  She wanted oh, she wanted to
give herself to sensations and become lost in them.  Abandon herself to
pleasure.  Papa said pleasure was a sin and David Ventris was a devil
because he pursued it, that he was wild and useless and a bane to his
family and his title.  Always running from his duty, from all
restraint.

Restraint was what she hated, all the things she couldn't have.  She
and David could run away together.

"Lie with me, Sophie," he whispered.  "Let me love you."

Somehow they were in the grass, side by side, David's coat her pillow.
His hand had found its way to the tender, naked skin of her breast.

"Yes," he said.  His mouth replaced his hand, a more daring kiss than
she could have imagined.  She gasped and arched into him.  The hot
place inside her was ready to burst with a need she couldn't name.

Yet in the midst of the urgency and the heat was something that kept
itself apart, that could still question.  And that something-that
someone--pushed David's hands and mouth away and waited until his gaze
lifted to her face.

"You'll leave me," she said.  "I don't want you to go."

He cupped her face in his hands, kissed both her eyelids and smiled
sweetly enough to woo the angels from heaven.  "You know I'll be back.
If you give me everything, Boney's best can't touch me.  Your love will
make me invulnerable."  His eyes, his words were rich with emotion and
sincerity.  "Let me, Sophie.  Let me inside you."

It had never been possible to refuse him whatever he asked.  Surely
this would bind him to her as nothing else could.  She loved him, and
her heart and body became his willing accomplices.  Love was the center
of existence, and as he touched her and caressed her and covered her
with his body, they became one being.

Perfect.  Endless.  Never to be separated for all eternity.

Sophie crested on a wave that lifted her above the hills, so high that
she pierced the very sky itself.  And though the tunnel waited for her
there, summoning her, she was too lost in ecstasy to be afraid.

Not even as she rushed into the dark entrance and the voice returned.

"Jesse?"

She opened her eyes slowly.  At first the name meant nothing to her
except as an abstract concept, unimportant to the being she was.  She
saw a ceiling rather than sky, but that, too, meant little in the dream
world of happiness that wreathed her mind like a soft mist.

Her body hummed with pleasure; her lips were tender with his kisses.
She touched her mouth in wonder.

Real.  It had been real.  Even as she felt the recliner under her back
and breathed in the old-book scent of Al's study, she sensed that other
place around her, that other self waiting.  She clung to the joy,
untroubled by implications that might have shattered her bliss.

Al asked her if she was all right, and she gave some vague answer.  His
face was unreadable, but with her heightened awareness she knew his
concern as a grayness in a warm golden light.

"I couldn't reach you," he said.  "Jesse, you weren't answering my
questions.  It wasn't your childhood, was it?"

She closed her eyes.  "I need to be alone for a few minutes," she
said.  "I need .  ."  But Al didn't wait for her to complete her
request.  He got up and left the room, closing the door behind him.

The floating silence lasted no more than a minute before it was filled
by a new presence.  Jesse felt it come to her on that golden light,
take shape and form that she recognized with a sense beyond the five
she had always relied on.

"David," she murmured, and opened her eyes.

He stood beside the recliner, and his face was so dearly familiar that
she thought she'd slipped back into the dream.

"You called me," he said.  But he didn't hold out his arms, and his
blue eyes, so vivid in the dream, were almost wary.

Jesse rose from the recliner, her hands awkward at her sides, her
breath coming fast.  He was different from the dream-older, with deeper
lines around his mouth and eyes, and the worn uniform that imparted an
even greater strength to his lithe body.  Less laughter in his face,
more experience.  But Jesse was caught in the grip of desire she'd
never encountered except in that vision of other ness.

Desire.  A wanting so undeniable that she thought he must hear her mind
begging him to lie down with her on the floor as they'd lain in the
grass.  Feel him moving inside her, his hard muscle against her thighs
and belly and breast.

The veil of doubt lifted from his gaze.  "Jesse," he said, his voice
rough with hunger.  He came for her at last, pulled her into his arms.
She lifted her face, and his mouth, fierce and hot-blooded, met hers.

CHAPTER SIX

SHE WAS PLIANT and supple in David's arms, firm muscle and tension and
prickly pride yielding to passion.

The unspoken passion that invited him to take what only last night she
had so patently denied.

There was no denying this.  He kissed her, but not as he'd kissed
Sophie.  Not gently as he'd done before they were so un prosperously
wed, or under a cloud of fear or anger or guilt as on those rare times
when they came together after Elizabeth's death.

For she was not Sophie, this woman who held him with a fervency that
matched his own.  Matched, equaled, met openly, with lips and tongue
and body and heart.

He had no sense in this moment.  Only sensation.  He lifted her higher,
the stirring of his manhood pressed to her belly.

"Jesse," he sighed into her open mouth.  God, it would
be so easy to lay her down on the chaise longue behind her.  She'd
give herself willingly, thanks to whatever strange miracle had put the
desire and welcome in her eyes.

In all the days of the war he'd never resorted to taking a woman by
force.  There'd been willing women enough, camp followers in plenty. He
hadn't even considered celibacy those long years away from Sophie.

He'd been celibate now for nearly two centuries-two hundred years of
emptiness.

Simple desire he could have ignored.  Any other woman he might have
resisted.  But he wanted to plant himself in Jesse's body, as deep as
he could go, as soldiers did on the eve of battle or in the aftermath
of destruction.

The way he wanted Jesse now was stronger than any lust he could
remember, in life or death.

It was lust for life.  He told himself that even as he deepened the
kiss, felt Jesse blossom under him like a flower in the sun.  Jesse was
life.  That was all she was to him.

Why not pleasure himself where and when he could?

Why question Jesse's inexplicable change of heart?

Hadn't he been punished enough?

His hand moved from Jesse's waist to find her breast, and he walked her
one step back, and then another, until her legs bumped the chaise and
he could ease her down.

Firm hands lodged against his chest, halting his advance.  After a beat
of incomprehension he focused on Jesse's face.

Shock.  Disbelief.  Confusion.  Jesse stared at him in panic, every
trace of that impassioned invitation gone from her eyes.

"Let go of me," she said.

His shock was scarcely less than her own.  He compelled his arms to
release her by sheer force of will.  She scrambled across the chaise,
putting its bulk between them.

"You touched me," she said.  "I told you-not to touch me."

At least she didn't claim he'd come back without permission.

Unfulfilled desire pounded in David's veins.  Yes, by God, his veins
and his flesh and his manhood, his very substantial body that knew a
very material frustration.

He smiled to rein in his anger.  "You didn't want it, Jesse?  That's
not what your eyes were telling me."

Her hand moved to her face, as if she had to reassure herself that it
hadn't altered.  "What are you talking about?  I was .  . . dreaming. .
.

"Were you?"

Between one heartbeat and the next her dazed expression gained an edge,
panic and confusion replaced by grim resolve.  "How did you know what I
was dreaming?"  she demanded.

He hadn't known.  He'd heard her and returned and found her waiting.
Wanting.  "Was I in your dream, Jesse?"

"Yes.  And you know it.  Because" She braced herself on the back of the
chaise.  "Because it wasn't a dream.

The connection you were talking about.  The way I've been seeing you-"
She shook her head.  "Either you've taken over my thoughts, or
somewhere-sometime-you and I were-" Words failed her, and she leaned
more heavily on the chaise, fingers pressed into the soft brown
leather.

"There's nothing wrong with my mind.  There must be an explanation."

Her monologue was low and urgent, bent on convincing herself.  The
panic was still very close to the surface.

And he was the cause.

"Tell me what you're thinking, Jesse," he said.  "However things may
seem, I haven't done anything to your mind.  I don't have that power.
Help me understand what troubles you."

She looked up.  "You know," she said.  "You must
know.  Everything you did, what you've said since you came to me-" Her
mouth hardened.  "You said you'd forgotten your life.  But you knew we
had a connection."

"And I said you felt it as well."  He took a step closer.

"What happened just now is proof of that."

"But you were lying to me, weren't you?"  The chaise creaked with the
force of her grip.  "About why I was the one you came to.  You lied."

David remembered the shock when the French musket ball had ended his
life.  Jesse's accusation was like that ball, and with a sickening
sense of foreboding he wondered if she had discovered it all.

What he'd done.  What he was trying to do.  How he was deceiving her.

But as he watched her, it came to him that she was bluffing.  For once
her expressive face was still, and her eyes observed him with the sharp
concentration of a warrior facing his most cunning enemy, waiting for a
fatal slip.

No, by Boney's rotting corpse.  whatever she'd experienced, he hadn't
revealed the whole truth, or she couldn't have kissed him so wantonly.
That kiss had been genuine.

It was time to call her bluff.

"I'm not lying," he said slowly, "when I tell you that once, long ago,
we were lovers."  He sighed, all heartfelt regret and remorse.  "Yes, I
knew.  But I judged that it would be too much to tell you at first." He
rested his hand on the chaise, inches from hers.  "It was difficult to
hide it.  Difficult to be near you, and not .  . . act."

Her cheeks surged with hot color under the tan.  "Lovers," she echoed.
Accepting, however reluctantly-for how could she ignore what had just
passed between them?  "It was in England.  In a place with hills."

"You saw it, Jesse.  How?  what did you remember?"

"It was .  . . so clear.  You were younger than you are now.  You
hadn't become a soldier yet.  And I was different.  Her eyes narrowed.
"But I'm telling you things you already know.  Your memory--is a
traitor.  It gives me the barest glimpses and lets me be sure of only
one thing."  He dared to cover her hand with his.  "We meant something
to each other once.

You were dear to me in life.  That's why you have the power to save
me."

She was silent and looked away, but it was not the silence of
rejection.  The air itself was taut with unspoken feelings.  Jesse's
feelings, which she wasn't ready to share.

Or trust.

what she remembered, what she felt might just be enough.

"I know that we were happy together," he said.  "Ah, Jesse.  I can see
those hills, where we used to walk.  And the blue of the lakes below. I
can see you in a white gown and bonnet, as fair as summer.  Such
fragments come back to me-" "Such as my name?"  She pulled her hand
from beneath his.  "It was Sophie.  Oh God.  Sophie."

"I couldn't be sure of the name," he said quickly.  "Not enough to
trust what came to me when I saw you.  But I should have trusted your
good sense."  He bent his head, willing her to hear his sincerity.
"Forgive me."

She backed from the chaise.  "No.  You were right the first time.  I'm
not this Sophie.  She isn't me, no matter what happened in that other
place.  I'm Jesse Copeland.

Don't forget that, Captain Ventris."

How hard she fought-him, the unexplained circumstances that had allowed
her to recall some fragment of their past together, her own unnamed
fears.  David admired her for that.

Admiration had been no part of his shallow love for Sophie.  Only pity.
And anger.  And shame.

"I won't forget," he said.  The promise emerged with unwonted
harshness, and he fought to even his tone.  He couldn't afford to be
less than agreeable when he'd come so far with her.  "This isn't
England, and I'm no longer alive."

"Then you don't expect us to be-for things to be the way they were,"
she said.  Her skin was still flushed and she moved farther across the
room, as if mere physical space could keep her safe.  "What just
happened was a mistake.  I told you that I was searching for memories
of my own.  I was confused for a few minutes.  That's all."

Confused, yes, but not in a way David could make use of without the
greatest care.  For all her passion, she'd resist him tooth and nail if
he approached her again.  If he'd given in to his desire and taken her,
even in her brief acquiescence, she wouldn't have forgiven him.  He
would have lost the game before it began.

A dangerous game.  Jesse's body was as neat a trap as any his
otherworldly gaolers might set him.  It could make him forget that he
fought for his very existence.  For eternity itself.

If and when he seduced her, it would be to further his cause.  Or
because she wanted him badly enough to ask.

"Perhaps we were both confused," he said.

"Then the rules I set still stand.  Agreed?"

"If you agree to share what you remember," he said.

"It's very plain to me now.  Your memories will not only restore my
own, but I am convinced I can help you, Jesse.

If you'll let me."

Obviously that idea didn't appeal to her.  She glanced at the study
door.  "Not now.  My friend is waiting outside."

"Your friend?"

"Al.  The man who-made it possible for me to remember."

A man.  David noticed the sudden tension in his gut.

"Your lover?"

She looked startled and then piqued.  "No.  He's the best friend I have
in this town.  I trust him completely with everything but you."

David smiled wryly.  "Then you wish me gone.  Very well.  But I'll
return to claim what you promised."

Her flush suggested that she read his words in the way he intended. She
didn't realize just how bold an invitation she'd issued.  She, Jesse
Copeland, and not Sophie Johnston.

"I have a party to attend tonight.  After that-come to the hillside
behind my cabin.  We'll talk then."

He issued a brief military bow and then, on a whim, sidestepped the
chaise and seized Jesse's hand.  He lifted it to his lips and kissed
the air a half inch above her warm flesh.

"where the roses bloom, Jesse.  Don't forget."

She didn't pull her hand away this time, though her fingers were still
in his.  "Not likely," she said.  The dry hint of a smile played about
her mouth, and David felt a surge of satisfaction.  More than
that-exaltation, as if he'd just led a victorious charge in battle.

By Wellington's bloody beak, she liked him.  He'd make her like him so
well that she'd grant him whatever he asked, no matter what the past.

He willed himself to fade before the magic did.  Jesse strained to see
him long after he was no longer visible.

But he didn't leave.  He made himself little more than spirit, the
merest shadow in the corner of the room, and waited.

Jesse opened the study door and peered into a dim hallway.  "It's okay,
Al.  Can we talk?  I'd like to ask you a couple of questions about .  .
. what happened to me."

The man who entered was big-not quite thickset but by no means a
lightweight, with dark graying hair and beard.  He reminded David of
certain Spaniards he'd met during the war, but lacking their high
temper and pride.

This man carried himself quietly, like a bear walking on eggshells.

It was then David noticed that he leaned on a cane, and the sleeve of
one arm was empty from the elbow down.  Wounds a man might come by in
war.  David studied him with greater interest.

Al looked about the room, his stolid face thoughtful.

"Are you feeling better, Jesse?"

She cast her own final glance toward the ceiling and sat down on the
edge of the chaise.  "I had a chance to think about what I experienced.
It was more of what happened before, Al.  Not my childhood, but
something else."

"I told you that I couldn't reach you this time," Al said.  "You were
under very deep."

"I lost track of your voice after the beginning," she admitted.  "I
didn't-talk about what I was doing?"

"No.  But it didn't seem to be a bad experience, so I decided to let it
continue.  Was I right?"

Jesse sagged in obvious relief and hugged herself.  "Yes.

The vision I had wasn't like the first one.  It was all good."

"But you don't look happy."  Al sat down opposite Jesse, his manner
that of a concerned physician.  "What disturbed you about it?"

"It wasn't my life I was living in the vision.  It wasn't even me.
Not-who I am now."

"I see."  He hesitated.  "Have you heard of past life regression?"

She laughed hoarsely.  "I've not only heard of it.  That's exactly what
I think happened.  I was in some other life.

In another country and another century."

Al's impassivity faltered.  He began to rise, caught himself and
settled down again.  "Damn," he said, the word almost uninflected.  "I
didn't intend for this to happen.  If I hadn't begun to suspect, I'd
have discounted it as fantasy."

"Reincarnation, you mean."  Jesse leaned forward and briefly touched
Al's knee.  "Don't worry.  You're not the only one who's questioning
everything you ever believed."

He stared at his knee where her hand had been.  "There is no proof that
reincarnation exists.  Any number of other explanations might account
for your perceptions."

"It's true that it isn't what I expected, but there are reasons this
makes a weird kind of sense, happening now."  She looked up, directly
to the place where David watched, but her eyes revealed no suspicion of
his presence.  "Not because of Gary, but .  . . other things I've .

"You don't have to explain."  Discomfort charged the silence between
them before Al spoke again.  "I don't think it's wise to continue,
Jesse."

"Yes.  I agree."

"And your hopes of revisiting your childhood?"

"I'll have to find another way.  I'm not giving up on the business with
Gary.  Not ever."

Al gripped the head of his cane.  Though he showed so little emotion,
the force of his blunt fingers gave him away.  "What are you planning
to do?"

"I don't know.  Maybe it's time for me to .  . . talk to him."

David wondered who this Gary might be.  It was evident how little Jesse
relished that prospect of speaking to him.

Al leaned forward.  His cane scraped against the hardwood floor, a
muted sound of protest.

"Don't trust him," he said softly.

"You see?"  She met his gaze.  "Even you know there's something wrong
about him."

"Only observation, Jesse.  He's an ambitious man, and ambitious men can
be .  . . dangerous."

"I know."  Jesse's jaw took on that set look, and she stood.  "Thanks
for your help."  She unbent enough to smile, as if Al were the one in
need of reassurance.

"What we've done here .  . . it hasn't been useless.

Maybe someday I'll be able to explain."

"I'd like that, Jesse."  He used the cane to lever himself to his feet.
"About Megan-" "I haven't forgotten.  I promise I'll do what I can."
The awkwardness remained as she went to the door.  "Good night."

"Enjoy your party," Al said.  But Jesse had already left.

David lingered in the room; Al leaned on his desk with the look of a
man newly defeated.

A man who'd been a soldier knew about defeat.  Al had lost much in
whatever war he'd fought, though he'd kept his life.  David had seen
soldiers not quite so fortunate pass through limbo.  Pass through and
move on.  If there were others like David, condemned to linger between
life and death, they existed in their own private hells.

Al was a man who kept within walls of his own choosing.  David was in
no doubt that the man cared about Jesse much more than he revealed. But
Al wasn't likely to interfere with David's plans for her.  Her speech
with Al, even her touches, had not been of the intimate kind.

Fortunate for Al.  The mere thought that another man might hold Jesse's
heart heated David's unearthly blood.

A natural enough reaction, given the circumstances.  At least he
wouldn't be forced to test his ability to haunt anyone but Jesse.

As for this talk of one named Gary-it was evident that Jesse's problems
had something to do with that name.  And she'd mentioned her childhood
in almost the same breath.

Jesse's childhood.  David knew nothing of it, couldn't guess how it
differed from Sophie's.  Sophie had been anxious to escape her
stifling, proper, and unambitious parents.  But Sophie's only escape
had been through marriage to David, and even that hadn't been enough.

Any assumptions about Jesse that David based on his knowledge of Sophie
were of little use to him now.  The only way to learn more was to stay
at Jesse's side.  A party might uncover another side of her.  Like the
kiss.

He needn't bother to reveal his presence.  He'd promised to go when she
asked, but there'd be no harm in his merely observing her public
actions.  And he found himself eager to know what troubled her.

As if he really could help her.  As if he wanted to.

"Be careful, Jesse," Al muttered.  David came out of his thoughts as
the big man went to the door.  David slipped out behind him.

Never fear, David silently told his fellow soldier.  I'll look after
her.  She means more to me than you can possibly imagine.

**** THE PARTY WAS already in full swing by the time Jesse arrived.

She had put on a pair of nice cotton pants less casual than her usual
jeans, and a washed silk blouse and matching scarf she'd bought once in
Redding on a whim.

Her hair was up, and she'd applied a translucent dusting of blush and a
touch of lipstick.  The small, routine motions of getting ready had
helped keep her most recent memories at bay, though her hands had
trembled pinning her hair and she'd had to redo the lipstick twice. The
face she met in the mirror was a stranger's.

Thinking was the danger.  The more she thought about what had happened
in Al's study, what she'd come to understand, the more impossible it
seemed.  And the more inevitable.

She and David Ventris had been lovers in a previous life.  There lay
the perfect explanation for her feelings, her desire, the hot rush of
physical sensation when he touched her.

And kissed her.  Good Lord, she had forgotten herself in that kiss.
She'd wanted him to make love to her.  She could claim that it was only
an extension of the dream-vision, a memory of that previous life, but
she'd be lying to herself.  It was more than that.

She was not Sophie.  She was Jesse Copeland, and there'd been enough of
Jesse guiding her will to know exactly what she was doing before she'd
recovered the good sense to break away.  She was too damned attracted
to him, drawn to him, pulled as much by her own emotions as any echo of
a previous life.

She couldn't allow him to pierce her defenses that way again.  It
shouldn't be so difficult to manage, as long as she remembered he was a
ghost.  You couldn't date a ghost, desire a ghost, need a ghost.  . .

She quickened her stride and marched up the stairs and onto the
recreation deck of Blue Rock Lodge.  Distraction
was what she needed.  She'd never been one for parties, but there was
a kind of comfort in the cheerful bustle of people celebrating a happy
event.  Paper lanterns had been strung along the posts and trees edging
the platform, and the soft liquid tones of rhythm and blues played on
the Lodge's piped stereo system.

Jesse recognized a few of the other Lodge employees, several current
guests and a number of people from town.  She scanned the group
clustered along the free-stan ding bar that had been set up close to
the central lodge.  Gauthier, the kayak instructor, downed a beer as he
laughed with John Whitehorse, who ran the hardware store in Manzanita.
Mr.  Meredith, co-owner of the Lodge, was dancing with a much younger
female guest.

It was typical that Kim could throw such a large party together so
quickly and without any fanfare.  She was an extrovert and immensely
popular with the guests at the Lodge, generous with her attention.  She
was also a damned good search and rescue leader.

Very likely Kim could even handle a reincarnated lover.  Jesse caught
herself on the edge of a lunatic laugh and walked the perimeter of the
deck, taking note of every person she passed.  It was several moments
before she realized what she was doing, and why.

There was no reason Gary would be at Kim's party.

Even if he were, Jesse'd be damned before she'd let him scare her away.
Hadn't she told Al, in all her false bravado, that she intended to talk
to him?  But she didn't know what she would do when she saw him again,
and the small hairs at the nape of her neck continued to prickle at
every overheard fragment of small talk and laughter that floated across
the pool.

Mr.  and Mrs.  Weber, the elderly couple Jesse had led on several hikes
during the past week, beckoned her to join their small gathering. Jesse
did so with silent gratitude.

She smiled and took Mr.  Weber's offered arm.

"Here's our girl.  And don't you look lovely this evening."  Mr.  Weber
said.  He beamed at his wife and the middle-aged couple beside them.
"Mabel and I offered to adopt this young lady, but I think she's
holding out for a handsome young man instead.  Someone who can keep up
with her on a vertical climb."  He patted Jesse's hand.

"Kim is mighty nice to invite all of us to her party.  Have you met the
lucky groom?"

"Not yet," Jesse said.  "I think he was a guest at the Lodge before I
began working here."

"Well, I must say this place does romantic things to a body."  Mr.
Weber released Jesse's hand and looped an arm around his wife's waist.
"Something in the mountain air.  I'm surprised no one's snapped you up
yet, Jesse."

"Don't listen to him," Mrs.  Weber said, rolling her eyes.  "Good men
don't grow on trees or pop up out of thin air.  Took work to grab this
one."  She winked.  "You find someone like my Ossie, you do the
snapping."

Mr.  Weber snorted and pulled his wife close for a peck on the cheek.
Jesse stared at the redwood deck at her feet.

Men popping out of thin air.  No, they weren't common.  And she didn't
even know if David Ventris qualified as "good."

She glanced skyward.  In less than an hour it would be dark, and when
she went back to the cabin he'd be waiting for her.

Waiting with that seductive half smile and reckless edge that made an
unexpected and totally outrageous kiss seem natural.

And he said he wanted to help her.

"I don't know," Mr.  Weber said.  "Jesse has that look on her face, eh,
Mabel?  The look of a woman in love."

"Don't tease her so, Ossie.  If you had any sense, you'd-" "Who's in
love?"  Kim materialized beside them, her arm tucked through the elbow
of a tall, athletic blond man who grinned at everyone with impartial
goodwill.

"Jesse!  I'm glad you could make it."  She acknowledged the older
couples with a smile and turned back to Jesse.

"I've been anxious to introduce you to Eric.  Here he is.

Isn't he to die for?"

Something in Kim's choice of words made Jesse's stomach clench.  She
hid the reaction and offered her hand to Kim's fiance'.

"Good to meet you, Eric," she said.  "I understand you met Kim before I
came to work here."

"Hello, Jesse," he said.  He cast a mock-wary glance at Kim.  "Do me a
favor and don't ask how we met."

"Ha," Kim said.  "He was in my beginner's kayaking group.  He knocked
the kayak over first time we went out.  Everyone was drenched."  She
laughed at Eric's grimace.

"Love at first capsize."

The way she and Eric gazed at each other convinced Jesse it was love,
sure enough.  The same love that bound Mr.  and Mrs.  Weber together so
strongly after so many years.

All at once it seemed as though Jesse saw couples everywhere.

She'd never envied them before, or yearned for some elusive happiness
beyond her hard-won independence and self-reliance.

There was no earthly reason to start now.  "I'm happy for both of you,"
she said.  "Will you be staying in Manzanita?"

"It looks as though we'll be moving south.  Eric's law firm is in the
Bay Area.  Not that we don't plan to come up often.  And I hope you'll
be able to come to our wedding in San Francisco, Jesse."  Kim actually
blushed.

"This time you'll get a real invitation.  Eric won't let me forget."

General laughter followed, and Jesse joined in.  It was good to see Kim
happy.  She deserved it.  And Jesse realized she'd miss Kim's
companionship at the Lodge and on rescue missions.

But Jesse was used to being alone.  Alone was simple, and you could
still help people without getting tangled up in sticky, painful
emotions.

"Well, we'd better make the rounds," Kim said.  "Not everyone's met the
lucky guy yet."

"Including me," a new feminine voice commented.

"where've you been keeping him?"

Marie Hudson sauntered up to the group, gorgeous and overdressed in a
black sheath that hugged her model's figure.  She smiled at Kim and
turned the weight of her attention on Eric.  "You weren't kidding when
you said he was gorgeous.  So how come we haven't seen him until
now?"

"He hasn't been up much since last year," Kim said.

"His job in San Francisco keeps him pretty busy-" "Oh, San Francisco. I
love that city."  Marie rattled on about various upscale boutiques and
restaurants while the other couples drifted away.  Jesse found herself
watching Marie with a strange fascination.

She didn't know Marie well, and had never felt any desire to further
the acquaintance.  Like Kim, Marie had come to town as an adult, only a
couple of years before Jesse's return.  Though she and Kim were
friends, they seemed to have little in common.  Marie was the town
flirt, with tastes that seemed a bit too grand for Manzanita.  Her
clothes were big city.  Even her restaurant was a small oasis of
trendiness, nouvelle California cuisine in an ocean of burgers and
steak.

Maybe Marie had been running from something.  Or maybe she thought she
could remake Manzanita into a colony for displaced yuppies.  Jesse saw
no indication that Marie had the persistence or self-sacrifice
necessary to keep a restaurant in business.  She wanted too much.

At the moment Marie was loading it on with Eric, but Jesse was very
much aware of the way the woman's gaze flicked toward her again and
again.  She was the kind who relished gossip, and Jesse knew people
were talking about Gary's return and his past with Jesse.  Maybe Kim,
without understan ding the significance of the incident, had told Marie
how Jesse had reacted when she'd seen Gary at Bobby Moran's funeral.

Kim wouldn't spread that around, but Marie would.

She finally released Eric from her clutches and turned to Jesse with a
tight little smile.

"How are you, Jesse?  Long time no see.  I've heard so much about you
lately."

Out of the corner of her eye Jesse saw Kim and Eric swept away on a
new tide of well-wishers.  She and Marie were alone, and Marie's
expression held more than a hint of sly calculation.

"I've seen your new restaurant," Jesse said, refusing to rise to
Marie's unsubtle bait.  "I haven't been able to drop in yet.  Is it
going well?"

"Beautifully.  I do hope you'll come and try our cuisine.

It's quite a change for this town.  I'm sure you didn't get much in the
way of decent food in-what was it?  Africa?

South America?"

"In some of those places, any food is good food."

Marie made a delicate face.  "Oh, have I offended you?

I am sorry.  We each have our sensitive areas, don't we?"

All it would take to burst Marie's bubble was an ambiguously
less-than-worshipful comment about her appearance, but Jesse wasn't
about to sink that low.  And witty comebacks were not in her
repertoire.

"Kim told me you're still feeling badly over that boy's death last
week," Marie said.  Her scarlet mouth drooped in spurious sympathy.
"You really shouldn't take things so seriously.  It's best to know when
to let things go, or sooner or later you pay the consequences."

There was an uncomfortably personal note in Marie's tone, and Jesse'd
had enough.  "It's been nice talking to you, Marie, but I see a friend
over there I haven't had a chance to visit with yet, and-" "Speaking of
friends," Marie said, taking her arm,

"I

have one I'd really like you to meet."

"Maybe some other time."

"But I insist- Oh, here he is."

The shiver at the back of her neck told Jesse who had arrived even
before she turned to follow Marie's eager gaze.

Gary.  He glided to Marie's side with the smooth ease of a venomous
snake and looked directly into Jesse's eyes.

"Jesse," he said softly.  "I'd been hoping to find you.

To see how you were .  . after all these years."

Sickness blossomed in Jesse's stomach, and the once solid deck bucked
under her feet.  She'd been anticipating this, knew it had to come
sooner or later.  She'd thought she was strong enough.

Don't lose it, she begged herself.  Not now.

But though she kept her feet and met Gary's stare, she couldn't bring
herself to speak.  Her throat had closed up, choked with memories just
beginning to resurface.

And hatred.  The burning, virulent hatred was still within her, like
some noxious black smoke, just as it'd been at Bobby's funeral.

"I know this is rather unexpected," Gary went on.  "I saw you at the
funeral the other day, but it didn't seem the right time .  . ."  He
trailed off, assuming a mask of hopeful concern.  "Jesse, I've never
forgotten you.  Or your mother."

Oh, God.  Jesse felt dizzy and realized her lungs were void of air. She
had to say something, some response"I heard about your mother," Marie
said.  "What a sad way to lose someone.  It must have been difficult
for you to come back to town-after everything that happened."

Jesse swung on Marie.  "Don't you talk about her," she snapped.  "You
don't know a damned thing."

Marie flinched and hung on Gary's arm.  He detached himself with a
sigh.  "She's right, Marie.  You don't know.

I was there when they pulled poor Joan out of the river."

He held Jesse's gaze.  "Why don't you get yourself a drink, Marie.
Jesse and I have some catching up to do."

Marie didn't want to go, that was clear.  But she made a beeline for
the bar, resentment in her stiff, high-heeled stride.

A faintly derisive smile lifted the corner of Gary's mouth.  "Marie
isn't as subtle as she likes to think she is, but she does have her
assets."  He looked Jesse over with a connoisseur's appraisal.  "You've
grown up to be quite lovely, Jesse.  Very much like your mother."

His very mildness was filled with menace and contempt.  In Gary's eyes
was all the proof she sought, evidence of crimes buried like
so many ancient bones.  The metaphor was strikingly apt.  Only one
person in the world could dig up those bones.  And, by God, she was
going to do it.

"You never loved her," Jesse said hoarsely.

He gave a good approximation of wounded startlement.  "What makes you
believe that?  You were too young to .  . completely understand what
goes on between a man and a woman."

Innuendo shaded his words.  A game, that was what it was to him. Scenes
like the one in her recent dream flashed in Jesse's mind: episodes of
nasty verbal sparring with her mother.  And with her.  Now it had a new
overtone that made the gorge rise in her throat.

"You know," Gary said,

"I often thought of returning to Manzanita .  . once you'd grown up and
enough time had passed.  I know about the hospital.  It did my heart
good to hear you'd come through just fine."

His heart.  He spoke as if he actually had one.  "You didn't care what
happened to me."

"You're wrong.  I cared very much.  I made sure to keep track of
everything that happened .  . . after you left us."

She heard the threat in his voice.  It wasn't her imagination.

There was something he wanted from her; he had engineered this meeting
for his own purposes.  Why?  Had he come to Manzanita for more than his
political campaign?

Where was the clue she was missing?

She felt as if she walked in a dream far less real than her visions of
happiness with David Ventris in some other country, some other age.

David.  She tried to picture him with her now, watching over her like
the guardian angel he definitely wasn't.

He'd offered once to haunt her enemies.  He'd agreed to come when she
called.  But she was not a coward.  Not a child.  She didn't need David
Ventris.

"You never knew me," she said.  "Not then, and not now."

"And you underestimate me.  I can see you're not so different from
Joan.  She was very .  . . sensitive."  Gary shook his head.  "She had
a serious problem, Jesse.  You suffered from it as much as she did."

How easily he turned things around.  Her knuckles felt close to
cracking with the strain of holding back.  If only she could strike out
and wipe that smug confidence from his handsome face.

"She never did have much time for you, did she?"  he asked.  "Poor,
neglected child."

Now he was mocking Jesse outright.  He'd taken all Joan's time once
he'd come into her life.  Demanded it.

Controlled her as if she were a puppet.

"You ruined her life," Jesse said.  "You tormented her, made her worse
than she'd ever been."

He sighed.  "Children do misinterpret what they don't understand."

"I understood enough.  I heard you fighting."

His mock-indolent demeanor vanished in a heartbeat.

"What did you hear, Jesse?"

"Enough to know what you are."  Recklessness took her, erasing the
fear.  She replayed the dream, piecing together the fragments of
conversation.  "She stood up to you, and you threatened her.  She was
afraid what you would do if-" "If what?"  Suddenly he was only inches
away, his hands on her arms, his face too close.  "What did she say
about me?  What dirty little lies did she tell you?"

His grip was like the bite of a rattlesnake, pumping poison into her
blood.  He had the grotesque stare of a madman whose mask of sanity had
shattered.

"What did she say?"  he snarled, teeth bared.  He shook her, hard.
"Answer me!"

He was afraid.  Gary Emerson was afraid .  . . of her, of something
she'd said or implied.  So afraid that he'd forgotten who and where he
was.

Her instincts had been right.  But his touch paralyzed her, and the
accusations she wanted to shout were trapped in the unreasoning terror
that reduced her to
that eleven-year-old child, incapable of fighting back.  Only hatred
made the fear go away.  She gathered up the splinters of it and made it
whole again.  She imagined it as a hammer, breaking his hold, smashing
his bones.

"Let go of me," she said.

An unnatural stillness surrounded them like an airless bubble.  Curious
faces were turned in their direction.

Gary jerked and released her, as if her imaginary hammer had struck.

But it was no longer Gary who held her attention.  The moment he let
her go she felt the other presence, glimpsed the unmistakable vision of
a second man beside her.  A man in an antique uniform with a long
curved sword in his hand, facing Gary as he would face a deadly
enemy.

CHAPTER SEVEN

GHOSTS, DAVID THOUGHt, ought to be immune to shock.  Surely there was
no greater blow than death and realizing that one was condemned to
perpetual limbo.

It was now very obvious to him how badly he'd underestimated the
obstacles set in his path to salvation.  One of those obstacles stood
before him: alive with menace and devastatingly familiar to David's
arcane and ghostly perception.

Avery.  His brother.  Avery was here, in a body older and taller-a
shell that had disguised his true identity until this moment.

Avery, reborn.  His eyes were the same.  Eyes that fixed on Jesse in
open threat as he released her and clenched his fists at his sides. His
handsome face, twisted with violence, underwent a rapid transformation,
becoming calm and cold and unmarked by his brief and brutal
rage.  He smoothed his tie and smiled at her.  "I see that we have a
great deal to discuss," he said to Jesse, as if they'd been holding an
ordinary conversation.

God.  David tightened his grip on his saber before it fell from his
hand.  Like some grotesque farcical play endlessly repeating itself,
they were all here together.  Again.

Avery and not Avery.  Sophie and not Sophie.  He alone was the same.

"You may have heard that I'm running for state assembly," the man
called Gary went on, his voice deeper than Avery's had been.  "We've
both come a long way, haven't we?  It would be most unfortunate if
trouble came of any misunderstan dings between us."

The threat was still there, indisputable.  Jesse held his gaze,
outwardly calm, but David felt her hidden turmoil-her rage, her
dread-intermingled with his own, inseparable.

How could it be otherwise?  His emotions were as tangled and piercing
as a thicket of thorns.  He had never found or confronted Avery in the
years following Sophie's death.

Sophie's murder, for that was what it had been.  David had no doubts
even before his own death at Waterloo.  And after, in limbo, he had
been as certain of Avery's crime as he'd been of Sophie's hatred in the
last minutes of her life.

After Sophie's death Avery had disappeared.  Nothing was resolved.
Nothing finished.

And this was Jesse's enemy.  She knew him as Gary, and she hated him as
Gary-hated and feared him for reasons David did not yet recognize.

But it went so much further than the events of this life, this ugly
confrontation to which David was covert witness.

The pattern played out, inevitable as death itself.

Only this time David was with her, not on some distant battlefield
facing the wrong foe.

The impact of Avery's presence was too overwhelming to absorb here and
now.  David was shaken to his jeopardized soul, as immobilized as the
woman at his side.  And he knew what Avery was capable of.  He knew.

He had to get Jesse away.  He hadn't let her see him, but he sensed
that she felt his presence.  To distract her with his earthly form
would only prolong her agony.

But if he could reach her another way.

Jesse.  He formed the word in his mind, project it to hers.  Jesse.
Listen to me.  I'm with you.

She started, though she kept her gaze on her enemy.

Don't be afraid, he said.  Go, Jesse.  Now.

He saw the response in her body, an aborted motion trapped between
defiance and the desire to obey.  Her lips formed the shape of refusal,
but she remembered to whom she would speak.

A ghost that her enemy could not see.

"Perhaps we should find a more private place to talk, Jesse," Gary
said.  "I've been by the old resort.  A real pity no one ever did
anything with it-but it may serve our purpose.  I think that you and I
need to come to an understan ding."

"I'm not going anywhere with you," Jesse said in a rasp.  "Never."

"Maybe you'd prefer the river.  I hear there's a nice ledge up
where-what was the poor boy's name?-oh, yes, Bobby.  The place where
poor Bobby died."

A hot, cruel lance of pain arced out from Jesse, catching David like a
blow.  Without further thought he sheathed his sword and closed the
space between himself and the man who'd been his brother.

He didn't know if what he planned would work.  He hadn't tried to reach
any other mortal on this plane.  For all his talk of haunting, his
limits remained untested.

"Do you hear me?"  he hissed, his face inches from Gary's.  "Do you
feel me here, you blackguard?"

Jesse made an inarticulate sound.  Gary blinked.  "What did you say?"
he demanded of Jesse.

"Leave her alone, Av-" David caught himself before he spoke his
brother's name.  Gary wouldn't recognize it, and Jesse would question
later.  "Bugger off, d'you understand?

Leave the lady alone, or I'll make your life
hell."  Gary blew out his breath in a startled puff and took a step
backward.  He waved his hand in front of his eyes.  It passed through
David with no effect.

David seized the lapels of Gary's coat in his fists.  Without solidity
he couldn't move Gary, but it wasn't necessary.  He saw the sudden,
wild confusion in Gary's brown eyes.

"How does it feel to be on the other end, you bastard?"  he whispered
in Gary's ear.  "I'm here this time.

My name is David Ventris, and I know who you are."

With an awkward lurch Gary broke free.  He glanced around and wiped the
back of his hand across his mouth.

"I'll .  . . see you later," he said to Jesse.  He turned to retreat,
and David let him go.  It was Jesse who needed his attention now.

She stared after Gary far too long.  "I wasn't alone,"

she said.

"No," David said.  "I know he is your enemy, Jesse.

We must leave this place."

She surveyed the groups of merrymakers ranged about the wooden terrace.
"Gary saw you."

"Not quite.  Nor can anyone else.  But we must go."

"Just .  . . stay out of sight.  Please."  She started across the
terrace, her walk a bit unsteady, and spoke with the dark-haired woman
who'd come to her cottage the previous night.  She made her farewells
to a few others, constantly watching for the man who'd fled.  David
kept pace with her, silent and imperceptible.  He knew that Gary had
gone.

But not forever.  That was the grand joke of it.  There was no doubt in
David's mind that Avery would return.

And David had to know why.

Jesse descended broad wooden steps to a cool path that wound its way
among the trees and past several small log cottages to a quiet area
some distance from the noise of the party.

"David?"

"I'm here."  He materialized, holding himself midway between spectral
and solid.  "Are you well?"

"Yes."  She blew a loose strand of blond hair from her forehead and
closed her eyes.  "I didn't .  . . expect you to come.  Thank you."

Her gratitude was stiff and grudging, but David felt a fierce pleasure
in hearing the words.  In knowing he'd been able to help her, when
before" Who is he, Jesse?"  he asked.  "Why do you fear him?"

What is he to you in this life?

She looked away.  "We shouldn't stay here.  Someone might hear me
talking to thin air and decide I'm crazy again."  With a quick glance
right and left, she walked away from the stone-lined path and into the
woods beyond the buildings.  Here the sun's waning light barely
penetrated, but Jesse was certain of her course.

As they moved deeper among the pines and undergrowth, David let himself
become more substantial.  The dusty smell of fallen pine needles and
bark and earth filled his nostrils.  A bird called sharply overhead.

Jesse came to a stop beside a stream.  The clear water tumbled over
rocks and fallen branches, dark green and brown with the reflection of
trees above.  Only the faintest hint of music reached them, weaving in
and out of the stillness.

With a sigh Jesse sank to a crouch on the bank.  She leaned forward to
plunge her hands in the current, laving them as if to scrub something
unclean from her skin.

"Are you going to say I called you again without meaning to?"  she
asked.  "Is that why you came to my rescue?"

Her strained cynicism didn't deceive him.  The confrontation with Avery
had left her badly unsettled.

As it had David.

"I could hardly ignore a lady in distress," he said.  "But I was with
you all along.  I confess to being very curious about your party."

"Then you didn't keep your word."  But she spoke with oddly little
heat.  "What made you decide I needed
help?"  He knelt beside her.  "I have eyes .  of a sort.  He was
threatening you, was he not?"

Her fingers glistened with drops of water as she withdrew them from the
stream.  "What did you do to scare him off?  You said he didn't see
you."

"But he felt me.  It seems I have some ability to make my presence
known even to those who can't see me.  A ghost must be good for
something."  He tilted his head to better observe her face.  "You
didn't answer my question, Jesse.  Who is he to you, and why is he your
enemy?"

"It doesn't matter.  I'm supposed to be helping you, remember?"

"And I offered my friendship.  Is that so difficult to understand, when
once we cared for each other?"

"I don't .  . ."  But she didn't finish the sentence, or raise a
barricade of denials against his quiet siege.

"You did say I'd be useful if I could haunt someone upon your command,"
he said.  "Have I not done so?"

A smile brushed the corner of her mouth.  "The look on Gary's face-"
She sobered again almost instantly.

"No.  You can't help me with this."

"Because I'm not a real man?"  He leaned closer to her.

"I can be real enough.  Haven't I proven that to you, Jesse?"

The kiss they'd shared in Al's study came to life again, a breath of
passion to warm the cool evening air.  Jesse averted her face, but her
lips parted on a soft gasp and her lashes hooded the acknowledgment in
her eyes.

He badly wanted to turn her face to his, take her lips, hold her supple
woman's body and feel the pulse of her desire.  She would respond, in
spite of her resistance.  She couldn't help herself.

He could.  He must control every moment of their time together, the
relationship being woven between them like a fragile spider's web.

An apt comparison.  But he was not the spider out to make Jesse his
prey.  Avery was the true villain.  Wasn't his very presence here proof
of that?  Hadn't Avery's greed and jealousy led him to commit the evil
that had somehow crossed into yet another lifetime?

That evil must be stopped, or all David's plans and hopes were at an
end.

He looked into Jesse's eyes.  "Confide in me, Jesse," he murmured.
"Trust me."

Her head bowed low over the water, more strands of hair coming loose to
veil her face from him.  "I .  . . told you I'd lost part of my
memory," she said slowly.  "Those memories involve Gary.  Gary Emerson.
I knew him when I was a child.  He was my mother's-" She seemed to
choke and covered her mouth with her hands.  "My mother's lover.  And I
believe he had something to do with her death."

A bitter chill gripped David's throat like a strangler's garrote.
"How?"

"Until very recentlyl I barely remembered anything about him.  But then
he came back to Manzanita, and I-" She gathered her legs under her and
rose.  She went to the nearest tree and embraced the rough trunk turned
for solace to an inanimate object rather than the man at her side.

David wrapped his arms around his ribs.  "Then this is what has
troubled you.  When did he arrive?"

"Two days ago.  At a funeral for a .  . . local boy."

Two days.  And two days ago Jesse had called David's name as she slept.
Called him and let him return to seek redemption.

"How long had it been since you last knew him, Jesse?"  he asked.

"Seventeen years."  She pressed her cheek to the wood.

"I was only eleven when my mother died.  She fell in the river.  Gary
wasn't anywhere near her at the time.  He had the perfect alibi.  But I
know.  I know that somehow he was responsible, even though I-" Again
she broke off, swallowed, closed her eyes.  "At my mother's funeral, I
had a kind of breakdown.  I attacked Gary.  They had to
sedate me, and I was in a hospital for months.  That was when the
memories got confused, until finally they weren't real anymore."

"But you remember now."

"I can feel it in here."  She drew back from the tree and thumped her
fist over her heart-"that he did something terrible.  But I have no way
of proving it.  I thought if I could make the memories come clear, I
could find the proof.  But no matter how hard I try, I can't find it.

I can't find it."

"He did something terrible."  Had her memories of her past life
intermingled with her troubles in this?  David moved up behind her
carefully, hands at his sides.  "I understand your pain, Jesse.  More
than you can imagine."

"Not my pain.  My mother's."  Her fingers hooked into the ragged bark,
tore off a loose chip, crushed it in a white-knuckled grip.  "My mother
drank," she said.

"After my father left us, she drank.  Often.  She didn't have a good
reputation in town.  The resort wasn't doing very well when Gary came.
He needed a place to stay.  He said he'd help her fix up the resort."
Her words became a disjointed recitation, flat and icy.  "Everyone in
town liked him.  He always knew how to make people like him.

They thought he was too good for my mother."

"But you didn't."

"No."  She let the crumbling bark fall from her hand.

"He treated her badly.  The way he talked to her, his contempt-I hated
him for that."

"And he mistreated you as well?"

"No.  Not like Mom.  He pretended to ignore me, most of the time.  But
I always knew he despised me, whatever he told other people."

So she had seen through him-as Sophie had seen through Avery.  But
David hadn't listened then.  Hadn't believed.

"There was nothing I could do to make my mother see what he was," Jesse
said.  "She thought she loved him.

She wouldn't listen.  And then it was too late."

David threw caution to the winds and touched her rigid back, laid his
palm against her warmth and felt her breath shudder out in a long
rush.

She could have evaded him with a sideways step.  Instead her weight
settled on his hand.  Accepting.  Needing his comfort.

"If you were a child," he said, "you couldn't be responsible for your
mother's choices.  You can't blame yourself."

She shook her head, and in that emphatic gesture David recognized his
mistake.  His argument wouldn't wash with Jesse Copeland.  He'd known
her only two days, and yet he had touched her soul.

If Jesse believed in anything, it was responsibility.  She would assume
it even when it wasn't her burden to bear.

So unlike David Ventris, who'd accepted no limits to his will, his
pleasure, his freedom.

Perhaps Jesse could feel what he was through his very touch, as he felt
her.  But though his most powerful instincts demanded that he remove
his hand, put distance between them again, he defied those instincts.
For her sake.

He cleared his throat harshly.  "What if you do learn he had a role in
your mother's death?"

Her fist came down on the tree trunk.  "All I know is that he has to be
stopped before he hurts someone else."

What was it she'd said on the hillside last night?  "I believe that
people pay for what they do.  If there's any justice, evil is
punished."

If Avery had suffered punishment for his crimes, David had never
learned.  But Avery hadn't been condemned to limbo after death.  He'd
been reborn, granted a second chance that he'd squandered.

"He was warning you at the party," David said.

"Threatening you in some way."

"Because he is guilty.  He knows I can see it, even if no one else can.
It was as if he were testing me."

David slid his hand to her shoulder.  "But if you have
no proof-" "He's running for state assembly.  Even a hint of scandal
or wrongdoing could hurt his prospects."

State assembly.  Some high political office, no doubt.

This was America, where there were no kings or peerage.

In such a world Avery would have sought power where he could find it.
Sought and protected it by any means necessary.

"So he must stop you from making any accusations,"

David said.

She laughed.  "Everyone knew I wasn't rational about Gary Emerson.  I
was even crazy once.  Why should he think I could touch him now?"

Her despair was a terrible thing to witness.  She feared a return to
her childhood madness as much as she feared Gary Emerson.

But Sophie hadn't been mad when she'd written David about Avery's
malicious behavior toward her.  David had simply chosen to ignore her
ramblings as more of his wife's irrational neediness and obsessive
suspicion.

He could not ignore Jesse.

He curled his fingers around her shoulder, felt the tight-wound tension
of muscle over delicate bone.  He began to rub through the thin fabric
of her blouse, working at the knots under her skin.  Little by little
her head lowered, came to rest against the tree trunk.

"I'm such a coward," she said.  "I'm so weak-" "You're no coward."  He
paused in his ministrations and gazed into the shadowed woods. "Believe
that, if nothing else."  I know what cowardice truly is.

She gave him no answer.  The woods grew hushed with the transient
serenity of dusk.  Darkness closed in around them, creating an intimate
space where scent and touch and subtle sounds defined the tiny world
they inhabited.

It seemed only natural to move his hands yet again, slide them to her
arms, press the length of his body to her back, rest his chin in the
hollow of her shoulder.  His touch became an enfolding, a sharing of
warmth that needed no words.

"I'd haunt him for you, Jesse," he said, savoring the fragrance of her
skin, the silken tendrils of hair at her nape, the curves that fit him
like a finely tailored glove.

"I'd pursue him to the ends of the earth if you but give the
command."

Even as he spoke he knew the rash statement was more than an empty
promise designed to win her gratitude.

Wasn't this the answer?  Wasn't it the way to earn his peace-rid Jesse
of Avery's incarnation in this life?  He could break the pattern that
had destroyed Sophie and drawn him to the woman who stood so quietly in
his embrace.

Break the pattern, and with it his own eternal chains.

But it was Jesse who broke away, slid out of his arms and faced him
with lifted chin and steady gaze.  Some ambient light from the terrace,
or the afterglow of dusk, reflected in her eyes.

"I appreciate the offer," she said,

"But it's my problem.  I'm not running from it.  I'm not asking anyone
else to solve it for me.  I'm going to find the proof I need and expose
Gary for what he is, no matter how long it takes or what I have to
do."

The resolve in her voice didn't mask what David heard beneath: hatred.
Hatred powerful enough to span two lifetimes, though Jesse didn't
realize it.  Hatred that would spur her to rash and reckless acts
against a man who had once destroyed her.

David felt a violent desire to draw his saber and slash at the
inoffensive undergrowth, thrust and hack until his arm was too weary to
move.  By God, Jesse Copeland was stubborn.  He'd been able to
manipulate Sophie, bend her to his will-but Jesse would resist more
obstinately the harder he pushed.  He had no power over her.

None.

Reason, then.  Calm reason.

"You'd do well to take a soldier's advice and proceed with caution," he
said.  "A frontal attack will fail, Jesse."

Her gaze was bleak.  "Don't you think I know that?

Gary holds all the cards."

"And if Emerson's threats become more direct?"  I "What can he really
do to me?"  she said.  But under the bravado was that thread of fear.
David had no doubt that there were things Gary could do to her.  A
murderer could always kill again.

Unless that murderer's own fears were great enough to stop him.

Yes.  Resolution crystallized in David's mind.  He'd been able to
frighten Gary away from the party.  Could he do more than that?  Not
pistols at dawn, however tempting the prospect might be-but there were
other unique methods of confrontation a ghost might undertake.

Especially with the man who'd been his own brother.

Stopping Gary was surely the key.  If he learned the source of Avery's
guilt in this life, so much the better.  But that was a minor concern
compared to keeping him from Jesse.

And keeping Jesse away from him.

He drew Jesse's attention back from her own dark thoughts.  "There's
nothing more you can accomplish tonight," he said.  "You should go home
and rest."

"I couldn't sleep."  She hugged herself and looked in the direction of
the party.  "I left too early.  I'll go back and help Kim celebrate."

Of course she would refuse to let fear dictate her actions.  But she
ought to be safe enough; Gary would very shortly be otherwise
engaged.

He smiled with little humor.  "It's an odd thing, but I don't remember
that you were so blasted difficult to convince in our previous life
together."

He'd had no intention of making more than a casual comment, but Jesse
started and her gaze dropped to his mouth.  Her voice took on a husky
sensuality.  "I thought we'd established that I'm not that woman."

Desire dealt David an unexpected punch well below the belt.  He went to
her and trapped her face between his hands.

"No," he said softly.  "You're a woman of great courage.  What need of
armies with you in the vanguard?  I suspect that you could have
defeated Boney single-handed."

He bent his face to hers, drew out the moment just before their lips
touched.  Jesse closed her eyes.  In spite of her fiery words, she
wasn't fighting him now.  She wanted him And he wanted her too much. 
He dropped a light kiss on her forehead, a chaste salute that did
nothing to assuage his internal fire, and released her.

"I've outstayed my time here," he said.  "As you once so aptly put it,
I must 'recharge my batteries."" She would not look at him.  "You have
a pretty good handle on the modern world for a man who's been dead
almost two hundred years."

"Yet all such knowledge is useless to me.  Without life."

"I promised to help you."

"Then you must take care of yourself.  Good night, Jesse."

She stared at him until he faded and she could see him no longer.  He
followed, invisible, while she made her way back to her party, and
waited to see her securely ensconced among her friends.

Only then did he turn to his hunting.  He drew on senses within himself
he'd barely used, concentrating on the soul-spark he had once known as
Avery.

Like a guttering candle, Gary's essence was a dim illumination that
drew David to a long, two-story building at the edge of town.  A
lighted sign proclaimed the place an inn.  David had no need to search
further.

Gary stood outside one of the doors on the lower floor, bathed in the
harsh glow of an overhead lamp.  He drew on a cigarette as he paced a
short distance away from the door and back again.  His agitation was
manifest in his movements, but David felt it on a much more profound
level.

Gary was afraid.  Jesse had said he had no real cause to fear her, but
she hadn't reckoned on the terrible bonds of
a cursed brotherhood.  Or on the powers of a ghost who had reason to
hate.

David drew that hatred into himself as a drowning man would suck in
air, let it fill him completely.  He'd gone countless years without the
stimulus of basic human emotion.

No passion could long survive the prison to which he'd been condemned.
Even guilt had abandoned him in limbo, leaving him with an emptiness
designed by expert torturers to punish for eternity.

Jesse had changed all that.  She'd given him a taste of life,
reawakened lust, anger, frustration, jealousy, joy and other feelings
he dared not examine too closely.

Complicated feelings he no longer had the skill to control and employ
to his advantage as he'd done in his former life.

This was different.  This was clear and simple.  Liberating.

Right.

Avery had never been punished.  David had come here for Jesse's sake:
this man was her enemy.  Gary had the power to hurt her.  He had to be
stopped.  He deserved to pay for his crimes.

Pay in full.

David moved closer to Gary, close enough to touch.

Gary hadn't seen him at the party, but David wasn't ready to risk
appearing in solid form.  He would take his time making himself known
to his former brother, step by gradual step.  And then he would test
his power to act.

"We meet again, Gary," he said.  "Or should I call you Avery?"

Gary dropped the cigarette with a filthy curse, shaking his fingers.
His head snapped toward David.

"You know I'm here, don't you?"  David asked.  He gave his body dim
shape and leaned against the flimsy railing that ran the length of the
inn.  "How much are you aware of, brother?  Is it your guilt that hones
your senses?"

Gary cocked his head, staring intently just to the right of David's
shoulder.  He reached under his coat and drew out another cigarette. He
lit it with a small metal device that produced a spurt of flame.

"Your hands are trembling, dear brother," David said.

"Do you wonder what's happening to you?"

"Jesus," Gary whispered.

"Coming from you, that's no invocation.  You made your pact with the
devil long ago.  Is that how you've escaped punishment?"  He watched
the fall of ash from Gary's cigarette and casually smeared the fine
powder into the ground with his boot.  "It's a bloody miracle that's
brought us together.  We never did get an opportunity to bid our
farewells."

Gary closed his eyes and pinched the skin between his brows.

"I'm quite certain you can't understand everything I say," David said.
"But the gist of it will surely make an impression.  Tell me-" He
pushed away from the railing and stood next to Gary, companionably
close.  "What did you do to Jesse's mother?"

Gary took a long drag on his cigarette.  The outgoing smoke hissed
through his teeth.  "Joan," he muttered.

"Was that her name?  Jesse seems quite convinced that you committed
some evil, brother.  That would scarcely be out of character for you,
would it?  But of course you weren't cursed to remember.  Only to play
it out all over again."  He gripped the hilt of his saber.  "The one
thing that's different is that this time I'm here to stop you."

The overhead lamp flickered, and Gary looked up.  The yellowish glow
made his skin sallow, deepened the hollows under his cheekbones, and
accented the lines of dissipation around his eyes.

His throat worked above the collar of his shirt.

"And I will stop you," David said,

"I shall make sure that you never get the chance to hurt Jesse
again."

Gary's laugh was hoarse and incredulous.  "Damn you," he swore.

"Do you address me, brother?"  David made himself
more substantial and plucked the dangling cigarette from Gary's mouth.
 His grip was as lifelike as Gary's own; he did have the power to
affect Gary, just as he could Jesse.

He had the power.

He dropped the cigarette and ground it under his boot as he'd done the
ashes.  Gary's mouth hung open as he stared at the pavement.

"Perhaps now you're fearful for your sanity," David said.  "How does it
feel?"  He grabbed the lapel of Gary's coat in his fist.  Still Gary
didn't see, though he plainly felt the touch.  His face went white.

"Condemning you to a madhouse would be a fit repayment for what you
did," David said.  "But that would take too long."

He dropped his hold on Gary and drew his saber.

"Can ghosts kill, I wonder?  More directly than by fear or madness?"
Yellow light raced up and down the bared blade.  "Will a haunted sword
do as much damage as a real one?  I should like to find out."

with exquisite care he positioned the tip of the blade against Gary's
flat belly, just above his smooth leather belt.  The fabric of his
shirt dimpled.  Gary made a low sound, like a moan, and slapped his
hand down.

At the same instant David withdrew the sword, and Gary's hand hit his
own belly.  Slick beads of sweat had gathered on his forehead; he
blinked rapidly to clear his eyes.  All at once he spun around and
strode for the nearest door.

His hand slipped on the doorknob before he got it open.

David followed, stunned by the significance of what he'd done.  The
sword had been physical, because he'd willed it so.  The blade had
begun to make an impression.

If Gary had touched it, would he have bled?

Could he be killed?

Could David kill him?

The dark and stuffy room provided Gary no deliverance, though he
slammed and locked the door behind him.  He sat down heavily on the
wide bed.  David stood over him, the saber in his hand.

Hatred.  He still felt it in full measure, and now, for the first time
in two centuries, he had Avery at his mercy.  He could even the score
and protect Jesse at the same time.

One quick thrust and it would be over.  Surely they wouldn't have given
him this power, this chance, if he weren't meant to take it.

He stepped closer to the bed and raised the sword.

Now it was his hands that shook, and he couldn't seem to get a proper
grip.

"Lancelot," Gary said in a low, hoarse voice.

David lost his hold on the sword.  It fell, vanishing into midair.

"Avery?"  he whispered.

Gary's stare had gone blank and strange, as if he looked on more than
darkness.  David plunged headfirst into memory.

Lancelot.  When they were boys, before they'd grown so far apart,
they'd played at games King Arthur's court.  Avery had claimed Arthur
from first, younger though he was.  And David had been pleased to take
Lancelot, who was the warrior and hero and had all the grand
adventures.

Children.  They'd both been children once.  Gary had invoked that
childhood nickname as surely as if he knew what it meant.  He raised
his hand to his mouth and gnawed the tip of one finger.  It was the
habit Avery had when he was young, the one Mother had constantly
scolded him for.  He'd always done it when he was afraid.

Or when David went off alone, leaving his most annoyingly tedious
younger brother behind.

David brushed at his hip for the wooden sword that swung from the
simple rope belt he'd made.  His fingers closed on metal.  The saber
was back in its sheath as if he'd never drawn it.

Now he knew he couldn't.  Oh, the hatred wasn't gone.

But when he looked at Gary it wasn't Avery the murderer he saw, but
Avery the child.  Avery the younger brother, who hadn't always been
evil.  Who'd wanted, once upon a time, to be like his elder brother.

David had made life-and-death decisions every day during the war, yet
now he could only stand and tremble, unmanned by utterly useless
memories.

Avery would laugh.  But he didn't yet have the victory.

With a low curse David unbuckled his sword belt and flung it across the
room.  It vanished before it hit the wall.

"Listen to me, Avery," he said.  "I'll spare your life, but I won't be
a fool.  Leave this place.  Tonight."

Gary raised his hand from his mouth and raked it through his hair, gaze
unfocused.  "I .  . . don't-" "Get out of town," David said.  "Forget
about Jesse Copeland.  You can't touch her.  You'll be destroyed if you
don't put her out of your thoughts forever.  Do you understand?"

He stared into Gary's eyes, stared until comprehension returned and
Gary was shivering and sweating.

"if I see you here tomorrow," David said,

"I'll haunt you.  I'll haunt you to your death."  He raised his fist.

"Don't mistake me.  I will do as I promise.  I have a purpose now."

He forced himself to step away from Gary, to believe that his brother
understood the warning.  He didn't know whether to hope that Gary
obeyed him or drove him to take his revenge.

But when he imagined killing Gary, the image froze in his mind as he'd
frozen a few moments ago with the saber in his hand.

Even if Gary left tonight, the pattern was yet to be broken.  David
lacked the courage to break it.

He left Gary still sitting on the bed, alone and vacant eyed with fear.
But a grim foreboding pursued David long after the inn was far behind
him.

It wasn't only the business with Gary that remained incomplete.  There
was something else that David, for all his otherworldly vision,
couldn't see.  Another unknown pitfall awaiting him just around the
corner, a hidden trap on the narrow road to liberty.

On impulse he used the last of his nearly depleted energy to return to
the party.  It was full dark now, and the festive lanterns strung
between the trees illuminated a scene of music and laughter.

Jesse was there, laughing with the others, her gestures animated as she
talked with her friends.  If her happiness was a little forced, her
laughter a bit feverish, no one with her would know it.  She played her
part well.

They all played their parts, dancing to the steps fate laid out for
them: Jesse, Gary, David himself.

Even now he watched Jesse and felt his heart clench, his loins tighten.
Instinctive reactions he would have acted on in his old life, and
inevitably suffered the consequences.

He'd been at the mercy of his gaolers for nigh on two hundred years,
and he'd had his fill of it.  His dangerous and ambiguous feelings for
Jesse could only be deadly liabilities.  Today he'd been distracted by
protectiveness, desire, admiration; he'd been ready to go after Gary
simply to protect Jesse, driven by emotion when cold logic would have
served him far better.

As it should have served him when he'd held Gary's life in his hands.
Jesse had made a crack in his heart that let weakness in.  A crack he
must mend.  He would keep from walking right into the ambush.

His war was far from ended, and his greatest enemy was himself.

GARY KICKED THE sweat-soaked sheets from his legs and sat up in the
bed.  His heart slammed inside his ribs and his breath came short, as
if the dream had been real.

He glanced at the vacant space beside him.  He'd had no desire for
Marie's company tonight, not after the bizarre meeting with Jesse; now
he was grateful for his impulse.

What would Marie have thought to see him now, shaking and dry mouthed
and wondering if he was as crazy as Jesse Copeland?

He swung his legs over the bed and walked unsteadily to the bathroom.
The tap water was lukewarm, but he gulped it down and felt for the
aspirin he'd left on the sink.

Not that it would do any good.  Ever since the party something had been
wrong.  An illness, he'd thought at first; the shivers and cold sweat,
the weakness in his knees and irrational fear.  He'd made a fool of
himself leaving the party, driven off by some notion that his life was
in danger.

His life.  Jesus.  He couldn't put the nightmare out of his mind: the
tall dark-haired man in some kind of uniform, plunging a curved sword
into his chest.  Gary staggering under the blow.  The shock and terror
of knowing he was about to die.  Staring down at the gaping hole and
wondering why there was so little blood.

And the voice that kept yammering in his ears, never quite audible
enough to understand, maddening in its persistence.  Mockery. Contempt.
 Warnings he couldn't quite hear.

Worst of all, the feeling that he should know the man, the voice, that
he had cause to be afraid.  And with the fear was the envy, the
yearning, the hatred.

And guilt.  God, the guilt-formless, sourceless, devastating.

It sickened him.

He had to get away from this place-this room, this town, these people.
He was certain now that Jesse Copeland had nothing on him.  At the
party she'd been afraid, just as she'd always been.  He'd slipped up
when he'd grabbed her, but even if she suspected anything, she didn't
know.  He'd swear to that.

Gary stumbled back to the bed, thought better of it and fell into the
armchair by the window.  Yes.  It made perfect sense.  Jesse wasn't a
threat.  The man he'd hired to search Jesse's cabin would come back
empty-handed, because there was nothing to find.

He had no reason to stay in Manzanita another second.

Gary lurched to his feet and staggered to the chest of drawers against
the wall.  He yanked open the drawers and removed the neatly folded
shirts, tore his suits from the closet.  He didn't bother to do more
than throw his things in the expensive leather suitcase and garment
bag, heedless of wrinkles and creases in his equally expensive
clothing.

By six A.M. he was in the motel office, paying his bill to the sleepy
clerk.  The man had the brains not to say a word.  Gary left him with a
generous tip and a facile comment about an early start for home.

There would be questions.  He knew and didn't care.

The devil snapped at his heels, and for the first time in his memory he
could taste the fear of damnation.

But the devil wouldn't have him.  He'd always stayed one step ahead,
and he'd give the bastard the run of his
life.

CHAPTER EIGHT

JESSE ALMOST EXPECTED to find David waiting for her.

She walked into her cabin, into dimness painted with dawn light that
filtered through the blinds.  He wasn't there.  In spite of her
weariness after an unanticipated long night of talking, laughing, and
forgetting, her senses were hyper alert.

And no wonder.  She kept reliving the conversation in the woods:
pouring out her heart to David, his quiet sympathy, his gallant
protectiveness, his touch.  Especially his touch.  And the tension
between them, a second kiss that didn't quite happen.

It seemed that he should be here, when so much was unfinished.  But
perhaps she should be glad of the respite.

She kept resolving to hold him at a safe distance, and he found the
chinks in her armor again and again.

She paused in the darkened entryway, her hand near the light switch.
No, David wasn't here.  But it took her a moment to realize that what
she felt was something else entirely.

The small hairs prickled along the nape of her neck as she turned on
the entryway light.  Everything looked as it should.  Shadows receded
before the kitchen and living room lights, and nothing seemed wrong.

She walked into the bedroom.  The bed was neatly made, un slept in. 
Her clothes still hung undisturbed in her closet.  But the chest of
drawers Her heart skipped a beat as she went to the simple pine chest
she'd made eight months ago.  The bottom drawer was slightly open. Only
an inch-but she knew she hadn't left it that way.

She pulled the drawer all the way out and stared at the contents.  Her
travel journal lay where she'd left it, and the various envelopes and
papers were tucked away in their color-coded folders.  She didn't have
a lot of paperwork, had no need for file cabinets full of records or
mementos from the past.  Her work with the Peace Corps and her
deliberately frugal lifestyle had never allowed her to carry much from
place to place.

Still .  . . She set aside the journal and checked each of the folders.
By the third one she was certain that the folders had been shifted.  A
subtle matter of papers out of order, dates rearranged.  Most people
wouldn't have noticed.

But Jesse had always been orderly.  She liked to know everything was
where she could find it at a moment's notice.  Whoever had been in her
bedroom hadn't known that about her, careful as he'd been.

She replaced the folders and sat back on her heels, numbed by a sudden
wash of adrenaline that left her muscles shaking.

Someone had been in her cabin.  Someone had gone through her things.

Slowly she got up and walked to the window.  It hadn't been locked;
that was one thing she wasn't paranoid about, though crimes were
occasionally recorded in
Manzanita.  Petty thefts, shoplifting, drug possession-a transgression
more serious every decade or so.  It had never seemed necessary for her
to keep her windows barred.

So she'd made it easy for the invader to enter her sanctuary.  He
hadn't even had to break the window.  One of the slats of her window
blind was bent back; that was the only evidence.

Dry mouthed, Jesse made a circuit of the cabin.  Aside from her chest
of drawers, the few boxes in her closet, and the smaller drawers in her
bedside table, nothing else in her bedroom had been visibly handled,
and the invader had done little rearranging.  In her living room, only
the junk drawers built into the bookshelves had been disturbed, though
she found a few books slightly out of alignment.  Her workshop seemed
to have been ignored.

There was very little worth stealing, except for some spare cash she
kept hidden in the kitchen.  The assorted small bills hadn't been
removed.

But in the kitchen she found the envelopes on top of the refrigerator,
the letters from her late father's lawyer, scattered out of their usual
pile.  Every one was there, but the invader had obviously looked
through them.

Why?  Jesse sat down heavily in one of the kitchen chairs and gazed out
the window, hardly aware of the cheerful morning sunlight on her face.
What had he wanted, the person who'd so easily shattered her privacy?
If he were a thief, he wouldn't have been so careful to leave things
nearly as she'd kept them, or spent so much time going through her
drawers and paperwork.

Any local would know she didn't own any real valuables and kept her
money in the local bank.

The intruder hadn't been after money or valuables, and ~e'd been
systematic in his search.

For what?  Why?  And Who.  Jesse sat up.  Who in Manzanita had a grudge
against her?  Who seemed to want something from her who'd taunted and
mocked her in an effort to extract some unknown information?  Who knew
she hated him?

Who was her one enemy in the world?

Gary.  The evening's confrontation came back to Jesse with crystal
clarity.  Toward the end, she'd accused him of bullying her mother,
desperate to make him acknowledge the only crime she knew he'd
committed.  The fight she'd remembered in the dream.

And then he'd threatened her-grabbed her, eyes wild, as if he was
almost afraid.  "What did she say about me?"

he'd said.  "What dirty little lies did she tell you?"  Even after he'd
calmed down again, after David had frightened him off, he'd made it
plain that it wasn't finished between them.

Because Gary had committed some crime, he was afraid it might be
discovered .  . . and he believed Jesse could expose him.

Jesse shot up from the table and paced the length of the kitchen,
flexing her fists.  She hadn't been wrong to sense his guilt.  At the
party she'd been too scared to think clearly or analyze the subtle
implications of their conversation.

Gary believed she not only knew something that could hurt him, but that
she might have tangible evidence.  Why else go through her paperwork?
Why demand what her mother might have told her?

Through this act of violation Gary had given himself away.  Oh, he
wouldn't have done the work himself.  It wasn't his style.  But he had
influence and money.  He could have hired someone to break in and do
the looking for him.

Did he think Joan had left her daughter proof of his crime, whatever it
might be?  Proof that he'd had a part in Joan's death, regardless of
his airtight alibi?

Jesse moved through the cabin like a whirlwind, driven by the
turbulence of her thoughts.  What could this mysterious evidence be?
She had very little of Joan's, just a few knickknacks sent to her a
year after her mother's death.

Yet if Gary believed she could hurt him, it meant there
was a chance.  A chance she could find that proof and use it against
him.  With any luck, the trespasser hadn't found whatever he was
looking for.

That tide of hope carried her in a vigorous and thorough survey of the
cabin, but her investigation turned up nothing.  Exhausted, she went
into her workshop to take comfort from the reliable solidity of her
furniture and the knowledge that here, at least, the invader hadn't
intruded.

She could ask the police to dust for fingerprints, though she doubted
that Gary's flunky would have been that careless.  Nevertheless, she'd
pursue every avenue.

And in the meantime, she'd keep searching her memory-and search as well
for the proof she knew must exist.  Somewhere.

She sank down on the cool and dusty floor.  As her mind calmed, her
thoughts took a new direction, as inevitable as the sunrise.

David.  She closed her eyes and imagined him, imagined sharing her
breakthrough with him.  She'd told him about Gary; for the first time
she'd been able to talk about her remembered past, and he'd listened
with apparent sympathy and concern.

He'd also protected her.  He'd gone at Gary with real anger, as if he
were shielding something .  . . someone precious to him.  As if it had
been intensely personal, not a convenient favor he could easily
perform.

A strange and wonderful thing, to be protected, defended.  Even by a
ghost.  Jesse smiled and touched her mouth.  David had proved his
friendship.  He'd called her brave.  He'd offered to haunt Gary, for
her sake.  At the time she hadn't fully appreciated the gesture.

He'd acted like .  . . like a man defending the woman he loved.  Like a
knight with his shining sword facing down the dragon.

Her smile faded.  But of course, she was supposed to be helping him win
his salvation.  She was of value to him, in theory-though so far she'd
done little of any use.

Jesse leaned her head against a low, half-finished cabinet and breathed
in the sweet smell of the pine.  No reason to blow the episode out of
proportion.  She had no expectations of David Ventris.  She'd made it
clear enough that she wasn't that naive young girl named Sophie
anymore, not the woman he'd once loved.  Just as he'd made equally
clear how badly he wanted freedom from his eternal punishment.

But her heart ached in spite of all her logical, rational
protestations.  She was beginning to trust him.  Even need him.  After
three short days.

There was the danger.  She didn't want to need him.

Her problems with Gary were none of his concern.  The sooner she could
dump her emotional baggage, the sooner she could help David move on to
wherever it was he was supposed to go.

A wave of dizziness caught her unaware, and she closed her eyes.  Thank
God she had the day off; maybe she could get some sleep.  Even Gary's
intrusion couldn't eliminate that necessity.  This time she'd be sure
to lock the windows, and when she was rested she could think about the
next step.

She got up to check the doors and windows, then went into the living
room and collapsed on the sofa.  There was someone else she had to
think of-Megan, whom she was determined not to neglect in the midst of
everything else.

Later today she'd visit again, check on the girl.  Maybe she'd have
better luck breaking through that tough shell.

And Megan didn't have to know anything about Gary or Jesse's problems
with him; Gary couldn't neglect his affairs and stay in Manzanita much
longer.  Especially if his search of Jesse's cabin had convinced him
she had nothing on him.

Jesse's concentration dissolved as she drifted into sleep.  Later she'd
worry about it.  Later... she woke to find the sun angled for
afternoon.  Her first thoughts were not of Gary, but David; he hadn't
come, and she wasn't about to call him as if she were incapable of
handling the situation on her own.

She set water boiling in the kitchen and made tea and oatmeal to quiet
the rumbling in her stomach.  Such ordinary activities made her feel
oddly detached from this morning's unnerving discovery.  It helped to
focus on Megan as well, and she found herself anticipating a second
meeting with the girl.

After breakfast-or, more accurately, a late lunch she dressed and
crossed the field to Al's house.  She hadn't even had the chance to
relate last night's and this morning's incidents to Al.  He deserved to
be told after his efforts to help her.

But he, like David, had advised her not to get more involved with Gary.
There was no point in bringing either of them any deeper into this than
they already were.

She walked to the front of the house and knocked on the door.  Mrs.
Plummer answered after a long delay, her eyes heavy with recent sleep,
her gray curls kinked and flattened.

"Jesse?"

"Hello, Mrs.  Plummer.  Is Megan here?"

Mrs.  Plummer's puckered mouth turned down.  "She's either in her
bedroom or the study.  All she does all day is read and work on that
computer.  She never talks to me."

Her tone was that of a disgruntled adult who had suffered through more
than one battle of wills with a recalcitrant child.  She stepped back
and let Jesse in.  The house was cool and dark.  The living room
television buzzed with some inane game show.

Mrs.  Plummer patted her hair.  "I've been resting.  Let me go look for
Megan and tell her you're here."

Jesse would have preferred to go herself, but she waited at the end of
the hall and worked on calming her nerves.  Why did she feel that so
much rode on getting through to Megan, making Megan trust her?  It was
more than empathy for Megan's plight and remembering how being orphaned
and unwanted felt to a sensitive child.

There seemed to be layers upon layers in everything that was happening
to Jesse, too complex to unravel.  If only Mrs.  Plummer reappeared,
her gaze darting about the room.  "She's not in her bedroom or the
study," she said.

"I don't understand it.  I've looked places she doesn't normally go
into.  I can't find her."

A purely irrational thrill of alarm punched Jesse in the stomach.

"Could she be outside, playing in the yard?"

"She never goes outside.  Mr.  Aguilar said she was to go no farther
than your cabin in the back.  She hasn't shown any interest-" "I just
came that way.  Megan wasn't there."

Mrs.  Plummer clasped her hands over her ample belly.

"Oh, she's such a difficult child.  I can see her staring at me, always
watching-and I had to rest.  Well, she can't be far, can she?"

Of course not.  "Why don't you look around the house again, and I'll
check outside."

Seemingly grateful for direction, Mrs.  Plummer nodded and waddled off.
Jesse went out the front door.  A rapid but methodical search of the
front yard, the nearest lane, and the back acreage, including the patch
of woods, turned up no sign of Megan.

Jesse paused to look up at the hills rising behind her cabin.  Could
Megan have taken the narrow trail up there?  Or perhaps she'd simply
gone into town.  It wasn't much of a walk.

"I can take care of myself," Megan had insisted.  She had something to
prove.  Had she finally felt driven to show just how well she could do
that?  How little she needed the guidance and protection of indifferent
adults?

In all likelihood Megan was wandering down Main, poking into the
tourist boutiques.  Jesse strode back to Al's house to consult with a
nervous Mrs.  Plummer.

"I think she took some food and bottled water with her, and a little
backpack she has," the older woman offered.  "Where can she have got
to?"

"How long do you think she's been gone?"

Mrs.  Plummer blushed under her pale crepe skin.  "I don't know.  I
hadn't talked to her since just before breakfast."

Hours, then.  It was nearly four o'clock.  "It's okay," Jesse said.
"No one could have predicted that Megan would suddenly decide to-" Run
away?  It was premature to assume that.  "Why don't you call Al and let
him know-but don't make him worry.  There's no sense in panic.  I'm
driving into town to look for her.  I'm sure we'll have her back in no
time.  She might even be at the library already."

But Jesse doubted that.  No closeness had developed between Al and his
niece.

Jesse jogged to her cabin, gathered up some extra water, healthy
snacks, and a few supplies from her search and rescue work.  She
started her truck and drove down the lane to Main Street.

Only the usual low-key activity marked the boutiques and stores, burger
joints and garages along the strip.

Jesse stopped to talk to several town residents she knew, asking about
Megan.  None had seen the girl; most were surprised that Al's niece was
in town at all.

Jesse visited the tiny police office and briefly mentioned her search
to the officer on duty, who promised to keep his ear to the ground.
Jesse considered and discarded the idea of mentioning the morning
break-in that could come at another time.

She drove up the main drag a few more times, a little too slowly for
some of the hot-rodders in town, and then parked to walk the strip of
boutiques for a closer look.

Further questioning turned up no reports of a little girl on her own.

Of one thing Jesse was certain: Megan was far too wary and savvy to
walk off with or accept a ride from a stranger.  Wherever she'd gone,
she'd surely done it solo.

Both a relief and a danger.

If she wasn't in town, she might have gone hiking-up the hills that
rose into steep, challenging mountains.  No inexperienced adult went up
there alone, much less a child.  If Megan knew these hills as well as
Jesse at the same age, she'd have had less cause to worry.  But Megan
was a city girl who longed to prove herself independent.

There was no predicting what she might attempt.

And it was getting later by the minute.

Jesse returned to Al's house, checked in with Mrs.  Plummer-who was
muttering and fanning her flushed face-and then used the phone to call
Kim at Blue Rock.

Kim was due back from a kayak lesson, and Jesse left a message for the
other woman to call as soon as possible.

Kim could mobilize search and rescue very quickly if need be.

Jesse prayed there'd be no need.  She left the truck in her driveway,
put together a more elaborate backpack of supplies, and started on foot
up the hill behind her cabin.

Here the trail, which she herself had made, was distinct and at an easy
switchback grade.  A good choice for a child, if she knew how to avoid
rattlers and ticks.

Megan couldn't have made it very high up, inexperienced as she was.

The day was warm, and she wasn't used to hiking.  Surely she'd have
stopped somewhere cool to rest.  As long as she stayed in one place,
Jesse could find her.

But Megan wasn't on the hill.  Jesse took mental stock of every other
easily accessible trail leading out of town and debated the next to
try, pausing to call Kim again.

Kim promised volunteers within the hour, and in the next few minutes
she'd be arriving in the rescue truck with all the major equipment and
supplies.  But Jesse knew she couldn't wait.

There was someone else who might help, who had abilities no ordinary
person possessed.  She wasn't breaking her resolve not to rely on him.
She called him only for Megan's sake.

"David," she whispered.  "Come to me.  I need you."

**** HE WAS SITTING among the hills above town when he heard her.  The
boulder on which he perched gave him a broad view of the town and its
denizens, shiny roofs like varicolored stones set along a black paved
river winding
among the mountains.  Brighter flashes of light bounced off the hoods
of the horseless carriages-cars-favored by the modern traveler.

Jesse was down there.  She wanted him.  The urge to go to her was
powerful; only a night and most of a day had passed by human reckoning,
but it felt like an eternity since he'd left her at the party.

He wanted to go, but he did not.  In her call was a certain urgency,
but he sensed it was not for herself.  It didn't pertain to her safety,
or the business with Gary Emerson.  He would have known if she faced
any danger.

He'd made his decision last night to keep a greater distance, and
somewhere the line must be drawn.

Soon David would have a handle on his weakness, and then he'd be able
to pursue his goals with all the studied calculation he'd intended....
A patter of falling rocks to his left alerted him from his thoughts.
Someone was coming along the narrow, well-used trail that ran along the
side of the hill, up from town and to the edge of the cliff overlooking
the river twenty yards distant.

That someone moved clumsily but with little weight behind the uneven
footfalls.  Small, perhaps, and no wilderness expert, this unintended
visitor.  David stayed where he was and waited, secure in his
invisibility.

But he didn't expect to see the sweaty, dusty, and plainly exhausted
child who trudged around the bend and into his view.

A child.  A little girl, in fact, though her short-cropped hair and
spectacles and baggy clothes made the identification less than
immediate.  She was clutching a transparent, empty bottle in one hand,
and perspiration plastered her bangs to her forehead.

David rose quickly and began to walk toward her.  He had no idea what a
young child might be doing alone and well away from town, but she
looked in need of assistance.

He stopped himself with a cynical inner laugh.  How in bloody hell was
he to assist her?  She wouldn't even know he was there.  He might be
able to make her feel his presence, as he'd done with Gary-if such a
technique would work on a total stranger unbound to him by the laws of
Karma and fate.  But he'd be more likely to frighten her beyond
recovery.

The girl wiped the back of her hand across her mouth and sank into a
crouch where she was, in the full sun, squeezing the empty bottle.
After a moment she sighed and shrugged off her pathetic scrap of a pack
and jammed the bottle under the top flap.

David flexed his hands, aware of his helplessness.

Helpless to control his unwanted feelings for Jesse, helpless to put an
end to Avery's threat once and for all, helpless to aid this child.  He
swore under his breath.

And the girl looked up-up, and straight at him.  She pulled off her
spectacles and set them on the ground, her movements unsteady.  Then
she squinted and rubbed her eyes before returning the spectacles to
preecarious balance on her small snub nose.

"Who are you?"  she asked.

David was stunned into temporary silence.  Good Lord.  There was no
mistaking the direction of her gaze.

The girl could see him.  And hear him, evidently.  He remembered his
foul curse and wondered how well the child understood it.  He could
only hope for her ignorance.

After his legs would move again, he crouched to her level at a
reasonable distance, hands dangling over his knees.

"Good afternoon," he said.

Her posture was hunched and defensive, but she didn't run or ward him
away.  "Why are you dressed so funny?"

How was he to answer?  Why should this child be able to see him as only
Jesse could?  He hadn't made himself solid or assumed deliberate
visibility.  Even when he'd threatened Gary most assiduously, the man
hadn't been granted sight of him.  David couldn't simply will that
dubious privilege.

And he hadn't willed it now.  But the girl regarded him with a frown
behind the smudged glass of her spectacles.

He had to find some response, take care not to alarm her.

"Please forgive my attire," he said with a slight smile.

"I am only recently come to this region, and .  . ."

"Is it some kind of costume?"  she asked.  Her voice was thready and
breathless but held a note of challenge nonetheless.  "You're from
England, aren't you?"

She was quick.  "Indeed," he said.  "I am pleased to make your
acquaintance.  David Ventris, at your service."

She didn't volunteer her name in exchange, but continued to stare at
him as little runnels of perspiration trickled from the wet bangs at
her forehead.  She studied his sword and then examined his boots.
"Aren't you hot?"

The child was obviously suffering from the heat herself, but David
noticed such conditions only if he concentrated on them; one boon of
ghost hood was that he could pick and choose the sensitivity of his
assumed body.  The warmth of this day was nothing to the heat of the
Peninsula in summer, where David had seen his share of men collapse
under their burdens, bound up in their uniforms like mummies in
shrouds.

But this girl was no trained soldier.  The first thing he must do was
get her out of the sun.  He reined in his impulse to offer his hand.

"It is warm," he agreed.  "Will you join me in the shade of those
trees?  It should be a considerably more congenial place for
conversation."

She glanced aside, never quite letting him out of her field of vision.
"What are you doing up here?"  she said.

Why should I trust you?  rang behind the question.

There was no mistaking the girl's wariness, and David sensed it had
little to do with his odd appearance.  Did she feel there was a
wrongness about him?  If she knew what he was, surely she wouldn't be
so calm.

And why did he get the distinct impression that he should know
something about the girl, something he was missing?

"I might ask the same of you," he said.  "I've seen no one else here in
hours.  Aren't you a bit young to be walking so far from town?"

She planted her hands on the ground to steady herself and pushed
awkwardly to her feet.  "I'm not a child."

The statement sounded well rehearsed and a bit too vehement.  "I see,"
he said.  "So you've come up here by yourself, I gather?"

"I'm not afraid," she said.  Another too-pointed declaration.  "I'm
about to go home."

"And where is home?"

She made a vague gesture toward the town below.  But she stood where
she was, making no move to resume her walk, and licked her lips.  "Do
you have any water?"

David felt for his canteen before he remembered that it hadn't been
deemed a necessary accoutrement for his material presence on Earth.
"None at present," he said.

"But I do think a rest out of the sun would be beneficial for both of
us."

The look in the girl's eye threatened an all-too-familiar rebellion.
Young or not, she didn't like being given suggestions that smacked of
orders.  David had little experience with children.

A firm hand was what the girl required, but if he were to move too
decisively Suddenly he realized why he recognized her defiant mien.  It
was like looking at a miniature version of Jesse.

Oh, not in feature or coloring, but in the stubborn cast of her jaw and
that touch of vulnerability she struggled so fiercely to hide.

Was that the source of his impression that he ought to know her?  A
simple enough explanation.  But it didn't satisfy him, and he was
compelled by an even greater urgency to protect her.  As he'd wanted,
needed, to protect Jesse.

The irony of it was that he'd come here to distance himself, physically
and symbolically, from unwanted emotions.  From the origin of them.
From Jesse.  But reminders of her were everywhere, inescapable.

Chains.  Always the chains.  "There's a river nearby," he told the
girl, deliberately hardening his tone.  "Give me your bottle."

She blinked at him as if startled by his unexpected gravity.  But the
change of approach worked; she fumbled in her backpack and withdrew the
bottle without further argument.  He took it from her hand.  "Go sit
under those trees and I'll bring you water."

He waited to make sure she obeyed.  A little of the starch had gone out
of her spine; sheer fatigue, perhaps.

Or she recognized the voice of command.  She endeavored to keep her
dignity as she marched for the stand of pines and plopped down in the
shade.

God.  She was so small, so .  . . fragile.  David nearly squeezed the
soft bottle flat in his fist before he shook off his maudlin sentiment.
He moved out of the girl's sight and half scrambled, half floated down
a sheer cliff to a narrow bank alongside the water.

The river here was deep and foaming with turbulence, forced into a
narrow gorge between high stony walls and punctuated with large
boulders.  It was a bit of a trick to keep his hand solid enough to
grip the bottle and yet maintain enough ethereality to float above the
surging water.  He managed to fill the bottle halfway and returned to
the top of the cliff, aware of the drain his efforts had made on his
limited reserves of energy.  He was better now at mastering his use of
that energy, but limbo never released its hold on him.  Even after a
long "rest" in nothingness, he still felt the aftereffects of last
night's confrontation with Avery.

The girl was where he'd left her, head drooping over her drawn-up
knees.  She pushed at her spectacles with a delicate finger and looked
blankly at the bottle he offered.

"I don't think I'm supposed to drink water from the river," she said.
"It can make you sick."

By Boney's dangling-David sighed and speared his fingers through his
hair.  The child wasn't thinking clearly, and neither was he.  He set
down the bottle and crouched in front of her.

"What is your name?"  he asked.

Her lips trembled a little, but she held his gaze.

"Megan."

"Then listen to me, Megan.  It's a long way down that hill."

She tucked her hands under her arms.  "I can go back by myself.  In a
minute."

"I suspect you are lost, and someone is no doubt looking for you as we
speak."

She shook her head with a sharp toss of her bangs.

"No.  No one."

"That I don't believe.  Would you like to try again?

Who cares for you?"

Her gaze fixed on the dirt between the toes of his boots.  "My uncle.
Al Aguilar."

David almost laughed.  "Your uncle?"

"I only came to stay with him on Monday.  He doesn't care where I go."
Al Aguilar.  Jesse's friend and confidant.  And this girl was his
niece?

David hesitated, oddly afraid to ask the next question.

"Do you know Jesse Copeland?"

The girl's skin flushed with more than the heat, but she didn't answer.
David stood up and paced the length of the little grove of trees.  His
agitation made no sense, but he knew he had to deliver this girl to her
home as quickly as possible.  Making and keeping himself physical long
enough to carry her all the way down the mountainside was certainly not
within his power.  But if he stayed by her side .  .

He turned abruptly and extended his hand.  "Come.  I'll help you get
home."

She paused, stared at his hand, reached for it.  For a moment her
fingers curled in his, and then they slipped through as if she had
tried to grasp air.  She gasped.

David realized the enormity of his carelessness.  For an instant he
hadn't concentrated, had allowed himself to relax and let go of his
physical form, and that instant had
been too long.  He had no time to berate himself further.  Megan had
scrambled to her feet and was running-away from him, as fast as her
small feet would carry her and with no regard to direction.  David set
off in pursuit, wondering how in hell he was to stop her, quiet her
terror.  If he touched her again, would he make it worse?

It hardly signified, for Megan was headed directly for the river.  For
the high cliffs that overlooked the turbulent water.  David abandoned
physical form for a burst of speed.  He'd almost reached her when she
came to a sudden stop, flailed her arms, gave a heart-stopping cry, and
slipped over the crumbling edge.  Her glasses went flying into
emptiness.

David took shape, flung himself belly-down on the earth and clawed for
her hand.  He caught her just before she was out of reach.  This time
the contact lasted more than a second, long enough for David to see the
panic in her unshielded eyes.

Her eyes.  Windows to the soul.

Even a ghost could be expected to stand only so many revelations in a
matter of hours.  He recognized her as completely as he'd recognized
Gary at the party, and the effect was no less startling.  Or
devastating.

Elizabeth.  Megan .  . . was Elizabeth.

Perhaps it was those few seconds of inattention, or merely that his
strength wasn't sufficient.  Or maybe she felt the same shock he did,
and let go.  Her fingers slipped through his, and she fell.

But he'd slowed her just enough.  She landed on a narrow stone ledge
halfway to the river, her small body very still.  David heard a cry
between a moan and a roar and knew it came from his own throat.  He
went to her, perched on what little flat space remained beside her.

"Megan," he whispered hoarsely.

She stirred, rising on her arms, and gave a low whimper of pain.

He took her arm and helped her to her knees.  She was all right-not
badly hurt, though her skin showed scrapes and would be bruised later
on.

She was all right.  She looked at him from those great tear-washed
eyes, only the immediate trauma of her fall numbing her fear of him.
When she recovered, the fear would return and might drive her to fatal
recklessness.

There was nowhere for her to run but into the river itself.

David could feel his strength waning rapidly.  Soon he'd be no more
than a wraith even to eyes that could see him, incapable of aiding
Megan.  He could barely touch her now.

Later he could reflect on this new twist of fate.  Now he had to find
another who could help the girl, and he knew who that person must be.

But he couldn't leave Megan.  He would have to try again what he'd done
at the party, and use his thoughts to call for help.  If urgency were
enough, he could reach halfway across the world.

He had only to reach one woman.

While Megan shivered, eyes tightly closed against the sight of the
river below, David threw his consciousness into one thought, one vivid
image.  He projected a part of himself across space, a fragment of his
soul borne on a spectral wave of desperation.

He called Jesse as Jesse had called him.  Within his mind he saw a
moving picture of her stan ding beside the woman Kim, speaking without
sound, looking up as if distracted.

And focusing.  Seeing him.  Her mouth formed an

"Oh" of surprise.  And then the shape of his name.

"Jesse," he called.  He made another picture of himself where he
watched over Megan, the lay of the land around them.  He willed Jesse
to see what had happened, to know how little time he had left on this
plane.

There was nothing more he could do.  He withdrew and crouched like a
pale shadow beside a girl who wouldn't look at him, praying that Jesse
had understood.

And would come before he was forced to leave.

With any luck he was about to witness a miracle.

CHAPTER NINE

"YOU, DAVID," Jesse whispered.

"What is it, Jesse?"  Kim, who'd arrived at her cabin a few minutes
ago, gave her a quizzical look.  "You had this weird expression on your
face."

Jesse started for the truck parked in the driveway.  "I know where
Megan is," she said.

"Did I miss something?"  Kim said, jogging to keep up.

"Or did you suddenly become psychic?"

"No time to explain."  And how in hell do I explain when there is time?
Jesse thought, tossing her backpack into her truck.  How to explain
that she'd asked her own personal ghost for help-and he'd responded?
She'd almost given up on David before his image appeared, startlingly
vivid, in her mind.

She knew he hadn't been with her in anything but thought.  Some kind of
telepathy, which was par for the course on top of the rest.

And she didn't give a damn how David had done it.  Or how he'd found
Megan.  All she cared was that he'd been able to show her where Megan
was.

That picture was indelibly etched in Jesse's memory.

Megan wasn't badly hurt, thank God.  And Jesse recognized the exact
place where Megan had fallen.

The ledge.  The ledge where Bobby Moran had died.

Jesse had no time to dwell on the past; she was too busy calculating
the quickest route to Megan.  A dirt road wound along the river, close
to the spot in question.

"You know the ledge over the river where Bobby Moran fell?"  she said
as Kim came up beside her at the truck's door.  "That's where we're
going.  Megan's fallen, but I don't think we'll need an ambulance."

Kim's open face reflected the concerns Jesse didn't put into words. The
ledge was dangerous but Megan, unlike Bobby, wouldn't be half gone on
drugs and fighting her rescuers.  A descent and rescue from the cliff
to the ledge wasn't a complicated or lengthy maneuver.  The greatest
peril was that Megan would fall the much longer distance from the ledge
to the rocky riverbank below.

Jesse slid into the driver's seat and closed the door.

Kim leaned on the open window.

"How do you know, Jesse?"  she asked.

"Trust me, Kim."  Jesse started the engine and met Kim's gaze.
"Please."

It was a blessing that Kim wasn't the kind to stand around debating a
point when there was work to be done.  She gave a quick nod.  "All
right.  You go, and I'll be right behind you with the rescue truck.
I'll radio the others to meet us there, and alert Doc Thielman that we
may be bringing in a patient."

Jesse was already halfway down the lane toward the highway when Kim
reached her own truck.  She was only vaguely aware of the way her heart
slammed in her throat, her tense grip on the steering wheel.  Once she
reached the dirt road, she concentrated on driving as fast as safety
would allow.  The tumult of the river seemed as
loud as the roar of her truck.  The last span she had to cover was
off-road, but she'd been this way before.  She pulled up parallel to
the cliff above the ledge and stopped the truck.  She nearly dropped
the keys as she yanked them from the ignition.

She hadn't expected to be here again.  Not so soon.  She got out of the
truck and swallowed a surge of nausea.  It was still daylight, not
night, and there were no frightened teenaged boys watching a rescue
that failed.  The situation was totally different.

But the stakes were just as high.

With stubborn determination she ran to the edge of the cliff and looked
over.

Megan was there, drawn up in a compact ball on the ledge.  She must
have heard Jesse or the truck, for she was looking up, her gray eyes
large and vulnerable without the glasses to shield them.  Her stare
hinted of mild shock, but at least she was responsive.  Her legs and
arms were obviously working, and Jesse saw no signs of blood.

And David-David was barely visible beside Megan, the river and rocks
below filling the transparent outline of his body.

He too was looking up, and she thought she saw him smile and lift one
hand in a silent salute.

Then he vanished.  Megan didn't seem to see him go.

But of course not; she wouldn't be able to see him at all.

Thank God the child hadn't had that to contend with as well.

"Megan," Jesse called.  "Listen to me, honey.  I'm going to get you
back up here as quickly as I can.  I just want you to sit very still
and wait while I make up a special harness for you.  Okay?"

Megan's chin twitched in the slightest of nods.  She was responsive.
She was okay.  Jesse felt a flood of joy that went beyond relief, came
from a source far deeper than the satisfaction of helping someone in
trouble.

Self-doubt couldn't hope to stand against such joy.  She was ready when
Kim's rescue truck pulled up beside her own, and together they set
about sorting and preparing the ropes and gear necessary for Megan's
rescue.

"Bruce, Craig, Nance, and Manuel are on their way up," Kim said,

"And Doc knows we'll be coming in.

How is Megan?"

"She's okay, but I want to get down to her as soon as possible.  It
looks as if she'll only have a few minor cuts and bruises."

"Thank God," Kim murmured, passing Jesse a length of rope.  Pulleys,
carabiners, and harness were rechecked and assembled.  Jesse
inventoried her personal first-aid kit once more.

"You okay with this, Jesse?"  Kim asked.  "You're still the best one to
go down to the ledge.  But I'll assign someone else if you don't feel
you can-" "I'm doing it, Kim.  Megan knows me, at least a little.

If I can't handle it, I don't belong on this team."

Kim had no argument for that.  Lives depended on each search and rescue
team member acting as professional.

And Jesse knew she was a professional.  When she went down over the
cliff, she'd be challenging herself-but she'd also be saving something,
someone, infinitely precious.

And not just because Megan was a child and a human life.  The
determination Jesse had felt earlier to help the girl had blossomed
into an almost maternal attachment, though she and Megan had only
spoken the one time in Al's study.  Danger could do that sometimes,
create such instant bonds.  But she couldn't dismiss her feelings as
mere instinct.

Maternal Jesse returned to the cliff's edge, stunned by the direction
of her thoughts.  She had never planned on having children, of even
being married.  She'd never questioned that assumption or probed for
the source of her conviction.

She was questioning now.  First David, and then Megan.

She crouched and looked down at the girl.  Megan remained pale and
tight-lipped, but her eyes fixed on Jesse
as on a lifeline.  "Only a few more minutes," Jesse said.  "Hang in
there, Megan.  I won't let anything happen to you."

And she meant it.  She meant it with her entire soul.

She'd give her own life for this child's, gladly.  Personally.

Within minutes the other team members arrived and went to work helping
Kim put the evacuation system in place.  Fortunately, the cliff area
afforded several good anchor points in the form of sturdy trees and
outcrops.

The volunteers moved efficiently to secure the ropes and pulleys,
complete with the harnesses that would allow Jesse to descend and bring
Megan back up.

"We'll get a litter ready, in case you need it," Kim said.

Jesse nodded, secured her harness, and positioned herself for the
descent, while Kim stayed above to act as belayer and the others stood
ready to help.  The river roared below them, a blue and white blur, but
Jesse did not look down.  She looked only at Megan's pleading,
frightened eyes.

When her feet hit the ledge, she tested her balance and went
immediately to Megan.  The girl unfolded from her defensive huddle, and
Jesse was engulfed in the sweaty, dirty, grateful warmth of a child's
arms.

Jesse returned the hug and brushed dusty bangs from the girl's
forehead.  "You okay, Megan?  Does anything hurt?  Any part of you hard
to move, or feel like it's broken?"

Megan's lower lip quivered, but she shook her head.

Nevertheless, Jesse did a quick examination of Megan's body, making
sure that she wouldn't need the litter or splints.  All the blood was
from minor surface scratches, and there were no telltale bumps on
Megan's skull to suggest a concussion.  Jesse cleaned and bandaged the
worst cuts and gave Megan water and energy food from her pack.

"We're going to get you back up now, Megan," Jesse said.  "I'll need
you to help me.  You're going to climb into this special harness, which
will let you ride up on the rope.  I'll be right behind you, so there's
no way you can fall.  Does that sound okay?"

Megan clung to Jesse for dear life, her fingers digging into the folds
of Jesse's jacket.  "Okay," she whispered.

Jesse gave Megan her brightest smile.  "You've been very brave."

Megan squeezed her eyes shut, nodded, and let Jesse help her into the
harness.  Jesse gave Kim the signal to begin.  Soon Megan was being
lifted into Craig's arms, and two other volunteers helped Jesse over
the lip of the cliff.

At first Jesse felt lucky to lie flat on the dirt and simply breathe.
Everything was okay.  Everything was wonderful.  She felt Kim's touch
on her shoulder and scrambled to her feet.

"Good job," Kim said.  "And you were right about Megan.  Nance says
she's lucid and doing fine-only a little scratched and sunburned.
Nothing that a few days and some rest won't heal, but we'll take her to
Doc's just to be certain."

Absurdly giddy with happiness, Jesse joined Nance as she bandaged
Megan's scraped palms.  Megan was quietly cooperative until the last of
the cleanup was done, and then she flung herself at Jesse again.  Jesse
held on tight and stroked her hair.

"We're going by Doc Thielman's just to give you another quick checkup,"
Jesse said, "and then home.  Your uncle will be very glad to see
you."

The accident had subdued Megan's rebelliousness.  "I was so scared,"
she said.  "I thought I was going to die."

"No.  I'd never let anything happen to you.  I promise."

Megan drew back and wiped her nose with the back of her bandaged hand.
"You were right," she said with painful dignity.  "I shouldn't have
come up here alone.  I wanted to show you that I-" Her face crumpled.

"Hush.  It's over."  Jesse gathered her close.  "We'll talk more about
it later, when you're feeling better.  And I'm not going to yell at
you."

Megan almost smiled, but she wouldn't quite meet Jesse's gaze.  "Good."
She yawned.  "I'm really tired.  I
don't know why."  "I do."  Jesse scooped the girl up and half carried
her back to the truck.  "This kind of thing would wipe anyone out, and
you've been walking all day."

She opened the passenger door and began to boost Megan into the seat.
But Megan hesitated and looked back at her.  "How did you know where to
find me?"  she asked.

Kim had asked the same question, and it was just as impossible to
answer now.  "I had a feeling," Jesse said.

"A very strong feeling."

"Did you .  . . see anyone else around when you found me?"

Anyone else?  Jesse searched Megan's eyes.  "Was someone here with you
when the accident happened, Megan?"

Megan bit down on her lower lip.  "No.  I just wondered."

And that was not a satisfactory answer, either.  But Jesse wouldn't
press the girl now.  Megan couldn't have seen David-he'd defined his
"rules" pretty clearly.  And David hadn't projected a sense that
someone else had been with Megan.

Further explanations would have to wait.  She settled Megan into the
seat and tucked a light blanket around the girl while Kim and the
others disassembled and packed the equipment.  Jesse joined the team
for a final conference.

"You take Megan to Doc's and home, get her into bed," Kim said.  "We'll
handle the rest.  I've radioed town to let Megan's uncle know she's
okay."  She glanced toward the truck.  "The way she was hanging on to
you, I'd think you'd known her more than a few days."

"It is a bit unusual," Jesse admitted.

"Kind of like your intuition about her being up here."

"Speaking of intuition," Jesse said quickly,

"I've been thinking that we ought to put some signs or a fence along
the cliff.  We might be able to ward off some of these accidents."

Kim took the abrupt change of subject in good stride.

"I've been thinking the same thing myself.  I'm sure folks in town
would be more than willing to contribute some money after what happened
today and last week.  In fact, that Emerson guy would have been good at
drumming up support.  Although-" She looked sideways at Jesse.

"I got some pretty mixed vibes from him at the party.

Heard that you and he had some kind of argument."

It took a mental wrench for Jesse to force her mind to the subject of
Gary Emerson.  Only this morning she'd discovered the break-in, but
since Megan's disappearance she'd put Gary out of her thoughts.

Now she had to deal with what she'd left undone.  Her confrontation
with Gary hadn't gone unnoticed, even if no one had heard the words
exchanged.

There wasn't any point in prevaricating with Kim.

"We never liked each other.  There are some .  . . matters between us
that haven't been resolved."

"Well, I guess that's none of my business.  I was just sorry to hear
that he'd caused you trouble at the party."

"Don't let it worry you, Kim.  I can handle it."

Kim made a noncommittal sound and hooked her thumbs in her front
pockets.  "Marie's been in a bad mood since this morning when she found
out he'd left town."

"Left town?"

"Took off around dawn, apparently.  Marie called to tell me.  She
couldn't understand why he left so suddenly."  Kim shot Jesse a knowing
look.  "I'd stay away from her for a while, if I were you.  For some
reason she thinks you made him leave."

It sounded absurd, but there wasn't anything laughable about it.

Jesse had caused Gary to take action, even before she'd determined how
to get at him.  He'd had someone break into her cabin.  He'd tried to
intimidate her with subtle taunts and direct threats.  He thought she
knew something, had something on him.

Now he was gone.  Maybe David had spooked him at
the party, but Jesse wasn't deceived.  It wasn't over.  Not by a long
shot.  Certainly not for her, however far Gary went.

Sooner or later she'd find out what Gary was afraid of, and then he'd
have good cause to run.

"I'd better get Megan home and into bed," she told Kim.  "Thank you.
For trusting me."

"No problem.  That's what we're here for.  You did good, Jesse."

On impulse Jesse gave Kim a quick hug, a show of affection she'd seldom
risked.  Even Kim seemed a little surprised by it, for all her quick
response.

Then they went to their separate trucks.  Megan was already asleep in
her seat, head lolling against the rolled-up window.  Jesse buckled her
in and drove down the hillside at a considerably slower pace than she'd
set on the way up.  Megan never stirred.

They dropped by Doc Thielman's, who confirmed Jesse's first diagnosis
and gave the same advice of rest and quiet, as well as a sample tube of
sunburn lotion.

Megan was only half awake during the examination.

Al was waiting when Jesse's truck pulled into his driveway.  He was
silent as he picked up Megan's little body and carried her to her bed.
But Jesse sensed that his stoic demeanor was, for once, a real mask and
not cool discipline.  He'd been worried.

After Megan was asleep in her own bed, she and Al went into the study.
Al sat down behind his desk, his manner even more subdued than usual.

"Thanks for what you did, Jesse," he said.  "I came home as soon as I
could close the library, but you'd already left.

Mrs.  Plummer told me you'd gone looking for Megan, and then Kim Mayhew
called.  She told me to wait here-" "You did the right thing, Al.  We
got to her quickly.  She wasn't hurt."

"But she could have been.  Because of my .  . . neglect."

It was strange to realize that Al needed comfort and reassurance.  He'd
always been the rock, the one so sure of his place in the world.

She touched his hand.  "Megan learned something today," she said.

"We all did.  We can start over."

Al rested his head on his hand.  "You will continue to see her, Jesse?
She trusts you now."

"Wild horses couldn't keep me away.  I'll be here every day, whenever I
can.  She won't be lonely."

"Thank you."  He got up and moved for the door as quickly as his limp
would permit.  He paused with the door half open.  "Can you stay with
her for a while?  I left some unfinished business at the library."

"Go ahead.  I'd planned on staying the night, if that's okay."

Al nodded and left the room without another word.

Jesse sank into the recliner and closed her eyes.

Hard to believe how complicated her life had become in only a few short
days.  First Gary's return, then David's appearance, now Megan.  The
weirdest part was that none of it felt like mere coincidence.  It was a
notion she wasn't ready to examine too closely.

David had been responsible for Megan's rescue, and she owed him a huge
debt of gratitude for that.  And for defending her at the party,
whatever his motives.

But gratitude wasn't uppermost in her mind.  That simple and limited
emotion she would have been able to confine and control.  Seeing David
at Megan's side had given her a jolt she hadn't even recognized until
she could think beyond Megan's safety.  Her feelings where he was
concerned were becoming increasingly urgent, linked to desires that
were frightening in their intensity.

If she called him now, he probably couldn't come not if her impression
of his weakness by the river was correct.  But she badly wanted to see
him.  To thank him.

To tell him ... But her mind couldn't come up with the right words.  It
shut down at the mere attempt to find them.

She stood up, went to the kitchen for water, a snack of grapes, and a
chair, and returned to Megan's room for a long vigil.

Gary.  David.  Megan.  She drifted into a light doze with those names
spinning around and around like a juggler's balls.

Answers.  There had to be answers.  Meaning.  Resolution.

Somewhere.

She woke to the sense of someone watching.  Megan's eyes were half
open, peeping up over the edge of her blanket.  The small clock by the
bed said four A.M. "Are you awake?"  Jesse asked unnecessarily, pulling
her chair closer to the bed.  "It's still early.  You should go back to
sleep."

"Have you been there all the time?"  Megan said, muffled under the
blanket.

"Yes."  Jesse smiled and reached over to smooth Megan's hair.  "Making
sure you're okay and getting your rest."

Megan's glance slid to the lamp on the nightstand and then back to
Jesse's face.  "I had bad dreams."

"I'm not surprised.  It's only natural."  She paused.

"Are you feeling all right now?"

Megan twisted the blanket between her hands.  "I'm afraid if I go back
to sleep-" "Come here, then," Jesse said, opening her arms.  "Sit with
me until you feel sleepy again."

Any evidence of stiffness or pain was gone from Megan's movements as
she clambered out of bed and into Jesse's lap.  The position was a
little awkward, but Jesse didn't care.  Having this child in her arms
was the most natural thing in the world.  The bond formed at the rescue
hadn't lessened; it had only grown stronger.

She pulled Megan's head into the crook of her shoulder.  "Do you want
to tell me about the nightmare?"

Megan snuggled in with uninhibited trust and nodded.

"It was about the cliff.  I was there, but I wasn't alone.  A boy was
there with me.  I watched him fall into the river, and I was going to
fall too."

Jesse rocked her gently.  "Who was the boy?"

"I heard them talking about him," Megan said.  "The other people who
came when you saved me.  They said his name was Bobby."

Bobby.  Jesse stopped rocking for a moment and then resumed, amazed at
how unfettered her mind was of the guilt she'd carried ever since the
teenager's death.

"Did he really fall off the same cliff and die?"  Megan whispered.

Honesty was always better, and Megan deserved it.

"Yes.  It was very sad.  He'd taken some drugs, and it made him dizzy
and hurt his judgment.  We .  . . tried to save him."

"I'm sorry."  Megan patted her back.  "I know you wouldn't have let him
die."

The innocent solace of a child was a remarkable gift.

Jesse let out a long breath and hugged Megan, taking care not to put
pressure on bruises and bandages.  "It was different with you, Megan.
You were very brave and did the right things."

"I wasn't brave."  Megan pushed back to meet Jesse's eyes.  "I did
everything wrong, after you warned me.  But I can learn to do it
right."

"Do what?"

"Hike.  The things you said you'd show me how to do."  Megan's lower
lip thrust out.  "I want to go back to the same place.  I want to look
over the cliff and show I'm not afraid."

Jesse closed her eyes.  A girl like Megan would want to confront her
fears rather than let them fester.  Maybe she didn't understand the
psychology behind it, but her instincts were sound.  Over and over she
reminded Jesse of herself, and all the times she'd tried to face her
own demons.

"You'll still take me, won't you?"  Megan asked in a small voice.  "You
aren't too mad at me?"

"Mad?"  Jesse kissed Megan's brow.  "No.  But you need to rest a little
more before we tackle something like that."

Megan snorted.  "I don't need a lot of rest.  And I can learn."  She
searched Jesse's eyes, her own wide and pleading.  "Can we go
tomorrow?"

"Whoa.  You're moving too fast for me."  She lifted Megan and steered
her back to the bed.  "You need a good night's sleep.  A whole night,
mind you.  And a good breakfast and taking it easy for a day or so.
Then we'll decide when and where to go."

Megan made no protest as Jesse tucked her under the blankets.  "You
promise we will go?  You promise?"

"I promise."  She plumped the pillow around Megan's head and touched
the tip of her nose.  "But only if you rest."

The girl's eyes were already growing heavy-lidded in spite of her
efforts to stay awake.

"You won't go away, will you?  You won't leave me?"

"I'll be here until morning."

"I mean after that.  Tomorrow and after that.  You'll be here, won't
you?"

Jesse knelt beside the bed.  "I live right across the yard, Megan.
Except when I'm at work, I'm always here.  I'm not going away."

Megan's hand shot out from under the blankets and felt for Jesse's. Her
grip was surprisingly firm for such a small child's.  "My parents died
when I was just a baby,"

she said.  "I don't even remember them much.  But I miss them."

"I know."  Jesse leaned into the bed and gathered Megan's bundled body
as close as she could.  "I lost my mother when I was about your age.  I
was so lonely and scared.  If you want to talk about that, we can.  As
much as you want."

"You were by yourself, too?"

"For a long time."

The touch of Megan's hand seemed to convey sympathy far beyond her
years.  "Grandma never talked about Mom and Dad.  She didn't want me
around, either.  I could tell.  But I could take care of myself."  She
sniffed.

"Now she's gone.  I don't want-" Residual pride stopped Megan from
admitting more than she already had, but her feelings couldn't be
dammed up.  Tears welled in her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.

"You don't want to be alone," Jesse finished for her, stroking away the
tears with her fingertips.  "You won't be.  I'll be your friend, Megan.
For as long as you want."

Megan couldn't answer, and she was still uncomfortable enough with her
tears to bury her face in the pillow.

Jesse let her be, staying close in case Megan needed her.

But Megan's weariness did its inevitable work.  Gradually her sobs
quieted, and her little body went limp under the blankets.  Jesse
tucked Megan in again and returned to her chair.

The day's turmoil had taken its own toll on her, as well.  After a few
more minutes she stopped fighting the inevitable, and closed her eyes.
A new and wonderful contentment, and a fresh purpose, carried her into
sleep.

**** THEY MADE A perfect pair.

David didn't need to see them together for more than a few minutes to
know the miracle had happened.  It was almost flawless.  As nearly
flawless as one short year in a troubled marriage, when a tiny girl had
bound two people together as nothing else could have done.

The pattern played out-joyfully now, as it was meant to.  David watched
them both sleeping, Megan in her bed and Jesse in her chair, and knew a
sharp bayonet-thrust of loneliness.  Hadn't this been intended from the
beginning?  He'd sensed more pitfalls ahead, but instead he'd been
given the opportunity to do a good deed to be weighed to his account.

Sophie and Elizabeth had been reunited.

And Jesse must know by now that Gary had left town, his immediate
threat erased.  Megan would surely be enough to distract her from that
dangerous pursuit.

Every piece was falling into place.  Then why did David
feel so little triumph?  Why did he want to be there with the woman
and the child, a happy family that existed only in a fool's dreams?

He knew he should keep his distance.  But he moved closer, crouched
beside the child who had once been his daughter.

Elizabeth wouldn't have looked like this if she'd lived to Megan's age.
She would have been fairy-bright and feminine in frills and lace.
Sophie would have seen to that.

But Elizabeth hadn't lived.  Fragile happiness had shattered.

David had run from Sophie's grief-from his own.

But the method of escape was the same as with any other unbearable
situation.  The strategy of forgetting was highly effective when one
fought for one's life in war.

But losing one's life wasn't the solution he'd thought it would be.
Now, at last, the scales were coming back into balance.  The odds
stacked higher and higher in David's favor.  First Avery, and now this.
Surely Jesse would find it easy to pardon him his sins.

He looked at Jesse's face, the lines of tension and care eased from her
eyes and mouth in sleep.  He'd seen that face suffused with love for
the daughter she didn't remember.  And he wondered what it would be
like to feel that love directed toward him.  Unjudging, unconditional,
strong and true.

Fool, he told himself.  Jesse's forgiveness would be more than
sufficient.  And as for Megan.

The girl need never know she'd had anything but a strange dream at a
time of crisis.  She wouldn't see him again, by accident or design.  No
child needed a ghost for a father.  His absurd desire to embrace her,
hold her like the babe she'd once been, would pass soon enough.

He was preparing to leave when Jesse stirred in her chair and opened
her eyes.

"David?"  she murmured sleepily.  She blinked and sat up.  "David!"

Her voice was low, pitched so as not to wake the sleeping child, but
she looked at him with an open gladness that caught him like a rabbit
in a snare.  She rose swiftly and moved toward him, arms
outstretched.

He wasn't quick enough to avoid her approach.  She reached the place
where he stood and began to walk through him, just as she'd done on the
hillside.  Her entire being jolted through him, blending and merging as
if he'd failed in all his defenses.  Desire, hunger, urges beyond his
control clamored within him, driving out reason.

"Jesse," he breathed.  "I can't-" She stepped back, her arms wrapped
around herself.

"You're still too weak," she said with immediate comprehension.

"You can't make yourself solid.  I should have guessed."

Her calm acceptance made it possible for him to master his unexpected
passion.  "I came back to see that you and Megan were safe."

She smiled with a warmth that set his phantom blood pumping hot all
over again.  "You saved Megan's life,"

she said softly.  "I owe you more than I can ever repay."

It was what he'd wanted, this gratitude.  But at the moment, he was
busy cursing the limitations that deprived him of the form to properly
accept her thanks.

"I'm glad that I could help," he said.  "The child has pluck.  Very
much like her friend."

Jesse blushed, but she gazed at him in such a way that David thought he
could guess what it must be like to be the recipient of her love.  But
then she looked away toward the bed, as if to reassure herself that
Megan was too insensible to hear her conversation with a ghost.

"How did you find her?"  she asked.  "Did you hear me call?"

"Yes."  No need to admit he'd first ignored her, and only luck had led
him to Megan.  Or her to him.

"You got through," Jesse said.  "I saw you, even though you weren't
really with me."

He floated back to the farthest wall.  "Our connection, Jesse," he
reminded her.  "I trusted that it would be enough, and I didn't want to
risk leaving the child."

"She didn't see you?"  He wondered at the question but had no
intention of answering it honestly.  "How could she?"

"It seemed as if-" She stopped, hesitated.  "It doesn't matter.  The
important thing is that she's safe, and it's thanks to you."

"You're very fond of her."

She settled back into her chair.  "Yes.  I've only known her a few
days, but-" She cast David a speaking glance.

"We've developed an affinity very quickly."

Like you and me?  he asked silently.  "I can see that,"

he said.  "You never told me of your rescue work, Jesse.  I was able to
watch a little of what you did to help Megan.

I was greatly impressed."

She shook her head.  "The credit belongs to the team."

She was quiet for a long time, and then spoke as if she had held
something inside too long and had finally found a means of release.

"That cliff where Megan fell .  . ."  she said slowly, "there was an
accident last week.  A boy named Bobby died."  She swallowed and met
his gaze.  "I was the one who went down to get him.  I felt
responsible.  But when I was able to help Megan, it made me realize how
useless my guilt was.  How little good it did anyone, including the
people who suffered most."

Ah, yes.  Guilt was such a useless sentiment.  Who better to know than
David Ventris?  Jesse knew nothing of his own culpability, and yet she
shared this with him, as she'd shared her childhood fears.  He knew
such admissions did not come easy for her.

"I'm telling you this," she said, "because there's something I need to
do tomorrow after work, a visit I've been putting off too long.  Megan
should rest all day, and I can't stay with her.  I thought .  . . if
it's possible that you could keep an eye on her for me, for just a few
hours.  I know you don't know her, and she can't see you, but you were
the one who saved her.  It seems .  . . right, somehow."

Little did she know how appropriate it was, or how ironic.  He should
have excused himself with a story of his weakness, that he couldn't
remain on the earthly plane, but he was weary of cowardice.

And he wanted this.  Against all sense and reason, he wanted to please
Jesse, to make her look on him again with those warm and welcoming
eyes.  To spend a few hours with the daughter he'd barely known and
would never know beyond those hours.  There could be no harm in that.

"Maybe I shouldn't have asked," Jesse said, looking away.  "You must
need to go back.  I can't expect-" "You trust me so much, Jesse?"  he
said.

Her voice dropped to a husky whisper.  "Shouldn't I?

After what you've done?"

He pushed away from the wall, crossed halfway to her, stopped.  "Then I
will watch her for as long as I can, and let you know if she needs
you."

"Thank you," she said.  "If there's anyway-" "Jesse?"  Megan murmured.
She stirred in her bed and pushed up under the blankets.  David faded
himself to invisibility, and Jesse moved to Megan's side.

"It's nearly dawn," she told the child.  "How do you feel?"  "Tired.  I
thought I heard you talking."

"I'm sorry I disturbed you."  She ruffled Megan's hair.

"I have an early hike this morning, but you've got a lot more resting
to do if we're going to take that camping trip.  I promise to come back
to see you as soon as I can.

In the meantime, I want you to imagine there's a guardian angel here
with you.  You can't see him, but I've asked him to watch over you
while I'm gone."

Megan's sleepy eyes surveyed the room.  "I don't think I believe in
guardian angels," she said.

"You don't have to believe.  Just imagine.  Imagine that he's whoever
you want him to be."

Megan yawned and closed her eyes again.  "Then I imagine that he has a
blue coat and black boots.  And a sword .  ."

Jesse paused as she tucked the blankets back around Megan's chin. Megan
was already asleep.  David re materialized beside Jesse and waited for
the inevitable question.

"Are you sure she didn't see you?"  she asked.

"I'm sure of very little.  But I will play guardian angel to the best
of my ability."

"I know you will.  I-" She gazed at him and seemed to lose her train of
thought.  "Can you come to the cabin this evening?"

David remembered how, only yesterday, he'd vowed to regain some
emotional detachment from Jesse Copeland and her problems.  But he'd
been pulled into her life more deeply than before, and her invitation
sounded dangerously sweet to his ears.

"I'll be there," he promised.  He reached out to take her hand before
he remembered his inability to do so.

"When I see you again, I will not be so constrained by these
limitations."

If she grasped his innuendo, she chose to ignore it.  But her farewell
was warmer than any he remembered.

When he was alone again, he set himself to floating beside Megan's bed
and contemplated the snub-nosed, elfin face.  She slept with a child's
total absorption, lost in a world of dreams.

Pleasant dreams, he hoped.  Dreams unburdened by the weight of past
lives.  There was little enough of her life with him that she could
remember.  One short year.

He wasn't tempted to call her by that other name.  But his heart was in
his throat, as if he were capable of the fatherly feelings a man ought
to have for his only daughter.

Tenderness.  Pride.  Love.  Hadn't he possessed such feelings, once
upon a time?  Or had they merely been illusion?

He rested a weightless hand on her forehead.  If it were within his
power, he would have given her everything a child could wish for: a
world secure from all harm, a happy home, parents who loved her.  One
of those she had in Jesse.  But a child deserved a father.  When he was
gone, Jesse would be free to find someone to fill that role.

The surge of hot denial David felt was unforeseen and indisputable.  By
God, the thought of Jesse with another man-in another man's arms,
possessed by him, bearing his children, sharing his life.  .

Megan made a thin, fretful sound and moved her head on the pillow.
David's withdrawal was not quite swift enough.  She opened her eyes and
stared at him from under heavy lids.

"You?"  she whispered.  "Are you .  . . the angel?"

Oh, the innocence of children.  "You're having a dream, Megan," he
said.  "Only a dream, about a friend who wishes you well.  Who wants
you to be happy.  Go back to sleep, and dream of happy things."

She obeyed him as she might a beloved father, and soon was at rest
again.  But he knew better than to take further chances.  He retreated
across the room to wait out the time he had promised.

Let Megan dream.  Let her dream of perfect fathers with tender hearts
and angels who truly existed.  He
hoped she would never learn the truth.

CHAPTER TEN

FOR JESSE, THE new day came with a strengthening of resolve that a
little more obsolete emotional baggage was about to be discarded once
and for all.

She'd told David that she planned to make a visit she'd put off too
long.  Ever since Bobby Moran's funeral, she'd struggled with her own
sense of responsibility for the boy's death, the harsh self-judgment
that she hadn't been good enough.  She'd been half afraid to face Mrs.
Moran after their brief meeting at the funeral, and she'd let her own
discomfort keep her from reaching out.

What had happened with Megan opened her eyes, and she recognized the
futile self-indulgence of her guilt.  She didn't know Bobby's mother
well; like Joan Copeland, Mrs.  Moran lived at the fringe of town
life-husband less, apparently unemployed, her son a minor lawbreaker
and troublemaker.  Perhaps she had friends enough to see her through
her grief.  But Jesse couldn't be complacent any longer, not when she'd
been granted the miracle of being able to save someone she loved.

Now, with Megan safe at home and the afternoon's work behind her, Jesse
turned her truck toward the edge of town and the small trailer park
where Mrs.  Moran lived.

The Moran trailer was set slightly apart from the others, flanked by a
pair of well-rusted junker cars.  The trailer itself was old and small
but in relatively good condition.

The tiny patch of lawn beside the trailer was surprisingly well cared
for, graced with a scraggly row of sun-beaten flowers in a narrow
bed.

Jesse parked and walked up to the door, wiping her damp palms on her
jeans.  Her knock went unanswered for several moments, and when Mrs.
Moran came to the door she opened it only a crack.

She looked much as she had at the funeral: wan, face pinched, her
petite figure bent with sorrow.  When her son was buried, she'd worn
dark glasses to cover her eyes; now Jesse could see the ravages of her
grief, the swelling and redness of recent weeping, the blankness that
came from the most terrible loss.

Mrs.  Moran's eyes widened a little at the sight of her visitor, and
Jesse almost expected the door to slam in her face.  But it opened
another few inches, enough for Jesse to see the little boy clutching
his mother's hand.  His name was Kirk, Jesse remembered-Bobby's younger
brother.  He was near Megan's age.  And, like Megan, he'd learned
suffering early.

"Mrs.  Moran?"  Jesse said.  She'd rehearsed this visit any number of
times in her mind, and she still didn't know how to say it.  "My name
is Jesse Copeland.  I've come by .  . . to offer my sympathy on the
loss of your son."

The woman stared at her, unmoving.  "I remember you.  You're the woman
who tried to save him."

"Yes.  And I'm very sorry, Mrs.  Moran.  I wish I could have done
more."

The words were so inadequate.  Jesse wished for some great eloquence,
the skill to comfort this woman and reach out in a meaningful way.
Maybe she was only adding to Mrs.  Moran's pain.

But the woman blinked and stepped away from the door.  "Come in," she
said.

The trailer was cramped but immaculate, giving the lie to the old
cliches about "trailer trash."  Mrs.  Moran sat down at a two-seat
table in the kitchenette, Kirk at her side.  Jesse sat opposite.

"I want to thank you for what you tried to do," Mrs.  Moran said, her
voice low and rough.  "I know you did the best you could."

It was more than Jesse hoped for, this absolution.  She wouldn't have
blamed Mrs.  Moran for raging at her, needing to hold someone
accountable for her loss.

"I came to .  . . see if there was anything I could do,"

Jesse said.  "Any way that I could help."

"Thank you," Mrs.  Moran said.  "But you don't need to do anything.
Bobby-" She closed her eyes.  "He was already gone."

Already gone.  Already lost to his mother, who couldn't control him
anymore.  Couldn't help him overcome his addiction.  Could only stand
by and watch him destroy himself.

Jesse didn't question her impulse.  She reached across the table,
covered Mrs.  Moran's slack hand with her own and tried with all her
heart to convey what she felt.

"Don't blame yourself," she said.  "Please don't.  It wasn't your
fault."

Mrs.  Moran let out a shuddering breath.  Her hand trembled beneath
Jesse's.  "You don't know," she said.

"You can't."

"You're right," Jesse said.  "But I can listen.  If you need someone to
talk to.  If you just .  . . don't want to be alone.  I know about
being alone when it hurts."

A tear escaped the corner of Mrs.  Moran's eye.  She pulled her hand
from under Jesse's and stroked Kirk's hair.  "Did you come here because
you blamed yourself?"

The question was piercing and direct and cut right to the quick.
Twenty-four hours ago it would have been a bitter blow.  Jesse
remembered finding Megan on the ledge, her joy when she'd known the
girl was unharmed.

Her sense that something had been released within her heart.

"I did blame myself, for a while," Jesse answered.  "But that's not why
I'm here.  I don't have any .  . . easy answers, Mrs.  Moran."

"No.  It wasn't easy for you to come here, was it?"  She looked out the
small, curtained window.  "I heard about your mother.  How she drowned
in the river."

Jesse swallowed.  "It's one reason why I joined search and rescue.
Because I-" She broke off and shook her head, but Mrs.  Moran didn't
seem to require an explanation.  She looked at Jesse with tears in her
eyes.

"Maybe you do know what it's like," she whispered.

They gazed at each other, more communication in their silence than
words could convey.  Mrs.  Moran was the first to break away.  She rose
and went to the kitchen counter, hiding her face.

"Thank you for coming," she said.

Jesse rose.  "I meant what I said.  If there's any way I can help .
."

Mrs.  Moran half turned, Kirk still her quiet shadow.

"I'll remember."

There was nothing else Jesse could do but hope the other woman believed
in her sincerity.  She knew how difficult it was to break down barriers
between people who had to learn how to trust.

But the barriers could be broken.  It had happened with Megan.

And David.  Hadn't he been the first to test her own defenses?  Hadn't
he begun the crack in her heart that was widening a little more with
every passing day, with every person whose life touched hers?

She paused at the trailer door and pulled out the notepad she kept in
her jeans pocket.  "I've written down my number and address," she said,
set ting the paper on the
table.  "Please, call anytime."  She was almost to her truck when Mrs.
 Moran's voice stopped her.

"Thank you, Jesse.  I never told you my name.  It's Lisa."  She smiled
and watched Jesse from the door when she could have gone inside.  Even
Kirk raised a small hand in a tentative wave.

The fullness in Jesse's chest expanded in a rush of warmth that made
her eyes prickle.  Maybe she hadn'~ done much, but she felt good,
damned good for having tried.  Maybe Mrs.  Moran-Lisa-would call.  And
maybe Megan would be willing to visit Kirk, who was probably just as
isolated as his mother.

At least there was hope.

Megan was waiting for her at Al's, and proved how well recovered she
was by barreling into Jesse the instant she walked in the door.

"I was waiting for you," Megan said.  "You did come back."

She spoke with the grudging wonder of a skeptic forced to admit that
miracles were possible.  Now that the initial euphoria over Megan's
rescue had passed, it was even more important that Jesse keep her
promises to Megan and show the girl that she could rely on the care and
consistency of another human being.

"I've been to see Bobby's mother," Jesse said.  "Our talk last night
made me decide to go.  She has a son named Kirk, about your age."

Megan's expression grew grave.  "They must be very sad."

"Yes."  She put her arm around Megan.  "I've been thinking-if you'd
like, and if Mrs.  Moran agrees-we could invite him over sometime.  He
and his mother don't have much.  You could show him the computer.  He
probably really needs a friend right now."

Megan frowned, and Jesse wondered if she'd pushed things too fast.
She'd barely begun to know Megan herself, though she felt as if their
relationship were years rather than days old.

"Just think about it," Jesse said.  "In the meantime, you and I have a
camping trip to plan, don't we?  And we have to get you some new
glasses."

"I'm only a little nearsighted," Megan protested.

"But you won't want to miss the beautiful things we'll see on our hike.
I'll set up the appointment."  She gave Megan another quick hug. "Have
you been getting plenty of rest?"

"All day."  Megan wrinkled her nose.  "You know that angel you talked
about last night?  He was there this morning.  But when I woke up
later, he was gone."

Was it possible that Megan had seen David after all?  If so, she didn't
seem troubled by the vision.  And somehow Jesse was not surprised.
She'd felt not the slightest qualm in asking David to keep watch after
she left.  There'd been a rightness to it that couldn't be denied.

David might be waiting for her now, at the cabin.  Her heart picked up
speed, and she remembered vividly their meeting in Megan's room-her
inability to touch him when she'd nearly flung herself into his arms,
his promise that he wouldn't be so insubstantial when next they met.

She had wanted to touch him.  She had felt such happiness at seeing
him, as if his presence were the only thing lacking to make her world
complete.

Could so much have changed in a handful of days?

How could she justify the irrational feeling that David, like Megan,
was becoming an essential part of her life?

"Are you going to have dinner with us, Jesse?"  Megan said, tugging at
her hand.  "It's tacos."

Jesse squeezed Megan's fingers.  "I'll stay for dinner but then it's
off to bed with you, young lady.  Agreed?"

Megan rolled her eyes.  "Okay.  Let's go tell Mrs.  Plummer we're ready
to eat."

Jesse made the most of her time with Megan, but her thoughts turned
again and again to David-and the other matter that remained far from
settled.

Gary might be gone from Manzanita, but he was not forgotten.  The
events of the past twenty-four hours hadn't erased the impact of the
confrontation at the
party and the break-in, or weakened Jesse's resolution to track down
the source of Gary's guilt.  But at last she had come to recognize what
she must do if she were to go any further in her quest for justice-what
she'd been avoiding just as she'd put off visiting Mrs.  Moran.  The
one thing she feared most.

She had to return to the old resort.  She had to walk the grounds again
and go into the cabin she and her mother had shared, relive it all once
more.  If answers existed, they had to be there.

She was just beginning to understand how much more than herself she had
to fight for.

THE SUN WAS sliding behind the mountains when Jesse walked into the
cabin.  She hesitated only a moment when she saw David, and then she
went to him with outstretched hands and a smile, as she'd done before.
But this time he took her hands in his, and they looked at each other
as if they were old and dear friends who had shared some great trial
and come through safely.

David had thought their hours apart would give him all the distance he
needed to master his inconvenient response to her newfound warmth and
trust.  But the feel of her slender fingers cradled in his own, the
sincere gladness in her upturned face, had a devastating effect.  He
was already pulling her close before he realized the danger.

He released her hands and stepped back.  "And how is our Megan?"

Jesse let her arms fall, suddenly self-conscious.  "She's fine.
Resting."  She looked him up and down, a delicate flush to her cheeks.
"You're solid again."

"As promised."  He whisked an illusory bit of dust from his ragged
jacket.  "Though I seem to have a deucedly limited wardrobe."

She laughed, though the sound was tense with unspoken thoughts.  By
silent agreement they settled in the kitchen, where they'd held their
first conversation-the table separating them as it had then, a quiet
return to their original bargain.  Whatever had happened between them
since the party, Jesse remembered the risks of intimacy with her
personal ghost.

"You asked me," Jesse said at last, "if I trusted you."

David clasped his hands on the table in a pose of mock relaxation. "And
you," he said, "asked me why you shouldn't."

She looked at his hands.  "Do you know .  . . how difficult it is for
me to trust?  I'd lost the habit for a very long time, except with a
handful of people.  Like Al, and Kim."

"But now?"

"Now-" She met his gaze with heartbreaking directness.  "After the
party, and what you did for Megan .

I believe you are my friend."

Such a simple word, "friend."  So satisfying if one wanted more.  But
David heard in that word a wealth of meaning and significance that went
far beyond its definition.

Friendship was nothing simple or casual for Jesse.

Nor was her trust.

Her trust was always what he'd wanted.  Why, then, did he feel as if it
were an unexpected gift-a gift he both desired and did not desire, an
offering that weighed as much as a cannonball?

"You've already done so much for me," she said, "when I've given you
nothing in return."

He dipped his head to hold her gaze when she would have looked away.
"You'll get your chance.  There are no debts between friends."

If only that were true.  But hope was in her face-hope he'd put there,
unworthy though he might be.  "I told you about my past with Gary," she
said.  "He's left town, and I don't know why.  But the situation with
him isn't resolved.  Not for me."  She squared her shoulders.  "I'm
still looking for my answers, and my memory.  And I know where I have
to continue the search."

So she wasn't giving up.  Unfortunate-but Avery wasn't here to harm her
or stand in the way.

"How can I help?"  he asked.

"I need to return to the place where I grew up, the resort my mother
ran when I was a child.  I haven't been there since I left Manzanita
years ago."

And she was afraid.  David got up and moved around the table.  "You
don't want to go alone."

The corner of her mouth twitched.  "It's a .  . . bit like walking into
the dragon's lair.  Does that sword of yours work?"

"I've yet to slay a dragon, but I'm willing to try."  He lifted his
hand, laid it gently along the curve of her neck under the silky wisps
of loose hair.  She went very still.

"You said you trusted me," he said.  "I would slay a thousand dragons
for you, Jesse."

A deep shudder ran through her body.  Slowly she raised her own hand,
reached behind to cover his.

"Thank you."

How was it that the lightest of caresses, the unaffected words of
gratitude, could be so charged with erotic power?  David sucked in a
breath and tried to remember that they'd been discussing his saber, not
the other weapon he'd be very happy to employ at this very moment, on
the floor or on the sofa or the table or wherever Jesse would permit.

However often he told himself that wanting her did nothing to further
his cause, he couldn't stop it.  That desire was as much a part of this
body he assumed as the feel of a heartbeat and the flow of air in his
lungs.  And it wasn't Sophie he thought of.  Never Sophie.

Jesse's kiss had shown that she responded to him.  Responded as
herself.  He'd come back to Earth to win forgiveness from his former
wife.  But Jesse was the one he wanted to win.

"Jesse," he whispered.

She dropped her hand from his and moved restlessly, cueing him to
withdraw.  "I want to get an early start in the morning.  I haven't
been sleeping much, so I'm going to bed early tonight.  If you're
coming with me, maybe you need to conserve your energy."

A dismissal if ever he'd heard one.  And he knew why.

She couldn't help but feel what passed between them with every touch.
"You'd send me back so soon?"

She flushed.  "I'm sorry I keep forgetting the place you come from.  If
you want to rest here .  ."

Yes.  To stay with her as she made ready for sleep, to watch her lie
down in her nightclothes in her solitary bed and imagine lying there
with her, atop her, inside her"I'd offer you the couch," she said, "if
you need it, since you're-" "A ghost?"  he said, forcing a smile.  "I
cannot maintain my physical form forever, but perhaps I can take my
rest in a pleas anter place than limbo."

"Then you're welcome to stay."  She turned away quickly.  "I don't
suppose you eat or drink?  I never thought to ask."

David was deluged by visions of steak and kidney pie, fresh butter on
new-baked bread, chunks of pungent cheese.  But the mere act of eating
would deplete his energies, and he preferred to spare them for other
opportunities.

"Thank you, but no."  He strolled into the living room and sat on the
sofa.  "Don't let me interfere with your routine.  It gives me pleasure
to observe the simple tasks of daily life."

She followed him to the doorway.  "You .  . . do remember what you
promised."

"I'll not play Peeping Tom," he said, leaning back and crossing his
legs.  "Though you are a very beautiful woman, Jesse.  The temptation
is considerable."

She stared at him, color high, and folded her arms across her chest.
"It's not that I'm beautiful, is it?  Or even that we used to be
lovers.  You haven't had sex for nearly two centuries."

He choked on a startled laugh.  By Boney's shrunken balls, she wasn't
so demure as she liked to pretend.  A modern woman.  He thought he
could come to like modern women very
much indeed.  "Would you take pity on me, Jesse, and cure my
deprivation?"  he asked, leaning forward.

"Will it save your soul?"

If only it could.  But if there was a way to bed Jesse and win his
freedom at the same time .  . . David groaned inwardly at the
increasing pressure in his groin.

Jesse was backing away, disappearing into the kitchen.

But she had almost-almost-made an offer.  David censored his
increasingly torturous thoughts and closed his eyes, drifting into a
semi physical state where he could still feel the sofa under him and
smell the delicious scents that came from the kitchen.  Bread, he
guessed, and jam, and hot tea.  His mouth watered.

Small things he'd never appreciated when he'd had them, like the sound
of a baby's cry and the rhythm of hoofbeats on cobbles and the faintly
off-key strains of a country dance.  The fragrance of dew-splashed
roses in the morning and the pungent odor of London's streets on a hot
summer's day.

In Jesse's home he could begin to remember these things.  The armor of
years sloughed away, and he was a boy again.  Lancelot, who still had
hope and could find pleasure in so little.

He caught Jesse tiptoeing across the room as if not to wake him.  He
maintained the illusion of sleep until she'd gone into her bedroom and
closed the door.

He could walk through any wall she chose to put between them.  When
there was silence in the cabin, he went to her door and paused.

Once before he'd found her sleeping.  The sight had been arousing
then-but now, with his desire heated to fever pitch, he wondered how he
could keep his hands from her.  From her hair, her skin, her body.  Or
his mouth from her lips and breasts and sweet feminine secrets.

Had he been a truly honorable man, he could have used that excuse for
not intruding on her privacy and breaking his word.  But he was not
honorable.  He retreated because he knew he would not be able to
control himself, and a false step would destroy Jesse's trust in him.

He'd been wrong about being able to remain in this house with Jesse,
bound as he was.  He sought relief outside, under the hills and the
stars and the sky.  Living men and women could lose themselves in true
sleep, but he could only choose his form of wakeful emptiness.

He set himself to wait out the lonely night.

"HAVE YOU EVER ridden in a car?"

Jesse stood beside the open door of her vehicle, smiling at David with
a mischievous glint in her eye.

For a woman about to face a challenge she greatly feared, Jesse had
greeted him quite cheerfully.  She was armored in determination, and
even the bright summer morning seemed to bolster her tenacious good
humor.

David moved closer to the horseless carriage and touched the warm metal
surface.  "I know about them,"

he said.  "News of the world did reach my corner of limbo from time to
time.  Your modern conveniences don't unduly shock me."

She slid into the seat behind the wheel and pushed open the opposite
door.  "You can ride with me unless you'd rather meet me there."

No, indeed.  David had a peculiarly keen desire to stay at Jesse's
side.  "I can hardly decline such a fascinating experience," he said.

"Then hop in."

He did so, gingerly, and in spite of his bravado he winced when the
engine engaged.  He felt a stab of longing for his faithful army mount,
Cyril.  If there was any justice, Cyril had survived the war and
conferred his courage on many generations of colts and fillies.

Cyril wouldn't have had much use for this contraption.  Jesse
maneuvered the noisy vehicle down the paved roads while David observed
with impunity the passing
townsfolk who weren't aware of his existence.  Within a quarter of an
hour they'd left Manzanita's outskirts and reached Jesse's
destination.

From outside the heavy wire fence that protected it, the resort
appeared as a cluster of smallish buildings barely visible behind a
thick screen of trees, a wide clearing, a miniature lake, and woods
that bounded it on three sides.  Jesse got out of the truck, released
her breath in a long rush, and strode toward the locked gate.

"The place was sold after my mother died," she said, subdued as she
wrapped her fingers around the wire.  "I was told that someone else
tried to run it for a while, but they couldn't make it profitable."

"And you grew up here," David said, joining her.

She didn't answer but knelt to examine the base of the fence.
"Someone's already been in here.  The fence is cut."  She returned to
the truck for a pack, then knelt to pry open the cut section of fence.
The resulting opening was wide and tall enough for a man on hands and
knees.

David melted through the fence and met Jesse on the other side,
offering assistance.  She brushed off her jeans, gaze sweeping the
deserted compound.

"I don't .  . . even know where to start," she said.

David kept a firm grip on her arm and felt her tremble.

"What exactly do you hope to find?"

"I had a dream .  . . about my mother and Gary fighting in the cabin
where we lived.  I'm convinced it had an important meaning, but that
something was missing."

Her words didn't make complete sense, but David didn't blame her for
her distraction.  He remembered returning to the ruins of Parkmere Hall
after Sophie's death, numb and empty, unable to bear the sight of the
devastated rose garden she'd loved or the home he'd spent so much
effort avoiding.  The ghosts-real or illusory-of his indifferent father
and autocratic mother walked what was left of the charred halls and
blackened chambers, leaving no room for any shade Sophie might have
left behind.

How he'd hated being there.  He knew how Jesse must feel, and he
wouldn't let her suffer alone.

"Were you ever happy here?"  he asked.  "Have you any good memories at
all?"

She closed her eyes.  "Yes.  Sometimes my mother would be sober for a
while-months at a time.  Before Gary came-" She shook her head and
burst into motion, striding toward the nearest buildings.  David
matched her frantic pace.  At the last moment she veered away from the
cabins and went to the lakeshore, to a crumbling pier that jutted out
over the water.  The skeleton of an old rowboat lay beached on the
gravel.

"We used to row out on the lake, when no one else was staying here,"
Jesse said.  "There were usually just enough guests during the year to
keep us going, but I liked it when it was just me and Mom.  Then she
had time for me.  It was our own little world."

"And your father?"

"He left when I was seven.  He just disappeared.  I think he sent money
for a while, but .  . ."  Her fists clenched.

"Why did he leave you?"

"I think that he .  . . expected more than my mother could give.  He
hated her drinking."  She jerked her head in a silent gesture of
denial.  "He abandoned us.  That's all there is to it."

"And you hate him for that."

She looked at him bleakly.  "Shouldn't I?  He never bothered to get in
touch with me.  Not even when Mom died.  Not until he was dead.  Then I
found out he'd become very rich after he'd left us, and he willed his
fortune to me."

David let go of her arm and moved away, staring at the fringe of woods
along the opposite shore.  Not until he was dead.  Ironic that David
should be in the same position.  Had Jesse's father hoped to win her
forgiveness postmortem?  Had it been belated love or guilt that had
motivated him at the end?

It didn't matter.  Jesse hadn't forgiven.

"There's no point in putting it off," Jesse said.  She
threw David a look of appeal that reminded him how ignorant she was of
his need for her absolution.  "Will you come with me to the cabin?"

He rejoined her, and they walked across the open meadow to the
buildings along the east shore of the lake.

The twelve or so small cabins were strung along the lake, anchored at
one end by a slightly larger cabin, a second structure Jesse identified
as the lodge dining room, and several outbuildings.

Jesse headed for the larger cabin.  Unlike a few of the smaller
cottages, it hadn't been badly damaged by the ravages of time and
weather.  A battered, rustically carved

"Welcome" sign hung askew on the door.  Jesse hesitated at the
threshold, biting her lower lip.

"I haven't been here since they took me to the hospital," she said.

"I .  . . don't know what I'm going to find."

David touched her shoulder.  "I'm with you, Jesse."

She turned to him suddenly, grasped his hand, and stared into his eyes,
as if testing his sincerity.  Then she released him and gripped the
doorknob.

It turned easily, unlocked.  She let the door fall open.

Over her shoulder David could see a small room and adjoining kitchen, a
few pieces of worn furniture, a scattering of dried leaves and pine
needles and other debris.

Festoons of cobwebs hung from the walls and ceiling.

The kitchen window was broken, another badly cracked.

Clouds of dirt and dust flew up under Jesse's feet as she walked in.
That another person had been in the cabin before her was obvious from
the track of footprints crisscrossing the room.  Jesse hardly seemed to
notice.

She didn't speak at all, and David could well imagine the reason for
her muteness.  She made a circuit of the room, touching the furniture
and coughing behind her hand at the dust she raised.

"I remember .  . . we used to play Scrabble, sitting right here on the
couch with a TV tray," she murmured.

"Just Mom and me.  And in winter we'd read aloud in front of a blazing
fire."  She crouched before the cob webbed fireplace.  "I was always
scared of getting too close to the flames.  Mom never teased me about
it, but Gary .  ."

Gary.  Avery.  Jesse might well be afraid of fire.  David swallowed and
watched her rise and walk to the nearest window.

"It's so dark in here," she said.  She pulled at the curtains to open
them, and the rotten fabric ripped in her hands.

She stumbled back into David's arms.  He steadied her and listened to
the rasp of her breathing, so charged with distress.  He wanted to hold
her close to his heart, ease a little of that familiar pain.

But she pulled free and walked into the kitchen.

"It .  . . used to be filled with sunlight," she said.  She turned her
back to the dirty, broken window and opened a cupboard above the tile
counter.  "They didn't even bother to take out the dishes."  She moved
a chipped plate and pressed it to her breast.  "No one would have
wanted them, anyway."

Except Jesse.  She continued to hug the plate as she gazed about the
room.  "My dream was set here.  They argued, and then it filled up with
water.  . . ."  She put the plate down and opened each of the cupboards
in turn, then left the kitchen for a short hallway.

She seemed in control of herself, able to master the crippling emotions
she had feared.  But when she entered the first of two bedchambers, she
went rigid and far too quiet.

The room had the look of one designed for a young child, with faded but
cheerful wallpaper, plain furnishings, and the remnants of toys.  Jesse
picked up a three-legged model horse and set it carefully on a shelf.
It toppled over again, and Jesse simply stared.  Minutes passed, and
still she didn't move.

"Jesse," David said.  He gathered her in the curve of his arm, ignoring
the baser feelings that arose in him when he touched her.  "You've seen
enough for now."

"No."  But she remained where she was, neither fighting his embrace nor
returning it.  "Something's missing.

Somewhere-" "Then perhaps a bit of fresh air will help restore your
memory."  He turned her toward the door.  "Come.  Let me take you out
of here."

She crumpled in his hold, her body admitting what her face would not
disclose.  She held on to him, and he felt strong, strong and wanted
and needed, hating the people that had made her suffer as he'd hated
little in his life.

He took her outside and found a seat for her on a tree stump, his hand
at her back.  She ducked her head between her knees and covered her
eyes.  He thought she might be weeping; he hoped she would grant
herself that release.

But when she looked up her eyes were dry, and he knew she'd won another
struggle against the weakness she saw in her own soul.  To be so
vulnerable before David would surrender too much of herself-more than
even her newfound trust for him would permit.

So her pain stayed locked inside.  David felt it nonetheless, and it
pounded away at the walls he'd built within himself so long ago.  Walls
he hadn't known existed until he began to discover Jesse's.

He didn't want to look behind his own walls.  He preferred the surface,
the shiny facade, the protective veneer.

Limbo had stripped that from him, but he hadn't learned.  He was still"
Tell me about your childhood," Jesse said, startling him.  "I know you
said you don't remember much of your life.  But maybe now that we've
been talking .

maybe it's coming back to you.  As mine is to me."  She looked at him
with earnest entreaty in her troubled eyes.

"Did I .  . . did Sophie know you as a boy?"

He wasn't tempted to laugh, though she might have read his very
thoughts.  Wasn't it a way he could offer consolation-by sharing his
past, letting her know she wasn't alone?  Wasn't it the right time to
begin preparing her for what she had to be told, sooner or later?

He sank into a crouch beside her.  "I am starting to remember," he
said.  "Do you wish to know about my idyllic upbringing among the
landed aristocracy?"

"Was it idyllic?"  she asked.  "Did you have a happy childhood?"

He closed his eyes, as if drawing on images that were only just
returning.  "I was privileged," he said.  "I wanted for nothing.  My
father and mother came from long and distinguished bloodlines and
considerable fortune.  The viscounts of Ashthorpe were good ton, even
if they seldom ventured from the country."

"And the place we .  . . you grew up in was beautiful," Jesse said, her
gaze distant.  "Hills and lakes and streams."

"It was beautiful," he agreed.  "Everything a child could wish for.
Avery and I-" "Avery?"

"My brother."  His throat was tight and harsh around the word.  "We
played many a dashing game in the meadows and hills.

As much time as we could away from the Hall."

Jesse was quiet for a moment, flexing her fingers between her knees.
"That was what I did," she said, "after Gary came."  She looked up.
"What were you running from, David?  What were your parents like?"

How much did she remember, and how much guess?

"We were a wealthy, privileged family with little else to recommend
us," he said lightly, making a jest of it.  "My father was a silent and
distant man who married as his parents willed, and lived his life among
his books.  He had no use for children.  My mother-was a paragon of
duty.  She raised us to understand our destiny as breeders of future
peers and upholders of the family honor.  And I, as heir, was the one
of whom she demanded obedience and unquestioning compliance with my
carefully planned future."

"It was a different world then," Jesse said.  "A different age.  But
some things had to be the same.  Your mother .  . ."  She paused,
staring at her clasped hands.

"She must have loved you."  She spoke so hopefully, as if she wished
he'd known such happiness.  "Do you fancy that love was a necessary
ingredient in the bearing and raising of the dynasty's next
generation?"  he asked.  "My mother surely wouldn't have agreed with
that policy.  She had a better method.

She trained us from earliest infancy to be self-reliant and not bother
her with our juvenile needs and fears.  We were not, after all, as
ordinary children.  We were aristocrats of an ancient and noble line,
unbroken for centuries."

Jesse glanced at him, brows drawn.  "You mean you weren't allowed to be
children, you and .  . Avery."

As you were not, he thought.  Yet you had faith in your mother's love,
however flawed it was.

"Ah, but we had something better," he said aloud, "as my mother so
often pointed out to us.  Duty and honor."

He rose and paced a few feet away.  "What need for pleasure or maudlin
sentiment?  Duty and honor last forever.

"But you found ways to play.  You said you were able to escape, have
fun.  You had a brother."

He didn't wish to speak of Avery.  He didn't want to feel again what
he'd felt confronting Gary in his hotel room, that gut-wrenching tangle
of guilt and pity and hatred that had no part in his plans.

"I wanted a brother or sister when I was younger,"

Jesse said.  "But after my father left--" "You thought it was better
that you didn't."  David gazed at the lake, at the reflection of
drifting clouds on the nearly still surface.

"Tell me about your brother," she said.

He couldn't avoid the subject.  If she didn't flinch at Avery's name in
spite of her hatred for Gary, there was little chance she'd react badly
to David's censored tale.

And it might lay the groundwork for his ultimate revelation.

"Avery was five years younger than I," he said.  "When he was small, my
mother doted on him.  She'd not yet
decided that I was .  . . not all she expected in the heir, and didn't
demand as much of him.  But when I turned eleven, she began to mold him
into the son she truly wanted."

"She .  . . stopped loving him?"

"She taught him to rely on no one but himself.  But it was a lesson he
never learned.  When our mother denied us pleasure, I made certain to
grow up quickly and find my own.  I was fortunate because I didn't care
about my mother's lack of affection or my father's distance.  They were
of no importance to me.  There was much more of the world to interest
me than Parkmere Hall, and I discovered it soon enough."

"You rebelled."

"I simply felt no desire to obey my mother's dictates or take on
responsibilities I never asked to bear."  He laughed.  "How sad for my
mother that I became the ne'er-do-well she tried so hard to prevent."

He heard her get up and move about restlessly.  "You must have been
very unhappy."

"Unhappy?  I found a way out once I reached the age of moderate
independence.  I was very good at earning my own income at the gaming
tables, when my mother withheld my allowance."

"But you said that Avery was different," she said.

"What happened to him?"

"He seemed to require the tender affections my mother couldn't give
him.  He was quite tedious in his efforts to please her.  He set
himself an impossible task, and suffered for it."

"But he had you," she said.  "Someone to look up to."

Ah, yes.  The bold elder brother.  Lancelot.  The knight who never
feared to slay dragons.  Avery had been timid away from the Hall until
he'd realized only manly stoicism would win Mother's approval.  Then
he'd flung himself into their games with a full heart, playing Arthur
but watching his "first knight" for any sign of brotherly approbation.
Watching with something very like worship.

For a time they'd been close.  David hadn't thought of those days in
centuries, and he took no satisfaction in it now.

When had it ended?  Had Avery believed he could win the parental favor
David had failed to earn?  He was not the heir, but he could have had
everything else.  If he had been good enough.  Dutiful enough.  Was
that when the first break between them had occurred?

Or was it when David realized his younger brother had become a dead
bore, pro sing on about proper behavior just like their mother?  When
David recognized that Avery was a burden, not a companion, too young to
join him in his quests for sensual oblivion?

Was he to admit this to Jesse, that he'd abandoned his brother in the
end, as he'd abandoned duty to his name and abandoned Sophie years
later?  He was painting himself a villain, not the hero he wished to
appear in Jesse's eyes.  He'd admitted to being a ne'er-do-well and a
gamester.  Why did he feel the need to purge himself of a past he had
no reason to resurrect?

"Yes," he said after a long silence.  "Avery had me."

"Then neither one of you was without love," Jesse said.  She came up
beside him, a softness in her eyes.  "In a way, you lost your family,
too.  You never really had parents at all."

Could she find sympathy for him when she'd suffered so much?  How much
had he truly suffered?  His childhood miseries were long behind him.

"That's why you joined the army," she said.  "To escape.  The same
reason I worked for the Peace Corps after I got out of college.  So I
wouldn't have to come back here and face .  . . all this."

Her voice was small and held a note of shame he couldn't bear.  He
turned to her and took her arms in a firm but gentle clasp.

"You give yourself far too little credit, Jesse," he said.

"If you worked for peace, it was scarcely a selfish motive.

Mine was not so noble.  I wanted to leave the Hall, get as far away as
possible, and the war presented the perfect opportunity."

"And you also left .  . . because your father died,"

she said slowly.  "You grieved for him, in spite of everything."

He stiffened and almost let her go.  She could know that only from her
memories as Sophie, and in that life he'd never seen any indication
that Sophie perceived so much.  But Jesse didn't elaborate, only
searched his eyes too deeply.

In her steady gaze he saw reflected scenes of the day he'd ridden off
to war.  His mother ordering him not to go, never backing down an inch,
never offering compromise.  Sophie sobbing in his arms, not for the
last or most terrible time, begging him not to leave her so soon after
their one sweet loving.

And Avery, his lips suspiciously stiff, reminding David of his
responsibilities, that he was viscount now, that if he left, the
consequences must be on his own head.

Avery's curse had rung in David's ears long after he'd ridden away. But
he'd dismissed Avery as the jealous boy he appeared to be-jealous
because Avery had chosen to bind himself to the Hall and his own
misery, while David had chosen freedom.

But he hadn't hated Avery then.  After he'd come home for a hasty
marriage to Sophie, after Mother had died, after Elizabeth had gone as
well and he'd returned to the Peninsula-he'd left the Hall and his wife
in Avery's care.

Avery had been the first to hate.

"I think you did care what your mother thought of you," Jesse said.  "I
think you wanted her love, and your father's attention.  But you didn't
know how to get it.

You could never be good enough to make them love you, so you went the
opposite direction.  And when that didn't work, you pretended it wasn't
important."  She disengaged herself from his weakened hold and stroked
his arm in a gesture of consolation that he felt like fire searing him
to the bone.  "You .  . . finally just gave up."

David was afraid that any sudden movement, any
hasty response, would shatter something unexpectedly fragile within
him.  "Do I seem such a coward to you?"

he asked, unable to keep the bitterness from his words.

"No.  Oh, no.  I think I .  . . understand you better than before.
We're more alike than I realized, even though it wasn't exactly the
same for me.  My mother loved me."  She massaged her throat, rubbing at
the ache David knew would be there, as it was in his own.

"But sometimes I couldn't deal with her drinking.  The way she changed
from day to day.  The way I couldn't seem to help her."

She shook her head to forestall David's incipient protest.  "Then Gary
came, and I spent more and more time away .  . until she died, and I
wasn't there to save her."

He didn't consciously plan to take her in his arms.  He didn't even
know she was crying until she was against him and he heard the catch of
her breath and felt the moisture of her tears.  She pressed her face
into the collar of his uniform and clutched at his back, making no
sound other than the soft gasps of her weeping.

Sophie had wept often.  When they'd first married, he'd responded to
her tears.  But he'd become jaded and impatient, unwilling to cater to
her seemingly bottomless need for comfort.

With Jesse he felt fiercely protective.  And ashamed.

Ashamed because Jesse had been Sophie, and he'd failed her.  Because he
hadn't been able to love Sophie, not as he should have.

Once, perhaps, he'd known what love was.  But he'd chosen to let the
ability die out of him.  It was too much work, too confining, too deman
ding of what he was not strong or wise or good enough to give.

Jesse lifted her head.  "I'm sorry," she said, scrubbing at her face
with her knuckles.  "I don't usually do this."

No.  She wouldn't.  An unbearable tenderness washed through David.  "Do
you think I begrudge you, Jesse?"

She sniffed.  "It's .  . . embarrassing."

He held her a little apart from him and smiled.  "If I had a
handkerchief, I'd gladly lend it to you.  As it is--" He bent his head
and kissed the high curve of her cheekbone, catching the salt of a tear
on the tip of his tongue.  He found another tear trapped in the lashes
of her left eye, two at the edge of her jaw and one more nestled in the
corner of her lips.

One by one he disposed of her tears, entranced by the velvet texture of
her skin and the scent of her hair and the subtle alteration in her
breathing from distress to excitement.

It wasn't seduction he'd had in mind.  If she'd raised a hand to ward
him off, he would have stopped.  But she leaned into him, giving him
his way, and his body began to hum with the desire he'd so long
suppressed.

There was no good reason to do so any longer.  This closeness was what
they both wanted, mutual solace, a forgetting of sadness and pain.
Would it be so terrible to surrender?  Would he be risking so much?

Be damned to the consequences.

He touched his mouth to hers.  Her fingers dug into the back of his
jacket, and her lips parted.  Her breasts pushed against his ribs as
she fitted her body to the hollows of his own.

The kiss intensified, David's tongue slipping inside her mouth to savor
her warmth and the passion he'd sensed so close beneath the surface.
Her forays were more hesitant, but their very innocence excited him all
the more.

It hadn't been like this in Al's study.  This time she was fully as
eager as he.  And he couldn't remember a single instance, in a life of
countless amorous adventures, when he'd ever felt so astonished by his
own response.  So consumed with an urgent hunger to know and be known
to the very core of his being.

Jesse moaned, a sound of erotic challenge that drove him to the brink.
A fraction of his mind cast about for a place to lie with her, near
enough that the mood would not be broken.  To take her in the cabin,
where the memories were
so oppressive, would be cruelty.  But a soft bed of leaves under the
trees, with his jacket as a cushion for her bare skin.

"I think we'd better go home."

After a stunned moment he realized she was pulling away-releasing his
jacket, stepping back, stealing the heat and ardor they had created
between them.  Her skin was flushed, but she was carefully averting her
face.

Rejecting him.

His body raged while his mind tried to make sense of her behavior.  He
couldn't have spoken if he'd wanted to.

She walked toward the fence, pausing once as if to make certain he
followed.

It no longer seemed an adequate explanation that she was simply
inexperienced, guarded, and afraid of what might happen between them.
She'd said she trusted him, and proven her words.  Whatever her reasons
for ending the kiss, she'd done it deliberately, coolly, almost without
emotion.  As if it meant nothing.

She must know what she did to him.  By withholding herself now, she
punished him.  But wouldn't be seeking revenge.  She still didn't know
enough about their mutual past.

Not yet.

"Are you coming?"  she called, crouching beside the fence.

He moved stiffly to join her, helped her through the opening, sat
beside her in her vehicle.  They returned to her cottage in silence.
She unlocked the door, ushered him in, and retreated into her
bedchamber.

Leaving would have been the wisest course.  If he'd felt only anger and
frustration, the decision would be easy.

Rebellion, running from what he could not have, came naturally to
him.

What he felt was hurt.  He was appalled by it, by the knowledge that
after two centuries he could experience the aching misery, the
desolation he'd endured as a boy and until today had put from his
mind.

But his desires weren't those of a child.  He could deal with her
rejection.  He could confront it rather than retreat.  She must still
need him, or she'd have sent him away.

So he waited in the cottage with the stillness he'd learned in limbo,
his thoughts blank, refusing to feel anything at all.  He was
thoroughly prepared when Jesse emerged from her room.

She paused in the doorway, and he saw that she'd changed her garments
from sturdy trousers and blouse to the loose-fitting shirt he'd seen
her wear to bed.  Her slender legs and feet were bare beneath.  Her
hair was free about her shoulders.

She looked like a woman who wanted to be taken to bed.

His heart skipped a beat, and he didn't dare to move.

She wet her lips and remained where she was.

"I-" She cleared her throat.  "I didn't want .  . . it to happen there.
At the resort.  There were just too many memories."

Could he understand her fright?  "What would have happened?"  he asked
hoarsely.

Her cheeks reddened.  "Maybe I .  . . misunderstood," she said.

"Can you .  . . I mean .  . . is it even possible-" It would have been
most ungentlemanly to leave her floundering.  David transported himself
across the space between them in the blink of an eye and made himself
solid again.

"What are you offering, Jesse?"

She stared at the tarnished buttons of his jacket.  "Do I have to
explain?"

He lifted a tendril of her hair with his finger.  "You know I want
you."

"Yes," she whispered.

"Were you in any doubt of the reality of my kiss?"

He took a moment to look at her, to savor the sight of her womanly body
and the sensation of his own inexpressible joy.

"I'm here for you, Jesse.  Do you want me?"  She lifted her gaze to
his.  "I didn't believe this could happen."

"That you could desire a ghost?"  He stroked her cheek with his palm.
"But it's not new between us.  Anything is possible."

"I'm beginning .  . . to think you're right."

"Then if you want me-if you want me, Jesse, I have the ability to be
with you now.  In every way."

He molded his hand to the shape of her breast, felt the hardness of her
nipple, its readiness for his caresses.  By God, he could lie with her,
even if it sapped every ounce of his energy.  He didn't give a damn.

Jesse closed her eyes and arched against the doorframe.  "I do .

. . want you," she said.  "I want--" But she didn't finish.  David
pulled her close, kissed the curve of her neck, and lifted her into his
arms.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

SO THAT WAS all it took, Jesse thought incoherently, for the walls to
come tumbling down.

She wasn't quite sure when the fatal crack had appeared, or when she'd
made the decision.  Maybe it wasn't really a decision at all.  It
wouldn't have been if she'd followed her gut and let matters proceed at
the resort.  There'd been nothing reasoned about her response to
David's kiss, or what her body was telling her to do.

But the resort had too many resident ghosts of its own.

And what she'd felt in David's arms-knowing he was with her, truly with
her, through the pain and sorrow of facing her past-was too wonderful
to let go.

Wonderful.  New.  Overwhelming.  And undeniable.

She'd felt David's withdrawal, his anger when she'd pulled away.  But
explanations were beyond her.  It took
every bit of her courage to bring him home and follow through, as if
she were a practiced seductress and not a near-virgin with laughably
little experience.

Here, in the home she'd built, she had a measure of security.  She
wasn't giving up every vestige of control.  So she told herself.

She was mistaken.  David lifted her in his arms and carried her into
her bedroom.  Her mind raced with bursts of their conversation, his
revelation of his own childhood and adolescence, and experiences that
gave them common ground she hadn't been aware of before.

That made her understand him, pity him, want to comfort him.  And take
comfort in turn.

Their shared sorrow would have been some excuse for her surrender.  His
rescue of Megan was another.  But this had been building from the day
they'd met, smoldering since their first kiss in Al's study-and she
didn't believe it was merely the remnant of some previous life.

She'd fought it, refused to acknowledge it.  But she was tired of
fighting.  Her resistance was worn down and out.

This was for her.  And for David, because he'd been devoid of human
contact for too long, bereft of love longer still.  And as for the
consequences of just .  . . giving in, for once in her life She
couldn't think anymore, because David had laid her on her bed-just wide
enough for the two of them and he was stan ding over her, looking at
her in a way that sent fresh shivers tumbling along her nerves.

Raw desire burned in his blue eyes.  What must it have been like to not
touch a woman for nearly two centuries?

She hadn't been with a man in years, but that was nothing compared to
his deprivation.  She hadn't realized how much her body could want a
man's touch.

David's touch, not any man's.  She'd hardly been tempted in the past,
even at close quarters with men in the Corps.  Now it seemed she was
dry tinder just waiting to ignite.  And David was the spark.

He sat beside her on the bed, his weight substantial.

He'd said he could do this, and if mere wanting were enough she had no
doubt of it.  If her wanting were enough, he wouldn't have to leave
time and again.  He could .  .

His hand came to rest on her breast, and she swallowed her gasp.

His fingers molded her nightshirt to her aching nipple, drawing slow
circles around the peak.

She was afraid to look at him, but she forced herself to meet his eyes.
She'd always been aware of how handsome he was, but for the first time
she studied him as a woman studies her lover, caught up in the miracle
of intimacy.  There was a web of sun-lines radiating out from his eyes,
and tiny scars along his firm jaw.  His hair was forever falling into
his eyes.  He always had a faint five-o'clock shadow, as if he'd needed
a shave when he died.

God, no.  No place for death in any of this.  She pushed herself up on
the bed and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, pulling him down for
another kiss.

He obliged.  But she refused to dwell on her inexperience and took
command, boldly opening her mouth and meeting the thrust of his tongue.
They'd gone well beyond preliminaries.  She knew that if she demanded
it, he would go slowly, taking cues from her hesitance.

Slow was dangerous, because slow meant thinking.

Doubting.  Dwelling on what couldn't be changed.  She couldn't bear
such intrusions.

So she invited him to devour her, to use his lips and tongue on hers in
ways she'd never experienced.  She pushed her fingers into his thick
hair and arched her body to meet his.  His snug trousers left no doubt
of his desire for her, but she wanted to feel the corded muscles hidden
under the uniform, his skin on hers.

"Jesse," he said in a husky whisper.  He drew back and cupped her face
with his hands.  "You're a wonder."

She couldn't answer.  She'd meant to begin unbuttoning his jacket, but
her burst of daring was deserting her.  His palms felt cool on her
feverish cheeks.

"I've been wanting to see you," he said, "since the first moment I
came.  All of you."

Part of her wanted to jump up and peel off the night shirt with utter
nonchalance, as if that could protect her from her sudden
self-consciousness.

Another part of her-a part she'd barely known existed-wanted something
else entirely.  She wanted to know the delicious sensation of David's
hands unbuttoning the shirt, smoothing it open, pulling it down to her
breasts, her waist, her hips.

She didn't need to say a word.  David's fingers were already at the
short row of buttons at the neck of her shirt, undoing them with
teasing deliberation.  The lowest button was at the level of her
nipples, making it just possible for David to spread the neckline
apart, pull her shirt beneath her breasts so that they were lifted and
taut and exposed.

Exposed.  She couldn't remember when she'd felt so naked.  David
murmured something-an oath, a prayer and simply stared at her.

"I .  . . hope you're not too disappointed," she managed in a lame
effort at humor, her mouth gone dry.

His gaze flashed to hers.  "Disappointed?"  he rasped.

He swooped down, kissed her with enthusiasm, and cupped her breasts
between his hands on either side.

Then his mouth was on her nipples, closing around them, dragging a gasp
from her throat.

She thought dimly that he must have been a very accomplished lover.

He did things to her breasts with his tongue that she hadn't imagined
even in the rare sexual fantasies she'd allowed herself.  He suckled,
he licked, he kneaded and caressed until she was writhing on the bed
like some cliched storybook virgin.

And she didn't give a damn.  She pressed up, begging him to continue. A
keen, painful pleasure shot in a straight course from her breasts to
her belly and below.

She dared to imagine what it would be like to feel his tongue there,
where she was growing wet and hot and swollen.

But his fingers found her first.  His mouth was still on her breast
while he slid his hand between her slick thighs, stroked over skin that
offered no resistance, parted her, discovered the place where all
sensation gathered.  She jerked, and he moved his thumb in a tiny
circle, building the pressure higher and higher.  When it was close, so
close to exploding, he moved his hand and thrust his finger inside
her.

"No," she protested.  "I want-I want-" He moved nearly on top of her,
his weight on one arm.

"Tell me what you want, Jesse," he said against her ear.

"Tell me."

"I want-you.  All of you."

Abruptly he withdrew, and she wanted to cry out loud.

But he didn't make her wait long.  He worked at the front of his
trousers and pushed her nightshirt above her thighs, so there was only
a narrow band of material covering her waist.

"Feel me, Jesse," he commanded.

She reached down blindly, felt his hand guiding hers.

He was hard, big and very hot, so she thought she would scorch her
fingers.  But he shuddered when she closed around him, felt the
smoothness and subtle ridges of him.  He closed his eyes and reared
back under her caresses, as helpless as she had been.

They were equal.  Equally vulnerable, equally wanting, equally needing.
There was no loss here, no surrender.

Only desire.  Only completion.  Jesse knew an emptiness that could only
be filled with David inside her, parting and entering.  His body
shuddering with ecstasy in time with her own.  His masculine power
awakening all the womanliness she'd almost forgotten.

She became the guide, showing him the way.  He poised above her for an
endless moment, waiting until she met his gaze.

Then he thrust, long and deep.  She'd thought she was ready, but the
shock after so long was unexpected.  And unbearably erotic.  Her body
stretched to hold him.  She'd wanted to see him naked, but there was a
forbidden excitement in his being clothed as he made love to her, as if
he were about to ride off to battle straight from their bed.

He thrust again, impossibly deeper, and the force of his movements
pushed Jesse into the mattress.  She reveled in it, in the proof of his
undoubted reality, even as she knew it couldn't last forever.

But the ending was the most remarkable of all.  Jesse was the first to
go flying over the edge, carried by a waterfall of pleasure that
tumbled her into a place of pure light.  David was quick to follow, his
body stiffening and releasing with a final, urgent push.  His light
joined hers, and they floated in it together.

Jesse wondered if they'd found a piece of that heaven David had been
denied.  She didn't feel sad when the wild elation changed to something
quieter, when the loving was over, because she was still in David's
arms.  He didn't fade or disappear as she'd half feared he would,
drained of his energy by what they'd dared to attempt.

She didn't know who held whom, if her will alone was enough to keep him
with her.  She didn't care about her nudity, but David pulled the
nightshirt over her, smoothing it to her skin with a caress.

He kissed her damp forehead.  "Ah, Jesse," he said.  "It was more than
I imagined."

She smiled shyly.  "Really?  I admit that I .  . . wasn't sure what to
expect myself."

He propped himself up on one elbow.  "But you did enjoy it."

Insecurity from David Ventris?  Jesse's smile became a grin.  "I just
found it wonderful."  She snuggled more tightly against him, not
minding the little jabs where stiffened fabric and buttons pressed into
her skin.

"You're not .  . . too tired?"

"I feel strong as a lion."

"Strong enough to stay for a while?"

His finger traced the contour of her nose and came to rest on her lips.
"As long as I can, Jesse," he said.  "I promise you."

"As long as I can.  Jesse closed her eyes and listened as his breathing
slowed and her heart gave up its urgent drumming.  And how long is
that, David?  Can it ever be long enough?

For it was getting more and more difficult to deceive herself.  To
dismiss David as only a temporary addition to her life, a spiritual
aberration, a man who'd come to fulfill his own purpose and had simply
offered to be her friend while they helped each other.

What they shared now wasn't friendship.  Some men and women could sleep
together with no expectation of more, but that kind of casual
relationship wasn't in Jesse's nature.  Not where her heart was
concerned.  It was why she had almost no experience with sex-and why
she knew, inexorably, that her and David's love-making had forged the
very bond David insisted had always existed between them.

Until now she'd felt the bond in bursts and snatches: in fleeting
memories of Sophie, in gratitude for David's help, in unpredictable
emotion and a desire for his company.  With their loving, that erratic
beat had settled into a steady rhythm in her soul.

Her soul, which longed for a man who was fighting for his own.  A man
who wasn't a man.  How many times had she reminded herself of that
fact?  How much difference did it make in the end?

With a deliberate effort Jesse stilled her desperate thoughts, turned
them away from what she couldn't control.  She concentrated on David's
profoundly male scent, the feel of his body close to hers.  She lost
herself in the newly awakened sensations of her own sated body.

"You're very quiet," David said, coiling a lock of her hair around his
finger.  "What's wrong, Jesse?"

She opened her eyes and met his solemn blue gaze.  Was it the bond that
let him sense what she felt?

She shifted to face him.  "I just realized," she said, grasping at the
first subject that came into her mind, "that I jumped into this without
even thinking about protection."

Comprehension followed a brief, puzzled silence.  "Ah.

You wonder if I could have got you with child."  Put so bluntly, the
idea stunned her.  She sat up.

"Could you do it?"

His face turned expressionless, and he let his hand fall from her hair.
"No.  Life can't come from death, Jesse.

My potency is limited."  He glanced at the far wall.

"Does that disappoint you?"

"No."  Amazing, how well she could discern his shame?  Sorrow?  Enough
that he hurt, and she had the power to do something about it.  She
stroked his rough cheek.  "I never even hoped for what's already
happened."

He captured her hand and pressed it to his face.  "I told you that your
wanting could make it so," he said.

If only that were true.  If only she had that power.

"Let's talk about something else.  I still want to know more about your
life.  About-" She hesitated, asking herself how much she really did
want to know.  "About you and .  . . Sophie."

In the past he'd always been ready, even eager to assert their
relationship in a former life.  She'd been the reluctant one, because
she didn't want to be lost in memories and sensations so far outside
her experience, so frightening.  She hadn't wanted to acknowledge that
she'd been another person very much in love with David Ventris.

But David looked almost uncomfortable with her question.  He opened his
mouth and closed it again, as if he were censoring his first
response.

"Did you and she know each other as children?"  Jesse persisted.  "Were
you friends?"

David turned her hand palm-up and rubbed his thumb across it, back and
forth.  "We met when I was sixteen.

Sophie was a few years younger, the daughter of the local squire.  I
didn't have much use for her at first, but when she grew up-" He folded
Jesse's hand and kissed her knuckles.  "Ah, you were a beauty then, as
well."

You.  How could she be jealous of herself?  But she couldn't completely
claim that other incarnation.  She wasn't sure she'd ever be ready.
"When did you fall in love with her?"

"Who can say when such a thing happens?  We both came from situations
we wished to escape."  He toyed with Jesse's fingers in apparent
fascination.  "She was impetuous and full of life, eager for all the
things I could show her."

"Like making love," Jesse said.  "You seduced her on the hillside the
day before you left for the war."

He frowned at her, the expression more in his eyes than his mouth.  "Do
you remember that, Jesse?"

"She .  . . begged you not to leave her."

He rolled away and moved to the edge of the bed.  Jesse realized that
she could quite literally see through him; he was starting to fade, and
she didn't want him to go.

Too many questions still crowded her thoughts.

"I couldn't stay," he said.  "I'd made my decision and it was too late
to change."

"And you knew that when you were with her."

He tilted his head so that she could see his strong, taut profile.  "Do
you doubt that she wanted it as much as I did?"

The answer was clear in Jesse's mind.  She'd lived through that day
with Sophie, and she knew how much Sophie had desired David even
without understan ding the consequences of her act.  Jesse had the
benefit of modern sophistication; she knew what she'd gotten into when
she'd offered herself.

Jesse sat up and laid her hand on David's back.  "I'm not accusing you.
You were both young.  And you loved each other."

He fixed his gaze at some point on the floor.  "I sold my commission
and came home when I learned that Sophie was with child."

"Then you proved your responsibility.  You didn't keep running."

"It was the only course I could take.  I wouldn't have left her to face
her family and society alone."  He sighed and turned to meet her gaze.
"We married within a month of my return from the Peninsula.  My mother
died shortly after that, and we settled in at Parkmere Hall."

"A place you hated."

"But Sophie was eager to make it into a new home for both of us."  He
smiled, a bit of the uncharacteristic grimness leaving his eyes.  "She
was constantly rearranging and decorating and planning balls, even when
she had become quite .  . . ponderous."

Jesse was torn between envy and curiosity and other feelings she
couldn't begin to name.  "Was Avery there with you?  Did he and Sophie
get along?"

"Avery was essentially running the Hall then.  I saw no reason to take
that from him after our parents were dead."

"He must have ~een glad to have you back."

David's body flickered like a candle in a breeze.  "My remaining time
is short, Jesse," he said.  "I must leave soon."

She caught his hand and held it, willing him strength.

"Try to stay a little longer.  I want to know .  . . about the
child."

"The child."  David closed his eyes for the briefest moment.  His smile
had a sad cast.  "She was born in October.  Her name was Elizabeth, and
she was perfect."

A father's love was in David's voice, in his expression, and it warmed
Jesse's heart in a way that only added to the wonder of their loving.
"You and Sophie must have been very happy."

And that very first dream came back to her, fully formed and
vivid-herself dressed in a pale gown, amid a garden filled with roses.
A child was in her arms, and a handsome man came through the gate-a man
she loved to the depths of her soul.

It had been real.

"How could we not be?"  David said.  "We had the Hall and a town house
in London, and Sophie had her parties and balls and musicales.  And we
had Elizabeth."

Jesse could have left it at that, released David to recoup his energy.
But she was beginning to recall flashes of other, cloudier scenes that
had come to her during her sessions with Al-hypnotic visions that
touched an unexplored realm of darkness within her.  Terrible visions
she could barely remember, except that they had been about unbearable
loss, wanting, fear.  .

"But you rejoined the army," she said, swallowing.

"Something happened .  . . to Elizabeth."

He looked so bleak that she wished she'd kept silent.

She was not Sophie, but he remembered it all personally.

He didn't have the distance of one life removed from the pain.

"Elizabeth became ill," he said.  "She lived a little more than a
year."

Because she'd been expecting his revelation, because she had
anticipated his sorrow, Jesse pushed her own irrational grief aside and
moved close to David, put her arms around him and hugged him with all
her strength.

Her body made contact, and then she felt him melt away, sliding from
her grasp.

He vanished and re materialized on his feet beside the bed, a dim
specter of himself.  Unable to touch him, Jesse could only reach out
with words that were all too inadequate.

"I'm sorry," she said.  "I know how much it hurt."

"It was difficult for both of us.  I-" He glanced at her, faltered. "We
needed to be apart .  . . for a while."

Jesse understood.  Nothing could be worse than the death of a child.
Sophie's anguish-David's-was her own.

"You blamed yourself.  But it wasn't your fault."  She closed her eyes
at a sudden certainty.  "Sophie blamed you, didn't she?"

He flickered again, stared at her while his fists flexed at his
sides.

"But you still loved each other," Jesse insisted.  She stood and walked
toward him, driven by a compelling need to hear his agreement.  "You
didn't lose that."

"I must go," David said.  He held out his hand "Jesse-"
But whatever he'd meant to say was lost.  He winked out like a light
switched off.  A trace of his scent lingered in the air, the ghost of a
ghost.

Jesse moved through the space where he'd been, trying to recapture what
they'd shared and berating herself for wasting their precious time
together.  Instead of savoring his presence, she'd grilled him about
things that had nothing to do with now.  She'd worried about a life
they'd both left behind.

When David had first come to her, he'd said that his answers were in
the memories he'd lost.  Yet helping him revive those memories had been
for herself as much as for him.  At the resort, she'd watched him
recall his childhood with sadness and regret.  He'd relived the loss of
a beloved child, and separation from his wife.

She had yet to see evidence in David's words, his behavior, his very
nature, of a single crime that would have condemned him as he said he
was condemned.  Somewhere a big mistake had been made, because David
Ventris didn't deserve to be damned.

He was a good man.  A man she could trust as she'd never trusted
before.

And in understan ding that, she recognized what was happening to her.
What had happened.  Fight it though she might, it wasn't going to
disappear with a mere act of will.  Jesse hugged herself, lost in a war
between elation and fear.

Ever since her mother's death she'd worked to give her life structure.
She'd learned to make her own certainties, and even when she'd taken on
the most challenging jobs in the Corps or search and rescue, she'd
always protected her innermost self from the far more dangerous
hazards.

The kind that went straight for the heart.

She hadn't armored that organ quite well enough.  Was it possible to
fall in love with a ghost?  She knew the answer to that question.  Was
she willing to take the ultimate risk of loving, and losing, a being
who was fighting to escape the tragic fate decreed for him?  A man who
couldn't promise her even the simplest future two ordinary people could
expect?

When had David Ventris promised her anything but to go when she asked
him to go, and to be her friend?  All she and David had was now.  There
were no certainties, no guarantees, no last-minute miracles.

Could she live with that?  Could she take the final and irrevocable
step?

The sound of a knock on her front door pulled her from her dilemma. She
quickly tugged on her clothes and went to answer.

Al was there, holding a handful of envelopes and looking out of place
on her doorstep.  Jesse felt a blush heat her cheeks, knowing how
tousled she must look and what Al might think.

Except he'd never guess.  Not in a million years.

"I .  . . happened to go by the post office and picked up your mail,"
Al said.  He looked at her intently.  "Are you all right?"

She wanted to pour out the story to Al, confide in the one person who
might not think she was crazy.  But even Al couldn't be required to
stretch belief that far.  She wouldn't put a dear friend in that
position.

"I'm fine," she said, patting at her hair.  She tried to remember if
she'd closed the bedroom door.  "Want to come in for some coffee?"

He shook his head and handed her the envelopes.  "I haven't seen much
of you lately.  Just wanted to check in."  He turned to go.  Jesse felt
a rush of affection for him and touched his arm.

"I'm sorry I haven't come by the library.  I've been a little
preoccupied."

"I understand.  I'm grateful for what you've done for Megan."

They stood and looked at each other, and Jesse wondered when things had
become so awkward between them.  Was it because she had to hide the
truth from him?

Because he wasn't the one she turned to as she'd done in the past?

Or was it that she no longer considered Al's detachment from the world
an ideal to aspire to?  Was it she who'd changed so much?

"I was about to go see Megan," she said.  "If you'll wait a couple of
minutes, I'll walk over with you."

She stepped back to let him through the door, and he went in after a
moment's hesitation.  She steered him to the kitchen.

"If you don't want coffee, there's juice in the fridge,"

she said.

He leaned on the kitchen table.  "I heard about what happened with you
and Gary at Kim's party."

She shouldn't have been surprised at his straightforwardness, or that
the town gossip had circulated through the library just like one of
Al's books.  But she'd already made the decision not to let him get
more involved in her problems.

"I guess that kind of thing would get around," she said lightly.

"It sounded like a serious confrontation," he said.

"And now Gary's left town.  What happened, Jesse?"

"I'm sorry I didn't have a chance to tell you about it at the time, but
it really .  . . didn't amount to much.  Gary made a fool of himself
and left.  There's nothing more to worry about."

SHE WAS LYING.

Al knew her too well.  She'd never let Gary off scot-free if she
believed he was responsible for her mother's death.

She'd said as much to him at their second and last hypnotherapy
session.

He'd heard enough of the gossip to know that Gary had virtually
attacked Jesse at the party.  That wasn't an incident to disregard, and
for Jesse to act this way now was sure evidence that something
significant had changed.

Jesse .  . . had changed.

If it had been this one instance, Al might have shrugged and let it
pass.  But he knew there was more here than Jesse pretending to dismiss
the situation with Gary after she'd been so obsessed with him.  More
than the hypnotic visions for which he hadn't found an adequate
explanation.  More even than her uncanny bonding with Megan after an
equally uncanny rescue.

He had only to look at her now, and he was reminded.

He'd been shocked when he saw her at the door: lips swollen, skin
flushed, hair tangled, eyes heavy-lidded in the telltale signs of
satisfied desire.

He recognized the indications.  There'd been a time when he'd known
what it was to love a woman and see that look on her face.  Jesse's
uneasiness when she'd opened the door, her nervous glances over her
shoulder, her mis buttoned blouse .  . all those little clues gave her
away.

Al had made a life's work of observing people-observing only, never
experiencing except vicariously and with the safety of analytical
distance.

Jesse made that distance impossible.  He'd been acutely aware of how
seldom he'd spoken to her over the past several days, and how much he'd
missed those conversations.  Except where Megan was concerned, she
hadn't come to him since their second session.  Not to confess her
fears, or admit her anger, or share her dreams and visions.

He'd known with that first session that an untapped part of Jesse was
slowly awakening.  He'd worried about it, though he seldom
worried-speculated and wondered about things that had never concerned
him before.

Now he understood how much had escaped him.

Jesse had been with a man.  She'd been held and kissed and made love
to, and it had been good for her.  If Al had ever made an accurate
assessment of another human being, he knew what Jesse had become.

A woman in love.

He realized that Jesse was still expecting a response to her evasion
about Gary.  "Go ahead and do whatever you
have to do," he said.  "I'll wait."  She hesitated, nodded and left
the kitchen.  Al sank onto a chair and stretched his feet under the
table.  This was one of those times when the damaged leg ached like
hell, echoing the turmoil of his thoughts.

Who was it?  He searched his memory for any man in town Jesse had shown
interest in, and came up blank.

She was too wary, too reserved to flirt or seek casual relationships,
and the men she worked with at the Lodge or search and rescue were
partners, not lovers.

It was incredible to Al that Jesse could have taken a lover in secret.
No one in town knew about it.  Al lived across the yard, and he hadn't
guessed.  No one had left Jesse's cabin in the past few minutes.

Who?  He laid his good arm on the table and rested his forehead against
his knuckles.  Jesse would tell him if he asked.  They were friends.
He'd felt good when she'd come to him for help.  Better than he'd been
able to acknowledge.

Knowing she didn't need him anymore felt as if someone had mangled his
other leg.  And he couldn't tell her what it was like.  He could barely
accept the truth he'd hidden from himself since Jesse had returned to
Manzanita.

A truth that made no difference.  He'd created a life of ignoring
emotion, devoting himself to intellect and detachment.  It had seemed
the sanest course in a demented world.

But there was something vital missing inside him.  Jesse sensed that.
Megan did as well.  He'd left a part of himself buried in the jungles
of

"Nam, and he hadn't even suspected it was gone.

He didn't know how to get it back.

"You look tired," Jesse said as she returned to the kitchen.  She
touched his shoulder with casual affection that sent icy shivers racing
to the end of his raw nerves.

"You need to get another assistant at the library."

He sat up and looked at her.  Gone was the evidence of her recent
tryst; her hair was neatly pinned back, her face scrubbed, her clothes
in place.  She was once again the Jesse he knew.

Except for her eyes.  They were brilliant with warmth, and the faint
lines between her brows had been smoothed away as if by a gentle
touch.

He couldn't bring it up.  He couldn't ask.  But there was another issue
he could pursue.

"Jesse," he said,

"I know you haven't dropped this business with Emerson.  You told me
you were going to keep searching your memories for answers."

She sighed and walked to the kitchen window.  "Okay.

Gary did confront me at the party, and some of the things he said
convinced me I was on the right track.  This morning I went to the old
resort."

That would have taken a great deal of courage.  Al knew how assiduously
she'd avoided the resort since she'd come back to town.

"And did it help?"  he asked.

"I .  . . don't know.  But I'm closer all the time."  She turned
around, arms across her chest.  "I get little snatches of memories,
pieces that just need to come together.  Like the first fragment,
remembering the funeral and accusing Gary-" She closed her eyes.
"Screaming that he killed my mother."

"Is that how you remember it?"

She shuddered.  ""You killed her."  That's what I said when I attacked
him."

Al positioned his cane and pushed to his feet.  "But that wasn't what
you said, Jesse.  I was there.  Your exact words were

"You killed me."" Her eyes snapped open.  "What?"

"I've told you that memories can play tricks with the mind.  They have
ways of-" But she wasn't listening.  She pressed her fingers to her
temples.  "That makes no sense," she said.  "No sense."

"Jesse?"

The strange light in her gaze died.  "Did I say anything else I don't
remember?"

"Only that.  Jesse, if you want to talk-" "No."  She shook off her fey
mood and smiled.  "I promised to see Megan today, and here it is
already afternoon.

Walk with me?"

Forcing the issue was beyond Al's capacity.  He kept his silence while
they crossed the yard and Jesse spoke of inconsequential things.  Her
arm was linked through his, but she was miles away.  Hiding from him.
Lost.

He watched Megan run to her and left the two of them with some excuse
about work at the library, though it was his day off.  He walked into
town, passing over the same familiar ground without seeing any of it.
He wasn't surprised when he ended up in front of the bar.

His hesitation was brief.  The bar was dark, the ambience oddly
soothing at midday.  A few tables had occupants, but the overall
emptiness suited Al's mood.  He looked for a table in the corner of the
room, far from the jukebox and the loudest table of drinkers.

A beer, maybe something more potent-that would numb the futile emotions
he couldn't seem to discard.  To hell with sobriety and
self-discipline.  They were highly overrated.

He was halfway to the bar when he overheard a snatch of conversation.

"Damned if he didn't just pick up and leave without a word to me.  I
can't believe he did it.  I'm his buddy, fer-cris sake.  He needs me in
this town."

Al glanced down at the speaker.  Wayne Albright sat with several other
men at a pockmarked table, nursing a drink.  Al recognized a number of
Gary Emerson's cronies-men who'd been working to set up his "campaign
office" in Manzanita and fawned all over him when he'd been in town.

"Well, shit," another man said in obvious disgruntlement.  "He promised
a lot of big things, but I heard what happened at the party.  The way
he attacked that girl-" "He didn't attack nobody.  That's some damned
gossip."  Wayne jerked his mug to his mouth and took a long swallow.

Al was aware of a knotting in his stomach, the way he remembered
feeling in the hours before a mission in "Nam.  Wayne had been Gary's
drinking buddy back when Joan had died.  His loyalty to a "friend" who
hadn't bothered to keep in touch for seventeen years was nothing short
of miraculous, the mark of a small man who looked for bigger coattails
to ride on.

But even Wayne sounded angry now.

"Do you mind if I join you?"  Al asked.

Wayne tipped back in his chair.  "Well, if it ain't Al the librarian.
Don't think I've seen you in here for about a century.  Given up on tee
totaling?"

Al shrugged and pulled out a vacant seat.  No one protested.  "I heard
you talking about Gary leaving town,"

he said.  "I heard about the party, too-that Gary threatened Jesse
Copeland."

Wayne scowled but didn't answer.  Al ordered a beer from the barmaid
and glanced around the table.

"You know, I remember Gary from way back.  Everyone liked him, but I
always got the feeling that he was hiding something.  Strange for him
to make such a splash the past few days and then skip town so suddenly.
No one saw him after that party."

The expressions of the drinkers ranged from mild curiosity to disgust.
Someone shuffled his feet under the table.  Wayne took another long
drink and banged his mug down.

"He musta had his reasons," Wayne said.  "He's an important man now.  I
know he'll call and let me know what's up."

Poor Wayne, with his delusions of indispensability.

"Well, you knew him better than anyone else, Wayneexcept Joan Copeland.
He left pretty quickly after Joan's accident, come to think of it.  He
does have a habit of disappearing."

Men glanced at each other.  The barmaid returned with Al's beer.  He
folded his hands around the frosted glass.

"I've always wondered about that relationship," he went on.  "Joan
never drank so much as when Gary went
to live with her."  "She was a lush," someone said.  "No good."

Al stared into his mug.  "Who decides these things, I wonder?  Who
figures that Gary Emerson is the best thing that ever happened to our
town and Joan Copeland was no good?"

"Everyone knew," Wayne muttered.

"The way everyone knew that Gary abused Joan?"

Wayne nearly dropped his mug.  "What are you talking about?"

Al met his stare.  "I'm trying to find some reason that Gary dislikes
Jesse so much.  Enough to threaten her in a public place.  She was only
a child when he knew her.

Why should he be afraid of her?"

"Afraid?"

"He ran away, didn't he?"

"That's bullshit."

"Is it?"

Wayne's leathery skin had lost a little of its color.  "I remember that
funeral.  I remember how crazy she was."

"So do I. But she was a little girl then.  Seventeen years have passed.
I know Jesse Copeland, and she's as sane as anyone in this town."  He
heard his voice rise, take on a harsh tone that startled even him. "She
saved my niece and risked her life for the Moran boy.  She may save one
of you someday.  That's the kind of person she is."

An old man in the corner-Fred, Al thought his name was-raised a timid
hand.  "She .  . . seemed like a nice enough girl to me," he offered.
"Didn't look crazy."

Wayne only shook his head.  "What is this, Aguilar?

You sweet on her or something?"

As if he'd become a different man, Al pushed back his chair and slammed
his fist on the table.  Wayne jumped.

"Jesse is my friend.  She'd be yours if you'd let her, but she isn't
full of flattery and oily ass-kissing like Gary Emerson."  He snorted
in disgust.  "Why should you owe more loyalty to a drifter who didn't
give a shit about any of you for seventeen years than to a woman who
had the guts to return to the town that turned its back on her and her
mother?  Because Gary makes you feel big even when he uses you?"

"He'll make something of this town-" "He'll take your votes and forget
you ever existed.  You don't matter to him.  Jesse does.  She scares
the hell out of him.  What is it about Jesse that you're afraid of?"

They stared at him, eyes wide and mouths gaping.

Quiet, mild, uninvolved Al had changed before their eyes.  And he felt
liberated.  Angry.

Alive.

"Maybe you all ought to give some thought about who you'd rather have
holding your hand when you're about to fall off a cliff," he said.  For
once, as he got to his feet, his balance was perfect.  He hardly needed
the cane.

His anger carried him to the door of the bar without a single misstep.
No one called after him.  It wasn't until he was outside in the clean
sunlight that he realized he hadn't taken a single sip of his beer; He
paused at the end of the block, breathing deeply.

He'd given Jesse all the credit for changing, but something was
happening to him as well.  He didn't know where it had begun, and he
was more than a little afraid that he wouldn't be able to control the
process now that it had begun.

Of one thing he was certain: his chance with Jesse was over.  He'd
never really had one.  But maybe it wasn't too late to make sure he
didn't repeat the same mistakes.

Maybe it was time to start being human again.

CHAPTER TWELVE

"I DON'T KNOW," Megan said, pushing her new glasses up her nose and
studying her distorted reflection in the smudged metal of the napkin
dispenser.  "Do you like them, Kirk?"

Kirk Moran gave the question the concentration it deserved.  He cocked
his head, frowned, and nodded slowly.

"I think they look good," he said.

Jesse looked from one child to the other, absently blending the fudge
topping of her sundae with the melting ice cream.  Kirk hadn't said
more than a few sentences in the past hour and a half, but what he did
say was promising.

Mrs.  Moran had been happy to let Kirk visit with Megan on the trip to
the optometrist and the Frosty Freeze, though she'd declined to
accompany them herself.  And Kirk, after a temporary reluctance to
leave his mother alone, had accepted the invitation with stoic
resignation.

He hadn't acted like a child eager to make new friends.  Not at
first.

But he was beginning to open up a bit.  A double ice cream cone was a
great icebreaker.  And Megan was helping tremendously.  For a child
who'd been locked in her own shell just a few days ago, she was expert
at coaxing Kirk out of his.  Perhaps it was the unspoken knowledge that
both had suffered loss, that they had something vital in common.

Regardless of the reason, they were getting along, and Jesse could only
be grateful.

She had so much to be grateful for.  The taste of the ice cream on her
tongue was better than she could remember; the sun felt warmer, the
tangy scent of pine needles more memorable, the sound of children's
laughter joyful enough to bring tears to her eyes.

There was a simple explanation for the way her senses had opened up,
the way her appreciation for life itself had expanded to encompass so
much more of the world she'd taken for granted.

Funny how clear it had become.  Megan had new glasses, but Jesse had
acquired her own set of rose-colored lenses without paying a dime.

And whatever she did have to pay, she'd give it gladly.

She smiled to herself and took a big bite of sundae.

Megan giggled as she tried to catch a drip of syrup before it plopped
from her chin onto the table.  Even Kirk looked happy as he polished
off his cone.

"Well, you two," Jesse said, gathering up the sticky napkins, "we still
have another hour or so left.  Why don't we go over to the park next
door?  They have some great swings there."

Megan glanced at Kirk.  "Want to?"

He shrugged, but the sparkle in his eyes betrayed him.

He wasn't yet ready to talk about his brother, but he was healing just
the same.

"Come on, then," Jesse said.  She led them out the
door, nodding to another family as she passed, and headed for the
park.  In the midst of so much natural, rugged beauty, the groomed lawn
and trees formed an oasis at the heart of town.  Megan started toward
the swing set, paused to wait for Kirk, and then challenged the boy to
a race.  They reached the swings at a dead heat.

Jesse sat down on one of the benches and sprawled lazily, watching the
children through half-lidded eyes.

Her mouth kept curling up into a foolish grin.  Though she hadn't for
one moment forgotten her commitment to exposing Gary for what he was,
it was possible to let that obsession fall by the wayside for minutes
at a time.  Possible to think of other things and bless her good
fortune.

Her thoughts wandered to the morning-and David.

Hours later she could still feel his touch, the electric charge of
pleasure shooting through her body as he kissed and caressed her.  Her
nipples tightened, and she almost blushed at having such fantasies in
the middle of a public park.

She missed him.  She missed more than the lovemaking, remarkable
discovery though it was.  Far more.  She missed his wry smile, the
cynicism that covered hurts he couldn't acknowledge.  She missed the
dusty male smell of him and the uniform with its holes and tarnished
buttons.  She missed his reluctant tenderness and his unexpected
fierceness in protecting her.  She missed his very presence.

But he'd be back.  She let herself fill with that promise.

A magnificent, powerful conviction told her that nothing could keep
them apart, whatever the laws of heaven and earth.  She was so close to
finding her answers, and when they found his "Jesse."

She opened her eyes and sat up.  The terse word wasn't much of a
greeting, and when Jesse recognized the speaker she wasn't surprised.

Marie stood with hands on hips, looking as pugnacious as a bulldog-if
considerably more attractive.  In body, at least.  Her makeup and
clothing were, as usual, impeccable, but her eyes held a glitter that
suggested her intentions were anything but civilized.

"I'm so glad I ran into you," she said in a rancid-honey voice.  "You
must be feeling pretty victorious about now, aren't you?"

Jesse glanced toward the children, who were lost in their own games.
Megan lifted her arms in a grand gesture and laughed, while Kirk
reacted with appropriate appreciation for the tale she was spinning.

"This isn't the time, Marie," Jesse said.  "I know you don't like me,
but we can find a more private place to talk things out, if that's what
you want."

Marie tilted her head back and smiled unpleasantly.

"Always the plain speaker.  It so happens that what I have to say to
you won't take very long."  She took a step closer to the bench.  "I
know you have it in for Gary.  You went after him from the moment he
showed up in town.

Well, you succeeded, didn't you?"

Success wasn't how Jesse would have defined it.  "I know he left town,
Marie," she said.  "I'm sorry it was inconvenient for you.  I don't
want to fight about this, but if you-" "You should have thought about
that before you used your tricks on him!"

Jesse sighed.  "He was the one who threatened me at the party.

"Don't play games with me, little town girl.  You drove him to it.  You
have some hold over him.  Whatever it is, you won't get away with it.
Unlike you, Gary's popular in this town.  He brings class to the place,
and that's exactly what people want."

Jesse stood up.  "Look, Marie, you barely know Gary.

No one in town does, not now-if they ever did.  But he lived with my
mother seventeen years ago.  If anyone-" Marie's pretty mouth formed a
very ugly epithet.  "I know enough about you, Jesse Copeland.  You were
never sane about Gary.  Maybe you hate him because you can't have him.
I don't care, but I'm warning you-"
Jesse felt her temper slipping its leash.  "I don't need the warning,
but maybe you do.  You've lost your head over him, and you're the one
who's going to lose.  He used my mother, and he'll use you."

She knew it wasn't going to work as soon as she finished the first
sentence.  Marie was livid, playing Drama Queen to the hilt, and she
obviously felt she had nothing to lose.

"What do you know about men?"  she said contemptuously.  "Who'd want
you anyway, in your scrubby jeans?

But you can't wait to ruin it for everyone else, can you?

All you see is your own miserable little life!"

"Believe it or not, Marie, it's your life I'm thinking about."  She
threw caution to the winds.  "Gary's no good.  I don't know how I'm
going to prove it, but I know.  And you'll be the one who gets hurt-"
"You bitch.  When I tell Gary what you've said-" "That's enough,
Marie," someone said behind them.

Jesse caught her breath and glanced at the woman who'd come up to stand
at her shoulder.  She did a double take.

Lisa Moran was staring at Marie with quiet composure, her gaze steady
and stern.  Marie's lush lips flapped like a fish's but couldn't
produce any sound.  It was quite an interesting sight.

Lisa turned to Jesse.  "I thought I'd come to meet you here instead of
waiting for you to bring Kirk home.  It's such a beautiful day."  She
waved to Kirk across the lawn, effectively shutting Marie out of the
picture.  "They look like they're having fun."

"They are."  Jesse took her cue from Lisa and didn't look at Marie.  "I
think they've really hit it off.  Don't be surprised if they want to
see a lot more of each other."

She managed a smile.  "They're not quite at the age where the boy-girl
stuff takes over."

"Yes," Lisa said.  "They still have a while to be children."

They watched in silence.  Marie, behind them, couldn't bear to be
ignored.  "You just wait until Gary comes back, Jesse Copeland," she
said.  "You'll be the one who's sorry."

Lisa looked over her shoulder.  Not a word was spoken, but Marie
blushed, and Jesse thought she was actually ashamed of herself.

She'd have to be without a heart to be unaffected by Lisa Moran's
pain.

Apparently Marie had some scruples, because she spun on her high heels
and strode toward the parking lot.

"Thanks," Jesse said.

Lisa didn't answer, but their silence remained companionable.

After a few more minutes Kirk and Megan ran over to join them, and Kirk
gave his mother a big hug.

Megan did the same for Jesse.

Still warmed by Lisa's support and the children's affection, Jesse
waved Mrs.  Moran and son off in their car and took Megan home.  Al was
out, so Megan helped Jesse make a big pot of spaghetti for dinner.

The contentment that had come with the day and the anticipation of
seeing David again stayed with Jesse through the evening.  She went
home and worked on her furniture, letting her thoughts wander where
they would.

It was too bad about Marie; she had a fall coming when she found out
what Gary really was.  She wasn't going to listen to reason-certainly
not from Jesse Copeland.

But that was the only dark spot in a world that suddenly seemed full of
hope.  The fact that David didn't show up by bedtime didn't unduly
disturb her.  Together they'd drained his energy pretty thoroughly, and
she was willing to be patient.

She was ready to take the greatest risk of all.

**** THE MUSIC FROM the expensive string quartet was exquisite, the
caviar superior, the wine of the finest vintage.

Gary knew to the dime the cost of every luxury Heather's parents had
lavished on this happy gathering, where Sacramento's
political elite hobnobbed with the friends and family of the rich and
beautiful Heather Pfeiffer in celebration of the happy event to come.

Nearly everyone at the engagement party was a valuable contact or
influential patron; Gary was under no illusion about just how important
this day was.  It was what he'd been striving for, the position that
would make it possible for him to realize all his ambitions.

Heather was the necessary burden he accepted along with her wealth and
family connections.

He should have been enjoying his victory.  He should have been on top
of the world.  He'd left Manzanita and driven back to Sacramento and
his bride-to-be, vowing to put Jesse Copeland and her pathetic
accusations from his mind.

It hadn't worked out that way.  Even after the first irrational fear
had subsided-after he'd shaken off the bizarre conviction that some
invisible presence was dogging his every footstep-he hadn't been able
to stop thinking about her.  The way she'd stood up to him.  The way
she'd stared at him with those steady hazel eyes, as if she knew.

Memories he hadn't let into the light for seventeen years were suddenly
resurrected and exhibited in glaring relief.  Acts and decisions he'd
never questioned replayed behind his eyes, so vivid that he was sure
they were visible to any passing stranger.

Jesse had done this to him.  Jesse Copeland.

He hated her.

Gary downed his fifth glass of champagne and grimaced at the feeble
sting of the bubbles.  He slammed the delicate glass down on the
nearest server's tray and started toward the bar for something
stronger.  Heather wasn't here to nag him about that, since she was off
preening for some bimbo friends from the exclusive private school she'd
attended.  That ought to keep her busy for hours.

Gary smiled and glad-handed a passing assemblyman on the way to the
bar, his words and motions those of an automaton.  He lost the thread
of the inane small talk in mid-sentence, earning an odd glance from the
politician.

Gary covered his slip with a joke about the insanity of planning a
wedding.  The assemblyman rolled his eyes in sympathy, slapped Gary's
back, and moved to the buffet table.

The bartender poured Gary a whiskey straight, politely ignoring the
tremble in Gary's hands as he took the drink.

What in hell was happening to him?  Little by little he was being eaten
alive by fears he couldn't name, guilt he couldn't shake.  He looked at
himself in the mirror and found wrinkles he hadn't seen before, shadows
under his eyes, a man he didn't recogrzze.  Even air headed Heather had
noticed and offered her whining opinion that he ought to take better
care of himself.

Gary downed the liquor and had his glass refilled, waiting for the
welcome numbness to wash over him.

The trials that came by day were bad enough.  The blunders were still
minor, like the one with the assemblyman, but they were increasing.
He'd nearly insulted Heather's mother last night, some remark about her
hideous dress that he'd been thinking but never would have spoken if
he'd been in his right mind.  His real opinions about the fools and
saps around him were slipping out of his control, as if he were the
most inept political aide who'd ever set foot in the capital.

At night .  . . at night it was far worse.  He hadn't slept more than a
handful of hours in the past two nights.

Heather wouldn't let him screw her before their wedding, but even if
he'd had the luscious and imaginative Marie in his bed it wouldn't have
made any difference.

He was all but impotent.

And there were the dreams.

Gary choked on his second whiskey and waved off the bartender's
concern.  He hid the glass behind a potted plant as an elderly-and
affluent-society couple walked by.  He hardly saw them, because he was
reliving the dream that wouldn't go away.

It always started with Jesse.  Jesse as a child, just the way he
remembered her from that day of the funeral.  He felt the ineffectual
pummeling of her hands and feet through his suit, the rake of her
fingernails.  But she couldn't hurt him, and he laughed at her rage.

Until she changed.  The blond little girl was gone, and someone else
stood in her place.  A petite brown-haired beauty with a white,
high-waisted dress and an old-fashioned hairstyle.  She stared at him
with Jesse's eyes-the wrong color, but he knew they were Jesse's.
Hatred was a living thing between them.  They hated each other.

But she also feared him.  She feared and despised him, shrank from his
touch.  He realized with shock that what he felt for her wasn't so
simple as hatred.

He wanted her.  More than desire, more than lust.  He wanted to possess
her.  In possessing her he would gain what had been taken from him.
Have what was rightfully his.  Show them all.

So he reached out to her.  He offered himself.  She would get nothing
better, not from the one she waited for so hopelessly.  Did she truly
believe she'd ever see him again?

She stumbled back and looked at Gary with loathing, as if she had the
right to judge.  She laughed with that wild edge and threatened him
with retribution, even as she shook with terror.  She told him that he
was not a man.  She told him he was disgusting and dishonorable.

She told him he was evil, and kept on laughing.

Mad.  She passed that madness on to him, driving him to his only way
out.  The only escape from that look in her eyes.

So he did what he couldn't do to the child.  He killed her.

The process wasn't quick or painless.  Gary felt righteous power fill
him, surge to the end of his fingertips.  He didn't have to touch her.
Heat sprang from his hands, and flames caught the delicate folds of the
woman's sheer gown.

She didn't even struggle when the fire took her, caressed and licked at
her with such deceptive gentleness.

But when it seemed she should crumble to ashes, she rose like a
phoenix.  Her body cast off the flames and stood untouched.

And she laughed.  She pointed at him and laughed, an ugly sound laced
with hysteria.

"I'll always come back," she shrieked.  So he killed her again.  And
she returned.  Again, and again.  Each time he grew more terrified, his
strength leached from him by her accusing, triumphant eyes.  Each time
the guilt wrapped loop after loop of heavy chains about his feet, his
knees, his thighs, his hips.  Dragging him down into the grave that
opened up beneath him, a gaping maw of earth waiting to swallow him
alive .

"Se`nor Emerson?"

Gary nearly struck the maid before he remembered where he was. Consuela
stared at him, her plump face wary, and took a step back.

"What is it?"  he snapped.

She ducked her head.  "A call for you, se` nor.  The woman said it was
urgent, from a place called Manzanita."  She hesitated, poised to flee.
"I am sorry if I did wrong, se` nor."

A woman.  From Manzanita.  Gary clasped his hands to keep them from
shaking.

"You did the right thing, Consuela.  Gracias."  He pulled a fiver from
his pocket and pressed it into her hand.  "Don't tell anyone else.  Go
back to your duties."

She nodded and slipped away.  Gary glanced around the room.  The party
was going so well that no one was likely to notice his absence for a
few minutes.  He walked out of the Pfeiffers' ballroom, down the wide
marble-floored hallway, and into Ross Pfeiffer's private office.

He reached the phone and punched the hold button.

"Hello?  Who is this?"

"Gary?  Is that you?"

He recognized the voice immediately.  "Marie?  What in hell are you
doing, calling me here?  How did you get this
number?"  Her voice held a definite pout.  "Your secretary said you
were with your fiancee.  You talked enough about Heather.  It wasn't a
problem to track you down."

Gary almost let her have it.  Taking his anxiety and frustration out on
Marie would have been easy and relatively harmless.  But he kept his
temper.  There was a possibility that Marie had something useful to
say.

"You didn't call," Marie whined.  "You just picked up and left without
saying anything.  I was worried-" So she was becoming possessive after
a single night together.  Gary gripped the phone so hard that his
fingers hurt.

"I had to leave on short notice.  I'm busy right now, Marie-unless you
have something important-" "As a matter of fact, I do.  You know that
bitch Jesse Copeland?  Well, she's been spreading all kinds of lies
about you.  She told me that I should stay away from you, that you're
no good."

The satisfaction in Marie's words only fed into Gary's rage.  "Did
she?"

"Yes.  I know she has it in for you; and I thought you ought to know
what she's doing.  People heard about that thing at the party, and
since you left so quickly-" "What are they saying about me?"

"Oh, they aren't going to believe her.  But her friend Al Aguilar is
spreading the same dirt.  He was with Wayne and your other friends in
the bar, and-" Al Aguilar.  Gary vaguely remembered him as a passive,
bookish sort seventeen years ago.  He hadn't even met the man on his
recent visit, though he'd heard Aguilar was Jesse's friend.

"What did he tell them?"

"Stuff about Jesse's mother.  Look, Gary, I think you should come back
and set them straight.  Put Copeland in her place once and for all.
Don't let her get away with-" But Gary had stopped listening.  His hand
had gone numb, and his stomach was knotted with unreasoning terror.

He'd been wrong.  Dead wrong.  He shouldn't have left Manzanita without
being sure about Jesse.  Sure that she didn't know.  Sure she'd stay
quiet and afraid and crazy.

He'd never listened to his dreams, but now he knew they'd been warning
him.  Telling him that it would never be over unless he took action.

Marie was right.  He had to go back.

"Gary?  Are you there?"

He licked his lips.  "Keep an eye on Jesse, Marie.  Remember that she's
a lunatic.  Nothing she claims is true.

It's like you said-she hates me, and she'd do anything to ruin
everything I've worked for."

"I knew it."  Marie breathed heavily into the phone, as if she thought
she could seduce him over the line.  "I'll do whatever I can to help
you, Gary.  Are you coming back?"

"As soon as I can.  But don't tell anyone, Marie.  It's only going to
make things worse if this gets more complicated than it already is."

"What are you going to do?"

He didn't answer for a long moment.  What did Marie think he'd do?  Sit
down and have a heart-to-heart with Jesse, convince her of the error of
her ways?  Or perhaps Marie was not averse to his applying a few direct
threats to silence her.  Marie would have made an excellent
politician's mistress.

"I'll deal with that when I get there.  You just keep quiet about this,
Marie.  Do you understand?"

"Yes."  She sounded a bit chastened; maybe she was just perceptive
enough to hear the warning in his voice.

"I can't wait to see you, baby.  I'll give you something to look
forward to."

At any other time Gary would have anticipated getting between Marie's
legs again, but he couldn't even picture her face.  Jesse's face was
there instead-blond and hazel-eyed and tan, then wavering to pale and
dark-haired as she was in the dream.

He was going insane, and there was only one cure.  He'd hung up before
he realized that he hadn't bothered with a goodbye.  To hell with that.
 Marie would have to live without it.  She'd crawl after him no matter
what he did, like all the women he'd ever known.

Except Jesse.

He left the office and strode farther down the hall to the residential
section of the mansion where his guest room was kept ready for him. The
area was deserted, just as he wanted it.  He made a beeline to the
briefcase he kept in a locked desk beside his bed.

He'd never had occasion to use the gun.  It felt familiar in his hand,
better than the ones he'd owned during his brief criminal career.

That had ended with Manzanita.  So he'd told himself.

But Jesse wouldn't let it end.  She wouldn't let him go.

The gun slipped from his hand and clattered to the desktop.  He raked
his fingers through the hair at his temples and squeezed his eyes
shut.

He kept seeing himself in the dream, killing her.  Over and over.  And
each time the guilt and hatred and fear got worse.  Each time the grave
at his feet got deeper.  It filled up with old sins, and the chains
wound tighter and tighter.

Guilt ate at his heart like acid.  Because he couldn't stop himself. He
didn't know how.

It had to end.  The guilt and terror had to end.  He picked up the gun
and gripped it in both hands until it was the only reality left in the
world.

Gradually his frantic pulse slowed, and a measure of sanity returned to
his thoughts.  He replaced the gun in the briefcase, shoved the
briefcase into the desk, and locked the drawer.

He had a party to wrap up.  Heather would be looking for him.  He'd
come up with an excuse to go back to Manzanita tomorrow.  Heather would
believe him.  She always did.

His most practiced smile was back in place by the time he reached the
ballroom.

****

"JESSE?"

She tossed on the bed, coming abruptly out of a dream about David.  The
room was utterly dark; no hint of moonlight filtered through the
blinds.

The covers bunched around her waist as she sat up.

"David?"

But she knew it wasn't David who'd called her name.

For an instant she thought it might be Megan, because the voice was
female.

"Jesse?"

No matter how much she tried, she couldn't make out the figure she felt
stan ding beside her bed.  But she knew.

Dizzying shock lanced through her, and she could barely force her
breath through her throat.

"Mom?"

Silence.

"Mom?"  She flung the sheets away and scooted to the edge of the bed.
The darkness was unnatural, eerie.  She reached out into the empty
space in the middle of the room.

Nothing.  No one.

"You've been looking so hard, honey," her mother said.  Her words were
faintly slurred but distinct enough, as if she'd had just a little to
drink, but not too much.

"Where are you, Mom?"  Jesse whispered.  "I can't see you.

"You're trying to remember," Joan Copeland said.  She laughed, that
husky chuckle Jesse had nearly forgotten.

"It's not easy, I know.  But you're so close."

Jesse's legs almost gave out when her feet hit the floor.

"Let me see you, Mom," she begged.  "I want to see you."

She could feel a draft of air swirl past, a current that might have
been caused by someone shaking her head.

"Remember the games we used to play?  The messages we always left for
one another?  The special hiding place?"

It was difficult to concentrate on what her mother was saying.  She
tried to stand up again, but an invisible force kept her pinned to the
bed.

"Think, Jesse."

She focused on the words.  Games.  Messages.  Hiding place.

And the image came back to her.  She saw herself as a little girl,
running into the kitchen.

The kitchen.  The cupboard in the corner, with the linoleum-covered
shelf inside.  The linoleum was peeling from the wood, leaving a flat
pocket just the right size for secret messages.  Messages a mother and
daughter could leave for each other where no one else could find
them.

She'd been in that kitchen yesterday morning, opened the cupboards
because she'd sensed they were important.

Felt a strange frustration when she'd found only the dishes and a few
old pots and pans.

She shuddered as another memory took her.  It was the dream-picture of
Mom and Gary fighting.  Only now Jesse moved back in time, watched from
the window as Gary first came into the kitchen to confront his lover.

Her mother was opening the corner cupboard.  She had a folded piece of
paper in her hand.  She was pushing it under the linoleum on the shelf,
looking up, slamming the door closed.  Straightening to meet Gary's
ominous contempt.

A message.  Jesse swayed and braced herself with stiffened arms.

Mom had left her a message she'd never read.

A message .  . . with the answers.

"I remember, Mom," she said.  "I know where to look."

The air current had stilled.  A surge of panic gave Jesse the strength
to break loose of the force that held her captive.  She staggered to
the middle of the room, spinning in a circle.

Her mother was gone.  Somewhere outside the window an owl hooted.
Moonlight found its way through the blinds again.

Sudden enervation overcame Jesse, and she felt her way back to the bed.
She shivered as she lay down.

Heaviness weighted her eyelids.  Her tears seemed to belong to someone
else.

She woke before dawn.  Her body was stiff and chilly; the sheets were
pushed low around her ankles, and all at once she remembered what had
happened in the middle of the night.

"Mom," she whispered.

Someone appeared beside her bed, a blur of blue and white and glints of
metal.  Jesse scrambled up and flung herself into David's arms.

He was solid as her mother hadn't been, and his embrace gave her all
the comfort she could want.  His palms stroked up and down her back as
he rested his chin on the crown of her head.

"Jesse?  What's wrong?  I apologize for not returning earlier-" She
stepped back, keeping a firm grip on his hands.  "I saw her, David."

"Who?"

"My mother.  She came to me.  Last night."

He cupped her face in his hands.  "You saw your mother?"

"I didn't .  . . actually see her.  She told me what I've been trying
so hard to remember.  The clue I was looking for."  She wiped at her
eyes.  "Did you send her?"

He sighed and pulled her close, into the warm circle of his arms.  "I
don't have that power, Jesse.  I wish I did."

"But you said you've seen others passing through your limbo-"
"Soldiers.  Men like myself.  They all moved on."

Jesse broke away and turned to face the bed, arms across her chest.
"She spoke to me."

"I don't deny that, Jesse."  His voice was unusually soft and gentle.
"Believe me, if I could have made such communication possible, I would
have done it long since."

"But you don't think it really was my mother, do you?"

"How can I answer?"  His hand came to rest on her shoulder, and his
fingers worked into the taut muscles just below her neck.  "I was able
to come back."

Yes.  He was able to come back-but how likely was it that Jesse would
be haunted, however lovingly, by more than one ghost?  And as much as
she wanted to believe she'd spoken to Mom, the thought that her mother
was-trapped, as David was trapped-was too grim and sad to
contemplate.

Better to conclude that it had been a dream, a trick her mind had
played to release needed information from her subconscious memories.
Better to hope that her mother was beyond human suffering. Somewhere.

Jesse had begun to truly face her childhood loss when she'd remembered
the funeral and her attack on Gary.

Visiting the resort had been another phase in the process she'd so long
deferred.  This .  . . visitation was one more step, and the message
was clear.

It was time to say goodbye and let her mother go.

But it wouldn't be finished until Gary was brought to justice.  Jesse
lifted her chin and let the tears dry.  Whatever the source of the
information, she knew it was what she'd been waiting for.

A fresh sense of urgency propelled her across the room to her closet.
She pulled a pair of jeans from her chest of drawers and tugged them on
under her nightshirt.

"Isn't it a bit early to be dressing?"  David asked.  He was watching
with interest and appreciation.  Jesse struggled to set aside the
distraction of his gaze and the effect it had on her.

"I've been known to get up earlier than this.  But I have something I
need to do.  It can't wait."

"No?"  David stepped up beside her and molded his hands to her waist,
sliding the shirt up her ribs.  "I'm sorry to hear that."

She almost lost her resolve.  After an agonizing moment she trapped his
hands in their upward progress just before they covered her breasts.

"I have to get to my mom's resort right away," she said.  She lifted
his hands and kissed the tanned, roughened skin of his knuckles.  "I'm
sorry.  But later-" He gave her a crooked smile.  "A pity.  I'd saved
up all my strength for you."

Even such a prosaic sentence hid a wealth of erotic promise.  She
hadn't known she had it in her to feel this way, to want to tumble
right back into bed with him for an hour or two at the very least.

If her mother's message meant what she hoped, she'd be able to turn her
full attention to David in the very near future.  Put the rest behind
her and think only of the present.  Live to the fullest, free of the
burdens of fear and anger.  The past would truly become the past.

"I want you to come with me," she said.  "I want you to be there when I
find out the truth."

He frowned.  "What truth?"

"About Gary.  I know what to look for now.  My mother left me a message
before she died."  Jesse moved away and skimmed off her nightshirt-she
was still feeling modest enough to turn her back-and replaced it with a
sturdy flannel shirt.  "Will you come?"

The grim expression remained on his face, but he nodded.  His
playfulness had vanished, and it seemed to her, as she finished
dressing, that he was deeply preoccupied.

"Only a little longer, David," she said seriously, catching his gaze.
"Then Gary will be out of our lives."

Our lives.  An odd choice of words, given that David didn't know the
man.  But it felt right.  Hope was a wonderful thing.

She gathered up her flashlight and backpack and went to the garage for
the truck, David at her side.  There were few vehicles on the road in
this predawn hour, and the mountains made a dark wall around the
valley, the eerie guardians of a thousand untold secrets.

One of those secrets was about to see the light of day.

They went through the fence as they had before, and Jesse lit their way
to the cabin she and her mother had shared.  She opened the cupboard
with the peeling linoleum.  The
layers had stuck together over the years; she pried at them until the
edges came apart.  She peeled the linoleum back and felt between.

Her fingers touched paper, brittle and stiffly folded.

Her heart pounded as she pulled out the envelope.

"Jesse" was written in her mother's hand on the outside.

"Oh God.  She was right."  She stared at the envelope, feeling layers
of paper inside.  David was suddenly behind her, just when she needed
the support of his hard, strong body.

His presence enabled Jesse to steady her hands and open the envelope.
She found another piece of folded paper and a second envelope, firmly
sealed.

The folded paper was a letter.  She propped the flashlight up on the
counter and tilted the paper so that the light shone on it.  She began
to read aloud.

Dearest Jesse, When you find this note, there is something I want you
to do right away.  I've put another envelope inside.

I want you to take the envelope to your friend Al Aguilar in town. Make
sure he reads the letter.

This is very important, Jesse.  Please do exactly as I ask.  And
remember-no matter what happens, I love you.  No matter what mistakes
I've made, remember that, my darling.  I love you and always will.

I'm not strong, Jesse.  But you are.  I know you'll make something
wonderful of your life.  Please never give up hope.

Jesse closed her eyes and held the note to her heart.

David's fingers massaged her upper arms.

"Is this what you came to find?"  he asked.

She shook her head, unable to speak, and pried open the flap of the
second, smaller envelope.

The wording of this message was terse and factual and thoroughly sober,
with few emotional flourishes.  The very coldness of the events laid
out chilled Jesse beyond any warming.

It started with a simple and terrible declaration: I know Gary Emerson
killed someone.

Killed someone.  The unexpectedness of it made Jesse lose her mental
bearings.  She'd thought to find proof of his part in her mother's
death, but not an accusation that he'd been involved in others as
well.

She was right.  He was evil.

She didn't realize she'd dropped the note until David bent to retrieve
it and smoothed the crushed papers between his fingers.  "Shall I read
it for you, Jesse?"  he asked.

In her imagination, Jesse was strong enough to handle anything.  Face
anything.  But she was ready to hand it over to David without a single
protest.

"Please," she said hoarsely.

He cleared his throat, and she noticed that his hands were not quite
steady.

"This is my account," he read, "of what happened between March 28th and
April 5th.  We were preparing the resort for the spring season.  It was
vacant except for myself, my daughter Jesse, and Gary Emerson.  Gary
has been living and working on my property for two years.

Until recently I trusted him, though I have never known much about his
background.  But on March 28th, while he was out of town on business
for the resort, a man came by to see him.

"This man was very insistent about seeing Gary and claimed that Gary
owed him money.  His manner was threatening, and I didn't want to let
him in.  But when Gary returned, the man was still in town, and Gary
invited him to stay at the resort.

"They seemed to get along well, but I could tell there was something
wrong.  When they caught me listening to one of their discussions,
about splitting money between them, it was obvious that they didn't
want me to overhear.  Gary told me to mind my own business.  But I
didn't think much of what was happening until I found the stash of
money in a briefcase, tens of thousands of dollars in large bills,
hidden under one of the floorboards in Guest Cabin #5.  The cabin was
in need of repair and hadn't been occupied for years, and I was looking
into renovating it when I found the money.

"I didn't know what to do, so I kept watching Gary and his friend.  One
day they had a terrible argument.

Gary was very angry for the rest of the day.  Later I saw him speaking
to his friend, but something was different.

"By then I suspected that Gary and his friend had committed some crime
and stole the money I'd found, but when I looked again it was gone.

"On the fourth day, Gary told me that his friend had to move on and had
already left town the night before.

That night, after we'd gone to bed, I saw light outside the cabin.  I
went to look and saw Gary with the body of his friend, digging a grave
in the woods near the boundary of my property.

"While I was returning home, I found metal tags in the dirt.  They had
numbers and the name of Gary's friend on them, and I guessed they'd
fallen off his body when Gary buried it in the woods.  I saved the tags
and hid them where Gary wouldn't find them.  They are under the painted
rock by the stream.  Jesse can tell you where to look.

"I know now I've been wrong about Gary since the day he came to us.  I
saw what I wanted to see.  I was blind to how he mistreated Jesse.  He
is a murderer and he wouldn't hesitate to kill me and Jesse to hide
what he did.

"I don't know what to do.  Gary suspects I saw something.  I am afraid
to go to the police.  Gary is very popular in town and I know that no
one will believe me.  I have to make him leave-" David hesitated.

"What is it?"  Jesse asked, staring out the cracked window at the
brightening sky.

"The writing is different here, as if she'd been interrupted and
continued at another time.

"The argument I remembered," Jesse said.  "She must have been writing
this note just before Gary came in, and hid it.  I didn't hear the
whole conversation, but she must have said something to scare him.  He
threatened her."

She leaned into David and sucked in a shaky breath.  "Go on."

David clenched his jaw and continued.  The tone of the letter changed,
became rambling and disjointed and frantic, and somehow David conveyed
that in the way he read.

"I made a terrible mistake.  Gary knows I know.  He has made threats to
hurt Jesse if I ever tell.  Oh, forgive me, my darling.

"I'm trapped.  I know I'm no good.  I've failed as a mother.  I let
this happen and put my daughter in danger.

"I can't take care of Jesse anymore.  She'd be better off without me.
She doesn't know what happened.  If I'm not here, Gary can't use her
against me.  He'll leave her alone.  I can't live with this any
longer.

"I beg whoever reads this to take care of Jesse after I'm gone."

David stopped reading and turned the paper over.  "It just ends there,"
he said, his mouth a grim line.

Jesse covered her face with her hands.  David set down the letter and
held her close.  "Do you believe he killed your mother?"  he asked
softly.

She knew what he was asking.  Jesse had heard the desperation in her
mother's letter.  The hopelessness.  The state of mind that convinced
Joan Copeland that her absence might somehow save Jesse from the menace
of Gary Emerson, even if it plunged her daughter into grief and loss
and utter aloneness.  She'd seen only one way out.

Gary'd had a perfect alibi.  He hadn't even needed to make the effort
to silence her.

Jesse gripped David's jacket convulsively, focusing on the physical
sensation of cloth on skin.  "If I'd found this earlier, I could have
stopped her-" "Shhhh."  He stroked her hair.  "You were a child.  You
were powerless."

"But Gary wasn't.  I know he would have killed her if she hadn't .  . .
made it unnecessary.  He's guilty, David.

He's a murderer, and he has to pay."

David was quiet so long that she pulled back to look up at his face.
"The evidence is here," she said.  "I do know where those tags are
buried.  We can find the grave.

It's enough to start an investigation, and that alone will destroy
Gary's hopes for-" "No, Jesse."

"No?"  She pulled free.  "What-" His hands caught her, gripping her
arms above the elbows.  "Don't do this," he said flatly.  "Don't .  . .
let this hatred poison you.

"Poison me?"  She laughed.  "I've finally found what I've been looking
for, and you tell me to let it go?  Never.

I intend to see that justice is served."

But his expression remained closed, and he didn't loosen his grip.  "Do
you think you'll come out of this unscathed?"  he demanded.  "Do you
believe Gary can't defend himself?  You said he was a murderer.  He's
already threatened you.  Do you think he'd hesitate to do it again?"

For a ghost he could be remarkably strong.  She fought down her anger
and stopped struggling.  "All my life I've been waiting for this, even
though I didn't know it.  It's worth the risk-" "Not if it means you'll
be hurt," he said, almost shaking her.  "I won't let that happen.  Not
while I'm here to stop you."

Her first reaction was to remind him that he had no right.  But then
she recognized what he meant, and remembered what she'd been so eager
to tell him before the dream of her mother.

He was trying to protect her.  His sincerity couldn't be doubted; he'd
scared Gary away, and now she knew that his actions hadn't been either
casual or random.  His eyes burned with a passion different, but no
less potent, than what he'd shown in her bed.

He was afraid for her.  Desperately afraid.

He cared for her, far more than he'd ever admit.

"David," she whispered.  She let herself sink against him.  His arms
locked around her as if he'd never let her go.

"Don't do it, Jesse," he said.  "Let the past lie.  Sooner or later
Gary will suffer the consequences of his actions-" "Don't you see?" She
touched his cheek and his grim mouth, willing him to understand. "If I
don't act now, he could go on hurting people.  He could gain more power
and use it for evil.  If I'm the only one who knows what he is, I'm the
only one who can stop him."

He turned his head.  "Then revenge has nothing to do with it, Jesse?"
he asked bitterly.

It was a question she couldn't answer.  Her heart was too full of
contradictory emotions, and as the triumph and sorrow and anger ebbed
she was left with only one certainty.

"Your support has meant so much," she said.  "More than I can ever
explain.  I can't completely make sense of what's happened to me in the
last few days.  I've fought it, denied it .  . . but ignoring it just
won't work anymore.

There are some risks worth taking."

He looked down at her again, very still and pale.

"What I'm trying to say is .  . . no matter how it turns out with Gary,
or what I do from now on, there's one thing I'm sure of.  I don't even
care what you did in your past life that condemned you to limbo.  It
wouldn't make any difference.

"Oh, hell."  She grimaced and laughed weakly.  "What I mean is .  . . I
love you, David Ventris.  I think I always
have."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

GROUND DROPPED out from beneath David's feet, and he felt himself lose
his grip on the worldly plane.  Jesse wavered in and out of his vision,
but her touch kept him anchored.

She waited, gazing up at him with those candid hazel eyes, and he knew
he'd won.  The love that shone from her face was unmistakable, but he
hadn't let himself assume that such a victory was possible.  Now there
could be no doubt.

She loved him.  For Jesse Copeland to admit such an emotion was a
marvel, and she could no more feign it than he could make himself live
again.  She presented him with this gift when he'd done virtually
nothing to earn it.

She loved him.  He should have been crowing with triumph.  Wasn't it
what he'd wanted-to influence her so well that she would willingly
offer him whatever he asked?  A few smooth words of love in return, and
she'd be eating out of his hand.  She was strong, his Jesse, but not
invulnerable.  And though she demanded nothing from him, he knew what
she wanted to hear.

All he had to do was give it to her.  He could take her to bed and
then, when she was starry-eyed with passion, ask for the one further
gift he required.  Surely she wouldn't refuse it.

She'd said so herself.  She didn't care what he'd done.

She claimed she was not Sophie.  What would a past life matter to her
now?

For a few moments David saw only freedom.  Freedom from limbo, from the
chains of his wasted life, from guilt he couldn't bear.  Freedom to
live again, even in a new body.  He would welcome that forgetfulness.

Then slowly, gradually, he came back down to earth.

He was aware of the anxious pressure of jesse's hold, though her eyes
remained resolute and unwavering in their conviction.  He remembered
that he stood in Jesse's old home.  He remembered what she had said
about Gary.  He relived his own alarm for her when she insisted on
continuing with this mad quest for vengeance.  .

And he felt a twisting tension in his gut, a bitter comprehension that
shattered his brief conceit of freedom.

Jesse spoke to him of love, but her obsession with Gary was every bit
as powerful.  She didn't begin to understand the forces at work behind
her actions, but she'd convinced herself that it was some greater duty
and not hatred that motivated her pursuit.

Just as she'd convinced herself that she loved David Ventris.

Didn't they all play games of self-deception?  Jesse, Gary, himself . .
. not one of them was spared.

He most of all.  He was afraid for Jesse's safety, but he could no
longer believe his concern was only for his success.  He had lost that
cold, cynical detachment.  His shield had been taken from him; and he
was as naked as a turtle laid on its back in the burning sun.

He'd thought he could affect Jesse without being affected, keep his
emotions securely locked inside.  The early warning signs had been
twinges he'd done his best to ignore.

Ignorance was no longer an option.  He looked into Jesse's eyes and
wanted more than forgiveness.  He wanted her love to be real, and it
was illusion.

"David?"  Her voice was hesitant, tinged with unease.

"Talk to me."

Love me, she meant.  He wanted to shout at her, mock her for her
foolish, deadly vulnerability.  He tried to summon up the indifference
that would provide just the right answer to keep her at a distance but
not drive her away.

"I don't know what to say," he said, choking on the truth.  "Jesse .  .
. I'm not what you think-" "I know you're not like other men," she
said.  Her fingers grazed his cheek.  "I know your limitations.  I'm
willing to take whatever we can find, David.  Whatever we can make for
ourselves as long as we can."

His own philosophy: live for the moment.  Never think ahead.  Never
consider the consequences.  He'd taught Jesse that.

His mind was as useless as wet powder in a jammed musket.  His heart
was frozen.  When he spoke, his voice was that of a battle-hardened
officer and not a lover.

"What would you do to keep me with you, Jesse?"  he asked.  "Would you
give up on Gary if it meant I could stay?"

The softness left her eyes.  "What are you saying?"

"Can you forgive for the sake of your love?"

"Forgive .  . . Gary?"  Her hands dropped to her sides, and her fingers
clenched.  "I don't understand.

What does he have to do with us?"

His mouth flooded with the acrid taste of more lies.

More evasions to avoid what must be.  He could keep on manipulating
her, but it merely delayed the inevitable reckoning.

There was only one way out.

Tell her, he thought.  Tell her now.

But his body was as ineffectual as his tongue and his brain.  He lost
control of it, and without the act of will that kept him substantial on
the earthly plane, he began to fade.  Jesse's lips moved, but he
couldn't hear her.  She reached for him, but she couldn't hold him.

He spun away, the room and the resort and the woods and the mountains
dissolving into a colorless mist.  It always seemed as if time and
space ceased to exist when he made the transition.  The place to which
he returned was No Place.

It surrounded him again, familiar and hated.  His own personal slice of
hell without even the diversion of everlasting flames.

The body he possessed in limbo was identical to the one Jesse knew, but
in limbo there was nothing to smell, to taste, to see, to feel.  The
form itself came only from his mind.  Sometimes he could create a
temporary solidity around him, built from memory-a misty battlefield,
dirt under his feet, the cries of the wounded, the scent of gunpowder
and sweat.

He'd never been able to recreate the hills and blue water of the Lakes,
or any kind of beauty.  Mostly he walked .  . . another illusion .  . .
through an emptiness lacking shape or hue, endless and border less.

Limbo had never seemed as empty as it did now.  The mist-he hadn't
found a better word to describe it pressed in on him, and yet he was
almost grateful for the blankness that entered his soul.  No time, no
connections, no emotions at all if he chose to forget them.  Here that
was possible.

Inevitable.  Eternal.

He sat on a hummock of vapor and put his head in his hands.  Coward,
the silence whispered.  He accepted the brand as his due.  Jesse was
his mirror, and he saw reflected, with perfect clarity, the
irredeemably flawed man he'd refused to acknowledge.

Irredeemable.  Damned.

"Self-pity is a prodigiously comforting thing, is it not?"

David jerked up his head.  First he saw the polished
boots, and then the snug breeches and the sword and neat coat.  He
observed the very large nose that graced the man's face below the
equally beaky brim of his dark bicorne hat.  David jumped to his
feet.

"Your Grace," he said, and caught himself.  The man who'd come to him
here was not who he appeared to be.

That was quite impossible.  The chance that Wellington would turn up in
David's limbo, so long after the commander and victor of the war
against Napoleon had met his own death, was virtually nil.

Ancient habits were very difficult to break.  David relaxed at
Wellington's nod, but he knew this was illusion.

The being who confronted him was not necessarily human.  There was a
certain radiance from the tanned and distinctive face, and David, who'd
met the real Iron Duke but a few times in his career, couldn't quite
swallow a reluctant awe.

"Cat got your tongue?"  Wellington inquired, lifting a brow.

"No, Your Grace.  But I wondered to what I owe the honor of this
visit."

Wellington smiled and a chair materialized behind him.  He sat down.
"No need to stand on formality, Captain.  I hear you've dug yourself a
hole and are having a bit of trouble climbing out of it."

David stood rigidly in place.  "I confess to being surprised that you
would take an interest in my affairs, Your Grace."

"It seems someone must, since you persist in making things difficult
for yourself."  He sighed.  "I know damned well you're no coward,
Captain Lord Ashthorpe.  Yet you cling to these addled beliefs."

David laughed with a marked lack of respect for a superior officer.
"May I assume you know everything about me?  Did my gaolers send
you?"

Wellington shook his head.  "Do you really suppose that someone is
punishing you, Ventris?  I would have thought you'd have reached the
more obvious conclusion by now.  You're not a stupid man, however much
you wasted your intelligence when you were alive."

"If it's for my sake that you lecture me on my numerous flaws, you're
wasting your time.  Your Grace."  David sat on the hummock again. "They
are old friends."

Wellington leaned back and crossed his legs.  "Indeed?

Do you tell me that you've actually faced yourself at last?"

He couldn't meet his commander's gaze.  "I can take no credit for
that."

"Ah.  You refer to the lovely Jesse."  Wellington glanced over the arm
of his chair, as if he were looking at some distant view.  "I see she's
waiting for you.  Wondering why you vanished after her declaration of
love."  He tsked softly.  "A damned discourteous thing for an officer
and a gentleman to do, Captain."

Discourteous.  David knew himself for the worst villain alive or dead.
"Yes," he said.  "How wonderful that I have made her love a man who
doesn't exist."

"I believe her exact words were: "I know your limitations.  I'm willing
to take whatever we can find.  Whatever we can make for ourselves as
long as we can."" David shot to his feet and paced out a savage
measure, six steps one way and six the other.  "But she doesn't know
what I am," he said with glacial self-loathing.  "I haven't had the
courage to tell her.  And now-" "You're afraid of what she'll do when
she learns the truth.  That you're not entirely the heroic, sympathetic
figure she's imagined.  How you've failed again and again to give your
life meaning.  That your courage in battle was the only escape from the
dark, untended corners of your own soul.  That you betrayed her."

David ground to a stop and met Wellington's gaze.

"Surely no love can stand in the face of so much imperfection."

Wellington straightened in his chair, and the glint in his eye grew
stern.  "She will judge you as you deserve, send you back here
forever."

David closed his eyes.  "Isn't it what I deserve?  Why should I be able
to save myself when I can't anyone else?

Jesse, Megan-" "Don't you have it the wrong way 'round, Captain?

How can you save anyone else until you've saved yourself?"

It was a question David could not answer.  "I seem to lack the facility
for it, Your Grace," he said bitterly.

"So you call yourself a coward," Wellington said.  He slapped his hand
on the arm of his chair, and the sound echoed like thunder.  "You're
afraid, Ashthorpe.  The one part of your life where you couldn't take
risks was with your heart.  Not when it might be deeply touched, or
threatened by loss.  Better to stop it before it began, or run away.
But that isn't possible now, is it?  Because Jesse is already in you,
and you'll never be free of her."

"But she can be free of me."  David strode close to the chair, stared
down at his supreme commander without flinching.  "What favor have I
done her?  She has a full life ahead of her.  She'd be willing to waste
it on a man who can't be real for more than a few hours at a time.  The
longer I'm with her, the worse it will be for her when I must leave. It
could .  . . destroy her."

"How little faith you have in love, Captain.  Even your own."

"Mine?  I'm not capable of it."

"Of course not.  Forgive my presumption."  He looked up at David
steadily.  "After having prepared and schemed to win her forgiveness,
and received her love instead, you want her to go on with her mortal
life and forget you."

"Yes."

"Then it seems quite clear to me.  If you tell her the truth, surely
she'll hate you and forget you the more quickly.  You will not have won
your salvation, but you will at least have finished what you started.
You may return to your punishment and she to her life, and all
complications are ended.  Isn't that what you wish?"

Of course.  It was perfectly clear.  It was what had to be, and David's
wishes were of no consequence.  Jesse had to be set free.  Whether she
forgave or repudiated him, she must break the bonds between them.

He would have to cajole or beg or trick her into abandoning her
obsession with Gary; only that would keep her tied to the past, and she
was in danger as long as she pursued it.  He had to end that danger
before he left her forever.

"Thank you, Your Grace," he said, coming to attention.  "I shall take
your advice."

Wellington rose.  "Ah, but it wasn't my advice.  You'd already made the
decision before I arrived.  I am merely the reflection of your
thoughts.  It does help to see them from a fresh perspective."  He
saluted.  "Good luck, Captain.  You died well.  Perhaps you can learn
to live with equal skill."

David watched the erect figure turn and walk away, receding until he
melted into the horizon less distance.

But David no longer felt paralyzed by self-disgust.  He had a plan of
action, and it was like that final battle at Waterloo when he'd flung
himself into certain death.  It didn't matter what existed beyond the
moment.

He didn't think beyond the next hour.  His spirit was strong now, and
he knew a mere thought would have him back at Jesse's side.

Enough time had passed on the earthly plane that Jesse was no longer at
the resort.  He should never have left her, but at least she hadn't
taken any rash action against Gary.  He found her at home, working in
the shop where she built her sturdy, simple furniture.

She looked up as he came in.  Her eyes widened and she went very still,
her fingers locked around the smooth wooden handle of a hammer.  Slowly
she set it down.

"You came back," she said.

He couldn't bear the relief and gratitude in her gaze, the fragile
happiness that made her words tremble.  He strode to her and bent to
lift her into his arms.  She came willingly, tucking her head beneath
his chin.

"David," she said.  "If anything I said .  . . I should never have-" He
silenced her with a finger across her lips.  The gesture became a
caress; he explored the seam of her lips until they parted, and then
replaced his finger with his mouth.

There in her workshop, leaning on a sawdust-covered table, he kissed
her.  The previous time he'd felt an incredible urgency to respond to
her innocent seduction, as if the opportunity might be stolen from him
with the slightest hesitation.  He'd wanted to bury himself in her body
after decades of celibacy.  He'd been thinking only of himself, no
matter that he'd tried to pleasure her in the process.

This loving would be for Jesse.  It was the last chance he had to
communicate without words, without deception, while she could still
look upon him with trust and love.  He wanted her to remember him with
something other than hatred when he was gone.

He wanted to be close to her in the truest way of all.

He lifted her to the tabletop, drew her against him and gave full
tribute to her lips.  Her fingers dipped into his hair and her eyes
closed, pale brown lashes fanned over her flushed cheeks.  Her tongue
met his gentle feints, but he reined in his eagerness.  He explored her
mouth, outside and inside, with patience and tenderness.

But he couldn't master his body's yearning.  Jesse's legs had locked
around his hips, and his sex strained his breeches in a manner she
couldn't mistake.  She pushed into him, and he swallowed a groan.

No.  There'd be no taking her quickly and thoughtlessly now.  Not even
if she thought she wanted it.  He licked each corner of her mouth and
mapped her face with his kisses: chin, cheeks, jaw, nose, eyelids,
brow, temples, forehead.  She made impatient little sounds as if she
wished to return the favor, but he gently locked her hands at her sides
and continued uninterrupted.

Her ear was a remarkably dainty shell.  He took his time tracing its
contours and suckled the delicate lobe.

Jesse shivered and arched back her neck, giving him access to that
slender column.  He licked the length of her neck from the hollow at
her throat to the pulse point tucked under her jaw, then kissed the
juncture of neck and shoulder, using his teeth and tongue to increase
the sensual pressure.

Jesse was gasping now, her arms tense under his hands.  A part of her
was still afraid of letting go, surrendering to him, receiving without
giving in return.

He released her arms and kissed her lips again while his fingers found
the top button of her shirt.  Her hands grasped for his jacket, slid up
to his shoulders.  Her restless motions didn't interfere with his
deliberate progress.

The first button slipped free, and he bent to kiss the tanned vee just
below her neck.  The blood beat fast in the hollow of her throat.  The
second button came undone, and the paler upper swell of her breasts
waited to be caressed.  He took his time about it, and then unfastened
the third button.

Her breasts were beautiful and very white, only the brown nipples a
contrast to the smoothly erotic curves.  He stroked them with his
fingertips, unhurried sweeps that ended in the hardening tips.

If he'd followed his lust, he'd have those nipples in his mouth, firm
under his tongue, and her trousers already down around her ankles.  He
ached to taste her fully.  But he cupped and weighed the soft globes,
kneaded them lightly, traced the circumference of her nipples until he
had memorized every tiny contour.

"David," she said hoarsely.  "Please."

Her plea was enough.  He bent his head and pressed his lips to the
swell of one breast above the nipple, kissed a circle that just avoided
the brown center.  Only when she laced her fingers in his hair and
demanded more did he take her nipple into his mouth.

She arched up.  He filled his mouth with her, sliding up and down,
ending each pull with a deeper draw on her nipple.  He wrapped his
tongue around it, flicked it, suckled it, teased it while her breath
came in short, hot pants.

He pressed her breasts together and thrust his tongue into the valley
he created, thumbing her nipples in
rhythm.  Her eyes were glazed with passion when she looked up, but she
was far from insensible from the pleasure.

She'd found the buttons to his breeches and was already trying to work
them free.

He pushed her hands away.  "No, Jesse," he said.  "It's not over
yet."

He opened her shirt fully and slid it halfway from her shoulders,
baring her belly.  He shrugged out of his jacket and laid it on the
table.  She didn't protest when he eased her onto her back, leaving
only her legs below the knees bent over the edge.

The fastening of her trousers was simple enough to manipulate once he
saw how it worked.  He unlocked the tiny metal teeth from her waist to
the juncture of her thighs and tugged the trousers below her hips.  She
arched her back to help him.  The trousers fell to the floor, and he
pushed them aside with his boot.

She wore only a thin, narrow slip of silky cloth to pass as an
undergarment.  The sight of the sheer material, barely hiding what lay
beneath, had the effect of hardening David more than he believed
possible.  He closed his eyes and began to trace the rim of ban ding
that hugged the lower edge of her hips.

The white slickness of the cloth couldn't disguise Jesse's response to
his caresses.  He stroked down, over the mound of her sex, feeling the
lush brown curls and the unmistakable wetness that had begun to dampen
the delicate material.

He lingered there, pressing into the indentation where she was most
sensitive.  She shuddered as he ran his finger up and down the hidden
cleft.  Her scent was like a heady perfume.  He bent and touched his
tongue to the moistened cloth, inhaling her and taking his first
taste.

Jesse moaned and opened her legs in invitation.  David withdrew just
long enough to dispose of the flimsy drawers and then returned to his
explorations.

Now there was nothing between his mouth and her sex.  She lay before
him without embarrassment or coy modesty, and the victory was almost as
sweet as the nectar of her body.  Her curls were no impediment.  The
soft pink flesh was swollen and wet, slick to his touch, a delicacy he
badly wanted to sample.

The tip of his tongue touched the top of her cleft, stroked down into
the moist valley.  Jesse cried out.  He licked her, drank from her,
laved her again and again.

When he found the swollen bud hidden beneath, he drew it into his mouth
and suckled.

He felt her rising excitement in the sounds she made, the little
contractions of her muscles, the convulsive clenching and unclenching
of her hands in his hair.  He gave her joy, but he was himself lost in
the wonder of her body, in the pleasure he took in pleasing her.

He didn't stop wanting to be inside her.  But that wasn't necessary for
her fulfillment.  He continued his caresses until he sensed a new
tension in her body.  Her fingers tightened in his hair.  With no
warning she shattered against him, and he rode with her through the
storm until she relaxed and tugged him down beside her.

"Thank you," she whispered.  "I .  ."

"Don't speak, Jesse," he said.  "Words will come later."

Such words as would destroy what they had in this moment.  But he
savored the present, the lingering taste of Jesse on his lips, her
hands stroking him, her flushed and peaceful happiness.

"All right," she said.  "No words."  She sat up, unabashedly naked, and
began to push off his jacket.  The determination in her eyes was
indisputable.  She wanted him naked as she was; she wanted to see him.
He couldn't deny her.

He helped her with the buttons of his shirt and with his belt.  She
laughed a bit nervously when she tried to find a fastening for his
trousers similar to her own and discovered only more buttons.  But then
his clothing joined hers on the wooden floor, and he pulled off his
boots and paused, oddly vulnerable and almost afraid.

This was nothing to what he must face when he bared
his soul to her.  But he waited, watching her take in his countless
scars and the ugly gash on his thigh that had healed improperly after
the battle of Badajoz.

She opened her mouth as if to speak, then remembered their agreement.
Instead, she gave him her verdict with her touch.  She ran her hands
the length of his arms, cupped his shoulders and then his chest,
slipping her fingers through the hair and following its downward path
to his belly.

He was afraid if she touched his aching sex he would shame himself.  He
was afraid she wouldn't touch him at all.  But her hands closed gently
but firmly around him, and he gave himself up to her ministrations.

For a woman with little experience she knew exactly what to do.  He
hadn't wanted her to be the one giving in this exchange, but he didn't
have the will to resist her.

She made him helpless.  She stroked him, tormented him as he'd done
her, first with her fingers and then, astoundingly, with her mouth.

Somehow he kept command of his body.  She drove him to the peak of
pleasure and at the last moment, when he was losing the battle, she
pulled away.  Her fingers laced through his and she led him from the
workshop and to her bed.

There she drew him down.  They were two beings, and then one joined,
flawless, whole.  For David it was more than physical gratification. As
he moved within her he caught a glimpse of something that had always
eluded him, which once he'd sought but given up on long, long ago.

He reached out to grasp it, but then sensation took him: the rocking,
the rhythm, the all-consuming fire of ecstasy.  He spent himself in
Jesse and felt her reach her culmination a second time.  They came down
together, locked in each other's arms.

JESSE FLOATED IN a dream world, anchored by the length of David's
hard-muscled body beside her on the bed.

Even as her nerves hummed with the aftereffects of his lovemaking,
another part of her was in a place where happiness was the only
reality.

She snuggled closer into the curve of his arm and ran her hand lazily
over the flat ridges of his belly, her eyes heavy-lidded with
contentment.  David's heart thumped under her ear, and his fingers
curled around her arm in a satisfying gesture of possessiveness.  She
was aware of a purely female appreciation for the unencumbered beauty
and power of his body, a certain awe that he was here with her now.

But the happiness was something more powerful.  It was infinite.
Fleetingly she could remember her initial despair when David had
vanished.  The yearning, the fear and then, finally, the acceptance.
She'd come to realize that whatever he chose to do, her love would
remain as unshakable as the Trinity Alps themselves.

The fact that he'd returned to make love to her eliminated the need for
explanations, the words he couldn't say.  Words would drag her down
from this lofty height of supreme joy, where no darkness could reach.

Her eyes drifted shut.  So relaxed; the only other time she'd felt like
this was under hypnosis, when all the lines between fact and fantasy,
past and present, had blurred and disappeared.

It seemed as if she and her lover lay on a grassy hillside, with a
canopy of blue sky above and the trickle of a tiny creek nearby.  It
felt as though her elation had transformed her into someone else,
someone who believed implicitly in happy endings.

Yet it didn't even matter who she was, or when, or where.  She was with
the man she loved.

She wanted to stay this way forever.

"Jesse."

Her hand felt weighted with lead as she tried to lift it, quiet him and
make the timeless bliss last a little longer.

"Jesse, there is something .  . . I must tell you."

She ducked her head halfway under his arm like a child dodging a
scolding.  He shifted under her, levering her up.

"I've waited too long," he went on stubbornly.  "You must listen to
me."

She opened her eyes halfway and looked at him through the screen of her
lashes.  His handsome face was deadly serious.  It seemed alien, almost
frightening.  She bent down to plant a kiss on the firm swell of his
chest, then moved an inch lower and kissed him again.

The word was all command, but she giggled and kept going.  There was no
room in her heart for such gravity.

She felt possessed, as if another, giddier will guided her mouth and
hands.  Just as she reached the most potent part of him, his hand
slapped down over hers.

"Damn it, Jesse."  He closed his eyes and let out a harsh breath.  "The
deception has to end."  He sat up and pulled her with him, set ting her
on her knees.  She felt as limp and defenseless as a rag doll, but her
mind was still floating, undisturbed by his vehemence.

"What is it, David?"  she said.  She thought she sounded drunk.  Drunk
on love.  She giggled again.

He gripped her arms.  "I came back to tell you the truth.  The truth
I've always known but pretended I'd forgotten."

The truth.  What was truth?  Too profound a question.

But a little piece of her consciousness anchored itself to his
declaration, and she focused on his face.

"I deceived you from the beginning, Jesse," he said.

"When we first met, I told you I didn't know why I was damned, or how I
was to win my salvation.  I said I knew only that you could help me."

She smiled and touched his jaw, the slight roughness that didn't change
each time she saw him.  "You helped me," she said.

He seized her wrist.  "I tricked you.  I manipulated you.

Because I knew all along that I could win salvation only if you were
willing to give it to me.  And that meant I'd eventually have to tell
you-" He stopped, let go of her hand and looked away.  "Oh, I was
honest about some small facts.  You and I were married in that other
life.  We had a child.  While she was alive, our marriage .  . . was as
good as it could be."

"You loved .  . . me," she said.  She released her hold on her mind and
turned inward, journeyed back.  She could remember.  "We had
Elizabeth."

"But Elizabeth died," he said.  "And when she died, so did any
happiness we had together.  You thought we comforted each other?
Sophie," He shook his head almost violently.

"No.  You.  In your grief, you blamed me for Elizabeth's death.  I had
never wanted to give up my freedom.  I had married you only because of
the child, and now there was no reason to stay."

Jesse heard him, and as he spoke she felt herself shift from one
reality to another.  The familiar room and bed wavered around her, was
overlaid by a second just as familiar but far more ornate.  Two vastly
different worlds existed in the same time and space.

And David was in the center of both.  He was the link that made it
possible.  Suspended between past and present, Jesse could only listen
in numb silence to his confession.

"I knew you were suffering," he said in a dull, flat monotone.  "But I
couldn't think of anyone but myself.  It was my duty to protect you,
but I chose to abandon you to your pain.  So I left you at the Hall in
Avery's care, and bought a new commission in the army.  When you begged
me to stay, I ignored you."

As if she were viewing separate movies showing side by side, Jesse saw
herself as two people: at her mother's resort, feeling sympathy and
sorrow as David related his loveless past of constant running-and in
the chill foyer of a great sprawling mansion, her throat hoarse with
weeping, half mad with grief and fear and anger.

She was Jesse-and Sophie.  Two women who struggled for supremacy over
the soul they shared.

"I expected Avery to handle your affairs as he ran the
Hall," David continued inexorably.  "He had always done it well, and I
wanted none of that responsibility.  I hardly read the letters you sent
me in the Peninsula, entreating me to return.  When you began to write
that you feared Avery, that he despised you, that he was watching you
with evil intent, I discounted it as more of your female vapors. It was
only when you convinced me that you were very ill that I took leave to
come home."

Jesse swayed and clutched at the headboard for support.  Fear clawed at
her chest-senseless, maddening terror.  Sophie's terror.

Avery.

"I found you ill only in your own mind," David said.

"I was enraged by your trick.  I spoke with Avery, and he convinced me
that you were imagining his dislike.  I never thought to disbelieve
him.

"The more you clung to me, the more certain I was that I'd be swallowed
up in your need.  You were a chain I couldn't break, but I could
pretend you didn't exist."

Jesse's breath came in short gasps.  She no longer knew where she was;
her face felt alien under her groping fingers.

It was Sophie's face.  Sophie's tears wet her cheeks.  Sophie's dread
and despair were her own.

"Once again I left you," David said.  "Once again I ignored your
letters, even when you told me that Avery was attempting to seduce you.
Avery, seduce a woman."

David grated a bitter laugh.  "You said he threatened you openly when
you refused him, and you had no protection against him.  You said he
hated me, but you were my wife and in his power."

Overcome by a chaos of memory, Jesse felt for the sheets and pulled
them up over her shivering body.  A faint whiff of smoke hung in the
air.

"I knew it was your own mad fancy.  Avery's passions had become dried
up long ago.  You'd tricked me before when you summoned me home,
pretending to be ill-so I told myself.  I didn't listen, even when you
wrote that Avery was scheming to take your life."

Jesse's shaking stopped, stilled by a coldness that turned her blood to
ice.

"Your last letter," David said in a harsh whisper, "came to me on the
eve of battle.  It was almost incomprehensible.

Mad.  I threw it in the fire that night and watched it burn.

"That was the night I killed you."

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

THE LAST OF the color left her face, and David saw the transformation
complete itself.

The change had come on gradually as he'd watched her memories return.
It was to Jesse he'd begun telling the tale, Jesse's lithe body that
crouched before him.  But now it was Sophie's eyes that met his,
Sophie's fear he was forced to witness, Sophie's unspent hatred that
answered him.

"You .  . . killed me," she repeated, her voice as hoarse and accented
as his own.

"Yes."  The confession seared his throat like vitriol.  "I could have
saved you.  Months later I received word that you had died in a fire
that had destroyed the Hall.  A fire set by my brother."

"He burned me," she said.  A savage battle went on behind her wide and
stricken gaze, and she jerked like a puppet with cut strings.  David
imagined that he saw flames dancing in her hazel eyes.  They focused on
him with terrible intensity.

"I begged you to save me," she said, fingers curled into claws.  "I
told you, and you wouldn't believe me."

He didn't allow himself the brief respite of looking away.  "Yes."

"He hated you," she hissed.  "He couldn't bear to see me in his
precious Hall.  He was convinced that everything you possessed should
have been his."  She spoke faster and faster, the long-dammed rage
driving the words from her mouth like musket balls.  "He hoped you'd
die in the war; he prayed for it daily.  He found a thousand ways to
make my life hell.  He knew you'd never believe what I said of him,
because you were blind."

David had no excuses to give her.  He had been blind to what Avery had
become, grown out of the bitter seeds planted in childhood.  A stranger
who could wish for his own brother's death.

A murderer.

"He wanted me because he thought it would hurt you," Jesse said.  "But
you wouldn't have cared.  You never did."  She laughed with a frantic
edge.  "You wanted to be rid of me, and you had your way.  You both had
your way."

True blindness would have been a blessing in this moment.  There was no
forgiveness in the woman who wore Jesse's face and body.  She was the
avenging angel bent on sending him back to perdition.

Where he belonged.

"You were everything to me," she said.  "My world, my life."  Her bent
fingers raked at the sheets as if they were his flesh, and she laughed
again.  "That one time you came back to me that last night we
shared-you put another child in me."

David had been naive to think there were limits to shame and anguish.
"It .  . . was true," he said.

Her smile was grotesque and bitter.  "You didn't believe anything
I wrote to you.  But Avery did.  He feared I would give you an heir.
He said he would kill me before I robbed him of what should be his."

The murder had been of two lives, not one.  David bent his head, a cry
of mourning trapped in his chest.

"I was ill," she went on mercilessly.  "Too weak to move from my bed.
Avery would not send for the doctor.

He was drinking the night he-" She paused, visibly struggling for
words.  "I heard the flames.  The smoke was coming in.  I tried to call
for help-" The control that had allowed her to speak with such
devastating precision melted out of her voice, her face, her gaze like
ice in the heat of a Spanish sun.  She coughed, arms wrapping around
her belly.

"The red light .  . ."  She shook her head, whipping hair into her
eyes.  "So hot.  I can't move.  Can't breathe-" "Jesse," he said
urgently, "it's not real-" "The door-it's open-" She thrust her hands
out in front of her face.  "The flames-David!"

Her shriek ripped through him, cutting out his heart.

The plea choked off in a dry rattling wheeze, and she raked at her
throat.  "Help .  . . me ."

He lunged toward her and she fell back, arched in a spasm of
intolerable agony, her body convulsing and flailing among the sheets in
the hopeless struggle of a woman reliving her own unspeakable death.

"Jesse," David cried, pinning her with his body.  She heaved under him
in a parody of their lovemaking.  Her eyes rolled up in her head, and
he reared up to strike her white cheek with the flat of his palm.

She went rigid, frozen in an unnatural position like a woman turned to
stone.  David prepared to strike her again, frantic in his own dread of
losing her.

She collapsed beneath him just as he raised his hand.

The witless terror left her gaze, and she looked at him with total
comprehension.

"You," she rasped.  Without warning, a new convulsion seized her, one
of her own making.  She bucked beneath him, her arms and legs imbued
with uncanny strength, until he rolled away.  He made no attempt to
retreat when she pursued him like a banshee, her fists and feet
pummeling every part of his body she could reach.

Sophie's voice spat loathing at him, a litany of hatred that beat in
time to her blows.  All her fear had been transmuted in the crucible of
fire, and the only purpose left to her was vengeance.

But gradually the energy drained from her, the mad force deserting the
strike of her fists.  Her hands flattened and hit his chest with hollow
slaps.  Her voice went hoarse and ragged on the hundredth

"I hate you."  Tears fell, bathing his skin.

The change came last to her eyes.  They were bleached, almost colorless
as emotion subsided, the pupils wide and vivid in darkness.

Jesse's eyes.  Jesse's mind reclaiming itself, reclaiming her body,
slowly realizing what she had done.  The last blow fell and she
snatched back her hand.  She bent her arms behind her back, tears
drying on her cheeks.

He had never seen her face so blank.  Not even a trace of hatred
remained, but there was nothing else to take its place.  Her gaze swept
his body and fixed on his eyes with that same emptiness.

"I'm sorry," she said.

He wanted to laugh.  He would have gladly borne her punishment, and far
worse, for days on end rather than witness the cold void left in the
wake of Sophie's rage.

"No, Jesse," he croaked.  "I'm sorry."

She didn't answer.  He knew she still remembered everything he had told
her, everything she'd experienced.

Sophie's memories were hers.

She gathered up the tangled sheets and tugged them from the bed.
Carefully she wrapped them around herself, chin to ankle, like a
shroud.  She sat at the very edge of the bed with her back to him, and
her voice reached him muffled and flat and lifeless as a tomb.

"I understand now," she said.  "The dreams.  The things I was afraid
of.  And Gary-" Her breath shuddered out, the only movement in her
body.  "You knew who Gary was, didn't you?"

He'd prayed she wouldn't make that connection, as she hadn't recognized
Megan in this life.  Even that was not to be spared her.  "I knew," he
said bleakly.  "I'd hoped to protect you-" "Of course.  It's as if it's
happening again.  The dreams and memories started when Gary returned to
Manzanita-" Her head lifted a little.  "Is that why you came to me?
Because Avery was here?"

So simple to lie one last time, give her one good thing to remember
about him.  But he couldn't.  "I didn't know Avery had been reborn
until after I came," he said.  "I knew more than I admitted, but not
that."

"Then why did you come?"

"Haven't you guessed?"

"You said I held the key to your salvation."

"Yes."  He smiled with self-contempt, though she couldn't see.  "Your
forgiveness was to be my deliverance."

"My .  . . forgiveness?"

She had found some emotion-disbelief, irony, weary amusement.  David
forced himself to keep from touching her.

"Your forgiveness-for what I did to you.  Only that will release me
from limbo and allow me to .  . . move on."

"That easy?"  The sheets pulled snug against her body.

"Why come to me now, if you didn't know about Gary?"

"It was your call that allowed me to return.  You opene& the way,
Jesse."

"Maybe you should thank Gary for that.  He triggered it all.  My
dreams.  My memories."

He would have called it bitterness except for the indifference in her
voice.

"I could have killed him the night of the party," he said softly.

She hardly reacted beyond tilting her head.  "Did he know who haunted
him?  Is that why he ran?"

"I don't know," he said.  And he didn't, save that Gary had, for a few
moments in the room at the inn, shared his mind with Avery as Jesse did
with Sophie.  And that he'd sensed David's warning.

"I always felt there was a pattern in the things that happened," Jesse
murmured.  "I understand why you tried to make me love you the way
Sophie did.  Sophie would have given you anything you asked for if
you'd only loved her-even forgiveness.  But you never really did love
her.  You didn't know how."

It was chilling to hear Sophie's intolerable realization reduced to
such simplicity by the even, distant cadence of Jesse's words.  To hear
her say what David had believed to be true.

Until he recognized what he was about to lose.

"Do you hate me, Jesse?"  he asked, sick in his heart.

"Hate you?  You didn't hurt me."  She gave a broken laugh.  "Are you
worried I'll send you back to limbo forever?"  She shook her head.  "It
would have been so much easier if you'd told me this from the
beginning.  No deception, no entanglements, nothing between" She
stopped and the muscles in her jaw contracted.

No.  Of course he hadn't hurt her.  Of course she was completely
removed from Sophie's passion and suffering, didn't give a damn what
he'd done in deceiving her.  So she would try to make him believe,
rather than give in to her own justified pain and anger.

Rather than let him continue to think she had ever truly loved him.

"Should I have expected you to accept so much at the beginning?"  he
said.  "You weren't even convinced I was real.  You were already
remembering pieces of your past, and they frightened you.  Should I
have" But he stopped himself, hearing the excuses he made, just as he
always had.  Another way of escaping.  Another disavowal of
responsibility.

"I think you were the one who was afraid," Jesse said into his
silence.  "All this elaborate game .  . . was for nothing."

David closed his eyes and raged inwardly-not at her for rejecting him,
nor even at his gaolers who would chain him for eternity, but because
he finally understood, to the very center of his soul, the only thing
that mattered.  The only thing worth living, or dying, for.

He understood too late.

"It doesn't really matter if you lied to me," she said with that same
steady, uninflected dispassion.  "You helped me.  You saved Megan and
tried to protect me from Gary.  I owe you for that."  She half turned,
allowing him a glimpse of her profile.  It was white and still as a
mask.  "Whatever you did in that last life, it's over.

Long over.  I don't want your damnation on my conscience."

He knew then she would give him what he hadn't earned, present him with
the gift as dutifully as she might dispatch some minor debt to an
indifferent acquaintance.

"I forgive you, David," she said in a whisper.  "You're free."

At first he felt nothing.  The cold hollow core in the middle of his
chest had been expan ding minute by minute, and it grew colder still as
she released him.  His celestial gaolers would require sincerity in her
forgiveness; surely this wouldn't qualify under their stringent
rules.

But all at once he sensed a peculiar buoyancy in his borrowed body, the
familiar pull away from the earthly plane.  Familiar and yet different,
for he knew, with a more profound conviction than any he'd experienced
in life or death, that Jesse's forgiveness had been accepted.

He was free.  The force that drew him back came not from his limbo but
from a far more wonderful place.  It sang to him like a chorus of
angels, promising the liberation he'd sought.  Joy such as he'd never
known.  The severing of bonds he'd worn like chains.

Everything he'd wanted since the day he'd died.

For a moment he almost let it take him.  And then he looked down at
Jesse-Jesse, who stared at him with that blank, lovely shield of a
face-and knew it was impossible.

He couldn't go.  That certainty was absolute, silencing the celestial
chorus to a faint hum.  The peculiar triumph of a decision made
inevitable washed through him, lending him an unanticipated reserve of
strength.

He couldn't leave Jesse.  She knew who Gary was, and had reason to hate
her nemesis now more than ever.  In her current state she would be
capable of anything.  .

And, by God, he loved her.

The words took shape in his mind for the first time, stunning him with
their power.

He loved her.  Not the casual, shallow love he'd given Sophie.  Not the
dutiful emotion he'd once owed his parents, or the camaraderie he'd
shared with friends and fellow soldiers in the midst of battle.

He had no definition for this.  It was a bolt of white lightning
through his heart, set ting afire everything it touched until his body
was incandescent.  In the emptiness at his core he found the other half
of his soul.

Jesse was his salvation, and he was hers.  Love made it possible.  He
was utterly unworthy of her; he'd betrayed and wounded her time after
time, given her nothing but sorrow.  But he would never abandon her
again.

He concentrated on solidifying his body, summoning every scrap of
energy to keep it in place.  He held out his hand to Jesse, readying
the argument that would make her believe.

But Jesse opened her mouth and cried out in deepest pain.

"Go," she shouted.  "Please, go!"

Her command hit him like a gale of arctic wind, shredding the outlines
of his form as if they were made of mist.

The force of her will allied with the pull of the other plane battered
him, and he lost what little control he still maintained.

He became a creature of air, torn from Jesse's presence
and hurled skyward.  Only his desperation allowed him to remain on
Earth, a soul without shape, hovering over the cottage and the town
like an invisible bird.

No amount of struggle could alter his condition.  The best he could
manage was this in-between, another kind of limbo, and he knew the
state could not endure.

Jesse wanted him gone.  His gaolers wanted him back and out of their
guardianship.

No.  He launched the refusal to whoever listened.  No.

No!

With senses far greater than earthly vision he looked down on Jesse's
cottage and watched her run to her truck.  In her movements was all the
anguish she'd refused to let him see.  She drove down the lane and onto
the main road.  David knew where she was going.

He tried to follow, but her denial of him worked like an unscalable
rampart, a siege wall invulnerable to any attack.  He searched for a
way around it, under it, some chink in her defenses.

There was none.  He retreated rather than exhaust his dwindling
strength.  The oblivious citizens of Manzanita were like scurrying ants
far below, no part of his battles, and yet some prick of awareness
caught his attention and set off warning bells in his mind.

He knew immediately what had summoned him.  Who.

At the edge of town, near the Manzanita Inn, two men were arguing.  One
of them was short and rotund and middle-aged, his face flushed with
agitation.

The other was Gary.  Gary, his suit rumpled and his motions angry,
deman ding something of the older man.

Gary was back.  It had been inevitable, simply a matter of time before
he and Jesse should meet again.  David had known, and he'd passed up
the chance to end the threat.

Now he could only observe as Gary's voice rose to a shout, as the other
man backed away, wide-eyed and wary.  "You're either with me or against
me!"  Gary snarled.  "You'll regret this, Wayne.  When I win the
election, you'll still be nothing.  Nobody, do you hear me?"

Wayne tripped over his own feet in his haste to retreat.

"I told you I can't help you!"  he insisted hoarsely.  "I've got to
go."  He spun around and jogged for the car parked on the lane beside
the inn.  Gary pursued a few steps and stopped, fists clenching and
unclenching, as Wayne set the vehicle in motion with a screech of tires
and a wild swerve for the road.

Gary stood, eerily still, his gaze turned inward.  In his handsome face
David could see a kind of madness, and he knew what Gary would do even
before the man strode to his own car.

It didn't matter what drove Gary, whether reawakened memories of
another life or the compulsion to eliminate a persistent nuisance in
the one he lived now.  Only a lucky guess could have sent him down the
road, following the same route Jesse had taken mere minutes ago.

A guess, or instinct born of a connection he could no more resist than
could Jesse.  David saw the final pieces falling into place, the
twice-told tale drawing to its inexorable climax.

By dint of sheer will David followed Gary as far as the gates of the
resort.  But his otherworldly senses were fading, the colorless mist of
limbo closing around him again.

Through a fog he saw Gary snap the lock on the gate with a heavy
clipper, push the gate open with a violent kick.

Then David's sight deserted him completely, and his hearing, every last
connection to the earthly plane.  He screamed denial in his mind, and
knew he'd lost.

Where the idea came to him he didn't know.  As he tumbled into a
brilliant tunnel of white light, he shaped his shout of defiance into
an invocation.  A prayer.  A bargain offered to those who guarded the
way between life and death.

Let me go back to her, he pleaded, infusing the appeal with all the
humility and sincerity and heartfelt emotion he had so lacked in life.
Listen to me.  If you let me protect her, I'll return to limbo forever.
I'll pay any price to be real and whole for a few more hours.  Any
price.  Every life I would have lived, for eternity.  My soul.  Do
you
hear me?  There was no answer.  The radiant tunnel drew him deeper.

Don't you understand?  he cried.  I love her.  Nothing else matters.  I
love CHAPTER FIFTEEN The white light exploded into a thousand
fragments.

JESSE COULDN'T REMEMBER how she'd come to the resort.

She found herself kneeling in the dirt Just outside her mother's cabin,
her hands full of earth as if she'd been clawing the ground.  Her face
was stiff with dried tears, and as she felt her body again the sorrow
came back, bending her double and drawing a moan from her raw throat.

David was gone.

That was the first, the unthinkable, the most unbearable certainty.

David was gone, and she'd sent him away.

No.  She'd set him free.  For all the bitterness in her heart, the full
knowledge of his deception and betrayal in this life and the last, she
had given him what he wanted.

Though she had raged at him, still something of her love for him had
remained true, and now, in the numb after shock of his revelations, in
the wake of Sophie's memories relived, she understood.

She had hated him.  She, Sophie, the soul they shared, had hated him.
But more powerful than the hate was the love.

Here, in this place, she'd told David she loved him.

She'd sworn to herself that nothing could weaken that love.  She'd said
that nothing David had done would change it.

She was right.  How strange to realize that there was such a thing as
unshakable love, that the stubborn core of it persisted even when the
trappings had been burned away in a storm of fire and anguish.

Like the soul that went on, whatever outer shape it wore.

David was gone.  He was free.  She should be glad.  She should rejoice
for him.  That he'd never loved her didn't make any difference.  There
was so much good in him, so much that deserved to go on and live and
learn and find the love that eluded him.

And she had her own life, better than it had been before he came.

That Sophie still existed somewhere within her was a matter she'd have
to deal with.  She could deal with it, now that she knew the truth.

She could live with the truth.  She could learn to live without David.
For Megan's sake.  And because David had made her understand just how
precious life was.

Jesse gathered her legs under her and stood, waiting until her knees
stopped quivering, and glanced around the resort.  It didn't frighten
her anymore.  She no longer feared the specter of childhood mental
illness that hadn't been illness at all, but soul-deep memory triggered
by her mother's death.

Her thoughts wandered at random, sorting themselves into logical
patterns again.  She could feel emotion waiting to erupt below the
surface, a tempest ready for the right catalyst.  But she forced it
down under a layer of frigid calm, as she'd learned to do when feelings
were too strong.

It wouldn't last, this numb self-possession.  But there was a reason to
hang on, now more than ever.  One problem yet to be resolved, the final
chapter of a book that must be read and put away.  Then she, too, could
begin to be free.

She felt under the collar of her shirt for her mother's letter, guarded
against her heart.  She was where she needed to be; she still had to
find the tags Mom had hidden, and the grave in the woods.

Sophie stirred inside her: He will pay.  Jesse didn't try to silence
that vow.  She wouldn't let Sophie's memories rule her, but in this
they were united.  Sophie would have her vengeance, and then be laid to
rest forever.

Jesse started away from the cabin, moving her arms and legs as if they
belonged to someone else.  When she heard the crack of a twig behind
her, she believed, for a miraculous instant, that David had come
back.

But the smiling, handsome figure was dressed in a modern suit, and his
brown eyes were narrowed in unholy satisfaction.

"I saw your truck out front," Gary said.  "Lucky guess that you'd be
here.  But then I've always been lucky."

There was a frozen span of time in which Jesse was incapable of
reacting.  She was plunged back into childhood, remembering her attack
on a younger Gary Emerson, screaming the same words over and over: "You
killed me.  You killed me.

And at the same time she was Sophie, choking on smoke but still alive
to scream when the first flames touched sheets, nigh trail, flesh.
Carrying with her into death hatred for the two men who had betrayed
her.

Sophie's eyes superimposed another shape on Gary's: shorter, less
handsome, with a pinched and bitter face.

He wore an antique suit, scrupulously neat and sober.

His hair was darker, his eyes a muddy black and filled with malice.

"Avery," she whispered.

Gary's expression flickered and settled into its smug,
familiar planes again.  "I knew I'd find you sooner or later," he
said.  "But this is very convenient.  No observers to interfere with
our discussion."

Jesse snapped back to the present, and icy self-control returned to
replace the momentary panic.  It was all so clear; she knew that Gary
would have been driven to face her eventually.  She sensed the karmic
connection between them as if it were a physical tie, and wondered how
much he knew.  If he remembered, or was compelled by impulses he would
never understand.

If she were still the Jesse she'd been before David, before the
memories, she might have taken the sensible path.  She could have
played ignorant, or simply afraid, and maybe he'd let her go.  The
police could handle the rest.

But this had been building for more than a single lifetime.  She no
longer cared about her own safety.

"I expected this," she said coldly.  "I'm ready for you, Gary."

He barked a laugh.  "You couldn't let it go, could you?

I warned you, and you had to keep digging.  Coming back here.  Making
trouble for me.  I knew you wouldn't shut up."

Jesse held his gaze.  "You're right.  I always knew you had some part
in my mother's death.  Now I have the facts.  And all the proof I need
to expose you for what you are."

Gary's facade of confident menace began to slip.

"Proof?  Don't give me that shit."

"But you thought I might have something on you.  You gave yourself
away, Gary.  You sent a flunky to search my house.  You threatened me.
You were the one who made me realize there was something to find, and I
did."

"I never touched your mother-" "Oh, you touched her.  You treated her
like dirt.  It took me a while to remember that.  I know you drove her
to kill herself, even if you didn't push her in the water with your own
hands."

If she'd believed it possible, she would have thought she saw guilt in
his eyes.  "You're bluffing.  She was a lush who jumped in the river-"
"Because of what she'd discovered.  Your former 'business partner."

Remember him, Gary?  There was a lot of money involved.  He wasn't
welcome, so you disposed of him.  And my mother found out.  She wrote
it all down for me."

The color drained from Gary's face.  "I don't know what the hell you're
talking about."

"Seventeen years is a long time," Jesse said.  "It must be convenient
to be able to pretend it never happened."

She took a step toward him, and his body jerked.

"Where did you get that money, Gary?  Robbery, or something subtler
like extortion or blackmail?  That would be just about your style.  But
maybe you would have gotten away with it if you hadn't resorted to
murder."

She saw when it hit him: that she knew, that she wasn't bluffing, that
she might truly be able to hurt him.

"Your mother was a drunk," he spat.  "No one would believe her, or
you."

"They might believe when they find the body, or the dog tags my mother
hid.  They might start an investigation, and then where is your great
political career?"  Jesse felt righteous anger well up, a heady brew
that made it impossible to be afraid.  "It won't take much, Gary.  Just
a few doubts and questions and talk .  ."

"You bitch."  He reached into his jacket.  Jesse stiffened, but he only
removed a dented cigarette pack.  He produced a gold-plated lighter and
lit a cigarette.

"You know, they do this in movies," he said in an oddly conversational
tone.  "The idiot who threatens the villain that she's going to expose
him, when they're alone in some dark alley."  He expelled a plume of
smoke on a laugh.  "Thought you were crazy, but not stupid."

"I have copies of my mother's letter," she lied.  "And I've left
instructions about finding the other proof if anything happens to
me."

Gary took another drag and let out the smoke slowly.  He flipped the
burning cigarette into the pine needles mounded near the cabin wall. "I
always get what I want, Jesse.  No one stops me."

She recognized in his very serenity something abnormal, as if he'd lost
any judgment of the consequences of his actions.  Things had come full
circle.  Now he was the one who'd gone crazy.  He couldn't kill her and
get away with it-and she knew nothing less would satisfy him.

Just like before.

"I finally have everything I worked for," he said, turning to watch the
first delicate fingers of smoke curl up from the clump of bone-dry
needles.  "I won't let you take it from me."

Jesse heard in his voice the echoes of that other life, words spoken by
another man who shared Gary's soul.  A man who'd feared that she, the
child she carried, would steal his one chance at the power and status
that should have been his save for an accident of birth.

"When does it end, Gary?"  she asked.  "When do you stop killing to get
what you think you want?"

He only stared at the growing column of smoke, the tiny licks of fire
igniting the desiccated pile.

Fire.  The acrid smell filled Jesse's nostrils as if it were already a
raging inferno.  Fire that burned and killed.

Within her, Sophie wailed and screamed.

Jesse could have stamped out the flame with one foot.

She couldn't move.  The flame grew larger, split into two tongues that
moved with surprising speed toward the cabin wall.  In such hot and
arid conditions, a fire could spread stunningly fast.

Her training was stronger than Sophie's terror.  She made a move toward
the mound, foot positioned to scatter and bury the flames.  In an
instant Gary had a gun pointed at her chest.

"This place isn't much good to anyone," he said.  "No one would miss it
if it burned to the ground."

"You can't hide the evidence that way," Jesse said, keeping her voice
level.  "You can't hide from your own evil."

"Oh.  Very dramatic."  He smiled.  "You should have been writing
speeches."

Fire sent exploratory fingers up the side of the wall, finding it dry
and ripe for conquest.

"Who was the first person you murdered?"  she asked.

"Or do you even remember?"

His face lost all expression.  "Only that bastard-" He caught himself.
"No more tricks."  He gestured with his gun.  "Go on.  Into the
cabin."

Jesse understood then.  "You think that this will solve your problems.
But it keeps repeating itself, Gary .

there is no escape."

He stepped toward her.  "Go."

"Did you think it was just my mother, Gary?  There's more between us
than what you did to her.  You set another fire, in another life.  You
killed me before.  But I'm back to face you.  You didn't succeed.  You
never will."

Confusion warped his mouth into an ugly grimace.

"You're still insane."  But the strangeness in his eyes told her that
he was disturbed by her words.  The gun shook in his hand.  Jesse
gauged the distance, how quickly she could reach him and knock the
weapon from his hand.

But he wasn't confused enough.  His jaw hardened and he pushed the
muzzle of the gun into her stomach.

"Funny," he said.  "I'm actually sorry I have to do this.

If only you'd kept quiet-" Sophie's will surged to the fore, her
bitterness and hatred joined with Jesse's own.  "You'll pay, Gary," she
said.  "You'll never be free of me."

With a grunt of fury he shoved her back, pinned her to the wall with
the gun while he fumbled for the cabin door.  The fire had caught on
the wall now, inching toward the nearest cracked window, and it was
only a matter of time until it reached the highly flammable curtains
and furniture.

Jesse tried to dodge as he herded her into the cabin.  He snatched her
arm and nearly wrenched it from its socket.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, as if he meant it.  He struck
her a glancing blow across the temple with the butt of the pistol, and
she fell, red darkness dimming her sight.  Then even that was gone.

SHE WOKE TO find herself prone on the dusty floorboards, half blind,
smelling the growing pall of smoke as it drove the clean air from her
lungs.

The fire had spread rapidly in the time she'd been out.

It had found its way inside and caught on the window drapes and
furniture and the other walls.  In minutes it would engulf the cabin.
The door was shut between her and freedom.

Gary had trapped her.  He would let her burn to death The part of her
that was Sophie screamed in hopeless terror.  Sophie had died in her
bed, unable, unwilling to fight for her life.  She'd died in hatred,
succumbed to the despair that had become her whole existence.

She'd wanted to die, to punish the men who'd failed and tormented her.
She would let the same thing happen now.

But Jesse didn't know how to give up.  She stretched flat on the floor
and reached out with her hands, feeling ahead through a maze of
drifting smoke.  Every inch of progress was a victory.  Her
consciousness wavered, and she formed an image in her mind: David,
opening the door, arms outstretched to enfold her.

The vision was incredibly real, so real that she imagined David
bursting into the room, sweeping her up like a swashbuckler hero,
carrying her into sunlight and air she could breathe.

She coughed the smoke from her lungs and saw blue sky through a film of
haze, the cabin wall a solid sheet of flame.  And David was still
there, his hands cupping her cheeks.

"Jesse," he said.  Only that, but she knew then that he wasn't a
figment of her desperate imagination.  He had come back to save her. He
had come back.

She lifted her hand to touch his anxious face, smooth the deeply etched
lines that bracketed his mouth and furrowed his brow.  "I'm all right,"
she whispered.

"Gary-" "Can you walk?  Can you get to safety?"

Jesse didn't have to guess what he intended.  She strained to look past
him, at Gary who was on his knees on the dirt, dangerously close to the
burning cabin.  His gun was just out of reach, as if he'd fallen.  Or
been knocked to the ground.

Even as she stared, Gary looked up, and his eyes focused directly on
David.

Gary saw him.

"No," Jesse said, struggling to rise.  "David-" But Gary had scrambled
sideways for his gun, and there was no more point in protesting.  David
was already on his feet and charging Gary with deadly purpose.

DAVID HAD EXPECTED the hatred to come back.

When his bargain had been accepted and he'd found himself at the
resort, he'd felt only the reckless urgency of his mission.  When he'd
first knocked Gary out of the way, he hadn't had time to think of
anything but saving the woman he loved.  His heart still drummed from
the closeness of that rescue, and he'd believed that finding her so
near death was enough to justify any action he took against Gary, even
the most lethal.

Hatred and vengeance would make his course clear, the decision easy.
He'd tried to stop Gary before, and lost his resolve.  This was his
last chance.  His only chance.

At the inn Gary hadn't been able to see or recognize the nature of his
tormentor.  But Gary saw David now, and they were on equal ground at
last, acting out the final meeting David had been denied in that other
life.  It should have been a moment of triumph.

But as David raced across the clearing and met his enemy's terrified
gaze, he knew that everything was different.

He skidded to a halt in front of Gary as if an invisible hand had cut
the smoky air between them, and realization seized his bartered soul.

What he'd expected to find within himself wasn't there.  He felt no
bitterness, no need for vengeance.  The face staring at him in mingled
panic and defiance wasn't Gary's.  David could see beneath the mask,
layer upon layer, and what he discovered he could no longer hate.

Where rage should have been was sorrow; pity instead of contempt.  And
the most profound insight David had ever experienced except in his love
for Jesse.

Jesse's love had lifted the veil from his sight.  He had looked into
the very depths of his own flawed soul, and he could not pass judgment
on the man who'd been his brother.  The failure, the defect, the
transgression was his own.

Slow acceptance left him defenseless as Gary leveled his pistol at
David's chest.  He glanced down at the weapon's dull muzzle and raised
his eyes to Gary's.

There was only one way to prevent the inevitable tragedy from
recurring.  Only one hope.

"Avery," he said.  "I know you can hear me."

The pistol twitched in Gary's grip.  He stared at David, mouth working.
"You," he said.  "You aren't real."

"You know me," David said.  "You remember."

Gary dragged his free hand across his face.  Beside them the flames
spread, catching the roof of the cabin and threatening the overhanging
branches of the nearest pine.  Gary's eyes twitched to the blaze and
back to David.  "They were dreams," he croaked.  "Not real .  ."

It wasn't working.  David could see the strength of Gary's resistance,
the madness that made that strength possible.  A shock was necessary,
one that would smash every barrier between them.

Abruptly he struck out, catching Gary's upper arm in a painful grip. "I
can't let you hurt her, Avery," he said.  "it was always me you wanted
to kill."

Gary's reaction was immediate.  The gun went off with a shattering
roar.

**** SOMEWHERE A WOMAN screamed.

Gary heard the sound above the echo of the gun's report, staring at the
man who should have been falling with a bloody hole in his chest.

The man, the ghost out of nowhere, the demon from hell hadn't fallen.
He hadn't even flinched.

This was the presence Gary had sensed in the motel the last time he'd
been here, the figure that rose again and again from the darkest corner
of his brain.

Gary's nerveless fingers lost hold on the gun, and it slid from his
hand.  His head was full of buzzing, white noise that blotted out every
coherent thought.  He could barely feel the man's grip on his arms, but
he knew it was unbreakable.  Not even death could make his tormentor go
away.

The buzzing grew to a shriek that pierced his remaining defenses and
whistled through his skull as if it were a barren cage of bone.  He
looked beyond the man's merciless face to the woman who stumbled to a
halt behind him.

He knew her.  She should be dead.  Her accusing gaze locked on him as
in the nightmare, damning him utterly.

He closed his eyes.  The man said something, spoke the name again.  The
name he recognized inside the howling bedlam of his mind.

Avery.

The storm swept him up, ripped at his body, tore him apart with giant's
hands and crushed the pieces.  His soul was left naked and mewling in
the center, the eye of the storm where there was no past or present.

And he remembered.

The silence was profound.  Within its sheltering arms he gathered up
the fragments of himself and put them back together.  He opened his
eyes and met David's stare.

David, who knew what he had done.  Who had found him at last.

Around them lay the blackened ruins of Parkmere Hall, still tainted
with the miasma of fiery destruction.

Even the tall and ancient ash trees had been scorched, stretching
skeletal fingers toward the sky.  There were no servants to pick among
the stones and crumbled beams, no birds singing in the park.  Only the
eerie quiet.

Avery hadn't meant to return.  He'd fled after the fire, snatching up
whatever came to hand in his terror.  He'd drunk himself into oblivion
and kept on running.

But he was here, and David had found him.  And for once in his life
David saw him, looked at him as if he existed.  As if he mattered.

Because now he had David's attention.  He'd taken something from the
brother who had everything.  David would hate him, but hatred was
better than indifference.

Avery braced himself for the rage that would strike him down, ready to
exchange hate for hate.

But David wasn't doing what he should have done.  He wasn't raging or
swearing vengeance.  His eyes held an unfathomable depth of sadness.

And of pity.

"You despised me, Avery," he said.  "And I couldn't see.  Perhaps I
didn't want to."

Avery blinked.  His heart plunged into his belly, quivering with
impossible emotions.  He had feared this discovery, but now that it had
come it was .  . . wrong.  There should have been a battle between life
and death.  Avery would have laughed, taunted David with those years of
hidden contempt for his elder brother.  No matter what David did to
him, this time Avery would have been the master, and the pain in
David's eyes would have been the sweetest victory.

David had stolen his thunder, disarmed him with a simple acknowledgment
that robbed Avery of the scathing revelation he'd anticipated for so
many years.  He was reduced to a little boy again, empty and alone.

He hated it.

He balled his fists.  "Yes," he said.  "I despised you.  I despised the
mockery you made of our family name.  The way you gambled and who red
and caroused your way across the countryside, leaving all the work to
me.  The way you broke Mother's heart, killing her with your neglect of
duty and by marrying that lowborn slut.  You deserved nothing, and you
were given everything-" He broke off, feeling himself lose control.  He
swept his arm to the side, taking in the burned ruins.  "What have you
now, elder brother?"

David should have broken then, lashed out at the only man who'd ever
dared to tell him the truth.  But David didn't so much as glance
away.

"All you say of me is true," he said.  "I gave you the burden of my
title, and none of the glory.  But those were excuses for your hatred,
Avery.  Like the excuses I made for myself, so that I wouldn't have to
feel."

His handsome face closed up, as if he were feeling far too much.  "I
failed you.  When we were boys.  When I abandoned you for my own
pleasures, and never looked back."

Avery froze.  The devastated landscape shifted around them, was reborn
to a green and sun-golden lushness that could come only of an idealized
past.  The Hall stood larger than it could ever have been, like some
mythic castle.  Arthur's Camelot.

In the space of moments Avery felt himself live through entire
years-summers of play with wooden swords and imaginary chargers,
winters telling tales by the fire.  Admiration and worship for a
brother who was everything he longed to be.  His one true friend, best
ower of a rough and careless affection, who kept the ice from closing
around his heart.

Until the day David was no longer a boy, and Avery ceased to exist in
his brother's eyes.  The betrayal was casual, without malice, and left
Avery with nothing.

"You were my knight," Avery said, his voice that of the child he'd
been, cracking and undisciplined.  "You swore to defend the castle. You
were supposed to be loyal."

David flinched.  The green and golden Hall burst into flame, and the
child in Avery burned with it, unmourned.

"If I'd stayed-if I'd been a true brother to you, it could have been
different," David said hoarsely.  "You wouldn't have" "I'd never let
you take the Hall from me," Avery snarled.  He wrenched his arm from
David's hold.  "I wouldn't have any brat of yours inherit what I made,
what I held with my own hands.  Never."

David's face finally hardened, his eyes chips of blue ice.

"So you killed Sophie," he said.  "You punished her for my misdeeds.
Did it give you pleasure to hear her screams as she died?"

Why Avery faltered then he didn't know.  He had thought himself beyond
the guilt that had tortured him in the beginning, numbed by time and
the fugitive's life he'd led since the burning of the Hall.

But the guilt wasn't dead.  One sentence from David and it all came
flooding back, a sick taste of bile on his tongue.

Sophie, screaming.  He hadn't been too drunk to call the servants, move
Sophie from her room.  He'd known what he let happen when he overturned
the candle in the hallway and did nothing to stop the inevitable
consequences.

Screaming.  Begging.  Dying.

It was an accident, the coward in him cried.  "You weren't here to save
her," he spat.  "Fine soldier, protecting the nation while your wife
died alone."

"Yes," David said.  "I failed her.  I was as guilty as you-" The voice
was soft and feminine, but there was an edge of steel behind it. Sophie
moved up beside David, resting her hand on his arm.  She was dressed,
not in one of the expensive gowns she'd insisted on wearing even when
she spent most of each day in her bed, but in a simple white garment
without ornamentation.  She was beautiful, Sophie, who was dead. 
Sophie, whose eyes held Avery's with a steadiness he'd never seen.

"You've more than paid for anything you've done, David," she said, and
her gaze went to his face.  Lovingly, with forgiveness, with a serenity
alien to Sophie's temperament.

All the guilt in the world doesn't rest on your shoulders."

David looked at her, saying nothing.  He didn't need to.  His
expression spoke for him.  Tenderness, sadness, love.  Love that David
Ventris was incapable of feeling.

But did.

Avery squeezed his eyes shut.  A pressure was building within him, a
terrible knowledge that left him nowhere to hide.

David had changed.  Sophie was alive.  They confronted him, glowing
with an internal light that beat at him in waves of searing
incandescence.

"It has to stop," David said, as if a silent conversation had concluded
just out of Avery's hearing.  "You're sick, Avery.  You haven't escaped
what happened to you, to Sophie, to all of us."  He reached out again,
snatched Avery's unresisting hand.  "You can't bear to face her, so you
keep trying to destroy her.  Destroy your own guilt.

But you can only end it by recognizing it.  By owning up to what you've
done-" Avery moaned.  "No.  She, you deserved it-" "You made your own
trap."  David's voice took on a sudden urgency.  "You can set yourself
free.  Set Sophie free.  Look into your heart-"
"The fire," Sophie said.  "David-" A blast of furnace heat pressed
down on them like God's judgment.  Avery opened his eyes.

A lick of flame caressed the hem of Sophie's white gown.  It sent
lecherous fingers groping upward with appalling speed.

She wasn't screaming.  She continued to gaze at Avery as if the fire
could not hurt her.

Because she was dead.  She had been sent to haunt him forever.

Avery tried to back away.  He staggered, nearly fell in his panic;
hands grabbed at him, held, imprisoned.

David's hands.  And Sophie's.  By now the fire was wreathing Sophie's
neck, and still she kept looking at him, her eyes shifting color from
brown to hazel, her face melting and re-forming into contours both
alien and familiar.

His throat locked on a scream.  Through Sophie's touch he was carried
back to the hallway, to the moment when he had decided to let her
die.

Vengeance.  Make David hurt.  Make him know what it is to be utterly
alone.  .

And then he was in Sophie's room, lying in her bed, the flames racing
among the bedclothes and curtains, too weak to fight.

He was Sophie.  He felt the new life in his belly, dying before it had
a chance to live.  He felt the hatred, the terror, the despair.

Crying.  Screaming.  Suffering.  Dying.

"It has to end," David's voice said.  "Only you can stop it-" In the
very core of the inferno, Avery found a single spark of pure, cool
radiance.  He reached for it, clung to it, absorbed it like fresh,
healing air.

And the knowledge burst open inside him, no dreadful explosion but a
desired release.  Two halves of him came together, each aware of the
other.  Each in perfect agreement.

Each unafraid.

He looked away from Sophie, from David, toward the blazing building
that was beginning to collapse in on itself.  The flames had spread to
the nearest cabin.  He could reach the heart of the fire in seconds.

He hurled himself to one side, breaking loose from the hands that held
him, and sprinted toward the open maw of the collapsing cabin.

The fire accepted him into its loving embrace.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

JESSE didn'tSTOP to think.  There was no time to explain to David, even
if she'd been able to find the words.

She sucked in a deep breath of air and dashed toward the open door of
the burning cabin.  Gary had vanished inside, as if a flaming mouth had
swallowed him whole.

"Jesse!"  She heard David come after her as she dodged through the
blackening door frame, and then all she could hear was the spit and
hiss and roar of the firestorm.

She should have been paralyzed with terror.  Sophie should have been a
wailing and mindless presence within her, reliving her own death.

But a strange peace had settled in around Jesse's heart, and it felt as
though the flames couldn't touch her.  They had no power to hurt or
destroy.  Even as the heat singed the hair on her arms and flames
barred her passage, she didn't question why she was here.

She covered her mouth with her hands and searched through the
smothering billows of smoke.  She found Gary crouched at the center of
the blaze, protected by some fluke of architecture or air flow from the
worst of the fire.  It was only a matter of seconds before he lost that
fragile reprieve.  In the roiling light she could barely make out his
face, but what she saw of it held that same unfamiliar peace.

He had known what he was doing.  He wasn't insane.

"Gary!"  she shouted, and held out her hand.  "Let me help you!"

He saw her clearly.  She knew that he heard.  But he shrank back,
shaking his head as the flames finally reached him.

Jesse coughed and began to fight her way forward.

Something grabbed her from behind, pulled her back just as a blazing
beam crashed down from the ceiling where she'd stood.  The roof
collapsed with a shriek and groan, sealing Gary into his self-made
tomb.

Jesse didn't struggle as David carried her out of harm's way once
again.  She gasped in lungfuls of air and clung to him until he set her
down a safe distance from the fire.

Then she closed her eyes and let the tears come.

"David," she whispered.  "Why-" "Jesse!"

The warmth of David's body deserted her.  She opened her eyes.  He was
gone, and the voice she heard was someone else's.  The voice of a very
dear friend.

"My God, Jesse," Al said, breathless as he dropped to his knees beside
her.  His forehead was beaded with sweat, and his eyes widened as they
swept the fire and returned to her face.  "Are you all right?"

She worked her way to her knees and managed a nod.

Her mind was numb with shock and loss, but she'd had too much
experience in crisis situations to lose her ability to think.  "How did
you find me?"

"Wayne Albright called me, said that Gary was back in town and was
talking crazy about you.  Making threats
that Wayne thought were real.  Gary said he was coming here.  I came
to look for him, to make him-" He caught his breath and gave a sharp
shake of his head.  "I saw Gary run into the fire.  Saw you go after
him.  And" She balanced herself and grasped his hand.  "He's dead.  The
cabin-" She didn't need to complete the sentence.  The cabin was little
more than a skeleton now, and the fire had moved on to fresh prey.  It
had spread to the second cabin, and only the clearing and the windless
day had confined it to the buildings and the nearest trees.

No one in the mountains underestimated the danger of a fire in summer.
"We've got to get help, Al.  Can you go back to town and send the
alert?"

"I could see the smoke as soon as I reached the road,"

he said.  "Everyone in town will know by now-" "Go back and make sure,
Al.  I'll be okay."

"I won't leave you alone here."  He made a move to help her to her
feet.  "Come on.  I'll get you to a doctor-" "I can't.  Not yet."  She
gripped his hand tightly.  "I can take care of myself.  Go."

He wet his lips.  "Jesse, the other man who was with you, the one who
brought you out-" He broke off, flushed under his dark beard.

He meant David.  He'd seen David, just as Gary had seen him.  But Al
and David had no previous relationship that might have made it
possible.

Jesse hadn't the will to summon up a single logical excuse.
"Explanations later, Al."  She held onto his hand as if the pressure
alone could convince him of her sincerity.  "I will be all right, but I
have to stay."

"At least come outside the fence."

She nodded, and he helped her through the open gate and out onto the
lane.  She knelt on the pavement and gestured him away.  "Go."

"I'll be back as soon as I can," he said.  "Don't-" He met her gaze and
scrambled to his feet.  "Be careful, Jesse."

And then he was running toward his car.  Jesse watched him until he'd
pulled out of sight, and then she retreated within herself and called
to David with everything she was worth.

He reappeared as suddenly as he'd gone, his expression carved in lines
of grief and unutterable weariness.

His eyes when he looked at her were filled with relief and pride and
love.

Love.

But he waited, searched her face for permission to approach, as if he
doubted his welcome.

She didn't wait for him to discover the truth.  She took five shaky
steps and wrapped her arms around him.

His return embrace nearly lifted her from her feet.  He buried his face
in the hollow of her neck, breathing her in as if the taint of smoke
that clung to her hair and clothing were the finest perfume.  His heart
pounded under his jacket, and his hands worked ceaselessly over her
back, intent on assuring himself that she was whole.

"David," she murmured into the solid strength of his shoulder.  "You
came back."

He held her close a moment longer and then pushed her away gently.  His
eyes were very bright as he caught her face between his hands.  "I
couldn't leave you to Gary, to Avery.  I knew what he was."

"Even though I told you to go?"

"You set me free.  After all I revealed, you still forgave me, even if
you could no longer-" He stopped.  "I wanted no part of salvation
without .  . . knowing you'd be safe."

"You saved me."  She turned his hand and kissed his rough palm.  "In
more ways than you'll ever know."

He went very still.  "I intended to kill him when I came back.  I
thought that was the only way to protect you.  I thought I could hate
him enough.  But I couldn't do it."

She leaned her forehead against his chest.  "I wouldn't have wanted
that, David.  Not ever.  He was your brother."

"He was your murderer.  And the man who drove your mother to her death.
Did he, did Gary ever admit what
he'd done?"  "Yet you forgave him.  Forgave them both."

She wondered how he recognized it before she did, how he felt the
source of that peace within herself.  She wondered when it had
happened, when old hurts and old anger surrendered to something even
more powerful.

Forgiveness.

"I didn't know it," she said.  "Not until he ran into the fire, and I-"
She looked up.  "Why did he kill himself?"

Sorrow washed across his face, and she remembered what he'd said to
Avery, how he'd admitted his own role in the tragic dance of three
tangled lives.

"Perhaps the guilt was finally too much," he said.

"Avery confronted his own evil.  He felt Sophie's death---" She shook
her head.  It had been more than that, she knew Avery had relived
Sophie's suffering just as Jesse had.  "I saw his eyes, in the cabin,"
she said.

"Gary knew what he was doing.  He wasn't fighting any longer.  He
didn't hate me.  He wasn't even afraid."

"But you risked your own life trying to save him, knowing what he was."
He stroked her hair.  "You humble me, Jesse."

She gave a ragged laugh.  "I'm not that noble.  I wasn't even thinking
when I went in.  It was instinct."  She clutched the lapels of his
jacket to stop his protest.  "You still blame yourself, don't you? Even
for what Avery became.  You don't think two hundred years of limbo was
enough punishment for mistakes you made in one lifetime?"  She closed
her eyes.  "God knows I've made plenty.  I hated Gary without realizing
how much of that hatred came from another life, just as he couldn't
know how much Avery was a part of him.  And Sophie,"

Sophie hadn't been perfect.  She had suffered, but she wasn't exempt of
responsibility for her own life, her own happiness.  She had forgotten
how to communicate in any way but by manipulation, tricks, and
outbursts of rage and weeping.  She had lost herself.

"Sophie had so much anger left inside her when she died," Jesse said.
"We .  . . had to work it out, she and I. She thought she wanted
revenge, against you and Avery.  For a while she .  . . had to have her
say."  Jesse laced her fingers into the hair beneath David's high
collar.  "But I never completely lost who I was, David.  I didn't stop
loving you."

He looked skyward, and his throat worked.  "Ah, Jesse," he whispered.

He still didn't believe.  "I can feel that Sophie is at rest," she
said.  "She'll always be part of me, because we share a soul.  But
she's let go.  The past won't control me anymore."  She smiled sadly.
"I've spent my entire life trying to avoid what Sophie was.  Jesse, the
self-reliant.

Trying not to need anyone or put myself in a position where others
could leave me.  I made my own kind of isolation and thought I was
safe.  I didn't even know I was trying to break the old pattern.  ~ I
couldn't have done it on my own, David.  Not without you, and Al, and
Megan~" She swallowed.  "Even Gary-" "You are free, Jesse," David said.
"The madness is over."

She pulled his head down to hers.  "Maybe we all had lessons to learn.
About forgiveness.  Forgiving each other and letting go.  Don't you
think it's time we started forgiving ourselves?"  Her mouth brushed
his.  "I love you, David."

David felt the warmth of her breath on his face and knew what she was
offering.  More than her lips, or her body, or her heart; she was
offering her life, her hope, her future.  Unconditionally. Eternally.

All the things they could never share.

Gently he set her back, though he was desperate to taste her lips one
last time.  It would be cruelty to deceive her now, after she'd borne
so much.  He'd lied to her again and again; he wouldn't leave her with
more false hope.

"I can't stay, Jesse," he said.  He forced himself to hold
her gaze, to endure the bewilderment and rebellion that awakened in
her eyes.  "I could come back .  . . only for a short time.  Now my
task is finished."

He sounded cold to his own ears, almost indifferent.

He might as well have struck her; she went very pale, and then the
angry color rushed back into her cheeks.

"No!"  She balled up one small fist, as if she'd as soon plant him a
facer as kiss him.  "I won't accept that.  When you've done so much,
there must be a way-" She slammed her fist into his chest.  "I won't
let you go.  I'll fight this every step of the way."

He caught her hand between his.  "You can't, Jesse.  I have no choice."
He wanted to weep, but he kept his voice harsh with command.  "You have
a life to live.  You have Megan.  She needs you."

"No.  She needs both of us-" A strange expression crossed her face.
"Both of us, David.  The way it was meant to be."  She grabbed the hilt
of his sword and half pulled it from its sheath.  "You're as real as
you've ever been-more.  Al saw you.  It must mean-" "I was given these
last moments," David said, "only at a price."

She froze, and her gaze fixed on his.

"I made a bargain," he said.  "You'd set me free, and I was being
called back to the other place.  The only way I could return even for a
few hours was to .  . . give something in exchange."

"You mean .  . . you could never come back to me,"

she said.  "Not to this life."

She'd answered her own unspoken question, and it was best to let her
believe that fiction.  "Your life meant too much to me, Jesse.  More
than the chance to see you again."

"Oh God."  She offered it up as a prayer-for courage, for strength, for
an answer.  Then, as if that answer had been given, she seemed to
gather all the light around her and draw it inward, so that she burned
as bright and hot as the fire beyond them.

"Do you think I won't wait for you?"  she asked, her love a deathless
flame in her eyes.  "This life.  The next.  It doesn't matter.  We will
be together."

David wanted to shout and curse at the tragic injustice of the pain she
must suffer, of hope lost forever.  But there was no one to blame.  Not
even himself.  He had made the choice, and he couldn't regret it.

"No," he said thickly.  "Don't wait for me.  I beg you.

Live as you were meant to.  Love, Jesse.  For both of us."

"You're a part of me," she said with a radiant, unshakable conviction,
the kind that only came of the purest faith.  "No matter how long it
takes-" "The bargain I made was in exchange for my soul," he said in
anguish.  "My soul, Jesse.  I won't be reborn.

There will be no more lives."

He hadn't wanted to tell her, make a sacrifice of what he had done
gladly for her sake.  He didn't wait for her shock, the cries of denial
that he knew would come.  He pulled her into his arms.

"Your life is everything to me," he said.  "I love you, Jesse.  Love
can't be destroyed.  Not while you live."

She was utterly limp in his embrace, passive for a dozen heartbeats.
And then she exploded, tearing free of him, spinning away to confront
the sky with arms wide and face uplifted.

"Is this your idea of justice?"  she cried to the heavens, tears wet on
her cheeks.  "Is this what you want, a sacrifice?

Then I'm ready."  She turned in a close circle, hands raised in
supplication.  "I love him.  Do you hear me?  I give my own life for
his.  My soul for his.  Let him move on.  Let him live again, and be
happy."  She dropped to her knees.  "Please-" David had almost reached
her when the quality of the air changed, an electric ambience that
raced through David's body and lifted the hairs on his head.  He
gathered Jesse into his arms.  She was too quiet, too still" No need to
worry about the fair Miss Copeland," a voice said from the crackling
air.  "You were right, Captain.  We could have used her like on the
Peninsula."

Wellington floated comfortably in the boundless soft luminescence that
the world had become, an approving smile on his lean face.  David saw
that the road was gone, and the fence, and the woods; every edge and
shape and form that defined the earthly plane.  Jesse's eyelids
fluttered and opened.

"Is this a dream?"  she said groggily.

David cradled her in the protective curve of his own body.  "Leave her
alone," he said, glaring at his spectral commander.  "She didn't mean
what she said-" "Oh, but she did," Wellington said.  He floated lower
and studied her intently.  "She'd give up her life for you, out of
love.  There's hope for the human race yet."

"No," David said.  "I won't let you take her.  I'm ready to return with
you.  Let her go-" "Ah, David."  He shook his head.  "You have nothing
to fear.  You chose the path of love.  Don't you know by now that love
makes anything possible?  Your willingness to sacrifice even your soul
to save her, and her willingness to do the same for you, without
selfishness or regret-the ability to forgive even those who've done you
great harm-such qualities have the power to make miracles."

David's heart stopped beating.  Jesse stirred, her lips parted as she
gazed at Wellington.

"I see I shall have to be more explicit," Wellington said.  "You
believed that you were being punished for your sins, Captain.  But the
punishment was of your own making-as is your salvation.  There are
always choices, but they can require time to become clear.  Love is the
choice that leads to freedom."

David rose, carrying Jesse with him.  "Then Jesse is free to live her
life?"

Wellington smiled at Jesse, almost tenderly.  "Do you wish to share
your life with this scoundrel, Jesse?"

She laced her fingers through David's and stared Wellington straight in
the eye.  "With all my soul."

"And is that also what you wish, David Ventris?"

His heart surged painfully back into motion.  "If it is possible-if
there's any hope-" "Hope, like love, is everlasting," Wellington said.
His face became suddenly stern.  "There will always be battles,
children.  But how you face them is your decision."

Disbelief became joy as David felt Wellington's meaning, in his mind
and then with his body, until acceptance seeped into his very soul.
"Thank you," he whispered.

Wellington lifted his hands as if in benediction.  "Love each other.
Share your love.  I ask no more."  He turned to Jesse.  "Do not weep
for your mother, Jesse.  She will find her own peace."

"And Avery?"  David asked softly.

"He, too, is on his road.  And now I must return to mine."  He nodded
to Jesse, saluted David, and began to fade into the omnipresent
light.

"Wait!"  Jesse said.  "Who are you?"

"A friend.  A messenger.  Remember that you're never alone, Jesse
Copeland."

Then he was gone, and the world closed around them again, sunshine and
firm ground and the smell of pine and smoke.  Jesse swayed in the curve
of David's arm, blinking.

"What happened?"  she asked.  "Was I dreaming?"

He tilted her face to his.  "A wonderful dream," he said, "that came
true."

Understan ding filled her eyes, overflowed as tears of joy and
gratitude.  "You can stay," she said, laughing aloud.  "You can stay
with me."

In answer he kissed her chin, the corners of her mouth, the curves and
contours of her precious and beloved face.

She grabbed him in a hug worthy of a bear and returned his kisses with
unbridled enthusiasm.  David was intent on making up for lost time, and
Jesse would have pulled him to the ground where they stood if not for
the piercing wail that invaded their private paradise.

Jesse broke away.  "Sirens."  She gave her head a little jerk of
disbelief.  "The fire.  They're coming to put it out."

Her practical rescuer's demeanor snapped back into place, and she gazed
intently toward the broad plume of
smoke that hung above the resort.  The scarlet of flame was visible
through the fence and screen of trees.  "It hasn't been too long.  I
hope they can save-" A dark blue automobile emerged around the bend of
the lane and pulled to a stop behind them.  Jesse tightened her grip on
David's arm.

"Al," she said.  "He's already seen you.  Everyone else will be able to
see you now-" She caught her breath and grinned, as if she'd realized
all over again that she and David had a future to share.  "I think that
maybe we'd better hide you until we can figure out a good way to
introduce you to Manzanita.  You know how small towns love gossip.  And
there's going to be plenty after this."

She gestured toward the fire and grew sober.  "Al deserves to know what
really happened-" And Al, David thought, was likely to insist.  He was
already striding toward them, heavy brows drawn.

"The fire department's right behind me," he said.  "I told them what
happened to Gary, and the police are on their way.  Now, would you mind
explaining--" Jesse grabbed David's hand and drew him forward.

"Al, I'd like you to meet the man who saved my life, David Ventris.
David, this is my closest friend, Al Aguilar."

Al's gaze raked David from boots to crown, restrained amazement in the
lift of his brow.  David offered his hand.  If Al took it, that would
be the final proof.

"So, you're Jesse's David," Al said.  Jesse threw him a startled
glance, and he half smiled.  "You did mention him once or twice during
our sessions," he said.  "I just never realized he existed."

"Jesse has spoken of you often," David said.  "Thank you for being her
friend, for stan ding by her."

After a moment's hesitation, Al gripped David's hand and shook it
firmly.  "Forgive my surprise, but you seem to have popped out of the
woodwork."

They looked at each other, a silent acknowledgment that couldn't have
been put into words.  Al had loved Jesse.  Still did, perhaps.  His
unflinching gaze held full recognition of what David and Jesse shared.
But there was no jealousy in his face or in the clasp of his blunt
fingers.  Only infinite sadness.

He deserved to be told the truth.  To know that Jesse would be well and
deeply loved, in this life and beyond.

"I wasn't hiding him-not in the way you think," Jesse said.  "There is
an explanation, and you're probably the one man in the world who'll get
the unexpurgated version."  She chuckled dryly.  "I hope you still have
an open mind."

Al released David's hand.  "After what I saw today, I could believe
anything," he said.  "I've come to understand .  .

. how much I still have to learn."

"Don't we all," Jesse said.  "Don't we all."

The first fire truck arrived with a roar and shriek of sirens, followed
by the police.  Al gave David a brief nod, acceptance in his dark eyes,
and went to join the uniformed men who rushed to ready the equipment.

Jesse started after him and cast David an apologetic glance.  "I have
to go talk to the police," she said.  "Just a few more minutes, and
then we can-" David didn't argue.  He swept Jesse behind the nearest
tree and resolutely finished their interrupted kiss.  Only after a
rapturously oblivious interlude did he let her go.

"I won't be long," she said breathlessly, backing away step by
reluctant step.  "Wait for me .  ."

He caught up with her and cradled her face between his hands.  "We have
forever, my love.  I'm yours, body
and soul."

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

MEG AN'S BIRThDAY PARTY was a rip-roaring success.  Nearly everyone
Jesse invited had shown up at Al's for the occasion-a celebration as
much for new beginnings as Megan's special day.  Kirk Moran and his
mother were the guests of honor.  Kim was there, and several of the
staff members from Blue Rock, but others had come as well-townsfolk
Jesse'd never gotten a chance to know, people who would have called her
crazy only a few weeks past.

Since Gary's death and unmasking a month ago, Jesse had become the
celebrity of the day.  And she didn't occupy that dubious pedestal
alone.

She looked across the dining room during a brief lull to the table
spread with colorfully wrapped gifts and a half-devoured birthday cake.
A man sat on one of the chairs, laughing as Megan scrambled into his
lap.

David looked almost ordinary now.  As ordinary as an incredibly
handsome aristocrat could look, dressed in jeans that did as much for
him as his previous snug trousers, and a T-shirt just close fitting
enough to draw the admiring glances of every woman in the room.

His "formal" appearance in town had come on the heels of Gary's death,
carefully orchestrated to seem as normal as possible in the midst of so
much drama and commotion.  No one saw any reason to question Jesse's
story that David was an old Peace Corps colleague, traveling in
California, whom she'd invited to stay with her.

By the time the brouhaha over Gary had died down, Jesse's obvious
relationship with her handsome guest was already starting to seem like
old news.

David, however, was anything but old news.  People were fascinated by
his accent and sometimes quaint speech, which struck them as pleasantly
exotic.  He charmed everyone without trying, and the fact that Jesse
had landed such a catch was another mark in her favor.

All too recently Gary had been the magnet who drew that kind of
attention and admiration.  Now even his memory was persona non grata.
The police had found Gary's discharged gun at the resort after the fire
was extinguished, and Al had given his account of Gary's
self-immolation and Jesse's attempt to rescue him.  Al had left out
David's part in the drama, but with the addition of Wayne's testimony
about Gary's explicit threats against Jesse in their final
conversation, and Joan Copeland's letter and evidence, it was suddenly
clear to even Gary's most ardent supporters that he'd been a fraud, a
cad, and a murderer.

Poor Jesse, they said; a pity that she'd been at his mercy, but she'd
stood up to him in the end.  Everyone agreed that they'd never quite
trusted Gary Emerson.

Wayne had even come to Jesse, hat in hand, to apologize for his support
of Gary and his misjudgment of her.  It had been his warning phone call
that sent Al to the resort in time to witness Gary's death.

Good old Al; he'd been prepared to confront Gary
head-on to defend his friend.  He had accepted David and his
otherworldly origins with hardly a blink, an din spite of their
differences the two men seemed well on their way to a strong
friendship.  Jesse had overheard Al mentioning Vietnam to David, one
soldier to another, in a way he never would have done in the past.

Al had left behind his philosophy of noninvolvement, and Jesse had a
feeling that he, like so many others in Manzanita, was about to make
some changes in his life.

This party was a symbol of those changes.  A kind of healing, Jesse
thought, starting over, as she and David and Megan had begun to do.  A
fresh start for Kirk and his mother as well.

Jesse grinned as she watched Kirk run up to join Megan and David.  All
at once David was swinging Kirk up on his shoulders while Megan hung on
to his leg and laughingly tried to pin him to the spot.  David was good
with kids, he seemed to share their uncomplicated joy in simple things.
Merely being alive, and with those he loved, was for him a daily
miracle.

As it was for Jesse.

She glanced around the room, basking in the pleasure of happy
conversation and goodwill.  The one person she was just as glad not to
see was Marie.  The woman had closed up her restaurant and left town
shortly after Gary's death was declared official.  Jesse doubted she'd
show her face in rustic, declassie Manzanita again.

"Great party, Jesse," Kim said, coming to join her in the corner of the
room.  "Too bad Eric couldn't be here."

Jesse turned to her friend.  "Don't worry.  There's still your
wedding-if you don't mind my bringing a guest."

Kim grinned in David's direction.  "Mind?  I just hope he doesn't hog
the limelight from the bride.  Me, that is."

She rolled her eyes to emphasize the joke.  "Speaking of which, when
are you two going to .  . ."  She arched a meaningful brow.

Jesse reddened.  She had a tendency to do that lately.

Sometimes it felt as if all the emotions she'd suppressed for most of
her adult life were overflowing in blushes and tears and laughter.

"Come on," Kim said, leaning closer.  "When's it going to be?  Give."

"Did you talk to Eric about the things we discussed?"

Jesse said quickly.

Kim chuckled.  "Okay.  Yes, I did, and he said he'd be more than happy
to be your legal advisor.  He's going to ask around down in San
Francisco this week.  It might take a while to set up, but .  . . we
both think it's a great idea, Jess."

"What's a great idea?"

Al loomed over them, a quiet smile on his face.

Though he hadn't exactly been the life of the party, he'd offered his
home willingly and done more talking with more different people than
Jesse could remember.  He acknowledged Kim with a tilt of his punch
glass.  "I didn't intend to interrupt .  ."

"It's a plan I've been putting together," Jesse said.  "I haven't had a
chance to discuss it with you, but now that Kim has Eric working on the
legal end of things-" She felt a renewed flood of excitement.  "You
know my father left me a large inheritance when he died.  I've been
getting checks every month, but until recently I had no desire to touch
that money."

She didn't need to elaborate.  During the awkward hours when she and
David had explained his origins to a dumbfounded Al, she'd admitted a
lot more of her deepest feelings about her family and childhood than
she'd ever shared, even with her closest friend.  She didn't need to
hug that anger and sorrow to herself anymore; she'd come to terms with
all of it, including her father's desertion.

Now she could use her father's guilt money for a good cause.

"I've already started paperwork to buy the old resort.  After the fire
it'll need a lot of fixing up, but-" "You're reopening the old resort?"
Al said.  "But with Blue Rock-" "I don't intend to go into competition
with Blue Rock," she said.  "What I had in mind was a kind of special
summer camp, a retreat for kids from disadvantaged homes or in
fosterage, the kind who don't get opportunities to come up to the
woods.  I remember what it was like going from foster home to foster
home.  No frills, no vacations, no one to listen when I was hurting."

She glanced toward Kirk, who was swallowing a large mouthful of cake
with Megan's encouragement.  "Maybe even a place for kids like Bobby
Moran, so they have a chance to try something besides drugs and
alcohol.  I thought of set ting up a kind of survival training course,
teaching kids some of the basics of search and rescue."

Al nodded slowly.  "That's an ambitious plan, Jesse.

And a worthy one."

"I know it's not going to be simple, but we have the money and the
time.  We're already researching the steps involved in set ting it up.
Eric's going to find us the legal help we need.  We're starting to look
at financing, insurance, staffing.  I'm hoping to hire Lisa Moran as a
part of the team."  She met Al's gaze.  "And we're going to need
counselors, Al.  For the kids."

He swirled the pink liquid in his glass.  "I've been doing some
thinking myself," he said.  "I'm pretty rusty as a psychologist, Jesse.
I left practice years ago because I wasn't prepared to get involved
with other people's problems.  I thought they would drag me into a
place I didn't want to go.  But now .  . ."  He looked up, and his eyes
were dark with emotion.  "I've learned that the world isn't the way I
thought it was.  The rational isn't everything.  I've spent too much of
my life cut off from possibilities."

Jesse remembered when she'd admired that very detachment, wanted to
emulate Al's safe and sane distance from pain and passion.  "But you
helped me, Al," she said softly.

"I could have done more harm than good.  That's why I've been
considering taking some refresher courses catching up on the
developments I've missed in the last decade or so."  He glanced at
Megan.  "I know that Megan will be in good hands if I leave her with
you and David.  She already thinks of you two as her parents."

Jesse swallowed.  "That doesn't mean she won't miss you.  But I think
she'll understand."

Since Al had loosened up around his niece, Megan had relaxed in turn.
They were finally becoming friends.  But if Al followed his plans to
return to school, Megan wouldn't feel abandoned.  Megan had taken to
David as if he were the father she'd barely known.  It was almost
uncanny.  She didn't question the fact that she'd seen him in dreams
and visions of her own, or that her "angel" had become real.

And three days ago Megan had called Jesse

"Mom" for the first time.  It might have been an unconscious slip, but
it meant the world to Jesse.

"I hope you'll consider helping us with the camp someday," Jesse said.
"But whatever you do-" She offered her hand, and Al engulfed it in his
own.  "We'll always love you."

The handshake became a hug-reminding Jesse how much strength lay behind
that mild exterior-and then Al released her and walked quickly away.
Jesse rubbed at her eyes, chagrined at her newfound tendency to go all
weepy at the slightest provocation.

As if someone had called her name, she looked up and across the room.
David stood alone, his gaze locked on hers, and the noise and bustle of
the party disappeared.

He came to her now on ordinary mortal feet, as naturally as he'd once
winked in and out of existence.  She reached for his hand and he took
it, wordless, his eyes promising the kisses that would have to wait for
a more private moment.

Jesse thought she could watch him forever.  She treasured his quiet
companionship as much as his passion for her, and for his newfound
life. She'd discussed her plans for the old resort with him first,
after he'd wryly wondered what use he, a soldier and ne'er-do-well,
could be in this modern world.

She'd reminded him that he was nothing if not adaptable, and they'd
both have a lot to learn if they were to
implement her dream.  She didn't think it would take him long to learn
carpentry, and she looked forward to the hours they'd spend together
rebuilding the cabins and furniture for the resort.

They were going to be very busy, but never too busy for each other.  Or
the little girl they'd both come to love.

David cleared his throat.  "I think this would be the right time for
the announcement," he said, squeezing her hand.

"What announcement?"

He only smiled mysteriously and held up his hands until every eye in
the room was focused on him and the buzz of noise died.

"Friends," he said, "thank you for coming to Megan's party."  Megan
abandoned the new model horse she'd been putting through its paces and
ran to David, who grabbed her playfully and propped her against his
hip.

"I wish to make you all witnesses to my request," he said, a certain
solemnity in his manner in spite of the squirming, laughing child
beside him.  Gently he set Megan down and tweaked her nose with the tip
of his finger.  Then he turned, dropped to one knee before Jesse, and
placed his hand over his heart.

"Jesse Copeland," he said, straight-faced,

"I most humbly beg your hand in marriage."

She stared at him, blushing furiously.

His voice dropped to a whisper as he searched her face.  "Will you be
my wife, Jesse?"

"Say yes!"  someone shouted.  A chorus of voices joined the first,
urging her swift agreement.

"Say yes," Megan said, grabbing Jesse's hand with an urgent tug. "Don't
make him wait."

Jesse grinned and shook her head.  "Of course I'll marry you," she
said.  David moved in a ghost like blur and took her in his arms, and
she didn't even care if people were watching.

And when Megan wrapped her arms around them both, Jesse knew they
wouldn't have to wait for heaven.

About the Author Susan Krinard graduated from the California College of
Arts and Crafts with a BFA, and worked as an artist and freelance
illustrator before turning to writing.  An admirer of both Romance and
Fantasy, Susan enjoys combining these elements in her books.  She also
loves to get out into nature as frequently as possible.  A native
Californian, Susan lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her
French-Canadian husband, Serge, a dog, and a cat.

Susan loves to hear from her readers.  She can be reached at: P.O. Box
272545 Concord, CA 94527 Please send a self-addressed stamped envelope
for a personal reply.

Susan's e-mail address is: Skrinard@aol.com and her web page is located
at: http://members.aol.com/skrinard/