“How did you know that?”
“You wouldn’t be here if she still objected,” he said. I was thinking it could be maddening being involved with a profiler. Mom always said I drove her crazy, figuring out what she thought before she said it. Now David was doing it to me. Still, it was hard to get upset with him when he was kissing my neck, and when I felt his arms pulling me gently closer.
“That means, for the first time in a year, you are mine,” he whispered, with what I thought was just a hint of danger.
I was glad I’d worn a shirt that buttoned down the front, so he could peel it off my arm gently before he laid me in his bed. He ran his hands over me, from my face, down my neck, cupping my breasts, trailing down to my waist. He kissed my left shoulder, the
scars across my back and arm, and when he hit the tenderest spot, I winced again.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, pulling me close. “But oh, I’ve missed you, Sarah.”
I had only one good arm, and I pulled him closer with it. “Why didn’t you tell me what Maggie said?” I asked. “Why did you let me wonder?”
“I couldn’t do that to Maggie,” he said. “I needed you, but she needed you, too.”
The last time I kissed David was in the barn, when we were both covered with hay. So much had happened, but nothing that changed the way I felt about him. I knew in my heart that I wanted him, maybe more than he wanted me.
We made love carefully, tenderly, calmly compared to that night a year earlier when we’d first shared his bed. My arm might still be mending, but that night, in David’s bed, I felt as if for the first time since Bill died that my heart had finally healed. Afterward, we lay for hours, talking and laughing, touching each other, remembering.
When morning came, we filled his old claw-foot bathtub with hot water and bubbles. David blocked out the sunlight with beach towels taped over the blinds, while I lit candles. He brought in a pillow for me to rest my sore arm on, perched on the edge of the tub, and we made love in the hot soapy water. When we were through, he sat behind me, and wrapped his arms around me, and I slept with my head on his shoulder. We woke in the water turned cold. I dried David off with a towel, then wrapped it around him and guided him back to the bed. As we made love yet again, I felt his hot, wet breath on my neck, and thought that maybe, sometimes, if we’re lucky, life gives us a second chance at happiness.
“Sarah, I have one question,” he whispered. I held his face and kissed him on the lips, long and hard.
“Ask away,” I said finally. “Anything.”
He shook his head and laughed softly, then held me close and whispered, “Where do we go from here?”
Many, many thanks to:
Retired Texas Ranger Marrie Aldridge.
Senior Crime Scene Analyst David Rossi.
My former teacher and friend Ken Hammond, for his insightful suggestions:
Mary Kay Zanoni, for helping Cassidy find her voice.
Christopher Boutros, D.V.M.
Malcolm Hackney, at Bright Star Productions.
All the wonderful folks at the Houston Livestock Show and Rodeo.
Lorrie Patel, for her tips on astronomy.
Edward Porter, for talking ideas.
T. C. and Tamara Skeete, for teaching me to two-step.
Paul Chaplo of Dallas, for his expertise with helicopters.
Liz and Ray Fitzgerald and Barbara Tavernini, for their research assistance.
Brian Weiss, M.D., for inspiring Dr. Dorin’s theories on reincarnation.
Vladimir Parungao, M. D., for forensic advice.
Terry Bachman, for reading the manuscript.
David Thompson at Houston’s Murder by the Book, and his entire staff, for being so kind to a local writer.
My agents, Jane Dystel and Miriam Goderich, at Dystel & Goderich, for their advice, support, and efforts on my behalf.
My St. Martin’s editor, Daniela Rapp; publicists Jessica Ro-tondi and Hector DeSean; and copy editor NaNá V. Stoelzle.
Special thanks to Jan, Mike, Jim, Kate, John, Linda, my dad, Nick, and all the New Mexico brainstormers, especially Nicholas, Sarah, and Bethany.
Finally, thank you to all my dear friends and family, especially Brian, Kim, Emmie, Brian, Becky, Nick, Zack, and Paul. Thank you for brightening my life each and every day.