achel had already cleared most of the weeds from the center of the lot by the time Gabe's truck came through the gate at seven forty-five the next morning. Her hair was secured back from her face with a piece of copper wire she'd found near the dumpster. She only hoped the worn seat of her jeans didn't give way.

With her sandals gone, she was forced to wear her only other shoes, a pair of clunky black men's oxfords one of her teenage coworkers had given her when she'd grown bored with the style. The shoes were comfortable, but too hot and heavy for summer weather. Still they were more practical for heavy work than her shabby little sandals had been, and she felt grateful to have them.

If Rachel thought her early-bird industriousness would please Gabe, she was immediately proven wrong. The truck came to a halt next to her, and he climbed out with the motor still running. "I told you to be here at eight."

"And I will be," she replied in her most cheerful voice, trying to forget how she'd stripped for him yesterday afternoon. "I've got fifteen minutes to go."

He wore a clean white T-shirt and faded jeans. He was freshly shaved, and his dark hair looked as if it might still be damp from his shower. For a few brief moments yesterday, she'd seen his mask slip, but now it was firmly back in place: bleak, harsh, unfeeling.

"I don't want you here when I'm not around."

All her good intentions to be respectful and compliant fled. "Relax, Bonner. Everything you own that's worth stealing is too big for me to carry."

"You heard me."

"And here I thought you were only cranky in the afternoon."

"It's pretty much a round-the-clock affair." His reply should have been humorous, but those emotionless silver eyes spoiled the effect. "Where did you stay last night?"

"With a friend. I do have a few left," she lied. In fact, Dwayne had forbidden any but the most superficial contacts with the people of Salvation.

He pulled a pair of yellow work gloves from his back pocket and tossed them at her. "Use these."

"Gosh, I'm touched." She clasped the gloves to her breast like beauty-queen roses and told herself not to say another word. Before the day was over, she had to ask him for an advance on her paycheck, and she couldn't afford to antagonize him. But he looked so remote as he slid back behind the wheel of his truck that she couldn't resist a small jab.

"Hey, Bonner. In lieu of Prozac, maybe some coffee would help your disposition. I'll be glad to make a pot for both of us."

"I'll make my own."

"Great. Bring me a cup when it's ready."

He slammed the door and left her standing in a cloud of dust as he drove toward the snack shop. Butthead. She shoved her sore hands into the gloves and bent to return to her task even though every muscle protested.

She couldn't remember ever being so tired. All she wanted to do was lie in the shade and sleep for a hundred years. It wasn't hard to figure out why she was exhausted: not enough sleep and too much worry. She thought longingly of the jolt of energy she got from a morning cup of coffee.

Coffee… It had been weeks since she'd had any. She loved everything about it: the taste, the smell, those beautiful pinwheels of beige and mocha when she stirred in the cream. She closed her eyes and, just for a moment, let herself feel it sliding over her tongue.

A blast of acid rock coming from the snack shop shattered her fantasy. She glanced toward the playground where Edward had emerged from beneath the concrete turtle. If Bonner was this upset because she'd come to work early, what would he do when he spotted Edward?

The moment she'd arrived that morning, she'd cleared the playground of broken glass and rusty can lids, anything that could harm a child, then set Edward to work throwing trash into a plastic garbage bag. She'd stowed away a supply of food and water, along with a beach towel for him to nap on, in the shrubbery that grew at the base of the giant screen. Then she'd suggested he play a game of "Where's Edward?"

"I'll bet you can't go all morning without letting Mr. Bonner see you."

"I can, too."

"Betcha can't."

"Bet I can."

She'd given him a kiss and left it at that. Sooner or later Bonner would spot him, and there'd be hell to pay. The idea that she had to hide her precious child away, as if he were something repellent, left her with another big black mark of resentment chalked up against Gabe Bonner. She wondered if he were this hostile to all children, or if he'd reserved his antipathy for hers.

An hour later Gabe threw a garbage bag at her and told her to pick up the trash out by the entrance so the place didn't look so bad from the highway. It was easier work than weeding, although she couldn't imagine he'd taken that into consideration, and she welcomed the change. After Gabe disappeared, Edward slipped around to join her, and the two of them were done in no time.

She returned to her weeding, but she'd barely started before a pair of paint-splattered work boots appeared in her peripheral vision. "I thought I told you to get that trash picked up out front."

She intended to respond politely, but her tongue had a will of its own. "Already done, Kommandant. Your slightest wish is my command."

His eyes narrowed. "Go inside and start cleaning out the ladies' room so I can paint in there."

"A promotion! And it's only my first day on the job."

He stared at her for a long, uncomfortable moment, during which she wished she could slap a gag in her mouth.

"Watch yourself, Rachel. Remember that I don't want you here."

Before she could reply, he walked away.

With a sideways glance to make certain Edward saw where she was going, she set off for the snack shop. A storage closet held the cleaning supplies she needed, but she was more interested in the pot of coffee sitting nearby. Unless Bonner was a big drinker, he seemed to have made enough for two, and she filled a styrofoam cup to the brim. She couldn't find any milk, and the coffee was strong enough to qualify for Super Fund cleanup, but she savored every sip as she carried it with her into the ladies' room.

The plumbing was old and filthy, but still usable. She decided to get the worst over with first and began cleaning the stalls, scraping up crusted muck whose origins didn't bear thinking about.

Before long, she heard the soft pat of sneakered feet coming up behind her. "Gross."

"You said it."

"I remember when we was rich."

"You were only two. You couldn't remember."

"Uh-huh. There was trains on the walls in my bedroom."

Rachel had put up the blue-and-white striped wallpaper herself, along with its border of colorful trains. The nursery and her bedroom were the only rooms in that awful house she'd been able to decorate herself, and she'd spent as much time in both of them as she could.

"I'm going back outside," Edward said.

"I don't blame you."

"He hasn't seen me yet."

"You're a slick one, buddy."

"Knock. Knock."

"Who's there."

"Madam."

She shot him a warning look. "Edddward…"

"Ma darned foot's stuck in the door." He giggled, stuck his head out to make certain Butthead wasn't around, and disappeared.

She smiled and returned to her work. It had been a long time since she'd heard her son laugh. He was enjoying his game of hide-and-seek, and being outside like this was good for him.

By one o'clock, she'd cleaned out the six stalls, as well as checked on Edward at least a dozen times, and she was so tired her head was spinning. A rough voice spoke from behind her.

"You're not going to do me a damned bit of good if you pass out again. Take a break."

She steadied herself on the metal partition as she straightened, then turned to see Bonner silhouetted in the doorway. "I will when I get tired. So far it hasn't happened."

"Yeah, right. There's a burger and some fries waiting for you in the snack shop. If you know what's good for you, you'll eat it." He strode out, and a moment later she heard the sound of his boots on the metal stairs that led to the projection room above the snack shop.

With a sense of anticipation, she quickly washed her hands and made her way to the snack shop where a McDonald's bag lay on the counter. For a moment she simply stood there and savored the tantalizing smells of All-American ambrosia. She'd been working since six that morning on an empty stomach, and she had to eat something, but not this. This was too precious.

Keeping an eye out for Bonner, she carried her valuable cargo toward the hiding place on the playground where Edward was waiting. "Surprise, pug. It's your lucky day."

"McDonald's!"

"Only the best."

She laughed as Edward tore into the bag and began stuffing himself with hamburger. As he ate, she scraped a thin layer of peanut butter from their hidden food stash on a piece of bread, folded it over, and raised it to her lips. She begrudged taking anything from their meager stash for herself. She had already failed her child in so many ways, and eating his food seemed like one more failure. Luckily, it didn't take much to keep her going.

"Want some fries?"

Her mouth watered. "No thanks. Fried food isn't good for women my age."

She took another bite of her sandwich and promised herself that once she found Dwayne's five million dollars, she would never again eat peanut butter.

Two hours later she had finished cleaning the ladies' rest room and was taking a paint scraper to the peeling metal doors when she heard a furious bellow.

"Rachel!"

What had she done now? Pinwheels of light spun in her head as she leaned down too quickly to lay the scraper on the floor. Instead of getting better, her dizziness was getting worse.

"Rachel! Get out here!"

She made her way to the door. For a moment the sun blinded her, but as her eyes adjusted to the light, she gave a muffled gasp.

Edward dangled from Bonner's fist by the scruff of his old orange T-shirt. His dusty black sneakers swung helplessly in the air, and his shirt bunched beneath his armpits, revealing his small, bony rib cage and the blue network of veins that ran just beneath his pale skin. Horse lay on the ground below his feet.

Bonner's skin was pale over the harsh ridge of his cheekbones. "I told you to keep him away from here."

She rushed forward, her exhaustion forgotten. "Put him down! You're scaring him!"

"You were warned. I told you not to bring him here. It's too dangerous." He set him to the ground.

Edward was free, but he stood frozen in place, once more the victim of a powerful adult force he could neither understand nor control. His helplessness cut her to the quick. She retrieved Horse, then scooped up her child and hugged him to her chest. The toes of his sneakers banged into her shins as she buried her cheek in his straight brown hair, which was still warm from the sun.

"What was I supposed to do with him?" she spat out.

"That wasn't my problem."

"Spoken like someone who's never had responsibility for a child!"

He went absolutely still. Seconds ticked by before his lips moved. "You're fired. Get out of here."

Edward began to cry as he wrapped his arms around her neck. "I'm sorry, Mommy. I tried not to let him see me, but he catched me."

Her heart pounded, and her legs felt like rubber. She wanted to rage at Bonner for frightening him, but that would only upset Edward more. And what was the use? One look at the blank canvas of Bonner's face told her his decision was final.

He pulled a wallet from his back pocket, peeled out several bills, and extended them toward her. "Take this."

She stared down at the money. She'd sacrificed everything for her child. Did she have to give up the last ounce of her pride, too?

Slowly she took the money and felt a little part of herself die.

Edward's chest heaved.

"Shh…" She brushed her lips over his hair. "It's not your fault."

"He seed me."

"Not for a whole day. He was so dumb it took him a whole day to find you. You did just fine."

Without a backward glance, she carried Edward to the playground where she gathered up their things. Blinking against the tears, she clutched her meager possessions in one hand and her son in the other. What kind of man would do something like this? Only one who had no feelings at all.

As she left the Pride of Carolina, she wanted to fall off the end of the world.

Gabriel Bonner, the man with no feelings, cried in his sleep that night. He jolted awake sometime around three in the morning to find a wet place on his pillow and the awful metallic taste of grief in his mouth.

He'd dreamed about them again tonight, Cherry and Jamie, his wife and son. But this time Cherry's beloved face kept changing into the thin, defiant face of Rachel Stone. And his son had held a bedraggled gray rabbit as he lay in his coffin.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and for a long time he did nothing but sit with his shoulders hunched and his face buried in his hands. Finally he pulled open the drawer in his bedside table and took out a Smith & Wesson.38.

The revolver felt warm and heavy in his hands. Just do it. Put it in your mouth and pull the trigger. He touched the barrel to his lips and closed his eyes. The cold steel felt like a lover's kiss, and he welcomed the click of it against his front teeth.

But he couldn't pull the trigger, and, at that moment, he hated his family for keeping him from the oblivion he craved. Any one of them—his father or mother, his two brothers—they would all put a dog out of its misery, but they wouldn't be able to bear it if he killed himself. Now their stubborn, unrelenting love kept him shackled to an intolerable world.

He shoved the gun back in the drawer and withdrew the framed photograph he also kept there. Cherry smiled back at him, his beautiful wife who'd loved him and laughed with him and been everything a man could want. And Jamie.

Gabe caressed the frame with his thumbs, and in his chest, his heart seeped. It wasn't blood that escaped—that had been shed long ago—but a thick, bile-like fluid that ran through veins that had become rivers of pain carrying a bottomless cargo of grief.

My son.

Everyone had told him his grief would be easier to bear after the first year, but they'd lied. It had been over two years now since his wife and son had been killed by a drunk running a red light, and the pain had grown worse.

He'd spent most of that time in Mexico, living on tequila and quaaludes. Then, four months ago, his brothers had come to get him. He'd sworn at Ethan and thrown a punch at Cal, but it hadn't done any good. They'd brought him back anyway, and when they'd dried him out, he had no feelings left. No feelings at all.

Until yesterday.

A vision of Rachel's thin, naked body swam before his eyes. She'd been all bones and desperation when she'd offered herself to him in exchange for a job. And he'd gotten hard. He still couldn't believe it had happened.

He'd seen one other woman naked since Cherry had died. She'd been a Mexican whore with a lush body and a sweet smile. He'd thought he could bury some small part of his anguish inside her, but it hadn't worked. Too many pills, too much booze, too much pain. He'd sent her away without touching her and drunk himself into a stupor.

He hadn't even thought about her again until yesterday. An experienced Mexican whore hadn't been able to make him respond, but Rachel Stone with her scrawny body and defiant eyes had somehow managed to penetrate the wall he'd built so solidly around himself.

He remembered the way Cherry used to curl in his arms after they'd made love and play with the hair on his chest. I love your gentleness, Gabe. You're the most gentle man I've ever known.

He wasn't gentle now. Gentleness had been burned out of him. He put the photograph back in the drawer and walked naked to the window where he stared out at the darkness.

Rachel Stone didn't know it, but getting fired was the best thing that could have happened to her.