ANA tried working off her sexual and emotional frustration with the books. She focused on the goal, and spent half the night sifting through data, words, notes, and her own speculations about the location of the key.

Her primary reward was a massive headache.

What little sleep she managed to get was restless and unsatisfying. When even Moe failed to perk up her morning mood, she decided to give physical labor a try.

She dropped Moe back at Flynn’s by simply opening the front door with her key and letting him bullet inside. Since it was still short of nine of a Sunday morning, she imagined the household was sleeping.

In her current mood, the machine-gun barking that sprayed through the quiet as Moe charged up the stairs made her lips curve in a dark, wicked smile.

“You go, Moe,” she cheered, shut the door, and strolled back to her car.

She drove directly to the building. Indulgence, she corrected herself as she parked. It was going to be Indulgence, so she needed to start thinking of it that way instead of as “the house” or “the building.”

When she unlocked the door and stepped inside, the strong smell of fresh paint hit her. It was a good smell, she decided. The smell of progress, of newness, of accomplishment.

Maybe the white primer wasn’t pretty, but it was sure as hell bright, and looking at it, she could see just how far they’d come already.

“So let’s keep going.”

She pushed up her sleeves and headed to the supplies and tools.

It occurred to her that this was the first time, the only time, she’d been alone here. On the heels of that came the thought that maybe she was asking for trouble being alone in a place where Kane had already wielded his sorcery.

She glanced uneasily up the steps. And thought of cold blue mist. As if the chill of it crept over her skin, she shuddered.

“I can’t be afraid to be here.” The way her voice echoed made her wish she’d brought along a radio. Anything to fill the silence with normal sound.

Won’t be afraid to be here, she corrected herself as she opened a can of paint. How could she, or any of them, make this place their own if they were afraid to come into it alone?

There were bound to be times when one of them came in early or stayed late. The three of them couldn’t be attached at the hip. She—all of them—would have to get used to the quiet of the place, and the settling noises. Normal quiet, normal noises, she assured herself. Hell, she liked being alone and having a big, empty house all to herself. It was tailor-made Dana time.

The memory of Kane’s nasty games wasn’t going to scare her off.

And since she was alone, she didn’t have to compete for the super paint machine.

Still, as she began to work she wished she could hear Malory’s and Zoe’s voices, as she had before, turning all those empty rooms into something bright and cheerful.

She comforted herself that they’d finished priming Malory’s section and had a good start on hers. It would be a kick to finish her own space with her own hands.

She could begin to play with different setups in her head. Should she shelve mysteries here, or was this a better spot for nonfiction? Local interest?

Wouldn’t it be fun to display coffee-table books on, ha ha, a coffee table?

Maybe she could find an old breakfront somewhere for the café section. She could display tins of tea, mugs, books. Should she go with those cute round tables that reminded her of an ice cream parlor, or the more substantial square ones? Wouldn’t this room be the perfect place to set up a cozy reading corner, or would it be smarter to use that space for a small children’s play area?

It was therapeutic to watch the clean white paint cover the dull beige, stroke by stroke marking the room as her own. No one could push her out of here as she’d been pushed out of the library. She was working for herself this time, and setting the rules herself.

No one could cut her off from this dream, from this love, as she’d been cut off from other dreams. From other loves.

“Do you think it matters? A little shop in a little town? Will you work, struggle, worry, pour your mind and your heart into something so meaningless? And why? Because you have nothing else.

“But you could.”

She felt the cold shiver over her skin. It made her breath come too fast, tightened the muscles of her stomach toward pain. She continued to paint, guiding the roller over the wall, listening to the faint hum of the motor. She couldn’t seem to stop.

“It matters to me. I know what I want.”

“Do you?”

He was there, somehow there. She could sense him in the chill. Perhaps he was the chill.

“A place of your own. You thought you had one before, all those years of work, of serving others. Yet does anyone care that you’re gone?”

It was a well-aimed arrow. Had anyone even noticed she was no longer at the library? All the people she’d worked with, worked for? All the patrons she’d helped? Had she been so replaceable that her absence hadn’t caused a single ripple?

Hadn’t she mattered at all?

“You gave the man your heart, your loyalty, but he cast you off without a thought. How much did you matter to him?”

Not enough, she thought.

“I can change that. I can give him to you. I could give you a great many things. Success?”

The shop was full of people. The shelves were filled with books. The pretty tables were crowded with customers sipping tea, having conversations. She saw a little boy sitting cross-legged on the floor in the corner with a copy of WHERE THE WILD THINGS ARE open in his lap.

Everything about the scene spoke of pleasure—the combination of relaxation and brisk business.

The walls were exactly the right shade, she thought. Malory had been on the money there. The light was good, made everything friendly, and all those wonderful books temptingly arranged, on shelves, on displays.

She wandered like a ghost, passing through the bodies of people who browsed or bought, who sat or stood. She saw familiar faces, the faces of strangers, heard the voices, smelled the scents.

Attractive and intriguing sidelines were set up here and there. Yes, yes, those were the note cards she’d decided to carry. And the bookmarks, the bookends. Wasn’t that the perfect reading chair? Roomy, broken in, welcoming.

It was very clever to use the kitchen as the hub of the three enterprises, with books, candles, lotions, and art all together to illustrate how nicely each complemented the others.

It was her vision, she realized. Everything she was hoping for.

“You’ll enjoy it, of course, but it won’t be enough.”

She turned. He was there. It didn’t surprise her in the least to see Kane standing beside her as people moved around them, through them.

Who were the ghosts? she wondered distantly.

He was dark and handsome, almost romantically so. The black hair framed a strong and compelling face. His eyes smiled into hers, but even now she could see something frightening lurking behind them.

“Why won’t it be enough?”

“What will you do at the end of the day? Sit alone with only your books for company? Alone when everyone else gathers with their families? Will any of them give you a single thought after they walk out the door?”

“I have friends. I have family.”

“Your brother has a woman, and the woman has him. You’re not part of that, are you? The other has a son, and you’ll never be inside what they have. They’ll leave you, as everyone else has done.”

His words were like darts in the heart, and as she bled from them she saw him smile again. Almost kindly.

“I can make him stay.” He spoke gently now, as one did to the wounded. “I can make him pay for what he did to you, for his carelessness, for his refusal to know what you needed from him. Wouldn’t you like him to love you as he has loved no other? Then, at your whim, you can keep him or discard him?”

She was in a room she didn’t recognize, yet somehow knew. A large bedroom, saturated with color. Deep blue walls, an enormous bed covered in a ruby comforter, mounded with jewel-toned pillows. There was a generous sitting area, with two wing chairs facing a snapping fire. It was here that she sat, with Jordan kneeling at her feet. Her hands were clutched in his.

And his trembled.

“I love you, Dana. I never knew I could feel like this, as if there’s no point in taking the next breath unless you’re with me.”

It was wrong. Wrong. His face never looked weak and pleading. “Stop it.”

“You have to listen.” His voice urgent, he buried his head in her lap. “You have to give me a chance to show you, to prove to you how much I love you. The biggest mistake of my life was leaving you. Nothing I’ve done, nothing I’ve touched since has meant anything. I’ll do anything you want.” He lifted his head and with some horror, she caught the gleam of tears in his eyes. “Be anything you want. If you’ll only forgive me, let me spend every minute of every day for the rest of my life worshiping you.”

“Get the hell away from me!” Shocked, panicked, she shoved at Jordan, knocking him back as she scrambled to her feet.

“Kick me. Beat me. I deserve it. Just let me stay with you.”

“Do you think this is what I want?” She shouted it as she spun in a circle. “Do you think you can control me by making pictures out of my thoughts? You don’t understand what I want, and that’s why I’ll beat you. No deal, asshole. And this is not only a lie, it’s pathetic.”

The fury in her voice echoed even when she found herself standing in the empty room with the paint roller on the floor at her feet.

Scrawled on the white wall in oily black was the message:

Drown thyself!

“Fat chance, you bastard.” Though her hands shook, she picked up the roller and covered the black with fresh white primer.

Then they steadied, and her fingers dug in on the handle of the roller. “Wait a minute, wait a minute!”

Her mind whirling, she dropped the roller with a splatter of paint, grabbed her bag and ran as though the gods were chasing her.

Minutes later, she charged into her apartment. She tossed her purse aside and grabbed the library copy of OTHELLO.

“ ‘Drown thyself, drown thyself.’ It’s in here.” She flipped pages, frantically pulling the scene and context into her mind as she searched for the quote.

It was one of Iago’s lines, when he was doing one of his numbers on Roderigo. She knew that line.

When she found it, she sat down on the floor.“ ‘It is a lust of the blood and a permission of the will,’” she read aloud. “‘Come, be a man. Drown thyself! drown cats and blind puppies.’”

She fought for calm.

A lust of the blood and a permission of the will. Yes, that described Kane’s vicious acts.

Jealousy, guile, betrayal, and ambition. What Iago knew, what Othello was ignorant of. Kane as Iago? The god-king as Othello. The king hadn’t killed, but still the daughters—those he loved—were lost to him through lies and ambition.

And the play—surely this play had beauty, truth, courage. Was it the key?

Ordering herself to be methodical, she paged through the book, searched its binding. Setting it aside, she found her own copy and did the same. She forced herself to sit again, to read through the entire scene.

There were other copies of the play. She would go to the mall bookstore, search through those. She could hit the library again on Monday. Rising, she began to pace.

There were probably dozens of copies of OTHELLO in various forms around the Valley. She would go to the schools, the college. She’d knock on damn doors if she had to.

“‘Drown thyself,’ my ass,” she repeated and scooped up her purse. She would drive to the mall right now.

She’d already wrenched open the door when it struck her. Her own fury knocked her two steps back before she slammed the door shut again.

She was being a fool, a mark. An idiot. Who had written the words on the wall? Kane. A liar quoting a liar. It wasn’t a clue. It was misdirection. Something to have her running off on a tangent. Exactly as she had done.

“Goddamn it!” She flung her purse across the room. “Outright lies or twisted truth? Which is it?”

Resigned, she marched across the room to retrieve her purse. She had to find out, so it looked like she was taking that trip to the mall after all.

SHE was, Dana thought when she arrived home, probably as calm as she was going to get after spending the morning on what she was certain was a wild-goose chase. Still, she’d be happier when Malory and Zoe arrived. If nothing else, a girlfriend afternoon would cheer her up.

They’d have some food, they’d talk. And when Dana had called and said she needed them to come, Zoe had promised pedicures.

Not a bad deal.

She carried the Chinese food she’d picked up into the kitchen, set it on the counter. Then just stood there for a moment.

All right, she admitted, maybe she wasn’t calm, maybe she wasn’t steady. Not quite yet. And her head was screaming from the echoes of the morning fear, the frustration that had followed.

She walked to the bathroom, took a bottle of Extra-Strength Tylenol out of the medicine cabinet, and washed two down with tap water.

Maybe she should have opted for a nap instead of company. But despite the headache, the vague nausea, this was one time she didn’t want to be alone.

She nearly flew to the door at the knock.

“Are you all right?” Zoe stepped in, dropped the bags she carried on the floor, then gathered Dana in her arms. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get here.”

“It’s okay. I’m all right.” No, Dana realized, this was much better than a nap. “I’m just really glad you’re here. What about Simon?”

“Flynn took him. It was really nice. He and Jordan are taking Simon over to Bradley’s. He can run around with Moe, play with guys, eat junk food, watch football. Simon’s thrilled. Isn’t Mal here yet? She left before I did.”

“Right behind you.” Malory came hurrying down the hall, then held up a bakery box before she stepped inside the apartment. “I made a stop. Brownies—double fudge.”

“I love you guys.” Dana’s voice broke as she said it and, appalled, she pressed her fingers to her eyes. “Oh, Jesus, I’m in worse shape than I thought. It’s been a very crappy day so far.”

“Sweetie, you come sit down.” Taking charge, Zoe drew her across the room to the sofa. “You just relax for a minute. I’m going to fix you something to eat.”

“I got Chinese. In the kitchen.”

“That’s fine. You just take it easy, and Malory and I will take care of everything.”

They fixed plates, brewed tea, tucked a throw over her legs, and generally did all the things women instinctively know how to do to offer comfort.

“Thanks. I mean it. I didn’t realize I was that close to cracking. Bastard really got to me.”

“Tell us what happened.“ Malory stroked Dana’s hair.

“I went over to our place, to paint. I woke up cranky and needed something to do.” She slid a glance at Malory. “Sorry about siccing Moe on you so early.”

“Not a problem.”

“So.” She soothed her throat with tea. “I started painting. It felt good, and I was thinking about how everything was going to look. Then he was there.”

She started to tell them, as coherently as she could, and Zoe interrupted with an indignant oath.

“That’s just bullshit! That’s just a lie. Of course you matter. He doesn’t know a damn thing about it.”

“He’s just playing on my weaknesses. I know it. Leaving the library bothered me, more than I’ve been willing to admit. I guess I’ve been feeling like what I did there didn’t really matter to anyone but me. He uses things like that, then makes them bigger, more hurtful.”

She picked up her tea again and told them how he’d transformed the rooms into her finished bookstore. “It was my vision of it,” Dana said. “One I hadn’t completely realized I had. Not just the way it looked but the way it felt, too. And, of course, loaded with customers.”

Her dimples made a brief appearance in her cheeks. “He made it seem like it couldn’t be that way unless he did it for me. That was a mistake, because it can be. Okay, maybe not bursting at the seams with customers, but the way it looked, the way it felt. It can be that way because it’s mine. It’s ours. And we’ll make it that way.”

“Damn straight.” Seated on the floor at her feet, Zoe gave Dana’s knee a squeeze.

“Then he shifted to Jordan. I’ve got to have a brownie now.” She leaned forward and took one off the plate that

Malory had loaded with them. “There’s this fabulous bedroom, one of my dream rooms, you know? The place you build in your head if you could have a room done any way you want it? And Jordan’s kneeling at my feet, like a supplicant. He’s all but in tears, telling me how he loves me, how he can’t live without me. All this junk he would never say in a million years. The kind of thing I’ve had him say in my head, so I could kick him in the teeth after. Payback stuff.”

She blew out a breath. “Jeez, he’s even telling me to kick him, beat him, whatever.” She broke off at the snicker and aimed a look at Zoe. Then her lips twitched. “Okay, maybe it is funny when you think about it. The Hawke, weeping at my feet, begging me to let him spend his life worshiping me.”

Malory decided it was time for a brownie as well. “What was he wearing?”

After one long pause, Dana burst out laughing. All the aches, the tension, the illness vanished. “Thanks. Man, when I think I was next to sobbing like a baby. I was even feeling guilty because the deal with Jordan was close to a couple I used to toy around with. How he would realize his horrible mistake, come crawling back and beg. It seems satisfying in your head, you know. But let me tell you, when it really happens—or seems to—it’s just horrible. So, basically, I told Kane he could kiss my ass, and I was back where I’d started.”

Zoe took off Dana’s shoes and began to rub her feet. “You had a pretty lousy morning.”

“There’s one more thing. There was writing on the wall, in this greasy black. ‘Drown thyself!’ I painted over it.”

“That’s horrible. He was trying to make you remember the island, the storm,” Zoe muttered. “He’s just huffing and puffing, that’s all. He couldn’t even make you think anything he did this morning was real. You knew it was him all along.”

“I don’t think he wanted it any other way,” Dana mused. “I think he was trying a new line of attack. But the writing? Not about the island. It’s a line from Othello. I recognized it almost immediately, just as I’ve now realized he knew I would. I went running out of our place like a maniac to get back here and look it up. To look for the key in the book.”

“It’s from a book?” Zoe swiveled around to pick up one of the copies from the coffee table. “I don’t know how you’d remember something like that. It’s a real talent. But why would Kane give you a clue to the key?”

“Now, quick wit—that’s a real talent.” Dana sighed. “I got suckered in. All I could think was that I knew the line, and how I’d been focused on that play, with the way Iago mirrored Kane in so many ways. So I went baring off, half-cocked, sure the key was going to fall right into my hot little hand.”

She flopped back against the seat. “Even when the light finally dawned, I just had to follow through. Hence, half a day wasted chasing the wild goose.”

“It’s not wasted if you figured it out. You knew he was lying about the bookstore,” Malory pointed out. “Know the truth from his lies? Isn’t that how it went? You did. And you realized he’d written a kind of lie to throw you off. But if you hadn’t followed through, you wouldn’t be sure.”

“I guess. I’m still going to be snatching at every copy of that play I come across.”

“I’ll tell you something important you figured out today.” Malory patted her knee. “You knew the truth was we’re in this together, so you called us. And you know, however satisfying the fantasy might be when you’re hurt or mad, you don’t want Jordan to be a lapdog.”

“Well… maybe just for a couple of days. Especially if Zoe can teach him how to give a foot rub.” She leaned her head back, tried to relax.

“The thing is… I’m in love with him. Stupid jerkoff.”

She let out a long, long sigh. “I don’t know what the hell I’m going to do about it.”

Malory picked up the plate. “Have another brownie.”

IF she dreamed, Dana didn’t remember it when she woke in the morning. And when she woke, the drum of rain and the gloom had her turning over, with the plan to go directly back to sleep.

Moe had other ideas.

Without much choice, she threw on clothes, added a fielder’s cap and her oldest boots. Choosing a mug of coffee over an umbrella, she walked Moe in the rain and revved up her system with caffeine.

They were both soaked when the deed was done, forcing her to drag him into the bathroom. He whined, cried, tried to dig his paws into the floor as if she were taking him to slaughter.

By the time she’d toweled him off, she smelled as much like wet dog as he did.

A shower and another hit of coffee helped. She was just about to decide which one of her books to settle in with for the rainy morning when her phone rang.

Ten minutes later, she was hanging up the phone and grinning down at Moe.

“You know who that was? That was Mr. Hertz. You may not be acquainted with Mr. Hertz or Mr. Foy, who are involved in the longest-running trivia contest in our fine county. Apparently, the contestants assumed yours truly was on vacation and therefore unable to play master of ceremonies in my usual fashion.”

Amused and ridiculously delighted, she walked into the kitchen to pour her third cup of coffee. “However, this morning Mr. Foy stopped into the library and was informed I was no longer on staff.”

She leaned back on the counter, sipped coffee as Moe appeared to listen with avid attention. “Questions were asked and answered, mostly answered by the detestable Sandi. Mr. Foy, according to Mr. Hertz, gave the opinion that my departure was, quote, a downright, dirty shame, unquote, and vacated the premises.”

As if riveted, Moe cocked his head and panted.

“Shortly thereafter, the two trivia aficionados held an informal meeting over at the Main Street Diner and decided that if the powers that be at the Pleasant Valley Library didn’t appreciate a treasure such as myself, they no longer wished to have that institution involved in their daily information pursuit. I’ve just been asked if I would continue as emcee on a freelance basis.”

Because it was just Moe, and he was nothing if not sympathetic, she didn’t feel embarrassed when a tear trickled down her cheek. “I know it’s probably stupid to feel this touched, but I can’t help it. It’s just nice to know I’ve been missed.”

She sniffed back the tears. “Anyway, I’ve got to go online and find out when Chef Boy-Ar-Dee manufactured its first box of pizza mix.” She headed off, coffee in hand, to her desktop. “Where do they think up these things?”

IT kicked her into gear. Dana decided it was symbolic. She’d received validation of her purpose, her place in the community. The simple fact was, the Valley was vital to her, and this in-between stage—post-library, pre-bookstore— had left her feeling disenfranchised.

It wasn’t the amount of work she had to do but the fact that the work she’d done in the past hadn’t seemed to have any significance to anyone other than herself.

She dived in with a vengeance, placing orders for books, opening accounts, ordering her displays. Her mood was lifted to the point that when she was deep into the key books and the knock interrupted, she wasn’t irritated.

“Time to come up for air anyway.” She pulled open the door, then frowned at the young man who stood there, holding a single red rose in a clear bud vase. “Trolling for girls? You’re pretty cute, but a little young for me.”

He flushed, red as the rose. “Yes, ma’am. No, ma’am. Dana Steele?”

“That’s right.”

“For you.” He passed her the vase, then took off.

Still frowning, Dana closed the door, then tugged off the card tied to the vase.

Reminded me of you,

Jordan

In his mind, Jordan was in the forest of the Pacific Northwest. Hunted. He had his wits, his will, and his need to see his woman again as his weapons. If he could survive for the next five minutes, he could survive for ten. For ten, he could survive an hour.

For the hunter wanted more than his life. It wanted his soul.

Fog slithered, gray snakes along the ground. The blood from the hastily bound wound in his arm seeped through the bandage and dripped into the mist. The pain kept him sharp, reminded him that he had more than blood to lose.

He should have seen it for a trap. That had been his mistake. But there was no going back, no point in regrets, no point in prayers. His only option was to keep moving. And to live.

He heard a sound. To his left? A kind of whispering the fog could make when parted by mass. He melted into the trees, pressed his back against bark.

Flight, he asked himself, or fight?

“What the hell game are you playing?”

“Christ Jesus.” He popped back from the world in his mind, the one speeding onto the screen through the rush of his fingertips over keys.

The speed of the trip had the blood roaring in his ears as he stared at Dana.

She stood in the doorway, hands on hips, eyes full of suspicion.

“This is the little game I call writing for a living. Go away, come back later.”

“I’m talking about the flower, and I’ve got just as much right to be here as you do. It’s my brother’s house.”

“And this is, currently, my room in your brother’s house.”

She gave it one derisive scan. There was a bed, unmade, her own childhood dresser that she’d passed to Flynn when he’d bought the house, an open suitcase on the floor. The desk where Jordan worked had been Flynn’s during his teenage years and was missing one of the three drawers that ran down the side. On it was a laptop, some files and books, a pack of cigarettes, and a metal ashtray.

“Looks more like a weigh station,” she commented.

“It doesn’t have to be pretty.” Resigned, he reached for his cigarettes.

“That’s a brainless habit.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He lit it, deliberately blew out smoke. “Half a pack a day, and mostly when I’m working. Get off my back. What’re you riled up about, anyway? I thought women liked getting flowers.”

“You sent me a single red rose.”

“That’s right.” He considered her more thoughtfully now. Her hair was pulled back, so she’d been working. She hadn’t bothered with makeup, so she hadn’t planned on leaving the house. She was wearing jeans, a very faded Penn State sweatshirt, and shined black-leather boots with a stubby heel.

Which meant, he deduced from his knowledge of her, that she’d been planning to work around the apartment, then had grabbed the first pair of shoes that came to hand because she’d been in a hurry.

And that meant the flower had done the job.

“The single-red-rose gambit is supposed to be romantic.” He smiled when he said it, just a little smugly.

She stepped into the room, skirted the suitcase. “You said it reminded you of me. Just what’s what supposed to mean?”

“It’s long and sexy, and it smells good. What’s the problem, Stretch?”

“Look, you went for the big splashy date Saturday. Good job. But if you think I can be taken in by a fancy meal and a rosebud, you’re sadly mistaken.”

He hadn’t shaved, she noted, and could have used a haircut. Damn it, she’d always been a sucker for that heading-toward-scruffy look on him.

Then there was the expression on his face when she stepped in the door, before he’d known she was there. Half dreamy, half gone. And his mouth had been sort of grim and determined.

She had to grip the doorjamb to stop herself from rushing over and biting that mouth.

And now he was just watching her, that cocky half smile on his face. She didn’t know whether to punch him or jump him,

“I’m not some starry-eyed kid this time around, and… what are you grinning at?”

“Got you over here, didn’t it?”

“Well, I’m not staying. I’m just here to tell you it doesn’t work.”

“I missed you. The more I’m around you, the more I realize how much.”

Her heart fluttered and was ruthlessly ignored. “That doesn’t cut it with me either.”

“What does?”

“You might try straight-up honesty for a change. Saying what you mean without any of the goofy touches. Which are clichés, by the way,” she added as he stubbed out the cigarette and got to his feet.

And clichés became clichés, she thought, because they goddamn worked.

“All right.” He stopped in front of her, hooked his fingers in the neck of her sweatshirt and tugged her forward. “Can’t get my mind off you, Dana. I can tuck you away in it for stretches of time, but you’re still in there. Like a splinter.”

“So yank me out.” She thrust up her chin. “Go ahead.”

“I like you there, which makes me a glutton for punishment. I like you here, curling your lip at me and smelling of rain.”

He reached up, tugged the band out of her hair and tossed it aside. Then he wrapped his fingers where the band had been. “I want to take you to bed, right now. I want to sink my teeth into you. I want to bury myself inside you. And when we’re done, I want to do it all over again.”

He angled his head, kept his eyes on hers. “How’s that for straight-up honesty?”

“Not half bad.”