o, where exactly are we going again?” Flynn asked, leaning forward to look into the darkening October sky through the dusty window of the pickup truck. Based on the windy road, the farmland flanking them on either side, and the widely spaced streetlights, she sensed they were officially in the middle of freakin’ nowhere.

“It’s a surprise,” Tucker said. “Now, tell me about your day again.”

Flynn waved a hand at him. “No. We’ve already talked about that.”

“But you like talking about it.”

“Yeah, I do.” Flynn turned toward him, amazed at how big and comfortable the seats were in that clunky old pickup. “So, I got off the phone with Freya and I was totally screwed, right? But then I think really hard, what could the password be? And suddenly, I get it! So I start typing—”

“What is the password, anyway?” Tucker asked.

“Oh. You know. Just something silly.” She cleared her throat. She still hadn’t decided if she should tell Tucker about Annabelle’s crush. On the one hand, it was none of her business. On the other hand, maybe Tucker should know. Flynn guessed that if Annabelle had a say, she’d side with none of Flynn’s business, so Flynn decided to let that be the tiebreaker.

“Anyway. I type it in and blammo! Everything opens up. So then I get some coffee, and I figure it’s gonna take me from here to eternity to figure out this system and pull those reports, but I get back and two hours later, everything’s all set and ready to go. I put off my father by telling him the fax machine was broken—”

“A brilliant move, by the way.”

“Thank you. I thought so.” She leaned back, allowing herself to get all pruny in her pride. “So, I figured it out all by myself. I made it happen. I contributed. I’m not a total loser.”

“Please tell me you already knew that,” he said, throwing a glance her way.

“I mean, I know I’m not a total loser. I pay my own bills. I vote. But... when it comes to being a productive member of society, to doing things that make a difference, things that really matter...” She shrugged. “It’s a very short résumé.”

Tucker turned the wheel and they ambled onto a dirt road.

“Where exactly are we going?” Flynn asked, glancing around them at the farmland, slightly pungent with the smell of cows and nature. Ick.

Tucker pulled the truck to the edge of the road and put it in park, then turned to face Flynn.

“Why do you do that?”

“Do what?” she asked, a little worried about this sudden change in demeanor. “Ask where we’re going? Is curiosity a big character flaw with you, because if that’s the case—”

“When you got off the train that day, I thought you were beautiful, which—whatever. Pretty women are a dime a dozen, and typically overpriced at that.”

“Is this an attempt at sweet talk? Because, not for nothin’, it could use some fine-tuning.”

“Then you spoke.” Tucker chuckled and shook his head. “And you were snappy and insecure and tough and fragile and weird—”

She hardened her stare. “Perhaps you could memorize a sonnet or two. Lots of girls go for that crap.”

“You’re...” He stared at her for a moment, then chuckled and shook his head. “You’re funny, and you’re sharp, and you’re strange in really... great ways. I mean, what kind of girl admits that she’s having chats with her dead aunt? Or puts herself on the line for some random guy she hardly even knows? You have no guile. You don’t pretend to be what you’re not. You’re just Flynn, and you don’t apologize for that. Do you have any idea how sexy that is?”

Flynn held her breath, her heart pumping erratically in her chest. “Um... no.”

Tucker watched her for a moment, then turned his head to stare straight out at the horizon. “You’re right. I’m not good at this.”

“No,” Flynn said, her voice high and soft even to her own ears. “No, you were getting somewhere there.”

“I don’t know any sonnets. I’m not that kind of guy. To be honest, until now, I didn’t think I was the kind of guy who would pack a special picnic and bring a girl out to a cabin in the country with no ulterior motive other than just getting to know her better.” He chuckled and shook his head, then turned to look at her, his smile light and bemused. “I used to make fun of that guy. And now I am that guy. And I’m fine with it. For the first time in my life, the most important thing is not getting revenge on Gordon fucking Chase, and that’s because of you, so if you could stop with this crap about never doing anything that matters, I’d appreciate it.”

Flynn opened her mouth, but couldn’t think of what to say. She’d been quoted sonnets before—which, in real life, turned out to be a lot hokier than it sounded. One guy had even stood outside her dorm window and serenaded her with a regrettable rendition of “Islands in the Stream.” Also overrated. But no one had ever made the butterflies inside her freak out the way Tucker just did.

She liked it.

“You’re quiet,” Tucker said after a while. “That can’t be good. Did I already blow it? Because the food alone will be worth giving me a second chance, I swear.”

She reached out and put her hand over his. “You didn’t blow it. You did the opposite of blow it.”

He turned to face her, his eyes locking with hers. “Good.”

She turned toward him in what she hoped was an encouraging pose, but found it challenging to strike an encouraging pose in a bucket seat. The silence intensified, the dying sunset bathed them in a dim pinkish glow; the moment couldn’t have been more perfect. She licked her lower lip—if that wasn’t encouraging, then she was out of the game.

Which, apparently, she was, because Tucker chose that moment to turn away and hop out of the truck.

“What the...?” Flynn muttered to herself as she watched him walk around to her side and open the passenger door.

“Are you kidding with this?” she asked.

“Get out.”

“I’m sorry?”

He held out his hand to her. “This is your first driving lesson.”

She didn’t take his hand. “What are you, crazy? I can’t drive. I don’t even have a permit.”

“It’s okay,” he said, smiling. “You’re on Tucker property now. We’ve only got about a mile to go down this road here.” He raised his hand closer. “Come on.”

Flynn took his hand and let him help her down. “You’re serious?”

He set her on her feet and put his hands on her waist. “When have you ever known me not to be serious?”

“With the exception of thirty seconds ago? You really want the answer to that question?”

He reached up and touched her hair. “Well, I’m serious now. I wanted to take you on a date you wouldn’t forget. I think this is a pretty good idea, if I do say so myself. Which I do.” He grinned. “Now get moving.”

She considered and rejected the idea of telling him she wouldn’t likely forget it anyway, and nodded. “Okay.”

He leaned down and grazed his lips lightly over hers, making her legs tremble a bit with anticipation of what might come next. But instead, he pulled back, cleared his throat, and led her to the other side of the truck. After strapping her into the seat belt and showing her where the gearshift, brake, and accelerator were, he shut her door, walked around, and climbed into the passenger seat.

“Go ahead,” he said. “Put it in drive and lightly touch the accelerator. Put your hands at ten and two on the wheel, and keep the road between them. You’ll be fine.”

Flynn reached for the gearshift and set it to “D” the way Tucker had shown her. She hit the accelerator with her right foot and the truck lurched out into the road with a lot more acceleration than she’d been expecting. She screamed and hit the brake, sending Tucker shooting forward.

“Should have worn my seat belt,” he said, a chuckle in his voice as he held on to the dashboard for support.

“Yeah, well, hindsight.” Flynn took her foot off the brake and hit the accelerator, lighter this time, and toodled off onto the dirt road, clutching the steering wheel with white knuckles.

“Okay, now how long before we get to where we’re going?”

“The cabin’s about a mile or so down the road,” Tucker said, glancing at the speedometer. “At this rate, it should be about an hour.”

“Shut up,” Flynn said, laughing as she punched it from five to ten miles an hour. “Hey. Dig me. I’m driving.”

She felt his hand rub her shoulder affectionately. “Yeah. Dig you.”

It was at that moment that there was a loud crashing sound, and glass sprayed over them from behind.

Flynn screamed and the truck careened as the wheel flew from side to side under her hands. “Oh, shit! What’d I do wrong? What’d I do wrong?”

A pair of bright high-beam headlights came on behind them.

“I don’t think it’s you,” Tucker said calmly.

“Who is that?”

There was a popping sound, and the driver’s side-view mirror jerked violently and flew off the cab, banging into the truck before bouncing down the road behind them.

“Um, Tucker,” Flynn said, trying to maintain as much calm as she could muster. “Is someone trying to kill us?”

“That’s my guess,” Tucker said. “Turn left and punch it.”

The last fragment of calm left her.

“Are you kidding me?” she screamed, but before she had finished the sentence, Tucker had taken the wheel and stamped his foot down over hers.

“Ow, ow, ow, ow!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

They lurched off the road and down a mild slope into what was thankfully a sparsely wooded area. Flynn pulled her foot out from under Tucker’s and glanced behind them through the blown-out back window. The lights hadn’t followed them. That was good. Flynn was sure that was good. That had to be—

Another popping sound came from behind them, and the truck jerked to the left.

“Oh, holy Christ!” Flynn yelled.

“It’s okay,” Tucker said, seeming oddly calm as he turned the wheel to the left, going with the momentum of the truck. They slid to the side, and Flynn screamed again.

“I need you to stop doing that,” Tucker said.

“I need you to stop getting me killed!”

They skidded sideways for a bit, then the wheels gained traction. Tucker pulled the wheel to the right and they swerved between two trees, then bounced upward.

And then they were on the dirt road again, skidding to a stop in front of a cabin, with just enough room for the passenger side door to open. Tucker slammed the truck into park and grabbed Flynn.

“Time to go,” he said, yanking her out with him. A moment later they were in the cabin and he was setting her down on what felt like a couch, but between the dark of the cabin and the blind panic, Flynn couldn’t see anything. Her breathing came hard and shallow as Tucker’s hands floated over her, touching her ankles, her legs, her arms, her face. It took her a moment to realize he was talking, too.

“... okay? Does that hurt?”

She knew she should answer him. She wanted to answer him. She just couldn’t.

“Flynn!” He grabbed her chin in his hand and forced her to meet his eyes. “Are you okay?”

She snapped back into the moment, and found her voice. “I’m fine. I’m fine. I mean, someone’s trying to kill us, but other than that...”

Tucker’s hands grasped her upper arms tightly, and she thought she heard him release a heavy breath. “You’re okay? You’re sure?”

Flynn concentrated. She couldn’t really feel anything, but on the bright side, nothing hurt. “I think so.”

Her eyes began to adjust and she could see the faint outlines of his eyes, his mouth, his hair. Everything came to her in bits and pieces, but it was Tucker, and he was okay.

They were alive.

Yay.

“Why would someone want to kill us?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

“I’m a good person. I did jury duty. Twice. I give blood every six weeks. I don’t kick puppies.”

“Try not to take it personally,” he said.

“And you seem like a fairly decent person yourself. Why would someone want to kill us?”

“Flynn, look, I need to go out there and see if they’re still around. I need you to stay here and—”

“No!” She flailed, grabbing at his arm. “Let’s just call 911 and—”

“My cell doesn’t get service out here, and there’s no phone in the cabin. I have to go—”

“You are not going out there. There is someone with a gun out there, and they don’t like you.”

“I’m gonna lock the door and take the key. If anyone knocks, don’t answer.”

People with guns knock? Who knew? Flynn shivered.

“If they’re not gone already, I’m gonna draw them out. You need to stay here and be still and quiet, okay? You stay here.”

She gripped his shirt with every bit of strength she had. “Don’t you leave me!”

He gently pried her hands loose and held them in his. “Flynn, I have to. I’ll be back. Two minutes, I’ll be back. Count.”

She gazed at him as her mind whirled. “What?”

“Count. You stay here, and you count to yourself, quietly. Two minutes. One hundred and twenty seconds. Count. I will be back.”

Flynn wanted to ask him if he was insane, but that would be a waste of time because obviously he was. His tone of authority calmed her though, and she did as he asked.

“One. Two. Three. Four...”

And he was gone. She heard him start up the truck and go back in the direction they’d come. She breathed slowly, deeply, her thoughts coming at her like sharpened spears.

Someone shot at us.

“Thirty-one. Thirty-two. Thirty-three.”

We drove where there was no road. We could have crashed into a tree. I could be dead right now. Tucker could be dead.

It was right about then that she started to cry. Her hands shook violently, and she didn’t even try to wipe at her face, taking odd comfort in the predictability of the pat-pat-pat as the tears fell into her lap. She counted.

“Fifty-nine. Sixty.”

Where is Tucker?

She listened. There was nothing to break the silence but the sound of her own shaky breath. Tucker said he’d be back by one hundred and twenty. It wasn’t that far away. She closed her eyes.

“Seventy-six. Seventy-seven. Seventy-eight.”

Where was he? Was he dead? Had the maniac killed him? Was the maniac coming for her now? Why oh why oh why had she watched all those Friday the 13th movies? The chick in the cabin always got it.

Always.

“One hundred and three. One hundred and four.”

She swallowed and stopped counting. She didn’t want to get to one hundred and twenty, because if she got to one hundred and twenty and he wasn’t back, that meant something bad had happened. So if she just never got to one hundred and twenty, that meant he was fine and would be back soon. She knew there was a hole in that logic somewhere, but she wasn’t particularly anxious to find it.

The door opened and even though Flynn could see it was Tucker, she screamed anyway. She was finding it an oddly difficult habit to break.

“It’s okay,” Tucker said, sitting on the couch next to her. “They’re gone. Whoever it was, they’re gone. You’re safe. It’s okay.”

She threw herself into his arms. “I’m gonna kill you for that later.”

His hand cradled the back of her head and held her so close that his chuckle rumbled through her chest. “That’s fine.”

Her heart pounded, and she willed it to calm, but it didn’t. “I think I’m freaking out. My heart is racing.”

He pulled back and put one hand on her face. “It’s okay. You’re fine now. Just breathe.”

“Okay.” She gulped air frantically, tried to slow her breathing down, but couldn’t. “Except I think I’m hyperventilating.”

“What do you need for that? A paper bag, right?”

He started to get up, but she grabbed his shirt sleeve in a death grip and pulled him back down next to her.

“I think I’m hysterical. I always thought hysteria was bullshit, you know, because hyster is the Latin root for ‘uterus.’ Like women are the only people who ever freak out, but I don’t care if it’s sexist.” She took another gulping breath and turned to him. “Tucker, I’m hysterical. And not in the fun way.”

He put both his hands on the side of her face. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but it might help if you stopped talking.”

She shook her head. “I can’t. I want to, trust me, but I can’t seem to shut up.” She turned to him, put one hand on his shoulder. “I think you’re going to have to slap me, Tucker. That’s what they do in the movies, right? They slap the woman who won’t stop talking because she’s hysterical. I think you need to slap me.”

“I’m not going to slap you,” he said.

“Then do something because I’m freaking out here!”

And he did. He pulled her to him and placed his lips on hers so forcefully that everything else went out of her head. Suddenly her whole world was him. He was everything she needed, more than air, more than light.

He was everything.

She took in breath through her nose and calmed as her heart fell into a reasonable rhythm. She dove into the kisses, tasting him with a desperate and overwhelming need that might have been frightening if she didn’t have getting shot at to compare it to. Instead, she gave in to him, allowing the want and need to well up within her as she pulled his shirt up over his head.

For his part, Tucker kept pace, his hands flowing over her, finding her hips and her thighs and then starting again with her hair, moving down her body, his fingers running over her as though he was trying to commit the feel of her to sense memory. He pulled her shirt off and sent it flying across the room, and Flynn had the vague impression that it knocked something over, but they dove back into each other so fast that it was hard to comprehend anything except Tucker, the feel of him, the taste of him, the smell of him. He made it easy to block everything else out, to take comfort in him. It wasn’t until she’d undone the top button on his jeans that he put his hand over hers, his breath sending her hair flying away from her face in ragged huffs.

“Flynn,” he said, “maybe we need to slow it down.”

Flynn shook her head. “It’s life-affirming. Go with it.”

He pulled her to him for another plummeting kiss, and she lowered his zipper. He groaned as she slid her hand along the hard length of him, and then he grasped her wrist.

“I’m not gonna try to stop you again,” he said. “This is as gentlemanly as I’m gonna get.”

“Good,” she said, sliding his jeans and boxers off his hips. “Because it’s getting on my nerves.”

And once again, they rolled into it. She lowered herself down and took him in her mouth, letting her tongue curve around him, and he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her up.

“I thought you said you were gonna stop with that gentlemanly crap,” she said.

“I am. But if you do that it’ll be a short show. Trust me.” He kissed her deeply, then, in as deft a motion as Flynn had ever witnessed, her jeans were off and he had her completely naked before him.

“Wow,” she said.

“Thank you.” On his knees before her, he rose up and kissed her gently, then lowered his mouth down to her breasts. She gasped at the sensation as it snapped through her like a live electrical wire, then tapped him on the shoulder.

“Look, that’s a great idea for next time, but I’m really ready, like, you know, now,” she said, not caring if the desperation showed in her voice.

“You sure?” he whispered gruffly.

In answer, she pushed him gently back by the shoulders until he landed on the knotted rag rug on the floor. She fell down on top of him, adjusted her position quickly, and sank him into her as forcefully as she could without hurting either of them. She released a groan as he filled her, moving herself up and over him, slamming against him repeatedly until all the fear and panic was gone, until there was nothing in her but him, until she screamed and fell on top of him, her body shuddering through the initial quake and all the aftershocks. She breathed heavily, her face against his chest, and for the first moment wondered what the hell she was doing. Vaguely, in the back of her head, she had the feeling that she’d done something wrong, but she pushed it away. She didn’t want her presence of mind back, she just wanted to lie there forever, feeling his hands trailing over her back, playing with her hair, sweeping away the jagged edges that were trying to weasel their way back into her.

He cleared her hair away from her cheek and kissed it softly.

“Flynn,” he murmured into her ear. “Sweetheart, I need to get up.”

She held him tighter to her and closed her eyes. “No. Not yet. We’re not done.”

“You need a blanket,” he said. “You’re shivering.”

“I’m not cold,” she said, pushing herself up to look into his eyes. “And we’re not done.”

He smiled and reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, we are.”

She couldn’t hide her surprise. “We are? But you didn’t... Did you?”

He kissed the tip of her nose, then gently lifted her off of him.

Nope. He sure didn’t.

“Wait.” She sat up as he pulled on his jeans, adjusting himself as well as he could under the circumstances. “What are you doing?”

“I’m getting a blanket.” In the dim moonlight streaming through the window, she watched as he walked across the room, opened a closet, and filled his arms with blankets. He walked back, flicked one out, and wrapped it around her shoulders. “Now, how about a fire?”

She shook her head. “How about you get those pants off? We’re not done here.”

“I’m fine,” he said. “And you’re still shaking. I think you’re in shock.”

He dumped the other blanket at her feet and went to the woodstove, in which wood had already been piled. One match later, it was beginning to blaze, and Tucker settled himself next to Flynn.

“We’re not done,” she said again over the lump in her throat as a tear tracked down her cheek. “We’re not done.”

“Not forever,” he said, pulling her into his arms. “For now. What just happened was amazing, and wonderful, and something we both needed, and whether I came or not doesn’t change that.”

“But—”

“Shhhh,” he said, hugging her tighter. “You’re freaked out, and you’re scared, and neither of us is thinking clearly. Let’s just calm down for a minute, okay?”

Flynn leaned her head against his chest, but the raw edges were working their way back into her, and she felt more than restless. She felt wrong. She felt like she’d done something horribly wrong and she had to try and make it right, except she wasn’t sure exactly how to do that. She raised up again to look him in the eye.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—” Her heart felt as though it was outside her body, raw and cold and beating despite itself. She shook convulsively in his arms, and it occurred to her that he might be right. She might be in shock. Emotions ran over her, bumping into her at every point, and she felt a tear fall down one cheek as she realized what she’d done wrong. “I wasn’t using you, Tucker.”

He guided her head back to lean on his chest. “Hey. You’ve got nothing to worry about, okay?” He ran his hands over her arms. “Just let me get you warm, okay?”

“But I wasn’t...” Her teeth chattered. “I wasn’t using you. You mean something to me. You—”

He wrapped the blanket tighter around her shoulders and leaned his face down in front of hers. “I know. Now for God’s sake, shut up and let me get you warmed up, okay?”

It wasn’t until that moment that she realized that she wasn’t the only one who was on the edge here. In the firelight, she could see the desperation in his eyes, and she understood. All he wanted to do was take care of her. He needed it the way she’d needed him earlier.

She closed her eyes and leaned against him, allowing herself to sink into his arms and let him carry her for a while. She listened to his heartbeat, still and strong and perpetual, telling her that as long as she could hear it, everything was okay. Her body relaxed, the shaking stopped, and after a short while, she fell asleep.

The first thing Flynn noticed when her consciousness returned was that it was dark; glancing at the clock on the wall, she guessed she’d been asleep for about an hour. Next, she took in the smell of the fire; deep, earthy, woodsy. Comforting. She took her time waking up, snuggling into the old couch, curling the blankets that had been placed over her into her fist that she tucked under her chin. When she finally opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Tucker’s back as he sat by the fire. His muscles moved softly under his shirt as he intermittently jabbed at the logs in the woodstove, and she could tell his mind wasn’t on the fire. She stilled and watched him, content just to take in his movements and his existence in the same space with her.

Then, in a rush, the events of the evening came back to her.

The driving lesson, which had been sweet.

The being shot at, which hadn’t.

And then of course there was the rampaging, desperate sex on the cabin floor.

Oh, God. Mortification stabbed through her, and she moved her hands under the blankets and confirmed her suspicion; yep, she was still naked. Trying to make as little noise as possible, she moved her hands around under the blankets, hoping to every force in heaven and earth that her underwear was caught up under the blankets with her somewhere.

Unfortunately, that didn’t seem to be the case. She lifted her head slowly, trying to be deathly silent as she shifted one leg to the floor and fished for her clothes with her big toe.

“Everything’s folded up on the other side of the couch,” Tucker said, surprising her. “I’ll keep my eyes on the fire until you’re ready.”

“Oh. Okay.” Flynn held the blankets to her as she sat up and reached for her clothes. “Meaning, ‘Okay, I’m putting my clothes on,’ not that it’s okay to turn around. I mean, not that it matters much now, I guess, considering... you know. The thing.”

There was a slight pause, then he said, “What thing?”

She hooked her bra. “Stop it. You know what thing.”

“Oh, that thing?” He jabbed at the fire, his head turned slightly toward her, but not so far that he could see her. “Don’t worry about it. Never happened.”

She zipped up her jeans. “Look, Tucker, I’ll admit it’s been a while for me, but usually I know when I’ve had sex.” She put her shirt on and slid her hands under her hair, lifting it up from where it was caught under the shirt. She watched him for a moment longer, enjoying a few more moments when she could see him but he couldn’t see her. Then, she said, “You can turn around now.”

Tucker pushed himself up from the floor and brushed off the knees of his jeans, then tucked his hands in his pockets as he stood facing her.

“So,” he said, one side of his mouth curling up into a sweet smile, “how about them Mets?”

Flynn crossed her arms, then uncrossed them, then stuck one hand in her front jeans pocket, then pulled it out. Christ. She didn’t even know how to stand. Her thigh muscles shook, calmed, and then shook again, which had always been a sign that her body was taking the hit for emotions her mind wasn’t ready to process. She sat back down on the couch, pulling a cushion into her lap to hide her legs.

“The Mets suck,” she said.

Tucker nodded, keeping his eyes on hers. “Yeah. Yeah, they really do.”

Flynn concentrated on her fingers. Her manicure was pretty much ruined. Of course, that was the least of her problems right now.

“Flynn?”

She raised her eyes to Tucker. He smiled softly and moved to the couch, sitting down next to her but taking special care not to touch her, she noticed.

“It never happened,” he said.

She tightened her grip on the couch cushion. “Tucker. It happened, okay? So stop trying to—”

“Hey.” He put one finger under her chin and guided her to look at him, lowering his hand the second their eyes met. His expression was achingly in earnest, and she felt both intrigued and weirded out by this new, sincere Tucker. “It wouldn’t have happened. If we hadn’t gotten shot at, if you hadn’t gotten hysterical, if I had slapped you instead of...” He gestured toward the knotted rug, then angled his body toward hers and leaned closer, speaking softly. “I don’t think either of us would have chosen to have it happen that way if the circumstances hadn’t been... extraordinary. So, you know, I think we deserve a clean slate. No embarrassment. No guilt. What do you say?”

“I say you’re crazy,” Flynn said, focusing her attention on pulling at a stray thread on the cushion as her leg muscles convulsed underneath it.

“I’m sorry.” His voice was so soft, she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right until she looked up and saw his face.

“Oh, please,” she said. “What do you have to be sorry about? You didn’t even...” She made a motion with her hands that wasn’t accurately indicative of what she was talking about, but it didn’t matter. She could tell by his light laugh that he got it.

“You have an unhealthy fixation on that,” he said, taking her hands and lowering them back to the cushion in her lap. “And I have plenty to be sorry about. I should have stopped you if I didn’t think you were thinking clearly. The problem was, I wasn’t thinking clearly, either, and even if I had been...” He paused, shook his head. “I couldn’t have stopped.”

She tried to laugh, but her discomfort overcompensated with a decidedly unfeminine snort. “Well, any man and any woman in that situation would have been unable to stop—”

“You’re not any woman, Flynn,” he said, his eyes on the fire. “You had me since the second you got off that train. You know that.”

“I do?” Flynn felt her breath catch on the words. “I mean, I did?”

Tucker turned back to look at her, surprise in his expression. He reached up and put one hand on the side of her neck, his fingers extending into her hair, as his eyes searched hers. “You didn’t know that?”

“No,” she said. “I thought you thought I was some spoiled little Daddy’s girl sweeping into town to shut down the plant and send everyone home to cheating wives and starving babies.”

“No.” He watched her with that intent, sincere expression, and her legs shook again. “I never thought that.”

She smiled, and he leaned forward and kissed her lightly, sweetly. It was the kind of kiss that said, No rush. There’s plenty more where this came from. Flynn leaned into it, took comfort from it, and when they broke, her legs were calm.

How did he do that?

“So...” she said after a minute, “it never happened?”

He pulled her into his arms and she leaned her face against his chest, listening to the steady heartbeat within.

“Well,” he said, “I figure we can do one of two things. We can talk the whole thing to death, feel embarrassed and guilty despite the fact that there’s nothing we can do to change anything, let the awkwardness run its course and hope we come out okay on the other end, or we can say it never happened, wipe the slate clean, and have something to eat.” He kissed the top of her head. “I think you know my vote.”

Flynn snuggled deeper against his chest and stared at the fire. The fact was, right now, she didn’t feel embarrassed or awkward at all. She felt calm, and comfortable, and happy. Somehow, Tucker had managed to fix everything before it had gotten too broken.

She had to find out how he did that.

She lifted her head and looked up at him with a smile.

“Whatcha got in the basket?”

“So, you’re going to break in again to return the laptop and the folder?”

“That’s the plan,” Jake said. Flynn’s astounded face peered at him between the two candles that sat on the table. Her hair fell around her shoulders in wild waves, and the candlelight flickered warmly over her face. Despite the attempt on their lives and the totally botched lovemaking, he felt calmer and happier than he had in recent memory.

He was toast.

She leaned forward. “Explain to me again why you can’t just give it to the police?”

Jake nudged the last plate of finger sandwiches her way. There wasn’t much left—two hours of bringing Flynn up-to-date on the Chase situation had pretty much annihilated the picnic fodder. Still, there was something about watching Flynn nibble on finger sandwiches that never got old.

“Illegally gotten gains,” he said. “Not admissible in a court of law. Gerard Levy—he’s the sergeant at the Scheintown Police Department, my old boss—he’s going to have to go in with a search warrant in order for anything to be worth anything legally. Let’s just hope he doesn’t ask me where I got the printouts.”

Flynn nibbled her lip and shook her head. “Something’s not right.”

“Typically, when people are shooting at you, that’s the case.”

“Okay.” She put her napkin down on the table, and pushed herself up out of her chair. “I’m going to say everything back to you the way that I understand it, because I’m pretty sure I’m missing something.”

Jake sat back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “Go.”

She started to pace. “Okay. So. Chase is the head of the historical whatsis—”

“President of the Historical Preservation Society of Scheintown, yes.”

“Okay. So, this society has healthy funding.”

“About a million dollars a year, when you combine fund-raisers, private donations, and government grants.”

“That’s a lot of money.”

He grinned. He liked watching her pace. “Your tax dollars at work.”

“Okay, so Chase has been approving consultation fees for this historian guy to come up here and make sure everything’s historically accurate.”

“Professor Gavin P. Krunk, a specialist in post- Colonial architecture in upstate New York.”

“Only he’s been dead for... how long?”

“Fifteen years.”

“Which is bad because unless Chase is able to transfer funds to the other side, the money for Krunk’s consultation has been going somewhere else.”

“You learn quick, Grasshoppah.”

Flynn ignored him. He liked it when she did that, too. “And the laptop also had records for a subsidiary consulting company Chase owns?”

“Yes. With liquid assets equaling roughly the amount paid to Krunk over the last three years.”

“In excess of fifty thousand dollars,” Flynn said.

“Yep. Not so much that anyone would miss it, but enough to get Chase a good, relaxing stretch in the pokey.”

Flynn sighed, walked back to the table, sat down, and grabbed her wineglass. “Except you don’t think Chase did it.”

Jake sat back in his chair and folded his hands over his stomach. “No. Fifty thousand over the course of three years? That’s chump change to Chase. Also, why use the laptop that was stolen from evidence to keep the records? If he stole that laptop to keep the police from tracing that real estate scheme back to him, then he would have had it destroyed. Even wiped clean, the serial numbers would trace it back to him, which links him to stolen evidence. Chase is smarter than that.”

Flynn put her wineglass down. “So, Rhonda’s backup plan was that if the embezzlement didn’t stick, he’d still be in trouble for stealing the laptop?”

“That’s my theory. I just don’t know why.”

Flynn blinked. “She told you why.”

Jake raised his eyes to Flynn’s. “What? That bit about being in love with him? You believe that?”

“Hell, yeah. You say she’s a mousy type, right? Guys like Chase don’t even see girls like her, and she probably has no idea that she’s way out of his league, anyway, because women are stupid that way. So, she cooks up a plan to get herself on his radar by being the faithful friend while he’s in jail. It fits.”

He stared at her for a moment, turning it over in his head. And the thing was, Flynn was right.

“Women are scary,” he said.

“Well, we know she did it. She’s got Embezzling for Dummies taped under her desk.” Flynn motioned toward the manila folder that was sitting on the table, containing handwritten instructions outlining exactly how to embezzle the money from the historical society, written in what appeared to be a woman’s hand. “And if she just wanted Chase to rot in jail, she would have gone to the police herself. This is the only thing that fits.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to just get a pair of contacts and buy some new clothes if she wanted Chase’s attention?”

“Sure, but we’re dealing with a CWIL, here.”

“A quill? We’re dealing with a feather pen?”

“No. CWIL. Crazy Woman In Love. Freya coined the term. She tends to attract men that come with CWILs attached. It’s a long story, but... yeah. Rhonda is a classic CWIL. She doesn’t want to compete for his affection when she could lose. Her plan is to make it impossible for him not to love her.” Flynn sat back, a self-satisfied expression on her face. “I’m totally right on this. Trust me.” The satisfaction faded into worry. “But, the thing is, why try to kill us? Rhonda’s the only one who knows that you’ve got the laptop, and you’re playing right into her hands, so what’s her beef?”

Jake shrugged. “If she knows I also have a folder full of information that basically implicates her in the crime, then I imagine that’s her beef.”

“Good point.” Flynn shook her head. “Except, if she wanted us dead, we were sitting ducks. Unarmed sitting ducks. But she just shot and ran away.”

“If it was Rhonda who shot at us. This is no time to jump to conclusions.”

“Who else would it be?”

“A bad shot who tried to kill us and then got scared off,” Jake said, “or a good shot who wanted to send a message.”

“What message?”

Jake shrugged. “I don’t like you?”

Flynn raised an eyebrow at him. “Do you think it’s the same person who killed Elaine Placie?”

“Eileen Dietz,” Jake corrected.

“Eileen. Elaine. Whatever. The only person connected to Eileen-Elaine is Chase.”

Jake got up and started to clear the table. Here comes the tough part.

“Well, he’s not the only one.”

Flynn was quiet for a while. “What do you mean?”

“She screwed me over, babe. That speaks to motive.”

She snorted, watching him to see if he was joking. A moment later, her face went serious. “Yeah, but you didn’t kill her.”

“I know that. You know that. But the police?” He shrugged. “They may not know that.”

She pushed herself up from the table. “Of course they know that. They know you.”

He stopped clearing the table and looked at her. “There’s something I haven’t told you, Flynn. That pan that they found with the body, the one that was dented and very likely the murder weapon?”

She nodded. “Yeah?”

He grabbed a plate and held it out to her. “You want the last petit four?”

She shook her head slowly, not taking her eyes off him.

“Suit yourself.” He popped it in his mouth. “Anyway, the pan was from Mercy’s kitchen. I wasn’t working at the Arms at the time that Eileen-Elaine-Whatever was killed, but I ate lunch there almost every day. That speaks to means.”

Even in just the light from the fire and the candles, Tucker could see her posture go tight and freeze.

“Exactly what are you saying, Tucker?”

He grabbed a napkin and wiped a wineglass. “Tracking the exact time of death is gonna be tricky after six months with the fishes, but they can estimate a fairly accurate window based on the last time anyone saw her. And, considering that I didn’t start working at the Arms until sometime in April, that gives me the death row trifecta.” He tucked the glass into the basket. “Means. Motive. Opportunity.”

She advanced on him. “The police could viably bring you in for murder, and you’re making jokes?”

Jake stuck the cork back in the wine bottle, then turned to face her. “Look, I didn’t do it, which means the cops probably have evidence we don’t know about that will point to whoever did. Chances are eighty-twenty I’ll be questioned, fifty-fifty I’ll be brought in, and maybe ten-ninety I’ll be convicted of a murder I didn’t commit. Going to the police with this information about Chase and Rhonda gives them more to go on, and I think it improves my odds. So, no, I’m not really worried about it and I don’t think you should be either.”

Flynn shook her head. “How can you be so casual about this?”

He walked around the table to her and reached out to touch her shoulder, but she jerked away from him.

“The best thing I can do for myself is keep a clear head, so that’s what I’m doing. Gerard Levy is an old family friend. That’s how I started out there in the first place, so that’s something else I’ve got going for me. The chances are pretty good that I’ll come out on the other side of this okay, so there’s no need to panic.”

Her stance softened a little, and he reached for her hand. This time, she didn’t pull away, but she wouldn’t look at him, either. He looked down at her hand in his and spoke.

“I want you to know that if you want to bail, go back to Boston, and let me deal with this by myself, I won’t hold it against you.”

Her eyes flashed with anger. “You think I would do that?”

He had to take a moment before answering her. “I think you’d be crazy if you didn’t, Flynn.”

She looked stunned, then hurt. “Well. Okay then. I’ll just pack my bags and leave you here to deal with everything on your own.”

“Don’t misunderstand me,” he said. She raised her eyes to his. “I don’t want you to go. I’m handing this thing over to Gerard Levy and I’m out. I don’t even care anymore what happens to him. But... you could have been seriously hurt tonight, Flynn.”

“So could...” she started, but he held up his hand to stop her.

“I would have been asking for it. I’ve been so focused on getting back at Gordon Chase that if I’d been shot tonight, it would have been well earned. But you... you didn’t sign up for that. And I’m just glad it didn’t take you getting killed for me to finally get that some things just don’t matter as much as I thought.” He swallowed hard, surprised at how difficult it was to get the next part out. “And other things matter a lot more than I ever realized.”

He reached for her, pulling her to him. Looking down into her eyes, he felt sure that everything was going to turn out fine. He didn’t know how; even if he didn’t get wrongfully accused of murder, she was going to leave eventually. But he didn’t want to worry about how it was all going to work out right now. It didn’t matter. He leaned down to her and kissed her slowly, putting into that kiss everything he didn’t know how to say, every question he didn’t know how to ask.

Based on her response, he guessed her answer was yes. That had to be a good sign.

When they parted, there were tears in her eyes.

Bad sign.

“Hey,” he said, wiping his thumb at a stray tear. “What’s this?”

She rolled her eyes. “Allergies.”

He didn’t smile. “Flynn...”

She pushed away from him, turned, and grabbed the messenger bag.

“Dampen the fire and blow out the candles,” she said as she headed out. “We’ve got some breaking and entering to do.”