Rainie ordered her bottle of Bud Light and told herself she did not miss Quincy.

"Ribs here are really good," Vince said.

"Okay."

"And the sweet potato fries. Ever had sweet potato fries? Worth every minute of the ensuing open-heart surgery."

"Okay." The waitress came by. They placed their twin orders for ribs and sweet potato fries and the minute the waitress was gone, Vince gamely tried again.

"So how long do you think you'll be in Virginia?"

"Don't know. Right now, I have more questions than answers, so at this rate it could be a while."

"Where are you staying?"

"Motel Six."

" Virginia has more to offer than Motel Six, you know. Ever have some free time, feel like seeing any of the sights…"

He let the invitation trail off politely. She nodded with equal politeness. Then he surprised her by saying quietly, "I ran a background check, Rainie. You don't have to pretend for me."

She stiffened. She couldn't help herself, even if she was supposedly now at peace with her past. Old habits died hard; she found she was relentlessly stroking the icy cold bottle of unconsumed beer.

"You run background checks on all your dates?" she asked finally.

"Man can't be too careful."

She gave his muscle-bound build a meaningful look and he rewarded her with a grin.

"You found me at work, asked a lot of questions, and kept following up," he told her. "Call me old-fashioned, but I like to know more about the women chasing me. Besides, your friend Sheriff Hayes sang your praises from here to the Mississippi – "

"He tell you I was indicted for man one?"

"Charged but never tried."

"Not everyone sees the difference."

"I'm from Georgia, honey. We consider all women dangerous; it's part of their charm."

"The open-minded men of the South. Who would've thought?"

Officer Amity grinned again. He leaned over the old wood table and planted his thick forearms. "I like you," he said bluntly, "but don't play me for dumb."

"I don't know what you mean – "

"I'm not who you want to have dinner with tonight."

"Luke," Rainie declared grimly, "has a big mouth!"

"Sheriff Hayes is a good friend. It's nice to see they grow them right in Oregon, too. By the end of this evening, however, I'm gonna be even a bigger friend for you."

"Oh yeah?"

The waitress interrupted them with heaping platters of food. The minute she was gone, Vince said, "Eat your ribs, ma'am. Then I'll take you to Amanda Quincy's car."

Society Hill,Pennsylvania

Bethie was humming when they finally pulled up to her darkened town house. It was nearly ten o'clock; the moon was full and the humidity a soft, fragrant caress against her wind-burned cheeks. It had been a wonder-ful day, a glorious day, and while the hour was growing late, she still wasn't ready for it to end.

"What a fabulous evening," she said gaily.

Tristan smiled at her. Three hours ago, as the day cooled and slid into a purple-hued dusk, he'd taken off his sweater and tucked it around her shoulders. Now she snuggled in soft, cable-knit cotton, inhaling the scent of his cologne and finding it as poignant as his touch earlier in the afternoon. He'd retrieved a navy-blue blazer from the trunk for his own warmth. The jacket was finely cut but there was something about it that nagged at her. Giggling, she'd finally gotten it.

He looked like an FBI agent, she teased him. He'd become a G-man. Fortunately, the comment seemed to amuse him.

"What now?" she asked.

"I believe that's your call, love."

"Are you playing hard to get?"

"I thought it would be an interesting change of pace."

Bethie giggled. She was probably still feeling the effects of the champagne, she decided, because she'd never been the giggling schoolgirl type, not even when she'd been a giggling schoolgirl. Today, however, they'd had one bottle of champagne in Pennsylvania Dutch country, then another bottle back in Philadelphia, sitting down at the waterfront after a superb lobster dinner at Bookbinder's. She'd been worried about driving home, but fortunately the champagne didn't seem to affect Tristan at all. He was a solidly built man, and one who could apparently hold his liquor.

Interesting, she thought absently, but should a man who'd just had a kidney transplant be able to hold his liquor? She wondered when he took all his pills.

"I don't think we're alone anymore," Tristan murmured.

"What? Where?" She looked around her quiet street wide-eyed. Tristan had his arm draped casually around the back of her seat. She leaned her head closer to him.

"I don't see anyone," she said in an exaggerated stage whisper.

"Your neighbor. Through the lace curtains."

"Ah, good old Betty Wilson. Old bat. She's always watching me. About time I had something good to show her." Bethie draped her arms around Tristan's neck and kissed him full on the mouth. He complied readily, his other arm curling around her back and trying to draw her closer only to have the gearshift get in the way. They broke apart breathlessly, thwarted by bucket seats, and she was struck once more by the taste of him on her lips, and her own desperate hunger for more.

His eyes had grown dark again. She loved it when they held that intense, burning gleam.

"Bethie…" he said thickly.

"Oh God, come inside!"

He smiled. "I thought you'd never ask."

Virginia

The salvage yard was dark and deserted, but Officer Amity had come well equipped. He handed out two high-powered flashlights, then strapped a fanny pack filled with tools around his waist. Rainie was impressed.

"I didn't take you for the breaking and entering type," she told him.

Amity shrugged. "When I called earlier, the owner wasn't big on cooperation. Salvage yards can be that way. They've paid for the vehicles and they're afraid to have their newfound property seized as part of a police case. Understandable maybe, but why should you and I keep beating our heads against a wall, when we're both so capable of scaling a chain-link fence?"

"I can do fences," Rainie assured him. "Dobermans have me a little more concerned."

"No dogs. I drove by earlier."

"No dogs? What kind of self-respecting salvage-yard owner doesn't have a dog?"

"The kind who's been turned in to the humane society twice and could no longer afford the cruelty-toward-animal fines. Now he has a security company that drives around in hourly intervals. You see headlights, duck."

"Cool," Rainie said and started whistling "We're off to see the Wizard, the wonderful Wizard of Oz."

Five minutes later, they'd scaled the eight-foot-high fence and were making their way through the final resting place for thousands of cars. Compacted cubes of metal were piled into rusted-out heaps. Back ends, front ends, bumpers were scattered about like dismembered limbs. The newer acquisitions sat quietly in long lines, fully formed skeletons still awaiting their fate.

"Sheee – it." Amity whistled, looking out at two football fields' worth of wrecked vehicles and untold numbers of tires.

"I'd say look for an SUV," Rainie murmured, "but that doesn't exactly limit our options."

" America 's love for the big automobile," he agreed. "Kind of ironic that we're about to compare a Ford Explorer with the proverbial needle."

"Split up?"

"No."

Rainie nodded and pretended not to hear the concern in his voice. The moon was full, visibility great for a nighttime rendezvous. Still she was conscious of the total hush, the unnatural still of a cemetery-like place. In the dark, abandoned metal took on lifelike shapes, and it was hard not to turn shadowy corners and feel the hairs prickle at the nape of her neck.