WHILE CAL AND QUINN WERE HIKING OUT OF Hawkins Wood, Layla was taking herself out for an aimless walk around town. It was odd to just let her feet choose any direction. During her years in New York she’d always had a specific destination, always had a specific task, or several specific tasks to accomplish within a particular time frame.

Now, she’d let the morning stretch out, and had accomplished no more than reading sections of a few of the odd books Quinn had left with her. She might have stayed right there, inside her lovely room, inside that safe zone as Quinn had termed it.

But she’d needed to get away from the books. In any case, it gave the housekeeper an opportunity to set the room to rights, she supposed. And gave herself an opportunity to take a real look at the town she’d been compelled to visit.

She didn’t have the urge to wander into any of the shops, though she thought Quinn’s assessment was on the mark. There were some very interesting possibilities.

But even window shopping made her feel guilty for leaving the staff of the boutique in the lurch. Taking off the way she had, barely taking the time to call in from the road to tell the owner she’d had a personal emergency and wouldn’t be in for the next several days.

Personal emergency covered it, Layla decided.

And it could very well get her fired. Still, even knowing that, she couldn’t go back, pick things up, forget what had happened.

She’d get another job if she had to. When and if, she’d find another. She had some savings, she had a cushion. If her boss couldn’t cut her some slack, she didn’t want that stupid job anyway.

And, oh God, she was already justifying being unemployed.

Don’t think about it, she ordered herself. Don’t think about that right this minute.

She didn’t think about it, and didn’t think twice when her feet decided to continue on beyond the shops. She couldn’t have said why they wanted to stop at the base of the building. LIBRARY was carved into the stone lintel over the door, but the glossy sign read HAWKINS HOLLOW COMMUNITY CENTER.

Innocuous enough, she told herself. But when a chill danced over her skin she ordered her feet to keep traveling.

She considered going into the museum, but couldn’t work up the interest. She thought about crossing the street to Salon A and whiling away some time with a manicure, but simply didn’t care about the state of her nails.

Tired and annoyed with herself, she nearly turned around and headed back. But the sign that caught her eye this time drew her forward.

FOX O’DELL, ATTORNEY AT LAW.

At least he was someone she knew-more or less. The hot lawyer with the compassionate eyes. He was probably busy with a client or out of the office, but she didn’t care. Going in was something to do other than wander around feeling sorry for herself.

She stepped into the attractive, homespun reception area. The woman behind the gorgeous old desk offered a polite smile.

“Good morning-well, afternoon now. Can I help you?”

“I’m actually…” What? Layla wondered. What exactly was she? “I was hoping to speak to Mr. O’Dell for a minute if he’s free.”

“Actually, he’s with a client, but they shouldn’t be much longer if you’d like to…”

A woman in tight jeans, a snug pink sweater, and an explosion of hair in an improbable shade of red marched out on heeled boots. She dragged on a short leather jacket. “I want him skinned, Fox, you hear? I gave that son of a bitch the best two years and three months of my life, and I want him skinned like a rabbit.”

“So noted, Shelley.”

“How could he do that to me?” On a wail she collapsed into Fox’s arms.

He wore jeans as well, and an untucked pinstriped shirt, along with an expression of resignation as he glanced over at Layla. “There, there,” he said, patting the sobbing Shelley’s back. “There, there.”

“I just bought him new tires for his truck! I’m going to go slash every one of them.”

“Don’t.” Fox took a good hold of her before Shelley, tears streaming away in fresh rage, started to yank back. “I don’t want you to do that. You don’t go near his truck, and for now, honey, try to stay away from him, too. And Sami.”

“That turncoat slut of a bitch.”

“That’s the one. Leave this to me for now, okay? You go on back to work and let me handle this. That’s why you hired me, right?”

“I guess. But you skin him raw, Fox. You crack that bastard’s nuts like pecans.”

“I’m going to get right on that,” he assured her as he led her to the door. “You just stay above it all, that’s the way. I’ll be in touch.”

After he’d closed the door, leaned back on it, he heaved out a breath. “Holy Mother of God.”

“You should’ve referred that one,” Alice told him.

“You can’t refer off the first girl you got to second base with when she’s filing for divorce. It’s against the laws of God and Man. Hello, Layla, need a lawyer?”

“I hope not.” He was better looking than she remembered, which just went to show the shape she’d been in the night before. Plus he didn’t look anything like a lawyer. “No offense.”

“None taken. Layla…It’s Darnell, right?”

“Yes.”

“Layla Darnell, Alice Hawbaker. Mrs. H, I’m clear for a while?”

“You are.”

“Come on back, Layla.” He gestured. “We don’t usually put a show on this early in the day, but my old pal Shelley walked into the back room over at the diner to visit her twin sister, Sami, and found her husband-that would be Shelley’s husband, Block-holding Sami’s tip money.”

“I’m sorry, she’s filing for divorce because her husband was holding her sister’s tip money?”

“It was in Sami’s Victoria’s Secret Miracle Bra at the time.”

“Oh. Well.”

“That’s not privileged information as Shelley chased them both out of the back room and straight out onto Main Street-with Sami’s miraculous bra in full view-with a rag mop. Want a Coke?”

“No, I really don’t. I don’t think I need anything to give me an edge.”

Since she looked inclined to pace, he didn’t offer her a chair. Instead, he leaned back against his desk. “Rough night?”

“No, the opposite. I just can’t figure out what I’m doing here. I don’t understand any of this, and I certainly don’t understand my place in it. A couple hours ago I told myself I was going to pack and drive back to New York like a sane person. But I didn’t.” She turned to him. “I couldn’t. And I don’t understand that either.”

“You’re where you’re supposed to be. That’s the simplest answer.”

“Are you afraid?”

“A lot of the time.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been really afraid. I wonder if I’d be so damned edgy if I had something to do. An assignment, a task.”

“Listen, I’ve got to drive to a client a few miles out of town, take her some papers.”

“Oh, sorry. I’m in the way.”

“No, and when I start thinking beautiful women are in my way, please notify my next of kin so they can gather to say their final good-byes before my death. I was going to suggest you ride out with me, which is something to do. And you can have chamomile tea and stale lemon snaps with Mrs. Oldinger, which is a task. She likes company, which is the real reason she had me draw up the fifteenth codicil to her will.”

He kept talking, knowing that was one way to help calm someone down when she looked ready to bolt. “By the time that’s done, I can swing by another client who’s not far out of the way and save him a trip into town. By my way of thinking, Cal and Quinn should be just about back home by the time we’re done with all that. We’ll go by, see what’s what.”

“Can you be out of the office all that time?”

“Believe me.” He grabbed his coat, his briefcase. “Mrs. H will holler me back if I’m needed here. But unless you’ve got something better to do, I’ll have her pull out the files I need and we’ll take a drive.”