Her only answer was the call of a barred owl from the woods beyond L'Amour. Then stillness. Absolute stillness. The back of her neck tingled, and she sat up straighter, straining her eyes to see into the night, holding her breath and trying to hear beyond the rushing of her pulse in her ears. She imagined she could feel eyes on her, staring in through the back gate, but she could see nothing beyond the iron bars. She thought of her sister running through the night, wild with anger, full of pain.

"Savannah?"

Crickets sang, frogs answered back from the bayou, where a heavy mist crept over the bank.

Malevolence crawled over her skin like worms.

Eyes on the gate, she bent over her purse and fumbled for her gun.

"If you wanna shoot me, you're gonna have to turn around, 'tite chatte."

Laurel shrieked and whirled around to find Jack standing not three feet from her. Her heart went into warp drive. "How the hell did you get in here?"

"The front door was open," he said with a shrug. "You really oughta be more careful, sugar. There's all kinds of lunatics running around these days."

"Yes," Laurel said, ignoring his wry tone. She was too damned spooked for banter. "I thought I heard one on the other side of the gate."

Frowning, Jack stepped past her and went to look. He came back, shaking his head. "Nothing. What did you think it was? Someone in the bushes?"

Savannah, she thought, sick that it might have been, relieved that it hadn't been. "What are you doing here?"

Good question. Jack stuffed his hands in the pockets of his jeans and wandered along the edge of the gallery and back. He had spent the evening walking along the bayou, trying to put as much distance as he could between himself and Prejean's Funeral Home. He couldn't bear the thought of a wake, and yet his thoughts had been filled with all of it-the coffin, the choking perfume of flowers, the intoning of the rosary. He could as well have been there for as raw as he felt now.

"I don' know," he whispered, turning back toward Laurel. Lie. He knew too well. He needed her, wanted the feel of her in his arms because she was real and alive and he loved her. Dieu, how stupid, how cruel that he should fall in love with someone so good. He couldn't even tell her, because he knew it couldn't last. Nothing good ever did once he touched it.

"I saw your car," he said, his voice strained and hoarse. "Saw the light…"

His broad shoulders rose and fell. He turned to pace, but her small hand settled on his arm, holding him in place as effectively as an anchor. He looked down into her angel's face, and the air fisted in his lungs. She had left her glasses on the hall table, and she looked up at him with night blue eyes that mirrored the need that ached in his soul.

"I don't really care," she said softly.

It didn't matter they had fought or that she had no hope for their future. This was just one night, and she felt so alone and so afraid. She looked up into his shadowed face, taking in the hard angles, the scarred chin, the eyes that had seen too much pain. It wasn't the face of the kind, safe lover she always envisioned for herself, but love him she did, and as they both stood there hurting, she needed him so badly, she thought she might die of it.

"Just tell me you'll stay," she whispered. "Just tonight."

He should have said no. He should have walked away. He should never have come to her in the first place, but then he'd never been very good at doing what was right. And he couldn't look into her eyes and say no.

"You shouldn't want me," he murmured, amazed that she did.

Laurel raised a hand and pressed her fingers to his lips. "Don't tell me how bad you are, Jack. Show me how good you can be."

He closed his eyes against a wave of pain, leaned down and brushed his lips against her cheek. It was as much of an answer as Laurel needed. Taking him by the hand, she led him up the back stairs and into her moonlit room.

They undressed each other quietly, patiently. They made love the same way, immersing themselves in the desire, steeping themselves in the experience, savoring the tenderness. Gentle touches. Soft, deep kisses. Caresses as sensuous as silk. A joining of bodies and two scarred souls. Straining to reach together for a kind of ecstasy that would banish shadows. A brilliant golden burst of pleasure. Trying desperately to hold on as it slipped away like stardust through their fingers.

And when it was over and Laurel lay asleep in his arms, Jack stared into the dark and wished with all that was left of his heart that he wouldn't have to let her go.