She nodded, her eyes gleaming with passion. "Yes."

She put her hands on his forearms at her sides, but instead of pushing him away, she urged them slowly up inside her shirt, until his thumbs were under her breasts. He eased them over her bra, brushing her nipples.

"You don't know what you're doing," he said, his voice raw, his body on fire.

"I do know."

This time, her mouth found his, her lips already parted. He pushed his hands back down her sides, wanted to scoop her up and carry her inside, but fought back the need. He made himself draw away. "I'll make up the guest room."

She tugged her shirt back down and pushed a slender, strong hand through her short curls. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

He smiled ever so slightly. "I think the guest room's an excellent idea."

For the love of Christ.

Lauren staggered into Richard's study and poured herself a scotch. No water, no ice. She didn't want to bother with a glass, just drink straight from the decanter, but knew her husband could wander in at any moment. He was due back from dinner with friends. She'd left early, pleading a headache. Since they'd arrived in separate cars, it wasn't a problem.

She'd planned everything so carefully, just not Tess returning to the carriage house that way.

The whiskey splashed over her hand. She was shaking uncontrollably. Her teeth chattered against the glass as she gulped, the scotch burning on its way down.

Ike.

She wanted to scream his name. She wanted to sob and beat her fists against the wall, smash glasses, throw over furniture. Her brother was dead. She'd hoped, prayed, pleaded with God that she wasn't right.

He was in the trunk of her car in a black plastic trash bag.

Her brother.

Dead.

Just as she'd known he was since that day he'd told her he was off to the carriage house and would see her later.

She sank onto the leather chair, spilling scotch on the arm. It beaded, and she flicked it off with her fingertips then licked them. They still tasted of her surgical gloves.

Her brother, dead in the carriage house cellar.

She hadn't been sure until tonight. She'd guessed…known. But this was different. Now it was real.

"Lauren?"

Richard's voice penetrated her like a hot, sharp knife. She fell back against the chair, wanting to slip down to the floor, through the rug, between the cracks in the cherry floorboards, all the way down to the basement, where she could lie in the dark stillness until death claimed her. Who would know? Who would care?

"Lauren, are you still up?"

She could hear his footsteps out in the hall. She straightened, wondering if he'd smell the dank carriage house cellar on her, if he'd smell death.

He stood in the doorway. "There you are. Darling, have you heard? I didn't want you to hear it without me here-"

"Hear what?" She rallied, noticed her hands weren't shaking as she drank more scotch.

Richard came toward her, his expression filled with concern and compassion. He took her glass away, as if she might not handle what he had to tell her. "The police called on my way home. Lauren, they've been out to the carriage house."

"Wh-what?"

"Tess Haviland's claimed she found a human skeleton buried in the cellar."

Blood pounded in her head. The room spun. Richard, more gentle than she'd ever seen him, took both her hands. She thought she might vomit. "What are you talking about?"

"It's ridiculous. Paul Alvarez said so himself. They didn't find anything, but he wanted you to know, in case this woman is up to something."

"What could she be up to?"

"Nothing, I'm sure. That's how the police think, that's all."

"Ike thought the world of her-"

"I know, I know. It all must have been her imagination. Let's go to bed, shall we? Get rid of that headache of yours, once and for all?"

"Oh, Richard. I love you, do you know that? You're the best thing that's ever happened to me." Her eyes filled with tears, and she felt drunk, stupid, even after a few sips of scotch. "Will you make love to me tonight?"

"Of course, darling."

She giggled. "'Darling.' That's so retro."

But he took her by both hands, lifted her to her feet and led her upstairs.

After he made love to his wife, Richard put on his bathrobe and stood in the shaft of moonlight slanting in the windows overlooking her gardens. The poodles were asleep on the white chaise longue. He could have opened a window screen and pitched them out, one by one.

Sex had steadied him. Centered him. He could think now.

Lauren had fallen asleep. She'd clawed at him, almost drawing blood. They'd never had such raw, unrestrained sex. She'd been uninhibited, almost wanton. He'd responded in kind, exulting in the effect he was having on her. Instead of her usual ladylike shudder when she came, she'd screamed and thrashed.

He could handle Lauren.

It was Tess Haviland who worried him.

Tess sensed someone was watching her. She rolled over in the twin bed in the guest room and came eye-to-eye with a stuffed black-and-white cat in the hands of Dolly Thorne. The little girl giggled. "Her name's Kitty. I've had her since I was three years old." She was wide-awake, still in her pink pajamas with kittens all over them, her coppery hair tangled. No crown. "Daddy said not to wake you up."

"I'm awake," Tess croaked, squinting at the bedside clock. Seven. Not bad, but she was exhausted. Too much tossing and turning, thinking about kisses and skeletons, kittens in her bed, men and intruders. She struggled not to seem grumpy. "Well. Good morning."

"Will you play stuffed animals with me?"

"I need coffee first. Okay? Your dad's up?"

"Uh-huh. He's taking a shower."

Tess didn't even want to think about it, but before that command reached her sluggish brain, the picture formed of Andrew's lean, taut body naked under a stream of hot water. She'd been awake for all of thirty seconds and already was off on the wrong foot. If she didn't get a grip, today would be just as tumultuous as yesterday. It might be, anyway-Susanna Galway was planning to show up first thing. Tess had called her before going to bed.

"Cops hate missing bodies," Susanna had said. "Of course, they want to believe you didn't see anything."

Tess didn't like the idea of a missing body herself. She focused on Dolly. "Let me pull myself together. Then we can see what's what."

Dolly obviously took this as confirmation Tess would play stuffed animals with her. She ran off skipping, her bare feet padding softly on the rug. Tess threw off her blankets and sat up in the Red Sox T-shirt and flannel boxers she'd worn to bed, struggling to wake up. The guest room was cute, its windows overlooking the ocean. From the old-fashioned flowered wallpaper, she guessed Andrew hadn't gotten around to renovating it yet. White curtains billowed in a cool morning breeze. Tess sat a moment, listening to the surf and the gulls, picturing herself hanging wallpaper with Andrew Thorne.

"Damn," she breathed, shaking off the image.

She could hear him speaking to his daughter down the hall, a scene so ordinary it took Tess's breath away. He and Dolly were a family. She needed to keep her wits about her, not barrel in and mess up the life they'd created for themselves. At least, for someone unaccustomed to dealing with six-year-olds, she thought she was handling herself well with Dolly. She was a cheerful kid, not as combative and outspoken as Tess had been at that age with her own mother's death still so fresh.