It felt strange to be so detached from his own future. But in his mind, each day was simply another step closer to Guzman's trial. It remained to be seen how many twists and turns the case would take along the pipeline of the federal court system, but once the trial was over, whenever that might be, he saw nothing but a blank.

It was as if he didn't dare plan anything that far in the future. He just needed to stay alive long enough to testify. That's the only thing that mattered.

Sitting there in that house, in that town, so close to Charlotte, it was tempting to believe he was safe, at least temporarily. But this was a pretend life he was leading, light-years from reality, and he would be a fool to relax. He needed to remember that his biggest danger wasn't the delivery of LoriSue gift baskets. It was Miguel Guzman. It would always be Guzman.

Joe propped his feet on the desk, still looking out the windows, and took a deep breath. The faint scent of honeysuckle hit his nostrils and he grinned to himself, recalling how he'd learned the hard way that garden centers didn't actually have honeysuckle. Instead, he was sent to a fanner's place down the road, where the guy laughed when he asked to buy some, gave him a shovel, and said, "Have at it, son."

At least he'd be leaving Minton with a clear conscience.

Joe thought he saw a figure pass by a second-story window of Charlotte's home and wondered what she was doing up so late. He'd grown accustomed to her daily schedule and knew that she was up at 6:00 in the morning and out the door with the kids by 7:30. She should get more rest.

The figure passed again, and Joe was up out of the office chair and standing next to the window, considering the layout of the Tasker home. That was definitely Charlotte who walked by-he saw a flash of her pale legs. But what room was that? Was she in her bedroom? Or with one of the kids? Joe found himself back at the desk, pulling his binoculars out from the drawer, suddenly determined to figure out where Charlotte was and exactly what she was doing up so late.

He trained the lenses onto the three identical windows. One was covered completely by a white shade. On the other two, the shade was half-drawn, leaving the bottom portion of the window exposed. He dropped to his knees and looked straight into what he could now tell was her bedroom.

Charlotte was propped up on a mound of pillows in a big four-poster bed, wearing what looked like a pair of white silk shorts-pajama bottoms and a little white tank top. She had a book opened in her lap and was writing in it Her diary maybe. He watched her scrunch up that pretty pink mouth in concentration and absently push a slippery strand of hair behind her ear.

She suddenly stopped writing, laid her head back against the pillows, and closed her eyes-then quickly picked up the pen once more. Her hand raced over the page as her toes tapped in impatience. He was fascinated by the way she glowed in the lamplight-all pinks and peaches and oranges-against white sheets. She looked luminous. She looked beautiful.

She looked so far away.

Joe nearly staggered backward at what happened next. He watched, openmouthed, as Charlotte put the book aside and slowly raised her hands to her breasts. He watched her scootch back against the pillows, let her head fall to the side, and brush her fingers in delicate little circles around her nipples. She gazed out the window into the darkness, her eyes glassy and unfocused.

He'd never seen a woman do this before. Up until tonight, he'd been fairly certain it happened only in porno movies. He'd apparently been wrong.

Joe's hands trembled enough that he had to steady himself against the window frame, anchoring an elbow into the molding. He took a deep breath and adjusted the focus. The image he saw was crisp, painfully erotic, and, his conscience told him, nothing he had any right to witness.

But at that moment, Charlotte arched her back and pushed her T-shirt-covered breasts into her hands. She pinched her own nipples. Then she let one hand slide down her breastbone, into the hollow between her ribs, down her belly, and into the elastic of the silk pajama bottoms.

Joe watched her mouth open in shock from the touch of her own fingers. He watched her arch further, her hips coming up off the bed, her legs falling open to accommodate the rhythm of her hand. Lust poured over him like a flood of hot lava, and Joe felt his own body moving to the sensuous tempo she set, the slight push of his hips in concert with the rock of hers.

His hips. Her hips. Her hand. His hand. It was blurring together in his mind and suddenly it was as if he were with her, right there in her bed with her, her skin and breath hot against him.

In a flurry of movement, Charlotte peeled off the pajama bottoms and flung her tank top to the floor. Joe stared-enraptured-as her lithe body twisted to the side. With one graceful arm she tilted back the base of the lamp and took something from underneath. It was a key, and she was unlocking the drawer to the nightstand, and Joe felt his pulse escalate. He felt clammy and shaky.

He needed to sit down, but there was nowhere to sit that would afford him this view, so he stayed ramrod straight on his knees, not daring to breathe, as the woman of his fantasies removed a flesh-colored vibrator from its storage sleeve and began to pleasure herself.

She first took the tip of the vibrator and ran it over the little raspberry peaks of her breasts. She licked her lips.

Joe licked his.

Then she dragged the vibrator down the center of her body, making a sudden detour around her left hip, across her upper thighs and small mound, then to her right hip. She was teasing herself, prolonging the buildup, pretending she didn't know exactly what she had in mind.

Joe couldn't stand the suspense.

"Do it, Charlotte." The anguish he heard in his own whisper startled him. He sounded desperate.

He was desperate.

Then Charlotte turned a little knob at the base of the vibrator and pointed it directly at a spot Joe remembered well. She'd been so slick and swollen that day-so excited and ready for him. He recalled in detail the feel of his fingers as they danced over the hard little kernel nestled in the split of her body. He remembered in detail how her eyelids drooped, heavy with pleasure, then snapped wide open in surprise.

He laughed out loud at the absurdity! This was ludicrous! She was there and he was here and what a perfectly good waste of two consenting adults! He was going to march right across the drive and give her the real thing. He wanted it. She wanted it. Hell, she'd come right out and asked for it!

And it was impossible.

Joe groaned, helpless with longing and indecision, and watched Charlotte slowly, so slowly, spread her legs and insert the tip of the vibrator inside her body. He swallowed hard. He groaned again. And he moved his hips in concert with the cadence of her wrist.

Charlotte obviously knew what worked for her. He watched her bring her free hand back to rub that sweet spot while she continued to plunge in and out, and Joe's heart was racing and his eyes bugged out as Charlotte brought herself to a jerking, rigid climax, her mouth wide open in what he figured was probably a soundless scream that wouldn't wake the kids.

The scream in his own head was primal and never-ending, and he felt drained and weak as she pulled the vibrator out and flipped over on her stomach to recover. He watched her stretch luxuriously, then reach up to the bedside table for what he thought might be a drink but…

What the hell? It looked like one of those aerosol cans of snack cheese! And she was squirting the bright orange glop directly into her mouth!

Joe laughed again. He laughed at Charlotte for being such a perfect combination of sweet soccer mom and sexual dynamo. He laughed at her for eating that disgusting cheese stuff in secret while she made her kids eat tofu. He looked down at his wet boxers and laughed at himself and the ridiculousness of the whole situation.