“And what?” he asked.

“Come back, and talk,” she finished lamely.

He was tempted to tell her that he wanted to do a lot more than talk.

Except she hadn’t told him the truth yet—not the whole truth. There was more to her story, and he wanted to hear it—needed to hear it—before he got in any deeper with her.

“I’ll be back down in ten minutes,” she promised, and headed for the stairs.

He ached to follow her, but he managed to wait until she reached the top of the stairs before he followed.

People were waiting for them, he reminded himself.

Too bad. They would have to wait.

The bathroom door was ajar.

Maybe she had hoped that he would come.

He joined her in the shower just after she’d sluiced away the spiderwebs and the mud.

She had just poured shampoo on her hair, and he took over, massaging her scalp and working up a lather. She leaned back against him, and when he felt her trembling, he took her into his arms.

“Sarah…”

“I don’t want to talk about it anymore,” she said. “Just hold me. Please?”

He held her. Water beat out a rhythm around them, steam rose, and he held her. Then he moved, and the friction of their bodies against each other created a new kind of comfort. She was slick and vibrant, electric in his arms. He felt as if heat infused him. Thunder echoed in his head and in his loins. She pressed her lips against his neck, his chest. He slid his hands down the length of her spine, then lifted her, and the water continued its cascade of liquid fire as they made love, her back against the tile.

Eventually, pent-up emotion overrode everything physical, and they rose to a volatile crescendo together, climaxing in one another’s arms. He could have stayed that way forever, but she smiled a real smile at last, then kissed his lips, but lightly. “People are waiting for us, and I still need to finish washing my hair.”

“I can help you.”

“Out! Or we’ll never make it to dinner,” she said.

Regretfully, he set her down on the floor of the old tub and left. He toweled off, found his clothing and dressed, then headed back downstairs.

He cursed himself as he reached the bottom of the stairs. They had forgotten to lock the front door. He locked it then, as pointless as it seemed, and as he waited for her, he walked around the lower level, checking every window to make sure it was locked.

He went to the top of the basement stairs and looked down into the darkness. There was a switch near the door, and he flipped it. Nothing happened. He dug through the cabinets until he found a flashlight and, turning it on, he went down.

The basement was empty other than the crates Sarah had mentioned, which had been stacked into something resembling stairs. He trained the light on the torn screen through which she had escaped.

Anyone could have entered the house at any time through that window, he thought—especially with that makeshift stairway saving them from the long drop to the floor. He needed to make sure no one could use that window moving forward. He would have to board it up or put bars across it—or get Sarah’s friend Gary to do it.

He trained the light around until he found the fuse box. He walked over and opened it, and saw faded cursive writing labeling the different fuses to indicate which sections of the house they were linked to. He found the fuse for the basement. It had been switched to “off.”

He turned it back on, then rearranged the crates, wedging them tightly into the window opening.

It wasn’t a perfect job, just a jerry-rigged solution until something more permanent could be done, but it made him feel better.

Then he went back up to the kitchen and made certain the basement door was closed and locked behind him. For good measure, he went to the dining room and got a chair, then wedged it under the doorknob. If anyone managed to get in while they were gone, he would know.

He had just finished when Sarah came back down the stairs. “All set?” she asked.

“Not really. Hang on one minute.”

He went back upstairs and went through every room, checking every window. Houses weren’t evil—but they could definitely be used for evil purposes. He made absolutely sure that the upstairs was empty and locked, then took another cursory run through the ground floor.

“What are you doing?” Sarah asked him.

“Making certain we’re alone,” he said.

She grinned. “A little late, don’t you think?”

“Better late than never,” he said lightly. “Besides, at some point, we’ll actually need to sleep, and I don’t want to worry about anyone getting in.”

They left the house, and he watched as she locked the front door. They were halfway down the front walk when she said, “You went out to see Floby about the dead woman on the beach, didn’t you?”

“Yes.”

“And?”

“We’ll talk later. Right now I’m starving, so let’s get going.”

“You know,” Caroline said, sitting back and pushing her plate away, “I like Hunky Harry’s, but we could expand our horizons. Eat somewhere else.”

“But it’s such a nice central place to meet,” Renee said.

“Yes, but we could meet here, maybe have a drink, then wander on to another restaurant,” Barry pointed out.

“We could,” Will said. “But why?”

Sarah was happy to see that the conversation was light and trivial. Caleb was an investigator, but there was nothing the rest of them could do about the ongoing disappearances other than try to stay safe.

Except for her. She had discovered so much today. And while she hadn’t been ready to talk to Caleb about her experience earlier—she was still sorting it out in her own mind, now—she found herself anxious to talk to him. Alone.

She picked up her rum runner and sipped quickly. She was frightened suddenly by the intensity of the relationship they had developed so quickly. If she had any sense, she would step back.

She would take a vacation to the Bahamas or Paris.

She would do anything but be here. And yet, everything she’d said about her house was true; she had never felt more…needed.

Had her mind created an illusion to help her figure out a way to escape? Or had she really been helped out of the basement by a ghost? Maybe she had seen that window at some time and not really noticed it. Maybe she had imagined the ghost because she was desperate and afraid. Had it been her way of dealing with panic?

But she had to face it, the entire thing had been…weird. First the noise. Then the basement door closing just as the light went out…

There hadn’t been anyone else in the house—or had there? Tim Jamison had a key. Gary had a key. And Dr. Manning must have been given a key, too.

There were definitely too many keys to her house in other people’s hands.

“Looks like Tim Jamison has gotten smart enough to stop coming here,” Renee said, leaning in close to be heard over the music and surrounding conversations.

“I should hope so,” Barry said indignantly. “He should be spending every second looking for the murderer.”

“No one can work all the time,” Caleb remarked.

True enough, Sarah thought, and yet it often seemed that he was always working. He was watching everything around him all the time.

When he was with her…

No, she wasn’t going there. He sure as hell wasn’t with her because of the case, so she wasn’t even going to think in that direction, wasn’t going to question everything that was going on between them.

“There’s been no word on Winona Hart, right?” Barry asked.

“No, I’m afraid not,” Caleb said.

“What about the woman you found on the beach?” Renee asked, her eyes wide.

“They don’t even know her identity yet,” Caleb says. “It takes time. Forensic science is pretty amazing, but it doesn’t always produce instantaneous results.”

Caroline shivered. “I think it’s scary, so…” She paused and looked around. “How come nobody looks panicked?”

“That’s true,” Will said. “I hope people are being careful, though. Three women missing or dead, all in one year.”

“It’s possible that the woman Caleb is looking for and Winona Hart will still show up,” Renee offered hopefully.

“It’s possible,” Caleb agreed. As he spoke, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. He glanced at the caller ID and excused himself, saying, “I’m going to take this where I can hear. I’ll be right back.”

When he was gone, Barry said, “Business?”

“I guess,” Sarah said.

Renee looked across the table at her. “We need another round. Poor Sarah! You must have been scared to death in that basement.”

Will, at her side, pulled her close in a hug, then knuckled the top of her head. “My cousin can handle anything.”

“But that house! I’d be terrified if I were locked in a basement. And then to find out the door was really unlocked all the time. Here’s what I think, and I can’t help it. The house locked you in. Then, just to make you look like an idiot, it opened the door again.”

Will burst out laughing. “Oh, Renee! Come on.”

“I’d be creeped out,” she said. “You wouldn’t catch me living there.”

“The house is just a house. Those bones were old, but there’s a real killer out there now,” Will said.

Barry rolled his eyes. “I think we’re obsessing on this more than the cops are. So let’s forget all about it and dance,” he said, nodding toward the dance floor. When no one moved, he said, “Renee?”

“Sure,” she said, and shrugged unenthusiastically.

As she and Barry walked out to the dance floor, Will leaned closer to Sarah and spoke directly to her, his eyes intense. “Sarah, maybe you should come stay with me. Or maybe I should get someone to cover for me at work and take you to…I don’t know. New York City. The Bahamas. Anywhere else, just for a while.”