“So you came here instead. How did you know where I live, Autumn?”

“I heard a tourist talking to Mrs. Daily about this charming cottage he and his wife had seen. He described it real good and asked if it was for rent. Mrs. Daily told him the sheriff lived there, it had been in your family since way back before the Big War. She said your mother lived there before she went to Florida, and your older sister lived in Baltimore.”

He nodded, gave her another slice of pizza, then took another big bite of his own, suddenly aware that he was as hungry as she was. Maggie, his twice-a-week housekeeper, had brought the pizza and forgotten to take it home with her when she left, thank the good Lord. Or maybe she’d left it for him. With Maggie, he never knew. “What about your folks, Autumn?”

“My mama’s mother died last year because of the big C. I don’t know what that is, but it’s bad.”

“I’m sorry.” He cleared his throat. “I’m going to call your mama now. I don’t think it’s fair for her to keep on worrying about you, do you? And here you are, stuffing my excellent pizza down your gullet.”

She gave another little laugh. He smiled as he dialed Gerald’s Loft.

When he had Joanna Backman on the phone, he said only, “She’s safe. She’s here with me, at my house. She’s eating pizza and playing with my pets.”

She didn’t say a single word. The cell cut off, and he could see her running out the door, maybe remembering it was cold here in Titusville at night and running back to get her jacket and her purse. She’d be here in under five minutes, he’d bet on it. He called Faydeen, asked her to start the chain of phone calls to alert everyone that the search was over, that the little girl was safe and sound. When he closed his cell, he saw Autumn was eating the last piece of pizza, stuffing it in her mouth. One hungry kid.

“I still don’t know a blessed thing.”

She suddenly dropped the pizza onto the paper plate and stiffened tight all over. He realized he’d spoken out loud. “What’s the matter?”

“You said his name,” she whispered. “How did you know his name? I only told Dillon his name.”

I said his name? Whose name? Who’s Dillon? He simply looked at her, his head to one side in question.

“You said his name. Why did you say his name?”

I still don’t know a blessed thing. Blessed? No, he couldn’t have heard her right. The man was actually named Blessed? That had to be the weirdest name he’d ever heard. He said, his voice casual, easy, “Who is Blessed?”

She was keening from deep in her throat. She shoved back her chair and slithered out of it. She would have run past him, but he managed to catch her. She fought him, tears streaming down her face, shaking, making that awful sound. Ethan didn’t think, he simply brought her up onto his lap and held her tight against him. He whispered against her hair, “It’s okay, sweetheart, I promise it’s okay.”

He heard a car drive up. He smoothed her hair back from her face. “I bet that’s your mama. Come on, sweetheart, don’t be scared, of anybody. I’ll hurt this Blessed if he comes anywhere near you, all right?”

“You don’t know, you just don’t know.” She was shuddering but no longer fighting him. He heard the front door open, heard Joanna Backman running, calling out, “Autumn? Autumn?”

Well, wasn’t that bright of him? He hadn’t even locked the front door. He said, “We’re in the kitchen. Come on in, Mrs. Backman.”

When she ran into the kitchen, she pulled up sharp. “Oh my God, what happened to her? What did you do? What’s wrong?”

He heard the growing hysteria in her voice and said very slowly, very calmly, “It’s all right. Autumn is afraid of this man Blessed. I’m trying to convince her I can handle anyone who tries to hurt her or you.”

“I don’t think so,” she said. She pulled her daughter out of his arms and plastered her against her chest, rocking her back and forth, kissing her hair, her small face, and kept speaking, trying not to cry with absolute relief. The animals, strangely enough, hadn’t moved much, hadn’t dashed for his bedroom as they usually did whenever a stranger invaded the house. All three of them sat on the kitchen floor, as if nothing at all were going on.

Ethan said finally, “Would you care for some hot chocolate, Mrs. Backman?”

“Wha-what?” She looked at him, dazed, and pulled her daughter more tightly against her.

“I gave her hot chocolate. Autumn liked it, didn’t you, Autumn?”