But then, as though it were like some Biblical drama, the truck beside them slammed on the brakes and jerked to the right, while the car expertly went to the left, its nose heading into the trees. In front of them, the way was clear, and Colin hadn't even slowed down.

As soon as they were past, Gemma turned to look behind them. Both the truck and the car had stopped, and a tall man from the truck was crossing the road to the car.

Gemma turned back around. They were doing seventy now.

"That was Luke, the author, in the truck," Colin said. "And it was Ramsey in the car. He's a lawyer."

"It was a pleasure meeting them," Gemma answered, still holding on.

Colin chuckled as he turned a sharp right onto land that had no hint of a roadway. "I didn't mean to scare you, but I knew they'd get out of the way. They're both relatives of mine."

She wanted to ask what he would have done if the road had been full of tourists, but she was too busy holding on to ask him anything. There were holes and little hillocks that made one wheel go down and another go up. Gemma was bouncing on the seat so hard her head sc.r.a.ped the ceiling.

"Shortcut," Colin yelled over the noise of the siren and what sounded like a metal tool box in the back bouncing up and down. "We're going across Merlin's Farm." He pointed to the right.

Half hidden under the trees was a small octagon-shaped building with a tall, pointed roof, like a witch's hat. There was a short door, and to the right of it was an open s.p.a.ce in the wall, with a gate across it.

It didn't take a historian to see that the building was very old.

"That's . . ." Gemma began. "Is that . . . ?"

"Spring house. Water inside," Colin yelled back as he shifted gears. In the next second he went around a couple of big trees and a county sheriff car came into view. Colin skidded to a halt amid a dense cloud of dust and rocks.

Gemma stayed in the car, coughing, but Colin leaped out before the vehicle came to a full halt. When the car kept rolling, she saw that he'd left it to her to turn off the engine. She slid over the console, braked, and turned the motor off.

When she looked out the windshield, she saw Colin and two law enforcement officers in brown uniforms standing a few feet away from a big tree that had been struck by lightning. Half of the tree had fallen to the ground, creating what looked to be a ramp that led upward. It would be easy for a child to walk up it.

Above, sitting on a heavy branch that was bending toward the earth, was a little boy. He had blond hair and big blue eyes that were wide with fear. His mother was standing below and talking to him in a low voice, trying to keep him from moving and causing the branch to break further.

Gemma got out of the car and walked to stand near Colin, her eyes on the child.

"It's going to take them another ten minutes to get here," Tom, the county sheriff, was saying. He was in his late fifties, a tall, handsome man with gray hair. He turned his back to the boy's mother. "Carl tried getting out to him, but the branch cracked. Think you can catch the kid if he falls?"

"Sure," Colin said in a low voice so the mother wouldn't hear. "But that wood isn't going to hold much longer. I think we should get him down now." He walked toward the little boy and looked up. "Hey . . ."

"Sean," his mother said.

"Sean, my name is Colin, and I'm the town sheriff, and as you can see I'm pretty strong. What I want you to do is let go of the tree and let yourself fall. I'll catch you. It'll be like playing football. That okay with you?"

"No!" the boy said as he tightened his grip on the branch. It gave a resounding crack.

"He climbs everything," his mother said, her voice vibrating with barely controlled hysteria. "He gets on the kitchen countertops and into the upper cabinets. One morning I opened a door over the sink and he was sitting inside, smiling at me. He-"

Reaching out, Colin put his hand on her shoulder, and she quit talking. He turned back to the boy. "All right, Sean, I want you to be very still. Okay, buddy?" The child was only about six feet above his head, but he might as well have been ten stories away. And if Colin waited for the branch to break to catch the boy, both of them could be hurt.

"Cheerleading," Tom said from beside Gemma.

When she turned toward him, he was staring at her. "Colin's little brother does a cheerleader pyramid with five girls on him. The top one stands on his shoulders."

Gemma thought that was an odd thing for him to say. Local sports weren't exactly a pressing concern at the moment. When she realized what he was suggesting, her face lit up.

"Think you can do it?" Tom asked. "If the boy'll let you, that is. He's a heavy kid, and it'll take some muscle to hold him." He was looking her up and down in question.

Gemma had on her usual outfit of loose jeans and three layers of tops. Since she was used to working around virile young men, she'd learned to keep covered up. And she'd also learned to work out with them in the way that they did, which meant with weights.

Gemma unzipped her cotton jacket and removed it, revealing a pink cotton shirt under it. She unb.u.t.toned it and took it off. Underneath she was wearing a fuchsia tank top that showed the lacy edges of her matching bra.

One thing about working out with men was that they loved upper body work. Deltoids and biceps seemed to be their main concern. Three years ago, when Gemma came up with the idea of teaching while exercising, she could barely lift a pair of two-pound dumbbells over her head. Now she worked with an Olympic bar, which was forty-five pounds.

When Gemma stood in front of Tom with a lot of skin showing, she knew her arms showed her workouts. Between boxing and thousands of reps for delts, her arms were firm and well shaped.

"Good girl," Tom said, smiling at her.

Behind them, his skinny young deputy-his name tag read CARL-was grinning. "You think you can climb up ol' Colin in those pants? Maybe you should take them off too."

Tom glanced at his deputy in reprimand, then turned to Colin, who was still looking up at the boy. "Colin! This young lady-" He looked at her.

"Gemma."

"Gemma is going to do a Shamus and get the boy down."

"He's too heavy. She can't-" Colin began, but then he looked at her and his eyes widened. Gemma's body was fabulous! She was curvy and taut with muscle. Her large b.r.e.a.s.t.s were above a waist his hands could span. Words failed him. "Yeah, okay," he at last managed to say.

"Thought maybe you'd agree," Tom said.

When Gemma was standing in front of him, Colin looked at her in appreciation. "Those students of yours taught you a thing or two about working out, didn't they?"

Maybe it was because she didn't have on her usual layers of covering, or maybe it was the way Colin was looking at her, or maybe it was because she'd been without a boyfriend for months, but a strong feeling of desire ran through her. For Colin. For a man who was taken. Owned by a dragon.

"Hey, Colin," Carl said, "Jean know about you two?"

Colin gave the deputy a look to shut up, then he put his sheriff face back on and looked up at the boy. "If I lift Miss Gemma onto my shoulders, will you go to her?"

The boy looked down at Gemma in her skimpy top, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s well exposed, and almost smiled. "Yeah. She's pretty."

Colin looked back at her. "The kid's going to grow up to be another Lanny. Can you lift him?"

"I think so," Gemma said, but her heart was beating in her throat. When the tree branch cracked again and the mother put her hand to her mouth to keep from screaming, all Gemma could think was, What if I drop the child?

"Okay," Colin said, and his voice was that of a coach: calm, quiet, and rea.s.suring. "I want you to step on my leg, and I'll help you onto my shoulders. I'll hold your ankles and balance you. When you're stable, reach out to him. Let him come to you, don't pull. Once you have him, hold on to him and I'll do the rest. Understand?"

"Yes," she said.

Unnoticed by anyone, Carl turned the video recorder on his cell on and stepped back to get a full view of the action.

Bending a bit, Colin extended his right leg so she could step onto his thigh. He held out his hands to help her. When she hesitated and he saw fear in her eyes, he knew he needed to give her courage. He didn't know her very well, but he'd seen that she had a compet.i.tive spirit. He said, "Come on, Ranford, those high school girls climb all over my baby brother. You gonna let those kids beat you?"

His tone-so like the trainers she'd worked with-took away most of her fear. She slipped out of her shoes, took his hands, and stepped up on his bent leg.

When she was steady, he put his hands on her legs and looked up at her. "I'm going to lift you up, and I want you to get onto my shoulders. Ready?"

Gemma nodded. She glanced up at the boy. He was watching them in fascination as he sat absolutely still.

Colin lifted Gemma as though he were overhead pressing her. But then she figured that for that exercise, at his size, he probably used a couple of eighty-pound dumbbells, which together weighed more than she did.

When Gemma was on his broad shoulders, she put her hands on the top of his head for balance. He held on to her ankles firmly and took a step back as she steadied herself.

Once she was standing, her head was nearly level with the boy's and just a foot away. She smiled at him. "Pretty cool, huh?" she said, trying to rea.s.sure him.

"Yeah. Can you get me down now?"

"Sure. I'm going to hold out my arms and you're going to come to me, right?

The boy nodded.

Gemma reached out to the branch and Colin took a step closer, so she was very near the frightened child. She opened her arms. "Don't jump, just sort of fall toward me, okay?"

Again the boy nodded, and in the next second he fell onto Gemma. He was indeed heavy and he nearly made her fall backward, but she wrapped her arms around the child so hard that he almost couldn't breathe.

Colin didn't give her time to fight for balance. He released his hold on her ankles and took a step backward. For a split second, Gemma and the boy were standing on nothing, suspended in air, over six feet above the ground.

In the next second, Gemma, still holding tightly on to the boy, fell-and Colin caught them both in his big, muscular arms. As he held them, Gemma could feel his heart pounding against her cheek and the boy was holding on to her with a death grip.

Moments later, the child's mother pulled the boy away from her, and he let out a howl of relief as she took him away.

Colin didn't put Gemma down but kept holding her in his arms. "You okay?"

"Yes." She knew she should get down, but it felt good-and safe-to be so close to him. For a moment she let herself lean against him. It was as though only the two of them existed.

"Thanks," Tom said from behind them. "To both of you." In the distance they heard a siren. The fire engine was arriving.

"Look out!" Carl yelled.

Colin, still holding Gemma, leaped backward and knocked Tom down as the branch that had been holding the boy crashed to the ground.

When the noise and debris settled, Tom was on the bottom of the pile. "Colin," he said, "I love you like a son, but if you don't get the h.e.l.l off of me my lungs are going to collapse."

"Sorry," Colin said as he rolled away and Gemma stood up.

Colin sat up, looking up at Gemma with pride. "You did well," he said. "You have a good sense of balance. And-"

"Holy c.r.a.p!" Tom said because Gemma's face suddenly drained of color. Slowly, she turned on her heel and began to sink to the ground. She would have fallen if Tom hadn't caught her.

Colin was on his feet in seconds as he took Gemma from Tom. "Post-traumatic?"

"No," Tom said as he held out his hands. There was blood on them.

Reaching out with experienced hands, Tom pulled the bottom of Gemma's tank top up. The tree branch had cut her side. "No arteries cut, but it might be deep enough to need st.i.tches."

"Call Tris," Colin said. "Tell him I'll be there in seven minutes." He ran with the unconscious Gemma in his arms to his Jeep.

Behind him, still holding his phone and still recording, was Carl. He only turned it off when Colin slammed the door of his Jeep and sped away.

6.

DR. EDWARD BURGESS slowly opened his car door, put his cane on the pavement, and carefully swiveled around to get out. He winced in pain when he put his weight on his leg, and used both hands to heave himself out of the car. Across the road, his neighbor was sweeping her porch, and she paused to look at him in sympathy. She waved h.e.l.lo, and he raised his hand in a weak acknowledgment.

He leaned heavily on his cane as he locked his car, then, stooped over, he made his way up the sidewalk. He supported himself against the jamb as he unlocked his front door. When it was open, he turned to again wave at his neighbor. As he knew she would be, she was watching to make sure he got inside safely.

As soon as he was in the house, Dr. Burgess closed the door and leaned against it for a moment. He let out a sigh. "Nosy old b.i.t.c.h," he muttered as he tossed his cane toward the tall urn by the door. It went in with a resounding thunk.

Bending, he pulled up his pants leg and unbuckled the brace around his knee and tossed it at the cane. That done, he stood up, put his shoulders back, and flexed his neck. As he walked toward the cabinet against the wall, he unb.u.t.toned his shirt, took off the belly pad that encircled his waist, and let it drop to the floor.

He took a couple of refreshing breaths, rubbed the skin over his hard, flat stomach, and opened the cabinet to pour himself a drink. He wasn't surprised to see that his ice bucket was full. He put a couple of cubes in a gla.s.s, poured it half full of thirty-year-old Scotch, then turned around and waited.

The hideous lounge chair that was part of the rented house's furniture was facing the wall-not the way he'd left it.

"Are you hiding?" he asked after he'd taken a sip.

The chair turned around, and his beautiful niece looked up at him. "What do you want so much that it's made you come to little Edilean?"

"Jean, darling," he said, "is that any way to greet your uncle?"

She tapped her upper lip. "Is that yours?"

He pulled off the thick gray mustache and set it on a shelf in the cabinet. "Have you eaten? I could make us some-"

"I know what you can cook. You taught me, remember? Why are you here?"

"I came to see you," he said. "How's your mother?"

"Doing as well as can be expected after all that you did to her."

"Jean, Jean, Jean," he said. "Why are you so hostile to me?"

"I don't know. Maybe it has to do with how you hacked Mom's bank codes and cleaned her out. Twice. Or maybe it was how my father went out with you one night and never returned. Take your pick."

He shrugged. "We've been over all this before and I thought it was in the past. As for your father, he had the reflexes of a tortoise. I never could figure out how he came to be my brother. I should have had a DNA test done."

Jean came out of the chair, angry. "I'm very good friends with the local sheriff. All I have to do is tell him about you and he'll run you out of town."

"Friends, maybe, but that's all there is," he said as she stalked toward the front door. "I just heard that for days now he's been inseparable from a pretty young woman who's living with his parents. In fact, an hour ago someone showed me the two of them on that . . . What's it called? YouTube. Disgusting invasion, that thing is. But I must say that I enjoyed the sight of her truly incredible body. And she appeared to be so very young."