perspective. "I overreacted about something." She pushed open the door. "Come in."

He stepped inside. He'd changed out of his uniform and wore a pair of old, soft blue jeans and a white

golf shirt. His arms and neck looked tan against the startling white.

He met her eyes. "What's up?"

"Did my father have any enemies?"

The question surprised him, she saw. "Enemies? Not that I know of. Why?"

"I've gotten a couple of unsettling anonymous calls. I got one this afternoon and it...I got upset. I called

Buddy."

"The calls, were they from a woman or a man?"

"A woman."

"The nature of the calls?"

"Ugly." She folded her arms across her chest, then dropped them to her sides again. "The first time she

called, she said that Dad had...gotten what he deserved. And that I would, too. This time she called him a-" she had to force the words out"-a murderer. And a liar."

"And you have no idea who the woman is?"

"No. None."

"You try *69?"

"Tried it. Dad didn't subscribe."

"You might want to add it or caller ID. Just in case she calls again."

Avery nodded. "I will."

He searched her expression. "She's just a crank, Avery. You know that, right?" When she hesitated, he

shook his head. "We're talking about the doc here. Nobody had a higher moral character than your dad.

I believe that. Black and white, no moral gray area." "I know. But-" She clasped her hands in front of

her. "I keep coming back to what she said, that he got what he deserved. Like maybe, he didn't kill

himself. Like maybe somebody helped him out."

For a long moment, he said nothing. "You mean, somebody killed him?"

She met his gaze evenly. "Yes."

"Who would hurt your dad?" he asked.

"Someone who thought him a liar and murderer."

He caught her hands, rubbed them between his. She hadn't realized until that moment how cold they had been. "The CSPD did a thorough job. Dr. Harris is a crackerjack coroner who doesn't let anything slip by him. I reviewed everything as well, Avery." He gentled his tone. "I didn't want to believe it either." Avery couldn't bring herself to look at him. He squeezed her fingers. "This caller is a mentally disturbed person. Or someone with an ax to grind, maybe with Buddy. Maybe someone trying to cause trouble through you. Why don't you take a look at Dad's report. It'll put your mind at rest."

"You don't think Buddy would mind?"

"No way." He smiled. "When it comes to you, Avery, Dad'll do anything."

She changed the subject. "How'd it go at the pond?"

He slid his hands into his front pockets. "Figured you might want an update."

"Car belonged to that guy who went missing, didn't it? The one you and Buddy were talking about the

other day? The one reported missing by his girlfriend."

"Yup, sure did. His name was Luke McDougal."

"Was? He's dead?"

"Don't know. The vehicle's been hauled out. It's empty. Cell phone's in the car. Evidence team has it." He

glanced at his watch. "The property's being searched, the pond dredged."

Avery shivered and rubbed her arms. "When will that be done?"

"The rain's slowed us down. Not until tomorrow, I suspect." He met her eyes, expression grim. "I need to

ask you something, Avery. What were you and Hunter doing at Tiller's Pond?"

"I went to see him. He was going for a run. I joined him." She lifted a shoulder. "Ended up there."

He looked away, dragging a hand through his hair, swearing softly.

"What is it, Matt?"

He returned his gaze to hers. "I'm wondering why you went to see him in the first place."

"He and I were friends, I guess I still think of him that way. Does it matter?"

She saw by his expression that it did matter to him. It mattered a lot. She let out a pent-up breath. "I

wanted to find out more about the St. Claire murder. Since he had been at the scene, I figured he could tell me what I needed to know."

"You could have come to me. I would have answered your questions."

"Matt," she chided, "I'm a journalist. I'm experienced enough to know what the police will, or will not, share."

He tipped his face toward the ceiling, the picture of frustration. "Help me out here, Avery. I feel like a jerk."

She smiled. "You're jealous?"

"Don't laugh." He glowered good-naturedly at her. "Hell, yes, I'm jealous. I know the kind of things that went on at Tiller's Pond."

Flattered, she closed the distance between them, stopping inches from him. She tilted her face to his,

shamelessly flirting. "Yeah, but all those things happened with you."

Something flickered in his eyes, some strong emotion. One that stirred her blood. "Dammit, your shirt was wet."

"I was hot. The water was cool."

He cupped her cheeks in his palms, grip just short of painful. "Be careful, okay? Hunter's not...he's not the boy you knew."

It's not true what they say about him. Hunter's a good man.

"I'm a big girl, not a teenager, Matt." He didn't smile. Hers wavered. "Is there something you're not telling

me?"

He bent, pressed his mouth to hers in a quick, hard kiss. "I'll pick you up for Spring Fest tomorrow at three."

Without another word, he left. She watched as he crossed to his cruiser, climbed in and backed down

the driveway. She brought a hand to her mouth, to the imprint of his lips against hers. Their date, she

realized. Spring Fest, she had forgotten all about it.

A date with Matt Stevens. After all these years. She eased the door shut, locked it, but didn't move from the foyer. What was she getting herself into? What did he want from her?

More than friendship, more than a stroll down memory lane. That was obvious. But what of her feelings? What did she want?

She enjoyed his company, reliving the past. When with him she became the girl she had been back then.

She thought of Hunter, his image slipping into her head, filling it. There was something between her and Hunter as well, she realized. Something strong. Something that caused her to think of him when she shouldn't.

But what? Concerned friendship? Attraction? Sexual awareness?