in his eyes anguished. "I've never been closer to anybody than I was my brother. He's my other half, Avery. When we were kids...I couldn't have imagined this. That we wouldn't be best friends anymore. That we wouldn't even speak to one another, for God's sake."

"Have you tried to reconcile?"

He laughed, the sound tight. "Are you kidding? We all have. Tried and been rebuffed. Time and again."

"Hunter said something about Dad and Buddy's relationship. That they didn't even speak anymore. That it had become so bad between them, Dad would cross the street to avoid their coming face-to-face. Is that true?"

"Son of a bitch," he muttered, expression tightening. "That prick."

"So, it's not true?"

"Only partially. In the last months before his suicide. I believe he avoided Dad because he knew Dad

would realize how bad off he was and stop him."

"Oh," she murmured, feeling small and gullible. "Did he say anything else about us?"

Nothing she was about to repeat. She shook her head. "He seems so serious now. As if he's facing-"

"I don't want to talk about my brother, Avery. Not tonight." Matt drew her closer against him. "Did today

bring back memories?"

She tilted her face up to his. "Good ones."

"Remember the Spring Fest we sneaked off to make out? We were all of thirteen."

"Your dad caught on. Followed us. Made you apologize to me."

"Lectured me about how to treat a lady."

She laughed. "Little did he know, it was the lady's idea."

And three years later, sneaking off to Tiller's Pond had also been her idea. And there, under the

star-sprinkled sky they had consummated their passion for one another.

"We were so bad," she said.

"We were in love." His gaze held hers. Her mouth went dry. "I couldn't get enough of you, Avery. Of

touching you. Of being with you."

The blood rushed to her head. He dropped a hand to the small of her back, began moving his fingers in slow, rhythmic circles.

She melted against him. Memories swamped her. Of past moments like this. Of hot, urgent hands and

mouths. Of the dizzying rush of their newfound sexuality.

He brought his mouth to her ear. "Seeing you with Hunter yesterday like that, it made me crazy. I couldn't look at you. I was afraid of what I might do. To you. To him."

What would it be like to make love with Matt? Avery wondered. Without the potency of young love,

without the heady rush of their burgeoning sexuality? They weren't kids anymore but consenting adults. They'd had other lovers, they had hurt and been hurt. They wouldn't have to hurry, wouldn't need to worry about getting home before curfew or being caught. She knew how to please a man; he to please a woman.

With Matt she could have what she had lost. She could be the girl who was otherwise gone forever.

Cherry's warning to stay away from her brother unless she was serious ran through her mind, as did the assertion that Matt had never loved anyone but her.

Until she knew what she wanted, they couldn't go there. Much as she longed to.

"What are you thinking?" he asked.

"About the past. The way it was between us."

"I'm glad." He dropped his face close to hers. "Because it was good. And it could be good again. Very

good."

"I wish I could be as certain. So much has changed, Matt. We've cha-"

He brought a finger to her lips. "I'm a patient man. I've waited this long, I can wait a little longer."

CHAPTER 24.

Gwen stared at the front page of the Gazette's Wednesday edition, her morning cup of coffee cooling on the bedstand. Not the headline story about Peggy Trumble's winning entry in the annual Spring Fest bake-off, but the one at the bottom, tucked into a corner, almost an afterthought: Car Hauled Out of Tiller's Pond.

She skimmed the piece for the third time. The story-hardly more than a blurb-went on to report how Avery Chauvin and Hunter Stevens had discovered a car abandoned in Tiller's Pond. The vehicle had been hauled out and found to be empty.

It was the last line of the piece that shook her to the core.

The owner of the vehicle, New Orleanian Luke McDougal, who had been heading from nearby Clinton to St. Francisville, had been reported missing by his girlfriend three weeks before. Anyone with information should call the West Feliciana Parish Sheriff's Department.

No body. Just like her brother.

Gwen's legs shook so badly she had to sit. She sank onto the edge of the bed and brought a hand to her mouth. A suicide. A murder. And two disappearances. The Seven were responsible for all three, she hadn't a doubt. Dr. Phillip Chauvin had been killed because he'd known too much about The Seven. Elaine St. Claire had been killed because of her lifestyle. Her brother had gotten too close to the group.

What about Luke McDougal? She shifted her gaze to the Gazette. According to the article, he had been passing through town. So what was his connection to the group? Was there a connection?

There had to be. McDougal's disappearance was too similar to her brother's. Car found, seemingly abandoned. No sign of its owner or of foul play.

Avery Chauvin had been at the scene. So had Hunter Stevens. Gwen drew her eyebrows together, curious. She had seen the man's name in connection with another news piece recently. She searched her memory a moment.

He had found Elaine St. Claire's body.

That was odd, even for a community as small as Cypress Springs. It seemed to her that the coincidental and unexplainable were piling up. As were the bodies-even if no one but she saw it.

She could be next.

Avery Chauvin had told her the same thing, though at the time it hadn't frightened her. Now she wondered if the woman meant the words as a warning. Or a threat.

Gwen fought the urge to flee. Fought to come to grips with the overwhelming sensation of being trapped. She had trusted Avery, even though she had known nothing about her. She had automatically assumed she could because Avery had only recently returned to Cypress Springs. And because of her father's suicide.

That hadn't been smart. Avery Chauvin could be sympathetic to The Seven. Their cause. Her father very well may have taken his own life, she had no physical evidence proving otherwise, just a gut feeling.

Gwen recalled Avery's surprise and denial to her assertions about The Seven. Her obvious, nearly palpable relief when Gwen had suggested her father's death might have been other than suicide. As if relieved to have an ally.

Avery could be in cahoots with The Seven, but she thought not.

Gwen stood and crossed to the window, lifted one of the blind's slats and peered out at the brilliant morning. People moved about- on their way to school, work, on errands. City workers were still cleaning up from the weekend festival, removing lights, combing the square for the last remnants of trash.

Though no one as much as glanced her way, she felt as if she was being watched. Her comings and goings recorded. Who she spoke with noted.

Action against her was being planned.

Shuddering, she stepped away from the window. She brought the heels of her hands to her eyes. She had been too vocal about The Seven. Had asked too many questions of too many people. She hadn't used caution.

In her zeal to uncover her brother's fate, she had put herself in harm's way. Just as her brother, in his zeal to prove his thesis, had. Would she, like Tom, simply disappear? Who would come looking for her if she did? Or would her end come via suicide? She could see the headline now: Sister, Despondent Over Disappearance of Brother, Takes Own Life.

Who would doubt she'd done it? Not her mother, who had slid so deeply into depression herself that she could hardly get out of bed in the morning. Not the shrink she had seen, who had prescribed antidepressants, then lectured her for not taking them.

Don't get paranoid. Just be careful.

She needed an ally. She needed someone she could trust. Someone who belonged here, in this community. Someone the citizens of Cypress Springs trusted. Who could poke around and ask questions. Someone skilled at ferreting out facts. A person who had a compelling, personal reason for wanting to help her.

Only one such person came to mind.

Avery Chauvin.

CHAPTER 25.

Gwen quickly showered and dressed. She towel-dried her hair, grateful for her no-fuss cap of curls,

slapped on a touch of makeup, grabbed her handbag and darted out. Avery, she'd noted, had taken to jogging early then stopping for breakfast at the Azalea Cafe.

It was a bit late, but if she was lucky she would catch Avery as she was leaving the cafe.

She was better than lucky, Gwen saw, spotting Avery through the cafe's picture window-it looked as if

the other woman had just gotten her pancakes. She was deep in an animated conversation with Peg, the

Azalea's owner.

Gwen stepped into the restaurant. At the jingle of the door open-ing, both the cafe's owner and Avery looked her way. Avery's smile faded.

Gwen pasted on a friendly smile and crossed to the booth. "Morning, Avery."

"Morning." She returned her attention to the other woman in an obvious rebuff.

They'd ended their last conversation if not on a friendly note, then one of growing respect. Avery had