Zack struggled, but the light of the orb was in his eyes, the throb of the orb was in his blood, the voice of the orb was in his
head, implacable, inescapable.
Closer. Touch me. You don’t have to be alone.
Closer. Release me. I can give you what you want. Women. Stephanie.
He drifted, dazzled.
Caught.
A terrible jerk seized his body, immobilized his will. Pain lanced through him, pitiless, paralyzing. The orb drew him
closer, reeled him in like a fish flailing on the end of a line.
He touched it and it shattered. The shock jolted through him, convulsing his body, stunning his mind. He fought, screaming
inside his head. But the Thing that had him wouldn‟t let go.
Liz smiled as she locked the clinic doors. Despite her assurance that she would be fine, Caleb had insisted she leave with
them.
“I‟m a cop,” he explained simply. “I don‟t want to get in a situation where I left you alone and something happened.”
Liz tucked her keys into her purse. “No middle-of-the-night phone calls?” she teased.
His smile crinkled his warm green eyes. “I think we‟ve had enough excitement for one night.”
“And we will have our sleep interrupted enough as it is,” Margred added, cuddling their newborn son against her shoulder.
“It‟ll take a little time to get in a routine,” Liz said. “Just rest when he does, and you‟ll be fine. Tired, but fine. I‟ll drop by
tomorrow and see how you‟re all doing.”
They walked together to their cars. Observing the new family, Liz felt a lump rise in her throat. Their joy, warm and real
and palpable, wrapped them as securely as the baby‟s receiving blanket. Love was so often in the details, she thought. In the
tender touch of Caleb‟s hand on the small of Margred‟s back or the way she leaned her cheek against his arm. In their laughter
as they fumbled with the new infant seat. In their tenderness with each other and with their baby.
She could have that, Liz thought as she drove through the moon-washed night. A life, a home, a family, with Morgan.
Maybe he didn‟t have all the right words yet to tell her that he loved her. But he needed her. He trusted her. He wanted to stay.
It was enough, more than enough, for now.
Anticipation tingled through her. She was glad Regina had called to tell her Emily had fallen asleep watching a movie and
could stay until morning. Not that Liz intended to, well, do anything with their fifteen-year-old son upstairs. She might want to
rip Morgan‟s clothes off, but she still had to set an example. And Zack still needed time to adjust to Morgan‟s presence in their
lives.
She smiled. Maybe she and Morgan could neck in the hammock. Assuming Zack was home and asleep, of course.
Oh, she hoped he was home and asleep.
But when she pulled into the driveway, all the windows were blazing. All the windows. Every light in the house must be
on.
Liz frowned. Zack was definitely home. Only a teenager was that careless with utilities.
She climbed the porch steps, an odd misgiving squeezing her lungs, dragging at her feet. The front door was unlocked. Her
heart thumped. Really, that was too careless. She‟d told Zack and told him . . .
“Zachary?”
The living room was empty. The downstairs was quiet. If Zack were home, where was Morgan?
She set her medical bag in the hall, hanging her purse over the banister. The house was too warm, as if someone had
fiddled with the thermostat.
“Zack!” She pitched her voice to carry up the stairs. “I want to talk to you.”
No answer. He must be listening to his iPod.
Annoyed, she started up the stairs. He was fifteen and finfolk. He still had to follow the rules.
Sure, this was Maine. They had one of the lowest crime rates in the country. But he shouldn‟t be up in his room with the
door unlocked. Anyone could walk right in.
His bedroom door was closed. She tapped. “Zack?”
“Don‟t come in.” His voice was strained. Urgent.
What was he doing in there?