our son. And I know you feel the same way. That's why you're such a great mom. In a life where I've made a ton of mistakes, one of the best things I've done is to let you raise him."

She nodded, trying to stop the tears, and turned away. When she swiped at her eyes, Clayton took a step toward her.

"Hey," he said, his voice soft. "I know you don't want to hear this now, but trust me, you did the right thing. And in time, you're going to find someone, and I'm sure he's going to be the best guy ever. You deserve that."

Her breath hiccuped, and Clayton reached out for her. Instinctively, she leaned into him. "It's okay," he whispered, and for a long moment, they stood on the porch, their bodies close together as he held her.

Clayton didn't stay long. There was no need, he thought: He'd accomplished what he'd set out to do. Beth now saw him as the kind, caring, and compassionate friend, someone who'd atoned for his sins. The hug was just the icing on the cake—nothing he'd planned, but a nice conclusion to their encounter.

He wouldn't press her. That would be a mistake. She needed some time to get over Thigh-bolt. Even if he was a sociopath, even if the guy left town, feelings aren't turned on and off like a switch. But they would pass as surely as the rain would continue to fell. Next step: to make sure that Thigh-bolt was on his way back to Colorado.

And then? Be the nice guy. Maybe invite Beth over while he and Ben were doing something, ask her to stay for a barbecue. Keep it casual at first, so she didn't suspect anything, and then suggest doing something with Ben on another night of the week. It was essential that he keep the whole thing far from Nana's prying eyes, which meant staying away from here. Though he knew Beth wouldn't be thinking straight for at least a few weeks, Nana would be, and the last thing he wanted was for Nana to get in Beth's ear about what he was likely up to.

After that, as they got used to each other again, maybe they'd have a few beers together while Ben was sacked out, sort of a spur-of-the-moment thing. Maybe spike her beer with a bit of vodka so she couldn't drive home. Then offer to let her sleep in the bed while he took the couch. Be the perfect gentleman, but keep the beer flowing. Talk about the old times—the good ones— and let her cry about Thigh-bolt. Let the emotions flow and slip a comforting arm around her.

He smiled as he started the car, pretty sure he knew what would happen after that.

Chapter 32

Beth

Beth didn't sleep well and woke up exhausted.

The storm had hit in full fury last night, bringing heavy wind and massive amounts or rain, dwarfing the previous deluge. The day before, she couldn't have imagined the water getting any deeper, but when she looked out the window, the office looked like an isolated island in the midst of the ocean. Last night, she'd pulled her car onto a spit of higher land near the magnolia tree; good thing, she realized now. It, too, was its own little island, while the water nearly reached the high floorboards of Nana's truck. The truck had always managed well in floods, but it was a good thing that the brakes had been fixed. Otherwise they would have been stranded.

Last night, she'd taken it into town to buy a gallon of milk and a few other basic necessities, but the trip had been pointless. Everything was closed, and the only other vehicles that she'd seen on the road were utility trucks and SUVs driven by the sheriffs department. Half the town was without power, but so far their house was unaffected. If there was one bright spot, it was that TV and radio reports predicted the last of the storms would roll through today; tomorrow, hopefully, the water would begin to recede.

She sat in the porch swing outside while Nana and Ben we playing gin rummy at the kitchen table. It was the one game in which they were equally matched, and it kept Ben from getting bored. Later, she figured she'd let him splash around in the front yard while she went to check on the dogs. She'd probably give up any attempt to keep him dry and simply let him wear his swimsuit; when she'd gone out earlier in the morning to feed the dogs, her raincoat had been useless.

Listening to the sound of the rain drumming steadily on the roof, she found her thoughts drifting to Drake. She wished for the thousandth time that she could talk to him and wondered what he would have said about the photograph. Had he, too, believed in its power? Drake had never been particularly superstitious, but her heart lurched every time she recalled his inexplicable panic at the loss of the photo.

Nana was right. She didn't know what Drake had experienced over there, and she didn't know what Logan had, either. As informed as she tried to be, none of it felt real to her. She wondered about the stress they felt, thousands of miles from home, wearing flak jackets, living among people who spoke a foreign language, trying to stay alive. Was it impossible to believe that anyone would latch on to something he believed would keep him safe?

No, she decided. It was no different from carrying a St. Christopher medal or a rabbit's foot. It didn't matter that there was nothing logical about it—logic didn't matter. Nor did an absolute belief in magic powers. If it made someone feel safer, it simply did.

But tracking her down? Stalking her?

That's where her understanding broke down. As skeptical as she was about Keith's intentions—or even his attempt to appear genuinely concerned for her well-being —she had to admit that the situation made her feel acutely vulnerable.

What had Logan said ? Something about owing her? For his life, she assumed, but how?

She shook her head, drained by the thoughts chasing endlessly through her mind. She looked up when she heard the door creak open.

"Hey, Mom?"

"Yeah, sweetie."

Ben came over and took a seat beside her. "Where's Thibault? I haven't seen him yet."

"He's not coming in," she said. "Because of the storm?"

She hadn't told him yet, nor was she ready to. "He had some things to do," she improvised.

"Okay," Ben said. He looked out into the yard. "You can't even see the grass anymore."

Thibault loaded his backpack with the few provisions he had in the house. The wind was gusting and the rain still coming down hard, but he'd walked through worse weather before. Still, he couldn't seem to summon the energy he needed to walk out the door.

It had been one thing to walk here; it was different to walk away. He was different. He'd left Colorado feeling more alone than he'd ever felt before; here, his life seemed full and complete. Or it had until yesterday.

Zeus was finally settled in the corner. He'd spent most of the day pacing, restless because Thibault hadn't taken him for his walk. Every time Thibault got up to get a glass of water, Zeus scrambled to his feet, anxious to know if it was time to go.

It was midafternoon, but the cloudy, rainy sky made it darker. The storm continued to lash the house, but he sensed it was in its dying stages; like a recently caught fish flopping on the dock, it wasn't going to go quietly.

He spent most of the day trying not to think about what ha happened or how it all could have been avoided: that was a fools game. He had messed it up, simple as that, and the past couldnt be undone. He'd always tried to live his life without dwelling on things that couldn't be undone, but this was different. He wasn't sure he'd ever get over it.

At the same time, he couldn't shake the feeling that it wasn't yet over, that something remained unfinished. Was it simply closure that he was missing? No, it was more than that; his wartime experience had taught him to trust his instincts, even though he'd never been sure where they'd come from. Inasmuch as he knew he should leave Hampton, if only to get as far away from Keith Clayton as possible—he was under no illusions that Clayton would forgive and forget—he couldn't bring himself to walk out the door.

Clayton was the center of the wheel. Clayton—and Ben and Elizabeth—was the reason he had come. He just couldn't figure out why or what he was supposed to do.

In the corner, Zeus rose to his feet and headed toward the window. Thibault turned toward him just as he heard a knock at the door. Instinctively he tensed, but when Zeus peeked through the glass, his tail started to wag.

When Thibault opened the door, he saw Elizabeth standing before him. He froze. For a moment, they simply stared at each other.

"Hi, Logan," she finally said. "Hello, Elizabeth."

A tentative smile, so quick as to be almost nonexistent, flashed across her features. He wondered whether he'd imagined it. "May I come in?"

Thibault stepped aside, studying her as she removed her slicker, her blond hair spilling out of the hood. She held it out uncertainly until Thibault took it from her. He hung it on the front door knob before facing her.

"I'm glad you came," he said.

She nodded. Zeus nosed her hand, and she stroked him behind the ears before turning her attention to Thibault again. "Can we talk?" she said.

"If you'd like." He motioned to the couch, and Elizabeth took a seat on one end. He took a seat on the other.

"Why did you give the photo to Ben?" she asked without preamble.

Thibault studied the far wall, trying to figure out how to explain himself without making things even worse. Where to begin?

"Tell me in ten words or less," she suggested, sensing his reticence. "Then we'll go from there."

Thibault massaged his forehead with one hand before sighing, his eyes moving toward her. "Because I thought it would keep him safe."

"Safe?"

"Out at the tree house. The storm has weakened the whole structure, including the bridge. He shouldn't go there again. It's on the verge of collapse."

Her gaze was intense and unblinking. "Why didn't you keep it?"

"Because I felt like he needed it more than me."

"Because it would keep him safe." Thibault nodded. "Yes."

She fiddled with the couch cover before turning toward him again. "So you honestly believe what you said? About the photo being a lucky charm?"

Zeus walked toward him and lay at his feet. "Maybe," Thibault said.

She leaned forward. "Why don't you tell me the whole story?"

Thibault gazed at the floor, resting his elbows on his knees, and began, hesitantly, to tell her the whole saga of the photograph. He started with the poker games in Kuwait, then moved on to the RPG that knocked him unconscious and the firefight in Fallujah. He detailed the car bombs and the IEDs he'd survived in Ramadi, including the one in which Victor claimed that the photograph had saved both their lives. He talked about the reaction of his fellow marines and the legacy of their distrust.

He paused before meeting her eyes.

"But even after all that, I still didn't believe it. But Victor did. He always had. He believed in that kind of stuff, and I humored him because it was important to him. But I never believed it, at least not consciously." He clasped his hands together, his voice becoming softer. "On our last weekend together, Victor told me that I owed a debt to the woman in the photo because the photo had kept me safe—that otherwise, there was no balance. It was my destiny to find her, he said. A few minutes later, Victor was dead, but I escaped unharmed. Even then, I didn't believe it. But then, I began to see his ghost."

In a halting voice, he told her about those encounters, reluctant to meet her gaze for fear of seeing utter disbelief there. In the end, he shook his head and sighed. "After that, the rest is just like I told you. I was messed up, so I took off. Yes, I went to find you, but not because I'd been obsessed with you. Not because I loved you or wanted you to love me. I did it because Victor

said it was my destiny, and I kept seeing his ghost. I didn't know what to expect when I got here. And then, somewhere along the way, it became a challenge—whether I could find you, how long it would take me. When I finally arrived at the kennel and saw the 'Help Wanted' sign, I guess I thought that would be a way to repay the debt. Applying for the job felt like the right thing to do. Just like when Ben and I were in the tree house; giving the photo to him felt like the right thing to do. But I'm not sure I could explain those things even if I tried."

"You gave Ben the photo to keep him safe," Elizabeth repeated.

"As crazy as it sounds? Yes."

She digested this in silence. Then: "Why didn't you tell me from the beginning?"

"I should have," he said. "The only thing I can think is that I carried the photo with me for five years, and I didn't want to give it up until I understood its purpose."

"Do you think you understand it now?"

He leaned over to pet Zeus before answering. He looked directly at her. "I'm not sure. What I can say is that what happened between us, everything that happened, didn't start when I found the photo. It started when I walked into the kennel. That was when you first became real to me, and the more I got to know you, the more real I felt. Happier and alive in a way I hadn't felt in a long, long time. Like you and I were meant to be."

"Your destiny?" She lifted an eyebrow. "No … not like that. It has nothing to do with the photo, or the journey here, or anything Victor said. It's just that I've never met anyone like you before, and I'm certain I never will again. I love you, Elizabeth… and more than that, I like you. I enjoy spending time with you."

She scrutinized him, her expression unreadable. When she spoke, her voice was matter-of-fact. "You realize that it's still a crazy story that makes you sound like an obsessive nut job."

"I know," Thibault agreed. "Believe me, I feel like a freak even to myself."

"What if I told you to leave Hampton and never contact me again?" Elizabeth probed.

"Then I'd leave, and you'd never hear from me again."

The comment hung in the air, pregnant with meaning. She shifted on the couch, turning away in apparent disgust before swiveling her face back toward him.

"You wouldn't even call? After all we've been through?" she sniffed. "I can't believe that."

Relief swept through him when he realized she was teasing. He exhaled, unaware that he had been holding his breath, and grinned.

"If that's what it took for you to believe I'm not a psycho."

"I think that's pathetic. A guy should at least call." He scooted imperceptibly closer on the couch. "I'll keep that in mind."