The Complete Colony Series. Lisa Jackson

said to Renee. “Is it the Jessie story?”

      “Among other things. I am going through a divorce, you know.” She frowned, her features pinching into a knot. “You don’t see Tim anywhere, do you?”

      “I thought that’s the way you wanted it.”

      “Who knows what I want.”

      “Come on,” Evangeline said, grabbing Zeke’s hand and dragging him toward the church steps.

      Renee pressed her lips together, looked at her brother as if she had something to say, then threw a glance at Becca and clammed up. After a taut moment, she said, “Sometimes a story’s just a story, and sometimes it’s a hell of a lot more. Jessie was running from something, and I don’t know what. I’ve got some answers, but I’ve got a lot more questions, too.” She glanced over her shoulder as if expecting to be overheard.

      Becca observed, “You still feel like you’re being followed.”

      She shrugged.

      Hudson said, “Who’s following you?”

      “No one. Someone. The bogeyman. A damned ghost. I don’t know.”

      “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

      “Nothing.”

      “Maybe you should come and stay with me,” he said as they walked up the steps to the front doors.

      “I don’t think so. I can take care of myself.”

      “Can you?”

      “Been doing it for years,” she said as they walked through the open doors and into the vestibule. Absently Becca picked up a small program with Glenn’s picture on the front page, then slid into one of the rear pews. Organ music swelled and Gia began crying softly somewhere in the front row. Becca turned her eyes to the ceiling of the church with its curved wooden beams and wished she felt comforted. She closed her eyes and swallowed hard, but when she opened them again she found herself looking at Detective Sam McNally, who had unobtrusively entered and taken a seat in the pew across the aisle, opposite theirs.

      She felt Hudson stiffen, though he stared straight ahead. It seemed weird to have the cop at the service, a man who had been dogging Glenn as well as his friends since high school.

      As a preacher began to talk about Glenn’s life, Becca spotted the other members of their group. So far Mitch, seated three rows in front of McNally, was still unaware the detective had joined them. She could see the way he was jiggling his leg, as if he were made of nerves. The tension in his shoulders was obvious as well. Jarrett, two rows almost directly in front of Becca and Hudson, turned his head at that moment, gazing coldly toward McNally, his heavy eyebrows and grim mouth menacing. Somewhere toward the front The Third was seated next to Tamara.

      After the reverend had said a little about Glenn, Scott Pascal rose from a front pew and moved stiffly toward the podium. He made a short speech about his friend, describing how they’d decided to become partners in the restaurant. It was clear Scott felt the emotion of the moment, for he stumbled over his words and had to hesitate several times before continuing.

      Then Mitch jerked to his feet and took a turn at the podium. He glanced over their numbers, his round cheeks red and glistening with sweat under the lights. He looked hot and uncomfortable in his dark suit, and Becca wondered briefly if he was going to have a heart attack or something. He didn’t look well.

      “Glenn and I were friends a long time. He was a good guy.” Mitch looked to Gia, whose gaze was riveted on him. She held herself stiffly, as if her connection to Mitch were held by a tight, invisible rope. “We shared stuff. Good and bad. Now that he’s gone I don’t know who I’ll talk to.” As if of their own volition, his eyes searched through the crowd, fastening on McNally. He blinked several times, then said on a rasp, “We’re gonna miss you, buddy.” His hands were clenched as he walked back to his seat.

      A young woman approached the podium next, and she filled the small church with a beautiful alto version of “Amazing Grace.” By the time the back doors were opened, Becca felt heavy with unshed tears and sorrow and practically gulped air as she headed down the front steps to the graveled lot.

      Hudson was right behind her. One hand dropped lightly on one shoulder. “Hey,” he said softly.

      “I know. I’m okay, really. No vision to worry about this time.” She shot him a smile meant to lighten the mood, but his blue eyes were sober.

      “Let’s get out of here,” he said.

      His hand clasped hers and she squeezed hard, feeling emotion sweep over her. As if they’d choreographed the event, they headed to their cars and Becca followed him to his farm.

      Once inside the old clapboard farmhouse, they didn’t waste any time. She was in his arms in an instant and he was taking off her clothes, peeling off her blouse as she kicked off her shoes and worked at the buttons of his shirt. Hudson’s cell rang and he ignored it, turning the damned thing off and leaving it in the kitchen as they hurried upstairs, dropping clothing on the floor, kissing and touching and not getting enough of each other. They made love hungrily, as if in the act of joining they could redefine living, could push away the taint of death, the fear of the unknown.

      Several hours later Hudson lazily reached for his cell phone and reluctantly switched it back on. He kissed Becca’s bare shoulder and she curled toward him as he listened to the messages. Her eyes swept over the trail of clothing their urgent coupling had left in their wake: his pants in a heap by the bedroom door; her bra clinging to the corner of the bed; one of his socks sitting atop the TV at the end of the bed.

      She gazed at him through slitted eyes, afraid if she opened them wide he’d see her love reflected in their depths. She couldn’t be that transparent. Not yet, and she was certain she would be. She’d never stopped caring. All these years. Pathetic. Yes. But true, and if he knew—

      Suddenly every muscle in Hudson’s body stiffened. He lifted half up, the cell phone pressed to his ear.

      “What?” Becca asked, alarmed.

      He clicked off the phone and made himself lie down beside her once more, staring at the ceiling.

      “Who was it?”

      “The Third. McNally talked to the group after the memorial service and told everyone he wants us all to give him DNA samples. All of us. Guys and girls.”

      “What?” she said, sitting up. “Why?”

      “He’s working on Jessie’s case, and he wants to rule out some things. Said the strangest things pop up from DNA testing sometimes. The Third asked him if the bones are really Jessie’s, but he said they still don’t know for sure.”

      “Now wait a minute…why would they ask for that? I’m not a CSI authority, but the only reason they would take DNA is if they had something to compare it to.”

      “Maybe they found more than they’re saying. A weapon, blood or skin samples under her fingernails. They want female DNA as well, so that must mean that there was something buried with Jessie, a clue. Maybe she fought off her attacker and blood or flesh was left. I don’t know. The Third didn’t say.”

      “Did everyone agree to the testing?”

      “The Third’s heading to the station now and having them swab the inside of his cheek. Says he’s got nothing to hide and doesn’t want to wait.”

      All the warmth, the feeling of well-being she’d felt in Hudson’s arms had dissipated. “Were there two calls? What was the other one?”

      Hudson shook his head. “It was Renee. Said she was going to the station this afternoon, then heading to the beach. She sounded…better…stronger, like she’d made a decision.”

      “Good.”

      “I suppose we should give up some DNA.”

      Becca made a face. “I suppose.”

      “But