The One Safe Place. Kathleen O'Brien

mean I can help them out of it, too.”

      Parker leaned over to clip the leash back onto Frosty’s collar. When he stood, his face was somber.

      “I never for a minute thought you could,” he said. “If anything, it might be the other way around. Maybe I thought they could help you. Truth is, you’re not as far out of it as you like people to think.”

      Reed shook his head. “You’re wrong,” he said.

      He wanted to be angry, wanted to dispute the implication that he wasn’t fully recovered. But the look on Parker’s face stopped him. “You’re completely wrong,” he repeated dully.

      “Could be,” Parker agreed, shrugging as he headed toward the door. “It wouldn’t be the first time. Just ask Sarah.”

      But that was nonsense. Parker’s beautiful new bride didn’t think a single word Parker had ever uttered was wrong. If he said day was night, Sarah would kiss him sweetly and obediently go to sleep. And it went both ways. If she said jump, Parker would soar right over the moon.

      Reed remembered what that had been like. A good marriage—two people cocooned in love. It had been soft and easy, exciting and alive, real and profound and achingly brief.

      He had to fight hard against the bitter envy that welled up in him whenever he saw the blissful Tremaines. But damn it, Parker didn’t know what he was talking about here. Reed didn’t need a distraction. He didn’t need a Good Samaritan mission. He didn’t even need a housekeeper.

      And he damn sure didn’t need Faith Constable and her troubled nephew, with a murderer nipping at their heels.

      What he needed was Melissa. Or, failing that, someone to drill into his brain and surgically remove all memories of being in love.

      CHAPTER TWO

      FAITH CHECKED HER WATCH in the bright mountain sunlight. She had checked her watch about ten times in the past half hour. She didn’t really care what time it was. She just needed something to do, something to fidget away the anxiety that was threatening to overtake her.

      At four-seventeen, just two minutes behind schedule, Detective Bentley stopped his car at a deserted mountain pass called Vanity Gap. It was time to turn them over.

      His friend Parker Tremaine was waiting at the mouth of the gap, ready to receive them. It was a strange, complicated transaction, designed to make it difficult for anyone to follow them without being seen. Faith felt a little like a ransomed hostage. Or perhaps just a parcel of smuggled goods.

      Parker looked very nice, and was in fact startlingly handsome. Still, as Faith watched Detective Bentley transferring their suitcases from the unmarked cop car into Parker’s expensive luxury sedan, she felt a clutch of fear.

      At least she knew the detective. After the past intense weeks, he seemed to have become a real ally. A friend. Besides, he was her tie to the city, to her sister, to her real life, which for the past three hours had been rapidly receding in the rear window.

      Getting into this new car with this stranger, however handsome, would be like sailing into darkness, and she was suddenly washed with uncertainty.

      Somehow she had to hide it, though, for Spencer’s sake. The little boy stood beside her, still as a statue. The only movement came from his Sheltie puppy, Tigger.

      Tigger, whose boundless energy had earned him his name, was struggling to reconcile his excitement about the trip with his innate urge to stay close to his little master. Consequently, though he whined and writhed in place, he never got more than two inches from Spencer’s left foot.

      Faith patted the puppy, then took Spencer’s hand and smiled down at him reassuringly.

      “Okay, sweetie, here we go,” she said with an attempt at brightness.

      Spencer just stared at her, his brown eyes so like his mother’s that Faith almost couldn’t bear to look into them.

      He didn’t speak, of course. Spencer hadn’t spoken a word since Grace’s death. “Conversion reaction,” the psychiatrists had called it. Or perhaps “selective mutism.” But she called it something simpler—and yet far more tragic. She called it unbearable pain.

      He was only six years old, and already the world had hurt him so much he no longer had the power to express it.

      No, she corrected herself. The world hadn’t done that. Doug Lambert had done it.

      “We’re going with Mr. Tremaine now. He’s taking us to Autumn House. That’s where you and Tigger and I will be living for a little while, remember?”

      “Please. Call me Parker.” The tall, blue-eyed man came over and squatted down to get at eye level with Spencer. “Autumn House belongs to a friend of mine. It’s very big and very pretty. And it has a huge yard that puppies like to run around in. I think Tigger will have a great time there.”

      Faith noticed that Parker didn’t phrase anything as a question. So he must already know about Spencer. Detective Bentley had probably filled him in on all the pitiful details. Which was only natural, of course. Only fair. These people were doing her a huge favor, and they deserved to know exactly what they were getting into.

      It was ungrateful of her to mind. And yet the idea of these strangers discussing her personal tragedies was oddly distressing. Intrusive, as if she really were just that troublesome parcel of handle-with-care cargo.

      She felt a new stab of hatred toward Doug Lambert as she added this to his list. He had stolen their basic right to privacy. A small loss, compared to the loss of Grace, or the loss of Spencer’s emotional peace, but another black mark on the board nonetheless.

      When the bags were all transferred, Detective Brantley came over to say goodbye. His kind eyes sent courage into hers as he wished her well, and assured her that he’d keep in touch frequently through Parker, making sure she was always updated on the search for Doug Lambert.

      Faith allowed herself one long hug. She had to pull herself away, finally, for fear she might dissolve into tears, which would be embarrassing. Besides, it would frighten Spencer, who needed to believe that his aunt, at least, had a firm grip on the reins of their changing, unpredictable world.

      “Thanks for everything, Detective,” she managed to say before her voice gave out. And then, without looking back, she took Spencer’s hand and led him into the soft, leather-upholstered interior of Parker Tremaine’s waiting car.

      Parker and the detective must have said their goodbyes very quickly, because in less than a minute Parker joined them.

      He slipped his key in the ignition, using the mirror to check Spencer and Tigger, who were huddled together in the back seat.

      “Everybody buckled in?”

      Spencer pretended he hadn’t heard him, but Faith could see that the seat belt was already carefully pulled over both boy and dog. Spencer was so cautious now, she realized with a pang. It was unnatural to see any little boy sitting so still. Like someone frozen in the middle of a minefield.

      Once Spencer would have fussed and giggled and played stalling games, pretending he couldn’t find the dreaded lap restraint. But not now. Now he obviously clung to any illusion of safety he could find.

      “We’re all ready,” she said, turning to Parker with her best attempt at a smile. He was an innocent bystander in this drama. No need to make him any more uncomfortable than was absolutely necessary.

      But as they drove down the winding road that led to Firefly Glen, she gradually realized that Parker wasn’t the uncomfortable type. His conversation was easy, wry and interesting. He avoided anything personal, instead amusing them with stories of how Vanity Gap got its name, and the history of the four “season” houses of Firefly Glen.

      They would be staying in one of those special mansions—the Autumn House. Parker spent a lot of time describing the place, somehow making it sound both cozy and grand. Out of the corner of her eye,