Dwayne got shakily to his feet. He weaved a little, but his eyes were steady. "You've got no reason to talk to me like this. You've got no right to talk about him either."

Tucker grabbed Dwayne by the shirtfront, tearing seams. "Who the hell has the right if not me, when I grew up loving both of you? Being hurt by both of you?"

A muscle in Dwayne's cheek began to twitch. "I'm not Daddy."

"No, you're not. But he was a fucking drunk, and so are you. The only difference is he got mean with it and you just get pathetic."

"Who the hell are you?" His mouth moved into a snarl as he grabbed Tucker's shirt in turn. "I'm the oldest. It was always me he jumped on first. I was supposed to take care of things, to fucking carry on the Longstreet legacy. It was me who got shipped off to school, me who got put in charge of the fields. Not you. Never you, Tuck. I never wanted it, but he wouldn't let me go my own way. Now he's dead and I can do what I want."

"You're not doing anything but sliding into a bottle. You've got two sons of your own. At least he was here. At least he acted like a father."

Dwayne let out a howl, and then they were wrestling on the grass, grunting and growling like a pair of dogs looking for a soft spot to sink fangs into. Tucker took a short glancing blow to his still-sore ribs. The fresh pain brought a burst of wild fury into his blood. Even as they went tumbling into the pond, he was bloodying his brother's lip.

They went under grappling, came up sputtering and cursing. They kicked and shoved, but the water softened the blows and began to make them both feel foolish.

Tucker scissored his legs, holding Dwayne by his torn shirt, one fist reared back. Dwayne mirrored his position so exactly, the two of them stared, panting.

"Shit," Tucker said, warily eyed his brother as he lowered his fist. "You used to hit harder."

Gingerly, Dwayne touched the back of his hand to his swollen lip. "You used to be slower."

They released each other to tread water. "I wanted a shower, but this isn't half bad." Tucker swiped the hair out of his eyes. "Though Christ knows what's in this water."

"A half pint of Wild Turkey, for sure," Dwayne said, and smiled. "Remember when we used to swim here, when we were kids?"

"Yeah. Still think you can beat me to the other bank?"

"Shit." Dwayne's smile widened to a grin. He rolled over in the water and struck out. Too many years of the bottle had slowed him. Tucker streaked by like an eel. In tacit agreement, they raced back, then floated awhile under the rising moon.

"Yeah," Dwayne said after they'd stopped panting. "You used be slower. I guess things've changed."

"Lots of things."

"I guess I've messed things up."

"Some things."

"I get scared, Tuck." Dwayne fisted a hand in the water, but there was nothing there to hold on to. "The drinking-I know when I should stop, but I get so I don't see the point in it. Sometimes I can't remember what I've been up to. I'll wake up sick and headachy, and it's like I've been dreaming. I can't make it out."

"We can do something about it, Dwayne. They've got places that take care of it."

"I like how I feel right now." Through half-closed eyes, Dwayne watched the stars wink into life. "Just a nice little buzz on, so nothing seems too goddamn important. Thing to do is to catch myself right here, where I like it best."

"It doesn't work that way."

"Sometimes I wish I could go back, see where I turned off wrong so I could fix it."

"You could always fix things, Dwayne. Remember that model airplane I got for my birthday? I wracked it up the second time I used it. I knew Daddy'd skin me when he found out, but you fixed it all up. Mama always said you had a talent for putting things together."

"I used to think I'd be an engineer."

Surprised, Tucker shifted to treading again. "You never told me that."

Dwayne merely stared up at the sky. "Wasn't any point. Longstreets are planters and businessmen. You could have done something different maybe. But I was the oldest son. He never gave me a choice."

"No reason not to do what you want now."

"Hell, Tuck, I'm thirty-five years old. That's no time to go back to school and learn a trade."

"People do, if they want it bad enough."

"I wanted it bad enough ten, fifteen years ago. That's behind me. A lot of things are behind me." He tried to make out the stars, but they were a hazy blur of light. "Sissy's going to marry that shoe salesman."

"I guess we had to figure she would-him or somebody."

"Says he wants to adopt my kids. Give them his name. 'Course she'd forget that soon enough if I upped the support payments."

"You don't have to take that, Dwayne. Those kids are yours. They're always going to be yours no matter what game she's playing."

"Nope, don't have to take it," Dwayne said lazily. "And I'm not going to. Sissy's going to have to learn that a man has his limits. Even me." He sighed, letting his gaze drift over sky and water. "I got comfortable, Tucker." Out of the corner of his eye Dwayne saw something bob in the water. An empty bottle, he thought, for an empty life. "Drinking makes things that way."

"The way you're doing it, drinking makes you dead."

"Don't start on me again."

"Dammit, Dwayne." He started to move closer when his legs brushed against something soft and slick that made him yelp. "Damn cats," he said. "Scared the shit out of me." He kicked away, glancing over his shoulder.

He, too, saw something bob in the water. But he didn't mistake it for a bottle. As the spit dried to dust in his mouth, as his blood slowed to a crawl, he stared at the trailing white hand.

"Jesus. Oh my Jesus."

"Catfish won't do any more than nibble," Dwayne said placidly. He swore when Tucker gripped his arm. "What's got into you now?"

"I think we found Darleen," he managed to say, then closed his eyes.

Some prayers, he thought, just weren't meant to be answered.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Sober and shaken, Dwayne dragged himself out of the water. On his hands and knees he crouched on the grass, fighting his rebellious stomach.

"Christ, Tuck. Jesus bleeding Christ. What're we going to do?"

Tucker didn't answer. He lay on his back, staring up at heat-hazed stars. It took enough effort just to concentrate on breathing when he was so cold, so bitterly cold. "In the pond," Dwayne said, his throat clicking as he swallowed. "Somebody dropped her in our pond. We were in there with her. Jesus, we were swimming with her."

"She's past being bothered by it." He wanted to toss an arm over his eyes. Maybe that would help block out the image of that hand sticking out of the dark water, its fingers curled. As if it had been reaching for him. As if it would grab hold and pull him under. It had been worse because he'd felt obliged to be certain. To be certain it was Darleen Talbot, and to assure himself that she was beyond help. So he'd gritted his teeth and had taken that stiff, dead wrist, tugging against the weight that held the body down. And the head had bobbed up. He'd seen-oh, God, he'd seen what the knife had begun and what the fish were already ending.

The human form was so frail, he thought now. So vulnerable. So easily whittled away into something hideous.

"We can't just leave her in there, Tuck." But Dwayne shuddered at the prospect of going back into the water and touching what had once been Darleen Talbot. "It's not decent."

"I think we have to." Tucker thought regretfully of the bottle he'd tossed away. A few swallows of sour mash would do him some good just now. "At least until Burke gets here. You go in and call him, Dwayne. One of us ought to stay here. Call Burke, and tell him what we found. Tell him Agent Burns better come along." Tucker sat up to drag off his wet shirt. "And bring me out some dry smokes, will you? I wouldn't say no to a beer either," he began, then swore when he caught sight of Caroline walking toward them. Tucker scrambled up, intercepting her after three long strides.