"How would I know?" he said at last, breaking the silence.

"How stupid of me," she murmured. "You wouldn't have anything to do with it, would you?"

His smile was pale, cool, bewilderingly gentle. "Not at the moment," he said. He put his hand on her elbow and the force of the current they created shot between them.

"Who are you?" she whispered, unable to move.

He leaned closer, and she lifted her face to his, wanting his mouth again. Needing it.

"There you are, Miss Laura." Mrs. Hawkins's voice shattered the faint, dreamy mood as she appeared at the end of the hallway, an old dish towel in one hand. "Your father's been asking for you. Quite agitated, he is. Maria said to find you as quick as can be."

"Is he going?"

"Not so's I could tell. He wants to talk to you, though, and I don't think getting worked up will do him any good. You go on in, and I'll get Alex here a cup of coffee. There never was a Frenchman who could resist a good cup of coffee."

Laura waited for him to protest, but he said not a word. His hand dropped from her arm, and she felt burned, frozen. "Go see him, Laura," he said softly. "Maybe he'll have the answers to your questions."

But Laura wasn't quite sure she wanted to hear them.

CHAPTER SIX

William Fitzpatrick lay still and silent in the bed. Only the steady chirp and beat of the machines gave the lie to the appearance of death, and Laura moved quietly to his bedside, loath to disturb him.

The creepy, blue-veined eyelids shot open, and her father fixed her with the piercing look that had terrified her in her childhood. It still had the power to make her feel very young and helpless.

"Why did you bring him here?" he demanded in a mere rasp of a whisper.

She didn't pretend to misunderstand. "I ran into him on the mountain," she said, trying to keep the defensiveness out of her voice. "I'd fallen, I was afraid I was dying, and then…he was there. He brought me back here, Father. Instead of you and Jeremy being so distrustful, you ought to thank him."

"Thank him?" William echoed in a hoarse laugh. "That'll be the day. Don't you know who he is? What he wants?"

She put her hand on his forehead. He was hot, feverish, and his faded eyes were burning with determination and something akin to madness. "He's no one," she murmured soothingly, stroking his brow. "A ski bum. He doesn't want anything but fresh powder."

"You're almost as stupid as your siblings," William snapped, with a trace of his usual force. "He's fooled you, but he can't fool me. I know him. I've wrestled him too many times. I'm not going to let him win now."

Laura cast a desperate glance around the room. There was no sign of Maria, and her father's mind was clearly wandering, increasingly delirious, even though his body seemed uncharacteristically strong. "He won't win, Father," she said in a soothing voice.

"Don't patronize me. You think I'm off my head, don't you? I may be dying, but that doesn't mean I'm crazy. I know who he is, I tell you. I know what he wants."

"What does he want, Father?" she asked calmly.

"You. He's come to kill you."

Laura's gentle smile didn't waver. "I can't imagine why. He doesn't even know me."

"You don't understand!" Her father was getting more agitated by the second, and the monitoring systems began to chirp louder, faster, more erratically. "That's what he does. That's who he is. He's—"

"What's going on in here?" Maria bustled in, the picture of sturdy efficiency. "You calm down, Mr. Fitzpatrick, and don't say another word! You're agitating yourself, and if you want your poor daughter to stand there and watch you die, then just keep on the way you are."

"I'm going to die anyway," he said sulkily, leaning back. His color was a sickly gray, and he looked like Death himself, Laura thought.

"We all are, sooner or later," Maria said briskly, checking his pulse. "There's no need to hurry it along. If the good Lord saw fit to grant you a reprieve, then you take it and be grateful."

"Ha!" William Fitzpatrick snorted, but the sound was a hollow travesty. "I don't think the good Lord had a damned thing to do with it."

"Not another word, Mr. Fitzpatrick. Laura, why don't you go have a cup of herb tea or something? Leave this grumpy old man to get some rest."

Her father opened his eyes for a moment, staring at her malevolently. "Yes. Go away, Laura. Don't worry, I'm not going to pop off without any warning."

"I don't think anyone is," she murmured, half to herself.

Maria looked at her oddly, but William missed her cryptic statement. "Anyway," he continued, "I'm not ready to go yet. I promise you'll get to hold my hand and weep over my corpse. Unless your new friend has something to say about it."

"There are times, Father, when you are completely impossible," Laura said with affectionate exasperation, leaning over and placing a gentle kiss on his wrinkled forehead. "I'll come back when you've decided you don't want to bait me any longer."

"Knowing him, it might be a long wait," Maria muttered under her breath.

The dining room was deserted. Laura had lost track of time, and it gave her an odd shock to realize that it was already early afternoon. The remnants of a luncheon still lined the buffet table, and she instinctively went for the carafe of coffee. After all, she'd survived one cup without the slightest ill effects. Any racing of her heart had come from Alex, not caffeine.

She might as well live dangerously, she thought, pouring herself a cup. She took it with her as she wandered down the hallway in search of her family. She'd left Jeremy down in the woods, but she still had no idea where the others were. Ricky was probably drinking, Justine weeping, and Cynthia? What was Cynthia doing?

The door to the library was still closed, and Laura paused outside. If she had any sense at all, she would take her coffee up to her room and not even think about what lay on the other side of the door.

But she'd never been a coward. She didn't bother to knock. She simply turned the handle, pushing the door inward.

There were no lights on, and the murky sunlight barely infiltrated the shadows. At first she thought the room was empty. And then she saw Cynthia, huddled in a corner, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees, her pale face streaked with tears and runny makeup.

Laura forgot her jealousy. The hot coffee sloshed over her hand as she slammed the mug down on a table. Within seconds she was kneeling on the floor next to Cynthia, pulling her sister-in-law's unresisting body into her arms.

"What happened, Cynthia?" she murmured.

The room was warm, almost hot. Cynthia's body felt ice-cold, and she was shaking so hard Laura could barely hold her. Cynthia's teeth were chattering, and her attempts at speech were just a helpless stuttering.

"Did someone hurt you?" Laura persisted. "Was it Alex?"

Cynthia let out a small moan, burying her head against Laura's shoulder. A moment later, electric light blazed through the room, and Jeremy stood there, his face in shadows. "I'll take care of her," he said in a long-suffering voice.

Cynthia jerked, burrowing closer to Laura as if looking for a safe haven, and Laura's arms tightened around her. "Something's happened, Jeremy," Laura said. "Something frightened her."