Honor wondered if the bitterness lacing his voice was aimed at his alcoholic father or at the searchers who had given up on finding his remains.

“Dad had ridden that horse near to death, so I shot it.” His folded arms dropped back to his sides. He stared out into the rain. “No great loss. It wasn’t much of a horse.”

Honor let a full minute pass before she asked about his mother.

“She was French Canadian. Tempestuous by nature. When riled, she would launch into French, which she never bothered to teach me, so half the time I didn’t understand what she was screaming at me. Nothing good, I’m sure.

“Anyhow, she and I parted ways after I graduated high school. I attended two years of college, decided it wasn’t for me, joined the Marines. My first tour of duty, I got word that she’d died. I flew to Idaho. Buried her. End of story.”

“Brothers or sisters?”

“No.”

His facial expression was as devoid of feeling as his life had been devoid of love from any source.

“No cousins, aunts, uncles, nobody,” he said. “When I die, ‘Taps’ won’t be played. There’ll be no twenty-one-gun salute, and there won’t be anyone there to get a folded flag. I’ll just be history, and nobody will give a shit. Especially me.”

“How can you say something like that?”

He turned his head toward her, registering surprise. “Why does that make you angry?”

Now that he’d asked, she realized she was angry. “I genuinely want to know how someone, anyone, could be so indifferent when speaking about his own death. Don’t you value your life at all?”

“Not really.”

“Why not?”

“Why do you care?”

“You’re a fellow human being.”

“Oh. You care about mankind in general, is that it?”

“Of course.”

“Yeah?” He turned the rest of his body toward her, until only his right shoulder was propped against the wall of the wheelhouse. “Why didn’t you beg him to come get you?”

She didn’t follow the shift in topic. “What?”

“Hamilton. Why didn’t you tell him where you were so he could send someone to pick you up?”

She took a shaky breath. “Because after what I’ve seen and heard over the past day and a half, I don’t know who to trust. I guess you could say I chose the devil I know.” She meant it in jest, but he didn’t crack a smile.

He inclined an inch toward her. “Why else?”

“If I have something that will convict The Bookkeeper, then I should help you find it.”

“Ah. Patriotic duty.”

“You could put it that way.”

“Hmm.”

He moved closer still, his nearness making her aware of her heartbeats, which had become stronger and faster. “And… and because… of what I’ve already told you.”

He stepped around until he was facing her, seemingly unmindful of the rain falling on him. “Tell me again.”

Her throat was tight, and not only because she had to tilt her head back in order to look up into his face. “Because of Eddie.”

“To preserve his reputation.”

“That’s right.”

“That’s why you’re here with me?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t think so.”

And then he pressed into her. First his thighs, then his middle, his chest, and finally his mouth. She made a whimpering sound, but its definition was unclear even to her, until she realized that her arms had gone around him instinctually, and that she was clutching his back, his shoulders, her hands restless and greedy for the feel of him.

He kissed her openmouthed, using his tongue, and when she kissed back, she felt the hum that vibrated deep inside his chest. It was the kind of hungry sound she hadn’t heard in a long time. Masculine and carnal, it thrilled and aroused her.

He cupped the back of her head in his large hand. He pushed his thigh up between hers, high, and rubbed it against her, and continued kissing her as if to suck the very breath from her. She reveled in every shocking sensation.

He broke the kiss only to plant his hot mouth at the base of her throat. Boldly and possessively his hand covered her breast, squeezed it, reshaped it to fit his palm, felt her hard nipple, and hissed his pleasure.

And that brought Honor to her senses.

“What am I doing?” she gasped. “I can’t do this.” She shoved him away. He stood, impervious to the torrent beating at his head and shoulders, his chest rapidly rising and falling as he stared at her through the gloom.

“I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it to the bottom of her soul. But was she sorry for him, or sorry for herself? Sorry about letting it happen, or sorry she’d stopped it?

She didn’t know, and she didn’t allow herself to debate it. She rushed through the door of the wheelhouse, down the steps, and into the cabin.

Emily came awake, sat up, and looked around.

It was still kind of dark, but she could see, so she wasn’t scared. Mommy was there, lying beside her on the smelly bed. Coburn was in the other one. They were both asleep.

Mommy was lying on her side, her hands under her cheek. Her knees were pulled up until they were touching her tummy. If her eyes had been open, she would have been looking at Coburn. He was lying on his back. One of his hands was resting on his stomach. The other one was hanging off the edge of the bed. His fingers were almost touching Mommy’s knee.

She hugged Elmo against her and dragged her bankie along as she scooted to the end of the bed and climbed down. She wasn’t supposed to walk barefoot on the floor because it was so nasty. Mommy had said. But she didn’t want to sit down on it to put her sandals on, so she went on tiptoe up the steps and looked into the room with all the funny stuff in it.

Her mommy had sat her in the crooked chair and told her that it used to be her grandpa’s seat, and that he had let her sit in his lap while he steered the boat. But she’d been a baby, so she didn’t remember. She wished she did, though. Driving a boat would be fun.

Her mommy had got to drive it yesterday, but when she asked Coburn if she could drive it too, he said no because they were in a hurry, and he had better things to do than to entertain her. But then he’d said maybe later, we’ll see.

Coburn had told her not to get too close to the broken windows because the glass could cut her. She had asked him why glass cut people, and he said he didn’t know, it just could, and for her to keep away from the windows.

It wasn’t raining anymore, but the sky looked wet, and so did the trees that she could see.

Her mommy probably wouldn’t like it if she went any farther, so she tiptoed back down the steps. Mommy hadn’t moved and neither had Coburn, except that his stomach went in and out when he breathed. She pressed her hand to her stomach. Hers went in and out too.

Then she spied the forbidden phone and the battery lying at the foot of Coburn’s bed.

Yesterday, while her mommy and Coburn were cutting bushes off the boat, she’d asked if she could play her Thomas the Tank Engine games on Mommy’s phone. Both of them had said “No!” at the same time, except that Coburn had said it a little louder than Mommy. She hadn’t understood why they said no, because sometimes when Mommy wasn’t using the phone she would let her play games on it.

Mommy wasn’t using her phone now, so she probably wouldn’t mind if she played a game.

She had watched when Coburn showed Mommy how to put the battery in. She could do it. Coburn had said so.

He didn’t move when she picked up the phone. She lined up the gold bars on the battery and snapped it into place, just like Coburn, then turned on the phone. When all the pretty pictures came on the screen, she tapped on the picture of Thomas the Tank Engine. Of all the games, she liked the puzzle best.

Concentrating hard, she started with the wheels, then added the engine and the smokestack, and all the other parts, until there was a whole Thomas.

Each time she worked the puzzle, Mommy told her how smart she was. Mommy knew she was smart, but Coburn didn’t. She wanted him to know that she was smart.