"I'm glad you weren't looking to kill me."

"What makes you think I wasn't?" Jeffrey asked, using the bat to hold the plastic aside so that she could get into the house.

Sara looked at the plastic, then at him. "I love what you've done to the place."

"It needs a woman's touch," Jeffrey suggested.

"I'm sure there are plenty of volunteers."

He suppressed a groan as he headed back into the kitchen. "Power's out in here," he offered, lighting a candle by the stove.

"Ha-ha," Sara said, trying the light switch nearest her. She walked across the room, trying the other switch as Jeffrey lit another candle. "What's the deal?"

"Old house." He shrugged, not wanting to confess his laziness. "Brad took the sample to Macon."

"A couple of weeks, huh?"

"Yeah," he nodded. "Do you think he's a cop?"

"Brad?"

"No, the perpetrator. Do you think he's a cop? Maybe that's why he left the handcuff key in… there." He paused. "You know, as a clue."

"Maybe he uses handcuffs to restrain them," Sara said. "Maybe he's into S amp;M. Maybe his mama used to cuff him to the bed when he was a little boy."

He was puzzled by her flippant tone but knew better than to comment on it.

Out of the blue, Sara said, "I want a screwdriver."

Jeffrey frowned at this, but he walked over to his toolbox and rummaged around. "Phillips?"

"No, a drink," Sara answered. She opened the freezer door, taking out the vodka.

"I don't think I've got orange juice," he said as she opened the other door.

"This'll do," she said, holding out the cranberry juice. She rummaged in the cabinets for a glass, then poured what looked like a very stiff drink.

Jeffrey watched all this, concerned. Sara seldom drank, and when she did a glass of wine could turn her tipsy. He had never seen her drink anything stronger than a margarita their entire marriage.

Sara shuddered as she swallowed the drink. "How much was I supposed to put?" she asked.

"Probably a third of what you poured," he answered, taking the drink from her. He took a small sip, nearly gagging from the taste. "Jesus Christ," he managed around a cough. "Are you trying to kill yourself?"

"Me and Julia Matthews," she tossed back. "Do you have anything sweet?"

Jeffrey opened his mouth to ask her what the hell she meant by that comment, but Sara was already rummaging through the cabinets.

He offered, "There's some pudding in the fridge. Bottom shelf in the back."

"Fat free?" she asked.

"Nope."

"Good," Sara said, bending at the waist to find the pudding.

Jeffrey crossed his arms, watching her. He wanted to ask her what she was doing in his kitchen in the middle of the morning. He wanted to ask her what had been going on lately, why she was acting so odd.

"Jeff?" Sara asked, rooting through the fridge.

"Hmm?"

"Are you looking at my ass?"

Jeffrey smiled. He hadn't been, but he answered, "Yeah."

Sara stood, holding the pudding cup in the air like a trophy. "Last one."

"Yep."

Sara pulled the top off the pudding as she scooted onto the counter. "This is getting to be a bad thing."

"You think?"

"Well." She shrugged, licking the pudding off the top. "College girls being raped, killing themselves. That's not what we're all about, is it?"

Again, Jeffrey was surprised by her cavalier attitude. This wasn't like Sara, but lately he wasn't sure exactly how she was.

"I guess not," he said.

"You tell her parents?"

Jeffrey answered, "Frank picked them up at the airport." He paused, then said, "Her father." He stopped again. The sight of Jon Matthews's anguished face was not something Jeffrey would soon forget.

"Father took it hard, huh?" Sara said. "Daddies don't like to know their little girls have been messed with."

"I guess not," Jeffrey answered, wondering at her choice of words.

"You would guess right."

"Yeah," Jeffrey said. "He took it really hard."

Something flashed in Sara's eyes, but she looked down before he could tell what was going on. She took a long drink from her glass, spilling some down the front of her shirt. She actually giggled.

Despite his better judgment, Jeffrey asked, "What's wrong with you, Sara?"

She pointed at his waist. "When'd you start wearing those?" she asked.

Jeffrey looked down. Since the only thing he was wearing were his green boxers, he assumed that's what she meant. He looked back at her, shrugging. "A while ago."

"Less than two years," she noted, licking more pudding.

"Yeah," he offered, walking over to her, arms out from his sides, showing off his underwear. "You like 'em?"

She clapped her hands.

"What're you doing here, Sara?"

She stared at him for a few seconds, then put the pudding down beside her. She leaned back, her heels lightly hitting the bottom cabinets. "I was thinking the other day about that time I was on the dock. Do you remember?"

He shook his head, because they had spent practically every free second of ever)' summer on the dock.

"I had just gone for a swim, and I was sitting on the dock, brushing my hair. And you came up and you took the brush and you started to brush it for me."

He nodded, remembering that was the very thing he had been thinking about when he woke up in the hospital this morning. "I remember."

"You brushed my hair for at least an hour. Do you remember that?"

He smiled.

"You just brushed my hair, and then we got ready for dinner. Remember?"

He nodded again.

"What did I do wrong?" she asked, and the look in her eyes almost killed him. "Was it sex?"

He shook his head. Sex with Sara had been the most fulfilling experience of his adult life. "Of course not," he said.

"Did you want me to cook you dinner? Or be there more when you got home?"

He tried to laugh. "You did cook me dinner, remember? I was sick for three days."

"I'm being serious, Jeff. I want to know what I did wrong."

"It wasn't you," he answered, knowing the excuse was trite even as he finished the sentence. "It was me."

Sara sighed heavily. She reached for the glass, finishing the drink in one gulp.

"I was stupid," he continued, knowing he should just shut up. "I was scared because I loved you so much." He paused, wanting to say this the right way. "I didn't think you needed me as much as I needed you."

She leveled him with a gaze. "Do you still want me to need you?"

He was surprised to feel her hand on his chest, her fingers lightly stroking his hair. He closed his eyes as she traced her fingers up to his lips.

She said, "Right now, I really need you."

He opened his eyes. For just a split second, he thought she was joking. "What did you say?"

"You don't want it now that you have it?" Sara asked, still touching his lips.

He licked the tip of her finger with his tongue.

Sara smiled, her eyes narrowing, as if to read his mind. "Are you going to answer me?"

"Yeah," he said, not even remembering the question. Then, "Yes. Yes, I still want you."

She started kissing his neck, her tongue making light strokes along his skin. He put his hands around her waist, pulling her closer to the edge of the counter. She wrapped her legs around his waist.

"Sara." He sighed, trying to kiss her mouth, but she pulled away, instead letting her lips travel down his chest. "Sara," he repeated. "Let me make love to you."

She looked back at him, a sly smile on her face. "I don't want to make love."

His mouth opened, but he did not know how to respond. Finally he managed, "What does that mean?"

"It means…" she began, then took his hand and held it up to her mouth. He watched as she traced the tip of his index finger with her tongue. Slowly, she took his finger into her mouth and sucked it. After what seemed not nearly enough time, she took it out, smiling playfully. "Well?"