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Tonya burst into tears. Dammit, she should have listened to Andrew even if he didn’t know everything about her life, she thought as she drove with extra care on streets that still bore traces of dirty snow and ice. After all, in his calm, unobtrusive way, he’d managed his own life so much better than she had her own. She loved Andrew more than she had thought herself capable of loving a man who was neither dashingly handsome nor well fixed in the money department. For years, she had pursued that kind of man—pursued and generally lost to a woman younger, prettier, or more socially superior than Tonya Ward. Acting charming in the subdued, cultured way she’d been practicing since she was an adolescent had become so tiring, she’d thought of abandoning the whole project and resigning herself to being the mistress of a man who would at least “keep” her, even if he’d never propose.

Then Andrew had asked for a date. She now blushed in shame to think she’d accepted mostly because he’d invited her to dinner at the Larke Inn, which she loved. She’d expected to enjoy getting dressed up, eating excellent food in the elegant ambience of the dining room, and perhaps catching the eye of one of the city’s prominent bachelors or ex-husbands while not having to worry about impressing Andrew.

Instead, Andrew had amazed her with his polished demeanor, perfect manners, and only slightly less than handsome looks. He’d been alternately witty, serious, genuinely interested in what she had to say, and—stunned as she was to admit it when she got home—he’d been the most charming man she’d gone out with for ages. Later, she’d discovered he was a better-than-average lover—slow, tender, yet passionate and definitely experienced.

Within two months, Tonya realized being with Andrew gave her a feeling of safety and stability she hadn’t known since her father had died when she was twelve. A month later,
she
had proposed to
him
. A stunned Andrew couldn’t accept fast enough, nor did he object to eloping. After all, he had no family and she had only a mother who’d lost interest in her years ago. Tonya had been unbelievably happy for five months and three days after she’d learned she was pregnant. She hadn’t told Andrew yet—she was saving it as a surprise for his birthday on Thursday. He would be thrilled.

And Tonya would be ecstatic except for one thing—Marissa Gray had come back to Aurora Falls in June and decided to stay.

When Marissa had returned to take care of her mother, Tonya had been certain she would leave for Chicago or some other big city after Annemarie Gray died. But Marissa had lingered, and in October Andrew had come home and announced that she’d decided to stay in Aurora Falls and he’d hired her. He was jubilant—he said Marissa was an excellent reporter, a natural, a wonderful addition to the
Gazette.

Tonya felt as if a storm had shattered the summer sky when she learned blond-haired, confident, inflexible Marissa Gray had invaded the beautiful life she’d built for herself. Marissa knew too much about her—things she could bring to light or begin harping about, like Gretchen’s death. Things that could humiliate both Tonya and Andrew—maybe even make Andrew realize what a mistake he’d made in marrying her. And now, after the picture of her and Andrew decorating the tree had arrived, Tonya feared Dillon was back in town. He’d been Tonya’s friend, or so she’d thought, but she now believed Dillon was far from being a friend—she feared he was dangerous and maybe even insane. As soon as Tonya learned she was pregnant, she knew she had to start fervently protecting her world. First, she had to know if Dillon really had come back to Aurora Falls. Her next step was to find out how much Marissa knew about Tonya’s past. The last was to rebuild her friendship with Marissa, who could destroy all Tonya had accomplished.

Distracted, Tonya had taken a left turn instead of a right, sending her down the less-populated Harper Street rather than the road leading back to the highway. She hadn’t driven on Harper Street for years and couldn’t help looking at the modest home now painted soft blue with white shutters, much more tasteful than when it had been yellow-green and brown and belonged to Edgar Blume.

Edgar Blume was a name that drifted through her mind at least once a day and always produced a chill. She hadn’t seen him for ten years, yet with sickening clarity she recalled his small, seeking eyes, the greasy hair combed across his bald spot, his foul breath when he so often leaned over her desk to “help” her with a math problem, his ever-present body odor, and his perpetual look of superiority.

Back in high school she’d managed to dodge him fairly well until she’d brought calamity down on herself by cheating on an algebra test in his class. She remembered running to the bathroom after the class and crying stormily. Marissa had followed her and she’d blurted out what she’d done. Marissa had been sympathetic but couldn’t help her. The next day Blume had confronted Tonya and threatened to report her for cheating to the principal, a report that would end up with her being expelled and humiliated, a report he’d told her would not happen if they could “talk” about the matter, Only Blume was using
talk
as a euphemism.

Tonya had thought of turning the tables and reporting Edgar Blume to the principal for sexual harassment, but her female English teacher had lodged a similar complaint against her a year earlier and another incident had occurred two months ago, when the principal had warned Tonya if this happened again he would expel her. She knew that if she got herself kicked out of an ordinary public school she would never win the attention of the guy on whom she’d set her sights: Will Addison—good-looking and son of the prosperous and socially prominent mayor. Even if things didn’t work out with Will, the humiliation of the expulsion would follow her for years.

Tonya had been certain she could bear Edgar Blume for one brief encounter—after all, she’d endured a repulsive stepfather for almost a year—but Tonya knew her attractions. One sweaty rendezvous would not satisfy Blume. He would want more and more and eventually he would get careless or brag and then
everyone
would know. Tonya had felt as if she’d rather die.

Tonya pulled herself back to the present when, with relief, she made another right turn and got herself on the road leading to the highway. What a stupid mistake to turn onto the street where Blume had lived, she thought. She’d traveled these roads a hundred times. She was so edgy, so frightened, she felt as if he’d somehow drawn her there to remind her of him, of everything that had sprung from her hideous evening with him, of everything she now could lose.

The wind suddenly picked up and the limbs of a thick evergreen near the street swayed as if the whole tree was going to blow in front of her. She slammed on her brakes, cringing as the seat belt tightened on her abdomen. Tonya feared the strap had hurt the baby and felt on the verge of tears again. Ten minutes, she thought. If she could keep her wits, she could be home in just ten minutes, but even that seemed like an eternity.

Nausea sprouted and grew in Tonya’s body. She rolled down a window and took a deep breath of sharp, icy air. Then another. A deep coldness settled in her body and she quickly closed the window and turned up the car heater. Already she was experiencing morning sickness and she felt as if she might have to stop by the side of the road and throw up, but it wasn’t morning. “Be sensible, Tonya,” she said aloud. “The baby isn’t making you sick, thinking about Blume is, so stop it.
Immediately!
” God. She’d sounded just like him.
Immediately
had seemed to be his favorite word.

She stopped at a red light, put in a CD, and tried to sing along with “Save Me” by k. d. lang. Lyrics she sang every time she drove now deserted her, though. All she could think about was walking to Edgar Blume’s house on that February evening, opening his back door, smiling as he rushed her into his darkened kitchen, grabbing for her and rubbing his hands all over her body. He’d brushed his teeth, but toothpaste couldn’t cover the putrid breath. She’d forced herself to ignore it and steer him into the living room so fast he forgot to lock the kitchen door—the door where Dillon Archer had promised her he’d enter the house within ten minutes. Dillon had been her casual, secret sex partner on and off since they’d met aboard the
Annemarie
and he hated Blume even more than Blume hated him.

“I brought this,” Tonya had said flatly, holding up a bottle of red wine. Dillon had given her the wine and told her not to sound happy when she presented it. Blume was supposed to get the idea she’d brought it to help numb her senses.

Blume had looked at the bottle dubiously. “Ruby port? Is that what you teenagers are drinking these days?”

“One day in class you said you liked it. I tried it. It’s heavy and sweet.”

“‘Heavy and sweet’ sounds like you’re talking about cough syrup, but at least you’re trying to please, aren’t you?” She’d shrugged. “My wife’s mother is sick and she’s with her for the night. Took the kid. But this isn’t a party, Tonya.”

Tonya had given him an icy glare. “You think this is a party for me? Pour us each a glass and I’ll be more relaxed. Or forget the wine and I’ll be more than happy to leave no matter what the consequences.”

“You aren’t going anywhere if you want to stay in school and keep a little dignity in this town. Get in the bedroom—the big one. I’ll fix the damned wine.”

The wine. To this day Tonya could not bear the sight of port wine. In fact, she rarely drank at all. Drinking loosened her tongue. What was that old saying? “Loose lips sink ships.” No truer words were ever spoken, she thought, laughed aloud, and abruptly stopped. My God, she was driving in an empty car on an icy night and laughing with an edge of hysteria in her voice. Was that what a visit to Marissa Gray had done to her?

No, this was what remembering that night with Edgar Blume was doing to her. After all these years, he could still make her sick, afraid, haunted.

Dillon had told her to touch as few things as possible in the bedroom and to leave as little of “herself” as possible, so she’d only stripped out of her jeans and sweater and slipped under the blanket. “Here,” Blume said harshly, handing her a glass. “Why are you still wearing a bra?”

“Can’t you give me a few minutes to loosen up? And you’ve got
all
your clothes on.”

He’d promptly begun to strip and Tonya could have kicked herself. She couldn’t bear to look at him. She sipped the wine she hated and told herself to think of something else. But in a moment, Blume had stood in the dim bedroom light in all his glory—sinewy, white as a corpse, and hairy. He’d gulped down his wine, made a face that indicated approval—Dillon had known not to go cheap with the evening’s refreshment—and once again told her to take off all her clothes.

“Not until I get more wine,” Tonya had said, trying to sound calm when everything inside her shook.

Blume’s small eyes had narrowed even more. “I told you we’re not having a party.”

“But we could have.” He’d looked at her, blinking rapidly. “You know I wouldn’t be doing this if you weren’t forcing me, but you are forcing me and if you’re not satisfied, I stand to lose a lot. I’m not stupid…Edgar. You said your wife won’t be coming home tonight. We don’t have to hurry. I really liked that wine. It made me feel warm and sexy, but I could feel sexier, do whatever you want. See? I’ll make it good for you in bed and you’ll make things good for me at school.” She’d paused, amazed at her imitation of composure. “Get some wine for
both
of us. Nice big servings. I’ll give you a night you won’t forget.”

He’d looked at her dubiously for a moment as if wondering if she weren’t pushing the wine on him. She had thought her heart might beat out of her chest because that’s exactly what she had been trying to do. But apparently Blume assured himself that he had opened a new bottle of wine and that Tonya was asking him to get their second glasses.

He’d put on a robe—thank God—and left the room. He’d returned holding two drinking glasses full of wine, wine she knew Dillon had spiked minutes earlier. She’d taken a sip. Blume had gulped half of his. What came after had been fast and brutal. He’d disposed of her bra, torn her cotton pan ties, clutching her breasts with crushing hands, rolling frenziedly on top of her. Tonya had briefly wondered if this was what it felt like when a bear mauled you, tossing you from side to side, drenching your face in saliva, tearing hairs from your scalp. She’d been on the verge of screaming when he’d stopped as if suddenly frozen. His eyes had widened, he’d smacked a hand to his chest, and his whole body had stiffened.

“H-heart,” he’d muttered, rolling off her. “My heart. Digitalis in bathroom.” Tonya had lain motionless, staring at him. “On…counter…bathroom. Hurry.”

Tonya had remained absolutely still and he’d realized she had no intention of helping him. He’d begun crawling off the bed, gasping, when Dillon had walked into the room, his handsome face graced by a calm smile.

“I don’t think digitalis is going to help you, Blume,” he’d said softly. “It doesn’t do much when you’ve ingested a fair amount of Viagra. Oh, also cocaine. Not a good mixture for a man with a weak heart.”

Tonya hadn’t known what Dillon intended to do beyond putting something in the wine, which was why he’d warned her not to pour any and make Blume suspicious that she’d “doctored” the drink. Blume would drink wine he thought only he’d poured from a sealed bottle.

“I remembered my brother, Andrew, talking about when you had a heart attack back when he was in your class,” Dillon had said, coming to the bed, holding on to the skinny, wild-eyed man. “And Tonya isn’t the first girl you’ve forced into bed. You like variety? Control? Or doesn’t the wife want anything to do with you anymore? No wonder.”

Dillon had then looked at Tonya. “Put your clothes on; pull off that sheet you were lying on and the pillowcase. Then go. Get rid of the bed stuff—cram it down a storm drain. I’ll take care of everything else here.”

“Dillon, what if he lives?” she’d asked, terrified.

“He won’t.” Dillon had given her a slow, lazy smile. “You’re safe. I’m seeing to it that you’ll be safe. And maybe you can do the same for me someday. That’s what friends do for each other. They pay each other back for favors, Tonya. Always remember that.”