Divine Evil

bed.”
    “That's a good start.”
    “But the sex is great.”
    His lips quirked. “I can't argue with that.”
    “What I'm trying to say is that even though the sex is, well, incredible, that's not why I…” Care about you,dream about you, think about you. “That's not why I'm here.”
    “Okay.” He took the hand that she was rapping against the arm of the Adirondack chair. “So, why are you here?”
    “I just wanted to be with you.” She kept looking through the scope, but she no longer saw anything.
    “Okay?”
    “Yeah.” He brought her hand to his lips, brushed a kiss over the knuckles in a quietly romantic gesture that brought tears to her eyes.
    “I don't want to screw this up, Cam. I'm real good at screwing things up.”
    “We're doing fine, Slim. Just fine.”
    They looked at the stars for more than an hour. When she left, Clare had nearly forgotten about the book she'd secreted away.
    Lisa MacDonald was pissed. She was also lost-in the middle of nowhere, as far as she could tell-and her car had definitely given up the ghost. Trying to be optimistic, she gave the engine one more shot. After all, it only had a hundred and sixy-two thousand miles on it. She turned the key and listened to the rattle-death rattle, she thought. The car vibrated beneath her, but didn't turn over.
    Disgusted, she slammed the door on her ’72 Volvo and rounded the hood. Since her forte was ballet and not auto mechanics, she knew ahead of time that it was a wasted effort.
    The moon was nearly full, and the stars were brilliant. But the light they shed only cast shadows on the long length of dark road. All she could hear was the monotonous chorus of peepers and crickets. The hood screechedwhen she lifted it, then fumbled with the bar. Swearing, she went around to the passenger side to search in the glove compartment. Her brother, who was a nag, a pain, and her closest friend, had bought her a flashlight and emergency kit.
    “Anyone who drives should be able to change a tire and do simple repairs,” she muttered, mimicking Roy. “Up yours, bro,” she added, but was relieved when the flashlight shot out a steady beam. Roy insisted on solid Duracell batteries.
    If she hadn't been coming to see him-and if he hadn't insisted she take the train so that she'd felt
obliged
to drive from Philadelphia, just to irritate him-she wouldn't be in this fix.
    Frowning, she tossed her waist-length blond hair behind her shoulders and aimed the beam on the engine. Looked fine to her, she thought. Everything was black and greasy. So why the hell didn't it run?
    Why the hell hadn't she had the car tuned before the trip? Because she'd needed a new pair of pointe shoes and her budget hadn't allowed for both. Lisa had her priorities. Even now, standing in the dark, alone, beside her dead car, she wouldn't have done things differently. She would have bought dance shoes before food, and often did.
    Tired, annoyed, and impatient, she turned a circle, shining the light as she went. She saw a fence and a field, and a scatter of lights that seemed at least two miles away. There were woods, thick and dark, and the black ribbon of road that disappeared around a curve.
    Where were the gas stations, the phone booths? Where the hell was a McDonald's? How did people live like this? She slammed the hood and sat on it.
    Maybe she should take a page out of the Boy Scout manual and stay put until someone found her. She staredup the road, then down the road, and gave a long, gusty sigh. At this rate, she'd be ready for social security before she got to civilization.
    She could start walking. At five four and a hundred pounds, she might have looked frail and petite, but the rigors of dance had toughened her body. She had as much, maybe more endurance than your average quarterback. But which way-and for how long?
    Resigned, she went back to the car for her map and the detailed directions Roy had given her-which she had somehow managed to mess up. She left the door open and sat sideways on the driver's seat as she tried to figure out where she had gone wrong.
    She'd passed Hagerstown. That she was sure of, because she'd pulled off the interstate there for gas and a diet Coke. And a Hershey bar, she reminded herself guiltily. Then she'd come to Route 64, just as Roy had said. And she'd turned right.
    Shit. She dropped her head in her hands. She'd turned left, she was all but sure of it. In her mind, she went back to the intersection, saw the convenience store