Gingerbread Man

didn't, he was convinced of that. He had no idea, though, whether their secrets had anything to do with his case.
    He turned on the chaise—which had been piled high with pillows and blankets just for him—and studied Holly. Her bed was ten feet away, and that seemed too far. He wanted to be closer. Suppose he fell asleep, and then she woke or had some kind of medical crisis in the middle of the night? Suppose the killer—who may or may not have sabotaged the dock light, indirectly causing their accident, and may or may not have been following them through the woods tonight—came back for another try? His gun was gone, lost in the lake. He'd realized that about halfway through their hike. The one he'd taken from Holly was locked in his Jeep.
    Setting his jaw, he got up. The combined pain of his bruised ribs and throbbing feet nearly put him right back down again, but he held on to a small hardwood table. It didn't ease much. A little, as his body adjusted to being upright. He hobbled across the thick carpet to Holly's bed. Without hesitation, because he was all but dead on his feet, he peeled her covers back. Then he stared down at her.
    She was wearing a soft, white muslin nightgown. Shit, all she needed was a candelabra to carry around this place, and she could be an honorary member of the D'Voe family.
    He glanced down at himself, surprised to see maroon pajamas covering his skin. They felt like silk. He lifted his brows and said, "Hmm." Then he crawled into bed with Holly and pulled the covers over them both.
    * * *
    REGINALD WAS TENSE, and he doubted he'd sleep a wink with that stranger under his roof. He didn't like strangers. Didn't trust them.
    He paced his bedroom, wrung his hands, and tried to think of what he ought to be doing. Surely there was something. Damn, things were so confusing lately. His mind sizzled like water dripped into hot oil. So many things dancing, jumping, and spitting all at once. Dangerous things. What the hell should he do? What?
    A soft tap on his bedroom door made him start, and then Amanda stepped softly inside. "I knew I'd find you all worked up."
    He tried to fool her with a false expression. One of calm, or at least something less manic. But it didn't work. It never had. Oh, his acting might have fooled millions over the decades, but it had never once fooled his darling Amanda.
    She crossed the room, white gown drifting. Angelic. She took his arm, led him to the bed, and pulled the covers over him. Then her cool, soft hands drifted over his forehead, slowly, repeatedly. "We came back here to face our demons. Didn't we?"
    He wanted to deny it. It might be her reason, but it had never been his. He had come back for her. For her alone. Because it was what she wanted, and because her doctors felt it was time. That it would be healthy for her.
    "I'm an adult now, Uncle Reg. I'm not that frightened little girl you remember. Not anymore. No one can take me away from you now."
    "I know. I know that." He did know it, on a practical, mental level. It was the rest of him that refused to believe. She was
his,
dammit. She'd been his for as long as he wanted to remember. He'd
made
her his. His little girl.
    "I want you to stop worrying." Her hand moved away, and her lips replaced it on his forehead. "I love you, Uncle Reggie. I'll always love you."
    That kiss, her breath warm on his skin—God, his heart twisted into a tight little knot in his chest. "You're everything to me," he whispered. "I don't want to lose you, Amanda."
    "You won't. I promise, you won't."
    But he would. He felt it right to his gut. If she ever remembered the things she had blocked out...
    Amanda perched herself on the side of his bed, resumed stroking his head, and began to sing softly to him.
    My redemption, he thought as she let her voice lull him, soothe his mixed-up mind. Other men washed their sins away by the blood of the lamb. Not him. His salvation was found in the touch of a child. This child. Without her, he was damned.
    * * *
    HOLLY HURT, SHE hurt everywhere, and she thought it must be from the running. She was running nonstop, full speed, and she was holding someone's hand as she ran, pulling them along beside her.
    "Please Holly, please! I can't go on."
    She turned, and saw the little girl with the golden blonde hair, and the eyes so blue they matched the sky. Her words emerged in puffs that froze on the air and crackled and fell in glittering fragments to the ground. "It's s-so cold!"
    "Ivy?"
    The