Riptide

said, "Jesus, I knew Tyler
    killed his wife, just knew it in my lawman's gut, you know? But he
    also killed poor little Melissa twelve years ago. I wonder how many
    other women he's killed who rejected him."
    Becca didn't want to know.

    Adam was stretched out on the sofa in his living room, a soft pillow
    under his head, a light afghan pulled to his waist, so relieved
    that Becca was back safe and sound, staying in his house, her stuff
    scattered around, all at home now, that all he could do was grin. He
    didn't want her to leave, not ever. He heard her moving about in
    his wonderful, fully equipped, very modern kitchen, making him a
    healthy snack, she'd said.
    The house was cool since he'd had the good sense to install central
    air conditioning when he'd moved in. Soon, he thought, he'd
    get that ugly green tile out of that second-floor bathroom. Another
    four days and his energy would come roaring back and he'd head
    right down to the tile store. The master bedroom was sort of stark
    though, with just a big black lacquer bed and a matching black lacquer
    dresser, a couple of comfortable black and white chairs, and a
    good-sized closet, nearly walk-in, he'd said to her, lots of room for
    both of their clothes.
    He'd had big plans for the bed the night before, about two hours
    after she'd gotten back from Riptide, and even though he couldn't
    move a whole lot and his flexibility was nearly nil, and he'd tended
    to moan from pain as well as pleasure, it hadn't mattered. She'd
    simply taken charge. He nearly shook the afghan off now just

thinking of how she'd looked astride him, her head thrown back
    when she'd screamed out his name. And then she'd just fallen over
    on him and the pain had nearly made him yell again. But he'd just
    lain there, silent, holding her against him as best he could, stroking
    her smooth back, and then she'd slowly straightened, frowned at
    the sight of his rib, all yellow and green now, and said, "I nearly
    killed you, didn't I? I'm sorry."
    "Kill me again," he'd said, and she laughed and kissed him and kissed him again and again, and loved him until he'd yelled again,
    this time not from any pain in his damned ribs.
    He felt good. He had plans for that bed again today, maybe in
    just about an hour from now. He was stronger today, maybe he'd be
    able to do a bit more moving around. He hadn't been able to get
    his hands and mouth everywhere he'd wanted to last night. Ah, but
    today. His fingers itched, his mouth sort of tingled. And what
    about tomorrow and the next day? Maybe he'd just keep her in the
    bedroom until they had to leave for the church to get married,
    then right back here again. It sounded really fine to him. He wondered
    what Becca thought about mirrors everywhere.
    She brought him some iced tea and a plate of celery stuffed with
    cream cheese. She sat beside him and fed him between kisses.
    He realized suddenly that there was something different about
    her, something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Then he realized
    what it was--she was hiding something from him. And her
    eyes, something different there--he realized, finally, that it was
    shock. Well, he supposed that nearly burning to death on the roof
    of her father's house would leave its mark. Or realizing that a man
    she'd really liked was in actuality a madman. Or just maybe, he
    thought, his mouth tightening, that madman, Tyler McBride, had,
    in fact, hurt her or tried to, and she hadn't seen fit to tell him.
    He ate another celery stick, eyeing her, then said, his voice all

suspicious, his brows lowered, "You swear you didn't lie to me? You
    swear that there was no real trouble up in Riptide?"
    She lightly stroked her fingers over his cheek. She loved to touch
    him. She particularly liked him naked so she could touch all of him,
    kiss all of him. She leaned down now and kissed his mouth, then straightened again. She said, all easy and blase, "Nothing that couldn't
    be handled. Sam's all right. I can't tell you how wonderful Rachel is
    with him. I knew they were close, but when she came running into
    the house, Sam left me in a flash and went right to her. I thought she
    would fall apart, she was so relieved that Sam was all right. Sheriff
    Gaffney told me that since there are no relatives, Rachel and her husband
    would very likely adopt Sam. I called up this morning, and
    she's already got him an appointment with that child psychologist
    Sherlock recommended up in Bangor. Oh yeah, I also told Rachel
    she was