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What if Lissa was right? asked a small voice inside him. If he wasn't the murderer, then someone else was. Someone who wouldn't want Lissa poking her nose into the investigation.
He took a deep breath and released it in a shuddering, frightened sigh. He opened his eyes, and found Lissa still staring at him with absolute trust in her eyes.
His hands started to tremble, slowly at first and then harder. Fear crept through his blood in a chilling, ice-cold wave.
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He felt like a man standing on the edge of a black, bottomless pool, poised to dive headfirst into waters that held a thousand deadly terrors.
He looked into his wife's eyes and felt a rush of love so strong, he felt the sting of tears. "You never doubted me, did you?"
Tears glistened in her eyes. "And I never will, Jack."
He swallowed with difficulty. "I'm afraid."
She smiled. It was a slow, bittersweet smile that broke his heart. "So am I."
At her soft words, so filled with love and trust and hope, Jack felt his last vestige of resistance melt away. She was afraid, too, and yet she forged ahead, believing. Always believing.
Christ, how he wanted to be like her, wanted desperately to let himself believe. Not just for her, but for all of them. For himself, for her, for the children they had now and the children they'd have in the future.
He held his breath and dove into the icy waters of that shallow pool?and hoped to hell she was there to catch him.
"Maybe . . ." The word stuck in his throat. He had to force it past his lips. "Maybe I didn't do it."
Lissa threw her arms around him, planting dozens of kisses all over his face. "I knew you could do it!"
He held her tightly, feeling the hot sting of tears in his eyes. Years' worth of fear and self-doubt slid away. Without the familiar armor, he was left feeling frightened and shaky and more than a little lost. "I love you, Lissa," he whispered desperately.
She pulled slowly away and looked up. There was a bright, mischievous smile on her face. "I love you, too, Jack. Now, let's get you the hell out of here."
Three days later, Tess was standing on the windswept hillside above Kanaka Bay, with her arms crossed, staring
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out across the glasslike water. The shadows of twilight had just begun to fall, casting the world in shades of gray. Ed Warbass stood beside her, and the children were sitting on a huge plaid b
lanket. Every eye was turned to the Straits.
She chewed nervously on the scraggly nub of her thumbnail. Once again her gaze narrowed, scanned the shadowy water.
"What's taking them so long?" she muttered.
Ed laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "The telegram said they'd be here tonight. Maybe Jack and Charlie had some paperwork to finish up on the hearing."
She glanced around, noticing for the first time the number of people congregating down along the water. She frowned at Ed. "What are they doing here?"
He shrugged. "Who knows?"
Tess dismissed the question. She had more important things on her mind anyway. Finally her husband was coming home.
She turned her gaze back to the still waters. And waited.
Jack sat in the small canoe, his hat drawn low across his brow, paddling toward Kanaka Bay. A brilliant red-streaked purple twilight sky reflected off the water. In the distance, their destination was a jet black curl of land against charcoal gray sea. He thought about the last few days. He and Charlie had worked side by side, gathering evidence, lining up witnesses, putting together facts, but as it turned out, the authorities didn't need much of it. Joe Nuanna's confession had wrapped the murder up in a nice, neat package.
"Looks like there's a bunch of people waiting," Charlie said quietly.
Jack's rhythm shattered. Awkwardly he rammed his paddle in the water and tried to recapture the even lift-
