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"You were his wife."
"His virgin bride."
"You've got a kid, Rachel."
"It's a miracle, considering…"
"I thought G. Dwayne was supposed to be a hound. Are you telling me he didn't like sex?"
"He loved sex. With hookers. His wife was supposed to stay pure."
"That's nuts."
"Yeah, well, so was Dwayne."
He chuckled just when she could have used a little sympathy.
"Come on, Bonner. I can't believe you're so mean you won't let me see Edward's nursery."
"Life's a bitch." He jerked his head toward the door. "Let's go."
It was useless to argue, especially since she had the key back and could return when she was certain the house was empty. She followed him into the garage, which held a long, dark-blue Mercedes and Gabe's dusty old black pickup.
She nodded toward the Mercedes. "Your brother's?"
"Mine."
"Jeez, you really are rich, aren't you?"
He grunted and climbed into the pickup. Moments later, they were heading down the drive through the praying-hands gates.
It was nearly two o'clock in the morning, the highway was deserted, and she was exhausted. She leaned her head against the seat and gave into a few precious moments of self-pity. She was no farther along now than she'd been when she'd first seen the magazine photo. She still had no idea if the chest was in the house, but at least she had her key back. How long would it be before Gabe realized she'd taken it?
"Damn!"
She lunged forward as he slammed on the brakes.
Blocking the narrow road that wound up Heartache Mountain to Annie's cottage, a glowing, geometric shape loomed nearly six feet tall. The sight was so unexpected and so obscene that her mind wouldn't immediately accept what it was. But the numbness didn't last forever, and her mind was finally forced to identify what it saw.
The smoldering remains of a wooden cross.
Chapter Nine
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An icy prickle slid down Rachel's spine. She whispered, "They've burned a cross to scare me away."
Gabe threw open the door of the truck and leaped out. In the glare o
f the headlights, Rachel watched him kick the cross down in a shower of sparks. Weak-kneed, she got out. Her hands felt clammy as she watched him take a shovel from the back of the truck and break apart the smoldering remains.
"I like it better when they welcome you to the neighborhood with a chocolate cake," she said faintly.
"This isn't anything to joke about." He began scooping up the charred pieces and moving them to the side of the road.
She bit down on her bottom lip. "I've got to joke, Bonner. The alternative doesn't bear thinking about."
His hands stilled on the shovel, and his expression was deeply troubled. When he spoke, his voice was soft and dark as the night that lay just outside the headlights. "How do you do it, Rachel? How do you keep going?"
