“Wake up, John.”

Walt’s voice slowly penetrated the fog of a fitful doze. John blinked and sat up straighter in the seat of the patrol car. He peered through the windshield at the bright, snowy landscape and groaned. Morning already? The last 12 hours were a blur.

“You okay?”

“Tired,” John mumbled as he unclipped his seatbelt. “Any news on the girl?”

“I was going to check with dispatch. You want to wait?”

“Yeah.”

Walt keyed the radio and a guttural, disembodied voice floated back. John absorbed the relevant parts of the exchange with great relief. “Good color… awake and alert… no sign of frostbite…” The conversation moved on to police procedure and he tuned out.

“Did you get any of that?” Walt asked eventually.

“Uh huh.”

“It was a good night’s work, John. Melissa Avery will be spending Christmas with her family thanks to you.”

John shrugged stiffly. Receiving praise from Walt always left him feeling a little unnerved.

Walt gestured out the window. “The temperature really started to drop in the last few hours. We would have found her but maybe not in time.” He grimaced and pushed a hand through his tousled hair. “Of course you knew that already.”

John was cold and too exhausted to do more than nod. It was times like these that he was eminently grateful for the unofficial advisory position he held with the Penobscot County Sheriff’s department. Walt was going back to an office full of paperwork and an open investigation. John was going to bed.

In the past, John had literally made himself sick with worry. Time and experience taught priorities. The thought that the kidnapper might get away completely rankled him but he could no longer tolerate the depletion of body and mind. Nor did he discount the consequences to Walt’s reputation if he did not step back.

Superman complex?

John rolled his eyes at the errant thought and nudged the car door open. Whenever the temptation to believe his own press struck, Greg Stillson’s plastic features and silken undertones would manifest and drive it back into the nether regions of thought post haste. John often wondered at the demons that drove men like Greg. He had glimpsed their pain and counted himself fortunate not to share in it.

“You okay?”

“Huh?”

“Are you okay?” Walt repeated softly.

John’s fingers tapped edgily on the dashboard. “Yeah, just thinking.”

“Anything I need to know about?”

“No.”

Walt started the car and revved the engine. “Well, you’re letting in the cold air!” he scolded good-naturedly. “Get some sleep.”

John clambered out of the car, flinching as a gust of wind swept over his right leg. The joints were stiff and achy from the cold. For a moment he wished for his cane. Tossing it into the Potomac was necessary to preserve his sanity, though. The evening’s events served as a tangible reminder of the item’s more practical nature.

If I bought a new one would Wey find out? John grimaced. Of course: I would tell him! The cane was a crutch in every sense of the word. He was better off without it.

John stepped away from the car and watched Walt drive away. Raising a hand against the glare of reflected sunlight, he walked carefully up the broad steps to his front door. As the sound of the car engine faded, the lyrical strains of Christmas carols threaded the breeze. John pushed back his coat cuff and eyed his watch. 7:32 a.m.? Who plays Christmas music at this hour on a Saturday morning?

Shaking his head, he searched his pockets for the house key.

Who cares?

The music swelled, died, and resumed in a livelier beat.

What the hell? John sighed and reached for the door handle. I’m too tired for this right now. His fingers curled around the cold metal.

Nothing.

Intrigued and mildly concerned, John leaned forward and pressed his ear to the wood. As suspected, the music was coming from inside. A collection of woodwinds and horns playing a decidedly odd version of “Rockin’ ‘Round the Christmas Tree.”

John’s home had been broken into several times before and after the Argon security debacle. Most of the ‘visitors’ were harmless and left without incident. He rarely pressed charges and occasionally offered his assistance in the more sentimental cases. He drew the line at lost pets and had learned to spot an obsessive lover within the first 30 seconds of any conversation. John accepted the invasions as a part of life and relied on his ability whenever he entered the house alone.

What kind of nut plays Christmas carols when they break into someone’s house?

He turned the doorknob, not surprised that it was unlocked. Warm air bearing the scents of cinnamon and cider and the rollicking finish of the carol rolled over him. John smiled faintly. There was something comforting and familiar emanating from the interior of the house. The sensation wrapped around his chilled shoulders like a woolen blanket as he stepped inside. “Hello?”

A cabinet closed in the kitchen and he heard the soft clink of porcelain mugs.

Hospitable, John noted. “Hello?”

Organ music swelled from the speakers in the living room. The metallic rattle of the oven racks preceded a whiff of roasted nuts and apples. Bowls clicked together and slid across the kitchen counter. John shrugged off his coat and hung it in the closet. On some level, he should have been concerned. Maybe it was the heat seeping into his frozen bones or the lull of the carols, either way he could not rouse more than a moment’s suspicion. A hopeful light had begun to burn deep within. He strode into the dining room feeling more energetic than he had a right to considering the last 12 hours.

“Merry Christmas.”

John stopped short and heard the sharp click of his teeth as the Christmas music died away. My God! The last person he expected was standing in the kitchen wearing a green silk blouse and black pants that hugged her every luscious curve. Stunned and trying not to show it, John wandered nonchalantly into the kitchen.

“Speechless,” Dana teased as she passed him a steaming mug.

John sniffed the mulled cider and nudged the floating orange with the cinnamon stick. “Surprised,” he managed finally. “When did you get into town?”

“Early this morning.” She put her own mug carefully on the counter and folded her arms. “I heard the Amber Alert for Melissa Avery on the radio while I was driving up from Boston. The update said that she was found. Is she okay?”

He sipped from the mug and nodded. “Walt just got off with the dispatcher. Looks like she’ll be fine.”

“Are you okay?”

Am I? John put the mug down. ‘Okay’ was a relative term for him and Dana Bright knew that better than most. “I think so,” he gestured expansively. “So, what’s all this?”

“Sounded like a tough night for everyone. Thought you could use some warming up.”

John cocked an eyebrow at the implication of her languid smile. Dana was not one to be overt with her feelings. Her presence was an invitation to talk—or not.

I want to touch you, hold you…John’s fingers flexed and fell back to his side with a dull slap. The intimate setting would prompt visions of a similar nature and exhaustion left him virtually defenseless. He would know everyone Dana had spoken to—or slept with—since they had been apart, which was more than he could handle at present.

Seeming to sense his discomfort, Dana abruptly turned her attention to the oven. “So, off the record, do you want to talk about it?”

John laughed softly at the qualifier and sat down on a stool next to the island. He did want to talk and her offer both surprised and pleased him.

Dana stirred the roasting fruit and nuts with a wooden spoon. She sniffed deeply before closing the oven door and turning to a liter bottle of clear liquid resting on the counter. John leaned to the side, attempting to read the averted label. “More?” she asked.

“What is it?

“Rum.”

John looked quizzically at his mug. “I thought this was a little warmer than usual.”

Dana smirked. “I didn’t think of the cider until I was well outside of Boston. I couldn’t find hard cider anywhere in town at this hour so this is the next best thing.”

“Serves the same purpose.”

She leaned on the island between them and idly toyed with the oven mitt. “So…?”

“Huh? Oh!” John took another sip, savoring the slow burn of the cider as it slid down his throat. “Walt called me last night at around 6. He said this Melissa Avery had gone missing. Someone smashed out the skylight in her parent’s den.”

“That’s an odd way to enter a house.”

“That’s what I thought until I saw the house.” John set down his mug and put one hand at an angle to the opposite palm. “The house is next to a hill and the den abuts the slope. The kidnapper broke in and then escaped over the top of the hill.”

John stood and wandered around the edge of the counter to the stove. The cider simmered in a white enameled pot and a wooden ladle lay in the spoon rest. He replenished his mug and turned to the rum. Dana stepped aside, enabling him to add his own liquor. The need for her continued consideration annoyed John. Unfortunately, too much time had passed to casually engage in physical contact.

Unless I drink a couple more mugs of cider…

He stifled a snort of laughter at the stray thought.

“What’s with the grin?”

Busted!

John blushed and returned to his seat. “I was just thinking,” he mumbled.

“About?” Dana purred.

Oh, don’t do that! John’s body responded with a series of tiny shocks. “Nothing,” he croaked.

Laughing beneath her breath, Dana swirled the cider in her mug with a cinnamon stick. “Something wrong?”

For once, NO! John drank deeply, enjoying the lingering heat of the liquor and her suggestive tone. “Where was I?”

“I haven’t a clue.” Dana pulled up a second stool and sat down, her knees barely an inch away from his chilled thigh.

John licked his lips and looked down at the slice of orange floating in the rich, darkness of his cup. Close, so close. Her perfume wafted above the sharp tang of cinnamon and citrus and he swallowed hard. Damn-it, Dana! It was best to stick to topic but the exquisite ache in his groin was making that more difficult by the second.

“Well?” Dana prompted.

“Huh?” She smiled and John felt the heat of it tingle his fingertips. He cleared his throat. “By the time we got there most of the tracks had been covered over. Walt brought in the search and rescue dogs and I had a look around the house.” He fell silent, instantly sobered by the memory of Melissa’s mother softly crying in the corner of her kitchen. It was impossible to see such grief and not react. Against his better judgment, John offered her a shoulder to lean on. The hug was awkward and mercifully brief. A montage of visions exploded in his mind. Melissa at every stage of her short life, her parents and friends a blur of sight and sound that left him reeling. The recollection forced a shiver and John took a hasty sip of the cooling cider.

“Hey,” Dana murmured gently. “She’ s okay now, right?”

Am I that obvious? Must be the liquor. John licked the sweetness from his lips. “Yeah, she’s okay.”

Dana caught and held his eyes for a long moment. “You found her.”

“In the woods,” he replied woodenly.

“What was she doing out there?”

Pleasant anticipation took flight at the question, leaving John weak and resentful of the ability that kept them at arm’s length. “Hiding,” he whispered.

Dana brushed the hair back from her face and nodded sagely.

You understand what it means to hide. God, I wish you didn’t. John suppressed a sigh and looked at the floor as the evenings events replayed in his mind.

A collection of photographs on the walls of the Avery den bore silent testament to the lavish attentions of loving parents to their only child. At 13, Melissa was in good physical condition from a lifetime of sports. Raven black hair and hazel eyes that glinted mischievously evidenced a boundless spirit.

John entered the house expecting to get a reading immediately. Muddy footprints, broken glass and a smashed cell phone—none offered any sort of clue. Frustrated, he went out into the gathering snow squall and around to the base of the hill. In the distance, the search dogs bayed and the handlers called to one another. He listened with half an ear as he cast about the area, which was awash in floodlights from the house and roving flashlights. Further up the hill broken branches lay across the trail, glittering like skeletons beneath a freshly falling coat of snow. John plodded through the tangle of last summer’s growth until he reached the branches. Proximity revealed a scrap of pink velour snagged on a branch. “Over here!” John yelled before touching the half covered material.

“John?”

“Huh?”

Dana slid a full mug of cider across the counter and sat back down. “If you’re too tired to talk about this, I understand,” she said. “I just thought you might…need to.”

John refrained from touching the mug, wary of her desires—and his.

Need

Dana could not have picked a more accurate term. John hated psychiatrists and their incessant probing; this was different. Through the thickening buzz of alcohol and fatigue, he felt her concern. It had been months, years, I need… He bit back the words. It’s hard for you, so hard, and still you sit here and listen. He was mystified and mildly angry. Dana had been gone well over a year with nary a phone call or email. Yet, he could not deny the attraction of her spirit and the more literal effect on his defrosting body.

“No,” he whispered roughly. “I’m just trying to think it through is all.”

Dana did not attempt to catch his eye. She sipped her drink and looked out into the dining room. Her tone was encouraging but not demanding when she finally spoke. “The report on the news said that Melissa got away from her abductor and was found a half mile from her house in the middle of the woods.”

“Yes.”

“So you found her?”

“Walt and I.” John climbed stiffly to his feet and limped into the living room. He lay down on the couch and closed his eyes, listening to Dana move about the kitchen as the memory of the vision floated to the fore.

***John gripped the slippery, matted material and gasped aloud as the tinkle of breaking glass sounded in his ears. He straightened and stared into darkness that morphed into the Avery den. A large, black silhouette dropped through the broken skylight and landed lightly on the carpeted floor. John followed him down the hall to Melissa’s room. Pink tinted light spilled into the dim hallway and laughter overrode the loud, steady beat of rock music. The kidnapper walked into the room and tore a cell phone from the shocked girl’s hand. He flung it across the room and lunged, stifling her scream with a gloved hand over her mouth.

Horrified, John watched the man drag Melissa out of the room and back into the den. Her flailing feet and hands dented the walls and tore the molding loose. The kidnapper cursed and flung the girl to the floor. She scrambled backwards, impeded by the cloud of her pink velour robe. Enraged, the man struck an open-handed blow to her face. Dazed, Melissa did not protest as he flung her up onto the unbroken pane of the skylight and vaulted up behind her from the back of the couch.

In a breath, John was outside. The kidnapper clambered up the hill carrying the struggling girl. Fresh snow floated down as Melissa’s robe tore over the deadfall. She screamed and dragged her fingers down the kidnapper’s face, setting the eyeholes of the mask askew. The man dropped her and continued over the crest of the hill with one hand locked around her wrist. The snow fell harder and her desperate pleas softened into the mounting breeze.***

The weight of something warm and soft snapped John from reverie. He looked up into Dana’s bright, green eyes and smiled shakily.

“It’s just a blanket,” she explained. “You looked cold still.”

“I am,” he admitted.

“We’ll have to do something about that.” Dana replied as she sat on the opposite chair.

Her suggestive tone renewed the subtle sparks of desire for John. Still, the memories churned forth, spilling out now in quiet tones and relentless details.

Struck by the vision, John called out a second time to the search party and then climbed to the crest of the hill. Directly below lay a matt of underbrush and stunted trees. The blowing snow swallowed all residual light and softened the remaining details to a featureless blur. Muscles quivering with strain and breathing hard, John waited impatiently for someone to reach his position. He could not explain the certainty boiling deep inside; he just knew that Melissa was close by and inexplicably alone.

Walt climbed into view. “What have you got?”

John pointed helplessly. “She’s down there.”

“Jesus! Where the hell does he think he’s going to go down there?”

“I don’t know.” John looked to the side. There were no tracks to follow, only the hope that Melissa’s struggles had left evidence he could read. Through the swirling snow, John glimpsed more broken branches. “Over there!” Walt radioed the dog handlers as John made his way to a break in the brush line. “What’s back here?”

“I don’t know,” Walt answered in a frustrated tone. “This is state land out here. The Avery family sold it about five years ago. I’ve called the ranger station for a map of the trails and they are on their way.”

“She doesn’t have a lot of time.”

“No kiddin’. It’s getting colder every minute.”

“She’s alone,” John muttered grimly. “ He left her out there.” Simple kidnapping and ransom would turn into manslaughter if they did not find Melissa soon. He reached down and clutched a handful of the broken branches

***Melissa dug her heels in as they stumbled down the slope. The man ignored her screams and pulled her through the brush and onto a wide, open trail. His pace quickened and her protests broke into stuttered sobs as she was dragged inexorably forward.***

A firm hand on his shoulder stopped John from forcing his way through the underbrush to the hidden trail. “We have to get down there!” he shouted angrily.

“Do you know where this guy is?” Walt yelled back above the now howling squall.

John sagged beneath the weight of logic.

“Which way?” the Sheriff asked in a kinder tone as he took point.

“Straight down.”

The snow was calf-deep and building up. Anxious now, John followed Walt through the mass of vines and limbs and out onto the open trail.

In the thicker surrounding forest the wind dropped to a muffled moan. Tree limbs rattled as errant gusts wove between them and swept over the clean white ribbon of open ground.

Walt shone his light down the trail and into the trees on either side. The wind and snow had effectively erased any tracks. “Son of a bitch!”

John smiled thinly. “Walt was pretty ticked off.”

“Sounds like the kidnapper didn’t make things easy on anyone, including himself.”

John chuckled. “No, he didn’t. I got the impression he didn’t plan this very well.”

“A vision?”

“A hunch,” he corrected. “Melissa didn’t go quietly.”

Dana laughed ruefully. “If she’s anything like her mother, I’m not surprised.”

“You know the Avery family?”

“By reputation mainly. I did meet Candace Avery at a political function about two years ago. A very ‘opinionated’ woman.”

“Sounds like someone else I know.” John cracked an eyelid, enjoying the blush that fanned across Dana’s cheeks.

She waved off his scrutiny and folded her legs beneath her on the chair. “There’s nothing wrong with a woman speaking her mind and getting what she wants. Candace comes from a working class background. She helped her husband establish a small chain of successful hotels on the coast and two antique shops in Northwood.” Dana shook her head. “Too many women acquire the label of bitch, when in reality they are doing exactly what any successful man would do. They shouldn’t have to apologize for that. Melissa sounds like her mother’s daughter.”

“Which probably saved her life,” John concluded.

Dana’s hand drifted up to rest on the arm of the couch behind his head. “No, you did that.”

“Not without her help.”

She tilted her head at the comment. The hand moved away, joining its mate in her lap. “You hate it sometimes, don’t you?”

“Sometimes.”

“I’m sorry I never noticed before.”

John shrugged. Later he could be angry and demand an explanation for her long absence. He closed his eyes and resumed the recitation, comforted by the light pressure of her patient stare and the aroma of the cooling chutney.

Walt huffed a sigh. “The dogs are coming and the ranger just brought the maps.” He looked at John and frowned. “We can’t wait, can we?”

“No.” John turned away and sprinted down the trail. Images floated up from the white earth, overlapping one another and growing paler with each passing moment.

***Melissa tore free and lurched through the trees, crying and calling out. The low of the wind tamed her screams to a breathy keen.***

John stared into the darkness. Walt’s flashlight beam bobbed in his periphery, nearly swallowed in the swirling snow.

***The kidnapper roared his fury and jumped over a rotted log to tackle Melissa to the ground. She clawed at his mask and kneed him in the groin. The man choked and she scrambled through the snow and beneath a thicket of kudzu and brambles.***

The visions were fractured and grainy like old film. John followed their thread at a run, barely hearing Walt’s cautionary shout.

***The brush shrouded the base of a large tree and a gathering of boulders. Melissa pressed her back into a niche of trunk and stone and glared out at the kidnapper. He paced the trail, an unbroken mutter of epithets spewing from his lips. Without warning, he turned and stalked to the tree. Gloved hands reached in and found the hem of the sodden robe. He pulled and Melissa gritted her teeth, refusing to scream as his gloved hands pawed their way up her legs and encircled her thin waist.***

Anxiety coiled cold and hard in the pit of John’s stomach. He skidded to a stop and turned to the right. “Here!”

Walt pounded down the trail, grabbing John’s arm as he slipped on the hidden ice. “Where?”

“She was hiding right there.” John pointed and the beam of Walt’s flashlight followed his finger. “Oh my God…” The wet, dirty hem of the pink velour robe glittered in the quivering light.

“Her mother said she was wearing that robe last night,” Walt murmured.

John picked his way through the underbrush and squatted in front of the thicket. The wind was unable to penetrate the mesh of dead foliage and several fragile foot and knee prints marked the ground. He could see the depression that Melissa’s body had left in the snow and mulch banking the tree. The rocks and branches had been disturbed by a struggle. John flexed his fingers. The cold seeped through his clothing and crawled across his skin. He shivered and felt it penetrate deeper and wider, tearing the breath from his throat.

“John?”

He ignored Walt’s questioning tone and lightly dragged his fingers through the snow and up over the arc of the closest boulder.

***The kidnapper ripped the robe from her trembling body. Melissa lunged to one side and he grabbed her arm, twisting it savagely. Tears spilled down her white cheeks in utter silence. He shook her hard. Melissa bit her lip and stared at the ground. Tears mixed with blood and snow, staining her ivory nightgown with splashes of gaudy pink.

“You miserable, greedy, little bitch!” the man growled.

She trembled but did not speak as he pulled her through the snow.***

“He took her back out onto the trail,” John explained as he stood up.

“Walt!”

The sheriff turned at Roscoe’s shout. “Down here!”

Roscoe’s flashlight was a ghostly orb in the thick fog of blowing snow. John paced the width of the trail, high and hot with adrenaline. Melissa was close; all he needed was one more clue. “Walt…”

“Hold on a minute, John.”

No time! John turned away from the brightening light and walked the edge of the trail. He could no longer feel his fingers or toes and the chattering of his teeth overrode the roar of his pounding pulse.

The kidnapper’s outburst indicated that he was growing desperate. Melissa was a strong young lady with a will to match. The man was struggling to keep her under control and reach whatever destination he had in mind. Her obstinacy brought a grim smile to John’s lips. His hand snagged a broken limb.

***Melissa shuffled ahead of the man. He prodded her back intermittently with sharp knuckles. The snow fell heavier and faster, shrouding the world in a fine, white mist. She peered into the trees and glanced over her shoulder. He cursed at her defiance and stared back with wild, black eyes.***

Walt grabbed John’s arm and spun him around. “Hold up a second, will ya!”

“No time,” John rasped. The cold and exertion snatched the air from his lungs and he had to cough to breathe. “He’s going to do something…I can feel it.”

“Going to? Or already has?”

The question brought John up short. He only suspected that Melissa was alone. He did not know for certain if the vision was of the future or the past.

Walt forced a pair of gloves into his hands. “Put these on. I forgot I had them in my pocket.” He shook his head. “What the hell were you thinking coming out here without gloves?”

“Touch, remember,” John reminded grimly as he shoved the supple leather back into Walt’s pocket.

“Uh huh. Frostbite, remember?” The crunch of Roscoe’s feet drew closer as Walt turned and gestured expansively. “What did you see?”

John pulled out of Walt’s grasp and dragged his hands over the broken stalks of sumacs and ferns. His fingers touched and curled around the whip-thin trunk of a sapling.

***The man pushed Melissa hard. She grasped the tree and slipped, falling with a muffled cry. He laughed harshly and shook his head. “You’re not worth it, little bitch.”

She stared unblinking.

He cursed again and crouched down beside her. One gloved hand violently tipped up her chin and turned her face from side to side. His dark eyes raked over her from heel to hairline. “Not worth the effort but not a total waste of time either.”***

John moaned beneath his breath and stepped back from the tree. The wind swelled and died away, the final gasp of the fast moving squall. He stared into the darkness, swallowing bile as the suggestion of the vision took hold.

“Walt, here are the maps you wanted,” Roscoe said.

“Yeah, thanks,” he looked at John. “Well?”

“He wanted to…hurt her,” John stuttered.

“Did he?” Dana’s soft voice interjected.

John licked dry lips. “No.”

“You’re sure?”

His eyelids fluttered open. “Yes,” he assured and tentatively stroked his fingers across her knee.

***Dana stood in his kitchen. She hummed to the Christmas carols and pared apples into the roasting pan. Behind her, the cider bubbled and morning light spilled through the open curtains, igniting the red of her hair into a halo of flame.***

The mundane nature of the vision was a relief. John smiled as his hand pulled back and settled on his chest. “I thought you didn’t cook.”

“I don’t. Well, except for this one dish.”

“That chutney… You serve it over oatmeal?”

“What else do you eat on a cold December morn?” she countered drolly.

“Fair enough.”

Dana’s eyes dropped to his hand. “Letting down your guard?”

“Right to the point?”

“This surprises you?”

John chuckled. “No, not really.”

“Tell me the rest,” Dana gently reminded.

“Hurt her?” Walt repeated. “You mean rape?”

“Out here? In this?” Roscoe added, incredulous.

“That’s nuts!”

John nodded at Walt’s exclamation. As outrageous as it seemed, he did not doubt the insinuation of the vision. “We’ve got to find her.”

He continued down the trail, dragging his hands over limbs and bending to touch the ground. Behind him, the search dogs bayed, sharp and high in the still air. John shivered at the sound and reached for an indistinct bump in the trail. His fingers found icy stone beneath the snow.

***Melissa screamed as the kidnappers hands trailed over her chest and ribs. The man laughed and pushed her flat to the ground. He straddled her and pulled at the strings of her nightgown, exposing tender flesh to the winter chill. She writhed and dug her fingers into his cheeks and neck. Laughter turned to bitter oaths. He slapped her face several times until she lay still.

Grunting his satisfaction, the man roughly stroked her bare breasts and then dropped his hands to her thighs. Unnoticed, Melissa’s hand snaked across the ground. Clawed fingers dug into the snow and pulled up a rock. She swung and stone met bone with a muted, wet thump.

Blood splashed across the snow. Clutching his injured face, the kidnapper fell back and stared open-mouthed at the panting Melissa. She glared back and crawled backwards across the width of the trail.

“Little whore!” he exclaimed.

Melissa scrambled to her feet and ran.***

John gathered Roscoe and Walt in with a wave of his hand. “This way!”

The trail unwound in a broad, unbroken ribbon. Snow covered limbs glittered in the bobbing flashlight beams. Ice and needles slid beneath their feet. Roscoe fell and gestured them onward.

Adrenaline pulsed fire through John’s veins. He clutched at vines and branches to keep from slipping as he rounded a bend. The trail split and the ground dropped abruptly. Pain arced across his stiffening knees as he skidded and landed heavily against a tree.

Walt helped him stand and dusted the snow from his shoulder. “You alright?”

“Still hurt?” Dana asked.

John smiled wanly, “The rum is helping.”

“Wonderful stuff,” she agreed, “Still cold?”

John looked down at the mug of steaming cider Dana had placed on the coffee table. Recounting set the facts in logical lines. It also spurred an inner chill far more tangible than the cold still radiating from his skin. So close…

“John?”

“What?”

Dana stood and stepped around the edge of the table. She knelt beside the couch and rested a hand on the throw pillow beneath his head. Luminous, green eyes wandered over the arc of his shoulder and fell to his pursed lips.

Can you, can I?

John read the questions as easily as his own thoughts. Doubts gave way to desires and he reached to cup her cheek in his palm.

***Firelight splashed umber and crimson on the dark walls. Heated flesh slid over his bare chest and a tumble of red hair fell across his cheeks. John’s hands glided over her back and tangled in the silken strands. He moaned as Dana rose and settled over him in a delicious embrace.***

Dana smiled against his hand. “Things to come?” she mused.

Open book? John bit back a laugh. He was high with exhaustion and wanting her. “Something like that.”

“You should see your face.”

The laugh slipped free and John pulled her forward, melding their lips in a tender kiss. “I can imagine,” he murmured.

“It’s not fair, you know?” Dana chided gently as she smoothed the hair on his temples. “You get a preview and if you don’t like what you see, you can change it.”

“Who says I didn’t like it?”

She lightly tapped his cheek. “Smartass! You know what I mean!” She sat back and rested her hand above his heart. “Melissa was right there at the split in the trail, wasn’t she?”

John covered her hand with his, idly stroking the soft skin.

“Melissa!” Walt shouted, “Melissa Avery this is Sheriff Bannerman. It’s okay to come out!”

John stepped carefully down onto the sloping trail and peered into the darkness. In the dead calm, he heard the snap of limbs and the sharp gasp of a strangled sob.

Moonlight broke like morning and veiled the forest in cold ice-blue. Ghostly fingers parted a curtain of ferns and rotted leaves and one eye glittered balefully. “Come out,” John urged. “You’re safe now.”

“Where is he?” Melissa whispered.

“Gone,” Walt answered from above. “Let’s get you warm and dry, okay?”

John held out his hand, bracing for the onslaught of visions.

Melissa hesitated, eye rolling, breath coming in short, shallow gasps. “Are you sure?”

John caught her cold, hard fingers in his.

***Moonlight flared and swept over the swells and dips of the forest floor. The trees faded to transparent tracings against the white sky. Crimson lightning forked across John’s vision and dripped down to a black horizon. In the distance someone screamed.***

Gasping against a sudden, fierce headache, John pulled her from the thicket. Terror sent tiny shocks the length and breadth of his numb body. He squeezed her hand in an effort to reassure them both. The worst was over, the vision a residual of fear and pain that could not be described.

“I didn’t think anyone was coming,” Melissa sobbed.

“Take my coat.” John helped her slip into the heavy garment and fumbled for the zipper.

“Put on the gloves, John,” Walt ordered as he stepped forward. “Here, Melissa, let me help you with that.”

“I’m not surprised you gave her your coat.”

“Why?”

Dana’s hand turned and squeezed his restless fingers. “I know you.”

Do you? John levered himself up on one elbow and propped his head against his hand. One touch opened a window into a person’s soul. The images revealed ran the gamut of pleasure and pain. Dana’s secrets had been peeled back in layers during their many encounters in and out of the bedroom. Would I be so quick to question or judge if I could not see?

“Has that ever happened before? More sensation than vision” Dana asked.

Would that we could have a clean slate. Does it really matter? She’s here now and she obviously gives a damn… John pulled his hand free and traced a finger over the curve of her cheek. “No, nothing quite like that.”

Dana caught his eye. “Gone now?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

John cradled her head and bent to kiss her parted lips, reveling in the sharp tingles as flesh met flesh. There had been relief and a hint of regret in Dana’s one word reply. The need to help him at odds with her own desires for a love without strings.

Is this what you want?

Dana leaned into the tentative embrace. Encouraged, John deepened the kiss. She parried his advances. Her tongue tangled with his, tasting and probing as nimble fingers stroked the inside of thighs.

John swallowed a groan and grasped her roaming fingers, urging her up and onto the couch. Dana rose without breaking contact and urged him back against the cushions. He shifted and she stretched out, dragging her flat stomach over the hot, hard bulge of his restrained cock.

God! Dana smiled against his mouth and John blushed. Did I say that out loud?

Does it matter?

Soft hands slid beneath his shirt and through the fine hair on his chest.

John dragged his fingers up her back and plunged them into the wild mane that hid her face. She sighed and trailed kisses over his jaw and onto the soft spot beneath his chin, nipping playfully. Exquisite shocks chased the length of John’s body. He reached for the buttons of the silk blouse and slowly undid them.

Dana nibbled his earlobe, “You’re doing that on purpose,” she growled.

John nudged the fabric off one shoulder and kissed the creamy skin beneath. “I’m not that clever.”

She eased down across his chest, smiling wickedly at the involuntary spasms of his body.

“Tit for tat?” John managed hoarsely as he fumbled the clasp of her bra.

Dana lifted his clothing and licked the skin just above his waistband. Moist lips traveled up his ribcage and wrapped around one nipple. She suckled hard and John arched, hissing a sigh between clenched teeth. “Still cold,” she taunted huskily.

He pulled free, delighting in her muttered protest as he sat up. The sweater and T-shirt came off in one quick motion and he pulled her close. The silk blouse was cool water against hot flesh as he bent to kiss the juncture of neck and shoulder. Dana’s head fell back as his lips drifted across her throat and fell to the hollow between her breasts. “Not a bit,” John murmured as he captured the dimpled pinkness of one nipple.

Dana sighed raggedly and he drank the scent of their mutual arousal with a greedy shudder. His hand fell to massaging her crotch through her slacks. The material grew damp and she pressed down harder, rocking against his fingertips. John nuzzled his way to the opposite breast and tongued languid circles around the areola, ending with a slow suckle of her nipple.

A low mewl sounded deep in Dana’s throat as her long fingers slid between them and tugged insistently at his belt buckle. John reluctantly released his hold and sat back. He studied every inch of Dana’s smooth skin as she worked the leather through the metal clasp. High, firm breasts, the ripple of ribs beneath the supple skin, the slight concave before the swell of her hips—his cock twitched painfully against the constrictive clothes. John squelched a reflexive curse as Dana brushed teasing fingers over his crotch and inner thigh.

She returned the visual caress. The touch of her eyes was as sensual as a fingertip as she studied his mouth and throat and over the arc of his shoulders down to his twitching fingers. The end of the belt popped free with a loud snap and she descended on his mouth. Hungrily plumbing the depths of cheek and palate as she forced him flat against the couch.

As he shimmied out of his black jeans and boxers, John found a moment to question. Dana’s lust was obvious, her needs not nearly so clear. Should it matter to either of us? Is sex for the sake of it so wrong? Does there always have to be a reason?

For John there always had been. Even his first encounter with Dana had fulfilled the needs Sarah left behind. It was only after the fact that he realized that her reasons were just as powerful, albeit distinctly different, from his own.

“Don’t think,” Dana chided.

John flushed guiltily. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologize either,” she replied as the dark slacks puddled at her feet.

John drew a ragged breath. Dana stood beside the couch; all tight curves and cool beauty, her eyes emerald wells fixed on his uncertain face. Her reasons were her own, the depth of their feelings and his exhaustion effectively blocking any sort of vision. There was welcome simplicity in discovering her this way, a newness that glowed like burnished copper as she knelt between his legs and lay across his chest.

Don’t think, just feel…

He stroked light fingers over Dana’s skin, drawing sensation in leisurely traces over back and shoulders. She trailed kisses over his fluttering eyelids, pausing to nip playfully at his eyebrows and the rise of his cheeks. John turned and kissed the corner of her mouth, tasting cider and the bitter tang of cinnamon.

Dana sighed and slid down his body, massaging him with her stomach and the delicate hollow of her breasts. John reached to frame her face but she ducked away. Laughing softly, she kissed a moist path around his navel and down to the dewy curls below. He trembled as her lips moved to the juncture of leg and torso. Dana nudged and licked the damp skin as she worked her way back up to the center of his chest.

John grasped both of Dana’s hands and pulled her up until she matched the length of him. Red curls fanned across his cheeks, filling his nostrils with the scent of lavender. He urged her higher until one breast hung suspended, the nipple a pink teardrop shot with a delicate web of veins that glowed in the lamplight. He tasted and suckled, kneading the skin of her buttocks as she trembled.

Dana pulled slowly back until only the tip of the nipple brushed his eager lips. She smiled at his frustrated grunt and sat back. Her clit enveloped him in sudden warmth. John thrust experimentally, enjoying the flush of surprise that blushed her skin.

“Two can play,” he whispered.

“Oh?” Dana arched an eyebrow. “Is that what we’re doing?”

John traced a finger over her mouth. She turned and licked the tip, kissing her way down to his palm.

Not really… He caught and held her eyes as he dropped his hands to cup her hips. Shadows passed between them but she did not look away as he rocked them first gently and then with increasing force.

Supple muscle glided beneath glistening skin as Dana found his rhythm. The Christmas music had long since finished and the silence expanded until the room seemed filled with its insulating comfort. John closed his eyes and allowed his fingers to wander over the sharp angles of her shoulder blades and down to the dip of her lower back and the apex of her tight cheeks. Dana uttered a soft cry as the gentle strokes evolved to a deeper massage of her buttocks and upper thighs.

The world was a pulsing orange milieu, lightening and darkening with each heady thrust. John’s thumbs met in the tight curls above her clit. He pressed slow circles, gasping softly as she bore down upon him. The movements were erratic now, faster and harder. Soft hair tickled his skin and darkened the orange to brown as she nipped her way from shoulder to earlobe.

***Hot flesh, cold snow…icy moonlight, damp streets…the scatter of broken glass, jagged porcelain clenched in his palm…tears on white cheeks, blood dripping between chalky knuckles…the future, the past…then and now…***

Dana’s mouth covered his as she ground against his hips. The ache of wanting culminated and he bucked hard—once—twice—three times.

“John…”

The name whispered between them. Dana buried her face in the hollow of his neck, gasping against the sweaty flesh. John moaned beneath his breath, caught in her erotic embrace as she shuddered in release. A sudden tightening sent a final shock through him as she relaxed into his loose embrace.

John picked up the blanket from the floor and pulled it over them. He closed his eyes again, submerging in the comfortable aftermath. Dana lay still, her breathing deep and even. In the dining room the antique clocked chimed the quarter hour and the aroma of the apple chutney lingered beneath the sharper scent of their lovemaking.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he whispered.

Dana snuggled closer, soft lips planting butterfly kisses on his neck and cheek. “So am I.”

“How long can you stay?”

“I’m not sure.”

Irritation flared at the offhand reply. John shoved the feeling down without quarter. Now was not the time.

When he could bear to be brutally honest, John recognized his own needs and the right to have them. He had given up expectations a long time ago, though. The ability to see the ghosts of anyone’s past gave him the option of forgiveness. Possibly the only saving grace when it came to an intimate relationship, platonic or otherwise. Dana, like Rebecca, had her ghosts and neither deserved his interference.

“That’s not the answer you were hoping for, is it?” Dana asked quietly.

John opened his eyes and tilted her chin up. He kissed the frown from her mouth and nudged errant curls from one cheek. It would be easy to lie and let them both wallow in false promise. Simple and selfish and he hated himself for even considering it. Her lips parted and he heard the words building like a wave on the ocean floor. A slow shift of silent eddies gathering force to a breaker that would churn and froth the broken shore.

No.

He could not let her shatter the moment. It was enough to know the sincerity of the present. John brushed gentle fingers over her mouth. Dana kissed the tips and ducked away, accepting but clearly as disturbed by the necessity as he was.

John swallowed a sigh and cupped her cheek. Too much of life was about regrets these days. Dana had been right. Melissa was safe and it was okay to feel good about his part in her rescue. If Dana wanted to be his reward, his comfort or hers, either was acceptable. He smiled and kissed the top of her head. “I meant what I said, I’m really glad you’re here.”

Dana looked up and matched his smile with one of her own. “I know you did. Merry Christmas, John.”

“Merry Christmas.”

*THE*END*