“Good night.”

He was right: his room did stink of farm smells, and it was a glorious mess. She gathered up some of the clothes on the floor and took them into the bed with her, and she held them close as she snuggled down in the lumpy mattress, into the hole that had been made over the years by his long body. She stared out across the moonlit room, listening to the quiet of the night breeze rustling in the trees, and she felt the loneliness inside her.

23

At the blare of her intercom, Ashley stumbled out of bed, grabbing her ratty bathrobe. Adrenaline rushed through her, quickening her pulse and making her hands shake. Her bruised neck ached. Funny, she thought, how it hadn’t bothered her in bed. She pressed down the intercom button in the foyer. “Yes?”

“It’s MacGregor Stevens.”

Ashley froze.

Jeremy walked down the hall, stark naked. She told him who it was, but added, “Unless he’s lying.”

“Ask him his wife’s name.”

She did. The static-distorted voice said, “Elaine Melanie Stevens.”

“It’s him.”

She buzzed him up. Jeremy put on his jeans and met her in the living room. When the knock at the door came, she insisted on opening it herself; it was her house.

The clear-eyed, confident man who walked in surprised her. Somewhere, MacGregor Stevens had found clean clothes, and he’d managed to bathe and shave. There was considerable discoloration at the back of his neck—although she hadn’t been hit as hard, Ashley could sympathize—but the rest of his color was good. He appeared to have gotten more sleep in the past few days than she or Jeremy had.

Of course, she thought, spies could probably sleep through anything.

She offered him the wingback chair; she herself sat next to Jeremy on the camel-back sofa. She was wide awake.

“What is it, Mac?” Jeremy asked.

Mac took out a pack of cigarettes and looked at Ashley for approval. She nodded, although normally she wouldn’t have permitted smoking in her apartment. There was nothing normal, however, about meeting a former intelligence officer in the dead of night.

“I want you both to get the hell out of this,” he said as he patted out a cigarette.

Ashley kicked out her bare feet and stretched her toes. “At least you and my uncle agree on something. What are you going to use for persuasion, Mr. Stevens? More lies?”

Jeremy leaned forward. He was bare chested in the cool night; Mac Stevens would have to be an idiot, Ashley reflected, not to have guessed already what had been going on earlier in the evening. Jeremy said, “You know we’re going to Maine tomorrow?”

“That’s right. And I’m here to persuade you to change your minds.” He looked at Ashley. “By telling you the truth.”

“As you know it,” Ashley nit-picked, watching him light his cigarette with a cheap disposable lighter.

“You’re an attractive woman, Miss Wakefield, but difficult. I probably should have told you the truth from the beginning. I have the feeling you’re a survivor. Am I right?”