Brynne scooped scrambled eggs onto her plate. “What if it has lasting consequences?” she asked, between bites. She needed sustenance; last night’s exertions had burned a lot of fuel.

“Such as?” Eli inquired lightly. “It’s pretty unlikely that you’re pregnant, since you’re on birth control and I used condoms.”

“I wasn’t referring to pregnancy,” Brynne said. “I meant, what if we both regret this?”

“Speaking for myself, I can safely say I’ll never regret last night. It was practically a near-death experience.”

Brynne lightened up; now that she had some food in her stomach, she felt better. Or was it because Eli hadn’t rushed out, while she slept, leaving her to wonder if he’d given her—or their lovemaking—a second thought.

“A near-death experience?” she asked. “Really?”

“Really. Wherever this thing goes or doesn’t go, last night will still be the best sex I’ve ever had. Period.”

“Well,” Brynne said, almost in a whisper, “I guess that beats flowers and a thank-you note.”

Eli smiled. “You’ll get the flowers,” he assured her. “Maybe not the note.”

She laughed, which was strange because she wanted to cry again.

She wanted to, but she didn’t.

“Be careful,” she said. “Doris Gilford holds a black belt in gossip.”

Doris ran the only floral shop in town.

Brynne went on, “Even a bouquet of flowers will have her spamming everyone on her contact list with photo evidence that something must be going on between Sheriff Garrett and the manager of a certain restaurant.”

Eli, finished with his breakfast, leaned back in his chair and regarded Brynne thoughtfully, but with a gleam in his eyes. “Brynne,” he said, his tone mock-reproving, “the word is out. Has been since the midnight kiss, night before last. By now, Doris and her friends are marking their calendars so they can gloat if you wind up in the maternity ward nine months from now.”

He was right, Brynne realized. She’d forgotten the way of small towns after living in Boston for so long.

An unexpected chill rippled through her, taking some of the luster off the exchange with Eli.

There was another small-town meme, too.

Deaths come in threes.

Remembering the young girl found on the lot behind Russ Schafer’s motel and then Freddie Lansing, Brynne gave an involuntary shiver.

“What?” Eli asked, frowning. He was way too perceptive, probably because his job required him to notice nuances.

“It’s only superstition,” Brynne said, shaking her head.

It was, she knew that. And yet she’d seen it happen, over and over again.

“The death-in-triplicate thing?”

Brynne nodded. “Do you believe in it?”