Which flat-out sucked. But that was the real world for you.

Staring at her suitcase, she decided leaving here actually had a lot of benefits. She didn’t want to stick around during the removal of that body—no need to see that on a good day, much less with the way things had been going. Besides, she just plain needed a break. When this stuff with Isaac had started, it had been so familiar, all the keyed-up exhaustion, the block and tackle of events and crises. But she was tired . . . and determined to stick to her new conviction: Time to pull out, pull away, leave behind.

So she was heading for Lincoln with a heavy heart, but eyes that were wide open.

Grabbing the second season of Three’s Company from her bookshelf, she unlatched her suitcase to put it in—

Grier stiffened and braced herself.

This time, for once, she knew that Isaac was standing in the doorway to her bedroom—even though he hadn’t knocked.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw that his hair was curling up from whatever had been poured over his head and his stare was as intense as ever.

“I came to say good-bye,” he murmured quietly, that delicious Southern drawl weaving through the deep, low words. “And to tell you that I’m sorry I lied to you.”

As he took a step into her room, she turned back to the suitcase, slid the DVD inside, and shut the lid. “Are you.”

“Yes.”

She clicked both locks into place. “You know, the part I don’t understand is why you bothered. If you never had any intention of going through with it, why did you talk to my father? Or was it to get at him? Figure out how much he knows and then warn your friends?” When he didn’t answer, she pivoted around. “Was that it?”

His eyes roamed her face as if he were memorizing it. “I had another reason.”

“Hope it was good enough to ruin the trust I had in you.”

Isaac nodded slowly. “Yes. It was.”

Well, didn’t that make her feel used as hell.

Grier grabbed the suitcase’s handle and hefted the thing off her bed. “And you did it again.”

“Did what?”

“Activated that damn Life Alert. Called that Matthias nightmare to you.” She frowned. “I think you’ve got a death wish. Or some other agenda I can’t begin to guess at. But in either event, it’s not my business.”

Staring up at his hard, beautiful face, she thought, God, this hurts.

“Anyway, good luck,” she said, wondering whether, by the end of the night, he was going to be in the condition of that other soldier.

“I meant what I said, Grier. Down in the kitchen.”

“Hard to tell what is real and what’s a lie, isn’t it.”