“I’ll get the car,” Viola said. “I’ll pull into the garage, then you both get down in the backseat.”

“Backseat, my ass,” said Luther. “We gettin’ in the trunk.”

Tom waited in a darkest corner of the freezing garage while Viola carried out her plan. He watched the two men fold themselves into the trunk of the Pontiac, quite a feat considering Luther’s bulk. After Viola slammed the lid shut, she didn’t walk around to the driver’s seat, but into the corner where Tom stood. She was only a dark shape in the shadows, but he knew her scent as well as any on earth. She stepped close and took his hand.

“I don’t have words,” she murmured. “You saved my brother’s life.”

“Viola,” he whispered. “This isn’t just dangerous. This could get you killed. All of us.”

“I know. And you shouldn’t be any part of it.”

“What’s Freewoods?”

“A place where people don’t care what color you are. White, black, Redbone, it doesn’t matter. It’s safe. Not even klukkers go back up in there.”

“Then get those boys there tonight.”

He sensed more than saw her nod in the dark.

“Will you be all right?” she asked, squeezing his left hand.

“I’m fine. You’re the one at risk. You—”

Before he could continue, her arms slipped around him in a hug so fierce that it stole his breath. Unlike the embrace after he’d gotten Gavin Edwards fired, this was no simple act of gratitude. This time Viola’s body molded against his from neck to knee. A dizzying rush swept through him, triggering delayed shock from the ordeal they’d just endured. He felt his balance going, and then a wave of desire so powerful that he pulled Viola against him as though trying to merge their bodies through their clothes.

A muffled bang froze them in place—then Viola jerked back as if a spark of static electricity had arced between them. Jimmy and Luther were hammering on the inner lid of the trunk.

“Be careful,” Tom said to the darkness. “If a cop stops you, tell him you’re making a house call to a Negro place for me. If he gives you trouble, tell him to call me at home.”

“I will,” Viola assured him. “I’ll be all right. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

As she walked to the driver’s door, fear blasted through Tom like Dexedrine. What if I never see her again?

“You’d better be here, damn it,” he said.

Seven hours later, she was, as perfectly dressed and coiffed as always. Tom, on the other hand, hadn’t slept more than a few minutes at a stretch all night. In the span of one hour, by a simple act of decency, he had placed himself beyond the pale of his own tribe and put his job, his life, and his family at risk. Worse, after years of repressing his feelings for Viola, he’d felt something change deep within him, a tectonic shift that could never be undone. By the standards of their ongoing mutual denial, that few seconds’ embrace in the garage had been a consummation of sorts, an admission that they shared something so powerful that they lived in constant fear of it, something that could sweep their present lives away.