Lucy had no trouble imagining the battles they were having. Meg blunt-spoken and confrontational; Ted laid-back on the surface, steely underneath. And as she thought about them, the missing pieces of her own relationship with Ted finally fell into place. The only rough edge between them had been Lucy’s inability to relax with him, her feeling that she had to be on her best behavior to justify being Ted’s partner. Meg wouldn’t give a damn about anything like that.

They just might be perfect for each other. If they didn’t screw things up. Which, since Meg was involved, seemed highly probable. But whether they worked out or not, one thing was certain. If Meg and Ted were in bed together, Lucy was finally off the hook.

AFTER THAT, SHE WAS TOO worked up to get back to sleep. The house’s spotty air-conditioning had left her bedroom uncomfortably warm. She opened the sliders, fetched her flip-flops to protect her bare feet from the splintery deck, and stepped outside.

Threatening clouds tumbled in the sky. She pulled her damp cami away from her breasts. With the wind, the distant flash of lightning, and the dark mystery of the lake for company, she finally felt liberated from her guilt.

A movement caught her eye, a figure—broad of shoulder, narrow of hip, with a distinct long-legged stride—coming around the side of the house. As he passed the picnic table, he paused to look back, but she was standing too deeply in the shadows for him to see her. He crossed the yard, moving more quickly. When he reached the top of the stairs, he paused, looked back again, then headed down to the water.

Maybe he had insomnia, too, but why was he being so furtive? She decided to find out. She stepped off the deck. On her way across the yard, she tripped over the horseshoe stake. It hurt like crazy, but no way was Viper letting a little thing like a stubbed toe hold her back.

Limping slightly, she made it to the steps. She didn’t see him below, only the single post light glowing at the end of the dock. It reminded her of The Great Gatsby and the fascination English teachers had with that book instead of something most teenagers might actually want to read.

As she descended to the dock, she was careful not to let the slap of her flip-flops betray her, although that seemed unlikely with so much wind. When she reached the bottom, she carefully made her way across the creaky boards toward the dim glow of mustard light oozing from the open end of the weathered boathouse.