She did not hesitate. She could be as honest as he was. He was right. If she had misunderstood about Wanda Lind­strom, there wasn’t enough time, or energy, in life itself for hypocrisy now. “I want to, Peter. I want to very much.”

She hoped he would kiss her. She had feared he might in the moonlight the night before, but she would welcome it now. She was glad when he brought her to his chest, and she yielded in a quick confession of her long-­suppressed feeling for him.

Peter Hubbard’s lips on Elizabeth Carr’s young mouth were firm and tender. His kiss stirred the woman in ways she had for years forbidden herself to imagine. Now it was real. Her own lips let the man know her emotion.

In their embrace, neither one heard the door open.

“Excuse me!” The door slammed shut before they could separate. It had been Wanda Lindstrom’s voice, clearly shocked and distressed.

Hubbard kept his arm around Elizabeth. “It’s all right, Liz. Wanda is a good friend and a good colleague, but she knows it’s nothing more.”

Elizabeth rubbed a finger over her mouth doubtfully. “This won’t bother your work—?”

“Nothing will interfere with Wanda’s work. It’s one reason she’s so great at it.”

The door opened again. The biologist entered as if for the first time, except that her face was ashen. Business-­like, she said to Hubbard, “I couldn’t find Craig, but the police chief at Chatham will try to get the material we want. He’ll reach Craig at the fire department with it.”

“Good!” Hubbard said, equally businesslike. “Thank you.”

Elizabeth hurried to the kitchen door, picking up her apron.

Dr. Lindstrom called after her quickly. “You don’t have to leave, Elizabeth!”

But Elizabeth found herself deeply disquieted. She made an excuse. “I don’t like being in the same room with that cockroach. It gives me the willies.” Having made the statement, she realized it was more than an excuse. Every time she looked at the endlessly scurrying insect she felt a malign force emanating from the flask. Peter could say all he wanted to about the creatures being mindless automatons, but she intuited a power that would not rest until it had its way with them, all of them.

Wanda Lindstrom gave her a smile. “It won’t get out, Elizabeth.”

They were interrupted by the appearance of Elias Johnson, returning from the village. The noise of the wind and the blowing sand against the building had masked the sound of his engine pulling up. Taking off his mackintosh, he snorted, “Wish it would get to the rain! Damn wind blowing to tear your hair out, but those tarnation clouds won’t let go!” He came to them rubbing his gnarled hands. “Anything new here?”