She hasn’t gotten used to the country dark. She catches herself squinting when she drives at night, or wide-eyed, searching for the shape of the road in front of her. The fields on either side could be anything—ocean, sky. She comes up the stairs in the dark, feeling her way, wishing she’d left the light on. Over the railing, she sees the field next door, hears the whisper of cornstalks farther away, the rush of the river. And a voice.

“Detective.”

Her heart spasms hard in her chest, leaving her breathless. It’s Bear Miller, in the shadow beside her door. He has a bottle of Angel’s Envy rye. When she sees him, he moves over, his arm across the threshold of her door.

She lays her hand over her heart, willing it to slow, and drops the bag to the porch floor. “How did you find out where I live?” she says. She tries to stay smooth. Tries to hide the panic in her voice.

“In this town?” Bear says. “You just have to ask the right people.” He tips his head to the side, blinks slow. “I brought you something,” he says, and holds up the bottle. “Some of it’s already gone.”

He holds the bottle to his lips, drinks, and then tips it toward her.

“No,” she says.

“What did you think of Brewer?” he asks.

Beyond the porch, the wind whistles through the cornfield. Far off, she sees the orange light of a bonfire.

She exhales slow, her breath a long visible line in the cold air. Her entire body is taut, on guard. “How long have you been out here?” she asks.

Bear shrugs.

“What did you think?” he asks again.

“I thought he was slick,” she answers. “But quite possibly what Shannon needs.”

“What Shannon needs is a miracle worker,” Bear says. “A guardian angel.” He laughs, his mouth wet and open. “An act of God.”

“Then why’d you hire him?” she asks.

Bear shrugs. “He’s the best there is,” he says.

“What do you care?”

A gust comes off the field and whips her hair over her face. Bear takes the opportunity to brush it away from her eyes, off her lips. He holds a hunk of hair in his hand, over her shoulder, and moves so that his body is in front of the door, more in the light. He’s wearing a knit hat and a leather jacket, the same as last time she saw him. A flannel shirt. An erection is visible through his jeans.

Her phone is buried in her bag. Her keys are in her hand. She can’t call anyone for backup, and she’s unarmed.

“You need to leave,” she warns.

He plants his feet and braces himself against the door.

“Or?” he says. He swipes out at her waist, and she jumps away before he can reach her. She’s not sure what he was grabbing for. The pocket of her jeans? The belt loop? Something to hook her and bring her closer. When he misses, he leans forward and laughs, takes another drink.