Again Joe sent out a questing thought. Unlike Jilly, and now Geordie, the cerva was easy to find. Joe almost wished he hadn’t.

“Jilly . . . Honey,” he said to the silent air on top of the mesa. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to deal with this right now.”

Then he stepped away from Honey’s desert world and the mesa was empty once more.

Cassandra Washington

Cassie was tired of the hotel room with its folk art paintings on the wall, the gingerbread moldings, the hooked rug on the floor, the quaint bedspreads, the decorative basin and pitcher on the dresser. It was all so Country Living, which was fine for those who liked it, she supposed, but too much of it put her teeth on edge. She didn’t care much for the view out the window either, all that forest running up into the Kickaha Mountains. Very picturesque, but she was a city girl. Too long away from the city’s urban sprawl and its familiar background noise of traffic and sirens, and she always started to get antsy.

But what really wore on her was having to listen to the remaining members of the Knotted Cord as they worked through the thorny issues of having to see the world through this new view that had been forced upon them by Lizzie and Jilly’s disappearance. It wasn’t that she disliked the three musicians—they seemed nice enough and were actually taking all of this rather well. And she certainly couldn’t blame them for their endless conversations circling around what had happened, what might happen, how could any of this be real? It would have been stranger if they hadn’t been so caught up with all these questions.

But it wore on her. It really did.

And she was worried about Joe—more worried than she’d care to admit. She should be with him, not cooling her heels babysitting these musicians. She knew that wasn’t the real reason for her staying behind. It just felt that way. It made complete sense to have her here in case Lizzie or Jilly returned, or if some fairy or cousin showed up making ransom demands, but she didn’t think either was going to happen.

It wasn’t that she believed their friends were dead—she shuddered to think of what Joe would do if that was the case. But she doubted they’d be coming back on their own. If they could have, they would have by now. Especially Jilly, because she’d know how much they’d all be worrying about her.

After awhile, the musicians finally fell silent. Siobhan sat by the window, staring through the pane, her eyes bright with unshed tears. The two men were on the other bed—Con leaning against the headboard, Andy sitting on the end, leaning on his elbows, his gaze on the floor.