“And I live here,” he went on. He’d been leaning against the siding but pushed himself away from the house and started slowly toward her. “So the question goes to you. What’re you doing here?” The dog walked at his side, its hackles up, its eyes focused on her.

“But you . . . I thought you were in the hospital.”

“Until I wasn’t.” He moved slowly down the steps. He was angry: she saw it in the shadowy light. “Why the hell did you break into my house?”

“I didn’t break into it.”

“It was locked.”

She knew she could outrun him. He wasn’t that steady on his feet, and he looked like hell, she saw as he got closer, his head still bound as it was, his skin pale in the wintry half-light. But she couldn’t outrun the shepherd, and he’d eventually catch her even if he didn’t sic the dog on her. The jig, as her father used to say, was up. “The dog door was open.”

“You crawled through the dog door? Jesus, Rebecca, what’s wrong with you?” Then as if he actually thought she might answer, he held up a hand and asked, “Why?”

In for a penny, in for a pound. “I thought I might find something here that would help me find Megan.”

“By breaking into a house that had already been searched by the police?”

Even to her own ears, it sounded ridiculous.

He stared down at her, obviously angry. Not the first time, she reminded herself. “And what did you think you’d find?”

“I’m not really sure. Something. Anything. To help me find Megan.”

“In my house?”

“Yes!” she said, her own anger rising. “That’s where she told me she was coming from.” Rebecca pointed a finger at the house. “She said she’d had a horrible fight with you and that she had to get away. That she was afraid of you.”

“Afraid of me?”

“Why do you keep repeating everything? Yes. She was out of her mind—hysterical—and so I thought maybe coming here would help me get some idea of what happened. It’s not as if you’re filling in all the blanks.”

“I would if I could, but—”

“Yeah, yeah, I know! You can’t effin’ remember.”

His lips flattened as a gust of wind rattled through the branches of a nearby tree. “Come on, let’s go inside, it’s freezing.” Despite the anger radiating through him, he appeared a little unsteady as he walked up the steps to the front porch.

“I should go.”

“Not yet.” He was angry. “Where’s your car?”

“At the inn.” She glanced toward the empty parking area. “Where’s yours?”

He snorted. “With the police for now. They, like you, seem to think I did something to your sister.”

“Did you?”

“Of course not.”

“You remember,” she charged and took a step toward him.

“I wish.”