If every other drive to Utopia Manor had felt exciting, tonight’s was making Laire breathless.

For the first time since she’d met Erik, they weren’t going to have an hour of making out at the Pamlico House dock, or even two hours at his house, or even a half day together visiting some landmark on the upper Banks. No. Tonight was totally different. Tonight she was going to sleep beside him. In his bed.

Her breath hitched.

My, how she’d changed this summer, from a teenager who could barely utter the word naked to a woman who reached for her man with new confidence and sanctioned passion. She had grown up this summer in so many ways, and now, tonight, felt like the apex of that growth—her reward for leaving childhood behind.

His fingers curled around hers, and he raised her hand to his lips.

“You nervous?”

“A little,” she answered honestly. “But excited too.”

“What time do you have to be home tomorrow?”

“Ms. Sebastian said I could leave my boat overnight, but I’m thinking I should be home by midmorning, just in case my daddy gets home early.”

“He said he’d be gone until afternoon, though,” said Erik his forehead creasing.

“I know,” she said. “But better not to risk being found out.”

“Humph.”

“We have all night, Erik. Let’s just enjoy it.”

He sighed and kissed her hand again before releasing it and putting his hands back on the wheel. “You’re right. I just hate to think about sayin’ good-bye.”

She knew that their farewell and subsequent months-long separation were weighing on his mind. The thought weighed heavy on hers too. And it had led her to a decision that had surprised her in its intensity and certainty.

“You know how you keep talking about Thanksgiving?” she asked.

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, I’m not going to be ready to introduce you to my family yet. I’m sorry.”

“Laire—”

“You have to understand. I’m going to need time to explain this, to set it up for them. I’m thinking I won’t actually be able to introduce you to them until next summer. I’m sorry, Erik, but that’s the way things have to be.”

He huffed softly, clenching his jaw in frustration as he pulled into his driveway and hit the button on his visor for the garage door.

“But,” she said softly as he pulled into the garage and cut the engine, “I will come here and spend the day with you and your family. I’ll say I’m working. I can meet your folks and sister at Thanksgiving. Maybe again at Christmas. They can get to know me a little—”

“Laire!” He turned to her, his eyes wide. “You’d do that?”

She gulped, nodding her head. “I would.”

A small smile tilted up his lips, growing bigger and surer as he stared at her. “You’ll come for Thanksgivin’. You promise?”

She smiled back at him, tears biting at her eyes as she understood how much it meant to him. “I promise.”

Leaning across the bolster in the dark garage, he reached for her face, pulling it to his and kissing her. It lasted only for a second before he rested his forehead on hers. “I’m relieved. I just needed some sort of definite plan in place. Somethin’ to look forward to.”

“So did I,” she admitted.

“Come inside?” he asked, nuzzling her nose. “I know you don’t drink much, but my parents always keep a bottle of Champagne cold, and I want to celebrate. One glass?”

Laire had never had Champagne before, and the idea was too tempting to refuse.

Ten minutes later, standing at Erik’s kitchen counter as the cold bubbles sluiced down her throat, she learned what all the fuss was about. It was delicious.

“You like it?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

She nodded, marveling at the delicate flute in her fingers. So many times she’d served Champagne to patrons at the Pamlico House, but she’d never actually imagined herself tilting one of those flutes back into her own mouth. Sighing happily, she took another sip and giggled. “It tickles.”

He grinned at her. “Can I ask you somethin’?”

“Course. Anything,” she said, leaning over the marble counter, looking up at his handsome face.

“Do you have an e-mail account?”

She laughed in a short burst because his question came out of nowhere and surprised her. “I do. You have to have e-mail to order things. Not that I order a lot of things, but every now and then, I do.”

“Well, how about we exchange e-mail addresses, and then we can keep in touch while I’m away at school?”

It was something Laire hadn’t considered, and her heart leaped at the notion of them still being in contact. Sure, she’d only be able to check her e-mail quickly, when it was quiet at King Triton, which wasn’t often, but even if she checked in once a week, it would lessen her longing for him, wouldn’t it?

She looked up at him, a smile on her face, when something occurred to her and made her look back down at the counter with misgivings.

Wait. Would it make her miss him less? Or would it heighten her yearning to an almost unbearable level? Not only for Erik, but for the wonderful world he inhabited while she was still stuck on Corey. He’d tell her about the people he was meeting and places he was going, and what would she share with him? The number of blues her father had caught that day? That she was making a new blouse for someone he’d never heard of? That Ms. Sebastian had added grouper to the winter menu?

In a blinding moment of self-realization, she understood that what she offered him—an eighteen-year-old fisherman’s daughter from the Banks—was charming now, while he was close to her, but might not hold such allure from a distance. And she needed for him to long for her just as much as she longed for him. She needed it to guarantee his return, and weekly updates about her less-than-fascinating life wouldn’t help her cause when he was surrounded by sophisticated college girls.

Taking another sip of the Champagne, she looked up at him and shrugged. “I don’t think so. I don’t have a computer at home. Only at work, and I can’t risk Daddy or Uncle Fox catching me writing to you.”

The sudden disappointment on his face made her heart clench.

“Oh,” he said. “Then I suppose phone calls are out too?”

“It’s just not a good idea for them to see Duke come up repeatedly on the ID. They’ll get suspicious. And if I call you, it’d show up on the bill.”

“So we really won’t talk to each other until I get back for Thanksgivin’,” he said softly, his voice low and sad as the realization hit home.

“Unless you can come out for a weekend?” she asked hopefully.

He grimaced. “I got my hockey schedule. Every weekend’s accounted for.”

“Oh,” she said, finishing the last of her Champagne and realizing, in that moment, how much she’d hoped to see him for a weekend between August and November. It hurt to know that she wouldn’t.

“Yeah,” he said, refilling their glasses. “It’s crazy.”

“Sounds like it.”

“Laire?” he said, clinking her glass. “You want to stop talkin’ about this?”

She didn’t trust speaking over the lump in her throat so she took a sip of bubbly and nodded.

“Want to go lie on my bed and just . . . I don’t know. We can watch TV or take a nap or talk about nothin’?”

Her breathing hitched when he said “lie on my bed,” but she felt her whole body react in protest to his suggestions. She wanted to be in his bed, yes. She had no interest, however, in TV, napping, or talking.

“No,” she said.

“No what?”

“No TV,” she said, tipping back her Champagne flute and finishing it. “No napping. And limited talking.”

His eyes were dark as he stared at her over the rim of his glass, quickly downing the rest of his wine too. “Then . . .?”

She rounded the corner of the counter, a mix of nerves and want, and took his hand. “Take me to bed, darlin’,” she said, using his nickname for her, hungry for the weight of his body on hers, the glorious touch of his hot mouth to her nipples, to her . . .

“With pleasure,” he growled, leaning down to kiss her once, hard, before leading her up the stairs.

***

Erik’s bedroom, which, like the rest of the house, his mother had decorated in a nautical theme, had a queen-size bed with a navy and white striped duvet. Facing the bed were a fireplace and two leather wingback chairs, and in the corner, his bathroom. Straight across the room were sliding doors that led to the balcony from which he’d first glimpsed Laire. The furnishings were top-notch, but because Erik spent so little time in the room, it looked more like a posh hotel room than his bedroom back in Raleigh, with ACS and Duke pennants on the walls, and framed pictures of his family and friends on the bureau.

As they entered the room, he closed the door behind them out of habit, then dropped her hand. He walked to the windows and pulled the gauzy curtains aside so they could see the moon on the Sound. The room was instantly flooded with soft gray moonlight, and Erik sighed, giving himself a pep talk: reminding himself not to pressure her, not to go too fast, to be aware of her body language. His body was taut with want, his cock hard as a rock. Fuck, she was finally here, in his bedroom. But he forced himself to take a deep, calming breath, promising himself he’d behave, before he turned around to face her . . .

. . . and found her naked, her pale body bathed in moonlight, her clothes in a small pile on the floor behind her.

He gasped softly, his breath catching as he stared at her. The breasts he had touched and kissed so lovingly were high and pert, the deep pink nipples standing at attention. Her arms were at her sides, and his eyes dropped lower, to her pussy, which was covered with a triangle of curls. Taking a ragged, gasping breath, he caressed the swell of her hips and perfect legs with his eyes before letting his searing glance travel slowly back up her body to her face.

“Tell me what to do,” she murmured, her voice so soft, it was barely audible.

“L-Laire,” he whispered, striding across the room to pull her into his arms.

Her fingers reached for the buttons of his shirt, dispatching them quickly as they kissed hungrily. He shrugged out of the cotton material, releasing her only to tug the cuffs from his wrists. She reached for his belt and unbuckled it as she leaned up on tiptoe to kiss him again, and Erik, impatient to feel her skin pressed against his, hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his khakis and boxers, and forced both over his hips without unzipping, grateful for the whoosh of fabric against his legs.

Finally naked.

Bare to each other.

He reached for her, pulling her against his tingling, impatient skin, which melted into the satiny warmth of hers, his rigid cock cradled against the soft V of her thighs. With his arms around her, he backed her gently to the bed, leaning into her until she lay on her back.

“Scoot up,” he mumbled before joining her, lowering one knee to either side of her perfect legs and bending his head to kiss the soft, virgin skin of her stomach.

“Erik,” she murmured, reaching for his head, her voice heavy with lust but edged with a hint of panic.

“I want to kiss you here,” he said, covering the rosy thatch of curls over her clit with the palm of his hand.

She gasped, her breath hitching as her fingers curled into his scalp.

“Let me,” he whispered, parting her with his fingers and stroking her clit tenderly as he wedged his knees gently between her legs.

“Oh, God . . . okay,” she murmured breathlessly.

Kneeling before her, he put his hands under her hips, cupping her ass to draw her body closer to his face. Bending his head, he closed his eyes and let his tongue glide gently against her nether lips, first up one side and then down the other.

She mewled softly, arching her back and pressing her head into his pillow as he lapped at her already-swollen clit, then flicked the tender bud with his tongue, feeling his own erection harden in response to her whimpers and moans. She reached for his forearms, curling her fingers into his muscle as he took the throbbing nub between his lips and kissed her, sucking lightly, caressing her aching place with his tongue before letting her go. Her hips bucked, and she pushed against his face, her fingernails digging into his flesh as she cried out in pleasure.

“I want to feel you,” she sobbed through panted breaths, her hips still gyrating against his comforter rhythmically. “I want to feel you inside me.”

He slid up the bed to lie beside her on his side, leaning over her to kiss her lips and look into her heavy, half-closed eyes.

He wanted to. Oh, fuck, but he wanted to.

I need your help to be good.

Her words resonated in his head as she reached for his neck, curling her fingers just under the base of his skull and demanding his lips. Rolling on top of her, his cock throbbed against her damp curls. She was wet and ready for him, aching for him just as he was aching for her.

“Please,” she moaned beneath him, wiggling her hips, trying to get closer. “Please. We don’t have to . . . have sex. I just want to know how it feels.”

He kissed her again, long and hard, his tongue mating with hers, thrusting and sliding the way he wished his cock could, and it wasn’t enough. It just wasn’t e-fucking-nough.

“Laire,” he whispered against her lips, thrusting lightly against her, frustrated that she was warm against him but not wet and enveloping, not sucking him forward, not surrounding him with contracting, quivering muscle.

“Do it,” she said, biting his lower lip. “Just for a minute.”

Just for a minute.

Fuck.

So fucking tempting.

He panted over her, bracing his weight on his elbows.

“I’d still be takin’ your virginity, darlin’, even if we didn’t . . . finish.”

She nodded urgently, a whimpering, pleading noise slipping through her lips. “I know. It’s okay. I want you to.”

Cupping her face with his hands, he forced her to look at him. “Laire, you made me promise.”

“I release you from your promise,” she breathed. “I love you.”

Reaching down between their bodies, he positioned himself at the entrance of her sex, holding himself there, wincing from the strength it took not to slide forward.

“I love you. I don’t . . . I don’t want you to regret this,” he said.

Her hands skated down his back, finally resting on his ass. As though she knew instinctively how to urge him forward, she squeezed his cheeks at the same time she arched her back and raised her knees. And with a gasp of defeat and relief, Erik slid into her welcoming warmth, into the tight, hot sheath of her sex, bursting through the light barrier of flesh until he was buried within her to the hilt.

She cried out—an “unh-ah!” sound of pain—wincing and panting loudly beneath him, her eyes clenched shut, her body rigid.

“Baby,” he gasped, keeping his body as still as possible, resisting every urge to move within her. Her muscles clamped around his thickness, and for a moment his breath hitched and his eyes rolled back in his head, his arms shaking on either side of her head as he fought for self-control. He’d never felt anything like the exquisite fist of Laire’s pussy squeezing him—the heat of her, the wetness, the perfect fit of her body wrapped around his.

“I’m okay . . . I’m okay . . .,” she panted, her breath hot on his lips as a tear rolled from the corner of her eye into her hair. “I knew it would . . . I knew it would hurt a little.”

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice thready and husky at the same time.

Want.

Worry.

She licked her lips and nodded, finally opening her eyes to look up at him. They were deep and sea-green, glistening with tears but shining with love, and though five women had come before Laire in his bed, none had ever owned his heart as she did. And suddenly it didn’t hurt to remain still, letting her accustom herself to his invasion. It felt right. It felt good. It felt . . . beautiful.

He nuzzled her nose, kissing her gently. When he drew back, she was smiling at him, her face soft and dreamy. “We’re one right now, Erik.”

“We’re one, darlin’.”

He pulled his hips back a millimeter, then let himself fall forward again, watching the play of emotion, of deep pleasure, across her face.

“More,” she murmured. “Do it again.”

He gulped. He didn’t have long before he’d come. It had been a wonderful summer with Laire, but while helping her uncover her own sexuality, his needs had been somewhat neglected. He wouldn’t have much longer before he’d need to come. And while she was a virgin and he hadn’t been intimate with anyone in months, without a condom between them, he definitely didn’t want to get her pregnant.

“One last time,” he said. “Then I’ll pull out.”

She nodded. “One last time. Please.”

Pulling his pelvis back, he withdrew from her almost entirely, then, holding her eyes, he thrust forward again, once, twice, three times, her hips meeting his every time.

“I have to . . . stop,” he said, out of breath, his arms taut beside her head. “We have to . . .”

“Okay,” she said, but her hips flexed again, taking him deeper, and he groaned, feeling his balls tighten in warning.

Pulling out of her with a desperate jerk, he slid his cock into the soaked valley he’d loved with his tongue, thrusting his silken shaft relentlessly against her clit. She whimpered loudly, grabbing his cheeks and kissing him as their teeth clashed together violently. His body slapped against hers, their voices a chorus of grunts and moans, whimpers and gasps, louder and faster. until she tensed beneath him, crying his name, and he came on her clit and her stomach in hot, wet spurts of white.

“IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou,” she repeated over and over again as she rode out her orgasm, their foreheads touching, their panted breaths mingling.

Sucking in a deep, ragged breath, he rolled to his side, taking her with him, holding her flush against him, with her head tucked into his throat, as he entwined his legs with hers. She shuddered in his arms, her eyes still closed, her breathing shallow.

“Are you okay?” he finally whispered, pressing his lips to her head and wondering how she’d feel about showering together and hoping she’d want to.

She nodded, the hair on the top of her head tickling his chin. “I’ve never . . . I mean . . .”

Her voice broke off, and he squeezed her body against his. “I know. Me neither.”

“What?” She leaned her head back just a little so she could see his face. “You’ve been with other women.”

“But I never loved any of them the way I love you.”

She sniffled softly, and a tear snaked down her face. “Thank you for keeping your promise.”

His conscience twisted a touch. Had he kept his promise to her?

“Did I?”

She nodded, cuddling back against him. “The best you could.”

“Is that enough?” he asked.

She nodded again. “For me it is.”

“Thank you for trustin’ me,” he said, sliding his hands along the sweet, soft skin of her back and hoping that one day they’d be able to have sex to fruition—that he’d come inside her, make babies with her, keep this sweet woman by his side for life.

“I love you,” she said again. “No matter what.”

“Me too,” he promised. “No matter what.”

And then, because some moments are too perfect for anything else, they found their rhythm—hearts and lungs working in perfect harmony—and fell asleep in each other’s arms.

***

Though they planned to have one final Sunday date before Erik returned to school, Laire couldn’t help a sharp feeling of melancholy as they said good-bye at the Pamlico House dock the following morning. It had been heaven to spend the night with him, and now that she was fully dressed and headed home, she deeply regretted not having sex with him to fruition. Though she knew it was best that he “pulled out,” as he called it—and no, she wasn’t anywhere near ready to be a mother, God forbid—she grieved not knowing what it would have felt to orgasm together and to feel his hot seed flood and fill her. She only hoped that one day, when the timing was right, she’d have another chance. A million more chances.

“Get home safe,” he said, using his thumbs to swipe away her tears as he kissed her tenderly. “I’ll be here tonight at the bar.”

It wasn’t enough, but it was still comforting.

She sniffled, then nodded. “I know.”

He cupped her cheeks with his palms. “We’re goin’ to make it, Laire. We’re goin’ to be okay until Thanksgivin’. And then there’s only a short wait until Christmas. Even if you can’t get to Raleigh, I have three weeks off and no hockey. I can get out here at least twice to see you. We’ll make it work, darlin’. I promise you.”

She covered his hands with hers. “I’m not worried. I trust you.”

He nodded, but his eyes were unsettled. “Think about e-mailin’ me?”

“I just don’t—”

“Think about it,” he insisted softly.

She nodded, leaning up on tiptoe to kiss him. “Okay. I will.”

He’d stood on the dock, waving good-bye as she drove away. And even after he was a small speck in the distance, she could still see him, hand raised, standing at the edge of the dock. She let her tears flow freely for the next fifteen minutes of the ride, then dried them, reminding herself that between now and next Thursday were five more nights and one glorious Sunday. She’d ruin their final days together if she cried all over him every time they were together. Was it poignant? Yes. Did it hurt? Like hell. But she needed to have more faith in them.

Taking a deep breath, she turned into the cove that led to Corey Harbor and slowed down as she passed a friend of her father’s, who yelled something at her that she couldn’t hear so she just waved in response. Continuing into the bay, she skimmed the shoreline to her house.

The first thing she noticed was her father’s fishing boat.

The second thing she noticed was her father himself, emerging from the house to greet the devil.

The third thing she noticed was Issy and Kyrstin scurrying at his heels.

Why is he home? Why is he home? Why is he already home?

Her heart was beating so fast, she could barely breathe, but she pulled in alongside the dock as her father stepped onto the planking, demanding, “Throw me the line.”

Scrambling to the bow, she threw him the rope, watching, with increasing horror, as he cleated the boat to the dock without a word, his face drawn, his eyes furious.

Flicking her eyes to Kyrstin’s, she found them wide and severe.

Shit. She was in trouble. Big, huge, mammoth trouble.

“Get on in the house now,” growled her father, his blue eyes flinty.

Looking over her father’s shoulder she found Issy, who held baby Kyle against her chest and looked at Laire like she’d like to spit and roast her.

“Get. In. The. House,” she whispered angrily, snarling at her youngest sister.

Laire scurried off the boat, past her father and sisters, head down, beelining for the porch door. She slipped inside, turning into the living room and perching on the edge of the couch as her mind tried to figure out what was going on and how the hell to explain her absence.

Her father, preceded by her sisters, entered the living room, his huge presence taking up most of the room, his eyes angry and tired.

“Where you been?” he asked, looming over her, cracking his knuckles against his palms.

She darted a glance to Kyrstin, the only one in the room who knew that Laire had been working in Buxton. Kyrstin shook her head almost imperceptibly to signal Laire that she hadn’t said anything.

“I . . . I, um . . .”

She didn’t know what to say. Should she admit to working at the Pamlico House? What about Erik? No. No! She couldn’t mention Erik, or her father would forbid her to ever see him again.

Her father took a step toward her, hands on his hips. “Issy come by last night to check on ya. The li’l’n keeps her up so she comes by regular.”

“You weren’t here, Laire. Not at nine, not at ten, not at two in the mornin’!” cried Issy. Laire blinked at the panic in her sister’s voice, understanding, for the first time, that she wasn’t just angry, but scared. “I waited for you, but as the hours went by, I got worried, so I called Kyrstin. She hadn’t seen you all night. Said you never came into work. We called Brodie to see if you was with him, but he said he hadn’t seen you in weeks. I was scared. So I radioed Daddy.”

. . . at three o’clock in the morning.

Fuck.

Laire put a hand to her chest, which felt tight with her racing heartbeat and the horrible adrenaline rush of being found out. She needed a story. And fast.

“So where you been at, gal?” asked her father again. “And who you been with all night because he’s goin’ ta need to make it right w’ you.”

Make it right.

No.

No. No. No.

Marriage.

Her father was talking about a shotgun marriage.

She had to say something fast, to distance herself from the island men her father would suspect.

“I . . .,” she started again, glancing at Kyrstin before continuing. “I haven’t been workin’ on Ocracoke. I’ve been workin’ over in Buxton.”

“You what?!”Her father recoiled, stepping back as if she’d slapped him. He looked over at Kyrstin.

“You knew ’bout this?”

Kyrstin nodded, giving Laire dagger eyes before dropping her head in shame.

“Since when?” her father demanded.

“I n-never worked on Ocracoke. I just . . . Kyrs wanted a bar job, and so I let her—”

Kyrstin’s head snapped up. “Don’t you dare blame this on me, Laire!”

“I’m not blamin’ you!” she cried. “But—”

“So two of my girls been lyin’ to me all summer.” Her father took a deep breath and exhaled long and hard, reaching up to press his palm to his chest. “Lyin’ like snakes.”

“No, Daddy,” said Laire, even though it was true. She had been lying all summer. She’d been living in a fantasy world with Erik Rexford, and it was all crashing down around her.

“Yes, Laire! YOU BE A LIAR!” he boomed.

“Daddy, please, calm—”

“Don’t you dare tell me to calm down! Where you been all night?”

Kyle started crying. and Laire looked up at her sister, whose pinched expression was traded for a mother’s tenderness, jostling her baby in her arms. “Don’t cry, li’l’un.”

At some point, tears had started falling from Laire’s eyes too. “I’m sorry. I’m so s-s-sorry.”

“So you been in Buxton. All summer,” her father said, his voice resigned, heavy and deeply disappointed, which gutted her. “But you still come home every night by ’leven. ’Cept for last night.”

She gulped, the memory of Erik’s body sliding inside hers still so sharp, she could feel him. She could feel his beautiful fullness, and it made her want to weep for what was happening now—for the price she was going to have to pay for those cherished hours spent with him last night and this morning.

“Daddy . . .”

He shook his head, his face a mask of disappointment and shame. “I thank t’Lord your mama’s gone and can’t see this disgrace! Would’ve killed her if she waren’t already dead!”

His words hurt worse than any physical punch, kick, or hit to any tender part of her body, and she felt herself reeling from them, wanting to curl up in a tight ball until she could wake up from this nightmare.

“Don’t . . . say . . . that . . .,” she sobbed. “Please . . .”

“IT BE THE TRUTH!” he cried. “You shame her memory, Laire!”

“Please,” she begged him, hugging herself as tears fell down her cheeks in ceaseless streams. “Please don’t—”

“I know . . .” He started in a softer voice, then stopped, rubbing his chest with the heel of his palm. When he started speaking again, his voice was softer and more breathless. “I know you been with s-someone . . . so you best tell me who. Now. Right now, Laire! I’ll . . . I’ll h-head up to Buxton and I’ll force h-him to . . . to do right by you. If he’s a man with any . . . p-principle, he’ll . . . he’ll do right . . . he’ll . . .”

Don’t speak.

She shook her head back and forth, her tears falling in rivulets. She couldn’t speak. She wouldn’t. She would never, ever give up Erik’s name. No matter what.

“GOD DAMN IT, LAIRE!” he bellowed. “You speak to me! Who you . . . b-been with? First that . . . t-talk about . . . Brodie Walsh! Now this! You tell me . . . y-you tell me . . . where you b-been, you . . . lyin’ little . . . you lyin’ . . .”

His voice wheezed and cut off, and Laire looked up as he clutched at his chest desperately, his knuckles white as his fingers dug into the bib of his overalls.

“Daddy?” said Kyrstin in a panic, lurching forward to reach for him.

He stumbled backward, hitting a lampshade and knocking the lamp to the ground with a clatter. Grasping for the wall behind it, he knocked three framed pictures to the ground, shattering the glass. His eyes were wide and scared, his face paler by the second.

“Daddy? Daddy!!” screamed Issy, rocking her baby helplessly as their father slumped to his knees. “Call 911. LAIRE! CALL 911!”

But Laire couldn’t move, frozen with terror, sobbing silent tears as she watched her father—her beloved father—her only living parent—fall onto his side, hitting the floor with a loud thump that shook the little house.

“KYRSTIN, CALL 911!” screamed Issy, and Kyrstin, who was kneeling by their father, crawled to the end table, grappling for the phone.

Their father lay motionless on the floor.

And if he was dead, Laire had wielded the knife.

As that despicable thought flashed like white lightning across her consciousness, Laire fainted, smashing her forehead on the glass coffee table on the way down.