“That’s our girl.”

“She had a healthy outlook toward sex, which I appreciated. Too many women in fiction are painted as either virgin or slut. She used her head, which was a good one, but it was that and a stubborn streak that got her in a jam.”

“No bells ringing?” Jordan said after a moment.

“What bells? I don’t . . .” A ripple of shock had her gaping at him. “Are you saying you based her on me?”

“Bits and pieces. A lot of bits and pieces. Jesus, Dana, she even had your eyes.”

“My eyes are brown. Hers were . . . something poetic.”

“ ‘The color of chocolate, both rich and bitter.’ Or something like that.”

“I’m not stubborn. I’m . . . confident in my decisions.”

“Uh-huh.” He pulled up outside her building.

“I’m not arrogant. I simply have little patience for narrow minds or supercilious behavior.”

“Yep.”

She shoved out of the car. “It’s starting to come back to me now. This Kate could be a real pain in the ass.”

“At times. It’s what made her interesting and real and human. Especially since she could also be generous and kind. She had a great sense of humor, the kind of woman who could laugh at herself.”

Scowling at him, she unlocked her door. “Maybe.”

As they walked in, Jordan gave her a friendly pat on the butt. “I fell pretty hard for her. Of course, if I were to write her today—” He backed Dana against the door, braced his hands on either side of her head.

“Yes?”

“I wouldn’t change a thing.” He lowered his mouth to hers, slid into the kiss. “I was so sure you’d read it, see yourself and get in touch with me. When you didn’t get in touch, I figured you’d never read it.”

“Maybe I wasn’t ready to see myself. But you can be sure I’m going to read it again. The fact is, it’s the only one of your books I never reread.”

With a half laugh, he eased back. “You reread my books?”

“I can actually see your head swelling, so I’m going to get out of the way before somebody gets hurt.” She ducked under his arm, headed toward one of the bookshelves.

“To the woman I lost. To the woman I found. To the only woman I’ve loved. How fortunate for me that all three are one.”

She looked back at him as she reached for a book. “What was that about?”

“It’s the dedication I just wrote in my head for the book I’m working on now.”

She dropped her hand. “God, Jordan, you’re going to turn me into a puddle of mush. You never used to say things like that to me.”

“I used to think things like that. I just didn’t know how to say them.”

“This is the one I read a piece of. The one about redemption. I’ll look forward to reading the rest of it.”

“I’ll look forward to writing it for you.”

He watched her remove a book from the shelf, slip off the outer dust jacket to reveal the one beneath.

“ ‘Phantom Watch,’ ” he read, “ ‘Jordan Hawke.’ Covered up by . . .” The laughter rolled out of him. “ ‘How to Exterminate Pests from Home and Garden.’ Good one, Stretch.”

“Worked for me. I have another of yours under the cover of a novel titled Dog-Eaters. A surprisingly dull and bloodless book, despite the title. Then there’s . . . Well, doesn’t matter. Just variations on the theme.”

“I get it.”

“Tell you what.” She covered his hand with hers. “After we’re done, you and I will have a ritual unveiling, after which I will, with some ceremony, place your books in their rightful place on the shelves.”

“Sounds good.” He looked down at the book, then back at her. “Going to wait for the others?”

“I can’t.” She could see he hadn’t expected her to wait. “I’m too wound up. And I think, I feel, that this is something we’re supposed to do. You and me.”

“Then let’s do it.”

As she had with Flynn’s copy, she ran her fingers over the cover, over the illustration of the Peak.

But this time, she felt . . . something. What had Malory called it? An awareness. Yes, Dana decided, exactly that. “This is it, Jordan,” she whispered. “The key’s in the book.” Hands steady, she opened it.

Focus, she told herself. Concentrate. It was there. She only had to see it.

He watched her skim her fingers down the title page, the tips running lightly over his name. Her breath quickened.

“Dana.”

“I feel it. It’s warm. It’s waiting. She’s waiting.”

She flipped pages gently, then let out a single shocked gasp as the book fell out of her hands. He called her name again and caught her as she collapsed.

Stunned, scared, he lowered her to the rug. She was breathing, he could feel her breathing, but she’d gone pale and cold as ice.

“Come back. Dana, damn it, you come back.” On a spurt of panic, he shook her. Her head rolled limply to the side.

“Where did you take her, you son of a bitch?” He started to haul her up, and his gaze landed on the book that had fallen, open, on the floor. “Oh, my God.”

He picked her up, clamping her against him to warm her, to protect. He heard the voices out in the hall and fumbled the door open before Flynn could knock.

“Dana.” Flynn grabbed for her, ran his hands over her face. “No!”

“He’s got her,” Jordan spat out. “The son of a bitch pulled her into the book. He’s got her trapped in the goddamn book.”

SHE felt him take her. He’d wanted her to, she’d known that immediately. He’d taken her with pain so she would be sure to know he could. He’d ripped the consciousness from her body as gleefully as an evil boy rips wings off flies.

After the pain, there was cold. Bitter, brutal cold that shot straight to the bones, seemed to turn them brittle and thin as glass.

She was torn from the warmth and the light and thrust into the cold and the pain, through the damp, hideous fingers of the blue mist. It seemed to wrap around her, binding arms and legs, strangling her until she wheezed for even one breath of that cold air, wheezed for another even though it was like inhaling iced blades.