Marc shook his head, keeping his smile easy and light, trying to set me at ease. “Nope, plain old garden-variety American stray. He’s ours if we want him.” He grinned. “You feel like seeing New Orleans?”

I glanced at Jace. He was frowning, but when he noticed me looking, he smiled. “Go ahead.”

“You sure?” I asked. “I can stay and kick your ass in a couple more games if you want.”

“Gee, how could I turn that down?” He waved me off with a flick of his hand.

“Go on. Bring me back some beads.”

I laughed. “Jace, it’s July.”

“So what?”

“So, Mardi Gras is in February.”

He frowned again. “Oh. Then just bring me some jambalaya.”

I smiled and rolled my eyes. “Sure, Jace. I’l bring you some jambalaya.”

“Thanks.” He turned back to the board and began setting up the pieces. “Grab Ethan on your way out and tel him I’m bored, wil you?”

“No problem.”

Marc followed me to my room and took my suitcase from the closet.

“We’re staying overnight?”

“In New Orleans? Hell, yeah.” He dropped the hard-shel case on the bed.

“What if we catch him this afternoon?”

He grabbed me around the waist and tossed me onto the bed next to the suitcase, pinning me down before I could get up. “What Daddy doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

I rolled us over and straddled his waist, staring down at him with a smile. “It’l hurt you if you try to bil him for the trip.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He grinned up at me.

“What?”

“You’re beautiful.”

I blushed. I’d refused to look into the mirror for weeks, until my face felt normal when I touched it. My cheek healed okay, but my throat had scarred. I had four smal white crescents running in a vertical line, just to the left of my esophagus.

I wasn’t vain enough to think they marred my reflection, but I never once looked at them without remembering that night. So I looked in the mirror less and less.

“You’re right,” I said, planting my palms on his chest. “And you’re very lucky.”

“I never denied it.” And he hadn’t. He pulled me down and kissed me again, then rolled me onto my back. “Get packed.” Flashing me one last smile, he left for the guesthouse to pack his own bag.

I stood at the end of my bed and opened the suitcase, surprised to discover that it was already ful — of books. What the hell? Then my eyes settled on a technical-writing textbook, and I remembered.

After my face healed, I’d gone back to school to pack up my stuff, say goodbye to Sammi, and to try to explain my decision to Andrew. But he wasn’t there. He’d withdrawn from school shortly after I left, with no explanation. Confused by his absence, I said a tearful goodbye to Sammi as I tossed my belongings into various suitcases and boxes, paying very little attention to what I took and what I left behind.

Now, staring down into the bag, I realized I’d never bothered to unpack.

With a sigh, I began pulling out books, lining them up on my shelf four at a time, in front of the row already in place. At the bottom of the suitcase, my hand hesitated over the last book. Walden, by Thoreau. It was a thin paperback edition—and it wasn’t mine. I hated the transcendentalists. I preferred to experience nature on four paws rather than read about it.

I probably packed one of Sammi’s books by mistake, I thought, pulling back the front cover. But there at the top, printed in his own neat, al -caps handwriting, was the name Andrew Wal ace.

Why would I have Andrew’s copy of Walden? I’d given away my own copy as soon as I’d finished the survey course requiring it. I was flipping through the book, trying to decide what to do with it, when something stuck between two pages caught my eye. It was a flower. A dried, pressed flower. My best guess was that it was some kind of tropical bloom, maybe an orchid. It had beautiful, pale pink petals, a shade darker in the middle.

Huh. I hadn’t known Andrew liked tropical flowers. Maybe there were several things I hadn’t known about Andrew…

“What’s that?”

I slammed the book shut and whirled around, my heart hammering in my throat. Marc leaned against the door frame, duffel bag in hand.

“Aren’t you ready yet?” He shook his head, clucking his tongue in mock disappointment. “What is it about women and luggage? You don’t have to bring everything you own, and it shouldn’t take this long to throw some clothes into a bag. In fact, if it wil save you any time, just leave the underwear out al together.

Here, let me help.” He dropped his bag on the carpet and leaned down to pick up a bra I’d dropped. “Now, see what I mean? You’re just wasting time packing stuff like this.” He tossed the bra over his shoulder and shoved a T-shirt into the bag.

I laughed, Andrew’s flower already forgotten. “Thanks.”

“No problem.” He smiled. “But you can’t take that either.” He plucked the thin volume from my hand, stacking it with the others on my shelf. “You won’t have time for reading. You won’t even have time for sleeping if I have my way.” He headed for the door, then turned back, as if something else had occurred to him. “Don’t forget your ID.”

I frowned, as his reminder led me to another thought. “Hey, Marc?”