Griff had handled this situation all wrong from the very beginning. He had kept the truth from Nic, telling himself that he was protecting her. That had been as good an excuse as any, and a partial truth. He did want to protect Nic. She was the most important thing in the world to him. He’d kill to protect her. He’d die to protect her.

His first allegiance should always be to his wife, but…

Nic had known when she married him that secrets from his past haunted him, that he had shared only a small portion of the truth with her. There were things he never wanted her to know, things that he would pay any price to forget. And he had sworn an oath to Yvette and Sanders, as they had to him. He was bound by that oath, as they were, and only when the three of them were in complete agreement were they free to share any portion of their traumatic past with anyone outside their survivor’s trinity.

Yvette and Sanders had allowed him to tell Nic the bare facts of the ordeal they had endured as Malcolm York’s captives. He had even warned Nic that the brutal savage York had turned him into during his years on Amara still existed inside him. And now more than ever, that knowledge worried Griff, because he knew how easily he could revert to the inhuman beast he had once been.

If it turned out that the rumors whispered in certain sections throughout Europe had any basis in fact, they were all in mortal danger: he, Sanders, Yvette and anyone they loved. Nic would be in great danger, and just the thought ignited a fierce anger inside him that he hadn’t felt since she had almost died at the hands of serial killer Ross Everhart.

He had chartered a plane for Meredith Sinclair and Luke Sentell, who was acting as her bodyguard and keeper, and they had returned to Griffin’s Rest before Griff. He had taken his brief stopover in San Francisco to pick up Nic and Maleah into account when planning for Meredith to return to Tennessee ahead of him. Nic would have asked far too many questions had Meredith and Luke accompanied them, questions he wasn’t prepared to answer. Not yet. Not until it was absolutely necessary.

Griff had hated using Meredith the way they had, but she had cooperated of her own free will, even though they all knew that she’d done it only out of obligation to Yvette. The poor girl was cursed with an amazing ability even greater than her mentor’s, an ability that a man such as York would have used in the most diabolical ways. But in this case, she was working against the kind of evil Malcolm York had inflicted on the world.

As he stood by the balcony doors, Griff glanced back at Nicole as she lay sleeping peacefully in their bed. He worshipped the ground she walked on. He had never loved anyone the way he loved her. She was his life. But because of the secrecy surrounding his actions recently, she had begun pulling away from him. And she blamed Yvette and even suspected Yvette of coming between them. How could she ever think that he would betray her with another woman, even Yvette, whom he also loved? But his love for Yvette was that of a comrade, a fellow soldier who had survived the same grueling war. She and Sanders were his best friends. They were his sister and brother of the soul. He owed them his life, and it was a debt that he intended to continue repaying for as long as he lived.

Trust me, Nic. Believe in our love. Know that whatever I do, I do to protect you.

The Ice Palace ice-cream parlor on the corner of Main and Fourth Streets in downtown Dunmore had become one of the favorite family hangouts on weekend nights, especially during the summer months. But even in the coldest weather, residents often stopped by after dinner or a movie or bowling for a cup of gourmet coffee, delicious lattes and to-die-for hot chocolate. And their home-baked desserts were favorites of adults, teens and children. This Friday night appeared to be no exception, and even with summer weekend hours extended to make closing time at eleven, there was still a line to get into the parlor.

“If they didn’t have the most delicious caramel ice cream this side of heaven, I wouldn’t wait in line.” Lorie shifted from one foot to the other. “My feet are killing me.”

“If you hadn’t worn four-inch heels tonight, your feet wouldn’t be bothering you,” Cathy said. “You’re the only woman I know who wears heels to the movies.”

“I’m short, but in heels I’m tall.” She sighed, and then admitted, “Well, in heels, I’m not as short.”

“We could get ice cream over at the Dairy Dip a lot faster,” Seth said, then looked at Cathy. “Would you let me drive? I promise that I’ll be very careful. Please, Mom.”

“We’re not going to the Dairy Dip,” Cathy told him. “Not after we’ve already stood in line for fifteen minutes to get in here. But maybe I’ll let you drive when we leave.”

“Thanks, Mom. You’re the greatest.”

Having gotten what he wanted, Seth scanned the waiting crowd, and his attention was quickly captured by two teenagers near the back of the long, half-block line.

“Hey, I see a couple of guys I know,” Seth said. “I’m going back there to say hi.” He glanced at the front door of the parlor and realized they were next in line to be seated. “It’ll just take a sec. Promise.”

As soon as Seth headed toward his friends, Cathy lowered her voice and asked Lorie, “So, what’s the real reason we’re here?”

Putting on a fake I’m-totally-innocent face, Lorie replied, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I don’t remember your having a passion for caramel ice cream or for any flavor of ice cream for that matter, and yet you insisted we stop by here after we left the theater. Why?”

The hostess called out “Cantrell,” and when Lorie and Cathy approached, she checked the name off her list and showed them to a round table near the row of booths that circled the soda-fountain counter.

“My son is with us,” Cathy said. “Seth Cantrell. He’ll be joining us in a couple of minutes.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Suddenly Lorie’s motives for insisting on showing up at the Ice Palace tonight became abundantly clear. Mike Birkett and his two children sat in a booth almost directly across from their table. When Cathy saw Mike, she smiled and spoke. He lifted his eyes from his banana split and returned Cathy’s warm smile. Then, when he noticed her companion, his smile vanished.

As soon as they took their seats at the small round table, Cathy leaned over and said softly, “You knew Mike would be here, didn’t you?”

“Guilty as charged.”

“Oh, Lorie, why do you do these things to yourself?”

“I’m a glutton for punishment. I’m a masochist. I like getting my teeth kicked in on a regular basis.”

“Mike’s not the only man in the world, you know.”

“Yeah, sure, Ms. I-think-I’m-falling-in-love-with-Jack again. Easy for you to say when the man of your dreams has slept in your bed and curled your toes the past couple of nights.”

“It takes two,” Cathy reminded her. “Jack’s a willing participant. Mike’s not. And I hate to see you keep pining away for him when it’s obvious he’s—”

“Shush. Here comes Seth, and he’s not alone.”

“What?” Cathy turned her head to see which one of his young friends Seth had invited to join them and was beyond surprised to see Jack walking alongside him.

And Seth didn’t look angry or upset.

“Good evening, ladies,” Jack said. “Mind if I join y’all?”

“I ran into Mr. Perdue outside, and I invited him to sit with us,” Seth said as casually as if he’d said it was warm outside tonight.

“We’d love for you to join us.” Lorie grinned at Jack.

“Yes, please sit down.” Cathy glanced from Jack to Seth. “Both of you sit.”

“Nice night.” Jack sat in the chrome and vinyl diner chair to Cathy’s left.

“I was out taking an evening walk and happened to notice the long line outside this place, so I stopped to see what was going on.”

“That’s when I saw him,” Seth said. “I figured tonight was as good a time as any to show everybody that I’m okay with you two dating.”

“You are?” Cathy stared at her son. “I thought you didn’t approve of my seeing Jack, that you were concerned about what people might say.”

Seth looked directly at Jack. “Mr. Perdue and I had a talk, and he knows how I feel about things.”

“I see. Since I’m your mother, would you mind sharing how you feel with me?”

“Nobody has the right to tell you who you should date, not even me. My dad’s dead, and neither of us can change that fact. You were bound to start dating sooner or later, and I’d be a selfish brat if I expected you to spend the rest of your life alone.”

Cathy reached over and squeezed Seth’s hand. “When did you grow up into such a wonderful young man? The last time I looked, you were just a little boy.”

He eased his hands out of Cathy’s, all the while glancing around to see if anybody noticed his mother holding his hand. He was a typical teenage boy in that respect.

On the verge of crying happy tears, Cathy laughed.

Just as the waitress came to take their order, Jack said, “How about you call me Jack from now on? Mr. Perdue sounds a bit formal to me.”

“Yes, sir,” Seth replied in a not overly friendly but a respectful manner.

Cathy felt as if she were dreaming. Seth had shown an amazing maturity in his about-face concerning her relationship with Jack. And so quickly. She had been concerned about her son’s attitude, afraid that she might lose him if she stood her ground and continued seeing Jack. But what good was her hard-won independence if, when confronted with her first extremely difficult choice, she reverted back to pleasing others instead of herself, even if that other person was her own son?

“What’ll it be folks?” asked the forty-something blond waitress wearing fifties-style blue jeans, white shirt and ponytail.

“A double scoop of caramel ice cream in a waffle cone,” Lorie said without a moment’s hesitation.

“Just a Cherry Coke for me,” Cathy said.

“Hot-fudge sundae,” Jack and Seth replied simultaneously.

Jack grinned. “With extra walnuts.”

“Yeah, me, too,” Seth told the waitress.

Cathy forced a smile. “I’ve changed my mind. Make that three hot-fudge sundaes with extra walnuts.”

Seth looked at her questioningly. “I didn’t think you liked walnuts.”

“Oh, you’re right. Sorry. Make that pecans.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The waitress repeated the order and then asked Cathy, “You still want the Cherry Coke, too?”

“No, thank you.”

Think of something to say to avert either Jack or Seth from commenting on what a coincidence it was that they both loved hot-fudge sundaes with walnuts.

She knew it was silly of her to worry about such a mundane matter. After all, millions of people loved hot-fudge sundaes, didn’t they?

“This has to be the most popular place in town.” She glanced around at the full-to-capacity interior. “I see quite a few people I know.”

“Yeah, ever since it opened last summer, it’s been the happening place,” Lorie said a bit too enthusiastically. “Even the local ministers hang out here.” She laughed, the sound slightly shrill. “Look over there.” She lifted her hand and waved. “There’s Patsy and Elliott.”

“Isn’t that Reverend Phillips and his wife?” Seth asked, and they all followed his line of vision to where the black Baptist minister and his wife sat on bar stools at the counter.

As his gaze surveyed the room, Jack paused when he saw his boss. “There’s Mike with M.J. and Hannah.” Jack threw up his hand and waved. Mike motioned to Jack. “If y’all will excuse me for a minute, I’ll go over to say hi.”

As soon as Jack left the table, Seth stood and said, “I think I’ll choose some tunes on the jukebox. Lorie, have you got a preference?”

“Just something loud and fun,” Lorie told him. “Something that’ll make us want to shake our booties.”

Seth laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“What about your mom? Aren’t you going to choose something for her?”

“I already know what Mom will want to hear. She used to play it a lot when I was a kid.” Not waiting for a response, Seth made his way through the crowded tables to the jukebox, a modern replica of the type popular in the fifties.

Cathy wanted to call Seth back, to ask him not to choose that particular song, but how could she explain to him why, tonight of all nights, she didn’t want to hear what he knew was her heart’s choice?

“You’ve got an odd look on your face.” Lorie studied her closely. “You’re not still concerned about Jack and Seth ordering the same dessert, are you?”

“Goodness, no. A lot of people love hot-fudge sundaes. It’s not as if preferences in food are considered hereditary.”

Lorie nodded. “Yeah, you’re right.” She glanced to where Jack stood by the booth across from their table, he and Mike talking and laughing. “I need to find myself a boyfriend. Somebody big and strong and good-looking. Somebody who doesn’t give a damn about my notorious past.”

“Before you start boyfriend hunting, I suggest you stop drooling over Mike Birkett. You might find a man who doesn’t give a damn about your notorious past, but I doubt you’ll find one who’s willing to play second fiddle to the sheriff.”

“The right man could make me forget Mike.”

“Maybe.”

“Did Mark ever make you forget Jack?” Lorie cursed under her breath. “Sorry, I had no business asking you. I know you and Mark had a good marriage.”

“We did. And I don’t regret marrying him. But to answer your question, no, I never forgot about Jack.”

“Of course you didn’t—not with the constant reminder you had.”

Before Cathy could respond, the next song on the jukebox began playing. For a half second her heart stopped as Whitney Houston’s amazing voice rose above the clatter inside the Ice Palace.

Cathy closed her eyes as the song her son had chosen for her took her mind back nearly seventeen years. The incredible Ms. Houston sang “I Will Always Love You,” the song that was playing on the car radio the November night Seth had been conceived. As the mournful words enveloped her, Cathy opened her eyes, and her gaze sought and found Jack. He stopped talking to Mike, turned and looked directly at her. He, too, was remembering the last night they had spent together, the day before Jack left Dunmore to return to active duty.

She knelt in prayer. If anyone noticed her, they would think nothing of seeing her inside the gazebo alone and obviously beseeching God for His help. No one must ever suspect the truth: that she was God’s angel of vengeance. Her holy mission was a secret pact between her and the Almighty. If anyone discovered her identity, they would put an end to her righteous executions.

Only God knew what was in her heart. What she did, she did for the good of all mankind. If only someone had taken up the task of separating the wheat from the chaff years ago, not only would she have been saved from the agony she endured, but many others would have been, too. But it was not her place to question God’s reasons for allowing these so-called ministers and priests and professed do-gooders to spread their evil. No, her place was to follow God’s instructions and mete out punishment to the wicked blasphemers.

She lifted her face upward toward heaven and respectfully closed her eyes. Her prayers were spoken now in silence, as she suffered in silence. No one could help her. No one could change the past. But she had the power to change not only her future, but the future of others. She must be the protector of the weak and defenseless, those without the power to overcome their oppressors. By slaying those who did not deserve to live, she could wash away her own sins, the sin in which she had been born.

“Speak to me, Lord. Tell me who You have chosen for Your righteous judgment. Lead me along the right path, direct me to his doorstep. Whisper his name in my ear.”

God had already shown her that Patsy Floyd was to be spared, that indeed she could erase all female clergy from her mental list of chosen ones. Only men were capable of the kinds of carnal evil that required death by fire. Although not blameless, women were to be spared until the final day of judgment. She accepted His decision without question.

“Will I visit Dewan Phillips next?” she asked. “Or is it time to strike against Donnie Hovater? Speak his name, Lord. Is it either of them, or have You chosen someone else?”

She prayed in earnest until her knees ached and tears streamed down her face. And finally, God spoke to her. Softly. Quietly. As gentle as the rustle of the wind. But she heard him.

“Yes, of course. I knew in my heart that he would be next. And yes, I will not wait. I will mete out his just punishment tomorrow night.”

How fitting that God had chosen the night after Bruce Kelley’s funeral to strike down yet another wicked blasphemer.