LITMIR.BIZ

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yet, but I intend to find out. Some bones were found on the other side of the lake later that year after a huge flood washed away much of the bank. The local coroner dated them to within a few weeks of the night of that party.”

      In her mind, it was the night she was raped. The night of his conception. The night that changed her life forever. But if he wanted to refer to it as the night of the party, that was fine with her.

      She remembered the flood. Had been glad to hear that the site of her foray into hell had been washed clean.

      “Were the bones identified?”

      “No. From what I can see, the townspeople were questioned and requests for information posted, but no one came forward. Apparently, there were not only no witnesses to the death but no one reported a missing person, either. You can’t match dental records without a possible identity to begin with. And Ohio has only been using DNA testing on a regular basis since the late ’80s. There were no matching missing-persons reports in the state during the three months prior, or two years after, the approximate time of death.”

      She wasn’t going to ask him how he knew that. Maricopa wasn’t in his jurisdiction. But he was a police officer. He had ways to get access to information that most people wouldn’t even know existed.

      Still…

      “So how does this all tie in? You think someone was murdered that night at the lake? Surely someone would have reported a missing college kid.”

      “The dead man was in his late thirties to early forties.”

      Ryan’s earnestness, his conviction, was endearing. “And the tie-in?”

      “That’s what I have to find. But think about it. The sheriff’s daughter, a conservative young woman, by all accounts, is suddenly having sex with three men—and all four of you have no memory of the incident. There’s ample physical evidence, and a baby, to prove what happened. This is a case that will consume every ounce of the sheriff’s attention, focus and energy. An open-and-shut case that won’t require digging into anything else that might have happened that night. You have to admit, it’s convenient.”

      Not a word she’d ever associated with that night. “Too convenient, if you ask me,” Ryan continued. “Most cops don’t like coincidences, and I don’t like conveniences. Crimes aren’t usually that easy to wrap up.”

      “And this…convenience…is what you’re basing your murder cover-up story on?”

      He nodded, fingertips tapping together. “That, the unidentified bones, and…” he glanced away and then back, giving her a sheepish look “…I’ve read some of the police reports.”

      “Did you find something unusual?”

      “Not necessarily, but I’ve got some questions and am hoping to get the whole file. I’m studying to become a detective and I’ve asked to look over the case for practice.”

      Just as she thought. A young cop playing sleuth. And where was the harm? If he needed to reshape the events that surrounded his conception, she wasn’t going to try to stop him.

      “That’s actually not why I’m here,” Ryan said then, as if he knew she wasn’t buying his theory.

      There was more? She wasn’t sure she had the emotional or physical resources to handle anything else at the moment.

      She wanted to know how old he was when he took his first step. And whether or not he liked peas. Or if he had a girlfriend?

      He wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. But this wasn’t about her. She’d given up her rights to Ryan’s life the day she’d let them whisk him away, never to be seen by her again.

      A newborn baby rejected by the woman who’d given birth to him.

      At least she’d given birth to him. Her parents had spent weeks trying to convince her to terminate her pregnancy.

      It was evidence of her overwhelmed state that it took her several minutes to realize Ryan wasn’t talking anymore.

      “So why are you here?”

      “I haven’t wanted to intrude on your life,” he answered slowly. “But neither have I been able to forget you.”

      She smiled and he smiled back.

      “So I’ve sort of been watching you.”

      She sat up. “Spying on me?”

      “No!” Ryan stood. Faced her.

      He was a lot taller than she’d pictured him these past couple of years. An inch or two over six feet.

      “Watching out for you, I should have said.”

      Sara couldn’t help smiling again. While she’d been going through the motions of living, her long-lost son had been protecting her, kind of like her own private guardian angel.

      Which was overstating things, she was sure.

      But the calming sensation moving slowly through her sure was nice.

      “Thank you.”

      “Don’t thank me.” His face was grim.

      “What?” Sara sat forward, frowning. “Something’s going on at NOISE that I don’t know about? Tell me.”

      “It’s not NOISE.”

      “What, then?”

      Her father was retired. Still living in the house in Maricopa where she’d grown up. Nagging her about NOISE. Writing the books on adolescence and Internet safety that had made the organization such a success.

      “Your husband.”

      “Brent?”

      Ryan nodded. Waited. Almost as if he couldn’t bring himself to tell her what he’d gone through all of this to say.

      “He’s gambling again?” She’d warned him. One more time and they were through.

      He shook his head. His eyes warming again. And she knew. Ryan was like her own self-appointed private eye. And everyone who watched the old detective shows knew what kind of information they were usually hired to ferret out when it came to marriages.

      She said the words so he didn’t have to.

      “He’s having an affair.”

      MARK DALTON ROSE when his name was called, walked across the front of the large hall on the Ohio State University campus and accepted his Juris Doctor. Circling around, he resumed his seat in the great hall at the law school he’d been attending for the past three years, immune to those around him. Some might not know who or what he was. Many probably no longer cared. He’d long since ceased to allow such things to bother him.

      He’d have left, if not for the fact that his mom and sister were sitting with the family members of his classmates behind him. He’d told them they needn’t come. The two-hour drive from Cleveland, where they’d relocated twenty years before, wasn’t hard, but his sister—a waitress at a well-to-do club—had to work that night.

      And his mother’s eyesight wasn’t good enough for her to drive alone in the dark.

      Besides, Mark was going to work, too, as soon as he got home and changed out of the conservative shirt and tie he had on under his academic robes. He had a’52 Corvette to deliver the following day and some finishing touches to put on his workmanship.

      The rich and famous in the car world didn’t mind doing business with a known sex offender, when he was also one of the best vintage car restorers in the country.

      No one worried about him assaulting an engine.

      Charles Granger, dean of Ohio State’s College of Law, ended his closing remarks and the ceremony concluded with a whoop of congratulations. Mark waited for his chance to leave.

      “Good luck, Mark,” Sharon Rose said from beside

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