The Lucky One

. . . let's just say she doesn't date. Her ex wouldn't like it, and trust me, you don't want to mess with him.

He reviewed what he knew about Keith Clayton. Part of a powerful family. A bully. Quick to anger. In a position to abuse his power. Someone who thought he deserved whatever he wanted whenever he wanted it?

Thibault couldn't be certain about the last one, but it all fit the picture.

Clayton didn't want Elizabeth to see other men. Elizabeth hadn't had any meaningful relationships in years. Elizabeth occasionally wondered why but hadn't even considered the possible connection between her ex-husband and failed relationships. To Thibault, it seemed entirely plausible that Clayton was manipulating people and events and--at least in one way--still controlling her life. For Clayton to know that Elizabeth was dating someone in the past meant that Clayton had been watching over her for years. Just as he was watching over her now.

It wasn't hard to imagine how Clayton had ended her previous relationships, but so far, he'd kept his distance when it came to Thibault and Elizabeth. So far, Thibault hadn't seen him spying from afar, hadn't noticed anything out of the ordinary. Instead, Clayton had broken into his house in search of the disk when he knew Thibault would be at work.

Getting his ducks in a row?

Probably. But the question was, to what end? To run Thibault out of town, at the very least. Still, Thibault couldn't shake the feeling that this wouldn't be the end. As Victor had said, there is more.

He'd wanted to share with Elizabeth what he knew about her ex, but he couldn't come right out and tell her about the comment he'd overheard at the pool hall. That would mean telling her about the photograph, and he couldn't do that yet. Instead, he wanted to point her in the right direction, hoping she would begin to make the connections herself. Together, once they both knew the extent to which Clayton was willing to sabotage her relationships, they would be able to handle whatever he chose to do. They loved each other. They would know what to expect. It would all work out.

Was this the reason he'd come? To fall in love with Elizabeth and make a life together? Was this his destiny?

For some reason, it didn't feel right. Victor's words seemed to confirm that. There was another reason that he'd come here. Falling in love with Elizabeth may have been part of it. But that wasn't all. Something else was coming.

There is more.

Thibault slept the rest of the night without waking, just as he had since arriving in North Carolina. A military thing--or, more accurately, a combat thing, something he'd learned out of necessity. Tired soldiers made mistakes. His father had said that. Every officer he'd ever known had said that. His wartime experience confirmed the truth of their statements. He'd learned to sleep when it was time to sleep, no matter how chaotic things were, trusting he'd be better for it the following day.

Aside from the brief period after Victor's death, sleep had never been a problem. He liked sleep, and he liked the way his thoughts seemed to coalesce while he was dreaming. On Sunday, when he woke, he found himself visualizing a wheel with spokes extending from the center. He wasn't sure why, but a few minutes later, when he was walking Zeus outside, he was suddenly struck by the notion that Elizabeth wasn't the center of the wheel, as he'd unconsciously assumed. Instead, he realized, everything that had happened since he'd arrived in Hampton seemed to revolve around Keith Clayton.

Clayton, after all, had been the first person he'd met in town. He'd taken Clayton's camera. Clayton and Elizabeth had been married. Clayton was Ben's father. Clayton had sabotaged Elizabeth's relationships. Clayton had seen them spending an evening together on the night he'd brought Ben home with the black eye; in other words, he'd been the first to know about them. Clayton had broken into his house. Clayton--not Elizabeth--was the reason he'd come to Hampton.

In the distance, thunder sounded, low and ominous. There was a storm on the way, and the heaviness in the air portended a big one.

Aside from what Elizabeth had told him about Clayton, he realized he knew very little about Elizabeth's former husband. As the first drops began to fall, Thibault went back inside. Later, he would visit the library. He had a little research ahead of him if he hoped to get a better feel for Hampton and the role the Claytons played in it.

20

Beth

Doesn't surprise me," Nana snorted. "I wouldn't put anything past your late husband."

"He's not dead, Nana."

Nana sighed. "Hope springs eternal."

Beth took a sip of her coffee. It was Sunday, and they had just returned from church. For the first time since Nana's stroke, Nana had had a small solo in one of the musical numbers, and Beth hadn't wanted her to be distracted. She knew how much the choir meant to her.

"You're not helping me," Beth said.

"What's to help?"

"I was just saying . . ."

Nana leaned across the table. "I know what you're saying. You've already told me, remember? And if you're asking whether I think Keith actually broke into Thibault's house, I'm simply saying that it wouldn't surprise me. I've never liked that man."

"Gee, really?"

"There's no reason to get fresh about it."

"I'm not getting fresh."

Nana didn't seem to hear her. "You look tired. Do you want more coffee? Or how about some cinnamon toast?"

Beth shook her head. "I'm not hungry."

"Even so, you still have to eat. It's not healthy to skip meals, and I know you've already skipped breakfast." She got up from the table. "I'm making toast."

Beth knew there was no point in arguing. Once Nana made up her mind about something, there was no way to dissuade her.

"What about the other part? About whether Keith had something to do with . . ." She trailed off.

Nana shrugged as she put two pieces of bread in the toaster. "About running other men off? Nothing that man did would surprise me. And it kind of explains things, doesn't it?"

"But it doesn't make sense. I can name at least half a dozen women he's gone out with, and it's not like he's even hinted that he wants to get back together. Why would he care whether or not I date?"

"Because he's no better than a spoiled child," Nana declared. She put a couple of dabs of butter into a saucepan and turned on the burner. A small blue flame whooshedto life. "You were his toy, and even though he's got new toys, it doesn't mean he wants anyone to play with his old toys."

Beth shifted in her seat. "I'm not sure I like that analogy."

"It doesn't matter if you like it. All that matters is whether it's true."

"And you think it is?"

"That's not what I said. What I said was that it wouldn't surprise me. And don't tell me you're surprised, either. I've seen the way he still looks you up and down. It gives me the willies, and it's all I can do to keep from clobbering him with the pooper-scooper."

Beth smiled, but it lasted only an instant. When the toast popped up, Nana grabbed the pieces and put them on a plate. She dribbled melted butter over the top, then added sugar and cinnamon. She brought over the plate and set it in front of Beth.

"Here. Eat something. You're skeletal these days."

"I weigh the same as I always have."

"Which isn't enough. It's never been enough. If you're not careful, you'll blow away in the storm." She nodded toward the window as she took her seat again. "It's going to be a big one. Which is good. We need the rain. I hope we don't have any howlers in the kennel."

Howlers were dogs that were afraid of storms, and they made life miserable for the other dogs. Beth recognized the conversation's shift as an opportunity to change the subject. Nana usually offered a way out, but as Beth took a bite of her toast, she realized there was something else she wanted to discuss.

"I think they've met before," she finally said.

"Who? Thibault and the loser?"

Beth raised her hands. "Please don't call him that. I know you don't like him, but he's still Ben's father and I don't want you to get into the hab

it of calling him that when Ben can hear you. I know he's not here right now . . ."

Nana gave a rueful smile. "You're right," she said. "I'm sorry. I won't say it again. But what were you telling me?"

"Do you remember when I told you about the night Keith brought Ben back home with the black eye? You were at your sister's . . ." She saw Nana nod. "Last night, I got to thinking about it. I didn't pick up on it then, but when Keith saw Logan, he didn't ask who Logan was. Instead, it was like a switch went on and he got angry right away. He said something like, 'What are you doing here?'"

"So?" Nana's expression was blank.

"It was the way he said it. He wasn't so much surprised that some man was at the house as much as he was surprised that Logan in particular was at the house. Like Logan was the last person he'd expected to see."

"What does Thibault say?"

"He hasn't said anything. But it makes sense, doesn't it? That they've crossed paths before? Since he thinks Keith broke into his house?"

"Maybe," Nana said, then shook her head. "I don't know. Did Thibault say what he thought your ex might be looking for?"

"No," she said, "he didn't. Other than to say that there wasn't much to find."

"Which is a way of answering the question without really answering it."

"Mmm," Beth agreed. She took another bite of toast, thinking there was no way she could finish all of it.

Nana leaned forward. "And that worries you, too?"

"A little," Beth said, giving a small nod.

"Because you feel like he's keeping something from you?"

When Beth didn't answer, Nana reached across the table and took her hand. "I think you're worrying about the wrong things here. Maybe your ex broke into Thibault's house, and maybe he didn't. Maybe they have come across each other before, or maybe not. But neither of those things is as important as whether or not your ex has been working behind the scenes against you. If I were you, that's what I'd be concerned about because that's the part that mainly affects you." She paused, letting her words sink in. "I say that because I've seen you and Thibault together, and it's obvious how much he cares for you. And I think the reason he told you his suspicions was because he doesn't want the same thing to happen to him that's happened to the other men you've dated."

"So you think Logan is right?"

"Yes," Nana said. "Don't you?"

It took a long time for Beth to respond. "I think so, too."

It was one thing to think it; it was another thing to be sure. After their conversation, Beth changed into her jeans, threw on her raincoat, and drove into town. The rain had started in earnest a couple of hours earlier, a gusty downpour powered by a tropical storm that had come up through Georgia by way of South Carolina. The news was predicting six to eight inches of rain in the next twenty-four hours, with more to come. Two more storms in the Gulf of Mexico had come ashore in recent days and were expected to eventually roll through the area as well, bringing even more rain. The hot, dry summer was officially coming to an end.

Beth could barely see through the windshield even with the wipers at full speed. The gutters were beginning to flood, and as she drove toward town she saw jagged eddies of water making their way to the river. So far, the river hadn't risen yet, but it would: Nearly every tributary within fifty miles fed it, and she suspected the river would reach the flood stage before long. The town could handle flooding; storms like these were a part of life in this region of the country, and most of the businesses were far enough away from the river to avoid most of the effects of all but the most exceptional of storms. The road that led to the kennel--because it ran parallel to the river--was another story. In heavy storms, especially during hurricanes, the river would sometimes stretch across it, making passage dangerous. It wouldn't be a problem today, but later in the week, she suspected things might get a lot worse.

In the car, she continued to mull over her conversation with Nana. Yesterday morning, things had seemed so much simpler, but now she couldn't shake the questions going through her mind. Not only about Keith, but about Logan. If it was true that Logan and Keith had met before, why hadn't Logan said anything? And what had Keith been looking for in Logan's house? As a sheriff, Keith had access to all sorts of personal information, so it couldn't be something along those lines. What was it, then? For the life of her, she couldn't figure it out.

And Keith . . .

What if Nana and Logan were right? And assuming they were right--because after giving the matter some thought, she felt instinctively that it was all true--how could she have not seen it?

It was hard to admit that she could have misjudged him. She'd been dealing with the man for over ten years now, and though she'd never regarded him as a beacon of goodness, the idea of him sabotaging her personal life was something she'd never considered. Who would do something like that? And why? The way Nana described it--that he thought of her as a toy he didn't want to share--had a ring of truth that made her neck tense as she drove.

What surprised her most was that in this small town, where secrets were nearly impossible to keep, she'd never even suspected it. It made her wonder about her friends and neighbors, but mostly it made her wonder about the men who'd asked her out in the first place. Why wouldn't they simply have told Keith to mind his own business?

Because, she reminded herself, he was a Clayton. And those men didn't argue for the same reason she didn't press Keith when it came to Ben. Sometimes it was easier just to get along.

She really hated that family.

Of course, she was getting ahead of herself here. Just because Logan and Nana suspected that Keith was up to something didn't necessarily make it true, she reminded herself. Which was why she was making this trip.

She took a left at the major intersection, heading toward an older neighborhood, one dominated by Craftsman-style homes and large, spacious porches. The streets were lined with massive trees, most at least a hundred years old, and she remembered that as a kid, it had always been her favorite neighborhood. It was a tradition among the families there to lavishly decorate the exterior of the homes on holidays, giving the place a picturesque, cheery feel.

His house was in the middle of the street, and she could just make out his car parked beneath the carport. Another car was parked behind it, and though it meant he had company, she didn't feel like coming back later. After pulling to a stop in front of the house, she put up the hood on her raincoat and stepped out into the storm.

She splashed through shallow puddles that had accumulated on the walkway and climbed the steps to the porch. Through the windows, she could see a lamp blazing in the corner of the living room; a television nearby was broadcasting the latest race from NASCAR. The visitor must have insisted on it; there wasn't a chance that the owner of the house had tuned it in. The man hated NASCAR, she knew.

She rang the doorbell and took a small step back. When his face appeared in the doorway, it took only an instant for him to recognize her. In his expression, she saw a mixture of surprise and curiosity, along with a trace of something else she hadn't expected: fear.

His gaze traveled quickly up the road in both directions before coming to rest on her.

"Beth," he said. "What are you doing here?"

"Hi, Adam." She smiled. "I was wondering if you had just a couple of minutes. I'd really like to talk to you."

"I've got company," he said in a low voice. "It's not a good time."

As if on cue, she heard a woman's voice call out from somewhere behind him, "Who is it?"

"Please?" Beth said.

He seemed to be calculating whether or not to close the door in her face before he sighed. "A friend," he called out. He turned. "Give me a minute, okay?"

A woman appeared over his shoulder, holding a beer and wearing jeans and a T-shirt that were a little too snug. Beth recognized her as a secretary in Adam's office. Noelle, or something like that.

"What does she want?" Noelle asked. It was obvious by her tone that the recognition

was reciprocal.

"I don't know," Adam said. "She just dropped by, okay?"

"But I want to see the race," she pouted, draping an arm possessively around his waist.

"I know," he said. "I won't be long." He hesitated when he saw Noelle's expression. "I promise," he reassured her.

Beth wondered whether the whine she'd noticed in his tone had always been there, and if so, why she hadn't noticed it before. Either he'd tried to hide it or she'd been willing to ignore it. She suspected the latter, and the thought left her feeling a bit deflated.

Adam stepped outside and closed the door behind him. As he faced her, she couldn't tell whether he was frightened or angry. Or both.

"What is so important?" he asked. He sounded like an adolescent.

"Nothing important," she countered. "I just came by to ask you a question."

"About what?"

Beth willed him to look at her. "I want to know the reason you never called after our dinner date."

"What?" He shifted from one foot to the other, reminding her of a skittish horse. "You've got to be kidding."

"I'm not."

"I just didn't, okay? It didn't work out. I'm sorry. Is that what you're here for? An apology?"

It came out like a whine, and she found herself wondering why she'd ever gone out with him.

"No, I'm not here for an apology."

"Then what? Look, I've got company." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "I've got to go."

As the question hung in the air, he glanced up and down the street again, and she realized what was going on.

"You're afraid of him, aren't you," she said.

Though he tried to hide it, she knew she'd hit a nerve. "Who? What are you talking about?"

"Keith Clayton. My ex."

He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. Instead, he swallowed again in an attempt to deny it. "I don't know what you're talking about."