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and serenity. He was what she wanted, what she needed so desperately.
    He would give her love. He would give her peace. And total, eventual destruction.
    Bobby Ray Shatney lit a cigarette, cupping it in his hand to keep the wind away from the match. It was late, pitch-dark outside, and if anyone bothered to look out a window they’d see the glow of his cigarette, and they’d go running to Luke like self-righteous little snitches.
    He didn’t think Luke would be surprised. He knew everything. All he had to do was turn his eyes on Bobby Ray, and his soul was naked before him. Luke knew his weaknesses, for cigarettes and pussy, for pain and for redemption. He knew Bobby Ray would die for him. Would kill for him.
    It was a special bond.
    He didn’t even need Luke’s words—there was a magical thread of communication between the two of them. Bobby Ray knew when Luke wanted him to punish someone, for the sake of the community. Everything Bobby Ray did was for Luke. Every drag on his cigarette, every woman hefucked, every person he killed, he did it for Luke, on Luke’s unspoken orders. And in return he had Luke’s unspoken gratitude and approval. Which was reward enough for Bobby Ray.
    That new one, though. He wasn’t sure what Luke wanted done with her. That little gnome Calvin had almost gotten her killed, a stupid move, but then, what could you expect from a midget ex-con? If he’d been trying to anticipate Luke’s needs he’d blown it, for all of them.
    She was a complication, a danger, and had been since Alfred had finished with Stella. Stella had hated her own child, something Bobby Ray understood only too well. Bringing her here, luring her here, was the least he could do. He did what he was told, to a point, and Catherine had told him to do this, for Stella, and for Luke.
    Rachel reminded him of his older sister Melanie, with her spoiled mouth and her attitude. He’d killed Melanie first, before the others got home, taking his time with her.
    He sucked the smoke deep in his lungs, then blew it out, peering through it with half-closed eyes. It danced in front of him, shifting and drifting, taking form slowly. He watched it, waiting for a sign. Which way should he go?
    The smoke dispersed, drifting into the New Mexico night, and there were no answers. BobbyRay cursed, stubbing out his cigarette. He’d have to wait for a sign, and he didn’t like waiting.
    Maybe she’d know the answer. She could guide him. He pushed away from the stucco wall and headed for the west wing of the rehabilitation center. He knew he’d find her there.
    Luke waited until she opened her eyes, watching as she frowned, trying to focus, trying to remember where the hell she was, and how she’d got there.
    It would be interesting if she remembered what happened afterward, Luke thought wryly, leaning back and watching her, his legs crossed. She already hated him with an almost murderous passion—if she remembered what he’d done to her restless, responsive body her rage would know no bounds.
    She turned her head, her eyes narrowing as they focused on him. He was half in the shadows, but she wouldn’t mistake him for anyone else. With a sudden nervous gesture she clutched at her chest, but the tunic was neatly fastened once more, covering her securely.
    “What am I doing here?” she demanded, her voice still scratchy.
    “Being healed.”
    “Bullshit.”
    “A couple of hours ago your throat was sobruised you couldn’t speak. Bruising doesn’t heal that fast without special help.”
    “Bullshit,” she said again.
    “I wonder if we can reverse the process,” he murmured, half to himself. “I think I liked you better mute.”
    “I’m sure you did.” She rolled onto her side, gingerly, and he could see she was still stiff and sore. “You like all your women silent and obedient.”
    “All my women? Are you one of my women?” he taunted softly.
    She sat up at that, as he knew she would, trying to stifle a groan of pain. “I