Now it made sense: the water, the lights. Everything that had happened to him, though he'd never known it, had happened to Grace as well.

Except that as Tom stood, locked in the heat of a long kiss with the woman who'd been the greatest love of his life, he could tell she'd changed. There was an anger in her kiss that hadn't been there before. Or had just too much time passed between them? Too much life? Reluctantly, Tom ended the kiss, putting a little distance between them by pushing at her slim shoulders. Grace stared at him with a wounded expression in those murky green eyes of hers.

"All this time," he rasped, "you couldn't have come back to me sooner? To our daughter?"

"Would it have mattered? I was replaced anyway." Grace turned and stepped toward dry land. "My baby may not have replaced me—but you did, Tom Underlay."

"Whoa—wait a minute!" He caught her by the arm, shocked by the vehement way she shook free from his hold.

"Don't touch me," Grace ordered coldly. "The good doctor might have a problem with you doing that. And—what's her name? Mariel—she wouldn't like it if she knew how much you just enjoyed that kiss, either."

"I thought you were—gone, Grace," he protested. Tom couldn't bring himself to say the word dead.

"That's all right. Don't feel too guilty. I've been busy, too."

"I'm afraid to ask doing what."

"You shouldn't even have to ask, Tom. Seeing all the trouble you've caused me. You and that Russell Varon."

Moving slowly, all the joy he'd felt before swept away, he followed her out of the water. Tom understood what his first wife was saying, though he resisted accepting the truth. Yet burying his head in the sand and pretending wasn't the way he had ever lived his life. Especially not now, when there was so much at risk.

"You're—you're saying, Grace, that—"

She twirled around to face him. "I'm saying I'm in charge, Tom. Not Eli Szura. And certainly not you."

"Szura's dead."

"Yes, I know. You killed him."

"Yeah, well, somebody had to. And . . . you worked for him?"

"I'm sure you'd prefer that scenario. That I was deceived, that Eli coerced me. But, no. The truth is, Szura worked for me. All this time, I was the one pulling the strings. But you and that . . . " Grace closed in the space between them, saying through clenched teeth, "damn park ranger have been nothing but trouble to me. Now why don't you both just get out of my way? No one else will get hurt."

Tom was half out of his mind. He could barely believe what he was hearing, particularly out of those lips. Was this really the woman he'd loved once? His bride, the woman who'd given birth to his Kira?

As if reading his mind, Grace softened and asked, "Can I see her?"

"You haven't already? You've seen everything else." He couldn't restrain his own temper. "Mariel, Russell—how 'bout Dave? You read his blog every day, too?"

"Of course. I have it in my favorites on my laptop." Grace's words were etched with sarcasm, but she turned serious. "I want to see my daughter."

"Yeah, I'll think about it," he countered sternly.

"You'll—how dare you?"

"And you need to tell me everything you know about Larkin. Tell me what's happened to her. How soon she'll be back to us."

"My, you do like being the big, bad boss, don't you, baby?" She lifted her chin in defiance. "Let's try this again, Tom. See if you can get it through that hard head of yours. You are not calling the shots. I am. Got that? You want to know about the park ranger's pretty little wife? Well, I'll think about it. And you think about letting me see my daughter. Get back to me when you think you can be reasonable. Okay, hon?"

"Grace, if you—"

Was he really doing that, grabbing her so roughly by her arms? But this wasn't the Grace that he'd married. She was cold and hard, like driftwood that had been washed up onto the shore by turbulent waves after a tempest. Still, he didn't want to be doing that. He wanted to be tender with her. He'd missed her more than words could express.

But this isn't your Grace. And what is Mariel going to say about all this?

"You don't want to do that, Tom," Grace said quietly, nodding toward something behind him. "Let go of me. Looks like you have company."

Casting a glance over his shoulder, he saw the news crew hopping off a truck. He cussed under his breath and turned to Grace, who'd added artificial honey to her wide smile.

"Like I said, think about it and get back to me, sweetheart," she purred. "Gotta go. We'll be in touch. 'Kay, lover?"

Russell Varon wasn't drunk yet, but he was getting there.

Thad's Pub was one of the few businesses up and running that night, if only on a wing and a prayer. Russell had been by the place hundreds of times, but never inside. What need would there have been in the past for him to frequent the place? He was a family man. What hours weren't taken up with tending to his beloved Everglades were filled with his beautiful wife and great kids.

He was a family man. Past tense. Like the part of him that had taken such pride in wearing his ranger's uniform, that chapter of his life had been slammed shut by a vicious hurricane. And, oh yeah—a messed-up kid with a gun.

But mostly . . . by Sheriff Tom Underlay. Russell had never hated anyone more than he hated Tom right at that moment.

He downed another shot of Jack Daniels and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. The bartender stood at the other end of the bar, drying some glasses with a dishtowel and occasionally casting a wary glance Russell's way. He had that no-nonsense manner about him, and Russell could tell he'd refuse to serve him another drink.

Which was fine. He could handle that. Worse things had happened to him over the past few days. Being denied more whiskey was the least of his cares.

From his seat near the window he could look out and see the boulevard. The news crews' trucks—one of them from the station where Larkin had worked—were gone, as were the trucks from the American Red Cross that had dispensed bottled water and sandwiches to the townspeople. It would take some time for Homestead to recover from the devastation.

But would they ever recover from the danger festering right in their midst, the hybrids?

Sighing, he motioned to the bartender. "Can I get one more?" he asked.

"Nah, I don't think so, buddy," the balding barkeep said, shaking his head. "Looks to me like you've had enough."

"Yeah. Thought you'd say that."

It was best to go home anyway. Yet that left him with a dilemma: Where would he go? Mariel had taken the kids, and he was grateful for that. Except she had, obviously, taken them to her house. He wasn't ready to go to that place just yet. Not with the chance her new husband would be there. Russell couldn't promise he wouldn't beat the hell out the good sheriff and get himself tossed in jail.

Neither could he go home. His home. That little place, so filled with memories. In his mind's eye he would see Larkin, coming to greet him at the door as she had so many times before, with her sweet smile and her even sweeter kisses. He fought off tears just as he hopped off the stool and heard someone approaching from behind.

"Hey, dude. Mariel said I'd find you here."

That was—who else? Dave Groves. The sight of his scruffy brother-in-law brought him some ounce of comfort. Despite his smile, though, Dave's face looked older than his years and the rims of his eyes were red. He'd been crying, grieving for his sister.

And there he was, coming to Russell's assistance. He gave Dave a warm embrace.

"I had nowhere else to go," he murmured.

"Aw, that's not true. And this, uh . . . " Dave nodded at the empty glass, grinning. "That's more my style, man, not yours. I know what you're going through, but you gotta be strong."

"I'm trying." What a lie that was. He wasn't trying at all. Russell pulled some bills from his pocket and laid them on the counter. They were promptly swept up by the bartender, who mumbled his thanks. "The Coast Guard hasn't called me. It's driving me crazy, all this waiting for a phone that doesn't ring."

"They're looking for her?" Dave's eyes shone with a flicker of hope.

"Well, I didn't mention she was taken to the sea by one of the hybrids." Bitterly, he added, "Hell, the king of the hybrids."

"Listen, I'm not Underlay fan, either. Especially not now. The less I see that weirdo, the healthier he'll be." Seeing Russell weave as he walked, Dave guided him with a hand on his arm. "But we have other things to do besides dwell on what he did. And I'm gonna help you look for my sister. But you also need your job back."

"Ah, Dave. That's not gonna happen, man."

"Oh, no? This town's been through hell, Russell. A lot of things have changed. And you seriously need to work. This town needs you."

"I appreciate your cheerleading, but I'm not doing so hot right now." He bowed his head, his voice dropping to a painful near-whisper. "I can't tell you how bad I'm doing, Dave."

"You don't have to, buddy. I know." Dave regarded him with a brotherly kindness. "But you're gonna have to snap out of this. Be strong. Listen, in the morning I'm taking you out to the water. There's something you have to see."