The dying man had to be Andy.

There was no other explanation.

Feeling as if she'd been kicked in the gut, L.K dropped her earrings onto the dresser and told herself that, no matter what else was true, Andy was lying in the Critical Care Unit, his life seeping out of him. Why else the St. Christopher's medal? True, they weren't that uncommon, probably dozens of people in California wore one, but it seemed too much of a coincidence that the man charred in the fire at the sawmill, meeting Ashley, clutching the medal, silently screaming her name, could be anyone but Andy.

Andy. Over the years, she'd forced herself to stop thinking about him, to stop believing that he would return, to stop loving him. It had been difficult at first, but as the years had passed with no word from him, the reality had finally sunken in that whether he was living or dead, he wouldn't be a part of her life. As she'd grown up and become her own person, she'd slowly let go, dismissing her feelings for him as little more than a schoolgirl crush; puppy love complicated by fate, underage emotions and sex. Sex in a time when her personal morals told her that she couldn't sleep with a man if she didn't love him and wasn't committed to him for the rest of her life.

She'd been such a child. A silly, willful child. Andy was best off without her.

But now he was back. Nearly dead. Meeting with her husband, who had probably known all along how to contact him, who had lied to her when he'd said that neither he nor his mother had received any word about Andy and had assumed he was dead.

"Even if he's still alive," Ashley had told her years ago before they had married, "he's dead to us. He knows how to reach Ma - she's never moved, never changed her telephone number always hoping he'd call - and I'm in the phone book. It would be a simple enough matter to pick up the telephone; so he's dead or decided to let us think that he is - either way, it's all the same, isn't it?"

Except that Ashley had lied. Why? To save their marriage? She frowned at her reflection. She felt betrayed and dead tired. The past two days had been exhausting. Even before the fire there had been problems. Serious problems. Between her and her husband. She glanced at her wedding ring - a simple gold band with a solitary diamond. It winked at her, as if sharing a private secret, the knowledge of her marriage had never become the loving, caring union that she'd hoped for; nor had it been what Ashley wanted.

They'd married for all the wrong reasons and they'd both known it - even then. With a sigh, she ran her fingers through her hair. The marriage had been for better or worse, and it couldn't sit around moping and worrying. She had to do something; she'd be faithful to Ashley, help him recover, then they would reexamine their marriage. But first she had to talk to Andy. Before he died.

Despite the fact that a part of her wanted to throw herself onto her bed, fall asleep and eventually wake up from this nightmare, she strode to the walk-in closet - lined in cedar, only the best for Ashley Biersack's wife - and grabbed her jacket again. It was time she pulled herself together - someone had to. With Ashley lying around injured in the hospital, her father with a bad heart, Martina wringing her hands and Alex as volatile as ever, it was up to her to get to the bottom of this mess.

After all, she'd been a pretty damned food investigative reporter before she'd given up her pocket recorder for a wedding ring and settled for a comfortable, but dull job at the local paper.

Frowning at the changes in her life, she walked quickly down at the tile floors of the glass and redwood house Ashley had built for her the year after they'd said their "I do's." Complete with brass bath fixtures, marble from an Italian quarry, crystal lamps and furniture handcrafted to Ashley's expectations, the house was a showcase - more museum than home. Persian rugs sprawled over the hardwood floors; porcelain sinks from England caught water that didn't dare drip from gold or brass spigots; designer window coverings added color; railings had taken a European craftsman nearly a year to fashion and install, curved on the separate staircases from the basement to the second floor.

This ostentanious monstrosity of a house, Ashley had wanted it - hungered for it - and L.K had agreed that they should build it, thinking the furnishings and new house would make him happy.

Of course they hadn't. Nothing had made Ashley happy. Nothing had satisfied him.

The phone rang and L.K paused near the French doors of her den, listening as the recorder picked up. There had been nearly fifteen calls since she'd come home from the hospital; some friends who were concerned, some workmen at the mill, and reporters - her peers, anxious for a story, smelling a scandal. She hadn't bothered calling anyone back. Not yet.

"L.K? Are you there? Would you please answer?" Kaya's voice, filled with worry, and a trace of agitation. A pause. "Look, I know you're there, so you'd better pick up the phone. Alex and I are worried sick, for crying out loud. I've got calls from two news stations as well as the local paper. They're all expecting some kind of statement and . . . well,Alex's not up to it. You . . . probably know how to handle those people than any of us." She hesitated and L.K could picture her worrying her lower lip. "L.K? Oh, for the love of God, I don't need this. If you're there, pick up the goddamned phone!"

Telling herself she was making a big mistake, L.K lifted the receiver. "Okay, so I'm here." She leaned a hip against the corner of the desk. "Don't worry about the reporters. If any more call, tell them I'll talk to them within the day-"

"Oh, thank God. I've been going out of my mind. These people are vultures! No offense," she added hurriedly, as if L.K was concerned about the sanctity of her chosen career. "But I've hear that they're staked out at the hospital and Martina and Christian have even bothered in Palm Springs! Can you imagine?"

Oh, she could imagine all right. Hadn't she once been part of the throng anxious for a story, spending the days on courthouse steps, all-night vigils are prisons, sleepless hours driving the worst of conditions for that all-important interview? That part of her life seemed so distant now.

"Bad news travels fast, I guess," L.K said dryly. Even to Palm Springs.

"Well, you know how we feel about Ashley," Kaya barreled on. "Alex and I are so sorry about everything . . ."

Lies. Kaya and Alex had eloped to Lake Tahoe not long after the ashes from the fire that killed Abi had cooled. Kaya's concern right now rang false. She was a parrot for her husband, and Alex always hated everyone associated with the Biersacks. He and Kaya had been stupefied when L.K married Ashley; the whole family had been in shock and her half brother and sister-in-law had never hidden how disgusted they were in her choice of husband. Maybe that was one of the reasons L.K decided to tie the knot. In the first few months, when they'd been happy, Ashley had jokingly referred to himself as the new outlaw rather than in-law. But that was all so long ago now. "Don't worry," L.K heard herself saying. "He'll be better soon."

"Will he? I mean, I know he's in bad shape-"

L.K snapped back to the present. "Dr. Okano thinks he'll be fine."

"You talked with the doctor? I thought you were with that detective."

L.K didn't have time for the third-degree from Kaya. "I was but I went to the hospital with Detective Williams, the later, once he was done interrogating me, I drove back, stayed with Ashley awhile until I could speak with the doctor." She wound the telephone cord around her fingers. "Dr. Okano's very encouraged. He'll be released by the end of next week."

"Is he coming home?"

The question was one she'd asked herself a dozen times. "Where else would he go?"

Kaya sighed loudly. "Don't get defensive. It's just that we all know that you were having some problems."

The muscles in the back of L.K's neck grew rigid. No matter how bad her marriage was, she never confided in anyone, not her mother, her brother or his wife. Her relationship with her husband was private. "Look, Kaya, Ashley is getting better and he's coming home. Period."

Kaya didn't press the issue. "What about the other man?"

L.K's throat caught. Andy. "I'm not sure," she admitted, the cord twining over her fingers. "No one's allowed to see him, but I don't think it looks good."

"Who the devil is he?"

Was that her heart beating so loudly? "I don't know. The police are still trying to figure it out."

"I hope they find out, and soon," Kaya said vehemently. "I won't feel safe until we know who he is and why he tried to burn down the sawmill."

"You think he was behind it?" Andy? Why would he come back here to burn the sawmill?

"Who else?"

"Anyone."

"Oh, come on, L.K. You husband's fighting for his life - near dead from the fire - and you're defending some drifter that the police can't identify? Of course he's behind it!"

"We don't know that. We don't know anything right now."

She tried not to sound defensive; it was better if Kaya didn't guess that Andy was back. "Besides, if you believe he's behind the fire at the mill, you won't have to worry." Beads of sweat dotted her brow, and nausea rolled up the back of her throat again. "It . . . looks like he won't make it."

"Good. It'll save the criminal justice system and the state thousands of dollars." Kaya seemed relieved. "I know you're a bleeding-heart liberal, L.K, but you would change your mind if you had children and worried day in and day out about their safety."

L.K felt that old empty place in her heart again, the one she'd reserved for children of her own. The one that would never be filled. "Look, I've got to go-"

"I won't keep you. But remember, we're not safe. Who knows what that guy was trying to do? He could have an accomplice, couldn't he? Some nutcase still out running around? That's what worries me. It could be some idiot who holds a grudge against the family. And if you ask me, I'll bet Max Camarro's involved. He's been missing, hasn't he?"

"Max wouldn't-"

"He's not right, L.K. I know you've stood up for him all your life, but he's a half-wit; a boy in a man's body. Who knows what goes on in his mind? I won't let my girls around him, believe you me, and I don't trust him. He's a pervert - always hanging around, staring."

L.K remembered the day by the pool years ago when Kaya had dared to pull off her T-shirt and flaunt her breasts just to see Max's reaction.

"I just hope they solve this soon. It's got to be hard on your dad. He called here, talked to Alex/ He and Martina are flying in tomorrow."

"Good." L.K wasn't ready to face her parents, but she couldn't put off the inevitable. Christian Bale had aged so much in years since the original fire; it was almost as if the life had been stripped from him. Martina had become a fussbudget, flitting around her husband, seeing to his every need, enjoying semi-retirement, complaining that she didn't have any grandchildren of her own - not that Abigail and Minnie, Kaya and Alex's girls, weren't charming, gorgeous little things, but not really her blood. Martina was content to let Alex, Ashley and L.K run the family business.

L.K made some excuse to hang up. She and Kaya had never gotten along and were just civil to each other, but usually it didn't matter. Singing the strap of her purse over her shoulder, she headed through the door. She had to stop at the magazine office where she worked, the she'd head to the hospital.

Outside the wind was hot, late August refusing to give up its sweltering grip on the weather. L.K climbed into her Jeep and headed toward Los Angeles.

Her head was throbbing, pain building behind her eyes as she thought of Andy. How many years had she prayed that she could see him again? But he might be the one in the ICU. He's going to die. Before you can ask him one question, before you can touch him, before you can even be certain it's really Andy, he's going to die.

Notes

I know you'll get frustrated with me with this whole "Ashley and L.K" thing but trust me, you will face palm your face so hard, you will put yourself in a coma when this story goes on. TRUST ME. I had the song "Gimme Shelter" by The Rolling Stones stuck in my head the past few days, so I decided to name the chapter after the song title.


-LoverSunset <3