Bryce sat down on the porch swing behind us. He was still wearing nothing but jeans. He clasped his hands behind his head. He had a really amazing body. Even the way he planted his bare feet against the porch boards was cute.

"I'm sorry," he said.

I wasn't sure whether he was apologizing to me or to Lindsay. It looked like he wanted to say something more, but his jaw only made the same quivering jerk as before, and he gave up trying to speak.

"What are you sorry for, Bryce?" Lindsay was already seething again. "Are you sorry for sleeping around? Again?"

I realized she had no idea that Bryce was infected. I wondered if that's what he'd been trying to tell her when he hadn't been able to speak.

"Don't be sorry for sleeping around," she said. "Okay? Sleep around all you want. Because it's over between us. Got it? Over. You want to be sorry about something? Be sorry that your wife—your ex-wife—came to look for you, with your son, after you disappeared. And then I got stuck in this craphole town for who knows how long. Forever, for all I know. Be sorry for that. Don't be sorry for sleeping with Ashley, or whoever else you want."

"What the hell is going on here?" someone said behind my shoulder.

My attention had been focused so intensely on Lindsay and Bryce that I hadn't noticed someone coming up the driveway behind me.

It was Shawn.

He wasn't wearing his Home Guard combat gear. He was in his old street clothes. At his hip, though, was a very large handgun.

And he'd just heard everything Lindsay had said about Bryce sleeping with me. . .

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