Page 26 of Critical Doubt

Three…he grabbed a vase off the table.

Four… he threw the vase against the glass. It shattered and rained down to the floor in a cascade of sharp slivers. He stared at it in bemusement.

Five…the damned clock was still ringing. He hit the vase against the hanging bells, until he couldn't hear them anymore and then he fell to his knees on the floor, staring at the carnage of the clock and the vase that had broken into a dozen pieces.

It was finally quiet again, but there was blood on his hands.

More memories ran through him.Blood…just like the blood seeping under Carlos's head.

He stumbled to his feet, to the sink in the kitchen. He ran his hands under the water, scrubbing at his skin until every last staining drop was gone.

And then he found his way back to the couch, exhausted, his body drenched with sweat. He closed his eyes and sleep finally overtook him.

When he awoke, there was sun streaming through the window. It was so bright, it hurt his eyes. He glanced at his watch. It was eight. The morning had finally come, and he'd slept for at least a few hours.

As he swung his feet to the floor, a knock came at the door. He had to ask himself again if it was a real noise or one in his head, but as it came again, he pulled himself together and headed across the room. Maybe there was news of Todd.

He threw open the door and found Savannah on the porch. She'd changed out of her black dress into skinny jeans and a fuzzy dark-green sweater that brought out the green in her eyes and the gold in her hair. She was like a burst of sunshine, and it hurt to look at her, too.

"I brought coffee and bagels." She held up a tray with two cups and a brown paper bag.

"Is there news?"

She shook her head, her gaze somber. "Chief Tanner called Abby this morning. Search and rescue teams started an hour ago. A volunteer search is starting at nine, and they're pulling up the car as we speak. Maybe it will provide some clues. Can I come in?" Not waiting for a response, she brushed past him.

As she entered the living room, her eyes widened.

He followed her gaze to the shattered glass, the broken bells, and the chunks of a once-large ceramic vase and realized that hadn't been a dream.

"Who won?" she asked, giving him a concerned look. "You or the clock?"

"Well, I'm still standing."

Her gaze moved to his shirt. "Is that blood?"

He glanced down at the material tinged with dark spots of red. "Maybe. But I'm fine."

"I seriously doubt that." She set the bag of bagels on the coffee table and handed him one of the coffee cups. "You look like you need this."

"I can't argue with that." He took a sip of coffee, a little surprised that Savannah wasn't reacting in a more hysterical fashion. When he'd first started losing his mind to the bells, the woman he'd been dating at the time had flipped out. She'd become afraid of him. And she'd left very soon after that.

But Savannah didn't seem in a hurry to go. Nor did she seem interested in looking away from him. He was more than a little uncomfortable with her scrutiny.

"Are you thinking it's a good thing you took off five years ago?" he asked finally. "Because you hadn't realized I was a crazy person?"

"Actually, I was wondering why the clock bothered you so much."

"It rang every damn hour. I couldn't sleep."

"So you smashed it."

"It seemed like a good idea at the time."

"Did the pain stop after the clock went quiet?"

He met her gaze. "Yes. But it will come back. It always does."

"Since you were injured?"

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