That was all she needed — the return of something that hadn't happened to her in months. Blackouts.

Warily, she turned her gaze to the sketchpad on her knees. And saw, to her astonishment, the face she had drawn.

Slightly shaggy hair a color between gold and brown surrounded a lean face with high cheekbones and vivid blue eyes. There was a jut of determination to his jaw, and humor played around the faintly smiling mouth.

He seemed to be looking right back at Diana, those keen eyes curiously... knowing.

Artistically, it was better work than she knew herself capable of, which gave her the creeped-out feeling that someone else had drawn this. And lending weight to that was her certain knowledge that she had never seen this man before in her life.

"Jesus," she murmured. "Maybe I really am crazy, after all."

"I keep trying to tell you, Quentin, there's been nothing new." Nate McDaniel shook his head. "Matter of fact, since that time a few years back when you and — what was his name? Bishop? — helped find that missing girl out at The Lodge, we haven't had any unsolved disappearances or accidents anywhere in the area, let alone murders. It's been downright peaceful around here."

"Don't sound so disappointed," Quentin advised dryly. "Peaceful is a good thing." But his long fingers drummed restlessly on the edge of the desk, a gesture McDaniel took due note of. Not the most patient of men, was Quentin — which made it all the more interesting that he kept returning here in patient pursuit of answers.

McDaniel sighed. "Look, we both know that cold cases rarely get hot just because somebody sifts through all the paperwork one more time. And God knows you've sifted through it all enough times to be sure of that. The truth is, unless some new fact or bit of information comes to light, chances are that case stays cold. And after twenty-five years, what's likely to turn up now?"