Violet unbuttoned the top of her jacket, took a long breath. “I know. We all thought that was the rough part. Her losing Robert like that. Barely married a year, so much in love, and then to lose everything in a stupid street robbery.” Violet’s eyes welled up. “She loved him so much.”

“Yeah. I heard.” Pete saw the tears, and figured he’d better do something quick and drastic before she started really crying on him. But a burst of mental pictures flashed through his mind, ransoming his attention and his heartbeat both. All he could think about was Camille.

Cam was four years younger than him-which meant, when they were in school, that he’d have been way out of line to look at her in a personal way. But he remembered her wedding. She hadn’t been too young then. She’d looked like God’s gift to a sexy wedding night-deeply in love with her groom-full of laughter and light, full of secret smiles and sexual promises, her face glowing and her gorgeous dark eyes softened with love.

Pete had always had a soft spot for her. All right, he admitted it-more than a soft spot. He’d had a dug-in, could-never-shake pull for her. But those feelings had made him feel forbidden and guilty, initially because she’d been too young, and then later because a good man just didn’t think about the bride of another guy that way. Still, when he’d heard about the couple getting attacked by thugs last year, he remembered feeling profound relief she hadn’t been the one killed.

“The neighbors all said she was finally recovered,” he pressed Violet again.

“And that was a miracle in itself. The physical recovery took months as it was. She was in the hospital for ages. Her beautiful face-she was so battered up, her face, her ribs, the broken leg-”