Liam had met Wy three years before, when he’d had to fly into the Bush to investigate a murder. It hadn’t been a memorable murder, a subsistence fisherman shooting a sports fisherman over some alleged trespassing of fishing territory. He couldn’t even remember now if the investigation and subsequent arrest had resulted in a conviction.

But he could remember every single second of the flights out and back, and for once his memories had nothing to do with his fear of flying. He remembered Wy had her hair pulled back into a ponytail, the easier to wear the headset. He remembered hearing her laugh, loving the sound of it, and trying deliberately to provoke a repeat. He remembered the feeling of instant recognition when she introduced herself as his pilot, the brief feeling of incredulous dizziness when their hands clasped for the first time in greeting, the dismayed realization of instantaneous attraction, of sharp-edged, undeniable need.

A need that a four-day weekend in Anchorage had only whetted. A weekend that, due to Wy’s uncomfortable conscience, constituted the main portion of their affair, before she sent him back to his wife and son. They had parted in grief and in anger, and the first time they had seen each other again they had coupled in the front seat of her truck like a pair of randy teenagers.

Oh, yeah, the need was still there, as strong and as certain as it had ever been. Need wasn’t enough, though. Sometimes even love wasn’t enough. He used to know what was, but he was no longer as sure of himself as he had once been.

It was with relief that he pulled up in front of John’s house, where, to judge from the lack of parking spaces, there appeared to be a monster truck rally in progress, and consigned his personal life to a folder in the back of his mind markedLater. Wy would be there when he was ready to open it again.