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lay down again with a sense of defeat. She was useless when her emotions got in the way. She could handle a battle from a controlled, logical, persuasive stance only so long before she was reduced to cursing, fist-pounding, and on a few humiliating occasions, tears.
    She pulled in a long breath before speaking again. “I’m getting funding for the AMC somehow, some way, Darcy,” she said. “That program is not folding.”
    Darcy was quiet for a moment. “I’ll help you,” she said finally. “You won’t get it from Lassiter, but we’ll put our heads together and come up with something else, okay?”
    “Okay.”
    Vanessa hung up the phone and looked at Brian.
    “Sorry, Van,” he said. “It wasn’t unexpected, though, was it?”
    The honey-colored candlelight flickered on the high cathedral ceiling above the bed. “I guess I was hoping a miracle would happen,” she said. From the moment she’d been hired at Lassiter, she’d fought for that program. Any kid who passed through the adolescent unit whose current problems might be linked to past abuse was screened to be put in the AMC. Vanessa could practically sniff those kids out. The rest of the staff marveled at her sixth sense.
    “I think I blew it when I went for funding originally,” she added. “I wasn’t tough enough. Maybe what I really needed to do was to give them a dose of personal experience.”
    Brian touched her cheek. “Could you have done that?” he asked softly, and she shook her head.
    “No.” She stretched her arms toward the ceiling with a sigh. “No, I’m gutless.”
    Brian chuckled and rolled to face her, propping himself up on his elbows. “That’s hardly the adjective I’d use to describe you.”
    “Yeah, well, the adjectives that describe me are going to be my ruin. I’m a stubborn, obnoxious woman, remember?” That was the phrase one of the administrators had used in reference to her the year before.
    Brian kissed her lightly on the lips. “I would never use those words to describe you.”
    “Difficult, then.”
    “Determined.”
    She smiled at him. “I love you.”
    He gave her a rueful smile in return. “That phone call was a real passion-killer, huh?”
    She reached for him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “No,” she said. “I don’t think so.”
    THEY ATE DINNER AFTER making love, the stir-fried chicken and vegetables by this time sodden but delicious. Then they sat in the den by a glowing fire, comparing their schedules for the week. It was close to midnight when Brian finally persuaded her to go to bed for the night. She was afraid of bed, afraid that sleep would be elusive.
    Once in bed, she tried to block thoughts of the AMC program from her mind, but they were replaced by images of Jordan Wiley, small and gaunt, bright and ever hopeful. Still, she fell asleep more rapidly than she would have thought possible. Around two, though, she was awakened by a nightmare so vivid in color and sound and motion that she lurched forward in bed, clutching her throat, gasping for breath.
    It took her a moment to realize that Brian was sitting next to her, that he was holding her. “You’re safe, baby,” he said. “Safe in Seattle, Washington, a million miles from anything that can hurt you.”
    The music played in her head, and she pressed her hands over her ears as if she could somehow block it out.
    “The carousel?” Brian asked.
    She managed to nod her head, squeezing her eyes shut. The painted ponies with their wild angry eyes and open mouths still galloped and leaped in front of her. The brass poles shifted up and down, and the small oval mirrors on the inside rim of the carousel sent shards of reflected light to her eyes. The world spun past her, far too fast, and she felt sick to her stomach. And all the while, the hideous organ music filled her ears.
    Brian let go of her to turn on the lamp, and she clutched his arm. “I’m right here,” he said. “Not going anywhere.”
    She opened her eyes to