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remember the cool, taunting expression on Alex's face as Sally had blistered him, then forgiven him, as she always had. But somehow, in her memory, Alex's face looked exactly like his imposter.
    "Done much skating lately, Carolyn?"
    His voice came across the ice on a whisper of smoke. She barely moved. She knew he would come, she realized belatedly. She knew he would follow her.
    She lifted her head to look at him across the expanse of ice and snow. He was standing at the edge of the woods, silhouetted in the moonlight, and he was dressed lightly, in a thin jacket and no gloves. He didn't look cold.
    She huddled deeper in her down coat. "Not for twenty years," she said.
    "You should try it again," he said. "Maybe I'll give you another lesson."
    He'd been told about that, had he? She shouldn't be surprised. "I don't think I need any lessons from you about anything."
    "Sure you do," he said gently. "You need lessons in not giving a damn about anybody yourself. You need lessons in telling people you don't like to fuck off. You need lessons in fighting back instead of being used."
    "Fuck off."
    She could see his alarmingly sensuous mouth curve in a wry smile. "So maybe you don't need lessons in that. How about learning how to stop caring? They'll hurt you, Carolyn. Even an outsider can see that."
    "You admit you're an outsider?"
    "I haven't been here in eighteen years. That hardly makes me intimate with the workings of this household. I can tell you one thing, though. You haven't changed."
    "Haven't I?" she said, not moving from her spot in the center of the ice.
    He was coming toward her. His running shoes were covered with snow, and he skidded a bit on the slick ice. He seemed to enjoy it. "You're still the little girl with her nose pressed up against the storefront window," he said, his voice cool and unfeeling like the hard ice beneath her feet. "You still want what you can't have."
    He was coming too close to her, but she stood her ground, refusing to back away. "And what is it I can't have?"
    "A real family."
    She took a sharp intake of breath. "Is the ability to hurt people part of being a con man?" she said. "Or is it just an added gift? I'm afraid you've been misinformed—I have a real family. Sally."
    "I don't want to hurt you, Carolyn," he said. "I never have. Are you afraid to face the truth? You never were before."
    "I'd say your acquaintance with the truth is superficial indeed."
    "You wound me," he protested.
    "I would sell my soul," she said meditatively, "for the ice to crack beneath you."
    His smile was wintry bright. "Not a good way to kill someone, I'm afraid. Someone might hear my calls for help. And chances are , you'd fall in as well."
    "It might be worth it," she said.
    "You want me dead?" There seemed more than casual interest in his question.
    "I want you gone where you can't cause any more harm," she said.
    "And you're willing to kill me to ensure that?" She sighed. "Don't flatter yourself. I need a better motive for murder."
    She started past him, suddenly claustrophobic. He moved, blocking her way, as somehow she knew he would. "Maybe I could convince you I am who I say I am."
    "And maybe pigs will fly, but I don't expect either thing to happen in the near future. May I go?"
    "Am I stopping you?" He was standing uncomfortably close, but his arms were crossed over his chest, and he made no move to touch her.
    The night was bitter, and she could hardly keep from shivering inside the protecting folds of the down coat. He stood there, barely dressed, seemingly comfortable.
    "Aren't you cold?" she asked suddenly.
    "Don't worry about me," he said. "I learned how to take care of myself more than eighteen years ago."
    And on that point, at least, she believed him.

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    Chapter 4
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    T he dream came again that night, when it hadn't come to her for years. She'd thought, hoped it had gone forever, but she should have realized that the return of Alexander MacDowell would trigger her recurring nightmares.