There wasn't anything unusual in that; he hadn't slept a full, peaceful night since Caroline and Ian had died, but what made this night different was the direction of his thoughts, for they weren't focused on his lost family, but rather on Callie Magnus. They were two of a kind, he and Callie, both of them lost, although in his case he couldn't escape the memories that brought him no comfort, and in her case, she had no memories that might have given her the comfort she needed. Or did she remember? He rolled over onto his back and stared up at the canopy of his bed, listening to the rain pounding against the windows. He had sensed a genuine emotion in her at dinner as she talked about her home in Italy. Then there was the Italian that had come so smoothly off her tongue and her obvious classical education, unusual in a woman. Yet he couldn't help feeling that she had been making up large parts of her narrative, more from what she hadn't said, and the sad, lost look in her dark eyes as she spoke.
