“What’s with you, O’Rourke?” Kate demanded, st epping over puddles to stand near his truck. The night was still for once, only a breath of wind and a million stars jeweled the sky. His pickup was tucked in the night-dark shadows of a thicket of pine and oak near the end of his drive, right next to her own mailbox and lane. He rolled down the window and offered her that same damning, lazy smile she found so disturbing. “No law against sitting here, is there?” “Not that I know of, but it’s a little crazy.” She felt a twinge of foolishness. After all, the man was on his own property. “But I know you’ve been out here every night for the past week. Why?” she asked, prickly and anxious. She’d spied his truck at the end of the drive the night after Halloween and hadn’t thought much about it until she’d gone to bed and wondered why he’d park the rattletrap near the road, as if he were guarding his place—or hers. When it happened night after night, she’d become concerned and a little nettled. Jon had started visiting him after school and she hadn’t been able to stop her son from making a daily trek across the fence and through the trees to the old Mc Intyre place. By the time she returned from work, her son was usually home again, listening to music, playing with Houndog, or even doing his homework. As she fixed dinner, he’d talk to her as he once had, regaling her with stories about Daegan O’Rourke, who taught Jon how to box and wrestle, change a tire, ride a horse, even change the oil in his pickup. All Jon’s worries about some dark and foreboding man seemed to have been forgotten. Kate tried to convince herself that everything was as it should be, that the biggest concern for her son’s safety wasn’t some criminal of a father hell-bent to find his boy—no, the danger was more immediate and in the form of Todd Neider’s fists. So she’d let him develop a friendship with the man who swore up and down he wasn’t a killer, the neighbor who had been kind enough to fix her flat tire and bail her son out of the whipping of his life. Daegan glanced up and down the road. “I’m just being cautious. Thought I’d make sure Todd got the message.” “So you’ve appointed yourself our own personal sentry?” “I have trouble sle eping anyway.” “Look,” she said, shivering. “I appreciate your concern, but we can take care of ourselves.” The stare he sent her silently called her a fool, and she rubbed her arms, remembering the graffiti that she’d painted over, the dog’s cruel haircut and paint job that had been cleaned by the vet, and Jon’s bruised and battered body. “Okay, so maybe we’ve had a little trouble.” “I think it should end.” “So do I—” “You want to join me?” he asked. “No, I—” The driver’s door creaked open and he slid across the bench seat just as headlights flashed down the highway. Daegan fastened his gaze on the approaching car, and Kate, wondering if she had any brains left, climbed in. The car passed, spraying the interior with a wash of light before roaring past. Inside the truck, Daegan offered her an old army blanket that she draped over her shoulders. “Warmer?”
“Yeah.” What was she doing, for crying out loud? One part of her mind screamed she was dancing with the devil, taking a horrendous risk by being alone with him, the other part—that traitorous feminine side of her soul— was seduced by being alone with him in the dark, watching a ribbon of road in the moonlight. She felt his eyes studying her—as if looking for flaws. Her cheekbones, chin, neck. Her pulse throbbed at the base of her throat. “I don’t know what I’m doing here.” “Sure you do,” he drawled, leaning against the passenger door. “You wanted to get to know me better.” “Pardon me?” “Jon’s been coming over and you want me to tell you how it’s going.” “Maybe.” “And you want to find out what makes me tick. It makes you nervous that your son’s spending so much time with a man you hardly know.” He paused for a second and added, “And it makes you nervous to be in here with me. Nervous as hell.” To prove his point, he touched that jumping pulse with the tip of a finger. The air in the cab seemed suddenly close and she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think of anything but the skin touching hers. “I—um, just don’t know how to take all this interest in my family,” she admitted, deciding to go for broke and find out his reaction. “In one of his premonitions, just about the time you showed up in Hopewell, Jon saw a man, one he couldn’t identify, who was looking for him.” “And you think I’m the guy?” he asked, withdrawing his hand, his eyes flattening in the darkness. She sensed his change of mood, his silent anger. “I don’t know.” “But you do believe someone is coming?” “Oh, God, I wish I knew.” Another vehicle appeared moving slowly, one headlight dimmer than the other. An old truck. Her heart froze and Daegan shifted, every muscle rigid as the pickup didn’t slow down, just rolled past. “Oh, Lord,” she whispered, “now you’ve got me jumping at shadows. How long will you ke ep up this vigil, or whatever you’d call it.” “As long as it takes to convince me that Neider won’t bother Jon again.” “That may be a while.” “I’ve got time,” he said, his voice hard-edged. “Tell me about the man who Jon thinks is coming.” She hesitated a second, unsure how much she could trust him. Outside an owl hooted softly. “That’s just it, I don’t know,” she said. “But you’re scared.” “A little.” “Don’t be,” he said in a voice that was rough. He slid closer to her and placed a strong arm over her shoulders. “I’m here.”
“I know but—” “I’m on your side,” he said, his breath ruffling her hair. “I want you to know that, Kate.” Was there a hitch in his voice—a new edge? “I won’t let anything happen to Jon.” Something inside her broke, a dam that held back her emotions, a sturdy wall that she’d built brick by brick, assuring her that she could ke ep her distance, stay clearheaded, ke ep all relationships on an even keel. Somehow Daegan had found a crack in the cement around her heart. She swallowed hard as he turned her head with one finger so that she was forced to look into his eyes. “Trust me, Kate,” he whispered, his breath fanning her lips, and her heart, suddenly fragile, threatened to break. “Oh, Lord—” He kissed the side of her mouth and she quivered. He kissed her cheek and she let out a ragged, whispery breath. His arms surrounded her, gathering her close, and she didn’t protest, didn’t argue against his needs or her own. His mouth claimed hers in a kiss that stole the breath from her soul. She opened her mouth to him willingly and he took what she offered, his tongue sliding past her teeth, touching, exploring, mating with her own. A soft moan es caped her as he shifted, his weight pressing her downward, his powerful arms holding her close. Her heart pounded, echoing in her ears, and old, long-dead desires heated her blood. “Kate,” he whispered and his voice sounded desperate. “Kate... no...” An engine rumbled and Daegan lifted his head. “Hell,” he ground out, releasing her suddenly, his muscles coiled as the beams of headlights split the darkness and an old car without much of a muffler slowed near Kate’s drive. Daegan reached under the seat but the car passed, moving on noisily, and Kate sagged against the driver’s door. “What’s that?” she asked, her heart hammering, expecting him to hold up a gun of some kind. “A weapon.” “What kind of weapon?” “A deadly one.” Metal glinted in the night and her heart nearly stopped until she realized that he was holding a wrench. She laughed nervously. “Just don’t tell me you’ve got a gun in the glove compartment.” “Okay, I won’t,” he agreed but the edge to his words only made her more anxious. “I think I’d better go. I guess if you want to lose sle ep out here, there’s nothing I can do about it.” “Guess not.” She reached for the door handle, but strong fingers wrapped around her wrist. “Kate—” Her breath caught in her throat. “Anytime you want to visit me again, the door’s open.” “I’ll remember that,” she said, scrambling out of the cab and taking de ep breaths of cold midnight air. Wrapping her jacket around her, she walked quickly away and vowed that she wouldn’t return to the truck. Being alone with Daegan was too dangerous. “Are you out of your mind?” Frank lit a cigarette and flopped into a chair. Red-faced, a little gray sprinkling the hair at his temples, the youngest Sullivan brother was beginning to show signs of age. Robert looked past his brother to the open door, where his secretary was standing helplessly, motioning that she’d tried to stop Frank from bulldozing his way into the office. “It’s all right, Louise. I was about to go home anyway.
Please, close the door.” She did as she was bade, and when they were finally alone, Robert folded his hands on the desk in an effort at patience. “What are you talking about?” “You’re trying to find Bibi’s kid? After all these years? For the love of Jesus, Bob, why?” “He’s blood. The only grandson I’ll ever see.” “Big deal.” Frank shot a stream of smoke from the corner of his mouth. “Big fucking deal.” “It is to me.” “Why?” Scratching his eyebrow, Frank studied his brother through the smoke curling toward the ten-foot ceiling of the law office. Robert felt the old rivalry grow between them again, as it had since they were children. Frank resented being born last, behind him, behind William. Since William had died young, only Robert stood in his way of inheriting everything—and now Robert was looking for a new heir? Frank was feeling cheated again. “You don’t know what it’s like to lose a child.” “So this is about Stuart.” “There’s no hell on earth that measures up to the loss of a son. That he was murdered...” He could barely say the word and scowled down at the folder still open on his desk. Slowly he closed the file and set it aside. “Your boy did that.” “Not mine. That bastard’s not mine, I never claimed him, Bob, didn’t give him my name. Hell, how do I know Mary Ellen didn’t get herself pregnant by someone else and say Daegan was mine?” “Enough!” Robert spat out, disgusted. “He was yours all right, looked more like you than his mother; had the cursed sight, too. Just like William!” “You know a lot about him.” Frank’s eyes narrowed, as if he were calculating what his brother was up to, and he took a long drag on his smoke. “I make it my business to know as much as I can about every member of the family. Legitimate and illegitimate.” “Exc ept Bibi’s boy.” “Yes,” he admitted, standing and walking to the liquor cabinet, where he poured two snifters of brandy. “That was my mistake. I listened to Adele and thought it was best for the family if the child disappeared.” “And you were right,” Frank said, acc epting the drink. “It’s now when you’re making your mistake.” He took a long swallow and waited for the brandy to hit his belly. “You know how I handle bastards, don’t you?” “By raping their mothers and nearly getting killed by a bullet?” “The kid was a freak.” “Whatever happened to him?”
“Don’t know. Don’t care.” Frank scowled. “I thought you k ept track of everyone remotely associated with the family.” “He slipped through my fingers. Doesn’t his mother ke ep in touch?” “She swears she doesn’t; but she’s probably lyin’.” Frank shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I don’t see much of her these days. After the night that O’Rourke tried to shoot off my balls... Well, let’s just say I’ve moved on to younger, tighter ass.” “Despite the fact that I advised you to be more discreet. That your philandering almost got you killed.” Frank’s lips thinned. “No one tells me what to do. No one.” Not even you. He hadn’t said it, of course, but it was there, hanging in the air, unspoken and a challenge. Robert felt the old animosity between them raise its ugly head, baring greedy teeth. A sick feeling unwound in Robert’s insides. His brother had been out of control, drinking and cavorting, for far too long. It was an embarrassment, a stain on the family r eputation. All the more reason to search for someone else to carry on the family name—a responsible heir. Frank leaned forward a little in his chair and swirled his drink. “You know Collin resents you trying to find Bibi’s kid. He sees it as a threat; as if you don’t trust him. Or me.” “I don’t.” “But you’d put your faith in some fifteen-year-old bastard?” Frank stubbed out his cigarette. “That remains to be seen.” Robert felt empty inside as Frank finished his drink in a flourish. They’d never been close, not even as children. His own kids had experienced a special bond for a while, or so it had seemed, and then they, too, had drifted away from each other. Before they could reconnect, Stuart had been killed. “Be careful, Bob,” Frank warned as he stood and adjusted the cuffs of his jacket. “You’re playing with fire, here. I’d hate to see you get burned.” “I won’t,” Robert said calmly. Frank had never scared him. Worried him, yes, but never frightened him. If anything, he was more determined than ever to find his grandson. Things were quiet. Too quiet, Kate thought as she tapped the eraser tip of her pencil on the corner of the desk in her little cubicle optimistically called an office in the English D epartment of the community college. Ever since the incident with Todd Neider nearly two weeks ago, life had settled into its same, slow, normal pace. Exc ept that Daegan O’Rourke had entrenched himself into their lives, and each day he was becoming more important to Jon. And to you. Whether you admit it or not, Kate, you can’t ignore the undercurrents that charge the air whenever he’s around. Even though you’ve never been stupid enough to wander back to his pickup at night again, it’s there, simmering between you, a dark fascination that shouldn’t exist. Headache brewing, she slid her reading glasses off her nose and rubbed her temples. She noticed him in ways she’d never noticed another man, the way his shirt stretched across his shoulders, the fact that his belt was worn on the third notch, the flare of his nostrils and furrowing of his brow as he concentrated, and the way his faded jeans hung low on his hips. He didn’t
bother shining his boots or mending a torn patch in his Levi’s and seemed unaware that he always plowed both hands through his hair when he was frustrated. She’d caught a glimpse of his sense of humor—cynical though it was—and wished she knew more about him and the past that he never shared with her. Don’t borrow trouble. So he’d shown up when Jon was freaking out about danger coming their way, so he just happened to be around whenever there was a crisis, so he’d gotten into a fight with his cousin, so he claimed never to put down any permanent roots. So what? So you’re beginning to fall for him, Kate, and that’s scary. Damned scary. She’d never let herself become interested in another man, not since Jim had died. The old pain and guilt gnawed at her again and she remembered the last morning she’d seen him, how they’d argued when she’d said she had to work late, how he’d left the apartment so angry he’d slammed the door hard enough to break the doorjamb. He hadn’t wanted to pick up Erin from the babysitter, it was his night to play basketball with some friends, but Kate had been adamant, they needed the money— overtime that she could make working for Tyrell Clark. In the end he’d acquiesced, as he always had, and on the way home had been struck by a speeding car. Erin, who had been in his arms, had died instantly. Jim had survived the ambulance ride to the hospital, where he, too, had given up on life before Kate had time to say good-bye or to tell him how much she loved him. “Mrs. Summers?” A soft voice jarred Kate from her thoughts, and she saw one of her students, Renee Wilson, tentatively sticking her head in the airless room. “Are you all right?” Renee asked, nervously biting her lower lip. For the first time Kate realized that tears were tracking down her cheeks. “Fine... I’m fine. Come in, Renee, please,” she said, clearing her throat and dabbing at her eyes with a tissue she plucked from a box on the shelf. “I don’t wanna bother you. If this isn’t a good time—” Renee was edging away, looking embarrassed enough for the both of them. Kate gave herself a swift mental kick. What had she been doing, breaking down here at the college? “Don’t be ridiculous. That’s what I’m here for. Sit down. Please.” Sliding an old oak chair on rollers toward the door, she brought herself back to the present and shoved all her maudlin, painful thoughts aside. Renee, in leggings and a cowl-necked sweater, dropped reluctantly into the seat and left the door ajar, as if she hoped to make good her es cape. “I need to talk to you about my grade,” she said, fidgeting with the spiral binding of her notebook. “I—I... you gave me a D on my last paper because I turned it in late, but I don’t really think that’s fair.” “You might be right,” Kate agreed, leaning back in her desk chair until it squeaked in protest. She worked hard to walk the thin line between being a tyrant, a teacher who demanded that all her students never break a solitary rule, and being a pushover, an educator who let the kids walk all over her. “Let’s hear your side of the story. Convince me.” “Oh, God,” Renee whispered, then seemed to collect herself by drawing in a huge breath. “Okay, I was sick two weeks ago, you know, with that flu that’s going around. I even have a doctor’s excuse—” “This isn’t high school.” “I know, but I got real far behind, and I tried to catch up and get everything in, but I didn’t have time to finish reading To Kill a Mockinghird and I really didn’t understand the little girl, Scout, and so...” A shadow passed by the open doorway and Renee lost her concentration.
“So I didn’t have enough time to do it right. I should have come to you and asked for an extension, I guess.” “That probably would have been a good idea,” Kate agreed, studying the girl’s worried features. She thought about Jon and his own problems at school, how much she hoped the teachers would bend a little when it came to his issues. “Look, Renee,” she heard herself saying as she flipped through the pages of her calendar, “I’ll give you until Monday to rewrite it, okay, but I can’t go beyond that date, and I’ll have to ke ep in mind that you should have handled this differently; that’s only fair to the other students.” “So I can’t get an A?” Renee asked weakly. “You’d have to really knock me out. I mean really bowl me over.” Renee rolled her eyes. “Oh, sure,” she said with more than a touch of sarcasm, then shrugged and said, “Okay, okay, I’ll try. Thanks!” Slinging the strap of her beaded tapestry bag over her shoulder, she slid out of the door more quickly than greased lightning. Kate decided to call it a day. Jon was probably already home and she couldn’t help being on edge. It was Friday, and from past experience, she knew that he was more likely to be in trouble at the end of the week rather than the beginning. She looked forward to relaxing at home And seeing Daegan. That thought was particularly irritating. Ever since the night alone in the truck, she’d had trouble nudging his image out of her mind. It seemed to haunt her, over and over, night and day. “Get a grip,” she told herself. “He’s just a man. Nothing more. Nothing less.” And yet her heart told her differently. “What do you mean, there’s no one named Roy Panaker?” Robert Sullivan looked as if he was going to wet his pants right here and now in the middle of his den with its cherry-paneled walls. “Just what I said. There wasn’t any kind of navy man from deckhand to admiral stationed here fifteen years ago.” Neils helped himself to a cigar in the open humidor and bit off the end. He loved to rattle the old man because Robert Sullivan was such a damned snob. “Beatrice told us that—” “Beatrice lied, Sullivan. I’m telling you I’ve been over this a hundred times. No Roy Panaker.” Robert’s color wasn’t good to begin with; now it was pastier than ever. His voice was barely a whisper. “Then who is the boy’s father?” “Good question,” Van Horn said, reaching for the crystal lighter. “Damned good question. Next time we meet, I’ll know.” “How?” “I guess I’ll have to talk to Beatrice.” Aristocratic features pinched together in silent disapproval. “She probably won’t tell you anything. If she’s k ept this a secret for fifteen years, I don’t know why she’d say anything different now.” “Maybe she doesn’t know who the father is,” Van Horn suggested and watched as Robert digested this little piece of information. It stuck in his craw and caused a horrid flush to spread across his cheeks. “Of course she knows.”
“Then it’s one helluva secret because she took a big chance coming up with a phony sailor. Her story could have been checked out without too much trouble years ago.” “We—we had a lot on our minds,” Robert said quickly, though he was bothered, and Neils suspected that the old man prided himself in not letting anything get past him, knowing what was going on behind the scenes. This time, his daughter had duped him. “I know, you had to avoid a scandal and find a way to get rid of the evidence. Well, the only thing I can figure is that Beatrice lied to protect someone... someone she cared a lot about.” He clicked the lighter and drew quickly on his cigar, sending quick little puffs to the ceiling. “I wonder who that guy could be?” “Maybe it doesn’t matter,” Robert said with obvious irritation. “You just need to find the boy.” “I’m going to,” Van Horn said, enjoying his brief moments in Robert’s elegant home on the square. Warm. Stately. Sophisticated. Oozing with generations of culture and refinement. Certainly a cut or two above his little bungalow in the suburbs. But not for long. Neils planned on striking it rich and Robert Sullivan was going to help him. “I think there’s a good chance that when I find out who made the mistake of siring the boy, I’ll locate him.” “I don’t care about the father, damn it. Just my grandson!” Oh, but I do, you self-serving old geezer. I do. Once I find the father and unlock a few secrets, this gig is going to be worth a hellava lot more than the paltry fee you’re paying me. “Don’t worry, Mr. Sullivan,” Neils said, “I’ll find him if it’s the last thing I ever do.”